I created this from an actual photograph. Any idea what it is?
You know what? The un-retouched image is actually quite a bit more impressive:
I know that some of you have seen this scene from ground-level. It's an aerial look at the Forest Creek Capricorn Ridge (thanks, Gregg!) wind farm just north of Sterling City, Texas. The white lines and dots are the turbine locations and service roads, but what really caught my eye when I saw them on Google Earth are the fractal patterns of the terrain, showing how it's been etched over the eons by natural forces. Simply breathtaking, it is.
Speaking of wind, I ran across the following video on a blog called Brand 66, and I was immediately captured by the sheer whimsical genius.
How cool would it be to set an army of these inventions loose on the West Texas plains, to "graze" and wander at will?
Update (1/21/12): Ran across this blog post about LPG fracing. I don't have a great ear for subtlety, but the writer seems to be entering the discussion with a distinct bias, and some of the claims are simply wrong (or misleading - an outcry over putting hydrocarbons into a rock strata where hydrocarbons already exist naturally is a bit specious). The comments are more enlightening than the actual article but it does highlight the indisputable fact that fracing is an emotional topic for many people on both sides of the issue.
The debate about the merits and hazards of hydraulic fracturing of oil and gas wells will likely never subside, as its opponents argue that the process causes everything from fiery faucets to endless earthquakes, and its proponents claim you can drink frac fluid without suffering ill effects other than an unnatural affinity for the Houston Texans.
But at least one argument against the process is gaining validity, and that's the undeniable fact that fracing takes a heckuva lot of water, and water is a precious commodity that's growing painfully scarce in many parts of the country. The typical frac job uses tens of thousands of gallons of fresh water (and can require more than a million gallons), and much of that is rendered non potable by the process.
Perhaps it's time for oil and gas companies to take a serious look at using liquified petroleum gas (LPG) as a replacement for water. LPG is generally a mixture of propane and butane. I ran across this article on the Unconventional Oil & Gas Center website that describes the process and a Canadian company, GasFrac Energy Services, Inc, that specializes in LPG frac technology.
Once you get past the psychological impact of thinking about pumping a highly flammable mixture under unimaginable pressures into the ground (GasFrac contends that the process is actually quite safe, although they probably make that claim from deep inside a bunker in an undisclosed location), the benefits are obvious. You're using a hydrocarbon to entice other hydrocarbons to flee their rocky bonds while eliminating not only the need for copious amounts of water, but also for CO2 which is commonly used to "energize" the frac fluid. The frac fluid becomes a part of your revenue stream as it's produced with the reservoir oil and gas, rather than being an expensive disposal problem.
I did some quick asking around the office yesterday and no one was aware of any LPG fracs in the Permian Basin, although someone thought that Pioneer Resources may have tested the process locally. If anyone has some insights in that regard, feel free to share them.
Some companies will be better positioned than others to take advantage of this technology. For example, those with gas plants in the area of the drilling operations could, in theory, produce the LPG used for fracing, and then reprocess the produced liquids stream.
As recently as a couple of years ago, the proposition of pumping LPG into the ground as frac fluid was laughable, from a cost perspective. That perspective has to be changing as natural gas prices continue to tank, and the reality of dwindling water supplies sets in. Water may still be cheaper, but it's also more valuable.
As I reported in these pages a month or so ago, owners of oil and gas wells permitted after February 1, 2012 must disclose the ingredients of frac fluid, as well as the volume of water used in the frac operation. Those disclosures will be made public on the FracFocus website.
I was going through some pictures that I downloaded into iPhoto from one of my cameras and ran across this one. I don't remember taking it, nor do I have any idea how I managed to get the fisheye effect. But there's something about the composition and the action that captures my imagination.
I do know the characters and the storyline...but you don't, unless you were there. Feel free to make up something.
I took the pickup in for a wash job yesterday. It was the first time it had been washed since May, due to our drought-related water usage restrictions. As you might imagine, the truck was badly in need of a good scrubbing.
A lot of other people had decided to do the same thing, so I found myself in a line of about a dozen cars. The line moved slowly so I had time to observe some things...such as the fact that I was driving the only vehicle that truly needed a wash job.
Seriously. The white Lexus SUV that was ahead of me looked pristine, and every other car in sight had no visible signs of dirt and grime. It made me wonder how many of the owners had their cars washed as a matter of habit. "Oh, it's Saturday morning; time to get the car washed." Frankly, this kind of mindset has no place in a region that's received less than 4" of rain during the past year, and the lakes supplying most of the drinking water are drying up.
There may come a time in the next few months that car washes will be banned completely. That will, of course, be a terrible blow to those whose livelihoods are derived from providing that service, but the luxury of a clean car cannot compete with the necessity of having water to drink.
But, for now, sitting in that line of clean cars, I came up with a few simple guidelines to help you know When You Can Wash Your Car During A Drought*.
White vehicles cannot be washed. Don't whine. You know good and well you picked out that boring white car for the sole reason that it doesn't show dirt and dust like darker colors. So, own it, and live with it.
Black vehicles cannot be washed. You knew what you were getting into when you picked out that bad boy. Own it, and live with it.
Clean vehicles cannot be washed. And by clean, I mean if you can tell the true color of the vehicle by looking at it, it's not dirty enough to require washing.
I hope these simple rules will prove effective in prolonging our scarce resources. There's no shame in driving a dirty car at this point in time. Just like having a dead lawn indicates you're a good steward of water, a filthy car shows that you really care about our water supply.
*These rules do not apply to those who are willing to hand wash their cars using Ozarka water or cheap beer.
Note: After I posted this, I realized that what I'm referring to as a "stop action" video is more correctly called a "time lapse" video. Pardon my lazy usage of terminology; I'm still learning this newfangled moving pictures thang and I'm not yet convinced it's not just a fad.
I tested the stop action feature of my new GoPro HD Hero video camera yesterday evening, and the results, while not exactly mind-blowing, are still encouraging.
I set up the camera on a tripod using the optional mount, and placed it in front of one of our hummingbird feeders on the back porch. I set the camera to take a still photo every 30 seconds until the battery ran out. That resulted in 380 pictures, or just over 3 hours of filming. (I didn't bother attaching the camera to an outlet for unlimited photos - well, until the SD card was full - but that was an option.)
I then imported the photos into iPhoto '11 on my Mac, then exported them to a new folder on my hard drive. I opened iMovie '11, created a new project, selected all the photos from the directory, and dragged them into the project section of iMovie.
I selected all the photos in iMovie and set the duration for each to .1 seconds using the "Clip Adjustments" menu. I also turned off the Ken Burns effect by selecting "Fixed" in the "Cropping, Ken Burns & Rotation" menu. This combination resulted in a fast-moving, smooth stop action video of 50 seconds in duration.
I exported the movie in .m4v format, uploaded it to Vimeo, and the result is the following video. It's nothing dramatic, but if nothing else, you can get a feel for our weather pattern by watching the clouds appear and dissipate without providing any relief!
With the right subject matter, this could be a really fun process to experiment with.
While the immediate economic and ecological impacts of the recent wildfires and ongoing drought in West Texas are inarguably negative, there are still some positive aspects to the situation. Steve Nelle is a San Angelo-based wildlife biologist with the USDA's Natural Resources Conservation Service, and he has authored a short and quite interesting assessment of the likely ecological impacts and outlook for recovery from those fires.
He first takes aim at those who attempt to minimize the seriousness of the impact of the wildfires. I have been guilty of occasionally succumbing to the fallacy that since fire is a "natural phenomenon," it must be on the whole a positive thing, once we look past the obvious negative impacts on human endeavor and property. As Nelle points out, that's a naive perspective, especially when considering the multiplying effects of ongoing acute drought on fire-ravaged rangelands.
In one study, soil erosion after a severe fire (like those around Possum Kingdom Lake, and in the Davis Mountains) was 7 to 10 tons per acre over a 2.5 year period, and more than 100 tons per acre in other locations with differing slopes and subsequent rainfall totals. It's hard for a layman to envision the actual impact of this kind of erosion, but given the relative thinness of topsoil throughout our region, it sounds quite serious.
As far as the grazing outlook for the burned areas, the studies generally seem to indicate that it will take at least three years for the pasture to recover, and that assumes at least average rainfall - not a comfortable assumption for us at this point. Some local ranchers are anticipating that it will take 20 years for their land to fully recover from the conflagrations and drought. Any way you slice it, that's a severe impact.
There are some positives, to be sure, including a great reduction in cedar (allergy sufferers, rejoice!), and reductions in the rattlesnake population. And if weather patterns change and provide more rainfall, the resulting grazing should be better than before - assuming anyone is still around to run livestock to take advantage of it.
If nothing else, the situation provides an excellent laboratory for scientists like Nelle to study the long-term impacts of wildfires and drought, and for ranchers to implement new techniques to optimize their use of the land.
That would be fact, in fact, and it's none other than Amazon.com founder and gazillionaire Jeff Bezos who's backing the project.
The clock, as designed, will tick once a year, have a century hand that moves once every 100 years, and a cuckoo that, well, cuckoos once every 1,000 years. And the whole shootin' match is being assembled in a ginormous tunnel in the Sierra Diablo mountains, on land that Bezos owns and for which there isn't really any other good purpose so...why not?
This is dramatic scenery, by the way, laying just south of Guadalupe Peak, and about as rugged a stretch of landscape as you wouldn't want to traverse without a healthy supply of water and some good snake-guards.
I guess I somehow missed the fact that Bezos spent some of his formative years in Houston, and his family has ranched in South Texas for many years.
Also interesting to note is that the general contractor for this project is listed on the website as Swaggart Brothers, Inc., headquartered in Oregon, which is presumably how Bezos found them. But their website doesn't list this as one of the projects they're involved in. You don't suppose they're a little bit embarrassed by this job, do you? It's not exactly the sort of thing you brag about to your fellow hardhats in the local bar, unless it's to crow about the huge amounts of dough you're no doubt extracting from a certain eccentric billionaire.
I guess this project makes about as much sense as the Blue Origin spaceport Bezos is building in Culberson County.
I see that the Midland Reporter Telegram is officially supporting Clayton Williams's request to pump and sell to Midland more than 40 million gallons of water each day from his land west of Fort Stockton. The Middle Pecos Groundwater Conservation District board begins hearings today to consider the issue, which has huge ramifications for a variety of stakeholders.
The MRT's editorialist acknowledges that competing interests make compelling arguments for and against this transfer of our region's most precious resource.
Nevertheless, we think Williams' plan stands the test of Texas law and science. First, Texas tradition allows property owners to harvest, ship and sell goods coming from the owned property. Oil is a good example. Property owners share in oil revenue as royalty owners when oil is discovered on their property. We see little difference in this model here with the exception that Williams plans to do the harvesting of the water himself rather than through an investor such as an oil company.
I'm not a lawyer or an expert in the area of Texas water and mineral rights, but I do question the analogy to the oil industry. While it's true that mineral owners in Texas have the right to capture the oil and gas under the acreage they own, that right is not unlimited. There are laws and regulations designed to protect adjacent mineral owners from drainage of their property by another owner.
In addition, there are also laws and regulations governing how water can be taken from surface streams and rivers. As far as I know, a private landowner does not have an unrestricted right to dam a river and take all the water from to the detriment of those living downstream. In the sense that the aquifer in question in Pecos County can be likened to an underground stream, there's a legitimate question as to whether the kind of pumping proposed by Williams is encroaching on the rights of those landowners "downstream." (It's an indisputable fact that formerly free-flowing springs to the east - the direction the aquifer extends - dry up when pumping begins.)
The idea that granting the pumping permit is consistent with current law might mean that perhaps the law itself needs to be revisited. If this issue ends up in the Supreme Court, as some think, a fresh look at an old law might be the most useful outcome.
When you initially visit the preceding link, you'll see a generic Google Map. Use the "Map Controls" located beneath the map to select which options you want to display. If you click on the "Fire" option, you'll then get a set of related options including displays of smoke cover, fire perimeters, and satellite detected fires. I think the first and last feature are most helpful in staying current with the ongoing blazes; the second option shows a [depressing] picture of how much acreage has already gone up in smoke.
The map is usable on a smartphone or iPad, but barely. It's slow to load and navigate. But on a desktop computer, it's very responsive.
Of course, what many of us may not realize is that we in West Texas aren't alone in being threatened by wildfires. As the map below shows (a snapshot from just a few minutes ago), the interior of Mexico is also being plagued by fire. Indeed, much of the smoke cover that's hitting the Texas Gulf Coast is coming from those fires.
I don't think I need to remind you...pray for rain!
In anticipation of the watering restrictions scheduled to begin on April 1st in Midland and several surrounding communities, I reprogrammed my sprinkler system control box on Saturday, determined to get a jump on things rather than wait until the last minute.
Our home address ends in an odd number, meaning that we'll be allowed to water our lawn on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. I carefully updated the settings on the two programs (one for the lawn and another for the flowerbeds) to ensure that they would take place on the proper days. The lawn program would begin at 4:00 a.m. on those designated days, and the beds would be watered beginning at 7:00 a.m. I carefully selected those times to avoid both the heat of the day and potential conflicts with indoor water use.
I was feeling smug at my far-sighted preparation, until I read this (emphasis mine) and learned that I was setting myself up to be a lawbreaker. Here's the important part:
Watering also is being restricted to between 6 p.m. and 10 a.m. on each assigned day. An individual's designated day starts at 6 p.m. and carries into the following morning, meaning the yard of an odd numbered home could be irrigated between 6 p.m. on Wednesday and 10 a.m. on Thursday. Even numbered homes, in turn, could use outdoor water between 6 p.m. on Tuesday and 10 a.m. on Wednesday, Purvis said.
I'm trying to understand the logic behind defining a day as starting at 6:00 p.m. Seems like an unnecessary complication to me, in effect saying "you can water only on Wednesday, unless you want to do it on Thursday."
What am I missing here? What's wrong with an actual "midnight to midnight" definition of a day? Or is this simply another example of the apparently irresistible need of government to complicate things?
Alert readers (and I know that includes all of you, because you don't let me get away with anything) will recall that our dance last Saturday night featured something different, something that to my knowledge had never been tried in the 20 year history of the Ballroom Dance Society: prerecorded music in place of a live band.
I'm happy - nay, ecstatic - to report that the experiment was a smashing success*. Not only did we save a bunch of money, which was the primary motivation, but we got a lot of positive feedback from those in attendance (some of whom were pretty skeptical going in).
Of course, the music playlist was instrumental (ha!) in the event's success, but we had a secret weapon that was the cherry on the sundae, the icing on the cake, the sugar in the tea. OK, you get the picture. We actually did have a band...sort of:
We created this "band" from foam board, and set it up on the Midland Country Club stage with the sound equipment (basically an amp and an iPad) hidden behind the drummer. It added a bit of atmosphere that somehow made the unattended music seem less, well, unattended. In fact, there was a steady stream of people throughout the night having their photos made in front of the band (which someone dubbed "The Cutouts").
This Madmen-style of black silhouettes with minimalist white accents provides a classy effect that's surprisingly striking. The photo doesn't really do it justice. If you look closely, you'll note a pearl bracelet on the singer's wrist, and a hint of a shirt cuff on the trumpet player. The shirts on the bass and sax player and drummer are actually just two pieces of white foamboard glued to the black backing board. The bandstands are flat, but appear to be 3D because of the way they were drawn.
There's a lesson here: sometimes, you need to go a little above and beyond what's expected to help people decide to accept a significant change.
If you're interested in the playlist, I've uploaded a version of it (we made some minor changes before the dance) to the iTunes Store. This link will open in iTunes if you have it installed on your computer.
*We did learn a few things. Ten seconds is just about the right gap between songs, if you don't have a DJ. The Rascals' version of Mustang Sally is too slow. If you can hear everyone's feet on the dance floor, the music needs to be louder. You can never play too many waltzes. Who's Been Talkin' by the L.A. Blues Alliance makes for a smokin' rumba. Jaci Velasquez, who's better known for her Christian contemporary recordings, has a song called Tango that's really a cha cha...and it's another fantastic dance song. And even George Strait and Willie Nelson create some great ballroom dance music!
Forbes Magazine has created an interactive graphic showing population movements into and out of every county in the United States in 2008, based on federal income tax-related data provided by the IRS. A mouse click on each county reveals lines emanating from that county to every other county where people moved to or from, and showing the number and per capita income of those who moved. Here's Midland County's snapshot:
Here are the details behind the map:
County
# of People Into Midland
Avg Income Per Capita - In
# of People From Midland
Avg Income Per Capita - Out
Net Change in Population
Net Income
Kern Co, CA
30
24,200
0
-
30
726,000
Los Angeles, CA
51
18,200
18
38,800
33
229,800
Orange, CA
23
23,200
0
-
23
533,600
San Diego, CA
50
18,800
23
13,000
27
641,000
Riverside, CA
24
30,100
0
-
24
722,400
San Bernadino, CA
38
17,200
0
-
38
653,600
Clark, NV
45
11,700
0
-
45
526,500
Maricopa, AZ
77
13,500
32
39,400
45
(221,300)
Denver, CO
21
18,600
0
-
21
390,600
San Juan, NM
24
53,700
0
-
24
1,288,800
Bernalillo, NM
21
35,600
26
21,100
(5)
199,000
Dona Ana, NM
34
18,300
18
14,200
16
366,600
Chaves, NM
24
20,100
20
13,600
4
210,400
Roosevelt, NM
24
9,200
0
-
24
220,800
Eddy, NM
42
20,400
27
18,900
15
346,500
Lea, NM
136
36,000
71
18,700
65
3,568,300
Tulsa, OK
26
36,900
31
83,100
(5)
(1,616,700)
Oklahoma, OK
42
25,400
49
33,500
(7)
(574,700)
Cleveland, OK
24
24,800
0
-
24
595,200
Potter, TX
41
26,800
28
25,400
13
387,600
Randall, TX
65
46,300
56
22,300
9
1,760,700
Hale, TX
26
13,900
0
-
26
361,400
Lubbock, TX
327
22,400
310
21,000
17
814,800
Hockley, TX
33
20,700
0
-
33
683,100
Yoakum, TX
57
21,100
0
-
57
1,202,700
Gaines, TX
41
27,400
30
47,500
11
(301,600)
Dawson, TX
84
13,000
67
12,700
17
241,100
Scurry, TX
46
29,600
36
21,900
10
573,200
Andrews, TX
86
19,300
76
17,700
10
314,600
Martin, TX
121
18,200
109
18,300
12
207,500
Howard, TX
157
18,800
155
19,800
2
(117,400)
Mitchell, TX
0
-
23
28,000
(23)
(644,000)
Nolan, TX
12
30,200
0
-
12
362,400
Winkler, TX
34
33,700
30
17,200
4
629,800
Ector, TX
1042
25,400
902
21,000
140
7,524,800
Taylor, TX
107
30,300
75
19,800
32
1,757,100
Reeves, TX
65
18,400
41
19,700
24
388,300
Ward, TX
63
26,400
61
18,300
2
546,900
Crane, TX
38
29,700
38
52,300
-
(858,800)
Upton, TX
41
44,900
27
16,600
14
1,392,700
Reagan, TX
24
21,000
0
-
24
504,000
Tom Green, TX
201
18,400
117
21,900
84
1,136,100
Pecos, TX
64
36,600
54
16,700
10
1,440,600
Presidio, TX
77
9,200
45
9,200
32
294,400
Brewster, TX
102
13,700
37
11,200
65
983,000
Brown, TX
25
22,100
20
31,200
5
(71,500)
Webb, TX
34
8,400
0
-
34
285,600
Wichita, TX
42
18,200
0
-
42
764,400
Denton, TX
62
24,200
91
30,100
(29)
(1,238,700)
Collin, TX
61
26,300
98
45,200
(37)
(2,825,300)
Parker, TX
20
22,400
37
34,800
(17)
(839,600)
Tarrant, TX
173
26,100
280
26,100
(107)
(2,792,700)
Dallas, TX
163
32,300
156
34,400
7
(101,500)
Hood, TX
27
26,300
58
75,700
(31)
(3,680,500)
Johnson, TX
0
-
36
31,700
(36)
(1,141,200)
Ellis, TX
0
-
22
21,300
(22)
(468,600)
Smith, TX
33
27,200
28
29,800
5
63,200
Gregg, TX
0
-
18
64,200
(18)
(1,155,600)
McClennan, TX
20
29,800
24
14,600
(4)
245,600
Bell, TX
56
18,200
49
18,300
7
122,500
Williamson, TX
52
28,500
78
28,100
(26)
(709,800)
Travis, TX
89
21,400
107
33,200
(18)
(1,647,800)
Hays, TX
34
17,800
17
32,400
17
54,400
Comal, TX
22
30,800
27
52,100
(5)
(729,100)
Bexar, TX
106
21,000
159
23,300
(53)
(1,478,700)
Brazos, TX
22
23,500
22
30,400
-
(151,800)
Montgomery, TX
52
43,600
62
48,600
(10)
(746,000)
Harris, TX
265
38,800
202
46,000
63
990,000
Fort Bend, TX
66
39,900
46
39,800
20
802,600
Brazoria, TX
26
45,300
14
77,100
12
98,400
Jefferson, TX
25
24,400
0
-
25
610,000
Nueces, TX
48
23,700
18
19,400
30
788,400
Totals
5,233
4,301
932
15,438,100
It's difficult to draw any conclusions from this data without making some shaky assumptions. There's no explanation regarding methodology or clarification regarding the source of the data. There is a footnote that explains that the IRS doesn't report inter-county moves for fewer than ten people, which does explain why it appears that no one moved in or out of Midland County from or to any states other than California, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Oklahoma.
It's interesting to note that all interstate movements resulted in a net population gain for Midland County.
It's a different story for many movements within Texas (although Midland still picked up a net of 491 from intrastate moves). The Metroplex in North Texas picked up a significant net gain from Midland County. My assumption is that the big movement (a net loss of 107 people) to Tarrant County (Fort Worth) was related to the Barnett Shale gas drilling boom that was in full swing in 2008.
Oddly enough, and probably contrary to common perception, the Houston area sent more people to Midland County than it took. We netted 63 people from Harris County.
Harris County was the anomaly for the major metropolitan regions in Texas. Midland had a net loss to each of the counties where Dallas-Fort Worth, San Antonio, and Austin are located.
I have no idea what to make of the "average income per capita" numbers, which in total indicated that the net gain in income for Midland County was over $15 million. But that assumes that people moving in and out made the same income where they landed as where they started. At first glance, that seems to be a reasonable assumption, but it doesn't hold up given that there are so many reasons for people to move.
If you're a data hound, this provides plenty of playground to roam.
Last Monday, February 21, we made a day trip to Fort Stockton to visit family, and were pleased to see that Comanche Springs was again flowing. This is a fairly dependable annual occurrence each winter, when the agricultural irrigation west of town ceases and the water level in the aquifer rises sufficiently for the water to exit at several surface locations in Rooney Park.
In light of an ongoing battle concerning local water rights - and specifically a proposal to pipe up to 42 million gallons per day from Fort Stockton to Midland - there's a legitimate concern about whether we'll ever again see the springs flow like this. While studies seem to indicate that the aquifer continually recharges, I doubt that it does so to an extent that will permit exit to the surface. I decided to document the output of the springs from beginning to end.
Click on each photo to view a larger version. You can also navigate through the entire suite of pictures if you wish to skip the commentary.
As I mentioned above, the springs come up in several locations around Rooney Park. These sources look like big holes in the ground containing standing water; the flow of the stream is not readily evident, and in fact the water looks like algae-laden runoff. It gets much better.
The third source (the exit from which shown at right above) is at the swimming pool and long-time visitors to the pool will remember the metal cage around it. It's been there for many decades, as evidenced by the undated photo shown below that I borrowed from a caver website. [Comanche Springs Cave is a lightly-explored but quite extensive series of caverns and tunnels that were carved out by the flow of the springs. Some theorize that the system might be as much as 100 miles in length. Exploration is made difficult by the unpredictability of the water table.]
Rooney Park is bisected by a canal that runs from the southwest corner of the park past the swimming pool and exits the park at the northeast corner. Water from the springs is channeled into the canal. The photo on the left shows the beginning section, and the one on the right is exiting the park. The bridge in the background is on the Sanderson Highway (Highway 285). As you can see, the water level in the canal has risen considerably by this point.
After exiting the park, the finished portion of the canal comes to an end just east of the Highway 285 bridge.
As I stood on a concrete embankment overlooking this "pond," a hawk flew out of the underbrush at the left and passed me at eye level, not fifty feet away. It happened too quickly to get a photo, but I was transfixed by the sight.
From here, the stream wanders east and north, eventually flowing under East Dickinson Blvd (aka East 9th Street, aka Business I-10). The satellite photo below clearly shows the meandering nature of the stream. It also demonstrates the life-giving effect of live water in a desert environment.
Following are pictures of the stream at the East Dickinson bridge. In the middle photo, you can see that the water is a welcome attraction to overwintering waterfowl. The third shows the water flowing along the highway right-of-way just before it runs under the bridge, heading north.
The stream continues northeast and crosses under Interstate 10, where it flows across the service road.
We can infer from the above photo that the flow of water is a limited seasonal event; otherwise, the city/county/state (jurisdiction isn't clear to me) would construct a bridge or tunnel to deal with the stream.
From here, the water flows into a privately-owned pasture* and empties into what I believe is a caliche pit. I'm not positive about that, but I do know that alert travelers along I-10 can catch a glimpse of what looks like a very small lake just north of the highway. Whether this is a playa lake or a pit is unknown to me; readers with knowledge about this are invited to share in the comments section. Again, though, we can turn to Google's satellite photo that seems to indicate that the end point is more of a depression than a pit. Zoom in on the map below to see what I mean. [Update: I stand corrected. That large whitish area on the satellite photo does appear to be a pit; it's dry in this version of the photo. But the stream also appears to continue north and then east (follow the green "trail," where it sort of peters out. That's what I initially looked at.]
In any event, by this point the stream was flowing vigorously, and running water through a West Texas pasture is a beautiful sight.
If you look closely at the third photo, you'll see where ducks took off from the water after I startled them; they're flying in the distance.
I shot the following short video with my Canon point-and-shoot to provide an idea of the strength of the stream's flow at this point.
It's been estimated that Comanche Springs once flowed at a rate of 60 million gallons per day or more. According to this 2009 report in the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the flow was estimated at 1.5 million gallons per day, on average, but subject to significant daily variation. That's still a pretty hefty stream in the desert. And the question of whether it's better to let this natural flow continue, benefiting "only" wildlife and pasture, or to capture it and send it to a city whose water supply is dwindling is a legitimate one. Regardless of the outcome of the debate, we should enjoy the beauty of Comanche Springs whenever the opportunity occurs.
*Full disclosure: I'm pretty sure I was trespassing in order to take the photos and videos in the pasture. Although I didn't see a "Posted" or "No Trespassing" sign, the fact that I stepped over a fence to gain access means that I went where I shouldn't have gone. If I had planned this trip, I would have contacted the landowner for permission, and I have no doubt it would have been granted. As it is, I have no excuse, other than a desire to share this special phenomenon with others. You should not follow my example.
The shivering bubba - and for ease of reference, why don't we just call him Bubba? - perched atop his overturned airboat seemed nice enough, but he was obviously skeptical that the skinny, neoprene-clad guy riding a piece of styrofoam with a sail could be any help. To be honest, I shared his skepticism.
We discussed a couple of alternatives. He did have friends across the lake, and I could certainly sail back to them and describe his predicament, but they didn't have another boat and so that approach didn't seem too beneficial. Pleasure Lake had no facilities, no marina, no infrastructure, so there was no one "in charge" we could seek help from, and this was before cell phones were common. We both came to the conclusion that if anything was going to be done, it would have to be us doing it. And the obvious solution was to sail both of us to shore.
Fortunately, my sailboard - a Mistral Maui - was what is known as a "floater." I earlier used the term facetiously to describe Bubba, but it's an actual term of art in the sailboard business. A floater is a board with significant buoyancy, enough that it will easily support the weight of the sailor even when not in motion. Floaters are good boards for beginners, and they're also good for light wind conditions: the SUVs of sailboards.
At the other end of the spectrum are the so-called "sinkers," and you can guess why. They are smaller, less-buoyant boards that are very maneuverable and fairly unforgiving: the sports cars of sailboards. Many sinkers are so non-buoyant that the only way to mount them is to catch a gust of wind strong enough to lift the sailor out of the water and onto the board; this technique is called a water-start, and I think I managed to do it exactly once in my rather short sailboarding career.
But I digress. My board was quite buoyant (11'-12' in length and about 200 liters of displacement) and I could walk from end to end and barely dip below water level. The bigger question was whether it would support more than twice my weight. Much more.
I described my plan to Bubba.
"I'm going to carry you on my sailboard to the shore."
His eyebrows went up, but he didn't protest.
"I think this will work," I went on, sounding more sure than I was, "but you're still going to get wetter and colder than you are now. This sailboard won't support our total combined weight, but even if it did, I'm guessing you've never stood on a board, and it's harder than it looks. I can't afford for you to bring us both down."
Bubba nodded his understanding.
"Now, what I need for you to do is to slide into the water and partway up onto the board on your belly, grabbing the center of board, about where I'm standing. Let your legs trail in the water, and I'll try to get us to shore as quickly as possible."
Miraculously, he was able to pull himself onto the sailboard without pulling us both into the water, and I was relieved to find that we were sufficiently stable that this plan might actually have a chance to succeed. Now all we needed was some wind.
It was getting late in the afternoon - still plenty of daylight left, but the wind was starting to die, as it often does. But one advantage of having a floater is that you also probably have a huge sail, because you're anticipating lighter winds. That was indeed the case with my setup, and even a 5 mph wind would be sufficient for our purposes. (Truth be known, we would have been in more trouble had the winds been too high.)
As it turned out, the winds were favorable and we moved steadily toward shore. I'm not sure who was more relieved when we hit water shallow enough for Bubba to wade and hop onto dry land. By that time, he was turning a bit bluish, shivering uncontrollably, but the sunlight was welcome and the mile-long hike he had to get back to his truck would no doubt dry him out and warm him up. We shook hands and he set out. I climbed back on my board and headed across the lake.
I often wonder if and how he would have made it to shore without my help. Chances are that the water temperature wasn't cold enough that a twenty minute swim would have been fatal, but there's always a risk of cramping, or worse. All in all, it was probably fortuitous that I picked that afternoon to go sailing.
I never knew the guy's name. I also never heard how they got that airboat out of the lake.
Game wardens recovered the body of a Stanton woman on Sunday, one of two family members who died in a Scurry County boating accident over the weekend. Erin Cook was transported to a hospital, as well, where she was pronounced dead due to hypothermia. The body of Melody Cook, who didn't make it to shore, was found Sunday morning at 8:50 a.m.
This account of a tragic accident appears on the front page of today's Midland Reporter Telegram [online version], and as I read it, I had vivid memories of a similar incident that had a much happier ending.
Long time West Texans may recall that in the mid 1980s, the normally dry playa lake next to I-20 between Stanton and Big Spring was filled to capacity by runoff from record-breaking rainfall. At that time, it was named "Pleasure Lake" by wags, evoking a verdant image that was completely incongruent with the reality of a puddle in the middle of a mesquite-filled pasture. Of course, everything's bigger in Texas, and that "puddle" covered a good number of acres with water that was 6-8 feet deep in places.
The sudden appearance of a "lake" where none existed before produced a rather striking tableau for travelers scooting down Interstate 20, as the generally choppy surface of the water was made even more agitated by a double handful of sailboarders who were thrilled to find a windswept and generally boat-free body of water so close at hand. I was one of those fortunate folks on whom Mother Nature smiled briefly, and I spent a number of weekend afternoons honing my windsurfing skills at Pleasure Lake.
Thus I found myself in the middle of the lake one crisp fall afternoon, pushed smoothly across the water by light-but-steady breezes. The water was cold enough that I was wearing a drysuit (which is like a wetsuit except you stay, well, dry) and neoprene booties and gloves. The air temperature was probably in the 70s, and water temps were somewhat lower than that - not frigid, but also not something you'd want to spend much time in without protection. Or even with protection, for that matter.
We rarely had to share the water with boats, thanks to the shallowness of the "lake" and the lack of boat ramps, but during this particular afternoon, somebody had managed to get one of those Everglades-style, and evidently homemade airboats into the water. Some bubba was buzzing around the lake in it; I don't recall that he was being reckless or even annoying, but the noise was an intrusion in the normally mellow surroundings.
Suddenly, I noticed that I no longer noticed any noise. I looked across the water a few hundred yards and there was the airboat, only it was sitting at an odd angle, and not moving. I swung my sail around and headed over to see what was up.
What was up was the bottom of the boat, and the bubba driver was propped up on the floats, trying to stay out of the water. He'd managed to flip the dang boat, and was flung into the cold water. By the time I got close, his teeth were already chattering. He was about a hundred yards from the shore, the sun was getting lower in the sky, and by the looks of him, he was probably more of a floater than a swimmer, if you get my drift. Hmm. A quandary, and one that could get rather uncomfortable rather quickly.
Check back tomorrow for the exciting conclusion...which can be found here.
I received an email yesterday from Josh Wallaert, the web editor for Places, which is described as an interdisciplinary journal of contemporary
architecture, landscape, and urbanism, with particular emphasis on the
public realm as physical place and social ideal. Josh wanted to draw attention to a new essay by Cornell University architecture professor Jim Williamson.
I was a bit skeptical that an article emanating from an Ivy League school would be of much interest to Gazette readers, but I clicked over...and think you should do the same. With an enigmatic title, What Passes for Beauty: A Death in Texas recounts the author's experience designing a grave site for a West Texas rancher while working for a firm in Midland during the 1970s.
It's an anecdote that accurately captures some of the spirit of the region, both in terms of the character of the land and of its ranching inhabitants. It's also an interesting coincidence that Professor Williamson's on-campus address is Sibley Hall, given that the Sibley ranching family has a long and storied history in West Texas.
The only minor quibble I have with the article is that it's apparently been a while since Williamson has visited the Permian Basin, given his observation that the oil is now "mostly gone." He would likely be amazed at the current vitality in the oil and gas industry in our region.
In my hand, if I pointed it just right You oughta heard what come to me at night On that little transistor, my big sister's radio.
So many DJs from so far away You oughta heard the records they would play, On that little transistor, my big sister's radio.
Tommy Castro's song, Big Sister's Radio (from his most excellent album, Painkiller), paints a picture of a time and practice that's probably quite familiar to those of us who grew up in rural areas during rock-and-roll's "Golden Age" (I'll let you figure out when, exactly, that was). I have fond memories of sleep outs in our back yard, under star-filled West Texas skies, listening to the same kind of transistor radio described by Castro ("...one speaker...one dial").
Depending on weather conditions, we could pick up border-blaster stations from just across the Rio Grande (XERF, XELO), Fort Worth (WBAP), and of course, everyone's favorite, KOMA in Oklahoma City.
KOMA was cutting edge rock-and-roll, and I was oddly mesmerized by the incantation of the exotic places where various dances, concerts, and drag races were taking place...such as Lawton, Hutchinson, Enid, Elk City, and Liberal. I could only imagine how cool those places were. (And, to paraphrase Paul Simon, reality could never match my sweet imagination.)
Anyway, these memories were resurrected by another item from Debbie's mom's collection of memorabilia, which I introduced yesterday.
I haven't been able to find much about Monte Magee. On this site, there's a reference to his being a radio personality from San Antonio, and in a catalog of copyright entries, under Musical compositions, there's a reference to a 1938 song entitled In that old fashioned way where the music and words are attributed to a Monte Magee. That year is consistent with the dates of the other items in the memorabilia collection, so I assume it's the same guy.
Now, in case you're wondering, 1938 was WELL before the time I was listening to KOMA on that little transistor radio, and I somehow doubt that the DJs of my time were wearing suits and classy striped ties. But I'm sure some kid, somewhere - perhaps in another area of rural Texas - was held in thrall by Magee's voice and music.
I won't go so far as to say that it's worth driving 200 miles just to see it, but if you happen to be in Fort Stockton (or anywhere close by), the town's new visitor center is worth, well, visiting. This multi-million dollar installation - at the intersection of Main Street and E. Dickinson Blvd. - incorporates a lot of symbolism representing the area's historical and commercial contributions.
The large steel span and signage across Main Street (and close by Paisano Pete, the world's largest roadrunner) serves as a gateway to the historic district where many buildings from the old fort have been restored.
Larger-than-life weathered steel cutouts evoke the varied cultures of the earliest inhabitants of the region: American Indians, Mexican vaqueros, settlers coming through by covered wagon, US Cavalry soldiers.
The visitors center also spotlights the region's significant contribution to meeting the country's energy needs. It sports a full-sized pumping unit (oil), a big wellhead (natural gas), and the newest installations - working solar panels and wind turbines. These power the visitor complex, and any surplus electricity is put into the grid.
One of the presumed harbingers of spring in West Texas is the return of roosting buzzards. If that's true, then Fort Stockton has seen its last cold snap for the season, as evidenced by this iPhone video I shot last evening from my parents' backyard:
This is just a fraction of the flock of scavengers that would eventually come to roost in the Afghan pines and live oak trees of the neighborhood. My guess is that there were 100-200 of the big birds.
They're actually quite graceful, floating silently and effortlessly in the stiff breezes that persisted until nightfall. The only unsettling thing about them being directly overhead was...well, I'll leave it to your imagination.
The voices you hear at the end of the video recounting an encounter of a motorcycle with a buzzard are those of my brother and his wife.
Midland's official snowfall yesterday totaled 4.5" which, as
some commenters implied in the previous post, is not worth sniffing at compared
to what they've had in their northern climes. But put it in perspective: that
total was the 9th heaviest snowfall in our area's recorded weather
history. Midland has never had more than 10 inches of snow (officially) in one
day (the record of 9.8 inches occurred in 1998). So, for us and our anemic
snow-handling infrastructure, yesterday provided an event of historic proportions.
Of course, by 3:00 pm the sun was shining, the streets were
[mostly] clear, and those who'd gotten "snow days," while enjoying their good
fortune, were doing so with just a tinge of sheepishness. (I initially used the
term "guilt" and then decided that it probably wasn't applicable at all.)
I chauffeured my wife to her office around 8:30 a.m. so she
could grab her laptop and work from home. The streets were a bit treacherous,
but traffic was light and well-behaved. Even though her office was officially
closed, several employees showed up, either because they weren't intimidated by
the weather or - more likely - hadn't gotten word of the closing. She was
able to be productive the rest of the day from the comfort of our living room.
The
best thing about snowfall around here, besides the fact that it's rare and
doesn't stay around too long, is that it makes for some pretty scenery.
We Texans pride ourselves on our fierce, independent toughness, able to overcome any obstacle with aplomb.
Any obstacle, that is, except for 3" of snow.
I'm sure every West Texas-originated blog will carry reports of the snowfall that now blankets our area. That snowfall has practically shut down all public activities, including all local schools (college classes are starting late) and many government offices. Loop 250, one of our major thoroughfares, is now closed. Interestingly, all flights from Midland International Airport are still listed as on time.
Also, for the first time ever, my wife's office is closed due to the weather, something that I'm sure will be greeted by amusement at their Denver headquarters.
I'm also sure that our friends from the northeastern part of the US will also be amused at our reaction to what for them is hardly worth mentioning.
If you think tumbleweeds are mild-mannered critters with no agenda, you've got another think coming. You cannot begin to imagine the epic struggle it took to corral this one. (Word to the wise: never get between a lone tumbleweed and its herd.)
Of course, the difficult decision is now what to do with this one. The humane thing would be to put a shotgun to its head, but given the difficulty of locating said head and the problems of dealing with a wounded 'weed have made it just about impossible to find anyone around here willing to volunteer for the task. Your ideas are welcomed.
The video captures the amazing beauty of the Big Bend area that exists not just in awe-inspiring panoramas, but also in exquisite details. If you have a love for West Texas, I assure you that you'll to happy to spend eight minutes watching this production.
The bees were working over the yellow bells (aka esperanza) in my father-in-law's backyard, and so I hauled out the camera on Saturday to try to capture some of the action. I was so focused (pun intended) on the bee leaving the bloom in the following photo that I didn't notice the one that's on approach to the landing area.
Is it just me or does the one facing the camera have a cartoonish look on his face?
I've written before about the flock of wild turkeys that have taken up residence in my old neighborhood in Fort Stockton. For whatever reasons, the size of the group has dwindled from the upper teens to just three, a gobbler (male) and two hens.
The male has been known to exhibit aggressive behaviors towards people, chasing them back into their houses, something that sounds amusing until it happens to you. The city's Animal Services department seems unwilling or unable to do anything about it; admittedly, it's not a life-threatening situation.
Last Saturday (March 14th), having been forewarned by my mother, I took my video camera into the streets in search of the wily Meleagris gallopavo, and found them only a half block from our front porch. Here are a few minutes of video from that encounter.
The gobbler turned out to be all bluff, and not much of that. I could not induce him to come towards me, much less attack, and shortly after I turned off the camera, he flew up onto a roof to join his hens, away from our prying eyes.
One interesting behavioral note: If you listen closely, you can hear the scrape of his wingtips on the street. I wonder if that's an intentional warning signal. I noticed that he did that same thing each time he puffed up his plumage, but the sound effects were less effective when he was in the grass.
But at least one argument against the process is gaining validity, and that's the undeniable fact that fracing takes a heckuva lot of water, and water is a precious commodity that's growing painfully scarce in many parts of the country. The typical frac job uses tens of thousands of gallons of fresh water (and can require more than a million gallons), and much of that is rendered non potable by the process.
Seriously. The white Lexus SUV that was ahead of me looked pristine, and every other car in sight had no visible signs of dirt and grime. It made me wonder how many of the owners had their cars washed as a matter of habit. "Oh, it's Saturday morning; time to get the car washed." Frankly, this kind of mindset has no place in a region that's received less than 4" of rain during the past year, and the lakes supplying most of the drinking water are drying up.
