the far corner

… and this is for you, Mom:

Remember the three American hikers that accidentally wandered into Iran and were subsequently arrested on trumped-up espionage charges?  Well, we’re approaching the one-year anniversary of their incarceration.  Visit the site, sign the petition, write a letter, or buy some gear to support them.  This is one of those political issues where there is no gray area.  No red, no blue.  Let’s just get those people the hell out of there.

http://www.newsweek.com/2010/07/05/al-franken-gets-serious.html

Check out the band Buke and Gass.  Their name comes from the instruments the only two members play: a bass ukulele and a fabricated thing combining a bass and a guitar.  Their sound is huge, the beats driving, the hooks hooky, and the vocals sweet.  They have a song available for free if you’d care to listen.

You can also learn more about them (as I did) from Radiolab and even download the podcast that featured them.  (On a side note, I highly recommend whole-hog subscribing to the Radiolab podcast).

JB out.

Starting around late winter, I found that I had a desire to try backpacking.  I think I’ve wanted to for awhile, but it’s always been just beyond my mental periphery.  But Brandy’s BOW trip in February served as a catalyst for me.  It was weird.  One minute I’m just standing there.  Hanging out.  Probably shoveling.  The next, I’m like, “Holy shit, I’d like to try backpacking”.  Maybe it’s a bucket list thing (although I have a certain amount of disdain for those that use that term now as if it were already part of their lexicon prior to the eponymous Morgan Freeman/Jack Nicholson film).  I am 30 after all; I’m practically knocking on Death’s door.  It’s all dentures, Benny Goodman, and trouble pooping (or not pooping) from here. 

So, as it happens, I know a guy.  This guy: 

Mr. Jeff Trager!

Trager is a languages trainer in my department and while I was taking a class from him a couple years back, he mentioned that he was an avid backpacker.   I recalled this nugget back in March and approached him for pointers on how to get started.  We discussed for a bit, one thing led to another, and he suggested we take a trip to Porcupine Mountains State Park in Michigan’s UP.  Here’s a Google Maps screenshot that shows our route to get there: 

We left early the morning of Wednesday, June 2nd, intent on staying until Saturday, June 5th.  We did manage to take a slightly wrong turn (or rather, miss a very crucial turn) just south of the “B”.  This led us through some fun backroads.  Did I mention that mobile reception, during the nonconsecutive 5 minutes we actually had reception, was spotty at best?  This led to a spirited discussion of cinema.  Deliverance.  Wolf Creek.  Wrong Turn.  The Hills Have Eyes.  “I’m sure that old station wagon parked all kitty wompus in the trees over there is just a couple people having sex.  Certainly no one being brutally cornholed and murdered!  HAHAHAHA!” 

We arrived at the park around 5:00 PM Eastern, paid the fees, parked, and got going.  While exiting the car, Trager offered me an apple to tide me over until we set up camp.  In the hubbub of last-minute prep, I inadvertantly left it on the roof of the car.  I didn’t realize it until just now that it was probably captured in the photo I took of the car on our way in, and indeed it was.  See for yourself: 

Click this pic, then find the apple!

Did you ever think about what could happen if you left a piece of fruit on your car next to the woods for three days?  This seems like an insignificant oversight, but you bet your ass this shit was going through my head.  

This pic neatly captures my mood at the outset: 

At this point, it might help if I gave you an idea of our route through the park.  Here ya go: 

Our first leg took us about 4.5 miles into the park toward Government Peak.  I spent a copious amount of time snapping photos and oggling the foliage.  The only complaint I have is that the skeeters were bad.  We were using a combination insect repellent and sunscreen, but it didn’t seem to help much.  Do not use this product.  Instead: Deet.  Lots of deet.  It may ultimately give your yet unconceived children clubfoot and autism, but when those little bastards (the skeeters, not your kids) are lining up in droves to do a keg stand on the back of your neck, I think you’ll agree it’s worth the risk. 

We arrived at our first campsite, set up the tent, and relaxed to a meal of trail mix and the last of our filtered tap water (only eau de moose from here on in).  I did catch a glimpse of a doe tip-toeing about 20 feet from our site at dusk, so, a good first day in the books. 

Day 2 was sort of a death march.  The route above doesn’t do it much justice, there was so much twisting and turning, climbing and descending, that it felt at least that long plus one half.  When we broke for lunch at Mirror Lake (also my first water pumping opportunity), I found that my stomach was bottomless.  Chef Trager produced bagels, summer sausage, and cheese which we fashioned into monstrous sandwiches.  I gobbled down two of them, plus some trail mix and fruit snacks.  I’ve read the word “ravenous” before, but I feel like I have a firmer grasp of it now.  

All told we walked about 11 miles on day two, with some spectacular views of the Little Carp River’s series of falls to help with motivation.  We were both about dead by the time we made camp, but it was absolutely worth it.  Our second campsite was nothing short of amazing.  We were at least a mile from another campsite in any direction and had Lake Superior Shoreline as far as I could see to ourselves.  I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. 

Our original plan had been laze around camp the morning of day 3, walk a shorter day, and wind up about 3 or 4 miles from the car for an easy walk out on day 4.  The weather didn’t cooperate, as we woke up to steady rain at 6:30 AM.  We rose quickly, struck camp, keeping everything as dry as we could, and started east.  Our new plan was sort of TBD as we walked. 

We made great time, heading northeast along the shoreline, and we soon realized that we’d arrive at our intended camp around noon.  It was still raining steadily, so we’d likely also be setting up camp wet, sitting around staring at each other wet, and going to sleep ten or so hours later wet.  So we made a unanimous decision to walk the extra three or four miles out and head home.  This meant (we learned later) about another three hours of walking mostly uphill on shifting shale – no handrail or anything! 

We made it out to the road at a point which was actually still 3 miles west of the car.  I wolfed down three pizza pitas (again, Trager is an excellent trail chef), dropped my pack, and started the trek east toward the car while Trager remained behind with the packs, all the while singing “Three Is A Magic Number” which helped the time pass.  After a mile or so, a French-Canadian couple whom Trager and I had met briefly along the trail drove up from the direction I was coming in their camper and asked if I needed a lift.  As I was soaked through and eager to start the drive home, I hopped in.  Normally, I don’t hop in strangers’ campers, but I had a good feeling about these two.  Besides, Canada has about 1/3 the murder rate of the US.  Look it up. 

We arrived at my car, au revoired, and I hopped out.  And guess what: the apple was still on the roof, unmolested.  So I triumphantly devoured it.  Delicious! 

We dropped by a little souvenir shop in the nearby town of Silver City, picked up a couple trinkets, and headed home.  I’m already planning another trip at the end the summer – seeing as I’ve already got the sticker in my window.

A fun diagram of brain development, via PZ Myers:

Just completed my strongly worded letter to Thermos regarding my earlier debacle.

Letter
Enc 1
Enc 2

OK, so I am not hip or with it.  I am occasionally groovy, but have never been far out.  So, more often than not, I am not up on what the kids are down with.  In truth, I am overtly and spectacularly skeptical of any new media, social or otherwise.  I didn’t get an iPod until they’d been out for five years.  Facebook is a huge fail for me and I have not been swept up by the Twitter zeitgeist.  This skepticism, coupled with my squirrel-like attention span when it comes to finding the intrinsic value of new media, offers up a pretty huge barrier to entry.  My back door into these technologies is often adoption by my closest friends.  Case in point: last.fm.  Perusing my BFF’s site, I noted a casual reference to “check out [his] listening habits at Last.fm”.  That reference means this sucker passed QA testing.  So I’m doing tax prep in my office today and, though I’ve tooled around the last.fm site a bit previously, I’m really giving it a go today.  I just enter a few bands I like and boom: the site constructs my own personal radio-like music feed.  Most of the bands I’ve never heard before, but I magically like everything I’m hearing.

So here’s my ringing endorsement: Last.fm will improve your life.  Thanks for the passive recommendation, Jake.

Since I already invoked the insidious shitmonster’s name, I thought I would draw your attention to today’s Urban Word of the Day.  It directly (albeit passive-aggressively) addresses one of my prime complaints about the service.  Knowing that there are scattered pinpoints of accord on this gives me hope, like a conspiratorial tip of the hat from a fellow member of the resistance as we slip past one another in the slavering throng.

I’m going to the Arkansas backwoods to go catfish noodling.  And I’m bringing a unicycle.

That quote by my lovely better half as I was driving her up to the Amtrak station to depart upon the Empire Builder toward parts unknown.  She was trying to capture the strangeness and dreamlike nature of her not-quite-Quixotic journey to conquer the barren, lifeless tundra of north-central North Dakota, and I think she succeeded beautifully.  Later, she even sent me a pic:

On my drive back home, I heard a great song and downloaded it as soon as I got home, as well as this one that followed shortly on its heels.  So I’ll be checking out some more music by these guys.

I finished up the night watching Paranormal Activity (Blair Witch in a house) with a pair of snugly doodles and playing back the Olympic half-pipe finals on ye olde DVR.  I don’t know why they thought it would be a good idea to mike Shaun White’s coach so thoroughly after the former’s victory – that guy was cussing worse than I do when Violet drops her bone on my foot.  (You know, when it’s early and cold.  It’s a heavy bone.  And I like to swear.)  JB out!