John Muir

Pay attention and you might see his moniker pasted on multiple schools, roads, and trails. There's even an asteroid named after Mr. Muir, ironically his largest modern day decoration has been appearing on the back of the Cali state quarter. Johnny was quite a character, immigrated from Scotland and became the first modern American preservationist. Ever hear of the Sierra Club...that was Muir's baby. Every Yosemite visitor can thank him for his work. It's no surprise when the likes of Teddy Roosevelt and Ralph Emerson wanted to visit the "Mite" they sought Muir out for one-on-one backcountry tours from the man you knew it best. Can you
imagine sitting in on those campfire conversations?

Recently I checked out some of his namesakes, Muir Beach and Muir Woods. Truc, Remi and I walked fire roads along the beautiful rocky coastline of the beach, and shortly after I looked into Muir Woods with Alex and John. Stunning rocky perching points were abundant. Both days were clear enough to see the Farallon Islands 20 miles out to sea. This is where 4,000lbs Northern Elephant Seals come to breed and 2,500lbs Great White Sharks come in high concentrations to feed. Pretty sweet stuff, that Muir is so hot right now ;-)

Home

I had been missing familiar faces so I became homeward bound for a mid-assignment break. I flew into DC and got to ride the "blazing red arrow" Oldsmobile Alero back to Garret Co. with one of my favorite friends, Mike Fratz, at the helm. My stay was only ten days, and about ten days too short. For transportation my brother graciously, and somewhat laughingly, lent me his blazing-red-arrow. His spare car had become the garbage hauler, apparently sitting for long periods of time unventilated. I'd say its aroma was a mix of the strongest salt & vinegar chips you've ever wafted mixed with the fragrance left behind after you dump a barrell of pickle juice on your floorboards. I declared war on the odor and by visit's end it was almost back to normal, that or my olfactory sense had been burnt crispy. I was very happy to have running wheels & I owe my bro one free pickle flavored loaner car. In my ramblings about I had my share of Wisp riding coutesy of Travis, and two unseasonal rock climbing sessions with Jesse (would've been three had I not declined the midnight-inebriation-icyroof-rapelling-celebration). I was also super stoked to see one of my favoite fellow gene poolers Melanie "chicken-butt" Custer who drove all the way from North Cackalacki (<--her vernacular)with her boy friend to freeze her Floridian digits off on a howling Wisp day. We also got to do some bumbling about in a rainy, freezing, briar patch section of woods to get to our secret climbing destination. The spot might have named itself, The Shimrocks, wrap your mind around that. To top it off I saw my favorite good-old-boy band "The Davisson Bros" twice, which usually means something good is happening. I thoroughly enjoyed my time at home with family and friends. All things considered I'm very lucky to have been raised in my sliver of Appalachia. I may have had to wait for dairy cows to cross the road on the way to school in the morning, and I may not have had conveniences such as neighboorhood playmates; but my home was a prime spot for a boy to explore, and that lit a flame for outdoor recreation that defines me today. I love my corner of Mary-land, if I had to come up with theme music for my origins it would probably be a hybrid of OAR "Home", John Dever "Country Road", and Little Big Town "Boondocks."
So to quote some good lyrics:
There are few things pure in this world anymore, and home is one of the few
We'd have a drink outside maybe run and hide, if we saw a couple men in blue
But to me it's so damn easy to see that your people are the people at home
Well I been away but now I'm back today and there ain't a place I'd rather go

I feel home when I see the faces that remember my own
I feel home when I'm chillin outside with the people I know
I feel home, and that's just what I feel
Cause home, to me, is reality and all I need is something real
-OAR (<-- Maryland band;)