A creek or river has two directions: upriver or down. Easy to navigate. The
winding creeks, bays and marshes of the Chesapeake look, from the air, like a
tangled forest, Mirkwood perhaps. From the water, the view is of a circle of sea
and tree woven together like a mare's tail in a high wind.


I guess I should have stayed with the Vikings. But then I wouldn't have had
an adventure. And adventures are things you tell stories about after you survive
them.


It started at the butt crack of dawn, before it actually; me, in the dark,
zombieing around finding breakfast and the last things I needed to throw in my
buddy's Subaru with the boat gear. I don't do Butt Crack of Dawn. And I really
truly deeply loathe navigating the traffic on 83 south and anywhere near
Baltimore. So I rode shotgun and thought about sleep, but ended up with a big
fat coffee from a pit stop in Mary's land instead.


We headed south, along the western edge of the Chesapeake Bay (laregest
estuary in North America). Through Baltimore, still sleeping in the early
Saturday morning light, silvering its way around tall buildings, the Aquarium,
tall ship Constellation in the harbor. South, south with D.C. far off to the
west, up the Potomac. Our destination, a small farm in southern Maryland, lay
near the other end of the Potomac. There, in a slip at the end of Canoe Neck
Creek, off St. Clement's Bay, off the Potomac, lies a forty foot Viking Longship
called Sae Hrafn, (she's docked at the house of a guy who flies blimps, so the
Longship captain and the Blimp Captain live on the same road... really!).


The ship is owned by the Longship Company, a doughty crew of serious amateur
historians and reinactors fascinated by the Viking Age. We are computer wizards,
cinematographers, artists, writers, fixers of engines, retired Park Service, and
at least one rocket scientist (really; he works for NASA). If you show up for a
voyage (it's free, but donations always accepted) you'll probably find someone
wearing a T-shirt with Viking runes on it that say: if you can read this you are
a Viking, or "Viking World Tour" (in the style of rock concert T-shirts) with a
list of historical high points of Norse culture (often battles and raids). At
least half a dozen crew will be wearing Thor's hammers, and some of us may also
have the Nerf version of Mjolnir (from the Marvel Comics' Thor film) on our
desk.


We pull up to the crumbling tobacco barn, load ship's gear into trucks and
cars, drive down the long farm lane to where the land ends. We load the ship, I
load the kayak... in about the same amount of time. A 1-person crew has to have
all the safety/survival gear the big ship has, with less crew to load it. I have
food, water, canned coffee (all the necessities of life), first aid,
windbreaker, bilge pump, towline, more water, spare paddle, fins (to help me
swim back up onto the boat if I dump), camerabag, cell phone tucked into an
Otter drybox in my PFD pocket. I don diveskin (protection from sunburn and sea
nettles) and hat and river sandals and PFD, shoved the kayak down a short grass
slope into the cool waters of Canoe Neck Creek. Here the world is sandy bottom
(unless it's mucky silt), semi-saltmarsh (we're as far down the west side of the
Bay as Assateague Island is down the east coast), farms, wooded treelines,
scattered houses, and a few marinas out there, somewhere, where there is more
boat traffic.


The new crew (visitors on the ship for the first time) hear the articles read
(rules of the Ship), and get a demonstration of rowing commands. Frogging oars
and catching a crab have nothing to do with local wildlife. The new crew
includes a lady who grew up in Hawaii (who may or may not have had ancestors who
sailed there a thousand years ago), her husband (who may or may not have had
ancestors who sailed the North Atlantic a thousand years ago) and a charming
Halfling (our favorite moniker for children, a reference, of course, to the
beloved Hobbit). The ship is readied, the docklines undone, the crew sets oars
and Sae Hrafn (Sea Raven) slips out of the slip.


I back paddle, shooting video, some stills (easier to upload quickly, videos
require editing, a coherent storyline and music). We head out into the creek,
beating against a brisk 8-10 knot wind, singing sea chanties (the bawdier ones
are left behind as we have a Halfling aboard). I paddle rings around the ship,
literally. They are chugging along under oars at a pace that leave me drifting
in their wake, occasionally dipping a paddle into the drink. I can charge ahead,
turn around and get shots as they pass. Swing behind, and cross the stern firing
video from a camera (a Nikon Coolpix L100) rigged with a bit of aquarium hose
covered wire so I can hold it in my teeth and keep paddling. Aboard, Captain
Dave has the new HP Go Pro slung around Sae Hrafn's dragonwolf figurehead's neck
taking shots of the action aboard.


Out into the sun, bright silver glinting off ever choppier waves as the water
opens up before us. Most of the new crew fall into the rhythm of rowing, and
watch changes (so rowers can rest). I paddle, with no watch changes, but at a
slow enough pace (tracking the ship) to relax. The Halfling takes the Helm; a
tiller attached to a steerboard (hence the word "starboard"), the tiller carved
to look like a raven's head. Someone mentions that Blackistone Island (now known
as St. Clement's Island) lies ahead, there beyond the mouth of St. Clement's
Bay, and we should make for it. Our one Captain and Founder is Bruce
Blackistone, who seems to be related to the founders of the island. He is
aboard, and it seems proper for the Captain to visit his Ancestral Holdings. I
float in the ship's wake, swinging around shooting video, falling back to the
lee side of the ship (port, in this case), so as not to drift into the oarsmen.
The dim misty island stays dim and distant. They row, I paddle.


"Are we there yet?" no one says. We sing, we feel the wind, the chop dances
under our hulls. My bow shoots out of the water on oncoming waves. The camera is
high enough to not get wavesplash, the sun is shining, the wind is blowing, the
white gulls are crying...


...to the sea, to the sea, the white gulls are crying, the wind is blowing,
the white foam is flying. That's Legolas' song of the sea from J.R.R.Tolkien's
Lord of the Rings, perhaps my all time favorite bit of poetry, although it is
actually a sort of sad going away song. The rhythm is fine for rowing or
paddling, especially if you sing it in Elvish. Cormorants flap by, blue herons
stalk the edges of the water, an eagle flies overhead and vanishes into the
trees. The Elves would love this.


"Are we going to make landfall on the island?" I ask. I'm thinking I may have
had too much coffee for breakfast, and not enough potty breaks.


"Want to go scout ahead?" Since I can paddle considerably faster than they
can row, and have less stuff catching the ripping good headwind, it seems like a
good idea. I stuff the paddle in the water and shoot ahead. (Comparative Stuff
That Catches Wind 101: Me: me (the kayak has ridiculously low freeboard)...
Them: a few feet of freeboard, mast, rigging, manblocks, random boathooks spears
and axes, 40' hull, a dozen rowers, a sail furled on a yard, figurehead shaped
like a cross between a wolf and a dragon, tail high atop the sternpost, oars,
flags, cameras, the Captain's Chest, tiller, steerboard). For the
sailing-impaired: freeboard is how much of your boat sticks out of the water.



The sky is a still blue dome, spotted with sheep clouds and no chance of Thor
slaying frost giants with Mjolnir (no thunderstorms predicted). The wind is in
our faces kicking up waves. Still above, chaos below. A chart of the area shows
a sandy bottom varying in depth from foot-deep shoals to thirteen feet or so in
the channel. Wind blows the water, tide pulls it another direction, it bounces
off shoals, intersects with a powerboat wake, drops into the deep, ricochets off
riprap (the ubiquitous rock armour lining many shores, especially ones humans
have built stuff on, stuff they don't want washed out to sea when the sand
erodes). The waves rock, roll and collide, making a pattern like a horse
galloping over rough country in the dark. After awhile, my head is spinning
trying to keep up with the motion; not seasick, but kind of wishing it would all
just stand still for a minute. I focus up, on the non-moving horizon and the
motion under the hull starts to make sense again.


The ship is behind me now, a blit somewhere against a distant treeline. I
can't turn around to look; turning the nearly eighteen foot sea kayak is like
turning a truck... and while you're turning, waves are blasting you from all
angles, and at the height of the turn, blasting you dead broadside. Just turning
in the cockpit is a yoga maneuver, one best not done in bouncing waves... you're
likely to be twisted like a pretzel about the time you get a wayward broadside
and find yourself in the drink. So I paddle ahead, keeping an eye on the biggish
tree in the middle of St.Clements Island. I note the compass course as I start
away from the ship: the reciprocal heading is 210 (the direction I want to be
going on the way back). I actually learned to use a compass underwater; for our
dive test we had to navigate a triangle in about ten feet of visibility, and end
up back at our starting point.


Easy compared to navigating the Bay.


The low blueish line of trees that is Blackistone/Clements creeps closer. The
water to either side rolls away to the horizon. That must be the Chesapeake. I
think about turning around, to see where Sae Hrafn is. I think about turning
back; it's getting choppier and I am essentially alone. I have a whistle. I have
a cell phone. I soon learn that the primitive tech is far more useful. I eye the
beach; is that a dock? A ramp? Sand (easy to beach on)? Or riprap (impossible to
land on)?


The waves shift shape again, lower, reflecting waves bounce off the shore,
and the shallows beneath. I spot a dock, with guys fishing off it. I paddle up
and shout ahoy or something. They ignore me. I shout again, and ask if there's a
public landing. I get a blank look and something about their look and demeanor
suggests they might not speak English.


Now I know how Captain John Smith felt. He was the first Englishman to
explore the Chesapeake. He went in a small boat called a shallop (about the size
of Sae Hrafn) with a dozen or so guys, rowed and sailed into unknown territory.
He encountered people, but they did not share his language. He had a compass and
other navigational instruments, but had to make up his map as he went. He had no
support, no backup, just him and his crew. There's a spot on the modern map
called Stingray Point, not far from where we are rowing today; it's where Capt.
Smith saw a stingray in the shallows and ran it through with his sword. The ray
objected and stabbed Mr. Smith in return. The Goode Captain became so ill he
told his men to dig his grave... he managed to recover enough to have the ray
for dinner... and to go on to help create that Pocahontas myth.


I see sea nettles, but no stingrays. I do see a water taxi, and evidence that
Blackistone/Clements is now a tourist destination. I paddle under the dock in
some nice waves, yell something like "Ahoy the taxi!" and get someone who speaks
the same language. Yes, there is a boat ramp around the other side of the
island...and a potti.


The last thing I want to do at  this point ispaddle around an entire %$#^%$#^
island. I look at the island; not very large, actually. I'll just go around that
point and see whats there. I really gotta go.


I pass a picnic area. Something decidedly Park Pottyish. Riprap and nowhere
to land. I keep paddling. The waves shiftshape, flaten, rise, reflect, bounce
off the riprap. I turn the corner and LO! there is an actual sand beach. rising
above it are bushes and trees in Victorian fall colors; deep greens and browns
and burgundys and rusts. And rising above that is a white house with a cuppola
on top which is a Light.


I haul the boat up on the beach, then haul it up farther. The last thing I
want is to call 911 and explain that I am stranded on an island because I didn't
park the boat correctly. I find the potty. I take some pics of the lighthouse,
and somewhere in there I play phone tag with the crew of Sae Hrafn.


I'm hauling the kayak up higher on the empty beach when I hear the muffled
sound of the Star Wars theme. I crack open the Otter box in my PFD pocket and
see the call is from Dave. "Hello? HELLO?!?"


bzzzzzt... the phone calls vanishes into the ether. I hastily dry my hands on
the least wet thing I can find and poke through the phone menu to find which
Dave number that was (I am tech-impaired, so this took a minute). I call back,
he calls back, call drops, I call back.


I can see for miles across the flatness that is the lower Potomac land and
seascape. I can't imagine what's blocking a cell signal. I move up the steps to
the lighthouse and the phone rings again. "HELLO?!?!?"


We establish that I made it to the island, and they didn't. The other tall
ships in the Bay have backup engines for conditions where they can't sail. Even
then, they often are much less efficient under power, or in the case of the 1768
Schooner Sultana, buck and snort like recalcitrant Shetland Ponies because their
hulls were designed to fly before the wind, not plow into it. Sae Hrafn's backup
engine is the dozen or so rowers aboard (the longship, shaped like a big canoe,
is not built for any kind of engine). We are investigating the use of a push
boat (much like the push boats used by Skipjacks) in our (hah hah) copious free
time. The wind has shoved Sae Hrafn into a near standstill. Without forward
motion, you can't steer her; the steerboard doesn't have enough water flowing
past it to be effective. Then the wind grabs her and shoves her sideways. the
rowers try to counteract this by rowing more on one side or the other. In a
kayak, you instinctively counteract the force of the wind and the shove of waves
with an extra stroke, a harder stroke, a longer stroke. On the longship, you are
coordinating 8 to 12 rowers, shouting orders over the wind that's shoving you
into the marsh.


They wisely have decided to turn around and sail back.


I am half an hour ahead of them, I haven't eaten anything except a few
granola bars since breakfast at 6am. I've been paddling since noon, it's now
about 2:30. I know I can't catch them once they set sail (I have paced them
under sail, but I can't paddle faster than they can sail, or make up a half hour
lead). I need to eat, and then I'm making the voyage back alone. I have a
compass course, and I can see their sail when I get farther up the creek (though
they might have dropped it by then). I down a few quick bites and contemplate
resting on the beach for a bit... I'll have the wind behind me, surfing on the
waves, but it will still be rough, a rest would be good.


I don't waste much time. I take a few pics and video of the light and the
beach to prove I was there. I batten everything down in the 'yak, dryboxes,
drybags, stowed. I shove her out into the waves and hop in, popping the
sprayskirt around the cockpit. I paddle around the island to the midpoint where
I first approached, set my compass course, look up the creek from which we came
and...


...there are two creeks. Separated by a bit of land. Two long stretches of
water, bordered by treelines and agricultural land and scattered houses. No road
signs. No arrows pointing "this way to longship landing". Left creek or right
creek? I look at the compass again. Looks like left creek. Unless I'm at the
wrong point on the island. Does that look familiar? Can't tell. Water. Trees. I
head out into open water, to where it stretches away to the far misty blue blur
that might be distant trees or clouds on the edge of the world. I dance on the
waves, they sweep up behind me, yawing the 'yak right and left, even with the
rudder down. I shove on the paddle, the 'yak surges forward, surfing the waves
home.


Finally the treelines around the creeks grow greener, nearer. I check the
compass a few more times; it seems like I am on the right track.


Then the bright red triangle of a daymark appears in front if me. Really, I
don't remember that. I look at the compas. I twist around and look back at the
island. Yep, this makes sense, that looks like what I was paddling toward.


How could I have missed the osprey condo with the big bright red triangle on
it? I call Dave, and raise the ship. Just want to make sure I'm on the right
track before I paddle up the wrong creek. Dave and Bruce check the chart aboard
Sae Hrafn, Can't find the red daymark, number 2. No really, I'm sitting infront
of it, it's here. What? what was that again? The phone crackles like a joke in a
horror film. I hear mumbled sounds, then "Oh, here it is."


And I am totally up the wrong creek, with two paddles. And they are telling
me it's St. Patrick's creek I am in.. and that I should be in Canoe Neck, and
that's to the north. I look that way and all I see is a long unbroken treeline.
I am convinced I am either in the correct creek or I need to be in the one to
the far right (east). A conversation ensues while I try not to drop the cell
phone in the wrong creek and the guys on the ship check the chart again. Unable
to visualize what they're telling me, I finally agree to go up the creek and
look for a marina. They'll come find me.


What I don't know, is that I am actually in the mouth of St. Clements Bay,
the "creek" to the right (east) is Breton Bay and would put me somewhere on the
far side of the world if I paddled up it. St. Patrick's Creek is to my left
(west) and Canoe Neck just beyond it to the north. I can't see either one of
them. In the Chesapeake region, creeks, rivers and bays make stumpy tree shapes,
branches going out short and thick and twisty, then abruptly ending in marsh and
land. The land interweaving with this ends in gazillions of puzzling peninsulas
called "necks". I was looking at a series of "necks" which from that angle,
looked like one solid treeline.


Stealth ninja creeks.


I paddle up the broad chunk of whatever water I'm in, looking for a marina.
Farms, stray houses, fields, riprap, wooded shores falling into the water as the
sand under the trees' feet is eroded by wind and weather and tide, a random dock
here, a tied up boat there. Nothing like a marina with an address that someone
could drive to. I see a large, official (ie: non-houselike) building with a
sandy beach at its feet. I pull the boat up on the beach, start to hike up to
the building, now clearly i can see it is a quonsett hut, a big silver half
cylinder (farm? secret meth lab?) surrounded, in the back, by tall chain link
fence. I pause, turn and pull the boat up farther, then tie it to a tree.


The building is empty of life, except for two vehicles parked out front, It
looks like some sort of business, and a sign suggests farm. then from somewhere
in back coems a deep throated bark, more like a dragon cough, then a roar, then
more, and I consider two things: the guard dogs will bring humans who I can ask
the address of and if it's OK for my friends to pick me up here... or the dogs
will jump the fence... or the dogs are guarding a meth lab. OK, that's three
things. I run back to the beach and untie the boat, head out, very tired, into a
lowering sun and falling light on an empty river.


Then I see a sailboat, going downriver under engine power. I paddle out
toward it, wave vaguely. Shout. Finally blow my whistle. They look, slow, turn
and come alongside.


"Is there a marina around here somewhere?"


"No, you're in St. Clements Bay. No marinas."


I explain where I came from and that I am lost and looking for St Clements
Creek, no wait, Canoe Neck. It's been a long day.


"It's up there." One sailor points vaguely at the distant treeish haze.
Pause... "you want us to throw you a line?"


Sure. Absolutely. Two random guys on a boat, towing me some random place I
can't see. They could be pirates. Axe murderers. Drug dealers. But probably not.
There's a kind of law of the sea at work here. The kind of thing that causes
three kayakers to go up to a 60 foot catamaran they've passed at the same spot
hours before and ask if everything's OK, and find out they're stuck on a
sandbar, and offer to tow them off. We didn't hook the towline up to the 'yaks,
we used the cat's anchor to kedge them off the bar. Law of the sea. The guy
struggling with his jet ski in the middle of a thunderstorm on the banks of the
Susquehanna while I cowered in my van (Thor may be one of my favorite mythic
characters, but I really hate thunderstorms)... I jumped out and helped him with
his boat, even though I loathe jet skis.


I run up behind the sailboat, one guy ties a line off to the 'yak's bow, they
pay out 30 feet or so of line and start the diesel. "Don't worry, we won't put
her up on plane or anything..." Sailor humor. Sailboats don't plane, powerboats
plane. Kayaks would plane, for about two seconds before they did some rather
spectacular special effects. We don't plane, we chug along, the wind blowing the
diesel fumes sideways, the 'yak gliding along at an unnatural speed, the rudder
keeping her in line with the big boat.


Somewhwere in here, Star Wars rings out in muffled splendor from my PFD
pocket. I juggle the phone, the paddle (trying not to catch a crab with it as
I'm being towed)... "I, ah, hitched a ride"...


A few minutes later, they untie the line at Canoe Neck Creek. I invite them
to come play with Vikings, and I paddle up the creek looking for the third cove
on the right, and certain that I'm going to have a chart next time. 　


10 mile paddle. Mostly into the wind. Plus 1.6 mi up St. Clement's Bay to the
quonsett hut (farm/beach), towed to mouth of Canoe Neck Creek by sailboat.


St.Clement's is actually Saint Clements Island State Park.


I was in the mouth of St. Clement's Bay, not St. Patricks Creek (to the
left/west at that point), and needed to go up the Bay (north) to Canoe Neck
Creek. I went north as far as the quonsett hut place (visible on Google Earth,
1.6 mi north of the mouth of Canoe Neck Creek).


The two creeks I was looking at were actually St. Clements Bay and Breton
Bay. Indeed the water to the right (Breton Bay) would have been way wrong.


The course out of Canoe Neck to St. Clements Is. is a long sweeping curve;
there is no  point where it seems like you have made a sharp right turn to the
south. I was following the ship and shooting video, so I wasn't really paying
attention to the course.


Charts: never leave home without them. 


www.longshipco.org We need a few good
rowers...uh...sailors. No experience
necessary.


　

a musing by members of the Longship Company on the anachronistically Brave fantasy-Scotland world of Pixar
 
A posting on our Longship Company yahoo group about Pixar's latest computer
generated faerie tale "Brave" left these comments in its wake. Be warned; we are
manaical historians, horsemen, swordsmen, blacksmiths, cookers of medieval
feasts, weavers of chainmail, descendants of Scots and Vikings... oh yeah, and we
have a 40' Viking longship on which we've road tested all the theories of  sailing, rowing, and dodging Thor's hammer in existence.

 Forthwith, our discussion;

(Teanna) Noted, on second viewing of Pixar's "Brave", that once more
Hollywood thinks you can row and sail a Viking Longship at the same time. OK,
they're coming into dock and the sails are a tiny bit on the slackish side...
comments anyone? (otherwise, it was a terrific little movie... even with the
anachronistic castle and the Clydesdale from the future (the Clyde didn't exist
until approximately the American revolution, she should have been riding a
Highland Pony or an Eriskay). 

In "Beowulf" (the CG version) we also see a Viking ship arriving in the teeth of a gale with the crew rowing... and the sail up. This would definitely cause breakage and destruction; since you can't row as fast as you sail (nooo, not even Beowulf or Thor), you'd catch a very large "crab", the water would rip the oar out of your hands, breaking things along the way; the side of the ship, your arm, your neighbor's head...

(Capn' Atli); Well, you can in light winds; but it gets very messy as soon as
the breeze picks up! Of further note- did anybody notice the steerboards on the
port side? Christi nearly punched me when I pointed it out. Her attitude is:
"Just watch the movie!" ;-)

(Jim) I had a friend who used to go out on
the bay and simultaneously motor and sail. He would do this when there was no
wind -- thus, he would be the only boat on the bay with sails up. He would motor
in reverse. The result was taut sails and, he presumed, confusion on shore.

 (Roger) Might the horse have been a "destrier," a medieval warhorse? I don't
recall anyone in the story providing a breed name. 
Steerboards on the left is a major offense. 
Rowing with slack sails...not so much. Around here they occasionally have
smugglers' races which allow the use of sail and oars both. How you juggle them
depends on your level of experience. 
As for the Viking/Scots mix. My ancestors came from the Isle of Raasay. The
first clan chief on the island, Malcolm Garbh MacLeod, was the grandson of Olaf
the Black, a norseman.

 (Teanna) Noooooooooo that was most definitely a Clydesdale. A beautifullly
cartooned Clydesdale. A beautifully cartooned, animated and anachronistic
Clydesdale... but then some other stuff was also in that vague sort of early
pre-gunpowder faerie tale Pixar time period. Exactly how I (as a kid) pictured
the time between Bible Stories and the American Revolution: that vague place in
which existed King Arthur, Vikings (with horns, of course), Robin Hood, and the
Three Musketeers. Here's to a new generation of histoically cornfused kids. 
But probably they'll be so enchanted by  the story they'll look up the actual
history.I suspect Pixar used the  Clydesdale (like the Scottish highland
Cattle, the Scottish Deerhounds and  the black faced sheep) as recognizeably
Scottish things, without regard to precise period.

(Drey) Before Teanna jumps into this one: Naw, that ain't a destrier. Its
another flub on the part of the filmmaker. Warhorses were not draft horses: but
many people seem to think so anyway.
Still a pretty movie...

(Dave, cameraman, on anachronisms in film) I was hoping to get a lot of good
footage at the 149th anniversary reenactment for stories concerning the 150th
anniversary next year, but I kept having trouble with the camera's anachronism
filter. I'd get a beautifully accurate shot lined up, and just as I'd hit the
record button something or someone from 150 years in the future would wander
through....
Since the "war horse" is, for all intents and purposes, an extinct breed
(like the "Conestoga Horse" of Lancaster County), I can't fault Pixar for going
with the best availiable reference information; and yes, no particular breed was
mentioned.
Agreed, portboards were a major faux pas--at least til an
archeologist digs up a ship with da steering thingie on the wrong side...
Since this was "Fantasy Scotland"--and one damned good flick-- I'm no more
worried about the anachronisms and what we perceive as technical errors than I
was bothered by the horned helmets in "How to Train Your Dragon". What really
worries me is that Hollywood can't seem to make anything look beautiful
anymore without running it through a computer.

 (Teanna; on the steerboard on the port side); (headsmack) DUH! (and, I uh,
saw it twice...) 

"Steerboard" became "starboard"... it's the starboard side of the boat
because that's where the steerboard is! Pixar... you flubbed bigtime! (Dyslexic
Scots?)(or computer artists?. Call us next time you do a film with Viking
ships.

(Teanna) As noted even on the dreaded WIki, the modern draft horse is not the
medieval destrier, or any other heavy horse. the draft is an exaggeration of the
earlier heavy horses, bred for pulling. Somewhere I read the medieval "warhorse"
would look more like a Friesian... Freisian... Frie fri... fro... frum... those
medium sized black hairy footed horses. Reasonably fast, agile, strong, somewhat
heavy of bone, but not a modern drafter.

It's spelled Friesian. "The Friesian horse is unique, truly a breed to be
proud of. It developed from a very old breed which was inherent to all of
western Europe. It's the only horse native to Holland. Historically speaking,
the Friesian horse has been influenced by eastern bloodlines and has often been
threatened with extinction. Thanks to the single-mindedness and dauntless
dedication of true horse lovers, one can still appreciate the many facets of the
Friesian horse today."  http://www.fhana.com

(wiki) "The word destrier does not refer to a breed, but to a
type of horse: the finest and strongest warhorse. These horses were
usually stallions, bred and raised from foalhood specifically for the needs of
war. The destrier was also considered the most suited to the joust; coursers
seem to have been preferred for other forms warfare.They had powerful
hindquarters, able to easily coil and spring to stop, spin, turn or sprint
forward. They also had a short back and well-muscled loin, strong bone, and a
well-arched neck. From medieval art, the head of the destrier appears to have
had a straight or slightly convex profile, strong, wide jaw, and good width
between the eyes. The destrier was specifically for use in battle or tournament; for everyday
riding, a knight would use a palfrey, and his baggage would be carried on a
sumpter horse (or packhorse), or possibly in wagons."

(wiki) "There are many theories as to what type and size destriers attained, but they
apparently were not enormous draft types. Recent research undertaken at the Museum of London using literary, pictorial and archeological sources, suggests war horses (including destriers) averaged 14–15 hands, and were distinguished from a riding horse by their strength, musculature and training, rather than their size. This estimate is supported by an analysis of medieval horse armour located in the Royal Armouries, which indicates the equipment was originally worn by horses of 15 to 16 hands, about the size and build of a modern field hunter or ordinary riding horse."

Actually, the modern Lippizanner is very close to this description.


 　


　


　


　


　






　


　


　


　

Other than knowing a calico cat (who lived to the epic age of  21) named “Pirate Jenny: Agent of Shield”, I had no familiarity with Marvel comics’ Avengers series. X-Men, yes, Batman and Superman (DC), yes: they were  icons of 60s TV as well as the first superheroes of the 20th century. I watched the Bill Bixby/ Lou Ferrigno version of the Hulk, so I knew the big green guy. I
read Norse myth, lived in Aelfheim (a house in State College named by some fellow fantasy fans) and hung out with Vikings (sailing two different Viking longships over the years with the Longship Company) so I knew who Thor and Loki and Odin were. I grew up on Robin Hood (the 50s British version) and fell in love with another archer when I first read Lord of the Rings in 1978... then I
played a few Elvish archers  while kicking orc butt on paper in D&D, and fired a few real arrows into the air (mostly, into the air) with the SCA. Somewhere about 1981 I dyed my hair red,
picked up a sword and spent some time beating up guys in armour.
 
So some of the Avengers is beginning to look very familiar. Verrrry familar: some of it was shot in Pennsylvania.
 
I am sucked through the imaginative wormhole into comic book films as easily as I find my way into Middle Earth, or the worlds of Pixar and Aardman and Lucas and Spielberg and Burton, Miyasaki and Rodenberry. I loved Ironman, Captain America and totally missed Thor. 
 
Bad Viking. Ggzzzzzzzzzzzzzottttzzz!!!
 
The Blockbuster had closed, and I loathe the epic journey into the city to find a merchant for the little round disks that I can put in my magic movie playing box.
 
Then someone put up the Evil That Is Red Box.... right there at the Walgreens on the corner of my not quite rural anymore road. I approached the Evil Box, looked for directions. The screen flashed ominously. I poked at it. 
 
After more poking, some conversing like a mariner, and some mighty wishing for my own version of Mjolnir, I succeded in wresting a copy of Thor from it for a buck and some change.
 
Somewhere in the first five minutes of the film, it was apparent that writer, actor (Chris Hemsworth, you rock!) and director had nailed the character I remembered from the myths. The good hearted summation of the power of lightning and thunder and forge, the warrior who’d take out an entire army by himself to protect his people, then pass around a few dozen kegs. Oh yes, and the overenthusiastic hotheadedness and the Fall From Grace (how often in myths, comics and cartoons it is a literal fall from a great height), and the Learning What It Means To Be Mortal, and the Offering of Oneself In Place of the People as the Sacrificial Hero, and the Regaining of Power... with a bit more wisdom this time. They had done a nifty sci-fi twist on the myths; Asgard and Jotunheim and the rest are actual planets connected by a “world tree” of energy and wormholes in space. A character quotes Arthur C. Clarke at one point (famous sci-fi writer, he did that 2001 a Space Odessey thing); “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”. Thor is a wonderful fish out of water, floundering about in the 21st century without a clue. He has the heart of a Golden Hero, mere mortal strength (he has some trouble adjusting to that) and a serious problem with a relative. How he regains his power, the emotional arc of the character, all plays beautifully in the midst of some great action and gorgeous settings (Asgard, space, New Mexico). The girl who runs into him with her van (twice) is a science geek who helps him adjust. I hope they bring her back. 

One of my favorite bits of the Thor myth, missing in the film (but apparently not in the comic) is his chariot pulled by goats. I've had a number of goats in my life, including one Toggenburg wether (neutered male) who we taught to pull a cart. He's been replaced by three Siberian huskies in this decade, but I have always loved goats.   Tanngrisnir (Old Norse "teeth-barer, snarler") and
Tanngnjóstr (Old Norse "teeth grinder") are the goats of Thor, mentioned in the Poetic Edda (13th century) and the Prose Edda. Goats generally do not bare teeth, snarl, bite, kick or do much of anything else obnoxious and predatory; they're pretty mild mannered. But, then, these are Asgardian goats.

Perhaps the films could have him driving a Dodge Ram... though the appearance of a goat chariot in the midst of a traffic jam would be hilarious. Especially when everyone expects Heroes to drive up on a White Horse.

I noted that all of the characters in the Avengers (also, Spiderman and other comcic film adaptations) move and fight in very specific ways; it appears to echo the wonderful poses of the comcis... and it does. Here's what Chris Hemsworth had to say about Thor;
      ... gained 20 pounds for the role by eating non-stop and revealed that "It wasn't until Thor that I started lifting weights, it was all pretty new to me". Regarding his take of the character, Hemsworth said, "We just kept trying to humanize it all, and keep it very real. Look into all the research about the comic books that we could, but also bring it back to 'Who is this guy as a person, and what's his relationship with people in the individual scenes?'" About approaching Thor's fighting style, he remarked, "First, we looked at the comic books and the posturing, the way [Thor] moves and fights, and a lot of his power seems to be drawn up through the ground. We talked about boxers, you know, Mike Tyson, very low to the ground and big open chest and big shoulder swings and very sort of brutal but graceful at the same time, and then as we shot stuff things became easier.

It occured to me, somewhere along the line, that Thor is a Leo. Big-hearted, extroverted, strong, thunder and lightning and fire, wild-maned, hotheaded, sometimes arrogant Leo. He is born to be a leader (as Leos are) but must learn compassion and wisdom before he can. And that's what makes him someone I can relate to, empathize with, even though I'm female.

Oh yeah, and he's hot.

In the film, the imagery of Heimdall, the all seeing Guardian of Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge, was awesome: Idris Elba, he of the awesome real name, and the glowing eyes, the imposing figure in golden armour. Elba's casting prompted a proposed boycott by the Council of Conservative Citizens and a debate amongst comic book fans, some insisting it was wrong for a black man to play a Nordic god. In response Elba called the debate "ridiculous". To these idiots I say: "What part of Rainbow Bridge do you not understand?

And Natalie Portman's take on her character? Worth repeating, especially to young women... 'What a great opportunity, in a very big movie that is going to be seen by a lot of people, to have a woman as a scientist'. She's a very serious scientist. Because in the comic she's a nurse and now they made her an astrophysicist. Really, I know it sounds silly, but it is those little things that makes girls think it's possible. It doesn't give them a [role] model of 'Oh, I just have to dress cute in movies'".
 
I returned the epic on Thorsday, and the Avengers appeared on Friday (which I believe has something to do with Freya). 
 
I postponed a date with Johnny Depp to see this.... ok, I postponed a viewing of Dark Shadows to see Avengers instead...
 
OK, that was fun. Definitely fun.
 
The only characters I was unfamiliar with were Black Widow and Hawkeye. And they were quickly introduced and explained. Hawkeye is the archetypal Archer, the same figure as Robin Hood and Legolas. He of the keen eye, the perfect aim... and mere mortal powers among Superheroes. The Black Widow is a little too slinky, too deceptive, too pretty for me to identify with, but when she goes into action... holycrap she’s awesome crazy!
 
So, we have our band of misfits... (oh, wait, that was Aardman). The Keen-eyed Archer, the Dangerous Beautiful Woman, the Purehearted Golden Hero, a high tech Trickster Hero, the Beast (or Jekyll and Hyde), and another Golden Hero with a good heart and a really big hammer.
 
And a villain: complex as the best are. The interplay between Thor and Loki is great; the tension of brothers, of secrets that grew bigger and toothier in the dark, of power, recognition and love wanted, and lost. And of the difference between Hero and Villain... the line is very thin. Both Thor and Loki have their falls from grace. So far, only Thor has redeemed himself by offering himself up as the Sacrificial Hero.
 
There are two Tricksters here, and a wonderful scene between them. There is Loki, the iconic Trickster of Norse myth, dark and brooding and manipulative, he would probably score quite high on the Psycopath Test I heard about on NPR the other day. Then there is Ironman. Yep, Trickster. A lighter, funnier, generally goodhearted one. And it is his unusual heart that fuels the confrontation. Loki, who has already done Evil Mind Control on Hawkeye and a scientist tries it on Ironman... it fizzles. We laugh. The Ultimate Trickster tricked by another Trickster.
 
There are other great little moments; a knock down (trees), drag out (vast tracts of land), blow heroes) out (of the scene) battle between our heroes (before they figure out they are, in fact, on the same side): Thor, Captain America and Ironman. I think this is something comic book writers love: “Wonder what would  happen if we pitted a demigod with an irrisistable force against a superhero with an immoveable object...” The clash between Cap’s shield and Thor’s hammer... well, epic. Hulk has some great momets, including a clash with Loki himself. Let’s just say it's what you want to do to all the Stupid People you meet every day...
 
The creatures that come through the wormhole to level Manhattan looked a bit like a number of other Epic City Levelling Critters of Sci-Fi-Land. There are only so many ways you can make something look scary to humans, and generally it requires plugging into the unconcious, to the imagery of predators in the dark (glowing eyes, big teeth), slimy tentacles, bones (especially on the
outside of bodies), slithery snakelike movements, and stuff that looks like bugs that are waaaaaaaaaaaay too big.
 
I note that WETA did some of this, and as always, they are awesome. The Epic City Levelling Critters resemble, slightly, the ones from Transformers, Dark of the Moon. Those were mechanical constructions that coiled, slithered and flowed, snakelike, through the city. Avengers’ Critters swim
through the air like giant mosasaur skeletons with photon torpedoes. There’s a great little Jonah and the Whale reference from Ironman.
 
The film is full of GLMs (great little moments); one liners (Thor: “He’s adopted.”), Hulk casually punching out one of his teammates at the end of a fight (payback’s are a stitch), Hawkeye shooting down flying BEMs (bug-eyed monsters) without looking, the Black Widow doing an entire fight
scene... while strapped to a chair. Thor crashlanding spectacularly, then approaching Mjolnir, hand outstretched... and nothing happens...
 
Thor summoning lightning.
 
The Black Widow flying a BEM bike... with the BEM still attached.
 
“Was the Hullk scary?” I heard a dad ask his preschooler (hey, yeah, it’s PG-13). Yes, he was. And the actor playing the Bruce Banner half was the perfect slightly Stephen Hawking scientist.
 
There’s a nifty camera shot of the Heroes in a Last Stand Circle, camera panning around them, one of those Iconic movie Moments.
 
Of Thor and Loki in a confrontation on a dark hill... and two ravens fly past, croaking. A flash of dark feathers and gone.
 
Hugin and Munin, thought and Memory. Odin’s ravens. Dad is still watching....
 
Avengers generally follows the Hero Journey format that works so well for this genre. We gather the heroes, they disagree, they disagree louder and harder, it seems like they will never work as a team, they get a Reason to work as a team, they wade into battle... 

Josh Whedon, on just that subject: (at the 2010 San Diego Comic Con International), what drew him to the movie is that he loves how "these people shouldn't be in the same room let alone on the same team—and that is the definition of family."
 
There are enough surprises to keep you from guessing what’s next. Despite the number of characters, it makes sense, each one gets developed, gets great little moments that endear them to us, make us identify with them, even if we don’t have superpowers, or flying cars, or a really big
hammer. It lifts us, as all good myths do, out of our mundane world into the Realm of Possibilities, the place where we can be our own superheroes.

And it'll surely send some of us to the toy dept. for a set of those Hulk fists, or a Nerf Mjolnir...