Two up, One to go

It has been a while since I last put out an update on three Agents that were hurt in the crash 74 days ago. Agent M is currently back on Full Duty! That means exactly what it sounds like, she has been given a full bill of health to return to work.

The same day we received that news, Agent S started coming back to work for 4 hours a day. A significant improvement over no hours a day. Her voice is still very weak compared to what it was before, but she sounds a lot better than the last few times I saw her. I am sure that as she returns to work she will become more frustrated with her healing larynx than ever before (with a job that is at least 90% vocal), but she is back.

I have not heard much about Agent L. All I know is that she is still recovering. She will require several reconstructive surgeries and a lot of dental work. As far as I know she is still in a lot of pain, but yearning to get back to work (she was never the stay at home type, if you ken). She and her family still need your prayers.

Not much else to speak of. The past two weeks I have been on 2 extraditions and 2 transports. I did get to see a good bit of scenery on one transport, however, nothing of note.

I believe that this is my shortest Chronicle to date.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

A View From 40 Feet Up

Despite the fact that I am a full grown man, I still find it necessary to omit certain details from my mother. My mother, like all mothers, is a worrier. My chosen profession does not help this fact. However, tonight when I told her this story (Having absolutely nothing to do with Law Enforcement, Guns, Ammunition, or Idiot Criminals) I still found myself omitting details.

Tonight, after Church, my mother asked me to give a package to a lady friend (Her and her Husband being lifelong friends of ours). While at church, I told this friend about this expected package. She told me that I would have to follow her home, due to the fact that she and her Husband rode the Harley to church. Their house is not that far from mine, so I agreed. Besides, I had not been to their house in quite a while and wanted to see what changes they had made to the 100 year old (roughly) house.

When I stepped into the living room, I immediately noted some badly needed structural changes and some pleasant cosmetic changes that had been made. As they were giving me the tour, I happened to look out one of the many side windows in the kitchen, and what should I see? An old rusty scissor lift truck (Boom lift, Bucket truck, or Cherry picker around here). I inquire as to why the thing is out there and how it came to be so.

The husband speaks up and tells me (while were heading outside to look at it) that he had looked into renting one in order do some repairs on the roof and chimney. Due to the fact that it would take several days for him to do the work by himself, and the rental fees being fairly high per day, he decided that he would look into buying one. He figured that he would find other reasons to have such a vehicle, so he promptly bought the truck I was looking at for a fairly good deal.

As we continue the discussion the wife comes out and hands him the keys to the truck. He cranks it up and gets in the bucket. He starts taking the bucket up to the maximum height. All the while relaying how smooth you have to be with it, what the maximum height is (40 ft), and what the range of motion is. Once he got to the top and started his way back down he started talking about his two sons (both my age and also lifelong friends) and how one managed to take it all the way to the maximum height. The other (being a Marine) only managed to get it 3/4 of the way to the top before he started to not like the ride (more like, how his father was standing ominously close to the ground controls for the lift).

At that time the little warning bell started going off in my head, He means for you to go up in that thing, the voice in my head said. I, having a small case of Acrophobia (vertigo or Fear of Heights) was starting to get a twinge in my spine. It did not look that high up from the ground, but from past experience, it would get a lot taller once I was up there.

Once he got the scissor lift back in the down position he hopped out of the bucket and said, "Why don't you give it a try?" I laugh and consider saying no, but stubborn male pride and young stupidity cries out for me to say yes.

I remembered such a moment a year and some months ago, while another friend and I were in Utah. More specifically in Zion National Park looking out over the trail leading to Angel's Landing. I said "yes" then with a much steeper drop than 40 ft. (More about this in the future)

I climbed into the bucket and received a quick tutorial about the controls and up I went. I am fairly certain that the snail climbing the tree beside me was going faster than I was letting the bucket rise. Every once in a while my bravery would get the best of me and the bucket would pick up speed. I would realize this and stop the bucket cold.

Bad Idea.

The bucket started swaying in all directions, only a few inches, but too much for me. I quickly realized that looking at the bottom of the bucket was a good focusing point whenever the bucket started swaying.

During the five minute climb there were a few disconcerting moments when the rusty machine would squall from the strain. I would yell down, "Is it supposed to do that?" and he would yell back, "What? That? I'm not sure what that was. But, I'm sure it's fine. Don't worry about it." Great.

However, when I got to the top and surveyed the surroundings (surroundings I had seen since I was a small boy) it was breath taking. Especially in the setting Sun light.

The trip down did not take quite as long and was quite thankful to be back on the ground where God made me to be. Once on the ground the Husband started relaying his plans for the little truck and lift. He asked if I wanted to help him with some of the projects. Having done it once, I believe I could do it again (but would not be at all comfortable), I said, "Sure. Anytime."

I am fairly certain that I will live to regret that.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

GPSyndrome

Today was one of those oh so special days. A day of Warrant Service. I could spend a lot of time on multiple aspects of the events that occurred today. But, I will keep it to the point of the title. First, I believe I have to explain a little about what generally happens during a warrant service day.

When I was a Local Deputy warrant service meant (for the most part) happening across a Crack Head with a couple of active warrants. It could also mean actively going to an address where a person with a warrant lives. Usually we would take one or two Deputies, unless we thought things could get unruly.

Where I work now, it is a whole different shooting match. When we do a warrant team, we have a lot more Agents and information about the Criminal in question. This last part would be due to our constant contact with them and the area in which they live. You would be surprised by the amount of times that a little bit of information about a person, their family, and the layout of the house can save lives and heart ache.

Now, the team I generally go out with was put out of commission as of June 15, 2009. The day of the wreck (see Blog #1). So, in order to go out on a warrant service I had to go in an empty slot on another team. A team I am less familiar with and thus put me a little out of sorts.

When we started off the day, we got our car seating assignments. Being the new guy on the team I was chosen to be the one to drive the lead car. I went to the car got in along with my navigator/side seat driver. He then puts this thing on the dash. I recognized it an older model GPS and he automatically turns it to where he can see it. That is perfectly okay (as long as he relays the information).

I hear over the radio that we are ready to go and the navigator pushes a few buttons on the GPS and I hear, "Drive to the highlighted route." I await further instructions from the human navigator (due to the fact that I cannot see the screen) and receive none. I then lean over enough to where I can see the screen. Still no help. All I see on the screen is a small green arrow in the midst of a brown field. Apparently, a GPS is only great when A) your moving, and B) your actually on a road. If you have a road map GPS in the middle of a giant parking lot (like were we work), not so great for getting you out of said lot.

I roll my eyes and get back on my side of the car. I ask, "So....where should I head?" Then as if in answer, "Drive to the highlighted route," comes from the GPS again. My navigator then chuckled, pointed straight ahead, and said, "That way." Once we got closer to the road (and moving) I could see the "Highlighted route."

The rest of the day went more smoothly (as far as the GPS is concerned). For the most part we reached our desired location with minimal interference. The only exceptions would be the odd road that the GPS would believe to be there, but when we would get near where the road should be, there would be nothing but a whole lot of forest.

However, as the day wore on and I listened to the little computer prattle on, something was happening to my brain. I was becoming dependent upon the GPS. I have lived in my jurisdiction my entire life. I learned to drive on these streets, and worked on these streets. I may get lost (a lot) with my little map book, but I generally know where I am going. With the GPS telling me where to go the entire day that part of my brain shut down. This is what I like to call GPS syndrome.

As an example from today, when we decided where we were to eat, my navigator punched in the address of the restaurant and off we went. Now, this restaurant is on a road that I can find from most anywhere....except from where we were. It was a part of the jurisdiction that I have never been. As we drove to more familiar territory I should have been able to pick up on the way to go. However, I found myself still hanging on every single, "Turn right/left in 500 feet." I did not realize this until we reached the Interstate (still on the highlighted and correct route) and I found myself asking how many miles we had to go until the desired exit.

This is a dumb question because A) I know what exit we were going to, and B) I knew what what exit we were at. Therefore, I should have known how many miles we had to go, but I had become dependent upon the GPS (in only a few short hours).

Now, the phenomenon is not an isolated incident. On March 22, 2009 a man in Yorkshire, England nearly drove off a cliff while simply following the directions of his GPS. October 25, 2008 a Polish man in Australia drove into a lake while following the directions given by his GPS. Here, recently a woman drove off an embankment and into a local pond, because her GPS told her to. I am sure that there are many, many more.

So, a word to my fellow Officers and Gunslingers out there, get your head out of the GPS every once in a while. Some computers might be able to calculate things faster, find routes faster, and bring up long lost information faster, but nothing out thinks the Human brain. Do not become so dependent upon your GPS that you cannot find your way out of a situation if the proverbial fecal matter hits the fan. I cannot imagine having to wait on that thing to find a satellite and calculate a route for me to get out of the line of fire.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

Meet and Greet

A few weeks ago a received an e-mail from my AIC (Agent-In-Charge), it went something along the lines of, "On blah blah date (at the end of August) we will be attending a meet and greet session at blah blah Government run drug rehabilitation center. Be prepared with questions and to have a good time eating breakfast with folks from another agency. So, mark your calenders. We will be leaving at..."

I was a hairs breadth from pressing the delete button when I noticed something about the e-mail did not look right. After a few seconds I noted that in the "to" section it had not gone out to the entire office. So, I checked to see who all else received this e-mail. It was just myself, another agent, and a handful of Supervisors.

My heart sank. Does he really means to put me and another Agent in a room with a bunch of people that I do not know and have to talk too. For reference, I am a very practical person. I only ask question when I do not understand something, if I want to bring out a point, or if I want to annoy the person being queried.

For this particular Government run drug rehabilitation center, I have no questions. I refer my offenders to them, they go to classes, they take drug tests, I get information back about their progress. I do not care how that gets done or in what order, as long as it gets done.

So, for clarification about the e-mail, I went downstairs and spoke with the AIC. I honestly cannot remember what he said, because it was a fifteen minute answer. The basic principle was that he wanted me to get out more. He wanted me to see other parts of our job and how other agency work with us. What he really said was "I want to see how you handle this responsibility." I smile, nod, and say, "Thank you, sir." The Agent-In-Charge has spoken and I am going. Fantastic. I did not think anymore about it until today.

Another Agent (Agent T) came to my desk early this morning and asked me if I could go with him on an Extradition (a four hour one way trip in North Carolina) on the given day that I am supposed to be at the breakfast meet. I tell him that I cannot due to said prior engagement. He looks at me and can see the fact that I do not want any part of this and says, "If I can get you out of it, will you go?" Hallelujah. "I'll give you my first born if you get me out of it." "Done."

Again, I do not think anymore about it, because the AIC has spoken, surely there is no way he could get me out of this. Right?

During my lunch time, Agent T comes up to me and asks, "Were you serious about the deal?" I look up from my lunch and tell him yes. He turns and walks the way he came, when my Supervisor comes down the hallway toward him. Now, my Supervisor just so happens to be in charge of Extraditions in our office (She does all the logistical work). Agent T stops her and they speak for a few seconds. I then hear her say, "I'll get him out of it." It is a good thing that I do not have a first born child (or in any danger of having one). My Supervisor then goes back the way she came and Agent T turn and puts gives me a thumbs up. I stared at him blinking as he followed after my Supervisor.

I know that that is not proof positive that I am home free and going to randomville, NC. But, at least I have a hope and a prayer.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

Katy Bar the Door!

The mist rose above the Nantahala river as we rode with the calm current. The trees and mountains flowed by in silence and the mountains provided ample shade from the warm sun. We watched in awe as the Smoky Mountain Railroad thundered by with its happy travelers. We could see the calm river start to white cap in the distance, when with out warning, "BEAVER!!" A paddle slams in to the water with a great Thwack, splashing everyone with in range. The water war ragged until we reached the next series of rapids and had to avoid multiple large rocks.



That is correct Ladies and Gentlemen, I had the personal pleasure of spending several hours on the Nantahala River today. Just to go ahead and clear the air, I have no idea who the folks in the picture are. Just a random picture of a group of Rafters on the Nantahala from the internet.

For my first experience on any kind of White Water Rafting, "The Nanny" (as the professionals call the Nantahala River) was a great tutor. No rapids over a class III in the eight mile section that we rafted today.

I went with my Sunday School Class. A trip like this allowed us to see each other in a place other than church. It also allowed others to see that Christians can have fun, and they did see us have fun. Considering we were crazier than most of the other rafters heading down stream.

We opted to start later in the day, around 1100 hrs, so that the the water would have a chance to raise (or so the guides told us). The river is controlled by a dam. Water is released from the dam every morning and the longer you wait the more water in the river. We were given the mandatory safety speeches (where to sit in the raft, how to hold the paddle, what to do when you fall out of the raft, and how to pull someone back in).

After the safety speeches we were bused to the drop off point and given a raft and seating arraignment. I drew the front left spot. As we put the raft into the river I went ahead jumped into the shallow water (might as well get acclimated), due to the fact that the water was in a side pool in the rare sections of sun at 1100 hrs, it was surprisingly warm.

The word Nantahala is Cherokee for "Land of the Noon Day Sun", very aptly named. The Appalachian Mountains tower above the River, obscuring the Sun until its almost directly overhead.

Being on the front of the raft allowed me an unobstructed view of the river and the beautiful scenery. However, I quickly learned that that spot is the first to get wet. The first splash of water went straight for my lap. "Oh Dear God!" exploded from my mouth as the 58 degree water soaked everything below the Navel. Before the first mile was traversed, I would be soaked from Head to Toe.

Most of the trip was rather smooth sailing and our three boats generally stayed together. Which provided ample opportunity for all out water wars. This was actually highly encouraged by our guides, as long as our attention went back to steering the boat come rapids. Although, there was no better place for a sneak attack than in the midst of class III rapids. When one of the guides saw one of our rafts coming within splashing distance, he yelled, "Katy bare the door!" It soon became our battle cry.

Most of the other rafters that we passed where completely dry and we tried to keep them out of the crossfire. However, every once in a while you would just see the right color raft, turn and prepare to splash, and notice that the wrong people were in the raft (Noticeably dry people). We would go back about our business of paddling and get soaked by a couple of gallons of river water from a 5 gallon bucket that was hidden in the raft. By the time the rafts separated to much for proper splashing, the people in the other raft would be completely soaked as well.

Thankfully, we only had two casualties. One of the new members in the class was the only passenger to actually get into the river at the behest of the Nantahala. Of course the other was the lead guide, whom in the 9 years of rafting the Nantahala has never answered her call until today. We then began joking with him for the rest of the day that it was a sign that he was not right with the Lord and needed to get back on the right path.

All in all it was a great one day trip for a low price of $20. For those that do not know, the Nantahala River is located about 48 miles South East of Knoxville, Tennessee and about 59 miles west of Asheville, North Carolina. The rafting company that we used was Carolina Outfitters. In speaking with the owners of the Carolina Outfitters Shop. I found out that parts of the two lane road that follows the Nantahala (Highway 19/Highway 74) is actually a part of the infamous Trail of Tears. An interesting bit of information that played in my mind between rapids and water wars.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

I am a Gunslinger, not a Lawyer!

I love my job, just to clear the air. However, there are some parts of my job that I like better than others. Warrant Service, by far, considered the most dangerous part of the job. However, I consider this to be a rare treat. A paid day of fun and adventure. The only thing that tops this is the paid day at the local shooting competition (which is coming soon!).

Second, in the line up of fun parts of the job is Home Visits. Considered the second most dangerous part of the job. This would be where Agents go to the den of the wolf to see what is there. 7 times out of 10, nothing. You go in chat with the resident or neighbor, move on. But, the other 3 are the ones that you end up spending a little more time.

Third is Extraditions/Transports of Prisoners. I consider this to be fun. Time consuming and sometimes exasperating when it comes on a day when important case load stuff needs to get done, but fun. You may ask, "Why?" Because I get to go somewhere new. Whether it be a Backwoods County Jail or a High Tech Supermax Prison, it is somewhere in the world that I have yet to be.

From here we slip from the fun part of the scale to the not so much fun part. Fourth, comes the average day. Paperwork, computers, copiers, and phone calls. Not much to say here.

Fifth, in the line up is Report days. In the beginning it was fun. Something new to do and definitely different from patrol work. However, now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair for 9 hours talking to an average of 60 criminals a day, gets old...fast. Thankfully, these only occur once a week.

Sixth, is Office Duty. I am not sure if this is something that is only done in our office, but it is definitely for the Harriers. Like Report days, you are stuck in the office for the entire day. In actuality it is not much different from the average day. Most of the time we do not leave the office, but the prospect of not being allowed to leave, just brings the spirit down. For the Agent picked to be the Office Duty Agent of the Day they have to field random phone calls for Agent that are out. Deal with prisoners fresh out of Prison and reporting for the first time, and any other randomness that happens along.

Seventh, and final in this list is the name sake of this blog. Court. Just as Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy (DeForest Kelly, 1966-1969 and Karl Urban 2009), would say in some given situation, "Bleep it Jim! I'm a Doctor, not a (insert job title of choice here)!" I am not a Lawyer. This is the only aspect of my job that actually makes me want to curl up in a corner somewhere and cry for my mother.

Again you may ask, "Why?"

Why, I would have such a phobic reaction to a situation where I should have nothing to fear. It is not I who stands to lose my freedom and possibly everything I hold dear. I am just standing before a General Sessions Court Judge presenting the Case for the State. So, why am I so often just as afraid as the criminal standing beside me?

The only answer I can come up with, is that I am a Gunslinger, not a Lawyer.

I am not comfortable wearing a Dress shirt, dress pants, dress shoes, sport coat and noose, I mean...tie.

I am not comfortable going up against paid and trained Lawyers. Whom with every other word I want to say, "I object your Honor! I don't know what they're saying!"

Finally, I am not comfortable standing before a person in a black rope basically playing God. The focus of their wrath or not.

I would rather be in the deepest, darkest, rankest, rain soaked armpit of my jurisdiction arresting the Incredible Hulk with his 6 Gamma irradiated friends beside him.

But the real reason I am so phobic about court is...Control. In the before stated armpit I am in control. In the courtroom I have zero control over anything. The Judge is in complete Control over everything that goes on. Good, Bad, or indifferent. In the courtroom he/she is God.

I have learned in this job that being uncomfortable is a part of life. In the years since beginning this job I have arrested countless criminals, been in countless armpits of the jurisdiction, and gone to court countless times. I know that I conquer the Phobia every time I go to court, stand before the Judge and present my case. Whether or not I feel like curling up in the furthest corner and crying for my mother becomes irrelevant to finishing the job at hand.

Semper Fi Deus,
Goose