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Posted by Jonny Eberle in Rants, Travel, Writing
129 million books, adventure, Age of Exploration, Al-Idrisi, Amerigo Vespucci, beyond the edge of the world, books, continent, discovery, exploration, explorers, exploring books, here there be dragons, lost world, map, map of the world, new world, new worlds, personal reflection, Tabula Rogeriana, voyage, writing, Writing Life
Al-Idrisi's Tabula Rogeriana (1154) was the most accurate map of the world until the 15th century.
In the summer of 1502, the Florentine explorer Amerigo Vespucci was sailing down the coast of Brazil in the service of the King of Portugal. He was amazed by this new continent, which had never been seen by Europeans before. It was the dawn of the age of exploration when vast swaths of the Earth had yet to be mapped. He later wrote to a friend, "it is lawful to call it a new world, because none of these countries were known to our ancestors…My last voyage has proved it, for I have found a continent in that southern part; full of animals and more populous than our Europe, or Asia, or Africa, and even more temperate and pleasant than any other region known to us." Over the next 500 years, the world would be fully mapped, flags would be planted at the North and South Poles, and the highest mountain peaks would be conquered.
All my life, I have been fascinated by far away places and have dreamed of traveling to distant lands. As a child, I remember pretending to be at the helm of my own ship, sailing off to the horizon in search of undiscovered new worlds. And yet, far above my head, satellites were photographing the last undisturbed places on the planet.
Today, much of the exploring left to do is deep underground and underwater. There are no more unknown continents. So, where are we adventurers to turn? What frontiers are left to investigate for those of us who were born too late to embark on a voyage of discovery?
Beyond the edge of the world, there are still uncharted lands waiting to be trekked. New worlds are being dreamed up every day. When I'm caught up in a great book, I feel what I assume Vespucci must have felt when he first spotted the mouth of the Amazon River. And the thing I love most about the myriad worlds of books is that I will, ever run out of new stories to explore. Google estimates that there are over 129 million books in existence and the number continues to grow every year.
There might not be remote islands untouched by humans left to find, but I can at least take comfort in knowing that there are still paper worlds waiting for those of us daring enough to make the journey.
Jonny Eberle is a writer in Tacoma, Washington and proud owner of a spyglass. You can find him on Twitter and subscribe to his email newsletter for exclusive content that magically appears in your inbox.
The Allure of Abandoned Places
Posted by Jonny Eberle in Procrastination, Travel, Writing
abandoned, abandoned places, abandoned things, adventure, am writing, artifact, connection, decay, humanity, leftovers, off the beaten path, personal reflection, ruins, stories, story, urban ruins, writing, Writing Life
What is it about forgotten places that is so fascinating? For as long as I can remember, I have been intrigued by alleyways, empty houses, and dirt roads that lead nowhere. Wherever I go, I notice the broken glass and rust of wear, tear, and memory. Maybe that explains my unending study of history and predilection for finding myself among ancient ruins whenever I venture out of the country. Maybe I'm drawn to these places because I'm a writer — we are the compass and the untold story of a left-behind place pulls us like a magnet. Maybe it's the same reason we stare at the stars on a dark, cold night — because we are enthralled by the things we can never know.
Or maybe it's deeper still.
Maybe abandoned places and things call out to me because they weren't always like that. Someone once stood here, on this spot. Someone once knew the story of these crumbling walls. And standing where they stood and trying to piece together how these train tracks were left to decay and become overgrown connects me — for a moment — across time and space to another person who lived. Abandoned places are the crumbs that drop from lives hastily lived and I can follow the trail, or try to. Maybe it isn't about the place at all. Maybe it's simply another way we humans seek to connect with one another — and about the possibility that someday, another curious soul will stumble upon this artifact and wonder.
Jonny Eberle is a writer, photographer, filmmaker, and wanderer off of beaten paths. You can find him on Twitter. Sign up for his superb mailing list here.
The Spaniard's Gold: Part 8
action, adventure, climax, fiction, gold, Grace Yun, part 8, serial, serialized story, short story, spanish gold, the end, The Spaniard's Gold, treasure, treasure hunt
Grace raised her hands in quiet surrender. Eric's normally calm features were pulled low into a scowl. His eyes were wild, like she had never seen. His posture was straighter; his movements more confident. The shy, bookish graduate student was gone.
"You're really too trusting, Doctor Yun," he said. He was wrong. Grace didn't trust anybody. It had cost her too much. But she was willing to give people the benefit of the doubt when they seemed to prove no threat — and perhaps she would have to rethink that, too.
"I've certainly learned my lesson," she replied, careful to speak softly so as not to provoke his trigger finger. "That's the last time I let someone sit in the back of a pickup truck with nothing but the contents of my backpack to occupy them."
Eric smirked, but it was a smile devoid of any joy. His eyes flashed to the cave entrance. Ingram and Sam had come down the hill into the mouth of the cavern.
"Stop right there!" he barked. Ingram skidded to a halt less gracefully than Sam due to the greater momentum of his weight and muscle. "Hands on your heads!"
"You've gotta be kidding me," Ingram said. He did not raise his hands. "The nerd is holding us up?"
"I said hands on your head," Eric said in a harsh tone that seemed to scrape the roof of the cave like fingernails. "I've heard quite enough from you this trip."
"Unbelievable," Ingram muttered, rolling his eyes, as he placed his hands on his head. Grace couldn't tell if he thought it was unbelievable that Eric had turned on them or if it was unbelievable that he hadn't been the one to double-cross them.
"This is going to reflect poorly on you in front of the dissertation committee," Grace said sarcastically. Eric didn't respond to the taunt. Silently, he held up a gleaming golden coin. The light of Grace's headlamp illuminated the profile of the king of Spain and the raised Latin words surrounding it.
"Excellent work, Doctor Yun," Eric said. She couldn't tell if he was mocking or sincere. "You have found what has eluded generals, treasure hunters and archaeologists for a hundred and seventy years. I could've done it alone, of course. I found your slot canyon easily enough. But it was your obsession that got us here in the end."
The boot prints at the slot canyon had been Eric's. It was starting to make sense now. Grace glanced around the cave floor. Twenty or so golden coins glinted under a thin layer of red sand all around them.
"The lost treasure of Juan Rivera," he went on, savoring the way his voice echoed in the cave. "You're looking at over $50,000 lying on the ground. And you led me right to it."
Grace was getting tired of this. Nearly a decade of research thrown in her face. She clenched her fists as she waited to hear what he was going to do now. He could kill them to cover his tracks, but if that was his plan, he would've done it already. Plus, people would report them missing and Sam's truck would only take a day or two to locate. Not much of a head start. He could also keep them with him until he was safely away, but they were three people against one and Eric was smart enough to know that the odds of the tables turning grew the longer they were together. That left just one liable option: Leave them in the desert.
"Doctor Yun, if you would do the honors of gathering up my loot," he said. Grace sighed and reluctantly started to gathering coins one by one. It was even worse to feel the weight of the coins in her hand and know that were about to disappear again. As she was collecting the worn coins from the sand, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. There was another chamber behind Eric. She doubted that he'd had enough time to search that far before she arrived.
"Oil man, I'm going to need your keys. Toss them onto the ground where Doctor Yun can get them for me."
Sam retrieved his keys from where they hung on a carabiner from his wide leather belt and tossed them underhand to Grace. Eric dropped his backpack on the ground at Grace's feet. According to his instructions, she placed the coins and the keys in the pack and zipped it up.
"You're good, kid," Ingram said. "You look like you've done this sorta deal before."
"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Eric hissed. Ingram shrugged.
"I'm trying to compliment you. Very well executed. To a tee," the large man went on. Out of the corner of her eye, Grace could see him reaching for something behind his back. It looked like a hilt of a knife. "Who are you selling to?"
"Be quiet," Eric growled.
"I'm serious," Ingram babbled on. The knife was out now and held tight against the small of his back, ready to strike. "Bit of advice: Don't sell to Ngora. He promises a good price, but he usually ends up having his bodyguards try to kill you once he has the artifact."
"Drop the knife," Eric said, raising the gun and sighting down the barrel to Ingram's head. The smuggler froze. "Loosen your grip and let it drop to the ground or so help me, I will fill you with lead."
Ingram sighed and let his Bowie knife clatter to the sandstone. It echoed off the walls and ceilings in the silence that followed. Pulled on his back and carefully made his way to the mouth of the cave. Never letting them see his back and instructing them not to turn to face him, he retrieved the knife and stuck it in his belt.
"Thank you for your cooperation," he said. "If I see one of you following me, I won't hesitate to kill you. If you just remain here until after I've gone, we'll all get to live long happy lives."
By this point, Eric's voice was dropping off behind them. Grace waited until his footsteps had faded before she started breathing normally again. Ingram turned to follow Eric, but Sam stopped him.
"Let him go," Sam said with a smile. "I never liked that truck anyway. The insurance will cover me."
"No one's ever stolen from me," Ingram said. He looked like defeated. "I can't believe we let that little weasel escape with the treasure."
"That wasn't the treasure," Grace said. Both men stopped and looked at her quizzically. She had their attention now. "That's just what they dropped along the way. Shall we get the real treasure?"
She started to walk deeper into the cave, around the bend she spotted earlier, into the bowels of Ragged Mountain. The natural cave ended and the man-made cave began. It was rough hewn from the bedrock and pickaxe marks scored the tunnel from top to bottom. Barely five feet tall, even Grace had to bend down to fit.
"Why do they never design these things with me in mind?" Ingram complained.
The mine continued for thirty feet, sloping ever downward. Finally, it leveled off and widened. Quartz glittered and refracted the light from their headlamps — wide veins spaced every few inches. At their feet lay five large wooden chests. Grace reached in her pack and retrieved a fine brush. Gingerly, she brushed away the centuries of dust and sand. Monsoon rains over successive years had seeped through the porous rock above and dripped onto the chests, leaving gaping holes where rot had eaten away at the wood. The chests were secured with heavy, corroded steel locks.
"Aright, we've got to be delicate. These are over a century and a half old, so they're going to be very brittle," she said.
Before she had a chance to explain her plan, Ingram was at her side. With a swift downward kick, the lock cracked off, taking much of the wooden plank with it. The gold inside spilled out onto the ground. Yet it was not a rush of coins, but rather a clatter of golden plates and crosses.
"This isn't Rivera's gold," Sam said, kneeling to inspect an intricate crucifix of solid gold.
"This is Rivera's gold alright," Grace said, examining a small, delicate chalice with a hand-polished shine that reflected her face like a mirror as she put the puzzle pieces together. "Why else would priests risk their lives to get it out of Santa Fe. Rivera and his son must've given all of his gold to the church. Perhaps over many years."
"And so, when the Army captain found Eduardo Rivera's home stripped of all its gold…" Sam went on.
"It's likely that it had been empty for months or years," Grace finished the thought.
"You think he would just give away his whole inheritance?" Ingram asked incredulously. He would never do a thing like that, Grace was sure.
"Living in your father's shadow can do strange things to a person," she replied, handing him the chalice. "Maybe he felt remorse for the way the early colonists had treated Native tribes."
"Or maybe he was trying to buy influence in the most powerful organization in Spanish America — the church," Ingram mused.
"We'll probably never know," Grace said. "The question is, what should we do with it?"
"We should walk away from it and forget we ever found it," Sam said, handing the chalice back to her.
"Don't be crazy, man! This is worth a fortune!" Ingram bellowed.
"The pursuit of this gold has caused enough pain. Today, we almost died for it. I hate to think what more it could do if the world was reminded of its existence. As far as I'm concerned, it's done enough damage. At the end of the day, gold is just a shiny rock."
Grace nodded. She could understand that point of view. The blood of generations were on this gold. It was ironic that something so many people had suffered and died to produce was now in the form of sacred objects.
"I can't let you sell this, Ingram," Grace finally said. "Not even the portion I promised to you. Sam's right. It would be immoral to let any of this loose on the black market. More lives would be lost. It has to be studied and then given to a museum so that it can do something positive. What do guys you say?"
"I think I could be okay with that," Sam said.
Ingram was looking at his reflection in a golden offering plate; no doubt dreaming of the luxuries he was planning to buy with his cut of the treasure. He set it down and folded his arms.
"Do these museums pay a finder's fee at least?"
"I'll see what we can do," Grace said. Ingram screwed up his ruddy face to think about it for a moment and then nodded his ascent. "Which way to the nearest road, Sam?"
"Probably about five miles north," he said. "Do you think Eric will be waiting for us?"
"If he's anything like me, he's in a real hurry to sell and get out of the country," Ingram said, shaking his head. "I'm sure he's high-tailing it to Salt Lake as fast as he can go."
"If we're lucky, we'll hitch a ride and be in the nearest town with a pay phone in five or six hours. Probably too late to stop him," Grace said. "But at least we can safeguard what's here."
"We'd better start hiking before it gets too late," Sam said. He and Ingram turned to leave. Grace lingered for a moment on the lines in the rock left by the miners, on the hinges of the wooden chests built by the mission, on the finely crafted censer that used to be a Spanish coin. She smiled.
"Try to keep up, doctor," Ingram yelled from farther up the tunnel.
"Don't you worry about me," she said. She started up out of the cave. She wasn't about to fall behind. Already, he mind was racing onward to the next challenge. Who knew what else lay hidden under the earth, just waiting for someone to rediscover it?
Jonny Eberle is a writer in Tacoma, WA. If you liked this story, please share it with a friend. We'll resume our regularly scheduled blogging later this week. Thanks for reading The Spaniard's Gold!
action, adventure, amwriting, desert, fiction, gold, Grace Yun, history, Mexican-American War, part 6, serialized story, short story, southwest, The Spaniard's Gold, treasure hunt
Grace was entranced by the coin in Sam's hand. It was definitely gold. It might be a simple Sacajawea dollar — but then again it might be part of the Rivera fortune, she thought. She needed to see it up close. Gingerly, she opened the door. He didn't seem to notice. Ever so carefully, she stepped down into the hard sand compacted from years of footsteps. The grains crunched under her bare foot.
Instantly, the coin was gone. As deftly as a magician makes a quarter disappear, it had vanished from sight. Sam tried to look startled, but she could read in his eyes that he had been listening for hours.
"Can't sleep?" she asked. No need to be too direct.
"It's a nice night to be alone with your thoughts," he said. She walked over and sat down, cross-legged next to him, but not to near. Gazing up, she saw thousands of stars glittering. The horizon was dark in all directions. The nearest town was too far away and too small to pollute the night sky.
"You couldn't pick a better spot for it," she said. "Hundreds of constellations; all with their own stories…you could spend a lifetime recalling each one."
"I wouldn't know," Sam said, looking down.
"Why's that?"
"I grew up in Salt Lake City. Not too many stars there," he said. "My mother didn't know the stories or the language, so she couldn't pass any of it down. I'm only just now teaching myself, to be honest." He picked up a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers. "Besides, I'm more interested in what's under the ground than in what's above it."
"That makes two of us," Grace said, nodding. She sensed a kindred spirit in him; a hunger to understand the people who came before them. So, she decided to switch tactics. "Where did you get the coin, Sam?"
"What coin?" he asked. He was totally nonchalant, but she didn't let him avert his eyes.
"I'm not going to take it from you," she said. "Did you find it when you were exploring for oil near here?"
Sam was quiet for a while. Grace waited. Silence didn't bother her. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision about her.
"Family heirloom, actually," he said. "But I don't know much about it."
"Can I see it?" she said. He hesitated for a just a moment, then produced the coin from behind the elbow he was propped up on. He held it up between his thumb and index finger. Moonlight cascaded over it. Grace leaned in close to get a good look.
"It's an eight escudo piece," she said. "A coin minted by the Spanish in the Americas."
Carefully, she took it from him. She lightly traced the words and images on the coin as she examined it. It was dated 1805 and was struck with the image of Charles IV of Spain in a powdered wig. It was heavily weathered and had obviously been exposed to the rigors of the elements rather than spending the centuries in the hands of a collector. She could barely contain her excitement.
"How long has this coin been in your family?" she asked as she handed it back. He tucked it away again.
"As long as anyone can remember," he said. That wasn't helpful information and he knew it, because he went on, "But my mother told me once that she remembered her grandfather telling her a story about a group of white men passing through who gave this to a member of our family in exchange for directions to a cave nearby."
Grace processed this. It lined up with her theory about the priests headed back to one of the old Spanish mines to hide the Rivera fortune.
"You're not here by accident, are you, Sam?" she asked pointedly. He smirked.
"Only partly," he said. "The company wanted someone who already knew the area. It seemed like a good opportunity to revisit some cousins and see if I could track down that cave. I don't suppose you're here by chance, either."
"I think we have a better chance at success if we pool our resources," she replied, not bothering to answer. He probably figured it out when he plucked them from the flash flood. "You know the land. I know the history. I've been studying what became of Juan Rivera's gold for the last ten years."
"And if we find it?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
"The Spanish had no right to take it. If we find it, I'd like for it to go back to my lab for analysis and then to a good museum for everyone to enjoy. Do we have a deal?"
"We'll see," he said as he shook her hand.
The next morning, Grace sat in the front seat of Sam's truck as they rumbled down the washboard roads of Southern Utah with her feet on the dashboard and a dogeared leather folio open on her lap. Ingram was squeezed awkwardly in the middle seat while Eric slept in the bed of the truck.
Grace was reviewing the journals of a U.S. Army Captain from Massachusetts who marched into New Mexico with General Kearny in the late summer of 1846.
Not a shot was fired as we marched into Santa Fe. The streets were deserted, but everywhere I could feel the eyes of the townspeople upon us from the windows of their homes. Colonel Price dispatched me and my company of 40 men to spread out and capture the large ranch estates of the richest and most powerful citizens. My men and I arrived at the adobe house of one Eduardo Rivera, whom we were told was a leading member of the community. We entered the home to find it stripped of all its gold and silver. The old man had even cut off the buttons of his shirt and hidden them away.
Grace shuffled her papers and pulled out her map with different areas circled. With the red pencil she used for grading, she drew an X through the circle around the mine they had explored the previous day.
"I think our best bet is north, in the Henry Mountains in the foothills of Mt. Pennell or Ragged Mountain," she said. "We know the Spanish were here during Rivera's expedition and we know it's remote, so anything hidden there has a good chance of being undisturbed."
"I don't see why we need to be dividing the loot any further, Dr. Yun," Ingram grumbled. He had remained largely silent since Grace had announced that Sam was joining their party. "We could've easily overpowered him if we needed the truck."
"I didn't think it needed to come to that," Grace said, shaking her head. "But if we need anything overpowered, I'll let you know."
Up ahead, a range of mountains rose out of the surrounding desert. She imagined that if she was in the shoes of the priests charged with hiding the treasure from the Army of the West, this would look like the perfect place. In her gut, she had a feeling that they were close.
Jonny Eberle is a writer, photographer, and history buff living in Tacoma, WA. You can follow him on Twitter. Thanks for reading!
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action, adventure, America, desert, fiction, flood, gold, Grace Yun, history, Mexican-American War, part 5, serial, serialized short story, short story, story, The Spaniard's Gold, treasure, treasure hunt, Utah
The rushing flood waters threatened to tear Grace from the branch. She glanced upstream and saw Ingram coming toward her, propelled by the current. She reached out one hand and caught his before he was swept father down the canyon. Barely, she caught his wrist and dug her nails into the fabric of his plaid shirt.
She looked back to the mysterious man at the top of the ravine. He was Native American, with black hair that was swept into a long ponytail, a grey button-down and dusty blue jeans. He was straining to hold them both. He gritted his teeth and leaned back to counter their combined weight.
Ingram wasn't going to wait. He swung an arm up to grip the branch above Grace's grip. He shook off her grasp of his other arm and pulled himself straight up, hand over hand, until he could reach a scraggly bush at the top, about five five feet above the water. With a grunt that she could hear over the thunderous crash of water around her, Ingram scrambled up to dry ground. He rested on his hands and knees and coughed.
"Can you climb up?!" the man with her life in his hands called down. He couldn't hold much longer and Ingram wasn't offering to help. Grace nodded. She was tired from fighting the current, but a wave of adrenaline was starting to boil in her blood.
"Wait!" she yelled. "Where's Eric?" She had almost forgotten about her grad student. But he was here because of her. She was responsible for him. She scanned the furious torrent of rust and foam colored water that rushed down the canyon. He was nowhere to be seen.
She was about to start climbing up when she caught sight of a figure downstream. He was perfectly still, letting the current take him away without a fight. Without a second thought, she let go of the branch and started to swim toward Eric.
"Leave him! Leave him!" Ingram yelled. But she was gone, plunging headlong into the flood. Soon, she reached him and managed to hook his arm through one of the straps in her pack. With the other strap in her hand, she towed him diagonally downstream to the shore.
The walls of the wash dropped there where previous floods had whittled them down. The stranger and Ingram were waiting there to drag them out. Back on solid ground, the strange man tended to Eric while Grace leaned against a rock to catch her breath.
"That was stupid, Dr. Yun," Ingram whispered to her. "We almost lost your treasure forever. I can't find it alone and we definitely don't need the kid slowing us down."
"That's not how I work," Grace said between labored breaths. "It isn't worth finding that badly."
"That's where you're wrong," Ingram said. "In my business, the successful diggers are the ones who are willing to leave men behind. Sacrificed in the service of history, you might say. Surely you can appreciate that."
Grace didn't have time to respond.The man was standing over her with a look of concern on his face.
"We've got to get you out of the rain," he said simply. He helped her to her feet and guided them up to higher ground, where a pale blue pickup truck was parked. They crammed into the cab and he started to drive over the expanse of sage brush and creosote. It was miles of silent driving before they hit a primitive dirt road — two tire tracks that cut shallow depressions into the desert sand.
"Hell of a place for a day hike," the man said.
"Yes, well, the guidebook didn't say anything about flash floods," Grace said. She didn't want to give away too much information. Ingram was right about one thing. A man in pursuit of gold was a dangerous thing.
"You're lucky I came along," he replied. They were. Grace wondered if that was a coincidence or…
"What were you doing out here?" Ingram asked. He exchange a glance with Grace. Maybe he was the man who was following them.
"Geological survey," he said. "I'm working for an oil company that owns the drilling rights to this area. Sam Greyeyes."
"Dr. Grace Yun," Grace answered. It seemed rude not to at least do the courtesy of telling the man who'd just saved their lives her name. Ingram did not respond. Eric was still staring, wide-eyed out the passenger window.
"What are you a doctor of, Dr. Yun?" Sam asked. Was this starting to feel like an interrogation or was it just her own paranoia?
"Archaeology," she replied. Ingram scowled at her, but she couldn't see how lying about her profession would help them.
"Ah, so you're stealing all the broken pottery my ancestors threw away," Sam said. She caught a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Something like that. Are you a member of the local tribe, then?"
"Southern Ute," he said proudly. "For as long as anyone can remember. I grew up around here. I can assure you that all the pottery has already been found."
"We think there might be more," Grace said. She didn't mind telling him that they were looking, but she decided against informing him about the treasure they were after. "Maybe some in good condition that were hidden away when European settlers came through."
"You cannot hide anything from a white man if he has set his mind on taking it," Sam said. Grace thought she saw him steal a glance toward Ingram and Eric. Eric seemed to be coming out his shock, drawn out by the conversation. They were all quiet for a while until Eric spoke up.
"The oil company is no better than the homesteaders or the Spanish before them," he said. His ethical mind was gathering steam. "Don't you think you have a conflict of interest working with them?"
Sam shrugged and kept his eyes on the road.
"We've all got to make a living somehow," he said. The storm had passed. Its black clouds were off to the north, beyond the high mesas. Lightning crackled, but it was too far away for the sound of thunder to reach them. Sam made a left turn down another narrow desert road. It wasn't long before they reached a solitary Airstream trailer. Late afternoon sunlight glinted off its aluminum exterior.
"You can stay with me tonight and then we'll get you back to your car…or wherever you want to go tomorrow," Sam said. There was no room for argument. Grace was glad for the break, although she was anxious to get back on the trail.
Sam said very little for the rest of the evening. He made a quick dish of sausage and potatoes and they ate while exchanging pleasantries about the beauty of the desert and the history of the Southern Ute tribe in this corner of Utah. As night fell, Sam rolled a sleeping bag out for himself in the sand outside the trailer and offered them the trailer for the night. Ingram refused and instead opted to sleep in the bed of the pickup, squeezed among Sam's surveying equipment.
Grace laid awake in the back of the trailer while Eric slept sprawled on the bench seat in the galley. She laid awake working on a puzzle in her mind. Fleeing the advancing American Army, where would a band of farmers and priests hide their gold? California was an obvious destination, except that the U.S. Navy had already blockaded every city along the coast. Hemmed in on the west from California and on the east from Texas, their only option would be to head north, into the forbidding American interior. Even after three hundred years, much of the lands of Utah and Colorado were untamed wilderness. With those odds, Grace suspected they would go somewhere they knew — perhaps back to the original mine to wait out the war.
Her mind was racing. She needed some fresh air to clear her head so she could rest and be ready to resume the search. As she cracked open the door, she saw Sam resting on an elbow, lit by moonlight. He was looking at something in the palm of his hand. Something small and round that glimmered like gold.
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The wash twisted and dug deeper into the surrounding desert rock. Grace had increased the pace. Her feet pounded the fine sand, causing a shower of dust to billow up with each step. She could feel raindrops seep through her light clothing. Gathering winds started to blow.
"What are we looking for?" Ingram yelled. "Doctor Yun?"
"A cave!" she yelled back. "A priest with the Rivera expedition later wrote that they found a small cave north of Glen Canyon where they struck gold."
"Did he say how far north? Any landmarks?"
"No, he wasn't more specific. He clearly didn't want anyone else to find it." Grace was scanning the crumbling sides of the wash. Her dark brown eyes darted up and down each side, searching for a place where a landslide might've sealed off a small gold mine."
She stopped suddenly and knelt in the sand. Gingerly, she lifted a small crystalline rock no bigger than a golf ball. It was translucent white.
"Quartz," Eric said, having caught up. "It's often found near veins of gold."
Grace met the young man's gaze. He his arms were crossed, a sure sign that he was still upset with her for allowing part of the treasure to be funneled into the black market. But his eyes suggested that he was still curious. That was good. They would need his help. As a student of archaeology, he specialized in the American Southwest and was more versed into the literature of this area than she was. She hoped his curiosity would keep him from abandoning the search.
"Got any theories you'd like to share, Eric?" Grace prodded. He looked away for a moment.
"We're probably looking for a natural cave rather than a mine," he finally said. "Rivera would've been traveling in a small band with perhaps a dozen Ute slaves. They wouldn't have had the manpower to dig anything extensive, even if it is only sandstone. Most likely, they were led to a cave that the Utes already knew about from collecting quartz."
"So, we're looking for someplace where a lot of running water would cut into the stone," Grace said, nodding as she placed the piece of quartz in her backpack. "Let's keep going this way."
"Don't you think we ought to get to higher ground?" Ingram said. He eyed the black clouds that had overtaken them and were now stretching all the way to the flat-topped mesas to several miles north. The rain was light, but in the distance they could see huge curtains of water stretching down from the sky. Lightning flashed on the tower of an oil rig on the horizon. A cloudburst could hit them at any moment. "We're just as likely to run across a flash flood as a cave if we keep heading this way."
"We'll be quick about it," Grace said. She started to hike up the wash again. Eric followed. Ingram knelt to take a handful of fine sand. It was at least a foot deep here, indicating that floods had been pulverizing rocks here for hundreds of thousands of years. Shaking his head, he started after them.
The wash narrowed as they continued. It twisted around a bend and there they saw a small opening in the rocks; little more than a large crack. Grace turned to the men. Her eyes flashed with excitement.
"Alright, gentlemen," she said. "In and out. It's probably not very deep, so we'll get as much info as we can in five minutes and then we hightail it out of here. Got it?"
They nodded. Grace retrieved a flashlight from her pack and squeezed inside. The opening was only about two feet across and the ceiling was only about five feet. She only had to duck an inch to get inside, but Eric and Ingram had a progressively harder time fitting through the low, tight entrance.
The inside of the cave was cool and dry. The beam of the flashlight played over the far wall, where several almost perfectly straight lines of white quartz cut through the red rock. They were thin like strands of hair, except for one, which was three inches across.
Grace took a step forward. She scanned the ceiling, which was littered with fractures.
"Ice could be forming in these cracks, making them wider over millions of years," Eric said. His voice was soft, but the cave reflected his words so he sounded like he was speaking from all directions at once. "Dissolved mineral would be deposited every winter and every monsoon season, laying down thin sheets of quartz."
"And gold?" Ingram asked. His skepticism reverberated.
"And gold," Eric confirmed. He fuddled with his glasses. Grace stepped closer to the back wall of the cave. It was only about ten feet back from the entrance. From that distance, it looked undisturbed. Until she stepped closer.
"We're not the first ones to find this," she said. Her fingers alighted on the rock. Eric and Ingram came close to see what she was talking about. There, in the rock, were short parallel lines. Hundreds of them, scoring the rock from top to bottom, but mostly concentrated around the vein of quartz.
"I'll be damned," Ingram said. He, too reached out to touch the indentations. "Could this be modern?"
"I don't think so," Grace said. She was inches away from the rock wall, examining it with the practiced eye of a scientist. "They're too irregular for modern machinery. This was carved out with by hand, with pickaxes."
"It could still be from 19th century gold miners," Eric said. "Some prospectors made it this far during the Colorado Gold Rush."
"It's possible," she conceded. Any evidence of who was mining here was long since washed away. She scratched the surface of the exposed quartz vein and shone the flashlight onto her fingernails. They glittered with tiny flecks of gold dust.
"Doctor," Ingram said. His tone was not one of awe, which surprised her. She would've thought that he of all people would be thrilled by the discovery of gold. She turned to see what the problem was.
Ingram, too tall to make it all the way to the back of the cave, was standing about four feet closer to the entrance. Water was beginning to pool around his feet. It was time to leave. She stashed her flashlight in a pocket and nodded to him. Ingram turned on his heel and bent low to get out.
Ingram got caught several times while squeezing through the entrance. The dark water was rising quickly inside.
"Come on!" Eric yelled.
"Give me a second," Ingram growled. His pack had shifted across his back, making him two wide to push through. They were going to be trapped. Grace grabbed Ingram's backpack and tried to pull it off him, but the top of the frame was wedged against the ceiling and wouldn't budge. So, instead, she rammed her shoulder into his side.
"Watch it!" he said. "I'd like to keep my organs, thank you!"
She ignored his protest and threw her shoulder under his ribcage a second time. This time, there was a scraping sound. A small cloud of sand fell from the ceiling as the pack came free. Ingram tumbled out. Grace motioned for Eric to climb out next. By the time she got outside, the water was over her ankles and rushing fast downstream.
Eric tried to climb the steep wall of the wash, but the brittle rock wouldn't support his weight. Chunks of stone came free and he dropped back into the water.
"Back the way we came!" Grace yelled. She took one last look at the cave before she started to run. The water continued to rise. Ingram's foot came down on a slick rock and he slipped, plunging headfirst into the building torrent. Grace hauled him to his feet.
"No time for a swim," she said. The dark brown water was up to her calves now, then her knees. It was rushing quickly, coming down off the mesa. Each time her foot landed, she could feel the tug of the current.
The swift water swept Eric off his feet. He crashed into Grace and she lost her footing. Ingram tried to grab them but lost his balance in the process. All three were at the mercy of the flood waters. The water tossed them against rocks and resisted their attempts to grab onto anything. It occurred to Grace as she struggled to keep her face above the churning water that they were going to die here. No one would ever know.
"Grab the branch!" a voice yelled. "Grab the branch!"
Maybe it was a desperate illusion concocted by her panicking brain, but Grace thought she saw a branch dangling into the water ahead of her. Mirage or not, it was worth the chance. She reached out and grabbed it. She coughed and blinked the water out her eyes. A man was standing above her with the opposite end of the branch firmly grasped in his hands.
Jonny Eberle is a writer and former desert dweller living in Tacoma, WA. You can find him on Twitter.
adventure, amwriting, gold, Grace Yun, history, Lake Powell, part 2, quest, serial, serialized story, short story, spanish gold, The Spaniard's Gold, treasure, treasure hunt, Utah, writing
Grace awoke early. In the grey twilight, she knelt by he carved cross and traced its lines with her fingers. She tried to imagine the Spanish explorers carving this with chisels and hammers in this remote corner of the desert canyons. Why take the time? What was important about this spot? She had spent five years asking that question and was no closer to an answer.
"Do you think it'll talk if you stare at it long enough, doctor?" Ingram said. Grace didn't know he had been watching. She turned to face him, her thin fingers still resting on the sandstone.
"I was here five years ago," she said. "We were exploring the side canyons of Lake Powell, looking for signs of ancient Native American settlements, when I spotted the cross in murky water. The water level was twelve feet higher then. We were in full scuba gear and didn't have the time to investigate further. I've waited a long time to touch it with my bare hands."
"So, does it mean they buried the treasure here?" Ingram asked. "Should we start digging?"
"No, we aren't quite there yet," she replied. She wandered over to her kayak and pulled a granola bar from a dry bag. "This is a symbol of the Rivera Expedition and the Franciscan missionaries who went."
"Rivera?" he asked. Grace took another bite of her granola bar. She had hired him with the stipulation that he couldn't ask about what they were after. With the expedition underway, it was time to take him into her confidence, even though her gut told her not to trust him. She decided to give him the bullet points as opposed to the full lecture.
"Juan Maria Antonia Rivera was a Spanish trapper living in New Spain in the 18th century. In 1765, the Spanish Empire was desperate to solidify its hold on North America. To do that, it needed precious metals. So, the governor of Santa Fe sent Rivera and a small party of Spaniards and Navajo slaves on a mission to map southern Utah and Colorado — and to search for gold and silver."
"Did he find any?" he asked. She had his attention now. He always seemed to pay more attention when riches entered the discussion. This didn't surprise her, given his reputation.
"Officially, no," she said. "He is remembered as the first European to see the Colorado River, but accounts say that he never found any silver or gold. But when he returned from his second expedition, he received a special commendation from the governor and homesteaded a huge ranch north of Santa Fe. His descendants were massively wealthy."
"So…the gold is in New Mexico," Ingram said.
"I don't think so," she said. "You see, in 1847, during the Mexican-American War, a young Texan colonel was sent into Santa Fe to raid the old Spanish pueblos. The Rivera Family House was emptied of its gold; stripped from floor to rafters. The fortune disappeared."
"Where did it go?" Ingram asked, after he'd digested the story.
"That's the fun part," she said with a smirk. "That's where we become a part of history. Because we're going to find it. Starting here."
"It's a long shot," he said.
"You're getting paid either way, Ingram. But if you're not willing to take the risk…"
He furrowed his deep brow. She munched her granola bar. The sun was rising now and Eric was stirring in his sleeping bag. A beam of light crept over the lip of the opening to the cave above their heads.
"How much gold are we talking about?" he asked.
"More than you've ever seen," she said. "I promise you."
"I don't know about that," he said. "I've seen a whole lot."
Calmly, she unrolled her dry bag and started to transfer its contents to a back country pack: a folding shovel for digs, a brush, a notebook for observations, a pair of binoculars, a set of maps, a homemade first aid kit, food and water, and finally a small handgun. She quickly wrapped the gun in a jacket, but not before Ingram had caught sight of the weapon. She liked to be prepared and she had her reasons.
She crossed to Eric and nudged him awake. He yawned and fumbled around for his glasses, which were resting on a small rock nearby.
"Time to get going," Grace said. "We have a lot of ground to cover today."
"Wait, we're going on foot?" Eric asked. He found his glasses and was dusting them off with his faded amusement park t-shirt.
"The nearest road is forty miles away," she said as she hefted her pack on her back. "A car wouldn't be able to navigate this territory. Besides, this is how the Spanish did it."
She started to climb a small cascade of rocks from an earlier slide up into the opening that lead out of the cave. Ingram checked his knife and grabbed his pack before following.
"We're not even going to stop for breakfast?" Eric said as he got untangled from his sleeping bag and began to rush around gathering his supplies.
Grace was in no mood to slow down. They were on the trail of one of America's oldest lost treasures. She hadn't felt this optimistic in years. The trail was hot; just waiting for someone to who could follow it.
"Almost there," she grunted as she reached for a hand hold. The sandstone was smooth from years of monsoon rain gushing down this channel into the cave. Erosion had left her with very little to hang onto. Finally, she managed to haul herself up and out of the hole onto the desert floor.
She sat on the edge, panting for a few moments. The sun was barely up and already she could feel its heat simmering in the air. Ingram climbed out and stood to survey the land around them. All red rocks, sand and sagebrush as far as you could see. Grace turned to offer her hand to help Eric up when she saw it.
There was a clear boot print in the sand next to the entrance to the secluded cave. It was fresh. A wind storm had swept through here two weeks ago, so someone had been here recently. Grace's mind reeled. No one else knew about this place.
"We should hurry," she said. "We're not alone."
Jonny Eberle is a writer in Tacoma, WA. Read Part 1 here! You can follow him on Twitter at @jonnyeberle. Thanks for reading!
adventure, am writing, gold, Grace Yun, Lake Powell, part 1, quest, serialized story, short story, spanish gold, The Spaniard's Gold, treasure, treasure hunt, writing
Grace paddled slowly as they entered the slot canyon. Walls of sandstone rose on either side of the flotilla of three kayaks. The sloshing of their paddles echoed.
"Are you sure this is the one, Dr. Yun?" Eric called from the back. He placed his paddle across his lap and adjusted his glasses to keep them from slipping down his nose. There were thousands of canyons in Lake Powell. Every year, as the water level dropped, more and more emerged. It was impossible to know all of them. But Grace seemed to understand the web of waterways and their secrets.
"This is the one," she replied. She quickened her stroke, disturbing the glassy surface of the water.
"Try to keep up," Ingram said. He twisted his thick neck to glare at the scrawny grad student. Ingram was almost too bulky to fit in his kayak — a large man with a red beard and icy blue eyes that cut like knives. He increased his pace to follow Grace around the bend in the canyon, leaving Eric in his wake.
The slot canyon continued to snake its way through the desert. The three kayakers continued in silence as the sun dipped low and cast curtains of blood-red light across the water. As they went, the canyon's walls began to close in. The channel narrowed and narrowed.
"This feels like a dead end," Ingram grumbled. "We are no closer to the treasure and we've wasted two days getting here."
"If you're willing to give up that easily, I suggest you turn back," Grace said. Her voice was cool like the waters. "There won't be another opportunity."
"I'm not letting you out of my sight," Ingram said. "Not until I see it with my own eyes."
"There will be plenty to see, don't you worry," she said. They followed another turn, scraping the bow and the stern of their kayaks as they squeezed through the passage. "It'll be worth it."
Darkness fell. It was some time before moonlight spilled into their canyon enough to see the way ahead. The canyon appeared to come to an end. It was too tight to get through.
"Come on, boys," Grace goaded them. She set her paddle down lengthwise on the kayak and used her hands to push the kayak through the slit of rock. The sides of her kayak shrieked and groaned as they scraped by. Ingram and Eric waited incredulously. Soon, Grace was lost in the shadows.
"Well, no sense stopping now, is there?" Eric asked. Following his teacher's method, he placed his hands on either wall of the canyon and pushed himself into the crack. Ingram followed.
On the other side was a cavern of stone. It was huge, with smooth walls that formed an almost perfect dome. On the far side was a ledge ten feet wide. Above it, pale white moonlight shone through an opening to the surface.
By the time Eric and Ingram were through, Grace was already at the ledge, securing her kayak to the rock with rope. Skillfully, she climbed out and scrambled up onto dry land. The two men soon joined her.
"Flashlight," she said. Eric fumbled for one in the many bulging pockets of his vest. Finally, he pulled the penlight free from a wad of extra socks and handed it to her. She twisted it and her features were suddenly lit in the darkness of the cave.
She began to scan the walls, until the circle of light fell on a small carving. She smirked, as if knowing where it was all along and knelt down beside it. It was worn by the years, but the symbols were still easy to identify: a cross with two hands bearing wounds to the palms.
"Those are Christian symbols, Dr. Yun," Eric said.
"That's B-level deduction, Eric," she chastised him. "Let's aim for at least an A-minus."
"Well, I, uh," he stumbled. "Missionaries. Spanish missionaries were in this area in the mid-18th century."
"Much better," Grace said, giving her student a pat on the back.
"That's the coat of arms of the Franciscan Order, to be specific," Ingram said. His gruff voice echoed in the chamber. "Which means they came from the missions near Sante Fe."
"Very good," Grace said. She studied it with her eyes. And when that was not enough, she reached out and traced its smooth edges with her fingers.
Eric looked at Ingram, totally stupefied.
"Since when do you know history?"
"You thought I was just here to be the muscle, did you?"
"It's a miracle it survived," Grace interrupted. She didn't have time for squabbling. "It's been underwater for half a century."
"So, we start digging now?" Ingram said, a wild look creeping into his eyes.
"No, the treasure isn't here," she said, waving her hand dismissively.
"Then why in the hell are we here?" Ingram demanded. He looked like the dog who'd just had his treat snatched away.
"This is a signpost," Grace said. She tossed the flashlight to him and went back to start unloading the kayaks. "It means we're on the right road."
"How long is his going to take?" he asked, still fuming.
Grace stopped and looked at him with her own piercing, dark gaze. "I honestly don't know," she said. "I've been at it for ten years. But when we do find it, I promise you won't be disappointed."
Ingram didn't say much after that. They set up camp and soon Grace and Eric were asleep. Only Ingram remained awake, twirling a sharp Bowie knife in his hand and watching the glint of moonlight over its blade…
Jonny Eberle is a writer in Tacoma, WA. You can follow him on Twitter here.
The Value of a Truly Terrible Book
Posted by Jonny Eberle in Review, Writing
adventure, amreading, amwriting, bad books, book review, Clive Cussler, Dirk Pitt, fiction, novel, pulp, rant, read, reading, review, Sahara, terrible book, trash fiction, Valhalla Rising, what writers can learn from reading bad books, what writers read, writer, writing, writing examples, Writing Life
I have a lot of books crammed into my little office at home and I'd estimate that I've only read about two-thirds of them. The rest are books that I just haven't gotten around to yet. I've spent years collecting these books and dragging them halfway across the country on the off chance that on some rainy day, I'll pull one off the shelf. This is the story of one of those books.
Ten years ago, I saw the film Sahara. It was an action-adventure about Dirk Pitt, a marine engineer and adventurer who saves the day and discovers a missing Civil War ironclad in the sands of Africa. It was thrilling stuff and despite being universally panned by critics, I liked it. So, I went down to Bookman's and picked up a copy of one of novels the move was based on, Valhalla Rising.
And it sat on my shelf for the next ten years. Unread.
Then, about a month ago, I picked it up. I remembered liking the film and I liked that there was a viking ship on the cover, so I started to read. And it was awful. What the movie version of Dirk Pitt glossed over, the book revealed in agonizing detail. Pitt in the novel can do no wrong. Everyone around him worships him. Women fling themselves at him and he refuses their advances with long, sexist soliloquies about how he likes to have women cook and clean for him.
The plot is worse: full of impossible twists and turns, leaping from one world-ending crisis to the next (along with some unfortunate villainous plans that are eerily reminiscent of 9/11 — the book was published in August 2001 and features both planes crashing in Manhattan and a separate plot to destroy the World Trade Center). It is completely ridiculous from beginning to end. It's also not about vikings.
I really didn't like Valhalla Rising. I didn't like the characters, the plot or the dialogue. Even the descriptions were poorly written, spending paragraphs explaining the horsepower of a WWII transport plane's engine or the exact chiseling of Pitt's face.
Still, I think there is something to be learned from this book. As a writer, I am often tempted to read the greats. When I read the masters of literature, I am struck by the complexity of their masterpieces. It can be hard to deconstruct an excellent work, because all the pieces are so carefully laid into place that I can't see how they fit together.
On the other hand, when I read a really bad book, I can see the gaps. I see where the author tried something that didn't quite work; where a line of dialogue fell flat; where a plot line was left dangling. Sometimes, I learn more from failure than from success.
Every writer should read a truly terrible book from time to time. It's a good gut check of your own sense. You can critique as you go and you will be amazed by how many lessons you learn.
So, go ahead, grab that trashy paperback. You'll probably learn a few things about the craft. Even if you don't, let it motivate you. If that person can write a crappy manuscript and get it published, you can, too.
Jonny Eberle is a writer and avid reader of books both good and bad. You can follow him on Twitter. Apologies to Clive Cussler (even though he did appear as a fictionalized version of himself in his own book, which is weird).
The Rain In Washington Falls Mainly On the Tulips
adventure, am writing, April showers, flowers, life, Mount Vernon, mud, patience, personal reflection, photography, rain, rainy day, road trip, RoozenGaarde, Skagit Valley, Skagit Valley Tulip Festival, storm, the rain in washington, travel, tulip, Washington, water, writing, Writing Life
Washington is a beautiful state. It is lush and green; brimming with life. And there's a reason for it. Washington is the rainiest place I have ever lived (recall that before this, I was in the high desert of Northern Arizona). There is a price for beauty — months of drizzle interspersed with torrential downpours.
This weekend, I was lucky to visit the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival, an annual celebration of Western Washington's tulip farms, which are some of the largest outside of the Netherlands. Four of us trekked north, beyond Seattle to the pastoral lands of the Skagit Valley. Tractor dealerships and sleepy towns were nestled on the banks of winding rivers. We finally arrived in the fields outside of Mount Vernon at the famous RoozenGaarde gardens. Acres and acres of pastel flowers lay before us, so of course, the valley welcomed us with a cloudburst. The flowers were nice, but it was clear that the season was drawing to a close and much of the former glory had dimmed. Much of the land around of was fallow. Many rows of tulips had already been cut down. And it was pouring on us. We quickly snapped our photos.
We retreated from the muddy, slippery rows of tulips into the safety of my car. All seemed lost. But if there's a secret to living in Washington, it's patience. We were just about to leave in search of a better spot to admire the flowers when the raindrops on the windshield slowed. A few rays of sunshine poked through the mass of black thunderclouds. The storm had passed. Before the next one arrived, we decided to see what the other side of the road held, behind its tall hedge.
What we found was an intricate garden of tulips, planted in swirls and labyrinths. Tulips of every color and variety (and the varieties have super interesting names, like Flaming Parrot, Sensual Touch and Moneymaker). It was perfect. We wandered through the gardens and windmills for another hour before we meandered on to a vineyard for a quick wine tasting and a through street fair in the town of Mount Vernon before heading home. Sure, we got a little muddy. I still haven't dried out, but I think it's sometimes necessary to forgo comfort in pursuit of adventure.
Jonny Eberle is a slightly sodden writer and adventurer in Tacoma, WA. You can follow his written work in a steady stream from the Twitter hose. Thanks for reading!


text:
Category: Medicaid
Category "Medicaid"
It's Not OK: Oklahoma Obamacare Medicaid Plan Puts Needy At Risk
The Oklahoma Health Care Authority (OHCA) has proposed a plan to "rebalance" Medicaid eligibility in the Sooner State. Although OHCA's "plan" so far consists of only a single page of bullet points, what little that is already known makes clear that the plan would gut the existing Insure Oklahoma program and replace it with Obamacare's Medicaid expansion by another name. Oklahoma policymakers should quickly reject OHCA's latest proposal to expand Obamacare and refocus their efforts on improving the program for the most vulnerable.
Thousands of kids and adults with intellectual and developmental disabilities in Oklahoma are already sitting on Medicaid waiting lists to get the home and community-based services that they desperately need.
Medicaid Plans Succeed in Obamacare as Others Struggle
Smaller insurers with experience in Medicaid, such as Centene Corp. and Molina Healthcare, are outperforming the broader insurance industry on the federal health exchanges. Their success is putting a spotlight on their business model as the Obama administration and other insurers seek to stabilize the fledgling individual market.
If Medicaid-like plan features become the norm, consumers and medical providers would be substantially affected. Such plans are often popular in the exchanges for their low premiums, but consumers have criticized limits on their access to medical providers such as doctors. And physicians fault the plans for low reimbursement rates.
Hillary Clinton's Non-Starter Health Agenda
Although she promises to tinker with the Affordable Care Act (see below) Clinton is not proposing to fix any of its largest problems.
So what does Hillary Clinton propose to do about Obamacare? Spend more money. She proposes (1) to limit out of pocket costs to 5% of family income by offering a tax credit of up to $5,000 for spending above that amount, (2) to limit premium expenses to 8.5% of income, (3) to fix the family glitch, whereby dependents who are offered unaffordable coverage at work are barred from the exchange and (4) to spend more money to enroll people in Medicaid.
The Cost of Obamacare
Obamacare has caused health insurance premiums to skyrocket. It has caused millions of Americans who liked their health plans to lose their health plans. It has caused doctor and hospital networks to narrow. Now the Wall Street Journal reports that the Obamacare exchanges in Alabama and Alaska will each have one—that's right, one—insurer offering plans. We're moving toward "single insurer" health care.
In short, Obamacare is wrecking the private health insurance market.
The Congressional Budget Office says that the Obamacare subsidies for private insurance will cost $43 billion this year alone. That's an average of $5,375 per person for those who have been added to the private insurance rolls—or $21,500 per family of four. Meanwhile, the typical 36-year-old (or younger) who makes $36,000 a year (or more) gets $0 under Obamacare.
Premium Subsidies, the Mandate, and Medicaid Expansion: Coverage Effects of the ACA
Using a combination of subsidized premiums for Marketplace coverage, an individual mandate, and expanded Medicaid eligibility, ObamaCare has increased insurance coverage rates. The authors of this study assess the relative contributions to insurance changes of these different provisions in the law's first full year.
Their four key findings include:
Insurance coverage was only moderately responsive to price subsidies, but the subsidies were still large enough to raise coverage by almost one percent of the population; the coverage gains were larger in states that operated their own health insurance exchanges (as opposed to using the federal exchange).
The exemptions and tax penalty structure of the individual mandate had little impact on coverage decisions.
The law increased Medicaid coverage both among newly eligible populations and those who were previously eligible for Medicaid (the "woodwork" effect), with the latter driven predominantly by states that expanded their programs prior to 2014.
There was no "crowdout" effect of expanded Medicaid on private insurance. Overall, we conclude that exchange premium subsidies produced roughly 40% of the ACA's 2014 coverage gains, and Medicaid the other 60%, of which 2/3 occurred among previously-eligible individuals.
Long-Awaited Managed Care Rules for Medicaid, CHIP Are Final
The Centers for Medicaid and Medicare Services on Monday announced a massive update to managed care in Medicaid and the Children's Health Insurance Program. In doing so, it attempts to bring the program in line with the changes Medicaid has undergone over the last decade. The new rule is the agency's guideline for modernizing the low-income health care program and strengthen its quality of care.
Medicaid managed care services are offered by risk-based managed care organizations, which contract with state Medicaid programs to offer care to enrollees. Essentially, they are the private insurer alternative to traditional fee-for-service Medicaid.
CMS hasn't issued any new regulations to the program since 2002, but a lot has changed since then. Not only has the Medicaid program itself grown under the Affordable Care Act, but now about 80 percent of Medicaid enrollees are served through managed care delivery systems, according to CMS.
President Obama Double Downs On Medicaid's Failures
President Barack Obama is calling on taxpayers to shell out more money for his health reform law's disastrous Medicaid expansion.
The president recently asked Congress to approve $106 billion in new Medicaid spending over the next 10 years. Nevermind that the Congressional Budget Office just concluded that, as is, Medicaid spending will add $1.3 trillion to the federal deficit by 2025. That's $136 billion more than the agency projected last year.
And it's not as if those dollars are being spent wisely. Obamacare's Medicaid expansion is sticking taxpayers with a huge bill while doing little to help low-income Americans actually gain access to high-quality healthcare.
Officials Emphasize Drug Treatment, Mental Health in Medicaid Push
In a report, the Department of Health and Human Services said Monday that there are around two million low-income, uninsured people in those 20 states who have a mental illness or substance abuse disorder.
Medicaid has long been a joint federal-state program that offers near-free care to the very poor. Under the health law, Washington pays almost all of the costs of insuring people who have slightly higher incomes.
Opponents of expansion argue that neither states nor the federal government can afford to further swell the program, and that a shortage of providers to treat the newly insured poses an additional challenge in trying to enroll more people in it.
Non-Emergencies Clog Local Hospital ERs
Many have blamed the increase on the Affordable Care Act, which expanded health insurance coverage to millions more Americans through Medicaid — known as Medi-Cal in California — and government-run health exchanges.
Last year, a national survey of 2,099 emergency doctors by the American College of Emergency Physicians reported that 28 percent of respondents said the volume of ER patients in their hospitals "increased greatly" since the health law took effect. And 47 percent said the volume "increased slightly."
Nebraska's Medicaid Expansion Plan Puts Truly Needy Patients in Danger
The central feature of the latest plan in Nebraska is to deliver Medicaid expansion benefits through health plans sold on the Obamacare exchange, instead of through the state's managed care system. But, at the end of the day, this is really just a more expensive way to expand Medicaid under Obamacare.
Nebraska's own actuaries estimate that using these plans to expand Medicaid would increase per-person costs by 94% next fiscal year. By 2021, the cost difference is expected to reach 150%. Overall, this plan would cost taxpayers billions of dollars more (as if regular Medicaid expansion wasn't expensive enough) and leave even fewer dollars for the truly needy.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Trapped and tracked, cougars surrender secrets
Eighty nine pounds. Mountain lion F62, a female who as a cub lost her mother to a car and her sister to a bullet is weighed after being captured and tranquilized by scientists -- for the second time.
Wildlife veterinarian Winston Vickers, right, checks the heart rate of a captured mountain lion. The vital signs of the tranquilized animal must be monitored closely while scientists take measurements and blood samples, and replace a failed radio collar.
A cougar capture team takes a variety of body measurements, as well as blood samples, while the animal is sedated. Mountain lion F62 also will receive a new tracking collar before she is moved to a flat spot beneath nearby shrubs, where she can regain consciousness.
The eyes of mountain lion F62 are examined by wildlife veterinarian Winston Vickers after she is captured and sedated.
Wildlife veterinarian Winston Vickers stays close to mountain lion F62 as a tranquilizing drug wears off, making sure she is alert and on her way to full consciousness before moving off.
Wildlife veterinarian Winston Vickers "listens" with an antenna for signals from the tracking collars of mountain lions in the Santa Ana Mountains.
Winston Vickers, wildlife veterinarian with UC Davis' Wildlife Health Center examines the paws of a female mountain lion that was struck by a motorist and found on Ortega Hwy, Wednesday, Oct 21, 2009. The deceased 7 year-old Mountain Lion tagged as, "F-50" was 80 to 90 pounds and mother to two collared female 15-16 month-old kittens, including F62, who grew to adulthood and was trapped for a second time in the Santa Ana Mountains last week.
UC Davis Wildlife Health Center researcher Mike Puzzo points out where the dead female mountain lion's collar, radio transmitter, was found to Winston Vickers a wildlife veterinarian, holding the collar, on Wednesday, Oct 21, 2009.
Wildlife Veterinarian Winston Vickers holds a radio collar that belonged to a female Mountain Lion who was struck by a motorist and found dead on Ortega Hwy, Wednesday, Oct 21, 2009.
Winston Vickers, wildlife veterinarian, looks for the the tracks of 15-16 month-old kittens, "F51 and F62," after the death of their mother, a collared female mountain lion who was struck by a motorist on Ortega Hwy, Wednesday, Oct 21, 2009. F51 was later shot, but F62 survived, and was trapped by Vickers for a second time last week.
Winston Vickers locates the two female 15-16 month-old mountain lion kittens a day after the death of the mother in October, 2009. Cougar F50 was struck by a car on Ortega Highway.
While searching for two mountain lion cubs in October, 2009, wildlife veterinarian Winston Vickers, finds what looks like a three-day old print he believes was made by their mother, struck by a car on Ortega Highway. One of the cubs, F62, survived to adulthood and was trapped by Vickers for a second time in the Santa Ana Mountains last week.
The massive front paw of mountain lion F62, and her formidable, retractable claw. The 3-year-old female was captured for a second time last week so scientists could replace her failed tracking collar.
A variety of body measurements, as well as blood samples, are taken from mountain lion F62 by scientists after she is captured and tranquilized. She'll be fitted with a new radio collar so they can track her movements.
Wildlife veterinarian Winston Vickers, right, moves in with his "jab stick" to tranquilize mountain lion F62, captured in a streambed off Ortega Highway last week. Justin Sandvig, a state Fish and Game warden, moves in from the left to distract her.
Eyes shining with the reflected light of headlamps, mountain lion F62, captured for a second time, awaits tranquilizing and a change of radio collar.
Scientists must work fast once a captured mountain lion is rendered unconscious with a tranquilizer. They will weigh her, draw blood samples, check for pregnancy and general health, fit her with a new radio collar and take a variety of body measurements before carrying her to a nearby opening in the brush to watch her regain consciousness.
Winston Vickers, field leader of the Southern California Cougar project, has spent most of the last 10 years trapping mountain lions, learning intimate details of their movements, relations and personal history. His 30-year career as a veterinarian, however, has included a variety of species, from domestic and zoo animals to coastal cactus wrens.
Proper preparation of tracking collars requires technical know-how and a bit of on-the-fly engineering. Here, wildlife veterinarian Winston Vickers readies a new collar for mountain lion F62 in the back of a pickup. He hopes to trap the female lion the same evening.
Almost every significant moment in the life of mountain lion F62 has taken place under the watchful eyes of scientists. Her mother, F50, was struck and killed by a car on Ortega Highway in October 2009, when she was still a 1-year-old cub. Her sister was later shot. Here, she is captured for a second time, to be refitted with a new radio collar.
Wildlife veterinarian Winston Vickers, field leader for the Southern California Cougar Project, displays his hat with the Wildlife Society logo -- founded in 1937 as a non-profit, international association dedicated to excellence in wildlife stewardship.
Rear paw of mountain lion F62 is measured by Orange County Senior Park Ranger Donna Krucki, who took part in her capture off Ortega Highway last week.
Mountain lion F62 receives a new radio collar while tranquilized after her capture off Ortega Highway last week. She had been captured by scientists before, but her previous collar's batteries died.
Wildlife veterinarian Winston Vickers, right, and state Fish and Game Capt. Dan Sforza, center, examine a captured and tranquilized mountain lion, while Fish and Game Warden Justin Sandvig relieves her of an impressive number of ticks.
Mountain lion F62, tranquilized and unconscious, is turned over during an examination after its capture not far from Caspers Wilderness Park last week.
By Pat Brennan | Orange County Register
She was orphaned as a cub, her mother killed by a car on Ortega Highway.
Then her sister was shot near Foothill Ranch.
She wandered through her mother's old territory in the Santa Ana Mountains, later taking up her own range to the south and east.
Now mountain lion F62, a full-grown, 89-pound, buff-colored bundle of fur, teeth and muscle, was trapped in a cage, hissing with the force of a high-pressure air hose as her captors approached.
She's the latest of 57 lions caught by the Southern California Cougar Project over the past 10 years, the first few by Walter Boyce of the Wildlife Health Center at UC Davis, but most by wildlife veterinarian Winston Vickers, who fits them with GPS collars that beep out their movements as often as every five minutes.
The movements are plotted as squiggly lines on maps of terrain in the Santa Ana Mountains, providing a detailed record of the secret lives of Orange County's apex predators.
Vickers readied his tranquilizing "jab stick."
"She is a little more worked up than is typical," he told the group of scientists, park rangers and Fish and Game wardens who came to help trap her. "So I'm going to give her a little higher dose."
Mountain lions, mostly nocturnal creatures that pad stealthily past housing developments and sometimes across busy highways, are often wrapped in a thick twilight of mythology.
They provoke fear, curiosity and strong opinions among humans — the species that, for better or worse, shapes so much of their existence.
But we are a far greater danger to their survival than they are to ours.
The cougars of the Santa Ana Mountains, perhaps 30 in all, are largely hemmed in by development, though the collars show they can range as far as Riverside and San Diego counties, even to the Mexican border.
F62's family history illustrates the grim statistics: 55 percent of collared lions killed from all causes combined, 75 percent of those by car or bullet. They include at least 16 mountain lions killed on Orange County roads over the past 12 years.
"That many is kind of alarming," Vickers said. "It seems worrisome."
Others can suffer indirect harm from humans. They can acquire feline leukemia, which might reach them when they take house cats as prey.
They can also suffer ill effects from rodenticide, picked up from rodent prey or, more likely, from other animals such as coyotes that had fed on poisoned rodents.
But in the Santa Anas, none of those measures up to death by highway or legal shootings, authorized through depredation permits when lions appear to be threatening livestock.
"Cars and depredation permits are the two leading causes," Vickers said. "Illegal shootings as well."
Improving wildlife crossings or fences along roadways might be one way to change those numbers.
So Vickers hopes his finely detailed plots of their movements will help the lions of the Santa Ana Mountains to survive.
His work this night is part of a study by the Transportation Corridor Agency to learn whether wildlife undercrossings beneath tollroads are having the desired effect, channeling wild animals safely from one large habitat fragment to another.
F62, who was trapped once before as a kitten, had been lured again into a trap by deer meat, harvested from roadkill and placed deep inside. The 3-year-old cat stepped on a treadle just after dark, and the cage closed behind her, signaling researchers who were parked a short distance away.
"We have a door down!" said Deanna Dawn, a UC Davis wildlife biologist who also studies the cats and was along to help Vickers on the trapping of F62.
The scientists hopped in their trucks and rode down the dark ribbon of Ortega Highway.
At the bottom of a deep roadside gully, within earshot of unsuspecting drivers whizzing by above, the scientists prepared their tools on a tarp as F62 stared back at their headlamps, hissed, and tested her cage with powerful claws.
The task for tonight was replacing her collar — the batteries had died — and taking blood samples, body measurements and weight, assessing her overall health, then releasing her back into what had become a frosty mountain night.
But first she had to be tranquilized.
She gave a few more loud hisses as Vickers, accompanied by other team members, approached the cage, Vickers holding a rod with a syringe attached to one end.
"I got a clean stick," Vickers announced.
The cat began to settle down, and, in a few minutes, lost consciousness; then the scientists carried her to the tarp and began their work.
Though often living close to civilization, most mountain lions want nothing to do with people. When they are seen –rarely — it's usually from the back end, Vickers said, as they flee into the brush.
Then there are the unforgettable exceptions.
Eight years ago this month, a young male lion killed a mountain biker, Mark Reynolds, on a trail in Whiting Ranch Wilderness Park.
Such attacks are rare, with 16 documented in California since 1890, six of them fatal, according to the state Department of Fish and Game.
But then the cat did something even more bizarre. He tried to take down a second cyclist, Anne Hjelle, who was rescued by a friend who fought off the lion.
Hjelle was left with severe facial wounds.
With the help of a helicopter, the mountain lion was tracked and shot down. A necropsy, the animal equivalent of an autopsy, turned up no disease or other anomalies that could explain the lion's virtually unprecedented behavior.
The attack was one of a few such incidents over the years, including one in 1986, when 5-year-year old Laura Small was dragged away by a lion in Caspers Wilderness Park, which carried the girl with her head in its jaws.
The lion dropped the girl and was chased away.
Laura was left blind in one eye and partially paralyzed. Her family later successfully sued the county, contending county officials had failed to properly warn visitors of the danger.
Now, posted warnings about mountain lions and other wildlife in county wilderness parks are routine.
The rarity of such incidents shows mountain lions almost never view humans as potential prey.
"If you look at any of that tracking data, you can see that those lions use the same areas we do," said Dan Sforza, the state Fish and Game captain for Orange and Los Angeles counties, who helped Vickers capture and measure F62. "Greenbelts, golf courses, any of the interface areas, anyplace that deer use. There are people out there, joggers at all times of day, kids playing. If they were out there looking to attack people, if they were a true, ongoing public safety threat, we'd have a lot more incidences."
The intense focus on the rare attack tends to obscure the true value of mountain lions as the last of the great carnivores in Southern California's wild hills, Dawn said.
"Their job in the environment is really important," she said. "We don't have grizzlies or wolves here anymore, so they're kind of doing triple duty as the top carnivore in California."
Although she does not believe the Santa Ana Mountains cougars are in danger of disappearing, the effects would likely be profound if they did.
"It's the dynamic change from the top carnivore being pulled out," she said. "Herbivores can increase, and they can overgraze areas. That's exactly what happened in Yellowstone, given the example of elk and wolves. Elk exploded when the wolves and grizzlies were removed."
The scientists had to work quickly; within 30-45 minutes, F62 might begin moving her head, licking her chops and twitching her ears as she began to emerge groggily from the anaesthetic.
She showed evidence of nursing, Vickers said, as he felt along her belly. So at some point, she'd had kittens, though she wasn't pregnant now.
She had one broken canine, but was otherwise healthy, her eyes clear, her muscle tone good.
Fish and Game warden Justin Sandvig removed an impressive number of ticks from her fur.
Her weight was obtained with the help of Sandvig and Sforza, who hoisted her briefly to hang from a scale.
Through most of the measuring process, her head was wrapped in mask to prevent undue stimulation, even in her unconscious state, from the head lamps of the scientists.
Vickers, 58, who conducts a variety of studies of lions and other wildlife and is leader of the Southern California Cougar Project, says there is good reason to be hopeful about the mountain lions' future.
While attacks do rivet public attention, Vickers said he's found that most people who see lions in the forest or on the urban edge are excited about the encounter.
Panicked reactions are rare, he says.
And though the lions lead high-risk lives, dodging cars and finding themselves the target of both legal and illegal shootings, the work of Vickers and, in past decades, by Paul Beier, appears to show they are holding their own — for now.
Vickers has not yet completed his survival analysis, an attempt to determine statistically whether the high number of lion deaths are a threat to their long-term survival.
"It's not like they're disappearing from the area," he said. "We're documenting reproduction, kittens. I think they're probably stable; we seem to go through study animals in bursts of mortality, and bad chance."
The worry is for the future, as more of their habitat disappears and what is left becomes increasingly fragmented.
"That pressure may ultimately lead to declining numbers," he said.
After carrying her to a flat spot near some shrubs, Vickers and a few of his companions, their breath visible in the cold night air, watched as F62 began to shake off the effects of the drug. In this case, he used no reversal drug to awaken her, as wildlife researchers sometimes do, because he believes the animals are safer without it.
At first, F62 could only crawl beneath the shrubs on her haunches and elbows.
When he thought she was sufficiently alert and well on her way to full waking, he and the others backed away, packing up their equipment and leaving her to resume her prowling through a native world on the margins of a more hazardous one, created by the two-legged beings that had given and taken so much.
Pat Brennan


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music / Electronic
LCD Soundsystem Isn't Exactly Completely Over
By Naomi Zeichner
It's okay to throw away your now-deflated balloons— there may be more, even if they're different next time. LCD Soundsystem front-man James Murphy is still officially retired from his band, but announced he'll keep the magic alive at shows throughout this year. He's set to DJ at Barcelona's massive Sonar festival (M.I.A., Four Tet, Dizzee Rascal, Ghostpoet, oOoOO, Yelawolf and Tiga will be there, too). Hope you've got vacation days between June 16 and 18th! Buy tickets here.
LCD Soundsystem James Murphy Naomi Zeichner
Electronic, James Murphy, LCD Soundsystem, Naomi Zeichner


text:
Q: How to check if Data Type equals Generic Data Type and assign to Property if True? Context
I have a Generic Swift Class containing a component Property of the Generic Type.
A few other Variables with different Data Types are passed through the Initializer, however, all of them are conforming to the Generic Protocol.
However, I get the following Compiler Error in Line 11:

'ComponentA' is not convertible to 'C'

Code
protocol Component { ... }

struct ComponentA: Component { ... }
struct ComponentB: Component { ... }

class Main<C: Component> {
    var component: C

    init(componentA: ComponentA, componentB: ComponentB) {
        // I am trying to check, whether componentA equals the Generic Data Type and assign it to the component Property if true.
        if case let safeComponent = componentA as C {
            self.component = safeComponent
        }
    }
}

Question
How can I achieve my goal of checking whether a Data Type equals the Generic Data Type and assign it to the component Property if true?

A: You need to Check for componentA compatibility with C. For example :
protocol Component {
    var name: String {get}

}

struct ComponentNil: Component {
    var name: String
}

struct ComponentA: Component {
    var name: String
    var a: Int
}
struct ComponentB: Component {
    var name: String
    var b: Int
}

class Main<C: Component> {
    var component: C

    init(componentA: ComponentA, componentB: ComponentB) {
        // Check that componentA is compatible with type C
        if let safeComponent = componentA as? C {
            self.component = safeComponent
        } else {
            // force componentB to be of type C
            self.component = componentB as! C
            // not that this may throw an error
        }
    }
}

A: You have at least 3 possible approaches. All deal with the possibility that componentA can not be cast to C
protocol Component {  }

struct ComponentA: Component {  }
struct ComponentB: Component {  }

// optional `component`
class Main1<C: Component> {
    var component: C?

    init?(componentA: ComponentA, componentB: ComponentB) {
        if let safeComponent = componentA as? C {
            self.component = safeComponent
        }
    }
}

// init throws when precondtions not met
class Main2<C: Component> {

    enum Errors: Error {
        case preconditionsNotSatisfied
    }

    var component: C

    init(componentA: ComponentA, componentB: ComponentB) throws {
        if let safeComponent = componentA as? C {
            self.component = safeComponent
        } else {
            throw Errors.preconditionsNotSatisfied
        }
    }
}

// init can return nil
class Main3<C: Component> {
    var component: C

    init?(componentA: ComponentA, componentB: ComponentB) {
        if let safeComponent = componentA as? C {
            self.component = safeComponent
        } else {
            return nil
        }
    }
}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


The faculty art exhibit in the First Bank and Trust Dakota State Art Gallery in the Mundt Library. There will be an opening reception in the gallery, Wednesday, January 16 from 4:30 to 7:30 p.m.
After a year of being unable to show work, the First Bank and Trust Dakota State Art Gallery has reopened on the second floor of the Karl E. Mundt Library. It currently features a faculty exhibition.
When the gallery was relocated from the first floor to the second floor of the library, room 202, new walls were put in with steel beam studs and quarter inch plywood in the drywall for stable anchoring, according to Alan Montgomery, director of the First Bank and Trust Art Gallery. Track lighting was also added for display and a new projector with 4K capability was purchased for use.
"I envision it being used by contemporary artists who want to use film, video, or sound," he said. "We can turn this space into an experimental space." It could also be used for more than just visual art such as poetry readings and one act skits, he added.
Montgomery is also scheduling artists to be displayed in the gallery between student exhibits. Following the faculty exhibition Montgomery plans to feature two professional artists.
Also, in the gallery during the spring semester will be Beadlemania, the annual student juried art exhibition and an exhibit of senior digital arts and design student projects.
The gallery will also be available for reservation for events and speakers between regularly scheduled programming.
Montgomery hopes the space will be used for new uses like the screening of old movies or independent films.
In between exhibits, a contemporary collection from artists that exhibited in the originally gallery will function as a permanent collection.
Montgomery's goal is for everyone to see the gallery as a resource for the community and particularly, DSU students. "It will bring in things they haven't seen before and expose them, like any gallery does, to work that challenges the notions of what that might be," he said.
It can be used for other classes, functioning as an educational tool to write critiques, or just for viewing, he explained. The gallery will also enable film students to interview exhibiting artists in the gallery to be archived on Beadle Scholar.
Montgomery hopes that students, staff, and faculty will support students by attending receptions and walking through the gallery.


text:
Q: Can't Launch Xcode App Without Code Signing on iPad, Can on iPhone I am trying to deploy an Xcode app to my iPad without code signing. To do so, I have edit the SDKSettings.plist file, changed my project settings to do not run, and installed AppSync. This is the error I receive:
Error launching remote program: failed to get the task for process 1019.

This is the error in the debug screen:
Error launching remote program: failed to get the task for process 1396.The program being debugged is not being run.

The number keeps changing. On my iPhone, once I hit "ok" to dismiss the error on my computer, I can launch the app from the springboard and use it perfectly. However, on my iPad, this is not the case. It just crashes if I attempt to open it.
Has anyone ever had this program, or know how to solve it?
Also, my iPhone is on 5.0.1, and my iPad is on 5.1.1. The app works fine in the simulator, though.

A: You must have a valid provisioning profile, which requires enrollment in the iOS Developer Program. There is no way to run apps on an iOS device without a provisioning profile. For more information: https://developer.apple.com/programs/ios/


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text:
Emily Tan
Emily Tan is a freelance writer and photographer based in Jersey City, N.J. She been covering all things women, pop culture, music and tech since 2008. Emily has been published in the Seattle Times, AOL Music, Lemondop, CMJ, Spinner, PopEater. Currently, Emily contributes to a various places in the U.S. and U.K. including The Line of Best Fit, Idolator, Village Voice, Diffuser.fm and TheBoombox.com. contributes to various sites and publications in the U.S. and U.K. including TheBoomBox.com, Diffuser.fm, The Line of Best Fit, The 405 and Village Voice. Emily is usually on the hunt for the perfect cup of coffee, at a gig, or cycling around the city.
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