National Fast Food Day

Shall We Eat French Fries With Our Crow?

Recognize this guy? His name is Dominique Marie François René Galouzeau de Villepin. He was the Prime Minister of France from 2005-2007. Prior to that, he served as the French Minister of Foreign Affairs under President Jacques René Chirac.

On February 14, 2003, while serving as French Minister of Foreign Affairs, Villepin gave an informed, impassioned speech to the United Nation’s Security Council opposing President George W. Bush’s plan to invade Iraq. He told world leaders that French intelligence agencies had no evidence of any links between al-Qaeda and Iraq. He told world leaders that there was no evidence that Iraq had any weapons of mass destruction. He urged world leaders to unite in disarming Iraq but to be smart and cautious and only go to war as a last result. He offered evidence of how UN inspections were beginning to produce good results and should be given more of a chance. He warned world leaders that going to war with Iraq could make the region more unstable and likely boost the strength and resolve of terrorists.

His speech was well-received and loudly applauded -- except by the United States. 

Many Americans accused France of betrayal. Anti-French sentiment hit insanity level.  Republican U.S. Representatives Bob Ney and Walter B. Jones directed cafeterias in the Capital to change all references to French fries and French toast on menus and replace them with Freedom fries and Freedom toast. "Patriotic" Americans throughout our nation made showy, bravado displays of dumping out French wines and eating Freedom fries.  (When asked for a response, French Embassy Spokeswoman Nathalie Loiseau – after pointing out that fries actually originated in Belgium – said, “We are in a very serious moment dealing with very serious issues, and we are not focusing on the name Americans give to potatoes.")

And what did Dominique de Villepin say that provoked brave Americans to become so lividly outraged as to courageously resort to drinking California wines and renaming their fast-food fried potato snacks in the name of freedom?

Here’s some highlights from his speech: 

"We are pursuing together the objective of effectively disarming Iraq. We have an obligation to achieve results. Let us not cast doubt on our common commitment to this goal. We shoulder collectively this onerous responsibility which must leave no room for ulterior motives or assumptions. Let us be clear: Not one of us feels the least indulgence towards Saddam Hussein and the Iraqi regime." 

“The use of force would be so fraught with risks for people, for the region and for international stability that it should only be envisioned as a last resort. . . The option of war might seem a priori to be the swiftest. But let us not forget that having won the war, one has to build peace. Let us not delude ourselves; this will be long and difficult because it will be necessary to preserve Iraq's unity and restore stability in a lasting way in a country and region harshly affected by the intrusion of force. Faced with such perspectives, there is an alternative in the inspections which allow us to move forward day by day with the effective and peaceful disarmament of Iraq. In the end is that choice not the most sure and most rapid?”

“Such intervention could have incalculable consequences for the stability of this scarred and fragile region. It would compound the sense of injustice, increase tensions and risk paving the way to other conflicts. . . Would not such intervention be liable to exacerbate the divisions between societies, cultures and peoples, divisions that nurture terrorism?”

Shall we eat French fries with our crow?

Grizzlies On My Mind (A Late Night Facebook Chat With The President)

Often when I can't sleep I put my computer on my chest while laying in bed and I Google and Wikepedia and browse the night away.

Sometimes I catch up on news, or watch YouTube videos, or read articles about grizzly bears and wolves. Sometime I fall asleep with the computer on my chest. But not tonight. Tonight I was checking out President Barrack Obama's new Facebook page. Yup; the President launched a Facebook page. And while I am admiring his first post -- a videoed stroll through his backyard at the White House talking about climate change and the need to protect our wildlife, wild places and the clean air, clean water and planet that sustains us -- one of those little intrusive blueish chat boxes rudely pops up on my screen.

"Hello?"
"Uh . . . hello!" I respond.
"I have a surprise for you," he writes. "I am in Missoula and want to hang out."

I was indeed surprised. So much so it snapped me out of my sleepy stupor. I sit up. Then I notice the name on the chat box.

For discretionary purposes I will just call him John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, which of course isn't really his name (nor my name too). He often chats me up late at night. I find it sometimes annoying only because I can't type well while laying down, so I have to sit up if I want to reply in much depth. Which I do; He seems smart enough and looks good enough to make it worth sitting up.

"Oh, wow. I am surprised," I respond. "What brings you here?"
"Going to the Grizzly game."
"Cool"
"Want to hang out?"

Ugh! I do want to. But I feel pretty lazy and settled in. I lay back down to think about how to best respond in a tactful, honest and polite manner  . .  . and . . . and then the chat screen pops back up.

"Hello?"

Again, it snaps me out of my sleepy stupor. His words seems to impatiently imply, Are you ignoring me? I don't want to ignore him. I sit up. Then I notice the name on the chat box.

Barack Obama
"Hello?"

David Stalling
"Hello."

Barack Obama
"You're up late."

David Stalling
"Yes, I am. I don't mean to be rude, but is that really you Mr. President, or someone who works for the president?"

Barack Obama
"Lol. UR not being rude. It's me. I promise. I can show you my birth certificate if you want?"

David Stalling
"Lol. No Sir, not necessary; I am not one of THEM!"

Barack Obama
"Lol. Glad to hear that. So why up so late?"

David Stalling
"I just have a lot on my mind."

"I can relate to that," he replies. "My mind keeps me awake as well. I won't bore you with my stuff, but I would sure like to know what's on your mind?"

I feel silly, and tell him so, thinking what's on my mind is trivial compared to what must be on the mind of the President of the United States. "Don't worry about that," he writes. "We all have stuff on our minds; perhaps just not the same stuff. It's all important. I want to hear what's on your mind, if you don't mind?"

I don't mind; So I tell him:

"I have grizzlies on my mind."

I tell him about my passion for wildlife and wild places and my growing concerns about climate change; The ongoing loss and degradation of and need to protect what little remains of truly wild places; The terrible and tragic notion of selling our public lands, an idea being pushed by many Republicans; The Republican-led attacks on the Endangered Species Act, the Environmental Protection Agency, the Clean Water and Clean Air Acts and other important environmental laws and regulations; Some people's selfish willingness to put greed and profit above the health of our air, water and the very Earth that sustains us; Our growing disconnect from nature -- the REAL WORLD -- and how that has led to so many problems on so many levels; The abandonment of and Republican-led attack on science; The sad, ongoing persecution of and hatred for wolves, and my related concerns about what I believe is a premature effort to delist wild grizzly bears from federal protection under the Endangered Species Act and turn management over to the states of Montana, Idaho and Wyoming -- all of which seem eager to open morally-unjustifiable trophy-hunting seasons for the Great Bears --  despite the alarming impacts a rapidly changing climate is having on their habitat, influencing changes in food and where they go to search for food, which brings them closer to and in more frequent contact and conflicts with humans, which means increased bear mortality, which means . . .

. . . Well, you get the picture. I hope. I tend to go on and on about such things. I apologetically tell the President that.

I anxiously await his response. . . Nothing. I fear I maybe went too far; Perhaps I drove him away? Put him to sleep? I minimize the chat screen and lay back down thinking about wild places and wild grizzlies and hope and change . . . and . . . and then the chat screen pops back up.

"Hello?"

Again, it snaps me out of my sleepy stupor.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you," I quickly respond.

I don't want to ignore him. I sit up. Then I notice the name on the chat box.

John Jacob J.S.
"You didn't offend me. I just assumed you fell asleep. What's up?"

David Stalling
"I just have a lot on my mind." 

The New National Geographic

Two Thousand Days with Grizzly Bears

Phil Timpany (photo by Fritz Mueller)

by Phil Timpany

"Specatcular," said the Belgian, looking through his camera as we sat near a stream in northwestern Canada. Twice the grizzly bear had lunged into the water to catch a chum salmon and brought it to shore to eat in peace. I looked at the bear, the Belgian, then again at the bear. The animal was indeed spectacular. It consumed the fish and started walking toward us.

"Is it close enough?" he asked. I whispered, "Yes." A bolt-action rifle -- a weapon with a short bolt designed to prevent jamming -- replaced the camera. He placed the crosshairs on the bear and began to shake. I said, "Take your time." He readjusted the rifle and took aim. The shaking started again. At 150 feet, the bear turned broadside to study a group of spawning chum. "Breathe," I whispered, "and put the bullet low, just behind the front shoulder." The rifle roared. Water erupted at the bear's front feet. The animal spun around and bellowed, waving a nearly severed and bloody front paw. "Shoot again," I urged. The Belgian tried putting another round in the chamber. It didn't work. His rifle had jammed.

The grizzly began running across the slough to get away. I picked up my rifle and shot. The bullet entered the bear and exited in a large spray of blood and lung tissue. It was a quick death. For me, this was anything but spectacular. The Belgian, however, was happy. He had paid $8,000 to slay the bear.

Thirty-seven years later, I sit by the Fishing Branch River a few miles south of the Arctic Circle with a small group of tourists. We are watching a 500-pound male grizzly chase salmon. My task for the morning has been successful. I have safely placed people and a grizzly together in a natural setting. My 12-guage shotgun is leaning against my pack, loaded and ready for use. The bear-viewing business I share with the Vuntut Gwitchin First Nation of Old Crow requires that I carry it. In the 21 years I have been working here, I have never fired it. Morris, the 15-year-old male, walks ten feet from us, undisturbed by the shutters of the cameras. Guests have been watching him fish on this river since 2006. He has starred in natural history documentaries and his photos have been published globally in many magazines.

As a young man, I dreamed of a career with wildlife. I thought I could fulfill my naturalist ambitions by working as a guide for "sportsmen" who came from around the world to kill iconic wildlife, especially grizzlies. It pains me to confess that I am responsible for the deaths of many grizzlies. My appreciation for these magnificent mammals, and an increasing repulsion for what I came to see as senseless killing, ended my guiding career. With the bloody adventure behind me and my desire for wilderness still intact, I was lucky to find a vocation that allowed me to begin a long relationship with a population of grizzly bears. In the mid-1970s, I began doing fieldwork for a scientific study of Chinook salmon in a remote area of British Columbia frequented by grizzlies. To date, I've spent more than 2,000 days with grizzly bears. It has been a privilege, a life lesson, and a humbling experience. I am deeply touched by their intelligence, physical power, forgiving nature, and honesty. The familiarity I have developed with these bears now allows me to share my experience with tourists and photographers in wilderness areas in northern British Columbia and the Yukon Territory. When we enter the bear's domain, we engage in a peaceful coexistence based on respect.

Grizzlies are captivating animals and most people believe they are worthy of protection. Opposing views, however, exist as to how to go about it. The institutions supporting the recreational killing of grizzly bears justify the activity on economic terms. They profess their followers have great love for the animal and the killing gives the bear a value, which encourages its protection. The moral issues surrounding the slaughter never enter the equation. Others, like me, believe in the full protection of grizzly bears. We feel that maintaining viable populations of this apex predator and preserving a strong genetic pool will secure the vitality of the entire ecosystem. The morality of killing grizzly bears is an integral part of this thinking. The time I have spent in the presence of grizzly bears has molded my philosophy, making me a staunch advocate for their protection. I see no justifiable reason or need to kill them.

The animal's harmonious and spiritual relationship with indigenous peoples has been replaced by one in which the great bear is now a target for those who wish to kill it, study it, manage it, photograph it, or simply retain a memory of it. Where I live and work in the Yukon and British Columbia, "wildlife management" philosophies are, for the most part, archaic artifacts of early colonial enterprise. They are 100 years old in their framework of legislation and, in regard to grizzly bear management, at least 50 years behind public opinion. As the rest of the world increasingly recognizes the value of apex predators, my government continues to squander this wildlife resource by refusing to create a responsible vision that fulfills its economic and ecological potential. The politics surrounding grizzly bears involves making money, providing job security, and giving those with a passion for killing these animals the legal and moral means to do so.

For now, the best argument for conserving grizzly bears continues to be economic -- although my hope is that people will adopt economy-based values that do not include killing them. Over the long term the survival of grizzly bears will only be guaranteed if they are granted some form of citizenship within our society complete with their habitat requirements. Their continued existence will have to be as important as our own. Some of us will have to learn to coexist with them, suffer with them, and on rare occasions die by them. There is still time for governments and citizens to reframe their attitudes and relationships with these great bears. Without a new culture of appreciation and tolerance, the grizzly bear will vanish.

Nothing good will ever come from killing a grizzly bear. Much good can come from respecting its right to continue to roam the land.


NOTES: This essay was originally published in National Geographic's "Bear: Spirit of the Wild," by Paul Nicklen. It is republished here with permission from Phil Timpany and National Geographic.

Phil Timpany is a long time wildlife enthusiast who currently operates grizzly bear viewing operations with Bear Cave Mountain Eco-Adventures in the northern Yukon and also guides people salmon fishing and grizzly viewing with Nakina Adventures in northern British Columbia.  Phil advocates for peaceful co-existence between grizzlies and humans and habitat protection as the two ingredients most important for grizzly bear conservation. “If we are serious about grizzly bear conservation we will have to, sooner or later, grant them some form of citizenship and learn to co-exist with them on some level," he says. "This paradigm needs to spring from the notions of biodiversity conservation and ecological intelligence, none of which seem to be very popular or in great supply where I live and work.  I am however confident it will come with the generation coming up behind us.”

Never Mind Nevermore (An Ode to the Raven)

Photo by Dave Stalling -- a photo that inspired this essay

Never mind Poe’s Nevermore. Ravens aren’t the dark, sinister omens of death and despair most European cultures historically made them out to be.  Swedes thought ravens were the ghosts of murdered people; Germans saw them as souls of the damned; The Danish considered them “terrible animals” that could lead people astray. Groups, or flocks, are referred to as an “unkindness” of ravens, or a “conspiracy.”  My experiences with them greatly differ; they seem more conscientious, considerate, sensible and sane than most humans I’ve known. I prefer to think of them as ebony angels (mischievous ones), like miniature black Labradors with wings, only smarter.

Linguists say ravens are one of only four known animals – in addition to humans, ants and bees – that demonstrate “displacement,” or, “the capacity to communicate about objects or events that are distant in space or time from the communication.” Young “teenage” ravens were once observed – after discovering a carcass guarded by adult ravens – returning to their roost at night and “reporting” their find. The next day, they led a flock (or conspiracy, if you will) of other young ravens to the carcass, fought off the adults, and shared their stolen feast.  Some scientists argue that the advent of “linguistic displacement” was “the most important event in the evolution of human language,” and ravens are the only other vertebrate to share this with us humans.

They make for a loud and vocal conspiracy. In addition to tapping and gently rapping, rapping at chamber doors, researchers have identified up to 30 categories of vocalizations by ravens, including alarm calls, chase calls, and flight calls. They also mimic sounds, including human speech. (Conceivably they could, indeed -- like an echo -- murmur back the word, `Lenore!') They mate for life, and if one loses its mate they’ve been known to imitate the calls of its lost partner to encourage its return. They’ve been known to imitate wolves to attract them to intact carcasses that are difficult for them to break open with their beaks. When the wolves are done, the ravens move in for the leftovers. Ravens also use rather sophisticated non-vocal signals, sometimes pointing their beaks to indicate an object to another bird like we do with our fingers. They also hold up objects to get another bird’s attention.

Ravens have been observed pushing rocks on people to keep them from climbing to their nests; steeling fish by pulling anglers lines out of the water; playing dead near carcasses to selfishly scare other ravens away from their food.  Ravens often bury excess food in caches for future meals. Sometimes they’ll watch other ravens bury their food, remember the locations, then steal it. As a result, some ravens will fly extra distances from a food source to find better hiding places.  If a raven knows another is watching, it might pretend to put food in one place while really hiding it in another.

From what I’ve seen, they have a playful sense of humor. I’ve watched ravens taunt my Labradors, apparently for their own (and mine, but not so much the dogs) amusement. They’ve been observed playing “keep-away” with other animals such as wolves and otters. They’ve been known to use snow-covered roofs as slides and sled down snowy hills. They sometimes make toys with sticks, pine cones and rocks to play with each other or by themselves.

They form teenage gangs. When ravens reach adolescence, they leave home to eat and roost together until they mature and find a mate.  These days of teenage angst are apparently as tough for them as they can be for us humans; scientists have found higher levels of stress hormones in teenage raven droppings than in the droppings of mated adults.

But it gets better. Their friends will support them through tough times. Unlike some humans I have met, ravens are capable of feeling empathy. Although they can be suspicious and sometimes fight with ravens they don’t know, when they lose battles others console them. They also remember birds they like and will respond in friendly ways even years after last seeing them.

That’s just a smitten of what we know about Ravens – likely less than they know about us. No doubt there exists many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore about these remarkable birds, lost among a plethora of natural knowledge once gained from intimate and intricate connections to the planet that sustains us – this ailing planet we selfishly and greedily forget we share with neighbors we no longer know.

Once, while hunting elk on a bitterly cold, snowy November day in the Bitterroot Mountains near my home in Montana, a raven circled close above my head then off and away in a direction I was not headed. Soon he returned, circled, and headed in the same direction yet again. And then again. Hell, why not? I thought. I changed course, and went the raven's way.  Soon after, I found and killed a bull elk waiting out the storm bedded under a large spruce. While boning out the meat, I frequently shared scraps with my new friend, and some of his friends who soon gathered around. Coincidence? Or an ancient mutualistic, symbiotic relationship we've mostly disconnected from?  Another time, deep in the remote, arid canyons of southern Utah, I had gone several brutally hot days without water and was getting pretty concerned when I looked up and saw a raven on a ledge above me, water dripping from its beak. I climbed up to find a large, deep puddle of rain water in a natural bowl carved into the slickrock. I gratefully shared my last energy bar with that great, big, beautiful bird.
 
Here's my advice: Get out and meet a raven -- or their smaller cousins, the crows, if you’re out of raven range. Forget forevermore! Say “hello.” It’s a good start. You might be pleasantly surprised to find they’re not the wicked black devils they’re often made out to be.  (Even Edgar’s “Prophet! . . . thing of evil! . . . bird or devil!” was merely a projection of the narrator’s own darkness.) Spend enough time around these birds, really get to know them, and these shadows quickly turn to light. Most Native Americans had a more informed view of these remarkable birds. Some worshiped ravens as Gods. Their myths and legends often described them as “sly tricksters” involved in the creation of the world. It makes as much sense as, if not more than, any other deity I've heard of. Make prayers to the Raven!

As for me: These ebony birds often beguile all my sad soul into smiling. I consider them friends. Good friends. For evermore.  

The Man Shop!

On a whim I got my haircut today at a place called The Man Shop. "Kick Ass Cuts!" they claim. "This Is Not Your Father's Barbershop!"

No wimps allowed.

You can shoot a game of pool for free while waiting, or play Foosball, or shoot some hoops, or play one of the arcade games, or watch sports on one of the huge-screen TVs. I opted to kick back in one of the comfy lounge chairs while browsing through an issue of Outdoor Life full of ads for men who apparently need ATVs and military-style semi-automatic rifles to assault deer armed with large racks.

And speaking of large racks, there are a few posters of scantily-clad women with big, um . . .hooters? Jugs? Melons?

There are also assorted T-shirts for sale, most adorned with cartoon depictions of women who all looked like Daisy Mae from Lil' Abner, accompanied with words such as, "No matter how hot she is, some guy, somewhere, is sick of putting up with her shit." Another T-shirt proclaimed, "I work my ass off to feed a million people on welfare." (I assume it was referring to the small amount of taxes used to help people in need, and not the huge amount that goes towards corporate welfare for companies whose CEOs make $40 million a year but can't pay their workers enough to keep them off food stamps. But that would be a lot to put on a T-shirt, and sounds more like something a damn libtard would say, not a man! I work my ass off to feed millionaires?)

If Donald Trump's hair is real, and if Donald Trump ever gets his hair cut, and if Donald Trump ever decided to get his hair cut in Missoula, Montana, this is where he would go. The Man Shop!

There is also a display on the wall showing the past, present and future of women. The past shows a seductive photograph of Marylin Monroe; the present shows a big-breasted woman in a Superwoman costume; the future shows an very attractive woman with a nice smile who looks . . . well, just naturally beautiful. Apparently, the future bodes well for straight men.  

The young, beautiful woman who cut my hair asked me right away if I liked football. "I loved playing it," I say, "but I don't get too into watching it." When she stopped and looked at me funny and said, "What? You don't like the Broncos?" I thought, just for a second, I was going to get banned from the Man Shop. So I attempted a quick recovery and replied, "I have a lot of respect for Peyton Manning . . . he and Tom Brady are pretty amazing." To which she replied, "Tom Brady only got where he is by cheating." I changed the subject to my hair. She asked if I wanted the gray colored out. "Hell no!" I said. "I've been coloring it for years but it's time to be a man and face reality!" She liked that. "Embrace the Gray!" she said. "Be a man! Embrace the Gray!" I replied, holding my clenched fist in the air. We got along damn good after that.

I'll tell you what, I ain't lyin' . . . I did get a freaking kick ass haircut at a helluva damn good price!

There's a sign on the front door with a drawing of a handgun that reads, "Lawful Concealed Carry Welcomed on These Premises! We Support the Second Amendment, Therefore We Support and Encourage the Carrying of Concealed Weapons."

You can also get your eyebrows waxed for $10.00.