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the Congo
I can’t say that wind the smell of burning trash is exciting or exotic. I can’t say that seeing garbage everywhere is picturesque. I can’t say that hearing car horns repeated for no real reason has the same reaction the Sirens had on Ulysses. I can’t say that body odor in a hot climate is sweet to the nose. What I can say is interesting is this place and the people from which these sights, sounds and smells come from: West Africa, The Republic of Congo, Pointe Noire.
Interesting to see the reaction to my shin tattoos. Some people look directly at them. Others take side-ways glances. A few others take more discreet peeks. Many of the street hawkers have called out to me as if I were a Russian. They yell, "Hey Russki!" I am not sure why they see me as a Russian. Could it be that I walk like a strong Russian? Maybe because I look them in the eye as I approach? The truth is, I have a nasty knot in my back and I can’t move my head to look over my left shoulder. It's killing me.
I walked the beach today. About one mile off shore, a huge crane rested; the gang way had been partially washed away by crashing waves. I wanted to surf. I had hopes of finding an ex-Pat surfing so I could use his board but no avail. As I continued to walk, I noticed various young women holding mirrors in their hands. Strange, really. They never looked up at me.
Approaching a large outside market, the nasty smell of cut, pounded and dried fish sent me back to my time on lobster boats in the Gulf of Maine. I held back the wretch, as I made my way down the packed narrow allies. The market area was about 6 blocks long by 6 blocks wide, covered like a child's living room fort with corrugated tin instead of blankets. In the dim light, my eyes scanned the local wares. What spice section isn’t complete without monkey paws, yellow powered something-or-other, bird skulls in various sizes and what looked like dried scrotums? I made my way through the market with open eyes and kind words asking to take pictures of the interesting people and their wares. I returned the favor by offering a biscuit (cracker) which they would smile and say 'thank you" in French.
Lastly, I will note that most women in the street wear a bra. I have always thought differently. Only a couple of the street vendors did not. But the overall population of women does, in fact, wear bras. The reason I mention this is because my brain has been trained to believe that African women do not wear them – a belief anchored in youthful perusing of National Geographic. The boy grows up.
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Alaska Fall 2008
Yesterday, while driving to the "Wallace Compound" I spied, high in the air, a flock of Sand Hill Cranes. They are heading south very early this year. I suspect this means that it will be a very cold fall hunting season. Normally, they begin to head south around September 7th. Once they fly over you can count on the Northern Lights to flicker in the night sky; wisps of white, blue-green, and purples. Sometimes it looks like two children playing with flashlights between the mountain ranges. The beam of light appears drunk from the beauty below, staggering this way and that with no real rhyme or reason.
Melancholy becomes me.
I sat on a bucket today and talked to my old, dear friend, Cheyenne. He is lame and will not be going out into the bush as my guide horse this year. I light up my best cigar, put hay at my feet and spoke to him of our many adventures together - some good, some awesome, some painful. |
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I recalled with great clarity one particular day that we went to retrieve Dall sheep meat at five in the morning high in the mountains. A Guide and Client (I was a wrangler at this point) could not manage to bring it out the previous day. So, I saddle up Cheyenne and the pack horse, Tec and headed down stream to a ridge where I would climb until the tie off point. Along the way I was admiring the day's beginning and not paying any attention (silly me) to the task at hand. Cheyenne stopped dead and I almost continued forward over his head. He was snorting and thumping the ground. I looked down to see a steaming pile of bear shit! It looked like someone had killed Boo Berry. It was huge! I immediately pulled out my 44 11 inch barrel hand gun and moved Cheyenne down stream, singing "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" replacing words with my own about my Hero Coke Wallace. (It gave me courage). We headed down stream double time and came to the apex of the ridge just as the sun hit us. It was warm, spectacular, and one of the greatest moments of my life! Down below were three huge caribou walking up stream. It was like a scene in a movie, all the while music from an emotional soundtrack played in my head. I wished right there and then that my mom, dad, and any girl I would ever date could see me.
Cheyenne, Tec and I enjoyed the morning sun as I pulled out a cigar, lit it up and watched the morning dew upon the alders. It was a moment I will never forget. If I were to die, I would want that scene of the early August morning on my tomb stone. Cheyenne and I talked for some time. The cigar was long enjoyed by the time I stood up (the best I could, my back tighten up.) Tearfully, I hugged his neck long and hard. He isn’t the horse he once was. Nor am I the naive wrangler. He symbolizes greatness and patience. He taught me to trust him. Hell, many, many times I looked to him for guidance in the mountains. He saved my ass many times and I returned the favor. I told him that I loved him - lame or not. To me our friendship will never end. |
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Justus Mclarty Mississippi River Pontoon Trip
5/17/08
Good friend and co-pilot of the "freedom vessel chariot of adventure maiden voyage north to Alaska," Justus Mclarty will be taking a pontoon houseboat down the Mississippi River from Minneapolis St. Paul to the Gulf of Mexico. From June through August he will weave approximately 1800 miles through 10 states to the ever-nearing Gulf Coast. It will be Justus' home and vessel will descending the mighty Mississippi River. This will be a healthy and relaxing trip, an adventure worth experiencing, and a good-livin-hell-of-a-time. For six years this trip has been living as a fantastical goal within him and 8 months in the making. Justus' maiden voyage of the Mississippi River shoves off on June 4th from Minniesota.
More about the Mississippi "BigGetter" |
| A
Kiwi Elk
3/16/07
Dear Friends,
Well for all you hunters out there here is a picture from a 394
point Elk. My pal Chris works for New Zealand Mountain Hunting Limited
in Omarama, New Zealand. So with that said he and I have been out
with clients and by ourselves and this is what we came up with.
Not only the fishing but the hunting is world class. Crazy and amazing.
I must admit that I am not a fisherman but the Brown trout are as
big as your forearm (simalar to the Mongolian Artic Char). Well
Chris works at a lodge that is top class all the way around. Heaven
for most. Anyway, it's been amazing. Went skydiving for my Birthday.
Great experience. Went Tahr and Chamoi hunting. More pictures to
send later. Wow, when Elk and Stag make there call it's intense.
I am now hooked.
So it's all down hill from here.
Be well and bless. |
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Shark
Fishing in New Zealand
3/6/07
Friends,
Finally made time to get a picture on the web. This picture was
taken on the West Coast of New Zealand near Haarst (they are filming
Witches and Warlocks here). My Pal Marcus the Kiwi (he and I work
together in the Bush of Alaska) has shown me an awesome time. We
went fishing for Blue Cod and Whatever else we caught. Well because
I am alittle goofy, I didnt catch one Blue Cod until I caught 4
Sharks!! The first was a Dog Shark, then two very big "7 Gill
Sharks" and one slant eyed yellow shark know as a "china
men shark". The picture is of the largest Shark it was about
9 ft in length. Great time.
I have been mainly Hunting with Marcus via Helicopter (no we dont
shot them from the heli) and fishing from his Jet Boat on several
different rivers. He lives in Wanaka. IT's been great. Hung out
yesterday with a Sheep Farmer and his dogs. It's wild to see his
Dog work over one thousand head of Sheep. I am off to Queenstown
to work with some horses.
I hope you're well.
Talk to you soon,
Mike |
| Road
less traveled paved with sand and snow
By Mike Green, Special to theSun
Posted February 4, 2007
Mike Green compares the disparities between his overseas assignments
in Iraq and Antarctica
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"Happy
Camper" Course in Antarctica
Happy Camper is a class that all personal who wish to travel outside
the realm of McMurdo have to go thru. As you know I used to instruct
Winter Survival/Camping so I wasn’t that excited to be there.
I was worried that I would revert back into my Instructor Mentality
and begin to Field Marshall everyone. I fought the urge better than
I thought I would. However, I made sure everyone was fed at night,
well hydrated, and had a place to sleep comfortably before I went
to bed in my "quansi hut". Which is a snow dome made by
shoveling snow into a huge pile, packing it down, and then digging
a flat place to sleep inside. I slept great. So well that I got
up about 20 minutes before we were picked up and all the camp chores
where done. Oh well. I wasn’t the instructor. I was a student
that was a slacker in the morning. It was warm enough to smoke but
I didn’t have my Pipe or Cigars due to my congestion in my
chest/cough. Either way, the whole experience reinforced that I
am getting to old to sleep outside in the cold. |
| 11/18/2006
My Friends,
Check out our lost passengers today. It was a wild day at the Air
Strip. All of the sudden out of the frozen snow cone of Mountains,
sea ice, and volcano’s eye arrived these passengers trying
to catch a flight out of McMurdo Station to the South Pole. The
Airplane is from the Air National Guard of New York State. It's
an amazing place to experience each day. The beauty arrests my breath,
the cold stunts my speech, and the people warm my heart. Unfortunately,
it’s too cold to smoke a cigar or my pipe.
I am well, warm, wind burned and sunburned,
Be well and bless,
Mike
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Iraq
The emotions of worry, exhaustion, hunger, suspicion, confusion,
hope, and the blank stare of numbness can be found on the faces
of these men. I worked with these men in hopes of building a better
life of stability and security for their country and loved ones.
It was a profoundly emotional struggle. Strong friendships were
made. In the end neither they nor I will be able to judge if our
time was well spent. That answer will come from the generations
to follow. Together these Men and I ran Cranes and Heavy Equipment
to build a Military Base. Each day they risked their lives to earn
in one hour what they made in one month under Saddam. At the end
of the day we hoped that we had laid a small piece of the foundation
in which prosperity, health, and peace would be built upon. Only
time will tell if the toil and risk were worth it. |
| Brotherhood
of Blue Smoke - Nicaragua
8 years ago I first met Sergio Torres. I was
introduced to him by his cousin whom I met (by happenstance) on
the street in Esteli, Nicaragua, Cigar Capital of Nicaragua. We
bonded together as the blue smoke of our cigars disappeared into
sticky summer air and the empty bottles of beer collected on the
small wobbly table before us on that easy feeling afternoon. The
story is way to long to explain here. But the long (Churchill) and
short (Robusto) of it is that the next day I got a straight razor
shave (while smoking a cigar), toured his Uncles Cigar Factories,
met the Vice President of Nicaragua (now the President), had dinner
with some of the finest cigar rollers alive, and to top it all off,
I sang “It’s now or never” to a packed bar. It
was by far one of the best days in my life.
Fast forward to February 2006. Enter Seth Pleasant Young and Kelly
Pressley, add a couple of lost bags, a detour in Guatemala City,
16 hours of being late and beer at 6:45am until we get picked up
by Sergio at the Airport, 4 beers (each) and 2 " half hours
later; Sergio meet Seth and Kelly.
We were there to tour the Factories and Fields of Nicaragua. We
had Guaybera’s of several colors as our formal attire, Cigars
of different sizes, and loads of beer, rum, and papas fritas.
Sergio is the Nephew of Nester Placensia. Nestro’s cigar factories
produce more cigars than any other cigar factory in all of Central
America. Also, Nester produces the only Organic Cigar in the world!
These Cigars are sure to be a huge hit (they use garlic as a natural
pesticide). Sergio’s Family took us all into their homes,
factories, fields, and made sure we felt welcome.
Together Sergio, Seth, Kelly, and I toured the Cigar factories,
fields, and a bit of the culture. It was a quick trip, with small
incidents of frustration however, the large sum was fraternity wrapped
like a Double Corona in a meticulously grown Tobacco leaf. |
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Mongolia
- Kazakh Golden Eagle Hunting
Just one of many pictures I have of one of the best experiences of
my life. He and I became fast friends. It was another experience that
proved two common souls need not a language from which to speak with
a tongue but a kindred spirit and respect for that person or their
heart of being. The Garb I am wearing was purchased from a man whom
sold it to me because "your soul is warm and heart bright".
It's a jacket that was made 80 years ago by his grandmother and the
hat was made 20 years ago. The Coat is sheep on the inside and horse
on the outside. I wore it each day I hunted with great reverence and
humble feelings of awe. The old man was 68 years old and still shod
horses. His Eagle was his 10th Eagle and mine was 6 years old. Still
young for an Eagle. At 10 years old they are usually set free. I had
the awesome joy and fire of anticipation to send my "bird"
3 times. It was a feeling I have never felt nor will feel again in
my life unless, I take up the old man on his offer to live with him
as his son. I might meet him half way on that offer and just live
with him as they move from place to place in happy harmony with nature.
He said I could pick from his finest horses to ride. But for now I
will have to continue to soar in my heart for our friendship. Some
day I will gallop into his Ger (with his hands in the air telling
me not to ride so fast into that area, "it scares the sheep and
yaks" that's another story. You will have to wait until I get
the text ready and pictures sorted to see more. |
Commercial
Lobstering - Gulf of Maine
Without a doubt this experience and job was the
most difficult experience in my life. All aspects of life, aboard
the 85ft Lobster Boat are difficult. Time, weather, the sea, and
the knowledge needed to stay alive don’t come easy. Nothing
is easy. Only chastising oneself for being there is easy. The Lobstermen
I worked with were hardy good men. They had to be. The first thing
you learn is where your knife is to cut a rope if you get snagged.
Endlessly making the movements of Grab the knife with your right,
rope with your left, and cut. The sea is a bitch. Nice and smooth
as glass or as evil and rough as a women scorn. Ruthless to the
point of tears or beautifully sublime. Each time you do awaken from
a slumber your muscles are sore, (painkillers are never beyond arms
reach), smell of rotten fish, mind cloudy and always, your stomach
is unsettled to the point of having to force feed yourself. Your
fingers refuse to straighten as you try to open a Redbull. God I
loathed and love it. |
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