A Grey Beginning is a prelude to Skein of Shadows and details Szeethe's rise to power as the head of the sinister Cult of the Grey God. He is determined to sacrifice the city of Crown to slake the thirst of his master, but first the foundations must be set. Exclusive Wandering Men website content.
A fan of Gritgut, the great furry fury from Skein of Shadows? Then Axiomatic Anarchy and its anchor swinging action is for you! Before Gritgut's tore through the streets of Crown he careened through the seedy and dangerous undercity and encountered his spiritual opposite. Exclusive Wandering Men website content.
What's all this about wandering? Who are these guys? What's all this about, anyway?! Why am I here? Find the answers to these questions and more inside and be sure and meet each of the Wandering Men: Ashy, Davis, Hall and Nathan! Also, be sure and check out our Frequently Asked Questions!
If you cannot rest until you see the vista afforded by a surmounted peak, then the Wandering Men will resonate with you. We embrace journeying and exploration; we're constantly pushing ourselves over the next hill, whether the hill is an obstacle, such as a towering mountain or raging river, or a challenging project, like writing a book or crafting a RPG. Reaching for the horizon is the name of the game. Do you hear the mountain's call?
Saturday I went on my first caving trip with the Huntsville Grotto, a child organization of the National Speleological Society. I joined up after doing some research into caving after my trip to the Walls of Jericho - it piqued my interest. I blame it all on Brannon really.
Once again, I woke up with an "unngggghhhh" far too early on the weekend - 5:45 - and was at the meeting location early. You can always spot the new guys, they're the ones that make it to a meeting first, but we were happy to chat and wait for the "pros." Once everyone arrived we quickly packed into a couple vehicles began our long drive towards our destination Blue Springs cave in northern Tennessee.
Two hours later we were just to the left of the middle of no where and "suiting" up for our descent into the chthonian depths. For this trip, the required gear was pretty light: good boots, long pants, long sleeved shirt, knee pads, gloves, backpack, helmet, and light. We made a strange crew, fourteen people dressed for a caving expedition in the middle of a cow pasture. Thanks to the geology of the Southeastern region, caves can be found throughout the area, and some are located in unlikely settings.
I could just say we spent eight hours tramping, climbing, and crawling around under the earth, but that doesn't satiate my inner story teller. The trip can be split into three phases: rock hopping, the rabbit hole, and the gypsum halls. Rock hopping was just that - picking our way over fields of rock that varied in size from a few feet to tens of feet. We climbed up giant piles and crossed deep chasms, our path was never level or straight. (Mental notes: I need better boots, and I should have bought full shin guards). Then in one "chamber," that looked just like the others that we'd traveled through, complete with the pile of rock that we picked across, we came to the rabbit hole. The hole (entrance) led to the Rabbit Hole (passage).
How the first cavers found the Rabbit Hole is beyond me. The entrance was nothing more than a three foot hole in the cavern floor near one of the walls, it looked less exciting than some of the other crevasses and holes in the piles of stone that'd we'd hopped across. I looked down at our destination and my first reaction was that our guides were pulling our legs. "Let's see if we can get the new guys to climb in there."
However after a little deliberating, and before you could say "you've got to be kidding me," one of the "pros" with us shimmied into the hole feet first. Yes, "it opens up after about seven feet," but until that point I was literally in a coffin of stone with just enough room to lift my head a few inches. I believe the exact phrase that escaped my lips was, "this is GREAT!" The crazy thing: I wasn't lying, I was having the time of my life!
I made it through the hole, easy, and I enjoyed a sort victory rest. I remember thinking that it couldn't get any more challenging, any more intense than that. How naive I was - our descent into the Rabbit Hole had only just begun.
That is the first time *ever* that I have broken the 30$ mark when pumping gas into my car. I drive a manly Toyota Yaris, for just that reason! Insane!
That made me think about my credit card bill that I just paid, and how much I spent on gas last month. I used to feel like going to work put a roof over my head and let me eat and party. Now going to work puts a roof over my head, lets me eat less, and pays for the gas to get me to work. Filling my car equals a week of rent. Thinking of it another way, in a month of regular driving my car eats half as much as I do!
People said it would take outlandish gas prices to force a change, and I believe the time is nigh. It is for me! I have two offices, and one is very close ~3 miles. I am going to start running to work. Not only will it help improve my running time (I'd love to dependably get beneath an 8 minute mile), but I won't need to worry about working out on those days either. It is a win-win-win scenario!
Some of my right leaning friends have labeled me a hippy, and that is because I have some left leaning tendencies, particularly when it comes to the environment (I thank my mother). However, I usually don't see eye to eye with many of the pro-green organizations. ***This is my opinion.*** Most green groups do a lot of dreaming and fight for those dreams without determining whether they are logical, possible, or practical.
Case: Most environmentalist groups advocate protecting forests by stopping logging and controlled burns. No logging - OK, but just talk to one forester, who go to college to understand the biology and life cycles of trees, and they'll explain in detail how vital controlled burning is to a forest ecosystem (thank you Davis). The Wikipedia article has a lot of good information on Controlled Burning.
I believe in activism and helping the environment, but I believe in doing it "correctly."
My problem, a minor moral dilemma - recently joined the Sierra Club - an organization that I didn't even know existed until someone pointed me to their website.
The Sierra Club mission statement is:
"To explore, enjoy, and protect the wild places of the earth; to practice and promote the responsible use of the earth's ecosystems and resources; to educate and enlist humanity to protect and restore the quality of the natural and human environment; and to use all lawful means to carry out those objectives." (Sierra Club 101)
I joined it because I 100% in harmony with exploring, enjoying, and protecting all of the earth. Also, I joined because the local Sierra Club chapter leads weekly day hikes (~10 miles) that, I'm told, are pretty fun. The moral quandary is whether I agree with how the Sierra Club plans to protect the earth and what it views as "responsible use" of the planet's ecosystems and resources.
I need to remind myself the membership was only $25, and in essence it is for a good cause - I shouldn't get myself all spun up.
So, if you like hiking and can't get enough, you have $25, and don't have any moral objections, the Sierra Club could be your ticket. They seem to have local chapters everywhere.
I finally met up with the dedicateed trail building team from the Huntsville Land Trust on Saturday morning. I'll blame my inner Wandering Man for providing the impetus that I needed. He has helped focus my life a lot recently.
I digress, the day started rather ominously. The sky hung full and it was lightly drizzling as I walked to my car, but I had hiked and worse and I was determined. I made the short drive to Wade Mountain in record time thanks to the non-existent Saturday morning traffic (I love Huntsville for just that reason - you try to drive anywhere in Atlanta on any morning). The city has another unique feature, namely if you take certain routes out of town, within five minutes Huntsville disappears and you're once again in farmland or wilderness. At one moment I was driving down a street with a center lane, then I turned off into a quaint side street neighborhood, and before I knew it I was surrounded by horse fields and finally the wilderness of the Wade Mountain preserve.
I was early, as I usually am, so I sat in my car and listened to the patter of rain. I didn't have to wait long, the lot soon filled with cars. While people mingled and tools were unloaded, those of us who hadn't helped before got the "Land Trust pitch" from the very friendly maintenance leaders. We were also warned to lather up with poison ivy block and insect repellent now. A quip was made, and I have to paraphrase: "If poison ivy was a crop, the Land Trust would be rich indeed because Wade Mountain always had a bumper crop."
The job - we would be building new trail to reroute a dead-end to make a loop. The tools of the day:
loppers, swing blades, and rakes - we were simply trying to clear the trail so we could come back on another expedition and do the heavy work.
We made the 30-min hike to the trail site through the Preserve, it was spring and the forest was lush with new growth. Thankfully the rain had stopped, but the humidity made the air feel like you were being hugged by a damp towel. At the site, we had to walk through poison ivy to start clearing the trail of more poison ivy - all in a days work.
I took a swing blade, others took up loppers and rakes and we set to WORK. Usually the loppers went first to clear the path, the swing blades followed to take care of the small brush, and the rakes came last to clear the trail down to bare earth. And so we went, we really blazed a trail early on, but then we hit a rocky incline that really made the swing blades and rakes useless. Undeterred, we cut and lopped our way up and through until we found a patch where the regular routine could begin again.
The time flew by between the back and forth of the swing blade. Only when someone said it was 11:30 and we were going to stop early did I feel the burn in my shoulders and wrists and notice that every inch of clothing was soaked in sweat.
For our effort, we hiked a little farther up and saw the interesting rock formations that the trail would eventually lead past. I am constantly amazed by the geology of the south east, it is a lesson in erosion on a massive scale. The short trek also made me realize the reroute was not going to be completed any time soon. It would take numerous work trips back to the site, and a lot more aching muscles to finish the trail. I'm looking forward to it.
I've checked and double checked for ticks, and had my triple length shower to wash off the poison ivy and the repellent. I'm *tired.* I never realized until now how much I'd been craving a day of real physical work. It is a great feeling!
If you love the outdoors, don't mind getting dirty, and real work doesn't intimidate you, I'd recommend calling up your local park and seeing if they need volunteers. Any park with a decent trail system has a trail crew. And if you're in Huntsville, come out and help the Land Trust - everyone was amazingly helpful and friendly!
I went to a Thai restaurant a few nights ago, and I thought it was only fitting that I try a Thai beer. I asked if any of the beers were dark, and the waitress indicated Singha. The bottle was dark brown, I'll give it that much.
The bottle actually read: Singha / PREMIUM / Malt Liquor. I chuckled as I poured, remembering the couple 40s I'd partaken of since college - hey, every guy thinks it is a good idea sometime in their life.
Singha was a golden lager, so clear I could see through it to the people sitting at the table beside me. The problem I have with light beers - it's like it isn't even there at all. I might as well be drinking water for all the taste I get out of the beer. Maybe that is the sign of a good pale ale, or whatever they're called. I know that it didn't taste like the American crud that comes in a can, and I was happy about that! I did notice a hint of sweetness to it, or maybe that was a "rich" flavor, like I said - there wasn't much there.
Perhaps my taste buds just aren't delicate enough. I enjoy drinking porters and stouts, they don't "hint" at flavor or taste.
Restaurant: Del Rio Where: Lufkin, TX Cuisine: Tex-Mex
I had eat*smudge* at the restaurant once before, on my first trip to Lufkin, but I didn't have my trusty notepad with me because I'd *smudge* with a group. So, for the sake of my readership, I vowed to rectify that problem.
Like many tex-mex restaurants, the Del Rio had a lot of brick inside, murals on the walls, and "stuff" hanging where *smidge* wasn't a mural. However, one of the main attractions, what everyone sees when they are escorted to their table was the "tortilla kitchen." I call it that because I have no other name fore it, but both times that I visited, a little plump woman was hard at work kneading and roll*smidge* dough to make fresh tortillas.
They delivered chips and salsa (flavorful, slightly chunky, medium spice), but that's not what *smudge* interested in. Before my rail thin waiter (obviously new at the Del Rio) could even ask I stated, "I'd love some fresh tortillas please." Now, what was I, the man who normally shuns all grain products doing asking for tortillas? They were fresh and warm, and with a little butter (I blissfully ignored the fact it came out of a squeeze bottle) and honey, and did I mention they were fresh and warm... I could've melted.
I downed *smudge* such heavenly treats, not without getting the contents of one all over myself and my notes due to a faulty wrapping technique. But sensible side (curse it!) warned me, I could not stuff my self silly on dough, partially hydrogenated vegetable fat, and honey, I had ordered fajitas. Oh, woe! I forlornly looked *smudge* the thin disks of carbohydrate joy, but another thought occurred to me in the depths of my despair: fajitas are usually served with tortillas! My love and I would soon be reunited!
The fajitas came sizzling to *smudge* table. "Yes, anywhere. Don't mind the golden drips and smears everywhere, sorry." The chicken was good, slightly salty, but I added all the fixins - beans, rice, guacamole, grilled veggies - and wrapped them *smudge* a heavenly tortilla - and it was bliss.
Dinner was over all too soon, but if I *smudge* leave, I would have needed to rent a fork lift to carry me away. I paid my bill, stuffed my hands in my pockets, and walked quickly from the restaurant without glancing towards the tortilla kitchen on my way by. I knew I didn't *smudge* the willpower.
Lunch and weekends at the Del Rio can get packed. If you need your tortilla fix, I'd recommend a week day dinner, things move faster *smudge*
Actually, I have a hankering for a tortilla right about now. Perhaps that wasn't flour I saw them mixing into the dough...
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