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

A Walk Beneath the Long Dead Sea: or "My Trip to the Badlands of South Dakota" Part 3

     Following the series of stone monuments that had been left for travelers like me, I made my way through the tall emerald grass accented with the brilliant whites, yellows and purples of the native wild flowers. The trail edged along a eight foot or so drop off that acted as a kind of barrier between the viewer and a gallery of strange sculptures carved from the ancient stone. There were windows and doors and twisting pillars and a whole menagerie of petrified creations. It is funny how time changes things, changes all things, even those that seem the most solid, the most resistant. These monuments were once grand and imposing, part of another much more mammoth work of creation. Now they are little more than the size of us. Wind, water, and the flow of time had already sealed their fate long before the sea tides ever peeled away and revealed what it hid to the world. As the layers chip, crack and fall the remnants of ages undreamed reveal that all things are born, crumble and are born anew.

In this age of concrete, steel and computer chips, it is easy to see that humans are dominate in this world. We have managed to conquer nearly every environment, defy gravity, travel continents in hours. It is easy to think that we are unstoppable, invincible, that the tides of fate do not apply for we are the chosen ones, masters and creators of our own destiny. For countless eons this planet has harbored lifeforms great and small, they engulfed the Earth with enumerable species of all kinds. And yet here we, a product of the continuing cycles of life. It is foolish to think that humanity will last forever, despite the towers, the technology, we too will pass with time and in the wake of our going, it will be the turn of another.
     As I continued down the trail I came across something that I had not really expected to find. Atop a small island raised above the ground was a small patch of Prickly Pear cactus. Out west this type of cacti and its brethren are everywhere, in the Great Plains, not so much. Cacti are native to the central corridor of the United States and can be found in South Dakota, Nebraska, and Kansas. When thinking of the plains many envision endless prairies and fields of corn, perhaps some cattle ranches thrown in the mix. There is actually a great number of smaller ecosystems interspersed, such as the Badlands and the Sand Hills of Nebraska. Some of these areas have the kinds of stuff Cacti love to live in. My grandfather actually grows one in a garden and it manages to live throughout the often harsh Nebraska winters. I have many less than fond memories of pulling spines from my calves and forearms after trudging through the desert on survey. When in the desert it was normal, perhaps a tad mundane to see this plant, as common as grass in Nebraska. Here it was somewhat of a gift. An unexpected reminder that within a world of lines and grids and barbed wire fences there are some things that can transcend the arbitrary boundaries that we assign to the world we live in. I recently listened to a piece on NPR that spoke of a a journey to the sea floor in Antarctica. This particular voyage was searching for a an elusive three-eyed tube worm that colonizes around volcanic vents on the ocean floor. Instead of these worms, they found fields and fields of yellow "fluff". This fluff turns out to be one of the oldest organisms on the planet. The piece ended with a very poignant statement, that nature does not care what we expect to find, it will be where it is whether we want it to be or not.

     After pulling myself back up to the trail I continued to walk in peace. According to the map I would soon come to a cross roads that would lead to a parking lot in one direction and a path back towards where I came from in the other. I had not seen any people thus far and enjoyed the solitude although there were times it was somewhat eerie. In my everyday life it is very difficult to come across loneliness and silence. It is true that while in nature I had still not found neither loneliness or silence but I had found an escape. Here there were no cars, no television, no computers, even my phone was off (I always carry it in case of an emergency). Being without these things are nearly heresy in modern times. There was still the wind, the birds, and insects all around me but I would gladly take them over sirens, traffic and commercials. Regardless, I knew it would not be long till someone ventured across my path and lo and behold, I had found them. At the cross roads were an older couple, probably late fifties or early sixties, the wife peering through a pair of binoculars and the husband scanning a wrinkled brochure.
     I walked up to them, looking what I would deem imposing with my large pack, knife strapped to waist and black bandanna wrapped around my head. This couple saw me and waved vigorously and I returned the wave with a smile. We greeted each other with handshakes and smiles although our names were never shared. This couple was lively and friendly, on a road trip across the U.S. vacationing from Canada. They were searching for the Big Horn Sheep that were supposedly roaming this area and asked if I had seen any. Unfortunately I had not, they seemed somewhat disappointed but still undaunted. They inquired as to how far I'd walked and we shared a bit of conversation about the great outdoors. I noticed the portly man red and sweaty and they were both lacking in water. Anyone who knows the first thing about hiking knows you need water, dehydration is a very serious thing. Being an Eagle Scout I am always prepared and had ample amounts of water bottles in my pack and they were grateful to have some. After a bit more chatter we parted ways and I wished them a safe and enjoyable trip. Before I left they thanked me for both the water and for being interested and caring about the outdoors. They said that far too many people my age just aren't interested. I thanked them and left with a feeling of pride. I am glad I had met these strangers and that our brief intersection had meant something to all of us.
     The last leg of this section took me to the edge of  the plateau where I could look out into the bulk of the Badlands. It was a barren, wasted land. Rocky spines and crags lifted above deep, shear gorges where little grew. At the bottom of these canyons were pools of muddy, brackish water. It was beautiful and terrifying as I looked out over the blasted heath and stared down into the crevasse below. Far off in the distance was a sea of green, a safe haven from this little patch of hell. This had been a rewarding venture for me, a chance to walk through time, to imagine the ages that came before, to see a still wild place nestled in the farmlands of Middle America, to meet people that I have never met and to share something with them. There was more that I saw and experienced in this almost alien terrain, but if I told you everything there would be nothing left for you to experience if you have the chance to go and see it for yourself. In nature some are driven to see God, others peace and the sublime, for others like me it is beauty and realization of place.

 
 Thanks you for following me on this journey, I hope you enjoyed it and continue to read.

-Logan

The Search Begins

     We are deep in the midst of an age of vast technologies. Men and women all across the world can be connected to seemingly any information that they could want with a mere press of a button. In seconds as an interactive map of the world can be brought up and nearly any place on the globe can be pinpointed, brought to within spitting distance and rendered in 3D for your viewing pleasure. It seems as though there is nothing left to be found that hasn't already be mapped, charted and placed on a grid. This easy access to a constant flow of information can be deceiving. It can make the world seem small. I am looking out my window right now and see houses and yards with doors and fences. I by no means live in the most populated of urban jungles, but I feel trapped. As I said before, the world can appear small; it is in fact OUR world that is small. I feel I must make a distinction between the world that we, as members of a technologically advanced western society, live in, and the world that remains free and wild.
    When I was younger I was very much a product of the technological age, I loved television, computers, movies and video games. I saw very little reason for me to venture into the realm outside. My father, an avid lover of all things western, would show me classic movies about man's struggle to tame the savage land. There was a beauty existing in the rugged mountains and arid desserts that truly escaped me. I once saw a film by my all time favorite director, John Milius, called "Jeremiah Johnson". It is the story of a man. That is all. No villian, no main set pieces, no sub plots; just a man and his life and how he chooses to live it. I am sure you can see how, as a child, I would find this boring as hell. More on that later. I joined the Cub Scouts in first grade, there was camping and hiking and all of that scouting jazz and, looking back, I feel this was my first real experience with that other world. Albeit I was on the controlled, self contained fringes of where our world meets the other. However, the fact of the matter was that I still didn't appreciate what was out there. In a Rocky-esque montage we can see my life change through a failed Criminal Justice 101 class, a bad break up, a move across the country and a couple of classes in field archaeology. Things were about to change.
     During a summer interlude I made a decision that would change the rest of the course of my life. I picked up a book. I had always been an avid reader although not a very fast one, but this particular book was somewhat out of my realm. My usual genres stayed firmly in horror, fantasy and sci-fi. This was a western. Well, sort of. My father, who I owe much to, sealed my fate long ago when he named me after a character in a Louis L'amour novel. That summer I vowed to start reading the Sackett series so I could discover the man of my namesake. The first novel "Sackett's Land", is not even a western at all, but a historical adventure about a Welshman that leaves England to head to the New World, all funded by a sack of Roman coins he found in a dyke by accident. There it was, treasure, the ultimate goal, the one thing that would pull me out of my cage. Don't worry, this is all leading somewhere.
     I was now living in Arizona, a land filled with tales of outlaw loot and lost Spanish gold, I was going to find some. This is what led me to the outdoors, the promise of adventure and fortune. Well, I haven't found that gold yet, but I have learned what has probably been the most valuable lesson of my lifetime. There is more. More than pink houses with white picket fences, more that business degrees and part-time jobs, more than action movies and video games. There was something out there to see. I stood alone on a mountain top, much like the unnamed character in Bob Seger's "Roll Me Away". I was triumphant but also vastly unsatisfied. Now that I had found the gateway to this other world, I needed to see more of it. I had once turned to Jeremiah Johnson (told you I would get back to it), for its sense of loneliness that comforted me during that terrible break up, now I finally understood what Robert Redford and John Milius had wanted me to know. There was freedom away from the world we created, and now that is what I felt. Freedom.
     Now I sit at a shoddy desk in an unkempt room staring out at the Sparrows in my neighbor's tree and procrastinating on the studying for finals I should be doing. I am still deeply embroiled in the world that society has created, but now I know that there is a difference between here and there. I long for a time when I can once again make my way through groves of ancient oaks, climb atop the red rocks of the Santa Catalinas, swim through the crystalline ocean, and maybe even find some treasure. This is the story of my adventures and how I see the world. I encourage all to go and find out for themselves. But if all you can manage to do is read what I write and look at some pretty pictures I feel as though I have done my part in showing you that there is more to the world than what Google Earth can show us.

- Logan


Coming soon: "A Walk Beneath the Long Dead Sea, or My trip to the Badlands of South Dakota