Beyond the Mountains of Madness, or a Salute to a lost Adventurer

I know this is late, but I have been thinking about how to approach this topic for awhile now. I want to fore warn you that I did not personally know the individual that will be the subject of this post. I do not know his views, nor his family's. These are purely my musings and are not meant to represent anyone or anything but myself.

On January 24, 2016, only seven days ago (at the time of me writing this), the world lost an Adventurer. His name was Henry Worsley. He was an ex-British Army officer and had made a goal of hiking from one end of Antarctica to the other. A lofty goal, indeed. Unfortunately, only 30 miles from the end of his journey, he had to call in for back up. He was tossing in the flag. Not long later, he would be pronounced dead from total organ failure.

Often, when we think of the word "adventurer", we think of Indian Jones, Lara Croft or Nathan Drake (my personal favorite). However, in the real world, adventurers don't normally find themselves fighting Nazis for the Holy Grail, Escaping a cult on a lost island, or fighting a war criminal for eternal life. Here, in reality, they are men and women who choose to take on daring feats, often enduring extensive journeys by boat, balloon or foot. Sometimes they travel horizontally and sometimes vertically. They travel through mountains, jungles, deserts and the sky. Mr. Worsley chose the desolate land of ice and snow that is Antarctica.

Admittedly, I know little of Antarctica. After all, my imagination runs through the desert more often than not. My first real foray into the continent came from the novella "At the Mountains of Madness" by H. P.  Lovecraft. In the story, a group of explorers from Miskatonic University find themselves lost and pursued through a system of super-ancient corridors and tunnels built by intelligent beings from beyond Space and Time. Aside from the lurking fear (another Lovecraft story), the blistering winds, frigid temperatures and utter desolation plague the misguided heroes. Despite the science fiction, Lovecraft evoked a real sense of awe when describing the southern fringe of the globe. Antarctica has always carried with a it a sense of mystery and wonder. He would not be the only author to suppose what lie beneath the sheets of ice. In all honesty, I can only imagine that a similar since of awe and wonder for the continent is what sent Mr. Worsley there in the first place. I don't feel like that's too much of a stretch.

Mr. Worsley was an admirer of Sir Ernest Shackleton, the most famous of Antarctic explorers. Sir Shackleton, born in 1822 was an accomplished explorer and adventure by any definition. His sailing and overland expeditions were most often focused on Antarctica. On January 5, 1922, Shackleton himself died on an expedition in Antarctica.

Henry Worsley was using this expedition to raise funds for injured soldiers, an admirable cause, but it was not just about the charity for him. Adventure was the main draw. The task was to travel Antarctica, coast to coast, completely unaided. A daunting task to be sure. But one that Worsley tackled head on. He made it 70 days before he called for help. All in all, traveling 913 miles (1,469 KM for the rest of you) before feeling as though he needed to throw in the towel. Even then, he has been quoted with saying, "I will lick my wounds, they will heal over time and I will come to terms with the disappointment." A man seemingly as undaunted as the continent he sough to conquer. After calling for help, he was airlifted on the 23rd of January to a hospital in Chile. There, while undergoing surgery, he would die of total organ failure.

This is undoubtedly a time of grieving and mourning for the family and friends of the 71 year old adventurer. I can't help but be a little sad myself. It seems to me that the sense of wonder with the world and determination that it takes to tackle adventures like this are growing rarer and rarer. With technology, it is easy to think of the world as a smaller place. A place where everything is written down and photographed and put on Wikipedia for the world to see. This is nowhere near the truth, but the message permeates our culture. All that being said, this is a salute to Mr. Worsley. Wherever you are. You dared to dream during the day, as T. E. Lawrence said, and while you did not make your goal, it was in no way a failure. Few can truly say they died doing what they loved.You are inspiration to me, and I am sure to many others as well.

From: http://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/multimedia/archive/01050/fc24386a-c454-11e5_1050832b.jpg

http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-35398552

An Age Undreamed of....

 

     "Know, O Prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars..."
-Robert E. Howard

    About 5 years or so ago, I found myself far away from the home that I had known since my birth. I was lost, no friends, no job, living in my parents house in the desert. I did not like the person that I was and needed a change. One night, I was browsing through movie titles at the local rental place and came across the 1982 version of Conan the Barbarian. From my delving into pulp era literature I knew that the creator of Conan had been dear friends with my favorite author H. P. Lovecraft. I was not huge into fantasy but I picked it up, popped it in the DVD player and then my life had changed. A lot of people will laugh and wonder how a shirtless Arnold Schwarzenegger from the 80's change how I viewed the world, and isn't this a blog about exploration? I am getting to that, so hold your horses.
     Many people write off this film as testosterone driven fantasy, however they are sorely mistaken. This movie tells the story of how a boy becomes a man, how a man becomes a hero, and how, in the end pain and failure are learning tools. The film starts with a quote from Nietzsche, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger...". This is the film's major theme. Director John Milius (who also made Jeremiah Johnson),  uses the character and back drop of Robert E. Howard's pulp era fantasy to tell a Nietschean parable about becoming the best man you can be. It was simply me being in the right frame of mind, and willing to accept the lesson that the story was trying to tell. Along with the brilliant cast and masterwork score by Basil Poledouris, the movie is a cinematic masterpiece that many write off as cheesy and pure fluff without ever taking the time to think about what is on the screen.
    The movie drove me to seek adventure and meaning in the world, to push my limits and discover who I am. After all, isn't that one of the main reasons we explore our universe? To discover who we are, where we came from and what we are meant to be, as a species as well as an individual. This film also led me to the actual writings of Robert E. Howard, another facet in how a barbarian from a lost age changed my life for the better. I bought the Del Rey edition of "The Conquering Sword of Conan" shortly after I had watched the film. For any who have both seen the movie and read the short stories, you already know the difference. For those of you who haven't, the 1982 Conan is the barbarian in name only. Robert E. Howard wrote of a man of the wilds, head strong, intelligent, intellectual and daring. He roved seas, traversed mountains and jungles, was a thief, a pirate, a general and the best king to have ever taken the Aquilonian throne.
     These were stories of adventure, something I so desperately needed in my life. Conan saw places and things that those of the civilized world only dreamed of. That is what I yearned to do. This is how my love for adventure and exploration was born. It is kind of funny how some things can be so meaningful to some. There are many lessons to take from both the movie and the stories and I highly suggest to any who love adventure to seek these out and find out for yourself the greatness of Robert E. Howard and Conan. Perhaps they will inspire you to seek out the dark corners of the Earth and
unseen places like it has myself.

http://www.amazon.com/Coming-Conan-Cimmerian-Original-Adventures/dp/0345461517
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0082198/?ref_=sr_3
www.conan.com

What Lies Beneath, or "I'm Telling you...It was THIS BIG!"

     Ever since I was a kid, I loved the water. I loved swimming and if you ask my parents I loved taking loooooong showers. Heck, I even had a bedroom decorated entirely with underwater life. There were many times I remember being referred to as being part fish. The state I grew up in has a good quality game and parks program and a number of nearby streams, lakes, ponds and rivers to drop a line into. As a child I never went fishing a lot, occasionally I went with my dad, friends or on a Boy Scout camping trip (proud recipient of the Fishing Merit Badge). However, this never really amounted to very much in the way of a fishing passion. I do remember that I always had a keen curiosity for what was underneath the waves. At one point, my roving grandparents lived in a small town in Missouri that was near a series of large lakes. On one particular visit we went to a restaurant on a bank high above the water. This joint specialized in catfish and they had a tank full of some of the fattest catfish I had ever seen. Of course that may have partially been due to my minute stature as a kid. I think perhaps ever since that day, catfish have been my favorite under water curiosity, both to look at and eat. Attached to the restaurant was a long suspension bridge that dangled above the narrowing water below. My mother, who was afraid of heights mind you, took me out to the middle and we looked down below at the churning brown waves. What was down there?
    During my teen and pre-teen years, my parents had taken me to Mexico (partially the reason I turned to archaeology) and Spain. I like to say that mother has this disease where she thinks she is part Mexican. The symptoms include a fascination with all things Spanish, be them from Spain or Mexico or elsewhere. She probably has like...stage 3 chronic onset or something, as displayed by the mixture of pseudo Hispanic decorations all over our house. Anyway, this brought me close to the ocean of more than one occasion. The ocean to me was always kind of scary. Not like the run away and hide scary, but scary none the less. It was large, and who knows what lie in the vast abyss beneath the wind tossed waves? Multiple readings of "The Shadow Over Innsmouth" and other Lovecraft stories only fueled this feeling and curiosity. It was not only the ocean that gave me a macabre since of wonder. On a trip down to Cancun, my parents took me to a massive sink hole where the guide told us that the Maya had thrown in sacrificial victims. The water was a deep sapphire and two tourists swam in the eerie gloom. All I could think of was the hundreds of bones and relics that lie in a heap deep beneath the crisp surface in the unwavering black.
     Over time I continued to fuel my untapped passion for the water by various means. A particular video game, titled "Endless Ocean", was the only reason I even bought a Nintendo Wii. I savored the experience of scuba diving among all sorts of strange and beautiful life, even if it was just an educational video game. I discovered another quirky game about fishing and then low and behold I saw and advertisement on Animal Planet for a new series. River Monsters with Jeremy Wade. Wade is an "extreme angler" and biologist that hunts down the the subjects of the worlds greatest "Fish Tales". I ate this show up, from giant catfish to freshwater sharks and massive rays. Oh the marvels that lurked on the river beds of the world. My father, just over one year ago, graced my presence with a fantastic book by Jeremy Wade himself and this prompted me to buy my first, very own fishing pole! I was giddy. I by no means hopped to catch a giant carp or man eating catfish like Mr. Wade but I now had a chance to explore what was under the water on my own. I spent many afternoons on the rocky shore of a nearby lake during the hot summer. I only managed to catch a few Bluegill and Sunfish but I loved every second of it. The waiting, the sweat from the sun, the tug of war between the fish and I, and finally seeing the creature that I had struggled with before I let it return to its watery home,  it was all exhilarating.
    The waters of the world are an important resource, both for survival and to feed human wonderment. There is so little of the ocean that has been explored; the ocean is teaming with life yet unseen. Even the channels and waterways that are so close to home can hold mysteries and legends just waiting to be uncovered. These habitats are also is danger. Pollution, tourism and commercial overfishing are ruining the world's oceans and freshwater. There is a Star Trek movie that involves the consequences of whales going extinct. And while I have little hope a giant alien vessel will come and punish us for ruining the environment, that is still not a world I would like to live in.
    This is my last semester of college (finally, I know!), and I have been trying to come up with projects or pursuits that will fuel my thirst for adventure and for writing. Over the summer I will be posting some of my adventures in fishing and scuba diving as I plan to take classes in my spare time. I guess the point of this particular post is to show that their are many ways of exploring. Hiking, climbing, star gazing, fishing; all different ways to experience our wonderful world/universe and all that it has in store for us.

For those of you who are interested in learning more about your home state's fishing programs, check your local Park and Recreation website. For those of you in my home state, you are in luck! I'll provide the links!

http://outdoornebraska.ne.gov/fishing.asp
http://outdoornebraska.ne.gov/fishing/programs/aquaticed/aquarium.asp (a really nice local aquarium)

A Walk Beneath the Long Dead Sea: or "My Trip to the Badlands of South Dakota" Part 1

     Over last summer I found myself with a distinct excess of time. My wife was away in Greece, my job super flexible and the money was ample. There were few places for me to travel to that I was interested in and only a day's drive away so I fixed a course to the Badlands of South Dakota. I had been there once before, as a child mind you, a child so young as to not remember a damn thing. This was the perfect opportunity to return and see what I had missed. I am somewhat of a cheapskate and I was going alone so I opted to book a room online through Econolodge in the small town of Wall, South Dakota. This is home to the famous tourist trap Wall Drug and also the town my family and I stayed at when I was a child. I loaded up my Jeep Liberty with food and snacks and a suitcase full of enough clothes to last me the weekend. I left my home in Lincoln, Nebraska early in the morning so as to be in Wall just in time for dinner, and also allowing me enough time to visit my favorite attraction in Nebraska, Ash Fall Fossil Bed (expect a post on this in the future). I won't bore you with what was most definitely a very long, monotonous drive through the central plains.
     It was nearing five o'clock in the evening, I had just rediscovered where I was on the map, and I was driving down the a lonely stretch of highway when I saw it.

As you can see, this was taken from a moving vehicle, not advised.

     The jagged peaks rose from the flowing fields of emerald grass like a worn saw blade. The sky was a deep blue hue and and behind me were hundreds of miles and a soon to set sun. The sight was impressive but I was dead tired and my left arm was sun burnt from hanging out the window all day so I drove through park on a winding highway and called it a day. I ate at a BBQ place across the street and walked down to the Wall Drug store for some overpriced sun screen and I hit the hay.
     The next morning I rose, stopped at the gas station for a doughnut, picked up some protein bars and headed back towards the remnants of the prehistoric ocean. The morning was a little humid and clouds still lingered from the storms the evening before. Driving south, I passed the park entrance, which was closed and had a sign posted advising to come back later and pay upon my exit. Good deal. After about ten minutes of driving through bright green prairie I came to the edge of a shear plateau that looked down into the valley of spires and spines, to the east the sun was attempting to peer through the ashen clouds that slowly meandered along the horizon.

     State and National parks can be hit and miss when it comes to that feeling of true wilderness. I was happily surprised when I was greeted by a massive, dare I say herd, of wild turkeys that seemed to care very little of my presence. Just a little farther up the road I encountered a large field of prairie dog burrows. I sat and watched for a while and saw the heads of the residents poke up from time to time. I have seen my fair share of turkeys but never had I seen wild prairie dogs before. I was giddy, my adventure was off to a good start. I found a parking area nearest the trail head of the longest trail where signs warned to not venture to close to the wild bison and bighorn sheep. After stepping onto the asphalt I took a deep breath of fresh air, looked at my map, and headed in. I was standing at the base of a cliff much like the one I had previously looked down from. The way up snaked through a series of tall, rocky columns. The earth looked hard packed but to my surprise it was soft and loose. The spires and rugged landscape are the product of the ancient inner sea drying up and leaving the sandy floor exposed to the elements and time. I scrambled up the steep slope, almost slipping once or twice, it was less of a hike and more of a climb and the trail was nearly non existent, only marked vaguely by orange markers. Wind and water had whipped to and fro through the slots and crevasses of the rugged range, molding shapes out of the barren soil; all around were tiny petrified toadstools sprouting from the ground.
      Higher I climbed  until I pulled myself up and over the final ledge. Before me was a wide open prairie half encircled by the almost alien crags. Millions of years ago I would have been standing upon the bed of a shallow sea; a home to a multitude of prehistoric sea life.I stood and imagined the the depths above me, a metaphor for the depths of time that also encompassed my surroundings. One of my favorite authors, H. P. Lovecraft, capitalized the theme of feeling insignificant and alone in the universe with his tales of cosmic horror. I sat for a moment and basked in the remoteness I felt. Eons have passed through this place, through all places, and there at that spot, I was alone in the vastness of time, like being adrift on an endless sea. 

     That ancient sea once teamed with life of all kinds; primitive sharks, pleisosaurs, mosasaurs, a multitude of fish and crustaceans. This inland sea, also known as the Cretaceous sea way, existed over 100 milllion years ago, when North America was divided into two small sub-continents. Time and Earth however, are always changing and eventually the rise of the Rocky Mountains lifted the sea floor through 2,500 feet of water along a 2,000 mile expanse. All that remained of this once great sea were a series of brackish lagoons that would eventually give way to the Great Plains. With time it would be decided that the age of reptiles would end and give way to the a new kingdom of mammals. While the great sea way is impressive and worthy of note, the Badlands are highly recognized for their fossils from the Oligocene, another remnant of the a age long past and another reminder that we are but a scratch of the the surface of the Earth...

     I am going to opt to end this here and make this a series of two or three posts. During my trip I saw nearly all there was to see of the Badlands National Park and there is quite a bit for me to talk about and think about. I thought this would be an appropriate cliff hanger, leaving you just before I begin my trek into the interior of the the Badlands plateau. I would also like to state that this is my first time writing something like this and if any of you readers have any questions or comments, maybe tips on writing and keeping interest, please, don't hesitate. Thank you very much for taking the time to read of my travels, I hope you have enjoyed it so far and that I have left you a little something to think about.

-Logan