The Summit Of Mount Everest Is Marine

The Doctor Listens In With A Stethoscope And Hears Sounds Of A Warpath Indian Drum.

Travel By Canoe Is Not A Necessity, And Will Nevermore Be The Most Efficient Way To Get From One Region To Another, Or Even From One Lake To Another Anywhere. A Canoe Trip Has Become Simply A Rite Of Oneness With Certain Terrain, A Diversion Off The Field, An Art Performed Not Because It Is A Necessity But Because There Is Value In The Art Itself.

With Their Four-dimensional Minds, And In Their Interdisciplinary Ultra Verbal Way, Geologists Can Wiggle Out Of Almost Anything.

When The Climbers In 1953 Planted Their Flags On The Highest Mountain, They Set Them In Snow Over The Skeletons Of Creatures That Had Lived In The Warm Clear Ocean That India, Moving North, Blanked Out. Possibly As Much As Twenty Thousand Feet Below The Seafloor, The Skeletal Remains Had Turned Into Rock. This One Fact Is A Treatise In Itself On The Movements Of The Surface Of The Earth. If By Some Fiat I Had To Restrict All This Writing To One Sentence, This Is The One I Would Choose: The Summit Of Mt. Everest Is Marine Limestone.

On A Certain Scale, It Does Look Like I Do A Lot. But That’s My Day, All Day Long, Sitting There Wondering When I’m Going To Be Able To Get Started. And The Routine Of Doing This Six Days A Week Puts A Little Drop In A Bucket Each Day, And That’s The Key. Because If You Put A Drop In A Bucket Every Day, After Three Hundred And Sixty-five Days, The Bucket’s Going To Have Some Water In It.