A stubborn horse at the end of the world
The place is Ushuaia, the locals like to claim it is fin del mundo (end of the world). It is a little town in southernmost tip of Argentina where we stayed a night at Arakur resort before embarking on the epic journey to the real end of the world, the Antarctica. It is wondrous how Negrito, the stubborn horse. fits into my tale.
In a nutshell, it was the year of saying yes. And having never ridden a horse before, we said yes. I said yes to Negrito and the better half said yes to Cerrito (darkness). In hind sight, we should have said no. But when you are staring at the end of the world – the placard as well as the prospect – it is easy to feel reckless. So what if helmets were nowhere to be found at Arakur’s horse riding ranch. And so what if I didn’t understand the tour guide’s instructions and they didn’t understand me.
It turned out that Negrito was a stubborn one. Frankly, I wouldn’t have known a stubborn horse from an agreeable one if it weren’t for Cerrito. Cerrito appeared happy-go-lucky following tour guide’s instructions. Negrito on the other hand, was singularly focused on finding grass to munch on. Perhaps it was the difference in their ages. Negrito was a much younger stallion and as far as I could gather, it hadn’t been fed or it had a healthier appetite. It kept going off course in search of greener pastures. And it didn’t pay much heed to the tour guide’s tsk-tsks. I could barely rein him in. And every time I did, he let me know he wasn’t happy one bit. It would neigh or huff with displeasure. When the tour ended, he decided to drive me through a thorn bush just to let me know that while I was temporarily riding him, he was the boss at all times. Thankfully, it was cold and I was bundled up, and the thorn bush didn’t leave a permanent damage, just a temporary dent our new found enthusiasm for saying yes.
Here are some of the beautiful views of the area surrounding Arakur.
When Goddess Durga turns to caregiving
This is the last chapter of a story, a duet, that started more than half a century ago. The first chapter started with introduction of a healer into a young woman’s life. In the intervening chapters, the woman becomes his wife, and subsequently, the mother of their children. I, the observer, often see Goddess Durga in women like her. There is but one difference, Durga was born a warrior, her singular purpose was to slay evils with her many hands. During the last fifty years, this woman has been using her hands to multi-task – an educator, a planner, a book keeper, a cleaner, a fixer, a gardener, a cook, a caregiver, a poetess, a singer, a playwright.
In the final chapter, she has devoted all her hands to one singular purpose, keeping the healer nourished while he undertakes his sannyasam. The healer has fallen in a deep slumber while he undertakes this sannyasam. This story will end when he completes his sannyasam. What follows is a glimpse into the everyday, the Goddess creating nourishing elixir so the healer can successfully conclude this duet.
Read the rest of this entry »A plummy shower
This summer, the plums ripened earlier than they have done in previous years. The tree is still young, perhaps best described as a young teenager. One of the best ways of harvesting fruits is to shake the tree. And if you are under the tree, the ripe plums shower down on you. They fall with a gentle thud, sounding like a bunch of tennis balls let loose. A few may hit you on their way down, a gentle thud on your head, or a nudge on your arm.
The first batch of fruits this year, unripe green plums, came from culling. They reminded me of gooseberries with their tannic tartness and so I made an Indian style plum pickle. It tastes like unripe mango pickle. A batch of the green plums are salt fermenting. The ripe ones are turning into jams. The first jam batch is always our most labor intensive one – we start with the ripest fruits, we take the skin and pit out, add cassis. The subsequent batches are left with the skin in. The scraps make a fine vinegar.
Standing under the mulberry tree
My relationship with the mulberry tree matured into something beautiful this year. We had planted the tree nearly seven years ago. I remember our surprise upon learning that Pakistani mulberry grows well in Redwood City. If we are lucky, the mulberry tree will live to be 150. If we are careful, it will stay pruned to a manageable size. Previous fruiting seasons, our wild squirrels would jump up on the fruit laden branches and rid them off the fruits. This year, they decided to leave the tree alone and there is more bird activity instead. The birds too like sitting on the mulberry branches and picking off the fruits. But unlike the squirrels, they pick what they eat. They are nice guests too, they pick the fruits that fall on the floor.
Read the rest of this entry »The tug of duduk
I have loved the haunting sound of duduk for over a decade now. And it all started with a simple sleep app that played music in a loop. Along with other pleasing natural sounds, it also had duduk music. First the word got my attention. When you say the word out, it sounds like the vocalization of your heartbeat. There was no coming back once I heard the music, it is visceral and soulful and it lingers. I wonder if we really understand why music has the potential of transcending distances – the distance of time, space and culture. Perhaps it is because wind carries the music and wind connects all of us on this planet.
Read the rest of this entry »Climbing up a blade of grass
The other day, I noticed what to me seemed like an odd behavior – a snail had climbed up on a blade of grass. This was Bair Island and an unusually warm May evening here in SF Bay. Then I noticed more of them. The likeliest scenario is the liver fluke or as an eye catchy headline says “Brain-altering parasite turns ants into zombies at dawn and dusk (link)”. I am choosing to think that they are the teenage snails who are out for a thrill, swaying crazily as the grass blades sway hither and thither with the Bay breeze. We know that the Orcas ramming boats are bored teenagers too!
Aangan house garden this summer
… we had grown la ratte potatoes (link) more than 14 summers ago. Back then, I was disappointed with the yield. I have since realized that the trick to growing a vegetable patch, particularly in a suburban yard, is not to think about the bountiful yield but to focus on the bountiful happiness instead. The happiness of watching vines grow and flowers bloom. The happiness of watching butterflies and bees flutter and buzz about. The happiness that comes from learning about culinary practices elsewhere. Like the Hoja Santa (link) with root beer like flavor. In my case, I have found my garden to be an excellent anxiolytic.
Read the rest of this entry »Aangan House, an anemoia
Our home! This summer marks the 10th year we have resided here, the longest we have been in any one home as a family, and the longest I have lived anywhere. The house itself is over 90 years old. It has strong bones. I wish that no tree was harmed in its making, but our home, and homes like ours, wiped out California’s old growth Redwood forests. And now, while I am trying to untether myself from my existential guilt of living in a 90 year old house that is built with a 1000 year old tree, Philip Stielstra is planting Redwood trees up the Pacific northwest to give them a chance against climate change (link).
Read the rest of this entry »Holding on to a fading memory
Baroma, my great grandma, had a partial index finger. As kids, we would ask her on every visit, why she was missing her finger. Her stories would change with every telling. But the one I remember the most is the one where she was guarding her chicken coop against a fox and the fox bit her finger off. I also remember that my Baroma had a faded tattoo on her forearm. She never told that story. I have this bad feeling that it had to do with the Bengal partition.
Read the rest of this entry »Human penguin interaction
In Antartica, the penguin gets more agency than the tourist. That seems totally fair, we are the visitors to their home.
They build their nests further up from the ocean, on exposed rocks where the snow has melted away, in clusters, so they get some shared warmth. They travel to and fro to the ocean to secure food for themselves and their little ones. It turns out, that like bears, they take the same path in snow repeatedly which ends up creating highways. And then when tourists go to visit them, we create these temporary trails that invariably intersect their highways. Now, humans are required to maintain a healthy distance from these birds, avian flu is here too. These intersections create memorable moments. During the trip, I saw a handful of curious penguins who would watch us or come to us or sneak up behind us. But most of them didn’t really care for us. They would keep on doing whatever they were doing, micro-napping in between, tens of thousands of times. Grooming and napping. Thinking and napping. Shitting and napping. Sliding and napping. Waddling and napping.
Read the rest of this entry »A new year hike on the Ice
I am no stranger to hiking through poor visibility (Mindego Hill, San Bruno). The sensory deprivation where you disengage and simply focus on the action of walking can bring mental quiet and a new appreciation of an otherwise familiar environment. Here on Antartica, the environment is brand new. Walking on snow and ice with the bulky jacket, boots, and life vest was proving to be an act of controlled slipping while alternately sweating and freezing. There was no rookery at the site, which meant no guano and no smell. Photographs were already proving to be difficult due to lack of familiar objects that define the scale of the environment, like the trees or rivers. So don’t judge. Here is what the camera saw over the course of a two mile hike, climbing perhaps 200 ft.
Read the rest of this entry »Hello Doreo, it is a pleasure to meet you
This is my first friendly chinstrap. I have decided to call him Doreo, derived from a dark oreo. Perhaps he fancies himself as a Mateo, but what he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him. He was curious and came within a few feet. I am assuming Doreo was a he because the colony here had chicks and the mums were all fussing over their chicks. This lot are distinctive with that strap under their proud chins. I wonder what he thought of me, swaddled in an orange parka, looking like a larger and less elegant version of himself.
The chinstraps are a talkative lot. I found myself waiting for over an hour for the humans to stop talking, so I could record the penguins. In the end, I had to cobble together from over 20 separate recordings to eliminate the human noises. While waiting, I got the opportunity to watch them closely. They groom. They squawk. They do some ballistic pooping, including the chicks. Later I learnt that they have specialized physiology that allows them to poop several feet away from their nests (link). They seem to ponder a lot. Later I learnt that they can micronap 10000 times a day (link). I had thought more stones more better, progeny survival being correlated with size of their stone nests. What I saw was preference for specific stones. Either they were just killing time, or like me, they did like the looks of one stone over other. I saw a lot of pink poop. Later I learned that their poop, called guano, colored pink due to a krill diet, is visible from space (link). I learned more about unregulated krill fishery (link) and took the vow again to never eat farmed fish (hello, plant based diet, I come to you in this new year!).
Read the rest of this entry »An epic trip to the end of the world
For normies like us, there is no physical training needed to go to the end of the world. An experienced polar adventure company will take you there, care for your safety, keep you warm and well fed. They will help prepare your packing list and compliment it with polar parkas, hiking poles and boots. They will give you mandatory trainings. They will prepare you for the day and give you educational lectures.
Read the rest of this entry »2023, our intro to mushroom foraging
A friend recently said, one should go mushroom hunting with older experts. Older the better because they are living proof of their expertise. Our guide, a friend, is not old, and I sometimes like to think of her as a benevolent sorceress running an herbal apothecary. She sees mushrooms as tasty healers of human body. And, who will deny that forest bathing heals the soul. When foraging, you rarely walk more than a mile an hour with greatest mileage covered in between your patches. Your eyes constantly scan the forest floor. You notice and you see many a banana slugs. You fill your lungs with forest aromas. And if you are lucky, you come back home with mushrooms. Or should I say, you bring the forest to your home. You have to be OK with dirt, with bugs and the aroma of forest floor filling up your kitchen. And when the mushroom is matsutake, it is like bringing pine trees to your home.
Read the rest of this entry »This bull doesn’t have horns
There were five, and then there were six
Birdy num num
This is our second year of regular hiking. The winter months are a good time to watch the Pacific flyway migratory birds. They are either catching the sun or digging into mud for bait or flying low on the water hoping to catch a fish. This year, we also went to the raptor fest organized by the POST. Here are some lovely photos from the first batch of photography.
A 100 year old poem inspired Halloween pumpkin
“Kumropotash” from Sukumar Ray’s Abol Tabol. The photo is from a wonderful Durga Puja story Nabin Palli Durga Puja Committee in Hatibagan, North Kolkata by Maitreyee B Chowdhury (link)
This is my second year carving a pumpkin for the Halloween. This year, my brother wanted me to carve “Kumropotash“, a character from Sukumar Ray’s Abol Tabol, the collection of magically whimsical verses from 1922, here is a link to 2020 dual-language print on Amazon. While Ray is a common last name from the sub-continent, Sukumar Ray is the father of filmmaker Satyajit Ray. All Bengali children grow up to the tales of Kumropotash and the idea is simply put, perfect. There can’t be a better way of bringing my heritage into my current life.
Read the rest of this entry »A mask and a rattle at the museum
The photos above are from Alaska State Museum in Juneau. One on the right shows Tlingit ceremonial rattles. The top row first two are Raven rattles, often intricately carved with a combination of human, frog, hawk and other creatures. On the left are a pair of Yupik ceremonial masks, likely from Qikirtaq island, near St. Michael, they resemble the masks from Unalakleet, Hooper Bay and Nelson Island.
I have been totally swept off my feet by the ceremonial raven rattles. What follows is a fictional story of a woman child, Héen (in Tlingit, Héen means river), in the form of an imagined conversation between the ceremonial mask on top left and the raven rattle on top left.
Read the rest of this entry »Keeping the glass full
It’s all perfectly clear now. Or maybe this clarity will only last the rest of the day. Fact is, my glass is full again. Fact is, I am just back from exploring the inner passage of south east Alaska. I continue to be filled with a sense of awe, I am feeling humbled, and privileged to be alive on this incredibly beautiful planet. Fact is, natural beauty heals me, fills my glass with clear cool sweet tasting water. Fact is, as time goes on, my glass will start to empty again, a little by little each day. Is there a way I can top up the glass, maybe enough to slow down the pace at which it empties? The clarity today makes me think that maybe I can.
Do you know Gordon, the audio ecologist who went searching for one square inch of silence in the Hoh forest? For the last several months, I have been meeting with him and a few other like minded individuals. All of us in our own ways, are searching for a one square inch of silence closer to where we live, in vertical and horizontal human sprawls. At the last meeting, which had happened before the Alaska trip, one of our team members, Tim, suggested that we take a moment of silence and visualize our quiet place. The meeting had happened at the end of a long day, I was tired from the general chaos of life, and I was hangry. But I knew that a minute wasn’t too much of an ask, and so, I decided to give it my best, and conjured up my quiet place. I remember noticing the transformation then. After that minute, I had felt a lot less tired, a little healed.
Read the rest of this entry »A very blue glacier
Between 1990 and 2013, the South Sawyer glacier has retreated at 120m/year, and between 2013 and 2022, the retreat rate has been 50m/year. As the glacier calves, it creates numerous bergy bits and icebergs that the harbor seals seem to love. I watched the James Balog documentary, Chasing Ice, right before our zodiac trip and I didn’t want this glacier to calve anymore.
Read the rest of this entry »Walking a bear trail
You probably knew all along that bears make trails. I didn’t know. So, when the expedition leader mentioned the opportunity to walk a bear trail at William’s Cove, I took notice. The trails in Sitka are beautifully maintained by forest services. A bear trail is not that, there are no convenient wooden planks over streams and bogs. It is created by repeated comings and goings of bears over the years. It is a rough trail, overgrown in some places, perhaps there a little more bear scat than normal. Otherwise, imagine the rainforest, the forest floor is bouncy due to years of fine leaf deposition, from the spruces and hemlocks, then the perpetual rain allows mosses of various kinds to flourish. The undergrowth still has occasional fruit on the bunchberries, watermelon berries, red -berried elders and devil’s clubs.
Meeting Lulu
Lulu is daughter of Speedy and was born in 2015. We were in the middle of Chilkat river, where the river is barely waist high. The cubs are too young to get in the river, so Lulu is fishing for them. The river is turquoise green, colored by the glacier melt, making it harder to see the salmon. Salmon, mostly pink salmon, are trying to spawn and we are trying to flyfish. Our flyfishing guides were experienced and cautious, making sure we were out of harm’s way. But once I realized that Lulu won’t go too far from her cubs, I relaxed. During the 90 minutes of fishing, we saw Lulu and her cubs on both sides of the river. They crossed over the Weir. It was a few hundred feet behind us. We eventually saw her catch a salmon and take it back to her cubs. In the same time, we caught a salmon each as well.
Read the rest of this entry »Without the whacking …
If I were to say we went bushwhacking on Battery Point trail, the Haines Borough folks would roll their eyes. But we got off the trail with our naturalist, storyteller and photographer, Jim. Now, Jim is the kind of person who gets caught up in the little plants and flowers, and doesn’t mind poking around in scat and loses track of time. Of course, who needs to track time when one is on vacation. This trail was new to him as well and he is decidedly one of those who likes going off-trail. After the morning flyfishing in Chilkat river and a hearty lunch, the zodiac dropped us somewhere from where we could hop on the Battery Point trail.
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Locomotoring 