:hugs: Thank you! Your photos have been such an inspiration to me. I have been improving and still have much to learn. I'll get there someday.
When I can travel again, I'd love to make a trip over to the Mojave (especially Joshua Tree) and take some photos. Then there is always the Hassayampa River!
Thanks- You keep saying that and I keep appreciating it

I have no doubt, you'll get what you working for.
Unfortunately the Hassayampa is out for me until maybe next winter. I'm putting what I got into a trip to Utah in a few weeks. Never been there with a camera and want to take some shots of where the Mojave ends looking back the other way. I feel terrible, as I'd like to meet up with you. If you can make it out to Joshua Tree sometime I'll be there with bells on. Make it a few days if you can.
Anyway, speaking of Utah reminds me of a little campfire story you may find inspirational. I'm not checking resources so the tale is off the cuff, and I hope I didn't tell it on TPF before,... And better yet if you haven't heard it.
Alfred was a frontiersman in the late 1830s. He and his band of men found themselves under an Indian attack in northern Arizona. The fire from the Navajo arrows was wicked, separating the group from each other and pinning them down.
The fighting went on through the day and night and early the next morning Alfred got hit in the leg by an arrow. The pain shot up his leg as the point dug into the bone hard and fast shattering it. It was a bloody mess and his compadres couldn't risk being in the open long enough to drag him to safety. Slowly, Alfred dragged himself behind a boulder and assessed his situation. It wasn't good. His leg would have to be amputated, it was worthless.
He was tough for sure and he proved himself by lighting a fire and heating up his knife all red-hot. He sawed through what was left of his limb and cauterized the wound with his seering blade.
The attack subsided and his men finally got to him. They beat it out of the country and rode up into Utah, to a place called Stinking Creek. Here was where a band of renegades castaway from another band of renegades, lived in a small village. Tough people. The band of men took a chance and brought the delirious Alfred asking for their help.
The people of the village collected herbs and danced around Alfred for days, chewing the plants and spitting on his stump. Soon Alfred felt better and carved his own peg, fitting it in a crude manner to his appendage.
Alfred eventually got better and formed a friendship with one of the boys in camp. The boy grew into a brave and strong warrior and went on to lead his own band of outcasts, eventually joining up with Alfred to plan and succeed in the theft of over 3,000 of the finest horses from the California rancheros.
Alfred went on to find a huge deposit of the highest quality gold in the desert, and then lost it under the drifting sand of a wind storm. To this day it has not been found.
Although the story is far more exciting, weaving, and intricate in its full rambling version, that's the condensed version of how the Pegleg Smith got his name- And his peg.
I suppose the inspiration is that you don't have to carve you're own peg. Maybe some kind of arrangement with duct tape and a skatebord?
Uh-oh... Got late- Back to work.