While kite surfing at Playa Lucia, Steve made a shocking discovery-a sick and abandoned dog-that would transform his life. With its shimmering white sand, palm trees, and dazzling azure water, the beach looked postcard perfect. But its beauty hid a dark side: To the locals, this slice of paradise was known as Dead Dog Beach-a notorious dumping ground for the island's unwanted canines.Considered a threat to the area's lucrative tourism industry, these defenseless animals were in constant danger of brutality and death. Enraged, and refusing to accept such cruelty, McGarva began protecting these helpless animals-actions that would jeopardize his marriage, challenge his sanity, and make him a target of locals determined to stop him.The Rescue at Dead Dog Beach is the story of Steve's fearless dedication to hundreds of dogs, and his efforts to expose their systemic abuse. Exposing the true costs of the tourist industry, it is also a call to arms for animal lovers, offering insights and practical information to help strays anywhere in the world.

    Join the Horn family on the adventure of a lifetime. Learn how a couple from the city moved to the wilderness with three small boys and carved out a life in the middle of nowhere that has endured for nearly 50 years. With nearly 400 pages and over 100 photos, Impossible Beyond This Point is a compelling must-read for anyone interested in (or contemplating) getting away from it all.Excerpt1-A New BeginningA cool breeze drifted through tall Douglas fir and ponderosa pine and fluttered the leaves in clumps of black oak as they sat on rocks amongst their scattered possessions on the red clay dust of Backbone Ridge in the far Northern California wilds of Trinity County. The blue Ford station wagon would go no further, for from this point on, two miles of treacherous trail picked its way down to a lonesome canyon where a shell of a shack stood waiting. This would be their home. Virgil and Marcy, along with their three young sons, came to this juncture through an untamed notion to find a way of life that would give them independence, dignity and contentment.Virgil sat across from Marcy and his blue eyes twinkled. “I hope we made the right move, Ma. There’s no returning now.” “Yes,” she whispered. “We made the right move.”It was the beginning of June and the year was 1967.......ExcerptThe sun had gone down and heavy clouds were piling up in the west. If it snowed now and turned cold, Virgil doubted they could get out in time to finish the school year. A purple haze settled in the gulches, making it difficult to distinguish objects like trees or rocks that they were beginning to find hard to avoid.By the time they passed Wind Dance Lookout, it was dark. Below Wind Dance Lookout lay deep unbroken drifts and the dropping temperature formed a crust that supported them all. Partway down Marcy suddenly broke the crust and fell through to her hips in the snow. Exhausted, she struggled to get the leverage to free her legs. “I can't pull my legs out! I’m going to freeze to death!” she sobbed. Seeing his mother crying put Gaines in a panic and he frantically dug the hard corn snow away from her legs with his bare fingers until she managed to climb free.....ExcerptDarkness fell and they heard the rain pound the roof over the roar of the river. The boys had a hard time concentrating on their schoolwork and it was just as well because about eight that evening the incandescent light started dimming. “Power’s going out,” Kelly announced.Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at the light. “Yep,” Gaines confirmed. “Can’t be from lack of water!” he laughed. “The creek must be really roaring up there and I bet it tore out the intake.”As the light faded to yellow and then orange, Virgil got up and took a book of matches from his front pocket and lit a candle bug. “I’ll go turn the valve off so it doesn’t drag crap down the line,” he said as he headed out the door.The family fell asleep to the sound of rain on the roof. The first few times the river had come up in the early years, Virgil and Marcy had nervously gotten up every few hours to check the water level but they never got up to check anymore.Marcy awoke around midnight and listened to the rain. The river was quieter and she sleepily turned over, drifting back to sleep. Suddenly she remembered something Red had told them. “As long as the river is roaring, it isn't so dangerous, but beware if it gets quiet," he’d warned.She looked at the phosphorescent face of her Big Ben clock. Noting it was a quarter to one in the morning, she concentrated on the sound of the river again. The hushed river was no longer relaxing, but foreboding. Unable to go to sleep, she got up and put on a coat, lit her candle bug and stepped out on the porch. Tom, his fur glistening with drops of water, yowled loudly and she let him in the house.Crystal water ran from the eves and splattered in a puddle in the pathway leading from the porch. She walked to the summer kitchen area and down to the gravel bar where the sawmill was located. At the edge of this bar, she came to a sudden stop. Right in front of her, muddy waves of debris-laden water slammed against the gravel only two inches from the top. The river was three feet higher than she’d ever seen it, which was a huge difference considering that the three additional feet of depth was spread across 300 feet of width and moving at a greatly increased speed. Apprehension overcame her.Though a candle bug is great for casting a soft diffused light for walking, it’s impossible to see beyond eight feet when using one, and in the streaming rain the visibility was even less. Marcy could only listen to what was going on beyond the cone of yellow light. Rumbles, hissing, sucking, splashing and surging, all in varying levels, met her ears. Quickly she headed back to the cabin. Virgil was asleep and she gently shook his shoulder. “The river’s real high, Virg,” Marcy whispered so as not to awaken the boys....

    Of the twenty-six British climbers who, on three expedtions (1921-24), walked 400 miles off the map to find and assault the highest mountain on Earth, twenty had seen the worst of the fighting. Six had been severely wounded, two others nearly died of disease at the Front, one was hospitalized twice with shell shock. Three as army surgeons dealt for the duration with the agonies of the dying. Two lost brothers, killed in action. All had endured the slaughter, the coughing of the guns, the bones and barbed wire, the white faces of the dead.In a monumental work of history and adventure, ten years in the writing, Wade Davis asks not whether George Mallory was the first to reach the summit of Everest, but rather why he kept on climbing on that fateful day. His answer lies in a single phrase uttered by one of the survivors as they retreated from the mountain: "The price of life is death." Mallory walked on because for him, as for all of his generation, death was but "a frail barrier that men crossed, smiling and gallant, every day." As climbers they accepted a degree of risk unimaginable before the war. They were not cavalier, but death was no stranger. They had seen so much of it that it had no hold on them. What mattered was how one lived, the moments of being alive.For all of them Everest had become an exalted radiance, a sentinel in the sky, a symbol of hope in a world gone mad.

    16 pages of photos.

    Determined to finally bite the bullet and saddle up, she set off for Argentina, home of the nomadic gaucho whose spirit still gallops across the plains. In this sprawling country, six-year-olds travel to school on horseback. How difficult could it be? As she learns to sit astride a horse without falling off and befriends the marvelous creatures around her, Polly leaps into the sights and sounds of Argentina past and present: a hair-raising mystery involving Evita Perón becomes a parable about women, politics, and religion; a tango performance in Buenos Aires an occasion for both sorrow and rejoicing. From wine tasting in the Andes to exploring the legendary Perito Moreno Glacier, from investigating the myth of the gaucho to discovering her Welsh roots in Patagonia, Polly takes us along for an exhilarating, unforgettable ride as she finally lives out her dream—at a trot, a canter, and a gallop.

    Thousands of Australian soldiers are held hostage. International realpolitik has left Australia abandoned by its supposed allies and its brittle social fabric is rapidly unwinding as the people panic. A Chinese ultimatum demands the annexation of the country’s top half in ten days, or face a full scale invasion. As other politicians clamour to sue for peace, Prime Minister, Gary Stone, in a desperate race against time and impossible military and political odds must commit to a risky and controversial plan to try and free the country …

    Today he knows that mountain land as intimately as anyone can know his home. Petersen conflates a quarter century into the adventures of four high-country seasons, tracking the rigors of survival from the snowmelt that announces the arrival of spring to the decline and death of autumn and winter that will establish the fertile ground needed for next year's rebirth. In the past we listened to Henry David Thoreau or Aldo Leopold; today it is Petersen's turn. His observations are lyrical, scientific, and from the heart. He reinforces Thoreau's dictum: "in wildness is the preservation of the earth." In prose rich with mystery and soul, his words are a plea for the survival of the remnant wilderness."Many of us would like to live a life of greater intention and simplicity, but few can and even fewer do. David Petersen is one of those rare human beings among us who lives a wild life with a cultured mind . . . [He] has created a map all of us can follow."—Terry Tempest Williams, author of The Open Space of Democracy

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    F. K. Fisher and Peter Mayle, this enchantingly warm and witty memoir follows American-born Katherine Wilson on her adventures abroad, where a three-month rite of passage in Naples turns into a permanent embrace of this boisterous city on the Mediterranean. It is all thanks to a surprising romance, a new passion for food, and a spirited woman who will become her mother-in-law—and teach her to laugh, to seize joy, and to love.

    Revolinski relates in candid style his encounters in a foreign culture, all told with an open mind and a sense of humor. An enjoyable read for anyone who has spent time in Turkey or who plans to do so.

    I began the process without much enthusiasm and quickly got side lined by my new civilian life. Little did I realize that I wouldn’t re-visit my disability claims again until almost forty years later, when I watched President Barack Obama give a speech on the horrors of the Vietnam War. I’m still not quite sure what happened that day, but after listening to the president, I committed myself to investigate the causal link between my tactical pesticide exposures and the myriad health problems plaguing my life and the lives of many other Vietnam veterans. My post-service medical problems began mildly enough but soon balloned and were followed by more serious health issues. Every time I would ask one of my doctors what was causing my illness, I would usually get the answer, “I don’t know, but---.” When I began my research in 2012, I would learn that Agent Orange, along with several other military pesticides, were all very capable of impacting every biological system in my body and could actually be linked to many wide-ranging ailments for which many of my doctors could only say they weren’t sure of the cause. Despite the uniqueness of Vietnam veterans and the incredibly diverse range of hazardous chemicals to which we were exposed, the DVA insists on assessing our illnesses by using civilian epidemiological studies, resulting in appallingly inadequate standards for evaluating our toxic exposures during the war. During my years of research, I have quite literally reviewed thousands of studies and documents. The vast majority of those records came to the same inescapable conclusions as I eventually did at the end of my investigation. Low-level exposures to just the various known chemicals discussed in my book will attack living organisms on an undetected hormonal, genetic, and cellular/molecular level, producing covert systemic damage and alterations to immune, cardiovascular, endocrine, respiratory, and neurological systems of any human unlucky enough to be put in their path. Exactly how that damage and those alterations manifest depends on the several exposure factors which I discus in the book. Regrettably, I couldn’t go back over the last half a century to get a do-over or to have the war conducted differently. I couldn’t force our legislative or military leaders to make better decisions. I couldn’t rewrite the unpleasant history of the Vietnam War, with all the numerous negative impacts that war had on me and every other soldier, marine, or sailor who served the United States in South Vietnam and in the blue waters of the surrounding ocean. The very best I could do, almost a half century after the war, was to write an account of our betrayal and describe our exposures to the toxic pesticides and abhorrent conditions of the Vietnam War. All in the sincere effort to correct the present so that what occurred in South Vietnam will never happen again to new generations of military personnel, their families and their children and quite possibility their grandchildren’s children. The mountain of evidence presented in my book points to one common sense conclusion: Exposure to the tactical pesticides used in the Vietnam War were extremely injurious to the health of military personnel, as well as, the health of anyone else exposed to them. Despite all the facts, the government still places the burden of proof on veterans instead of taking responsibility for the mess they made during the Vietnam War or in the words of Dr. Jeanne Stellman, the Vietnam War is, "the largest unstudied environmental disaster in the world."

    Sri K. Pattabhi Jois was such a soul, and through his teaching of yoga, he transformed the lives of countless people. The school in Mysore that he founded and ran for more than sixty years trained students who, through the knowledge they received and their devotion, have helped to spread the daily practice of traditional Ashtanga yoga to tens of thousands around the world.Guruji paints a unique portrait of a unique man, revealed through the accounts of his students. Among the thirty men and women interviewed here are Indian students from Jois's early teaching days; intrepid Americans and Europeans who traveled to Mysore to learn yoga in the 1970s; and important family members who studied as well as lived with Jois and continue to practice and teach abroad or run the Ashtanga Yoga Institute today. Many of the contributors (as well as the authors) are influential teachers who convey their experience of Jois every day to students in many different parts of the globe.Anyone interested in the living tradition of yoga will find Guruji richly rewarding.

    . . No scientist had seen a Blakiston’s fish owl so far south in a hundred years . . . When he was just a fledgling birdwatcher, Jonathan C. Slaght had a chance encounter with one of the most mysterious birds on Earth. Bigger than any owl he knew, it looked like a small bear with decorative feathers. He snapped a quick photo and shared it with experts. Soon he was on a five-year journey, searching for this enormous, enigmatic creature in the lush, remote forests of eastern Russia. That first sighting set his calling as a scientist.Despite a wingspan of six feet and a height of over two feet, the Blakiston’s fish owl is highly elusive. They are easiest to find in winter, when their tracks mark the snowy banks of the rivers where they feed. They are also endangered. And so, as Slaght and his devoted team set out to locate the owls, they aim to craft a conservation plan that helps ensure the species’ survival. This quest sends them on all-night monitoring missions in freezing tents, mad dashes across thawing rivers, and free-climbs up rotting trees to check nests for precious eggs. They use cutting-edge tracking technology and improvise ingenious traps. And all along, they must keep watch against a run-in with a bear or an Amur tiger. At the heart of Slaght’s story are the fish owls themselves: cunning hunters, devoted parents, singers of eerie duets, and survivors in a harsh and shrinking habitat.Through this rare glimpse into the everyday life of a field scientist and conservationist, Owls of the Eastern Ice testifies to the determination and creativity essential to scientific advancement and serves as a powerful reminder of the beauty, strength, and vulnerability of the natural world.

    Jim McCray through a single twelve-hour night shift working in the emergency room of a small Midwestern hospital. The fast-paced writing chronicles Dr. McCray’s experience with wit and candor as he manages a series of typical but poignant patient interactions. The book dives deeply into the practice of modern emergency medicine with detailed descriptions of medical care and procedures. It is based on the author’s real-life experiences as a young resident physician.

    The invitation had come from an intrepid 80 year-old, Diana Hepworth, who in 1947 set sail from England to find a faraway paradise where she and her husband Tom could raise a family.