I was in Las Vegas for a conference last week and serendipitously ran into a friend and broker that I’ve done a few deals with in the past. We were at a hosted cocktail party and he asked if I had dinner plans. Nothing solid, so, we decided to go grab a bite after the reception. The night before, I sat at the bar, alone, at one of my favorite steakhouses and restaurants in Vegas, CarneVino. I had just flown in from New York and it was late, probably approaching midnight, but to my delight, the bar was still serving food and after a long wait, and a very appologetic bartender, I got my Mario Batali style steak and egg late night dinner. But, I digress…

Having had steak the night before, we thought we’d try something different. Davie told me that he was feeling “foodie”. (I know, sounds kinda gay, but…) Our conference was in Caesar’s Palace and I don’t know of a lot of restaurants there other than my old haunt at Il Mullino. So, Davie recommends Guy Savoy. French… I did have a great meal at a little French Restaurant in NY, Le Petit Maison, a few days earlier, but that was separated by two versions of Mario Batali the two days between (CarneVino the night before, and Babbo in NYC the night before that… I know… i need to start packing my lunchbox…)

I wasn’t really that familiar with Savoy other than the name. So, we went to a small desk in the lobby of Caesar’s to peruse the menu and get the skinny from the smiling and happy Columbian girl manning the desk. It was, of course, pricey, but, it was a go. The girl asked if it was a special occasion, so, I, of course, told her that it was Davie’s Birthday.

When we arrived, the dining room seemed mostly empty. There was a four-top seated on one side of the restaurant, with a small bald man that looked like the monocled chairman from the Parker Brother’s game of Monopoly. I wasn’t particularly impressed with the dining room. It didn’t really take advantage of any views, and seemed overly sterile and somewhat institutional. Some of it was just plain bad design, like the doors to the washrooms with clear glass and stainless steel pegs sticking out for door handles. This was just plain, odd and somewhat dysfunctional.

Davie and I were seated at a corner two-top and I, of course, told the waitress that it was our honeymoon. It was way too romantic of a spot to have been anything else…

Our server, Kristin, was very friendly and professional. I like her right away. Not stuffy, but, clearly a career waiter. The Sommolier, I didn’t care for… He seemed strangely hurried, and seemed to rattle off names and qualities by rote rather than understanding. He never took the time to answer questions, and the few times that I did ask he seemed not to hear and scurried of on his way in an odd, quiet, uninteresting and unapologetic way. Eventually, we got him to open up a bit and found out he was from Chicago and rattled off a handful of restaurants that he had spent his career at, but, still was not my favorite amongst the waitstaff…

Adrienne, however, was… Small bald Frenchman with the perfect, barely intelligible French accent and a seemingly endless understanding and appreciation for the fare that he graciously brought to the table. Adrienne brought every course out for us, describing the composition, telling us how the chef recommended eating it, and, telling us about the hidden surprises that were incorporated into many of the dishes. Always lingering just long enough to answer questions before bounding off with a heavily accented “bon appetite”…

The Meal 

After very little consideration, we decided to do the extended tasting menu. When in Rome… This was eleven courses, as described on the menu, but, it ended up being a few extras with the extended Amuses Bouche that precipitated the feeding frenzy… Of course, we also asked for the wine pairing, which took us all over the world and was a lot of wine, but, made for a couple of very happy diners…

As we sat down, Kristin brought us a couple of fancy silver picks. Kind of like you’d see impaling a couple of huge olives in a fancy martini. On these picks were impaled a small layer cake of tiny triangles of toasted brioche and slivers of deliciously fatty fois gras. Perfect start. This was a rich, quick introduction to the gustatory bliss that would follow. At about the same time, our personality-impaired sommelier came with a large silver washtub full of ice and bottles of champagne. Actually a very nice selection of about a dozen options from pink to clear, old to new… They weren’t, of course, cheap with an average glass commanding $30 and the more exotics at $45/glass… That’s a lot for fizzy wine, but, again, when in Rome…. We opted for a very nice pair of glasses of pink wine at a mere $45 per glass…

Second came another amuse bouche. This was a slightly pungent cheese, whipped up into an odd two-sided china shot glass. The two demitasse were connected so that one was right side up, the other upside down. Sitting on the “bottom” of the upside down cup were a few dark, dry, shavings of pork. Adrienne came out and and mixed an electrically bright herbal broth into the creamy cheese and told us to brush the ham bits into it. And of course, to not miss the surprise hidden underneath.

The slightly pungeant cheese, neon-green broth, salty ham mixture was delicious. Anxious to see what was coming next, I lift the siamese demitasse and find a small cherry tomato underneath that has been stuffed. Sweet, delicate, delicious. Kind of funny to hide food on a plate, but, I liked it. Now that our bouches are adequately amused, we move on to the tasting menu.

First dish was an Heirloom tomato salad and tartare with a basil-lemon granite’. The white china plate that came out had a second plate inserted that looked like a china collander. It has a bunch of small holes drilled in it. On top of this plate there were small slices of skinned, and deseeded heirloom tomato. Intermixed, there were small pegs of what looked like aspic, but were gelatanized posts of “tomato water” with small herbs integrated into a couple of them. Adrienne came and ladled a light tomato sauce over the tomatoes and bounded off with another “bon appetit”. At this point, I guess I need to give the sommelier a name… I can’t, unfortunately remember it, so, we’ll call him “Harry”. Harry brought us our first wine pairing, an Aphonse Mellot, Las Moussiere, Sancerre, 2009. I asked him if it was finished in stainless steel, and he ignored me, rumbled something about citrus, and scurried off.

The tomatoes were good, the aspic more interesting to look at than eat, and the wine delicious. Once we finished the top layer, the collander-looking plate was removed to reveal a small terrine of tomato tartare. It looked much like a traditional tartare with diced tomatoes, egg, etc. But, was topped with a delicously acidic granite of lemon and basil. Absolutely delicious, and our second “surprise”.

In true French fashion, every course was accompanied by its own bread course. With both salted and unsalted butter to accompany. It was, for the most part, really good bread, but, if you ate all the bread they served, you’d eat nothing else. So, bread crusts and half-eaten, and untouched sliced of fresh baked bread started to pile up… I tried to keep mine tidy on my plate, Davie gave up and started stacking his on the table next to his breadplate.

The next course was really good. It was named, simply, “Marinated Octopus” or “Poulpe Marine”. The plate came out looking like small flower petals in a light sea of green. The green was a thick, rich, custardy puree of squash and delicousness. It had the mouth-feel and richness of eating really good butter, or, a terrine of seived fois gras. You could tell it was a decadent indulgence, but, you wanted to to pick up every last bit of it.

On top of the green custard were small medallions of marinated octopus. Encircling these medallions were little dollaps of purred eggplang and alternated tiny, buttery croutons. In the center of the plated was a deep-fried, soft-boiled quail egg that would run its delicious, rich, yolk all over the octopus once broken. It was  rich and delicious, accompanied by a sweet, unpasturized glass of Sake, EikoFuji, Glorious Mt. Fuji, Yamagata, Namazake Junmai Ginjo. To round it off, the bread course presented a slice of dense bread with what seemed like sushi nori seaweed mixed in that gave it the scent of a slightly soggy handroll and probably the most interesting bread-course of the evening.

For the fish course, Adrienne brought us a piece of crispy sea bass with delicate spices. I really liked this, but, Davie was not a fan. It was a small piece of sea bass that was finished, skin and scales on, on a very hot surface that caused the skin and scales to crystalize and become an edible, crispy delight. There was a light broth of fume and a slight hint of vanilla around the fish with three streaks of sweet, aromatic ground spice on the edge of the plate meant to be “swept in” just before eating. The spices kind of reminded my of Chinese five-spice and had an interesting, aromatic character that I thought went very well with the flakey fish and its crispy skin. This was accompanied by a glass of Joseph Drouhin, Meursault, 2008 and a slice of bread impregnated with pieces of lemon peal. Not sweatened, or candied, or preserved… just plain old lemon peal… odd…

The next course, “Colors of Caviar”, I think was a little over-thought… It reminded me of crazy 80′s era cocktails that were made up of different colored pours of liquors that remained separated and striated in the glass. The Colors of Caviar was a shot glass with layers of stuff… The bottom layer was a caviar vinaigrette. This was followed by a few other uninteresting layers of green beans, or something  else that I can’t remember and were more for display than gustatory bliss. The top layer was a small glop of Russian Ossetra and a savory custard was spooned on top after serving.

I really liked caviar and was excited by the thought of this dish, but, it didn’t pan out for me. It was “ok”, but seemed to miss the point. The other componants didn’t seem to hold their own against that caviar as would something more exotic like Thomas Keller’s “Oysters and Pearls” with tapioca, poached oyster, and a fund blob of caviar on top… The Caviar extravaganza was accompanied by a nice glass of tart, but sweet-on-the-nose Marc Kreydenweiss, Andlau, Riesling, Alsace, 2007.

This next course had a little pomp to it. Was slightly silly, but, I liked it none-the-less. The Foie Gras “en Papillotte” and Radish Bouillon. Harry brought us a glass of Domaine Zind-Humbrecht, Pinot Gris, Asace, 2008. Shortly after, a bussboy came with a tray covered with hot, black rocks. The kind that you would see on a spa add that had hot-rock massage… On top of these rocks was an inflated, plastic, boiling bag. About the size of a small throw pillow. Adrienne came out and punctured the bag and tore a large slit in at as a cloud of steam escaped. Then the buss boy brough the opened, steaming bag, sitting ontop of a tray of hot rocks to us so that we could smell the braized liver and radish inside. Then, he quickly scampered off to plate it.

When he returned, the foie gras was plated in a shallow bowl with a red, radish bouillon ladled ontop and small chunks of radish. It was everything you expect foie gras to be. Fatty, rich, decadence. Nicely cut by the sweetness of the Pinot Gris.

The course that follows was one of my favorites. It didn’t sound as good as it was. It was artichoke soup. More specifically, Artichoke and Black Truffle Soup, Toasted Mushroom Brioche, and Black Truffle Butter. Adrienne emphasized that there was no broth added to this and it was simply artichoke.

The soup came in a small bowl and was a grey-green color. Floating ontop were small, black shavings of truffle and a few shavings of parmigian cheese. Next to the soup was a plate with a small piece of brioche. It somewhat resembled a muffin with stripes of toasted mushroom and a smear of truffle butter melting in. You could smell the distinct, earthy smell of black truffle everywhere. Adrienne told us that the check recommended sopping the truffled brioche in the soup. Of course… The soup was thick, creamy, earthy, mushroomy and delicious with the melting shavings of cheese giving a salty, oily, deliciousness to the whole composition. Everything about this was fantastic. After running out of brioche, I found myself sopping up the last smears of leftover soup from the bottom of my bowl with the myriad scraps of bread that were still on the table. Delicious. This was served with a glass of Bouchard Pere & Fils, Beaune du Chateau, Beaune, 2006.

Again, the pomp… The next course was the Roasted Poussin Summer Flavor. Not sure what “Summer Flavor” is. Kind of remindes me of when I lived in New York and would get take-out chinese food with “wonderful taste brown sauce”. Maybe more culturally descriptive, because, I, personally, think that summer tastes like grilled hot dogs…

The bus boy brought out the Poussin, a small chicken, nicely roasted, on a platter, hog-tied, with a nice crown of what looked like fresh thyme neatly wrapped around the hog-tied extremeties. They again, scurried off to plate this in the back. When it was returned, carved and plated, it was like Thanksgiving at the Downing’s. Herbal, roasted poultry. It was very elegantly carved and served and was accompanied by a Chateau Mont-Redon, Chateuneuf-Du-Pape, 2007. The herbal poultry and the Syrah went very well together and this was a homey, comfortable dish that was nice amongst the parade of hide-and-seek and pomp and circumstance.

The Vegetable… I thought this was ill-concieved. Execution was probably fine, but… For this course, there was a block of daicon radish that was carved into a small 1.5″ cube. The cube had a chamber carved in it that contained some small blueberries. On top of this was a small sheet of what seemed to be a very tart berry fruit leather. It was paper thin and packed a tart, acidic punch. The entire thing was surrounded with a drizzle of what seemed to be a raspberry puree reduction that was tart and dissonant. The daicon, bland and watery, the fruit leather, acidic and loud, the raspberry reduction pedestrian… I wasn’t very pleased with this course and think it should be rethought… It took away from what was otherwise very interesting and ranged from good to very good…

Here comes the cheese- I love cheese. Stinky, pungeant, moldy, wet-gym-sock cheese… So, I was happy to see the well-appointed cheese cart roll up. It was hard for me not to simply say “one of everything”, which I’m sure they would have happily served, but, that would have been way too much. Adrienne, in his thick French accent, walked us through the various characteristics, and then the cheese was cut (no laughing) and plated. This was served with a Chateau Leoville Poyferre, St.-Julien, 2001. Wonderful course and great seque to the desert to follow…

Strawberry Rhubarb. This was a glass with thin slices of rhubarb, strawberry, and a blob of what seemed like strawberry-rhubarb gelato. Tart, sweet, red, refreshing. Not everyone likes rhubarb, but, this reminds me of my great-grandmother who used to make rhubarb sause and rhubarb pies. I enjoyed this with my glass of Charles Hours, Iroulat, Jurancon, 2007.

Next, to my amusement, came the Chocolate Fondant, Crunchy Praline, and Chicory Cream. Davies, of course, came with a lit candle, for his imaginary birthday, but, not singing… I was hoping, to at least, get a Frere Jacques out of Adrienne….

At this point, I’m almost ready to thrown in the towl. We’re working on this three-piece dessert, chocolaty, sweet, crunchy, everything you want in dessert, with a glass of Inniskillin, Cabernet Franc Icewine, Niagara Penensula, 2007 (very delicious and sweet), and trying to make it all fit by forcing it down with a couple of double-espressos.

But! That’s not all! Next come the random samplings of petit fours, random merengues, chocolates, cookies, etc. all wheeled out on a cart. I simply told them to put together a sampling of what they thought were best, becuase, I was pretty much done at this point. We tasted, but, didn’t finish the random samplings when another plate came out with homemade caramels and nougats… Crazy. Definitely didn’t go home hungry.

Of course, this wasn’t cheap… The total bill, dinner for two, came to a little over $1,100 without tip. This was the $298/head for the tasting menu, $45/glass for the champagne, $175/head for the wine flight, and a few bucks for the espresso… Of course, you could get in/out of this place for much less, but, just in case tomorrow never comes, go for the brass ring.

Troy and John after securing their second title

Last night we attended our second annual Yellowstone Club Rodeo. It’s a fun night with lots of food, and plenty to drink… Which is important for the next point… Steer Dragging…

Last year, I volunteered for this, seemingly simple event… There are a half-dozen or so steer in the chutes, but, rather than ride on their backs, there are ropes tied to their horns.

In two-man(woman) teams, you drag the bull out of the chute, coax it around a barrel at the far end of the arena, and then tag out on the far side of the arena. First team to tag the judge while holding on to their bull wins.

Last year, I partnered up with Spencer. He was a pretty big guy wearing Italian loafers, and very drunk. I led the front of the rope and he has in the middle. Somehow through dumb luck and determination, we managed to keep from tangling with the other ropes and bulls, Spencer fell over, I dragged him and the bull part-way, put it in low-gear, and eventually tagged out to win.

This year, Spencer wasn’t here. So, I took the next-best-thing and took his drunk brother-in-law John. But, this time there was strategy.

I told John that we wanted to steer clear of the crowd to avoid getting ropes tangled. I put him on the front of the rope, and I took care of the bull.

When the chute opened, I dropped the rope and grabbed the bull by the horns… A few feet out of the chute, the animal fell over and was on its back with its hooves in the air. We dragged it a few feet, but, it didn’t take long to realize this wasn’t going to work.

Relaxing the rope, the bull righted itself and I got behind it and started smacking it on its ass, basically herding it around the other animals. We made it around the barrel, and I gave it one good smack on the ass and John and Bull took off charging across the arena, right past the judge.

I guess John wasn’t property briefed that you need to tag the judge and went right past him.

After a moment of confusion, and some stern yelling by Troy, we got the bull turned around and tagged the judge, retaining the title of 2-year Bull dragging champions!

I found that spanking and yelling at the Bull was a much more effective means than sheer power. Watch out for us in 2012!

Troy boarding in his short-shorts down Pioneer

The thought was to ski and golf in the same day, same outing.

Ok, I’m not old enough to ski… I snowboard… so, it was a “Ride and Tee” for me… I’ll probably take up skiing when I’m too old and worn out to snowboard, but, for now… Gotta take advantage of my youth… (although, I do occasionally strap on a pair of planks to get in touch with my feminine side…)

O.K., All joking aside… On July 1st, they opened the chair lifts at the Yellowstone Club. Grant it, most of the mountain was un-skiable, but, the top of Pioneer had, what I heard, a 60-inch base.

It was warm, and mostly sunny, although the morning veiled the peaks in fog.

The premise of the day was to ski and golf the same day. The golf course is open, and playing great. (Ya, I’m too young to be a golfer too, so, I just try to shoot par. In my game, if the number of lost balls equals the number of Bloody Mary’s consumed, it’s a par game…).

The Chairs opened at 8am. I wasn’t in a hurry to be first chair (for once), so, I grabbed a coffee and some breakfast in the Warren Miller Lodge, hung out for 5 minutes, strapped on my snowboard boots (that looked great with the combination of my DeFeet Nut Socks, a pair of Khaki short-shorts, and a golf shirt…).

Looking up the Mountain Lift at Pioneer

Riding up the chair lift, over green, grassy ski runs, while holding my board in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other was interesting… Once you got mid-mountain, the snow got thicker and thicker and it got a bit cooler. Not so cold that my short-shorts were a problem, but, it was noticeably cooler.

At the top of the Lodge Lift, I strapped on my board, rode the mountain lift up to the top of Pioneer and peered into the Ennis Valley. It was remarkably green down there which contrasted with the remarkably white snow on the Sphinx, Cedar, Lone, and Pioneer mountains.

Troy launching biodegradible Golf Balls

In the semi-slushy snow atop Pioneer, there were bio-degradable golf balls and clubs waiting for me… Launched a few balls toward the Sphinx and started what I really came up for… Snowboarding the Shoulder and Pioneer bowl.

The snow was heavy, but, reasonably consistent… I slid over the edge, and cut far right. Feels good… I laid it over for some classic, Troy-Carves… The icy slushiness scrapes my knee a bit, but, the minor discomfort is worth the exhilaration…

In snowboard pants, you don’t realize how much snow you’re throwing, or, where it’s going… In golf shorts, I quickly encased my more-or-less exposed nether-regions to icy coldness… Nothing like a crotch full of wet snow to wake you up in the morning.

I took a few more runs, video-taped an easy glide down with my helmet-cam (minus the helmet, so, I had to hand-hold it), and headed back down to the golf course. I didn’t really have time to play, so, I just hung out on a warm, bluebird day, launching balls on the driving range straight toward Lone Peak while teasing Len about his swing. (it’s my job…).

Hititng Balls at the YC Golf Course

In any case, it was the best July snowboarding I’ve done. Fun year.. Thanks Mr. Gore!

These are some slides that I am working on for passenger briefings in the L39.

First Draft, we’ll see how the ground school goes this weekend and edit from there…

L39 passenger Brief

CBQ’s Bar-b-que
1344 South Lowry Street
Smyrna, TN 37167
615-459-0082

Today I was driving back from Murfreesboro to Nashville to fly home after closing an acquisition. Earlier in the day, as I was driving into town, I noticed a little hole-in-the-wall Barbecue joint that had a giant smoker out front that looked like a small nuclear reactor venting steam and smoke into the atmosphere. The place was tiny, had no apparent place to sit other than an old picnic table that was precariously close to the reactor, and it seemed to share space with a used car lot…

As I drove by, I could see smoke billowing from the stacks on the smoker, and as soon as I passed, I could smell the mesquite in the air. I made a mental note and carried on with my day.

Driving back to the airport, I was looking… It was so small, I was worried I wouldn’t see it on my way into Nashville. But, it turns out I didn’t need to see it… I could smell it.

As I approached, I turned left into the parking lot shared with Nashville Motor Cars, noticed the various “artifacts” lying around, and the “CBQ Parking Only” signs that were conveniently duct-taped to the support risers for the car port next door. (yes, literally duct-taped)

I pulled in, and meandered up to the front of the shack. The menu was conveniently printed on a sign above the door. BBQ sandwiches, Roast Beef, ribs, wings, sloppy joes…

Clearly, the place is meant to be a take-out place. It’s not a really comfortable area to “hang out”.

I open the door and enter into a surprisingly bright room with two glass-front soda coolers to the right, and a counter in front of me. There is another hand-written menu on the wall to the left.

I am greeted by a woman fixing something at the back, and a heavy, red-faced man in his mid 40s sitting behind the counter. His face and eyes are red like he had spent a few hours enduring the smoke of the reactor outside.

These folks were VERY friendly. I ordered a large BBQ sandwich (pulled pork) with spicy sauce, slaw, and pickles. This comes with some baked beans with chunks of pork in them (slightly sweet), and a cup of sweet tea.

When I order the sweet tea, the man behind the counter said something that sounded like “whisky”. Thinking he was joking, I said “ya, whisky please”. He smiled, and promptly pulled a bottle of whisky out from under the bar, grabbed two shot glasses, poured two drinks, and asked me my name.

“I’m Troy, nice to meet you”.
“I’m Kerry. What do you do?”
“commercial real estate”
“must be going horrible, cheers”

We both shot our whiskey. We chatted for a few minutes and he told me that he wanted me to think of him if I ever needed an event or party catered. He said “us small businessmen need to stick together and help each other out”. I promised to give him a call if I ever needed a caterer in the area and he promised to bring girls with large breasts…

I took my food out to the car and ate there. The BBQ was good. Pulled pork, slight smoke to it, not so spicy sauce, on a bun with a bunch of slaw and pickles. The beans were sweet and had chunks of meat floating in them and the sweet tea was sweet tea… Always better out of a styrofoam cup.

It wasn’t the best BBQ I’ve had, but, it was good. And I would go back, if for nothing else, the friendly proprietor that poured me a whiskey, and sold me a good, home-cooked lunch, for $5 even.

Troy, Mike, and Chris just above the 4th Hole

I brought up a couple of friends that have been working with me on fundraising for my current Private Equity Fund to participate in this event which was, of course, centered around golf.

The first day started with a practice round on the course. Great day. A little windy, but, mostly sunny and clear. The course was in great shape and we made it through 18 holes with smiles on our faces. Hit some great shots, and lost a few balls… Which is great for this course, because I normally lose a LOT of balls…

After the practice round, there was a BBQ at the YC Party Pad with giant rib roasts, steamed clams, and live lobster. (Well, they were live before they got tossed into a giant vat of boiling water…)

Boiled lobster and prime rib

I felt bad about the boiling water, so, I had one of the chef’s cut one up into sashimi for me. It was fantastic! Still twitching a bit, but, very tasty.

Lobster Sashimi

After dinner, they held a live auction and auctioned of a trip to the Rider Cup, flying on the team jet, and hobnobbing with the team (we’re wondering if Tiger will bring his new entourage of trashy strippers).

The live auction raised about $65k, I hear and the entire event about twice that, but, I don’t know for sure.

Game On

The next day, we hit the course. It was a bit delayed because of frost in the morning, but, we got going by 10am. There was a bagpipe player next to the trees by the driving range, and, we all kept fantasizing about the giant bear that should have been staged to eat him when it got to be just a little too much. Kind of like Sir Robbin’s Minstrel, it would have been poetic.

Second shot, Fifth Hole

The format was a scramble. Our foursome of Mike, Chris, Footer and myself, just wasn’t good… The bloody mary’s started early, the scotch not too far behind that, and by the time we were on the back-nine, I was magically scooping turf out from underneath my ball without touching or moving the ball… It would simply plop down into the divot that I left.

The plan was to play nine holes, stop for lunch and a golf clinic with Tom Weiskopf, and then play the second nine.

Strike!

Unfortunately, the weather started turning. It was cold and was starting to drizzle… Then it started to rain… We were just on the green of our eight hole when lightning struck and blew a tree apart that was right next to the Tee box we just hit from… Air horns blowing, we decided it was best to head in to the club house.

The clubhouse was, of course, packed as we ate lunch and tried to dry off. The entire 18th fairway was white with hail and rain. I really didn’t think we’d make it back out. But, the gods were smiling and the weather broke.

We made it back out, finished our horrible game (we came in 2nd or 3rd from last) and headed home to soak in the jacuzzi for a while.

Jucuzzi was great. Hot water, cold rain. Perfect thermal regulation. A few degrees cooler and we would have had ice in our hair.

We headed down to the lodge for the award ceremony / dinner. Was great fun. Pictures with Tom, family style dinner with mixed grilled meats/fish/shrimp, and about an hour of Q & A with Tom.

It was fun hearing Tom talking about the game of golf as it has changed over the years since he started playing in the 60s, through the 80s, and his opinions on the game and the players playing today.

Mike, Tom, Laurie, and Chris at the closing night reception

I’ve known Tom for over a decade, but, we’ve never talked about golf… more about hunting, sporting clays shooting, and life in Montana. He’s a really nice guy and it was great getting his personal insight.

In any case, in spite of the weather, it was a great weekend and raised  a lot of money to help out the community at a time when it is really needed.

Air Force Pave Hawk Helicopter

Most of this is based on the fact that I’m just not interested in it myself, and some of it is based on experiences that I’ve observed in others. For example, my starter wife had a drug problem. Both prescription and illegal. She seemed reluctant to believe me when I’d bring it up and this just caused her to be more secretive about it rather than affect any change. Eventually, as these things tend to go, it took a couple of major wakeup calls before there was any acknowledgement of a problem (which I find is usually the case), but, we had already unraveled that relationship by then and found ourselves in an unrecoverable situation.  The point being, I’ve seen lives screwed up be even the most accepted and docile of the common, illegal, recreational drugs. But, that’s not what this post is about.

Team Hawk

When I was flying with the California Air National Guard, one of our domestic missions was working with the DEA and the California Anti-Drug Task Force. These were fun, real-life missions.

Rather than typical training sorties, we actually had something real to do. We treated this like a semi-combat mission and would gear up to help the anti-drug authorities to either spot or eradicate pot farms. We didn’t fly with GAU/2s a blazin’, but, there was always someone armed and a sense of purpose that you didn’t get from a simple re-hacking of a stale currency item.

The counter-drug missions that I flew, both in Northern and Southern California were a blast. Spotting missions were fun and eradication missions sometimes a bit sporty. It’;s nice to infill and exfill real people into something that’s not simply a grassy field between runways so that everyone can hack their clocks and not have to revisit that currency item for another 3 months.

The Farmers

There are basically two kinds of farmers in this field of business. The Mendocino County redneck farmers and the San Diego County amigo farmers. The northern California hicks were the funniest. Generally, when you hear the air being slapped around by a Pave Hawk helicopter, it’s a signal to get out of Dodge… But, every once in a while, you’d see some happy hick waving or wielding a shotgun. Just plain funny. “Are you a pothead, Focker?”

In Southern California, the farms tend to be tended by illegal aliens from south of the border. These amigos tend to be long gone at the first sign of trouble so you rarely, if ever, see them. Just evidence of their recent existence.

Horticulture 101

The first time I flew in a spotting mission, I was amazed at the creativity of the farmers. They will find a spot, well off of the beaten path up in craggy, hard to get to canyons on remote foothills.

In the draws of these canyons, they will build small reservoirs to catch water during the rainy season. They’ll line the reservoirs to hold water through the grow season and often put something on top of the water to keep it from reflecting. If it reflects sunlight, it is easy to spot from the air. Generally speaking, you don’t find small alpine lakes in the foothills that we’re talking about. California is, after all, a giant desert.

The next thing they will do is terrace a farm downhill from these home-built reservoirs. The terracing is generally underneath trees so that it is also hidden from the air. Sometimes they will thin the trees enough to get a good supply of sunlight down to the farm but not enough so that it’s easy to spot what’s growing down there.

The terraced farm is watered with drip lines running up the hill to the reservoir. Usually, but not always, the lines are covered with dirt making them difficult to spot.

Somewhere near the farm, there is often a small makeshift shack that is filled with canned goods to sustain the farmer, fertilizer, insecticide, and rat poison. These supplies vary, of course, from place to place.

Clearly, a lot of attention is put into building a sustainable farm that is difficult to spot from the air and well out-of-bounds of a typical hiker or tourist.

Weedspotting

On spotting missions, you generally have a good idea where the farms might be. Sometimes it’s based on the known existence of previous farms, sometimes from tips, and sometimes just because it looks like a good area to hide a farm.

It’s impossible to know what you don’t know, but, I’m sure we flew over many farms that we simply never saw. But… Every once in awhile, something catches your eye. You’re not exactly sure what, but, something wasn’t right. Maybe it was too green down there. Maybe you caught a glimpse of a piece of drip line… Maybe the trees were topped just a bit too much, but, something’s not right.

You fly a couple of passes over the spot to try to see if you can see it again. Two, three passes… nothing… Maybe it’s wishful thinking and you’re just imagining something… OK, one final pass and let’s bring this thing into a hover.

We’re flying a 22,000-pound helicopter with a 53’8″ rotor blade… It’s creates a bit of downward pressure when in a hover. You may not see it right away, but, you sure smell it.

All of the sudden, everything smells like pot. You look down as the rotor wash pushes the trees apart and just like Candide entering el Dorado, the gleaming splendor of the mother lode is shining below you. OK, let’s mark this one on the GPS and move along.

By the time you land, you, the helicopter, everything is sticky with resin and you reek of pot. Several years ago, we were flying out of North Island in San Diego and I was really worried about getting pulled over on my drive home. I figured some Navy MP would pull me over on base solely because I was wearing an Air Force Uniform. As soon as I rolled down the window the smell of marijuana would be overwhelming and it might be a little difficult to explain exactly why I smelled that way… Luckily, it never happened.

Eradication

Eradication missions are much more fun than spotting missions. You get more of a sense of accomplishment and it’s a lot of fun flying around with the DEA guys that all look like a bunch of drug addicts.

They show up in semi-military camouflage… more like redneck camo than military. In general, they are bearded and pony-tailed. Grisly looking guys wearing guns on their hips.

One of my first eradication missions I had to hoist a couple of these guys down into a deep canyon that we couldn’t land in. We used a device called a Forest Penetrator. This is a weird missile-like thing that has little paddle-type seats that fold out on the bottom and a metal body with a safety strap that goes around the shoulders.

Bright Yellow Forest Penetrator about to be deployed

We’d hoist these burly guys in pairs, so, essentially they’re holding each other, oh so dearly, sitting on a little paddle, with a large metal phallus in between them… But! it gets better!

Hoisting them down below onto what is a reasonably steep canyon, hugging each other until they hit the ground and roll a few feet away on the ground, still hugging, is quite a sight to see. Especially considering the size and garb of these crosses between what looks like a mercenary, a hippy, and a tweeker wearing a gun.

We would infill the troops and take off for lunch. After an hour or so, we’d come back to pull out the quarry. They would cut down the farm and load it into large net bags that we would sling-load out below the helicopter on long canvas straps.

Sling loading is a pretty common mission with a helicopter, but, generally you have a heavy load that doesn’t “fly” much. A giant bag of pot, tends to fly, so, you have to be careful about air speed or the bag will get well behind the helicopter possibly causing some problems depending on what the strap gets hung up in.

Slingloading a bag of Marijuana

We would fly the loads back to a makeshift base, out in the woods, where these DEA guys in their ratty pickup trucks would simply say “thank you” and drive off into the sunset with tens of thousands of plants. I really hope we checked their IDs to make sure they were legit…

Regarding the growing seasons and quality… In general, Mendocino produced HUGE plants compared to the Southern California plants… Sometimes buds on these plants were nearly the size of my arms. The southern plants were generally smaller, but, there were still many thousands of them out there.

One afternoon, in about 4 hours of eradication we took out more than 15,000 plants from a single site on Mount Palomar. On that particular day, we spent our time spotting between exfills, infills, and sling loads.

So, we fly with the cargo doors open on the helicopter and make a makeshift rail about chest-high (seated) along the door opening. This way, our DEA cohorts can sit in the doorways, hanging their feet out the open doors and have a nice strap to lean on while looking down.

We had one spotting mission where there were about 8 of them in the helicopter. Flying canyons is not for the faint of heart. Lots of terrain following and yanking and banking.

The first sign of trouble was the burly DEA guy suddenly sitting on the floor, in the middle of the cabin, facing forward. “He’s gonna blow!”

Much like seeing a person on a boat suddenly turn white and sit in the center trying to focus on the horizon, we knew this guy had had it. We immediately start flying straight and level as the guy covers his mouth with his hands. (kind of like what a 5-year-old would do)

Then, bright orange Gatorade started emerging from between his fingers. Down the front of his faux-military camo shirt and onto the cabin floor. He was like a little Gatorade fountain sitting in the middle of the helicopter as we quickly flew back to our temporary base on a dirt road in the foothills to offload him in the back of a pickup truck full of pot.

As we land, we ask if anyone else wants off, and a crew of 8, green, DEA tough-guys all hobbled off of the helicopter to call it a day.

We, of course, continued our mission without them.

It’s nothing new, they’ve been hanging there since I got back from my last tour to Afghanistan in 2007. Just noticed them. One of the two tags is covered in green duct tape to keep them from rattling when I walked. The steel chain is covered in a piece of hollowed-out green parachute cord to keep it from pulling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck and to keep it from shining and turning my neck grey.

But, for whatever reason, I was just thinking about their sole reason of existance. The only reason they exist is to identify a dead body. Or, what’s left of it.

Many aviators don’t even bother putting the tags around their necks, because, they are likely not to have one (a neck) in the event that the shit hits the fan. Rather than drape the tags on a chain, they remove the tags and tie them into the laces on their boots. A little shoe polish to keep them from shining, and tucked neatly between the laces and the tongue of the boots.

The reason behind this, is a foot in a boot is the most likely thing to be recovered after the post-crash fire burns out. Leather boots tend to handle a lot of distress.

My dog tags now have no reason to exist. Just hanging there, year after year behind my office door.

I’m thinking that I might want to start weaving them into my boots, just in case… Because, as I’ve told my wife… I don’t plan on leaving this world on a hospital bed… I think it’s more likely that it happens with a slight miscalculation or mechanical error that results in a crowd of people yelling “Wow! Did you see that?!?” as I go out in a blaze of glory…

After the fire goes out, I hope that at least my boot is left and my dog tags can finally carry out their life’s mission.

Troy and his trusty HH60 on the Ramp

The book let me down a bit… dwelled on faith a little too much and the author is clearly biased in that direction. I was looking for scientific observation and deduction. But, in any case, the author, as part of his research, attended some military survival schools. This reminded me of my own experiences in survival school, so, I thought I’d try to memorialize some of those experiences.

In the book, the author mentioned “dunker training”. All helicopter aviators in the Air Force go to Water Survival School which is affectionately called “the Dunker”. I also had to go to SERE school, which is an entirely different story and warrants its own post (minus the classified stuff, of course). Dunker training is pretty much common sense stuff and none of it is classified, so, it’s a little easier to write about.

Topsy-Turvy

Helicopters, in general, have two very interesting characteristics in water. First of all, the bulk of the weight is on top (the engine and transmission are the heaviest parts of the helicopter). What this means is that once you hit the water, a helo (with few exceptions) will want to turn upside down and start sinking… The second interesting characteristic is the fact that there is a giant human Cuisinart on the back of the helicopter and an even bigger one on top. So, you don’t necessarily want to get out of the thing too early. At least not while the grinder is spinning…

Consequently, the discipline to stay buckled into an upside-down, sinking helicopter requires just a bit of training. That’s where dunker training comes in.

Water Survival 101

I attended Water Survival school at Fairchild Air Force Base in Spokane, WA. This is nothing compared to PJ or SEAL water training, but, is interesting and parts of it are kind of fun. Maybe swimming around in a pool with your flight suit and a helmet aren’t the best, but, it’s interesting.

The school starts out with classroom academics. A lot of it is focused on staying alive if you survive the initial ditching. So, it’s about procuring water, fishing for fish, eating seagulls, signaling for help, etc. They also go through the basic operation of the survival kits that you will find in a typical life raft… pretty dry.

Then comes the practical.

Everyone in the Pool!

First you must demonstrate that you can swim… In your flight suit, of course… This is followed by a demonstration that you can tread water… Still, pretty simple… Surprisingly, not everyone can tread water for the length of the test (I can’t remember, but, I seem to remember that it was 3-5 minutes).

Next comes the fun part… We get to use our LPUs. EVERYTHING in the military has a ridiculous acronym. An inflatable life preserver is called an LPU, or , “Life Preserver Unit”. This is not nearly as ridiculous as the SCUBA pony bottle that we fly with called a “HEEDS” bottle. The HEEDS, or Helicopter Emergency Egress Device System is simply a small SCUBA tank about the size of a can of hair spray with a regulator attached to it. I guess SCUBA tank was already taken, so, we had to name it something more obscure.

We get a fun LPU demonstration as we jump into the pool, wearing an LPU, and we’re supposed to pull the cords that cause it to inflate with CO2 as we hit the water… Of course, mine is a dud and I sink to the bottom. Not a big deal, I’m assessing the situation standing on the bottom of the pool. Figure I’ll manually momentarily when I’m rudely grabbed by the helmet and heaved airward. I tell the instructor that I have the situation under control, but, he doesn’t seem to care. No standing on the bottom of the pool allowed…

As the day progressed, we started doing more complicated acrobatics like trying to unhook a seat belt that strapped you into a floating underwater chair. Fun. They flip you over, underwater, upside down… Water filling your nasal passages as you unbelt and swim away. Next time, of course, you have to wear blacked-out goggles so that you can’t see what you are doing… Mission accomplished, we are released for the day.

The next day is MUCH more exciting. We get the C-130 dunker training.

A C-130 is a large troop/cargo transport plane. The main part of the plane is essentially a big tube with seats along the walls that are made of tubular steel and nylon webbing. The passengers sit along the walls in these web seats facing the center of the tube. In other words, backs against the walls.

In the dunker arena, they have a very large swimming pool in a larger building. At one end of the pool there is a giant mockup of a C-130. It is suspended in the air via a cable and crane system.

During our training briefing, we are given a mission. We are flying over the ocean west of Alaska. The water temperature is in the mid-thirties and the air temperature is much colder. So, we are given exposure suits to protect us from the elements in the case of a ditching. We are also, of course, given LPUs and the airplane is equipped with life rafts.

We all climb aboard flight 666 and the scenario begins… It’s dark in the plane and it’s rattling around as we hear announcements from the Captain. “Keep your seat belt fastened, we are flying into some rough weather”.

We bounce around in the dark listening to the fake sounds of engines running, weather, and scratchy announcements from up front.

Then something goes horribly wrong. We’re not going to make it to Anchorage. We’re going to have to ditch… Red flashing lights, alarms, everyone scrambling to don their exposure suits. Quite comical.

We get our exposure suits on and our LPUs and fasten our seat belts into the uncomfortable chairs along the sides of the airplane. Not too long after, the pilot makes an announcement that we are ditching and to assume crash positions.

We all lean forward with our chests in our laps holding onto the steel tubing that make up the base of the seats. I feel the fuselage drop into the water… But, this is no Captain Sully landing… This thing immediately sinks and is not very water tight.

So, here we are… probably 20 or so of us seat belted in a giant, dark metal tube with our heads between our knees and suddenly, the tube is filled to the top with water. In a semi-panick, we all work our way toward the exit. Hand-over-hand along the bank of seats to keep our bearings toward the exit door, holding our breath.

As we emerge, the brightly lit pool house has been converted to a Perfect Storm hell. A life raft has been deployed, the pool is full of waves, it’s dark, there is cold rain pouring down everywhere.

We egress the sinking airplane and inflate our LPUs in our unwieldy exposure suits. Slowly, we make our way into the life rafts and try to bail out the water accumulating from the prolific fake storm that is raining into the raft without mercy. It’s just plain fun…

We get the tent-like top of the life raft up and bail out most of the water. It’s dark out and the sea is rough. Fake rain, lightning, thunder, noise…

In the comfort of our life raft, we take inventory of the survival kits… A few little bags of water, First Aid kit, a desalinization pump, a radio…

We pull out the radio and start trying to get help. After we make contact, we are, of course, told that there are enemies in the area and to try to hide… Well, the only way to hide in a giant orange life raft is to make it small… so, we deflate the life raft to make it sit low in the water.

We spend some time floating around, huddled up in the cold of a semi-submerged life raft before we get the signal that the coast is clear. We give our coordinates and guide an imaginary vessel that ultimately imaginarily rescues us.

It was a good day. Again, my sinuses are filled with pool water. Heading out to dinner later that evening, I bent over to tie my shoes and a good gallon of water ran out of my head and onto the street… Where was that all hiding? I reflect on how surprised I was to find myself underwater, strapped to a seat, in the dark, in a giant metal tube… They failed to mention that part… I thought we’d simply jump out of the door of a floating airplane into the pool… Fun, Fun, Fun.

Helo Dunker

The Helo Dunker is somewhat similar to the C-130 dunker. It’s basically a generic helicopter hanging from cables over a pool… But, this one does something special- it rolls! As I said earlier, Helicopters sink upside down.

Helicopter Dunker

The Helo Dunker is basically set up with two pilot seats, two gunner/engineer seats, and a big hollow tube that is open on the other end in case of emergency. There are a couple of safety guys in the water with SCUBA gear in case something happens and they need to get you out in a hurry.

The first run is easy. Strap in, dunk, remove your seat belt, open the emergency exit or jettison your window, and swim out. It’s light, you can see which way the bubbles are going, etc…

But, subsequent dunks are much better. You’re in the dark. So, you can see a thing. You splash down and the dunker starts spinning to simulate the engine rotating downward to simulate the heavy side down sink technique.

You can’t see, so you’re not exactly sure when to take your last gulp of air. Hopefully you timed it right because you’re probably rolling backwards, in a metal tube, seat belted into a chair, in the dark.

Because of the Cuisinart factor, you must remain seated with your seatbelt attached until all violent motion has stopped. Up until this point, you risk getting chopped into bits by flinging rotor blade bits.

Once you find yourself motionless, and upside down, you find a familiar reference point on the aircraft and remove your seat belt. Then you jettison the window or open an emergency exit and crawl your way out… Holding your breath the entire time, of course (they don’t give us HEEDS bottles for this exercise).

Once free from the wreckage, you guess which way is up and start swimming toward the surface. Hopefully, you guess right.

It’s an odd, claustrophobic kind of experience. It really freaks a few guys out who have to be removed by the SCUBA-wearing safety swimmers…

Eventually, everyone gets through their mandatory number of dunks and escapes and the course in concluded…

But not really… The final conclusion is experienced the next day, when, once again, you bend down to tie your shoes, and half of a swimming pool comes running out of the hidden grottos of your sinuses.