Journalism made me do it.

 

Sunday came very bleak, cool, and overcast. My vision seemed just as clouded as the gray sky. The area was desolate. Shrubs shivered in the wind, the pavement beneath me was cracked, and the empty fountain was a sickly green hue littered with abandoned coins. I couldn’t even tell if the large clock in the middle of the archway was working. The edges of the architecture were blackened … with what? I did not want to know. Few bodies moved around the entryway, and only a handful of cars occupied the lengthy parking lot. It was if this place had gone without human contact for hundreds of years. It was if the Justice League had abandoned their headquarters long, long ago.

 

I entered Union Terminal expecting the inside to be the same as the outside. It wasn’t too far off, but certainly more lively. I stopped at the door and looked up.  A climbing archway rose before me, and I became surrounded by echoes. It was if I had stepped into a place that belonged neither here nor there and was just it’s own. Huge paintings of people on the walls made me feel watched, and I was confused by just what the pictures were trying to depict. Figuring I’d come back to look at it again, I took directed my view forward. To my left and right were museums that I was disheartened to not be able to go into. Ah, perks of being a poor college student, huh?

I began my short, small tour of the terminal by walking to my right. On my way, I passed one of those devices that will press a penny into a thin sliver and print a new picture on it. I remember when my father and I did those at every museum we would visit. “Can I smash a penny, Dad??” As a child that stuff was fascinating. I was just holding a round, Lincoln penny in my hand but now it’s a thin oval and has a pyramid on it. Nostalgia swept over me so I stopped and began to rifle through change. I didn’t care what picture was going to be on my penny, so I just began to turn the crank. Gradually it became tougher and tougher to turn until – plink - my brand new penny toppled out. It read “Cincinnati Union Terminal” with a picture of a train. That was pretty awesome. 

 

When I turned to move on, I found I had intrigued an audience. An elderly couple had watched as my nostalgia got the better of me, and they asked to see the finished penny. The gentleman was fresh out of pennies to make his own, so I offered one of mine. I have way too much change as it is…. He seemed almost delighted to feel the pressure of the penny going through the innards of the contraption and the woman looked on it fondly when he presented it to her. I smiled to myself, wished them a nice evening, and moved on.

As I walked around the circumference of the building, I peered into the entrance of a museum and saw a large dinosaur skeleton. Oh, how I longed to go in and see that dinosaur. How I longed to go into the museum. Oh, well. I found myself at the front of a gift shop and figured this was as close as I could get. Gift shops are a source of nostalgia, too, and damn there was some interesting stuff in there. Not the puzzles, games, toys, or candy, no. There were rocks and fossils on display and for sale. My inner archeologist found a job in examining all the different formations and my inner collector wanted to buy them all. The trilobites were my favorite next to the nautilus and some of the fossils were extremely amazing. There were drawers of more and more fossils that you could peer into and check out. One very interesting drawer that I opened contained a mineral with a shimmering rainbow of color. Apparently this had been formulated and grown in a lab. Weird, but interesting nonetheless. I looked around the entire shop and even ran into that elderly couple again in the library. Oh, and I did end up buying some candy before I left.

 

When I walked through the exit, I decided to take another look up at the painting. Maybe now I could figure out what was going on. It worked its way around the dome starting with a Daniel Boone figure and progressing through the ages in style and landscape. I tried to imagine a story within it, but I suppose I may have been trying too hard. Some of the images were confusing and I wasn’t sure if the Native Americans were being portrayed in a good way or bad. In part of the painting, there was a depiction of the building process of Cincinnati and I liked seeing the city skyline portrayed in an under construction setting.

 

It was at this point that I realized there really was a train terminal in this place. A sign read, “To Trains.” I wanted to follow that sign and the sign for the Omnimax Theater, but alas…. I moved on.

Venturing downstairs I came to the Children’s Museum. Oh, nostalgia, my old friend. The kids on the inside were running through a huge jungle gym that had been created to look like the woods. A forest of tunnels, ropes, pathways, and slides constructed a wonderful learning environment and I remembered what it felt like to feel smart at that age. Going to museums meant feeling smart about things. There was a large waterfall in the middle that even included a fish tank with blue gill at the end. I longed to see what the rest of it looked like as I remembered running through the Chicago Children’s Museum at age 10.  I was able to look at the children’s drawings that had been hung outside the walls, but I began to feel like too much of a creep, and walked back upstairs. 

 

One more look around at the giant echoing dome before I grabbed an exhibit guide, and walked out the doors. I walked around the side of the building and felt tiny in it’s immense shadow. There were even less cars and less bodies as I made my way towards the parking lot. I decided to take a detour to the fountain and watched as a couple kids jumped through the tiers of the empty, rotting mess. Their parents wanted to leave but these kids were making money by picking up coins someone once abandoned to a wish. I took some pictures of them as the setting sun reflected in the fountain and made things look a bit better than they had been, but eventually I packed up and got the hell out of there. Not that I didn’t like the place, I just don’t think it resonated with me like most people. That, and I couldn’t go into any of the stinking museums. Oh, how I longed for the museums. At least I came home with a penny from my visit to the Justice League.

Fish story.

One time, I went to the beach. I went to the Outer Banks in North Carolina. I used to go there every year but it sort of fell out as my parents' marriage did likewise.

Either way, at this beach I went deep-sea fishing. I've only been fishing in the ocean once before this so I couldn't consider myself experienced but this particular trip was very memorable. At 5am we set sail for the blue seas (which at this point were still that creepy black that made people cautious at night). My mother, dad, brother, captain, first man and myself were the only people on this boat but it's not like it could support anymore than that. Not that it was a small boat, no. You've seen this kind. They're all in a long, long line against the docks and every single one seems to have the exact same poles, deck, and are pure white. That kind of boat. It whisked away into the vast ocean as fast as the captain would allow (later found out we were going about 70mph).

At about 7am, I could no longer see land in any direction and we had witnessed a few of those tiny ocean cyclones that crop up in patches of storms. The cool watery air smelled thick of salt and the first few glimmers of a sunrise peeked through clouds. The ship moved easterly and it was as if we were pulling the sun towards us. I breathed deep and stuck my face into a burst of mist that periodically splashed up from the speed of the boat. The first mate started getting poles set up, baits hooked, and all that fishing stuff that I knew nothing about. I just stared. I believe I was 12 years old at this time, so staring was what I did. The first mate was cute, too. Lots of staring and smelling.

About an hour or so later, the boat finally glided to a stop and one of the most grueling feelings of fishing set in. Seasickness. When one is so far out into the sea, the currents are slow but huge and I felt every single rock of the ocean below me. My poor brother finally yacked into a bucket and I was on the brink of losing my lunch as well. To stave off any seasickness I chose to sleep periodically. The methodical swaying of the boat was a great sleep aid. I slept in such a way that allowed me to remain slightly conscious with my surroundings so when I heard excessive clamoring on the deck I'd poke my head out to see if there was anything to catch.

Some of the lines that had been baited and stuck into the water to move along side the boat began to reel out rapidly. Something was hooked. Without a moments hesitation the first man pulled the pole from it's support and gave it to my mom to reel. She was taken aback but he says, "It's your fishing trip, right?" Unable to comeback, my mom sits in the fishing chair and begins to reel. She reeled for about 15 minutes. We could already tell this was going to be a big fish as her reels became slow and drawn out, filled with concentration and determination. I tried to help but ended up getting yelled at by an already frustrated woman. Cute-First-Mate-Man skillfully leaned over the boat to get the fish from the water as it got within arms' reach. Whatever the hell an Amberjack is, that's what ended up being on the other side of the hook. After examining it, measuring it, and discussing the potential of using it as a future dinner, Mom learns this particular fish is difficult to cook, and decides to throw it back. Lucky Amberjack. It swam away happily.

Almost as soon as the Amberjack returned to its beloved water, another reel wizzed and made us all jump. Being the only one close by to take the line, the first mate reeled the entire thing in under 10 minutes. The hooked specimen was a small blue shark only about 4 feet in length that we all got to prod at and see up close before he, too, got his lucky break and returned to the ocean.

Now we head of for this school of fish we heard about earlier. All of us are hoping for either dolphin or tuna. My mom can cook both of those and if the tuna's are nice enough, there's some sushi in that. We close in and the first mate gets each of us set up with our individual pole. I felt like soldiers in a line listening to my commander as he instructed us on how to reel, how to bait, and how to immediately turn to him to get the fish into the freezer on time. Then we were free to have at it. I peered down into the water to see hundreds of bright green fish (dolphin!). They were swimming in such a way that mimicked how huge flocks of birds fly together in that roller coaster of fluency.

Baits on, bodies braced - we went fishing.

Dolphin aren't too tricky. My dad, who grew up freshwater fishing, kept jerking his rod when he got a bite because that's the way to snag the thick mouths of, say, a bass or catfish. However, this method in saltwater fishing will only cause you to tear a fish's mouth and probably ruin the way it eats for the rest of it's life. He was frustrated with his habit but eventually learned to just drop the line into the water and reel up a fish. The first mate relied on my brother to toss chum into the sea so the fish would swim up closer to our lines. My brother is slightly mentally handicapped and fishing took certain motor skills he's unable to perform. Chum throwing, however, was a great sport for him and he started calling himself the "Fish Feeder." My mom joked that we needed him to feed the fish so she'd have fish to feed us all.
The first mate had his hands full tending to all of us. As one person would pull up a fish, he'd quickly de-hook it, toss it in the freezer, and assist another one of us. It was clockwork de-hooking. I'm sure he got nicked by the hooks more than 10 times. With the race to get these fish while the Fish Feeder held rule over their small existence, we didn't realize that the freezer was steadily filling. Cute first mate, now covered in blood and fish guts, told us to reel in our last fish because we had reached 50. We were all panting, tired, and very hungry.

I decided to eat what little I could stomach and go sleep.

A picture of the sailfish I caught, later used in a brochure

I eventually heard some noise and appeared on deck with good timing. A pole was thrust into my hand as the first mate said, "Here, Rip Van Winkle, it's your turn to catch a big one." I accepted the pole without question, situated myself in the fishing chair and attempted to turn the handle.
Grrrrrr. Holy shit. This must have been a BIG fish because my handle wouldn't budge. My dad came over to help me get started but even after I was able to get it around once, I still had trouble. I looked to the first mate to see if I had been doing anything wrong. It's at this point he confessed that I was battling a full grown sailfish. Shit.
Even with that in mind, I really wanted to see this beautiful fish and was really happy I got the opportunity to be reeling it. So with all my twelve year old might, I reeled. And reeled. It hurt my arm terribly and at one point I slipped and allowed the sailfish to pull away with the line. I felt all the tiny tendons in my wrist poking out severely as I cranked, and my teeth were clenched together with such might that I figured soon I'd break out as the Hulk, reach my into the water, and pull that sailfish out with my bare hands. The first mate had warned me that it may jump out of the water in frustration and it did. Three times. I could feel the reverberations of its jump all the way up my shoulders, but it was a magnificent slight. I ended up reeling this fish for 45 minutes before it was close enough that the first mate could bring it up and let us look.

Maybe it's not the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen, but probably the most gorgeous of ocean things. The blue on it's body was as dark as the waters it swam in but there was a brilliant blue pattern near the sail that was just electric with shine and color. The white of its belly rivaled the newest white car at the dealership and it's black eyes seemed to look straight into you, exclaiming, "What have you done?!" And it was the strongest thing, whipping it's long spear-face trying to rid itself of our grip. Pure muscle rippled through it's long body. The sail was huge and had amazing colors, too.  At this time, that sail was probably as tall as my brother. The captain came down to look at it as well and nodded with approval. I loved my sailfish but there are environmental laws that explicitly say we must throw large game back. I was just ecstatic that I actually accomplished reeling in a sailfish.

I remained awake for the boat ride home as we whisked back westerly toward the docks. Startled flying fish torpedoed out of the water that we passed over. They're gorgeous, too, if you ever get a chance to see one in real life. Tiny things but brightly colored and such a spectacle. In the evening light the sun flashed off their wet wings and made them look like small magical beings. The final catch of the evening turned out to be a hungry seagull that took a swipe at our still baited hook. The first mate untangled him and I got to pet his soft white feathers before we released him back into the sky.
Finally reaching the dock, we performed the ritual of removing our catch from the freezer and tossing it upon the docks to be collected, skinned and packaged for us right there. Every boat that comes into this particular harbor does this same thing and it's big with spectators. They judge the size of your fish, the size of your catch, the variety in your catch, and always want to hear the big "fish story" of the day. Children will come up and poke at the frozen bodies, squeal at the slimey-ness, and run back to their parents. I would always poke the eyeballs. I can remember the feeling like I'm there right now. It's like  a watery solid. My finger glides over the eye with such ease that it felt like nothing had happened but occasionally I'd stop paying attention and my finger would go down in  between the eye and outer scales. I also enjoyed the fins which felt similar but had the texture of a feather with the long stringy bones that formed it.

The fishing was a long, long 12 hour day, but it's something I'd do over and over again. If you ever get the chance, head to Hatteras Harbor Marina in the Outer Banks, North Carolina and book yourself a boat.

Let's Talk Catawba.

I miss you, Asheville...

I spent my summer in Asheville, North Carolina amongst the beautiful Blue Ridge mountains. It was a wonderful summer. I actually made friends this time around and I got out of the house and made a person of myself. The mountains make for a lot of hiking, obviously, and there are way too many trails for a person to do in the course of three months. However, I happened to discover a beautiful trail by the name of Catawba Falls and it really is one of the most spectacular land formations I've seen in a long time. It's not on the Blue Ridge Parkway, but just a little farther east in the Pisgah National Forest. I swear, no one would ever know that Catawba exists because it's hidden along a tiny, winding road that's right off the exit. This tiny, winding road extends very far back and a traveler can tell it's a rugged place when a surge of kudzu envelops the trees, wires, and sides of houses. No one keeps it cut down this deep into the mountains.
When I finally arrived at the place, I couldn't even tell that it was the trail head but the gathering of cars was definitely a giveaway. My uncle, aunt and her nephew accompanied me on this hike. It starts off looking like an average trail - trees everywhere, level, rocks and roots littering the path - and I assume this will probably lead to an average looking waterfall. The trail begins to incline, creeks split the trail at various intervals, and at one point, we are bouldering up some rocks just to continue the hike. Bouldering wasn't too big of a deal; it is climbing large rock formations that are so easy no ropes are needed.
Like all waterfall trails, as you get closer the sound of the rushing water gets louder and louder. At one point, hearing some rushing water, I believed we had arrived. I found out quickly that the waterfall I was looking at wasn't even the main course. This pre-waterfall was a sight either way. It was surrounded by a large stone dam that was evidently man-made and very old. There was moss growing on it and the stone was incredibly worn down. The waterfall appeared to have weathered through a corner of the dam that allowed it to run freely off the side of the mountain and down into a pool.
Now let's move on to the waterfall of the hour. The trail snaked up and up, more boulders, more creeks, and at one point we almost lost our way because the trail isn't very clear cut, but we found the markers and continued on our way. Finally, just as I thought I couldn't take anymore of this trail, we rounded a corner and there it was. Catawba Falls - much more than that average waterfall I assumed to find.
Catawba was beautiful. It is a multi-layered, moss veiled, rhododendron littered, mist surrounded piece of land that looks like something out of the Road to El Dorado. The trees created a bouquet of shade and the water was ice cold (just like good mountain water should be). I figured, why not climb up the layers? I can be somewhat of a thrill seeker and when I looked at the falls, yeah, they were about 20 feet high but the individual layers simulated a giant staircase that was easily bouldered. The water rushed all around my ankles at its shallowest but could get to as deep as my waist around some of the pools that nestled in the layers of the falls. I lost my footing on one layer and plummeted into a pool that rose to my midsection. The immediate chill of the water caused me to gasp for air and I attempted to get out of that water as quickly as my frozen arms could hoist me out. One thing I love about mountain water is that even though it is cold as all hell, once you're out of the water and stand in a patch of sunlight or let that hot summer air hit, you're warmer than you were before and ready for another round.
The good thing about Catawba is that this hike is not over yet. If you climb the main waterfall like I did, and find a path that exits from the water to the mountain side, there is yet another path. This path leads us to the grand post-waterfall. The entire trail is a steep, steep incline and at one point, the rangers fastened a rope into the rocks so hikers could have the additional help in getting to the top of this incline. Most of the time for balance, I'd grasp at rhododendron branches that stuck out everywhere. There are many side trails and faux-trails that have been created by animals and hikers alike so it's easy to misplace your steps if you have not hiked here before. I am glad I had my uncle to keep us on the right track. The post-waterfall is that "average" waterfall, one usually thinks of. A straight down, wide, and rushing waterfall that drains into a huge pool and wildly rushes away, pouring into the layered waterfall 100 feet below. This is a waterfall, that as much as I tried to figure out a way, I just could not climb. So I swam in the pool beneath it with frequent intervals of getting out to warm myself and jumping back into the icy freeze.
I tried to look up some history of the Catawba Falls but I did not find much. Maybe I just didn't look hard enough. I'm not even sure how my uncle heard of the place. He just knew how to get there. Whatever the history, Catawba is one of my favorite sites in all North Carolina.  The location is an adventure and the sights are beautiful... Absolutely breathtaking. I was not expecting to run into something so outrageous when I started down the Catawba trail that day but I more than approved of what I did see.

Here's a couple pictures: 

My weekend..

 Man, I'm not really in the mood for this right now. I just want to curl up in my bed and sleep all day. I miss sleeping all day. Ugh.

Anyway, this entry is going to be short because I don't have the time to spend writing something extensive and involving.

I went to Hyde Park this weekend to eat at the Cock & Bull restaurant and it was very, very good. Pretty cool decor and a super nice staff. I loved it. (Wish I could get a job somewhere like that but I don't think I dress fancy enough for it). My roommate Aaron was with me and he got their famous fish and chips while I got a taco salad. Both were amazing, especially the Cajun mayo for the fries.
After our meal, we decided to take a walk around the neighborhood and look at the houses. This seems to be one of Aaron's favorite past times, although I wasn't that amused by the venture. However, the houses in this place displayed some of the most amazing architecture I had ever seen around Cincinnati.
We started at the bottom of the road and worked our way up. The houses started at pretty normal looking incomes. Regular siding, regular roofing, regular porch furniture. But every house became more impressive than the next as we walked farther and farther up the road. The laws became more and more well kept, bushes more in line and flowers a bit brighter. Every door became more intricate, porches wider and chimneys taller. What I didn't notice were the cars. As these things became better, the cars became more scarce. Made me wonder if maybe they have troubles with them.
A couple of the houses had strong European influences. The house from Germany was humongous and had the typical white stucco with the crossing wooden X's. The landscaping looked that that of a Low German style. My favorite had to be the house from Italy. This had to be something straight from a Shakespeare novel. Iron fences, three car garage, wide front space surrounded by a low 4 foot wall - it was beautiful. However, the royal house from England, by far was the most amazing thing I'd seen yet. It had a humongous stairway winding up to the also humongous front porch, where two of the luckiest little kids stood. It was completely made of brick and stone and from the street you could see the giant spiral staircase in the center of the living room with a magnificent chandelier in the center.
Yes, they were all gorgeous, but it almost made me sad. One reason because my roommate was gawking at the houses and constantly saying how much he wants to live in the neighborhood, and two.. Well, when you think about it, the residents of this house are probably the people who have been stepping on others toes just to get where they are today and then they complain when the government wants to raise their taxes just to help pay off the debt. The selfishness emanating from my walk with Aaron very much alarmed me.
I have no resentment toward the houses, they didn't do anything but be built. I just have a possible problem with the possible background behind those who live in the houses. I wouldn't know what to do with all the money those living in the English house have. I would probably still live in a modest house in the same neighborhood and have the same things I do now. Different views I suppose? Not sure but that was Hyde Park.