Saturday was a nice, spring day. Sunny, mid-60s, and too early for bugs to be out in force. I wanted some fresh air and a little exercise, so I decided to go after a nearby geocache that had been hidden a week or two ago.
I find a good parking spot and my GPS leads me into a local forest preserve. I cross a bridge over a flowing stream and cut into the underbrush, following the GPS arrow. Closer, closer, then… Hmph. I’m on the wrong side of the stream. This happens to me far more often than random chance would seem to allow for. If I’m hunting a geocache that is anywhere near a stream or river, I can practically guarantee I’ll start my search on the wrong side.
So, I backtrack to the bridge and cross it again, and once again plunge into the underbrush. It’s thicker on this side with, I can’t help but notice, a lot more thorny plants. After a dozen yards or so it’s clear to me that they are not just any common thorny plants. These are carnivorous, bloodthirsty, and evil. Any cacher who has ever bushwhacked in Illinois knows the kind I’m talking about. I’m covered in scratches and bleeding from multiple tiny punctures. But finally, I break through and discover that… I’m on the wrong side of the stream. Again.
We pause now for the slowly dawning horror of realization. Yes, the cache is on a tuft of mud that, if one were generous, one might call an island.
Wisdom would dictate that I leave, and await a day in the heart of a drought to try for this cache. Unfortunately, where geocaching is concerned I have only a passing acquaintance with wisdom. We are not on a first name basis.
“Go for it” says the little voice in my head. Something to know about the little voice in my head… for most people, their little voice helps them decide between right and wrong, or reminds them that they left the iron on. Helpful things like that. The little voice inside my head has been engaged in a lifelong effort to trick me into doing something fatally stupid. There have been a few close calls, but I’m still breathing.
Anyhow. “Go for it”, says the murderous little voice. I start thinking of the various ways that things could go horribly wrong. I could slip in and suffer hypothermia. “It’s not cold out, you big sissy!” Ok, how about maybe getting caught in some tangled tree limbs and breaking a leg? “You’d look good in a cast - think of the sympathy you’d get from women!” Hmmm, ok, that’s a good point. But wait, I could actually drown attempting this! “You gotta try new things.” What?!? Why would I… oh, never mind. We both know I’m going to try for it, so hush already.
I start examining my options. There is a fallen tree that could be used to cross the stream, but it’s kind of high above the water, treacherously small in diameter, and the central feature of the leg-breaking tangle that I’d already considered. No good. I spy what appears to be a submerged rock on the other side that would probably make a good leaping point, so once again I brave the underbrush, cross the bridge, and make my way back to where I had been in the first place. And the rock that I had pinned my plans on turns out to be - a sunken plastic bag. Swell.
Desperation sets in. I need a plan, and the only option I see is a muddy, half rotten log at the edge of the stream. The little voice inside my head giggles in gleeful expectation. I heave the log up on one end - it’s far heavier and muddier than it looks. For a heart-stopping moment it teeters the wrong way and I quickly adjust to catch it, leaning one end on my chest while wildly maneuvering to keep from losing my balance in the very slippery mud. The little voice is barely able to contain its joy at my imminent demise. Finally, with a mighty splash, the log falls where I want it to. More or less. Approximately. Close enough. But only halfway to the island. Mustering up all the foolishness at my disposal, I creep out onto the slippery, rotting, half-floating log, and leap (soaring through the air with all the grace of a cinder block!), just barely reaching the island. Safe! Filthy, sweating, scratched, bleeding, and panting like an asthmatic dog, but safe! The little voice gnashes its teeth in frustration.
Finding the cache at this point was child’s play. Easy breezy. Piece of cake. Thank goodness. Whew.
And here I caught a piece of luck. This little hummock of an island offers just enough room that I manage a one-step run. I leap out to the waiting log, and inertia carries me along it to a jarring landing in the soft mud. Success! Looking like The Swamp Thing, I staggered out of the woods to my car, and headed home to a hot shower, clean clothes, and an assortment of ointments, bandages and pain killers.
I can’t wait for the next one!
May 03 2009 | Geocaching | No Comments »
Steinberg’s Cubase software recently received an update to version 5. I only had to glance at the new features list to pull the trigger on that upgrade. A mere $200, which is about the same as I was considering spending on a drum plug-in.
Software arrived today, complete with new manuals (I always worry about upgrades not including printed manuals). Can’t wait to install it and start playing with the new goodies!
March 17 2009 | Music | No Comments »
We had a bit of rain/snow/flooding here in northern Illinois in the past year…
See? This is what happens when you forget to turn the sprinkler off.
Sure, okay, you betcha. Wouldn’t even attempt it in this torrent.
Probably not really what they meant.
My neighbors canoeing in the woods behind my house.
Two weeks later, the mosquitoes were unspeakable.
January 04 2009 | Photography | No Comments »
I’ve just ordered a Korg PadKontrol Drum Pad Controller for my digital audio workstation. I’m not especially good at rhythm. It’s not that I can’t keep a beat (though, I can’t, but that’s what quantizing is for), but rather that it’s pretty hard to get anything except the most primitive beats (in the my god that’s boring sense, not the pulse-pounding tribal sense) into a sequencer using a regular keyboard. Or worse, a mouse.
I’m hopeful that adding this PadKontrol to my studio setup will help me come up with some rhythm patterns that, well, suck less than what I’ve been doing.
October 29 2008 | Music | No Comments »
So, a week ago I decided to leave work an hour early and get in some geocaching on my way to a meeting. I hop on my big scooter, and head to a random cache.
I park nearby, and walk over the ‘ground zero’ to begin my search. The notation on the GPS indicated it was an easy hide - no problem, I figured. I start looking at possible hiding spots. There’s a wooden walkway, with a solidly built bench attached to it. The bench is my first guess (a GPS will get you within maybe 10 feet, but it’s amazing how many places there may be to hide something in that radius) so I start giving it the once over. I hunker down and look under it, but I can only see a limited portion of the underside.
So, I reach up and start feeling around. I encounter something, not sure what, but I figure it’s probably the cache, so I pull it out.
In my hand are roughly two dozen yellow jackets, with more spilling down from under the bench. They’re just a bit sluggish, but they’re waking up fast. And angry. And vengeful. There’s probably some wrath in there, too.
Luckily, I’m lazy and hadn’t bothered to take off my riding gear. My glove is made of nice, protective leather.
I haven’t been stung - yet. But I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Low earth orbit, for example. Or the Seychelles Islands, wherever they are. Heck, even back at the office would be fine. Just ‘away’. Now. So I start to move, as rapidly as conditions allow.
I make it about ten feet before things start to go bad. Er, worse. I’d started from a crouch, so my upper body had something of a head start over my legs. The resulting imbalance became untenable quickly, and before I knew it, I was tumbling head-over-heels across the turf. I came to an abrupt stop with enraged, heavily armed flying insects swarming the whole area.
I still wanted very much to be somewhere else, so I started crab-crawling as fast as I could, putting some more distance between me and the expanding enemy position.
Somehow, I managed to escape without a single sting - probably thanks to my helmet and armored riding jacket. The jacket had a nice swath of grass stain from the fall, as did both knees of my pants (yet another pair of ‘good’ pants trashed while caching - my wife will not be amused). Injuries sustained - strained muscles in both legs, a fast rising lump on the left knee (still sore a week later), and my dignity shredded beyond repair. Again. Injury and ignominy seem to happen to me a lot when I’m geocaching. And I go through an inordinate amount of pants.
Motorcycle safety gear - it’s not just for riding anymore!
October 02 2008 | Geocaching | 1 Comment »
The Pacific Northwest has its Bigfoot. Tibet has the Yeti. Northern Illinois has Seneca Man. Like the other legends, tales of Seneca Man can be traced far back into history. References can be found in historical records dating back to the 1850s, when Jeremiah Crotty first settled in the area. Even earlier, as far back as the late 1600s, the first European explorers and traders through the area related tales told to them by the Native American peoples that once lived in the area - tales of a ghost or pale spirit being who lived in the forests and prairies, and who protected the land. These tribes always connected sightings of this being with good fortune.
The area where this creature is reputed to live today is a ribbon of forest that runs along the course of the Illinois river, roughly from the Channahon and Des Plaines Conservation area, and west to at least Ottawa. Some contend that Seneca Man’s range extends as far to the southwest as East Peoria, but details of sightings in that are are sketchy.
Those who have spotted Seneca Man describe it as roughly human in form, between 5 and 6 feet tall, with considerable hair on the head and face, but only lightly furred elsewhere. Though older historical sightings don’t make reference to it, more recent sightings often note that Seneca Man is a thin creature. Some witnesses have even described it as “scrawny”, which crypto-zoologists have suggested may be a result of limited food supplies in its dwindling habitat.
This past Saturday I was out for a ride on my scooter, enjoying the good weather after previous rainy weekends. Just north of Channahon on West Shepley Road, I crossed over the DuPage River. Glancing down to the water below, I had the rare good fortune to spot a Seneca Man, in the flesh.
What I saw was very similar to other descriptions I’ve read. He was standing at the edge of the water line, leaning up against the old stone sides of the river. He was facing away from the bridge, but looking back over his shoulder at it with a definite look of concern, possibly fear, on his face. No doubt he was frightened at finding himself so exposed to human observation.
He had long, stringy hair and a similarly disheveled beard, and as others have reported was otherwise unclothed and hairless. What really startled me was how very pale he was - much like the ghosts described in those old Indian legends. Unfortunately, I was unable to find a safe place in time to pull over and take a photograph before he disappeared.
I suspect he had been driven from his normal hiding places in the forests by the recent torrential rains. With anywhere from five to ten inches of rain in the area over the previous weekend, rivers throughout the region had flooded. My ride followed along Cemetery Road between the I&M Canal and the Illinois River, and even a week after the storms, huge swaths of woods and fields were still flooded, with water more than a foot deep in many normally dry areas.
The flood waters continue to recede, and no doubt by now Seneca Man has been able to return to his regular haunts deeper in the woods, where he won’t be troubled by passersby. In any case, I feel blessed to have caught of glimpse of this rare, almost mythical creature.
September 22 2008 | Encounters | 1 Comment »
On the way home from work yesterday I saw a big turtle on the roadway. Traffic was just getting warmed up, and the soft shoulder was going to make it hard for people to avoid hitting it. So, naturally, being the soft-hearted animal lover that I am, I stopped to help the turtle.
It was a snapper. Even if you’ve never seen one before, they’re easy to identify. They’ve got this very menacing, prehistoric sort of look to them, and an attitude to match. This one was about 14 inches from the front to the back of his shell. Big thick legs and tail. Massive head on a long neck. Beady little eyes. Bad smell. Though it was only a mid-sized snapper, it seemed much bigger than actual size as it hissed and glared and released musk at me.
It was obvious from the start that ours was going to be a difficult relationship.
I’ve never tried to pick up a snapper before, but I was pretty clear on the “avoid the biting end” concept. That’s harder than it sounds - I learned right away that those things can pivot a lot faster than you would expect. I managed to get behind him, grabbed the edges of his shell about midway back, and found out just how long and fast his neck really was. ‘Snapping’ doesn’t really capture the full excitement of the noise it makes when it just misses tearing your thumb off.
Ok, new plan. Grab further back on the shell, hang on tight, and hustle.
Pretty good plan. Only a few flaws. First, I still had the distraction of that massive angry head whipping back at me, hissing and snapping. Second, it gave the turtle the opportunity to bring a different set of weapons into play. Those big thick legs, it turns out, have big thick claws at the end of them. They’re not especially sharp claws, but they don’t really have to be. The turtle knew that if he dragged them across my fingers enough times, with enough force, he could shred me to ribbons. And he didn’t waste any time starting on that project.
I started thinking about the nasty pond scum and mud covering those feet and claws. Then I realized that the turtle has defensively, um, pooped at me. Great, swamp muck and snapper poop being surgically crammed into what used to be the flesh of my fingers.
Must. Go. Faster.
I got him to the edge of the pond and sat him down in the mud. No doubt he needed a mud refill, having redistributed his own supply onto the bones of my knuckles. Now, if you were to release, say, a frog like this, it would be gone into the water like a shot. Even a common box turtle would be glad to beat a path into the depths. But this guy? No, he just turned around and read me the snapping turtle riot act. At length. I eventually got tired of listening, told him “You’re welcome”, and headed home.
Later, as I cleaned up my bloodied hands, I pondered… Spider-man got his superpowers following an unfortunate incident with a spider. What kind of super-powers might I have gotten from being scratched up by an angry snapping turtle covered in mud and poop? Let’s see… cranky attitude? scaly legs? thick skin? bad nails? Dang, I already have all of those things!
Maybe I’ll get salmonella. Yay.
August 27 2008 | Encounters | No Comments »
This past weekend my wife and I were out for a drive on some of the more rural back roads of Illinois. We were in southeast Grundy county, on (You always were an asshole…) Gorman road, when we spotted the post in the pictures above.
Attached to this wooden post in the middle of nowhere, from bottom to top, are a large catfish head, a bird leg and foot (probably turkey, but maybe pheasant - do I look like an ornithologist to you?), a fox tail, another catfish head, and finally the remains of a stuffed pheasant, which I assume was at one time perched on top in its full glory.
I will never understand art. Especially when it should be accompanied by banjo music.
June 16 2008 | Encounters and Photography | No Comments »
As I recently started to take stock of my musical equipment, I realized that I remembered reading that my Roland D-10 synthesizer, which my wife bought for me in the late 1980s, had an internal battery that needed replaced from time to time to keep the factory patches from being lost.
Let’s see, it’s 2008, minus 1988, carry the one… egad, it’s 20 years old and I haven’t ever changed the battery!
A quick Internet search found only one or two references, but it appeared that it was easy to do, so I gave it a try. First, I made sure that the patches were still alive - I hadn’t used the keyboard since, well, it had been a while. Happily, the sounds were all still there. Also, I had a 256D memory card, which likewise needed its battery replaced.
Here’s how:
- First, replace the battery in the 256D card. It looks too thin to even have a battery, but sure enough, there’s a little pull-out slot. The card takes a lithium CR2016 battery. About four bucks at the local drugstore.
- Copy all the patches from the D-10 to the 256D card.
- Unplug the D-10, and turn it upside down. Prop it up with a couple of paperback books at each end, so that it isn’t resting on the pitch bender.
- Remove all the screws on the bottom of the synth, except those that connect the feet to the base. Then, remove all the screws along the bottom edge of the rear panel.
- The whole bottom will now easily lift right off.
- You might want to blow some dust out with a can of compressed air. The synth doesn’t collect dust nearly as much as a computer will, but odds are there will be a few bunnies living in it.
- The battery is obvious. It is a lithium CR2032, which will run you another four bucks. Expensive maintenance, eh? With a tiny screwdriver, it’s easy to slide the old battery out and tuck the new one in.
- Replace the bottom panel and put the screws back in. The patches will be scrambled or lost, so now you’ll want to copy them back to the synth from the 256D card.
The whole job takes under ten minutes and costs about eight dollars. Not a bad service cost for an instrument that was priced at about $1500 new!
June 07 2008 | Music | No Comments »
Sometime late last Friday night, or rather early Saturday morning, someone went through my neighborhood slashing tires. Apparently they mostly focused on cars parked on the street, so my vehicles were not affected. I’m not certain of the final count, but a rough estimate from my doorstep puts the count to at least six cars, probably ten. I gather that someone also had sugar dumped in their car, though stories vary as to if it was in their gas tank or just their front seat. And at least one house is said to have had their phone lines cut, a la preparation for burglary.
One of the cops who responded suggested that it was likely either just kids being morons, or some sort of low level gang initiation (which falls under ‘kids being morons’ too). By and large this is a good neighborhood and town. Low crime, quiet, even boring. But we’re pretty close to Aurora and Joliet, both of which have significant crime problems. And no doubt even Plainfield has its share of delinquents who think randomly trashing private property is somehow fun. So, the cop’s explanation seems reasonable enough.
One thing that sort of struck me as odd, though…
On the Monday after the vandalism occurred, we had a guy (”I’m not a salesman!”) from a home security provider going door-to-door. He had a nice shirt with the name of the security company embroidered on it, and a metal clipboard - you know, the usual guise of someone who wants to look like an official representative. He seemed to know the whole story about the vandalism, and was asking each house if they had a security system, and if so what brand it was, and if they would be interested in becoming a ‘demo house’ for his company.
If I had Spidey senses, they might have tingled. I don’t, but I did find it in mildly bad taste that they would be using this situation as a sales opportunity. I told him we’ve got a system already, and no, I won’t divulge who with.
My wife and I talked about it later, and we wondered some things…
- How many homeowners blithely respond that “No, we don’t have a security system”?
- How many of those also indicated when their house would be unoccupied? “No, the appointment would have to be in the evening as I don’t get home before 5pm”.
- And how many of those said “Sure, come on in (read: have a look around, see if I have anything valuable)”?
- How would a home security system stop someone from slashing tires on the street?
- Who the heck buys a home security system from a door-to-door salesman, anyway?
To anyone of a cynical nature (me!), the circumstances & timing were just a tad suspicious.
May 22 2008 | Encounters and Rambling | 1 Comment »
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