Dooney and Dr Stevo came over to our new home in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, for the weekend from Montana so that we could make a party out of disabling the underwater US Navy base in the deep south end of Lake Pend Oreille (I’m looking forward to Laurence in Paris’ assessment of that name), the lake-surface facilities of which are well marked on my GPS map.
Dooney and Carol opted not to go out in the boat because it was pretty chilly, though it warmed up considerably by the time we were done, contrary to the weather forecast.
During the previous two weekends we all gifted two other very big lakes in this mountainous region: Flathead Lake in Northwest Montana and Lake Coeur d’Alene, which shares a name with our little city.
The latter are generally between a hundred and two hundred feet deep, most of the bottoms being flat. All the big lakes in this region were formed by retreating glaciers. Pend Oreille, at least the southern third, is uniformly twelve hundred feet deep, though, and there are reports of bodies of people who drowned in Pend Oreille coming to the surface of Lake Coeur d’Alene, which is 20 miles to the south in the same glacial valley.
Similar reports exist about two lakes much farther south, in Nevada: men drowned in Pyramid Lake and their bodies later showed up in Lake Tahoe, both of which are very deep and are apparently volcanic in origin, not glacial.
After we gifted Coeur d’Alene a week ago, the atmosphere brightened up and no chemrails are sticking for more than a few seconds. When we arrived, most days were literally marked by a fleet of spewplanes, seeking a little area of sky where their spew might linger for more than a few minutes but the trails stuck around long enough to be replaced by new ones., then, and Sylphs only showed up in numbers when the spewplanes weren’t present; now they’re in the sky most of the time. On our way back from Pend Oreille, yesterday, there were three spewplanes in a small quarter of the sky, trying valiantly but without success to make their stuff stick more than ten seconds and we were struck by how fast the two gifted lakes were pooling their energy resources, so to speak.
The sky over Pend Oreille was mostly whited out when we arrived, though the surrounding area had healthier skies. When we had scooted out from the marina at the south end of the lake and were working our way north along the opposite shore from where the Navy had most of their marked buoys, etc., we noticed that the lower atmosphere was so heavy with DOR that it resembled an area downrange from a forest fire, though there were no forest fires in the region, that day. Looking beyond the navy’s nastiness, the air was much more clear.
Stevo pointed out the worst area right away but we calculated that getting it at the end of the sortie would be the most effective approach, so we followed and gifted the east shore for 12 miles or so until we reached beyond the north limit of the Navy stuff, then crossed over, three or four miles, to the opposite shore and started south.
This is the most gorgeous lake I’ve visited; those two shores are marked by very steep, forested and rocky mountains and, unlike most other lakes, these days, there are no roads along them and very few houses. I’m pretty sure this is one of the factors that led to the Navy choosing it for their underwater activity; perhaps another factor relates to the rumors that this lake connects to the Great Salt Lake and, eventually, the Pacific Ocean via a very deep underground passage.
The psychics in the area (there are LOTS of skilled psychics around here) have long been concerned by an earth-energy anomalie in the area marked by Coeur d’Alene, Pend Oreille and Priest Lake (just west of Pend Oreille) in which aircraft have disappeared and other weird stuff happens. They’re able to see some of the effects as colors in the sky. When Carol was in Kenya, five years ago, I visited a small island in the middle of Priest Lake to drop some Holy Handgrenades, since that island vortex was the worst offender, but seeing that DOR around the Navy’s underwater facility in Pend Oreille convinced me that this was where the phenomenon was most likely being pirated and exacerbated by the World Odor.
The best confirmation happened fifteen minutes after we left the marina. We were along the southeast shore and STevo and I saw a mound of water moving parallel with us to the left. I immediately yelled ‘Submarine!’ and dashed over to circle the wave tightly while Stevo cranked up his psychic sonar. The water along the shore drops steeply so that it was about six hundred feet deep where the sub was.
When we were right over it, our boat, which is a good resonant chamber, vibrated strongly and we heard a very low, steady rumble, obviously the craft’s engines. The wave disappeared immediately, then, and the engine sound stopped. Our boat’s 150HP engine is very quiet, by the way. Stevo saw a World Odor psychic on board the submarine, directing its course, and he also got a clear impression that this Elmer Fudd psychic was charged with finding all the orgonite we were going to drop. We apparently freaked her out so much that it’s likely that very few of the 200 or so TBs or the fancy pyramid HHg (with fins, to ensure it landed right-side up) will be found, except perhaps the TBs we kindly left on each Navy buoy and barge in the lake.
Right before that sub showed up, Stevo wasn’t getting any impressions of interference but he said that might be because they were having a hard time finding us. The Succor Punch, made around a Lemurian crystal and obsidian spearhead, which is mounted in the center of the pipes of the boat’s half-scale cloudbuster, has come in handy on many sea sorties in terms of blocking our location from the Fudds,. There were so many Fudd boats on the lake, pretending to fish, that afternoon that it didn’t surprise me that the World Odor mavens were having a hard time tracking us and the DOR fake-fog wasn’t helping them, either. So it’s not surprising that they had to use a psychic to find us. I think they were trying to intimidate us with that sub. The Fudds (feds & world odor sewer rats in general) are really behind the rest of humanity on the learning curve, thankfully.
We had a lot of fun finding all the big ‘hauldown’ buoys and were kind of astonished to find a shore facility which had a pier with a heavy lifting winch on the end, two house-sized buildings, including a sort of garage with two wide doors and three enormous cable winches in an adjacent building with a glassed-in control room behind them. Two of the winches held thick steel cables that went out into the lake toward two very big buoys, a mile or so distant. Stevo did an amphibious gifting assault on the facility from the lovely pebble beach next to it. There are no roads leading to this facility and it wasn’t shown on the GPS chart. GPS stands for Global Positioning Satellites and when I crossed the Gulf of Mexico in my little open boat, eleven years ago, I had an early version that only gave chart coordinates, which one used to find one’s location on a paper chart. These days, GPS devices show detailed maps on the little screen, including pop-up labels describing just about any feature on the chart. In saltwater they even give you depths and underwater features, including shipwrecks. ‘GPS’ is also ‘Great and Powerful Stevo,’ so I don’t want to cause any confusion when I use the term.
I forgot to mention that my sonar was jammed shortly after we left the dock. It only worked in the lake when we slowed down or stopped, then as soon as we started again the entire screen filled with ‘snow’ like we used to see on TV when a station went off the air. Fortunately, I was able to faintly see the contour and depth of the bottom, though. The jamming stopped as soon as we approached the dock where we launched. The only other times we’ve seen that effect on the instrument were when we once passed by an ungifted death tower on our way out from Key West and when we entered the darkened, distorted vortex in the north part of Flathead Lake. That small area of Flathead Lake was the only spot where the water was polluted, by the way, and it was shallow--an estuary where water from the nearby glacier enters the lake. The water in the river from the glacier is quite clear, by the way.
Farther east from the buoys along the path of the underwater cables is a barge with an enormous electrical generator on it, also an air conditioned control room. The barge is anchored from each corner with heavy chains in 1,2000 feet of water. The heavy coaxial cable from the cable goes straight down into the water. Steve got the impression that the powerline goes to an underwater base.
Another station, two or three miles north of the (auxiliary?) power barge, is marked by four large, moored buoys around an anchored fifty-foot barge with a heavy-duty crane on it. When we were slowly circling around that barge a speedboat came racing toward us and STevo said it was a Fudd, so I charged at him, head-on, at two-thirds throttle, then veered right to pass around behind him. He was going really fast, so I pushed the throttle forward and chased him. When I got close, I asked Stevo if the Fudd was terrified and Stevo gave me a big smile and nodded, so we went back to the barge to play some more.
There’s an enormous barge with derricks and also with what looks like a large open place in the middle for working on a full-size submarine, in the mouth of the bay where the little town of Bayview is, not far from where we launched our boat. I spent my high school years on Guam, where the Navy and Air Force had huge bases, including a primary sub base in Apra Harbor, centered around the big subtender ship, ‘Proteus.’ We know that everything the navy does requires a lot of infrastructure on shore. The nearly-complete lack of shore facilities around this underwater base shows me that they don’t care, much, who knows that this secret, only slightly remote facility in Lake Pend Oreille sticks out like a sore thumb.
I’d love to pick the brains of the townfolk because even the most blindered PJ folks, there, would see the submarines occasionally. From the other side of the lake, and mostly obscured by the DOR fake-fog, early in the sortie, I thought that barge was a small island. We didn’t see any other shore facility for the Navy other than that winch/pier/shed setup on the deserted west shore, farther north. I suspect that all those Navy and civil service personnel go to work via underground highways. The only other secret military facilities I’ve visited that could approach this one on my weird-$#!+-o-meter are the remote AUTEC facilities in the Bahamas and the heavily guarded and spied upon area around Stovepipe Wells in Death Valley.
When you Google-Earth underground/underwater base areas everything is blurred out by digital artists. This is probably a really good way to find them. Another good way, discovered by Dave Emmett, is to take note of where your car’s fancy GPS stops functioning as you’re driving along. Much of the Miami area apparently has underground bases, according to Dave’s accounting. He got the GPS to use on his business trips to Miami from Barbados because he hates to read maps.
This is the fellow who was quietly dumping boatloads of TBs in the vicinity of Barbados for the dolphins during the time we were doing so all around South Florida. Barbados is the ‘other end’ of the Caribbean. According to the psychics, the dolphins distributed towerbusters all over the sea from North and Central America to Africa in the north tropical latitude where HAARPicanes used to be created.
The whiteout steadily disappeared over the gifted part of the lake, which we expected would happen. It also started disappearing over the rest of the lake by the time we’d finished and even the DOR fake-fog was almost entirely gone by the time we dragged the boat out of the water, two and a half hours after we put it in. Carol and Dooney took the big dogs, Charley and JaquesNoir, to Sandpoint (north edge of the lake) while Stevo and I were taking on the US Navy. Steve got a big kick out of witnessing the impotent wrath of the commander of the facility, who was told that he’s responsible for not allowing us to disrupt the operation but that he mustn’t kill us.
By the time we crisscrossed/heavily-gifted the lake in the vicinity of the distorted, pirated vortex, which is probably where the subs arrive from elsewhere, there were almost no other boats on the lake, even though we could see, whenever we stopped the boat and the sonar started working again, that the lake is literally full of fish. There was three hours of daylight left, too, and the air had warmed up so much that we took off our heavy coats.
When Carol and Dooney arrived to take the boat out of the water, Dooney let the dogs out to play and Charley had a ball intimidating a small flock of mallards who were hanging out at the marina. The mallards had a fine time taunting the dog, too, even flying past his head from behind.
Some scuba divers (not Fudds, strange to tell) were coming out of the water, then. The water drops to two hundred feet within fifty yards of the dock and it’s very clear. I have to say, though, that after seeing how one towerbuster per mile brought 160 miles of previously-dead coral reef in the Florida Keys back to life within a few months during the previous year it’s a little hard for me to understand the appeal of lake diving. Carol says there are gigantic pike in these lakes, though, which resemble barracudas, so maybe that’s the thrill people seek. I used to love swimming with those big barracudas in the deep, crystal-clear ocean off St John, Virgin Islands, when I was young. I guess some of us love nature in peculiar ways.
We’re all looking forward to seeing how our lake gifting might affect the climate and winter weather in the immediate area. People who can competently predict the effects of approaching winter by studying certain animal features (Carol uses the characteristics of a certain type of catperpillar in late summer; one of STevo’s patients studies the livers of slaughtered elks) have said that there are literally no clear signs of what the coming winter will be like. I admit that after a single South Florida summer I’d welcome a winter full of blizzards but that probably won’t happen.
This morning, I’ll have the privilege to witness the three psychics working together in the same parlor (ours) in addition to being in the same EW chatroom during our international predator-blasting session. I wish everyone could see that because much of their communication is non-verbal when they get on a roll and their knee-slappers are mostly indecipherable to the rest of us unless/until they explain themselves. I used to watch Carol and Bradley do that during our visits to LA.