Wilderness Strangers

My pal and fellow former U.S. Forest Service wilderness ranger Helmut Vallindaklopf, also known as Kelly Tjaden (above, top), had dinner with none other than Fred Beckey, mountaineer extraordinaire. That's me on the right with the boffo straw hat I picked up in Ensenada in Baja, California.

Kelly moved into the "Mushroom Haus" (above, bottom) with us during the summer of '79, when Rebecca moved to the Rock Creek Guard Station up the Chiwawa River for the season. The Mushroom Haus, located across the highway from the old Cougar Inn on Lake Wenatchee, was a gathering place for many of the seasonal USFS employees in the neighborhood.

Kelly lives in Anchorage, Alaska with his better half, Lupe Marroquin, and they had the opportunity to dine with "The Old Man of the Mountains." More to come on Fred Beckey.

Mama Mia

My Mom passed away last week. Although she had recently turned 80 and was in dubious health, her death still came as a shock to the family.

Charlotte Nitta Cargni Mitchell, known as Nitta to family and friends, was born in Portland on February 23, 1929 to Carl and Emilia Cargni.

She attended Duniway Elementary School and Lincoln High School, where she graduated in 1947.

After attending the University of Oregon her freshman year, she completed her Bachelor of Arts degree in romance languages at Marylhurst College in 1951. Nitta married Ralph Cameron Mitchell of Portland in May, 1952 and they had five children, John, Robert, Richard, Carla and Stephanie. They later divorced. Nitta was a longtime employee of Qwest.

Nitta enjoyed visiting and traveling with her children and grandchildren to points from the obscure (Yukon Territory) to the sublime (Disneyland), and many places in between.

She is survived by her children John (Rebecca) of Eugene, Robert (Elaine) of Philadelphia, Penn., Richard (Nancy) of Bainbridge Island, Wash., Carla (Bob) of Portland, Stephanie of Tigard; grandchildren Regina, Jory, Nicole, Sarah, Jessica, Jason and Brandon; and a brother, John Cargni, of Zigzag. Nitta was preceded in death by her parents and her granddaughter, Jacy.

I occasionally tell my siblings that I can actually remember my mother in her late 20s.  She was 24 when I was born, so I was entering school when she was 29.  I can honestly say that I am the person I am because of my Mother, not just because she gave birth but because of how she raised me.

Mom had many fine qualities, but I want to focus on a couple that really stand out.  First of all, she is one of the most polite people you will have ever met.  In fact, if you look up the word “polite” in the dictionary, her picture is there to illustrate. She was also an extremely loyal individual -- to her family and friends, and particularly her children, whom she supported unconditionally.

One example: before we moved to Mt. Tabor, which we all considered the home we grew up in, we lived in the Cherry Park neighborhood wedged between Mall 205 and Kelly Butte.  Back in the late ‘50s, the kids in the neighborhood were having a backyard pool party, but they would grant admission only if you gave them some play money.

Well, most of my friends had printed play money but I did not, so I was denied admission. I went home and told my Mom, and she took matters into her own hands: she cut out a piece of paper in the shape of a rectangle and proceeded to draw a one dollar bill, complete with a picture of George Washington and all the symbols and markings.  When I returned to the pool party, the bouncer at the door was so shocked at the creativity of the bill that he granted me admission.

Mom didn’t have a lot of hobbies, but she did love to travel.  My family and I traveled with Mom to a variety of places over the years.  I can’t count the number of times we took her to Disneyland, which she loved.  We also traveled together to places like the Oregon coast, Crater Lake, Palm Springs, Victoria and the San Juan Islands, and probably her favorite -- the little Bavarian Village of Leavenworth, Washington, where we have property. 

Mom was also a devout Catholic who attended Mass weekly for nearly eight decades.  If the Good Lord gives extra credit for perfect attendance, she’s the one who will get it.

Despite her many ailments, she was generally upbeat, and actually she was quite the inadvertent comedienne.  When I would call her, she would start the conversation with a “que pasa?”  Then she would proceed to ask about how everybody was doing.

Ironically, Mom passed away nearly five years to the date that my daughter and her granddaughter, Jacy, passed away.  Jacy loved her Grandma, and Nitta was loved by all of her children and grandchildren.

Her last words to me were a clear measure of her polite nature: she said “I love you,” to which I said “I love you, too, Mom,” to which she always said “thank you.”

Thank you, Mom, for being a loving and supportive parent. I will miss you, but I will see you again at some point down the road. Say hi to Jacy for me when you see her.

The Committee

"The Committee" is a loose confederation of mountain mavens, backcountry bozos and wilderness wombats who worked together for many years at Eugene Water & Electric Board. All shared a love of climbing. We all worked in the Conservation Department, later known as Energy Management Services, at Eugene's public utility.

Together, we have scaled many of the peaks in the Cascade Range, including Mt. Hood, Mt. St. Helens, Diamond Peak, North Sister, Middle Sister (above, with North Sister in the background), South Sister, Mt. McLoughlin (below, with Klamath Lake in the background), Mt. Scott, Mt. Thielsen and Mt. Bailey, just to name a few.

The Committee consists of fellow EWEBers Steve Still, Mark Grediagin, John Mitchell, P. Steve Stuart, Bill Welch, Bob Lorenzen and Tommy "T-Bone" Williams.  Mark was a prodigious backcountry traveler and his place over in Sunriver, Oregon provided a base for many of our expeditions into the wilderness.

Mark, or Markee as I called him, owned llamas, so we appreciated the fact that these beasts of burden could pack the heavy stuff (including beer) and all we had to do was take care of ourselves. Markee (below) passed away in 2009, but the surviving members of The Committee carry his memory with us on every backcountry trek.

The Mark of Comfort

My friend and climbing partner Mark Grediagin passed away this week after a long struggle with cancer at the age of 53. But don't feel sorry for Mark: this dude stomped on the terra.  A cancer survivor in his 20s, Mark lived an adventure-filled life and had many friends.

Here we are together (above) on the summit of Mt. St. Helens -- long after the eruption, of course -- with a significantly reconfigured Spirit Lake and Mt. Rainier (ascending to 14,410 feet above sea level), the most glaciated peak in the Lower 48, in the background.

We met in the mid-1980's working in Eugene Water & Electric Board's Conservation Department, he an energy analyst and me a public relations practitioner. We bonded quickly with a group of other ne'er-do-wells to found what we lovingly call "The Committee."

Being There

Much of what it takes to being a good photographer is -- as my friend and photographer Roger Wallace would surely agree -- being in the right place at the right time.

I captured the photo above at sunrise from the summit of Mount Hood on Father's Day, 2001. Having climbed the mountain most of the night, we -- my friends Tom Maloney, Tim Whitley and I -- arrived at the precipice of the summit at dawn.  This is the view looking west toward Portland.

After a long drive from Eugene, we starting climbing at around 10 p.m. and reached "The Hogsback" on the south approach to the summit about 4 a.m.  Waiting until the first signs light, we circumvented the bergschrund at the top of the Hogsback and slipped through the "Pearly Gates" to the summit at daylight.

The Bavarian Village

The town of Leavenworth, Washington, also known as "The Bavarian Village" is the closest incorporated municipality to the Owl Farm. Located in the upper part of the Wenatchee Valley on the eastern slopes of the Cascades, Leavenworth was established in the late 19th Century by pioneers in search of gold, furs and fertile farmland. The town soon blossomed with the arrival of the Great Northern Railway.

But by the middle part of the 20th Century, the town was dying. The Great Northern Railway re-routed the line and the local sawmill and a healthy logging industry eventually fell apart. What was once a bustling, thriving hub of commerce was reduced to a hollow, empty community -- a town living on the edge of extinction.

But in the 1960s, everything changed thanks to a band of visionaries, who worked with the University of Washington School of Architecture to revamp the town's appearance with hopes of attracting tourism to the area. Using the beautiful backdrop of the surrounding Alpine-like hills and mountains to its advantage, Leavenworth citizens agreed to remodel their hamlet in the form of a Bavarian village. Creating more than a mere facelift, the entire community rallied to create the illusion of Bavaria in the middle of Washington State.

Today, Leavenworth is one of the most successful theme towns in the West, attracting more than a million tourists to community events like the Autumn Leaf Festival, Maifest and the popular Christmas lighting ceremony (below).

With only about 2,500 residents, Leavenworth's population can swell exponentially during special events (these are the times we locals refer to Leavenworth as "The Barbarian Village"). But, kidding aside, Leavenworth is a wonderful community where we have many friends, not to mention groceries stores, gas stations, hardware outlets and more that we need to survive at Owl Farm.

Mister Ducklips

The question is on everyone's (duck) lips; how on earth did I get the name "Mister Ducklips?"

Well, I'll give you the short version here. In the late 1980s, the University of Oregon Marching Band was looking for ways to raise funds for new band uniforms (those meager years before Nike stepped up to help the Ducks). Now, I had seen "duck calls" (noisemaking devices use to hunt ducks) in action at football games in the '60s and '70s, but someone had come up with a duck call shaped like a duckbill, hence the name "ducklips."

Seemed like a natural to me, so I picked up a pair and instead of losing my voice at Duck football and basketball games, I just used my ducklips. Never had a problem with anyone until our basketball seats were shuffled around to the southeast corner of McArthur Court in the late 1990s.

As the season proceeded, it didn't take long for the fellow seated right below me to express his displeasure at my use of the ducklips. Now, mind you, I only used my ducklips at the appropriate time during the basketball game: when an opposing player was at the free throw line, or when the opposing team had the ball on offense in a tight game. It's not like I blew the ducklips right into his ear, either. He simply couldn't abide the ducklips, and he asked me to stop.

The first time he asked, I politely told him that I would not refrain from using my ducklips, and our heretofore non-existent relationship deteriorated from there. He claimed he would call an usher to force me to stop with the ducklips. "Go for it," I replied. When that didn't work, he kept up his litany of complaints. "You know," I said, "if you really don't like the noise, maybe you can go home and watch the game on television."

This back-and-forth went on until I received a call from the University of Oregon Athletic Department. They had received a complaint from my buddy, the erstwhile Duck fan with the sensitive ears. The gal on the phone asked me: "did you know there's a NCAA rule forbidding the use of artificial noisemakers in member basketball arenas?" "You're kidding," I said. "I purchased those ducklips in the lobby at McArthur Court!" "Oh, right," she replied. Nice try, I thought, but I was not going to give up my ducklips that easily.

We were at an impasse, which continued through the end of the season. Months later, when it was time to renew our season tickets, I noted that my seats had changed, seemingly for the better, from the southeast to the northwest corner of Mac Court. However, my grandfather clause as a longtime season ticket holder was missing, which I knew was a mistake. You only lose the grandfather clause when you change your own seats, not when the UO Athletic Department initiates the change.

So I took my season ticket information over the the Casanova Center to straighten things out with the Athletic Department. As I explained to the gal at the ticket window about my situation, I could tell it was becoming a bit complicated for her, so she said, "just a minute, let me get someone who can help you." So another gal comes up to the ticket window and I start my story all over again.

As I'm telling her the story, a look of realization comes over her face and she exclaims: "Oh, you're Mister Ducklips!

Yes, ma'am, and the name stuck.