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Always an Adventure (Part 3/3)

2/20/2016

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And if every step taken is a step
   well-lived but a foot
towards death, every pilgrimage a
   circle, every flight-path
the tracing of a sphere: I will give
​   myself over and over.


from 
Totem Poem, by Luke Davies

After a cup of coffee and dinner for breakfast at Mazar-i-Sharif, my groggy yet upbeat crew is ready to continue the adventure west.​​  So we load up the plane in the dark mountain winter and take off around midnight.  
We are now 12hrs off from our previous circadian rhythm.  Go figure.  We descend the length of Afghanistan and this time Pakistan lets us fly through their airspace with no complaint as we continue on our long way to Europe, with a little stop in along the way.  Let’s just say it's a country I’ve never visited, so I’m looking forward to checking it out.  ​
The dawn horizon was glowing brightly as we flew over more rugged mountain country… my sort of place.  For some people, it might be flying over beaches or cities.  But for me, it’s the peaks, valleys, canyons.  The more forested the better.  Running rivers with rapids and deep pools living in endless tandem.  That’s where my heart feels most alive, whether I’m at 29,000ft or feeling the branches and grass moving across my shins and arms.  

Our little airport destination was covered in snow when we arrived and had some rounded mountains peaking above the haze.  Sitting in a little bowl with a blanket of thin clouds/smog, the airport was hard to see until short final.  We were impressed to be greeted by Airmen from the local American embassy, which doesn’t happen all that often these days.  They actually brought us Cinnabon.  That’s right, those gooey, frosting covered, delicious fat nuggets.  Reportedly western chains had shown up in the last few years in this country and Cinnabon was one of the most recent. We happily accepted their unexpected gift.  Then we waited for about two hours as a group of local soldiers milled about outside in preparation for their trip with us.  
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We land to a hazy, frozen sunrise and this cool looking radar thingy
While waiting, we took on gas and had the lavatory cleaned.  I noticed a bit of a ruckus with the ground crew outside the plane, so I went to see what was going on.  To my horror I stepped off the aircraft stairs and almost into a growing pool of human waste.  The guys trying to pump out the lavatory had somehow failed to connect their pump tube correctly, resulting in fecal matter, toilet paper, urine and the infamous “blue liquid” pouring out of the plane onto the tarmac.  YUCK!  For those of you faint of heart, you might want to skip the video below (it’s not that bad).  With their military general on his way to preside over the ceremonial loading of his troops, the ground crew quickly went to work trying to push and spray the turds out of sight of the military ceremony and accompanying videographer.
Yup, that’s just the comic relief deployed service members need.  It’s moments like this that we laugh about for hours, even days later.  Without comedy, much of this work far from home among an environment permeated in violence would be too heavy.

After the young conscripts line up and march onto the plane, we say good bye to another country and head for Germany… where we hope a real bed, a Kolsch beer, and a little rest awaits.
The flight was an easy one.  We drank lots of caffeinated soda, since the infamous energy drink “RipIt” is no longer offered on the deployed bases.  It was a highly potent dose of caffeine that I guess too many people were abusing.  During the flight, a long discussion regarding religions began.  The range of conversations that take place while airborne range from crude toilet humor to some pretty serious scientific (nerd) and spiritual topics.  

For a good hour and a half the young 1st lieutenant who was temporarily flying with us, my loadmaster Ray, and I talked about love, sin, hell, God and judgement.  Yea, I know, that’s some serious stuff.  But unlike the crap you see on TV these days, there was no yelling, no finger pointing, no damning each other and certainly no judgment passed.  Imagine that!!  

While our views/beliefs were often very different, each person considered the other’s point/belief and then considered how it might play into their personal experiences.  I could write a book about the stuff we went into, but let’s just say that in the end the three of us came away with a better respect for each other’s positions and experiences, and I’d say each was more compassionate and tolerant from it.  
​

The powerful concept that the judgement of others should be reserved solely for whoever your God/Spiritual being is, leaving each of us free to not carry that impossible burden, was mutually agreed upon.  I’d call that a most satisfying conclusion.

Soon we were on the ground in Germany, swarmed by ground crews eager to whisk our passengers away, pump us full of tens of thousands of pounds of gas, suck out the doo-doo the 150 passengers left on the plane, and get us to a hotel for our quick overnight.  I’ve never visited this part of Germany before and it didn’t take long to see the jewel of this city: Cologne Cathedral (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cologne_Cathedral).  Its dark, gothic tower stood far above it’s surrounding skyline like a magnet attracting all eyes.  

After checking into our hotel, a failed attempt to eat at a popular restaurant (we got the distinct impression we weren’t welcome and after 1.5hrs of patiently waiting for a table we bounced), and a subpar meal at an alternate restaurant, I was reminded to quit paying attention to all these little inconveniences and pause to appreciate the beauty around me.  (That’s always around us.)  I snapped this photo that dark and rainy night… and as always moments of beauty always do, it made such adventures worthwhile.
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Cologne Cathedral on a rainy night
Jetlag woke me after five hours of sleep, so I decided to venture into the dark, rainy city center in search of a fresh baked good and a quality European espresso/latte.  Putting on my civilian clothes and walking through the nice lobby was a stark change from the ubiquitous tan flight suits, camouflage uniforms, and shoddy buildings of the bases.  I soaked in the lavish setting and put my hood up as the revolving door brought me into the wet, cold predawn morning.  

I walked, peered into dark cafe windows, watched bakers working their industrial ovens and stacking fresh croissants and loafs, smelled the butter and flour cooking, but couldn’t find an open bakery or cafe.  What is going on?  It’s a modern country and a big city, but everything is closed!  Ohh… it’s Sunday.  These folks think a little down-time from commerce and some real relaxation is a good idea?  Nah… what’s this world coming to?! :) ​

As much as I was sad to not find a hot cup of coffee and a snack, I appreciated this concept of rest that is often lost in America.  Thankfully the hotel restaurant gave me a free cup of joe and I spent the morning reading and waiting for the sun to rise.  At 9am the first cafe opened and you can bet I was their first customer.  Berliners (like a donut), a chocolate croissant, and a big latte satisfied my sweet tooth so I could return to the Middle East (where none of those exist, at least on base).
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The glow of carbohydrate heaven... first in line at the German bakery.
The flight back was a good one, though I’m not sure our passengers would agree.  We had over 100 coalition army troops who would be riding with us back downrange.  Little did we know that they had been waiting at the German airport for two days waiting for us.  The ‘system’ did not communicate with them that we had been delayed in Afghanistan, so they showed up on time and waited in a hangar.  One of their local officers told us they then slept two nights in the hangar, waiting in limbo for us.  We passed on our sincere apologies and gave their leadership the phone number to command and control, as such gross miscommunications were out of our purview/control.​

The rest of this adventure was tame.  Each of us looked forward to returning to our 10’x10’ trailer room, the moldy bathrooms, and the blowing dust.  Much like mountaineers returning to basecamp after days at high camps, we so easily overlook the poor conditions of the place we temporarily call “home”.  Familiar items await: a place to sleep, fresh clothes, food, and a chance to breath out and relax.  On any adventure you’ve got to be content with what you are given to work with, otherwise the opportunity to grow and make the most from the experience is lost.

[This blog hosted by USAF 50 Summits Challenge as a way to chronicle the deployment of a military outdoorsman and build insight for the outdoors-minded person of what a deployment is like]
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Always an Adventure (Part 2)

2/18/2016

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Picking up from where we left off:  I'm stretched out in the coffin sized rest area behind the cockpit, ready to nap after being up for over 20hrs.  We are headed for a much anticipated overnight in Germany, having just entered Pakistani airspace on our way to the Persian Gulf.

Like our trip into Pakistan just six hours earlier, Pakistani air defense comes on the radio in a state of intense emotion.  By threat of intercept/force, they kick us out of their airspace and force us to return to Afghanistan.  Wha?!  We are one of thousands and thousands of coalition planes that cross this same airspace, but tonight we must have the “Kick Me” sign on our back.  

We try to calm them down and explain we’re on a scheduled flight, but they’ll have none of it.  The threat of launching fighters to intercept us is the final straw and we turn around back towards Afghanistan.  (We later found out the Air Force mobility coordination center failed to add our flight to the document allowing Pakistan overflight.  Oversights do happen, more often than we'd like, but that's the downside of a ginormous, complex entity like the mobility arm of the military.)


Naturally at this time we’d hop on a satellite frequency or phone and get some help in fixing the situation.  But this plane just happened to have a broken satellite antenna.  Doh!  We are now stuck in Afghanistan, because we don’t have overfly authorized on the route to the north or to the south.  We decide to land at the nearest base: Kandahar.  (Hah!!)  So much for overflying that pit.  We pull in to what is a ghost town compared to earlier in the war.  As I walk out of the plane the first thing I notice is the smell: dusty, but with the slight smell of smoke or something burning.  Anything is better than smelling the poo-pit, so I’m cool with it.

(Here is a video of the Kandahar area when I was flying the CV-22 there in 2010:
We find out that they cannot accommodate our crew and the 50+ passengers in the back of the plane.  Command and control is no help over the land-line phone we are driven to, as they are thousands of miles away and unable to fully comprehend the bind we are in.  Their answer to Matt: "spend the night in Kandahar… we don’t believe there isn’t room to sleep there."  Thanks for the vote of confidence. 

The 50 passengers are quite frustrated, as they were supposed to return to Europe where their families were waiting, but now they are in Kandahar with no where to stay.  That’s when they suggest: let’s go to Mazar-i-Sharif.  They are familiar with the base and can assure us a place to sleep and a hot meal.  "Why didn't you say so earlier? Deal!"  So we launch into the dawn sky and head north.  And this is where the first reward of the adventure comes: I get to fly right up the middle of Afghanistan and its mountains in the daylight without fear of being shot, something I hadn’t really been able to do in my past AFSOC life.  ​
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Beautiful view from cockpit as we descend among the snow covered mountains of N. Afghanistan.
Afghanistan: It’s a beautiful country!  Rugged mountains give way to deep river canyons and rocky cliffs.  A fresh snow had fallen, so I could easily pick out the inhabited, remote villages by seeing foot/animal tracks leading around the outskirts of the village or to a local water source.  Soon the sun was up to full brightness and the blue sky made for a perfect day.  I hopped from one side of the cockpit to another marveling at the sights and wishing I could be down there exploring the rivers, rocks and mountains.  Eventually I just kicked back, put my feet up, and enjoyed the sunshine and snowy landscape surrounding us.  ​​
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Mazar-i-Sharif is a beautiful location.  It’s on a plateau mostly surrounding by rugged mountains reaching up to 9,000ft.  Maz is the third largest city in Afghanistan (~690,000) and has a storied history, from the estimated birth place of one of my favorite poets: Rumi, to Genghis Kahn destroying their most important mosque, to the Russians using it as a base of operations to fight the mujahideen.  I wished for the opportunity to learn more about it in person, but my main focus was on finding a place to sleep, as it had been 30hrs since I last woke up (deployed sleeping isn’t very good unless you use Ambien, which I’m avoiding).  

Our passengers hooked us up with temporary sleeping arrangements, although it was right at freezing temperature inside them.  But it was better than a cargo plane floor or tent cot.  We dropped our bags and walked to the chow hall... which is where we received another treat: the view of the snow, mountains and clouds outside the fence.  After a quick meal, we returned to the rooms, hoping the small heaters we turned on would take the bite from the air, though not really caring either way. 
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Walking to breakfast before bed and soaking in the energy of the setting... the mountains and sun crisp and radiant.
The friendly German quartermaster offered us some sheets, a cotton blanket and a pillow each.  With the weight of the hectic 30hr day pulling me to sleep like an intense gravity, I crawled into what seemed to be a cotton sleeping bag of sorts.  I loved the idea: one sheet like a tube, so no need for a fitted sheet.  Under the weight of the blanket and breathing in the cold, crisp mountain air, I fell into a deep sleep.  Only later did I find out the three-sided sheet I liked so much wasn't supposed to be slept in: it was a mattress cover that you slide over the entire mattress.  Hah!  Well, it certainly got the job done!

After six hours of solid sleep and a little bit of dozing, it was time to get back to work.  Too bad, as this quiet little base suited me well.  The view of the mountains from the compound was inspiring!  It reminded me of a grand adventure had by several Italian nationals in Africa.  They are Italian professional who are held in a WWII British POW camp.  Several days after they arrive at the camp, the clouds clear enough that they see a huge mountain summit hovering above the clouds.  They realize it must be Mt. Kenya, famous at that time for it was considered nearly unclimbable.  Well, they happen to be mountaineers and decide they’re going to escape the camp and climb the famous peak.  It’s a story about the love of mountains and adventures… about risking life to live life.  Check it out:  “No Picnic on Mt. Kenya”. ​

Part 3 Coming Soon.  The Adventure Never Ends...
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Matt on approach into Maz, the mountains and snow a huge contrast to the dust and sand to the south.
[This blog hosted by USAF 50 Summits Challenge as a way to chronicle the deployment of a military mountaineer and build insight for the outdoors-minded person of what a deployment is like]
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Always an Adventure (Part 1)

2/17/2016

4 Comments

 
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Snow covered mountains beckon me from just outside the fence at Mazar-i-Sharif, Afghanistan. What a view.
This adventure was the type not worth repeating.  However, like many adventures, it lead me to unexpected beauty and broadened my life.  Isn’t that why we adventurers ignore the unpleasant aspects of a journey and throw our hat in the ring time and time again?

It was supposed to be a long, yet simple mission: pick up troops in Afghanistan take em back to Europe and along the way make a brief stop in the former Soviet Union.  Come back much the same way.  

But it didn’t turn out that way.​

Global politics can be such a pain in the ass when you’re trying to get from point A to point B in the most efficient manner.  We needed to fly up Pakistan to Afghanistan, because clearly Iran isn’t interested in letting coalition aircraft fly in their airspace.  On the way into Pakistan, a very agitated air defense controller started calling for us over the emergency frequency, demanding we speak to him immediately.  So much for being in touch with his country’s air traffic control and for the US coordinating our overflight.  Hearing the stress and anxiety in his voice, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had his finger on the launch button to some strategic missile defense system.  It would be a silly oversight and highly unlikely, but hey, if it could happen in the Ukraine, why not here?  That’s something about military/combat situations: you never know who’s finger is on the trigger and what state of mind he/she is in that day.
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A Persian Gulf country at night... the burning methane/oil-byproduct flames will always remind me of war zones...
Anyway, we sorted things out and the defense guy hopefully did some deep breathing and drank a cup of tea (decaf, preferably).  Then we were back in Afghanistan… my first time since 2010.  I shook my head a little, as I figured I wouldn’t be back here unless it was to open up the first fly fishing, rock climbing, or ski tours of this rugged and naturally beautiful warrior nation.  Those nature-based adventure dreams will just have to wait a bit longer… at least until this stupid war crap dies down a bit more and we can go back to enjoying each other’s company and the natural wonders that abound on our planet.
As we flew over Kandahar, I was happy to stay at 30,000ft and watch it pass by the right window.  Little did I know I’d be back on the ground there in a matter of hours.
​

We made it to our destination in Afghanistan, only to have the plane suffer a major electrical failure upon engine shutdown.  It took several hours for ground crews and our flying crew chief to figure out the problem, as the nearly freezing air blew into the depowered jet, but by God they figured it out.  I was sure we were going to be stuck there for a day or two.  Bully on them!  So we loaded up our troops and cargo and headed towards Europe.
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One hour into trouble shooting. It was the last of light and heat, as the crack team of Airmen would need to tear into the heart of the plane's electrical system for the next two hours to solve the problem. Waiting is something all military members must get good at to survive.
You’d think we could just fly northwest and head over Turkmenistan and Azerbaijan on the way to Turkey and mainland Europe.  Nope.  Global politics.  Let’s just say one of the small countries didn’t like the fact that we were moving a few of their neighbor soldiers, so they put out the old “hand in your face” and wouldn’t authorize flight through their airspace.  Never mind they are a “coalition partner”.  

So we double back and head south, back through Pakistan, with the plan of continuing back to the Persian Gulf, up through Kuwait and Iraq, and then finally into Turkey enroute Europe.  I trade off with our third pilot, as it has been 22 hours since I woke up.  My body was begging for some rest.  Just as I stretched my legs out, we hit a good bout of turbulence.  So I just rest my eyes and relax a bit in the coffin sized sleeping space as we bounce through moderate turbies.  

Then it happens again...  (To Be Continued)
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Ambien and Red Bull: War on Rest

2/15/2016

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I have a heightened respect for the men and women flying military mobility missions around the world.  After the last 72hrs, I've seen how hard they are worked and how little thanks they get from 'the system'.  I thought life in the SOCOM community had to be the hardest, but now I see each military community has difficult challenges uniquely their own.  

For the mobility aircrews, it's working for a system that seems to have little concern for the quality of their rest and morale.  It is commonplace for the crews to work for 20+hrs straight, try to sleep completely off their regular circadian rhythm, and then do several more 20+hr work days.  What does the system do?  Ask them to do it again and again.  Fatigue and frustration hovers above them, waiting for its chance to settle in. 

I didn't fully realize this until I joined the community as a Reservist a little over a year ago.  I always thought this line of work in the military would be like an early retirement: lower risk than my previous life (as in it's rare to get engaged by the enemy and the mission threats are low), relaxing hours of cruising at high altitude on auto-pilot, having a flushing toilet on board and traveling to new and interesting places.

Well, that can be the case, but often it is not.  Dependency on Ambien or sleeping drugs becomes the norm in this time-zone hopping, circadian rhythm crushing world.  Those challenges are shared by other aircrew throughout the military (Lord knows I was popping Ambien like no tomorrow in my previous job), but I find the constant cycle of 20+hr days and little thanks or consideration by the Command & Control system to be acutely destructive.

In the AFSOC world, it seemed to me that our circadian rhythm and sleep quality was always respected.  Were there 24hr days?  Hell yes, but that was not the norm.  Was adequate time allowed for recuperation?  Whenever possible.  Did the command structure regularly give thanks and praise for work?  Absolutely.

From what I've seen, when mobility crews call to check in with their remote command and control, they almost cringe as they dial the airborne sat phone.  Why?  Because month after month, year after year, they've grown accustomed to someone thousands of miles away telling them their work-day just got extended, their rest just got shortened to the bare-minimum allowed, and their request to change any of it is denied.  To be fair, it's possible to get lucky and convince 'the system' to give a few extra hours off in-between flights, but that's the exception, not the norm.

So I raise a toast to the Mobility Air Force crews who are flying around the world, napping 2hrs here and there on the floor or bunk of the plane, chugging coffee and Red Bulls to fight off their bodies' need for sleep and then using sleep drugs to force a few hrs rest as they hop through time zones day in and day out.  Hollywood and the media doesn't glorify your mission.  It's often taken for granted.  There is no lull; your fight never ends... it is 24/7.  I give my respect and appreciate the hard work!  Blue Skies.  --RMM
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Waking to Desert Birds

2/8/2016

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Birds singing?

Little tiny birds singing me awake.  A cacophony of short chirps and longer songs set to the desert sunrise.

I forgot there were birds here.  They don’t show birds singing on CNN or Fox News when they talk about the wars in the Middle East.
 

I quite like waking up to desert birdsong on my first morning.  I’ll take that as a good way to start.

Finally got myself some decent sleep.  Due to jet lag and the unusually cold floor of our transport plane, I got no more than 3hrs of straight sleep since leaving Washington on Friday the 5th.

So to call my 8hrs of sleep last night glorious is no understatement.

I’m about to head into the desert sun for a run and workout, but thought a quick post was in store while my workout tunes load onto my phone.

We arrived in country after several hours of flying.  The moment the plane reaches cruise altitude, we unbuckle and spread out like refugees across the floor: everyone throwing down sleeping pads and blankets in hopes of finding a little rest.  But this plane had a weak floor-heater and few were able to sleep due to the cold radiating through insulated pads and thin sleeping bags.

Arriving in country brings back old memories.  Some of them are good, some not so much.  One of my favorite sensations is the smell of a foreign land.  In Africa, the smell of earth and wood smoke always put a smile on my face.  Here in the Middle East, it’s more of a warm, dusty scent.  No way to describe it other than that. 

The cargo ramp lowers and the smell of the desert rushes in.  Hot sunshine floods in through windows and the doorway; a nice respite from the frigid floor temps.  And there is that tan, sand colored horizon.  A few military bunkers in the distance, but mostly nothing on first glance.
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We offload our myriad of bags: flight gear, chemical warfare suits, a shopping bag of mostly eaten food from Germany, books/computer/comfort items, and a wide selection of workout, civilian, and military clothing.  This part of a deployment is called the “bag drag” as you drag and tote your stuff off the plane, down a taxiway, to a car, to a processing building, back to a truck, to another building, back to the same truck, then to yet another building, and finally across rocks that are just big enough to imped the crappy little wheels on your Pelican case so that you begin cussing at the design of the wheels and at whoever laid down such stupid G’damn rocks between the last piece of hard-packed earth and the dilapidated trailer park that is your “new” home 150yds away.

No complaints though: this is an easy deployment.  I’ve got a roof over my head, electricity, an air conditioner unit, and by God, I’ve got intermittent wi-fi.  Is this the sort of trailer that Steven Avery (of ‘Making a Murderer’ fame) lived in?  Yup.  But maybe a bit more beat up inside. 
​
I’ll go in to further detail later.  For now it’s time for the first workout of the deployment, a late breakfast, and then off to the skies.  -RMM
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Broke Plane and Choices

2/7/2016

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We have choices in life.  It’s often so easy to overlook them that it took me most of today to realize what choices I faced over the last 14hrs and what significant choices lie ahead during this deployment and beyond.
 
I just finished watching Interstellar.  The first time I watched it was in little Lawton, OK and I thought it was awesome.  A bit much to wrap my brain around, but a very cool sci-fi.  My wife isn’t much of a science geek, but she wanted to talk about black holes and relativity for the next two hours!

However this time, it was a different experience.  Yes, I already knew what was going to happen in the film.  But I found out I had been missing the entire heart of the movie.  It’s not about gravity, relativity, and a mission to find a new planet.  That’s just the plot you block heads!

The real point of the movie is so powerful it gives me goose bumps… moves me to tears.  It’s a movie about the power of love.

“Love is the one thing we’re capable of perceiving that transcends the dimensions of time and space.  Maybe we should trust that even if we can’t understand it yet.” 

Anne Hathaway’s character says that line, as she is trying to convince her fellow scientists to make a decision based on love, not on data.  Because she knows in her heart of hearts it’s the right one.  (And it was…)

But it didn’t fully hit me until Matthew McConaughey’s character is trying to send life-saving data to Earth from another dimension.   He tries to send it on every frequency and data channel known to man; all to no avail. 

That’s when McConaughey realizes it’s his love for his daughter that will get the message across time and space.  He ended up on this wild sci-fi mission not because he was a great pilot, but because he had such love for his child that he could harness it to reach her.  (And he succeeds.)

Ok.  So perhaps you haven’t seen Interstellar and this makes no sense.  That’s what happens when I try to explain the beautiful kernel of truth in an utterly complex movie that is nearly 3hrs long.  But take my word for it- underneath all the sci-fi coolness is a message people from all walks of life know.  Whether it be Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, your pastor, Gary Zukav, your child, Oprah, a parent, or you… people throughout time have known the power of love.

Whether or not you’ve seen the movie and understand what I’m saying, stick with me here, ok?  Because this feels important.

Earlier today, as we were delayed in Germany due to an engine flaming out, I went to see a movie at the base theater.  It didn’t really matter which one we watched, as we were just looking to relax.  So Matt and I went with Quentin Tarantino’s latest film, “The Hateful 8”.  I didn’t know what it was about, just that it would probably be like many other Tarantino films: a western with strange twists, some memorable dialogue and likely a level of violence.

Well, it was very much a Tarantino film, but by far the most violent and foul of his creations.  It brought racism, violence, and an utter lack of compassion for life to a new cinematic level.  Three long hours of it.  Was the acting good?  Yes.  Was the plot unique?  Yes.  Did it make me feel ugly for watching it?  Yes.

But throughout the movie, I kept thinking, “What’s the point of this movie?”  Is it to glorify wanton violence and death?  It must be.  ‘Cause, that was the entire focus of the film.

I hear that Samuel Jackson and Quentin Tarantino both speak out against gun violence.  But yet they blow people’s heads apart in graphic detail on-screen?   It’s the choice they made to create a movie peddling death, extreme violence and racism.  It’s a choice that Christopher Nolan made to take a huge risk on creating Interstellar, a movie about exploration, family and love.

It was my choice to buy a ticket to see Hateful 8, just as it was my choice to watch Interstellar again.   I’m glad it worked out that way.  Because it offered me a stark reminder:  I can choose to laugh and relish in graphic violence.  I can choose to cheer and laugh in uplifting love.  The choice is always ours. 

Hollywood elite denounce violence, yet peddle it like porn.  Are they riding the great metal chariots to combat zones?  No. 

When the seeds of hate spread by self-important politicians, media, or clerics take root and grow into conflict, do those same people participate in the fighting they fueled?  No.  It's left to young men and women, many who aren't even sure who they are fighting.

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I can’t stop ISIS, Boko Haram or Al-Shabaab from wanting to destroy half the planet.  As much as I’d like to, I can’t sit down, have a cup of tea with them, and talk about how much we actually have in common.  If I could just take them on a climb of Rainier before they first pick up that AK-47 or IED vest…  I wish in my heart it was that easy.  It isn’t.

But I’m gonna do my damn best to progress with love.  Lord knows it’s a tough thing when you’re in uniform fighting a war.  But it’s a fight worth fighting.  It’s a choice I make.  And let me be clear, it’s not just the fight to protect the innocent that’s worth fighting.  The good battle, the crucial battle, is the one in which we use nothing, find nothing, but love.
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(Want to learn more about Interstellar the movie and it’s underlying plot of love?  Here are two articles that might help: 
http://www.tor.com/2014/11/13/love-in-sci-fi-interstellar-speech/

http://www.businessinsider.com/interstellar-review-2014-11
Watch the film and let me know what you think.


(Maj. Marshall's deployed blog is hosted by USAF50Summits.com as part of our mission to tell the story of military members who are also avid outdoorists.  Stay tuned in for more adventures.)
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Flying with Muir on a C-17

2/5/2016

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First day of deployment is always a long one.

We tried to squeeze as much fun into my last day, plus pack, and then attend a charity dinner. It’s your standard “ten pounds of crap” in a “five pound bag” issue: trying to jam in everything you can before you go, but there isn’t enough time in the end.

It’s tough.

Family and friends want to say goodbye, your to-do list inevitably left off some critical tasks that now fall upon your spouse (and hopefully the help of friends). You’re up late no matter how well you plan (in our case, we got back from the late dinner and discovered the dog had a deep gash in her paw, which put the house from sleep-mode into medical-mode).

If you have a cat, you can imagine what it will do to help: it will sense something is going on because of all the packing and will start meowing loudly outside the bedroom door at 3am, just as you are getting your first quality zzz’s of the night after patching up the dog and worrying about the items you forgot to put on the to-do list.

Of course, when you grouchily get up at 4am to make coffee, the same cat will stretch and yawn from its favorite chair and act as though it had the most wonderful night’s rest and will then give you that "feed me now you walking food dispenser" look.

Cats.

I write this from a fold-down seat at the back of a C-17. My buzzed head is covered in a warm beanie and my jacket is zipped tight up to my neck because like most cargo planes, it’s cold in the back of the plane. But that’s the way I like it.
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Matt trying to catch some sleep in "military first class."
John Muir and I seem to share a love of cold weather. I’m reading a biography on him titled “A Passion for Nature: The Life of John Muir”. It’s a phenomenal book that I’ve been slowly consuming, underlining, re-reading and deeply thinking about for months.

I just read that in June of 1890, he was dropped off by a steamer near the Muir Glacier in Alaska for a few months of exploring the remote area. “Suffering, from bronchitis, he was coughing up globs of phlegm and eating little. Disregarding medical advice to stay home and stay warm, he began to recover. The cough disappeared, his lungs cleared, and his appetite came roaring back. As ever, his body as well as mind thrived on cold temperatures.”

That’s just the tip of the iceberg of Muir. This guy is awesome. His fervent love for nature and an outdoor life is off the charts! A wiry Scotsman who grew up in an ultra conservative Christian family, he soon asked himself: If God created nature... the trees, animals, weather, plants, mountains, rivers, oceans, and everything else in the outdoors, isn’t that the clearest, most direct word of God?

The bible was central to his life, but he began to question the many interpretations and potential fallacies of a book written by humans who were doing their best to write about their personal experiences with God. Why not just go right to the source: nature, and glean God’s wisdom and power directly- without the “middle- man” or interpretations in the form of books or rituals.

That strikes a chord with me. I often say the outdoors is my church. Man may create beautiful cathedrals, mosques, and temples, but none of them compare to the overwhelming beauty and inspiration drawn from a shaft of light illuminating the high Himalaya as clouds and fog roll across valleys carved by ice flows thousands of feet deep. Or what about a trout rising to sip a mayfly? The colors on the back of a wild brown trout?! The intricacies of a spider web dotted with fresh dew? The gentle breaking waves of your favorite beach and the limitless designs of shells tossed back and forth across the sand? Otters holding hands as they sleep? The terrifying power of a mudslide or forest fire?

Yea. Muir is the man.

I’m just getting into the latter half of the book where he takes his skill for writing and his many adventures and combines them into a powerful tool in the nascent American conservation movement. What’s wild is that Muir and Americans in the 1890s were facing many of the same critical issues we face 120 years later. They have just changed disguises.

Muir saw the wealthy elite grabbing wild lands and resources as quickly as possible, without worry for the long-term health or sustainability of the land. And they certainly didn't plan on sharing that land with everyone else. Muir wasn’t simply worried about protecting the trees, watersheds, and natural balance of the land. He was also acutely worried for America’s moral health.

Well, I’m kinda worried about America’s moral health. I’m worried about the entire human race!! Aren’t you? Integrity, goodwill, compassion, and tolerance seem to be losing ground to intolerance, entitlement, materialism, fear, and me-first attitudes. Do we abandon ship and all just drink the Kool-Aid? Call it quits on moral progress? Build a space ship and head for the stars in hope of a better life?

Not me. And I don’t think you are ready for that either. So then what do we do?

Well, Muir would say what he did back in the 1890s when America was facing the same dilemma. “Spend time engaged with nature!” Leave your work and Internet behind, at least for a little bit (because one day you will leave it permanently), and get reacquainted with the healing, inspiring, humbling, loving, life-giving outdoors. It is there the lessons of balanced taking and giving, of no waste, of life’s cycles of creating, destroying, and then resurrecting can be seen.

It makes me wonder if the people of Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan had more opportunity to establish a healthy relationship with nature, as Muir did, if any of us would be on this plane headed there to fight? And don’t go saying, “They have all the opportunity to experience nature and it didn’t do shit.”

When you are starving, oppressed, uneducated, brainwashed, afraid your neighbor is going to blow you up because you’re the wrong sect of a religion and you also live in a region where climate change has made it mostly a desolate, hard-clay or sandy dust bowl... well, that’s not opportunity. To be honest, if I had those issues listed above, I’d be really pissed off as well.

Anyway, so much for a simple blog post. That was a world-class ramble. But reading Muir’s biography makes me want to jump up and down waving my arms saying, “we’ve got something here!!”

As Muir says several different times and ways, we’ve all got mountains and the great outdoors in our souls! I believe there has been no greater need for nature-based experiences in our species’ history than the present moment. Video games, internet, TV, sprawl, and the labor- free life millions of people have thanks to modern agriculture and construction mean it’s a rare occasion to be anywhere more wild than a city park or swimming pool.

That has to play some part in the decay of morals, health, and environment... and perhaps this thing called war, right?



[“Thud” of landing gear bearing the weight of the C-17 returning to the land... just reached Washington, DC. Guess that’s a good time to tie this hodgepodge of thought off and get ready to run to another plane. Don't worry, future posts will likely be shorter and more to the point... but the back of a plane leads to lots of thinking!
] --RMM

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves." -John Muir, 1901
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Deployment: A Fresh Take

2/4/2016

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Five years after I last thought I'd be 'downrange', I'm packing to do it again.  It's the first time no one has told me I have to get in the fight.  This time I volunteered to deploy.  To leave my family and put my Pacific Northwest life on hold.  The newscasts of ISIL attacking Paris, burning pilots alive, and murdering people along the beach moved me to raise my hand and say, "I want to get back in the fight."  Will it be the direct action missions of the past?  Not this time.  I'm older, my SOF days are done.  But this dog still has a few skills that are valuable.

Returning brings back memories.  My final flight out of Kandahar is one I cannot forget.  A C-17 was leaving westbound... west toward America, toward home.  So I grabbed my bags and jumped a ride.  Little did I know that my knees would be 16" from a row of flag draped caskets for the next three hours.  "Sobering" doesn't come close to describing it.  Deeply moving, profound, desolate, angry, honored.  Those are a bit more accurate.  The loadmaster and I were the only two souls in the back, no doubt each thinking about life, the pains of war, our mortality, families, and this fight.

I told myself, "I'm not coming back to this shit."  It made sense at the time.  But five years later, I get the feeling it's a different fight.  Is it?  Back then it was the Taliban, Pakistan-backed insurgents, the Haqqani network.  Those a-holes are still there.  But now it's the cancer on the world that is spreading beyond national borders.  Peddling something worse than drugs: a violent, intolerant, radical caliphate that would rule the world if they had their way.  

So I join my American sisters and brothers; do my little part in the big puzzle.  Let's roll.

Packing begins.  I actually like packing.  It reminds me of getting ready to leave on a big mountaineering trip or international adventure.  (This is an adventure, right?!)  I'm pretty lucky to have a wife that is making breakfast burritos for me right now, so I can be well fed for the 24hrs of travel that begins tomorrow.  

My goal is to pack light.  Not have a lot of crap to weigh me down or distract me.  Work out gear, books, and a computer.  Plus lots of uniforms/military stuff.  I've got some new flippy flopies that should keep my feet free of shower scum (thanks Combat Flip Flops!), but more importantly looking chillaxed when cruising the gravel paths of the Middle East.  I meant to get a light-weight travel hammock... damn, forgot it.  But otherwise I think I'm GTG.

There isn't much time in the day, as we've got big plans for my last night here.  We're off to the Northwest Avalanche Center Snow Ball- a charity event to raise money for a super important resource for snow-loving mountain people.  It'll be a great way to say adios to the PNW.  So I'll cut it here and get back to packing.  --RMM

(Maj. Marshall's blog is hosted by USAF50Summits.com as part of our mission to tell the story of military members who are also avid outdoorists.  Stay tuned in for more adventures.)
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