Wednesday, December 19, 2007 - Foscue Creek Park, Demopolis AL
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Green chair, on the peninsula behind LD, site 42, Foscue Creek Park, Demopolis AL, December 15, 2007
So what's with the green chair?
This green chair has been with me a long time. It is one of a pair of these wonderful aluminum folding chairs I inherited from my mom so I've had them over 20 years now and I can't remember how long mom had them; quite a while, probably since the late '50. Here's an article, Unseating a summer icon: One of the most popular chairs ever manufactured is vanishing from the American landscape, in the August 14, 2001 Chicago Tribune lamenting the passage of the ubiquitous folding lawn chair from the scene, pushed out by the chair-in-a-bag.
Maybe I should give the green chair a bag.
Let's give the green chair a ride
This green chair has already shown up in a couple of pictures on this journal. Let's see if it continues to show up. Give the old girl a little publicity on this trip. Kind of in the vein of the traveling pink flamingo (for those who remember those gags) but this time traveling with LD.
My morning walk yielded a few good photos
This morning I took an extra long walk just about sunrise on this partly cloudy morning. I took a record (for me) 100 pictures in varying early morning light as the clouds came and went. Hopefully I got a few good ones. We'll soon see. Meanwhile oatmeal beckons.
A while later: It looks like I got a few good pictures out of the 100 I took this morning. I seem to get one keeper in twenty shots - a 5% return. Interestingly, the first shot of a series is usually the best of the bunch. Taking a few more to bracket things and refine the composition and so on generally doesn't help a bit. That first intuitive sighting is usually better than the thought through one that follows.
Darn, it looks like we're in for a bit of rain here in Demopolis AL
Demopolis AL weather at weather.gov
Night camp
Site 42 - Foscue Creek Campground, Demopolis AL
- This is a well maintained US Army Corps of Engineers campground with level paved sites, most with full hookups
- Many sites overlook the water of the inlets off Demopolis Lake on the Tombigbee River
- There is good biking on the park roads
- The campground is pretty full Thanksgiving week and is generally booked solid the weekend of the Demopolis Christmas on the River festival in early December.
- Poor Verizon cell phone service - access is via Extended Network, roaming
- No Verizon EVDO service - access is via the Extended Network and service varies is slow but reliable
- Only 3 miles to Wal-Mart and other services in Demopolis AL
- Find other references to Foscue Creek
- List the nights I've camped here
- Check the weather
- Reserve a site
- Get a map
A Siberian dog signal-howl
A camp in the middle of a clear, dark winter's night presents a strange, wild appearance. I was awakened, soon after midnight, by cold feet, and, raising myself upon one elbow, I pushed my head out of my frosty fur bag to see by the stars what time it was. The fire had died away to a red heap of smouldering embers. There was just light enough to distinguish the dark outlines of the loaded sledges, the fur-clad forms of our men, lying here and there in groups about the fire, and the frosty dogs, curled up into a hundred little hairy balls upon the snow. Away beyond the limits of the camp stretched the desolate steppe in a series of long snowy undulations, which blended gradually into one great white frozen ocean, and were lost in the distance and darkness of night. High overhead, in a sky which was almost black, sparkled the bright constellations of Orion and the Pleiades--the celestial clocks which marked the long, weary hours between sunrise and sunset. The blue mysterious streamers of the aurora trembled in the north, now shooting up in clear bright lines to the zenith, then waving back and forth in great majestic curves over the silent camp, as if warning back the adventurous traveller from the unknown regions around the Pole. The silence was profound, oppressive. Nothing but the pulsating of the blood in my ears, and the heavy breathing of the sleeping men at my feet, broke the universal lull. Suddenly there rose upon the still night air a long, faint, wailing cry like that of a human being in the last extremity of suffering. Gradually it swelled and deepened until it seemed to fill the whole atmosphere with its volume of mournful sound, dying away at last into a low, despairing moan. It was the signal-howl of a Siberian dog; but so wild and unearthly did it seem in the stillness of the arctic midnight, that it sent the startled blood bounding through my veins to my very finger-ends. In a moment the mournful cry was taken up by another dog, upon a higher key--two or three more joined in, then ten, twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, until the whole pack of a hundred dogs howled one infernal chorus together, making the air fairly tremble with sound, as if from the heavy bass of a great organ. For fully a minute heaven and earth seemed to be filled with yelling, shrieking fiends. Then one by one they began gradually to drop off, the unearthly tumult grew momentarily fainter and fainter, until at last it ended as it began, in one long, inexpressibly melancholy wail, and all was still.