This photo was taken of John immediately after he walked out of the jungle when his plane crashed while he was flying the Hump in World War II. He is holding the boots he wore. His parachute pack is in front.

The conditions were at their worst—raining, pitch black and over territory regarded as plenty rugged. I landed in a jungle so dense that I couldn’t even move. The only sensible thing to do was to pull part of the parachute over me and try to catch some sleep.

John Dallen in a letter to his wife Helen on February 18, 1945— eight days after he had parachuted out of his damaged C-109 over an Indian jungle when flying the Hump in World War II.

Saturday, February 10, 1945

I left John in my last post as he jumped into the pitch-black night and watched his plane erupt in flames as it went down. Below him was a jungle he couldn’t see. “I had no idea of what I was jumping into,” he reported to his niece Jennifer Hagedorn Mikacich in an oral history. “I hit one layer of the jungle, and then a second, and then a third— crashing through each one and hit the ground hard.” John was battered and bruised but not seriously injured. It was close to midnight.

Catching his breath, and I suspect calming what had to be raw nerves, he pulled out his 45 caliber pistol and fired it into air. John was hoping for a response from his crew members; there was nothing. They had either landed too far away or couldn’t respond. They might be hanging in a tree 100-feet off the ground.

Caught in undergrowth so thick he could barely move, he gathered his parachute around him to stay as dry as possible and tried “to catch some sleep.” At some point in the night he heard a tiger cough.

“Weren’t you afraid, Grandpa?” Jennifer asked.

“I was uneasy,” he confessed some 40 years afterwards. This was Bengal Tiger country and the big males could weigh over 500 pounds and be up 10 feet long. A few, usually older ones who had difficulty catching prey, turned into man-eaters. John had actually seen a record size Bengal Tiger that had been killed because it had been preying on livestock. I’m sure he pictured it in his mind when the tiger coughed.

But John had other concerns as well. The plane had crashed near Nagaland and the Naga were renowned as headhunters. Hump pilots dreaded landing in their territory. The army manual for jungle survival in World War II stated that there were only two areas in Asia where soldiers had to worry about natives: “in New Guinea and certain parts of Burma.” He was quite close to those “certain parts of Burma.” In fact the Naga had a significant presence in the state of Manipur, where his plane had gone down.

Ursula Bower, a pioneering anthropologist in the Naga Hills who became a guerrilla fighter against the Japanese in World War II, noted, “most villages had a skull house and each man in the village was expected to contribute to the collection… There is nothing more glorious for a Naga than victory in battle and bringing home the severed head of an enemy.” Men who failed, she noted, were known as cows. Head hunting by the Naga would continue up until the 1970s and possibly even 80s. John was wise to worry about keeping his head.

A third concern of John’s was that local villagers might turn him over to the Japanese. The US offered rewards to natives who helped downed crews get back to American bases, but the Japanese had a similar program. John might believe he was being led to safety when actually he was being led into a trap.

Sunday, February 11, 1945

All of these thoughts were going through John’s mind the next morning when he awoke at first light and made a pack out of his parachute to carry his Army-issued jungle survival kit. It contained, among other things, water purification tablets, anti-malaria pills, and sulfonamide, the first of the ‘miracle’ drugs discovered that fought bacterial infection. John would use all three. Other standard items in the kit included matches, a compass, a signaling mirror, bouillon/tea, and even fishing gear.

John knew he had to travel west to find US bases and safety. The Japanese were to the east, the Naga to the north, and more jungle to the south. Travelling west was a challenge, however. There are no landmarks in a jungle, only trees and more trees. It is easy to end up traveling in circles. Fortunately, John had a compass and the sun to serve as guides. He also had Boy Scout training, which he would credit later with helping him find his way.

“Part the jungle, don’t push it,” the Army’s World War II jungle survival manual urged. “Keep your head up and your chin in. Try to follow a stream downstream, and try as far as possible to stick to natural trails, or native trails. Don’t try to break your way through.” The best trails, apparently, were elephant trails, jungle freeways three to four feet wide.

John followed the advice— sort of. “I hacked my way through the mess for several hours.” It would have been excruciatingly slow going; especially since the only thing he had to hack with were his hands. The jungle was close to impenetrable. Numerous scratches on his face and hands joined his bruises from the night before. Eventually, he found an animal path that led him to a trail that showed human footprints. And the trail led to a small village.

The natives looked quite “primitive,” and dangerous. Armed with machetes, they were dressed only in loincloths. Animal tusks and silver jewelry adorned their ears and body. It seemed, however, that they were friendly. John could keep his head. While none of them spoke English, “A native boy kept pointing in a general direction, which I assumed was the direction for me to follow. He led the way and I gradually picked up quite a following of natives.”

After passing through several small villages, John and his parade came to a village of about 75 inhabitants, where a surprise was waiting: one very excited and worried, co-pilot, Ronald Anderson. “Ron was a big guy, an ex-football player,” John reported. But he hadn’t had John’s luck. His parachute had become entangled in a tree and Ron had to cut himself free, leaving the parachute with its survival kit hanging high above his head. He was genuinely shaken up. Like John, he was battered, bruised and scratched, but he had no serious injuries.

The villagers took John and Ronald to the village headman. Fortunately, a villager was found who could speak some English. Food was generously offered, but John had no idea of what he might be eating; he stuck to bananas and rice. It seems that Ron was equally conservative. That night they slept on sleeping mats next to the headman. Somewhat humorously, John reported in his letter to Helen, “This type of sleeping is ideal for the figure, and even I was sore all over the next morning.”

Monday, February 12, 1945

The headman offered to guide John and Ron on to another village and John woke up early, eager to get started. But he didn’t dare get up.

“I had to pretend sleep because the women of the household were preparing their food in the same room where we were. There are castes in India where the women cannot associate with the men—-especially outsiders— and had I shown signs of awakening, they would have left the room. Eventually they finished and we got up at which time we were offered more rice and the native tea. It is made from a spiced leaf and the liquid content is mostly goat’s milk. I did not touch the rice that morning but did finish the banana from the previous day.” He didn’t report on whether he drank the tea, but he must have been ravenous. At six-foot-two and 150 pounds, John was a skinny guy without an ounce of fat.

When they finally hit the trail, it immediately disappeared into the jungle. They were forced to hike cross-country. Adding to the difficulty of the route, it started to rain again. “We waded down streams for miles and crawled up and down practically impossible hills. Several times we heard planes overhead, but could make no attempt to signal to them because of the thick jungle vegetation overhead.”

(By 1945, sophisticated search and rescue efforts were under way, but the majority of crews that survived crashes still walked out on their own. Many airmen shared John’s experience. During the first three months of 1945 alone, 92 planes crashed while flying the Hump.)

A small village provided a lunch of two hard-boiled eggs. Afterwards, their guides were reluctant to start again. So was John’s co-pilot. The difficult route had begun to wear on him. “Here’s where that Infantry training paid everlasting dividends,” John observed. He was pushing hard, and he was a fast hiker.

“Several times I thought of pulling out my pistol and shooting him.” Ron claimed after they had returned to base.

They arrived at their next destination just at dusk and made a meal of “tea, oranges, bananas, eggs and even cigarettes, such as they were.” The natives were eager to help and would not accept any payment. They were “curious about our complexion, clothes and equipment.” John was amused when a few of the natives tried to break strands from the parachute with their hands. “The look of surprise on their faces was something to see.”

John had even more powerful magic. He was taken to a man whom a tiger had mauled. He treated the wound with sulfonamide. Gangrene had set in, however. John doubted the medicine would do much good, but the villagers were grateful for his effort.

Tuesday, February 13, 1945

“The day’s trip was a repetition of the previous day, possibly a little harder since our muscles were already sore,” John wrote to Helen. At noon they arrived at a village where they met the first and only native “who did not cooperate with us wholeheartedly.” The man had an “extremely mercenary attitude” and wanted to be paid for help. Obviously John and Ron were getting close to civilization.

That night they arrived at a village that was an outpost of the Indian police but the two police officials were away. A young Moslem merchant invited them to his home and fed them nuts and dates while they had “quite the gabfest on India and the British.” They slept that night in the jail under mosquito netting the merchant had loaned them.

Wednesday, February 14, 1945 (I wonder if John realized it was Valentine’s Day?)

The young Moslem provided John and his co-pilot with breakfast the next morning and John provided their host with Atabrine tablets for an attack of malaria he was suffering from. Their host also had another request. Since “most of the natives had never seen a pistol or seen it operate, he asked us to fire a few rounds. When both of us opened up at rapid fire, half of the villagers ran away in alarm— It even frightened our friend.”

With an option of continuing the trip by boat or walking, John chose walking since it would get them out faster. Travelling over relatively flat ground, they hiked 16 miles in 5 hours and arrived at a village where a sub-inspector of police was stationed. A telegraph line ran out of the village and John was able to send a telegram to his CO that he and his co-pilot were alive and well.

Their host that night provided them with their first bath since their ordeal started: “out of a pail of course, but at least the water was hot.” He also offered “some food other than the fruit prepared in a manner we could eat… He had cauliflower tips French fried crisp in butter that was exceptionally good.” John urged Helen to cook some up for herself.

That evening they ended up with a long discussion about India and her problems. “Our British allies ears would burn had they heard some of the opinions expressed about them.” John noted.   After eating again, they ‘hit the sack’. “Our host proved that snoring is a universal custom.”

Thursday, February 15, 1945

The trip the next morning had a twist. They rode on an elephant. “I believe it was the hardest part of the trip,” John whined to Helen. “The animal is rather broad-beamed as you can imagine and even my legs couldn’t quite make the spread.” He jokingly reported in his oral interview with Jennifer that he was “worried for his manhood.”

An English tea plantation was waiting for him at the end of the journey, however. John found it “remarkable to find a veritable mansion stuck in this wilderness.” A drink was immediately placed in his hand and a meal ordered. “The house was spotless with beautiful furniture and silverware all around. There were acres of lawn, flowerbeds and even a stable of polo ponies. The servants were perfectly trained and dressed as if from a scene in Arabian Nights.”

Even more welcoming, after they had washed up and eaten, the plantation manager gave them a ride in his truck to the nearby airbase of Shamshernagar. The ordeal had ended.

John’s first acts were to borrow some clean clothes and have a hot shower. After “a meal of real American food and not a few drinks under my belt, I dropped you a line which I certainly hope reached you in the fastest possible time.”

The letter that John wrote to Helen immediately after walking out from the airplane crash. He had hoped that the letter would reach her before the telegram announcing that he was missing in action. It didn’t.

On returning to his base at Kurmitola, John learned that “the rest of my crew turned up a few days later after having a much easier time of it. They landed on a mountainside and had practically a road all the way to a base. As a matter of fact the last few days were a lark to them, having spent them at a most hospitable tea planter’s estate. Personal servants, meals in bed, etc. I could kick myself for having worried about them so much.”

John was given a week’s R&R in Ceylon and then returned to his flying duties. He would fly 55 more missions across the Hump. On July 26 he transferred to Tezgaon (now in Bangladesh). Every flight from that point on was in a C-54. His last flights were on September 26, 1945 from Shanghai to Liuchow to Tezgaon, piloting a C-54 for seven hours of daylight flying, four of nighttime flying, with two hours on instruments. He had logged 2788 hours since his first student flight.

I would like to conclude with a special thank you to John’s son, John Dallen Jr., our son, Tony Lumpkin, and my friend Mike Sweeney for helping in the research for my three blogs on the Hump pilots.

In 1996 China invited Hump pilots and crews back to China to honor their World War II efforts and establish a memorial in Kunming. John is in the middle of the lower row next to the woman with the dark blouse.

John and Peggy on the American River in Sacramento in 2006. Every Wednesday, I was privileged to pick John up and take him for a walk on the river. Even in his late 80’s, he still loved to hike.

Tasha in her fifth grade classroom at Indian Lake Elementary School.

Our daughter, Tasha (Mrs. Cox), is a fifth grade teacher at Indian Lake Elementary School in Hendersonville, Tennessee where she teaches language arts, including writing. A month or so ago she called and asked if she could use one of my blogs in her writing class. “Of course,” I had replied. Parents often tell me they have shared some blog or the other I’ve written with their children. Most of my stuff is G-rated.

Tasha picked out a recent blog I had posted on Mt. Rainier National Park. It featured a picture of her brother, Tony, and of her son, Ethan, as well as lots of photos of the Park. I figured that was it. My work was done.

Mt. Rainier

I should have known better.

When Peggy and I arrived in Hendersonville for Christmas, there was a two-inch stack of yellow Post-its waiting. Each one included a question from a student directed to me. It looked like I might spend Christmas answering them all. That would have been okay, but I also wanted to enjoy the season. Maybe jolly old St. Nick had brought me a rocket ship so I could zoom around the universe.

Tasha took pity. She organized the Post-its by category so I could answer a handful of questions instead of 5,472. She is good at organizing. She even wants to organize me. Lots of luck with that…

So here are the key questions and my answers. I thought the folks who follow my blog might find them interesting as well.

Why do you write a blog?

I started blogging with a specific purpose in mind. I wanted to write a book and a blog would introduce my writing to people. If they liked how I wrote and what I wrote about, they might like my book as well.

Since then blogging has also become valuable to me for other reasons. One, it allows my wife Peggy and I to share our travels and adventures with people who live all over the world. Two, I have made a lot of new friends who share their travels, photography, and ideas with me. Three, it helps me improve my writing.

Finally, I love to write and tell stories. Each morning I wake up excited to begin my blog.

Is blogging hard?

Yes and no. Since my blogs include both writing and photography, they take a fair amount of work. I often start by researching a subject I am going to blog about. Then I pick out photos. Peggy and I take a lot when we travel; I may have to choose ten from a hundred. I then use software to work over each photo to make it look the best I can. Finally I write and edit my blog. Peggy then does a final read-through to catch any errors I may have missed. Each blog takes from three to eight hours to produce.

Blogging can be a lot easier, however. I have friends who may put up a photo and write a few words about it, but still have a very good blog.

The platform I use for my blog, Word Press, takes care of all the technical aspects of blogging. If someone wants to start a new blog, all he or she has to do is go to Word Press and click on “get started.” Word Press will then take the person through the process.

Where do your ideas for a blog come from?

Since my blog focuses on travel, most of my ideas come from places we visit. I am always on the look out for good blog material. Maybe it will be a town we visit, or a national park, or an ancient site where Native Americans did rock art. When in Hendersonville over Christmas, my son-in-law, Clay (Tasha’s husband) took me out to eat outrageously hot (spicy) chicken that Nashville is famous for. My stomach is still complaining. I am going to blog about it.

Indian rock art found in New Mexico.

But I don’t limit my writing to travel. Sometimes I write about when I was growing up. Or I may write about where I live in Oregon. A while back some baby goats were born next door. I visited the goats and wrote a blog about them. Recently I did a series of blogs about Tasha’s grandfather who flew airplanes across the Himalayan Mountains in World War II. He had to bail out of his airplane when it ran out of gas and walk out of a jungle that was known for its tigers and headhunters.

What is the favorite place you have ever been?

This is a really hard question because different places have different things to offer. How do you compare Dubrovnik, Croatia with the Redwoods of California, or a cruise through the Mediterranean Sea with an 18-day raft trip down the Colorado River? Or, to bring it closer to home, how do you compare Nashville, Tennessee with Chattanooga. Each is unique.

Dubrovnik, Croatia

Tasha’s mom, Peggy, stands next to a redwood tree.

My favorite type of travel is adventure travel. Peggy and I once took a boat ride up the Amazon River. This summer we were kayaking out among the Orca Whales off of British Columbia. I once climbed on my bicycle and did a 10,000-mile solo trip around the US that took me six-months. (I bicycled through Tennessee as part of my trip.)

If forced to choose, I would say my favorite place to be is out in the woods. I am never happier than when I put on a backpack and disappear into the wilderness. I’ve backpacked all over the US including Alaska and Hawaii. When I turned 60, I backpacked 360 miles through the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California from Lake Tahoe to Mt. Whitney.

Nearing the end of my  360 mile backpack trek, I pose in front of Mt. Whitney.

Tasha joined me along the way for one week of my trip.

How do you become a writer?

Write! I am serious. The best thing you can do to become a writer is to write all of the time. Keep a journal; make up stories for your friends; start a blog. One girl wrote, “I am writing a book at home, and I don’t know if there is a specific age to start. Do you?” My answer is that now is the perfect time, whether you are in the fifth grade or your seventh decade.

Reading is also very important. Read authors who are known as good writers and pay attention to how they write. Also read authors in the genre you want to write. For example, if you want to write mysteries, read mysteries.

It is also important to pay attention to the details of writing, such as learning grammar, avoiding spelling errors and painting pictures with words. A couple of students wanted to know how I found adjectives to describe my travels. It was a good question. Was it a black cat that crossed my path or a cat as dark as a moonless night? Two of the best tools an author can have are an active imagination and a good thesaurus.

My thanks to the fifth graders at Indian Lake Elementary School for inspiring this blog. Good luck in your future writing efforts.

NEXT BLOG: I bite a chicken and the chicken bites back.

Hot chicken is all the rage in Nashville today. But just how hot is it?

My son-in-law Clay and I have been hassling each other over hot food ever since he first started dating our daughter. Clay, Tasha, Peggy and I had gone out to a steak house in Sacramento, California and ordered prime rib. Normally, the restaurant served a mild horseradish cream sauce along side. This time, for whatever the reason, it didn’t.

“Can we have a side order of horseradish cream sauce?” I had asked our waiter.

He had brought it out, straight up, no cream. I slathered it on my prime rib. Clay, watching me, had done the same thing. I took one bite and thought ‘Holy Ghost Pepper!’ as it burned all the way down to my toes. I quickly scraped it off. I didn’t mean to hide my action from Clay, but he didn’t see me do it. He just kept nonchalantly chewing away and all I could think was, ‘He is one tough dude.’

This went on for a while as perspiration broke out on Clay’s forehead and his eyes began to water. Suddenly he threw down his fork.

“You’re the man,” he declared. “How can you eat that stuff?”

We all had a good laugh when I confessed, but it established a tradition. Whenever Clay comes to visit, I take him out for the hottest food I can find. (The girls stay as far way from this activity as possible.) Last time we went to the India Palace, my favorite Indian restaurant in southern Oregon. Clay insisted on ordering the food one notch hotter than I did.

Of course what goes around comes around, right? So whenever Peggy and I visit Clay and Tasha in Tennessee, Clay introduces me to his latest mouth-burning find. He outdid himself this time. “Google Nashville hot chicken and pick out a restaurant,” he suggested to me as he scooted off to his job as a regional manager for Verizon. I was soon up to my ears in hot sauce.

The legend is that Thornton Prince was having girlfriend problems back in the 1930s. He had too many. Girlfriend number #1 decided on revenge. She secretly dumped several extra tablespoons of cayenne pepper on Thornton’s chicken when he came in late one night. The effort backfired. Prince loved it. In fact he loved the hot chicken so much he opened a restaurant featuring it.

The restaurant quickly became a gathering place for the local African American community. When white musicians playing at the Grand Ole Opry heard about the chicken, they started visiting as well. This was still the era of segregation, however. The whites had to come through the back door and eat in the kitchen. Seventy years later the restaurant is still serving up its signature dish. Everyone goes through the front door now.

Today, Nashville is renowned for its hot chicken. There are several restaurants present, and my sense is that they vie with one another over who can produce the hottest food. I should note here that I like hot food. I developed the taste when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Liberia, West Africa where I started out as a one-pepper person. By the time I left, I had worked my way up to three. Since then I have continued to increase my tolerance for hot.

But in the world of hot peppers, there is hot and there is HOT. Two blogs ago I wrote about how my father-in-law, John Dallen, was concerned about the Naga headhunters of Nagaland when he had to bail out of his airplane in World War II. Well, as it turns out, I just learned the Naga are also renowned for raising Bhut Joloki peppers (ghost peppers), which happen to be among the hottest peppers in the world. John was wise not to eat what the local natives offered.

To provide a perspective on how hot these peppers are, consider the following. Pepper heat is measured in Scoville heat units (SHU). Your typical jalapeno pepper checks in at around 4000 SHU. Habanero peppers are measured at 80,000 to 600,000 SHU. The Bhut Joloki pepper normally tests out between 500,000 and 1,500,000!

I doubted I would be eating any fried chicken infused with Bhut Joloki peppers on my Nashville excursion, but I still entered the Pepperfire restaurant with a touch of trepidation. I’d read the reviews and seen the menu. My choices ranged from mild to XX hot. The Internet description had said that either the X or XX will “jump on you and grab you.” I wasn’t sure what that meant. But how could it be good?

The menu listed the various levels of hot. The Pepperfire website had informed me that “hot” was painful for most.

I was out with Clay, however, so I had to man-up. I went for chicken leg/thigh combo on the X level. Since I was in the south, I also ordered fried okra. Clay ordered XX chicken wings with French fries. For dessert we ordered a waffle that was topped off with hot chicken tenders and fried apples.

Just looking at this chicken quarter says hot. It reeks hot. You can see the flames. It was served on top of white bread, whose purpose is to soak up the grease.

A close up of the okra. Eating it gave me that ‘old boy’ feeling. Just call me Bubba.

Clay’s hot chicken wings. It was the third one over from the left that bit me.

Dessert: a waffle topped by chicken tenders topped by fried apples. It was definitely unique— make that a tad weird.

When the food arrived, I picked up one of Clay’s chicken wings. Maybe it would make my food seem cool in comparison. I bit down. The damn chicken bit back. I smiled at Clay. “This really tastes good,” I managed to get out as my tongue turned into a pretzel, my throat screamed “water!” and my stomach proclaimed, “you idiot.” Only its words weren’t quite that polite. I will say that the chicken was tender and juicy, and that there were spices other than hot that were quite tasteful.

Did it make my chicken seem cooler? No way. Once you get beyond hot, you are beyond hot. Those are my words of wisdom for the day. Within two hours, Henny Penny was waging the mother of all wars in my stomach. It was a triple burn day. The chicken burned on the way in. It burned inside. And it burned on the way out. Enough said. Now I have to start planning for the next time Clay comes to Oregon.

All joking aside, if you are in Nashville and want to try the city’s famous (infamous) hot chicken, I recommend checking out the Pepperfire restaurant.

Form, glaze and function make for stunning pottery. My brother Marshall picked out this teapot for Peggy and me from the work his daughter Marian does in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

As my body of work grows, my hope is that it will reflect a life filled with wonder and yearning, as well as serious play. —Marian Heintz

Marian was making hearts— and not 100% happy about it. Valentine’s Day is coming, however, and people like to buy hearts. People buying hearts puts money in the bank. So, for the day at least, Marian had put aside her inner artist to be pragmatic and was whipping out product.

It wasn’t quite mass production, though. “Each piece needs to be carefully finished,” she insisted. Marian is a dedicated craftsperson as well as an artist. No part-finished work would escape out her door, even if it meant less profit.

One of the hearts that Marian was producing for Valentine’s Day.

Peggy and I had driven down from the Nashville area after Christmas to visit with Marian in Chattanooga, and to check out her studio and work. Marian is my niece (my brother Marshall’s daughter), and I have known her since she was a toddler. It had been far too long since we had seen her.

Marian has always had a creative bent, and it has carried her in several different directions. I first became aware of her passion for art when she was attending the Glen Fishback School of photography in Sacramento. She has a fine eye for photography, as does her brother, Wayne. She even managed to talk my dad into posing as a time-worn gold miner for her final portfolio at the school.

I have the photo that Marian took of my dad posing as a gold miner in his late 70s. Our daughter, Tasha, has put her name on the back of it to make sure she gets it in the future. (grin)

From photography, Marian branched out to the folk art of wheat weaving where straw is turned into decorative items and jewelry. From there, it was a natural step into making jewelry with copper and silver. Partially, as a result, she ended up teaching women in Haiti how to make jewelry out of rubble after the devastating 2009 earthquake.

Marian still makes jewelry using her skills as a potter. Peggy had to have one. Marian explained that making the labyrinth and maze serve as meditation for her.

Her introduction to pottery came when she was working on her undergraduate degree at the University of Tennessee, Chattanooga. “I first began working with ceramics sixteen years ago, and fell in love with clay the first time I touched it,” she wrote in a bio sketch.

The hands of Marian’s friend and mentor Talle Johnson as he works clay and throws a pot.

A sample of Talle Johnson’s pottery that Marian keeps in her studio.

From 2007 up until he passed away in 2010, Marian worked as an apprentice to the highly talented and well-known potter, Talle Johnson. She credits much of her artistry, and in particular her emphasis on form, to his mentorship. As we entered through the backdoor of her studio, the first thing that greeted us was a memorial wall of photos featuring Talle and his work. The second thing to greet us was Wren, the studio cat.

Wren, the studio cat.

Marian greeted us with the same enthusiasm that she puts into her work. Within minutes she had us settled into her comfortable ‘transition lounge.’ (Adult students are invited to relax with a bite to eat or a glass of wine to “transition between work and throwing clay.”) Three hours later, we had almost caught up on our lives— and almost provided Wren with the amount of rubbing he was sure he deserved.

The transition lounge was warm, colorful and comfortable— much like Marian.

Marion chatted for three hours, filling us in on her journey into pottery and how it has reflected her own journey in life.

Marian’s studio is located on Brainerd Road in Chattanooga. The street is reflected in the window of her shop below. In addition to serving as her studio and as a retail outlet for her work, the space also includes potters’ wheels for classes she offers. She sees her studio as a place where students can “come in and leave everything else behind,” providing, if you will, a community— a place of peace where one can get lost in the rhythm of the potter’s wheel and the earthy feel of clay.

Chattanooga’s Brainerd Road is reflected in the window of Marian’s studio.

My work is both utilitarian and decorative, so that I try to find a balance between aesthetics and function. Using stoneware clay, I throw forms on the wheel as well as hand build. Some of these forms are altered on or off the wheel and many have paddled or textured surfaces. I would describe my forms as organic, sophisticated, yet simple and playful. There is a sense of movement and energy that radiates out of them. —Marian Heintz

Gravy bowl.

Simple flower vase.

Pot incorporating abalone shells.

This coffee cup came home with me. The MH serves as Marian’s signature.

I enjoyed the top down perspective on this vase.

Marian has also branched out into porcelain.

I found the small containers she made for sugar, salt, pepper and other spices quite unique.

This vase made me think of Where the Wild Things Are.

Marian’s work has been shown at the Tennessee Arts Commission gallery in Nashville and a piece has been purchased by Commission to add to its permanent collection. You can learn more about Marian by checking out her website.

While we were talking, Marian had mentioned how she felt her work in pottery had reflected her struggles in life. “I am good at struggling,” she had noted with a grin. “I have a knack for it.” Her dad had once commented to her how she was always able to take lemons and make lemonade. Her response had been, “I don’t want to make lemonade. I want to make something more beautiful and permanent.”

I think she has succeeded.

NEXT BLOG: It’s off to the beautiful red rock country of Sedona, Arizona.

Sedona, Arizona is known for its beautiful red rock monuments and its New Age appeal. The Bell Rock incorporates both. A vortex, said to radiate positive energy, is located on its left flank. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Sedona, Arizona  bills itself as the capital of the New Age Movement, and maybe it is. Certainly everything we have come to identify with New Age thinking can be found here— from alternative medicine to goddess worship. You can buy dream catchers, crystals, wands, and statues of deities such as Ganesha, the Hindu elephant god. There are fortune tellers, psychics, and tarot card readers. I am sure you can discover your future in your palm, have an astrological chart prepared, and confirm whatever messages you’ve received by throwing the runes. Or possibly you need to sit down with a shaman. Certainly you can find a quiet and beautiful spot to meditate.

Vortexes are central to the New Age belief system in Sedona. Four major ones are found in and around the town. These sites are said to radiate subtle energy that flows up from the earth in a spiral path and helps people along on whatever spiritual journey they have chosen for themselves. Locals describe the vortexes as masculine, feminine or some combination of both in the energy they release.

Tens of thousands of tourists visit these sites annually. The vortexes are even said to attract aliens, who do UFO flyovers. An army of tour group operators is prepared to take visitors to the vortexes, or you can go on your own. That’s what Peggy and I decided to do when we visited Sedona in November. We visited three, one next to the airport, one in Boynton Canyon, and the Bell Tower, shown above.

Did we feel the power vibrating through our bodies? Did we experience spiritual enlightenment? Well, no… sigh. I expect a little more work is required to reach Nirvana. But the beauty of the sites was definitely inspirational. What more could we ask for? A UFO or two, perhaps…

Tens of thousands of people visit the vortexes of Sedona annually. The Chamber of Commerce gives out maps of where to find them. This one is next to the airport.

Peggy stands on top of the vortex. Sedona lies below, hemmed in by Red Rocks.

Peggy catches a photo of me in my one minute quest to feel the  energy while sitting on the vortex rock. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

The vortex in Boynton Canyon is located near this rock.

I could almost feel the vortex’s energy given this impressive rock.

Another perspective. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

When Peggy and I were hiking into Boynton Canyon with our friends Ken and Leslie Lake, a man stopped Leslie and Peggy and gave them each a heart carved out of stone. It was a very New Age kind of thing.

NEXT BLOG: A sunset over Sedona.

Wispy clouds added to the spectacular sunset Peggy and I watched from the airport overlook in Sedona, Arizona.

“They told us at the Chamber of Commerce that we could see the sunset from here,” a woman complained loudly. “And it is hidden by the trees.”

“Maybe we are supposed to be looking at the rocks,” her husband suggested timidly, like he was afraid he might be yelled at.

Peggy and I shared an amused look. The ‘rocks’ were spectacular, reflecting a sun still one hour away from sinking beyond the eastern horizon. The show would only get better; nature was having one of its grand moments. The overlook beneath Sedona’s airport was the place to be at sunset.

Sedona sits beneath the edge of the Colorado Plateau, and the rocks we were looking at reflected over 300 million years of the earth’s geological history. They told a story of ancient oceans, and lakes, and rivers, and sand dunes. Laid down in layers over the eons, most of the rocks were the same ones we had admired so often in the Grand Canyon.

The erosive forces of nature— wind, water and gravity, were chipping away at the Colorado Plateau, leaving us with the spectacular views we were admiring. Capped by volcanic rocks, the different layers of sedimentary rocks eroded at different speeds, adding formations that people couldn’t resist naming. The Coffee Pot, Chimney, Capitol Butte, and Sugar Loaf loomed directly in front of us.

While knowing a bit about the geology of the area enhanced the experience, the only requirement for admiring the beauty was to sit back and enjoy.

These rocks, known as the Coffee Pot, provide an excellent example of layering and various rates of erosion. The top, lighter layer is Coconino Sandstone and was once part of a huge desert filled with sand dunes like the Sahara Desert today. The red rocks are known as Schnebly Hill Sandstone and were once laid down in an ocean. The red is caused by iron oxides captured by the sea. The rocks are ‘rusting,’ so to speak. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

A close up. Note the different impacts of erosion. The Coconino Sandstone erodes much more quickly than the Schnebly Sandstone. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

As the sun sank, the reds took on a deeper color. The Sugar Loaf formation is in the front.

Capitol Butte is just to the left of Coffee Pot. Chimney rock is further to the left. Sedona stretches out from the Butte.

A close up of Chimney Rock. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

As the sun set, the shadow in the center of the photo grew. Here it almost looks like a hand. The Mogollon Rim (in the background) runs east to west through central  Arizona and divides  the Colorado Plateau to the north from the Basin and Ranges to the south.

Off to the right we could see the rock formation known as Steamboat. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

While off to the east, we could see the sunset hiding behind the trees that the woman I quoted in the beginning was apparently looking for. Still, not shabby.

NEXT BLOG: A hike up Boynton canyon and a visit to one of the world’s most unique churches.

While Sedona is known for its spectacular colors, I felt this black and white rendition of Sedona’s Chapel of the Holy Cross emphasized the dramatic look of the church in its natural setting.

Peggy and I have seen numerous beautiful churches in our wandering around the world over the years, but few have matched the simple beauty of the Chapel of the Holy Cross in Sedona, Arizona. Rarely do buildings reflect the areas where they are built so dramatically. (I would place the Greek Orthodox churches on the island of Santorini in such a category.)

Another perspective on the Chapel of the Holy Cross, this time emphasizing its colorful surroundings. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Inside, looking out.

Surrounding rock formations are also impressive, as they are throughout Sedona. This one is appropriately known as the Madonna and Child. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

A distant shot of the Madonna and Child (in the center).

We found this cactus on the road going up to the Chapel of the Holy Cross. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

A local rancher from Sedona, Marguerite Staude, commissioned the church. Inspired by the Empire State Building, she had originally wanted to build the church in Hungary. When World War II aborted her plans, she decided to build the church in her hometown. Barry Goldwater helped Staude obtain a special land use permit to build the church on national forest land. It cost $350,000, took 18 months to build, and was completed in 1956. The American Institute of Architects gave the church its Award of Honor in 1957.

The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.

John Muir

While I understand the importance of churches in people’s faith, I tend to agree with John Muir in terms of my own spiritual path. A quiet walk in the woods has always made me feel at peace with myself. Seen from this perspective, Boynton Canyon in Sedona is good for the soul.

It’s also a great place to hang out with friends— and a camera.

One of many of the views Peggy and I, along with our friends, Ken and Leslie Lake, enjoyed on our walk up Boynton Canyon.

A close up of the same knob as a black and white photo. Note the various patterns in the rock.

The wilderness sign warned people they might find a bear wandering around in the canyon. While most people might find this worrisome, I was looking forward to seeing one. No such luck.

Another dramatic rock formation. I liked the light and dark contrast.

The contrast is even more powerful from a black and white perspective. Check out the halo of light on top.

Always on the lookout for faces, I named this open-mouthed fellow, Scream. Maybe he had seen the bear.

At one point, the sun reflected off the canyon wall like it was glowing with life. This is the natural color as we saw it.I had never seen anything like it. No wonder the New Agers think of Boynton Canyon with awe. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

At several points along Boynton Canyon, we saw where Native Americans had once built cliff dwellings. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

This formation seemed to be grinning at me. Or maybe it was hungry. I know, I know… I have an overactive imagination.

This rock formation looked like an ancient fortress. I wonder if the Native Americans ever used it at such? On another note, a number of early Westerns were filmed in the Sedona area.

Found this horse in downtown Sedona.

A final photo from Boynton Canyon.

Old friends. Ken and I have been hanging out causing mischief for close to 40 years. Peggy’s sister, Jane Hagedorn, and I hired Ken in 1977 when we were co-executive directors of the American Lung Association in Sacramento. Jane wanted him for his degree in public health education. I wanted him because he had just bicycled across America and I needed his expertise for the long distance Bike Trek program I had created.

NEXT BLOG: It is time to check out some Native American rock art in the Sedona area and visit a very old ‘well.’

This peccary was trying to get in the door.

I was going to write about Indian Rock Art today, but I ran out of time. So I decided to do a quickie. (And no, for those of you who think that way, it wasn’t that type of quickie.)

I woke up one night in Sedona and heard snorting outside our room, lots of snorting. It was the kind of snorting that made me check the door to make sure it was locked. The next morning, in the light of the day, mind you, I went searching for source. As it turns out, peccaries often make nighttime sorties onto the property of the Arroyo Robles Resort. As a general rule, they don’t eat people.

In the interest of transparency, a peccary didn’t get inside our house. I caught the guy in the photo hanging out in the Mojave Museum of History in Kingman, Arizona. He apparently did want in, however. Fortunately, he was stuffed. So was the bobcat. I don’t think Andy Devine was but he liked to stuff himself. Check out the humongous director’s chair.

I’ve run into several bobcats over the years, but none have looked quite as ferocious as this fellow.

Old Andy here, might send half of my readers running to Google, but he was BIG in the 50s, and also the 40s and 30s. Peggy and I could have shared that chair together.

The museum was packed full of interesting, and I might add, amusing things, like the sign below.

I can guarantee you that you would not find this sign at Burning Man.

Outside of the museum I found contrasting murals of vehicles that once traveled over Historic Route 66. The museum sits alongside the old highway. Travelling back in time, which of these vehicles would have been your vehicle of choice?

Or are you the Volkswagen van kind of person? That’s what I drove in the 70s. But I didn’t plaster it with bumper stickers like I found on this vehicle in Jerome. I found “heavily medicated for your safety” rather amusing.

Peggy and Leslie did a little self-medicating at a pub in Sedona. Did it make the world a safer place? I don’t think so. But it did help them find Snoopy up in the rocks.

Pubs often serve what are known as flights (samples) of the beer they serve. But I’ve never seen them quite as generous as these. The girls were happy. Quite happy.

Yes, there is a rock formation known as Snoopy in Sedona. You can see it off to the right of the large formation. If not, try a flight of beer, or wine, or….     NEXT BLOG: I will get back to the Native American Rock Art, or maybe I will tell you how to pick up a copy of my book. (grin)

Big birds and camp dogs, four of 1032 petroglyphs found at the V-bar-V Heritage Site in the Verde Valley of Arizona.

Sinagua rolls off the tongue easily, like so many Spanish words do. It is a name applied to Native Americans who lived in the Verde Valley between 500 and 1425 CE by the archeologist Harold Colton. Sinagua means ‘without water.’ The early Spaniards originally applied it to the San Francisco Mountains north of Flagstaff, the Sierra Sin Agua. I think they were disgusted that such beautiful mountains didn’t produce a river.

On our recent visit to Sedona, we visited two areas that did have water, however: the V-Bar-V Heritage Site and Montezuma’s well. The fact they had water made them important to the Sinagua. The V-Bar-V Heritage Site is known for its fine collection of petroglyphs— Native American rock art. Fortunately, the ranchers who had owned the V-Bar-V and ran their cattle along Beaver Creek both appreciated and protected the rock art.

V-Bar-V, by the way, reflects the ranches brand, V—V, that would have been burned onto the hide of its cattle. Branding helped identify the ranch’s cattle when they got mixed up with the neighbors. It also discouraged cattle wrestling, which was a popular way of supplementing your income in the Old West. Marketing gurus today apply the term branding to establishing your unique product, whether its potato chips or blogs.

If you been around my blog for a while, you are aware that Peggy and I really like rock art, both as an art form and for its historic context. I also find many of the petroglyphs humorous. Who know whether the Native Americans artists found them so. Most of what we know about rock art fits under the category of speculation.

The V-Bar-V site includes 1,032 petroglyphs on 13 panels, according to the archeologists who count such things. Most were created between 1150 and 1400 CE. The Sinagua packed their bags and abandoned the area in 1425 as part of a massive migration that impacted the whole Southwest for some unknown reason. Maybe a visionary shaman predicted that the Europeans were coming and would ruin the neighborhood. (Just kidding.) Anyway, the petroglyphs include zoomorphs, animal like figures, anthopomorphs, human like figures, and various geometric forms representing everything from maps to astronomy. While half listening to the volunteer led tour, Peggy and I were busy with our cameras.

Long neck or long body? Check out the two human-like figures on the right. I often find something humorous about rock art. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Love the tail.

Archeologists believe the circles represent the sun and serve as a planting calendar.

The two turtles are quite impressive. But what about the couple above the turtles. My imagination tells me they are dancing.

We found Montezuma’s Well a few miles away from the V-Bar-V Heritage Site. There is also a nearby Montezuma’s Castle that we didn’t get to. The so-called castle is a large cliff dwelling. Neither the Well nor the Castle has anything to do with Montezuma, however. Think profit. Early entrepreneurs believed that stealing the famous Aztec emperor’s name would attract more tourists. So here we are back to branding. They are lucky Montezuma didn’t wreak a little revenge on them for the theft. That could have gotten messy.

The Well is actually a large sinkhole with a very productive spring in the middle that pumps out some 1.6 million gallons (6 million liters) of water each day. Given that it manages to do this in the middle of a desert and has been for several thousand years, it is no wonder the Sinagua and other local natives found the spring so valuable. The Yavapai Indians even find it sacred; they believe that their ancestors emerged from the spring. Their legend contends that nothing can re-enter the hole once it has emerged. You can’t go home again.

Scientists have learned a lot about the spring. They have been studying it for decades. For one, they believe the water originates up on the Mogollon Rim where it percolates down through various rock layers until it hits the permeable Red Wall Sandstone, which it follows south until it reaches an impermeable volcanic dike, forcing it to the surface. Fish can’t live in the water, but leeches do, thousands of them. I was not tempted to go for a swim.

Not surprising, there is ample evidence including a number of dwellings that demonstrate the spring’s early use by the Sinagua and others. As for the name, I prefer the Hopi’s name for the spring, Tawapa, which means sun spring.

A cliff house perches above Montezuma’s Well. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

The same cliff house from a different perspective. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

We found this shelter down next to the water, very well protected from the elements.

A small inlet from the spring ran next to the shelter and probably provided water. I liked the reflection shot it provided.

Just down the trail from the shelter, we found more ruins.

A shot from the rim of Montezuma’s Well.

I found this tree growing down in the valley below the Well. It demanded I take its picture. Native Americans farmed  in the valley with water from the spring.

A final photo. This ruin was perched above the valley just down from the edge of the Well. NEXT BLOG: Burning Man… the 2015 theme.

Burning Man has always had a carnival like atmosphere— and lots of mirrors. This Kaleidoscope captured my wife Peggy in her floppy white hat.

It is that time of year when you have to prove your love for Burning Man by obtaining a ticket. On Wednesday, February 18 at 12-noon Pacific Standard Time, I will be sitting at my computer with my finger poised above the buy button. The computer’s clock (which I will have reset through the world atomic clock) will be counting down the seconds. At 11:59:59 my finger will make a dash for the button. Then I will wait. With luck, at some point between one and three hours, I will get on the site. Hopefully there will be tickets left. I am sure that computer geeks, far more geeky than I, have figured out how to hit that button within millionths, if not billionths of a second after 12:00. My poor human pinky doesn’t stand a chance.

A selfie of my pinky poised for action. “Too weird,” Peggy says. Do you think the photo makes me look fat?

And that’s not all. Before I even play Beat the Clock, I will have to preregister to purchase tickets. According to the Burning Man ticket site, I need to do that some time between 12-noon on February 11, and 12-noon on February 14. Apparently, I also have to go online and update my Burning Man profile before I can preregister. Fine.

Assuming I manage to successfully jump through all the hoops Burning Man has created, I will then be given the opportunity to shell out $790 for two tickets and another $50 for parking. Woo hoo. Actually, I don’t mind the price— Burning Man is a bargain for the week of art, entertainment, and experience it provides. And, this year’s theme, The Carnival of Mirrors, sounds intriguing. Here’s what Larry Harvey, the founder of Burning Man, and Stuart Mangrum, a Burning Man pundit, have to say about it.

This year’s theme is about mirrors and masks, mazes and merger. It will be a kind of magic show that takes the form of an old-fashioned carnival. This Carnival of Mirrors asks three essential questions. Within our media-saturated world, where products and people, consumption and communion morph into an endlessly diverting spectacle, 1) who is the trickster, 2) who is being tricked, and 3) how might we discover who we really are?

Here’s a thought, Larry. Burning Man is always about mirrors and masks and mazes. I suspect that plenty of merging goes on as well, by whatever name you want to call it. But I am a sucker for carnivals: any size, any type, anywhere. As for trickster… he’s one of my all time favorite characters, right up there with clowns, jesters and fools. We are talking crazy wisdom here folks, the type that you get when a Zen master whacks you on the side of the head, or you spend too much time watching old Groucho Marx reruns, or you try to understand modern physics.

One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas, I don’t know. The tusks were really stuck, so I went to Alabama where Tuscaloosa. –Groucho Marx

We all agree that your theory is crazy, but is it crazy enough? –A discussion between the physicists Niels Bohr and Wolfgang Pauli

I am reminded of the old adage, “Life’s a circus; enjoy the show.” Burning Man definitely meets the circus criteria, but the event adds a twist: roll up your sleeves and join the show. So while I expect to find fortune tellers, magicians, games of chance and possibly a burlesque show or two in the midway set up at the base of the Man, I know I will be called upon to entertain as well as be entertained. But no, you won’t see me naked, or twirling fire, or even more scary, twirling fire and naked.

It doesn’t matter which street you walk down at Burning Man, you can always expect to find sideshows that capture your attention. This woman displays her fire art. (Photo by Don Green, a member of our ‘tribe.’)

The layout for the midway at the base of the Man will be similar to last year’s as reflected in this photo. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

As for a magic show, what’s more magical than a giant praying mantis that insists on showing up or disappearing depending on which way the wind blows? Eat your heart out Houdini.

Of course there will be a maze at the heart of the carnival; it’s Burning Man and there is always a maze somewhere. A funhouse of mirrors and masks will be set up where Burners will be challenged to explore their various personalities. Will I find the real me? (If I haven’t done so by my age— hmmm, doubtful.) And what’s at the end of the maze? “…a final passage will reveal a courtyard that surrounds the Burning Man. Photo booths will here record the faces of participants, merging them into a swirling stream that will envelop the entire body of the Man.”

How can I resist? My finger is poised.

Costumes and masks are a major part of Burning Man. (Photo by Don Green.)

I found this hand print mask intriguing.

Burning Man masks come in all shapes and sizes. This 2014 sculpture was huge. And, I might add, oozing in personality.

A whole series of these carnival-like masks decorated the Center Camp Cafe in 2014.

This unusual use of a mirror, allowed me to explore my feminine side. So naturally I had to photograph the process.

In fact, I am always photographing myself in mirrors at Burning Man. (I’m the tiny image.) Is it ego? Or is it simply the fact that it is damned hard to photograph a mirror without putting yourself in it?

Going with the ego theme, I’ll wrap this post up with a whole bunch of Curts. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.) NEXT BLOG: The natural beauty of Burning Man.

Surrounded by towering mountain ranges, Burning Man is located on an ancient lakebed in the Black Rock Desert of northern Nevada.

You can’t ignore the desert when you are at Burning Man— even if you’ve only come for the art, entertainment, partying, or alternative lifestyle. The heat, dust, and massive dust storms forcefully remind you that you are not in San Francisco, or Vilnius, or Tokyo. Even the one-percenters, the folks who live in well-protected, catered camps, are forced to deal with these realities when they are out and about.

Whether you stop long enough to admire the beauty of desert or learn about its geologic and cultural history is another issue. Certainly, many Burners take the time to stop and look around, even if it is only for a brief, “Wow!” or to howl like coyotes, which I have heard them do over a particularly beautiful sunset or sunrise.

Burners are sometimes known to howl like coyotes at the sight of beautiful sunsets or sunrises. This coyote sculpture was at Burning Man 2013.

Larry Harvey’s initial choice of the Black Rock Desert as the venue for Burning Man was based more on the area’s isolation than anything else. He wanted a place where people could ‘do their own Burner thing’ and not be overly worried about what the neighbors might think, or the law. And he found it in Nevada. Once you get outside of Reno or Las Vegas, the population drops dramatically. When you leave the major highways that cross the state, the odds are that jackrabbits will outnumber the people.

The Black Rock Desert lies some 100 miles north of Reno in what is known as the Great Basin, an arid region characterized by narrow, fault-block mountain ranges and flat valleys trending mainly in a north-south direction. It was once suggested that the best way to picture the Basin and Range province is to think of it as “army of caterpillars marching toward Mexico.” Big caterpillars. As for the Great Basin part of the equation, 12,000 years ago the Black Rock Desert was part of Lake Lahontan, a huge glacier fed lake that covered some 8500 square miles. The flat playa that Burning Man sits on today is a dried up remnant of the lakebed. The dust and dust storms are its legacy.

The Playa at Burning Man is made up of a lakebed that was buried under Lake Lahontan 12,000 years ago. Black Rock City stretches across the horizon.

Looking out from Burning Man across the Black Rock Desert playa.

Crossing the Great Basin with horses, oxen and mules, or even on foot, early pioneers gained a much more intimate knowledge of the desert than today’s Burners. Radical self-reliance, one of the ten principles of Burning Man, was all that stood between the pioneers and death. One of the routes the adventurers followed, the Applegate Trail, makes its way through the Black Rock Desert. Living, as I do, in the Applegate Valley, along the Applegate River, on Upper Applegate Road, near the Applegate reservoir, I have a certain familiarity with the Applegate family.

The following sunset and rainbow photos were taken by Don Green, Tom Lovering, Ken Lake, Peggy Mekemson and me, all part of our group.

We were coming into Burning Man when we hit a rainstorm and were entertained by this multi-hued rainbow.

This double rainbow seemed to end in Black Rock City.

Sunset reflected on a mountain at Burning Man in the Black Rock Desert.

Another mountain reflecting the sun at Burning Man.

Sunset reflected through a dusty haze. Photo taken  from our campsite at Black Rock City.

Evening clouds illuminated by the sun

The sun sets on Black Rock City with a slight sliver of the moon.

There are millions of beautiful photos of the Greek Island of Santorini, but none can match going there.

“There are travelers and then there are Travelers. If you take some time to review Curt’s lengthy résumé you’ll see what we mean: Peace Corps in Liberia, year after year at Burning Man, kayaking with orcas, and backpacking with the grizzlies. He walks the walk and his blog documents all of it.”

Travel Bloggers James and Terri Vance

“Now where did I leave that fish?” A big Kodiak Bear looks for salmon on the Frazer River of Kodiak Island. He was about 50 yards away from Peggy and me, a distance he could travel in 10 seconds. 1o, 9, 8,7…

A couple of weeks ago, two of my favorite world travelers, James and Terri Vance at Gallivance, nominated me to participate in what is called a “Behind the Scenes Blog Hop.” It’s a project making its way around the blogosphere where bloggers provide insight into why they blog. In this particular case, it was about people who travel frequently and write about their experiences. Go here to learn about what James and Terri have to say about their own journeys. I highly recommend following their blog if you don’t already.

The project sounded like fun but I was busy at the time. Today, I came up for air. Let me start by noting I am a wanderer by nature. I think it’s genetic. I’ve done a fair amount of genealogical research and discovered that my direct line of ancestors, at least as far as the 1600s, hit the road running and rarely looked back. As for me, as soon as I was allowed out of the house on my own, I set off to explore the fields, woods, ponds and creeks of the Sierra Nevada Mountain foothills where I grew up.

Why do you write what you write?

I am a storyteller and some of my best stories are about my travels and adventures. I believe that travel is one of the most enriching experiences we can have. Mark Twain said, “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” Explore, dream, discover: magical words that have always been my motto. Consequently, I have a lifetime full of wandering and very few regrets. My wife Peggy and I are wealthy with the experiences we have had.

And it is wealth we love to share— partially because it is fun to relive the adventures, but there is more. I hope to encourage those who read my blogs to “catch the trade winds in their sails.” And if not? I at least hope I can provide a taste of adventure, a dash of humor, a pinch of education, and on occasion, a serious thought.

There are two of other points I try to make with my travel writing. One, adventure travel doesn’t have to be expensive or difficult. Of course it can be, but it can also be a walk in the woods or a visit to a new restaurant. Anything that broadens our perspective on life can be an adventure. Just recently, for example, I wrote about a visit to a restaurant in Nashville that served really hot chicken. Believe me it was an adventure. And last year I wrote about a walk to my mailbox. It didn’t have to be an adventure, but I turned it into one.

This oak tree lives along the path I walk to the mailbox. In addition to having its own unique look, it serves as a home to a number of woodland creatures. A whole adventure could be built around watching it for 24 hours. I might add, this tree would be completely happy in the Hobbit.

Two, age does not have to be a barrier to travel. Peggy is big on this point. Young and old alike can have adventures. I am now in my 70s and Peggy is in her 60s and yet last year found us disappearing into a remote wilderness on a backpacking trip by ourselves, sea kayaking with the orcas off Vancouver Island, and going to Burning Man in the Nevada desert. If we can do these things, certainly people in their 50s, 40s, 30s and 20s can, not to mention 60s and 70s. And if you have children, take them along. You will create a lifetime of memories.

How does your blog differ from others of its genre?

Variety comes to mind. One day I might be writing about cruising the Mediterranean Sea and visiting a Greek Island like Santorini. Another day I could be introducing you to Pastie Dan, a character at Burning Man who makes, and will gladly apply, pasties to cover women’s nipples. You might join me for a raft trip down the Colorado, a boat trip up the Amazon, or a narrow boat tour in England. Want a little excitement? Try waking up at 3 a.m. with a bear standing on your chest in the backcountry of Yosemite National Park. Then there was the rattlesnake that tried to bite me on the butt when I was doing my thing in the woods. My poor sphincter was frozen for a week. Want a touch of the exotic? Join Peggy and me as we search for Big Foot, UFOs and ghosts— it’s all in fun, and yet…

Admittedly, this guy is a little bigger than the rattlesnake that tried to bite me on the butt. With rattlesnakes, I am not sure size matters, however. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

This Bigfoot trap is located four miles from my home. It was maintained in the 70s in hopes of actually capturing one of the big fellows. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Normally Pastie Dan plies his trade at the Center Camp Cafe but occasionally, he wanders the roads of Black Rock City. He stopped at our camp to see if any of the women were in the market for pasties.

Maneuvering a 60 foot long Narrow Boat through the Trent and Mersey Canal in England is a wonderful adventure that comes with pubs along the way.

How does your writing process work?

My stories start with experiences. I don’t scramble over rocks in New Mexico looking for petroglyphs because I want to write about the experience. I risk life and limb because I am fascinated with petroglyphs. I will confess, though, that when Peggy and I take photographs, we think about the blog— in addition to documenting our travels.

We call this large cat a cougar, mountain lion, puma… it would be interesting to know what the ancient Native American who made this rock art thought about and called his creation. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Research is also part of the process, either before we traipse off on an adventure because it enhances the experience, or afterwards because I want to add depth to what I am writing about.

As for the actual writing… writing is writing; it’s work. And I say this even though I love to write. I will normally think through what I want to write about, create a first draft, do a rewrite and then edit for mistakes. Then I turn it over to Peggy for further editing.

Photographs are also a very important part of my blogging. Between Peggy and me, we often have as many as 100 photos we have taken in relation to a particular blog. Ten to fifteen have to be selected out for a post and then processed. Mainly I work on cropping the photo to capture what I want, but I also make minor adjustments to light, color, shadows and sharpness if needed. Altogether, the process of creating a blog can take from three to eight hours.

What are you working on/writing?

I work from a calendar of blogs I want to write. I’ll usually have two or three months’ worth of blogs in mind. This time of the year, I often do several on Burning Man because many of my readers are Burners, excited about getting tickets. Since I have now been to Burning Man for ten years, I am going to do a best of ten series (from my perspective) of sculptures, mutant vehicles, burns, structures, etc. over the next few weeks. After that, I will return to my north coast series exploring the coast of Northern California, Oregon and Washington. Or I may do a series on California’s gold rush towns. (My home town was one.)

One of my all-time favorite sculptures at Burning Man.

The really big writing project I have been working on has been the book about my Peace Corps experience in Liberia, West Africa: The Bush Devil Ate Sam. I’ve posted several chapters over the past couple of years on my blog and a number of you helped me select the title of the book. This is my first venture into self-publishing and let me say unequivocally and undeniably, it has been a steep learning curve (understatement). I wrapped up getting the book in to Bookbaby two months ago, or at least thought I did. Bookbaby dutifully put the book on numerous E-pub sites and sent me back printed copies I requested. And what did I discover? Even though Peggy and I had meticulously done a line-by-line edit, some 30 errors. Damn. (A woman who is really good at editing found 25 of them, friends and family others.) So it was back to the drawing boards. Anyway, I sent all the corrections in last Wednesday and also set up the print on demand option. Soon…

One good bit of news, Steven Spatz, the president of Bookbaby, wrote to me on Friday and said he would like to feature The Bush Devil Ate Sam this week on Bookbaby’s blog. Given that Bookbaby is one the largest self-publishing companies in the world, produces thousands of books, and has an excellent reputation, things are looking up. (And no, Steven is not going to use me as an example of how not to.)

When I graduated from UC Berkeley and travelled off to Liberia, West Africa as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I began one of the grandest adventures of my life. Once there, I continued to explore my surroundings by hiking off into the jungle. Here, I am standing on a bridge built by Kpelle villagers.

NOMINATIONS

As part of this process of blog hopping, we are asked to nominate two other bloggers to participate in the blog hop. This is tough; there are so many great bloggers I follow. But that said, here are my two nominations:

Linda at Shoreacres: Wow, this woman can write. While she isn’t exactly a travel blogger, I can guarantee she will take you on some great journeys. As a compliment to the posts she writes, her followers comment in paragraphs instead of sentences.

Cindy Knoke: Cindy takes you from her home in southern California, the Holler, to journeys around the world. Her photography, particularly in terms of birds and wildlife, is superb.

Once, when I was wandering aimlessly along the streets of Black Rock City, I came across a group that featured wonderful photo montages, including this one. Somehow or the other, it reminded me of the Burning Man ticketing process.

I return to Burning Man for the 11^th time this year. Maybe. The ticketing process for Burning Man is like a Mad Hatter’s tea party. I described it in a blog last week. But supposedly, if I got all of my jackrabbits in a row, and if I signed in within three seconds of the time the ticket window opened, the odds were good I would get a ticket.

I met all of the requirements. I suspect if BM had demanded that I had to pat my head and rub my belly while simultaneously hitting the ticket button, I would have figured out a way to do it— maybe with my nose. I like Burning Man that much. As it was, I redid my profile, registered, updated my Ticket-fly account, and got my magic number from Burning Man: WWBK2FVF. Peggy did the same thing. We would double our chances.

And there we were at 12-noon today. I had checked in at timeanddate.com PST and made sure my computer clock was coordinated to the second on Pacific Standard Time. With my finger poised at my computer and Peggy at hers, I did the ten-second countdown from 11:59:50. 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1-0! When I hit zero, both of our fingers made a mad dash for enter. How long did it take? A hundredth of a second, certainly no longer than a tenth.

I immediately got a message. I was in the cue and would get to the purchase site in two minutes. Woohoo! If ever there was a guarantee, I had it. Peggy wasn’t quite so lucky. She would get in within an hour. That was strange. Then even stranger things started happening, really strange things. A little music from the Twilight Zone TV series of yore might be appropriate. “Neenner, neenner, neenner, neenner.”

Suddenly my wait time jumped to 45 minutes! Where had I gained 43 minutes? How had 30,000 people, or so, suddenly jumped in front of me? Were there algorithms attached to my number that said I had been enough times, that I had had enough of a good thing? I had read that it was best to sign up as a virgin, a first timer. Had I been too honest, too transparent? But I was a stoic, right up there with Zeno the Greek Philosopher. I resigned myself to wait the 45 minutes. The countdown continued,

I made it to 19 minutes or so. Zap! I was put on hold. Why? “Why?” I screamed at my computer. Peggy had told me she didn’t need to hear any fowl language. “Cluck, cluck, cluck!” I was about to have a massive heart attack, a coronary. Could I sue Burning Man? After 10 minutes the site came back up. My wait time was an hour plus. Eventually, it worked its way down, after jumping back and forth between more minutes and less. And then finally, I got a message; I was in— except being in meant waiting another ten minutes. Again, no explanation. Finally, the site came up. Did I want two tickets or one: two. Did I need a vehicle pass? Yes. Did I want to contribute another $40 to Burning Man? After all of this— no I didn’t.

I hit the submit button. No tickets are available, I was told. And there was no vehicle pass. But I was still welcome to contribute $40 to Burning Man. Thirty minutes later, Peggy was told there were no tickets. She, too, had the opportunity to contribute $40.

So, once again I had participated in the fiasco known as the Burning Man ticket sign-up and once again I sit here with no tickets. I will probably get tickets, but still, Burning Man owes me an explanation for its weird behavior. I am not holding my breath.

Burning Man is wonderfully strange, and always worth the price of a ticket… assuming you can get one.

Before the beginning of the environmental movement, many people believed that trees such as this 1500 year old redwood should be cut down to provide homes, jobs and decks.

Peggy and I drove down to Sacramento, California on Thursday. She wanted to visit her mom. I came down to do an oral history interview for the Environmental Council of Sacramento (ECOS). The organization has been protecting Sacramento’s environment for so long it had forgotten its childhood.

I think ECOS wanted to catch up with me while I am still around. (Yikes!) Or at least while I had my memory left. Fortunately I have a long memory, or at least notes, and I was there for the organization’s birth.

My connection with the environmental movement started on April 22, 1970. For those of you not familiar with the date, it was Earth Day I. At the time I was running Peace Corps’ Northern California and Nevada’s Public Affairs office out of Sacramento. It was a great job, but I was getting tired of the recruitment business— I’d been at it for three years. So, I was easily distracted away from my recruitment booth at the University of California Davis that day.

Earth Day was my type of happening. UC Davis puts on great fairs. It probably has to do with an event it calls Picnic Day. Picnic Day is a rite of spring event with roots as deep as humankind. The birds are singing, flowers are blooming, and the snow is melting in the mountains; let’s have a party! All of the departments become involved, put on shows, put up displays, and do silly things.

Earth Day was like that but it also incorporated a vitally important message.

Somehow we had forgotten where we came from in our rush toward progress and the good life, in our deification of the dollar, in our maximizing of profits, and in our greed. In the process we were chopping down our forests, polluting our streams, poisoning our air, destroying our last remaining wilderness areas, and saying goodbye forever to innumerable species whose only evolutionary mistake was to get in our way.

We had forgotten that birds can make music as beautifully as any stereo, that peace and balance can be found in the wilderness, and that somehow, in some yet unfathomable way, our fate might be tied to that of the pup fish. It seemed okay that the last Brown Pelican was about to fly off into the sunset forever so we could squeeze one more bushel of wheat from our crops, and that it was appropriate for the last of the great Redwoods, silent sentinels who had maintained their vigilance for over 4000 years, to die for our patio with a lifespan of 20 years.

“Once you have seen one redwood, you have seen them all,” Ronald Reagan would proclaim.

Rachel Carson, in her landmark book Silent Spring, had sounded a clarion call to a Holy Crusade: saving the earth. Others, too, were raising the alarm. Earth Day I was an expression of growing concern. Its message struck a deep chord within my soul. The years I had spent wandering in the woods while growing up, my exploring of the rainforest around Gbarnga, Liberia during Peace Corps, and my hiking in the wilderness as a backpacker, all came together in a desire to join the environmental movement and help save the wilderness. (The urge, I cheerfully admit, was closely connected to my desire to disappear into the woods as much as possible.)

How to go about pursuing a career in saving the wilderness wasn’t all that clear, though. My occupations to date had been political science major, teacher and Peace Corps recruiter. None of those spelled environmentalist. I committed myself to look around, however, and to be ready for any opportunities that came my way.

Serendipity or synchronicity, being what they are, an opportunity arose immediately. I read an article in the Sacramento Bee about an Ecology Information Center (EIC) that was being organized in Sacramento as a response to Earth Day I. The organization was forming different committees to focus on a variety of environmental issues and was seeking volunteers. Lights went off in my head as I was struck by one of my brainstorms. What if I went in and volunteered to set up a committee that would focus on environment and politics, two of my passions of the moment? Certainly the environmental movement in Sacramento needed a political arm and would benefit from a focused effort. I further reasoned that EIC would have a tough time turning down a full-time volunteer.

A church out in Carmichael, a suburb in Sacramento, had donated the Center some free space so I took a break from the recruitment business and drove out to see what I could learn. When I walked in, two people were in a hot debate, almost yelling at each other. My presence seemed to make little difference. It was my introduction to the world of grass-roots organizations.

“I’ll come back another time,” I announced and turned to leave. This was not a situation I needed to be in.

“Oh, we’re sorry,” the young woman half of the debate announced and sounded like she meant it.

“Yes, please stay. We’re finished with our discussion,” the older man added, obviously a little embarrassed.

I hesitated and walked back in. The man introduced himself as Chuck Wiederhold. The young woman was Katie Easterwood and they had been arguing over the direction of the Center. Chuck felt the organization’s primary direction should be environmental education while Katie was more into environmental action. She was specifically interested in implementing a major recycling project in Sacramento modeled after one she had initiated at American River College. They both seemed like bright, capable people and Katie was particularly impressive at 18 years of age. The two of them were founding members of the organization and on the Board.

“I am interested in another area,” I said with a smile, throwing another option into the mix and wondering how long it would be before the two were yelling at me. I outlined my thoughts on creating a committee that would focus on electing environmentally concerned people to the City Council and Board of Supervisors. I added that I was willing to work full-time as a volunteer and outlined my background. The Director of Peace Corps Public Affairs for Northern California and Nevada sounded more grand that it was. Apparently my resume, or possibly my willingness to work full-time for free, impressed them— more than I had intended.

“I have an even better idea,” Chuck had announced with Katie’s concurrence, “why don’t you consider becoming EIC’s Executive Director.”

There it was, just like that. After a 15 minute discussion based on a whim, I was being offered the opportunity to become a card-carrying environmentalist, a leader in Sacramento’s fledgling environmental movement. I was in on the ground floor.

Three months later, I was up to my ears in garbage. Katie’s idea to run a once a month, community wide recycling drive was underway. Ten thousand families were dropping off tons of newspapers, cans and bottles at six sites we had set up throughout Sacramento City and County. EIC was running an operation that involved 300 volunteers and 15 rental trucks with one wildly enthusiastic young woman and one totally exhausted executive director, who was receiving a whopping $100 a month in compensation. Twenty-four hours after starting, we stored our last bundle of newspapers in a vacant building in Old Sacramento (later to become Frank Fat’s restaurant) and limped off to sleep. Shortly afterwards, the Board doubled my salary to $200 per month.

As crazy as the recycling drives were, I managed to become involved in other environmental issues. One of the most memorable was Proposition 18, a 1970 California Initiative spearheaded by the Tuberculosis and Respiratory Disease Association of California (later to become the Lung Association). Proposition 18, as it turned out, would serve as the foundation to ECOS.

The TB folks had gone a long way toward conquering tuberculosis and were looking around for other challenges. Since they were experts in matters pertaining to the lungs, it made sense to tackle other lung diseases. Research was showing that smoking and air pollution were two major causes of lung disease. Proposition 18, the Clean Air Initiative, was designed to raise money from the motor vehicle fuel tax and license fees to control automobile caused air pollution and develop mass transportation alternatives.

In Sacramento, a coalition of organizations ranging from the League of Women Voters to the American Association of University Women, the Audubon Society and Sierra Club had joined the TB Association in its effort. It was a natural for EIC to join as well. I was soon attending meetings and helping out with the campaign.

The highway interests (with money provided by the oil companies) defeated Proposition 18, but the coalition had worked well together. I had enjoyed the opportunity of working with leaders from other community-based groups and knew I would miss the interaction. At our wrap up session after the November election, someone suggested we should maintain the coalition. I jumped on the idea. There were a wide range of environmental issues that would benefit. It was one thing for EIC to make a point; it was something else when the Tuberculosis Association or League of Women Voters spoke out on the same issue.

Pulling together a variety of organizations to support environmental issues recognized a central tenet of the ecology movement. Solutions to environmental problems demand multi-faceted approaches. Everything is related. Urban sprawl encourages extensive automobile use, which, in turn, leads to air pollution. Reducing urban sprawl supports mass transit and has the added advantage of protecting valuable farmland and rapidly disappearing natural areas. It was clear as we talked that coalition members were excited about the potential of working together and believed we could make a difference in the quality of life in Sacramento.

“I move we create an ongoing organization,” I offered. The motion was immediately seconded and support was unanimous. We decided to call our organization the Environmental Council of Sacramento, ECOS. Each organization could have two representatives. Membership would be open to any organization concerned with improving and protecting Sacramento’s environment. Kris Corn, the young woman from the Tuberculosis Association who had headed up the Clean Air Initiative, was selected as the first president.

ECOS continues to function in Sacramento today as one of the longest continuing community environmental coalitions in the nation. I worked closely with the organization for several years and am proud of my early involvement. I am even more proud of what the organization has been able to accomplish in the 45 years since.

Monumental sculptures, some you can climb on, are among the most popular art works at Burning Man.

I am going to be on the road for the next few weeks, so I decided to produce several blogs that might be of interest to my readers but would be easy for me to do: Voila—The Best Of Burning Man series! I’ve now been to Burning Man for ten years starting in 2004 (and will be going again in 2015, assuming I get two tickets and a vehicle pass). Each blog will feature a top ten category such as top ten sculptures, mutant vehicles, etc.

Now, this is important. 1) These are from my perspective. Other people will have different points of view. 2) I never see everything that is available to see at Burning Man. There is simply too much. So it’s quite possible that I have missed some really great things. My apologies. 3) I missed 2011. 4) These photos are not in order of choice. How could I choose? (Grin)

Basically, this series will include a brief introduction and then my top ten choices. There may be captions on my photos, or not. Finally, while Peggy and I have taken the majority of these photos, I have also included photos from Tom Lovering, Beth Lovering, Don Green, and Ken Lake… all members of our ‘tribe,’ and friends.

Series 1: Monumental Sculptures

There is so much great art at Burning Man that selecting 10 would be impossible without some further breakdowns. So I am going to start with Really Big Sculptures. My criteria here is to feature sculptures that are at least 20 feet tall (with one exception). My top ten:

A close up of the art work shown above. I call it Fantasy.

This massive sailing ship was sunk half in the sand.

The classic female nude has always been a favorite subject of artists. This beautiful woman was over 50 feet tall.

Another Burning Man classic by the same artist.

The same sculpture at night. The colors were constantly changing.

This beauty was featured during my earlier years at Burning Man. Her hair was made from chains and fire shot out of her hands.

These two oil tankers welded together represented one of Burning Man’s pro-environmental themes.

This monumental couple was featured at Burning Man in 2014. It would later be burned.

People were invited to rest in the belly of this coyote that was howling at the moon and came with a wire brush tail.

A what’s-it sculpture stood on tip toes.

What this dragon curled around its egg lacked in height, she made up in length. And yes, she was a fire breathing dragon, as we discovered at night.

Another view. NEXT POST: Part 2 of my best of ten series: Smaller sculptures.

I found this lady sphinx quite amusing. In fact, much of the art at Burning Man has an element of humor to it.

I am going to be on the road for the next few weeks, so I decided to produce several blogs that might be of interest to my readers but would be easy for me to do: Voila—The Best Of Burning Man series! I’ve now been to Burning Man for ten years starting in 2004 (and will be going again in 2015, assuming I get two tickets and a vehicle pass). Each blog will feature a top ten category such as top ten sculptures, mutant vehicles, etc.

Now, this is important. 1) These are from my perspective. Other people will have different points of view. 2) I never see everything that is available to see at Burning Man. There is simply too much. So it’s quite possible that I have missed some really great things. My apologies. 3) I missed 2011. 4) These photos are not in order of choice. That is beyond me. (Grin)

Basically, this series will include a brief introduction and then my top ten choices. There may be captions on my photos, or not. Finally, while Peggy and I have taken the majority of these photos, I have also included photos from Tom Lovering, Beth Lovering, Don Green, and Ken Lake… all members of our ‘tribe,’ and friends.

Series 2: Sculptures under 20 feet tall

While the large sculptures tend to attract the crowds, smaller works abound at Burning Man. Often, they are exquisite: sometimes they are humorous. These 10 are among my favorites:

“I shot an arrow into the air…” A graceful archer aims his arrow at the sky.

I found these cats with their unique look way out on the Playa.

This dinosaur skeleton was also wandering the Playa.

Large letters forming words such as love, mom, and ego make their way to Black Rock City annually.

The Center Camp Cafe is always filled with art, such as this large hand.

One year a whole family of these fun creatures were out on the Playa.

These cubes climbing high into the sky weren’t actually that high. They were an optical illusion.

One year, regional groups sponsored art at Burning Man. This impressive bull came out of Texas.

Number 10 was a toss-up. I couldn’t choose between a fiddling rabbit…

…or a Queen Bee with boobs. NEXT POST: Photography, paintings and murals in my Top Ten Series.

The Man was still burning, refusing to fall down, when I walked back to the Center Camp Cafe. Beyond one or two people sleeping on the floor, the Cafe was empty. I was more or less alone with a number of dramatic paintings, including this one. The eyes captured me and pulled me in.

I am going to be on the road for the next few weeks, so I decided to produce several blogs that might be of interest to my readers but would be easy for me to do: Voila—The Best Of Burning Man series! I’ve now been to Burning Man for ten years starting in 2004 (and will be going again in 2015, assuming I get two tickets and a vehicle pass). Each blog will feature a top ten category such as top ten sculptures, mutant vehicles, etc.

Important. 1) These are from my perspective. Other people will have different points of view. 2) I never see everything that is available to see at Burning Man. There is simply too much. So it’s quite possible that I have missed some really great things. My apologies. 3) I missed 2011. 4) These photos are not in order of choice. That is beyond me. (Grin)

Basically, this series will include a brief introduction and then my top ten choices. There may be captions on my photos, or not. Finally, while Peggy and I have taken the majority of these photos, I have also included photos from Tom Lovering, Beth Lovering, Don Green, and Ken Lake… all members of our ‘tribe,’ and friends.

Series 3: Paintings and photography

Painters and photographers have always contributed to Burning Man, at least for the ten years I have participated. Many of the paintings, from my observation, have featured nature and mythical themes.

Burning Man is a photographer’s paradise. Millions of photos are taken annually and some of the photographers are quite talented. Their work is scattered across the web. One day when I was out wandering in Black Rock City, I came across Camp Montage, where a group of gifted photographers had combined various images from Black Rock City into single works. I loved the way they captured the essence of Burning Man. I’ve included two of their montages.

Mural work is everywhere and many of the murals are works in progress, especially at the beginning of the week. Blank walls demand to be filled.

The shaman of Mesoamerican cultures considered the jaguar as an essential companion or nagual on their drug induced journeys into the dangerous spirit world.

The detail on this painting featuring goddess-like women, an elephant and birds is incredible.

This underwater theme with its brightly colored creatures has always been one of my favorite Burning Man murals.Check out the giant squid and the whale (or shark, given the teeth) on the right.

This mural reminds me of dreams I had in Bali. Apparently I wasn’t eating Portobello mushrooms.

Monkey business and a message were featured on this mural. I’d be a little worried about the waves if I were driving across the Golden Gate Bridge at the time..

This photograph montage created by the Montage Camp is composed of a number of different photos taken at Burning Man . Take a close look. It is what you might see on a typical day.

This combination of photos from Camp Montage focuses more on mutant vehicles— from the small to the gigantic.

A theme camp I came across in 2006 featured large, meditative images that were backlit by the outside sun.

Another example.

A mural artist dabs hair on the monkey mural shown above.

An artist works on a painting at the Center Camp Cafe.

Another artist plies his trade while a Burner looks on. These are examples where painting borders on performance art. NEXT BLOG: The Costumes of Burning Man, another form of creativity.

Costumes are an integral part of Burning Man and some people such as my friend Ken (aka Scotty) love to dress up.

I am going to be on the road for the next few weeks, so I decided to produce several blogs that might be of interest to my readers but would be easy for me to do: Voila—The Best Of Burning Man series! I’ve now been to Burning Man for ten years starting in 2004 (and will be going again in 2015, assuming I get two tickets and a vehicle pass). Each blog will feature a top ten category such as top ten sculptures, mutant vehicles, etc.

Important: 1) These are from my perspective. Other people will have different points of view. 2) I never see everything that is available to see at Burning Man. There is simply too much. So it’s quite possible that I have missed some really great things. My apologies. 3) I missed 2011. 4) These photos are not in order of choice. That is beyond me. (Grin)

Basically, this series will include a brief introduction and then my top ten choices. There may be captions on my photos, or not. Finally, while Peggy and I have taken the majority of these photos, I have also included photos from Tom Lovering, Beth Lovering, Don Green, and Ken Lake… all members of our ‘tribe,’ and friends.

Series 5: Costumes

The first advice I ever received from a Burning Man participant was that I had to wear a costume if I went. “It’s an essential part of being a Burner,” he told me. If I contributed nothing else, I had to dress up. The only lecture I ever received at Burning Man was that I wasn’t dressed up enough. Okay, I confess, I have never been good at costumes, but I have tried. I am Outlaw, that’s my Burning Man name, and I try to dress like one, sort of. Doesn’t a black hat mean you are an outlaw? Umpteen hundred Westerns can’t be wrong.

Given that there are thousands of costumes at Burning Man, picking out the ten best is impossible. But here is a sample of what you might see: (Special thanks to Don Green, who is never shy when it comes to asking, “May I take your photo?”)

Some costumes, such as this shaman, can be incredibly elaborate.

Others can be as simple as artfully applied makeup.

Or, by adding face paint and a jewel.

This pink feather headdress, pink glasses, and pink lipstick were quite dramatic.

Small horns, red dye, and a magnificent mustache made for a magnificent devil. (One year, it seemed that half the women were wearing angel wings. )

It always seems that one or two people select silver paint, and little else, as their costume.

This exotic beauty has always been one of my favorites.

Simple feathers gave this man a dramatic look.

I’ll close with these elaborately costumed guys who would fit right into the Mardi Gras or Venice. NEXT BLOG: Mutant Vehicles

The tusks on this mammoth are what make this art car one of my favorite mutant vehicles at Burning Man. People sit inside the rib cage. The driver climbs into the head.

I am going to be on the road for the next few weeks, so I decided to produce several blogs that might be of interest to my readers but would be easy for me to do: Voila—The Best Of Burning Man series! I’ve now been to Burning Man for ten years starting in 2004 (and will be going again in 2015, assuming I get two tickets and a vehicle pass). Each blog will feature a top ten category such as top ten sculptures, mutant vehicles, etc.

Important: 1) These are from my perspective. Other people will have different points of view. 2) I never see everything that is available to see at Burning Man. There is simply too much. So it’s quite possible that I have missed some really great things. My apologies. 3) I missed 2011. 4) These photos are not in order of choice. That is beyond me. (Grin)

Basically, this series will include a brief introduction and then my top ten choices. There may be captions on my photos, or not. Finally, while Peggy and I have taken the majority of these photos, I have also included photos from Tom Lovering, Beth Lovering, Don Green, and Ken Lake… all members of our ‘tribe,’ and friends.

Series 5: Mutant Vehicles

Burning Man requires that you park whatever you happen to be driving when you arrive at Black Rock City. You are expected to ride a bike or walk where you are going. The exceptions are mutant vehicles that are free to wander about. A mutant vehicle is a vehicle that has been modified to resemble something that in no way resembles the original car, truck, bus or golf cart it was. (There is a three-masted sailing ship that looks exactly like it did when it sailed the seven seas, however. And this year the playa is supposed to feature a recovered 747 jet.)

Some of the mutant vehicles are quite artistic. The best of these creations are jaw dropping unique. Most mutant vehicles take on a totally different persona at night when the Playa becomes magical with their comings and goings. I’ve included an example.

Here are a few of my favorites. If you have been following my blog for a while, they will be familiar.

El Pulpo Mechanico became an instant Burning Man classic when it first made its appearance on the Playa a few years ago. At night, its arms pump up and down shooting out fire.

Fire breathing dragons are also perennial favorites at Burning Man.

Another, more ferocious looking dragon in Black Rock City.

Never Was Haul resembles a Victorian house that has been converted to a steam engine train.

Mutant vehicles, such as this vase, take on different personalities at night.

The same mutant vehicle vase shown above, parked in Black Rock City during the day.

Smaller mutant vehicles often brim over with character, such as this polar bear with its red rose.

The sailing ship I mentioned above.

A rhino even more massive than its counterpart in East Africa.

And finally, a wart hog.
NEXT BLOG: The buildings of Burning Man.

A photo of the shade structure over the Sacred Spaces building at Burning Man.

I am going to be on the road for the next few weeks, so I decided to produce several blogs that might be of interest to my readers but would be easy for me to do: Voila—The Best Of Burning Man series! I’ve now been to Burning Man for ten years starting in 2004 (and will be going again in 2015, assuming I get two tickets and a vehicle pass). Each blog will feature a top ten category such as top ten sculptures, mutant vehicles, etc.

Important. 1) These are from my perspective. Other people will have different points of view. 2) I never see everything that is available to see at Burning Man. There is simply too much. So it’s quite possible that I have missed some really great things. My apologies. 3) I missed 2011. 4) These photos are not in order of choice. That is beyond me. (Grin)

Basically, this series will include a brief introduction and then my top ten choices. There may be captions on my photos, or not. Finally, while Peggy and I have taken the majority of these photos, I have also included photos from Tom Lovering, Beth Lovering, Don Green, and Ken Lake… all members of our ‘tribe,’ and friends.

Series 6: The Buildings of Black Rock City

You could easily spend the seven days of Burning Man walking up and down the streets of Black Rock City and looking at what Burners and tribes have chosen to build. There are the major structures like Center Camp Café and what you might find along the Esplanade, Burning Man’s major thoroughfare, but these are only the beginning.

A number of structures built as art and/or theme pieces are also found out on the Playa.

In this particular post, I don’t intend to do a top ten. Instead I will provide you with a sample of what you might expect to see. Remember: these are structures that are only meant to last the seven days of Burning Man. Afterwards, they come down. Some, out on the Playa, are turned into spectacular fires.

A number of impressive buildings including the Sacred Spaces building are found along the Esplanade at Burning Man.

Another of my favorite buildings along the Esplanade. Note the matching mutant vehicle on the right.

This tribe or camp chose to build a castle on the Esplanade as a dancing venue.

This small ‘city,’ the Mega Mart, was built out on the Playa. Like all urban areas, it had a graffiti problem. It was destined to be burned.

A cathedral was also built out on the Playa.

The cathedral at night.

On a more humorous note, the Bird Trap Church.

This mega-church was built by a Burner who wanted to get married in Black Rock City.

We attended the wedding.

The NOLA camp always brings a bit of New Orleans to Black Rock City.

Another realistic and impressive Black Rock City structure built to last a week.

Another one of my favorites, a bar on wheels. You never knew where it might show up on the Playa, but it was always good for a free drink. NEXT BLOG: A break from Burning Man: My book, The Bush Devil Ate Sam is now out and available as an eBook and in printed form. I’ll share the details on where to get a copy.