Tales from UT-OH!: On Meeting a Terrorist Group in the Sierras… Stuck in the Snow with Tania

June 15, 2026June 13, 2026 / Curt Mekemson / 7 Comments

Peggy and I are presently traveling through Greece, Scotland and Northern Ireland. While we travel, I am posting stories that will be in my WordPress blog-a-book: UT-OH! Today’s tale is about a 1965 confrontation with a terrorist group on a remote road in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. Few things get much more Ut-Oh-ish.

The Symbionese Liberation Army released this photo with its star recruit.

“Death to the fascist insect that preys on the life of the people.” —Motto of the Symbionese Liberation Army

In the spring of 1975, two friends and I went on a scouting trip. We had driven up into the Sierra Nevada Mountains early in the spring to look for likely fishing holes. Trout season was only a few weeks away. The mountains were still coated with snow. Following Highway 50 up from Sacramento toward Lake Tahoe for 60 plus miles, we took Ice House Road into the ElDorado National Forest. We carefully made our way along the ever-narrowing road until a snow bank suggested that further progress was best left up to animals with big furry feet. We stopped and got out to stretch our legs.

We had wandered a few feet when a white van came roaring up from behind and tried to slip by the right side of our car without slowing down. Normally it wouldn’t have been more than an irritation, but the narrowness of the road combined with the snow left just enough room for one and one half cars. Not two. We watched in slow motion disbelief as the van barely missed our vehicle, slid into the snow, and became seriously stuck.

“Yes!” we said in unison, “There is justice in this world!” Right about then the side door of the van opened and disgorged a polyglot group of rough-looking characters. “Whoa,” I mumbled more quietly, “we had better keep our opinions to ourselves.” While two or three of the men bent down to look under the van, a not so rough, in fact an attractive young woman, disentangled herself from the group and came strolling over to where we were standing.

“I am in love,” Hunt mumbled. Phil and I joined the admiration society while an elusive thought began tugging at the back of my mind.

“Hi, guys,” she smiled at us, becoming even lovelier. “Do you have any guns in your car?”

My tiny elusive thought suddenly became a very large insistent nag. Attractive young women don’t normally start conversations by asking whether you are carrying weapons. Hunt, on the other hand, was beaming. He liked guns and— even more— he liked women that liked guns.

“I have a twenty-two along,” he announced proudly.

“Oh,” she replied, apparently a little disappointed at the size of Hunt’s gun. “My friends taught me how to shoot automatic weapons in the Bay Area. We are up here to practice.” It was stated with the same type of pride a new mother might talk about her child’s first steps or words. My large, insistent nag turned into a five-stage fire alert.

Meanwhile Hunt had suggested that he and his new friend take the twenty-two out for a little target practice since it was obvious that the van wasn’t going anywhere quickly. I don’t remember how I managed it, but I pulled my friends aside sans beauty for a very quick and quiet conversation.

“I am not one hundred percent sure,” I began, “but I think the young woman who likes big guns is Patty Hearst, aka Tania, and that her friends over at the van are members of the SLA. If I am right, we are in a very dangerous situation.”

The SLA, or Symbionese Liberation Army, was one of the more bizarre and misled of the radical groups to be born out of the ferment of the late 60s and early 70s. Viewing itself as an urban guerrilla movement, SLA’s first action of note had been to gun down Dr. Marcus Foster, the black Superintendent of Oakland Schools, and seriously wound his deputy, Robert Blackburn. Blackburn had earlier served as Peace Corps Director of Somalia and then gone on to work for the Philadelphia School System. He had recruited my first wife, Jo Ann, and me as teachers in Philadelphia when we left the Peace Corps. It would have been hard to find two people more committed to helping disadvantaged inner city kids in America than Foster and Blackburn.

SLA’s next major public statement was to kidnap Patty Hearst, heiress to the newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearse, while she was a student at UC Berkeley. At some point, Patty switched from being an unwilling kidnap victim to willing participant in SLA and adopted the name of Tania (the name of Che Guevara’s girlfriend). The common assumptions were that Hearst was brainwashed or a victim of the Stockholm syndrome, a psychological response through which a kidnap victim comes to associate with his or her captors. Certainly, the young woman we talked with, was proud of her skill with automatic weapons and had the freedom to come over and chat with us. She was not an unwilling prisoner.

In 1974 Patty participated in a San Francisco bank robbery and then moved to Los Angeles with the SLA where several members of the group met their death in a fiery confrontation with LA police. Some 400 LAPD officers had surrounded a house occupied by SLA and emptied over 5,000 rounds into the structure. (Over kill?) Patty, who wasn’t there, watched the whole confrontation on television. She, along with William and Emily Harris, then fled to Pennsylvania for several months before making their way to Sacramento and another bank robbery.

There was enough similarity with Hearst and the SLA that I suggested we go over to the van and help the nice folks get unstuck— which we did. They drove up to the end of the road, turned around, carefully edged by our car and headed off down the mountain. We waved and smiled vigorously as they disappeared.

Was it Patty Hearst and the SLA? The timing was right, the young woman looked like Patty, and the group could have fit a description of the SLA. Patty reported later that the group had taken their van into the mountains for weapons practice. In May of 1975, the SLA robbed a bank in Sacramento (Carmichael) and a young mother, Myrna Opsahl, was shot and killed. Patty Hearst drove the get-a-way vehicle. It was one more sad and sordid event in the history of the SLA. In most ways this group of want-to-be revolutionaries was a group of losers. Their murder of Marcus Foster was regarded with disgust by most members of the radical community. It was their kidnapping of Patty Hearst and, even more so, the fiery shootout in LA that gave their organization legendary status.

As for Hearst, I have no doubt that the Stockholm syndrome played a role in her behavior. But I am also convinced there was more. The atmosphere of the time encouraged radical thinking and Patty, who was something of a rebel, was living in a cauldron of dissent at Berkeley. I suspect it wasn’t all that hard to slip into a role of radical chic.

Patty’s crime spree came to an end in the fall of 1965 when the FBI tracked her down in South San Francisco. Here she is shown with agents and in hand cuffs. (AP photo)

Wednesday’s Post: My friend Bob Bray gets lost in a snowstorm when we are out hunting. Night falls before we can find him…

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Tales from UT-OH: The Cow Elk Slammed on Her Brakes… Ten Feet in Front of Me!

June 10, 2026June 9, 2026 / Curt Mekemson / 6 Comments

Peggy and I are off journeying through Greece, Scotland and Ireland over the next several weeks, so there won’t be much time for blogging. I’ve decided to republish some of my favorite posts from the past 15 years that will eventually make it into the book I am blogging: UT-OH!.

Today’s post follows my adventure with the beaver in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming. I drove south down into NewMexico for a backpacking trip into the Gila Wilderness of New Mexico next to the Cliff Dwellings National Monument in southern New Mexico.

Peggy photographed this herd of elk near the Redwoods.

I thought I was prepared for everything when I started my backpack trip into the Gila Wilderness. Little did I know…

My pack was loaded with a week’s worth of food and six topographic maps, more than enough to let me wander wherever I wanted and hopefully avoid getting lost. I had started off up the West Fork of the Gila River in the Cliff Dwellings National Monument, but soon came across a trail jogging out of the canyon to the right.

Looks good to me, I thought to myself and started climbing. I was determined that wherever I went for the week would be based on random decisions. So much of my wilderness experience had involved leading groups or scouting out potential routes for organized trips that the sense of abandon felt delicious.

Consequently, years later, it isn’t exactly clear to me where I went. I was more than happy to hike 4 to 5 miles in one direction and then 6 or 7 in another. The only thing I tried to avoid was backtracking. I do remember wandering through Woodland Park and Lilly Park as well as climbing in and out of several canyons.

Southern New Mexico is UFO Country, so I had brought along two science fiction books for evening and early morning entertainment. I was also carrying my usual field ID book and one serious read, Aldo Leopold’s “Sand Country Almanac.” Leopold had been responsible for the creation of the Gila Wilderness in 1924, making it the first specifically designated wilderness area in the United States, and, I might add, the world. People who love wild country and understand its intrinsic value owe a great debt to the man for his vision. I had read the book before but reading it again in the Gila Wilderness added a special significance. I declared a layover day so I could savor it all at once. I was camped on a small stream located in a minor canyon and hadn’t seen a soul for four days. It was the perfect setting for getting lost in a book.

At some time in the early afternoon, a loud “Woooeee” shattered the silence.

Big Bird, I thought to myself. Big Bird on steroids. Aldo Leopold would have been up in a flash to discover the source. Of course, he would have had his rifle with him. He was quite the hunter. As usual, my only weapon was a three-inch pocketknife. Still, the mountain man in me demanded I get off my lazy tail and go exploring. I grabbed my binoculars and climbed out of the canyon. I was greeted by a broad, flat expanse of Ponderosa Pines but no Big Bird. “Woooeee,” I heard receding into the distance. I put on my stalking cap and begin to sneak through the forest.

“Woooeee!” Big Bird shouted behind me. I whirled around only to catch a glimpse of something disappearing behind a bush. Big Bird it wasn’t. Nor was it the ghost of Geronimo, whose territory I was wandering through. It looked suspiciously like a cow elk that had morphed from stalkee to stalker. I wasn’t sure that I liked my new role but decided to play along.

“Woooeee,” I called out and jumped behind a Ponderosa.

“Woooeee,” I heard a delayed three minutes later. I stepped into the open to discover that my female companion had come out from behind her bush and was staring intently at my tree.

“Woooeee,” I shouted at her as she once again disappeared. We had a game. A cow elk was wooing me.

Years earlier I had discovered that much of the higher animal kingdom is quite curious about humans that don’t act like humans. I once had a similar experience to my elk chat with a coyote on the American River Parkway in Sacramento. First I would hide and then he would hide. Finally, out of frustration, the coyote plopped down in the middle of the trail, raised its head, and began howling. I plopped down in the trail as well, raised my head and joined him. We had quite the discussion.

The elk and I continued our game for about 15 minutes when I changed the rules. I sat down in plain sight with my back against the tree. Instead of hiding, she stood watching me for several minutes. I could tell the wheels were grinding away in her mind.

Suddenly she charged. I didn’t move from my seat but my adrenalin cranked up several notches. She was all of 10 feet away when she slammed on her brakes, lowered her head, stared me in the eye, and woooeeed again. Half fascinated and half frightened, I didn’t budge. Several hundred pounds of frustrated female were looming over me. I had zero doubt that she could kick the stuffing out of me. She held my gaze, snorted in disgust, shook her head, and trotted off.

While smaller than the bull elk, there is nothing puny about the females. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Whatever conversation we had been having was over. I breathed a sigh of relief and returned to camp. My first chore was to get out my guidebook. Female elk, it noted, can become rather aggressive and dangerous in the spring when they have calves. I’d been both ignorant and lucky.

After dinner, I went for my evening walk following an animal path that ambled along beside the creek. I heard a snort and looked up. Five elk were standing on the canyon rim staring down at me. The old girl had recruited some buddies to check out the weird human. Unfortunately, this time I knew enough to be worried. I was an intruder in their territory, a possible threat to their precious babies.

My worry level turned to panic when all five came charging down the canyon wall. One moose had been scary; now I had the whole damn thundering herd! Running was out of the question. Think, Curtis, went dashing through my brain. The only thing I could dredge up was something I had fantasized I might do if charged by a grizzly bear in the wilds of Alaska. I started jumping up and down, scratching my armpits, pounding on my chest, and screaming ooh, ooh, ooh! It worked for great apes, why not me.

For the second time that day, I heard the screeching of elk brakes. This time there was no standing and staring, however. The herd turned as one and charged back over the canyon rim, disappearing into the night. Somewhat satisfied with myself, I returned to camp and the security of my tent.

I wandered around for another two days, keeping an eye out for UFO’s, steering clear of cow elk, and visiting sites where this or that pioneer had been killed by Apaches. The pioneers also did a pretty good job of killing off each other, not to mention the Indians. With my food running low, I finally ceased my wandering ways and hiked back to the National Monument.

NEXT BLOG: I finish my series on three of the backpack trips after my return from Alaska by going back to my first one: Backpacking into the Grand Canyon. After barely surviving my trip into the canyon, an unknown creature visits me in the night and dines on the edge of my sleeping bag.

Peggy and I are now at the site of Ancient Olympia on the Peloponnesian Peninsula where the Olympics were born in 776 BCE.. The large column is part of the Temple of Zeus completed in 456 BCE. The column was rebuilt for the Summer Olympics hosted by Greece in 2004.

Peggy uses her walking stick to demonstrate how javelins were thrown at the Ancient Olympics in Greece. Women, however, were not allowed into the games. An exception was made if you were the daughter of the gods. I had my suspicions…

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UT-OH Tales: The Beaver’s Revenge

June 8, 2026June 6, 2026 / Curt Mekemson / 13 Comments

Today’s post is about a solo backpacking trip I took in 1986 into the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming. After three years of intense work in Alaska, I was taking six months off to go on solo adventures throughout the West. Several involved backpacking trips. This week, I am going to feature trips into the Wind River Mountains, the Gila Wilderness of New Mexico, and the Grand Canyon of Arizona. All involved worthy Ut-Oh experiences. A beaver stars in today’s tale.

‘Busy as a beaver’ was once a common description of someone trying to accomplish a lot in a short amount of time. Beavers are known for their industrious ways. Peggy and I took this photo on one of our trips up and down the Alaska Highway. A colony of beavers had dammed this creek to create a pond for their home, which you can see out in the background.

The adventure started at the small town of Pinedale, Wyoming where Mountain Men once gathered for their version of a spring fling. After a winter of living alone in one room cabins covered in snow while they trapped beaver, it was time to sell the pelts they had collected and party! Think rotgut whiskey, Virginia tobacco and women. It was a wild time. One report I read had men playing poker on a deadman’s chest. Another talked of a rabid wolf that wandered into the event and bit several people before someone shot it.

From Pinedale I drove up into the mountains above the town to Fremont Lake. A trailhead to a small lake looked promising. Whether I arrived at the lake or a different one is open to debate.

To start with, I was traveling with a United States Forest Service map instead of my usual detailed topographic maps. Contour lines on topographic maps provide a preview of the route ahead and help identify prominent landmarks. You can then use the landmarks to make compass sightings and determine your location. (Today’s hikers just use their GPS. It wasn’t an option then.) Forest service maps are more oriented toward road travel. Still, my map would have been adequate except for the snow.

Whatever trail I was following quickly disappeared. Normally, I would have searched around and found it. Tree blazes, rock cairns, and patches of clear ground all help. This time I didn’t care.

I was a make-believe mountain man exploring uncharted territory in search of beaver. My route would be the one of least resistance. I did use my compass to maintain a general direction. There is a significant difference between being sort of lost and hopelessly lost.

A couple of hours later I discovered a lovely small lake free of ice and snow. I set up camp and went for a quick dip to rinse off the day’s grime. I can guarantee it was quick because the lake’s water had been snow a few hours earlier.

Warm sun and my Thermarest air mattress enticed me into taking advantage of my splendid isolation for a tad of nude sunbathing. I had drifted into a nap when a young couple walked into camp.

The woman’s surprised “Oh!” woke me up.

“Hi, how are you doing,” I said to their disappearing backs as they quickly made their way around to the opposite shore to set up camp out of sight. So much for splendid isolation…

I decided to go exploring. My camp was nestled up against the south side of a peninsula and my first action was to hike across it. Much to my delight, a beaver hut was located on the small inlet. Even more intriguing, Mother Nature had provided a tempting bridge of rocks out to the well-built stick house.

Never having stood on top of a beaver’s home, I decided why not.

The inhabitant was not pleased. He shot out of his underwater door and surfaced about ten feet out, whipping around to glare at the strange intruder roosting on top of his house. Appearing disgruntled, he paddled off around the peninsula toward my camp.

“Aha,” I fantasized, “he is going to go stand on top of my tent to show me what it is like to have someone perch on your house.” I quietly made my way over the peninsula to check out my theory.

The beaver was indeed near my tent but he was busily munching away on tender young willow shoots. A mid-afternoon snack, it seems, was more important than revenge. I strolled back to camp, retrieved a book and settled in so I could read and keep a watchful eye on my gnawing neighbor. Thirty minutes later he had made his way 20 yards down the edge of the lake and embarked on a strange project.

I watched him dive under the water and resurface with his front paws full of mud he had scooped up from the bottom of the lake. He made his way on to shore and carefully sculpted the mud into a mound.

That’s when things got really interesting. He peed on his pile.

As I watched him dive into the water for more mud, it suddenly dawned on me he was creating a scent pile, a personal want ad of the woods: “Strong young beaver with prominent buck teeth and great smelling pee seeks beaverette for long-term relationship.”

Either that or his mound served as a no trespassing sign for the competition. Maybe both.

“This,” I thought, “I have to see up close.” Using the young willows for cover, I got down on my hands and knees and carefully worked my way toward the beaver over the cold, soggy ground. The mountain men would have been proud of me. I was proud of me.

Naturally, right at this time, the young couple chose to reappear.

They couldn’t see the beaver. All they could see was the guy who had been nude an hour earlier down on his hands and knees crawling through the willows in the general direction of their camp. I waved and pointed at the beaver but they had already disappeared.

Fifteen minutes later they had packed up their gear and were hightailing it home. It was the fasted job of breaking camp I’ve ever witnessed. It would have been interesting to hear the story they told their friends about the wild, and possibly deranged, man in the mountains. I suspect they spent their next vacation on the crowded beaches of Hawaii. I admit to feeling a tinge of guilt. One of my goals in life is to encourage folks to enjoy the wilderness, not frighten them off.

None of this stopped the beaver and me from enjoying our solitude. I continued my wandering, lost ways for another week.

Several beavers were at work at the Alaska Highway pond. This one was pushing a tree trunk to add to the dam. I watched him stop and nibble on the trunk, eating while he worked.

NEXT POST: Backpacking in the Gila Wilderness of New Mexico, I am charged by a herd of elk! But first, I had a long discussion with a cow elk.

Elk are large animals. When several decide to charge you at once, it’s an UT-OH! moment for sure. I took this photo at Pt. Reyes National Seashore. Unlike the elk I encountered in New Mexico, these guys were merely curious. Dealing with people was a daily, ho-hum, occurrence for them.

My first backpacking trip wasn’t in the Wind Rivers or Gila River, it was hiking into the Grand Canyon. It’s UT-OH! is the tale of a tail. And surviving.

There are several ways to explore the Grand Canyon. Over the years, I’ve tried most of them. My first trip in was by mule in the late 60s. I’m second from the top in this photo with a dark, plaid shirt and sunglasses. I could barely walk afterwards. The physical challenge was nothing in comparison to my solo backpack trip down in 1986. The great beauty of the Canyon, fascinating geology and close to mystical setting easily made up for difficulty, however.

Is That a bone in Your Suitcase, or is it BONE?… 49-Years of Wandering and Still Traveling

June 5, 2026June 5, 2026 / Curt Mekemson / 13 Comments

Every couple of years I update Bone’s travel history because he continues to wander the world.

Bone has travelled to the base of Mt. Everest. Twice.

Sometime in the 1900s Bone started his life as part of a horse wandering through the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The horse was allegedly eaten by a bear. Bone ended up in a high mountain meadow practicing Zen and being nibbled on by a miscreant rodent.

1977: He was ‘discovered’ by two lost backpackers (Curt Mekemson and Tom Lovering) on the Tahoe Yosemite Trail south of Lake Tahoe and launched his career of wandering the world.

Normally, Bone likes to hang out in Curt and Peggy’ library in Virginia. His favorite section is travel.

He also has a fondness for George, the Bush Devil, who is on the cover of Curt’s book, “The Bush Devil Ate Sam.” Here, the two of them share a laugh.

1980-81: Bone commenced his first World Tour with Tom. He visited Asia including Japan, Hong Kong, Bombay, Delhi and Katmandu where he trekked to the base of Mt. Everest. He then wandered on to spend spring and summer in Europe stopping off in Greece, Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, Austria, Liechtenstein, Luxembourg, Germany, Belgium, England and Ireland. Getting cold, Bone headed south and hitched a ride in the back of a truck through Algeria, Niger, Chad, Nigeria, Cameroon, Central African Republic, Zaire, Sudan, Kenya (where he crossed the Equator), Tanzania, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana and South Africa. He signed on with Tom as crew of a sailboat in Cape Town and headed north to Mallorca, stopping off on the islands of St. Helena, Ascension, Cape Verde and Madeira. Back in Europe he explored his possible Viking roots in Sweden, Norway and Finland.

1983-86: Bone assumed Cheechako status and moved to Alaska with Curt where he was stalked by a grizzly bear on the Kenai Peninsula, explored Prince William Sound by kayak, learned to winter camp in 30 degree below zero weather while listening to wolves howl, backpacked in the Brooks Range north of the Arctic Circle, and discussed the finer points of eating salmon with Great Brown Bears in Katmai National Park. He escaped briefly to the warmer climate of Hawaii and participated in the New Orleans Mardi Gras.

One look at this fellow and Bone decided that he wanted to be elsewhere.

Alaska Brown Bear playing with moose bone. — The big guy was playing with a distant cousin of his.

1986: He backpacked the Western US for five months with Curt exploring the Grand Canyon, the Gila Wilderness of New Mexico, the Rockies, and the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming before returning to his beloved Sierras.

1989: Bone joined Curt on a six month 10,000-mile solo bike tour around North America visiting 18 states and 4 Canadian provinces. He ended his journey by meeting Peggy in Sacramento.

1990: The International Society of the BONE was formed at Senior Frogs in Mazatlan, Mexico, where Bone spent the afternoon being pickled in a pitcher of margaritas and being kissed by lovely senoritas.

1991-97: Various members of International Society accompanied Bone on numerous adventures. Highlights included a White House Press Conference with Bill Clinton, being blessed by the Pope in St. Peter’s Square, visiting with Michelangelo’s David, going deep-sea diving in the South Pacific and Caribbean, doing a Jane Austin tour of England, and exploring the Yucatan Peninsula. A group adopted him as a good luck charm and took him back to visit the base of Mt. Everest one year and to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro another.

Bone loves high places. Here he is on top of Mt. Kilimanjaro in East Africa. (He’s with MJ, fourth from right, standing.)

Bone went diving in the Pacific in 1997 with Jose and Barbara Kirchner, visiting a Japanese ship sunk during World War II and receiving his diving certificate.

1998-99: Bone embarked on 40,000-mile journey in the van, Xanadu, through the US, Canada and Mexico with Peggy and Curt, visiting over 30 National Parks, driving the Alaska and Baja Highways, checking out Smokey the Bear’s and Calamity Jane’s graves, kayaking in the Sea of Cortez, leaf peeping in Vermont, jetting to the Bahamas, pursuing flying saucers in Roswell, New Mexico, and completing his visits to all 50 states.

Bone was quite impressed with the size of his ancient relatives. Here he rests on dinosaur toes at the Dinosaur National Monument Visitor Center.

2000-02: Bone journeys up the Amazon, returns to Europe, cruises to Belize, Cancun and the Cayman’s, and goes to New Zealand where a misguided customs agent tries to arrest and jail him as animal matter.

Bone, who likes strange things, insisted on having his photo taken with a mudstone concretion in New Zealand.

2003: Bone undertakes a 360-mile backpack trip in celebration of his discovery and Curt’s 60th birthday. They begin at Squaw Valley near Lake Tahoe and end by climbing Mt. Whitney. Various friends join them along the way.

Bone got a little high when he helped Curt celebrate his 60th birthday, which isn’t surprising considering he is a California bone.

2004: Bone visits Hemingway’s grave in Idaho, goes horseback riding with Australians and Bahamians in Montana, and makes his first pilgrimage to Burning Man in Nevada, a very Bone like type of place. He also jets off to Costa Rica.

Bone has a love for anything ancient. Here, he perches on a Mayan sculpture in Costa Rica.

2005-2007: Bone returns to Burning Man twice and revisits Europe twice including special stopovers in Portugal, France, Holland, Germany, and Belgium. He also revisits Mexico.

2008 – 2011: Bone commences another exploration of North America. This time he travels in the van, Quivera, along with Curt, Peggy, and Eeyore the Jackass. His journey takes him over 75,000 miles of American Roads. Along the way, he barely escapes the hangman’s noose in Tombstone, Arizona. In May of 2010 he helps Curt initiate his blog, and rafts 220 miles down the Colorado River with Tom, Curt and friends through the Grand Canyon.

Bone barely escaped the hangman’s noose after being a Bad Bone in Tombstone, Arizona.

Bone, wearing his PFD, scouts a major rapid on the Colorado River before rafting though it.

2012-2017: Bone goes into semi-retirement in Southern Oregon. Please note the semi, however. He continues the exploration of the West Coast ranging from Big Sur to Vancouver Island, where he kayaks for a week in search of Killer Whales. He wanders through England and Scotland helping Curt find his roots and spends a week traveling by Canal Boat. Later, he returns to Europe again, traveling through the Mediterranean visiting Turkey, Santorini and other Greek Islands, Dubrovnik, Venice, Rome, Pompeii, Florence, and Barcelona. He returns to Burning Man several times. On one trip, he is married to the lovely Bonetta, who he met while exploring a swamp in Florida. Rumor has it that it was a shotgun wedding. This past year he traveled with Peggy and me on our 10,000 mile trip around North America retracing Curt’s bike route. He made a very special trip with fellow blogger Crystal Truelove to visit with Native Americans of the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma.

Burning Man is one of Bone’s all-time favorite activities.

Bone and Big Nose Bonetta are married in a temple at Burning Man in 2013. Bone’s kilt was made for him by an 80-plus year old woman from Kansas. Bonetta is wearing a designer wedding dress with very expensive plastic jewelry to match.

Bone got a wee bit jealous when I snuggled up to this mammoth of a bone when Peggy and I were re-visiting by van my 1999 10,000-mile bike trip.

2018: Bone joins Curtis in celebrating Curt’s 75th Birthday by backpacking 750 miles in Oregon and California. Highlights include the Rogue River Trail, Three Sisters Wilderness and the Siskiyou Mountains in Oregon. In California, Curt and Bone more or less follow the Pacific Crest Trail through the Klamath Mountains, Marble Mountains, Trinity Alps, Cascade Mountains and Sierra Nevada Mountains— taking detours whenever the mood strikes, including revisiting where Tom and Curt found him in 1977! Along the way, Bone meets and chats with numerous through-hikers on the Pacific Crest Trail who are hiking from Mexico to Canada. He also spends a lot of time dodging horrendous forest fires. Peggy joins Curt and Bone for three sections of the journey and provides welcome backup for the rest of the journey.

Bone had a privileged position on the front of Curt’s Backpack during the 750 mile journey down the Pacific Crest Trail.

Bone met many through-hikers making their way from Mexico to Canada including a hiker whose trail name was Bone! Here we have Bone and Bone.

As we arrived at Bone’s home south of Lake Tahoe, he entertained Peggy with tales from his childhood.

2019-2020: He joins Curt for a trip down California’s beautiful Highway 395 among the Eastern Sierras and visits the Alabama Hills where cowboy movies of yore were made with the likes of John Wayne, Hopalong Cassidy, the Lone Ranger and a host of others— voices from the past that have echoed down through time. “Hi-yo Silver away.”

Bone and his traveling companion Eeyore donned covid masks for 2020 RV trip to the Outer Banks of North Carolina to celebrate Peggy’s 70th Birthday.

2022-2026 “Is that a bone in your suitcase? Hand it over.” Worried about being confiscated by the TSA or some similar organization overseas, Bone decides to limit his travel to the US with a 10,000 mile road trip each year. Highlights include 3-month trips where he explores the Pacific Coast, the Southwest, the Northwest, and New England. Taking different routes to get to these locations, he also spends time in the South, Midwest, East and West in general. Along the way, he manages to visit most of the National Parks, travels Route 66, and goes to Burning Man again. He also goes backpacking and kayaking. He now lives in Virginia with Curt and Peggy, who have moved there from Oregon to be closer to family.

Monday’s Post: The Beaver’s Revenge. Having left Alaska in 1986, I returned to the lower 48 states. To help with the transition I took my first six month off backpacking in the West. This week I will feature three tales from the time: 1) A trip into the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming where I encounter the beaver, 2) An exploration of the Gila Wilderness of New Mexico where a herd of elk charges me, and 3) A backpacking trip into the Grand Canyon.

Hoofing It with Ungulates (Horses, Hippos, Hogs and Many More)… The Focus Series

February 2, 2026 / Curt Mekemson / 20 Comments

Today, our focus series features ungulates. In case you don’t know what an ungulate is, like I didn’t, the short answer is that they are animals with hooves who walk or run on their toes. Did that help? They are divided into two categories: Odd toed ungulates (Perissodactyl) such as horses with one toe, and even toed ungulates (Artiodactyla) such as cows with two toes. The credit for having hooves goes to evolution. Horses, for example, started out with multiple toes just like us. They had 4 on the front and 3 on the back. Eventually, over millions of years, their claws/toenails expanded, grew together, and covered their toes. The evolutionary advantage being they could run a lot faster across grasslands and escape animals that wanted to eat them. A hoof is composed of keratin, the same fibrous protein that forms our toe and finger nails. It acts as a hard, protective casing that covers the toes and allows for weight-bearing, shock absorption, and traction— just like a good pair of running shoe works for our feet. But enough on the details. Let’s get to the fun part!

Bad dog! This was one of those occasions I was ever so glad to have a camera along. We had known that we would need one. Our neighbor Jim in Oregon had called and urged Peggy and me to come over and see his recently-born baby goats. Of course we went. Immediately. Who can resist baby goats? Plus, it was a photo op waiting to happen. I just didn’t expect this scenario where one, very small baby goat appeared to be dominating one very large dog. Have you ever seen such dejection? The dog, btw, wasn’t just a large dog; it was one of the largest, most ferocious dogs in the world, a Kangal Dog from Turkey. They are massive animals weighing up to 200 pounds that were originally bred to protect livestock from bears, wolves and other predators. Jim kept his to discourage unwanted intruders, whether four legged like our local bears and cougars, or two legged. I’m not sure what triggered the response above. The big dog had walked over and sniffed his latest charge and then started slinking away. Maybe baby or mom had objected.

This is what we expected in terms of cute baby goat photos.

Daddy. A handsome fellow. He had escaped from Jim’s and come over to visit us. Jim called him Rambo and was very careful not to turn his back on him. He had been butt butted far too many times. Goats are two toed ungulates, which make up the majority of the ungulates.

Whenever I go to a county or state fair, my first stop is to visit the goats. I love the way they come over to visit and possibly nibble at your shirt. I found this guy at the Modoc County Fair in California, the same place I found the hogs shown below.

In Africa, we met another two toed ungulate. It’s hard to find one more different from the goats. The birds are hanging out nearby because the big fellow stirs up lots of bugs as it shuffles along.

While we are on the safari, we might as well check out other African ungulates. The giraffe is by far the tallest.

The most dangerous of Africa’s two toed ungulates: The water buffalo. This is their “What are you looking at?” pose. I liked how each of them had its knee bent exactly the same. Horns and hooves, like finger nails keep growing for life. Apparently, there is a lack of farriers willing to trim water buffalo hooves.

Africa’s numerous antelopes are also two toed. This antelope with a distinctive ring around its hind quarters is a waterbuck. Supposedly, the distinctive marking helps waterbucks follow each other when they are running through the woods. My guess is they would help a lion as well. “Target is in sight.” Horns, like hooves and your fingernails, are made of keratin.

“I’d like to interrupt this presentation to announce that I, too, am a two toed ungulate even though Curt and Peggy didn’t find me on the safari. It was on the Nile River trip.

Apologies for the interruption. Like the horses, donkeys and mules they resemble, zebras are single toed ungulates.

I close my coverage of two toed ungulates in Africa with the warthog. It’s always in competition for one of the ugliest mammals to be found. Or maybe, it’s just cute. Guess who this one is related to?

Yep. I found this handsome pair of porkers at the Modoc County Fair in northeastern California when I was on the way to Burning Man. Speaking of Burning Man, this is the time of the year that people sign up to attend the late August event that is held in the remote Black Rock desert of Northern Nevada. I often do a few posts around now to give newbies and curious folks an overview of what to expect. I’ve been going off and on since 2004. My friend Tom is trying to persuade me to join him this year in giving away hundreds of margaritas on the Playa. I’ll probably be rewarded for my work with all of them I can drink. Woohoo!

Horses are one toed ungulates. Rarely do you find them sitting on their butt in the mud, however. Why would they? But Hungarian Cowboys, the Csikós, do things differently. We took this photo at the Bakodpuszta Horse Farm in Hungary, on our trip down the Danube River.

Something else you wouldn’t find an American cowboy doing.

This cutie came dashing up to a fence to see us when we were searching for ancestors of mine in Lowland Scotland near Stranrae. Given its excitement, I wondered if it wasn’t an ancient relative of mine reincarnated as a Shetland pony.

I featured this horse in a promo for today’s post. He was hanging out on a ranch near Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah. I think it probably had high hopes for an apple..

Cattle are two toed ungulates. We went looking for the unique Scottish *Hielan coo* (Highland cow) while we were in Lowland Scotland but only found what we normally find wandering around North America. Like the Shetland, they ran over to check us out.

We found this *Hielan coo* in the Black Forest of Germany. Go Figure. This summer we are going to be exploring the Highlands of Scotland instead of the Lowlands. We are expecting to find the coos where they belong.

This two toed ungulate with the large horns is immediately recognizable. It’s a Texas longhorn. We found it in the foothills of California.

Not so clear in terms of heritage was this strange looking steer. But we found it about a mile from the gate to Area 51 in south eastern Nevada. Could it have been a cleverly disguised visitor from outer space? Hmmm.

Scottish sheep photo by Curtis Mekemson. — Sheep are also two toed ungulates. This stout fellow had been blocking a small rural road when we were lost in Scotland. It was being baaad. Had its body been black, I would have cited the old nursery tale to it: *Baa, baa, black sheep have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.* BTW, sheep are closely related to goats and on rare occasions even crossbreed. Their offspring is called a *geep. A*nd no, I’m not making that up.

Among sheep, nothing—from my perspective— is more regal than the wild big horned sheep of the deserts and mountains of Western North America. This magnificent example chewing his cud had bought his herd down to graze at a small county park between Las Vegas and Lake Mead Nevada.

There’s a fun story here. The big ram above had been bringing his flock down to the park from the mountains for years when a new subdivision was built beside the trail. This didn’t seem to bother the big horns and you can imagine what a treat it was for the people. But then, one of the home owners put a shiny aluminum door on his garage next to the trail. The leader looked over and saw his reflection. Except it wasn’t his reflection in his mind. It was another lage male challenging him for the leadership. He reared back and charged at the same time the other big horn did, again and again. Nobody was going to get his nannies. The story the locals told us was that the owner of the garage door had a really hard time convincing his insurance agent how the damage had been caused!

A big horned sheep at Glacier National Park.

This young big horn sheep was standing beside the Alaska Highway in Canada’s Yukon Territory.

Buffalo are another two toed ungulate. This sign was located in a store in Custer, South Dakota. We were on our way to Custer State Park. It’s good advice.

If a buffalo stares at you, raises its tail, paws the ground and grunts, you are too close! It’s best to stay at least 75 yards away. Farther if there are calves around. This youngster was feeling its oats even though I was using my telephoto lens from a safe distance.

The family of buffalo was crossing the road in Custer State Park. We waited patiently and took photos from the safety of our truck.

Have you ever wondered how buffalo create their buffalo wallows? We caught this one wallowing away and taking a dust bath in Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota. It provides a good look at a two toed ungulate.

I’ll close this post with what are our favorite one toed ungulates: Donkeys. This beauty was standing in a shed in Germany’s Black Forest.

There were more than buffalo stopping cars at Custer State Park, South Dakota These two answered the age old question of how many donkeys can stuff their heads in a car’s window at one time.

This donkey foal was obviously enjoying having its head scratched in Oatman, Arizona— but not nearly as much as Peggy was enjoying doing the scratching! The sticker on its head was put there to discourage people from feeding the youngsters carrots. They can choke on them.

And finally, this is me petting a donkey in a field near my house in the early 50s. The lumber stacks in the background are at Caldor Lumber Company in Diamond Springs, California where my dad worked as an electrician. I may have been holding something to feed the donkey.

Next up on UT-OH, my blog-a-book-memoir, I learn valuable lessons that every first grader should know: It’s not smart to put your head down on a track to judge a train’s distance when it’s a hundred yards away (it makes the engineer nervous), deciding to go on a mile and a half hike by yourself at 5:30 a.m. may be frowned upon, habanero peppers are hot, and why it’s valuable to wear underwear. Getting caught in your zipper and having to have the first grade teacher free you is no joke.

In Search of Wild Areas, Culture and Beauty in 2026: We Return to Costa Rica, Bali, and Scotland

January 6, 2026 / Curt Mekemson / 22 Comments

2025 was a good year for us from a travel perspective. We stayed home, so to speak, and limited our wandering to Hawaii, the Southwest, and New England. Now we have the itch to go abroad again. We’ve chosen three areas known for their beauty, culture, wild areas— and relative safety: Costa Rica, Scotland, and Bali.

First up: Costa Rica. We took the above photo when we were in a small plane flying back and forth across the country on a tour in the 90s. This year we will be renting an SUV with high clearance and driving ourselves. The country roads can be challenging— even in the dry season! Peggy and I will be going there for the month of March. Our son Tony and his family will join us for a week in Monteverde.

Next up, we will be visiting Bali. I visited in 1976 as part of a six month tour of the South Pacific. I’d lost my camera in Fiji, so I don’t have any Bali photos. I brought a painting home instead. The region is known for its colorful art. This one depicts a rice harvest. The woman on top is making an offering. It’s important to keep the gods happy. We will be there in May. Our grandson Ethan will join us for a week.

We met this fellow in Scotland when we were doing family genealogical research in 2014. He had positioned himself in the middle of the narrow road we were driving on for about 10 minutes before finally moving over to the grass. Peggy and my families were Lowland Scotch so we were in the southern part of the country. This year we are visiting the highlands, coastal regions and islands of the north in late June and July. We will be checking out castles and looking for Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster. Our grandson Cody will be joining us for two weeks. We are planning to hop over to Northern Ireland after Scotland.

Naturally, we will be blogging about our journeys. But there is more, as they always say on late night TV ads. Or at least they used to. Peggy and I don’t stay up that late and most of our TV time is streaming without ads. I am continuing our focus series over the next two months and beyond. “Oh Deer” is my next one. I’ll be featuring the herd that lived in our backyard in Oregon and liked to stare at us through the windows.

And finally, I’ll be offering a new series I’m calling “Ut-Oh” where I will be pulling together posts that I have included on my blog over the past 15 years plus new material featuring my more serious/humorous misadventures in my life. I’ll do an introduction to it next week.

The question here is why should such an innocent looking child be kicked out of the first grade for a year. My first post will answer the question plus relate how a caterpillar I was using to cut a road fell off a cliff— with me on it.

New England: Where Color Matters… The 2025 Wrap-up

January 2, 2026January 1, 2026 / Curt Mekemson / 18 Comments

Our 2025 wrap-up is based on three trips we made during the year and blogged about. The first was Hawaii, which I posted two weeks ago. The second was our Southwest journey that I posted last week. Today we are covering our third, and final trip of the year: The leaf-peeping drive through New England in October and November.

While the photos we selected for the Hawaii and Southwest were ones we chose to use in our annual family calendars, this one is different. Because our New England trip was recent, I’ve selected photos not used in the calendars. Most were also not used in our blogs—sort of a third level, so to speak. But, in New England, even ‘also-ran’ is colorful!

Drive down any country road in New England at the right time in the fall and you will see what leaf peeping is all about. In the photo above, the road wasn’t filled with as much color as many we drove down, but the reddish-orange tree lit up by the sun was enough for us to snap a picture out the window.

Another example. The way the trees reached across the road here made us feel like we were driving through a kaleidoscope.

Lake Champlain provided us to with numerous opportunities to admire the fall colors. The mountains in the background are the Green Mountains of Vermont. We were following a road down on the northern end of the lake that connects a series of islands.

A view across Lake Champlain from one of its islands.

This photo was taken from the northwestern bank of Lake Champlain. The view is all the way across the lake.

We felt that the foreground often added interest to our photos.

Color wasn’t limited to the trees. Both grass and brush joined the palette.

Another example with the grass adding a golden color.

The trees in the foreground had lost their leaves, but they provided a contrast to the trees behind them.

Again, one of the close to *impressionistic* photos of New England I included in my blogs and calendar.

It seemed curious to us that the leaves on some trees could still be green while the other leaves on the tree had completely changed. The red and green made me think about Christmas.

When the leaf peeping isn’t great, a few leaves can substitute.

I thought this tree would be a fitting end to our 2025 travels. The limbs provided a contrast to the colorful leaves, but, in a way, they also reminded us of the many roads we had traveled over in 2025.

Next up: What we have planned for our blog in 2026!

The Southwest: Where Geology Lives, Deserts Thrive, and Ancient People Speak… 2025 Wrap-up

December 29, 2025December 29, 2025 / Curt Mekemson / 30 Comments

As we noted in last week’s post, our 2025 wrap-up is based on three trips we made during the year and blogged about. The first was Hawaii, which I posted last Monday. Today’s post features our Southwest journey where we wandered through the Southwestern US for five months visiting national parks, state parks, and national monuments. Next week’s post will cover our three week leaf-peeping trip through New England in the fall.

The photos used in the three posts are all from ones we selected to include in three calendars we developed for our extended family, each focused on one of out trips. (Not all of the photos here made it into the calendars, but it was a flip-of-the-coin type decision.)

We discovered the towering rock above in Chiricahua National Monument, which is located in southeastern Arizona. The monument is named after the Chiricahua Apaches who roamed the area prior to it being occupied by pioneers from the eastern US. A couple of notes. One, the park is filled with a fascinating variety of rock structures. Two, we have discovered over the years that national monuments often include scenery, geology, history, plants and animals that easily match those found in national parks. They are definitely worth visiting and are usually far less crowded.

Petrified Forest National Park is found just off of I-40 in eastern Arizona. There are thousands of logs like the one above found in the park. You can still see the bark on this petrified wood that was once a tree that fell 200 million years ago.

While most people come to the park to admire the petrified wood, there is also much beauty such as the colorful ‘Teepees’ found on the main road. Each color has a different story to tell representing millions of years in geological history.

The Blue Mesa side road includes many other interesting and colorful land forms such as this. If you visit the park, be sure to take the short detour. A walk out in the desert on well maintained trails is definitely in order.

Ancestral Puebloans and other indigenous tribes left a view of their ancient world in Petrified Forest NP in petroglyphs on Newspaper Rock. While our understanding of what they were communicating is limited, there is magic in contemplating the possibilities.

While we are on the subject of petroglyphs, we found this unique one staring out at us in Petroglyph National Monument in Albuquerque, NM. Over 20,000 petroglyphs have been discovered in the monument. Peggy has plans to include this one in the revision of her word search book: *Artistic Word Searches, Unique and Magical: Discovering Petroglyphs from the Southwest.*

Canyon De Chelly (pronounced shay) is located in northeastern Arizona. Jointly operated by the Navajo Nation that owns the property and the National Park Service, Canyon De Chelly features striking canyon views plus Ancestral Pueblo ruins and petroglyphs left behind by both the Pueblo peoples and Navajos.

Our trip this past spring and summer took us into Califonia where we visited family and friends in San Diego, LA, and Sacramento. We also took time to visit Joshua Tree National Park in Southern California, known for its strange trees, after which it is named.

We found the rock structures to be of equal, if not greater, interest. Some of which could be said to possess personalities.

In addition to being known for its outstanding rock forms (think of the Grand Canyon, Zion, Bryce and Arches— plus what we visited this year), the Southwest is noted for its deserts and cacti, none of which is better known than the Giant Saguaro. We’ve often stopped to admire these huge plants in Saguaro National Park but have never been in Arizona when they are blooming. Things were about to change. Note the buds popping out on top of the arms.

This time we were lucky. The blooms are almost other-worldly, in addition to being a source of food for numerous insects such as the bee coming in for a landing.

A number of other cactus flowers also lit up the desert.

Like plants, animals adjust to the deserts of the Southwest. Several birds choose to nest among the needles of various cacti including the curved bill thrasher Peggy found raising her family in a cholla cactus. The thrasher was not happy when she sneaked up to it and her hatchlings to catch a photo with her iPhone. It’s probably a good thing Peggy couldn’t understand what momma was saying.

Bandelier National Monument, located mere miles away from where the first atom bomb was created at Los Alamos, New Mexico, features the ruins of homes built by Ancestral Puebloans that included natural and carved caves (cavates) with pueblo structures once built up against them.

Peggy and I climbed up to one of the cavates. It was quite cozy inside. “Honey, I’m home.”

Just beneath the cavate, this outcropping of rocks overlooked the large Tyuonyi Pueblo at Bandelier. A corner of the ruins can be seen here. It was built in a circle and contained contained 400 rooms.

This tall rock was among the rocks in the outcropping. My first thought was wow! Nowhere in our travels though out the Southwest have we seen a statue like it carved by Ancestral Puebloans or any other indigenous tribes. We had a guide to the trail we were walking on, but there was no information on the statue. Nor was there anything in the information center. The emphasis was all on the scenery, cavates, petroglyphs and pueblos. Human or nature carved, I would think that the park’s literature would at least comment on it. That’s it for today. Next up:

We wrapped up our year of travel with out trip to New England so it’s proper that we finish off 2025 with the trip.

Happy New Year to everyone and thanks for joining us on our adventures in 2025. It’s much appreciated. Costa Rica, Bali, and Scotland are coming up in 2026! Curt and Peggy

One Dives Weird for Dinner, the Other Herds It: Brown and White Pelicans… The Focus Series

December 15, 2025December 14, 2025 / Curt Mekemson / 21 Comments

If you have been following this blog for a while, you know that Peggy and I love pelicans. They can appear and act a bit strange. It’s what makes them so attractive to us. We like weird. It wasn’t clear what this one was up to. Scratching an itch? Waving to us? Practicing a crash landing? Whatever, we were lucky to catch it in mid-acton. At the time we were visiting Cabo San Lucas on the the tip of the Baja Peninsula.

This one was swimming around in the water nearby. The sharp tip on the end of its bill is called a nail, as in nailed it, to help in catching fish and assuring that they don’t escape from the pouch.

A handsome fellow— in pelican terms— was watching the action. Note the big feet. Brown Pelicans use them to incubate their eggs, placing them on top of the egg instead of using their warm feathers and body heat like every other bird we can think of. Mom and Pop actually make good parents. The male brings in nesting material; the female builds the nest. Both participate in incubating the eggs, and both help in feeding the nestlings, i.e. they spew regurgitated fish into the nest. It’s a potluck.

Graceful, huh. Brown pelicans dive into the water to catch dinner. Style is not required. They start their dive from as high as 60 feet up in the air and plummet straight down, turning their neck just before hitting the water to avoid injury. Peggy and I were watching a feeding frenzy of around 50 pelicans on the Bahía de Banderas, the bay off of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico when we took this photo and the next one.

It was insane. The large pouch of a pelican can hold up to two gallons of water. As soon as the water drains, it swallows whatever it has caught. A two part stomach system then processes the fish to make them palatable. We couldn’t help but think that this pelican was celebrating— not only because it had caught a fish, but also because it was out of the melee. Woohoo!

We watched a youngster on the Rio Cuale in Puerto Vallarta. Its body had a ways to go to catch up with the size of its bill. I think it was trying to scare up a meal. Or take a bath.

The west coast of California, Oregon and Washington also provides numerous opportunities for watching brown pelicans. At one time these magnificent birds were almost extinct because of the poison DDT used widely by farmers to protect their crops from insects. With the banning of the poison, the birds are now off of the endangered species list and number over 600,000 worldwide. This, and the next three photos were taken on the Carpinteria Beach south of Santa Barbara, California.

Looking dignified. A committee perhaps? Or maybe a board of directors. Note how three in front have placed their bills to the right.

You have probably seen brown pelicans in a neat line as they gracefully fly over waves. That wasn’t the case here. We were thinking, ‘Where’s the air traffic controller?’

This is another one of those, “What the…” photos. Napping perhaps while resting its heavy head on its back? Catching a few rays on his pouch? We took this photo on a San Diego beach 17 years ago.

Peggy and I were driving by a small pond in the Florida Everglades National Park last year when we spotted close to two hundred white pelicans stretched out in a long line, several pelicans deep. While brown pelicans dive for their fish dinners, white pelicans work together in a coordinated effort to herd fish into groups that makes them easier to catch. Most of these are peering into the water, watching and waiting. When a fish swims within reach, they strike using their broad pouches as a trap. It’s kind of like catching a butterfly with a butterfly net. The pelican on the top right has succeeded. Its pouch is still full of water.

Success. Several pelicans are in various phases of swallowing their catch here. The roundup was apparently a success. The white pelican is one of the largest birds in North America with a wing span of up to 9 feet. While brown pelicans primarily catch their fish out of coastal waters, white pelicans can be found on lakes far inland. Shallow water where they can herd fish more easily is preferred.

Our favorite pelican of all times was Petros, the well-loved white pelican of the Greek Island of Mykonos. We were wandering around the Mediterranean Sea several years ago with Peggy’s brother John, his wife Frances and friends when we met him. The original Petros passed on in 1986 but he has been replaced by at least a couple since. One was donated by Jackie Kennedy-Onassis.

Petros and his successors have been living on Mykonos for 70 years, capturing the hearts of locals and visitors alike.

I’ll conclude today’s post with my favorite photo of Petros. With the end of 2025 rapidly approaching, we will use our next three posts to focus on our three major trips of 2025: Hawaii, the Southwest, and New England.

With a Proboscis Like This, a Male Elephant Seal Can Make Lots of Noise… The Focus Series

December 8, 2025 / Curt Mekemson / 21 Comments

Elephant seals obtained their names because people thought their proboscises/noses resembled elephant trunks. Some imagination was required.

An elephant’s trunk. Peggy took this picture while we were on a photo safari in southern Africa last year.

The male elephant seal can actually inflate its nose and turn it into a resonating chamber so it acts like a megaphone for blasting out challenges in a unique vocalization that other elephant seals easily recognize. (This photo was taken at the Piedras Blancas Rookery in Southern California that Peggy and I visited 15 years ago. The top photo was taken at Point Reyes National Seashore in Northern California much more recently.)

Each male’s dream is to establish a harem of females for breeding purposes. For an alpha male, this means between 20-50 females, although numbers can be as few as 10 or as many as 100. (Although how one bull could manage one hundred is hard for me to imagine. I did read that they sometimes have lieutenants…) Their size, fighting ability, and volume of vocalizations are all important in establishing the harem. The vocalizations mainly serve as a challenge, i.e. “Let’s fight and see who the biggest, baddest bull is,” or, to serve as a reminder: “You don’t want to fight with me. I kicked your butt last time.” The latter is usually enough to send past challengers scurrying. Harem status provides protection for the females, freedom from being harassed constantly by other males (a biggie), and a safe place to birth their pups.

Elephant seals were once close to extinction, killed for their oil. A large male could yield over 25 gallons, which was used for lamps, lubrication, and making soap and paint. By 1900, only a few hundred remained on the coast and islands of Northern Mexico. Laws protecting their status, first by Mexico and then the US, allowed for a rapid increase in numbers. Today, Piedras Blancas alone hosts as many as 17,000 annually. As you might imagine, the beach gets a little crowded.

Bull elephant seals are big. The illustration below from the National Park Service shows just how big…

This is one of several reasons why the National Park Service suggests that people stay at least 100 feet away! You don’t want one deciding you are a threat to be eliminated or at least chased off.

One came crawling up onto the parking lot at Drakes Beach, Point Reyes. We moved back but we were still closer than we had been. These large creatures are not built for land. Moving is more like shuffling forward like an inchworm. They can use their front flippers to help in movement and balance but not their hind flippers. Watching videos of smaller males getting away from alpha males suggests that they can move fast when sufficiently motivated! The guys at Point Reyes were relaxed: They would ‘galumph’ about 10 feet and stop to rest. Mating season was past. There was no reason for getting excited.

This shot provides a view of the hind flippers dragging along behind while the front flippers are used to push and balance. While worthless on land, the hind flippers turn into powerful ‘propellers’ in water.

The elephant seal moving through the ice plants was like a bulldozer creating a road.

You want fat? Here it is. I think it is a youngster known as a *super-weaner.* Baby elephant seals normally weigh between 250-350 pounds when weaned. Super-weaners can weigh up to 600 pounds! How do they get that way? There are two approaches: One, they steal milk from nursing females and are known as ‘milk thieves,’ or two, they are adopted by an additional mother seal and are known fondly as ‘double mother-sucklers.’ It’s hard to imagine this guy even moving. Note the sand on both of the elephant seals’ backs. They use their front flippers to toss it up. It’s used like you or I use sunblock.

Our parking lot friend moved its head to check us out and make sure that Peggy and I were showing proper respect. Note the eyes and whiskers. Both are helpful in locating food during the deep dives that elephant seals make. The large eyes help them see in the inky depths of one to two thousand feet where they normally search for food like squid and fish. (They can go as deep as 5000 feet.)The whiskers may be used in helping to find food along the bottom.

This illustration from the National Park Service shows the feeding ranges of the male and female northern elephant seals. They spend 80% of their lives on the open sea and a surprising 90% of that time under water, much of which is spent making their deep dives.

They are uniquely qualified for the dives. For example, while you or I take a deep breath before we dive, elephant seals expel theirs to avoid having their lungs crushed by the tremendous pressure that exists at 1000 plus feet under the sea. Instead, they store extra oxygen in their blood. They have three times as much blood as we do on a per pound basis, i.e. lots, and and their blood is much richer in hemoglobin. They also reduce their heart rate when they dive and focus the majority of their blood on servicing their vital internal organs. Using these evolutionary modifications they are able to dive for 30 plus minutes per time, resurfacing for a short 3 minutes. Elephant seals continue to forage constantly during the migrations between their primary feeding ranges and where they travel to breed, have pups, and molt. It’s a good thing. When they arrive, they fast for the time they are on shore, (2-3 months), living off of the fat they have stored.

Wandering through Time and Place

Exploring the world with Curtis and Peggy Mekemson

On the Road US