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

Woman of the World (and explantions for my hiatus)

Holy CRAP! I hate Grad School. Today was my last full class, I have my "Exit Interview" tomorrow and then I am freaking done. Like waaaay more done than I am with this beer next to me. Anyway....rough couple of semesters....blah blah blah....that means I now I have time to write more! I am going to start this off by cheating. By cheating, I mean posting something I didn't write. But I did ask the author to write it for my blog (because she posts less often than I do). So there, take that.

Let me introduce the author of this post, her name is Sara. I call her Honeybee. Not because its a cute pet name or anything. Because we met as counselors at a Nature Camp and we had to have Nature names. Don't ask me why. There was Bison, and Hedgehog and Blue Jay and Sprout and Honeybee....which one was me I hear you asking? None of them. I was Cockroach. Anyways, I have known Sara since she was like 16 and have seen her grow up to be a strong willed and adventurous young woman. She has spent the last while in Asia, traveling and teaching and generally being herself. I have no doubt that some of that time was spent trying to tame her hair, but to no avail. Sorry Sara, I couldn't help it. My most popular blog post ever was one I wrote about Women in Adventuring/Exploration and I wanted to follow that up with one that I know personally. Thanks Sara, for your input and for being someone that not only young girls/boys can aspire to be, but also because you inspire me. Because you're awesome. And I'm super jealous.

Love and Disaster in East Asia: 10 Lessons I Learned the Hard Way

Hi! My name is Sara and this is me.  I’m a directionless 23-year-old college grad who stumbled upon an opportunity to work and travel in Asia.  I have had great times and I have had terrible times, but most of the time, I am just trying to keep moving forward.  Thanks to Logan, I get to share some of my greatest successes (and a few epic fails) with you.  These are the 10 most important lessons, some of which I had to learn the hard way.

1. 

   If you are a native English speaker, count your blessings. No matter where I was, I was able to find at least 1 person with rudimentary English. I could buy what I needed and find my way when I got lost. In a farming village in east Nepal, I was even able to learn a handful of words and phrases in Nepali.  As an English teacher in China, I understand the popularity of the English language, but it wasn’t until Nepal that I really experienced how hungry people were for it.  A business that has the most rudimentary grasp of English has a huge advantage over one that doesn’t.
2. Always do something that scares you. You might end up loving it. I went paragliding in Pokhara, Nepal. Me. Terrified of heights and, more specifically, falling from great heights. With nothing but a harness and glorified piece of fabric keeping me in the air (and also a pilot named Sabine to whom I entrusted my life). Despite the fog and smog, my view of the AnnaPurna range from 2000 m up was...surreal. There are only a few times in your life when you feel like you are finally big enough to stand out and face the universe in all of its vastness. In that moment, you realize just how small your footsteps are. You feel the thin threads of silky time tying you precariously to your present. You come face to face with your relative insignificance and it is the most liberating moment. You finally feel free enough to take the big risks that our collectively massive existence requires for growth.

3. Pick up some local customs. In Nepal, the head movement for “yes” is bobbing your head from side-to-side instead of the western up-and-down.  The one-nod “hello” is universal, but you can also touch your hand to your heart or to your forehead (the third eye) instead of putting your hands in the prayer position when you say “Namaste” to someone. It’s these little things that make people treat you with a little more respect and less like a tourist.
4. Don’t Panic. Ok, I’m borrowing this one from Douglas Adams Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, but it’s true. There is a story I like to remember and it helped me through getting pickpocketed of all my money and important documents, on several small and cramped buses, and in long and confusing customs procedures.

A king once commanded his advisors to create something that would help him get through everything in his life. The highest of highs, the lowest of lows, this thing needed to be there to keep him grounded. After several months of debating, the advisors finally came to king. They presented him with a small gold ring with an inscription on the inside that read “This too shall pass.” Nepal has a similar motto: “We can manage.”  Both of these sayings serve as a reminder that our time is remarkably short and that happiness and success is something we create rather than happen upon. Freaking out in the middle of a crisis will not help anyone, especially you.  After the crisis is over, feel free to panic and cry. Personally, I recommended bad wine, good food, and great friends.

5. I mentioned this briefly in the last lesson, but it needs it’s own section. Happiness and Success are things that we create, not find. On my travels, I met with a professional chef, several students, a virology lab tech, a few engineers, dozens and dozens of volunteers with varying backstories, international hospitality staff on seminars, managers and consultants of everything under the sun, and so many others who I didn’t have time to really know.  Many of these people were not Americans (which was an eye-opener for me in and of itself) and they were influenced differently to believe in more flexible measures of success. So often in Western culture (and particularly in the US), the daily grind lives up to its name because it only offers us 1 scale for success: the almighty dollar.  The backpackers and vacationers and workers I met did not share the same view. One night, in my hostel room, we held a yoga class led by a Chinese woman who had been practicing for only a year.  Between the laughs, falls, and broken English, we came to value this woman’s dedication, rewarding her with our thanks and respect.  For her, it was enough to simply share and communicate with us something that she considered important.

While travelling, your fellow bunkmates value you as much as you value yourself. If you think that your experiences are worthwhile and you gather the courage to share them, they will listen and discuss and inquire.  You have to create your own definition of success, see yourself as happy, and others will do the same.

6. Research the things that are considered to be “Western luxuries” before you “go”. I mean this both figuratively and literally. Figuratively: In many places, even tourist towns like Bangkok and Siem Reap, free WiFi, hot water, electricity, and blankets may be hard to find. Literally: You want to know what else is hard to find? Tampons and toilet paper. See what I did there?
7. It’s OK to relax.  You might be thinking, “But I’m on vacation, how much more relaxed can I get?”. Imagine you only have 2 weeks in an area that is famous for its temples and palaces and beaches and sights.  Of course you want to go see everything, so your day might look like this:

8:00	Breakfast
9:30	Great Wall at Mutianyu
12:00	Lunch
1:30	Summer Palace
4:00	Tiananmen Square
4:45	Wangfujing
5:15	Beijing Duck Dinner
8:30	Acrobatics Show and Fireworks
10:30	Bed

This. Is. Exhausting. And the next day isn’t any better because there are 4 more temples and 2 ancient markets to get to.  And pretty soon, “vacation” becomes “dragging your sore and sorry ass from one sight to the next”.  It all looks the same.  Nothing is exciting any more.  The only thing you can really hope for is that your fake smiles and clever hashtags get you a few more followers on Instagram to make up for your current fatigue.  Take a break.  Watch movies. Fight jetlag. Go to a coffee shop and sit there for 3 hours ordering cloyingly sweet lattes, the true flavor of victory in an Eastern tea-centric culture.  I promise, the temples will be there tomorrow.

On a completely unrelated note: Whoops! My bad! Sorry, Mom and Dad! #hangry

8. This is less of traveler’s lesson and more of a life lesson: Never try to out-drink an Australian. You will lose. Badly. I had the lake-soaked dress clothes and rolled ankle prove it.
9. Take carry-on baggage only. Most of the time, airport security won’t lose your stuff.  Most of the time, if the small, low-cost airline won’t transfer your bags for you, you will have enough time to get your bags and re-check in.  But it is a huge relief that, when things do go wrong (I’m looking at you, Calcutta airport), you don’t have to hold up the plane even longer because you have to go and get a checked bag.  You can wash your clothes in any country you are in, either by hand or paid service.  You can buy any liquid toiletries anywhere including, to my delight and surprise, contact solution. You can leave your L’Oreal at home because travelers all look the same: worn and weary.  It’s a very noble look, even if the smell is a little funny.

OK, brief story about Calcutta: so basically you need an Indian visa to fly through this airport which, if you think about it, is really stupid.  Why would I need a visa to a country I don’t even want to enter?  I just wanted to pass through.  So after 30 minutes of being directed to 4 different visa lines, some older boss lady comes up and starts yelling “Where were you?”, “You are late!”, and “I was waiting for you!”.  I’m just standing there thinking, please, just take my passport and give me my plane ticket. I just want to leave. So she takes my passport and credit card info and e-ticket and walks away for another 40 minutes.  Then a different guy shows up with all of my documents and we walk in a short circle like he’s confused on where to go.  They call a guard who escorts us to a closed section of the airport where I get my own VIP security procedure.  They rush me to the gate and I finally manage to get on the plane just as it’s supposed to leave.  It would have been funny if I wasn’t so worried about missing my plane.

10. Keep a journal. I would not have been able to write this if I hadn’t kept mine.  There are so many little things you forget when you are completely overwhelmed by the new sounds and smells.  The leaf-gold temples standing high above the city burn brightly in your memory and almost make you forget sipping your first Thai iced tea while watching the sun set over the river.The colossal majesty of Angkor Wat eclipses the innocent humor of a little girl riding to school on a bicycle that is much too big for her. The name of our resident elephant in Chitwan National Park (Pumaya), the Irish Red Cross volunteer leaping up to join the Tharu cultural dance program, making milk tea in a little farming co-op with Muna and her boys, Mohit and Marbin. My journal honors my time in these sacred places by providing me with the space to store those memories.  It honors the people I lived with, traveled with, or just talked with for teaching me something new about the world.  It lets me continue learning from these people long after they’ve gone by reading through the pen-captured conversations I can only barely recall. And best, it provides a teaching guide so that I can share the lessons I’ve learned with my family, my friends, and other adventurers seeking to start a journey of their own.

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!

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

Far too Long...

While I have known this for a long time, recently my feelings have come to a head and its time to get them out. Indeed, its been far too long since I've written in this blog. Since the last time I did this, a lot has gone on in my life. So much so, that my entire outlook on what it means to be an explorer and an adventurer. Beware, this might get a tad preachy, but that is by no means my intent.

The past year I have managed to travel all the way across the country and back. I met some of the most amazing people at a far away place called Chestnut Lake. I also managed to survive a long stint in the midst of our Nation's Capital. For a boy that grew up under the wide open Nebraska sky, not seeing the horizon on a daily basis really drained me. That, and the twice daily bout of motion sickness from my metro ride to the State Department where I worked. I road tripped back across the country to New Mexico with my father, survived an earthquake in Oklahoma and actually found myself saying that Texas did indeed have some pretty country. I have also just started my student teaching and am currently in love with my Junior High students. Well...most of them. No matter how great the rest of them are, there are always going to be shitty teenagers. And now that I am back, I have been trying my best to stay in touch with the people that matter to me. I have rekindled at least one old friendship. My imagination is now running at full blast and I find inspiration every day.

What does this have to do with adventure and exploration? Its all part of life, man! Maybe its finally seeing a beginning of the rest of my life not so far off, or maybe its part of finally coming to terms with who I am. But I am finally coming to realize that the adventure and discovery doesn't just come from treasuring hunting, lost ruins and haunted caverns (although its definitely part of it). It is every where in life. My aunt was right, even my daily routine in 8th Grade Social Studies is an adventure (Thanks Pat!). Suddenly I see a future. It probably won't be what I imagine it to be, no matter how bad I want it. But maybe that will make it better still. In the mean time, I will do what I can to leave my mark for the better in this world. I will love who I love and treat my life as the adventure that it is meant to be. So many times, I have been asked, "why do you get up in the morning?" I usually answer, "why not?" Now, I can truly say that I wake up in the morning because I can't wait to see what happens next. That's the real adventure.

Enough of the mushy, feely stuff. Get out there and explore!

Mein Tile.

    Just the other day, I had gotten a hair cut from a very pretty girl at the hair college and then opted to walk down the the public library and see if they had a couple books I've been wanting to read. I got done with the hair cut at 9:30 and the route I took to the the place where knowledge lives (not the brain house) took me roughly fifteen minutes. I felt a mild sense of adventure as I wandered through alleys the morning light had yet to touch and slunk through restricted access areas of parking garages. When I finally reached the from door of the downtown library I was shocked to see it didn't open till 10! I still had fifteen minutes till open.
     So I just continued on my way knowing a quick walk through downtown would be an easy time killer. It was kind of interesting to see all my favorite bars closed up, knowing full well that these very side walks would be filled with tight jeans, short skirts and drunk partiers in less than 12 hours. I rounded the corner near a new Ramen joint I must try and then found myself on the corner of Centennial Mall and M street. There I was, looking up at our giant, less than vaguely phallic, capital building and all of a sudden I am filled with any overwhelming sense of place.
    I was standing on an insignificant street corner in a less than large capital of an under-populated state in an equally underpopulated region of the United States. My country, fairly large and dense with people, is only one of three on this continent, one of seven total. Only seven on the only planet yet discovered that supports life. We circle a single star, one of a seething roil of countless balls of light that fill the black, abyssal universe. Needless to say, that is a lot to have sink in on a Saturday morning walk.
     Its not that I have never realized it before, I actually think about it quite often. This time was different. It seemed heavier. Thick and tangible. As I continued my jaunt I wondered to myself how many other people recognize this. How many people are fully aware of where we are in the universe? How many people think about this stuff on  regular basis? I am sure more than a handful are just like me, but I'd wager that most have never had the idea cross their mind.
      There is a man, Dr. David Wishart, whom I infinitely respect; he teaches geography at my college and once said something that made me more than a little sad. He relayed to our class that hardly anyone has a sense of place anymore. They go on runs down wooded trails but their ears are plugged with head phones. People walk up and down city streets peering down at their smart phones. The do not hear the wind in the trees, nor do they see the bustle around them. People become absorbed in the tiny bubble that they have created for themselves.
     This can lead to strange consequences like disassociation of where one is, where they came from, why they are there and how they interact and effect the world around them. Why do people do this to themselves? I have no idea. Maybe its safe and sound when you have a false control over what you see and hear. Maybe its an ingrained need to stay connected to others, after all we are social creatures. Perhaps being conscious of the knowledge of exactly where one is in existence is too heavy a burden for some to bear.
     Do me a favor. Next time you are out and about just sit and think about where you are. Close your eyes and listen to your surroundings, take the time and look at the finer details of the world around you and think for a second why that matters to you or you matter to it.