Qinghai

Qinghai province of China is a large province in western china between the rest of China and Tibet. It has been fought over between the Tibetans and Chinese for centuries. Although it is culturally Tibetan and over 50% of the people are Tibetan it is currently ruled by China. The provincial capital is Xining.


Qinghai lake is a large lake outside of Xining at an altitude of 11,000+ feet. There is a Tibetan cultural center there, which is a good introduction to Tibet, and a good way to get some acclimatization to the high altitude. This lake reminds me of Bear Lake along the Utah-Idaho border.


The above picture is the entrance to the Tibetan Cultural Center. The monument is a chorten, which are quite common in Tibet and started in India as stupas. They are sort of a reliquary, or at least that's how they started. This is different from most, with a different top. It is home to a snow lion on the base, like many chortens.



The above photo is of a Tibetan nomad tent. We saw some of these from the train in the distance, but not close enough to photograph. We thought about getting one for Matt and Sarah(daughter and son-in-law), but couldn't figure out how to get it in our suitcase(limited to 40 pounds}. Matt would dominate medieval war games with this tent.



This tent is also a nomad tent, much more common than the blue and white ones. I believe it is made from yak hair.



This is a shrine of some sort, with prayer flags hanging from a pole behind the icon.
Prayer flags are very common, of different sorts, hanging from sticks around the country side, from houses and associated with shrines and chortens.



Red cheeked Tibetan baby. The red cheeks are very common, in adults as well. This is due to dryness and increased exposure to ultra-violet light at high altitude.



This is a Tibetan iris, the only native flower we saw. The altitude precludes much in the way of flowers.



This is a classic Tibetan chorten. Note the snow lions. This top is typical, with the globe and crescent.



This is another classic--prayer flags on a tall pole. This is actually next to the chorten shown above. Qinghai Lake, in the background,is a salt water lake that has fish in it. It is sacred to the Tibetan Buddhists.

The Last Great Act of Defiance

Some 12 years ago, as has been stated here, I underwent a double coronary bypass or CABG, to use the medical shorthand. There is no doubt as to the necessity of the procedure and I am very grateful to the internist who insisted I get the pain checked out, the cardiologist, the surgeon and all the technicians and nurses who took care of me. Except one.

As I recall the surgery was mid-morning. Afterwards I was placed in the cardiac surgery ICU, IVs and various other tubes in various orifices. That night they had me in the ICU in a semi-upright position, still with all the tubes in place. Although breathing on my own the endotracheal tube was in my trachea so I couldn't talk.

ICUs are very busy places with many nurses, techs of various persuasions, clerks, etc on hand. Sometime during the night an x-ray tech appeared at the foot of my bed with a clipboard in hand. He looked at the clipboard, then at me, then at the clipboard again and said "Brown. Chest x-ray.....and enema." Not being Brown and definitely not needing an enema I communicated the only way I could. I shook my head and gave him the middle finger salute. The ICU exploded with laughter. I guess this particular tech was a well known smart ass, and people were happy to see him get a bit of his own back.

I remember this particular incident very well. The next night I was still in the ICU but the endotracheal tube had been removed so I could talk. When the shift changed a nurse came up to me and introduced herself as the nurse who would be my nurse for the next shift. I asked her if she had been on duty the night before. She got a big grin on her face and said "No, but I heard!"

More than a year later I went back to that same ICU to do a photoshoot for a book. I asked the head nurse if she remembered me and the incident. She smiled and said "You bet I do." So for a while anyway I was fabled in song and story around the ICU.

My last great act of defiance. So far.

Yarlung Tsampo River

The Yarlung Tsampo River is the highest major river in the world. It begins in western Tibet and runs east through the South Tibet Valley which is on the north edge of the Himalayas. The river begins at the western end of this valley at an altitude of 14,764 feet. The valley is 746 miles long. At the eastern end it is at an altitude of 9842 feet. At the eastern end the river makes a sharp bend to the south and flows through the Himalayas in the deepest canyon in the world. Emerging from the Himalayas in India, where it is known as the Brahmaputra, it flows into the sea near the outlet to the Ganges. This canyon is little known and little explored. It is one of the wildest places on earth. A few years ago an expert kayaker from the University of Utah was killed in this canyon. He was part of a National Geographic expedition which did not complete their exploration. I believe that there has been only one party complete an exploration of the gorge.

This valley with the Yarlung Tsampo River is the cradle of Tibetan civilization. This is where the first people who came to Tibet settled; it is where the first monastery was established and where the first king built the first castle. It is also the area where Buddhism first took hold.

Virtually all the arable land in Tibet is in this valley. As you can see the valley is narrow and does not provide much space for crops. As a result the diet is quite different from many third world countries. Meat is plentiful while fruit and veggies are expensive as most must be imported.

The river and valley are quite beautiful. When we were there the weather was beautiful and the river generally very blue. We were told by our Tibetan guide that the preferred method of burial was to have your body placed in the river.This could only be done for the "worthy", however, whatever that means.

We crossed the river by ferry to get to the Samye monastery, the oldest and first monastery in Tibet. There is an alleged road from Lhasa to Samye which few people use as it is rough and takes most of a day to traverse 70 miles or less. Tibetans and tourists alike use the ferry.

The ferry boats are flat bottomed wooden boats propelled by a 2 cycle engine driving a fan belt to a propeller mechanism. The river at this point is wide with numerous sand bars which have to be gone around. As a result the ferry ride takes about a 1 and 1/2 hours.

Coming back the ferry was chock a block with Tibetans packing kids, boxes and baskets.

We gave a little boy an apple which he was delighted with. We never felt unsafe; it was kind of cool to be using the same transportation as the locals.


To see more photos visit my website here

Potala Palace

The Potala Palace is the home of the Dalai Lama and seat of the Tibetan government, at least before the Chinese took over and the Dalai Lama went into exile(1959). The white portion was built in 1649 and the red in 1694. There have been many additions/changes in the intervening years, with each new Dalai Lama making embellishments. Prior to the Chinese takeover there were about 1000 monks living there; now there are about 400. It sits on a hill in Lhasa and is one of the architectural wonders of the world.

During the cultural revolution propagated by Mao Tse Tung many Tibetan cultural monuments were damaged or destroyed by the Red Guards. Our guide and some of the guide books say that the Potala Palace was not damaged because Chou En Lai sent his personal army to surround it and protect it from the Red Guards.

The Potala Palace was its own little world with kitchen, numerous rooms, an apartment for the Dalai Lama, a jail, many chapels and accommodations for the government.

There are strict quotas for the number of visitors allowed per day as well as for the amount of time allowed to be inside. We were required to make an appointment, deliver our passports and were allowed one hour inside the Palace. No photography is permitted inside. One must walk up 354 steps to get to the entrance. Fortunately the steps are not steep and are broken up by ramps. The altitude as you begin this climb is about 12,500 feet.

The inside was confusing and seemed like a giant maze to me as we moved from room to room and floor to floor. We were taken to the Dalai Lama's apartment where the guide proclaimed on the simplicity of it. I suppose one could look at it that way; it was heavily endowed with fabrics on walls, bed, etc. I did wonder a bit at the simplicity theme as the table settings(dinner service) were solid gold. As I remember it was rectangular and perhaps 15 by 30 feet.

When you come out of the Palace you travel a different path and are able to see some of the architectural details closeup. To see more photos go to my website.

David

David and I were first cousins and as thick as thieves when we had the opportunity. We lived in the same town only briefly, but whenever we got together we picked up where we left off as if we'd never been apart. There was only six months difference in our ages. His mother and my mother were sisters, and our families got together quite regularly, even if we were states apart.

During WWII while my father was overseas my mother and I lived with her parents in a small town in Utah, Brigham City. David and his mother came to visit once that I remember. We would have been about four years old. I don't remember much about the visit except that it was great. We visited them in Phoenix six months to a year later; that I do remember. We went to a drive in theater to see Snow White. I remember when the witch appeared in the mirror I was scared to death. This was the same kid who ran from the theater screaming in fear when King Kong filled the screen. This time I did not run. With David present I couldn't lose face, even if that witch eliminated both of us. At least we'd croak together.

For several years following the war my family lived in southern Idaho; David and his family always lived in Phoenix. Both of our families usually went to Brigham City for one or two weeks at the same time every summer. This continued until we were out of high school. We would go hiking, fishing, shooting, hunting, play foot ball(scrounging up various uncles and cousins to make up teams) and other activities like family picnics in the mountains. One year we went to Yellowstone with our mothers' other sister's family, complete with cousins of our age. We stayed in cabins at Fishing Bridge, which we decided was very poorly named. We discovered a number of large trout right near the bank, in water too deep for us to get into. We tried everything we had in our tackle box as well as Uncle Dave's tackle box to no avail. We even tried snagging them with a large treble hook without result. Then to add insult to injury on the last morning we were there Uncle Leon took his boys (two, our age) fishing in a rented boat on Yellowstone Lake. Probably complete with guide. They got up early in the morning and snuck off like thieves in the night; at least that's how David and I looked at it. Result: Leon and boys many fish, Mike and David, zero.

One time we went hiking part way up the mountains east of Brigham City to an area called Flat Bottom. Flat Bottom was like a dry beach, which is what it is. It is the shoreline of prehistoric Lake Bonneville. Anyway, some friends of our grandparents had a farm part way to Flat Bottom and on that farm was an irrigation pond. We had permission to go up there and fool around, although I don't think they knew what we did. We discovered that this pond was full of lily pads, moss, dead trees and FROGS. David said his dad had frog gigs in the trunk of his car and we should borrow them and gig frogs. For those who have never done this, frog gigs are small(approximately four inches across) and with about four tines. They look like small pitch forks. You put them on the end of a stick, small limb, etc. and presto! Well, you can imagine the result. Uncle Dave had them to gig frogs along the canal banks in Phoenix for frog legs. Whether he ever did that or not I don't know.

David asked his dad if we could borrow his gigs. He said no. This was no problem. Uncle Dave took a nap in the basement every afternoon. After he was asleep David took his car keys, got the frog gigs out of the trunk and then replaced the keys. The next morning we were off to the pond. Like all 13-14 year old boys we had canteens, packs, etc. We got to the pond and got right with the program. The frogs were in big trouble. After awhile. I spotted a frog on a lily pad that I could reach only by going out on a dead tree that was hanging horizontally over the pond, bracing myself on a dead limb and stretching out as far as I could reach. There was a loud CRACK! as the branch broke and I went head first into the scummy mossy pond, of course fully dressed including canteen and pistol belt. I was fished out alright, but now we had a real problem. I had to get dry, descummed and demossed before we could go back to grandma's and replace the stolen frog gigs. We pulled it off; I told Uncle Dave this incident just a few years before he died. He knew nothing about it.

Our mothers' brother Dean lived in Brigham City and introduced us to shooting rats at the City landfill. That was great sport. The land fill was such that there was nothing around it but open space. The best shooting was to go below the landfill and shoot into the landfill so you had a good backstop. Best hunting was in the evening, beginning just as the sun was going down and lasting until dark. I continued this until I was in medical school. We were just doing our civic duty. The City, in some misguided ordnance, stopped it sometime in the 60's. PETA probably put them up to it.

On one of our hikes we discovered a covey of Scaled or Gambel's quail. We promptly went to Dean's office and asked him if there was a quail season in Utah. He said no, there was no season. Before this discussion David had borrowed a .22 from Uncle Dean. I had brought my own gun with me to Brigham City. The next day we gathered up guns, matches, canteens and cooking gear and took a hike up the mountain to Flat Bottom, where we had seen the quail. Sure enough we got into them, flattened several, cleaned them, cooked and ate them. We decorated our hats with quail feathers and continued our hike through the mountain to Mantua, a very small town, got on the highway and hiked back to Brigham City. We arrived at Uncle Dean's office in late afternoon. He took one look at us festooned with quail feathers and asked “Where did you get the quail feathers?” We said we shot quail and ate them. “Using my gun?” “Sure. You said there was no season, so we figured we could have a go at them.” “When I said there was no season, I meant they were totally protected. There is no season ever.” Oh, well. We apologized and Uncle Dean did not make David return the gun.

We moved to Arizona in 1951, landing in Phoenix in September. We rented a house just a few blocks from David, near 16th St and McDowell. The next nine months were really great. We went to the same school and same church. We went Halloweening, school and church dances and parties, scout outings, etc together. Occasionally on a Friday night I would stay at David's and we would get up early(like 0400 early) and ride our bikes to Encanto Park where we would spend all day or at least until we were tired and hungry, whichever came first. I think we sometimes took a lunch if we could con Aunt Mary into making one for us. At Encanto we would fish, ride paddle boats or other boats and generally do great boy things. When the State Fair came along in November we rode our bikes there and had a great time. They had horse races at the State Fair in those days, complete with betting. We thought the races might be fun to watch so we went to the grandstand and just walked in. No one was selling or taking tickets. We sat down in a box at the finish line and watched a couple races. It got boring because of the long time between races, which allowed the bettors time to place their bets and get back to watch the race. When we left there was a ticket taker at the entrance who fortunately was looking for incoming not outgoing traffic. We discovered then that our box seats were worth about $5.00 a pop.

We moved to Tucson when that school year was over. From then on our contact was limited to Brigham City, and times when our families would get together. We did manage to get in some hunting and fishing, ball games and golf. We both took up golf about the 8th or 9th grade. One time David left a putt about 6 inches short and asked if I would give him three blows(blowing with air from his mouth.) Sure, I said, no way could he get the ball in the hole that way. Two puffs and it was in.

We did not see each other as much once we became adults, which is a pity. David was always my David. I love and miss him. I am sure he is waiting for me to join him on an expedition to the Heavenly landfill, frog pond or golf course. And no, I won't give you three blows.

New Book!

IMAGES OF TIBET

By Michael S. Clement

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Dude Magoo

Dude Magoo was a registered quarterhorse that I bought from a good friend of mine in Utah. He was a four year old gelding, brown, as you can see in the second picture. In this picture, taken in Utah with the young Old Cowboy on him, his mane was growing from having been roached. Dude's sire was a Utah running quarterhorse named Mr Magoo, and his damn was an own daughter of a Texas horse named Royal King, from the 6666 ranch. Royal King was the leading sire of cutting horse dams. I owned two good cutting horses by this mother, Dude Magoo and one other, a mare. When I bought him Dude was well trained for general use as well as cutting.

For the uninitiated cutting is removing one critter, usually a cow, from a herd. Cows are herd animals and do not take kindly to being removed, or “cut”, from their buddies. They try to get back to their friends and that's when the fun starts. The cutting horse's job is to keep the cow from rejoining the herd. The cow can be quick and determined and the horse has to stay between him and the herd. The horse has to be quick, agile, have explosive speed and have a sixth sense about what the cow may do next, This is called “cow sense”, and is something that can't be taught. A good cutting horse has one additional thing: he likes what he does.

Riding a cutting horse while he is cutting a cow is one of the most exciting athletic things I have ever done. You have to hold on to the saddle horn with both hands and don't anticipate what the cow's going to do next. The first time I got on a really good cutting horse I anticipated and soon was plowing up the arena with my shoulder. Not a good idea, even if the spectators enjoyed it.

As you might expect, cowboys started holding contests to see whose cutting horse was the best. Rules evolved so that in a contest the reins must be slack from the point the chosen cow clears the herd and there is no spurring in front of the cinch. Of course as time has passed the prizes for winning have increased dramatically, in both professional and amateur non-pro contests. A champion cutting horse is now worth 6 or 7 figures.

Dude was not an expensive horse. I think I paid $1500 dollars for him. However we won more than our fair share of cuttings, even being Southern Arizona Cutting Horse Association Reserve champion in some category or another, probably novice non-pro. Like in every athletic contest, there is always some guy who tries to buy a championship(see New York Yankees and George Steinbrenner). I loved it when Dude and I whipped guys on their 5 figure horses, including one who had been in the top ten nationally.

Dude liked what he did. I put him in a pasture once with a yearling colt, and Dude proceeded to cut that colt. No rider, no saddle, no bridle, just a horse having fun. We used to practice on goats and kids(human children, not the goat kind). If it moved and tried to get by him, he would cut it.

I used Dude to round up cattle, ride fence, go hunting and for pleasure riding. I even roped off him once in an emergency. He would take care of me. Not all horses will do that. Some look for excuses to shy or buck or look for a low hung branch to scrape you off. Dude was always calm and careful with me. One day we were looking for cattle in some very rough country—so rough I got off and was leading him. I slipped and fell right in front of him. He put one front foot down on my leg and immediately picked it up without putting any weight on that leg. Some horses would have not only put full weight on my leg but kept right on going over me with all four.

Dude Magoo wasn't worth much money, but he was worth an awful lot to me. He was every cowboy's desire—He was a good horse.

A note on the photos
The photo of me sitting on Dude in Utah is a print I found going through old photos. I have no idea who took it or how I got this print, but I am grateful for it. The old photos have very few of me in action riding, branding, cutting, etc. It's one of the hazards of being a photographer. You end up with few photos of yourself.
The photo of me cutting on Dude Magoo was taken in North Phoenix at a trainer's. It was early morning with poor light, at least early, so I chose a special film, Ektachrome 160 with ESP-1 special processing to increase film speed. It did that but at a big cost in stability. The original slide has deteriorated badly. I scanned it and restored it as best I could in Photoshop. Unfortunately this is the best and almost only photo of me and Dude cutting.