In Defense of Wilderness, or "#OurWild"

I am currently strapped into a cushy chair having blood drained from my arm. Because I'm a hero. At least that's what the poster next to me says. Anyway, I want to talk about something that is really important to me. I tend to write mostly about adventure, the outdoors and nature. I would be a very different person without these things in my life. In order to have adventure, to experience nature and the outdoors, we need places to go. There is so much privately owned land already in the United States. In my home state, Nebraska, the nearest "wilderness" area was hours from my home. Here in the Southwest, it's minutes and I love it. Unfortunately, that is in danger. For sometime now, special interest groups have been lobbying for the removal of some 600 million acres of public land (national parks, memorials, BLM and Wilderness) from public ownership in order to sell them off to mining, oil and logging companies. This is especially prevalent in the West, including lovely New Mexico. The removal of these lands would have serious impact on a number of levels. Taking NM as an example, the loss of Public lands could cause severe damage to the state economy by hurting tourism. The same goes for any number of Western states. The companies that are bidding for these lands claim that their business will bring jobs, but that old song and dance has never really rang true. Oil lines in North Dakota caused a short term boom but when the work runs out, so does the money. This is also something the many Native American Reservations have been dealing with. Access to public land has a direct link to quality of life and if this goes away, say goodbye to camping, fishing, hiking and all those other adventures you and I love so much. But what really gets me is the blatant disregard for the natural world. Not just the animals, the plants, but mountains, deserts and forests. Not only do they want to remove public access to these wonderful wild places, but they want to dig them up, crack them open and cut them all down. The devastation is two fold. Not only does this cause further endangerment to many species, some already fragile, but perpetuates our reliance on fossil fuel and non renewable energy. For more information check out
http://wilderness.org/keep-americas-public-lands-public-hands, tell your representatives, send letters, tell your friends, write a blog post. Show you care. Because if you don't, you won't know what you missed until it's already gone.

The More Things Change The More They Stay The Same..., or "Today's Lesson"

 
   

Good afternoon class. If we haven't met before, my name is Mr. Whitney. That's right, like the girl's name. Get your laughs out now. Before we begin, I want to know something, have any of you ever read any James Michener? No. Well I don't blame you. Today we are going to do a "reverse Michener". Instead of starting way back in time and building up to now, we are going to tear down the present and end up back at the end of the Ice Age. Sounds cool, right? Hey! Quit your groaning in the back, Kristina! Make sure you're paying attention, this will be on the test.....

   Okay, so now that the formalities are out of the way let's start with a little town called Fairbank, aptly named as it sits on a nice little spot along the banks of the San Pedro river in Southern Arizona. No one lives there anymore. It's a ghost town. Once it was a nice little mining town near Tombstone, famous for Wyatt Earp and the Clanton feud. Ike Clanton himself had a ranch nearby little Fairbank but that's another story. So here we are in 2016 and all that is left of Fairbank are some little wooden buildings, a cemetery, a rebuilt school house and the ruins of a large Silver Stamping mill. The school house was restored in 2007 and also houses a modest library and gift shop for visitors. It is maintained as a historic site by the Bureau of Land Management as part of the San Pedro Riparian Area. If you happen to visit, I highly suggest you see if Ron Stewart is the volunteer for the day. He is super nice and very knowledgeable. What's left of this little town is tucked away along a lonely stretch of highway between Whetstone and Tombstone, the buildings are huddled together beneath the shade of Cottonwoods and the humidity of the river.

The Fairbank Silver Mill

     Just under a mile away is a small cemetery, run down and decrepit. The perfect place to either bury a treasure or be haunted by an old cowboy's ghost. Your choice. The hill has been eroding for nearly a century since the last person was buried there, the wooden crosses have dry rotted and the stones that keep the dead in their tombs have began to migrate to greener pastures. Even further down the trail are the megalithic remains of an old Silver Mill. Here, the gravity of falling water generated enough steam and energy to forcefully move metal rods up and down, up an down, again and again, essentially grinding raw silver ore into dust. Now, all that's left are giant walls of mortared stone, a lasting testament to both man's ingenuity and greed.
     The real question is why do you think this town sprung up here? Anybody? *chirp chirp*. You, the blonde in the back with Doctor Who shirt. Yes you. What do you think? Very good! It's the river. The river is why they chose to build. As mentioned before, this town relied heavily on its Silver Mill, which of course used the coursing water of the San Pedro to do its job. The Mill brings workers, workers bring their families and then a town pops up. The Railroad comes to ship the goods and soon enough you have a hotel, a mercantile and schoolhouse. But eventually the rails decide to move elsewhere, the people run out of things to do and they all move on. It's the story of more little towns than one can probably count. At one point, the U.S. census states that there were a whopping 72 people living in Fairbank. A little strange because the Business Directory lists at least 242 in 40 households. During this time, the Census was not something to be trusted. Many people considered it government over reach and some just plain didn't want to be found. Fairbank was never very big by any means, Tombstone being only a 15 minute drive away, but it had its place in the web of the mining economy in Southern Arizona.
    Speaking of Tombstone, let me deviate for a second for a pretty cool story. Don't roll your eyes at me Mr. French. Wyatt Earp. Famous and/or notorious gunfighter of the Old West. Made popular by his shootout with the Clanton gang at the O.K. Corral in Tombstone, Arizona, was once tried for murder. Many thought that he wrongfully killed those men cold in the street, many had a less than positive perception of the man. They charged him with murder. Fearing that he would not get a fair trial in Tombstone, the judge had his trial moved to Fairbank. After news spread of Wyatt's charges, old acquaintances and friendly citizens of Dodge City, Kansas sent letters speaking highly of Earp's honor. Wyatt was eventually acquitted and the charges dropped. Prime example of how important it is to have a good reputation.
    Anyway, Fairbank was founded alongside the San Pedro because of the abundance of water. It lasted from 1881 to 1973. But what happened before? Any guesses? Susie, go ahead. There were Native Americans there? Well, you are not wrong, but there was something else in between. Ah, the Spanish. Awesome. So the Spanish had come to this area for the same reason. The land was rich and fertile because of the river valley. Fairbank was built within the boundaries of the San Juan Boquillas y Nogales Land Grant that was once owned and operated by the Elias family out of Sonora. They came into the land in 1823 and the Spanish intended to settle it as part of New Spain, or Mexico, by today's terms. They had a hard time of it because they weren't the only ones there. The Chiricahua Apache fought them every step of the way which led to the abandonment of the area, leaving nothing but thousands of wild cattle roaming the San Pedro River Valley. In 1854 this area became part of the United States after the Gadsden Purchase but wouldn't be settled until the founding of Tombstone, Charleston and Fairbank.
    So why were Spanish trying to ranch there? What made it good for such a thing? Andy? Very good, its the water. I think you are catching on to the pattern here.  The San Pedro River creates an area that is far more fertile than the surrounding Sonoran Desert. Water is a hot commodity in the desert and everything relies on it. Even today, the land around the river is filled with Cottonwood trees, Mesquite, marsh grasses and all kinds of wildlife that rely on the water found there. In 1695 Father Eusebio Kino visited a string of Apache villages just north of the ruins of Fairbank. 156 years earlier, in 1530, Fray Marcos de Niza explored the area for the King of Spain describing the area as "an irrigated, evergreen garden" (Friends of the San Pedro River). Again, its the water.

Prehistoric Pottery and Points

     Alright, one last thing, I promise. The time machine is going to start moving faster now. Before the miners, the Spanish and the Apache, there were others. The Hohokam, the Mogollon and the Salado cultures all had settlements alongside the San Pedro River. Before them was the Cochise Culture lasting from around 5000-200 BC. Before the Cochise still, we have the Clovis. Who can tell
me who the Clovis are? Red hair and glasses, in the front, what do you think? Perfect, the Clovis were one of the first major migrations into the Americas. This happened between 12-9,000 BC, give or take a few and low and behold, there they are right along the San Pedro River. Now the climate back then would have been much different from the desert that it is today, but regardless the water was very important. The San Pedro started flowing at the end the last Ice Age and would have attracted all kinds of animals including Megafauna. Near Fairbank is Murray Springs that has evidence of Mammoth and Bison Antiqus kills. Also along the River are the Naco and Lehrner Mammoth Kill sites, just a stone's throw away.
    Ah, a question Mr. Petro? What's the point of all this? Excellent, I was just getting to that. What have I told you again and again is the point of studying History? Not the names. Not the dates. History shows us the overarching themes of human interaction and existence. Now I know it seems obvious that people need water. Everything needs water. But today we have talked about some concrete examples of how people relied upon the San Pedro river for their lives and livelihoods. The river gave them game to hunt, grass to feed cattle, and power to run their mills. It brought food, settlers, miners, merchants, and families. This is a pattern that will ring true nearly everywhere in the world with only a few exceptions. Where there is water, you will find people. Even today, the San Pedro is a conservation area that attracts visitors and outdoor enthusiasts from all over. Ranches still dot the valley and other towns have sprung up. If you ever hope to understand people, history is where you need to begin. Thanks for paying attention today class...for the most part....except you Scott. I saw you sleeping over there. I'll see you after class. 


 

Sing it from the Mountain Top, or "Too Far From the Beaten Path".

  

Top of the Mountain

   Since last time I wrote a post I have a lot of stuff go on in my life, all of it positive I might add, but still requiring a lot of thought processing. When I feel overwhelmed or stressed out, the best place for me is outdoors. I realize that there is a lot of talk about how the outdoors can help with things like depression and anxiety, and that might be true in some cases, but that is not true for everyone. But

Looking East from the Sandias

that's not necessarily what I am talking about. Being outside is like my meditation. Being surrounded by the Natural World refreshes sense of wonder and gives me some perspective. Its like meditation for me. Except I don't really know what that feels like because my mind wanders too much. But I can imagine there is a similarity. Maybe it's standing next to towering Ponderosa pines, hearing the wind blow through the the grass in a high mountain meadow, or making eye contact with a pair of deer as they nonchalantly pick their way through the brush; whatever it is, it brings me peace. As I mentioned before, big week for me. Lots to think about. Something in me decided to climb a mountain. So I did.
     I had been reading about interesting things in the area and read about an outcrop of limestone at the top the Sandias that supposedly had fossils. Nothing really special, mostly coral and small bivalves, but regardless, I wanted to see it. I could have driven to the top, parked, had a short, relaxing hike and been done. Did I do that? No. No I didn't. On a whim I parked just short of halfway up that bad boy and hiked. One of my favorite parts of hiking up a mountain is being able to go through all the different ecosystems that melt together as the elevation increases. The trail I chose began next to a small stream at the very top of Madera Canyon, it was a fairly modest trail, lacking in upkeep and only tenuously marked, making it all the more exciting. Looming above me, somewhere above the massive pines, was the peak that I sought to reach. The tail meandered up around the side the mountain, taking me through some truly beautiful stretches of forest. Unfortunately that was not the case the whole time.
     I spent a lot of time in my life working for a Nature Center in Nebraska where were basically in constant battle with Invasive Species. Sounds dramatic? Good. Because it was. Lost a lot of good

Prescribed burn back in NE

people out there. Stretches of the forest that I walked through were in really bad shape. Inches of duff (basically dead plant matter) covered the forest floor with barely any under story growth. In other places Scrub Oak blanketed the area in a near mono-culture. The mountain is in desperate need of a good burning. Fire was one of the most important aspects of managing our Prairie back home, and is also super important for keeping a healthy forest. I admit, I am not an expert in forest management and I realize there is a ton of planning an budgeting that goes into it. Problem is, unless you stay on top of it, the next time there is a fire it can be severe. Just a week or so ago, a large fire sprung up in the Manzano mountains southeast of Albuquerque. The Sandias are closer to an urban area and could potentially cause a greater loss of property and life if not contained in time. Thousands of years ago, lightening and mindful Native Americans made sure that fire did its part, whether it was intended or not. There are even a number of plants that will remain as seeds until fire coaxes them out. Fire is important, and it hurts my heart to see the forest in such bad shape.

Easiest way to read "Owls Hoot in the Daytime"

     Anyway, enough of the preaching. So I am about halfway to my destination and I stop to down some Powerade. What do I hear? An owl hoot in the daytime. First off, I freaking LOVE owls. Back at the nature center we had these two little screech owls and they were so cute and perched on my hand and then there was this blind Barn Owl and watching him eat was disgustingly fascinating. Second: "Owls Hoot in the Daytime" by Manly Wade Wellman is one of my favorite short stories ever! If you haven't had the chance to read it, find me and I will make sure you do. In the story, the owl calling out during the day signifies that the main character has traveled too far from the beaten
path. It is derived from old Appalachian folklore; I promptly ignored its warning and continued on.

     It was a long trek, not going to lie. I had to take a more than a few breathers because walking up hills is hard work. My eyes widened as I walked

Looking down from the top

into a wide open meadow very near the top. The top of the Sandias is a really popular hiking/trail running/dog walking area and I rapidly came to realize that I was not really in the wild anymore. My dreams of bear taming crushed for the day, I couldn't help but pick up some of the trash I came across in the trail to at least be placed in a trash can next time I saw it. I can forgive ill maintenance of the parkland, I get it, its hard, it costs money, and it can be really dangerous. You know what isn't any of those things? THROWING AWAY YOUR DAMN TRASH. Seriously. Put it where it belongs. Awesome, two preachy moments in one post.

      Anyway, eventually I made my way the highest point on the mountain and looked down and out across the world around me. Gods is it a beautiful sight. In moments like that, I am overwhelmed with a sense of place. That meditation thing I was talking about at the beginning. I knew where I was and for a moment my doubts and fears rushed away with wind. But I still had a goal. I had to find me some fossils. The age of the earth is profound to me. The fact that at the top of the mountain I am standing on what used to be the bottom of an ancient sea. Untold centuries of violent processes radically changed the shape of the surface into what I was seeing then. Talk about perspective. Looking out into the horizon, feeling the weight of time and pressing my hands against the remnants of some of the earliest lifeforms on the planet. People find solace in many things. Religion. Fantasy. Art. I find it most often in the feeling of insignificance. It is peaceful there. Maybe a bit lonely. But it's clarity. For me at least. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I look up at the sky. Down at the world. Peace. The hike back down in way easier. I feel a little high. Maybe its the meditation, maybe its dehydration. Who knows. Aside from being stabbed in the side by a Yucca thorn, it was a good day.

Bottom of the Ocean

Lonely Places, a piece of fiction inspired by a walk in the woods.

Today I took a hike through the woods. There I was, all alone, atop a high ridge in the Sandia Wilderness. All about me were barren pines and hard-scrabble earth. Patches of snow still clung to the ground in places. High above me, a flock of dozens of obsidian black crows flew through the air. A murder. There were signs that someone had been there. But how long ago? A couple rusted cans and a toppled stone fire ring. From a distance it looked like a grave. Then I heard it. A snap of twigs. It was probably a deer. But bears are known to roam the area. I spun around. I searched. But I saw nothing. All that was left was the chill running down my spine. It hadn't been caused by the wind.

The following story is inspired by a walk in the woods similar to the one I had today. I have always found a mystery in nature. Stories of ghosts and lost gold drove me to the wilderness. Searching. Sometimes for something tangible. Sometimes its a feeling. Sometimes its myself. But then there are times out there in wild places, the lonely places, that a feeling can come over you, a feeling that maybe the mystery found you. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

Lonely Places
By L. D. Whitney

I’ve never been sure about what draws me to the lonely places. Do I find some kind of thrill, or maybe an enjoyment, in the dark? Yes. I can’t deny that. But most of all, I’m curious. Like when you take a walk in the woods, all by yourself with no one else around. Do you feel the eyes? The ones watching you from the trees. Most of the time, they probably aren’t there and it’s all just in your head. There is something about being out and alone in nature that makes a person feel like maybe they aren’t alone when they are. But sometimes the feeling is different. Stronger maybe. You look around and all that’s out there is red leaves and dry grass swaying in the breeze. Maybe there’s a river or stream nearby and you here it babbling as the water slides over rocks in the bend. Or maybe its whispers. Some half unheard message floating on a quiet breeze.You hear the locusts off in a thicket, droning on in alien rhythm, like some sort of song. It’s familiar yet strange and distant. An owl hoots but the sun still shines high in the cloudless, sapphire sky. Maybe you’ve gone too far.

The hairs on the back of your neck tingle and stand on end and something moves in the brush just past your sight. Has to be a rabbit, or maybe a squirrel. At least that’s what you tell yourself. All of a sudden you feel sweat on your palms and under your arms but you weren’t sweating just a moment ago. No, you were just standing all alone, taking in the world around you. You look at your watch like the time is getting late, but it’s not. One foot in front of the other and you’re off again, making your way down the winding woodland path. You feel fine again, just for a moment, as you find yourself making progress. Each step takes you closer to where you began, or at least where you’ll end. The flutter of wings breaks the silence and the branches above you are alive. Black shapes burst from their perches, mere silhouettes against the sun. You think for a moment that the wings aren’t like birds’ wings, but leathery and strange. As the figures melt back into the trees, all they leave behind is an echoing call, more like a laugh than a song. Then all that is left are the branches, boney and gnarled. Like great skeleton hands reaching toward the sky. They moan and creak, some ancient agony coursing through their sun bleached bark. 

There’s another sound out there, buried in the pain. Rusty hinges, like on a door not oiled. They squeal with some semblance of life and now that’s all you can hear. Thunder claps, but it’s not thunder, it can’t be. It’s the slam of a door. Now you see it out there, buried in the trees, only given voice by the last breaths of summer as the world gives way to fall. But what’s it doing out here all alone? Alone. Just like you. You think for a second that you probably shouldn’t go in. Old places are dangerous; rotten floor boards, broken glass. But, there is something that is drawing you in. It’s not the house per se, with its open door, knocking, or its two small windows that for just a second look sad. Like eyes asking for pity. Its curiosity, plain and simple, just like I said. You’re curious and you want to look. You’re brave. You came all this way by yourself didn’t you? Cats be damned. There is no hesitation as you step from the safety of the trail and into parts unknown.

Passing through the trunks of great, primeval trees, you press through the bushes and as you go they seem to push back. Only slightly. With a final pull, you’re through and now you find your foot on something strong and firm. A stone, wide and flat, bright green moss growing along its edges. It isn’t the only one either. There are maybe a dozen or so making a little winding path through the fallen leaves and forest rot. Together, they slither through the undergrowth like some monstrous snake born from myth and campfire tales. You walk along the forgotten path and inch closer to the open door, probably not recognizing that it looks something like a mouth, wide and gaping. At least just a little. Out of the corner of your eye you notice the small, shrubby tufts that dot what used to be the yard. You think you see flowers, never mind that it’s far too late in the season to bloom. As you pass you think to yourself that there were three different colored flowers on those shrubs. But that impossible and you force it from your thought. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, you make it within inches of the door and reach out, grasping the soft, slimy wood and pull yourself past the threshold like you were drowning, a deep gasp fills your frantic lungs with air. You made it, kid. You’re inside.

With a sigh of relief, you nod and accept that you see no danger here. It’s just a small place, some kind of cabin, or maybe a shed. Come to think of it, you couldn’t rightly tell. The inside wasn’t like any house you’d ever seen; just one big room, debris all about the floor. Then again, they used to make things differently back then when surely this house would have been in use. Stepping around the sickly green pools collecting on the floor, you walk around the room. Odd. It seems bigger on the inside that it looked on the outside. You can’t hear the wind anymore, or even the branches scrapping against the old rotting roof. The only thing that catches your ear is a soft gurgle, almost like an upset stomach, but it’s probably just the sound that old houses make. As you walk around, you notice the floor is sticky and soft. All of the wood on the walls and beneath your feet are clammy and slick with mold the color of rotten fruit. And come to think of it, when did people live here? There isn’t any furniture around. No sign that anyone had ever lived here at all. Only scraps of trash and the bones of animals that had crawled in here to die. There’s that owl again. Something moves past the front window, fast and fleeting. You look at your watch again, only this time it is getting late and now you can’t recall how long you’ve been in this place. It’s time to go.

Only you can’t. You try and move your feet but they’re stuck, stuck in that greenish water pooling it your feet, stuck in the pool that wasn’t there just moments before. Outside you here those birds call, faster and a more mocking this time. You pull as hard as you can and your feet begin to move. Something falls from the ceiling and onto your bare arm. You don’t look because you already know what it is. It’s the same stuff that has you stuck to floor, and it burns. Then comes more. It’s on your neck and your hands and it burns all over. Burns like liquid fire on your soft, sweaty skin. You pull your hardest, trying to get free and finally your feet come lose and you stumble, your hands pressing into the soft, wet floor, bones scattering about you. You look up to the door and see it slowly shutting. Your heart is racing, egged on by what you swear is a human skull sitting silently amongst scattered remains. You are tired, you can barely hold on and that sickly stomach sound grows louder with each frantic heartbeat. You just want to sleep, just to close your eyes. Then when you wake up, it’ll all be a dream. Only you know it’s not a dream. Then you feel it, feel them. You aren’t alone anymore. There is someone else here and you feel the cold breath on the back of your neck. You feel their touch, pulling as hard as they can at your aching, burning limbs. “Run.” That’s the last thing you remember. A single word whispered in your ear. And then you run. You run as far and as fast as you can and you

never look back.

Years later, maybe you’re sitting at home or maybe you are out again, alone in the woods. The thought comes racing back to you. It’s blurry. Your head addled with fog, you’re not even sure that it happened the way you think it happened. But it had. The thought of that old house, if that’s what it really was, just sitting out there in the woods, lonely and alone. You feel it come back to you. That feeling from before. Was it still out there? You want to doubt it, but you know better. Had anyone else come along? Was there something you could do? Or maybe should have done? And who was it that whispered that single word into your ear? The one that saved your life. There it is again, your old friend curiosity. Maybe you’ll go back. Just to take a peek.

Cats be damned.

One day, I hope to publish this story, along with others, in a collection. If you like it, keep an eye out.

Girl's just want to climb mountains, and scuba dive, and....

Anyone who knows me, knows I am a sucker for treasure hunts. I also have a love for video games. Combining these two interests naturally led me to Lara Croft, heroine of the Tomb Raider series. In the Old Days of gaming, Lara was the pinnacle of the "sex sells" mentality. She was tall, toned, big breasted and supposedly beautiful (although the polygons never did her justice). The gameplay involved in the globe trotting, puzzle solving adventures, was revolutionary. Just like her character design. The games were good, for the most part, but Old School Lara is definitely a huge smear on representation of women in Gaming. Fast forward to 2013, Lara has now changed hands a few times and has now completed her transformation into a real person. Her story has been rebooted (like so many Hollywood icons), she is now a young woman, wait for it.....designed after an actual woman! Her proportions are right, she has feelings and thoughts and even moves realistically! Best of all, she wears clothes that are climatically appropriate. This may seem like a strange start to a blog post about exploration, but I promise, its relevant.

http://www.howmanly.com/manly-video-games/going-soft-makes-her-stronger/

One of my favorite YouTube stars.

Just the other night, I was having dinner with my Guiding Teachers. One of them is the proud mother (the other a father) of a little girl so of course toys were scattered across the room, one of which was a doll  A doll whose skin color matched that of the daughter's. This got me to thinking about how women are represented to young girls. Having been a camp counselor, I am well aware of the "That's for Boys" mentality that is usually unknowingly pressed on young girls who show even the slightest inkling of outdoorsy stuff. One of my proudest moments was taking a group of teenage girls to the lake to go fishing for the very first time. These girls, most born and raised within the dreaded confines of New York City, only got to be truly outdoors during Summer Camp. I had the privilege of being their very first Nature Director. Seeing their faces when they reeled in their catches was deeply gratifying. Just as gratifying as seeing the littler girls' faces light up when they caught a toad or salamander or pregnant spider (gross (seriously gross)).

Now to bring it all together. I came into archaeology because of the romance and adventure. However real or imaginary. Other archaeologists will bemoan my interest in treasure hunts and lost cities, but you can't deny that that shit is cool. I got the idea that drove me to my first career from fictional characters. Barnabas and Tell Sackett, Alan Quartermain, Dirk Pitt, Rick O'Connell and yes...Indiana Jones. All of them are men. It wouldn't be until I was in my 20's whe Lara and I would finally make a connection. This is a problem. One day, I would love to see an old camper, future student or even a daughter, out there exploring the world. But, much like the doll mentioned above, its up to us to provide the role models, both fictional, like Lara Croft, and real. In an attempt to do my part, I am going to provide a list of as many female Adventurers and Explorers as I can manage. The following list will most assuredly not be comprehensive, but will provide examples both real and imaginary. For every Nathan Drake in the world, there should be a Lara Croft.


Fictional Characters:
Lara Croft- Tomb Raider (2012), Rise of the Tomb Raider (2015)
Evy Carnahan/ O'Connell - The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Returns (2001), Don't watch the 3rd.
Adele Blanc-Sec- The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc-Sec (2010)
Samus Aran- Metroid Series
Lillith- Borderlands (2009)
Maya- Borderlands 2 (2012)
Gauge- [Also] Borderlands 2 (2012)
Athena- Borderlands the Pre-Sequel (2014)
Echo Sackett- Ride the River by Louis L'amour
Dr. Abigail Chase- National Treasure Series
Annja Creed- Rogue Angel book Series
The Danger Girls- Danger Girl Comic
(I know, some of these are a stretch, but that's because my pickings were slim)

Real People:
Amelia Earhart: First woman to fly solo across the Atlantic
Renata Chlumska- Climbed Mt. Everest and Biked across lower 48 States
Calamity Jane- Professional Scout and Frontierswoman
Nellie Bly- Journalist who traveled around the world in 72 Days
Gerlinde Kaltenbrunner- Climbed all 14 Eight-thousander Mountains without O2 assistance
Barbara Hillary- First African American to travel to the North Pole
Kira Salak- Journalist and Writer who solo kayaked down the Niger River
Ellen MacArthur- Sailed 27,000 miles in 71 days
Eileen Collins- Astronaut, first female Commander of the orbiter
Cecilie Skog- 1st woman to stand on both poles and the highest peaks on every continent
Jessica Watson- Circumnavigated the Globe at age 18

There are actually a ton of woman explorers and adventurers, I will be sure to feature some in the upcoming months.
I realize that I am likely very late to this conversation. In fact, this is the kind of thing that I have tried to avoid for most of my life. Social Justice has not truly been a concern of mine until the last year or so. Admittedly, the plight of Mother Nature is what concerns me the most. True love for nature seems to be dying. At least to me. I'm a pessimist. In order to foster this kind of caring, it is important to get people interested. To do that, it is important that new generations have role models that represent them. Explorers and Adventurers are historically represented as men. Shackleton, Darwin, Cook, Drake, Lawrence, Coronado, Columbus, Magellan, Polo, Fawcett. All men. It wasn't until I started researching this post that I could think of any women in the field aside from Amelia Earhart. Where are the tough, intelligent, head strong women? They are out there. And I hope that a new generation of adventurers, finds inspiration in them.

For anyone that reads this, I hope that you take the time to encourage a young woman in your life to get out there and explore!

A walk down a forested path, or "how I get lost..."

   Finally I feel like its safe to say that spring is upon us. I am sitting here and as we speak the temperature is gradually reaching into the 70's. Thank the gods. Yesterday it was nice enough for me to venture forth into the wilderness and go on my first real hike of the year.
    I almost always like to stick close to the river, I have always had a fondness for water and fate probably missed the boat by not making me a fish. Right now the water is still frozen solid on the surface but life is already waking beneath the frozen sheet. I came across a young man fishing through a hole in the ice and I sat watched him creepily with my phone camera poised to catch the act of pulling a fish from the river. It never happened. Too bad.
     After climbing some trees and steep embankments I came across the undeniable scent of skunk. I am by no means an expert tracker, but I do share a name with wolverine and decided I would try and follow my nose. I successfully tracked the skunk to its den. On second thought I may have been smelling a skunk victim, but alas I did not find the smelly culprit.
     I did however, stumble across an archaeological site. It appears to be a trash dump littered with bottles and automotive parts. I know it doesn't sound exciting but it is so deal with it. Using the bases of some bottles I was able to place it somewhere within the realm of the mid 1950's. Not anything super old but technically anything over 50 years old counts.
    Afterwards I bushwhacked back to the jeep and rewarded myself with a mint chip cliff bar. Mmmmmm. I suggest to all of you that you get outside and take some time to see what you can find. Don't be afraid to travel off the beaten path and poke around where you might not think you should. Just finding little mysteries in the world or maybe things you've never seen before can make the whole day worth it.