Ales for Trails: Have a brew, eat some ‘cue, listen to tunes and support our trails

Here’s one for the local gang, and especially for those who care about taking care of our trails. We’ve got a shindig coming up in a week, and this will be something you’ll want to attend.

I’m talking about Ales for Trails, a fundraiser for the Tulsa Urban Wilderness Coalition. We’re doing this from 6 to 8 p.m. Thursday, April 18 at Dead Armadillo Brewery, 1004 E. Fourth Street in Tulsa.

Here’s what’s on tap:

Mmmmm. Tasty.

First up, your ticket gets you a couple of fine brews from the brewery. I’ve sampled more than a few of their offerings, and I can tell you that they do good work here, whatever your favored flavor of beer might be. Dead Armadillo is a great example of Tulsa’s growing craft beer scene.

You’re also going to be fed. Eagleton BBQ has fed TUWC volunteers at some of our trail work days, and once again, you’re talking about the good stuff here. Great food and drink? Count me in.

Live music and a silent auction will also be on hand, and the list of auction items is solid. A lot of friends from the area wanted to pitch in for this one, so there is a good chance you can walk away from some great swag while supporting a good cause.

So why are we doing this? As it turns out, a lot of the work we do comes with a cost. The TUWC carries insurance for our trail work days and cleanup days, and it’s not free. Other costs incurred to keep this organization going are also an ongoing need. Out membership dues are super cheap (just $5 for an individual membership), so it’s not like we’re floating in a sea of money.

The TUWC serves an important function in northeast Oklahoma. We’re the main go-between for the public and the government entities that maintain trail systems where people hike, bike, run and ride. We’re the group that organizes volunteers to repair damaged trail sections and clean up litter that creeps up in places like Turkey Mountain. We help with conservation education efforts. And through the TUWC website and social media sites, we keep trail enthusiasts up to date on issues that are important to them. We got our start by fighting a proposed outlet mall on Turkey Mountain’s west side, and even though that threat has passed, we’re still active in advocating for trail users across the area.

A view from the outside of Dead Armadillo Brewery. (Dead Armadillo Brewery photo)

That said, Ales for Trails is going to be a good time, and a chance to meet up with old friends and meet new ones. It’s a chance for the trail user community to come together for a fun night. Tickets ($40 each ) are still available, and if you haven’t bought yours yet, there’s still time. Click this link to get yours, and I hope to see you there!

Bob Doucette

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The good, the bad and the ugly of social media and the outdoors

Mount Eolus, as seen from the summit of North Eolus. That’d look good on the ‘Gram.

I’m going to sound part geezer, part hipster when I say that I was in to the outdoors before I got on social media. The love was there long before “like and share” became a thing.

But to be frank, I’ve embraced social media. I’m a storyteller, and social media offers great ways to share those stories, or in the case of Instagram, a medium in itself for its own form of spelling out outdoorsy narratives. I’m not on everything, but you can see my stuff on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram and much of the time it’s going to have an outdoors theme.

Well, that’s me and tens of millions of others. There are legions upon legions of hikers, climbers, runners, cyclists and everyone else that does stuff outdoors showing their lives on these platforms and blogs like this one. Taken together, it is an ocean of landscapes, action shots, yoga poses, selfies, stories, panoramas and more. Standing out is tough, so people learn what they can to stand out, or claim a niche as their own.

Given the flood of outdoorsy information being pumped out every day, you gotta wonder: is this really good for the outdoors? The short answer: yes and no.

THE GOOD

Doin’ work at Turkey Mountain in Tulsa. Hard to say if without social media we would have gotten so many people to volunteer at trail work days like this one.

I’ve long believed that learning more about the outdoors will naturally make people care about wild spaces. I’m a conservationist at heart, so this is important to me. To that end, I believe social media has been a relative success.

Think about this: How many of you would have known about the Land and Water Conservation Fund had you not heard about it on social media? The public pressure to permanently reauthorize the bill that funds LWCF made it go from an unseen issue to a front-and-center bipartisan no-brainer that easily passed Congress and even got the stamp of approval from President Trump. Face time in the halls of Congress, letters and calls were huge for sure, but the speed in which the issue became well-known was due much in part to social media campaigns. Getting a conservation win in this political climate in Washington is no small deal.

Here’s something else: Think about all the information we have at our fingertips that might otherwise be difficult to find. Want to know what avalanche conditions are like? It’s probably been shared on Facebook and Twitter, maybe thousands of times. Looking for conditions of a potential hike and climb? There’s probably a Facebook group where beta queries will be answered. I could go on, but you get the point.

Social media has allowed for instant, widespread sharing of information that goes anywhere from useful to life-saving. It can ramp up pressure for causes we feel are important. Even if it’s something as simple as learning something new about a place you didn’t know about, it can be a positive.

THE BAD

I’m sure this looked great on someone’s IG account.

The flip side of the coin is that social media — particularly in the case of Instagram — can make it too easy to love things to death.

People want to see and experience cool things other people do. Shared enough online, their numbers are legion. That’s why you see lines of people waiting to photograph Horseshoe Bend, people manipulating scenery at Hanging Lake and some fool flying a helicopter right on top of the California super bloom. Too many people doin’ it for the ‘Gram are running roughshod over places too delicate to handle the traffic and other pressures people can bring.

It’s bad enough that public land managers are looking at increasing the use of permit-only access to some places. Human traffic — and the trash and abuse that comes with it — threatens to ruin some of the most beautiful places in the world. Leave No Trace ethicists are pushing an add-on to their code, asking people not to geotag places they go so as to slow the onslaught of folks looking for the perfect shot and the bucketloads of likes they hope to earn.

In that respect, all the photos, text posts, videos and whatnot have come at a cost. It’s definitely a bad trend.

THE UGLY

The nature of social media is the ability to instantly share, sometimes to huge audiences. Alongside this is the ability to instantly comment on what’s shared. That can be great, but sometimes it’s terrible.

You’ve seen this at work in politics. It gets nasty. And yeah, that transfers to the outdoors.

If a hiker or climber gets hurt and needs rescue, it doesn’t take long for speculation comments to roll in, sometimes with a derogatory edge. If that person dies, some people back off. Others double down. People will say anything online, and often without the tact and basic morality they would use face-to-face.

This works its way into activism, too. Someone says something, or shares information about a certain cause. They get kudos. But others have a stricter ideological purity test that must be passed, and if their standards aren’t met, out come the claws. The next thing you know an honest effort to do good turns into a puritanical food fight in which the original message gets lost. I’d caution these people not to get so woke that they eat their own, but I’d get angrily shouted down. Such is the nature of social media, which magnifies divisions, emotions and hyperbole like a magnifying glass to sunlight, and often we’re the bug frying on the ground as a result.

SO NOW WHAT?

I’ll cut to the chase and say that I’ll stick with my social media use. So will tens of millions of others. With this in mind, what’s the best we can do? Maybe we don’t share images or locations of every place we go. We turn the heat down on areas of debate. We vet articles for veracity, and share more of the good stuff. Social media has always been curated, which means we have a lot of control over the tenor and intent of what we share.

This sounds a lot like all areas of life shared online. The key difference: The way we operate online will have real-life consequences (and hopefully benefits) to the places we care about, the wildlife that lives there, and the future of the outdoors. For my part, I’ll try to do better.

Bob Doucette

Some thoughts about a master plan for Turkey Mountain

Turkey Mountain, as seen from the east bank of the Arkansas River.

Turning back to my home front, there is some news. Tulsa’s River Parks Authority held the first of several public input meetings to discuss what people would like to see in a master plan for the Turkey Mountain Urban Wilderness Area, a go-to place for hiking, biking and trail running right in the middle of the city.

The effort also includes an online survey for people to give their views. Between that and the discussions at these meeting, RPA will have an idea of what the public wants to see.

This is a long way from where we were just a few years ago. We had one rich fella tell us that God told him to build an amusement park on the banks of the Arkansas River, and to cut into acreage on Turkey Mountain’s southeastern flanks. That went nowhere, but in 2014, Simon Properties wanted to build an outlet mall on the far west side of Turkey Mountain’s woodlands. That was a closer call, but intense public pressure against the move eventually sent Simon looking for space elsewhere. What followed by a rapid, concerted effort from public and private entities to secure the land and fold it into a unified parcel that now represents a much larger wild green space than what RPA originally managed.

That leads us to the present. It seems from the first meeting, the consensus is to keep Turkey Mountain as wild as possible. At least, that’s what I gathered from reading this story from the Tulsa World.

I figure I have this electronic space for a reason, if nothing else than to spout off on whatever outdoorsy subject suits me at the time. So you can take my opinions how you see fit. But also keep in mind that I’ve been a regular visitor of its trails for the past eight years, have hiked or ran almost all of its trails and invested no small amount of time cleaning up trails, repairing damaged trail sections and generally advocating for Turkey Mountain’s wellbeing. So while these are just my thoughts, they are informed by some depth of experience as a user and stakeholder. So here ya go, my thoughts on what should guide the creation of a Turkey Mountain master plan…

Hi Chi Trail, Turkey Mountain Urban Wilderness, Tulsa.

Generally speaking, Turkey Mountain should be left alone. What makes the park special are not all the bells, whistles and amenities that other  parks have. It is the lack of these man-made add-ons that attract people to its earthen paths. Where else in the middle of the city can you experience woodlands in their natural state? Nowhere, really. Aside from the trails, some trail blazes and four signs tacked up for safety reasons, Turkey Mountain is devoid of artificial enhancement. You are forced to slow down and take it in at its own pace, or at least at a pace powered by you alone. It’s not climate-controlled, there are no handrails, and if you want to see a specific place, you have to walk/run/bike/ride there yourself. That has an appeal to a lot of people, to the tune of 20,000 to 25,000 visitors a month. If you’re looking for a park with swing sets and ball fields, they exist elsewhere, all over the city. Want a cup of coffee in a lodge setting? Go to Gathering Place. Zip lines? I hear Post Oak Lodge is great. None of that stuff, as great as it is, is needed at Turkey Mountain. It’s a unique place that offers something the rest of the parks cannot – mostly unsullied nature.

Most trails at Turkey Mountain, like this one, are in decent shape. Others plagued by erosion need to be rerouted or closed altogether.

Some trails need to be rerouted, and maybe even closed for good. The trail system was created by mountain bikers decades ago, mostly with the idea of what would be fun to ride. Little thought was given to how well these rough-hewn paths would hold up under human usage and weather-induced erosion. All these trails will need to be looked at with an eye toward sustainability, and that will mean altering their path so they don’t wash out. If that’s not possible, some might have to be closed off for good. I know that might chap some folks, but we want these trails to hold up without washing out a chunk of a hillside. That almost happened on the steep portion going up the Yellow Trail. It’s been mitigated for now, but that and other problem areas remain. Expert trail management will need to be consulted here.

Wintry sunset scene on the west-side trails at Turkey Mountain.

Speaking of expertise, it would be a good idea if Turkey Mountain had its own superintendent. RPA has a decent sized inventory of park land outside of Turkey Mountain, and much of its attention is focused on paved trails and festivals at River Parks Festival West. The needs at Turkey Mountain are much more about land management (forestry, wildlife conservation, trail user safety, etc.) than any other park in town. Having someone in charge of the place – a face that stakeholders could interact with – could help with a number of things, such as coordinating races, conservation efforts, public safety and volunteer work. Yeah, it’s an extra expense for RPA. But I think it would be worth it.

A glorious view on lands recently reclaimed from commercial development for natural preservation purposes. Setting aside this acreage for wild green space was a case of Tulsa doing things right.

Thoughts should be given toward potential expansion of the park, or finding similar places in the city and county where wild spaces can be preserved. Turkey Mountain is being hemmed in by development. Thinking of wildlife, those critters need room to move. Their habitats have a range that is a little bigger than most folks realize. When it gets surrounded by development, those creatures can be living in something akin to a slow-burning siege. Likewise, lots of people love Turkey Mountain, and in some ways, it’s being loved to death. Multiple wild green spaces would alleviate some of that crowding, and given the proven community value Turkey Mountain has shown, more would indeed be better. Green spaces are an increasingly important quality of life factor for people and employers looking for a place to put down roots. Economic diversity is sorely needed here; giving people reasons to give us a look needs to include quality of life amenities that are crucial for community development.

Pedal power? Sure. Motorized? Never.

Lastly, no credibility should be given to making any part of Turkey Mountain open to motorcycle or ATV usage. It’s not safe, it’s bad for the trails, harmful to wildlife and would detract from the user experience. Motor sports aren’t allowed there now, and that’s a prohibition that needs to be maintained permanently.

I’m sure I could think of other ideas, and in time, I might jot those down. But I think these make for a good start. I care about this place. In many ways, I wouldn’t be the same person today if not for Turkey Mountain, and there is a large number of people who can say the same thing. Let’s go about this master plan wisely, remembering what makes Turkey Mountain the great place that it is.

Bob Doucette

Public lands can’t afford another shutdown

Rocky Mountain National Park.

During the partial federal government shutdown and in its wake, we were witness to several stories of damage done to public lands facilities, and to the lands themselves.

Overflowing toilets. Truckloads of trash scattered in campgrounds and on trails. Acts of vandalism. And perhaps most troubling, the cutting down of ancient Joshua trees in California’s Joshua Tree National Park. Some of these actions may take decades or even longer to mend.

There were other losses, too. Deferred maintenance got kicked down the road even further. Scientific studies carried out by federally employed researchers were delayed, and in many cases, possibly hopelessly compromised.

And all of this on top of the fact that thousands of employees went more than a month between paychecks, creating that much more strain on the caretakers of the lands that we treasure. While government employees will get back pay, thousands of private sector contractors are getting stiffed.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

It was a relief to see the shutdown end. It’s been said, numerous times, that forcing government shutdowns is a losing political tactic, as the one who makes that move invariably gets blamed.

That said, another deadline is looming in about a week. There’s no telling where this winds up – a deal on border security, another shutdown, or a raising of the white flag by whoever. But the threat of another stoppage still exists, and if that happens, we all end up being losers.

Now might be a good time to make a few phone calls, send a few emails and write some letters to your congressional representatives and to the White House. Enough of this foolishness. There are far too many lives affected by a shutdown, and far too much potential harm to the places we value so highly in this country.

It’s been said that the national park system is America’s greatest idea, and I’d extend that to the rest of our public lands. It’s about time those who govern us acted like they believe it.

Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge.

Bob Doucette

Work day: Trail repairs, great volunteers and a word about preventing future trail damage

Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go… (Laurie Biby photo)

I’ve been a big believer in taking care of the places that take care of you. And I’m glad we have a bunch of like-minded people here in the Tulsa area.

The Tulsa Urban Wilderness Coalition, partnering with Tulsa’s River Parks Authority, held a trail work day last Sunday at Turkey Mountain. This is different from cleanup days, in that the focus is trail repair.

Somewhere around 30 people showed up. The trails there are popular for cyclists, runners and hikers, but all that traffic, plus the normal wear and tear from the elements, has taken a toll. People using their free time to do some hard manual labor for the trails is a good sign that people aren’t just engaged as users, but also as stewards. Here’s a bunch of pics of people getting after it on Sunday morning.

Rutted trail needs some work. (Laurie Biby photo)

Volunteers getting started. (Laurie Biby photo)

Working on the trail. (Laurie Biby photo)

We were blessed with a huge dirt pile and plenty of people willing to move said dirt from Point A to Point B. (Laurie Biby photo)

Building the base of an improved trail section. (Laurie Biby photo)

This gal was nonstop movement. (Laurie Biby photo)

Repairs coming along… (Laurie Biby photo)

Putting on the finishing touches. (Laurie Biby photo)

We’re several years past the day when the TUWC was formed. If you remember, the organization was born in the wake of plans to build an outlet mall on Turkey Mountain’s west side. Strong advocacy from TUWC members and effective public pressure turned that plan aside, eventually leading the land in question to be set aside as a permanent part of the city’s greatest wild green space.

During that period, the TUWC held a bunch of work days like this, and turnout was strong. We know a lot of that was due to the publicity Turkey Mountain had gotten over the mall controversy. Seeing a solid turnout last week, now a few years after the mall issue was resolved, is a great sign that people still have a sense of ownership of the place where we all like to play. Many of the people who showed up have also been active in developing trail systems in Claremore and Tahlequah, so there is a sense that not only will Turkey Mountain remain a high priority for outdoor enthusiasts, but that the region is primed for growth in outdoor recreation and sports.

There is, however, another issue that has arisen. And this one is not as positive.

January was a wet month here in Tulsa, and the section of trail we were working on was a muddy mess. It made our efforts more difficult, and frankly, I lobbied pretty hard to have that stretch closed for a month or so. It needs time to settle and harden.

In the midst of doing all this work, there were people out doing their thing, including a good number of cyclists. In the muddy sections we weren’t working on, new, deeper ruts were being formed before our eyes.

To be clear, let’s just say it: Any sort of traffic on the trails when they’re muddy is going to cause damage. And I know cyclists don’t want to hear this, but bike traffic on muddy trails leaves the most wear and tear.

I’d offer this: Wherever you live and whatever trails you use, think about the condition of the trails before you go out. A little muddy is no big deal. But if they’re saturated, consider letting those places dry out before you go. I’m happy to do the repair work. That’s going to be needed no matter what. But it makes sense to mitigate the damage by laying off when you know your favorite routes are going to be mud soup. You’ll save the trails some grief, as well as the components on your bike.

Bob Doucette

Let’s talk about cairns and rock stacking

Some cairns and rock stacks are helpful. Some are not. And it’s becoming a growing problem in backcountry environments. Pictured here is a helpful cairn leading to a route up Broken Hand Pass in Colorado, with Crestone Needle seen in the background..

I’m a little late to the party on the subject of rock stacking, but I figured it was worth weighing in on now. So let me start with a story.

About a year ago, I was hiking with a friend in the Wichita Mountains of southwest Oklahoma. I was showing him some of my favorite places, but also acknowledged that I hadn’t been to these spots in about eight years. Our goal that day was to go up to the south summit of Sunset Peak, traverse to the north summit, then hike down and check out one more place before packing it in and hitting the road for home.

Sunset Peak’s south summit it this weird combination of hiking, scrambling and bushwhacking that’s hard to describe. There’s no defined route to the top. You just pick your way through scrub brush, boulders and rock slabs until you make one final push to the top. We were about three-quarters of the way there, and I started looking around for the best way to go up when I spotted a cairn.

Most of you already know what a cairn is. If you don’t, it’s a stack of rocks built to be noticed. Some build them as route-finding aides or important markers. Others of late have built them for aesthetic value, stacking stones in pretty places and taking photographs. There are Instagram pages dedicated to rock stacking.

Anyway, I’m thinking that this particular cairn was supposed to be a route-finding aide. So I climbed up to it, took a look around, and found nowhere to go. I backtracked, bushwhacked and found another way up. This was an annoyance, for sure, but no real harm was done.

But the ambiguity of why people build these things can lead to bigger problems. Go on 14ers.com and you’ll read stories about complicated and difficult routes littered with useless or deceiving rock stacks. People following them sometimes run the risk of getting lost or, possibly in danger.

As far as the cairns built for art’s sake, there are other issues. Some have decried excessive rock stacking as a form of littering otherwise picturesque natural scenes. In some places, rock stacking might lead to a degree of environmental damage. Rock-stacking enthusiasts dismiss this, saying they are doing no harm that anyone can measure, at least in their eyes, and they are enjoying the outdoors in their own way.

I’m a live-and-let-live guy. But there are aspects of this debate worth addressing.

First, let’s talk about building cairns for route-finding. Generally, this is a positive. Anything we can do to unobtrusively keep people from getting lost is a good thing. On Colorado’s Mount of the Holy Cross, a huge cairn was built on its north ridge to keep people from descending the wrong way into the wilderness area that surrounds the mountain. People have gotten lost there, never to be seen again, or found dead months later. The cairn keeps people on track as they descend the mountain.

But if you’re going to build one, make sure it actually helps. Be certain there aren’t already cairns built for this purpose, as yours might just confuse people. And best yet, it’s not a bad idea to leave cairn and blaze marking to the people whose job it is to maintain the lands where you hike and climb. I think the person who built the cairn on Sunset Peak was trying to be helpful, but it ended up being a hindrance. Someone following it might have been convinced that climbing a nearby airy and exposed rock rib was the easiest way up, but in truth was the riskiest.

Now what about the rock stacking for the sake of photos? This comes down to a question of values. If you value altering a landscape to suit your photographic goals, rock stacking is a temptation. If you do it, I’d ask that you limit it to a single cairn, take your pic and then dismantle the stack, putting the stones back where you found them. I can’t think of any justification for patches of beaches, river banks or cliffsides where dozens of these things are built and left standing. When others behind you are looking for beautiful settings to see and photograph, a chessboard of rock stacks kills the vibe.

Am I making too much of this? Maybe. But know that the National Park Service is discouraging this. And don’t be the guy/gal who builds an unhelpful cairn that gets people off route, and possibly at risk.

Bob Doucette

Let’s get on board with the fact that mountain goats are pee-lapping weirdos

Majestic. Wild. Weirdos.

To most people, seeing a mountain goat is to view something majestic, powerful and wild.

I know better. These creatures of the rock are just plain weird. And it was confirmed after news got out that a bunch of mountain goats were being airlifted out of Washington’s Olympic National Park because, for starters, there are too many of them. And also, their growing throng has as unnatural attraction to human urine.

You read that right. Some online headlines are proclaiming these horned lords of the crag are addicted to pee.

You might be thinking, “What in the name of Bear Grylls is going on here? Pee? Really?”

Really. As far as these guys are concerned, all you hikers making a pit stop on the trail for No. 1 may as well be playing the role of Heisenberg, dealing yellow-tinted meth in the A-B-Q.

This requires some explanation.

Like most animals, simple hydration with water is nice, but not enough to sustain proper bodily function. You need electrolytes. Salts, to keep it in layman’s terms. And urine contains, among other things, plenty of salts.

Humans have long known the worth of salt. During the days of antiquity, salt was more valuable than gold. It was mined extensively in North Africa, building the riches of civilizations there for generations. Today, we sprinkle the stuff on our food to add flavor and add electrolytes to our sports drinks to keep us performing on the field and the court.

We even put out salt blocks for our cattle during the winter so they get enough of the stuff to keep them happy.

But I guess what separates us from the animals (except for the aforementioned Grylls, or maybe Aron Ralston) is the fact that we don’t piss on our food or tip back goblets filled with the fruit of our bladders.

Then again, survival in the wild is something almost none of us can contemplate, at least not in the way the creatures of the wilderness do. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and when every waking moment is consumed by where you’ll get your nutrition, well, that sounds pretty desperate to me. The goats have found an answer to their salt problem.

And they aren’t alone. Marmots will gnaw the sweat-stained handles of your trekking poles just to get a nip of that salt your hands deposit on them during an arduous uphill hike. Pikas and mice will steal your gloves for the same reason. And deer have taken a liking to your pee just like the goats.

About nine years ago, I was camping in the Uncompahgre National Forest of Colorado, and while eating some grub with my campmates, I noticed a healthy doe rooting around the dirt not far from my tent. I was wondering what on earth was so interesting to that deer, and then it dawned on me: That’s where I was relieving myself in the middle of the night. Eww, I thought. But when you really need salt, you get it where you can.

You do you, Bambi.

Lounging weirdo.

But the deer wasn’t weird about it, at least not beyond the innate weirdness of lapping up the piss-soaked dirt a few yards from my tent. But mountain goats? They’re weird about it. Really, really weird about it.

Let me take you back a few years to another pristine slice of alpine heaven in Colorado’s southwestern corner. The place is called Chicago Basin, a remote but popular backpacking and peak-bagging destination tucked deep inside the Weminuche Wilderness of the San Juan Mountains. It’s an impossibly gorgeous basin flanked by jagged peaks and has to be one of the most scenic places I’ve ever been. The snows in the ‘Nuche are typically deep, and the summer monsoons tend to dump heavier and more frequently than elsewhere in the Rockies. The result is a lush mountain landscape that defies the semi-arid reputation of the Rockies.

The downside to this place is three-fold. First, you’re likely to get rained out of any climbs at some point during the summer. Second, the flies. Dear God, the flies. They are everywhere. And last, are the mountain goats. They are drawn to humans and can be quite pesky at camp.

They’ll follow you around, stalking you like fluffy, horned paparazzi. They’ll monitor your every move, and the males can be a little, er, assertive. It’s not that they’re curious. They’re just slavishly thirsty for your little yellow drink.

While at camp, one of my friends decided to do an experiment. Being the funny guy that he is, he thought it would be hilarious to take a leak on a bush just to see what happened. And so he did.

He spent a few seconds watering a lonely sapling bush with his golden bounty, and the goats couldn’t wait. They were practically tripping over themselves to get there, then proceeded to denude that shrub in a matter of a minute. I think all the leaves were gone before he had finished. It was the funniest and most bizarre thing I’ve seen in years, and I’ve seen a lot of weird shit in my days. But to paraphrase Will Smith from his “Men in Black” days, the Great Shrub Massacre of 2014 just about broke the needle on my weird-shit-o-meter.

I suppose the conservationist in me should say something profound or important about the pitfalls of frequent human contact with wild animals, maybe even with a tone of solemn concern. But I just can’t. Mountain goats are majestic, amazing creatures.  But they’re also really damn weird.

Seriously, dude. Get off the pee-pipe, ya weirdo.

Bob Doucette