Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Horchen! Die kleine Scheiße kehrt zurück!*





Man, I'm getting hammered with chores. Five months of letting things slide will do that. I start out to do a task and realize that I'll have to do three or five other tasks first, else I'll have to undo and redo all or part of the original task.

Well, no one held a gun to my head and said "you must raise cattle."


I mention this only because it's my not-good-enough-at-all excuse for slipshod blogging.

Anyway, as I mentioned the other day or last week or last month or whenever it was, we've noticed a sharp uptick in jackrabbit population numbers. I've been whittling them down a bit but I'm really not making a dent. Makes me wonder if the common wisdom regarding the demise of the passenger pigeon is true. Did evil white állaphobic 'merkin men really slaughter them to extinction? But I digress.


A long time ago a scientist I admire, upon hearing a hypothesis I'd developed to explain some phenomenon or other, said, "Hey, Evertson, common things happen commonly!"

Just turble English, I know. His point was valid though. Before you go looking for magical causes, check out the common, every day ones!


So we've got a really big increase in jackrabbit numbers (more cottontails, too, though not quite so many). Have we committed a terrible crime against nature, and thrown the land so out of balance that we've caused this?

Well, it's possible but unlikely. A more likely explanation is this; we've had a couple of really good plant production years, with adequate and timely moisture and otherwise salubrious weather. This allowed for the production of lots and lots of plant material, much of which is rabbit food. When there is lots of food, rabbits can make and feed lots of babies. Coupled with a shortfall in predators, the population of which is just beginning to recover from the 2012 drought (predators have fewer offspring from fewer pregnancies and the young take longer to reach reproductive maturity), we now have more rabbits, more rabbit food, fewer predators, and a cold but essentially open (snowless) winter. So do the math, right?


At this point in the annual cycle of life on the High Plains, the prognostications of the weather-guessers are starting to become interesting. The goat entrails are telling them that we just might have another "good" year. More on that a bit down the page, because I've got myself a bit off course here. I was going to tell an amusing rabbit anecdote.

The other day, after I'd slaughtered about 40 helpless and innocent hares and delivered their carcasses to the coyote food bank, Mom asked an interesting question. "What," she asked, "do you call a group of rabbits? Is it a herd or a flock or what?"


I didn't have time (yeah, good one) to whip out my phone and ask the interwebs, so I replied, "I believe it's called a shitload of rabbits."

Which response everyone found amusing, but it didn't properly answer the question.


So, in the interest of scientific taxonomy common folkloric naming convention, a group of hares (jackrabbits are hares, not rabbits) is called a down or a drove. Just FYI, a group of rabbits (cottontails are rabbits) is called a herd.

Okay, now where was I? Oh yeah, goat entrails. And, *Hark! The little shit is coming!



Late last spring El Niño was fading. In this part of the country we felt some of the effect as a significant slow-down of precipitation through late summer, autumn, and early winter.


The ENSO (El Niño Southern Oscillation) pattern has a lot to do with the weather we experience in the U.S. You could, in fact, make the argument that the southern Pacific Ocean is where our U.S. weather is born.


In a nutshell, ENSO consists of small variations in surface water temperature -- about half a degree centigrade -- in the eastern Pacific, and small variations in near-surface air pressure in the western Pacific. Warming sea water and increased air pressure are called the El Niño phase, while cooling sea water and decreased air pressure are called the La Niña phase.

In Spanish, El Niño translates roughly to "the boy child" while La Niña means "the girl child." These were the names given to warming and cooling seas by South American Pacific coastal fishermen who noticed the phenomena long before professional lab-coated gut-pickers ever did.


The ENSO pattern is only part of an extremely complex climate system which we have yet to understand. We do know that in general, El Niño is correlated with increased precipitation and slight cooling across our part (High Plains) of the U.S., and that La Niña is correlated with decreased precipitation and slight warming here. The ENSO-associated weather pattern changes we see here are quite variable though, and to say El Niño means rain and La Niña means drought is far from correct.


According to Art Douglas, Professor emeritus of Creighton University, El Niño appears to be returning, which may presage adequate moisture across the High Plains in the coming growing season.


An early indication that El Niño might have returned has been the continual flow of moisture-bearing weather systems which have been moving across our region every week or 10 days since about Christmastime.


A surprise is that a new El Niño pattern would develop again so soon after fading.


Historically, extended periods of El Niño occur somewhat infrequently. The last long El Niño period ran from 1990-95. According to Douglas, a six-month neutral ENSO (which occurred from May-November, 2016) bookended by strong El Niño patterns is quite unusual.


What will this mean for farming and ranching across the High Plains region?


Going into the spring, Douglas is forecasting a persistent ridge of high pressure off the West Coast. That’s very typical of El Niño, he says. A low pressure trough off Baja is expected to form, and the combination will serve to funnel air flow into the midsection of the continent. A weak trough near the Great Lakes is expected to form which will allow cold fronts to flow south out of Canadia. Although Douglas didn't mention this, I believe that super-heated air produced along the east and west Canadian coasts by hysterical, fleeing U.S. progressives will serve to focus the southward flow of cold air. Butt I digress.

The weak trough near the Great Lakes will also encourage moisture-laden air from the Gulf of Mexico to flow north. Where the south-flowing cold fronts collide with the north flowing warm, wet air (in other words, here), there you are likely to have rain!

It's all very simple, really.


But it all depends on whether certain climatic variables line up properly, and those are extremely complex. We can guess and hypothesize 'til the cows come home, but we don't understand how 99 percent of this shit works, despite what algore and the climate change alarmists say.

The southern Pacific may be where our U.S. weather is born, but just as with a newborn babe, there’s no way to tell what the future holds in store. The present indications and predictions are good, but we won’t know what the weather will do until it actually does it.


As for global warming/climate change, I'm sick to death of the message of the alarmists. Pay attention people! It doesn't matter a whit how eloquently these assholes report on carbon dioxide or cow farts, if the climate isn't changing, those things don't mean shit in the context of climate change. The fact that glaciers and polar ice sometimes retreat doesn't mean shit if they once again advance when normal climatic variability brings back the snow and cold.

The argument is always couched in terms of the absolute fact that mankind is changing the climate, the proof of which only exists in computer models and carefully selected and intentionally dishonest and misleading evidence, much of which is manufactured out of whole cloth.

Don't fall into the clever trap of agreeing that climate is changing and has always changed. In progressive alarmist-speak, climate change means "icky non-prog Caucasoid 'merkin males (except for us because wonderful) are causing catastrophic environment-destroying climate change right now!"

This isn't happening. Not anywhere!

A lot of fairly reasonable people say, "Well, yeah, duh, the climate is changing because it has always changed." It's a nice but weak effort. What they usually mean is that the weather is constantly changing, from hour to hour and day to day, and weather is the same as climate, right?

But here's the point. We know from studying the geologic record that there have been many ice ages and many steamy jungle ages. We know in fact that the last ice age ended on the order of 15,000-20,000 years ago. The record shows that ice ages last a very long time, jungle ages are a bit more brief, and the transitional ages are very short indeed -- measured in mere tens of thousands of years. The record shows that this variability is normal for our planet. We know that the climate was perfectly able to swing from ice to jungle on its own long before mankind or even progressives appeared on the scene. We know that atmospheric carbon dioxide has been higher than it is today during ice ages, and lower than it is today during jungle ages, and vice-versa.

We know that these things have happened, and that they are normal for our planet. We do not know how and why they happen. We would like to know, and science is our best hope for finding out. But so long as modern "science" is in fact pseudoscience, rife with dishonesty and nearly completely politicized, we're not going to be able to learn shit.

The climate is NOT changing. It's doing exactly what its always done. None of the recent (circa 2,000 years) variability used as evidence of man-caused climate change is anything new. It's all happened many times before, and recent variability is well within he bounds of previous variability.

Okay, rant over. Remember that scientists aren't smarter than you are, and that there's no reason you can't gain a perfectly good understanding of climate on your own. Do so and be skeptical. It'll take work, but fer cryin' out loud, you're Sovereign Citizens! Grow a pair, suck it up, and drive on!



Saturday, February 4, 2017

Birthdays, baseball, dogs, dinner





Birthdays

Mom and I took a little trip to Cheyenne today. The purpose of the trip was to eat a fancy meal in a fancy restaurant in celebration of the pending birthdays of Mom and Matt. Mom's birthday is Monday, and Matt's is the following Monday.

Mom and I drove the Lincoln over to Cheyenne, following Matt and his family in their Toy-oater. 

Now Matt is a rather accomplished fellow, an English professor at Chadron State College and the owner of a Posthole Digger from Arizona State. He does not, however, appear to be an accomplished driver. Not today, anyway.

It was actually kind of goofy to have made arrangements to travel in formation. Cheyenne is a straight shot west from Kimball, a mere 60 miles via I-80. And while Cheyenne is the biggest city in Wyoming, it's really just a medium-sized town. You can't get lost there, and we both knew where we were going, so there was no real need to maintain visual contact during the journey.

Nevertheless, it's the plan we decided on.

From my position in loose trail I noticed that the Perfesser wasn't interested in maintaining a constant speed. The Interstate speed limit in Nebraska is 75, and in Wyoming 80. Traffic on this stretch of interstate is remarkably light compared to just about everywhere else in the world. You can pretty much set the cruise, then set your alarm for 45 minutes and take a nap. Today our formation pretty much constantly changed velocity, moving back and forth between 55 and, oh, something like 76 or 77.

No big deal of course, and I didn't complain or question, but it struck me as a bit curious.

Dinner

Our destination was Old Chicago. You might be wondering how that could be since I said we were looking for a fancy meal in a fancy restaurant. If you lived in Kimball you would understand. Kimball has a cafe, a country club, a pizza hut and subway, and for nine months of the year, a DQ. When you live with that lineup, Sonic qualifies as a fancy restaurant.

Mom and Matt, being the birthday kids, got to select the restaurant. Their choices came down to Old Chicago and Red Lobster. I'm glad the decision came out the way it did, for I don't hold middle-American seafood restaurants in high esteem. As they narrowed their choices I opined that they could be called Red Chicago and Old Lobster.

Anyway, we had a nice meal at Red Chicago.
My niece Julia, a Junior in High School.

L-R, The Prof, nephew Austin, Nephew Jake (a freshman at You-Dub in Laramie), his girlfriend Amy, also a student.

Sister-in-law Brenda and Mom working hard to make a beer selection.

We followed the meal with a little bit of light shopping and headed back to Kimball, as singles this time. All in all it was a nice excursion.

Baseball

When I were a lad I was rather a keen baseball fan. I really liked the Mets, and I have very fond memories of the 1969 season and the World Series. Nolan Ryan was twenty-two years old!



On Wednesday Ryan turned 70. One of my fond memories of his career was the day, back in August, 1993, when the 46 year-old Ryan kicked the shit out of 26 year-old Robin Ventura. As Richard Pryor put it so eloquently, "Old men don't firetruck around when they be fightin'!"



That always puts a big smile on my face. And with spring training starting next week, I'm beginning to feel just a bit springlike.

Dogs

Just before we headed for Cheyenne this morning I noticed my brother's dog Lily doing something a bit curious.


Do you prefer the Blogger video embed (above) or youtube?



Yeah, me too.

And just in the last few minutes I stumbled across a couple of amusing dog pictures on the interweb.
"Last time I trusted you I woke up with no balls."


"I don't always bark in the middle of the night, but when I do it's for no firetrucking reason at all."

Since I'm posting this at 2340 local, having just finished writing it, it's unlikely that anyone will read it while today is still today. Most likely today will have become yesterday when you read this tomorrow. So the today I'm talking about in this mishmash of nonsense is Saturday, February 4, rather than Sunday, February 5. I apologize for any cornfusion.




Friday, February 3, 2017

Simple, beautiful words





Sometimes I accidentally bump into written or spoken words that have the power to take my breath away. Such words might generate pride or respect or sadness or great, bubbling mirth. There is incredible power in such words, and they are a thing of wonder.
S

Language itself is amazing. These noises we make, the chicken scratches of real or electronic ink, all of them represent and transmit thoughts and ideas and concepts of breathtaking complexity. We would have no past, present or future without language. We would exist as smelly, grunting, parasite-infested ape things, occasionally learning to poke twigs into termite mounds and then immediately forgetting how we pulled off the trick. We would have no society at all, let alone a modern one. When I think about it I get a shiver. It boggles the mind.

And then every once in a while a human mind can turn a phrase that transcends the mere miracle of language.

I was looking at the interwebs this morning and came across a great video. In May of 2015 General James Mattis gave a talk at the Heritage Foundation. He was talking about a firefight at Ramadi, and told the story of walking up to a group of Marines who were busily exchanging fire with the enemy.

"I said, 'hey guys, what's goin' on?'"

The squad leader replied, "General, not to worry, we're just takin' the fun out of fundamentalism."

"I turned around and walked away smilin'," said Mattis, "one more riotous excursion of the human spirit."

One more riotous excursion of the human spirit.

God, what a phrase. Goosebumps it gives me.

Here is the video.



It's an hour and change, and that represents a serious chunk of one's finite quantity of time, but I think it would be time well spent. YMMV, but what the heck, you're gonna be looking for something interesting to do one of these cold and dreary February evenings. Sunday evening from about 6:30 p.m., perhaps?

So anyway, there I was, 1430 local at Regional West Medical Center, reading my Kindle while waiting to see the surgeon for my last follow-up. The book I was reading is "Down South: A Falklands War Diary," penned by Chris Parry, or more properly, Rear Admiral Christopher John Parry, CBE, Royal Navy (Retired).

The first time I ever heard of Chris Parry was when I watched the BBC series "Sailor." It's a remarkable series, in my opinion, and I recommend it highly. You can even watch it for free on the interwebs! It's a twelve-part series (13 parts if you watch the follow on "where are they now" episode) so it'll take an investment of time. Hmmm, Sunday at 7:15 perhaps? :) Here's a snippet. Who doesn't love the Buccaneer?



At the beginning of each episode the narrator says,

"This is the story of an old ship, and of the young men who sail in her."

That phrase gives me goosebumps, too!

The series follows the 1976 deployment of HMS Ark Royal.
HMS Ark Royal (R-09) alongside USS Nimitz (CVN-68) at Naval Station Norfolk, circa 1978. S

Chris Parry is one of the sailors showcased, at the time a 20 year-old, shiny new Sub-Lieutenant (famously pronounced Lef-tenant by the Brits). For some reason I really get a kick out of being able to watch that young fellow as he was then, and knowing now how his career turned out.

Let's see, where the heck was I? Oh yeah, waiting room and "Down South."

One of the neat things about the book is that it's pretty much a verbatim publication of Parry's daily diary about his experiences during the Falklands War. Diary keeping was officially forbidden for the sailors deployed during Operation Corporate. Parry obviously failed to scrupulously follow orders in this instance, but so did Rear Admiral Sandy Woodward, the Task Force Commander. Just sayin'. Anyway, Parry's unvarnished observations give us a very interesting first-person account of the war, just as Woodward did with his own book, and such observations are gems indeed.

So there I was (again), waiting in a waiting room filled with gimpy orthopaedic patients. I was reading Parry's description of a Royal Navy Taranto Day celebration. The attack on Taranto is a BIG DEAL to the RN, and particularly to the Fleet Air Arm. It's somewhat similar to the importance placed on the Battle of Midway by the air arm of our own U.S. Navy. Indeed, Parry called the battle "Our (Fleet Air Arm's) Trafalgar."

As you may have heard, such celebrations are perhaps a bit, er, enthusiastic. Think Bull Meechum at the O Club.



Yeah. Great Santini. On steroids!

As Parry recounts it, a British Army General was rather more exercised than the Captain in The Great Santini. The antics of the FAA aviators celebrating Taranto Day happened at the Officer's Mess of a certain British Army base.

Parry's description is pure gold, and far better than anything Hollywood or Conroy (may he rest in peace) could ever invent.

"I command men of honor, professionalism and loyalty;" declared the General as he was berating the aviators following a rather noisy and kinetic celebratory hijink, "you are just a bunch of hooligans and..." (struggling for another insulting epithet) "...naval officers!"

"Now I really admire a man," Parry added, "who can say that and keep a straight face, when he has fragments of cabbage in his hair, in his rank badges, and in his medals."

The General of course complained to the RN Brass, and all of the aviators were subsequently called on the carpet individually. When it was Parry's turn in the barrel, he was questioned by a very serious and highly irate Captain.

"Did you touch the cabbage?"

"No," said Parry.

"We can probably get fingerprints, you know."

At that point, said Parry, he was having a very hard time in remaining suitably solemn.

"I had seen how small those pieces of cabbage were and even a gnat's fingerprints would not be available for detection. I got into one of those irrepressible fits where anything sets you off. Just like the Roman soldiers in the scene with Michael Palin, talking about his friend Biggus Dickus, in The Life of Brian.

"The Captain looked at me, coldly grave -- I anticipated a thunderbolt and career termination -- "and then burst out laughing himself.

"'Sorry, sir...' I gasped, immediately corpsing with suppressed laughter.

"'Don't worry,' he said, 'it was worth a try. We've all been there. You're not going to tell me who threw the cabbage, are you?'"

Got a lot of funny looks from the gimpy denizens of the orthopaedic waiting room, I did, as I tried to suppress my own guffaws and tears and snot ran down my face. Those who looked closely would also have seen goose bumps dotting my arms.

Language. It's just the best thing ever.






Thursday, February 2, 2017

Cowboy up!





If you think Amazon Prime is dangerous to your fiscal health, try online cattle buying.

It's a pretty neat deal when you get right down to it. So long as you've registered and proved your bona fides to the sale barn in question, you just log in, watch the live stream, and bid.

It's fun and thrilling and frightening and a good way to spend a ginormous quantity of cash in a hurry.

So Monday we bought cows. Forty-eight head of mostly red, mostly young, bred cows. Due to calve March 1.

On Tuesday I had my work cut out preparing for their arrival. Nothing big, mind you, just a bit of repair to winter-ravaged fences, 
Installing steel posts on Tuesday. The gray thing is a post driver.

setup of the loading chute and corrals,


and turn on water to the north stock tank array.
This kind of ice is a serious challenge, on the order of two-feet thick. The north array wasn't used all winter and therefore froze pretty much solid.

Just normal, everyday stuff. Of course I'd been sitting on my ass for the last five months, trying to heal up from an infection and surgery.


To say I'm out of shape is a mild understatement, on the order of calling the super bowl a soap scrimmage.

Do they still have soap scrimmages?

Last week we had four or five inches of snow and some very cold temperatures. Typical January weather. We also had a pesky westerly wind, also typical to the season. I hate to complain about the wind. It keeps the air fresh and clean, and being one of nature's favorite tools, sculpts snowdrifts into sparking treasures. But when it blows across snow, ice and frozen earth, it's cold! Being on the mend and in the process of rebuilding my temple, I got out and hunted some pesky jackrabbits. After the last two years of abundant moisture (and therefore abundant rabbit food) we have a serious population overload of the damme things. I reduced their numbers by about 30 but couldn't tell the difference -- still jackrabbits everywhere. I hauled their carcasses up to the north side of the interstate as a peace offering to the coyotes who, because of hunting pressure, are not overpopulated.
120-yard offhand heart shot. Surprised me almost as much as the rabbit.

Anyway, back to Tuesday. According to my Gear Fit II (FREE with the purchase of a new phone!) I took something more than 12,000 steps and managed to travel on the order of six miles via LPC (leather personnel carrier) while working. I also pounded about 20 steel posts into frozen ground and clipped/nailed wire up to about 300 posts. Why? Why climb the highest mountain or fly the Atlantic? Why did Rice used to play Texas? I chose to work on fence not because it was easy, but because it was hard, because that goal served to organize and measure the best of my skills, because it was a challenge I was willing to accept, unwilling to postpone, and intended to win, and the others too.

Damme, how did Kennedy get in my head?

Well, long story short, it was a beautiful day, balmy and warm for January, and it felt good to be active and get some work done.



But it also felt bad. It hurt a lot. Muscles and joints used to not doing a damme thing set to whining and complaining and hurting almost immediately. I manufactured a lot of sweat and breathed a lot of breath and my heart pounded a lot of blood through a lot of miles of circulatory system.

But the cows came on time and unloaded without complication and were healthy on arrival.



They were also remarkably docile for having gone through the upheaval of auction and shipping.



I was pleased. It felt really good to have cows back on the place. I fed them some hay and kept them in the corral, having decided to turn them out to graze in the morning. I went home, at a bite, wrote a bit, then went to bed exhausted.

It was hard to get to sleep though. Every joint and muscle ached except for my newly repaired ankle. Eventually though, sleep came, and I awoke refreshed and ready for a new day.

The new day brought a new weather front with sharply colder temperatures and a freezing fog.







I turned the cows out and let them explore. They got out and about and found the winter grazing to their liking. I think they'll fit right in.

I think that droop-eared boss cow in front has a bit of Bos indicus in her.

This (Thursday) morning it's snowing like crazy. It's about 11 degrees as I write this and, thankfully, there's no wind. Also as I write this it appears that Punxsutawney Phil has seen his shadow, guaranteeing another six weeks of winter. As it's just over six weeks until calendar spring arrives with the vernal equinox, I remain puzzled at how the rodent contributes to the conversation.

Despite the snow and cold the new cows look and act like they feel right at home.




And finally, from the "you ain't gonna believe this shit" department...

Speaking of Amazon Prime, I inventoried calving supplies the other day and noticed we were out of or short on a few things, specifically disinfectant and lubricant, both of which are required when assisting a cow with difficult birth (dystocia) or "pulling" a calf. If you're curious/interested/bored enough to wonder about details, you can take a run through this site.

At any rate, these items are expensive. I wondered if there might not be an advantage in ordering on line. There was. But when I searched the site for J-Lube, which is a veterinary powder you mix with water to make lubricant, I found that ranchers and veterinarians are not the only humans interested in lubrication. Check it out, if you dare. The interwebs is a wonderful learnin' tool, but there are some things I didn't need to know.






Sunday, January 29, 2017

Always something





Night before last as I was finishing my evening rounds I stopped by the ranch house, as is my wont, to chat with the Matriarch and Patriarch and to pick up Nona the Wonder Dog.

It was after dark, this being January and the time being 6:30 p.m. or so. Because I'd had a slip on the ice earlier in the day, I pulled ahead a bit farther in the driveway and a tad to the left so as to avoid stepping out on a patch of solid phase dihydrogen monooxide. In doing this my pickup ended up being parked on a heading of roughly 355, rather than the more usual due north.

Thus were born the seeds of disaster.

Finished chatting and with Nona the Wonder Dog in her usual seat in the pickup, I fired up the motor and backed -- as is my habit -- straight back. I checked the mirrors, as is also my habit, and everything looked fine.

Everything was fine, too, all the way up until the moment I smashed into the pole holding the satellite dish. Ruh-Roh.

Nona the Wonder Dog gave me a baleful glare. I'm quite sure she rolled her eyes as well. I may not speak dog but I got her message loud and clear. "Damme sure didn't hit the master lottery, did I?"

I scrambled out to assess the damage, predictably looking first at my pickup. Taillights intact, no visible dent. Good.

Looking at the satellite dish I noted that the pole was still vertical and appeared to be intact. I glanced through the living room window and my dad appeared to be still watching TV. Through the kitchen window I could see that mom's TV was still on. Yay! No harm, no foul. I considered reporting the incident, but what the hell I thought, no reason to bother them with a non-problem.

The next morning, after the sun rose and the world was nicely illuminated, I glanced outside and saw that the plastic lens on my right rear taillight was broken. Shit!

I quickly drove to the ranch house. The satellite dish still looked okay, though it was bent ever so slightly. Inside the house both televisions were off.

"Is your television working," I asked dad.

"Hasn't been working since you bashed into it last night," he said.

Sigh.

Fortunately the pole bent back into true with only a little effort and the system could once again pick up the satellite signal.

"Well," said dad, after he carefully checked reception on all 300 channels, "maybe you'll get a birthday present after all. But don't count on it."
You can see the tire track.



I came sooooo close to not hitting the damme thing too. But I...



Gotta replace a damme taillight, too. Thank god for Amazon.









Saturday, January 28, 2017

Thirty-one





S
I remember the day, the hour, the moment. I remember with the kind of crystal clarity reserved for such moments. I do not know why it is, but for me the sharpest, most vibrant memories I own are those moments when I stood safely by and watched, helplessly, as shipmates, friends, acquaintances, slipped the surly bonds.

I briefly met and worked with Mike Smith and Judith Resnik ("I'm J.R.," she said, shaking my hand). It was at an Oceana conference to update plans long in place to use the Master Jet Base as a divert field for the shuttle. I'd grown, perhaps, too accustomed to rubbing shoulders with giants, thinking that meeting and working with such people was normal and routine and even my right as an exalted member of an elite community.
Jan. 9, 1986, the Challenger crew takes a break during countdown training at NASA's Kennedy Space Center. Left to right are Teacher-in-Space payload specialist Sharon Christa McAuliffe; payload specialist Gregory Jarvis; and astronauts Judith A. Resnik, mission specialist; Francis R. (Dick) Scobee, mission commander; Ronald E. McNair, mission specialist; Mike J. Smith, pilot; and Ellison S. Onizuka, mission specialist. S

I wish I could remember those few hours with the same sharp clarity that seems to be reserved for tragedy alone, but I cannot.

Today I'll share the transcript of Challenger's voice recorder during the last few minutes of the STS-51L mission on January 28, 1986. As you read the last words of these men and women, I hope you can get a sense of how very large they lived, how they embraced the adventure of life and wrung every gram of zest out of experience. To paraphrase the voice -over at the end of the movie Brian's Song, the crew of Challenger had a great many loving friends who miss them and think of them often. But when they think of them, it's not only how they died that they remember, but also how they lived. How they did live.


TRANSCRIPT OF THE CHALLENGER CREW COMMENTS FROM THE OPERATIONAL RECORDER

CDR..........Scobee
PLT..........Smith
MS 1.........Onizuka
MS 2.........Resnik
(The references to "NASA" indicate explanatory references NASA provided to the Presidential Commission.)
Time Crew Crew
(Min:Sec).........Position Comment
T-2:05............MS 2..... Would you give that back to me?
T-2:03............MS 2..... Security blanket.
T-2:02............MS 2..... Hmm.
T-1:58............CDR..... Two minutes downstairs; you gotta watch running down there?
(NASA: Two minutes till launch.)
T-1:47............PLT..... OK there goes the lox arm.
(NASA: Liquid oxygen supply arm to ET.)
T-1:46............CDR..... Goes the beanie cap.
(NASA: Liquid oxygen vent cap.)
T-1:44............MS 1..... Doesn't it go the other way?
T-1:42............ Laughter.
T-1:39............MS 1..... Now I see it; I see it.
T-1:39............PLT..... God I hope not Ellison.
T-1:38............MS 1..... I couldn't see it moving; it was behind the center screen.
(NASA: Obstructed view of liquid oxygen supply arm.)
T-1:33. .........MS 2..... Got your harnesses locked?
(NASA: Seat restraints.)
T-1:29............PLT..... What for?
T-1:28............CDR..... I won't lock mine; I might have to reach something.
T-1:24............PLT..... Ooh kaaaay.
T-1:04............MS 1..... Dick's thinking of somebody there.
T-1:03............CDR..... Unhuh.
T-59..............CDR..... One minute downstairs.
(NASA: One minute till launch.)
T-52..............MS 2..... Cabin Pressure is probably going to give us an alarm.
(NASA: Caution and warning alarm. Routine occurrence during prelaunch).
T-50..............CDR..... OK.
T-47..............CDR..... OK there.
T-43..............PLT..... Alarm looks good.
(NASA: Cabin pressure is acceptable.)
T-42..............CDR..... OK.
T-40..............PLT..... Ullage pressures are up.
(NASA: External tank ullage pressure.)
T-34..............PLT..... Right engine helium tank is just a little bit low.
(NASA: SSME supply helium pressure.)
T-32..............CDR..... It was yesterday, too.
T-31..............PLT..... OK.
T-30..............CDR..... Thirty seconds down there.
(NASA: 30 seconds till launch.)
T-25............PLT..... Remember the red button when you make a roll call.
(NASA: Precautionary reminder for communications configuration.)
T-23............CDR..... I won't do that; thanks a lot.
T-15..............CDR..... Fifteen.
(NASA: 15 seconds till launch.)
T-6...............CDR..... There they go guys.
(NASA: SSME Ignition.)
MS 2..... All right.
CDR..... Three at a hundred.
(NASA: SSME thrust level at 100% for all 3 engines.)
T+O...............MS 2..... Aaall riiight.
T+1...............PLT..... Here we go.
(NASA: Vehicle motion.)
T+7...............CDR.............Houston, Challenger roll program.
(NASA: Initiation of vehicle roll program.)
T+11..............PLT..... Go you Mother.
T+14..............MS 1..... LVLH.
(NASA: Reminder for cockpit switch configuration change. Local vertical/local horizontal).
T+15..............MS 2..... (Expletive) hot.
T+16..............CDR..... Ooohh-kaaay.
T+19..............PLT..... Looks like we've got a lotta wind here today.
T+20..............CDR..... Yeah.
T+22..............CDR..... It's a little hard to see out my window here.
T+28..............PLT..... There's ten thousand feet and Mach point five.
(NASA: Altitude and velocity report.)
T+30............ Garble.
T+35..............CDR..... Point nine.
(NASA: Velocity report, 0.9 Mach).
T+40..............PLT..... There's Mach one.
(NASA: Velocity report, 1.0 Mach).
T+41..............CDR..... Going through nineteen thousand.
(NASA: Altitude report, 19,000 ft.)
T+43..............CDR..... OK we're throttling down.
(NASA: Normal SSME thrust reduction during maximum dynamic pressure region.)
T+57..............CDR..... Throttling up.
(NASA: Throttle up to 104% after maximum dynamic pressure.)
T+58..............PLT..... Throttle up.
T+59..............CDR..... Roger.
T+60..............PLT..... Feel that mother go.
T+60............ Woooohoooo.
T+1:02............PLT..... Thirty-five thousand going through one point five
(NASA: Altitude and velocity report, 35,000 ft., 1.5 Mach).
T+1:05............CDR..... Reading four eighty six on mine.
(NASA: Routine airspeed indicator check.)
T+1:07............PLT..... Yep, that's what I've got, too.
T+1:10............CDR..... Roger, go at throttle up.
(NASA: SSME at 104 percent.)
T+1:13............PLT..... Uhoh.
T+1:13.......................LOSS OF ALL DATA.

At T+15 MS2 (JR) said, "(Expletive) Hot." I have no doubt I know which expletive was uttered. I take a lot of comfort from that.


Friday, January 27, 2017

Wowza!





I gave into impulse buying a week or so ago and ordered up some Caveman Coffee. I purchased a bag of Sabretooth beans, and then, on a goofy whim, a bottle of Cold Brew.

Cold brew is a liquid coffee concentrate. You mix it 1:3 with cold water for to make a delightful iced coffee beverage.

Why did I do that? I've never been an iced coffee guy. In fact, I've never tasted real iced coffee, only room temperature coffee, and that sucks.

I could blame it on Sarge, for he occasionally extols the virtue of iced coffee. He is also the only person I know who drinks the stuff.

However, I won't blame it on Sarge. I'll blame it on Joe Rogan. Now Joe is... interesting and complicated. He's a stand-up comedian and fight announcer. He's a really, really, really libertarian libertarian. He and many of his guests smoke a hell of a lot of dope on his podcast. He's not for everyone, and I don't agree with everything he says or does. For instance, he says the best way to work out is to do so stoned. Maybe he's right, but that don't make no sense to me at all.

What the hell am I doing watching Joe Rogan on the interwebs?

Well, when you're on your back for five months trying to heal up from a bone infection, you can only read so many books. I refuse to do tee-vee. I'm not a huge movie fan. But there is a lot of interesting and entertaining stuff on the yewtoobbe.

Rogan is interesting and entertaining.

And in addition to smoking dope on the interwebs, he drinks the Caveman Coffee. Which is probably a paid sponsor. However, he was really enthusiastic about the Cold Brew, particularly when prepared as "Morning Thunder."

Morning Thunder is a cup of the Cold Brew with a shot of MCT. I did a little bit of reading up on the medium chain triglycerides and decided, what the hell, give it a shot.

What I found out, when I fixed my first cup, is that the iced coffee with MCT is really, really tasty. But wow, is it full of caffeine! You simply cannot -- well, I simply cannot -- have a cup of Morning Thunder followed by a regular cup of hot coffee. Talk about pingin' off the walls!

But boy, is that Cold Brew flavorful! It's really, really good. Damme expensive. On the other hand, it comes in a cool steel bottle. So. GREAT flavor. Maybe too much Caffeine. Expensive. Cool steel bottle (shiny shit syndrome). What to do?


And here's another cool interweb trick.


A case of .40 S&W 180gr FMJ-Flat. I've got a case of Federal 180gr HST coming too. The interwebs make buying ammo easy and remarkably inexpensive. This is a good thing. AmmoSeek is a great ammunition search engine.

For a taste of Joe Rogan, this is interesting and worth spending the time to watch and think about.