Let me set the stage: a cargo ship called the “Cougar Ace,” which was loaded with 4,000 Mazdas from Japan, has a major system failure at sea when the water tanks they use for ballast only fill up on the port side of the ship. Before the crew is aware of what happened, they unintentionally test Newton’s Third Law where “every action has an equal an opposite reaction”–the ship tips over and “rests,” listing at 60-degrees in the cold Alaskan waters.  Remarkably, the US Coast Guard manages to rescue the entire crew.

With the crew safe and sound, end of story, right? The Coast Guard has done their work and this 56,000 ton empty ship should limp along until it eventually takes in enough water to sink, thus providing the lucky inhabitants at the bottom of the sea with 4,000 brand new cars, which I’m sure they’ll immediately pimp out to their own specifications.

Unfortunately, for the crustaceans at the bottom of the sea, the insurance companies who cover such accidents are not quite as willing to throw up their hands and watch $300 million dollars sink to the bottom of the ocean. Kind of like the A-Team “if no one else can help–and you can find them, maybe you should hire” Titan Salvage. Titan Salvage is small group of some of the toughest, ballsiest, brilliant and enterprising people this side of the 21st Century. They are hired to come in and rescue these ships, literally putting their necks on the line betting the whole time that not only will they refuse to to go down with a sinking ship, they’ll save as much of it as they possibly can.  In the Wired story that I link to, you’ll see how Director Richard Habib and a handful of other men risk their lives to save the Cougar Ace, in hopes of gaining a payout at the end that ranges anywhere from 10-20% of the value of the ship and its cargo.

This is just a mind-blowing story. These innovative and gutsy men use everything from exotic, state-of-the art computer modeling on the fly, massive hydraulic pumps, and even their own fingers to plug leaks in order to bring the ship back upright. Just like the post Cold War Army, the ship salvage industry had come to rely too much on sophisticated equipment and machinery. Titan Salvage on the other hand, provides a glimpse into the new Army, where they based their strategy on “the idea that ships could be saved by human ingenuity, not horsepower…the company’s unconventional approach worked.” If these men fail at their task, they not only do not get paid, they also risk killing themselves. Failure is not an option.

Read the whole thing and check the video:

Skydiving has always been at, or near the top, of extreme adventure sports. In 1797, when Andre-Jacques Garnerin jumped out of a hot air balloon with a parachute, adventure seekers from all over the world have sought ways the feel the invigoration of “flying,” even though all it is, is a controlled crash to earth.

The sport must of hit a wall for some folks who didn’t think that merely strapping some canvass to one’s back was hard core enough. In 1998, Jari Kuosma and Robert Pecnik found a unique and intricate design (the person who originally attempted this feat with a similar design died) called a “wingsuit,” and jumped off a 3,000 cliff. They learned from this experience that, although you couldn’t technically fly, the rate of descent dropped from 120 mph to 35 mph. It was a daring and successful attempt, which officially raised the bar on one of the world’s most dangerous sports. Exhibit A:

The wingsuit has officially elevated skydiving and BASE jumping into the stratosphere, but, if you thought buzzing mountain ridges with a thin layer of synthetic material between your arms and legs would be enough to keep adrenaline junkies happy for a while, you’d have to think again. Review the above clip again: the problem for some people is that, after the aforementioned thrill-ride through the mountains, at the end you have to pull out a parachute to land. Although your rate of vertical descent decreases from 120 mph to 35 mph with the wingsuit, your horizontal speed is 75 - 80 mph. Without the parachute, you’d hit the ground so hard that the the last thought going through your head would be your helmet.

Enter Jeb Corliss.

Jeb is trying to be the first human being to jump out of a plane with a winged suit and land, on the earth, without the aid of a parachute. There are others who are attempting this feat as well, but NOT ONE has been as articulate or even close to being as cool as Jeb Corliss. The NY Times recently did a video story on him where, without hesitation, or so much as a stutter in his voice, he explains exactly why he is attempting to do this insane stunt (since the the NY Times is still in the stone age of the Interwebs, I can’t embed it here, so click the link to see the whole video):

People ask me, ‘What’s the point? Why would you do something like that?’ You know, to be honest with you, for me, the wingsuit landing is something people have never done before. And it’s hard, in this day and age, to do something that has never been done before. This will be the first time, that a human being, has reached terminal velocity, and landed–on their face–at over a hundred and ten miles-an-hour, and gotten back up and did it again. That’s a very special thing and, as far as I’m concerned, this is something people have wanted to do since the time of Icarus.

Count me in as one that will be avidly rooting for Jeb to, “reach terminal velocity and land–on his face–at over a hundred and ten miles-an-hour, and get back up to do it again.”

UPDATE: Comments closed to do flood of SPAM.

Growing up, I had a grounded, yet simple church experience, free from flare. We went to Sunday services where I’d take off to Sunday School to color pictures of baby Jesuses (usually blue) and listen to lessons about how to treat others how I’d want to be treated; the monthly church dinner or, weather permitting, an outdoor picnic that always ended up with some kid getting pounded for grievances no greater than smelling like pee (you know, to demonstrate of what we learned in Sunday School). There was also the annual Christmas Pageant where I’d barrow the old man’s cane from across the street and play a rough-around-the-edges shepherd who took no crap from his sheep, let alone a Pharisee. However, there was one year where they decided to emasculate the boys by making all the five year-olds, regardless of sex, dress as angels. I assure you, it was the only time in my life when there was a halo hovering over my head.

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Originally posted at Ten Fingers 6 Strings. Slightly edits made.

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I sat in the peaceful garden of the Yak and Yeti Hotel, which was one of a handful of oases in an otherwise and utterly chaotic, Kathmandu. I had a good-tired going on; a tiredness that normally comes from a full day of progress, adventure, activity or hard work resulting in something resembling accomplishment. However, in this case, all I had done was show up on time to the airport, hand over my passport, pass through security without being molested, get on the plane when they announced “Now boarding: rows 35-50,” sit in my assigned seat, turn my electronics on-and-off (when appropriate) and repeat these steps for the next two connections in Hong Kong and Bangkok. Although the very nature of this exercise is routine and monotonous, it was, nonetheless, one step in the telos, which was getting up and down from Mount Everest - Advanced Base Camp.

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