Looking down on the uppermost Blue Lake; Blue Lake #2 is also barely visible.
View of Gilpin Peak, looking southeast from the top of Blue Lakes Pass. We could see, with envy, ski tracks down the face of the small peak to the right. We also saw a glider, allegedly a local out of Telluride, soaring about overhead.
Sunshine Mountain (left) and Wilson Peak (right). A small jet recently crashed into the very top of Wilson; 14,000 feet is not necessarily a safe altitude around here!
“While I was up the mountain, pursuing my personal dream, other people were trying to pursue theirs...some 80 tibetan people were trying to cross Nangpa La into Nepal and from there to Dharamsala, India, on a pilgrimage to see the Dalai Lama,” reported Alex. “They were men, women and children, barely wearing decent winter clothes. After an actual human hunt, 8 of them won’t live to see their dream fulfilled. They have been killed in cold blood by the Chinese militia after a snitch between them. This happened in front of many expedition teams. The dead were simply buried in the glacier and left there without any memorial symbol.The Romanians went through such things in living memory. Here's a Romanian broadcast video of the shootings.”Big expedition outfitters like HiMex, Jagged Globe, Adventure Consultants or Alpine Ascents will never speak about that. Otherwise they will be banned from the Tibetan side of the Himalayas. And this will mean no more bucks for them anymore. And they don't want that, of course. It has indeed nothing to do with the spirit of mountaineering (which has been lost in those commercial outfits) but with the basic human values.”
(Hat tip for all this information: Summitpost.)
"Wolf howls prompt wilderness evacuation, Frightened Forest Service employees extracted"
Hat tip: Roseann.
Vasey's Paradise, one of many springs that flow from the Grand Canyon's walls. The Redwall Limestone is highly water permeable and riddled with caves. It's lower neighbour, the Muav Limeston is much less permeable, so a large number of springs in the Canyon issue forth at the Redwall-Muav contact. The spring at Vasey's has noticeably diminished in volume over the years, even within my own memory. It is one of the few homes of the endangered Kanab Land Snail (the Park Service occasionally issues risible missives exhorting the public to "minimize human-snail conflict"), and up close is well-endowed with red monkeyflowers and poison ivy.
...automatic language identification systems, which attempt to determine what language a sample of unknown text is written in, needlessly endanger the sanity and survival of the human race. In particular, such systems fail to take into account that some knowledge has been wisely hidden away from human eyes for millennia, and that such dangerous knowledge is generally preserved in one of a handful of ancient, disturbingly alien languages...Do not read the whole thing! My mind reels at the vistas of cyclopean horror already spread before it, a nameless terror out of the depths of time which I would by no means visit on our comfortable, hapless readers. Note, however, the first comment, which informs us that "Ia! Ia! Cthulhu Fthagn! Ph'nglui mglw'nfah Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!" is identified by the software as Irish. Sláinte!
Upupa, if you're not already aware, refers to the possessor of the best scientific name ever: Upupa epops.
On the Nature of the Gorgonia; That It is a Real Marine Animal, and Not of a Mixed Nature, between Animal and VegetableAnd much, much more! The above are merely a selection from the 1776 volume. I've never heard of anything nearly so interesting happening in 1776. If more enticement is necessary:An Account of Falkland Islands
An Account of the Romansh Language
An Account of Some Attempts to Imitate the Effects of the Torpedo by Electricity
Extraordinary Electricity of the Atmosphere Observed at Islington on the Month of October, 1775
Proposals for the Recovery of People Apparently Drowned
Of the Tides in the South Seas. By Captain James Cook, F.R.S.
An Account of Some Poisonous Fish in The South Seas
An Account of a Suppression of Urine Cured by a Puncture Made in the Bladder through the Anus
An Account of a very odd Monstrous Calf. by Robert BoyleBy the same Noble person was lately communicated to the Royal Society an Account of a very Odd Monstrous Birth, produced at Limmington in Hampshire, where a Butcher, having caused a Cow (which cast her Calf the year before) to be covered, that she might the sooner be fatted, killed her when fat, and opening the Womb, which he found heavy to admiration, saw in it a Calf, which had begun to have hair, whose hinder Leggs had no Joynts, and whos Tongue was, Cerberus-like, triple, to each side of his Mouth one, and one in the midst: Between the Fore-leggs and the Hinder-leggs was a great Stone, on which the Calf rid: The Sternum, or that part of the Breast, where the Ribs lye, was also perfect stone; and the Stone, on which it rid, weighed twenty pounds and a half; the outside of the Stone was of Grenish colour, but some small parts being broken off, it appeared a perfect Free-stone. The Stone, according to the Letter of Mr. David Thomas, who sent this Account to Mr. Boyle, is with Dr. Haughteyn of Salisbury, to whom he also referreth for further Information.
As for the AKC, their longterm business plan is not much of a secret. The AKC has teamed up with the Humane Society of the United States and PETA to push for legislation mandating the microchipping of all pets. This is a great idea as far as the AKC is concerned, as they happen to own one of the most popular microchip products around. PAWS legislation would, in effect, be a multi-million dollar subsidy for the AKC...The AKC is a prime example of people claiming to have animals' best interests at heart, while their actions inflict drastic harm on untold numbers of animals. Read the whole thing!At the same time that all this is going on, the Humane Society, PETA and other lunatic fringe "animal rights" groups have been successfully pushing legislation that would require all non-show dogs to be neutered or spayed. These laws are ostensibly designed to reduce the number of "unwanted" puppies in America, and mandatory spay-netuer laws have already been embraced in Los Angeles and San Francisco, and are under consideration in places as diverse as Sacramento, New Jersey, and Virginia.
Is it just a coinicidence that these mandatory spay-neuter laws will have a very positive benefit for the AKC? After all, if enough of these laws are passed, the end result will be that almost every dog in America will come from a show breeder (most of whom will be affiliated with the AKC) or a commerical breeder (with whom the AKC will have a licensing contract). How perfect is that?
Update: Patrick has a third post up on the subject. Also, I neglected earlier to mention the video he links to of the living conditions for puppies at Petland (not a political video, it was taken taken by some audibly vacuous pop-tarts). The AKC approves of this! Leaving aside the issues of bad genetics, these are not healthy, happy dogs.
Thanks to Tenser, said the Tensor.
The entrance to North Canyon Rapid. The viewer will observe the emerald clarity of the water, not colorado at all; the water is also quite cold, in the mid-40s. This is the effect of Glen Canyon Dam. Historically, the Colorado ran warm and thick red, coloured by the vast erosional forces of its upstream basin. Glen Canyon Dam was built largely as a silt trap for Lake Mead, and itsreservoir (Lake Powell) is filling with silt far, far faster than was hoped. The clear, green water is beautiful, even I can't deny it. Fortunately, we are frequently allowed to see what the river looked like pre-dam, thanks to the common flash flooding of the numerous side canyons. Pictures to come!
I have read numerous worthy tributes of late to Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Hunter, who was killed suddenly last week by a blow from a stingray. The amount of broadcast television I have viewed in the past several years is very, very close to zero, and I have never dwelt anywhere that was so technologically advanced as to receive the Animal Planet channel. Nonetheless, I did catch a number of Crocodile Hunter episodes over the years, at motels and friends' homes, and I don't hesitate to declare that I liked Mr. Irwin and his approach. His love of animals was straightforward, exuberant, not at all shy, but full of a vigour which too few men dare to reveal in public in our times. His Aussie farm-boy aspect allowed him to get away with much that the world would frown upon in an American. (Contemplate his U.S. foil, the insipid Jeff Corwin, who, though he is undoubtedly a good snake handler, clearly feels some deep discomfort with his calling, causing him to veil his endeavours in constant sarcasm, apologetics and irony.)
Sadly, hard on the heels of Mr. Irwin's death, plenty of folk began to frown. I particularly note the respectful censures of Austin Bay, a blogger whom I enjoy and respect:
In the komodo dragon show I thought Irwin crossed the line from skilled showmanship to inexcuseable thrill-seeking – wagered mortality is tantalizing, but adds a queasy, dark twist to a family program. I told my wife “I wonder if this guy (Irwin) has a death wish?”...Plenty of other folks seem also to be tut-tutting at the late Mr. Irwin for being an irresponsible daredevil. But they are thereby betraying an unfortunate ignorance of what, I maintain, drives such individuals to pursue strange and risky callings.A violent, unnecessary death.
Irwin was idiosyncratic, personable, enthusiastic, informed, and physically courageous. That’s a lot to admire. But what drove him to get too close one too many times?
I have all my life participated in two sports widely considered risky, eccentric and often irresponsible: white water boating and climbing mountains. The media loves to portray these sports as high-G, non-stop screaming thrill rides, and their enthusiasts as underclass adrenaline addicts with nothing to lose. (Almost always, such portrayals look toward the ultimate goal of selling products with little if any bearing on the activities depicted.) Unfortunately, most of the public doesn't question these images. The truth, I maintain, is very often quite different. I am not seeking adrenaline in my climbing and boating, and I only seldom find it. And perhaps surprisingly, this is true even when I am performing at my best (though I make no claims to be anywhere near the top end if these sports). On the contrary, at my best moments I find a calm, a clarity, an easy focus (concentration implies too much effort). I lose the self-examination which is otherwise a mental constant; I focus on my task without focusing on my focus. This is what I seek, and I would never think to apply the word thrill to it. The adrenaline comes only when I slip and start watching myself again. I believe musicians, especially singers, will recognize what I am describing.
Furthermore, the common notion that these activities cannot be intellectual is grossly unfair. Intellect, I grant, is not an absolutely necessary prerequisite, but it does greatly enrich the affair. Mountaineers and boaters commonly make study of geography, geology, biology, meteorology, history, anthropology and even literature. Such knowledge is often practically useful, and may in some circumstances be mixed up with life and death. But it also, especially when combined with experience and increasing local familiarity, reveals a web of interconnection and meaning spread across a landscape whose beauty is eternally frustrating to express to others.
Again, a musical parallel may be helpful. A top-notch violinist playing a top-notch piece is confronted first with the physical, technical challenge of manipulating her fingers and bow through the necessary motions. Secondly, there is the challenge of willpower, of concentrating the mind as necessary without falling into harmful self-observation, which leads either to fear and indecision or pride and grandstanding. Finally, there is the intellectual challenge, much of which occurred outside the actual performance: study of the composer, his style and influences; of the piece, its history and structure; of the instrument, its mannerisms and possibilities. Again, the concert can generally go on with little or none of this intellectual study; but the intellect can greatly enhance the performance's quality and the performer's calling. I submit that the true thrills (as opposed to cheaper, ancillary thrills that may be part of the lifestyle) of mountaineering, boating, hunting and surely many other pastimes that thus blend physical and mental skill, have a closer kinship to the sublimity of classical music than to the gross visceral lurch of simply falling from a height. Mountaineers could save piles of money if roller-coaster rides were an acceptable substitute. When people assert that "adrenaline sports" are not worth the risk, they wrongly assume that an adrenaline rush is their ultimate payoff. The rewards are much higher, and many intelligent, thoughtful people, people with plenty to lose, decide that they are well worth the risk.
Steve Irwin did not wrestle crocs and pester pythons simply to get a twitch of adrenaline every time some reptile snapped its teeth at his privates. Darren Naish aptly describes how his style ran deeper than the TV producers chose to show:
There is... no doubt whatsoever that his knowledge and experience of wildlife was considerable, and he knew the herpetofauna of Australia and other countries down to the subspecies level. He published at least some technical articles and could easily turn his hand to the dissemination of academic information: he wasn't only a populariser. Sure, he was a character, but then that's pretty much the only way of making a name for yourself on TV today it seems.The man loved reptiles and animals generally, loved getting to know them on a level that can only come with actual interaction, not with chaste contemplation from the distance. It's not easy to make a living pursuing an eccentric calling, and an affable wildlife biologist with a telegenic personality can hardly be blamed for accepting his own television show. Again, the TV producers always turn these kind of things into a sideshow, putting high-altitude mountaineering and herp collecting alongside the Jackass movie. Studying scale patterns on snake snouts or gasping for breath while humping gear above basecamp don't seem to sell advertising spots, to the detriment of all of us.
By a simple Google search of course. Sigh. Anyway, I and many like me have inevitably wondered whether and how Greek is written in cursive. It seems an obvious thing to do, but the textbooks coyly refrain from mentioning the issue. My first Russian textbook presented the cursive script in chapter one, so I've long been aware that even such Easternmost of Westerners are capable of and amenable to cursive writing. At last, a chatroom thread provides some answers:
As so many Greek students must have reflected, the whole affair just does not seem suited to cursive: much more awkward than the Russian, and many Russian authors have let us know at great length just how hard it is to outdo a Russian in awkwardness (Peculiar is currently reading Dostoevsky's The Gambler). Look at pi, lambda and kappa: ugh! how on earth does one tell pi from omega in practice? By being a Greek, I suppose. Co-religionists or no, I'd just as soon be a bloodthirsty Turk. I'm rather pleased with psi, though.
Hat tip: Jabal al-Lughat.
Three Icelandic Outlaw Sagas: The Saga of Gisli/the Saga of Grettir/the Saga of Hord Why, why have I not yet read this?Anyone with ten interesting, unread books on his shelf may consider himself tagged.Rebecca West, The Birds Fall Down It sits right beside the marvellous Black Lamb and Grey Falcon, in which I have made a respectable dent but have yet to finish.
Libby: The Sketches, Letters & Journal of Libby Beaman, Recorded in the Pribilof Islands 1879-1880What is it about women named Libby?
Mormon America: The Power and the Promise Dirty blond, attractive, but with too prominent a forehead, too prominent a chin: the selfsame teeneage girl, genetically speaking, works the counter of every filling station in southern Utah. Proclus and Odious did not believe, until they witnessed. Surreal, somehow endlessly fascinating. My perverse curiosity may one day drive me to see The Book of Mormon Movie.
St. Gregory of Tours, The History of the Franks It was recommended to me on the basis of its having really, remarkably horrible queens. I look forward.
Memoirs of Hector Berlioz : From 1803 to 1865, Comprising His Travels in Germany, Italy, Russia, and England The man was a splendid writer. His Evenings With the Orchestra is one of the most witty, wonderful, bizarre things I've ever read: it contains, among much else, a 19th Century science fiction story about a utopian city founded on musical principles, complete with zeppelin transport; and a lurid romantic tale about an English sailor falling for a Maori cannibal princess. He wrote memoirs because Benvenuto Cellini did.
Jack Turner, Teewinot: Climbing and Contemplating the Teton Range Near and dear to my heart, the author and the subject.
G.K. Chesterton, The Flying Inn I have no idea what to expect.
Jennifer Brennan, Curries & Bugles: A Memoir & Cookbook of the British Raj Not just born in the wrong century, but hungry to boot. Grrrr.
Isaac Dinesen, Anecdotes of Destiny Do you know that other Stöckchen in which you are asked with what person, living or dead, you would chose to take lunch? My answer is easy: Karen Blixen.
(This Stöckchen probably does not apply to Odious, Kate or Steve, all of whom seem successfully to have supplicated occult powers to grant them the ability to consume a book with infernal swiftness.)
Ah well, the weather here is splendid, feels more like the Oregon coast than high desert. New Mexicans never take green for granted, and having all our usual dust bowls and withered sedges doused with so lurid a colour is pleasant and surreal. Other consolations for coming home have included the opera, viz. Salome, which provided everything I came to see, great singing from the principles, wonderful orchestral playing and a straightforward, undistracting production. We'll be at Massanet's Cendrillon on Thursday, last of the season for us. I'm a little sorry not to see Ades' The Tempest, but not much.
We also went to a very good film last night, in all likelihood even better than our second choice, which was of course Snakes On A Plane. Crossing the Bridge is a documentary about Istanbul's numerous music scenes: psychedelic rock, arena-Mevlevis, Turkish rap by Ceza. I actually rather liked the latter. Turkish seems to vocalize about twice the number of syllables as English, so the tone-twisting of Turkish rap is quite impressive. Ceza speaks pointedly against the gangsta associations of U.S. rap; for him and for the rest of the often very punkish musicians in the film, the music does not seem to be drug-fueled like its American counterparts. "God punished hip-hop with me!" Hear for yourself (parent page). Ceza's charming, arrestingly sweet-looking sister contributes a rap of her own.
Much else: Siyasiyabend, a very folksy, Dylan-ish singer songwriter, street musician, who is a mean hand with a santoor; a Turkish B-movie star turned saz player and songwriter. Kurdish diva Aynur sings (sample, parent) with some modern influences but excellent technique; I love the way Middle Eastern singers can draw out a perfect high note with no vibrato at all (very difficult) until at last they let the vibrato emerge with perfect control, bringing the note to a climax. Brenna MacCrimmon is another one to look for: a Canadian, while travelling in Romania and Bulgaria she unearthed many ancient vinyl singles of Turkish musicians, and dedicated herself to resurrecting the songs. She reminds me of another bloody good cd, Istanbul 1925, old recordings of Turkish nightclub music. The film also shows a mindblowing Romany session, with clarinet, violin and ud competing at breakneck speed.
One of the most charming and touching performances is given by Müzeyyen Senar, a splendid old battle-axe fronting an old-fashioned Near Eastern big band (think 'Umm Kalthoum, if that means anything to you). With a milky glass of raki** in hand she sings (quoting from memory), "They say the tables are stained with lovers' sin and wine. I've been drinking since I was four minutes old: that is my sin." She swings the glass upside down in careless arcs, smiles, downs it in one gulp.
The Turks are not Arabs!
*Local emergency response: I hate to tell you, but if you're ever in an accident, it is not all right to assume local responders are competent. The closest look I've ever had at a major accident was in western Montana. A woman was lying crumpled more or less in the rear trunk of her small car; a wide splash of blood had flown from her head. A very competent friend of mine stabilized her spine. Just then, the authorities showed up and proceeded to take an agonizing amount of time about things; calling for pieces of equipment, then having found them changing their minds and sending them back; bickering between different agencies. When at long last they were ready to lift her out of the ruined car onto a stretcher, only my friend noticed that the EMTs has inadvertently attached her neck to the car with the cervical collar. It was not until the had lifted her body several inches and wondered why her neck and head weren't following that they heeded my friend's objections. The moral: if you're still conscious, keep an eye out for your own ass!
**Raki: I house-sat a couple times for our friend Phillipe, a Lebanese gentleman who had somehow found his way to Magdalena, New Mexico. He used to go home for Christmas in Beirut; he would, he said, when the family interaction got too stressful, get out of town and go to Baghdad to relax. Once, I was still at the house sweeping the floor when he returned. Opening a bag, he asked in his deep Levantine voice, "Would you like to try some raki? I must apologize, it is my uncle's home-brew, not very strong, perhaps 170-proof." It was. A lot of Arabs aren't like the Arabs either, if you follow me.
I once bought a HUGE Pixy Stick at an amusement park. It was about as wide as a soda can and maybe two feet tall. I'd only gotten through half of it and I was completely out of my mind. At one point I was on a roller coaster, and in my Pixy Stick-tripped out mind, the ride was rolling way too slowly, and if I hadn't been strapped in I would have gotten out and pushed.So if you haven't heard from me, I still like you, but my life needs a lot of pushing right now.
Oh yes, almost forgot, Magic Flute review. To put it succinctly, it was bloody good, not afraid to have fun. Natalie Dessay was excellent as Pamina, particularly in the Act II Finale. The real star, however, was the snake at the very beginning, jolly fine snake, Tamino proclaiming helplessness from well inside its jaws. Es lebe die Schlange!
