Stuffed!

I’ve just spent what began as a tedious hour in my local shopping mall (do we call them malls over here?). It was full of Stuff and it got me thinking. This is a rare occurrence so I thought I’d put my thoughts down on paper. I immediately bought some Stuff – a pen and a notebook.

The mall had so many shops selling a mountain of items. There were clothes, shoes, jewellery food, kitchen utensils, and furniture, not to mention the clothes and shoes. There were toys novelty shops, picture shops, newsagents, coffee shops and shops selling shoes and clothes – have I already mentioned these? Further along I found jewellers, cobblers, bookshops, phone shops, electrical appliance shops, travel agents, music shops, amusement arcades, computer hardware and software shops, and department stores – these were mainly clothes and shoes with a scattering of perfume, music, books and furniture. In addition to this there numerous clothes and shoe shops – but I think I already mentioned that. And as I wandered along in my usual state numbness (this is what shopping does to me) it just hit me – this is all just Stuff.

Does it really matter if your shoes cost $90 or $130? Are you going to get $40 of extra wear out of the more expensive brand? And if so, how are you measuring that? Can you judge whether they’ll be $40 more comfortable? No matter how you look at it, it is all just Stuff. A $100 watch, a $10 T-Shirt, a $1000 suit, a diamond ring, a $35 book, a $30 compact disc, a $25,000 car, the new $200 hiking boots with $20 socks, or the cut-price gold necklace for $199.99 – it is all simply Stuff, no matter how you try to justify it. It seems the human race is addicted to Stuff and will do all it can to collect it. We really like the best Stuff and compete with our neighbours to get it. My Stuff is better than your Stuff!

However, the problem with collecting Stuff is that there is always more Stuff being made, so we need to buy more Stuff to keep up. Companies bring new and improved Stuff each year. Computers are overtaken within 6-months of their purchase, the washing machine is outdated after two-years, cars need to be replaced every few years, each year a new colour or clothing style is ion fashion and there is yet more Stuff in the shops. We can never have enough.
Where do we put this Stuff? Our houses are getting bigger, but that big, so we sell it, throw it away, or just let it pile up in the attic or garage. It seems we quickly get bored with our Stuff and need different Stuff. Life is full of Stuff.

I often ask myself why we need all this Stuff and I can’t really find a reason. I don’t think we do need all this Stuff. I certainly don’t begrudge people wanting a more comfortable life – why would I? I want a more comfortable life, but I don’t think accumulating Stuff will give it to me.

We seem addicted to shopping, always wanting shops open for longer, but how much do we need? To be able to buy more Stuff we need to earn more and therefore work longer hours and want the shops open later – it seems like a vicious circle. Perhaps if we didn’t have an obsession with Stuff, we wouldn’t feel the need to work ourselves into the ground to earn more to keep up with the ever elusive and mystical Jones’. Unfortunately, it seems that our economy is built around the purchase of Stuff, and we are bombarded with overt and covert advertising to remind us to buy more Stuff. This will keep the economy going and people in jobs.

We now need so much Stuff that it is being made overseas because that makes it cheaper. We can’t afford a lot of expensive Stuff, so we need it to be cheaper and will happily buy the cheap Stuff, and convince ourselves it is good Stuff, even if it falls apart within a year or two. The good quality Stuff is still made, but it takes time and skill, which makes it expensive – we’ll stick mainly with the cheap Stuff. Good quality Stuff is therefore becoming scarce. This has a perverse irony. Good quality Stuff is built to last and, while it is more expensive, it will probably outlast numerous poorer quality competitors, leaving the poorer people eventually spending more on four or five cheap models than the cost of one good quality model. We encourage this through our purchase of cheap Stuff. It will lead us down a path of perennial mediocrity.

So there we have it – a world full of Stuff; an artificial means of keeping the economy going and food on our tables. So after a while I asked myself, while temporarily disorientated at yet another meeting of wide aisles of shops, when Adam Smith was philosophising, did he envisage a world where we were subservient to the economy? I always understood the economy was there to serve society and make it work by distributing wealth and services. All this Stuff and our desperation to purchase it, led to me to wonder whether we have got it all wrong and are simply on a treadmill of never-ending economic slavery for the simple purpose of making and buying Stuff. This was indeed food for thought.

After an hour or so walking through the mall I was well and truly stuffed and needed some fresh air. I am not ashamed to say that I felt an overwhelming feeling of escape and relief as I exited through the doors and out into the sunshine. I was no longer surrounded by Stuff, and it felt really good.

Salute the Adventurer

The rescue of round the world sailor, Abby Sutherland, has been making the headlines recently, attracting the usual debate concerning whether we would should pay for her rescue or not. Some time ago, Yann Elies, competing in the Vendee Globe round-the-world race was also the subject of some uncharitable commentators highlighting the monetary cost, and before that there was Tony Bullimore and others. However, many fail to see that there are costs should these people be discouraged from their adventures, costs to society as a whole.

Those, particularly in Australia, that criticise the cost of such activities should bear in mind that many would not be living where they are today unless someone with an adventurous sprit had not boarded a boat and sailed into the unknown. While a comfortable and sedate experience is what many people long for, the human race would stagnate without those who try to push the boundaries in all sorts of fields and endeavours. There are indigenous races that may rue, and with some justification, this adventurous sprit, and one cannot begrudge them this opinion, but exploration and competition appear to run in the blood of much of the human race.

Those that wish for the quiet life have every right to seek that experience, but they should not begrudge assistance to those who seek more active and physically challenging experiences. Just as some follow the suburban dream and conventional career paths, others dream of scientific discovery, sporting achievement, sailing the ocean, climbing mountains, or perhaps even going into space. These people often provide inspiration for others and so contribute something that can’t be measured in dollars.

And what about the cost? Why do we accept that the world should be run by accountants? Does the financial cost of something always have to be the deciding factor? And is the cost that is often quoted real? Where navy ships are concerned, are the navy sailors not paid irrespective of whether they are at sea? Perhaps they get paid more at sea, but how much more? Is the fuel not going to be used at some point or another in the year- if not this voyage, then another? So what is the real cost of a rescue that wouldn’t otherwise be expended? I would hazard a guess that it is much less than the figures that are often quoted.

So what is the cost discouraging these adventurous people? Will we start to get generations who are inward looking and caught in a spiral of ever-decreasing inventiveness? I’m serious; we see the same in research – people discouraged from pure research because it has no immediate commercial or practical application. That is very short-sighted because this very research is often the foundation of many new ideas that have great benefits to humanity. Just recently a plant species has proven to be useful in combating cancer, highlighting the benefits of funding basic botanical research. The same is true for adventurers, they inspire people to do things, and they show what can be done with determination and application. Sure, some come a cropper, falling through the ice in the arctic, getting knocked over in the Southern Ocean, or getting into trouble climbing mountains and needing rescuing, but I hold no grudges that my taxes go toward their rescue. I am a lot more worried that my money goes into subsidising tax breaks for investors, politicians expenses, the private education system, and many, many more things that systematically siphon money away from more needy areas and cost far more than the one-off rescue of an adventurer.

The cost of discouraging adventure and risk is a bland and timid society. We are already letting the economy run our lives, rather than using the economy as a tool for helping society. We are not here to serve the economy, the economy is there to serve us, and I think we can lose sight of this sometimes. I won’t go into the GFC, but making money for money’s sake has not proven to be a great idea, it has cost us trillions of dollars. Don’t worry about a few million dollars spent on rescuing adventurers, when we condoned financial practices that have sent countries broke and major institutions to the wall. Where is the sense of perspective here? Why is this even an issue?

I applaud those who still find ways in which to be adventurous and challenge the elements. They remind us that humans are a curious and dynamic animal that seek out new experiences. We need to keep climbing mountains, sailing the oceans, exploring deep caves, the sea floor, the deserts, and the universe. The alternative is that we become a risk-averse race that crawls along, afraid to take chances and nervous of challenges, always worrying about cost.

Why should everyone be chained to their job? Why criticise those who choose to push the limits? In the long-run, their spirit of adventure benefits all of us, shows that the world can still be a wild and wonderful place, and reminds many of us of the origin of the cities and countries where we live today. People got on boats, or camels, or horses, and went out into the wide blue yonder to see what was there. I am grateful to them for that and sleep soundly in my bed each night knowing that there are adventurers out there who dare to dream.

Across the Nullarbor by Train in 1993

Perth in winter was quiet. In 1993 there were not a great many occupants at the Francis Street Youth Hostel. This is where I had stayed when I arrived in Perth; it had a nice feel to it. Ross and Linda ran it, and they made the hostel, in my opinion, the best place for backpackers in Perth. They were friendly people, and Ross was making improvements all the time. There was a chance to work for your rent as well. I had no hesitation in returning. The weather was overcast and the temperature a chilly 18 degrees Celsius (that is chilly for Perth). It also rained a fair bit.
Life quickly became just a little bit tedious. There were only so many pubs, museums and galleries to visit; even playing on the kid’s toys at SciTech lost its lustre after a while. How many times can you mime in front of a blue screen to John Farnham’s Pressure Down song? Quite a few, if you want my opinion, particularly when there are fake guitars and drums to play. We needed a visit to the pub after that!

Then, on the spur of the moment, I decided to visit Sydney. I had met some people just after I arrived and they had all gone east to stay in the Glebe Youth Hostel. A friend of mine from Plymouth University was also in Sydney. I took the train to East Perth Station to see when the next train to Sydney left. It was sitting in the station and I was reliably informed that it was leaving in two hours.

After buying a ticket, I had only ninety minutes to get back to the hostel, pack a bag, check out, and get back to East Perth. In such times, the gremlins ensure that the local trains are running late. I waited for what seemed like an eternity before a train came to take me back into central Perth. Ross was nowhere to be seen when I wanted to check out (I think I might have left a note saying I would be back in three weeks). I need not have panicked; the train was half-an-hour late in leaving and I made it with fifteen minutes to spare. Next stop Sydney! Actually, it was Midland just little bit further east, and then Kalgoorlie, and then Adelaide etc. I’m sure you get the idea.

Some of you would be asking, ‘Why take the train when you can fly?’

The answer is simple. I had a lot of time to spare, at least four weeks, and I enjoy travelling by train. For many years, travelling on the Indian Pacific had been a dream of mine, and I was now in a position to make it happen.

I have always liked riding on trains. There is something quite relaxing about the smooth motion, and ease by which you pass through the countryside. This was no exception. To aid matters I had managed to get on the same carriage as a group of medical students from Adelaide, who had been to a conference, or something. I could not quite make out where they had been, because wherever it was, they had been celebrating for a few hours.

Being sociable sorts they wouldn’t hear of me not having a drink with them. Well, all right then, twist my arm if you have to. We partied on into the night before, one by one, calling it quits. Fortunately, we had two seats each, the carriage only being half-full. This, and the anaesthetic effect of the beer, meant that we all slept.

I woke up somewhere east of Kalgoorlie, staring up at my feet. There are only so many ways to sleep on a train seat, and the flat torso, head on armrest with feet and legs vertical against the window, is an accepted method. It also leaves a significant ache at the base of your skull. After some considerable effort, I managed to get myself into a sitting position and consider my hangover. The glare from the desert outside was not helping.

Once enough of us were conscious and able to function, we played a game. It was very similar to the game kids often play in the car. You know the one. I-spy. However, there are only so many times you can you can say, ‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with S,’ and get the same volley answers.
‘Sand dune.’
‘Sky.’
‘Scrub.’
‘Sandwich.’
‘What?’
‘Sandwich. I got it from the restaurant car.’
‘OK then, but we were looking out the window.’
‘Oh. Right. Slightly singed tree?’
‘Where?’
‘Only kidding. I was looking at the sand dune.”
That exhausted at least ninety-percent of all possibilities.

The day’s games became less and then died out altogether. There is only so much you can do to pass the time, and most people gradually withdrew into their own personal method of dealing with the endless hours of travel. My own method was to sit and stare out of the window in a semi-trance, hypnotised by the endless landscape that refused to stop passing by. In places it was so flat that I fancied that I could see for fifty kilometres. I think it is only possible to see about five because the curvature of the Earth, but I was in my own little world.

The Nullarbor Plain, for that is what we were trundling across, is famous for not having any trees. It is Latin for no trees. The train line has a straight stretch of four hundred and seventy-eight kilometres that crosses this unique landscape. It is also very flat, except for the occasional patch of sand dunes.

The promotion for the train says that you will be able to see a great deal of wild of wildlife. The plain is a limestone plateau covering about 200,000 square kilometres. It stretches over 1000 kilometres at its widest point. It used to be an old seabed that has since been uplifted and is riddled with caves. Some of them are huge. Cocklebiddy Cave in Western Australia is one of the largest, being over six kilometres in length. Most of it is filled with water, but that hasn’t stopped intrepid cavers from seeing how far they can go. The record is just over six and a half kilometres. Nobody knows how much further it goes? This limestone tableland eventually reaches the Southern Ocean and terminates in cliffs that fall straight down to the water, some 70 metres below.

Another reason I remember Cocklebiddy is from when we drove over to the east from Perth, when I was about eight years old. We stayed in a small motel and were kept awake all night by the breeze blowing off the land towards the sea. I don’t know who decided to call it a breeze, it was a howling gale that rattled all the windows and shook the walls. Loose bits of galvanised iron bashed against other galvanised iron in a symphony of metallic screeching. As you can see, it was burned into my memory. The flat plain provides not protection, so this wind just blows as much as it likes. I preferred cruising past in the comfort of the train. The train also arrives in three days, while driving across would take at least a week.

The promotion for the train says that you will be able to see a great deal of wild of wildlife from the window. This is probably true, but only if you haven’t become totally vacant, focused on a speck of dust on the window, and are now dribbling in a catatonic state.

There are eagles and other birds of prey that occasionally glide majestically by on their thermals; there are wombats, kangaroos, emus and even camels, but I can’t remember seeing many. The Eyre Bird Observatory near the Western Australian and South Australian border has recorded somewhere in the region of two hundred and thirty different species of bird. I only wish that I could have spotted some of them.

The day dragged on.

And on.

And on.

It was, however, comforting, even out here in the middle of nowhere, to have the traditional unexplained stops and then periods of trundling along at only just above walking pace. There is probably a good reason for this; hot tracks, perhaps a train coming the other way, but it seems that it is company policy wherever you are in the world not to tell the passengers what is going on.

The train occasionally passes old towns, or just abandoned stations like Forrest, a lonely wooden building that has been left to suffer the tender mercies of time. We stopped in Cook, named after the sixth Prime Minister of Australia, Joseph Cook. This was a welcome chance to get off the train and stretch our legs. It was hardly a town at all, just a collection of three or four buildings next to the railway with a dirt track heading off into the flat tableland. There are four people who live here, the rest moved when it ceased to be an important stop once the railways were privatised and support operations moved elsewhere. It was very quiet. Adelaide seemed a very long way away.

We managed to arrive in the South Australian capital on the second morning. The usual contortions had resulted in the usual ached and pains so I took the opportunity to get off the train for a couple of hours and have a really good fried breakfast. A short tour of Adelaide was offered, but why would I want to get on a coach? just I had been cooped up on a train for a day and a half, and had another similar stint ahead of. Was he mad?

The day passed uneventfully enough. My medical mates from Adelaide were now safely home and the carriage was much quieter. Late that afternoon we pulled into Broken Hill. This is where the journey became even more of a drag.

I had managed to get a seat in a non-smoking car, because of the scarcity of people on the train. My ticket, the only one left when I bought my passage in Perth, was for a smoking car. I had been able to ignore this restriction up until now, however my luck had run out.

I moved to the smoking car and spent the rest of the day sitting next to an old guy who smoked like a chimney. He did apologise, but that did not help very much. When I left England, I had not realised how many people smoked. I played cricket, and one of the clubs I played for had developed a grey haze by about eight o’clock on a Saturday evening. A lot fewer people smoked in Perth, and I now found that sitting in the smoking car was making my eyes sting.

Consequently, I spent at least half of the third day standing in between the cars staring out of the window. Sydney could not come soon enough.

After yet another night of gymnastic sleeping, this time with only one seat and a carriage full of smoke, we pulled into Sydney early on the third morning, some four thousand three hundred and fifty-two kilometres after leaving Perth. I was exhausted and crawled into the first taxi I could find, mumbled, ‘Glebe Youth Hostel,’ before I passed out.

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.

Of umpires, 'scattergun' Johnson and Freddie's knee - Lord's Test 2009

England have broken their Lord’s hoodoo against Australia, and done it in style. There were some questionable decisions but, as I can attest from personal experience, people tend to remember the decisions that go against them when they lose and don’t worry too much if their team won. Having said this, the umpiring has not been of the standard required for test cricket. Perhaps this is because umpires are now trying to second-guess what the TV replay is going to show – I don’t know.

But on to the cricket. Phillip Hughes has to stop trying to tread on the square-leg umpire’s toes every time a short ball is bowled at him – imagine him against the West Indies of old – he’d have had a test career with the longevity of an ice-cube in an oven. Toughen up son! Get your back foot in line and you won’t have to worry as much about edging to the slips. You looked like a timid schoolboy.

Michael Clarke looks the goods, and Hussey managed to get some semblance of form and was a touch unlucky (just a touch!). Punter did a magnificent job of keeping Broad’s confidence up. I think he’s trying to keep him in the side for the next test and trying to keep Harmison out. But Harmie will play in the next test – take my word on this. Broad will need a haircut and this will be just the excuse England need to drop him.

But what of scattergun Johnson? He once again got wickets with his elusive straight ball. Keep him in the side I say…he’s great entertainment. Perhaps he’ll be kept in for his batting.

Nathan Hauritz continues to do his best to disprove my theory that only his mum would have selected him for Australia. Perhaps his mum should have picked the whole team. He continues to masquerade as a test-class spinner, and seems to be doing a good job of it.

Freddie once again proved that only having one good leg is not enough to stop him single-handedly wresting the Ashes from Australia’s grasp. Personally, I thought Strauss missed an excellent opportunity in the first innings to send Freddie in at number three when England had just put on 186 for the first wicket. A quick 40 or 50 would have been the equivalent of a few solid punches below the belt. It would have been worth the risk. I predict that by The Oval, Freddie will be roaring in, in a wheelchair, and still delivering 150kmh thunderbolts.

KP continues to limp and this means that England is two legs short of a fit cricket team. Surely a team with only 20 legs between them did not beat Australia. Bopara continues to promise a Gower-like innings without actually delivering one, Collingwood still refuses to smile while batting, Prior just belts it, and is very entertaining as a result, and Cook is looking bewildered by the crap bowling he gets to play him in at the beginning of his innings and the way his technical flaws are studiously ignored until he has got some runs. Strauss can obviously only go downhill from here!

Graeme Swann finally showed some of the flight and guile that has taken him so many wickets in the last year. Possibly the ball of the match that got Clarke.

Punter Ponting has some decisions to make. Is Lee fit and will he better his bowling average of 40 in the last series if he is selected here? Is Stuart Clarke fit, and will either of these bowlers replace Johnson’s stoic batting at number 8? But Punter he has re-affirmed his faith in Johnson and Hughes – surely the proof that their places are in jeopardy – but there is no reserve specialist batsman.

The Saga of Punter's Bottom Lip - Of time-wasting and the absence of Warne and McGrath (1st Test)

The first test ended in a draw...Siddle didn't take a bag of wickets, Hauritz outstripped expectations (including mine), Punter scored a magnificent hundred as did three others, the umpiring was woeful, Collingwood showed enough guts for the whoe team, and KP played perhaps the worst shot of his career - so far.

However, as I predicted, Punter's bottom lip was in evidence in the last session. His unhappiness about England's time-wasting tactics was more from frustration that he couldn't land the killer blow. One session, three wickets needed, a new ball, and batsmen of the class of Panesar and Anderson, and he still couldn't finish it off. Don't let the time-wasting issue distract you...Australia weren't good enough to bowl England out twice in the time available - with the aid of a bit of rain.

Also, as I predicted, Mitchell Johnson got wickets with surprise straight balls. Poor old Cook was so worried about his off-stump he forgot to hit one that was going to hit middle. Johnson struggled get anything near the stumps for 90% of the time. This hardly boded well for his ability to bowl out the tail - those guys simply aren't good enough to hit anything wide to the fielders - and so it proved.

It is now clear (as it always was to true cricketing fans) that without Warne and McGrath, Australia would win less tests. The batting is still OK, although they weren't really tested this time, but the bowling is average for test match cricket.


Umpiring. My god...I can remember at least four LBWs given not out that were clearly out (2 on each side) and I saw Andrew Strauss robbed of a run when the ump gave a leg-bye to a ball that missed the middle of his bat by a centimetre or so. Even so it was a gripping last day and good for the series. It's all still alive.

My sources (and they are as reliable as rain in the Sahara) tell me that Harmison is a shoe in for the next test, and that Siddle is looking for a brighter zinc cream. They also tell me that Simon Jones watched the England bowlers this weekend and reckons that he could do better even if he only has one good leg. Watch this space...who knows what could happen at the England selection table.

That's all for now...keep tuned in for the exciting installment of The Saga of Punter's Bottom Lip

Punter's pout or Flintoff's knee - what will have the biggest impact on the Ashes?

OK, the Ashes are starting and it is time for me to start staying up until the ungodly hours of the early morning to watch the action live. Who will win? Some people may say ‘Who cares who wins,’ but they are philistines and do not deserve any attention. Cricket is, after all, the best game in the world. Anyhow, on to important matters.

I foresee that the series will be close and that England will win (I think the couple of nights staying up watching the Tour de France have already made me delirious). In between the following events;

• Punter Ponting sulking when things are not going his way,
• Andy Strauss suffering anxiety attacks every time he watches Flintoff running in to bowl (wondering which part of his world class all-rounder is going to break this time),
• the whole of Australia, except his mum, wondering why Nathan Hauritz was picked and what he’s going to do from now on,
• and the whole cricket world wondering why on earth Cardiff was picked to host the first test and what on earth the Welsh know about cricket?. I suppose they did give us Simon Jones and that can't be underestimated - England could do with him now.
  
  I think England will win 3-1.

Some further predictions:

• Peter Siddle will probably take the most wickets for Australia assisted by the glare coming off the zinc cream on his lips (no one has told him the sun doesn’t shine in the UK).
• Michael Johnson will settle into a line a whole metre outside off-stump and take wickets with his surprise straight ball.
• Jimmy Anderson will befuddle the Australian top order with his swing bowling hoping they are good enough to get an edge. He will have a better than even chance of having nervous break down as they keep wafting and missing causing him to question what he has done to deserve such poor luck.
• Alistair Cook will vainly try to bend his surgically straightened front leg and not to fall to Stuart Clark’s unerring off-stump line.
• Flintoff will break both his legs and still carry on resolutely taking a series-winning 5 wicket haul in the final test.
• Punters bottom lip will cause bad light to stop play as it blocks out the sun when things are going against Australia.
• Steve Harmison will magically re-find his form in county cricket and be ignored by the England selectors for the whole summer.
• Shane Warne and Ian Botham will be called upon to don their whites due to injuries and have a gripping battle as Botham tries to score the quickest hundred in test history while saving England from defeat.

I kid you not...this will all happen. I stand by my predictions and will wager at least 10 cents on the outcome.

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part VII - Days 16-18)

Day 16

This was a long walk. We began by crossing the pass above Green Lake (Keche La – 4665m) and then began a long and steep descent into the valley of the Pho Chhu. It was not a particularly challenging descent and we came across some villages on our way down including Tega, where we stopped to take in the views of the valley and look at a local Chorten. Across the valley there were hanging valleys and waterfalls cascading down from the plateau above. Below was a sheer gorge with a raging river. It was quite relaxing!

(View into the valley from Tega)

From Tega we descended before coming across a bridge that took us over a waterfall entering the valley. It was loud and a bit wet, but another good place to stop and take in the views. Once we reached the Pho Chhu we came across two of the local girls who were collecting wood. They kindly posed for a photo. It was interesting to see the significantly different clothing they wore compared to the Layaps. We walked along a very rocky trail before climbing up the steep banks (about 20 – 30metres) to the village of Lehdi. It was raining now and there was a cold wind; we were glad to find some shelter in the lee of a hut where we could eat our lunch.

(Some locals near Lhedi)

All that was left was a long walk up the valley to Chozo. In our way we glimpsed the magnificent Kungfu Kung (7100m) as it appeared out of the clouds. This wasn’t a particularly steep walk; however the final climb up the valley through large boulders seemed to take a long time. I think we were all glad to see Chozo when we came around the final corner. The village was bathed in soft sunshine that was spearing in through the clouds. I looked to the east to see Table Mountain, however all I could see was a cascade of cloud tumbling down the west face, the summit and top half of the mountain being obscured. We had a rest day to look forward to and I was not going to waste it!

(Arriving at Chozo)

Day 17

I did very little on this rest day, other than wander around the village. Miriam and I persuaded one of our guides, Ash, to take us to look at the monastery. This was also a fortress, the only one in the Lunana region. It was the only traditional designed Bhutanese monastery we had seen, however we were not able to gain entrance as there was no caretaker around. It is said to be over 600 years old.

Some of the group, only two (perhaps three) went to visit the nearby village of Thanza, somewhat closer to the base of Table Mountain. Now…Table Mountain. This is an awesome piece of rock; there is no other way to describe it. It rises some 3km from the valley floor to its flat summit (approximately 7100m). The summit stretches for kilometres and has a cornice of snow on top that must be a couple of hundred metres thick. It dominates the view east from Chozo with its seemingly vertical west face. Simply magnificent!

(Table Mountain)

The locals came to visit camp and chat as best they could with us. The lad with the big purple hat was a standout among the locals! There was also a house blessing going behind the camp, so there was an opportunity to visit and experience this ceremony. I felt (rightly or wrongly) that I would be intruding so stayed at the camp.

I could have spent the whole day just staring at it, but I had washing to do and lunch to eat, as well as morning and afternoon tea etc. One of the guides showed me the route we would be taking the next day up on to the Lunana plateau. It didn’t look too bad. I ended up thinking that it was a good time to have a rest day.

Day 18

After a chilly start to the morning we crossed a short bridge over the Pho Chhu and began the long climb up to the Lunana Plateau. By golly it was tough! Even the yaks were puffing and panting when they finally caught us and left us behind. We climbed up over 1000 metres to Sintia La, and it took me about 5 hours. We stopped for lunch on some rocky outcrops not far beneath the final pass. Up here there were small glaciers coming down from the craggy plateau edge and a view back towards Table Mountain and Kungfu Kung that was ample reward for the hard work. We were even rewarded with a spectacular avalanche on Table Mountain. We had heard the rumbling of a few avalanches in the morning; however we only saw this one.

(Avalanche on Table Mountain)

Once we reached the plateau we came a across a beautiful, if barren, landscape. It was rocky and framed by snow-capped peaks, with small lakes and streams cutting through the rocks. There were more of the strange alpine plants unique to this part of the world, and we were blessed with clear, crisp weather. While our path was reasonably easy, off to the east were large craggy peaks beside deep valleys that had been incised into the plateau. We strolled with comparative ease across this landscape but the altitude did eventually start to tell. We were staying up at about 5000 metres for two days. By the end of the day, the campsite at Tsho Chena could not come soon enough.

(On the plateau)

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part VI - Days 13-15)

Day 13

After a windy night we awoke to a cloudy day that proved to be a poor photo day. We climbed up to a valley that was quite open and it was here that we saw some of the rheum nobile – a cylindrical plant that was either red or yellow. It’s a strange plant and I am sorry to say that none of my attempts to capture it on film were successful due to the light (or perhaps my ability with a camera?). Another steep climb followed and we got tantalising glimpses of a big mountain high up in the clouds. A lot of the day involved climbing over moraine and rocks and it proved to be reasonably challenging. By this time we were at about 4900 metres. It was cold and I looked forward to having dinner and then climbing into my sleeping bag.

(Our yaks and yak herders appearing through the mist)

Day 14

I awoke on Day 14 of the trek aware that the tent felt rather warmer than it probably should, given that it was snowing when we went to bed the previous night. As I managed to focus my eyes I could see shadows on the side of the tent. At the same time as I touched them they moved with a ‘sssshhhhh’ sound as the snow slid down towards the ground. A cursory look outside the tent revealed a white landscape that was gloomy under the blanket of a thick mist.



After we had breakfast the mist lifted and we were treated to a magnificent view down the valley with the sun casting a soft light on the snow. We could see for miles. Many miles. There were peaks stretching off in the distance as we looked west towards Nepal. Opposite was Gangla Karchang, a magnificent, sheer rock that reached up to 6300 metres. It was difficult to understand that it was over a kilometre higher then we were – it seemed almost close enough to reach out and touch. The scale of the landscape was very deceptive.

It was a short climb up to the pass (5020 metres) during which time magnificent, if small, glaciers were visible, along with the seasonal deposition lines in the snow. After crossing Karakachu La we began a long descent. Very early on I was able to catch an avalanche on film. This morning was one of the most spectacular on the whole trek. The clear sky and crisp morning snow made the thin air much less tiring, and the view from the pass was awe-inspiring with 7000 metre peaks marking the border with Tibet. Below the peaks was a precipitous valley some 3km lower. These views made the 1000 metre steep climb down from the pass into the valley more seem easier than it actually was. There were plenty of opportunities to stop and admire the view and the rhododendrons.

(On the way up to Karakachu La)

(View from Karakachu La)

(Avalanche on way down from Karakachu La)

Once we reached the valley floor it was a three-hour walk along the flat valley floor to the camp. However, because we had spent so long talking to our Bhutanese guide, Sonam, about the flora of the area, we ended up reaching the camp in the dark using torches. It has been a hard day, but the views were easily the best yet and made the effort seem a small price to pay to see them.

Day 15

We started today walking through the bottom of a glaciated valley that had many large boulders strewn along its length. The river, Tarina Chuu gurgled happily beside us, making the walk rather pleasant, although there were some rather muddy patches.

(The Tarina Chu)

We then began a long climb up towards the village of Woche. This was, as usual, quite demanding and took up until lunchtime. At Woche we lay on the grass and had lunch in the afternoon sun, and watched the locals at work preparing their wheat. It was quite idyllic, however we did need to move on to the next camp.

(Kids at Woche)

We left the village and crossed a large moraine deposit which involved many short, steep climbs before we got to cross the Woche Chuu. As we came down towards the bridge one of our yaks fell in the raging torrents (it’s a reasonably wide river) and we watched as the yak herders kept their heads and managed to guide it back on to the shore. If we had lost the yak, we would have lost everything attached to it for good. However, I’m sure the yak was even more please than we were with its survival!

Just to finish off the day, then came to a very steep climb up to our campsite. It was at least 50-70 metres and proved to be a real effort. Just what we needed. The camp was right next to Green Lake and gave us a great view of Kangphu Kang (7200m) to the north. The lake was indeed green and provided a much-appreciated place to stop for the night.

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part V - Days 10-12)

Finally got around to the next installment of the Snowman Trek. Read for days 10-12.

Day 10

Only a half-day walk today. Four hours and only sixty metres of climbing and we would be in Laya. As in all cases when the day promises to be easy, it is always just that little bit harder than expected. Nonetheless after leaving camp and walking along an undulating path with lots of short, sharp climbs and descents, we came over a ridge and found ourselves on a plateau and only a few minutes walk from the village of Laya. Having flat ground was a bit of a novelty, as was a collection of houses greater than a handful.

(Arriving in Laya)

After finding our campsite, having a hot lunch in one of the houses (adorned with a very clear picture of a penis – apparently a holy man came through Bhutan a few hundred years ago and his teachings included putting such paintings on houses protected their occupants from bad luck and evil spirits) and spending some time watching the locals go about their business sorting the grain and wheat, it was time to do the usual chores that come with time at a campsite – generally washing and dying clothes. There were also a couple of shops that became apparent after some looking around.

(Layan Lady)

Our leader had thought that, as we were all travelling well, we could ignore the scheduled rest day and keep on moving the next day and give ourselves an extra day ‘in the bank’ in case of trouble later on in the trek. However, our change of yaks had not yet arrived and would not be arriving until late tomorrow. So could relax and rest instead.

(Typical Bhutanese architecture in Laya)

Day11 (Rest Day)

So, what do you do for a day in Laya? There were some shops to go and explore, there were view aplenty to sit and gaze at for a while, and there were hours to snooze and regain some of the energy that had been lost on the previous leg of the trek. Some of the guys visited the local school and had a good time talking with the teachers and children.

One of our crew livened up proceedings by finding a plank of wood and fashioning a cricket bat. We made a ball out of whatever we could find – lots of tape, and then the game was on. Cricket at 3900 metres! A good indication that I was over the altitude effects was that I could run around now and my headache had gone. We played around for an hour or so, repairing the bat when necessary, and providing some entertainment for the locals.

That evening we were treated to some traditional local dances and some local Black Mountain whisky. We partied on into the night, even getting up and trying to learn the dances, which were not that difficult, although some found them more challenging than others. I was happy that we had had a rest day. I felt refreshed and ready to tackle the next leg.

(The author drives through the covers in Laya - photo courtesy of my wife Miriam)

Day 12

Today we started going down; all the way down below 3300 metres. This was cruel, because we then had climb back up to 4200 metres. Once we had reached the bottom of the valley and crossed the Mo Chhu, we then began a long 100 metre climb back up to our camp for the evening.

This was a long climb up to Rodophu. At the start we made our way through often muddy and rocky forests with sharp, steep turns that provided very few places where we could move out of the way of our yaks when it was time to let them past. Like many other days, the yak’s passage gave us an opportunity to rest for a while. This was a seven-hour climb and it was relentless, particularly where there were high rock steps to climb up. The landslides were also interesting; they gave us an opportunity to look right down the precipitous slopes to the valley below.

On the bright side we saw yet more rhododendrons and pine trees, and the forest sheltered us from direct sunlight during the morning. It became cloudy later in the day, and rained a little bit. While we were still in the valley there were plenty of waterfalls coming down from the clouds above. We arrived at camp fairly late in the day and were happy to rest our feet. We were treated to a old hit, which sheltered us during dinner from the cold wind that was blowing in the evening. Well, partially sheltered us as there were no windows in the hut, but it was nice to sit inside. We did, of course, sleep in our tents. Tomorrow we would climb yet again to our highest camp to date, at just below 5000 metres.

(The camp at Rodophu)

Philosophy: Patience really is a good thing!

Patience is a virtue. This is an often quoted sentence and one which appears to be becoming increasingly ignored.

The ever accelerating nature of society and its desire for instant gratification has led to a widespread attitude that everything must be had now. If we can’t have it now, then we have to go and look for something else that is instantly available. Then, once we have whatever it is we obtained, be it either an object or an achievement, we are then immediately looking for the next step rather than enjoying or appreciating what we have.

The rate at which modern society loses interest in new things, on both an individual and societal basis, shows that not only are we losing patience but also that boredom is the result of this loss. Life has become more focused on achievement rather than the journey to achievement. This leaves people in a constant state of stress – unable to relax because there is always another goal which must be attained.

And what is boredom really? I can understand being a little bit bored at work when a job is not stimulating, but there is no excuse for boredom at home. Boredom at home is surely just a sign of a lack of imagination, and probably the reason why so many sit transfixed by the gogglebox as it spews tripe at them. But I digress.

A little bit of patience brings relief from stress and can also bring a far greater reward than the endless treadmill of goal-oriented high achievement. The patience to sit in front of a painting at an art gallery and marvel at the intricate brushwork and the imagination and the talent of the painter to produce such a dynamic picture brings an affirmation that we, as humans, have an immense amount of talent stored away if we could only access it. It may have taken the painter months or even years to produce the work. It would have been unachievable without a good store of patience. The same can be said of authors, architects (at least those who genuinely want to create, rather than build a box!) and many other creative people. Accessing this talent is usually the problem, sometimes because people may grow up being told they have no talent, but also when people don’t have the patience or imagination to try new things. How do you know if you can paint or not unless you try? One of my lost opportunities is drawing; I know I can draw because on one, and only one, occasion I drew a walking boot in incredible detail, but I haven’t had the patience to it again. It did, however, help me get rid of the notion that I couldn’t say I couldn’t do something unless I had first tried it.

However, perhaps the most important use of patience is to take time to learn about ourselves as individuals. There are so many messages being thrown at us every day verbally, visually or subliminally, that it is difficult to sort out what we want as individuals from what we are being told we should want by other interested parties. These include private companies, advertising firms, our employers, our families, government and many more. It is like trying to see the night sky through a telescope in the middle of a city. The stars are visible, but without seeing what the night sky is like without all the light interference from an urban area, we are unaware of how magnificent it really is.

It takes a significant amount of patience to sit and learn about yourself. Some people never find this patience and go through life in cascade of ever-changing values dependent on the latest expectations others have of them. This patience might be thought of as meditation, but I do not necessarily agree with that interpretation as patience and self-knowledge are not necessarily about spirituality. The application of patience in life provides a long-lasting benefit. It allows us to spend time thinking about what we really want, not what society and/or mass marketers are telling us we should want. Once we know this, our decision-making processes become a lot less conflicted.

Patience allows unhurried and clear assessment of options and of opportunities. It is also a shield from over stimulation and a way in which life can be simplified and made far more enjoyable. It clears the fog that is advertising and spin and allows contemplation of what is on offer. This doesn’t necessarily mean that there needs to be certainty of outcome, far from it, but it does mean that if the future is clouded, this fact is accepted and doesn’t cause unnecessary stress. Patience will assist in bringing calm until the haze clears.