20060927 Big Yellow Taxi Stops Near San Jose

20060927 Big Yellow Taxi Stops Near San Jose

The 1960s Joni Mitchell song Big Yellow Taxi lamented, "They paved paradise and put up a parking lot." This is the way it seems to go, usually. Once in a while though, the process is reversed.

For hundreds of years the tidal salt marshes of south San Francisco Bay provided habitat for a multitude of living things, including humans. The Ohlone people not only harvested fish and wildlife from the area, they harvested salt. Later, European-descended people continued the salt tradition.

Commercial operations began in 1854. By the 1960s Leslie Salt had dissolved a number of smaller operators into one, with over 50,000 acres of salt ponds around the margins of San Francisco Bay. These ponds, separated from the tide by levees, allow for more efficient salt harvest than the natural marsh. The ponds, while not natural, did provide benefit to some species. See http://www.johncangphoto.com/articles/saltpond.htm for a summary of the situation and some excellent photos.

Leslie and its successor Cargill have sold some of the ponds to the San Francisco Bay National Wildlife Refuge and the State of California. The Refuge and its partners seek to restore many of the salt ponds to natural tidal marshes and have already been successful with a few.

In a region containing some of the highest land values in the country, I find this restoration simply amazing. In the 1960s an entire west bay community, Foster City, was created from salt ponds using dredge fill. This process could have been repeated decades later for a tremendous profit. Instead, one by one several of the ponds are being opened to the tide once again.

The general public benefits from the Refuge and its neighbor to the north, Coyote Hills Regional Park. A network of biking/hiking trails links the two and provides miles of much needed outdoor recreation in a densely populated area.

The US Fish and Wildlife Service would like the public to understand that the Refuge has more than just recreational significance. The Fremont headquarters and visitor center tells the restoration story to the general public while a few miles away in Alviso local students participate in environmental education programs. For the past couple of years Tia has been involved in the former and soon will switch to the latter.
Staff generally lives offsite, but some do live in "Trailerville," a motley collection of travel trailers and modular houses set in the headquarters maintenance yard. Tia lives there in what she calls her "tuna can", a thirteen-year-old 36’ Dutchman trailer.
Between park service seasons this "wildlife island in a urban sea" has become my refuge. After over four months in the Alaska bush, full on city life could be a shock. I am grateful that the Big Yellow Taxi stops here.

20060922 Northern Lights, Big City

20060922 Northern Lights, Big City
When Texans visit Alaska and boast about size, as if it mattered, Alaskans respond, "We could split Alaska in half and have two states both larger than Texas." Despite its vastness, Alaska is sparsely populated. Many fewer than a million people live in the entire place—665,000 by a 2005 estimate. Of those, about half live in Anchorage.
These folks tend to be very conscious of being Alaskans, a hearty lot. I find these people of Anchorage generally helpful and friendly but the city, surrounded by natural beauty that will make you gasp, elicits a different respiratory reaction and could only be described as "strip malls gone wild".
Having lived for years in San Diego, itself a refuge for the faceless business, I’m quite accustomed to this kind of commerce and find it easy to locate the goods and services that I need here.
First things first, I was not to be denied that steaming greasy plate of enchiladas [thank you Lyle Lovett]. I had been told that authentic Mexican food could be had a Taco King, a taco stand about six long blocks from the hostel on a main drag called Northern Lights.
In addition to the strip mall economy San Diego also taught me to appreciate the corner taco stand, almost as numerous in So Cal as McDonald’s. Cheap prices, abundant fat and salt, and the obligatory "5 rolled tacos for $x.xx" special can be found at Alberto’s, Aliberto’s, Roberto’s, and any number of other eateries occupying former Taco Bell, Dairy Queen, and Foster’s Freeze locations throughout San Diego county.
How would Taco King compare? I give it a solid B-. Not awful, not totally gringo-mex, but just not what I had hoped for. Ah well, I must remember where I am, not to mention that I have been without since early May.
Dessert follows the main course, and of course that would be ice cream. Roy recommended a home-made ice creamery titled Hot Licks, also walking distance from the hostel. Cappuccino Crunch caught my eye. Once again, a B-. Good flavor but poor texture—gritty and dry instead of smooth and refreshing. When did I develop this discriminating palate? Me, who is happy with Thrifty ice cream cylinders? And what a miserly scoop! I thought everything here was supposed to be big, like Denali. If you are not going to satisfy the gourmet then at least the gourmand.
I guess the old joke applies here. Two Tims are seated at a diner. One Tim remarks to the other, "The food here is terrible!" The other Tim replies, "I agree, but at least the portions are large."

20060922 We Are Gone

Today could have been a second day of sightseeing from Anchorage, but instead I sit in the dining area of the 26th Street Hostel. I wanted to spend some time on a few final thoughts about amazing Brooks Camp while still in fantastic Alaska.
The last of we naturalists, five remaining out of fourteen, abandoned Brooks Camp on Wednesday. Along with Roy, our Chief of Interpretation, and a couple of holdout campers, we milled around in front of the lodge as Aaron weighed our baggage and us. Pilot Chris, flying the Otter beneath the low ceiling, hauled a full load of passengers and gear 30 minutes to King Salmon and the end of our adventure.
Very high my priority list for the 20 hours spent in quasi-civilization before flying on to Anchorage were two expereiences: eat Mexican food and sip a diet Coke. I only got one. Nacho Mama’s was of course closed so myself and a gang of parkies settled for pizza at D & D’s restaurant in the nearby town of Naknek. Thankfully D & D’s was able to provide the caffeine fix.
Already Brooks Camp seems like a dream, or rather a nightmare with a happy ending. We worked around giant carnivores all summer without being eaten. Despite our being absent, day use visitors will continue to watch bears walk the Naknek Lake beach, trespass into Brooks Camp, and swim Brooks River for perhaps another month. They will do so without the naturalist staff to watch for bears and conduct bear school.
If they can do it without us, why are we there? I often wonder about the value of my work. When budgets are cut, interpretation is the first to go. The bad guys must be caught, the plumbing fixed, and the bathrooms cleaned, but naturalist programs are a luxury. When they are cut or reduced, the public does not complain much, at least to me. A tiny fraction of park visitors take the time to attend the formal programs that we do offer. Are we unnecessary?
In the short run, yes we are. In addition to formal programs, at Brooks Camp we staff the visitor center, offer bear school, and perform human traffic control in heavy bear use areas. Aside from the programs, people can perform all of these functions with neither knowledge of the significance of Katmai nor skill in conveying it. Without naturalists, visitors still would be able to buy t-shirts and postcards, learn bear etiquette, and have help negotiating the bear minefield.
In the long run, though, I believe we naturalists are critical to the NPS mission of conservation and enjoyment, in that order, that Congress mandates. Others can show visitors a good time—fishing guides and lodge operators for example. NPS interpreters do it while reminding folks that National Parks are special places to be protected for future generations and for the sake of the place itself.
I truly believe that without interpretive staff that national parks eventually would degenerate into something like county parks, used and abused. Moreover, should any administration seek to exploit the parks I think I can count on at least a couple of people who have attended my programs to stand up and say NO! Multiply that by the number of interpreters offering programs nationwide and you have a constituency. Yes, constituency building is perhaps our most important function, with benefits to bears and bear viewers long after the naturalists have gone.

20060914 Getting the Picture

20060914 Getting the Picture

Expensive glass abounds in Brooks Camp. At the moment two professional videographers, both from National Geographic, are set up on the platforms shooting bears. Err, umm, bear footage that is. Yesterday Animal Planet had a crew here.

Beside the multi- multi-thousand dollar video cameras, multi-thousand dollar still cameras equipped with lenses the size of small artillery are attached to multi-hundred dollar graphite tripods. Based on an unscientific sampling of their owners, most of these Tom Mangelsen wannabes are serious amateurs rather than professionals.

I venture to say that this class of photographer, if I might be allowed to generalize them into a class, raises ranger hackles almost as much as Boy Scout leaders. (There is another story there--one that must wait for another time.) Despite a standard ranger request at bear orientation to give up the prime spots once in a while, these photographers tend to monopolize the railing of the lower river viewing platform for hours at a time. Somehow their photos are more important than those taken by others who paid the same to reach Brooks Camp.

Many of these semi-pro picture takers have two camera bodies. When the bear action shifts to a nearby satellite platform they abandon the tripod setup, grab the second body, attached to a more portable lens, then thunder across the walkway to hog the best spots there as well.

These selfish sorts frustrate me at times because I do not have the authority to force them to share, I can only request. At the same time I feel sorry for them. Looking through the viewfinder, they seem so focused on the mechanics of acquiring the perfect image that they miss out on the experience of what is going on before them. While I like to take pictures as well and have enjoyed use of a Nikon cannon for most of the summer, I have virtually stopped using it because I too was missing out.

Yesterday I had occasion to work with an organized group of serious amateurs. Their behavior reminded me of the danger in generalizing.

I was working the corner, where the pathway from the lodge to the bridge takes a 90-degree bend at the Brooks River. This spot is on the ground, so one must be vigilant for bears popping out of the woods or making landfall after having swum the river. As per usual for the past 10 days or so the bridge was closed. A bear or bears was situated less than 50 yards from the bridge or the path leading to it. The photography group arrived about 9 or 9:15, wanting to cross the bridge to access the superior bear viewing on the elevated platform.

“Hi folks, The bridge is closed because a cub is waiting on the opposite riverbank near the bridge while its mother fishes in the river. The sow may remain out fishing for an hour or more, so we may be here a while.”

“No problem,” replied the spokesperson. Tripods were extended, cameras attached, and shutters released.

Because of bears approaching the corner from various directions, over the next hour and a half I moved that group hither and yon to maintain the 50 yards distance. I did keep them at the corner as much as possible to allow them to photograph the fishing bears. I never heard a complaint.

“I am trying to get you across the river but I must wait for a time when all bears are at least 50 yards from your travel path.”

“No problem.”

“I am willing to allow a bear to approach closer before we move if you are willing to gather your gear and move the instant I give the word.”

“No problem.” And it wasn’t. When I said move, they moved right away. I fulfilled my part of the bargain by waiting much longer than with a typical mix of visitors before requiring the group to give ground before an approaching bear.

After over an hour and a half of bear chess, my replacement arrived allowing me to return to the visitor center. I apologized to the group for not being able to get them across the bridge.

“No problem,” repeated the group leader. “For us, it’s not just the image, it’s the experience.” I could have kissed him. They were having fun snapping a few photos and feeling the unsettling vulnerability that comes with being on the wrong side of the fence at the zoo. These people get the picture.

20060910 Bear-o-rama Brouhaha

20060910 Bear-o-rama Brouhaha

The management of Katmai National Park has changed quite a bit over the years. The park has its roots in Katmai National Monument, created by Woodrow Wilson in 1918 solely to protect volcanic resources. Brooks Camp did not exist at the time and would not have been in the monument anyway. In 1931 Herbert Hoover enlarged the monument to a size that included today’s Brooks Camp, which still did not exist. Finally in 1950 Brooks Camp came to be, originally a fly-in fish camp. Not many bears were around at the time and any that were likely were chased away or worse. There were not many park rangers around either.

About four decades after the establishment of Brooks Camp, brown bear numbers [the park has no black bears] around Brooks River increased dramatically and the bear viewing business increased right along with it. While I do not have the numbers, my impression is that today far more people come to Brooks to watch the bears fish than to fish themselves. Without doubt more come to do either of those than to visit the volcano area, which has ironically become a sidelight.

Today 300 people or more may visit Brooks Camp in a single day, spending hundreds if not thousands of dollars for the privilege. Generally these folks are free to move around provided they observe the 50-yard rule. Visitors must not remain within 50 yards of a bear, unless the visitor is on a viewing platform. If a bear approaches within 50 yards, visitors must give ground. Visitors may not approach a bear to within 50 yards.

Human safety is one concern, but not the only one, which manifests itself in the 50-yard rule. Bears habituated to close contact with people may find themselves in trouble in areas where bears are hunted, as well as in civilized areas like the town of King Salmon, 30 miles away, where residents may shoot bears legally in defense of life and property.

Experience tells us that not all people will obey this rule voluntarily. To assist them with compliance, for their safety and that of the bears, throughout the day rangers are posted on either side of the lower portion of Brooks River, at the “corner” and at the “lower river platform.” Law enforcement rangers and bear management rangers, known as bear techs, rove the area as well.

Rangers will close a portion of the sometimes-busy travel path from the lodge, on the north side of the river, to the lower river platform on the south side should bears be closer than 50 yards. The 80-yard-long floating bridge across the river may be closed, the corner may close, or both.

In July, when the salmon are moving upstream and jumping Brooks Falls, most bears spend most of their river time at the falls. Still, some bears use the lower river in July and those bears often breach the 50-yard limit along the travel path necessitating closure to human traffic. People move almost without delay in August as most bears leave Brooks River for places unknown. Come September, after a month absent, many bears return.

At this time they spend little time at the falls, as few or no fish are jumping. Rather they congregate in the half-mile or so of the lower river eating dead and dying sockeye. Thus they are even more often in the vicinity of the human travel path in September than in July. In September the travel path may be closed more than it is open. Day-use folks may spend two or three of their five or six hours at Brooks waiting to access the prime viewpoint offered by the lower river platform. While the visitors do not seem to complain as much in September as they do in July—often many bears may be seen from the corner without crossing the bridge and most visitors ultimately see beaucoups bears—other people are not exactly thrilled with the arrangement.

Katmailand, operator of Brooks Lodge, finds its guests unable to cross the river to purchase meals and to board aircraft. On east wind days, like yesterday, the planes land, not at Naknek Lake right in front of the lodge, but at Brooks Lake 1.5 miles away and on the opposite side of the river. Then, not only are the guests unable to reach the lodge, lodge staff are unable to transport their baggage to the rooms.

Katmailand’s bus tour to the Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes departs from the lower river platform on the opposite side of the river from camp. Over the past several days, as more and more bears arrive at the river for the dead salmon festival, the tour departs less and less at its scheduled 9 a.m. More than once the tour has not been able to leave until 11:00 or later because participants were caught at the corner unable to cross the bridge. One day it drove away at 1:30. This is a tour for which folks pony up almost $100. Some participants have asked for refunds, which does not please lodge management.

Our maintenance folks bristle as well. The bridge closures eat into their productivity if a project requires that they cross the bridge. They may also find themselves late to work as most live at Lake Brooks housing on the opposite side of the river from camp. At the end of a workday they may not be able to return home for an hour or more.

Some of the dissatisfaction stems from the way platform and corner rangers, usually interpreters like myself, execute their duties. At training the interpretive supervisor used a rangefinder to demonstrate 50 yards. Part way through the season he repeated rangefinder sessions to reinforce accurate assessments of 50 yards distance from key points along the travel path and bridge. Still, critics charge, and not unwarrantedly so, that different rangers have different perceptions of 50 yards, and that most err on the conservative side.

During pre-season interpreter training, safety was emphasized. “We want you to go home at the end of the day with all of your body parts intact.” With most of the staff new and much of it young, early on interpretive rangers were loath to take risks in opening the bridge too soon, before a bear had cleared the area, and possibly sending visitors into harm’s way.

The great unsaid, but I suspect thought by many around camp with more experience than me, is that nothing will happen even if we get close to bears. This may be true. Most of these bears grew up in Brooks around people. They are naturally well fed. They display an amazing degree of tolerance for the mistakes that we make every day. Only two people have been injured since 1966, neither seriously.

Still, no one wants to be the ranger who, in response to pressure to get people moving, hastily announces “Bridge open!” only to have a visitor mauled by an unseen bear that may have been seen had more time been taken to scan the area. Visitors are told that ultimately they are responsible for their own safety, but should a visitor be injured or worse on my watch my conscience would torment me for a long, long time.

What is the park doing about these bear traffic delays? According to our bear management plan, in the camp area proper--defined by buildings--bear management and law enforcement rangers haze trespassing bears. Once beyond the buildings area perimeter, bears are left alone to access an important food resource. Humans must yield right of way to bears outside of the buildings area. Hazing of bears in their area occurs only as a last resort, when all other options have been exhausted.

The first option is waiting. We just wait for a bear sleeping along the path to move on its own. When an active bear, and sometimes several active bears, are within 50 yards of the travel path or bridge, we monitor and open the path at such time as all bears have moved off to a distance of 50 yards or more. Fifteen or more bears at a time may be using the lower river in September, so this can take a while. Recently eight bears fished in the river or stood on the shore within 50 yards of the corner alone.

Another option is an alternate travel route. Can we use the beach or a secondary path to avoid a bear sleeping beside the main path? Can an airplane taxi to the other side of the river, or even fly to nearby Lake Brooks, to load passengers? Can the visitors be transported by boat?

Sometimes the 50-yard rule is waived. A bear technician or law enforcement ranger will generally make this decision, based on the situation and the bear or bears involved. This is most often used when the too-close bear is asleep and is 20 yards or more from the travel path.

If an individual bear or family group has been sleeping in the same spot for a considerable time, bear management staff may elect to move the bear or bears. This decision may be hastened by the need to move passengers with imminent connecting flights. Cubs waiting at the shore while mom fishes in the river, a common September scenario, would not be moved.

Katmailand is not at all happy with how the park service manages bears and people. I would be too was I the lodge manager. National Park Service bear management policy disrupts business virtually every day of the bear viewing season.

Based upon remarks made almost daily by some lodge staff, it seems that Katmailand would prefer that bears be hazed immediately whenever they impede human travel. They say that, because we do not haze bears on the travel path, we are training bears to use it. I must say I see some truth there, but at the moment the park service maintains bear use trumps human use.

Just as a lack of hazing may encourage the bears to use the travel path, hazing may teach them to avoid it entirely and move upstream away from the viewing area. Without a chance at a close look at a bear, surely fewer people would come to Brooks. Katmailand may be better off without the hazing.

As evidenced by an NPS planning document, the park service believes that moving camp to the opposite side of the river, out of major bear travel areas, would be a long-term solution to most of the human travel problems. However, this possible solution brings with it its own set of problems relating to a private inholding nearby, floatplane access, wetlands, and more. A number of alternative destinations have been identified, but the park has not moved to implement any one of them. Katmailand, on board with the move idea early on, is no longer willing to cooperate. The concessionaire, with powerful friends, currently blocks the move.

Another alternative for opening the lid on bear jams would be to construct an elevated walkway the entire distance from the lodge area to the opposite side of the river. Some people object, citing the impact on the Brooks River viewshed.

This brouhaha over managing the Brooks Camp bear-o-rama has been boiling for years. “The Skinny,” a ranger logbook for passing on topical information from one shift to the next, contains 1995 and earlier references to the very same issues we experience today. Will it continue indefinitely?

Over the last few days a committee of three men, all with bear experience but not employees of the park, has been interviewing park staff about the bear management situation at Brooks. The committee wants to document the day-to-day implementation of the park’s bear management plan and to hear our concerns and suggestions. At this point I do not know who hired these men nor do I know the chain of events that led to them being here. While I am not in a position to be certain, their presence suggests that once again a management change is coming to Katmai.

20060908 The Golden Hour

20060908 The Golden Hour

Upon arriving at Brooks Camp in mid-May we were all impressed by the great quantity of light. The sun still shone at bedtime and was up before we were. As we have moved into late summer, with daylight hours similar to the lower 48, we come to appreciate more the quality of light here, especially in the golden hour leading to and just after sunset. That hour of last evening at Brooks Camp explains why.

20060904 High and Low

To satisfy the park service mission of conservation and enjoyment, the National Park Service, an agency of the Department of the Interior, needs people. Visitation to most national parks is seasonal in nature—more people visit Yellowstone in the summer season than in winter while in the Everglades the opposite is true. Thus the need for people fluctuates with the season.

Visitors have the greatest chance of contacting three types of park employees: Maintenance workers cleaning restrooms, park rangers known as “visitor use assistants” operating campgrounds and entrance stations, and park rangers called interpreters staffing visitor centers and leading talks and walks. During the busy season, chances are that park employee will be a seasonal hire.

Seasonal park employees, usually working for three to six months, cling short-term and tenuously to the bottom rung of the organizational ladder. They pay their own travel expenses to a job that may be thousands of miles from home. They receive no health benefits, no retirement benefits, and have no guarantee of a job the following year. They must sign agreements stating that they understand that they may be terminated at any time due to funding shortage or any other reason. An underperforming permanent employee, hired virtually for life, may be placed on a performance improvement plan. A seasonal may be terminated or simply not rehired the following year.

I have been a seasonal park service employee for nine years, being fired twice a year. I have two seasons as a maintenance worker, three as a visitor use assistant [VUA], and thirteen as an interpreter. While I would love to have fringe benefits, I accept the conditions under which I work. Provided I can find work I have the freedom to move around the country every few months visiting some of our nation’s most amazing places and meeting interesting and sometimes powerful people from around the world.

In the summer of 2001 President George Bush visited Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks in California’s Sierra Nevada Mountains. There to announce a funding commitment to improve service-wide deteriorated infrastructure, he addressed a live audience of park employees. Seasonal interpreters and VUAs in flat hats occupied the front rows of the temporary seating beneath the magnificent Sentinel Tree, a giant sequoia. Attired in dress uniform with felt flat hat, necktie, and “Ike” jacket, I was placed front row center.

Park Superintendent Dick Martin, Secretary of the Interior Gale Norton, and the President all spoke. Following the rhetoric, while professional shutters clicked and videotape rolled, the President shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with audience members for more than half an hour.

Ever should we have a serious discussion, I’m afraid the President and I would find little to agree upon. Certainly this glad-handing was more of a photo opportunity than a summit conference. “I’m proud of the work that you rangers do.” “Thank you Mister President, and thank you for coming to visit us.” Still I must admit that, as the lowest of the low in the federal government chatting for a moment with the highest of the high, the most powerful person on earth, I was thrilled.

You would hardly believe the hoopla surrounding the President’s visit to Sequoia. Perhaps counterproductively in a park desperately needing additional funding, the park put on its best face. Potholes were filled, signs repaired and trashcans painted by maintenance folks and others well up the park chain of command.

Secret Service agents, at least the ones we could discern, arrived more than a week in advance to check travel routes for the presidential motorcade of glossy black smoked-windowed SUVs and to inspect facilities the president might visit. A perfectly coifed gentleman dressed in polo shirt and dress trousers walks into the Lodgepole Visitor Center. Around his middle, pouch turned to the front, rests a small fanny pack that doubtless would trigger the alarm at any airport security checkpoint. Seconds behind him follows another man similarly attired and equipped. The interpretive exhibits hold no interest for them. Instead they stare under eaves, into corners, and behind doors. My years of training and experience tell me these are no ordinary visitors.

Two days ago Katmai received a most important visitor, newly-appointed Secretary of the Interior Dirk Kempthorne. Preparations could not have been more casual. One maintenance worker remarked that if the Secretary has a problem with the way we run things every day, then we need to look at the way we run things.

The Secretary and entourage of a handful of government officials and one or two security people arrived via Katmai Air, the same carrier that brings most members of the public. This was to be a pleasure visit, so all were dressed in blue jeans and the like. Other than my supervisor Pete Hamel working overtime as tour guide and a law enforcement ranger accompanying the Secretary on his fishing day, from my viewpoint Brooks Camp operations were not affected.

As with President Bush, the Secretary and I would have little common ground in a discussion of politics, especially as it relates to environmental issues. Still, I was honored to meet the man. He treated me with warmth and respect.

Yesterday was my 52nd birthday. While a group of rangers and visitors, including wader-clad Secretary Kempthorne, were waiting out a lengthy mid-afternoon bear jam, Ranger Sabrina asked if I would like a cake or brownies for my birthday. I declined both, so she asked what would I like? My response, loud enough for the Secretary to hear, was that I would be honored if he would attend my program that evening in the auditorium. He had not attended Sabrina’s program the previous evening.

As program time approached, Peter advised me that the VIPs already had begun alcoholic beverage consumption at the lodge, so they likely would not come to my program. I would have loved to present a program with a strong message proclaiming the value of national parks to someone in a position to affect them, but I realize that all visitors, VIPs or not, have their own agendas that may not include ranger programs.

Pre-program chatter with the visitors is going quite well. Niki was in the audience for at least the fourth time, and I was sharing with the crowd our adventures on the Katmai Coast. In walks Secretary Kempthorne who announces that someone in the room has a birthday. He leads the audience in singing happy birthday to me!

Well! In the audience were the Katmai Superintendent Ralph Moore, the Secretary’s special assistant for Alaska, and the Secretary himself. If I can be immodest for a moment, the highest official in the Department of the Interior may have learned a little something from the lowest.

Earlier in the day Greg, a lodge employee, had offered to buy me a drink after work to celebrate my birthday. Following the evening program I changed into civvies and dropped by the lodge. The Secretary and his group were drinking wine and playing Trivial Pursuit. They paused to sing Happy Birthday yet a second time! This cannot be real!! But wait, there is more.

I excused myself to move to a table of Yahtzee-playing Lodge employees for my birthday drink of Diet Coke. As we yakked about what we were doing for the winter, Secretary Kempthorne sat down for a game. I begged off as Yahtzee bores me. The Secretary then asked me to join, so what could I say?

I realized over the next hour that the Secretary of the Interior and I do have a couple of things in common after all. First, Yahtzee bores him too. Within a few minutes he was drumming his fingers and looking around the room, apparently wishing he were elsewhere. Second, since he will be serving as Secretary at most for the final two years of a lame duck administration, he and I are both short-term employees of the Department of the Interior.