Land Target

Amadablam Bound

2011-11-07T18:02:00.000-08:00

Tshering arrived yesterday as the fading light of day came past Pheriche, and we had a chance to discuss the plan from here. Essentially, he and the porters moved from Namche to Pheriche in one day- quite a haul. All our gear was still enroute to Island Peak, so he sent a runner off to chase that down and ensure it was redirected to Amadablam Base Camp, as we are out of time for a two mountain climb. This is fine.. The focus is now entirely on Amadablam and today's trip sets out from Pheriche, straight back down the mountain to connect up with Ama base camp trail. We will see a Lama on the way, getting blessed on our journey before the 2,000' push into Base Camp. Tomorrow will be a rest day- then we begin the climb in a series of altitude runs to finally summit in a few days and then launch back down the hill to Lukla and a flight out.

We had a fun day yesterday. After a late morning, the team sat tight and played rummy for a few hours while the morning katebatics played havoc on weary trekkers and passers-by. Finally around 11, the sky was crystal clear. The air crisp and fresh, albeit thin. We headed up, up, up roughly 600' to a pass that leads to Dingboche, a town on the other side of the pass and gateway to Island Peak. On this spine in 2008, I actually went for a jog, and after an altitude run to 15,000' did exactly that again. There are a series of prayer flags and stupas that connect the ridge, so I ran along the ridge before descending down to the town for lunch. We enjoyed a leisurely meal before heading back to while away the afternoon in the Himalayan Hotel common area in style.

No idea of a signal at Ama base camp but will try. Its mind blowing to me that Im even in range here, a two day trek from Everest when just 3 years ago I had to use a satellite receiver to connect with the world. Bonkers crazy.

Decision Point

2011-11-06T01:06:00.000-07:00

Interestingly, we do in-fact have Internet way out here in the middle of the route. Its so amazing how different things are from 2008, we rolled in to Pheriche, a pioneer village of sorts that is perched at 14,000' and arrived at our hotel at a respectable 2pm today. The hotel here is definitely the best of any we have stayed at, and its relatively new.. Don't even think it was here when we cruised through last time. The trek here was uneventful in itself, a gradual 1,800' climb above the treeline and into much more of a rock-strewn dust path. The wind has definitely picked up and with a sun continuously shrouded by high clouds it is definitely biting.

So I have definitely reached a decision point, and had to outline options just to make sense of it myself. Flights today continue to be spotty into/ out of Lukla and I'm still not linked up with Tshering. Latest word is that he will meet me in Pheriche tomorrow, but that is too late for both an Island Peak & Amadablam excursion. In a nutshell, there just plain aren't enough days to cover the distance and altitude. Its one or the other, and I'm going to make that decision once he arrives and can provide me with some route Intel. Ama is the clear favorite, but I want to hold till then and make a call. Till then though, we are holed up here and relaxing.

Last day before out of range

2011-11-05T18:43:00.000-07:00

Weather continues to look extremely gross, but at least it's not bitter cold and despite the clouds we are all getting nice facial burns thanks to the intense UV rays found up here at over 13,000'.

Today proved thoroughly enjoyable, we struck out frmo Namche at a respectable 9am, wandering the upper corridors and finally emerging on the trail, slowly plodding along and taking advantage of the mild temperatures to keep moving at a strong and steady pace. The guys were laughing, frequently, at my comments since a cloud bank continues to shroud the valleys. One (of several examples is: "right around this corner is one of my favorite views on this route"... to only see a mass of clouds whipping by, would be met with "yeah, thanks Doug:. :) It's all in good fun, the guys are all meshed and functioning as a well-oiled machine, critical up here. Everyone supports each other and especially cheer on good ol Mel, who actually celebrates his 71st birthday in a few weeks. That guy continues to plod along, impressing everyone with his Little-Engine-That-Could mentality.

Along this particular portion of the route, the path drops ~1,200 feet down to the river and then in an incredible mind game, immediately rises close to 2,000 feet up to Tengbuche Monastery. Along the way we dodge cranky yaks and falling rocks, winding via the climbers path to put on altitude and shave 30 minutes off our time. We topped out and then spent close to an hour exploring the monasteryitself, snacking down on apple pie at the local bakery with Buddhist chants still fresh in our ears. The monastery is a work of art, and has been for hundreds of years. Lovingly maintained by the host of monks that live, study, and worship here, paint is fresh on even the most ornately detailed carvings and figures. Monks chop wood outside, sweep the front steps and practice a dance ritual in the inner courtyard. They are completely at ease with our presence, blurting out a toothy grinned "namaste" when they see us. While the original monastery burned down in a fire roughly 25 years ago, this reproduced version is taking on the sort of rich patina one would expect given it's location in the Himalaya. We take it all in, go grab some pie to reflect and casually talk until it's time to move on.

One thing of note is that a vast improvement over 3 years ago: people here have mastered the art of making light, flaky breads. Gone are the heavy, doughy and tasteless breads that clump in ones stomach after forcing down... something to seriously celebrate.

15 minutes later we arrive at Debuche and gear down. We also receive some good news: Tshering, my climbing Sherpa was able to somehow get into Lukla despite flights being grounded yet again for the 5th day. He will connect up with us tomorrow, somewhere around Pheriche. From there we carve off- weather dependent and begin the technical aspects of this trip. Unsure when the next posting will be, I hear there is no telephone signal at Island Peak as it's in the shadow of the Everest-Lhotse-Nuptse massif.

Namche to Debuche

2011-11-04T19:23:00.001-07:00

After an interesting and event filled two days at Namche, its time to continue higher on up into the Khumbu. We relaxed here, enjoyed the high end facilities (Hotel Camp de Base is like a Namche Bazaar Hyatt) and talked about things to come. Yesterday the team did an elevation run to a local museum and the Namche Airport, stopping along the way for copious amounts of lemon tea to sustain ourselves.

As we wandered the Namche city canyons, I was struck by how much had changed in a place where it seems like little changes. Three years ago, we didn't have a consistently hot shower here, or uninterrupted 24 hrs of electricity. There was a standard suite of bakeries, massage parlors, doctors, grocery stores and more equipment shops than you could throw a stick at. But WiFi was an unknown and now it's readily available in almost every coffee shop and restaurant. I even passed an ATM here yesterday.. Crazy how technology has advanced forward in just such a short time as even the ruggedized laptop I brought in 2008 now looks like a dinosaur when even this blog is being typed on my Windows7 phone.

The weather continues to be of great concern. Not for the team physically, but for the Amadablam leg. All of my high altitude climbing gear is currently parked in Kathmandu along with Tshering and the soonest it looks like they will get out is Monday soonest. The low lying clouds have caused the town of Lukla to approach a state of concern as over 1,000 people mass there in an attempt to leave, and can't. Even local news is talking about it as Lukla hotels exceed capacity, food stores grow low and even water supplies dwindle. Its not a good thing down there. Up here we are fine, but I'm approaching the point where Amadablam just isn't feasible in the time window available. But it is what it is, the mountain isn't going anywhere and I'm having a complete blast with my 5 new friends. Last night we spent close to 3 hours playing a German version of Rummy that Mike (a German) stated the rules for and as a new rule popped out of the blue had us all in stitches. Got to the point where Trevor goes "well, you are wearing a black jacket and it is after 7:00, so that new rule now applies". Probably had to be there but it all made for good fun.

So today we continue on to Debuche, a little town about 20 minutes beyond Tengboche Monastery. The most holy of Khumbu Buddhist shrines, this facility is a sight to behold. From here, roughly parked at the height of Rainier's summit we continue about 20 minutes beyond to arrive at Debuche. One of the hardest pushes of the trek will come today and a complete mind game. At the end of a long, 2 mile traverse you have cleared most forms of vegetation, green surrendering to altitude and retreating to pines, spruces and ground vegetation. It will likely snow on us today and even the hybrid Gopkyo (a cross between a Yak and Cow) used to haul loads will replace in presence with the Yak- who can't work in the lower, hotter temperatures.

The trail moves to an overlook, where you look 2,000' down to the Dudh Kosi and green below. And then, roughly 2 miles distant, lies Tengbuche at the same altitude you are at. From here, the trail descends the full length of the drop, only to immediately climb straight back up, and over into the monastery. Coupled with the altitude it makes for quite a day.

Not sure when I'll get the next dispatch out but from Debuche we continue on to Pheriche, where the team will rest for two days before continuing on and around to Everest Base Camp. This is where we part ways, as I move to the north, and Island Peak- a long day hike beyond. That climb will take roughly two days and then I beat feet back to Debuche and Amadablam.

Namche Bazaar

2011-11-03T19:47:00.000-07:00

Interesting few days to say the least. To start with from new experiences to recalling old memories.

During a 6 hour wait at KTM, I passed time by meandering among tons of haphazardly strewn cargo, climbing gear and immensely bored passengers. In a way this wasn't all bad, as Tshering introduced me to a restaurant I had no idea existed and even spent time on the airport roof when not chased off by a band of local monkeys that took great pride in badgering people and rummaging through unattended bags. Somewhere during all this I was given a five minute alert to grab gear and head to a mini pickup that would take a team of five Americans & Canadians from Mountain Gurus to an awaiting helicopter. All great guys- fit, strong and eager- it seemed like a solid fit and in short order I had joined the team easily. We drove a short distance to the LZ and then crammed as much gear as possible into an awaiting bird before boarding ourselves, sardine-like, into the passenger compartment. With a whine of turbines and whiff of JP5, we were quickly airborne and heading north-northeast as the city disappeared beneath us.

What appeared to be simple haze in Kathmandu quickly became foggy, pea soup clouds once airborne. Using GPS and following rivers that hug craggy, rugged valleys torn from the earth and forced skyward, our helicopter crabbed its way through passes that seemed barely wide enough for our rotor blades as the pilot waypointed his way to Lukla and an LZ that appeared no more than 30 seconds before landing. It became quickly clear that there was no way a fixed wing could safely travel to, let alone land at the worlds most dangerous airport in these conditions. Over the coming days we realized just how lucky we were to even have had this rare rotor opportunity as now everything has been grounded for five successive days with no plan to get operations moving until Monday soonest.

After being inserted, we immediately stepped off and began our odyssey. Hot, humid and cloudy, the valley loomed above us as wisps of clouds clung to nooks and crannies, waterfalls cascading hundreds of feet and the whole experience a very Lord of the Rings feel. We continued moving about 3 hrs that day before pulling into Ghat, just beating an oncoming squall that we knew meant snow up ahead.

The next morning, we set off over several hours for Namche Bazaar, the capital of the Khumbu Region that sits at 12,000'. The trail to this storied destination continues on through one minor village after another, up and down, one countless step after another. At times the trail passes over wire and aluminum bridges suspended hundreds of feet above the raging and milky white Dudh Kosi river, carrying mineral rich Himalayan meltwater hundreds of miles to the coast. Finally, several hours after leaving Ghat we arrive at the final bouncing and bobbing bridge before beginning the long, 1,500' slog up, up, up on the final push into Namche. Sweat streaming and lungs aching I find it funny to look over to a local Nepali teenage girl who is ambling along at the same pace, in lime green & pink sneakers while chatting away on her cellphone to someone.. Either a boy, or one of her friends about a boy. Completely fine and not at all out of breath it makes me impressed yet again at how people here are completely adapted to this environment.

Finally we arrive into Namche and are awash in the sights, sounds and smells of this little horseshoe shaped, cliffside city that bustles with activity. Within 30 minutes we bump into a Nepali woman who lived in NY before marrying a Sherpa and moved here, from Queens, to Namche Bazaar. Talk about an adjustment. She tells us that she did the hike from Lukla once, and will never do it again.. So it's strictly air for her going to <-> Kathmandu. None of us can blame her.

After meandering the endless corridors of shoppettes and restaurants we arrive at our hotel- the top end Hotel Camp de Base. This place is like a lap of luxury and its a great score to stay here. Hot showers, comfy beds and good grub await as we acclimatize over the coming days. The team relaxes in, has dinner and chats away about things to come. They are all great guys- three from the US: California fire fighter, an inspirational speaker from Commack NY and a Professor from Colorado. Two are in construction and hail from Alberta Canada although one is of German descent. I love these sort of teams as it keeps things real and enjoyable.

Off to bed for an enjoyable and relaxing night sleep of funky, high altitude dreams!

Coordination

2011-11-01T03:38:00.000-07:00

Woke up after a restless sleep, walked through my gear and stared at the ceiling for a few hours before the sound of Kathmandu city street noise forced me from bed and down to a vacant breakfast hall where I sat tight until 9am, when I was able to link up with the guys all climb logistics are being coordinated through. This conversation went smoothly enough, and was introduced to Tenjing, my climbing Sherpa. As it turns out he and I were on Everest together in 2008 when he climbed with an adjacent Spanish team and recently returned from Manaslu- another 8,000m peak and the 8th highest in the world. All told, seems like a great guy and I know we'll have fun together.

Did bump into Willie and Damian Benegas in Hotel Yak & Yeti- Damian has just returned from Amadablam and Willie was leading a film team on Everest, so it was a bit of a reunion in the Yak & Yeti lobby coupled with some real good route intelligence in what turned into an hour long catch-up. Damian's recommendation, which I will definitely be following is to acclimatize on Island Peak, then make a fast strike on Amadablam when we can find a window of opportunity.

Rest of the day was hectic in a way- time just whiled away downtown and in the Thamel corridors as lunchtime came and went.. and then dinner did the same. Final packing of equipment into separate gear bags (one for Ama, one for Island Peak, one to accompany the trek in) and then it's off to bed for a last night sleep before things get uncomfortable for a few weeks. Next post from Namche Bazaar, the capital of the Khumbu Region.

Feet Dry- Kathmandu

2011-10-31T19:02:00.000-07:00

Arrived Kathmandu yesterday and was immediately struck by how temperate it is here. Was a bit curious about how late October would be striking this country, given that as a sign of things to come both New York and Seattle have been slammed by snowstorms (before Halloween?!) yet days remain mild, sunny and with a strong sun. Initial reports are of a Himalaya chock full of expeditions, implying a solid climb season.

I was immediately bathed in now familiar sights: Tribhuvan International Airports crumbly taxiway, long lines at the visa queue, a dimly lit baggage claim area that instantly reminds me of my first visit in 2001. The note of interest is that with time and successive visits, one learns how to streamline the massive amount of time (and money) this process can take if not aware of the upcoming pitfalls. Plenty of folks here, from the 4 visa processors who, if given the window of opportunity will proceed to take 20 minutes of q&a before admitting you. Or, the fleet of 'porters' who follow you to a car like a gnat cloud and then ask for payment. Once its clear one knows the ropes, this process takes 1/10 the time and 1/10 the money.

Kathmandu remains a time capsule in itself and nothing has changed. Progress is slow, but I'm thrilled that a 6.8 earthquake did little to no damage. Stunning in a way given that everything here seems constructed of mud and brick but apparently the epicenter was somewhere in India. Given that the Himalaya consistently rise as the India subcontinent slams into Asia, it does seem like just a matter of time. However, for now everything continues to tick along Nepali style. No tv, no phone. My laptop power converter died immediately on plugging in, thanks to a generator surge. My phone battery died. No ATMs are working w/in a 10 block radius of the hotel, meaning that I cant pick up a new converter to charge either laptop or phone in the immediate future. But in a land full of ear-to-ear smiles, this just doesn't matter, and if you talk about work stress, it is met by a meaningful and quizzical gaze.

It didn't take me more than 2 minutes at Hotel Courtyard (where I always stay) to connect up with good friends. The people who run this amazing hotel smack in the center of Kathmandu put rooms aside for familiar returnees, and climbers have special flexibility as they completely understand the challenges of targeting occupancy dates based on weather and climb variance. I can go on and on about this special oasis right in the center of Thamel District, its a wonderful place. As we reconnect, the phone starts ringing and both climbing friends and locals start checking in. I immediately reconnect with one of my closest friends here who has summited Everest twice (we actually met on the mountain in 2008) and is one of the most genuine people I know.

The afternoon turns into a series of tag-team presentations on Everest and an Australian beef BBQ on the hotels patio before this caffeine addled camper finally surrendered and passed out for the night.

One Night in Bangkok

2011-10-30T19:03:00.000-07:00

Couldn't help the cliche'.. just too great.

Landed close to midnight into Bangkok's new and ultramodern Suvarnabhumi International Airport and made my way downtown, struggling with a taxi driver doing his best to separate me from my money. Fortunately, good friends at United were kind enough to check my bags from Narita straight through to Kathmandu on today's Thai flight.. meaning I was spared the challenge of hauling 150 lbs of climbing gear through subtropical swamp weather. Does mean I'm wearing the same clothes that I left Seattle in 3 days ago, but it is what it is & doubt anyone notices.

It has been interesting to note all the sensationalizing going on in the media when it comes to what is going on downtown. Stories abound on flooding, and while the elevated highways here are definitely jam packed with parked cars for storage above the water, the main portion of the city remains bone dry. This did make the hotel decision a complete crap shoot though.. get one and risk getting marooned? Hop from lounge to lounge and grab some tile during the wee hours? Fortunately the gamble paid off and instead of feeling like something the cat dragged in, I feel relatively well rested.

The lack of flooding is definitely a good thing, especially for this low-lying city that sees water as it's life-blood. Given the warnings of record flood waters raging down the Chaopraya River mashing with seasonal high tides, the Shinawatra government here- considered inexperienced and quite cavalier when it came to flood preparedness- seems to have dodged a bullet. The sky is crisp and clear and no rain in the foreseeable forecast so perhaps things here will return to normal in a few days. Without a doubt this will be a thing of the past by the time I'm routing back through in ~2 weeks.

Airport is still a zoo, but that's to be considered since a bajillion locals are camping out here rather than grab a hotel. On to Kathmandu, flight departs in an hour.

Narita layover

2011-10-30T01:14:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Thailand's flooding, I found myself both without a hotel in Bangkok to park at and with a major question as to whether I'd make my connecting flight from BKK to Kathmandu on the 31st. As a result when the opportunity to hold for a day in Japan came up I jumped at the opportunity. Much rather be delayed in Japan than on a marble floor surrounded by 150 pounds of climbing gear in the Suvarnabhumi lobby with one eye open and fingers crossed that flood waters wouldn't encroach on both of Bankok's airports.

It has been here that I did notice a few parallels between 2008 and this trip. For starters, a layover in another city enroute to Nepal. Great for getting the mind off of things, ease into the shock of jetlag and enjoy the trip along the way. Sure, I want to get there and get going on the climb. But on these sort of expeditions I'm also all about smelling the roses as well. Delicious Yakiniku for dinner, sushi at Narita's Gate 34 and a relaxing day all coupled into a wonderful transition from the last month's batty and chaotic day-to-day activities where I even found the fact that my cell didn't connect to be thoroughly enjoyable.

Interestingly, the time spent in Narita is well worth it, especially considering the new aviation events occurring as of late. In 2008, Dad and I were fortunate enough to see the world's first Airbus A380 when we landed at Singapore's Changi International Airport. Sure, A380s are becoming more commonplace globally. But as of last week, the world's first Boeing 787 Dreamliner was put into service with Japan's All Nippon Airways. Today, this 787 paraded proudly down the taxiways for all to see, and immediately following that was a Singapore Airlines A380. Novel and hokey, but all told I'll consider that a good omen. :)

Off to Bangkok, where it seems that the flood waters have spared the city from what could have been an extremely bad scene.

The Next Himalayan Chapter

2011-10-29T23:31:00.000-07:00

Surprising how fast three years can zip by when you aren't paying attention. When I left the Himalayas in May of 2008, I was convinced that this unique part of the world- a mecca for climbers looking to sharpen their teeth on mountains unlike anywhere else on earth- would be a recurring zone for me. In some ways, it has been- and continues to be. Friendships that I had made years ago continue to flourish and grow. Thanks to social networking tools such as Facebook and email, communications are much easier to maintain. Other climbing friends have returned, time and time again to tackle the far-off peaks whose names now dribble off the tongue with ease. It really has been an interesting few years in this light to say the least, only the path that I have followed to get here is not nearly the one that I had expected it to be. Not really a surprise, that's the way I have found it to always be and life's plan rarely ever gives one hints on what lays in store.

Over the past three years I have been back to Nepal several times now. Perhaps this is because to me, Nepal has always been and continues to be one of the singlemost places where I feel like my spirit is truly free. The cares of the world drift away. Time stops. Earthy and sky colors take on hues unlike anywhere else on the planet. The streets of Kathmandu echo with laughter intertwined with Buddhist chants and the clatter of cyclos. I relish every minute here and thoroughly enjoy how enriched I feel zen-wise after just a few days.

I look back on these trips fondly, and appreciate that almost all memories include someone who I was able to share them with- no matter how unique. This includes a return into the depths of Bardia National Forest to look for the elusive Bengal Tiger, only this time on foot and not from the protective height of an elephant's back. In 2008, Dad and I spent 24 hours on the back of elephants hunting through 10' high grass to see a tiger for 2 seconds. What can only be described as a mishmash of adrenaline, boredom, intrigue and physical discomfort to see one of nature's most rare and beautiful of creatures in it's natural habitat truly does disservice to the experience, as it is one of Dad's and my highlight adventures together and I wouldn't trade it for the world. But what amazes me is that I managed to make it back there. The country of Nepal is as remote as it gets, and Bardia is a day's travel from Kathmandu. So to have the immense fortune to return, and to have friends that actually work and live there, dedicating their careers to protecting Nepal's wildlife is incredibly special. To drop off an elephant, enter the food chain and wander the forest in search of creatures who had killed and eaten our guides father in the mid-80's is a bit insane. But, exciting nonetheless.

So this may explain why this time around, for this particular climb on Amadablam (22,300') isn't as full of chaos and wonderment as the 2008 Everest climb was. I know people there, from the Sherpas who I'll be climbing alongside, the team administrators who are pulling together permits and back-end logistics, the dear and close friends who I consider brothers & am now tied in with their businesses- tourism, hotels, wildlife. Nepal, to me is a nation fill of warm-spirited, smiling people whose hearts are bursting from their chests. I am fully confident that in reaching Kathmandu, the portions of the trip not fully in-place will take form quickly as typically is the case there. All my gear is packed and in the belly of a 777 bound for Thailand and I'm excited to just get boots to trail and set off for base camp.

I left Seattle yesterday after one of the most chaotic and time intensive months I have spent in a job. Microsoft is now completing it's annual Giving Campaign (a monthlong period where people give back to their community through donations, volunteer hours and events designed to bring attention to charities and causes) and having been heavily caught up in that, my ability to do things like pack for Amadablam distilled down into a 3 hour whirlwind of activity the night before I flew, and the day of travel.

Before I knew it, the time had come to leave for Sea-Tac and the last of the packing was complete. Then I winged it off to Japan, and the first leg of this new adventure was underway.

Egyptian Museum- Cairo

2010-11-02T13:05:00.000-07:00

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?"

"Yes..."

"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.

"Yes..."

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:

"HEY!!!!''

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?

"Yes.."

Back to Main Page: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com/

38th Parallel: Korea Demilitarized Zone

2010-08-21T16:54:00.001-07:00

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.

Back to Main: http:www.landtarget.blogspot.com

Little Tahoma (11,138')

2010-08-02T18:33:00.000-07:00

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.

Back to Main: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com

The Great Pyramids

2009-12-05T09:55:00.000-08:00

The Giza Necropolis- more commonly called The Great Pyramids of Egypt, actually is an ancient temple complex of three large pyramids, three small pyramids, and the mighty Sphinx. Built in 2560 BC, it is also the only one of the Seven Wonders of the World that remains intact.. or somewhat, at least. Of the structures that make up this complex, The Great Pyramid of Giza is the tallest, the largest and the oldest. Originally built as the final resting place of Pharaoh Khufu in the Fourth Dynasty, it took 20 years to build and remained the tallest manmade structure in the world for 3,800 years- finally surrendering that title to the English Lincoln Cathedral in 1311 AD.

There have been varying scientific and alternative theories regarding the Great Pyramid's construction techniques. Most accepted construction theories are based on the idea that it was built by moving huge stones from a quarry, dragging and lifting them into place. Originally, the Great Pyramid was covered by casing stones that formed a smooth outer surface. What is seen today is the underlying core structure because in 1301 a massive earthquake ripped most of the casing stones free. Some of these stones that once covered the structure can still be seen scattered around the base, but essentially these stones knocking loose are what made climbing the pyramids possible. A goal of mine for many years, climbing one has been something I have read about but is inherently difficult and remains so for many reasons.

So one day while visiting Cairo, we set out to visit the pyramids. Arriving at the Giza Necropolis before sunrise and thanks to Muhammad the taxi driver, we were directed to some back alley which we learned later is a standard tourist trappy kickback to drivers. Turned around, a bit confused as to what was being pressed on us and ultimately still interested, we elected to see a bright orange sun rise on the pyramids from a nearby roof top and then hopped on horses with a guide named (yep) Muhammad who led us around the south side of the complex and up to the crest of an overlooking dune. There, we watched excited kids race horses back and forth haphazardly across the sand while shepherds tended to their flocks of sheep as they headed out to grazing fields further out from civilization.

Once the site opened for the mornings tourist rush, we said goodbye to Muhammad and waded into the masses that exist at the front of the complex. There we paid an entry fee that is 10 times what it is for locals, but in all truth, what can you do? It's not like you cab blend in.. and you want to see them. So you just deal with it, knowing all the while that you are getting ripped off but it's still only about 5 bucks in Egyptian Ribles.

Once inside, you aren't exactly immune. Throngs upon throngs of street urchins and "cultural sentinels", or whatever these guys claim to call themselves exist even past the ticketed entry point and were absolutely shamelss in their attempts to hit you up. Their goal: to milk you from as much of your money as possible. This was actually so bad that we routinely resorted to two methods that clearly slowed our cash flow to these people: One was to split cash in to no less than three pockets- large bills into one, medium into another, and then a final pocket to hold an assortment of smallish bills that could be doled out with a "sorry, this is all I have". Sometimes this wouldn't work- I had a kid actually pat my pockets when I gave him a low Rible note.

The other, better way was to respond to the universal 1st question of "where are you from" with a 3rd world nation. This being because the stronger the economy you throw out, the more you are hit up for in your local currency. Amazingly, these urchins also speak an unlimited set of languages for cash. Say you are from Italy? Italian flows from their tongues. French? Look out, they speak that too. I even bumped into a kid who knew enough Japanese to tell that I was warning some tourists- and respond back to me in Japanese. They are that familiar with Tourist Milk. So- the most sure-fire way of getting them to leave you alone?

"Where are you from?"
"Paraguay"
-silence-

.. walk-off.

Not only do they not know where Paraguay is- hence the inability to hit you up for any given amount of Euro, Yen, USD.. whatever, but they also don't know what language to talk to you in. In essence, a perfect formula.

Weaving our way through the unexpected crowds, we meandered over to the Sphinx- in many ways it is stunning to see this firsthand with your own eyes. There is so much history behind the Sphinx that seeing it elicits a bit of a unique response. Almost immediately, a dude on a camel came by and asked us if we wanted to ride. I'm pretty sure his name was Muhammad. It's so funny.. at first there was no way I was getting onto his camel- it just seemed too touristy. But Jon had his SLR handy and we all decided to give it a go. Despite all of the people just meters away, we still were able to capture ephemeral scenes that were right out of storybook Rudyard Kipling or Richard Burton lore.

All the while, I scoped out possible entry points to the complex. How do people scale these pyramids? Where do they get in? I have read several narratives and blog entries- the best time seems to be in the dead of night when you can slip in and then watch sunrise, to get busted on the way down, paying Paraguayan bribes to keep out of jail. Interestingly, climbing the pyramids used to be legal- even Mark Twain did it. But in the 1980s, Egyptian authorities put an end to the practice- for cultural reasons and specifically after several westerners slipped and fell. There are many stories about Japanese tourists who are particularly adept at avoiding guards and slipping up top in the middle of the night, but I didn't really have that luxury so this initial foray around the complex was also a bit of a recon of sorts.

We slowly made our way around the Pyramid of Khafre and south toward the Pyramid of Menkaure- a moderate sized pyramid that sits alongside the Pyramids of the Queens. As we wandered around this 200 foot tall pyramid, some Egyptian casually skulking by the far corner said quietly to us "hey.... do you want to climb?" and pointed toward the top. This stopped me dead in my tracks. Was he serious? His shifty narrow eyes darting over toward some police and back toward us made me realize that he definitely was.

"How much"
"What country are you from?"
"Paraguay"
"40 Euro"

There are many things in Egypt that cost 40 Euro but climbing 200' of pyramid under my own steam to what clearly was a bribe didn't make any sense to me. We moved on, but something in me wondered if that was an offer I shouldn't be turning down. Yet dressed in white and standing out like a sore thumb didn't make me feel like this undertaking at midday among hundreds of money grubbing "Cultural Sentinels" would keep me from seeing the inside of an Egyptian jail or completely clean me out.

We wandered on, but part of me still wondered. Was it worth it? To climb to the top and see Mark Twains, Alexander the Great, or other famous names etched into the summit block as rumor has it? Would it be better than this picture, taken on the first few steps of the Pyramid of Khafre? This one- while cool- still cost me $10 bucks and resulted in a feeding frenzy over that money between the Sentinels and some guards who clearly wanted in on the action.

I wondered aloud what it would cost if I got nailed on top. Everything in this park comes with a price, a bribe, and an equal secondary bribe. But why not? After all, to say that I had climbed a pyramid was well worth 40 Euro to me. It was set- I wanted to go back and take a shot.

The next day Chris and Jon headed off to sightsee at the Citadel and walk around the Old City while I grabbed a bunch of cash and headed back to the Pyramids. I negotiated a rate with a taxi driver outside the anti-terror barricade of the Cairo Hilton, and made it crystal clear that I was limited on time. My goal: Get to the pyramids. Climb one. Get to taxi. Get back to hotel. We fly out. The driver said he understood. He didn't care.

Instead, he drove me right back to the same little sketchy horse stable we were dropped off at that first morning. Wtf!? I jumped out, told him to get lost and headed straight to the ticket booth. I was immediately swarmed by urchins who actually followed me into the site but were easy enough to shake. I headed right back to the corner of the Pyramid of Menkaure and looked for the same kid who offered me to climb. Not around, some other dude kicked off bidding at 80 Euro. For a Paraguayan, this is pretty steep.

I declined, stated 40 Euro- and said that I had no more. He finally relented, seeing that 40 Euro was better than 0 Euro, which he was rapidly cruising toward. The caveat: "can you come back at 1:00?" We were heading to the airport at 12:30 so that was clearly out of the question. Apparently this is when the guards go on siesta, and when climbing a pyramid is possible.

"I can't. It has to be sooner"
"Ok ok. Come back in 30 minutes" he said, warily glancing over at three guards.
I did, and was told again that I had to come back in 30 minutes.

This happened two more times, and I was getting tired of this. The urchin was clearly aware of this, and finally asked "can you come back at 1?" Frustrated, I said "sure, I'll come back at 1." "You are going to come back at 1, aren't you?"
"Yes"
"Promise me"

Promise me? Is he serious? The guy that is looking to milk me out of my money, probably dime me out to a guard so he can get a cut, and has had me sitting around for close to 2 hrs?

"I promise. See you at 1."

With that, I turned, walked down past the Pyramid of Khafre, past the Giza Pyramid, past the Sphinx and out into the crowd. For now, the summit of a pyramid would have to wait.

Marine Antics
While on active duty in 29 Palms, CA, I worked with a Gunnery Sergeant named Ward Lemmons. A crusty salt who was at the end of his time in the Corps, he told me a story at one point about his Marine Security Guard assignments. American Embassies are guarded around the world by US Marines, whose charter is to ensure that embassy personnel and the actual grounds- deemed sovereign US soil are fully protected. The assignment typically involves a small team of Marines that work for 4 days on/ 3 days off or whatever, with the first Embassy being a "hardship" (I use that term loosely.. if you have ever seen State Department living overseas it is hardly a hardship) tour, then the second Embassy being a premier posting.

Gunny's first embassy was Cairo. On this posting, he said: "you know, those pyramids go way out there! Me and a few other Marines would hop in a Jeep and drive way, way out into the desert. Finding some random pyramid, we would climb to the top with a case of Heineken and sleeping bags. And those Heineken bottles are made of some tough glass too. We would roll the empties off the top, hearing them go 'clink clink clink' on their way down until you couldn't hear them anymore. We would pass out in our bags until morning when some British tourists, thinking they were going to have some spiritual experience would stumble onto us after passing all those empties on their way up. Thinking they were going to have some spiritual experience at sunrise, instead they'd find a trail of empties leading to bunch of passed out Marines."

He went on to tell me that during this posting he also managed to make it into one of the extensive catacomb networks riddling the Egyptian plain. There, he stole a human skull, tossed it into his backpack and brought it back to the Marine House where he would then pull it out from time to time for party-goers to inspect: "you can tell he was a grain eater because his molars are all worn down."

Two years later, Gunny Lemmons found himself and his Egyptian skull assigned to the US Embassy in Paris, where he met and married a local girl. His proposal came with only one demand: Get rid of the head. So, he concocted a plan with some fellow Marines. One quiet Sunday afternoon they all boarded the Métro de Paris with the skull in a brown paper bag. Sitting down, they put the bag under their seat, waited a few stops and then collectively disembarked. The bag and it's occupant kept going on it's merry way, finally to be discovered at some point down the line. The next morning's front page newspaper headline read: "Human Head Found in Métro" although it did seem to confuse everyone how a 3,000 year old head managed to get there in the first place.

The Muhammad's

If you have ever seen the coming-of-age movie "Superbad", one favorite story line comes when Fogel is proudly showing off his Fake ID to his friends. Seth and Evan comment on the name he has chosen for himself: McLovin, the Organ Donor from Hawaii. His friends get on his case until Fogel claims that his choice was between McLovin and Muhammad. Seth says "Why the F*@k would it be between McLovin or Muhammad? Why don't you just pick a common name like a normal person?" Fogel's response: "Muhammad is the most commonly used name on Earth. Read a f-ing book for once."

So here we are in Egypt, and everyone we meet is named Muhammad. Taxi drivers, Egypt Museum crappy tour guides, hotel bellhops. Even in this mob of kids- at least ten of them are named Muhammad.

Exiting the swarm of tourists and vultures at the Giza Pyramid main entrance, I track down a taxi driver who leads me to a side alley and his vehicle. Jumping in, I notice a solitary figure sitting alone on a storefront stoop diligently and carefully carving away at a piece of alabaster. "Hey Muhammad, can you wait for a second? I want to see if he is selling canopic jars." I crossed the street and approached this largish individual in man-dress and keffiyeh who immediately breaks out into a giant smile and strikes up a conversation.

"Hi, how are you my friend? My name is Muhammad."

"You don't say. I'm doing well, thanks for asking. Do you sell canopic jars?"

"Yeah I do."

Yeah? Hmm.. that's a little odd. The conversation wears on.

"Where are you from?"

Typically, this general question would have elicited my usual "Paraguay" response, but for some reason that I couldn't explain I felt ok and replied with "United States"

"What part?"

"Seattle."

"Quite rainy there this time of year."

Err? This response definitely wasn't normal. We continue talking.

"So do you hand make these?"

"Uh huh."

At that point I stop, turn around and look him in the eye. "Ok...Where. Are. You. From?"

"Hawaii. Big Island."

"Get the hell out of here."

We talk for the next ten minutes while I get his life story, which involves him growing up as a surfer outside of Kona, meeting an Egyptian woman (of course), falling in love and her convincing him to move to Egypt in the mid-90s, converting to Muslim along the way. He travels home every other year where the old gang remains the same and where he's still able to maintain the faint glimmer of Hawaiian Pidgin that he now feels ok to spurt fluently. There we are- two Americans who bumped into each other, half way around the world at the foot of four thousand year old pyramids and talking about surfing in Hawaii. So incredibly random. His smile grows larger and he laughs heartily when I tell him that my usual response to the tourist vultures of nationality is Paraguayan, then becomes saddened when talking about a drying of American tourism post-9/11. "It will come back though, I am confident!" he replies, pulling out his smile again. He insists that I not even consider haggling with him as he gives me bargain-basement prices on everything I want to purchase and then throws in a few pieces free of charge. We part ways, only after he insists a return to his store again when visiting Cairo next time.

I promise, Muhammad... because I need to get to the top of that pyramid one day.

Back to Main: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com/

Ulu Temburong- Brunei Darussalam

2009-11-29T23:12:00.000-08:00

The third largest island in the world, Borneo is a steamy hot, remote and far-off extension of the Asian mainland separated only through shallow seas from the Malay Peninsula. Sitting immediately adjacent to Sumatra and Java and barely above the Equator, the tropical archipelago is surrounded by warm, milky, silt-ridden waters of the South China, Sulu, Java, and Celebes Seas slopping gently against island shores. Hot and humid, temperatures remain fairly constant throughout the year at 90 degrees with annual rainfall averaging from 100 to 160 inches that typically arrive in heavy afternoon cloud bursts.

Three nations share this land, parsed out between Indonesia, Malaysia and the small, extremely wealthy nation of Brunei Darussalam. Only three hundred miles east of Singapore, this tiny nation is only 2,226 square miles in size with a total population of 333,000 people. It's pretty quiet here- no, wait.. it's really quiet here. Flipping through the Borneo Bulletin headlines, it's a who's who of local gossip and non-news: "4x4 Adventure to K'Lapangan Cancelled", "RBPF Sacrifice cattle in Aidiladha." Good in a way, I suspect.. much better than the other way around. But it does go to show that this place- even the thousand year old capital of 75,000 people making up the largest city in this Sultinate is an extremely quiet and well-managed place.

Under Muslim law, it is extremely strict. I'd put it on par with Malaysia and Singapore, all of whom have "DEATH TO DRUG TRAFFICKERS" on their immigration entry cards. While formed in 1984 as an independent entity when it broke free from British rule, understandably it is fundamentally and ideologically more aligned with it's Malay and Indonesian neighbors. All of this is clear when walking around the quiet streets of the capital. Well paved, sparkly clean and highly efficient, the absence of any sort of traffic makes this place almost uncomfortable during what should be Rush Hour.

Mosques dot the Bandar Seri Begawan skyline and afternoon prayers ring out across the heavy air as brightly colored birds zing by and distant lightening illuminates far-off thunderheads, silhouetted by orange sunsets. The most prominent of all structures here is the Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddin Mosque, built in 1958 but so well maintained that it appears to have been erected yesterday. Rising 171 feet from the surrounding plain that forms the origin of this nation, the main dome is covered in pure gold and can be seen from virtually everywhere in the capital city. Named after the 28th Sultan of Brunei, it is considered amongst the Bruneian people to be their major landmark and is also amongst the most spectacular examples of architecture in Southeast Asia. As a non-Muslim, you can even walk inside during daily visitor hours (or.. visitor hours actually = more like 30 minutes) and take in the mosaic stained glass and imported Italian marble. If any structure in this nation speaks to it's fantastic oil wealth, this one clearly does.

If you look at the island of Borneo, Brunei Darussalam is situated at the northern edge, and is actually cut into two distinct pieces. Bandar Seri Begawan is in the western, and much larger section of the country, while the Ulu Temburong National Park is situated in the rugged and much more remote eastern prefecture. Only a small number of jeep trails exist in the park, mainly connecting interior Indian villages. To get there is quite literally an expedition in itself. Located south of Temburong District, the park covers 550 square miles of pristine forest that is almost exclusively accessible by boat. As the only way to get there, that's how I went. How often is one on Borneo, after all?

One hot, muggy and stale-aired morning, I grabbed a taxi and rode the 10 minutes down to the central watertaxi jetty, straight across from the Water Village. In the Seventh Century, the first settlers of Brunei Darussalam set up shop here by erecting houses on stilts in communities along the Kampong Ayer in a tradition much similar to their way of life today. I could have walked, but I decided that if I was soon going to be stacked like cord wood into a decaying boat, I didn't want the spectacle of a white guy that towered over everyone to be even more entertaining by being covered in sweat. Me just standing still in that oppressive heat is usually more than adequate to start sweating profusely, and this was no different. So I didn't need any help in that category, but a short relief of air conditioning is always well received.

After ten minutes, a high speed boat came along and off I headed toward Bangar. Ringing the island of Borneo, the coast maintains a low, marshy belt between 10 and 50 miles wide. Most of this area is composed of mangrove swamp and it is precisely through this that the boat drivers quickly snake their way along over the next half an hour. The water taxi service is known as "penambang and is primarily used for transporting people and light cargo between Bandar Seri Begawan and Kamping Ayer. Our driver was so adept at navigating these tight passages that at times Mangrove branches would scrape the side of the boat as he cranked by. I just threw in my MP3 and resigned myself to a much different experience as we passed into a shared bay-like area situated along our area between Brunei and Malaysia.

Along the way, it is possible to see the reddish brown, medium sized Proboscis Monkey. Endangered, it is found only on Borneo, and we saw ours swinging around in clusters of 20 monkeys- essentially a Proboscis Monkey community of sorts almost across from the Sultan's palace. Not too shabby an existence. I wonder if they tell all the other monkey species on Borneo about how great they have it- show offs and all proud until they catch the other monkeys staring at their nose. Then they get all self-conscious I bet.

Males have a large and protruding Jimmy Durante nose that apparently attracts "da laidiezz" in the Proboscis Monkey world. Besides working to attract women, the nose assists as a resonating chamber to amplify warning calls. Or, to snore louder than my buddy Chris does after 5 weisbiers in Munich.

Finally, after an hour ride, the high speed water taxi arrives in lovely Temburong District. It took all of 5 seconds after the boat stopped for me to question this plan. It is so, so, so hot here! It makes me convinced that someone around here is going to spontaneously combust. This town is extremely small- perhaps three blocks total, not much in the way of tourist chotchkie shopping, and more of a stepping off point for Temburong National Park than anything.

It is also here that our group met Asman- a tour guide that was sent out by the Ulu Ulu Resort to collect us up and get us the last two phases and 2 hours of the trip. Asman, it turns out, is from a tribe of former cannibals and head hunters. He states that back in the early 80's one of the Sultan's mandates to independence that all the Borneo headhunters stop playing their Reindeer Games. No more cannibalism, says Asman- and then proceeds to go on telling us about an "unexplained" event against some cluster of local politicians that seemed to fall victim to a crime that seemed at first glance to be an old and familiar crime. He didn't say anything about anyone getting convicted, which made me chuckle thinking about how you can be put to death here for bringing in drugs, but local crimes by headhunter clans can go unpunished.

Before heading off in a park Land Rover across some well-paved and several poorly maintained roads, we meandered through a local food market. Not very big, but loaded heavy with regional fruits and vegetables. One of my personal favorites- more for the reaction it gets out of people who have never had it- is the Durian. Highly pungent, it is banned from airplanes and most hotels because people either love the sticky, almost rotting sweet smell, or they hate it with the passion of a thousand burning white hot suns. This pesky fruit has so many spikes on it that it can be dangerous. Once in Vietnam a few years back I was driving a motor bike and had one suspended from a plastic bag from my handle bar. The bag pendulum'ed forward, then the weight of the 10lb fruit pulled the bag backward and straight into my knee where it drew blood. Ya gotta watch out for these fruits all sorts of ways.

Driving overland, Asman regales us with stories. Someone honestly needs to tell these guys about what sort of stories are appropriate, and what aren't. Brunei is working feverishly to develop it's eco-tourism industry in Temburong, seeing the biodiversity of Borneo working in it's favor and looking to draw in the ever elusive tourist trade. So here's Asman, chirping away. "So, Asman- what did you do last night?" "Oh, Doug. two friends of mine and I went out with blow guns into the jungle and shot three Silver Leaf Monkey. We then cooked them and ate them in a BIG feast. We were very happy."

After a while, we arrived at the Temburong River, where a flat-bottomed boat was prepared to take the final leg up river to Ulu Ulu Resort. Barely held together yet somehow durable, these boats slip through the shallow river waters with the aid of only a severely chipped up propeller. This was definitely my favorite part of the trip to Ulu Ulu. Weaving in and out of rapids, water so shallow you could reach out of the boat and touch the riverbed below. Bumping, bouncing, lurching and getting wet the whole way, there is no other way of getting to Ulu Ulu. And it is one unique ride.

After another 45 minutes, the Ulu Ulu Resort filters into view. A highly ambitious private project to bring eco tourism to the region, I honestly had mixed feelings. It is modern, they are building like crazy, it is almost 1,000 meters from end-to-end along the riverfront, and.. we were the only guests. Literally.. the only guests. I get the need to make a really great place to draw in the tourists. But this place is so remote, Brunei is already so quiet, and the challenges of getting here to this spot, nestled almost in the exact center of the vast Ulu Temburong National Park.. it just doesn't seem possible. The extremely friendly staff talk about the near future where the hotel will be at 70% occupancy, but then I walk the quiet halls, these extensive structures completely abandoned- I'm immediately struck with what I felt the whole time I was there. Like I was watching an episode of the TV show "Lost".

The hotel winds up several hundred meters into the surrounding hillsides. Step after agonizing step continue up endless walkways to the tops of hills. It's not rarefied air here that makes you want to stop- it's the oppressive humidity that gives you a headache, has you burst out into fits of uncontrolled sweating, and mosquitoes giddy with excitement. Asman insists on no fewer than two "nature" walks before lights out, followed by two more tomorrow. After one, I'm ready for a nap and wondering aloud where I'm going to be able to wring out my sopping clothes in the middle of a rain forest.

Wildlife is everywhere. After all, it is Borneo- one of the most nature-rich habitats on the planet. And it is truly cool. We saw civet cats, tarantula, 8 inch long gecko, crazy moths the size of a dinner plate, bats feasting by dive bombing the cloud of mosquitoes that hovered around our heads and some crazy colored birds. Monkey were surprisingly absent, although given Asman's penchant for eating them, he probably cleaned out the local talent from the hotel area years ago.

At one point on a "nature" hike that to me was more of a forced march to make me sweat, we were stumbling about in the pitch black. All of a sudden, there are these mossy steps, followed by some stressed metal from the corrosive tropic air. Behind a mung-covered control panel, soft reddish and orangish bulbs glowed, and a creepy bridge appeared out of nowhere. Before I was reminded of the TV show "Lost". Only now I felt like I was actually living it. A strange, creepy feeling washes over me as the only sound outside of an occasional gecko is the noise we make in the pure blackness of only faint starlight penetrating the triple canopy jungle. Trudging along as sweat beads regularly and drips in a constant stream off my nose, I learn that the grounds of Ulu Ulu are littered with these things built for a much, much larger audience that won't ever come. So, maybe in a way the silence made these structures more "Lost"-like. But they were definitely brought up in conversation several times. "Hey Asman! Where's the countdown doomsday clock?" So weird..

One great highlight did come in the form of another painful jungle hike- this one initiated before the sun came up. With a knock on my hotel room door, I stumbled through a dehydration headache to compete with a cornucopia of insects over a watered down coffee breakfast. Then, movement to the start of what was billed as "a leisurely 271 meters to the jungle walk". 271 meters in my mind is 271 meters. To the Ulu Ulu team, 271 meters is actually closer to 450 meters up an almost purely vertical mud slope awash in army ants, spiders and other Borneo friends. Again, I arrive out of breath at the top of a very step hill, covered in grime and bathed in sweat. After one day, everything I own is wet.

But, I soon learn that it was worth every bit of it. Ascending to the top of the hill, we find a Erector Set ladder contraption that allows you to snake your way to the top very top of the jungle canopy. Twelve mini ladders wind their way 70meters up past vivid orchids clinging to tree trunks and finally to the tree tops themselves, where you can look out across slow mists blanketing the valley below. No noise other than macaws and howler monkeys calling out warnings. Gentle hues of oranges and purples extend out across the horizon. It was truly beautiful.

Above the trees, the canopy jungle walk extends for another 150 meters or so. En route, you can peer down into the rain forest to take a bird's eye view of the numerous vines, flowering plants and dense undergrowth that covers most of Borneo. From what I hear, occasionally you can see small leopards, rhino, orangutans and gibbons walk below, and even a possible python or cobra if you are lucky.

Finally, wobbling along on your canopy walk, you arrive at a sign pointing the way to Bandar Seri Bagawan and Mount Kinabalu. The island's highest peak at 13,455' and located in the extreme north, I guess you could say that I have had my eye on this peak for several years. But it's not easy to get to, and takes a level of effort that I am still debating to this day as to whether or not it's worth what goes into it.

Looking to the return to civilization, covered in bug bites and completely dehydrated, Asman chimes on and on about how much he is looking forward to that night's activities. No head hunting or cannibalism, unfortunately. No, that night, he and his friends we going out hunting again. "Maybe a few pythons! Those are tasty," he claims. "Want to have some?" If not those, then he'd go back after the monkeys. Eco tourism in Borneo.. long, long way to go.

Back to Main: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com

A-Ha: Oslo

2009-11-14T19:15:00.000-08:00

On a rainy November Friday, my c0-worker Laura and I were wrapping up a quiet Friday night in Oslo. We had just spent a long week in the office and were looking to blow off some steam, but the astronomical cost of living there made doing just about anything cost prohibitive (example: $56 for one 12" pizza, 2 sodas and a side of chips/ $12 for a beer) . We wandered the streets that were being gently pelted by cold rain, disoriented by the fact that the city goes dark at 4:30 on short winter days.

As we drew close to the hotel at about 10pm, we heard music coming out of a nondescript, concrete building with an open door, people streaming in and out. Clusters of Norwegians sat around engaged in the national past time of smoking. Chatting it up, they were blissfully unaware of two American wandering among their midst. "Hey, let's go check that out." "Ok."

Ascending a flight of ~10 steps, we got out of the rain and walked straight in without even a second glance. Inside, we found a minor hallway dotted with about a hundred people that were wandering this way and that. Finally I identified the music, and said plainly "oh, someone is doing a crappy version of 'Take on Me'."

Straight ahead we saw a heavy cloth curtain that covered an obscure entry way. Unable to avert our eyes and drawing us in like a giant mosquito lamp, an intriguing purplish neon glow streamed through the cracks. The music that drew us inside was clearly coming from behind, glowing louder with each step.

In retrospect, the funny thing is that other than "Take on Me", I honestly didn't know what to expect to find when we pulled aside the curtain. It could have been a drunk kid singing on a Karaoke machine to a few of his friends. It could have been a college band wailing away to a dimly lit bar full of drunks.

Or, it could have been a -pull back the curtain- stadium full of 20,000 Norwegians watching the real A-Ha at the end of their farewell concert tour.

I looked at the well-lit stage, complete with A-Ha singing away at their most successful song, their recognizable yet much older faces splashed on 10 Meter high screens. There they were, complete with fans dancing heavily and screaming throughout the arena. Stunned and speechless, I looked at Laura. She had the same shocked look on her face and we both laughed incredulously at the randomness of our encounter.

To this day, I can still remember the first time I saw their video, in Huntsville, Alabama a week before my friend Ro Delibris and I were going to attend Space Camp (yes, that's right.. Space Camp). A side story in itself, Ro lived in Huntsville and in that week we got into more trouble and did more things that could have gotten us thrown into Juvenile than I can recall. We shot at street signs with sawed off BB guns. We rode down massive storm sewers with modified dirt bikes, emerging from manhole covers and bathed in green slime. We ended up with an assfull of rock salt thanks to an irate neighbor who didn't appreciate us cutting through his backyard. One night, we ended up in a movie theater watching "Back to the Future", and after a few previews aired, the A-Ha cartoonish music video kicked off and I was hooked.

Fast forward to November 2009, and out of complete, random luck we just so happened to stumble onto this, one of their last concerts on a farewell tour before splitting up. Totally random. I grabbed my camera, snapped this picture, and then was yelled at in Norwegian by some security guy. Good times..

Back to Main: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com/

Labor Day Monsoon

2009-09-12T17:35:00.000-07:00

The goal for Labor Day was to climb Rainier... until our small team reviewed a summit forecast of six degrees and fifty mile an hour winds. Not exactly what one dreams of for a relaxing Labor Day trip. Still, some of us wanted an adventure so we continued to watch the weather and keep our fingers crossed that conditions would change.

Saturday morning we woke to gloomy grey skies, wind and heavy rain moving sideways. A raincoated woman scrambled from her car to a nearby doorway as her umbrella turned upside down. Not exactly fun outdoor weather. We continued to discuss options while I watched a small river move past backed up storm sewers. Reid asked if this meant that sunscreen, sunglasses and a sunhat were now off the packing list. Got any moleskin?

Ever the optimists, we all agreed to meet up at Huntington's house to discuss a plan which for safety sake now seemed in jeopardy. Even Glacier Peak seemed unlikely- four thousand feet lower than Rainier, the forecasts still clearly indicated a purely miserable experience. Hiking fifteen miles with full packs through rain and strong winds, we would be completely drenched when passing through the snow line where everything would soon freeze. So awesome... not.

Over the years, I have had the fortune- or misfortune depending on how you look at it- of being cold many, many times. It can be fun, situation dependent. Most of the time it's not. But either way, misery can generate some great stories. Believe it or not, the coldest I have ever been was in Quantico, Virginia when I was at The Basic School- where Marine Second Lieutenants go to learn how to become baby alligators. One dark, cloudy January morning at 5am and with barely three hours of sleep, we packed up our gear, stumbled out of our warm barracks and sat in the cold grass to wait for a CH-53 ride to a training area across base. Then it started raining. Not hard, but just enough to get everything immediately wet. Over the course of the next three days it rained constantly, with the temps shifting hourly between 31 and 33 degrees. Everything was wet. Then it all froze. Then it got wet again. And then it froze again. Back then we had something then called a Shelterhalf- a World War II era throwback tent contraption that has fortunately since been replaced. My buddy and I would come back from day-long training, break the ice crust off the seal and crawl in. We would then shiver all night in our damp cotton sleeping bag, taking our mind off of how cold we were by talking about how cold other suckers must be.

Then we would go out and do it all again. Thursday, it rained so hard that even the 1/4" sheen of ice that had built up on all our gear melted away and left our platoon's bivouac area under a foot of water. Some genius had managed to scout out the low ground when planning and now we were all wading through a lake. One of my platoon mates laughed so hard he cried when I unbuttoned the Shelterhalf and watched my soggy sleeping bag float by in shin-deep water. Nathan Neblett, another platoon mate walked in circles in the water, shivering and repeating over and over "I will not be a casualty to the cold. I will not be a casualty to the cold". It truly sucked. They pulled us out of the field a day early because I think they were afraid we would become popsicles. Noone complained.

Saturday morning and I'm reminded of all that. Not one of us wanted to go out in that weather. All the Everett cops on our team bailed out. Our team shrank from 10, to 6, and then to 4. Huntington was deeply upset when we arrived at his house and broke the news. Reid and I had already discussed it offline and were in agreement- it was just too dangerous to press on. Leonard just wanted hardship and to be a part of the action. We all wanted stores. We needed to do something.

On Huntington's couches we tried to come up with a plan that would be fun for all of us given the weather. As the wind continued to howl outside, we settled on the Olympic Peninsula. If we were going to be wet and miserable, why not have it happen on the coast where at sea level we wouldn't have to worry about humping ten miles to find ourselves freezing?

It was agreed. Four hours later, we were off. Four hours?

- Huntington re-packed on his porch.
- I repacked on his sidewalk (why drag mountaineering gear to a beach, right?).
- Leonard told us how glad he was to just be there.
- We all drove to Reid's place where he repacked.
- Leonard ate a pound of sour patch kids and drank two Rock Star energy drinks.
- We drove Reid's St Bernard to his father-in-law's. Mistakenly thinking it was Reid's parents house, Leonard strolled in uninvited to check out his mom and had both Reid & his father in law stare him down.
- Long faced, Huntington mopily announced he wasn't joining us for the weekend. Yes, there is more to this story.
- Inhaling a fistfull of blackberries, I wondered aloud why they were crunchy. Once the taste hit me realized I had just eaten a stinkbug.
- Despite everyone having 3 pair each that he could have borrowed, we returned Reid's rental crampons to REI.
- I found Tums to settle whatever stinkbug weirdness was going on in my stomach.
- We grabbed a cooler from Reid's parents' house where we all got to meet his hot mom and play with his dad's power washer.
- Leonard & I downed two pounds of sour patch kids.

Somewhere during this melee, Reid re-recruited Randy Marrs. He had decided that despite the weather, he was willing to go to the beach to be wet & miserable. Reid also recruited a friend from High School named Dee Dee, a woman who had a second tent and who was given zero warning for what she was about to get herself into.

Five minutes after getting into Reid's truck, Marrs tells us that he is currently up to his eyeballs in Facebook drama. And what drama it was. He's totally freaking out. He had met some girl named "Sapphire" who had recently dropped the "L" word on him. Several weeks before, he had told this woman of three kids by three different men that he wasn't interested in anything serious. When she dropped the L Bomb, he responded with something like "Thanks".. and then beat feet. And she was now super pissed. Everything had eroded and now they were in a heavy war of words via Text Message. "God, I wish I hadn't friended her on Facebook.. she's threatening to friend all the girls I know. Hey do any of you have Internet access?" Marrs is in his 40s, is former Army Special Forces, Iraq vet and now Everett PD so the irony wasn't lost on us.

All this drama! It truly made our trip entertaining as the miles ticked by. Snarky text messages rolled. Reid and I laughed so hard we were crying. "Hey Randy, whatever you do, you had better hurry. Once we hit Hood Canal Bridge we go out of cell range and then you are F-ed." "Yeah yeah"...

-ring ring-

"Hey Joe! I wish you answered. I need you to do me a favor. Can you log onto my Facebook account and un-friend Sapphire Woodfield? My username is Hotcop_1 and my password is Pistola. I NEED YOU to unfriend her!! She's crazy. Like literally crazy! Thanks buddy. You need to do it now, don't wait. Do it now!"

Marrs finally lost cell range and wondered aloud what all of this would mean once we returned to civilization. Finally, we arrived in La Push, a remote town on the Pacific coast along the Olympic peninsula. This is the home of Second Beach, our intended home for the weekend. The skies had grown increasingly grey, rain and winds were now picking up to a frenzied tempo. Dee Dee looked at us like a crazy woman. Wearing jeans, sneakers and a cotton sweatshirt, it was very clear that Reid hadn't given her any advance warning on what she was getting into. She had a stuff sack thrown over her shoulder with string, a Coach purse and was clutching a pillow.

"Dee Dee, you look like a high school runaway."

We made our way down the 1.2 mile winding, tree-rooted forest trail through ever darkening skies and intermittent rain showers to finally emerge on the beach. In the windy darkness, we set up our tents in a protected stretch of trees that was high enough to avoid any random wave. As we set up under the faint glow of head lamps, Dee Dee's tent started waving wildly in the wind. Reid, Marrs and Dee Dee threw their gear into her tent while Leonard and I tossed our equipment into mine. Beef flavored beer started flowing as Reid plucked one after another out of the cooler, haphazarly packed under pallets of now-dripping steak and pork. Wind and rain picked up to fever pitch. We crawled into Dee Dee's tent and sat cross-legged as it shuddered with each gust. With a huge smile, Leonard pulled out a fifth of some random drink called American Honey.

It turned into a hilarious night. Marrs, who is 125 pounds when there's a 25 pound weight in his pack, was ready for bed within three hours. Dee Dee's tent stayed upright, although it appeared to be on the brink of collapse every time a gale pushed off the ocean and headed inland. Inside, the tent was illuminated with wildly bouncing head lamps suspended from the ceiling. We all feasted on Sour Patch Kids and slurped down another beer. A tarp we had tied between two trees to act as a rain shelter tore free. Any time one of us left the tent to go pee, we returned completely soaked. Dee Dee wondered for the hundredth time why she hadn't been told about what she was getting into. Marrs wondered what was going on with his Facebook page.

Reid showed us Crang.

Finally it was bedtime. Marrs passed out on 95% of Dee Dee's precious pillow and attempted to spoon her... which she loved. At one point Marrs woke up and saw that the only part of Dee Dee's head that was touching her beloved pillow was her nose because he had hijacked the rest. Lightening storms. Heavy waves crashing not far from the tent with high tide. Leonard woke from a dream imagining that the tent was under water. What must have been a rat chewed a large hole through the side of Dee Dee's tent to get at a bag of hot dog buns which were right by Reid's head as he slept. I went out to pee in the middle of a storm to returned a minute later completely drenched. Heavy rain. Wind.

The next morning, we emerged from our waterlogged tents and focused on breakfast. I think it took us close to 45 minutes to finally get a fire going, thanks in large part to Marrs' Boy Scout skills. We dug a pit and finally got something going, which Marrs lovingly coaxed into a blaze and tossed on metal grills, suspended with a wet log we dragged out of the woods.

Dee Dee kept talking about how much she wanted to leave and was willing to abandon her tent- especially after hearing two loud "CRACK" noises that turned out to be tent poles finally giving in.

"You guys can have it. I'm leaving."
"You can't leave it, Dee Dee. You can't abandon it."
"I'm outta here. I don't want it anymore. You can have it."
"It's not like a hermit is going to move into your tent. We have to bring it out."
"Fine, you do it. I'm leaving."

Marrs muddled away, making quesadillas until I stepped on a log suspended over the fire and acting as a wind break. As the whole thing came tumbling down and crashed into the blaze, Marrs reached into the fire and grabbed the metal grill as everyone looked on.

"Ahhhh!!! S&@t f*~k cr@p sh~t!!!"
....
...
..
.
"Dude, are you ok?"
"Yeah."
"Hey it looks like your fingers are a pannini!"

Marrs continued to cook, making our steaks. We didn't have any utensils, so Marrs used tin foil to grab the scalding hot steaks and hand them to us. "Hey Marrs, you know that tin foil has zero heat dissipation characteristics, right?" After a bite I dropped my steak in the sand and chose a muddy brown stream to wash it off. It was either that, or the surf line where a flock of sea gulls were pooping into the waves. Mmmm. good eatin'.

We looked out to the darkened ocean sky and saw the Mother of All Squalls coming in- and fast. It was time to go. "Leonard! Throw everything outside! We have to get this tent packed up now!" We immediately started to pack up and break down the tents, jamming gear into packs as quickly as we could. Just as we finished, a turbulent sideways moving wall of grey air reached us with rain drops the size of water balloons. We were sopping wet within seconds. Smoke billowed everywhere as the fire began to fizzle out.

With the rain dumping gallons and gallons of water, we quickly made our way up and out along the winding path. After twenty minutes of slipping and sliding, we were at the cars, ready to head back to the relative warmth of civilization. Only 24 hours after we arrived, we were heading home.

Mad Cow Disease

2009-09-01T00:30:00.000-07:00

Last Friday while on an R&R day at Munich working the Ciao! integration intitiative, a few members of our team decided to take advantage of a beautiful Bavarian day and see the countryside.

This was a bit pre-planned by design. We had built an extra day into the trip for touristy things as usual trips involve 18 hour work days. In talking through our plans, Laura, Michelle and I discussed re-visiting Neuchwanstein- a magical castle nestled among the Alps and used by Walt Disney as a model for his Cinderella fairy tale. Agreeing on this as our destination of choice, I brought up that in February, another co-worker and I had discovered a hidden rock gully that led to an overlook where one can take stunning pictures. Laura and Michelle were both game, so I threw a rope and harness in my bag to prep for steeper sections of the gully.

Friday arrived, and we were off to the castle. Michelle had rented a car for the three of us, so we were able to drive to Schweingau (the closest town to Neuchwanstein) in no time. After a quick tour through the castle, Michelle decided that she wasn't interested in going on the climb to what we had affectionately called "the Grassy Knoll"- a nub of meadow clinging to a steep and exposed 400 foot section of cliff immediately adjacent the front of the castle. This is where Jon and I had climbed in February, and our goal was to make this same section.

Setting off from the car, Laura and I followed a cross-country ski path that in the summer doubles as a walking path. Meandering through meadow after meadow, we warmed our faces on a sun gently peeking through clouds and listened to cow bells clattering away in the distance. Wooden turnstyles, designed to keep cows from in their designated fields remind us of Old Country living while a casually strung, low intensity electric cloth tape keeps us firmly planted in the 21st century. Finally, we found the trail- much different in winter when no undergrowth exists. In summer, a spree of waist deep brambles, raspberry bushes and nettles intermixed with mountain flowers constantly pull on our legs.

It took about an hour for Laura and I to scramble, climb, and shimmy our way up to the Grassy Knoll. Along the way, we found no fewer than four areas involving vertical rock that were made more complicated by wet mud and slick moss. The gully that Jon and I had some difficulty with was actually protected now by a fixed line someone had placed- my guess being a local who knew of the hard-to-find route and wanted to set a fast path for himself to the Grassy Knoll. It was good fortune for us in that it quickened our journey and allowed fast entry/egress through one of the tougher sections of the route. Emerging through the trees, a beautiful setting was made even more picturesque by dramatic clouds, sun rays streaming to the ground in pools of electric green, and an ethereal Alps mountain backdrop.

After twenty minutes, the distant clouds heavy with rain made me decide to look up. Uh oh.. The storm clouds were brewing- and had slipped in quietly behind us as they drifted in from the opposite direction of where we were staring off toward Neuchwanstein. "Hey Laura we need to GO...NOW. We're going to get really, really wet."

"Ok.."

"Well, as long as we can make it down through the last vertical pitch before it starts raining, we'll be ok."

As usual, the downhike proved much quicker than the way up. But still not without the regular pull of brambles and sting of nettles digging into skin. These sucked, too. These are the plants that have the super-fine needles that you can't see sting like crazy when you accidentally have one run up against your skin. Even as I write this- three days, an ocean and continent away, I'm still digging those little punks out of my skin.

We used the ropes to rappel or hand-over-hand down through vertical sections, slip-sliding on the mud and skittering down to the last pitch. From there, we still could see through trees and across the valley laced with red-roofed farmer cottages, white washed churches and neatly manicured farmland. One more pitch to go and we would have descended back down into the valley itself and away from the technical pitches. Almost there. As I prepared our rope for the last rappel, Laura stated flatly and with zero amusement:

"It's raining."

And rain it did. Within seconds, it was like someone had dumped a giant bucket upside down. The skies opened. Looking across the valley you could see rain falling heavily, illuminated by a far-off sun contrasting with an incredibly dark sky. Great. Within minutes we were both drenched and the last pitch became an incredible pain in the ass. Everything was wet- much to our chagrin, but I'm sure thrilling to the local peeper frogs that littered the ground and hid among the nettles that continued to scratch us everywhere. Finally, we made it down, quickly jammed our gear into packs and headed down to the pasture.

As the rain started to abate, I looked at my sweat, dirt and water covered watch, noting aloud that we were ~1 1/2 hours behind. Michelle would be back at the car waiting. The last thing I wanted was for her to call out Hofbrauhaus Moutain Rescue, so when we reached what I thought was a good shortcut down an old jeep trail, I suggested we take it and Laura quickly agreed.

The trail left the forest quickly and traveled over a slight hill, opening up into a meadow leading directly to where we needed to go 400 meters distant. Almost there! Except.. at 200 meters, standing directly in the path and all staring right at us were 50 billion cows. These things were massive- easily three thousand pounds each. One of them, a bull, was staring us down and walking towards us.

"Holy cow"

"That's right..."

At this point it's important to note that Laura is from Wisconsin and used to travelling through, underneath, alongside, on top of, and around cows. All Things Cows. I'm originally from New York City. There are no cows in NYC other than on a dinner plate. So knowing how to act around one usually comes with a steak knife and side of mashed potatos.

"Just act like a cow. Walk slowly through them and whatever you do, don't walk directly behind one."

Act like a cow? How the hell does a cow act? "MMmmoooooo!" Laura the Cow Whisperer isn't doing me much help in figuring this out. As we draw closer, more cows come out of the forest and block our path. The bull won't take his lazer eyes off of me and starts flaring his nostrils. Then, as we passed the first of hudreds of cow patty mines set to let intruders know that they were treading on hallowed ground, we realized that we were squarely in the Danger Zone. We pass the first of them and one says to me "Moooo", which in cow speak means "Screwed, buddy."

The bull starts shaking his head and gets ready to charge. So I tell Laura "I'm going for the treeline and go that way". "Fine", she says, and keeps walking straight on to her impending death. As I dodge the bull, I realize that I haven't really done much to help myself because two smaller cows start chasing me up the hill and through the trees. Freaking chasing me! WTF, ya know? I look left and see that I'm right by their watering hole, which explains why they are hot on my trail.

Wet, muddy, sweaty and being chased, a regular dose of pine needles and ticks drop down my neck. I finally end up in a clearing, where I run straight into the largest bull on the planet. Ten thousand pounds, easy. It had 4' horns and prison tattoos on it's flank. On it's front leg it had 15 notch scars to represent each of the people it had run down through the years. Smoke came out of it's flared nostrils. Glowing red eyes immediately shot in my direction. I look down to the path, and watch Laura casually saunter on, past 3 or 4 cows that don't even pay attention.

Crap. What to do? Encircled by cows vowing my death, I took the opportunity to slip through a small opening where I could double back to finally gain the jeep path. Take that, cows! You aren't so smart after all, huh? I'll show you. I look left again- and watch Laura take a second to pat one on the head. This situation is bullsh*t. Literally.

While I'm getting attacked from all sides and barely surviving, Laura is trading stories with the cows in one giant bonding moment. I look ahead: 50 more meters before the electric tape and only 500 more Mad Cows to get by. I'm still alive, barely. One more bull stares directly at us, and stands immediately next to the trail. Ahead, lie safety and life. I see my big break.

"I told you, just act like a cow."

"I have no idea what that means."

"Just don't act like a predator. Don't look them in the eye, and don't make any fast movements."
"Thanks so much, that would have been helpful to know about ten minutes ago."

While a wet behind the ears Marine 2nd Lieutenant, I sat through a class and had an instructor explain the difference between meat eaters and leaf eaters. "Are you a meat eater, Lieutenant!?? Or are you a leaf eater?" "Errr... meat eater...?" "Damn straight you are! A leaf eater is passive! He has eyes out on the side of his head, and is slow and timid like a cow! He never makes decisions! A meat eater has his eyes face forward. He's aggressive! He's decisive! He's like a wolf, or a tiger! So if you ever feel your eyes drifting out to the side of your head and you are becoming a passive leaf eater, get them focused again! Drag them eyes back to the front! Get back to being a meat eater! You're a carnivore, Lieutenant!" Ahh, the good old days.

So. All this did me absolutely no good when actually surrounded by a sea of leaf eaters. I'm not a leaf eater, I'm a meat eater, its in my DNA. I can't play cow, no matter how hard I try. But then again, I sure did try and it clearly didn't work out for me.

Somehow, we survived. Reaching the end of the pasture, Michelle appears over a rise in the pathway. Smiling and waving, she walks straight through a dozen cows who promptly and casually move out of her way. As if she is parting the Red Sea to come save us (*me*) from cows. COWS.

Laura and Michelle didn't seem to notice how we had barely escaped with our lives. But I noticed. I know how close we came to seeing the Other Side. Somehow, we were able to convince these people haters that we weren't going to turn them into steaks, just yet.

I had lived to see another day.

Everest One Year On

2009-05-21T06:40:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe that one year ago to the day, I was standing on the roof of the world, watching the sun rise on a windless, cloudless and beautiful morning. So today on a day of reflection, I can't help but note how fast time can slide by.

On May 21st 2008, our team found itself in the thick of it. Pushing forward, one step at a time, we experienced the thrills of the climb in a manner where I had to catch myself on occasion and be reminded that like everything, it was not forever. One day, the climb would end and everything would become a memory. I wrote down everything I could, took pictures at every opportunity, and pressed myself to make the most of the experience. Largely, it worked and the memories remained intact. Giving slide shows or telling stories continues to remain as exciting for me now as the day I first placed foot on the Khumbu Icefall.

But now there is a new set of climbers, a new set of teams. It is their time, their turn. Beginning in March, I have been reading their stories one at a time as they have worked toward the summit. Some echo similar experiences to those our team faced. Many are new, steeped in human interaction and uniqueness. I want them to succeed, have their experiences, reap their rewards, and then return home safely.

So there I am- reading blogs, tracking the progress of my friends. Many have already summited- this years push happened a few days earlier than last year. The weather was a little warmer, the snowfall a little more irregular. These teams didn't have to face the threat of a Chinese blockade that forced slow progress to higher camps, but they did have their own challenges. I'm proud of them, and once again of the clear-cut display of human spirit that comes shining through as people defy a host of obstacles and overcome.

So it has been an interesting ride, and today of all days there are many things going through my head. Emotionally, it is a strange feeling to be sure. I can close my eyes and vividly recall my own experiences. I am there, in spirit. I crave to be back.

So long for now, heated toilet

2009-03-29T20:13:00.000-07:00

Few things in the world can bring such placid moments as a heated toilet seat that also allows one to use a bidet, vibrate, and for those less private moments emit an electronically initiated flushing noise. What happens when you become used to such pleasures and then have them taken away? Toilet withdrawal.

During the last two days of our time in Tokyo, we ran around, checked out some familiar sites and stumbled across some new ones.

One of the first stops was Edo Museum- located right next to the Sumo Hall at Ryogokyu Station. For 600 Yen, you can ascend six stories to the spacious viewing floors and check out all sorts of cool exhibits from mustachioed Samurai armor to replica dioramas of ancient Edo settlements (complete with little binoculars to look out across all the tiny people and buildings).

We then had a really nice tie-in of all things Japan: a wide variety of wood cutting prints showing sakura blossoms and iconic snow-capped Fuji- our winter nemesis- decked out in tons of color. From Edo Museum this was a solid transition into sakura blossoms alongside the Imperial Palace and Yasakuni Shrine.

Alongside the Imperial Palace and located midway to the Tokyo Station railway stop is one of my favorite statues- this being of the brilliant tactician and loyal Samurai Kusunoki Masashige. Masashige is known for giving his life in protection of the Emperor during the 14th Century:

"During an internal power struggle, the Emperor insisted that Kusunoki meet another Shogun's superior forces in the field in a pitched battle. Kusunoki, in what would later be viewed as the ultimate act of samurai loyalty, obediently accepted his Emperor's foolish command, left his death poem with his young son and knowingly marched his army into almost certain death. The battle, which took place in modern-day Kobe, was a tactical disaster. Kusunoki, his army completely surrounded, committed suicide along with 600 of his surviving troops. According to legend, his last words were Shichisei Hōkoku! (七生報國; "Would that I had seven lives to give for my country!")"- Wikipedia

And then it was time to go. Off to Narita we went complete with tons and tons of bags. Reid, Hiromi, Schactler and Peterson all surprised me with a birthday cake at the airport, which was a complete surprise and flattering to say the least.

Then we processed through customs, had some last minute sushi, a last glimpse for now at cool & campy Japanese signs. And then Japan slipped beneath the wing of our 777 bound for Seattle.

I'll miss you heated toilet.

Back to Main Page: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com/

Fugu & Sakura

2009-03-26T17:18:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we walked around and went to various shrines and temples in the greater Tokyo area.

First stop was Ueno Park, where cherry blossoms (sakura) are almost in full bloom. You can tell that in about 2 or 3 days, these blossoms are going to go bat crazy and explode with an array of pinks and whites that make the Washington DC Tidal Basin seem like the kid brother who wants to play on the basketball team.

Because of the Sakura festival underway, oodles of foodstalls and vendors come out to ply their wares and sell goods. 99% are legit, some are your standard scam artists that we had a fun time calling out at one point. This is one vendor that didn't get a sale from us:

At the Kaminarimon Shrine with giant chochin, Asakusa is one of the more traditional areas of Tokyo to visit, and it's throngs of tourists makes it easy to see that it is as popular as it is busy. And why not? These shrines were one of the first places I visited in Tokyo, and I routinely come back here to bring people new to the city. It is literally chock full of shops, chotchkie stores and kitsch, but you can still find a nugget of gold nestled away in one of the hundreds of shops selling Japan keychains, replica swords, mochi, Godzilla figurines and Ninja facemasks.

By the senso-ji shrine, Schactler tried again, for the second year in a row, to get a good fortune. This is where you place your luck in the hands of an obscure metal box that you spin until a thin piece of wood akin to a chopstick comes out. On it, you read a number and pull a piece of paper out of a similarly numbered drawer. This, then, is your fortune. As we all learned, there are several layers of fortune: Supreme Good Luck, Good Luck, Moderate Luck, Luck, and Bad Luck. Schactler tried twice, and both times ended up with Bad Luck fortunes.

Given that our next stop was to eaf Fugu (blowfish), we thought it wise to make sure the waitress was aware of this, and to ask the chef to be extra special careful with the cuts made on his blowfish.

So off we went, to Akasaka (not Asukasa.. Akasaka) to eat up on our fugu meal. Tucked away in an obscure side alley, we found our store- it's sort of hard to miss if you are searching for it, given that massive blowfish replica on top of the store and a hundred odd fugu swimming around aimlessly in a tank wondering what happened to Bob and Joe, who were just there with them until a minute ago.

So while the sashimi comes out and is the version that is considered the most likely to inflict harm on a person eating it, there was one dish - a shabu shabu version that hit our table and was so fresh that chunks of meat were actually still twitching from where the poor fish was wriggling up until about 5 minutes earlier. That fresh.. crazy.

While everyone got out of there in one piece, one guy said that he felt his lips turn numb, and two eaters lips literally and honestly turned blue. I wish I were kidding about this, but it's the truth. Crazy stuff, but still quite an experience to remember.

Back to Main Page: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com

Fuji Return

2009-03-26T09:09:00.000-07:00

Heisman'ed again.. That's all I can say.

But even with a turnback, it wasn't something this team wasn't aware of. After all, each person on this team had been turned back at least once already, so we all went into it fully aware of what winter Fuji could (and did) throw at us.

After doing battle with some park ranger who did a fantastic job of convincing us that we weren't allowed to go forward (in his mind, essentially saving us from ourselves)- only to learn in hindsight that he really couldn't tell us, just warn us.. we found another route and continued on. Making a nice spot and bedding down, we all fell asleep like kings. But to show just how dramatically this old joker threw us off, I superimposed our route, turnaround points and how far we had to go out of our way once we encountered our setback:

At 7am we kicked it and made solid progress until about 9am, when a storm brewed basically out of nowhere. We were all excited because up until that point we truly all thought that we were going to summit this time. Then clouds moved in, and then a storm started dumping snow along with 75mph winds. We found a shelter at one point to try and hunker down out of the wind, and that worked for a few minutes until we all started getting cold- temps dipped to -20.

It was at this point that one of our team started feeling ill and essentially passed on the summit push. This is always the right thing to do, but unfortunately too many people can fall victim to "Summit Fever" and ignore all of the warning signs. With wind whipping around corners, snow whiting out even the small area we were holed up in, we made a call. I had already been up this part of Fuji in the summer months and knew the trail, having way-pointed it up and down in my GPS. But I also knew where I had placed the wands and knew the trail that I had led the team up, so I offered to take our one teammate down while the remaining 3 attempted to push higher.

The two of us sticking close together as we navigated the wands off of the snow field, we looked back and for only a brief second saw the rest of the team heading higher and quickly disappearing into the blizzard of white. On our way down, I noticed that the winds were strong enough that the marker wands placed on the way up were knocked over, so if that GPS failed...oohh nellie.

Fortunately, it didn't. The remaining 3 teammates moved farther up the mountain and made another thousand feet when this freight train of wind hit so hard that the whole team was literally flattened. At 7,000', this wind was strong enough to make me worry about the others, but for them the wind gusts were severe enough that they understood they had reached their turnaround point. Many of the wands placed to mark the route had been knocked over, so in a whiteout like we had it was a bit of a challenge given none of our original tracks were there- washed over with new snow and wind. So use of the GPS was critical, and through this tool they navigated themselves back down to where we were located and the whole team was together again.

It took about three hours to get back to the car, where we grounded our gear, loaded up and headed straight to McDonalds for a hearty meal. On the way home, Dana was A-driving and stayed awake with me while everyone in the back slept like champs. We finally made it back to Tokyo last night around 10pm and slept for close to 12 hours.

It was only after returning to the warm and safe confines of our downtown hotel room that we began the "what if" conversations. But like last year, this weather was so extreme, and so strong that there really wasn't much debate on the right course of action- and we had taken it. Even if that damned park ranger hadn't stopped us and made us go around, we would even now still be stuck on the Fuji Subaru Line trying to figure out how to get our car out- the road is still snowed in and closed 2 days later. I guess everything happens for a reason.

So, there's always next year.. or even before that if timing works out.

Back to Main Page: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com/

Tokyo walkaround & prep for tomorrow

2009-03-22T16:15:00.000-07:00

Today we spent the day walking around Tokyo, picking up last minute items, doing some shopping, and generally having fun. One of my favorite hobbies whenever visiting Tokyo is to pick out all of the great signage and ads to see how creative one can get with them:

As usual, we spent a great deal of time zipping around the city via subway, where we had some fun and entertained other riders.

We also walked from Roppongi down to Tokyo Tower, where we rode up the shoe box sided elevator to the very top, which was swaying like mad from winds. It was a nice reminder of where we are headed tomorrow, and how buffeted we are going to be when at 12,000' and completely exposed.

Tokyo Tower is the highest point in Tokyo, so you get quite a view from the top. We did come across this one great sign embossed on the bannister, which directs you to Mt Fuji way off in the distance. Wow, how great, we all thought and gazed out at a snow-capped mountain that was plainly visible. Then two thoughts raced through my head: (1) Wow, that's alot of snow we are going to have to hump through, and (2) why is the sign in braille?

After a great team dinner of oysters and extremely delicious Japanese food, we all returned to Hardy Barracks where we packed and prepared. We also found a website that had some recent pictures of the Fuji Subaru Line above 4th Station, where we plan to park our van and begin our assault on the mountain:

Snow. Lots of it. That means snowshoes from the get-go, and slow going the whole way up. It also means being extra vigilant for snow conditions. One last check of the forecast revealed this:

Temps are dropping like a rock again, and winds aren't showing much relief. This is going to be a slow and cold experience. Because of that, our gear is overflowing with what we are bringing- and that = heavy packs.

Oh well, it's going to be fun for sure- we are all completely excited!

Back to Main Page: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com/

Roppongi Hills

2009-03-22T05:46:00.001-07:00

We landed uneventfully this afternoon Tokyo time, to rain, rain, rain.

After clearing customs and immigration, we met Dana out in the lobby of arrivals, hopped a Friendly Airport Limousine into town, and made it to Hardy Barracks, our home for the next few nights. I think between the five of us we have close to 15 bags- climbing gear, team gear, and personal stuff.

We walked down to Roppongi, grabbed some quick food and then back to the hotel where everyone crashed in about five minutes.

Sooo tired.... :)

Main Page: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com

Tokyo or bust

2009-03-21T10:32:00.000-07:00

On our way.. the four of us are enroute for Tokyo on UA #875, arriving at ~4:30 on Sunday afternoon Japan time.

Weather appears to be settling down quite a bit on Fuji, but still extremely cold. Thats ok given the protective clothes we have, and in some ways we wish that Huntington were coming along to get the campfire going for us. We were expecting him and Leonard to be re-joining us on this climb, but then they got scared and decided that the comfort of a warm bed would be better for them. Even Schactler, who broke his foot on the 20km outhike came back to try again, checking in and looking just like David Beckham. You can read all about their trevails on last years climb at: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/02/negative-47.html

Snow is abating, which is good- and the winds are stronger, so I am confident that the snow that does fall will be blown straight off the mountain in time for our Tuesday attempt:

The thing that will be interesting is the mountain condition. It has changed considerably each an every winter sofar - similar to what Mt Rainier has demonstrated with snow accumulation, conditions, and ability to make the top. For example, this is what it looked like last year when it was negative 47 degrees but clear and windy as hell:

Then two winters ago, it looked like this with snow, mild temps and no wind:

Those are either my gloves, or Dana's. Hopefully it looks nothing like this at present, but if it does we are all equipped with snowshoes so no postholing will occur.

All for now, flight from Seattle is boarding in 15 minutes. All gear is checked in, laptops are charged and Dana is all set to meet us in Narita for our long bus ride into town.

Back to Main: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com/

Fuji-bound for shot #3

2009-03-20T11:30:00.000-07:00

Well, i'ts time to start looking at another Fuji climb.

Our team departs this Saturday on UA #875 from Seattle and bound for Tokyo, where we will spend a day preparing and double checking gear, getting everything together and then heading out. Our goal is to depart for the mountain on Tuesday, positoning ourselves high enough that we can make a summit shot on the 12,776' mountain on Wednesday.

The two causes for our team to focus on as follows, and reflected in the below image taken from Fuji weather sites:

Moderate snowfall will leave ~6" of snow on the mountain before we arrive. There are strong wind gusts mixed in, so it is possible- and likely- that this snow will be either blown completely off the mountain by the time we arrive, or deposited in gullies that we will be avoiding.
Last years negative 47 degrees makes this years -22 seem downright balmy. This is an ever-shifting forecast in winds and temps, so the only thing we can predict at the moment is that it will be cold and windy.

Stay tuned...

Link to last year's Fuji trip report: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/02/negative-47.html

Return to main page: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com

Kuala Lumpur

2009-03-12T16:13:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, I joined the William and Mary Mason School of Business on their annual trek to SE Asia. I love the fact that when you are in elementary school and head out on a field trip you go jump in a school bus and drive 30 minutes to go see how maple syrup is made. When you are going for your MBA, you fly halfway around the world and go see how business is conducted among expats, local and government officials, and MNCs.

Two professors, 29 students, and one tag-along (me) headed out for Kuala Lumpur (KL) via overnight train, straight from Singapore. It was an interesting affair- one that I promise that I'll remember for years to come. Don and I were talking about it as we boarded the train and jumped into our sleeper cabins. These cabins were humid, hot, buzzy with mosquitoes, dimly lit and all fabric from the dingy chairs to nappy carpets looked like they hadn't been changed in 20 years. On the wall, a TV turned on but didn't show an image and when I checked why noticed the disconnected cables extending on to nowhere in particular. We talked at length about the students, and what they were expecting to see once they arrived in this far-flung city.
Overnight, the train rumbled through crossing

Along the way, we were treated to several funny signs so simple in nature and definitely unique for sure. Want to know how to use a toilet? Better instruct people in how not to stand on the seat:

(DINGDINGDINGDIngDingdingdingggggggg........) after crossing, stopped intermittently and finally arrived after 7 sleep deprived hours into KL. Immediately, we were re-introduced to the strict anti drug policy here, and reminded that even the Economist isn't immune to censorship:

Many things remain exactly as they were when I was last here in '99- only with more activity. For example, the Petronas Towers- until recently the tallest building in the world- glimmer in the evening with a highly reflective aluminum coating and command the KL skyline. These beautiful architectural marvels were completed in '98 along with other massive and gleaming new structures like their airport and tower came on-line. Still, the Asian meltdown at the time and political unrest that came with the unjustified sacking and kangaroo court for the then-Prime Minister caused buildings like the Petronas Towers to remain only about half full. When we were here, only about half of the building remained occupied and the streets were.. quiet. Even the Renaissance Hotel where our group stayed was a shell above the 7th floor in '99. You could take the elevator up to, say, floor 15, and the doors would open onto a concrete hallway with doorless rooms. From the outside, it looked complete. But once you looked it became evident that much was left to be done.

This time, our group struggled through stop and go traffic, checked into a bustling hotel and were given rooms on the 21st floor.

Still, every time I think of KL, the Petronas Towers come immediately to mind and they represent to me one of the most unique places I have visited, if not because for a major city, KL isn't on really anyone's beaten path. For the days I have been in KL, I routinely found myself using these towers as a land mark and marvel to enjoy.

Another example of Matahir Mohammed's push to bring his country to the main stream through monuments and structures came in the form of Malaysia's war memorial- dedicated to those Malaysian soldiers who had been lost in struggles past. While looking at this monument, I was immediately taken to how similar this looked to the Iwo Jima Memorial- the Marine Corps memorial in Washington DC. Then I started asking, and learned that Felix de Weldon created this statue also.. complete all the way down to the black marble base, gold lettering and rocky outcropping that the soldiers are perched on.

One thing to note about KL is that during the 90s- and as I learned continuing into today- is an undying desire to move into the main stream. Their tiny neighbor to the south (Singapore) actually used to be a part of Malaysia until 60 years ago. I don't know enough about the history of what happened there to talk intelligently about it, but it is interesting to see how these two societies have taken different paths over the years. Singapore remains one of the largest ports in the world and one of the few countries that exports more than it imports. It is an IT hub and continues to set the bar for modern style, culture, and thought leadership in a variety of areas.

KL has some of this, but have spent a great deal of time working to develop it's presence on the world stage. In many meetings that we sat through- specifically in a place called Cyberjaya (Malaysia's answer to the Singapore IT market), we had a presentation complete with come-do-business-in-Malaysia numbers that made absolutely no sense.

Cyberjaya, as it turns out, is situated immediately next to Putrajaya- a now officially designated Malaysian capital that was carved out of the Malaysian jungle specifically to act as the seat of Government. Like the United States and so many other countries of old, the plan for Malaysia is to develop these locales into established cities well known and recognizable world-wide. In my opinion, this will take quite some time.

One of the other return visit sites we all went to is called Batu Caves. 400 million year old limestone caves located roughly 15km north of KL, you have to climb 272 stairs (they are painted to let you know progress) to enter the caves. The Hindu faith believes that these caves are home to Lord Murgan- one of Shiva's sons . As with everything we have witnessed here, significant work has gone into developing the Batu Caves- from the entrance and stairs, up to the cave itself. Much more modern, clean, and welcoming. Hindu statues adorn all sides of the entrance and walk up, including this one:

Returning to KL, the Petronas Towers lit up the night sky for all to behold (and take a half million pictures of):

And then several of us hit Hard Rock Cafe where we were introduced to something called a "tower".. as it turns out, the Petronas Towers aren't the only towers in Malaysia:

Back to Main Page: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com/

Everest Gear- Best & Worst

2009-01-25T17:16:00.000-08:00

As with the stories of Everest, it sometimes can be valuable to see or hear what sort of equipment worked in that sort of extreme environment, and what didn't.

BEST OF THE BEST

1: General Dynamics Duo Touch II

This piece of hardware is about as hard-core as you can get. Ruggedized to the hilt, it proved invaluable and completely reliable despite subzero temperatures and 21,000'. The General Dynamics team provided me with a version that has a solid state hard drive, GPS and screen viewable in full sun. It also uses a lithium battery, and these are capable of operating in temps far lower than alkaline batteries. In an environment like Everest having them prove invaluable. This is without a doubt one durable piece of gear and having it made communication with home possible.

2: Sony Cybershot DSC T200

Only a few ounces in weight, these little cameras have two things going for them: they are light, and they take fantastic pictures. I wanted a camera that didn't have any real moving parts, as in telescoping lenses and would operate off of lithium batteries. The Cybershot has 8.1mb high resolution image capture, is chock full of features and can be operated with heavy duty down mittens.. all for $400.

3: Outdoor Research Alti Mitts

Remember the discussion about how cold it was on summit night? Negative 20 degrees is fairly mild up at 29,000', but I'm guessing that even if it were much colder these mitts would still perform well. Throughout that night, I found my hands sweating- a good sign when I had chunks of frozen breath fuzed to my eyebrows. Before I left on our summit push, I casually held up two separate sets of mitts and asked Willie & another Everest vet "hey, which ones work best?" It took them about 2 seconds to collectively say "bring the Altimitts!"

4: Feathered Friends Snowy Owl

I used this sleeping bag on McKinley and fell in love. Is it possible to fall in love with an inanimate object? Yes. This thing is like the Rolls Royce of bags- rated down to -60, it kept me warm and comfortable thanks to a massive cocoon of down every night I was away from Base Camp. While on the South Col, I shared this bag with Tendi and Danuru in our tent. "Hey, where's your bags?" "Doug, we didn't bring one." Wtf? So, my bag was then shared among the three of us as we used it to keep our feet toasty, using our 8,000 meter climbing suits as sleeping bags. The next morning, Danu accidentally melted off the foot box with our stove while making breakfast. I then looked like I had a goose hidden in my pack as I down climbed the Lhotse Face as feathers flew all over the mountain. Even then, the next night it was still incredibly warm. It is an amazing piece of gear. Now to figure out where to load a DVD player into the thing for absolute comfort..

5: Petzl Tikka Plus Head lamp

Super light, this LED head lamp operates off of 3 AAA batteries blasts out a humongo amount of light and is as reliable as they come.

6: Intuition Boot Liners

Ahhh.. warmth. Intuition liners are another item I used on McKinley, and think that they keep your feet uber toasty. They are super light and dry quickly. Upon arrival at the South Col, I took my sopped liners out and threw them into the sun for about 3 hours. They dried quickly in the powerful UV rays that exist at 26,500' and were incredibly comfortable, leaving my feet warm for the next 14 hours.

7: Hughes BGAN

Plugging the DT II into this portable satellite dish will link you in with the world. While initially it seemed like you needed a PhD to get the thing to work, it did prove surprisingly simple once we had it all figured out. While the Nepali liaison officers were doing their best to please the Chinese by monitoring Base Camp and telling them that no one had Internet access, we were able to point the BGAN at a local satellite and get connected- all from inside our tent. A little heavy, this is still one good piece of gear.

8: MREs

Laugh if you want to, but the standard MRE (Meal, Ready to Eat) that Marines eat happily while in Iraq or in the field anywhere are perfect for high on Everest. Vacuum sealed, the meal packets contain high calorie meals that have flavor and are super easy to prepare. While melting snow for drinking water, you can kill two birds with one stone by plunking one into the pot to cook a meal in minutes. We chowed down on these meals all the way to the South Col and I'll bring more along on my next expedition.

9: Julbo Explorer Glacier Glasses

It is truly amazing how clear and crisp the images are that come through with these glasses. They wrap to your head, are lightweight, and rubberized to ensure that getting banged around will not result in then breaking on you.

10: iPod Shuffle

Lightweight and using flash technology, I would plug this little bad boy into a solar recharger and have it ready to go in just 30 minutes. Because there is no screen, it will run for a tremendously long time. With 4gb of memory, this little MP3 player will hold hundreds of songs to play as you trek and climb through the Western Cwm.

WORST OF THE WORST

1: Feathered Friends 8000m Climbing Suit

Where to start with this piece of gear. In a nutshell: At the Balcony, my zipper stuck in the open position. For the next 5 hours, I fought with it as cold air kept pushing in and I couldn't safely close the suit to protect me from the elements. At the bottom of the Hillary Step, I finally gave up and had to tear the zipper to "fix" it. That's just the half of it. When I brought the suit in to explain this situation to Feather Friends, one of their sales agents got openly hostile, loudly clarifying the store's position on not issuing refunds. Ya know what? If you are selling an 8,000 meter climbing suit, it should work at 8,000 meters. Not break and expose the wearer to frostbite. And frankly, when your store is located in the shadow of REI's superstore it is hard to understand how you compete with REI's refund with no questions return policy. Especially when you cop an attitude about your crappy product. I love their sleeping bag, but have lost all confidence in this overpriced piece of junk.

2: HighGear Altitech II

I think this thing is advertised all over Everestnews, Explorersweb and other adventure websites. Well, it fritzed out on me once above 20,000' and when the temps started to drop the screen simply whited out. Even below 20,000' I found that I had to adjust the thing regularly to reflect accurate altitudes. It does look cool, which is probably why G-Man snapped it up so quickly when I offered it to him as a gift. Good for lower elevations, but if that's all it's good for it shouldn't be positioning itself as a piece of gear for the Himalaya.

3: Omega Pacific Jake HMS Screwgate Carabiner

Maybe it was just a need of WD-40, but the gate on this carabiner seized up on me several times. While running ropes through the Icefall, I found the gate open several times.. bad news when you need to know that your life line is secure.

4: Columbia River M16-12Z E.R. Knife

While some people prefer to save weight wherever they can, sometimes reduced weight = flimsiness. I prefer durability and will sacrifice weight when I know something will last, so my Ka-Bar folding knife ran circles around this little guy that broke within 2 weeks of arrival at Base Camp.

5: North Face VE-35 Tent

Narrow and with few pockets, this tent is just not comfortable for two larger guys- especially when your tent mate snores and seems to forget about that magic invisible equator that exists to separate the tent halves. I prefer the VE-25 for space, interior height and storage pockets.

6: Oakley A-Frame Ski Goggles

I reached the summit right as the sun started getting bright. Time for some eye protection. I threw on these goggles, breathed out and within 5 seconds of having them on my face found them fogged and frosted over. I hauled them all the way to the summit and ended up never using them, instead wearing my Julbo glasses for the down climb.

7: Beer & Alcohol

The team next to ours decided that it would be fun to drink regularly on their trip. Of 11 climbers, only 2 made the summit. Leave the partying for after and focus on the climb, yo.

8: Sardines & Herring

Blech. I don't care if they are loaded in vitamins & energy, there are other things to eat.
'Nuff said.

9: Free Tibet Flag

In a year of political posturing and a looming shadow of having the entire climb be cancelled, why would someone bring a Free Tibet flag to the mountain? I mean, seriously. Save it for a time and place where you aren't potentially going to screw it up for several hundred other people. This is just an exercise in poor judgement.

10: Chinese Olympic Climbing Torch

Finally, number 10 of the worst gear on the mountain. After watching TV when I made Kathmandu I think this piece of hardware has to take the dubious honor of being listed. I watched the Chinese climbers struggle on several occasions to get their torches to light. So I have to ask... given the eyes of the world on these guys, wouldn't they go out of their way to make sure they had torches that actually lit properly?

Back to Top: http://www.landtarget.blogspot.com/

Everest Top Ten Stories

2009-01-04T15:48:00.000-08:00

The below list is of my top ten stories over the course of the climb expedition. Some are surprising, some are funny. Most have an interesting flair to them that after so many months still stick in my mind’s eye as highlights and as such have decided to share them.

With the top ten stories coming in rapid fire, I think it's best to get the bad ones out of the way first and then move into the interesting and funny ones. In addition to a fatality on the 21st, there were myriad of other issues.. literally. Snow blindness, HAPE, HACE, frostbite. You name it. All on a quiet, windless, relatively mild night at 29,000'.

#10: The South Col Guy

After descending the Step and almost to the South Summit itself, we came across a sole climber traversing on his way to the summit. He was not on Oxygen and clearly was exhausted. His face was a nice shade of blue and he was moving extremely slowly. Moving, but cautiously and labored across one of the most technical and dangerous portions of the climb.

The 45 y/o man continued on to the summit, and succeeded in making what turned out to be his sixth 8,000 meter summit. At the summit, so I heard, he realized that he had spent too much energy getting there, and was in trouble. On the way down, he was at the Triangle Face and right above Camp IV.. and had a heart attack.

In the case of this person, the volunteers to aid in recovery just weren't there and the route wasn't in any condition to allow it. So at the South Col he stayed, and is there to this day.

Read More: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/south-col-guy.html

#9: The First Middle Eastern Guy

One climber took the prize when it came to not fame, but notoriety. Coming from a Middle Eastern country, he had his nation's flag literally plastered over every possible part of his body- at one point we counted no fewer than eight. He was fairly pushy, not completely social, and he almost died. In all truth, we were told he had died no fewer than three separate times. Like for two days, we actually did think he was dead. But he made it, and therein lies one of the most curious and entertaining stories of our trip.

Rumor of this guys lack of climbing skill trickled in over the course of the our time at EBC, but in an exercise in tenacity he stuck with it and continued to climb higher and higher, making mind-tingling scrapes with disaster over and over. At one point we learned that on his summit push he left from Base Camp along with the rest of his team, bound for Camp II. The rumor is that halfway through the Icefall, he fell off of a ladder and was left dangling in a crevasse for close to an hour. Exhausted and several hours behind his teammates, he staggered in to Camp II, found the first available tent (that turned out to belong to a complete stranger), crawled into it, and promptly fell asleep.

Shockingly, he somehow made it as high as the South Summit where he was noticeably out of it, disoriented and extremely tired. It was here that he was forced to turn around, and as a result he became extremely agitated. Soon thereafter he began to exhibit noticeable signs of HACE. At times, he would not walk. At another time he lost the ability to speak or understand English and required a translator. His team literally began drag him down the mountain toward Camp IV, finally, after several hours making The Balcony.

Five hours into trying to get him down, low on oxygen themselves and in perilous shape, they gave him one last chance to get down to Camp IV. Refusing, the team then had no choice but to say goodbye and leave him in a sleeping bag with a bottle of oxygen.

Read More: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/first-middle-eastern-guy.html

#8: The Second Middle Eastern Guy

There was a second Middle Eastern guy on the mountain this year. Not quite as technically challenged as the first guy, this one had enthusiasm, was social, and approached portions of the mountain with open eyes.

On summit day, as he moved his way slowly down from the South Summit enroute to Camp IV, the second Middle Eastern guy began going delirious and snow blindness that was starting to hit him. As the temperature dropped, completely exhausted from exerting himself for so long he started to experience a good case of frostbite as well. He staggered over to one of the frozen bodies- a man in a blue climbing suit who had a heart attack in 2005 and is still in relatively good condition, located right on the trail.

“Wake up! Wake up! You need to get moving!” The first Middle Eastern guy started shaking the frozen body, grabbed his suit and tried to move him from the rocks he had been seized to for the last three years.

Finally back at Camp IV, the second Middle Eastern guy started having his own medical problems. We learned about him as well, and were concerned about his frostbite, now full-blown snow blindness and other problems that had stricken him on his second night above 26,000 feet.

With eyes completely covered in gauze and one foot stricken with frostbite, Willie began the slow, laborious job of helping him navigate around and down the challenging Geneva Spur. Vertical in some places, extremely steep in most with sheer drop offs, the Geneva Spur leads to the Yellow Band which is tricky in it’s own right.

Read More: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/second-middle-eastern-guy.html

#7: Tendi Saves a Porter

Arriving in Pheriche on our out-trek, we finally found beds for the first time in two months. An actual bed! Talk about luxury.

BANG BANG BANG BANG KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!!My door opens. It's 1am.

Lhakpa and Tendi are telling Willie that one of our porters has HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema).

We find him, several buildings down the trail. It's definitely HAPE. Bridie has Diamox and gives some to the 14 year old. Then, when we aren’t expecting it Tendi throws a burlap strap around his forehead and piggybacks the kid, taking off down the trail and into the night for Dingboche - maybe 1000' lower. Even here, people are still falling victim if they aren't taking all the proper steps.

Willie and I learn that Tendi made it as far as Tengbuche. Tengbuche! That's a four hour trek from Pheriche in the daytime, with day pack. Tendi made it with a 140 lb kid on his back. Up, down. Up, down. The trail snakes down through the valley, linking up with the Dudh Kosi River and finally making contact with Rhododendron trees in full bloom.

Read More: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/06/26-may-pheriche-namche_07.html

#6: Situational Awareness 300' from the Summit

Our team had just cleared the Hillary Step, and were roughly 300 feet from the true summit at 29,000’. Everything I had read, everything I had studied had told me that this was it- the Hillary Step is the last technical piece of the climb. Once you top the Hillary Step and scoot around this bulging rock that sticks out with an 8,000’ drop off, you are there. Nothing left, it’s essentially a jaunt up to the top of the world.

For the final push, I was in the lead, Tendi was right behind me, and Francisco right behind him. I stared up, excited at how close I was and taking the final steps to the summit. I started moving more quickly, and this is exactly where I lost my SA.

Within seconds, I’m hip-deep in the snow, one leg completely in a mini crevasse only 2’ wide, flailing around with that 8,000’ drop right off my shoulder. I was ok, still on the fixed line and without concern of sliding anywhere given that I was pinned to the side of the ridge by an entire leg submerged in this crevasse. Tendi came rushing forward and said later that he heard a 30 second string of muted curse words coming out of my mouth, hidden behind an oxygen mask.

Read More: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/situational-awareness-300-from-summit.html

#5: The Swiss Guide on Crazy Ladder Number Four

One day, there was a huge backlog at one of the ladder groups. This ladder set was no joke, after ascending one ladder (which is actually three tied together), you traverse a 40-degree ledge that leads you up to a 20' nearly vertical slope. This slope in-turn leads to yet another ladder, which doesn’t top out at the ridge, but actually requires you to climb a 6' vertical wall of ice to the top. All of this sits 50' above a massive crevasse, inviting an accidental mistake. There is a safety rope that you can clip into, but thanks to the technical merits of this move it is definitely one you want to take your time on.

As we were picking our way along the ridge, before our eyes this Swiss IFMGA Guide completely bypasses a 10 person queue waiting to get down, doesn't clip into a safety line, and AS two other people are up-climbing the ladder, basically stapled to the snow with some pickets- starts climbing down the side of the ladder. The SIDE OF THE LADDER. Willie goes bat-shit, yelling at him, telling him how stupid he is.

People often ask me about the jack-assery that happens in the mountains and what I see both climbing and with SMR. Unfortunately when on TV you hear "5 climbers fell into a crevasse on Mt. Rainier today" they almost always neglect to mention the series of bad decisions that get people into trouble.

Future Darwin Award Winner.

Read More: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/04/people.html

#4: Relief on the Lhotse Face

“Hey Lhakpa- I have to drop a bomb”.
“What!?” No you don’t”
“Oh, yes I do, I can’t wait”
“Doug, you are 2,000’ up the Lhotse Face”
“Yup, here it comes”.. I scoot to a little nub snow outcropping next to one of the ice screws and three feet off the trail.

Lhakpa starts laughing in disbelief as I start to go with one of the most incredible views ever pictured from a bathroom. Ahhhhh… Three Sherpa pass me and start laughing. I wave them a big “Namaste” and smile as I take in the scenery on a blue skied, windless and warm day.

Read More: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/relief-on-lhotse-face.html

#3: The Polish Guy

In 2005, a middle aged Polish guy arrived at Base Camp without a permit to climb on Everest. Some of the larger guide services made note of his presence but he spoke little English, wasn't very friendly, and seemed to be able to take care of himself. So they left him alone and only saw him on the periphery while they looked after their clients.

That year, something happened at Camp I that everyone prepares for but almost never happens- a huge avalanche calved off of Everest's West Face that was large enough that it literally washed over Camp I. By a stroke of luck, most climbers were down in Base Camp at the time the avalanche struck and Camp I was almost deserted. The Polish Guy was unique- he had elected to stay in Camp I along with a small handful of others that day and when the avalanche hit, he was caught in it.

Read More: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/15-may-prep-for-summit-push.html

#2: The Olympic Torch

Several times, the Nepalis announced changes to it’s plan of what would / would not be allowed of climbers. China itself had shut off climbing on their side of the mountain to all but a small number of torch bearers this year, and it was no secret that they were heavily pressuring the Nepalis to do the same thing.

A few weeks into our climb, we were told that Nepal Army climbing soldiers would be stationed in Base Camp and at Camp II. There were rumors about them going as high as the South Col, but we all knew this could not be a sustained event, and even being positioned at Camp II wouldn’t be healthy for soldiers long-term. And so it began.

Read More: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/04/olympic-torch.html

#1: Olympic Torch Special! The Flag Guy

Upon arrival at Camp I, the Mountain Madness team (westerners and Sherpas) sat down for lunch outside our tents. While eating, William arrived and asked Willie if he could store equipment in the back of Willie's tent vestibule, which he quickly agreed to, giving William some pointers on how to successfully execute a climb on Mt Everest (William appeared to be climbing unsupported).

While unpacking on the fringe of our group, at one point William said "Hey, check this out" and with that pulled out a black flag embroidered in Thamel with the wording "Free Tibet Fuck China". Five of us witnessed the flag, and when Willie saw it he jumped up quickly and in unison we all asked William why he brought such a flag along in the first place. His response was that he wanted to fly it from the summit. After discussing the ramifications of having such a flag and how it's presence could result in the Nepali Government shutting down climbing altogether, we explained that him openly flying one of these flags went counter to everything we had been instructed about, was directly opposite to boundaries of the permit, and that his having this flag put all of us- as in every climber and Sherpa who had paid thousands of dollars to be here at risk. The risk being that the Nepal Government could potentially shut down climbing on the Nepal side for the
season.

Read More: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/olympic-torch-special-flag-guy.html

Funny Japanese Signs

2008-12-20T13:05:00.001-08:00

Japan is littered with fantastic and unique advertising. Most are cartoonish, many are campy and almost all are in that hidden-in-plain-view category that makes you go "hmmmm...". It makes you look around more frequently at your surroundings, and I swear that they are almost too good to be something you could make up on your own.

Tokyo subways are a literal gold mine of these signs. What better place to encourage people to read all about random products? Perhaps it is because riders spend hours of their day staring blankly, iPods churning away. The risk for advertisers is that instead of reading, their target audience looks like this:

Still, if riders are coherent, its a great place to advertise.. and, be on the lookout for some true gems of Japanese advertising. Take for example, the below subway ad for becoming a hooded man with a big package:

Warning: Don't let your cat get caught in subway door:

And, the mushrooms continued to play soccer:

In a classic case of Engrish, this vehicle is done to weaken an air conditioner:

Whatever you do though, it is highly important to make sure that you are not disruptive on subways, make a scene, or do much above and beyond getting on, sitting down and passing time quietly. Any questions can be directed to Peter Leonard and Brent Huntington, both of whom learned the hard way that being loud is a sure-fire way of being yelled at by elderly Japanese when woken from their subway naps. Apparently Leonard didn't see the sign clearly posted by ticket kiosks, that says "HI, I'M PETER- CAN I TALK ON THE SUBWAY?" A closer look at the cartoon expressions in this poster says it all.

By the way, how great is is that Japan is considerate to the needs of penguin transportation? Not enough countries out there do that:

Moving out of the subways, ads don't stop- fortunately. I mean, where else will you find a samurai/Speed Racer relative of Harry Potter to help stores sell DVDs?

Then again, if you have weird little red people who like vodka too, maybe you don't need Harry Potter to sell for you:

The hidden in plain view stuff doesn't just stop at ads and signs, fortunately. When walking around Japan, there are still a bounty of things to keep you amused and occupied. Like this car cover shower cap, for example. I must have spent 5 minutes staring right at it before I noticed it and realized that it was actually a sunny day with one tiny and puffy cloud in the sky.

How do these come about? What is it in Japanese culture that generates this sort of funny-haha? I know that for tourists world-wide, things in the United States follow the same level of amusement. Who on earth ever thinks that those giant foam fingers used at football games aren't amusing after all? So at the Edo Museum, it all came together for me and how Japanese advertising and entertainment broadcast such a campy message at times. Here, I stumbled across a set of samurai battle armor from 500 years ago. Weren't these designed to make enemies tremble in their footsteps, provide unswerving seriousness and drip of power? Little did I know that Wilford Brimley was alive and well back in the 1500s Japan. Check out this Wally the Walrus mustache firmly attached to battle helmet:

So there you have it. A few examples of entertaining and unique signs so readily abundant in Japan. Next time you visit, look around, and take note of something that is almost an art in itself. If you so choose, feel free to indulge yourself in a nice frosty glass of foam beer like this smiley guy and take it all in:

Yasukuni Shrine & Home Again

2008-06-18T15:03:00.000-07:00

In the morning, we raced out for one last sightseeing adventure before our Friendly Airport Limousine arrived. Where to go? I took dad to the Yasukuni Shrine, adjacent to the Imperial Palace grounds. I feel it is important to point out something dealing with Yasukuni here, before I continue. Yasukuni isn't exactly Tokyo Disney. Nor is it just another shrine. In Japan, it's considered among the most holy of shrines, dating back hundreds of years as the destination of warrior spirits. Shogun, samurai, soldiers, kamikaze alike.

This is where the difficulties start.. in that several neighboring countries who were so busy trying to neuter Japan at the end of World War II (known at Yasukuni as the Great Pacific War), decided that a place like Yasukuni isn't so nice for their own memories. Fortunately Japan didn't demolish Yasukuni, although over the years did bend to pressure from places like Korea and China. Prime Ministers then suspended their annual trips to pay tribute to Japan's fallen warriors and politically, Yasukuni became a bit of a pariah destination. Those countries were (and are) quite vocal in feeling that Prime Minister visitation trips imply Japanese tacit approval of atrocities and aggression at the hands of leaders past.

My personal opinion. Every country out there- the US, China and Korea included- have been the instigator on one level or another, in one conflict or another. To insist that one country ignores it's history is sheer ignorance. To go further and again insist that it's leaders ignore ancestors, or not show tribute to it's warriors past isn't something I agree with at all- as a proud Marine or otherwise. Warriors are an ingrained part of a countries past and present, positioned to guarantee a future. Good or bad. In countries like the US and Japan, military members almost to an individual wear the uniform not because of a hidden agenda, but because they truly believe. Many pay for that belief with their own lives. So why take that away from them? I see it as the equivalent of foreign powers at some unseen day down the road insisting that the US ignore Arlington National Cemetery and what it represents. Not going to happen.

A recent Prime Minister (Junichiro Koizumi) bucked the trend and did visit Yasukuni each year. When he did, I applauded his decision. If I recall correctly, so did most of his country. People need to have national pride, and need to be mindful of their past.

Walking inside the adjacent museum, I was pleased to see that curators have begun to paint a more accurate- or at least contemporary view- of Japanese history which was definitely more skewed a few years back. Actually, to say "more skewed" is a blatant understatement. Regardless, I am pleased that Japan has this shrine and appreciate it's importance on Japan's people. The other thing that I am pleased to note is that artifacts are lovingly maintained. Any time you see an 800 year old Samurai katana sword that is so well cared for it might be mistaken for something crafted yesterday is highly impressive. The place is literally chock full of Japanese war artifacts from years past and they are all in amazing condition.

One of my favorite items is a battle standard from the 321st Infantry Regiment, still completely intact and now prominently displayed. In WW II, the Emporer issued an order to his forces upon unconditional surrender- destroy your standards, or face the wrath. Any Marine could tell you how much of a defeating morale killer this would bring to a unit- heck, even today I dragged one of my unit guidons to the top of Everest as a showing of unit pride. Then as a person who -sort of- understands the Japanese (it would take a westerner about 1,000 years to truly understand), I am surprised that one or two units out there actually defied an order and kept their standard. The story behind this one is particularly compelling when you read about how many individuals in the unit went to such great lengths to hide their plot and ultimately saved it from being burned. I think my units would do the exact same thing, so it's a great example of soldiers being proud soldiers no matter what unit, nationality or culture.

There is a large atrium at the end of the museum where you can see larger items, including kamikaze Baka Bomb, mini submarines, and Zeros. It's definitely a weird feeling, but still highly interesting and worthwhile to see a different side to a war that affected so many people across the world.

At Tokyo Narita, we dropped off bags, grabbed some udon for lunch, and did some last minute shopping.

And then we were off. Slipping quickly and smoothly skyward, I had a strange feeling.. this trip is almost over. How odd. It has been almost three months to the day since I left, and several times through the flight I recalled the stress, hectic packing, and checklists that basically were my last two days of life in Seattle before leaving. How dramatically different from now.

Streaking across the Pacific, I barely had time to watch "Fools Gold" for the fourth time before Flight Attendants were on an intercom announcing our upcoming landing. When we looked out the window crossing the Olympic Peninsula, dad had the chance to see the Olympic Range. His college fraternity nickname was "The Gods" and their symbol was Mt Olympus, which is a mountain that I led a team of five on for a 30 hour speed ascent. So I had already sent dad images of this remote and rugged peak deep inside Olympic National Park, but this was the first time that he had a chance to have it pointed out while so close. It must have been great to lay eyes on an object that had that sort of meaning for so long.

And then there we were. Back in Seattle. Almost as cold as when I left in March, definitely as grey as when I left. It has been fantastic to catch up with friends, eat real Seattle food, be back in my place. Sure, it's covered in a thin film of dust and feels like I just entered a time capsule. But truly, surely, good to be home.

Or is it. In the ~96 hours since I have returned, I have been stared down by some drunk guido Cubano guy who wanted to fight (ooh, scary man) and landed a $124 moving violation on Henry's motor scooter for making an illegal right hand turn from some asshole cop with an attitude. Where do you think the City of Seattle came up with $124 as the penalty, anyway? Sort of an arbitrary number.

Welcome home! Yeesh. Time for another trip..

Kyoto

2008-06-16T08:24:00.000-07:00

Japan is known worldwide for it's effective, highly accessible, well managed and punctual-to-a-fault rail lines. These include subways, maglev (magnetic levitating), and bullet trains that run like clockwork in a way that would confuse the hell out of any other country. So on Saturday morning, we walked about five minutes to the local subway stop, hopped the Maranouchi Line to Tokyo Station, and then boarded the Shinkansen (bullet train) to Kyoto. The Shinkansen operate about every 10 minutes, so there really isn't much concern on whether you will make it onto the train or not. But what is amazing is that the Japanese love their trains so much that there are three different kinds of bullet train. The fastest and most expensive is known as the Nozomi and will get you to Kyoto a full 20 minutes faster than the next fastest bullet train. It's sleeker, sexier, and sounds way cooler than anything else offered, so we opt for that and are soon thereafter heading down the rail lines at warp speed. Kyoto or bust!

Upon arrival, we notice dramatic changes almost immediately from the dizzying pace of Tokyo. Kyoto is much more relaxed and less frantic. People walk and look around, and in many instances will actually smile at you. In Tokyo, no one smiles or talks on the sidewalk. And subways... forget about it. Ask Huntington about what happened to him in February when he was joking around on the Ginza Line. Yee cats.. he got a serious talking to by some older Japanese man. Here in Kyoto, we even see people walking around in Kimono, going to the store, walking down the street. Not like a "hey let's go meet the tourists" or even like a Disney display. But like they want to dress in traditional robes, and do so with no weird looks.

Dad and I had signed up for tours in English, which worked out really well. On my first visit to Kyoto, I didn't tour.. just visited shrines. This was expensive, tiring and boring. The Kyoto shrines aren't exactly next to each other so you need taxis. Taxis know this, so they kick off their fare at 610 Yen- almost $6 and then rise rapidly. Gotcha, silly tourists. Shrines charge too. Like lots for the more famous ones. And most signs are in Japanese, so you get to do this little exercise whereby most money flies out of your pocket and then you walk around a shrine w/o knowing much about what you see. This time, we had tour guides who could speak English and relate what we were looking at.

But I still took some of it with a grain of salt. When I was 22 and working as an intern for Senator John Warner, I was asked on a particularly busy day to help run tours of the U.S. Capital Building. The problem at the time was that I really didn't know much about the building's history, so Marion (the regular) asked me to go along with her and pick up on the facts. I think after eavesdropping on two tours, I had about 1/3 of the random fun-facts locked in before being thrown to the wolves. Man, what a tour these poor people received.:

- "Hey, who is the person in that statue, and what did he do?" "Wow, good question. You know, his statue is in the Capital Building, so he must have done something important."

- "That canvas was painted in 1845 and hung in 1856" (I had no idea)

Ever since then, I don't truly trust facts & figures of tour guides. But they were able to get us into some fantastic shrines- several of which I hadn't seen on my first visit. A quick sampling of those shrines are below:

While there, we had some unique experiences. Like this one, taken of a "good luck fountain". I'm sure it was good luck, and many people swear by it. There are three cascading lines of water that people will dip a cup into and drink from. Each stream stands for something different. One stream is for good fortune in business. One is to have success in meeting a new boyfriend/girlfriend. And one is for something else, like having a kid. the problem is that I can't remember which is which, and the guide screws it up also. This is serious business, people. So no way am I going to go over there, and think I'm getting success in business, only to find out that I just drank from the kid stream. So, I just stay to the side and watch.

And then there are these little guys, good luck Buddha's nestled away happily in their pagoda homes. If you do succeed in drinking from the correct stream and the stork delivers you a little bundle, you come back to this shrine and dress up a Buddha in a red bib. Or, you can go overboard and buy the accessory pack. This one looked like an artiste though- complete with a little pillow and beret to accompany his bib. Its all about accessorizing, so I'm told..

And we thought that the Bengal Tiger were ferocious (once we actually saw them). Those guys don't hold a candle to the ones we saw in Kyoto. Check out this woman, quaking in fear at the prospect of being discovered by the tiger for stealing his water:

Yes, tiger in Kyoto were a force to be reckoned with. But from what we learned, the real threat to the Shogun and Samurai warriors were thieves and assassin, which took their shots on a regular basis. At one temple, the Shogun actually had something installed called the "Nightingale Floor"- a wood floor designed and constructed to clearly squeak once stepped on the slats. We, basically, have the ability to stroll the halls and enjoy the squeak as we walk he length of what was the Shogun's quarters. But at the time, if you were a Ninja trying to take someone out you would very quickly be SOL and find out just how sharp the business end of a Katana really is. Yes, that means even if.... you... are... Ninjaaaaaaaaaaaa......

And who wouldn't be worried? We were walking down the street when a real, live Ninja appeared out of the fog. Here's one that snuck up on us- Ninja were highly trained in the art of stealth in order to carry our their assassinations of Shogun and Samurai. So when this one crept up on us, I know I was scared. Wouldn't you be?

I don't understand why (especially with the new, svelte version of me catting around), but for some reason in Japan, kids think that I'm a baseball player. The favorite guess on my team seems to be the Fukuoka Softbank Hawks. Personally, I'd rather play for the Tokyo Giants but I guess my agent didn't work hard enough to get me onto that team.

Curious. So it wasn't much of a surprise when we stopped at one temple and I was approached by two boys who wanted to take their picture with me. Since its in-vogue for Japanese to throw up the peace sign when taking pictures, I did the same and walked away from two boys with ear-to-ear grins:

Finally after two fun-filled days in Kyoto, dad and I looked to make our way back to Tokyo and one last dinner/day before flying home. I was definitely excited- again we took the super-fast Shinkansen Nozomi back to Tokyo Station. The Nozomi is the latest iteration of the Japanese bullet train network and it's hyper fast speeds will crank passengers back to Tokyo in a little over two hours at well over 150mph. The next fastest bullet train takes a full twenty minutes longer, and the third version twenty minutes behind that. Pish posh. Who would want to take one that slow? I mean, come on. In all seriousness, how amazing that this rail system is so advanced that you have your choice of a variety of bullet trains.

The first time I saw the Nozomi, I was at the Nagoya Worlds Fair in 2005- it's grand unveiling. In order to get to the JR Line pavilion though, you had to take a maglev train (magnetic levitating).. yes, Japan has these also. The thing floats on a bed of air and magnets push the train along. Man, our country needs to get it's act together. Japan is so wired rail-wise that there aren't many places you can't reach quickly, conveniently and cheaply via rail. A far cry from a city like DC where the sparse Metro lines run clunky and old cars to stops that are inconvenient and expensive.

Upon arrival in Tokyo, Mr & Mrs Sasaki met us for a fantastic meal. Mr Sasaki knew the manager of a special restaurant and as a result we landed an amazing room and special menu to sample all sorts of fish, meats and vegetables from. One plate even included this cool little crab that you ate- little legs, shell, beady eyes and all.

Enroute to Japan

2008-06-15T17:37:00.000-07:00

Finally, we are on what appears to be our way home. Waking at 04:30, dad and I hopped a "maxi-cab".. essentially a mini-van that then justifies it's inflated costs for carting you around with all of your massive bags by adding "maxi" to the front of it's name. Need a ride before 6am? So sorry, that will be a $10 surcharge. Wierdism #1 for the day.

Arriving at Changi, we checked in at the United Airlines counter. Now it really feels like we are going home. After processing through immigration, we meandered over to the lounge and grabbed some breakfast and watched some of the last parts of one of those Euro soccer matches that are in the final stages. This was great, but then I learned something else about Singapore: they have an incredibly confusing Duty Free process.

While many airports either allow you to buy Duty Free once you have cleared immigration, or place your articles in a sealed bag for you to bring along, Singapore, makes you purchase your items, which will then be delivered to your plane, apparently where you then pick them up. I was all excited to bring back a bunch of Tiger Beer cans, and searched for them high and low. Finally, I found some and went to buy them. "So sorry, you are within 30 minutes of your gate opening. Can't buy them, we cut off purchases 30 minutes beforehand." WHAT. Thanks for the frikkin' warning on that one.

Maybe, just maybe, someone could come up -fangled gizmo that will end this ridiculous liquid ban. I'm all about security, keeping the public safe, and fighting the War on Terror. I get it, and am all for it. I'm so all for it that I went to Iraq twice, so I am all-in, literally and figuratively. But. This liquid ban? Get on with it and come up with something that keeps passengers safe and doesn't result in warehouses full of half-used hand lotion bottles.

When we finally did take off, our flight to Narita International took us directly over the Pacific, so this was one of the first times that I had access to an in-flight altimeter (that little map thingie that you can watch in-lieu of movies that appears in your seat TV monitor), and a direct view of sea level. So, when our flight hit 29,000', I snapped this picture. Everest is 29,035', so this is as close to a direct example of just how high we were as I can get. The Himalayas are incredibly high already, so even when I took pics from Everest summit- and man, did that seem high- it didn't give a full scale of just how high that summit was from sea level until I saw this out my window:

So dad and I arrived uneventfully in Narita and hopped the Friendly Airport Limousine- a bus, into the city center and to our hotel. We checked in, and 45 minutes later were met by Mr. Sasaki, one of dad's closest fraternity brothers from college days. He's retired from the corporate world now, but works almost daily as a language teacher and loves it. We all went to a teppanyaki restaurant where we ate the night away with delicious food. Oishi!

Singapore

2008-06-11T23:04:00.000-07:00

My father and I just arrived in Singapore.. it's hot, humid, and oh so nice to be here. The plane flight from Bangkok to Singapore only lasts about 1 1/2 hours, but it's always amazing to me how in this part of the world- or at least, on this level of latitude, that little an amount of time can give way to such dramatic turns in varying degrees of hot & stickiness.

Still, I have a special fondness for this city. It is clean, organized, civilized, and completely unique. The jungle gives way to about as close to a perfectly played game of Sim City you can find, and the people here are just as proud of that as they are of their ability to coexist as one of the smallest nations in SE Asia along one of the most heavily travelled shipping lanes in the world.

Singapore was more or less "founded" by Sir Thomas Raffles in 1819 when he came across a Malay fishing village and quickly identified what could become a deep water port and strategic trading post. He had spent many years searching the area, waving off sites like Malacca because of concerns ranging as far and wide as Malaria to defendable terrain. So Singapore it was, and with it came a true melting pot of culture and law. Even today, Singapore has four official languages that locals speak with fluency and harmony: English, Malay, Tamil and Mandarin.

As a tourist, Singapore is about as safe as it gets. Rumors about gum chewing are over-blown (you can bring it in and chew it, just don't expect to find it for sale or spit it out on the street), the caning of Michael Fay did happen, although it was largely for show. And whatever you do, don't even think about bringing drugs here- the landing card says it all in big, bold red letters on the very front: "WARNING DEATH FOR DRUG TRAFFICKERS UNDER SINGAPORE LAW"

So there ya have it. In honour of Singapore's roots dating back to Sir Thomas Raffles, and also in honour of the deep English roots still prevalent in Singapore, I will use the Queen's English to spell and provide proper pronunciation in other parts of this post.

Our flight out of Bangkok on an Airbus aluminium (pronounced aloo-min-e-yum) aeroplane was smooth and uneventful, despite myriad of bags which we somehow managed to dodge yet another excess baggage fee on. I don't know how this is possible, but I learned in Bangkok after placing our bags onto the Thai Airlines carousel that dad's two bags are almost equal in weight to my three giant climbing gear bags, for a combined whopping total of 90 Kilos!! 90 Kilos. Brilliant! I don't know how we didn't get hit with an excess baggage fee, maybe the agents just felt sorry for us or something like that. We were therefore able to avoid some controversy (con-trah-ver-see). Father and I looked at each other and said "good show, old chap!"

I had made a mental note to see if I couldn't search out the fabled A380 Superjumbo once we landed in Changi International Airport - keeping in mind that I'm a bit behind in my recent news from two months of news blackout bliss. I last heard that only two were in service- both with Singapore Airlines. So here I am, winging along to Singapore and getting more and more giddy about the possibility of being able to see one of these new aerocraft. And truly, it didn't take long. As we taxied along the long I-shaped terminal that is Changi, we rumbled right by one that was parked for a flight to somewhere like London. This image shows the giant bugger parked next to a 747-400, which was extremely nice of Singapore Airlines to do that for me since I wasn't expecting them to go through all that trouble of allowing me a size comparison shot. But, very kind of them nonetheless.

This is dad's first trip to Singapore, so it was great to see him commenting on how clean, neat and organised everything here is. We are staying toward one end of Orchard Road, which is truly great since any visit to Singapore isn't complete without a stroll down this famous boulevard. I have difficulty trying to explain this road to people who haven't been to Singapore, but it's essentially an everything goes supermall spread out along a tropical five lane road. Comparable roads would be if you somehow morphed Paramus Park in New Jersey, an Asian supermarket, the Champs Elysees in Paris and Kalakaua Rd in Honolulu together where kitchy trinket stores, 6 storey malls, and movie theaters could somehow be squished in between Cartier and Tiffany's with durian stands and restaurants thrown in for good measure. All of this with taxis and other cars whizzing by as thousands of pedestrians wave magazines in the scorching sun or dodging from awning to awning in daily cloud bursts. It's extremely unique in it's own right.

So once we made our hotel, we quickly unpacked and headed out to "Night Safari". This attraction is a part of the Singapore Zoo and worldwide, is the first Zoo attraction ever to be dedicated strictly to nocturnal animal behaviour.

While there are walking paths to follow between animal pens, the most effective and quick way of maximizing your time at Night Safari is via a tram that winds it's way through the park and is narrated by a well-informed guide. The thing that makes Night Safari so special is the pens truly seem like natural habitats and allow you up close and personal views of animals not traditionally viewed during the day.

The last image shows a tiger laying in the grass. Yes, just like in Bardia National Park.. play Where's Waldo with the tiger if you feel up to the task.

After spending several hours at Night Safari, we made our way back downtown and prepared for the next morning, when we set off fresh and new for one of the worlds best zoos- The Singapore Zoo. While at the Night Safari, we bought a discount pass that works across all three of Singapore's wildlife parks. Since we are no longer in a place where you need to drop the equivalent of GDP for a Third World country in tips, its nice. But in leaving that sort of environment, we did wind up in a place known for being insanely expensive. So? We buy the discount pass.

The Singapore Zoo, has tigers. Wily... How many times are you going to dodge us, cat? We set out determined to get a good shot of one, and the Zoo does a great job of letting you know just where to go in order to see one.

Here's dad about to be eaten by an anatomically correct tiger statue:

Scary! But not as scary as this little fun-fact we found painted on the sidewalk. In a nutshell, what it says is that if a tiger pounces, it can happily maul Bob Combs from a full 10 meters away. Ten meters. How tall were our elephants? Not ten meters, that's for sure.

Finally, we found a tiger, in exactly a pose we hoped for in Bardia. Maybe I'll photoshop this into some Terai grasslands shot we took. Success!! The tiger hunters return successful. Talk about calm though. I wonder if the zoo has them on Prozac.

After the tiger, dad managed to make friends with some of the locals:

We spent a great deal of time running up and down Orchard Road, even catching in the latest Indiana Jones movie (yawn) at a Singapore theater. But the road side restaurants? Out of sight cool! We stumbled on this place, complete with Tiger Beer, pizzas and swamp coolers to keep the midday heat away. None of the previously mentioned durian though. I was hoping to introduce dad to this spiky fruit that many love and others hate with a passion.

For our final night in lovely Singapore, we went on a bank busting dinner to the top of the city- a restaurant as close to Windows on the World as you are ever going to find. Located on the 70th floor of the Swisshotel Stamford, Equinox boasts stunning views of this city, allowing diners to look all the way to Indonesia and Malaysia.. ok, not that hard given that they are only a few miles away. But the view is incredible.

It would be even better if we had a window table, but we learn after a few minutes that unless you drop an additional 20 Singapore Dollars per-diner, you don't get a windowside table. And... this is where we notice yet another Singapore trait. The added surcharge for things that you don't understand the surcharge for. Want a taxi before 6am? That'll be 10 dollars. Taxi to another part of the city? Sometimes you pay the rate on the meter, sometimes the driver pushes a little button and -poof- that 7 dollar taxi meter magically turns into 18 dollars with a surcharge referenced. There's really no rhyme or reason to any of this, it just happens. Sometimes we pay, sometimes we just look at the waitress like she's an alien.

Speaking of expensive with no cause, we wandered over to the Raffles Hotel, one of the oldest and most prestigious hotels in this part of the world. It's not for the faint of heart.. this is the place where the likes of Prince Charles stay when they swing through town on their golden chariots.

We wandered into the Long Bar- fabled to be the place where the last tiger in Singapore was shot (ok, I just SAW a tiger in Singapore. Let's change the story to make sense, shall we?). Editors note: Place where the last wild tiger in Singapore was shot. Wait. That doesn't work either. The back story on this tiger is that it escaped from the zoo. So what's the deal? Ok, there is actually a tiger, and it actually was shot when it was discovered under a pool table in the Long Bar. This is also the place where the Singapore Sling was invented. So while I had a beer that I later found out was 22 dollars, dad had a watered down Singapore Sling, which I later found out was 27 dollars. Seriously. Maybe the tiger was shot because he was protesting these ridiculous prices. How can they justify that sort of highway robbery? Well. While we were sitting there eating Pygmy Peanuts and throwing the shells on the floor, no fewer than 30 tourists in two tour groups came in. This in-turn caused me to look around the room in curiosity, and I counted seven (including dads) Singapore Slings on tabletops. Oh. Now I get it.

Time to head out, next stop: Tokyo

Bangkok Redux

2008-06-09T22:54:00.000-07:00

Three days in Bangkok.. man, is it good to be back in civilization. After breezing through immigration and security, we were in a taxi whizzing into the city center and our hotel, the Millennium Hilton. Located on the opposite bank of the Chaopraya River, this brand new hotel is still highly accessible to the main city area via river taxi and Skytrain.

We arrived into the hotel late in the afternoon, so instead of heading out onto the town, we ordered in-room dining. What was the A #1 item on the menu for me?? A big, giant cheeseburger. Talk about heaven in a bun. Finally, after a food craving for weeks on end, a legitimate, non-water buffalo, normal bread, normal tasting cheeseburger. Better than Super Mila's tough and chewy Yakburger, better than that crazy thing I ordered in Thamel. Better than the spicy (spicy!?) burger I ordered at Dwarika's Hotel that left me drinking 5 glasses of water. A normal burger. I could then sleep normally, knowing that my life was complete. Ha.

The next morning, one of my good friends parents who live in Bangkok graciously offered to show us around for the day and take a trip to Ayutthaya. Located about an hour to the north of Bangkok, Ayutthaya was in it's heyday a kingdom that existed from 1351 to 1767. Spreading across a vast SE Asian region, the kingdom frequently did battle with it's neighbors- especially Burma, and eventually became Siam, the predecessor to modern day Thailand. The leaders of Ayutthaya were quite friendly with foreign traders, leading to an eventual strengthening of ties with foreign powers and setting up present day Thailand with one of the strongest western cultural influences in the region.

Art and Saovalak picked up dad and I first thing in the morning, and we were off like a shot, heading north on a relatively quiet Sunday morning. The highways, famous for Thai congestion that rivals Washington DC traffic were wide open and as a result we made Ayutthaya in no time.

Along the way, we caught up on family issues and talked excitedly about our destination, which they hadn't been to in quite some time and were looking forward to heading back to. Saovalak brought along a big bag of rambutan, a sweet fruit that you peel like a lychee, but is much sweeter. It's only in season for a few weeks in SE Asia. So like Rainier Cherries, when it hits the market everyone snaps it up in large quantities.

In no time, the temples of Ayutthaya were on the horizon, peeking through palm tree tops and visible from the highway. I visited here several years ago with Chris when he lived in Bangkok, but it's a site that I could go back to over and over. Most of the complex was torched by the Burmese when they ransacked the city in 1767, but the skeletons remain and are quite dramatic. Check out this picture of Ayutthaya temples. If it looks remotely familiar, it may be thanks to seeing them in several movie settings. One example is the opening scene of Mortal Kombat where two fighters whale on each other with the temples providing a unique and recognizable backdrop:

Many temples are still adorned with monk orange silk. Unlike Buddhist monks in Nepal who wear maroon robes, priests here in Thailand wear royal orange color fabrics- a hybrid of yellow and orange that is bright, visible, and dramatic. At Ayutthaya, Buddhist images are adorned with this fabric, as are temple tops and other religious symbols. The direct contrast to blue and white skies, deep green trees, and brown temples provides for a photographer's paradise.

After returning to Bangkok and thanking the Pratoomsuvarns profusely for all they did to welcome us, drive us around and feed us, we said our farewells and headed across the Chaopraya River to grab a sunset dinner at the Oriental Hotel. This hotel has a fantastic riverside deck where you can grab a beer and look out across the busy river at an ever-fading sun, complete with oranges, reds and yellows. Dad had a great time and also enjoyed a quick walk through the hotel grounds. In the background of this pic, you can see our hotel in the distance.

The next morning we hopped a river taxi to head upstream- destination: Wat Pho and Wat Pra Kaew.

Wat Pho is the one of the largest and oldest wat (temple) in Bangkok (80,000 square meters!), and is home to more than one thousand Buddha images across the complex. But, it is most well known for the Reclining Buddha, a forty-six meter long and fifteen meter high Buddha completely plated in gold and mother-of-pearl. The feet are where most of the mother-of-pearl are located, and have 108 auspicious scenes in Chinese and Indian style. Don't ask me why Chinese and Indian get top billing here, but they do.

From there, we hopped a cab for a quick ride across to Wat Pra Kaew, a.k.a. the King's Palace. Constructed in phases beginning in 1785, man is it an ornate and complex facility. The labor alone on one of these temples is mind boggling thanks to inlaid glass, gold plating and intricate paintings. Just coming off a Taj Mahal visit, dad commented that this place was much more elaborate and detail oriented than what he had just seen a few days ago.

Even though I had just visited Wat Pra Kaew a few weeks back on my outbound trip, I have to say that this is very much like Ayutthaya- I could visit over and over, never getting bored here. The one downfall though: last visit, I chowed down on lotus seeds as I walked around. This time? I made a beeline right for the planter pots that had lotus plants and some other hungry tourist must have beaten me to the seed pods. Oh well, better luck next time.

On our way back downriver, we arrived at the river taxi stand and noticed the water clogged with a thick covering of water plants. Uh oh.. that's bad news- means the river is going bananas upstream.. and that in turn means rain. Lotsa rain. Sure enough, the clouds opened up shortly thereafter and we experienced a true Thailand rainfall. It was so rainy that within minutes you could barely see Wat Arun, just a short distance down the Chaopraya. Dad wanted to stick it out under the protective covering of the taxi waiting area, but we had to keep moving. 10 seconds out on the pier and we were completely wet... I was laughing. Dad was not.

From there, we spent the rest of the day getting drenched on a 3 block walk over to Bahn Jim Thompson (again, I loved the rain, dad did not. He let me know.), Siam Square, Night Market, and Panthip Plaza for $3 DVD shopping to dry out. All in all, a great few days in Bangkok .

On to Singapore!!

Karnali Lodge & Bardia NationalPark

2008-06-08T06:54:00.001-07:00

After packing, cleaning equipment, thawing out, team dinners, award ceremonies, drinking beer and catching up on much-needed sleep, my team flew out of Nepal and my father and I headed the opposite direction and flew down to Bardia National Park from 31 May to 6 June. Located at the far western side of Nepal and adjacent to the Indian border, the Karnali Lodge is one of the Crown Jewels of Tiger Mountain, a conglomerate of lodges focused on animal conservation and one of the original eco-travel groups of Nepal.

From Kathmandu, we took a relatively short 45 minute hop on a relatively new Yeti Airlines twin engine turbojet to the remote and under developed town of Nepalgunj, well known in this country for an active Maoist presence that was operating here during the insurgency days. The Maoists were so bad out in the Nepalgunj area that Tiger Mountain actually shut down it's lodge for several years thanks to the threat. Animals weren't so lucky: One-Horned Rhino were poached from a population of 75 to 33, over 40 Bengal Tiger were poached down to 17.

Landing in Nepalgunj, we were met by one of the Tiger Mountain naturalists (Raja) who escorted us the two hour drive over paved roads which then gave way to dirt trails before finally arriving at Karnali Lodge.

Located on the southern edge of Bardia National Park, the Karnali Lodge is a group of well maintained thatched roof buildings and central meeting hut that is airy and relaxing. It is one of the larger lodges at Bardia and has a well-stocked pen of six elephants, a range of 4x4s and a solid relationship with local game wardens who work jointly on a range of local issues from animal conservation to microcredit loans and women's groups. When we arrived, dad and I learned that even though the monsoon season had kicked off and was in full swing, they had left the lodge open just for us! Pretty cool all things considered and we were the only two guests, with a staff of 56.

Over the next six days, we went on elephant rides, jeep rides, nature walks and rafting trips to check out nature in this amazing jungle setting.

The main highlight of course was the difficult search for the wild and elusive Bengal Tiger from elephant back. Jesus are those things fast. They are beautiful and amazing though, but the trackers we had with us are out of control. They were speaking in Nepali so mostly I just heard "durka durka durka" and would catch sight of an occasional paw print in the sand every 30 minutes or so. But then we would get a translation of what they were working on, and would learn that between the elephant driver and tracker, we had been tracking not one, but two tiger over the last 45 minutes.. and they were hot on their trail.

The problem though, is that most of the bushes looked like this:

and when they didn't look like that, they looked like this, a pic of dad on his elephant wading through the eye high elephant grass prevalent in this area:

So the chase would continue. On and on, over the course of several hours. The tiger would hide, we would follow on a giant, lumbering elephant that would wade through grass and trees alike. We would get close, then the tiger would jet in the opposite direction before we were near. We would continue on though, tracker and elephant drivers determined and persistent in their search, At times, we would employ tactics to encircle the tigers with multiple elephants. That was the only time we came close, and eventually succeeded in seeing them for a brief fraction of a second.

But most of the time, we would push through the brush and that's when other animals would emerge. One of the most interesting, and entertaining was the highly endangered One-Horned Rhino. We ended up seeing 20 of the 33 in the park, which was a higher proportion than we were expecting. Before poachers, these were all over the place at Bardia, but the Chinese l-o-v-e rhino horn because it gives them virility, or whatever BS they believe it does for them. So instead of just dart them and take the horn, the poachers feel it's better to just outright kill the Rhino and leave the entire body to rot, save the little horn. How stupid can you get. They actually poached these beasts to extinction in Bardia, but the Government thought that it was important to spread load it's Rhino population in case of a "disaster" in the relatively poacher safe Royal Chitwan National Park. So they moved 75 to Bardia. Now there are 33. That's smartness at it's finest.

Anyway, so we would come on these animals in the grass, or wallowing in a well-hidden mud hole. After they would huff and puff in the most entertaining manner, all 3000 lbs of them would trot off at breakneck speed through the grass. But man, are they cool, and I was surprised at how nimble they are, although one of my favorite scenes in Ice Age is where Sid the Sloth eats a dandelion and almost meets his maker except for the help of Manny the Mammoth. they have terrible eyesight and when they look at you with their beady little eyes it looks almost equally as funny as when they slowly wander up to one of our elephants, only to make a snort and bounce away like a little puppy when they finally realize what they are being curious about. A puppy that would put a serious dent in my social calendar if I were just walking along and he rolled over me like a steam roller. Here are my two favorite pics of them:

The elephants we were on really could have cared less about the Rhino. As far as they were concerned, they were just blow-hards who posed. But then occasionally, we would accidentally bump into one of the 130 wild elephants that exist in the park. Fortunately for these creatures, no one poaches them here so it's one of the few mega-fauna at Bardai that are actually increasing in number. These guys are something the elephants we are riding on do worry about.. except when one of the wild bulls isn't creeping into the Karnali Lodge elephant pen to convince one of the ladies to go with him back into the forest. Talk about smart. And anti-human. While we were there, one of the wild bulls went up to a blind and was so pissed at the humans that he used his trunk to rip out the stairs. When we would stumble on one of these guys out in the park our elephants would shake, make noises, and want to get the hell outta there. Except for one- Ram Kali. She snuck off into the jungle for days at a stretch with wild bulls on three separate occasions. Three! The only way they would get her back was after she'd get hungry and be looking for her special food the handlers give her.

So finally, after seven rides we saw Bengal Tiger on three separate occasions. There were two other wily tiger that we were hot on the trail of, but never spotted. You know, how many times have you seen these amazing tiger pictures of a beautiful creature, crouched and about to pounce. Or, lounging around and relaxing. No way. After three sightings, here's the only- not the best, not the worst. The only picture we have of a tiger that we sighted. I know how amazing it is, and how it will win an award for best animal image of the century:

It was great- truly great though. Talk about electric to see one and to go through the thrill of the chase as many times as we did. It made the 24 hours, tired hands, sore back and bug bitey collective 24 hours of elephant rides.

Anyway, the trip to Karnali was fantastic from another perspective too. No Internet, phone, tv.. none. It was the pinnacle of relaxing. But, absolutely no way to communicate with the outside world either. And Jesus was it HOT there. I know, I prayed for heat every single night as I jammed a hot water bottle down into the foot of my sleeping bag on Everest. But Karnali was ridiculous. I think mosquitoes and other bugs took a pint of my blood too, and I have the bumps to prove it. These things would drop out of trees onto you while the elephant lumbered on, or come humming out of the forest at a low drone. And yes, I know that it's only going to get worse as we get closer and closer to the Equator. But that's ok, it was worth it. Because in a few weeks, when we are home, I won't think about the elephant rocking like a rowboat on stormy seas.. I'll think of how cool it was to see that tiger jetting through the grass at Mach 3.

Here's a census of a select group of animals we saw on our 6 days at Bardia:

3 Bengal Tiger

3 Wild Bull Elephant

20 One-Horned Rhino

1 Fresh Water Dolphin (of 9 left)

2 Ghiral Crocodile

1 Blue Bull (Ngali Antelope)

Herds of Wild Boar

Herds of Chittal (Spotted Deer), Hog Deer, Swamp Deer, Barking Deer- Tiger food.Yum

Mongoose

Peacock

Etc etc

The Days After

2008-06-07T17:42:00.000-07:00

Sleep is one of the things that we all want to do- especially after the 80km, 40 hour force march that we pressed through in order to get to Lukla for our flight. And truly, we would sleep as much as we could, but there was also a need to rejoin the world and not even sleep was going to stop us from doing that.
After getting back to the Yak & Yeti and checking in to our rooms, I went through this amusing exercise of find-your-bag. Before I flew way back in March, we had all stored a bag at the Yak & Yeti for our return. Things that we wouldn't need on the mountain, but would need when back in Kathmandu. Only I didn't have my check bag tag anymore, that thing was long gone. So I had to convince the hotel porter to look through all their storage rooms, and wouldn't you know it? They have several. Upstairs, around the corner, in the front. Finally, in the last room- the one closest to the lobby entrance, I came across my bag and one of Willies that he had forgotten that he had stored. Fortunately for him, I saw "WILLIE" scrawled across the side and grabbed it to ask. Otherwise, he'd have a little time capsule waiting for him when he returns next year.

We staggered upstairs to the 4th floor and I immediately jumped in the shower where I turned the water a murky brown but stayed put for almost 30 minutes as I felt strength return to my muscles. That shower felt so incredibly good, it's almost impossible to put into words. I looked over at the pile of dirty clothes and swear that they were so dirty that they could almost stand up on their own. Willie had worn his shirt like a badge of honor.. proudly telling everyone that he had worn the same exact shirt before we left, up and down through the summit push, back at Base Camp, and then all the way back to Kathmandu. Well, he told everyone except that snobby Flight Attendant, who would have probably freaked out anyway.

Meeting downstairs in the hotel lobby, we all laughed at our clothes. For me, they barely stayed on and I had to use a piece of 550 Cord to keep my jeans up. It looked like a wrinkle bomb had gone off and hit all of our clothes, which had been packed for two solid months in duffel bags. Everything was piecemeal given that most of our clothes and gear was still days behind us and trapped in Lukla. Bridie, a New Zealander, told us that her "Jandles"- I'm sure I spelled that wrong- a.k.a. flip flops, fell into that category and as a result had to dress up with her hiking boots.

From that point forward over the next several days, we embarked on a series of events that are best told separately. So here's a quick compilation of some of the more memorable things that happened to our team over the days back in Kathmandu:

Fire & Ice

Our first stop was the pizza joint "Fire & Ice", where all three of us chowed down heavily on real pizza, fresh vegetables, and actual ice cream. Holy cats, was that good. By the time we were done, we were filled to the gills on foods we had been talking about for weeks.

Over the next few days there was plenty more Fire & Ice, sometimes with the team, sometimes with Henny and Dad, who really enjoyed the environment there and found the food really good also. While there though, we did bump into a laundry list of the Who's Who of Himalayan climbing. Carlos, that crazy Spaniard who almost died on Lhotse if not for Willie giving him a separate bottle of Oxygen still walks around like a vegetable. Some Swiss guy we met enroute to Everest and who has been in the mountains for years, sacrificing several fingers and half his face to frostbite in an Everest North Ridge storm a few years back is there too- complete with a black nose.. or what was left of it, thanks to another storm- this time on Makalu. The first mother/daughter team we bumped into several times is there in the back, some of the Fuzzies appear. As the flights from Lukla slowly manage the backlog of climbers looking to get back to Kathmandu, Fire & Ice is one of the few places that everyone heads in order to get food that has been craved for months now.

Dad Comes to Town

While the gang went shopping for needed items, I met up with Henny and we trucked off to the airport- again. Only this time, I was there to meet dad, who in an incredibly lucky feat of scheduling had purchased his plane ticket to get to Kathmandu on the exact same day that we returned. Literally arriving four hours after we did, dad came strolling in from New Delhi and how awesome that we coordinated that so precisely. Henny took him sight seeing to places like Swayambunath Stupa while I returned to the hotel to pass out in a real bed, in a real city. Wow did that feel good.

But over the next several days, dad goes out sightseeing with Henny or joins us for team events that help him get to know the team and who we have been spending time with since March. Some dinners, like the one at the Dwarika's Garden of Dreams, involve Sherpas, the team, and Francisco's parents, who have been waiting patiently in Kathmandu since the 20th for our return.

Operation Human Being

The next morning, Willie, Bridey and I headed off to Tranquility Spa to try and become human again. Recommended by Henny, this was the ultimate in recovery and every Rupee I spent there was well worth it.

The spa offered a 90 minute "Trekkers Massage" which we jumped on. Because Willies and my faces were falling apart, we also jumped on the facial, which was a good move. Although, I think the lady who was mopping layer after layer of dead skin off our faces didn't think so. She must have been freaked out for sure. I the same room, Willie and I laughed at each other as we passed out a dozen times, both snoring away as more dead skin came off.

Like a caterpillar emerging from it's chrysalis, we woke up at the end of the facial and looked in the mirror. New men. Only a little dead skin still on the ears, and Willie's nose is still destroyed around his nostrils. But hey, all in good fun. I gave the lady a huge tip to help with the trauma counseling she's probably going through as I write this, and then we were headed off to our next stop in Operation Human Being: haircuts!
Willie knows some barber in Thamel District- likely from the last 10 years of climbing here where he'd come in looking like a Yeti and the guy would put him back together. So we came around a corner, and sure enough. This guy took one look at Willie, a huge smile crosses his face, and without even asking starts heading into the Barber Shop. We had our hair chopped, and then asked for a straight razor shave. Ahh.. how awesome.

When we finally returned to the Yak & Yeti, Francisco's parents saw us and were like "wow!" Totally different. It was such a dramatic improvement that they carted Francisco off to the same spa shortly thereafter.

Back to Everest

One morning, when the sun had barely crested the horizon, Dad and I headed back to the airport's domestic terminal to take a Mountain Flight. Offered by Buddha Air, this flight takes off out of Kathmandu, flies along the Himalaya and then returns to Kathmandu. The turnaround point is Mt Everest, and everyone on the plane oohs and aahs when they get close enough to spot the highly recognizable peak. It's on the Top 10 of tourist must-do's for Kathmandu, although I have to admit that the more recent Mountain Flights are now tourist driven and have become a bit more cheezy than they used to be. When I first took the Mountain Flight back in 2000, you flew so close to the top of Everest that it felt like you could reach out and touch it. The pilots circled the giant peak three or four times, allowing everyone on board to come up to the front and take a look through the wind shield before the plane turned and flew back toward Kathmandu.

When we were climbing though, the only plane I heard was the Chinese one circling to take pics of the torch up top. How could that be? I know there are planes zipping around out there. Well, today the Mountain Flight stays wayyyyy to the south of the Himalaya, like almost over Lukla. No wonder I couldn't hear any planes. The pilots still allow people to come up front, but when I did? I was given about a 30 second view when you almost needed binoculars to see the mountain. After 30 seconds? "Ok, please take your seat." Wtf? Yes, you see the mountain. But also, yes- it's that far out. No wonder I didn't hear any planes while climbing. Hopefully with his telephoto lens, Dad was able to snap away and hopefully get some good pictures. As for me, I was just surprised to be looking at the summit again after just 8 days.

As the plane descended, it became push-our-crap-on-the-tourists. T-shirts in hand, Unfriendly Flight Attendant #2 came around and tried to sell to everyone- myself included a T-Shirt that in big, bold letters on the front says "I Didn't Climb Everest But It Touched My Heart" with a cheezy silk screened image that looked like it hadn't been updated since 1980. I mean, honestly. Dad told the FA when we were looking at Everest that I had in-fact climbed it, but I guess she felt in her own little world that I still thought a 1980 T-Shirt was a worthwhile buy.

Anyway, it was fun looking at the mountain again and just like our summit day, it was crystal clear perfect out. Good news to those on the mountain, sitting on the summit at the very moment we were snapping away with cameras.

Award Ceremony

We also had a medal ceremony on what turned out to be the First Annual Sagarmartha Day Celebration.. or something like that. They put all of the Everest summiteers on one side of a banquet hall, and then had all the Nepal Mountaineering Association big-wigs.. you know, every one of the guys who made our lives miserable during that torch debacle.. sit up on a podium. Then we had to sign in so they knew who was present, and I took a pic of the sign-in sheet because I thought it was cool that we were signing in right behind Apa Sherpa, the World Record holder in summits- 18 this year which is out of control.

And then it was medal time. Yayy! We all received a medal for summiting. I wonder if I can wear it on my Dress Blues. Something tells me that the answer is no.

Rum Doodle

Finally, we hit Rum Doodle, a local bar/restaurant in Thamel made famous for its affiliation with the climbing community. Rum Doodle is a fairly short satire from the 50s about the ascent of a 40,000' peak by a bunch of goofballs. If you haven't read it, it's truly a fun read. The restaurant, however, is chock full of climbing memorabilia, including autographs by famous climbers like Edmund Hillary, Barry Bishop, Reinhold Messner, etc. We added to their wall of fame with our own sign, which our team autographed and designed:

A week later, several of us met up again at Rum Doodle for dinner and spent close to an hour looking for our team's foot. We found it, jammed way in the back and completely out of view. Upon closer inspection, we realized that this was a result of us just writing EVEREST on it, not adding in the critical descriptor of "expedition" or especially "summit". So, with tenacious Henny leading the way we fixed the sign and with hammer in hand nailed it to the most conspicuous place possible- right by the front desk on the stairwell where someone will need a ladder to remove it.

Anyway, the deal is that if you are an Everest summitter, you can fill out a form and then receive free meals for life. They have you sign a read board that is chock full of signatures, and then you are part of the Rum Doodle fraternity.

How great to be back in civilization! No on to Bardia National Park to search for wild Bengali Tiger...

Namche Bazaar -> Kathmandu, 27 May 2008

2008-06-07T08:02:00.000-07:00

Woke up at 03:15 to a knock knock knock on the door, and we were both out of bed like a shot with the goal being Lukla in time for a morning flight back to Kathmandu. Given the sketchy weather over the last few afternoons, we didn't want to leave anything to chance. We packed, I threw half a roll of athletic tape onto my feet and after a quick team breakfast, off we went. The entire team headed off together from Namche with the streets quiet and completely dark, shrouded only in gentle glow of the occasional street lamp.

After no time, we were at the outskirts of town, headed down to the valley floor. Close to 1,000' separates Namche from the Dudh Kosi River, so we took our time, walking carefully on the gravelly and rocky path that became slippery with dew after a little while. Finally, the team made the river as dawn was breaking and encountered our first river crossing of the day.

Over the next several hours, the trail crossed over the Dudh Kosi River at least five times and meandered through villages as life again began to slowly emerge from the closed up shops and sleeping roosters that we passed.

Finally, after close to three hours we arrived back at the site of our very first night on the trip- Phakding. Looking much different now from when we first stayed here, the hotel was awash in green leaves, blooming flowers and open patios overflowing with lawn chairs and umbrellas. How different it looks now, and how glad we are to finally be back, passing through on our way home.

The final leg was finally upon us, and we all knew it. And to drive that point home, we passed a last sign as we were about to leave town: "Way to Lukla". Almost there..

Within 30 more minutes, we started to see signs of how close we actually were- finer, more complex houses made with finer supplies, actual cinder blocks, and store upon store selling various sundries.

Unfortunately for us though, the last portion of the out trek- the trail leading from Phakding to Lukla- is largely uphill and steep at several points. How wonderful. I thought of this last particular leg leading to Lukla to be one last little insult before wrapping up. Great. 80km of out trek, descending from 17,500' and then the last several kilometers have to be uphill. Give me a break, how frustrating. Up, up, up we wind. From the river floor, it must have been close to another 500 or 600 vertical feet back up to Lukla, and along the way we then began to see the flights taking off as the morning flights began to arrive and depart. Man, we better not miss our plane out.

Within 1km of the city limits, we also began to pass trekkers from the planes that had just arrived. How nice they smell! How clean they are! How funny the expressions that they give us, almost as if we were a homeless guy on a street corner. Then again, we probably look like a homeless guy on a street corner, so fair enough. They would zip by in the opposite direction, all new trekking gear, clothes that look like they just pulled the sales tag off, with an uncomfortable glance thrown our direction. Oh well, we are on our way HOME! Assuming we are just a bunch of ratty trekkers, I chuckle and keep on moving since they have no idea of the adventure we have just been on.

And then we are there- Lukla. Finally! We drag ourselves to the airport departures area and relax for a few minutes.. our plane- the last one of the day- is about to arrive and take us to Kathmandu. Only Willie, myself and Bridie have made it on time to make the flight- the rest of the team is spread too far along the trail and well back from Lukla, so when the plane does arrive and boarding kicks off, they aren't even in the city yet. Their flight, they will learn, will come tomorrow.

While at the airport, we had two amusing experiences and thought that at least it was comical that we couldn't get out of town without more stories. One was that despite the helicopter ride to Lukla, Francisco and Lhakpa weren't able to get a flight out yesterday thanks to crappy weather. So they had departed Lukla earlier that morning, meaning that the helo ride had actually only saved them about 3 hours. Then, as we were about to head into the Departures Terminal for our flight, I remembered that I still had a knife attached to my pack. Asking one of the reps at the airport about it, he said "give it to me" and then ten minutes later, after security and inside the secured part of the airport he reappeared and gave me my knife back. I quickly threw it in my pocket but thought for a second about how that was the very first time I had ever been given a knife right before boarding a plane.

Off we shot down the runway. The plane took about five seconds to gain speed thanks to light weight and a downhill angled runway and before we knew it, buildings, the river, trees, and farms were all below us. The plane was loaded to the gills with Sherpa, climbing gear and the three of us, so our Flight Attendant must have been going out of her mind about the smell.. and judging from her behavior, I think I'm right on the money with that assumption.

After 45 minutes of flying between ridges, valleys and then in what can only be compared to a combat landing, we were wheels down at Kathmandu International Airport. We were home! We taxiied, and then finally stopped. When the propellers feathered down and a desperate Flight Attendant quickly opened the rear door for fresh air, we all gave a whoop and clapped. We were back, in almost the same parking spot as the one that we were in at the beginning of our Odyssey.

Now safe, we grabbed our bags, gave an enormous smile to each other, and once again began to move forward. Because while one adventure had just completed, another one was about to begin. It's all about looking ahead, understanding that while the past makes you who you are, the future is what defines an individual through challenge and optimism.

Last: Pheriche to Namche http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/06/26-may-pheriche-namche.html

Pheriche to Namche Bazaar, 26 May 2008

2008-06-07T07:48:00.001-07:00

After sleeping away the night in the first bed I have seen in two months, I wake up to the thumping, high-pitched mechanical whining of a Bell Jet Ranger helicopter whizzing 300 meters by my window. Whoah.. I guess the flights are going today, no? Francisco and Lhakpa are targeting a 07:30 flight out, so while I stagger to my feet and begin the daily chore of waking up, those two are out of bed like a shot and packed up within minutes. And who can blame them? If I were flying out from here, I'd be motivated too. Not to say that I'm not motivated to get out of dodge, but knowing that we still have roughly 40km of an 80km trek left ahead of us it's not really the same thing. Our goal is to be back on the trail at 08:30 with the ultimate goal of Bridey, Willie, me, G-Man, Lhakpa, Jetta and Lhakpa today being Namche Bazaar. Tendi, of course left with the HAPE-stricken porter at 01:00 and is well down the trail already. And do I have a story for you in a little bit about that one.

Off we went, like a shot. Right past the hotel, we pass a stainless steel monument to fallen Everest climbers, updated through last year's season. Lhakpa's father is on there too. He died in 1982 during a West Ridge expedition when an avalanche came off the LoLa Face. So is Danuru's oldest brother. And there's Scott Fischer's name, along with Rob Hall, now famous from the '96 disaster Jon Krakauer profited on in the book where he talks about how awesome a climber he is but then stayed in his tent when the shit hit the fan. Very few people in this valley haven't been touched by tragedy in some way, shape or form so putting the monument here in Pheriche is highly appropriate.

The trail between Pheriche and Namche.. oy. It's amazing how your brain softens memories over time, glossing over rougher experiences to the point where you only remember the good times. Tame trail? Slow, gentle grade? Not a chance. But fortunately for us, almost every yak train save our own was headed in the opposite direction- looking for Base Camp work, likely.

We passed oodles of porters too, but again, almost all save our own were heading in the opposite direction. This is the danger that caught our porter, where he raced up from the lower valley in just two days because he wanted the work. Taking time getting in to Base Camp, the porters gently acclimatize with western climbers over ten days to build up to the altitude. When left to their own devices, HAPE and HACE become threats to them and they don't even know it. For our porters though, most are ok and continue down the trail, happy to have the work and carrying enormous loads of our gear.

For the one, unfortunate kid who we treated for HAPE late last night. After several hours of up and down, Willie and I learn that Tendi made it as far as Tengbuche. Tengbuche! That's a four hour trek from Pheriche in the daytime, with day pack. Tendi made it with a 140 lb kid on his back. Willie and I get the news and turn on the jets, leaving the rest of the team strung along the trail to catch up. Up, down. Up, down. The trail snakes down through the valley, linking up with the Dudh Kosi River and finally making contact with Rhododendron trees in full bloom. If we weren't so interested in getting to Tendi, we would be at a light clip, trying to enjoy ourselves and suck in the green scenery. How long it has been since we saw green! It truly is beautiful. There is one ridiculous hill between the river and Tengbuche which I swear I hate but push through, finally emerging at the monastery.

We find Tendi and the Porter over by the helicopter pad at the end of town and hear a crazy tale of pitch black trails, drunken Sherpas and life saving that leave us in awe once again of Tendi's strength. Wearing no socks and borrowing a head lamp, Tendi had used a burlap strap fashioned into a seat/head strap for the porter who was completely immobile. He left Pheriche at 1am and walked the narrow path up and down with the Porter throwing up and coughing up on him. Finally, he reached Dingboche several hours later, which is roughly 1,000' lower. The Porter hadn't shown any signs of improvement and the town medical clinic was closed so on Tendi went, bumping into two drunk Sherpas who hassled him for money and were curious about why he was carrying this kid on his back. Tendi asked them for help, which they refused to do, so he continued on. The trail wound up and up, finally emerging at Tengbuche where Tendi found help, including a western climber who used a Dex injection to bring the Porter back from the brink. Now close to daylight, the Porter started showing signs of improvement and the decision was made to use a helicopter to get him down to a hospital in Kathmandu quickly. While the porter continued to improve over the next few hours and actually looked fine by the time we arrived, Tendi's efforts to carry the porter on his back through the night had undoubtedly saved his life.

While we waited for the helicopter to arrive, we learned that Lhakpa and Francisco hadn't been picked up yet, but their ride was soon coming. And that it did. Finally, we heard the whirring of helicopter blades and a white Air Dynasty bird came in on final approach for Tengbuche. When the help touched down, I was standing next to G-Man and we both looked inside. Lhakpa and Francisco! Willie brought the now grinning Porter over to the helicopter and put him inside while Tendi tried to see if he could scam a ride- his reward for the nights efforts. Sorry Charlie, we are at capacity. Tendi smiled and was fine with it, which I wouldn't have been if I were looking forward to a helo ride instead of 40km walk. As the bird lifted up and pointed it's nose toward Lukla, I related to Tendi how many times in the Marines & Seattle Mountain Rescue I have been expecting a helicopter egress and then found myself using black Cadillacs to hoof it out.

The rest of us set back out on the trail for Namche Bazaar- close enough now, but still an ungodly distance away thanks to this ridiculous 1000' downclimb to the forest and river.. followed immediately by a 1000' upclimb back to almost the exact same altitude we were at an hour earlier. Once we made the top of the ridge again, I looked at Tendi, equally out of breath, and said "I bet you are happy you missed that helicopter ride now, aren't you". Dripping sweat, he just rolled his eyes and moved on. It was miserable and the way I found myself getting through it was by saying over and over to myself that I'll never have to do this trail again.

I did pass one sign along this particular stretch of trail that caught my attention though. Wild life conservation takes on such an important tone in this part of the world, where Bengali Tiger, One Horned Rhino and other endangered species are being poached to the point of extinction. The Snow Leopard is one of the rarest and most endangered cats in the world and looks absolutely beautiful from every photo I have seen. They even dedicate an entire segment to it in the BBC documentary Blue Planet. But here in the Nepali Himalayas, it appears to take second billing to the Musk Deer, as seen in this sign where someone penned in a piece on the rare cat with a Sharpie.

Finally, we pulled into Namche for the night. Woo hoo!! Back! Namche! It's warmer now, there is much more green, and it has a much more relaxed tone than just 8 weeks ago. But it's Namche, and it means we are one night away from Kathmandu.

We pulled into our hotel for the night, and I recalled that this city was the last place I found a mirror on my outbound leg. Remembering this, I went into the bathroom of the hotel, found a mirror and took a pic of what closely resembles a Raggedy Andy doll.

Next: Namche Bazaar to Lukla http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/06/26-may-pheriche-namche_07.html

Last: Everest Base Camp to Pheriche http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/25-may-base-camp-out-trek-to-pheriche.html

Tendi Saves a Porter

2008-06-07T07:48:00.000-07:00

In Pheriche, our lodge- the White Yak- is the nicest lodge we have stayed at, both in and out of the Khumbu Valley. It's ridiculous. Willie met me at the entrance and as we checked in, he gave me the “Mount Everest” room. It's as close to a suite as you can imagine after a tent for two straight months. It's a corner room, and even has two windows!! And an actual bed! Talk about luxury. It's warm in here, too. Warm weather for the first time and the ability to look out over lush, green pastures from the second floor of a hotel in relative comfort.

When we all caught up, we ate like starving people. Almost 3,000 feet lower than Base Camp and 20 Kilometers in five hours, your appetite is definitely back. We all sat around a heater, talked, and laughed. Everyone was there- literally everyone. Jetta, Super Mila, G-Man, Tendi, you name it. It was awesome. Our team talked about our collective success, told stories, and then it was time for bed- in a real bed. I still can't get over that. A bed! I was out like a light in 3 seconds with the relished sound of rain gently tapping on the windows. A sound I hadn’t heard in months but appreciated and had missed.

BANG BANG BANG BANG KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!! My door opens. It's 1am.

"Willie! Willie!"
"It's Doug."
"Oh!"

KNOCK KNOCK - across the hall, Willie is abruptly woken up. Lhakpa and Tendi are excitedly telling him that one of our porters- the last one (some took FOREVER to get to us tonight) has HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema) and has just arrived in Pheriche, hanging on by a thread.

Whaaatttt... Seriously?? “Doug, let’s go!” Willie and I spring out of bed and find him, several buildings down the pitch black trail. It's definitely HAPE. When going to bed we had noticed one porter hadn’t arrived yet with his load, but assumed that he had stopped at a tea house somewhere enroute and was catching up with friends. It is not uncommon on the out trek for Sherpa or porters to pit-stop for glasses of Chang on their way home, or try to double-carry to make more money but slow way down as a result. The crappy thing about it for this stricken 14 year old kid is that he must have been passed by about 200 people without anyone helping him. I can't answer why that happened, but I do know that our team all had jets on and were moving incredibly fast. Everyone, save the other porters were about 10 miles ahead of him when he probably started having problems, so we never knew until we stopped in Pheriche for our overnight and he never arrived. We started asking and asking, but when he finally came stumbling into the town late at night, we were stunned. He was amazingly lucky.

We run back to the hotel and frantically dig through bags, looking for anything at all that we can find to help him. Bridie offers up some Diamox- used for avoiding Acute Mountain Sickness and helps with things like HAPE by countering the physiological effects of high altitude. We race back to where the porter is slumped over throwing up and coughing up foam at the feet of Lhakpa and Tendi. We give the pills to Tendi, administered one and forced the kid to swallow both even though he was totally out of it. Then all of a sudden, Tendi threw a burlap strap over his head and strapped the kid to his back. Then he grabbed a bottle of water, threw the pills into his pocket and took off down the trail for Dingboche and trees- maybe 1000' lower with the kid piggybacked. The amazing thing to me is that even after all we have been through that Tendi has the strength to essentially backpack a 140 lb human dead weight in the middle of the night, down narrow trails, up and down hilltops.

Man, I tell you what. Not a day goes by where I don't recognize what a great team we have and how well we work together. I also recognize that we aren't out of the woods yet, and we still have a long way to go before we don't have to worry about even things like HAPE. Even here, people are still falling victim if they aren't taking all the proper steps.

The next morning, we passed oodles of porters, but again almost all save our own were heading in the opposite direction. This is the danger that caught our porter last night. From a village in a lower valley, he raced up in two days to find work from the throngs of climbers needing to transport gear off of the Khumbu Glacier. As a well known and perennial cash cow, the Everest Base Camp trek route becomes a literal logistical resupply route that Nepalis from all over migrate to at the end of the season to make some good money. In early season, porters gently acclimatize with their western climbers. Taking time getting in to Base Camp, the porters take ten days to build up to the altitude. But when left to on their own, HAPE and HACE become threats to them and they don't even know it. Money becomes the driving factor but most are ok and continue down the trail, happy to have the work and carry enormous loads of our gear.

After several hours of up and down speed marching down the trail, passing through one small cluster of towns after another, Willie and I learn from passerby adjacent to a closed First Aid hut that Tendi made it as far as Tengbuche. Tengbuche! That's a four hour trek from Pheriche in the daytime, with day pack, and Tendi made it carrying a 140 lb kid. Willie and I get the news and turn on the jets, leaving the rest of the team strung along the trail to catch up. Up, down. Up, down. The trail snakes down through the valley, links up with the churning Dudh Kosi River and finally make contact with green Rhododendron trees in full bloom. If we weren't so interested in getting to Tendi, we would be at a light clip trying to enjoy ourselves and suck in the lush scenery. How long it has been since we saw trees! It truly is beautiful and makes you recognize what things one takes for granted. Trees and mild temperatures allowing misty clouds to gently shroud mountaintops scraping the sky all around us. So nice. There is one ridiculously steep hill between the river and Tengbuche that I remember thinking about on our way in something like “wow this is going to suck on the way out”. Now it’s here, we are moving up it, and it truly does suck. I hate it and am completely out of breath but push through, finally emerging at the monastery.

We find Tendi and the Porter over by an expeditionary helicopter pad at the end of town and hear a crazy tale of pitch black trails, drunken Sherpa and life saving that leave us in awe once again of Tendi's strength. Wearing no socks and borrowing a head lamp, Tendi used his burlap strap fashioned into a seat/head strap for the duration of his trek. He left Pheriche at 1am and walked the narrow path up and down with the immobile Porter throwing up and coughing up on him. Somewhere around 3:30, he reached Dingboche which is roughly 1,000' lower in vertical elevation. The porter hadn't shown any signs of improvement and the town medical clinic was closed. So on Tendi went, bumping into two drunken Sherpas who hassled him for money and were curious about why he was carrying this kid on his back. Tendi asked them for help, which they refused to do. So he continued on, following the trail up and up, finally emerging at Tengbuche where Tendi finally found help. A western climber who was on scene used a Dex injection to bring the Porter back from the brink and he immediately started to improve. Now close to daylight, Tendi was able to use his cell phone (yes, Nepalis have cell coverage as far as Tengbuche believe it or not) to call Kili back in Kathmandu. A decision was made to use a helicopter to get the porter down to a hospital in Kathmandu quickly.

While the porter continued to improve over the next few hours and actually looked fine by the time we arrived, Tendi's efforts to carry the porter on his back through the night had undoubtedly saved his life.

Back to Top Ten Stories: http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2009/01/everest-top-ten-stories.html

Out Trek Everest Base Camp to Pheriche, 25 May 2008

2008-05-29T19:37:00.001-07:00

Time to say goodbye to Base Camp but not before a quick trip over to Altitude Junkies... an adjoining camp. Why? Because Mark- my good friend from Denali- is there! I learned this yesterday. YESTERDAY! Yep, 200 meters away from me the entire trip and just the day before we trek out I learn about it via Bridie, who did a Name Game and then informed me of the coincidence. Crazy. So, Francisco and I walked over to see him, say hi, have some coffee and catch up, albeit for just a few minutes. Then it's back over to our camp to finish packing and prepare for the out trek.

Yak trains arrive, porters show, and we begin to pile things up into yak, porter, and self-carry.

And then I realize I lost my little iPod Shuffle somewhere in the jumble of glacier rocks. Great. Seriously, now?? Come on, that's ridiculous, but true. My suspicion is that when Tendi went to go break down my tent he accidentally knocked it off the solar charger where I was trying to give it one last tiny charge before we stepped off. I saw part of it happen, but never looked closely at it and was more caught up in getting out of town. I went to go grab all of my gear, and it was gone. Nice.

While we continue to pack, the Mexican team comes over to wish us well, and we take one last pic with them. These guys are great! What awesome people, it was fun spending time with them.

So, we ended up grabbing one last picture of the collected team.

Tendi went over to disassemble the Puja- if there's one sure-fire sign that the expedition is over, there it is- the Puja coming down. We all received one length of the prayer flags, which is a great memento and is truly special to all of us.

Then it was time- I lit my good luck Cohiba that I have been saving since the beginning of this trip and slowly strolled out of Base Camp for the last time. I met Bridie, Willie and Francisco at the edge of camp- they waited for me as I searched for my iPod in vain- and off we went- past yak trains, past trekkers, past porters. Down, down, out, out. We hit Gorak Shep in no time, stopping for tea for a bit, relaxed as could ever be possible. While there, we saw our pack trains keeping up with us as all of our bags went meandering by on the backs of yaks.

At Gorak Shep, we also passed Carlos, a Spanish climber who had issues on Lhotse and doesn’t climb with oxygen. He and his teammate were waiting for a helicopter flight at the Gorak Shep helo pad and he's still looking completely out of it- or at least that's his personality. After a bit, we were off like a shot. Down, past Lukla. Past the eerie Chultin Park, home to all the memorials of fallen climbers in the Everest Region.

Past that weird little restaurant at the bottom of the hill before Chultin Park, around the corner and dropping again into the valley that leads one to Pheriche. Once we hit the valley floor, we saw green for the first time! Talk about a friendly and welcoming sight! It definitely brought a smile to my face.

In Pheriche, our lodge- the White Yak- is the nicest lodge we have stayed at, both in and out treks. It's ridiculous. Willie met me at the entrance and as we checked in, he gave me the Mount Everest room. It's as close to a suite as you can imagine after a tent for two months. It's a corner room, and even has two windows!! And an actual bed! Talk about luxury. It's warm in here, too.

When we all caught up, we ate like starving people- almost 3,000' lower than Base Camp; your appetite is definitely back. We all sat around a heater, talked, and laughed. Everyone was there- literally everyone. Jetta, Super Mila, G-Man, Tendi, you name it. It was awesome. So, we talked and then it was time for bed- in a real bed. I still can't get over that. A bed! I was out like a light in about 3 seconds.

BANG BANG BANG BANG KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!!

My door opens. It's 1am.

"Willie! Willie!"
"It's Doug."
"Oh!"
KNOCK KNOCK - across the hall, Willie is woken up- Lhakpa and Tendi are telling him that one of our porters- the last one (some took FOREVER to get to us tonight) has HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema). Whaaatttt... Seriously? Willie and I spring out of bed and find him, several buildings down the trail. It's definitely HAPE. We run back to the hotel and dig through bags, looking for anything we can find to help. Bridie has Diamox- used for avoiding AMS and helping with things like this. So we give the pills to Tendi, administer one and force water on the kid, totally out of it. Then Tendi piggybacks the kid, and takes off down the trail for Dingboche and trees- maybe 1000' lower. The amazing thing to me is that even after all we have been through that Tendi has the strength to essentially backpack a 120 lbs. human for several miles and hours in the middle of the night, down narrow trails up and down hilltops.

Man, I tell you what. Not a day goes by where I don't recognize what a great team we have and how well we work together. I also recognize that we aren't out of the woods yet, and we still have a long way to go before we don't have to worry about even things like HAPE. Even here, people are still falling victim if they aren't taking all the proper steps.

Next: Pheriche to Namche Bazaar http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/06/26-may-pheriche-namche.html

Last: Last Day at Base Camp http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/24-may-last-day-at-base-camp.html

Mount Everest: Last Day At Base Camp, 24 May 2008

2008-05-29T17:14:00.000-07:00

Wake up and began packing, packing, packing, packing, packing. It's amazing to see how quickly you can tear down camp and get ready to go when driven by incentive. The goal is for us all to hike out as a group- members, Sherpas, cook staff. One whole group- one team start to finish. When we get to Lukla, our plan is to get the entire team onto one airplane but in the interim, we’ll be pressing through the length of the 80km trail from Base Camp to Lukla to stay in the same hotels, etc.

Francisco's parents have been in Kathmandu since the 20th, so he's been investigating helicopter flights to save time and in the essence of speed but man are they expensive. As in, they can cost as much as $5,600 for 3 people. Not this guy. That's too expensive when I have feet that still move underneath me. So as for the rest of the team we'll be hoofing it.

All day, we packed. Our gear, team gear. Comm equipment, cooking equipment. It all was packed up by the collective team, one piece at a time.

That night, we treated the team to a special meal- we (Bridie, me, Francisco, Willie) cooked the Sherpas and cook team dinner, kicking them out of their tents and setting the table for them in the community shelter. We put out a deli plate, a giant vat of Thai Chili, rice, and threw in a DVD for them to watch while eating. Somewhere, Sherpas unearthed two cases of beer to pass out. It was all great fun, even if they were extremely uneasy with us in the cook tent unattended. At least five times, we caught one or two peeking in to see what was happening and verify that we weren't about to burn down the tent.

It was a perfect way to close out the evening and the expedition, and they loved it just as much as we did.

Next: Everest Base Camp to Pheriche http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/25-may-base-camp-out-trek-to-pheriche.html
Last: Down to Base Camp http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/summit-push-23-may-camp-ii-back-to-base.html

Mount Everest Summit, To Base Camp

2008-05-28T18:55:00.000-07:00

Time to wake up! CLANG, CLANG, LOUD TALK, LOUD TALK. Wtf!? Some jack ass Sherpa from another camp who must have grown up in the Bronx comes blowing into our camp talking as if he's in Yankee Stadium. I try politely at first to ask him to keep it down since I know that at 6am, I'm not the only one sleeping. This rapidly erodes after the 5th time of asking to me yelling at the top of my lungs that if he doesn't f-ing keep it down, I'm coming out of the tent and he won't like where it goes from there. He gets the point, although grudgingly. Hey, all spiritualness of the mountain aside, if you want to talk like you are in NY, you get to hear responses like you are in NY. He scoots off. Super Mila is irritated at his friend and apologizes to me endlessly about how he acted. Some guy from Kathmandu, he explains. You know, Big City, doesn't know better. Kathmandu isn't what I consider Big City, but I feel for him on how his friend acted. Everyone is now up anyway. Cripes sake. Let's make the best of it and get outta here.

We spend ~3 to 4 hours breaking camp. The goal here being to get everything out of Camp II so that no one has to go back up and pick it up as we "clean" the mountain.

This includes cook tents, stoves, food, personal gear, and even... yes, garbage. Despite the mountain of trash that we found initially, and even the second mountain that emerged from the snow as the sun beat down on the camp, we are hauling out our trash. I wish I could say the same for every other team, but we did. I'm conscience clean about how we left Camp II. I won't point any fingers on other teams, but let's just say that over the weeks spent in Camp II purgatory, I saw an awful lot of trash that seemed at first glance to have Hongul printed all over it. There, I won't say any more.

Over time, the camp began to resemble nothing more than a few overloaded packs and a jumble of rocks... we were almost ready. I think my pack weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of 70 lbs and Willie's must have weighed over 100- easily. It was so heavy that we had to pull him up onto his feet.

In order to haul everything from Camp II, we set up a series of Drag Bags- items wrapped up in burlap & canvas that we can pull behind ourselves via ropes. I ask aloud about why things aren't stored in secure boxes & storage containers at Camp II so that next year this system doesn't have to be repeated, but the answer is that the weather can be so severe up here that it just wouldn't work. Ok, well at least I asked.

My Drag Bag is filled with... garbage. Yep, there's that garbage again. 70 lbs of gear on my back and I'm dragging this stupid trash bag through the snow behind me to Camp I. Hey, what can you do? I could be sitting in a cubicle getting old and watching my butt get fat like Bob Combs, right? So, in some respects it could be worse.

I'm confident Willie wants to bring it down, but also equally confident that once it makes it to Camp I and a Sherpa has to haul it down to Base Camp from there that it's going to end up in a bottomless crevasse with a bunch of Korean trash... when he's not looking. Hell, enroute to Base Camp?? I think it crossed my mind at every crevasse ladder. Ugh. But haul on I did, and tried my best to keep up with Willie and Francisco through what turned into a driving snowstorm.

And talk about a challenge. Yee cats. I already hate those aluminum ladders, some of which can be notorious. This trip I have heard story after story about ladders flipping unexpectedly on people, people falling off the side of one, people dangling from safety ropes for two whole hours before someone happened along and found them. Now add to the equation two things- tons of snow falling, making the trail all but obscured except if you stop every two steps to see where the trail leads you as you navigate the crevasse-infested Western Cwm. And a 40 lb trash bag.

So here I am, taking my time on the ladders, one step at a time. Left hand on my trekking pole, right hand holding this stupid trash bag which is still tied to me, AND the ladder guide rope. Ladder is all bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, snow falls off the bottom of my crampons as loose flakes blow by me in the driving storm. I can't believe I did all that for the sanctity and purity of Sagarmartha National Park. Some climber about 100 years from now hopefully will appreciate it.

We pull into Camp I, which is essentially under four feet of drift snow now from when we first arrived. Tents are still there, but it looks like a high Himalayan equivalent of a Wild West Ghost Town. No one is using this camp other than to transit through. We dump our Drag Bags and try to probe for crevasse while regaining the trail out of Camp I, through the Icefall and down to Base Camp.

From Camp I, it was absolutely slow going- ultimately, it had to be. Heavy, driving snow and wind stayed with us for at least 600 vertical feet of our downclimb through the Icefall. Down, down, down we climbed- through the upper Icefall, past Crazy Ladder 4, 3, 2 and then finally 1. Through the Soccer Field, and then the Popcorn Field. We heard two enormous avalanches calve off of LoLa Face, but it was too cloudy and snowy to see anything so we all just flinched and then relaxed when we realized we weren't in jeopardy.

Then we hit the waves at the end of the Icefall, and it was only then that we realized that we were safe- we were almost at Base Camp. Seven hours after leaving Camp II, we staggered in, weak smiles and extremely tired backs. We made it- "home." That night, Francisco and I reminisced about our two months here. Willie came in, exhausted smile and sunburned face to tell us that we are leaving in two days. The boys in the kitchen cooked us a celebration cake, Bridie gave us all hugs in congratulations and we were able to finally release.

Next: Last day at Everest Base Camp http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/24-may-last-day-at-base-camp.html
Last: Downclimb to Camp II http://landtarget.blogspot.com/2008/05/summit-push-22-may-south-col-back-to.html