The Antarctica Chronicle

Hello everybody. Back here after a long while. Research has finally shown some positive signs and I am hoping to graduate soon. But I am not here to talk about research. Right now I am sitting in the den of Cruz del Sur, a nice homely hostel with a dog named Kren, in the town of Ushuaia in the Tierra del Fuego province of Argentina. In three days time I will be catching the expedition ship ‘Ushuaia’, crossing the Drake Passage, exploring the Weddell Sea and docking at various points on the Antarctic peninsula and the South Shetland islands.

Yes, Antarctica!!! I hear you ask the inevitable question, one I have heard several times over the last one year, when my friends and I started planning for the trip - why Antarctica? Honesty, I don’t know what else to say, other than, why not; and then point you to Ernest Shackleton and the ill-fated loss of Endurance followed by the daring  rescue, Amundsen and Scott’s expedition to the South Pole; and, if the pleasure of travel and sense of wonder seeing new places doesn’t do it for you, then I’ll show you this photo. Actually, forget the rest. The photo alone should do.

Courtesy: http://antarcticjourney.wordpress.com/

Make no mistake, it is an expensive, most likely once-in-a-lifetime trip; and, a proper chronicle or diary is a must when it comes to these once-in-a-lifetime affairs. So with multiple follow-up posts that’s what I’ll do. Right now, I’ll sign off with the following photographs from the very windy Ushuaia.

One day, maybe I’ll climb some of these

It must be wonderful living in such a cradle

Looking at the southern most tip of the Andes

Ushuaia

What's your excuse?

Last weekend at Okemo we happened to see a boy skiing on a specially designed wheelchair. Yesterday at Stratton there was a girl on a single left ski using specially designed crutches. I will definitely think about that the next time I come up with a silly excuse to not do something.

In other skiing news, thanks to Nemo and the fresh and thick coat of snow we were finally able to ski down two of the double-diamond expert only slopes at Stratton. Here’s a picture of the last section of Upper Down Easter and that’s not me posing for the pic. Just to brag, that slope is steeper than it looks :)

Why do we fall sir? So we might learn to pick ourselves up - Batman Begins

Finally, a long overdue update. I have been meaning to be more regular but somewhere I lost the way. Work got in the way, I guess. Or maybe I was just plain lazy.

Diary entry: Jan 27th 2013

I first thought of writing this in early December after my first ski trip this season. These thoughts have been, then, swirling inside my mind for the last few weeks. Never really got around to actually writing them down. Now, sitting in my car after skiing at Stratton for the 3rd time this season, I finally stopped procrastinating.

After starting my doctoral studies in the fall of 2009, thesis apart, nothing much has meant more to me than skiing. Personally I have found it the very epitome of the post's title. I used to be afraid of failure and as a consequence of trying new things, stepping outside my comfort zone. What if I embarrassed myself in front of scores of people? I used to over-think and later regret.

Not anymore; not since my first ski trip when I could hardly handle an easy slope and had to be brought down on a sled, the ultimate embarrassment one can have at a ski resort. Even later, when I mustered courage to try again, slipping and losing balance every few meters when everyone around you are skiing down with immeasurable skill is highly demotivating. Some skiers or snowboarders used to go past me twice before I made it down.

Yet, like Sir Bruce's spider I kept riding up and falling down. I really don't know why, but I kept going and finally pushed through. I am hardly an expert now, far from it really, but I feel good about myself and I really enjoy skiing down with the wind on my face, negotiating the slope at the fastest speed I can control.

I still fall, especially when I take the next baby step toward working a tougher slope. I don't mind falling anymore. As an extension, I don't mind failing anymore. I don't mind making attempts to learn something new. I feel better for it. I couldn't have asked for a better life-changer than skiing.

Kodachadri - A photo journey

Hello folks. I’m finally back after a long hiatus. My Jan 7th promise didn't hold up. Couldn't help it. Let's just say it was a combination of dry eyes and general laziness. After ending 2011 with the LASIK procedure and welcoming 2012  with a glasses free life, all I hope for now is that the Mayans didn’t know something we don't.

Anyway, now back in Troy suffering through a depressingly mild winter and perennially planning to start a final sprint towards graduation, here’s my long overdue photo gallery of my India trip. Starting this new session of postings with the drive and hike up the enchanting Kodachadri located roughly 20kms from Mookambika Temple.

One other thing, I won’t be posting every Sunday like clockwork anymore. However, I’ll update the blog as frequently as possible.

Driving up the narrow winding road from Kollur. It is possible to hike the entire 20km stretch, something I might have done if I were not with family.

The drive up - I would have kicked myself if I had left my camera back at the hotel.

The drive up - I would have kicked myself if I had left my camera back at the hotel.

The drive up - I would have kicked myself if I had left my camera back at the hotel.

The drive up - I would have kicked myself if I had left my camera back at the hotel.

The final stretch - Hiking up to the Sarvajna Peetam (roughly translated, site of all knowledge) at the top.

The final stretch - Hiking up to the Sarvajna Peetam (roughly translated, site of all knowledge) at the top.

The final stretch - Hiking up to the Sarvajna Peetam (roughly translated, site of all knowledge) at the top.

Sarvajna Peetam. After seeing how US’s short history has been well maintained, polished and kept sparkling new in Virginia and DC, I was left wondering if it was that we were not really interested in preserving our history in a manner that attracted tourists or was it that the old, beaten down site added to the allure of our long and rich history.

Mookambika from atop the hill.

If you guys get a chance do visit the place. You don't have to be religious; it's just a beautiful sight.

Cheers and until next time.

Reliving a train journey

I am travelling to India in a week and have a lot of work to complete before I go. So I won't be writing much today. However, I'll try to make up for this quick post today by posting a mid-week update and then two posts per week thereafter.

Recently, there was a post on The NRI written as a train travelers’ guide to the country. The post can be found here. The points made in the post are in fact things each and everyone of us can connect with; in particular the “five minutes of hope” that all Indian males aged 17-29 practice religiously just before boarding the train.

The post made me nostalgic about train journeys back home. In comparison, Amtrak is so dull. There’s one memory that comes to my mind when I think of a train. This is something you can never do on Amtrak - standing by the door, holding the hand rails, facing out and enjoying the strong wind blowing on your face.

Maybe I am being nostalgic here, having missed this part of a train journey for over 2 years now, but to be honest, the freedom and exhilaration of being able to lean out of a moving train stands out in comparison with skydiving. One more week and I can relive this nostalgia. Have I built it up too much in my mind? Hope not.

Horrors of Philly

Over a month ago I had visited a friend in Philadelphia. The trip was a very short one but rather memorable indeed. Last week I had written about a smile inducing comment made by my friend’s daughter. Following up from that post, this time I’ll be writing about a somewhat creepy side to this historic city. Yes, this is the city where Edgar Allen Poe penned some of his scariest works. Yes, M. Night Shyamalan filmed The Sixth Sense here as well. As I learnt from my friend that day and then later from Uncle Google, if you are looking for a ghost in the US, then this is probably the right place to be. True to this reputation, there are plenty of sites in Philly to go ghost hunting.

Photo Gallery: Into the wild

In the August of 2009, I had been on a safari to the Selous Game Reserve in central Tanzania. I had then written about the trip in detail. The posts can be found at the following links.

Part 1: The long drive to Selous (pronounced “Seloo”)

Part 2: The Boat Trip

Part 3: Jungle Safari

However, many of my photographs from that trip as well as all my travels since had been languishing in my hard drive. I finally spent some time, this weekend, to sort all of them out and to upload the best ones both at the Interstate 42 Facebook page and in my Flickr photo stream. You can follow the links and enjoy the photos.

This week’s post is a subset of the above collection; an “Into the Wild” photo gallery.

African Golden Weaver

Conquering America's First President

3rd September 2011

The forecast was for rain. With Mount Washington known for its erratic weather and super-strong winds, this is one piece of information never to be taken lightly. Yet, five hours into the drive from Troy, the night gradually turning into day, we were greeted by beautiful views with just intermittent spots of rain clouds. There was some occasional meek lightning trying to scare us, but more or less we were increasingly feeling confident that the weather wasn’t going to deteriorate on us so much that we would have to call-off the hike.

There were ten of us in three cars. Roughly half past six, as soon as we turned into the parking lot at Pinkham Notch visitors center it started to pour. It was coming down strong. Distant rumbles could be heard as well. It was a rancid welcome, no doubt. We were at roughly 2000 feet elevation. If it was bad down here then the summit (6288 feet) could be deadly, the ascent tricky and dangerous. We had a decision to make.

Top of the world, far from it; top of Maine, definitely so.

13th August 2011

4 a.m

We woke up early that day. In spite of the long, tiring drive the previous night, we didn’t have a choice in this matter. Climbing Mt. Katahdin and traversing Knife Edge was our only aim.

Katahdin is located in Baxter State Park and is the highest mountain in Maine. The most famous hike to the summit goes along Knife Edge, which traverses the ridge between Pamola Peak and Baxter Peak. The mountain has claimed 19 lives since 1963, mostly from exposure to bad weather and falls from the Knife Edge. For about 0.3 miles the trail is 3 feet wide, with a drop off on either side. Not surprising, the Knife Edge is closed during periods of high wind. [Courtesy Wiki]

Owing to the popularity, danger and availability of parking spots, the rangers place a restriction on the number of climbers, rather, the number of cars they let through to the trail head. There was one member in our group who had been here before and had to turn back because he was too late. This time neither he nor the others wanted to miss their chance. The drive was way too long to go back disappointed.

We were at the check post by 5 a.m. 11 of us, in 2 sedans and a minivan. There was already a long queue of cars ahead of us. The Roaring Brook trailhead had roughy 25 parking spots, most of which may have been reserved in advance. We were early, but were we early enough?

Taking a leap of faith

This picture was taken with my friend’s point and shoot a couple of months back. It was raining that morning and I left my camera back at the hotel. The clouds cleared by the time we reached the Bay Area. Lady Weather is so fickle.

Since the time of Icarus man has always wanted to soar like the birds. Thanks to the Wright brothers and countless more before and after them, we have come a long way. I, too, have had my fair share of opportunities to soar through the sky at speeds the birds can only dream of; albeit in huge metal cages. The thrill of flying, thus, has always eluded me. Never have I felt the full force of the wind against my face. Nor have I been able to pilot those beasts.

Considering the expense the latter might remain a dream. For the former, there is the next best thing. Not the metaphorical next best thing. I have never been down that road. Instead, it is time I took a leap of faith.

The Lake Placid Fiasco

I am time and today I am going to tell you a story. This is no ordinary story. This is a tale of four “great” men; four well educated, intelligent young blokes whose qualifications, put together, would place them at the top of any spectrum in the public eye. One is a post-doctoral research scholar and a respected author of scientific texts; another is a thought leader and a master in business administration; and yet another, an engineer, one whose expertise facilitates, without much ado, some of the comforts fellow human beings enjoy. This illustrious trio is accompanied by a doctoral student who aspires to be an established author of scientific and non-scientific texts. With no further introduction, I would like to take you to Troy, a beautiful Victorian town on the banks of the Hudson. Here, the protagonists are preparing for the misadventure of their lives.

(Intro style inspired by the Mahabharat series aired in Doordarshan (India) in the late 80s).

June 18th 2011

11:30 a.m.

It’s a beautiful Saturday. The Hudson sparkles in the late morning sunlight and showers downtown Troy with its warmth. Down by the banks the residents wallow in serenity, intoxicated as they are serenaded by the ebb and flow of the breeze through the leaves behind them. A little removed, up the hill, in the campus of Rensselaer the protagonists unaware of nature’s treat unfolding near the river banks decide to go somewhere; anywhere. They have been cooped up in this town for way too long.

Sid, Sandy, Raul and Kirk, [*] thus, set out for Lake Placid in Raul’s zebra striped Camaro. Lake Placid is a horseshoe shaped waterbody in the  Adirondack Mountains in northern New York. Spanning approximately 2,170 acres (8.8 km²) with an average depth of about 50 feet, Lake Placid is one of the most prominent lakes in the New England area.

[*] The names have been changed for no particular reason, and with not even one ounce of creativity.

It’s a two hour drive on I-87 North. A hassle free journey takes them to the village of Lake Placid. It’s a little after 2. It’s about time they had some lunch. Nothing fancy. Subs would have to do. Kirk gets his regular footlong tuna. Within fifteen minutes, having filled their stomachs, they head out to the lake for a strenuous kayaking experience.

Alas, they were plagued by one small problem. There was only one shop renting kayaks known to  most of the people around, and that was closed. It was nearing 3 and the protagonists were getting frustrated. They should probably have woken up earlier. They should have reached Lake Placid sooner. Would the long drive end up to be fruitless? I would have paused if I could, but then the universe would descend into chaos. However, the earth’s axial tilt was still in their favor. It’s nearing summer solstice and darkness engulfs the land no sooner than 9pm. Time was still in hand. I had given them a lifeline.

At quarter past 3 they find Eastern Mountain Sports. The protagonists head in. Yes, here EMS does rent kayaks. Kirk asks the lady behind the counter, “is there a dock nearby?” She replies, “We can set you up and you can get going from the one behind the shack.” They make no further enquiries. Raul and Kirk start off in a 12 foot regular kayak while Sid and Sandy are in the tandem. Sid hasn’t paddled before and it will take a while for him to be comfortable on water.

They head to a beach a quarter mile away. There are swimmers in lanes marked by buoys. Careful, they must be; not due the fear of hurting the swimmers but of toppling their own kayaks upon collision. Once on the beach Sandy and Kirk switch places and they head back out after a few minutes rest. They race to the diametrically opposite end of the lake roughly a mile away and hold a mid-water conference.

Sandy: Now, that didn’t seem so far.

Sid: It’s hardly deep too. Look, I can touch the bottom with this paddle.

Kirk: Come on, we are closer to the banks. What do you expect? It will be deeper further in. After all, this is Lake Placid.

Sid: I’ve heard they call this the Queen of Lakes**.

Sandy: Maybe it’s King George and his placid queen.

Raul: Ya, Lake George was huge. This looks more like a pool.

Kirk: A calm one nonetheless. Maybe this lake looks beautiful from atop the peaks. That could be the hype.

Raul: And, of course the winter olympics hoopla.

Sid: My friend was saying this lake is a must-see. Ya, right!!! Wait, did the 30-foot crocodile really live in this commode? ***

** Actually, Lake George is nicknamed the Queen of American Lakes.

*** Lake Placid is a 1999 American monster movie. Yes, it was filmed elsewhere.

They decide to paddle around till sunset. Anyway, they had paid for the kayaks and it looked like like they had most of the lake for themselves. “Where did everybody go? There were so many tourists on the streets.” These thoughts were shut out as the protagonists enjoyed the serenity that surrounded then.

At roughly half past 8 they head back to the EMS dock. Sid, Sandy and Raul return the gear and head into the shack to get their belongings. Kirk waits near the kayaks as an employee arrives for the routine inspection.

EMS Employee: So how was your day?

Kirk: It was great. Thank you.

EMS Employee: Did you carry your kayaks over to the horseshoe? It’s tougher to kayak there, you know, with the speedboats around.

Kirk: :-0

Kirk manages to hold a straight face trying very hard to hide his shock. He still catches a small glint in the employee’s eyes, the kind you get when you discover a new tale to share with your buddies; a tale of four “knowledgeable” dimwits. He heads back into the shack. “Guys, I have some bad news. This was not Lake Placid.”