A couple of stories from the headlines caught my eye yesterday from opposite ends of the world. But before I get to those, I have to say that I am glad to be boring, boring, me.
First of all, I’m an introvert, and I like to do things I can do on my own, and generally, in my own home. This immediately curtails the danger zone. Activities like jumping out of planes, or climbing mountains, white water kayaking, or deep-sea diving, are supposed to be done with other people. Sure, you can do these on your own, but it’s not recommended, as that is when the real trouble occurs.
People go out by themselves on these “adventures,” and they end up having to cut their own arms off with pocket knives because they’re trapped under some bolder. Or they are terribly lost and are found by search and rescue teams after being out in the forest for eleven days, living off nothing but puddle water and raccoon dung. Nope. Not for me. I’m glad the need for the thrill-seek is not built into my DNA.
I get excited enough when I through a crumpled paper across the room, and it lands in the wastebasket.
But two stories exemplified this yesterday—the first one from Oregon. A woman named Caroline Sundbaum was skiing with her husband on Mount Hood. Now, I’d like to remind you that Mount Hood is an active volcano. I’m sure a lot of people ski on Mount Hood, saying, “what are the chances that this thing will erupt today and kill us all?” They’re right. Slim to none.
But this woman, a 35-year-old resident of Portland, was swishing and swooshing down, when she plunged into a snow-covered fumarole. A fumarole is a volcano vent. Yes. They’re in the sides of volcanos and emit steam and gases, similar to a geyser. So, one minute she’s there, and the next minute she’s not. Wump. My guess is that her husband was probably skiing in front of her and never saw a thing. He’d have gotten to the bottom and probably wondered, “What the heck happened to good old Carol? She was just right behind me.”
Once you go down a fumarole, you are pretty much dicked. Those gasses are toxic, for one thing. And the other danger is the snow caving in on the vent. Luckily for Caroline, some superhero guy, a “bystander,” they say, saw her go down. He just happened to have a rope, tied it around himself, lowered himself into the vent, and pulled good old Carole out.
When I sit at my computer drawing mice, I am not apt to fall into volcano vents.
The second story is from down under. A surfer guy was out, surfing away off the coast of Australia. He happened to be splashing around near a shark, and the thing bit him. Terribly. The 29-year-old man had “serious” lacerations on his back, backside, and leg.
But the remarkable thing is that he swam all the way back to shore. He then walked, bleeding profusely and injured, 300 meters. That’s 328 yards, to be exact — or three football fields. Once again, a bystander happened to be there, an off-duty paramedic, who attended to him and probably saved his life. The surfer is expected to recover. I have to admit, I’ve swum and snorkeled in the ocean on numerous occasions. But always in the Caribbean, where shark attacks are extremely rare.
I also have to admit that I believe we should all do what we love in life, as long as we are not hurting others. We should follow the paths that we are drawn to, wherever they may lead us. If falling down volcano vents makes you happy, then go where no man has gone before.
I am just thankful the closest I get to the word “adrenaline” is when it appears in one of my crossword puzzles.
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“A bend in the road is not the end of the road…Unless you fail to make the turn.”
― Helen Keller
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“To die will be an awfully big adventure.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
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“Keep reading. It’s one of the most marvelous adventures that anyone can have.”
― Lloyd Alexander
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The dangers in the rush. The boring in the slow.
