What do the outdoors sound like?

Many outdoor enthusiasts have searched long and hard for a sound that truly captures what draws them into the wild. Mind you, we're not talking about Jack Johnson's benign, sandy nursery rhymes or hippy-dippy chime trips into New Age, patchouli-stink purgatory.  We're talking about music with the weight and gravity to transfer the feeling of wilderness itself — a sonic accompaniment to the inward thrill that happens when one stumbles into an unmarred meadow, or witnesses the slow cracking of an ancient, retreating glacier.

Maybe no one's nailed it just yet, but contemporary composer John Luther Adams comes damn close. In a New Yorker profile, the Fairbanks, Alaska-based composer talks about how he experiences and interprets the wild landscapes around him and then translates them into ambient, flowing washes of sound. Sometimes his compositions mimic the gentle tinkling of falling icicles; other times, they crash in the discordance and percussive onslaught of an avalanche. Here, he talks about inspiration gleaned from a rafting trip in the Yukon:

“When the ice breakup comes, it makes incredible sounds,” he said. “It’s symphonic. There’s candle ice, which is crystals hanging down like chandeliers. They chime together in the wind. Or whirlpools open up along the shore or out in the middle of the river, and water goes swirling through them. Or sizzle ice, which makes a sound like the effervescent popping you hear when you pour water over ice cubes."

Adams started out as a rock-n-roll kid who even got to open for the Beach Boys once. But he soon became entranced by Zappa and then modern composers; when he later got involved in the environmental movement of the late 70s and moved to Alaska, his fate was sealed. He composes for both traditional instruments and electronics, and Adams isn't afraid to incorporate a bit of high-tech, forward-thinking art into his work. His piece "The Place Where You Go To Listen," takes feedback from the Alaska's weather, time of day, seismic data, and even magnetic field to create a real-time, never-ending composition coupled with changing visuals. When the aurora borealis hits for instance, the music in the room will change color and introduce otherworldly bell tones and chimes.

One of Adams' signature pieces, "Dark Waves," chronicles the rise and fall of its namesake water feature through the harmonic tones of perfect fifths. Over 13-plus minutes, what starts as atmospheric whispers slowly grows into an ominous crescendo, only to recede back to the hush from where it came. It's brilliant, weird, and it even rocks a little.

— Ted Alvarez

Song of the Earth (New Yorker, streaming audio of "Dark Waves available))

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Friday, May 09, 2008 in: Nature & Wildlife, Environment & Green Living
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Robin, Hand me the Bat Rope!

Musings on the 11th Essential, and Choosing Your Companions Wisely

Y'all know the Ten Essentials (cue the angel chorus), don't you? That commandment-style list of mandatory hiking emergency items first tabulated by The Mountaineers in 1930? For a refresher, here's the list:

1) Map
2) Compass
3) Sunglasses & sunscreen
4) Extra food
5) Raingear/extra clothes
6) Headlamp/flashlight
7) First Aid kit
8) Fire starter
9) Matches
10) Knife

Now I freely admit that I don't carry these all the time. And I've got some quibbles with the list; For example, matches (waterproof or not) make little sense in a world where butane lighters are everywhere. But there's one basic aid not on the list that I often do carry, and in mountain or canyon terrain I consider it the 11th essential: A bat rope.

Named after the high-tech cords employed by Batman, the Caped Crusader (Batman rules; Spiderman drools), bat ropes are small, short ropes that big wall climbers carry for auxiliary duties like pendulum swings or pulling in to overhanging walls. General mountaineers and trekkers often carry such ropes for pack hauling or infrequent belay duties on long trips. And I often carry one to safeguard companions or, even more often, to get my own heinie out of stupid jams, a duty it has repeatedly performed in admirable fashion. I've even used it to lash down tents in gale winds, or tow canoes through shallow water.

The idea is to have a rope that's light enough you won't leave it behind, but strong enough to handle small climbing slips and rappeling duties, even when it's worn from hauling packs over cliff edges. In my experience, that means an 8mm rope, and over the years I've settled on a length around 80 feet. If I'm really feeling uber-light, I'll step down to a 7mm diameter, but all things being equal, such a narrow cord is more cut and tangle prone. The 8mm 80-foot cord I'm currently using weighs 2lbs.

I prefer a static rope (non-stretchy, caving style) for bat rope duties, simply because they're stronger and tougher at a given weight than the more elastic rock climbing ropes. On the downside, static ropes aren't rated for serious hi-momentum falls, where a 'rubber band' catch is mandatory to prevent injuries or ripped anchors. For that, real 10.5- to 11-mm climbing ropes are the ticket -- at three times the weight.

I've gone through a half dozen bat ropes over the years, throwing them away when they're finally too worn to trust, or they've been used for a car tow epic.I can't count how many times they've saved a friend's bacon, or my own. Try carrying one on your weekend adventures; It's cheap insurance on steep terrain.


With Friends Like This....
The old saying "there's safety in numbers" doesn't always hold true, as the tale linked above painfully demonstrates.

The setup reads like a boorish joke: Two Polish friends meet another Pole at a bar in Dublin, Ireland while pounding Saturday night brews...and make impromptu plans for a Monday climb up Ben Wiskin, a 1,300-foot Irish coastal peak that looks like a pear laying on its side with one half sliced off. The trio splits up on the hike, the two friends going ahead for the summit. Back at the base after their descent, the loner doesn't show up at a prearranged rendezvous.

The Polish duo report their new companion missing at 9pm that night, and after directing searchers to the general area, they drive back to Dublin. Next morning, police order them to return to the search. On Tuesday their partner is found. He fell off the sliced side of the pear, over a 500-foot vertical cliff and down the 800-foot apron. The victim apparently slipped while making his way along the brink, enroute to the summit, and died instantly.

This is a classic case of two common contributing factors in SAR incidents: The first is Separated Group Syndrome, which often results in lost party members, since individuals following stronger leaders may not pay attention to, or know, the route being taken. As well, this illustrates how the weakest, least experienced member of a party is usually the most vulnerable to accident.

The morals:
--Start together, stay together.
--If you're relying on companions, make sure they're reliable.
--Safety in numbers is often an illusion - unless we're talking about big IQ points.

--Steve Howe

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Thursday, May 08, 2008 in: Survival, Skills & Tips, News & Events
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Scary Stuff Changes Lives—For the Better

Set Goals Just Beyond Your Comfort Level

I have an admission to make: I’ve held out on telling you what my first big event of the summer is. That’s because, until now, I was a little freaked out by it. I’m doing a 24-hour mountain-bike race at the end of May, and I’ve never done one before. And did I tell you that I’m doing it on a single-speed mountain bike and with only two other teammates—one of whom might have to drop out without notice? (His wife is expecting her second baby anytime that weekend.) So there’s a decent chance I’ll be doing this race as part of a two-person team.
 
I didn’t go into this trying to make life inexplicably harder for me. It just ended up that way. I only own a single-speed mountain bike, and I couldn’t find more than two other people insane enough to take on this challenge with me. So here’s why this is so cool. It was only today that I finally crossed the threshold from slow-burning fear of this goal to mild glee over pedaling through whatever mayhem awaits me in four weeks. And a lot of those good vibes stem from the fact that I finally feel fit enough to do the race. I’ve been diligently riding trails for the last 3 weeks, and today I rode my control loop with its 1,500 feet of hard climbing, swooping single track, and fast flats, and knocked 90 seconds off last week’s time. This result came despite the fact that I felt like s*&$t from a poor night’s sleep. That was cool.

Looking back on today’s ride, I realized that A) I probably wouldn’t have gone for a ride if I wasn’t training for something. I would’ve taken a nap; B) I know I wouldn’t have pushed myself as hard as I did today without the fear of the upcoming race; and C) My more brutal training rides are now something I genuinely look forward to since I can now “feel” how they’re going to have a positive effect on my performance come race day—and night.

While I don’t have any wild dreams about actually winning this race, I can now visualize myself thriving, not just surviving those 24 hours. And that attitude permeates everything I do now, which in turn promises to make every mile of riding from here on out that much more intense and satisfying.

In terms of mountain-biking shape, I crossed into a zone that I’ve never visited before: the one called "Fast." Sure, I’ve done "Endurance" before, but never fast. All it took was setting a semi-frightening challenge in front of me to take me there.

I gotta say, I kinda like here.

So what’s your slightly scary goal this year? If you don’t have one, get one. Trust me, it makes everything leading up to it immensely more productive and satisfying.

Grant Davis has spent the last decade writing and editing articles about health, fitness, and nutrition. He lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado.

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Tuesday, May 06, 2008 in: Fitness
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