My past travels in Nepal, weather extremes past and present (II) (3/23/2017)

As promised and trying stepping away from my anxieties about current-day politics, a trip down memory lane today. On the 12th of January this year I was prompted to write about an extreme weather event we were experiencing here on the east coast of the U.S.A. and that made me reminisce about a snow storm that I experiences in Nepal <click here to see that post>. That episode made me think of the comic book of my youth called “Tintin in Tibet.” But I never saw the Yeti, also known as the abominable snowman.

Well the weather extremes this year did not stop from occurring with that one event. In February we had 80 degree (27 degree Celsius) days and now in March we have seen snow (actually parts of the East Coast have seen one of the worst snow storms ever) and it has been very cold.  It has been a crazy year in many aspects.

But let's step away from that and as promised talk about our stay in Nepal (1981-1983).  Yep, that was a long time ago; it was way before many of us were talking about global warming or climate change, although we Europeans were somewhat aware that it was imminent, having been alerted to the possibility by a 1972 report published by the "Club of Rome."  But again, I digress.  

It was our first monsoon season 1982 (10 years after the publication of that report) and in our naivety we decided to stay in the country through the height of the rainy season.  Hearing this, our best friends planned to visit us, not knowing what we were into.  Well, monsoon means rain, and a lot of it!  When our friends left after two weeks they had seen one fleeting glimpse of the Himalayas (probably 15 seconds long), when during our trek (or hike) the skies finally opened up and they saw the Machapuchare or the Fishtail, a sacred mountain in Nepal.  Except for the hike through the foothills they really wondered if there were really 27,000 feet (8000 meter) plus mountains back there.

This is a picture I took of the Annapurna massive, with Annapurna 1 (26545 ft., the 10th highest in the world) sticking up.  You can barely make out Machapuchare to the right, the fishtail is just sticking out of the clouds.

Another view of the Annapurnas from Pokhara.  Machapuchera is now in the foreground and is blocking the view of Annapurna 1.  To the far left is Annapurna South and far right Annapurna 2.

During that monsoon season we had seen our share of landslides already, but we decided to take our best friends (who were visiting from Holland) to the village where we lived part of the time.  For us who were used to hiking it usually took us 2 days to hike to our home (eventually we could do it in 10 hours; we were in killer shape), but with them the trek took us 3 days.

The first night out we stayed at a local hotel (hut and you sleep on the floor on a mat in a communal room, so the word hotel is a bit of a stretch).  As usual in the monsoon, it started to thunder and rain.  And it rained and rained.  We went to sleep and around midnight we were awoken by other guests by the words "Pani auncha" which can be translated as "water is coming."  We got up and stepped out of the hut and the rushing water was over our knees in the village.  So what do you do?  It is pitch black outside, rushing water down the streets and they tell you the water is coming?  It is already there, darn it! So it will probably be rising even higher and the only thing you can do is to make a run for it.  Our first instinct was to rush down stream with the water.  After a few steps, a person in the next hut tells us not to do that but to go up stream.  Easier said then done.  There are no paved roads but stone paths with steps that are now covered with knee-deep rushing water, you cannot see where you step and where the path is, it was a struggle.  Finally after some time we get to an area where the water is less high.  A good Samaritan sees us and invites us into their home and we all huddle around the fire drink hot tea and wait for the storm to subside and the water to go down.  Eventually we do sleep some there and by morning we go back to the hotel pick up our stuff and get on our way, tired but safe.

A picture of the Annapurna during the monsoon

What happened was that the village was at the mouth of a valley and this storm got stuck in the valley and dumped so much water in the watershed that evening and it all came rushing out.  Obviously, this had occurred before, because the people knew to go upstream and not downstream, where flooding would have been worse.  Our friend died a number of years ago and we saw him a few years before his death, but he still remembered those words "Pani auncha" and we reminisce about them. 

A typical monsoon day in Nepal, cloudy and heavy rains 

For us it was just a foreboding of what was to come during our trek to our home in the village, and I will write more about it in a subsequent post.

Dog-hairs in the woods (3/16/2017)

Walking in the woods behind our house this past Friday, I realized that I wasn't exactly "forest bathing."  Daily life and politics came rushing back to me while I was still looking and trying to enjoy nature (truthfully I will always enjoy nature, even when distracted), but this time I did not gently push these thoughts back as I am supposed to do; I did not tell it “some other time please.” 

I found this word on wordables.com and it really describes who I am, the essence of me (at least when I am not on the water on my kayak or my sailboat) 

Why didn’t I?  I was walking my regular trail with the dogs; on one side was a “dog-hair” stand of pines on the other side a more mature forest.  What does that mean, a "dog-hair" stand?  

When we moved into our neighborhood, now 17 years ago, and we walked that area, the trees were freshly planted.  At that time we could literally look over the tree canopy to the other side.  They were very dense, so dense that you could barely move through them.  That became increasingly clear when the trees got bigger.  The trunks were so close together that you had to move sideways between the trees to get through the stand of trees.  They were as close together as the hair on the back of a dog, hence the words "dog-hair" stand!

Slowly some of the trees started to die off; they died from the lack of light and room for their roots and branches to grow.  Now the trees are relatively large; I would think at least 30 feet.  They are still dense and the trunks are thin and spindly.  A forester would say that the stand is ready for a thinning cut.  They thin the forest out to reduce the competition, reduce the number of trunks per acre (or hectare) and this allows the remaining trunks to thicken and the trees to thrive.  It is called forest management.

The "dog hair" stand of trees in the woods behind our home.  This stand is maybe 20 years old and ready to get thinned.

If foresters do not thin the forest, forests and all types of vegetation in general, does this on its own.  We ecologists know this as the self-thinning rule, and we even have a fancy mathematical formula for it that I will not bother you with.  But what happens is we get a lot of mediocre plans first a lot of trees dying, spreading of diseases in the woods, maybe even a higher likelihood of forest fires, all together a potentially unhealthy situation.

Actually we ecologists may find it more natural, but for foresters it is a terrible situation.  Foresters want to produce board-feet, poles and wood that can be used to make lumber, paper, and other useful things.  Herein lays the rub and this brought me back to daily life and politics: this whole conflict between two philosophies in the management of these woods.  The trees are marked up by a forester and ready to get their first thinning cut.  Walking by there made me think about these foresters imposing rules on the forests and only by imposing their forestry rules can they make them grow quickly, create a more prosperous forest and probably a more diverse forest.  While if we ecologists stand back and let things go without human-imposed (management) rules, nature may eventually get there too, but who knows with how many casualties in the meantime, and probably less useful lumber for the foresters.

The trees in this "dog-hair" stand are all fighting to capture the light and not really investing in infrastructure (or the trunk) to support them (and us).  If left unchecked there will be many casualties and those remaining will produce mediocre wood.

So what is good and what is bad?  In the old days I would have said that any human intervention in nature was necessarily a bad idea.  However, things have changed.  We humans have impacted nature so tremendously, that most philosophers, scientists, biologists and ecologists now tell us that we have entered the Anthropocene or the geological period during which we humans impact the earth’s geology and ecosystem more than they impact the humans.  The Wikipedia article I reference here is fascinating to read, it tells me how future geologists will be able to read the rocks and tell what went on in our time.  In other words, we have impacted nature so much by bringing in exotic plant species, encroaching the area and living right next to them, having removed all the predators that would hunt the deer, suppressed the wildfires, that we probably need to manage these woods, otherwise we really do not know what the results will be.

But back to my walk; I was really upset about what is going on at the EPA, the Department of the Interior, NOAA, the Department of Education and so many other government agencies at the moment.  I like to compare it with the "dog-hair" stand that I was walking by (and really, that's what I was thinking about).  Without management (read regulations) that "dog-hair" stand will develop into a forest, I am not worried about that.  First very poorly, without any understory, it will be very susceptible to fire, a lot of small trees will die and only a very few big ones will survive, and the quality of the wood of those trees maybe very poor.  Kind of like a society without regulations, the rich and the powerful will get richer and damn the poor and the weak.  With management (regulations) we thin the forest sensibly and it will thrive (oh my god, birth control), the remaining trees will grow good and create good wood that we humans can use to build our homes, furniture and make our paper products from (now he is preaching socialism). 

I strongly feel that like that forest that need management our country needs sensible regulations, health care and education.  The cutting of programs and deregulation is not going to work for everyone, just like that "dog-hair" stand,  In 1798 Malthus wrote about an eventual over-population that would result in famine and disease that would cause the end of human civilization.  Many conservatives have always counter-argued that human inventiveness would keep up with the population explosion (I am oversimplifying here).  I don't know, but why even argue?  Some scientists say we are close to reaching the carrying capacity of the earth or the number of people that the earth can support.  Why turn our future generations into that human "dog-hair" stand on earth and put them all at risk?  I believe we can avoid this, but not in the spirit of less regulations and everybody for themselves, but instead with more education, better healthcare for everyone, science, a cleaner environment and empathy.

And that is what I sometimes do when I walk in the woods, I think and brood, and then I ramble.

Walk as if you are kissing the Earth with your feet (3/7/2017)

The Buddhist philosopher/scholar/Zen-master Thich Nhat Hanh wrote in his book “Peace is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life”: 

“Walk as if you are kissing the Earth with your feet.”   

That is what I try to do when I walk in the woods behind our house.  I just love to linger, look around and be mindful.  At times I enjoy the blue sky, look at the clouds, or how the sunlight plays with the bark on the trees.  Other days it may drizzle or it may be misty.  You often hear birds, sometimes there are swans in the ponds, sometimes you hear them flying over, and often you see deer darting off the path especially early in the morning or around dusk; no day is the same.  When I can, I will do it: I let my feet, eyes and senses kiss the earth.

I took this picture during our most recent walk in the woods behind our home.  I ventured of the regular path to  look at this pond and liked how the trees lined up.  When I arrived home, Google had somehow enhanced the photograph into what you see here, and actually I liked it and want to share it with you all.

Thich Nhat Hanh is also reported to have said: 

“People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle.”

Recognizing that miracle, savoring it, and protecting it is so important for us and that curious child and all future children.  I would like to add that we need to live as if we are kissing the Earth with our souls.  

Naturally there are days that I or we cannot linger and enjoy our walk as we should.  We are on a mission, we have to walk the dogs and then go to work, go to church, run errands, or go do something.  Let’s walk to the pond, the green woods, the "cookie tree" (that is the tree where the dogs always get a treat in the hope that when they get lost in the woods that they will return to), or the road we tell each other.  We may even put the dogs on a leash so they don’t doddle.

Sometimes those days can be frustrating, the dogs did not cooperate.  They ran through the mud or went swimming; they were sniffing too long and we were in a hurry, you name it.  Other times, even though we were in a hurry, you come back recharged; you saw something in the woods, you experienced something, or there was something intangible that flipped that switch that made you feel good (anyway).

But the other thing can sometimes happen also: a well-intended walk gone bad!  We had a few.  Recently one of our dogs disappeared.  We split up and spend a frantic hour looking for him, to be called by someone that they had found him and were at our home to drop him off.  This weekend we came upon a place where someone had been illegally cutting firewood in the woods behind our homes.  Instead of ignoring it and continuing our walk, the firewood hoarders we are, we stole two good looking pieces of wood that had been split and carried them home.  All the sudden our mindful walk in the woods became work and heavy lifting in the woods and much less enjoyable.  Gone was the meditation.  On top of that our deaf beagle all the sudden seemed to lose sight of us and did not know where we were and my wife had to chase her down.  There went our nice enjoyable meditative walk kissing the earth with our senses, out of the window.

In his book “Being Peace” Thich Nhat Hanh writes:  

“An oak tree is an oak tree. That is all it has to do. If an oak tree is less than an oak tree, then we are all in trouble.”

Those two pieces of wood were oak and we are happy that they are.  They are heavy and will heat our home for an hour, even though it interrupted our more mindful walk.

This is what I have been thinking and writing about lately: "Forest Bathing" and "Nature Deficit Disorder".  It is so important to spend time in and with nature; whether it is walking in the woods, working in your garden, attending your potted plants (or bonsais in my case), or just standing there, staring at a tree.  It heals, lowers the blood pressure and is good for you.  Go outside, enjoy nature and fight to preserve it for you and future generations!