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Hal Flanders 1915 - 2001

Big Bend Regional Sierra Club
© Brian Cassell 2001

Fran Sage

Remembering Hal

I can see Hal Flanders clearly in my mind's eye, a slight, lately frail man, but with a boyish, mischievous smile when joking and an intense somber look when he was making a point. Always courteous in my experience but always straight talking and firm about what he believed in. I can see him in his shop playing Mozart while he worked on his latest project and see him at meetings asking questions, making statements. I can see him on hikes, rushing precipitously along, worrying all of us, but enjoying the hike, seeing the flowers, pointing out the birds and butterflies. He was always our conscience in Sierra Club; he was always our supporter. He is known for his recycling work and, of course, for much more on the environment. But for him the key point is that the earth and our world must be protected, it must be nurtured, for it is not just our physical home but our spiritual home. He worked all his life to protect our home. He was active all the way to the end-never content to stop, offering even one week before he died to help on the highway cleanup project. We all think of Mary and his family and all our loss. Perhaps my husband summed it up best for me when he said, "The world will be a lesser place without Hal."




Remembering Hal Flanders


Don Dowdey

Hal Flanders was one of the first people I met in Alpine; in fact, I met him on a trip here to interview for a job at Sul Ross. At that first meeting, I remember him saying, "Everything is part of a web of life. If one strand of the web is changed, the rest of the web is changed somehow as well." The last time I talked with Hal, he had just come from a city council meeting where he had once again made a plea for recycling, specifically asking that a new cardboard bailer be purchased. He told me, in his self-depreciating way of seeing wonder everywhere, "The audience applauded when I was done. I guess they agreed with me."

In between the first and last, Hal talked with me about many things. About plants, and golden eagles. About humming birds -- would it surprise anyone who knew Hal to learn that he had observed a hummingbird nest with eggs in it? He told me of seeing the Davis Mountains from the rim of the Chisos, and regretted that people today can't experience that. He taught me about Monarch butterflies and the fungus that grows on cactus that was used by the Aztecs to make purple dye. At the Presidio Onion Festival one year, I listened as he talked to high school students about plans to irradiate food, about ways to clean up the Rio Grande, and ways to clean up the air. A year later, I saw one of the students at Sul Ross, and he asked me about that "old guy with the beard who knew so many interesting things."

Hal told me about how dogs experience motion, and about the ecology of ferns that grow at desert springs. He told me to look for acorn woodpeckers in Pine Canyon, and about their communal habits of storing food. He taught me the "polite" name for dog cactus, and the name to use "when you're not in mixed company." Once, we talked about wolves, and I remember him saying that people could learn something from them about living together. "Wolves," he said, "will fight each other to determine who will be the dominant one in the pack. They fight hard, and it isn't over until one has the other at his mercy, usually on his back with his teeth at his throat. But, the winner almost never destroys the loser, realizing," Hal said, "that oftentimes during a hunt, you need the second strongest to help out."

As I heard the story, after Hal fell, he seemed to be all right. It wasn't until later, when the things he said didn't make sense, that it became clear that something was wrong.

When the things he said didn't make sense, it became clear something was wrong.

It occurs to me that that's not a bad epitaph for a man.

Farewell friend.




Hiking with Hal


Jim Sage

Nearly everyone had a special relationship with Hal, but I like to believe that I am the only one who has seen him fly.

In later years, Hal had lost much of his sense of balance and for those of us who hiked much with him it was no longer a question of will he fall but rather when will he fall? On my last hike with him we had the wonderful good fortune to be at the Museo Maderas de Carmen in Northern Mexico. This site is located at about 7000 feet in towering mountains. When we arrived at the camp, we noted a narrow path cut along the side of the mountain and at the end was a platform protruding out from the bank with our tent situated on the platform. I was fill with apprehension, as I just knew Hal would fall from the path. We made it however without mishap to the tent with our packs and gear and lay down to rest. After about thirty minutes I discovered I was alone in the tent. I jumped up and peered out of the front of the tent wondering where Hal could have gone. There he was, about thirty feet above the path on a slightly level place on the side of the mountain. No sooner had I spotted him than he lost his balance and pitched forward down the slope. He started running trying to regain his balance and he was still on his feet when he hit the path. At this point he became airborne and with both arms extended forward he shot off the path and down the mountain. He looked like one of the young men who dives from the eighty-foot cliffs at Acapulco. I would have scored him a perfect 9.5. I believe that the angle of the slope and the angle of his trajectory coincided or he would have broken his neck. As it was he carved a beautiful furrow through the leaves and pine needles with his stomach. I rushed down to him and scraped away the debris from in front of his face and shouted, "Are you all right"? He replied, "I think so, but you will have to turn me around before I can get up." An hour after this fall, I spotted Hal hiking down an old logging road seeking new adventures.

If I could only take one more hike with Hal, I would hold his hand all the way.


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