Jacktown, here I come.

It was strange to wake up this morning and realize that it would be our last full day in the UK. The past few weeks have been full of so many sights and experiences that I almost don't know how to begin sorting them out in my head. To cap off what has been a truly grand adventure, These few days in London have only added to what has been the most memorable trip of my life. Yesterday, Allison and I spent several hours exploring new parts of London only to find ourselves caught in a torrential downpour with no rainjackets or umbrellas. Typical. In a vain attempt to stay dry, we huddled under a tree in a park with the world's cutest English family ("But Mummy, why can't we take the doggy home with us?" being the best quote). After the rain abated and we bid farwell to the stressed out parents and still adorable children, the two of us set of to find a cheap lunch (an Italian cafe where they played lots of Celine Dion) and to the Sunday evensong service at Westminster Abbey. It was by far one of the most incredible experiences I could imagine. We were ushered into the main body of the Abbey right past the choral stands and directly in fromt of the main altar (i.e. where Kate and Will got hitched). For those unfamiliar with evensong, it's a slightly shorter service that doesn't include Eucharist and is primarily based in music. And when Westminster Abbey plays music, they go all out. It was mindblowing to feel how the organist made the air tingle by hitting deep chords that reverberated throughout the entire space. And then the choir (a clasic example of the English choral tradition) made the notes fly up into every crevice of the nave. Those kids keep it real.

After the peace and comfort of evensong ended, Allison and I began to feel just how truly exhausted we were from all our wandering. Everything from Inchnadamph to Edinburgh to London finally caught up with us in one huge wave of utter weariness. As a result, we called it an early night and opted to cut back on our plans for today. We originally had wanted to visit the Tower of London and the British Museum as well as do our bit to help the economy at Harrods. It the interest of not killing ourselves from tiredness, we limited oursleves to spending the morning at the Tower andthen a little time in the afternoon at Harrods. Though I wish we could have squeezed in the British Museum, I don't feel quite so bad about it since I did spend all of Saturday at the Natural Science Museum. The Tower turned about to be a terrific idea. We got in at opening and went a free tour with Barney the Beefeater. Barney, as it turns out had a terrific sense of humor but also managed to frighten several children with his highly detailed description of botched executions. Whoops-a-daisie. But the highlight of our tour group arrived with the funniest/silliest Americans I've encountered on my trip. Amy and Anna from Tampa, Florida decided to take London by storm with their fashionable shoes, pattern dresses, and fasinator hats. Their bright, feathery hats matched their personalities as they turned out to be the life of our tour group. I'm pretty sure the Italians behind us hated them, but whatev. Seeing the Crown Jewels had the dual efect of filling me with an appreication for the pomp and circumstance of State ceremonies as well as making me painfully aware of how tiny my sapphire ring looks compared to the one in the Imperial State Crown. Bummer.

After making ourselves feel thoroughly well veresed in British history (courtesy of Barney) and catching one last lunch at EAT, our favorite London eatery, we set off to explore the great wonders of Harrods. Good Lord. I swear that someone would need a Ritalin milkshake before shopping in there. There is so much to see, buy, do, smell, touch, eat, buy, play with, buy, and buy that I didn't know which way to look. In honor of my Nandy's Candy roots, I purchased several pieces of their handmade chocolates (strawberry and champagne with white chocolate being my fave) and then set off to explore a bit. I must be hoest and say that we only spent about an hour inside. I generally derive little pleasure in looking at things that I either have no interest in owning or cannot afford. A £3000 purse falls in both of those categories. So after picking up a few other goodies for gifts, Allison and I peaced out of that heavenly department store and headed homeward.

So after sixteen days, one village, two major cities, countless pubs, several mountainsand a variety of scrapes and bruises, what do I have to show for it? Well aside from two beautiful geological maps completed by your truly and lots of unposted pictures, the thing that sticks out most to me is the incredible vastness of everything beyond the world in which I normally live. Some people might think this diminishes the significane of we are and the lives we live, but I find the opposite to be true. Over these past two weeks, I've literally walked in the paths of kings, queens, scientists, great thinkers, etc. To be able to put my hands on Sicar Point, where James Hutton changed the world or stand in the spot where Queen Elizabeth II took her first step as the world's most famous monarch is an incredibly empowering experience. It's almost in the same vein of thought of thought as "standing on the shoulder of giants". I have no belief that I will ever be famous or well-recognized, but if the thoughts and actions of these people can change the world, then why not mine? Maybe that's a overly sentimental note to end this blog on, but's it's my blog not yours, so deal with it.

Deck the Halls with Boughs of Rorry!!!

With three posts in three days, I'm really on a roll. Unfortunately, this will be a binocular a mini-post since I'm hijacking McDonalds wi-fi with my iPhone. My thumbs are almost too big for the buttons, so it makes for awkward blogging. Anyways, I mainly just wanted to share this story for the benefit of my father. Since he always claims "Oh, I don't need any gifts from your trip. Just get something for you," let this be my gift to him.

Last night for dinner, our group of intrepid geologists ventured into London's Chinatown for some strongly flavored food (one can only have garden peas so many times.) And in our desire to branch out, we ordered the huge, multiple course dinner for our entire group in the hoes of trying new and interestings things. Jackpot. Not only did we get good food. No no no. We got a duck. A fried Chinese duck. I looked up at Alex and Chris sitting across from me, and we all began to sing, "Deck the halls with boughs of rorry! Fa ra ra ra ra ra ra." My work here is done. That story is for you, my dear father. And if some of my less cultured readers don't get the reference, shame on you. Cheers!

London Calling

Today was our first full day to be let loose into the City of London. After seeing almost no human beings for over a week in the Highlands, I'm struggling with some sensory overload. Our dorm (which is dismal at best) is located near Tottenham Court Rd, a busy city thoroughfare. Good for convenient tube transport but bad for peace and silence. After beggining the morning with a truly fascinating breakfast, our group set off to visit the Royal Geological Society to see the first geological map ever written. Along the way though, we made a pit stop at Buckingham Palace. Be still my heart. I love the Royal Family and make no excuse for my admiration. While I don't think that I qualify as one of those oddballs who collects tea towels bedecked with pictures of Will and Kate, I couldn't contain my excitement at seeing the royal banner fluttering over the top of the palace, indicating Her Majesty's current location. Meep. Unfortunately and perhaps hypocritically, I must note how much I dislike the enormous swarms of tourists in London and in front of Buckingham Palace. There is no need to continually take picutures of yourself sassily posing with a royal guard or a statue of Queen Victoria. Your not really that interesting of a picture subject, and it also seems a bit rude especially with how (indulge me in a stereotype) Italian act like war memorials are monkey bars. Trafalger Square was not erected for your personal amusement, thank you very much. Okay. Sorry. Rant over.

Anyways, the geological maps from the early 1800's were extremely large on the scale of ten feet tall and are quite impressive since I can't even draw a regional geologic map that doesn't look like kindergarden scribble. Dr. Harris led us to some other small touristy things like Piccadilly Circus and the city's largest/tackiest gift shop. But my main highlight of the day arrived with our visit to Westminster Abbey. Another small tourist rant. Apparently most of the Abbey's visitors have no idea how to behave with some shred of diginity within a working church. Yes. There is zero need for you to try and snap pictures of a priest serving Eucharist. Also, take your hat off. Yeah. I'm talking to you, Yankees fan. Tacky. Ill mannered tourists aside, the Abbey remains my favorite thing about today. Walking on the stones that have supported the weight of over 700 years of monarchs, statesmen, poets, scientists, military heroes, and counless other people gave me a new appreciation for the real scope of that chruch's role within England. I once heard one of our priests from Canterbury Club describe the experience of visiting St. Peter's tomb under Vatican City and how amazing it is that however many years and lives have passed, someone always remembers the story. In that same way, the worn floors of Westminster reminded me that the world has changed countless times since the first church was erected in that spot. Yet through it all, there has always been someone to tend it so that the memories of the most famous of monarchs to the lowly, unnamed soldier buried beneath wreaths of poppies will endure beyond the fleeting span of a human life. And that's why you should take your hat off when you walk through those doors. It's a small gesture, but surely it's the least you can do.

What Goes Down, Must Come Up (somehow)

I should probably issue my blog as a weekly serial, considering I only update it every few days. In my defense, this is due to hte fact that everywhere in Edinburgh charges an unglodly amount for wi-fi. I'm cheap. Sue me. So, I'm writing this from the dorms of the London School of Economics while listening to a friend from the Millsaps business school trip yell at people over a game of pool. It's all very interesting. There's so much from the past three days that I want to try and condense in a single post but this computer runs at at pound for thirty minutes and I just spent four of the six pound coins in my pocket on pints of beer. Once again, it's all about priorities. In summation, I should tell you about the moment where my life flashed before my eyes (as a result I might need a tetanus shot) and my disasterous but amusing train ride from Edinburgh to London.

Let me say as an intro that Edinburgh is officially my favorite city of all time. Period. Cool pubs. Cool people. Even the homeless bagpipers are pretty cool. You know what's not cool though? The vertical climb down to Siccar's Point. For my non-geologically minded audience, Siccar Point is the l;ocation where James Hutton, the father of modern geology, developed the principles of superspositioning and figured out that the earth is older than 5000 years. Big deal. What Dr. Harris failed to clue us in on is that Siccar Point is only accesible by climbing down a muddy, 65 degree, 150 foot sea cliff to a narrow band of rock in the middle of the North Sea. About halfway down, as I grasp desperately to a barbed wire fence, my thoughts were something along the lines of "Oh God. Harris, you've killed us all." At one point, I lost my footing and fell into a terrify five foot slide in which I shrieked helpslessly and generally just made an ass of myself. Winning. Howver, once we got down I could only think about the terror that would be the climb back UP the embackment. And sure enough, I walked straight into disaster. I now have a lovely slice up my left fore arm from the barbed wire. A little Neosporina and Advil for good measure, I'm feeling much better. But, Mom, I might need a tetanus a shot...just kidding...but let's maybe look into that.....hmmmm.

Anyhow, fast forward two days (insert lots of pub visits, fried Brie cheese, and a haggis tasting) and we arrive to today. Oh today. What a day of hope and glory. In our eternal quest to experience Great Britain in all it's wonder, Allison, Drez, Alex, Krista, and I took the train from Edinburgh Waverley Station Loondon Kings Cross. Brilliant plan in theory. We would see the country side, save money, and meet interesting people. In reality, we were stuck in the one coach that didn't have air conditioning in the entire twenty coach train. Solid start that reeks of potential. Then we were delayed for an hour on a track outside of Stephencaster (sic) after a person was apparently by a train further down the track.....he apparently lived. As we slowly baked in the English country side, the kind Englishman beside me began to interrogate me about rodeos and various American restaurant chains. He was particularly interested in the concept of "The Waffle House". He couldn't comprehend how I would ever know what or how to order. Something was also lost in translation as I tried to explain the various ways in which you can order hashbrowns. It's not terribly English, I suppose. However, he was overall impressed with the nature of American breakfast, the Denny's Grand-Slam in particular. Don't ask me why, but he was really into the amount of scrambled eggs and bacon that the Denny's corporation managed to fit onto the plate for the low price of 5.95. I'm pretty sure that was his favorite thing in America, right after our perception of the American dream. It was actually a fairly strange conversation now that I think about it.

In summation: I climbed and fell. I wined and dined. I learned and taught. All in a days work for a Millsaps geology major.

Trails? We don't need no stinkin' trails!

After several days of no post, I realize that there is a lot to recap. In defense of my tardiness, let me say that we've been in the field from 9:00 to around 7:00 everyday, cooking and eating dinner after that, and then working on our maps and cross-sections until 12:30 each night. Suffice it to say that blog updates kinda fell to the wayside. In review however, the past few days have been prime examples of "Get it. Work it. Own it." I can tell you all about the various theories surrounding formation of glacial mega grooves. Or if the Glen Coul thrust fault is what gets your blood pumping, I'll let you in on the fabulous secret on the double thrust unconformity. Yeah....I don't think many people care, but I do so that's all that really matters. But I guess the best way to describe what the past few days have been like is to tell you about my discovery of the three velocities of geologic mapping and their impact on my life. 


Velocity 1) Antelope Pace- The antelope pace is the speed to which we all aspire. Adept antelopes such as Dr. Harris and Krista bound from boulder to boulder and scurry up vertical cliffs without even breaking a sweat. To be an antelope is to have nerves, muscles, and joints of steel. You believe that trails are merely suggestions rather than rules (hence the title of the post.)


Velocity 2) Mountain Goat Pace- The mountain goat pace remains the most common form of Highland transport. It entails the general confidence of moving rapidly up and down slopes with only minor difficulty caused by the uneven clumps of deer grass or the occasional peat bog. Mountain goats thrive on environments where rock outcrops dominate the landscape. On a good day, I'm a mountain goat.


Velocity 3) "I'll get there when I damn well please" Pace- No explanation needed.


I've recently had more than just a fleeting relationship with Velocity 3 recently, especially on the day of the glacial hike with dear old Donald. What we thought would be a brief day hike turned into a five mile trek up and down the sixty degree slopes of a mountain during gale force winds that plastered us with rain in the frigid weather. As I continually stopped to enjoy the view/stabilize my heart rate, my good will towards our esteemed regional geologist began to falter. The exploration of the glacial grooves turned out to be really interesting, but I was feeing pretty bitter by that point, which have clouded my capacity for learning a bit. The next two days were jam packed with hikes, hikes, a few more hikes, and trips to the store for more Scottish beer. If you're wondering why I haven't actually posted any pictures yet, it's mostly because I look super rough in every picture we've taken. Allow me to paint a mental image for you: my gross looking hair piled on top of my head with mud splattered from ankle to shoulder as the uneven weight of my backpack and rock hammer tend to pull all my clothes lopsidely to the right of my body in highly attractive fashion. I am the very image of grace and beauty. Once I get to Edinburgh tomorrow night, I'll supply you with all the gorgeous pictures of the rugged county side.


On trips like this, I know that the positives always outweigh the negatives, but there is one negative that is almost a dominating force in day to day life here in northeast Scotland. I present to you, the highland midge. I'm now self conscious about wearing shorts or short sleeve shirts because of the devastation these creatures have wreaked all over my body. Basically, it looks like I have leprosy. These tiny little buggers wait for in swarms of millions of little bodies waiting to attack you like a herd of the most wretched kind of mosquitos you can possibly imagine. It's a fairly common site to see the locals don fine mesh nets over their heads to prevent the little demons from going after the neck and ears. Kinda wish they had clued me in on that little tip. The combination of midge bites and windburn along the tops of my ears has given them a whole new personality (in a highly unpleasant way.) They now have a vaguely Prince Charles appearance due to the accompanying inflammation. Charming.


Enough of the negatives. Back to to the positives. In an attempt to follow the advice of a friend who is actually a native of Scotland, I've made a deliberate effort to interact with the locals and the fellow guests at the Inchnadamph Lodge beyond the normal parameters of my comfort zone. I almost don't even have to ask any questions. I learn more about them from their inquiries about life in the US than with any interview I could devise. Thus far I've learned that many people think scientists face harsh religious persecution (hence their confusion at geologists from a Methodist school), they think it's crazy that I've never driven a standard before, and that conservative Americans allegedly don't travel abroad. I'm not sure about the validity of that last claim, but the conversation behind it certainly was an interesting one.


Now it's fairly late, and I have a five hour trip to Edinburgh ahead of me in the morning so I bid you adieu. If you see any midges, kill the little demons.

Watch out for that.....dammit.

The past two days constituted the official beginning of the mapping project that serves as the premise of my entire field study here in Scotland. Since the 1700's, the Highlands remain an international site for the study of geology since the field was practically invented here. Visiting the outcrop where James Hutton first derived the Rules of Superpositioning or discovered trust faults is like walking into Marie Curie's actual lab. Basically, it serves as the ideal location for exploring the same locales that inspired scientist to create an entirely new field of science. Yesterday, after a rough early morning wake-up, Alex, Drez, Chris, Allison, Krista, and I set off to Knockan Crag only a ten minute drive away from our lodge. A line of cliffs within Highlands Geopark, Knockan Crag is probably one of the most important sites regarding the history of the field of geology. The discovery of unconformities of rock ages in vertical sequences lead scientists t develop the theories of massive horizontal movements of rocks that would create the foundation for the theory of Plate Tectonics. This region is to geology as the Galapogos are to biology. The cliffs themselves feature a beautiful hike up the side of the mountain along a series of steep switchbacks that scale the face of the cliffs. With 50 degree weather and 20 mph gusts of wind, the day stood poised for greatness.


Although having a former college basketball player (Krista) set the pace for the climb presented some challenges, I remain grateful that nobody on this trip plays that favorite game of the geology department called "Who can get to the top first?" I don't like that game. I never win. As we made our way up at a clipping pace, we encountered a group of elderly tourists (one of whom was 85 and a former ballerina for the Royal Ballet) and their guide who invited us to join them for the rest of the day. The guide turned out to be Donald Fischer, the official chief geologist for this region, and quickly took us under his wing. A dry witted Scot who loves America, rusty nail whisky drinks, and Harley's, Donald taught us all about the geology in conjunction with the cultural history of the region. I t was an amazing opportunity to learn from the definitive expert of our entire study area. Next thing we know, he's inviting us on glacial valley hike for Thursday and giving us free Gaelic translation books. FYI, Inchnadamph means "meadow of the stags". How bout dem apples?


Today actually marked the point of no return as I began my first field mapping expedition. After nine hours of tramping across mountains, ridges, and peat bogs, I've never been colder or muddier in my life. I. Love. It. After some intro to the basic rock formations to look for, Dr. Harris set us loose with our mapping tools and walkie-talkies with some vague instructions about what to do. Four member of our group set off with competitive zeal to be the first to find several geologic features we were supposed to find. However, Krista and I opted for a more laid back approach of "Oh! That mountain looks neat. Let's climb it and see what we find!" Not only did we find find and map all of the features, but we had a helluva lot more fun than the other group. Krista once again acted as pace setter and just about drove me into the ground at some points over the five kilometers of climbing, but by and large my mountain goat skills of leaping from ledge to ledge improved exponentially. It's kind of a keep up or get left behind kind of game. I won. Much to a collective dismay though, three of us discovered the perils of saturated peat bogs i.e. Scottish quicksand. After seeing two of my friends fall prey to this devastating trap (hence the title of this post), I stepped out onto a vibrant green plain in order to reach an interesting quartzite outcrop. Before I knew what happened, I found myself sunk knee deep into the foulest, coldest mud you can possibly imagine. Only after several minutes of tugging and laughing was Krista able to pull me free of my death trap. Being covered in cold mud for the remaining hike in 30 mph winds was a character building experience to say the least.


To recover from the group host of injuries ranging from rolled ankles to mild hypothermia, Dr. Harris drove us to Lochinver for a pub dinner. A filling meal of Glasgow meat platters and pints of cider diminished all pain and dissipated all complaints. I now feel fully rested and ready to conquer the Highland glacial paths with Donald in the morning. In the meantime, keep an eye out for those pesky peat bogs.

A Very Long Day's Journey Into Night

After three planes, almost twenty-four hours of travel, two lost pieces of luggage, one unpleasantly sassy customs agent, and an incident with a rather foolhardy weasel, the Millsaps Geology Field Study finally arrived in Inchnadamph, Scotland. For the many souls who likely have no clue where that is, Inchnadamph is a remote (emphasis on remote) hamlet in the far northwestern Highlands in the Assynt region of Scotland. As I sit here, I can see vast expanses of heather meadows, green carpeted mountains with sheer cliffs, one red stag, and several sheep that are just bumming around. Fortunately, the sun doesn't set till around 11:00 at night, so I have ample opportunity to admire the landscape. It's a nice recovery that was the mayhem of our travel experience.

Although I personally had a relatively stress free journey, with the exception of a customs officer who threatened to deport me, some of my fellow Millsapians experienced missed connecting flights, lost luggage, another difficult customs officer, and essential being lost with no way of contacting the others in our group. Delightful. However, after several hours of regrouping, we finally congregating at the Edinburgh airport with high spirits and sanity intact in order to begin our 5-hour trek into the Scottish Highlands. If anyone somehow thinks it useless or extravagant to travel all the way to Scotland just to study geology for two weeks, the sights I've encountered justify any doubts. First of all, the level of greenery defies adequate description. Fields upon fields of soft heather stretch out in every direction dotted by clusters of wild thistle and Queen Anne's Lace. These vast expanses are punctuated only by the mountains or transition into pastures of golden barley. But this being a geology trip, the mountains dominated my attention. On a large, simplified scale, it's as though someone took an ice cream scooper and dragged it back and forth along the earth to create deep U-shaped valleys. These massive, intersecting valley as well as the numerous lochs linger as the remnants of the ancient glaciers that once dominated the region. These flowing rivers of ice created the most stunning of all the sights we've seen yet: Glencoe Valley. Once the site of a brutal massacre between the Campbell and MacDonald clans, the steep cliffs of the glacial valley tower above you, as numerous waterfalls plummet towards the meadow of the valley floor. Unfortunately, we weren't able to stop and take pictures due to time constraints. Suffice it to say that Yosemite has nothing on Glencoe. It is unbeatable.

We briefly stopped in Fort Williams for groceries and a quick dinner at a pub. I ate interesting food, drank interesting beer, then spilled interesting beer all over myself. Typical. Beautiful though the drive continued to be, sheep and lochs failed to placate my growing weariness and motion sickness. The only real entertainment came whenever Dr. Harris accidentally drove off the narrow road or a wild weasel unexpectedly bounded in front of the car. Don't worry. The weasel lived, and we arrived safely at the gorgeous, yet desolate Inchnadamph. We set off early this this morning to begin our preliminary overview of the regional geology in preparation for several mapping projects. However, it is incredibly late and I have another early morning of hiking and mapping, so the rest (including pictures) will have to wait until tomorrow. Oh well.