A Parliament Of Owls

Former Forest Service colleagues, all bonafide members of the Aldo Leopold Society, came from hither and yon to convene at the Owl Conservatory in Plain on April 6-9. Delegates gathered to reminisce and reflect on those halcyon days of wilderness and backcountry adventures, discuss and debate world affairs, view a lunar eclipse and hobnob with fellow owls.

This every-so-often parliament of owls, also known among wilderness aficionados as the Inter-Gallactic Legion Of Owls, spun tales of adventure and derring-do from their days as trail dogs, wilderness rangers, firefighters and lookouts on the Wenatchee National Forest. For more on the subject, check out Wilderness Strangers: Adventures in Shangri-La.

The Boss Abides

For three decades, I had the honor and privilege to share an office in the University of Oregon School of Journalism and Communication with the best, brightest and most talented professionals in the fields of journalism, advertising, public relations and media studies. Of that group of non-tenure track instructors, some considered Pete Peterson as our resident mensch. We called him: "The Boss."

Pete, who for many years coordinated the Charles Snowden Media Internship Program for the UO School of Journalism and Communication, passed away on December 3, 2023, of acute myeloid leukemia, a fast-growing cancer that was diagnosed only in November 2023. I first met Pete in 2006 when he was hired by the UO School of Journalism and Communication. We would come to share an office for more than 12 years.

Ralph (Pete) Peterson was born in Ann Arbor, Michigan on October 3, 1944, the fourth of five children to Evelyn M. Trepanier and Ralph G. Peterson. After graduation from Ann Arbor Pioneer High School, Pete attended Eastern Michigan University with the intention of becoming a high school English teacher. In 1966, he earned a BA in English and, as an ROTC graduate, a commission as second lieutenant in the U.S. Army.

Pete traveled to Oregon in 1968 to be near his high school sweetheart and enrolled at the University of Oregon, earning a Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. Pete and his sweetheart, Chilton, married before he left for Vietnam in 1969 to serve as a Medical Service Officer in the 4th Medical Battalion. Following his honorable discharge in 1971, Pete joined the Vietnam Veterans Against the War (VVAW).

The newlyweds returned to Oregon from California in 1971, when he accepted a teaching position at Lane Community College, initially in speech and communication and later in journalism. The following year, Pete earned a second master's degree in journalism from the UO. At LCC, Pete developed a penchant for teaching media law. He loved teaching and serving as advisor to the student newspaper, The Torch.

After 32 years, Pete retired from LCC. But it wasn't long before he missed the student contact and accepted a position in 2006 coordinating the Charles Snowden Media Internship program at the UO School of Journalism and Communication before retiring a second time in 2014. Pete, a man of many talents, continued to pursue his passions as a writer and thespian, and participated in church choirs and the Eugene Concert Choir.

For over a decade, Pete and I shared an office with about a half-dozen j-school instructors in the UO SOJC. Dubbed "The Biullpen," our office was a lively, action-packed venue, with students coming and going at all times of the day. Because of Pete's seniority compared to the rest of us, we designated Pete as "The Boss." He loved it. Pete was one of the kindest, most respectful people I have ever met.

Pete was exceedingly polite in an old-school sort of way, yet he also had a wily sense of humor that everyone loved. When we all temporarily moved to the UO Annex during a major remodel of Allen Hall, Pete chose the desk farthest way from mine. "Sorry, John, but your voice projects to the back row," he quipped with a wry smile. Pete Peterson was a gentleman, a scholar and a classy individual. I will remember him fondly.

Kamikaze Krazies

Editor's note: This post is part of a continuing series of stories on the ongoing demise of the Pac-12 Conference.

Enrolling at the University of Oregon in the early 1970s, I immersed myself into campus culture. In those days, the Duck football team was in a major swoon, with more losses than wins. Coaches came and went frequently, and attendance was dismal. But long before the football team became a national brand, UO garnered notoriety for its crazy men's basketball program.

In those days, student tickets to basketball games were distributed through a lottery. Because I had enrolled as a student at the beginning of a winter quarter, I missed out, and I was bummed. The UO basketball team -- known as the "Kamikaze Kids" for their dive-on-the-floor mentality inspired by their coach, Dick Harter -- was the hottest ticket in town.

In his book "Shooting Ducks," legendary Duck coach Howard Hobson described how the team acquired its nickname: "Wichita coach Harry Miller barked out the catchword that would characterize this era of Webfoot basketball. The veteran Miller's Wichita Shockers had just lost to the Ducks that opening week of the 1972-73 season, and by 20 points."

Hobson quoted Miller thusly: "They play more aggressively than kamikaze pilots did during World War II. I have never seen a basketball team go after you like that." The "kamikaze" label stuck, and these Ducks -- led by legendary Ronnie Lee (bottom photo) -- won. The team became so popular that students would camp out overnight at McArthur Court to see a game.

One day, an old girlfriend called. "I must go to home to Portland this weekend," she began. "Do you want my tickets to the Duck basketball game?" "Hell, yes!" I replied. "Who are we playing?" "UCLA," came her reply. "Oh, boy!" I thought to myself. Camping out with other students the night before the game, I had prime seats on the floor in the student section.

UCLA came into Mac Court coached by one of the very best of all time in any sport, John Wooden. The Bruins had defeated the Ducks the week before in Westwood, 84-66. After the game, local media noted that the Kamikaze Kids were "foolishly tenacious." Unfortunately for UCLA, they would be playing this game in a building full of loud, taunting Kamikaze Krazies.

The scene was intense. The crowd was deafening. The scoreboard swayed as the Kamikaze Kids overcame an early deficit to win 56-51 in a game that defied expectations. The experience left a deep impression of those in attendance, including yours truly. I became a true believer in Duck basketball and their rough-and-tumble style of play.

Through The Camera Lens

When reviewing the roll from my Canon EOS 60D for 2023, a number of shots stood out. My favorite was the lunar perigee (supermoon), the moon's closet point to the Earth on August 30, utilizing a 70-200 millimeter zoom lens. The event happened to be the second full moon of the month, known more commonly as a "blue moon," on a warm summer evening.

In late April, I made the sojourn to our place in Plain, Washington for a bit of spring cleaning. While I was there, I stopped by the Lake Wenatchee airstrip, where I spent many days coming and going on firefighting assignments. Snapped this image in late afternoon of Dirtyface Peak, elevation 6,240, looming darkly more 4,000 feet above the airstrip.

En route to a wilderness ranger reunion at the Owl Conservatory late summer, I detoured into the old mining village of Liberty. Walking though the townsite with my camera, it became clear I was in hostile territory. One resident emerged from his home, which was festooned with a giant "Trump" flag. He eyed me suspiciously and, taking the hint, I skeedaddled northbound.

In November, I traveled as professional advisor with the University of Oregon Chapter of PRSSA for a professional development tour in my hometown of Portland and caught this shot of downtown on a sunny fall day in the Lloyd District on the lower east side of the Willamette. The Bonneville Power Administration Headquarter's Building is in the foreground.

After lifesaving surgery to remove her spleen in May, our 11-year-old golden retriever, Moxie, traveled with us to Lake Wenatchee. We attended the penultimate party of a longstanding tradition hosted by friends and neighbors, Steve and Teri Zimmerman in Shugart Flats. Temperatures reached 100 degrees, so Moxie cooled off (above) in Lake Wenatchee.