My friend Paul Nelson has the patience of Job. He writes that evolutionists, such as PZ Myers and Jerry Coyne, "need to think about [their theological arguments] more deeply." In one moment evolutionists make religious arguments and in the next they claim their theory is "just science." Their religious arguments, they explain, really aren't religious arguments after all. Gee, that was easy. In light of such absurdity, I don't have much confidence that evolutionists are going to think more deeply about this. But it would be nice if they would stop misrepresenting science. And it would be nice if they would stop using their credentials to mislead the public. In short, it would be nice if they would stop lying.

I don't like to think that people are liars. Perhaps evolutionists are merely delusional or in denial. I know they are smart people so this isn't just a case of acting stupidly. Whatever the case, it is a fact that evolutionists engage in substantial misrepresentation of the facts. Here's how Coyne attempts to explain why his religion isn't really religion after all:

the argument from imperfection — i.e., organisms show imperfections of “design” that constitute evidence for evolution — is not a theological argument, but a scientific one. The reason why the recurrent laryngeal nerve, for example, makes a big detour around the aorta before attaching to the larynx is perfectly understandable by evolution (the nerve and artery used to line up, but the artery evolved backwards, constraining the nerve to move with it), but makes no sense under the idea of special creation — unless, that is, you believe that the creator designed things to make them look as if they evolved. No form of creationism/intelligent design can explain these imperfections, but they all, as Dobzhansky said, “make sense in the light of evolution.”

Should we laugh or cry? According to Coyne the design "makes no sense under the idea of special creation" and this "is not a theological argument, but a scientific one." Coyne's misrepresentations and sophistry are, frankly, astonishing. Let's have a look in more detail. First, here is what Coyne writes about this design in his new book, Why Evolution is true:

One of nature's worst designs is shown by the recurrent laryngeal nerve of mammals. Running from the brain to the larynx, this nerve helps us speak and swallow. The curisou thing is that it is much longer than it needs to be. ... In giraffes the nerve takes a similar path, but one that runs all the way down that long neck and back up again: a distance fifteen feet longer than the direct route! ... This circuitous path of the recurrent laryngeal nerve is not only poor design, but might even be maladaptive. That extra length makes it more prone to injury. It can, for example, be damaged by a blow to the chest, making it hard to talk or swallow. But the pathway makes sense when we understand how the recurrent laryngeal nerve evolved. ... But the particular bad designs that we see make sense only if they evolved from features of earlier ancestors. If a designer did have discernable motives when creating species, one of them must surely have been to fool biologists by making organisms look as though they evolved. [82-5]

This, of course, is a classic example of the theological naturalism which is the heart of evolutionary thought. Design X must have arisen naturalistically because it would not have been designed. Such assumptions about design, and what counts as acceptable and unacceptable design, are metaphysical--they are above science. They do not derive from science, but rather drive the science, as we can see so vividly here in Coyne's example.

Coyne also employs the classic evolutionary argument that it would be deceptive for God to have created the design, because this would mean he created organisms to look as though they evolved.

But nature's organisms do not look as though they evolved. Except, that is, if one assumes that God would never have designed the recurrent laryngeal nerve. Again, we're back to assumptions about design. Evolutionists are so deep in their own metaphysics they don't even realize it.

Evolution has no scientific explanation for how the recurrent laryngeal nerve, or any other nerve for that matter, evolved. It is a vacuous theory. But it knows they must have evolved because God would not have done it that way.

In fact, evolution has no solid basis for even thinking these designs are necessarily poor. This is more religion making its way into the argument, as the assumption of poor design is itself a motif of evolutionary thought. When in doubt, evolutionists assume lack of function or poor design. It is not a scientific finding so much as a consequence of the belief that evolution is true.

In fact, evolution's track record is terrible. Its many "findings" of lack of function or poor design are typically found to be false when more understanding is gained. In the case of the recurrent laryngeal nerve, it and associated nerves are complex and we by no means are in a position to declare the state of the design's goodness at this time.

Finally, Coyne makes a standard evolutionary appeal to a famous paper by evolutionist Theodosius Dobzhansky. Dobzhansky was one of the twentieth century's leading evolutionists and he wrote a paper entitled "Nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution."

The title itself reveals the metaphysical message and, not surprisingly, the paper was a tirade against divine creation. It is now a classic example of theological naturalism in action. The paper's title has become one of the most memorable and quoted phrases for evolutionists--another constant reminder of the theology embedded in their thinking.

Coyne makes the usual appeal to this iconic paper, but as if sensing a problem Coyne carefully edits the title. He writes that such imperfect designs "as Dobzhansky said, 'make sense in the light of evolution.' "

It may sound similar, but Coyne's redaction is a not too subtle attempt to hide the metaphysics. Dobzhansky's message was that imperfections make no sense except in evolution. That is, imperfections make no sense in divine creation.

Coyne inverts the message to say that imperfect designs make sense in evolution. Of course, but so what? So do perfect designs, and everything in between. All these make sense in evolution just as my bad day yesterday makes sense in astrology and warp drive makes sense in science fiction movies. When you can make up whatever just-so stories come to mind, then everything "makes sense."

The bottom line is that it is precisely from theology and metaphysics that evolution derives its power. Evolution is proclaimed to be a fact by Dobzhansky, Coyne and the evolutionists not on the basis of speculative science. As Elliott Sober has pointed out, evolution's truth status comes from the assumed unlikeliness of design, and all the theology entailed therein. It is, as Sober put it, Darwin's Principle.

Evolutionists like to make factual claims. One fact that is incontrovertible is that evolution is driven by theological claims--that is a matter of public record. Evolution is a religious theory. What is interesting is that the evolutionist denies any such thing. He may as well be denying the nose on his own face. This is truly a fascinating mythology.

Whether evolutionists are liars, delusional or in denial is difficult to say. What is obvious is that evolutionary thought is bankrupt. Religion drives science, and it matters.

Religious doctrinaire PZ Myers now incredibly claims there is no religion in evolution. After seeing Paul Nelson and Ronald Numbers discuss the issue, Myers reveals he is deeply in denial:

The argument from biological imperfections is not theological, no matter how vociferously Nelson asserts that it is, because no biologist is simply saying what he claims they are; the interesting part about imperfections like the recurrent laryngeal nerve or the spine of bipeds or mammalian testicles isn't simply that they seem clumsy and broken in a way no sensible god would tolerate, but that evolution provides an explanation for why they are so. We can build a case that these structures are a product of historical antecedents, and have a positive case for them as consequences of common descent. Nelson is misrepresenting the argument, and Numbers just went along with it.

It is not news that people live in denial of their own commitments and convictions. But the degree to which evolutionists are in denial is remarkable. The metaphysics embedded in their thought is exceeded only by their denial of it. It is a truly fascinating mythology.

The reason given by evolutionists such as Myers for why their theological proclamations don't count is that "evolution provides an explanation for" the imperfections. This reasoning is so problematic it seems unnecessary to rebuke. Can evolutionists really be serious? Unfortunately they are, so here goes.

First, as a simple matter of logic, the evolutionary "explanations" for imperfections do nothing to remove the theological claims. Second, as Elliott Sober has recently pointed out with logical rigor, it is precisely from the metaphysical premises that the argument from imperfection derives its strength. Third, the notion that "evolution provides an explanation" is absurd. That's like saying bed-time stories provide an explanation. See here, here and here for the evolutionary aburdity that vision (and that imperfect blind spot) just "evolved." Fourth, the theology has historically and continues today to drive evolutionary thought.

The seventeenth century cleric Nicolas Malebranche argued for simple, blunt means of creation to explain imperfections and evil in the world. His theodicy laid the groundwork for Leibniz and others. And the seventeenth century botanist John Ray argued that the world's “errors and bungles” reveal indirect creation mechanisms. These are merely two examples of how evolutionary thought was being formulated centuries before Darwin. And here are just a few examples from later thinkers:

“Thus, God's choice, not having the slightest motive for tying [the planets] to one single arrangement, would reveal itself with a greater freedom in all sorts of deviations and differences” –Immanuel Kant, 1755

“I needed all my skeptical and metaphysical subtlety to elude [the design argument, but] here [referring to imperfections and evil] I triumph.” –David Hume, 1779

The hierarchical clustering of the species is "utterly inexplicable if species are independent creations.” –Charles Darwin, 1859

“I own that I cannot see as plainly as others do, and as I should wish to do, evidence of design and beneficence on all sides of us. There seems to me too much misery in the world. I cannot persuade myself that a beneficent and omnipotent God would have designedly created the [parasitic wasp] with the express intention of their feeding within the living bodies of caterpillars, or the cat should play with mice.” –Charles Darwin, 1860

“The strange springs and traps and pitfalls found in the flowers of Orchids cannot be necessary per se, since exactly the same end is gained in ten thousand other flowers which do not possess them. Is it not then an extraordinary idea to imagine the Creator of the Universe contriving the various complicated parts of these flowers as a mechanic might contrive an ingenious toy or a difficult puzzle? Is it not a more worthy conception that they are some of the results of those general laws which were so co-ordinated at the first introduction of life upon the earth as to result necessarily in the utmost possible development of varied forms?” –Alfred Wallace, 1870

“If whales were made at once out of hand as we now see them, is it conceivable that these useless teeth would have been given them?” –Joseph Le Conte, 1891

Unless “one is prepared to believe in successive acts of creation and successive catastrophes resulting in their obliteration, there is already a strong presumptive indication that evolution has occurred.” –Sir Gavin de Beer, 1964

"Odd arrangements and funny solutions are the proof of evolution—paths that a sensible God would never tread but that a natural process, constrained by history, follows perforce." –Stephen Jay Gould, 1980

“What could have possessed the Creator to bestow two horns on the African rhinoceroses and only one on the Indian species?” –Douglas Futuyma, 1983

“It has turned out to be easier to evolve variations on the five-digit theme, than to recompose the limb structure. If species have descended from common ancestors, homologies make sense; but if all species originated separately, it is difficult to understand why they should share homologous similarities.” –Mark Ridley, 1993

Would God “really want to take credit for the mosquito?” –Ken Miller, 1999

“There are too many deficiencies, too much cruelty in the world of life. To assume that they have been explicitly created by God amounts to blasphemy. I believe God to be omniscient and benevolent. The design of organisms is not compatible with such beliefs.” –Francisco Ayala, 2002

Evolutionary thought is, and always has been profoundly religious. Of course that is nothing new--religious mandates have always been influential. What is remarkable is the denial of evolutionists about their own arguments and convictions.

JAMAICA – All reggae music sounds like terrified people screaming hysterically as their bus takes aim at oncoming traffic.

Our tour guide droned out her memorized monologue as our bus careened down a narrow two-lane Jamaican highway, its driver playing chicken with oncoming traffic, apparently trusting that the size of his vehicle would convince opposing drivers to give way. Bob Marley blared in the background. Over and over and over.

The guide politely blathered on into her microphone, apparently unconcerned that her passengers couldn’t have cared less about what she was saying, focused as we were like a laser beam on the oncoming traffic. Marley kept singing about love and peace.

Oh, shut up, I was thinking – and I wasn’t alone. There’s precious little love and peace on Jamaican highways, near as I can tell. And our cruise terminal was set up like an army base – when we eventually, miraculously, returned from our excursion (a rushed visit to a beautiful but crowded river cascade where we linked arms with other bewildered foreigners and stumbled our way from the bottom to the top), uniformed soldiers used mirrors to check the bottom of our bus to find either bombs, stowaways or the odd small car we hadn’t been able to shake from the undercarriage after it had failed to clear our path.

Is there only one reggae tape in all of Jamaica? The country is justifiably proud of its native son, but the same tape for five hours of road time? It would get worse. Our guide began singing along. Imagine reggae karaoke by someone who can’t carry a tune, on a bus that occasionally nudges competing cars off the road. Over and over. Where’s the rum?

From what I could tell when I dared take my eyes off the impending doom that was the road in front of us, Jamaica appears to be a poor but beautiful country. It’s a large island (for the Caribbean) with mountains and rivers and coffee plantations, unlike places like the Caymans, which will soon entirely disappear under the waves as the icecaps melt. In Jamaica, on the other hand, the poor folks will suddenly have oceanfront property. Unfortunately, I had chosen unwisely when deciding how to spend our day in Jamaica on one of our many cruises, selecting a trip to Dunn’s River Falls.

How was I to know it was more than two hours one way and involved playing bumper cars with full-sized automobiles? The next time you’re in Jamaica, try to find a single car without at least a half-dozen dents. They do not exist, since Jamaicans clearly consider driving to be a contact sport. Is this a symptom of listening to too much same-sounding music? Does it mean anything that the only reggae song I actually like tells the story of shooting the sheriff (but not the deputy)?

We should have gone to the Appleton distillery, which makes the world’s finest sipping rum. Or, better yet, we should have taken a 10-minute cab ride to the beach and sipped some of that rum all afternoon. Perhaps we could have walked downtown, eaten jerked meat and bought some Blue Mountain coffee. These would have been sensible, enjoyable experiences.

No, instead it was demolition derby, island style. We kept wondering why we hadn’t seen an accident. On the way back from our trek up the falls, we got our answer – a nasty three-car pileup at some unmarked intersection. Our driver paid it no heed and barely let off the accelerator. What’s a few more dents, anyway?

I always try to do too much when I visit a place, afraid that I’ll miss something and never be able to return. Dumb. Big mistake, particularly in Jamaica. Relax, mon.

Journalist Nicholas Wade notes that not only is conformity pervasive in our culture, but most conformists are not fully aware of their own conformity. He writes in the New York Times this week:

Journalists, of course, are conformists too. So are most other professions. There’s a powerful human urge to belong inside the group, to think like the majority, to lick the boss’s shoes, and to win the group’s approval by trashing dissenters.

Unfortunately Wade is too often correct. Conformity is pervasive, sometimes subtle, and usually unfairly critical of dissent. Those in the comfort of the dominant paradigm have little incentive for exploring why they might be wrong. It is easier for conformists to trash-talk rather than engage dissent.

This well describes evolutionists who often misunderstand, misinterpret and misrepresent the opposition. You can see this by asking them one simple question: "Why are people skeptical of evolution?"

Attempts to cast today's origins debate as a Galileo replay are particularly ironic. It is true that today religion is dictating truth over against scientific findings, just as Whiggish history portrays the Galileo affair. But the Whigs have it backwards. Today the religion dictates evolution while the science contradicts it.

No matter what evolutionists claim, the science does not lie. Facts do not bend to accommodate theories. Evolutionists, for instance, continue to cling to the notion of a tree of life, in spite of the data. As one scientist wrote:

there is no such thing as a tree of life. The idea of a tree of life, which stringently follows Darwin theory, is not pertinent in the genomic age. Because of the occurrence of lateral gene transfer, specifically in the 'mobilome' category of selfish genes, we know that current organisms are chimeric, and made of a mosaic of sequences of different origins that makes the tree of life theory obsolete.

Indeed, otherwise similar species reveal profound differences and very different species reveal profound similarities. This is not what evolution predicted. Science should follow data, not dogma.

Let's hope that Dan Hofstadter understands Galileo better than evolution. The author of the latest rendering of the Galileo affair thinks that the seventeenth century argument over heliocentricism (and many other things) is "essentially the same quarrel" as today's origins debate. Evolution skeptics such as intelligent design supporters and creationists, explains Hofstadter, do not understand the notion of a hypothesis:

the similarity has to do with the failure to understand the notion of a scientific theory, and the inability to understand what it is to perceive nature, to know nature, which was really very understandable in 1616 ... But (it) is much harder to understand or sympathize with now.

It seems that Hofstadter is yet another evolutionist who criticizes without understanding. And as usual the evolutionist's strawman version of evolution skepticism is overflowing with hypocrisy.

Evolution skeptics don't understand the notion of a scientific theory? Unbelievable. Evolutionists make up just-so stories to explain an origins myth that is contradicted by empirical evidence but mandated by religious convictions--and it is the skeptics who are at fault?

Religion drives science and it matters.

COZUMEL, Mexico – If we’re fortunate, there comes a time in each life when our mettle is tested, our courage called upon, every instinct required. How we respond to this moment will shape us forever.

My moment came in Cozumel, Mexico. Faced with a desperate situation, a fork in the road, an opportunity for catastrophic failure, I passed the test. I am a better person today having not only survived, but having learned something important about myself – I’m a survivor.

We were on a long cruise and decided we’d take our day in Cozumel to just wander around town – we had Mayan ruins, jungle tours, snorkeling and what turned out to be a long, miserable bus ride in Jamaica on the itinerary. So we researched what a cab ride should cost from the cruise terminal to downtown (about five bucks) and strode to the taxi stand.

Our shopping was actually uneventful. We found a nice shop selling Patagonian leather goods and I bought a wallet (still nearly perfect four years later) and a belt. My next objective was Cuban cigars. I usually smoke one or two on each trip to Mexico or the Caribbean and bring a couple home for aficionado friends. We found a small cigar stall that seemed legit (there are a lot of fakes in every Mexican tourist town). I had $50 cash. The cigars I wanted were priced at $12 each, and there were six left in the box. We haggled. We eventually agreed to $50 for the six macanudos, including the box (I still have it, somewhere). I was quite proud of myself. Time to head back to the boat.

It was at this point that I realized that the credit card I’d used earlier at the leather shop – the only one I had with me – had no ATM number. We used another card for that purpose, and it was safely tucked away in our cabin safe. We had no cash, no way to get it, and we were five miles from our boat in 90-degree, 90-percent-humidity weather. We might as well have parachuted into the Amazon carrying only a Swiss Army knife and a compass.

There was much cussing, by me. Kathleen was outwardly calm but admitted later to being a tad concerned.

It was then that I struck upon an ingenius plan. The owner of the leather shop had seemed to be a nice man and we hadn’t negotiated too hard on his pricing. So, I sheepishly went back to his shop, explained my predicament and asked if he’d run my credit card without my actually purchasing anything and give me the 20 bucks. He kindly agreed and didn’t even giggle at my stupidity. At least not to my face.

Crisis averted, we grabbed a cab and arrived safely back at the cruise terminal well in advance of our departure time. Confident gringos again, we found an over-priced touristy restaurant on the waterfront and drank margaritas to celebrate overcoming our brush with disaster. We embraced, unspeaking, our shared experience deepening our bond. We separated and gazed, only for a moment into each other's eyes. Words were unnecessary. There, in the middle of Carlos O'Brien's, life change forever. to memorialize the moment, I bought a t-shirt, XXL.

This was, of course, a life-changing and life-affirming event. We’d come close to epic calamity but used our native intuition and imagination to discover a solution that few others would have been able to conjure. And, we had a survival tale that we could tell our grandchildren. Sir Edmund Hillary and Neil Armstrong have nothing on us. Someday I’ll write a book. I’ll call it “Cashless in Cozumel.” The critics will call it “a real-life page-turner.”

Francis Collins recently rebuked skeptics for thinking evolutionists are protectionists. Sure, evolution is a paradigm, President Obama's nominee to lead the National Institutes of Health agreed. "But one of our goals," Collins explained, "is to upset these paradigms."

OK, how about the humble Lamprey? Long known as a "living fossil," the lamprey is an extant species that also shows up in fossil records dated at hundreds of millions of years old. It is not a very good example of evolution. Now the lamprey gives evolution another jolt: it rewrites its own genetic code during its lifetime.

Like the self-modifying code that software engineers sometimes use, the Lamprey restructures its DNA instructions during its early embryonic stages of development. Furthermore, the germline cells (sperm and egg cells) that later develop somehow retain the original instructions, which are then passed on to the offspring.

It is an astonishing capability and, needless to say, leaves evolution looking rather silly. As one science writer put it, "The scientists don't know how this happens, or why." But of course they do know that it evolved. After all, that's a fact.

One evolutionist thinks that perhaps the initial genome plays a role in the creation of germline precursor cells. Then, once these cells are established, the DNA is restructured to suit the future needs of the organism.

So let's see, hundreds of millions of years ago in the early stages of the evolutionary drama, when species rapidly appeared with designs as sophisticated as today's species, some unguided mutations just happened to occur that just happened to cause a dramatic self-modifying DNA capability that just happened to work really well. Now I see why evolution is such a powerful theory. As one evolutionist explained:

We don't really know where this discovery about the sea lamprey's remodeling of its genome will take us. It's common in science for the implications of a finding not to be realized for several decades. It's less about connecting the dots to a specific application, and more about obtaining a broad understanding of how living things are put together.

Obviously the fact of evolution plays a key role in life science discoveries such as this. Where would we be without it?

CHACCHOBEN, Mexico – It’s only March, but the air is still and thick, water vapor visible between the spinach-colored foliage. We immediately break into a sweat, made worse whenever we guzzle the cold water we carry.

Our immediate surroundings are essentially jungle here on the Caribbean side of Mexico that tour guides like to call the “Mayan Coast.” Indeed, we had docked at a brand new town called Costa Maya, which had been hacked out of the jungle just to give ships a place to anchor.

And speaking of hacking, archeologists are still peeling the jungle away from the dozens of structures strewn around Chacchoben, which was originally rediscovered and reported to the Mexican government in 1972. Completely consumed by jungle, Chacchoben became the site of intense restoration beginning in 1994 and many ruins remain only high spots in the jungle-covered terrain.

Unlike Tulum, which has been fully restored and is popular among tourists, Chacchoben is and feels more rustic and unexploited. There are perhaps 50 people at the site with us, and within minute we are essentially alone walking among 2000-year-old pyramids and other structures in various states of restoration.

The word “chacchoben” is Mayan for “place of red corn,” and there’s an inhabited village of that name about seven miles away from the site. Originally many of the structures on the site were painted red, but today only small splotches of the original red covering can be found.

We rest from time to time as we wander the grounds, inevitably spying mounds and humps that represent ruins yet to be restored, another stark contrast from Tulum and other Mayan sites. We spend a few hours at the site, at several points catching up with our guide, other times, wandering off alone to view the ruins in solitude, making it easier to appreciate the genius and commitment it took these people to build such structures with only human muscle, a knowledge of mathematics and architecture, and a deep faith (the latter so fierce that it sometimes moved its adherents to human sacrifice).

Our largely American tour group – the type of tourist not necessarily known for subtlety and appreciation of native cultures – was quiet and respectful, using only muted tones muffled further by the jungle flora and heavy air. There were temple pyramids for worship, community housing buildings and burial grounds throughout the site. We were allowed to walk to the top of several pyramids, through I’ve read that damage to the sites has required the government to restrict that activity since our visit.

The trinket shops back at the water’s edge are a minor distraction, easier to accept when you consider that the alternative for these folks is a subsistence living that may sound romantic but is, in reality, a grim existence. The opening of Costa Maya has brought tourism dollars to this remote section of the Mayan Coast, a welcome influx.

GRAND CAYMAN – The brochure looked so inviting – irresistible, even – as brochures will.

Even National Geographic had referred to “Stingray City” at the Cayman Islands as one of the best experiences available between wildlife and we humans. The brochure showed people standing waist-deep in calm, turquoise waters frolicking with the UFO-shaped animals. So, we signed up.

Grand Cayman doesn’t have a cruise ship terminal, so cruise passengers must take small boats from the ship to the island. It’s not uncommon for visits to Grand Cayman to be canceled because of rough waters that don’t allow the smaller boats to operate.

On this day, the waves were high but just manageable, so off we went. Once on shore, we boarded a bus for a trip across the island to the north shore, where we boarded a two-tiered passenger boat and headed back out to sea.

I figured this would be a five-minute trip to a calm lagoon where we’d splash about with the gentle stingrays and gentler, shallow water (this is before one had killed “Crocodile Hunter” Steve Irwin). I’m both a lousy swimmer and a coward.

No, instead we headed straight for open water, eventually anchoring more than a mile out in 20-foot waters just shore-side of a reef that broke the larger waves. This was Stingray City. No lagoon, just water and crashing waves about 50 feet away.

It’s fortunate that this particular excursion required all participants to wear small, inflated life vests because I would have felt silly being the only one to eagerly snatch one up. Neither Kathleen nor I had ever snorkeled before, so the very idea of breathing through a tube was a little spooky. My plan had been that if I became uncomfortable I’d just stand up in shallow, friendly waters and pet the stingrays bobbing around me. That’s tough to do in an ocean that’s 14 feet over your head.

Our guides started chumming – throwing stingray food overboard – and got in the water first. Before long, a dozen stingrays came alongside. I’d come this far, so I wrestled myself into the life vest, donned the goofy goggles and breathing apparatus and lowered myself into the water.

As it turns out, snorkeling is easy, particularly with the vest. In no time we had the hang of it and joined the other tourists frolicking among the stingrays, following instructions to avoid the barbed tails and to stroke the animals from front to back to avoid abrasions. It was, as National Geographic has promised, a magical experience.

Eventually, I even got up the nerve to swim a few hundred feet from the boat to the reef, despite what I considered to be some rough water – two-foot waves. At points, the reef came to within a few feet of the surface and I happily swam among the tropical fish and the ocean plant life. Again, it was magical.

I was surprised when our 90 minutes was up and it was time to clamber back aboard and head back to shore. Notwithstanding the pictures of my goofy-looking face, foggy goggles askew and hair in tangles, I felt a bit adventurous in having overcome my fear, even in the most controlled of environments, and done the deed.

We celebrated with seafood and rum drinks at a typical tourist restaurant and spent the afternoon shopping for trinkets. We even stumbled across a rum cake bakery, happily snapping up the samples and waiting in line for a couple of boxes.

Oh, stingrays have beautifully smooth, firm, gray skin and seem very friendly. Irwin must have thought so, too.

Evolutionists often criticize creationism for not starting with a clean slate, but instead doing science according to preconceived notions about what must be true. Here is the latest example from PZ Myers. He writes that a recent example of speculation on the evolution of a signaling pathway is an example of good science, in contrast to the creationist approach:

It's informative in particular for those who follow the creationist “literature”, which often crudely apes the products of actual working science, but lacks the sound methodological underpinnings. In particular, creationism completely misses the process of poking at the real world to develop ideas, since they begin with their conclusion.

Here, once again, we have the evolutionist rebuking others for his own crime. Evolution is one long religious argument. Evolutionists are, if anything, a prime example of folks who "begin with their conclusion."

For instance, Myers recently declared that god didn't create this world because god wouldn't create this world:

We go right to the central issue of whether there is a god or not. We're pretty certain that if there were an all-powerful being pulling the strings and shaping history for the benefit of human beings, the universe would look rather different than it does.

That's a religious conviction that drives science, and it matters.

Steven Pinker, Harvard professor of psychology, is the latest evolutionist to become unglued over Stephen Meyer's op-ed piece in the Boston Globe. Pinker writes:

SHAME ON you for publishing two creationist op-eds in two years from the Discovery Institute, a well-funded propaganda factory that aims to sow confusion about evolution. Virtually no scientist takes "intelligent design’’ seriously, and in the famous Dover, Pa., trial in 2005, a federal court ruled that it is religion in disguise.

Where do we begin? We could reassure Pinker that the Discovery Institute surely is not a "propaganda factory that aims to sow confusion about evolution." Or we could politely explain to the evolutionists that Meyer's op-ed is not "creationist" as Meyer's claims and the creationist's claims do not line up. And we could point out that federal courts, while very good at ruling on interstate trade and kidnapping cases, are not always equipped to deal with more nuanced cases involving the history and philosophy of thought, as was abundantly revealed in the Dover case.

Such responses would be intended to clear the air of the false notions evolutionists carry around. The responses would be made under the assumption that evolutionists are interested in facts and objective inquiry into such matters. Unfortunately, that is typically not the case. Evolutionists are certainly not interested in understanding intelligent design--then the evolutionists wouldn't be able to brand ID proponents as creationists.

Of course such explanations and reassurances would never be considered. They would never open the mind of an evolutionist like Pinker. But what is worse is they would mask the more serious problem. Trying to explain errors of logic or erroneous assumptions would miss the utter hypocrisy that fuels the evolutionist's vitriol.

Intelligent design is an inference from the data. Agree or disagree with it, there are no religious assumptions. It may be all wrong, but its arguments are based on the evidences of nature, logic, mathematics, and so forth. In other words, it is a scientific argument.

Evolutionists have always branded skeptics as guilty of being driven by religious motivations. Surely there must be religious convictions behind anything the skeptics say. If the skeptics don't admit to their sin, then they are liars as well.

But while evolutionists stand in self-righteous judgment of anyone who disagrees, it is in fact the evolutionists who have founded and promoted a religious theory. Their hypocrisy is plain for all to see. For they commit the very crime for which they castigate others. There is no scientific argument for their claim that evolution is a fact just like gravity--it is a religious argument based on deep metaphysics. Consider Pinker's very next paragraph.

The judge referred to the theory’s "breathtaking inanity,’’ which is a fine description of Stephen Meyer’s July 15 op-ed "Jefferson’s support for intelligent design.’’ Well, yes, Thomas Jefferson died 33 years before Darwin published "The Origin of Species.’’ And Meyer’s idea that the DNA code implies a code maker is just a rehash of the ancient "argument from design’’ - that an eye implies an eye maker, a heart implies a heart maker, and so on. Darwin demolished this argument 150 years ago.

And how did Darwin demolish the argument from design? How did Darwin show that the eye evolved rather than was designed? Did Darwin demonstrate a reasonable evolutionary pathway leading to the eye? Did he convince us that vision plausibly arises on its own? Of course not.

Darwin had no such evidence. But he did have something more powerful--religion. In Chapter 6 of Origin Darwin argued that the evolution of vision is the superior view because otherwise we must say that "the Creator works by intellectual powers like those of men." Have we any such right?

This anthropomorphic warning was straight out of the theological pronouncements of Enlightenment philosopher David Hume. And it was one of hundreds of religious arguments that mandated evolution, one way or another.

Religion drives science, and it matters.

The typical story behind the great American theme town goes something like this:

Small, out-of-the-way community tires of watching its young people move away to the big city and travelers bypass them for destinations elsewhere. City leaders meet over drinks and talk over alternatives. Recent traveler to Disneyland/Six Flags/Knott’s Berry Farm – after the third whisky sour – has a revelation.

We’ll turn our town into a Bavarian/Western/Slovakian/Maori village!

It’s no mean trick, of course, redoing a town to make the Golden Arches look like a Swiss chalet. The result is predictable – an artificial town that looks nothing like anything that has ever actually existed elsewhere or ever will.

Still and all, the transformation often has at least part of the desired effect – folks who otherwise would go elsewhere for their entertainment stop in for a day or two and leave some of their money behind. Whether the reincarnation keeps the youngsters from going off to the big city is another issue altogether.

The secret to enjoying the theme town is to accept it for what it is – a residential and retail Disneyland with no admission fee. While it’s true that many folks who call these places home take the whole thing all too seriously, it doesn’t mean you have to. Wink, smile and enjoy.

While I by no means recommend making any such town the main purpose of a family road trip, if you’re going to be near one of the following theme towns, stop in. The West’s top three theme towns, unscientifically selected based mostly on the fact that I’ve actually visited them, are: Solvang, California; Leavenworth, Washington; and Deadwood, South Dakota.

Solvang
The first thing that recommends Solvang as a worthy stop is its location near California’s central coast north of Santa Barbara and south of San Luis Obispo. The weather is exceptional nearly all the time, it’s smack dab in the middle of one of California’s major wine regions, and great golf courses abound.

The main drawback is that an outlet mall has superimposed itself on the town. On further consideration, however, it may be completely fitting that two of America’s tackier creations – the outlet mall and the theme town – can be found living symbiotically.

Solvang, the brochures will tell you, is the “Danish Capital of America.” In fairness, it’s actually a charming little town, particularly if you like the taste of almond-flavored pastries and appreciate pseudo-Scandinavian architecture. Smorgasbord is another local favorite, despite the fact that its roots are from Sweden. Remember to wink and smile.

Solvang does have a legitimate Danish-American past. The town is less pretentious than, say, Carmel (a snooty place that became a theme town – California chic – in spite of itself). The restaurant selection is surprisingly varied. And the nearby public River Course at Alisal is one of California’s great golf bargains.

Leavenworth
No, this is not the home of the famous federal prison (that’s in Kansas). Leavenworth is a former pioneer and gold rush town that found itself on the brink of extinction 40 years ago until city leaders struck on the idea of turning their village on the eastern slope of the Cascades into a Bavarian theme town.

The town’s own web site is shockingly candid: …the “entire community rallied to create the illusion of Bavaria in the middle of Washington state.” One must remember that the Sound of Music came out in 1965 and much of the world had a highly romanticized view of Bavaria as a result.

The Bavarian section of Leavenworth is relatively small – a three- or four-block-wide strip running parallel to U.S. Highway 2. There’s a string of stores selling tchotchkes of various origin and restaurants featuring schnitzel and sausage.

Much to our delight, my wife, Kathleen, and I discovered a very good restaurant called Café Mozart (Bach was playing over the speaker system) on the town’s main drag. We made it a point to eat there twice.

Situated about 30 minutes into the mountains from Wenatchee and just over the mountains from Seattle, Leavenworth is a lovely place worth a day or two, particularly if you plan your visit around the summer theater season (July through the Labor Day weekend) or one of the many seasonal festivals.

Deadwood
I confess that I became infatuated with Deadwood after watching an HBO television series of the same name. Founded as a byproduct of the Black Hills gold rush of the 1870s, it is best known as the place where Wild Bill Hickok was gunned down.

If the HBO series is any true indication, the original Deadwood was a seedy and dangerous place. It is no longer either, so long as your comfort level extends to Harley bikers, halter tops and cheesy casinos.

Being less than an hour from Sturgis, it’s hardly surprising to find Harleys parked on every street. The biker crowd is friendly and harmless, mixing well with others attracted to Deadwood’s slot machines and buffets. The people-watching here exceeds that of most international airports.

Summer brings a series of special events, from blues festivals to rodeos and car rallies (we caught the Neville Brothers one warm July evening). Betting in the 80 or so gambling halls has a $100 limit, so you’re unlikely to lose the deed to the house. Main Street includes the typical collection of bars, restaurants, trinket stores and the like.

Of course, you can step into the very bar where Wild Bill Hickok met his fate or sleep in any number of 19th-century hotels. When you’re done with Deadwood, Mount Rushmore is an hour away in one direction and Spearfish Canyon is 15 minutes away in the other. Devil’s Tower is a couple of hours away.

The Sturgis motorcycle rally is usually the second week of August, so unless you’ve got a Hog in the garage, you might choose another time to visit.

Excerpted from my blog, "Glaciers to Red Rock" at http://highway89-rplothow.blogspot.com/.
My boys – Jeremy, then 15, and Brad, then 17 – and I made the trek to Havasu Canyon one year between Christmas and New Year, which turned out to be an ideal time to visit. We had the place almost to ourselves (not counting the folks living in Supai, the small village inside the canyon), and the weather was cool and dry (mid-70s during the day, mid-40s at night).

Havasu Canyon is not a place you visit on a whim. You must get reservations at the only lodge inside the canyon or for one of the campsites downstream from the village. You must purchase a pass just to visit the place during the day, which keeps the crowds down. You also must drive around the big ditch called the Grand Canyon, which means a trip hundreds of miles out of your way through Nevada or Utah and then parallel to the Grand Canyon to a remote place called Hualapai Hilltop inside the Hualapai Reservation. This is the trailhead to Havasu Canyon.

We got to the hilltop in early afternoon after leaving in the morning from St. George, Utah, and parked alongside a handful of other cars. This also is the staging area where mule trains take supplies into Supai. It was warm and sunny and perfect hiking weather.

The trail begins an immediate and steep drop down switchbacks before settling into a dry wash and continuing a more leisurely descent toward the canyon. It’s a quick hike, all downhill. After about six miles or so, we crossed Havasu Creek and turned north toward Supai. We reached the village about 30 minutes later.

Supai is a quiet, dusty place with comfortable, small homes, a church, a school, a post office, a meeting hall, a small store and a smaller café. There seemed to be about as many dogs as humans. The lodge turned out to be clean and comfortable with few amenities. My boys were horrified to see that the room had no TV. There were no telephones, either.

It had been a pretty easy hike, so after an unspectacular but reasonably priced dinner at the café we meandered down the creek a mile or two, coming upon Navajo Falls before darkness sent us back up the trail to the lodge. It was still early, so we went to the lobby and borrowed some books from a selection of Reader’s Digest condensed volumes. The quiet in the room was downright unsettling, particularly since it was not broken by passing traffic outside.

We got up early the next morning and had an unspectacular but reasonably priced breakfast before heading downstream to the waterfalls for which Havasu Canyon is famous. We went past a number of small cascades before arriving at the highlight of any Havasu Canyon trip, Havasu Falls.

When we visited, Havasu Falls was a twin cascade of about 100 feet, each stream containing roughly an equal volume of water. I have seen older pictures of Havasu Falls that show only a single stream of water. From time to time flash floods race through Havasu Canyon, wreaking havoc in the village and changing the character of the falls. A particularly destructive flood in the early 90s required the tribe to bring in a company to artificially reconstruct the travertine terraces below Havasu Falls. By our visit, the travertine had re-formed completely and had returned, I was told, to its original, natural state. In 2008, flash floods again scoured the area, leaving Havasu Falls a single stream and once again demolishing the travertine. Once again, the tribe is working on repairs that will likely take years.

The trail follows the creek until it reaches the top of Havasu Falls, at which point we followed the trail along a cliffside. To our right, we could see the falls from various vantages, each a stunning sight. Eventually, we made our way to the pool at the foot of the falls, where I spent 90 minutes or so getting pictures from every conceivable angle. It is here where you'll understand why the word "havasupai" means "people of the blue-green water."

We ate a light lunch and picked up the trail again to find Mooney Falls, less than two miles downstream.

Mooney Falls is a different story altogether. It’s a drop of more than 200 feet in a single torrent. At its base is another pool of turquoise water and more travertine terraces. From here, the stream begins a rapid descent toward the Grand Canyon and the Colorado River.

I am, regrettably, extremely afraid of heights. My palms get sweaty as I write this, recalling the view of Mooney Falls. The sandstone drops straight down on all sides of the falls and the trail is chiseled out of, and sometimes tunneled into, the side of the cliff-face. Despite my deep desire to photograph the falls from below, I couldn’t bring myself to inch down the trail to the base of the falls. All my pictures, therefore, are taken from a vantage point about three-quarters of the way to the top of the falls, but away from any real or perceived danger. Sometimes it’s a real pain to be a wimp.

I shot all the pictures I could and we made our way back to Havasu Falls, where we snacked and I took more pictures. Reluctantly, we eventually made our way back to Supai for more unspectacular but reasonably priced food, a hot shower and condensed books.

Having hiked 10 miles or more the first day and another seven or eight the next, we decided to schedule a horseback ride back out the next morning (especially considering that hiking out was going to prove a whole lot more work than hiking in).

After breakfast the next morning (unspectacular but reasonably priced), we got on our horses just outside the lodge and, led by a couple of Havasupai men, made our way up the trail. My boys took particular glee at my inability to coerce my horse to do anything I wanted it to, particularly when I resorted to yelling “hiyah” (usually followed by assorted curse words). For months after the trip, my boys thought it clever to yell “hiyah” whenever they wanted to tick me off.

Aside from the cursing, the trip back up the trail was pleasant. It was in the 80s that day, making us glad we chose the horse ride instead of making the long climb on foot. We arrived at the trailhead at mid-day, with plenty of time to drive back to St. George. We had lunch in Kingman. The food was unspectacular but reasonably priced.

In a world full of spectacular scenery, incredible works of art and amazing architecture, the real payoff when traveling is the people you meet.

Like the smiling Costa Rican boys swimming in crocodile-infested waters in the Tortuguero Canals. Or the retired cancer researcher running a bed-and-breakfast on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula. Or the warm Baptist congregation in suburban Washington D.C. where we spent one memorable Easter Sunday.

The Friday night before Easter we checked in to a small hotel in downtown Washington. The night clerk, overhearing our question about where to enjoy good gospel music, not only invited us to her church, but two days later drove 35 miles each way to pick us up and return us.

In a week inside and around the Beltway the highlight of our stay was two hours at the Providence St. John Baptist Church in Marlboro, Maryland.

We two strangers from Idaho were embraced by an African-American congregation of some 300, starting early with Sunday School and extending right through an after-church gathering for snapshots and conversation. In between, a gospel choir – complete with a thumping electric base guitar, drum set and lively keyboards – sent us out of our seats a dozen times.

The climax was a rousing extemporaneous sermon by 28-year-old Rev. Phillip Pointer, who had already delivered one sermon on the other side of the Potomac earlier in the day. Speaking in a natural iambic pentameter, he brought the congregation to its feet with inspiring words delivered with passion and charisma.

The Rev. Pointer spoke not of fear and damnation, but of love and hope in a time where both are sorely needed. We were mesmerized as he walked along the edge of the stage behind the pulpit, quoting scripture from memory and flowing seamlessly from one thought to the next.

That night in a misty rain, we walked through the monuments of the National Mall, ending at the Lincoln Memorial. It was a perfect way to end a day that had started so joyfully.

We’ve visited Caribbean beaches, walked Chicago’s Magnificent Mile, hiked the Canadian Rockies and enjoyed the blues in Boston. In Washington, we viewed the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, dined on the top floor of the National Press Club building and saw Chinese artifacts thousands of years old. We walked more than a dozen miles up and down the National Mall.

In prior visits I've met President and Mrs. Clinton, heard George H.W. Bush speak, met with senators and congressmen, even toured the White House when it was run by a guy known as LBJ.

But nothing topped the Sunday service in a humble Baptist church on the outskirts of our nation’s capital, at the invitation of our new friend, Emily Dolford. No, we weren't converted -- we still spend our Sundays a comfortable distance from the nearest church. We'll not soon forget, however, the welcome we received among Emily's congregation.

Originally published in the Post Register.
It takes careful strategy to avoid exceeding your "quaint" threshold when touring New England.

If you stick too long to the scenic backroads, you might just get your fill of perfect villages, wooden bridges, rustic inns and the ubiquitous Yankee Candles and Ben & Jerry' s ice cream. The antidote to too much Stockbridge or Stowe is a side trip to the coast of Maine or to Boston, where the ambience and scenery are strikingly different than New England' s inland attractions.

The truth is, you could make a separate vacation out of any number of New England destinations. Boston and the surrounding area could consume a week without walking the same street twice. The coast of Maine has so many opportunities for wandering, shopping, hiking and sightseeing that it could consume another week or more. And you could take weeks traversing the White and Green mountains of New Hampshire and Vermont or the Berkshires of Massachusetts.

The quintessential New England vacation is a fall road trip to see the colors, complete with shopping for quilts and antiques, walking down leaf-covered paths, and spending a few nights in Boston for some history and culture. Whether you' re a hiker, photographer, history buff, food connoisseur, music or theater lover, or just a tourist looking for a good time, you' ll find what you' re looking for in New England if you' re smart about where - and when - you visit.

If you' re traveling to New England to see the colors, usually the first couple of weeks of October, you' ll not be alone. Book your flight and rooms early and keep a stiff upper lip when asking about room rates. In Boston you' ll spend in the high hundreds per night and rooms in the nicest inns around New England run in the $150 range. You can spend less if you shop around and settle for more spartan accommodations.

A little common sense is in order to have the best shot at seeing fall color at its peak. The leaves turn gradually moving north to south, and higher elevations turn before lower areas. Even when leaves are still green in some areas, the "notches" (mountain passes) may be full of color. By the end of September the colors have begun appearing, and they usually peak before mid-October.

Here are some highlights of a "best of New England" tour:

Boston. For most folks, Logan International Airport is where a visit to New England begins and ends. Take a couple of days, at least, to enjoy Boston across the bay from the airport. If you do, don' t get your rental car until you' re ready to leave Boston for elsewhere. Boston is small and walkable, and parking is outrageously expensive, when you' re lucky enough to find a space. You can spend a day or two just seeing Boston' s historical sites and walking the Freedom Trail. In addition, there are frequent outdoor concerts at the Hatch Memorial Shell on the banks of the Charles River, and a variety of theater and concert options.

Dining in Boston is a delight, particularly if you love seafood (you must eat at one of the several Legal Seafood restaurants at least once). There are additional Revolutionary War sites near Boston and other worthwhile destinations, such as Walden Pond. Cape Cod is a nearly three-hour car ride or shorter ferry ride away. Here' s a thought: Consider staying at one of the airport hotels and riding the water taxi across the harbor to downtown Boston. The rates are lower than downtown, the views are great and it' s no less convenient than staying right downtown.

Coast of Maine. This is a glorious drive northeast from Boston, easily the most cenic stretch of Atlantic coastline in the United States. It' s a day' s drive from Boston to Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park without stopping too long along the way. The best way to experience the coast is to take three or four days, with frequent stops at fishing villages, lighthouses, beaches and terrific seafood restaurants. Some Maine towns have become downright Aspen-like, with expensive shops and the like, while others have retained a more authentic feel.

White Mountains. There' s a little something for everyone here. This is a hiker' s paradise, with trails from tame to daunting. There are great drives for road-trippers, complete with mountain scenery, rivers, wooden bridges, villages and, yes, outlet stores.

Green Mountains. Less imposing than their cousins to the east, the Green Mountains offer the same attractions, though perhaps on a smaller scale. The Green Mountains run down the middle of Vermont and are home to dozens of ski resorts and gorgeous mountain villages. U.S. 7 (below) skirts the western edge of the Green Mountains. U.S. 7. This highway runs north to south down Vermont' s western edge from Canada (beginning with Lake Champlain), through western Massachusetts and on into Connecticut, terminating at Long Island Sound. It gets a little crowded during the color season, but it' s a road tripper' s paradise featuring gorgeous scenery, wonderful towns, great shops and restaurants, and lodging of all types and price ranges.

New England villages. There's no end to picturesque small towns in New England, but here are just a few to consider:

--Stowe, Vermont. Very upscale and a little pricey, Stowe has made its reputation as a ski resort but it' s a terrific fall stop, too. The Ben & Jerry' s factory is just a few minutes away! n Manchester Center, Vermont. Nestled on the western foot of the Green Mountains in southwestern Vermont, Manchester Center has a generous selection of lodging, dining and activities from which to choose.

--Camden, Maine. Camden offers a reasonable combination of upscale resort ambience and authentic Maine scenery and charm. About halfway up the coast, it' s not too hard to reach and can be a base from which to see the rest of the coast. Camden is known particularly for its restored sea captain' s homes and beautiful harbor.

--Freeport, Maine. Home of L.L. Bean, Freeport is a shopper' s heaven and has a reasonable selection of inns and restaurants.

--Conway, New Hampshire. Conway is New England' s outlet store capital, but don' t let that scare you away. Conway itself and a variety of small towns nearby have many food and lodging options, and they' re at the foot of the White Mountains. Nearby Jackson is a smaller, perfectly New Englandesque village just north of Conway. From Conway there are three spectacular drives from which to choose: the Kancamagus Highway (State Highway 112), U.S. Highway 302 and State Highway 16. You can' t go wrong with any of these, which take you to such sites as the Silver Cascade, Mount Washington Cog Railway (and the road to the peak of Mount Washington), Old Man of the Mountain, The Flume, Greeley Ponds, Glen Ellis Falls and the Pinkham Notch Scenic Area.

--Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Made famous for baby boomers by Arlo Guthrie' s song "Alice' s Restaurant," Stockbridge was already well-known to an earlier generation through Norman Rockwell' s famous painting of its Main Street. A tiny town, Stockbridge has a limited selection for lodging and dining but is home to a Norman Rockwell museum and is surrounded by the Berkshires, with hiking, golf and sightseeing aplenty. It' s a straight shot east on Interstate 90 back to Boston.

--Mystic, Connecticut. Positioned halfway between New York and Boston, Mystic and its seaside neighbors make up a popular retreat for New Yorkers. It offers nice ocean views, good restaurants, good shopping and a wide variety of lodging options.

TENDOY – The biggest surprise during our three-hour tour of the Lewis and Clark Byway was catching a flash of cinnamon on the hillside above our truck and watching the black bear scamper away through the trees.

The deer we saw later were more or less expected, as were the incredible views from the top of the Lemhi Pass. The wet spring had also delivered a bumper crop of wildflowers and green carpet on the forest floor. Even the high sage desert was lush and dotted by wildflowers.

In August of 1805, Meriwether Lewis and three other members of the Corps of Discovery came upon the Lemhi Pass, one of the few relatively low spots in the Beaverhead Mountains. To his deep disappointment, Lewis looked west and saw only more and higher mountain peaks that would eventually prove to be the expedition’s sternest test as it made for the Pacific.
“After refreshing ourselves,” Lewis wrote in his journal, “we proceeded on to the top of the dividing ridge from which I discovered immense ranges of high mountains still to the West of us with their tops partially covered with snow.”

Today the 39-mile loop road up to the pass beginning and ending in Tendoy, 20 miles southeast of Salmon in the Lemhi Valley, is an easy three-hour drive suitable for most passenger cars in good weather. Pack a lunch to eat at the beautiful picnic area just below the pass near the spot Lewis called the “Most Distant Fountain,” a spring that is the westernmost source of the Missouri River. There, you can do as Hugh McNeal of Lewis’ party did – stand astride the Missouri River.

There are interpretive signs all along the road, but you’ll do yourself a favor by studying up on this leg of the Lewis and Clark expedition to get a better appreciation for the profound history of this section of Idaho and Montana mountains.

If you’re really up for a road adventure, continue over the Lemhi pass into Montana and you’ll eventually find your way onto I-15 south of Dillon.

We took the western part of the loop first, which covers about 10 miles in sage and grassland as it climbs into the Beaverheads. It’s a steep but good dirt road, with a little washboard and the occasional pothole. The road narrowed when we enter the forested area, and that’s where we spotted the bear.

Eventually the road turns east and parallels the ridgeline on the Idaho side through high meadows and forest before dropping down to the Lemhi Pass. The west side of the loop back to Tendoy is a much shorter, more direct route.

Originally published in the Post Register.
BUHL -- On the northern edge of the Snake River in south-central Idaho, the rocks weep.

The Thousand Springs region is where much of the water in the gigantic Eastern Snake Plain Aquifer beneath eastern Idaho emerges after a 200-year trip underground. A three-hour one-way drive from Idaho Falls, Buhl doesn't technically qualify as an eastern Idaho destination, but since the water feeding its springs originates in our corner of the state, we've made an exception.

Apparently, the folks around Buhl and Hagerman -- not to mention the Idaho Parks and Recreation Department -- figure we all know precisely where the springs come out, because they don't provide many clues where the goodies are hidden. If you don't do your homework beforehand, you could easily spend half your time wandering the back roads looking for the region's magical springs, from Box Canyon to the Malad River Gorge.

For example, Niagara Springs on the north side of the Snake River west of Buhl has a nice campground and picnic area and features a beautiful spring gushing out of the canyon wall, but there are nearly no signs that provide direction. And have you even heard of the Box Canyon unit of Thousand Springs State Park, a hidden paradise of cold, clear water recently donated to the state by The Nature Conservancy?

Here are the top five hidden gems of the Thousand Springs area, which also happen to be the five units of Thousand Springs State Park -- and we'll even provide you a map and directions:

1. Earl M. Hardy Box Canyon. Like much of the topography around the Snake River in this part of Idaho, there's little to suggest that Box Canyon exists until you stand at its edge. The canyon is home to America's 11th largest spring, not to mention a variety of birds of prey (and a fair share of poison ivy). It remains unimproved and essentially undiscovered. A trail from the canyon's edge takes you to a world of springs and waterfalls, with good odds that you'll also spot a few eagles and hawks.

2. Malad Gorge. You've driven over the gorge a million times on your way to Boise, but have you ever stopped to give it a look? No, huh? For shame. It comes gushing out of the basalt and terminates in the Snake River at the end of a 250-foot-deep canyon. The surrounding park includes trails and a footbridge that provides a view of the spot where the river pours into Devil's Washbowl. (By the way, don't believe some sources that claim the Malad River is one of the shortest rivers in the world. It's not even close.)

3. Ritter Island. In December 2006, The Nature Conservancy transferred management of this beautiful spot near an Idaho Power plant (many of the "Thousand Springs" have been tapped for power generation), then known as the Thousand Springs Preserve, to the Idaho Department of Parks and Recreation. It's now known as the Ritter Island unit of Thousand Springs State Park and includes Ritter Island, two miles of riverfront, nearby springs and Minnie Miller Falls. There are trails and historic buildings on the site plus a great picnic area. This is a particularly difficult park to find -- take our map with you or download one from the Department of Parks and Recreation's Web site.

4. Niagara Springs. Icy cold, Windex-colored water gushes from the basalt at 250 cubic feet per second. Niagara Springs is justifiably a National Natural Landmark and by itself worth the trip. The park includes camping and picnicking areas.

5. Billingsley Creek. Formerly known as the Emerald Valley Ranch, this is the unit nearest to Hagerman and includes an indoor horse arena, fishing, wildlife viewing and events.

Originally published in the Post Register.
When we first pulled up to the parking lot at the Grand Canyon’s Cape Royal overlook, it was raining hard. There was no break between the flashes of lightning and the accompanying cracks of thunder.

Not a good time to be walking along the rim of the Grand Canyon carrying a metal camera tripod.

We waited out the rain and let the storm move up canyon before venturing from the car. Still, the delay between the show of lightning in the distance and the accompanying clap of thunder told us that we were still in danger – some strikes were less than a mile away. (Sound moves at roughly one mile every five seconds – 1,085 feet per second at 32 degrees F. – so by counting off the time between the sight of lightning and its thunder clap, you can estimate its distance from you. Anywhere within five miles puts you in the danger zone – inside a mile puts a big, red bull’s eye on your chest.)

Despite the danger, we crept along the edge of the canyon, uselessly ducking when we’d see lightning in the distance or hear thunder.

The result was great photography – rainbows arching over the canyon, light streaks reflecting off the rock. When I’d shot a half roll, my wife, Kathleen, and I got the heck out of there.

It rained hard again that night as we were waiting to dine at the North Rim Lodge, with thunder and lightning all around. As that storm cell moved off, I took time-exposure shots of lightning in the distance, probably 15 miles away. As we ate a late dinner, the lightning across the canyon created all the ambience we needed.

The vast majority of visitors to the Grand Canyon go to the South Rim, mostly because of its accessibility. It’s closer to an airport, it has more lodging and dining, and it's open year-round. The North Rim, particularly for anyone driving from eastern Idaho, is a better bet. The drive to the North Rim is about three hours shorter than going on to the South Rim. Even though the two areas are separated by only 10 miles of space at the top of the canyon, it requires a drive of more than 200 miles to get from the North Rim to the South Rim.

The North Rim is a thousand feet higher than the South Rim, and therefore gets more snow and is closed through the winter. During its season from mid-spring through mid-fall, it’s a better way to see the canyon. The views are just as spectacular as those on the South Rim, but you’re sharing them with about 10 percent of the crowd that is drawn to the South Rim. That, alone, makes the North Rim a better alternative.

The North Rim also is about 10 degrees cooler in the summer, when temperatures can approach 100 degrees on the canyon rims and be well over 100 degrees inside the canyon.

Regardless of which side you choose as a base, the Grand Canyon presents some of the most challenging hiking anywhere. Not only do most trails lead more or less straight down into the mile-deep canyon, but summer temperatures and the relentless desert sun make getting enough water and replenishing lost salt reserves difficult but essential. More people die from dehydration than falls from steep trails at the Grand Canyon. The Park Service makes more than 400 rescues a year, most of people who over-estimated their fitness or under-estimated the heat and severe elevation difference between the rim and the floor.

Both areas have rim-top trails that are more or less flat, with access to viewpoints up and down the canyon. If you choose to take one of the many trails into the canyon, however, don’t do it on a whim. Know the trail, know your physical limitations, carry plenty of water and other supplies, and remember that every step down requires a step back up.

Some heroes think they can grab a liter of water and tromp down to the canyon floor and back in a day hike. Fat chance. Only the fittest can make such a loop without overnighting inside the canyon. The most popular option is to get reservations at Phantom Ranch on the canyon floor and hike down one day and out the next. There are campgrounds on the canyon floor as well.

The main drawback to choosing the North Rim is its lodging and dining limitations. The North Rim Lodge is the only place to stay inside the park on the North Rim, and the only options outside the park are 30 to 60 minutes away. In the summer, you must make dinner reservations at the lodge dining room a month in advance. There is a snack bar and convenience store as well. These are small inconveniences, really, for the comparative solitude you’ll enjoy on the North Rim.

If you insist on going to the South Rim or your visit comes during the time between mid-October and mid-May when the North Rim is closed, the Grand Canyon still won’t disappoint. During peak season, shuttle buses operate along the South Rim to reduce traffic. The crowds can still be a little distracting, but it doesn’t take too much effort to find some peace and quiet – just walk 10 minutes down any trail and you’re likely to find yourself more or less alone.

Both rims also have a number of viewpoints accessible by car. Each offers a different perspective, and each view changes as the light shifts during the day and with each season.

If solitude is a priority, check out the Toroweap section of the canyon. Accessible only via a dirt road out of St. George, Utah or near Colorado City, Arizona (the two routes come together near the canyon), the Toroweap section is very remote and unlike the eastern sections of the Grand Canyon. Here, the canyon walls are a sheer 3,000-foot drop instead of giving way in layers. This area is undeveloped, with only primitive campsites and no railings at the overlooks. It’s a spectacular area with few visitors, and worth the time to see – just exercise extreme caution and keep the little ones close at hand.

Amfac Parks and Resorts (303-297-2757) handles all lodging reservations for all areas of the park. For out-of-park lodging near the South Rim, the village of Tusayan just outside the park entrance has a reasonable variety, though the town is not our country’s most attractive national park gateway. Flagstaff, Arizona, is about 90 minutes away. The nearest lodging outside the North Rim is the Kaibab Lodge (928-638-2389) near the park entrance or Jacob Lake Inn (928-643-7232), less than an hour from the park.