#mighty colorado river

[warnersister]

Chapter 1 - The Return to Miramar

The Highwayman Series | Prologue | Chapter 2

‘No Entry – Construction (TRANSATLANTIC RAILWAY DUE TO FINISH 1869)’ the sign read and the frontman on his horse creased his brows into a tight and questioning line. “1869? But its 1863.” He said, voice in a questioning tone. “haven’t you heard?” his companion asked “east and west are racing to see who can build the most. Gonna be shut a while” he said matter of factly, while straightening out his mustache from where the Tennessee heat had frazzled it. The former grunted in response “this is our way though” “well were gonna have to go a different way hangman, don’t fancy getting Spitfire killed by a train” the other told him, motioning to the fine mare he was riding on. He nodded “yeah hornets too young for that, rooster you’re right. You know a different way?” hangman asked. Rooster thought for a minute, straightening out his mustache again, already bunching up under the springtime humidity – but this time, more in thought than in maintenance as he turned to look at his surroundings “already crossed Mississippi” he said, remembering when they’d crossed the mighty river – not wishing to back track on that path. “were gonna have to go the whole way round, through missouri – Kansas, take a left at colorado” “could we not go trough Texas?” Hangman asked, thinking of a shorter route they used to traverse a decade prior. Rooster raised his brows “aint Sherrif Simpson still after us?” he asked and his friend shrugged. “Already told the rest of ‘em to meet us in Louisiana and it’ll take weeks, months to get there if not, were good as dead if the Indians aint as hospitable again” there was silence for a minute “plus you’ve got a stache now and I’ve got this sweet bod, he wont recognise us” Hangman said, flexing while Rooster threw his head back and laughed loudly “bod ain’t as good as mine, bagman” Rooster said and the other shook his head “c’mon. Texas it is."

This route was fresh, recognisable but still; new-(ish). There were plenty of structures that were erected since they’d last abided there, especially in the Plains – a substantially belittled number of natives and much more Easterns who you could tell had no business being in Western heat – searching for green grass but getting tumble weeds in lieu. They’d reached their meeting point but a week later, reconsiliating with Coyote and Bob who’d been engaging in business up in the rockies, taking the strongest horses but only returning with one. “Hercules?” Hangman asked and bob shook his head “struggled all the way up, slipped, poor boy couldn’t handle it. Was cryin’ in the night he was. Had’a put him out o’ his misery” the four all bowed their heads and shook them in remembrance for their fallen companion. “damn” rooster said. “Well there's no way the two of ya can manage all the way to New Mexico on Chinook, let alone California” Hangman said. “we passed a ranch on the way down here in northern Texas, town called Miramar” Bob told him as Rooster and Hangman shared a look. “Ain’t that where we nearly got hung?” Rooster asked “sure is Brad.” Hangman thought for a moment “Good mares?” Hangman asked “the best” coyote said “young lady an’all. Mighty fine on the eyes” “guess we’re heading up North.”

The ride was slightly awkward with Coyote and Bob both on one horse, they changed primary rider every hundred or so miles – and it made it easier to travel at night, but still; a man wanted his own horse and Coyote was proud of Chinook, but the horse was starting to weary with some three hundred pounds on his back. But eventually they saw the sign. White lettering and red background, carved so deeply into old mahogany and almost illegible, but it was undeniably so: Miramar. So close you could almost make out Oklahoma, but far enough away and enough Stetsons present to recognise the contrast between what was and what wasn’t Texan territory. “where’s this ranch of yours, Bob?” Jake asked, swallowing harshly as he eyed the infamous town over his sunglasses; Bob pointed straight ahead, and adjacent to the Sheriff’s office, was an unassuming parlour attacked to a decently sized acreage of farm, a good seven or eight horses feeding off their dinner. “alright. Let’s get in and get out.” Jake said, instructing his horse to move forward as he did so. “you guys got history here or something?” Javy asked and rooster snorted “yeah something like that” “what happened?” Bob asked “lets just say he had a thing for the Sherrif’s daughter and he organised to hang him if he didn’t get out of town.” Rooster explained, recalling the events from what seemed like yesterday. Jake cleared his way as a way to get the lot of them to shut up. He still had the ring he was going to give her in his breast pocket.

They drew a lot of attention as they rode through town – strangers clearly dressed in travelling attire. But they were the Highwaymen, not pilgrims. Coyote hopped off the back of Chinook and Bob followed suit, heading to the girl who had their back turned to them, currently attending to a young pony who seemed to refuse to leave the refuge of her stables. “Excuse me, ma’am – any of these horses for sale?” “Uh huh the lot of ‘em” she’d replied, turning to the strangers to greet them as customers. Jake felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. “jake?” “hey, petal” he replied, unable to muster anything else as he looked at you, still as mighty fine if not more gorgeous than he day he’d hit the road with rooster. You looked to his left and nodded “Brad” “hey pretty” after the short and unsweetened reunion. “Y’all should get off my ranch. My daddy still has a right mind lynchin’ the two of ya” you say smally, turning to reattend to the horse. “Still?” Rooster asked with a smirk but Jake was taking it more seriously as you nodded your head to the stocks “meaner than the day you left” “sweetheart-“ “I aint talkin to you, Jake” you say and look at your feet “look, my horse passed in the rockies; was hopin’ I could but a new ‘un to get us to California. Got any up for the job?” Bob asked and you looked at him. “Uh, we got a few. Albatros is gorgeous and strong, but I don’t think she’ll last ‘till Cali.” You place your hands on your hips, surverying the pack “Falcon, he’ll get you there but no further.” You say “that there” you point at the strong, pale coloured horse in the back of the field “Lightning. God he can ride, got the strength of Zeus. He’ll get you there, hell he’ll get you through Mexico and back. But he’s my favourite, he’s gonna cost ya” Jake smiled “God he was just a young’un a few years back. My, he's grown” he says, recalling the day he’d gifted you the horse. He’d saved up all his money, didn’t even steal him, brought him all the way from New Mexico. Didn’t even ride him, he walked on foot – made sure the mare had his breaks and god your smile when you accepted him. His hair matched Jakes, so he’d always be there when he wasn’t. “You’re willing to sell him? After all this time?” you finally look at him, pain apparent in your eyes “you left, Seresin” that hurt “you bought him as a reminder. Don’t need no reminder of you, boy” you say “well ‘m here now-“ “exactly.” You cut him off and there is a silence.

“How much for Lightning?” Bob asked after a while. “Make me an offer.”

Prologue | Chapter 2

[grasshoppergeography]

You can find our custom-made Colorado river basin map in conservation photographer Dave Showalter's new book, LIVING RIVER: The Promise of the Mighty Colorado. The book is a remarkable piece of art and an essential read for all the 40 million people who live within the river basin. It explores the endangered Colorado River from source to sea, and illustrates how changing our relationship to water helps make it possible to create a resilient watershed. Additionally, and maybe most importantly, it's a beautiful story about hope and love. We are proud to be a part of this amazing project. Braidedriver sent us this complimentary copy, and it really is a beautiful book.

LIVING RIVER is not only a book but a multi-year collaborative conservation campaign. We hope to hear more from them in the future and we wish all the best to everyone involved.

You can buy the map as fine art print here.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

'A River Runs Through It' :: The Mighty Colorado carves its way deep into Grand Canyon :: [The American Southwest group]

* * * *

I could smell the curves of the river beyond the dusk and I saw the last light supine and tranquil upon tideflats like pieces of broken mirror, then beyond them lights began in the pale clear air, trembling a little like butterflies hovering a long way off.

William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury, 1929

[barry-kent-mackay]

The group of mammals that includes whales, dolphins and porpoises is call Cetacea, and the subject of my recent oil painting is the world’s smallest Cetacean, the Vaquita (Phocoena sinus), little porpoise that, at maturity, is less than five feet long.  The Vaquita is found only in the waters at the northern end of the Gulf of California and is critically endangered, down to about ten to twenty individual animals left, as of earlier this year.  Its existence as a species was first established in 1958, based on the structure of skulls retrieved from dead individuals found on the beach, but it was only in 1985 that its external appearance was finally described.  “Vaquita” means “little cow” in Spanish. No other marine mammal has such a small range.

The main threat to the species is another animal species found only in the Gulf of California, a large drum fish called the Totoaba (Totoaba macdonaldi), itself now an endangered species. I have shown a couple of them in the background. The problem is a demand by an Asian market for the swim bladders and meat of the Totoaba. The nets used to catch the fish caught, entangled drowned the Vaquitas. The bladders are a delicacy in Chinese cuisine, and the bladders are mistakenly credited with treating fertility, circulatory and skin problems. The demand for Totoaba commenced a century ago, after a native Chinese fish, the Chinese Bahaba (Bahaba taipingensis), also known as the Giant Yellow Croaker, as nearly exterminated. It is still critically endangered, with both fish species facing other threats captured by the catch-all rubric, environmental degradation.

A major threat to the north end of the Gulf of California’s marine life is all too well known: the salinity of this region, surrounded by land, has for thousands of years been determined by the flow of fresh water from the once mighty Colorado River, at the “top end” of the sea.  But the water of that river, whose force carved the Grand Canyon upriver, and could fill the aquifer behind Hoover Dam, all gets drained off for farming, kitchen taps, golf courses, lawns, gardens, car washes and multiple other human uses before reaching the sea, while at the same time massively unprecedented draught grips the region. 

Both Vaquita and Totoaba are protected, and work is underway to commercially raise the latter in fish farms, which potentially carry their own environmental risks. But there is not only poaching, but net captures of other marine life that still threaten both the Vaquita and the Totoaba.  The latter has good survival potential but it is extremely frustrating to those of us who care that there seems really to be nothing that can be done to prevent the extinction of the Vaquita at some future point in the current century.  It’s far from my best painting; I wanted to convey a sense of tranquility to symbolize the harmonization within nature even with its predatory and competitive nature whereas I perhaps should have tried a more stark or dramatic effect, perhaps the better to reflect my frustrations over my inability to reduce the damage we do to others, other species often unknown to most people, but I felt that at least I should paint its picture, chasing squid in the shallows, an imagined scene based on a reality soon to leave us.

The painting is in oils on compressed hardboard and is 24 by 30 inches in size.

[mariacallous]

As France grapples with soaring temperatures and ever more ruinous droughts, a full-blown water war is unfolding in the country, with heavy clashes, injuries, and arrests.

Tensions are running high over the use of giant artificial reservoirs for irrigation, which some farmers rely on to cope with water scarcity but which critics say are making the problem worse, accelerating the depletion of limited groundwater resources for the benefit of only a handful of big producers.

It’s one of many conflicts over water access breaking out with growing frequency all over the world, as climate change dries soils, increases temperatures and makes crops thirstier, and reduces the annual snowpacks that traditionally replenished freshwater flows. Water diversion in China is stoking regional ire. In Central Asia, access to scarce water resources is exacerbating cross-border tensions. Climate change and upstream dams, as well as poor water management, are drying out Iraq and Iran. Egypt and Ethiopia have been at odds for years over an upstream Nile River dam that threatens downstream countries. Western U.S. states are bickering over the dwindling resources of the once-mighty Colorado River, while in Germany and Chile, contentious access to water is fueling domestic strife.

“Water is a common good. No one can claim it as their own,” said Julien Le Guet, a spokesperson for Bassines Non Merci (Basins No Thanks), an activist group. This month, Le Guet and several other defendants went on trial over various unauthorized demonstrations against the construction of a new mega-reservoir in Sainte-Soline, in western France.

A rally held in March, in particular, turned into a violent confrontation with the police that left 47 officers and 200 demonstrators wounded. Some local farmers also denounced damage to their crops and the pipes linking their fields to the new basin. Fresh protests took place at another construction site nearby and in Paris over the last few weeks, with more actions planned in the near future.

Estimates vary between 100 and several hundred retention basins in France, giant plastic-lined craters spanning 20 acres on average that are filled by pumping groundwater in winter for use during the scalding summer months. And their number, whatever it is, is growing. The project in the Deux-Sèvres region (which includes Sainte-Soline), led by a private cooperative of local farmers, entails the construction of 16 new reservoirs that would store more than 6 million cubic meters of water—the equivalent of 1,600 Olympic swimming pools. Another 30 reservoirs are due to be built in the nearby Vienne region.

Supporters say that as the weather gets hotter and drier—2023 had the hottest summer on record globally—the basins are an indispensable life insurance for farmers and a way to reduce the pressure on water resources when they are at their lowest. France has recently been experiencing its worst droughts ever; in July, more than two-thirds of its natural groundwater reserves were below normal levels.

“Irrigating without basins means to continue pumping groundwater, even when there’s less of it,” said Laurent Devaux of Coordination Rurale, a farmers’ union.

The problem, critics say, is that the reservoirs are siphoning precious groundwater for the benefit of a small minority. Just 7 percent of French farmland is equipped with irrigation canals, and only some of the irrigated farms around the reservoirs are actually connected to them. The basin in Sainte-Soline will be directly linked to barely 12 farms out of a total of 185 in the area. According to Le Guet, of all the irrigated farms in the region concerned by the Deux-Sèvres project, the ones that will be connected to the new basins use twice as much water on average as the others.

“This is not just a conflict between certain farmers and environmentalist groups,” said Laurence Marandola, a spokesperson for the Confédération Paysanne farmers’ union, which opposes the basins. “All of us farmers need water,” she said.

And there is less and less of it. Due to the combined effects of global warming and over-pumping, Europe’s groundwater resources have been steadily declining in recent decades, with a yearly loss of some 84 gigatons of water (roughly the equivalent of Lake Ontario) since the turn of the century—just like what’s happening elsewhere in the world, from much of the U.S. to the Middle East.

Critics, including conservationists, small farmers, and scientists, slam the reservoirs as a particularly wasteful method of storing water. Keeping it out in the open, rather than underground, means that some of it evaporates and the remaining part heats up, filling with toxic bacteria, said Christian Amblard, an honorary research director at France’s National Center for Scientific Research. “You’ve got, at the same time, a loss of quantity and quality. It makes no sense,” he said.

Finally, these reservoirs are accused of perpetuating what critics call an unsustainable agricultural model that consumes too much water and accelerates global warming. More than 60 percent of Europe’s arable land is used to feed livestock—which, globally, is responsible for over 30 percent of the world’s emissions of methane—a powerful greenhouse gas. The crops that are grown for animal feed include corn, which occupies one-third of all irrigated land in France and demands lots of water in the summer—hence the need for solutions such as the reservoirs.

“The mega-basins are delaying a transition to a responsible, resilient, and water-efficient agriculture,” Amblard said.

That transition would entail, among other things, working to make soils more capable of retaining water and pivoting away from meat and dairy production, according to experts. With up to 15 billion euros in public aid doled out to the French agriculture sector every year, the necessary financial resources shouldn’t be hard to find, Amblard said. “The agricultural sector is one of the few where the ecological transition can be carried out without leaving anyone by the wayside,” he said.

So far, though, successive French governments have shown little appetite for that, handsomely subsidizing the reservoirs instead—which current French Agriculture Minister Marc Fesneau praised as “virtuous.” Taxpayers will foot 70 percent of the 76-million-euro bill for the ones planned in the Deux-Sèvres. If farmers have an outsized political and financial influence in the European Union as a whole, in France they are a political power unto themselves.

French authorities have also been cracking down hard on the anti-basins movement. Police have come under heavy criticism for their handling of the Sainte-Soline protest, with the Human Rights League, a French nongovernmental organization, denouncing the indiscriminate firing of rubber bullets and the hindering of first-aid workers by the security forces in a bid to “prevent access to the basin’s site, whatever the human cost.”

French Interior Minister Gérald Darmanin has described some of those taking part in the protests as “eco-terrorists” and has taken steps to dissolve Les Soulèvements de la Terre (Earth’s Uprisings), a vocal, and sometimes violent, environmental group.

“We are increasingly the target of legal actions, investigations, and surveillance,” Le Guet said. “Over the last year, court summons have been raining down,” he said, adding that the movement will continue to hamper new basin construction, nonetheless.

The debate looming in France is a familiar one from the American West to the headwaters of the Nile. The basins “are being politicized and isolated from their context, with the farmers who back them being unfairly designated as villains,” Devaux said.

But “there simply isn’t enough water in the underground reserves to carry on like this, extracting these amounts of water for agriculture,” Marandola said. “And what is done with the water that’s taken should be decided in a democratic way, for every single drop.”

[thomaswaynewolf]

This is part 4 of the 5 part series over the exciting adventures of the Dominguez-Escalante Expedition of 1776 that left Santa Fe for Monterey, California. In this episode they will face the consequences of turning back and abandoning their journey to California. Which consequences include coming to the mighty, wide, & dangerous Colorado River. As the elements, starvation, steep cliffs, and an impossible ford close in on them like an ever tightening canyon, will the expedition be able to cross the river before freezing to death? Will they receive help from the locals? Will they make it out alive?! Listen now for the answers to these all important questions.

[aroundtheworldwithphillyfogg]

December 8th: in which Verne is bored and compares indigenous to animals twice

The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption, passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass. The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey, eight thousand and ninety-two feet above the level of the sea. The travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by limitless plains, levelled by nature. A branch of the “grand trunk” led off southward to Denver, the capital of Colorado. The country round about is rich in gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are already settled there.

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San Francisco, in three days and three nights; four days and nights more would probably bring them to New York. Phileas Fogg was not as yet behind-hand.

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the territories of Wyoming and Colorado. They entered Nebraska at eleven, passed near Sedgwick, and touched at Julesburg, on the southern branch of the Platte River.

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the 23rd of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge. Two powerful locomotives, carrying nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was Thomas C. Durant, vice-president of the road, stopped at this point; cheers were given, the Sioux and Pawnees performed an imitation Indian battle, fireworks were let off, and the first number of the Railway Pioneer was printed by a press brought on the train. Thus was celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, a mighty instrument of progress and civilisation, thrown across the desert, and destined to link together cities and towns which do not yet exist. The whistle of the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion’s lyre, was about to bid them rise from American soil.

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching Omaha. The road followed the capricious windings of the southern branch of the Platte River, on its left bank. At nine the train stopped at the important town of North Platte, built between the two arms of the river, which rejoin each other around it and form a single artery, a large tributary, whose waters empty into the Missouri a little above Omaha.

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one—not even the dummy—complained of the length of the trip. Fix had begun by winning several guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself a not less eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg. During the morning, chance distinctly favoured that gentleman. Trumps and honours were showered upon his hands.

Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of playing a spade, when a voice behind him said, “I should play a diamond.”

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel Proctor.

Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognised each other at once.

“Ah! it’s you, is it, Englishman?” cried the colonel; “it’s you who are going to play a spade!”

“And who plays it,” replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down the ten of spades.

“Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds,” replied Colonel Proctor, in an insolent tone.

He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been played, adding, “You don’t understand anything about whist.”

“Perhaps I do, as well as another,” said Phileas Fogg, rising.

“You have only to try, son of John Bull,” replied the colonel.

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold. She seized Mr. Fogg’s arm and gently pulled him back. Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the American, who was staring insolently at his opponent. But Fix got up, and, going to Colonel Proctor said, “You forget that it is I with whom you have to deal, sir; for it was I whom you not only insulted, but struck!”

“Mr. Fix,” said Mr. Fogg, “pardon me, but this affair is mine, and mine only. The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I should not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it.”

“When and where you will,” replied the American, “and with whatever weapon you choose.”

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detective endeavour to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished to throw the colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master checked him. Phileas Fogg left the car, and the American followed him upon the platform. “Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to his adversary, “I am in a great hurry to get back to Europe, and any delay whatever will be greatly to my disadvantage.”

“Well, what’s that to me?” replied Colonel Proctor.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg, very politely, “after our meeting at San Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I had completed the business which called me to England.”

“Really!”

“Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?”

“Why not ten years hence?”

“I say six months,” returned Phileas Fogg; “and I shall be at the place of meeting promptly.”

“All this is an evasion,” cried Stamp Proctor. “Now or never!”

“Very good. You are going to New York?”

“No.”

“To Chicago?”

“No.”

“To Omaha?”

“What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?”

“No,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“It’s the next station. The train will be there in an hour, and will stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver-shots could be exchanged.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg. “I will stop at Plum Creek.”

“And I guess you’ll stay there too,” added the American insolently.

“Who knows?” replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as usual. He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never to be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel, a request which the detective could not refuse. Mr. Fogg resumed the interrupted game with perfect calmness.

At eleven o’clock the locomotive’s whistle announced that they were approaching Plum Creek station. Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix, went out upon the platform. Passepartout accompanied him, carrying a pair of revolvers. Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death.

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the platform, attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second. But just as the combatants were about to step from the train, the conductor hurried up, and shouted, “You can’t get off, gentlemen!”

“Why not?” asked the colonel.

“We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop.”

“But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman.”

“I am sorry,” said the conductor; “but we shall be off at once. There’s the bell ringing now.”

The train started.

“I’m really very sorry, gentlemen,” said the conductor. “Under any other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you. But, after all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not fight as we go along?”

“That wouldn’t be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman,” said the colonel, in a jeering tone.

“It would be perfectly so,” replied Phileas Fogg.

“Well, we are really in America,” thought Passepartout, “and the conductor is a gentleman of the first order!”

So muttering, he followed his master.

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through the cars to the rear of the train. The last car was only occupied by a dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if they would not be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen had an affair of honour to settle. The passengers granted the request with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform.

The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for their purpose. The adversaries might march on each other in the aisle, and fire at their ease. Never was duel more easily arranged. Mr. Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each provided with two six-barrelled revolvers, entered the car. The seconds, remaining outside, shut them in. They were to begin firing at the first whistle of the locomotive. After an interval of two minutes, what remained of the two gentlemen would be taken from the car.

Nothing could be more simple. Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack. They were listening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage cries resounded in the air, accompanied by reports which certainly did not issue from the car where the duellists were. The reports continued in front and the whole length of the train. Cries of terror proceeded from the interior of the cars.

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted their prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most clamorous. They then perceived that the train was attacked by a band of Sioux.

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than once they had waylaid trains on the road. A hundred of them had, according to their habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the train, with the ease of a clown mounting a horse at full gallop.

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to which the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by revolver-shots.

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the engineer and stoker with blows from their muskets. A Sioux chief, wishing to stop the train, but not knowing how to work the regulator, had opened wide instead of closing the steam-valve, and the locomotive was plunging forward with terrific velocity.

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like enraged monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and fighting hand to hand with the passengers. Penetrating the baggage-car, they pillaged it, throwing the trunks out of the train. The cries and shots were constant. The travellers defended themselves bravely; some of the cars were barricaded, and sustained a siege, like moving forts, carried along at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.

Aouda behaved courageously from the first. She defended herself like a true heroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken windows whenever a savage made his appearance. Twenty Sioux had fallen mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell upon the rails as if they had been worms. Several passengers, shot or stunned, lay on the seats.

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if the train was not stopped. Fort Kearney station, where there was a garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that once passed, the Sioux would be masters of the train between Fort Kearney and the station beyond.

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell. At the same moment he cried, “Unless the train is stopped in five minutes, we are lost!”

“It shall be stopped,” said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from the car.

“Stay, monsieur,” cried Passepartout; “I will go.”

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and while the struggle continued and the balls whizzed across each other over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience, and with amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on to the chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes, creeping from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus gaining the forward end of the train.

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender, with the other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the traction, he would never have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar, had not a violent concussion jolted this bar out. The train, now detached from the engine, remained a little behind, whilst the locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for several minutes; but the brakes were worked and at last they stopped, less than a hundred feet from Kearney station.

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the Sioux had not expected them, and decamped in a body before the train entirely stopped.

But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform several were found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman, whose devotion had just saved them.

Three passengers including Passepartout had disappeared. Had they been killed in the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by the Sioux? It was impossible to tell.

There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor was one of the most seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and a ball had entered his groin. He was carried into the station with the other wounded passengers, to receive such attention as could be of avail.

Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of the fight, had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded in the arm. But Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed down Aouda’s cheeks.

All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which were stained with blood. From the tyres and spokes hung ragged pieces of flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the white plain behind, red trails were visible. The last Sioux were disappearing in the south, along the banks of Republican River.

Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious decision to make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without speaking, and he understood her look. If his servant was a prisoner, ought he not to risk everything to rescue him from the Indians? “I will find him, living or dead,” said he quietly to Aouda.

“Ah, Mr.—Mr. Fogg!” cried she, clasping his hands and covering them with tears.

“Living,” added Mr. Fogg, “if we do not lose a moment.”

Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself; he pronounced his own doom. The delay of a single day would make him lose the steamer at New York, and his bet would be certainly lost. But as he thought, “It is my duty,” he did not hesitate.

The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred of his soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend the station, should the Sioux attack it.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to the captain, “three passengers have disappeared.”

“Dead?” asked the captain.

“Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be solved. Do you propose to pursue the Sioux?”

“That’s a serious thing to do, sir,” returned the captain. “These Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave the fort unprotected.”

“The lives of three men are in question, sir,” said Phileas Fogg.

“Doubtless; but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save three?”

“I don’t know whether you can, sir; but you ought to do so.”

“Nobody here,” returned the other, “has a right to teach me my duty.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg, coldly. “I will go alone.”

“You, sir!” cried Fix, coming up; “you go alone in pursuit of the Indians?”

“Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish—him to whom every one present owes his life? I shall go.”

“No, sir, you shall not go alone,” cried the captain, touched in spite of himself. “No! you are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!” he added, turning to the soldiers.

The whole company started forward at once. The captain had only to pick his men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant placed at their head.

“Thanks, captain,” said Mr. Fogg.

“Will you let me go with you?” asked Fix.

“Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favour, you will remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me—”

A sudden pallor overspread the detective’s face. Separate himself from the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step! Leave him to wander about in this desert! Fix gazed attentively at Mr. Fogg, and, despite his suspicions and of the struggle which was going on within him, he lowered his eyes before that calm and frank look.

“I will stay,” said he.

A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman’s hand, and, having confided to her his precious carpet-bag, went off with the sergeant and his little squad. But, before going, he had said to the soldiers, “My friends, I will divide five thousand dollars among you, if we save the prisoners.”

It was then a little past noon.

Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone, thinking of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage of Phileas Fogg. He had sacrificed his fortune, and was now risking his life, all without hesitation, from duty, in silence.

Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal his agitation. He walked feverishly up and down the platform, but soon resumed his outward composure. He now saw the folly of which he had been guilty in letting Fogg go alone. What! This man, whom he had just followed around the world, was permitted now to separate himself from him! He began to accuse and abuse himself, and, as if he were director of police, administered to himself a sound lecture for his greenness.

“I have been an idiot!” he thought, “and this man will see it. He has gone, and won’t come back! But how is it that I, Fix, who have in my pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated by him? Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!”

So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too slowly. He did not know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to tell Aouda all; but he could not doubt how the young woman would receive his confidences. What course should he take? He thought of pursuing Fogg across the vast white plains; it did not seem impossible that he might overtake him. Footsteps were easily printed on the snow! But soon, under a new sheet, every imprint would be effaced.

Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing to abandon the game altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney station, and pursue his journey homeward in peace.

Towards two o’clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard, long whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great shadow, preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing still larger through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect. No train was expected from the east, neither had there been time for the succour asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train from Omaha to San Francisco was not due till the next day. The mystery was soon explained.

The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening whistles, was that which, having been detached from the train, had continued its route with such terrific rapidity, carrying off the unconscious engineer and stoker. It had run several miles, when, the fire becoming low for want of fuel, the steam had slackened; and it had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyond Fort Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, after remaining for some time in their swoon, had come to themselves. The train had then stopped. The engineer, when he found himself in the desert, and the locomotive without cars, understood what had happened. He could not imagine how the locomotive had become separated from the train; but he did not doubt that the train left behind was in distress.

He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue on to Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train, which the Indians might still be engaged in pillaging. Nevertheless, he began to rebuild the fire in the furnace; the pressure again mounted, and the locomotive returned, running backwards to Fort Kearney. This it was which was whistling in the mist.

The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at the head of the train. They could now continue the journey so terribly interrupted.

Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the station, and asked the conductor, “Are you going to start?”

“At once, madam.”

“But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travellers—”

“I cannot interrupt the trip,” replied the conductor. “We are already three hours behind time.”

“And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?”

“To-morrow evening, madam.”

“To-morrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must wait—”

“It is impossible,” responded the conductor. “If you wish to go, please get in.”

“I will not go,” said Aouda.

Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when there was no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up his mind to leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was there, ready to start, and he had only to take his seat in the car, an irresistible influence held him back. The station platform burned his feet, and he could not stir. The conflict in his mind again began; anger and failure stifled him. He wished to struggle on to the end.

Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them Colonel Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken their places in the train. The buzzing of the over-heated boiler was heard, and the steam was escaping from the valves. The engineer whistled, the train started, and soon disappeared, mingling its white smoke with the eddies of the densely falling snow.

The detective had remained behind.

Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very cold. Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station; he might have been thought asleep. Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming out of the waiting-room, going to the end of the platform, and peering through the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist which narrowed the horizon around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcome sound. She heard and saw nothing. Then she would return, chilled through, to issue out again after the lapse of a few moments, but always in vain.

Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where could they be? Had they found the Indians, and were they having a conflict with them, or were they still wandering amid the mist? The commander of the fort was anxious, though he tried to conceal his apprehensions. As night approached, the snow fell less plentifully, but it became intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on the plains. Neither flight of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.

[innerdreamercollective]

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Blurb

THERE ARE PLENTY OF WAYS TO DIE in the Grand Canyon.

Forensic geologists Cassie Oldfield and Walter Shaws investigate one way: trouble on the canyon's Colorado River. Stranded raft. Life vests unused. Rafters missing.

The only clue to the fate of the rafters is a bag of pebbles caught in the bowline. Following that clue, the geologists uncover a hellish scheme. Not only are the rafters in peril, but the river itself is under attack.

The race to stop it takes Cassie and Walter deep into the canyon, and onto the mighty river, putting their own survival at stake.

-- All books in the series are standalone novels and can be enjoyed in any order.

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[peterviney1]

The Grapes of Wrath - review

Review of THE GRAPES OF WRATH at The National Theatre added. This is a mighty and epic production. trucks move, the Colorado River gets swum in, the creek tries to flood the place. Directed by Carrie Cracknell, with a cast of 24. The original New York adaptation by Frank Galati had 36, but it has been cut well for the National. As so often with plays and films of novels the reviewers get snotty.…

[aoicourier]

November 14th, 2281

Hi, Pip. Sorry it took me so long to write again. It's been a day and a half since my last entry. I hope you weren't worried about me. As much as a block of unthinking metal strapped to my wrist CAN be worried, that is.

Fear not, I'm safe and I'm back in Goodsprings. Back in the same bed that I woke up in after Benny Boy shot me in the head, actually. I can hear Doc Mitchell moving around the house.

Let's get you caught up. So, the day before yesterday, I arrived at the Legion's stronghold on Fortification Hill after several hours of travel along the Colorado River. Upon arrival, they stripped me of all my weapons and gear, the Platinum Chip, and they even tried to take my stash of alcohol. If the Legion takes over New Vegas, the booze will be the first thing that gets poured down the drain, right before the rights of women and people's personal freedoms in general. Nightmarish, in more ways than one. I'm not sure exactly when I went from being a courier on a path of revenge to a central player in an escalating ideological war, but now that I'm here I need to do what I can to ensure the Legion does not emerge victorious.

I span the soldiers some lie about needing the alcohol for my heart condition, and they reluctantly allowed me to keep a few bottles of beer. Then I was marched up the hill towards their leader, the mighty Caesar. They all pronounce it KY-SAR, like Mr. Fox did in Nipton. Rows of crucified bodies lined the hill, many rotted away to black skeletons. There were trenches dug, and gun emplacements watching the river. Hundreds of armed guards. Trained attack dogs. Assaulting this place would be impossible without an overwhelming force. Young children in red armour ran about, playing. They'd grow up to think this a normal way of life. The only women I saw were slaves, struggling up and down the steep hill carrying packs of heavy supplies, not even permitted to wear shoes. I could feel countless eyes on me, wondering who this woman was, how she dared even walk upright. I was convinced that I would be led into a cage and never see the light of day ever again.

Instead, I was shown into a spacious tent, and there he sat, in his throne, an older man with a shaved head and a weathered, unsmiling face. Caesar himself. He didn't look like a legendary warrior. But he didn't look like someone to be taken lightly, either. When he spoke, he spoke with complete conviction. He knew exactly who I was, listed off all my accomplishments: tracking Benny across the wasteland, killing him in his own casino and getting away with it, being the first human in recent memory to gain access to the Lucky 38. As he said himself, I haven't exactly been keeping a low profile. It's gotta be the blue hair. People just seem to remember a dame with blue hair.

He wasted no time in telling me what he wanted from me: he wanted me to work for him. To kill Mr. House before the Legion staged their invasion of Hoover Dam. At least that means they're not quite ready to cross the river yet. He knew about the Platinum Chip, knew it would open the bunker at the bottom of the hill. He'd been unable to pry the hatch open, or blow it up. He didn't know what was in there, but he was convinced it was a weapon of some sort. He wanted me to destroy it.

Night was falling as I left the tent and made my way across the camp. The wind was cold and biting at this altitude. A little girl was upset that her teddy bear had been taken and given to the dogs. At the weather station at the foot of the hill, my weapons were returned to me, alongside the Platinum Chip. There was a metal hatch in the floor, and a computer console. I inserted the Chip into the slot on the console, and the hatch slid opened smoothly, like it had been waiting all these years for someone just to ask politely.

I descended the stairs. Caesar's men did not follow. Their leader didn't want any of them to see what was inside. Said he'd have to kill them if they did. I wondered what that meant for my chances of survival. The door at the bottom was painted with the logo of the Lucky 38 Casino. Beyond it, the bunker was irradiated. I climbed into the radiation suit I carried with me, and made my way inside. Mr. House was waiting for me, or rather, his green-tinted face on another monitor. He trusted that I wouldn't destroy this place, as Caesar had asked. It was a barracks of sorts, he said. Said that the Securitrons he had in New Vegas were only a tiny fraction of the total he'd manufactured. This was where the real army was. He needed me to upgrade them all with the Mark II software stored on the Platinum Chip. Then they could defend New Vegas, keep order.

I made my way through the bunker. Crude sentry bots and laser turrets attempted to stop me, but were easily disabled by a few well-aimed bullets. They were nowhere near as sturdy as a Securitron. I found the power regulators, that if destroyed would take out the entire bunker. I am fully aware that handing House the keys to an unstoppable robot army is a plan that may have future repercussions. But I'll worry about those when the time comes. For now, I just need anyone, or anything, that can stop the Legion in its tracks.

I inserted the Platinum Chip into the operations console in the deepest part of the bunker, and unseen machinery whirred into life. And then dozens, hundreds, perhaps thousands of Securitron Mk II units slowly came to life, in warehouses that stretched as far as the eye could see. Each one showing the face of a soldier on their screens; not a protector, but a trained killer. When I returned to the surface, Caesar believed that the booming he'd felt beneath his feet was evidence of me destroying the bunker, and I did nothing to dissuade him of that notion.

Having proved my worth to him, Caesar talked all through the night about himself, about the Legion, about his plans. He'd grown up as a Follower of the Apocalypse, learning about warfare from ancient Pre-War books, until he'd gotten involved in a conflict between seven small tribes at the Grand Canyon. With his guidance, one clan had defeated the others, absorbing their strength and purging the weak. Then they began to conquer larger and larger tribes. Men would fight to the death for their positions, and weakness in any form was not tolerated. Soon it was a mighty army, controlling several states. Unlike the NCR, who emulate 21st-century American politics with all their corruption, the newly-appointed Caesar modelled his Legion after Imperial Rome. He believed that a society such as this is the only one strong enough to survive the harsh realities of the wasteland. Individuals and other cultures have no meaning. Only the Legion itself matters. By defeating the NCR and making New Vegas into their Rome, the Legion will become a military empire that can protect itself and its citizens. A brutal nation for a brutal world.

Mr. Fox was there, too. They call him Vulpes Inculta. He told me about the leader of Caesar's army, the Legate Lanius. They call him the Monster of the East. A barbarian who wears a metal mask into battle to cover his maimed face. He cares nothing for his own men, only for destroying his enemies. When the Legion assault the Dam, his own soldiers will be more scared of him than of the NCR. The army's previous leader, who was outsmarted by the NCR Rangers during the first Battle of Hoover Dam, was set aflame and cast into the Grand Canyon as punishment. His true name was erased, and now he is known only as the Burned Man. Some in the camp were whispering that he was still alive, somehow.

Reiterating that he expected me to kill Mr. House upon my return to New Vegas, Caesar finally permitted me to leave. And so I boarded the barge again, back to Cottonwood Cove, arriving in the early hours of the morning. I left unmolested, and wearily began the journey back. A crucified man called out to me - he'd been sentenced to death for smuggling chems - and I set him free. Otherwise, the roads were quiet. It was as if the entire wasteland was holding its breath in anticipation of things to come. I was in dire need of sleep, but I didn't dare stop moving anywhere near an area controlled by the Legion. Instead I walked all day, back to Goodsprings, where I drank whiskey in the Prospector's until I passed out. Then I woke up here, the next morning, at the Doc's place.

My mind is made up. Lady Luck has been on my side so far. Until that luck runs out, I will do everything in my power to stop the Legion from taking power. What happens after that, I don't know. I'm just a simple courier. But there are some things that only I can do.

Yes Man told me before that a chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel are encamped in a place called Hidden Valley. It isn't too far from here. That's my next destination. I need to find out where they stand in this conflict.

[indiagoldentriangles]

Golden triangle tour with Varanasi by India Golden Triangles Company.

India offers a Golden Triangle vacation including Varanasi. Golden Triangles Company blends the attractions of the well-known Golden Triangle tour with the spiritual and cultural riches of Varanasi. Here's what you can expect from such a tour.

Delhi: The tour would most likely begin in Delhi, India's capital city, which is famed for its blend of antique monuments, lively markets, and modern infrastructure. You may see prominent landmarks such as the Red Fort, India Gate, Qutub Minar, and Jama Masjid.

Agra: The tour would most likely depart from Delhi and travel to Agra, home to the exquisite Taj Mahal, one of the New Seven Wonders of the World. Aside from the Taj Mahal, you could see the Agra Fort and other Mughal architectural marvels.

Jaipur: Following Agra, the tour will take you to Jaipur, the colorful capital of Rajasthan known as the "Pink City." You can see the Amber Fort, City Palace, Hawa Mahal (Palace of Winds), and the bustling bazaars.

Varanasi is the tour's highlight, as it is one of the world's oldest continuously inhabited cities and India's spiritual center. Varanasi is famous for its ghats on the sacred Ganges River, where pilgrims perform rites and festivities. You might see beautiful Ganga Aarti rites, take a boat ride down the Ganges at sunrise or sunset, and wander the small streets lined with temples and lively bazaar.

This tour weaves a complex tapestry of India's cultural, historical, and spiritual legacy, from the grandeur of the Mughal period to the eternal rituals of Varanasi. Make sure to ask about the itinerary's features, such as accommodations, transportation, guided tours, and any special activities included in the package.

ALSO READ-

The Florida Panthers are a professional ice hockey team that plays in Sunrise, Florida, which is part of the Miami metropolitan region. They compete in the Atlantic Division of the Eastern Conference of the National Hockey League (NHL). Here is some additional information on the team:

History: The Panthers entered the NHL as an expansion franchise in 1993, alongside the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim (now the Anaheim Ducks). They had an immediate impact, reaching the Stanley Cup Final in only their third season in 1996, but ultimately losing to the Colorado Avalanche.

The Panthers play their home games at the FLA Live Arena in Sunrise, Florida. It's a modern arena renowned for its lively atmosphere during matches.

Successes: Although the Panthers have yet to win the Stanley Cup, they have enjoyed some good seasons. They have won their division numerous times and made several playoff appearances, most recently in the 2020-2021 and 2021-2022 seasons.

Roster: The Panthers, like all NHL teams, have a roster of talented players from all over the world. In recent years, notable players have included Aleksander Barkov, Jonathan Huberdeau, and Aaron Ekblad.

Fan Base: Although hockey is not as popular in Florida as it is in certain northern locations, the Panthers have a devoted following. With recent success and promising young players, interest in the team has grown.

Overall, the Florida Panthers play a vital role in the NHL, representing hockey in the southern United States while also adding to the league's diversity and growth.

[explorego]

Transform Your Business Today: China's Premier B2B Supplier Network

First on our list is the iconic Grand Canyon in Arizona, USA. Carved over millions of years by the mighty Colorado River, this natural wonder stretches for over 277 miles and plunges to depths of over a mile. Standing at its rim, you'll feel dwarfed by the sheer scale of this geological masterpiece, with layers of colorful rock revealing the Earth's ancient history.

Next, we journey to the rugged beauty of Patagonia in South America. Here, jagged mountain peaks pierce the sky, while immense glaciers carve their way through the landscape. Torres del Paine National Park, with its towering granite spires and turquoise lakes, is a hiker's paradise, offering breathtaking views at every turn.

[martin-james2121]

Discover these 7 Fascinating Facts About the Grand Canyon That’ll Leave You Amazed

Grand Canyon, nestled within the heart of the American Southwest, stands as evidence of the raw power of nature and the passage of time. Stretching across miles of rugged terrain, this iconic landmark possesses a diverse tapestry of history, culture, and natural beauty. Carved by the mighty Colorado River over millions of years, this majestic marvel draws millions of visitors each year with its mesmerizing beauty.

As one of the world’s most iconic natural wonders, the Grand Canyon offers a profound journey of discovery. From its sacred significance to its geological mysteries, the Grand Canyon continues to tempt and intrigue visitors with its unparalleled beauty and rich heritage.

1. Gateway to the Afterlife

For the Hopi Tribe, the Grand Canyon holds extreme spiritual significance as a gateway to the afterlife. According to Hopi mythology, their ancestors emerged from the depths of the canyon, and it serves as a passage for souls transitioning to the next world. This sacred connection highlights the canyon's importance as a sacred site and cultural heritage for Indigenous communities.

To Read More Click Here....

[kashicloud]

[ad_1] I had barely unbuckled my seatbelt and was already wondering if I had driven six hours across Texas for nothing. A once-in-a-lifetime river adventure had seemingly evaporated with some disappointing news.It was the promise of a four-day, 33-mile canoe journey in Big Bend National Park, snaking through awe-inspiring canyons on a mighty river, that had lured me across the state. My partner’s brother, Michael Stangl, an occasional guide with Hidden Dagger Adventures, had offered to take me on the Rio Grande, one of the country’s longest rivers, which stretches from central Colorado to the Gulf of Mexico. I had only previously visited Big Bend on foot, and I was excited to see it from the water.The moment I pulled into Michael’s driveway in Alpine, Texas, after driving there from Austin last April, he told me: We wouldn’t be going through the park anymore.“Unless you want to go hiking with a canoe, we should run a different part of the river,” he said. Having just returned from that segment of the river — between Rio Grande Village, a small campground within Big Bend, and Heath Canyon Ranch, just outside the park — he said it had been “more work than fun,” and that he had been dragging the canoe for a quarter of a mile at a time over nearly dry riverbeds.Instead, we would be doing the Temple Canyon route: an 11-mile, two-night, three-day stretch of the Rio Grande following the United States-Mexico border, more than 30 miles from where our original trip was supposed to begin. This different river segment, entirely outside and downstream from Big Bend, was instead within a desert bighorn sheep restoration area known as Black Gap.Even though I was disappointed, I came to learn that last-minute changes to adventures involving the Rio Grande were common.“If the river were a heart, it would be flatlining”The Rio Grande is in peril: Its water is being depleted by farmers and cities, while a climate-change-induced megadrought that has desiccated the American Southwest for more than two decades is threatening hopes of its recovery. In 2022, the river ran dry in Albuquerque for the first time in four decades. In the same year, the picturesque Santa Elena Canyon, one of the most popular sights in Big Bend, also ran dry for the first time in at least 15 years, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.“If the river were a heart, it would be flatlining,” said Samuel Sandoval-Solis, an associate professor at the University of California, Davis, studying water management.For the West Texan river guides, it’s simply another precarious reality of life in the Chihuahuan Desert. “In my lifetime, I expect river trips to no longer be feasible,” said Charlie Angell of Angell Expeditions, a tour guide service based in Redford, Texas.For now, those booking paddling tours on the Rio Grande can expect last-minute switch-ups if they want their boats to actually float.“When guests book over the phone, we tell them, ‘You’re gonna go where we tell you we’re going,’” said Mike Naccarato, the founder of Far West Texas Outfitters, an adventure company based in Presidio, Texas. “And if they still insist on wanting to go to Big Bend National Park when the levels are low, we tell them it’s their choice: We can either do it by dragging the boat up and down the river, or we can go do this very, very pretty trip outside of the park, but still on the Rio Grande, instead.”While the high season for river trips is typically March through May, and following monsoon season from September through November, local tour operators are struggling to predict when the water levels will be high enough.“It’s really hard to say anything is normal nowadays — we’ve started calling it ‘non-soon’ season,” said Mr. Naccarato.Dragging, zigzagging and head-buttingAfter an hourlong drive with canoes strapped to Michael’s truck, we stood on the edge of the river outside Heath Canyon Ranch, staring at an out-of-commission bridge stretching across the border to Mexico. While the sun was hidden behind clouds, I was already drenched in sweat from lugging the gear-filled canoes to the bank.It was soon clear our “easier,” 11-mile journey would still be hard work because of the river’s lower-than-normal water levels.Within about 30 seconds of pushing off, Michael and I reached our first rapid section and I, a river novice, was ill prepared. The lower water levels had left protruding rocks that we would have to navigate. Michael hopped out of his canoe and grabbed my bow. “You’re going to have to angle the nose directly toward that Y, where the river’s splitting and it’s turning white, then tilt the nose quickly right, then quickly left,” he instructed.My canoe ended up jammed on a gravel bed, and I was forced to hump it over rocks until the river deepened. It happened again and again: At nearly every rapid section — and it felt as if one came around every time I started to gain confidence — my boat ended up beached. I must have spent more time out of my boat pushing it than in it paddling.Even in sections where the river deepened, it wasn’t easy. Instead of the current pulling us swiftly down the middle, the lower water levels forced our boats to drift in a serpentine formation, back and forth across the banks of the river. The banks provided another problem: For most of our trip, the right bank of the river — the Mexican side — was dominated by carrizo cane. Also known as border bamboo or giant reed, the cane, an invasive species, stretched off the bank for what I estimated as up to 15 feet high.The turbulent and narrow river dragged my boat right into the cane, which cut up my arms and legs, and clotheslined me into the water. Michael instructed me to — counterintuitively — lean forward into the cane, not away from it. When I heeded his advice, my (unhelmeted) head became a blunt object upon which the cane snapped itself in half. It was significantly better than capsizing.That night, blistered, bruised and damp, I asked Michael as we sat on our sleeping pads if floating the Rio was always this strenuous and riddled with obstacles. “Not when there’s really water,” he said. In fact, as I later learned, most of the difficulties I encountered (beyond stepping in cow dung near the campsite), could be attributed to the river’s lower water levels and signs of the landscape shifting as a result, said Jeff Bennett, a hydrologist for the Rio Grande Joint Venture, a conservation group that strives to protect the river habitat.“Boulders, gravel, sand and this invasive cane are no longer getting washed downstream,” Mr. Bennett said in a phone interview. “A flood would remedy all of that.”A journey worth the bruisesOn the last morning of the trip, we salvaged a few soggy sandwiches from the bottom of our coolers and shoved off. The river was calm for the few miles we had left, and we saw turtles called Big Bend sliders sunbathing on the rocks.The last challenge the river dealt us was leaving it. We floated right past the takeout point, which was shrouded in cane, and we had to paddle back upstream for a quarter of a mile.Unlike the previous spots on the river where we had pulled our canoes ashore, this one was surprisingly deep, with the river rising to my chest. Instead of a gentle slope, like the places where we had made camp along our journey, the takeout was, more or less, a 60-degree sand dune stretching for 20 yards.After lugging my boat through the sand, I collapsed, wet, bruised and spent, with only enough energy to dissociate into the cloudless sky.“We think the river has changed, but really, we have changed the river,” Dr. Sandoval-Solis, the U.C. Davis associate professor, told me months later, when I was back home among my creature comforts, adding that he believed it was still possible to return the river to its once powerful state through proper water management practices. “The river has a much better memory than we do.”He is correct about its memory: When the rains come, the river remembers its identity as an eons-old canyon carver, even if we know it only as a gasping, dwindling giant.He is correct about our flawed memory, too. Because when I think of my trip, the cane thwacking me, stepping in cow dung or the change of plans isn’t what I recall first. Instead, I think of lying out under a blanket of stars, passing a bottle of mezcal back and forth in between hands of cards, listening to the brays of burros echoing from cliff to cliff, canyon to canyon, bank to bank. And I want to do it — all of it — again. I just hope there’s enough river for next time. [ad_2] Source link

[lsundarinfo]

The Ultimate Guide to the Top Road Trips in the USA

There are hundreds of reasons why you should plan an ultimate American road trip in the United States. The United States offers a vast range of possibilities and experiences that are unrivalled. From stunning coastlines to majestic mountains and vibrant cities, the US is a road trip enthusiast's dream come true. Forget the mundane routine and embrace the freedom of the open road as we set out to explore some of the must-visit places that will make your U.S. road trip an unforgettable journey.

But first, let’s see what makes the US a top travel destination, especially for a road trip. 

1. Diversity of Landscapes

One of the main reasons why a road trip in the US is highly recommended is the incredible diversity of landscapes. From the stunning coastal drives along Highway 1 in California to the breathtaking beauty of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, there is something for everyone. Don't miss iconic landmarks like the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone National Park, the Great Smoky Mountains, or Yosemite National Park. Every state offers its unique natural wonders, making a road trip an unforgettable experience filled with awe-inspiring vistas.

2. Flexibility and Freedom

Road trips provide a sense of flexibility and freedom that no other form of travel can match. The ability to follow your own schedule, stay in towns or cities that catch your interest, and change plans spontaneously is what makes road trips so liberating. You have the freedom to navigate the vast American highways and explore lesser-known places, experiencing the true essence of each destination.

3. Cultural Exploration

Road trips not only allow you to witness the natural beauty of the United States but also provide an opportunity for cultural exploration. Traveling through different states enables you to experience the diverse regional traditions, local cuisines, and unique local cultures. You can immerse yourself in the vibrant music scenes of New Orleans, Nashville, or Austin, and enjoy a rich tapestry of cultural experiences that define each part of the country.

4. Iconic Routes

The US is renowned for its iconic and scenic road trip routes. Some of the most popular ones include Route 66, the Pacific Coast Highway, the Blue Ridge Parkway, and the Great River Road. These routes offer an unforgettable journey filled with breathtaking sights, charming small towns, and quirky roadside attractions. Driving on these legendary roads will transport you back in time and provide a sense of adventure that is hard to replicate.

5. Memorable Experiences

A road trip in the US is bound to create lasting memories. Whether it's camping under the stars in national parks, encountering wildlife up close, or enjoying epic sunsets on the open road, every day brings new adventures and incredible experiences. You can explore famous cities such as New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, or Chicago, or veer off the beaten path to discover hidden gems that only road trippers get to experience.When traveling to the United States, it's important to understand the regulations and guidelines to ensure a smooth and legal driving experience.

10 Must-See Destinations for Your Ultimate US Road Trip Adventure:

Additional

Step-by-step guide on how to use an international driving permit in the U.S

Grand Canyon, Arizona

No list of must-visit places in the U.S. is complete without the Grand Canyon. Carved by the mighty Colorado River, this natural wonder is a breathtaking display of geological artistry. Stand on the rim and gaze into the vast expanse of the canyon, where layers of rock tell a story that spans millions of years. For the adventurous, hiking trails like the Bright Angel Trail offer a chance to descend into the canyon and experience its grandeur up close.

New York City, New York

The city that never sleeps, New York City, is a global icon of culture, entertainment, and diversity. From the bright lights of Times Square to the serene beauty of Central Park, each neighbourhood in the city has its own unique character. Visit the Statue of Liberty, catch a Broadway show, explore world-class museums like the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and savour diverse cuisine in this melting pot of cultures.

Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho

America's first national park, Yellowstone, is a wonderland of geothermal features, wildlife, and pristine wilderness. Witness the awe-inspiring eruptions of Old Faithful, marvel at the vivid colors of the Grand Prismatic Spring, and keep an eye out for bison, elk, and grizzly bears. With its bubbling hot springs, dramatic canyons, and expansive meadows, Yellowstone is a haven for nature lovers and outdoor enthusiasts.

New Orleans, Louisiana

Immerse yourself in the vibrant and soulful atmosphere of New Orleans. Known for its jazz music, Creole cuisine, and lively street festivals, the city exudes a unique charm. Explore the historic French Quarter with its colourful architecture and lively nightlife on Bourbon Street. Indulge in beignets and coffee at Café du Monde, and let the music of the city's street performers and jazz clubs enchant you.

Yosemite National Park, California

Yosemite, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is a sanctuary of towering waterfalls, granite cliffs, and ancient sequoia trees. Marvel at the sheer magnificence of El Capitan and Half Dome, hike through the enchanting Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias, and take in the breathtaking views of Yosemite Valley. Whether you're a seasoned hiker or a casual nature enthusiast, Yosemite offers a variety of trails and experiences for all levels.

Walt Disney World, Florida

For a dose of magic and nostalgia, Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida, is a must-visit destination. Explore the enchanting realms of the Magic Kingdom, Epcot, Disney's Hollywood Studios, and Disney's Animal Kingdom. From iconic characters to thrilling rides and immersive attractions, Disney World is a place where dreams come to life for visitors of all ages.

How to get an International driving permit in the USA

1. Check the Validity of Your IDP

Ensure that your international driving permit USA is valid. The document is typically valid for one year from the date of issue.

2. Understand U.S. Driving Laws

Familiarize yourself with U.S. driving laws, which may vary from state to state. Each state has its own set of rules and regulations, so it's essential to know the local laws and follow them.

3.Carry Both Your IDP and Original Driver's License

Always carry both your international driving permit and your original driver's license from your home country. The IDP is not a stand-alone document and should be used in conjunction with your valid driver's license.

4. Renting a Car

If you plan to rent a car, check with the rental agency in advance to ensure they accept international driving permits. Most major rental companies in the U.S. do recognize IDPs, but it's best to confirm the requirements and policies beforehand. Here is a list of well-known car rental companies in the United States that you may want to consider for your road trip. Please keep in mind that rental rates, policies, requirements can vary so it is essential to check with each company directly or visit their website for the most up to date information.

Before Driving check the USA Driving Rules

For most of the companies listed above, the minimum age requirement is 21 years, however, it can vary by location. In terms of documents, you must have a valid driver’s license or an International Driving License.

That being said, now let’s embark on a virtual journey to explore some of the must-visit places that showcase the rich tapestry of experiences awaiting you in the United States.

Complete Guide To Overcome Misconceptions About The International Driving License

San Francisco, California

San Francisco, with its iconic Golden Gate Bridge and eclectic neighborhoods, is a city that captivates the heart. Take a stroll along Fisherman's Wharf, visit the historic Alcatraz Island, and ride the famous cable cars up and down the city's steep hills. Explore the diverse cultures of Chinatown and the Mission District, and savor delicious seafood at Pier 39.

Mount Rushmore, South Dakota

A symbol of American patriotism and ingenuity, Mount Rushmore is a monumental sculpture featuring the faces of four U.S. presidents – George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt, and Abraham Lincoln. Carved into the granite of the Black Hills, this iconic landmark attracts millions of visitors each year. Take a scenic drive through the Black Hills National Forest to reach this awe-inspiring testament to American history.

Sedona, Arizona

Nestled amid red rock formations and surrounded by stunning desert landscapes, Sedona is a haven for those seeking spiritual rejuvenation and natural beauty. The striking red sandstone formations, such as Cathedral Rock and Bell Rock, create a surreal backdrop for outdoor activities like hiking, mountain biking, and hot air ballooning. Explore the art galleries and New Age shops in the charming downtown area, and witness breathtaking sunsets that paint the rocks in hues of orange and crimson.

Hawaii – The Big Island

The Big Island of Hawaii is a paradise of diverse ecosystems, from volcanic craters to lush rainforests and pristine beaches. Visit Hawaii Volcanoes National Park to witness the power of active volcanoes, hike through the Waipio Valley, and relax on the white sands of Hapuna Beach. Snorkel in the crystal-clear waters of Kealakekua Bay, and stargaze atop Mauna Kea, one of the best astronomical observation sites in the world.

Conclusion

The United States is a vast mosaic of wonders, each destination offering a unique story, experience, and perspective. From the natural splendor of national parks to the vibrant energy of iconic cities, the U.S. invites travelers to embark on a journey of discovery and adventure. Whether you're drawn to the grandeur of the Grand Canyon, the cultural richness of New York City, or the serene landscapes of Sedona, the must-visit places in the U.S. promise a lifetime of memories and experiences. So, pack your bags, hit the road, and let the wonders of the United States unfold before you.