Moving on...again

So, I've accepted a reporter/feature writer/photographer position with the High Timber Times, part of a chain of five papers that keep the foothills' residents informed and entertained.

The position is an entry position, so I won't be getting rich, but the opportunities are great. Part of the deal is that I have to move up to the area somewhere between Morrison and Bailey to be "in" the area and part of it. I don't have a problem with that; flatlanders can only guess at mountain life. I know, because I'm a flatlander looking at those hills and wondering what's up there.

What's NOT there is a plethora of places to live. Oh yah, you can move into an 1860's cabin that's been updated and carries a noble history of being Kit Carson's grandmother's home (I have to look up who Kit Carson is, do you know?) and is available, all 850 square feet and $650 a month. The walls inside are dark, dark wood with a low ceiling and a kitchen area tacked on like something out of Little House on the Prairie. Tall grass inhabits the "back yard" that is complete with a sagging chain link fence. You'd think this place would sit amongst tall pines that whisper and creak with the wind, but it sits behind the InterMountain Humane Society's main office and next to the row of 8 dog kennels. To the right is the Panda Kitchen with the pungent aroma of seafood and ginger mixing with the smell of woodsmoked pizza from the drive-thru pizza stand next door. Dogs barking, Chinese food, wood smoke, and noise from the "285 Rush" completes the auditory picture.

Did I mention the front door isn't a standard size and nothing I own except my MacBookPro would fit through it?

I'm not sure there's enough room for me, my stuff, my cats and the ghosts that must inhabit Kit Carson's grandmother's house.

I did make the mistake of walking into one of the many real estate offices up there. A promising wall of places advertised rustled from all the open windows in the place, but all have been rented, and the agent there began pressing me to "buy" something up there.

One place is a "lease with option to buy" at the bargain price of $99,000. This two bedroom, one bathroom, one floor open planned gem sits in the middle of a development at the end of a two lane country road 6 miles from Hwy 285. There are neighbors on both sides and aspen trees that line a shallow creek in the back. The house across the street looks like a Highlands Ranch wannabe and is uninhabited. I'm told the owner is very motivated, what with the divorce and all. I don't know, because it means going back to two cars, the Grand Prix AND the Jeep. No way those roads can be managed in winter by my low-riding town car.

If you're drawn by the mountains and have an itch to live there, this is the time to buy. There are beautiful homes up there for half the cost of something comparable down here. Hwy 285 is a manageable drive and it is beautiful up there. If you haven't purchased a home in the last three years or you're a first time buyer, you get an $8000 bonus for buying right now. Something to think about, although I don't qualify.

This is turning out to be more of a challenge than I first thought; I wish I would have had some time to find a place while knowing I had the job at the paper. My lease is up in a week and right now, there's no place to call home, sweet home in them thar hills.

Camp Fickes

Below is the edited story that ran in the High Timber Times this week. This story was my "audition" for the paper, and apparently, I did well enough. I saw the printed version today in a newspaper kiosk in Pine Junction. Odd to see a photo you've taken staring back at you from a kiosk.

The story is about a rifle range now open to the public that was built on an WWII training facility. Kind of like a social documentary class except with live ammunition.

Here it is:

In the small valley between Green Mountain Peak and Little Craggy Peak near Bailey, laughter and camaraderie mix with the sounds of small-arms and rifle fire. A hum of enthusiasm rises from loose file formations of young men who await their turn to shoot — and their deployment to the battlefields of World War II.

Armed with newly cast patriotic enthusiasm, their 10-day stint at Camp Buffalo is filled with stories of triumphs and tears, celebration and swagger. The only thing louder than the men and the rifle shot is the distant roll of thunder from an approaching storm.

In 1943, the 22nd Base Headquarters and Air Base Squadron from Lowry Air Force Base created Camp Buffalo. On the site today, 9 miles south of Bailey, is Camp Fickes Rifle Range. Camp Fickes is now open to the public and hosts a variety of ranges and services for those know how to shoot and those who want to learn.

Richard Bowman manages the Buffalo Creek Gun Club, which oversees the operations at Camp Fickes. Started in 1962, the club has tried to revive the area and provide facilities for amateur and professional shooters alike. On July 4th weekend, the Colorado State Service Rifle Championships and Colorado Regional High Power Rifle Championship were held at Camp Fickes, with about 100 people showing up to demonstrate their shooting skills at different skill levels. These modern marksmen are using the same scrubby plain as those who practiced with weaponry during World War II.

The range was named for a Lieutenant Fickes, who along with two others was struck and killed by lightning in the engineer’s mess tent during the Camp Buffalo days. At that site today is the Roger Nolan Pavilion, a wooden structure that features picnic tables and a roof tall enough to store goods out of the reach of the local bear (named Boris or Borina, they’re not sure).
At Camp Buffalo, recruits were taught gun, rifle and submachine-gun skills and trained for combat readiness. The camp had a mess line that fed up to 180 men per day, latrine and infirmary facilities, and a newsletter.

Shooting at ‘The Pits’
The main feature of Camp Fickes’ long range is “The Pits” — a long bunker made of concrete nestled into a berm that protects the bunker and the pit crew inside it. A row of large frames holds targets, and their greased frames are manually raised up and down. Shooters can come here for target practice, to sight in a new rifle or to spend time with others who enjoy this out-of-the way place.

Jason Laird, 52, of Evergreen has been shooting since he was 10. Today, he’s sighting his Sharps Buffalo rifle, the Billy Dixon model from the 1870s. Legend has it that in 1874’s Battle of Adobe Walls in Texas, this model was used by frontiersman Billy Dixon to shoot a man off his horse at a distance of 1,500 yards. But for Laird, a shorter distance is in his sights.
“I like to shoot at 200 yards most of the time, and this is the only other 200-plus-yard shooting range around,” he says. “The next closest is Briggsdale, and I don’t want to go that far.”

Bowman watches as Baird fires off a couple of rounds at the targets at the far end of the range — targets that are held up by discarded political signs.

“We needed something that would hold up in the weather, and old political signs work great,” Bowman says. “We just called up some of the political offices, and they were happy to donate them.”

Baird checks his marks with a Nikon scope set up next to his rifle, and Bowman inquires about Baird’s success in shooting parlance:

“Are you on the paper?”

Paperwork is something Bowman is familiar with. The newest addition to Camp Fickes is the Boy Scout Range, a short range built by Scouts in 2007 to fulfill requirements for their Eagle badges.

It took two years of working in cooperation with the Forest Service to get the Boy Scout Range approved. The Forest Service looms large in this area, and especially in Buffalo Creek, which has suffered from wildfires and their aftermath.

“When the bans were in place, Camp Fickes was the only operation that was open, and if you wanted to smoke, you had to sit in your car with the windows rolled up,” Bowman says.

Bowman is constantly trying to think of new ways to get people up to Camp Fickes and laments the loss of interest many might have in shooting since the advent of video games.

A nonprofit venture, Camp Fickes is hoping to add to its current 60-member base. Each member pays $215 in dues a year. Daily fees for the public are $15, with full use of the ranges during the regular business hours, 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. Saturday and Sunday. Camp Fickes covers 47 acres and is at an altitude of 8,100 feet (a 1943 Camp Buffalo newsletter extolled the virtues of “no mosquitoes!”).

Bowman, who has a degree in business administration with a double major in accounting and finance, doesn’t need a scope to see that business needs to pick up.

“The Forest Service has given us the opportunity to be open to the public, but if we don’t have enough visitors, we’ll be closed,” he says.

The busiest season is coming, though; the end of summer sees an increase in people preparing for hunting season. The range recently ran its first advertisement, and it hopes to generate more business by continuing to get the word out.

One of the keepers of Camp Fickes’ history, Bowman is proud of the work done here as he and other members try to collect bits and pieces of the past and share them with those who will listen.

Today, as in the time of Camp Buffalo, the afternoon storms move between the peaks and into the valley. The rain begins to stream down from the tin roof of the Buffalo Creek Gun Club’s main building to the dirt below, sounding like a thousand feet marching out of time across the hard earth.

Thunder echoes overhead. And one can’t help but think of Lieutenant Fickes and his few minutes of fame.

Rage Along the Front Range

It was a dark and stormy night.

Starting about 10:15 p.m. on July 20, the first few pellets of hail began to hit my north-facing garage door. It didn't take long for the sound in the garage to echo through the house. Like waking somewhere unfamiliar, I was unsure what was going on and the noise became more deafening. The storm began to dump huge amounts of rain and hail, destroying trees, plants and anything left outside.

I remember being scared out of my wits, half-awake, half-asleep and my first thoughts were of confusion and fear. I got dressed, not sure what I was going to do, but my car was out in that and I wanted to get it in the garage. I opened the garage door and hail flew through the garage, hitting the far wall. I had to shovel hail away from the garage door, it had piled up to about 6 inches. I ran to get into my car and pretty much started it and gunned it. After closing the garage door, the roar continued.

I grabbed my video camera and was only able to get a few seconds of video before I had to close the door.

The street flooded on both sides, with a ribbon of hail in the center, the hail and rain coming down shredding the trees and pounding the carport across from me. Lightning cut through the hail and the thunder couldn't match the sound of the hail on the garage door. This went on for about 10 minutes.

News stations were on the air covering the storm, Misty Montoya from KCNC was Tweeting reports of damage and emergency calls, and there was an armageddon feel to the whole evening.

The most damage was done in the WheatRidge area, including where Kate and Jason live. Their house had moderate damage, with the greatest damage being their roof, garage windows, shredded leaves on everything, and a garden that was stripped bare. WheatRidge looked separate and apart from the rest of Denver that day, and the cleanup is still progressing.

It was one of the few times I've really been scared, but I'm grateful I live in an apartment building with at least some protection on one side of my home.

Reports say we had a tornado come through here, and I believe it. I don't know how people who live in the Midwest do it, living like that would make me a nervous wreck and I'd have to drink more than I already do.

Colorado weather is never dull, that's for sure.

Camp Fiske

Steeped in military lore and legend and the linguistic spaghetti that is the military vernacular as I write my story on Camp Fiske.