Bayou Renaissance Man

 

I laughed out loud when I read this report.

A wildlife rescue that took in what was thought was a baby hedgehog found it was actually caring for a bobble from a hat.

It was brought to the Lower Moss Nature Reserve and Wildlife Hospital by a well-meaning rescuer last week.

On arrival they discovered the hoglet was in fact a "faux furry friend", a volunteer for the animal charity said.

There's more at the link.

I almost posted this as part of our intermittent "Doofus Of The Day" series, but it's too cute for that.  One can just imagine some member of the public (perhaps a little old lady, or an excited child) bringing in the "baby hedgehog" to be cared for, and being so disappointed when they found out what it really was.  (One must admit, too, that from some angles the bobble really does look like a baby hedgehog!)

Anyway, I thought it was cute - and funny.

Peter

 

I had to smile at this report from Argentina.

Florencia, 18, was fishing with her brother when they found two kittens, approximately a week old ... Florencia did a noble thing – she took the kittens and wanted to help them grow and heal.

However, only one survived, and she named him Tito. His sibling died only a week after it was rescued.

As Florencia would soon learn, Tito, who was playful and adorable, was not an ordinary cat.

. . .

When the teen took the kitten to the vet after he suffered a minor injury, something was wrong. She told the press:

"The vet didn't know what it was but said it was not a normal cat."

. . .

Since even the vet was unsure, Florencia called the Horco Molle nature reserve. The employees at the nature reserve identified Tito's species.

Upon learning that Tito, her beloved kitten, was not a domestic cat, but a puma jaguarondi, they had to part ways ... Florencia took him to Horco Molle, where he would continue to grow in a natural habitat.

Despite losing her new pet, Florencia did a noble thing and gave at least one of the two cubs a chance to live. She misses her cat dearly, though: "I miss him a lot, he was waiting for me when I arrived from school."

There's more at the link.  A brief video of the kitten may be found here.

If she'd kept the kitten until fully grown, I think the local small wildlife - and other cats and smaller dogs in the neighborhood - might have learned the hard way that there was a new predator in town!

Peter

 

I'm sure many of my readers have seen it already, but for those of you who haven't, here's a heartwarming video from Turkey.  A firefighter there rescued a cat that had been trapped in rubble for ten days.  Now the cat refuses to leave his side, and he's adopted it.  It's also become the mascot for Turkey's mountain biking team.

I love happy endings like that...

Peter

 

I had to boggle a bit at this news report.

“Peo” and “Finn,” two shepherd pups, got themselves into an awkward situation on June 19 after their exploring took them deep into a tortoise burrow.

The 100-pound tortoise is named Oscar, and owner Kathleen became concerned when she realized her two dogs were underground, and Oscar was blocking the way, in no hurry to move.

So the San Bernardino County Fire was contacted and made their way out to the very unusual call.

. . .

The burrow was impressive, and something Oscar had clearly put a lot of time and effort into. But he was far down in the tunnel, and there was no way to reach him, so the firefighters tried to figure out a way to coax him out.

Many tortoises consider watermelon a very tasty treat, so crews used a chunk of watermelon to try to draw the huge reptile out — but Oscar decided he would rather stay in his den.

. . .

“With Oscar blocking the exit, crews worked to dig an access hole to rescue the dogs,” the post continued. “After an hour of digging crews were able to get the puppies out of the den.

“‘Peo’ and ‘Finn’, were unharmed & happy to reunite with their dog mom Kathleen.

There's more at the link.

Here's a brief video report about the rescue.

I've heard of lots of animal rescues, and played a part in a few of them, but I've never heard of having to rescue puppies from a tortoise!

Peter

 

I've got a treat for fans of Western novels in general, and of my Ames Archives series in particular.  It's the first in what I hope will be a new Western series, not replacing the Ames stories but augmenting them.  It will add a new, earlier, far-West dimension to my novels of the Old West.

I've called the series "The Annals of Ash".  The first volume, which will be launched on or about January 15th, is titled "Wood, Iron, and Blood".

The cover image is taken from "The Jerk Line", a painting by Charles M. Russell, a contemporary of Frederic Remington.  I've used the latter's paintings and drawings for the covers of my Ames Archives series, so I'll use Russell's work for this new series, to make them visually distinct.

The blurb reads:

Sometimes wanderlust skips a generation... but when it strikes, it strikes gold.

In 1852, fourteen-year-old Jeremy Ash rises to his grandfather's challenge and sets out on the adventure of a lifetime – the California Trail.

It's four deadly months and 1,600 merciless miles from the Missouri River to the goldfields of the Sierra Nevada. There's alkali water that'll poison you; desert heat that'll fry your brains; mountain passes that'll crush you; swarms of biting insects that'll drive you mad; deadly diseases that'll plague you; and warrior tribes that may make it lethally clear they don't want you there.

Will the California Trail kill Jeremy, like so many others before him? Or will it make a man out of him?

I set myself a number of objectives in writing this book.  The foremost was that it had to be historically accurate;  and to that end, I researched it very thoroughly.  Literally every single incident I describe came out of the diaries, letters and histories of the pioneers.  It happened to someone, somewhere, during the period under discussion.  In many cases details were lacking, but the incident itself was real.  I simply adapted each incident to my locations, characters and scenario, in some cases combining two or three incidents into a single narrative, at other times extracting one incident from a longer narrative to highlight it.  I've also included a long chapter on the Great Fire of Sacramento in late 1852;  it destroyed 85% of the city, but is hardly remembered at all today.  I hope all those elements have helped to make the book much more authentic.

Secondly, I patterned my characters on Old Western personalities.  A couple are actual historical figures.  For example, the commanding officer of Fort Laramie during the period of the book was First Lieutenant Richard B. Garnett.  He later resigned his commission to join the Confederate States Army during the Civil War.  He was killed leading his brigade during Pickett's Charge at the Battle of Gettysburg in 1863.

Finally, the geography had to be right.  I've been infuriated to read fictional accounts of wagon trains bound for California, laboring their way through what appear to have been tropical rain forests!  There weren't any forests on the California Trail, apart from wooded mountain passes.  The other obstacles it provided in such profusion were more than enough to kill thousands.  It didn't need any more!

For today's snippet, I've chosen an encounter between my protagonist and the scout for the wagon train, and three Sioux warriors who'd recently captured two white woman from a different wagon train.  At the time, there were no official hostilities between the Sioux and the emigrants, particularly following the Treaty of Fort Laramie concluded the previous year.  However, individual Sioux were not bound to follow the agreements reached by their chiefs;  and their young men would not be recognized as warriors unless and until they had succeeded on the warpath or the raiding trail.  That led to more than a few small-scale encounters like this one.

On the second day, Jeremy’s turn came to accompany Rod as he scouted ahead of the train. He put on both holsters, made sure his belt and saddle guns were clean and freshly loaded, and did the same for the long-barreled Sharps rifle. As usual, only five chambers of each revolver’s cylinder were loaded. For safety, their hammers rested on the sixth, empty chamber. He put his spyglass in its leather case into a saddlebag, along with extra paper cartridges to supplement those he carried in his waist pouch, some jerky, nuts and dried fruit plus a couple of slices of pemmican for trail rations, and a quart canteen. Another, larger canteen balanced the big Dragoon Colt on the other side of his saddlehorn, and he strapped his oilskin jacket and a single blanket behind the saddle in case of need.

They rode out shortly after dawn, as the wagons behind them were finishing harnessing their teams and getting ready to start the day’s journey. Rod glanced up at the sky, then all around them at the seemingly deserted landscape. “Looks like it’s gonna be a real hot day.”

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed. “I’m guessin’ it’s real cold out here in winter, though. Everything’s so flat, there’s nothing to stop the wind. It must cut to the bone.”

“Ain’t never been here in winter, but folks who have, ’specially the Army garrisons, say it’s real bad sometimes.”

They rode on in companionable silence for a few hours, getting a couple of miles ahead of the wagons, making sure that there were no obstacles blocking the trail or anything that should be investigated. “Keep an eye out for smoke,” Rod advised. “On a hot, dry day like this, grass fires can be a real problem, and if the wind picks up they move real fast. Iffen the flames get in among a wagon train, they can destroy it an’ kill or hurt people an’ teams who can’t get clear. Ain’t never seen it my own self, but I’ve heard a few stories.”

“I’d just as soon not see it at all,” Jeremy confessed.

Shortly after eleven that morning, Rod stiffened slightly as something caught his eye. “There’s a slight haze on the horizon there,” he said, rising to stand in his stirrups, shading his eyes with his hand, peering ahead of them. “Might be a small fire.” Jeremy took out his spyglass and offered it to him. “Thanks,” he acknowledged as he extended it, and peered through the lens. “Hard to say. The smoke ain’t gettin’ any darker, so iffen it was a fire, it looks like it’s burned out or been put out.”

Jeremy looked through the spyglass in his turn. “I don’t – hey, wait a minute! Just about in line between the smoke and us, quite close, I thought I saw something red flicker for a moment. It looked like it was moving above those bushes.” He pointed towards the river, returning the spyglass to its case and the case to his saddlebag. He didn’t need magnification at that short distance.

Rod peered. “I don’t – yeah, there it is. Looks like… I dunno… oh, hello there!” A Sioux warrior moved out from behind the bushes, only a quarter of a mile from them. He was carrying a lance upright in his hand, its head decorated with two bird feathers dyed red, and had a round shield slung over his back. “You musta seen those feathers in a gap between the bushes. Your eyes are sharp.”

The warrior saw them and stopped his horse, staring straight at them. Behind him, two more horses came into view, each with a man sitting astride them. Behind the horses walked two female figures in ragged, tattered long dresses, not usually worn by Indians. Judging from their height, one was adult, one much smaller, a child or adolescent. Both had cloths covering their heads and faces to protect against the bright sun. They walked hunched over, as if fearing a blow.

“What the hell?” Rod said in surprise. “The Sioux don’t take women on huntin’ parties, and them clothes ain’t what they normally wear. Let’s get closer.” They started forward at a steady walk, drawing nearer to the Indians. After a moment, the leading warrior kneed his horse into motion, crossing their path but ignoring them, looking straight ahead.

The adult woman looked up and saw them. She froze for a moment, then reached up to her head covering and pulled at it. Several locks of her hair escaped, fluttering in the breeze. Jeremy caught his breath as he realized it was blonde. It could not possibly belong to any Indian. He exclaimed, “Hey, look at that!” His hand came up to point. “She’s a white woman!”

The lead warrior noticed the movement. He twisted in his saddle and saw what the woman had done. Bellowing in sudden fury at his prisoners being exposed, he wrenched his horse around, lowered his lance, and charged at the approaching riders. Behind him his two companions grabbed for their weapons as they turned their horses to follow him. One carried a bow and arrows, the other a muzzle-loading long gun. All three had tomahawks and knives at their waists.

“Spread out!” Rod shouted as he reached for his saddle revolver.

Jeremy turned his horse slightly to the left as his heart lurched in his chest, suddenly pounding like a sledgehammer. He made a snap decision. It would take too long to remove the long, unwieldy Sharps rifle from its buckskin cover. He allowed it to fall from his arm to the ground as he dug in his heels, spurring his horse towards the charging Indians. His now-free left hand took the reins as his right drew the heavy Dragoon Colt from his saddle holster.

As he did so, he saw the Indian with the long gun aim at them. It boomed, and a cloud of powder smoke obscured its muzzle. The warrior could not have aimed accurately from the back of a running horse, but by sheer chance his bullet slammed into the head of Rod’s mount, killing it instantly. He heard Rod yell as he was pitchforked out of the saddle of the collapsing animal. His right shoulder plowed hard into the ground, and his shout changed to a scream of agony.

There was no time to be scared. Jeremy focused on the brave with the lance, now perilously close. He eared back the hammer of the big Colt and let fly. He had no idea where his first round went, so he cocked the hammer again. This time his round hit the onrushing man in his left shoulder. The Indian rocked back with a cry of pain. He tried to keep his horse straight, but he couldn’t help an involuntary tug at the reins as he was hit, turning it, dragging his lance off-target. Jeremy swept past him as the other two Sioux closed in.

The brave with the bow had nocked an arrow at full gallop. He drew and released it as he rushed closer. Jeremy ducked, and felt a tug on his right sleeve and a sudden burning pain on the outside of his bicep as the arrow flew past. He tried to ignore it as he fired his third and fourth rounds, missing with both of them. He furiously told himself, Slow down! Concentrate! as he lined his sights more carefully. His fifth shot smashed into the warrior’s chest as he nocked a second arrow. He cried out as he jerked, rolled backwards off his horse and crashed to the ground.

The Indian with the now-empty rifle had laid it across his legs and his horse’s back and dragged a tomahawk from his belt. Screaming a war cry, he hurled his horse towards him. Jeremy realized with a shock, The gun’s empty! as the Dragoon’s hammer fell a sixth time, producing only a dull click. He had no time to draw another pistol – the enemy warrior was too close – so he instinctively drew back his arm and hurled the gun at him. The big revolver spun through the air and struck the Indian full in the face, its long protruding hammer spur gouging into his left eye. The Sioux shouted in pain, his left hand going to his face as he lashed out blindly with the tomahawk. Jeremy leaned far over to his left as it came around, and felt and heard the wind of its passing as the very tip of its blade nicked the point of his right shoulder, just above where the arrow had sliced his skin. He swore aloud as he felt the burn, but then he was past and clear.

He dragged at the reins, hauling his horse around in a rump-scraping turn. He reached for his crossdraw holster, flipped the rawhide thong off the hammer spur of the Navy Colt and drew it, then spurred his horse back towards the fight.

The lance-carrier had by now turned his horse and was kicking it into a gallop once more, coming back at him. The warrior he’d hit in the face with the thrown revolver was turning his mount as well, although slowed by his injury. He’d dropped his rifle, and was holding his left hand to his injured eye. He was nearer than the lance-armed warrior, so Jeremy dealt with him first. He lined the Colt and triggered two rapid shots. The first hit the Sioux in the shoulder, the second – fired from barely ten feet away as Jeremy charged closer – went through his left hand, still clutching his injured eye, and into his brain. The brave’s whole body spasmed as if struck by a bolt of lightning, then went limp. He tumbled bonelessly from the blanket covering his horse’s back. 

Jeremy charged past the falling man’s horse, so close his leg brushed against it, and looked ahead. The lance-bearing warrior was having trouble controlling his steed, because his left arm hung useless at his side. He was trying to hold reins and war lance at the same time in his right hand, but it wasn’t working very well. He was using his knees to try to direct his mount’s movements. Beyond him Jeremy could see Rod moving weakly as he lay on the ground, trying to reach across his body with his left hand to draw a revolver. He was clearly unable to use his right arm.

Jeremy made another snap decision. Don’t get closer. He may be hurt, but he can still get lucky. He dragged his horse to a standstill and leveled his arm, aiming carefully. He fired all three remaining rounds in the Colt, each one slamming into the oncoming warrior’s chest in a six-inch cluster. The Sioux swayed, gritting his teeth, trying desperately to stay in the saddle as blood appeared on his body and began to trickle down. He must have known he was dying, but he still tried with might and main to close with his enemy. Jeremy had to swing his horse out of the way as the warrior rushed past, sagging, swaying, head lolling, his breath rasping audibly in his throat.

He holstered the Navy Colt and drew a second from his strongside holster as he spun his horse around and spurred it after the man. The Sioux saw the women a little way ahead of him. He lowered the lance to aim it at the older one, but Jeremy was too close. He caught up with the reeling brave and coldly, precisely, put a bullet through his head from behind and to one side, at a range of no more than three or four feet from the muzzle. The Indian toppled sideways to the ground. His horse staggered as the body became tangled in its rear legs, then kicked itself free and ran onward into the bushes.

Jeremy reined in his horse next to the women. “Are you all right?” he snapped.

The blonde woman said shakily, “Yes. Thank you so much! We were –”

“In a moment. I’ve got to check those other two, and make sure my pard’s all right. Follow me, fast as you can!”

Jeremy spun his horse again and rode back to where Rod was lying. As he passed them, he checked the bodies of the other two braves. Both were lying still, not breathing. He holstered his gun as he came up to Rod, and swung down from the saddle. “Are you all right?” he demanded as his boot struck the ground. “Were you hit?”

“Not hit – busted my shoulder when the hoss tossed me,” the scout said, hissing in pain through his teeth. “I’ll tell a man, though, you’re a fightin’ son-of-a-gun! You took on all three at once and beat them fair and square, all on your ownsome. Ain’t many men who can say that, not against Sioux warriors. You were hit, though.” He was looking at the blood trickling down Jeremy’s right arm from the arrow wound and axe cut, staining the sleeve of his shirt.

“Twice, but not badly. Never mind that now. Let me help you up.”

He aided Rod to sit up, then rise slowly, carefully and painfully to his feet. The scout swore profanely, bringing a startled gasp from the two women as they hurried up. Rod glanced at them and said through gritted teeth, “Sorry, ma’am. Times are a man can’t help but let it out.”

“Th-that’s all right,” the adult woman said shakily.

“Who are you?” Jeremy asked as he led Rod towards a bush. “Here, sit in the shade. I’ll get you some water.”

“I’m Eliza Warren. This is my daughter Mary.” The woman took a canteen from Rod’s dead horse and followed them, uncapping it, drinking some, then giving it to her daughter. “Our wagon train was ambushed two days ago. Th-they killed my husband and stepson,” and tears began to flow from her eyes. “Those three took us captive. They… they…”

“No need to say more, ma’am,” Rod assured her. “Are you bad hurt?”

“N-nothing I won’t get over. They didn’t harm my daughter.” Both men understood clearly what she was implying.

Jeremy lowered Rod carefully into a sitting position, and Eliza handed him the canteen. As the scout drank, Jeremy sank to a squatting position and looked at them. “My name’s Jeremy Ash. This is Rod Willis. He’s the scout for our wagon train, a couple of miles back that way, and I’m his assistant for the day.” He looked at the young girl. “Hi, Mary. How old are you?”

Two startlingly green eyes peered back at him. “H-hello. I’m ten.”

“Nice to meet you, Mary. I’m rising fifteen, not much older than you. Don’t worry, nobody’s going to hurt you while Rod and I are here to look after you. The wagon train will be along soon.”

“Better reload your guns,” Rod reminded him, “in case any more Sioux heard that fuss and come lookin’ to see what caused it.”

“Yeah. I’ll try to catch their horses, so the women can ride if we have to run for it.”

The Indians’ horses were skittish and wouldn’t let him get near them, so he abandoned the effort. He picked up his fallen guns and checked them carefully. His Sharps rifle had been protected by its buckskin sleeve. However, the Dragoon Colt’s hammer spur had broken off when it hit a rock in its fall, rendering it inoperable until it could be repaired. The jagged stump showed that there might have been a fault in the metal that had snapped under the stress. Rod shook his head. “You’ll have to get that fixed at Fort Bridger or Fort Hall. Use my Dragoon for now. I won’t be needing it until my shoulder heals.”

Jeremy transferred Rod’s Dragoon – fortunately unharmed in the scout’s fall – to his saddle holster and dropped his damaged gun into a saddlebag, then reloaded the empty chambers of his belt guns. He found his hands were trembling in the aftermath of the fight. Rod grinned painfully. “Don’t worry, son. Everybody gets the shakes the first couple o’ times. You did your grandfather’s training real credit today. Tackling three Sioux warriors, alone, and you only fourteen… even though you had a gun, that was still a hell of a thing. I reckon you saved my life as well as rescuin’ these ladies. That lance-carrier would have finished me off for sure if you hadn’t kept him busy.”

Jeremy finished reloading, and slid the pistols into his holsters. “Should I ride back to the wagon train to fetch help?”

“No, don’t do that. That’d leave me alone to defend these ladies if any more Sioux arrive, and I ain’t in any shape to do that. Let’s wait until we can see the wagons, then get their attention. They can’t be far behind us now. Why don’t you gather up those Injuns’ weapons?”

Jeremy did so. The lance, bow and arrows were of Indian manufacture, while the tomahawks and belt knives were factory-made trade goods. “The lance will make a dandy memento of this fight,” he said as he examined the red-dyed feathers tied below its seven-inch razor-sharp blade. The circular shield from the lance-wielder’s back, almost two feet across, was made from the thickest part of the neck hide over a buffalo’s hump, smoked, steamed, shaped and formed on a wood frame, then covered with an outer layer of deerskin with the hair shaved off. The stylized black silhouette of an eagle with outstretched wings was painted on it. Three dangling groups of eagle feathers hung at each wingtip and over the claws of the figure.

Rod looked carefully at the lance and shield. “Each feather on the shield is prob’ly for an enemy he’s killed. I’m guessin’ this man was a member of what the Sioux call their warrior societies. Did he have any animal skins or feathers or markings on his body?”

“Yes, he had what looked like a fox skin around his neck,” Jeremy recalled. “It had a small buckskin bag attached to the head, hanging down on his chest. He had black crow feathers crossways in his hair, with two eagle feathers sticking up. There were faded lines of yellow paint on his chest.”

“Then he was Kit Fox Society, prob’ly a senior member, since he’s a lance carrier an’ wore yellow. The other two were most likely junior members learning from him.”

Rod examined the muzzle-loading long gun closely as Jeremy held it so he could read the markings on its barrel and breech. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he exclaimed. “That’s an old Harpers Ferry military rifle. It’s gotta be close to fifty years old. I’d sure love to know how it got out here beyond the frontier. It might’ve been taken off a dead Army soldier or emigrant by an Indian brave. Rifles weren’t issued as trade or treaty guns, as far as I know; only smoothbore muskets. It’s still got its original flintlock – it ain’t been updated to percussion. That’s another nice memento for you.”

Jeremy ran his hand over the pattern of brass tacks hammered into the rifle’s stock, then laid it on the ground next to the other captured weapons as Rod pointed to a cloud of dust moving steadily nearer. “There’s the wagons. Get up on your hoss so they can see you, fire three shots in the air, and give them a wave-round.”

Jeremy mounted, stood upright in his stirrups, and drew his strongside Colt. Aiming into the air he fired three shots, spacing them a few seconds apart. He could see the wagon drivers hauling on the reins, startled, as they halted their vehicles, and those walking beside them pointing at him. He holstered the gun, took off his hat and waved it above his head in a slow circle, three times, left to right. A horseman riding next to Harry’s wagon, nine back from the front of the train, spurred his mount and raced towards him. A few other riders did the same from further back along the line of wagons, which remained halted.

The first horseman proved to be Mike. He skidded his horse to a standstill in a cloud of dust, jumping from the saddle. “What the hell happened?” he snapped as he hurried towards Rod.

“Sioux happened, that’s what,” Rod told him, pointing at the three dead bodies with his left hand. “Don’t touch my right arm. My shoulder got busted when one of ’em dropped my hoss and I went over its head. These two ladies were their prisoners.” He introduced them.

“Very glad to meet you, ladies,” Mike told them, straightening and doffing his hat. “When and where were you captured?”

“Back there,” the woman told him, gesturing towards the horizon. “Our wagon train was ambushed two days ago. The last few wagons got separated from the main body, and suddenly they swarmed us from out of the bushes along the river. The others didn’t come back to help. My husband and stepson… they…” She couldn’t say more through sudden tears.

Jeremy suddenly realized where she was pointing. “Rod and I saw some faint smoke out thataway,” he told Mike, “but we couldn’t figure out what it was. Could be it was those wagons, still smoldering.”

“Yeah. Ma’am, you and your daughter are safe now. I’ll have the wagons circle right here. We’re going to have to send Rod back to Fort Laramie to have the Army doctor see to his shoulder. I’ll send you back with him.”

“No – please, no!” she pleaded. “Can’t I go on with you?”

“I…” Mike must have realized there was more to her request than she was saying. “We’ll talk once the wagons are circled, ma’am. Meanwhile, let me go back and get them headed this way.” He turned back to his horse. “Rod, you’re on full pay while you heal up, that goes without sayin’. I’ll have Dick take over as scout.”

“Iffen I were you, I’d hire young Jeremy here too,” Rod said. “He knows enough to help Dick, and he’s got fightin’ spirit to spare. He got all three of those Injuns on his lonesome. I didn’t fire a shot.”

Mike’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he looked at Jeremy. “All of them? Well, I’ll be damned! There’s precious few men can say they stood off three Sioux at close range like that. If Rod reckons you’re good enough, that’s all I need to know. How’d you like to sign on as assistant scout for the rest of the trip? I’ll pay you fifty a month, plus ten towards your keep.”

“If grandpa agrees, sure,” Jeremy managed to get out, “but I don’t know whether he might need some help with our wagons now and then.”

“We’ll talk to him. Keep an eye out for more Sioux while I start circling the wagons.”

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I did writing it.  Look for it to go on sale on or about January 15th.  I'll provide a link as soon as its Amazon page is up.

Peter

 

Your feel-good story of the day (click the image for a larger view):

(I presume that's Rome, New York and its Humane Society.)

I call that the spirit of Christmas in operation.  Thank you, Jennifer!

Peter

 

Reading some of the comments about the Camp Fire disaster after yesterday's post, I was reminded again that many people just don't get it.  They really believe that disaster, danger, whatever, won't come upon them unawares - that they'll always have at least some time to prepare for it.  While I agree that many times they'll be right, I've also lived long enough, in enough really nasty circumstances, to know that it won't always be that way.

• You may get warning of a hurricane, or a rioting mob, or a fire;  but will the warning be early enough for you to get out of the way - particularly when everyone around you is blocking the roads as they try to do likewise?
• Who's going to warn you about an earthquake or a landslide?  They don't happen in a predictable fashion.  They can strike anytime.
• Crime and criminals are an ever-present reality, and the last thing they're going to do is give you advance notice that they're out to get you.  If you aren't ready for them, you'll be a victim rather than a defender.

1.  NOBODY IS COMING TO SAVE YOU.  Whether an event lasts a few seconds, a few hours, or even a few days – you have to work as though nobody is coming to save you.

2.  You are your savior, so start working because EVERYTHING IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY.  You are your security, you are your medic, you are your rescuer.

3.  You are your own best resource to SAVE WHO NEEDS TO BE SAVED.  Nobody wants to save your life more than you, so set yourself up for success by having the simple tools and knowledge to do so: do what you can with what you have.  Recognize that nobody is in a better position to start saving your life than you.

4.  Sometimes saving lives means you have to KILL WHO NEEDS TO BE KILLED.  It has been almost 15 years since I first wrote “the more effective you are at taking a life, the more successful you’ll be at saving one” and nothing in the intervening time has changed my mind.  Be swift, be decisive, be final.

5.  Mostly, ALWAYS BE WORKING.  There is always something you can be doing to improve your position.  Always.  Because nobody is coming to save you.

Words of wisdom, to be remembered and applied.  Yesterday's Camp Fire disaster discussion demonstrated that in many ways.

Peter

 

The so-called Camp Fire in California in November 2018 was "the deadliest and most destructive wildfire in California's history, and the most expensive natural disaster in the world in 2018 in terms of insured losses".  It was a catastrophe for those who lost everything in it, and a tragedy for all who lost loved ones (at least 85 people were killed).

Extensive investigations into the causes, development, and aftermath of the event have been ongoing.  Based on them, Homeland Security Today is publishing a series of articles under the series headline "Lessons Learned from the Camp Fire".  The three so far published are:

To illustrate how useful those lessons are, here are some excerpts from the third article in the series.

LESSON 1: Stay Calm

There will come a moment when you realize that the normal flow of events has been broken – when you see some awful development with dangerous implications for your safety and think, “Oh, this is really happening.”

That is the moment to rely on yourself and your preparation and get to work. That is the moment to stay calm and assure those around you ... keeping your cool may prevent you from making a rash mistake that stops you altogether.

In our evacuation, those who made snap decisions to drive around the flow of traffic, up on curbs and whatnot, often found themselves mired in ditches or running over something that flattened their tires. They went from moving very fast to not moving at all.

Calfire Chief John Messina had a memorable term for this lesson: “Sometimes slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.”

LESSON 2: If You’re Asking, “Should We Evacuate?” LEAVE NOW

A retired firefighter who has watched wildfires get bigger, faster and deadlier since the 1970s said this best: “If it occurs to you that you need to evacuate, you already should have evacuated” ... Because it takes us a little while to discern the gravity of our reality, by the time we realize mortal danger is at play, it is likely the moment to leave has already passed.

Trust your spidey-sense and get moving.

. . .

LESSON 6: Semper Gumby–Be Flexible

By their nature, disasters are chaos. They shred our ambitions to control. So when you realize your plan does not perfectly match your situation, know that this is not a mark of its failure.

There’s an expression Butte County Emergency Manager Cindi Dunsmoor introduced me to: Semper Gumby.

“You have to be flexible,” she advises. “You have to have plan A, B and C and know in the back of your mind ‘Ok, I know this is the plan, but sometimes that plan doesn’t work out and we’ve got backups and backups.’”

Improvisation is not the tap dance you do when you’re intending something else. Improvisation IS the dance.

Has a hurricane destroyed the main bridge off your island and cut off your preferred escape route? What other paths are there to safety? Another bridge? A ferry? A private boat? Or is moving no longer the best course of action? Can your best safety now be found by hunkering down and riding it out?

Lesson 7: Respect the Math

In a normal emergency situation – a co-worker’s heart attack, a shooting, a building fire – those first responders “outnumber” the forces causing the danger. They can arrive and deal with it. But in making your plan to deal with disaster, this ‘call someone’ impulse works against you.

What separates disasters from emergencies is that they are overwhelming and cannot be controlled. The math goes in the opposite direction.

On the day the Camp Fire swept over the Paradise Ridge, thousands of firefighters, police and sheriff’s deputies, and emergency medical responders rushed to Butte County. Combined with those already in the county, the rough number of those dealing with the disaster was somewhere between 5,000 and 7,000.

Those moving off the ridge numbered about 52,000. Even if every responder was doing nothing but helping people evacuate – not fighting fire, not treating injuries, not directing resources – the math makes the task impossible.

So you need to plan as though you are on your own. Not because those responsible for dealing with disaster don’t care or planned poorly, but because it is mathematically impossible for them to help everyone. Your job is to accept this, escape the danger zone and live to deal with the aftermath.

There's more at the link, and in the first two articles in the series (linked above).  Highly recommended reading.

I suggest keeping an eye on Homeland Security Today for future articles in the series (if any - I don't know how many are planned).  They appear to be coming out at weekly intervals.  If so, and if there are more, the next one should appear tomorrow.  See the author's page there for links to all his articles.

It's far better to learn from others' experience than to learn things the hard way ourselves.  As Will Rogers famously put it:

"Good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment."

Let's avoid making bad judgments by studying the experience of others, and learn good judgment from what they can teach us.

Peter

A week ago I wrote about Ari Munzner, a 90-year-old artist who lost much of his life's work when fires sparked during the riots in Minneapolis destroyed his studio.  Undaunted, he's doing his best to pick up the pieces and start again.  You can read his story in more detail at this link.

Ari's daughter Tamara set up a GoFundMe fund-raiser to help raise money to restore those of his works that can be salvaged, and set up a new studio.  Readers of this blog have already responded generously, for which my grateful thanks.  The fundraiser had reached only about $4,500 when I publicized it last week, and rose rapidly thereafter.  As I write these words, it stands at $18,380 out of a goal of $20,000.

I have enormous admiration for Ari's determination not to let this disaster derail his life's work.  I hope I'd display as much courage and optimism, to start all over again at so advanced an age, if such a disaster happened to me.  I'd really like to see the fundraiser's goal reached, to give him a head start on the process.  It would also be very nice, in moral terms, to help build something positive out of the negativity of the riots and destruction.

How about it, readers?  If you haven't already contributed, will you please consider even a small donation?  It doesn't have to be a lot - every little helps - and I think it's in a very good cause.  Let's get Ari over the finish line!

Peter

Back in February, the very large ore carrier (VLOC) Stellar Banner ran into trouble in Brazil.  The ship was leaving harbor with a cargo of 270,000 tons of iron ore, bound for China, when she suffered extensive damage to her bows.  The leak could not be contained, so her captain chose to ground the ship rather than risk her sinking, and her crew was evacuated.

Here's video of the ship aground in shallow water, about 62 miles from the Brazilian coast.




The ship was refloated earlier this month after more than half her cargo of iron ore had been removed.  She was then towed out to sea for inspection, to determine whether she could be repaired safely and economically.  It didn't take long for surveyors to determine that she was too badly damaged for that, so she was scuttled last week.

I've known for years that bulk ore carriers are among the most dangerous vessels to be aboard if they spring a leak.  As a volunteer with South Africa's National Sea Rescue Institute, way back when, I learned that the sheer dead weight and lack of buoyancy of the cargo means that they can sink very fast indeed, much faster than other vessels of similar size.  Even so, I was surprised to see how fast Stellar Banner disappeared beneath the waves, dragged down by well over 100,000 tons of iron ore still on board (the source of the rust-colored water erupting around her as she sank).  Imagine if she hadn't had shallow water available to ground her when she was first damaged.  Any crew members trapped below decks in machinery spaces wouldn't have had anything like enough time to make it up to the main deck, let alone to the lifeboats.

Here's how she went down.




That's a very sobering video for any sailor to watch.  Seafaring remains a hazardous profession.  Judging by how badly damaged the ship was, I think the captain may have done a pretty good job in deliberately running her aground in February, before she could sink.  He probably saved more than a few lives.

Peter

My friend, photographer Oleg Volk, alerted me to a tragedy that struck artist Ari Munzer in Minneapolis during the riots there last week.  Oleg says, "Back in 1996-97, he was my college advisor, one of two people who saved my educational career. He and I have been friends ever since."

A Minneapolis newspaper reports:

Wearing circular spectacles and suspenders that held up his loose trousers on his bony frame, 90-year-old artist Aribert Munzner stood outside his studio at the Ivy Arts Building in Minneapolis, watching friends, colleagues, former students and strangers carry out paint supplies and soggy cardboard boxes.

The boxes contained more than 60 years of work, damaged in a single night.

In the early hours of May 29, the roof of the Ivy — a 120-year-old building on S. 27th Avenue that once fabricated ornamental iron and now is home to more than 70 artist studios and small businesses — was ignited by sparks from the nearby Hexagon Bar, set ablaze in riots after the death of George Floyd.

Munzner, who goes by "Ari," explained the incident as if it were a scene from a comic book:

"One: Fire torch. Two: Big fire, spark, 150-year-old roof, wooden. Big fire. Fire people come, put out the fire. Big hole in roof. 1,000 gallons of beautiful Mississippi water came thundering down and I was at ground zero," he said, with an accent that sounded like a mix of New York, German and Irish.

. . .

Munzner is grappling with the loss of his many artworks, but his outlook on change is more fluid.

"I'm starting again because that's what I've been doing all my life," he said.

He was only 7 when his Jewish family fled Hitler's Germany in 1937 for Baghdad, where they had a family friend. In their new home, he learned Arabic from a Lebanese Jesuit priest. But when British forces invaded Iraq in 1941 to depose its Nazi-leaning regime, the family took off again, this time to New York City.

Munzner has eidetic memory, also known as photographic memory — "I don't have the ability to play with words — they jump like squirrels," he joked — so when he came to America he taught himself English by reading comic books.

"I learned how to say 'WOW' and 'BANG!' " he said, making explosive motions with his hands. "Superman and Captain Marvel told me how to be an American."

He came to the Minneapolis College of Art and Design in 1955 for a short-term gig. Now he is an MCAD professor emeritus.

"We didn't have GPS back in '55, so I never found my way back to New York," he joked. "I ended up — gladly, actually — in the Upper Midwest."

There's more at the link.

Here's a video about Ari's work, recorded last year in his now-destroyed studio.




Ari's daughter Tamara has started a fundraiser to help her father recover what he can and rebuild his studio.  She writes:

Although money cannot replace any of the finished work or work in progress that was completely destroyed, money can help with the significant costs of damage remediation, replacing materials and tools, and moving into a new space.

Ari is still assessing the full extent of the water and smoke damage.

It's already clear that as part of the damage remediation, many of the finished works will need to be reframed and rematted. The costs of that will be high, his initial estimate is $10K-$20K for that alone.

Many supplies and materials were completely destroyed, as were some of his tools and equipment. The replacement costs could be up to $5K-$10K.

There will be costs associated with temporary storage,  moving, and setting up a new studio space. It will be difficult to find suitable space that is as affordable as his previous studio, where he was a longtime tenant with favorable terms.

All funds raised will go directly to him to be used to defray the costs of damage remediation, and of establishing a new studio space. Any amount from you is welcome at any time.

Ari's Work
Another way to support Ari, as always, is through acquiring his work. His web site, http://www.aribertmunzner.com/, documents much of his lifetime output, and includes a list of all currently available major and minor work. We will be updating those pages over the coming weeks and months as the damage assessment and remediation process unfolds; in the meantime, please do contact him to ask about any specific works that interest you.

Again, more at the link.

Because Ari is Oleg's friend, and I'd trust Oleg with my life if necessary, I'm motivated to donate in his support.  I'm even more motivated by my admiration for a man of 90 years of age who's prepared to "suck it up" and face the challenge of starting over.  I hope I could be as courageous and optimistic if that happened to me so late in life - but I doubt it.  The man's a marvel.

I'd like to invite readers who feel sympathy for the victims of the riots, to join me in supporting Ari.  Let's help to salvage at least some good out of the evil that was done in Minneapolis last week.

Peter

Strategy Page reports on an interesting new technology soon to be available for standard cellphones.

In a major technological breakthrough an American firm, Lynk Global, conducted several demonstrations in February, before numerous industry experts, in which one of the three new Lynk LEO (Low Earth Orbit) satellites successfully enabled an ordinary cellphone in the U.S. to send text messages via that satellite 500 kilometers away to other another cellphone in the Falkland Islands (in the South Atlantic).

Standard earth-based cell towers have a maximum range of 35 kilometers and there are not enough cell towers to cover the entire planet. Lynk eliminates the problems an estimated 750 million cellphone users have each day in not being able to get a signal. Lynk can also provide cellphone service to over a billion people who live in areas without access to cell phone networks. Lynk is literally a cell tower in space that sends 2G signals to any cellphone below.

Initially, Lynk will provide a global texting service. As the satellite technology is improved voice calls will be available as well. Lynk does not make ground-based cell towers obsolete because these local cell towers can provide high-speed service needed to access most of what is on the Internet. Other firms have developed satellite-based Internet service but these require special, but small and inexpensive, equipment to access them. Lynk will work with any of the existing five billion cellphones. Lynk also takes advantage of the fact that most cellphone users prefer to use texting rather than voice calls. Access to the Lynk network will be sold separately although 30 existing cellphone service providers have already agreed to offer Lynk service as an optional feature of their networks. For two billion people in remote areas Lynk will provide a reliable and affordable to existing cellphone service.

For the military and emergency service organizations Lynk will be a lifesaver. In the aftermath of major storms, earthquakes and such a major problem people in the disaster zone and emergency responders have it reliable communications. Cell phone towers are put out of action, sometimes for months. Yet in the first days of such disasters communications are vital and a matter of life or death. Lynk expects to begin offering texting service by the end of 2020 as it puts more satellites into orbit. For Lynk, this service is seen as a $300 billion a year market for them and a boost to sales of cell phones to many people who never bothered to get one because they lived in an area without any service and not much expectation of such service being installed. While many of these remote areas are populated by people without a lot of income the fact that Lynk will work with any cellphone, including the many budget phones (under $100) or even cheaper (under $20) second-hand phones, they will be able to afford Lynk.

Lynk will also provide a missing capability that the military has been seeking. Troops often operate in areas where there is little or no cell phone service and for the last twenty years, the U.S. Department of Defense and other government agencies have been working to equip commercial cellphones with encryption and other features that make cellphones usable in a combat zone.

There's more at the link.

This will be great news for areas affected by natural disasters such as tornadoes, hurricanes, etc.  Local cellphone towers typically go out of service for days or even weeks following such episodes, until repair crews can get to them and/or power can be restored.  If those in such areas have access to text messaging via satellite, to let their loved ones know they're OK or to send a message asking for help to emergency services, that'll be a real game-changer.  I wish we'd had it available during Hurricane Katrina, back in 2005.

As Instapundit often says:  "Faster, please!"

Peter

I've noticed a number of articles and comments around the blogosphere talking about government economic relief programs for the coronavirus pandemic.  Many of them claim that the government is "printing money" to deal with this crisis, and that this will inevitably bounce back on the "real" economy when the crisis is over.  In one sense they're right, but in another they're wrong.  Money itself isn't the problem - it's how it's generated and used.

In order to clarify the situation, I thought two 2014 articles in Adobe Acrobat format from the Bank of England might be useful.  They explain, in clear and simple terms for non-economists, how money is used, and how it's "created" in a modern banking system.  They're written from a British perspective, but their principles apply to all modern economies.  Whenever they mention the Bank of England, just think of the US Federal Reserve, and you'll get the idea.

The first article is titled "Money in the modern economy:  an introduction".

• Money is essential to the workings of a modern economy, but its nature has varied substantially over time. This article provides an introduction to what money is today.
• Money today is a type of IOU, but one that is special because everyone in the economy trusts that it will be accepted by other people in exchange for goods and services.
• There are three main types of money: currency, bank deposits and central bank reserves. Each represents an IOU from one sector of the economy to another. Most money in the modern economy is in the form of bank deposits, which are created by commercial banks themselves.

The second article is titled "Money creation in the modern economy".

• This article explains how the majority of money in the modern economy is created by commercial banks making loans.
• Money creation in practice differs from some popular misconceptions — banks do not act simply as intermediaries, lending out deposits that savers place with them, and nor do they ‘multiply up’ central bank money to create new loans and deposits.
• The amount of money created in the economy ultimately depends on the monetary policy of the central bank. In normal times, this is carried out by setting interest rates. The central bank can also affect the amount of money directly through purchasing assets or ‘quantitative easing’.

I highly recommend reading both articles.  They'll give you a much clearer understanding of where money comes from in our modern economy, and how it's being used to relieve some of the stresses of the coronavirus pandemic.

Of course, creating so much "new money" will impose economic stresses of its own.  It's a matter of relieving the primary stresses (caused by the impact of the pandemic on our economy) as quickly as possible, and worrying about the secondary stresses (caused by the sudden creation of so much "new money") later, because there's no time to do so now.  In one sense, it's a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" approach.  That's not necessarily very comforting, but it helps to understand why these steps are being undertaken - and how.

Peter

A treasure trove of World War II-era aviation blueprints have been saved for posterity.  Warbird Digest reports:

AirCorps Aviation of Bemidji, Minnesota has just announced that they have acquired a massive trove of original manufacturing drawings for North American Aviation (NAA) covering types such as the P-51, T-6, B-25 and P-82.

Ken Jungeberg was the head of the Master Dimensions department at Columbus in 1988 when the factory closed its doors. When he heard that North American was planning to burn all the WWII era drawings in their archive, he knew he had to do something. He began writing letters and making calls to his superiors, advocating to save the drawings. Discouraged by responses that there was nothing he could do, Ken had all but given up, until a twist of fate changed everything.

A situation that would have been a tragedy under normal circumstances turned positive when a pipe burst in the archive room that stored the drawings to be destroyed. The room all but filled with water, cracking the cement foundation, and soaking the contents of the room. North American employees emptied the room, and piled the soaking wet drawings in a heap on the factory floor, where they sat for the next two weeks.

It was at the end of these two weeks that Ken got the call he had been waiting for. He was told that he could have the drawings, if he came to pick them up immediately, and promised that they would never end up “blowing around in a landfill”. Clearly the company was still concerned with preserving the name and reputation that North American was known for. Ken rented a truck and he and several friends loaded the drawings, and took them to a barn where Ken began the monumental task of laying them out to dry. Because the drawings were done in pencil on tracing vellum (a very durable media), the information was essentially undamaged.

Once the drawings were dry enough, Ken sorted, re-rolled, and boxed them up. He took many to his home, and stored the rest at his hangar at the Warren County Airport in Lebanon, OH. The drawings would remain in this same location for the next 32 years, until 2019.

. . .

Ken has done the vintage and legacy aircraft community a great service through his persistence, and understanding of what these drawings would mean in a historical context.

There's more at the link, including some very interesting historical photographs.  The blueprints really are works of art, as well as engineering and manufacturing references.

That's an amazing aviation legacy.  One could take these blueprints and use them as manufacturing guides today, starting from scratch to produce a brand-new aircraft.  Of course, having someone make the parts would be difficult and expensive, but with the original blueprints, it's entirely feasible.  I wonder how many warbirds will be kept flying thanks to the ability to make new parts for them or rebuild them, courtesy of this historical and technological treasure trove?

Peter

I was interested to learn that one of the ancient crowns of Ethiopia's emperors has been saved from looters.

After 21 years tucked away inside a Rotterdam flat, a priceless 18th century crown is finally being repatriated to Ethiopia with the help of a Dutch art detective.

For more than two decades, the crown has been guarded by Dutch-Ethiopian national Sirak Asfaw in a secret location in his Netherlands home.

A former refugee, Sirak fled Ethiopia during the “Red Terror” purges in the 1970s. Over the ensuing years, he hosted Ethiopian pilots, diplomats and refugees as they passed through the city. He unexpectedly became the guardian of the crown in April 1998, after one of his guests left behind a suitcase.

Sirak said he "looked into the suitcase and saw something really amazing and I thought 'this is not right. This has been stolen. This should not be here. This belongs to Ethiopia'".

Sirak refused to let the unnamed suitcase owner regain possession and instead hid it from the regime that had allowed it to be stolen in the first place. “I knew if I gave it back, it would just disappear again”, he told AFP.

One of Ethiopia's most important religious artefacts, the crown is one of only 20 created and is one of the most valuable of those. Made of gilded copper, it features images of the Holy Trinity and Christ's disciples.

. . .

Sirak initially sought advice about what to do with the crown from fellow Ethiopians in an online forum, without revealing the specifics of his discovery. What followed was 21 years of pressure from his compatriots, who suspected what he possessed, and nightmares about the well-connected thieves who had smuggled it into Europe to begin with.

His guardianship finally concluded last year when Sirak contacted Arthur Brand, a Dutch art detective often described as the "Indiana Jones of the art world", for support. He felt that Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed taking office in Ethiopia signalled sufficient changes in the country and it was time for the crown to go home.

There's more at the link.

It's certainly a cultural artifact of immense importance, but Ethiopia is hardly the world's most stable country.  If it goes back there, I'm afraid it'll get ripped off again - and this time, the thieves will take rather better care of their loot until they can dispose of it.  So many ancient treasures have disappeared that way . . .

Looking at the crown (click the picture above for a larger view), I can't help wondering how (un)comfortable it must have been to wear it for extended periods.  I hope the Emperors of Ethiopia had strong neck muscles, and plenty of hair to serve as padding!

Peter

A French rescue helicopter was involved in a training exercise when it had an unfortunate encounter with low-hanging power lines.




Very fortunately, no-one was hurt this time.

The helicopter was equipped with a wire-cutter, ringed in the photograph below (a screen-capture from the video above).




That may have helped prevent a crash, by deflecting or cutting the wires before they could get tangled in the rotor.  However, I imagine all on board had a brown-trouser moment!

Peter

For years I've been pointing out how federal, state and local government pensions (not to mention many private pension funds, particularly those organized by trades unions) are woefully underfunded, sometimes so much so that they're effectively bankrupt already.  I've also warned that we can expect calls for a federal bailout of such funds, forcing the burden for their deficits onto the US taxpayer instead of those who are rightfully responsible for them.  Most recently, in February, I wrote:

I fully expect semi-bankrupt cities and states to demand a Federal bailout of their obligations.  I hope and trust that won't happen . . . but bear in mind that almost every city with serious debt problems is run by a Democratic Party administration.  If the Democrats take over the Senate and Presidency, in addition to their present hold on the House, you can bet your bottom dollar (literally) that such a bailout will be passed.  That'll put all US taxpayers on the hook for all that money - at least $5 trillion for all states and major cities right now, and probably higher.

Am I a prophet, or what?

Here’s a remarkable lending opportunity to consider:  Let’s make billions of dollars in loans to borrowers which “are insolvent” or in “critical or declining status.”  These loans would be unsecured and no payments of principal would be due for 30 years.  At that point, in case of default, the loans would be forgiven.  Would you make such a loan?  Obviously not, and neither would anybody else—except maybe the government.   This idea is one only politicians could love, since it gives them a way to spend the taxpayers’ money without calling it spending.

Making such loans is proposed in a bill before the House Ways and Means Committee, entitled “Rehabilitation for Multiemployer Pensions Act” (HR 397). The borrowers would be multiemployer (union) pension funds which are deeply underfunded, insolvent in the sense of having obligations much greater than their assets, and won’t have the money to pay the benefits they have promised.  A more forthright title for the bill would be the “Taxpayer Bailout of Multiemployer Pension Funds Act.”

The bill’s primary sponsor, Congressman Richard Neal (D-MA), who is Chairman of the Ways and Means Committee, has stated, “This is not a bailout.”  But a bailout by any other name is still a bailout.  “These plans would be required by law to pay back the loans they receive,” said Chairman Neal.  But the bill itself provides on pp.18-19:

“(e) LOAN DEFAULT.—If a plan is unable to make any payment on a loan under this section when due, the Pension Rehabilitation Administration [PRA] shall negotiate with the plan sponsor revised terms for repayment, which may include…forgiveness of a portion of the loan principal.”

No limit is set on how big the “portion” may be.  Why not 100%?  Of course, all loans of all kinds are in principle required to be repaid, but are nonetheless not repaid if the borrower becomes insolvent, and pension funds demonstrably can go broke like anybody else.  As one actuary recently observed, “It seems very likely that the default rate on PRA loans will be significant.”  Indeed it does.

. . .

In short, the bill is a convoluted way to a simple end: to have the taxpayers pay the pensions promised but not funded by the multiemployer plans.  If enacted, the bill will encourage other plans to make new unfunded promises in the very logical expectation of future additional bailouts.

There's more at the link.  The bill contains other (unpleasant) surprises, too, so it's worth reading the article in full.

The bill's sponsor(s) may deny that it's a bailout, but if it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, and swims like a duck . . . it's a duck.  This is a bailout, pure and simple, with some hastily applied camouflage to pretend that it's merely a "loan".  That's a con from beginning to end.

If this is allowed to pass, it'll open the gates to shunt $5 trillion or so of city and state pension underfunding onto US taxpayers' shoulders.  (After all, if we're helping union pension funds, how unreasonable not to do the same for government employees, no?)  If this measure doesn't pass, there'll be more.  The politicians are dependent on voters to keep their jobs, so they're very vulnerable to pressure to get them to support such schemes.  "Vote for this bailout, or we'll tell all our union members/city residents that you blocked the rescue plan for their pensions!"  Politicians are, in general, fundamentally cowardly, putting re-election over principles and ethics.  They'll cave . . . unless we are ceaselessly watchful, and protective of our own interests as taxpayers.

To shunt $5 trillion more onto the already unmanageable national (i.e. federal) deficit would increase it by almost 23%, virtually overnight.  That's madness!  Please write your congressional representative and Senators about this, objecting as vehemently as possible to being made to carry the fiscal can for the financial irresponsibility and fecklessness of others.

Peter

City Journal recently published an excellent article about the danger of a megaquake in the Cascadia Subduction Zone off the west coast of North America.  I highly recommend reading it in full - it's certainly enough to give anyone in their right minds pause for thought!  One aspect in particular, though, caught my eye.

Tsunami pods ... are now available, manufactured by Survival Capsule, a company based in suburban Seattle. Made with aircraft-grade aluminum, they’re watertight and supposedly strong enough to withstand just about anything that nature can hurl at them.

They come with flares and personal-locator beacons that go out on marine-band radio. A two-person capsule is spacious enough for weeks’ worth of supplies, weighs in at 300 pounds, and costs $13,500. A user should put on a helmet and strap himself in, because he’ll be in for the roughest ride of his life. “It makes people uncomfortable to think about dying,” Survival Capsule’s first-ever customer, Jeanne Johnson, said to Portland’s KOIN 6 News. “I don’t think about dying anymore. I think about having to get in here and lock the door.”

There's more at the link.

Further reading showed that another company manufactures similar pods, constructed out of polyethylene rather than aluminum (and consequently much cheaper), with a top entry rather than a side door.




Both pods are designed to be anchored to a strong fixed point on the ground, so they won't drift away.  They have lifting rings or attachment points installed so they can be lifted out of the water, and both claim to offer storage for emergency rations, etc.

I have huge doubts about whether or not these devices will actually save lives during a major tsunami.  Just for a start, consider the pressure of so much water rushing in.  The video below was taken in Japan during the 2011 tsunami there.  Watch how the water moves vehicles, boats, heavy weights such as garbage skips, even entire buildings - and not slowly, either.




All those objects were ramming into each other, buildings, and what have you.  If your survival capsule was floating among them, it'd suffer such collisions not once or twice, but dozens, scores or even hundreds of times.  I should think even the toughest capsule would have a hard time surviving that, particularly if it were pinned between a heavy object ramming it, and a solid backstop that would not give under the impact - the side of a building, say, or a cliff face.  I seriously doubt whether the capsules pictured above could survive that, again and again, hour after hour after hour.

Then, there's the anchoring line, or cable, or chain.  Just look at the force of that water alone, never mind impacts from passing debris.  It'd take a very strong line indeed to resist that pull, and any collisions with other wreckage would tug and jerk at the line with an even stronger force.  I'm pretty sure the line, or perhaps its attachment point(s) to the ground or the pod, would fail.  The pod would go drifting away with all the other debris.  Where it would end up is anyone's guess.  What if it's washed into a big building such as a warehouse or factory, that then collapses on top of it?  What are its occupants' chances of survival then?

Next, there's the problem of seasickness.  Those pods have little or no stability.  They'll be bobbing around like corks on the water, tossing from side to side, perhaps tumbled completely upside down now and again as they hit shallow ground and are dragged across it by the water flow before moving back into deep water.  (If you doubt that, look how those cars in the video above were thrown around by the water.)  Those inside the pod are going to be disoriented, dazed, and probably sick as all get-out before even a few minutes have passed.  There are no windows, so they won't know what's coming, and the fear of not knowing what the next bump or bounce might signify will weigh heavily on them.  I think being in such a pod might be a nightmare of its own special quality, to put it mildly!

Also, there's no way to get rid of one's vomit.  It'll swill around the floor, adding its own special aroma to the atmosphere inside, and probably splashing all over the occupants as the pod bobs around in the rushing water.  The same applies to the products of urination and defecation.  Your bodily functions won't stop just because you're waiting to be rescued - and there's no toilet inside, nor is there room for one.  There isn't even room to stand up, even if the pod were stable enough to allow that.  You'll have to "do your business" all over your seat, maybe even in your clothes!  Put all that together, and I really, really don't want to be stuck in such a pod for days on end . . .

As for emergency rations, rescue, and so on . . . if you can carry two or three days' rations with you, that's great, but what if your pod is washed out to sea?  It'll be hard to spot among all the other floating debris, and rescuers will be so busy dealing with the broad mass of victims and survivors that they won't have time to go looking for it.  The largest concentrations of survivors will receive the most attention, on the basis of doing the most good for the greatest number.  You'll be drifting off on your own, far from the crowds.  Why should rescuers detach a badly-needed helicopter to go looking for you?  Will they even know you exist?  If your pod has an emergency locator beacon, they might detect that:  but those beacons will be going off from drifting boats, aircraft, and people in life rafts or canoes or whatever.  Yours will be one among many.  I wouldn't count on early rescue, if I were you - but I doubt you'll be able to carry enough rations or water to endure more than a few days.  Those are very small craft indeed.

I'm not saying these pods are useless, but I think they're an absolute last resort, when there are no other options at all.  Frankly, if I lived in a place where these pods were the only realistic option to survive a tsunami, I'd move to a safer place right away, while I still had time!  Give me somewhere with a reasonable chance of safe evacuation, even if the views aren't as good!

I suspect the price of a pod could be better applied to more versatile aids to surviving a disaster, like a used small camper or travel trailer, either ready to go, or already parked in a safer place to which one can evacuate.  These pods appear to be far from a guarantee of survival, despite their manufacturers' promises.  I'm not sure that I wouldn't prefer to buy a used lifeboat off a ship being scrapped, and stick that in the back yard.  If I'm going to float away anyway, at least I'd have more room in it for myself, my family and our supplies - even, perhaps, for a portable toilet or handy bucket!

What say you, readers?  Do these things appear useful, or are they just an expensive survivalist toy?  Let us know in Comments.

Peter

An extraordinary tale has emerged from Sweden of how a Yazidi student from Iraq was saved from ISIS terrorists by his professor and her university colleagues.

A chemistry professor at Lund University [in Sweden] dispatched a team of mercenaries into an Islamic State (also known as IS, Isis or Daesh) war zone to free one of her doctoral students and his family.

Charlotta Turner, professor in Analytical Chemistry, received a text message from her student Firas Jumaah in 2014 telling her to to assume he would not finish his thesis if he had not returned within a week.

He and his family were, he told her, hiding out in a disused bleach factory, with the sounds of gunshots from Isis warriors roaming the town reverberating around them. Jumaah, who is from Iraq, is a member of the ethno-religious group Yazidi hated by Isis.

"I had no hope then at all," Jumaah told Lund's University Magazine LUM. "I was desperate. I just wanted to tell my supervisor what was happening. I had no idea that a professor would be able to do anything for us."

. . .

But Turner was not willing to leave her student to die without trying to do something.

"What was happening was completely unacceptable," she told LUM. "I got so angry that IS was pushing itself into our world, exposing my doctoral student and his family to this, and disrupting the research."

She contacted the university's then security chief Per Gustafson.

"It was almost as if he'd been waiting for this kind of mission," Turner said. "Per Gustafson said that we had a transport and security deal which stretched over the whole world."

Over a few days of intense activity, Gustafson hired a security company which then arranged the rescue operation.

A few days later two Landcruisers carrying four heavily-armed mercenaries roared into the area where Jumaah was hiding, and sped him away to Erbil Airport together with his wife and two small children.

There's more at the link.

That's got to be the most go-the-extra-mile (or few thousand miles) student assistance request in any university I've ever heard of!  Kudos to Lund University for stepping up to the plate.




Peter