Latest from National Geographic
National Geographic
2 hours ago
- Business
- National Geographic
Everything you need to know about Scottish whisky
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). These days, every nation is discovering whisky distillation, but the global superstars are without doubt the Scottish. With a production history dating back to the 15th century, the country has spent hundreds of years perfecting distillation and wood-ageing. Along with heritage, it's the variety that sets the Scots and their scotch apart from other whiskies worldwide. The spirit is produced in every corner of the country, and there are complex contrasts between, say, an eye-opening Islay whisky, something sweet from Speyside or the lighter lowland styles. Meanwhile, blended whisky takes the array of single malts and combines them with innovative results. The flavour spectrum runs from warm wood and smoke to cereals, biscuits, honey, fresh and spiced fruit and floral notes, so there's a prospect for every palate here. Strict legislation has also helped the industry deliver consistent quality, and while traditional techniques are at the artisan heart of scotch, there have been more recent sparks of innovation. Wood finishes have become more interesting, for example, where the whisky is rested for a final spell in different kinds of oak, with port, Maderia or Burgundy barrels being employed. Such experiments have elevated the spirit's profile again and can make it accessible for a broader spectrum of drinkers. Dram Bar in London pours up an almond and pineapple cocktail using the Craigellachie whisky with its cereal and meaty notes. What is single malt Scottish whisky? This simply means the whisky must be produced in a single distillery, and in the case of scotch, distilled from malted and then fermented barley. The difference between single malt and blended scotch is that the latter is combination of single malts from many distilleries. Rather than simply malted barley, it can also include a different grain distillate. In all cases, to be considered scotch it must be distilled and matured in oak casks in Scotland for at least three years and bottled there at a minimum of 40% alcohol by volume (ABV). How does it compare to other varieties around the world? The Japanese initially worshiped and indeed mimicked scotch, and while you'll find fresh, innovative voices there now, there are many similarities in flavours. But since the Scots came first, they have a few centuries on the Japanese whisky-makers, having learned from mistakes, and spent decades testing wood styles, learning about the nuances of ageing, advancing the science of distillation and judging the impact of still shape on distillation. The Irish triple distil and produce smoother styles — they invented whiskey and spell it with the 'e'. They were once the market leader but initially stuck with their pot stills and turned their back on the column still, a technology ushered in in the 19th century that distilled spirit quicker and cheaper. The Irish were concerned the lighter style of spirit it produced would put drinkers off, but the Scots embraced this technology (also known as the continuous still) for their blended whisky and it helped brands like Johnnie Walker become global powerhouses. However, the Irish industry has been flourishing recently, so keep an eye on whiskeys from the Emerald Isle. The Americans play with grains, and in the case of straight bourbon use corn as the dominant ingredient and age the spirit in new American oak. It's a much sweeter whisky, but there's variety here, too, including single malts and — something spicier — American straight rye. There's also an interesting movement in 'world whisky', with the Austalians, Germans, Scandinavians and even English enjoying plaudits from the purists. Glenmorangie Distillery in the Scottish Highlands has the tallest stills in the industry, which creates a lighter spirit. Photograph by Glenmorangie Distillery What are some traditional names to look out for? Speyside is the heartland of Scotch, with a higher density of distilleries than anywhere else, and a water source that imparts a sweeter profile. Approachable crowd-pleasers like The Glenlivet, Glenfiddich or sherry-forward The Macallan will be familiar to most — but branch out to Glenfarclas to see a whisky maker take a sherry profile in a different direction or the complex Craigellachie for its cereal and meaty notes. In the Highlands, Glenmorangie has the tallest stills in the industry, which creates a lighter spirit. The company has also been celebrated for innovation in wood finished spirits. For the more experienced palate, head to Islay where firing the malt in kilns fuelled with local peat bestows bold, smoky notes. Lagavulin is the ideal introduction with a slightly richer and sweeter smoke versus Laphroaig for the bigger iodine notes. Meanwhile, Johnnie Walker remains the reliable stalwart of traditional blending, with master blender Emma Walker — a former pharmaceutical chemist who has no relation to the family-founded brand — is celebrated in the whisky world. What are the new-wave whiskies of note? There has been a raft of new Scottish distilleries opening in the past 20 years, and many are now producing stunning spirits. Torbhaig on the Isle of Skye was the first new distillery on the island for 190 years and the light, peaty and maritime whiskies from here are absolute belters. NcNean has pushed boundaries of sustainability with its Organic Single Malt, a lighter and spicier spirit that's been rested in red wine casks. And Highland newcomer Ardnamurchan is a true gem. Based on the Western edge of Scotland, it's been seriously impressing whisky fans since releasing its first bottle in 2020. And the one to watch? That would be Dalmunach, in Speyside. The distillery only opened in 2014, and is already turning out incredible whisky, including 2024's six-year-old releases. In the world of blended whisky, Compass Box deserves credit for shaking things up by being incredibly transparent about the types and ages of whisky it uses. And in terms of new kids on the block, try bottlings from both Turntable and Woven — both producers are proving truly innovative with their small-batch, blending approach. By focusing on limited editions rather than one style, they've explored a wide range of flavour profiles and are attracting a younger audience to the category. A variety of whiskies are offered at Malt Vault in Utrecht, Netherlands. Photograph by Thirsa Nijwening Does age matter? Yes. It determines the minimum amount of time a whisky spends in a barrel. And wood maturation is critical to aroma and flavour, so any decent single malt is likely to have spent more time in the barrel than the requisite three years. The longer whisky spends in the barrel, the more colour the whisky takes on and the more influence the wood has on aroma and flavour. But older isn't necessarily better. Too much time in wood can adulterate the house style of a new-make whisky distillate, so it's about balance. For example, the Dalmunach 6 Year Old is an example of something young that can impress. In more recent years, dwindling stocks of single malt have led to the emergence of No Age Statement whiskies, allowing a producer to blend different ages and styles but still deliver a tasty single malt. Meanwhile, Johnnie Walker Blue includes 60-year-old whiskies in the blend, so it doesn't always follow that a number on the bottle is the entire story. What is the most authentic way to drink it? Whisky snobs are a dying breed, yet some will still tell you not to add anything to your whisky. But drink it any way you see fit — it's your whisky. However, neat and at room temperature is an essential starting point to understand the flavour. Adding a little water is accepted by the traditionalists and opens some more of the aroma and flavour — and it's also essential with a cask strength whisky at 57% abv. It's true that the chill from added ice will restrict and suppress some of the flavours, but if you like ice in a spirit, then add ice. And know that whisky makes fantastic cocktails, one of the best serves you can try is a highball: simply whisky over ice in a tall glass, topped with soda water. The Malt Vault in Utrecht, Netherlands is hidden at canal level and built into an arched former wharf storeroom. Photograph by Thirsa Nijwening Where are the best places to try it? A distillery visit is essential to really getting to know the spirit — and falling for its charms. And many producers provide engaging experiences. Talisker in Skye offers some of the best tours and tastings, although its worth noting the tourist numbers are putting a strain on the island. Easily accessible, the Bow Bar in Edinburgh is an essential whisky pub experience, while the city's glitzier Johnnie Walker Princess Street experience is the Malt Disney of whisky tours. And you don't necessarily need to head north; most major cities now have a great whisky bar. Take The Malt Vault in Utrecht, Netherlands — a fantastic gem, hidden at canal level and built into an arched former wharf storeroom. Elsewhere, Dram, in London is an innovative spot that proves whisky cocktails deserve respect. The Thinking Drinkers are Ben McFarland and Tom Sandham, award-winning alcohol experts who have recently embarked on The Great British Pub Ride, cycling 1,000 miles on a tandem, stopping only in pubs. Visit YouTube to see the journey. 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National Geographic
12 hours ago
- Science
- National Geographic
A Swiss village was buried under a mountain. This town could be next.
In the past century, scientists have observed more rockfalls and avalanches in the Alps, a looming threat to nearby villages. In this aerial view, rubble and ice fill a portion of the Loetschental Valley following a landslide on June 3, 2025 in Blatten, Switzerland. Over 317 million cubic feet of rubble, mud, and ice fell on to Blatten on May 28. Photograph by Robert Hradil, Getty Images Last month, Lukas Kalbermatten-Ritler stood in a hamlet overlooking the small Swiss village of Blatten opposite the Birch Glacier, holding up his camera phone up in disbelief. 'It was like a bomb went off,' says Kalbermatten-Ritler, who's home and historic third-generation family-owned Hotel Edelweiss was destroyed on May 28. 'There were black rocks coming like a wall over the glacier, like it was a big hand taking the village. This was the moment I stopped filming. I didn't want to film when my village was falling.' It took 28 seconds for the landslide from the collapse of the glacier to cover 600-year-old wooden homes in one of Switzerland's oldest and most picturesque valley villages in hard brown, cold sandpaper sludge that will be sinking for years. The collapse was so powerful it registered as a 3.1 magnitude earthquake. It was a village that scientists never expected to see almost completely buried by 328 million cubic feet of falling rock and ice. Destroyed houses float in the water from the river Lonza that formed a lake beside the massive avalanche, triggered by the collapse of the Birch Glacier. Photograph by Michael Buholzer, Keystone/AP A house is submerged in water following a glacier collapse. Photograph by Michael Buholzer, Keystone/AP Yet there are others, like Kandersteg, a Swiss tourist town nine miles away that scientists watch anxiously. It sits in the shadow of an unstable cliffside called Spitze Stei could trigger a landslide with twice the ice and rock debris that flattened Blatten. Scientists say it should have fallen by now. 'We can't predict exactly when disasters like this will happen,' says Matthias Huss, senior glaciologist at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology and director of the Swiss glacier monitoring network. Even with the best rockfall, landslide, and avalanche monitoring systems in the world, Alpine towns remain in uncertain danger. Magazine for all ages starting at $25/year In the worst-case scenario, over 700 million cubic feet of limestone and marl will come crashing down into Lake Oeschinen, itself a result of landslides 3,200 years ago. The splash would send a wave 2.5 miles into the center of Kandersteg, covering around 25 percent of the town, including hotels, homes, and the school. Other less-severe, likelier, models show smaller, still destructive debris flows surpassing safety dams built by the village, according to Nils Hahlen, head of the natural hazard division for the Office of Forest and Natural Hazards in the Swiss canton, or state, of Bern. The landslide that devastated the town of Blatten was unexpected. In other, nearby villages, scientists have identified unstable cliff faces that might trigger similar tides of rock, water, and debris in the future. Photograph by Michael Buholzer, Keystone/AP 'But mountain people are robust. They don't move out of their villages because of changing threats unless authorities decide it's too risky to stay,' says Markus Stoffel, a geomorphologist at the University of Geneva who grew up near Blatten and Kandersteg. Most of the town's 1,300 residents remain. On mountain watch Four hours into what was billed as a 'short' (eight-mile) hike, I rest on a mossy stump while my 75-year-old mountain guide smokes a pipe. Mountain guides don't eat much, Fritz Loretan tells me. He's also a man of few words (clocking it down the trail in loafer sneakers with no tread), and when he talks about the looming threat in Kandersteg, he explains: 'When you grow up in the mountains, then you are used to them, and you won't feel safe in other places.' In 2018, while paragliding over Spitze Stei, Loretan's friend saw 'a cut in the mountain,' and alerted authorities. Experts realized the outer rock section could fall at any moment. That was the year Spitze Stei became the most watched rock in Switzerland via high-tech drones, radar surveys, GPS, and cameras. 'At Spitze Stei the main water sources are snowmelt and rain. The exact amount of water in the mountain is one of the unknown factors,' says Hahlen. Since Earth's last ice age, rockfaces have been routinely dislodged from Alpine peaks as a result of natural movement. But in the past century, scientists have seen more rockfalls and avalanches. Glaciers and permafrost—the high-altitude frozen soil, rock, and sediment that acts like glue to hold the mountains together—are melting as a result of the warming temperatures caused by greenhouse gas emissions. A view of a landslide in Brienz, three days apart, from November of last year. As the region warms, ice and frozen soil are melting and unsticking the glue that once held parts of the mountain together. Photograph by Gian Ehrenzeller, Keystone/AP (Top) (Left) and Photograph by Gian Ehrenzeller, Keystone/AP (Bottom) (Right) As this icy glue melts, it allows water to penetrate cracks in the mountain, build pressure, and eventually rupture, triggering more frequent and severe landslides, rockslides, rockfalls, and avalanches, especially after intense rain and snow, another hazard of warming temperatures. 'In the next few years and decades, we expect an increase in risk from permafrost rock,' says Felix Pfluger, chair of landslide research at the Technical University of Munich. While catastrophic rock and snow fall can go virtually unnoticed in the remote regions of Alaska, Siberia, or northern Canada, they're an existential threat to many Alpine communities. The landslide that covered Blatten isn't the first tragedy in the Alps from a rockfall. This past June, residents of the Swiss village of Brienz/Brinzauls evacuated for the fourth time in two years from a rockslide threat (after debris stopped just shy of the village in 2023). Eight hikers and ten homes in the valley of Bondo didn't survive a devastating landslide in 2017. Stoffel says he expects more chain-reaction disasters with bigger consequences in the Alps—rock avalanches overloading glacier ice and causing it to liquify and slide down the slope, like in Blatten. His research shows 'a clear tendency for such [catastrophic chain-reaction] events to become more frequent in a warming world,' he says. '...especially after heavy rain.' A view of Kandersteg, Switzerland in October, 2023. While the region is being closely monitored, it remains safe. Photograph by Noemie Vieillard, Hans Lucas/Redux 'If you ask the older people in the village, they'll tell you there was always falling debris,' says Kandersteg's Mayor Maeder René-François. Growing up in Kandersteg, he remembers poking a pole into the cracks between ice and snow to search for bodies after an avalanche took out half a hotel in high season. There's a long history of rockfall and landslides, he says, as recent as 2023 and even this past May five died here in an avalanche. 'With climate change, it's happening faster. It rains harder, the days are hotter, and the fog sets in thicker over the mountain,' he says. 'But people here are not scared, it's life in the mountains. They respect that they must act in the correct way and follow the evacuation plan.' Since 2021, Kandersteg has enforced a ban on all new construction to minimize potential damage in the village district, closed a section of town, and built dams to reroute lake water. 'Big disasters normally start smaller. Instabilities with rock fall over a certain time start with cracks opening. A mountain doesn't just disappear out of the blue. There are always precursor signs,' says Stoffel. 'And if you take them seriously and observe the changes continuously, then, then you may not be able to protect the buildings or the village, but you can save lives.' While no one knows exactly when or what section of Spitze Stei will start sliding down the mountain, when it starts to crumble, residents and tourists should have at least 24 to 48 hours to evacuate. On a warm mid-June day, I followed tourists with hiking packs and poles to a mountain chalet built in 1880 and pulled up a lunch chair under an apple-red umbrella that matched a nearby Swiss flag and took in the brilliant turquoise of Lake Oeschinen–glistening and undisturbed by falling rocks, for now. Swimmers and paddlers snap selfies; a bride and groom pose by cows grazing near a roped-off section of the beach—their bells clanging measure with the chirping birds. 'None of them know they're right under it,' my server, David Brunoldi, told me when I asked him which rock is Spitze Stei. He points to the 9,800-foot frosty peak above us. 'More rocks are coming down every day.' Brunoldi says mountain people stay in Kandersteg for generations because it's home. On this picture-perfect, rugged Alpine terrain, where rockfall has always been a risk, his grandfather worked and died on a mountain train. Last year alone, an increasing 2.8 million cubic feet of rock crumbled down into the lake. 'No need to worry though, Brunoldi adds. 'It's not falling today.'
National Geographic
14 hours ago
- Science
- National Geographic
When climbing the world's tallest mountains, what counts as cheating?
To reach the highest point on Earth, average climbers need around three to four weeks to let their bodies acclimatize on the ascent and descent. To cut that time to only seven days, mountain climber Lucas Furtenbach is offering a chemical boost with xenon, an inert gas that is mainly used as an anesthetic. Photograph by Cory Richards, Nat Geo Image Collection In 1978, Austrian physician and mountaineer Oswald Oelz was a team doctor on an expedition to Mount Everest when climbers Reinhold Messner and Peter Habeler became the first people to reach its summit without supplemental oxygen. Before then, it was unthinkable that humans, unassisted, could climb 29,032 feet, the height of Everest, where due to drop in atmospheric pressure we inhale only about 30 percent of the oxygen we breath at sea level. Almost half a century later, Oelz's grand-nephew, Austrian climbing guide Lukas Furtenbach, was the architect of a new feat atop Mount Everest. This May, four of his clients, along with five Sherpas, summited the world's tallest mountain only five days after they left London. Usually, it takes an average of 40 days of slow acclimatisation to adjust to the high altitude and scarce oxygen on Everest. The secret to the team's lightning-fast ascent: About two weeks before the expedition, Furtenbach's clients were given xenon through a medical mask. The noble gas is sometimes used as an anaesthetic but is also thought to boost the production of erythropoietin, a hormone that stimulates red blood cell production. The idea, suggested to Furtenbach by German anaesthesiologist Michael Fries, was to artificially accelerate the acclimatisation process. The strategy, however, immediately caused controversy in the mountaineering community. Experts on high-altitude research who spoke to National Geographic mainly questioned whether xenon could actually produce an effect strong enough to mimic acclimatisation. And earlier this year, the International Climbing and Mountaineering Federation issued a statement warning about the absence of scientific studies to prove the safety and efficacy of xenon at high altitude. Then there's the question of whether xenon, banned in professional sport by the World Anti-Doping Agency, makes the climb up Everest so easy that it obscures the line between sportsmanship and tourism. Around 7,000 people climb Everest every year with the help of supplemental oxygen. For others, using supplemental oxygen is considered a cheap shortcut akin to utilizing sherpas and fixed-ropes. Left, a climber scales Mount Everest with the aid of supplemental oxygen. Right, oxygen tanks are seen along a section of Everest called "the Balcony" near the summit. Photograph by Matthew Irving, Nat Geo Image Collection (Top) (Left) and Photograph by Mark Fisher, Nat Geo Image Collection (Bottom) (Right) In the world of mountaineering, there's no regulatory body governing monitoring performance-enhancing drugs, but the style of a climber's ascent still holds reputational cache. Ever since Messner and Habeler's 1978 expedition proved that even the highest mountain on Earth could be climbed without supplemental oxygen, not using it has become an essential part of pushing the limits of the human body in high altitude. Called alpine style, this form of mountaineering—embraced by elite climbers—prizes climbs done without medical aids, fixed lines, or large support teams. In contrast, a 30-year boom in commercial expeditions has focused on making the mountains more accessible to less experienced climbers, with hundreds of feet of fixed ropes, large amounts of supplemental oxygen, and the support of Sherpas. Some tour guides who lead these large groups say the controversy ignited by xenon places unfair scrutiny on what's simply the latest of many tools making mountain climbing more accessible and safer. American climber Adrian Ballinger, owner of Alpenglow Expeditions, thinks climbers should just be honest about the style they choose. 'Professional athletes don't use supplemental oxygen when climbing in the mountains because it makes things easier. But for recreational and non-professional climbers who hire guiding companies, it's different,' he says. However, he draws the line at the use of xenon in mountaineering—even in commercial expeditions. 'I don't see any reason,' he says, 'to use a substance banned as doping.' Doing drugs, 29,032 feet high Climbers have a long history of employing different drugs to survive the cold and dangerous conditions of Earth's highest peaks. In 1953, mountaineering legend Hermann Buhl took methamphetamine pills, then known by the brand name Pervitin, to stay awake during a perilous descent after summiting the Himalayan mountain Nanga Parbat in Pakistan. (Buhl made his climb without supplementary oxygen and became the first and only person to achieve a solo first ascent of an 8,000-meter peak, famously surviving the night at 26,000 feet by standing on a tiny ledge.) In the following decades, mountaineers experimented with both banned and legal substances, from amphetamine to Viagra. Two well-known prescription drugs, diuretic acetazolamide (commonly known as Diamox) and corticosteroid dexamethasone (Decadron) are often used to treat high-altitude conditions like acute mountain sickness or cerebral edema—but against expert recommendations, some climbers take them preventatively. Nothing, however, works better to fight hypoxia and enhance performance at high altitude than a steady flow of supplemental oxygen. Hermann Buhl in 1953, after summiting Nanga Parba, the ninth highest mountain in world, located in Pakistan. Under the influence of the drug pervitin, a stimulant similar to methamphetamine, Buhl was able to push on to the summit after the rest of his team was forced to return to camp, making Buhl the first and only person to make a solo-ascent of an 8,000 meter peak. Photograph by Touring Club Italiano/Marka/UniversalA view of Nanga Parbat as seen from Jammu & Kashmir, 1933. Photograph by Royal Air Force/Royal'If you use supplemental oxygen continuously, oxygen delivery to tissues is maintained. You will not develop altitude illness, and exercise performance will not be affected,' explains Martin Burtscher, a long-time researcher in the field of high-altitude medicine and retired professor at the University of Innsbruck in Austria. This is why some climbers, still devoted to purist alpine style, refrain from using supplemental oxygen, since they consider it a form of high-altitude doping. Furtenbach adhered to this minimalist climbing style when he was younger, but over time opted for climbing aids that he says made ascents safer for him and his clients. He doesn't think new techniques should be looked down on if they make climbing in the Himalaya safer. 'If you want to climb at this altitude, you can do it in either an extremely dangerous way and risk your life, or you can try to climb as safely as possible,' says Furtenbach. 'And that means you need to use all the medical aids that are available.' He argues that singling out xenon is hypocritical: 'If someone wants to ban xenon from mountaineering, then it needs to be consistent and ban everything—from oxygen to dexamethasone.' The tinkling of bells accompanies yaks hauling propane and other supplies to Advanced Base Camp. Photograph by Renan Ozturk, Nat Geo Image Collection Before he became an advocate of xenon, Furtenbach had experimented with having clients sleep at home in tents with reduced oxygen and training with limited oxygen to help simulate the acclimatization process. That shortened the ascent time to three weeks. Knowing this, Fries, the anaesthesiologist, approached Furtenbach back in 2019 with the idea of using xenon and its erythropoietin production ability to accelerate acclimatisation even further. When confronted with limited oxygen at high altitude, the human body gradually releases erythropoietin after several weeks of acclimatisation, as a climber makes rounds up and down the mountain, slowly gaining altitude. Fries, who spent 15 years researching different effects of xenon while working at Aachen University's hospital in Germany, theorized that a one-time low-dose administration of the gas could produce the same results in a matter of days. Fries also contends that xenon can prevent high-altitude sickness due, in part, to its positive effect on the blood vessels that connect the heart and lungs. Furtenbach first tested xenon on himself in 2020 while climbing Argentina's 22,831-foot Aconcagua and, two years later, on Everest. Both times, he says, he felt strong and fast, and didn't experience any negative side effects. Then he crafted a plan for including xenon in the expeditions offered by his self-titled company, Furtenbach Adventures, which facilitates climbs up Everest and other famous mountains. The decision to offer xenon to clients, he says, was done to make climbing safer. 'The fewer rotations you have to do on the mountain, the safer the expedition becomes,' he argues. (Furtenbach also thinks shorter trips could help curtail the large amounts of garbage long expeditions leave behind.) For the first-ever xenon 'powered' expedition, he chose four British clients, who boasted a combination of high-altitude climbing experience and military training. After ten weeks of pre-acclimatisation at home, sleeping and training with limited oxygen, they received a low dose of xenon in a German hospital and two weeks later embarked from London on their five-day-long ascent. No immediate serious side effects from the xenon treatment were observed by Furtenbach or the members of the expedition. The price of the climb was 150,000 euros a person. Furtenbach declined to specify how much xenon, an expensive gas, added to this total. Climbing rope is a ubiquitous tool amongst mountaineers, and learning how to safely build anchors and belay are essential skills. However, on some mountains, ropes may be pre-anchored and left in place for the entirety of the season to aid less experienced climbers. Left, the first Nepali female to climb Manaslu studies ice anchors in a climbing class. Right, a mountaineer descends to camp III during an attempt to summit Hkakabo Razi, said to be Southeast Asia's tallest mountain. Photograph by Aaron Huey, Nat Geo Image Collection (Top) (Left) and Photograph by Renan Ozturk, Nat Geo Image Collection (Bottom) (Right) Not everyone with high-altitude expertise is convinced that xenon is the best way to quickly climb Everest. Some experts argued that a one-week ascent might be possible without a miracle drug like xenon, if only the climbers would use a high enough flow of oxygen right from the bottom. 'If you have a big flow of oxygen, you don't need to work as hard to acclimatise. From an oxygen perspective, you're not going to the summit of Everest, but much lower,' says Mike Grocott, professor of anaesthesia and critical care at the University of Southampton in England and expert on the physiology of hypoxia. This theory, too, was tested this May when Ukraine-born Andrew Ushakov stated that he climbed to the top of Everest in a little less than four days after leaving New York. To achieve this, he used supplemental oxygen and trained in low-oxygen conditions. A team from the Elite Exped company guided Ushakov to the top. He says he used oxygen as soon as he started his ascent from the base camp, starting with a flow of 0.5 liters per minute and slowly increasing it to three to four liters per minute, which he used on the summit day. The xenon team, Furtenbach says, didn't start using oxygen until they reached 19,700 feet, continuing from there with a usual flow of 1 to 2 litres per minute. Higher flow was used only above 26,000 feet. This theoretically means xenon could indeed have some effect on the acclimatisation process, beyond supplemental oxygen. Still, without peer-reviewed studies, it's hard to conclude that the xenon made a difference, warns Peter Hackett, a high-altitude researcher and professor at the University of Colorado Anschutz Medical Campus. 'My question is—why the big rush,' he says. 'These ascents reveal that Everest's challenge is now all about dealing with hypoxia and not really climbing.' For some climbers, no extra help wanted Climbers who abstain from performance-boosting drugs and supplemental oxygen see xenon as just another departure from the purest, and thereby most elite, form of climbing. The Piolet d'Or, the most coveted mountaineering award, perhaps best exemplifies the most prestigious climbing styles. The award currently doesn't consider ascents done with supplemental oxygen or fixed lines, giving the spotlight to imaginative and innovative new routes, doing more with less, and building on experience. One of the winning teams of last year's Piolet d'Or, American climbers Matt Cornell, Jackson Marvell, and Alan Rousseau, spent seven days charting a new route up the steep north face of Jannu in Nepal. To pack lightly, they shared a single sleeping bag. 'Alpinism without the factor of the unknown is only the plain physical activity,' says Slovenian climbing legend Marko Prezelj, four-time winner of Piolet d'Or. 'If somebody prepares the mountain for you by putting in fixed lines and you climb together with 500 people, there is nothing unknown.' The Everest massif from Camp I on Pumori. Photograph by Cory Richards, Nat Geo Image Collection Famous American alpinist Steve House, best known for his bold 'alpine style' first ascent on the Rupal face of Nanga Parbat in 2005, sees alpinism as a process of stripping away excesses to get closer to the experience. 'There is nothing inherently wrong with the ascents done with supplemental oxygen and xenon, but we need to understand these climbs as tourism, not alpinism,' says House. And Mingma Gyalje Sherpa, the first Nepali to climb all 14 of the world's 8,000-meter peaks without supplemental oxygen and founder of the Nepal-based guiding company Imagine Nepal, says there should be a limit to what tour companies offer. He thinks that the traditional way of doing proper acclimatisation is more valuable. 'I would always suggest to clients to do at least one rotation on the mountain up to Camp 2, before the summit push, so they can understand their body at high altitude. We also don't take clients without previous experience,' he says. But even if assisted climbs and medical aids become more common, Alpenglow Expeditions' Ballinger thinks there will always be an interest in unassisted alpine climbing. 'There are endless new route opportunities for alpinism in the Himalaya. And I don't think the fact that we have commercial guiding on a handful of routes on the world's most popular mountains gets in the way of the cutting-edge side of the sport,' says Ballinger. Peter Hackett, the high-altitude researcher, is less optimistic. 'The improved access, safety, and success on Everest have led to a new 'generation' of high-altitude tourists with high ambition but little climbing experience, and more money than time,' he says. 'It's all about— how I can bag this summit and miss as little work as possible.'
National Geographic
14 hours ago
- General
- National Geographic
These treasures changed everything we thought we knew about the Celts
A warrior people Two horsemen face off and another combatant bears a large shield on this fifth-century B.C. bronze belt clasp found at Vače, Slovenia (Natural History Museum, Vienna). During the Iron Age (circa 1200-500 B.C.), a large swath of non-Mediterranean Europe was occupied by a people who became known for their craftsmanship, religion, and warfare. Different groups, now known collectively as Celts, spoke languages belonging to the Celtic family and shared a common ideological framework reflected in a series of divinities they worshipped in religious festivities. The Romans built up a stereotype of the Celts and other enemies, like the Germanic peoples, as barbarians. They caricatured them as blond, white-skinned giants from the north with a primitive tendency for drunkenness and violence. This cliché helped condition how researchers regarded the Celts. But in recent decades, new readings of the classical sources and some fascinating archaeological discoveries have overturned the stereotype of the Celts as primitive. New findings show that the Celtic culture was in fact a complex and refined civilization with various art styles, architecture, religious customs, technology, and social structures. In terms of urban planning and metallurgy, there were similarities with the Greco-Roman world. And like many other ancient peoples, the Celts had a culture that was both influenced and influential. The vast territories of Celtica, where the Celts lived, stretched from Ireland to the Balkans and into the Iberian Peninsula. The different Celtic groups were highly fragmented politically, and it's virtually certain they didn't consider themselves a single people, although there were common features. In fact, some scholars have debated the continued use of the term Celt, believing it might be insufficient in describing the diversity among these groups, especially over different time periods. Gauls, Celtiberians, Britons, and many others were included in this classification. (Cults, curses, and magic: This surprising European city has ancient links to Halloween) However, all the Celtic societies were hierarchical, with a ruling aristocratic minority. Most of the working majority were dedicated to agriculture, but there were also artists and merchants. Celtic nobles distinguished themselves by their military prowess. At first, in the Hallstatt culture, considered the proto-Celtic era, these nobles were also set apart by their access to luxury goods of Mediterranean origin that they obtained through trade. This is evidenced by treasures discovered in the royal tombs of Hochdorf and Hohmichele, two Hallstatt settlements. During this period, an initial phase of urbanism developed with the appearance of settlements such as Heuneburg and Hohenasperg, which, with their protective walls, distinct neighborhoods, and public spaces, closely resembled cities. Marked by war These urban centers were abandoned during the fifth century B.C., with the transition from the Hallstatt to the La Tène culture. The shift is often attributed to a decline in natural resources, including salt production, a change in trading opportunities, and a wealth disparity among settlements. Celtic society took on a more rural character, with people dispersed among scattered farmsteads, each inhabited by a few families. Many early La Tène sites were near rivers. Magazine for all ages starting at $25/year At the same time, the Celtic aristocracy accentuated its warlike character. It was then that the Celts burst onto the scene in the written sources of the Greco-Roman world through their dazzling military expansion—often in conflicts against Rome. The most dramatic moments were the Sack of Rome by the Gauls (390 B.C.) and the attack on the famous Greek sanctuary of Delphi (279 B.C.). In addition to participating in such sacking expeditions, many Celtic warriors joined the Hellenistic armies of the time as mercenaries. An image of the Celts as ferocious barbarians was seared into the collective consciousness of the Greeks and Romans. During this period, the Celts were also engaged in full-scale migrations in which entire groups of families settled new territory. Celtic populations established themselves in areas of the Danube Valley, the northern Balkans, and even outside Europe, in the Anatolian Peninsula. There's clear evidence from this period to show that Celtic culture, like that in much of the ancient world, was based on honor and status. A key element was the establishment of relationships between a powerful individual, the patron, and an individual subordinate to him, the client. This unequal relationship implied obligations on both sides: While the patron granted his client protection and ceded land, the client pledged to obey the patron and serve in his army. These clientelistic networks allowed aristocrats to accumulate entourages of hundreds, even thousands, of followers. From the second century B.C. onward, the expansionist trend of the previous two centuries was reversed as the territories of Celtic Europe began to fall one after the other, subdued by the aggressive Roman Republic. The collapse started with the Celts of Hispania; only Ireland and Scotland escaped a Roman takeover. But it would be a mistake to interpret this final phase of Celtic civilization as a period of decline. On the contrary, a last burst of urban development occurred, and dozens of fortified urban centers, called oppida, were built. Atop Mount Ipf, around 100 miles northwest of Munich in southern Germany, the local Celtic community built an oppidum, a fortified enclave that flourished at the beginning of the La Tène period, in the fifth century B.C. This photograph shows the modern reconstruction of its walls. BERTHOLD STEINHILBER/LAIF/CORDON PRESS This urban growth was based on a strong development of economic activities, such as agriculture, handicraft production, and trade. The population was likely also growing at this time. Ongoing discoveries of artifacts has painted a more informative picture for scholars about Celtic culture and practices outside of the classical sources. Given this rich history, it's fascinating to wonder what would have happened to the Celtic civilization if Roman expansion hadn't stopped it in its tracks. The Celtic art of warfare From the fifth century B.C. onward, the dominant Celtic culture that archaeologists call Hallstatt evolved into the more aristocratic warrior society known as La Tène, heavily influenced by Greek and Etruscan styles. The weaponry of the Celtic warriors became established in this period: a double-edged iron sword, iron-tipped spears, and an oval wooden shield. Aristocratic warriors of the period also carried defensive equipment, such as helmets and armor. The warrior sculpture known as the Prince of Glauberg wears armor similar to the Greek linothorax, made of hardened linen or leather. The Prince of Glauberg wearing a crown of leaves, a necklace, a cuirass, a ring, two bracelets, a shield, and a sword. The figure, carved in sandstone, stands over six feet tall and weighs more than 500 pounds. It was found next to a burial mound from the fifth century B.C. Museum of the Celtic World, Glauberg, Germany. Iron helmet found in the tomb of a third-century B.C. chief in the Romanian necropolis of Ciumești. It's 16.5 inches tall and topped by a bronze bird of prey with movable wings. National History Museum of Romania, Bucharest. Battersea shield made of bronze. It's decorated with appliqués and red enamel inlays. It measures 30.7 inches high. Third to first century B.C. British Museum, London. Bronze carnyx, a wind instrument. Topped with a stylized boar's head, it stands almost six feet high and was found at Tintignac, France. INRAP, Paris. In the third century B.C., the first chain mail was developed, a Celtic innovation that the Romans would copy. Influenced by Mediterranean cultures, Celtic fighters evolved from warrior bands into armies. Their orders were produced by the war horns, or carnyxes, whose sound was intended to subdue the enemy. For the Celts, warfare was a heavily ritualized activity, involving the performance of ceremonies before battle and often the ritual offering of some of the loot and sacrificing of captives after the combat was over. The horse in the Celtic world Although horses were valued as military and status symbols across Celtic societies, they were rarely part of agricultural work. The harnesses used in the Iron Age lacked a collar to spread weight to the horse's neck and shoulders; without such a collar, the animal's windpipe became compressed when pulling a plow and limited the weight it could drag. Untainted by rural toil and costly to maintain, horses became the animal par excellence of aristocrats. They played a prominent role in warfare, at first to pull light war chariots. Normally a pair of animals was used for each chariot, and in the fourth century B.C. full cavalry units appeared. A parade of horsemen on the side of the Gundestrup Cauldron, a ceremonial vessel composed of 13 silver plates from the first century B.C. to the first century A.D. National Museum of Denmark. Copper-alloy mount evoking a horse's head. It was found with other pieces of chariot tack at Melsonby, England. British Museum, London. BRITISH MUSEUM/SCALA, FLORENCE In time, the Celts would become renowned as horsemen throughout the ancient world, especially among the Romans, who often employed them as mercenaries to bolster their mounted forces. In the Celtic world, the value of the horse was not limited to the pragmatic: It also held religious significance. The Gauls recognized a horse divinity called Epona, whose cult spread throughout the Roman Empire. The Irish Celts had a war goddess called Macha, who was linked with horses. Sculptural reliefs, including those found at the Celtic sanctuaries of Roquepertuse and Nages in southern Gaul, depict the horse as a psychopomp, responsible for leading the souls of the deceased into the afterlife. Bronze model of a cart. Found in Spain, it carries a horseman accompanied by a dog, hunting a wild boar. Second-century B.C. National Museum of Archaeology, Saint-Germain-en-Laye, France. For the Celts, hunting was not only a means of acquiring food but also an eminently aristocratic activity. It was often practiced on horseback and could be dangerous. Hunting thus represented excellent training for war as well as a chance for participants to show off. The most common quarry was wild boar, an animal that for the Celts symbolized both war and hospitality. Red deer, roe deer, and fallow deer were also hunted, in addition to foxes and wolves. Classical authors reported that trained hunting dogs were involved: According to the geographer Strabo, hunting dogs bred in Britain were exported to Rome. Jewelry in life and the afterlife As in most societies, the Celtic aristocracy used the ownership and display of jewelry to proclaim and advance their privileged position in the hierarchy. Among the Celts, the custom of burying the deceased with grave goods was widespread, and ornaments occupied a preferential place. Archaeologists have found a large number of luxury items, both personal jewelry and ornaments for horse harnesses, inside burials. These pieces were appreciated for their materials—precious metals including silver and gold—and for the excellence of the craftsmanship. One piece of jewelry most associated with the Celts is the torque. This type of necklace, which can take many different forms, was worn by other peoples as well, such as the Thracians and Scythians. Back of the bronze Desborough Mirror (13.8 inches long), decorated with continuous curvilinear forms drawn using a compass. British Museum, London. BRITISH MUSEUM/SCALA, FLORENCE Gold torque or necklace made of twisted wires, with solid ring-shaped finials decorated with reliefs. It was discovered in Snettisham, England. British Museum, London. The Roman army gave torques to reward their soldiers, although in this case they were not worn around the neck, but on the armor. The torque was a symbol of authority and prestige and was worn by members of the nobility. It also appears in representations of divinities. A clear example of this appears on the famous Gundestrup Cauldron, where the horned god Cernunnos tames a snake in one hand, while holding a torque in the other. Other types of grave goods typically found in aristocratic Celtic burials were phalerae (decorative disks for horses' harnesses), fibulae (pins for fastening clothes), and mirrors. Banqueting played a fundamental part in Celtic life; it enabled aristocratic guests and their followers to socialize, and aristocratic hosts to flaunt their wealth. The position occupied by participants and the amount of meat they received were determined by their social status. The banquet reinforced hierarchies while confirming and strengthening existing relationships. In return for the generosity of the hosts, the bards (poet-singers) would laud their virtues. Drinking horn decorated with embossed gold leaf and finished with a ram's head found in the Kleinaspergle burial mound. Fifth century B.C. Clay dish painted and incised with geometric motifs. From a burial mound in Gomadingen (Germany). Württemberg State Museum, Stuttgart. Irish literary sources explain that the banqueters faced each other in duels of eloquence in which they defended their respective merits. The champion received the best cut of the cooked animal, which was usually a pig. The Story of Mac Da Thó's Pig, a ninth-century Irish tale, is likely influenced by this older Celtic tradition. It describes a banquet between the men of Ulster and Connacht, who are competing for a prize, a colossal pig that has been fattened for seven years. Like the pig, the banquet contest is larger than life, involving a huge cast and spreading across large areas of Ireland. A banquet also had a clear symbolic meaning in Celtic beliefs: The inclusion of banquetware among grave goods reflects the idea that through funeral rites, the deceased was led to a supreme banquet in the company of heroes and gods. Druids, gods, and severed heads Throughout Europe, Celtic culture was expressed in worship of common gods. The name of the god Lugh or Lugus occurs across the Celtic world; he was of special importance in Irish mythology, and is commemorated in the names of the French city of Lyon and the Spanish city of Lugo. In other cases, equivalent divinities had different names, such as the Gallic god Sucellus and the Irish god Dagda, which were both connected with agriculture and forests. The religion of the Celts was polytheistic and centered on rituals. Classical sources refer to a priestly class in some territories of Celtic Europe, including Gaul and Britannia. These were the famous Druids, an intellectual elite that acted as a repository of tradition and as a a mediator between men and gods. Unluckily for historians, they distrusted written texts and relied on transmitting their knowledge orally. (Why do we know so little about the Druids?) Laminated bronze figure representing a warrior deity found in the area of Saint-Maur-en-Chaussée. First century, Museum of the Oise, Beauvais, France. The god Taranis wields a thunderbolt in his right hand and holds a wheel in his left. Bronze figurine. National Museum of Archaeology, Saint- Germain-en-Laye, France. Two-headed male sculpture, discovered in the Celtic sanctuary of Roquepertuse. Museum of Mediterranean Archaeology, Marseille, France. Archaeologists have located a large number of sites that were originally Druid sanctuaries, such as Gournay-sur-Aronde (France), Emain Macha (Northern Ireland), and Libenice (Czech Republic), piecing together the rituals that took place there from the archaeological finds. These rituals involved sacrificing animals (and in some cases, humans) and exhibiting spoils, such as weapons or severed heads. The decapitation of enemies and the exhibition of skulls are rituals attested to in many places in Celtic Europe. Divinity of Bouray-sur-Juine with eyes inlaid with white and blue enamel was found in its namesake village in France. First to second centuries B.C. National Museum of Archaeology, Saint- Germain-en-Laye, France. One of the most controversial questions related to the Celtic priestly class, the Druids, is whether or not they believed in reincarnation and the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, as some classical authors claimed. Irish and Welsh mythology seems to suggest that the Celts of these territories didn't believe in reincarnation, though they did believe in the immortality of souls. First-century Roman historian Valerius Maximus notes that some Celts, so certain they will see each other again after death, arrange to repay debts in the world to come. This story appeared in the May/June 2025 issue of National Geographic History magazine.
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Take a mouthwatering trip down Alabama's Barbecue Trail
Texas has brisket, Memphis has ribs. The Carolinas enjoy their pulled pork, and Kansas City is all about the sauce game. But not many immediately associate barbecue with Alabama Well, except for one thing—the mayonnaise-y white sauce. While the state's polarizing contribution to the American barbecue consciousness celebrates its 100th anniversary this year, there's much more to the state's barbecue than white sauce, and many Alabamians would proudly put their barbecue among the best in the country. With a mouthwatering Alabama Barbecue Trail—from civil rights hot spots to 100-year-old joints—there's no better way to uncover Alabama's unique cuisine and history than biting into it. The origins of Alabama barbecue Barbecue borrows the cooking methods of Native Americans, meats and sauces of European immigrants, and the labor (meaning recipes and know-how) of Africans to create a taste that is perhaps singularly American. In Alabama, barbecue—as a food, social gathering, and style of cookery—has been an essential part of life and society for ages. Barbecues were not only used for celebrations and commemorations, they were also so intertwined in political processes that the state government tried banning them altogether in the 1800s. But Alabama barbecue as we know it today didn't come into its own until the late 1800s with the rise of the interstate, and joints started sprouting up along major highway routes between Southern cities. While barbecue in neighboring states developed identities that captivated Americans, Alabama barbecue hasn't really caught on in the national psyche. 'I think not being recognized as one of the barbecue regions like Kansas City, Texas, Memphis, and the Carolinas has maybe ruffled some feathers,' says Mark Johnson, author of An Irresistible History of Alabama Barbecue. 'There's a sense of pride here. Alabamians will defend their barbecue against anyone else's.' So, what is Alabama barbecue? 'Alabamians don't even agree on what barbecue is,' says Johnson. 'Chicken and white sauce is the specialty of North Alabama, Decatur, and Huntsville. Birmingham is very much dominated by pulled pork with a tomato-based sauce. And then in Tuscaloosa, it's by far ribs with a vinegar-forward sauce that's got some kick to it. When you get closer to the Georgia border, you start seeing the South Carolina mustards creeping in.' (6 barbecue styles, from Alabama white sauce to Memphis pork ribs) The rise of white sauce Inextricably linked to Alabamians' appetites like apple pie to the broader U.S., Alabama's white sauce is a concoction of bubbling hot mayonnaise mixed with a hefty dose of vinegar and black pepper. The creation is the brainchild of a railway worker turned pitmaster named 'Big Bob' Gibson, who, back in the day, soaked his pit-cooked chickens in this barbecue sauce to prevent them from drying out. Now celebrating its 100-year-anniversary, Big Bob's namesake sauce and restaurant in Decatur is a juggernaut on the world barbecue circuit, with walls covered in plaques denoting it the 'World's Best Barbecue.' As for the polarizing sauce, it has earned homages across Alabama and the world. Back in the pit, Andrew Lilly, the great-great grandchild of Gibson and current manager of Big Bob Gibson Bar-B-Q in Decatur, forks a whole bird off the brick pit and dunks it in the white sauce before tossing it back on the grill. 'It keeps the chicken moist and just gives it that good tangy peppery flavor,' says Lilly. 'You just don't get that any other way.' White sauce is the brainchild of a railway worker turned pitmaster named 'Big Bob' Gibson. Photograph by Jeffrey Greenberg, Universal(Top) (Left) and Photograph by JFsPic, Getty Images (Bottom) (Right) In total, he'll cook this first batch of 75 chickens slowly for three-to-four hours. By roughly 11 a.m., when he pulls them off the pit, the restaurant is full of ravenous diners. Although, not everybody is a fan. White sauce may reign supreme in barbecue joints across Northern Alabama, but head south and many will disavow the sauce entirely. Love it or hate it, barbecue chicken and white sauce is part of the state's culinary identity. Barbecue and the civil rights movement 'Get the pig ears,' says Larry Bethune. 'We sell a lot of 'em… we sell a lot of everything, really.' Bethune is the second-generation owner of Brenda's Bar-Be-Que Pit in Montgomery. Brenda's has been a staple in the city's Black community since its opening in 1942, serving up everything from the famous pig ear sandwiches to legendary ribs and chicken platters at its drive-up counter. What Brenda's may lack in square footage, it more than makes up for in flavor and Black history. On the restaurant's window is a newspaper clipping of Larry's mother, Jereline Bethune, at the March of Montgomery. He starts singing, 'We Shall Overcome' and recollects his mother's role during the civil rights movement. She became involved during the 1955 and 1956 Montgomery Bus Boycott and worked with the NAACP, printing out fliers about when and where meetings and protests would occur. Following the passing of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, Jereline would host classes at the restaurant to help Black people pass literacy tests so they could vote. The pig ear sandwich arrives slippery, cartilaginous, soaked in ketchup, mustard, and hot sauce. Like the restaurant's history, it may not look pretty, but it's a taste to be savored. The story is similar at the opposite end of the state's historic National Civil Rights Trail in Selma at Lannie's Bar-B-Q Spot. Back in the '60s, Lannie's was a popular hub where activists like Martin Luther King Jr., John Lewis, and Ralph Abernathy could commiserate and devour hickory-smoked pork shoulder, ribs, and the whole fixings. Today, Lannie's is still run by the family, and, although the dirt floors are gone, they're still slinging the same dishes that have brought the city of Selma together for 80-odd years. Deborah's brother Floyd sets down a mountainous pulled pork sandwich and a few pork ribs all coated in Lannie's famous barbecue sauce. One bite, and that tangy, vinegary, spicy sauce envelopes the tongue and cheeks. Suddenly, it's easy to understand why the community (and state) continues lining up to eat here. (The symbolism behind traditional Juneteenth foods—from barbecue to hibiscus) Continuing legacies Ultimately, the story of Alabama barbecue is also a story about family, community, and togetherness. Andrew Lilly is building upon his great-great grandfather's legacy at Big Bob Gibson's. Larry Bethune continues plating the ribs and pig ear sandwiches his mother did at Brenda's. Historic joints like Lannie's in Selma, Archibald & Woodrow's Barbeque in Northport, and Top Hat in Blount Springs are all in their third generation (and beyond) of ownership, and each owner can rattle off the list of regulars they've been feeding nearly every week for decades. At Bob Sykes Bar-B-Q in Bessemer, Van Sykes is honoring the foundation his father and mother, Bob and Maxine, laid at the family restaurant in 1957 by keeping things simple—almost alarmingly simple considering the restaurant's barbecue sandwich sits atop the pantheon of must-eat dishes in Alabama. 'It's just salt, meat, and fire,' says Sykes. But he finds giving back to the broader Birmingham community just as important as the world-class barbecue he's cooking. He shares his craft in local high school home-economics classes. You'll see him offering cooking advice on the local news and promoting Southern food and culture as a founding member of the revered Southern Food Alliance. 'Barbecue cuts through class, race, gender, history, everything,' says Sykes. 'It shakes a common table for everybody." Each spring, Sykes brings his community in Bessemer together for a little barbecue and blues at the Bob Sykes Barbecue and Blues Festival. 'I look out at the crowd and see my customers,' he says. 'You'll find everything from Porsches to pick-up trucks, Blacks and whites. It sets a common table around the things we love and come together over, which is our love of food, music, and the blues. It's peanut butter. The togetherness is a sentiment echoed by Deborah Hatcher at Lannie's Bar-B-Q Spot. During the tumultuous civil rights movement in Selma, Black and white customers at Lannie's dined together. 'We didn't have segregation here,' says Deborah Hatcher, granddaughter of founder Lannie Moore Travis. 'Everybody came in that one door. Everyone sat down together, mixed together, and ate barbecue. Everybody just having a good time.' Where to try Alabama barbecue Archibald & Woodrow's Barbeque: Popular among University of Alabama students and Tuscaloosa crowds, Archibald's ribs have become a true culinary destination in the state. Cooked over hickory and until they develop a wonderfully crisp 'bark,' the ribs and spicy vinegar sauce are the perfect pre-game or post-game meal during Crimson Tide football season. Big Bob Gibson Bar-B-Q: What started out as a backyard pit has turned into one of the best barbecue joints in the country. Big Bob Gibson's may specialize in the famed pit-cooked chicken and white sauce, but don't miss out on the sublime ribs, 'championship' red barbecue sauce, and, of course, the meringue pies. Bob Sykes Bar-B-Q: Bob Sykes Bar-B-Q keeps things simple: Salt, meat, and fire. Their specialty is the pulled pork sandwich and barbecue sauce (the recipe for which took nearly 20 years for Bob to develop). Brenda's Bar-Be-Que Pit: It may be just a countertop joint in a residential Montgomery neighborhood, but locals are consistently lining up to engorge on Brenda's seriously good barbecue, from the pig ear sandwiches to towering rib plates. Saw's BBQ: A staple in the Birmingham barbecue circuit, Saw's serves up every iteration of Alabama barbecue and each location follows a special theme. No matter where you go, the low-and-slow-cooked ribs are divinely tender and the chicken and white sauce is loaded with puckering tang. Born in Detroit and displaced all over, Tom Burson is a travel, food, and culture writer and professional lollygagger. His writing is rooted in uncovering the quirky, not-so-talked-about nooks and crannies and traditions around the world. Follow along at @tommyburson
