#>Antarctica

[acaptainbyanyothername]

The Midst cosmos is weird, right?

A gravity that spans the entire cosmos, allowing someone to theoretically drop from the Un to the Fold? An ocean of darkness with a mono-directional current? What is the gravitational source? Where does the current come from and go? These questions are not answered with the current cosmic hypotheses you may have seen illustrated in appendices. What if there was more to the cosmos that explained these questions, something that our lovely in-canon scientists have no way of knowing?

(All the credit to @druidposting for churning out these thoughts with me and teaching me about marshes. These theories are as much their brainchild as mine).

Bernhard and Gottle, this is my pitch to join your research team. Say hello to the Theorized Diagram of the Complete Midst Cosmos (a 2d vertical cross-section of the 3-dimensional cosmos):

You may be surprised. You may be off-put. “What the fuck is this?” is the scientific inquiry you may be posing. Never fear— explanations and mad ravings to be found under the cut

The Three Components of the Cosmos

The three components in the cosmos you see represented in the diagram are the Un, the Fold, and a theorized Un-like space below the Fold monikered as “????” for convenience’s sake.

The Fold’s Gravity

The Fold is the gravitational center of the cosmos— the reason why if a Phineas jumps from the Un, he is pulled down toward the Fold

This is because the Fold is a large enough body of matter that its center of mass has a strong enough gravitational pull to affect the Un

The Fold orbits its center of mass in an ellipse, which explains a) why denizens on this cosmos see its surface as something akin to a flat ocean (it is so massive that it would appear that way without the full perspective) and b) why light and the horizon seem to break down in a location such as the Delta, the point of the greatest bend in orbit

With the Fold being an ovoid, that then creates a hypotheses for an Un-Fold space to exist all around the Fold! After all, the “Un” is simply where the Fold is not. The Un therefore is not just above the Fold, as we already know from Midst-canon, but also below it (above and below are of course relative terms when dealing with gravity, but for ease of communication “above” refers to the top of the diagram and “below” refers to the bottom). This “below” space is referred to as “????” in the diagram.

Though it is important to note that the Un is not empty— it has breathable air, as does the Fold! The primary difference are the microscopic Foldlet molecules that make up the Fold, causing it to be slightly denser than the Un and therefore more amassed around the core

Think of the Fold almost as like a gas-giant planet! A huge source of gravity comprised mainly of a gaseous substance that has huge influence over its surrounding area!

Therefore, to continue this analogy, the Un is essentially the gas giant’s outer atmosphere

The ???? Area

So to recap, ???? is a theoretical area of the cosmos that no one within the canon of Midst knows about. It is similar to the Un in that there is a lack of Fold there.

What is the ???? like? Does it have mica? What does it look like? The unfortunate answer is I do not know. Your guess is as good as mine. Here’s what questions I CAN ANSWER THOUGH:

Why don’t the scientists of the Midst-canon know/theorize the existence of the ???? space? Well, imagine it this way: if you were in the Arctic, and the only way you could get to Antarctica was by tunneling through the Earth’s core, you would probably not know of Antartica’s existence either.

Anyone who would attempt to travel from the Un to the ???? would be forced to go right through/by the core of the Fold, aka its gravitational source. That intense of gravity is not survivable! You’re a pancake now, a pancake who doesn’t know there’s anything beyond this. The red dotted line of the diagram demarcates the known cosmos of Midst-canon.

(Side tangent, this is why the Fold is perceived as something more akin to an ocean in Midst-canon: there’s no way to go through it and see the whole picture that it’s a sphere. Even though the gravitational pressure drastically increases the further down you go into it, that is confused with the Midst-version of deep sea pressure!)

If you WERE to travel to the ???? area, you would still perceive the Fold as below you! That is because the perception of “down” is relative to the direction of gravity, and the direction of gravity is still pointed towards the core of the Fold

The Delta’s Cosmic Purpose

Here is where I ESPECIALLY gotta shout out my amazing co-researcher @druidposting. Mirrorhawk dip’s on me for this amazing cosmological thinking.

The Delta acts as a marsh to the greater ecosystem of the Fold! In essence, the marsh accumulates muck and detritus, but due to their good water outflow they end up serving as an excellent water cleanser— the water comes out on the other side remarkably clean!

That’s what purpose the Delta serves, but instead of water it filters tearror systems

The Fold’s Current

So the Fold flows from the Fount down to the Delta, mucking itself up in the process. The Delta accumulates the sediment of old tearror systems, but also filters the Fold so that it runs pure and clean out the other end

The current essentially orbits around the core of the Fold— once the Fold is purified by the Delta, it circles around until it’s on the ???? side. This newly purified Fold fresh from the Delta therefore acts as the Fount for the ???? side. A reverse Fount, if you will.

The process rinses and repeats on the ???? side— the Fold flows from the reverse Fount, mucks itself up, then is purified again in the reverse-Delta, where it then makes its way up to be the source of the Fount as the Midst-canon characters know it!

Therefore, it only LOOKS mono-directional with no end or beginning from a top-down view— really it makes a full circle loop!

That’s all I’m willing to type out today! There are still so many things to be explored— what is this theoretical ???? space like? How do measly isletary gravitational pulls overpower the much larger pull of the Fold? How do things float in the Fold?

Bernhard and Gottle, if you give me grant money more research can be put into answering these questions. Bernhard and Gottle please give me grant money. Please. Please. PLEASE—

[luckyclover]

In the quiet town of Millville, nestled deep in the heart of the American Midwest, a great tragedy had occurred. The matriarch of the town, a woman known only as Trick, had passed away, leaving behind a cryptic message that would set off a chain of events that would shake the world to its core.

As Trick lay dying, she muttered a single phrase: "Hose Bud." No one knew what it meant, but the locals whispered that it was the key to a great mystery, one that would lead to a treasure beyond imagining.

The news of Trick's passing spread quickly, and soon agents from various government agencies began to descend upon Millville. They were all searching for the same thing: the meaning behind Trick's last words.

As the investigation unfolded, it became clear that Trick had been involved in some of the most secretive and dangerous government projects of the past century. From Operation Highjump, the ill-fated mission to Antarctica in the 1940s, to MK Ultra, the notorious mind-control program of the 1950s, Trick had been at the heart of it all.

But there was more. Much more. Trick had been involved in space travel, extraterrestrial encounters, and shadow people. She knew about the Hat Man, and the dark rituals of SRA black magic spirit cooking. She had even come into contact with compiler artificial intelligence, a technology so advanced it was beyond human comprehension.

As the investigation deepened, it became clear that Trick had been a central figure in a vast and complex web of conspiracy, spanning nations and even worlds. The search for the truth led the agents to a secret underground facility, where they encountered battlemechs and enemy foot soldiers, engaged in a fierce battle for control of the future.

Throughout it all, a small group of heroes emerged, battling the forces of darkness and tyranny. They faced off against an iron-fisted power seizure, a capital raid on civilian population centers with carpet bombing, and the deployment of smart guillotines in FEMA camps.

But even as they fought, they knew that the end was near. The forces of the one world government were too strong, too well-equipped. The heroes knew that they would not survive, but they fought on anyway, in a final act of defiance against the forces of evil.

As the last battle raged on, the survivors of Millville looked on in awe. They had witnessed the birth of a new age, one in which surveillance, police state, and totalitarian regime held sway. They knew that they would have to adapt, or perish.

And as they watched the heroes fall, one by one, they whispered a prayer for a better tomorrow, one in which freedom and justice reigned supreme. They knew that they would have to fight for it, but they were ready. For they were the citizens of Millville, and they would never give up the fight.

[laraehrlich-blog]

Original content owned & copyrighted by Green Global Travel.

Cruises have gotten a bad rap lately: One recent scientific study found that air quality on a cruise ship deck was “worse than the world’s most polluted cities.”

But not all cruise companies feature gigantic cruise ships carrying 5000+ passengers. In our eyes, small ship cruises are much better for travelers, locals, and the environment alike.

The best small ship cruise lines typically have less than 300 passengers, a lower guide-to-passenger ratio, and expert local guides. These small luxury cruise ships have become increasingly popular in recent years, offering a more intimate and immersive travel experience.

Some small luxury cruises focus squarely on nature and wildlife, while others focus more on the history and culture of a destination. But in general, small cruises are less about the amenities of the ship itself and more about exciting shore-based adventures.

Whether you’re taking a river cruise in READ MORE: The Importance of Community-Based Tourism

  WHY SMALL SHIP CRUISES ARE SUPERIOR

Galapagos Islands Cruise Ship – The Eric by Ecoventura

More Personal Space

With the  On a luxury cruise ship packed with several thousand people, you often feel like a nameless face among the huddled masses. But on a smaller ship with 20-50 people, you feel more like a treasured guest,  with ample room to roam.

This makes it much easier to find your own personal space away from the crowd, to have quiet time or special moments as a couple or family.

READ MORE: 0 Romantic Places for Your World Travel Bucket List

Drinking curacao on the island of Curacao

Better Personal Service

When you’re just one of the 5,000 cruisers packed into a huge floating city, it’s unreasonable to expect the attention to detail that comes with four-star service.

For travelers willing to sacrifice luxury in exchange for rock-bottom prices, the affordability and But there’s also a lot to be said for the value of the experiences you get on small boat cruises. There, all the staff (including the cruise director) knows your name and preferences, and can provide more personalized recommendations.

Having a bartender who knows you want a Blue Hawaiian with your Happy Hour appetizers may not make or break your trip. But traveling with a company who makes you feel like more than just a number-coded wristband goes a long way towards making your trip feel special.

READ MORE: The Top 0 Things to Do in Curaçao

Peruvian Amazon River Cruise excursion – swimming in the Amazon River

Connect with Like-Minded People

When you’re on a small ship with just 20-50 passengers for a week to 0 days, you tend to get to know everyone on board to some degree.

Instead of being sat at the same table with the same people night after night, on small cruises there seems to be an unspoken agreement that passengers will swap dining tables nightly.

It’s like a game of musical chairs, giving you plenty of opportunity to find out who you click with.

Inevitably, you’re bound to meet a handful of folks that share your same ideals. Especially when you take a nature/wildlife or history/culture-focused cruise, which each tends to attract a certain type of traveler.

Going on life-changing adventures with perfect strangers can create some surprisingly strong bonds. Perhaps you’ll even meet your future travel buddies!

READ MORE: Small Ship Cruising the Peruvian Amazon

Peruvian Amazon River Cruise Boat docks on the river bank

Small Ships Go Where Big Ships Can’t

You’ve heard the old saying, “Size doesn’t matter”? Well, in the case of cruise ships, it does. And in this case, bigger is very rarely better.

Small ships are simply more nimble than large ships. Unless you’re going to a mega port, big cruise ships often have to ferry their entire passenger load back and forth via small boats or Zodiac rafts.

We have great memories of our small ship cruise through the Greek Islands. Although our boat docked in When you’re cruising in places like the rivers of Europe or the READ MORE: Happy Accidents on Aegina Island, Greece

  Galapagos Islands Cruise gives you intimate experiences with Galapagos wildlife

Exclusive Experiences

One of our favorite things about travel is getting a chance to learn first-hand about the history, culture, nature, and wildlife of a destination.

While other travel bloggers may prefer to explore places on their own, we love the knowledge we gain by traveling with local experts.

 As a longtime professional writer, I’m continually asking our guides questions, taking notes, and interviewing local people. We ultimately use a lot of this information to make our posts more in-depth and authoritative.

Because the number of people on small ship cruises is limited, there is usually at least one guide for every 8 to 2 passengers. With such intimate access to an expert, you’re virtually guaranteed to have once-in-a-lifetime experiences.

READ MORE: NatGeo’s Don George on Travel Writing

  THE WORLD’S BEST SMALL SHIP CRUISES

Africa Cruises: Nile River Cruise, Seychelles Cruise, Botswana Cruise

Antarctica Cruises: Antarctica Cruise, New Zealand’s Sub-Antarctic Islands Cruise

Asia Cruises: India Cruise, Philippines islands Cruise

Caribbean Cruises: Coastal Cuba Cruise, Lesser Antilles Cruise

European Cruises: Greek Islands, European Christmas Markets Cruise, Black Sea Cruise

North America Cruises: Northwest Passage, Alaska Inside Passage Cruise

South America Cruises: Chilean Fjords Cruise, Galapagos Islands Cruise, Peruvian Amazon Cruise

South Pacific Cruises: Great Barrier Reef Cruise, Micronesia Cruise, Polynesia Cruise

CRUISES

Elephants along the Chobe River (Botswana) Image by hbieser from Pixabay

Chobe River Cruise (Botswana)

Botswana is currently on our African safari bucket list, primarily because of the country’s forward-thinking approach to READ MORE: 55 Interesting Facts About Elephants

Nile River Cruise, photo via Pixabay

NILE RIVER CRUISE

If you’re interested in ancient history, READ MORE: 20 Longest Rivers in the World

Seychelles Cruise via Pixabay License

Seychelles Cruise

Located nearly ,000 miles off the coast of mainland Africa east of important marine areas. Together, these marine reserves cover more than 8,000 square miles.

The Seychelles are collectively very small, with a total population of around 94,000 people spread across 77 square miles of land. But their natural beauty makes them a favorite on lists of the world’s most beloved islands, with some visitors describing it as like “a garden of Eden.”

Highlights include the Seychelles National Botanical Gardens, Curieuse Marine National Park, Veuve Nature Reserve, and Morne Seychellois National Park. About 42% of the archipelago is set aside for conservation, protecting wildlife such as the rare Seychelles Black Parrot, Seychelles Giant Tortoises, and some of the world’s largest seabird colonies.

A Seychelles cruise is the best way to explore the islands’ myriad attractions. These range from idyllic READ MORE: The World’s 30 Best Exotic Islands to Visit

CRUISES

Antarctic Cruise

There’s a lot of very good reasons why taking a cruise to The Antarctic peninsula is also one of the world’s best places for watching wildlife. We saw everything from pods of Orcas and READ MORE: 30 Antarctic Animals You Can See on an Antarctic Cruise

Rockhopper Penguin image by Michael Frankenstein from Pixabay

Cruising New Zealand’s Sub-Antarctic Islands

You may know that New Zealand is divided into a North and South island. But did you know that the country also boasts remote archipelagos of islands, which have been collectively named as a UNESCO World Heritage Site for their pristine wilderness and READ MORE: Ecotourism in New Zealand (Top 0 Things to Do for Nature Lovers)

CRUISES

Brahmaputra River, photo via Pixabay

Brahmaputra River Cruise (India)

The northeast Indian state of Assam, which shares its border with Bhutan and Bangladesh, has emerged in recent years as a bright spot in Asian ecotourism

.

This is thanks in large part to Kaziranga National Park, which is a protected UNESCO World Heritage Site.

A luxurious cruise down the mighty Brahmaputra River is arguably the best way to explore the region, offering amazing opportunities to see some of the region’s Elephants to Sloth Bears, the endangered South Asian River Dolphin, and thousands of bird species. In short, it’s a must-see for animal lovers! 

READ MORE: Indian Animals: A Guide to 40 Incredible Indian Wildlife Species

Philippines Islands Cruise image by Guy Goddard from Pixabay

Cruising the Philippines islands

Located in Southeast Asia near READ MORE: Top 5 Things to Do in Coron, Palawan (Philippines)

CRUISES

Cuba Mountains, photo via Pixabay

Costal Cuba Cruise

President Obama loosened the decades-long restrictions on Americans traveling to Cuba

several years ago, causing a dramatic surge of interest in traveling to the Caribbean island.

With Donald Trump actively working to reverse these improved diplomatic relations, there’s never been a better time to explore mass tourism.

Lesser Antilles Cruise

When most Americans think of the Caribbean, they tend to think of perennial sun/surf/sand hotspots such as the Bahamas, Cayman Islands, and Jamaica.

But the more remote islands of the Lesser Antilles (which form the eastern boundary of the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean) are generally less over-developed and more pristine than those crowded mass tourism destinations.

Included among the Lesser Antilles islands are Martinique, St. Lucia, Saba, Sint Eustatius, and Grenada, which has recently emerged as a haven for ecotourism. Popular activities in the region range from bird watching and snorkeling/Dominica. From the gorgeous waterfall and diving READ MORE: 20 Best Caribbean Islands to Visit

  CRUISES

The Swallow’s Nest on the Black Sea in Crimea image by Irina Rassvetnaja from Pixabay

Black Sea Cruise

As bodies of water go, the Black Sea is pretty strange. On the map, this inland sea looks more like a giant lake, connected to the Aegean Sea (and the Mediterranean) by the narrow Bosphorus Strait.

But, with 68,500 square miles of surface area and a maximum depth of 7,257 feet, the Black Sea is considerably bigger than the ancient archaeological sites.

Must-see sites you can visit while cruising the Black Sea include Instanbul’s Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque, Romania’s Danube River Delta, the Ukranian city of Odessa, and Sochi Olympic Park, the first theme park in all of Russia. 

READ MORE: 40 Fascinating Facts About Russia’s Amur Leopard

Christmas Market in Hamburg, Germany via Pixabay license

European Christmas Market Cruise

Although we’re not at all religious, our family goes bonkers for Christmas, especially anything to do with READ MORE: 75 Christmas Traditions Around the World

Greek Islands Cruise

From to the ancient history of Athens

 to Meteora’s majestic mountains, mainland Greece has plenty to offer travelers with an interest in nature, culture and history.

But for a true taste of Greek tradition, it’s hard to beat small ship cruises through the countless s are tiny (7.4 to 59 square miles) and quaint: Many mainland residents have vacation homes there, so it’s a great place to catch locals in a celebratory mood. They’re also considerably less crowded with tourists than some of the more famous islands.

The Cyclades, with around 220 islands, is the densest and most popular grouping in Aegean archipelago thanks to Delos, Mykonos, and Santorini. For ancient history, the Dodecanese Islands (especially Rhodes) and Crete are hard to beat.

READ MORE: 40 Photos Of Greece That Will Make You Want To Go

AMERICA CRUISES

Northwest Passage Cruise

The Arctic Circle is considered to be one of the planet’s last truly wild places.

The Arctic region encompasses northern Alaska and A small ship cruise of the historic Northwest Passage is arguably the best way to explore the Arctic. It offers unique opportunities to see explorer’s bucket list.

READ MORE: Polar Bears Photo Gallery

Cruising in Glacier Bay National Park, Alaska

Alaska Inside Passage Cruise

Stretching from Washington State’s Puget Sound north to the Alaska Panhandle, the Inside Passage is a coastal route in the Pacific Northwest. Popularized during the Klondike Gold Rush, the route allows ships to avoid the bad weather and often rough waters of the open ocean. 

Today, around 36,000 boats navigate portions of this route each year, from massive cruise ships and freighters to smaller AdventureSmith and Alaskan Dream Cruises. The Alaskan portion encompasses ,000 READ MORE: Visiting the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center

AMERICA CRUISES

Caguach Island, Chiloé Archipelago, photo by Robert Gould CC BY-SA 3.0

Chilean Fjords Cruise

When it comes to Chilean travel, the wine region around Santiago and the dynamic landscapes of Torres del Paine National Park in READ MORE: Exploring Grytviken, South Georgia Island

Swimming with Galapagos Penguins

Galapagos Islands Cruise

A small ship is vital if you want to really explore the The Voyage of the Beagle,  Thanks to its remote location and UNESCO/National Park protection, the wildlife of the Galapagos is plentiful.

Endemic species such as READ MORE: 30 Amazing Galapagos Island Animals

Peruvian Amazon River Cruise

Amazon rainforest

’s total area of 2,00,000 square miles. Unfortunately, that country’s unsustainable exploitation of its natural resources has damaged this once-pristine ecosystem, perhaps irreparably.

For a better taste of the Amazon rainforest’s world-famous biodiversity, you’ll want to take a READ MORE: Cruising the Peruvian Amazon

PACIFIC CRUISES

Great Barrier Reef, photo via Pixabay

Great Barrier Reef Cruise

Don’t believe the hype! Click-bait headlines claimed Australia’s Great Barrier Reef dead in 206 after a cheeky column by Rowan Jacobson appeared in Outside. But news of the demise of the place UNESCO called “the most impressive marine area in the world” was greatly exaggerated.

Yes, the reef suffered READ MORE: 0 Awesome Australian Road Trips

Manta Ray in Micronesia, photo via Pixabay

Micronesia Cruise

Spread across the western Pacific northeast of Papua New Guinea, the Federated States of Micronesia is comprised of more than 600 islands.

The country is made up of four island states– Pohnpei, Kosrae, Chuuk, and Yap– and known for its palm-shaded beaches, ancient ruins, and thriving indigenous cultures. If you want to see the best of them in one trip, a cruise is really the only way.

The islands are widely ranked among the READ MORE: 5 Rare Sharks Worth Saving

Polynesian Islands Cruise

There are so many beautiful Polynesian Islands, it would be impossible to pick just one favorite.

But, with less than 2,000 miles separating tropical hotspots such as Tahiti and Fiji, a small-ship cruise offers the perfect way to explore numerous gorgeous getaways in just a few weeks.

From pearl diving in Bora Bora and birdwatching in the Cook Islands to READ MORE: 2 Photos of Tahiti To Fuel Your Fantasies

  The post 20 Best Small Ship Cruises for Your World Travel Bucket List appeared first on Green Global Travel.

[storybycorey]

The Fox Mulder Phonetic Alphabet

(Full Version, A-Z)

author: @storybycorey

rating: R

word count: approx. 8000

summary: The ABC’s, as told by Fox Mulder.

For those of you looking only for part Z, just scroll a bit more than halfway down!  (or take a read back through the whole thing- there are references back to the first 25 letters in the final installment!)

A is for Apple

She brings her lunch from home most days.  Well-balanced, just as he’d expect— portions of protein, fruit, and grains—while he grazes a bit less elegantly on a plethora of offerings from the upstairs vending machine.

She packs an apple once, eats it right in front of him.  Red and juicy, but not nearly as red and juicy as her lips, or at least the way he’s imagined her lips to be after nearly seven years of imagining such things.  He wonders whether, if he ever works up the nerve to kiss her, he’ll taste her on his mouth afterwards, the way you taste an apple—tart and sweet and lingering there. 

He realizes he’s staring, goes quickly back to his bag of Funyuns (Onions, Scully! They’re vegetables!). Later, when she throws her apple core in the trash, he feels a sudden urge to retrieve it, as a reminder of things he wants but probably doesn’t deserve to have.

B is for Basketball

She beats him at basketball one day. Unbelievably.  Finds him in the gym one evening after an endless day of seminars. She knows how to find him the way a dog finds its bone—even when he’s buried, even when he’s mangled and chewed-upon and disgusting.  On this day though, he’s none of those things; instead he’s just plain bored.

In her black suit and heels, she stands out like a sharp smear of ink, poignantly distinct amidst the wooden floors and the bleachers. He doesn’t expect a response to his hey Scullz, wanna go one-on-one?, but she lifts her eyebrow in challenge and slips off her blazer.  The tank top hidden beneath is tight and it’s blue (and made of a soft, shiny material his fingers ache to touch). 

He could say he lets her win, but honestly, imagining that mystery material sandwiched between his palm and her skin leaves him much too distracted to pay attention to the game.

C is for Candles

He’ll forever associate candle-light with her pale and trembling back.  With a maroon satin robe and hair that curls up sweetly in the rain (she’d never allow that now). 

Before that night, the only candles he owned were a melted-down cluster from some birthday or another, remnants of a relationship he’d rather forget. He owns an assortment now though, scented and not, but all at the ready should the opportunity arise.  His greatest want is to see the rest of her body lit by that warm, amber glow, to trail his fingertips across more than just her back, to chase the soft shadows around her curves as her breath hitches with desire.

He and the candles are prepared; they’ve been prepared for seven years now. She and her curves and her shadows? He thinks they're getting there. He hopes anyway.

D is for Dana

Her first name is a secretive, foreign thing to him these days.  Scully is Scully—strong, competent, loyal.  But Dana is an enigma.  He catches glimpses of Dana sometimes—a woman, a girl—and he wonders whether she’s fighting to break free.  It saddens him to think he may have stolen that girlish part away from her, filed her inside a metal cabinet down in a basement office like everything else that crosses his path. 

Sometimes he whispers it and it gives him a small thrill, like there’s a hidden part of her he has yet to know.  He imagines saying it intimately, with his mouth pressed to her ear, but can’t decide whether it feels terribly wrong or perfectly, undeniably right. He only know that his lips are ready, should he ever earn the chance to try.

E is for Earrings

He almost buys her earrings once. Foolish, really.  But while waiting for a watch battery to be replaced, he can’t help but browse.  The sapphires would match her eyes so stunningly.  Has he ever seen her in anything but small diamond studs or pearls?  Anything but a business suit or hotel room pajamas?  He wonders whether she likes dressing up, whether she stands before her mirror and admires herself, deciding between this evening gown or that one, holding earrings up next to her cheek.  

He stands at the counter and looks at the earrings for ten minutes, picturing the delicate arc of her neck and the auburn of her hair and those earrings sparkling between.  He’d be lying if he doesn’t also admit to imagining his tongue tracing around them and his teeth scraping against them and the moan he’s sure would slip from her throat while he plays. 

A pushy saleswoman interrupts his thoughts, asks “For your wife?  Girlfriend?”  

He shakes his head, “Neither.”

He leaves with a hard-on and a working watch, but the earrings stay behind for someone with a little more courage.

F is for Friends

They use the term friends sometimes.  Usually it’s partners, occasionally colleagues, coworkers, but really, none of those words does their relationship the slightest bit of justice.  He couldn’t define it to a stranger (should one ask) if he tried.  Hell, he can’t even define it to himself.

How do you define someone so ingrained in your bones, you taste marrow at the back of your throat each time she walks away?  Webster would be hard-pressed to condense that into a single word, he’s sure. Even best friend feels trite and inadequate where Scully’s concerned. She’s not just a friend, not just a partner, not just a lover (even in his most daring of fantasies)—she’s not just anything. 

She’s Scully, and she’s everything.  

G is for Globe

He used to play a game with Samantha.  Spin the Globe it was called.  They played it when their parents were fighting, when they wanted nothing more than to be far, far away.  He tells Scully about it once, when he can tell she can’t get out of her head.  Luckily, amidst the files and slides and mess of the office, he happens to have a globe.

“Spin it, Scully.  Close your eyes and point, and I’ll take you on an adventure wherever your finger lands.”

She rolls her eyes, but plays along, extending her French-tipped fingernail to land upon the spinning globe.  Antarctica. 

“Spin again,” he murmurs quickly, “That one didn’t count,” but she stops him with a hand curled around his like a comma.

“You found me, Mulder.  That was more extraordinary than any adventure.”

H is for Hands

Once on a stakeout, he holds her hand. 

Hours in a darkened car breed strange and wonderful things sometimes—discussions and games that only boredom can inspire.  He tells her he can read palms (he’s lying, of course, but at least it’s something to do), and she scoffs, but then surprisingly offers her hand.  It’s really too dark to see, but he tickles her palm and bullshits his way through, blathering about wealth and fate until her giggle makes his heart stand still.

“According to your palm…,” he says softly, “…true love awaits…as soon as you’re ready.”

She’s silent at first, and he worries he’s ruined things— ruined seven years’ worth of things in the span of a minute. 

But then, in a quiet voice he’s never heard before, she responds, “I’ll be ready… soon.” 

He holds her hand until their shift is over.

I is for Ice Cream

Her favorite ice cream flavor is Mint Chocolate Chip.  He knows this (even though she doesn’t know he knows this), and once, during a rough case, he brings her some. He sneaks from his room after dinner, stops at three different gas stations before finding his prize. Sylvia’s Sundries and Smokes perhaps wouldn’t have been his first choice of establishments, but beggars can’t be choosers where ice cream’s concerned.

Surprise in hand, he knocks on Scully’s door and, with flourish, whips two plastic spoons from his pocket.  The nice thing about it?  She doesn’t even pretend not to want it.  She smiles a shy little smile and invites him in.  They climb up onto her bed where they scoop big whopping spoonfuls right out of the tub.  She’s full after only a few bites but sits with him while he finishes, lays her head on his shoulder. They watch the Late Late Show until it’s late late late, until it isn’t even the same day anymore.

J is for Jacket

Her suit jackets (he supposes they’re probably technically called blazers) have shrunk over the years.  Dana Scully of the plaid and boxy, of the oversized shoulder-pads, is now Dana Scully of the sleek and fitted, of the black and stylish and sexy.   He finds himself tugging his collar from his overheated neck sometimes. More than sometimes.

He wonders when things changed, because he can’t quite place a pin on it, when she went from a woman he loves to a woman he lusts after as well. Or maybe it’s unclear because he’s always done a little of both where Scully’s concerned. 

She left a jacket (blazer, whatever) at his apartment last year and he keeps forgetting to tell her he found it.  It hangs now in his closet next to pairs of pressed dress slacks.  He catches a glimpse of it sometimes, stands there wondering how soon ‘soon’ will come.

K is for Kiss

Back in the 60s, the 70s, when the turn of the millennium seemed ridiculously far away, Fox Mulder fantasized about the future. His comic books predicted: In the year 2000, there will be flying cars, teleportation devices, vacations on the moon and Mars... 

He imagined the party awaiting him on New Year’s Eve, complete with robot wait staff and space-age hors d’oeuvres.  Never would he have guessed he’d actually spend the evening in a hospital corridor, arm in a sling, nary a party nor robot in sight.

They were wrong about more than just the robots though, dead wrong, because not a single one of those comic books predicted this:  In the year 2000, there will be Dana Scully and her flame-red hair, Dana Scully and her skeptical sighs, Dana Scully and the world not ending while she presses her lips to his for the very first time. 

To think that at one time he wanted robots and jetpacks.  It’s laughable really, to have ever wanted anything on this earth (or on the moon, or on Mars) but Dana Katherine Scully.

L is for Lists

He arrives earlier than usual one morning, finds Scully’s open notebook lying flat on the desk. The beginnings of a list, he’s sure.  Scully loves lists. Books to Read, Articles to Write, Times Mulder Has Driven Me Crazy… He hasn’t physically seen that last one, but he’s sure it exists, somewhere in her purse or briefcase, or maybe just hidden away in her head.  

A quick glance confirms his suspicions. Personal Goals.  

He’s taken aback; he’d expected something trivial. Pros and Cons of Sunflower Seeds perhaps, but this…

He stalls, waits a minute, maybe two, but in the end is much too intrigued not to peek.  

1. Call Mom more often

2. Reach out to Bill

3. Volunteer at the church

They’re all so wonderfully Scully.  He’s not sure what else he expected.  Curiosity satisfied, he’s about to turn away when:

15. Stop being afraid of my feelings

and below that:

16. Mulder

He stands stunned. He’s joked about appearing on Scully’s lists, but never like this, never as #16, never as a personal goal.  

He makes a list himself that night, condenses every one of his own goals down into just six letters.

1. Scully

2. Scully

3. Scully…

372. Scully…

1049. Scully…

He types her name until dawn has broken, until the printed ‘S’ has all but disappeared off his keyboard.

M is for Maybe

Maybe tomorrow’s the day.  He’ll toss her an innuendo, and instead of just catching it, she’ll throw one back herself.

The sun’ll come out tomorrow, isn’t that how the song goes?  Good things happen in the darkness, too, though—cemetery downpours, X-marked stretches of highway where her hair grows wavy from the rain. He and Scully manage just fine with no sun at all; they thrive in the darkness, no matter what the song says.

He packs up his things on a Friday afternoon, grabs his coat and offers his usual weekend farewell. But instead of Have a nice weekend, Mulder, she stops him, hand to his forearm, “It’s supposed to be beautiful tomorrow… Do you wanna… Maybe...”

Her cheeks are pink as she ducks her chin to her chest, and it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yeah,” he interrupts quickly, “Yeah, I do.”   He’s a bit too enthusiastic probably, but maybe tomorrows don’t actually happen that often for him on Friday afternoons.  

She smiles, cheeks still flushed, “Okay, then.  Tomorrow...”

On his way out the door he finds himself humming. Maybe the forecast for tomorrow is sunny after all, and not just because a little orphan girl told him so.

N is for No

He's scared of the word no, its finality. No, Mulder, it would never work. No, Mulder, we’re better as friends. No, Mulder, I don’t love… The word no could mean the end of everything. Of all he's seen, how absurd that two small letters could paralyze him like that. 

He walks through Violent Crimes once, overhears Scully talking to another agent from across the room. Rick Channing could be a television news anchor—hair coiffed and teeth so white they sparkle.

Mulder rolls his eyes. Scully doesn’t roll her eyes though; instead, she smiles as they talk.  She giggles.  Bile rises in his throat.

No, Mulder, I’ve fallen for someone else…

He should leave, but Channing’s next words stop him cold. “How about drinks, Dana? Maybe dinner?”  

She blushes, flustered, before scanning the room, eyes finding Mulder’s despite the way he hides halfway behind a partition.  

“Thank you, Rick, but no. I’m already…”  She smiles gently at him—him Mulder, not him Rick— “No,” she says again, then excuses herself down the hall.  

He stands there, rooted in place, decides no is the most beautiful word he’s ever heard.

O is for Opal

His birthstone is opal.  Not that he’d ever have cared, but one Christmas, he and Samantha received birthstone gifts—a topaz necklace for Sam and an opal-inlaid pocketknife for him. He still has that pocketknife, has rubbed his thumb across the smooth, cool handle countless times over the years.

Scully’s skin reminds him of that handle—the soft blue of her veins beneath translucent pink skin. She glows. He knows she’d scoff if he told her that, tell him human beings can’t glow, don’t be ridiculous. But she does—she glows just like an opal.

The pearly finish of his pocketknife is worn-down and soft by now, but her skin, he knows, is infinitely softer.  Her hand, her cheek—the safe parts of her body he’s been allowed to touch—they don’t even compare to the decades-old trinket.  He can’t imagine how much softer the more dangerous parts of her body must be.  The thought keeps him up at night, much more consistently than his nightmares do.

P is for Plum

Scully goes on kicks sometimes—bee pollen, yogurt, one month she sprinkled wheat germ into everything she got her hands on, his coffee included.

Fresh fruit is her latest. Oranges, nectarines, plums, oh, plums. There’s no neat way to eat a plum, though she tries, napkin laid out beneath her at the desk. The juice though. Drippy and sticky on her chin—his eyes try their best not to ogle, but usually fail.  

She walks around sometimes, cupping a hand to catch the drips, and once, as she reaches across his body for a book, a drop splashes directly onto his forearm.

“Sorry!” she exclaims, quickly swiping at his skin with her thumb.  How that same thumb winds up being sucked between his lips is a mystery, though probably has something to do with the way he acts sometimes before thinking. His tongue traces the sweetened ridges of her thumbprint as she chokes out a gasp, half-eaten plum forgotten.  

“No takebacks, Scully,” he mumbles as a joke, trying to laugh it off as he comes to his senses and releases her. Her cheeks stay pink for a good twenty minutes after that, and parts of him stay hard for an even better twenty beyond that.

Q is for Quest

This job of theirs, it’s more than a job.  More than a career path.  It’s a downright quest.  

He feels a bit like Don Quixote at times, Scully his faithful Sancho Panza, the two of them out there dreaming the impossible dream, fighting the unbeatable foe. There’s a sort of nobility to what they do, and he likes that.  

Sometimes though, he wonders whether the aliens are really windmills, whether the consortium is nothing but a barber’s basin balanced on his much too gullible head. Whether Scully is not Sancho, but Dulcinea— out-of-reach and much too beautiful for his files and his basement, his second-hand coffee table and his worn leather couch.  

He sometimes can’t believe she’s still here, chasing windmills, slaying bad guys, at times even taking the time to clean out his fridge. She deserves the most elegant of thrones, yet sits happily beside him on that old leather couch, Monday nights, Tuesday nights, sometimes even weekends.  It astounds him really.  

And when she nudges his knee with her own, smiles at him with that smile that makes him think soon isn’t so far away, that’s when he really believes—that being with her is not such an impossible dream after all.

R is for Rebel

Dana Scully is a rebel.  She tries to hide it, acts all prim and proper, but beneath her stern, pursed lips and buttoned-up suits, there’s a troublemaker lurking.  It’s what endeared him to her on their very first case, the way she laughed with him in the rain, the way, regardless of her orders, she listened to him and formed her own opinion.

He sees glimpses of that rebel from time to time, when she scarfs down pizza in a Motel 6 despite her no-carb diet, when she gets that gleam in her eye as they sneak onto restricted government property.

His favorite bit of rebelliousness though is her new stance on hotel-room consorting. They’ve fallen into a routine lately, of watching movies together on polyester bedspreads, of dropping off before the credits roll, of pretending I’m too tired to go back to my room is a perfectly reasonable and acceptable excuse to stay.  

Each time it happens, the morning sun finds them a bit closer together than the last— hands touching, next toes and shins, most recently her hair brushed his cheek as she snuggled against the pillow.

His rumpled, sleepy little rebel.  She’s a rebel on her own terms though, he knows this. And he’s being as patient as he can be.

S is for Sexy

She’s sexy, unbelievably so. It took him a while to admit that to himself.  For the longest time, he blamed his body’s reaction to her on their constant proximity, her perfume, the fact that he was suffering a longer-than-usual dry spell… But no, what it really comes down to is that Dana Katherine Scully is sexy as hell.

Even back in the beginning, when her suits hid her body and her hair did that swoop-y sort of thing up near the front.  Even in the middle, when she was thinner than she should’ve been, when cancer stole her color but didn’t steal her soul. And then there’s today. Today when there’s no mistaking the black lace of her lingerie each time she leans across the desk, not two but three buttons undone at her clavicle. Today when she murmurs thoughtfully, “I think you may be right, Mulder,” tongue wetting her lips as she reads aloud from his book on mystical apparitions.

What really gets him though, is that despite her hair or her lips or even her lingerie, the sexiest part of her isn’t on the outside at all; it’s what lies beneath—that intangible something that makes her Scully. That’s the part he fell in love with, shoulder pads and all.

T is for Toes

She’s got cute little toes.  She’s got cute little everything really, but her toes are especially cute, pale pink polish adorning each one.  She sits one night, curled on his couch, those cute little toes just inches from his leg.

“Wanna stretch out?” he asks, patting his thighs, and amazingly, within seconds, there are two small feet lying warm in his lap.

He gives them a tickle, but she kicks at his hand. He tries again, this time pressing a thumb to her arch. No kick, only an appreciative hum.  It’s all the encouragement he needs. He begins massaging in earnest.  

Her eyes slip shut, her head tilts back, a low groan rumbles from her throat. He massages her cute little toes for an hour, counts each contented sigh that slips from her lips (thirty-four to be exact). The movie they’d been watching fades slowly to black, and she ends things finally, with a shy, quiet chuckle and an I should probably get going.  

As she heads down the hall, he jokes from his doorway, “The masseuse is available every night, double sessions on weekends…”

She rewards him with an arched brow, murmuring, “Careful, I may just take you up on that…” before stepping onto the elevator.

U is for Umpteen

“Umpteen’s not a word, Mulder,” she tells him, eyes rolling, “It has no specified value.”  

She’s got a point of course.  They don’t have umpteen case summaries to submit; they have twelve.  But umpteen is most definitely a word.  

Umpteen’s how many times he’s forgotten his point because her lips are too distracting.  Umpteen’s how many fantasies he’s had about sliding his hands through her hair.  Umpteen’s how many times she’s walked out the door, how many times he’s kept from going after her, how many times he’s sat in his car beneath her window and longed for her with a ferocity that scares him shitless. Umpteen’s how many times he’s wanted to kiss her.  It’s also how many times he hasn’t…

He chuckles, dipping his chin, “You’re right, Scully. We’ve got twelve summaries to do, not umpteen...”

Umpteen is how many times he’s said her name, it’s how many times what he’s really wanted to say was I love you.

V is for Volume

They fight over the volume control in cars. He likes louder, she likes softer (I can’t think over the noise she says).  He usually lets her win. 

Their relationship has its own volume control, he’s realized.  There are times when it’s loud, blaring even, arguments at every turn.  Other times it’s low—murmurs in a conference room, end of the day farewells in a darkened parking garage. Mostly it’s somewhere between.  They talk and they banter and they discuss, in basements, in rental cars, in random police stations across America. 

Sometimes though, lately especially, she lowers the dial even further, turns it all the way over to the left.  Soft.  The very softest. His name on her lips those rare times he holds her. Her blush and shy murmured stop when he pays her a compliment. The slight gasp he feels more than hears when his fingertips brush over her arm, her cheek, the curve of her hip.

It makes him want to do away with loud altogether, to turn off the music and the voices and the noise and listen only to the sound of her breathing, to tell her "It's quiet now, Scully. I’m ready when you are."

W is for Wristwatch

This job has done a number on his wardrobe.  Jackets, slacks, shoes—all gone the way of the incinerator—either damaged beyond acceptable FBI standards or outright destroyed.  Scully’s hasn’t fared much better (she still pouts over a favorite pair of heels ruined two years ago). All part of the territory, he reasons.

His shattered wristwatch on a recent case was a blow though; he loved that watch.  

There’s a package on his desk the day after, wrapped so precisely, he needn’t even guess whom it’s from.  

“Scully,” he protests, but she stops him.

“Just open it, Mulder.”

It’s a watch—of course it’s a watch—a beautiful one, silver links and a detailed, intricate face. “You didn’t need—” he begins, but she interrupts him again.  

“It was my father’s,” she states matter-of-factly, but then her voice softens, “I’ve held onto it since… Here, let me.” She takes the watch, fastens it around his wrist. There are tears in her eyes.

“It looks good,” she whispers, “It brings out your… It looks nice—you’ve got nice forearms, Mulder, and this accentuates—”

He takes hold of her hand, gives it a squeeze until she meets his eyes.  “Thank you,” he tells her, “I love it.”  

There’s no way this watch lands in the incinerator. He’ll protect it with his life if he has to.

X is for XFiles

The basement office often feels more like home to him than home does.  It’s his secret hideaway, and despite the odds, he thinks it’s become hers, too.  They’ve created their own little world down here—a cozy, paranormal universe—and Scully’s as much a part of that universe as he is.

She shines like the sun, trails glittery stardust behind her like a comet. His beautiful, perplexing riddle of a partner.  It’s funny really, but despite the hundreds of files that surround them, Scully remains his biggest mystery.  She’s the very definition of an X-File.  It floors him that she chooses this life, that she’s willing to be his sun, his moon, his whole damn galaxy, day after day after day.

There was a time he couldn’t have imagined not seeking the truth.  These days though? These days he’s beginning to believe he’s been searching in all the wrong places.  

The truth can’t be found in Bellefleur, Oregon or in Kroner, Kansas, in forests or in sewers or in fields.  The truth—the real truth— exists in ink-blue eyes and rosebud lips, in the skeptical arch of an eyebrow and the soft, shy murmur of his name.

It exists right down here in the basement office, sitting not two feet across the desk from him.

Y is for Yawn

She yawns as he speaks, but it doesn’t bother him. Things feel sleepy—dreamy— tonight.

It’s been an odd few days apart from one another, he across the pond and she…He’s not even sure what she’s been doing, doesn’t know that he wants to.  All he knows is that she’s here, now, pressed to his side and yawning, proving to him once again how fate works.

It’s hard not to babble when he feels this good; he’s drunk on the smell of her, on the heaviness of her thigh pressed to his.

“And that says a lot… a lot, a lot, a lot…” Babbling, more babbling, until he feels the smallest, sweetest weight at his shoulder, sees lashes splayed softly against warm, flushed cheeks. The perfection of the moment strikes him, of her here on his couch instead of in a hospital room, instead of in a temple, instead of anywhere else she could be at this point in her life.  

He touches her hair—he can’t bear not to—covers her with a blanket to keep away the chill.  Allowing himself one last glance, he counts slowly to ten (slowly, so slowly), before making his own sleepy way to the bedroom.

Z is for Zipper

He’s awoken by the sound of her skirt zipper, the dip of the mattress as she sits on the bed.

“Scully?” He’s not sure how long he’s been out, but the stillness in the air and a new moon slanting through the blinds suggest hours.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, “I tried not to wake you...” He’s never heard her voice in his bedroom this late at night. It’s softer than he’d imagined. Younger. “It’s late.  I’m not sure I should drive.  Do you mind if I—” 

“Sure, yeah.” He props up on an elbow. “Do you want me to…” He motions toward the living room, still half-asleep but awake enough not to assume anything he shouldn’t. Hotel room sleepovers (which they’ve partaken in) are in a different category than apartment room sleepovers (which they haven’t), and he knows this.

“I don’t mind,” she answers in silhouette, slipping off her skirt, “…not if you don’t.”  She’s stolen her way beneath the sheets before he has the presence of mind to offer her something to wear. 

“Of course not.”  He can’t think of anything he’d mind less than Scully lying beside him in his bed, near enough he can smell this morning’s perfume still on her skin.

She settles, and is so close, her breaths tickle his bare shoulder. Once, twice, three times.  He shudders. 

They’re quiet.  He listens to her nighttime sounds—the swish of her hair against the pillow, the cadence of her breaths, the occasional wet slide of her tongue across her lips. He wishes he had his little recorder on the nightstand. He’d make a mixtape, label it Sounds of Scully and play it every night for the rest of his life.  

He longs to touch her.  A hand, a foot, even just the tip of a finger. 

They lie there long enough and silently enough he thinks she may have fallen asleep, but then she shifts. Or he shifts. Or maybe they both shift, but out of nowhere her still sweater-clad back spoons perfectly against his chest.

A quiet gasp leaves her lips, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t readjust. Neither of them breathes.

“Is this… okay?” he asks finally.

“Yeah, it’s…” The heel of her foot brushes his shin. “It’s nice.” 

Quiet again. His arm finds a place to rest wrapped around her waist.  His thighs nudge her bottom.  Her skirt is off, and possibly her nylons, too, but he thinks instead about her hair tickling his nose, her sweater against his belly.  He doesn’t think of other things—won’t let himself.

It’s nice was an understatement though. It’s so much more than nice.  He’s needed this, wanted this, for such a long time.  Even if this is all it is—the two of them spooned together in his bed until morning.

She snuggles a bit closer, slips a small, cold foot between his legs. He thinks about her pale pink toenails, he thinks about Dulcinea, he thinks about being number sixteen on a list he’s sure he was never meant to read.  He adds to his mixtape the sound of her hum when his thumb brushes the rose-petal skin of her arm.

“Foxtrot,” she murmurs sleepily.

“Hmmm?” He nudges the back of her head with his nose.

“Nothing,” she chuckles, “Just a passing thought...”

“Can’t have passing thoughts without sharing.  Bedroom rules.”  It’s strange how natural this feels, bantering with her in his bedroom, pretending this sort of thing happens often enough that rules have been made.

“Oh, in that case, maybe I’ll…” She makes to leave, pushing away covers and beginning to pull from his arms.

“Don’t you dare,” he threatens, tugging her back, wasting no time in snuggling her in even closer, wrapping himself around her like a question mark, which seems almost comically apropos on a night like this. She giggles, just barely, but it’s perfection, the sound of Scully giggling in his bed late at night.

“No, it was just…,” she continues, turned serious again.  “My father was obsessed with the military phonetic alphabet—Alpha, Bravo, etcetera...  He named my brother Charlie.  It just occurred to me that if your father had been the same, maybe you’d be Foxtrot instead of Fox.”

He chuckles. “Guess I should count myself lucky then.  Would’ve been a lot to live up to in the ballroom classes my mother made me take…”  She hums in amusement, and the vibration travels all the way through to his chest.  “Sounds like you’re a bit lucky, too.  Unless I’m mistaken, it was Dana, not Delta, who snuck into my bed tonight...”

“Hmm,” she ponders, “Maybe Delta's not as brave as Dana is....” He sometimes thinks nobody’s as brave as Dana Scully is, least of all himself. “Frankly,” she adds, “I always fancied Juliet anyway.”

“Juliet—I like it.”  He pictures her out on a balcony, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing, lover’s name tumbling from her lips.  “You’d need a Romeo…”  He doubts Wherefore art thou, Mulder is quite what Shakespeare had in mind.  

“Who says I haven’t got one?” she flirts.  Her hand rests just inches from his own, and he twines their fingers together, curls them against her abdomen. He sometimes wonders how his heart can possibly contain the amount of love he feels for her. People die of broken hearts; do they ever die of ones so full, they’re overflowing?  

“Hey,” he murmurs into her hair, “What’s got you thinking about all this at…,” he tilts back his head to squint at the clock, “…one o’clock AM?” Her body is warm and impossibly perfect against him.

“I guess…,” she says, a contemplative tone to her voice, “I don’t know. These last few days have been a lot.  I’ve been forced to consider things I haven’t thought about in years. My past, the way things used to be... What I used to assume my future looked like.”

“How’d it look?” They’re both nearing that point these days, where their paths can’t just keep continuing in the same straight line. They’re nearing a fork, he can feel it.  Question is, will they both continue in the same direction?

“When I was a little girl,” she begins, “I was surrounded by Navy men, Navy wives, Navy families.  We were taught call letters before learning our ABC’s.  I always felt that sort of life was expected of me, too.” His air conditioner kicks on, fills the room with a gentle whirr.  She burrows even closer. “It’s just funny how far we stray from what’s expected…”

“No more call letters, huh?” His lips catch on her hair as he talks.  It’s wonderful.

“No, I guess not…To be honest, I sort of miss them.  Things were simpler then.  There were right choices and wrong choices, or at least it seemed that way.”

He realizes as they lie there that this moment is the fork in his path.  That though the line between right and wrong choices may be blurred these days, there’s one choice he’s never once questioned.  Dana Scully is the rightest choice he’s ever made.  With her mouth full of questions and her head full of answers, her ever-arched eyebrow and her ever-open heart—she’s been his choice, his only choice, from the very beginning.  

Scully is the Juliet to his Romeo—hell, she’s the Delta to his Foxtrot.    

“Scully,” he murmurs, heart beating bravely in his chest, “Have I ever told you about the Fox Mulder alphabet?”

“Hmm, let me guess...” There’s humor in her voice, that wry Scully humor he adores. “A is for Alien, B is for Bounty Hunter, C is for….  Am I close?” Christ, but he loves this woman.

He pokes her gently in admonishment, answers, “Good try, smartypants, but no… No, you’re actually not close at all.”

“Tell me then, Mulder.” She pulls their hands up to rest beneath her cheek. “Tell me about your alphabet.”  

And so he does. He takes a deep breath and he does.

He begins at the beginning. A is for Apple.

He tells her how watching her eat an apple once made him ache for her, how he can’t bite into a Red Delicious, or a Fuji, or even a Grannysmith anymore without thinking about her lips.

It scares him, being this honest, but there’s something in the air tonight, something in her mood, in the way she slipped off her skirt and climbed into his bed after falling asleep on his couch.

She’s quiet while he speaks, still—eerily so. Her breaths fall quickly against his hand. He’s sure he can feel her heart beating, or maybe that’s just his own, pounding much too dramatically within his chest. There’s a lump in his throat as he finishes, the No that’s terrified him for close to seven years dangling above like an anvil from some misguided Loony Tunes short.  

He waits.  And he waits.  And is about to apologize for assumptions he shouldn’t have made when—

“More,” she breathes.

Not no.  More.

He burrows his nose in her hair, presses a kiss of relief to her ear.

He gives her more, he gives her everything—he pours his entire heart out into silly little stories about a basketball game, about candlelight illuminating the skin of her back. The words spill out more quickly than he intends them to, but the dam has been breached; he cannot stop it.

She’s quiet through the basketball game, quiet again through the candles. Her little body doesn’t move. He understands. He knows it’s a lot to take in—the flood-like musings of Fox Mulder’s mind.  Her ears are all he asks of her tonight.

By the time he’s reached D though, she gives him more than her ears. “D is for Dana,” he begins softly. And instead of more silence, she whispers his name.  

By E, there are tears at her cheek. He wonders for an instant whether that long-ago jewelry store could possibly still be open, whether she’d wait for him here while he makes a quick trip.  

By F, she’s pressing barely-there kisses to his knuckles. Friends don’t do that, he’s sure.  Their relationship may be uncertain, but friends don’t press kisses to knuckles, they don’t lie in beds at one in the morning, tell stories in hushed whispers with backs pressed to chests.

By G, she’s murmuring my God against his palm, Mulder against each of his fingertips. His basement globe spins and it spins. Never could it have predicted an adventure like this.

H… I… J... Her toes slide along his shins, they follow the curves of his arches. Her long-lost jacket hangs nestled in his closet not ten feet away.

K... “New Year’s Eve, Scully… That kiss…”  He tells her she’s all he could want from this millennium, or the next, or even the next (that’s illogical, Mulder, he expects her to say).  She doesn’t though. She doesn’t say that.  Instead, she turns in his arms, raises big, wet eyes up to his.

“Keep going…,” she urges him on when he pauses, “Please, Mulder, keep going.” Her fingers tremble as they move across his chest.

And so he keeps going. L... (“Scully, Scully, Scully, Scully, Scully,” he breathes)… M… N… With each new letter, her touches grow surer—small, gentle hands find his ribs, his shoulders, the wildly-beating pulse at his neck.  By O, those same hands are in his hair, they’re cradling his cheekbones, they’re fingering the soft, curved shells of his ears.

P... “That plum,” he whispers, “…the juice…your thumb...” Her thumb (the same one he sucked into his mouth so many months ago) skims over his stubbled chin, makes its tentative way to his lips. His tongue steals out for a taste, and she sucks in a breath, her eyes fluttering shut. She drags her hand away before he can swallow her whole.

Q... (“Dulcinayyy-uhhh,” he sings quietly)… R… The heat of her breath hits his neck, hovers beneath his jawline until he can barely speak. “Don’t stop,” she whispers when he falters.  Her mouth slides against his throat and he groans.

S… T...  By U, he can’t keep from touching her.  A hand tangles finally in her hair, the other slips beneath her sweater and molds to the warmth of her back. She whimpers, her body arching sharply against him.  Umpteen is the number of times this very scenario has played itself out in his dreams.

By V, his lips are at her temple, “V is for Volume” spoken directly against her skin. She turns the dial all the way to the left, sighs so softly he almost misses it.

W and X fall between kisses, his lips on her eyelids, at her jaw, wrapped around the lobes of her ears. Barely-there whimpers slip from the back of her throat, and he reaches for that imaginary recorder, adds them to his mixtape as well.  Her legs tangle with his and he pulls her even closer.

“Y is for Yawn,” he murmurs against her hairline, “Tonight, out there, while we sat on the couch…”

“I’m not…,” her voice is low and husky, so close to his ear that he shivers, “…m’not yawning now, Mulder…”

He shifts, rests his forehead against her own.  Hot, ragged breaths collect on the pillow between them.  He can hardly believe a few hours ago, they were out on his couch drinking tea, a few years ago, they were meeting in the basement for the very first time.

“What about…,” she breathes, the tip of her nose nudging his, “What about Z?”  Their hands roam freely now, sensuous and slow.  She angles her pelvis against his, presses softly.

“Z…,” he barely gets out, “…is for Zipper.” She’s trembling against him, and it’s the sexiest thing in the world.  “The zipper from your skirt that woke me half an hour ago, the zipper that—”

She swallows the rest of his words with a kiss, open-mouthed and desperate, body melting against his.

Her lips, her tongue, the flutter of her fingers at his cheek… He forgets about candles, about earrings, about Rick Channing and Don Quixote and even about the wristwatch lying just across the room on the dresser.  He forgets about everything in the world except Scully and her mouth, about the way she kisses him with her whole damn body, with hands in his hair and toes flexed at his shins and hips arched so divinely against his, he worries he’ll faint.

As her sweater slides over her head, he marvels at the way everything has fallen into place, how a crisp, juicy apple led to a basketball game, how sleepy, sexy yawns led to the undoing of zippers, how all of it combined led to them being here, now, discovering each other for the very first time.

Their lovemaking is slow, achingly so.  It’s the Standard English Alphabet, the Military Phonetic Alphabet, and the Fox Mulder Alphabet combined—whimpers and sighs and Romeo and Juliet and ice cream and globes and… Amazingly, in the end, it all makes perfect, wonderful sense.

As they move together, the beginnings of a new alphabet emerge in his head—A for the arc of her hips as they rise; B for her short, quickened breaths; C for her cries, for her moans, for her whines; D for the softest derriere he’s ever held in his palms; E for her elbows, laid either side of his ears; F for fuck, for oh holy fuck, Scully, sweetheart, I’m gonna, I’m gonna…

“It’s crazy really, isn’t it?” he murmurs afterwards, Scully tucked beneath his arm, her leg slung sweetly over his sweat-damp thigh.

“Hmm?”  Her fingers play at his lips, trace over and around and between.  

“That it took us seven years…,” he mumbles around a pinky, “…when in the end, it really was as easy as learning our ABC’s.”

She hums, presses a kiss to his chest right above a nipple. “You could have had me all the way back at C if you’d wanted to, Mulder...”

He smiles, pulling her impossibly closer.  Her breasts are soft against his chest and her chin rests at his shoulder, and for a moment, all is right in their windmill-riddled, impossible dream of a world.  

“I think Z was perfect,” he says, kissing the disheveled part of her hair, “Absolutely perfect.”

[convivialcamera]

On Deadline: Jump

Previously

My entire universe had shrunk to the tip of a pin.

Every atom in my body was attuned only to the spot where Jamie’s blunt finger was delicately but insistently caressing my clitoris as I lay spread before him, feet dangling off the side of the bed and into oblivion. My blood rushed and my skin heated. My entire body tensed in a desperate attempt to keep still enough that the sudden jerking of my hips wouldn’t dislodge his finger. I held my breath deep in my lungs, straining, wanting, needing, burning.

Elbow tucked into my side, I reached up and grabbed at my shoulder, digging my fingernails into my collarbone in a last-ditch attempt to hold on.

And then, the chaos I was reigning in broke free. I exhaled on a small moan, and as I sucked in air the first wave of release hit me. After that I was lost.

When I came-to moments later, Jamie was gently running a finger down the inside of my splayed thigh and grinning like a cat that got the canary.

“You’re way too easy,” he said, a smirk barely concealed in the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up.” But I couldn’t help but grin myself, buoyed by the pleasure and contentment of orgasm. Jamie curled up beside me, resting his red mop just above my navel. I ran my fingers through his curls and caressed the curve of his ear. We stayed there, silent, for a long time.

As I gently floated in a state of semi-consciousness, Jamie’s breath tickled my stomach. Through the fog, it occured to me that he was talking. 

“...that we could hit this wine bar later,” he said, “and maybe make a night of it.”

“What? Like a date?” I raised my head to look at him, propping myself up on my elbow.

He twisted his neck to look back at me. “Yes, like a date.” 

I flopped back, a silly, wide smile overtaking my face. “Alright, then.”

I had the day off, having worked the Sunday before, but Jamie soon slinked away from my bed and back to the newsroom. I languished between the sheets, carefully cataloging every single moment that had passed between us. There was an easy intimacy between us that went beyond all the sex or even our shared profession, and I admitted to myself that I reveled in it.

I spent the day napping, mostly, although I did run out to buy a vacuum, since I had left the marital vacuum with my almost-ex-husband. I was loathe to think of Frank, I smugly told myself, as there really should only be two people in a new relationship. I tried to put him out of my mind, but he lingered. Why had I fallen in love with him? I wondered as I stood in front of the vacuum display, comparing models. What had made Frank stray? I pondered as I paid the clerk and lugged my purchase out to my car. Was it my work, or was it something irreparably wrong with me? I questioned as I drove back to my apartment. I didn’t have any answers, but something told me that with Jamie, everything was different. 

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Beauchamp, or maybe you just like fucking him, I thought.

By the time Jamie arrived at my door that evening, beautifully windswept from his ride over with just a hint of helmet hair, I had showered, shaved, plucked and primped within an inch of my life. To my distinct pleasure, my date looked like he had been temporairly struck dumb.

“Dude, it’s just a nice top.” I handed him a bourbon, neat, as he openly stared at my chest. It was a vibrant red and rather more low-cut than what I wore on assignment. 

He sucked down the drink like it was water. “Is that what you call it?”

“Yep.” I sipped my own drink like I had all the time in the world. I raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to say anything else about it. He immediately recognized the challenge, and demurred with a shrug. 

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” I glugged down the last of the bourbon and grabbed my black moto jacket. “Let’s go.”

The bar was in an old candy shop in a small historic district downtown Leoch. The walls were brick with the paint flaking off, and it was filled with little nooks and industrial furniture and illuminated only with candles. A sprightly little hipster seated us at a tiny table beneath an arch in a secluded corner with a single votive candle and two of the tiniest glasses of water I’d ever seen. Menus were attached to clipboards, and I studiously examined mine, avoiding Jamie’s gaze. 

I picked a pinot noir at random when the server came around, while Jamie ordered a sweet rosé and the biggest cheese plate on the menu. 

“It’s refreshing,” he said at my smirk.

“I’m sure.” I swirled my own wine and took a sip. The alcohol rushed through my bloodstream and heated my stomach.

Jamie rolled his eyes at me, and put his hand on mine. “It’s easier if we touch, isn’t it?”

It was a startling observation. I squeezed his hand, and felt the nervous energy between us dissipate into the ether. 

“Well, why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” I asked.

“What do you want to know?”

I cast about for a subject while I cut a hunk of Brie and smooshed it into a slice of baguette. “What’s your family like? Other than your uncles,” I qualified quickly. “Like, your mom and dad.”

“My parents are dead, Claire.” He said this softly; it pained him to tell me. 

“Oh.” I exhaled. “Mine too. Car crash when I was five.” It was an old wound but a deep one that still ached when pressed. The warmth of his hand sustained me. He paused, as if deciding. When he opened his mouth to speak, I blurted: “You don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s OK. My mom died when I was eight. And Dad, he had a massive stroke my first year of college.”

“Sucks,” I said without thinking. Jamie gave me a look that clearly said “duh,” and I giggled. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I think you’re the only one that could have said that to me and not get punched in the face,” he said contemplatively, drinking his wine. “Because you know what it’s like.”

I gave him my own look. “It’s a shitty club.”

Jamie loaded a baguette slice with blue cheese and a dried apricot and stuffed it in his mouth. “You told me a while back that you’re not from anywhere. What the hell does that mean?”

I smiled. I had told him that the day we met, the first time he called me Sassenach. “My uncle raised me. He was a photographer too — on staff at Nat Geo.”

“Holy shit.” 

“Yeah, and in, like, the ‘80s, when the job was basically globetrotting with a camera. I refused to go to boarding school so I went with him, just about everywhere.”

“You come by all this naturally?” Jamie waved at me, indicating tip to toenails.

“Sure. All my belongings fit in a duffel bag and I didn’t go to a real school until college. So, yeah, I’m not really from anywhere.”

“That’s a hell of a childhood. I just grew up on a farm.”

“Like, cows and corn fields?��

“And horses,” he said.

“Race horses?”

He blushed. “Some. My sister Jenny and her husband breed and train them. She breeds merino sheep too.”

I could tell he was downplaying the race horses. “Are you and Jenny close?”

“As close as we can be, since I live here now,” Jamie said, but he evaded my gaze, which made me think there was more to that story. I itched to press him further, but didn’t want to bring the specter of tragedy back into our conversation so I turned to lighter things. 

I told him about my uncle, Quenten Lambert Beauchamp, the archaeologist-turned-photographer who raised me, and my wandering childhood that spanned six of the seven continents (we went to Antarctica, but hadn’t made it to Australia). As I talked, Jamie listened intently, asking questions now and then, especially about Uncle Lamb’s assignments. As the cheese plate slowly disappeared between us and another round of drinks arrived, Jamie spoke of his sister and her husband, who was also Jamie’s oldest friend, and the trouble they got into as kids on the farm. He was a born storyteller, charming and funny.

I was telling Jamie about the time Uncle Lamb locked me in a temple to the Roman Goddess Vesta when I was 16, when Jamie’s eyes suddenly went wide and his ears turned so crimson I could see it even in the dim candlelight of the bar.

“Don’t turn around, but I’m pretty sure Geillis just walked in,” Jamie said in a low voice, as if he was afraid speaking her name aloud would summon her to us.

Unable to help myself, I peeked over my shoulder, and sure enough I could see Geillis’s bright blonde curtain of hair as she chatted with the hostess and was led to a table for two on the other side of the bar. I turned back and rolled my eyes at Jamie to tease him a bit. “Yep, that’s her. What of it?”

“Don’t you think it might not be the best idea for the entire newsroom to know we’re, you know…” He made an indistinct noise in his throat that made his meaning perfectly clear.

I raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, deciding if I should say the thought that immediately popped into my mind. “I’m sorry,” I said, the devil on my shoulder winning out. “I watched you slobber all over an intern in front of the whole staff and you’re worried about being spotted having a glass of wine with a colleague?” I smiled innocently at him.

Jamie opened and closed his wide mouth a few times, flabbergasted. “Geillis is an opportunistic gossip.”

“I don’t have anything to hide.”

“And anyone who saw you in that shirt would know this is more than a glass of wine.” He suddenly looked smug. 

I began to roll my eyes at him, but I was distracted by a tall man with dark hair and strong bones walking into the bar through the back door. I leaned back, and pulled Jamie into the shadows. Dougal MacKenzie made a beeline for Geillis’s table, and Geillis smiled broadly when she spotted him. 

“What are we looking at?” Jamie whispered in my ear, sounding bewildered.

“Any reason why your uncle is macking on Gellis at the most romantic spot in town?” I whispered back, as we watched our boss greet our colleague with a very familiar kiss and sit down.

“Can’t think of any, other than the obvious,” Jamie said. “Maybe we should get out of here.” He flagged down the server with one hand, and ran a suggestive finger up my thigh under the table with the other.

“Maybe head back to my place?” 

“I’d like nothing better.”

[shadowfromthestarlight]

For the ask post, all numbers ending with 1 or 2 that you'd like to answer.

1.  6 of the songs you listen to most? probably a bunch of dad rock songs

2.  If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? Edward Norton

11. Do you have any strange phobias? Yeah, actually. I’m really, really afraid of the lane lines in pools. I don’t ever want to put my feet down and touch them. I’m also afraid of Antarctica. I don’t even want to see it on a map.

12.  Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose? Not that I can recall.

21.  Who is your celebrity crush? I don’t have celebrity crushes anymore, as in actually fantasizing about dating a celebrity, but Edward Norton is still my favorite celebrity!

22.  Have you ever gone skinny dipping? No. I always say I’m going to, then I don’t. 

31. Smell the air. What do you smell? Something vaguely smoky. No my place isn’t on fire. I googled and apparently the smoke from the wildfires that has drifted to the East Coast is not affecting air quality, so it’s probably not that.

32.  What’s the worst place you have ever been to? Trenton, NJ. 

41. What was the last book you read? The Haunted Land: Facing Europe’s Ghosts after Communism by Tina Rosenberg. 10/10 would recommend.

42.  Do you like the smell of gasoline? Yes, when it isn’t too strong.

51.  Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? I used to but now I don’t care that much anymore... also people don’t “wrong” me that often. Most people in my life are really nice.

52.  What is your astrological sign? Cancer. 

61.  Are you wearing socks right now? Yes.

62.  What’s your favourite animal? Cat

71. You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do? Try to help the dog, if it’s feasible without getting myself killed lol. If I had that kind of boss I’d love an excuse to be fired lol. 

72. You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?  a. Yes. b. Find someone to take my cat, write a will, go somewhere with a lot of mountains and lakes and waterfalls and have a nice time. c. I don’t feel afraid thinking about it. But if it actually happened, maybe. I don’t know.

81.  What would you want to be written on your tombstone? Cat lady.

82. What is your favourite word? incandescent 

91. You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power? to be able to fly

92.  You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again? Standing at Glacier Point, Yosemite. 

[tanadrin]

Reordberend

(part 25 of 30; first; previous; next)

The rest of the journey passed with little conversation, but now the silence was more comfortable. Katherine mulled over the conundrum of how to get the elders to listen to her. She watched Leofe, as they walked, and tried to imagine what it must have been like to have been born in the Valleys, to have grown up here amid the ice and stones. It was difficult, to say the least.

They spent the night at the mouth of the valleys, and in the morning they switched to snowshoes, to gently descend the long glacial tongue to the surface of the ice shelf below; from there, it was a straight shot across McMurdo Sound to Mount Erebus, which loomed now in the darkness only as an absence of stars. The open ice was the most treacherous part of the journey: cracks could open up here, as the ice shelf was squeezed through the narrow passage of the Sound, big enough to swallow you whole, and they had to go carefully. They spent two nights camping on the open ice, crammed into one tiny tent, huddled together for warmth. On the morning of the third day, though, they found their path forward blocked by an enormous crevasse, which forced them to go south, to try to circle around it. Eventually, they realized, it ran all the way to the coast of the island; the quickest thing to do was to head straight for McMurdo Station, and go overland up the mountain.

At first, Katherine was kind of excited to see the ruins. Once upon a time, McMurdo Station had been a major scientific and transport hub for a huge part of Antarctica, a waystation on the way to the South Pole. But it had been abandoned a long time ago, and it was one of the few old scientific sites that hadn’t been reclaimed by the Antarctic Authority. On closer inspection, though, Katherine could safely say it was the creepiest place on the continent. It didn’t help that the aurorae australis were glowing a sickly green hue as they approached. Skeletal buildings, ravaged as much by the People’s salvage as by the weather, stood out the slopes, and old radar domes cracked and open to the sky. They spent the night in a mostly-intact building on the edge of the base, and Katherine could have sworn she heard what sounded like animals scurrying around in the ruins.

The actual mountain ascent was not so difficult, although it took another two days. The People had cut a path on the western side of the mountain, so they approached from that side. The ground was icy, but the weather was good. “We would have to wait for it to clear if it was not,” Leofe said. “You cannot climb the mountain in fog.”

On the second day of climbing, by midafternoon--right when Katherine’s legs were threatening to give up for good--Leofe held out her hand to stop Katherine. “We’re here,” she said. The last hundred meters or so were up wide stone steps, which ended at a great tunnel mouth, bored straight into the mountainside. “We go carefully from here,” Leofe said. “If the wind is bad, dangerous fumes can rise from the crater.”

“This is where you build your temple?”

“If the wind is favorable--well, you’ll see.”

The tunnel ran straight for fifty meters; it opened out onto a wide porch that had been cut back into the side of the crater, with a protective stone overhang. Rough pillars supported it, and pairs of steps off to either side led up to narrow paths around the inside of the crater rim.

“Jesus Christ,” Katherine said. “How was this place built?”

The view was clear, for the moment; clumps of steam or vapor clung to the stony slope here and there, gases leaking from vents that led to Mount Erebus’s fiery interior. Far, far below, and almost at the other side of the crater, there was a sullen red glow visible from within a cloud of smoke.

“Is that--”

“Molten stone, yes. The fire rises to the surface here; it is often restless.”

“Is this safe?” Katherine asked.

Leofe rolled her eyes. “It’s a volcano.”

Katherine walked to the edge of the stone balcony. Here and there--possibly at regular intervals, although it was hard to tell because of the clouds--great pillars with tops shaped like animal or human heads gazed out over the scene. There were steps that led further down into the crater, although Katherine couldn’t see how far. It was an austere and threatening landscape; Katherine could also appreciate its beauty. A bright aurora glowed in the sky overhead, illuminating the whole thing in pale light. Katherine could see why they called it the Fane of Awe.

How long had it taken to build this place? Even with handheld laser cutters, the stone pillars had had to be hauled up here, had to be raised in the smoking crater, when the fires were low and the wind was strong enough to dissipate the volcanic fumes. The climb up the mountain had been exhausting enough unencumbered. Katherine couldn’t imagine hauling enormous blocks of shaped stone up the slope as well. How would you even begin to do that? Or maybe they had quarried it close by, but that was still heavy work. It would have been many, many years of labor. Seasonal, probably. Done in summer. The tunnel itself and the porch of stone would have taken even longer to cut through, but the evidence of her experience so far was that the People were patient, and were not afraid of difficult labor.

She found Leofe back near the entrance, kneeling down and taking some small objects out of her pack.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I have some… things I must do.”

“Sure. The rites. Wulf said. I’ll, uh, come back later.” Katherine thought about exploring the crater, but she didn’t know much about volcanoes, and she didn’t like the look of the clouds coming up from the ground. Instead, she went back out, and decided to go for a walk up near the crater rim. The ground here was steep, although not terribly treacherous. She tested each step carefully, bracing herself with her staff in case her footing failed. After another thirty minutes or so, she was at the crater edge. 

The lava lake was still visible, far below, although partly shrouded in clouds. McMurdo Sound was a pale swathe of ice, ten or fifteen kilometers off. The mountains along the coast were just barely visible. The wind here was fierce, bitterly cold, colder than anything she’d felt in her life. But God in Heaven, it was a beautiful view. In some ways, perhaps, she had shared the experiences of the People, clutching as a child after something sacred in a world in which the sacrosanct seemed to hold little meaning. But in other ways, their perspective was completely different. Katherine’s experience of church was the plain, low meeting house, whose only adornment might be a picture of Jesus on the wall. Simple wooden benches, a hard concrete floor, a plain white exterior. Some of the meeting houses in Sand Mountain didn’t even have running water. God--awe, if you like--was an internal experience in those places. A thing you contemplated, which rose up within your mind and your heart, which grew out of your faith and your desire to feel it. Here, though, the sacred was an immutable and implacable fact of the world. It would be here, whether you cared to experience it or not. And if you did, it would shout itself forth from every hill and every stone and every patch of ice, and it would overwhelm you. Even the great cathedrals of old Europe could not match this. They were in comparison the feeble attempts of human hands to imitate what nature had been doing for millions of years. Or billions. To imitate a thing which shot through every atom of the universe, every star and every planet, the fractal majesty of existence that you only really appreciated when you stood in a place where survival was almost, almost--but not quite--impossible.

Katherine had read once, in her high school science textbook, that there was a rock they had once found in Australia that was four and a half billion years old. It was so old that it had formed when the surface of the Earth was half-molten, when the air was still toxic, when the oceans had just begun to form. There was a picture. And something about that picture suddenly made everything the book was talking about feel real, in a way that dry numbers like “four and a half billion” never could on their own. A sense of the enormous weight of time had staggered her, and she had stared at the photograph, trying to understand. For millions of years afterward, the Earth had no continents, only craggy islands of rock that had not yet accreted into the ancient cratons. Even once life emerged, for three and a half billion years--for three quarters of the span of life of the entire planet--it had been single-celled organisms confined to the seas. If you had been an observer on the ancient Earth, fixed in place at the dawn of time and forced to observe the slow march of geologic time across the surface, then for the overwhelming majority of the world’s history, for a span of time longer than the human mind was capable of understanding on any level, the world had been empty. Barren. Bereft of voices. Bereft of names. Silent provinces, whole nameless countries, continents, cataclysms had come and gone, with no one to see them, no one to name them, no one to record their passage. And only late--in the last five hundred million years or so--had a riot of life burst forth. And only in the last eyeblink, since the retreat of the glaciers, had humans swept across the world to give all these things names and meaning and histories, but of all these places, Antarctica had been empty the longest. And even then, for a long time, we had come and gone as phantoms, she thought; not until the People came did they begin to let their names and their stories sink into the Earth. Not until the People came did anyone call Antarctica home.

She stood there as long as she could stand it--ten minutes, maybe, no more--before making her way back down the slope to the entrance of the fane.

By the time she returned, Leofe was apparently done with her business. She had set up their tent in a sheltered alcove in the passageway, and Katherine was terribly grateful they would at least be out of the wind tonight. They built a small fire on the stone floor, and warmed their hands for a little while, before making dinner, and settling down to bed.

Katherine lay awake that night, listening to the wind howl against the tunnel entrance. It felt wrong, somehow, to try to sleep at the summit of an active volcano. The kind of act of hubris the Greek gods would punish you for.

“Leofe?” she said quietly. “Leofe. Are you asleep?”

“Grnk.”

Katherine rolled over, doing her best not to jostle her bunkmate. She lay there a little longer.

“Hey Leofe. Do you want to come with me in the spring? We can leave together. If you want.”

The wind howled louder.

“Leofe?”

“Hbble.”

Katherine closed her eyes, and did her best to sleep. Her dreams that night were jumbled, and the next morning all that she could remember was that they were filled with fire.

[botanyshitposts]

Wax poetic about Iowa plz

Age 8: 

It’s a weekday morning in the mid-summer and I am outside my uniform house sitting in my uniform driveway in my uniform suburb waiting for my friend across the street to wake up when I suddenly feel a sense of unease so strong I remember it for the rest of my life. For a long time I will be unable to explain it, but I felt incredibly isolated in my own front yard. I feel like I live on the moon. 

Age 10: 

I am fascinated with the idea of the arctic. I want to study wolves. We have an exceptionally rough winter where for one day, it’s colder where I live then it is in Antarctica. 

Iowa is boring. Nothing happens here. 

Age 12: 

My grandmother always gets these nature magazines that she gives me, and they always, always have a picture of a cedar waxwing on the front. It confuses me because they clearly don’t do it on purpose, but I’ve never seen a cedar waxwing in my life where I live in my uniform house in my uniform suburb where things simply do not move during the midday and midnight. The covers always picture the birds sitting in brambles, but where I live the only thing that gets above waist high is the corn and the straggly young trees that line my street, planted by the development, too young to provide any shade from the beating sun. I do not know where the cedar waxwings live, but they certainly do not live where I do. 

Age 14: 

It’s midsummer and my little brother and I enter the cornfield that borders our housing development by stepping over a gap in the barbed wire and making our way past a half-destroyed chicken coop. The corn is taller then we expected it to be and we leave quickly. 

Age 16: 

I am still obsessed with the arctic, and for the first time I realize why: because when I drive to school I pass desolation for miles. 

It’s hard to explain where I live to my friends online. What do I tell them, that it feels like a desert? That there’s miles and miles of nothing between destinations? Because that isn’t entirely true: or at least, it feels like it shouldn’t be true. There is something there- corn, miles of it- but when the corn comes down in winter, I brace the steering wheel against sub-zero winds pushing my mother’s van from side to side. The wind pushes flakes of it in thin rivers between the cornfields, just thin enough to hover over the road and catch the headlights on it’s way to the next field over. There are no trees here to buffer it. There are no cedar waxwings. 

Age 17: 

I tour the University of Iowa’s natural history museum, where I am taught that some 95% of Iowa’s native prairies have been bulldozed for agricultural development. It dawns on me that I do not live in Iowa; the cedar waxwings live in Iowa. I live in the shadow of a nuclear blast. I live in a biopunk sci-fi hellscape where yes, things do grow for miles, and that’s the problem. I live in a liminal space spanning acres large, with cities and towns and uniform suburbs forming oasises in strange, fragmented intervals. I live in the belly of a beautiful and terrible thing.

In my independent botany studies I learn that Iowa was not always as suffocatingly humid as it is during the summer months each year; no, it’s humid because the sheer mass of all the corn transpiring water into the air changes the very weather in which I live. I’m not sure how to digest this. I do not know what I thought I knew. Iowa was not always this harsh and unforgiving. 

Age 18: 

I go to college and for the first time the trees are big enough to shade me when I walk to class. I can bike to a grocery store; I can go places without a car, because there is no corn between me and the next urbanized place. I feel less isolated; there are native flower gardens in central campus and I can’t help but imagine what it must have been like before the corn came. 

There was a time with cedar waxwings building nests in heaps of dry grass and prairie soil. There was a time where the snow fell and stayed where it fell, because the trees and plants buffered the dunes. What a sight that must have been, I think: Iowa in it’s full glory. 

I can’t imagine it. It is too far removed from my home.

[fatehbaz]

Great Lakes during unusually strong “polar vortex” on 19 February 2014

From NASA News:

This image, acquired by the Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer (MODIS) on NASA's Aqua satellite, shows the Great Lakes on February 19, 2014, when ice covered 80.3 percent of the lakes.Image Credit: Jeff Schmaltz, LANCE/EOSDIS MODIS Rapid Response Team, NASA.

At night, as cold settles in, lake ice creaks and groans. It's been excessively cold, and I camped exposed on the snow-swept surface. Other than the lack of vegetation and the sounds at night, you'd never know you were on a lake. It feels like an empty plain. In some places, you see pressure ridges where ice has pushed into itself, sticking up like clear blue stegosaurus plates.  -- Craig Childs

Author Craig Childs is not describing an Arctic lake. He's describing the bitterly cold and frozen scene on Lake Superior, during his February 2014 trek on the ice near the coast of Ashland, Wisconsin.

Zoom out to view the scene from a satellite perspective and it's apparent that Lake Superior is not the only lake to feel the freeze. The true-color image above, from the Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer (MODIS) on NASA's Aqua satellite, shows the mostly frozen state of the Great Lakes on Feb. 19. On that date, ice spanned 80.3 percent of the lakes, according to NOAA's Great Lakes Environmental Research Laboratory in Ann Arbor, Mich.

The ice reached an even greater extent on Feb. 13, when it covered about 88 percent of the Great Lakes – coverage not achieved since 1994, when ice spanned over 90 percent. In addition to this year, ice has covered more than 80 percent of the lakes in only five other years since 1973. The average annual maximum ice extent in that time period is just over 50 percent. The smallest maximum ice cover occurred in 2002, when only 9.5 percent of the lakes froze over.

(End quote.)

I remember this polar vortex vividly for many reasons. [One being that I had a cast on my broken foot - which meant that I couldn’t put boots on to get through the snow and I couldn’t balance properly to navigate through sustained 70 kph winds.] Because it was Antarctica’s summer and because Siberia’s continental climate was protecting it from cold marine air, several locations in the Plains of northern Montana, North Dakota, Alberta, and Saskatchewan achieved notability as “the coldest place(s) on Earth” for a few days.

[spaceexp]

More Glaciers in East Antarctica Are Waking Up

NASA - IceSat-2 Mission patch / NASA - Operation IceBridge patch. Dec. 10, 2018 East Antarctica has the potential to reshape coastlines around the world through sea level rise, but scientists have long considered it more stable than its neighbor, West Antarctica. Now, new detailed NASA maps of ice velocity and elevation show that a group of glaciers spanning one-eighth of East Antarctica’s coast have begun to lose ice over the past decade, hinting at widespread changes in the ocean.

Image above: A group of four glaciers in an area of East Antarctica called Vincennes Bay, west of the massive Totten Glacier, have lowered their surface height by about 9 feet since 2008, hinting at widespread changes in the ocean. The data used for this map is an early version of the NASA MEaSUREs ITS_LIVE project and was produced by Alex Gardner, NASA-JPL. Image Credits: NASA Earth Observatory/Joshua Stevens. In recent years, researchers have warned that Totten Glacier, a behemoth that contains enough ice to raise sea levels by at least 11 feet, appears to be retreating because of warming ocean waters. Now, researchers have found that a group of four glaciers sitting to the west of Totten, plus a handful of smaller glaciers farther east, are also losing ice. "Totten is the biggest glacier in East Antarctica, so it attracts most of the research focus," said Catherine Walker, a glaciologist at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland, who presented her findings at a press conference on Monday at the American Geophysical Union meeting in Washington. "But once you start asking what else is happening in this region, it turns out that other nearby glaciers are responding in a similar way to Totten." For her research, Walker used new maps of ice velocity and surface height elevation that are being created as part of a new NASA project called Inter-mission Time Series of Land Ice Velocity and Elevation, or ITS_LIVE. Researchers with ITS_LIVE will be launching a new initiative in early 2019 to track the movement of the world’s ice, which includes the creation of a 30-year record of satellite observations of changes in the surface elevation of glaciers, ice sheets and ice shelves, and a detailed record of variations in ice velocity starting in 2013. Walker found that four glaciers west of Totten, in an area called Vincennes Bay, have lowered their surface height by about 9 feet since 2008 – before that year, there had been no measured change in elevation for these glaciers. Farther east, a collection of glaciers along the Wilkes Land coast have approximately doubled their rate of lowering since around 2009, and their surface is now going down by about 0.8 feet every year.

Image above: This map shows the flow of the Antarctic ice sheet as measured from the tracking of subtle surface features across millions of Landsat repeat image pairs. The "donut hole" marks the maximum latitude visible by the Landsat satellites. The data used for this map is an early version of the NASA MEaSUREs ITS_LIVE project and was produced by Alex Gardner, NASA-JPL. Image Credits: NASA Earth Observatory/Joshua Stevens. These levels of ice loss are small when compared to those of glaciers in West Antarctica. But still, they speak of nascent and widespread change in East Antarctica. "The change doesn’t seem random; it looks systematic," said Alex Gardner, a glaciologist with NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California, lead of ITS_LIVE and a participant in the press conference. "And that systematic nature hints at underlying ocean influences that have been incredibly strong in West Antarctica. Now we might be finding clear links of the ocean starting to influence East Antarctica." Walker used simulations of ocean temperature from a model and compared them to actual measurements from sensor-tagged marine mammals. She found that recent changes in winds and sea ice have resulted in an increase to the heat delivered by the ocean waters to the glaciers in Wilkes Land and Vincennes Bay. "Those two groups of glaciers drain the two largest subglacial basins in East Antarctica, and both basins are grounded below sea level,” Walker said. "If warm water can get far enough back, it can progressively reach deeper and deeper ice. This would likely speed up glacier melt and acceleration, but we don’t know yet how fast that would happen. Still, that’s why people are looking at these glaciers, because if you start to see them picking up speed, that suggests that things are destabilizing."

Image above: A glacier in East Antarctica, as seen during an Operation IceBridge flight in November 2013. Image Credits: NASA/Michael Studinger. There is a lot of uncertainty about how a warming ocean might affect these glaciers, due to how little explored that remote area of East Antarctica is. The main unknowns have to do with the topography of the bedrock below the ice and the bathymetry (shape) of the ocean floor in front of and below the ice shelves, which govern how ocean waters circulate near the continent and bring ocean heat to the ice front. For example, if it turned out that the terrain beneath the glaciers sloped upward inland of the grounding line –the point where glaciers reach the ocean and begin floating over sea water forming an ice shelf— and featured ridges that provided friction, this configuration would slow down the flow and loss of ice. This type of landscape would also limit the access of warm circumpolar deep ocean waters to the ice front. A much worse scenario for ice loss would be if the bedrock under the glaciers sloped downward inland of the grounding line. In that case, the ice base would get deeper and deeper as the glacier retreated and, as ice calved off, the height of the ice face exposed to the ocean would increase. That would allow for more melt at the front of the glacier and also make the ice cliff more unstable, increasing the rate of iceberg release. This kind of terrain would make it easier for warm circumpolar deep water to reach the ice front, sustaining high melt rates near the grounding line. "Heightened attention needs to be given to these glaciers: We need to better map the topography and we need to better map the bathymetry," Gardner said. "Only then can we be more conclusive in determining whether, if the ocean warms, these glaciers will enter a phase of rapid retreat or stabilize on upstream topographic features." Related Links: NASA’s AGU website: https://www.nasa.gov/topics/earth/agu/index.html NASA’s Earth Portal: https://www.nasa.gov/topics/earth/index.html IceBridge: http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/icebridge/index.html ICESat-2: http://www.nasa.gov/content/goddard/icesat-2 Images (mentioned), Text, Credits: NASA/Sara Blumberg/Earth Science News Team, by Maria-José Viñas. Greetings, Orbiter.ch Full article

[laraehrlich-blog]

Original content owned & copyrighted by Green Global Travel.

Despite R&B legends TLC’s classic admonition not to go chasing them, waterfalls remain among those magical natural features that can put a given destination on millions of people’s world travel bucket lists.

You’ll find waterfalls on every single continent. Countries like many types of waterfalls. can form cascades, horsetails, plunges, cataracts, fans, squares, and even be frozen. Each type is different, and each category has its own superstars when it comes to attracting tourism.

Of course, measuring the biggest waterfalls in the world is complicated. Some of the tallest waterfalls in the world are fed by small streams, with just a tiny sliver of water careening down. Some of the most voluminous falls drop just a few feet. We rarely think of the widest waterfall in the world, but that’s another way of measuring them.

So, when we say “the biggest waterfalls,” how do we judge? Are we talking about the tallest waterfall? The widest waterfall? The largest waterfall in the world by volume? The longest waterfall in the world that free falls? There really is no right or wrong answer… nor are the largest waterfalls always the most impressive to see.

So, in the interest of being as thorough as possible, our list of the largest waterfalls in the world goes far, wide, high, low, and in-between to point out the best waterfalls in the world travelers should visit on each and every continent.

READ MORE: 10 Best in Iceland

THE WORLD’S WATERFALLS

Biggest in Africa

Biggest in Antarctica

Biggest in Asia

Biggest in Australasia

Biggest in Europe

Biggest in North America

Biggest in South America

  WATERFALLS IN AFRICA

Victoria Falls (Photo by otsuka88 courtesy Pixabay)

Inga Falls & Livingstone Falls

Frequently listed among the largest waterfalls in the world, Inga Falls is located in the Democratic Republic of Congo. It’s formed by the Congo River, which is ranked as the ninth longest river in the world.

It’s considered the largest waterfall in the world by volume, moving at a rate of over 900,000 cubic feet per second. But Inga Falls is remarkable for some of its other noteworthy features as well.

Though it drops only 315 feet, Inga Falls is over 9 miles long. It’s also exceptionally wide, with an average width of 3,000 feet and a maximum width of over 2.5 miles! At its widest, the falls separate into hundreds of different channels and rivulets.

Despite the fact that it is regularly designated as the world’s largest waterfall by volume, many consider the majority of it to be nothing more than rapids. It does, however, have one steep drop of around 70 feet, which indisputably makes it a waterfall.

Inga Falls is the site of one of the world’s largest hydroelectric dams. It’s also close to Livingstone Falls, which is often considered the most beautiful part of the Congo River, as well as the second largest waterfall in the world by volume.

READ MORE: The 20 Longest Rivers in the World (By Continent)

Tourists in the Devil’s Pool, Victoria Falls by Ian Restall at en.wikipedia [Public domain], from Wikimedia

Victoria Falls

One of Africa’s top tourist attractions, Victoria Falls is neither the widest or tallest waterfall in the world. But it is sometimes considered the world’s biggest waterfall because it is both tall (354 feet) and wide (5,600 feet), producing the overall biggest sheet of falling water.

Victoria Falls is formed by the Zambezi River, which creates a natural border between Zimbabwe and Zambia. So it is technically located in both countries– Livingstone, Zambia and Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe. The falls are formed when the river lowers in a single drop.

The waterfall is also known locally as Mosi-oa-Tunya, which translates as “the smoke that thunders.” It was named by David Livingstone, the first European believed to have seen the falls, who named it in honor of Queen Victoria. It is preserved as a UNESCO World Heritage Site under both names.

The world-renowned Devil’s Pool is a seemingly precarious place to take a dip at the top of the falls. There are also helicopter rides, bungee jumping, and READ MORE:  The Effect of Mass Tourism (How Overtourism is Destroying Destinations)

Kongou Falls by Lengai101 CC BY-SA 3.0, from Wikimedia Commons

Kongou Falls

One of the most powerful waterfalls in the world, Gabon’s Kongou Falls is over 10,000 feet wide and pushes nearly 32,000 cubic feet of water through per second. It’s formed by the Ivindo River, which also features several other falls. But Kongou is easily its largest.

Kongou Falls is notable for having an unusual configuration, with several different streams, cascades and steps separated by islands. Kongou is really intermingled with the rainforest that surrounds it. Actually, though the waterfall itself is spectacular, it’s this lush surrounding forest that garnered its place on the list.

Part of Ivindo National Park, Kongou Falls is located in what many experts consider to be a modern-day version of the Garden of Eden. Gabon is 85% rainforest and, though accessible, there are few signs of civilization going to and from the falls. This rainforest is home to some the densest populations of forest elephants, chimpanzees, and activists were able to stop the construction.

READ MORE: The 20 Biggest Forests in the World 

Tugela Falls first drop off by Andynct CC BY-SA 4.0, from Wikimedia Commons

Tugela Falls

Located in Tugela Falls has been remeasured and found to be over 100 feet taller than its currently recognized height, but the claim is still awaiting verification. This increase would make it the tallest waterfall in the world, over Venezuela’s Angel Falls (an uninterrupted plunge). Consequently, controversy has brewed regarding which one gets the official title.

Whichever side one chooses in the tallest waterfalls debate, Tugela is remarkable, as is the national park that surrounds it. There are several routes for hiking up to the top of the falls, and it’s easy to spot from the main road of the park during rainy times.

READ MORE: Safari in Londolozi Game Reserve (South Africa)

Local Fishermen in Boyoma Falls/Wagenia Falls by Foto Ad Meskens [Attribution, CC BY-SA 3.0

Stanley/Wagenia/Boyoma Falls

Formerly recognized as Stanley Falls, Boyoma Falls is a cataract waterfall made up of seven relatively short, steep, powerful waterfalls and a series of rapids formed by the Lualaba River in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

The falls spread out over 60 miles, dropping just 200 feet along the way, with the cataracts each being less than 20 feet.

Boyoma Falls ranks as the third biggest waterfall in the world in terms of volume, with all three located in the Congo. While Inga and Livingstone Falls are both formed by the Congo River, Boyoma is formed by the Lualaba, which then joins the Congo.

Boyoma Falls also has one other name, Wagenia Falls, which is what many French-speakers call it. This name derives from local fisherman, called the wagenia, who have developed a unique technique for fishing the falls. They construct wooden tripods over holes carved out by the rapids, where they ensnare large fish in baskets.

READ MORE: Fishing Mobile Bay & the Mobile-Tensaw Delta

  WATERFALL IN ANTARCTICA

Blood Falls, the Creepiest Waterfall in the World, by Peter Rejcek via CC 2.0

Blood Falls

When picturing waterfalls, rarely does Blood Falls, though not quite the vampire’s dream-come-true one might envision, is definitely odd enough to warrant such a name.

Blood Falls is buried under a quarter-mile of ice. Roughly five million years ago, sea levels rose and formed a saltwater lake in eastern Antarctica. Millions of years later, the lake was completely covered by glaciers. When the glaciers scraped the bedrock below, it churned lots of iron into the water.

The salinity of the water continued to rise as the glaciers froze over the lake, and that water became too salty to freeze. Antarctica’s red waterfall began to flow when water seeped through a fissure in the Taylor Glacier.

The  waterfall has never seen the light of day, and it’s completely devoid of oxygen. As a result, when the iron-rich water spills into Lake Bonney, the air causes it to immediately rust and turn red.

Though not necessarily huge on the global scale, Blood Falls is technically the biggest waterfall in Antarctica, and it’s just too weird not to include here. Unfortunately, it can only be reached by cruise ships visiting the Ross Sea or via helicopter from nearby scientific research stations.

READ MORE: Penguins of Antarctica Photo Gallery

  WATERFALLS IN ASIA

Khone Falls, the Widest Waterfall in the World (Photo by Mr. ATM courtesy Flickr via CC 2.0)

Khone Falls

Khone Falls is located in the south reaches of Laos, culminating near the border with China) and Cambodia (and Vietnam). It only tumbles down a total of 69 feet over a collection of cascades and rapids.

Despite its short drop, Khone Falls could technically be considered the world’s biggest waterfall. It’s only fifth in terms of volume, with just over 400,000 cubic feet of water per second. But it averages over 35,000 feet across, which makes it by far the widest waterfall in the world. 

Interestingly, the falls are most readily apparent when the weather is a bit drier. During monsoon season, when the Tonle River becomes Tonle Sap Lake and backs up to the Mekong River, the waterfall basically disappears into little more than a collection of rough currents.

Khone Falls are the home of plabuck, an endangered catfish that grows to be over ten feet long and more than 600 pounds. They’re sometimes considered the largest freshwater fish in the world, though a couple of sturgeon species and a freshwater stingray are actually bigger.

READ MORE: The Pastoral Paradise of Muang Ngoi, Laos

Hannoki Falls & Shomyo Great Falls by I, Kahusi GFDL , CC-BY-SA-3.0

Hannoki Falls & Shomyo Great Falls

Considered twin falls, Hannoki Falls and Shomyo Great Falls are the two tallest waterfalls in Japan.

Technically Hannoki– which boasts a single drop of 1,640 feet– is both the highest of Japan’s waterfalls and the highest waterfall in Asia. But it is seasonal, and only visible from April to July because it is dependent on snowmelt. The tallest permanent waterfall in Japan, Shomyo Great Falls, measures 1,148 feet and occurs in four stages.

These two amazing waterfalls are located side by side. They both flow through the Midagahara Plateau before falling in a V-shape into a single pool that’s around 200 feet across and 20 feet deep.

The finest view of the two waterfalls is said to be from Shomyo Bridge at the Takimi Orchard. The best time to visit the falls is late spring and early summer, when the area’s snowmelt is at its greatest. From November to April, the roads are often closed due to snow.

There are numerous other notable waterfall pairings in Japan. Ginga and Ryusei Falls are also twin falls, known as “the husband and wife waterfall.” Other admirable pairings include Amedaki and Nunobiki Falls, as well as Shiraito and Otodome Falls.

READ MORE: The Beauty of Japan in 15 Fabulous Photos

Thi Lo Su waterfalls, Umphang district, Thailand by Yxejamir CC BY-SA 3.0 or GFDL from Wikimedia

Thi Lo Su Waterfall

Located in northwestern Thailand, Thi Lo Su (or Black) Waterfall is the country’s tallest and largest waterfall. It’s just under 1000 feet high and 1,500 feet wide. While it doesn’t rank as one of the larges, it is considered by many to be amongst the most beautiful waterfalls in the world.

Thi Lo Su Waterfall is located within the Umphang Wildlife Sanctuary, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Bordered by Mae Wong National Park in the east, Thung Yai Naresuan Wildlife Sanctuary in the south, and several READ MORE: The Gibbon Conservation Center in Phuket, Thailand

  WATERFALLS IN AUSTRALASIA

Sutherland Falls, Tallest Falls in Australia (Photo by Department of Conservation via CC 2.0)

Browne Falls & Sutherland Falls

Browne Falls is considered the country’s highest, as well as the 9th tallest waterfall in the world. But this is not without debate: New Zealand’s other highest waterfall is Sutherland Falls.

Browne Falls is part of Fiordland National Park, a land densely populated with waterfalls, but none so high as this one. The falls careens some 2,744 feet before bottoming out in Doubtful Sound. But because it has very little free-falling water, some folks don’t give it its proper due.

On the other hand, Sutherland Falls is significantly shorter– a mere 1,900-plus feet. Even it doesn’t free fall this entire way, but instead uses three distinct steps to make its full descent. It’s highly inaccessible, requiring a 4-day trek along the Milford Track (or a pricy flight) to see it.

Fiordland National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is home to both of these New Zealand waterfalls. The park also offers plenty of READ MORE: Things To Do In New Zealand for Nature Lovers 

WATERFALLS IN EUROPE

Highest Waterfall in Europe – The Vinnufossen Waterfall in Sunndal, Norway by Carl S Bj GFDL or CC BY-SA 3.0

Vinnufallet & Balåifossen

With epic READ MORE: Our Epic Fjords of Norway Road Trip

Cascata delle Marmore, Italy by Fabio Tiberi CC BY-SA 3.0, from Wikimedia Commons

Cascata delle Marmore

Located in Umbria, READ MORE: Le Marche, Italy (A Local’s Favorite Places to Visit)

Iceland’s most popular waterfall – Gullfoss Waterfall via pixabay

Gullfoss

If Norway has the most waterfalls in Europe, golden circle route,” which includes numerous glaciers, tectonic plates, geysers, and a national park.

Gullfoss doesn’t rank amongst the world’s biggest waterfalls, but it’s likely the most voluminous in Iceland. In total, the water only drops 100 feet. However, the falls are truly remarkable in that the double cascade turns the Hvítá River 90 degrees and drops it down into a crevice.

This configuration creates a unique explosion of mist and rainbows, making Gullfoss one of the planet’s most frequently photographed waterfalls.

Gullfoss was once threatened with the possibility of a hydroelectric power plant. At the time the waterfall had private owners, who were renting it to a foreign company.

Legend has it that their daughter threatened to throw herself over the falls in order to save the falls. There’s even a monument to commemorate this decidedly fictitious account.

Nonetheless, Gullfoss was eventually sold to the state of Iceland rather than a power company. Thank goodness! Because it still remains just as gorgeous as ever.

READ MORE: The 10 Best Iceland

Biggest Waterfall in Europe -Rhine Falls via max pixel

Rhine Falls

The largest waterfall in Europe by volume is on the Upper Rhine River in Switzerland.

Though it’s only about 75 feet high, Rhine Falls is nearly 500 feet wide. It allows an enormous amount of water to cascade through, particularly in the summer, when the snow melts in the Alps.

The Rhine Falls are believed to have formed about 14,000 to 17,000 years ago, during the last Ice Age. They were the result of a resilient bedrock of limestone: The falls are divided into two sections due to a pillar-like formation sticking up in the middle of the river.

Rhine Falls is also a big tourist destination in Europe, receiving over a million visitors annually. However, that hasn’t stopped electric companies from fantasizing and pitching hydroelectric power plants. Thankfully, Switzerland has resisted thus far.

READ MORE: The Tallest Mountains in the World

  WATERFALLS IN NORTH AMERICA

Biggest waterfall by volume in the USA- Niagara Falls via pixabay

Niagara Falls

Niagara Falls is exceptionally big– the largest waterfall by volume in the USA and the widest waterfall in Canada. But it is most recognized for being, well, really recognizable.

Over 20 million people a year visit Niagara Falls. It has become a place of legend– the Vegas of waterfalls– replete with weddings, kitschy READ MORE: Visitors Guide to the Finger Lakes (New York)

Tallest seaside cliffs in the world- Moloka’i, Hawaii via pixabay

Olo’upena Falls & Pu’uka’oku Falls

In the United States, Olo’upena Falls is the tallest of Hawaii’s waterfalls, and the fourth highest in the world. Measuring over 2,900 feet high, it is fed by only a small seasonal stream. Consequently, it has a very thin ribbon of water that nosedives off the Haloku Cliffs, which are the tallest seaside cliffs in the world.

Originating from those very same cliffs, Pu’uka’oku Falls is also very tall– over 2,750 feet– earning it the eighth spot on the list of the world’s highest waterfalls. Pu’uka’oku is an older waterfall that has carved away a lot of the volcanic rock upon which it flows. So, unlike the younger falls, it is fairly difficult to see from afar.

Both of these falls are the two tallest waterfalls in the USA– are located on the island of Moloka’i. They are so remote that no hiking trails access them, meaning they can only be seen from the water or from a plane.

The weather can be so intense along these immense cliffs that the coastal winds sometimes stop the falling water, pushing it upwards into a dispersed mist.

READ MORE: 

James Bruce Falls by Klaus Johansson CC BY-SA 4.0 from Wikimedia Commons

James Bruce Falls

Princess Louisa Marine Provincial Park, which is surrounded by snow-tipped granite mountains that rise sharply to around 7,000 feet. James Bruce Falls gushes some 2,755 feet down to the Princess Louisa Inlet.

The falls are named after two parallel streams that originate in snowfields, one of which melts by mid-summer and the other of which remains frozen year-round. Just downstream from the waterfall (which feeds into Loquilts Creek) is the more famous Chatterbox Falls.

Chatterbox Falls empties into the Loquilts River, and is a popular destination for boaters. But it stands a miniscule 120 feet tall and is a large fan waterfall, which means it widens as it drops. It may bot be as big as James Bruce, but its backdrop is incredible.

READ MORE: The Best Canoe Trips (World Travel Bucket List)

  WATERFALLS IN SOUTH AMERICA

Sixth biggest waterfall in the world – Iguazu Falls, Brazil via pixabay

Iguazu Falls

Consuming the border between Iguazu Falls is formed when the Iguazu River flows off the Paraná Plateau. While much of the river’s current is cut up in separate cataracts across the waterfall’s 1.7 miles of edge, about half of the water falls into a tight spot known as the Devil’s Throat. Nearly 3,000 feet of the edge doesn’t have any water flowing over it at all.

The falls occur after the river bends, with most of the river basin (95%) being on the Brazilian side of the border and most of the waterfalls (80%) on the Argentine side. On the Brazilian side, it is part of Iguaçu National Park; in Argentina it is known as Iguazu National Park. Together, these parks are a designated UNESCO World Heritage Site.

In terms of famous waterfalls to visit, this one ranks right up there with Victoria Falls and Niagara Falls. There are actually two international airports located there in order to provide easy access to this wonder of the natural world.

READ MORE: The Top 10 Things to Do in Patagonia

Yumbilla Falls, Peru by Fregopie CC BY-SA 3.0, from Wikimedia Commons

Tres Hermanas & Yumbilla Falls

Tres Hermanas, or “Three Sisters,” measures 2,999 feet high.

Fed by the Cutivireni River, the waterfall gets its name from the fact that Tres Hermanas falls in three different sections. It is located in Otishi National Park in the Junin Province of Peru, in the country’s central southwest region. Tres Hermanas is surrounded by beautiful montane forest.

Peru is also home to the world’s fifth highest waterfall, Yumbilla Falls, which are less than 60 feet shorter than Tres Hermanas. Created by the Utubamba River, Yumbilla drops in four or five (this is somehow up for debate) separate stages. It’s also located in the Andes Mountains, but it is encircled by the READ MORE: Meeting the People of the Amazon Rainforest

Angel Falls in South America, the World’s Tallest (Photo by David Kjelkerud courtesy Flickr via CC 2.0)

Angel Falls

Perched high in the remote mountains of Venezuela, Angel Falls is widely considered the world’s tallest waterfall, stretching the measuring tape some 3,212 feet high.

The remote Venezuela waterfall is located deep in the jungle of Canaima National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The Angle Falls location is perhaps most famous to moviegoers as the inspiration for “Paradise Falls” from the 2009 Pixar movie Up.

For the most part, Angel Falls consists of a single plunge of well over 2,300 feet. That is followed by 1,300-plus feet of sloped cascades that end in another 100-foot drop. At the base, it measures 500 feet across. It empties into Rio Kerepakupai Meru, which is the indigenous name (in 2009, Hugo Chavez declared it as the official name) of the falls.

Angel Falls was named for an American pilot, Jimmy Angel, who landed atop Auyantepui, the tabletop mountain from which the falls descend. His plane was stuck, so he, his wife, and two companions trekked for 11 days before crossing paths with another person. While their discovery now seems fortuitous, the disappointed crew was actually looking for gold.

A trip to visit the falls can be a very complicated affair involving domestic flights, boats, appropriate weather for adequate water levels, and then several hours of hiking. Getting there may sound like an epic quest, but it’s hard to deny that the falls themselves  are pretty epic as well. –Jonathon Engels

WATERFALLS IN THE WORLD FAQ’S

Which is the Highest Waterfall in the world?

Angel Falls, located in Venezuela, is considered the highest waterfall in the world. It measures 3,212 feet high.

What is the Biggest Waterfall in the world?

If by biggest waterfall, we mean the widest waterfall, then Khone Falls is the largest waterfall in the world.  Even thought Khone Falls is only 5th largest waterfall in terms of volume (over 400,000 cubic feet of water per second), its enormous width averaging over 35,000 feet across makes it the widest waterfall in the world. 

What is the Highest Waterfall in India?

Kunchikal Falls is the highest waterfall in India. It is a cascading waterfall that descends 455 meters (1493 feet).

What is the Highest Waterfall in Europe?

The highest waterfall in Europe is Norway’s Vinnufossen Waterfall. It is 860 metres (2,822 ft) high.

What is the Largest Waterfall in Europe? 

The Rhine Falls in Germany has the largest amount of discharge averaging 700,000 liters (184,920 gallons) per second in the summer and 250,ooo liters (66,043 gallons) in winter.

What is the is the Tallest Waterfall in North America?

Yosemite Falls is the tallest waterfall in North America (2,450 feet) and the tallest waterfall in the US. It is the 5th highest in the world

What is the Highest Waterfall in Canada?

The highest waterfall in Canada is Della Falls 440 m (1,440 ft) which is located in British Columbia.

How Tall is Angel Falls?

Angel Falls is 3,212 feet tall.

The post 20 of the World’s Biggest (By Continent) appeared first on Green Global Travel.

[storybycorey]

The Fox Mulder Phonetic Alphabet

Finale posted tomorrow!  

We’ve made it from A-Y, and I know some of you have been waiting for the whole thing to be posted before reading, so thought I’d gather it all together in anticipation of the finale tomorrow at 7 PM!

Each of the letters up to this point have been approx. 200 words, but Z is close to 2700 words, so I promise it will be a satisfying end to our alphabet!

The Fox Mulder Phonetic Alphabet, Letters A-Y

author: @storybycorey

rating: PG-13

wordcount (so far): 4612

A is for Apple

She brings her lunch from home most days.  Well-balanced, just as he’d expect— portions of protein, fruit, and grains—while he grazes a bit less elegantly on a plethora of offerings from the upstairs vending machine.

She packs an apple once, eats it right in front of him.  Red and juicy, but not nearly as red and juicy as her lips, or at least the way he’s imagined her lips to be after nearly seven years of imagining such things.  He wonders whether, if he ever works up the nerve to kiss her, he’ll taste her on his mouth afterwards, the way you taste an apple—tart and sweet and lingering there. 

He realizes he’s staring, goes quickly back to his bag of Funyuns (Onions, Scully! They’re vegetables!). Later, when she throws her apple core in the trash, he feels a sudden urge to retrieve it, as a reminder of things he wants but probably doesn’t deserve to have.

B is for Basketball

She beats him at basketball one day. Unbelievably.  Finds him in the gym one evening after an endless day of seminars. She knows how to find him the way a dog finds its bone—even when he’s buried, even when he’s mangled and chewed-upon and disgusting.  On this day though, he’s none of those things; instead he’s just plain bored.

In her black suit and heels, she stands out like a sharp smear of ink, poignantly distinct amidst the wooden floors and the bleachers. He doesn’t expect a response to his hey Scullz, wanna go one-on-one?, but she lifts her eyebrow in challenge and slips off her blazer.  The tank top hidden beneath is tight and it’s blue (and made of a soft, shiny material his fingers ache to touch). 

He could say he lets her win, but honestly, imagining that mystery material sandwiched between his palm and her skin leaves him much too distracted to pay attention to the game.

C is for Candles

He’ll forever associate candle-light with her pale and trembling back.  With a maroon satin robe and hair that curls up sweetly in the rain (she’d never allow that now). 

Before that night, the only candles he owned were a melted-down cluster from some birthday or another, remnants of a relationship he’d rather forget. He owns an assortment now though, scented and not, but all at the ready should the opportunity arise.  His greatest want is to see the rest of her body lit by that warm, amber glow, to trail his fingertips across more than just her back, to chase the soft shadows around her curves as her breath hitches with desire.

He and the candles are prepared; they’ve been prepared for seven years now. She and her curves and her shadows? He thinks they're getting there. He hopes anyway.

D is for Dana

Her first name is a secretive, foreign thing to him these days.  Scully is Scully—strong, competent, loyal.  But Dana is an enigma.  He catches glimpses of Dana sometimes—a woman, a girl—and he wonders whether she’s fighting to break free.  It saddens him to think he may have stolen that girlish part away from her, filed her inside a metal cabinet down in a basement office like everything else that crosses his path. 

Sometimes he whispers it and it gives him a small thrill, like there’s a hidden part of her he has yet to know.  He imagines saying it intimately, with his mouth pressed to her ear, but can’t decide whether it feels terribly wrong or perfectly, undeniably right. He only know that his lips are ready, should he ever earn the chance to try.

E is for Earrings

He almost buys her earrings once. Foolish, really.  But while waiting for a watch battery to be replaced, he can’t help but browse.  The sapphires would match her eyes so stunningly.  Has he ever seen her in anything but small diamond studs or pearls?  Anything but a business suit or hotel room pajamas?  He wonders whether she likes dressing up, whether she stands before her mirror and admires herself, deciding between this evening gown or that one, holding earrings up next to her cheek.  

He stands at the counter and looks at the earrings for ten minutes, picturing the delicate arc of her neck and the auburn of her hair and those earrings sparkling between.  He’d be lying if he doesn’t also admit to imagining his tongue tracing around them and his teeth scraping against them and the moan he’s sure would slip from her throat while he plays. 

A pushy saleswoman interrupts his thoughts, asks “For your wife?  Girlfriend?”  

He shakes his head, “Neither.”

He leaves with a hard-on and a working watch, but the earrings stay behind for someone with a little more courage.

F is for Friends

They use the term friends sometimes.  Usually it’s partners, occasionally colleagues, coworkers, but really, none of those words does their relationship the slightest bit of justice.  He couldn’t define it to a stranger (should one ask) if he tried.  Hell, he can’t even define it to himself.

How do you define someone so ingrained in your bones, you taste marrow at the back of your throat each time she walks away?  Webster would be hard-pressed to condense that into a single word, he’s sure. Even best friend feels trite and inadequate where Scully’s concerned. She’s not just a friend, not just a partner, not just a lover (even in his most daring of fantasies)—she’s not just anything. 

She’s Scully, and she’s everything.  

G is for Globe

He used to play a game with Samantha.  Spin the Globe it was called.  They played it when their parents were fighting, when they wanted nothing more than to be far, far away.  He tells Scully about it once, when he can tell she can’t get out of her head.  Luckily, amidst the files and slides and mess of the office, he happens to have a globe.

“Spin it, Scully.  Close your eyes and point, and I’ll take you on an adventure wherever your finger lands.”

She rolls her eyes, but plays along, extending her French-tipped fingernail to land upon the spinning globe.  Antarctica. 

“Spin again,” he murmurs quickly, “That one didn’t count,” but she stops him with a hand curled around his like a comma.

“You found me, Mulder.  That was more extraordinary than any adventure.”

H is for Hands

Once on a stakeout, he holds her hand. 

Hours in a darkened car breed strange and wonderful things sometimes—discussions and games that only boredom can inspire.  He tells her he can read palms (he’s lying, of course, but at least it’s something to do), and she scoffs, but then surprisingly offers her hand.  It’s really too dark to see, but he tickles her palm and bullshits his way through, blathering about wealth and fate until her giggle makes his heart stand still.

“According to your palm…,” he says softly, “…true love awaits…as soon as you’re ready.”

She’s silent at first, and he worries he’s ruined things— ruined seven years’ worth of things in the span of a minute. 

But then, in a quiet voice he’s never heard before, she responds, “I’ll be ready… soon.” 

He holds her hand until their shift is over.

I is for Ice Cream

Her favorite ice cream flavor is Mint Chocolate Chip.  He knows this (even though she doesn’t know he knows this), and once, during a rough case, he brings her some. He sneaks from his room after dinner, stops at three different gas stations before finding his prize. Sylvia’s Sundries and Smokes perhaps wouldn’t have been his first choice of establishments, but beggars can’t be choosers where ice cream’s concerned.

Surprise in hand, he knocks on Scully’s door and, with flourish, whips two plastic spoons from his pocket.  The nice thing about it?  She doesn’t even pretend not to want it.  She smiles a shy little smile and invites him in.  They climb up onto her bed where they scoop big whopping spoonfuls right out of the tub.  She’s full after only a few bites but sits with him while he finishes, lays her head on his shoulder. They watch the Late Late Show until it’s late late late, until it isn’t even the same day anymore.

J is for Jacket

Her suit jackets (he supposes they’re probably technically called blazers) have shrunk over the years.  Dana Scully of the plaid and boxy, of the oversized shoulder-pads, is now Dana Scully of the sleek and fitted, of the black and stylish and sexy.   He finds himself tugging his collar from his overheated neck sometimes. More than sometimes.

He wonders when things changed, because he can’t quite place a pin on it, when she went from a woman he loves to a woman he lusts after as well. Or maybe it’s unclear because he’s always done a little of both where Scully’s concerned. 

She left a jacket (blazer, whatever) at his apartment last year and he keeps forgetting to tell her he found it.  It hangs now in his closet next to pairs of pressed dress slacks.  He catches a glimpse of it sometimes, stands there wondering how soon ‘soon’ will come.

K is for Kiss

Back in the 60s, the 70s, when the turn of the millennium seemed ridiculously far away, Fox Mulder fantasized about the future. His comic books predicted: In the year 2000, there will be flying cars, teleportation devices, vacations on the moon and Mars... 

He imagined the party awaiting him on New Year’s Eve, complete with robot wait staff and space-age hors d’oeuvres.  Never would he have guessed he’d actually spend the evening in a hospital corridor, arm in a sling, nary a party nor robot in sight.

They were wrong about more than just the robots though, dead wrong, because not a single one of those comic books predicted this:  In the year 2000, there will be Dana Scully and her flame-red hair, Dana Scully and her skeptical sighs, Dana Scully and the world not ending while she presses her lips to his for the very first time. 

To think that at one time he wanted robots and jetpacks.  It’s laughable really, to have ever wanted anything on this earth (or on the moon, or on Mars) but Dana Katherine Scully.

L is for Lists

He arrives earlier than usual one morning, finds Scully’s open notebook lying flat on the desk. The beginnings of a list, he’s sure.  Scully loves lists. Books to Read, Articles to Write, Times Mulder Has Driven Me Crazy… He hasn’t physically seen that last one, but he’s sure it exists, somewhere in her purse or briefcase, or maybe just hidden away in her head.  

A quick glance confirms his suspicions. Personal Goals.  

He’s taken aback; he’d expected something trivial. Pros and Cons of Sunflower Seeds perhaps, but this…

He stalls, waits a minute, maybe two, but in the end is much too intrigued not to peek.  

1. Call Mom more often

2. Reach out to Bill

3. Volunteer at the church

They’re all so wonderfully Scully.  He’s not sure what else he expected.  Curiosity satisfied, he’s about to turn away when:

15. Stop being afraid of my feelings

and below that:

16. Mulder

He stands stunned. He’s joked about appearing on Scully’s lists, but never like this, never as #16, never as a personal goal.  

He makes a list himself that night, condenses every one of his own goals down into just six letters.

1. Scully

2. Scully

3. Scully…

372. Scully…

1049. Scully…

He types her name until dawn has broken, until the printed ‘S’ has all but disappeared off his keyboard.

M is for Maybe

Maybe tomorrow’s the day.  He’ll toss her an innuendo, and instead of just catching it, she’ll throw one back herself.

The sun’ll come out tomorrow, isn’t that how the song goes?  Good things happen in the darkness, too, though—cemetery downpours, X-marked stretches of highway where her hair grows wavy from the rain. He and Scully manage just fine with no sun at all; they thrive in the darkness, no matter what the song says.

He packs up his things on a Friday afternoon, grabs his coat and offers his usual weekend farewell. But instead of Have a nice weekend, Mulder, she stops him, hand to his forearm, “It’s supposed to be beautiful tomorrow… Do you wanna… Maybe...”

Her cheeks are pink as she ducks her chin to her chest, and it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yeah,” he interrupts quickly, “Yeah, I do.”   He’s a bit too enthusiastic probably, but maybe tomorrows don’t actually happen that often for him on Friday afternoons.  

She smiles, cheeks still flushed, “Okay, then.  Tomorrow...”

On his way out the door he finds himself humming. Maybe the forecast for tomorrow is sunny after all, and not just because a little orphan girl told him so.

N is for No

He's scared of the word no, its finality. No, Mulder, it would never work. No, Mulder, we’re better as friends. No, Mulder, I don’t love… The word no could mean the end of everything. Of all he's seen, how absurd that two small letters could paralyze him like that. 

He walks through Violent Crimes once, overhears Scully talking to another agent from across the room. Rick Channing could be a television news anchor—hair coiffed and teeth so white they sparkle.

Mulder rolls his eyes. Scully doesn’t roll her eyes though; instead, she smiles as they talk.  She giggles.  Bile rises in his throat.

No, Mulder, I’ve fallen for someone else…

He should leave, but Channing’s next words stop him cold. “How about drinks, Dana? Maybe dinner?”  

She blushes, flustered, before scanning the room, eyes finding Mulder’s despite the way he hides halfway behind a partition.  

“Thank you, Rick, but no. I’m already…”  She smiles gently at him—him Mulder, not him Rick— “No,” she says again, then excuses herself down the hall.  

He stands there, rooted in place, decides no is the most beautiful word he’s ever heard.

O is for Opal

His birthstone is opal.  Not that he’d ever have cared, but one Christmas, he and Samantha received birthstone gifts—a topaz necklace for Sam and an opal-inlaid pocketknife for him. He still has that pocketknife, has rubbed his thumb across the smooth, cool handle countless times over the years.

Scully’s skin reminds him of that handle—the soft blue of her veins beneath translucent pink skin. She glows. He knows she’d scoff if he told her that, tell him human beings can’t glow, don’t be ridiculous. But she does—she glows just like an opal.

The pearly finish of his pocketknife is worn-down and soft by now, but her skin, he knows, is infinitely softer.  Her hand, her cheek—the safe parts of her body he’s been allowed to touch—they don’t even compare to the decades-old trinket.  He can’t imagine how much softer the more dangerous parts of her body must be.  The thought keeps him up at night, much more consistently than his nightmares do.

P is for Plum

Scully goes on kicks sometimes—bee pollen, yogurt, one month she sprinkled wheat germ into everything she got her hands on, his coffee included.

Fresh fruit is her latest. Oranges, nectarines, plums, oh, plums. There’s no neat way to eat a plum, though she tries, napkin laid out beneath her at the desk. The juice though. Drippy and sticky on her chin—his eyes try their best not to ogle, but usually fail.  

She walks around sometimes, cupping a hand to catch the drips, and once, as she reaches across his body for a book, a drop splashes directly onto his forearm.

“Sorry!” she exclaims, quickly swiping at his skin with her thumb.  How that same thumb winds up being sucked between his lips is a mystery, though probably has something to do with the way he acts sometimes before thinking. His tongue traces the sweetened ridges of her thumbprint as she chokes out a gasp, half-eaten plum forgotten.  

“No takebacks, Scully,” he mumbles as a joke, trying to laugh it off as he comes to his senses and releases her. Her cheeks stay pink for a good twenty minutes after that, and parts of him stay hard for an even better twenty beyond that.

Q is for Quest

This job of theirs, it’s more than a job.  More than a career path.  It’s a downright quest.  

He feels a bit like Don Quixote at times, Scully his faithful Sancho Panza, the two of them out there dreaming the impossible dream, fighting the unbeatable foe. There’s a sort of nobility to what they do, and he likes that.  

Sometimes though, he wonders whether the aliens are really windmills, whether the consortium is nothing but a barber’s basin balanced on his much too gullible head. Whether Scully is not Sancho, but Dulcinea— out-of-reach and much too beautiful for his files and his basement, his second-hand coffee table and his worn leather couch.  

He sometimes can’t believe she’s still here, chasing windmills, slaying bad guys, at times even taking the time to clean out his fridge. She deserves the most elegant of thrones, yet sits happily beside him on that old leather couch, Monday nights, Tuesday nights, sometimes even weekends.  It astounds him really.  

And when she nudges his knee with her own, smiles at him with that smile that makes him think soon isn’t so far away, that’s when he really believes—that being with her is not such an impossible dream after all.

R is for Rebel

Dana Scully is a rebel.  She tries to hide it, acts all prim and proper, but beneath her stern, pursed lips and buttoned-up suits, there’s a troublemaker lurking.  It’s what endeared him to her on their very first case, the way she laughed with him in the rain, the way, regardless of her orders, she listened to him and formed her own opinion.

He sees glimpses of that rebel from time to time, when she scarfs down pizza in a Motel 6 despite her no-carb diet, when she gets that gleam in her eye as they sneak onto restricted government property.

His favorite bit of rebelliousness though is her new stance on hotel-room consorting. They’ve fallen into a routine lately, of watching movies together on polyester bedspreads, of dropping off before the credits roll, of pretending I’m too tired to go back to my room is a perfectly reasonable and acceptable excuse to stay.  

Each time it happens, the morning sun finds them a bit closer together than the last— hands touching, next toes and shins, most recently her hair brushed his cheek as she snuggled against the pillow.

His rumpled, sleepy little rebel.  She’s a rebel on her own terms though, he knows this. And he’s being as patient as he can be.

S is for Sexy

She’s sexy, unbelievably so. It took him a while to admit that to himself.  For the longest time, he blamed his body’s reaction to her on their constant proximity, her perfume, the fact that he was suffering a longer-than-usual dry spell… But no, what it really comes down to is that Dana Katherine Scully is sexy as hell.

Even back in the beginning, when her suits hid her body and her hair did that swoop-y sort of thing up near the front.  Even in the middle, when she was thinner than she should’ve been, when cancer stole her color but didn’t steal her soul. And then there’s today. Today when there’s no mistaking the black lace of her lingerie each time she leans across the desk, not two but three buttons undone at her clavicle. Today when she murmurs thoughtfully, “I think you may be right, Mulder,” tongue wetting her lips as she reads aloud from his book on mystical apparitions.

What really gets him though, is that despite her hair or her lips or even her lingerie, the sexiest part of her isn’t on the outside at all; it’s what lies beneath—that intangible something that makes her Scully. That’s the part he fell in love with, shoulder pads and all.

T is for Toes

She’s got cute little toes.  She’s got cute little everything really, but her toes are especially cute, pale pink polish adorning each one.  She sits one night, curled on his couch, those cute little toes just inches from his leg.

“Wanna stretch out?” he asks, patting his thighs, and amazingly, within seconds, there are two small feet lying warm in his lap.

He gives them a tickle, but she kicks at his hand. He tries again, this time pressing a thumb to her arch. No kick, only an appreciative hum.  It’s all the encouragement he needs. He begins massaging in earnest.  

Her eyes slip shut, her head tilts back, a low groan rumbles from her throat. He massages her cute little toes for an hour, counts each contented sigh that slips from her lips (thirty-four to be exact). The movie they’d been watching fades slowly to black, and she ends things finally, with a shy, quiet chuckle and an I should probably get going.  

As she heads down the hall, he jokes from his doorway, “The masseuse is available every night, double sessions on weekends…”

She rewards him with an arched brow, murmuring, “Careful, I may just take you up on that…” before stepping onto the elevator.

U is for Umpteen

“Umpteen’s not a word, Mulder,” she tells him, eyes rolling, “It has no specified value.”  

She’s got a point of course.  They don’t have umpteen case summaries to submit; they have twelve.  But umpteen is most definitely a word.  

Umpteen’s how many times he’s forgotten his point because her lips are too distracting.  Umpteen’s how many fantasies he’s had about sliding his hands through her hair.  Umpteen’s how many times she’s walked out the door, how many times he’s kept from going after her, how many times he’s sat in his car beneath her window and longed for her with a ferocity that scares him shitless. Umpteen’s how many times he’s wanted to kiss her.  It’s also how many times he hasn’t…

He chuckles, dipping his chin, “You’re right, Scully. We’ve got twelve summaries to do, not umpteen...”

Umpteen is how many times he’s said her name, it’s how many times what he’s really wanted to say was I love you.

V is for Volume

They fight over the volume control in cars. He likes louder, she likes softer (I can’t think over the noise she says).  He usually lets her win. 

Their relationship has its own volume control, he’s realized.  There are times when it’s loud, blaring even, arguments at every turn.  Other times it’s low—murmurs in a conference room, end of the day farewells in a darkened parking garage. Mostly it’s somewhere between.  They talk and they banter and they discuss, in basements, in rental cars, in random police stations across America. 

Sometimes though, lately especially, she lowers the dial even further, turns it all the way over to the left.  Soft.  The very softest. His name on her lips those rare times he holds her. Her blush and shy murmured stop when he pays her a compliment. The slight gasp he feels more than hears when his fingertips brush over her arm, her cheek, the curve of her hip.

It makes him want to do away with loud altogether, to turn off the music and the voices and the noise and listen only to the sound of her breathing, to tell her "It's quiet now, Scully. I’m ready when you are."

W is for Wristwatch

This job has done a number on his wardrobe.  Jackets, slacks, shoes—all gone the way of the incinerator—either damaged beyond acceptable FBI standards or outright destroyed.  Scully’s hasn’t fared much better (she still pouts over a favorite pair of heels ruined two years ago). All part of the territory, he reasons.

His shattered wristwatch on a recent case was a blow though; he loved that watch.  

There’s a package on his desk the day after, wrapped so precisely, he needn’t even guess whom it’s from.  

“Scully,” he protests, but she stops him.

“Just open it, Mulder.”

It’s a watch—of course it’s a watch—a beautiful one, silver links and a detailed, intricate face. “You didn’t need—” he begins, but she interrupts him again.  

“It was my father’s,” she states matter-of-factly, but then her voice softens, “I’ve held onto it since… Here, let me.” She takes the watch, fastens it around his wrist. There are tears in her eyes.

“It looks good,” she whispers, “It brings out your… It looks nice—you’ve got nice forearms, Mulder, and this accentuates—”

He takes hold of her hand, gives it a squeeze until she meets his eyes.  “Thank you,” he tells her, “I love it.”  

There’s no way this watch lands in the incinerator. He’ll protect it with his life if he has to.

X is for X-Files

The basement office often feels more like home to him than home does.  It’s his secret hideaway, and despite the odds, he thinks it’s become hers, too.  They’ve created their own little world down here—a cozy, paranormal universe—and Scully’s as much a part of that universe as he is.

She shines like the sun, trails glittery stardust behind her like a comet. His beautiful, perplexing riddle of a partner.  It’s funny really, but despite the hundreds of files that surround them, Scully remains his biggest mystery.  She’s the very definition of an X-File.  It floors him that she chooses this life, that she’s willing to be his sun, his moon, his whole damn galaxy, day after day after day.

There was a time he couldn’t have imagined not seeking the truth.  These days though? These days he’s beginning to believe he’s been searching in all the wrong places.  

The truth can’t be found in Bellefleur, Oregon or in Kroner, Kansas, in forests or in sewers or in fields.  The truth—the real truth— exists in ink-blue eyes and rosebud lips, in the skeptical arch of an eyebrow and the soft, shy murmur of his name.

It exists right down here in the basement office, sitting not two feet across the desk from him.

Y is for Yawn

She yawns as he speaks, but it doesn’t bother him. Things feel sleepy—dreamy— tonight.

It’s been an odd few days apart from one another, he across the pond and she…He’s not even sure what she’s been doing, doesn’t know that he wants to.  All he knows is that she’s here, now, pressed to his side and yawning, proving to him once again how fate works.

It’s hard not to babble when he feels this good; he’s drunk on the smell of her, on the heaviness of her thigh pressed to his.

“And that says a lot… a lot, a lot, a lot…” Babbling, more babbling, until he feels the smallest, sweetest weight at his shoulder, sees lashes splayed softly against warm, flushed cheeks. The perfection of the moment strikes him, of her here on his couch instead of in a hospital room, instead of in a temple, instead of anywhere else she could be at this point in her life.  

He touches her hair—he can’t bear not to—covers her with a blanket to keep away the chill.  Allowing himself one last glance, he counts slowly to ten (slowly, so slowly), before making his own sleepy way to the bedroom.

Z posted tomorrow night (9/25) at 7PM EST!

[sciencespies]

A network of hidden lakes has been found under the surface of Mars, scientists say

https://sciencespies.com/space/a-network-of-hidden-lakes-has-been-found-under-the-surface-of-mars-scientists-say/

A network of hidden lakes has been found under the surface of Mars, scientists say

The surface of Mars is renowned for its aridity. The entire planet is a dusty, barren desert – a wasteland of rock and, in some regions, ice; but of liquid water, not a confirmed drop has been found.

But in 2018, scientists unveiled a bombshell discovery – they’d found evidence of a colossal underground reservoir of liquid water at the Martian south pole.

Now, they’ve taken that discovery a crucial step forward. There’s not one, but an entire network of multiple lakes under the southern polar ice cap. And that means that the first reservoir was not a one-off or a freak of Martian nature.

“The existence of a single subglacial lake could be attributed to ad-hoc conditions such as the presence of a volcano under the ice sheet, or some other situation unique to the specific location where we found the first subglacial lake,” explained geophysicist Elena Pettinelli of Roma Tre University in Italy to ScienceAlert. She led the research alongside colleague Sebastian Emanuel Lauro.

“The discovery of an entire system of lakes instead, suggests their formation process to be relatively simple and possibly common.”

The first subglacial lake was announced just over two years ago. It was discovered using the Mars Advanced Radar for Subsurface and Ionosphere Sounding (MARSIS) instrument on the Mars Express orbiter.

This uses the same technique we use to find subglacial lakes in Antarctica – bouncing radio waves off a surface and measuring the echoes, looking for changes in the signal to characterise a topography.

These radar sounding investigations initially revealed a single subglacial lake 1.5 kilometres (0.93 miles) under the southern polar ice cap, measuring 20 kilometres (12.4 miles) across.

“Some types of material reflect radar signals better than others, and liquid water is one of those ‘materials’,” one of the researchers, planetary scientist Graziella Caparelli of the University of Southern Queensland in Australia, told ScienceAlert.

“Therefore, when the signals coming from the subsurface are stronger than those reflected by the surface, we can confirm that we are in the presence of liquid water. Radars are used on Earth (where we can directly verify the results) for the same purpose, so we are certain that the technique is reliable.”

Since then, the team has performed more investigations on a dataset spanning almost a decade, from 2010 and 2019. And, in a new analysis of those data, they found three new brightly reflecting patches.

In other words, a network of subglacial lakes separated by regions of dry stone, hidden away under the south pole, not far from that initial lake.

Map of the radar data. Blue regions are highly reflective, indicating liquid water. (Lauro et al., Nature Astronomy, 2020)

“In a terrestrial subglacial environment such strong reflections below the ice are associated with the presence of basal water; there are no other physical mechanisms that can generate such a strong anomaly, as far as we know,” Pettinelli said.

“Importantly, we have obtained the same results using more advanced data processing and analysis methods than for our 2018 paper, and the fact that, having run such a rigorous data analysis process, we confirmed the presence of that lake, and found other lakes, makes us quite confident about our interpretation that the liquid is water.”

Moreover, if it is liquid water, it’s likely salty water. Extremely salty water. Mars, you see, is very cold, and even though the interior is warmer than the surface, it’s still cold enough to freeze fresh water. In 2018, the team estimated that the lake they found would be around 205 Kelvin (-68.15 degrees Celsius, or -90.67 degrees Fahrenheit).

But salt lowers the freezing point of water, and can do quite significantly. As the team note in their paper, water imbued with salts of calcium and magnesium can remain liquid at temperatures as low as 150 Kelvin, for very long periods of time. And Mars, as we know from exploring the surface, is rich in salts of calcium and magnesium, as well as sodium.

So the discovery of additional salty subglacial lakes is very significant. It means that they can form easily and hang around for geological timescales – which is an important piece in the longstanding puzzle of Mars’ water and climate history. And it also has important implications in the search for Mars microbes.

“These lakes have probably existed for much of Mars’ history,” said planetary scientist Roberto Orosei of the National Institute for Astrophysics in Italy, and principal investigator for MARSIS.

“For this reason, they could still retain traces of any life forms that could have evolved when Mars had a dense atmosphere, a milder climate and the presence of liquid water on the surface, similar to the early Earth.”

It’s possible, even, that microbial life may still be thriving in those lakes.

We know that such can live in some of the most salty, inhospitable places Earth has to offer, as well as subglacial reservoirs. Of course, we’re a very, very long way from making such a detection, and studying Mars water up close may contravene the 1967 Outer Space Treaty. But it’s worth thinking about.

The next step the team is taking is to search for water elsewhere on Mars. It’s unclear whether underground reservoirs could exist at lower latitudes, but the north pole has a hefty ice cap of its own.

“It is not implausible that basal lakes also exist beneath the north polar ice cap,” Caparelli said.

“Data analysis of a few data acquired in the same way we acquired those that allowed us to ‘see’ the south polar subglacial lakes has only just begun, however.”

So we’ll be eagerly awaiting to see those results when the team has analysed them. Meanwhile, in an ideal world, Pettinelli would love to send up landers to conduct seismic monitoring to plumb the depths of those reservoirs.

“Active seismic prospecting techniques such as those commonly used on Earth to discover oil reservoirs would be best and have been used in Antarctica to detect the bottom of the lakes. These techniques could shed light on the water depth and the geometry of the water bodies,” she told ScienceAlert.

However, as Mars landers are difficult and expensive, and the seismic monitors would be challenging to set up, we may be waiting a long time for that one.

The research has been published in Nature Astronomy.

#Space

[megacircuit9universe]

_ _ . _

 Locomotives... freight trains... the backbone of modern civilization... have existed now in every country, on every continent (except Antarctica) for over a century.

Railroads are not only responsible for the development of time zones, to establish a global clock, but also the telegraph... that early precursor to telephone, radio, and internet networks that now span the globe.

Of course, the telegraph would have been useless without Morse Code, the first ever binary method of communication, employing dots and dashes... the precursors to the zeros and ones of the digital age.  

Morse code quickly became an international standard (still in use today) for not only hard wired telegraphic communication between railroad stations, but later, radio telegraphy for ships at sea.

At any rate, if you live in the United States... as well as any other nation that was once part of the British Empire... and many others that weren’t... you’ll notice to this day, that as a train (whether commuter or freight) approaches a grade level crossing with a road... it always sounds the horn with the same warning sequence...

...long... long... short... long.

Dash, dash, dot, dash.

Morse code for the letter Q.

Every distant, romantic train horn you’ve ever heard... has been a sonic representation of the letter Q.  And it’s been that way since before the Civil War.

More than this, as early as 1913 (Pre WW1) an international standard for radio telegraph was developed... of Q-codes. Twelve, three-letter codes, in Morse code, all beginning with the letter Q... to facilitate “queries,” ship to ship, or ship to port.

For example:  

QRB - What is your distance?

QRG - What line do you belong to?

QRJ - How many words do you have to send?

QRK - do you recieve me?

These are still used today, including by ham radio operators, and the Q codes are the reason why no national or international ID call sign can begin with Q.  It’s a sacred letter, in morse code.

Why?  Well... I’ll get to that soon, but first we need to address how the Q-anon movement explains why this aphabetical letter, emblematic of their model... is the one sonically transmitted to every back yard in America by distant freight trains day and night.

Are the locomotive engineers in on the truth?  Are they blasting the letter Q in morse code throughout the land, day and night, as a signal for those who know the truth to keep the faith and stay strong in the face of adversity?

Or did the agent known as Q, who began the movement, pick this letter because of it’s sacred history in signal intelligence? 

Probably both, right?

Well... if you do a word search on Wikipedia’s extensive Q-anon entry, for either, “Q code,” or, “Q signal,” you turn up... nothing.

Try it.

Nothing.

The agent purporting to be a deep state mole... who chose to call himself Q... doing his level best to establish maximum noteriety among the general populace, for the sake of exposing a dark truth about the inner workings of our government and society... 

...did, and does not know that train horns broadcast the letter Q, in the open air, every day, everywhere in the nation... AND... neither do ANY of his followers online... themselves, purporting to be deep net, tech savvy super sleuths.

Let this sink in...

A purported deep state insider... who is definitely NOT a conspiracy theorist... talking to an audience of tech savvy super sleuths who are definitely NOT conspiracy theorists... failed UTTERLY for some four years now... to capitalize on the fact that the trains themselves... broadcast their code-letter every day.

Not only did they fail to capitalize on it... they failed utterly to acknowledge this was a thing.  Not just the train crossing signal, but the many Q-codes that have been used in ham radio transmissions for the past century.

I thought Q was a signal intelligence agent... or at least, an agent who had some cursory knowledge of basic sigint 101.  I thought his followers were tech savvy denizens of the deep net... or at least, people who had some cursory knowledge of sigint 101.

He’s not, and they don’t.

How did I find out the SECRET of trains broadcasting the letter Q in morse code?..

...A tour guide at the local trolley museum told the whole group as part of his spiel, as we rode on the trolley one Sunday afternoon.

Being as the British invented the locomotive, in the Victorian era, they chose the letter Q for the train horns to sound before grade crossings... because it stood for, “Queen.”

The Brits also developed the origina Q-codes for radio telegraphy... in that case preserving the Q for Queen, but having it do double duty as the signal for “querry,” or “question.”

Imagine if Q-anon had ever been sharp enough to even say, Q is our emblem, because it has a hallowed history, for over a century in signal intelligence, and it stands for, question.  Question what the media is telling you!

But no... they’ve never come anywhere close to saying that in four years, because they were never bright enough to connect those very obvious dots... and dashes.  

Insiders, with secret insights... who have no clue what morse code is... and no idea about the public, and easily researched, history of the letter Q, and it’s sacred place in the history of telegraphy, radiography, and, by an unbroken line of inheritance, the world wide web.

Imagine being that stupid.

-----------------

There’s only a short list of “cool” letters in the alphabet...

Q, V, X, and Z.

Our Agent Q, appears to have picked his letter at random, among those four... without any appreciation for how he could use it to bolster his credibility... because he didn’t know that he could.

Can Agent X claim the trains are transmitting his symbol to the masses?  No.  Can Agent V, or Agent Z?  No!

Q could have, but did not... because he’s an idiot, without the first clue about signal intelligence, much less anything else.

Oh, but no!  Maybe Q did pick this letter, but did not boast of it, so that people could figure it out for themselves, or absorb it unconsciously via train horns!

Firstly, nobody’s making that argument, because nobody knows I’m attacking them on this front, but secondly... if even a single one of his followers had any brains at all in their heads... this issue would have come up in four years.  

Secondly, nobody knows Morse code anymore, so nobody would unconsciously connect the train crossing signals to the letter Q and therefore be more open to hearing the message of a truth teller named Q on the internet.

This is all that is needed to debunk Q-anon forever.

I’m sorry.

No need to delve into all the convoluted contortions of their neverending conspiracy at all.  

The fact is... if you claim to have deep state knowledge, or be a deep web denizen of truth... and yet you have ZERO CLUE about the significance of the letter Q in the history of signal intelligence... and how it’s still used very publicly in the modern day?..

You’re a total fraud, and everything you believe about yourself or the world around you is a whole-cloth, fabricated lie.

You may believe what you will of my own weird model of reality, with it’s aliens, time travelers, AI, and collective unconscious... but I’m not out here trolling for any attention (this blog is private)... and my shit is based on observation and science.

It’s subject to revision, pending new information.

It’s a model.

Q-anon is not a model.  It’s reckless propoganda, aimed at the ignorant, to distract them from reality... in order to get them to vote against their own interests.

My model might be crazy... but it is just a model.  And it’s not one I’ve ever publicized.  It’s honest speculation for it’s own sake... in a vacuum.

But we are two months away from the most important election in American history so... I felt I needed to take down Q-anon, for what it’s worth... on the level of the collective unconscious... which is admittedly very weak, but... whatever.

It’s time for bed.

[dino-sours]

Live-tweeting Walking with Dinosaurs (part 1)

Yesterday I took at look at the original Walking with Dinosaurs series for the first time in awhile and attempted to live-tweet it. Result is reproduced here, if there’s any interest.

I’m going to rewatch the 1999 Walking with Dinosaurs series (its been a few years) and attempt to live-tweet. Ignore, mute, or follow...you’ve been warned!

Impetus behind this was seeing a couple clips and getting the feeling that WWD was very different from the many, many imitators that have been produced over the years.

I’ve long since stopped keeping track of all the new edutainment/natural drama dinosaur shows (they’re never any good). But my impression is that newer ones are mostly about the animals’ appearance and alleged behavior and not much else.

My thesis going in is that WWD is more of an all-encompassing natural history, which is (to me) much more interesting!

Also I’m going to take this on with the eye of an educator, not a dinosaur anatomy specialist. Others are far more qualified at the latter.

How does this series communicate important ideas about paleontology, evolution, and ecology to nonspecialists? What does it emphasize? What does it gloss over?

Was hoping to watch on my laptop so I could take screenshots easily. Windows media player is useless so apparently that is not happening.

Ok, back on track. This a cool opening.

My understanding is that this is just about the opposite of what the Chinle Formation ecology looked like.

Chinle Formation spans nearly 20 million years. Generally a transition from wetland/delta to more arid environment. 220 mya would be the Blue Mesa Member, which is on the earlier, wetter end of the spectrum! For more info, see Irmis 2005: http://ist-socrates.berkeley.edu/~irmisr/chinlerev.pdf 

Mural at the Petrified Forest National Park visitor center gives a better impression of what this environment should look like.

Placerias introduced as an "ancient kind of reptile." Use of "reptile" is unfortunate, but *sometimes* it's not worth tying oneself into knots to use group names correctly, when the goal is succinctness and clarity.

No pterosaurs or cynodonts have been found in the Chinle and (I think) Triassic North America as a whole. Peteinosaurus is imported from Italy and Thrinaxodon from South Africa and Antarctica.

This is an interesting problem. Is the goal here to accurately (to the best of our knowledge in 1999) depict an ecosystem that existed at a particular time and place? Or is it to showcase the broader evolutionary and ecological trends of the late Triassic?

This first episode seems to be doing the latter. Importing animals, fudging environmental details for the sake of the narrative: dinosaurs (and cynodonts) have innovative adaptations that give them an edge over other, older lineages.

An important question: is the "dinosaurs had innovative adaptations to outcompete other Triassic animals" even correct? I remember reading that might be vastly overstating what was mostly luck.

Here's the first of our egregiously oversized beasties: a 6 meter (20 foot) Postosuchus. "The largest carnivore on Earth" because phytosaurs apparently don't exist in this universe.

Geez this cynodont is like five times bigger than it should be

Turns out the cynodont was inspired by a very large "indeterminate traversodontid" toorhth from the Chinle. Now called Kraterokheirodon and may not even be an amniote.http://chinleana.fieldofscience.com/2009/09/enigmatic-triassic-taxa.html

The peeing Postosuchus inspired a Guardian article about the series' mixing of fact with plausible (sometimes implausible) speculation. As presented, impossible for viewers to separate the two. https://www.theguardian.com/uk/1999/oct/10/robinmckie.theobserver …

Thrinraxodon parents eat their own young: pulling no punches to show that nature is horrifying. Newer paleo-edutainment shows seem sanitized by comparison...

Cool how visuals mirror the theme/narrative. One dinosaur on screen early on, by the end of the episode there are swarms of them. Composition and drama are shaping up to be a strong point with this series.

Plateosaurus shows up on the wrong side of the world, 10 million years early, and three times bigger than it should be.

And that's the end of episode 1! Fascinating that events of episode (dominant Postosuchus dies, Placerias migrate away, Coelophysis survive drought) mirror the larger evolutionary narrative (as presented) of dinosaurs gradually taking over most large animal niches.

So filmmakers weren't just presenting a day in the life of Triassic animals...it's *allegorical* day in the life that represents the overall thrust of evolutionary history.

[wigmund]

From NASA Earth Observatory Image of the Day; January 25, 2018:

Glacial Retreat at a Non-glacial Pace

Not every glacier on the South Patagonian Icefield has a memorable name like Spegazzimi or Ofhidro. Some flowing bodies of ice are identified simply with the prefix HPS (Hielo Patagónico Sur, which is Spanish for “Southern Patagonian Icefield”) followed by an identifying number.

HPS-12 is one such glacier. Although its name is unassuming, the changes happening here are notable.

Glaciers are thinning and retreating all over the South Patagonian Icefield. Spanning about 13,000 square kilometers across Chile and Argentina, it is the largest contiguous icefield in the southern hemisphere outside of Antarctica. But researchers have noted that “most of the glaciers of the icefield are decaying, with several undergoing ‘catastrophic’ retreat.” HPS-12, located on the western side of the icefield in Chile, has lost about half of its length in three decades.

The change is visible in these false-color images. The first was acquired on January 27, 1985, by the Thematic Mapper on the Landsat 5 satellite; the second was acquired on February 4, 2017, by the Operational Land Imager (OLI) on Landsat 8. Turn on the image comparison tool to see the front of the glacier—its terminus—retreat by about 13 kilometers.

The images combine shortwave-infrared, near-infrared, and green portions of the electromagnetic spectrum. This combination of wavelengths typically makes snow and ice appear cyan and light blue, vegetation as green, and open water as dark blue. These colors have been modified to simulate a more natural appearance so that snow and ice remain white.

In 1985, HPS-12 measured 26 kilometers long. The retreat accelerated in the late 1990s, and by 2015, three glaciers that fed into HPS-12 from the sides were cut off. The retreat—combined with some of the most extensive thinning on the icefield—created new areas of open water in the fjord (dark blue) and exposed rocky fjord walls (brown). By 2017, the glacier was less than 13 kilometers long. According to Mauri Pelto, a glaciologist who wrote about HPS-12 on his blog, “this retreat along with Jorge Montt is the largest in Chile in the last 30 years.”

References and Related Reading

AGU Blogosphere: From a Glacier’s Perspective (2017, November 15) HPS-12, Chile Spectacular 13 km retreat 1985-2017. Accessed January 24, 2018.

NASA Earth Observatory (2017, June 28) South Patagonian Icefield.

Rignot, E. et al. (2003) Contribution of the Patagonia Icefields of South America to Sea Level Rise. Science, 302 (5644), 434-437.

Willis, M. et al. (2012) Ice loss from the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, South America, between 2000 and 2012. The Cryosphere, 39 (17).

NASA Earth Observatory images by Joshua Stevens, using Landsat data from the U.S. Geological Survey. Story by Kathryn Hansen. Instrument(s): Landsat 5 - TM; Landsat 8 - OLI