High Adventure

Past and present. You can't make this stuff up.

High Adventure

Postby Typhoon » Sat Jan 21, 2012 11:58 pm

A continuation of a wonderful thread.

Sennacherib wrote:
Last evening's total lunar eclipse was spectacular, but probably wouldn't compare to a partial eclipse viewed from Angkor Wat:

John MacGregor, Through the Buffer State (1896)

A record of recent travels through Borneo, Siam and Cambodia

http://www.archive.org/details/throughbuffersta00macg

We sent out the baggage during the day, but as the march was only a short one, we did not start ourselves till the afternoon, and we reached the ruins at early twilight. There, on one of the eastern gates of it, on the second landing, I watched the full-orbed moon slowly and solemnly rising out of the far-away flat forest, to the still farther east of the ancient shrine. It was an impressive sight enough for the solitary stranger visiting these strange out-of-the-way ruins, but a still stranger spectacle was to follow that same evening. We put up in one of the usual wattle salas near the ruins, and on ground that looked very swampy and feverish. It was frequently remarked on the journey how little we had suffered from mosquitoes. But here was a very marked exception, for the mosquitoes were swarming and buzzing round us in crowds; and there is nothing better calculated to disturb one's equanimity than the incessant buzzing of mosquitoes.

True enough that when the blood gets thin by prolonged residence in tropical climates, the bites of the mosquitoes do not raise those angry lumps that they do when the blood is sanguine and pure. But still, people continue to look on them as old enemies, whose biting and buzzing they cannot easily endure, however long they remain in malarious countries. After dinner, then, we began to make ready our mosquito curtains. But when we opened mine, behold it was full of holes, however they happened to come there. It is much better to have no mosquito curtains at all than to have one with holes in it; for the mosquitoes are wonderfully clever in getting in through these holes, but not at all so expert in getting out of them again, even if they tried to do so, which they seldom do...

We extemporised supports for these curtains, of a primitive kind, so as to hang over the mattress which was lying on the bamboo floor, and were trying to patch up the holes with some fine twine that we had, West pinching the holes between his fingers and thumb, while I tied the knots around them. Though the ruins themselves have been abandoned times out of mind for religious purposes, yet a large number of Buddhist priests live near the ruins, and inside the wide moat that surrounds them all.

After dinner, then, when engaged in this useful but prosaic process of knot-tying, we suddenly heard tremendous shouting and tom-tomming a little distance away. We went out in a hurry to see what the uproar was about, and found a group of natives, with their tom toms and other instruments, actually baying at the moon, which was going through the interesting ceremonial of an eclipse!...

We asked them what they were making such a fearful noise for, when they pointed to the moon, which we had not noticed before, and said that a black man called Rahu was eating it up, and that they were making this deafening din to frighten him away....

But when the natives on this occasion mentioned the name of the black man Rahu, a faint glimmer came into my memory that I had read or heard of Rahu before, and after returning where I am now writing I was still further enlightened on this profound subject....

The occurrence of this eclipse was on March 21st. It was again almost exactly full moon, for we had just taken four weeks and a day to cover the distance from Mount Phrabat to this remote portion of Indo-China. We watched the eclipse for a long time with not a little interest, while the natives were trying to frighten Rahu away, which, by the way, they did at last, and no doubt thought themselves wonderful magicians at the end of it all.

It was a partial eclipse, thanks to the native tom-tomming, for we watched it till we were quite sure it was on the wane again. But we were probably asleep before it entirely cleared away, as the whole business must have occupied several hours altogether....
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Parodite » Sun Jan 22, 2012 1:28 am

S. A. Andrée's Arctic Balloon Expedition of 1897

S. A. Andrée's Arctic balloon expedition of 1897 was an ill-fated effort to reach the North Pole in which all three expedition members perished. S. A. Andrée (1854–97),[1] the first Swedish balloonist, proposed a voyage by hydrogen balloon from Svalbard to either Russia or Canada, which was to pass, with luck, straight over the North Pole on the way. The scheme was received with patriotic enthusiasm in Sweden, a northern nation that had fallen behind in the race for the North Pole.

Outside, away from the noise, grows a flower.
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Typhoon » Sun Jan 22, 2012 5:13 am

Sail World | Laura Dekker [16] completes solo-circumnavigation in 123 days

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BBC | Schoolgirl sailor triumphs after battle with authorities

Laura Dekker [16] has become the youngest person ever to travel round the world on her own.
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Antipatros » Sun Jan 22, 2012 5:41 pm

Typhoon wrote:Sail World | Laura Dekker [16] completes solo-circumnavigation in 123 days

Image

BBC | Schoolgirl sailor triumphs after battle with authorities

Laura Dekker [16] has become the youngest person ever to travel round the world on her own.

Congratulations to her.
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Antipatros » Mon Jan 23, 2012 3:43 am

General Sir James Abbott, as he later became, is the officer for whom the garrison city of Abbottabad, Pakistan, is named.

Capt. James Abbott, Narrative of a Journey from Heraut to Khiva, Moscow, and St. Petersburgh (1843)

During the late Russian invasion of Khiva; with some account of the court of Khiva and the Kingdom of Khaurism

Vol. 1: http://www.archive.org/details/narrativeofjourn01abbo
Vol. 2: http://www.archive.org/details/narrativeofjourn02abbouoft

When Major Todd, in June, 1839, arrived as Envoy at Heraut, he selected Moolla Hussun, a Mahomedan priest of great respectability, as bearer of a letter of friendship to the Khaun Huzurut (Supreme Lord) of Khiva, called also Khaurism Shauh, or King of Khaurism. Moolla Hussun arriving at Khiva when the state was threatened with a Russian invasion, was well received, and on his return was accompanied by an Oozbeg lord, Shookkurolla Bae by name, as ambassador from the Khaun Huzurut to the Indian government. The letter borne by this ambassador accepted of the tender of British friendship, and made several demands which could not be complied with upon the responsibility of Major Todd. It was in answer to this mission that the envoy deputed me to visit the court of Khiva.

The news brought by the Khiva ambassador rated the Russian force at 100,000 fighting men, who were said to be still in the Kuzzauk country, north-west of the sea of Aral. In return for the envoy's present of a very handsome rifle, he sent a very sorry specimen of the boast of Khaurism, in shape of a broken-down nag. This, however, had probably been substituted by the minister for the horse originally sent. The presents entrusted to my care were a Persian sabre and a Heraut rifle for the Khaun himself; a rifle for his brother, the Inauk of Huzarusp; and a matchlock rifle for the Governor of Yollataun. The royal presents were very unworthy of the occasion; but the British Toshehkhaneh* had been exhausted, and as I was to ride chuppah (post), my haste to present myself before his Majesty was to serve as an excuse for their poverty. Such trifling particulars throw light upon the manners and customs of a country: it is also but justice to myself to state (so far as political considerations will allow) the very trifling means I had of conciliating favour.

The kingdom of Khaurism is separated from the Russian district of Orenburgh by a considerable belt of steppe, held by Kuzzauks, whose chief, or Sooltaun, is nominally tributary to Russia. The Russians call this people Kirgheez, to distinguish them from their own Kuzzauks, or Cossaqs, who are Christians, but the name is unknown to the people themselves. Khaurism is bounded on the west by the Caspian, on the south-west by Persia and Heraut, on the southeast by Bokhara, on the north-east by Kokaun.

The present capital of Khaurism is Khiva, lying in N. lat. 41° 20', and E. long, about 60°, and about forty miles west of the Oxus. It therefore bears from Heraut about north-north-west, and is distant from it, by the road, something less than 600 miles, of which, after passing the mountain barrier of Heraut, nearly the whole is a barren steppe, where even a tent is rarely discovered....

* With each British mission in Central Asia is a magazine of rare articles and dresses of honour, intended as presents to sovereigns and nobles, or rewards for the services of others.
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Antipatros » Mon Jan 23, 2012 4:35 pm

Parodite wrote:S. A. Andrée's Arctic Balloon Expedition of 1897

S. A. Andrée's Arctic balloon expedition of 1897 was an ill-fated effort to reach the North Pole in which all three expedition members perished. S. A. Andrée (1854–97),[1] the first Swedish balloonist, proposed a voyage by hydrogen balloon from Svalbard to either Russia or Canada, which was to pass, with luck, straight over the North Pole on the way. The scheme was received with patriotic enthusiasm in Sweden, a northern nation that had fallen behind in the race for the North Pole.



Walter Wellman also tried unsuccessfully to reach the North Pole by air. He has an interesting perspective on Andree's death:

Walter Wellman, The Aerial Age (1911)

A thousand miles by airship over the Atlantic Ocean; airship voyages over the Polar Sea; the past, the present and the future of aerial navigation

http://www.archive.org/details/aerialagethousan00welluoft

One year later Professor Andree, of Stockholm, did take up the balloon idea; had a balloon built in Paris—not as large and good a one as we had planned; took it to Spitzbergen in 1896, and, strangely enough, built his balloon house and established his base at the very spot on the shores of Dane's Island I had picked out two years before!

Andree, it will be remembered, was unable to make his flight in 1896, and was attacked by the yellow press of his own and other countries as a bluffer and fakir because he had sense enough not to start before the conditions were favorable. Brave as he was in ignoring the cowards who love to throw printer's ink and other nasty stuff at a man who tries to do something and doesn't do it quickly enough to suit the mob—the mob that always howls to have the gladiator kill the beast or the beast eat the gladiator the first half hour or damns it as a poor show—he at last fell victim to their goadings.

By the following year he had learned that his balloon was a poor one; that it did not hold gas well. He realized it was not fit for such a voyage, even if the plan itself was sound. But Andree knew if he failed to start, the yellow press would hound him into his grave, and he preferred death in the Arctics.

I know from men who were with him that Andree said, just before he sailed, in July, 1897, that he was committing suicide. He did not dare abandon his effort and go home to face the newspapers. He did start; liis balloon drifted to the north, then to the east and a little south.

It was pretty well settled that within thirty to forty hours it came down in the ice-strewn Barentz Sea to the east of Spitzbergen. Andree and his two brave comrades were never more heard of.

Walter Wellman at Virgo Harbor, Danes Island, Svalbard, 1906
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Antipatros » Mon Jan 23, 2012 8:19 pm

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Emily Carr, The Great Eagle, Skidegate (1929)

William Henry Collison, In the Wake of the War Canoe (1915)

A stirring record of forty years' successful labour, peril & adventure amongst the savage Indian tribes of the Pacific coast, and the piratical head-hunting Haidas of the Queen Charlotte Islands, B.C.

http://www.archive.org/details/wakewarcanoe00collrich

PREFACE

BY THE RIGHT REV. THE LORD BISHOP OF DERRY AND RAPHOE

THIS is the record of a wonderful triumph of the Cross. Foremost and throughout it is this. But even for a reader quite indifferent to religion it ought to have an absorbing interest. In the simplest and least pretentious language it records a career of the most romantic adventure. Captain Marryat never recorded such experiences for the delight of schoolboys.

To be landed with one's wife in northern regions from the last ship of the season, among savages, and to be told as the farewell word of civilisation, "You will all be murdered"; to be chased in an open canoe by sea lions and narwhals, into whose dense masses a disobedient sailor had fired; to be chased again by a shark so huge that his dorsal fin overtopped the stern of the canoe, and so menacing that in despair they struck at his head with a pole, and he dived down and left them ; to be prostrated with fever, and to have the pagan medicine men whooping and dancing around your bed, conscious that if you die they will be rid of you, and if you live they will claim the cure, these and storms at sea, and the wars of Indian tribes, and conflagrations, and earthquakes make up a fine catalogue of adventures.

Then there is the most interesting story of the natives, absolutely barbarous in many respects and ready for murder and piracy on the slightest provocation, but with a sort of very real civilisation as well, with a remarkable ceremonial for the ratifying of treaties, with a language of fine inflexions, and, as their friend assures us, the finest boatbuilders in the world....
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Antipatros » Wed Jan 25, 2012 4:42 pm

Re: "Adventurer" dies from hypothermia

by Demon of Undoing » 24 Jan 2012, 08:21

Oh, yeah. My thing has always been what they now call bushcraft ( we just just thought of it as being a competent woodsman). Homesteading/ farming, primitive husbandry, et has been something I've mostly stayed away from. If it gets that bad, fuckit. I'm going Apache.

http://onthenatureofthings.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=3709#p3709


Edwin Eastman, Seven and Nine Years among the Camanches and Apaches (1874)

An autobiography

http://www.archive.org/details/sevenandnine00eastrich

In this desperate strait my father alone preserved his coolness; the warlike spirit of the old frontiers man was roused in an instant. With lightning-like rapidity he had unhitched his team and so disposed them with our horses and the wagon as to form a sort of square, the horses and mules were tied together and to the wagon, thus avoiding the danger of their being stampeded. Inside this square we placed our selves, and levelling our rifles across the backs of our living bulwark awaited the attack. My poor mother and wife, terrified almost to the verge of insensibility, we compelled to lie down in the bottom of the wagon, and so arranged its cargo as to protect them from any stray shot which might strike it.

At first it seemed that the savages intended to ride us down by sheer force of numbers, which they might easily have done; but our determined aspect and the three shining tubes aimed at them, each ready to send forth its leaden messenger of death, evidently changed their determination; for before getting within range, their headlong gallop became a moderate lope, then a walk, and they finally halted altogether. A short council followed, during which we had an excellent opportunity to observe our foes, and concert our plans for defence. Father cautioned us to hold our fire until absolutely certain of our mark, and that, if possible, but one must fire at a time, as it was of the utmost importance to be prepared for a sudden dash. We examined the loading of our rifles and pistols, put on fresh caps, and with wildly beating hearts and nerves strained to their utmost tension, awaited the onslaught....

These manoeuvres had not escaped our notice, but neither my brother nor myself understood their import. That my father did so, however, was evident.

"Surround!" he muttered, the instant the move ment began. "I thought they'd try it, blame their ugly picters." "Now boys," he continued, "keep cool and keep your eyes skinned, don't throw away a shot, and don't fire till I give the word." He then explained the method of this peculiar stratagem of Indian warfare. The twenty picked men were about to ride around us in a circle, at top speed, delivering flights of arrows as they passed, their object being to disconcert us and draw our fire; our guns once empty, the main body whom we observed held themselves in readiness, would ride in, and by a sudden dash, end the skirmish by our death or captivity.

Father's warning was delivered in far less time than it has taken to write this and it was barely concluded before the attacking party were circling round us, uttering their vengeful war cries, and gradually drawing nearer and nearer. Standing back to back, we watched their every movement, my brother and myself expecting every moment to have an opportunity to tumble one or more of the bold riders from their horses; but a few seconds showed us the futility of this. As they came within range, each Indian disappeared be hind the body of his horse. A hand grasping the withers of the horse, and a foot just showing above his back, were all that could be seen perhaps a painted face would be seen for an instant under the horse's neck, but instantly disappearing while the hiss of an arrow would tell that the rider had sped the shaft to its mark; the horse all the while going at full gallop. At no moment could any one of us have fired with any chance of hitting an Indian. The horses we could have shot without difficulty, but this was just what our enemies wanted. Could they but induce us to waste our fire upon the horses, we would soon be at their mercy. So, with an effort, we restrained our inclination to risk a shot, and watched their every movement with the cat-like vigilance of men who knew that their lives were trembling in the balance.

Round and round went the circle of the hunt, flight after flight of arrows whistled past us, or spent their force against the wagon, still we were unharmed; although our escapes were narrow and incessant. The mules and horses were struck repeatedly, but so tightly were they bound together with leathern thongs that not even death could separate them. As our torment ors came around for the fifth time, one of the horses stumbled and fell and rolled completely over, pitch ing his rider headlong upon the prairie. Before he could regain his horse, father s rifle cracked and the unlucky equestrian rolled prone upon the ground with a bullet in his brain.

"That's one less," muttered father, grimly. "I thought I'd fetch ye, ye painted varmint." "Don't fire for your lives, boys," he continued, "till I'm loaded." They were the last words he ever uttered. Simultaneously with their utterance came the hiss of an Indian arrow, and with a deep groan he sank to the ground. Terror stricken, and with anguished hearts we raised him in our arms. Alas, the deadly aim had been too true; the shaft, entering his right eye had penetrated the brain, and we saw at a glance that our dear father was no more. Racked by contending emotions, we had almost forgotten our imminent peril; as we turned to confront the foe, we saw that our hesitation had been fatal ; the red warriors were upon us like a living tide, and for a few seconds a wild melee followed; we battled hand to hand with the desperation of fiends; it was but for an instant; my brave brother fell covered with wounds, and his death shriek was still ringing in my ears, when I received a blow upon the head which stretched me sense less upon the ground. I seemed to experience the sensation of falling from a vast height, then came a sudden shock and all was blank....

John C. Cremony, Life Among the Apaches (1868)

Interpreter to the U.S. Boundary Commission, under the Hon. John R. Bartlett, in 1849, '50 and '51, and late major of California Volunteer Cavalry, operating in Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and western Arkansas.

http://www.archive.org/details/lifeamongapaches00cremrich

Preface

THOSE who may favor the succeeding pages with their perusal, must not expect any attempt at fine writing or glowing description. The author's intention is, to furnish a plain, unvarnished tale of actual occurrences and facts illustrative of the various tribes of Indians occupying that vast region which extends from the Colorado river on the west, to the settlements of Texas on the east, and from Taos in New Mexico to Durango in the Mexican Republic.

In the front rank of the tribes, occupying the region included within the limits mentioned, stands the great Apache race, and next are the Comanches. The former of these will engage most of the author's attention for very many and obvious reasons. It is be lieved that the book will contain a large amount of valuable information, to be derived from no other source extant, and it will be the author's endeavor to place it before his readers in a manner which will engage their attention. Nothing not strictly true will be admit ted into its pages, and if some of the incidents narrated be found of a thrilling character, the reader will experience satisfaction in knowing that they are not the results of imaginative picturing. Whenever a personal adventure is narrated, it will be found to illustrate some particular phase of character; none are recounted which do not convey information.

Our Government has expended millions of dollars, in driblets, since the acquisition of California, in efforts to reduce the Apaches and Navajoes, who occupy that extensive belt of country which forms the highway for overland migration from the East to the West; but we are as far from success to-day as we were twenty years ago. The reason is obvious. We have never striven to make ourselves intelligently acquainted with those tribes. Nearly all that relates to them is quite as uncertain and indefinite to our comprehension as that which obtains in the center of Africa. Those who were the best informed on the matter, and had given it the closest attention, were, at the same time most unfortunately the least capable of imparting their information; while those who were almost ignorant of the subject have been the most forward to give the results of their fragmentary gleanings. If this volume shall have the effect of bettering our present deplorable Indian policy, by letting in some light, it will accomplish the author's object.
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Cynthia and Quanah Parker

Postby Antipatros » Wed Jan 25, 2012 4:47 pm

James T. DeShields, Cynthia Ann Parker (1886)

The story of her capture at the massacre of the inmates of Parker's Fort; of her quarter of a century spent among the Comanches, as the wife of the war chief, Peta Nocona; and of her recapture at the battle of Pease River, by Captain L.S. Ross, of the Texian rangers

http://www.archive.org/details/cynthiannparkers00deshrich

Cynthia Ann Parker

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cynthia_Ann_Parker

Cynthia Ann Parker, or Naduah (also sometimes spelled "Nadua" and "Nauta," meaning "someone found"; some research has shown that the name Naduah actually means "Keeps Warm With Us"), (ca 1827–1870) was an American woman of old colonial stock of Scots-Irish descent who was captured and kidnapped at the age of nine by a American Indian band which massacred her family and settlement. Cynthia Ann was a member of the large Parker frontier family that settled in east Texas in the 1830s. She was captured in 1836 by Comanches during the raid of Fort Parker near present-day Groesbeck, Texas, witnessing the brutal torture and murder of her grandfather, John Parker and the repeated gang rape of several of her relatives. Parker was abused, sometimes tortured, and heavily discriminated against by the pure Comanche. She was adopted as the wife of Comanche chief Peta Nocona. Cynthia became part of the Comanche band and stayed with them for 24 years. During that time she gave birth to three children before she was "rescued" at age 34, by the Texas Rangers. She spent the remaining 10 years of her life trying to adjust back to life as a Texan. At least once she escaped and tried to return to her Comanche family and children, but was again "rescued" and brought back to Texas. She had difficulty in understanding her iconic status to the nation, which had made her the object of Redemption from the savages. One of her three children was Quanah Parker, the last Comanche chief....


Parker, Quanah

http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/fpa28

Quanah Parker, the last chief of the Quahada Comanche Indians, son of Peta Nocona and Cynthia Ann Parker, was born about 1845.... He was a major figure both in Comanche resistance to white settlement and in the tribe's adjustment to reservation life. Nomadic hunter of the Llano Estacado, leader of the Quahada assault on Adobe Walls in 1874..., cattle rancher, entrepreneur, and friend of American presidents, Quanah Parker was truly a man of two worlds.... Though the date of his birth is recorded variously at 1845 and 1852, there is no mystery regarding his parentage. His mother was the celebrated captive of a Comanche raid on Parker's Fort (1836) and convert to the Indian way of life. His father was a noted war chief of the Noconi band of the Comanches. Despite his mixed ancestry, Quanah's early childhood seems to have been quite unexceptional for his time and place. In 1860, however, Peta Nocona was killed defending an encampment on the Pease River against Texas Rangersqv under Lawrence Sullivan Ross. The raid, which resulted in the capture and incarceration of Cynthia Ann and Quanah's sister Topasannah, also decimated the Noconis and forced Quanah, now an orphan, to take refuge with the Quahada Comanches of the Llano Estacado.

By the 1860s the Quahadas ("Antelopes") were known as the most aloof and warlike of the various Comanche bands. Among them Quanah became an accomplished horseman and gradually proved himself to be an able leader. These qualities were increasingly in demand when, as a consequence of their refusal to attend the Medicine Lodge Treaty Council or to move to a reservation as provided by the treaty, the Quahadas became fugitives on the Staked Plains. There, beyond the effective range of the military, they continued to hunt buffalo in the traditional way while raiding settlements.

For the next seven years Parker's Quahadas held the Texas plains virtually uncontested. Attempts of the Fourth United States Cavalry under Col. Ranald S. Mackenzie to track and subdue the Indians in 1871 and 1872 failed. Not only was the army unable to find the Indians but, at Blanco Canyon on the morning of October 9, 1871, the troopers lost a number of horses when Quanah and his followers raided the cavalry campsite. Afterward, the Indians seemingly disappeared onto the plains, only to reappear and attack again. Mackenzie gave up the search in mid-1872.

But time was on the side of the army. As buffalo hunters poured onto the plains, decimating the Indians' chief source of subsistence, Parker and his followers were forced to take decisive action. Determined to maintain their independence, or at least their survival as a people, the Quahadas, under the guidance of Quanah and a medicine man named Isa-tai, formed a multitribal alliance dedicated to expelling the hunters from the plains. On the morning of June 27, 1874, this alliance of some 700 warriors—Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas, and Comanches—attacked the twenty-eight hunters and one woman housed at Adobe Walls. From the Indians' point of view, the raid was a disaster; their planned surprise was foiled, and the hunters' superior weapons enabled them to fend off repeated attacks. In the end the hunters suffered just one casualty, while fifteen Indians died and numerous others, including Parker, were wounded. Defeated and disorganized, the Indians retreated and the alliance crumbled. Within a year Parker and the Quahadas, under relentless pressure from the army and suffering from hunger, surrendered their independence and moved to the Kiowa-Comanche reservation in southwestern Oklahoma....


Quanah Parker

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quanah_Parker

Quanah Parker (ca. 1845 or 1852 – February 23, 1911) was a Comanche chief, a leader in the Native American Church, and the last leader of the powerful Quahadi band before they surrendered their battle of the Great Plains and went to a reservation in Indian Territory. He was the son of Comanche chief Peta Nocona and Cynthia Ann Parker, a European American, who had been kidnapped at the age of nine and assimilated into the tribe. Quanah Parker also led his people on the reservation, where he became a wealthy rancher and influential in Comanche and European American society. With seven wives and 25 children, Quanah had numerous descendants. Many people in Texas and Oklahoma claim him as an ancestor....
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Typhoon » Wed Jan 25, 2012 11:39 pm

Guard | Briton Felicity Aston becomes first to manually ski solo across Antarctica

Meteorologist from Birchington-on-Sea traversed 1,084 miles across icy continent alone, without using machines or kites


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A 34-year old woman from Kent, who has become the first person to ski solo across Antarctica without help from kites or machines, has described the euphoric highs and debilitating lonliness of her mission. Felicity Aston made it to Hercules Inlet on Antarctica's Ronne ice shelf on Monday morning, after pulling two sledges for 59 days across 1,084 miles of ice and snow. The meteorologist from Birchington-on-Sea also became the first woman to ski solo across the continent – with or without assistance.

"I am just so tired," she told the Guardian from a satellite phone in her tent as she waited for a plane to land to take her back to base camp. "It was nice this morning just to be able to turn over and go back to sleep."

Her journey had taken her from the Ross ice shelf, up the Leverett glacier and across the Transantarctic mountains to the continent's vast central plateau, where she had to fight headwinds most of the way to the south pole. "Physically it has been tough, but the mental side has been really tough," she said. "Being alone sounds like such a simple thing but when was the last time you a whole day without seeing any person? I have been going three weeks without seeing another person and feeling incredible lonliness.

"In the mornings I found it the most difficult and that was when my demons came out. I would think I can't do this, I need to get myself out of here and every single morning I would feel the same thing, back at square one. Some mornings I would get over it with positive thinking, other times I would have a good cry. Other times I would put music on as soon as I woke up to try and get through it."

Aston, who has worked as a researcher in Antarctica for the last three years, crossed the continent on telemark skis dragging 85kg of supplies. On occasions she was engulfed by bad weather for up to four days at a time and had to endure temperatures of -30C (-22F).
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Antipatros » Fri Jan 27, 2012 4:10 pm

"I am just so tired." After an amazing achievement like that, I think she's entitled.
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Alaska, Kamchatka, etc.

Postby Antipatros » Fri Jan 27, 2012 4:15 pm

Frederick Whymper, Travel and Adventure in the Territory of Alaska (1868)

Formerly Russian America - now ceded to the United States - and in various other parts of the north Pacific

http://www.archive.org/details/traveladventurei00whymuoft

So little is known of the interior of Russian America, that I trust even this imperfect and meagre narrative may prove not altogether uninteresting. A large portion of these pages refers to a journey made in the Yukon region, which though containing one of the grandest streams on the North American continent, has hitherto remained almost unnoticed. Sir John Richardson, indeed, when on the Mackenzie, collected some information respecting it, but never visited any portion of it, whilst the travels of Zagoskin, of the Russian Imperial Navy, have never been popularly known.

This country has recently acquired some notice from its transfer to the United States Government, and within a few years we shall doubtless hear more of it. The natives have been hitherto so isolated from civilization, that perhaps in no other part of America can the- "red-skin" be seen to greater perfection. In a few generations he will be extinct.

"Alaska Territory" -- the title by which the whole of Kussian America is to be known in future -- though as good a name as any other, is founded, apparently, on a misconception. It seems to have been derived from the title of that long peninsula (Aliaska) with which we are all familiar on the map, but the title does not properly belong to the whole territory....

The opening chapters contain some earlier reminiscences of British Columbia and Vancouver Island, whilst in the concluding pages I have attempted to sketch California of our own time. I have also briefly recorded some visits paid by me to the eastern coasts of Siberia and Kamchatka....


Thomas Wallace Knox, Overland through Asia (1871)

Pictures of Siberian, Chinese, and Tartar life, travels and adventures in Kamchatka, Siberia, China, Mongolia, Chinese Tartary, and European Russia, with full account of the Siberian exiles, their treatment, conditions, and mode of life, a description of the Amoor River, and the Siberian shores of the frozen ocean, with an appropriate map and illustrations

http://www.archive.org/details/overlandthrougha00knoxuoft

FOURTEEN years ago Major Perry McD. Collins traversed Northern Asia, and wrote an account of his journey, entitled "A Voyage Down the Amoor." With the exception of that volume no other work on this little known region has appeared from the pen of an American writer. In view of this fact, the author of "Overland Through Asia" indulges the hope that his book will not be considered a superfluous addition to the literature of his country.

The journey herein recorded was undertaken partly as a pleasure trip, partly as a journalistic enterprise, and partly in the interest of the company that attempted to carry out the plans of Major Collins to make an electric connection between Europe and the United States by way of Asia and Bering's Straits. In the service of the Russo-American Telegraph Company, it may not he improper to state that the author's official duties were so few, and his pleasures so numerous, as to leave the kindest recollections of the many persons connected with the enterprise....


Elim Pavlovich Demidov, Prince San Donato, A Shooting Trip to Kamchatka (1904)

http://www.archive.org/details/shootingtriptoka00demi

IN 1897 I devoted six months to a successful expedition on the borders of Siberia and in Mongolia after Ovis ammon, the largest sheep in the world, an account of which I have since published in a volume entitled After Wild Sheep in the Altai and Mongolia. Since then several short trips, one after ibex in the Sierra Nevada, another to the Kouban district of the Caucasus and to the Galician Carpathians, and a third to Sardinia after moufflon, left my longings for pursuit of game in more remote regions still unsatisfied. Finally, in the autumn of 1899 circumstances once more favoured four months' leave of absence, during which time a oood deal might be done. My wife and Mr. St. George Littledale were to be of the party, and in our preliminary councils various suggestions were made. "Let us see; a month or five weeks will take us somewhere (the coveted x of the problem), two months' shooting, and a month's journey back. Why not Mombasa? Plenty of cartridges wanted. How about the Yulduz valley? Sure to get sheep and ibex, perhaps stags. Alaska seemed attractive with its wild sheep, mountain goats, and large moose. Kamchatka? with its Ovis nivicola, caribou, and huge bears."

In this manner we debated till a final decision was made in favour of Kamchatka, a land in which personally I was particularly interested, and having alreadv brouoht out two volumes on Big Game Shooting on the confines of the Russian Empire, embracing the Caucasus and the Altai, I was ambitious to complete the trilogy with an account of hunting in the Far East.

The lofty volcanic peaks and snow-clad mountain ranges of that distant peninsula, besides bearing the prestige of the "unknown," specially attracted my attention both by their natural treasures of northern scenery and by the probabilities of coming across game unmolested as yet by half-wild natives. As will be seen later, I was partly mistaken in this last supposition, though, with regard to the present condition of the land, I may still quote the words of a celebrated explorer of the eighteenth century, who wrote: "Bears are the only engineers in Kamchatka." The salmon fisheries of the peninsula, of which I had heard marvellous accounts, also somewhat influenced our decision to visit that country; and if only the fish could be tempted by fly, minnow, or spoon, a forty-pounder at the end of one's line was by no means a slight attraction. Summer months were naturally chosen for the execution of our plan....
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Other adventures of Demidov

Postby Antipatros » Fri Jan 27, 2012 4:18 pm

Elim Pavlovich Demidov, Prince San Donato, After Wild Sheep in the Altai and Mongolia (1900)

http://www.archive.org/details/afterwildsheepin00demirich

In attempting to describe an expedition in search of the wild sheep of Mongolia (Ovis ammon), I am fully aware that I have undertaken a difficult task. The want of practical information concerning the country visited, the wild scenery, the curious habits and mode of life of the native Kalmuks and Kirghiz, the flora and fauna of a little-explored region, and finally an account of the mightiest of wild sheep in its natural haunts, are matters of such importance and so closely connected, that one may well feel embarrassed in commencing the narrative....
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Re: Alaska, Kamchatka, etc.

Postby Marcus » Fri Jan 27, 2012 4:27 pm

Antipatros wrote:
. . The salmon fisheries of the peninsula, of which I had heard marvellous accounts, also somewhat influenced our decision to visit that country; . .


Fishing in Alaska still retains the possibility of high adventure:

trouble.jpg
trouble.jpg (41.29 KiB) Viewed 1801 times
"The jawbone of an ass is just as dangerous a weapon today as in Sampson's time."
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Re: Alaska, Kamchatka, etc.

Postby Antipatros » Fri Jan 27, 2012 4:59 pm

Marcus wrote:
Antipatros wrote:
. . The salmon fisheries of the peninsula, of which I had heard marvellous accounts, also somewhat influenced our decision to visit that country; . .


Fishing in Alaska still retains the possibility of high adventure:

trouble.jpg

"Discretion is the better part of valour" comes to mind at that point.
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Chichen Itza and Yucatan

Postby Antipatros » Fri Jan 27, 2012 5:03 pm

Benjamin Moore Norman, Rambles in Yucatan (1849)

Or, Notes of travel through the peninsula, including a visit to the remarkable ruins of Chi-Chen, Kabah, Zayi, and Uxmal. With numerous illustrations.

http://www.archive.org/details/ramblesinyucatan02norm

It was on the morning of the 10th of February that I directed my steps, for the first time, toward the ruins of the ancient city of Chi-Chen. On arriving in the immediate neighborhood, I was compelled to cut my way through an almost impermeable thicket of under-brush, interlaced and bound together with strong tendrils and vines; in which labor I was assisted by my diligent aid and companion, Jose. I was finally enabled to effect a passage; and, in the course of a few hours, found myself in the presence of the ruins which I sought. For five days did I wander up and down among these crumbling monuments of a city which, I hazard little in saying, must have been one of the largest the world has ever seen. I beheld before me, for a circuit of many miles in diameter, the walls of palaces and temples and pyramids, more or less dilapidated. The earth was strewed, as far as the eye could distinguish, with columns, some broken and some nearly perfect, which seemed.to have been planted there by the genius of desolation which presided over this awful solitude. Amid these solemn memorials of departed generations, who have died and left no marks but these, there were no indications of animated existence save from the bats, the lizards, and the reptiles which now and then emerged from the crevices of the tottering walls and crumbling stones that were strewed upon the ground at their base. No marks of human footsteps, no signs of previous visitors, were discernible ; nor is there good reason to believe that any person, whose testimony of the fact has been given to the world, had ever before broken the silence which reigns over these sacred tombs of a departed civilization. As I looked about me and indulged in these reflections, I felt awed into perfect silence. To speak then, had been profane. A revelation from heaven could not have impressed me more profoundly with the solemnity of its communication, than I was now impressed on finding myself the first, probably, of the present generation of civihzed men walking the streets of this once mighty city, and amid
"Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous,
Of which the very ruins are tremendous."

For a long time I was so distracted with the multitude of objects which, crowded upon my mind, that I could take no note of them in detail. It was not until some hours had elapsed, that my curiosity was sufficiently under control to enable me to examine them with any minuteness....

Theodore Arthur Willard, The City of the Sacred Well (1926)

http://www.archive.org/details/cityofsacredwell00will

[size=150]Preface/size]

This book is primarily an attempt to recount the many thrilling experiences of Edward Herbert Thompson in his lifelong quest for archaeological treasures in the ancient and abandoned city of Chi-chen Itza, for centuries buried beneath the jungle of Yucatan.

As a boy Mr. Thompson—or Don Eduardo, as he is affectionately known to the natives about the Sacred City — sat in his snug New England home and read of the adventures of Stephens in Yucatan, descriptions of the old Maya civiHzation, and the legends concerning the Sacred Well at Chi-chen Itza. Then and there he determined that his life-work should be the uncovering of the age-old secrets of the ancient city.

When still a mere youth he was appointed by the President of the United States as the first American Consul to Yucatan, the appointment having been urged by the American Antiquarian Society and the Peabody Museum of Harvard University, both of which were anxious to have a trained investigator on the peninsula.

Enthusiastically Mr. Thompson undertook his double mission. For over twenty-five years he remained at his post as consul. During this long period, sometimes at the head of regularly organized expeditions under the auspices of American archaeological institutions, at other times with only his faithful native followers, he discovered ruined cities until then unknown to the world and carried on exhaustive researches among those already discovered.

At last Mr. Thompson resigned the consular office, in order to carry on the various scientific undertakings that required all his time and energy. Chief among these was the search for relics that for hundreds of years had lain buried in the mud at the bottom of the Sacred Well.

Many and many a night, under the gorgeous moonlight of Yucatan or by some cozy fireside in the States, I have listened entranced, as the hours glided by, to the true tales Don Eduardo tells of his experiences or of the customs and the folk-lore of the country. I know intimately this lovable, modest, blue-eyed six-footer, this dreamer and adventurer, gray-haired now but still with the heart of a boy. I know him better, perhaps, than does any other man, and if I do not write down the things he has told me they will never be written, for Don Eduardo will not do it. Therefore I have asked and received his permission to write, from memory and from his notes and my own, this book, which he has read and corrected.

It is a faithful account of the many valuable archaeological finds he has made, but, though written as if Don Eduardo himself were speaking, it inevitably lacks the color and fire of his word-of-mouth narrative. It contains, further, such description of the Maya culture and history as may help the reader to understand this ancient civilization. The writer hopes that it may be acceptable to the avid reader of travel and adventure, and there is also the timid hope that it may be of some little educational value to the serious-minded reader, to the end that he may feel that he has not wasted time on a mere "yarn."

T. A, WILLARD
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Nonc Hilaire » Fri Jan 27, 2012 6:07 pm

Photo of the Priest's Temple I took at Chichen. The cross is a St. Joseph's day tradition erected by the restoration crew in honor of the patron saint of craftsmen.

Image
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Antipatros » Fri Jan 27, 2012 8:05 pm

Nonc Hilaire wrote:Photo of the Priest's Temple I took at Chichen. The cross is a St. Joseph's day tradition erected by the restoration crew in honor of the patron saint of craftsmen.

Image

Thanks, NH. I love how you've captured the texture of the stone.
Last edited by Antipatros on Tue Jan 31, 2012 2:57 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Sudan

Postby Antipatros » Fri Jan 27, 2012 8:45 pm

Dr. Josiah Williams, Life in the Soudan (1884)

Adventures amongst the tribes, and travels in Egypt in 1881 and 1882

http://www.archive.org/details/lifeinsoudanadve00willrich

THE SOUDAN, two years ago, was a name unknown to the million, and I will venture to say that at that time not one in fifty knew anything about it. Only those who could afford to obtain Sir Samuel Baker's interesting and instructive work, "The Nile Sources of Abyssinia," would be acquainted with the locality and other particulars.

The literature extant on Egypt proper would probably amount to tons, but that on the Soudan would occupy a very small space indeed on the library shelf, for the simple reason that so very few have travelled through it.

In November, 1881, I left England to accompany six gentlemen on an exploring expedition in the Soudan, and, in view of passing events in Egypt and that locality, I indulged in the hope that an account of my journey will not be unacceptable to the public. I held the post of medical officer to the expedition, partly on account of my experience in the Turkish war, where I was continually brought face to face with dysentery, ague, and other tropical diseases, which are so easily recognised without any extraneous assistance, medical or lay, but which are troublesome to treat, especially when hampered by an ignorant and fussy interference. Doubtless many faults of omission and commission may be found in my book ; but I trust that those who criticise it will do so leniently, and remember that it has been written during spare hours, when the exigencies of practice would allow of my seeking recreation by the use of my pen. "Oh, that mine enemy would write a book!" was the heartfelt expression of a vindictive old gentleman, well known for his great patience. My enemies, I trust, are few; those I have shall be gratified, though I hope I shall not find any who are utterly callous, but will use me in a gentlemanly fashion....

George Melly, Khartoum and the Blue and White Niles (1852)

Vol. 1: http://www.archive.org/details/khartoumbluewhit01mell
Vol. 2: http://www.archive.org/details/khartoumbluewhit02mell

Preface

The Work now presented to the public, is nothing more than a transcript from a Journal kept by the Author during a tour in Egypt and Nubia, (undertaken in company with other members of his family) only a few months ago. The peculiarity of the relations of Egypt and the Porte at the present moment, affords the Author the best excuse he can put forward for appearing in print, and he hopes that observations so recently made over a very interesting portion of the dominions of the Pasha of Egypt, by a perfectly disinterested spectator, may be though not unworthy the attention of the reader.

It is only here necessary to add, that we succeeded in penetrating Nubia as far as Khartoum, the place of junction of the Blue and White Niles, where few travellers had preceded us, and to which town no ladies had ever penetrated before.
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Dick Proenneke

Postby Antipatros » Mon Jan 30, 2012 7:30 pm

Richard Proenneke

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Proenneke

Richard Louis "Dick" Proenneke (born May 4, 1916 – April 20, 2003) was an American naturalist, who lived alone in the high mountains of Alaska at a place called Twin Lakes. Living in a log cabin he constructed by hand, Proenneke made valuable recordings of both meteorological and natural data....

Retirement

On May 21, 1968, Proenneke arrived at his new place of retirement at Twin Lakes. Before arriving at the lakes, he made arrangements to use a cabin on the upper lake of Twin Lakes owned by a retired Navy captain, Spike Carrithers, and his wife Hope from Kodiak, (in whose care he had left his camper). This cabin was well situated on the lake and close to the site which Proenneke chose for the construction of his own cabin. Proenneke's bush pilot friend, Babe Alsworth, returned occasionally to bring food and orders that Proenneke placed through him to Sears.

Proenneke remained at Twin Lakes for the next 16 months, when he left to go home for a time to visit relatives and secure more supplies. He returned to the lakes in the following spring and remained there for most of the next 30 years, going to the lower 48 only occasionally to be with his family. He made a film record of his solitary life, which was later recut and made into a documentary, entitled Alone in the Wilderness[/url]. It has aired on PBS numerous times. In 2011, a sequel was produced after it was revealed Proenneke had shot enough footage for at least two more programs. [i]Alone in the Wilderness: Part 2 premiered for the first time on December 2, 2011. A premiere date for Part 3 has yet to be announced....

I saw Alone in the Wilderness: Part 2 on WTVS Detroit in December, and the original instalment on KSPS Spokane-Calgary-Edmonton at least a year before. These two programmes almost make me look forward to pledge drives. Pulse-pounding action does not abound in them, but they are, IMHO, extremely interesting and relaxing. These clips will give you some of the flavour of the programmes if you haven't seen them:





Bonus! Alaska, Silence & Solitude

The National Park Service preserves Proenneke's cabin in the Lake Clark National Park and Preserve:

http://www.nps.gov/lacl/historyculture/proennekes-cabin.htm
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Re: Dick Proenneke

Postby Parodite » Mon Jan 30, 2012 9:36 pm

Antipatros wrote:Richard Proenneke

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Proenneke


Wonderful videos, thanks. And a little jealous :oops:
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Re: High Adventure

Postby Antipatros » Wed Feb 01, 2012 1:56 am

Xenophon, Anabasis

http://www.archive.org/details/anabasisorexpedi00xenouoft
LibriVox Audiobook

Xenophon

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xenophon

While a young man, Xenophon participated in the expedition led by Cyrus the Younger against his older brother, king Artaxerxes II of Persia, in 401 BC. Xenophon writes that he had asked the veteran Socrates for advice on whether to go with Cyrus, and that Socrates referred him to the divinely inspired Delphic oracle. Xenophon's query to the oracle, however, was not whether or not to accept Cyrus' invitation, but "to which of the gods he must pray and do sacrifice, so that he might best accomplish his intended journey and return in safety, with good fortune". The oracle answered his question and told him to which gods to pray and sacrifice. When Xenophon returned to Athens and told Socrates of the oracle's advice, Socrates chastised him for asking so disingenuous a question.

Under the pretext of fighting Tissaphernes, the Persian satrap of Ionia, Cyrus assembled a massive army composed of native Persian soldiers, but also a large number of Greeks. Prior to waging war against Artaxerxes, his brother, Cyrus proposed that the enemy was the Pisidians, and so the Greeks were unaware that they were to battle against the larger army of King Artaxerxes II. At Tarsus the soldiers became aware of Cyrus's plans to depose the king, and, as a result, refused to continue. However, Clearchus, a Spartan general, convinced the Greeks to continue with the expedition. The army of Cyrus met the army of Artaxerxes II in the Battle of Cunaxa. Despite effective fighting by the Greeks, Cyrus was killed in the battle. Shortly thereafter, Clearchus was invited to a peace conference, where, alongside four other generals and many captains, he was betrayed and executed. The mercenaries, known as the Ten Thousand, found themselves without leadership far from the sea, deep in hostile territory near the heart of Mesopotamia. They elected new leaders, including Xenophon himself, and fought their way north through hostile Persians and Medes to Trapezus on the coast of the Black Sea. They then made their way westward back to Greece. Once there, they helped Seuthes II make himself king of Thrace, before being recruited into the army of the Spartan general Thibron.

Xenophon's book Anabasis ("The Expedition" or "The March Up Country") is his record of the entire expedition against the Persians and the journey home. The Anabasis was used as a field guide by Alexander the Great during the early phases of his expedition into Persia....
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Re: High Adventure

Postby AzariLoveIran » Wed Feb 01, 2012 2:25 am

Antipatros wrote:.

Xenophon, Anabasis

http://www.archive.org/details/anabasisorexpedi00xenouoft
LibriVox Audiobook

Xenophon

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xenophon

.

While a young man, Xenophon participated in the expedition led by Cyrus the Younger against his older brother, king Artaxerxes II of Persia, in 401 BC. Xenophon writes that he had asked the veteran Socrates for advice on whether to go with Cyrus, and that Socrates referred him to the divinely inspired Delphic oracle. Xenophon's query to the oracle, however, was not whether or not to accept Cyrus' invitation, but "to which of the gods he must pray and do sacrifice, so that he might best accomplish his intended journey and return in safety, with good fortune". The oracle answered his question and told him to which gods to pray and sacrifice. When Xenophon returned to Athens and told Socrates of the oracle's advice, Socrates chastised him for asking so disingenuous a question.

Under the pretext of fighting Tissaphernes, the Persian satrap of Ionia, Cyrus assembled a massive army composed of native Persian soldiers, but also a large number of Greeks. Prior to waging war against Artaxerxes, his brother, Cyrus proposed that the enemy was the Pisidians, and so the Greeks were unaware that they were to battle against the larger army of King Artaxerxes II. At Tarsus the soldiers became aware of Cyrus's plans to depose the king, and, as a result, refused to continue. However, Clearchus, a Spartan general, convinced the Greeks to continue with the expedition. The army of Cyrus met the army of Artaxerxes II in the Battle of Cunaxa. Despite effective fighting by the Greeks, Cyrus was killed in the battle. Shortly thereafter, Clearchus was invited to a peace conference, where, alongside four other generals and many captains, he was betrayed and executed. The mercenaries, known as the Ten Thousand, found themselves without leadership far from the sea, deep in hostile territory near the heart of Mesopotamia. They elected new leaders, including Xenophon himself, and fought their way north through hostile Persians and Medes to Trapezus on the coast of the Black Sea. They then made their way westward back to Greece. Once there, they helped Seuthes II make himself king of Thrace, before being recruited into the army of the Spartan general Thibron.

Xenophon's book Anabasis ("The Expedition" or "The March Up Country") is his record of the entire expedition against the Persians and the journey home. The Anabasis was used as a field guide by Alexander the Great during the early phases of his expedition into Persia....

.

.


Antipatros ,

re Xenophon , we had some debates

here .. here .. here


.
AzariLoveIran
 

Re: High Adventure

Postby Antipatros » Wed Feb 01, 2012 2:53 pm

Walter Kilroy Harris, Outback in Australia (1919)

or, Three Australian Overlanders; being an account of the longest Overlanding journey ever attempted in Australia with a single horse, and including chapters on various phases of Outback Life

http://www.archive.org/details/outbackinaustral00harr

Three overlanders from Newcastle, New South Wales, have reason to remember their experience of Outback hospitality. The author, his brother Jack, and a pony, who answered to the name of "Opal," recently drove from the Coaly City to Adelaide, South Australia, and back, a total distance of over two thousand four hundred miles. We spent a most delightful five months passing through dairying, wheat, mixed farming, fruit, pastoral, and mining districts, and from Melbourne to Adelaide, a distance of five hundred miles, our "tucker"-bill ran into exactly one shilling for chaff for "Opal," and sixpence for two loaves of bread for ourselves; while the eleven hundred miles return stage cost exactly one shilling for chaff, and twopence for water for the pony, and not one single halfpenny for ourselves! If that is not Outback hospitality, what is?

We did not leave Newcastle with the intention of breaking all records in the matter of hospitality. As a matter of fact, it was quite by accident that we threw ourselves upon the good nature of the Bush folk. We paid our way as far as Melbourne, but some money we were expecting had not come to hand when we left that city, on Christmas Eve, and the small amount we had in pocket (a mere fifteen shillings) would not carry us to Adelaide. The money eventually caught us up halfway to Adelaide, but by that time we had tasted to the full the unwritten law of the Bush so generously dealt out to all who do not attempt to abuse the hospitality extended. Finding every door open, every Outbacker a courteous host, and receiving so much kindly consideration and generous unstinted hospitality, not for one moment did we dream of returning to the ordinary, everyday conventional method of paying our way.

And here I would express our deep sense of gratitude and indebtedness to all those big-hearted Bush folk — of all stations in Outback life, from the highest to the lowest — who vied with one another to make our journey such a pleasant picnic.

Leaving Newcastle on October 30th, the forward route was over a distance of 1,321 miles, via the South Coast of New South Wales, through Victoria by way of the Gippsland Forests, Melbourne, Ballarat, the Western District and Serviceton, and then across the "Ninety Mile Desert" in South Australia. A month was spent in Adelaide, and the return journey was commenced on February 14th, being via the Renmark, Wentworth, and Mildura Irrigation settlements on the Murray River, and across the western plains of New South Wales. The one horse, a low-bodied, thicklegged, seven-year-old bay pony mare, bred in the Hunter River Valley, was used throughout. On the forward journey the actual number of travelling days was fifty-nine, the average daily distance being twenty-two miles. On the return stage of 1,100 miles the travelling days numbered thirty-nine, an average mileage of twenty-eight per day. The longest distance for any one day was fifty-one miles, on the very last day—April 1st—and the shortest, three....
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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Falkland Islands, Patagonia, Tierra del Fuego, etc.

Postby Antipatros » Wed Feb 01, 2012 4:34 pm

A couple of reading suggestions for Prince William during his deployment to the Falklands:

Carl Skottsberg, The Wilds of Patagonia (1911)

A narrative of the Swedish expedition to Patagonia, Tierra del Fuego and the Falkland Islands in 1907-1909

http://www.archive.org/details/ofpatagonia00skotwildsrich

It is remarkable and almost touching to observe with what faithfulness the 2300 Falklanders cling to the habits of the old country, from the parlour with its polished stove, the china cats on the mantelpiece, the breakfast of eggs and bacon, to the bedrooms without a fire. When you have drawn the curtains and lit the lamp you can believe that you are in a snug little house in a small Enghsh town. But take a look out of doors, and you generally meet a howling west wind, a cold rain beats on your face, and whichever way you turn you always see the same dreary, desolate landscape. You must certainly be born in Northern Europe, or you would lose heart in this forlorn corner of the world....

It is a day in early spring on the hills near Port Stanley. The heath stretches yellow and dreary, the withered grass is beaten to the ground by an irritating wind, from which you can find hardly any shelter. Grey and broken quartzite ridges run through brown peat-bogs. Nowhere is there a tree visible, scarcely a bush is to be seen; the islands are absolutely destitute of timber, and the inhabitants use dried peat for fuel. Here and there a little white flower has ventured to peep out of the dead grass and stands shivering in the cold. Let us climb one of the low peaks that rise a little above the surroundings, and get a more extensive but not a finer view. Everywhere we see the same sad picture; low ridges, undulating plains, winding brooks, where boggy ground gleams with its dangerous bright green colour as if to warn the horseman. Here and there glitters some little shallow pond. A frightened flock of sheep hurries off, screaming seagulls hasten past, slowly the turkey-buzzard soars away....

On horseback we slowly advanced along the rough, stony northern slope of the long peninsula. Several hours passed. We came close to the house of our guide, an old, taciturn Scotsman, and stopped for a while at his invitation. At once his talkative wife, attired in her best Sunday clothes, served us with whatever the Falklands can produce of delicious dishes, and we were then ready for a fresh start. What would this country be like without horses? All people ride, and ride well; it is the only way of travelling in the camp, where roads are unknown. At first we found it marvellous with what agility the horses trotted along, climbing the steepest slopes, and struggling down places that appeared perilous enough to the inexperienced rider. Sometimes there is danger, but soon one does not think of it, for in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the horse is equal to the occasion. Hour after hour one rides in the comfortable wooden saddle without getting tired, thanks to the soft sheepskin. The wretched ground forces one to walk or trot, and the patches where one can gallop one's horse are easily counted.

Our goal for the day was Hill Cove, one of the finest settlements. With its numerous, friendly-looking buildings and its beautiful gardens it produces an uncommonly agreeable impression. Widely known is the "forest" of Hill Cove. In a little depression a number of northern trees are planted, mostly Scotch fir, which, being well sheltered, seem to thrive very well. It was pure delight once more to hear the wind soughing in the heads of the trees.

We were received with the usual hospitality, and were provided with horses and guides, in spite of its being the busiest time of the year, when the sheep-shearing was on. Flock after flock was driven into a paddock, and from there to the shed, where the thick white wool was cut with clicking scissors, until one almost thought one heard the resultant heavy golden sovereigns jingUng on the floor. Sheep-farming is a profitable industry, and many of the farmers are able every year to exchange the winter in the Falklands for England's summer.

The total stock on a settlement is divided into flocks, each watched by a shepherd, often a Scotsman. He lives out in the camp, sometimes far away from other human dwelHngs, in his snug little house, with his family, his dogs, and with good pay; he can keep a couple of cows, grow potatoes and cabbages, and use as much peat as he needs for fuel. Certainly his life is hard enough in summer-time; there is lamb-marking, shearing, and finally dipping, and no thought of a rest; but with winter comes an easier life, when he works with his horse-gear or reads sixpenny books and illustrated papers. Now and then he takes a ride round his district, gives an eye to the sheep, and sees that fences and gates are in order. We made many friends amongst the shepherds, who brought us safe through the thousands of dangerous bogs, offered us a seat at their table, and gave us a bed without any thought of payment....


William Parker Snow, A Two Years' Cruise Off Tierra del Fuego, the Falkland Islands, Patagonia, and in the River Plate (1857)

A narrative of life in the Southern Seas

Vol. 1: http://www.archive.org/details/twoyearscruiseof01snow
Vol. 2: http://www.archive.org/details/twoyearscruiseof00snowuoft

During the time we were in the cove we had felt hardly any wind, owing to the great shelter afforded by the high hills and mountains on the bleakest and most windy side; but after embarking on our return to the ship it gave us much surprise on getting outside the two points to find quite a gale blowing, with a short lop of a sea in the bay. It was with difficulty I could keep the boat before the wind under small sail; she travelled quickly, however, towards the ship, and before I could round her to, when as I thought at the proper distance, the tide and sea sent her flying past the vessel out towards Keppel Sound. The suddenness and unexpected change from the calm state we had experienced when in the cove, to this heavy gale was almost like a dream; and now behold we were drifting fast to sea, the lowered sail much in the way of pulling, the boat half full of water, with too many of us in her, and for the moment everything in confusion. On board the schooner they had seen us flying towards them and had got a line ready to throw to us, but missed as we dropped astern. Now we were too far off to reach, and the howling of the wind, the jumping of the sea, and the proximity of the reef of rocks that ran out from the point astern of us, made some of my land companions rather nervous. It was the very thing I wanted them not to be, for I saw that it was really but a mere chance whether we should not have to get on board by swimming, even if we could at all in that way, owing to the boat shipping so much water as she was now being pulled head to wind towards the ship. I therefore bade every one crouch down as low as possible, baling away at the same time, while the men at the oars put forth all their strength, I steering as tenderly as I could to avoid the ugly little seas that we jumped into. Fortunately, after a few moments of anxiety, we succeeded in making some headway; and finally got near enough to lay hold of a rope that had been attached to a piece of plank, as suggested by my wife on board, and veered away astern towards us. By this aid we got sufficiently near the vessel to have a bucket lowered to us in a similar manner; for the boat had now taken in so much water that to have gone alongside with the chance of another sea breaking into her until we had cleared some portion of what we had, would have been most dangerous. Accordingly we set to work for a moment or so, and then having relieved her a little, I watched the opportunity when the yaw of the vessel gave me a lee, and running up alongside fortunately got on board without accident, though all of us soaked through and through. I was told that it had been blowing hard for some time, and the mate had given the vessel additional cable; I now found it necessary to let go the second anchor, and before dark to veer away still more chain, also sending down the lofty sails and yards. It was the first taste of the Falkland weather, and this sample, though comparatively nothing to what we afterwards experienced, gave me a pretty good idea of the sort of life we should have to lead for the future, and of the necessary care and precaution I should myself have to always exercise....
Be not too curious of Good and Evil;
Seek not to count the future waves of Time;
But be ye satisfied that you have light
Enough to take your step and find your foothold.

--T.S. Eliot
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