McCarthy Annie

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then, as if driven by some inner resolve, the mysterious voice pressed determinedly on, “You don’t know who I am. I’ve just come from a federal office, where I overheard something that you guys in McCarthy ought to know. The Park Service is coming out there to survey the Pilgrims’ land—and they’re going to bring a S.W.A.T. Team with them!”

Click.

Neil stared at the telephone receiver, stunned. His mind raced back to midApril, when the NPS had posted their now infamous Public Notices around our nearly deserted little hamlet. One of these notices had claimed that the historic McCarthyGreen Butte Trail was an “illegally bulldozed road,” and had closed it to motor vehicles. This caused a furor among us McCarthyites, since most of us are well aware of the RS2477 status of this road, and what that means to our right to travel on it. We are also well aware that the McCarthyGreen Butte Trail serves as the Pilgrim Family driveway. To cut off this road is to blockade and lay siege to an innocent family. But you can read about that in a story called In Which, NPS Rewrites History & Law.

There had been another notice, however, which announced the NPS’ intention to conduct a landbased survey of the boundaries between the Pilgrims’ homestead and the park. This sounded reasonable at the time, and aroused only a minimal amount of interest among us McCarthy folks. In the wake of the illegal road closure, a taxpayerfunded survey of property boundaries seemed relatively benign. What could be menacing in this?

Little did we know.

One man in McCarthy had an inkling of what sorts of shenanigans those parkies might try to pull off. Papa Pilgrim had already attended several classes at the NPS School of Hard Knocks, where for some reason, the professors kept referring to him as “the Subject.” At the NPS School of Hard Knocks, he had learned that the main goal of the men in green uniforms was to Knock Pilgrim Hard, hard enough to eject him and his kin from the most coveted piece of real estate on the NPS’ wish list. Which Pilgrim owns.

A digression: Let me tell you more about this renowned institute of higher park learning, as you may want to consider the NPS School of H.K. as an option for your child’s future education. On both the undergraduate and postgrad levels, classes mainly center on Methods & Philosophy of Lands Acquisition. A listing of classes would include such titles as:

Public Disinformation 101 (or, Manipulating Public Opinion to Alienate the Subject)

Simplified Easement Vacation Procedures 102 (or, Road Closures to Isolate the Subject)

Legal Interpretations 103 (or, Manipulating and Fabricating Laws to Incriminate the Subject)

Uniform Code of Etiquette 104 (or, Flak Jacket Subject Intimidation Strategies)

Fallacies of Private Property Rights 105 (by rights, it all belongs to the Park—NOT the Subject)

On the postgraduate level, classes are thematically similar to the undergrad course, but with a more advanced scope of study. For example, classes include:

Lies, Slander & Rumor Mongering 401 (an indepth continuation of Pub. Disinform. 101)

Special Weapons And Tactics (S.W.A.T.) 404, recently renamed Special Events Team (S.E.T.) (or, When Subject is Uncooperative, Send In The Military)

Of course, all classes include lab and field work. Onthejob training is freely provided at high cost to the taxpayer—and the Subject.

With all of this hardwon strategic NPS education knocking about in his head, Pilgrim and his family set about drafting an official Pilgrim reply to this Survey Notice. In their response, the Pilgrims stated that they agreed to the survey, and proposed several requests.

First and foremost, they set as a condition that NPS may not trespass on Pilgrim land during the survey. Now, before you go off halfcocked and start thinking those Pilgrims are being hostile and unreasonable, let me clear a little matter up for you. You see, the Park Service doesn’t do the actual surveying—all government land surveys are done by Bureau of Land Management people, who are generally nice, honest surveyors and haven’t been anywhere near the NPS School of H.K. Quite normal fellows, you know. So the Pilgrims’ intent was to be helpful, even hospitable to the BLM folks, but to prevent NPS rangers from taking advantage of the situation to gain access to their home.

Other parts of the response read somewhat like this: Pilgrims will offer Room & Board to surveyors guaranteeing their nice & enjoyable stay (Pilgrims’ compliments). And this: Surveyors may hire locally chartered flights (Wrangell Mountain Air or McCarthy Air) to land on Pilgrims’ private runway. And this: The Pilgrim Family may also accompany the surveyors.

The letter ended thus: And all done in Jesus’ Name (Signed) the Pilgrim Family.

Just to be sure they hadn’t missed anything, and to get community input and help on this letter, Pilgrim passed a copy around to several of his friends. We all agreed that it was fair, reasonable, and really quite gracious, all things considered.

And so, at a town meeting on April 18, this response was read publicly before a packed lodge, then handdelivered to Park Super. Gary Candelaria, Asst. Super. & Head Ranger Hunter Sharp, and Ranger Marshall Neeck. You may have heard their names before, as these three are distinguished professors at the famous NPS S. of H.K. and have visited our community before to carry out various field trials and lab experiments on their Subjects.

Weeks went by, the survey thing was relegated to a back shelf, and we all got back to doing what we each do best around here. Seems like what the Pilgrims do best is helping their neighbors and spreading cheer and random acts of kindness around our neck of the woods.

One night, a few of us were gathered in the bar at the McCarthy Lodge. It started out as an unremarkable evening. An affable game of pool was keeping Tom and Ian busy. Adam had been in the game earlier, but had stepped outside for some fresh air. Someone had found an old hula hoop, and a few of us were making a Serious and Purely Intellectual Effort at reviving the ancient art of—well—hula hooping, I guess you’d say. Layla the Pug Dog had just made her Nightly Run through the bar, when Adam stepped abruptly back into the room. “Randy says the church is on fire,” he calmly announced. “I’m gonna go check it out.”

So much for the unremarka¬ble evening. I’ve never seen a bar empty out so fast, especially considering that we all were racing pellmell— for the church, of all things!

By the time we all straggled over there, Joshua and David Pilgrim had nearly put the fire out. They hadn’t been with us at the bar (as a matter of fact, those Pilgrims never set foot in the bar), but had been doing some work by the river when the smoke and flames started. They had made a desperate dash toward the church and thrown themselves bodily into the burning building, hoping to save it. As it turns out, the building which was burning was only the church’s generator shed, but the boys plunged in nevertheless, grabbed both generators, and drug them outside. Then, heedless of the peril, they dove back into the inferno and emerged a moment later clutching full 5gallon gas cans. And not a moment to spare, either—the plastic can that Joshua had rescued was already softening, and hot to the touch.

We quickly formed a bucket brigade and tossed a little water on the shed, but with the Pilgrim Volunteer Fire Team hard at work, there didn’t seem to be much else for us all to do. And so one by one we meandered back to the Lodge and tended to the drinks we’d so hastily left behind.

A few days later we learned that those same Pilgrim boys, along with some others, went back to the church the next day and completely rebuilt the generator shed!

Typical Pilgrims.

Another time, a little girl in our community took a bad fall while playing outdoors. Hannah suffered a severe concussion, and after two days was still in pretty tough shape, white as a sheet and horizontal when not puking. As soon as the Pilgrims learned of their little pal’s misfortune, several of them showed up at the door of her cabin bearing gifts of medicine, cookies, herb tea, hugs, advice and, most importantly, love and prayer for their special friend. As Elishaba held the barelyconscious girl and the others gathered around, grief and deep concern etched themselves deeply into each face.

A day and a half later, when Hannah ambled smiling into the Pilgrims’ McCarthy camp, 11yearold Job could hardly contain himself. Straightening up from the snowmachine he’d been tinkering on, he blurted out in astonishment, “Is that Hannah?!” Then, realizing it was indeed her, raised practically from the dead, he dashed straight to her, and then stopped, struggling to suppress the urge to throw his arms around her. “How ya feelin’, Hannah?” came his solicitous query, as he searched her face anxiously.

“I’m doing fine!”

“Oh, good… I was real worried about ya.” Then, his composure completely gone, he dashed toward their cabin, shouting, “ELISHABA! HANNAH’S HERE!”

After a friendly visit and hugs all around, Hannah left. As she walked out the door, Elishaba said, “I love you, Hannah. Goodbye.” Then at the bottom of the porch stairs, 4yearold Lamb’s voice sang sweetly out, “I wuv you, Hannah!” Finally, as she rounded the back corner of the cabin and headed out to the road, Hannah caught the huskier tones of Job’s voice drifting out. “Ah love ya, Hannah…”

Normal, everyday, loving Pilgrims.

The other day I stopped in for tea up at the homestead. Country Rose and I chatted, and Job passed around some delectable fudge, which he had made himself, starting with building the fire in the oldfashioned wood cook stove. 13yearold Hosanna, with practiced eye and lightning fingers, nimbly set to work at the old treadle sewing machine. By the time I bid my fond farewells an hour or two later, she had, completely from scratch and without a pattern, sewn me a beautiful, Pilgrimstyle dress. Later, upon trying the dress on, I discovered that it was a perfect fit.

Quintessential Pilgrims.

You can’t outgive a Pilgrim, either. Last fall, some of the neigh¬bors lent a few canning jars to them after Elishaba, Jerusalem, and Hosanna shot a moose. Now, canning jars aren’t exactly what you’d call a highvalue item. Everyone’s got scads of them— littering pantries, kitchens, woodsheds, you name it. No matter to the Pilgrims—soon after the jars went up the mountain to be used as “extra freezer space” for that big moose, return gifts began trickling down the mountain. There was a haunch of moose (the best cut from the hind¬quarter), a box of cookies, fresh things from their garden, a gallon of that morning’s goat milk, along with some homemade cheese.

All that for a few old canning jars!

Yep, random acts of kindness is what the Pilgrims do best. Soooo….. What was this about a S.W.A.T. Team Survey??? Sounded really nutso, and just a tad bit—well—scary to us McCarthyites. Everyone knows the Pilgrims are kind, gentle, pacifist types who’d never hurt anyone, so why this?

Heck, I’ve always been under the impression that S.W.A.T. Teams were specially reserved for performing dangerous fully armored offensive maneuvers to bring back, dead or alive, the violent druglaced psychotic hostagetaking outlaws from their desperate flight across the forbidding desert wastes of… well, you get the idea.

I guess I don’t need to tell you that Neil had himself a real firstclass quandary, what with the information he’d just learned, the mysterious nature of the call, wondering if it was some kind of hoax or practical joke—or was the caller just some crackpot Black Helicopter Club flunkie who’d had a few too many?

And then he remembered. Two friends of his, Rick and Keith, were scheduled to meet with Hunter Sharp the next day, to talk over the “access & roads” situation. Likely Professor Sharp or one of his colleagues was the brains behind this little, uh, plan. Surely Neil’s friends would enjoy adding a little—er—surprise to the meeting agenda. Neil picked up the phone and dialed Rick’s number.

Have you ever seen one of those police detective shows where they’ve caught one of the bad guys and are grilling him to get information on the other villains’ plans, whereabouts, M.O., and other highly technical cop stuff? Where the bad guy is a real tough nut to crack and the handsome, uniformed interrogators have to pry every scrap of info out of him? Well, the meeting between Hunter, Rick and Keith was sort of like that, only the guy in the uniform was the one in the hot seat, instead of the other way around.

Rick: What about this survey up at Green Butte, Hunter?

Hunter: (Confused) The survey up at Green Butte…?

Rick: Yeah, we had a paper from you saying you were going up there to do a survey. Do you remember that?

Hunter: Ah! What I’m going to do(oops!) not I, but the Park—is to come out the 15th of June with a group of “ologists,” and we’ll walk up the road.

Keith: Walk up McCarthy Creek?

Hunter: Yeah. We’ll just put them on the ground, let them walk a section, [helicopter] over the creek, walk another section…

R: Who are these—what did you call them—“ologists”?

H: Well… A botanist or two, a cultural archaeologist… or two, a geologist… And they’ll go up the creek on the road, and they will measure it and see what’s been disturbed… We’ll see what it comes to.

R: How many biologists?

H: Ummm… I think one biologist, a couple of botanists, uh, a fisheries person…

R: Anybody else? This isn’t even the survey crew!

H: Well, yes… At the Marvelous Millsite, we’ll put in a 3person BLM survey crew, who will do the boundaries of the millsite and Spokane Placer.

(McCarthy Annie, here: For those of you who are completely cross eyed with confusion over all these places and names, just try to remember that anytime these guys get to jawin’ about the “road” or the “creek,” they’re really talking about the McCarthyGreen Butte Trail, or the McCarthy Creek Trail, which you’ll remember from my last tale of treachery around these parts. Marvelous Millsite, Spokane Placer and Motherlode Mine can all be translated “Pilgrim’s Place.” Hope that clears it up for ya, and now let’s get back to The Inquisition…)

Rick: OK, so the rangers won’t be accompanying them?

Hunter: Well, yeah, we’ll be accompanying the group that goes up to the millsite, and we’ll also be accompanying the other group.

Keith: So there’ll be rangers with both groups? Armed rangers?

H: That’s right.

K: How many?

H: Welllll…. I don’t think we’ve made up our mind.

R: Have you contacted any outside agencies for assistance?

H: Yes.

R: Who?

H: The U.S. Marshall Service, the FBI, the Alaska State Troopers… Oh, we’ve just talked to them about what we’re doing, but we’re not necessarily asking them to come with us, we’ve just talked to them.

R: So, you have not contacted anybody to bring a SWAT team up there?

H: NO!… Well, what we have done is, we’ve told those other federal agencies what we’re up to, and invited them to accompany us if they feel they need to. There’s no indication that that sort of thing is going to happen.

R: Well, there is some indication that it will happen, Hunter.

H: (All innocence.) What will happen?

R: That there’s a SWAT team.

H: Well… there’s a Park Service team we call a Special Events Team. We use them when we need a group of folks who’ve practiced together.

R: A Special Events Team?

H: Yeah…

R: And they’re going up?

H: Uh, huh.

K: How many of them is there?

H: Ummm… Between 6 and 8.

K: Are you sending rangers in addition to the Special Events Team?

H: Yes.

K: How many?

H: I haven’t decided yet.

Stunned silence. This is waaaay too bizarre. What else did they have up their sleeve? Tanks? With an effort, Rick gathered himself and plunged back in.

R: What about this Special Events Team? Six to eight SWATtype guys?

H: They’re not SWAT guys. We don’t have a SWAT team. I told you what they were, they’re a Special Events Team. They are just people who work together to provide crowd control, that kind of thing.

R: (Bewildered) W w why? These are peaceful people with little children, Hunter!

H: (Somewhat peevish.) The document they sent us said we could not trespass!

K: But they invited the BLM surveyors onto their property!

R: (Outraged.) Are you guys trying to have another Ruby Ridge?

H: Naw…

R: Well, it sure looks like it.

H: Hey, we’re just trying to protect the Pilgrims!

PROTECT THE PILGRIMS?! Like a pack of wolves (68, trained to work together and provide “crowd control”) protects all the newborn baby caribou! There are babies on that mountain, remember? I ask you, beloved reader, how would you have responded to this?

The first order of business was to find out more about this S.E.T. Team, since none of us had ever heard of such a thing before. We did a little poking around, and, when all was said and done, we weren’t real surprised at what we found. Directly speaking, a S.E.T. Team is really a S.W.A.T. Team, except they work for the NPS instead of State Police or BAT&F. And they’re trained to work together, all right—with their Special Weapons And Tactics, to perform dangerous fully armored offensive maneuvers (read hostile takeovers) to bring back, dead or alive, the violent druglaced psychotic hostagetaking outlaws (read inholders) from their desperate flight across the forbidding forested mountains of… well, you get the idea.

The next order of business for the Pilgrims and for those of us who take a dim view of the Park’s harassment tactics was to put our bushy heads together and hammer out some kind of plan. Those park monkeys had gotten out of their barrel, and it looked like it was up to us to stuff ‘em back in.

What we came up with was a threeprong plan. First, we would launch a nationwide news and media campaign. If those greenvests knew that their activities up on the purple mountain majesties were being watched by hundreds of thousands of freedomloving citizens across the fruited plain, then, by golly, I would suspect that they’d be just a tad bit more restrained than what they had, perhaps, planned.

Second, we decided to let some of our state politicians in on those parkies’ dirty little secrets. The way we figured it, a little wellplaced political pressure on behalf of honest, hardworking Alaskans could not possibly be remiss.

As an added measure of security, we planned to send as many locals as possible up to the homestead, carrying video cameras, tape recorders, still cameras, notebooks—whatever it would take to make those flakjacketed “protectors” feel naked and exposed. For you see, if there’s one thing we’ve learned about Professors Candelaria and Sharp, it is that they prefer to do their lab experiments on only one Subject at a time. When the whole town shows up for a pep rally, class usually gets canceled. Or at least postponed…

As it turned out, our threeprong plan worked to perfection. Inside one week, the NPS had already backpaddled so hard, their skid marks had formed a new riverbed in the McCarthy Creek valley floor.

Let me allow Robert Arnberger (NPS Alaska Head Honcho and Revered Guest Lecturer for Public Disinfor¬mation 101 and other NPSSHK classes), tell you about it in his own words. Here’s what he disinformed his own people in an NPS memo dated 6/4: (AHEM!) “The National Park Service plan for undertaking the survey and resource assessment has been constantly evolving in response to a fastchanging adversarial environment in McCarthy.”

Adversarial environment? Hey, all we were doing was passing information on to our politicians and fellow citizens. If that’s adversarial, what would you call the SWAT Team, or the unspecified number of armed rangers?

Arnberger continued: “Recent decisions have focused on accomplishing the survey as the highest priority and carrying it out in the least confrontational manner possible. At present a 3 4 person surveying team… will be helicoptered to the property and allowed to do their work. No other work is planned concurrent with this survey.”

Or, putting it in Plain English for those of us who’ve been skipping class: “The McCarthy savages have caught wind of our plan and are now getting hostile and brandishing keyboards and telephones dangerously, so we’ve changed our mind about Sending In The Military. So, everyone go home except the surveyors, and we can all pat ourselves on the back for the extreme restraint we’ve exercised to avoid what surely would have been a violent and tragic confrontation.”

Right.

Last I saw of those BLM surveyors, they were sitting around the gigantic, roughhewn timber table in Country Rose’s kitchen, three or four fresh cookies in one hand and a mug of fresh, hot, black coffee in the other.

Yessirree, fellas, those boys were holdin’ their guts and smilin’.

And not a ranger in the valley!

Editor’s Note: In case you think we are making this stuff up, an audio copy of the actual conversation between Rick, Keith and Hunter is on file at WSEN and other sites. Click Here for a transcript of part of the conversation.

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