Here's something you might be interested in.
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True adventures of San Diego
Baja snakebite, Jerry Schad, only shipwreck survivor, San Diego River, parolees lost on Palomar Mountain, Navy's bombing range in Chocolate Mountains
Shane Snider, Mike Baxter. Mike stopped and called out to ask if they shouldn’t go right, but Shane didn’t reply.
La Grulla Meadow
Snakebite
Bob recalls, “I was getting pretty good mouthfuls of blood for a while, then everything seemed to coagulate.” Less than three minutes had elapsed since the time of the bite. He substituted the waist strap from his day pack for the flimsy string tourniquet, then helped Ray walk down to the edge of the water in the arroyo. Though Ray was unusually wobbly, he still reported no pain or swelling, just a faint sensation of numbness throughout his body.
By Jeannette DeWyze, Nov. 6, 1986 Read full article
It was a sharp descent off the ridge, over rotten scree, but Schad soon found a sheep trail to the bottom. As he bounded down the canyon side, he shouted back to me Schad’s Rule of Thumb: “I figure I can go anywhere a sheep can go!”
Life on the crest
The next morning, after just 24 hours in the desert, I must admit I was beginning to wonder about our water situation. We had a little less than a gallon for the two of us, which maybe wasn’t so bad. But Schad’s reputation for self-inflicted torture really had me wondering what I was getting myself into. Also, just thinking about water makes you thirsty. It’s like a Chinese finger puzzle — the more you struggle, the tighter it gets.
By Steve Sorensen April 2, 1987 Read full article
“Sorry as hell about your family. You okay?” “Sure.” “Miracle you made it. Listen, we pulled up a piece of your radar. Caught in our nets off Eureka."
Nightmare of the New Hope
A wave slammed the side of the boat, the shock drowning out the scream of the wind and the thump of the diesel. The New Hope lashed over. Checkers flew. To keep from tumbling, the men gripped the table, white knuckled, silent. For a long moment, the boat lay on her side. Benny hung onto the table stanchion, his feet against the bulkhead. A locker flew open and cans and bottles spilled out, crashing.
By Rick Geist, March 19, 1987 Read Full article
I have decided that if there is any true wilderness left in San Diego County it will probably be found on the San Diego River between the Santa Ysabel Valley and the El Capitan Reservoir.
River run
The river twists and winds even more. I’m trying to go south by heading east, then west. There are places where walking down the river is the only way to go — on both sides are vertical cliffs of water-polished rock. At one point where the water is too deep to wade, I have to climb up the rock, tiptoe across a tiny ledge, then climb back down. I pass creek after creek and realize that I must be getting very close to the reservoir now.
By Steve Sorensen, Oct. 26, 1978 Read full article
The question was whether they could make it in the dark.
The unlikely rescue
Now they stopped again for another smoke. Plainly, they were lost; but worse, it might appear that they were trying to escape. This was not what Shane needed. Mike had served only a third of his six-month sentence; and though he still had his own adjustment hearing to worry about, Shane’s term was halfway up, and something like this, taken the wrong way, could ruin his chance for an early release.
By Joe Applegate, Jan. 11, 1990 Read full article
A few weeks ago, the Marines caught scrap-metal collectors who were sneaking into the range to steal the high-grade aluminum from the bomb Fins; the scrappers were said to have been earning as much as $500 a week.
Reader writer first journalist in Chocolate Mountains
The boundary was well-marked with signs warning people away. The warning was repeated in Spanish, since the back roads of the gunnery range are frequently used by illegal aliens. “We found a group of them out here the other day,” Lohmond said. “Their coyote just pointed them in the direction they were supposed to go and left them. Three of them had already died of heat exhaustion."
By Steve Sorensen, Oct. 27, 1987 Read full article
Here's something you might be interested in.
True adventures of San Diego
Baja snakebite, Jerry Schad, only shipwreck survivor, San Diego River, parolees lost on Palomar Mountain, Navy's bombing range in Chocolate Mountains
True adventures of San Diego
Baja snakebite, Jerry Schad, only shipwreck survivor, San Diego River, parolees lost on Palomar Mountain, Navy's bombing range in Chocolate Mountains
Shane Snider, Mike Baxter. Mike stopped and called out to ask if they shouldn’t go right, but Shane didn’t reply.
La Grulla Meadow
Snakebite
Bob recalls, “I was getting pretty good mouthfuls of blood for a while, then everything seemed to coagulate.” Less than three minutes had elapsed since the time of the bite. He substituted the waist strap from his day pack for the flimsy string tourniquet, then helped Ray walk down to the edge of the water in the arroyo. Though Ray was unusually wobbly, he still reported no pain or swelling, just a faint sensation of numbness throughout his body.
By Jeannette DeWyze, Nov. 6, 1986 Read full article
It was a sharp descent off the ridge, over rotten scree, but Schad soon found a sheep trail to the bottom. As he bounded down the canyon side, he shouted back to me Schad’s Rule of Thumb: “I figure I can go anywhere a sheep can go!”
Life on the crest
The next morning, after just 24 hours in the desert, I must admit I was beginning to wonder about our water situation. We had a little less than a gallon for the two of us, which maybe wasn’t so bad. But Schad’s reputation for self-inflicted torture really had me wondering what I was getting myself into. Also, just thinking about water makes you thirsty. It’s like a Chinese finger puzzle — the more you struggle, the tighter it gets.
By Steve Sorensen April 2, 1987 Read full article
“Sorry as hell about your family. You okay?” “Sure.” “Miracle you made it. Listen, we pulled up a piece of your radar. Caught in our nets off Eureka."
Nightmare of the New Hope
A wave slammed the side of the boat, the shock drowning out the scream of the wind and the thump of the diesel. The New Hope lashed over. Checkers flew. To keep from tumbling, the men gripped the table, white knuckled, silent. For a long moment, the boat lay on her side. Benny hung onto the table stanchion, his feet against the bulkhead. A locker flew open and cans and bottles spilled out, crashing.
By Rick Geist, March 19, 1987 Read Full article
I have decided that if there is any true wilderness left in San Diego County it will probably be found on the San Diego River between the Santa Ysabel Valley and the El Capitan Reservoir.
River run
The river twists and winds even more. I’m trying to go south by heading east, then west. There are places where walking down the river is the only way to go — on both sides are vertical cliffs of water-polished rock. At one point where the water is too deep to wade, I have to climb up the rock, tiptoe across a tiny ledge, then climb back down. I pass creek after creek and realize that I must be getting very close to the reservoir now.
By Steve Sorensen, Oct. 26, 1978 Read full article
The question was whether they could make it in the dark.
The unlikely rescue
Now they stopped again for another smoke. Plainly, they were lost; but worse, it might appear that they were trying to escape. This was not what Shane needed. Mike had served only a third of his six-month sentence; and though he still had his own adjustment hearing to worry about, Shane’s term was halfway up, and something like this, taken the wrong way, could ruin his chance for an early release.
By Joe Applegate, Jan. 11, 1990 Read full article
A few weeks ago, the Marines caught scrap-metal collectors who were sneaking into the range to steal the high-grade aluminum from the bomb Fins; the scrappers were said to have been earning as much as $500 a week.
Reader writer first journalist in Chocolate Mountains
The boundary was well-marked with signs warning people away. The warning was repeated in Spanish, since the back roads of the gunnery range are frequently used by illegal aliens. “We found a group of them out here the other day,” Lohmond said. “Their coyote just pointed them in the direction they were supposed to go and left them. Three of them had already died of heat exhaustion."
By Steve Sorensen, Oct. 27, 1987 Read full article
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