Tag: Nature

Signs, signs …

I’ve long gotten a kick out of interesting signs, be they cute and funny or ridiculous. Last summer, when we were traveling through much of the western USA in our RV, I made more of an effort to capture such signs. Finally, after also poring over many of my older photos, I’ve put together some. This is Round 1.

Beginning with the first photo, top left corner, you’ll see that the second sign indicates (squint!), westbound on Utah State Highway 143, which is just south of Panquitch. You’ve probably made a fair approximation of the situation here. Behind us, U.S. 89 had shot straight through most of the town but then took a left turn at what is in these parts a busy intersection. Understandably, a lot of drivers must have missed that turn and soon found themselves on a lonely road toward the middle of nowhere. Hence the sign. All photos by Steve Martaindale

The photo to the right is pretty self-explanatory. It came from an RV park on Lake Eufaula near Checotah, Okla.

The third photo, running across the page, tells a story without telling the story. Visiting friends in Angel Fire, N.M., I accompanied him to the church he pastors when he was running errands on a weekday. I snapped the photo at the back of the nave, in an area designed for someone to control sound, lights, etc. “Do not turn anything on unless you know what you are doing!” sends a pretty clear message that someone in the past has done just that.

“There’s a reason they call it the Badlands,” is my caption for the photo of the bird sitting on the sign. From that perch, it should be able to see a rattlesnake coming.

Speaking of warnings, the next sign tells you, “Head this way in case of a tsunami.” This was on the outskirts of Ao Nang, Thailand, and it along with other Indian Ocean nations take the warning seriously. The Dec. 26, 2004, Sumatra–Andaman earthquake triggered a tsunami with waves up to 100 feet high, killing an estimated 227,898 people in 14 countries. Approximately 8,000 people died In Thailand.

Lightening the mood a bit is advice I’ve heard from a number of friends through the years. Yeah, you know I’m talking about you.

The bottom left photo is from a non-commercial tourist site known as Sand Caves, located a short distance north of Kanab, Utah. There is a short trail from parking to the caves (which require a challenging climb to reach). You’ll notice on the left side of the photo a traditional trail marker, modified with succinct advice on whether one should follow the offshoot trail.

In Belle Fourche, S.D., there’s the Geographic Center of the Nation Monument. We’ve never been there, but we did travel several miles down a rough dirt road, held up for a while by a small cattle drive, to see the true center of the nation. The cairn you see in the bottom right photo still is not quite the center. Squint inside the yellow circle and you should make out a white spot, which is the U.S. flag flying over the exact geographic center of the 50 states. Now you know.

There are more in my signs collection and I’m certain to do this again. And it doesn’t have to be just me. If you’re willing to share your own cute/clever/flabbergasting sign photo, I’d love to have it. If you don’t have my email or Facebook, leave me a comment (link at the very bottom of this article) and I’ll send you one. I do ask that you send me only a photo that you took and not something neat you found online. I will also give you credit when I share it.

Now, y’all be careful driving out there; don’t get too distracted looking for cool signs.

Gatormania

An alligator soaking up some sun at Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. Photo by Steve Martaindale

And then there was the time I wrestled a wild, live alligator.

It took place in Bay City, Texas. Being less than 20 miles from East Matagorda Bay, and just off the banks of the Colorado River, and with plenty of irrigation canals and storm ditches, the idea of alligators in the area certainly isn’t difficult to believe, but I never thought I’d find one in the middle of town in the bed of a pickup truck.

This is part of a series of memories, as explained here.

It was a Sunday, the only day of the week things were not happening at the daily newspaper where I worked. I entered the building and found the keys to the circulation department’s pickup hanging where they were supposed to be.

That was a good start. Without the pickup I was allowed to borrow, moving that piano from our church to our home would not happen and the two or three guys from work who were showing up to help would have done so in vain.

I did a double-take, however, as I approached the door of the truck. Tied up in the bed was an American alligator.

This presented a problem. You see, I really needed this truck.

The gator seemed tied up well enough that it probably couldn’t bite me unless it broke free. The tail was concerning, though. It wasn’t huge, but it was still an alligator. Before I worried too much about those things, I needed a plan for what to do with it.

I surmised (correctly, I later learned) that someone delivering newspapers the previous evening came across the reptile and, for what I must assume they thought was a good reason, decided it needed to be relocated. I knew local game wardens had the habit of taking trespassing alligators to a more remote spot and freeing them.

But what was I to do? Releasing the critter, even if I had the nerve to remove the ropes, was not a good choice, being that we were on a busy thoroughfare with a residential area immediately behind us. I searched the area for an answer.

I really needed this truck.

My eyes landed on a 30-gallon plastic trash can.

Maybe…

I cannot clearly picture in my mind just how I got the alligator into the can. This was about 40 years ago, after all. But I’m pretty sure it had something to do with scooting the can to take in the gator’s head while strategically untying the ropes that had it bound to the truck. Soon enough, the deed was done and I dragged can and gator to a shady area near the door, covered part of the top with cardboard and left a warning message on it.

To my relief, when I later returned the truck, the gator had been removed.