Natimuk, NW Vic, Oz.
Arrived at the fabled Mt Arapiles yesterday, alleged at one time to be the Best Crag In The World. It looks like a bag of poo, a cowpat in the middle of this huge plain, but has been pretty good so far. Within seconds of arriving I hooked up with a guy from Sheffield, Matt, and so far have done 3 or 4 routes including the Gogarth Main Wall-esque Eurydice (18; not quite as much guano as Pentathol, and a way bonzer exped).
What was I saying about that small world? Jason, if you're reading this, Matt works at CCC in Sheff with Jenny. What are the chances...etc.
Had a brief detour to the Grampians, which are rather nice, and found some excellent bouldering and easy soloes at Mt Stapylton. There's been a big bush fire and it's all doom and gloom from the tourist dollar perspective. As a result, I had a bargain-priced hostel all to myself, and was able to grab way more dollars-worth of food from the 'free food' shelf than what the bed cost. Bonanza!
Back problems, which beset me since my disc popped while sitting badly on a dining chair at my Aunt Irene's bungalow near Sydney, have settled down following a rigorous programme of chiropractic intervention, gentle exercise and hours spent driving with a rolled-up Karrimat behind my lumbar region.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Melbourne, Victoria, Oz
Still getting used to some of the lingo. The Aussies love their abbrevos. I've mastered as much as is nesso (ergo 'I'm stockin up the Ute with a sixie of stubbies for a trip to the Blueys this arvo'), but sometimes I struggle to remember whether a pint is known as a schooner in this particular part of Oz, or if the word 'stubbie' can also apply to a 'long-neckie'. The first bar I entered in Oz had a sign up saying 'No thongs after 9 pm'. This seemed rather draconian, and I began to think"Gay joint, in Cairns, Australia? Surely not..." Anticipating the appearance of a belt-tweaking bottom inspector at the appointed hour, I was relieved to learn that 'thong' is local for 'flip-flop'. As you were.
Have arrived in Melby after a pleasant bit of rental-car overlanding from the Blue Mountains. As befits this most civilised mode of travel in a big country with good roads, and as perfected on several trips Out West in the US, the following formula was applied: choose a destination (in this case Mt Arapiles in NW Victoria), work out how long it will take to drive there by the direct route (which is always flat and boring, and in this case a disheartening 18 hours, equating to 2 days od solid drudgery), double or treble it and take the scenic route (in this case the coastal Prince's Highway via Eden in the bottom RH corner), stop as often as you like, and I mean often, and let the driving be done when you feel like it. Hardly any traffic, and great stuff.
Have seen many sandstone edges, spotted dolphins from the shore, hugged a wombat in a wildlife sanctuary, camped by the roaring Pacific Ocean, swum at 90-Mile Beach, hiked Mount Oberon, gazed at the southernmost point of mainland Oz, and been to a Killer Whale museum in Eden where I learned of an unlikely symbiosis between orcas - led by head honch Old Tom whose skeleton is in the museum - and human hunters, who had an unspoken pact to bring in and slaughter the baleen whales as they migrated past (the orcas raised the alarm, rounded up the baleens, then the whalers harpooned them, killed them and took the carcasses leaving the lips and tongues for the orcas. The human whalers were pretty proficient, and even bagged a 97-foot bluey using a hand harpoon from a rowing boat. Bastards, we may kneejerk, but there you go, those were the times [as it happens, the Abo's burned nearly all the rainfo to a crisp and would have finished the job irreverso if Cookey's boys hadn't zapped 'em all with smallo]). And listened to a lot of Richard Thompson, Guided by Voices, early REM, Twisted Nerve, Jesse Malin and an excellent local radio station called Triple J.
Still getting used to some of the lingo. The Aussies love their abbrevos. I've mastered as much as is nesso (ergo 'I'm stockin up the Ute with a sixie of stubbies for a trip to the Blueys this arvo'), but sometimes I struggle to remember whether a pint is known as a schooner in this particular part of Oz, or if the word 'stubbie' can also apply to a 'long-neckie'. The first bar I entered in Oz had a sign up saying 'No thongs after 9 pm'. This seemed rather draconian, and I began to think"Gay joint, in Cairns, Australia? Surely not..." Anticipating the appearance of a belt-tweaking bottom inspector at the appointed hour, I was relieved to learn that 'thong' is local for 'flip-flop'. As you were.
Have arrived in Melby after a pleasant bit of rental-car overlanding from the Blue Mountains. As befits this most civilised mode of travel in a big country with good roads, and as perfected on several trips Out West in the US, the following formula was applied: choose a destination (in this case Mt Arapiles in NW Victoria), work out how long it will take to drive there by the direct route (which is always flat and boring, and in this case a disheartening 18 hours, equating to 2 days od solid drudgery), double or treble it and take the scenic route (in this case the coastal Prince's Highway via Eden in the bottom RH corner), stop as often as you like, and I mean often, and let the driving be done when you feel like it. Hardly any traffic, and great stuff.
Have seen many sandstone edges, spotted dolphins from the shore, hugged a wombat in a wildlife sanctuary, camped by the roaring Pacific Ocean, swum at 90-Mile Beach, hiked Mount Oberon, gazed at the southernmost point of mainland Oz, and been to a Killer Whale museum in Eden where I learned of an unlikely symbiosis between orcas - led by head honch Old Tom whose skeleton is in the museum - and human hunters, who had an unspoken pact to bring in and slaughter the baleen whales as they migrated past (the orcas raised the alarm, rounded up the baleens, then the whalers harpooned them, killed them and took the carcasses leaving the lips and tongues for the orcas. The human whalers were pretty proficient, and even bagged a 97-foot bluey using a hand harpoon from a rowing boat. Bastards, we may kneejerk, but there you go, those were the times [as it happens, the Abo's burned nearly all the rainfo to a crisp and would have finished the job irreverso if Cookey's boys hadn't zapped 'em all with smallo]). And listened to a lot of Richard Thompson, Guided by Voices, early REM, Twisted Nerve, Jesse Malin and an excellent local radio station called Triple J.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Nowra, NSW
Dreamtime - a 'What Afterlife' special
'What Afterlife' has been striving to get a handle on Aboriginal belief systems. A quick google reveals umpteen creation myths; as many as there were Aboriginal Peoples, which is a lot.
However, asking a curator in the Australian Museum 'Where do Aborigines go, or think they go, or would like to go, when they die', WA was met with shifty looks and a vague refusal to answer...'Er, there are lots of different beliefs, actually'. Anyway, Museum policy, it was explained, prohibits Caucasian staff from answering such questions on behalf of Aboriginal staff. As the one Aboriginal staff-member was out to lunch, WA was left rudderless.
After a bit more digging, WA is unsure whether this reluctance was due entirely to political correctness or a genuine inability to explain what can't be understood. It may be that Aboriginal beliefs are genuinely unintelligible to the outsider. The language is obscure, even deliberately so...here's a 'for instance'..."The Australian Aborigines speak of jiva or guruwari, a seed power deposited in the earth. In the Aboriginal world view, every meaningful activity, event, or life process that occurs at a particular place leaves behind a vibrational residue in the earth, as plants leave an image of themselves as seeds. The shape of the land - its mountains, rocks, riverbeds, and waterholes - and its unseen vibrations echo the events that brought that place into creation. Everything in the natural world is a symbolic footprint of the metaphysical beings whose actions created our world. As with a seed, the potency of an earthly location is wedded to the memory of its origin. The Aborigines called this potency the "Dreaming" of a place, and this Dreaming constitutes the sacredness of the earth. Only in extraordinary states of consciousness can one be aware of, or attuned to, the inner dreaming of the Earth."
What on Earth does this mean? WA is baffled.
However, let's remember that most of the Aboriginals were killed off by settler-carried smallpox, and those that survived are hardly integrated into modern Australia. There are some who make a living as artists, but many more didgeridoo buskers, bag-people, and others comprising a whole, largely urban, underclass.
The Dreaming was never written down until this modern era. It's about all the Aboriginals have left and it's not surprising that they might want to keep it to themselves.
Dreamtime - a 'What Afterlife' special
'What Afterlife' has been striving to get a handle on Aboriginal belief systems. A quick google reveals umpteen creation myths; as many as there were Aboriginal Peoples, which is a lot.
However, asking a curator in the Australian Museum 'Where do Aborigines go, or think they go, or would like to go, when they die', WA was met with shifty looks and a vague refusal to answer...'Er, there are lots of different beliefs, actually'. Anyway, Museum policy, it was explained, prohibits Caucasian staff from answering such questions on behalf of Aboriginal staff. As the one Aboriginal staff-member was out to lunch, WA was left rudderless.
After a bit more digging, WA is unsure whether this reluctance was due entirely to political correctness or a genuine inability to explain what can't be understood. It may be that Aboriginal beliefs are genuinely unintelligible to the outsider. The language is obscure, even deliberately so...here's a 'for instance'..."The Australian Aborigines speak of jiva or guruwari, a seed power deposited in the earth. In the Aboriginal world view, every meaningful activity, event, or life process that occurs at a particular place leaves behind a vibrational residue in the earth, as plants leave an image of themselves as seeds. The shape of the land - its mountains, rocks, riverbeds, and waterholes - and its unseen vibrations echo the events that brought that place into creation. Everything in the natural world is a symbolic footprint of the metaphysical beings whose actions created our world. As with a seed, the potency of an earthly location is wedded to the memory of its origin. The Aborigines called this potency the "Dreaming" of a place, and this Dreaming constitutes the sacredness of the earth. Only in extraordinary states of consciousness can one be aware of, or attuned to, the inner dreaming of the Earth."
What on Earth does this mean? WA is baffled.
However, let's remember that most of the Aboriginals were killed off by settler-carried smallpox, and those that survived are hardly integrated into modern Australia. There are some who make a living as artists, but many more didgeridoo buskers, bag-people, and others comprising a whole, largely urban, underclass.
The Dreaming was never written down until this modern era. It's about all the Aboriginals have left and it's not surprising that they might want to keep it to themselves.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Katoomba, Blue Mountains, NSW, Australia.
A very lovely area. More a canyon-gouged plateau than a mountain range, with roads and towns on top and just raw nature in the valleys. Sandstone edges above huge areas of forest. More birds than you can shake a stick at, including cockatoos, parrots and some vividly red-breasted oiaseaux de la foret. Apart from them, the only indigenous life forms I have seen have been human, reptilian, and a sort of duck-billed hedgehog type thing that curls up if you hassle it (a short-beaked echnida, apparently). Nothing bouncing on its back legs or ursinesque stuck up a gum tree...
In Sydney's quite good Museum of Australia, where there is a bit of a biodiversity theme, I learned the following Interesting Facts. There are more than 200 million insects for every human individual. In each square km of land there are 10 to the 10 (can't do superscipts - where's my HTML handbook) of the little blighters. Oz is one of 12 countries that are classed as megadiverse, the others being Mexico, Peru, Colombia, Brazil, India, Madagascar, China, Malaysia, Indonesia, Congo (the only African one, interestingly) and another one that I missed. Between them, these countries have 75% of the planet's biodiversity (as measured by the number of species, I suppose). And I don't know how this could ever be verfied, but Oz boasts more reptile species in any given square km than there are in the whole of the British Isles. Cor blimey, mate!
A very lovely area. More a canyon-gouged plateau than a mountain range, with roads and towns on top and just raw nature in the valleys. Sandstone edges above huge areas of forest. More birds than you can shake a stick at, including cockatoos, parrots and some vividly red-breasted oiaseaux de la foret. Apart from them, the only indigenous life forms I have seen have been human, reptilian, and a sort of duck-billed hedgehog type thing that curls up if you hassle it (a short-beaked echnida, apparently). Nothing bouncing on its back legs or ursinesque stuck up a gum tree...
In Sydney's quite good Museum of Australia, where there is a bit of a biodiversity theme, I learned the following Interesting Facts. There are more than 200 million insects for every human individual. In each square km of land there are 10 to the 10 (can't do superscipts - where's my HTML handbook) of the little blighters. Oz is one of 12 countries that are classed as megadiverse, the others being Mexico, Peru, Colombia, Brazil, India, Madagascar, China, Malaysia, Indonesia, Congo (the only African one, interestingly) and another one that I missed. Between them, these countries have 75% of the planet's biodiversity (as measured by the number of species, I suppose). And I don't know how this could ever be verfied, but Oz boasts more reptile species in any given square km than there are in the whole of the British Isles. Cor blimey, mate!
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
We're sorry, now we realise how horrible we were exterminating you and and killing all the kangaroos. To acknowledge our regret we'll put lots of your Heritage in our Museums and Visitor Centres, and here's a small reservation where you can practice your dancing, do some nice paintings or carve some totem poles. But no, you not having your land back.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Impressions of Malaysia somehow slipped through the net. Malaysia is a progressive, modern country where Muslims, Christians (mostly of the Roman faction), Buddhists, Hindus and Chinese (therefore Taoists, for a better catch-all) seem to live side-by-side with a minimum of hassle. Locals are surprised at any question that things could be otherwise. It's all extremely impressive.
The State religion of Malaysia (and verily there is one) is Islam, and overwhelmingly, the Muslim population are reasonable, moderate people. For instance, the Museum of Islamic Architechture in KL is revalatory in its scope and the way it neutrally contextualises Islam. Women fully participate in the workplace, and even drive taxis ('You'll never guess who I had in the back of my cab the other day - only that 'What Afterlife' wanker!') . The hijab is worn, but not by most women. The newspapers spoke out against the Danish cartoons, but in a moderate way that requested apology rather than called for retaliation.
So far, so good. But why are Islamicist institutions (be they countries, newspapers or whatever) such a bunch of cry-babies? To be offended by by a bunch of cartoons is bizzare. The press should be free to attack all religions in general or any religion in particular, as a non-negotiable right of free speech.
The State religion of Malaysia (and verily there is one) is Islam, and overwhelmingly, the Muslim population are reasonable, moderate people. For instance, the Museum of Islamic Architechture in KL is revalatory in its scope and the way it neutrally contextualises Islam. Women fully participate in the workplace, and even drive taxis ('You'll never guess who I had in the back of my cab the other day - only that 'What Afterlife' wanker!') . The hijab is worn, but not by most women. The newspapers spoke out against the Danish cartoons, but in a moderate way that requested apology rather than called for retaliation.
So far, so good. But why are Islamicist institutions (be they countries, newspapers or whatever) such a bunch of cry-babies? To be offended by by a bunch of cartoons is bizzare. The press should be free to attack all religions in general or any religion in particular, as a non-negotiable right of free speech.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Am happily whiling away a couple of hours in the middle of a Singapore day - it's hot out there! I seem to have done most of the town already, and unless you're a keen shopper the attractions are limited. It's a bit too squeaky clean for SE Asia...I suggest it moves to a more upmarket location.
These two pics somehow got lost from the sequence below. The first is, erm, brown-water rafting, and the second is Mt Kinabalu from a plane window at dawn.
Diveboats zoning in on Sipadan Island. Newish regulations mean you're not allowed to stay on the island, but Mabul island is only 20 mins away. That tall freaky-looking guy is Gangly Anders, a Swedish refrigeration engineer who could recite Derek and Clive in a perfect Peter Cook accent, and enjoyed swearing in the company of ladies and complaining to anybody in any sort of authority. His dive profiles resembled a boom-and-bust wallchart line, and he didn't care. Tough partner to buddy with.
Team Dive go Sipadan Island...supposedly one of the top 10 dive locations in the world, or one of the top 1 locations if you believe Sabah Tourist Board leaflets. I haven't any underwater pics (they always come out a rubbishy blue colour unless you have a flash) , but there are big scary fish all around and the island surrounded by 600 m drop-offs.
Mt Kinabalu has some downsides. The Park authorities make it easy for folk to make the top, but at a price. There's a big fat fixed rope all the way from the edge of the vegetation belt to the summit. You don't need it, and it's unsightly. Also, you have to get a peak permit and hire a guide, whether you want to or not. Our guide was called Asuan, and he was a decent bloke. He showed us where the pitcher plants were and stuff, but it emerged that one of his roles was as chaperone. On the summit plateau, I was keen to go up a few more of the summits, at least 4 of which I reckon could be bagged by easy scrambling. Not allowed - you need a separate permit for each peak. This is totally bogus. He couldn't have stopped me going off on my own, but he would have got into trouble if I did, and so would I, I suppose. You're supposed to stick to the rope and NO MESSING ABOUT!
Views from the summit of Mt Kinabalu(Low's Peak): down in the gloom is the infamous Low's Gully; looking south just after dawn (about 6.30). We arrived at about 5.00, and with the substantial windchill it was uncofortably cold til sun-up. It's customary, but totally unnecessary, to set off at 3 am - the sort of dispiriting hour you have to start in the Alps, but here there are no snow-bridges to collapse, no avalanches to kick-off, and no stones to fall as a result of melting snow. It's the Guides again. We were last setting off, and it was still way too soon (but we did overtake most aspirants).
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Singapore airport. Whoah! Free Internet use!
Felt a bit glum this morning. Not sure if it was due to the wholesale destruction of Borneo's rain forest and loss of orang-utan habitat despite the existence of a whole useless Ministry of Wildlife in Malaysia, running out of brain food after finishing another novel, or, worse still, the news in the Borneo Post that Mariah Carey has had 8 Grammy nominations.
Prolly just a come-down after an awesome time meeting lots of good people and having a great time in Sabah. S'true that travel sometimes feels like work. As it happens I just read that the first Monday in Feb is peak sickie day in the UK. Anyways - Singapore let's go...
Felt a bit glum this morning. Not sure if it was due to the wholesale destruction of Borneo's rain forest and loss of orang-utan habitat despite the existence of a whole useless Ministry of Wildlife in Malaysia, running out of brain food after finishing another novel, or, worse still, the news in the Borneo Post that Mariah Carey has had 8 Grammy nominations.
Prolly just a come-down after an awesome time meeting lots of good people and having a great time in Sabah. S'true that travel sometimes feels like work. As it happens I just read that the first Monday in Feb is peak sickie day in the UK. Anyways - Singapore let's go...
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Sepilok, Sabah, E Malaysia.
Been raining all day here in the jungle, so much so that the walkway to the orang-utang feeding station, at a height of 3 feet above the jungle floor, was flooded by 3 pm. It's now 8 pm and it hasn't stopped wellying down. A few bedraggled 'men of the jungle' put in an appearance this afternoon, but this morning it was a no-show, much to the disgruntlement of the assembled American Tourist Hordes, who were asking for their money back after coming all this way. A guide said 'well what would you do in this rain, stay at home or come here?', which was a bit of a non-question as we were definitely not at home.
The orangs are amazingly strong dudes. Brachiation? No problem. One-arm pull-ups, a cinch. Dead hangs - how long have you got? Just goes to show what you can achieve if you start your climbing career from birth.
Tomorrow I'm heading for Singapore, just a one-night stopover before moving on to Cairns in Oz. I suspect that 'What Afterlife' may take a back-seat Down Under, while his alter-ego racks up a negative karmic balance, but hey, when in Rome and all that.
Anyways, while I was waiting for our 96.4% identical DNA cousins to show up for their bananas, I dreamed up a hot competition to a) bring us all together in a spirit of on-line communal fun and b) get you lazy-assed passive surfer wasters to join in this blog before I give it up altogether and read a book. Do you think I'm doing it for fun or something? Give me a break. So here goes with the...
Fish Brain-teaser!
The perceptive diver cannot help noticing that many types of fish are named after other animals! That's because the animals were named first and the fish kind of look a bit like them - for example the tiger shark, batfish or butterfly fish! Other fish are often named after familiar household objects - the box fish, trumpetfish and pipefish spring instantly to mind!
However, only a few land animals or household objects are named after fish. It seems a bit unfair to our aquatic cousins, but it’s true!
How to enter
How many non-fishy animals or inanimate objects that are named after fish can you think of? Here are a few to get you started: silverfish, Ray, codpiece. And here are some also rans: plaice mat, stickleback plastic, carp ark.
List your answers in ‘comments’, taking note that answers, once listed, become invalid in subsequent postings, obviously. (postings? who am I kidding)
It’s that simple!
Why on earth should I bother?
You could win an exciting fish dinner! The reader with the most correct answers wins an exciting fresh fish of their own choice* for each correct answer, from a well-known Macclesfield fishmonger. What's more, the judging panel may cook it for you on their back garden barbeque if you're lucky, and they feel like it.
*Subject to availability. The panel reserve the right to substitute sardines (or equivalent) if the are feeling stingy or you get more than one right answer. Boring answers to do with recreational fishing (eg 'perch pole' or 'herring paternoster') will be met with the scorn they deserve. In the event of petty squabbles, the panel's decision is final.
Been raining all day here in the jungle, so much so that the walkway to the orang-utang feeding station, at a height of 3 feet above the jungle floor, was flooded by 3 pm. It's now 8 pm and it hasn't stopped wellying down. A few bedraggled 'men of the jungle' put in an appearance this afternoon, but this morning it was a no-show, much to the disgruntlement of the assembled American Tourist Hordes, who were asking for their money back after coming all this way. A guide said 'well what would you do in this rain, stay at home or come here?', which was a bit of a non-question as we were definitely not at home.
The orangs are amazingly strong dudes. Brachiation? No problem. One-arm pull-ups, a cinch. Dead hangs - how long have you got? Just goes to show what you can achieve if you start your climbing career from birth.
Tomorrow I'm heading for Singapore, just a one-night stopover before moving on to Cairns in Oz. I suspect that 'What Afterlife' may take a back-seat Down Under, while his alter-ego racks up a negative karmic balance, but hey, when in Rome and all that.
Anyways, while I was waiting for our 96.4% identical DNA cousins to show up for their bananas, I dreamed up a hot competition to a) bring us all together in a spirit of on-line communal fun and b) get you lazy-assed passive surfer wasters to join in this blog before I give it up altogether and read a book. Do you think I'm doing it for fun or something? Give me a break. So here goes with the...
Fish Brain-teaser!
The perceptive diver cannot help noticing that many types of fish are named after other animals! That's because the animals were named first and the fish kind of look a bit like them - for example the tiger shark, batfish or butterfly fish! Other fish are often named after familiar household objects - the box fish, trumpetfish and pipefish spring instantly to mind!
However, only a few land animals or household objects are named after fish. It seems a bit unfair to our aquatic cousins, but it’s true!
How to enter
How many non-fishy animals or inanimate objects that are named after fish can you think of? Here are a few to get you started: silverfish, Ray, codpiece. And here are some also rans: plaice mat, stickleback plastic, carp ark.
List your answers in ‘comments’, taking note that answers, once listed, become invalid in subsequent postings, obviously. (postings? who am I kidding)
It’s that simple!
Why on earth should I bother?
You could win an exciting fish dinner! The reader with the most correct answers wins an exciting fresh fish of their own choice* for each correct answer, from a well-known Macclesfield fishmonger. What's more, the judging panel may cook it for you on their back garden barbeque if you're lucky, and they feel like it.
*Subject to availability. The panel reserve the right to substitute sardines (or equivalent) if the are feeling stingy or you get more than one right answer. Boring answers to do with recreational fishing (eg 'perch pole' or 'herring paternoster') will be met with the scorn they deserve. In the event of petty squabbles, the panel's decision is final.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Mabul island, Sabah, E Malaysia.
The last few days have been dive, drink tea, dive, eat, dive, eat, sleep. Add possible dive at sunset. Repeat.
Am staying on Mabul, a tiny island off the SE coast of Sabah, close to the even tinier islands of Kapalan and Sipadan. Yesterday at Sipadan, while most folk were watching a manta ray, I was confronted by a 60-foot wall of 1-metre barracuda, and found myself mouthing an awed and reliable 'fucking hell' at a depth of about 20 m while trying to keep my mouthpiece firmly in place and my bowels tightly under control. I swam closer, to within a metre or so - couldn't make myself go into the fish. Very, very real. One of those few sights in your life that really make an impression. More fun and only slightly less intense, was finding myself in the middle of a huge school of jacks, just me and about a thousand big silver fish circling round and round, with a couple of reef sharks and a huge trevally mooching about on the sea bed a few metres below. I spent a happy few minutes in the midst of this whirl of fish before some primeval urge prompted me to rejoin my school of fellow divers outside.
Sharks and turtles are all over the place here, and there are also lots of unlikely wee beasties on the Mabul reefs to investigate at a more leisurely pace. There are also some very unpredictable currents, going up-and-down as well as along the reef.
After being surrounded by things that could eat me if they felt like it, and buddying for a few dives with a gangly Swedish giant whose buoyancy skills alternated between those of a brick and a dirigible, I have been forced to adjust somewhat my appraisal of diving's Seriousness Level/Cockup Potential from Dancing In The Park/Low to Quite Exciting/Excellent.
On one dive with particularly poor visibility, we lost the Divemaster and another duo, and got swept away by a strong current. I was having great difficulty equalising (a blocked sinus in my left ear sometimes prevents me from descending quickly), and my mask was simultaneously leaking and steaming up, forcing me to clear it every minute or so. Meanwhile my buddy kept dissapearing to the surface and back like a yo-yo. Twice I was in the water on my own for several minutes, thinking 'this isn't in the manual', whose rather glib advice is to make a dive-plan and stick to it. No real danger though.
Have to leave today or I won't have time to see the orang-utangs and proboscis monkeys. 'Tis a tough choice, but it's probably best to leave on a high, plus I could use a rest!
...i-pod and pics fully functional. Internet connections are few and far between, so apols for the bloggus interruptus. Pictorius imminentus, given the chance.
The last few days have been dive, drink tea, dive, eat, dive, eat, sleep. Add possible dive at sunset. Repeat.
Am staying on Mabul, a tiny island off the SE coast of Sabah, close to the even tinier islands of Kapalan and Sipadan. Yesterday at Sipadan, while most folk were watching a manta ray, I was confronted by a 60-foot wall of 1-metre barracuda, and found myself mouthing an awed and reliable 'fucking hell' at a depth of about 20 m while trying to keep my mouthpiece firmly in place and my bowels tightly under control. I swam closer, to within a metre or so - couldn't make myself go into the fish. Very, very real. One of those few sights in your life that really make an impression. More fun and only slightly less intense, was finding myself in the middle of a huge school of jacks, just me and about a thousand big silver fish circling round and round, with a couple of reef sharks and a huge trevally mooching about on the sea bed a few metres below. I spent a happy few minutes in the midst of this whirl of fish before some primeval urge prompted me to rejoin my school of fellow divers outside.
Sharks and turtles are all over the place here, and there are also lots of unlikely wee beasties on the Mabul reefs to investigate at a more leisurely pace. There are also some very unpredictable currents, going up-and-down as well as along the reef.
After being surrounded by things that could eat me if they felt like it, and buddying for a few dives with a gangly Swedish giant whose buoyancy skills alternated between those of a brick and a dirigible, I have been forced to adjust somewhat my appraisal of diving's Seriousness Level/Cockup Potential from Dancing In The Park/Low to Quite Exciting/Excellent.
On one dive with particularly poor visibility, we lost the Divemaster and another duo, and got swept away by a strong current. I was having great difficulty equalising (a blocked sinus in my left ear sometimes prevents me from descending quickly), and my mask was simultaneously leaking and steaming up, forcing me to clear it every minute or so. Meanwhile my buddy kept dissapearing to the surface and back like a yo-yo. Twice I was in the water on my own for several minutes, thinking 'this isn't in the manual', whose rather glib advice is to make a dive-plan and stick to it. No real danger though.
Have to leave today or I won't have time to see the orang-utangs and proboscis monkeys. 'Tis a tough choice, but it's probably best to leave on a high, plus I could use a rest!
...i-pod and pics fully functional. Internet connections are few and far between, so apols for the bloggus interruptus. Pictorius imminentus, given the chance.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Kota Kinabalu (KK), Sabah, East Malaysia.
KK, or Jesseltown as it was then, was blown up by Our Boys in WWII to stop it falling into the hands of the Japs and being used as a base for banzai behavour.
Now it's a sort of SE Asian New Town, and everyone can join in the melting pot. Have been river rafting, beach bumming, and summiting Mt Kinabalu since my last blog. IT difficulties prevent me posting my pics (yeah yeah, I know, just try re-booting. I think my i-pod, which I've been using as a hard drive, has overdosed on Red House Painters and rolled over and died). Am a bit spent after a 3 am start on the mercilless Mt Kin, to tell the truth, and normal service will resume in a day or two...
KK, or Jesseltown as it was then, was blown up by Our Boys in WWII to stop it falling into the hands of the Japs and being used as a base for banzai behavour.
Now it's a sort of SE Asian New Town, and everyone can join in the melting pot. Have been river rafting, beach bumming, and summiting Mt Kinabalu since my last blog. IT difficulties prevent me posting my pics (yeah yeah, I know, just try re-booting. I think my i-pod, which I've been using as a hard drive, has overdosed on Red House Painters and rolled over and died). Am a bit spent after a 3 am start on the mercilless Mt Kin, to tell the truth, and normal service will resume in a day or two...
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