by aramatzne@gmail.com | 2 Oct 2023 | Musing
The view from here
I’ve been working in the Longyearbyen library almost every day. I stand at the windows facing southeast. When I first arrived at the beginning of September, the morning sun poured through the window, soaking and warming me with light. And then, last week, I realized the sun moved behind the mountain before its light fell through the library windows.
These four photos were taken at 0916 on the mornings of 18, 21, 25, and 26 September. In a week’s time, the sun slipped below the ridge and out of view. It still rides the horizon behind the mountains, and in 25 days, it will drop below the sea, not to return for four months.
by aramatzne@gmail.com | 15 May 2023 | Musing
Twenty years from now…
Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowline. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.
**H. Jackson Brown, Jr. (often misattributed to Mark Twain)
This year, 2023
I am once again throwing off the bowline and going north. Two weeks of sailing on Greenland’s west coast, similar to the Svalbard residency in 2018, with a smaller sailing vessel and fewer people – many of them from the Arctic Circle. Illulisat and Disko Bay are the area of exploration. Then, a week in Iceland with a dear old friend to share the northern calling and expand horizons.
Finally, in early September, I return to Svalbard. I will stay through the final sunset of 2023. On 26 October, after a day with one hour, thirty-five minutes, and twenty-five seconds of sunlight, the sun will set and not rise again until 16 February 2024.
I experienced 24-hour daylight in Alaska —the long, hyper-stimulating days, the sun circling the horizon, never dipping below its edge. Now, it’s time to try the flip side. The moon will be my ally, the stars and northern lights companions.
I’ve flown over Greenland many times on the way to and from Europe (photos from 2009) – always looking down and saying to myself, someday, I will be there. This time, I’m catching the trade winds to weave among the icebergs. A new road with no asphalt and no driving. I hope you’ll sail along.
by aramatzne@gmail.com | 1 May 2023 | Musing, Roads Taken
21 April 2023 camp, XXX Wild and Scenic River
Gorgeous blue New Mexico day. Blustery winds, high river, mud red as it flows below the height of Wall on the northeast side of camp. We put in on Wednesday, unloading gear, pumping up rafts and inflatable kayaks. Loading gear and tying down water, toilet, dry bags, coolers, food. And off, high snowmelt, high wind, blue sky. Herons and ducks, vultures, red rock, bluffs, and walls climbing from the river to the mesas above. Ponderosas, juniper, piñon, slot canyons, side canyons, water always flowing. The first night, a late partial solar eclipse somewhere, and in the morning, I climbed the wall to find the sun before anyone else awoke. I could see across rows of mesa cliffs and upriver, along the canyon above the rapids where we would start the day’s float. A ponderosa eked out an existence on a boulder, mid-river, at the head of the rapids. Water, rock, tree mark time: eternal river time, canyon time, life time.
Tear down camp, load gear, lock it down, move on, another day’s float. Below the walls of red and ochre, tuff or sandstone, blue sky, green ponderosas, and the faint hint of spring among the willows, the sun strong and brilliant, the air cold and the wind biting. Tailwind, headwind, river turn, no wind, headwind, river bend, tailwind. Rapids, rocks, high water snow melt, cold water biting through sun.
Dead elk, antler standing true against river boulder, waves breaking and flowing over the skull, parted by the forehead, rounded above the boulder by the rib cage no longer full of life, full of breath. Canada geese shifting along the bank, starting, flying, swimming, laying their long necks into a kinked line, thinking themselves invisible. Geese with downy nests in open rock crevices above the water, brooding alcoves like so many bees in honeycomb. Cliff walls full of cliff swallow nests. Globes of mud and spit held together against the rock, entry tunnels extending out, open to returning parents.
The accompanying dog running on the bank, climbing aboard a kayak, jumping off again, running the islands, swimming the channels, shaking out on the next beach to be picked up, and packed along again. Once running to the tip of an island only to startle a goose off its nest flush with the grasses, flushed from the grasses, eggs uncovered, dog disinterested, into the water for the next kayak stop pickup.
Rafts swirling forward, backward, around, flowing with the current, working against the wind, with the wind, in no wind, the water moving on, no time to waste, no time to pause. So much sky, so many walls, so many ponderosas. Layers of clothing on, layers off. Sun, wind, no sun, too much wind. Jacket on, hat off, gloves, socks, wind jacket, no jacket. The endless string of pieces shed, and pieces returned to their appropriate body parts. Lunch stop, sun, no wind, rest, warm, eat, laugh. Push off, float, float, float again farther. Hold the water, an impossible task, follow the course, fill your space, fill your soul with red mud water, blue sky, ochre and red walls, green ponderosas. Flow on, flow on.
by aramatzne@gmail.com | 17 Apr 2023 | Musing, Roads Taken
On the bank
Along the bank of a Labrador river on a late October day, the sound of a splash rose into the blue autumn sky and reached me. We were hauled out, Joe and I, our canoes resting on their sides on the bench above the beach. The stove was going, and it was teatime. Joe, ever the old Canadian trapper, was having a smoke, waiting for the water to come to temperature. I stood, binoculars in hand, crept to the water’s edge, and looked up the beach.
Barely a foot wide against the vast flow of river, the beach was a long step down from me. A tree had fallen off the bank and into the water. Just this side of the tree, ten meters from me, was a wolf casually traveling unimpeded by the dense forest above. It had walked into the water to skirt the downed snag.
It was searching the sand, sweeping its gaze from bench to water. I inhaled one very small, sharp gasp. The wolf stopped, looked up. Directly into my eyes. Gold. This is what I remember. A black wolf with gold eyes. We didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
But holding my breath didn’t change the outcome. After a long moment, the wolf turned and bolted. I dropped to my knee, lifted my binoculars, watched the wolf retreat. Reaching the snag, it fled into the depth of the forest rather than be further exposed crossing into the water.
The wolf didn’t know we were there, having come in from the water with the wind coming downriver. Even in this remote place, it knew that humans were trouble. It knew that to be tethered to this species, the kind with two legs, was not the safest option.
Of course, I didn’t know the wolf was there either, having only mere human senses. Yet despite the opposing lore that wolves are trouble, I have been tethered these many years. It is the only option.
by aramatzne@gmail.com | 24 Oct 2022 | Musing
Only a couple of months ago. The South Atlantic in Namibia. The cold water, the cold air, the African sun. Pebbles like rolled glass. I collected some of these against my better thoughts. The pier with hot chocolate for the KilcherKinder. Wine for me and Constantin, a different form of warmth on a cold day. African winter, not something one believes in. Barefoot in the cold sand, the high surf, tide. Flamingos in flight, their pink bodies, kinked necks, and streaming legs like an afterthought, “Don’t forget us!” Houses, building at the beach’s edge. Too close, too certain. Is there no storm surge, no risk?
This ocean I see daily, the ocean of desert, the ocean of grass, cholla, juniper, and pinyon. It is not lifeless as many think. No more lifeless than the oceans of water. We dismiss too much. The surface belies nothing of what lies underneath. If we can’t see it, does it not exist?
The ocean, power, depth, crashing waves, fluid, flowing, cleansing. What does it know? What does it see? What do we deny?
My mind stalls. The ocean draws me. Always has. Yet I have no more words to express, explain desire, need, floating, held, drifting to the lulling, the rhythmic calm of ocean. Sensory overload via deprivation.
by aramatzne@gmail.com | 8 Aug 2022 | Musing
Tomorrow I am off on an adventure to Africa. My connections may be spotty and the possibility that I have no wifi for the rest of the month is good. And for that I am grateful. When I return I promise to share photos and stories.
In the meantime, in light of the ongoing American political saga, I offer this piece from 2016.
wo MAN
When I was in third grade, the elementary school principal came into our class to speak with the students. I don’t now remember what the primary reason was for his visit; what I remember is only a fragment of his lecture.
He stood at the chalkboard and wrote in large letters:
M A N
Stepping to the side so everyone in the class could see the letters, he said, “Without man,” he stepped back to the board and wrote “wo” before completing his sentence, “you cannot have woman.”
On the board was the word:
wo MAN
Almost 50 years later, I can still see this man saying these words, spewing ignorance and sexism across a new generation of children.
The principal of a school stepped into a classroom to tell half of the students that they were not of value or importance, that without the other half, they simply did not exist.
At the time, I am not sure that I understood all of the implications of his words – I was, after all, a child. But, I still think about this often; clearly, it made an impression on me.
To be told that, as girls, our very existence is entirely dependent upon men fundamentally undermines all that we intuitively know to be true about ourselves, our intrinsic value in the world, and all that we think ourselves capable of doing.
Woe, man.
Women innovators, explorers, and scientists the world around and for generations back have been discouraged from their pursuits. Surely, their place in the world did not involve pushing boundaries. Too many women have been punished for pursuing their dreams, questioning the status quo, and for attempting to break barriers.
Sexism must die. In light of the recent election, the dis-ease that it has created, and the long road that lies ahead for us, it seems particularly important to bring these words out of the dark. They are words that can no longer be whispered. They must be clearly spoken, believed, and lived by every thinking person: sexism must die.
The possibility of a quiet revolution or a slow paradigm shift has passed. Improving women’s status has repercussions well beyond the individual; it has been proven time and again. Yet, repeatedly, women are held back, pushed down, and thrown out.
And, of course, this extends beyond women to every other minority (whom, collectively, create a majority).
Whoa! Man.
Imagine a world where all genders, orientations, colors, and religions are celebrated. Imagine collaborating across the board, and finding the best place for each of us to shine. Imagine if we were each encouraged to pursue our inherent talents and were supported in our dreams. What an amazing world we could create.
It’s time. Whoa! Everyone. What a cool world we live in.
