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Annually, the University of Nevada, Reno, and the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, square off for the rights to maintain a replica of the Frémont cannon, which was left by the expedition in a canyon back in 1844. It is arguably the most expensive cross-state trophy in the nation.

During a television interview, UNR football coach Chris Ault claimed the replica “is the cannon left by General John C. Frémont.” He’s wrong on both counts because, like many others, he doesn’t know is that it may have been found years ago.

Frémont was a Second Lieutenant when he passed through Northern Nevada on this, his second trip. What makes the Frémont Cannon trophy so much more than a trophy is lore surrounding the original cannon — which is supposedly still lost somewhere in the hills near Bridgeport, California.

All rivalry aside — there is some doubt to the story that the cannon remains lost. The metallic remains from the carriage are on display at the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest Ranger Station in Bridgeport, where it has been since 2006.

In 1997, an iron tire from a wheel of a cannon carriage was found near Deep Creek, off Burcham Flat Road. Surveyor and historian Bud Uzes used the maps and descriptions left by the 1844 expedition to re-trace their route through the Walker River area to make the discovery.

However, he didn’t find the barrel before his passing in 2006. Yet there may be a reasonable explanation for this: it may already be in the Nevada State Museum in Carson City. If not, then the story of two kids fishing in the area of Deep Creek having seen a brass tube shortly after a flood are correct.

While this goes back to the 1960s, it’s the same area where the artifacts displayed at the ranger station were found. Either way, the tube would be a venerated artifact for Nevadans who hold the Frémont Expedition as a watershed moment in the state’s history.

My wife and I had been dating a few months when we were invited to Mom’s for dinner. Since we lived in Arcata and Mom in Fortuna, we had to drive through the city to get there.

As I pulled to a stop at the traffic light near the Humboldt County jail, I saw a young woman step off the side-walk on my left side. One of the first things I noticed about her was how skinny her waist was, followed by how large her breasts were and finally how cute she appeared in the face.

I’m a dog — I admit as much.

My eyes followed her from the side-walk on my left side to the side-walk on my right side. That’s when I suddenly noticed I was looking my future wife dead in the eyes.

Her reaction surprised me. She slugged me dead-center in the chest so hard that it knocked the wind out of me and left a bruise to boot on my sternum.

I had it coming.

The ticket agent was busy with a couple at the window — so I took the chance and stepped inside the doorway. I figured if I got caught, I’d jus’ claim I was only going to use the restroom.

I managed to walk straight through the lobby and into the theater.

It took me a second to find a couple of adults that I could sit next to and look as if I was with them, that way no one would question why a kid was being allowed to see such a movie. I had jus’ sneaked into to see, “The Exorcist.”

Dumb move on my part — but I was being controlled by my hormones rather than my brain. I had heard so many things about the cute actress, Linda Blair and her topless scene that I didn’t give much thought to the fact it was a scary movie.

In fact I never saw much of the show as I spent much of my time hiding behind the seat back in front of me. And to this day I have never seen the supposed topless scene I had heard so much about as a young teen.

I’ve also never sneaked into a movie theater since.

We followed the dark red Volvo, with the two large dogs in the back, up to the entrance of the California Agriculture Station at the Nevada state line on 395. We stopped as the officer and driver of the Volvo spoke.

He then waved them through and it was our turn.

From an early age I had always heard people refer to the Ag Station in a more colorful term: Bug Station. I have since deduced this change in nomenclature has to do with the fact the officers are on the look out for rotted fruits and vegetables that often harbor insects.

He asked, “Where are you headed?”

“To Bodie, for the day,” I answered.

“Have a good day,” he responded as he waved us through.

As I stepped on the gas pedal, I replied, “Will do and thanks.”

Jus’ as I passed through the other side of the building I saw something fall from the roof and land on the hood of my truck. As I slowed to get a better look at that something, I realized it was a large tan-color Praying Mantis.

Obviously the mantis was making good his escape.

It was a couple of hours into my overnight shift when I decided check on vehicles in the parking lot. As I stepped out the door, I saw two teenage boys trying to get into the RV which is our mobile broadcast station.

“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled.

One of the kids decided to run away. The other stood there, jus’ looking at me.

Honestly, I couldn’t tell if he was simply too surprised to move or if he was sizing me up. It soon became apparent he was preparing to challenge me.

He lifted the front of his shirt to show he had what looked to be a semi-automatic pistol tucked in his waistband. His friend grew brave again and returned to his pal’s side.

It was obvious he didn’t have the moxie to draw down on me – if he had, he would have done it already. I started seeing red!

Being about ten-feet away from the two – I decided to return the challenge. Besides, in my right hand I had my trusty K-Bar knife, still sheathed, but available if needed.

Years ago I cut the belt holder and snap from the top of the sheath as I tend never to wear it on my belt anymore – carry it in my left hand. It also makes it easier to draw the knife from the sheath when needed.

As we stood there, facing-off, the kid with the pistol turned and spoke to his friend and the two laughed. That’s when I let gun-boy have it with my knife.

Now I’ve never been very good at sticking my knife in an object by throwing it. So it’s very rare that I’ll try heaving it at anything – until that moment.

Like normal, the butt-end of the knife hit first, bouncing off gun-boy’s left temple and he fell to the pavement. I heard the pistol tumble from his pants as he sprawled on the ground.

His buddy bolted again – racing away into the dark. I was also running – following my knife to its target.

Before the teen could figure out what happened, I had both his pistol and my K-Bar in hand. I can’t recall seeing anyone disappear that quickly as I saw him get up and vamoose across the parking lot.

As returned to the station doorway, I realized the weapon was nothing more than a metal toy. Furthermore, it dawned on me I had forgotten to remove the sheath from my knife before I chucked it at the kid’s head.

Oopsie!

As a radio-news broadcaster, having a good set of headphones is important to the job. That’s why I decided to buy myself a new pair as my older ones were nearly finished.

However, for the second time in less than a year, I have lost a set of pricey headphones to the dogs. I say dogs, because I cannot be certain it was Roxy alone this time as I came home to see three of the four playing tug-of-war with their remainder of the set.

Without thinking about it, I left them setting on the arm of my chair and in reach of a snooping, wet nose. I’m considering this as much my fault as theirs in this case.

The bad thing is — I never even got to use them.

It’s like a kick in the gut when I hear news someone I loved as a human and as a friend has passed away. This morning I learned my ageless friend, Shelly Sheppard has died.

Shelly and I go back to 1990, when we first met over a hot mic at KROW Country 780. We were co-hosts of a Sunday night radio program specializing in real old-fashioned cowboy music and poetry.

She was into performing — acting with the Reno Little Theater, the American Shakespeare Theatre in Connecticut, and doing musicals in Las Vegas.  Shelly also performed folk music and was an announcer at Harrah’s.

Shelly was 13-years my senior — but we made a real connection with one another.

One of the things Shelly and I would do on this six-hour program was tell homey-stories about our childhoods. We had the crazy idea that this made some pretty good radio and the number of calls told us we may have been right at the time.

The day I was let go from KROW, she was very upset and we ended up sitting in the station’s parking lot at Grove and Wrondel, talking about it. She wanted to quit and I refused to let her — after all this is sometimes what happens in radio.

Eventually, Shelly left KROW and landed a job at KRNO a few blocks over in Reno-town and on the FM dial, rather than the AM dial. At KRNO she hosted a weekend call-in show involving love songs, which was a popular venue.

Those we’re some great times in my life — but this morning however, with the news of Shelly’s death — I feel as if I’m simply marking time and awaiting my turn.

Frankly, I never got into J.R.R. Tolkien’s work – to meaty for my primitive mind — I prefer Louis L’amour and such. But my best friend in the Air Force found his work fascinating.

In fact Dave Barber was so enthralled with “Lord of the Rings,” that he set himself down and eventually learned to write in the Elvish language Tolkien had developed but never set to form. I was and remain extremely impressed with Dave’s tenacity.

All this came to mind when he posted a cartoon that read, “It turns out Rosetta Stone doesn’t have Klingon.” I couldn’t help responding with, “They don’t have Elvish either.”

As it happened, I had jus’ pulled out an old letter Dave had written me after I was booted from the service. On the back of the envelope was an inscription that I recognized as letter-forms he had been working on before I left the base.

What they mean or if they were even meant for me or perhaps a girlfriend has always been a question in my mind. And after so long, Dave has no answers to this either.

I think it would be nice if Rosetta Stone did have Elvish language lessons — but then were not in Middle Earth, are we?

Spanish Springs 2011 — A soldier with ties to Northern Nevada has been killed in action.  U.S. Army Spc. Garrett Fant died September 26 in Afghanistan.

He attended high school in South Lake Tahoe where his mother still lives.  Fant intended to return to the area to teach at the high school.

He died due to injuries sustained from an improvised explosive device while on patrol in southern Afghanistan’s Kandahar Province.  Fant was on his first deployment with the 4th Squadron, 4th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Heavy Brigade Combat Team, 1st Infantry Division.

He was assigned to Fort Riley, Kansas. Fant enlisted in March 2009 where he earned the Combat Infantryman’s Badge, NATO Medal, Afghanistan Campaign Medal with one Campaign Star, and the Army Service Ribbon during his time in service.

He’s survived by his parents; a brother, who is serving in the Marines and is currently stationed in San Diego; and a sister and will be buried at Happy Homestead Cemetery in South Lake Tahoe. A memorial for is being planned but the details are still in the works.

All I did was go into the station’s kitchen for some coffee. What I saw stopped me in my tracks and sent cold, sweaty chills racing through my body.

After backing out of the doorway, I quickly made my way to the other side of the building to find my co-worker, Boogie. I wanted him to see what I’d found and to make sure he wasn’t playing some sort of joke.

He followed me to the kitchen. His reaction was pretty much the same as mine — instant chills and goosebumps.

Boogie then went to find his supervisor, whom I didn’t know was in the building. He had him go look in the kitchen.

“Ah, this is bulls*t,” we heard him exclaim.

Even though he saw it with his own two eyes, he thinks we’re nuts. What he seen was every drawer and cupboard standing wide-open in the kitchen.

So if he didn’t do it, Boogie didn’t do it and I didn’t do it and we didn’t have an earthquake — who did?