: UPA AOE TAAL Tracks and Signe: coyote; range cattle. Further north, a "point of interest." I joined two men who had stopped to read the sign. This place is the original homestead of Thomas H. and Cora Voice Isles, 1894, 180 acres patented under the Timber Culture Act of 1873. I remarked that it might be a good idea for the current federal government to pass a similar act, granting land owners generous stipends for any number of environmental improvement projects. One of the men agreed, the other stayed silent. Two to one in favor? No way of knowing, no further discussion of the idea. I think it was deTocqueville, in the early years of our republic, who claimed that Americans typically veer away from real argument. Now that we have governments breathing down our necks while "getting off our backs," I'm not surprised at our shyness. But in those early years? What were they afraid of then? LITTLE WEASEL ADS, INC. PRESENTS In the interests of full disclosure I’d better go back and get on road long enough to tell about the one bad trip. Arriving a day early for the Eugene conference, I, an inlander, decided to go on to the Pacific Ocean. After the usual messing about with routes and construction delays I found a road that promised a state park. The road wound through a warren of moderately upscale private estates that blocked access to the ocean. Finally, the park, spaces among trees for parking of various species of motor home. I found a vacant place for the pickup and walked to the fee area. Well, what do you know? I didn't have correct change to put in the envelope that would then be slid into the iron pipe whose massive slot-mouth emerged from firm embedment in mother earth. I found the camp hostess; she had no change for my twenty. "We don't carry cash here.” I could understand that. She cheerfully gave me directions toa private enterprise that wouldsolve _ my problem, but by then I was barely listening, resentment on the rise. Wandering around, keeping an eye out for a trespass to saltwater, I came to a timber structure, a sort of stage from which to view the scene, and a sign telling the citizen to refrain from climbing over the barrier rail. I took the whole thing as an insult because I didn’t want passive viewing; I wanted to wet the soles of my shoes in Pacific salt sand and FREE PRESS? NO FREEDOM. FREEDOM IS WHAT | SAY IT IS. hear the breakers roar. Returning to the pickup, I drove out of there, fuming. Look, if the citizens put in charge of our lands (’"...this land was made for you and me.” Woodie Guthrie), are so starved by federal and state legislatures that they have to collect fees (don't ever forget, we've already paid taxes), this attempt to have a signboard and an iron pipe do the whole job is simply and blatantly pathetic, and aggravating. Well, the whole fee idea is silly anyway. Read Scott Silver for essential data on fees and related matters; here, in the Zephyr. JAIL TIME IN THE JUDY MILLER/NY ae CASE? HELL YES! BUT NOT FOR JUDY! SEND AMERICA'S MOST DANGEROUS TRAITOR TO JAIL... KARL ROVE But there, a little creek sneaking seaward through wet sand, no fencing, no instructions, no warnings! And a patch of gravel turn-off too. I put the pickup on the gravel and crossed to the creek, jumped it and, amidst cries of sea gulls and the faint sound of surf, I walked along high tide line and came to a boulder wilderness of wet barnacles and small mussels. A group of seven or eight kids of all ages were happily and noisily digging a huge pit in the sand. Parents lounged casually nearby. This was our little slot of seacoast neither barred by private gates nor guarded by government fee stations. On my way back to the truck I noticed that two women and a small child had discovered the little access opportunity, had backed their car onto a slope of graveled terrain. I told them the creek - NOW...MORE THAN EVER SUPPORT OUR was easy to cross. They were determined, ready for anything. Tracks and signs: two large dogs; two humans; one racoon. ADVERTISERS!!! Driving back toward Eugene, late in the day, turned wrong at a junction, proceeded These are the People who keep one of the West's last TRUE independent publications alive. LET THEM KNOW! eastward for many a twisty mile through beautiful forest and meadow lands. I was in no shape to stop and enjoy. Came to a sign: Elk Viewing. I pulled over. Elk were there, the bulls in gorgeous velvet. However, giving the elk barely a glance, I approached the nearest parked vehicle and asked if this road would take me to Eugene. A tall, urbane, sun-tanned man gave brief, coherent directions. I turned to go, but the man askedif I'd ever seen elk. _I said, dismissively, grumpily, that I'd grown up with elk, back in Wyoming. I wanted to call back those words, that tone. Too late. I was waking up, and now I was noticing the man's beaming face. He was happy! "They're mn velvet," he said. "They're magnificent animals." "They are," I said, and meant it. HIGH DESERT GARDENS JANIS IS JUST ITCHING TO GIVE EVERYBODYA Back home in far north New York state, another surprise: the ash tree that's been slowly dying for three or four years has suddenly decided to live, even its topmost branches that had looked dead, are leafed out in dark green. Looking at that tree, can't help thinking that we varmentalists might rise again too, truly green, not in pale discouragement but in deep, rich confident life color. 15 PER CENT DISCOUNT ON EVERYTHING! 7) eS = zs) = n Za fx] a Whiting from the Land — September 23-25 (<Br< \S Ss j \ es 1 ANN Utah GY eee 2971 S. HIGHWAY 191 (next to the Branding Iron) 435.259.4531 PAGE]3 \\ “AS SINTON Beautiful ‘Torrey, ie eee SUPPORT OUR ZEPHYR ADVERTISERS! Sssleraect wa TREES & BUSHES