Thursday, December 16, 2010
Silliness on Board
The month of december, when time slows down to a crawl, vigor of summer discussions in one's philosophy group (Hon. Jack Daniels, Hon. Johnie Walker & One) quiets down to a whisper & one looks for a rush from sugar concoctions left at coffee station, reminding us of christmas induced genteel generosity. Fortunately, city library happens to be just across the road from work and I picked up Mankoff's "The Naked Cartoonist", and inspired myself to fill these endless hours between 8:00 AM and 5:00 PM with some silliness on board....drawing board.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Composting and Other Experiments
Now that you are here, let’s first make sure that you read it right. The word is Composting and not Composing. If you are interested in composing, I highly recommend my friend Kulpreet’s blog, where hymn and humor coexist in Raga-ish harmony. This blog on the other hand is designed to stink a little.
The agri-cultural marker is sewn into my DNA but other traits are acquired ones. I say “Neither” when asked “Paper or Plastic” at the grocery store. I only consume locally manufactured beers just to reduce the fossil fuel consumption from transportation. And some days when eco-bio rhythms are at their crests, some of us, self-proclaimed quasi-environmentalists, pedal our bicycles to the mother-ship a.k.a New Belgium Brewery and demand free samples of carbohydrate rich replenishers.
In my 40s, I am beginning to experiment with activities more in tune with my advancing age, mellowing temperament and painfully screaming joints. First wave of resistance to my changing persona comes from a domestic front. I hadn’t even started relishing my first effort to reduce my large “carbon foot print” when the “S” words started flying around the house. What is this SH**? Oh, look the mess you have created with this eco Sh**? If you ever put a brick in the tank to convert the toilet to a low flow toilet, you better sleep with one eye open, for same brick could be used for beat this eco-Sh** out of you. Well, domestic ecology is a very dangerous battleground. Some enemy snipe-r fire is expected. I decided to take my carbon reduction war outside, to my backyard.
Only people whose salaries have kept up with the price curve of organic tomatoes are members of the US house and senate. Even Indian legislators are not far behind either. Parliament members just approved a gigantic salary raise for themselves. What was a common man like me to do but take matter in one’s own hands. First idea was to cordon off and convert a corner of the yard to vegetable patch. The American handy man’s Mecca, Home Depot, happily estimated that the cost of bricks etc. to create this would be about thousand dollars. Yes, $1000. Apparently they had just incurred an expense of $150 million to pay severance package for firing their unwanted CEO, and were in for a quick recovery. So I went with pots, old plastic buckets, half drums and a used laundry basket to balance a part of my food chain. Many of my well meaning friends have been trying to change my food chain and convince me to convert but I am sticking to my vegetarianism. Vegetarians live longer, though death from hunger remains an ever present possibility. Only moral supporter in this quest: Chicken. Yes, Chicken, a noveau herbivore’s dilemma and a carnivore’s burden (my brother’s vision of avian world is much more altruistic than my vision of his). Chicken, an animal which is eaten both, after it is born and before it is born (my knowledge of biology is rudimentary but Eggs are unborn chicken. Compassionate Conservatives: Please take note). In my homeland of Punjab, Chickens have come to terms with the fate of their lot. When they come across a Punjabi in the early evening hours with a bottle of ਰਸ ਭਰੀ (honey-ful), they lay down their arms (or is it legs) and surrender unconditionally. They know that statistics is against them.
Produce in year 2010 has been plenty. ਟਮਾਟਰ, ਬੈੰਗਨ, ਮਿਰਚਾਂ, ਪੁਦੀਨਾ, ਖੀਰਾ, ਸ਼ਿਮਲਾ ਮਿਰਚਾਂ, ਪਾਲਕ ਤੇ ਏਸ਼ੀਅਨ ਜੜੀ ਬੁਟੀਆਂ (Tomatoes, Eggplant, chili pepper, mint, cucumber, red and green bell pepper, spinach and asian herbs). Tomatoes and chilies came at such a high rate that I had to expand my cooking regimen beyond Indian delicacies of ਬੈੰਗਨ ਦਾ ਭਰਥਾ (Eggplant Bhartha) and ਪੁਦੀਨੇ ਦੀ ਚਟਨੀ (Mint chutney). Only when you get to taste the Eggplant parmesan (Italiano) made with ingredients from your own yard, you realize why Mafiosi do not visit Olive garden. And when nothing else, tomatoes and chilies can be turned into Salsa (Mexicano), which goes really well with chips and home made Margaritas. And all this gastronomic gratification created a problem of food peelings (plus already existing weekly lawn mowing waste), which brings us to the experiment of Composting. Compost, which literally puts culture into agri-culture. For some of you, the word Compost evokes memories of ਢੇਰ, those scenic dung piles dotting the ਫਿਰਨੀ (boundary walk) of many Punjabi villages. But we are talking about Urban American composting here, a highly scientific and controlled experiment. A small deviation in experimental parameters, and you might be the subject of neighborly lawsuit accusing you of causing massive olfactory trauma. A well done compost has the odor very similar to the odor of earth, right after the first rainfall.
A "Composter" could have been immortalized by Asa Singh Mastana and Surinder Kaur with their rendition of ਭੈੜਾ ਕਮਪੋਸਟੀ (Naughty Composter) but music executives decided that ਭੈੜਾ ਪੋਸਤੀ (Naughty Idiot) represent a much larger market segment. Making compost is very similar to making yogurt, one needs a really good ਜਾਗ (culture) to start it. And hence, I enlisted the help of a rancher friend, who lives just across the Colorado border, in Wyoming [State of Wyoming: Where men are men, and Sheep are scared!]. As I tried to sneak a precious package of ultra-fresh horse “Culture” into my backyard, there came another round of sniper fire, “Ah, Are you on your way to become a net receiver of sh** rather than the usual deliverer?”. I tell you folks, we the loners, tree hugger types, get no respect, no respect whatsoever. However, not all is bad. My friend’s young daughter saw me tending to my green tomatoes. Taking pity on her dumb looking uncle, she walked up to me and decided to pass off some wisdom, which she must have picked up from some careless adolescent.
“Uncle, Do you know why tomato turned red?”
“No, Why?”
“Because he saw Salad dressing.”
That one moment of unadulterated avuncular joy itself was worth all the sniper fire and some more.
As winter is coming around, we humans take out our warm clothing, but plants look all confused and scared. Perhaps they don’t understand why is sunlight suddenly decreasing, why nights are colder. I can get them through another few weeks by covering them up with cloth sheets and then another week or so by moving them indoors, but it is winter of their short and productive lives. I am beginning to believe that those lines on the faces of my farmer friends are not all economic, some of them are from an inexplicable attachment.
A few pictures ਸਾਲ ੨੦੧੦ ਦਿਆਂ ਸਬਜੀਆਂ (Vegetables from year 2010)
The agri-cultural marker is sewn into my DNA but other traits are acquired ones. I say “Neither” when asked “Paper or Plastic” at the grocery store. I only consume locally manufactured beers just to reduce the fossil fuel consumption from transportation. And some days when eco-bio rhythms are at their crests, some of us, self-proclaimed quasi-environmentalists, pedal our bicycles to the mother-ship a.k.a New Belgium Brewery and demand free samples of carbohydrate rich replenishers.
In my 40s, I am beginning to experiment with activities more in tune with my advancing age, mellowing temperament and painfully screaming joints. First wave of resistance to my changing persona comes from a domestic front. I hadn’t even started relishing my first effort to reduce my large “carbon foot print” when the “S” words started flying around the house. What is this SH**? Oh, look the mess you have created with this eco Sh**? If you ever put a brick in the tank to convert the toilet to a low flow toilet, you better sleep with one eye open, for same brick could be used for beat this eco-Sh** out of you. Well, domestic ecology is a very dangerous battleground. Some enemy snipe-r fire is expected. I decided to take my carbon reduction war outside, to my backyard.
Only people whose salaries have kept up with the price curve of organic tomatoes are members of the US house and senate. Even Indian legislators are not far behind either. Parliament members just approved a gigantic salary raise for themselves. What was a common man like me to do but take matter in one’s own hands. First idea was to cordon off and convert a corner of the yard to vegetable patch. The American handy man’s Mecca, Home Depot, happily estimated that the cost of bricks etc. to create this would be about thousand dollars. Yes, $1000. Apparently they had just incurred an expense of $150 million to pay severance package for firing their unwanted CEO, and were in for a quick recovery. So I went with pots, old plastic buckets, half drums and a used laundry basket to balance a part of my food chain. Many of my well meaning friends have been trying to change my food chain and convince me to convert but I am sticking to my vegetarianism. Vegetarians live longer, though death from hunger remains an ever present possibility. Only moral supporter in this quest: Chicken. Yes, Chicken, a noveau herbivore’s dilemma and a carnivore’s burden (my brother’s vision of avian world is much more altruistic than my vision of his). Chicken, an animal which is eaten both, after it is born and before it is born (my knowledge of biology is rudimentary but Eggs are unborn chicken. Compassionate Conservatives: Please take note). In my homeland of Punjab, Chickens have come to terms with the fate of their lot. When they come across a Punjabi in the early evening hours with a bottle of ਰਸ ਭਰੀ (honey-ful), they lay down their arms (or is it legs) and surrender unconditionally. They know that statistics is against them.
Produce in year 2010 has been plenty. ਟਮਾਟਰ, ਬੈੰਗਨ, ਮਿਰਚਾਂ, ਪੁਦੀਨਾ, ਖੀਰਾ, ਸ਼ਿਮਲਾ ਮਿਰਚਾਂ, ਪਾਲਕ ਤੇ ਏਸ਼ੀਅਨ ਜੜੀ ਬੁਟੀਆਂ (Tomatoes, Eggplant, chili pepper, mint, cucumber, red and green bell pepper, spinach and asian herbs). Tomatoes and chilies came at such a high rate that I had to expand my cooking regimen beyond Indian delicacies of ਬੈੰਗਨ ਦਾ ਭਰਥਾ (Eggplant Bhartha) and ਪੁਦੀਨੇ ਦੀ ਚਟਨੀ (Mint chutney). Only when you get to taste the Eggplant parmesan (Italiano) made with ingredients from your own yard, you realize why Mafiosi do not visit Olive garden. And when nothing else, tomatoes and chilies can be turned into Salsa (Mexicano), which goes really well with chips and home made Margaritas. And all this gastronomic gratification created a problem of food peelings (plus already existing weekly lawn mowing waste), which brings us to the experiment of Composting. Compost, which literally puts culture into agri-culture. For some of you, the word Compost evokes memories of ਢੇਰ, those scenic dung piles dotting the ਫਿਰਨੀ (boundary walk) of many Punjabi villages. But we are talking about Urban American composting here, a highly scientific and controlled experiment. A small deviation in experimental parameters, and you might be the subject of neighborly lawsuit accusing you of causing massive olfactory trauma. A well done compost has the odor very similar to the odor of earth, right after the first rainfall.
A "Composter" could have been immortalized by Asa Singh Mastana and Surinder Kaur with their rendition of ਭੈੜਾ ਕਮਪੋਸਟੀ (Naughty Composter) but music executives decided that ਭੈੜਾ ਪੋਸਤੀ (Naughty Idiot) represent a much larger market segment. Making compost is very similar to making yogurt, one needs a really good ਜਾਗ (culture) to start it. And hence, I enlisted the help of a rancher friend, who lives just across the Colorado border, in Wyoming [State of Wyoming: Where men are men, and Sheep are scared!]. As I tried to sneak a precious package of ultra-fresh horse “Culture” into my backyard, there came another round of sniper fire, “Ah, Are you on your way to become a net receiver of sh** rather than the usual deliverer?”. I tell you folks, we the loners, tree hugger types, get no respect, no respect whatsoever. However, not all is bad. My friend’s young daughter saw me tending to my green tomatoes. Taking pity on her dumb looking uncle, she walked up to me and decided to pass off some wisdom, which she must have picked up from some careless adolescent.
“Uncle, Do you know why tomato turned red?”
“No, Why?”
“Because he saw Salad dressing.”
That one moment of unadulterated avuncular joy itself was worth all the sniper fire and some more.
As winter is coming around, we humans take out our warm clothing, but plants look all confused and scared. Perhaps they don’t understand why is sunlight suddenly decreasing, why nights are colder. I can get them through another few weeks by covering them up with cloth sheets and then another week or so by moving them indoors, but it is winter of their short and productive lives. I am beginning to believe that those lines on the faces of my farmer friends are not all economic, some of them are from an inexplicable attachment.
A few pictures ਸਾਲ ੨੦੧੦ ਦਿਆਂ ਸਬਜੀਆਂ (Vegetables from year 2010)
Saturday, August 7, 2010
An Alpine Experience : Mount Baker
Though I am a firm believer in Clint Eastwood school of thought “A man has got to know his limitations”, and yet sometimes I tend to get carried away and get into situations which are somewhat beyond my capabilities and quite contrary to my idea of fun….my (hypothetical) idea of fun is lying on the couch with a Wodehouse, while another member of household brings peeled, cut and washed fruit to within my arm’s reach.
How do I get into these situations? Well, the word “misleading” comes to my mind. Some misleading here was of my own making. I was lying on the couch watching a documentary movie, in which bunch of amateurs went up Mount Everest, including one seventy one year old Japanese Takao Arayama. I know fully well that I would be glad if I am able to find the bathroom, when I am seventy and yet something clicked. If saner thoughts had prevailed, my core engineering cerebrum could have convinced my-self that these amateurs are at the end of the statistical distribution and not the norm……statistically normal population hangs out at KFC and is featured in other documentary movies with apt names such as “Supersize Me” and “Food Inc.”. Unfortunately, at that moment, by the power vested in me by two “Peg Patiala” of Hercules XXX military issue Rum, I mislead myself into believing that I am still young and strong enough to learn how to climb on snow and actually attempt a small mountain. A timely “Google” search convinced me further that some of the glaciated mountains in Northern Cascades, in particular Mount Baker (10778 ft. of elevation), would be ideal for my “fit-ness” level.
Next day some sanity returned but then I walked into the second stage of misleading i.e. friends who have been there. In my case, exact words from Nick were “You have been hiking in the Rockies. Snow climbing is nothing but lazy man’s hiking. Take a step, rest, take a step, rest”. I must admit that while climbing Mount Baker, I did entertain thoughts of subjecting Nick to a fair measure of water boarding and other non-torture techniques from the Pentagon manual. Now that adventure is successfully over, I still put a jewish curse on him, “May all your teeth fall down except one. And the one remaining may develop a severe tooth ache”.
Among such vacillations, damage was done and I signed up with Alpine Ascents for a three day Mount Baker climb. Nothing else pushes a man forward on an adventure trail but the thoughts of a non-refundable deposit. I actually trained for this climb.
On 28th of july, I finally met rest of the team in Seattle. Ten climbers and three guides. Seven climbers had quite a bit of experience, one with some experience and two novices, henceforth, known as the “Slow Team”. The other novice was a graduate student from New Jersey. Six of the climbers came through a very commendable cause of Fred Hutchinson cancer research organization, which sponsors one’s climb when you raise a certain amount of money for the charity. We were told that weather forecast is great for next three days and no problems are expected. On 29th morning we met at the Schreiber’s meadow trailhead and the climb was on with ~50 pounds of backpack. The trailhead is at ~3300 ft of elevation. Part of the trail passes through dense forest, small brooks & bridges and as soon as you bust out of the tree line, front part of Mount Baker comes into view in distance. Mount Baker gets over 50 ft. of snow a year and due to its northern location, it remains under snow cover throughout the year. Snow cover started at some 5000 ft. and it took the “Slow Team” about six hours to climb to 6400 ft. level where we set our high camp. Snow was leveled and tents were pitched.
The views from high camp were expansive and timeless. Here we were, sitting on the snow with wind and cold and yet Pacific Ocean is visible in the distance. Sunlight lingers on till almost 10:00 PM and setting sun gives a reddish hue to beautify the surroundings. It is one incredibly amazing place to sit down with a book from the back section of your book-shelf…..Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. On one side we had the Easton glacier and on the other the Deming glacier. At dinner time, Macaroni and Cheese was served. It is common to loose your appetite as you go up but spiked with Tabasco, it tasted great. In the night time as you are trying to sleep, large slabs of ice in the Easton glacier come loose and fall down with great noise, giving you an impression as if a thunder is going on outside the tent.
Next day I woke up early to watch the sunrise over Deming glacier and perform “the task”, which has always posed great challenge for anyone, who has ever been on a camping trip i.e. ABLUTION Number 2. At 6400 ft. you are under "pressure". One side you have good folks of US National Park services who want you to keep it clean and on other, you have Alpine Ascents who insist on principle of “No Trace Left Behind”. You are about to expose your sensitive body parts to the mercy of Nature at high altitude only to find that privacy is not available, even at a premium. Together, these circumstances give rise to a whole new form of performance anxiety. It is a good thing that I grew up in a village in Punjab. Allow me to expose you to the invention called Wag bag. Ladies and Gentlemen, your tax dollars have not gone waste. Finest brains at NASA have developed a Wag Bag which offers human sanitation under extreme circumstances. You GO in a bag, tie the knot, knead it a little to mix with the chemical formulation inside, put it in the second zip-lock bag and voila….a true Port-a-potty. The problem however is that at 6400 ft., human refuse is a Dessert to Ravens, who will follow even a slight "aroma". One solution to this problem is to dig a small trench in the snow and bury the bag. But that gives rise to more issues…1) What if “pressure” returns and you forget where you buried it? Make sure you mark the location with a ski pole. 2)What if you can’t find the shovel?, keep one small shovel handy in the tent 3) What if there is fresh three feet snowfall while you were sleeping? Ha, Ha, Ha…..you are on your own now, unless you carry a spare Wag Bag or you can convince someone to borrow theirs....and remember No Trace Left Behind !!!
Now, I know many of you are going to say a very loud EEEEUUUUUU even in the privacy of your own homes, when I tell you that best location to store a used Wag Bag is the under the tent base. Once properly knead-in and secured in the zip-lock, a strategically placed Wag Bag actually solves the problem of not having a comfortable camping Pillow !!!!!
Second day was also the snow school day. Until this snow school, the word “Cramp-on” meant nothing more than a periodic feminine disorder to me. And ice-axe was something which a man must strive to keep out of eye sight during “Cramp-on” time. On snow climbs however, they are miraculous life savers. Learn how to go up in snow, how to come down in snow and most importantly, how to self-arrest with ice-axe when you (or others on your roped team) fall down and start sliding down the slippery slope. We were told to erase all images of Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger as he couldn’t have been more wrong and far from reality....hmmm, who knew. We were on the mountain when we heard the sad news of the team which fell into a crevasse on nearby Mount Rainier resulting in one death. It pays to pay attention to the Guide's words.
Guides decided that team looks fit enough so instead of climbing on third day, how about starting the climb at 2:00 PM in the afternoon….idea sounded good at that time. That way you can rest on third day and get down to trailhead with easy pace. The “Slow Team” of three (and our guide Matthew) was given a head-start of forty five minutes and we were on our way. The higher we got, more exhausting it became. Half way through the climb, we came across the crater of Mount Baker volcano. Mount Baker is an active volcano and smell of sulfur is pervasive (remeber those experiments with H2S in the Chem Lab)…..needless to say, an all men crew couldn’t resist cracking some “Gas Jokes”. Near the final plateau, the incline became quite severe and my lungs opened clandestine negotiations with my knees about the possibility of staging a coup d’etat. We wanted to rest but our guide kept on shouting,”Not a good place to rest. You want to rest, Rest on the top of the hill”. And miraculously, we all made to the top. After snapping a few pictures, the cold started setting in. It was already over 7:00 PM and we began the equally difficult and slow task of descending. A few hours, Sun set and darkness made us bring out our head lamps. Slow descent became slower. At one point we realized that we had taken a wrong path as there was a crevasse in front of us. We had to turn and climb up again to find the right tracks. I think those were the longest twenty minutes of my life. It was almost midnight when “Slow Team” got back to the camp, to a thundering applause from two other teams, who were waiting for us. Appetite-less, exhausted and cold, we somehow shoved the food down and hit the sleeping bag. Next morning, we all woke up late, had a granola breakfast and began uprooting and re-packing our back packs. At about 1:00 PM, we were all back at the trailhead, wiped ourselves down, and as a first point of action, we drove to the nearest town of Concrete and hit a bar called Annie’s for Pizza and Beer.
A wise man once said that an Adventure is an adventure only in retrospect. When actually in progress, an adventure could be unpleasant and generally very trying experience. Perhaps it is time I should think about sticking to just Golf and Crosswords.....trying but pleasant (especially after the arrival of Beer cart/girl).
Enjoy the Pictorial Perusal of Mount Baker Climb.
How do I get into these situations? Well, the word “misleading” comes to my mind. Some misleading here was of my own making. I was lying on the couch watching a documentary movie, in which bunch of amateurs went up Mount Everest, including one seventy one year old Japanese Takao Arayama. I know fully well that I would be glad if I am able to find the bathroom, when I am seventy and yet something clicked. If saner thoughts had prevailed, my core engineering cerebrum could have convinced my-self that these amateurs are at the end of the statistical distribution and not the norm……statistically normal population hangs out at KFC and is featured in other documentary movies with apt names such as “Supersize Me” and “Food Inc.”. Unfortunately, at that moment, by the power vested in me by two “Peg Patiala” of Hercules XXX military issue Rum, I mislead myself into believing that I am still young and strong enough to learn how to climb on snow and actually attempt a small mountain. A timely “Google” search convinced me further that some of the glaciated mountains in Northern Cascades, in particular Mount Baker (10778 ft. of elevation), would be ideal for my “fit-ness” level.
Next day some sanity returned but then I walked into the second stage of misleading i.e. friends who have been there. In my case, exact words from Nick were “You have been hiking in the Rockies. Snow climbing is nothing but lazy man’s hiking. Take a step, rest, take a step, rest”. I must admit that while climbing Mount Baker, I did entertain thoughts of subjecting Nick to a fair measure of water boarding and other non-torture techniques from the Pentagon manual. Now that adventure is successfully over, I still put a jewish curse on him, “May all your teeth fall down except one. And the one remaining may develop a severe tooth ache”.
Among such vacillations, damage was done and I signed up with Alpine Ascents for a three day Mount Baker climb. Nothing else pushes a man forward on an adventure trail but the thoughts of a non-refundable deposit. I actually trained for this climb.
On 28th of july, I finally met rest of the team in Seattle. Ten climbers and three guides. Seven climbers had quite a bit of experience, one with some experience and two novices, henceforth, known as the “Slow Team”. The other novice was a graduate student from New Jersey. Six of the climbers came through a very commendable cause of Fred Hutchinson cancer research organization, which sponsors one’s climb when you raise a certain amount of money for the charity. We were told that weather forecast is great for next three days and no problems are expected. On 29th morning we met at the Schreiber’s meadow trailhead and the climb was on with ~50 pounds of backpack. The trailhead is at ~3300 ft of elevation. Part of the trail passes through dense forest, small brooks & bridges and as soon as you bust out of the tree line, front part of Mount Baker comes into view in distance. Mount Baker gets over 50 ft. of snow a year and due to its northern location, it remains under snow cover throughout the year. Snow cover started at some 5000 ft. and it took the “Slow Team” about six hours to climb to 6400 ft. level where we set our high camp. Snow was leveled and tents were pitched.
The views from high camp were expansive and timeless. Here we were, sitting on the snow with wind and cold and yet Pacific Ocean is visible in the distance. Sunlight lingers on till almost 10:00 PM and setting sun gives a reddish hue to beautify the surroundings. It is one incredibly amazing place to sit down with a book from the back section of your book-shelf…..Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. On one side we had the Easton glacier and on the other the Deming glacier. At dinner time, Macaroni and Cheese was served. It is common to loose your appetite as you go up but spiked with Tabasco, it tasted great. In the night time as you are trying to sleep, large slabs of ice in the Easton glacier come loose and fall down with great noise, giving you an impression as if a thunder is going on outside the tent.
Next day I woke up early to watch the sunrise over Deming glacier and perform “the task”, which has always posed great challenge for anyone, who has ever been on a camping trip i.e. ABLUTION Number 2. At 6400 ft. you are under "pressure". One side you have good folks of US National Park services who want you to keep it clean and on other, you have Alpine Ascents who insist on principle of “No Trace Left Behind”. You are about to expose your sensitive body parts to the mercy of Nature at high altitude only to find that privacy is not available, even at a premium. Together, these circumstances give rise to a whole new form of performance anxiety. It is a good thing that I grew up in a village in Punjab. Allow me to expose you to the invention called Wag bag. Ladies and Gentlemen, your tax dollars have not gone waste. Finest brains at NASA have developed a Wag Bag which offers human sanitation under extreme circumstances. You GO in a bag, tie the knot, knead it a little to mix with the chemical formulation inside, put it in the second zip-lock bag and voila….a true Port-a-potty. The problem however is that at 6400 ft., human refuse is a Dessert to Ravens, who will follow even a slight "aroma". One solution to this problem is to dig a small trench in the snow and bury the bag. But that gives rise to more issues…1) What if “pressure” returns and you forget where you buried it? Make sure you mark the location with a ski pole. 2)What if you can’t find the shovel?, keep one small shovel handy in the tent 3) What if there is fresh three feet snowfall while you were sleeping? Ha, Ha, Ha…..you are on your own now, unless you carry a spare Wag Bag or you can convince someone to borrow theirs....and remember No Trace Left Behind !!!
Now, I know many of you are going to say a very loud EEEEUUUUUU even in the privacy of your own homes, when I tell you that best location to store a used Wag Bag is the under the tent base. Once properly knead-in and secured in the zip-lock, a strategically placed Wag Bag actually solves the problem of not having a comfortable camping Pillow !!!!!
Second day was also the snow school day. Until this snow school, the word “Cramp-on” meant nothing more than a periodic feminine disorder to me. And ice-axe was something which a man must strive to keep out of eye sight during “Cramp-on” time. On snow climbs however, they are miraculous life savers. Learn how to go up in snow, how to come down in snow and most importantly, how to self-arrest with ice-axe when you (or others on your roped team) fall down and start sliding down the slippery slope. We were told to erase all images of Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger as he couldn’t have been more wrong and far from reality....hmmm, who knew. We were on the mountain when we heard the sad news of the team which fell into a crevasse on nearby Mount Rainier resulting in one death. It pays to pay attention to the Guide's words.
Guides decided that team looks fit enough so instead of climbing on third day, how about starting the climb at 2:00 PM in the afternoon….idea sounded good at that time. That way you can rest on third day and get down to trailhead with easy pace. The “Slow Team” of three (and our guide Matthew) was given a head-start of forty five minutes and we were on our way. The higher we got, more exhausting it became. Half way through the climb, we came across the crater of Mount Baker volcano. Mount Baker is an active volcano and smell of sulfur is pervasive (remeber those experiments with H2S in the Chem Lab)…..needless to say, an all men crew couldn’t resist cracking some “Gas Jokes”. Near the final plateau, the incline became quite severe and my lungs opened clandestine negotiations with my knees about the possibility of staging a coup d’etat. We wanted to rest but our guide kept on shouting,”Not a good place to rest. You want to rest, Rest on the top of the hill”. And miraculously, we all made to the top. After snapping a few pictures, the cold started setting in. It was already over 7:00 PM and we began the equally difficult and slow task of descending. A few hours, Sun set and darkness made us bring out our head lamps. Slow descent became slower. At one point we realized that we had taken a wrong path as there was a crevasse in front of us. We had to turn and climb up again to find the right tracks. I think those were the longest twenty minutes of my life. It was almost midnight when “Slow Team” got back to the camp, to a thundering applause from two other teams, who were waiting for us. Appetite-less, exhausted and cold, we somehow shoved the food down and hit the sleeping bag. Next morning, we all woke up late, had a granola breakfast and began uprooting and re-packing our back packs. At about 1:00 PM, we were all back at the trailhead, wiped ourselves down, and as a first point of action, we drove to the nearest town of Concrete and hit a bar called Annie’s for Pizza and Beer.
A wise man once said that an Adventure is an adventure only in retrospect. When actually in progress, an adventure could be unpleasant and generally very trying experience. Perhaps it is time I should think about sticking to just Golf and Crosswords.....trying but pleasant (especially after the arrival of Beer cart/girl).
Enjoy the Pictorial Perusal of Mount Baker Climb.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Travelogue : A Lost city, Español & some wisdom
Damas y Caballeros (Ladies and Gentlemen)
Summer travel season is upon us and first step in a successful trip is to pick a right place. As some of you are aware that there are places in this world, where they entice you through your children by parading unemployed Arts and Humanities majors dressed up in “Mouse” and “Duck” costumes with cute english names such as Mickey, Minnie and Donald. Beware, as these corporate folks are out there to relieve you off your children's college fund. Thankfully, there are also places in this world which can touch your soul and offer an adventure. Deep in the Peruvian forests at an altitude of 8000 ft. is such a place: The lost Inca city of Machu Picchu.
The most difficult step in going on such an adventure travel: Obtaining permission for it. Yes, Department of homeland, Ministry of vague and arbitrary authority is extremely fickle about granting such permissions. National debt might register an unhealthy increase and two presidential administrations might pass into history before your request comes up for consideration. If it is any consolation, remember that we are mere humans and the even the denizens of heavenly abodes are not immune to her vagaries. Consider Lord Shiva for example. We know that Lord Shiva was merrily hiking on the trails of Kailash Parbat, laughing at Nandi’s bull jokes, consuming a steady diet of Shiva’s Regal, breaking into Tandava at a whim, supporting then economically vital Trident manufacturing industry and BANG…..Parvati came along and changed his calendar. Nandi has been relocated to a location off the main premises ever since. As much as I would like to believe religious literature and its soap-operatic interpretation by a popular TV serial, I have a sneaking suspicion that when Lord Ram and brother Laxman were packing their allowed gear for a compulsory and unusually long Camping Trip, Sita walked into the room, stood by the door, hands on hips and delivered a monologue with timeless opening credits “It seems to me that you are least bothered by the fact that………….”.
The beauty and mystique of lost city of Machu Picchu is beyond words. Who were these mysterious and accomplished people ? How did they manage to build such a city at such an unlikely location ? How did they develop a technology so advanced for their time ? How did they device such an ingenious water system ? An agricultural system which became the pre-cursor to present day crop modification ? And their seemingly sudden disappearance with no written records ? There are so many questions and so few answers. One thing for sure is that these ancient cultures knew how to live in-sync with nature.
Though one can take a train to the nearest city of Agua Calientes (Hot Water) and then take a bus to Machu Picchu but that is not the Inca way. Total immersion calls for taking the Inca trail (a longer 4 days with overnight camping or a shorter 2 days without). Advantage of being on the trail is that besides spiritual cleansing of your soul, you are bound to get a pressure cleansing of all the McDonald’s and KFC grease accumulated in your pores. If nothing else, I recommend that instead of going by Bus, take a short two hour trail from Agua Calientes right upto the entrance of Machu Picchu. It passes through lush green, dense forests and early in the morning, misty clouds will be rising through the mountains gleaning the sweat off the tip of your nose.
Machu Picchu are Quechua words, which mean "Old Mountain". Care must be taken however to pronounce the second word as "PiK-chu" and not "Picchu" as we all do, especially Los Gringos. I would disclose the altered meaning with incorrect pronounciation only if it weren't for the fact that this Blog is intended to be read aloud to young children, distinguished guests and lady companions on friday evenings.
If you have a few hours to kill in Lima, I suggest a visit to Museo de Oro (Museum of Gold). Gold, which turned to be the curse for aboriginal south american cultures. Gold section of museum is wonderful and located in the basement. Real surprise however was the upper section of the building, which, unbeknownst to me was called Museo de Armas (Museum of weapons). Apparently, Gold and weapons go hand in hand, in museums or elsewhere. Collection of weapons and battle paraphernalia is large and exquisite. Some pieces hold the charm for the hands which once held those weapons (Napoleon, Robert E. Lee, Nizam of Hyderabad and Fidel Castro) and some simply for their age and worksmanship. A set of 16th century chinese daggers came with a short dynastic poem.
Al oir el canto del Gallo,
Se empieza la practica,
De la danza de la Espada.
(Upon hearing the song of the rooster, start the practice of the dance of the sword)
It seems to me that I have been underestimating my Español ability. Unlike the French nationals, who begged me to cease, switch to Deutsche, and never attempt vocalizing French again without prior written warnings, Los Peruanos showed no such reaction to my español. Of course I am using the word "ability" in a fairly loose sense, as the cause and effect correlation here can also be explained on the basis of national tolerance levels. Spanish, a musical languange with notes, tones, volume and gestures. One look at Gabriela Sabatini or Shakira and the dire need for a romance language becomes crystal clear. With evolution, languages struggle to add new words and to balance expression and subtlety. Allow me to illustrate by presenting you the "original meeting minutes" of Spanish Linguists, men who were charged with graceful evolution of español. Meeting took place to induct new spanish word for what became the modern day Handcuffs. (English translation is provided by yours truly)
¿qué es esta cosa con anillos de metal.
[What is this thing with rings of Metal ?]
No se. Algo nuevo cosa.
[I don't know. Some new thing.]
¿cuáles son sus usos.
[What are its uses ?]
No se completamente, pero me han dicho que es una cosa para dominar los hombres.
[I don't know completely but I have been told that this thing is to subdue men.]
No me digas (Miradas de sorpresa !!).
[Don't tell me (looking surprised!!)]
Si Señor, especialmente los hombres indisciplinados y revoltosos.
[Yes sir, especially unruly and naughty men.]
Intresante. Muy intresante (Miradas de sorpresa y interés !!)
[Interesting. Very interesting (Looking suprised and interested!!)]
Summer travel season is upon us and first step in a successful trip is to pick a right place. As some of you are aware that there are places in this world, where they entice you through your children by parading unemployed Arts and Humanities majors dressed up in “Mouse” and “Duck” costumes with cute english names such as Mickey, Minnie and Donald. Beware, as these corporate folks are out there to relieve you off your children's college fund. Thankfully, there are also places in this world which can touch your soul and offer an adventure. Deep in the Peruvian forests at an altitude of 8000 ft. is such a place: The lost Inca city of Machu Picchu.
The most difficult step in going on such an adventure travel: Obtaining permission for it. Yes, Department of homeland, Ministry of vague and arbitrary authority is extremely fickle about granting such permissions. National debt might register an unhealthy increase and two presidential administrations might pass into history before your request comes up for consideration. If it is any consolation, remember that we are mere humans and the even the denizens of heavenly abodes are not immune to her vagaries. Consider Lord Shiva for example. We know that Lord Shiva was merrily hiking on the trails of Kailash Parbat, laughing at Nandi’s bull jokes, consuming a steady diet of Shiva’s Regal, breaking into Tandava at a whim, supporting then economically vital Trident manufacturing industry and BANG…..Parvati came along and changed his calendar. Nandi has been relocated to a location off the main premises ever since. As much as I would like to believe religious literature and its soap-operatic interpretation by a popular TV serial, I have a sneaking suspicion that when Lord Ram and brother Laxman were packing their allowed gear for a compulsory and unusually long Camping Trip, Sita walked into the room, stood by the door, hands on hips and delivered a monologue with timeless opening credits “It seems to me that you are least bothered by the fact that………….”.
The beauty and mystique of lost city of Machu Picchu is beyond words. Who were these mysterious and accomplished people ? How did they manage to build such a city at such an unlikely location ? How did they develop a technology so advanced for their time ? How did they device such an ingenious water system ? An agricultural system which became the pre-cursor to present day crop modification ? And their seemingly sudden disappearance with no written records ? There are so many questions and so few answers. One thing for sure is that these ancient cultures knew how to live in-sync with nature.
Though one can take a train to the nearest city of Agua Calientes (Hot Water) and then take a bus to Machu Picchu but that is not the Inca way. Total immersion calls for taking the Inca trail (a longer 4 days with overnight camping or a shorter 2 days without). Advantage of being on the trail is that besides spiritual cleansing of your soul, you are bound to get a pressure cleansing of all the McDonald’s and KFC grease accumulated in your pores. If nothing else, I recommend that instead of going by Bus, take a short two hour trail from Agua Calientes right upto the entrance of Machu Picchu. It passes through lush green, dense forests and early in the morning, misty clouds will be rising through the mountains gleaning the sweat off the tip of your nose.
Machu Picchu are Quechua words, which mean "Old Mountain". Care must be taken however to pronounce the second word as "PiK-chu" and not "Picchu" as we all do, especially Los Gringos. I would disclose the altered meaning with incorrect pronounciation only if it weren't for the fact that this Blog is intended to be read aloud to young children, distinguished guests and lady companions on friday evenings.
If you have a few hours to kill in Lima, I suggest a visit to Museo de Oro (Museum of Gold). Gold, which turned to be the curse for aboriginal south american cultures. Gold section of museum is wonderful and located in the basement. Real surprise however was the upper section of the building, which, unbeknownst to me was called Museo de Armas (Museum of weapons). Apparently, Gold and weapons go hand in hand, in museums or elsewhere. Collection of weapons and battle paraphernalia is large and exquisite. Some pieces hold the charm for the hands which once held those weapons (Napoleon, Robert E. Lee, Nizam of Hyderabad and Fidel Castro) and some simply for their age and worksmanship. A set of 16th century chinese daggers came with a short dynastic poem.
Al oir el canto del Gallo,
Se empieza la practica,
De la danza de la Espada.
(Upon hearing the song of the rooster, start the practice of the dance of the sword)
It seems to me that I have been underestimating my Español ability. Unlike the French nationals, who begged me to cease, switch to Deutsche, and never attempt vocalizing French again without prior written warnings, Los Peruanos showed no such reaction to my español. Of course I am using the word "ability" in a fairly loose sense, as the cause and effect correlation here can also be explained on the basis of national tolerance levels. Spanish, a musical languange with notes, tones, volume and gestures. One look at Gabriela Sabatini or Shakira and the dire need for a romance language becomes crystal clear. With evolution, languages struggle to add new words and to balance expression and subtlety. Allow me to illustrate by presenting you the "original meeting minutes" of Spanish Linguists, men who were charged with graceful evolution of español. Meeting took place to induct new spanish word for what became the modern day Handcuffs. (English translation is provided by yours truly)
¿qué es esta cosa con anillos de metal.
[What is this thing with rings of Metal ?]
No se. Algo nuevo cosa.
[I don't know. Some new thing.]
¿cuáles son sus usos.
[What are its uses ?]
No se completamente, pero me han dicho que es una cosa para dominar los hombres.
[I don't know completely but I have been told that this thing is to subdue men.]
No me digas (Miradas de sorpresa !!).
[Don't tell me (looking surprised!!)]
Si Señor, especialmente los hombres indisciplinados y revoltosos.
[Yes sir, especially unruly and naughty men.]
Intresante. Muy intresante (Miradas de sorpresa y interés !!)
[Interesting. Very interesting (Looking suprised and interested!!)]
No necesitamos palabra nuevo para esto. Ya tenemos una palabra para tal cosa (habla linguista viejo y sabio).[We don't need a word for that. We already have a word for such a thing (wise old linguist speaks)]
¿Tenemos. (muchas voces simultáneamente). [ We have? (multiple voices simultaneously)].
Si. Yo la llamo Esposa. [Yes. I call her Wife]
Hmmmm....Que bueno (muchas voces otra vez). [Hmmmm....that's good (multiple voices again).]
Vamos a decidir entonces. Esposa es la palabra. [Let's decide then. 'Esposa' is the word.]
And right there, a bold decision of profound subtlety was made, and left for posterity to awe and ponder. Esposa - Wife or Handcuffs - Same thing.
In Peru, a wise old Quechua man told me that Human War is always on. And most important war a human fights is when one is alone….a war with one's own self. The outcome however doesn't manifest until the last moments of one’s life. I presume that in the meantime, it is good to take time to do a fifteen mile hike in, around and sometimes atop the Peruvian mountains and forests. It is definitely a good location for shooting a war scene. Chirping birds, rain and gushing sound of Rio Urubamba (Urubamba river) far below provides a free background music for the scene. If not you, Peruvian economy is sure to come out a winner.
And last but not least, I always recommend carrying your own toilet paper. Perhaps I am just unlucky that one I bought was made from military surplus material. I am just guessing here but apparently military discontinued manufacturing Sabres and material was released for civilian use !!!!!
Click here for a Pictorial Perusal.
Hasta Luego y Buen Viajes (See you later and Happy Travels)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)