Innholdsfortegnelse for APRIL 2016 i National Geographic Magazine

A king without a kingdom is not without options. For centuries, wannabe rulers intent on independence, political subversion, religious freedom, or just a laugh have laid dubious claim to territories. Some call these domains “micronations.” Where have self-appointed rulers planted flags? On islands: Off Denmark’s coast is the Kingdom of Elleore, which bans Robinson Crusoe as slander against island life. In deserts: Nevada’s Republic of Molossia sells bonds to fund its war—with East Germany. And in the ocean: The ruler of the Principality of Sealand, a WWII-era British Navy sea fort, says he once foiled a hostage-taking coup. By international law, those aspiring to nationhood must have a government, a permanent population, defined territory, and a capacity for foreign relations; some tiny nations also have flags, constitutions, and currencies. What…

There is magic here, the delight in being not quite lost and not quite found. I am off trail, following an unnamed stream in northeast Ohio, scrambling over downed trees through a ravine of crumbling shale, the water milky with silt as it cascades over tiny falls. The sun dances with the stream and the hardwoods. When I take off my boots and splash in the small pools, I feel the cool of the mud between my toes. In the distance, just over the rise, the sound of the city comes and goes. Civilization is so close and seems so far, and in that toggle is the wonder of an urban park. The place is an offshoot of Cuyahoga Valley National Park, which stretches like a skinny inkblot between the…

It is 1890. The town of Mason, Texas—once a frontier outpost contested by settlers and Native American tribes—has become a thriving ranch community. This day, clearly, was one to preserve for posterity. Although the photographer of this particular shot is unknown, its collector is famed. Noah Hamilton Rose (1874-1952) was a chronicler of the Old West. He collected thousands of images, from scofflaws and brigands to the townsfolk of Mason and other frontier hamlets on the cusp of the 20th century. On this particular day, the people of Mason gathered to pose, their faces peering up at a distant lens. Perhaps it was a big news day: After all, perched atop the building housing the Mason News (inset) is a brave soul, waving a newspaper. He tips his hat, in…

Kenya At a hotel in the suburbs of Nairobi, a Rothschild’s giraffe named Lynne spots an offer she can’t refuse: pellets of bran and molasses in the hand of Sala Carr-Hartley, age six. The 140-acre site is a sanctuary for the endangered subspecies. India In the tall grass of West Bengal, a man in the vivid guise of a Hindu deity performs a Chhau dance—a martial mix of folk, tribal, and religious elements. These theatrical dances, staged at festivals in eastern India, reenact scenes from Sanskrit epics. United States Moments after a recital, seven ballerinas relax backstage at the Mahaffey Theater in St. Petersburg, Florida. Most of the four- and five-year-old girls, who had just portrayed fairies onstage, were wearing makeup for the first time. Order prints of select National…

More than 20 million years ago a salamander hatchling less than three-quarters of an inch long met a traumatic end. A hungry predator—perhaps a spider or bird or snake—ripped off its left front leg, leaving the stub of a bone jutting from its side. The salamander managed to escape but then must have fallen into a pool of tree resin, which preserved the tiny amphibian as it hardened into amber. George Poinar, Jr., a biologist at Oregon State University who specializes in amber, believes he collected this specimen in the Dominican Republic years ago without realizing that it was unique. When he examined it recently, he was astounded to see the salamander—the first such creature ever found in amber and the only one, extinct or living, known to come from…

One night, a little before seven, Elisabeth Rante pulls a golden curtain back from the doorway. Together we slip inside. She speaks to her husband. “Papa … Papa,” she whispers. “We have a guest from far away.” Behind us, second eldest son Jamie enters the room with a tray and walks up quietly. “Here is your rice, Papa. Here is your fish. Here are the chilies,” he says. As we back silently out of the room, Elisabeth says softly, “Wake up, Papa. It’s time for your dinner.” I turn back for a moment as eldest son Yokke explains: “She’s taking your picture, Papa.” A touching family scene. Nothing that couldn’t happen anywhere on Earth. Except for one thing. Elisabeth’s husband, a former clerk in the city marriage bureau, has been…

One million Armenians—some say more, some say less—were killed a century ago in the Ottoman Empire, the predecessor of modern Turkey. A stone cenotaph in Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, commemorates this tragic event: the Medz Yeghern, or “great catastrophe,” of the Armenian people. Each spring—on April 24, when the pogroms started—many thousands of pilgrims climb an urban hill to this shrine. They file past an eternal flame, the symbol of undying memory, to lay a small mountain of cut flowers. Just 60 miles to the northwest, and a few hundred yards across the Turkish border, lie the ruins of an older and perhaps more fitting monument to the bitterness of the Armenian experience: Ani. What is Ani? Ani was the medieval capital of a powerful, ethnically Armenian kingdom centered…

At first it seemed like nothing more than the worst headache she’d ever had. So Karla Perez—22 years old, the mother of three-year-old Genesis, and five months pregnant— went into her mother’s room to lie down, hoping it would pass. But the pain got worse, and as she vomited off the side of the bed, she told her younger brother to call 911. It was not quite midnight on Sunday, February 8, 2015. The ambulance raced Perez from her home in Waterloo, Nebraska, to Methodist Women’s Hospital in Omaha. She began to lose consciousness in the emergency room, and doctors put a tube down her throat to keep oxygen flowing to her fetus. They ordered a CT scan, and there it was: a massive brain bleed creating severe pressure in…

For years National Geographic photographer Joel Sartore worked far away from home—documenting the astonishing wildlife of Bolivia’s Madidi National Park or scrambling up the three tallest peaks in Great Britain or getting too close to grizzly bears in Alaska. His wife, Kathy, stayed in Lincoln, Nebraska, and took care of the kids. “He never wanted to change diapers or be a stay-at-home dad,” she says. But in 2005, on the day before Thanksgiving, Kathy was diagnosed with breast cancer. The cancer sentenced her to seven months of chemotherapy, six weeks of radiation treatments, and two operations. So Joel Sartore had no choice: With three kids ages 12, 9, and 2, he couldn’t travel for the stories that were the mainstay of his career. Of that time, he says now, “I…

PROOF A PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL | proof.nationalgeographic.com There’s no place like home. In life and in photography, a closer look at the familiar can often reveal truth and beauty. This series of 93 days of spring in my home state of Minnesota is no exception. Shooting locally may seem counterintuitive to some. Cameras seek the exotic, and for good reason—novelty is inspiring. As a National Geographic photographer for more than three decades, I’ve made millions of images in far-flung places—majestic African landscapes, remote groups of indigenous people, lively street scenes in Paris. But sometimes the most revealing photographs are of the places we know best. When you shoot an area you know in your bones, as I do the North Woods and prairies of Minnesota, it touches on something primal. Familiarity…