When the air is thick

Greetings, I hope you are well. 

When I woke up this morning and slid open the blinds, the view out of our bedroom was staggering. A haze, thick with a slightly pale orange tint and lofting in the air, accompanied by the present smell of smoke. Just as the local news outlets had accurately reported in the days leading up to this morning, Wisconsin was being choked in a dense cloud of smoke that had begun drifting south from our neighbors to the north, who are being ravaged by wildfires. 

This has happened before, unfortunately, not too long ago, but for whatever reason, this round of secondhand smoke feels more alarming to me. According to the BBC, right now there are (at least) 857 active wildfires burning in Canada, with more wildfires happening in Minnesota (where the evacuations of backcountry paddlers and campers at Voyageurs National Park were underway earlier this week) and even on Michigan's remote Isle Royale National Park. Many of these wildfires don't appear to be contained yet, and I wouldn't be surprised if this drifting of cinder-scented smoke continues for quite some time, triggering hazardous air quality warnings across swaths of the United States. 

It's heartbreaking. I certainly feel privileged writing this blog post from the comfort of my dining table in my air-conditioned home, next to my mug of hot coffee, while so many men and women bravely risk their lives to desperately fight these wildfires. Throw in the fact that there's ongoing debate and discussion about how to lessen the risk of future wildfires and a presidential administration that's staunchly anti-science, anti-global warming, and has made severe budget cuts to critical organizations within the Department of the Interior like the U.S. Forest Service, the National Park Service, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and the BLM...hindering their abilities and efforts to combat these blazes. There's never-ending finger-pointing at who and what is responsible for wildfires, and less of a prioritization on determining the right measures to prevent them. It's a mess of denial, a foolish, dangerous denial, and it frustrates the shit out of me.

But here I am, feverishly typing away on my laptop after refilling my mug of Costco coffee, pensively looking out the window while parts of the world burn. I wish I could snap my fingers and these wildfires would be no more. Climate change is real, folks. Yes, I'm not a scientist or biologist or expert on the matter, I'm an automotive industry analyst, therefore much of this rant and rationale is opinion-based, which is fine...but I spend enough time in the outdoors and pay attention to know that yes, the weather and atmospheric conditions are a hell of a lot different than they once were years ago. Winters are shorter and warmer, catastrophic flooding and downpours happen more frequently, and spurs of heat indexes that surge past 100 degrees for many days at a time are becoming routine during the summer. 

So how do I fix it? What can I, Robby, do? Well I don't know, the answer isn't that simple, and that scares the shit out of me, too. My wife and I do our part, going down the checklist of things we can do to lower our carbon footprint and better the health of the earth like buying an EV, installing a rain barrel, planting a pollinator garden, recycling, shopping locally and used, etc. But there's more I can do, more I need to do, and that I urgently need to figure out. 

Whenever the air is thick, I begin to reconsider a lot of my behaviors and habits. 

Because even the smallest changes matter.

Be safe out there.

Cheers,
Robby

Hei there

Hello and greetings! Gosh it's been a long minute. 

Well folks, I see that the last time I posted on my travel blog was nearly two years ago. A lot of "adulting" has happened, but these past several months I've felt the push again to begin actively creating here because doing so does brings me so much true, proper joy, and I love blogging. It's a different approach to storytelling that to me seems more natural and less distracting than say using social media. With blogging you can be more direct, and intimate, and transparent.  You're at the helm. Appearance-wise, my blog's layout may look a bit different, and I decided to bring back the original RobbyAroundTheWorld.com header graphic at the top that I vaguely remember crafting before leaving to study abroad in Vietnam in winter 2011, when I first launched this exact blog. Staying true to my roots, and of course, leaning a bit into nostalgia.

As I enter into the latter half of my 30s (how the hell am I already 35?)...I'm realizing more and more how important, and quite frankly, healthy, it is to intentionally set aside time for creativity. Amidst balancing the roles of being a husband, dog dad, big brother, friend, homeowner, ski patroller, automotive industry analyst on the clock, and my multitude of hobbies...sometimes it feels good to just pause, slow down, and create something, whether that be behind the lens of a camera or keyboard. I'm excited to start polishing (scrubbing the posts of typos, juvenile misspellings and grammar fumbles, touching up photos, etc.) and re-posting the some of my past adventures here and abroad. So, stay tuned.

In less than a week's time, my wife Brenna and I will be on a redeye flight to...Helsinki, Finland! We'll be exploring the country for the latter half of July. The recipe for this trip is right: Brenna herself is Finnish, we both are obsessed with The Moomins, and Finland has long been a bucket list item for us. I cannot wait to escape some of the everyday chaos and immerse myself in yet another Scandinavian country that's continually crowned one of the happiest in the world. Our plan is to spend time in the capital (Helsinki), then I've got a three-pedal Škoda Scala rented for us to dash away west and trace the coastline for cities and towns like Turku, Naantali, Tampere, before returning east along the northern shores of the Baltic Sea and Gulf of Finland toward historic Poorvoo and back to Helsinki for our final few days. 

Oh! And a couple of other notes:

• I recently bought Rick Steve's new autobiography, On the Hippie Trail, which was recently published in February, and I'm crazy stoked to start reading it on our long flights.
• If you're a fan of the late great Anthony Bourdain like I am, one of his earlier pieces, circa 2000, is now free to read via The New Yorker and it's expectedly, exceptionally brilliant.

Cheers, and be well.
Robby

My first solo backpacking trip taught me the importance of being prepared

During a recent overnighter at Newport State Park, I realized I've been backpacking now for almost a decade. Crazy. It's an outdoor pursuit brings me utmost happiness and adrenaline while exposing me to some of the most humbling terrain I otherwise never would have thought imagined. State parks and national parks, state forests and national forests, plus a few jaunts on a national scenic trail, I'm really glad I dove headfirst into backpacking in my early 20s and remained committed to it. Backpacking constantly challenges me physically, emotionally, and mentally. There's zero pressure to compete with anyone else but myself, and I cherish that.

My first time ever solo backpacking, the trip that got me hooked, was also a massive shit show of total unpreparedness. In early 2014, a month or so after receiving my first backpacking tent from my parents on Christmas, I was parked at a trailhead on the northeast border of Wisconsin and Michigan's upper peninsula. Ambitious and excited to use the new gear I had been slowly accumulating months prior, 23-year-old me wanted to escape north and spend a night in the backcountry of the Menominee River State Recreation Area. My plan was really simple: hike out and find a place to setup camp for a night alongside the rocky gorges of the Menominee River, hopefully reaching within Pemene Falls. In the fall, I had become just obsessed with backpacking and the idea of winter backpacking seemed so alluring.

But I was so unprepared. While my tent, a Eureka Taron 2 that I still use today, was suited for winter backpacking, the rest of my gear was not. Hyper-warm, down puffy jackets, insulating caps, trekking poles, elevated sleeping pads with appropriate R-values, and proper hiking boots hadn't even come across my amateur mindset. Within minutes of departing from the trailhead, I was already freezing and my feet wet, but I kept pushing ahead, blindsided by my eagerness. I had a basic survival gear to start a fire and a headlamp but no handheld satellite GPS, first aid kit, or two-way communication device should should things get dicey. I had snowshoes, really good, ones from MSR, but no poles. My outer layer was a green coat from Kohl's, likely on sale, and I wore my skiing snowpants over like jeans and long underwear. Again, a shit show. 

Perhaps the dumbest mistake I made was hilariously lugging a gallon-sized plastic jug of water from the grocery store with me out into the backcountry. It had frozen solid by the time I reached my site and rendered useless. Why I didn't primarily boil snow or filter water was beyond me. I eventually reached a clearing above the Menominee River to call home for the night just before sunset and I was exhausted. The heavy, extra-large North Face hiking daypack had been digging into my shoulders for a couple of hours as I hiked through knee-deep snow. Quickly setting up my tent and unfurling my new-to-me Alps Mountaineering sleeping bag that wasn't rated for temperatures below 30 degrees, I got a fire started to keep warm and have dinner. I don't recall what I ate, but it was probably awful.

This frozen landscape nestled between Michigan's UP and northern Wisconsin was breathtaking. It was so quiet, I remember, only the sounds of Pemene Falls's rumble, ice cracking in the river below, and the occasional distant howl of coyotes or wolves howling. It was a needed reset from the daily grind back home. As the sun dropped, the temperatures did too and I crawled into my tent. Without a footprint under my tent or a pad under my sleeping bag, the cold from the ground was immense. I tried to stuff other pieces of clothing and gear down in my sleeping bag, a trick I read online. At some point after midnight, I awoke not being able to move my feet much. It was miserable, and the thought of calling it quits and returning to the trailhead in the dark briefly crossed my mind. Fearing frostbite, I wrapped one of those cheap, thin reflective emergency blankets I bought form Feet Farm around my numbed feet. I regained movement, checked the outside temperature, which was __ degrees, and tried to fall back to sleep.

The next morning, under a bluebird sky, I exited my tent, unzipping the vestibule to a winter wonderland. I was happy, and amazed. After hiking around along the Menominee River and having breakfast (probably an uninspiring oatmeal pouch revived with hot water), I tore down my camp and returned to the trailhead. 

To say I learned a lot from my first solo backpacking trip would be an understatement. I was foolish, way underprepared with the wrong gear, and lacked proper risk awareness. It's something I can laugh about today and ensure to never repeat those failures in the future. After that overnighter up in the Menominee River State Recreation Area, I've since made it priority to invest in dedicated high-quality gear, along with continually researching and learning as much as humanly possible about backpacking. 

It's all part of the grand journey to better one's self.

Cheers,
Robby

Welcome to autumn

Hi there!

Fall has arrived in Wisconsin and it feels wonderful. The moody cloudy skies, cooler temperatures, and dramatic shorelines along the coast of Lake Michigan. Our warm morning mugs of coffee or tea just seem to taste better this time of year. Fall is a season of change, like how towering maples begin to drop their amber and crimson leaves in preparation for winter.

Changes are happening for my blog too. Here's a bit of an update. For a decade or so now I've taken to sharing stories about my various travels on a blogging platform that's seen different shapes and names. As I've progressed through my 20s and into my 30s (yikes), the purpose of my blog has changed as have the intentions of the content I create. For a minute or so my blog seemed too scattered, outdated, and complicated. Furthermore, in recent journeys beyond the walls of my Shorewood apartment, I began to realize I had really missed writing and diving behind the lens of my camera. Perhaps credit the fact that I've been hooked on a docuseries on Netflix I'd highly recommend called Tales by Light. 

Speaking of photography, that's a quick shot I grabbed of the moon rising over Colorado's Pikes Peak a few weeks back. The final image turned out surprisingly well for standing in a parking lot on our way home from dinner with a zoom lens but sans any tripod.

Anyways, I'm eager to start completely fresh and in the coming weeks plan to continue redesigning my blog so that it's best set up for what I want to do the most: authentic storytelling.  Stay tuned. Maybe amidst sharing new stories I'll re-edit and re-post a few of my older stories too. Who knows, but thanks for being here.

Cheers,

Robby