San Francisco: The San Remo and the Sea Lions

We choose our hotel, The San Remo, because it is haunted. Although no ghosts float at the top of the stairs or glide along the hallways, lights flicker on and off at will. We are treated to strange sounds—cats meowing—and odd smells. We are told later than an elderly woman (with a cat) died in the room that Laura and Shelby occupy.

In the heart of Little Italy, we are surrounded by Italian restaurants and cafés. We don’t know it that first day, but regardless of the compass direction we choose, our path will lead to beautiful vistas, bright sights, sounds of life. San Francisco—city of color.

On our list of must-dos:

Ride the cable cars
Stroll Pier 39
Climb Lombard Street
Visit Alcatraz

San Francisco is a city I’ve visited many times. No matter how many times I go, there are things I want to do again—crest the rollercoaster hills and glimpse the Bay Bridge shimmering in the morning light. Stroll along Pier 39 and watch the sea lions basking in the tepid sun.

A mother has her flipper wrapped around her pup.

The little one sleeps smiling, content and secure. Another sea lion slips into the bay, squeals, and dives. It swirls and pokes a flipper out of the water.

The man standing next to me says, “He’s flipping you off.”

Only a sea lion could do that without seeming rude.

Rescue: Rockin' With the Best

I’ve been home for three weeks now, but that’s no reason not to adventure. Today was one of those not-so-rare to Colorado stunning, early spring days. Everybody was out. Some got higher on the spring air than others. While I was walking in our beautiful Garden of the Gods, I came upon a rescue. (You can watch the video compilation below.)

First of all, let me say that I admire these guys for getting out in nature, for breathing the cool, Colorado air, and for letting the day take them away. Second, let me mention that it’s not only written in some ordinance somewhere, but also probably a good idea not to do what these guys did without climbing ropes, experience, and advising someone of your plan. Lucky for them, they had at least one cell phone and unobstructed access to a cell tower. Ha, ha. They should have had good reception. They were on top of the world.

Whether you travel afar or you just explore your own back yard, the adventures are out there waiting for you.

In case you wonder what possessed these young men to make such a dangerous climb without the proper equipment, I included a few pictures of the Garden of the Gods. The first picture is the rock they climbed, known as Cathedral Rock. At the end of the slide I included a few shots of the Garden—almost, but not quite, what they got to see and experience. Today they were rockin’ with the best.

Cheers to Colorado Springs Fire Department, station 13, for bringing them safely back to the ground. The battalion chief was very gracious in directing me to the site of the rescue, and the whole team (from what I could hear) was extremely professional to those young men who got lifted up by life and deposited between a rock and a hard place.


Music that accompanies the video is DJ Pavo & The Prophet, Rocking With the Best.



I also posted this to YouTube if you want a larger view...Rockin' With the Best

Animals Talk to Me

I love Dr. Doolittle, and ever since I was a child and saw that movie, I wished that I could talk to the animals too. As time has passed, though, what I wish most of all is that I could listen to the animals. I wish the animals would talk to me. More precisely, I wish that I could understand the animals when they talk—to me or to each other.





My dogs, for instance understand a smattering of English—come, sit, stay, back, down, and...do that again and you’re toast. That’s more English than I speak or even understand of Dog.















Several species of parrot can even speak English. But how many People can speak parrot?





In all fairness, I did meet a guy in Antarctica who could speak three dialects of Penguin. But I’m pretty sure Toby had no idea what he was saying.



For the most part I suspect that the animals I’ve met—whether they’re visiting my backyard, floating on Antarctic sea ice, or hanging out in top tourist destinations like Xel-ha—are telling me not to take life so seriously, to enjoy the world and all the beauty that surrounds me.


As a tribute to the beautiful animals I've listened to, here are a few more of my favorite pictures. I was the author of some, but others were taken by brilliant and talented friends and acquaintances, including Clare, DJ, Gitte, and the photographer at Xel-ha. (Note: The beautiful dog hiding in the Colorado brush is my brother's dog, Smokey.)

The Sun Is Going to Be Shining

Three hours on the bus, and finally we arrive at the Maya ruins that Tom and I have come to see. Ventura, our guide, ushers us out of the bus. We follow him along dusty roads to the entrance of a long-deserted city. He gathers us in a half-circle and sweeps his hand across his body. “When the Maya get across the peninsula of Yucatán,” he says. “They walk. That because no rivers out there. That’s why the construction of the streets. We can see that one over there.” He points. “Sac-bay. The name of this. Sac, Maya for white. Bay, Maya for road-e. White Road-e.” Ventura’s accent is like music playing. “And they walk-ed from one city to another. From Chichén Itzá to Tulum.”

“Only the lee-ders live in-si-dee the ci-tee,” Ventura tells us because, in times of war, the invaders only killed the leaders. The common people, they worked. Ventura smiles. “So the leaders, they don’t kill the workers. The workers live out-si-dee the city walls.”

The conquered people often adopted the gods of their invaders because a god that could lead an army to victory was powerful, deserving of some respect and attention. In fact, many of the temples of Tulum are dedicated to Kukulkan, but his origins are uncertain. Later invasions probably resulted in some blending of Kukulkan and the primary god of the Aztecs, Quetzalcoatl. A Mayan merger of sorts. Not so different from the lee-ders of today, I think.
Ventura points to the eastern side of the city, where the temple of Kukulkan towers above the rest of the ruins. “This is where the lee-der sits and watches the people and thinks,” he tells us.

But it is to the little temple to the left that Ventura directs our attention. “The amazing of this,” he says, his words more lyrical than notes wafting from a flute, “is that the astronomers capture the mo-ment of the sun in the two solstices. In the two solstices the sun is going to be seen inside of the temple.”

In the space between yesterday and today, Kukulkan rises, drawing the sun across the sky, bringing life. I stand beneath the Mayan god who brings light, and I wonder how a people who understood the movement of the planets and the stars, who charted the fragile journey of our own little planet through space and time could believe that this god or any other demanded the life blood of his subjects in exchange for his light.

A little voice , perhaps Kukulkan himself, whispers in my ear: “It is so different from other religious wars,” he says, “wars fought and people killed to bring the Word of the One God to unbelievers?”

I don’t think he needs an answer, so I give none.

Ventura explains the Maya perception of heaven—nine levels of hell and four of heaven. The noble class was guaranteed a place in heaven, but the average citizen could hope, at best, to land in one of the upper levels of hell. For the majority of the population, the only hope of ascension to a better place was through stardom (as a sacrifice to the gods) or sports.

Tulum has no ball court for playing pitz, the Mayan ballgame that could end in the death of one or more players. Ventura tells us a little of the game. Spectator sports have never been top of the list for me, and my mind wanders out to sea, up to the sky. Ventura yanks me back to present moment, though, when he says that it was the winner of the game who offered his life to the gods. The captain of the losing team cut his opponent’s head off.*

“Can you imagine that going on today?” I say to my brother. “A CEO orchestrates a merger or acquisition, and the CEO of the “winning” company gets to cut his head off?”

We chuckly at the impact this would have on modern-day, enterprising nobility.

“That ought to be an episode of South Park,” I say.

Tom points his finger, assuming the identity of Cartman, one of South Park’s stars. “But wait,” Tom-as-Cartman says, “I won.” He shakes his finger. “You must respect my a-thor-e-TIE.” Rules are rules, though, and Cartman loses his head.

Ventura ushers us along, stopping in front of another temple. I am still lost in the why, why, why would the winner want to die?

While we examine the stone tablet that was a book, and I consider carrying one of those stone blocks to class, the thought seeps in that perhaps the Mayans valued something more than life. To win at pitz was to assure one’s place in paradise. After all, in the end, as Kukulkan sets on the last day of our life, what can we carry with us but the memory of how we lived?

(*This is not what I found on many of the websites dedicated to the topic. Most say that the a noble was pitted against a starved and drugged slave so that he could show off his prowess in a risk-free environment, or that the losing team was killed as a sacrifice. It’s a testament to our times, I think, that we assume the loser lost his head rather than the other way around.)

Memories of Water and Ice

I have been back from my Antarctica trip for almost a week now. First of all, I'm sorry it has taken me so long to acknowledge my return. Second, thank you for all your comments, notes, and well wishes. Knowing you were here to return to was a comfort.

Friends and family ask me what I saw and did. I open my mouth, but am not able to respond. Memories flash like whirlwinds across my mind's eye. I have a hundred answers and so am not able to articulate even one. I can talk for hours or days, but not for just a few minutes. I fear that if I begin to talk about this experience, I might never stop.

Perhaps this is a better place, a better way to unleash, and I have the 18 day cruise aboard the Laurence M Gould to account for. I stepped on the ship wary of spending so many days at sea. I said goodbye to my companions with tears in my eyes. This sentiment hints at the answer to what had the most impact on me during my travels--the people I met. But they deserve more than just an acknowledgment and, though I won't be able to get to them all, I will post profiles and excerpts from our conversations.

I had a wonderful journey, filled with new insights and a great deal of fun. It is sad to be gone from such a wonderful place and the people I met there, but good to be home. I have memories to last a lifetime--and as many pictures.

Again, thanks to you all for your support.

Glacier Speaks Silence

We decide to take a walk on the glacier and the moment couldn’t be more perfect. The sun is shining and, except for a line of grey on the horizon, the sky a brilliant blue. The snow is beginning to melt. Scott needs to check the VLF tower, and Rosemary is learning to back him up on his day off. They invite me along. Rosemary and I decide to wear snowshoes; Scott only boots, and it turns out the snow is solid enough that we ladies remove our snowshoes and tromp along. We're warm with the exercise. We strip off our coats and gloves as well. The glacier is less than a quarter mile away, and you can see it from almost anywhere at Palmer, but the glacier has melted significantly since the station was built. Where the outermost buildings now stand the glacier used to crouch. The glacier melting into the sea lowers the salinity of the water, and this kills some of the creatures that make a home here. If the phytoplankton cannot live, the krill cannot feed. Without the krill, the seals and penguins have less to eat.

The adélie penguins eat only krill, and if they don't change their species may soon be extinct. Petermann Island sits at the southern border of the gentoo range and the northern edge of the adélies range. Over the past five years the temperatures have risen, the glacier is melting, the sea ice is thinner, the krill are less abundant. For the gentoo this change has meant they can extend their feeding and breeding range. But for the adélies penguins the warmer temperatures mean dwindling numbers. Five years ago the scientists on Petermann Island counted 2000 pairs of adélies and 60 pairs of gentoos. Last year the tally was adélie 500, gentoo 2000.

Stepping out onto the glacier there aren’t any trees, no breaks of any kind in the vast expanse of white. To the right mountains pierce the clouds, behind me the sea—alive with bits of iceberg—rushes the shore, ahead and to the left smooth, glistening snow coats the glacier. As we climb we begin to see the tips of larger mountains peeking up over the glacier. Away from the station, the noise of the generators and fans fade and all I hear is the snow crunching beneath my boots, the crash of the sea against the shore, the occasional call of a tern or a petrel gliding along the ice cliffs. In the distance we see two seals basking in the sunshine. As summer progresses we will begin to hear the seals barking warnings at trespassers who come too near their pups. My first question about the glacier was where it began. It’s not possible to tell from looking when you move from walking over snow-covered stones to walking over snow-covered ice. For the most part the glacier looks like a giant, snow-covered dome. Only at the edge, where the glacier calves, can you see the jagged edges of ice and the brilliant blue colors caused by gas being trapped inside the ice.

I look at the glacier edge and at the surface of the sea in much the same way, wondering, “What secrets are you hiding?” Gazing at the ocean I see only the surface of the water and a few feet down. I gaze at a distant crevasse and imagine it as an unspoken invitation to enter the world beneath the ice. These things remind me that for all our accumulated learning, we know so little. On the walk back we veered closer to the shore, and as close to the edge of the glacier as we’re allowed to approach. Where the snow had melted we see boulders emerging, glistening with the runoff of yesterday’s snow. Palmer Station, Torgersen and Litchfield Islands, and some of the other smaller islands that I can’t yet identify by shape dot the landscape below us. The clouds swoop in on the breeze coming from the sea, and the surface of the water turns grey, bits of ice bobbing at the surface. Ice dots the bay looking like a vast room covered in sculpture. One looks like a swan.

ATA Itinerary

Hello Everyone,

I was asked about my itinerary and travel route, so thought I'd post a calendar. The map is from the Office of Polar Programs and, by extension, the University of Texas map archive. Texans must like maps because the original request for my logistics also came from a Texan...

In case--like me--you have vision challenges, here is the plan in plain English....

November 1 Depart Denver for Santiago, Chile
November 2 Depart Santiago for Punta Arenas
November 3 Board the Laurence M Gould
November 4 Sail from Punta Arenas to Palmer Station, Antarctica (ATA)
November 10 Arrive Palmer Station, ATA

I'll post the tentative plan for the return journey separately.

AuthorFest of the Rockies

We just wrapped up the second annual AuthorFest of the Rockies writer's conference. In addition to the usual benefits--talking about writing with people who love talking about writing and meeting amazing and accomplished authors like Joanne Greenberg--the conference location was dreamy.

We met at the Cliff House, a restored historical building nestled into the foothills at the base of Pikes Peak. Between sessions authors, presenters, and attendees gathered on the huge wrap-around porch, sipped Rocky Mountain spring water, and talked books.

Another unusual and appealing aspect of the conference was the fact that young writers and book lovers attended the sessions. For a writer of young adult fiction, what a delight to have my readership attend the workshops. What a great way to support new writers and avid readers of all ages.

Who knew writing could lead to so many adventures? In less than two weeks, I'll be heading to Antarctica as a part of my grant sponsored by the National Science Foundation. I'll be observing and assisting scientists and gathering research for an upcoming novel in the Molly Finn series. If you want to follow this "cool" adventure, submit a question, or share your own icy adventures, click on the Antarctica tab on the Molly Finn website.

Will we find evidence of merlife on the frozen continent? I hope so!