Alexandersmap

    Month: August 2020

    • Hiking the Carters

      A bit removed from the crowded trails of the Presidentials in the White Mountains, there are four summits in the Carter-Moriah Range with the name Carter. There’s a story that says the Carters were named for a man who used to hunt in these mountains, and that nearby Mount Hight is named after his hunting partner. Whether that’s actually true seems to be lost to history, but its as good a story as any and it sticks harder to fact with every retelling. Hight is where the views are, but not on this day. With the summit of Hight socked in we stuck with the Carters on a Sunday morning hike that lasted well into the afternoon. Our hike was a 14 mile endurance test for a sore ankle, and generally I was pleased with the results.

      Carter Dome is the southernmost summit and the tallest of the four. Running northeasterly from Carter Dome are South Carter, Middle Carter and North Carter Mountains. Each was deep in cloud cover and gusty wind on our hike, but Carter Dome seemed to be spared from the winds blasting the rest of the range. There are remnants of an old fire tower on Carter Dome, with scattered window glass on the ground right around the base. That glass, the concrete footings and a few rusted steel bolts are all that remain of a steel tower built in 1924. The tower lookout had a hut a mile away that became the AMC hut. The tower itself was replaced by spotter planes after World War II.

      The Carters feature several bald faces along the ridge line that offer beautiful views. But not on this day. Still, there’s something stunningly beautiful about being amongst the wind-whipped firs deep in the clouds. We felt a bit of ice mixed into the mist swirling about us, a clear sign that summer is drawing to a close. This was the first hike of the summer that I used every layer I brought, and it had me thinking about using a bigger pack as we shift towards autumn. The sun eventually came out in the valley below the range on our descent, warming and drying us off.

      One of my hiking partners informed me after the hike that we had over 4300 feet of elevation gain on the 14 mile hike. I believe it, but the challenge for me was the descent down the Imp Trail, which had me thinking about Game of Thrones while I navigated a nasty stretch of boulders, rocks and roots on the descent. Classic New Hampshire trail, this Imp Trail, and it tested the ankle and my new hiking boots synched up tight to support it. Not wanting to be left out, my knees both started complaining about halfway down the descent. This was about 12 miles into the 14 mile day, and they’d had just about enough of my aspirations. But we made it down to Route 16, walked the shoulder back to the cars, and headed to Gorham for some much needed pizza and beer.

      I love a good solo hike as much as anyone, but I was grateful for the company on this day. In fact, were it not for the invitation from my power-hiking friends I probably would have skipped the weekend altogether to give my ankle another week of rest. But sometimes we get a little too soft on ourselves, and the morning after the hike I believe I’m not the worse for wear. Good boots and hiking poles made all the difference for the ankle, and persistent friends made all the difference in my getting back on the trails. Another good lesson on living, with a nod to the couple who prompted me to shelve the excuses and get back out there.

    • Putting Yourself In It

      A question mark lingered over the last few days as the weekend grew closer. To hike or not to hike? The right ankle has been gimpy since the descent down Bridle Path a couple of weeks ago, when I apparently damaged it enough that hiking wasn’t a guarantee. But then my new hiking boots arrived, offering much better ankle support than the previous boots. A mix of ibuprofen and assorted balms would take care of the rest. And so I chose to hike with two jackrabbits who fly up mountains every weekend. This served to challenge both the ankle and the rest of me.

      Waking up at 3 AM for an early start to a hike a 2 1/2 hour drive away was the next challenge, one that I managed with my usual stoic acceptance. The first moment of wonder for me came 45 minutes before arriving at the trailhead, driving through Jefferson, New Hampshire as the brightening sky illuminated distant clouds and mountain tops as I drove east. In that moment I accepted the day at hand, sucky parts as much as the amazing parts. And so it was that I found myself, new boot wrapped tightly around a gimpy ankle and hiking four peaks and 14 miles on my Sunday “rest day”. But I put myself into it willingly.

      Ultimately, life is this short little blip. Highlighting the blip with wonder and a bit of hard work makes that blip seem a bit more relevant. If you don’t put yourself in it, you don’t reap the rewards. Today, despite some reservations, I put myself in it, and sure enough the moments of wonder appeared. In a year filled with challenges, a bit of wonder goes a long way.

    • Discovering The Photographer’s Ephemeris

      Every now and then I discover something that makes my heart flutter a bit in excitement. There is a flutter happening now that goes beyond the first cup of coffee. For I’ve discovered an app called The Photographer’s Ephemeris. And I wonder where has my mind been all these years that I’d completely miss out on something so incredibly useful for those of us who chase the light.

      Followers of this blog know of my relationship with the early morning light – that magical time between nautical start and sunrise known as civil start. On the flip side of the day, this magical time is known as civil end (sounds a lot like 2020). For years I’ve known the wonder in this time, but I didn’t put a name on it. The combined more-than-a-passing recreational interests in astronomy and photography led me to learn more about the three phases of light in the dawn and at twilight. The Photographer’s Ephemeris handily charts out these phases on a timeline at the bottom of the app. But where it becomes really exciting is with the lines indicating where the sunrise will be and where it is now. It also offers a line showing where the moon will rise. And of course you get the same effect on the western side of the satellite image showing where the sunset will be, where it is now and where the moon will set.

      The word ephemeris is derived from ephemeral and the Greek ephēmero, or something that last for a short time. Each phase of the dawn or twilight is brief and fleeting, just as life itself is. An ephemeris is a method of tracking and predicting this ephemeral information that pivots above us. Making sense of the information falls on us. An ephemeris is usually associated with astrology and the position of the planets at the moment you were born. Or with astronomy and knowing the position of the stars now. Its handy information if you want to know where Mars and the moon are in relation to each other (dancing together last night), or if you believe in such things, why you don’t get along with your coworker.

      Ultimately, information offers a measure of predictability and understanding in our lives. I had a general understanding of where the sun might rise or set, and likewise a general idea of where the moon might be on a given night. But there’s something powerful about having the information readily available on a phone app. A thrill of expectation, but also a measure of control about where you might position yourself for that epic sunset or moonrise picture. It also saves me from looking out the window on those mornings by the bay when simply looking at the time of nautical start the night before would give me all the information I needed beforehand.

      I’m sure professional photographers have known about this app for years, but its new to me and perhaps to you too. I see The Photographer’s Ephemeris quickly rising to the top of my most-used apps. For it answers many of the celestial questions I geek out about in one handy place. And isn’t that the point of an app anyway?

    • Where Would You Most Like To Live?

      A couple of months ago I copied the Proust questionnaire after hearing Rolf Potts talk about it on one of his podcasts. Borrowing from a Vanity Fair segment on the topic, “The Proust Questionnaire has its origins in a parlor game popularized (though not devised) by Marcel Proust, the French essayist and novelist, who believed that, in answering these questions, an individual reveals his or her true nature.”

      Since copying it and dumping it into my drafts folder, I’ve largely ignored it. But today I was so repulsed by the news that I sought it out to pull my mind off of the darkness in the world so often spotlighted by those who leverage it for gain. And I settled on one question from the list that made me pause and think more than any other: Where would you most like to live?

      I think a lot about traveling. And lately, despite extensive home renovation projects this year, I’ve thought a bit about where I’d move to should I really get sick of parking myself in this same place. The answer to this question is easy for some people, but a bit more evasive for others. Where would you most like to live? Somewhere tropical or seasonal? At a beach house? In the mountains with a ski-up condo? A penthouse in the city with a view of the park? Deep in the heart of the action or far, far away from the action? On an island far from the madness of the world? In another country? Close to family or far away from family? In a quiet neighborhood full of kids for your kids to play with? The answer will change with time and circumstances.

      Your stage of life dictates the answer to the question. For twenty years the place I lived was the place I wanted to live. Close enough to the ocean and the mountains. Private enough with the forest nudging insistently on the backyard. In a small town across the border with conveniences all around us and a chance for our children to grow up playing with other kids in the neighborhood for hours at a time. Sure the commute was difficult at times, but there were times when I’d come home to New Hampshire from a frenzied day in Boston or New York and walk the dog with only the stars to keep us company on a quiet night and I’d believe that the answer was nowhere else but here.

      But fast-forward a decade and the kids are adults, the dog has passed, and you chafe at the neighbors a bit more than you should. Is it time to downsize? Or to relocate for relocation’s sake? When I was younger I imagined living along the river or a pond where I could slip a rowing shell or kayak into the water and just go. When I got a bit older my taste turned more to salt water and I thought of a deep water dock as the ultimate attachment to a house. Those friends sailing Fayaway would vote for that house with a deep water dock. They answered the question Where would you most like to live? with a sailboat, but are asking themselves the question again, with the answer being maybe a bigger sailboat. A neighbor is answering the question with an RV and a place to park it when they aren’t on the road. Both answered with mobility.

      Where would you most like to live? The answer often depends on the answer to another question, which is how would you most like to live? A quiet walk outside at dawn to see the sunrise from shore or as you quietly paddle to deeper waters. A trail that leads to another trail that draws you upwards to dance with the sky. A place to someday run and play with the grandchildren. A place big enough to invite others over for conversation deep into the night, but small enough that you don’t spend your days constantly maintaining it. A place to think and a place to be active. A close enough place that’s far enough away. A safe place for others to come home to.

      So tell me, where would you most like to live? David Bowie once completed the Proust Questionnaire and answered this question with “Northeast Bali or south Java”. As for me? Somewhere with dark skies and the Northern Lights. With changing seasons and people who challenge me to stretch and grow and be more than I am now. If you’re going to move you might as well make it a big leap.

    • Upcoming Wonder

      “Stuff your eyes with wonder… live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds.” – Ray Bradbury

      Something switched inside of me over the last few days, and suddenly I’m methodically filling my calendar with upcoming wonder. “Upcoming” is an important consideration, but “wonder” is the key word. There’s no guarantees in life, of course, but book it and it may be all that you wanted it to be. Such was the case with my train ride from Helsinki to Moscow in 1989, whitewater rafting through the Grand Canyon in 1998, my drive across Scotland in 2019, or any such “big” trip. Winging it can be magical, but booking it locks it in.

      Having paid my dues in sweat equity and a mild case of poison ivy putting a fence up last weekend, I have two hikes on my mind for the next two weekends (if the weather holds out). The first is with friends who hike mountains like most people take a walk around the block. That will be a test of my fitness and mobility, but a worthy adventure in peak-bagging. The second hike is being pushed out by the threat of rain but involves a 4000 footer followed by a smaller, and possibly more exciting mountain that I look forward to writing about. Anticipation is funny that way, I’ve heard enough about the smaller mountain to know what to expect, which makes the eventual hike slightly less discovery and more experience.

      Over the last few days I’ve also booked a weekend in Acadia National Park in Maine, committed to a sailing passage from Massachusetts up the Gulf of Maine to Yarmouth, Maine and booked a weekend in Stowe, Vermont in November. Adventures every one of them, and I’ve plotted drive times and reviewed what will be open and closed while we’re there, viewed YouTube videos of vloggers who have been more immersed in Acadia before me. This all borders dangerously close to the spreadsheet travel posted on this blog about almost exactly a year ago. But having a rough plan in place when youI go somewhere new is helpful. You can then fill in the blanks with discovery. For Acadia, I know what I don’t know and wanted to build some structure. For Stowe, I know the place really well and I’m leaving almost everything to discovery. For hiking, I read the trail descriptions, scanned the maps, and if possible look at street view images of where the car is going to be parked. The rest is one foot in front of the other discovery, as it should be. Similarly for the sailing passage, I’ve sailed the Gulf of Maine and on Fayaway enough to know what to expect. But once I’m past Isles of Shoals its all discovery for me. I’m trusting the Captain on that one.

      Trust is an important consideration with upcoming wonder. I trust that I’ll wake up on the day that I’ve booked a cabin in Acadia. I trust that the weather will cooperate enough to make the long drive north worthwhile or make the hikes hike-able. I trust that COVID-19 doesn’t explode and shut everything down before any or all of these trips. None of us is really sure about what happens in the next ten seconds, let alone the next ten weeks. All you can do is set the table and leave the rest to fate. Ultimately we’re bit players in the game of life, but we are players. So we ought to play.

    • Unfolding Your Own Myth

      “Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.” – Rumi

      There are a lot of stories out there. Stories of accomplishment, stories of conquest, stories of adventure and love and tragedies overcome. Humanity is full of stories. The ones we tell others to make them believe we’ve got it all figured out. The ones we tell ourselves to make ourselves believe we haven’t got anything figured out. Stories rule our lives.

      There are stories of who we’ve been, and what we’ve overcome to get here. And those stories are admirable. But lately I’m thinking more about where are you going now stories. Here we are, good, bad and all that lies in the middle. Thankfully we all woke up today, so what are we going to do with it?

      I like this Rumi challenge; unfold your own myth. Aren’t we all just works in progress doing the best we can with the pile of skills and experience and instinct that we woke up with this morning? Aren’t we all slowly unfolding our own myth? Is that myth a fighter of social media troll battles or a climber of mountains? Couch potato or fit and active? The person who hides in their job or the linchpin that keeps things going? Aspiring writer or actively writing?

      “Rise free before the dawn, and seek adventures.” – Henry David Thoreau

      Today is a random Wednesday in a string of weeks that make up 2020. We all have obligations to consider and honor, of course, but what of the rest of our time? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? Just what kind of myth are we unfolding anyway? Make it a good one.

    • On Discipline

      “Look at a river as it moves toward the sea. It creates its own banks that contain it. When there’s something within you that moves in the right direction, it creates its own discipline. The moment you get bitten by the bug of awareness.” – Anthony de Mello, Awareness

      Sometimes I fight active avoidance in the work I do, and find myself pushing through tasks that I have no desire to tackle. There are plenty of things that make my mind overflow the banks and wander in the wrong direction, and the pandemic has illuminated my routine and forced me to reconcile what matters in the job, in writing and in exercise and fitness. But the days flow differently when you’re constantly working from home. Work time blends into off time and vice versa. Writing time this morning was blown up by casually reading work email and reacting to the urgency of others. Discipline is not just doing the right things, its not doing other things at the wrong time. Learning, and re-learning, to say no or not yet.

      “Discipline equals freedom.” – Jocko Willink

      This is where those handy habit loops become an essential part of your day. They allow you to keep promises you make to yourself to keep moving forward. For the most part those habit loops have kept me on track, but I see some drift in my habits over the last month, beginning with vacation when the only thing I stuck with was the writing. Deep inside you know when things are off, and when corrective action is needed. Reflect on your current course, and then decide what to be and go be it.

      “It is a simple two-step process:
      1. Decide the type of person you want to be.
      2. Prove it to yourself with small wins.“
      – James Clear, Atomic Habits

      When you’re on the right path, doing the work is relatively easy. Sure, you can drift now and then, but resetting is natural, like setting the sails when the wind shifts. Discipline, when applied to the work you love, becomes natural through repetition. And that’s the trick, doing what you love. Following your path. Sounds positively dreamy, but there’s truth in it. Hate your work? You’ll be miserable as you force yourself down the trail of tears. Love your work? The word work disappears altogether and you focus on optimization instead. Yeah, optimization. I said it. There’s a business-speak word for you, but seriously, isn’t it better love what you do and focus on making the most of your day instead of hating what you do and focus on making it through the day?

      “Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.” – Rumi

      I’m not one of those writers who pretends to have it all figured out. This blog is me figuring it out in writing. We’re all works in progress, aren’t we? Might as well enjoy the work as it progresses.

    • Rooted

      “You lack a foot to travel?
      Then journey into yourself!”
      – Rumi, If A Tree Could Wander

      For all my talk of moving and travel, I found myself digging deeply into the rocky soil at home, rooting myself to the land with labor and that most valuable commodity of all; time. For this weekend was the allocated time to put a privacy fence up on the side of the yard that offered a view into the backyard for our neighbors, and a view of their garage for us. The fence answered a question in my mind: Is it time to move on from this place? Answer: Not just yet.

      So maybe it was while in this frame of mind that I should linger on this Rumi poem. A tree is deeply rooted to the place it sprouts from, living and dying in the same place. Its only option is to reach higher and wider to the sun. And to do so it must root probe deeper and wider into the earth for strength and sustenance. Those roots can grow as thick as the branches in the canopy above.

      The first post hole is the most important. It sets the tone for where the fence will be positioned, and like a tree, once its set it isn’t going anywhere easily. I chose the most logical position of all for a privacy fence to begin, adjacent to the fence that lines the rest of the property. Replacing a section of fencing with the new privacy fence and continuing it further along for the desired effect. That post hole, in theory, should have been the easy one once the previous fence post was removed. But the first probe of the shovel revealed a long-hidden truth that only the original fence installer knew: there was a massive root from a tree growing right through the spot I would need to dig. The original fence post had been cut just below ground level and screwed into the post that was staying. Thus began a three hour conversation with myself about the wisdom of staying in one place for too long, sacrificing a chain saw blade and three reciprocating saw blades to the fence gods.

      But the funny thing about manual labor is the time it gives you inside your own head. That journey three feet into a post hole was a long conversation with myself. The view might not have been the Presidential Range or a waterfall, but if it had been I would have been too far outside of myself to still my mind. Manual labor offers stillness of the mind even as it wears the body down. I’ve built a complete hardscape and renovated much of my home, and find the process rewarding even as I curse myself for not just paying someone else to do it. And the finished product stands as a reminder that you’ve done something of significance. There’s a love of fate that must be applied in the moment that the stoics would be very familiar with. It wasn’t the hole in the ground but the fence that grew from it. And the laborer who found a bit of clarity in the soil and rocks and roots. The time wasn’t lost after all.

    • Creating the Moon

      “The moon itself may have been born of a great tidal wave of earthly substance, torn off into space. And remember that if the moon was formed in this fashion, the event may have had much to do with shaping the ocean basins and the continents as we know them.

      There were tides in the new earth, long before there was an ocean. In response to the pull of the sun the molten liquids of the earth’s whole surface rose in tides that rolled unhindered around the globe and only gradually slackened and diminished as the earthly shell cooled, congealed, and hardened. Those who believe that the moon is a child of Earth say that during an early stage of the earth’s development something happened that caused this rolling, viscid tide to gather speed and momentum and to rise to unimaginable heights.

      Physicists have calculated that, after 500 years of such monstrous, steadily increasing tides, those on the side toward the sun became too high for stability, and a great wave was torn away and hurled into space. But immediately, of course, the newly created satellite became subject to physical laws that sent it spinning in an orbit of its own about the earth. This is what we call the moon.

      There is to this day a great scar on the surface of the globe. This scar or depression holds the Pacific Ocean.” – Rachel Carson, The Sea Around Us

      Rachel Carson published The Sea Around Us 69 years ago, and it was a runaway best-seller at the time. I’ve known Carson as the author of Silent Spring, but was ignorant of this book that launched her into fame. As the name suggests, the book explores the sea and is filled with magically breathless wonder. The excerpt above filled me with awe and set the stage to position this book at the top of the stack. For who doesn’t look at the moon and wonder how it got there? And this theory of a massive wave of molten liquid rising up and ripping from the earth to form the moon, and the great scar of the Pacific basin makes as much sense to me as any other.

      Science is a funny thing. I ran away from science in school because the teachers were dispassionate bores. But when I read a passage that delivers a rightful sense of awe to the story, well, it becomes captivating. If the politicization of the pandemic and mask-wearing has demonstrated anything, its that the world needs more captivating story-tellers in science. Carson was a catalyst for a better understanding of our oceans and the environment with a page-turning writing style that betrayed her own wonder at the subject matter. Were her writing style technical and dry she never would have made the impact that she did, and the world may never have realized the threat of nuclear waste dumped into the ocean or of DDT on the food chain we are very much a part of. If she were alive today I expect she’d have a lot to say about plastic and climate change.

      Writing isn’t nearly as epic as creating a moon, but it can feel that way sometimes to the writer. I’m plugging away at the writing, both here and elsewhere, and feel that the words and characters are my own rolling, viscid tide moving unchecked through my mind. At some point maybe that momentum will spawn something awe-worthy. And that’s the challenge isn’t it? To produce something compelling and timeless. Watching the waxing crescent moon peaking through the forest last night as it dropped into the western sky was both an inspiration and a challenge to get it right. I imagine Rachel Carson looked up at the moon in a similar way, and she rose to that challenge. So why not us?

    • Our History

      “How does the country come out of a crisis stronger and not weaker?” – Jon Meacham

      “It’s just a sign of the grim moment we’re in that a basic statement about the capacity of America to reform itself can even seem partisan” – Jon Meacham

      I supposed it took an historian to jolt me back to action. I read these two statements in a New York Times article this morning, which got me thinking about these times, which were predictable in the lens of history but ignored in the self-consumed orgy of partisanship. What’s in it for me? has taken over for what’s best for the greater good? As if wanting equality for all is some dark socialist conspiracy. And with this rise of media bile and self-absorbed profiteering, the country has turned on itself. And with it, I’ve pulled away from the entire sordid mess in revulsion. But I’m doing a disservice to the country, the global community and the environment in doing so.

      American politics was once no place for the weak or meek. If you wanted to be in the arena you had to face the crush of public opinion, backroom pressure and lobbyists currying favor. But more than ever the morally compromised seek office for the power it brings and for the chance to grow rich from those who would buy a vote. The undercurrent of inequality has always been there in this country, but the American public is having a collective reaction to the bile we’ve been forced to hold down.

      Hatred and bigotry, things that simmered under the surface for years, would reveal themselves steadily as they rose to a boil. Things like mass shootings, police brutality, and riots would bubble up from below, indicating a level of rage and pathology that needed to be addressed. But instead it was thoughts and prayers and all manner of bullshit from political leaders too busy growing fat on lobbyist bribes to actually do anything meaningful. Trump, and Trumpism, is all that crap that was simmering under the surface finally boiling up and rattling the lid. Everything I believe in seems to be taking a hit from the criminally greedy swirling about in the White House today. It isn’t unlike other dark periods in history, and it will get far, far worse in a second term.

      And so what do we do about it? What do I about it? Vote? Of course. Raise my voice? Definitely. But not in a way that divides the country even further. No lecturing people who believe in something I don’t believe in. No mocking the opposition. Seek first to understand. And then to be understood. The key to selling is to help people reach conclusions, not to trick them. There are plenty of people tricking the American public right now. Educate people, but do it without smugness and antagonism. Lead with dignity and steadiness… but lead. Be in the arena, be in the game. No more recoiling in revulsion. Face the truth of what we’ve become and work to change it.

      Our history as a country is written in divisiveness, cruelty to others, opportunism and greed. But also on hope for an ideal of equality and freedom. The current administration has spotlighted the worst traits in America, but the reaction to the current administration has spotlighted our best traits. There’s a battle for the future America happening right now. This is our history being written, today, and we’re the authors. This is/there is no time to sit on the sidelines.