Dear mullentown bloggers:

I could give you 335 reasons why I love my husband. But on this particular day, I love him for his ability to witness a rare moment in nature and to describe it beautifully, and for his interest in keeping this neglected little blog alive. I must say I’m not sure where mullentown is going. I’ve been concentrating nearly full-time on building the City Weekly blog. It’s in its infancy, and like any new baby needs huge attention. I’ve been posting at least once, sometimes twice a day there and am trying to get the rest of the staff to join in regularly, too. Check it out; we’re having great fun.

So … that means in the interest of feeding my blog while I’m crazy-busy with other work, I’ve asked Ted Wilson to share another entry here with you. It’s a lovely piece. The only missing element is photos. And as Ted and Rick explained to me, the scene they witnessed was so far away they could only have seen it through a spotting scope. The average digital camera couldn’t have worked. So you’ll have to rely on Ted’s fine eye for wildlife (he’s been integrally involved in the big outdoors his whole life). Enjoy!

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From Ted Wilson, with help from his friend, Rick Reese:

Yellowstone National Park–Our principal mission last week was the wily Cutthroat trout. But we were sobered while hiking to the Yellowstone River. Suddenly, we found our path dotted with huge fresh grizzly tracks in the mud. It’s the kind of deal that causes you to appreciate the small canister of pepper spray slung on your chest. But, like a soldier hitting the beach, just because you have a weapon your survival is not assured. Most grizzly attacks are so devastatingly swift that putting faith in weaponry is laughable.

We had the “Yellowstone Buzz,” a deep atavistic feeling rattling in your head when you realize you are not at the top of food chain. You know and you fear a creature lurking over the next rise or secluded in a clump of brush whose sheer ferocity and power can heaven-send you like lightning. The Buzz makes Yellowstone even more fascinating and strangely alluring.

So we clattered down the Hellroaring trail on a cloudy October morning yodeling, hooting, and hollering to fend off Old Ephraim. After a nice hike, our fears slid away as we stood alongside the magnificent waterway of the Yellowstone, the longest untamed river in America. The fishing was good and the scenery magnificent, but not the high point of the day.

Exhausted by fishing, we slogged back up the 600 vertical feet to the car and began our drive back to Gardiner, Montana, at Yellowstone’s north gate. I shared the day with old friend Rick Reese, long time Yellowstone expert and former director of the Yellowstone Institute. Rick knows the park as well as his back yard and he encouraged me to pull off the road where several people were already posted with their long-range optical gear.

It was a pretty routine stop. Thousands of people these days take pleasure animal watching in Yellowstone. The grizzly and black bear offer unusual viewing. And the sight of bison, elk, and deer are routine after the 1988 fires that exposed thousands of square miles of wild life forage. The newcomer is the wolf. And, though the animal is wild and elusive, sighting a wolf is now a big time spectator sport that brings many to the LaMar Valley, the Yellowstone River, and other parts of the park.

We didn’t expect more than the usual long range sighting as we approached the watchers. “What have we got?” Rick said in the tone of voice of an expert who has seen hundreds of wildlife sightings over the years. When one guy gushed, “15 wolves and three grizzlies alongside a herd of elk,” Rick’s eyebrows rose in astonishment and skepticism.

But squinting through Rick’s binoculars, we discovered the guy knew his numbers. Exactly three grizzlies and a bunch of wolves were scattered over a sage-covered hillside not more than a half-mile from our passage earlier on the Hellroaring trail near the Yellowstone River.

Even Rick couldn’t mask his excitement and dashed to the car for the spotting scope. A bit stunned, I was thrilled to see my first wolves. As an erstwhile Yellowstone gazer, I’ve spied plenty of bears but wolves had escaped my view in spite of several attempts to spot them.

Rick set up the scope and focused. “You are not going to believe what is going on,” he muttered. Reese is not given to overstatement so my enthusiasm caused me to lean hard against his shoulder to signal my turn squinting through the scope. More people had arrived and leaned over our shoulders to see what was going on.

A full pack of wolves was circling, nipping at the heels, and fully stalking a grizzly bear. I gushed, “How often, Rick, does a pack of wolves try to down a grizzly?” His reaction–now remember, I’m asking a Yellowstone expert of more than three decades–was simply, “I have never seen this before and never heard about it from any of the park biologists.”

The wolf is a serious killer. A carnivore, wolves work together in packs and use strategy to down their prey. No animal in Yellowstone is immune from a wolf pack. Except perhaps the grizzly, an animal so large and so amazingly equipped with size, speed, strength, claws, jaws and teeth to command almost any meal in the park. And here we were seeing first-hand that yes, huge bears do get attacked by wolves.

The wolves were serious and continued their harassment of the bear for a full 30 minutes. The bear was dark and appeared very large though at the distance we were viewing we could not be sure. Perhaps it was young or even sick, causing the wolves their interest. But the bear was moving well, at times kicking back his rear legs, and another time breaking into a lope.

I have no doubt the wolves were out to down the bear and share a meal. Rick thought that improbable and brought up the aspect of play. I’ll leave that to experts. The pack dispatched one wolf to continue to drive the bear down the hill while the rest circled to set a trap. When the bear slammed into the circlers, he merely brushed by and carried on his way. No wolf ventured forth to set his teeth into bear fur.

Rick said if the wolves attacked, his money was on the bear. That calculation may have occurred to the wolves, too. They eventually dispersed and allowed the bear a chance to rest.

Off to the side of the main circus, another grizzly hunkered down behind a rise stalking the elk herd. Rick said the main tactic was for the bear to charge the herd to see which elk did not run well because of youth or illness. The unfortunate, slow elk makes a meal for a hungry bear about ready to enter the winter den. The grizzly has been very active feeding recently in the park because of poor forage from a sweltering summer. We saw no charge of the bear.

We packed up our scope and drove back to Gardiner through a spectacular sunset. Today, I feel like I have just watched the classic movie, Jaws. Many years ago, after seeing that film, I felt a creepy little buzz in my shower the next morning. As if the teeth of that massive Jaws shark were going to come up the drain and grab me. This morning, I looked into my back yard and I was sure I saw a grizzly stalking behind the fitzers and the chestnut tree.

Ted and I are flying out to Maui in about 30 minutes. Nothing like Hawaiian sun and long, sandy beaches to recover from a hard loss.

Not so hard, really. Jenny Wilson, my fabulous stepdaughter, waged a great campaign for Salt Lake City mayor. That’s all I’ll say here. This Wilson family is spectacular. We wanted Jenny to win. She didn’t. We support her fully and watched a very mature and graceful woman concede last night to Dave Buhler and Ralph Becker.

She has a Salt Lake County Council seat to return to, two adorable little boys and a fine husband. And a strong political future, I’ve no doubt.

I’m so very proud of her.

As to Maui, I’m not taking a laptop. I debated about even taking a phone. Just books, a few pairs of shorts, my bicycle gear and the man I love.

See you back here, I hope, on Sept. 21.

Aloha.

We got word about an hour ago that our dear friend and political and professional mentor, J.D. Williams, died last night at his home in Holladay, Utah. He had been fighting cancer for more than a year.

J.D.’s lovely wife and lifelong love, Bea, called Ted to deliver the news. J.D. was 81 and died peacefully with family nearby.

It’s the end of an era, for sure.

I took an introductory political science class from J.D. (everyone called John Daniel Williams by his initials) in 1979. P.S. 110 was held in a huge classroom, with desks arranged row upon row of semi-circles. He had a seating chart, but knew our names in less than a week.

I’m having trouble writing this. Ted and I knew J.D.’s life was coming to a close, we had spoken to him just a few weeks ago. But knowing what is coming never makes the end any easier.

J.D. inspired thousands of college students at the University of Utah (and Stanford and Harvard, too) to plant their feet in democracy. His was a roll up your sleeves approach to living in this great country. He taught practical politics with an emphasis on ethics. He once said of his former student, Karl Rove, that Karl got the politics education right, but he had missed out on the ethics.

On the personal side, J.D. and Bea took Ted and I to dinner on the eve of our wedding three years ago. It was a lovely June evening in Millcreek Canyon and we dined at Log Haven. They kept telling us what a treat it was seeing the two of us together. J.D.’s blue eyes sparkled. He loved sweets; especially rich desserts. That night we four shared creme brulee and dense chocolate cake.

In days to come people will be eulogizing J.D. in much more refined ways than I can. I’ve lost a committed teacher and friend. The country has lost a true patriot. This nearly one-party state has lost a liberal firebrand who helped keep it honest.

I’m deeply saddened by this loss but grateful beyond words for the time I had with this man. I love J.D. Williams.

OK. OK. I’ve been swamped. Been ignoring this blog again. And some of the most loyal posters on this blog have spoken. They want to discuss the mess surrounding Larry Craig, the U.S. Republican senator from our neighbor to the north and the growing sex scandal enveloping him.

I can’t say I’m surprised. The Idaho Statesman has been chasing down a story about Craig and his long-rumored latent homosexuality for nearly a year. The story has been referred to often in the past couple of days, but in case you missed it, go here. I think the Statesman story nails the issue (so to speak), and it’s a good example of how news outlets frequently have the germ of a story for a long time before an event like Craig’s attempt at a public restroom tryst with a Minneapolis undercover cop breaks and allows them to publish. The Statesman got the goods; good on them. Sometimes the gods of breaking news just smile down on your newspaper and grant you an opportunity to finally tell the full story. So it was with Craig, and news that pretty much proves the gay orientation he has been denying for so long — even as late as yesterday.

So. The man is 62, an ultra-conservative in an ultra-conservative state who has built a Senate career largely on morals crusading. Never seen this plot line before, have we? I’m not sure what I could add. That the Craig scandal is deeply creepy? That, as Mitt Romney, whom Craig was working for in Idaho, says, it’s “disappointing?”

Hmm. I’d say it’s more than disappointing. “Disappointing” is when you’re 12-year-old breaks the neighbor’s window with an errant baseball and lies to you about it. “Disappointing” is when your husband forgets your wedding anniversary.

What is it then? Honestly, it’s crushingly sad. I could get all high and mighty the way so many Repubs did (including our own Utah congressional delegation) when Bill Clinton got caught “not having sex with that woman.” Most mortals who slip up now and again would admit to a bit of glee when a man like Craig gets snared in his own trap of humiliating hypocrisy.

The deeply sad part is the shame Craig must have lived with for god knows how many years. It’s almost a full-time job, I’d imagine, running on a “family values” platform every six years, and headlining conferences with speeches against the “gay agenda.” I can only imagine the self-hatred it must require to try to bring home the bacon from D.C. for your home state while simultaneously making quick side trips to public bathrooms, looking for a blow job from some anonymous male.

One gay activist quoted in a news story earlier this week talked about the way closeted people like Craig live in steady denial about their homosexuality by claiming they only have occasional “urges” for gay sex. Ergo, they aren’t gay, couldn’t possibly be gay, and why would anyone think for a minute they might be gay? An “urge” is just something that happens. You can’t control them.

So I have to think of the old saw: If it acts like a duck, quacks like a duck, it must be … a GAY man by the name of Sen. Larry Craig.

Man, if we could simply be true to ourselves, knowing that society would accept us for who and what we are. Sorry if I sound like a Care Bear or Mr. Rogers. But really. Think of the pain and suffering living his truth might have saved Craig’s wife, his family and everyone else caught in his fallout. But mostly himself.

What do you all think?

I am 50 today.

It’s a huge birthday, I know.

What I keep wondering is just how am I supposed to feel?

Older? Wiser? Grateful? Relieved?

Mostly, I feel a little blurry. (And not simply because my terrific staff at City Weekly treated me with a rich chocolate birthday cake and a magnum of champagne at 2:15 p.m. today at our weekly meeting. Don’t worry. We split it among 10 people.)

The blurry is about not remembering scores of important … things. I can’t, for instance, remember my two children back when they were helpless little things. I have to look at photos for that. Luckily, while digging through an old blanket chest a few days ago, I turned up a stack of old 4X5 photos taken hours after each of them was born. There is Kit, with the crooked fourth toe on her left foot. And Sam, with a dimple in his chin, just like my dad’s — the grandpa who died long before he was born and who is also becoming more of a blur for me, sadly.

If living in the moment is a gift, I guess I am gifted. Because I can’t remember the moments of the past I never thought I’d forget.

And I just don’t feel 50, whatever that is.

I have to do a little bragging on someone near and dear to me.

Nineteen-year-old daughter Kit and her blogging partner, Holly (that’s another one, and much younger), will be front and center at this event later in the month. This is a back-to-school marketing event for which they are mucho
excited.

Kit and Holly have been nurturing this blog since last winter. Devoted to the niche (and some might say it’s non-existent) of Salt Lake City street fashion, Kit and Holly are finally seeing their effort pay off. If you go to the Black Chandelier site, you will see Kit on the right, Holly on the left. Kit bought that amazing faux-fur hat with pom-pom strings on eBay last year.

Watch out for these women. They have a future and are powerful indeed.

I just finished a telephone interview with Missy Larsen, executive director of Planned Parenthood Action Council for Utah. PPAC is the political action committee for Planned Parenthood, and has the legal authority to lobby state legislatures and Congress on family planning and abortion rights measures.

Here in Utah, when the Legislature tries to roll back the clock on women’s reproductive rights to the Mesozoic Era, it’s typically PPAC workers who show up and try to gently talk them out of it. They’re already gearing up for another fight come January, when state legislators are expected to take another spin at overturning Roe vs. Wade.

Missy tipped me off to one of the latest Utah myths concerning sex she’s heard through her line of work (and in this state she hears plenty of them). It’s called “floating.” Apparently, more than a few teenagers and even some college students believe it — the idea being that if you put a penis inside a vagina and then hold very, very still — it doesn’t really count as sex.

“Floating” is such a popular notion in Utah culture it even got a mention in this year’s version of Saturday’s Voyeur, the annual spoof on Utah culture by the Salt Lake Acting Company. Now that’s some street cred for a stupid urban myth, eh?

Sometimes I just want to go plum insane.

I just got back at 3 a.m. today from a long weekend in Denver with my son Sam, the best 16-year-old in the world. Flew over, watched two Colorado Rockies vs. L.A. Dodgers games and came home on Amtrak’s California Zephyr. I took no laptop, answered no voice or e-mails. I’ll write more tomorrow. Just wanted y’all to know we are alive and had our fill of major league baseball. And I really relished those railroad geeks we met on board who swear they will never travel by any other means than trains. And newly converted to train travel as I am, I’m starting to understand the romance of it all!

Just got an e-mail from a relative noting some great gossip from her friend’s Mormon ward: A 56-year-old member just announced her engagement to a 21-year-old male (he’s a friend of her youngest son).

I’m 18 years younger than my hubby.

But this?

What say y’all?

I’ve spent more time than I should admit publicly reading day-after stories on-line about “The Sopranos” damn fine final episode.

Here is a fairly pedestrian story from the Associated Press, which in the best wire story style tracks down the usual “expert quote” to sum up the existential ending to the HBO gangsters-doing-life series.

I’d say that ending the show the way creator David Chase did was masterful, and a lot of the critics agree. We Tivo-ed the show last night because we had evening plans, so we watched it after 10 p.m. Sunday. I went to bed with that last image of Tony Soprano’s face and then the blast-to-black image on the TV screen that ended it all for us. I tossed and turned and kept replaying Steve Perry’s voice on Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” in my mind every time I woke up.

This is what good television does. It keeps you replaying it all, summarizing it all, thinking it over and trying to make sense of it. If TV could produce a great American novel, I’d say it came in the form of “The Sopranos.” That’s just how powerfully it affected me and obviously, millions of other viewers who pay premium prices to zoom in weekly on the human condition–however violent and deeply touching it might be in the very same episode.

This is the best analysis of the long-running show I’ve read. Remnick never writes a bad column, and this is one of his finer pieces.

So now it’s on to–yeehaw–”Big Love.” City Weekly TV god Bill Frost says this, in its own charming way, is the replacement for “The Sopranos.” A great season is in store, Bill says. Don’t hang your hats on “John From Cinncinatti,” which seems very strange and takes too long to explain to us why strange is a good thing. (Bill has seen the first few episodes and says the strangeness won’t be explained quickly enough to keep people interested in a whole season.)

Let me and the rest of mullentown readers know what you think of “The Sopranos” arrivederci episode. And if you love “Big Love” as many of we mullentown readers do, what did you think of the season premiere?