#like i’m literally across the country right now with fern

[botanyshitposts]

pls explain the news in laymans terms 😭

okay lads buckle up, this is gonna be a long one. the paper is “A phylogenomic analysis of Nepenthes (Nepenthaceae)” from Murphy et al. i’m gonna link it here, and i encourage anyone interested to read it for themselves and draw their own conclusions, but otherwise i’m gonna give an overview as i understand it.

if you do not want to see 394023 words of in-depth carnivorous plant genetics content you should start scrolling now. 

so. Nepenthes is a carnivorous plant family colloquially known as ‘asian pitcher plants’ or ‘monkey cups’. it’s one of the largest carnivorous plant families in the world, and without a doubt one of the most diverse, but we’ll get to that in a minute. these plants have pitchers that fill with fluid and digest bugs alive (important note in terms of nep anatomy 101: unlike venus fly traps or sundews, Nepenthes are passive traps and don’t move or curl up or anything, just sit and watch it all unfold). their range has china and korea on the northern edge, the tip of australia on the southern edge, and most of indonesia, the philippines, and most associated landmasses encompassed between. there are a couple outliers, but for the most part these are jungle plants with a vining growth form that weaves through trees and just….eats. 

now, putting aside the fact that they’re carnivorous, one of the biggest points of Nepenthes is their diversity as a family. if anyone out there remembers the term ‘adaptive radiation’ from an intro bio class, Nepenthes is THE family of adaptive radiation. in addition to common species that grow everywhere in their range, these lads can be so specialized that there are species you can only find on single specific ridges on single specific mountains on single specific islands; as you can imagine, this makes them especially vulnerable to climate change, habitat destruction, and poachers. 

the most obvious point of diversity here is the pitcher traps themselves: there are hundreds of different pitcher morphologies, ranging from special peristome adaptations to bizzare patterns and colorations to the addition of fang-like structures and symbiosis with bats, ants, and rodents. the list goes on. these lads are so specialized it’s unbelievable. one might think that, in terms of figuring out how these different species are related to each other, that it would be pretty obvious, since everything is so distinctive. 

but there is a problem. 

they fuck. 

Nepenthes as a family is established to be one of the oldest carnivorous plant families, but the 200+ species identified over the years are suspected to be the result of very recent (in evolutionary time) modern radiation. one of the most common definitions of what a ‘species’ is that i see circulated is the idea that something is a species when it can no longer breed with another species, but it’s important to realize that this is one definition of what a ‘species’ is. in the case of Nepenthes, the knowledge that a bunch of scientists have decided they are different does not stop them. 

it was hoped, with the advent of DNA testing, that maybe we would be able to assemble a semi-full map of how all these species relate to one another and how they came to be (a phylogenetic tree), but as it turns out the lads fuck so much between themselves and other Nepenthes species that figuring out how they became the species they became, even with DNA, is extremely difficult. ‘breeding complexes’ not too different than what i wrote about in the fern sex triangle post a while back are a very nepenthes-esque thing to have happen.

a quote from the paper: 

“These uncertainties are not unique to Nepenthes but various factors make them important in this group: the frequency of natural hybrids and apparent lack of intrinsic reproductive barriers between taxa, the extent of intraspecific morphological variation and the reliance by taxonomists on the pitchers.”

in short, these plants have no control. they are not practicing safe sex. they are living lavishly in their own tropical jungle paradise with as much hedonism as a plant can muster as botanists try to connect how one pitcher might be the evolutionary origin of another while somehow all the pitchers are either functionally the same or radically different. 

which brings us to this study. when people compare DNA, they’re rarely comparing the entire genome (although that can be done), but rather they identify a set of consistently mutable genes that are present across an entire subsection of life, and look at just those genes at just their locations on various chromosomes. instead of trying to find a couple genes fit to compare plants across the Nepenthes genus, as past studies did, this study took and applied a set of DNA probes developed previously to compare 353 genes present across the entire subkingdom of flowering plants. 

as you can imagine, this provides a significantly larger set of data to work with. sure, it’s not perfect and this take will need more research to confirm (basing the entire Nepenthes phylogenetic tree off of a single study is a dangerous game, especially when things are so saucy in the forest), but it’s significantly better than the results past Nepenthes phylogenetic analyses generated, where researchers were able to see some general outlines and attempted to sort the genus into a few groups, but were ultimately unable to see where species themselves split and what their relations to each other were (you know, because of all the sex). 

so. this paper: 

-obtained samples from 151 different Nepenthes species from different collectors, herbariums, and conservatories. for those familiar with Nepenthes as a hobby, Andreas Wistuba might ring a bell; he contributed some samples from his plants to this study. otherwise, the KEW botanical gardens is more ubiquitously recognized donor.

-for more common species, more samples were taken from different places to account for different populations.

-another quote from the paper that i think is interesting on multiple levels: “We also include two unpublished species, N. sp. Anipahan and N. sp. taminii. The former, from Palawan, is discussed by McPherson (2011) and may be a synonym of N. leonardoi. The latter is an undescribed species from Sumatra that has been circulating amongst Nepenthes growers and resembles N. rhombicaulis but is perhaps distinguished by its leaves. Also sampled here are N. echinostoma Hook. f., a commonly collected plant usually considered a variant of N. mirabilis, and a sample we liken to N. angustifolia Mast., a species usually considered synonymous with N. gracilis.”

i mentioned earlier that previous molecular analyses done by other people were able to see a general outline but weren’t able to see anything more distinct; the results of this paper for the most part confirm these general outlines, which means that if nothing else we have strong support for the relationship the entire Nepenthes family has to other, more closely related plant families, which the paper resolves in this tree: 

note that the above tree describes the family’s relation to various other families, followed by ‘Nepenthes clade 1′ and ‘Nepenthes clade 2′. these two clades contain most of the Nepenthes genus sampled; the six species shown in red, according to the results, are considered sister species to the entire rest of the genus, separate from those two clades.

now, what personally gets me the most excited here is the plant they confirmed as being the sister species to that subsection of sister species, effectively making it the outgroup to like, literally everything else: Nepenthes pervillei, from the republic of seychelles.

yeah. you know back at the beginning of this response when i said there were some exceptions to the Nepenthes habitat range? this would be one of those exceptions. the republic of seychelles is off the coast of africa, closer to madagascar than indonesia. to be fair, there are also Nepenthes along the eastern coast of madagascar, but because Nepenthes is so strongly geographically coordinated (this paper goes on to describe clades literally just named after the countries they’re in) this is pretty goddamn cool. this species got cut off in the middle of the ocean and now looks…….like a Nepenthes, but just off enough to be kind of weird (the biggest thing i realized just…staring at pictures of it is that it doesn’t seem to have wings down the front, which to be fair isn’t required of neps but makes it look super naked as a result). forbidden uncanny valley Nepenthes cast from the fuck zone. i love it.

the other main outgroup species (the sister species to all the ‘typical’ asian species, specifically, aka clades 1 and 2) they identified was Nepenthes danseri, which is native to waigeo island in indonesia (that’s in the fuck zone, for those keeping score at home) and, i would argue, has the same kind of thin-peristomed, simple-ribbed kind of look to it that pervillei has, but it definitely looks more traditionally Nepenthes-like.

now, with that, we really get into the meat of their results here. this is the full phylogenetic tree with all tested species laid out according to their results: 

i….have no idea if tumblr will let you zoom in on this pic so im just gonna write down some notes.

the color-coded names on the tree to the right match their respective habitats down in the map on the bottom left, which is neat, but it’s also interesting to see how some of these species have apparently been fucking between islands. i know this is gonna be low-res but look at this swath at the top, some of what they’ve identified as being ‘clade 1′ (mostly common, widespread lowland species):

- man………. i mean, first of all i wanna point out the lone bicalcarata branches at the top #representing, having somehow maintained their chastity despite being the sexiest of the Nepenthes. 

- hookeriana being the outgroup for ampullaria seems to fit well by adorable chubbiness factor alone. 

- one thing that seems weird but not totally out of character is that halfway down in yellow we see mirabilis in multiple populations in yellow, then down from there a little ways we see different mirabilis populations in green and purple and red, all but N. echinostoma and N. orbiculate, which are both outgroups. i knew it was a common species, but for some reason i wasn’t expecting it to be like………that (there’s an entire second section of them in red just below where this screenshot cuts off). like, good for them.

going down the main tree, we get into clade 2, the more specialized highland species, which are always very exciting. 

there’s my personal favorite, N. villosa: 

not surprised at N. edwardsiana’s relation, because how else would you be able to achieve such absolutely enormous teeth, but N. macrophylla surprises me. it’s got good teeth, but both edwardsiana and villosa are like, TEETH, you know? i guess it makes sense that it split from villosa, though. 

moving from that, VERY glad that the littlest known lad, N. argentii, made it on here. i know i’ve talked about argentii on this blog before, as the Nepenthes species that was so tiny the paper describing it’s discovery warned that population counts could be skewed by the plants ‘hiding under bushes’. their tinyness, which kills me every time i look at an image of them, is somehow weird in terms of being related to N. graciliflora, which is…..pretty normal sized. same with N. armin. makes me wonder how the hell they got so tiny. 

of course we can’t leave out the group with the largest currently known species, N. attenboroughii. the hilarity of the smallest and largest Nepenthes species being a single clade apart, if not very distantly diversified down their respective evolutionary lines, is not lost on me. 

N. palawanensis is a chonker, but i gotta say i wasn’t expecting it to be the sister species to the one and only megachonker, the plant literally famous for its sheer chonk. imagine being that overshadowed by your sibling. 

on a more general note– the paper noted this, too –it’s interesting to see how the lowland species seem to be happier about jumping islands and being promiscuous than the highland species, which seem to clump together by location. i guess it’s not surprising, knowing how specialized some of these highland species can be; villosa, for example, is native to a single side of a single mountain, and is positioned so that the populations are hit by cool wind coming up from the sea. still, lowland species need hot and humid environments, and can be just as picky. it’s gotta be a matter of isolation. 

anyway, there’s probably more i could talk about here but…man there’s a lot of data. the paper goes in-depth with how they constructed the more problematic branches, and trouble they had with some over others, confirming that we shouldn’t take this phylogenetic tree as 100% correct; things will almost certainly change or become clearer as more research is done, and phylogenetic trees in particular are known for being constructed and reconstructed time and time again. 

still though, it’s like…to see these relationships at this resolution for the first time is just really fucking cool, man. this isn’t even all the species. i remember i went to a carnivorous plant conference two years ago now, and there was a lecture by researchers attempting to untangle the phylogeny of Nepenthes and coming up short aside from a low-resolution tree of some of the more major species and the relation of Nepenthes to other families, their science blocked by the sheer feral chadness on display in the tropical jungles encompassing the land between china and australia. like, i really just want to take a moment, as an end note, to appreciate that these plants fucked so much in the past couple million years that it took multiple major advancements in technology and the examination of hundreds of genes just to get an approximate look at the phylogeny. like, that’s an Isoetes level power move and im not over it

#Anonymous #long post #me reading a new nepenthes paper: *sight narrows into a tunnel* *writes for two hours* #nepenthes #carnivorous plants #asks #plont asks

[monstersandmaw]

Modern orc boy x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

So this idea came up a few days ago, namely that a big boy in a grey suit was spotted, and it sparked the idea for an orc in a suit. I cannot resist an orc in a suit, and wrote this! He was given the name Dragh by the person who sent in the original ask, and I have their permission to post it and tag them now! So, @slashersheadcannoandimagines I hope you enjoy your idea in a story!

This one hasn’t been previewed on my Patreon, unlike literally all other big stories that get posted on here, because it’s for/inspired by someone on here. I realise it’s also been a while since I’ve posted anything. I’ve been in creative hibernation for a while, but I’m slowly emerging. Anyway, here’s 4.5k words of tattooed orc boy, running a sophisticated vineyard! Featuring satyr bestie, a half-orc half-sister, a blue-haired tiefling, a centaur, and a lilac-skinned goblin, all of whom I need to write stories of their own for one day!

___

“So… my friend runs this gorgeous vineyard out in the country, and they do wine tastings and stuff…”

“Yes,” you said slowly, drawing out the vowel and feeling the slow stretch of a smile creep across your lips and light up the corners of your eyes. Tam was always up for an evening of boozing, and honestly, you weren’t exactly one to say no to fun either.

The satyr grinned, knowing he’d got your attention already. “Well, this friend of mine just so happens to be a really big orc…”

You cocked an eyebrow sky wards and folded your arms. “Male orc, by any chance?”

“How did you guess?” Tam grinned cheekily, his curly, nut brown hair quivering as he laughed and shook his head. His thick, knobbly horns curled tightly around his elongated ears, chunky as ram’s horns, and his hooves danced in amusement. 

Currently he was wearing little more than a soft grey hoodie, his caprine lower half bare, the end of the hoodie just crinkling up over the white flash of his tail, and though you were a little more covered up, you were dressed in similarly casual clothes, lounging on your sofa with a glass of wine in your hand at the end of a working week.

“So, just why are you telling me about this massive male orc who runs a vineyard?” you asked, letting the pale liquid swirl around the glass in your hand.

Tam chuckled and spoke more normally again, leaning back against the sofa cushions and tucking his relatively big hooves up beside him. “Dragh had some kind of fancy hen party booked in for tomorrow, but they cancelled on him last minute. He’d got everything prepped and ready to go, but the wedding is called off, and they cancelled. They lost their deposit, and instead of just cutting his losses there, he’s invited a small group of us over to enjoy it all instead.”

“That’s very nice of him,” you said, frowning.

“Yeah, well, that’s Dragh,” Tam snorted. “He’s always been one to treat his friends…”

“How come you’ve never introduced me before?” you asked. “I mean, we’ve been best friends since Uni, and you’re only now thinking of taking me along - obviously with the intention of setting me up with this orc, I might add - after all this time?”

Tam’s pretty face split into a wicked grin. “You never asked if I knew any handsome orc boys!” he laughed. “Besides, I thought I was your one and only…”

“Tam,” you said seriously. “You are about as gay as I am straight.”

He took a sip of his wine and then mimed stabbing himself through the heart. “Alas, woe is me,” he mock-wailed. “I am consigned once again to the role of gay best friend…”

You simply raised your eyebrow at him again and took a deep draw of your wine.

“Honestly, it never really came up. Anyway, you were with Tomas for so long…” he said, his gaze flickering towards you at the mention of your ex. “I know him through a friend. You know, Seymour?”

“Tiefling, long blue hair, more graceful than God?”

“That’s the one and only,” he said, starting to speak even more quickly than usual as his excitement mounted. “I’ll tell him you said that. Anyway, yeah, I know Dragh through Seymour, who actually knows Dragh’s half-sister better than he knows Dragh himself, and now you’ll know him through me. You are coming with me tomorrow, right?”

“Am I invited?” you asked.

“I’m inviting you…”

“Does he know?”

“Sweetheart, if anyone deserves a day of boozing in a fancy vineyard, it’s you,” he said, tossing you a meaningful glance. Your last relationship had ended badly, well over three months ago, and you still found yourself lamenting the large, minotaur-sized gap in your life, but you’d moved on as best you could. It hadn’t been right, and both of you had seen it coming. Still, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to end things.

The next morning you picked Tam and Seymour up and drove them about an hour out into the countryside. Rolling, south-facing hills were sparsely dotted with farmhouses, and as the summer sun climbed, you began to relax a little, leaving the stress of the city behind.

Seymour was tall and almost silent, but he allowed Tam to natter away at him in the back seat while you wound the window down and inhaled great lungfuls of the fresh air. Yes, it was nice to be out of the city. Perhaps you did need a change of scene after all. Dammit, Tam was always right…

You’d picked your nicest summer dress, though you remained perhaps a little self conscious about the curve of your hips and the extra weight you’d put on around the middle in the last six months or so. Taking a deep breath, you decided that you weren’t going to let even that dampen your mood, and as you drew up at the main stone gates of the old vineyard, you caught sight of an engraved slate sign set into the warm, golden stone wall of the vineyard. Garlanded at the base with summer meadow flowers, it read: Three Oaks Vineyard, and through the wide mouth of the entrance gateposts, visible on the hill opposite at the end of the snaking, downward sloping drive, you could see the three ancient oaks that gave the land its name.

“It’s gorgeous here,” you murmured as you drew up five minutes later in the gravel courtyard behind the old farmhouse buildings and cut the engine.

“Yup,” Tam giggled, slithering out and shaking the stiffness out of his compact muscles after being crammed in the back of the car for over an hour. Seymour sighed and stretched, rolling his neck out, his long, cobalt blue hair falling down his back in a thick ponytail. They both had hoofed feet, which was less common for tieflings, though Seymour’s legs were more like those of a deer than Tam’s chunky goat legs, and Seymour’s long tail, leonine hung behind him in a graceful curve like a cat’s, as though balancing him perfectly.

You admired your two lovely friends for just a moment before the door to what was clearly the reception area opened and a half-orc stepped out of the former storage and cellars building, and beamed broadly at the three of you.

“Seymour!” she said, spreading her muscular arms wide. She wore a form-fitting, but not obscenely tight, pencil skirt and a pale, loose-fitting, sleeveless blouse that showed off her gorgeous, strong figure just perfectly. Her skin was a pale, almost apple green, and you saw as she approached that she had a smattering of darker green freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her plum coloured lipstick set her other minimal makeup off perfectly, and she threw her arms around the elegant tiefling and drew him into a warm, familiar embrace. “So good to see you. I’m so glad you came.”

He turned and waved a hand to introduce you first, and then he turned back to face her and added, “Shell, I believe you already know Tam.”

“Yeah, we’ve met once or twice,” she said. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good,” Tam said. “Listen, thanks for letting us take over this failed hen-do or whatever…”

She laughed. “Dragh’s been wanting to do something with just a few friends for a while - this turned out to be the perfect opportunity.”

“So who else is coming?” Tam asked as you all followed her towards the main building, an old French style farmhouse in crumbling sandstone, with sage green shutters flung wide to let in the summer light.

“Maya said she would come,” she said, holding the modern glass door open for you all to file inside. “And Fern too.”

“Perfect,” Tam said, though you knew neither of the names. Seeing this, Tam added with a glance back over his shoulder to you, “Maya is Shell’s girlfriend,” he explained. “A big-ass beautiful centaur, and Fern is a friend of hers, I think?”

The half-orc nodded, but if she said anything after that, you lost it in the white noise that filled your brain at the sight of the orc that was standing  in the reception room beyond.

He wore a pale, silver-grey suit, and a white shirt beneath, unbuttoned just enough to be casual without being obscene, and the tattooed black feathers which you could just glimpse beneath his collar made you want to see the full extent of the artwork immediately. His black hair, perhaps unusually for an orc, was buzzed close above his thick, tapering ears, and cut relatively short over the top, though with enough length to create a soft wave that was just begging to have fingers run through it. There was an attractive flash of white that ran from the middle of his widow’s peak and was swept back over his head as well. He was certainly unusual looking in all the best ways.

He smiled as you entered, and approached you with his enormous hand extended. “Welcome,” he smiled. “I’m so glad you all came.”

You shook his hand - though it might have been more accurate to have said that his hand engulfed yours and you watched it disappear while trying not to let yourself groan aloud. His skin was a deeper olive green than his half-sister’s, but there was a similarity to them about the eyes, namely the warm brown colour and the little crinkle at the corner that hinted at mischief and a cracking-good sense of humour. You introduced yourself and said you hoped he didn’t mind you tagging along.

“Mind?” he chuckled, “Quite the contrary, I assure you,” he said. He had a rich, deep, warm bass voice, and a slight, lyrical accent you couldn’t quite place. “Come through, all of you. I’ve got some welcome drinks and nibbles prepared for you already.”

“A man after my own heart,” Tam grinned, elbowing you in the ribs.

The back of the farmhouse had been converted into a beautiful, glass and steel space. The small, intimate restaurant area had perhaps only four or five tables, and a wall of glass overlooked the sloping lawns of the garden and the vineyard beyond. Your feet faltered as you saw the gorgeous scenery beyond, stuffed full of verdant plants, and while the others headed over to the bar, which was made of a huge, vintage wine barrel and a stunning slab of polished heartwood, you stepped over to the window and gazed out, entranced.

A quiet footstep beside you preceded the appearance of the hulking form of Dragh in the periphery of your vision, and you jumped softly and laughed.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Here,” and he held out a glass of sparkling wine in an elegant flute, explaining a little about what it was. He gently chinked his glass against yours, and said quietly, “I’m glad you came along.”

“It’s so beautiful here,” you murmured, and he nodded. “How long have you had the place?”

He took a deep breath and smiled, his conker-brown eyes drifting off towards the sunny horizon. “A long time now,” he said. “I inherited it from parents when I was just eighteen. You can imagine how well a big city orc doing a business degree at university took that…”

You cocked an eyebrow, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Yeah, not well,” he chuckled. “Luckily Shell is older and wiser than me, and I gave her half of the shares of the place, and she took care of it for me til I finished studying. I’ve been working here with her ever since.”

“You’ve clearly put a lot of heart into the place,” you said. Your eyes snagged on a few buildings at the edge of the vineyard, and you nodded at them. “What’s down there?”

He smiled. “Shell’s idea - we needed to diversify a little, so we’ve got guest accommodation too. We do bed and breakfast from Fridays to Mondays.”

“Wow, what a place to stay,” you smiled.

“I’ll show you the cottages on the tour of the grounds in a minute. Come,” he said, stepping back and placing his hand lightly on your back, his huge palm resting politely between your shoulder blades and making you shiver at the warmth of it.

You headed over to the beautiful array of canapes and chatted with the others for a while, but honestly, it was Dragh who held your attention most. You found, interestingly, that his eyes often found their way to your face, and when they did, you found your cheeks heating, but all he would do would be to offer you a gorgeous smile, and continue his conversation politely. Damn though, his shoulders looked incredible in that silvery grey suit, and you could tell his biceps beneath were as solid as stone.

It was only when you realised he was looking at you again, and that everyone else has gone quiet, that you knew you’d zoned out and missed something. “I’m sorry,” you blushed, “I was miles away. What’d I miss?”

Dragh chuckled kindly, eyes twinkling. “I suggested a tour; you ready?”

You nodded, humiliated at your absentminded behaviour, and followed everyone else out into the dry heat of the summer day. Dragh walked beside you as he took you to the various parts of the vineyard, showing you the vines growing, the grapes almost ready for harvesting, and telling you stories of protecting them from late frosts with the help of a local witch in the middle of the night.

You never tired of his beautiful voice and his gentle gestures, and while Seymour and Tam wandered off with Shell to greet the others, you stayed with Dragh in the lower vineyards.

“Let me show you the cottages,” he said. “We redid them not long ago, and I’m really proud of them.”

“Sure, lead the way,” you smiled.

They were indeed gorgeous, with modern, cosy furnishings and white-washed yet warm interiors. Compact log burners promised heat in winter, and the thick stone walls provided welcome shelter from the strong summer sun outside. “I can see why you love them,” you said.

“If you want to stay after today,” he said, “You’re more than welcome. I know said he Seymour was going to drive you back, but if you like, you could stay here and I could drive you tomorrow…”

“Really? But… I… I couldn’t afford to -”

“No,” he laughed, “I wouldn’t ask you to pay for it!” he snorted. “No, I’m offering it to you. My gift.”

“Why?” you blurted, which only made him rumble that deep-chested laugh again.

“Can’t you tell?”

You flushed and he offered you a quiet smile.

“But if it’s too much, I’ll back off. I can be a bit much, I know, but… I like you, and if you go back tonight, I might not get another chance…”

“Chance to what?”

“Flirt with you,” he grinned, his tusks flashing.

“Oh,” and then you began to giggle. “I’m sorry,” you said when he started to look first confused, and then a little hurt. “No, I’m sorry, I’m just… out of practice, clearly. I broke up with my boyfriend about three months ago, and we were together for four years, so… I’m rusty. I’m sorry. I’d like that.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” he said, still smiling. “C’mon. You came here to taste wine, not listen to me bumble my way through flirting with you.”

He steered you back up to the main house, where you all spent the remainder of the afternoon lounging around, laughing, chatting, tasting small glasses of incredible wines, and nibbling local cheeses and handmade snacks. Maya joined you with Shell mid-way through the afternoon, her large, fetlocked hooves clopping on the patio as she moved about. Fern turned out to be a waif of a goblin, with thin limbs, pale lilac skin, and enormous ears and eyes. He grinned cheekily at you though and you liked him instantly.

But it was Dragh who held your attention the most. As the sun began to set, Shell started up a barbecue, and you ate and talked until you felt your eyelids beginning to get heavy. Seymour and Tam said they were going to head back, and asked if you were ready to go, but you blushed and said that Dragh had offered you a bed for the night in one of the cottages.

“Oh did he now?” Tam chuckled quietly as you stood at the edge of the ring of firelight on the patio, the central fire pit casting flickering shadows around the gathered group of mellow friends, new and old. “Good.” The short satyr gave you a hug and tugged Seymour away once they’d said their goodnights.

Maya and Shell slipped away not long after, with Fern practically vanishing into the dusk at their heels, leaving just you and Dragh alone.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked as he checked that the barbecue coals were cool enough to leave.

“I did, thank you.”

“Not too much to drink?” he asked, casting you a sideways glance.

You shook your head. “You paced it perfectly,” you smiled. “And that elderflower cordial that Maya brought was beautiful.”

“She brought it for Seymour because he doesn’t drink, and she didn’t want him to feel left out.”

“I was surprised that he came along when I found out he’s t-total…”

Dragh shrugged and then laughed, “There is more to this place than the wine, you know…?”

You tilted your head up, exposing your neck as you gazed at the summer stars above you, and hummed softly. “Mmm, so I see,” you said.

When you looked back at him, he was staring fixedly at your throat. “Gods,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful…”

Your lips hitched into a nervous smile, and he set down the wineglass he’d been holding in one hand, and rose gracefully to come and tower over you. He leaned in close, giving you every opportunity to back away or ask him to stop, but when you did nothing but gaze up into his endlessly warm eyes, he closed the distance between you and pressed a kiss to your lips.

He tasted of wine, but then again so did you, and he slid his fingers around to the back of your neck and cupped your head as he kissed you, his eyelids fluttering shut. His lips were firm and confident, but the kiss ended all too soon as he pulled himself upright. He held out his hand to you, and you slid eagerly enough off the wall where you’d been perched, letting him pull you to your feet.

He walked you back down the slope towards the cottage, and at the door he hesitated. He was still wearing that beautiful suit, and you licked your lips as you stepped over the threshold and turned back to face him. “You coming in?” you asked, and he waited just long enough for you to smile again before following you inside.

Dragh nudged you gently against the wall as he kissed you again, his hands roving over your body, savouring the softness of you and moaning beneath the kisses. He shifted his attention and began to kiss down your neck, his tusks digging in almost painfully as he mouthed gently at you.

His hips rocked against yours and you felt how hard he was getting the longer he lavished attention on you. His breath left his lungs in uneven rasps, and he set his hands on your hips and drew back a little to look at you. His pupils were blown wide and he stared at you with glassy eyes. “Tell me you want this,” he growled. “If you don’t want it, I’ll stop, but if I keep going much longer, I might not be able to…” His ears shifted slightly, not being as expressive as a goblin or elf’s, but still showing a little of his uncertainty.

You reached your hand for his rough, if shaven, jawline and caressed his cheek with your thumb. He purred another growl into the quiet space between you, his eyes rolling closed with a groan.

“I want this,” you whispered.

He lost no time in herding you into the bedroom and pressing you down into the bed. He sloughed off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, and you felt the breath leave your chest at the sight of his taut body beneath. Muscles strained attractively against the fabric of his shirt, and as he smiled almost shyly at you, he began to unbutton the shirt. Frustrated, he pulled it over his head, and you gasped audibly when you saw the tattoos beneath.

A massive gryphon stretched from his left pec, over his shoulder, and its inky wings came to rest halfway down his forearms.

“Wow,” you murmured, and he smiled.

“You like it?”

“Yeah. It must have hurt like a bitch though,” you said, glimpsing the ink on his waist too where the gryphon’s taloned hind feet finished. “Turn around?” you asked, and he did, looking back at you over his colossal shoulder, watching you admiring him.

“That’s a sight I could get used to,” he rumbled softly.

“What?” you asked, shuffling up the bed as he turned back around and came to lie down beside you, trailing his fingertips up your leg and making you shiver with a touch light as a spider’s shadow.

Dragh smiled, a slow, lazy, adoring smile, and you bit your lip. “I could get used to you looking at me like that,” he clarified.

“I don’t think I would ever get used to the sight of you though,” you rasped. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, laughing a deep and genuine laugh. “I work hard…” he went on, kissing your shoulder almost affectionately. “Most folks think orcs are just born looking like this, and yeah,” he added, causally sliding his huge hand beneath the fabric of your dress and enveloping your entire thigh in his grasp, “We have it easier than most do, but…” he parted your legs with a gentle gesture, and you just lay back and let him, finding it hard to concentrate on what he was saying now. “But I do take care of myself.” He lowered his lips to your inner thigh and kissed you. “Let me take care of you now…?” he asked.

You gasped as his tusks dug into your thick thighs, and your head lolled backwards as pleasure swept over your whole body, sliding beneath your skin and setting every inch of you tingling. “Yes!” you whispered, breathing hard.

He had you naked in a matter of seconds, laying you back down tenderly and gazing at you until you nearly barked at him to stop staring. He leaned forwards and cupped your breast in his hand and kneaded it gently, moving his mouth to your nipple and kissing, sucking, and tugging on it until you were almost in tears from how good it felt.

Dragh ran both his hands down your body, leaving your nipples cold and overly sensitive in the cool air of the bedroom, and he sank his flat, orcish nose to your sex and nudged against your throbbing clit before lapping over you with his thick tongue. The sound that escaped him as he tasted you was like no sound you’d ever heard before, and as he returned his attentions to your wet folds, he made it again and again. He circled you and laved his tongue up and down over you until you were giddy and breathless, begging for more.

“Please,” you gasped.

“You want me inside you?” he asked, and you risked a glance down to see just how big he was as he sat up a moment. When you nodded, he grinned. “Gimme a second then.” You turned your head to watch as he drew out a condom and ripped into it. He rolled it slowly down his weeping, thick length, and you groaned as you watched him handling himself. He was huge, as most orcs apparently were, with a thick vein running along the length, and as he turned back to face you, he grinned. “Ready?”

An inarticulate grunt and a nod were all you could manage, but he smiled and lined himself up, rocking his hips teasingly back and forth to stretch you, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit until you thought you might just come from that alone. Almost, but not quite.

“Please,” you hissed, and he smiled.

“You tell me to stop if I’m too much, ok?” he crooned, bracing one hand beside your head and sliding himself into you. He stretched you gloriously wide, but he didn’t know you’d been in a relationship with a minotaur before this, and were more than used to taking a big cock. Even so, the feel of him left you gasping. “Oh gods, you’re perfect,” he crooned suddenly as he sank all the way in, hilt deep. The girth of his cock stretched you until you thought you might break, but when you bucked upwards into him, he took it as a sign that you were ready, and he began to move his hips again.

He picked up a steady rhythm, growling and grunting with pleasure as his cock filled you and you clenched tightly around him. He shifted his thumb to your clit and stroked you in time with his thrusts, feeling you tightening around him with each pounding heartbeat, until you grabbed his muscular neck and came hard, waves of sparking pleasure sweeping through you.

You came so hard you drew his own orgasm from him, and he emptied into you a moment later with a bellow and a roar that left your ears ringing. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his consonants slurring, his eyelids heavy with pleasure as he tried to look at you through the daze of his orgasm. “Is this real?” he added a moment later.

You laughed, and he withdrew, rolling onto his back and sorting himself out while you lay there and let your eyes drift closed for a moment. Deep contentment washed through you, and you took a steadying breath. You felt him leave to slip into the bathroom, but were barely aware of him returning. The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge and laid his hand on your thigh. He murmured your name, and you opened your eyes groggily to see him sitting there, now wearing his tight, black boxer briefs again.

“You want me to go?” he asked in a whisper.

You shook your head, and he smiled, climbing into bed beside you and pulling the sheets over both of you.

You drifted off to sleep not long after that, with his body pressed tightly around yours.

___________________________

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#orc #male orc #exophilia #orc x reader #male orc x female reader #female reader

[authors-dumpster]

A Study in Turquoise

Sybill was doing a pretty good job at blending in with the humans. She had set up her apothecary on a quiet street; customers would come and go throughout the day. No one seemed to suspect that a real Witch could be running this shop. Sybill assumed that her customers saw her as a weird and whimsical woman. Nothing more. She would sometimes get customers who seemed more outlandish than she did. This changed when a little blonde boy came into her apothecary one day in the summer. She remembered with a small smile the words he said to her, though she was not smiling when he had first spoken: “Can you make the purple fireworks come out of your hands again?”

What am I gonna do with this kid? Sybill thought to herself. No human could know she was truly a Witch. Her father would be more understanding, but this is something unacceptable for her mother. Sybill’s mother came from a very large and ancient family of practitioners, some Wiccan, some not, but all were Witches. The old Witch had very traditional ideas, but they were based on sound principals. Her most important was that humans can have no knowledge of the witchcraft that coexists with their mundane practices. Witches have to make a living, after all. Sybill was what could be called a “pureblood” in the magical world, but she tried to conceal this as much as possible. Purebloods tend to have a bad rep for their snobbiness and superiority complexes. This was not Sybill. She was a quiet Witch who just wanted to run her apothecary peacefully and eventually make her girlfriend her wife. Then, they could live quietly with Sybill’s familiar, a noisy and opinionated Siamese cat named Kratos.

On the day that the little blonde boy came in, Sybill got the shock of her life. She was very sure that she had only ever cast spells in her back room. She only ever opened her Book of Shadows after closing the shop, and she had definitely set up wards against any malicious beings that would mean to harm her. So who is this kid, and how did he see me casting that endurance spell?

“Well, hello there. What did you just say about the fireworks? We don't have any of those here, just plants and books, little boy. What’s your name?” Sybill squat down to the little boy’s level. He couldn’t be more than five years old. Where are his parents?

“My name’s Felix. I saw you make little purple fireworks. How did you maked that?”

Thinking quickly, Sybill thought quickly of something that would make sense for a human. “Oh, you mean the sparklers? I use them sometimes to entertain my cat. Do you wanna see him?”

At the word “cat”, Felix’s green eyes lit up. “Kitty? Where?” He was very excited now, and seemed to forget about the spell he witnessed. Sybill stood up and held her hand out for Felix. He took it as she walked to the front corner of the main room by the big windows that overlooked the street.

“Kratos! Here, kitty!”

Who you calling kitty? You look like an albino Willow tree today.

Thanks, I try. Just come down here and watch this kid for a little while. I think he may have seen me cast that endurance spell earlier. I need you to distract him while I get a memory wipe potion from the back.

But what if he pulls my tail like the last kid?

This kid is… different. I can’t explain it, so just come down here and see for yourself.

The most important thing about familiars is that they are definitely not your pets. A familiar is a Witch’s companion. The familiar comes to the Witch when they decide they want to, not when the Witch decides. Kratos came to Sybill when she was only 10 years old; they’ve been together for almost 20 years now. A Witch and her familiar can communicate through thought if desired. Sybill usually speaks aloud to Kratos, it helps her focus and adds to her “weird apothecary shopkeeper” aesthetic, but she didn’t want to risk any more magical exposure to this little kid. Kratos hopped down from the hanging potted plant he was sitting in. He got dirt everywhere, as he usually did. He even added to the shop’s collection of dirty-paw-prints-all-over-the-wood-floor.

“Does he like toys?” Felix asked. Sybill had momentarily forgotten about the little blonde boy.

“Good question. Why don’t we ask him? Kratos, do you like to play with kitty toys?” Sybill was totally not making this difficult for Kratos on purpose. She would never.

The cat meows loudly in response, You saw what I did to your fern bush, right? Same thing’s gonna happen to this kid if you leave me alone with him.

“He said yes!” Sybill clapped in a childish way, her many rings and bracelets jingling together.

Felix clapped happily too, “Yay! Kitty likes to play!”

Sybill summoned a few cat toys behind her back and handed them to Felix. “Be gentle with him,” she warned with a pointed index finger. She didn’t know if she was talking to Felix or Kratos.

She quickly moved to the back of the shop, taking a quick look over her shoulder to check on the little boy. Sybill quietly slipped into the back room where her potion supply was. She tied up her unruly mop of blonde curls so that it was out of her face. It was totally a hazard for casting, summoning, and brewing, but Sybill felt proud of her hair. Stark blonde hair was something like a trademark for the Blackwood family. Sybill hadn’t cut her hair in many years, and it reached all the way down her back.

She found the potion bottle she wanted. “Simple memory wipe. Use when needed to wipe a single memory. Dilute potion for children under 13 years of age. Add 3 poppy seeds for humans. Focus intent over a heated cauldron to target undesired memory.” This will do. Now, I probably shouldn’t just make him drink this… I’d have a lot of explaining to do if I got a customer. I can put it in a sweet, like a cookie. That’ll work. Sybill took several strides across the room to one of her many cauldrons, started a fire under a small one, and poured the potion into it. She followed the directions exactly, and finally she had her memory-wipe cookie. I’ll have to add this to my Grimoire.

Sybill finally emerged from the back room to return to Kratos and Felix. She found the little boy sitting on the floor. The Witch got the second biggest shock of her life next. Kratos was curled up in a ball in Felix’s lap, happily purring.

“Well, it looks like you guys became best friends,” Sybill sat on the ground next to Felix and looked down at Kratos.

“Hey Felix, did you come into town with your mommy or daddy? Where are they?”

“Mommy said me and my big brother could go shopping today. Kris is shopping too.”

Sybill was a little frustrated that Felix didn’t answer the question, but she knew how little kids were. “Hey Felix, do you want a cookie? I’ll trade you Kratos for this chocolate chip cookie. It’s his nap time, so I gotta put him back in his bed.”

“A cookie! I want a cookie!” Felix’s eyes lit up again. Sybill started for only a second. The little boy’s eyes seemed to literally light up. It’s probably just the sunlight making them change colour. Sybill handed Felix the memory wipe cookie, and waited for him to finish it. In the meantime, she scooped up Kratos, and stood up to return him to his potted plant. Kratos opened one eye at her and purred. Traitor, she muttered. Sybill brushed the dirt off of her harem pants and got yet another shock.

“Can you make the purple fireworks again?” Felix asked. He looked up at her through his golden hair with anticipation. The potion didn’t work. Great! Fucking great! What am I gonna do now? I have no idea where this kid’s “big brother” is, the potion didn’t work, and I can’t just dump him on the street. I am so not prepared to play babysitter today! What the fuck!

Why are you screaming? Kratos meowed. You woke me up…

Kratos, the potion didn’t work.

Bullshit, you’re the best brewer in the country.

Thanks, that doesn’t help the fact that it didn’t work. What are we gonna do now? I do not want to call Mother. She’ll teleport all the way over here just to hex me in person. And she’ll find out anyway if I tell Father.

Well, you did say this kid was different. You were right, as much as I don’t want to admit it. Maybe he’s not human.

I don’t know… Well anyway, it looks like we’re babysitting today.

You can count me out, it’s my naptime, like you said.

You’ll be in a time-out if you don’t get your fuzzy rump down here right now.

Yes, ma’am.

Don’t call me that, Kratos. We talked about this.

“Okay, Felix, well does your brother Kris know you’re in this store?”

“Yea, he saw me come in.”

“Do you know when Mommy wants you home?”

“No.”

Great. “Okay, well you can hang out here with us until it’s time to go home.”

“Okay.”

Sybill stood there awkwardly with her hands on her hips watching Felix brush around the dirt on the floor.

“Okay, Felix, come on. I’m gonna show you the coolest parts of my store,” Sybill crouched down to pick up the little boy. He was surprisingly light for a toddler. “Felix, how old are you?”

“Five.”

So I was right. She carried him to the check-out desk in the back of the main room, and set him on the desktop. He immediately started swinging his little legs around, and looked around at the stuff on the desk.

“Okay, Felix. We’re gonna learn about plants today. Can you read?” Sybill pulled her hair down and ruffled it.

“Yeah, Daddy taught me how to read. Your hair is pretty. We have the same hair,” he reached out to touch a strand of Sybill’s hair. She noted that he was right. They both had very blonde, curly hair. But they couldn’t be related. Sybill would have instantly known if Felix was a Blackwood. She checked that off the list of “Things That Felix is Not”. She looked into his big green eyes before changing gears. She motioned for Felix to wait there, and he obeyed.

“Kratos, where are my Succulents?”

“Meow,” They’re in the front window, section 4a.

Felix clapped happily, “Kitty meowed!”

Sybill returned to the check-out desk with two, large, potted Succulents. She put one down on the desktop and held up the other one for Felix to see.

“This is a Succulent, Felix. Can you say Succulent?”

“Suckylent”

“Good enough. These little guys are really cool. You see their special leaves? Look, they’re green and pink. They like a lot of sunlight, so I put them in the big windows in the front. They like water, too, but not too much. These guys right here don't have names yet. Do you want to help me name them?”

“Yeah! I want to name them!”

“Great! Do you have an idea?”

“Uhm, I like the name George.”

“George it is then!”

Sybill continued like this for quite a while, telling Felix about many different plants, and their properties. He seemed very intrigued for a five-year-old. She was just about to tell him about her Lamb’s Ear when the entrance door bell rang.

Kratos meowed, Couple of teenage girls. Definitely not Felix’s big bro.

Sybill turned around to greet the girls, holding Felix’s arm to make sure he wouldn’t fall off the counter. “Welcome, ladies, to the Granite Cauldron. Can I help you find anything today?”

One of the girls spoke up, “We’re looking for some small potted plants that will fit on a windowsill? Like, something I can hold in my hand?”

“Ah yes, it seems the Succulents are what you desire. Come, I will show you,” Sybill paused before deciding she should probably bring Felix with her, lest he hurt himself unattended. She placed him on the floor and held his hand as she led the girls to the Succulent section in the front window. She showed the girls the Succulents and provided some care tips. The girls seemed very understanding, which made Sybill happy. After several minutes, the girls were ready to check out. They all headed back to the check-out desk; Sybill let Felix sit on the counter again.

“That one’s name is George,” the little boy said very seriously. “He likes sunlight and not too much water.”

The girl smiled brightly and thanked Felix. “Is it bring your kid to work day? He’s so cute!”

Sybill was about to say no, but then realized just how odd it would be if she admitted that they weren’t actually related. What’s a random kid, who looks just like me, doing in this shop if we aren’t related? “Yes, his name is Felix,” Sybill finally said.

“He’s adorable!” Another girl said. “Thank you so much, have a great day!”

“Blessed be, ladies.”

The door-bell jingled and the girls were gone.

Sybill put her face in her hands and let her blonde curls obscure her vision. Ugh, I have got to get this kid home ASAP.

~

It felt hours since the little blonde boy entered the store, and still no sign of his “big brother Kris”.

Some big brother, alright, Sybill thought.

Do you think he forgot about him? Can we keep him? Kratos leaped from one shelf to another, watching the little boy as well.

Kratos!

What? He’s entertaining…

I can't just keep the kid, how would I explain that to literally everyone I know?

Right, of course, sorry. It was an option.

Sybill had left Felix near the check-out desk, surrounded by books to entertain him. She got the usual amount of customers trickling in, all asking if Felix was her son. She had to say yes to all, which will definitely prove a problem in the future, but Sybill couldn't afford to worry over that now. Every once in awhile, Kratos would leap down from his various perches (more hanging potted plants) and rub up against Felix to get some pets. Felix would sometimes ask Sybill what a word was, or ask her to explain something. He was very smart for a five-year-old. She was thankful to every god and goddess in existence that the little boy was not a nuisance. He just sat there peacefully reading. He didn’t touch anything that he was not supposed to, nor did he pester Sybill with annoying questions, crying, or temper tantrums. He was the most well mannered and patient toddler she had ever encountered. Sybill was curious about something, though. She couldn’t erase the image of Felix’s eyes lighting up. Part of her told her that it was just a trick of the light, but she wasn’t totally convinced. Sybill has had many encounters with creatures that only look human. Maybe Felix was one of their kids. Maybe he is only a half-blood. Like half a feral creature or a nymph, or something. That would explain why he is so smart, and weighs so little for his size. Sybill could only guess, until her answer finally came to her in the form of Kris, Felix’s big brother. Kris really was a big brother.

The entrance door bell jingled, and Sybill waited for Kratos’ meow to let her know who to expect, as she was overlooking a book on the Natural Life of Switzerland. Her familiar was cut off mid-meow, and when Sybill stood up, she saw why. Her next customer was a seven-foot-tall elf, and he did not look very happy. This was nothing new to Sybill. She got a nice mix of humans and magical beings alike. The elves, however, were rare, and always hard to please.

Kratos finally meowed his report, I think this is our guy…

You think? Sybill replied as she picked Felix up off the floor.

The elf, Kris, had the same blonde curls as Felix, and his eyes were also very green. The one difference was that his eyes were glowing. Definitely an elf.

“Felix, what are you doing in here? You were supposed to meet me by the river at exactly 14 minutes past the hour. It is now 20 minutes past the hour. It is past time to go home,” the Elf said in a stern tone. He continued, speaking to Sybill this time, “I apologize, Witch, for this rascal causing distractions from your practice.”

“He- well- he was not a distraction for me. I’m just glad you came back for him. But he didn’t impede on my practices at all, nope. Not a worry here…” Sybill replied awkwardly. She was not the best at conversing with elves. They spoke in a very odd and proper way that made Sybill feel self-conscious of her thick Northerner accent.

“That is pleasing, then. He has much to learn still. As only a half-elf, he is slower at developing the proper memory skills at this age. It’s the human part that dulls his mind a little, you understand. Thank you for watching over my kin. Take this,” Kris handed Sybill a pinecone, “You may use it for one favour of me, should you need me.”

“Thanks,” Sybill accepted the pinecone with a quick glance to Kratos. He only cocked his head to the side and blinked his big blue eyes.

He took Felix into his own arms and stroked the little boy’s hair.

“Bye, Witchy! Bye, kitty!” Felix yelled over his big brother’s shoulder. Sybill waved and Kratos howled, which caused the little boy to squeal and clap happily. His eyes glowed for the third time, and that confirmed it for Sybill.

A half-elf, huh?

You think they call that a Helf? Kratos leapt from a bookshelf to the check-out desk.

Shut up.

You think we’ll ever see the kid again?

“I hope so,” Sybill said aloud, turning the pinecone over in her hands with a small smile.

#my work #my writing #original characters #halloween #creative short story #short story

[j0sgomez-blog]

A hiker atop Looking Glass Rock, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

By Michael Lanza

Warm rain drums lightly on the lush deciduous forest around me as I walk up a long-abandoned dirt road that has narrowed to a trail with the gradual encroachment of vegetation. The wind assaults the treetops, the outer edge of a hurricane hitting the Southeast coast right now; but here, far from the storm, it sounds like waves rhythmically lapping up onto a beach and retreating. It’s a gray, early evening in mid-October in the basement of a compact valley in the Appalachian Mountains of western North Carolina—a valley that, due to its tight contours, sees precious few hours of direct sunlight at this time of year—and the daylight has filtered down to a soft, dim, tranquil quality.

A bit more than a half-mile up this quiet footpath, I reach my destination—and unconsciously catch my breath at what must be one of the most lovely cascades in a corner of North Carolina spilling over with waterfalls.

Roaring Fork Falls tumbles through a series of a dozen or more steps, each several feet high, before coming to rest briefly in a placid, knee-deep pool at its bottom. Beyond the pool, the stream continues downhill at an angle only somewhat less severe than the cascade above. In sunshine or warmer temperatures, I’d be tempted to wade in and sit in that pool. Now, I just stare at it, all but hypnotized.

Roaring Fork Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

I’m on the last, short hike of a day filled with beautiful waterfalls along the Blue Ridge Parkway, in the heart of one of America’s hiking and backpacking meccas: western North Carolina. I’ve come to spend a week chasing waterfalls, fall foliage color, and classic Southern Appalachian views while dayhiking in the mountains surrounding Asheville and backpacking in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Unlike soaring, jagged Western mountain ranges such as the Tetons, High Sierra, or North Cascades, the Appalachian Mountains are lower and mostly forested from bottom to top, their once-sharper angles of ancient epochs worn rounder and softer by erosion and time. (It happens to all of us.) From a high point like Looking Glass Rock, Black Balsam Knob, or any of numerous turnouts along the Blue Ridge Parkway, the mountains here resemble a roiling, green sea of trees.

The West has big vistas; the Appalachians have big vistas, too, but mostly small, more intimate scenery, the kind that you can literally reach out and touch. Here, you don’t just look at the scenery; you’re in it.

In a sense, I went to North Carolina to reconnect with my hiking roots. I became a hiker, backpacker, and climber in the northern reaches of the Appalachian chain—in New Hampshire’s White Mountains and on many other wooded, rocky, rugged, little mountain ranges that pepper the Northeast. I discovered as a young man that I really liked the arduous nature of hiking in the Northeast, the craggy, windblown summits, and the fullness and deep silence of the forest in all seasons.

In North Carolina’s mountains, I rediscovered the pleasure of walking a footpath with last year’s dead leaves crunching underfoot; passing shallow streams that speak in some unknown tongue as they chug over and around stones; standing on summits overlooking seemingly endless rows of green or blue ridges fading to far horizons.

But I also discovered the unique qualities of the Southern Appalachians. They are not as steep and rocky (or as hard on ankles and knees) as their northern cousins. They’re not as crowded as one might be led to believe. They harbor hundreds of waterfalls, possibly the richest stash of falling waters in the country.

And these woods are quite simply a very good place to help a person remember what’s most important in life.

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  Looking Glass Rock

The dry, crisp air of early morning raises goosebumps on my bare legs and arms as I start chuffing uphill in the woods of the Pisgah National Forest, a short drive out of the pleasant, small town of Brevard, where I’m spending a couple of nights while exploring the area’s trails. One of western North Carolina’s most recognizable natural landmarks, Looking Glass Rock (lead photo at top of story), leads my list of hikes today, which explains why I’m on the Looking Glass Rock Trail shortly after 7 a.m.

Brevard happens to be the seat of Transylvania County, a place relevant to hikers because the county receives over 90 inches of rain annually—making it the wettest county in North Carolina—and has over 250 waterfalls. I’m visiting several of them on dayhikes this week along the BRP, in the Pisgah, and in Gorges State Park.

  The Big Outside thanks musician Greg Bishop for the use of his music in the above video. Find more at https://store.cdbaby.com/artist/gregbishop and on iTunes.

  The trail rises at a gentle angle at first; but as I climb higher, it grows steeper. In this quiet forest, with little variation in the scenery as I walk uphill, it’s easy to get lost in thoughts; and in a world where we’re almost constantly receiving texts and checking email, getting lost in your thoughts has become a rare joy.

After a few miles of steady uphill climbing, I step out of the forest onto a sloping, sprawling granite slab at the top of Looking Glass Rock—atop the cliffs that millions of tourists photograph from turnouts along the Blue Ridge Parkway every year. The morning sun hasn’t yet reached these slabs, but it throws a warm spotlight on gentle waves of hills rolling out a carpet of dappled green for miles in all directions before me.

If every person could start each day this way, I gotta think the world would be a more peaceful place.

  Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Subscribe now to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.

  Blue Ridge Parkway

The Blue Ridge Parkway isn’t a highway you take when you want to get somewhere quickly; it exists for just the opposite objective: to get nowhere slowly. A narrow, two-way road snaking along the Blue Ridge from Shenandoah National Park in Virginia to Great Smoky Mountains National Park in western North Carolina, this 469-mile-long corridor through Eastern deciduous forest is, in many respects, America’s country road.

Begun in 1935 and finished more than half a century later with the completion of an engineering marvel, the Linn Cove Viaduct—an S-shaped bridge that hugs the side of North Carolina’s iconic Grandfather Mountain—it ranges in elevation from 600 feet to about 6,000 feet above sea level. From numerous places along it, one overlooks deep valleys in more shades of green than we have names for, steep-walled mountainsides draped in dense forest, and one overlapping mountain ridge after another.

The BRP also spans a wide range of habitats and supports more plant species—over 4,000—than any other park in the country. If you’re into fungi and look really, really hard, you’ll find 2,000 kinds of them, as well as 500 species of mosses and lichens. There are more varieties of salamander than anywhere else in the world. Wet, warm, and fertile, the Southern Appalachians are like a big orgy of photosynthesis that almost shocks the optic nerves, lasting for several months a year. Most of us rarely see such a conspicuous eruption of greenery.

With more than 100 trailheads and over 300 miles of trails scattered along its length, the BRP forms the spine of one gem of a trail system. (See my story “The 12 Best Dayhikes Along North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Parkway.”) That’s why, with a week to play on the trails of western North Carolina, I essentially made the Blue Ridge Parkway my base of operations.

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Moore Cove in the Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

Moore Cove

Millions of people live within driving distance of the parks and forests of the Appalachian Mountains. With over 15 million visits annually, the Blue Ridge Parkway ranks number one among all National Park Service sites for visitors, while Great Smoky Mountains National Park occupies the third spot on the list, with nearly 11 million visits a year. Not surprisingly, escaping the throngs in much of the Appalachian Mountains presents a formidable challenge—especially during fall foliage season.

But sometimes you just get lucky.

It’s early evening when I pull into the roadside parking area for Moore Cove, on Route 276 in the Pisgah National Forest. I’ve already hiked about 17 miles today, hitting several peaks and hills along the Blue Ridge Parkway. My original plan was to stop and photograph Looking Glass Falls, a famous roadside waterfall that gets viewed by hundreds of people on a typical day—and where there’s still, even now, a parking lot filled with cars. Seeing all those vehicles, I decide to take the 20-minute hike to Moore Cove instead.

As with the short trail to Roaring Fork Falls, the well-tended footpath to Moore Cove resides at the bottom of a deep Appalachian valley with close mountains on both sides, beneath a canopy of maple, oak, and tulip poplar trees; so even though the sun hasn’t yet set on another day, dusk settled in down here at least an hour ago. Rosebay rhododendron and ferns blanket the ground. For now, anyway, I’m the only person out here.

  I can help you plan this or another hiking trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

  Reaching Moore Cove, I stop, and a reflexive smile creeps across my face. Before me, a silvery, 50-foot waterfall plunges in a nearly silent, gossamer column over the lip of a rock alcove.

That’s one of the special aspects of hiking in the Southern Appalachians: These old mountains still conceal little mysteries. They’re not especially tall or grand; they don’t have attractions that will rival the majesty of Yosemite or Yellowstone. But their rumpled contours, incredibly vibrant ecology, and the ingredients for an abundance of waterfalls—steep terrain and buckets and buckets of rain—collaborate to create an almost infinite number of micro-scenes that inspire an awe that’s more subdued with each episode, but cumulatively powerful and enduring. The mountains of western North Carolina constantly surprise you with spots like Moore Cove.

I shoot some photos, and have the place all to myself for maybe 10 minutes. Then a family shows up, and I pack up and depart, leaving them their own little piece of solitude and magic.

  Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

  See all of my stories about hiking and backpacking in western North Carolina, including:

“The 12 Best Dayhikes Along North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Parkway.” “In the Garden of Eden: Backpacking the Great Smoky Mountains.” “Photo Gallery: Waterfalls of the North Carolina Mountains.” “Roof of the East: Hiking North Carolina’s Mount Mitchell.” “The 20 Best National Park Dayhikes” for a description of a hike along the Appalachian Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

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[punalavaflow]

Tour of Kona Cloud Forest Sanctuary reveals oasis of life

KALOKO MAUKA — A few weeks ago while my Dad was visiting the island, we had the opportunity to take a private tour of the Kona Cloud Forest Sanctuary at the invitation of the owner, Norman Bezona, and his partner Voltaire. It was a serendipitous thing, actually. My dad loves animals so I took him by the Kona Humane Society for a quick fix. Inside, we ran into Voltaire, feral cat trap in hand, who insisted we come up for a visit. I’m so happy we did.

Two days later, we are climbing up Kaloko drive in the bright red mustang convertible my Dad rented for his trip. The heat of Kona a distant memory, mist socks in around us, and graceful pheasants sashay across the road, playing chicken. We hang a right at Hau Street and turn into the driveway for the Sanctuary. Suddenly, the jungle seems to swallow us whole.

The Kona Cloud Forest Sanctuary is a 70-acre oasis at 3,000 feet on the slopes of Hualalai Volcano.

On this land, Norman has been letting his green thumb run wild since 1984. When he started, the land was an overgrown grass field. Now it’s home to thousands of endemic, indigenous, and tropical species of trees and plants that make you feel like you’re in the middle of Jurassic Park. Rare and endangered plants, like the hapuu, or Hawaiian tree fern, can be found here. The foundation of the forest is lava rock from Hualalai’s 1801, 1600, and 1400 eruptions.

Norman leads us on a tour of the property. First stop is the Jungle House, where he teaches classes for nonprofit groups from around the country on the back lanai. A horticultural scientist and consultant for over 50 years, Norman specializes in tropical forest agriculture. He is a Professor Emeritus with the University of Hawaii College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources. In addition to Hawaii, he has worked in West Africa, the Carribean, South and Central America and other islands of the tropical Pacific, and volunteers his services through Peace Corps and other non-governmental organizations.

Next to the Jungle House he points out a giant blue marble tree (Eleocarpus grandis), with impressive buttress roots rising up off the ground. This tree is still young, planted here about 30 years ago. Norman says that the roots of mature blue marbles can reach up to 12 feet in height. In that case, the Jungle House could quite literally live up to its namesake, enveloped by the enormous tree roots. The trees themselves can reach heights over 150 feet. The ground around the tree is littered with its special seeds, known as Indian prayer beads or rudraksha.

“Every plant has value. If we don’t know what it is, we haven’t looked hard enough,” says Norman.

To illustrate his point, he stops in front of a monstera vine, ubiquitous in Hawaii landscaping, to point out a detail I’ve never noticed before — its fruit. Did you know it’s edible? It tastes like a cross between a pineapple and a banana. Its scientific name (Monstera deliciosa) gives a clue to what I’ve been missing out on. The fruit takes one year to mature, and is common in markets in South America.

Midway through our wanderings, I begin hearing strange disembodied voices. It turns out, I’m not going crazy. It’s just Norman’s collection of very opinionated macaws who greet our arrival with great fanfare. Macaws kept as pets often outlive their owners, which is how the Cloud Forest Sanctuary has become home to so many. Norman mentions that they are extremely fancy eaters, and that a large part of the proceeds from doing tours and education at the Sanctuary often goes to keeping macadamia nuts on the menu.

Bidding farewell to our feathered friends, we wander through more blue marble trees and then stumble upon one of my favorites — the rainbow eucalyptus (eucalyptus deglupta). Norman instructs us to put our palms against its multi-hued trunk, which is moist and delightfully cool to the touch. In addition to absorbing carbon monoxide with their leaves and producing lovely, breathable oxygen, trees work like big air conditioners, Norman explains. They evaporate water to produce clouds, which reflect sunlight. In a forest, this effect is exponential, creating a massive natural cooling effect that feels wonderful to living creatures, including us humans.

“As you walk through the forest, you’ll find yourself drawn to certain areas and plants like a tuning fork,” says Norman.

Further down the trail, we stop to admire an impressive stand of clumping bamboo, easily 60 feet in height. There are more than 100 varieties of bamboo growing in the Sanctuary. Next to the bamboo is a kukui nut or candlenut tree (A. moluccana), Hawaii’s state tree. Its nuts and the oil they contain were used to light torches, in lei making, and, apparently, if eaten can work as a powerful laxative. One of Norman’s favorite trees in the forest is the endemic pritchardia palm, a beautiful fan palm whose dozens of species once covered the Hawaiian islands. It is now endangered. Over the years, he’s tested and grown over 200 species of palms here.

The deeper we go into the forest, the more inspired and energized Norman seems to become. It’s like a symbiotic relationship. As he walks and talks, his eyes light up and he exudes an infectious enthusiasm, telling us the stories behind different trees and plants. The combination of Norman’s excitement and the delicious, oxygen rich air has my Dad and I both floating on a natural high by the end of the tour.

Our last stop is a large banyan containing a tree house.

This belongs to Norman’s grandchildren, who, along with his adult children, are involved in stewardship of the Sanctuary in one way or another. He says what he loves most about creating the Sanctuary is sharing this legacy with his family. The Sanctuary is preserved as an educational trust.

“No one is allowed to chop down any trees,” says Norman, smiling.

To learn more about the Kona Cloud Forest Sanctuary, visit their website: http://bit.ly/2Rk43HH. Tours of the Sanctuary are by appointment only. They are partnering with KapohoKine Adventures to offer guided group tours. To book a tour through them, call [phone]. If you are an educator or part of a non-profit group interested in visiting the Sanctuary for a field trip, workshop, or lecture, contact Norman directly at [phone], or email [email protected].

Emily Gleason is a business writer who can be found at www.mthewriter.com. She contributes a monthly business feature, Imua in Business, to West Hawaii Today. from Hawaii News – Hawaii Tribune-Herald http://bit.ly/2KlxFny

#Hawaii Tribune Herald

[postcards-to-home]

Sunshine, Positivity & Rainbows

4/14/18

Shit, are they mad at me?

“I just.. didn’t feel like it tonight”

**Sighs*, Okay whatever, but you were the one who got everyone onto the idea

Ya.. I know. Just tired, . again.

“Okay.. well see ya later”

 9pm on a Saturday night and I’ve managed to do it again.I’ve master the skills it takes to round up the miscellaneous people that make up our “Drinking club.”Who doesn’t go out and drink on a Saturday night. That’s would be so un-American of us if we didn’t get tanked for the hell of it. Somehow I’ve manged tot ake a nap, at 7pm on a Saturday and it all went to shit after that. From known reasons  It’s the part of me that hates committing to an idea of which is “going out.” I think I’ve turned into an old lady considering who I used to be last year at this time. Just the thought of going out had me dressed and drinking by 7pm at my desk bumping tunes with my friends. Currently that part of me has dwindled fondly allowing the element of myself that appreciates relaxing to bloom into a full addiction. Fomo, the fear of missing out, is no longer a consideration on my mental pallet of thoughts. Indulging in my thoughts of the past, present and future in a circular manner  has enthralled me. There  has been no other time in my entire existence I have had the ability to chew away at my whole and tear it apart bit by bit in the most selfish way possible. Others thoughts, actions and feelings are no longer in my vision, persuading me in either direction. This is not to say I don’t ask my loved ones for advice or ask their opinion. I’ve just never felt so liberated in seeking my own truths, and understanding my own self worth. I’ve had many in the past say “ Know your worth,” and it’s a saying easy to shrug off. But now I truly understand the value within that whole-heartedly and it’s a beautiful thing.

Referencing the discussion that sprawled this pondering, my friends in deed were disappointed with my decision. It is that point in the semester where people’s feelings are coming out at the seams quite literally. Self control  has worn thin, attitudes have risen and it is not to be taken so personally .Stress and homesickness come out at the oddest times. There are things going on with people, their home lives trickling through the walls they’ve built up and its something they aren’t necessarily prepared to face. The end is near. I was watching Girls Incarcerated on Netflix which is a television show about teenage girls living in  a juvenile detention center in the Midwest. The show was fascinating to watch from an educational standpoint with a lot to say about living. What struck me the most was how the young girls acted before it was their release date. Screaming, throwing fits the whole nine yards of emotions across the spectrum. Wouldn’t they be excited? Well that would have been the obvious answer but for a lot of them home was an unknown, and it is in human nature to fear the unknown. Itook that message and directly related it back to how it is at  school now. Sure we aren’t in prison and things aren’t horrible we are all fairly happy but the end is quickly approaching. There is an ultimate fear of the unknown of how things a re going to be when we return to our lives in the states,. I know I can agree with that. Our lives are essentially on hold here , waiting to resume until we make our ways back one by one. There’s all this stress and anxiety and this build up of excitement, which sometimes translates to anger, or worry or even depression. It’s a hard pill to swallow for some of us as we have to face things we’ve been avoiding. What I hope from admitting this is that we can understand these attributes to some of declines the past few days and weeks and come together to celebrate the present Even just doing small things like taking a hike after class would make all the difference because like We’ve all heard before  “ You only live once so make it count.”

 4/14/18

“ I need an ambulance,” said Alexis as she began to beg and plead for her mother. She was sitting hard on the rocks  that straddled North Steyne beach along the ocean. She was cradling her right foot in her palm near tears, whimpering. We had been bare foot a quarter mile from our hot spot on the sand, with nothing but our bathing suits on and a camera in hand to take pictures. With the wind at a near 20 mph and 87-degree weather it was perfect photo shoot weather. I had a new swimsuit, Alexis had her camera shipped over when her parents came through and it was an all around good time just loving life. That was until she stepped on a barnacle and the whole world came spinning down around her. I won’t continue to embarrass her but after a few hours, assistance from strangers and life guards she finally waddled onto the beach only to immediately down a vodka cruiser. It was well deserved to say the least.Our day simmered down quickly.

The swim shoot was a MAJOR success, in case you were all wondering. Pictures soon to come in the future :)

4/15/18

Quietness has struck the castle grounds. Many on campus students have begun disembarking on journeys across country as finals are quickly approaching. The school bar has been shut down briefly until further notice due to underage drinking and a promiscuous student body. To push potential boredom out of hindsight we rose to the occasion and traveled to the Botanical Gardens in Sydney. Miranda, Alexis and I had a day for ourselves exploring the extensive flower gardens that were not only arrangements of flowers but rather mini museums so to speak. Huddled together by their groupings, there was a large collection of exotic plants, fern collections, Australia’s largest succulent plant wall and much more. Seeing the beauty of full bloomed wax begonias alongside the trifecta of geraniums reminded me so fondly of home. The smells flowers bring arises such calamity from within. Everywhere from the lavender bushels to the 7ft tall sunflowers stalks I felt welcomed and at ease under the sweet golden rays of sydney’s sunshine.

The three of us even pondered the museum Art Gallery of New South Wales, located right along side the gardens. A surprise find that we enjoyed delightfully so. The museum was filled with a mix of old and new from historical European oil paintings to contemporary and modern art. The curiosities that are evoked from such art is awe-inspiring. I thought very much of how Emily and Grace would favor the rainbow colored mirrored windows, the hum of the museum and pondering the bookstore openheartedly. Maybe one day, but for now ill have to keep my bits of inspiration to myself for now, my musings locked away with a forgotten key. Please take a fierce look at my new shoes. I’m not one to brag BUT they do have me feeling like a real life Barbie doll in action.

#pch18 #Sydney

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Can You Keep An Eye On The Pope For Just 5 Minutes?

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Two months ago, you came to Europe looking for adventure. The plan was to backpack across the continent, drinking and carousing your way through country after country with no agenda but to live life to its fullest. You wanted to eat, sleep, and breathe all of the different amazing cultures, but, disappointingly, you’ve hardly done any of that. All you’ve done is visit a bunch of old buildings, usually among crowds of other tourists. And today—the last day of your trip—is no different.

You’re here at the Vatican, looking at old buildings with a tour group. Your window for a grand European adventure is quickly closing, and if you don’t do something soon, your trip will have been a waste.

Break from the tour group and go exploring on your own.

Do calisthenics.

What? No! Doing calf raises in public does not count as adventure. Try something else.

Break from the tour group and go exploring on your own.

Spit on the lady next to you.

Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you? That lady did absolutely nothing to you. What kind of psychopath spits on a stranger in a church?

Well, the good news is that you’re finally going to have that big European adventure you wanted: You got arrested and are now being taken to a weird foreign jail. Have fun, ya fuckin’ lunatic.

Start Over

You sneak away from the tour group and begin wandering around the Sistine Chapel. Against better judgment, you duck beneath a couple velvet ropes and tiptoe through some unauthorized areas before finding yourself at the mouth of a mysterious, dimly lit corridor.

Proceed with caution.

Noisily barrel down the hallway like a scared gorilla.

At the end of the corridor, you find a new corridor that’s even more dim and mysterious than the last one.

Proceed with caution.

Turn around and go back like a big-time coward.

Ahh! There’s a huge spider behind you now! You’ve got no choice but to go down the scary hallway.

Kick the spider in the testicles and run down the scary hallway.

At the end of the dark corridor is a strange, bright doorway.

Walk through the doorway.

Turn around and go back like a big-time coward.

Ahh! There’s a dangerous pumpkin man behind you now! You’ve got no choice but to go through the strange doorway.

Turn back around and go through the strange doorway.

“Halt! Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Through the doorway, you are met by a menacing guard with a sword.

Stammer nervously.

“You’re not a murderer or anything, are you?”

Insist that you are not a murderer.

“Okay, good. Mind keeping an eye on His Holiness for, like, five minutes? Just gotta run out real quick.”

His Holiness? As in the Pope?

“Yeah. You just gotta stand there and make sure he doesn’t leave the room—we don’t want him getting into any mischief.”

Uh, okay.

Nah, I’m good.

“Great, thanks. Come with me, I’ll introduce you to him.”

Go meet the Pope.

“Pope, I’ve got a new friend for you to meet,” the guard says to the infallible leader of the world’s 1.2 billion Roman Catholics, who is currently standing four feet in front of you. “He’s gonna be in charge for a little while, so don’t give him any trouble, okay?”

Timidly say hello to the Pope.

“The Pope isn’t much of a talker,” the guard says. “But it looks like he wants to shake your hand.”

Shake the Pope’s hand.

“Great, looks like you’ve got a handle on things. I’ll be back in a bit, but just remember: Don’t let the Pope leave this room.”

You nod reassuringly. The guard leaves, and suddenly it’s just you and His Holiness alone in the room.

Begin watching the Pope.

Sitting across from you, the Pope stares silently. Looks like it’s up to you to steer the conversation.

So…you’re the Pope.

You are the Pope?

If I am understanding this correctly, you are Pope Francis, who is basically God’s vice president.

The Pope says nothing.

Pretty neat.

Wow, wow, wow. Wow. Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. Holy shit! Wow.

The Pope remains silent.

I saw you on the news once.

“…”

Nervously lick your lips.

Audibly scratch your dry ankle skin with your fingernails.

The Pope raises his hand. Looks like he has a question.

…Yes, Pope? You have a question?

You don’t need to raise your hand to talk. You are literally the terrestrial mouthpiece of the Lord Our God.

“I need to make toilet, please,” the Pope says.

Hmm. The Pope needs to go to the bathroom, but the guard said that he needed to stay put.

Sorry, Pope, but I’m not supposed to let you leave this room.

Okay, you can go to the bathroom, but come right back.

“I must make toilet. I am the Pope.”

You make a good point. Okay, you can go.

I’m really sorry, Pope, but I’m afraid you’ve got to stay right here.

“Very well,” the Pope says.

Again, real sorry about that.

The guard will be back soon, and then you can go urinate. Or defecate. Whichever one you desire, Your Holiness.

“…”

Perspire.

Clear your throat a few times.

“…”

You notice a little twinkle in the Pope’s eye. He grins ever so slightly. Then it hits you: the unmistakable aroma of urine. You look down and notice a sizable wet spot spreading across the front of the Pope’s vestments.

Oh, shit.

Pope! No!

“I told you I had to make toilet, did I not?” says the Pope, smiling slightly.

Take off your shirt and use it to dab up the urine.

Place a fern on the Pope’s lap to cover up the mess.

“Oh, come on!” says the guard, returning to the room just as you’re frantically attending to the Pope’s piss-soaked vestments. “What the hell happened? I was gone for literally four minutes.”

The Pope needed to use the toilet, but you said he couldn’t leave the room, so I made him stay put, and he peed himself. I didn’t do anything wrong!

“Okay, but he’s not a fucking 5-year-old. He’s the successor to Saint fucking Peter, and you wouldn’t let him go to the bathroom? Goddammit! Sorry, but I gotta send you to jail for this one.”

The guard charges toward you with a pair of handcuffs.

Resist arrest.

Do not resist arrest.

You throw elbows left and right, but you’re swiftly dispatched by the team of elite sword-wielding guards who have filed into the room to subdue you. The Pope continues staring at you wordlessly, and just before you’re hauled out of the room, he gazes directly into your eyes and gives you a little wink.

That fucking rascal.

Return to Checkpoint.

Start Over

You do not resist arrest, but the team of elite sword-wielding guards who have arrived to subdue you beat the shit out of you anyway. The Pope continues staring at you wordlessly, and just before you’re hauled out of the room, he gazes directly into your eyes and gives you a little wink.

That fucking rascal.

Return to Checkpoint.

Start Over

While the Pope is using the bathroom, you gaze around the papal residence. Everything looks very nice, but also weirdly shitty.

Keep looking around the papal residence.

Most of the furniture is the typical kind of furniture that old, rich people buy—the kind that you can tell costs a ton of money but is always uncomfortable no matter how you sit on it.

Keep looking around the papal residence.

Like, see, this chair probably cost ten thousand bucks, but it’s terrible. Why’s there so much brass and wood in places that are supposed to be soft? No one wants to sit in that.

Hmm. The Pope’s been gone for a while now. Going to the bathroom shouldn’t take this long.

Go check on the Pope.

That’s weird. There’s no audible toilet use happening in there. Better make sure everything’s okay.

Knock loudly and shout, “Is everything okay in there?”

Knock loudly and shout, “Pope! Are you having trouble with your ass?”

Huh. No response. What if he died? That’d be awful. You’d be remembered forever as the guy who couldn’t watch the Pope for five minutes without him dying. They’d probably assume that you killed him, too, and then you would go to jail.

You should go in there and make sure he isn’t dead.

Kick the door down and go in.

Open the door the normal way.

Oh, shit! The old man flew the coop! You shouldn’t have let him leave the room.

Better go find him fast, otherwise you’ll be in serious trouble.

Go find the Pope.

Take a minute to mull your options.

Okay, don’t panic. The Pope ran away, but it wasn’t entirely your fault. You can’t be blamed for not suspecting that a 78-year-old might do that.

Now think. How can you fix this?

Simply wait for the guard to come back and explain what happened.

Pretend that you are the Pope and hope that no one notices.

Say “fuck it” and go do something else.

You decide to leave the Vatican and go play Skee-Ball instead. You’re on vacation; you shouldn’t have to worry about keeping the Pope alive.

Hopefully he doesn’t get run over by a car or anything, though.

Return to Checkpoint.

Start Over

You run out to St. Peter’s Square hoping to find the Pope, but you can’t see him anywhere. You check the ground for fresh scat, but you find nothing. This isn’t going to be easy. To find the Pope, you’re going to need to think like the Pope.

Where would the Pope want to be?

Go to a place with lots of Bibles.

Go to Heaven.

Yes, of course! The Pope probably just wanted to go look at some Bibles! And seeing that the Bible is a book, there’s really only one logical place he could’ve gone: the library.

Go inside the library.

You enter the library and make a beeline for the librarian’s desk.

“Hi, where is the Pope?” you ask her, mimicking the loud, vulgar lilt prevalent among the Italian people.

“Silenzio!” she replies in the loud, vulgar lilt prevalent among the Italian people.

You don’t know enough of the language to decipher what she said, but you have a good feeling that it was, “He is over there, to the left.”

Kiss her on the lips to say thank you, as the Europeans do.

Tuck some cheese curds in her blouse to say thank you, as the Americans do.

Now that’s a spicy meatball!

Go see if the Pope is where the librarian said he was.

Sure enough, you spot the Pope exactly where the librarian said he would be. Excellenzio! Unfortunately, the Pope spots you too, and as soon as you start walking toward him, he throws a chair through the window and escapes out into the street.

Chase after him.

Say “fuck it” and go do something else.

You chase the Pope down to the banks of the Tiber river, but just as you’re about to catch him he hops into an idling motor-gondola and speeds off into the sunset, perhaps never to be seen again.

“I am the fast Pope!” you hear him shout from far off in the distance. “You are the slow Pope!”

Take a long walk to clear your mind.

Go hang yourself out of frustration.

You wander up and down the dark streets for hours trying to piece together how things went so wrong.

Eventually, you walk past a small café with a television facing out toward the street, and something catches your eye. It’s you. Your face is being shown on a news broadcast as the man who kidnapped the Pope, which isn’t what actually happened, but, given the evidence, you can understand how that conclusion was reached.

Before you even have time to worry, you suddenly see bright blue lights glaring at the end of the block, and two police cruisers start barreling toward you angrily meep-meeping their little horns. Shit.

Book it down an alley.

Rip your shirt and flex so that they’ll think you’re Hulk Hogan.

“Hulkster, sorry to bother you, but the man who kidnapped the Pope was recently seen wandering around this general area,” one of the cops says. “Have you seen him by any chance?”

No, I have not seen him. But if I do, I will be sure to body-slam him.

Yes. I am the guy you are looking for. I was just pretending to be Hulk Hogan so you wouldn’t catch me.

“But if you’re not Hulk Hogan, why did you just rip your shirt and flex?” the other cop asks, eyeing you suspiciously. “Only Hulk Hogan does that.”

You’re dangerously close to blowing your cover. Better play this one smart.

That thing I just said about me not being Hulk Hogan was a funny joke. I actually am Hulk Hogan.

I don’t know how or why I did it, but let me assure you that I am not Hulk Hogan.

“Ah, now I understand,” he says. “In light of this new information, I believe we should take you to jail.”

Okay.

Wait! I didn’t actually kidnap the Pope—he tricked me and ran away. But just give me five minutes, and I swear I’ll have him back at the papal residence.

“Hmm, sounds suspicious,” he says. “But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt since you were my favorite wrestler growing up. Meet us back at the papal residence in five minutes—with the Pope. You’re walking on thin ice, buster.”

Go find the Pope.

Capitalize on this opportunity to flee the country.

You make a dash toward the border but are immediately halted by the police, who were closely monitoring you because they’re not idiots. They don’t savagely beat you like American cops would, but they make some condescending remarks that really hurt you on the inside. It’s no fun.

The good news is that you’re finally going to have that big European adventure you wanted: You will now spend the rest of your life in a weird foreign jail. Have fun!

Return to Checkpoint.

Start Over

You return to Vatican City, where thousands of tourists are swarming the main public square. Considering the size of the crowd, you realize that your odds of finding the Pope are slim.

Wade into the crowd and start searching anyway.

Just grab someone who looks pretty close.

You are immediately placed under arrest. The cops don’t brutally beat you like American cops would, but they make some condescending remarks that really hurt you on the inside. It’s no fun.

The good news is that you’re finally going to have that big European adventure you wanted: You will now spend the rest of your life in a weird foreign jail. Have fun!

Return to Checkpoint.

Start Over

Yikes, where do you even start? With a crowd this size, finding the Pope seems just about hopeless.

Look to the left.

Look to the right.

Look 500 paces northeast.

Capitalize on this opportunity to flee the country.

Oh. There he is.

Hurriedly grab the Pope and rush him back to the papal residence.

You grab the Pope and hustle back to the papal residence, where you find the cops waiting for you.

“So, did you find the Pope or what?” one of the cops asks. “If you didn’t, we will take you to jail, and you will have to stay there for soooo long.”

“Yes, actually, I did find him,” you report. “He is standing right over there.”

Proudly gesture to the Pope, whom you have successfully retrieved.

“That’s not the Pope,” the cop says.

“What?” you reply, the alarm audible in your voice. “Of course that’s the Pope!”

“No, it’s not,” he says. “I don’t even think that’s a real guy. Looks like some sort of latex ape robot or something.”

“Of course he’s real!” you insist. “Watch.”

Huck an apple at his head to make him move.

Huck a can of Coke instead.

Your projectile nails the Pope-like being squarely in the forehead, but it reacts in no visible way. It just stands there. Slowly, it begins to dawn on you that whatever this thing is that you’ve brought back to the papal residence, it is almost certainly not the Pope.

“Okay, you’re going to go to jail now,” the cop announces.

Resist arrest.

Do not resist arrest.

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A hiker atop Looking Glass Rock, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

By Michael Lanza

Warm rain drums lightly on the lush deciduous forest around me as I walk up a long-abandoned dirt road that has narrowed to a trail with the gradual encroachment of vegetation. The wind assaults the treetops, the outer edge of a hurricane hitting the Southeast coast right now; but here, far from the storm, it sounds like waves rhythmically lapping up onto a beach and retreating. It’s a gray, early evening in mid-October in the basement of a compact valley in the Appalachian Mountains of western North Carolina—a valley that, due to its tight contours, sees precious few hours of direct sunlight at this time of year—and the daylight has filtered down to a soft, dim, tranquil quality.

A bit more than a half-mile up this quiet footpath, I reach my destination—and unconsciously catch my breath at what must be one of the most lovely cascades in a corner of North Carolina spilling over with waterfalls.

Roaring Fork Falls tumbles through a series of a dozen or more steps, each several feet high, before coming to rest briefly in a placid, knee-deep pool at its bottom. Beyond the pool, the stream continues downhill at an angle only somewhat less severe than the cascade above. In sunshine or warmer temperatures, I’d be tempted to wade in and sit in that pool. Now, I just stare at it, all but hypnotized.

Roaring Fork Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

I’m on the last, short hike of a day filled with beautiful waterfalls along the Blue Ridge Parkway, in the heart of one of America’s hiking and backpacking meccas: western North Carolina. I’ve come to spend a week chasing waterfalls, fall foliage color, and classic Southern Appalachian views while dayhiking in the mountains surrounding Asheville and backpacking in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Unlike soaring, jagged Western mountain ranges such as the Tetons, High Sierra, or North Cascades, the Appalachian Mountains are lower and mostly forested from bottom to top, their once-sharper angles of ancient epochs worn rounder and softer by erosion and time. (It happens to all of us.) From a high point like Looking Glass Rock, Black Balsam Knob, or any of numerous turnouts along the Blue Ridge Parkway, the mountains here resemble a roiling, green sea of trees.

The West has big vistas; the Appalachians have big vistas, too, but mostly small, more intimate scenery, the kind that you can literally reach out and touch. Here, you don’t just look at the scenery; you’re in it.

In a sense, I went to North Carolina to reconnect with my hiking roots. I became a hiker, backpacker, and climber in the northern reaches of the Appalachian chain—in New Hampshire’s White Mountains and on many other wooded, rocky, rugged, little mountain ranges that pepper the Northeast. I discovered as a young man that I really liked the arduous nature of hiking in the Northeast, the craggy, windblown summits, and the fullness and deep silence of the forest in all seasons.

In North Carolina’s mountains, I rediscovered the pleasure of walking a footpath with last year’s dead leaves crunching underfoot; passing shallow streams that speak in some unknown tongue as they chug over and around stones; standing on summits overlooking seemingly endless rows of green or blue ridges fading to far horizons.

But I also discovered the unique qualities of the Southern Appalachians. They are not as steep and rocky (or as hard on ankles and knees) as their northern cousins. They’re not as crowded as one might be led to believe. They harbor hundreds of waterfalls, possibly the richest stash of falling waters in the country.

And these woods are quite simply a very good place to help a person remember what’s most important in life.

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  Looking Glass Rock

The dry, crisp air of early morning raises goosebumps on my bare legs and arms as I start chuffing uphill in the woods of the Pisgah National Forest, a short drive out of the pleasant, small town of Brevard, where I’m spending a couple of nights while exploring the area’s trails. One of western North Carolina’s most recognizable natural landmarks, Looking Glass Rock (lead photo at top of story), leads my list of hikes today, which explains why I’m on the Looking Glass Rock Trail shortly after 7 a.m.

Brevard happens to be the seat of Transylvania County, a place relevant to hikers because the county receives over 90 inches of rain annually—making it the wettest county in North Carolina—and has over 250 waterfalls. I’m visiting several of them on dayhikes this week along the BRP, in the Pisgah, and in Gorges State Park.

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  The trail rises at a gentle angle at first; but as I climb higher, it grows steeper. In this quiet forest, with little variation in the scenery as I walk uphill, it’s easy to get lost in thoughts; and in a world where we’re almost constantly receiving texts and checking email, getting lost in your thoughts has become a rare joy.

After a few miles of steady uphill climbing, I step out of the forest onto a sloping, sprawling granite slab at the top of Looking Glass Rock—atop the cliffs that millions of tourists photograph from turnouts along the Blue Ridge Parkway every year. The morning sun hasn’t yet reached these slabs, but it throws a warm spotlight on gentle waves of hills rolling out a carpet of dappled green for miles in all directions before me.

If every person could start each day this way, I gotta think the world would be a more peaceful place.

  Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Subscribe now to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.

  Blue Ridge Parkway

The Blue Ridge Parkway isn’t a highway you take when you want to get somewhere quickly; it exists for just the opposite objective: to get nowhere slowly. A narrow, two-way road snaking along the Blue Ridge from Shenandoah National Park in Virginia to Great Smoky Mountains National Park in western North Carolina, this 469-mile-long corridor through Eastern deciduous forest is, in many respects, America’s country road.

Begun in 1935 and finished more than half a century later with the completion of an engineering marvel, the Linn Cove Viaduct—an S-shaped bridge that hugs the side of North Carolina’s iconic Grandfather Mountain—it ranges in elevation from 600 feet to about 6,000 feet above sea level. From numerous places along it, one overlooks deep valleys in more shades of green than we have names for, steep-walled mountainsides draped in dense forest, and one overlapping mountain ridge after another.

The BRP also spans a wide range of habitats and supports more plant species—over 4,000—than any other park in the country. If you’re into fungi and look really, really hard, you’ll find 2,000 kinds of them, as well as 500 species of mosses and lichens. There are more varieties of salamander than anywhere else in the world. Wet, warm, and fertile, the Southern Appalachians are like a big orgy of photosynthesis that almost shocks the optic nerves, lasting for several months a year. Most of us rarely see such a conspicuous eruption of greenery.

With more than 100 trailheads and over 300 miles of trails scattered along its length, the BRP forms the spine of one gem of a trail system. (See my story “The 12 Best Dayhikes Along North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Parkway.”) That’s why, with a week to play on the trails of western North Carolina, I essentially made the Blue Ridge Parkway my base of operations.

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Moore Cove in the Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

Moore Cove

Millions of people live within driving distance of the parks and forests of the Appalachian Mountains. With over 15 million visits annually, the Blue Ridge Parkway ranks number one among all National Park Service sites for visitors, while Great Smoky Mountains National Park occupies the third spot on the list, with nearly 11 million visits a year. Not surprisingly, escaping the throngs in much of the Appalachian Mountains presents a formidable challenge—especially during fall foliage season.

But sometimes you just get lucky.

It’s early evening when I pull into the roadside parking area for Moore Cove, on Route 276 in the Pisgah National Forest. I’ve already hiked about 17 miles today, hitting several peaks and hills along the Blue Ridge Parkway. My original plan was to stop and photograph Looking Glass Falls, a famous roadside waterfall that gets viewed by hundreds of people on a typical day—and where there’s still, even now, a parking lot filled with cars. Seeing all those vehicles, I decide to take the 20-minute hike to Moore Cove instead.

As with the short trail to Roaring Fork Falls, the well-tended footpath to Moore Cove resides at the bottom of a deep Appalachian valley with close mountains on both sides, beneath a canopy of maple, oak, and tulip poplar trees; so even though the sun hasn’t yet set on another day, dusk settled in down here at least an hour ago. Rosebay rhododendron and ferns blanket the ground. For now, anyway, I’m the only person out here.

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  Reaching Moore Cove, I stop, and a reflexive smile creeps across my face. Before me, a silvery, 50-foot waterfall plunges in a nearly silent, gossamer column over the lip of a rock alcove.

That’s one of the special aspects of hiking in the Southern Appalachians: These old mountains still conceal little mysteries. They’re not especially tall or grand; they don’t have attractions that will rival the majesty of Yosemite or Yellowstone. But their rumpled contours, incredibly vibrant ecology, and the ingredients for an abundance of waterfalls—steep terrain and buckets and buckets of rain—collaborate to create an almost infinite number of micro-scenes that inspire an awe that’s more subdued with each episode, but cumulatively powerful and enduring. The mountains of western North Carolina constantly surprise you with spots like Moore Cove.

I shoot some photos, and have the place all to myself for maybe 10 minutes. Then a family shows up, and I pack up and depart, leaving them their own little piece of solitude and magic.

  Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

  See all of my stories about hiking and backpacking in western North Carolina, including:

“The 12 Best Dayhikes Along North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Parkway.” “In the Garden of Eden: Backpacking the Great Smoky Mountains.” “Photo Gallery: Waterfalls of the North Carolina Mountains.” “Roof of the East: Hiking North Carolina’s Mount Mitchell.” “The 20 Best National Park Dayhikes” for a description of a hike along the Appalachian Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

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