Space Wars - The Reality

I just finished reading a new book called Space Wars.

If you've ever read an issue of Aviation Week cover-to-cover and you have read more than one Tom Clancy book, you'll definitely want to read Space Wars as soon as possible.

If you prefer James Joyce or William Faulkner, skip it.

The book is heavy on weapons tech and light on character development but it rises above those limitations to grab your attention - particularly if you want to know what's really out there in the "black world" of covert and space military operations. My strongest criticism is that the authors write with a definite conservative political agenda that reduces anyone with an alternative point of view to one-dimensional, self-serving caricatures. The authors make no attempt at all to even guess what might cause other intelligent human beings to hold very different opinions than their own regarding what is right and what is wrong in the world. Even so, because of that very flaw, the book unintentionally opens a window into the mind of those in our country who believe that doves are traitors and hawks are the only true patriots.

But the most profound insight of all is how the authors quite accurately describe the astounding vulnerability of the spaced-based "assets" so many of us have unknowingly woven into the everyday fabric of our lives. As the authors quite accurately illustrate, U.S. national security has come to depend heavily on an incredibly fragile network of unguarded satellites whose amazing hi-tech capabilities can be rendered useless with relatively little effort.

Space Wars tells the story of what might very well happy if that network were attacked and disabled. Yes, the authors see the political world through a soda straw. But as narrow as their view of politics may be, they have an equally broad view of something very few people understand: World War III will be fought in and from a new military battleground - space.

A Great Friend

Wednesday, September 13th, 2006, Fort Smith, Arkansas.
My 13-year-old Golden Retriever died today. His name was Maclean (pronounced "Mack Clain"). I took the name from the author of the book "A River Runs Through It." Maclean was an amazing dog.

After my wife and I spent our last year in the Air Force stationed at separate bases in Korea, we left the military and moved in temporarily with my father in Oklahoma City. We were going to move to Fort Smith, Arkansas where I was to continue flying the F-16 as a member of the 188th Fighter Wing of the Arkansas Air National Guard. Not long after returning from Korea I interviewed for a job as a pilot at American Airlines and was hired there in May of 1992. I bought a Golden Retriever puppy for Sherri from a breeder in Oklahoma City. We named him Pratt. When we moved to our new home in Fort Smith we bought another Golden Retriever and named her Whitney. Shortly after that I began to spend a great deal of time away from home - either flying for American Airlines or flying for the Air National Guard. Pratt & Whitney became Sherri’s close friends. When Pratt was one year old he was out with Sherri for a walk in an open field near our house. Our best guess is that Pratt had a sudden heart attack. He was dead long before we got him to the vet. Sherri and I were heartbroken and Sherri was very lonely. So was Whitney.

And that led me to begin the search for the Golden Retriever who would become Maclean. I made a lot of phone calls, read a lot of books and magazines, talked to a lot of breeders and finally made contact with a lady named Mickey Strandberg in Wisconsin. One of her big-time hunting Golden Retrievers was about to have a litter of puppies. Seven weeks later I flew into Milwaukee, rented a car and drove halfway to Madison and was rewarded with the pick of the litter. I chose one that looked like all the rest but seemed to have the greatest interest in chasing a small rolled up sock. He was energetic, would look me in the eye, would lie on his back in my arms (but not for too long) and liked to play. I placed a blanket in my small pet carrier and brought the pup home with me on the airplane. We drove together to O’Hare Airport where I returned the rental car, cleared security and carefully placed Maclean in the front cargo compartment of an American Airlines jet. The flight took us to Tulsa, Oklahoma where Sherri was waiting to pick up us for the two hour drive to Fort Smith. It was a two-dog house again.

Whitney, our other Golden Retriever, was patient with Maclean – and she had to be. He climbed all over her, chewed on her ears, chased her around the house and generally annoyed her with his constant motion. I began to train Maclean to retrieve from the first day he moved in with us. It was all a game – a fun, wonderful game – where I would throw a rolled up sock and he would run and retrieve. Even as a two-month old pup, Maclean lived to run.

As time went on I began to train Maclean more seriously using the small pond located at the Air National Guard base ten minutes from our house. Before he was one year old, Maclean was retrieving dummies from land and water. He ran faster than any dog I’d ever seen short of a greyhound. And he swam so fast that he created a wake in the water. The colder the air or water the better he liked it. One frigid February day we went out to the pond to find it completely frozen. Maclean looked at me and whined like a baby until I finally broke a hole in the ice. He promptly plopped his butt in the frigid water and lay down on the ice. There was a dirt road that circled the open field nearby and I would let Maclean follow me as I drove my old pick up truck around the track. Before long he was effortlessly running over a mile non-stop. After several months of training I decided to see how fast Maclean could run for a short burst. When he finally started to fall behind the speedometer was at 28 mph. He was an amazing athlete.

Not long after that, American Airlines decided that it no longer had need of my services and furloughed me along with 450 other pilots. I was faced with earning a living for my family in whatever way I could. And that meant taking short-term military assignments in various places throughout the country and the world. Maclean’s serious training came to a halt but we replaced the training with frequent trips to the pond or field to retrieve for fun. But in the end, my dreams of Maclean earning ribbons and titles at field trials and hunt tests evaporated. But our friendship grew stronger.

There were many times that Maclean was the first to great me when I came home late at night after a longer than normal work day. He was always ready to go whenever I was – always ready to chase another dummy – always looking for an excuse to run fast. The first time I went hunting with Maclean - for pheasant in Missouri - he scented a bird in the brush that had grown up around a barbed wire fence and jumped in to chase. When I finally got him out of the brush he was cut in several places and bleeding profusely from his ear. He acted as if he hadn’t felt a thing. Obviously, Maclean’s tolerance for pain was off the scale. I finally got his ear to stop bleeding and patched him up with a butterfly bandage. When I cleaned the wound he never even flinched.

Which probably explains why we didn’t know he had a tumor growing in his belly until it was too late. One day a few weeks ago Maclean began to lay around the house all day. Now that’s not unusual for a 13 year old dog who isn’t supposed to live longer than 15 years anyway. But it was unusual for Maclean. We wondered if he was getting arthritis or just slowing down. Even so, he was always up and around whenever we called. But then one day he didn’t want to get up at all.

Maclean began to want to lay still. And then he lost his appetite. When we took him to our vet we discovered that Maclean had a large mass in his abdomen that would require surgery to remove. Our vet warned us that a dog as old as Maclean might not tolerate surgery well and that the mass would likely be cancer of the spleen. Our choice was difficult: put a 13-year-old dog through major abdominal surgery in hopes that the cancer had not spread and the tumor could be removed granting him another 2 to 3 years of life or.... I didn’t like the “or.”

In the end, we talked about it as a family and decided that Maclean was a truly exceptional dog and that he would probably be able to recover from the surgery. We also decided that it just would not be right to put Maclean to sleep – euthanize him – without knowing for sure that there was no way he could get well. So, last Wednesday, we put Maclean in the back of the pickup and took a ride to the vet’s office. Dr. Thames’ schedule was full that day so he graciously agreed to do the surgery after business hours later that evening. We waited in the open field adjacent to the animal clinic and let Maclean explore and sniff and do what dogs do in an open field knowing that this might be his last day with us. While we waited, a man pulled up in a pick up truck towing a duck hunting boat. In the bag of the pick up was a very old and frail Black Lab. The dog’s owner, a hulk of a man, picked the dog up out of the truck, set him gently on the ground and let him wander around the open field with Maclean. The two dogs sniffed each other briefly and went back to exploring other things. The Lab was terribly thin and couldn't walk well but his nose must have been working as well as ever because he found all the places Maclean had marked in the past few minutes. The man led his old friend back over to the duck boat just as Dr. Thames came out of his clinic. They put the dog into the boat. The man looked into the lab's eyes and took the dog’s head in his hands while the doctor did what had to be done. The hulk of a man started shaking, bent over the side of the boat. Dr. Thames and his assistant did the only thing they could do – they cried with the man and then walked back into the clinic to prepare for the surgery they would do on Maclean. After a few long minutes the man’s body stopped shaking and he lifted his head, wiped his face, and walked back to the truck. Just as he opened the door he stopped short, turned and walked back to the boat where he bent over and began shaking all over again. This time the shaking lasted a little longer but when he raised his head and wiped his eyes he walked back to the truck without hesitation, got in and drove away.

A few minutes later, the vet’s assistant came out of the clinic to tell us that Dr. Thames was ready to start the surgery. My youngest son took Maclean’s leash and walked him into the building and into the surgery room. Now came the hardest part. We had to tell Maclean goodbye before he was sedated because if he couldn’t get well we would not wake him up from the surgery. The last words Maclean heard were mine, “Good boy! Maclean is a good boy!” I said it loudly because he couldn’t hear so well anymore. I took Maclean’s head in my hands and held him as the doc sedated him.

The surgery started several minutes later. It wasn’t long before I saw for myself what had made Maclean want to lay still. He had a large tumor growing on his spleen. I asked the doctor if there was any point in continuing the surgery. He was optimistic because he did not see any immediate evidence that the cancer had spread. He carefully removed the tumor and began to examine the other organs in the body. It was then that he looked up and said, with tears in his eyes, “I’m so sorry.” The tumor had spread to Maclean’s liver and other internal organs. I left the room long enough to tell my waiting family the bad news – to hold them as they cried – and then returned to Maclean. I put my head on his and I after I stopped shaking I raised my head, wiped my eyes, asked the doc to stop Maclean’s heart. A few moments later, my buddy stopped breathing – and stopped hurting – and I was alone in a room with two people who just watched another man lose his best friend.

My youngest son, the one who loves to hunt and had a special connection wtih Maclean asked "the" question later that night. "Dad, will Maclean be in heaven when we get there?"

I was as honest as I knew how to be and told him that I really, really hoped so.

We both cried a while and told each other our favorite stories about the life we shared with a great friend named Maclean.

Brutal Reality

(This is part two of my four part post addressing the issue of building a casino/hotel complex in Fort Smith, Arkansas. Please read part one, "Milking The Cobra," before tackling this part.)

It took me quite a while to process all my conflicting thoughts and feelings on the issue of building a casino in Fort Smith. In my military travels to Nellis Air Force Base I’ve resided in Las Vegas hotel/casinos for weeks at a time and I’ve tried various casino games. I’ve even gone so far as to read a couple of books on poker and craps so I could play those games and not look or play like a knothead. But in the process I discovered that I don’t enjoy gambling. It holds no temptation for me at all. I just don’t get it.

However, I have seen the damage gambling addiction can do on a personal level in the life of a relative. This guy nearly ruined his life using gambling as his “drug of choice.” It is worth noting that my relative lives more than 100 miles from the nearest casino and was a gambling addict long before he ever stepped foot in a legal gambling establishment. Gambling got to him because he - just like you - is surrounded by opportunities to gamble in his smaller-that-average-American-home-town. Just because you can’t or won’t see gambling around you doesn’t mean it’s not there - or that your home town is not already dealing with its negative effects.

On the other hand, I know many people who use gambling responsibly - in the same way they use alcohol responsibly – as an entertaining tool to enhance social interaction and relaxation – without ill effect. And that brings me to a pet peeve – I really detest the practice of managing or governing to the lowest common denominator. Other than weak leadership, there is rarely if ever a valid reason to restrict 100% of those who might enjoy an activity responsibly because 4% of the population can’t handle it. In short, gambling is not a ten commandments issue - it is a personal responsibility issue.

I have recently heard it argued quite persuasively that Christians should not engage in or condone gambling because it is impossible to gamble without breaking the Golden Rule – love others as yourself – and to look out for the interests of others as well as yourself. But if we followed that argument to its logical conclusion we would ban all forms of competition because someone wins and someone loses and because people bet on sports. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too. Perhaps more to the point, when I “lost” money in a casino it never entered my mind that I was someone else’s victim. No one forced me to walk through the doors. No one held a gun to my head and said, “Bet on red.” I am personally responsible for my own actions. I voluntarily participated in a game of chance and skill and, after winning a little and losing my predetermined limit, considered myself to have been sufficiently entertained and walked away just like 96% of people who gamble.

Having established that I believe the use of gambling to be a personal responsibility issue, I am the first to acknowledge that gambling can be – often is - a door to darkness. And some proponents of the Fort Smith casino project decline to acknowledge that reality. Some would even have us believe that hosting a casino is not at all a risky proposition. They avoid the fact that the purveyors of illicit sex, drugs and pornography have a habit of co-locating with casino operations. Although painting a rosy picture of the casino project may build support in the near term, it does nothing to prepare us for the reality we will face when the new wears off or to better cope with the negative effects of gambling we already experience in Fort Smith. Situations like this always reminded of the Stockdale Paradox.

Admiral Stockdale, the senior ranking POW in Vietnam’s Hanoi Hilton prison camp (and the recipient of some of the most brutal torture you can imagine) emerged from that seven year hell-on-earth with a piece of paradoxical advice for us all. He said, “Retain faith that you will prevail in the end, regardless of the difficulties, and at the same time confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they may be.”

So what constitutes our particular set of “most brutal facts?”

First – and this is a big one for me – building and marketing a casino complex in Fort Smith (and it will be heavily and widely marketed) will cause Fort Smith to be labeled as a gambling destination. Ever hear of Tunica? How about Gulfport? Have you ever tried to overcome a label? Have you ever tried to convince someone you have more to offer than your label indicates? More often than not, weary from the effort to prove otherwise, we reconcile ourselves with our label, make the best of it, and comfort ourselves with the knowledge that those who love us most know better. The reality is that if we build and market a Fort Smith casino the rest of the world will think of us as a gambling entertainment destination with a few worthy side attractions like the Marshals Museum. If we later decide we want to overcome that gambling destination label we'll spend a tremendous amount of money and, ultimately, fail. I realize that some folks have no problem with the “gambling destination” label and even consider it a worthy goal. But, in my gut, I feel like that sells Fort Smith short of its potential. My point here is that we better make our peace with the label before we build the casino.

Second, we can restate the premise with which we started – Fort Smith must change or die. I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure that’s a brutal fact.

Third, there are many people in the Greater Fort Smith Region who will refuse to change if that change includes a casino/hotel complex in Fort Smith. I have spoken to several Fort Smith citizens – people who would argue that they love Fort Smith as much as anyone – who truly and passionately believe it would be better for Fort Smith to die than become Tunica West. I’m not particularly sympathetic with that point of view but I have to acknowledge it as a strongly held opinion among many people I respect who wield significant influence in Fort Smith. In short, this is a polarizing issue.

Fourth, building a casino/hotel in Fort Smith will cut a deep trench of resentment, alienation and distrust between those who see gambling as reprehensible and those who see it as recreation. Without knowing with certainty how many people stand passionately on either side of the issue there is no way to responsiblly forecast the degree of damage - but there will be damage. I can’t intelligently suggest that we abandon the casino/hotel project because it will be divisive. But make no mistake – it will be very divisive for many years to come. I believe this to be our “stingray” issue. In the words of Steve Irwin, "Danger, danger, danger!"

In light of all this brutal reality, I have tried hard to develop alternatives to Mr. Westphal’s casino complex plan - ideas that can truly transform Fort Smith. With the help of a few friends I've been able to piece together another option and I’ll write about that in part three of this post.

But there is a logic-of-reality limitation here – those ideas are mine rather than Bennie Westphal’s.

The brute force of reality is that although J.D. Williams may have some great ideas, he is not the guy to lead Fort Smith into the future – that guy is named Bennie Westphal. Mr. Westphal is uniquely qualified to lead Fort Smith away from the Tipping Point. Other people whose opinions I deeply respect have arrived at very different conclusions about the casino project. But the reality is that they do not have the influence – personal, political and financial – necessary to lead the horse called Fort Smith to water – let alone make it drink.

Now at this very moment there are some Friends of Fort Smith who are screaming at their computer screens because they believe with all their heart that Mr. Westphal is leading that horse to a poison well. So, let me assure them that if someone comes up with a better idea that can actually change the course of Fort Smith’s economic future - and the person who champions the idea can command the respect and influence necessary to pull it off - I’ll be “all in.” (So to speak)

But all sides now acknowledge that Fort Smith is withering away and is perilously close to the wrong side of the “tipping point.” How do we know that? The Fort Smith Chamber of Commerce paid an internationally respected consulting company a lot of money to evaluate our city and region. What they learned is that Fort Smith is in decline and will soon die if we do not act decisively and urgently to change – and change dramatically. That report was delivered to our community over three years ago. Since then a few organizations have initiated programs that take positive but small steps in the right direction. UAFS and the 188th BRAC reversal are huge success stories but they represent either an expansion or extension of the status quo. The reality is that in the three years since we received the grim prognosis from the Tip Strategies organization, no one - I repeat – no one besides Bennie Westphal has developed and championed a truly a comprehensive plan to boldly and dramatically lead Fort Smith in a new direction. Mr. Westphal is willing to put his own fortune and reputation on the line to see this casino complex become reality. Why? Why would a man who could today retire quite comfortably be willing to risk so much of his personal wealth and suffer the opposition and ostracism of so many fellow citizens and community leaders? Because he believes that a town can die and that Fort Smith, the boyhood home he loves dearly, is on the road to extinction.

Sometimes the logic of words must yield to - not just the logic - but the brute force of reality. In this situation the brutal reality is this: There is no better idea – let alone someone to champion it – for Fort Smith.

So are we really left with this ultimatum? Build a casino or die? I’m not ready to accept that scenario. I do, however, accept the scenario that Fort Smith must change dramatically or die a slow death. And if I can’t come up with a better idea or find a way to make the best of the available options, I’m part of the problem rather than the solution.

In part three of this post, I’ll attempt to be part of the solution.

Ever heard of Don Quixote?

Piece of Cake

Over the years I've been asked many times to describe what it's like to be a fighter pilot. And I've also been asked if air combat is really the way it looks in the movie Top Gun. I always remind folks that Top Gun was produced by Hollywood and was never meant to be a documentary. It's also worth noting that Top Gun was filmed in 1985 - before the dawn of today's mind blowing computer generated imagery (CGI). In fact, it was just the year before that a ground breaking film called The Last Starfighter was released in which, for the first time ever, significant portions of the film were animated exclusively using what were at the time cutting edge CGI sequences - even though that's not what they called it back then. As a closet computer geek I remember reading about the unimaginable computing power it took to create scenes for that movie. And today, Cartoon Network routinely produces episodes of Jimmy Neutron that make the CGI in The Last Starfighter look like it came out of the Crayola factory. So considering the technology available at the time, I'd say that Top Gun did about as good a job as possible in recreating air combat on film and still making a blockbuster movie in the process - and most of the fighter jocks I know would agree. Of course, the movie did not depict real fighter pilots - just a bunch of sailors dressed up like fighter pilots.

If you really want to get an understanding of fighter combat, I highly recommend the new History Channel series entitled Dogfights. It truly is the next best thing to being there. The digital recreations of the actual dogfights discussed are spot on. I've studied those famous aerial knife fights in the past. I've even talked to a few of the aces they interview in Dogfights. But while watching the show I still picked up a few pointers I missed the first time around.

But if you want to know what it is like to be in a fighter squadron - to know about fighter pilots themselves - there's really only one choice in video. Back in 1988 the BBC created a mini-series for Masterpiece Theater called Piece of Cake. The series chronicles the experiences of a Royal Air Force fighter squadron in the days leading up to the Battle of Britain. The characters in the script could have been lifted right out of the F-16 squadrons in my past. Piece of Cake does contain some rather glaring historical inaccuracies. For example, the squadron is flying Spitfires in the movie during a time frame when Hurricanes would have been in use. But if you will just suspend your disbelief you'll be rewarded with what are the best Spitfire and Messerschmidt flying sequences ever filmed. The quality of the DVD version of this film is disappointing. Even so, I recommend the DVD to anyone who is interested knowing what goes on behind the scenes in a fighter outfit.

Milking the Cobra

(This is part one of a four part post to be published over the next few weeks. Part one - this post - is an attempt to establish a premise or two on which the following posts will build. Please do not assume that this post alone reveals where I stand on the issue addressed.)

I am nothing if not a searcher. Always have been.

And so I find myself searching again. This time I’m searching to discover two things – what is best for Fort Smith and what is possible for Fort Smith. Where those two circles intersect is, I believe, where Fort Smith must find its future and make it real. And what happens if those two circles do not intersect? One must then redefine what is best or what is possible - or both. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

First, let’s start with a fundamental premise. The entire complex business organism called Fort Smith, Arkansas must change dramatically or it will soon – very soon – enter a downward economic spiral from which it cannot recover. If you have not accepted that premise don’t waste your time reading this post. If you have accepted that premise, consider this idea on loan from former Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis...

The logic of words should yield to the logic of realities.

I want to use that statement as a framework to examine the issue of the proposed casino complex in Fort Smith, Arkansas.

Logic of Words: Gambling does not exist in Fort Smith, Arkansas
Logic of Reality: Gambling is almost everywhere in Fort Smith and, although largely underground, is easily accessible. Don’t believe me? Ask around. If you want to gamble in Fort Smith - especially on sports - it is incredibly easy to do so. The majority of the negative side effects created by the presence of gambling are already in Fort Smith - and have been for a long, long time. In fact, we’ve already learned to cope with those effects. And the reality is that we're already equipped to deal with the downside of casino gambling because, for all practical purposes, casino gambling already exists in Fort Smith.

Logic of Words: Casino gambling does not exist in Fort Smith, Arkansas.
Logic of Reality: Any able bodied resident of Fort Smith can literally walk to two different casinos. I live within the city limits of Fort Smith and my kids can be in the parking lot of an Indian Casino in 10 minutes – riding their bikes. And those casinos are filled with cars belonging to residents of the Greater Fort Smith Region. In fact, my neighborhood casino just tripled the size of its parking lot and it's still full more often than not. In reality, preventing the building of a casino on the Fort Smith riverfront will at best only slow – not reduce or eliminate - the increase in the negative effects created by existing local casinos and gambling.

Logic of Words: Casinos are always completely bad for a community.
Logic of Reality: Let me be clear - I oppose the entire idea of a stand-alone casino. I would campaign against the construction of a typical Indian casino in Fort Smith. If the proposed casino operation in Fort Smith does not include carefully planned and expertly managed development of a first class hotel/casino resort facility along with the associated businesses and amenities designed to draw out the significant potential benefits of such an operation to the host city, I will actively campaign against it. But what the Westphal Group has designed cannot be even remotely described as a stand-alone casino. It is a complex of interrelated business activities designed to enhance the potential positive economic impact and community benefits of the casino/hotel that anchors it. That, in turn, would provide a counterbalance to the negative effects Fort Smith already experiences due to existing underground gambling and nearby stand-alone casinos. Why? Because a professionally operated casino/hotel is an economic engine which can – I emphasize the word “can” - drive elaborate and wisely designed networks of surrounding business concerns, community enhancements, and tourist attractions. Are there negative effects from hosting a casino of any kind in our community? Of course! But the majority of those negative effects are already present in our city. The increase in those effects created by the casino/hotel proposal would be offset by the increase in the positive results of building it – if it is operated on terms favorable to Fort Smith. The reality is that a well planned business and community complex developed around a tightly integrated and professionally managed casino operation can provide positive benefits that outweigh the negative effects already present. Two examples of how this can happen are Davenport, Iowa and Omaha, Nebraska. Check it out.

OK - I’m hung up on that word, “can.” Again, the logic of words will yield to the logic of reality and what can happen in a situation like this and what actually does happen are rarely the same. I think building and hosting a casino/hotel in Fort Smith would be like milking a cobra – the snake must never be in control of the situation, the handler must know exactly what he’s doing, and you need antivenom in the Frigidaire - uh - I mean, the Whirlpool side-by-side.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not averse to danger. I love watching Steve Irwin wrangle a deadly snake. Man Versus Wild is must-see-TV in my house. And once upon a time I was a steely-eyed-fighter-pilot sitting on a 300 kiloton thermo-nuclear weapon staring down the bad guys (who then became the good guys and are now becoming the bad guys again). In fact, Danger is my middle name. But I digress...

It occurs to me that the story of Steve Irwin might have a moral within it from which Fort Smith should learn. Irwin did all sorts of crazy things that were incredibly risky. I'll never forget the first time I watched The Crocodile Hunter and saw this insane Aussie climb into a tree with an angry Black Mamba. Even thinking of it now gives me the willies! But as I watched him I realized that whenever Irwin caught a snake or wrestled a croc he was incredibly careful because he knew there was great "danger, danger, danger" in those situations. But in the end it was something Irwin didn't expect that killed him. And I suspect that the greatest risk of building and hosting a casino in Fort Smith lies not in what we expect - but in the unexpected.

Does the Westphal Group offer a genuine solution to the un-retouched picture of Fort Smith’s doubtful future?

And because what can happen is so rarely what actually does happen, can we milk the casino cobra without getting bit?

And what do we not expect - but better plan for - before we go swimming with the stingrays?

Glad you asked...