Dicey details
A study in impermanence
I am endlessly fascinated by ice, water, and clouds. Eternally changing shape and form – solid, liquid, gas, we can see it transform in real time.
Where would we be without it?
GreenLand
Cocktail hour under the red sails
The red sails are a tourist gimmick, but the effect is stunning when fog slides around the icebergs creating a shroud of mystery.
The football pitch
Local kids practice their soccer moves on the Astroturf while Disko Bay icebergs, staunch supporters, look on.
Why it’s called ‘Greenland’
Oddly, it’s not called Greenland because of the intensely lush vegetation or the neon mosses of Disko Island. Rather, it was named Greenland as a ruse to encourage Viking settlement. Like many places, it had a name before it was ‘discovered’ by Europeans. The original name reflects the native connection to the land; Kallaalit Nunaat means “land of the people.” From the rich mosses to the columnar basalt and city block-sized icebergs, Greenland is stunning.
New skies…
and long horizons
Stepping away from the desert for a few months.
Off to Greenland, Iceland, Svalbard. Polar summer, polar night.
The light and the dark; we need both.
Photos to follow. Stay tuned, my friends.
The shape of mountains to come
Looking west
The view from Round Mountain to the west includes the town of Round Mountain and its range of protective mountains.
Tailing tales
The view east from the town of Round Mountain is not of Round Mountain any longer but of its remains. In extreme mountaintop removal, gold was extracted in flakes and nuggets, and the mountain was moved, grain by grain, to the valley. The neatly stacked tailings contrast with the geologic structure of the flanking mountains, snow still clinging to the upper crevices.
Down the road
Another mine is relandscaping a different piece of real estate. Rolling slopes and gentle peaks have become unscalable walls and plateaus upon plateaus.
Earth-moving
Can the mountains survive when earth-moving trucks come on tires twice the size of pick-up trucks? Has anyone asked for mountaintop approval?
Red dirt road
Spring in Dakota country
The prairie flowers endure, thunderstorms loom, ants continue their eternal work.
Although the parlor stove went missing a few years back, its delicate, leafy pattern was eager to join the spring rush.
And the miles add up on a pair of dirt red feet.
Greenland on the horizon
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.
Wild and scenic
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.
Unknown Forces
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.
Curious cliffs
Chimney rock to cliff dwellings
Blue sky and snow squalls. Rock condos and sheer walls. Things you find in the desert.
Spring road trip
I needed to see the sky
I found some other things along the way.
