Helicopters - don't you just love'em

Helicopters. It is about time I discussed them. I cracked my helicopter virginity in the Kimberley. There is something quite exhilarating about these fragile-looking machines. When the side doors are removed and you are skimming along some twenty metres above the tree line, the breeze blows across your face and you are king of the landscape. Even in the cooler dry season, the air is warm and pleasant as it funnels past. As you are hurtling back to your campsite for a well-earned meal and the sun is dropping, casting a soft liquid light across the faded green trees and giving the outcropping of the Drysdale River escarpment an orange and purple glow, it is difficult to think of a better place to be.

This is all very well, but when I grabbed a lift back to Kununurra to catch a bus to Alice Springs I found at what it’s like to be in a small helicopter being buffeted by powerful winds at 9000 feet. This is an altogether different experience. Thankfully, my pilot (I’ll call him Dave) had re-attached the doors for this flight.

As I clutched the seat and tried take in the magnificence of the Cockburn Ranges and Pentecost River, Dave motioned for me to put on my headphones. My nervousness was undoubtedly obvious; I presumed he was going to put me at my ease. And look, I’m sure that’s what he intended. Our conversation went something like this.
‘Hey Pete, you’re looking a bit nervous’
‘You can tell can you?’ I would probably have grimaced at him.
‘Not half, but you should know that we’re safer up here than we would be flying just above the trees.’
‘Is that right?’ I know I did not sound convinced.
‘I’m serious. If anything goes wrong down there we’d be crashing into trees in a second. Up here, we might drop like a stone for a while, but we’d auto-rotate and probably land safely.’
‘Probably?’
‘Well, there are no certainties, but I’m pretty sure we would.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘I could demonstrate if you like. I’ve had to do it a number of times.’
‘Exactly how many?’
‘Oh, a few.’
‘Well don’t feel you have show me…I’ll take your word for it. No really, I will!’

He laughed at my last response. Bastard! Anyhow, we made it to Kununurra and I stayed overnight before catching a bus south.

It proved to be an eventful evening. I met Byrne, the owner of Ellenbrae Station. We had a few beers, and a few more, and a few more after that. I got to know the locals quite well in a short time. I crawled back to the motel. The next morning I was up at 5:30am and on the bus by 6:30. I didn’t feel at all well, but at least the bus was air-conditioned! It was another fifteen hours to Alice Springs.

Now, back to helicopters. There are two types of helicopter pilot. The first one, lets say his name is Simon, is a trained professional. He maintains his machine with care and flies conservatively. When you point out your next sample site to him, he does a few circles, decides the where the best landing site is, and puts you down within a hundred metres. You know he has radioed back to base and people know where you are.

The second type of pilot is also a trained professional but probably has post-traumatic stress disorder from his time in combat. We’ll call him Wierdo (these pilots all have disturbing one-word nicknames like Mental, Gorilla, or my favourite, Psycho!). He has a slightly different approach. Once you point out the sample site, he will yell, ‘Geronimo!’ fling the tail rotor out quickly in both directions to lose speed, and then drop like a stone into a clearing that he’s fairly sure is big enough for his helicopter.

He may take a few small branches with him on the way down. Wierdo is also occasionally forgetful, and when you point out the flashing red light on his control panel, is liable to say, ‘Fuck! Looks like we’re out of fuel mate. Don’t worry, we’ll auto-rotate down if we run out before we get home. I’m pretty sure I told the office where I was going today.’ He is easily spotted at the mining camp by his constant nervousness, borderline alcoholism and propensity to talk about
I was blessed with both types of pilot.

Oh how I looked forward to another Wierdo or Psycho when it was time to go out stream sediment sampling once again. Surprisingly enough, it was the ‘Simon’ style of pilot that produced most of my dramas.

One day I was out sampling with Geoff, and we had just been dropped off for our first sample of the day. It was about 8:00am and when watched the chopper leave. It took us half an hour to locate a suitable trap site for heavy minerals where picro-ilmenites (indicator minerals for diamonds), or even diamonds, may drop out of the river during times of flow. The half hour was usually because after we had identified the site, the endless circling of the pilot had severely disorientated us and we were no longer sure which way the now dry stream would flow. You can’t easily find trap sites if you don’t know this.

About forty-five minutes after we had been dropped off we had sieved a forty-kilogram sample and were waiting in the shade to be picked up and taken to our next site. At nine-thirty we made jokes about being forgotten. At mid-day we began to get seriously worried about whether the helicopter had crashed and we would be left out here for days. We had maps, but it would be a long walk back to camp, a very long walk (we’re talking a couple of days or so) over extremely tough terrain. After visiting a nearby gorge to escape the heat for a while, where we dipped our toes in some soothingly cool water, re-filled our water-bottles, and startled some freshwater crocodiles, we went back to our improvised landing site (clearly marked with pink flagging tape) and thought seriously about getting ready to stay here overnight. In the bright side, it was a very beautiful and peaceful place.

Thankfully, a helicopter did come to pick us up. It was a Wierdo behind the controls. How exciting! We went off to pick up Tony and Joe, via a plummet and grab stop, and made it back to camp before dark.

Now, seriously, despite my somewhat flippant description of the pilots, not one of them ever put me in any danger. They did leave my stomach behind a few times and make remember my slight fear of flying, but the feeling that comes with travelling in a helicopter is addictive and I would do it again without hesitation. In fact I already have in my current job.

Morning in the Bush

I'm currently writing a book...maybe one day it will be published. It is, among other things, a ramble through my days as an exploration assistant. Anyhow...here we go with a little excerpt.

Do you know what a summer morning is like in the Australian bush? If you don’t, then let me describe it for you.

It is cool. The sun is not yet above the horizon, but the sky is a soft blue colour infused with white. It is perfectly still; branches hang limp. There is a sweet smell in the air, a cool damp aroma that comes from the vegetation. It’s as if someone has doused the country with air freshener. Condensation clings to leaves and the makes the soil moist underfoot; it also carries the smell into your nose. The chorus of birdcalls that greeted the first light of dawn some half and hour ago has ceased. There is only silence.

This is as peaceful as it gets anywhere in the world, as serene as you can be. Soon the drilling will start and it will be time to work. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to experience this again.

That is one the lasting memories of my two years working as a field assistant in Western Australia. I worked in the East Kimberley and Northeastern Goldfields. Of course, I also remember the days when it was over thirty degrees at 7am and steadily rose to over forty-five degrees, sometimes with high humidity. There were the days when I was covered in sweat mingled with red dust, producing a facemask that cracked every time that I smiled. Some days I drank five litres of water in the middle three hours of the day, and wondered why I had chosen to do this work.

On balance, I prefer to remember the sunrises, the peace and serenity of the bush, and the lovely waterholes of the Kimberley. However, these can get boring after a while, so I’ll also talk about the other stuff!

Another song...lyrics only.

Wasting Time

There’s so much I have to do, apparently
The endless jobs that must be done
According to some unwritten law
That he who dies with the most tasks done
Has won

But I’m just sitting here wasting time
Strumming my six-string and writing lines.

Hey you, in your Armani suit
How rich do you really think you’ll be?
Working twelve hours each and every day
With an house and family
You never see.

And I’m just sitting here wasting time
Watching the sun set and drinking wine.
There’s no such thing as wasted time
When I’m playing my six-string and drinking wine
The only wasting I do
Is at my desk until the workday’s through.

Why would you want to waste your life
Chasing status, youth and gold?
You can keep your career and high flying jobs
I am going to taste each day as I grow old
Outside the mould

So I’m just sitting here lost in time
The sun and wind on my face and feeling fine.

Now correct me if I'm wrong but...

I thought the economy was here to serve the needs of society, and not that society was here to be subserviant to the needs of the economy.

Maybe I'm just strange, but that appears to be how we live now.

The Promised Land

It's time for something different. Yes...time to publish some song lyrics...I'm afraid you'll have to imagine the world-class music that goes with them!

The Promised Land


He arrived in San Francisco, back 1849
Came round the Cape Horn searching for his fortune
Followed all the wagon trains, running from his life
Climbing over mountain trails to where there was a fortune

He’s a gold prospector
Burning in the mid-day sun
His water bottle empty
His nuggets all hard-won
Digging in the dirt
With bloodied, blistered hands
A Frisco 49er
Searching for his promised land.

Left his golden dreams, buried in a riverbed
Went back to San Francisco, still without his fortune
Found himself out on the street, reduced to eating bread
Came across a pack of cards. Time to win his fortune.

He’s a desperate gambling man
Choking in the blackjack hall
Down to his last dollar
Waiting for the cards to fall
Through weary, bloodshot eyes
He’s bluffing with an empty hand
Drinking with the local whores
And dreaming of his promised land

Sleeping in an empty doorway, he’s a man who’s all alone
Sheltering from a vengeful wind, ten thousand miles from home
A shadow of his former self, he’s pawned everything he owned
Now huddled tight against the cold, dreaming of a golden road.

He’s a man without a home
A nomad with a wandering soul
Searching for his life’s big break
Waiting for Fate’s dice to roll
Haunting all the streets and docks
His dreams now turned to sand
Believing each new ship that comes
Will take him to his promised land.

Tips for enjoying life No. 1

Have you ever just sat beneth a tree, closed your eyes and listened to the wind rustle through the leaves above? I recommend it.

A glass of red wine helps too!

Travel: Snowman Trek (Part VIII Days 19 - 21)

Day 19

This was a shorter day as we trekked along the undulating plateau. We were treated to a sparkling clear day and magnificent views of this barren landscape as well as a clear panorama of the surrounding mountains. The landscape can only be described as severe, with jagged mountains and shattered scree covering slopes in every direction, caused by the freeze-thaw action of water. There were more lakes and streams, many of which were in streambeds far bigger than their current volume required – an indication that during the snowmelt vast quantities of water tumble across the plateau before thundering down to the valleys below. We also came across small glaciers that were carving their own valleys. At this altitude, even the 100-metre or so climb to the two passes we went over, including Loju La, felt difficult, however we persevered and eventually reached our camp at Jichu Dramo.

(View from Loju La)

(View across the plateau)

Day 20

Today we climbed over the highest point on our trek, Rinchen Zoe La. This pass is recorded as anywhere between 5360m and 5600m, so I will settle on 5450m and hope that is somewhere near the right answer. Below the pass was a milky white lake full of sediment from melting ice. We spent a while at the pass getting photos and generally enjoying the ‘peak’ of our trek and looking at Gankar Pussum, at 7561m the highest moutnain in Bhutan. Then it was down, a long walk past some lakes with some occasionally boggy areas to walk across. We descended a steep-sided valley and found a campsite on the flat valley floor at about 4400 metres. The additional oxygen down here was immediately noticeable after the best part of three days over 5000 metres. The dinner that night was very enjoyable as we celebrated the biggest pass of the trip. We had just one pass left to conquer and that was a comparatively modest 4655 metres.

(View of Gankar Pussum)

(Lake on the way down from Rinchen Zoe La)

Day 21

Our yak herders had already left early, racing to get the best campsite for the next night as there were limited choices. They left at a run! It has snowed in the night and we had a cold start, but it did wake us up. We carried on at a more sedate pace, descending below the tree line and down towards the valley floor. As we reached the bottom by the river, the valley became extremely narrow and steep – a real v-shape. It was like walking between two walls. We found a pleasant, if somewhat muddy, clearing where we had lunch. It was used as a campsite by yak herders and had copious amounts of yak dung lying on the grass.

(It was cold in the toilet tents this morning!)

After lunch, which was a good opportunity to rest weary legs, we carried on and found ourselves climbing up the side of the v-shaped valley. This was a tough climb that took us about 3 hours. It was a winding path up through the forest that gave us magnificent glimpses of the valley falling away below us. As we neared the top of the climb, the slope eased and we were treated to a sheer rock face rising at least 100 metres above us. Then it was up alongside the waterfall, a very steep and demanding section, and then over to the lake where our campsite was situated. A short half hour walk around the lake and we were there. Our yak herders had won the race and we had the best site. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground and snow-capped peaks above. In the evening light, the lake was a magnificent blue against the mountains and sky, and was framed by the rising evening mist from the valley below. It was a cold night, but tomorrow was the last pass.

(Evening at Tampe Tsho)

The Ashes is back in English hands (the 5th Test)

So the Urn is back in English hands…hurrah!

Freddie Flintoff did bugger all in this match, but his mere presence on the field seemed to be enough to spur Stuart Broad on to great things. He did run out Captain Pout…so we can’t ignore him entirely. It was a good note on which to retire.

Captain Pout spent far too much time gobbing on his hands and far too little time at the crease. But he cannot be blamed for this loss – unless his psychic abilities that failed to win him the toss are considered.

Nathan Hauritz probably needs treatment for depression after missing out on the best turning pitch of the series. He was a forlorn character for most of the match as he watched each puff of dust with an agonised expression.

However, the performance of the series goes to…the Australian selectors. Nobody can deny that their steadfast refusal to play a specialist spinner at the Oval was the single most influential performance of the whole series. North toiled away stoically, however it was not ever going to be enough.

There were, however, some other notable performances. Shane Watson made sure that everyone was worried about the pitch by nervously looking at it and constantlypatting it down. His psychological attack on his own team must go down as a crucial act in this test. They spent 5 overs getting the first five runs and after that it was such a struggle. Australia’s batsmen made the pitch look like a minefield, and then England cantered to almost 400 on it. The pitch was not a factor until the last innings.

Even so Strauss appeared very reluctant to win. He did his best to ensure no wickets fell early by refusing to put in close catchers and giving the batsmen an easy ride. I think he was probably beaten up after day 3 and told not to be so soft on poor Aussies.

Ian Bell, showed how is apparent inability to hit a straight ball was, in fact, just a ploy to lull the bowlers into a false sense of security. His seventy in the first innings was vital. However, I don’t think it was necessary for him to use the ploy of being unable to make the grade again in the second innings when England needed runs. That was just showing off.

Scattergun Johnson once again struggled to find a good length, and sometimes struggled to find the cut surface. He tried to break his own foot with a bouncer (perhaps he thought that injuring himself might result in a proper bowler being used!), but merely sent it ballooning over the batsman’s head for a wide. He managed to take the same number of wickets as Siddle at about the same average – but without anywhere near the same impact. Once again Hilfenhaus was the best bowler – the quiet achiever.

And what about Hussey? Too little, too late...but maybe there is more to come.

Normal Service has been resumed - The Headingly Test

Ok. Normal service has been resumed in the Ashes. As collapses go, England showed that they are the masters of the triple bogey, double summersault spineless capitulation. At least they improved in the second innings with some spirited batting by the new boys. Time for some changes?

I wouldn’t normally say that after one defeat, but the next test decides the Ashes so this is no time to go for youth over experience. England has had a gaping hole in their batting between the openers and number 6, a hole wider than the Grand Canyon that needs to be filled up quickly.

On to specifics though.

Stuart Broad played as if he had some aggression about him, both with bat and ball. I thought the snarling and staring showed the Australians a thing or two. It might have had more effect if England were not 300 runs behind at the time and looking decidedly shaky and the game was, to all intents and purposes, over. Still, it was good practice for the future.

England’s bowlers showed their true spirit with an act of charity that must go down in history as one of the best. The way they studiously avoided bowling any dangerous balls for the vast majority of Australia’s innings showed what gentlemen they are.

Scattergun Johnson finally got some reward for bowling his brand of random deliveries with a haul of 5 wickets. Imagine the surprise of the batsmen when he managed to bowl more than one straight ball every ten overs.

Peter Siddle’s liberal application of sunscreen on his lip finally paid dividends with the resultant glare getting him a bagful of wickets by blinding the batsmen and umpire at the same time. This is just as I predicted.

Ravi Bopara is saving up his big innings for The Oval. He has successfully lulled the Australian bowlers into a false sense of security and will light up the ground with a sublime double hundred. Mark my words (unless of course he isn’t picked – in which case he will languish on the sidelines with Bell-like grumpiness).

Ian Bell showed why he has been overlooked for the England side for a while. I assume that his selection was just a form of ‘ground truthing’ to make sure his initial dropping was the right thing to do.

Harmison took a wicket in his first over and then relaxed into his normal Johnson-like randomness, with the exception of a spell where Watson, for some reason, played as if the lights had gone out. I foresee a rest for Harmie.

But who is that I see in the shadows…is it Mark Ramprakash once again averaging over 100 in the county season (Third time in four years), is Marcus Trescothick averaging 78 this season and pondering whether he can do one more test for England, or is it Ian Trott, young and keen and averaging over 80 this season. Or is it all three?. My betting is that England will change at least two batsmen and drop Harmison for Flintoff. If they don’t change at least two middle order batsmen, they are buggered. This is one test that has to be won and not one where youth is to be nurtured.

PS. And Captain pout didn’t pout. Hallelujah. I didn’t check to see how much spit he layered onto his hands in this test.

DiVenuto and Harmison in fine form - but for Durham

Yes...Michael DiVenuto scored 254 this week...and Harmie took a few wickets. And a test was played at Edgebaston in between the rain periods. Harmison looks like his form is on the wane though, and this probably means that he'll come into contention for the Oval test match - a flat batting track where underperforming bowlers get hammered. The selectors will wait until he achieves Mitchell Johnson-like accuracy and then pick him - dropping Broad who is starting to look like a test match bowler.

But on to the test match.

Phillip Hughes was dropped and then whinged about it on Twitter. He's looking like future captain material. Watson came in and looked like an opening batsman, before playing Freddie Flintoff into form with some pop-gun bowling. Haddin was awarded the Glen McGrath medal for injuring himself in the warm-up and allowing Graham Manou to make his test debut.

Johnson once again bowled some surprise straight balls, although I must admit that he did find a few more than usual scattered between his randomly directed thunderbolts. Hilfenhaus once again shouldered the burden of bowling England out - surely he's now running classes on swinging the ball for other Australian bowlers. Siddle

I also noted the return of sledging to the game. Or perhaps they were just passing the time of day during the dull parts of this match. Maybe Broad was explaining to Johnson about bowling and the art of getting it to go straight? Who knows, but Swann was certainly doing that and it paid dividends when his coaching finally paid-off when Johnson got his wicket. This is what all coaches live for. I'm sure Swann felt a warm feeling of satisfaction as he walked off. He may also need to coach Captain Pout on playing off-spin too - judging by the large gap between bat and pad that Punter obligingly left for him to exploit in the second innings. Memories of Harbajan Singh must have come flooding back.

The Edgebaston pitch become a bit lively with the rain, but then realised its reputation was at stake and settled down in the last two days to become the featherbed we all know it is. Once this happened there was no danger of either side winning.

The return of Ian Bell caused no waves whatsoever - I was hoping this well known whinger would compete with Captain Pout, but alas he kept quiet, obviously content with the amount of whinging he'd already done about being dropped from the team in the first place. With his colouring he reminds me of a mimime Boris Becker - but without the power, the sense of humour, charisma, or physique or the tennis racket (boom boom).

Michael Hussey showed that he is master of leaving the straight delivery...few other batsmen can have shown such a skill as he. Michael Clarke showed that he is possibly the best batsman on either side and ruined a good match by stubbornly batting through the last day. Surely the crowd derserved a batting collapse or two...but it was not to be.

And one point to raise. I have noticed that Captain Pout reached a milestone to be remembered. I'm not talking about him becoming Australia's highest scoring batsmen by passing the gritty and far grumpier Allan Border (although Border did have good reason to be Captain Grumpy given the sides he had to captain and frequency with which he found himself facing the might of the West Indies and watching a spectacular batting collapses while he himself stoically batted on).

I am infact referring to Captain Pout becoming the greatest ever spitter. It is a little known fact that no cricketer has ever directed so much sputum onto his hands in the history of test cricket. He has kept up a steady stream of spit into his palms and during this test reached the milestone of 100 gallons. He is to be commended and it seems unlikley that anyone will pass this record. Well done Captain Pout.