Looking Back, Looking Forward

In ancient Rome, Janus -- a god depicted with two faces -- governed the realm of beginnings, transitions and endings. The month of January, named for this deity, is the first month of the new year in the Gregorian calendar, established in 1582 by Pope Gregory XIII. It has come to be a time to reflect back on the year past and look forward to the year ahead.

This "year in review" is now a custom, as many cultures take stock, while projecting what lies ahead in the next 12 months. My "year" in this review actually begins in December 2021 with the birth of my second grandchild, Carlotta Eline, and the publication of my first book, a memoir titled Bird of Paradox: The Seasoning of Birdie McInnes.

As luck would have it, Carlotta was born on my birthday, December 11, the best birthday present ever. Henceforth, we shall celebrate our birthdays together. Both Sagittarians, we are optimistic, honest and intellectual. In terms of personality, we are spontaneous and fun, and great lovers of adventure and freedom.

Bird of Paradox: The Seasoning of Birdie McInnes, was also published in December 2021 and is available on Amazon and in bookstores. The memoir recalls the trials and tribulations of growing up Catholic in the turbulent time that was the 1960s. The story evokes elements reminiscent of Lord of the Flies by William Golding and The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton. Birdie struggles with the realization that life is a paradox, and that his destiny will be determined by his own reckoning, for better or worse.

In January, Moxie -- our golden retriever -- turned 10 years old. We found her at a breeder in Florence who specialized in the English creme variety of goldens in 2012. In early spring, it was time to begin hardwiring our tiny home at the Owl Conservatory (below) with a more reliable electrical system, including an electric space heater for those cold winter nights.

Summer was a time of reunions, transitions and gatherings. In July and September, the Owl Conservatory in Shugart Flats, in the heart of the North Cascades, hosted two reunions of former Forest Service colleagues from the Aldo Leopold Society. In August, my father, Ralph Cameron Mitchell, passed away suddenly at age 93 at his home in Payson, Arizona.

In September, the Lincoln High School (Portland) Class of 1971 (above) held its COVID-delayed 50th reunion at The Eleanor in downtown Portland (below). An afterparty was held at the Brix Tavern with entertainment by The Bloozers, a band comprised of celebrants from reunion. I stayed at the Hyatt Centric Hotel, mere blocks from "our old school."

By December, we celebrated two birthdays: granddaughter Carlotta Eline's first birthday and my milestone: birthday number 70. My second memoir, Wilderness Strangers: Adventures in Shangri-La, was published by Luminare Press. The story follows the exploits of two unlikely friends who become kindred spirits, alter egos and soul mates. In spite of their differences, they share an abiding friendship and obsession for outdoor adventure, music, literature and the arts.

Into The Wild

Coming this fall to booksellers everywhere: Wilderness Strangers, Adventures in Shangri-La, a story of brotherhood, adventure, love, tragedy, resilience, remorse and hope -- from the highest of highs on mountaintops in the North Cascades to the lowest of lows in the quagmire of depression.

What are the chances? Sight unseen, two college students eventually connect because another person, a mutual friend, said to each of them: "You've gotta meet this guy." Like two magnets drawn together with inexorable force, Kerry and Joe were also complete opposites.

Kerry, of Scandinavian descent, is a country boy from the wilds of North Dakota. Joe, the product of an urban jungle in Portland, Oregon, is Italian-American. In Wilderness Strangers: Adventures in Shangri-La, these two unlikely friends become kindred spirits, alter egos and soul mates.

Yet, much like the poles of a magnet, one is drawn to the yin and the other to the yang in life. In spite of their differences, their abiding friendship, fascination for adventure climbing mountains and paddling rivers, and obsession with literature and the arts will become their legacy.

Lies, Damn Lies And Statistics

Well, faithful readers, we have arrived: we have now surpassed #400 on the GonzoPR blog, established in 2008, when I retired from Eugene Water & Electric Board. A humble operation at first, it has since turned into a monster. My favorite subjects are travel, sports and, much to the chagrin of some of my friends, politics.

However, a funny thing happened on the way to determining statistics as laid out by Google on GonzoPR. The rankings are the same but the numbers vary widely. In other words, they don't exactly jive. Be that as it may, here are the top ten posts, the greatest hits as it were, on Gonzo PR, starting with Alpine Adventure, the clear winner.

The post presaged our trip to Zurich to take in the sights of the mostly the German side of Switzerland. On this trip, we stayed at the Hotel X-tra in downtown Zurich. We visited the Jungfraujoch, Lucerne and Interlaken, Reinfall and Schaffhausen, Liechtenstein, Heidiville and much, much more.

Number two is King Of The Blues, a missive on Riley B. King, otherwise known as B.B. King, an American guitarist, singer and songwriter. I've seen B.B. a number of times over the years, the first time at Springer's Ballroom in the hinterlands of southeast Portland near Gresham on the path to Mt. Hood and Central Oregon.

Next up on the hit parade is Defining Public Relations, a treatise on the subject of public relations, a practice and profession that I became familiar with as an undergraduate and graduate student at the University of Oregon School of Journalism in the 70's and early 1980s, followed by 33 years as a professional and instructor.

The Trinity Mine is next, a failed experiment to mine precious metals near the Glacier Peak Wilderness, where I toiled as a ranger while working my way through college. Having worked previously on the Malheur National Forest, I was smitten with a girl who worked seasonally on the Lake Wenatchee Ranger District.

Weighing in at number five is Berchtesgaden And Eagle's Nest, which described our time in Munich and our exploration of the castles of Mad King Ludwig, and his suspected murder. We also spent time in downtown Munich and explored the city known for Octoberfest, when an additional six million people cram into a city of two million.

Rounding out the top ten starting at number six is Willkommen Bei Den Bayerischen Alpen, which presaged our trip to Munich. We visited castles, toured The Eagle's Nest, saw the BMW headquarters, toured the Paulaner distributor, visited biergartens, ate at the finest restaurants and stayed at The Hotel Deutches Theatre.

Number 7 is Castle Keep, part of our tour that included visits to Mad King Ludwig's castles, including the Neuschwanstein and Linderhof castles (above) and Hohenschwangau, an older castle where Ludwig grew up. As part of that tour, we also visited Oberommergau, a small town that resembles Leavenworth, Washington.

Coming in at number 8 is the Italian Riviera And Cinque Terre from one of five trips we took to The Motherland to locate our cousins, the Sanguinetis, who live in the hill country of Liguria in a little village called Isolona in the district of Orero near Cicagna, where my beloved grandmother lived before escaping Italy for Portland, Oregon.

Next up, at number 9 is Getting Around: Plane, Trains And Automobiles, a missive about how to get around while traveling in Europe. I never rent a car; I guess I'm paranoid. But the public transportation options in Europe are simply wonderful, whether you're in Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Spain or anyplace else.

Finally, weighing in at number 10 is Der Zugspitze And Garmisch-Partenkirchen, another great adventure to Germany's highest peak and the little town with a ski resort that sits at its base. The cable car ride (pictured) is not for the feint of heart. And now, as Porky Pig would say, "that's all folks." That's GonzoPR's top ten.

Wicked City

Though I often take issue with the editorial pages of The Leavenworth Echo, my home-away-from-hometown newspaper, I do enjoy the weekly “Along the Wenatchee” by longtime columnist/historian Pat Morris. She simply never disappoints. A recent column focused on Tunnel City near Stevens Pass, the “wickedest place in the world.”

Yep, incredulously, in Chelan County, Washington. Today, such a label conjures visions of Las Vegas, New Orleans and Miami Beach. But in 1900, as the Great Northern Railway tunnel in the North Cascades neared completion, Tunnel City attracted notoriety from around the world, thanks to a story by a reporter for The New York World.

Located just south of Glacier Peak (above) in the North Cascades, the “city," much like nearby Trinity, was basically an encampment. As was their custom in those days of yore, Eastern reporters tended to embellish their stories for effect. But even Wenatchee newsman Frank Reeves agreed: “Cascade Tunnel is indeed a wicked place.”

This far corner is remote. The nation's deepest snowpack smothers craggy slopes near Stevens Pass; winters are dark and foreboding, with only fleeting sunlight, and steep hillsides optimal for avalanches. In 1910, a massive avalanche buried a Great Northern train, killing 96 people in what remains the deadliest avalanche in U.S. history.

Reeves offered a qualifier, and some perspective: “I am not a sponsor for the good behavior of Tunnel City. Bad though it may be, I do not acquiesce to its unwarranted slander. Conditions there are favorable to the rough side of life and men and women are the same the world over. None is absolutely spotless or absolutely void of good.”

Unfortunately, its reputation as a town outstanding for its lawlessness would come to an abrupt and convincing end. A fire swept through the business district, incinerating the wood frame structures in Tunnel City. With no insurance, the frontier town, much like Sodom and Gomorrah, vanished from the face of the Earth.

Chiwawa Basin, Day 1: Trinity Mine

The trail to the basin below Chiwawa Mountain (above) begins at the old mining development of Trinity, situated deep in the North Cascades. So on Saturday, August 20, Steve and I drove the 25-mile Chiwawa River Road to its end at Trinity.

Now a virtual ghost town, Trinity once was home for over 300 men and women employed by the Royal Development Company of New York in its heyday -- the 1920s and 1930s. In those days, the residents of Trinity had high hopes of "striking it rich."

Today, however, Trinity has been reclaimed for the most part by Mother Nature, who dumps an average of 14 feet of snow on the town site annually.

Destroyed by fire or crushed by the weight of many years of snow, most of the original 38 buildings are now gone. What remains are a few residences (left) and the generator plant.

Beginning in the 1890s, a number of companies -- including the Chelan Mining Company -- established claims in the area for silver and gold. Most failed to find anything of value and ceased operation. Then, in 1918, F.J. Naughten, a stockholder in the Chelan Mining Company and a Roman Catholic priest, hired mining engineer P.J. Lonergan, who determined that there was little silver or gold at the site but significant amounts of copper.

Father Naughten then recruited his brother James, a miner from Montana and, together with Lonergan, formed the Royal Development Company. Mining operations commenced immediately, but heavy snowfall and avalanches in the narrow Phelps Creek valley forced them to abandon work in the winter.

The solution was to blast a 11,000-foot tunnel into the side of Phelps Ridge (below) which would provide year-round access to the ore. The Royal Development Company sold stock to fund the mine. A hydroelectric project, first on nearby James Creek and later on the larger Phelps Creek, would provide power to the town and the mine.

But in 1938, the mine closed permanently for economic reasons; apparently, the ore was not of sufficiently high grade to continue mining. However, several old-timers associated with Trinity had other perspectives, which they shared with me for a magazine article I wrote for a Seattle-based recreational journal back in 1982.

Mildred Naughten, wife of James and proprietor of Parkside Grocery at Lake Wenatchee in the 1970s, said she and her husband were excited about the prospect of mining vast deposits of copper, gold and silver. But W.O. (Bill) Burgess, another old-timer, noted that the mine was built "totally on speculation." In other words, the investors were protected but the miners were not.

But hopes were high, based on continued investment by the Royal Development Company. This optimism was accentuated by the fact that the Roman Catholic Church had, in part, financed the mine. Naughten said the town site was booming despite the Great Depression, and many new buildings were constructed, including a mess hall, sawmill and residences, with more in the planning stages.

Then, one fateful autumn evening in 1931, the news came across the wire from New York City: the Royal Development Company had ordered the mine closed. They gave no explanation for the closure.

Naughten explained that many of the miners -- immigrants from Eastern Europe -- had recently come to work at Trinity. They had spent what little money they had stocking up on groceries and goods for a snowbound winter of anticipated work. Suddenly, they were out of a job and they were mad -- real mad.

"That night, they started drinking," Naughten reminisced, noting that the group of immigrants soon became a howling mob, violently angry because the main office had closed the mine for what the miners perceived as a "phony financial reason" rather than a lack of ore. She said they "went on a rampage," breaking windows and otherwise destroying company property.

"All of them had their wine, and they became unruly," said John Hendrickson, another old-timer who worked at the mine. "Liquor was a precious commodity in this remote community." One winter, he remembered, a man attempting to bring in a case of whiskey got lost in the deep snows and died in the woods leading to Trinity. "They didn't find his body until the following spring," he noted.

"This really was a struggle between those who were operating the mine and those who were financing the mine," said Naughten. The financiers -- all Easterners -- could care less about the mine, she said. All they wanted was to get hold of the money set aside for investment in the mine. The angry miners sensed this undercurrent, so they took their frustrations out on the company.

"I guess they took their vengeance out by smashing buildings," recounted Naughten. "It was really frightening. You just don't know how far a mob will go under the circumstances. It was sickening news for people to suddenly have the work stopped."

Naughten said the situation was intensified by the belief that the miners were betrayed by one of their own. "There was someone in the office who, the miners felt, was getting information back east as to when the shipment of ore was going to the smelter (in Tacoma)," said Naughten. "The men suspected who it was, but the nearest it came to any trouble was talk about tar and feathering the guy."

No serious attempt has been made at mining the Trinity tunnel since, and the buildings that remain are grim reminders of the aborted investment of the Royal Development Company. The Trinity town site, which sits in the shadow of 8,500-foot Buck Mountain and other spectacular peaks at the headwaters of the Chiwawa River, has gone through several owners since 1931, all content to enjoy the property as a recreational retreat.

As Steve and I hiked through the town site on our way to Chiwawa Basin, I reminisced about these old-timers and their stories of days of hope and human stamina, corruption and collapse, and finally, despair and drunkenness. After hiking the five miles into the basin, we stopped for the evening at a campsite at the junction of the Chiwawa and Red Mountain trails (below).