#Siberian Valley of Death

[letsgethaunted]

Episode 69: The Mysterious Copper Cauldrons of Russia's Siberian Valley of Death Photodump

Image 01: EPISODE 69, BABY!! Image 02: Map of Russia with the Kamchatka Peninsula highlighted. This region contains an official “Valley of Death” due to volcanic activity creating high levels of toxic gasses that kill animals and people who venture into the valley. This area is the first area to pop up when you google “Russia Death Valley” and because of this, many skeptics are quick to explain away the story of Russia’s UNOFFICIAL death valley due to confusion. Image 03: Map of Russia with Yakutia (or Sakha) highlighted. This is the region that contains the unofficial Valley of Death where mysterious copper cauldrons are said to be located. Image 04: Drawings of the copper cauldrons part 1 Image 05: Drawings of the copper cauldrons part 2 Image 06: Drawings of the copper cauldrons part 3 Image 07: Video of the 2013 Chelyabinsk meteor Image 08: Pictures of the 1908 Tunguska event Image 09: Picture of the unsuccessful search for the copper cauldrons in the 21st Century Image 10: Pictures of rocket debris in the forests of the Altai Republic

#The Mysterious Copper Cauldrons of Russia's Siberian Valley of Death #Let's Get Haunted #Siberian Valley of Death #Valley of Death #Russia Death Valley #Instagram

[lingshanhermit]

Lingshan Hermit: The Choice of a Ruler

On a frigid winter morning in 1636 AD, as the king of Joseon looked out from the fortress walls of Namhansanseong, he saw the endless snow-covered mountains stretching into the distance, the yellow tents of Manchu Emperor Hong Taiji atop the mountain peaks, and the tribal soldiers of the barbarians occupying the hills and valleys as far as the eye could see. As the sovereign of Joseon, he had been in refuge here for months. Within these fortress walls were just over ten thousand soldiers and common folk left. Food was dwindling away, people had begun slaughtering war horses to fend off starvation, and there was still no sign of the legendary royal army coming to their aid. The troops were already starving and freezing in the harsh winter, and a sense of hopelessness had settled upon the people in this bitter cold.

The Manchu army had marched on Joseon in 1636 to punish the Joseon dynasty for refusing to acknowledge Manchu legitimacy, and to force their submission by military might. For the Joseon king and his court, surrendering to these barbarians who had only just emerged from the Siberian forests would be unimaginable humiliation. Raised under Confucian teachings, wearing Ming dynasty robes and using Ming writing, Joseon saw itself as a great tributary state of the mighty Ming Empire. Yet the overwhelming military force arrayed against them confronted the Joseon leadership with an extreme choice - surrender or be killed. Endless debates ensued between those involved in the decision. One faction argued that righteousness was more important than life itself, and that the king should choose death before dishonor. The other contended that without life, righteousness was meaningless, so for the sake of preserving the nation, the king should submit to the barbarians. Those with modern educations might find such debates unbelievable, as they would choose life without hesitation, dismissing righteousness as intangible and abstract. But it is difficult for them to fully appreciate the weight these concepts carried for those raised under Confucianism. As you all know me, I am not one to be enslaved by modern notions - I have always believed modern thinking to be regressive. As I've said, I am an ancient man of today - I do not consider righteousness and integrity to be intangible things. On the contrary, I believe them to be quite important. However, if asked whether righteousness or life should be chosen in such dire circumstances, it is not straightforward to answer. Sometimes, righteousness is more important than life, while at other times, life takes priority over righteousness. It depends on whether you still have important work left to accomplish, and whether the impact of that work is significant enough for you to endure tremendous humiliation and responsibility in order to go on living. If you have sufficient cause and duty to survive, then you should do so. If not, then yes, righteousness takes priority, for reincarnation is real. In the film The Fortress, the final choice of Joseon was the humiliating path of survival. The Joseon king groveled before Manchu Emperor Hong Taiji, enduring tremendous shame in performing the ritual of three kneelings and nine prostrations.

Just a few years later, the Chinese also faced the same excruciating choice when Manchu troops defeated Li Zicheng in 1644, marched into Beijing, and brought an end to the last ethnic Han Chinese dynasty. The very next year after occupying the Forbidden City, they instituted the Queue Order, requiring all Han Chinese men to adopt Manchu hairstyles and dress. As expected, this decree enraged the entire Chinese populace, sparking countless acts of defiant resistance. Countless resistors were killed under the brutal repression that followed, and those who survived were left with no choice but to abandon a hairstyle tradition thousands of years old in order to survive. There are hardly any films depicting this profoundly important historical event.

In 1636, the Joseon king had no choice but to kowtow before the barbarian emperor to preserve himself and his people. His son was taken hostage to Shenjing, hundreds of thousands of his people were captured and sold into slavery, and he had to endure humiliation and learn how to live under the enemy's tyranny. Many great figures in human history have done the same, because they knew the nightmare would eventually pass, and that their survival meant something to the world. They knew who they were, why they were there, and what deeds they had yet to accomplish. They understood the significance of their work to the entire world, that these tasks had to be completed by them, so they chose to live on and bear it all.

In the pivotal Battle of Yamen in 1279, the Mongol army thoroughly destroyed the final stronghold of the Song dynasty, driving the hundreds of thousands of Song soldiers and civilians alike into the sea. The last Song emperor Zhao Bing drowned himself in the waters. According to historical records, a soldier surnamed Chen was fished from the sea after that major naval engagement. He later settled in Weiyang, Jiangsu province and lived over ninety years. He raised two daughters, the second of whom married a man named Zhu Shizhen. Their son Zhu Chongba became the founding emperor of the Ming dynasty, leading armies to drive the Mongols back to the northern steppes. Sometimes, survival is crucial, while at other times, righteousness takes priority. For the Song emperor to drown himself in that world-shocking naval battle was the right choice, just as it was also right for the soldier who survived not to then commit suicide. Each fulfilled his own purpose.

Written by Lingshan Hermit, May 4, 2022

灵山居士：国君的选择

[brandonwayneb]

“Solicit Suffocation Hospital Cots”

“Suffocate Psy Siphone Death Stapes, Death Tape. Professional Genocide is OBVIOUSLY the only violator of MASS PUBLIC AFFAIRS.”

“Velvet Newspaper Solicit COT Suffocation,

COT COT COT”

“Solicit City Genocide.”

“SOUL LICK, SIPHONED DEATH”

“Solicit SOUL HOSPITAL assassinations”

MASS crimes have nothing to do with “IN DIE VISUALS” “INDIVIDUALS”

Thats WHITE GENOCIDE TEAM CORRUPTION

“VELVET ROPE NEWSPAPER DEATH CLUBS”

multiple white assassins, public ops.

public operations, micro transactions hospital systems

“Silicon Valley”

“Solicit TALKS SO LIGHT”

“Solicit Genocide Public Death In Full Historical Operations, past current and future, white corruption CO LODGE, SWEAT COTTAGE

COT COT COT

“Solicit Suffocation DEATH COT beds”

white intentional homicide in purposed malpractice, “sarcasm” and “commonality english district distortions”

SOLICT SUFFOCATION

DEATH, White Collar

“COLOR CRIMES”

Save GAY RAINBOWS

Do Not Blame “IN DIE VISUALS”

HOSPITAL VISUALS

STING OPS

SAY UR TURN

SATURN DEATH BAITS AND BETS

ALPHA BET WARS AND PUBLIC GENOCIDES

“Solicit White Velvet Club”

“Irish Red Elf”

“ELEPHANT RANT”

“IRISH RED ELF”

White homicide crimes directly on Irish lives, and public culture swapping.

SWAPPING. SWIPPING

“Snipe” “Pipe” “Pick When Ripe”

WHITE ILLEGAL SWATS

Genocide Teams

“Velvet NewsPaper Murders”

Mandarin Asian

Psy Beer Ann

Siberian Tooth Tiger

Mandarin

MAN DARE ASIAN

WORLD WAR CALLS TO GLOBAL RACIAL JUSTICE

Mandarin Asian

"MAN DARED A RED ASIAN"

IRISH RED

ASIAN RED

LIBERIA 🇱🇷 PSY BEER ERA

ERA ECHO EVA LONG GOREIA

EVE. EVERYONE

LIBERIA PSY BEER RED ANNOUNCEMENTS

MAN DARED ASIAN

MAN DARES RED EYE RIOTS

Liberia 🇱🇷 “white backdoor doors”

Texas Bores

Texas Pigs

Pigsty Piggly Wiggly White Shops,

Sex Ops

Bi Ops

Mu Tea

Multi

Multiple Pools

White Globalist Hostile Hospitals Traffic.

JEEPERS CREEPERS

JEEP BEEP BEEP, SEX SHEEP

DEATH COTS

Texas T Bone 🦴

Texas Vortex Vore Park Core

Texas TEA AXE

TEA AXE WHITE VELVET GENOCIDE CLUBS

TEA AXE VELVET ROPES

TEA EXCLUSIVE EX COMS

TEA WHITE GOD ALL SO MIGHTY

TEA CHANGE TEXAS RANGERS

DERANGED, DERANGERS DE RANGER,

POST OP, SEX COPS

Texas Ranger Psy Ops

"derange rango reign go lizard desert talk."

Disallow white genocides everywhere possible!

Focus Internal and International affairs

White Genocides

"white secret star agents"

"liberia bible belt"

🇱🇷

"Texas Hog Wash"

"Texas White Fog Cast"

SEA SEATTLE WATER ASSAULTS

STAR BLUE STONE FISH EXPLOSIONS

Seattle Satlight

Seattle satellites on "seat texas torture satan"

"seat satan"

"texan tax"

"texan tazmania devils"

"white genocide hazmat mass murders"

America 🇺🇸

Liberia 🇱🇷

"white bAXE door casting"

"BACK STER"

"BASTARD"

"BAXSTER AND SOPHIE"

"SO SIPHON"

America and Liberia

"Micro Crushing Bookshelves"

"Crushing Elf Bones"

"Element Genocide Lab Crimes"

White global wars

genocide war horns

throats made of thorns

"white fog horns"

#allah #god #hispanic #spanish #welsh #french #irish #asian #Korean #Nigerian #Japan #Japanese #Jamaica #news #asia #indian #india #jewish

[just-another-romantic]

Shambles of Memories

Chapter Three : Normality

Soulmate AU : A person’s dreams are actually their soulmate’s memories.

Series Summary : Cold, darkness, and iron doors. All Morana Pierce has known all of her life. Her duty, head nurse of the infamous Winter Soldier, is her only occupation at a compound in the middle of a Siberian tundra. The Asset looks familiar, and feels like home to her. She makes him remember things he’s not supposed to know. And neither of them can figure out why. 

Pairing : Winter Soldier x OC/Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings : angst, descriptions of hospitals and needles, sexual themes (nothing explicit) allusions to smut, hints at non-con (TW!!)

Author’s Note : The story has almost begun!! The past few chapters, as well as the prologue, were written to set the stage for the plot. The beginnings of the unraveling of what happens behind closed doors at the compound - an inside look into Morana’s life. More coming soon :)

**Conversations in Russian are italicised !!

Series Master List // Previous // Next

Shortly after her eighth birthday, Morana Pierce was gifted something beautiful, albeit a bit peculiar. It was a flower, Lily of the Valley she would later identify it as, with bell shaped white blossoms and elegant long stems. The petals drooped over themselves like rain droplets, spilling over the brim of its vase. Her father had placed it on her windowsill early that morning, so when the sun shone through the window, its shadow cast onto her face. 

During her schooling that day, Morana took a petal to inspect under a microscope with her lesson with Masha, and under the light and lens, she could make out the cells. They looked like tiny chambers, like the bedrooms of the compound, with organelles as beds, dressers, and desks. Unlike animal cells, plant cells have a cell wall on top of the cell membrane, Masha had pointed out. The cell membrane was semi permeable, and acted as a door for animal cells, whereas plant cells didn’t get that luxury. Another similarity, the young girl supposed, there was no way out for either of them. The door to the outside world was just as locked off as the outside world was to the cell wall.

Looking back on it, Morana wondered where on Earth her father managed to bring her such a thing. The flower was life and green and breath in her lungs, while everything outside of the compound, as far as she knew it to be, was a cold tundra. Sometimes she felt just as out of place as that flower, as it bathed in the sunlight on the windowsill, separated from the harsh Siberian cold.

The flower died within a week. 

Presently, the now young woman tied her hair up for a day’s work, she wondered if she would succumb to the same fate... perish at the hands of an unfamiliar environment. Gazing at the wall, she shuddered at the thought of the snow. The outside world could be summed up in two words, dangerous and violent. It caused her parents death. Papa had saved her from the inevitable outcome of the wild world beyond the compound.

A brittle knock on her room’s metal door shook Morana out of her thoughts. Without batting an eye, she called out, “It’s open!”

“Wanted to say bye before I left,” came a masculine, yet familiar voice, “I have orders.”

Morona spun around, smiling. “Brock,” she exclaimed, crossing the room to embrace the man. The smell of tobacco and the closest thing resembling cologne engulfed her, it was a scent she’d known the majority of her life. While in his arms, she prodded his side with her index finger, teasing, “Since when do you knock on my door? You know it’s always open for you.”

Brock pulled away, smirking, “Since there’s eyes and ears everywhere now that your father’s not home. I’m being waited on... I got called in.”

Frowning, Morana stood back, examining him for any tell of a lie; he enjoyed playing tricks on her. He stood solid, hazel eyes firm and prominent brows unwavering. His jaw was clenched, nearly in agony, like he didn’t want to leave. Brock brought a hand to her face, the warm calloused palm rough against her cheek, yet she leaned into it. Finally, she asked, “Where are you going?” 

His reply was quick, and stern. “You know that I can’t tell you that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know better than to ask,” he continued. His eyes met hers, eyes flashing.

“I’m sorry, Brock,” she whispered. To calm him, she held the hand against her cheek, interlocking her fingers with his. Morana nuzzled into his palm, the salty smell of sweat stinging her nose, but still she pressed a kiss into it. “Forgive me?” She mumbled

He forced a smile, bright and wide and pulling at his lips - it didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course.” The man pressed a kiss onto Morana’s forehead. Brock took a large breath, bringing Morana’s hands to rest against the curves of his chest. His heartbeat never faltered. “You’re called to Level 7.”

Morana tried to bite back a grin. Brock hated how much she adored her job on Level 7, head nurse to the infamous Soldier, and for why, she didn’t know, but she knew better than to let him see her excitement. “Pre-mission procedure?”

“The usual.” 

The girl stepped away from the man, suddenly drawn into a work mindset, and went to gather her apron and surgical supplied from the brown, leathered pouch from it’s spot on her desk. She double checked the continents of the bag - gauze, syringes, tools - all of her own possessions, knowing that all other necessities were on Level 7 in her office. She turned back to face Brock, who had taken a seat on the trunk by her bed, watching her with fond eyes. She pursed her lips, asking, “If you haven’t left before I’m finished, want to meet for breakfast?”

“Do I get a proper goodbye then?”

Now it was Morana’s turn to force a smile. “Yes,” she said.

Brock smirked again. “Then I’ll be there.”

He left the room before her, and they went their separate ways - his to the briefing room, hers through the various stories of stairs that led to the bottom levels. 

The unit was where the majority of Morana’s family had lived, and where she spent the most of her life. Level 1 was ground level, and through the thick iron doors and walls that protected the inhabitants from the stinging cold, the floor was the used mainly for meeting rooms. At first glance, a newcomer would think that this was the only level of the building. The stairwells and elevators were only accessed by the thumbprint of a Class Omega individual. Level 2 was often referred to as “The Hub”. There, you would find the main room, the mess hall, while the doors to the side led to the officer’s mess hall. The main mess consisted of dozens of metal tables and chairs that make one’s back ache in the center, and up in the front was the cafeteria line. Towards the back were the canteens, with smaller snack bars and vending machines filled with inexpensive chips and flat soda bottles. By the looks of them, they hadn’t been touched since the 80′s. 

Level 3 was the common barracks, where the everyday Joe’s slept. There were typically four men to a room, a community bathroom shared by every block of two rooms. It stunk of testosterone and cheap cigarettes. Morana avoided this floor at all costs. Level 4 was the private barracks, divided into the west and east wing. The west wing was were Morana, along with the officers, resided. Each man or woman was given a private bedroom and connecting bathroom, still only large enough to hold the necessities - a twin sized bed, small desk, and a dresser. The east wing belonged to Papa, as well as his right-hand men. Morana had never been allowed back there, so she stuck towards the west wing rooms.

Level 4 was quiet and the company was quaint and polite, a stark contrast between the loud chaos and intimate relationships between the men in the common barracks. Sometimes at night, when the silence was nearly deafening, Morana would wish to live on the third level, to have those friendships, to see a state of disarray instead of everything neat and pristine. To hear the rare sounds of laughter, and snores. It was a wishful thought.

Level 5 was the science ward. Morana knew these halls well, the majority of her childhood spent within the laboratories and libraries of the floor. Masha and Elizaveta, the girls Morana once called sister’s, worked on this floor. It was them who taught her throughout primary school, who sparked her interest in the science of medicine and mathematics. This level was home, a haven, and held stories that Morana kept sealed in her heart, under lock and key.

The next floor down, Level 6, was the common medical ward. There were hospital rooms for injured officers (as commoners were treated by ER nurses in their rooms on Level 3). Besides the few hospital rooms, there were two surgical rooms, and storage units for medicine and supplies. Not much had happened at the base iin years, the beds in Level 6 collecting dust and the floors empty. 

Then came Level 7. Mainly Class Alpha and Beta clearance, sometimes Class Gamma; Morana was the only Class Delta with access even though it housed her own office.

With a thumbprint and retinal scan, the iron doors opened before her, the squeak of the hinges deafening, ringing throughout the silent floor; the path leading into her med ward. Her operation room was the same as always, smelling of must and disinfectant, the harsh overhead lights casting odd and mix-matched shadows on the ground.

The Soldier was already standing in the middle of the room, by the examination table, watching her steadily as she entered. After working with him for years, Morana had become used to the large man almost hovering in the shadows, his stature intimidating. He was just tall, she knew that. He looked pale with the lighting of the room, with dark circles prominent under his eyes. That was the one thing that got her every time - his eyes. Steel gray, acute, startling against his black tactical gear, and a constant look of something Morana couldn’t quite place. It was haunting, his silent stare. Over the course of her work, going on seven years, it never failed to cause goosebumps to prick up on her skin.

She cleared her throat to find her voice, plastering on a pleasant smile. “At ease Soldier,” she said as she approached him. 

His eyes scanned over her body, seeking threats such as weapons or a hand ready to raise punishment on him at any given notice. The Soldier saw nothing but tired eyes, smile lines at her mouth, and shoulders slouched with something heavy, an invisible force. Despite himself and his trained instincts, his posture relaxed, only minutely, but the nurse smiled at him, noticing. 

“Have a seat on the table, please.” Her voice was soft and steady and almost familiar. She was easy to trust.

Morona hated the formality of it, but it was standard procedure after he first visits her. His memory was patchy, sometimes he remembered her, sometimes he didn’t. She never asked why he couldn’t remember, where he goes, what he does, or why he’s away for so long, she wasn’t supposed to know, and she knew the punishment for asking questions. 

The man took a seat on the table, the paper sheet crunching under his weight. The Soldier eyed her as she went about the room, gathering various materials such as a stethoscope, a bag of saline solution, as well as an IV. Under his mask, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking, his eyes always remained blank. Morana liked to think they held a type of curiosity, but glancing back at him she saw his still taught shoulders and his grip on the table turning his flesh knuckles white. 

“Your mission briefing is in twenty minutes, Soldier,” she said, slipping into her Russian tongue. After knowing him, how he worked and thought, she put together that he felt safer when he talked, if at all, in Russian, she assumed it was his mother language. His grip on the table relaxed a bit. Pulling a wooden stool in front of him, the girl taking a seat between the black leather of his legs, now equal in height with the soldier. “Twenty minutes can be a lifetime.”

“You speak Russian?” It sounded more like a statement than a question.

Morana didn’t meet his eyes, she instead dug around in her leather satchel, looking for a packet of alcohol swabs. “You were the one who taught me.”

When she looked up, his head was cocked in curiosity. She continued, “You and I are the only ones who speak it. My papa wanted me to keep up my mother tongue for uh, cultural purposes I suppose.” Morana began preparing the IV, the Soldier watched as her slender fingers worked swiftly with the various parts. “Everyone else here speaks-”

“German,” he concluded.

The nurse hummed in response. It was silent for a few moments, before she added, almost to herself, “I used to tell you my secrets when I was a child.” Before he could speak, she changed the subject, meeting his gaze with an order. “I’m going to need you to remove your shirt and vest for this, Soldier.” An order, familiar, a truth, a job. The Soldier obliged. 

Morona watched and waited as he undid the various straps and zippers of the upper part of his stealth suit before his chest was bare before her. She quickly stuck a heart monitor to the left of his sternum, the machine nearby beeping to life with the pulse in his veins. He offered his right arm for the IV, not even flinching as the needle pierced his worn skin. 

The procedure continued silently, and like normal. Morana checked his vitals and administered his nutrients before recording it all in the medical log to be turned over to the handlers once they arrived. A bell sounded, signaling five minutes til mission briefing. Morana sighed, running a hand over her hair to smooth it before collecting her bag. And the Soldier watched as she untied her apron and hung it on the rack by the door, leaving the room without another word, seemingly taking all of the light and warmth of the room with her.

✪ ✪ ✪

Morana planned on stopping by her room on Level 4 to drop off her bag and such before heading to the cafeteria, but the sight of Brock sitting on her bed stopped her dead in her tracks. 

“Brock,” she greeted with a smile, “I thought we were meeting in mess?”

He stood and crossed to her, grabbing her waist with hungry hands; Morana’s heart dropped to the bottomless pit in her stomach. “We don’t have much time,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear, before his tongue began to lap at the crook of her neck. The girl squirmed in Brock’s vice grip.

“What do you mean?” she asked, breathless, trying to change the subject. “Soldat’s mission briefing just started maybe five minutes ago. You shouldn’t be leaving for another hour.”

Brock stopped his pursuits, looking down at the girl. “We’re assigned to different missions, darling.”

Morana blinked. “What?”

Brocks hands traveled down the length of her spine, finger’s skimming under her clothing to access skin, but he explained nonchalantly, “The Soldier and I have two very different jobs. He’s being sent elsewhere in Russia, while I -” his hands left her back, the rough palms coming up to cup her cheeks “- I am being sent overseas.”

Her heart lurched in her chest. With longing? Despair? Relief? She did not know. The next words out of her mouth came out stumbling. “W-Where?” Morana’s own hand came up to cover her mouth - under no circumstances was she supposed to ask about  Class Gamma, Beta, or - God forbid - Class Alpha duties regarding jobs. Before an apology could form in her throat, Brocks hand removed her own on her mouth, the gentle gesture surprising her.

“To America,” he whispered. “I’ll be working alongside your father from now on.”

Her heart just about stopped. It was silent for a moment until she found her voice. “Why did you tell me?”

“Because I will be gone for a while. A long time.” His eyes fixated on something behind her, but she paid no mind. “I’ll be back in a month, to collect supplies I can’t bring this time, after phase one, but there’s no telling how long phase two will last.” He trailed off. It dawned on her why he was here in her room.

When his eyes met Morana’s again, she felt numb. “So this is goodbye?”

“For now,” he concluded.

This time, she let Brock kiss her. She allowed his wandering hands, and the bruising on her neck. She complied when he took her to bed, and didn’t complain when he started to hurt her. She didn’t know any better, Morana only felt a burning paralysis when she was with him. It wasn’t the first time, but she thanked whatever God there was that it was the last, for the time being.

Afterwards, Brock dressed, and left without another word. 

- taglist (open) -

@igothroughphasesalot @sharin-gone @izhetttttt @yujin-yuki

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #winter solider x reader #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier #marvel x you #winter soldier x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes series #bucky needs a hug #bucky barnes x you #marvel x reader #bucky barnes headcanons #bucky barns fluff

[earthstory]

Iguazu from above These falls illustrate a property of flood basalts (aka LIP or large igneous province), which have emerged in huge quantities from large fissures in the crust at odd intervals throughout Earth's history, often contributing to mass extinctions along the way. As eruption succeeds eruption, sometimes with a prolonged gap in between which sees the development of a soil horizon that is then covered by the next layer, they form a series of distinct layers known as trapps, from the German for steps. The Deccan (roughly 65 million years old, and a factor in the death of the dinosaurs) and the Siberian (251 million years old, and the likely cause of the end Permian mass extinction, the worst ever seen in which 'life nearly died') trapps are the world's most famous.

These trapps came about as South America split from Africa some 132 million years ago. As in Africa today the rifting process, prompted by rising heat from the mantle (whether a plume or convection current) starts with a huge rift valley as the continental crust is literally pulled apart in slow motion, and bleeds lava all over the surface. Bit by bit a new sea grows (like the Red sea between Africa and Arabia in the present geotectonic contet), leaving the lavas split between two continents. The remnants of the other half of the Parana-Etendeka trapps lies in Namibia and Angola. Since then erosion has done its work, removing much of the original lava. The Parana river is continuing it, as it cuts back into a layer of this basalt, plummeting onto the one below. This photo was taken above the Brazillian side of the falls, showing their full spread. Anyone visiting should spend a day in Brazil and a couple in Argentina to get the full glory. Airpano who took the photograph are a team of Russian photographers who produce amazing 3d panoramas from helicopters, their site is well worth a visit, see the link below. Loz Image credit: Air Pano http://www.airpano.com/

#Iguazu falls #geology #erosion #lava #parana #basalt #the earth story #river #brazil #argentina

[unknownworlds4]

The Dyatlov Pass incident, Soviet Union, 1959. In January of 1959, a skiing expedition was organized by a group of 10 people from the Ural Ploytechnic Institute led by student Igor Dyatlov. All group members were experienced hikers and skiiers and all except one were students at the institute. The expedition was planned to last three weeks and take the group to the top of Gora Oterton, a mountain in Russia. The group traveled by train to the town of Ivdel and then by truck to the village of Vizhai, the last inhabited settlement before the mountains. The group stayed the night in Vizhai before starting the trek the next day. On January 27th, the group began their expedition. On the 28th, group member Yuri Yudin turned back because of joint pain. That was the last time anyone saw the 9 other group members alive. Cameras and diaries found at the camp detailed the events leading up to the incident. On January 31st, the group stored surplus food and supplies in a wooded valley for their return trip. The next day the group began through the pass. However, due to bad weather conditions, the group got lost and strayed from their route, and instead of turning around they set up camp at the base of Kholat Syakhl (literally ‘Dead Mountain’ in the Mansi language). The group planned to send a telegram to their sports club when they had returned to Vizhai on February 12th. However, Dyatlov expected the trek to take longer, so the 12th came and went with no contact from the group with little alarm. By February 20th, relatives of the hikers demanded a search and rescue operation. The institute sent out volunteer groups consisting of students and teachers which were eventually joined by members of the military. On February 26th, searchers found the groups campsite. The tent had been torn open from the inside and all the groups shoes and personal belongings were still in the tent. Nine sets of footprints showed that the hikers fled the tent wearing only socks, a single shoe, or simply barefoot. Two bodies were discovered along the edge of some woods under a Siberian pine along with the remains of a small fire. The bodies were dressed only in underwear and evidence shows that one of them attempted to climb the tree. Three more bodies were discovered between the woods and camp apparently attempting to return to the tent. Two months later, on May 4th, the remaining bodies were found under 13 feet of snow at the bottom of a 247 foot ravine. Signs show that clothing belonging to the deceased were removed for use by the others. Examination of the bodies posed even more mysteries. While six died of hypothermia, one had a major skull fracture and two had fatal chest fractures. The force needed for these injuries would need be the equivalent of a car wreck. One hiker was missing her eyes, tongue, and part of her lips, one was missing his eyes, and a third was missing his eyebrows. Clothing on some of the bodies tested positive for trace amounts of radiation. Soviet authorities declared that a “compelling natural force” was responsible for the deaths. Numerous theories have been put out including aliens, avalanche, wild animal attacks, attacks by Mansi natives, infrasound panic, and military involvement. In 2019 the case was reopened by Russian authorities who claimed that an avalanche had caused the deaths. These claims have been disputed.

#spooky #creepy #mystery #paranormal #russia #unsolved death #unexplained #horror #haunted #conspiracy #true crime

[tyrantisterror]

The Official ATOM Vol. 1 & 2 Playlist

You may recall that I made a playlist of music for my first novel, No Sympathies, when it got published.  You may also have wondered why my second novel, ATOM Vol. 1: Tyrantis Walks Among Us! didn’t get one of its own.  Well, wonder no more!  The reason was because I was waiting for Volume 2, because Volumes 1 and 2 really need to be viewed as one big story rather than two separate ones.  And since Vol. 2 has now been published (BUY IT HERE), I figured it’s time to finally reveal this mix.

So, here’s the link: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLxjcPtZ64qKB9ZlzpaEPdRmETqF39HuW7

And below the cut, the breakdown!

The Superquake of 1954 (Shake, Rattle and Roll! by Bill Haley and the Comets)

Dr. Lerna’s Theme (Moons of Jupiter Retro-Mix by Freezepop)

Ahuul’s Theme (Legends of Dino’Soul and Monster Funk by SuperTohoRemix)

Tyrantis’s Theme 1 (Boogie Stop Shuffle by Charles Mingus)

The Spooks Organization (NERV by Shirou Sagisu)

Giant Bugs (The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth by Creature Feature)

Tyrantis’s Theme 2 (Ayla’s Theme by The Blake Robinson Symphony Orchestra)

Tyrantis vs. Girtabane (Godzilla vs. Kumonga by Masaru Sato)

Henry Robertson’s Theme (20th Century Man by The Kinks)

The Valley of the Mists (Jurassic Park Theme by John Williams)

Gwen Valentine’s Theme (Lucky by Max Rabbe und de Palastorchester)

Tyranta’s Theme (Wild Thing by The Troggs)

Eric and Laura, Meddling Teens (Leader of the Pack by The Shangri-Las)

Mothmanud Strikes (Horsell Common and the Heat Ray by Jeff Wayne)

Gorgolisk’s Theme (The Mothra Song by Toshiyuki Watanabe)

The Battle of Party Beach (A Step Forward Into Terror by Shirou Sagisu)

Tumult on The Ahab (Death of the Postosuchus by Benjamin Bartlett)

Bobo’s Theme (The Sacred Springs by Akira Ifukube)

Wasp and Mantis (For a Few Rocks More by SuperTohoRemix)

Tyrantis’s Theme 3 (Great Balls of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis)

Typhon Island (The Lost World by John Williams)

MechaTyrantis’s Theme (Defeat MechaGodzilla! by Masaru Sato)

Trials of Tyrantis (The Battle of the Salt Plain by Benjamin Bartlett)

Dumped in the Ocean (Godzilla Love Theme by The Star Sisters)

Shark Chase  (Decisive Battle by Shirou Sagisu)

The Thunder Lizards Benefit Concert (Help! by The Beatles)

The Ballad of Tyrantis (Godzilla March by Susumu Ishikawa)

The Battle of Mount Fuji (The Fighting Machine by Jeff Wayne)

Herakoschei’s Theme (Pacific Rim by Ramin Djawadi & Tom Morello)

The Siberian Monster Zone (Back in the USSR by The Beatles)

The Writhing Flesh (Who Will Know? by Shirou Sagisu)

Pathogen’s Theme 1 (Tyrano Lair by The Blake Robinson Symphony Orchestra)

Area 51 (Weird Science by Oingo Boingo)

Tyrantis’s Theme 4 (The Last Dinosaur Few Men Remix by SuperTohoRemix)

Promythigor Theme (Sasquatch by Parry Gripp)

Return to Typhon Island (Godzilla by Bear McCreary and Serj Tankian)

Ullawdra’s Theme (The Red Weed by Jeff Wayne)

Atomoton’s Theme (HONOR A TRUE HERO! Jet Jaguar - PUNCH PUNCH PUNCH! by Masato Shimon)

The Martian Monsters (Monster Zero March by Neil Norman & His Cosmic Orchestra)

Kemlasulla’s Theme (The Twist by Hank Ballard)

Kaiju Sanctuary (Time of the Titans by Benjamin Bartlett)

Invasion of Typhon Island (The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny by Lemon Demon)

The Battle for Typhon Island (Rivers in the Desert by Lyn)

Pathogen’s Theme 2 (The Beast by Shirou Sagisu)

Hyper Mode (The Genesis: Uplifting Verse by Shoji Meguro)

Home Is a Monster Land (Ain’t No Mountain High Enough by Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell)

#The Atomic Time of Monsters

[strawberrybabydog]

OH YOU WANNA KNOW MY NEWEST HYENA FACT? Apparently they aren't dogs, at all. They're Feliforma! So basically they're cats running on dog hardware with the ability to bite through bones with the same ease that a human could go through a carrot stick 😳. Side note, do you ever just think about how wild it is that we can just, buy bones. Everyone in the world owns approximately one skeleton but some people get more than that and it's not even that unusual? Like I get that there's ethical stuff about owning human bones but it's still so wild to me that I can get animal ones. Also do you have any SIs besides death? My main ones are Death, pokemon, cats and Dragons (I'm... very vain)

Im ngl, hyenas dont look very caninelike at all and I kinda suspected theyre not exactly canines but something close. big brain big doggy brain!!

also yeah! i mean - do you count cremated remains as owning another person? for me,... no, because its not taxidermy the same way bones are. however, my human has a metal tibia and fibula which i plan on keeping next time he gets it replaced which, in a way i would consider taxidermy. i also plan on keeping any other relative's metal implants permit theyre cremated. i have a few animal bones right now, just small things ive found. my humans mother gifted me a squirrel skull a little while ago that I have yet to full clean off and put back together :0) i also have a raccoon jaw that she gifted me! the other bones i have arent quite as cool.

my SIs are death (specifically mummifcation (all forms,)) soap bars, Ty beanie buddies and babies, marimo moss balls, gastropods (land snails and nudibranch specifically,) autism and sensory toys, stardew valley, the dark crystal, and domestic dogs (siberian huskies specifically,) and sanrio. and... i think... thats it.... one of my humans SIs is pokemon too!! he plays pokemon go religiously lol!!

#death mention

[straight-edge-hippy]

Aaldrec Xan is by no means an old guardian, at least insofar as individuals like the Drifter or Lord Shaxx are concerned. Aaldrec remained embraced in the cold slumber of death throughout what we've come to know as the Dark Age, having conveniently missed out on the turmoil and horror of life during such an era. Only at what would be considered the beginning of the City Age did Aaldrec first become reintroduced to the world of the living.

His ghost, who he affectionately named Amber, revived him in the middle of the Siberian taiga, far away from any semblance of civilization; nary an automobile husk could be seen from his newfound birthplace to the horizon. Surrounded by orange-tinted conifers and coarse grasses, skin stinging in the Russian chill, Aaldrec and Amber set out to return to what she tells him is a safe haven, a place where humanity gathers alongside beings of which he was now counted among.

Now, being in the middle of a barren countryside, Aaldrec didn't have the luxury of securing a jumpship from an abandoned hangar, or even immediately finding a vehicle, for that matter. And attempting to trek to the Cosmodrome was a much more hazardous venture for a newly risen, as the eliksni who occupied the region would see him coming from miles away. So Amber would instead direct him east, setting them out on a pilgrimage that mirrored those of the earliest humans, setting out toward the easternmost tip of Asia and crossing the strait that divides Old Russia from the North American continent, whereupon the pair would trek countless miles following the coast until they reached lower South America. The pilgrimage would take years, and Aaldrec would discover and grow accustomed to his ability to be revived from death after numerous altercations on the long road to civilization.

At the conclusion of his long and arduous journey past the shattered ruins of civilization, he was greeted by the most awe-inspiring sight: a sprawling settlement of humanity situated under the all-encompassing shadow of what Amber revealed during their travels as the Traveler, both of their creator and savior of humanity. Upon Aaldrec's arrival, the City had recently recovered from grueling attacks from the Eliksni, as well as the faction wars, having been constructing the walls for some time before Aaldrec ventured into the valley where the City was situated. It was during period of growth and development that Aaldrec would become officially inducted into the order of Guardians, and to begin in ernest his new purpose of protecting humanity and rebuilding civilization from and rust and ashes.

#destiny #destiny 2 #Aaldrec Xan #writing

[kashyap-varma]

IF TREES COULD TALK

Imagine an ocean made of trees. The deeper you walk into it, the taller the trees grow. Though it happened a few months ago, the memory is as fresh as a slap across my face. The green canopies swing above, playing hide and seek with sunrays. The fern green forest isn’t alone covered with giant trees, the cluster consist of short herbs and long creepers, thin climbers and broad shrubs, dominant flowers and subservient mosses all unequal living with harmony. The dense undergrowth around me seem to bow each other as they convey their respect. Inside the clump, some standing peacefully, enjoying their freedom of loneliness, some like a monk sitting cross-legged meditating to attain nirvana, they transfer a godly presence, some others are charming youngsters spellbinding with their plump & sweet fruits. I sat leaning on rich bark of a tree trunk. I keenly watched their gestures, they speak constantly! But quietly, humbly communicating above and beneath using sound, scent, and signals. The naked natural network is connecting everything that exists including we, the partial earthly belonging!

I looked up and up…. and up … as I take in the divine woods, they transfer a spiritual consciousness to cast aside every rapacious conduct of a human being slowly entreat to follow them down the valley made me ‘taller than trees’ as David Thoreau said.(“I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than trees”)

what if trees could talk? The humming wind has never failed to decipher its language, Leaves would say how they hate winter that determine their forthcoming death. And also, Secretly murmurer the plan for the season tickets on a ride with the west end wind at evenings. Wise old trunks would boast to one another of their adamant physique, age and experience. They would advise newly sprouted sapling how to resist the climatic clutches, hurricanes, flood and never forget about the hundred bible verses of service “ little children let us not love in word or talk but indeed and in truth” “carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ”. Trees would never forget to appreciate autumn for its victory over rain. Fruits would tell tales about their childhood and share golden memories with peers. Branches would talk about the visits they have had from their insect, bird and animal friends. They would chatter about the arrival of Amur falcon and Siberian cranes in winter. Trees chant “Zadok the priest” at princess coronation who wait for the old monarchs to fall. The spring would have sweet songs of welcome from them.

Twigs knowing their debility ask a balmy, active summer as a boon from spring, before the advent of wild winter. Trees would sigh with relief when rain heals the drought scars on the roots. After being blessed with the power of speech, the trees would talk of the happiness of summer and the thrill they feel as the tender sunrays pass through them. They would speak of the wonder of being alive and the service they provide to all living creatures, including mammals, reptiles and birds. They might scream out loud when they are mercilessly detached from home, machine men can’t see the forest through trees. If you unleash your gaze into the deep woods the green shade seems brighter as you can see forest now, maybe your spirit has grown mad like branches, once you master their language, welcome home or else trees must talk!

“God has cared for these trees, saved them from drought, diseases, avalanches, and a thousand tempests and floods. But he cannot save them from fools”

JOHN MUIR

[ollifree]

W. MAHARIEL - following terron’s story from origin to awakening and beyond

icarus bastille learn to crawl black lab end of me ashes remain flesh simon curtis broken crown mumford & sons starlight brigade twrp feat. dan avidan life of the party all time low monster skillet old scars / future hearts all time low more usher (redone remix) death valley fall out boy and the snakes start to sing bring me the horizon i will mitzi epiphany trans-siberian orchestra the show must go on queen goodbye agony black veil brides thus always to tyrants the oh hellos

#dragon age #warden #dalish origin #playlists #oc things #terron mahariel #fun fact: this is the only warden mix to not have a joining song #thank u dalish origin for being Like That #terron gets two extra songs 'cause he deserves them #also bc one of them i use as inspo for a scene i *really* want to write #but that'd have to be part of a longer fic so #the hardest one to nix was 'partners in crime' bc there went terron's bff song w merrill #also i completely fucking forgot to put epiphany in the first time around like? bitch???? #if anyone saw my wailing song post last night #i could still use one #'cause bioware did us dirty AF with tamlen

[letsgethaunted]

The Mysterious Copper Cauldrons of Russia's Siberian Valley of Death

Since the 1800s, explorers and hunters in the Siberian taiga have reported encountering strange copper "cauldrons", half buried in the ground. Although temperatures in this region are some of the coldest in the world, hunters who seek shelter within the copper domes find it pleasantly warm. However, many who enter the cauldrons end up dying of an unexplained illness that causes confusion and dizziness. What are these copper cauldrons and what is their origin?

#The Mysterious Copper Cauldrons of Russia's Siberian Valley of Death #Let's get Haunted #Siberian Valley of Death #Siberian taiga #Spotify

[autodidact-adventures]

Siberian History (Part 7): Mangazeya

The Russian frontiersmen in Siberia still had to depend on Moscow for support (such as administrative & logistical support).  During the Time of Troubles, the Siberian garrison was mostly left to themselves, which lead to disease, starvation and death.

The natives peoples of Siberia took the opportunity to make several attempts at an uprising.  The most powerful was in 1608, when Princess Anna of Koda, a “Tartar Joan of Arc”, nearly succeeded in uniting the entire native population of Western Siberia to revolt.

In 1612, an attempt was made to re-establish the old Khanate of Sibir “as it had been in the time of Kuchum”.  But it was betrayed at the last minute, and ten of its ringleaders were rounded up and hanged.

By now, the Russian occupation of the Ob-Irtysh Basin had increased the nation's size by a third.  But in Moscow, Siberia still wasn't properly understood as a geographical entity, and so it was used as a political bargaining chip.

Boris Godunov, for example, tried get an influential boyar to support him against False Dmitry I, by promisng him “the Kingdoms of Kazan, Astrakhan, and all Siberia”.  The False Dmitry II promised to reward his brother-in-law, a powerful Polish noble, with “the whole land of Siberia” for his help.

But the Ob-Irtysh Basin had scarcely been secured before the Russian advance into the next great river valley, the Yenisei, began.

The Russians ascended the eastern tributaries of the Ob River, and crossed a low plateau to streams flowing into the Yenisei.  By 1619, they had taken all the important river routes and portages that connected those two rivers.  They organized expeditions from Mangazeya (in the north) and Tomsk & Ketsk (in the south), coming at the river valley from both directions.

The Taz Estuary marks the area where Mangazeya was located.

They met the Tungu people on the lower Yenisei, and the Buryats (whom they'd never heard of before) on the upper Yenisei.  The Buryats lived in a region that was rich in furs, and they practised animal husbandry; they were rumoured to grow crops and have access to silver.  This was guaranteed to interest Russia.

The Tungu people (east of the Yenisei) and the Buryats (around Lake Baikal) fought to prevent Russia from establishing bases in their territory, but failed.  Yeniseysk was founded in 1619 (where the Angara and Yenisei Rivers meet); Krasnoyarsk was founded in 1627 (astride cliffs of red-coloured marl); and Bratsk was founded in 1631 (on the Angara River).

On the upper Yenisei River (the southern part of it), the Russians met the staunch resistance of the Kyrgyz people and the Kalmuks, both steppe nomads.  Their homelands bordered Siberia to the south, and they were continually hostile.  Eventually, a solidly-fortified line was established over the southern frontier, but this would take two centuries.

Meanwhile, Russian mariners had developed the sea route north of Russia from Arkhangel to Mangazeya (which was just a few miles above the Arctic Circle).  At Mangazeya, they bartered goods with the local Khanty and Samoyedic peoples for furs.  Mangazeya prospered and grew, attracting more and more traders, who were willing to navigate the treacherous waters of the Kara Sea.

One contemporary account says that: “Hundreds of thousands of sable, ermine, silver and blue fox skins, and countless tons of precious mammoth and walrus ivory” were shipped every year from Mangazeya and Europe.  This was an illicit trade that had begun during the Time of Troubles, and the government couldn't manage to gain control of it.

Porcelain, silk, and other expensive fabrics were traded (through middlemen) from Central Asia & China to Mangazeya.  The city was “a virtual Baghdad of Siberia, where big commercial deals were celebrated at fabulous feasts that lasted for days, and that featured the best European wines and local delicacies like sturgeon, caviar, mushrooms, berries, and venison and other game.”

By the time stability was restored in Moscow, reports of Siberia's vast wealth in furs had spread far and wide.  This, of course, attracted the attention and greed of European powers who wanted new colonies.  The Russian government worried that foreign agents might try to trade directly with the natives, or even attempt an armed invasion (through the Taz Estuary) to seize the whole of north-western Siberia.

Meanwhile, inland merchants working out of the Urals, Tyumen and Tobolsk were envious of Mangazeya, as it siphoned off commerce that would otherwise have come to them.

So in 1619, the Russian government closed the sea route to Mangazeya. They forbade even Russians to use it, in case foreigners found it out from them.  Anyone who broke this law was to be “put to the hardest possible death, and all their homes and families destroyed branch and root”.

Navigational markings were torn up.  Surveillance posts were established along the coast, to intercept and kill anyone who tried to get through.  A coastal fort was built on the Yamal Peninsula, commanding the portage between the Ob Gulf and the Kara Sea.  Maps were falsified to depict Novaya Zemlya as a peninsula, rather than an island.  This would cause problems for later mariners who were using them as nautical guides.

Gradually, Mangazeya declined, and the rich merchants left.  In 1643, its administrative apparatus was moved to Turukhansk – this city was founded at the mouth of the Turukhan River, a tributary of the Yenisei.  For a while, it was known as “New Mangazeya”.

In 1678, Mangazeya was burned to the ground, without any official explanation.  The local Samoyedic peoples called its ruins Tagarevyhard, which means “destroyed town”.  The site wouldn't be rediscovered for almost three centuries.

Mangazeya, perhaps more than any other early settlement, was the proof of the enormous wealth that Siberia possessed.  In 1632, a former military governor of the district strongly encouraged the tsar to press on from the Yenisei to conquer the Lena River Basin.  His encouragement was inspired by the riches of Mangazeya.

#book: east of the sun #history #military history #colonialism #economics #trade #native siberians #tungu people #buryats #kyrgyz people #kalmuks #khanty people #russia #khanate of sibir #siberia #yeniseysk #krasnoyarsk #bratsk #mangazeya #turukhansk #boris godunov #false dmitry ii

[ademocrat]

He’s Saving California’s Oldest Weekly (Mark Twain Wrote for It)

DOWNIEVILLE, Calif. — The night before his first deadline, Carl Butz, California’s newest newspaper owner, was digging into a bowl of beef stew at the Two Rivers Café, the only restaurant open in town.

“Tomorrow I have to fill the paper,” he said with only mild anxiety. “The question is, will it be a four-page paper or a six-page paper?”

At 71, Mr. Butz is trim, with wire-rimmed glasses and a close-cropped silver beard, and he dresses in flannel shirts and cargo pants. Since his retirement and his wife’s death in 2017, he considered traveling — to England or Latvia, or riding the Trans-Siberian Railway. But here he was, a freshly minted newspaper proprietor, having stepped in at the beginning of the year to save The Mountain Messenger, California’s oldest weekly newspaper, from extinction.

The Messenger was founded in 1853. Its most famous scribe was Mark Twain, who once wrote a few stories — with a hangover, the legend goes — while hiding out here from the law.

Newspapers across America, especially in rural areas like here in Sierra County, have been dying at an alarming rate, and Downieville was about to become the latest “news desert.” The obituaries for the paper had already been written. Don Russell, the hard-drinking, chain-smoking editor with a blunt writing style who had owned and run the paper for nearly three decades, was retiring, and he seemed happy enough for the paper to die with his retirement.

And then one night Mr. Butz was watching “Citizen Kane” on cable and thought, I can do that. He made the deal quickly, paying a price in the “four figures,” he said, plus the assumption of some debts, without even looking at the books.

Still, Mr. Russell, an old friend of Mr. Butz’s, was a reluctant seller. “His position was, it’s a losing proposition and someone who’d want it would be crazy,” Mr. Butz said. “He called me a romantic idealist and a nut case. And that’s not a paraphrase, but a direct quote.”

For the residents of Downieville — and there are not many; the population is about 300 — who for generations counted on The Messenger to arrive every Thursday, through wildfires and power outages and economic booms and busts, Mr. Butz has become an unlikely local hero, a savior of a cherished institution.

“Thank God for Carl, he stepped in,” said Liz Fisher, a former editor of the paper who lives across the street from its office and runs The Sierra County Prospect, an online news site. “It was devastating for everybody that we were going to lose The Mountain Messenger.”

A cluttered, smoke-filled newsroom

On a recent Wednesday morning, facing his first deadline, Mr. Butz was staring down a blank computer screen in the newspaper’s cramped two-room office above a beauty salon on Main Street. Mr. Butz, a fourth-generation Californian and a former computer programmer and labor economist for the state, readily admitted that he had no idea what he had gotten himself into, and it did not help to learn that the paper’s publishing software was from the mid-1990s.

One of the first things he said he would do after buying the paper was ban smoking in the office, but next to his keyboard was a package of unfiltered cigarettes and an ashtray.

“What is the lead story?” Mr. Butz asked.

“The front page is blank,” replied Jill Tahija, the paper’s only other employee, sitting at an adjacent computer.

Ms. Tahija, who has worked at The Messenger for 11 years, might properly be called the managing editor, but on her business cards it says, “she who does the work.”

Her small black-and-white dog, Ladybug, a Boston terrier-Shih Tzu-Chihuahua mix, bounded around the cluttered newsroom. On every surface were books and trinkets and junk — Civil War histories, annals of the county, dictionaries, empty beer bottles, packages of ramen noodles.

In the archives section are old papers dating to the 1850s, and on the walls are pictures of Mark Twain and some slogans — old saws of newspapering, like “If it bleeds, it leads.”

Mr. Russell, who was on vacation, driving his R.V. up the coast with his wife, when Mr. Butz took over the paper, once told The Los Angeles Times that Twain had written a few unremarkable stories for The Messenger. Mr. Russell had read them on microfilm at a library. “They were awful,” he said. “They were just local stories, as I recall, written by a guy with a hangover.”

At his computer, Mr. Butz was putting together one of his first new features for the paper, a “poetry corner.” (He selected “Thoughts,” by Myra Viola Wilds, an African-American poet from Kentucky who wrote in the early 20th century.) As Ms. Tahija worked on the front page — the next day it would be filled with stories about a local poetry competition, the upcoming census, wildfire prevention and a local supervisors meeting — Mr. Butz shifted his focus to finishing his letter to readers.

In it, he explained why he bought the paper. “Simply put,” he wrote, “the horrible thought of this venerable institution folding up and vanishing after 166 years of continuous operation was simply more than I could bear.”

The newspaper, he wrote, was “something we need in order to know ourselves.”

‘Like losing a friend’

Making a newspaper in Downieville is strictly an analog, ink-on-paper affair; there is no website, no social media accounts. It loses a few thousand dollars a year, and relies mostly on publishing legal notices from the county and other government offices, which brings in about $50,000 a year, for the bulk of its revenue. It has about 700 subscribers and a print run of 2,400 copies, just below the county’s population.

“I’m not going to lose a million dollars but I know I’m going to have to subsidize some of it,” Mr. Butz said. “My daughter is already aware that her inheritance is shrinking.”

Downieville is a remarkably well-preserved old Gold Rush town, perched at a fork in the Yuba River in remote western Sierra County. History is its pitch to tourists, and it has the feel of a backlot for an Old West movie — in its corner saloon, in the one-lane bridges over the Yuba, and in the second-story offices of The Messenger, next to the Fire Department. (A painted message on the door says it is the “oldest volunteer fire department west of the Mississippi.”)

With the demise of gold mining and the shuttering of the sawmills that were once an economic engine for the region, Downieville reinvented itself as a destination for mountain biking and fly fishing, with an abundance of Old West charm.

Residents reacted to Mr. Butz’s last-minute purchase of the paper with a mixture of relief and gratitude.

“A real sense of relief,” said Lee Adams, a former Sierra County sheriff and a current member of the county’s Board of Supervisors.

The paper was always an important institution, but it had become more so in recent years as Northern California dailies like The Sacramento Bee and The San Francisco Chronicle stopped distributing in the region, and rarely sent reporters to cover Sierra County.

“We would have to fall off the face of the earth to make one of those papers on a normal news day,” Mr. Adams said.

The Messenger is more than just a chronicle of weekly happenings — government meetings, births and deaths, the police blotter, the weather — but also a repository of the county’s history. The paper is just a year younger than Sierra County, which was founded in 1852, the year Wells Fargo was established to serve the Gold Rush and the riches being dredged from the river.

When Bill Copren, 76, a local historian and a former county assessor, wrote his master’s thesis on the political history of Sierra County in the mid-19th century, he relied on The Messenger’s archives.

More recently, when officials secured a spot on the National Register of Historic Places for a local school built in the Art Deco style in 1931, they used the paper’s archives to confirm the details of how it was built and who paid for it.

The paper’s closure, Mr. Copren said, would have been “like losing a friend.”

Under Mr. Russell, The Messenger had a distinctive attitude and a brusque, straightforward style. He was averse to political correctness and not immune from using curse words in print.

Mr. Butz said he did not plan to own the paper for long, and wanted to find a younger person who could take over. He said he was thinking about bringing the paper into the digital age, with a website, and was thinking about turning it into a nonprofit publication, accepting donations and grants to keep it running.

But on a recent Thursday morning, the day after deadline, he was just happy to have his first issue under his belt.

His Thursday routine is now established: He gets up early and drives about an hour and a half to a printing plant in Quincy, Calif., to pick up the bundles of freshly printed newspapers. On the way, he and Scott McDermid, the paper’s longtime distribution manager, stop at the Express Coffee Shop for waffles and eggs.

And then, with a truck full of papers, they crisscross the county, past the tall cedars and Douglas firs of the mountains, and across the Sierra Valley, dotted with junipers and cottonwoods, stopping at every shop and gas station, emptying newspaper machines of last week’s edition, collecting money and dropping off fresh bundles of The Messenger.The story around town is how Mr. Butz saved the local newspaper.But Mr. Butz, a still-grieving widower — his wife, Cecilia Kuhn, the drummer in an all-female punk band, Frightwig, died in 2017 — sees it another way.“It’s saving me,” he said.

[today-in-wwi]

Battle of Romanovka

Members of the 31st Infantry regiment (one platoon of which was at Romanovka) hiking near Vladivostok on April 27.

June 25 1919, Romanovka--Although the war in Europe had been over for months, and the signing of the final treaty with Germany was days away, Allied soldiers were still fighting and dying in Russia.  In the early morning of June 25, an encampment of an American platoons at Romanovka, about 30 miles east of Vladivostok, was attacked by Bolshevik and partisan forces.  The Americans had not anticipated a threat, and believed themselves on good terms with the local Russians, and had only had one sentry posted that night.  Distracted by preparations for reveille, he had not seen the Russians approach.  They opened fire on the American tents and inflicting heavy casualties.  The Americans were eventually able to find cover, return fire, and drive the Russians off.  

In response, over the next few weeks, the Americans moved back in to the Suchan Valley to the east, critical for its coal mines supplying the Trans-Siberian Railroad.  The 24 Americans killed at Romanovka, most in the first few minutes of the attack, were a large proportion of the American combat deaths during the United States’ intervention in Siberia.

Sources include: Gary Mead, The Doughboys.

#wwi #ww1 #ww1 history #ww1 centenary #world war 1 #world war i #world war one #The First World War #The Great War #june 1919 #Siberia #Allied intervention #Russian Civil War

[skippyv20]

Thank you😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

WORLD`S MOST EXTREME ROAD TRIPS

EL CAMINO DE LA MUERTE (BOLIVIA)

Internationally known as the North Yungas Road, El Camino de la Muerte (Death Road) is a 60 km long track, built by prisoners in the 1930s. The road takes you from the Bolivian capital of La Paz to the town of Corioco. Being almost a banality, the trail was repeatedly rated as the most dangerous road on Earth.

Traffic travels in both directions, but the road is not more than 3 metres wide, and there are no guard rails. Tropical setting, frequent heavy rains, and fog add to the hazard, and one single miscalculation could result in a fall off the cliff up to 600 meters high.

The Death Road has claimed hundreds of lives and crosses mark the spots where vehicles have previously fallen. The track has been improved in recent years, and a new section now bypasses the most hazardous part, but the original route is still highly popular with cyclists.

 KOLYMA HIGHWAY (RUSSIA)

Yakutsk is a Siberian region where the coldest temperatures outside Antarctica were recorded (-64.4°C).  Yakutsk is also the largest city built on continuous permafrost. Houses here are built on concrete piles because of the frozen ground.

For those who are intending to reach the Pacific Coast overland and meet the Trans-Siberian Railway at Skovorodino, there is no other way but following the Lena Highway, once said to be the world`s worst highway.  Stretching along the Lena River, the road eventually connects to the ill-famed Kolyma Highway, locally knows as “The Road of Bones.”

During winter, which normally lasts around ten months, the track is constantly subject to heavy snowfall, ice, and almost zero visibility. Funnily enough, the worst time of a year for most of the drivers is summer – once the snow has melted the road turns into a sea of mud. The highway wasn`t paved until 2014 (the locals would say that it was supposed to keep the Germans away), and it might well have been so in the past.

Today, the Germans ‘away’ and the surface is sealed, but for all that the Kolyma road situation has not much improved. Summer still often makes it impossible to drive through certain sections, even for the locals. Seeing extensive traffic jams and vehicles being slowly swallowed by the mud is not a rare image. And this is a perfect scenario for the notorious ‘Siberian mud pirates’ – armed groups of the local men who patiently wait for summer so they can rob the helpless motorists when stuck in dirt.

There is not even one bridge (yet) anywhere to cross the half-frozen Lena River, and the only transport are hydrofoils and helicopters (only open between May and October). Although, the Chinese investors are willing to fund building a permafrost crossing of the river to bring more visitors to China, when (and if) this is going to happen is uncertain.

HINDUSTAN TIBET ROAD (INDIA)

National Highway 22 is an old trading route, and part of the ancient Silk Road,running 500 km from Punjab to Tibet, via the jaw-dropping Shipki La Pass, where Heinrich Harrer once crossed the border to spend “7 years in Tibet”. Today, the mountain pass is only permitted to cross for the locals, but anyone can drive at least to the Tibetan border, which is a scenic and super-exciting drive.

      The whole thrill starts at Shimla, where the road turns into a mountainous track, with rough terrain and continuous hairpin bends, and if you are a fan of extreme off-roaddriving, you will love the adrenaline rush in the Kinnaur Valley.  Carved into vertical cliffs the road is a masterpiece of the Indian engineering.

The famous Tranda ‘dhank’ section at is the most exhilarating, and the deadliest. Already tunnelling of the hanging cliffs over the wild Sutlej River claimed many lives during the construction in the 19th century. Now, the locally claimed ‘world`s most treacherous road,’ is considered to be ‘stable,’ yet lethal accidents frequently happen, despite the road being open only in summer.

If you have a few extra days, you can return via the beautiful Spiti Valley. Past Khab,there is another electrifying adventure to enjoy – the cliff-hanging drive through Malling Nala.

GUOLIANG TUNNEL  (CHINA)

This magnificent tunnel-road was built by the local villagers in the rugged Taihang Mountains of the Hunan Province of China. It took them five years to complete this masterpiece: 1200 meter long tunnel, 5 meters high and 4 meters wide.

Many of the builders died during the construction, and many others endured the tough weather conditions and hard work. Eventually, their efforts paid off, and in 1977 the tunnel was open to traffic. The Guoliang Tunnel road is another hair-raising driving experience that does not tolerate any mistakes. Nevertheless, it is a popular scenic route and a key tourist destination on the Chinese map.

RUTA NACIONAL 5 (CHILE)

Chile’s the Atacama Desert is one of the driest places on our planet. It’s said that in some areas, the average annual rainfall is zero, and it’s been that way for centuries. While most of the desert stretches across Bolivia, Peru, and Argentina, the central part belongs to Chile.

This is exactly where to look for one of the most dangerous roads on our planet – Ruta Nacional 5. The northern part of the highway crosses the Atacama Desert from the Peruvian at Arica to Iquique, with only very few gas stations and far between.

Wind is a serious issue here since the region is known for gusty gales so strong that they can easily blow your vehicle off the road and throw you down a valley – numerous vehicle skeletons lying at the bottom speak for themselves.

However, what the main danger factor causes most of the accidents is the monotony: hundreds of miles through endless, empty lines and the heat often lead to exhaustion, loss of concentration and mirage. On the gutters, there are small mausolea in memory of those who gave their lives to the road.

The Atacama Desert is believed to be home to the “Arica Monster” – a big surviving member of the feathered theropod dinosaur. Many motorists driving the Iquique-Arica route reported spotting a large and weirdly looking animal that resembled something between a dinosaur-emu and a kangaroo. In 2004, the largest number of drivers (some in groups) claimed to see an animal of the same description.  However, such existence of a prehistoric species in the area has never been officially confirmed, and so, if dinosaurs really live in the vast Atacama desert remains a mystery.

MANALI-LADAKH-SRINAGAR ROAD (INDIA)

It is only about 500 km from Manali (Himachal Pradesh) to Leh-Ladakh, situated in the province of Kashmir. Absolutely staggering, and extremely dangerous; the journey leads through snow-capped mountains, half-frozen streams with no bridges and cruel weather, with the highest elevation of 5328 m at Tanglang La.

It is the “Corpse Field Pass” – as the locals call it, which has the worst reputation. The name of India`s oldest mountain pass reflects the hazard that should never be underestimated when crossing the Rohtang Pass (3978 m); even though the ancient trade route is only open in the ‘mildest’ season (Jun-Oct) too many motorists and vehicles have succumbed to the harsh weather and road conditions – the corpses along the highway are serious warnings to all drivers.

The Zoji La Pass, the Indian Himalaya

Most of the road trippers will want to continue for another 400 km, from Ladakh toSrinagar, via the treacherous Zoji La pass (3528 m). The 9 km long, very narrow trailruns through rough terrain with no protective barriers where snow cutting machineryis essential to make the road passable as the snow carpet here can be up to 25 meters deep. The highly perilous journey is often accompanied by snowstorms and landslides, yet it provides a vital link between Ladakh and the Kasmir Valley.

TRAVEL TIP

Past Leh, there will be an extraordinary natural wonder to drive through: The Magnetic Hill is a ‘gravity hill’ known for an optical illusion that the cars are driving uphill which is, in fact, a downhill road. Also, if you have an extra day or two, turn off the road at Leh and take the 40 km long diversion up to Khardung La (5359 m) – one of the world`s highest drivable mountain passes, which eventually leads to theSiachen Glacier.

SICHUAN HIGHWAY (CHINA)

The ‘big north line’ between China and Tibet is more than 2412 km long, high-elevation highway built from Chengdu to Lhasa, which traverses 14 mountain ranges in Himalaya, with the average altitude of 4000-5000 m. The road passes through rugged mountains, and primeval forests filled wild rivers and wildlife, and as of 2017, the highway includes the highest vehicular tunnel in the world (Chola Mountains, 6168 m).

Even though it is an adventurous journey to travel from China to Tibet overland, with some of the world`s most impressive mountain sceneries, there is danger around every corner – the road claims hundreds of lives every year.

Driving the northern route to Tibet, you will be crossing several rivers – Nu-Jiang, Jinsha, Dadu and Lantsang – and these can be tricky. Regular landslides and rock avalanches cause serious damage to the roads and bridges, and high in the mountains, oxygen is scarce, and temperatures feature swings of up to 40 degrees over a single day.

The southern line might not be as high but what makes the road trip risky is the section at Baxoi on the Nujiang Highway 318. Here not only harsh weather but the road itself presents great challenges: 72 turns along a 35 kilometre stretch swing down the mountainsides, starting at the 4,658 meter-high Yela Mountain, before descending to the Nujiang Bridge – the most dangerous section, where water roars up to 150 meters below and the cliffs, soaring 1,000 meters high.

It almost seems like no one would even think of taking the risk to set out on this long, perilous journey. Yet, for the indigenous people, the bridge is vital to link to the outside world so they can bring food, clothing, kitchenware, jewellery and other daily necessities to the nearby markets. At least, there is a proper bridge now, as in the past the locals had to use a crude system of ropes to cross the wild river.

The traditional Himalayan rope river crossings are slowly being replaced by bridges (China)

OLD TELEGRAPH TRACK (AUSTRALIA)

To reach the northernmost point of  Cape Yorke is on the bucket list of every Australian. The cape is separated from Papua New Guinea by the narrow Torres Strait, and it is an extremely isolated region filled with swamps, billabongs, and crocodiles.

The 1000 km long off-road journey takes the adventurers through ancient rock art, Aboriginal culture, tropical wilderness, stunning waterfalls, red outback tracks, gold town ruins and remote WWII sites. The Peninsula Developmental Road, starting at Cairns, is an unsealed track and due to heavy rains often muddy with several river crossings.

  The best part – and the riskiest – is the 80 km long Old Telegraph Track, only accessible during the dry season (May-Oct). The road is notorious for the ‘Gunshot’ (almost vertical crossing), the highlight of the road trip, only doable using a high ground clearance vehicle.

Deep creek crossings, steep and muddy river banks, no facilities and no phone coverage do not make it any easier.  Besides, both freshwater and saltwater crocodiles inhabit the rivers and streams of the Far North of Queensland; quite tempting unless you don`t mind having your heart in your throat.

The notorious ‘Gunshot’ is the highlight along the Old Telegraph Track (Australia)

VAN ZYL`S PASS (NAMIBIA)

Africa Overland! This is an extreme cross-country drive running through the desert, and the absolute highlight is the tricky descent at the Van Zyl`s Pass that leads to spectacular Marienfluss Valley.

It is not exactly a road; rather a route made over the mountain by the travellers over time. The pass provides a pure adrenaline rush, but be aware that the which leads up to it is a 10-15km of challenging 4×4 driving where one has to dodge their way through rocks, boulders, badlands, and ravines. The track is only drivable one way – downwards – the direction to the Marienfluss.

Towards the end, the road descends to the ancient glacial Marienfluss Valley – one of the Earth`s most beautiful sights. There are some camping facilities in Kaokoland,and if you ever pluck up the courage to undergo this trip, you are guaranteed to meet the real ‘Mamma Africa’ with everything that belongs to it.

Remember that this off-road venture is only suitable for experienced off-road driversunless you hire a local driver.

DALTON HIGHWAY (ALASKA)

Similarly to the Siberian roads the 414 miles, long James Dalton Highway is an arctic and partially gravel trail. Also called, Alaska Route 11, it starts at Fairbanks and ends at Deadhorse, near the Arctic Ocean. 

The highway parallels a pipeline, and it is still the main supply route for the Prudhoe Bay oilfields.

The most isolated roads on the continent hence if you decide to use this route you need to be aware that you highly likely come across nothing but occasionaltracks and tractor-trailers.

Although the aurora borealis is a tempting tourist attraction, most of the rental companies would not even allow their cars on this highway: clouds of gravel kicked up by the speeding trucks, potholes take a heavy toll on cars and services, gas, and repairs are practically nonexistent.

Moreover, in winter time some sections of the road get icy and driving these requires certain experience. If you insist on doing this, however, you will absolutely need 4×4, a CB radio, extra fuel, food, tires, and a trunk filled with supplies. Remember that you are in a grizzly country and you certainly don`t want to get stuck in the middle of nowhere.

The Northern Lights at the Dalton Highway (Alask