Buffalo Creek, Colorado

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (then every-other-day blog and now a two-or-three-times a week blog), I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48).  I call this “landing.”  I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near.  I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location.  To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan –  I’m hanging at 6/10, thanks to this visit to a formerly long-time OSer but recently-turned USer . . . CO; 64/65; 6/10; 5; 154.3.  Here’s my landing map, showing my proximity to Buffalo Creek (the water body and the town):

For reference, you can see that I didn’t land far from Denver (it’s about 35 miles away):

You’ll have to trust me on this:  the town name “Buffalo Creek” is obscured by my lat/long landing marker.

Gee, Dan.  You could easily take a little day trip and check out my landing site!  (For readers who don’t know Dan, he works for the Denver Post, and, naturally, lives in Denver).

Anyway, here’s an even broader view:

Here’s my GE shot, showing that I landed in a hilly wooded expanse.  (Dan –  it would be a little tough for you to make it to my actual landing!)

I landed in the Morrison Creek watershed which flows to (what else?) the Buffalo Creek watershed, on to a new river (my 1082^nd), the N Fk of the S Platte R; on to the S Platte (17^th hit); on to the Platte (55^th hit); on to the Missouri (355^th hit); on to the MM (757^th hit).

Here’s a cool oblique GE shot (looking south):

This Panaramio shot was taken just a couple of miles east of my landing (from the top of the hill to the left of my landing in the above shot):

Here’s all I can find about the town of Buffalo Creek – from Wiki:

The town of Buffalo Creek was established about 1877 along the stream of the same name.  The town has been destroyed by fire several times.

The latest bad fire occurred in 1996.  From the US Geological Survey, I found the following about a nasty one-two punch that happened – first the fire, and then a huge rainstorm (described below as a 100-year storm, or a storm that’s so big you’d only expect one like it every 100 years):

The Buffalo Creek Fire in May 1996 burned 4,690 hectares [there’s about 2.5 acres per hectare, so the fire covered well over 10,000 acres] in the mountains southwest of Denver, Colorado.  This wildfire lowered the erosion threshold of the watershed.  As a consequence of this wildfire, a 100-year rainstorm in July 1996 caused erosion upstream and deposition of the alluvial fan at the mouth of a tributary to Buffalo Creek, shown here:

Buffalo Creek is flowing to the right at the bottom of the photograph.  Photo by R. H. Meade

Here’s a picture of quite the building in downtown Buffalo Creek – the 1880 Blue Jay Inn (www.bluejayinn.net).  It is undergoing renovations:

I’ll close with this lovely shot of the N Fk of the S Platte (taken from the town – hey, Dan, you could get here!)

That’ll do it. . .

KS

Greg

© 2010 A Landing A Day

Hannah, Wales and Maida, North Dakota

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (then every-other-day blog and now a two-or-three-times a week blog), I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48).  I call this “landing.”  I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near.  I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location.  To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan –  I landed within spittin’ distance of Canada (well, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration) in . . . ND; 57/44; 5/10; 6; 154.7.  Here’s my landing map, showing Hannah, Wales, Maida & and Canadian Border:

The roads are on a one-mile grid, so it turns out I’m a little less than 4 miles from Canada (one heck of a spit).

Here’s a broader view:

The drainage is headed up into Canada, but I’m pretty sure that I landed in the watershed of a new river, the Pembina (which originate in Canada, but flows south into ND a little east of my landing); the Pembina flows to the Red River of the North (42nd hit) on to the Nelson (59th hit); and then (as I like to point out), on to the Hudson Bay.

Here’s my GE shot, showing a high plains agricultural/prairie setting:

I’m here to tell you this is a pretty much GD area.  (“GD” is a term I haven’t used much recently – in case you’ve forgotten, it means “Google deprived.”)   I’m not finding much, but I’ll see what I can come up with.  I’ll start this this StreetView shot of a grain elevator in Wales (showing that the area has agricultural viability):

Here’s the northern-most StreetView shot in Maida, showing the border crossing into Canada:

I couldn’t find anything about Hannah.  But that’s OK – it’s enough for me that Hannah is also the name of my lovely granddaughter.

This, from Wiki, about Maida:

Various possibilities have been suggested for the etymology of the name “Maida”:

• A book read by Charles Howalt, the first postmaster
• Suggested by two Canadian bankers from a dog in a novel by Sir Walter Scott
• A clipping of “maiden” name for a haymeadow

I reject the third bullet (as boring).  The other two have some interest.  However, the idea of a book entitled “Maida” falls short.  There is a series of “Maida” children’s books, but the first wasn’t written until 1910.  The problem here is that the town of Maida was formed back in 1884.  No other “Maida” book shows up on Google.

So that leaves me the dog from the Sir Walter Scott novel.  From somewhere out there on the internet, I found this:

Maida was a deerhound belonging to Sir Walter Scott, reported to be his favourite dog.   Named after the Battle of Maida, which took place in 1806, he was a gift from Glengarry, a friend of Scott.

Which, of course, leads me to the battle of Maida.  From somewhere else out there on the internet, I found this:

The battle of Maida in 1806 came at a time when the French under Napoleon seemed almost unbeatable on land in Europe.  Austria and Russia had been dealt knockout blows at Austerlitz the previous year and, Trafalgar aside, little appeared to be going the way of the anti-French coalitions.

In 1806 the only potential point of land conflict between the yet unproven British army and the seemingly invincible French troops was in the south of Italy where a small redcoat force protected Sicily from invasion.  Somewhat surprisingly, the British were not in a defensive state of mind and looked to moving on to the Italian mainland and supporting the local rebellions occurring against the French invaders.

When the attack did come, the British showed themselves more than equal to Napoleon’s veterans, especially with their victory at the battle of Maida.

Which, of course, leads me to the town of Maida Italy, which now has a population of about 5,000.  Here’s a map:

Here’s a picture of the town.  What a wonderful place!  I’d visit there in a heartbeat . . .

Getting back to Sir Walter & his dog, here’s a painting of Sir Walter Scott and his family, including his dog Maida:

Here’s an excerpt from a letter he wrote about the painting.  It refers to two dogs – that’s Maida on the left, and you can see the second dog peaking out from behind some legs . . .

LETTER FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT TO SIR ADAM FERGUSON, DESCRIPTIVE OF A PICTURE PAINTED AT ABBOTSFORD BY DAVID WILKIE, ESQ. R. A., AND EXHIBITED AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY IN 1818.

The two dogs were distinguished favorites of the family; the large one was a stag-hound of the old Highland breed, called Maida, and one of the handsomest dogs that could be found; it was a present to me from the chief of Glengary, and was highly valued, both on account of his beauty, his fidelity, and the great rarity of the breed.

Sir Walter’s final resting place is Drybourgh Abbey in Edinburgh.  Here are a couple of pictures of a statue there of Walter & Maida:

The Wiki piece about the town’s name says something about Maida being a dog in one of Sir Walter’s novels.  I can find nothing to substantiate that.

So, here’s my take.  The most logical answer is that Maida ND is named after the town in Italy.  There are thousands of towns in the United States named after European towns.  If I give any credence to the Wiki entry, then the town was named after Sir Walter’s dog.  But think about it.  Naming a town after a dog?

Well, all of this talk of Sir Walter Scott, and I figured I better present at least a quick paragraph from Wiki on who he is (especially if you, like me, are not a scholar of British literature):

Sir Walter Scott (1771 – 1832) was a Scottish historical novelist and poet, popular throughout Europe during his time.

Scott was the first English-language author to have a truly international career in his lifetime, with many contemporary readers in Europe, Australia, and North America. His novels and poetry are still read, and many of his works remain classics of both English-language literature and of Scottish literature. Famous titles include Ivanhoe, Rob Roy, The Lady of The Lake, Waverley, The Heart of Midlothian and The Bride of Lammermoor.

That’ll do it. . .

KS

Greg

© 2010 A Landing A Day

Duck Hill, Mississippi

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (then every-other-day blog and now a two-or-three-times a week blog), I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48).  I call this “landing.”  I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near.  I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location.  To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan –  Wow.  All the way up to 6/10 with this landing in . . . MS; 30/30; 6/10; 4; 154.9.  Note that MS is no longer a USer, and has joined TN (26/26) as the only two members of the PS club.

Here’s my landing map, showing my proximity to Duck Hill:

Here’s a broader view:

I landed in the watershed of Big Bogue, which flows to Batupan Bogue, which flows to a new river, the Yalobusha (my 1081^st river); on to the Tallahatchie (7^th hit); on to the Yazoo (10^th hit).  I’ve never landed in the watershed of a “bogue” before.  Apparently, it’s a southern term (from the Choctaw) for a bayou or creek.  Speaking of a Choctaw connection, I think that “Yalobusha” is a Choctaw word for “place of the tadpoles.”

Anyway, my GE shot shows that I landed in the middle of a broad expanse of farm fields surrounded by woods:

Here’s a StreetView shot looking east, with my landing about 3/4 of a mile away (past the trees):

If you’re headed north on I-55 and are approaching the area of my landing, this is what you’ll see:

Here’s a Panaramio shot, showing the Yalobusha from I-55 (north of Duck Hill):

From Wiki, this about the name “Duck Hill:”

Supposedly the name came from an Indian, named Sitting Duck, that lived on top of the big hill just as you enter the town coming from Grenada.  Chief Duck, as he was called was also a Medicine man who treated not only the Indians, but, was also known to help out the general population of the town. He was a member of the Choctaw Indian tribe.

Another Choctaw connection.  I love that his name was “Sitting Duck.”  Here’s a downtown Duck Hill picture:

So, Duck Hill has quite the notorious past.  A quick perusal of internet resources shows a nasty train crash (1862), a notorious lynching (1937), and the “Battle of Duck Hill” (1943).  First the train crash.  Two trains crashed head-on in 1862, resulting in the death of 34 Confederate soldiers.  Here’s an eyewitness account, from the Montgomery County portion of MS GenWeb.com:

“While enroute to Holly Springs, I narrowly escaped being crushed to death in a railroad collision, near Duck Hill Station, south of Grenada. The coaches being crowded, another man and I had taken a seat on the platform between two passenger coaches. The train making a short stop at Canton, and without any thought of danger or accident, we proposed to go to the rear and get a seat in another car. When we vacated our position, two others took our places and were later killed in the accident.  As we came around a considerable curve into straight road in full view of Duck Hill Station, there was a fearful crash, resulting in the destruction of two engines, several cars, and the death of thirty-two men. About forty others were wounded, bruised and mangled…some mortally, some seriously and others only slightly.

“We remained at the wreck from 2:30 A.M. until 4:00 P.M. We buried the dead, mostly Arkansas and Texas volunteers, in one long pit grave, wide enough to lay the men crosswise…with only their blankets for coffins. I have been on the battlefield, seen men torn and mangled with ball and shell, but never have I seen such a heartrending scene as this. From that day to this, I have never felt safe on a railroad car.”

This, about the notorious 1937 lynching, from Wiki:

Duck Hill was the scene of two of the most infamous lynchings in U.S. history. In 1937, a white mob, in broad daylight, seized two black men who had just been arraigned for murder.  The men, Bootjack McDaniels and Roosevelt Townes, were transported by school bus to the lynching site, where they were tied to pine trees,  Before a mob of some 500 white men, women, and children, McDaniels was repeatedly burned in the chest with a blowtorch; the mob then finished him off with intense gunfire.  The lynchers then turned the blowtorch on Townes; they then burned him to death on a gasoline-soaked pyre.  Although congressmen from other southern states, who at the time were fighting a federal antilynching bill, demanded that the lynchers be punished, no one was ever arrested for the mob murders of McDaniels and Townes.  The main effect of the outcry over the Duck Hill murders was to drive lynching in Mississippi underground—i.e., to efforts to disguise it as something more palatable (e.g., the death of black people who allegedly resisted arrest), or to keep reports of it out of Mississippi newspapers.

Then, from a 1943 Time Magazine article about the “Battle of Duck Hill:”

It was the night after the Fourth of July. The little town of Duck Hill lay quiet in the hot dark of the North Mississippi hills. Suddenly rifle fire crashed out. Bullets hit the watertower and the post office, ripped into homes. As lights flashed on, the volleys grew ragged and firing ceased. There was only frightening quiet.

The trouble at Duck Hill had the historic elements of race friction: Southern Negroes quartered close in a Southern military camp. On the Fourth, some Negro troopers in Starkville to the east were roughly treated. At Camp McCain, resentment smoldered. Next night hot heads grabbed their rifles, broke into a supply house, crammed their pockets with cartridges, set out for Starkville, some 70 miles away. At Duck Hill their weariness equaled their anger. They took up a position along the Illinois Central tracks, shot away their anger with their ammunition, retreated when the lights came on.

There were no casualties at the battle of Duck Hill.

As is my wont when landing in the heart of Delta country, I feature a local bluesman.  Born in nearby Grenada (see landing map) was Magic Sam.  Here’s some bio info:

Sam “Magic Sam” Maghett (February 14, 1937 – December 1, 1969) was an American blues musician. Maghett was born in Grenada, Mississippi and learned to play the blues from listening to records by Muddy Waters and Little Walter.  After moving to Chicago at the age of nineteen, he was signed by Cobra Records and became well known as a bluesman after his first record, “All Your Love” in 1957.

Sam’s breakthrough performance was at the Ann Arbor Blues Festival in 1969, which won him many bookings in the United States and Europe.  His life and career was cut short when he suddenly died of a heart attack in December of the same year.  He was 32 years old. He was buried in the Restvale Cemetery in Alsip, Illinois.

Click here to check him out on YouTube.  Here’s a picture of his Illinois gravestone:

That’ll do it. . .

KS

Greg

© 2010 A Landing A Day

Kirkville and Ottumwa, Iowa

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (then every-other-day blog and now a two-or-three-times a week blog), I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48).  I call this “landing.”  I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near.  I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location.  To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan –  Well, it has been a while since I landed in today’s long time OSer.  In fact, last November was the last time I landed in . . . IA; 41/35; 5/10; 3; 155.4.  Here’s my landing map, showing my proximity to Kirkville:

Here’s a broader view:

For the fourth time, I landed in the watershed of the Skunk River, on to the MM (755^th hit).  Speaking of the Skunk River, an Iowa State University biology professor by the name of Jim Colbert put something together called the Skunk River Navy:

Here’s one of the things they do:

Good for them!  Moving right along, here’s my GE shot, showing a predictably-agrarian scene:

Here’s a lousy StreetView shot looking east down 180^th Street towards my landing (the dude or dudette that shot the pictures was out too early, catching the low-angle early-morning sun):

So, when one Googles Kirkville and finds the town’s website, it is apparent that the big news in Kirkville was the 2003 RAGBRAI event.  You might ask what in the heck is RAGBRAI.  Well, it stands for Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa.  OK, but who or what is the Register?  And the answer is . . . the Des Moines Register newspaper.

So, here’s what the town’s website had to say about the fateful day in 2003 when the RAGBRAI passed through:

We survived RAGBRAI! 10,000 visitors to our tiny little town was a bit overwhelming at first, but everything turned out real good and we had a lot of fun!  It was really neat meeting all the people who passed through and stopped by for breakfast and a little entertainment. We all noticed how courteous the riders are. We also enjoyed looking at the many different kinds of bikes and various costumes. Please help us out! One of our guest books, with lots of signatures disappeared. If you were in town that day, please click the email link above and send us your name and where you are from so we can add it to our city museum. Thank you!

OK.  So, here’s a pictures of the event:

Here’s a little more general info, from the RABGRAI website:

RAGBRAI is a bicycle ride, not a race. It started in 1973 as a six-day ride across the state of Iowa by two Des Moines Register columnists who invited a few friends along. It is held the last full week in July. RAGBRAI is planned and coordinated by The Des Moines Register, and riders who participate in RAGBRAI understand that they do so at their own risk.

The RAGBRAI route averages 472 miles and is not necessarily flat. It begins somewhere along Iowa’s western border on the Missouri River and ends along the eastern border on the Mississippi River. We change the route each year and announce the overnight towns in late January/early February in The Des Moines Register and on our Web site.

This event has become a really big deal.  In fact, the organizers decided to limit the number of riders to a mere 8,500.  A couple of more factoids (from the website):

In 36 years, RAGBRAI has passed through 780 Iowa towns, spent the night in 125 different overnight towns and with completion of the 25th ride in 1997, has been in all of Iowa’s 99 counties. RAGBRAI has been through 80 percent of the incorporated towns in Iowa.

I landed not far from the much larger town of Ottumwa.  So, what does Otumwa have to say for itself?  Well, it’s the hometown of Tom Arnold.  But much more importantly (in my view), it’s the hometown of the fictional Radar O’Reilly.  From Wiki:

Corporal “Radar” O’Reilly is a fictional character in the M*A*S*H novels, the film, and the television series.  The character was portrayed by Gary Burghoff in both the film and on television — the only actor from the film to reprise his role on television.

While Radar’s full name is never given in the original novel or film, on the TV series it is Walter Eugene O’Reilly. The later novels by Richard Hooker and W.E.B. Griffin give his full name as J. Robespierre O’Reilly.

The novel establishes that Radar was from Ottumwa, Iowa and literally dreamed of joining the Army right after high school. (A first season TV episode (1/18), however, shows him receiving a high school diploma through a correspondence course. He seemed to have extra-sensory perception, appearing at his commander’s side before being called and finishing his sentences. He also had exceptionally good hearing, able to hear incoming helicopters before anyone else. It was these abilities that earned him the nickname “Radar.”

According to the beginning of the novel, Radar joined the Army in hopes of succeeding in the Signal Corps but was assigned to be an orderly at the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (M*A*S*H) in Korea instead. Before shipping out, he was assigned to a cleanup detail at Mount Rushmore.

Wiki has quite the robust article about Radar.  If you’re curious, check it out (plus the hundreds of other sites that pop up when you Google Radar O’Reilly.

Back to Ottumwa – here’s a blurb from the Ottumwa Public Library website:

Its name is of Native American origin, and was originally “Ottumwanoc” (“noc” being the suffix for “place.”) For a time in 1844, Ottumwa was called “Louisville,” a name suggested by the commissioners who presided over the opening of the territory to white settlers. The group of pioneers who laid out the town objected to this name change, however, and their opinion won out. Today Ottumwa bears its original name “Ottumwa” because of these pioneers.

There is some controversy over what the Native American name “Ottumwa” actually means. There are two opinions: place of swift water or rapids, and place of perseverance or self-will.

I’m all for perseverance.  Anyway, I’ll close with these shots of the beloved Radar:

That’ll do it. . .

KS

Greg

© 2010 A Landing A Day

A24B0118-C242-9BB6-C334-0EF434D16E23

1.02.28

Tuscarora, Nevada

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (then every-other-day blog and now a two-or-three-times a week blog), I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48).  I call this “landing.”  I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near.  I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location.  To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan –  I guess the LG decided that four USers in a row would be too many . . . NV; 75/69; 5/10; 2; 155.0.  Here’s my landing that shows  that I landed in the middle of nowhere (typical for NV):

Note the scale, and the fact that there aren’t even any roads (let alone towns).  I have to move out a little to see some roads and towns:

Here’s an even broader view:

For the 24^th time, I landed in the Humboldt R watershed.  As you know well by now, the Humboldt is internally drained, and ends up in the dead end Humboldt Lake.

Here’s my GE shot, showing a very dry, very hilly, very empty terrain:

Here’s an oblique GE shot, looking east, showing pretty much more of the same:

Nearby (surprise!) is a huge mining operation.  Here’s a GE shot looking past the mine towards my landing:

I would usually do some research on the mine, but for some reason, I didn’t bother . . .

So, if you look up at my second landing map, you can see that I landed closest to the town of Tuscarora, which is about 19 miles away.  You’ll not be surprised to learn that it’s a former mining town that’s now pretty much a ghost town.

About Tuscarora, from Ghosttowns.com:

Placer deposits were discovered near Tuscarora in July of 1867. Nothing much happened until 1869 when the first Chinese moved into the area. By the end of the year more than 200 Chinese miners had arrived and formed a Chinatown adjacent to the Tuscarora camp. The Chinese became more efficient than the whites in placer mining primarily because they were willing to work harder and longer. In 1870, Tuscarora had a population of 119 of which 104 were Chinese and 15 were white

During the early 1870s, the frustrated white miners left the placer operations and began prospecting in the nearby hills. Silver was discovered and Tuscarora became a silver mining town. Mills were built to process the ore, stage lines included the town in their routes, businesses flourished, schools were built, and Tuscarora became the place to be. The two most productive years were 1878 and 1879. The population had reached 1,500. In each of those years, Tuscarora’s mines yielded more than $1 million worth of bullion.

But fires that had spared the town during the first few years of its existence began to plague to town. That, together with a new discovery in the Wood River region of Idaho started a small exodus from Tuscarora. During the mid 1880s, the big mines of the 1870s began to play out and the population slipped to less than 1,000. The town continued to suffer and many businesses closed their doors. The stage coaches were full leaving town and empty upon their return. During the ensuing years there were many attempts at revival but none succeeded in returning the town to its previous glory

Today, Tuscarora is classified as a ghost town although there are a few people still living there. Visitors are guaranteed to enjoy themselves.

Here’s the “Welcome to Tuscarora” sign (photo by Rich Bauer, from Barraclou.com):

Pretty funny how someone procured a “Welcome to Nevada” sign and then fixed it up a little.  You have to love the giant grasshopper.

Of course, there are broken down trucks:

Here’s a shot of a property that’s still occupied:

There’s an old mining pit filled with water in Tuscarora:

Perusing my landing map, I saw a blip on the map labeled “Dinner Station.”  Here’s a landing map oriented further east.  Today’s landing is the western-most, but just south of the eastern-most landing, you’ll see Dinner Station:

Intrigued, I Googled it, and found it to be a ghost town as well.  From Ghosttowns.com

Stage lines need stations along the route for the convenience of passengers. The best known along the Elko to Tuscarora line was Dinner Station. The first station was a wooden building built in 1860s. The fare to Dinner Station from Elko was three dollars. In 1880 the station burned to the ground and was replaced by a new two-story stone structure that was “the handsomest and most comfortable wayside hostelry in the state of Nevada.”

In 1888 a saloon and a small store opened next to the station and the population grew to about forty people. In addition to serving meals, the station could sleep twenty people and the barn could hold up to seventy-five horses. Over the years a good-sized ranch grew up around the station but with the advent of the automobile the need for the station diminished. The station still stands and is open to visitors. HBC

Here’s a picture of Dinner Station by D.A. Wright (from ghosttowns.com):

I stumbled on this from the Elko County Rose Garden site (elkorose.com):

The area between Lone Mountain Station and Dinner Station (names come from when stagecoaches and freight wagons traveled between Elko and  Tuscarora, Nevada) contains what is widely considered to be a meteorite impact field (many small and intermediate sized craters).

Here are a couple of pictures of small craters.  This one shows a crater just to the left of the hill top (and maybe one to the right as well):

Here’s a more obvious one:

I’ll close with this general Nevada landscape shot, which is taken a little east of my landing:

That’ll do it. . .

KS

Greg

© 2010 A Landing A Day

Island Falls, Maine

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (then every-other-day blog and now a two-or-three-times a week blog), I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48).  I call this “landing.”  I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near.  I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location.  To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan –  Phew!!  After a run of 21 straight 4/10s or less, I’m at 5/10 because of my landing in . . . ME; 21/22; 5/10; 1; 154.4.  Of the 21, here’s the distribution:  six 1/10s; eight 2/10s; three 3/10s and four 4/10s.  You can tell by the plethora of 1/10s and 2/10s (along with the dearth of 3/10s and 4/10s) that this has been a terrible stretch!

Here’s my landing map, showing my proximity to I-95, the town of Island Falls, the West Branch of the Mattawamkeag River and a couple of lakes (Upper Mattawamkeag Lake and Pleasant Lake):

Here’s a broader view:

I landed in the watershed of two new rivers!  First, the West Branch of the Mattawamkeag, which, not surprisingly, flows to the Mattawamkeag.  These are my 1079^th and 1080^th rivers.  The Mattawamkeag discharges to the Penobscot (4^th hit).

Here’s my GE shot, showing mostly woods (but also I-95 & the W Br of the Mattawamkeag, west of my landing):

This is a StreetView shot taken from the I-95 bridge over the river.   My landing is a little more than a half mile away:

Here are a couple of shots of the rapids of the West Branch of the Mattawamkeag right in Island Falls:

Here’s a little history from the Island Falls town website:

In the summer of 1841, Levi Sewall, Neamiah Alexander and Jesse Craig came to Northern Maine looking for a promising place to build a home. They had heard of a promising site along the West Branch of the Mattawamkeag River where there was an island and fall which had the possibility of furnishing a good source of water-power. The three men located the island and the fall and, after looking over the surrounding territory, decided that this was indeed an excellent place to build homes.

There’s more, but basically, an excellent place to build homes turned into a little mill & lumber town.  Anyway, the website goes on:

The William W. Sewell homestead was the first building to become a historical site in Island Falls. William Sewell was a lifelong friend of Theodore Roosevelt. Mr. Roosevelt visited the Sewell’s many times and spent time in both the Sewell’s house and their hunting camp on Mattawamkeag Lake. There is a state park dedicated to President Roosevelt along the Mattawamkeag River below the lake where he went to read his bible on Sundays. It is called Bible Point and remains a lovely place to visit.

Expanding on the Teddy Roosevelt / William Sewell relationship, from Cracked.com:

At age 19, during his summer break, he [Roosevelt] went on hunting trip with logger William Sewell, who hired himself out to city folks who wanted to see the wilderness.  Usually, they didn’t last more than a day or two.  Sewell was astonished to find that not only did this NYC city guy joyfully canoe, hike, and hunt all day for weeks on end, but he actually enjoyed it more when they were soaked by rivers and nearly frozen to death by winds and cold.

Oh my!  Check this out, from StumbledUpon.com:

Of course there is more to this story than a future President showing that he has what it take to run the country. It was 1900 and President McKinley had invited a few key politicians to a retreat in Maine at an exclusive cabin. After much serious discussions, the whiskey started to flow and one thing lead to another and William Sewell challenged Teddy Roosevelt to ride a horse across the lake. Teddy called him a girly Vice President and then chased down a moose and the picture was taken shortly thereafter. Charles Fairbanks tried it after and was tossed into the lake unceremoniously. The revelry ended when William Taft took a turn. The moose drowned.

Old Teddy was quite the character, but the moose story & picture are a little too much of a stretch. . .Anyway, I’ll close with some pictures from near my landing.  Here’s a shot of Amish farmers gathering hay a couple of miles north of my landing in Dyer Brook.   (I’ve never heard of the Amish in Maine, although I recently read that Amish communities are springing up around the country):

Here’s a panoramic shot of Upper Mattawamkeag Lake:

Here’s a picture looking west from just north of my landing (overlooking a non-Amish machine-bailed hay field):

I’ll close with this sunset shot over Pleasant Lake:

That’ll do it. . .

KS

Greg

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