"...Life was like baseball, filled with loss and error, with bad hops and wild pitches, a game in which even champions lost almost as much as they won, and even the best hitters were put out seventy percent of the time. Coyote was right to want to wipe it out, to call the whole sad thing on account of darkness."

— Michael Chabon, Summerland
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Maybe today, maybe three decades gone, you've had the pleasure of experiencing a sunrise of sunrises or a sunset of sunsets. You know the ones. They mark the start or end of a decision or insight or journey. They paint themselves large and bright on your memory's wall. Maybe for years, maybe forever you return to the view and the feeling. Within or beside that memory shine a constellation of others too: how it feels to have the wind's invisible hands snapping at your clothes as you push 90 MPH; the sight of asphalt racing to endlessly unfurl before you; snacking on some hard-chosen spoils of a dusty town's gas station; laughing out loud to a podcast which hits the funny bone between the ears, drawing the curious eyes of fellow travelers; inhaling that familiar, salty cologne of an ocean breeze and hastily rolling up windows to buffer yourself from that green, freshly-fertilized farmland; relishing the exotic tang of a morning coffee that pries back open your sleepy eyelids; the warm, sunken embrace of a strange hotel bed. All these feelings and others are usually bottled best by a summer road trip. Except, sometimes at least, the term road trip seems wrong. Quake trip makes more sense.

Tyler Cowen writes about "quake books," which I've certainly had my fair share of (from gentle tremors to Magnitude 8+), and traveling often has the same effect—it shakes me to my core. It reshapes my world, slightly or greatly, and compels me to rethink time spent, priorities, and progress. Earlier this summer, I took a 20-hour, 1000-mile drive up the Pacific Coast Highway from my home in Orange County to Bodega Bay, north of San Francisco, and back again. The destination was a wedding at The Secret Gardens, a redwood grove that made a perfect rendezvous point for old friends. We ate, laughed, danced; caught up on the past two years and reminisced about our times at Huckberry. I made new friends too. I called the lady goodnight who was unable to be there, herself settling into a Master's program across the world in the Netherlands. I returned the next morning solo to McWay Falls in Big Sur and the art colony, Carmel-by-the-Sea, two places she and I still love and spent our first weekend exploring together four years ago. I stopped into a favorite book store, River House, and picked up two books per usual. This time it was a fat, unabridged translation of Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov (The cashier looked at me in awe—or maybe fear—when I plopped the 1200+ page tome on the checkout counter) and Michael Chabon's Summerland. I'm hoping Dostoyevsky is one of those high-magnitude quakers. Chabon's was a gentler, welcoming nudge, and not at all less enjoyable or meaningful to me. 

Set on the fictional Clam Island in the Pac Northwest, worst-baseball-player-ever and twelve-year-old Ethan Feld, is thrust into an ancient and magical war—one decided by America's favorite past-time. In order to restore sunshine to Summerland, the western section of Clam Island beloved for it's always-sunny weather, Ethan must recruit a mythic team of werefoxes, giants, and humans to defeat Coyote in the World Series. His swing has got to improve though. The perennial easy-out, he'll have to consult the legendary baseball manual "How to Catch Smoke and Lightning" as well as dig deep in himself to save the world. This epic coming-of-age journey isn't just about the destination though. Chabon's style, which I also love in The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, has a gentle, whimsical energy to it. His subtle observations of kids and adults (and kids connecting with adults), clever world-building elements that enhance rather than distract, and simply-stated themes made Summerland a large, bright, memorable quake book. Basking in the nostalgic escapism of Chabon up and down the Pacific, was much like experiencing a sunrise of sunrises. 

Love you, Trini. [JG]

 

"Some 12,800 years ago the balance between the Earth and the Stars was lost and a key chapter of the human story was lost with it."
​— Graham Hancock, America Before
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Where do we come from? Are we alone in the universe? What happens when we die? Answering these three big questions comprise the lifework of author, journalist, and world-explorer Graham Hancock. He began in 1983. While war-zone-reporting for The Economist in East Africa, Hancock met a monk who claimed to be a guardian of the Ark of the Covenant, which had been hidden and subsequently lost in Axum, Ethiopia. Initially dismissing the tip, Hancock soon found a growing body of neglected evidence for a twelfth-century pilgrimage undertaken by the Knights Templar to Ethiopia. His expanded dossier of circumstantial evidence culminated into The Sign and the Seal: A Quest for the Lost Ark of the Covenant in 1992.

Since then, Hancock's itinerary includes dozens of other mystical and historical mysteries, both well-known and obscure. From the surprisingly "technological" aspects of the Great Pyramid of Giza, to other earthworks across the globe that are precisely aligned with constellations and celestial events in every corner of the globe. Hancock spent five years scuba diving to map underwater ruins that are perhaps older than the last great Ice Age (and were flooded by rising sea levels). In his newest book, Hancock has set his unconventional sights on the Americas. The man's theories of mankind's geographic origins, timeline of technological development, and subsequent migrations and populating of the world have made him something of a pariah (read: pseudo-scientist) in certain academic communities, as has his advocacy for using psychedelics as a tool for creativity and self-exploration. 

America Before aims to continue challenging conventional anthropological narratives, this time, by a degree of 10x. Rather than the North and South Americas being populated by Asian immigrants circa 13,000 years ago through a land bridge in Alaska, research shows definitively that that timeline of peoples in America goes back to at least 130,000 B.C. Archeological sites in southern California are 10x older than the Clovis sites found previously in New Mexico, 8x older than Meadowcroft in western Pennsylvania, and 5x older than bone fragments found in the Bluefish Caves in northern Canada. There's DNA evidence too. 0.17% of both North and South American natives have Denisovan blood, traced to both 130,00+ year-old-bones in Siberian caves and to modern populations in New Guinea and Australian Aborigines.

Hancock also makes a strong case for the domestication of the Amazon rainforests by early man, who planted and refined certain trees and vegetation for food, as well as for an ancient civilization that was wiped out not by the germs of Columbus-era explorers (that was their surviving offspring), but a meteor strike 12,800 years ago which defrosted the Ice Age and caused massive floods and fires. There are 1,500+ Clovis sites found to-date in various states of destruction by time and floods—sites that suggest a wealth of mapmaking, astronomical, agricultural, and medicinal knowledge. Hancock's argument is that there was a sophisticated civilization before Clovis, which taught them these skills.

​"I make mistakes like everyone else," Hancock writes, "but ever since my time with The Economist I've felt it is important to strive for rigour and accuracy, to check facts, to set out my sources clearly and openly for all to see and to admit my mistakes when I make them." Agree of disagree, Hancock's curiosity rivals that of Indiana Jones. America Before enthralled me and introduced me to so many new ideas, events, and things to consider. I'm grateful to have taken Joe Rogan's advice and follow Hancock back in time to what might just be a much more true account of our collective past. [JG]

Graham Hancock is the author of the international bestsellers Magicians of the Gods, The Sign and the Seal, Fingerprints of the Gods, The Message of the Sphinx, Heaven's Mirror, Underworld, and Supernatural. You can follow Graham Hancock on Facebook, Twitter, and his website.  
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Michael Crichton's African adventure novel follows a team of mercenaries, scientists, and a talking gorilla as they journey into the heart of the Congo to find the lost city of Zinj. The novel is a direct homage to H. Rider Haggard's classic adventure yarn, ​King Solomon's Mines, updated with a fascinating infusion of high-tech electronics and 21st century understanding of primates' capacity for language. As the team navigate each other's own conflicting motives for joining the expedition, they also encounter killer hippos, cannibals, volcanos, and potentially a new species of jungle gorilla. My favorite element was Amy, the talking gorilla, who uses sign language to access and share her earliest memories of the alleged jungle city's location. 🙈 [JG]
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Michael Crichton (1942-2008) remains the only writer to have a #1 book, movie, and TV show in the same year in the USA. His novels include Sphere, The Lost World, Eaters of the Dead, State of Fear, and Dragon Teeth among others. Collectively his works have sold over 200 million copies worldwide, been translated into thirty-eight languages, and provided the basis for fifteen films. He was also the director of Westworld, The Great Train Robbery, and Looker. ​​Steven Spielberg, who adapted Crichton's Jurassic Park and The Lost World to the silver screen, called the writer "The High King of High Concept" for his ability to create stories that grab an audience's imagination and keep them turning the page. Crichton appeared on The Charlie Rose Show several times in the '90s and early 2000s. I continue to enjoy those interviews as Crichton discusses his various interests in science, medicine, psychology, biology, and computers. Crichton strikes me as a deeply skeptical yet voraciously curious, private yet warm person. 

"I have more faith in Hitler than [God]. He alone has kept his promises, all his promises, to the Jewish people." 

​— "A faithless neighbor" of Elie Weisel, Night
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"Work of crematorium—the choice is yours," said the German SS Officer to a freshly shaved and tattooed group inside the gates of Auschwitz. Elie Wiesel, a fifteen year old Hungarian Jew, was among them. He stood with his father. His mother and sister had already been separated with the other women. Later, he would learn that they were given no choice, killed that first day in the gas chambers. "Not far from us, prisoners were at work. Some were digging holes, others were carrying sand. None as much as glanced at us. We were withered trees in the heart of the desert." 

Elie Wiesel would survive another 500 days or so in four different concentration camps, until American forces liberated Buchenwald in Weimar, Germany. Until then, "the stomach alone was measuring time," and his endless days were filled with night. To survive he would master a dangerous and dark calculus of making deals, moves, and lies to avoid attention, scrutiny, and punishment—from both Nazis and Jews—and his own determination to endure. 

Night is Wiesel's memoir of his experience in the Holocaust and the author of 56 other books. He died in 2016 at the age of 87 and survived by his wife and translator Marion Wiesel and son Shlomo Elisha Wiesel, named after his father. 
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Circled in red is Elie Wiesel two days after Americans liberated the Buchenwald in Weimar, Germany. Elie's father had died just four months earlier. 

"That evening I sat on my driftwood pile admiring my cabin. Pale blue wood smoke rose up through the dark boughs of the spruce, and beyond, looking huge and majestic, the jagged peak of Crag Mountain. The cabin was complete now except for the fireplace and, maybe later on, a cache up on poles. It was a good feeling just sitting and reflecting, a proud inner feeling of something I had created with my own hands. I don't think I have ever accomplished anything as satisfying in my entire life."
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— Richard Proenneke, One Man's Wilderness
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Richard Louis Proenneke (pronounced Pren-uh-key) lived alone for thirty years in Twin Lakes, Alaska. This is his journal covering the first 18 months of the odyssey.

Originally from Iowa, Proenneke served in World War II as a carpenter in the U.S. Navy and later became a master mechanic. Trading in his tool belt for a time, he moved to Oregon, working as a sheep camp tender on a ranch for several seasons. In 1950, at the age of thirty-four, he went north to Alaska. There he stared a cattle ranch venture with a friend on Shuyak Island. It failed, but he rebounded nicely into commercial salmon fishing for a time, before setting out once again to the sticks. Finding a specially secluded bight of Twin Lakes, Proenneke picked up his tool belt once more to start on a cabin.  

Dick's journal entries track his progress, from cutting beams and notching logs to meeting many woodland friends and foes as well as testing mouth-watering recipes. "For supper, I cut the trout into small chunks, dipped them into beaten egg, and rolled them in cornmeal. They browned nicely in the bacon fat, and my tender crusted sourdough did justice to the first fish fry of the season." The only help Proenneke accepted were food and mail deliveries from a float place piloted by his friend Babe twice a month. That and some tar paper and polyethylene for the cabin roof so it wouldn't leak. 

Twin Lakes offered Proenneke the seclusion from people he that we wanted and demanded from him an incredible degree of self-sufficiency. He hunted, gathered, gardened, expanded his homestead to include a stone chimney, food cache on stilts (pictured below), some gravel trails, and a canoe. He trekked his backyard, clocking-in thousands of miles in the first 18 months alone, and 3,000 feet of Kodiak 8mm and 16mm footage. He chased of mischievous squirrels, rescued a caribou calf from a bear, and shot a mountain ram cleanly with his ought-six rifle. 

I loved the journal format of One Man's Wilderness and can't wait to go visit Twin Lakes for myself and stop into Dick's cabin, which is now a National historic site. Proenneke passed away in 2003 in Hemet, CA. Reading just some of the highlights of his modern, wilderness odyssey has whetted my appetite to venture out farther than the safe, popular trailheads and tamed parks I'm accustomed to. ​[JG]

"When a man climbs high it always seems an amazement, as he starts down, to realize the distance he has covered." 

​— Richard Proenneke, One Man's Wilderness
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