tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51051544870183314632024-03-18T20:44:52.200-07:00My Bucket ListLife is all about the journeyErichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-69216552659986427562016-12-18T05:54:00.001-08:002016-12-18T05:54:22.044-08:00Dive! Dive! Dive!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHk06-y_FnPiFw-Tj-LypsjFjO3t5SAzcFC8nMXV3NP7T92RkffVwTEQU5ig6z4D87J7YACUzlOm1jivCo2KdQv_A7Pro9K1fsADfseuaWsKuH2H0EVaGV7676sAXW0Kqxmz5hqRF1qQM/s1600/Div-gear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHk06-y_FnPiFw-Tj-LypsjFjO3t5SAzcFC8nMXV3NP7T92RkffVwTEQU5ig6z4D87J7YACUzlOm1jivCo2KdQv_A7Pro9K1fsADfseuaWsKuH2H0EVaGV7676sAXW0Kqxmz5hqRF1qQM/s400/Div-gear.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have always had an affinity for the water. When I was a kid, I was always after my mom to take me to a pool somewhere. Once I got into the water, I rarely wanted to come out of it. I swam on my high school swim team. Vacations at the beach were always a favorite. It was 1964 when I first became a certified diver. Back then they taught decompression diving. We geared up with two tanks and double hose regulators like Lloyd Bridges did in <i>Sea Hunt</i>. After the first lesson, I knew I was hooked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then, as often can happen, life went in other directions and life below the surface was put on hold. But, as is also true, when one feels passionate about something, it always reawakens. And, on Maui in February of 1996, Rob and I found ourselves in Bill Glenn's Open Water Diving Class ready to begin another part of our lives together beneath the surface. This training was quite different from the 1964 training I received on St. Croix: safer, more technical, and with new types of diving gear. We both took to diving like the proverbial ducks to water.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For several years, Hawaii was our diving destination of choice. The reefs were plentiful and the sea life was bountiful. Each year, we couldn't wait for vacation time so that we could board a plane and take off four the Islands. We took advanced diving classes and spent as much time as we could shore diving or going out on diving charters. Our favorite sea creatures were the turtles and the eels. The turtles were fun to dive with because they were </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">curious. Often, we'd find several turtles leisurely cruising around a reef looking for some munchies. We'd just hang out and watch them for a while and then go explore the reef looking for the denizens of the nearby world. It was not infrequent to be slowly cruising along only to find we were being followed closely by a curious turtle. It turned out that Hawaii was a perfect training ground for us. The diving was varied and fairly easy. As our skill sets grew over the years, we became good confident safe divers. We became extremely comfortable with the underwater environment, even diving with the local sharks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We had just returned home from diving in Hawaii one year, and we felt that something might have been missing from our diving experience, but we couldn't quite put a finger on it. Several weeks later, we spotted an article in a travel magazine about diving in the </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqeQLp-3zmTBlxNPmGTcUXbA4JCwjfDrNzGSM0SWnzYY5myFpbmJ22u55aiLh_ZDyj1Ju9xeZpFV0-7QvO1N_dTQ0pDI1tQUeRfCqFwTO84I1bxG0OeEV8NSGnQOQUcK13CjZVc5yNyE/s1600/Div-Eric+logs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqeQLp-3zmTBlxNPmGTcUXbA4JCwjfDrNzGSM0SWnzYY5myFpbmJ22u55aiLh_ZDyj1Ju9xeZpFV0-7QvO1N_dTQ0pDI1tQUeRfCqFwTO84I1bxG0OeEV8NSGnQOQUcK13CjZVc5yNyE/s320/Div-Eric+logs.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Caribbean. Then it hit us. We could dive anywhere in the world we wanted to. We seriously enjoyed traveling, and we could combine diving with traveling. It was an immediate and visceral connection. A few months later, we were boarding a plane for St. Martin to join up with other divers from around the country for a week-long diving expedition on a small live-aboard diving boat. We never looked back.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6PYvBrABq_EHJUqeCbnmyyWm9qFLQXnIV6khZ8PxbBgKhnTyuS0h6ZxFYkCvUP6B4UFRxalDwzGigkQBJSpktQbsnKw1TOmYU0iPyUnb6wwMM7usHPovAZr124iAA8ScX36H7rr50Po/s1600/Div-map2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6PYvBrABq_EHJUqeCbnmyyWm9qFLQXnIV6khZ8PxbBgKhnTyuS0h6ZxFYkCvUP6B4UFRxalDwzGigkQBJSpktQbsnKw1TOmYU0iPyUnb6wwMM7usHPovAZr124iAA8ScX36H7rr50Po/s200/Div-map2.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Over the years, we followed our growing need for adventure around the globe. Our preference became to spend a week to ten days aboard a live-aboard dive boat with diving friends or total strangers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We found that we could extend our diving trips by spending a week or so on land nearby learning about the people, culture and history of the area. We immersed ourselves in these two-part odysseys and became citizens of the world. The more we traveled, the more we found we wanted to travel. We learned about the sea life and the life of the people who lived near the sea. The more we learned, the greater our need grew to learn and </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">experience more. What had innocently started as a desire to get just a bit closer to Hawaii's ocean life had transformed itself into a need to become globe trekkers. I have written about some of those treks in other entries in this blog. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Our preference was to dive in locations where the water and weather were relatively warm, so we mainly dived near the equatorial areas of the world. Sea life abounds where food abounds. In Hawaii and the Caribbean, food is plentiful, so sea life is everywhere. But, we found in Southeast and Austral Asia and Indonesia that food was plentiful where ocean currents were strongest. Pacific equatorial currents carried food to the Great Barrier Reef, the Coral Sea and to the Sea of Bismarck off the coast of Papua New Guinea. Powerful currents flowing southward through the Makassar Straits brought plentiful food to the Flores Sea north of Indonesia's eastern islands. These were the places where a huge variety of sea life abounded, and these were the places to where we traveled. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was in Indonesia's Flores Sea that we encountered some of the strongest currents we had ever experienced. We all carried reef hooks with us, large blunt hooks with a line attached to them that we could tie off to our dive vests. When the currents became too violent, we'd lodge the hook into a reef so we wouldn't be carried off into the unknown. Even the strongest swimmers couldn't fight those currents very long.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When diving off the coast of Mazatlan, Mexico one year, we heard about the cenotes. The cenotes were pits in the floor of the jungle where the ground had collapsed into huge</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNRr1fotdikiBmXFV8vQsY_yOK-mUyZ6fMtIvjFinibpx9twnB8nDDEKMvJF0KQCsWT4ydJGZvrR1g5XLqh9TYzcteOFk69b1GVGOixsiIQVLQ8oqXeAgioY7bhxlRriyCF7TJcZDjz8/s1600/20040101-2004-01-01-IMG_0970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNRr1fotdikiBmXFV8vQsY_yOK-mUyZ6fMtIvjFinibpx9twnB8nDDEKMvJF0KQCsWT4ydJGZvrR1g5XLqh9TYzcteOFk69b1GVGOixsiIQVLQ8oqXeAgioY7bhxlRriyCF7TJcZDjz8/s320/20040101-2004-01-01-IMG_0970.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">limestone caverns filled with fresh water that riddled the Yucatan Peninsula. Once we heard about them, we just had to go check them out. They certainly lived up to their billing. Not far from the ancient Mayan city of Tulum, we engaged guides who then drove us out into the jungle. We arrived at a large hole in the ground that had a ladder sticking up out of it. While we descended the ladder to a small wooden platform floating on the water, our guides lowered our dive gear down to us with ropes. We donned our gear, dropped into the refreshing </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAo22noJIRNhVZ4yq9Kn1LDMaNe7UqgmZX7-mFm25R9obe5dQrSnc-327okWCBDJYzSsQTIVmit-O-hAaXTehxR7rKgO0tZezl_4LBthvLnUU9osiEeR1MH5n8YJ598H_UR_m1VBuCJqg/s1600/Div-ERcavern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAo22noJIRNhVZ4yq9Kn1LDMaNe7UqgmZX7-mFm25R9obe5dQrSnc-327okWCBDJYzSsQTIVmit-O-hAaXTehxR7rKgO0tZezl_4LBthvLnUU9osiEeR1MH5n8YJ598H_UR_m1VBuCJqg/s320/Div-ERcavern.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">cool fresh water, and followed our guide through an incredible maze of caverns. Periodically, we'd swim beneath other places where the surface rock had fallen into the caverns, and sunlight would be streaming through the hole or crack in the jungle floor above us. It was a one-of-a-kind experience. We wouldn't have missed it for anything.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Live-aboard dive boats come in all shapes and sizes. We liked the boats that carried fewer than twenty divers. Not everyone likes this style of diving. After all, you're on a fairly small boat and there really isn't much to do other than to dive. Normally, we did about five dives a day; two in the morning, two in the afternoon, and one at night. So, it's like an immersion (hee-hee) program for divers. We found that we loved it. Sometimes our diving club,the Sea Squirts, would charter an entire boat, and we'd know everyone on board. Other times, we'd just sign up for a scheduled cruise not knowing who else would be doing the same thing. People who enjoy these sorts of adventures were always kindred spirits. They loved to dive. They were easy to get along with. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuYEHdQtTvBHQM6LbmsCPKTjSFvQ3qtCNuGl_ndnrdEhNEow81KO0oQ2GwWSGvNhLdnIaxSDYu3Pa_UE15lCN7P_N0o50Tx5g_TfBomzsC63Sd0Hza6WvUlbxsQlRZNTMSsPgIEWE-pE/s1600/Div-seasafari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuYEHdQtTvBHQM6LbmsCPKTjSFvQ3qtCNuGl_ndnrdEhNEow81KO0oQ2GwWSGvNhLdnIaxSDYu3Pa_UE15lCN7P_N0o50Tx5g_TfBomzsC63Sd0Hza6WvUlbxsQlRZNTMSsPgIEWE-pE/s320/Div-seasafari.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">They enjoyed sharing their diving adventures with one another, comparing different types of dive gear, and checking out the latest underwater photography technology. Everyone embraced the sense of camaraderie they felt with their fellow divers. Probably the most unique live-aboard we traveled on was a pinisi schooner (pictured under sail) in Indonesia's Flores Sea. Not only was the boat unique, but we found that we were the only two English-speakers aboard. The rest of the boat was booked by a diving club from Naples, Italy. Although there was a huge language barrier, we all managed to communicate with very few problems, and we all had a wonderful adventure together. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Our diving trips around the globe completely changed the way we looked at the world. Our experiences with people from a wide range of countries, both those we dove with and those we met on our associated land-based adventures, expanded our understanding of different cultures, religions and ethnicities. We gained tremendous fondness and respect for people whose life experiences were completely different from our own. We have also gained a better understanding of the myopic and self-centered perspective of the world that seems to grip a huge proportion of the people in our own country. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We have found that we fully agree with Mark Twain, who said, "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime."</span><br />
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Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-57088289990087630082010-04-09T09:33:00.000-07:002010-05-08T08:34:43.608-07:00The Cradle of HumankindFollowing my military service, I attended college at the University of Connecticut. My degree program would yield a BS degree, and even though I was a business major, I was required to take at least a few science courses. Today I laughingly admit to my friends that even though I have a daughter with a PhD in Microbiology and a son who is a nurse, I never could pass a course that ended in "-ology". And so it was that I found myself sitting across the desk from my anthropology professor during her office hours confessing that I could not figure out how knowing the cranial capacity of Australopithecus could <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9cNq1FMjOr6pTPs4ixel2Lu08SZD1zApcapZ9ksOC6GWd5jE4IVpmD2Kw_wjkDLds1mJvZj-Zw3wnkeLmBZqGSJASHrIyc-oLGL_0t3jEjVQQa1jt6o1ujK2rCMW0r7jtHW87NxcIbE/s1600/Africa_Mrs-ples.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458203148470185570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9cNq1FMjOr6pTPs4ixel2Lu08SZD1zApcapZ9ksOC6GWd5jE4IVpmD2Kw_wjkDLds1mJvZj-Zw3wnkeLmBZqGSJASHrIyc-oLGL_0t3jEjVQQa1jt6o1ujK2rCMW0r7jtHW87NxcIbE/s400/Africa_Mrs-ples.jpg" /></a>possibly help me in my future career in business. She either was unusually sympathetic or just couldn't bear to see me in her class another day struggling to appear interested in a topic that obviously meant a lot to her. So, she worked out a program of independent study for me focusing on a project that I agreed I could muster enthusiasm for.<br /><br />Little did I know at that time that the few weeks I did spend in her classroom contributed an inner hunger that ultimately led me to add another item to my bucket list ..... visiting the Cradle of Humankind at Sterkfontein Caves just northwest of Johannesburg, South Africa. I actually traveled half way around the world to the place where the skull of Mrs. Plez, Australopithecus Africanus, had been found. Mrs. Plez was one of the early hominids (estimated age is 2.6 million years), whos cranial capacity (485 cc) had driven me to distraction in my anthropology class.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ju_lewX2S28LhE0a_BPLT3enMZE0sTnJI-WlBbUyyFvj1r_1shjFbLBkTDIqsj6LVmbprJPY5Imx92fZLx5uznfCe57cFOdXN4L_aqXddR8z9l-_lRF6CugZ5IgX1iApB4OEcfTwX3Q/s1600/Africa_vicfalls.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458184030330481298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ju_lewX2S28LhE0a_BPLT3enMZE0sTnJI-WlBbUyyFvj1r_1shjFbLBkTDIqsj6LVmbprJPY5Imx92fZLx5uznfCe57cFOdXN4L_aqXddR8z9l-_lRF6CugZ5IgX1iApB4OEcfTwX3Q/s400/Africa_vicfalls.jpg" /></a>And so it was, many years later, that we found ourselves winging our way to Africa. We spent weeks travelling through six<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4b2jjjAphenagNRagaWEcCHWsvu_2-lk3dd430fWZGN9NsXEHWfp5DOPQ9WSlwVYEAjPHLQI5OomrxVB_Xq3hSbk7Wp7Tq_idPln0sqQ1PgTljcDXZY68r2FDIqM9TYzF-1cMuzTiQxc/s1600/Africa_cradle.jpg"></a> countries in southern Africa and had another one of those experiences that we will never forget. We began our African oddysey at Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe. We journeyed through Zambia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Mozabmbique, Swaziland and ended up in South Africa. There we stayed for a few days in Johannesburg. Two of what will probably be some of the most memorable events in my life happened on successive days. On November 5, 2008, Barack Obama was elected President. The next day we visited Sterkfontein Caves.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA6SS80gmDQ8SiNrFeWTN_UJc3ILGFqH49SgARe8v0R2QHaxlE0qXm_8JlH_QtEJ8LySXVG_C785TsDwpb7mRsN2sPsCqtPtolFGWwBgcbA0jpbpYvQaDNEVHUxyTJXHLq7gdEGGGlrOs/s1600/africa_sterkfontein1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 350px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458204212645161874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA6SS80gmDQ8SiNrFeWTN_UJc3ILGFqH49SgARe8v0R2QHaxlE0qXm_8JlH_QtEJ8LySXVG_C785TsDwpb7mRsN2sPsCqtPtolFGWwBgcbA0jpbpYvQaDNEVHUxyTJXHLq7gdEGGGlrOs/s400/africa_sterkfontein1.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Don't we all wonder where we came from? How did we get here? Who were our ancestors? What were their lives like?</div><div><br />I've spent many hours talking with friends about their ancestries. These conversations usually focus on their parents' lineage; when and from where did their ancestors migrate to the United States? True to the question I asked my anthropolgy professor, I have never had any of those conversations end up in a discussion about whether humankind descended from Mrs. Plez.<br /><br />Still, it is something I have often found myself thinking about. I have always been a spiritual person. I don't want to confuse "spiritual" with "religious". Religion is an element of spirituality, and I have read most of the texts - the Bible, the Torah, the Koran, the Tipitaka. All have perspectives on the origins of the human race. My ongoing curiosity and desire to learn drove me to Sterkfontein. I am reasonably convinced that my ancestors wandered around that area at some point in time. I just can't find the book that they wrote to tell me that.<br /><br />And so there I was staring at the achaelogical site that produced Mrs. Plez.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KTTWI0yh0KsxCyjN8sUxZXkxUIAHEW5wUK1j3OTxL5LJ4RDadnOyhQbuQJHmeaJlp_fgRFLlXScqh4Tq4EmaxgzuWrK4awR0eplgsr8QoGSjuwB0Ci7FeL1pfAE-hjUdg_KNrbqAoR4/s1600/Africa_Sterkfontein2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 379px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458212050450047954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KTTWI0yh0KsxCyjN8sUxZXkxUIAHEW5wUK1j3OTxL5LJ4RDadnOyhQbuQJHmeaJlp_fgRFLlXScqh4Tq4EmaxgzuWrK4awR0eplgsr8QoGSjuwB0Ci7FeL1pfAE-hjUdg_KNrbqAoR4/s400/Africa_Sterkfontein2.jpg" /></a> It was a moving time for me - thinking about all that had transpired between the time Mrs. Plez and her family had wandered around the very spot where I now stood until today. It also made me wonder what others thousands or millions of years hence will think about us.<br /><br />Thoughts about other places I had traveled played into the entire scenario (see my post, "Guns, Germs and Steel").<br /><br />Although, as with most of the other places I have traveled, I would love to return to the area around Johannesburg, I think I can check the cradle of humankind off my list. There are so many places to go and so little time available to go there.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxmhnwIGM4l21exOY6pFzcmTB4vPkJ_8iaAqo4R_CQZRbb_IacXZbhYxrEHfp_f2_fXwelJb4vgXjcz8awhg3q90Smb8zVbQ5XKRIF3FFIn6dbAXEfN8Xl89no3YxwD8KZmYnOdA2S9A/s1600/Africa_cradle.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458216039515581778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxmhnwIGM4l21exOY6pFzcmTB4vPkJ_8iaAqo4R_CQZRbb_IacXZbhYxrEHfp_f2_fXwelJb4vgXjcz8awhg3q90Smb8zVbQ5XKRIF3FFIn6dbAXEfN8Xl89no3YxwD8KZmYnOdA2S9A/s400/Africa_cradle.jpg" /></a></div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-59751099852175240902010-02-27T09:17:00.000-08:002010-02-28T11:01:39.022-08:00Paddling Amongst The GlaciersWhen I hear the phrase "contemplating your navel", it always conjures up a mind picture of being somewhere remote, serene and majestic. I suppose I have spent more time looking for great places to do that than actually doing it. But, being one who believes that life is all about the journey, that makes sense. One of the most memorable items on my list certainly meets any criteria I can imagine for a great place to meditate and so much more .........<br /><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJfsxKrlgfbr7U1QKh24pX7FLfdRFX1TClTXhq9V6sdkqBcOBXBekdtRAVfJeX425vX73YHFW-5UIsrQ0NJxeU2GLa2Wqc4lfvzPHQXJfUVR9n3aba02PKXiIT-hFh4CHQz1-V2b_Z8IQ/s1600-h/kayak2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442976238442924418" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJfsxKrlgfbr7U1QKh24pX7FLfdRFX1TClTXhq9V6sdkqBcOBXBekdtRAVfJeX425vX73YHFW-5UIsrQ0NJxeU2GLa2Wqc4lfvzPHQXJfUVR9n3aba02PKXiIT-hFh4CHQz1-V2b_Z8IQ/s400/kayak2.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div>If there's any connection at all, most folks connect Alaska's Prince William Sound with the site of the Exxon Valdez oil spill in 1989. And there is a good reason a lot of folks got up in arms about the damage that event caused to a pristine wilderness environment. The damage was massive.</div><br /><div>Prince William Sound is one of the most spectacular tidewater areas on the globe. Here the waters of the Gulf of Alaska meet the Chugach Mountains, home to of one of the largest ice fields anywhere on earth. The ice fields flow to the sea in the form of flowing rivers of ice, the glaciers. Whether advancing or retreating, these massive frozen rivers are always moving. At tidewater these incredible examples of nature and power tower hundreds of feet above the ocean's surface cracking and shifting and periodically sluffing off tons of ice. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuAnpQclFTEI4Mi4LJxqUZeR3F4y4tjJQO-_UA7hOrasEJ8QHbWNMaVgBWE0wfyims6_Ymi5kL9mT7UxbZyQ4OcXVXqlqFH-_EN6xdO-HBazNflq7bJZyUWgYvHi4euCXcQTtpr-cofA/s1600-h/kayak5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442983698877561314" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuAnpQclFTEI4Mi4LJxqUZeR3F4y4tjJQO-_UA7hOrasEJ8QHbWNMaVgBWE0wfyims6_Ymi5kL9mT7UxbZyQ4OcXVXqlqFH-_EN6xdO-HBazNflq7bJZyUWgYvHi4euCXcQTtpr-cofA/s400/kayak5.jpg" border="0" /></a>The ice, often in pieces the size of houses, crashes down the face of the glacier splashing into the ocean sending geysers of water into the air and producing waves that take miles to dissipate. In the fjords, bays and coves where these calving icy behemoths meet the sea is where kayakers often hang out. This is an experience that would do any bucket list proud.<br /></div><div>I ticked this adventure off my list the first time we paddled in Blackstone Bay and bobbed on the surface a short distance off the face of Beloit amd Blackstone Glaciers, but we've returned again and again for the same experience.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGC4pIwvyNtNzA-2x8t7EFQdQHtFlQ5vTQKMeXNoUSXD45eoQsDqGp0Dy-3_BSSxGgwNOBzmYHf81X3m-xF0-csn57Nd5QF28ep0-cd_8bxi230xsdv-i1F7aEQlSbY8Gwqp62gHeC9oI/s1600-h/kayak4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442987217647450018" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGC4pIwvyNtNzA-2x8t7EFQdQHtFlQ5vTQKMeXNoUSXD45eoQsDqGp0Dy-3_BSSxGgwNOBzmYHf81X3m-xF0-csn57Nd5QF28ep0-cd_8bxi230xsdv-i1F7aEQlSbY8Gwqp62gHeC9oI/s400/kayak4.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div>Although we'd love to spend longer, our kayaking journeys to Prince William Sound usually extend over a long weekend. If we were to put in at Whittier, our jumping off point, it would take a day or more of paddling just to get near our destination. So, thanks to modern day conveniences, we are able to hop on a sea taxi that will take us into Blackstone bay and drop us and our gear off at our predetermined base camp site. From there, it's a quiet paddle to the glaciers. We will often drift quietly during our paddle to or between the glaciers and observe the abundant sea life. Orcas often ply the waters as do seals. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2PHdJ-wPHlyavHBsYb2GmaqChfGWM0PKagSqnxsPHS2YzbIn0Xn4FIke5sA-spblvHoKV7JyPI_8Zmrq6pQKDA1ToXDKZo_mzEQ0Xw-RHAh6MlYKEM6bCkJnm_KG11bqXKvvEqhR02c/s1600-h/Kayak1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443365703864965298" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2PHdJ-wPHlyavHBsYb2GmaqChfGWM0PKagSqnxsPHS2YzbIn0Xn4FIke5sA-spblvHoKV7JyPI_8Zmrq6pQKDA1ToXDKZo_mzEQ0Xw-RHAh6MlYKEM6bCkJnm_KG11bqXKvvEqhR02c/s400/Kayak1.jpg" border="0" /></a>Rafts of sea otters float quietly on the surface. Sea birds fly noisily overhead. And, often deep rumblings reverbrate across the waters indicating another portion of a glacier has calved into the sea.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>The summetime weather in the sound can be anything from sunny warm days to cold drizzle or downright downpours. Regardless of the weather, the routine is fairly consistent. Days are spent out paddling around the bays and fjords enjoying the serenity, wildlife in and out of the water and the massive glaciers. Evenings are spent at camp enjoying the sounds, views, space, meals and often a crackling camp fire. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQDUPDuD_9Z9nAwXUgjfHGJ-8ePVuE-k0rtHghIPgcUCHBsYeasQAn79y7yw2S1kkgRVHFfxYzCWjS4oLbQT2YSvbGKF3EInIQSWquMEjtyYEXu6OVD6xiSAbJ6gMGR1K5-TAQQxb68U/s1600-h/kayak3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443367916942457794" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQDUPDuD_9Z9nAwXUgjfHGJ-8ePVuE-k0rtHghIPgcUCHBsYeasQAn79y7yw2S1kkgRVHFfxYzCWjS4oLbQT2YSvbGKF3EInIQSWquMEjtyYEXu6OVD6xiSAbJ6gMGR1K5-TAQQxb68U/s400/kayak3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>On the mainland, bears frequent many of the shorline areas. Rarely do they cause any problems, but it's always important to remember to make 3-point camps. That's also a reason many paddlers like to camp on islands.</div><div></div><div>We've camped and paddled in Prince William Sound in the sunshine and in the rain. Each creates its own special atmosphere. Regardless of the weather, the experience is always, peaceful yet exhilarating, serene yet often filled with natural noise, relaxing yet energizing. It's one of my favorite things to do and adventures to go on. The very fact that I can't be there as often or as long as I'd like to be makes each visit to Prince William Sound special, and I cling to every moment and experience, both while there and then in my memory in the days and years that follow.</div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-33729668063535777522010-01-18T09:06:00.000-08:002010-02-27T08:42:19.058-08:00Paris, the City of LoveIt didn't take long for Paris to get on the list. From early childhood, I had heard people gush over the beauty and feel of Paris. There just never seemed to be enough superlatives when visitors tried to relate why their trip to Paris was something they would never forget. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigW7fc2Op4FZHazB6-UTwK3t3t5bjcwWDGBA4xmS43UcQ7he6ri-xDtMSCa-gtAPuB5TO8UO0TGI67OwA6Cr1DIqSO_ObvEQAPWFsIU8_ilDOmPdL6ljG6wwqTAvLwGll7-WKIuplaIc0/s1600-h/Paris_etower.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428134706836685618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigW7fc2Op4FZHazB6-UTwK3t3t5bjcwWDGBA4xmS43UcQ7he6ri-xDtMSCa-gtAPuB5TO8UO0TGI67OwA6Cr1DIqSO_ObvEQAPWFsIU8_ilDOmPdL6ljG6wwqTAvLwGll7-WKIuplaIc0/s400/Paris_etower.jpg" border="0" /></a>My fascination with history added to the mystique and aura of this great city. And so, Paris got on the list. I've visited twice; once in my teenage years and again later in life. The two visits were about as different as they could be, both memorable, but both from completely diferent times in my life.<br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div>Memories from my first visit left little doubt in my mind that I hoped to return again some day. It took years to make that happen, but the wait was truly worthwhile. And it did reafirm why Paris is often referred to as The City of Love.<br /></div><div>Parisians are classy people. First of all, you never see anyone from Paris who doesn't look like they are from Paris. They have a an unmistakable style and flair about them. But, what I appreciate most about Parisians is how much they enjoy life. I realized that on my first visit, but didn't really experience it until my second visit. The fact that on my second visit I was accompanied by the love of my life probably has something to do with that.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ud8XcP6-Ikr7iNB18nNjVS9JH0rsPAcRO2xTDHeBVBZBC9ZASMuDXhmB8Jj56FS6DoGMjmZs0KZqxPHUBS3odYze5qAQhry_gK8qY-qYpJPv8uEe8B8-cqW7g1RinDyJE13n-ZEIl88/s1600-h/Paris_versailles.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428146097197264946" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ud8XcP6-Ikr7iNB18nNjVS9JH0rsPAcRO2xTDHeBVBZBC9ZASMuDXhmB8Jj56FS6DoGMjmZs0KZqxPHUBS3odYze5qAQhry_gK8qY-qYpJPv8uEe8B8-cqW7g1RinDyJE13n-ZEIl88/s400/Paris_versailles.jpg" border="0" /></a>Paris has it all. You can spend days, weeks, months or even years exploring the history, art and architecture of the city. And then you can spend a lifetime just learning how to enjoy life in that great city. Just the thought of hanging out in Paris gets me excited.<br /></div><div>First, back to the history part. Charles Dickens opens his "Tale of Two Cities" with the line, "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times." That was such a tumultuous time in France's history, particularly if you were one of the aristocrats who arrived at Place de la Concorde (then named Place de la Revolution) in one piece and left without your head thanks to your visit to Madame de la Guillotine. Everywhere you look in Paris you find history. The museums are spectacular and every item in every museum has a story to tell. Often the stories are linked to other things you can go see: the buildings, the palaces, the monuments, the tombs. It's almost dizzying to try to think about how Paris is linked in so many ways to over two thousand years of global history.<br /></div><div>OK, so enough about history and edifices. How about life in Paris? Well, one thing Paris is known for is its sidewalk cafes. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfleNIA869hFbxVyyEFj4dZT_lM1zcmb9TQYxKe9u_aDj72XMyDwEvkSw3rMYhHGk-7D61w4a89FxfM2ru13O-0e32ymtT5Q4Sf5k0709AIBbBcIDgreR4y7-mi6tU9RWad_wunAihXY/s1600-h/Paris_cafe.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428145805714343826" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfleNIA869hFbxVyyEFj4dZT_lM1zcmb9TQYxKe9u_aDj72XMyDwEvkSw3rMYhHGk-7D61w4a89FxfM2ru13O-0e32ymtT5Q4Sf5k0709AIBbBcIDgreR4y7-mi6tU9RWad_wunAihXY/s400/Paris_cafe.jpg" border="0" /></a>To be sure, Paris isn't the only city on earth that has sidewalk cafes. But, it's the Parisians who firmly established the sidewalk cafe culture that has spread around the globe. So many people visit the city and are in such a rush to see and do everything, they miss one of the the very things that makes the place so much fun. Well, I don't. We spent about and hour and a half having a leisurely lunch at this cafe (picture) while we waited for the Palais de Justice to open after lunch. We sat and talked and ate and watched people passing by. Everyone had a story.<br /></div><div>There aren't enough cafes in Paris for everyone to be able to stake out their own table, so Parisians also hang out in their parks .... and there are a lot of them. The parks are full of benches, and it's no wonder why. People sit on them. Not for just a few minutes - for hours. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTorBwXUmCx8mcIVkjKuzzwo2m6CjeAfHW-OnnPhBLlC4DdEXELX60aokTzQYhaHUuJmDdzlm_E9PeBBrOIgVggyYc7lPoJCqOM-6PfsgaFLr2o2-vAjjyScq5xICysL3L3IfTY6u2Ojo/s1600-h/Paris_park.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428149628515904706" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTorBwXUmCx8mcIVkjKuzzwo2m6CjeAfHW-OnnPhBLlC4DdEXELX60aokTzQYhaHUuJmDdzlm_E9PeBBrOIgVggyYc7lPoJCqOM-6PfsgaFLr2o2-vAjjyScq5xICysL3L3IfTY6u2Ojo/s400/Paris_park.jpg" border="0" /></a>They come to spoon, to read, to eat lunch, to talk with friends or just to sit back, watch and enjoy the people and scenery. Based on what I observed, what they don't go to cafes or parks to do is to text message all their buddies. I also didn't observe people having lengthy conversations on their cell phones while they ignored their tablemates. Parisians are way too classy for that. Americans, on the other hand .........</div><div></div><br /><div>The most romantic, and, I think, the most Parisian habit we developed was to head for the quais along the Seine in the evenings. There are plenty of places where one can find steps leading from the street level along the river down to the broad quais just above the water's edge. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifRcaAJexrawwuSR2mF0GRW_lBs-Dwv2YtMU2IRmle5tUyHGX9UxyJrZGWOunOhV_bRvY0NHNZI5NWJsW0y1YX4YjfWJposok5qcOn8igYqmIFgbyY120hPWlKYUFvTNWjOHvVmJZMiLo/s1600-h/Paris_quais.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428181595542246386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifRcaAJexrawwuSR2mF0GRW_lBs-Dwv2YtMU2IRmle5tUyHGX9UxyJrZGWOunOhV_bRvY0NHNZI5NWJsW0y1YX4YjfWJposok5qcOn8igYqmIFgbyY120hPWlKYUFvTNWjOHvVmJZMiLo/s400/Paris_quais.jpg" border="0" /></a>Groups of friends congregate there, often spreading a blanket out to hold some wine, bread and cheese while they talk or strum guitars or other instruments and sing. As darkness falls, candles are lighted adding a warmer more romantic element to a scene so much that way already. Out in the river, barges and brightly lighted tour boats quietly glide through the water. Music drifts from the dinner cruise boats adding to the aura of music, fun, energy and romance.</div><div></div><div>Our favorite practice was to stop by the small shops on the Isle St. Louis where we stayed to pick up wine at the wine merchant's, fresh bread at the boulangerie, meat from the butcher shop, and some cheese and fruit from the grocery. We'd walk to the end of the island and descend down broad worn old stone steps to the quai, where we'd find a place to sit, spread out out our dinner, and enjoy the evening. Just the thought of that now brings on a sense of serenity and happiness.</div><div></div><div>Paris doesn't get off the list. It's one of the items that's going to stay on it reminding us to stop by as we pass through to other destinations or perhaps even to plan another vacation there.</div></div></div></div></div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-7000935880902092812009-08-25T07:40:00.000-07:002010-02-27T08:41:08.463-08:00Wranglers, Wagons and WildernessFew people get to live their dreams, but isn't that what Bucket Lists are all about? The call of the wild has always been strong in my life. Some folks may recall times when that probably was a bad thing. But that's what life is about; following your inner voice and trying to work that into some sort of lifestyle for yourself. I didn't always get it right the first time or even the second time, but practice makes perfect. And I let that call of the wild take me to many places. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHR9moRMCTKyzr-VycMREk3rCF2keECp_c-sfVquFpjA0WQFMtfdI8a4DKd_s3gU_WlhlafYV3fN7Km186xFbBYJGL-oF5VMMuVEeosTcjUbjmqkwdq6N1av26VEqGDiVcAFrWVwrgBJc/s1600-h/pilcreek.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373937510504459090" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 388px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHR9moRMCTKyzr-VycMREk3rCF2keECp_c-sfVquFpjA0WQFMtfdI8a4DKd_s3gU_WlhlafYV3fN7Km186xFbBYJGL-oF5VMMuVEeosTcjUbjmqkwdq6N1av26VEqGDiVcAFrWVwrgBJc/s400/pilcreek.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><div><div>I spent many happy years in and around the mountains of Wyoming. In that part of the country seasonal jobs are are a very common way to make a living. All through the Rockies and the West, as the winter snows melt, people push their way up into the high country and the mountain wilderness areas for the summertime and early fall only to be chased out again when the snow starts to fly in late fall. Well, not always.</div><div>I do recall waking up one Fourth of July morning and looking out from beneath the wagon that I was sleeping under to see a summertime snowstorm dusting the the high meadow around me. But that's part of summertime in the Rockies, and I need to get back to the subject at hand. </div><div></div><div>Lots of folks who live in other areas of the U.S. or the world want to experience the mountains and wilderness areas of the American West. Many do that by joining organized groups or trips that will take them into those areas. For many years I worked alongside other local folk who made those trips possible. I worked as a camp cook, packer, wrangler and guide in the mountains of northwestern Wyoming. Often my job changed seasonally depending upon what outfit I signed on with. For many years I was hired by an <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ77KyYNhdHMyaxfSH_bYSoVgWrluKVxEuZMIRvuRAAxfmHy_FGjzMLxa6miK5NuTj227-7bAX5CTyvIbTGOKtJZRIK6nh5NXUWwDEfIhh9JivVMET6PVN9OJ1eMhoB4IEnnCbEg9pzak/s1600-h/wywwest.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373918780928616690" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 305px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ77KyYNhdHMyaxfSH_bYSoVgWrluKVxEuZMIRvuRAAxfmHy_FGjzMLxa6miK5NuTj227-7bAX5CTyvIbTGOKtJZRIK6nh5NXUWwDEfIhh9JivVMET6PVN9OJ1eMhoB4IEnnCbEg9pzak/s400/wywwest.jpg" border="0" /></a>outfitter as a cook and camp jack on his wagon train that rumbled through the high country on bumpy old logging roads east of Jackson's Hole. Guests would join the wagon train for about a week during which time the outfit would move daily from one camp to the next.<br /></div><br /><div>For many, this trip was the epitome of roughing it. Meals were prepared over an open cooking fire in huge cast iron pots and pans. Cakes were baked in dutch ovens buried in hot coals. Bathroom facilities were minimal. Pit toilets with a seat fixed atop a wooden box housed in a small tent served everyone. Wash water was heated over a fire. Bathing consisted of a sponge bath or, for the completely hardy ones, a plunge in a frigid mountain stream. Everyone slept in sleeping bags rolled out inside small tents that were pitched and taken down daily as the outfit moved from camp to camp.<br /></div><br /><div>The guests could take off on horseback after breakfast with some of the guides for day-long riding adventures and rejoin the wagin train later in the day. Or they could ride in the wagons and just enjoy the scenery as the<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ5Wvh6SHHybkbg2iAaWBU9cUI-7RhYH6Uyiq90HEW9lZvLGXltp8dQv6SPYXn2PK20nLCC8ByQXlXQinnr3lBU88DMKD1-z_okFX2UMYDDbqJaCgNTYor3RVAiR2tYmYsNB0S8CpuoQM/s1600-h/wagwest2.jpg"></a> teams pulled the wagons slowly along the old mountain roads. It was a fun job.<br /></div><br /><div>The men I worked with were a great bunch. We all worked hard and long every day. Our days would start about 5:00 A.M. and end around 9:00 P.M., but we all enjoyed the work in the mountains and sharing our country with visitors from all across the globe.<br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzojXnwwqqLYBO_ujCDD4nX1QzcgQ4B7vWIOi_HCGqX5SFXKtF8Abs57NrLujh8kHIQLu1597hu-cN35YjEMGD9Jne7z0h3RAKAqvMF0cvsKG_JyZilZvGyGDYMoW8srCV5e3RAUK22s/s1600-h/prairie.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375533172006799746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 118px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 217px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzojXnwwqqLYBO_ujCDD4nX1QzcgQ4B7vWIOi_HCGqX5SFXKtF8Abs57NrLujh8kHIQLu1597hu-cN35YjEMGD9Jne7z0h3RAKAqvMF0cvsKG_JyZilZvGyGDYMoW8srCV5e3RAUK22s/s400/prairie.jpg" border="0" /></a>Trips began Monday morning and ended Saturday morning. Most weeks, the rest of the crew would take off once the guests were gone leaving me to tend to the camp, wagons and horses for the weekend until the whole affair began again the next Monday morning. I thoroughly enjoyed my solitary weekends when I had the outfit to myself. I'd go for short hikes, read books, write letters, get a leg up on chores for the week ahead, and in general just enjoy being alone with Nature and my thoughts. Sometimes I'd drive down to the nearest campground and buy a shower. Othertimes, I'd just find a good hole in a nearby creek and bathe in it.</div><div></div><div>This is one of those examples where an item on my list was simple, enjoyable, lasting and created more of those great memories I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.</div></div></div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-48308979923703014372009-08-16T08:32:00.000-07:002010-02-27T08:40:03.641-08:00The Islands of Hawaii<span style="font-family:arial;">As we prepare for yet another escape to America's 50th state, I have been reflecting on the reasons why it has become so much a part of our lives. Over the past 25 years, we have visited the former island nation more times than we can count. Hawaii represents so many things that put destinations on the bucket list. It's remote and exotic and has a rich history. Two of the most <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOsUOONxh3JNh9sKKxeAAD6svF7Fol0qq9PwBA_DVkw6_QLDj61AyaVUg1N5ZVviDeRJiFVRIUey-eRbawIGvW6tMVnfCauSJgjFk1vlrxiC1vf94lB3CGPNlTKZhDnN1ptqscLFtDTs/s1600-h/Hawaii_Beach.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370588206692001714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOsUOONxh3JNh9sKKxeAAD6svF7Fol0qq9PwBA_DVkw6_QLDj61AyaVUg1N5ZVviDeRJiFVRIUey-eRbawIGvW6tMVnfCauSJgjFk1vlrxiC1vf94lB3CGPNlTKZhDnN1ptqscLFtDTs/s400/Hawaii_Beach.jpg" border="0" /></a>powerful natural forces in my life, the energy exuded by the sea and the mountains, are abundant there. The perpetually tropical weather, accompanied by beautiful beaches and endless diving opportunities from every island, also make Hawaii a natural for the list.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I am sure that I romanticized Hawaii as a youngster (as I also posted in the New Guinea section) as I read about sailing ships, explorers and buccaneers plying the waters of the Pacific seeking fortune, fame, adventure and uncharted lands. Closer to my life's experiences, the role that Hawaii played in World War II always captured my interest. And, I guess when it really comes right down to it, I could say that Hawaii is the first destination that reinforced my then awakening desire to travel the globe.</span> <div><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">As it turns out,</span> the first thing that captured my attention on my first visit to Hawaii was the culture and history of the islands. A visit to Oahu's Polynesian Cultural Center explained how the islands were discovered and then colonized by explorers from the Marquesas and then later from Tahiti, Raiatea and Bora Bora. The famed explorer Capt. James Cook was the first European to discover the islands. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-nAE6Ss_sbJ0M3UcatgOYkt8aLc98b3NaTK1coS5DsIgpiWfdAbk-5zPn8LTHrrCE0K8ibZVsryFUH2ngvSCBJz8qi5Gg9OB5AXn-5Ncw9vWN9ZDDkyVtbKGIOhvaWgL6i0JCOpqCNg/s1600-h/Hawaii_Kalakaua.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370593885730366226" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-nAE6Ss_sbJ0M3UcatgOYkt8aLc98b3NaTK1coS5DsIgpiWfdAbk-5zPn8LTHrrCE0K8ibZVsryFUH2ngvSCBJz8qi5Gg9OB5AXn-5Ncw9vWN9ZDDkyVtbKGIOhvaWgL6i0JCOpqCNg/s400/Hawaii_Kalakaua.jpg" border="0" /></a> That began the exploitation of Hawaii by Europeans. Protestant missionaries worked hard to bring Christianity to the islands and, at the same time, worked equally hard to destroy the Hawaiian culture. King David Kalakaua (pictured) initiated the resurgence of Hawaiian traditions in the late 1800's. It's those traditions as well as the ever happy and welcoming Hawaiians that hooked me on the Lands of Aloha.</div><div></div><div>After several trips to the islands, we dedicated one vacation to becoming certified scuba divers. We then sharpened our skills and became advanced divers. And, as you have read in other sections, scuba diving then became one of the leading factors that contributed to our desires to visit other parts of the globe.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TrYGFFKVHa8z55dg7eUye3tnAPjM5u01dDn0qf_ZLlb8NYlYjcrFvNqyT13HDbedQ6whI3OA5aVKyLoNySJAmPvsRwmSp3L1TkfcczAdlp9B9vIEp5bKZbFIxHhSZ8ddeNI4JHVRCHA/s1600-h/Hawaii_diving.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370597113926058210" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TrYGFFKVHa8z55dg7eUye3tnAPjM5u01dDn0qf_ZLlb8NYlYjcrFvNqyT13HDbedQ6whI3OA5aVKyLoNySJAmPvsRwmSp3L1TkfcczAdlp9B9vIEp5bKZbFIxHhSZ8ddeNI4JHVRCHA/s400/Hawaii_diving.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>The undersea world, the single largest unexplored wilderness on the globe, has completely captured me. In my younger years, I learned that in any pristine wilderness area, you walk softly, take ony photographs and leave only footprints. That practice is even more important when diving. The damage that those who do not follow those principles have done is probably more evident in that environment.<br /></div><div>I recall the words of one of America's memorable movie roles, "Stupid is as stupid does." (Forrest Gump). When I see divers kissing sharks, it reminds me of dumbass pedestrians here in Alaska that want to go up and touch the wild moose or commune too closely with half ton brown bears. Of course, the result is frequently the same, and the perpetrators then wonder why on earth whatever creature it was decided to attack them. </div><div></div><div>Hawaii's role in history is interesting from every aspect. Over the years we have visited all of the major islands, Oahu and Maui most frequently. More than once we have taken a day on Oahu to visit Pearl Harbor. Being able to climb aboard the U.S.S. Missouri and explore its seeming miles of passageways or scrunching ourselves into the Bowfin (pictured)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WD8A2-9ccF3lFskjzMogCYQ8LoKgYHQT8GwDJdhiaLyFMt6pQWoOGJxkg5a8xtmVlFytu1OOySjG5PUYfsOIubtc6aSLtDLy9CgoKbbcWS2VexxyAUR7MSxEbEH_DpWMFaTy3__KuMg/s1600-h/Hawaii_submarine.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370604417276490978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WD8A2-9ccF3lFskjzMogCYQ8LoKgYHQT8GwDJdhiaLyFMt6pQWoOGJxkg5a8xtmVlFytu1OOySjG5PUYfsOIubtc6aSLtDLy9CgoKbbcWS2VexxyAUR7MSxEbEH_DpWMFaTy3__KuMg/s400/Hawaii_submarine.jpg" border="0" /></a> wondering how so many sailors could endure so many days beneath the surface in such cramped quarters are very interesting experiences. Likewise, taking the trip to the U.S.S. Arizona memorial is a must-do, but that activity is quite sobering and thought provoking. </div><div></div><div>Of all the visits we have made to Hawaii, we have found ourselves on Maui more often than any other island. It just suits our style. Every island is unique and has its own charm. </div></div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-78479247502745136922009-03-25T08:59:00.000-07:002009-03-26T08:43:36.653-07:00Guns, Germs and Steel<span style="font-family:Arial;">I have always wondered why some societies around the globe thrived, prospered and evolved into our modern day civilizations while others seemed to sort of get stuck back in their own time. In his book, <em>Guns, Germs and Steel</em>, Jared Diamond proposed it was because of differences among peoples' environments, not because of biological differences among peoples themselves. </span><br /><div><div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><br />Primitive civilizations probably found their way onto my list as I dreamed of swashbuckling adventurers I met in books or movies finding themselves on the short end of the stick in the midst of head hunters or people making human sacrifices off at the far corners of the world. As I grew up and learned more about the world, the idea of visiting one of these places and meeting the people in an effort to understand these larger questions in life stuck vividly with me. And so it was one day that we found ourselves departing home for a 22-day 28,000 mile oddysey to the highlands of Papua New Guinea. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimq-DKFJmaXOwnq-gNJ8Su6Cluu2cy07AFCKuq_6uWf_JGkrWvQuB555zGU09YyRZmafS9FphI363GxzIpVmKRfBa9MlWpflg6559V4Z-hT2FjfeR33N_6L_v6Z31JB4J8azP9inIAzGM/s1600-h/PNG_lodge.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317161877734789490" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 312px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimq-DKFJmaXOwnq-gNJ8Su6Cluu2cy07AFCKuq_6uWf_JGkrWvQuB555zGU09YyRZmafS9FphI363GxzIpVmKRfBa9MlWpflg6559V4Z-hT2FjfeR33N_6L_v6Z31JB4J8azP9inIAzGM/s400/PNG_lodge.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">It took us three days of travel to reach Mount Hagen, a comparatively large town (17,000) in the New Guinea highlands. Our lodging,located in the hills above the town, was a small bungalow constructed in the native fashion. Everyone staying at the lodge socialized and took family style meals at the main building. I truly enjoyed our accomodation. By PNG standards, it was deluxe. We did share our room with all the local critters (but we were bigger than they were).</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">One family we visited was just finishing the cooking of several days worth of yams, the most common food. They asked us to join them in a meal, which consisted simply of taking a yam from the baking pit, peeling it and eating it. Yams are not only a staple for humans. They are also fed to dogs and pigs (I'm not sure where we fell in that heirarchy). </span></div><br /><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvBTgoyCn-a8OhgFsHwl2m1irwVQINgzkhAupdphiruItC4ZWfZ2hNOzGIXqKxxkqJgN1hb5BDGyUruOiwedLCS9vQEVNpnbVmnu4IgiRAazLcCh1092qeRKt-r-Pc2LudaKtJJLq4UaQ/s1600-h/PNG_villagepeople.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317205499108365666" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 163px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvBTgoyCn-a8OhgFsHwl2m1irwVQINgzkhAupdphiruItC4ZWfZ2hNOzGIXqKxxkqJgN1hb5BDGyUruOiwedLCS9vQEVNpnbVmnu4IgiRAazLcCh1092qeRKt-r-Pc2LudaKtJJLq4UaQ/s400/PNG_villagepeople.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">A note about clothing. We got the distinct impression that the missionaries didn't work too diligently to get rural folks to wear clothes when nobody else was around. But, we noted that almost everyone donned some sort of local or westernesque garb whenever we appeared. We'd see kids dressed only in an adult western style shirt, which worked well as it would hang to their knees or lower. In towns and larger population centers, locals were always dressed in western attire.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></div><br /><div>We learned that most tribal folks do not identify themselves as being New Guineans. They do not have much of a concept of nationalism as their worlds still revolve around their tribal lands and associated boundaries. Altercations between tribes usually involve members of one tribe doing something in another tribe's territory or doing something to a member of another tribe. Retribution is usally the result. Interestingly enough, tribes are seen as families, so it doesn't really make any difference who the offenders are. Retribution is simply taken against any member of the offending tribe.</div><div><br />After visiting some small villages, getting a thoroughly warm welcome from the locals, and learning a lot about subsistence and local traditions in PNG, we flew from Mount Hagen to Goroka for the annual tribal dance festival. The festival is <em>THE</em> annual event in PNG. We were told that it attracts the single largest group of visitors of any event in the country. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7s9IXx-8zCQhrNGCXiC_lZ07a2ISeN4Gb6wn4k5cXbVA3ik0Qk6lwmzXCHflJxF73szDjKzez-YYGIAylvqywdmLpRP8icHRii_IibmjHxEsq1jAFSVokXm47WcuGM5qH5vlRH7w6Mkw/s1600-h/PNG_young-warriors.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317204178675730898" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 198px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7s9IXx-8zCQhrNGCXiC_lZ07a2ISeN4Gb6wn4k5cXbVA3ik0Qk6lwmzXCHflJxF73szDjKzez-YYGIAylvqywdmLpRP8icHRii_IibmjHxEsq1jAFSVokXm47WcuGM5qH5vlRH7w6Mkw/s400/PNG_young-warriors.jpg" border="0" /></a>Over the days we attended, I think we may have counted something between 100-200 foreginers.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVZcMuv1-QnvQvQEccZTxZ7P9CxqJC5vDoGH8gCK52xDGB2QXn64pS9OozYwoPwydzgQ-w38iQMN4eQz2xx7ECU8n68C12ulhfeq2CR3YrdFgfTDAb8iqqzdhyphenhyphenpxqM1hqeVMIGqN-Ayo/s1600-h/PNG_villagepeople.jpg"></a> Tribes from all over the country came to the festival to out show and out dance their rivals. It wasn't that long ago that these same tribes were attacking and killing each other.</div><div><br />To say the least, the festival was spectacular and colorful. Every tribe is visibly different from each other as they turn out in their traditional tribal regalia. Dress is tribal, so all members of a tribe wear the same clothing and plumage and paint themselves similarly.<br /></div><div>There was only one hotel in Garoka, and we were not able to secure a room there for the dance festival. So, we followed the suggestion of a local tour company and booked lodging in Kainantu, a provincial center about 90 km from Garoka. The tour company informed us that we would have to travel through an area that could be dangerous for visitors between the two towns. They notified the local constabulary, who was quite willing to escort us back and forth each day.</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2p7pTL8IWBYMIK38Gl02fRMsXKCEiiacx4s8Gmse1QRAIKCt0AyxMn6J2gtKosSPBvOghn_c-w1U9-Gp5F7EdbhpSxouh3Qfjy0SiwX8tPaH95IEghyphenhyphenoFhRkZINqc363Kmw7Lr5PdlO8/s1600-h/PNG_panorama.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317211612884380978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 305px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2p7pTL8IWBYMIK38Gl02fRMsXKCEiiacx4s8Gmse1QRAIKCt0AyxMn6J2gtKosSPBvOghn_c-w1U9-Gp5F7EdbhpSxouh3Qfjy0SiwX8tPaH95IEghyphenhyphenoFhRkZINqc363Kmw7Lr5PdlO8/s400/PNG_panorama.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div>Locals had heard of our arrival and we spent a few hours each evening after dinner in the company of the local Commissioner, Police Chief and doctor quaffing local brews and discussing current events in PNG, America and the rest of the world. When we travel, we are always amazed at how similar our issues really are around the globe despite the different ways in which they are couched.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>All of PNG is quite lawless. Interestingly enough, the capital, Port Moresby, can be one of the most dangerous places in the country. Hotels there are surrounded by high walls topped with barbed wire and broken glass. Armed guards patrol their perimiters. Guests are not permitted to leave hotel compounds in the evenings without an escort. Similar situations are found in the larger towns across the country. It seems that as the population becomes less urban and more rural the safer one is there. Of course, there are tales of busses being stopped by bandits as they ply the lesser populated areas of the country. All of this is because there is extremely high unemployment in PNG. So, thievery has grown into a means of support. I don't want to unduly alarm readers. Visitors from across the word visit PNG annually and trek its rural areas without ever running afoul of ne'erdowells, as did we. But crime is a risk that needs to be heeded.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>As we boarded our flight in Port Moresby for our return trip home, we felt as if we had grown some more. We had traveled to remote places and met people on their own terms. We had been rewarded with their smiles and friendship, and we had learned from them. Again, the globe shrunk a bit more for us. </span></div></div></div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-78423020615881828272008-10-13T17:33:00.000-07:002010-02-27T08:38:25.604-08:00Dive The Great Barrier ReefScuba diving is a passion of mine. I first learned how to dive when I was about eighteen. Then life took me in other directions and I didn't dive for many years. Back in the early 90's, I recertified and diving became a major part of our lives. One of the first places I wanted to go was The Great Barrier Reef. Every recreational diver dreams about dropping down onto the reef of reefs looking for undersea life of every form. Ands so it was that this item was ticked off my list. <div><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUP0OeBs-NQdx2xxovLb73UU0hK62KjQygV-egpobd0SgmbIU8rT2tzoKoNXAQU3g-WGcZ4XkHuC1amOGvlkXo_6bOGvtyL99FZed18lm91-kcMyJcyMRnpuIkrXyQYGhiEgdVHKuaipw/s1600-h/nimrod.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256807113120457474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUP0OeBs-NQdx2xxovLb73UU0hK62KjQygV-egpobd0SgmbIU8rT2tzoKoNXAQU3g-WGcZ4XkHuC1amOGvlkXo_6bOGvtyL99FZed18lm91-kcMyJcyMRnpuIkrXyQYGhiEgdVHKuaipw/s400/nimrod.jpg" border="0" /></a>Divers are a gregarious lot. During our diving travels, we made friends with many scuba enthusiasts. We bonded particularly well with one group on a liveaboard dive trip to the Netherlands Antilles. As that trip came to an end, we all found ourselves hoping we could meet again in another diving location in a year or so. The idea of diving The Great Barrier Reef was put forth, and all quickly agreed it was a splendid destination. We challenged Sasha, our trip organizer, to outdo himself by getting us all together again in that distant location. He did a yeoman's job and delivered us The Nimrod Explorer, a 72-foot steel and aluminum liveaboard diving boat.</div><br /><div></div><div>So, on a sunny day in April we all found orselves gathered at the airport in Cairns, Australia loading our gear aboard two small planes bound for Lizzard Island, where we were to rendezvous with our floating home for the next ten days.</div><br /><div></div><div>Scuba diving is a lot of fun no matter where you do it. But, if you're at one of the world's premier diving spots with a group of diving buddies that are all focused on having a great time both under and on the surface, you have a recipe for a lot of fun. And we all did have an incredible experience.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MBPJJCWah5MVcH7yEyRovApKQTijkwGN6C38ZcxP7vveRAwycYfTRYqvywD1LEVLz9SFepgz5vizRAs7Su6NxifxWmgK1yypkUaiUP2zRYWd-WXle_p5bbKbFK5qPFbJoTRUt47E8lQ/s1600-h/squirts_nimrod.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257040494052119378" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MBPJJCWah5MVcH7yEyRovApKQTijkwGN6C38ZcxP7vveRAwycYfTRYqvywD1LEVLz9SFepgz5vizRAs7Su6NxifxWmgK1yypkUaiUP2zRYWd-WXle_p5bbKbFK5qPFbJoTRUt47E8lQ/s400/squirts_nimrod.jpg" border="0" /></a>The warming of the oceans has a profound effect on corals. So, if one is diving on the largest assemblage of coral in the world, you are bound to see the effects of warming. That we did. </div><br /><div></div><div>While every aspect of our diving experience could only be described using superlatives, there is one aspect of diving that many friends ask me about continually. That is about diving with sharks. We certainly dived with our share of sharks on this expedition. To be sure, they were not the great whites. But, many people wonder about diving with any sharks at all. Considering the the profligation of nature programs on TV that extoll the fearsomeness of sharks, it's not a wonder that people think we divers must be out of our skulls when we hang out with them. </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFy1XWR9B4132D6ohMAjc96AzUAhJCUriTaMDRSLFkspmETpRlUHve9-c3XbLE3aMkvbWMXj6e8OPFBZyblD-Lf7tsIIoPsusVW-TgyGBI1Yy7BjIZtsRpHi68GQ-BqY2YDe-irEwe8w/s1600-h/sharks1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257053198250939634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFy1XWR9B4132D6ohMAjc96AzUAhJCUriTaMDRSLFkspmETpRlUHve9-c3XbLE3aMkvbWMXj6e8OPFBZyblD-Lf7tsIIoPsusVW-TgyGBI1Yy7BjIZtsRpHi68GQ-BqY2YDe-irEwe8w/s400/sharks1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>First of all, sharks have an extraordinary sense of smell. But the bad news is they can't see nearly as well as they can smell. So, when we hear of a luckless surfer being munched on by a shark, it's usually because the surfer kind of looked like one of the shark's favorite snacks, a turtle, floating on the surface. When sharks do bite a surfer, that's what they do - they bite it. You rarely hear of a shark eating a surfer because once the shark tastes what he thought was going to be a yummy morsel of turtle (or something else equally tasty) and it turns out to be a bony human, the shark usually lets go. The problem is even a nip by a shark can be a really bad life threatening experience for a human.<br /><br /><div>These pictures taken during our GBR oddysey show some of the sharks we encountered. Although the picture below was a close enough encounter for me, the skipper of the Nimrod just had to demonstrate how snuggly a small shark could be (NOT!!). <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgitXT6JAMCNAdWgwc6SlCTqYgr7b7L8sM9arRIqmsHvRfGxuKgjkMjIe9Kd-Lh25qPuuTLllRp2b3pvPi3itNkFeze47e-TEAs01oJVCv115XSpdPUTKWYMOqViDV5N_ZjqD3OtDBhw/s1600-h/sharks2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257053623115730402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgitXT6JAMCNAdWgwc6SlCTqYgr7b7L8sM9arRIqmsHvRfGxuKgjkMjIe9Kd-Lh25qPuuTLllRp2b3pvPi3itNkFeze47e-TEAs01oJVCv115XSpdPUTKWYMOqViDV5N_ZjqD3OtDBhw/s400/sharks2.jpg" border="0" /></a></div></div><div></div><div>Diving with sharks actually gives me a great deal more comfort than swimming on the surface wondering if one is lurking below me. And, when diving with them, they treat divers just like any other denizen of the depths. They exhibit curiosity and do come in close for a look sometimes, but not normally. And, as I said, these guys were not the ferocious carnivores that would have sent us scurrying for the boat. </div><div></div><div></div><div>On this trip we did venture out into the Coral Sea to a place named Osprey Reef. It was one of the highlights of the trip. During our dives out there at places with names like Nobby's Wall, C.C., North Horn, and Half Way Wall, we often found sharks coming in to check us out. </div></div></div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-41209421119196529112008-10-12T09:31:00.000-07:002010-02-27T08:36:46.315-08:00Hang Out In The Grand Canyon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgLELCmgYTPHdy46tpBtcVfKNBagtsNdobnqRvMhhguQIxp4ioZfSP6qx1SvUt4JxL5Tnt-La-FVud1FCXzyz02qrBcDcSStuR0pKvoud_KVGPSPOjoZtIKIYkzMI5-u7xu_kGzquW4g/s1600-h/grandcanyon_005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256314516044775970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgLELCmgYTPHdy46tpBtcVfKNBagtsNdobnqRvMhhguQIxp4ioZfSP6qx1SvUt4JxL5Tnt-La-FVud1FCXzyz02qrBcDcSStuR0pKvoud_KVGPSPOjoZtIKIYkzMI5-u7xu_kGzquW4g/s400/grandcanyon_005.jpg" border="0" /></a>The Grand Canyon really is an awesome spectacle. After I hiked to the bottom the first time, I knew I had to come back and spend more time there. So that went on my list. This is one of the items on my list that has multiple check marks next to it. I ended up spending a lot of time at the bottom of one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World.<br /><br /><div>One visit that was particularly memorable was the time a friend and I decided to spend a week hiking in the Canyon. We were both seasoned Canyon hikers and spent several hours discussing where we would hike this time - finally deciding to take the Clear Creek Trail. If my memory serves me correctly, it was June, so it was just a bit warmish down in the canyon. I think the daytime <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">temperatures</span> were around 110 degrees (F.). The first day, we hiked down the South <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Kaibab</span> Trail and camped at the bottom of the canyon near Phantom Ranch. I do like a beer (or two) every now and then. But, as long as I live, I don't think I'll ever forget how good that first beer tastes after hiking for three or four hours in that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">oven like</span> heat. We didn't stay at Phantom Ranch, but it's just a short walk from the campground where we set up. They were more than happy to sell beer to campers as well as their guests. </div><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzwWEag90aqJ4GhqeS2G_IAzABEfSpw9OvV8JTDcPbwISrTzFnRVuTrvt2DWjmU9mLXpmkLB9JWiykYoxWpCediYQtFKuCKP3qjxRqyco2XelQscTQvQAG-kM22BjjucBCOqrmlwMgpM/s1600-h/grandcanyon_002.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256327935347136626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzwWEag90aqJ4GhqeS2G_IAzABEfSpw9OvV8JTDcPbwISrTzFnRVuTrvt2DWjmU9mLXpmkLB9JWiykYoxWpCediYQtFKuCKP3qjxRqyco2XelQscTQvQAG-kM22BjjucBCOqrmlwMgpM/s400/grandcanyon_002.jpg" border="0" /></a>The next day, we got up bright and early - and I mean early - like 4:30 A.M. We wanted to get our heavy hiking with our backpacks done before the heat down in the canyon got to be too bad. I think it was about a nine mile hike from where we were camped to the Clear Creek camp. We each had quite a bit of water with us, but we knew we would drink a lot to keep ourselves from dehydrating in the hot dry climate. The hike itself was enjoyable. I remember it did get a bit hilly at one point. I also remember at one point I was lost in some sort of daydream as we just kept plodding along. I was in the lead and came around a sharp turn in the trail. As I turned, I happened to look down and saw that I was about to place my boot right on top of a sleeping rattlesnake. I can't tell you what exactly happened at that moment, but I do know that a split second later I was about five feet from where I had been. I'm not sure, but I think I may have walked on air :-)<br /></div><br /><div>My hiking companion had a great laugh when he realized what had transpired. After my heart slowed back down to the point where I could breathe regularly, I told him he'd get his someday. Little did I know that his comeuppance was not far away. </div><br /><div>We hiked on through the morning. As we did, the temperature deep down in the canyon began to climb. Soon we were perspiring heavily. We wrapped <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">bandannas</span> around our heads to keep off the sun and to keep the sweat from running into our eyes. I think we must have been about a mile from our destination when I looked back to check on my partner's progress. He was nowhere to be seen. I shrugged my pack from my shoulders and sat on a rock to wait for him to catch up. He had dropped back quite a bit, but soon I saw him rounding a bend back down the trail. As I waited for him, I took a sip of some of the last water I had with me. I was going to be a bit short of water, but I knew I could make the distance. As my buddy got closer to me, I could tell something was a bit amiss. I noticed that his gait appeared somewhat irregular. As he reached me, I noticed that he <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">seemed</span> a bit unstable. I had to stand up and stop him. He seemed like he was going to keep wandering on. And that was the key. He was wandering. I looked at his eyes. They were unfocused. I held onto him and told him to take off his pack. My voice seemed to bring him back to the present.<br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhbzHkcSQUmMg55EARiW_2mizLbH-3vB-UHK4sO-4o2N-rqqvHjH9kt8Ov9rsG3h6jLpTIEbpLTuHmJEzc-0a_FW-0QewYat5uw5gPXggK3dYzppon5jefvWQwuH_YrI0F-nq794Idzxs/s1600-h/grandcanyon_006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256375219034719170" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhbzHkcSQUmMg55EARiW_2mizLbH-3vB-UHK4sO-4o2N-rqqvHjH9kt8Ov9rsG3h6jLpTIEbpLTuHmJEzc-0a_FW-0QewYat5uw5gPXggK3dYzppon5jefvWQwuH_YrI0F-nq794Idzxs/s400/grandcanyon_006.jpg" border="0" /></a>It turns out that he had been drinking his water somewhat faster than I and that he had run out quite a ways back. I could tell the heat was starting to get to him. There was no shade anywhere nearby, so I couldn't get him out of the sun. But I did know that our destination was not that far away. Still, in his condition, I was skeptical about him and his pack making it the rest of the way safely. I shared what water I still had with him as we sat for a short time. I didn't want to wast time dallying. Finally I told him that we were going to leave his pack where we were and continue on together to the campsite at the creek. We did know that the creek ran all year long and that there would be water there. He didn't argue with my suggestion, so I stashed his pack behind a boulder out of sight of the trail and, we headed off again. Without his loaded pack, he seemed to do quite a bit better.<br /></div><br /><div>We had gone about a half mile and my buddy began to mumble something. I couldn't quite catch what he was saying, so I stopped and asked him to repeat himself. He gave me a sort of bleary look and said "This is a fine way to treat British royalty." </div><div></div><br /><div>I shook him gently and brought him back to time present. I took out my last water bottle. I let him sip some of the remaining water and then blotted some onto my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">head rag</span> and wiped his face. This worked a bit. I told him we needed to keep going. He was quite amiable and off we again went. It wasn't too much longer before we could see the creek ahead. That seemed to be what was needed to give my buddy the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">wherewithal</span> to make it the last hundred yards or so to our goal.<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSMxxwCa9YevPbwmUC7Cb1Eev1sjVTmRfyVr7w90Tb7Tb6F_2K79EmIAAUXzDmnt5fyXBv975Tk2LEAe3PrBOtfGAR8zp5gJ1GGEpJY4xGgIqHH7EuSNGIIOn-SM4AbpAMdx7McEmsU3Y/s1600-h/grandcanyon_001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256375415020289650" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSMxxwCa9YevPbwmUC7Cb1Eev1sjVTmRfyVr7w90Tb7Tb6F_2K79EmIAAUXzDmnt5fyXBv975Tk2LEAe3PrBOtfGAR8zp5gJ1GGEpJY4xGgIqHH7EuSNGIIOn-SM4AbpAMdx7McEmsU3Y/s400/grandcanyon_001.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div>Once we were able to slowly replenish the water in our bodies, my friend made a complete recovery. We actually laughed about a phrase that we now use whenever we see each other to this day. Whenever something bad happens to my friend, we quip "That's no way to treat British royalty."</div><div></div><div>We camped at Clear Creek for several days. From there, we hiked down to the Colorado River and watched as groups floated by on rafts or dories. In the other direction, we explored historical parts of the canyon.</div><br /><div>During other trips to the Canyon, I have hiked on many of its fine and adventurous trails in addition to Clear Creek: Bright Angel, North & South Kaibab, Tonto, Hermit, Boucher, Kanab Creek and the Bass Trail. Those who enjoy history would appreciate the lore of the Grand Canyon. Some of the trails were used by rustlers back in the 1800's. Many were used by miners who sought their fortunes within the confines of the Canyon. The Hermit and Boucher Trails refer to Louis Boucher, a miner and hermit whose tales are part of Canyon lore. </div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-25551149443494270522008-08-23T09:29:00.000-07:002008-08-25T06:30:24.619-07:00Trek the SaharaI can't tell you what initiated my desire to trek the Sahara and sleep beneath a sky filled with stars from horizon to horizon without a light in sight. I do know it was on my list for a long time before I did it. Something piqued my interest when I was very young. Maybe it was watching French <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Foreign</span> Legionnaire Buster Crabbe dash gallantly from a mud walled oasis to challenge a nefarious <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ne'er</span>-do-well. I'm not sure, but the desire to walk or ride alongside a nomad into the greatest desert on the globe just grew stronger as my life progressed. And, one day I found myself boarding a plane in Anchorage bound for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ouarzazate</span>, Morocco, a former French Foreign Legion outpost on the edge of the Sahara.<br /><br /><div><div><div>Just getting to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ouarzazate</span> was an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">adventure</span> in itself. The journey there definitely didn't happen as planned. Instead of landing at that far away destination in a plane, we found ourselves arriving there late at night after driving over the Atlas Mountains from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Marrakech</span> due a cancelled Royal Air <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Maroc</span> flight that stranded us in Casablanca. That's a fun and colorful story in itself, but I need to get back to the Sahara story.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghx-nwFPa_G0XwjFMhSubi_M65i8appHDH0AR7gBKQbKF-fZ4xXX1bUK_fElHqlMGYRLl7mHQJ6XFDHlkbpaJXCVelQZRDO-i-ZGZ2h4ikKw6RBmjplB46RTW4XR2UiitMXShVmlaLtwo/s1600-h/oasis.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237763984349668274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghx-nwFPa_G0XwjFMhSubi_M65i8appHDH0AR7gBKQbKF-fZ4xXX1bUK_fElHqlMGYRLl7mHQJ6XFDHlkbpaJXCVelQZRDO-i-ZGZ2h4ikKw6RBmjplB46RTW4XR2UiitMXShVmlaLtwo/s400/oasis.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div>Despite the quick change in travel plans, we did get to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Ouarzazate</span> in time to meet our guide, who drove us to to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Mhamid</span>, the last village on the edge of the desert, where our Sahara o<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">dyssey</span> began.<br /></div><div>Our hosts served us a scrumptious lunch before piling us into a well-used Land Rover for an afternoon drive to the Sacred Oasis of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Oum</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Laalag</span>, where we spent the night and changed our method of transport from vehicle to camel. That night we spent our first night under the Sahara stars.<br /></div><br /><div>As the setting sun disappeared below the western horizon, the oven hot desert temperatures immediately began to abate. A light breeze blew up and helped cool the evening. Again, our hosts spread a small feast out for us consisting of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">tagine</span>, freshly <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje6TzcpEBQcidX682xGE6o-wBUTLnrbRyp6MSCtuaUZU9TpjcfFNGN1ZBeQ4p3pQuqgL2reyCVC5x_mnY7k9YzHXg8SxjbGmOZIVFtfpqROamfVGi5z9vtgQhzp1ZbwXPUADAqpgujrjU/s1600-h/pallets.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237768388264999362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje6TzcpEBQcidX682xGE6o-wBUTLnrbRyp6MSCtuaUZU9TpjcfFNGN1ZBeQ4p3pQuqgL2reyCVC5x_mnY7k9YzHXg8SxjbGmOZIVFtfpqROamfVGi5z9vtgQhzp1ZbwXPUADAqpgujrjU/s400/pallets.jpg" border="0" /></a>baked bread, the ever present sweet mint tea and other tasty morsels. After dinner, our guides brought armloads of rugs and blankets out into the center of the oasis and prepared sleeping pallets for us. After our long adventurous day, they felt as comfortable as our bed at home. No sooner had I laid my head upon my pillow than I fell into a deep sleep. Some hours later, about midnight I think, I awoke. I was on my back. As I slowly became aware of my surroundings, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There was no ambient light to dim the sight above me. The sky was alive. Millions of stars brightly shined against the velvety black celestial backdrop. From horizon to horizon, the heavens poured rivers of twinkling while lights across the black sky canvas. I lay there for some time just taking in the spectacle. I was awestruck. This was what I had come for, or at least a big part of what I had come for, and I was not disappointed. As I lay beneath my warm blanket, I felt as if a vortex was pulling me up into the stars, planets, constellations and solar systems. The Milky Way, a solid white starlit <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">skyway</span>, slashed its way across the heavens. I didn't want to close my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">eyes</span> to return to my slumber. Yet I felt so safe, so warm, so relaxed and so much a part of everything around me that I slowly slipped back into sleep. The next time I opened my eyes morning was approaching. The starry carpet still stretched across the awakening sky, but daylight was forcing its retreat. </div><br /><div></div><div>After we awoke and enjoyed a tasty morning meal, it was time to begin the camel trek. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">cameleers</span> brought the camels to the entrance of the oasis, saddled them and packed our gear into the Saharan version of panniers. After a short primer on camel etiquette and riding, we mounted our beasts and then held on while they rocked to their feet. Camel riding must be an acquired taste, and I don't think I mastered it very well. Our saddles sat almost on the animal's rumps. Their gait was difficult to get used to, and the saddles were unforgiving despite the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrdahTg37ZUe-Zi72ghAra-svCxxPn_B_1pyV6TeF5BgY1QX1vN113S_z7f840J6GVtFMiCxIN8kLMH32gxMcBeeZFnQtr05C0NXcCd5dv8l4bna_TFy-Tu2u0LJvdCi7wixknum8UgJM/s1600-h/camels.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238174082195756082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrdahTg37ZUe-Zi72ghAra-svCxxPn_B_1pyV6TeF5BgY1QX1vN113S_z7f840J6GVtFMiCxIN8kLMH32gxMcBeeZFnQtr05C0NXcCd5dv8l4bna_TFy-Tu2u0LJvdCi7wixknum8UgJM/s400/camels.jpg" border="0" /></a>blankets piled atop them. After about an hour's ride, we came to a small oasis and stopped for some water. Following the short break, I opted to walk along with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">cameleers</span> rather than remount. We traveled until about 11:30 when I noticed one of the Nomads scanning the horizon looking for something.</div><br /><div></div><div>"Que <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">cherchez</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">vous</span>," I asked. He was looking for a tree. Over the next hour I learned that we were looking for a large tree under which to spend the next several hours, the hottest part of the day. It would be too hot for us to be out in the desert in the midday sun. The tree appeared, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">cameleers</span> took the gear off the camels, hobbled them, and left them to find their own place to rest. Again, our hosts prepared us a traditional lunch, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">tagine, </span>le pain de sable (bread baked in the sand) and hot mint tea. It seemed a bit odd that were were eating a hot meal in the intense heat, but they explained to us that our bodies actually reacted well to it. We didn't argue. The meal was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">terrific</span>. After lunch, we all <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">stretched</span> out on rugs in the shade of the big tree and napped. </div><div></div><br /><div>About 3:00, the Nomads stirred. They said we would be getting going again. It was a few hours trek to our overnight bivouac, the famed Chgaga Dunes. The afternoon walk in the desert was actually pleasant. Our shashes kept the direct sun off of us, but were not burdensome. It was very hot and we perspired continuously, but our hosts had plenty of water along for the trek and they urged us to drink it frequently. As the sun began to sink toward the western horizon, we arrived at our destination for the day.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Q9xAcQxhflTb4XHzjqlWxknmhXxFn0mnKJPOEgM_ZqmaTnvGSn3eoTLqYWVoQtL5pQhvQ5skiUheOWxCKqkhPi7YHM0dE5VB_zODkDQ28xtUc1Mb7KbeDHAR88r6BzYyIamXTGfGR0A/s1600-h/chgaga.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238184035691606114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Q9xAcQxhflTb4XHzjqlWxknmhXxFn0mnKJPOEgM_ZqmaTnvGSn3eoTLqYWVoQtL5pQhvQ5skiUheOWxCKqkhPi7YHM0dE5VB_zODkDQ28xtUc1Mb7KbeDHAR88r6BzYyIamXTGfGR0A/s400/chgaga.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div>The Chgaga Dunes were spectacular in the late afternoon light. We took off our shoes, grabbed our cameras and took off exploring while the Nomads made camp and began preparing our evening meal.<br /></div><div></div><div>Our supper was predictably good. Following it, our hosts spread rugs out on the sand, took out their drums and sang. It was quite an experience sitting at the base of the massive dunes, low light emanating from a couple of candle lamps, listening to the spirited Arabic melodies.<br /></div><div>That night my sleep was just like that <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSlBLbM8JyvWpcJ-OGbTf_KF-UF1Gn323WMc-YyUAjGqEyp-p8CoXO6clQYgE_ixhoqVDMsaagYo14qjlRKxRbGprgtRpSqRII3VxELvjYA-vaR6EKmbJLrob4k7TTrB1GkaU_Y8znLvQ/s1600-h/Sahara-Singers.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238185908424058306" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSlBLbM8JyvWpcJ-OGbTf_KF-UF1Gn323WMc-YyUAjGqEyp-p8CoXO6clQYgE_ixhoqVDMsaagYo14qjlRKxRbGprgtRpSqRII3VxELvjYA-vaR6EKmbJLrob4k7TTrB1GkaU_Y8znLvQ/s400/Sahara-Singers.jpg" border="0" /></a>of the previous night, only I kept myself awake longer in the middle of the night watching the sky. It was alive with activity. The stars twinkled. An occasional shooting star flew across the panorama. Satellites flashed as they traveled their lofty assigned paths. </div><div></div><div>Our adventure in the Sahara was an experience we still talk fondly about today. The only problem with ticking off items from the list is that we have then done them, and we no longer can look forward to that new experience. But the list still contains many adventures we can look forward to - and we do!</div></div></div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-5822633247632554812008-08-03T13:19:00.000-07:002016-08-18T06:12:56.234-07:00Have A SonThe Cuban patriot, José MartÃ, said that you reach the plenitude of manhood when you plant a tree, have a son, and write a book. I have planted enough trees so that anyone reading this who has not done so can borrow one of mine. The manuscript for the only book that I might have ever written was consumed inside a fiery barrel stove in the Alaska wilderness one evening when I had a couple snorts too many from my scotch bottle. And I do have two children, one each, a son and a daughter. Life is full of happenstance, and one of those is that my son and I are particularly close. I won't say that it's because we're both what he terms "knuckleheads", but, both being Taurus', we both know what it is to grab something and shake it like a pit bull. We have found a lot in common over the years. I think he's a particularly warm, fun and caring person. But what I appreciate about him a lot is that he and I share the same sense of humor (most everyone forgives us for that), irreverence for pomposity (FTITCTAJ), and joi de vivre. He's done some pretty nutty things in life, and that sets him aside from many who just never have the spirit to do such things. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjx1uBVrGNj3T77gN1h_e03SNAH_vS13aCDJQaGILn-HDAAa_6emHhqOt1D1AkpxPymYO2H_huPkJa9XKpl-wh05tGiH0c403e1O7Yn58zZraeMGXHM0QICeG4b1hia8B0sXs9zCzU4g/s1600-h/Spam3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230413394090510258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjx1uBVrGNj3T77gN1h_e03SNAH_vS13aCDJQaGILn-HDAAa_6emHhqOt1D1AkpxPymYO2H_huPkJa9XKpl-wh05tGiH0c403e1O7Yn58zZraeMGXHM0QICeG4b1hia8B0sXs9zCzU4g/s400/Spam3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a><br />
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I point out to him that's because he did such a sensible thing as following my example of serving our country in a time of need in the Navy (me: Viet Nam; him:the Gulf War). He corrects my reasoning by saying he followed me into the Navy because he wanted to see if he might find a clue about how to deal with my eccentricities. Life fills our schedules every day, and we probably don't get together in person as much as we should. But we both know the other is out there, never take each other for granted, and we check in with each other frequently on the phone, via texting or mentally across the miles.</div>
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Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-31992334618958471792008-08-01T17:36:00.000-07:002008-12-10T14:08:36.090-08:00Live in the Alaska Wilderness<div>As I mentioned in a previous post, Nature and I really click. One of the items on my list took a while to engineer, but I never doubted that I'd achieve it. Finding a way to live out in the Alaska wilderness just took some perseverance. Now, this isn't the same kind of hairbrained adventure that young Chris McCandless undertook. His formula pretty well guaranteed that he'd run into trouble. As you might gather from my story about hiking the Continental Divide, big adventures don't scare me. I love 'em. But, research and planning make all the difference.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD7RAUxHE-iQWbTrzmFibEJskS-GBpSasGJbzM4MrrTGt1blffGn8Fz1YwGPLHz6b9fPJmPWzaMY4ecIGL8QTo0ty8MJVleHO66GcLhNLZs1R8jaPHq1ioPiebCyJWRhyphenhyphenuhhJR7a-hu-w/s1600-h/northern_lights.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256305638597404162" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD7RAUxHE-iQWbTrzmFibEJskS-GBpSasGJbzM4MrrTGt1blffGn8Fz1YwGPLHz6b9fPJmPWzaMY4ecIGL8QTo0ty8MJVleHO66GcLhNLZs1R8jaPHq1ioPiebCyJWRhyphenhyphenuhhJR7a-hu-w/s400/northern_lights.jpg" border="0" /></a>I was working in a hunting camp south of Jackson Hole. Hunters came there to mostly hunt elk, moose and mule deer. Most of the hunters came from across the 48 contiguous states. But, during one of the hunts, a man and his wife from Glennallen, Alaska came to hunt the elk and mulies. Heavens knows the moose in Alaska were huge compared to Wyoming moose, so Alaska hunters mainly came for the two critters they couldn't find in any size or quantity up there. As is wont to happen in hunting camps, folks become friends and find out a lot about each other. Well, once I got to know the Alaska couple, I said that I'd really love to go up there and live in the wilderness and maybe do the same kind of work I was then doing. It just so happened that these folks knew an old codger who had a hunting camp in a spectacular part of Alaska. They said they saw him every once in a while, and they would mention to him that they had met someone who might like to talk with him about a job.<br /><br />Well, heck, you know how those things go. After a few months I forgot about the conversation. In the middle of the following winter I received a post card from the Alaska guide that the couple had told me about. He said that he understood I had some of the skills he was looking for and asked me to write him about what I could do. We exchanged a couple of letters and then he told me to meet him on a certain day in a small town in eastern Alaska. He'd pick me up and then fly me out to his camp. I had the job.<br /><br />So, on May 29th, the appointed day, having made the journey from Wyoming to Alaska, I was right where he told me to be. I had a trunk, a duffel bag and my hunting rifle with me. He appeared, introduced himself, told me to get my gear into his car and off we drove for Chitina, where he kept his two airplanes. There he piled me and my gear into a Super Cub and off we went into the wild blue yonder.<br /><br />Now, you talk about spectacular mountain scenery! For about and hour and a half we flew over some of the most beautiful and remote land anywhere on earth. At one point, we were winging our way through a pass that had vertical walls that must have been 1,500 ft. high. And then suddenly we popped out of the canyon, flew over the tail of a medium sized glacier, and found ourselves in a broad river valley. My new boss began to lose altitude. He pointed ahead at an island to one side of the river bar and said, "there's your new home."<br /><br />The Cub came to a stop at the end of a dirt landing strip on the river's shore not far from the island. There was a small channel of watewr running between us and the island. Most of the river was on the other side of the island. We lugged my gear across a small plank bridge and found ourselves at the end of a clearing amidst towering spruce trees. A barn and corral were to our left. Several log cabins dotted the clearing. We headed for a two-story cabin in the center of things.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Vzw79sFaD_kWHatjZ9lo2u5kdBzKaqWlDFOrYT3S77Y64iAmlVXN9Gq3Nw2z_JkQQ0QMMtS45IIkJVVbj-zZz2-_HvLDUOOPIUJDwfeA2InjnLuaMe1ffvyj_mi2nUWBzvB7oO8Ah70/s1600-h/wrair.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229715168620243426" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Vzw79sFaD_kWHatjZ9lo2u5kdBzKaqWlDFOrYT3S77Y64iAmlVXN9Gq3Nw2z_JkQQ0QMMtS45IIkJVVbj-zZz2-_HvLDUOOPIUJDwfeA2InjnLuaMe1ffvyj_mi2nUWBzvB7oO8Ah70/s400/wrair.jpg" border="0" /></a>My digs were on the second floor of what I learned we called the "main cabin". Later I learned that this cabin had been built by a Colorado gold mining outfit in the early 1900's. The cabin logs were massive - maybe 20-24" in diameter, and the cabin had sunk 6-8" into the ground over the years.<br /><br />As soon as I was settled, my new boss showed me around the place before dinner. The next morning, we were up early. We had a quick breakfast, and then we got back into the Piper. He flew me around the valley showing me where the horses normally could be found and giving me the general lay of the land. After about an hour's flight, he landed. He kept the plane running and told me to go ahead and get out. He said he had things to tend to in town and would see me in a few weeks. With that, he revved up the engine, taxied to the end of the strip, turned the Super Cub around, gunned the engine and disappeared into the air in a cloud of dust. So much for the honeymoon.<br /><br />This place became home for me, and I enjoyed every minute that I spent there. During the few months of hunting season, the camp was bustling with activity. The rest of the year, it was my solo domain. Of all the months I spent there alone with no way to contact the outside world, I always felt secure and never anxious. I learned every day and experienced some things that were, to say the least, unique.<br /><br />A passage from my journal reads:<br />January 12: -23 degrees F.<br />"It's good to get back outside after our second cold snap when the mercury nearly hit -70 degrees F! (-57 degrees celcius) ... temperatures in the -20's are not considered cold ...."</div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-17743804219378969292008-07-19T08:17:00.000-07:002008-12-10T14:08:36.313-08:00Hike The Continental DivideNature has amazing power and energy. I have always connected with it. Early in life, I realized that there were many things I wanted to do that I would not be able to do if I waited too long. So, I decided to take a few years to do some of these things while I was still young. One of them was to hike the Continental Divide.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Szoe_2WGkVSKOXIVlh1kMTG0ZBhyphenhypheno7tW_RKGAZk7Zl4QbQSNrCs4bWmP3QzmSxmEz5kLX6RZCBm4ICyuz2CxUS9u8jVr2dDm8qUrvIv2A-ziKkSGH0hQBLgLJ1YHWR_zgLgKfo813sc/s1600-h/contdivide.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224748690563421266" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Szoe_2WGkVSKOXIVlh1kMTG0ZBhyphenhypheno7tW_RKGAZk7Zl4QbQSNrCs4bWmP3QzmSxmEz5kLX6RZCBm4ICyuz2CxUS9u8jVr2dDm8qUrvIv2A-ziKkSGH0hQBLgLJ1YHWR_zgLgKfo813sc/s400/contdivide.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I was hanging out in Tucson (checking off another item on my list) when I decided to undertake this journey. It took about a year to plan the hike. The adventure itself lasted two years.<br /><br />The logistics of the trip were actually fairly simple. I made a list of the gear that I would need to take with me. Gradually, as my meager paychecks allowed, I gathered the items together. Fortunately, I was working in a sporting goods store at the time, so I was able to obtain much of the gear direct from the manufacturers at a discount. I spent months pouring over topographic maps of my planned route. I estimated how may calories I would burn during an average day, and developed a menu (primarily of freeze dried foods) that would keep my body fueled. I enlisted the aid of friends to create my resupply network. The plan was simple. It consisted of boxes of supplies (food, film, t.p., etc.) that I packed ahead of time and addressed to myself at general delivery in towns along my hiking route. I put a mailing date on each box and gave my friends the money for postage. All they had to do was go to the post office on the date specified on the package and mail the parcel to me. As long as I stayed on schedule, the boxes would be waiting for me along the way. Ultimately, the plan worked out just as I hoped it would. I'm still thankful for reliable friends to this day.<br /><br />The great hike itself started in Springtime in New Mexico. I had to wait to start until the snow would be out of my high country route when I gained altitude in Colorado. I didn't want to wait too long, however, because I didn't want to get caught by Fall snows in Wyoming as my first year of the hike ended near Jackson Hole.<br /><br />As you may have guessed, I hiked most of the route solo. A friend did join me for part of the first year's trip, but it was my intent to make most of the trek alone. That was the only way I would be able to commune with Nature the way I wanted to. I did have to deal with the possibility of being injured and consider that I could die alone without hope of a rescue along the route. I'm here today thirty years later, so I guess the worst didn't occur.<br /><br />As you might imagine, the trip was an incredible experience. Walking 1,800 miles up the backbone of America over two years changed me forever. I met some wonderful people along the way. I learned a lot about myself. And, I learned a lot about living in synch with Nature. Many of the lessons I learned during that trek are visible in my personality today.Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-6627445354868918882008-06-23T09:42:00.000-07:002008-12-10T14:08:36.496-08:00My "Shipping Out" StoryI enlisted in the Navy under what they called the "120-day delay" program. During the VietNam War, they'd promise you anything as long as you'd sign on the dotted line. So, I had 120 days to spend with family and friends before I shipped out to boot camp. The Navy told me to report to the Armed Forces Processing Center in Butte when it was time. So, I dutifully did that. There was a group of us that all reported in that same day. None of us knew each other, but we all got to know each other pretty well that day as we were processed. The Navy told us that they'd signed us all up together under what they called the "buddy" program. That way we'd all go to boot camp together and be in the same training company there. We spent the day having every part of our bodies probed, inspected, thumped and looked at. The government gave us written tests, too, telling us the test results would indicate what type of Navy job were best suited for. We all ended up with different specialties. Mine was going to be aviation fire control. That was a far cry from being a Navy diver, which is what I really wanted to be. But, they convinced me that working on aircraft missile control systems was a glorious and very special job that they saved for men like myself.<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215203942178183762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNNhSbS111QtVMcWA_rZTj7F429NrzHnWsxqQIEosre_2963WPIsMS1ZkA_u58wiPwuWgsyPtO6CsR_D0zOfgIKmJzPe05c8QCih7t1AZj4tvrcIfrCWpU9O9XE7G2t2-26httCodg5I/s400/Dumas.jpg" border="0" />After we were done at the processing center late in the day, they gave us our papers and our instructions. We were to board a bus for Chicago the next morning. They also gave us some vouchers for rooms at a local hotel as well as others for dinner that night and breakfast the next morning. I was appointed the group leader and was told that I had to make sure everyone got on the bus the next morning and stayed on it all the way to our destination.</p><p>Later that evening after we used our vouchers for what we jokingly referred to as "our last supper". Although none of us was old enough to buy liquor, one of the guys, Jim, looked as if he might be able to pass for twenty-one. So, we pooled some of the cash we had between us and sent Jim off to try to score some alcohol for us. Sure enough, after about twenty minutes Jim returned with some beer and whiskey. We spent the next hour or two talking, drinking the beer and passing the whiskey bottle around. As the alcohol did its job, the subject inevitably turned to girls and sex. Some of the guys began to talk about how it was going to be a long time before they would get laid again since boot camp would figure fairly prominently in our plans for the next several months. One of the guys who was from the Butte area suggested that we go visit a local establishment that specialized in meeting the types of needs under discussion in our group, mainly that of getting men together with women - for a price. He knew a place not too far from our hotel that he called "Dumas". Some of the group immediately thought this would be a great way to spend some of the last cash they had and began to talk up the possibility. Now, for me, this was uncharted territory and I began to get a bit nervous. Not only had I never visited a place such as the one under discussion; I had never been with a girl, sexually that is. Not that I had never thought of it; it just had never happened. And, as I recall, the idea of starting my sex life in the arms of a professional woman didn't really seem to do it for me. Of course, the testosterone level in our bunch was high that night and the liquor helped break down barriers for some of the guys, too. So, before I knew it, I, as well as the entire group of us, were trooping out of our hotel behind the local kid who said he knew the way to this place of some repute. </p><p>As our small band of the newest sailors in Uncle Sam's great U.S. Navy walked along the streets, I asked myself what in the Sam Hill was I getting myself into. Or, at least, I think my foggy young mind must have been thinking something like that. Truthfully, my memory is mercifully unclear of much that transpired after about six beers and my share of the whiskey bottle. I do recall our arriving at the house in question. We were granted admittance, and I recall there was a fair amount of oooh-ing and aaah-ing from all those gathered there when they learned that the group of young men that had stumbled up the steps and into the place were, in fact, headed out for military service the very next morning. My merciful lack of recall from that evening's activities is not merciful enough to keep me from recalling some of the memories. I do remember following one of the ladies up the stairs and into her room, and I do remember that all of her very likely prodigious experience and talent could not coax my body to deliver what was required for a successful "meeting". Of course, that was just between her and me. The price was the same whatever she and I did or did not do. So, after tyding up, my lady of the evening led me back downstairs where I awaited the rest of my new buddies. I do remember that, somehow, we all did get on the bus the next morning. I also recall that there was conversation about who had done what with whom the previous evening. I also learned two more things over the ensuing years. One thing was that I was not the only guy who had not been able to perform that evening. The other was that the establishment we visited was a place of some fame, being the well known Dumas Brothel on Butte's Mercury Street (that is it in the photograph above). Although it is no longer is in business, I have learned that it was one of the longest standing businesses of its type in the West and served its male patrons from 1890 until 1982. </p><p>So now I may have misled you. My list was shorter following this event. But, the item I crossed off my list was "Military service", not "have sex for the first time". That item remained on my list for a short time longer.</p>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105154487018331463.post-14286888774308679102008-06-23T09:18:00.000-07:002008-12-10T14:08:36.629-08:00Join the Navy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWaIMou4aF6TkmR4guUl5jr33pXWXgjkx0Z6noDg1-Qh0rSXNS5V49-cUpjFjIh8_ibTMb1Tk3iOhOpUTK7Fg82Dt_iM36b6J7SPkrR1svxum92bHgJBm4Ms3UTWncjf8Xk0ip8eyH9Zk/s1600-h/bootcamp.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215112122051729970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWaIMou4aF6TkmR4guUl5jr33pXWXgjkx0Z6noDg1-Qh0rSXNS5V49-cUpjFjIh8_ibTMb1Tk3iOhOpUTK7Fg82Dt_iM36b6J7SPkrR1svxum92bHgJBm4Ms3UTWncjf8Xk0ip8eyH9Zk/s400/bootcamp.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>This might be a good place to start. Chronologically, it works. It's back toward the beginning of the list. Every kid who goes into the service remembers that as a BIG event in their young lives. It sure was for me. Actually, I wanted to enlist in the Coast Guard, not the Navy. But I couldn't find a Coast Guard recruiter in Montana - or something like that. So, heck, the Navy still would let me cross the item off my list. </div><div></div><div>This is the picture the Navy sent my mom when I graduated from boot camp in Great Lakes, Ill. </div><div></div><div>Now I suppose you want some sort of Navy story. Well, I do have a lot of them. Actually, some of my Navy stories are other items from my list. And, well, there are other Navy stories that never woulda made the list and sure aren't going to make it into print here. </div><div></div><div>So, OK, here's a quick one. I think it's one of the most embarassing moments of my life. Maybe I wasn't embarassed; more like mortified. Or freaked out. Heck, you decide. My memory isn't terribly clear about the event. And, oh yeah, this is one of the things that was another item on my list. It just didn't happen like I'd ever dreamed it would. </div><div>(Remember this is a blog ... so you need to look ABOVE this post for the next one.)</div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907420528619992056noreply@blogger.com0