Showing posts with label rock climbing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rock climbing. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 2, 2018

Balkans Redux: Summer 2018

The Accursed Mountains in Northern Albania and Valbona National Park ©Bennett Barthelemy

Some pivotal experiences are realized in less than expected ways. This was true of my trip to the Balkans in October of 2017. A region that had escaped the internal radar in terms of high on the list locales to experience. Yugoslavia had disappeared in name decades ago, it had broken up, separating from communism. I did remember the associated turmoil/war in the 1990s with ethnic cleansing and it seemed surreal that such a thing could happen in Europe. I imagine this added to the etherealness of the region, placing it fairly far outside the focus of awareness in relation to the better expressed travel destinations of Europe.

Locally in Ojai I have been intrigued and over the years written a couple of editorial features about the vestigial reality and detrimental effects of one dam, the Matilija, just below my home in the Los Padres National Forest. It's been a blight and ripe for demolition for decades but a lack of money to bring it down and convoluted politics seem to keep it alive. Last year, from a visit there with a group of journalists that had been brought in by Patagonia, I learned from Paul Jenkin of the Matilija Coalition that all interested parties were finally on board for seeing it go and how... There were still financial hurdles but it seemed imminent that the dam would finally come down soon and that the Steelhead may yet have a chance to spawn again far up Matilija Creek, the river could once again feed the challenged watershed. It was this span of local concrete, less than 2 miles from home, that is what catapulted me into worlds so far from my comprehension. Within a few months I would be bound for terra incognita. And in June of this year I am committed and set to return again. This distant land has fixed a place in my reality, perhaps my purpose.

I quickly learned that it was not just me that allowed this place to fall off the map - much of the rest of the world has as well but that is quickly changing as the Balkans hold some of the last pristine landscapes/rivers in Europe that have become targets for exploitation - and that the lack of awareness means that these hydropower projects that were far from "green" were being slammed through before the locals could effectively fight it and the rest of the world could raise dissent.

A highly contested hydropower diversion project in Valbona National Park Albania still underway.

I went alone and on my own dime to the Balkans to learn and to share as I could about the concrete and waterways that were threatened or already being exploited for capital gain - 3,000 hydropower projects from Slovenia to Albania.  I crossed some 19 borders in a few weeks and met some of the more inspirational humans yet in 5 countries. I felt a very real sense of urgency and solidarity by the locals, a grassroots flourishing to protect the front and backyards, their livelihoods, their right to healthy drinking water and to be free from unchecked development by money hungry investors and politicians that seemed to care little for the future of the environment and its people. This is for sure happening in our backyards too, with Trump and the gutted EPA and this awareness and solidarity and grassroots activism needs real awakening and flourishing here too.

One thing powerfully shared by Rok Rozman, Slovenian grassroots leader was that the locals protecting the rivers in the Balkans want outside awareness about what is happening, "...to put fear into the bones of politicians doing the dirty work." He eloquently shared that just because a river might be in Rok's backyard it does not belong to him, it belongs to everyone. We should not be divided by borders or religion or politics because that is what the developers and governments want so the exploitative work can go on.


Filmmaker and grassroots activist Rok Rozman on his home river the Sava in Slovenia, his initiative Balkan Rivers Defence is going strong in the Balkans

Catherine Bohne of TOKA - The Organization to Conserve the Albanian Alps - talks to reporters with locals from Valbona National Park/Tropoja in Albania after the 12 court case in Tirana fighting the unchecked development that is diverting the river in the National Park.

Omer shaing a poster brought by another nearby village that started their own non-profit to help locals become educated and aware what is happening to their rivers.

Denis Cizar on his beloved Mura River, a river guide and activist in Slovenia.

Arif, an Albanian shepherd in Valbona National Park, Albania. 

A Croatian hydropower plant... it is believed by many that no one locally gains much from new hydropower projects and that is really just about financial gain for a few, their is enough power generated already. Perhaps looking at and changing levels of consumption internationally can help this?

Omis and another dammed river... Amazing climbing/recreational opportunities are also threatened by the developments.

Croatian climbing destination, epic limestone.

German climber Wolfgang works to help sustainably develop tourism in Valbana National Park along with locals there...

A group of women stand guard keeping out the trucks and developers that wish to take over their water source in Krusica, Bosnia. These women and other river defenders will be featured in Patagonia's new film premiering this month, The Blue Heart of Europe.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

California Redux: A photo essay

Returns are always interesting... 

I have not "lived" in California for some time, so diving in again these last two weeks has been engaging. Good people, sweet locations, some very cool shared explorations of deserts, oceans, cliff faces, backountry trails... 

Lots to be thankful for in this wild life.


Thursday, October 13, 2016

Yosemite Valley Dreams: A photo essay

The Yosemite Valley has been called the Center of the Universe by many climbers that frequent there. If I count both days and pitches climbed over more than two decades here it would be in the high hundreds.

Each and every escape here is a torrid affair for sure - of sweat, blood, fear, elation, epiphanies - of chance meetings with heroes of the vertical - crossing paths again with old friends who shared a rope in years long past - the only place I have every experienced such soul weary tiredness when I slept straight through more than 30 hours (after bailing from the Leaning Tower). It is the place that has re-birthed me, raised me, sustains me through my adult life...

History, legends, dreams are all alive and well here through a nexus of intention and shared experience... a love of the wild, steep stone - rock dreamers, dreaming ourselves alive...

all images ©Bennett Barthelemy October 2016







Saturday, August 13, 2016

Mt. Goode: Photo Essay

An alpine climb in the Sierra is a magical thing... The John Muir Wilderness hides some gems for sure... 

All images ©Bennett Barthelemy August 2016









Sunday, June 19, 2016

Upside Down: A photo essay

A friend sent me this quote by Rumi yesterday.

"Try not to resist the changes that come your way. Instead let life live through you. And do not worry that your life is turning upside down. How do you know that the side you are used to is better than the one to come?"

Seems quite apropos given the frenetic changes of late... Finding solace embracing natural light, engaging splitter cracks, new sunrises - and spending time with new and old friends...

All image ©Bennett Barthelemy June 2016









Sunday, May 1, 2016

Maroc - Night Train to Tangier Ramblings...

all images ©Bennett Barthelemy April 2016


 Call to prayer at 4.53 AM drifts over the blackness like a spell. Amazing voice from this Imam. I had dreamed of The cat with neatly unraveled intestine resting just outside his stomach with opened skull that greeted us in the parking lot late last night. But presently Our car is Locked away in an ancient garage in a tiny mountain town whose name I cannot pronounce and have forgotten, passport surrendered to the French and Arabic speaking hotel keeper. Time to see if we can get them back without too dear of a ransom.

Yet Currently locked in until 7 am. Ryan, the Scotsman who speaks some French, forgot to tell me this detail that they wouldn't be in the lobby until then. Found Front door is locked by a key, as is our car across and down the block in an unmarked garage behind a huge metal padlocked door. Ryan's passport is eclipsed somewhere in the dark office as well.

Forced to Enjoy the birds music at dawn and the company of an ancient cat that has decided to visit us that can only manage a whispery meow. He is happily clawing apart the center bed. Now joining me in mine, this rumpled and mangy but purring beast with dandruff flakes on his Holstein specked coat. At least someone is enjoying this place.

10 minutes to 7 now. We will see if the employees turn up. Heard a raspy cough echo through the marble hallways just now. Suppose that is a sign of something. So much for the hoped-for sunrise photos atop the Atlas pass today... More phlegmy coughs from behind closed doors. I am heavily congested this morning too, sneezing and woke after midnight with a headache and rushed to open the sealed window. The room is passably clean but the pillows are permanently stained from greasy heads resting upon them. Realizing Some of the more intriguing pieces of travel that would be difficult to dream up unaided by the realities of cultural and income differences.

Still it seems only tiny birds, distant crowing roosters and barking dogs and this hotel cat are the only things truly awake on this sedate morning. Chilled air pushed through the ornate bars as the sun and the new days warmth will soon be here.




 Remembering the sharp vertical limestone, tottering death-blocks, nearly 300 meters of exposure of yesterday, tea with a head-swaddled swarthy Berber and haggling over carpets with no money but a used climbing guide book, the heightened state required to drive these Moroccan roads where laws seem to be fantasy especially when applied by the baksheesh seeking cop, highways busy with top heavy semis taller then long that are passed by taxis and other anxious semi drivers. Dust flies as we dive into the dirt shoulder when big rigs impossibly long for the hairpins have swung wide blindly over the center line, puttering motorcycles and mopeds are passed often holding three people and 50 meters of irrigation tubing wound around the body or a bushel of mint and three people on them that share the narrow two lanes with totally oblivious pedestrians and bicyclists in wind flapping robes connoting what Islamic sect the men belong to, or the vivid color splashes of completely covered women that seem to always travel in groups of two or more. (Spain had 1700 traffic fatalities in 2013, Morocco had 6900) Men thrust their arms deep into the traffic that are draped with heart-shaped rose garlands for sale and old men sit sidesaddle on donkeys and talk on cellphones in a world where ancient dark mud-baked ruins sit connected to new cinder blocked apartments beneath blue cloudless skies and swirling sand and clay dust. Dentistry seem to be a totally unrealized profession here. when locals are engaged and the mouth opens it is quite a sight. But the food has been great at the cafes, sizzling and well spiced veggies and curried sauces - tagine that comes in blackened terra cotta bowls put directly over fire that retains incredible heat indefinitely. the tea is also amazing, fragrant mint leaves on the stem crammed into a metal pot and sometimes rosemary and thyme are inside as well.




At 7.24 we manage our escape, walking past the over-stuffed garbage bin that has a paw sticking just past the lid. The garage keeper demands 20 dirham but Ryan manages to pay him just 7.







 I will always remember Rashid whom we met in the gateway town to Todra Gorge, the server that deftly maneuvered his way into our Hyundai rental to get the commission for binging us to the idyllic Etoile des Gorges Hotel who's mouth screamed a nightmare from missing and long abused and discolored broken teeth but his actual words were often golden. He could speak Berber, Arabic, English and French. He said to me while moving his hand to cover part of his face "speaking one language is like seeing with only one eye."

all images ©Bennett Barthelemy 2016