Costs of soldiers' gear

It cost $170 to outfit each soldier for combat in World War II. Today it costs nearly $15,000 to outfit each soldier in Iraq.
Experts estimate that the cost will be $28,000 to $60,000 in the middle of the next decade.
Unfortunately, with the way the Iraq war persists, the United States may be outfitting troops for that war beyond the middle the next century.
Yes, instead of gearing down the number of soldiers needed by somehow reducing the volume of conflicts there, we presently see evidence to the contrary.
Both Democrats and Republicans appear committed to remaining in the area with a significant number of troops for a long, long time. This surely seems the case for Iraq and, just as likely, in Afganistan.
And the Bush administration seems to be gearing up for some military action against Iran, although it appears to have moved away from the prospect of strikes against Iranian nuclear facilities in favor of strikes against specific Iranian military units.
The cost inflation for outfitting American soldiers certainly doesn't cover the costs of such military involvements in that part of the world. In fact, the US taxpayers may be paying as much for private or mercenary soldiers in the area (considering the amount of money paid to such companies as Blackwater, and some experts estimate that nearly as many private contractors work in Iraq as do members of the military).
The point is, with so many elements of the military-industrial complex feeding at the money trough filled and refilled constantly with tax-payer dollars, it is folly to expect an end to American involvement in Arab or Muslim (oil-rich) countries any time soon.
Surely not before it costs $60,000 to outfit a soldier to go there (and even more to send a mercenary).

Francis Lake

All day I've faced a barren waste
Without the taste of water,
cool water
....
Dan, can ya see that big,
green tree?
Where the water's runnin' free
And it's waitin' there for me and you?
Cool, clear, water
Cool, clear, water
A song sung by Marty Robbins


When the drinking tube
leading deep into the pack
went gurgle-gurgle like a
straw in an empty milkshake
glass, my spirits crumbled.
I blew into tube. Silence. All
100 ounces of water gone.
Well, darn.
I lifted the Brunton Wind
device from the camera bag
and checked the time: 3:47
p.m.
Alas, hours to go before I
could rest at Francis Lake.
And I'd already trudged six
hours from the trail head at
the Lostine River.
``No going back,'' I
mumbled and lumbered
along, up a dusty switchback,
step after endless step.
The bulging Dana Design
Longbed (1999) backpack,
with a ponderous camera bag
at my chest suspended by
straps ingeniously attached to
the pack's frame, grew
heavier by the step.
A wizened Humphrey
Bogart bone bag, with sunken
eyes and cracked lips,
stumbling across the desert
sands came to mind.
I licked my lips.
Shucks. I had expected 100
ounces of water to suffice.
Never mind the load, the
nearly 90-degree temperature
and the endless trail.
Besides there was a stream
at five miles.
Of course.
Well, nary a trickle
dampened the rocky
stream bed. So there.
Bearing a two-ton pack, I
usually hit a brisk mile-an-
hour uphill pace, with pauses
for photos and to gawk.
At my last sip, I'd walked
six hours (9:24 a.m. to 3:47
p.m.), or six miles.
So, three miles left, and
three hours, unless I
succumbed to dehydration.
Some fun, right.
I walked slow and paused
often. I snapped a few photos
of the massive 8,921-foot
Marble Point that loomed
over the trail.
At the pass, I turned onto a
faint path and the cool, clear
water of Francis Lake
glistened far below.
The path lead across the
rim and down the canyon
wall. I took it and soon inched
across treacherous scree with
fearful drop offs and worried
that, befuddled, I'd made a
bad decision.
I regrouped, however, and
took careful steps, assisted by
my bamboo walking stick.
I merged with the main trail
halfway down the wall and
reached a flat grassy spot 400
yards from the lake at 6:34
p.m., just shy of three hours
from my last drink and nine
hours from the trail head.
Licking dry lips I shed the
cameras and pack for the first
time in nine hours.
I slipped the limp water bag
from the pack and, at a
freshet bubbling toward the
lake, I pumped water into it
with the Sweetwater purifying
pump .
I tried not to drink too fast,
and I failed.
Although I sipped water
and nibbled trail mix with
raisins, peanuts, almonds,
cashews and M&Ms, my tail
dragged as I pitched the tent.
Reluctantly, I cooked
mashed potatoes, toasted an
English muffin in olive oil and
sipped hot chocolate.
I finished the hot chocolate
and the muffin, but not the
potatoes. I dumped them into
a plastic bag to pack out.
A darkness fell, I sat in the
tent's door and pulled up my
knees to remove my boots.
Ouch. Both thighs throbbed
with cramps. Biting back
several epithets, I struggled to
my feet.
The cramps subsided, but
they had my attention. I lay
with my legs straight until I
fell asleep (in 20 seconds).
Then cramps woke me twice,
and I rubbed them out.
I dressed at dawn to
photograph the scorched
9,673-foot Twin Peaks to the
north and the lake
surrounded by granite walls
to the east.
I ate granola and drank hot
chocolate. I felt tired, but my
legs felt OK. So, I set off to
explore around the lake at
6:17 a.m.
I saw four guys leave and
found myself alone _ except
a Western toad _ at the lake.
Feeling flat, I returned to
camp. I pulled my clothes-bag
pillow from the tent and
stretched out in the shade of a
whitebark pine.
I awoke swathed in sunlight
at 10:42 p.m. and felt better. I
ate hash browns O'Brien and
two muffins fried in olive oil.
I toured the lake again, and
the ponds below it.
As evening approached and
fish-feeding circles marred
the ponds, I unpacked the
four-piece fly rod. I caught
and released four small trout
in an hour.
I ate a Mountain House
Grilled Chicken Breast and
Mashed Potatoes dinner for
two and two English muffins
fried in Olive Oil.
I zonked until 4:32 a.m.
I ate granola again, filled
the water bag to the brim,
packed up and headed up the
trail at 5:48 a.m.
I paused several times to
take in singular views and
crossed the pass at 7:08 a.m.
I counted 22 switchbacks
down the mountain to the
trail head.
I also counted five
hummingbirds that hovered
at the red bandanna keeping
my hat from blowing away.
I picked out Chimney Lake
across the Lostine, watched
one small black ant lug a
winged bug five times its size
along the trail, watched two
large ants tug at opposites
ends of a green inch-worm
and watched a peregrine
falcon battle the wind for a
perch on a snag.
I reached the trail head at
1:09 p.m with an empty
water bag.
But I can learn. Next time I
visit Francis Lake in July
maybe I'll carry two bags of
water. Maybe.

Within sight of Walla Walla

A stay-at-home outdoors
Walla Walla weekend proves
that you don't have to drive
half a day to find scenic
beauty and wildlife.
A drive of less than 40 miles
over two days does the trick.
And you get to sleep in your
own bed.
So, I slept in on the first day
off before I rode my bike
along Mill Creek and around
Bennington Lake. I swooped
over the unpaved trails and
roller-coaster hills, sharp
turns and exciting ruts, or
ditches, a foot wide and a foot
deep.
``Exciting,'' if you hit one,
that is, you could crush a rim
and catapult over the handle
bars to land on your punkin'. I
hit a top speed of 24 mph and
covered 14.6 miles in one-
hour, 39 minutes.
On the way home along
Mill Creek, I saw two families
of Canada geese, one with
two adults and three goslings
and one with two adults and
at least a dozen goslings.
And I saw dozens of stay-at-
home folks enjoying shaded,
colorful Pioneer Park.
So I stowed the bike and,
without showering or chang
ing clothes, took my wife
Darlene, Sadie the Dalmatian
and the camera for a ride.
We drove 1.5 miles to see
the geese. We walked along
the stream for 100 yards and
watched adult geese and a
stream of little ones swim up
stream in single file. Almost.
When they came to a weir,
the adults hopped to the top.
The goslings, with mere
stubs for wings, hesitated
then swam back and forth
unwilling to face the chal
lenge.
I watched until my camera
arm ached.
Sadie grumbled. She
waddled to the truck and
back. She stood grumbling
behind me. She made a sec
ond trip to the truck and back.
All the time, the goslings
swam back and forth before
the weir, and the adults
walked along the top, keeping
pace with them. They made
three trips from one side of
the stream to the other, three
times coming within 10 feet of
me before turning back.
Once an adult slipped down
the weir to join the goslings.
The adult swam slowly up to
the weir again and, as to dem
onstrate how its done,
climbed to the top. No little
one followed.
After an hour, the squad of
goslings _ I counted 15 of
them _ swam again to my
side of the stream. Nearly at
my feet, three of them left the
water and stumbled across
the stones to a low, dry sec
tion of the weir.
As hovering parents
watched, they scrambled onto
the weir. Alas, the other 12
turned back.
And I gave up. Surely, they
would all eventually find a
way up the weir. Surely?
We drove another mile-plus
to the Mill Creek Project
Office, and a rooster pheasant
paraded past us on the grass.
On the way home, we
stopped at Pioneer Park, with
it colorful dogwood and laurel
blossoms, and watched famil
ies picnic and kids play on the
covered wagon. We watched a
peacock in the aviary.
So, that was the first day of
an Outdoors in Walla Walla
Weekend. And I drove fewer
than four miles.
Early (7:30 a.m.) on the sec
ond day, we drove into the
Blue Mountain foothills on
Government Mountain Road.
It circles around to connect
with Kendall Skyline Road,
according to my map.
From there we could return
to Walla Walla on Tiger Can
yon and Mill Creek roads.
So I figured.
Well, Government Moun
tain Road climbs steadily.
Within minutes, two
scraggly does clattered into
the road, up the bank and
stood in the field above us.
We counted nine deer within
five minutes.
In another few minutes, we
could see across the valley.
Haze obscured details to
some degree, but we could
see from the airport to Milton-
Freewater, and to the wind
turbines on the distant hill
sides.
Despite the frequent ``No
Trespassing'' signs, we
stopped several times to take
in the view and to let Sadie
sniff around the balsamroot.
Eventually, about 20 miles
from home, we came to a
100-yard snowdrift with two-
foot-deep ruts. I stopped.
``We shouldn't have any
trouble,'' I said, keeping to
myself that I'd taken the
shovel out of the truck two
days earlier.
``Maybe,'' Darlene said.
``You do n't have a shovel,
right?''
She's been here before, I
thought, and grunted.
I slipped the 4-wheel drive
lever into low-low and we
putted through drift and past
a pond alive with frog croaks.
Then after another deep-
rutted drift, a deadfall
blocked the road.
We'd driven 22 miles. I
made half-a-dozen moves for
ward and back to turn on the
two-track road. after passing
the first drift again, I stopped.
``Let's walk back to the
pond and look for frogs,'' I
said.
We spent half an hour at
the pond with hundreds of
apparently invisible frogs
harmonizing for us.
Finally, I saw two frogs, one
with a little one on its back,
suspended in the clear water.
Then, with the valley below,
we drove directly into the
wide panorama on Saddle
Mountain Road to Pikes Peak
Road.
Not a bad way to brush
with the great outdoors and
put fewer than 40 miles on the
truck. Not bad at all.

Juniper Dunes, North Entrance

• Sand shifted beneath my
• boots. Sweat dribbled down
• my forehead into one eye and
• twisted my face into a grim
• ace.
• I wiped the eye with a
• finger behind my glasses. I
• huffed down a bucket of air
• and puffed it out, huff-puff,
• huff-puff, etc.
• Climbing an 800-foot-tall
• sand dune in the Juniper
• Dunes Wilderness on a bright,
• 90-plus afternoon compares
• with an afternoon walk in the
• park as plucking out whiskers
• one at a time with clam-shell
• tweezers compares with get
• ting a barbershop shave.
• One demands attention.
• The other doesn't. That's my
• guess, anyway.
• The particular 800-foot
• dune mentioned above,
• spread thick with shiny ruby-
• red sand dock halfway up the
• slope, slanted steeper than
• the normal 35 degrees or so.
• That's when piled-up grains
• of sand answer the call of
• gravity.
• I've never heard it, but with
• dry sand and a big slide, a
• bellowing sound occurs, often
• called ``singing sand.''
• I paused, leaned back and
• peered upwards through a
• tight squint. The top 20 feet of
• naked sand seemed to lean
• over me, defying gravity.
• The leaning ridge reminded
• me of a snow ledge ready to
• become an avalanche.
• I'm no Chicken Little
• exactly, but my attention
• piqued, and I scooted out of
• its potential path. Who needs
• a sand slide, singing or not.
• Despite the heat, and the
• attention demanded by the
• terrain, a trip to the Juniper
• Dunes Wilderness area IS
• worth the effort, especially at
• the north entrance.
• You reach that gate through
• a section of pasture on the
• Juniper Dunes Ranch. It's
• accessable only during
• March, April and May.
• So, as May threatened to
• slip away, I left home at 11:03
• a.m. one day last week. I
• stopped twice along
• Blackman Ridge Road to snap
• horned lark photos.
• Sadie the Dalmatian stayed
• home, so cattle in the parking
• area corrals barely glanced
• my way. By 1:03 p.m. I signed
• in at the wilderness gate.
• It's possible to leave the
• gate, climb a short distance
• (30-40 yards?) to a path off to
• the left (south) and avoid
• some of the really steep early
• dunes.
• My strategy, however, since
• few trails exist, involves walk
• ing more or less in a straight
• line, dunes and all.
• At the gate I attached my
• GPS unit to my upper left arm
• with a velcro strap. It plots a
• line on a map as I walk, so I
• can track my route (with di
• rection, moving time, stop
• ping time and distance).
• A compass would suffice,
• but the GPS gives more infor
• mation, so I carry it. If I don't
• forget it.
• Actually, on a clear day, a
• hiker may climb a tall dune
• and see the Juniper Dunes
• Ranch.
• With the GPS in place, I
• climbed the first dune and
• angled to the right
• (southwest).
• The largest number of
• 250-300-year-old juniper trees
• cluster in that direction. I
• stopped often to photograph
• flowers, interesting patterns
• in the sand (created by wind-
• blown grasses), animal tracks
• (including those left by mice
• and Morman crickets) and
• scenic views.
• Once a lizard skittered be
• neath a sage bush. I wanted it
• to be a horned toad, but it
• wasn't. It bobbed up and
• down on the sand among a
• maze of sage bush branches
• and leaves.
• I switched the camera to
• manual focus and snapped
• several photos. For no appar
• ent reason, other than my
• presence, the lizard leaped
• from the sand and clung to a
• branch. I snapped a final
• photo and left.
• I've seen deer, porcupines
• and coyotes among the dunes
• (along with deer hunters and
• illegal motor bikers) there,
• but the lizard and Mormon
• crickets were the main
• critters I saw last week.
• As usual, time rushed by.
• On the north or west side of
• the dunes, hidden from the
• light breeze, the heat
• pounded me. On the ridges,
• however, the breeze felt cool
• against my damp nylon shirt.
• I swigged from the
• 100-ounce CamelBack water
• bag as I walked. It contained
• ice cubes, so the water tasted,
• well, like that fabled elixir.
• After 2 hours, 38 minutes, I
• dropped the daypack and
• cameras beneath a aromatic
• juniper. Sweat soaked the
• back of the bag and my back.
• The breeze felt cool as I sat on
• the ground in the shade.
• I sipped ice water and
• munched two PowerBars.
• The GPS said I'd walked
• 1.74 miles, moving for 1 hour,
• 45 minutes and stopping for
• 53 minutes. I'd made a
• squiggly path in the sand.
• Before I started again, I
• took off my boots, pulled up
• my socks and retied my laces,
• a bit tighter than before, to
• give my feet better support on
• the shifting sand.
• I slipped into the daypack
• and camera bag and headed
• east. After a few hundred
• yards, I turned north.
• My energy flagged a bit,
• and I chose routes around
• dunes when possible. I
• paused for a few photos of
• scenes and bugs on flowers.
• At the gate I checked the
• GPS. I'd covered 3.97 miles,
• walking for 2 hours, 44 min
• utes and stopping for 58:37
• minutes.
• I'd turned the GPS off when
• I sat beneath the juniper tree.
• I drove slowly past the Juni
• per Dunes Ranch to keep the
• dust down and show appreci-
• ation for the owners' toler-
• ance of visitors.
• And I was in no hurry. I
• could drive the 75 miles or so
• home in less than two hours,
• so I would probably be in time
• to wrangle a bowl of soup
• before bedtime.
• fu5600BB>SUBHEAD>BB>COPY, ETC
•  
• If You Go_.
• To reach the north entrance to the
• Juniper Dunes, which is accessible
• during March, April and May, turn