From an article titled, “In Yellowstone, Migratory Bison Reawaken a Landscape“.
“Tens of millions of bison once roamed North America, grazing on grasslands, forests and plains, from the Great Basin of Nevada to the Atlantic Coast. It is difficult today to imagine the size of herds that are no longer seen; Lakota oral histories gauged herd size by the number of days it took them to pass.”
No mention of North Dakota State football.
Our newish house sits atop a hill on the edge of downtown Olympia. Which is really nice when starting a run because gravity helps get you in the groove. But not nearly as nice when ending a run or long, hard ride.
Don’t tell Travis, but sometimes, like Friday afternoon, I pull the plug early or mid-hill and walk it in. I was so spent at the end of my wee 5 miler, I leaned on the bridge to collect myself before starting the uphill walk home.
And that’s when it came to me. The great idea. To jump off the bridge into the southernmost part of the Puget Sound sometime this summer. Being hot and sweaty prob contributed to this genius.
I’m sure it’s illegal, but how bad could the consequences be? The height of the jump is flexible depending upon how far up one goes on the bridge, and to a lesser degree, the tide. I’m thinking mid-bridge at high tide to make sure there’s ample water underneath. I’ll plant a second pair of shoes onshore and prob leave my original shoes on the bridge before going airborne.
I see one problem besides the inevitable fame that will follow from the jump. The Puget Sound’s southernmost water is polluted, so much so, the shore is dotted with “No swimming” signage. But it’s not like I’m going to linger. In and out in a few minutes. Shower off. And hope to live another day.
The only thing more bad ass than this plan would be just doing it without telling anyone. So, please, if you will, strike this post from the record.
My fave—7. Top three, 7, 3, 16. Someone please explain 5.
Addendum:
So ultraviolet rays, jellies, insects, and other irritants can have at the exposed 90% of one’s self?
Dear Reader,
Apologies for denying you your need to Press Pause for so long. Please know, this time the extended Pause was not the result of lethargy or a lack of profundity deserving of your consideration.
It was due to a 5.8 mile move which, I am very happy to report, is largely in the rearview mirror.
TL/DR. . . I got my ass kicked every which way by The Move. Which begs an obvy question, why did I voluntarily sign on for unprecedented levels of stress?
Because one can only take so much of . . .
The Salish Sea. The Olympic Mountains. Eagle fly-bys. Water-slapping seals. Even directionally-challenged whales. Enough nature already.
In the end, all the nature just got to be too much for the GalPal to bear. And so, a few months ago, she sayeth, “Let’s live among the people. In town.”
To which I said, “Okay, let’s.”
Tonight, our first Saturday in the new hood, we ate among the people. After dropping the Good Wife off at the restaurant, and then parking, I returned to the restaurant via this alley.
Slow your roll. One setting is not inherently “better” than the other. Just different. The old hood was completely bereft of street art, any real weirdness to speak of, and rabbits outnumbered people.
Time to lean into the back alleys, the street art, the urban mess, the grit. This is my life with The Good Wife. Among the people.
This Olympia, WA data from the Weather Underground leaves me equal parts perplexed and distressed. Today is the winter or hibernal solstice. Meaning the shortest day of the year. Tomorrow is supposed to be longer. I NEED tomorrow to be longer. And yet, as you can see, tomorrow is going to be “0 minutes 1 second shorter”.
What gives? And who can I see to get this fixed?
“About 120 people aboard a Monterey Bay Whale Watch boat Thanksgiving morning witnessed a rare sighting of a pod of killer whales hunting sea lions in the bay. A few minutes into the encounter, one whale punted a sea lion almost 20 feet into the air, a common hunting tactic used by killer whales to slow down and exhaust its prey. . . .
Although many people on the boat were excited to lay eyes on the killer whales, some raised concern about the well-being of the sea lions, according to a photographer on the boat who called the scene “bittersweet” but a necessary part of nature.
‘Of course you feel bad for the sea lion, but you have to remember it’s nature and without sea lions, the pod wouldn’t survive without the food,’ photographer Morgan Quimby said.
Talty, who has seen a sea lion punt “multiple times” in her six years of working at Monterey Bay Whale Watch, said witnessing such a moment is quite rare.
‘You have to be at the right place at the right time,’ Talty said. ‘You could even get the hunt when they’ve already punted the sea lion, because oftentimes that’s done in the beginning of the hunt when they’re first trying to get the sea lion exhausted, separate it if it’s in a group.’
Based on the behavior of the four whales, Talty said it was a training session for the new calf in the pod that was learning how to hunt with its mother, grandmother and aunt.
‘Once they successfully killed a sea lion, the members of the pod took turns displaying attack maneuvers and behaviors to further instruct their newest pod member on how to hunt,’ Monterey Bay Whale Watch said Friday.”
As is often the case this time of year, the dad, grandfather, and uncle were watching football.
Pictures here.
A few days ago I was cycling southbound on the Chehalis Western Trail (CWT), a gem of Thurston County public infrastructure. And thanks to attentive parents, I successfully dodged a few 3 year-oldish riders on those amazingly small bikes that darn near enable babies to ride home from the hospital under their own power.
And I wondered what would it be like to be three years-old, to live through the 21st Century and check out sometime in the 2100’s? On the surface, probably pretty great since technology and medical advances continue to amaze and you don’t have to go the Department of Motor Vehicles in person anymore. And some of us don’t have to go to gas stations. And global poverty is way down. And despite Fox News propaganda, crime is down. And despite serious income inequality and low savings rates, people can find jobs and the economy is resilient.
And yet.
I wouldn’t want to be my tiny CWT cycling friends because if I had to capture the current zeitgeist in one word it’s “sad”. Despite continuing substantive improvements to our quality of life, a critical mass of people in the (dis)United States seem, for lack of a better term, sad. Why is that?
And why don’t I know the answers to that. Does my multi-layered privilege blind me? Short answer, of course.
I don’t think I’ll beat myself up for not knowing, because as I tell my students, “It’s okay to not be okay. And it’s okay to be okay.” Still, I would like to better understand why you are sad or why people you know well are sad. Is it as simple as the rent is too damn high or is it climate anxiety or is the answer more abstract, philosophical, even spiritual?
If you accept my premise, that we’re in the grips of a wave of sadness that shows no signs of abating, please enlighten me as to why. Thank you in advance.
What influences people to go vegetarian?
The take-away. Don’t chalk the bike path with pro-vegan bromides, which is leaflet-like; instead, talk to them.
I’m officially in the ‘squeezing out’ part of summer.
Yesterday, to see whales, the fam traveled from the Southernmost part of Puget Sound to the Northernmost. Off the coast of San Juan Island, our tour operator found two young adult humpbacks. The sight and sound of their exhalations every few minutes were mesmerizing. Off and on we were party to a smallish portion of their backs and small dorsal fins with an occasional flashing of their giant, gray and white splotted flukes.
Then, out of nowhere, one breached, getting about 90% out of the water. Immediately afterwards, their partner did their best to match them. Even having seen whales breach in photographs and video, it was among the most unique/surreal experiences of my life. The boat’s naturalist said they see whales breach about six times a year.
There’s nothing like winning nature’s lottery.
Pressing Pause 