When I was in Vietnam, there were a few songs that got my blood boiling.  They reminded me of the futility of the War, and what awaited me (or had disappeared) back home.  Here are my picks.

1) The Letter - The Boxtops

2) Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree - Tony Orlando and Dawn

3) We gotta get out of this place - Eric Burdon and the Animals

4) Leaving on a Jet Plane - John Denver, and Peter, Paul and Mary

5) Detroit City - Bobby Bare

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Roy's anger had trickled away, along with perspiration dripping down his nose.  "Shit," he said.  "I needed that B too."

His words caused me to chuckle, and then to laugh. "Did you see the constipated look on D's face?  Shit, maybe it was worth it."

We were soon both howling with laughter, rolling on the ground, kicking our feet in the air.  "What a nerd," Roy said.

"Got that right," I agreed, "But he's got our nuts in a vice."

"Yeah," Roy said, his demeanor becoming suddenly somber.  "Now we're a half day behind on this *&%$++* project.  What are we going to do?"

"Wing it," I said.

"How?" Roy asked.

"I know about where I was and what was going on geologically at every station I stood at.  Let's go look at the map.  We'll fake it."

We walked up the hill and I showed Roy what I meant.  "See the creek down there?" I said, pointing.  That's the Mississippi contact.  Here, we don't need to shoot it.  Let's just mark it on the map."

Within an hour, we had the entire valley marked and ready for connecting the points.  Everytime we faked a point, Roy and I would laugh uncontrollably for a half minute, or more.

"We'll show that *&^$%+ nerd a thing or two," Roy said.

"Got that right," I agreed.

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I dropped the pole and braced myself as Roy plowed into me, rolling both of us to the ground.  "You %$#@+," he bellowed as he flailed at me with both fists.

Although I didn't know what had provoked the attack, I had no time to ask, shielding my face as best I could.  Neither of us heard the approach of someone from behind, until he cleared his throat.

We both recognized Dr. D's voice when he finally spoke.  "What's the matter, here?"

Roy stopped swinging wildly and started to speak.  When he looked up at the prof's face, he held his words, quickly realizing that no explanation would suffice.  I extracated myself from Roy's grasp, stood up and began brushing myself off.

Dr. D didn't need an explanation.  He had seen enough already.  "There will be no more violence," he said.  "Unless the two of you wish to repeat this course next summer, or at some other institution, I suggest that this be the last such outbreak."

With that, Dr. D turned and headed up the hill.  Roy stood, still red in the face, and glared at me.  "You dumb sonna-fa-bitch," he said.  "You moved too fast.  I was yelling for you to slow down."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I didn't have time to record the stations," he said.

"You got the first three shots, didn't you?"

"You moved too fast," Roy said.

"You mean you didn't get a single shot?" I asked.  "You're the dumb sonna-fa-bitch."  We stood there, glaring at each other, eyes popping and veins bulging.  "I need a B in this course.  Now I'll be lucky just to pass, thanks to you and your idiot temper."

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Professor D, a doctorate in geology, had a notion about which of his students were smart and which were not.  Roy and I were definitely not in the former category.  Before the day concluded, we would have firmly convinced Doctor D of his notion.  That day on the mountain, we decided Roy would start as the alidade operator and I would carry the pole.

The surface mapping procedure goes something like this: the pole man carries the pole to a point some distance away from the base station, preferably to a formational outcrop, or the contact between two formations.  In his field notebook, he would enter the position as station 1, recording whatever geologic info was pertinent to that particular station.  The alidade operator would “shoot” the position, marking it on the topo map, and then signal the pole man to move to another location.  This would continue throughout the day.  At night, back at the base camp, the two mappers would “connect the dots” until a surface geology map finally overlaid the topo map.  This entire process would take about a week.

Before commencing the project, Professor D had tutored us briefly in the art of hand and arm signals.  This is because large distances would separate the partners once the project began.  When D finished his lecture, ten, or so, teams began setting up base stations.  Armed with the unwieldy pole, I started down the hill in search of an outcrop and soon found one.

When I found the exposed outcrop, I was nearly 1000’ down the hill and I could barely see Roy and our base station through the vegetation.  Extending the pole, I waited, sweat beading down my nose and the lens of my glasses.  An angry horsefly dive-bombed my head as a buzzing mosquito flew reconnaissance around it.  When I saw Roy wave his arms, I moved to another location.  This process continued until I had moved five times.  At this point, something extraordinary happened:  Roy left the base station and began running down the steep hill toward me, his arms flailing.  As he drew closer, I could hear he was yelling obscenities at me.  From the red flush on his frowning face, I could tell he was not happy and I braced myself for his rapidly ensuing arrival at station 5.

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The Ozark Mountains aren't high, in the sense of the Rockies, or even the Appalachians.  These dessicated hills, however, can change elevation by more than 1000' in less than a quarter mile.  Such was the situation near Love Hollow.

Roy and I set up a base camp on the side of a hill that plunged steeply into the valley below.  It was summer in Arkansas, temperatures over 100 degrees and humidity out of sight.  And there were bugs - mosquitoes, wasps, horseflies, gnats, and scorpions.  Well, you get the picture.  The incessant itch from poison ivy lesions on my arms and legs made matters even worse.

The boss of the field camp was a professor from Northeast (Professor D), and his assistant was a graduate student named Evan.  Both of their wives had accompanied them, as had Professor D's three year old daughter and two year old son.  They all lived upstairs in the old farmhouse, with air-conditioning.  Professor D had his favorites.  Roy and I were not part of that group and Dr. D considered us little more than blithering idiots.  That first hot day in Arkansas, we did nothing to prove him wrong.

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Here is the topo map of Love Hollow in Arkansas.  You can see by the relief how steep the area is.

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Arkansas summer field camp included three mapping projects that each lasted about ten to fourteen days.  One such project was the mapping of a quadrangle using plane table and alidade.  The project requires two people, my partner a young man named Roy.  We started the project as friends.  The two weeks of our partnership proved almost disastrous, rocky even - to use a very bad pun - to that friendship.

The field mapping project began innocently enough.  The rolling hills of northern Arkansas are called the Ozarks and our camp lay in the heart of that ancient range.  Our project: map an area known as Love Hollow.  Yes, the mailbox fronting the only house in the area bore the name I.M. Love.  I am not making this up!

An alidade is similar to a surveying transit that sits on a square piece of wood (plane table) atop a tripod.  A topographic quadrangle map is mounted on the plane table and this topo map becomes the base for the geologic map created systematically by the two mappers.  The first mapper operates the plane table and alidade.  The second mapper carries a long pole marked with incremental numbers.  The pole man, interestingly enough, is the most important member of the team because he must locate the points of geologic interest.

The project begins like this: the alidade operator sets up a base station, preferably on a hill with visibility in many directions.  He orients his position on the map and then sends the pole man some distance away, hopefully to locate an outcrop of bare rock.  It was at this point during the first day of the partnership that the friendship between Roy and I first became strained.

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Yesterday, I told the story about a not-so-modest female geologist during a particular summer field camp in Colorado.  My own field camp took place in Batesville, Arkansas.  We had an old farm house located some twenty miles from Batesville, on the bank of the White River.  Twenty of us bunked in the non-air conditioned basement.  Unlike yesterday's story, only male students composed my field camp.

For those that don't know, summers in Arkansas are hot and humid.  After a sweaty day of field geology, we cooled off with a cold shower (we had too anyway, as we had no hot water in our outdoor shower house) and a dip in the White River (the temperature of the river stayed at 52 degrees year round).  Even amid the heat of Arkansas summer, 52 degrees is a shock to the system.

Our Arkansas field camp was rustic, to say the least.  The last ten miles from the nearest highway was paved only with rip-rap from a local rock formation known as the Boone Chert.  Tire integrity in those days was not what it is now and punctures were a daily occurrence.  Yes, for those of you that know, Boone Chert is sharp and jagged.

Our mornings started at six with a breakfast of bacon and eggs.  Then, before setting out to map the wilds of Arkansas, we made and packed our own lunch - potato chips and a sandwich.  Our choices for that sandwich?  Bologna, or peanut butter and jelly.  I fondly remember field camp in Arkansas as the "Summer of Bologna."

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“This book has an entangled storyline that keep readers turning the pages with anticipation.  The characters are real, the dialogue strong, and the description exceptional.  Having previously read some of the author’s other work, I was not disappointed with the way he uses words to paint breathtakingly beautiful portraits of nature.  It is obvious that this author loves the outdoors, and readers see the scenic beauty through his colorful words.  I would purchase the book for this depiction alone. In my mind, I was with them at the campgrounds, on the mountain trails, and in the jungles of Vietnam.  I made my way through the thick, briery wilderness, helped fight off the bad guys and eventually visited the Big Valley, delighting in the waterfalls—perhaps even enjoying the innocence of skinny-dipping.”

Bettie Corbin Tucker

For Independent Professional Book Reviewers

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Magnet Cove, Arkansas is perhaps the rarest site on earth.   Why?  This tiny area contains 42 distinct minerals, some found only two other places in the world: the Tyrolean Alps and the Ural Mountains.  This rural Arkansas community received its name because of the presence of the mineral magnetite.  Magnets go wild at this irregularly shaped 5 mile area.  Settlers soon found more rare minerals and collectors went crazy.

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