One morning I decided I was going to try to do something I had never done before. I was going to make myself a dead-fall trap.

With that in mind I found myself a good length of rope from our shed and I took it up into the woods with me. Next I found a trail to set my trap up on.

I tossed the rope over a high branch of a tree and tied it off to a large log.

It took me a longer than I thought it would to get the log up ended and leaning against the tree. It must have weighed a couple hundred pounds.

After getting the log balanced I set about creating a figure-four trigger. It took me a number of tries to get it to stay in place when the log was moved away from the tree.

Finally, I found the perfect balancing point between the trigger and the log. Satisfied with my work, I stepped back to look at what I had done.

It was like watching a slow-motion movie — as the log topple backward and the loop popped off the ground as the trigger fell apart. I jumped as I high as I could to avoid the loop as it flew underneath me.

I couldn’t jump high enough — fast enough.

The loop grabbed me by the calf of my left leg and I found myself flipped upside down, zooming skyward. I heard the log collapse on the ground and I suddenly stopped moving towards the branch the rope was hanging over.

It would take me about 20 minutes to finally gather the courage to cut the rope and set myself free — after all I was about 35 feet above the ground, hanging upside down. Unfortunately, I didn’t drop in slow-motion.

I’ve always imagined some old buck  — having seen me get caught in my own trap — laughing at my folly.

Kay purchased a new bedside alarm clock shortly after her old one stopped working. It has easy to see numbers with a nice back-light and a gentle-sounding buzz that won’t jar a person from their sleep.

She set the time and the alarm and tested the new clock out the day before she put it to use for the first time. Unfortunately she didn’t hear it go off that morning because she also sleeps with a fan to drown out background noise made by others still up and knocking around after she’s in bed.

When she awoke, she realized she had less than five-minutes to get ready, get out of the house and get on the road before she’d be late for work. Later, when she returned home, she said she made it out of the house in about four-minutes and still managed to make it to work with around ten-minutes to spare.

The she added, “But the strangest thing happened to me on my last break as I was getting out of the restroom.”

I waited.

“I realized something was odd about my pants,” she continued, “They felt funny as I pulled them up and that when I noticed…”

Kay paused, “They were on backwards!”

“What?” I asked, not certain if I had heard her correctly.

“Yeah, they were on backwards most of the day!” she returned.

Then she explained, “I decided to wear my slip-on jeans, you know, the ones that are like a pair of sweat pants?”

“I know what you’re talking about,” I said.

When she first bought them, I had teased her that they looked sort of like the kind of pants a parent would buy for their toddler. They don’t have a real fly or front pockets in them and slide on even over bulky diapers.

Then she chuckled, “The worst part is nobody realized the fake zipper thingy was in the back and I walked around work all day like that.”

It was conversation I wasn’t supposed to hear, but since the window was open I couldn’t help it. I was sitting at my desk, writing.

This involved two pre-teen boys, one about ten the other perhaps 12. They were talking about a nine-year old girl they knew at school.

The pair was walking along the sidewalk curb, their arms out from their sides, balancing themselves. The younger of the two following the older.

“So you dared her to show you and she did?” the ten-year old asked with incredulity.

“Yup,” the 12-year old replied with confidence.

“Then what do you mean they’re boring?” the younger boy asked his buddy as they walked by my house.

The older of the two shrugged, then answered, “If you’ve seen one set of boobs – you’ve seen them all!”

“Oh,” was the understanding reply from the ten-year-old.

We were simply to go to the state building downtown, drop off some water samples and return to the office. But Dave Barber and I didn’t listen to what we were told.

Instead we decided to visit one of our favorite places – a local pawn shop. We had been there before and I had my eye on a set of practice samurai swords.

The swords were made of wood and perfect for practicing martial arts at the base gym across from our barracks. I was doing my best to save up 30-bucks to buy a set.

Once inside I asked to hold the large katana sword. It felt perfectly balanced in my hand and reminded me of the many days I had spent training with one at the air base as well as while attending night school.

“You don’t even know what to do with it,” Dave said, making fun of me as I must have looked like I was drooling over the piece of carved wood.

That’s when I decided to show him — as smoothly and as swiftly as I could I sliced through the air, displaying my skill. Then for the climax I decided to complete the show with what is commonly called a “Thunder cut.”

Crash! Smash! Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle…

Suddenly I found myself standing under a shower of glass and dust. I sliced right through four fluorescent tubes jus’ above my head.

I thought Dave was going to pee himself from laughing at me.

And while the shop’s owner let me off – saying he understood how accidents happen – the next time we came in, I saw a small sign by the display case that read: “No swinging swords while in store.”

She was a prostitute during the late 19th century and very early 20th century who lived in Virginia City and Bodie, California. Legend says she was selflessly nursing sick miners during an epidemic and succumbed to the illness herself.

Because of this, Rosa May has been referred to as the “hooker with a heart of gold.”

Her parents were Irish immigrants. In 1871 she ran away from her home in Pennsylvania  and between 1871 to 1873, began her career of prostitution.

It appears that she started in the trade while living in New York City, and then drifted through Colorado and Idaho. She first appears in Virginia City in 1873, where worked in brothels throughout the Carson City, Reno, and Virginia city areas.

From 1873 to 1888, the majority of her time was spent in Virginia City where she worked for madam, Cad Thompson, a.k.a. Sarah Higgins. Rosa was often was left in charge during Cad’s trips to San Francisco.

Between 1888 through the early 1890s, she traveled to and from Bodie and eventually settled there in 1893. Land records from 1902 show that Rosa purchased a house in Bodie’s “Red Light District,” for $175, back up against the “Celestial section,” of town as the Chinese were known.

Letters, diaries, and other writings suggest she was a charming person, took an interest in others, but was somewhat volatile emotionally. There appears to have been a serious or traumatic event in her early years but no record exists of what it could have been.

While she first appears in the 1900 census records — there are no records of Rosa May living in Bodie after the 1910 census. This lack of a paper trail has left many historians to speculate what became of her.

Bodie was declining rapidly during the period that Rosa May disappears, and it may be that she left the area in search of greener pastures. Her supposed resting place in Bodie is a popular tourist destination for those exploring Bodie State Park.

While there is a headstone with her name on it located outside of Bodies’s cemetery proper, it is believed not to be marking her actual resting place. The only evidence that she is buried in Bodie is a photo illustrating the Rosa May piece from Ella Cain’s 1950’s book, “The Story of Bodie.”

This photo shows a decrepit wooden fence surrounding an otherwise unmarked grave. Since Ella Cain’s biographical sketch of Rosa May is mostly fiction, it is likely the photo was chosen for its picturesque qualities.

In her book, Cain relates the story of the epidemic and Rosa succumbing to the same illness that had stricken the miners for whom she was caring. Other resident’s accounts and external records refute that there was any type of epidemic during the winter of 1911-1912.

Author George Williams III conducted an exhaustive search in the 1970’s for Rosa May’s death records, he found nothing.  His research is well documented in the book, “Rosa May: The Search for A Mining Camp Legend.”

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!