Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Egyptian Museum- Cairo

Located in central Cairo's Tahrir Square, the Egyptian Museum is a treasure trove of antiquities and a must see when visiting this sprawling, historic and culturally dynamic city. So when the opportunity presented itself to visit this museum, our team jumped at the chance despite the challenges. And by challenges, I mean that from the Cairo Hilton, we had to navigate a phalanx of guards, maze of concrete barricades, pesky street hawkers, and gypsy taxi drivers. This, followed immediately by a hair raising game of real-life Cairo Frogger. Drivers here are keenly interested in demonstrating how close they can come to side swiping jaywalkers at high rates of speed while not actually connecting. The whole trip from hotel to museum takes a hectic ten minutes. Between Jon, Chris and I this involves five near-death experiences, fifty extremely loud curses and twenty grey hairs. Finally, we arrive in a sweaty, frazzled cluster at the main gate of the Egyptian Museum. There, we buy a foreign ticket for ten times as much as the local equivalent and swat off another locust wave of inistent street vendors before safely making the confines of the museum grounds.

After passing the main gate, we find ourselves immediately sucked in to taking pictures of this crazy sphinx-like statue and other unique objects dotting the property. Snapping away, I was so mesmerized with these sculptures that I didn't even notice Jon and Chris talking with a dour, mopey-faced and poor postured middle-aged tour guide named Mohammed. By the time I do see what is happening and run over, it's all but too late.

"If you do not like my tour my friends, I do not deserve payment."

I hesitate, unconvinced. Jon and Chris do not. "Let's do it! It'll be fun!"

"Yeah. Great." As the only one of the three with Egyptian cash, my gut feeling, the knowing smirks on Jon's and Chris' faces and their snickers all point to me inheriting the responsibility of paying for Mohammed once we are through.

At the very least though, I figured that this cartoon character of a tour guide with close resemblance to Sad-Sack could at least walk us through the museum and explain in detail what objects we were looking at when we asked. But now, months later while reflecting on this experience, I wonder if it was actually Mohammed who got more than he bargained for. How many times would he regret approaching us in the courtyard? Did he end up as stressed in dealing with us as we did in crossing that insane street? In retrospect, he likely earned every Egyptian Dinar that we paid him.

Walking in to the Museum is quite literally like a scene out of an Indiana Jones movie. The doors open. A breath of partially stale, cool air blows past us. An endless waves of three thousand year old statues in countless shapes, colors, forms and sizes designed to replicate Egyptian gods like Horus and Isis stretch as far as the eye can see. Our awestruck, speechless excitement only extends for a few minutes before a slew of questions come to mind. And that, is when we finally accept that Mohammed isn't a top shelf guide. Or even a basic guide. A guide, but that's about it. Above average English skills don't translate to above average museum history knowledge and while this building is quite literally chock-full of statues, scrolls, carvings and canopic jars from the time of the Pharoahs, we only stop at a fraction of these. Whizzing by dozens of others with no explanation, the ones we do stop at only generate extremely high level details.

At one point, we arrive at a giant marble sarcophagus that sits adjacent to an embalming table. "This my friends is the great sarcophagus of Tutmoses the 3rd who ruled from 2000 to 1970 BC and was found in a..."

I get distracted by something else next to where we are standing: "Hey Mohammed, is this an embalming table that was used to prepare mummies?"


"Is this notch on the side to allow fluids to drain and a body to firm up while resting on natron?"

"Yes..." Pregnant pause followed by a funny look. Anything more? Any more details on this table that we could get? What secrets could Mohammed unlock for us and give us his knowledge into the minds-eye of Ancient Egypt life, culture and secret rituals?

"This my friends is the great sarcophagus of Tutmoses the 3rd who ruled from 2000 to 1970 BC and was found in a..."

Mohammed drones on and repeats exactly word-for-word what was clearly a memorized blurb for each highlighted item that he had remembered. After a few stops, we end up at this little side area that has a bunch of pets that were mummified.

"Hey Mohammed! Is that a falcon mummy??" Next to a neatly bundled, 10 inch long blob that is clearly a bird wrapped in gauze sits an index card with "mummified falcon" written on it.


We are in the middle of receiving a rambling, memorized and fairly boring explanation of these little mummies when Chris looks over on the far wall and excitedly yells out "NO WAY!!" Jon and I spin around and burst out laughing. As we all know, Heiroglyphs are the ancient Eqyptian written language. A series of characatures and defined symbols that died out with the age of Cleopatra and weren't understood again until 1799 when the Roseatta Stone was discovered, each symbol stands for something. Largely, the symbol is cartoonish and speaks for itself based on what the image represents via an action drawing. But we wonder aloud with tears in our eyes if this particular Heiroglyph was drawn as an Ancient Egyptian sense of humor. What's that guy in the middle doing?

After taking a few covert pictures next to the hundredth "No Photographs" sign we pass, Mohammed stops. He looks at us for a long second. Then he says: "My friends, I just want you to know that while photos are strictly not allowed in the museum, I do not personally mind. The only thing I want you to understand is that if anyone stops you.. I did not have anything to do with it, or know you were taking photos." Score! We begin to happily snap away with abandon.

We soon end up at the "Royal Mummies Room"- aptly named for the great Pharoahs of old that have been yanked from their rocky tombs and are now on naked display here in casings closely controlled for special temperature and humidity settings. Some of the names are impressive- Ramses III, Queen Hatshepsut, Amenhotep IV. As we slowly meander around the room taking occasional pictures, Chris' cell rings. "Hello?" It's his wife, and he proceeds to tell her all about our day while leaning directly over, and three feet away from the face of a motionless and 2,500 year old Ramses. The two proceed to talk on and on as if he is staring at a computer screen, not the mummified face of one of the leading rulers of Ancient Egypt.

Then it hit me. Imagine going back in time to 1160 BC or so. Ramses the III is alive and well. The second Pharaoh of the Twentieth Dynasty, he has reigned for 25 years and during that time has expelled several foreign invaders, survived assassination attempts, led his people through famine, floods and economic hardships. In the eyes of his adoring people, he is considered a Living God. As a time traveller dressed in strange clothes, you tell Ramses this: In 3170 years, your shriveled body will be on display. Not in the tomb that you believe is your final resting place in Valley of the Kings, but in a strange building that will reside in a city that does not yet exist, near then present Memphis. Not the one in Tennessee. This new city, to be named Cairo, will go on to become the grand capital of the nation that his Empire laid the groundwork for.

One day, a group will arrive at this buiding, having come from beyond the oceans and where the sun hides at night. Even if Ramses wants to go where they are from, he would not be able to. It would take many, many years and require machines that are beyond his knowledge and comprehension, traveling through the air at tremendous speeds. They will have magic tools, too. Created out of new, strange substances these small, hand-held tools will glow from within. They will make strange noises, and the traveller who holds it will press a button. Immediately, he will be able to talk with his wife who lives across the world and in a strange, unrecognizable language. A transparent shield will keep these travellers from touching you in the box you are stored in, but they will still be able to see every part of you. While the travellers are staring down at your body, the one with the magic tool will ask his wife about how his son is doing and the plan to board another machine the next day to travel by air only 45 minutes down to Luxor, which typically takes a week via the Nile.

I tell you, it would be mind-blowing. I tell Chris about this and we both laugh. Mohammed grumbles something inaudible and mopes. Time to move on.

We continue deeper into the bowels of the Egyptian Museum. Passing wing upon wing of ancient pots, jars, figurines and carvings, it's easy to go into sensory overload. Books, scrolls and other parchment are stacked like dusty cord-wood next to shelves quite literally overflowing with three thousand year old stone dieties. All of this is so abundant that after the fifth wing, it all literally blends in to the background. There appears to be little organization here, although that's undoubtedly just to the naked eye. More likely, it's due to the fact that in a concentrated area of over five thousand years of unique and accessible history, there is just so much to be shown that it has to go somewhere. Five thousand! Five thousand. It's mind blowing. And as if that's not enough, we haven't even yet gotten to the masterpiece of the museum. Quite possibly one of the most archaeologically significant finds of history. One that's announcement spread across the world with electric speed, catapaulted the finder to worldwide fame and was so unique in it's treasure and historic value, that it transformed the way anthropologists understood the Ancient Egyptians forever.

The Tutankhamun Wing is absolutely underwhelming at first blush. Tut treasures that were unearthed back in the 1920s look to be in the original display cases that Howard Carter plopped them in. Single pane glass connected with rickety wood frames stressed by decades of temperature and humidity extremes, they seem to barely hold their priceless content intact. The contrasts are stunning, actually. In many circles, the Tutankhamun treasure is hailed as the top discovery of all time- the only thing to top it would be discovering, say, the Holy Grail. Yet right here before our eyes and in plain view are ornate and intricate contents befitting a pharoah- throne chairs, urns, chariots, pikes. All haphazardly displayed in a side wing desperately in need of renovation and protected only by nominal security.

In the grand scheme of things, Tut was a minor pharoah that died early in life and in his reign. His tomb in Valley of the Kings is overshadowed by much larger and more ornate ones and seems more like a broom closet than anything- three smallish rooms hastily carved out of bedrock that quickly erased off the contemporary map and the sands of time. Despite that, it's stunning how much was packed to the gills in these three minor chambers, and it all becomes evident in this museum where much of the 5,000 items are now on display. Much like what Howard Carter and his team unearthed in 1922, the further you travel down the Tut wing here, the more elaborate and amazing the items become. Painted wood items turn to metal. Metal turns to gold. Canopic jars turn to sarcophagus boxes, erected in a way very similar to matrushka dolls where Tut's remains were sealed in no fewer than ten gold, stone and wood protective boxes.

Finally, we arrive at the treasure room- the inner sanctum of eye-popping, solid gold artifacts from Tut's reign. This room is dramatically different from we had passed through to get here. Restricted access. Cameras everywhere to protect the stunning contents. Bulletproof glass and a state of the art security system. On the wall before entering is another big, fat, bold sign in three languages reminding visitors that really, under no circumstances, are any photos allowed.

Solid cases that ring the room house carefully displayed gold amulets, knives and figurines which glitter and sparkle. At one side, two seven foot long, solid gold sarcophagus with inlaid stone and intricately shaped designs dedicated to the pharoah himself are made visible from all sides.

There, in the center of the room, is perched one of the most famous and recognizable works of art known to man- the glistening solid gold head mask of Tutankhamun. Lovingly shaped and formed from one piece of 24 karat gold, the burial mask which protected the head and shoulders of Tut as he traveled through the underworld for over 2,400 years is also accessible from all sides. The last time I saw this mask with my own eyes was in 1979 when the Tut treasure traveled through several select cities on a sold out tour in the United States. Our family went in to New York City to excitedly stand on a long bread line so we could catch a fleeting glance of the iconic head mask. In 17 weeks, 1.8 million people crushed together in the Metropolitan Museum of Art to take a look. It was a vastly different experience from what we found in Cairo. Here, no more than five others are even in the entire wing. What a stark contrast.

I start taking stealth pictures from the hip. Given the abundance of security cameras here and others in the room, it seemed better to show at least some discretion. Mohammed knows we are going to go for it, and probably for that reason decided to stay outside the treasure room. If we got into trouble, at least he can claim plausible deniability. Some turn out, most don't. But I definitely want to get some pics of this room and it's content so I continue to snap away. Out of the corner of his eye, Chris sees me and walks over.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Taking pictures"

"From the hip? Here give me that" and takes my point & shoot. Chris then walks right up to Tut's head mask and from a foot away, holds the camera out at arms length and takes a picture. I'm expecting some sort of security team to immediately descend on us, an alarm to go off, an intercom to scream to life. At the very least catch some sort of serious ass chewing from another museum-goer. Nothing.. just silence.

"No way, that's freaking awesome" I say. With that, all three of us spread out and embark on picture taking across the treasure room with glee. The main focus of effort, of course is the head mask.

We take pictures of each other and together as we branch out across the room. A good five minutes later Chris pulls me aside and says "hey, get a picture of me behind the head mask."

"Sure." It comes out great.

"Dang that picture looks really cool. Ok, my turn- get the same one of me" I say. While I'm handing the camera over to Chris, we hear an extremely loud, authoritative and really, really angry voice:


Zoinks!! We look over to the doorway and see a team of guards walking extremely fast. Like.. MOVING. One is holding a walkie talkie and pointing at me with an extended arm and a really, really pissed look on his face. Eeep! I press down on the shutter button about ten times to take pictures of my leg, the floor and some side cases. Jon, who is on the other side of the room looks on wide-eyed and steers clear of Chris and I. Mohammed disappears initially, then peeks his head in like a "Kilroy Wuz Here" cartoon drawing after the four stream by.

The guards surround us. "NO PHOTOS!" the lead guard almost yells with spit coming out, jugular bulging, eyes piercing angrily.
"Oh, really? We didn't know. So sorry."

"Delete them now." The guard points at my camera quickly and firmly instructs.

"Ok, no problem. But this camera isn't very good, I'll show you." With that, I show him the first blurry and grainy hip-shot picture that pops onto the screen. The guard becomes much more relaxed. I delete it, and the next blurry shot of the museum floor pops onto the screen.

"Ok my friend. Do not take any pictures in this museum. It is not allowed." He softens his approach. The guards spin around on their heels and begin to walk away. We apologize again. Jon begins to laugh. We still have the pictures, and somehow are still allowed to stay in the treasure room, surrounded by all the priceless objects we have just been liberally photographing.
Mohammed is waiting for us outside the treasure room. He shakes his head and mutters something as we move on. I jam the camera deep into my pocket and don't take it out again. I want to make sure we get out with both my camera and these amazing pictures. We talk about all of the unique things we have seen in this museum and how close a call we just had.

"Hey Mohammed, do you think the inside of an Egyptian jail looks like the inside of King Tut's tomb?


Saturday, August 21, 2010

38th Parallel: Korea Demilitarized Zone

Since the 1953 armistice, the Capital of South Korea has found itself within range of quite literally 10,000 North Korean artillery tubes. To be that close, it can't take much time to travel there and in truth it doesn't. Boarding a bus from downtown Seoul, you can drive to the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) in about one hour, traffic dependent. So on a sunny and clear summer day, our team of five Marines boarded a bus along with soldiers, airmen and sailors for a day-long excursion to experience a series of paradoxes at one of the last standing relics of the Cold War and what endures today as the most heavily defended border in the world.

The DMZ itself reflects all the characteristics of any typical No-Man's Land: A strip of land devoid of character, loaded chock-full of mines, machine gun nests, security cameras, fields of fire and barbed wire that separates two ideologically polarized armies. 4 Km wide from the Southern to Northern Boundaries, the DMZ is heavily patrolled by soldiers whose countries continue to demonstrate one-upsmanship on a spectacular scale. Adding to that, hair-trigger tension between the two nations is at an all-time high thanks to the North's recent unprovoked torpedoing of the Cheonan and other ensuing events generating a mild feeling of anxiety as you approach. US and Republic of Korea (ROK) soldiers constantly prowl the border, tasked with ensuring no repeat of a 1950 North Korean invasion catches anyone by surprise. Actually in some way, shape or form that's what our team is doing on this hot, humid Peninsula as well.

As we draw in on the DMZ the first stop is Camp Bonifas, named after a US Army Captain and UN Command team member axed to death by crazy North Korean guards as they supervised the cutting down of a Yellow Poplar in August 1976. At it's peak, the United States Army occupied this US installation with over 11,000 personnel that daily patrolled the DMZ. While the overall number of border guards remains the same, the US contingent has dwindled down and that responsibility now falls almost entirely with ROK forces.

The first thing I notice is the state of disrepair of what was once a Tip of the Spear facility. During their tour of duty, soldiers lived here under immediate daily threat of an occasional rifle shot aimed in their general direction and greater looming danger of a major, coordinated North Korean attack. In it's heyday, Camp Bonifas was visited by Ronald Reagan and other Cold War dignitaries in a show of force. Now, upkeep of the base has made Bonifas look more like it was hit hard under one of the mid-90s Base Realignment & Closure (BRAC) waves. Weeds peek through cracks in the pavement, fences criss-cross whole areas, and 1960-era shelters are in desperate need of a paint job (or tear-down).

Everyone signs a waiver stating that "The visit to the Joint Security Area at Panmunjom will entail entry into a hostile area and possibility of injury or death as a direct result of enemy action," so it is hard to imagine why this site looks like a run down time capsule. We don't spend much time on Bonifas, but did get a chance to receive a quick orientation on the history of the base and border which proves educational and also helps provide some situational awareness when we are actually on the DMZ and peering in to the Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK), just over the hill.

Transiting north from Camp Bonifas we immediately pass the 2km Southern Boundary of the DMZ, immediately apparent thanks to an over sized vehicle barricade that a ROK soldier opens with a smart salute. Within meters, we drive through a series of large and small physical barriers that are well camouflaged, semi-camouflaged and not camouflaged at all. Given the limited number of highways that connect North and South Korea, US/ROK forces have designed many of these to block the arteries with preset explosives should the need arise.

We learn that this isn't meant as anything more than a delay tactic and these barriers exist all the way down to Seoul. If each feature delays a DPRK attack by 15 minutes, then Seoul has bought another few hours before enemy forces roll downtown, aiding in defensive preparations and allowing citizens a few more precious minutes to evacuate. Two sets of 20-foot high fences riddled with triple-strand concertina separate a gravelly minefield. I'm still not sure if that ROK salute was more of a send-off than military courtesy, but either way it was a nice formality given what we then crossed through en route to the actual border.

Side roads zig-zag through the Southern Boundary and before long, we arrive at Checkpoint Charlie- the final US checkpoint before entering the United Nations Panmunjom Peace Talk facility. From here, there is nothing separating us from North Korea but two buildings, a parking lot and a whole lot of attitude. We hear a story about a Soviet citizen that made a mad dash across the border in 1984 defection attempt, making it as far as the parking lot immediately north of Checkpoint Charlie. North Korean border guards crossed in pursuit, and a 40 minute fire fight erupted inside of South Korea. The citizen was ultimately protected and the attack was repelled thanks to the Quick Reaction Force called out of Bonifas but in the end, one South Korean and three North Koreans were killed with a handful of soldiers wounded on both sides.

Once given the all-clear, we are escorted in a formalized column up through the Peace Building and out on to a concrete platform that overlooks the border and a series of buildings painted in distinct United Nations blue. Nondescript concrete blocks straddling ranch style facilities identify the true border while the main administration buildings of the North and South stand off with imposing, several story facilities that are largely open inside and unoccupied. The Peace Building on the ROK side was built specifically to hold ongoing talks between the two sides but given the lack of meetings in today's climate, it is solely used by groundskeepers to get out of the sun at lunchtime. Since the Cheonan sinking, there has been only one set of talks between nations. Fittingly enough, the only agreement coming out of that meeting was.. that the countries should have more talks.

A stare-down of sorts evolves over the course of the day. Two ROK guards outfitted with black aviator sunglasses and pit helmets face the DPRK and stand at a position of modified attention while half protected by the buildings themselves. All these soldiers must have a black belt in Tae Kwon Do or Judo and must be a minimum of 177cm tall in order to intimidate the North's guards. They do a good number on me, so I'm sure the DPRK don't take them lightly. On the north, two stone-faced soldiers stare on through binoculars while another snaps pictures of our group thereby placing us on Kim Jong Il's Enemy of the State list. We are told that these individuals are among the most well-fed of all North Koreans in order to allow them to maintain their own version of intimidation and "face".

The UN Command Armistice Conference Building is a single room facility housed with nothing other than desks and chairs. We learn that flags used to be in the room until one day after a negotiation, the UN team looked in the windows and saw DPRK soldiers rubbing their asses/ crotches with the US and ROK flags. Seriously. Both sides also kept bringing in larger and larger flags (my flag is bigger than yours) until a separate session was needed solely to discuss flag sizes in the conference room. All of this ultimately led to an agreement to just leave flags out altogether. There are two other things in the room, though- ROK soldiers who are essentially there for our protection and to guard a door that leads in to North Korea proper.

This door is a bit of a concern. A few years ago, a DPRK soldier had hidden on the other side of the door and when the ROK soldier unlocked it, the DPRK soldier reached through, grabbed his hand and attempted unsuccessfully to pull him kicking and screaming in to North Korea. As a result, a second lock was installed and the second soldier stationed in the room. When this particular door is now closed the second soldier braces himself against the wall (hence the clearly visible rub marks) and holds on to the utility belt of the first soldier, who then unlocks/ locks both deadbolts in the door quickly before backing off and egressing the building.

From there, we head a short distance to Checkpoint 3- a guard house surrounded on three sides by North Korea and some heavily populated minefields. Across the treeline, a DPRK checkpoint is clearly visible along with speaker towers that blare propaganda into the south. Located on a hill, this checkpoint provides sweeping views of the mountainous area to the north and some interesting history as well. From here, the site of Capt Bonifas' murder, the Bridge to Nowhere, the site of the 1953 armistice signing, and also Propaganda Village are clearly visible.

Minefields, camera arrays, sensors and alarms are everywhere as far as the eye can see. Some are easy to identify thanks to signs, some are more hidden by shrubs and grasslands. But the border is so well entrenched that one quick glance at any of the border stakes riddling the area quickly brings awareness that mines and other nasty pieces of equipment that would put a serious dent in your social life are only a few steps away. At several points on the trip, we comment to each other: What would you do if you ended up finding yourself inside North Korea and were trying to get out? Just even trying to figure out how to cut across this seemingly impregnable line is mind boggling.

Would you go for it? Try to make your way to the coast? Head north for China? All that we see is a blaring reminder of one Golden Rule of the DMZ: While walking around, under no circumstances should you leave the path.

From Checkpoint 3 and at several points along the border, the absolutely ridiculous Propaganda Village comes into view. Adjacent to the North Korean border city of Kaesong, this "village" was actually erected in an effort to show South Koreans all the prosperity and exciting ways of the North. Speakers broadcast music and propaganda designed to convince people to defect to the North. Never mind that other than a handful of settlers and border guards, South Koreans are forbidden from entering the Southern Boundary and therefore wouldn't see Propaganda Village with their own eyes. But even if they did, what would they think? Sure, you will always get some schmo that might buy into the whole cockamamie ploy and absurdity. But the village is deserted and made like that movie set Wild West town that Gene Wilder blew up in the movie "Blazing Saddles". We learn that at night, US guards have noticed that lights shining through windows were brighter at the top floor and became successively dimmer going toward the ground. Buildings are a facade- plywood multi-story replicas completely hollow inside. Through high power binoculars we notice no movement in the village other than two DPRK guards walking lazily to their post, so it would seem that even the North knows that the South is on to them but keep up the game anyway.

Propaganda Village is also the site of one of the most evident and peculiar pieces of one-up-man-ship going on cross-border. Many years ago, the South Koreans had erected a flagpole which was clearly visible from the north. The North Koreans then promptly responded in-kind, raising a conspicuously taller flagpole. Not to be out done, the South Koreans then built a flagpole that is 100m tall and stands prominently above the surrounding treeline. The North Koreans then immediately followed with giant F-You by one erecting one that stands 170m in height- the tallest flagpole in the world. The North Korean flag is so large that it takes 11 people to raise/lower it, and weighs close to 600lbs. The South said "wow, you guys are doofuses" and that's where it stands today. If they didn't say that, they sure should have.

I read that over 750 overt acts of violence have been registered on the North/South Korea DMZ, not even counting the shoving/ rude gestures/ fistfights that have erupted. One of the craziest examples of this occurred on August 18, 1976 when Capt Bonifas and 1stLt Barrett led a working party contingent to trim a tree that blocked the view of Checkpoint 3 from Checkpoint 2. Once on site, the working party found themselves surrounded by a large number of DPRK guards who became increasingly hostile. Unprovoked, the DPRK attacked the UN team, mauling Capt Bonifas with his own axe. A few weeks later, Operation Paul Bunyan was executed- in what shows true tension of the Korean Peninsula, a large team of Special Forces cut the thing down while an entire Carrier Battle Group was positioned in the Sea of Japan, bomber and fighter squadrons were put in the air and US forces regionally were put on high alert in a massive show of force. In the end, the tree came down.

Maybe it's because of how crazy this part of the world is. Maybe it's a combination of both those reasons coupled with others, but for whatever it's worth there are some funny and very different parts of this border that contradict all the barbed wire and explosives that are literally feet from a tourist attraction. The border town of Imjingak is just one of those examples. Where else can someone spend time staring across the DMZ with binoculars, walk by a locomotive that was shot up back in 1950 and then go spend the rest of the day eating Korean BBQ, shopping for chotchkies and riding Super Viking? Some things make sense, some don't. Standing next to a camouflaged building that is home to one a border guard team known as the "N1CE" unit, I am strictly instructed to not take pictures in front of a yellow line.. that is literally ten feet from a wall that houses a phalanx of binoculars requiring 500 Won to operate. What that ten feet did for anyone or OpSec is beyond me, but they meant business and were enforcing that rule with gusto.

Simply because they are crazy, the North Koreans decided that it would be a good idea to dig infiltration tunnels into the south and over time and thanks to actionable intelligenge the south has discovered four of these spanning back to the mid-70s. Some are larger than others, some are more advanced than others. But 3rd Tunnel is reputed to be capable of allowing 30,000 North Korean soldiers in to South Korea/ hour, so when the South Koreans finally learned of it they spent no time cutting it off and building in barricades to ensure no-one is able to slip through. So what else did the South Koreans do? Turned it into a tourist attraction. Following a 350m walkway down into the guts of the earth, you feel the temperature bleed off and humidity jump. The tunnel itself is nothing more than a rocky crawlspace that is likely perfectly high enough for your average North Korean soldier, but requires American Marines to hunch over while walking. Water drips everywhere. Drill points are highlighted to show that this tunnel was clearly drilled out in a southerly direction. Almost laughably, we learn that when the tunnel was discovered a team from the north painted the sides with coal paste in order to make the argument that the tunnel was a coal mine that originated in the south. Hard to explain how coal paste covering granite makes sense, but it must have been a last minute ditch excuse that someone concocted on the fly.

All in all, a unique experience. All of this reminds me of a teammate at IBM named Chuck Adams. In a former life, he worked at the Pentagon on his twilight Army tour in an obscure office like "Department of the Army, Assistant Logistics and Transformation Office". Essentially a low level office that had little to no access to classified materials. One of his coworkers was a crabby, antisocial Paraplegic woman who wouldn't meet with anyone and spent more time at doctors appointments than she did in the office. Anyone who knows about Federal Service jobs knows that it almost takes an Act of God to fire someone, so they allowed her to continue doing what she did, on her own time. One day, Chuck walks in to the office and finds dust all over his desk. He looks up, and sees the face of a worker in the ceiling who then goes on to tell Chuck that the Pentagon is in the process of network upgrades and it's his turn to have CAT-5 cabling installed. Six weeks pass. Chuck again walks in the office, and finds out that the paraplegic woman has been arrested. For spying for North Korea. Apparently, that's the best that they can afford, which is sort of funny and sort of sad.

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Monday, August 2, 2010

Little Tahoma (11,138')

What better way to celebrate Independence Day? On the 4th of July I stepped off for Rainier National Park to climb Little Tahoma, the 3rd largest peak in Washington State in what turned out to be an enjoyable and fun trek through subalpine meadows and forests on the way to a technical and challenging climb. Little Tahoma has always seemed quite daunting. While summiting Mt Rainier via the standard route, it takes up a significant portion of the eastern skyline with sheer, crumbly volcanic rock cliffs that rise close to 2,000 feet in a straight spire from the craggy and crevasse-riddled glaciers below. As “Little T” looks to be somewhat attached to Rainier and is overshadowed by it’s more popular and more famous neighbor, there is a definite misperception surrounding this mountain- it is actually a separate peak. Several hundred thousand years ago, Little T was a massive volcano all to it’s own. Then the hot spot shifted, and the birth of Mt Rainier simultaneously caused the extinction of Little T. What is left of Little T is essentially the rotten, crumbling and unstable core of what was a volcanic center that still manages to rise 11,138’ into the sky in what resembles an almost vertical pyramid.

A few of my Seattle Mountain Rescue (SMR) teammates have climbed Little T already and through their experiences, I have been studying Little Tahoma for a potential climb for close to seven years. So this year, another Marine and climbing buddy named Peter Leonard and I decided to set out and tackle the standard route via the east over a ~30 hour trip. We both subscribe to teams that select a “lighter-is-faster” philosophy to climbing in the Pacific Northwest when weather is stable and this experience was no different. 18 miles round trip, the Fryingpan/ Whitman Glacier Route ascends 7,338’ from the trailhead, so bringing along a bunch of excess equipment that would never be used just didn’t seem all that attractive to either of us. This type of travel can have limitations though. In 2005, our team of five Marines/Sailors tackled a speed ascent of Mt Olympus and were roughly 20 miles into a 47 mile trip when it started raining heavily at 2am. We all curled up into fetal positions on a flat rock to wait out the night, and Leonard whipped out a bivvy bag that he had somehow snuck along. Wiping wet faces with dirty, grubby hands and staring in envy through sideways blowing rain that was twinkling thanks to glowing headlamps, we looked on longingly as he crawled into his bag. “I’ll give you a million dollars for that bivvy bag..” “Nope.” We shivered for the next three hours. He slept like a baby. Short of it- there can be drawbacks to traveling light.

Fryingpan Creek: (3,800’) Stepping off to chirping birds, pine trees, wild flowers and the burbling sounds of Fryingpan Creek, we wound our way from the trailhead through scenes right out of the movies. Massive trees stretching to the sky provide God Rays that filter down to the pine needled and red dirt forest floor. Briefly, cool breezes lift the spirits as glacial meltwater rolling down the creek drop the temperature, providing a brief respite from the warm air. 4.2 miles later, the Wonderland Trail has zig-zagged over side brooks, through smallish meadows teeming with butterflies and awash in wildflowers brimming in color. We continue to tack on elevation and the trail soon turns to snow as we cross over a large log that has been chipped into a bridge that allows us to cross over Fryingpan Creek almost at it’s source and arrive at Summerland- a campground at 5,800’ that is popular later in the season and provides breathtaking views of the east face of Mt Rainier.

From Summerland, we continue straight up a steep, snow-covered ramp that rises 1,800’ to Meany Crest. It takes us close to two hours to pick our way up what is generally not climbable in August when snow melts off and vertical chutes, cliff bands and crumbly rock provide way too much exposure to go straight up safely. For now though, steep ramps of snow allow us to dial in on Meany Crest easily while fuzzy, 30lb, teddy bear-looking Marmots stare on and squeak out their alarms to friends up the route.

Meany Crest (7,500’): Four hours after stepping off, we arrive at Meany Crest. A flat, large rock formation that juts out at the end of a topographical finger, there are plenty of spots to set up camp. Leonard and I found 11 other climbers at Meany Crest- the only other climbers on Little T while we were there, and among them was Gretchen Lentz- one of my SMR teammates who happened to be there assisting with a climbing course. They had taken an area among the large rocks, but as we were traveling light it didn’t matter. We located a scrub pine that was growing alongside a boulder and built ourselves a handy wind break by taking advantage of this opportunity. Leonard scraped snow off the gravel while I moved over basketball-sized rocks. After 30 minutes, our wind shelter was built and we spent a few hours eating, relaxing and preparing or technical climbing gear. Leonard had hauled along three slices of pizza from the night before, and after climbing into our bags, devoured that while watching the sun slowly slip behind Rainier as the sky transitioned over to a wide array of orange, red and purple hues. Leonard managed to piss off a Marmot in what quickly became one of my favorite moments of the trip.

At 2am, my alarm went off and I crawled out of my bag. When you are cold in a sleeping bag, several things go through your mind. You want to believe that you can out-will yourself and just sleep through it. You want to figure out what you can do to get warmer. You curse yourself for not spending those ten short minutes that you debated on before bed to boil water and make yourself a hot water bottle. You wish it was time to get moving. You are glad you have more time before you need to get moving. Wow are those stars bright! Why am I looking at stars when I could be sleeping? Why am I even thinking anything at all? If I just let my mind go blank, I could drift back to sleep. Why is Leonard snoring? I really need to let my mind go blank. I’m hungry. Why isn’t my mind blank? Argh!” And then after endless hours of this, it is time.

Headlamp on, harness on, crampons on. Grab some quick food and pack up gear we would need for the summit. We slipped out of camp quickly and were well past Whitman Crest before sunrise.

As dawn approached, we noticed that we were just above the cloud line. This is such a fun place to be when climbing, especially when at 9,000’. Clouds zip by at 20 miles an hour and you catch faint glimpses of the oncoming sun, mountain before you, trail and surrounding terrain. Then the clouds come back and all that you were enjoying disappears back into a sea of endless white mist. On and off until you gain enough altitude to clear the clouds and see them lazily roll by under your boots. Crampons crunching in the frosty early morning snow, skies lighting up in Alpenglow and the summit seemingly within reach, we began our push up the 60 degree slopes of Little Tahoma on the Whitman Glacier. The good news with steep slopes is that you gain altitude- quickly. The bad news is that it can be slow going at times, can require protection, and is extremely steep. The higher you go, the more attentive you are to footing and ropework. As the sun rises higher in the morning sky, snow gets soft quickly- evermoreso thanks to an east facing slope with no shade to break the warming rays from making what was once hard crust into mush. Communicating regularly and routinely as a team allows for general understanding of what to expect as we climb higher and higher. Step after steep step results in the snow eventually giving way to rock gullies that require rock protection, not the aluminum pickets that anchor ropes to snow. From here, the route snakes its way up and around large rock buttresses caked in ice, now gleaming in the bright morning air. Partially snow, partially rock the route finally switches over to loose, crumbly volcanic tuff about 50 vertical feet below the summit.

And then, we were there. At the top of Little T you have a very different view than what unfolds on major peaks. Instead of being able to see in every direction, the whole west side of view is blocked by Mt Rainier. Looking over the north face, you are immediately filled with vertigo when looking several thousand feet to the glacier floor while updrafts of wind buffet and blast anything exposed. Truly, only the east and south views are available to take in the splendor of this unique mountain and it’s surroundings. Glaciers spread in all directions, clouds lazily roll by. Vivid greens of forest canopies are closer here that from other peaks, offering a unique view not often available of these remote forests riddled with rivers cascading off cliffs into valleys below. We spent close to 20 minutes at the summit- enough time to enjoy the view, take some pictures and swig down some Gatorade before preparing gear for our trip back home.

From the summit, it took us close to seven hours to carefully make our way back down off of the steep scree field, through the rock gullies and down a variety of snowfields. As soon as we hit Whitman Crest, we landed in a fairly solid whiteout that remained the entire route back to Meany Crest. Once there though, we grabbed a quick catnap and were ready to go within the hour. Down, down, down we went- at one point glissading in a volley of wet snow that went so fast that we covered 1,600’ in less than four minutes. Finally regaining the trail, we moved nonstop over the remaining four miles until arriving at the car where we could finally let our guard down and relieve shoulders that had been aching heavily since the day before. Big smiles and all in all, a truly fun trip.

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