some of my photos here http://www.photo.net/shared/community-member?user_id=478658

Code of the Eco-Warrior

Rule Number One



Nobody gets hurt. Nobody. Not even yourself.



Corollary: The eco-warrior hurts no living thing, absolutely never.



Corollary: The eco-warrior is strong, lean, tough, hardy. The eco-warrior can hike twenty miles overnight, over any terrain, in any kind of weather, with a fifty-pound pack on his back. Maybe sixty pounds. And do it night after night, through brush and swamp, cactus and rattlesnakes, mountain and forest. The eco-warrior does not chain-drink beer or chain-smoke cigars. The eco-warrior takes care of himself, herself, bounces back from injury and exhaustion, never gets sick or if sick carries on despite sickness. The eco-warrior is tough, the eco-warrior is brave, taking on the risks of a soldier in frontline combat, the dangers of a commando behind the lines. The eco-warrior is a guerrilla soldier fighting a war against an enemy equipped with high technology, tax-extracted public funds, legal privilege, media protection, superior numbers, police and secret police, communication police and thought police. Fighting them all, the eco-warrior cannot even carry a weapon; his own Code of Honorable Conduct forbids it.
Corollary: The eco-warrior does not fight people, he fights an institution, the planetary Empire of Growth and Greed. He fights not human beings but a monstrous megamachine never seen since the days of the Late Jurassic and the carnivorous dinosaur. He does not fight humans, he fights a runaway technology, an all-devouring entity that feeds on humans, on all animals, on all living things, and even finally on minerals, metals, rock, soil, on the earth itself, on the bedrock basis of universal being.



Rule Number Two



Don’t Get Caught.



Corollary: The eco-warrior avoids capture, passing all costs on to them, the enemy. The point of his work is to increase their costs, nudge them toward net loss, bankruptcy, forcing them to withdraw and retreat from their invasion of our public lands, our wilderness, our native and primordial home.



Rule Number Three



If you do get caught you’re on your own. Nobody goes your bail. Nobody hires a lawyer. Nobody pays your fines.



Corollary: The eco-warrior works alone, or with one or two old and trusted comrades that he’s known for years. The eco-warrior forms no network, creates no club or party or organization of any kind. He relies on himself (or sometimes herself) and on his little cell of two or three, never more…a small circle of trusted friends, a tiny felonious conspiracy to commit non-felonious misdemeanors against the perimeters of the techno-industrial ordnung. The eco-warrior must also be a man or woman of heroic dedication to the work, avoiding organization and all forms of networking, operating strictly on anarchic principles of democratic decentralism. Not fanatic dedication—no place for fanatics here—but heroic dedication. Because the eco-warrior must do his or her work without hope of fame or glory or even public recognition, at least for the present. The eco-warrior is anonymous, mysterious, unknown, is awarded no medals, is granted no privileges of rank. Not only does he win no taste of personal fame, he must expect the opposite, namely and to wit, public obloquy, vilification, and verbal abuse. He must expect that certain elements of the power structure will murmur against him. Editorial writers will denounce him, anonymously, from the safe security of their editorial offices. Commerce chambers will burn him in effigy—or in person if they catch him. Congressmen will fulminate, senators abominate, bureaucrats denunciate and all the vipers of the media vituperate. Those who should be his admirers will also denounce him. The official conservation societies and wilderness clubs and wildlife federations and defenders of fur-bearers and national resource defense councils will scramble and scurry to place maximum distance between themselves and him, insisting that they deplore his work and even going so far as to offer monetary reward for information leading to his capture and conviction. Not only does the eco-warrior work without hope of fame and praise, not only does he work in the dark of night amidst a storm of official public calumny, but he works without hope of pecuniary recompense.



Corollary: The eco-warrior does his work out of love, the love that dare not speak its name, the love of spareness, beauty, open space, clear skies and flowing streams, grizzly bear, mountain lion, wolf pack and twelve-pack, of wilderness and wanderlust and primal human freedom and so forth.



Rule Number Four



No domestic responsibilities. The eco-warrior does not marry, if he marries he does not breed. Better not to marry. She does not marry or bred. The eco-warrior, like a priest or priestess, like a samurai, like a dedicated revolutionary, forgoes he personal pleasures of ordinary life, forgoes ordinary life, for the sake of the great case. For a time only, naturally. When he reaches the age of forty, or she of thirty, if they’re still alive and not in jail, then they retire from the war against goliath and rejoin the natural, evolutionary mainstream of organic life. The eco-war is only for the young.



Extracted without permission from Hayduke Lives!, Estate of Edward Abbey. Boston: Little Brown & Company, 1990. pp.110-114.

Raining, dark, blowin'... The other morning occurred to me an overwhelming sense that I should be thankfull for the small thing such as this nice coffee-maker, glass coffee pot that I could just waltz out here and make coffee in practically whenever I wanted to....a dry kitchen with running water...a nice hot gas stove fire. a nice bathroom sink with runnning hot & cold water---even if one has to wear shoes there all the time due to the toilet leaking water & urine all over the floor for the past 4 years... When the void gets yawnin g & overwhelming one holds onto the tiniest thing. And you still go out and cry at the universe behind the tree in the backyard, yelling your anger & your fury into the darkness and your legs get cramped and your feet get wet... I cried when we watched Exit To Eden nar the end where Rosie advises "Now, we have to cultivate the good ones, you know," because as much as a bozo 'e's 'bout human sense there's probably no more gooder one than this on the scale of things.

Two social occasions just now of the Who's afraid of Virginia Wolf?-type. Here won't you paly this game etc. at one, and then at the other was even the announcement "I'm going to get our son, honey." Why am I here in this horror of one horror after another? I thought I was trying...am I going to die soon...
Jeff sez he's bringing me some bags of sand. And I planted the balm of lemon today. Saw 2 chipmunks...a cardinal. There is nothing, everything is gone.

Ragworts, bluets, trilliums, a broad band of marsh mairgolds all seen from the confines of Doug's truck all of a spring morning, missing a turn because we're arguing. Small asters in the Clarion lawns like stars in the whirling blackness of the blackness of the short nite. Why sleep anymore, it's not worth the trouble, all the trouble

Fuzzy moon in the sky with the leaves on the gingko trees just sprouting out, concrete buildings, hot, hot days. All unsettled & buzzing like wasps, beams flying & waves swelling. Faint peepers in the dead woods and missed messages. Thoughts like blossoms, eye-bright then falling faded on the ground, on the earth. Tantalum. How many SUV's are on the road.Concerned Parents of sick Girard School.how much to run a mailstation in clarington..Check out this month's The World & I magazine for article by fellow traveller photographer, Scott McAlpine, about our trip on the Northern Ranger down the coast of Labrador. geology software for drawing srtratigraphic sections.

"You've Blown It All Sky High...by telling me a lie....without a reason why...you've blown it all sky high." A couple of very nice-sounding young men with their throbbing spaceship motors that sounded like a giant mother's heartbeat, up in the sky. At 6 am I was still there listening. All the onions are in, wanted to weed the horseradish and the cornsalad yet. All the living world is swelling & exploding with this heat & light. Bittersweet pink peach blossoms. Barn owls flying in the wet snow at nite(week or so ago), crying in the dark. A robin nest here, a robin nest there. A goose & three ducks. Mouse in a trap. In the Canadian comic the oldest fella sez no wonder they call this thing a curser... Lies like the tangled red ball of worms in the fully rotted, fully composted leaves, carried by car & truck by folks too ignorant to compost their own wastes.

Enough wet snow last nite to whiten all the fields here in northern Berks county. Terrific wind now drying everything off so hopefully we can complete our tilling tasks on the garden plot. already there are many volunteer purple Japanese cabbages and other greens that overwintered well. also no shotage of corn salas and arugula that sprouted 3rd crop over the winter. Happy Dirt Day--on Sundady actuallly, but Youngstown University is celebrating it today. Reading up on the Cascades & the Olympic Peninsula of Washigton State. Forgot to tell Bonnett we were actually walking around McDonald with a real, although slow-moving, GPS, the other week.
Can anyone out there recommend any software useful in making geological diagrams?
test link insert here:....

Horrific thunderstorm last nite, March 7, in the wee hours with very near strikes & flooding. Cindy Lou Hoo of the blueberry pies and wheat grass. Bad news that Lizard teas are going awol & we'll never ever get to taste Eros... We ate from our own land tonite-clippings from the Egyptian (multiplier) onions I planted last very late autumn next to the homeless decorative sage I brought home falls before that. Milan, two days after my birthday, 8:32 am; the day after my birthday, 11:50 am 38 minutes; the day before my grandmther's birthday, 12:06 pm, 23 minutes; my grandmother's birthday, 7:30 am and 7:59 am.

Last day of March near Wilmont Ohio, near Amish heartland Rick P. & Griffin & Doug & I at the Wilderness Center after a planetarium conference. Emerged to the crashing pealing of peepers in full cry. Came down the hill in the dusking time and heard the peenting and chittering of at least 2 woodcocks in the fields below. Friday afternoon saw a turkey vulture (well the brown ones--I think they are turkey, not black) perched on carrion beside the road in 2 different places. Also hearing turkeys call beside the Clarion River every morning. Spring is coming like a bulldozer...like a herd of buffalo... Tonite in honor of the first day of April we are all going out to look at the supposed projection of an advertisement on the full moon. Wish we could see the aurora borealis that they are seeing in other parts of the country.

Still trying to figure out how this blogging thing works. Can't find html of posts...Noticed a brand new small sugar shack steaming away today about 30 yards off I-80. Still ice on the resevoirs. Back to the Study of Evergreen Habits. Heard house wrens singing merrily this morning. Received a wheat penny for my thoughts. And onward the search for Ohio Blue Tips. GoPlay seems to have gone out of business.
Note for the Beaver-did you hear the art Bell parody, with the interview about Space Rot on its way down with the MIR to infect the palnet? Phil Henry was really good; his partner couldn't even keep a "straight face", kept busting up laughing...

useful link http://members.Nepal.com/Dilud

10 inches of snow on March 4, 5, 6 in our part of the Clarion River valley. Brought down lots of branches & small trees. Great scenes of vultures in the pines along a snowy river, dark. Doug & Jim are going to be on Louie FREE radio talk show tomorrow. I need to find out how many pounds of plastic bags are used and either recycled or landfilled every day in the USA. Watching white pines whipping in the spring's-a'-coming wind this afternoon here in Youngstown,...here in Youngstown...with a stomach full of blast-furnace chilie peppers. Norman Rockwell did ads for Sharon steel. The Newfoundland & Labrador Wildflower Society needs a new prez. or it will be dissolved! Big article in E magazine about Newfoundland fishery of cod being strip-mined away. Also one on the possibility of Zero Waste(i.e. hardly anything to landfill or incinerate). apparently New Zealand achieved this....

one of the few decent things

Art is one of the few things left worth doing. Then he did the only thing left to do: he went to bed.

The answers to life and everything on the last physics test and stories about my cat.....

Going "Down" the Upward Coast

July 26
Next morning at breakfast there is a huge iceberg right next to the ship—several stories high—and probably equal or more below the surface. I was able to watch it for a long time. We were eating breakfast with Betty the biologist and by the time I get up on deck I do not get many photos of it. Doug and Betty see it go by in the portholes by their table. Betty handed me a slip of paper with the entire common names and Latin names for a flower we’d discussed earlier.
At Pinset’s Arm it is not deep enough for the Ranger to get to a dock so all skids of groceries and supplies are taken ashore in a bout 5 trips with a dory (motorboat) with 2 fellows. A crane lowers the skids. The Ranger takes on skids of fish products of different kinds and we find out little the tour guide knows – disheartening, but we didn’t pay for her services anyway. One of the crew pulls out a conche/whelk? out of the cases being sent out to be processed to show the tourists what it looks like. Most villages have some type of “fish” plant-can be crab, shrimp, fish, fish eggs or other. The plants have huge tanks of fuel. The skids of supplies for Norman Bay also have to be unloaded this way to a few boats. One is a skid of crab pots. We see lots more Innu and/or Innuit and/or Metis people. A lot of them are weathered older men. At one point a snowmobile is hoisted to the wharf. There are skids of Frito Lay products for every village. Often things appear precarious but they know just what they can get away with. At Norman Bay a larger family, a little worn at the edges and with their curly black happy dog and many taped boxes in tow, go ashore by boat. At one point a box gets dropped by a young boy and there is the sound of shattering glass. The variety of and handling of the freight is so real and fascinating. The Northern Ranger draws a crowd of scrambling pick-up trucks, ATV’s, people on foot and bicycle, kids, old folks, relatives. Once some youths set up a table of pottery for sale. It is a tiny carnival every 12 days. Once there is a real hot dog stand of some sort. Fishing boats of different sizes going in and out.
The 2 dark-haired fellows from earlier turn out to be off-shore fishermen who work on a boat which returns to St. Anthony where they take the Ranger to their home in Black Tickle, where on of them will take a smaller boat to Goose Bay to get his wife at her job. The other lives with an aunt and he talks to Doug a while about 30 foot waves and rough seas preventing them from even drinking a cup of coffee.
At Indian Tickle we finally say goodbye to Nickie, the scruffy white dog and his big family who get off into small bobbing boats. It’s very dark and foreboding, thw water quite choppy and there is no village to be seen.
At Black Tickle I see a new pink flower—see sketch of 7/16. There are huge flat rounded boulders and no trees. They are working on adding to the fishplant.
We dock at Cartwright, but before we do we see a huge wonderful display of Northern lights—they even pulse and the curtain dances after a while. (see sketch)
There are tons of icebergs, most a distance away, but sometimes you can see 15 at a time. We sight several whales – their spouts—and once one is flipping and smacking its tail. Someone sights puffins.
Someone explains Canadian civics to us in the cafeteria but it is so baffling and complex we almost immediately forget. Another mid-older couple, tall, fit and greying, have a cool aeronautical map and tell me all their Labrador adventures and an ocean-going canoe. Later I notice (they’re active readers) they have dropped 2 bookmarks on the seats and in handing them to them I see the name Northern Books, George Luste—someone I was thinking of contacting for NF and LAB books since he was recommended by Gary Conover. I say this to this couple and he says, “I am George.”

Crossing Belle Strait

First day, Tuesday,(July 25, 2000)
we round the tip of the Northern Peninsula and cross Belle Strait and get to Red Bay. There are about 5 small Viking boats here, crewed by Swedes and Norwegians or ? and one big motorized Viking boat. They are all in authentic gear. Some have wooden shields and plastic caps for fun. One boat’s dragon head prow has red reflector eyes which may even light up (?). There are a couple dragon heads.I check out the Basque boat they found recently and the big paintings of whaling in the 2 museums. I check out a tiny wooden craft shop with a wood heater and a bigger shop with an eatery. I cross the marsh to the Red Bay Airport. It’s bare and open and desolate and there are no trees. This is the end of the road. It’s sunny mostly but then a fog rolls in. When we take off the ship has to use its fog horn and its foggier out to sea.
Mary’s Harbour, Port Hope Simpson –we anchor here overnight, mosquitoes infest the ship, we watch Smilia’s Sense of Snow—I less than Doug, trying to sleep but mosquitoes keep me up,[Pinset’s Arm, Charlottetown]

Grey Island Departure

July 20, 2000
The same seal came back last night or this morning.I was watching this light gray rounded rock since daybreak which looked likea caribou lying on its side in front of the cabin. Then about 7:30 when Doug went out to crush our “tin” cans he startled it. It is light gray area underneath, with dark grey spots, darker grey head and upper side. It swam all around cove whining and barking at times. This must be his or her cove. It crawled up on the rock again, and slept under our slanted lines of drying clothes. The little duck came back. Beautiful clear morning. [boat came about 1:30-2:30]
I was sketching the elusive fireweed, green orchid and the bakeapple and pitcher plants (see previous pages sketches) near the old recovered cemetery when I heard and saw a speck like the Bromley boat far in the distance. Ran back most of the way down the old grassy road to tell Doug. We had just got back from hiking the hill behind the cabin where views from the top were wonderful (see sketch on earlier page). Looks like Disneyland—like a Magic Kingdom, all the ponds and islands. Found a caribou antler and a fox jawbone up there. Found more berry plants of unknown type this time way up on a peak (i.e. just a hill) that had a cairn. Doug heard a chickadee there.
Notes: Butterfield Group Tours—Paul brought them over but they had their own guide
Sea stacks, steep waves, whales, bird isles, iceberg, crabmeat, cabin

When Paul finally came to fetch us we saw why he was so late as there were a great many people on his boat. All except a honeymooning couple, Jackie and Brett, were with a high class tour company called Butterfield Tours. From talking to most of them they seemed weel-to-do and were spending over $4,000 each for the tour of Newfoundland. They were using the Tuckamore Lodge for a while and Barb Genge had even made the honeymooning couple move to a different room to accommodate the big group somehow, and they were feeling neglected by Barb. They had gotten to go out in Hare Bay in kayaks