The Budget Mess -- And a Solution

It's easy to see how we got into this mess by looking back the road we traveled. In the 1950s the budget was about half Defense and half everything else. So-called entitlements and yearly deficits were small. We had funds to support a robust military, to build infrastructure, and to do the things that make a great nation great.

Look at today's budget. Defense and other discretionary items have been squeezed to half the budget, crowded out by three malignant tumors -- Medicare, Medicaid, and Social Security -- which together make up half the budget. Addicted to these cancers, we encourage their growth and instead cut away at the healthy tissue such as defense. We are broke, have buried our children in debt, and can no longer maintain our infrastructure -- much less build anything new.

Now swells the chorus, "But those programs are the safety net". Call them what you will, but a safety net that gobbles half the national budget is a destructive monster. Entitlements have become irreversible, creating large voting blocks that guarantee their perpetuation. Roosevelt planted the seeds in the 1930s despite strong opposition from the Supreme Court, and the cancer has grown. We have created the beast and are powerless to stop feeding it.

We demand new entitlements for newly-discovered rights. A bumper sticker reads: "Medical Care is a Human Right". But is it? Our Founding Fathers were sicker than we are, died earlier, and paid their doctors' bills. But they must have been made of sterner stuff, because medical care escaped the Constitution and Bill of Rights. Soon, I guess, we will invent the rights to cheap gasoline and free internet access.

Alexander Tytler once wrote, "A democracy... can exist only until the voters discover they can vote themselves largess out of the public treasury." We have arrived, and our votes match our slogans: "Balance the budget, but hands off my Medicare"... Cut spending, but don't touch my Social Security."

Discussing last month's budget agreement, a politician noted that Medicare and Social Security were off limits because they were "on autopilot". They are indeed, and the autopilot is flying them to insolvency in a diving spiral. The budget agreement protects these porkers, so only half the budget is on the chopping block. And the tough decisions await even on this half. The financial world saw through this charade, with our credit rating downgraded and the Dow shedding 600 points the day after it was signed.

Politicians refuse to address serious entitlement reform, the Democrats because it's their lifeblood, Republicans because they are petrified of voter reaction. Arch-conservative Michele Bachmann opened a Fox interview by assuring her viewers that her budget plan would affect no one currently receiving Medicare or Social Security. So much for backbone.

But there's hope -- if both parties will quit their games, stiffen their spines, and present a united front. I believe Republicans would agree to tax increases if the Democrats would agree to serious entitlement cuts, both for present and future beneficiaries. It would take a

national TV appearance by the President. Flanked by the leaders of both parties, he would state that national survival is on the line and that all agree upon the required medicine, as bitter as it might seem. The American public, I think, would rise to the occasion, as it has before in times of crisis.

Photos

In the Soup

USS TWEEDY (DE 532), a Group II Destroyer Escort, found herself commissioned and stationed in Norfolk in early 1962, in response to the Berlin Crisis. The author, then a young LT(jg), was Communications Officer.

We returned from sea on a foggy April Friday in 1962, arriving off Cape Henry light about noon. The fog was heavy, particularly near land, and visibility varied from a few hundred yards to a hundred feet (the distance from bridge to jack staff). Common sense dictated that we anchor just inside Cape Henry, in Lynnhaven Anchorage. But common sense took a back seat to more pressing issues -- wives, girlfriends, and happy hour at the Club. So in we went.

The trip from Cape Henry to the Des-Sub Piers, at NOB, is 21 nautical miles, most of it in restricted waters. From Cape Henry you proceed WNW up Chesapeake Bay for about a mile, then enter Thimble Shoal Channel, a buoyed channel that leads north, ending at Thimble Shoal Light. It was here that the Battleship MISSOURI went aground in 1950, a visible and prolonged embarrassment to the Navy. At Thimble Shoal Light you turn left and enter Hampton Roads, passing between Willoughby Spit and Old Point Comfort. Another several miles and a gradual left turn brings you to NOB, abeam the carrier piers. Then it's a straight shot south to the Des-Sub Piers, located just north of Middle Ground.

So that's the route, and here's how we did it. Navy ships practice at low visibility navigation, with human eyes being replaced by radar and ears. Hearing is critical, because ships, whether anchored or underway, sound fog signals to announce their presence.

The risks of steaming in fog are twofold. First, the safe navigation of the ship (don't get lost or run aground). Second, avoiding collisions with other ships, anchored or groping along like you. Combat Information Center (CIC) handled the shipping picture and did it well, while the Navigator, Bill Pennewill, and I focused on the navigation on the bridge.

Collision avoidance requires a fog lookout, posted low in the bow or "the eyes" of the ship. Unencumbered by headphones, he listens for fog signals from other ships. A vessel underway sounds one long blast of its whistle every minute, while a ship at anchor gives a rapid ringing of its bell. Ships in fog are generally heard before being seen. And we heard more bells and whistles than we saw ships.

Our biggest collision danger came from large ships that might have given up, stopped, and anchored. If a small ship like TWEEDY had decided to anchor she would have pulled out of the channel, having enough water there for her draft. But a deep-draft ship, an oiler or cruiser, could not risk going aground and would drop anchor in the channel, partially blocking it. We passed many anchored, regular-Navy ships that were either less skillful or less foolhardy than TWEEDY.

I manned the SPA-4 radar repeater on the starboard side of the bridge. From the radar scope I identified landmarks and buoys, passing their ranges and bearings to QM1 Morgan, who recorded them in the Quartermaster's Notebook. Then Pennewill, working at the chart table, plotted the ship's position every one minute, giving course and speed recommendations to the Officer of the Deck. We were pretty good at this and kept our positions accurate even when making ten knots.

The Inland Rules of the Road required that a ship in fog go at a speed that would permit her to stop within half the distance of visibility. I recall we made the 21 miles in about three hours, so we averaged about 7 knots. Maneuvering bells ("999") were rung up on the lee helm, so we had only three speeds available: 10 kts, 5 kts, or all stop. Part of the trip obviously was at ten, a truly dangerous speed in fog. But we were young, full of ourselves, and lucky.

Our Commodore, CAPT Lathrop, COMCORTRON 4, was embarked, and he wisely decided to make himself scarce. Had we grounded or collided, the JAGMAN investigator would have asked him why, being on the bridge, he had not ordered the captain to slow down. So, lacking the will to overrule the skipper, he left the bridge for the forecastle, where, in his own words, "I helped look for the pier".

The unsung hero of this trip (besides Pennewill and me, of course) was our wonderful skipper, CDR Bill Moore, who quietly monitored our work from his chair on the bridge. He could have anchored, but he knew that we could and would pull it off. We'd have sooner cut off our right arms than let down this man. We returned his trust with ironclad loyalty and the finest performance we could muster.

CAPT Ned Mayo, USN (Ret)

9 January 2010

The Ash Wednesday Storm

The Ash Wednesday 1962 Storm at Sea, by Ned Mayo During the Ash Wednesday Storm I was a young junior officer aboard USS Tweedy (DE 532), a Norfolk-based destroyer escort. This was the time when the Bay-Bridge Tunnel was new, having just replaced the old Kiptopeake ferry to Cape Charles. On the 6th of March 1962 we were at sea, some 75 miles east of Norfolk; I recall that the seas and winds increased slowly without apparent reason during the morning watch (4:00 - 8:00 am). By the end of the day, waves were higher than 60 feet high with wind gusts exceeding 100 mph. Our ship's length was only 306 feet, and we would certainly have capsized had we lost propulsion or steering and been unable to keep our bow into the wind. As Communications Officer, I remember the flood of distress calls on 500KHz, the International Distress Frequency. But fully occupied with our own survival, we were in no position to find, much less help, another ship. The interior of the ship was a shambles. Gear is always secured against normal rolling and pitching, but the 50 degree rolls we took overwhelmed these precautions. The storm was brutal to the coast because it occurred during a perigean spring tide--the highest of the high. When we steamed back into Norfolk two days later--battered but afloat-- we were amazed at the littoral damage. The Chesapeake Lightship had dragged anchor over a mile, while the buoys of Thimble Shoal Channel looked as if they had been set by a drunk. Low sections of Norfolk were flooded by saltwater. Part of the storm's destructiveness was that it was unpredicted. Had this been a hurricane its presence would have been known and advertised, even in 1962; but it was not. It was what New Englanders call a "nor'easter" and one of the worst ever.

Beach Sunset

A picnic spread, two forms supine,

Beneath a sunset red as wine.

An empty beach, two spirits wed,

We lay in the sand as the world turned red.

Alone, we watched the sky's display.

The noisy crowd had gone its way;

All but gulls our tryst had fled,

We lay in the sand as the world turned red.

I spoke my love to the crimson sea;

The sea told the wind, which then whispered to thee.

And while this message 'tween us sped,

We lay in the sand as the world turned red.

We lay in the sand as the world turned red

And offered thanks with words unsaid

To the whispering wind and murmuring surf;

Two hearts at peace with sky and earth.

Ned Mayo

16 August 1993

Pensacola Beach

Rediscovering the Micho Mine

[Author's note: The mine described herein is the Lower Micho Mine on the satellite photo. When I wrote this I was unaware of the Upper Micho Mine and the Old Tree; these are the subjects of another piece below.]

By Ned Mayo for the [Whitefish] Pilot (6 Aug 09)

The Whitefish Range saw little productive mining, but a small abandoned mine sits north of Whitefish, not far from the ski resort on Big Mountain. It's the old Micho Mine, accessible to any hiker willing to climb an uphill half mile through underbrush.

My fondness of maps led me to buy a Whitefish Quadrangle Topographic Map upon moving to Whitefish three years ago. The mine is on the map, located about two miles east of Big Mountain ski resort, at 5600 feet MSL, and near the west bank of a tributary of Second Creek (from which the City of Whitefish draws water).

The mine was found in two sources: The informative history, Stumptown to Ski Town, the Story of Whitefish, Schafer & Engelter, 2003. The second, a report by the Montana Bureau of Mines & Geology (MBMG Report #462 of July 2002).

The Michaud brothers prospected the Whitefish area in the early 20th century, and "Micho" is thought to be a corruption of their French name. Mr. Gurney Moss, former editor of the Whitefish Pilot, wrote in 1964:

"The prospecting by the Micho brothers had been known for some time and produced little excitement, when rumor said there were rich deposits of gold, copper, and silver; one report said assays ... had showed values of $630 per ton in gold ... some free gold nuggets were reported to have been found ... the natives took to the hills in a hurry and located claims in all directions. Unfortunately the dreams of quick wealth faded with the morning, and the Micho Mine became a legend. Until some 25 Years ago [circa 1939] the old shaft with the tailings of rock and earth was easily visible from downtown, and it was a favorite luncheon stop for Boy Scouts on a Saturday hike, but the second growth of timber has hidden the mine from distant view, and likely few 1964 Boy Scouts know that there ever was such a place."

Agents from the Bureau of Mines, checking for mineral leaching, inspected the mine a decade ago and wrote, "The Micho was visited in September 2000 and is located along a southward flowing tributary of Haskill Creek [incorrect - it's Second Creek]. The mine was developed in about 1943 and consists of one adit [entrance portal] and two small pits. The adit was partially caved, and had a small 2' by 6' opening, which extended back into the hillside for about 20 feet. It was dry with no sign of discharge. The mine is located along a non-maintained section of the Micho Pack Trail."

Learning of the mine was easy; getting there was another matter. Old editions of the Whitefish quadrangle show a trail labeled "Micho Pack Trail"; it begins below Haskill Basin, runs north past the Micho Mine, then winds east through the Whitefish Range, ending near South Fork Canyon Creek. This was obviously the path to the Micho Mine and other early claims, but it's not on the current map. On my rambles near the site I could find no remaining trace of a trail.

The mine can best be reached from the south, as it originally was by the lost trail. The current map shows a logging road terminating about a mile south of the mine, on the east side of the creek. But this road is gone or incorrectly located.

The problem was solved by the F.H. Stoltze Land & Lumber Company, which maintains an accurate map of local logging roads. (I obtained a copy from a friend but have heard that maps are available at the company office).

The Stoltze map shows a bridge over the Second Creek tributary, a half mile south of the mine, and here, in late June 2009, I parked my bike and began climbing. It's a tough half mile, with an 800 foot vertical rise. The terrain is rough, but the hardest part is bushwhacking through underbrush and saplings. There's no sign of a trail anywhere. Less than halfway to the mine, in heavy vegetation, I stumbled upon a loop of rusted, wire rope, probably from mining or logging. A few rotted stumps on the lower slope showed old logging, but none were seen in near the claim.

The adit sits at the north end of a man-made ravine, about twelve feet across, five feet deep, and seventy feet long. This declivity, probably associated with the tailings, is the only visible sign of the mine. The adit is overgrown by grass (see photo) and cannot be seen from any distance. There was no sign of human activity, and I might have been one of a few, or perhaps the only person, to have visited since the MBMG survey nine years ago.

The 3 by 4 foot entrance slopes slightly downward, opening into an irregular chamber of 25 feet diameter with almost enough headroom to stand. Having hiked alone and knowing neither the mine's condition nor what might be sleeping within, I made my inspection from the entrance with a flashlight. The chamber was perfectly dry, and, if the mine was originally shored, the supporting timbers are gone.

The Micho Mine was exploratory, and it's unclear what the Michauds hoped to find -- probably anything of value. Gold, silver, and copper were mentioned, but apparently nothing was found.

In fact mining was a bust in the Whitefish area. Wrote Schafer, "Mining was a field in which there was almost constant publicity, repeated sales of stock, intermittent selling of supplies and digging of tunnels. But Micho, Java, North Fork -- they all petered out, and stockholders lost their shirts, their savings, or their spare cash."

There's the question of the mine's age. The MBMG report states it was developed about 1943, but this is unlikely. The Michaud brothers were prospecting prior to 1910, and Mr. Moss's comments also suggest a much earlier date.

Regardless of its age, the mine is there, awaiting a visit from anyone willing to make the climb. It's clearly marked on the current quadrangle map, and for GPS users its coordinates are 48˚29'13.2"N, 114˚19'03.3"W.

Happy Hiking!

Ned Mayo

20 July 2009

The Other Micho Mine

Rediscovering the Micho Mine appeared in the 6 Aug 2009 edition of theWhitefish Pilot. Smug in my belief that I was the expert on local mines, I was soon brought to earth by several long-time locals who informed me that I had stumbled on the smaller and less interesting of two mines. The larger claim is on the same mountain face as the smaller but lies a quarter of a mile NNE and at an elevation 500 ft higher. (See the figure, which is the hiking path transposed from GPS onto Google Earth.)

I reached the upper mine on 22 Sep 09 with Don Stolte, a Whitefish native, as my guide. We parked our bikes at the F.H. Stoltze Land & Lumber Company bridge over Second Creek tributary and hiked northward, bypassing the lower mine, but stopping at the Old Tree.

The old tree, moss covered and long dead, stands on the edge of a rocky cliff and bears carved inscriptions dating from the early 1900s. The photo shows that JRC carved his initials on 3 Sep 1923, probably not knowing that the inscription would outlive him and become an epitaph. Such a monument would not be found in Florida (from where I hail), because dampness, rot, and termites would have it down in a decade.

The entrance to the upper mine is on a steep, rocky slope, facing eastward. Thus it and its obvious streak of tailings cannot be seen from Whitefish. The topography near the mine is so uneven that one cannot figure out where the miners camped. The entrance (see photo) leads into a horizontal, tunnel-like shaft, over 100 feet in length. Above the adit the letter "M" has been chiseled into the rock. The mine cuts through solid granite, unlike the lower, which was dug in a softer, rock-clay composition. Although the upper Micho Mine is larger and more impressive in every respect than the lower, it neither appears on the Whitefish Map, nor does the Montana Bureau of Mines and Geology acknowledge its existence (MBMG Report #462 of Jul 2002).

The oblique satellite photo shows our hike route relative to the topography. Oh yes, for hikers with GPS, the Upper Micho Mine lies at 48˚29'26.1"N; 114˚18'55.7"W, while the snag can be found at 48˚29'16.7"N; 114˚19'09.1W.

Ned Mayo, 18 Sep 09