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There's perhaps nothing as upsetting as losing your camera during a trip, particularly at the end, when all of your vacation photos go missing as well (a close second perhaps, is losing your notebook that you're using to report on a trip, cough, cough). Thankfully, the wonderful Web can often come in and act as a savior. Case in point: When Californian Nick Hare came across a camera while cycling in Maui, he picked it up and, after getting a digital card-reader, he found a photo of a young couple with their child. After posting the picture last week on a Facebook page he created to find the owners, a virtual six-degrees-of-separation pinballed its way through the social media sphere, and within a day, he tracked the couple down. He shared the news on the Facebook page:
 

The couple was found. I spoke with the husband today and will be mailing the camera tomorrow. They are from the Pacific Northwest and are currently visiting the East Coast. They received a text last night about me having their camera, about 24 hours after I posted the picture. Today they had people they haven't seen in years telling them that they lost their camera. Not quite knowing the power of the FB networking that was going on while they were on vacation, they didn't know how these people knew this. Which, I think is the best part of the story.

So what's the takeaway? First off, be sure to leave identification of some kind on your camera - be it your email or phone number on a sticker somewhere physically on the outside, or by taking a photo of your contact information and "locking" it on the camera's memory card. Too late? Try the site Ifoundyourcamera.blogspot.com, which reunites lost cameras with their owners, and was co-created by the guy behind the very cool Post Secret website.

Here's hoping that there are a lot more good Samaritans like Nick out there who are willing to follow his lead. And if anyone has seen a small black notebook in their travels, by all means, get in touch.

[Halogen Life]
[Jaunted]

National Geographic Expeditions Marketing Manager Sarah Muenzenmayer shares tips on planning a Hawaii trip that's budget-friendly and full of local color.

As avid travelers in our early 30s, my husband and I like to plan trips that will challenge us--language barriers and exploring foreign cultures are the aspects of travel we find both adventurous and memorable. But with the hubby currently in grad school, we wanted a trip that was slightly easier to plan, not to mention easy on the wallet. Drawn to Hawaii's natural beauty, we decided to skip the resorts and instead to camp along the spectacular coastline. Here are a few tips on how we kept our trip to the Big Island and Kauai challenging, and kept the total cost pretty darn low.

During my recent visit to Alaska, one of my favorite places was the Kodiak Island Brewing Company, where I had the chance to chat with owner and master brewer Ben Millstein. Ben's an exceedingly friendly guy with a big bushy beard, and he was more than willing to pull us a few samples, which drain directly from the huge vats he keeps in the back.

A home-brewer-turned-businessman, Ben created a hub for local fishermen and off-duty Coast Guard officers who work nearby, and I watched as a steady stream of them came in for an afternoon brew (one had offered to work in exchange for his beer, and was tending to the tanks between visits to the tap). His mostly-organic selection of delicious beers comes with inventive names: Liquid Sunshine, Island Mist, Stab in the Dark, and of course, the beer that made him famous in these parts, the Sarah Pale Ale.

As a souvenir, I picked up a few of the posters they created for the brew--depicting the former governor as a winking St. Pauli Girl. The irresistible tagline: "You Betcha It's Good."

Kodiak Island Brewing Company 338 Sheilkoff Ave, Kodiak, Alaska +1 907 486-ALES.

Photo: Janelle Nanos. Image, Kodiak Island Brewing Company.

IT Editor Janelle Nanos is just back from an assignment in Alaska, and is posting some of the highlights from her trip. Check out her photo gallery after the jump.


No visit to Alaska can really be called complete unless you come face-to-face with a bear. Or at least that's how I rationalized my response to coming up close and personal with Scarface, a beat-up old brown bear who came lumbering toward me during my visit to Katmai National Park. While the rest of my group stood up to make themselves appear bigger and clapped their hands to make noise, I did exactly what my guide told us not to do: I froze. Then, I instinctively grabbed my camera, right as another, smaller bear ran past me, four feet to my right. Obscured by my viewfinder, I barely saw him. My father nearly had a heart attack.

Thankfully, Dad and I were in good hands: We'd signed up for a bear-viewing trip out of Kodiak, Alaska, with Sea Hawk Air. Our pilot, Roland Ruoss, is the owner of the company and has been flying his seaplane for over 20 years; his wife Jo Murphy, a Kodiak native, was our bear-viewing guide. We left the idyllic Trident Basin, just outside of downtown Kodiak (if you can call it such a thing) and within moments we were soaring over the island in the de Havilland Beaver floatplane. I was in the co-pilot seat.

In conjunction with his upcoming book, Here Is Where: In Search of America's Great Forgotten History, we're following historian and Legacy Project founder Andrew Carroll as he drives, flies, walks, boats, buses, bikes, and hikes to seek out little-known historic sites in all 50 states. Bookmark all of his posts here.

As a native Washingtonian raised in sweltering summers (which I've grown to love), I have nothing but admiration for those who can endure prolonged, thermometer-freezing winters. "It can get down to 40 below here in the winter," my Nome, Alaska, taxi driver told me during the short drive from the airport to the hotel. He also gave me an impromptu tour of some of his favorite sites. "There's one of the oldest bars in Alaska, some say the oldest," he said as we passed the Board of Trade Saloon.

The temperature was 50 degrees when I arrived, but it felt much colder in the drizzling rain. Most of the states I've visited so far have been in the 80s or 90s (Arizona was 110, South Dakota 70), and I didn't pack pants or long-sleeved shirts for this 50-state journey, just shorts and T-shirts.

I was prepared to stay warmly huddled in the hotel throughout my brief trip to Nome, which was really just a jumping off point to a remote Alaskan village I needed to visit. But I was starving by the time I finished packing, so I outlined a daring plan: I would race down Nome's main ("Front") street as quickly as possible, buy enough food at the local grocery store for both lunch and dinner, and then sprint back to the cozy safety of my hotel room.

Like many bold adventures, this one went quickly awry. Less than halfway to the grocery, I caught site of the town's local historical museum. Keep going, my freezing arms and legs pleaded. But I could not. This will only take a moment, I rationalized. It didn't. (It never does...)

After almost two hours of poring through binders full of old documents, photographs, maps, and property deeds, I had several intriguing little-known sites to find, most notably the boyhood home of James "Jimmy" Harold Doolittle.

I'm just back from two weeks with my dad in Alaska, and suffering a bit from a cold, but otherwise overwhelmingly impressed with my time there. Here are some highlights from Homer, our first stop on the trip.

Arriving in Homer, we were picked up by the very cocky and certainly sly cabbie named Josh, who was affable enough, but seemed to second guess our being there, as we didn't plan to fish. Homer's spit is a fishing hub, and consists of a row of weathered wooden buildings that one local calls the Las Vegas of Alaska, and it's easy to imagine, if you take away all the lights, and the showmanship, and the gambling. The real thing that the spit and the strip have in common is the people, who all seem to have a bit of a weathered edge, as if they've seen things you can't imagine. The buildings all are weathered too, wooden structures where you can purchase a sweater or a ride on a half day halibut boat. The place that most evoked Vegas was the Salty Dawg Saloon, a bar who ironically does not accept members of the canine persuasion, and whose attached lighthouse signal alerts its patrons to the fact that they're still serving. Wander inside and you'll find the bar covered floor to ceiling in dollar bills, and I swear that all the fishermen were drinking screwdrivers, in what I thought was an effort to fight off scurvy. "It was probably the special," one local noted later, and she was probably right.

Instead of fishing, we decided to visit the small artist colony of Halibut Cove onboard the Danny J ferry, a boat that brought WWII soldiers to Alaska in 1941. She's a sturdy old wooden boat that stands out in the harbor amongst the sea of aluminum fishing vessels laden with nets. During the war, she served as an open skiff and could hold 75 men; afterward she was used by Halibut schooners. While waiting at the dock, I learned a few things about Homer from the museum-like placards placed along the walkway: sea otters can be up to 100 pounds, and eat up to 20 pounds a day. Nice. And there was some fascinating information about Frederica de Laguna, "a 24-year-old adventuresome archeologist [who] pieced together the sites from Kachemak Bay, and discovered that people 2,000 years ago hunted seals, porpoise, marmots, birds, and fished for halibut, built homes of wood and kept dogs, wore ornaments of wood, bone, and pierced their noses, ears and lips." She studied in Homer from 1930-1932 and was originally from Pennsylvania.

My father and I are heading out to Alaska's Aleutian Islands next week while I work on a story for the magazine; it's one of the more remote places in the country, and also happens to be where my grandfather was stationed during WWII. We wanted to take Grandpa with us, only there was one problem. He's dead.

Grandpa lived a long, full life and died three years ago now, but his ashes are still in an urn in my uncle's house. "Why not scatter some of them in Alaska while you're there?" my aunt suggested, and, while it seems like a fitting place to do so, I had one major concern. Would TSA let ashes through security, or would I have to FedEx Grandpa to Alaska? This was not a prospect I savored. Luckily, TSA responded quickly to my question.

Lauren Gaches in their press office got right back and said yes, Grandpa can come on the plane, as long as he's well-behaved. Which means the ashes must be in a container (preferably wood or plastic) that can go through the X-ray scanner. The screeners on hand are respectful of the deceased, she said, and don't need to open the containers, but it depends on your airline as to whether they allow ashes to carried on board in a checked bag or carry-on. So it's best to touch base with them beforehand about their preference. She also directed me to their website, where you can find TSA's policies for transporting the deceased. I just called my airline, and they confirmed TSA's guidlines, noting that their requirement specify that a death or cremation certificate is needed to verify the container's contents.

So that's one big huge check on my checklist taken care of, and a tremendous relief at the same time. Thanks to TSA and Delta for their help. 

Photo: √oхέƒx™ via the Intelligent Travel Flickr pool

Alaska's Kachemak Bay spans over 400,000 acres of glaciers, mountains and wilderness. And tucked along its coastline is the Kachemak Bay Wilderness Lodge, which travel writer David Hanson recently visited.

There's that old question: If you could have dinner with anyone in the world, who would it be? I don't like that question because it makes my head spin with all the possibilities. But recently the answer came to me in the form of a 66-year-old man sitting across the table. I was at the lodge he and his wife built almost forty years ago on the rugged southern shores of Alaska's Kachemak Bay. Michael and Diane McBride moved to this chunk of fir forest, basalt cliff and rocky beach in the mid '60s when no white person lived here permanently. Michael was a bush pilot and boat captain, and they both fished commercially until deciding to build a lodge and invite people to stay.

The problem with the "dinner with anyone in the world" question is that it leaves the parameters up to you, and that is limiting. Never would I have put together a person like Michael: bush pilot, sea captain, master hunting guide, fisherman, yoga instructor, carpenter, lodge owner, environmental warrior (his efforts defeated two resource extraction initiatives), father, grandfather, musician, and member of Explorer's Club, Royal Geographic Society, Smithsonian Board, and Nature Conservancy. Tonight, over dessert, he played an accordion he picked up in Austria decades ago.

In conjunction with his upcoming book, Here Is Where: In Search of America's Great Forgotten History, we're following historian and Legacy Project founder Andrew Carroll as he drives, flies, walks, boats, buses, bikes, and hikes to seek out little-known historic sites in all 50 states. Bookmark all of his posts here.

From Chicago I flew to Hawaii, and before popping over to Honolulu to pursue a story that connects Abraham Lincoln to Oahu, I set out to find a little-known grave in Maui, just south of Hana. Buried here is one of the most famous (and infamous, to some) Americans--and yet his final resting place could hardly be more remote.

The far-flung burial spot receives only a trickle of visitors, and seasonal flooding and mud slides can make the site totally inaccessible. Fortunately only a light rain was falling the morning I went there, and the drive along the Hana Highway was one of the most exhilarating I've ever taken. Never before have I seen such diverse landscape on a single road, from lush, dense forests one moment to dry and rocky terrain the next. The (barely) two-lane highway curves so sharply that I often felt as if I were driving through the twisting exit ramp of an endless underground parking garage. Countless myna birds casually hopped between the double yellow dividing lines, seemingly oblivious to the constant stream of cars rushing past. (The occasional clump of smashed feathers in the middle of the road however were proof that some had been a bit too cavalier.)

Aloha, city-lovers! Today's city is sunny Honolulu, and it comes to us courtesy of Malia Yoshioka.

Want to see your hometown on IT? Copy and paste our list of fill-in-the-blank questions into an e-mail, fill in your answers, and send your responses to IntelligentTravel@ngs.org. And if you're still waiting for us to feature yours, fear not! We're attempting to post them as fast as we can (include photos and links!).

Honolulu is My City

The first place I take a visitor from out of town is to the Pali Lookout.

When I crave the best Greek food on the island I always grab a bottle of wine (BYOB!) and head to The Olive Tree Cafe.

To escape on the weekends I head to the north shore via the windward side--such a beautiful drive!

If I want to the world's best shrimp scampi, I go to Giovanni's Original White Shrimp Truck in Kahuku.

For complete quiet, I can hide away at a meditation/yoga retreat in Manoa.

If you come to my city, get your picture taken with the beach boys down in Waikiki.

If you have to order one thing off the menu from Hiroshi Eurasian Tapas it has to be the Chilean sea bass--to die for!

Late last night, President-elect Barack Obama officially arrived in Washington. He and his family are staying at the Hay-Adams Hotel for the time being before moving into the White House, in order to get the first daughters settled and started in school. Several papers have reported that the Obamas are anticipating their transition to Washington with a mix of excitement and nerves, so we at Traveler decided to do our best to help them get settled in D.C.

The Obama family spent a portion of their Christmas vacation in Hawaii, and, as the Washington Post reported this weekend, much of Obama's character is influenced by his Hawaiian upbringing. So Associate Editor Amy Alipio dug up the best ways to find a little aloha in Washington. From grabbing a plate lunch at Makakoa Enterprises to taking a hula class at the Joy of Motion dance studio, we've got a list of eateries, events, and opportunities that will help them make them feel at home.

For more tips on making the most of Washington D.C., be sure to check out our travel guide to the District's best offerings for the inauguration. 

Photo: Timothy Schenck/Istockphoto.com

Have you ever wanted to mush with an Iditarod dogsled team? Well here's your chance: On December 1, the bidding begins for the annual IditaRide Auction. The event is in its 15th year, and is one of the main fundraisers for the famous Iditarod Trail Ride Dog Sled Race. A winning bid will let you ride along with a team through 11 miles of Anchorage parkland and "a screaming crowd of spectators," says Deby Trosper, the auction coordinator. It all takes place on the day before the official Iditarod begins in March, and gets you an inside glimpse of the "Last Great Race on Earth." Given, it's a small glimpse (the actual race covers 1,100 miles and typically takes nine days), but it sounds like a fantastic time.

Trosper says bids average about $1,400, but if you want to lock in a spot, you can secure one for $7,500. So what exactly, can you expect if you get a winning bid? You most likely won't get to drive the sled, she says, as the experienced drivers will handle that. But you will get to sit in the front, right behind the dogs, and get showered with hotdogs and muffins, offered by cheering fans along the route. "We encourage folks to bring pillows" to sit on, she adds. "You're in a birch sled about five inches off the ground." It's best to wear warm clothing (layers), boots, hats and gloves, and watch out for moose ("A lot of times there's an opportunity to get a taste of the Big Wild," Trosper notes). The entire trip takes about an hour to complete, and when they're done, the mushers-to-be get off their sleds looking "like little kids at Christmas." She says that many of the IditaRiders often get pretty attached to their mushers, and will try to get to the Iditarod finish line in Nome, Alaska, to see them win. If you can get up there for the winning celebration, it's like "Alaska's Mardi Gras." But take note: hotels are hard to come by, and often book up a year in advance.

As part of our All Roads Film Festival coverage, today IT talks to filmmakers Puhipau and Joan Lander, whose film Na 'Ono o ka 'Aina – Delicacies of the Land is featured in this year’s festival.  Part music video, part documentary, the film is narrated by taro advocate Jerry Konanui, who addresses the importance of preserving traditional taro cultivation and the controversy of genetic engineering. 

The film will be screened this Sunday at 2:30 p.m. at the National Geographic headquarters in Washington DC. The complete schedule for this weekend’s festival can be found here. A National Geographic program, All Roads provides an international platform for indigenous and underrepresented minority-culture artists to share their cultures, stories, and perspectives through the power of film and photography. Read more from this series here, here, and here.

What prompted you to make the film?

In 2004, we participated in a film festival panel discussion with the producers of The Future of Food, a seminal documentary on the genetic engineering of food crops and the threat to world agriculture. Little did we know then that two years later we would be producing a Hawaii version on the same subject for the environmental law firm Earthjustice, a half-hour piece entitled Islands at Risk – Genetic Engineering in Hawaii.

During production, we learned that Hawaii is the genetic engineering capital of the world and that there is a lack of awareness as to what the GMO industry and the university research scientists are doing in the islands. The highly secretive bio-ag industry often influences legislation so thoroughly that not even the governor had the right to know where experimental and potentially dangerous bio-pharmaceutical test plots were being grown. We were able to shed light on all of these facts in our documentary.

But when we learned that the genetic engineering industry was going after the kalo (taro), sacred staple food of the Hawaiian people, we knew that another, more focused, video was in order. In addition, legislation to protect kalo from genetic modification was coming up in the Hawaii legislature and a video was needed to inform lawmakers and the public.

Executive Editor Paul Martin has just returned from a two-week stay on Hawaii's Big Island, and he sends along his insider tips.

The view from Pololu Valley Lookout.

While exploring the Big Island for two weeks this summer, I got plenty of advice on the local sights—from the best place to view the current eruption of Kilauea Volcano (aboard a charter flight) to where to find authentic island souvenirs (skip the high-end shops on Kailua's waterfront and opt for either of the two open-air markets on Ali'i Drive—or better yet, check out the old-timey stores in any of the small towns outside the main tourist centers).

The best piece of advice I got was where to buy the island's prized Kona coffee, which sells for as much as $38 a pound in the tourist shops. Instead of shelling out that kind of money, I drove up into the hills above Kailua to the K Koma Store, a mom-and-pop general store in Holualoa along the twisty Mamalahoa Highway (+1 808 329 4011). The payoff: a cold can of guava-passion fruit soda and a bag of 100% Kona coffee beans for a more sensible $18 a pound.

And if you're nuts for the Big Island's other favorite take-home item—macadamias—you'll find better prices at the two Kailua open-air markets than in the tourist shops. My family and I learned how macadamia nuts are processed at the Hamakua Macadamia Nut Company in Kawaihae (+1 808 882 1116), a 45-minute drive north of Kailua-Kona. Our guide noted that every part of the nut is used—the husks as mulch in the orchards and the shells as fuel to power the equipment at the processing plant.

If you make to Kawaihae, spend another half hour to follow Highway 270 to the Pololu Valley Lookout, one of the most scenic spots on the island. A steep hike leads down to an idyllic black-sand beach. Be sure to take along a bottle of water—and maybe a bag of chocolate-covered macadamias. On the drive back, stop for lunch or some ice cream in the funky town of Hawi, where the locals have wholeheartedly embraced the Hawaiian admonition to "hang loose."

Photo: Paul Martin

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Former Traveler intern Catherine Pearson is on her way to explore Australia, but she stopped off for ten days in Oahu, Hawaii on the way. We're not going to suggest it was only for the purpose of taking the Lost TV Tour—no, she's not nearly that obsessed . . .

Recognize this beach? It's the crash site in the pilot episode of Lost.

As if Hawaii didn't have enough reasons to visit, Oahu offers one more: the Lost TV Tour. I was at a wedding in Honolulu when I heard about the chance to see where they film my favorite show, so I booked the next available slot. Big Kahuna Hawaii gives options ranging from two-hour off-road adventures to exclusive private party tours. I chose Hawaiian Escapades' regular Lost TV tour, eight hours of scene-spotting, hiking, and swimming with a vanful of fellow Lost fanatics from around the world. Our crew hailed from Macedonia, Saudi Arabia, and the mainland U.S.

As soon as all 12 of us had squeezed in the vehicle, our guide gave us the good news: The Losties are going back to the island. And the bad news: They won't need their tents anymore. So, the crew has taken them down, a major disappointment for tour-goers.

"We come for the tents only!" one of the Macedonians said and jokingly demanded a discount. It didn't help when the list of what we wouldn't see grew. The polar bear was computer-generated, as were the palm trees on the Waianae mountains (the range shown from a distance on the island). The hatch was stored away as a prop and the Others' pier was on the other side of the island, too far for our eight-hour trek.

But what our tour lacked in tents, it made up for in conversation. Stories of cast sightings, guesses at filming dates, and analysis of Sayid and Jin's dismal attempts to speak Arabic and Korean, respectively, filled the drive time. We glanced out the window to see Hawaii's glass-walled convention center, or "the Sydney Airport," on our way to Mokuleia beach, "the crash site." Appearing much more narrow than usual, the beach resumes its familiar width when the concrete barriers are gone and sand covers the road. The plane wreckage, the crashed plane where Boone meets his demise, and stacks of the Losties luggage are stored behind a chain-link fence down the road at a later stop.

Alaska's six-million-acre Denali National Park is home to an abundance of wildlife (like grizzlies, moose, and caribou), as well as North America's tallest peak (20,320-foot-tall Mount McKinley). But soon, it might also be home to a fleet of hybrid buses.

Just last week, park officials tested a 230-horsepower hybrid bus that would, if approved, drive tourists along the 91-mile road that goes through the park. Visitors are not allowed to drive through Denali, and currently board a variety buses at the park's entrance (shuttle bus, camper bus, interpretive tour bus, etc.) that take them through the park, making stops along the way to look at local wildlife. The bus system is intended to reduce traffic congestion and environmental impact. But hybrid buses, which require 70 percent less fuel and reduce carbon emissions by about 40 percent, would also add another benefit: peace and quiet.

"Can you imagine the thrill of moving slowly and silently past a bear nursing its cub or wolf hunting along the road?" Elwood Lynn, assistant superintendent of operations for Denali told the Associated Press. The current buses are noisy and can be heard throughout the park, scaring away wildlife and creating, overall, an unideal experience.

At $200,000 each, the park doesn't expect to replace its entire fleet just yet. As the current buses break down (some two to 12 are replaced every year), the park hopes to replace them with a hybrid.

Photo: Heather Webber

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As any good traveler knows, there's no better way to get a taste of a place than by sampling the local cuisine. In Hawaii's case, there is of course anything with macadamia nuts (from macadamia-nut honey to wasabi macadamia nuts—those'll clear your sinuses anyday). When I think of Hawaii, beer isn't the first thing to come to mind. But the Maui Brewing Company deserves a second look, not only for its uniquely Hawaiian-flavored beers but also for its sustainable practices.

Garrett Marrero (originally from San Diego) and his wife Melanie bought the brewing business three and a half years ago. It is the only brewery on Maui and has won several awards for its unique beers. Their Coconut Porter, which is spiced with natural toasted coconut, won a silver medal in the 2008 World Beer Cup (and gold in 2006). Maui Brewing also takes environmental matters into their own hands. Their beer comes in cans (thus eliminating the risk of broken glass littering the islands), and the owners even reuse their  brewpub's vegetable oil to power their vehicles.

Maui brewing is available in many locations throughout Hawaii (as well as the mainland). Yard House, located in Waikiki, just began offering Maui Brewing Co. beer on tap, and is the first restaurant in Oahu to do so.

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Photo: Garrett W. Marrero

We were asked to update readers on last weekend's Running of the Reindeer in Anchorage, Alaska. During the annual Fur Rondy festival, 1,000 men and women ran down Anchorage's Fourth Avenue with 12 reindeer in the inaugural Running of the Reindeer. Before the race, handlers and participants were afraid that the normally docile animals wouldn't be up for the sprint, but fortunately for spectators, the reindeer ran with the best of them. Many runners dressed in costume (as a bull's-eye, or as carrots and lichen — a reindeer's favorite foods).

Afterwards, participants and spectators lined up at local eateries to get a taste (literally) of the reindeer. As USA Today reports:

"Normally we just eat them," said Mark Berg, a spectator who has lived in Alaska since 1967. "I just made some jambalaya the other day out of reindeer sausage. I've eaten more of their cousins than they want to know."

Less fortunate reindeer are participating in the Reindeer Sausage Eating Contest at Humpy's, held today.

Check out the Anchorage Daily News for some great videos of the event. The Fur Rondezvous festivities end Sunday, March 2.

Photo: Thomas Leach via Flickr

This February, Alaskans are embracing Spanish culture and letting humans and animals run wild through the streets of Anchorage.

Except Alaskans like to do things a bit differently. Instead of running with somewhat irritable animals, Alaskans are letting loose a dozen reindeer (which are a bit tamer). And unlike the bulls, who have piercing horns that pose a threat to human runners, reindeer antlers are soft and curl inward, so really can do little harm to humans.

The inaugural Running of the Reindeer will take place during the annual Fur Rendezvous (or "Fur Rondy") winter festival. The animals will run along Fourth Avenue, which is fenced.

But Tom Williams, whose reindeer have been selected to run in the event, is still a bit concerned. According to the Anchorage Daily News, his biggest fear is that the reindeer will just be docile, and disinterested in racing at all. Williams told the News: 

"I'll probably be trying to solve the biggest problem of all - lack of fear and motivation, and a love for the people," he said.

"I'm afraid the deer are just gonna stand there. It may be a very slow walk, with the animals sticking their noses in people's pockets, looking for something to eat," Williams said.

... In fact, he thinks event organizers should handicap the humans so they are more vulnerable, and less likely to provoke the animals.

"I think we should make them wear fur bikinis and fur Speedos to even things out," Williams said.

Fur Rendezvous staff are capping participants at 12 reindeer, 500 men, and 500 women. As of January 3, 40 people had signed up to run in the event. No word yet on whether they're stocking up on furry swimwear.

The Running of the Reindeer will take place on February 24. Participation costs $20 per person, and proceeds will benefit Toys for Tots, the charity chosen by Bob and Mark, two radio hosts who came up with the event.

Photo: JohntheFinn via Flickr

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In an attempt to reduce air travel between Oahu, Maui, Kauai, and eventually the Big Island, the 350-foot Hawaii Superferry took to the seas, offering interisland travelers an alternative option to flying by transporting their cars instead.

But in recent months, the Superferry sparked a huge legal controversy from environmentalists, saying that the ferry could harm whales and increase car traffic on the islands. CNN explains:

The first 350-foot catamaran has been sitting idle in Honolulu Harbor for weeks while Superferry lawyers, the Legislature and Gov. Linda Lingle struggled with environmental objections.

State Attorney General Mark Bennett told the judge he was bound by the new law signed by Lingle this month allowing the ferry to run while an environmental study is being completed.

...Superferry CEO John Garibaldi said outside the courtroom that the ferry service likely would resume in about two weeks with an announcement in a few days on when 250 furloughed employees would be rehired. Its schedule calls for daily voyages to and from Maui and a six-times-weekly run for Kauai.

IT's reached a dilemma. Opt for flying, and you leave a much bigger carbon footprint during your Aloha travels. Opt for the ferry, and you're reducing your carbon emissions, but instead harming the whales and overcrowding the roads with cars. What's a traveler to do? Post your thoughts in the comments below.

For more background, check out World Hum's article about the surfers who blocked the ferry from entering Kauai's Lihue harbor last August.

Photo: Hawaii Superferry