Photo Assignment

Note: These photos are from Harmony Hill, a historically preserved property in Williamsburg, Ohio. The Clermont County Historical Society held an open house there on Saturday. Visitors have free access to archives during the event. A pair of Williamsburg business owners were utilizing the archives when I stopped by the open house.

Clermont County Historical Society treasurer Donna Seaman (above) retrieves research files for visitors.
Clermont County Historical Society president Ron Hill (above) says he’s concerned about preserving local history. 
Ron Hill (background) and Donna Seaman (foreground) prepare displays showcasing clay pipes for an upcoming exhibit that will be featured in the Clermont County Library system.
Ron Hill sorts through clay pipes that were donated from a private collector. The pipes were discovered in the banks of Big Indian Creek near Point Pleasant, Ohio.
Valley View Lounge owner Mike DeMoss searches a newspaper from 1898 for clues about the origins of the building his restaurant is currently housed in. DeMoss and his wife, Denise, utilized archives at Harmony Hill for their research.  

Broadcast story: Migrating Monarchs

Monarch butterflies are an easily recognizable species, but now they are also a species under threat.

According to the National Wildlife Federation monarchs have experienced a 90 percent decrease in population size in the past 20 years.

That decrease, and a loss of habitat, threatens monarch migratory patterns too.

That’s why Hamilton County Park environmental educator Adam McCosham (Mc-kosh-am) led a catch and release tagging event at Shaker Trace Nursery on Sunday.

The program uses unique ID stickers to tag monarchs to track their movements.

That data benefits researchers who are trying to understand the survivability rates of certain areas.

McCosham says the results are important to understanding not only the plight of the monarch, but other pollinators too.


Migrating Monarchs


Monarch butterflies have experienced a steady decrease in population size for the past 20 years, putting the future of a species and a phenomenon at risk.

The phenomenon at risk is the monarch’s migratory behavior, which makes them unique in the butterfly world.

Every year, around the beginning of October, monarchs begin to make the long trek south towards Mexico and the California coast where they roost.

But the same factors threatening monarch populations also pose the risk of disrupting their winter homes.

That’s why Adam McCosham, a Hamilton County Parks employee who serves as an environmental educator, led members of the public on a catch-and-release tagging event at Shaker Trace Nursery on Sunday.

Armed with butterfly nets, McCosham’s group attempted to catch monarchs, tag them with a unique ID sticker, and release them.

The hope is that when the butterflies reach their destination someone will notice the tag and record it to contribute to data that may prove helpful to researchers.

“You can see exactly where they’re going,” McCosham said. “You can also track survivor trends as well, like what areas are getting better survivability.”

Habitat loss impacts monarchs perhaps more than any single other factor.

The same flat land that attracts butterflies to open meadows are also attractive to developers.

Changing agriculture practices also impact the amount of milkweed readily available to monarchs, which they depend on for food and reproductive purposes.

“The thing that affects them the most here is genetically modified crops,” McCosham said.

McCosham caught the first monarch with a flick of the wrist near a row of purple aster flowers, folding the net over itself and trapping the insect.

He then removed the butterfly, attached a unique tracking sticker, and released the butterfly, now designated “XHL700.”

After the release, he records the date, the monarch’s gender, the unique ID, and the location of the catch on a sheet he will send to a lab in Kansas that will tabulate the date.

In total, McCosham’s group caught three monarchs.

“I had low expectations today,” he said. “Honestly, I didn’t know if we’d get any. We’re a little past their peak season.”

McCosham’s words echo underlying concerns he voices later, before his group of volunteers leave.

“Insects in general are important because they pollinate a lot of our food supply,” he said. “Monarchs could be an indicator—a keystone species—of pollinators plight.”







Gettysburg will always be stuck in the past, because it will always be associated with the Civil War battle that bears its name, and the scores of dead who fell there.

Starting on July 1, 1863, Union and Confederate forces converged around the crossroads of Gettysburg and fought over the course of three sweltering summer days. Confederate General Robert E. Lee attempted to launch a second invasion of the North to divert action from Virginia and to pressure talk of peace in the North.

By the end of the battle there were 51,000 soldiers killed, wounded, captured or missing in action. It was the bloodiest battle of the war.

If it were not for the town’s bloody past, Gettysburg would be an idyllic, peaceful little town in the rolling hills of the Pennsylvania countryside. Re-enactors and guides certainly wouldn’t dress in Civil War era clothes if it were not for that fact. and  Instead, the town is a tourist attraction for visitors interested in the history of the carnage that soaked the farmland in blood 154 years ago.

Even today, there is an odd detachment from Gettysburg’s past and it’s present. Essentially, the town’s surrounding area is one huge memorial–a cemetery for the thousands of soldiers who died. But families picnic and hike in the nearby woods, and kids laugh and play on the sites of some of the battlefield’s deadliest sites, including Little Round Top.

Little Round Top

The view from Little Round Top. Note the boulders of the Devil’s Den in the center of the field of view. 

On the first day of battle, the Confederates swept Federal forces from the fields north and west of Gettysburg. However, the Confederates were unable to secure the high ground to the south of town.

On the second day, Lee’s forces launched attacks on the battlefield’s heights. The Union’s left flank lay near Little Round Top, a rocky hill that dominates the surrounding territory.

Despite it’s height and obvious tactical advantage, Union forces did not occupy it when dawn broke on the second day of battle.

Five Union regiments occupied the rough land of the Devil’s Den, a place strewn with boulders as large as twenty feet across that was less than 500 yards away from Little Round Top.

Major General Gouverneur of New York was alarmed when he found Little Round Top unoccupied, essentially exposing the Union flank.

He sent aides galloping on horseback to fetch reinforcements to take up position on the hill.

A statue of Warren is mounted on Little Round Top. He remains transfixed with eyeglasses in hand, calmly surveying the lands in front of him. I speculate the monument belies the certain near-panic Warren must have been in when he ascended Little Round Top only to find a small Union survey team.

Reinforcements arrived on Little Round Top’s peak just as the fighting got underway.

At 4 p.m. Confederate forces marched through open farmland before diving into thick woods. Advancing in pockets–the main force quickly became separated in thickets and rough ground–the Confederates encountered Northern forces at the Devil’s Den.

From Little Round Top, the large dark boulders of Devil’s Den register to a sweep of the eye, but they might not be worth noting if they hadn’t seen terrible close-quater fighting.

After a pair of counterattacks, the Union forces were forced to retreat from Devil’s Den, leaving only Little Round Top to defend the North’s flank.

The initial Union reinforcements were almost overwhelmed on the hill, but once again a rider was dispatched to find anyone who could be compelled to come to the aide of the men on tip of Little Round Top.

Once again, reinforcements came, and the line somehow held off repeated attempts to take the high ground.

Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain–a former school professor–held the Union’s far left flank and made one of the most recognized small-unit command in the history of the U.S. military to end the engagement.

While holding the line against two advances, he ordered his men forward down the hill.

Charging into the Confederates like a swinging gate, Chamberlain pinned the surprised southerners against another Union force who had coincidentally moved into a position perfect for completing the maneuver. The Union held.

When you visit Little Round Top you can stand and survey the land beside Warren’s lifelike statue. However, it is difficult to imagine what the scene of battle looked like, or how terrible the sound of skirmishing in Devil’s Den must have sounded to the men arriving at Little Round Top. Instead, you hear the laughter of children, who scamper up and down the stone lookout tower on Little Round Top.

They can’t comprehend the enormous loss of life yet–they’re just too young to grasp how somber a place Gettysburg is or how hallowed the ground is. Sometimes a parent pulls their son or daughter aside and points out to some distant landmark to try to help them understand the soldier’s plight–tired, thirsty, sweating, fighting, scrambling, dying, bleeding out, screaming, expiring.

Still there’s a disconnect. Bodies don’t litter the grounds of Gettysburg anymore. Instead we build granite monuments that reach to the sky, lest any man forget the consequences of war or the tragedy of America’s greatest Constitutional crisis.


Kolob Canyons


Kolob Canyons is Zion National Park’s less-visited far northwest corner. While the 2,000 foot cliff walls of Kolob bear a significant resemblance to the sheer cliffs of Zion, Kolob still maintains a unique identity of its own.

The narrow parallel box canyons of Kolob feel much more intimate than the grand vistas Zion offers. In Kolob, the nooks, crannies and fingers of canyons and draws feel private and personable.

Additionally, the creeks in the canyons seem greener than the arid climes of Zion. Conifers and dense vegetation crowd the banks of shallow streams.

Kolob is best viewed during the golden hours of the day, when the rising and setting sun shines its light on the high red-orange cliffs before filtering down and scattering through the green nooks of the canyon below where thin whiptail lizards scurry between rocks.

From Kolob’s visitor center, a drive through through Zion’s far corner is a short 5-mile drive, but the scenery and pulloffs make the trip feel far longer than what it actually is.

First, the road passes the Hurricane Cliffs, which are part of the 200-mile Hurricane Fault that comprises the western edge of the Markagunt Plateau. Then, there’s Taylor Creek’s piñon and juniper forests, followed by Horse Ranch Mountain,the park’s tallest point at 8,726 feet. Box Canyon and Timber Top Mountain’s fir and ponderosa pine covered heights round out the scenic views.

It’s no wonder how Kolob Canyons got their name. In Mormon scripture Kolob means “residence closest to heaven.”

You might notice a marker designating a far less tranquil historical period four miles beyond the visitor center, though.

Lee pass bears the name of John D. Lee, the only person convicted of a crime in the Mountain Meadows Massacre.

In 1857 tensions were rising in southern Utah, a territory largely settled by Mormons. That year 1,500 U.S. soldiers were making their way to the territory, and that worried Mormon leaders.

In the two decades before 1857, Mormons had been driven out of both Illinois and Missouri. Once again, miscommunication and prejudice threatened to destabilize the peace. Mormons feared losing their way of life once again with the threat of approaching federal troops. To make matters worse for the Mormons, wagon trains bound for California passed through the territory they lived in. That meant competition for resources and an even greater influx of people in the region.

Tensions boiled when Lee and a force of militia men confronted and besieged a California bound wagon train from Arkansas. After days of exchanging shots, Lee entered the wagon circle and negotiated a peaceful resolution, promising safe passage.

However, when the militia men escorted the settlers from their wagons the settlers were shot and killed. Only young children who could not bear witness to the event were spared. In total, 120 people were killed in the Mountain Meadows Massacre.

After the killing, the Mormon community attempted to cover up the act. Blame was passed on to Native Americans, who the Mormons reportedly joined forces with during the attack.

Ultimately, Utah militiamen and the U.S. Army never exchanged shots. Conflict and disputes were settled through peaceful negotiations. Lee was later executed for his role in the Mountain Meadows Massacre, and in 1870 Lee and another major conspirator were excommunicated from the Church of Latter Day Saints.


Kodachrome Basin


On a good day silence lays on Kodachrome Basin State Park like a blanket. Consider Kodachrome a quiet alternative to Bryce Canyon National Park, which is only a little more than 20 miles away.

When the scenic overlooks at Bryce get packed, you can always hop onto Utah 12 and drive towards Cannonville, past lonely ranches that sit beside fields of alfalfa. Just past Cannonville, the road spills out into Kodachrome.

Unspoiled desert surrounds visitors in Kodachrome. Your eyes sweep easily across the park’s flat basins dotted with sage scrub and juniper trees up to an unobstructed blue sky filled with cotton candy cumulus and rosy sandstone cliffs.

When the park is silent–and it often is–there is nothing to be heard, except when the wind blows.

Unique geological features called sedimentary pipes, pillars or chimneys are found throughout Kodachrome. More than 60 of these formations populate the park, and they can’t be found anywhere else in the world.

Geologists still speculate how the chimneys formed–some theorize that seismic activity was involved.

The pipes reach for the sky in the flatlands and from the cliffs like huge industrial earthen chimneys.


Kodachrome got its name from National Geographic explorers who photographed the area using Kodak film of the same name in 1949.

Writer and photographer Jack Breed was on assignment searching for unknown and unnamed geographical features when he and his expedition discovered arches, colored cliffs and those weird sedimentary pipes.

Breed thought it was just the perfect place for Kodachrome film, which revolutionized color photography.

Before Kodak created the film in 1935, taking color photographs was a long and laborious process that didn’t always produce great results.

Kodachrome revolutionized color film, and gained quite a reputation for its vivid colors and saturation.

The film became a favorite of National Geographic photographers and amateur photographers alike. Kodachrome film captured the Hindenburg crash, the Kennedy assassination in Dallas and countless family outings.

Ultimately, digital killed Kodachrome, and Kodak decided to discontinue it.

However, Kodachrome Basin State Park still bears the name of the film, with the approval of Kodak, of course. The name serves as a tribute to explorers and photographers in search of a world of vivid color.


Although Kodachrome offers horse rides, hiking and camping it’s relatively easy to avoid people there.

When I visited in early August with my father we didn’t see another soul besides the park ranger that greeted us at the entrance gate. The only other vehicle we saw in the park was parked inside the campground.

Animals can be as sparse as other people in the desert sometimes, especially during the heat of the day. Long-eared and gangly-legged jackrabbits bound in between sagebrush when the day is cool. Often, raptors can be spotted in the sky.

I was fortunate enough to watch a pair of golden eagles gliding along the rim of Kodachrome’s cliff. The huge birds shone in the sun, and it was so quiet that their cries carried all the way down to where I stood watching, binoculars in hand.

Zion Panorama

The view from Observation Point, which sits 6,507 feet above sea level

If you travel to Zion National Park you’ll probably spend most of your time looking up at the dramatic sandstone cliffs. Zion Canyon is a sight to behold; the walls of the canyon seem to rise straight up out of the ground without warning

Southern Paiutes called this area Mukuntuweap, which means “straight canyon”. The word is reflective of how Zion appears to the eye–it is a land that rises straight up from the ground.

Before being designated a national park, Zion was called Mukuntuweap National Monument from 1909-1918. The park’s current name comes from Mormon settlers who established themselves in the region in the 1860s.

The Mormons were inspired by the areas canyons and named it Zion, or “promised land”. Geographic features such as the three cliffs above Birch Creek Canyon known as the Court of the Patriarchs.

While it’s fine and good to marvel at Zion from the ground up, one of the best ways to view the canyon is from a higher elevation.

Two popular trails–Angels Landing and Observation Point–provide hikers with an opportunity to ascend to great vistas.

Angels Landing climbs 1,488 feet that travels partially over a thin trail perched on a cliff. My dad and I opted to hike to Observation Point, which climbs over 2,000 feet to the top of the Navajo Sandstone formation–a rock layer known for its contrasting colors.

The hike is an eight mile roundtrip trek that basically climbs switchbacks straight up, and then descends straight down on the way back.

After climbing the first set of switchbacks the trail goes through the smooth water-swept walls of Echo Canyon before spilling out onto slickrock slopes above.

We were lucky enough to run into a desert bighorn ram and two ewes munching on hardy shrubs. Desert bighorn live in isolation in steep and rocky areas and they can travel without water for five days or more, so the chance encounter was a treat.

Sitting across the gorge on a log, we watched the sheep mill around until another ram appeared on another slope. He spied the trio and scrambled down until he was directly across from them.

Separated by a crevice, the lone ram had no direct way to challenge his counterpart. He settled on battering a ponderosa pine for good measure. The resulting cracks were as loud as gunshots and echoed off the rocks of the canyon.

A desert bighorn in the shadow of a slick rock slope

In response, the ewes curiously looked up from their grazing, which prompted their compatriot to batter a tree of his own. Frustrated, the loner climbed back up his slope and disappeared. It was an interesting ritual: beating up trees for babes.

After more climbing and crossing a trail carved into the face of the canyon wall, the remainder of the hike leveled off onto the canyon rim into sand where piñon pine, juniper, and sage grows.

The climb was well worth the effort. Apparently the trek is worth it even if you’re afraid of heights. As I took in the view and watched raptors climb columns of warm air an older man plodded up the trail behind a young girl.

“Well is it worth it?” he asked before coming into view of the canyon. “I don’t like heights much,” he explained.

I imagined the poor guy clutching the wall of the cliff face. However, he seemed satisfied when he finally came into view of the expanse of canyon. He turned and said something to the girl. I’d like to think he said, “Well, that was worth it.”



Zion’s Waters

The Virgin River cuts a green ribbon through Zion National Park

One of the first things that struck me about Zion National Park when I was there in August was the amount of color Zion’s canyons hold.

After being lulled by the monotonous Mojave Desert and the buttes of the Colorado Plateau, the startling shock of green vegetation and the reds and pinks of the sandstone cliffs stand in stark contrast to the surrounding deserts.

At least that was my reaction when I first entered Zion — the deserts of southwest Utah are lovely in a way, and even relaxing in their quiet solitude, but the scrub and buttes become predictable after a few hours worth of driving.

Zion Canyon manages to stay relatively green, even though it averages 16 inches of rainfall per year. Water determines where and how things grow. Wherever there is a trickle of water, there is also life.

When I started hiking Zion I sought water, because that’s where nature is concentrated in the desert. According to the National Park Service, 500 times more species originate at water sources in the desert, compared to the surrounding area.

First, I hiked along the Virgin River, which cuts a ribbon of green through Zion. The Virgin isn’t much to look at on a normal day–I found a shallow and lazy river crowded by large cottonwoods with visitors swimming and wading in its shallows..

Despite lacking size, the Virgin actually packs quite a punch. The river descends sharply, dropping 7,800 feet over its 160 mile course, giving it the force to cut entire canyons (as it did in Zion).

Elsewhere, water is scarce. Luckily, trailheads point towards popular day hikes like the Emerald Pools trail.

I hiked the short trail, and to my surprise found small pools of water teeming with life that supported hanging gardens.

Hiking up through short scrub oak and aspen, I came upon the first pool on the trail. It looked like the type of pool a crazed and thirsty wanderer would stumble into. Really, it was just a place where water could collect runoff from the canyon cliffs. However, the pool was filled with sizable tadpoles. Canyon tree frogs inhabit the pools, and I found their spawn in each and every pool I came across.

The lower pool on the Emerald Pools trail

Up the trail, a trickle of a waterfall rained on a hanging garden filled with ferns, golden columbine and Indian paintbrush. Hummingbirds busied themselves buzzing between flowers. Moss clung to wet sandstone wherever it could.

I’d stumbled into a fairy garden in the desert. I wondered if these things were the fodder that made mirages.

The larger, and upper most pool stood at the base of the canyon’s cliff walls. Canyon wrens stopped by to take a dip while frogs chilled out on rocks, apparently unalarmed at their relative isolation in a body of water the size of a swimming pool.

The short day-hike gave me an appreciation for the power that water holds over the arid land that I was in. Not only because it determined for where things lived either; by the time I exited the park I’d seen old log jams discarded by flash floods, and I’d driven by a car-sized boulder carved away from the cliffs by water.


About Me

My name is Ethan Rudd. I am a fourth year journalism student studying at the University of Cincinnati. This is my second year at UC. Previously, I spent two years at Wilmington College in Clinton County where I competed in track. A foray into color commentary for local high school football games sparked my interest in communications, particularly journalism.

I’ve lived just outside of Cincinnati for all of my life on a farm set back from the road. Living on  a farm has given me a great appreciation for nature. There are always turkey and deer around, and on some nights you can hear coyotes calling. My interest in nature was a little predetermined though. Both of my parents worked as wranglers in Estes Park, Colorado before I was born. When I was old enough to tote around my parents took me to Estes and strapped me on their backs before heading into the mountains. Ever since then I have had a love for the American West’s mountains and open spaces.

Most of my traveling has been directed west, particularly to National Parks. I’ve had the opportunity to explore Utah, Montana, Colorado, Wyoming, the Dakotas, and the Four Corners region.

Over the next several weeks I intend to use this blog to sharpen my writing by focusing on travel writing for a class I’m taking at UC.

When I’m not traveling or writing I’m probably caught up in a sport (playing or watching) or reading.

You can check out my writing (usually in sports) and the writing of my fellow Bearcats in UC’s student newspaper, The News Record, at