Eloy, Arizona City and Casa Grande, Arizona

First timer? In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-a-week blog) I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some relatively recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2553; A Landing A Day blog post number 998

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (N32^o 21.736’, W111^o 35.754) puts me in South Central Arizona:

My local landing map shows that I landed in the middle of nowhere, presumably in the desert. (For reference, it’s 46 miles from Anegam to Marana.)

Zooming back a little, you can see that I landed not far from Tucson (actually a little less than 40 miles):

As generally happens when I land in the desert, I had to go to Google Earth (GE) to figure out my drainage situation.  Here’s an oblique shot looking east that shows I landed near some clear west-bound drainageways:

I expanded my view, engaged the GE hydrographic features app, and managed to figure out my watershed analysis.   And let me tell you, the following GE shot took a lot of work:

So.  I landed in the Aguirre Valley Wash; to the Kohatk Wash; to the Santa Cruz Wash; to the Santa Cruz River (2^nd hit); to the Gila R (44^th hit).

I’ll head over to my streams-only Street Atlas map, which doesn’t even bother connecting the Gila to the Colorado (I had to add it in):

This is the 194^th hit for the Colorado.  [ALAD Obscurus side note:  The Colorado River is slightly undersubscribed:  based on the ratio of the basin area (not including the Mexican portion) to the area of the lower 48, I should have 200 landings in the Colorado basin.]

Speaking of the Gila not being connected to the Colorado, here’s a short Wiki piece that I lifted from a recent (July 2021) ALAD post:

In 1944, 25 German prisoners of war pulled off the largest and most spectacular escape from an American compound, digging a 178-foot tunnel out of the Navy’s Papago Park Prisoner of War Camp (near Phoenix). All of the men were eventually captured, though some remained at large for more than a month.

Among the last to be captured were three German soldiers who had based their audacious but ill-fated escape plans on a stolen highway map of Arizona, which showed the Gila River leading to the Colorado River, which in turn led to Mexico. Devising a scheme to flee by water, the Germans constructed a collapsible kayak under the noses of their American captors, tested it in a makeshift pool within the prison compound, then sneaked it out through the tunnel. Their plan was perfect – except for the map. The Gila, shown as a healthy blue waterway, turned out to be little more than a dry rut.

The Orange Dude figured out that he could get a look at the Kohatk Wash:

There’s not much to see in terms of the Wash, but the OD positioned himself to look across the Wash at some scenic topography:

The OD and I had very low expectations about getting a look at my landing spot.  But as I was perusing GE, I noticed Kitt Peak (home of the Kitt Peak Observatory), about 25 miles to the south of my landing.  I then realized there was no obtrusive topography between Kitt Peak and my landing!  The OD was on it:

And here’s what he could see:

And then I had one of those JFTHOI moments:  I’m not sure exactly how I stumbled on this GE shot, but it’s kind of cool:

Before I visit my titular towns, I need to mention the ugly scar on the landscape, just east of my landing.  It’s the Silver Bell copper mine:

It’s still active, although producing copper at much lower levels than it used to.  I found this back-in-the-day (1910) shot of the company town near the mine:

It’s time for Eloy.  From the Eloy city website about the name origin:

Southern Pacific Railroad built the first railroad across Southern Arizona in 1878/1880. It was known as the East Line of Yuma. In 1902 they added a siding and section house six miles west of Picacho and named the siding Eloy, the acronym for the East line of Yuma.  During construction of the railroad it was easier, and faster, to handprint E.L.O.Y. on construction drawings, maps and crates of materials.

Well, OK, I guess.  “East Line of Yuma” is peculiarly worded.  I would expect “Yuma East Line” or “Line East of Yuma.”  Whatever . . .

Moving over to Arizona City.  From Wiki:

The area around what is now known as Arizona City was used as a resting area for Juan Bautista de Anza’s expedition party after they emerged from Apache land in 1775. The area is considered an official part of the Juan Bautista de Anza National Historic Trail. This historic trail begins in Sonora, Mexico, and ends at the Presidio in San Francisco, California.

Juan was born in Mexico in 1736, the son of a wealthy military leader.  He ended up being famous for leading the expedition that founded various Catholic Missions in California and established trade routes between Mexico and California.  Here’s a map of his trip:

I’m not very excited about my first two towns – East Line Of Yuma & some dude who went from Mexico to San Francisco. Likely you join me in a similar mindset.  All righty then.  Casa Grande, it’s up to you to rescue this post from mediocrity. 

The town of Casa Grande is named after the Casa Grande ruins, a remnant of the Hohokam culture that flourished from about 500 CE to 1450 CE.  (CE is “Common Era.” It’s the secular version of AD, and is now generally used in scientific writing). Here’s a GE shot of the ruins, which are part of a 200’ x 400’ compound (a protective roof was built over the main structure in 1932):

The National Park Service (NPS) website for the ruins has this artist’s rendition of the compound as it may have looked in 1350 CE:

Here’s a picture of the Casa Grande, from the NPS website:

And a Wiki shot of the building in 1890:

This shot of ruins within the compound was posted on GE by DS Anderson:

Here’s some verbiage from the NPS site:

Archeologists have discovered evidence that the ancestral Sonoran Desert people who built the Casa Grande also developed wide-scale irrigation farming and extensive trade connections which lasted over a thousand years until about 1450 CE. Archeologists recognize the culture (known as Hohokam) by its geographical area, its adobe buildings, distinctive pottery, and extensive canals.  Note that this is not the name of a tribe, and should not be confused with the ancestors of the O’odham, Hopi, or Zuni people.

From Wiki:

The Hohokam cultivated varieties of cotton, tobacco, maize, beans, and squash, and harvested a vast variety of wild plants. Late in the Hohokam Chronological Sequence, they also used extensive dry-farming systems, mainly to grow agave for food and fiber. Their agricultural strategies were vital in the inhospitable desert, and allowed the aggregation of rural populations into complex urban centers.

In modern-day Phoenix, the Hohokam are recognized for their large-scale irrigation networks. Their canal network in the Phoenix metropolitan area was the most complex in ancient North America. A portion of the ancient canals has been renovated for the Salt River Project and helps to supply the city’s water. The original canals were dirt ditches and required routine maintenance; those currently in use are lined with concrete. When Hohokam society collapsed, the dirt canals fell into disrepair. Some European-American settlers later infilled some canals, while others renovated and used them.

I found a scholarly article on the decline of the Hohokam culture, from archeologysouthwest.org. Here’s an excerpt:

Was it a Catastrophe…

Archaeologists used to believe that Hohokam population decline happened quickly and was caused by some type of catastrophe, such as flooding, disease, or warfare.

…or was it Coalescence?

If population decline did not result from a single catastrophe, understanding why it happened is more complicated. Archaeologists now believe the region experienced a gradual, centuries-long process of population decline. Archaeology Southwest researchers explain this region-wide decline through the Coalescent Communities model.

Gradual Population Decline: The Coalescent Communities Model

As immigrants arrived on the edges of the Hohokam region, local groups began coming together (coalescing) into fewer, larger communities, which caused economic, ecological, and social changes. One result of immigration was increasing social tension. More defensive site locations were chosen and use of small, scattered farm sites was discontinued. People increasingly focused on cultivation of a few crops in irrigated fields, and discontinued more dispersed forms of agriculture and the use of wild foods.

Dependence on irrigated crops diminished diet and health. As people grew a smaller range of foods, they were more vulnerable to environmental degradation and flooding, making farming increasingly difficult and risky. At the same time, as they began to live in more concentrated settlements around irrigation canals, increased contact among people in crowded settings, the challenges of waste disposal, and standing water increased the risks of disease.

The end result:  a gradual population decline that resulted in a societal collapse.  Ouch.  At least it had nothing to do with the coming of the white man . . .

The Indian tribe that is most native to the area is the Tohono O’odham.  It seems to me at least likely that members of this tribe are related to the Hohokam culture.  I found this piece of 1960s absurdity in Wiki about the Tohono O’odham:

 In 1960, the Army Corps of Engineers completed construction of the Painted Rock Dam on the Gila River. Flood waters impounded by the dam periodically inundated approximately 10,000 acres of the Gila Bend Tohono O’odham Indian Reservation. The area lost by the tribe contained a 750-acre farm and several communities. Residents were relocated to a 40-acre parcel of land named San Lucy Village, near Gila Bend, Arizona.

AYKM?  And it took until 1986 to do anything about it:

In 1986, the federal government and the Nation approved a settlement in which the Nation agreed to give up its legal claims in exchange for $30,000,000 and the right to add up to 10,000 acres of newly purchased land to its Reservation.

On that uplifting note, I’ll move to close out this post.  I found a cluster of photos posted on GE by one Jonathon Berman, just east of my landing:

And here they are:

I’ll close with this shot, not part of the cluster of photos shown above, but still one of Jonathon’s. This was taken down near where my very local drainage runs into the Aguirre Valley Wash.

He was looking east, and my landing is actually visible on the photo! I didn’t want to mar his photo, so I made a copy and added my landing spot:

That’ll do it . . .

KS

Greg

© 2021 A Landing A Day

Uvalde, Concan and Hondo, Texas

First timer? In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-a-week blog) I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some relatively recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2552; A Landing A Day blog post number 997

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (N29^o 15.928’, W99^o 17.313) puts me in South Central Texas:

My local landing map shows some spread-out small towns (it’s 40 miles from Uvalde to Hondo):

My apologies to Dabney and Blewett; this post includes a very brief “revisited” discussion, not worthy of titular status. But it’s not really a problem since no one lives in either “town” anymore.

Here’s my streams-only map, with Seco Creek (ascertained from Google Earth) added:

Obviously, I landed in the Seco Creek watershed; on to Hondo Creek; to the Frio River (6^th hit); to the Nueces (16^th hit).

Moving over to Google Earth (GE), the Orange Dude had to travel about 20 miles south of my landing to get a look at the Frio River:

As always, the Texas DOT makes sure drivers know what they’re crossing:

Boy, it ain’t much.  Here’s the view looking directly upstream:

The OD headed back north to get a pretty good look at my landing:

And here ‘tis:

While perusing my local landing map, the town name “Concan” caught my eye.    From the Handbook of Texas (courtesy of the Texas State Historical Association):

 Concan (sometimes ConCan or Con Can) is on the Frio River in Texas Hill Country.   According to local lore, the town was named after “coon can,” a Mexican card game.

Coon can (conquian in Spanish) is a card game that originated in 19^th-century Mexico and is considered the precursor to all other rummy games.  My wife Jody and I dutifully played a couple of games, but it was clear why other rummy games emerged from it.

TexasHillCountry.com had this picture of the Frio River at Cancon:

This is about 60 miles upstream of the spot where the OD got his look at the Frio.  Back east, we’re used to rivers and streams getting bigger as one goes downstream.  But out west, the opposite is often true.  We hydrologists call this type of waterway “a losing stream.”  The main problem is that the watertable is well below the stream, so water leaves the stream by percolating down through the soil / rocks to reach the groundwater.  In the humid east, the watertable is generally higher than the stream elevations, and groundwater actually flows into the stream, thereby increasing the flow as one proceeds downstream.

Perusing the internet, it seems as though this area is replete with good ol’ western outlaws and gunslingers.  From Uvalde we have King Fisher, “gunslinger, buried in Uvalde” and Tom O’Folliard, “American outlaw, friend of Billy the kid.”  Hondo was the scene of two bank robberies by the Newton Gang, known as the “most successful outlaws in U.S. history.” 

Here’s a piece paraphrased from Wiki about King Fisher:

At age 16, he was for stealing a horse, but served a short sentence due to his youth.

Working as a cowboy in south Texas, he became aware of incessant raids, lootings, and rapes of Texas ranch and farm families by bandits.  He soon found himself taking part in posse activities. As a result of his successes in this arena, he fancied himself as a gunman.

Fisher began to dress rather flamboyantly and carried ivory handled pistols. He became quite proficient with a gun and began running with a band of outlaws which carried out frequent raids into Mexico.  He allegedly killed at least 10 Mexican bandits.

During this time, King Fisher rarely committed acts of violence or theft against other Texas settlers, instead opting to raid and rustle cattle across the Mexican border. This was a time of massive raids, pillaging, looting, raping, and murder by both American and Mexican bandits.

Although well known as a trouble maker, Fisher was well liked in south Texas. He married the former Sarah Vivian on April 6, 1876, and the couple had four daughters.

With his new family, he began a more settled life by working in the cattle business. He served briefly in 1883 as acting sheriff of Uvalde County, Texas. During this service he trailed two stagecoach robbery suspects, the brothers Tom and Jim Hannehan, to their ranch. The Hannehans resisted, and Fisher shot and killed Tom.  For years after Fisher’s death, Tom Hannehan’s mother would travel to Fisher’s grave on the anniversary of Tom Hannehan’s death. She would build a fire on top of the grave and then dance around it.

[Of course, you need to hear the story of his untimely death at age 30.  Just thirty?  He crammed a lot into a short life, eh?]

In 1884, while in San Antonio, Texas, on business, Fisher came into contact with an old friend, gunfighter and gambler Ben Thompson. Thompson was unpopular in San Antonio, because he had earlier killed a popular theater owner named Jack Harris. A feud over that killing had been brewing between Thompson and friends of Harris. Fisher and Thompson attended a show at the Vaudeville Variety Theater.

They were ambushed while sitting in a theater box.  Although Thompson undoubtedly was the main target, Fisher found himself at the wrong place at the wrong time.  They were both killed by a hail of bullets (Fisher was shot 13 times). 

The San Antonio police and the prosecutor showed little interest in the case. Fisher was buried on his ranch. His body was later moved to the Pioneer Cemetery in Uvalde, Texas.

After King Fisher, I decided not to bother with any details about Tom O’Folliard, Billy the Kid’s buddy.  Needless to say, he also met an untimely, violent demise: 

He was shot in the chest and killed by Pat Garret, the sheriff who captured Billy the Kid.  Tom made it to the ripe old age of 32.  By the way, I featured Billy the Kid in my September 2019 Lawton and Geronimo Oklahoma post.  Billy has quite the story; but considering the morbidity of this post, I’ll just present what Wiki had to say about his (once again) untimely death:

In April 1881, Bonney [Billy] was tried and convicted of the murder of Brady, and was sentenced to hang in May of that year. He escaped from jail on April 28, 1881, killing two sheriff’s deputies in the process and evading capture for more than two months. Garrett shot and killed Bonney—aged 21—in Fort Sumner NM on July 14, 1881.

I love this picture of Billy the Kid:

So how about the Newton Gang?  From Wiki:

The Newton Gang (active between 1919 and 1924) was an outlaw gang; the most successful bank and train robbers in history. From 1919 through 1924 the gang robbed dozens of banks, claiming a total of eighty-seven banks (unconfirmed) and six trains (confirmed).

According to Willis Newton, the brothers “took in more money than the Dalton Gang, Butch Cassidy’s Wild Bunch and the James-Younger Gang combined.” According to their own claims, they never killed anyone. It is true that they were never charged with any death or injuries associated with their robberies, although one daylight robbery in Toronto, Ontario, Canada proved nearly fatal for one bank messenger.

Wiki has a section entitled “Death of the Newtons:”

Jess Newton died on March 4, 1960, having lived out the remainder of his life as a cowboy in Uvalde.

Dock was hospitalized after a rough beating during his last arrest, and never fully recovered, although he lived until 1974, dying at the age of 83.

Willis lived in Uvalde where he owned a café and lived to age 90, fierce and unrepentant to the end. He died of old age in 1979.

Youngest brother Joe Newton died at age 88 in 1989.  He was interviewed by Johnny Carson on the Tonight Show in 1980. 

Speaking of Johnny Carson, check out this video:

They all spent some time in jail, but some might argue not enough time . . .

I featured Dabney & Blewett in a previous (February 2018) post.  They are abandoned mining towns, where a rock called limestone rock asphalt was mined (and is still being mined).  From that post, here’s a shot of an abandoned quarry:

But this time around, I figured out that there’s an active limestone rock asphalt quarry being mined (in Dabney) by the Vulcan Company. I sent the OD to take a look, and he found this entrance to the quarry:

And then proving that it’s active, he turned around and realized he had to jump out of the way of this quarry-bound truck:

Anyway, I went to the Vulcan website and found a video that I strongly recommend – it actually has some cool geology!.  Click HERE to go to their website; scroll down just a little to find the video.

I’ll close with a picture posted on GE by Diana Sanchez, just outside of Hondo.  I’m a sucker for hay fields with the big rolls of hay (rollos de heno, as Señorita Sanchez entitled her picture):

That’ll do it . . .

KS

Greg

© 2021 A Landing A Day

Swan Lake, Montana

First timer? In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-a-week blog) I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some relatively recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2551; A Landing A Day blog post number 996

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (N47^o 50.548’, W113^o 13.428) puts me in NW Montana:

My local landing map shows that I landed far from civilization, although close to a previous landing:

My very local streams-only map shows that I landed in the watershed of Slim Creek (likely via the unnamed tributary since I bothered to put it on the map) and on to the Spotted Bear River (2^nd hit; not surprisingly given the proximity to my previous landing):

Zooming way-the-heck back:

The Spotted Bear discharges to the South Fork of the Flathead River (3^rd hit); on to the Flathead (14^th hit); to the Clark Fork (26^th hit); to the Pend Oreille (28^th hit);  – and you’ll have to trust me here – to the Columbia (189^th hit).

I landed in the Western Montana Rockies (at elevation 7225) so I’m excited to head over to Google Earth and take a look around.  Right out of the gate, I had to figure out which way a drop of water that fell on my landing traveled.  Here’s an oblique shot looking more-or-less north:

Wow.  I landed very close to the crest line of the ridge, but I was a little on the eastern side, so off to the east my raindrop travels.  So as one might have suspected, I landed in the watershed of the good ol’ UT (unnamed tributary) that flows north and joins up with Slim Creek. 

Think there’s a little geology going on here?  Anyway, I’ll zoom back a little (with the previous landing highlighted for clarity):

There’s definitely some geology going on here!  It looks pretty clear that I landed on the east flank of a syncline – sedimentary strata that have been folded up into a smile.  For those in need of a Geology 101 review, here’s a representation of both a syncline (on the right) and an anticline:

Note that looking down on the structures, the strata outcrop as stripes, and that for a syncline, the youngest beds outcrop in the middle whereas for an anticline, the oldest beds are in the middle.

Anyway, back up to the above GE shot, you can see the yellow pushpin for landing 2120.  Let’s see what I had to say back then – first a GE shot, and then some text:

Wow.  There’s some awesome geology going on here.  I wish I knew the story so I could relate it to my readers.  It looks like the white beds are tilted, sloping upward to the west (that would be dipping east, to use correct terminology).  The rocks are totally different moving west, but it’s tough to figure out the structure.  Oh, well.

Well, duh.  I should have look at the rocks going east!  With a little bit of research, I discovered that the syncline is known as the “Silvertip Syncline,” named after Silvertip Mountain.  Here’s a GE shot, showing that the mountain – peculiarly as far as I’m concerned – is located right in the center of the syncline:

I’ll  have more to say about the mountain’s peculiarity in a bit, but first some background:  The Silvertip Syncline (along with the Rocky Mountains) was caused by regional compression due to tectonic forces (like when two tectonic plates collide).  More specifically, when the west-moving North American Plate was overriding the east-moving Pacific Plate. 

The friction between the two plates put the entire Rocky Mountain area under compression.  The strata were originally flat-lying; but push in from both sides and, like a rug, it folds up into adjacent synclines & anticlines.  Here’s a Wiki shot (with the folds added by yours truly), showing the fundamental raison d’etre for the Rocky Mountains:

Anyway, I found a 1964 State of Montana, Bureau of Mines & Geology article by Willis M. Johns.  He had this to say about the Silvertip Syncline:

I had to confirm the 28-mile figure, and confirm it I did:

The paper goes on to mentions that the syncline rocks include Cambrian limestones (let’s say 500 million years old):

Here’s yet another GE shot; note “Limestone Peak.” 

Check.

Going back to Willis John’s paper, here’s a cross-section that likely shows the flank of the syncline near my landing (looking south, with the axis of the syncline off to the right):

The dominant limestone bed that causes “Limestone Peak” is therefore likely the Damnation Limestone. 

There’s a nearby Damnation Creek, and a 2013 wildfire near the creek became the Damnation Fire.  Of course, I searched for the name origin, but I came up empty.  However, I did stumble on this about Owen Sound, Ontario Canada in an article by M.E. Bonds:

Earlier this month I shared that downtown Owen Sound has an intersection with four 19th century limestone churches, known as “Salvation Corners.” Well, just one block west was the site of “Damnation Corners.” At this intersection (10th Street East and 3rd Avenue East) stood four notorious taverns: Pig’s Ear, Bucket of Blood, The Blue Water, and Coleman’s Tavern.

I can imagine a bidding war for beer on tap . . .

I was Googling Damnation Limestone, and you can see why the above article came up – Damnation Corners and limestone churches at Salvation Corners.  Google is amazing . . .

Anyway, back to geology.  The center of the Silvertip Syncline is generally lower than the edges, which is intuitively the way one might expect.  However, sometimes the middle of a syncline has the highest elevation, as in this West Virginia example:

Here, the youngest bed is the most resistant to erosion.  Anyway, here’s another shot showing the dramatic Silvertip Mountain:

Remembering that almost the entire Silvertip Syncline is a valley; why – smack dab in the middle of the syncline – is there a huge mountain?  What gives?  As my regulars might suspect, I spent an inordinate amount of time searching the internet for the definitive discussion of the geology of Silvertip Mountain.  And once again, I came up empty! 

But now a true confession:  Although I searched the text of the Willis Johns paper referenced earlier, I didn’t bother to check if there were any maps at the end of the paper.  Well, duh!  There was a wonderful geologic map that pretty much explained Silvertip Mountain.  Why the author didn’t talk about it in the text I don’t know, but anyway, here’s a small portion of the map:

You can see that there are some mapped geologic units at the mountain that are not present further north.  More on that in a bit.  Note the “Line of Cross-Section.”  Well, here’s a portion of the cross section looking at a slice of earth along that line:

The center of the Silvertip Syncline is marked by Silvertip Creek, which flows north away from Silvertip Mountain, following the axis of the syncline.  Too bad the author didn’t do another cross section through the mountain!

Here’s a closer view of the geologic units at the mountain:

At the lower elevations around the mountain (and north and south of the mountain) are €u, €d and €fg. where € stands for Cambrian.  At the high mountain elevations, we have much younger rocks:  Du, Dwg and Mh, where D stands for Devonian and M for Mississippian. Here’s the key:

I don’t care much about the details describing the rock types, but we know one thing (don’t we class?):  The Devonian and Mississippian rocks are much more resistant to erosion than the Cambrian rocks – and ergo, Silvertip Mountain.  One mystery remains:  Why don’t the younger rocks extend further north and south away from the mountain, forming a ridge?  That’s a question I can’t answer.  I’d guess that Willis Johns at least has a clue . . .

OK.  On to Swan Lake.  As one might expect, I featured Swan Lake for landing 2120.  In that post, I came up empty-handed on my name origin quest, and settled on Swan Lake ballet – with music by Peter Tchaikovsky.  From that post:

I couldn’t really find a geographical, geological or historical hook.  The lake valley was dug out / dammed up by the glaciers (no surprise there).  So where to go with this post?  How about back to Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, or, more specifically, his best-known ballet piece, none other than Swan Lake.  Here’s ol’ Pyotr’s picture (from Wiki):

True confession:  I had no clue what this incredibly famous composer looked like!

Continuing my true confession, I had no clue what “Swan Lake” is all about.  So, I lifted a synopsis of the story line from the Houston Ballet website.  Right up front, let me apologize for the irreverent comments that I’ve inserted.  Hey – truth be known – I’m just looking for laughs.  Well, here goes:

 Act I

 Scene I: Deep in a Dark Wood

Odette, a young maiden, is in the forest.  The evil knight Rothbart appears and captures her, turning her into a white swan.

[“Ho Hum. I’m a little bored.  I think I’ll turn this woman into a swan.  Why?  Because I can.”]

She is cursed to remain a swan during the day, and a maiden at night.

[Why not the other way around?  Why not a full-time swan?  Oh, well.]

Scene II: A Royal Hunt at the Edge of the Wilderness

Later, the young Prince Siegfried and his entourage arrive in the forest and set up camp, celebrating the day’s hunt.  The Queen calls her son aside and reminds him that tomorrow is an important day, as he is now a man and eligible for marriage.

She introduces him to four eligible young princesses, but he is distant and uninterested.

[Why would any healthy, red-blooded young man be distant and disinterested??  Did he have a premonition that his one true love was soon to appear?]

The Queen sternly warns him that this is the last night of his youth and that he must soon take on the responsibility of adulthood.  Upset, Siegfried decides to leave the camp and venture out into the woods alone.

{Poor Prince Siegfried has a hissy fit, does he?]

 Scene III: In the Forest

Deep in the forest that evening along the edge of a lake, Siegfried sees a young maiden.  Odette is beautiful, and he falls instantly in love.

[Oh, all right.  Love at first sight.  I’ll give him that.]

However, she is terrified, and begs him to leave, to no avail.  Charmed by his bravery, Odette finds herself falling in love with him.

[And he’s brave because . . . he didn’t leave?  Whatever.]

As the sun begins to rise, the evil knight Rothbart summons Odette.  She goes to him and is transformed into a swan and flies away. 

[There’s nothing here about what Siegfried thinks about all this.  Come on!  It isn’t every day you see a woman turn into a swan!  He should be amazed and at least a little upset!]

Soon thereafter, a large flock of swans lands on the lake.  Hunters from the royal party see the flock and prepare to shoot, but the Prince intervenes and orders them not to shoot.  Siegfried notices that one of the swans is Odette and he professes his love to her.

[Odette’s a swan.  How does Siegfried recognize her?  A distinctive birth mark?  Also – he professes his love to her!  Can Odette the swan understand Russian?]

Act II

The next night, the Queen hosts a ball and presents eligible princesses to her son, but the Prince pays little attention.  Suddenly, Rothbart and a maiden dressed in black arrive.

[Evil Rothbart can crash the Queen’s party?  What about security?]

It is Odile.  She is the mirror image of Odette.

[The old “mirror image” trick.]

The Prince is smitten with the mysterious woman in black and begs his mother to consider the new arrival.

[Are you kidding me?  So quickly, he has forgotten about Odette?]

Siegfried and Odile dance and he proclaims his love for her; he tells his mother that he wants to marry Odile.

[I’m sorry, but Sieggy’s a total loser.]

Just then, Siegfried sees Odette in the crowd.  She is horrified by the betrayal and runs out.  The prince runs to Odile and realizes that she is one of Rothbart’s swans and that he has been fooled.

[Fooled – like I said, Sieggy’s a loser – and a lousy excuse for abandoning your true love!]

The devastated prince chases Rothbart as he flees the court.

Act III

While it’s still dark, the Prince arrives at the edge of the lake in the forest and begs the distraught Odette for forgiveness.

[Yo, Odette.  Forget about Siegfried!  Did I say he’s a loser?]

The sun comes up and the maidens turn back into swans in the morning mist.

Before long, Rothbart and his black swans appear and he summons all of the swans, including Odette.  The Prince, desperate to be with his love, grabs his crossbow to kill Rothbart. The Prince shoots, but his arrow hits Odette (the swan) instead.

[I hate it when that happens.  He tries to shoot the villain but instead shoots his true love.  Imagine if his aim were better – the ballet sure would have a different ending . . .]

Rothbart holds Odette in his arms but when she falls, she is a maiden.  The spell Rothbart cast on Odette is broken, and the Prince runs to her.  Odette, as a woman, dies in the Prince’s arms.

He picks up her body and walks into the lake, drowning himself.  Young maidens appear from the forest, forever changed.

Phew.  OK – so, maybe with beautiful music and beautiful dancing, I wouldn’t be so cynical.  Speaking of beautiful music and beautiful dancing, I’ll move right along to some of both.  Please check out this video of the Great Chinese State Circus performing.  Just wait until you see the leading lady (assume, playing Odette).  Her performance has a certain Cirque du Soleil aspect, but she is incredibly and elegantly graceful:

I’ll close with this shot of the Silvertip Creek Valley by Kevin Glover, posted on GE.  We’re looking north from the slopes of Silvertip Mountain (and that’s Limestone Peak on the far right):

That’ll do it . . .

KS

Greg

© 2021 A Landing A Day

Lake Okeechobee, Florida

First timer? In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-a-week blog) I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some relatively recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2550; A Landing A Day blog post number 995

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (N27^o 20.445’, W80^o 57.661) puts me in S-Cen Florida:

As you can see, I landed very close to Lake Okeechobee:

I don’t need a streams-only map; you can see on my landing map that I landed in the watershed of the Kissimmee River (5^th hit, making the Kissimmee the 178^th river on my list of rivers with 5 or more hits). The Kissimmee discharges to (and is the primary source of water that feeds) Lake Okeechobee.  Water from the Lake naturally made its way diffusively through the Everglades (7^th hit), mostly to the Gulf of Mexico.  (Today, the water is diverted to various canals that I’ve decided to ignore.  I prefer to track the water the way nature intended.)

Here’s an expanded view:

Moving over to Google Earth, I suggested that the Orange Dude position himself on a bridge over the Kissimmee.  He concurred:

And, looking upstream, here’s what he sees:

Note what appears to be a channel coming in to the river to the right (with a bridge across it).  This is a part of the old Kissimmee River channel, which was hydraulically replaced by a straightened channel in the 1960s.  Here’s a streams-only map that shows the county boundary that follows the old course of the river:

Although the rechannelization provided some flood control benefits, it was an environmental disaster.  Here’s what the Corps of Engineers said about their own project:

The Kissimmee River once meandered for 103 miles through central Florida. Its floodplain, reaching up to two miles wide, was inundated for long periods by heavy seasonal rains. Wetland plants, wading birds and fish thrived there. The project achieved flood reduction benefits, but it also harmed the river-floodplain ecosystem.

From Florida Atlantic University:

From 1960-1971, the Kissimmee River was transformed from a beautiful, meandering river into a 56-mile-long ditch. As a result of this ditch-and-drain effort, the wetland-dependent flora and fauna that once thrived in the Kissimmee system declined drastically. Studies showed a 90% decrease in waterfowl and a nearly total loss of the largemouth bass population.

So, congress said to the Corps of Engineers:   “You broke it; you fix it.”  I noticed that a section of the river a few miles upstream has been restored:

You can see the unrestored channel up at the top of the photo, the restored meandering channel, and the scar from filling in the channel.

This is a massive project, with costs of about $1 billion (5 times more expensive than the original rechannelization).

And talk about engineering:  there’s a massive levee that runs all the way around Lake Okeechobee.  It was installed because the lake is big enough that when hurricanes hit, a storm surge spills over the downwind side of the lake. 

You know, whenever I land near a lake, I always imagine living on a lakeside property, preferably with a private dock. 

Well, that doesn’t happen on Okeechobee.  I had the Orange Dude cruise around and find what looks like typical “lakefront” property.  Check out the levee on the left. Houses are on the right.

There’s a trail – some of it gravel, some of it paved – that runs all the way around the lake on top of the levee.  On a whim, I Googled “race around Lake Okeechobee.”  And yes, indeed, there is an annual such race, known as the LOST 118.  “LOST” = Lake Okeechobee Scenic Trail” and 118 = the number of miles around the lake. 

From the LOST 118 Facebook page:

LOST 118 Mile Ultramarathon is run under a full moon each February around Lake Okeechobee, the seventh largest lake in the United States and the largest in Florida.

2022 races include: 118 mile individual, 118 mile relay;  50 mile individual & 50 mile relay.

The course is run around the entire Lake Okeechobee, atop the 35-foot-tall Herbert Hoover Dike, originally built for flood control. The race follows the Lake Okeechobee Scenic Trail (“LOST”), the multi-use path around the Lake, and is mostly on top of the dike which is a mixture of dual track, macadam, and crushed stone surfaces.

From the top of the dike, you will experience beautiful sunrise and stunning sunset across the calm waters of the lake and its many marshy and grassy islands [along with unimaginable exhaustion!]. There are 22 access points on the dike for you crew to meet you. The race is always run as close to a full moon weekend as possible and, if it is a clear night, you will not need a light up on the dike. LOST 118 is very scenic, both day and night, with a constant breeze to enjoy.

An ultra marathoner named Dave Krupski ran in 2021, and wrote an WordPress blog article about.  It’s a pretty cool article; but it’s hard to relate to someone who can run 118 miles in 22 hours.  Click HERE to access his article. Spoiler alert:  he finished second. 

Here’s a list of the all-time LOST 118 fastest finishers:

Jamie Donaldson is quite the runner.  In case you missed it, notice the “F” in the age category.  Here are a few excerpts about her from an article by Benn Farrell,* from Colorado Community Media.

* How many times has he said “my name is spelled with two n’s, two r’s and two l’s.”

As a cross-country runner, Jamie Donaldson has had a lot of dreams. And she is quickly realizing many of them.

At the 2009 world 24-hour championships May 3-4 at Bergamo, Italy, just outside of Milan, Donaldson finished not only as the fourth individual female, but she was also the highest scoring runner from the United States overall. Her finish helped the Team U.S.A. women to a silver medal.

In the championship event in Korea late last year, she finished fifth among females.

The defending champion of the Badwater Ultramarathon of California, a 24-hour race that runs from the lowest elevations to the highest of the Death Valley National Park.  The Badwater was the race that inspired Donaldson to get into the sport. The challenge of the race is performing in the middle of the Mohave Desert in July with three mountain passes to cross. Donaldson said the combination of all its elements is what makes the race so hard.

“If it was just one thing, you could handle it, but between the heat, the mountains, all of it combined makes it really hard,” she said.

Donaldson will defend her Badwater bragging rights this July. Last year [2008] , she was the first female across the finish and third runner overall. She finished the course in 26 hours, 51 minutes.

[In 24-hour races,] “You run for 24 hours and get as many miles as you can,” Donaldson said. “You run until the horn sounds. For most races, the faster you go, the faster you get there and you’re done. There, it doesn’t matter.”

Mentally, the 24-hour races are a lot harder than running a 100-mile race, the junior high coach said. In 24 hours, it’s all about pacing oneself.

“In these races, people will start and fly past you and maybe forget they are running for a whole day,” Donaldson said. “It’s about mentally preparing for that and having to hold yourself back. It definitely takes a lot of discipline.

“Running is such a part of my life. I can’t imagine not being able to do it,” Donaldson said. “I know at some point I won’t be able to compete at the level I do, cause it’s very taxing, it’s amazing to do what you love to do every day.”

OK.  Enough preliminaries.  It’s time to turn to geology to answer the question:  “Why is Lake Okeechobee there in the first place?”  But speaking of first, why is Florida there in the first place?

Here’s what I know:  Florida (at least the Florida Peninsula) is unique among the 50 states, geologically speaking.  The whole thing is limestone; rock that was deposited by critters like shellfish and coral in shallow warm water.  Well, I found this cross-section from the USGS (US Geological Survey):

The important thing for my 35,000’ view is that there is this feature called the  “Peninsular Arch” composed of “Basement.”  So.  What’s going on?  Well, the basement rocks are ancient — more than 500 million years old — igneous & metamorphic rocks (not limestone, which has the blocky symbol on the above cross section).  These same kind of rocks underlie (and are sometimes on the surface of) the entire East Coast.

Two things are going on:  1)  the Peninsular Arch underlies the entire Florida Peninsula (and is actually the root cause of the entire peninsula).  2)  the top of the peninsular arch just so happened to be at a shallow depth below sea level and in an area with a warm climate for millions and millions of years. 

So shallow warm water critters loved it there, and a limestone-forming environment was present.  And yes, the sea levels changed, and yes, sometimes Florida stuck up above the ocean like today, but over the march of 10s of millions of years, the conditions were ripe for the deposition of a very thick limestone sequence – about three miles thick on the peninsula to as thick as 7 miles thick off the east coast.

Being a Bahamas-loving kind of guy (specifically an Eleuthera-loving kind of guy), I was curious how the Bahamas fit in to the above picture.  Well, thanks to the University of Florida (specifically, the IFAS Extension, whatever the heck that is), I found this map and cross section:

OK, they call it the “Florida Platform” instead of the “Peninsular Arch.”  Whatever . . .

Obviously, the geology of the Bahamas “Bank” (which is divided into a “Little” and “Grand” Bank) is related to that of Florida, but two things caught my eye.  First:

“Class!  Can anyone tell me anything about the notch in the platform between Florida and the Bahamas?” After a lengthy pause, I said, “Don’t all answer at once!  Come on, somebody.”

I then saw a hand being tentatively raised in the back of the class.  “OK, Jonathon, so what do you think about that notch?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure that the Gulf Stream runs between Florida and the Bahamas, so I’m guessing that that notch carries the Gulf Stream.”

“Correct!”

I immediately wondered which came first, the Gulf Stream or the notch.  I didn’t bother asking the class, because they’re clueless for the most part.  And while I was at it, I was stumped by the Miami Terrace apparently located on the side of the notch (referring back to the above cross section).  Seems like a peculiar spot for a terrace.  Anyway, as it turns out, the two things are related.

After a little research, I realized that the “Florida Straits” contained at least a portion of the Gulf Stream, so I was able to Google Florida Straits geology.  First, a map:

(Ignore the red lines – I’m not sure what they are – but anyway, you get the idea about where the Straits are).

And then, I found an article entitled “Geomorphology and Geologic Structure:  Straits of Florida,” published in the Geological Society of America Bulletin and written by “R. J Malloy  and R. J Hurley.”  Peculiar, isn’t it, that both people have the same two first initials, but more peculiarly, that the “R” has a period, but the “J” doesn’t….

Anyway, it’s highly technical, but here’s a somewhat-understandable excerpt:

Seismic reflection profiling and previous seismic refraction studies suggest that the main axis of the Northern Straits (west of Little Bahama and Grand Bahama Banks) has formed aseismically, by non-deposition and limited erosion, and that the Southern Straits (north of Cuba) have formed principally by subsidence and normal faults along Cuba to form a half-graben with the down-dropped portion tilted toward the south.

To translate:  the northern portion of the Straits was primarily caused by “non-deposition” and erosion.  In other words, it sounds like for this portion of the Gulf Stream, the Gulf Stream itself prevent the deposition of sediments and actually caused erosion.  So here, the Gulf Stream came first.

But then, it sounds like the southern portion of the Straits had an underlying tectonic explanation, with faulting and subsidence causing the deeper water.  So here, the notch came first. 

In the big picture, I suspect that the southern portion of the Straits was first formed by tectonics; this pathway (along with other ocean current-forming factors) resulted in the ancestral Gulf Stream to take root, and then (taking matters into its own hands), the Gulf Stream made sure the northern portion of the Straits stayed open.

I’ll finish off with a very quick word about the Miami Terrace.  From the abstract of an article entitled “Geology of the Miami Terrace and its paleo-oceanographic implications” by Henry T. Mullins and A. Conrad Neumann:

The Miami Terrace is a drowned early to middle Tertiary carbonate platform, the outer margin of which has been deeply incised by submarine erosion subsequent to deposition of the limestone terrace.

Translation:  Back in the early to middle Tertiary – say 10 to 20 million years ago, when evidently sea level was much lower – a “terrace” of limestone was created.  I imagine this terrace to be an extensive flat-topped block of limestone.  It then became “deeply incised” (i.e., seriously eroded) by “submarine erosion” (i.e., erosion caused by the ancestral Gulf Stream).  So the Miami Terrace story confirms the northern-portion-of-the-Straits story.

Geez.  I forgot about the reason for this entire geologic excursion:  finding out why Lake Okeechobee is there.  Don’t worry, I’ll keep this very brief.  Forgetting technical journal abstracts, I’ll get this from good ol’ Wiki:

Lake Okeechobee sits in a shallow geological trough that also underlies the Kissimmee River Valley and the Everglades. The trough is underlain by clay deposits that compacted more than the limestone and sand deposits did along both coasts of peninsular Florida.

Translation:  For some reason, (some number of millions of years ago), it was lower in central Florida than the coastal areas.  Naturally, fine-grained sediments were deposited in this low area, forming a clay deposit.  As mentioned in Wiki, these clay deposits tended to compact as time went on.  This compaction would make the bottom of the bowl less permeable, more water-tight.

Evidently, the bowl was dry during the most recent glacial epoch when sea levels were much lower.  But then about 6,000 years ago, as sea levels rose, the water table under the peninsula also rose, and the Lake and the Everglades became wetter and wetter.

I’m nervous that a real student of Florida geology will read this and won’t be able to stomach my generalities and flat out fallacies. Well, if so, feel free to comment, and I promise I’ll respond . . .

It’s time to close things down with a couple of Lake Okeechobee-area shots.  First, this awesome lightening shot by Kim Seng, taken from the top of the levee:

Today I went to Port Mayaca to photograph the sunset and do some timelapse. I ended up shooting lightning over Lake Okeechobee.

And then this atypical Lake Okeechobee shot by Merci Fichert:

El lago

That’ll do it . . .

KS

Greg

© 2021 A Landing A Day

Albertville and Colfax, Wisconsin

First timer? In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-a-week blog) I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some relatively recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2549; A Landing A Day blog post number 994

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (N44^o 58.068’, W91^o 36.505) puts me in W-Cen Wisconsin:

My local landing map shows my two titular towns:

And here’s a very simple watershed map:

I landed in the watershed of Elk Creek; on to the Chippewa River (12^th hit); on to the Mighty Mississippi (988^th hit).

Moving over to Google Earth (GE), I had the Orange Dude find his way to an unnamed tributary of Elk Creek, just south of my landing:

And here ‘tis:

The OD went a couple of miles south to get a look at Elk Creek.  Here’s what he sees:

The OD & I agree that this is a lovely view of Elk Creek. 

The OD was able to get fairly close to my landing:

You might be wondering why the OD didn’t situate himself on the east-west road south of my landing.  Well, here’s the reason:  an elevated east-west railroad runs just north of that road, effectively blocking any view of my landing.

Anyway, here’s the best the OD could do:

Let’s stick with GE and take a closer look at Albertville (specifically the Albertville Tavern):

The OD invited me in for a cold Leinenkugal (brewed exclusively in nearby Chippewa Falls).

I checked out the menu; it was what I’d call typical tavern fare, but I noticed this:

Hmmm.  French Fries or JoJo’s?  I’ve never heard of Jojo’s.  After some research, I’ve learned that back in the 1960s, a pressurized deep-fryer was invented (in Ohio or Chicago) to quickly cook fried chicken.  Pressure fryers allowed fast-food joints like KFC to quickly cook their chicken.  After some amount of usage, the oil would tend to get a little funky.  Someone realized that throwing chunks of potatoes in the fryer cleaned up the oil.  At first, the potato chunks were simply thrown away, but then someone ate one of the chunks and discovered that they were not just edible, but really good.

Add some salt and pepper and seasonings of choice (along with a breadcrumb or batter coating if you like) and a new food product was born.  The story goes that the inventor of the pressurized deep-fryer was asked what he called the new delicacy, and he said something like, “I don’t know what to call them – how about Jo-Jo’s?”

It’s the weakest link in the story, but it’s all I got.

Jo-Jo’s (or jojos) took root here and there in the Midwest (and evidently in Wisconsin), but they have become a serious part of the regional cuisine of the Northwest, particularly Oregon, most particularly Portland.

Personal note:  I lived in Ohio for a total of 13 years, and never ran into a Jo-Jo.

Check this out, from Oregon’s own Willamette Week (wweek.com):

Jo Jo’s getting dipped in batter just before deep frying.

Ask a Portlander about jojos, and a lot of them will tell you the same story: It’s just a funny name people in the Northwest call a potato wedge. They’ll say that the name was invented here and is used only here—a country quirk of our nation’s upper-left corner.

Every Californian tends to hear the word for the first time when they arrive in Oregon, granting credence to this version of events. Jojos are a staple of old-school truck stops and bars all over Oregon and Washington, a word most locals will apply to any old potato cut lengthwise into wedges.

But there’s more to it than just frying up a wedge potato in a pan. It needs to be breaded, spiced and deep fried in a pressure fryer.

Actually, the roots of the jojo actually go deep into the country’s industrial midsection . . . .

Jo Jo’s & Chicken

Before leaving Jo-Jo, I can’t resist.  Here’s Sir Paul playing to an enthusiastic crowd of Russians in St. Petersburg in 2003.  Get back, Jo Jo . . .

Definitely one of my top 5 Beatles songs . . .

Before leaving Albertville, I must add this about the name origin, from Wiki:

The community was named after Albert Halvorsen, a barber and shopkeeper in Eau Claire, Wisconsin.

I did a half-hearted Google search for Albert, but couldn’t find anything of note.  Anyway, I’ll bet he’s the lone barber and shopkeeper to have a nearby town named after him. . . .

Moving on to Colfax – Wiki lets us know that the town was named after Schuyler Colfax, Vice President under Ulyssess Grant.  From Wiki:

Schuyler Colfax (1823 – 1885) served as Ulysses S. Grant’s vice president from 1869 to 1873, and prior to that as the Speaker of the House of Representatives from 1863 to 1869.

Colfax was known for his opposition to slavery while serving in Congress and was a founder of the Republican Party.

[Remember, class — back in the day the Republicans were considered the liberal party, and the Democrats the conservatives.]

During his first term as Speaker he led the effort to pass the Thirteenth Amendment to the United States Constitution, which abolished slavery. Chosen as Ulysses S. Grant’s running mate in the 1868 election, the pair won easily over Democratic Party nominees Horatio Seymour and Francis Preston Blair Jr.

Notice Schuyler’s picture.  He has a bit of a Mona Lisa grin, highly unusual for 19^th-century portraits.  And here’s a campaign poster, with just a hint of a smile:

Wiki even states that among Republicans, he was known as “Smiler Colfax.”

His entire political career was abruptly ended due to his involvement (alleged involvement) in the Crédit Mobilier scandal, which was a doozy.  From Wiki:

The Crédit Mobilier scandal, which came to public attention in 1872, was a two-part fraud conducted from 1864 to 1867 by the Union Pacific Railroad and a bogus construction company (known as Crédit Mobilier of America) in the building of the eastern portion of the First Transcontinental Railroad. The story was broken by The New York Sun during the 1872 campaign of Ulysses S. Grant.

First, a fraudulent company, Crédit Mobilier of America, was created by Union Pacific executives to greatly inflate construction costs. Though the railroad cost only $50 million to build, Crédit Mobilier billed $94 million and Union Pacific executives pocketed the excess $44 million.

[Wow.  What a scam!]

Then [for the second part of the scandal], some of the proceeds were used to bribe several Washington politicians for laws, funding, and regulatory rulings favorable to the Union Pacific.

The scandal negatively affected the careers of many politicians and nearly bankrupted Union Pacific. The scandal caused widespread public distrust of Congress and the federal government.

Obviously, Vice President Colfax was one of the politicians who was allegedly bribed.  Here’s a political cartoon where Uncle Sam is encouraging Colfax (who’s not smiling, by the way) to commit hari-kiri:

Wow.  Nasty cartoon, eh?  So, Colfax must be the guy right behind the knife, and that’s Grant next to him.

Although he claimed innocence, there was sufficient evidence to bring him down (although not enough to send him jail).  He was impeached towards the end of his term as VP, but not convicted.

And as it turns out, Colfax Township, Wisconsin was named in 1868, at the beginning of Schuyler’s term as VP, and well before the scandal broke.

I just stumbled on this campaign “badge” for the 1868 Democratic ticket (which was soundly defeated by the Grant / Colfax Republican ticket):

Ouch and double ouch. Well, at least they were up front about it . . .

It’s time for a couple of pictures posted on GE near my landing.  First this, of Elk Creek (a couple of miles south of my landing) by Jon Turner:

I’ll close with this, by Aaron Carlson, from about 4 miles east of my landing:

That’ll do it . . .

KS

Greg

© 2021 A Landing A Day