The 'Highest' Spot on Earth?

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Galen Rowell

Due to a bulge around the equator, Ecuador's Mount Chimborazo is, in fact, closer to the moon and outer space than Mount Everest. Corbis

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At 29,035 feet above sea level, Mount Everest is taller than Chimborazo, which is 20,702 feet above sea level (according to Joseph Senne). iStockPhoto.com

Weekend Edition Saturday, April 7, 2007 · Well, we all know that Mount Everest, at 29,035 feet above sea level, is the highest spot on our planet and is likely to remain so for a long, long time… unless we think about the word "highest" in a different way.

Suppose I asked you to find the spot on Earth where you would be closest to the moon, the stars and outer space. In other words, the point on Earth that is closest to "out there."

Most of us, again, would point to Mount Everest.

But here's something you may not know: the Earth is not a perfect sphere. (And by the way, if you want to see a really, really outrageously perfect sphere, check this out.)

The Earth Isn't Perfectly Round

The Earth, it turns out, is more like a beach ball that someone sat on: It has a slightly distended middle.

Mathematicians call this an "oblate spheroid," which means there is a bulge that circles the Earth just below the equator, so anyone standing in that part of the world is already standing "higher," or closer to outer space, than people who aren't on the bulge.

Therefore people in Ecuador, Kenya, Tanzania and Indonesia are all a bit closer to the moon (not much, only about 13 miles closer) than people standing at the North and South poles.

Let's Climb Some Equatorial Mountains

Now to make it even more interesting, suppose we climb to the top of a mountain just south of the equator. There are several famous ones: Mount Kenya in Kenya, Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, and a bunch of not-so-famous ones in the Andes. If you climbed to the top of one of them, would you be closer to space than if you climbed to the top of Mount Everest?

Joseph Senne, an engineer/surveyor, did the calculations and had his numbers checked by the director of New York's Hayden Planetarium, Neil deGrasse Tyson, author of a new book on science and the cosmos, Death By Black Hole: And Other Cosmic Quandaries.

"When all the calculating is over," Senne says, "we think we have discovered the spot on Earth that is closet to the moon and outer space."

Mount…What?

It is Mount Chimborazo in Ecuador. Yes, Ecuador.

Mount Chimborazo, in the Andes, is a 20,000-plus-foot peak sitting on top of a bulge on the Earth. Mount Everest is a 29,000-plus-foot peak sitting lower down on that same bulge. Because Chimborazo is a bump on a bigger part of the bulge, it is higher.

According to Senne, Chimborazo is 1.5 miles higher than Everest! Or, if you will, 1.5 miles closer to outer space.

If you define "highest" as highest from sea level, Mount Everest is still champion.

But if you want to stand on the place on Earth that is closest to the moon, that would be Mount Chimborazo!

Mount McKinley vs. Death Valley?

And as long as we're at it… using this same logic, which do you think is closer to the moon and stars, Death Valley in California or the top of Mount McKinley (also called Denali) in Alaska?

We asked David Metzler, a mountain-climbing mathematician who is also known as "Spireguy," one of Wikipedia's volunteer mountain statisticians, to do the calculations. Hear what he found.

And if you think that is wild, how about this: Which is higher, the Dead Sea (lowest point on the terrestrial Earth) or the top of Mount McKinley? Hear Spireguy's answer.

How about that!

Black Canyon of Yellowstone

by Hope Michaud

Black Canyon YNP- a/k/a Yellowstone River Trail Backpacking Aug-6 -Aug 8, 2003

August 6, Wed. Day one

Mike, Cathy, Annette and I hiked through the Black Canyon of Yellowstone.

We started Wednesday morning from Hellroaring Creek Trailhead with a final destination of Gardiner, Montana and a couple of campsites along the way. The 1st mile was a steep down to a suspension bridge, all was fine and we were thankful (as the guide book said we would be, [the only truth in it]) that we didn't have to hike back up. Then came the fording at mile 2, we had to decide if and where to ford the Hellroaring Creek. We walked an extra � mile or so to a safe spot to ford. There was no way I was going to go across these rapids with a 30-35 lb pack on my back, so I went across packless with Mike. I almost made it across without incident but, at the very end, I slipped off a rock and started to fall but had a great save, as Cathy called it, except I smashed my toes into a rock but I didn't fall in. Then Mike went back to get my pack and then Cathy and Annette's (Cathy had a broken foot). He too went across without incident not once but four times. Everyone was safe on the other side of this wide rushing creek and we were drying our feet and when Mike stood up he scraped his leg on the log (he was attacked by a bear, that's our story and we are going to stick to it). Fording took us about an hour; we probably could have walked the extra mile up the river to the stock bridge in the same amount of time. But now we can all say, "yes, of course I have forded a river before".

All was fine and we were all in the hiking groove, moving right along taking in the views (which there were plenty of), and at one point we were sure we smelt a bear, when we had to hike up this steep skree mountain, nothing to the left (nothing but down, straight down) and nothing to the right to grab on to. Every step we took we slid back, one wrong step and we were broken (maybe not dead, just broken). I have never been so scared in my life. Unfortunately, I had to stop to breathe, bad mistake, because we couldn't get going again, Mike wiggled out of his pack and Cathy threw him a line that he tied to his pack and he crawled up the mountain, while I just held my ground. With him safe at the top he threw me a line and I pulled myself up. We made it up, it took a while but we made it up!

Later on we were in the meadows (the only place where you could look around) and I'm doing just that looking around and I trip on a twig (a little twig at that) and I fall, smash my right arm, knee and leg.

Shortly after my graceful fall we had another scary up, but I don't know if it was all that scary of if it was pure exhaustion by this point, but we made it through that too.

The views were awesome when we could stop to enjoy them. A lot of the hike we had to concentrate on where we were putting our feet, the trail was narrow (barely as wide as we were) and steep. There were a variety of different landscapes. We hiked next to the river, in the meadows, the Sahara (as Annette and Cathy called it) and the mountains, all these scenes were seen in a days hike. At times we felt like we were walking through a graveyard, we saw a lot of skeletons belonging to many different big animals.

After a really long 7 plus mile hike we finally made it to our campsite, totally exhausted. Our designated campsite did not have a bear pole, so we went to the campsite that was next to us. We didn't think that would be a problem since there was no one around and it was already after 7:00 p.m., the odds were slim that anyone would be claiming their campsite at that time. The campsite was beautiful, with great views of the mountains and the water. It reminded me of the campsite in the Smokys but more secluded, (no cars or people), but we would sleep with the sound of the rushing water (I call it my Yanni in the woods). We slept great, as usual.

We were kind of expecting to see some large animals (the evidence of their presence (their poop and let's not forget their skeletons were all around), but we saw none. Maybe tomorrow.

Aug. 7 Thurs. Day two

The Yellowstone River Trail (Black Canyon Trail of the Yellowstone) is rated as moderate in the guidebook- well that would be accurate if you were a mountain goat but for us flatlanders it wasn't just another "walk in the park".

We headed out early on day two and we made great time to our designated campsite at approximately 1:30 p.m.- felt great, ate, played and the views were awesome, unrolled my thermarest and laid on the ground just looking at the magnificent views, including the "Big Sky". We walked down to filter some water and soak our feet in the cool river. We already hiked 6 miles and we decided that we should press on to the next campsite (.9 miles away) so that we would only have 5 miles the next day out to our car. So after a couple hour break we walked on and up and up and up some more, hanging on the edge of the mountain, nothing but rocks and rapids below, (one wrong step and we weren't broken we were dead). We had an 1800 feet elevation gain in those .9 miles. It sucked badly, it literally sucked the air out of my lungs and at one point I found a place to sit (which was good because I either sat down or fell down at which time I had the worse asthma attack I have ever had) and I started to throw up and after I finally was able to breathe I felt really weak. The funny thing was I had lost my map some miles back and this day hiker found it and returned it to me. She said she thought she would never catch up to us (a little bit of trail magic). Afterwards, we pushed on and on and up and up.

On we continued and the views kept getting better. The walls of the canyon really are black. We also saw Knowles Falls, a 15-foot waterfall, which plummets into the Yellowstone River, that can only be seen if you are hiking this trail. Surprisingly, enough we still saw no big animals.

We made it to our campsite after 1 1/2 - 2 hours after we left the other site. This campsite was more beautiful than the last-we had a useable beach where we cooled off and played and sort of cleaned up. After cooling off and relaxing a little while we made dinner which I must say was a 5 star dinner for sure, we had Mountain House Potatoes, Broccoli and Cheese, Ramon noodles and Mountain House Raspberry Crumble (the package says serving for two, but it was enough for four). It was really, really good.

We were tired and heading for bed at 7:30 p.m., but we decided that was a little too early so why not play some cards. We found out there is a reason we don't play cards too often, nobody knows how, Mike knows Poker, I know Rummy and Cathy and Annette (who have no children) know Go Fish, so Go Fish it was. None of us knew the rules so we kept changing them to suit our needs at the moment and at one point we were trying to combine it with Uno.

The views at this campground were even better than at the last one. We were sure we would see a bear- we were in prime bear country-but no, we made it through another day not seeing any big animals. Maybe tomorrow.

It was still light out at 8:30 p.m. when we decided to turn in for the night and again we fell asleep with the lull of the rapids (Yanni in the woods). I slept great, (I usually do sleep better on my mat and in my tent than at home). Then in the middle of the night I woke up with this anxiety about the next days hike. The blasted guidebook said that we were going to have a steep up and level and then walk along the clay cliff sides- the book also said that the trail was in great shape and the only dangerous part is the clay cliffs, no mention of the other scary ups at all. I finally fell back asleep and at 5:00 a.m. I was awoken by what at first I thought was a spot light, but soon realized it was just Annette with her headlamp on.

Aug. 8, Fri. Day three

We got up early and we were packed up and ready to go by 6:00 a.m. Not bad since we had to get more water, eat breakfast (Poptarts, yuck) and break down camp. We could see the sun started to rise over the mountains in the distance and it casted a shadow on the mountains that surrounded us. It was very beautiful and peaceful and we all immediately got into the hiking groove.

Today's hike took us through and up the boulder fields, and across the meadows. The views included such things as cacti and more skeletons. We were glad it wasn't later in the day when we passed through here, because it would have been extremely hot like the Sahara again. It was very open in the meadows but at least I didn't get that feeling like I was going to fall off the side of a mountain. In retrospect it was better that we did that extra mile yesterday otherwise it would have been that much hotter and longer. We still haven't seen any big animals.

There were some more ups. So we went up and then down, up some more and then in a meadow (I'll take the prairies any day). The ups weren't as scary as the previous ones and then we could see what loomed ahead of us in the distance, the "dangerous is wet" clay cliff mountains, thank God it wasn't wet. My heart sank, I had butterflys in my stomach and I didn't look forward to it at all, and I could feel this sudden rush of anxiety. Before we even got to them we could see the ups and the shear drops hundreds of feet above the water. On we climbed up and again having to watch every step we took. The wind was very strong and at times it felt like we would be blown off the side of the mountain. It was not a short stretch as the stupid guidebook suggested; it was long, very long.

Finally, we made it through that area and we saw what we have been looking for (not the big animals) - the city of Gardnier. What a sight. We hiked on and when I saw the famous Yellowstone Arch (the north entrance gate) it dawned on me that the only way to see the Arch from where I was standing (the other side of the Yellowstone River), Knowles Falls and all of the other views that we saw, (and the possibility of seeing some big animals), was by our own feet and that we had to endure all those ups and downs and of course some more ups. At that moment the realization of this fact made all of those scary parts and ups and downs seem worthwhile (or was it the fact that we were almost done, I'm not so sure), but I do know I had a great sense of accomplishment right then. On we hiked after a few pictures and believe it or not, we had more ups through the rocks and over somewhat dried up riverbeds and some not so dried up riverbeds (the only place on the trail that threatened to wet our feet, except for the ford at mile two) and some more ups.

We did it 18.5 plus miles. For a long while I will stick to the Florida Trail-where the ups, if any, are small and there are no cliff overhangs.

Annette and I tried to count how many people we saw from the suspension bridge (the usual place for day hikers to turn around), we counted 3 backpackers, and Mike and I saw the day hiker with the map, other than that we saw no one. The seclusion of this trail was great. No people and no big animals. There were a couple of things we learned, the first one is take the stupid guidebook and throw it in the fire pit, because after all it was all lies and the second thing is put the deck of cards in the fire pit also, and carry a deck of Uno cards, because if nothing else we know how to play Uno. Finally, we never did see any big animals, (the kind of thing that makes you go huh).

This is my take on our adventure in Yellowstone National Park, I survived, and will be back after I forget!

Hope Michaud

About the Author

Hope (Gumby) Michaud,Wife, Mother and avid hiker.

Mt. Madison in Early Spring

by Samuel Brown

Mark and I decided to celebrate the Memorial Day weekend with some activity up in the northern Presidentials. We had thought some of doing a traverse, but we recognized that we are not yet fully capable of such an undertaking in winter conditions, and--wishing to live for several more seasons of winter mountaineering--we decided to do an ascent of just one peak. Even in Spring the mountains are snow-covered and dangerous.

We started out at the Dolly Copp campground, site of some of the greatest (was that cheesiest?) car camping around: kids on training wheel bikes, big ugly trucks, tents the size of football stadiums, and hungry fires lit in the rusted maws of tired pits. We arrived about 10pm. The night was cool and sweet, about 45F and perfectly clear. We hiked in about 1 mile, when we realized that if we were going to make our early start, we would need to retire shortly. We immediately began seeking a tent site, no small task in the dark night with only a headlamp to guide you through the thick foliage. I made it about 80� or so from the trail (regulations say you need to be 200� but it was getting way too complicated) and found a tiny spot flat enough to support the two of us. I called Mark over, we threw up the tent and passed out.

About 7.30 am we arose to a warm, beautiful, day matched by the cheerful tones of a bird�s courtship cry. I stepped out of the tent and collapsed laughing. Turns out most of the 80� were parallel with the path, and we were at most 30� from the trail. Embarrassed, I sought to expiate my guilt by making breakfast. I found a gurgling brook attempting to sing a duet with the amorous bird. She agreeably gave me 3L of her liquid assets, and within five minutes a steaming pot of flavorful �fruit and cream� oatmeal was heading down the hatch. We set out just before 9 am, hopping along the Great Gulf Trail for 4.5 engaging miles. For most of its path, the trail rides the banks of the Peabody River. Broad and shallow, rocky, and overgrown with vegetation, this river reminded me of my intellectual character and was a pleasant companion.

We enjoyed the fine weather: sunlight filtered by the branches and leaves of the tall trees to a manageable stream, 45-50F, low humidity, and made good, quick progress for several miles. We only made one false turn, occasioned by the kindness performed by other campers of turning an arrow sign upside down and setting us onto a cross country ski trail. Soon the trail dropped steeply to cross the Peabody, one of many shallow river crossings. The going became a bit sketchier, with large patches of consolidated snow surrounded at random intervals by fluffy snow, ready to drop the unwary leg an inseam below its mate. The rocks became larger and more slippery, and the going became slower.

At about 12.30pm we reached the Six Husbands turnoff and decided to have lunch, which consisted of cold beans from a can and some granola bars. The view was perfect, the increasingly constant companionship of snow the welcome touch of a familiar hand. We were delighted to find the general resurrection of Spring included the ironic persistence of Winter. Perhaps shameless Persephone had indulged her pomegranate addiction just once more, for our sakes. We thought about making her our patron goddess. I just hope Demeter doesn�t strike us dead for supporting her incarceration.

After a rest and some grub, we set out toward the Buttress trail. Six Husbands Trail was completely covered in 2.5� of perfect snow, unmarred but for the single set of snowshoe tracks heading opposite our direction. We quickly made our way to the Buttress turnoff, having donned snowshoes and begun delighting in the perfect arch support of a column of soft snow. The Buttress Trail winds a traverse across the northeast face of Mt. Jefferson (which owns no slaves but us), up a touch higher, then across the northeast face of Mt. Adams, over a Col with a pond dubbed Star Lake, and down to the Madison Hut, an AMC-owned cabin. Going was slow. The trees stood as tightly linked sentinels, and the height of the snow placed our midriffs at normal eye level and caused several altercations with "low" hanging branches desperate to borrow our ice axes from our packs.

We quickly reached a boulder field that was too much boulder for snowshoes and too much snow for boulder hopping. So we yanked off the shoes and made our way deliberately across very exposed (fortunately not to the prevailing winds, though) rock, relying on poles and axes as third and fourth feet, and slipping just enough to feel stupid but not enough to be truly worried. No injuries were sustained, and we began the next phase, a steep half mile in deep snow due East. We made extensive use of the rest step and finally, huffing and puffing, made it to a moderate Northbound traverse, gradually gaining altitude, until we were 400' below Adams' summit. At that point, the fun began in earnest. The views were spectacular: the ridge that is the Northern Presidentials outlines the upper border of the Great Gulf, which is no misnomer. Washington, solid and ominous but for the lock of winding hair that is the Auto Road, squats at the southern edge. Covered in snow, the ridge extends up Clay, Jefferson, Adams, Madison and several subsidiary summits, named only to keep maps cluttered. The cool embrace of this sweeping, hoary ridge continually beckoned to us from behind, but we were resolute in the fulfillment of our goal. Besides, we were tiring somewhat and the day was drawing on. It was time to finish the hike.

We began the traverse of Mt. Adams, somewhat disturbed by the avalanche-safety parameters we were violating. The slope was above tree line (bad), about 35-40 degrees (bad), northeastern in late season (bad), covered in freshly fallen snow (bad) that poorly bonded with the consolidated layer below (bad), and the sun was decreasing the stability of the snow (not good). It was too late to turn back, though, as it was now about 4pm. So we walked quietly and attempted to stay within the tracks of those who had passed before. Even so, periodically little slabs would slip off and fortunately grind to an immediate halt. Not being an expert, I cannot comment on the risk we incurred. I also know that I don�t plan on doing it again, unless and until I am a confident judge of avalanche conditions.

The relatively smooth summit of Mt. Adams was safeguarded by the rugged, adolescent mini-peak John Quincy Adams, which sits like a gendarme just north of the older appearing summit. We continued on toward the Col, excruciatingly slowly, alternating the traverse with fairly steep climbing. The weather was looking a little ominous, I was wearing a total of 10 pounds of Hypalon tennis rackets and plastic boots on my feets and feeling the load on my thighs, and my mind rushed back to a near debacle the season before atop Washington. I was intensely relieved when I finally made the Col, saw the lake, and rushed to a view of the Madison Hut. It was 5 pm. While waiting for Mark, I started inspecting the rime. The winds, usually from the West, drive freezing rain in almost horizontal sheets, and the accumulated ice resembles a windsock flying into the wind.

We hurried down to the hut, took care of biological business at both ends of the GI spectrum, and took stock of our situation. The clouds continued to threaten immediately overhead, but to the West skies were clear and wind was not moving too quickly. I was tired and wanted to avoid a fiasco above tree line (we still had to summit Madison and make 2miles and change to get back below tree line), so I proposed camping near the hut for the night. Mark, wisely, proposed that we plug on as quickly as was reasonable to avoid an excruciating Sunday morning hike. I finally acquiesced and began a quick push for the summit .04 miles over and 500 feet up. In retrospect, Mark was wiser than I. At the time, I was a little spooked, given the late hour and the recent binge of mountaineering disaster stories I had consumed. We made half a mile in half an hour and found a fine view on the summit, although the view from the Buttress Trail had often excelled it.

We continued on the Osgood Trail along the ridge for about a mile of attention-requiring boulders, when I encountered three curious young fellows. One, sporting combat boots and an overgrown mohawk sometimes hidden beneath an OR waterproof sombrero, turned to me and jabbered something mostly unintelligible about "soup". I nodded politely and he continued in his excited skater slang about the excitement of the mountains, the wonders of this difficult weather. The more he talked, the more I hoped that he would be okay, that the weather would hold up. These are the statistic-making wise men who add to the death tolls of the Northern Presidentials. They warned us of difficult "sheet ice" just below tree line, and I motioned to my crampons with the knowing, priggish look that must infuriate those who are not gearheads. My young co-conversant was not deterred. Easily excited to embellished stories of bravado and derring-do he occupied my attention for about ten minutes, after which Mark appeared, winded. He had slipped and fallen, chest-first, into a sharp rock. Somewhat shaken, he was nevertheless fine and ready to proceed. The long hours of difficult hiking had begun to take their toll, however, and he soon fell onto his knee, while I hyperextended my knee by stepping hard onto snow that was merely the scalp of a rock. We soon reached timberline and breathed a sigh of relief. It was just before 8pm; we had made the two miles in as many hours, about what we had expected. We were excited to find the ice, eager to use our crampons once more this season. Then we found it, steep but easy snow, amenable to plunge-stepping or boot-glissading. We chuckled in that elitist way only intermediate amateur mountaineers love, and began sliding the "treacherous" quarter mile. It was exhilarating and made me want to do some actual skiing. Amid juvenile yells of glee, we slipped and skidded our way rapidly down the quarter mile run with no lift service. Patches of true ice only increased the excitement and caused Mark to have a difficult first lesson in the standing glissade, which resulted in a sore bum and a broken ski pole. Then we hit mud for a while, completely covering our boots in thick, sticky paste. We eventually found what must have been melting snow when our expert guides had ascended. After 5 min of doing the tree Tango (jumping from tree to tree in order to avoid walking on the ice-covered path), Mark wisely suggested donning our crampons. Delighted to finally use my crampon bag, I hungrily pulled off my crampons and threw them on, all the while balancing on a small patch of dirt just above a tree trunk on a steep ice-encapsulated patch of trail.

The operation was a success and the miracle of ice travel (which still amazes me) began in earnest. Unfortunately, our ice-bonding adventure only lasted 20 min after which our crampon points became skewers for dirt shishkebabs, and we quickly removed them. The thick mud soon regressed to insipid, dark soup, as we walked down the erstwhile trail now brook. Finally, 3 miles off the summit, now hiking in the darkness without a moon, we reached the Osgood camp site, replete with bear warnings and tent platforms that look like decks with no house. Exhausted, we searched out a spot on the rolling ocean of running water and dark mud and could find nothing. Looking as pathetic as possible, we began asking people on the platforms (many of them only half-used by unpleasant-looking college types) if they knew where we could stay. Finally, a pleasant engineer named Dick said "I don�t own this; you can put your tent up here"). We quickly and unashamedly accepted and began to set up the tent, quite a project in the tiny corner of the platform that remained after his 3person Kelty had assumed its position. But we managed, with some creative knots and some guy lines, to get the tent up. Figuring we were safe from rain, we left the fly off. We made some couscous, chatted with the now completely inebriated Dick and headed for bed. About three am, I awoke to humming bird kisses and realized that the rain was coming through the screen. We dashed out in our underwear, threw the fly haphazardly on, and fell back into our beds. The rain continued for two hours, and Dick, eager to harmonize, started a loud struggle with sleep apnea. I didn�t sleep well, but I was contentedly safe. We arose at 6 am and dashed home, making it just in time for me to catch church.

About the Author

Sam is a physician in Boston who has trouble making it back to clinic from the Whites. Additional content is available at http://fas.harvard.edu/~smbrown/outdoor.html.

The Great Smoky Mountains National Park -- where fire and water meet

by David Jones

We're going to the mountains, my folks said one morning when I was maybe eight years old. It may have been Easter or Memorial Day weekend, I don't remember. But it was my first significant trip out of the Delta flatlands around Memphis. Once past Nashville on I-40, I got my first experience with relief; rolling hills with the promise of bigger things just a couple more hours over the horizon.

That night, we got into Gatlinburg, a small resort town on the edge of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park (GSMNP), so it wasn't until the next morning that I caught my first sight of the mountains. Stepping out onto the balcony of our hotel room, I saw the mountains in their morning glory, brooding and hazy from a rain the night before.

On our daily drives through the park on the Little River Road, I also remember seeing the hikers coming out of the woods with their bright blue and red Jansports and Keltys. My dad, a sometimes-backpacker himself, told me about the men and women who hauled kitchen, bedroom and bathroom into the mountains with them to spend days wandering the trails, climbing mountains we couldn't drive to, taking in views we couldn't know about.

For the drive back to Memphis, they bought me a copy of Harvey Manning's Backpacking: One Step at a Time, and from that point I knew my real home didn't have a roof.

I lost my rookie backpacking stripes in the Smokies, at the tragically old age of twenty-seven. It was just an overnighter, sustained by a pack full of shiny new equipment. Disgustingly out of shape and woefully optimistic, it was all I could do to make the five miles to Walnut Bottoms backcountry campsite. It couldn't have been later than five o'clock when I made camp, but after eating one of the dozen or so bagels I had packed, I creaked and moaned into my sleeping bag and started my backcountry career.

The oval-shaped GSMNP covers over a half-million acres on the Tennessee/ North Carolina border. Gently rolling mountains, crashing creeks, tumbling waterfalls, flora reminiscent of a Tarzan movie -- they're the vital organs of the Park, and can be found at almost any point within its confines. Treeline doesn't exist here, though geologists tell us it did at one time. Water, for millions of years falling through and falling on the mountains, has worn the once-mighty peaks down below the upper limits of vegetation.

The western half of the park hosts the constantly-crowded Cades Cove exhibit, Elkmont and Tremont campgrounds, and Sugarlands Visitors Center. Access to Clingman's Dome, the highest peak in the park at 6,642 feet ASL, is also from this half.

To many, the eastern side of the park offers inroads to the better backcountry. Access from the east, though not difficult, is more remote. Fewer attractions exist there for the motorhome-inclined, and from Appalachian hamlets like Cosby and Mount Sterling, Dollywood is just a bad dream.

Regardless of where you start your hike, you'll be better off if you keep a few points in mind during the trip planning process. The Appalachian Trail, the grandfather of all long-distance treks, bisects the park and roughly follows the Tennessee/Carolina state line. Plan a trip involving an overnight stay in one of the AT shelters, and you better plan on spending the night with a dozen friends you haven't yet met. If the social scene bothers you, well . . . hike somewhere else; GSMNP is within a day's drive of nearly half the population of the United States. Enough said.

For those who may be accustomed to the Rocky Mountain ways, remember this is a national park; backcountry camping is limited to established sites and shelters, each holding maximum occupancy loads and requiring advance reservations; I suggest way in advance, especially for holiday and peak periods.

If a picture of some Woodstock-reminiscent scene is coming into your head, with tents and bonfires and guitar players spread out from horizon to horizon, ignore it. You will see other hikers, you may sleep closer than you want to another tent, but this is the Smokies; you don't come here to laze around camp for days on end. There's lots to see, and the only way you can see it is to walk. Expansive views are nice when they happen, but this country is thickly forested and unwilling to be trod upon off-trail. Microviews are the rule here; keep walking and you'll be repaid handsomely.

GSMNP sports a high concentration of black bears; failure to bag and hang your food is inviting Ursa to your camp. Several campsites such as Walnut Bottoms have communal bearproof containers -- use them. A taste for human food is a death warrant for bears and deer alike.

Water is the blood of this park, and there is usually plenty of it, either running through the hundreds of miles of creeks or falling from the eternally hazy sky. Common sense rules apply -- boil, treat or filter all water.

Though many backcountry purists advise against publishing the whereabouts of a favorite place, there is a 3- or 4-day loop trip that encompasses everything I love about the Smokies -- babbling brooks, Tolkien-like forests, intoxicating smells and well-earned views. I won't give a step-by-step account, so you'll just have to trust me.

From I-40 in North Carolina, take the Waterville exit and follow the signs to the Baxter Creek trailhead. Take Baxter Creek trail to the top of Mount Sterling, and reward yourself with a view from the top of the abandoned firetower there (start this hike early in the day -- it's 6 steep miles from the trailhead to the first campground). An easy 5.5 mile walk the next day will take you over the Mount Sterling Ridge trail to the shelter at Laurel Gap, and will leave you rested for a long hike out. Get up early the next day and take your time going down the Gunter Fork trail to the Big Creek trail, and back to your waiting car. This last leg is about 12 miles, but it's all downhill. If you have the time and inclination, there is a campsite about halfway down where Gunter Fork trail meets Big Creek. Send me an e-mail when you get back.

For further reading, there is an excellent guidebook, The Best of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, published by Mountain Laurel Place, Norris, Tenn. But the best guide is published by the Sierra Club; The Sierra Club Guide to the GSMNP, or something like that. I bought one, gave it to a friend who promptly moved it with him to Alaska, and have been looking for another copy ever since. It's a little blue book, and if you find a copy, please buy two; I'll gladly pay for yours if you can find me one, too. Trails Illustrated publishes the best map available, #229.

About the Author

If you're in Kansas City, Missouri on a sunny Sunday afternoon, stop by and have a beer on the porch with David and Donna Jones (ddjones@gvi.net), their dog Boo,

Kilimanjaro: Notes on a trip to the roof of Africa

by Ric from Oregon

Today we leave Kenya for the Tanzania border. For the first time it is obvious to me why anyone, like the colonial British, would Day Four, Tanzania, 2/13/02

Today we leave Kenya for the Tanzania border. For the first time it is obvious to me why anyone, like the colonial British, would come all the way here from rainy London and then never want to leave. Lovely tropical morning. Drove across town and out across Masai tribal land. Many cattle and goats. Saw Burros and Camels, domesticated for tribal nomadic life. More rolling hills and greener the further we go. Spent the night in Arusha hotel, after thunderstorm has knocked out the power. Had dinner and went to bed by candle light Had two mosquito attacks in the night, think I smacked them both. Closed window and took malaria pill in the morning. About 5am the local Muslims started their chant for the call to prayer over a loud speaker, then about 6am the Christian bells started and then we arose to the chanting of the local chapter of some eastern philosophy, (Buddhist?). Very religious neighborhood.

Day Five, Marangu Gate, 2/14/02

The power is still off in the hotel. Shaved, for the last time, by flashlight. Went over our gear and left baggage that we did not want to take up the hill. Load up and head for the Marangu Gate. We get our gear ready while our guide Peter organizes his porters. The porters have their loads weighed, and entered into a logbook. They get paid based on the load they carry. No one may carry more than 15 kilos (33lbs.) We had to sign in at the office, give passport number, etc, very controlled. We four had a group circle hug and agreed to be helpful, positive, and work together.

We began about 10am. We took the side trail, to the left, to see the waterfall. About 45 minutes up the trail while we stopped to look for monkeys, it started to rain. Since this is the dry season we thought it would be a short rain. It poured, and poured. I used my umbrella and by the time we decided we needed all our rain gear we were soaked. Over an inch per hour for 4 � hours. We skipped lunch, had a candy bar and pushed on. We finally arrived at Mandara Hut about 3pm and got a hut for 4, all together. Got dry as possible and lunch. Kurt has discovered his camera floating in four inches of water at the bottom of his daypack, ruined he thinks.

The huts are A-frame wood buildings with sheet metal roofs. Our 4-person size room has three bunks on the floor and one "upper" bunk on the back wall, mattresses and pillows provided. The guys take the floor and Chris has the upper. Heard from Peter later that a German blond lady, we see sometimes on the trail, had come in wet from the downpour. She came into the main dining hut and stripped down to her panties in the middle of the crowd to change into dry clothes. Caused quite a stir.

Mandara hut is at 9,000 feet. First hut was built here in 1898 by the Germans. Latrine facility is an actual flush porcelain unit. Much graffiti on the walls and I note the very Irish name of Bosco McShane. I promise myself that if I ever write a detective novel the hero will be named Bosco McShane.

Day Six. Mandara Hut. 2/15/02

Start out working up toward Homboro Hut at 12,200 feet. We pass many people coming down who had summited the day before. Some look pretty beat, two in stretchers. Japanese man being carried down. We were in rain forest yesterday and now it has become moors, dry grasslands, and unusual plants. Made Homboro hut at 2:45, got assigned to our hut, had a snack, then nap and supper. Chicken and rice, and soup. Although crew does a great job of cooking a very nice meal, with the exception of Dan, our appetites are failing. Knowing that they carried every morsel up the mountain, we try to eat, or at least push it around on our plate a little.

Day Seven, Horombo Hut, 2/16/02

We will stay here for two nights to get used to the altitude. Slept well last night, asleep at 9:45. Slept thru �til 3:45, and had to make run to the comfort station. (not as nice as the Bosco McShane memorial latrine) Slept little off and on �til 6ish. Kurt slept 9 hours straight. Taking diamox for prevention of altitude illness. No problems yet. Took training hike up to viewpoint at 14,200 to see Mawenzi peak, which is the secondary peak off to the east. It is supposed to help with the acclimation process to take a day hike high and then to sleep low. On the way back once again it started to rain, then hail. Suited up, no problem.

Day Eight, to Kibo Hut, 2/17/02

It's hard to leave the comfort of the hut after two nights here. We know the next 48 hours will be tough. Noticed that coffee was not on the breakfast table this morning. Peter says, "no coffee" from here on up. We get the idea that he has done this before. (his 507th climb) We head out for Kibo Hut at 15,500 feet. Somewhat nervous, know you'll be hurting yourself for the next couple of days.

Kibo Hut had been visible from the Mawenzi viewpoint yesterday, and it looked to be WAY up there. Out on to the saddle, nothing but desert and sand and rock. Peter says to keep ears covered, as the cold wind will give you headache. Longer distance than they say. Stop for snack break in the rocks, just before left turn up to the hut. Very bleak area, clouds on the peak.

Hut has one dining area, and about 5 or 6 sleeping rooms full of bunk beds. We get a room with about 10 Germans, one of whom is the Big Blond. Kurt, Dan and I take turns on watch in case she decides to change clothes in public again. No luck. Chris is ill, she cannot take diamox, due to being allergic. I take my last pill at lunch. It starts to snow, almost white out conditions. We get to bed at 6pm and must be up and ready to summit at midnight! (must summit in the early morning to get a clear view, and must not be caught on top when afternoon storms roll in)

Day Nine, Kibo Hut to the Summit, 2/18/02

We got maybe 3 hours sleep, in bed at 6pm, but Germans are messing around with their gear, making noise until 7:15pm or so. They finally hush. People are up making noise about 11:10 or so, up we get. Multiple layers on, hats, mitts, down parka. Scared, slight nausea took pepto bismal pill. Snow has stopped, couple inches on the ground. Headlamps on, ready to go at about 12:03am. Book says it's the distance of nine Empire State Buildings from here to the top. Can see the lights of several crews ahead of us higher up the slope. Ass't guide Dismas leads, Kurt and Dan and then Chris. I am last with Peter. Very disorienting, spotlight on the snow leaves you no perspective, sort of a tunnel vision. I find I'm too hot, take off down layer. Fingers of right hand go numb for a while, normal for diamox.

Can see other team's headlights up ahead, almost straight up. Stars are out and very bright, notice that the North Star is not visible as we are south of the equator. Steep switchback trail, scree, sand, rocks. Very aware that I have to go up for 6 hours, when the sun comes up, should be at the top. Peter and I are probably 15 minutes or so behind the others. I use Peter's ice axe to dig a cat hole off to the side, relieve the cramps. About 2 hours up we stop for rest in Hans Meyer Cave. Eat candy bar, tastes like dirt. Only 10 minutes, feet are cold. Back to the climb.

With lack of oxygen, it's hard to climb fast enough to keep warm. Any change in breathing rhythm, taking a drink or speaking makes me out of breath. Try to keep my mind concentrated, but Peter keeps singing, very distracting. Glare on the snow is very tiring to my eyes. Realize that when I close my eyes for a moment to rest them from the glare I fall asleep, right on my feet. Happens several times.

Dismas calls down to us. Chris is sick; she waits on us to catch up to her. I thought she would have felt better if she had not tried to keep up with them. She thought Peter and I were right behind her; didn't realize her pace was so fast. We climb up to her and Kurt, Dan and Dismas go on ahead. We move slowly. I am now taking two and sometimes three breaths per step. I think it's maybe 10 degrees F. Peter says he thinks maybe 0 degrees F. Water bottles are freezing. Chris has to throw up a couple of times. I get ahead of them by 10 minutes or so. Sky is getting light in the east and I know we are getting close. Trail ends near top and have to scramble over rocks at the lip. Suddenly over, and looking down a few feet at a sign that says, "Gilman's Point". Wow! Lots of Germans and Norwegians around taking pictures. I wait on Chris to come up. Sun coming up now. Kurt and Dan have gone on ahead to the summit at Uhuru Peak, probably another 1-� hours. Chris and Peter come up and we take pictures. Looks like most everyone else is going back down after making Gilman's Point. (on the rim of the crater, but not the high point.)

We start out moving clockwise around the rim trail. We know we've got it now, there's only about another 900 feet of vertical distance to go. We meet Kurt and Dan coming down and get pictures of the "gang of four" near the summit. Continue on. Close to glaciers, some hundreds of feet high. Can see down the Barafu route, some people way down there, either coming or going.

I arrive at summit by myself, maybe 6 or 8 minutes ahead of Chris and Peter. Alone at the top! It's about 8:20am, not a soul in sight. Next to the "welcome" sign is a square rock, maybe a foot high. I stand up on it, and am the highest person on the African continent, plus 12 inches. Chris and Peter arrive and we take pictures. Temperature must be up to 25 or 30 F, strong sun and some gusty, but not steady, wind. 19,340 feet above sea level. I notice that my ears are ringing. Can see the ash pit inside the lava dome in the crater. General view down to the plains is hazy and cloudy. At the top for only 10 minutes or so. As we start down, Peter kicks around in the snow and hands Chris and I a piece of lava rock, about the right size for a paperweight. Although we are not supposed to remove anything from inside the National Park, we both pocket our chunk.

Very tired and motivated to get down; seems long way back to Gilman's Point. Get over the lip and start down to Kibo Hut a few minutes ahead of Chris and Peter. Water is about gone. Hut doesn't seem that far away, but after an hour of going straight down, still seems the same distance. Sun is intense. Become very upset that "they" expect us to do this distance, my thinking is not very logical at this elevation. Maybe 2 � hours down, endless walk. Kurt and Dan meet me outside the hut. I am in serious need of water and or juice. Cannot see Chris and Peter behind me. One of the porters gives me a bottle of pineapple juice, but it's too sweet to stomach.

Cannot believe we still have to descend to Horombo Hut this afternoon. Exhausted. I go to the bunk and lay down for 25 minutes or so, until Chris arrives. Peter gives us about 30 minutes to rest and pack up. Kurt, Dan, and the porters leave ahead of us. We still have 3 hours of descent to go. Must get down to Horombo Hut at 12,200 feet to spend the night. Others are moving into our room on their way up the mountain so we have to clear out. Hit the trail about 12:30 or so. Chris and I set a good brisk pace and feel much better after we warm up.

Cross the barren saddle and down into the moors. Foot sore and ready to sleep, it's much further than the route markers and maps indicate. Realize that tomorrow night should see us in a hotel with hot showers. We arrive to find we are once again in a four-person hut and ready to sleep; last night on the mountain.

Day Ten, Back to Marangu Gate, 2/19/02

Up and on down the trail. Tonight will be hot shower and real bed. Comfortable walk, all downhill from here, although feet a little sore. We pass many groups on their way up the mountain. There seems to be a psychological pattern at work. Groups bunch up in tight crowd to a ridiculous degree. Some are in two files, shoulder to shoulder with only 5 or 6 inches from their nose to the backpack ahead of them. Probably is a reaction to fear or uncertainty. Act like they've never been in "the woods" before. Perhaps they haven't

When we reach Mandara hut on the way down, we'll have lunch and be expected to pass out tips to the crew. A book I read said if a porter has one trip per month, he'll make about the same annual salary as a local schoolteacher.

We get into Mandara for lunch and everyone lines up for tips. I pass out the envelopes and we get an embrace from each of the crew. I have an opportunity to visit my old friend Bosco McShane.

We start the last leg of our trek, back to the gate at park headquarters. Can't wait to get hot bath tonight. Feet are sore. I meet a group coming up the mountain in tight formation, shoulder to shoulder and six inches apart. Looks absolutely ridiculous. I step to the side to let this centipede like formation pass, and sensing they may speak English, I pop off a smart alec remark. "Hey, if you guys can get just a little closer together, you can avoid seeing ANY of Africa." They smile mutely as they motor past in lock step.

Feet are sore as we pound them down hill. Finally, I get to the gate, headquarters, and the end of the trail. I'm the first here. The snack bar beckons and while I fumble for the correct currency another American buys me a coke. He has had trouble with the altitude and has had to leave his team and come down the mountain. He now has to kill three days waiting on them. Dan later tells me that he had talked to him earlier, and that the guy has only one lung! No wonder he had to come down.

I sit out front of the snack bar and nurse my coke, as the rest of the team dribble in. In addition to the local currency, only American dollars are acceptable here, even the Europeans have to come with yankee greenbacks. Back in the shop to look at books, postcards, etc I see the Big Blonde German is trying to buy a coke and candy bar with a $50 bill, which is too big for the clerk to accept. I step over and pay for it with left over Tanzanian shillings. She is happy with that and offers me half her candy bar, which I refuse. I don't tell her that we've had her under surveillance for a week.

We fight off a few of the last souvenir hawkers and load up the van for our drive to Arusha and a real hotel. This will be our last night together as a team. Kurt will be leaving us tomorrow to go on a three-day safari to Ngorongoro Crater. We all meet for pre-supper beers and then have a nice meal. We seem to be the only people in the place. I go to bed first, after only 1 liter of Tusker Beer. I hear later that Kurt was on his 5th liter.

About the Author

Ric is a traveler from Oregon.

A Walk in the Grand Canyon

by David Hanson

Grand Canyon
2005

September 29

The alarm clock buzzed loudly at 5:30 A.M., telling Kim and I that our long anticipated adventure was finally starting. I nervously gulped down two quick cups of Starbucks over a large helping of Greasy Dave�s Egg Surprise, and then we drove a few short blocks to our friend�s house. Gary, Steve and Faye were all waiting for us, and after promising Karen to return her man in six short days, we were off for a two and a half hour, 140 mile trip to Monument Point on the north rim of the Grand Canyon.

I hadn�t had a good night�s sleep in three nights. Every time that I would start to nod off, I would wake up in a state of terror, suffering from night mares of hauling my 50-60 pound pack down into the canyon. It had caused me so much discomfort that Kim and I had went out and specially purchased a 2.4 pound tent and sleeping bags so small and light that they could easily be lost in the average backpack.

After only a few minutes on the Bill Hall Trail I found that my fear was baseless. The eleven- one liter water bottles, groceries for a week and three pair of socks proved to be not only manageable, but borderline tolerable. My skinny little Norwegian legs were up to the test.

The first section of the trail entailed navigating down an extremely steep, skree covered series of switch backs. At the Cocinio, we found ourselves facing a 15 foot drop off, which Gary and Steve expertly descended with their packs on. Faye, Kim and I elected to pull off our bags and hand them down to the daredevils below.

When we finally broke into the relatively flat, slick rock covered Esplanade, we all sighed deeply knowing that we were soon to drop a large amount of our weight when we cached our water for the trip out.

We set up camp that night at the Tapeats amphitheater, otherwise known as �black fly, drive you absolutely insane point.� After a rather grim dinner due to water conservation, we all perched ourselves on the edge of a 1500 foot cliff and watched the sun go down. Simply put, it was a magical experience that is well beyond my feeble powers of description. God started with an orangish red sky, which contrasted magnificently with the sheer, black streaked, red canyon walls and then for good measure, added a slight hint of sage colored vegetation.

It was a hard night in the tent that night. All I could think about was water. I had carried so much and now I could drink so little. And to make matters worse, a few scant inches from my head was a full water bottle, flaunting the fact that I was supposed to save it for the next morning�s coffee. First I came down with a severe case of cotton mouth, then I could feel my tongue starting to swell. Even though it was pitch dark in the tent, I was sure that my face was flushed and that I was well on the road to dehydration. Finally, after thrashing around for about two hours in misery, I reached over Kim�s head and grabbed the bottle, gulping half of it before she had a chance to ask me what I was doing. It was the sweetest, most wonderful liquid that I had ingested in years. It was as good as a Guinness in a frosted mug, and if you know me, that�s a mighty tall statement.

September 30

Sunrise over the Surprise Valley exceeded the wonders of the previous night�s sunset. It was so magnificent that I even forgot that I was drinking dehydrated coffee crystals.

The steep descent off the Tapeats Amphitheater and down into the Surprise Valley didn�t seem too evil since we were only carrying minimal water. When we reached Thunder River Falls, a good size creek spouting out a hole in the Muda limestone wall which towered hundreds of feet above us, it was perfect timing. I was hot, out of water and ready for a break. Kim and I sat below the water fall, savoring the cool rooster tail spray of the 45 degree water and the natural air conditioning that came with it. We took our sweet time pumping water through our purifiers, knowing that we would be out walking in the over 90 degree heat again in minutes.

The afternoon took us down a steep descent along Tapeats Creek. Twice we were forced to drop our packs and put on our sandals to ford the stream, which considering the temperature, was a very favorable idea. After making the second ford, I convinced my pack mates that we needed a swim. Four times I rode the current of the creek down through a short, deep hole to crawl out and do it over again. It was so right, so refreshing.

Even though I thought we had the day whipped and were only a few scant yards from where the creek runs into the Colorado, our night�s campsite destination, I found that we had much work to be done. First we worked ourselves up a narrow trail that ran along a somewhat precarious cliff above Tapeats Creek. Kim, who has a natural aversion to heights, was as nervous as a chicken in a fox den. I didn�t mind the narrow trail with the steep drop off so much, but when we reached the apex, we found that going down was two inches short of pure Hell. It was a series of steep, irregular steps where tiny bits of skree had been strategically arranged on the top of each rock to make every move downward a challenge. Kim and I were so slow coming off that mountain side that Gary, Steve and Faye had already set up camp and cooked dinner for the evening by the time we showed our nervous, but smiling faces.

Camp that night was on a beach overlooking the Tapeats Rapid of the mighty Colorado. The visuals and constant roar of the river made it the perfect setting. Kim and I dined on an old Hanson family recipe, chicken mung, which is a chicken based mystery meal that can only be enjoyed when backpacking or facing starvation, which as everyone really knows, are basically synonymous. That said, after a couple of shots of Jack Daniels, I must admit that I enjoyed every spoonful. It was just like mother�s home cooking.

October 1, 2005

After 11 hours of deep slumber, I awoke to another perfect day in the grand Canyon. We were all business in breaking camp, as we wanted to complete our hike before the serious sun hit in the afternoon hours.

The hike started along the beach of the Colorado with a bit of boulder hopping and then proved to be a series of climbs and descents as we slowly worked our way towards Deer Creek.

I had been dreading this day, as both Kim and I had read a posting on the internet that depicted it as a perilous climb through the gates of Hell. As is typical, the author had stretched the truth like a worn out rubber band. The highly technical descent along the basalt outcropping at 135 mile rapid was actually easy. I am, admittedly, a big fat wimp, and even I was able to make it without taking off my pack or nervously clutching at hand holds with my eyes the size of grapefruits.

Arriving at Deer Creek offered a bit of a surprise. The one designated campsite was already taken. We were sure we had a group of hippy squatters, members of the extended Manson family, on our hands. Additionally, a flock of crows had invaded their camp and torn into their packs, leaving the majority of their food as torn up, microscopic sized pieces of litter.

After scouting for alternative camp sites, we opted to move the other group�s sleeping bags to one side of the camp site and move in. An hour or two later, the other group, two fathers and their sons, showed up. They were more Andy and Opie than the Mansons, and to make it even more embarrassing on our part, they also had a permit for the one campsite. I offered to move our tent out of the way so that we could share the space, but they good naturedly told us that they were moving on. I think we all felt a pang of guilt over the situation, but there was really nothing we could do. Apparently, the United States Park Service, in all of their federal wisdom, had decided that it was adequate for two groups of up to nine to share a space barely big enough for us, the five little Utes.

When Kim and I opened our packs for dinner that night we were in for another surprise. Somewhere, somehow, a bevy of mice had invaded our bags and found a strange liking for Mountain House dehydrated dinners. Swearing like a sailor in my mind, and angry that I had not secured the protection of the Gary Oyler recommended plastic jars at Walmart, I fired up the stove and boiled water for our two remaining, relatively undamaged dehydrated meals. I could see little teeth marks across the top of mine, which was advertised as chicken curry, but it was either eat and die of Hanta virus, or not eat and starve myself to a slow, painful death. In retrospect, I should have chosen death.

Faye, who has the disposition of Mother Theresa, could see how upset we were. She immediately offered to share an extra dehydrated meal that she had packed for just such an emergency. As I mulled over Faye�s offer, I put my spoon into my dehydrated dinner and took my first bite of Mountain House in over 20 years. My taste buds are far from refined and in reality, I�ll eat just about anything and enjoy the heck out of it. However, one small spoonful instantly sobered me. Mountain House Chicken Curry is equivalent to eating styrofoam without spices. Kim, with a disgusted look on her face, offered me a bite of her Pad Thai. It was still styrofoam, but at least there was a bit of flavor to it. At this point, we politely refused Faye�s offer and chose instead to eat an entire bag of jerky with cheese sticks for our next night�s main course.

That night slumber did not come easily. I laid in my sleeping bag all night waiting for a nocturnal parade of creatures to attack my dry bag, which held every food item that we still possessed. With every sound in the camp site, I turned on my flashlight to beam it out in search of the legions of attack mice or the hoard of dangerous crows. Even though I never did see one of these enemies of mankind, I woke up the next morning to find a dime size hole chewed through the hard, rubber canvas of my dry bag. Some may fear the physical exertion of a Grand Canyon hike, others may worry about dehydration or rattlesnakes, but me, I live in absolute terror of the mice and crows. They are nothing more than Colorado River terrorists.

October 2

The scheduled day of rest at Deer Creek was wonderful. After a leisurely breakfast that included two cups of coffee, Kim and I ambled up the trail a half hour to Deer Creek Falls and the world famous �Throne Room.� I could see the falls easily, but had no idea where God had hidden the �Throne Room.� I searched high and low, nearly climbing the entire pass out of the valley before giving up and returning to cool myself by the falls. As Kim and I sat perched behind the falls, savoring the cool breeze and light mist of the roaring torrent, I looked to my left to see a unique collection of limestone slabs that had been stacked by bored tourists to approximate chairs. This was it? This was the much advertised �Throne Room� that I had heard so much about? Nevertheless, we found our way down into the area and took turns taking pictures of ourselves posing as European royalty.

We spent our afternoon lazing about at the patio, a beautiful, eroded slot canyon that God had made for swimming, sun bathing and the general cleaning of three days of sand, sweat scum and evil odors from your body. It was a perfect setting for an afternoon nap between refreshing dunks in the pristine waters of Deer Creek. The patio is a �can�t miss� Colorado River tourist destination.

October 3

Kim and I rolled over in our sleeping bags to find head lamps shining from our partners� tents. Even though it was only 5:30 A.M., we hopped right up and started to break camp. Our enthusiasm may have stemmed from the fact that we had gone to bed the previous night at 7:30 P.M., and that we had a six mile, 2800 feet climb ahead of us.

Twenty minutes up the trail we stopped to top off our water at Deer Creek Falls. Even though I had just finished two cups of Joe, I forced myself to down another 32 ounces of agua in preparation for the sweatathon ahead.

The climb really wasn�t as bad as we had thought. A cool breeze, coupled with early morning temperatures, made it relatively painless. Sure, the backpack seemed to gain five pounds with every 100 feet of ascent, and yes it was an endless collection of steep switch backs and 18� steps to overcome, but in truth, it was an acceptable level of human misery. It was doable.

When we got to the Esplanade and our water cache, we found that the weather had changed for the worse. A stiff wind now blew down the canyon corridor, making the slick rock area nothing more than a huge sand blasting station. Gary suggested that we camp under the rim of a large rock wall and we all did our best to nestle into the enclaves that rain and wind had worn over the years. Kim and I played cards during the afternoon, and over dinner that night, I made a miniature traditional Anasazi kiva for future generations of Grand Canyon tourists.

October 4

We again were up with the sun, but this time it was to the roaring howl of a wind pounding the nylon of our tent. When I finally pulled myself out of my bag and opened the flap of our fly, I found a series of black rain clouds roaring over the red canyon walls. Kim and I had a quick breakfast and then loaded up for our last big push, a two thousand feet climb from our camp on the Esplanade to our Toyota, a cold beer and a much needed shower.

Gary was off like a bullet and we all followed with visions of a real meal in our minds. No more dehydrated goat dung, cleaning up with miniscule Wet Ones or totting the 50 pound Kelty up and down seemingly endless trails. It had been a magnificent walk in the canyon, but we were all ready to be home and back to our regular lives.

Within minutes the terrain changed from the fairly flat, slick rock Esplanade to a series of short, very steep switch backs climbing straight up the nearly vertical canyon wall. We would lumber up one after another, and then with legs burning and lungs on fire, it would be a short breather to admire our surroundings. And what surrounding they were! It was like God had wanted to reward us for our hard work with a perfect hiking temperature, about 65 degrees, a cool wind and a light show that would make New Years Eve in New York look like child�s play. Every time we turned around small beams of sunlight would be shimmering off the distant expanse of multicolored rocks that make up this fairyland. It was beautiful beyond words.

When we finally pulled ourselves up over the canyon edge and could see the Toyota parked in the distance, we all hooted with joy. We had meandered down nearly 6000 feet to sleep along the mighty Colorado and once we got there, we had to find our way back up, not an easy thing to do. Overall, Gary stated that our course was only 29 miles, which really doesn�t sound all that impressive. However, it was the most challenging 29 miles I�d ever hiked. I�ve been on harder walks and longer walks, but over all, this was a test. There simply were no easy parts. Nevertheless, we ran into men and women much older than us. One woman, sporting knee braces and carrying a pack bigger than her shrunken body, told us that she was over sixty. It was damned hard, but considering the joy we all derived from the experience, the beauties we had surveyed with our eyes and the great company we had enjoyed, it was a small price to pay. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

About the Author

I am a 51 year old retired teacher from Alaska. My wife and I reside in Wyoming and St. George, Utah, living a constant diet of outdoor adventure.

Gunung Leuser National Park, Sumatra, Indonesia

Written by a teacher at the International School of LhokSeumawe

Class or age : 11-13yrs of age

Name of Forest: Gunung Leuser National Park

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General information

Here's a brief history on the Gunung Leuser Project and our involvement with GLP for you:

The Gunung Leuser Project was begun in June, 1995 when the European Union donated US$40 million to Indonesia. The grant was given to help with rain forest conservation in the Gunung Leuser National Park, one of the world's biggest tropical rain forests. A secondary goal of the project is to develop economic programs for the local people in the area.

The Gunung Leuser Project combines efforts of European and Indonesian scientists working to protect plant and animals within the core park by creating surrounding buffer zones. Many endangered species are now threatened by habitat destruction. For example, many large mammals that inhabit the rain forest-tiger, elephant, and rhino-are lowland creatures.

Yet, lowlands that surround the park have been steadily encroached upon by local people over the years. Habitat destruction thus forces these large mammals into the core highlands of the Gunung Leuser Reserve, away from traditional migratory routes and mating grounds.

Illegal logging threatens many of the diptocarps (the towering tree giants) of the rain forest. Diptocarps do not produce seeds until they are thirty to forty years old. Yet, these dominant trees of the rain forest are typically cut illegally before reaching maturity. As a result, no new seedlings are left to produce a new generation of this essential part of the rain forest ecosystem.

Scientists feel that the best way to conserve the natural resources of the Leuser Rain Forest is to create lowland buffer zones that provide economic alternatives for the people living around the park. Scientists want to promote agricultural programs and forestry products that provide an alternative to illegal logging and poaching practices. Irrigation projects are underway to promote better agriculture and reforestation efforts. Scientists also want to promote eco-tourism as an economic alternative to illegal practices. By providing economically sustainable programs to people living around the Leuser National Park, scientists hope to protect many of the endangered plants and animals within.

Five divisions of the Leuser Project have been established to attain the goals of conservation and economic sustenance. These five division include Research, Conservation, Buffer Zones, Rural Development, and Research, Monitoring and Information (RMI) Division. The Gunung Leuser Project is a very ambitious undertaking; hopefully, the project can help to protect one of the earth's most valuable natural resources--the rain forest.

The International School of Lhokseumawe (ISOL) is sponsored by Mobil Oil. ISOL has a school population of 24 students and 7 teachers. I teach science, math, and language arts to 7 middle school students (ages 11 to 13) of American, Canadian, and Swiss descent. Our school is located at the very northern tip of Sumatra on the Straits of Malacca.

ISOL middle school students are now working with European and Indonesian scientists, forestry agents, and other students on the Gunung Leuser Project. I met with Dr. Kathryrn Monk, director of the Research, Monitoring, and Information Division, about involving students from international schools in Southeast Asia with scientists in their research in the Leuser Reserve. Dr. Monk enthusiastically supports our efforts, and she will continue to provide advice and logistical support to us throughout this project.

Dr. Monk proposed a series of excursions into the rain forest to map and monitor a lowland area that adjoins the highland core park. This 12,000 hectares area (30,000 acres) was slashed and burned three years ago. Dr. Monk would like students to gather information that compares slash and burn areas to secondary growth forest and to primary growth forest.

Student activities includes mapping perimeter areas, monitoring plant and animal species in the primary and secondary growth areas, and conducting research projects within the rain forest.

ISOL students will eventually work with students from the Medan International School, the Singapore American School, and CALTEX American School on the Gunung Leuser Project. This opportunity provides our ISOL students time to collaborate with students from other schools on an academic project. Of course, students will also have time to meet new friends as they work together in the field.

Our study area is located near Sikundur, a remote post on the eastern side of the Gunung Leuser National Park. Sikundur is three hour north of Medan by road. The road is paved to Besitang; from Besitang westwards to the park, dirt tracks pass through oil palm and rubber plantations.

While scenic, the way is difficult. As the rainy season approaches, the dirt tracks will become even more difficult to negotiate.

A second excursion has been tentatively scheduled for the middle of March, 1997. We will consider further excursions as soon as we evaluate the success of these first two outings.

Written by Paul Lane,
Science Teacher
International School of Lhokseumawe
c/o Mobil Oil
Lhokseumawe, Sumatra
Indonesia

Mountain

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For other uses, see Mountain (disambiguation).

Mount Damavand, Iran

Blue Ridge Mountains in Shenandoah National Park, Virginia, USA

A mountain is a landform that extends above the surrounding terrain in a limited area. A mountain is generally steeper than a hill, but there is no universally accepted standard definition for the height of a mountain or a hill although a mountain usually has an identifiable summit. Mountains cover 54% of Asia, 36% of North America, 25% of Europe, 22% of South America, 17% of Australia, and 3% of Africa. As a whole, 24% of the Earth's land mass is mountainous. 10% of people live in mountainous regions. Most of the world's rivers are fed from mountain sources, and more than half of humanity depends on mountains for water.^[1][2]

The adjective montane is used to describe mountainous areas and things associated with them.

Contents

[hide]

• 1 Definitions
  • 1.1 In the United Kingdom
  • 1.2 In the United States
  • 1.3 Height
• 2 Characteristics
• 3 Types of mountains
• 4 Geology
• 5 See also
• 6 Gallery
• 7 References
• 8 External links

Mount Everest

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"Everest" redirects here. For other uses, see Everest (disambiguation).

Mount Everest
Everest from Kala Patthar in Nepal
Elevation	8,848 m (29,028 feet)[1] Ranked 1st
Location	Nepal China[2]
Range	Mahalangur Himal, Himalaya
Prominence	8,848 m (29,028 feet)
Coordinates	27°59′17″N 86°55′31″E / 27.98806, 86.92528Coordinates: 27°59′17″N 86°55′31″E / 27.98806, 86.92528[3]
First ascent	May 29, 1953 Tenzing Norgay Edmund Hillary
Easiest route	South Col (Nepal)

Location of Mount Everest

Mount Everest, also called Chomolungma or Qomolangma (Tibetan: ཇོ་མོ་གླང་མ) or Sagarmatha (Nepali: सगरमाथा) is the highest mountain on Earth, as measured by the height of its summit above sea level, which is 8,848 meters or 29,028 feet. The mountain, which is part of the Himalaya range in High Asia, is located on the border between Nepal and Tibet, China. By the end of the 2007 climbing season there had been 3,679 ascents to the summit by 2,436 individuals. There have been 210 deaths on the mountain, where conditions are so difficult that most corpses have been left where they fell; some are visible from standard climbing routes.^[4]

Climbers range from experienced mountaineers to relative novices who count on their paid guides to get them to the top. This means climbers are a significant source of tourist revenue for Nepal, whose government also requires all prospective climbers to obtain an expensive permit, costing up to $25,000 (USD) per person.^[5]