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The Groom Lake Desert Rat is posted here with the permission of the author
Glenn Campbell.
THE GROOM LAKE DESERT RAT. An On-Line Newsletter.
Issue #6. April 6, 1994.
-----> "The Naked Truth from Open Sources." <-----
AREA 51/NELLIS RANGE/TTR/NTS/S-4?/WEIRD STUFF/DESERT LORE
Written, published, copyrighted and totally disavowed by
psychospy@aol.com. See bottom for subscription/copyright info.
In this issue...
CAMMO DUDES RAISE THE ANTE
[Note: This file ends with "#####". Check for truncation.]
----- CAMMO DUDES RAISE THE ANTE -----
IS IT ILLEGAL TO PHOTOGRAPH A NONEXISTENT BASE?
These can't be happy times for the "Cammo Dudes," the anonymous
camouflage-clad security guards who patrol the outer border of the
Groom Lake base and adjoining public lands. The recent national
publicity has brought a steady stream of tourists to the Freedom
Ridge viewpoint, and the Dudes have to track them all. A security
system set up to catch relatively crude Soviet spies seems ill-
equipped to deal with hordes of high-tech Americans in their sport
utility vehicles, toting the latest electro-optic gadgets from the
Sharper Image catalog.
Particularly irksome to the men in beige is enforcement of a vague
1948 federal statute against photography. According to Section
795 of Title 18 U.S.C., it is illegal to photograph any
"installation or equipment" defined by the President as requiring
such protection, with a potential fine of up to $1,000 and one
year in prison. This statute is cited in signs approaching the
border, but we have not yet found any case of it being tested in
court. The main legal problem is that if the base does not
officially exist and is not publicly defined anywhere, how can a
visitor know when he is taking a picture of it? The military
could claim that ANY picture taken of ANY land within the
Restricted Zone is illegal, but by that definition you couldn't
take a snapshot anywhere in southern Nevada if military-controlled
mountains happened to appear in the background.
Given that detailed photos of the Groom base taken from public
land have already been widely published and televised without a
peep of protest from the military, the average citizen might
assume that any such regulations are mute. The technology of 1948
was certainly different from today, when camcorders can fit in the
palm of your hand and telephoto lenses can get clear shots from
dozens of miles away. If the military does not control people's
movements and activities on public land and cannot restrict the
possession of cameras themselves, it is pretty near impossible for
them to control photography.
But that doesn't prevent the Dudes from trying. They diligently
track and observe all visitors to see if they might be carrying a
camera. If they see one, they call the Sheriff. A deputy makes
the long trip from Alamo to interview the suspects. He asks if
they were taking pictures, and if they admit they were, he asks
for their film. It has taken a while, but the watchers have
eventually caught on that he is "asking," not "ordering" them to
turn over their film, and all they have to do to retain it is say,
"No."
The burden of proof is then on the authorities to show "probable
cause" that a crime has been committed. Visiting Freedom Ridge
and having a camera in your possession do not constitute probable
cause, since there are no legal restrictions against either. To
justify a warrant for search, seizure or arrest, some witness has
to come forward to say he saw you taking pictures. This is a
problem for the Dudes because they, like the base itself, do not
officially exist. If the patrols saw you taking pictures, they
are unlikely to make an official statement to that effect, because
that would place them at risk of public exposure in the court
system.
When they see a camera on Freedom Ridge, the Dudes still call the
Sheriff. The deputy who responds goes through the motions of
investigating the complaint, but not with much apparent
enthusiasm. The Dudes dump their problem on the Sheriff's
Department but provide no support should the situation get hot.
This has lead to a number of embarrassing encounters where the
county has been left holding the bag.
In March 1993, a crew from a Dallas TV station was caught red
handed. When stopped by the deputy, they admitted to taking
footage of the base from White Sides Mtn. The deputy asked for
their video tape, but they refused. After a standoff of a couple
of hours in which the station's lawyers were called and the feds
consulted, the feds declined to pursue the matter, and the crew
walked away with their tape.
In August 1993, Psychospy and several of the legendary
Interceptors were camped on Freedom Ridge when they were awakened
by a Sheriff's deputy, escorted to this remote site by a Cammo
Dude. The deputy asked to search our bags for cameras, but we
declined the offer. Without our consent, opening our bags would
have required a warrant. If any of the Cammo Dudes had seen us
with cameras earlier, they were apparently unwilling to make a
statement to that effect, and again, the feds backed down. The
deputy had made a long drive and a stiff hike for nothing.
The issue of "probable cause" is a natty one for the Cammo Dudes.
If they don't exist, won't interact with visitors and can't
testify in court, how can they pursue a case against alleged
photographers? By the time the Sheriff arrives any infraction
that might have occurred is long past. Film, cameras and even the
suspects themselves can easily vanish in the 40 minutes it takes
the deputy to arrive. Without a direct admission from the suspect
or the testimony of a Dude, any prosecution of the 1948 statute
would seem hopeless to pursue.
The Dudes never give up, however. The problem of tourists
photographing the nonexistent installation has evidently caused
enough chagrin in the secret base hierarchy to make them to pull
out all the stops. In their latest move, they've gone to the top
secret "Q" Division of the Special Weapons Research Directorate
for a high-tech James Bond gizmo to quash those Interceptors once
and for all....
----- THE SUPER MEGA SPY CAM -----
On March 23, Psychospy was visiting Freedom Ridge accompanied by
the usual media rif-raf. This time it was a reporter and a
photographer working for the New York Times Magazine. We drove to
the top on the now well-beaten "Freedom Ridge Expressway," then
lounged at the viewpoint for an hour or two. Two Dude patrols, a
Cherokee and a white pickup, watched us from separate hilltops
behind the line as we scanned Groom Lake with a spotting scope.
All we saw was your run-of-the-mill secret base, just sitting
there, no big deal.
Turning the scope toward the Dudes, however, one of the visitors
caught something new. The occupant of the pickup, about a mile
and half from us, was now out of his vehicle and doing something
in the desert about 50 feet away. At low magnification, he seemed
to be standing behind a large, dark green form about as tall as he
was. The shape of the blob was reminiscent of the Creature from
the Black Lagoon when first emerging from the slime, and we might
have wondered at first whether the man was being attacked by the
creature's desert cousin.
Switching to higher magnification revealed that the blob was
actually a tripod draped in camouflage netting, and on top was
some sort of bulky device that the man was looking through. It
was very hard for us to make out the details from our distance,
but the device resembled a large studio video camera pointed
directly at us. Psychospy was reminded of the device spotted atop
a camouflaged van during the Freedom Ridge Field Trip in January.
[See DR#1.] It was apparent to us that this was a surveillance
camera, probably of high magnification given its size, and that it
was probably attached to a VCR deck. They were obviously trying
to collect evidence of people photographing the secret base.
At times like this, we find it immensely helpful to have the
Sheriff's radio frequency (154.86 MHz) programmed into our
scanner. Sure enough, shortly after we spotted the "Super Mega
Spy Cam" looking up at us, we heard from the Sheriff's dispatcher
that Range Security had called with a complaint. Three
individuals, including the notorious GLENN CAMPBELL and a reporter
from "The New York Press," were seen taking pictures from "the
area referred as Freedom Ridge."
We were outraged at these unfounded charges. Psychospy didn't
have a camera. The reporter didn't have a camera. The
photographer... darn it, where did he go to? Up until now, anyone
taking reasonable precautions could pretty much snap whatever
pictures they wanted. CNN did it. So did local stations from
Boston, Dallas and Las Vegas and major newspapers and magazines
from around the country. Big time news crews, used to filming in
really dangerous situations in wars around the world, drive past
the wordy No Photography signs without even slowing down. Even
the little guy without the backing of a powerful news organization
could get away with a few snaps as long as he didn't wave his
camera around. The Dudes can't see much from over a mile away,
and even if they did, they probably wouldn't come forward to
testify.
The Super Mega Spy Cam (SMSC) changed all that. On the Sheriff's
frequency, we heard our own license plate number reported.
Reading license plates from a mile and a half away is no mean
feat. With that magnification, you could not only see if someone
had a camera but maybe even the f-stop and exposure settings.
What's more, everything the operator sees is probably also being
recorded on tape, perhaps for use in court. Over the radio, we
heard that the District Attorney and local Justice of the Peace
were being notified, as well as the legal advisor for the range.
This could mean only one thing: search warrants.
The authorities had never gotten this serious before, and all
Psychospy can say is, it couldn't have happened at a better time.
The Times guys wanted action, and the Cammo Dudes were graciously
providing it. Full red carpet treatment. The reporter had dodged
bullets and counted bodies in the Gulf War, while the photographer
cut his journalistic teeth in Afghanistan, Haiti and the L.A.
riots. These guys couldn't be happier than to relive the thrill
of battle, this time with no real risk of being shot. With the
Sheriff still twenty minutes away, we decided it was time to pack
up. In full view of the Dudes and the SMSC, we casually loaded
our gear into the 4WD, rolled down the dirt track at a leisurely
pace, then stopped at a lower ridge where we waved at the guy in
the white Cherokee.
Then we vanished.
It was a pleasant day and we had plenty of time, so we decided we
would take an alternate route. We turned off the track and down
into a ravine where the Dudes couldn't see us. We went as far as
we could in the 4WD, then we decided to take a stroll. We hiked
about fifteen minutes down a gorge to some protected ledges near
the base of Freedom Ridge. There we relaxed and broke out the
Mountain Dew and pretzels.
After a while we began to feel really guilty. Over the radio, we
heard that the deputy had discovered our car and was now tracking
us on foot. He was good. Psychospy was used to dealing with the
uninspired Cammo Dudes who hardly ever left their vehicles. Now
we were being pursued by a professional who was reading our
footprints in the sand. Sooner or later, he would find us, and he
would be pissing mad.
We debated the merits of hiking back to meet the deputy instead of
putting him through the wringer. We had no problem with playing
with the anonymous Dudes--That's what they are there for.--but the
deputy deserved more respect. Obviously, he was not here of his
own volition. The Dudes had dumped an impossible problem on him
and expected him to solve it. We felt bad about making him sweat
and were getting ready to head back to face the music when
miraculous redemption came from the skies.
Black Hawk.
Suddenly, our escapade became all worthwhile as we dove for cover.
We huddled behind bushes along the sides of the ravine as the big
green helicopter combed the hillsides looking for us. It made
several passes down the ravine, as the Times photographer snapped
away, but they apparently didn't spot us. As they began to search
other areas, we realized that we would have to make ourselves more
obvious if we wanted to bring the chopper back. We hiked down to
the bottom of the ravine and out into the open desert. Wanting to
be spotted but too proud to wave the white flag, we crouched
behind spindly bushes that didn't do much to hide us. The
helicopter came back, and they managed to detect us. It circled
around us a couple of times, then came down low, hovered directly
above us and blasted us real good.
All right!
It is very tempting in cases like this to overestimate the threat.
For example, in a similar story published in Popular Science,
where Psychospy and aviation expert Jim Goodall were "picnicking"
under a small tree, the helicopter that blasted us seemed to get
closer and closer with each telling of the tale. In Popular
Science, it nearly took off half the tree, when in reality it
never physically touched it, only hovered within a couple of feet
(or roughly 25 to 30 feet above us). In the later encounter, the
Times reporter conservatively estimated that the helicopter was 50
feet above us, although Psychospy and the photographer thought it
was less. In any case, it was close enough at least to blast us
with sand and force us to close our eyes. The helicopter "sat" on
us for about ten seconds, then it rose straight up.
The obvious message was, "Ha, we found you!"
Regardless of whether the chopper was 30 feet or 50 feet above us
(or whether we were frightened or thrilled by the encounter), this
action violates the Air Force's own regulation regarding operating
altitudes, which, except for take-off and landing, require a
minimum altitude of 500 feet above any person, vehicle or
building. (AF Regulation 60-16, Section 5-10.) Never during our
visit did we leave public land, and at the time of the "assault,"
we were about a half mile from the border.
The helicopter went back to where the deputy was and transported
him to a hill that was closer to our position. Then it hovered
near us at a fairly respectable distance, about 100 feet above and
100 feet away, as it waited for the deputy to reach us. As it
hovered, we had a chance to examine the helicopter in detail with
binoculars. We were looking for tail numbers but found none.
There was a faint Air Force insignia and a few other minor
markings but otherwise nothing to identify the craft. Certainly,
this must be a violation of a regulation, too.
When the deputy arrived, he was not a happy camper. He asked us
if we had cameras on the hill. Psychospy replied, in lawyer-like
tones, that what we were doing on the hill was our private affair
and that we had no desire to discuss our activities. The deputy
said it was the wrong answer. We were seen taking pictures from
Freedom Ridge, and based on this information, he could hold us
until search warrants could be obtained. Psychospy replied that
the deputy must do what he has to do.
That's when the photographer broke down and confessed. He
admitted that he did have a camera on Freedom Ridge but that there
was no film in it at the time. His only goal in displaying it was
to provoke the Dudes into sending out the helicopter. The only
shots he took were of the Black Hawk buzzing us over public land.
Showing no emotion, not even a smirk, the deputy relayed this
story over the radio to his superiors at the Sheriff's Department.
He asked them what he should do next. After a long pause, the
word came back that the subjects could either voluntarily turn
over their film or they would be held until a search warrant could
be obtained for their vehicle.
The reporter and photographer huddled for a moment, then they
began to argue violently. The photographer did not want to turn
over his film. He was a professional, he said, and he had broken
no law. The reporter insisted that he must turn over his film,
that it was the only way to get out of this sticky situation. The
argument went on for five minutes at least, while Psychospy paced
around in the background, shaking his head and rolling his eyes to
high heaven.
Finally, the photographer gave in. Psychospy nearly cried as he
watched this proud man, veteran of countless Third World
conflicts, reduced to quivering jelly by the Cammo Dudes and the
Lincoln County Sheriff's Department. Haltingly, painfully, the
photographer emptied his camera and his bag and turned over his
film to the Sheriff. Both rolls.
There was some debate on the Sheriff's channel about whether the
photographer might have shot more than two rolls. We don't know
what was happening off the radio, but presumably the Sheriff was
contacting the Dudes about what they wanted to do. We heard from
the deputy that there was some talk of executing a warrant anyway,
but evidently the will was not strong. As we hiked back up the
hill with the deputy to where our cars were parked, the reporter
took the opportunity to interview him. At the top, the deputy
provided the photographer with a receipt for the two rolls, and we
parted amicably.
Did the photographer shoot more than two rolls? Perhaps the
answer will be revealed in a future edition of the New York Times
Sunday Magazine.
----- ANALYSIS -----
The journalists had identified themselves as working for the New
York Times, but we sensed that it didn't have much to do with how
we were treated. It seemed to us that the Sheriff's Department
had gone through the motions of investigating the complaint but
had no interest in pushing it any further than necessary. It
seems that whenever the Sheriff's Department goes out on a limb to
pursue an AF complaint, the AF leaves them hanging. The Cammo
Dudes may complain a lot, but they never back it up with a court
appearance or any kind of public action that might "reveal" their
existence.
Realistically, serving a search warrant would have opened a
Pandora's box of problems for the Sheriff that the nonexistent
feds would immediately wash their hands of. If the Sheriff had
searched our vehicle, found exposed film and seized it, a noisy
custody battle would become inevitable. If the Sheriff searched
the vehicle and find no exposed film, nationally publicized
embarrassment might follow, with the Cammo Dudes, as usual,
providing no support to the county.
Even the Super Mega Spy Cam doesn't help any. At best, what the
tape might show is close-up pictures of people using cameras on
public land. It doesn't provide any indication of what the people
are pointing their cameras at. The tape alone provides no useful
legal evidence unless someone is willing to testify that the base
exists, the cameras were pointed at it and that the Groom
installation is designated by the President as requiring
protection from photography.
Any attempt to prosecute a photographer who stays on public land
would seem a legal and public relations nightmare as long as the
Groom base is unacknowledged. Indeed, any such court case might
only provide an opportunity for activists to prove, without a
legal doubt, that the base does indeed exist. It seems unlikely,
then, that the feds would ever press charges, especially in the
current climate where any case would be intensely watched.
Without the political will to prosecute, complaints to the Sheriff
and the execution of search warrants would seem only a means of
harassment. As it stands now, calling the Sheriff when people are
seen with cameras seems little more than an attempt by the Cammo
Dudes to coerce visitors into "voluntarily" relinquishing their
film.
----- HOW TO TRAP A DUDE -----
#1 6-APR-1994 10:36:20.65 NEWMAIL
With so much public interest in the mysterious Cammo Dudes, every
journalist wants to interview one. Trouble is, whenever you
approach them on public land, they literally run away, dashing
across the border where you can't follow.
The day before the incident reported above, Psychospy and the
Times reporter were touring a different part of the border with
several other visitors. While traveling in a three-vehicle convoy
down a rugged dirt road, we passed one of the Dudes in a white
Cherokee, evidently alerted by the ILLEGAL ROAD SENSORS we had
tripped. After he passed, the reporter jumped out of our vehicle
and ran after him, trying to get him to stop, but the driver
gunned the engine and sped away.
Fortunately, we saw a second Cherokee coming down the road a few
minutes later, and this time we knew what to do. After our lead
vehicle passed him, it turned diagonally across the road, and the
trailing vehicles did the same, trapping the Dude between. The
reporter then sauntered over and conducted a leisurely interview.
What did the driver have to say? "No comment" pretty much sums it
up. "Don't ask me any questions," was his most memorably line,
although spoken in an amiable tone. The Dude was clearly
embarrassed at being so easily captured, but he did have the
presence to ask the reporter who he was writing for.
The reporter's reply was relayed through the Cammo Dude
bureaucracy, but got strangely garbled in the process. The next
day, the Dudes reported to the Sheriff that the journalist was
from "The New York Press." We had never heard of this publication
but speculated that it must be one of the gay community newspapers
out of Greenwich Village.
Perhaps the Dudes are more worldly than we thought.
----- INTEL BITTIES -----
CAMOUFLAGE FATIGUES. The Cammo Dudes are dressed in SIX-COLOR
DESERT camouflage, not the three-color style more widely available
in Army-Navy stores. Some visitors have come in three-color and
felt oh so gauche. Don't embarrass yourself. Six-color cammo is
available at Army-Navy 1 in Las Vegas or by mail from US Cavalry
(catalog: 800-777-7732).
FREEDOM RIDGE STATUS: Still open. No closure date set.
===== SUBSCRIPTION AND COPYRIGHT INFO =====
(c) Glenn Campbell, 1994. (psychospy@aol.com)
This newsletter is copyrighted and may not be reproduced without
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#####