It's been a while since I last posted, I know I'm slack. What can I say other than when you're traveling the desire to sit down at a computer and type up a bunch of random thoughts really doesn't hold my appeal. Especially when you can be on the beach or by the pool. But it is my duty to keep you informed of my escapades (or lack there of) while on the road to nowhere.
My most recent wanderings have seen me in the wilds of Borneo. Ok, that's a lie, Borneo isn't so much wild anymore as dirty, a bit 3rd world in places and full of insects. Like most places on this small blue planet it too has been tamed.
I started my journey in Kota Kinabalu, or KK as it is known to locals, the capital of Sabah. It's an interesting mix of the new and modern and some peculiar architectural quirks that make sense if you're a local. To the casual observer or the western eye brought up on council estates and housing developments many of the buildings look like the ghettos of London or many American cities. Venture into them though and you find a thriving community hidden in shade from the interminable heat of the sun.
It was here that I joined a tour group, my only one for this trip and more than likely going to be the last ever for me. The group was relatively small, nine people in total with an average age somewhere around 30. Our guide was an affable Malay called Hairy, who by the end of the trip I was thoroughly sick of.
We only had a short time in KK before heading for the highlands and the climb up Mt Kinabalu, the highest peak between PNG and the Himalaya. Before we attempted the climb we stayed in a mountain village, Kiau, with the local people. Part of the custom for guests is to share the homemade rice wine, a pungent mixture of yeast, rice and water. It's pretty horrible to drink and gives a stinking hangover, not that many of the locals had a hangover the next day. They were all still drunk having partied it up throughout the night. Some of them were to be our guides on the mountain and we sincerely hoped they sobered up before they came to take us up the mountain.
Mt Kinabalu, at 4,095.2m is small in the scheme of things, but tell that to the 69 people who attempted the climb to the summit the same day we did. 15 people dropped out, our group all made it but not without some feeling the effects of altitude. I was lucky for once my asthma didn't come out to play and I made it to the top, first from our group. Coming down though was another matter and my knees gave out about half way down and I had to limp down the mountain determined to make it to the bottom before night.
The climb takes two days for most people, though the record for climbing up and down is about 2hr 45 minutes. None of us could have done that! On the first day it took us six hours to get to Laban Rata where we spent the night. The last hour of which was in driving rain and particularly miserable. With little in our packs to save on weight we had few dry clothes to change into and the showers were cold. By 6pm most of us were flagging and with a 1am wake up call we headed to bed early.
At 1am the place was alive as all the climbers prepared to make the last 2.7km assent in darkness. The aim is to be at the summit just before dawn to witness the light as it spreads over the valleys below. The ascent is slow and difficult, ropes mark the way and you're happy you can't see what's below as you climb ever higher into the thinning air. If you manage to take a moment and turn around you can see the lights strung out along the valleys like fairy lights on a tree, but you have to push on, one foot in front of the other.
At the top it was crowded and as soon as I stopped I became very cold. The clouds were already coming in and threatening rain for the day so at 6am as the sun rose behind me I started my decent. It was to take me a total of about eight hours to make it to the bottom with only a break for breakfast at Laban Rata and another couple of short breaks on the way down.
I was glad to be heading for the hot springs at Poring to rest my weary bones.
Post Script:
When I can get the time I'll upload some photos but right now I've no access so you'll just have to wait.
Friday, 27 February 2009
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
Catching up
I can’t believe that I’ve had two months of unemployment already, it seems like only yesterday that I was packing up my flat and bidding my former work colleagues adieu. While I haven’t done the sailing I wanted to do I have done quite a lot else, and I will get back to sailing some time in the future – amazing when you consider the conditions I did my first blue water sailing in.
When we left Vila Real de Santo Antonio in Portugal there was no hint of the weather to come. The wind was light as we motored out through the mouth of the river early on Saturday morning (22 November 2008). We were two boats of two and we were to sail a course of 219 degrees towards the Gran Canaria.
We started our shift pattern straight away; it was to be three hours on and three hours off 24 hours a day for the next seven days. The first 36 or so hours were quiet, Chuck could steer if a little sloppily and apart from sticking my head up regularly to look for ships, I could lie back and take in the waves. During this time I had a lot of time to think and I started to miss my family and think about my Mum. I decided when we got to the Canaries I was going to sort out going back to Australia for Christmas instead of sailing on to the Caribbean.
Vaquero, our little 32ft yacht, wasn’t in the best of shape as she’d spent a lot of time in the Guatemalan jungle not being looked after. Keith had spent a considerable amount of time fixing another boat and when he bought Vaquero he simply wanted to set sail again. Our VHF radio didn’t have a very big range, the bilge pump would go on the blink, the stove was a normal domestic gas stove and didn’t swing on the gimble very well, but she was sea worthy and kept us both alive when we hit the rough stuff.
A couple of days out the weather came from the North West and we began to get more wind combined with a serious swell. I don’t think I’d ever seen a swell quite like it, not even off Bass Strait where I grew up. When below deck I was thrown around so much I got some serious bruising, when above deck I had to be in full wet weather gear as the waves rolled over the deck as they went by.
Here is the evidence!
I still have no idea if the clamping in my stomach was seasickness or fear for I never threw up. I simply had no appetite and my stomach refused to let me eat for most of the time at sea. The waves were huge (around 20ft) and I had to hang on and strap myself in with my harness so as to not be lost overboard. I was becoming convinced that the old sailors superstitions of not having a woman on board were accurate and that Neptune had taken a serious dislike to me thinking I could cross the Atlantic.
On day four the wind was so bad we had to put up the storm jib and trysail, still we were doing over 5 knots over land (about 6.5 through the water which was the maximum Vaquero could do). By this stage I was starting to get use to the rolling and I could see the end of my ordeal was nigh, the GPS was ticking off the nautical miles. I was setting myself goals to get through each shift; I’d give myself a target of how many miles I could travel in three hours – 15 was the target.
It was on one of these shifts when I’d wrapped myself up in my boots, overalls, jacket, and beanie and had my hood up that something broke. Keith’s voice came up from below deck “What broke?” I hadn’t heard anything as my ears were covered and the wind was howling around me, “I can’t see anything” went the reply. His head popped up through the companionway and looked around and he quickly spotted a broken stay. Not very happy he was going to come out without any of his gear on to fix it.
By this time I was tired and grumpy and just shouted at him to stay below, give me the tools and watch me in case I fell overboard. I went forward and screwed the stay back together while the waves rolled up onto the deck at my feet. For me it was a tense couple of minutes while I worked out which way the thread on the bolt went. The boat was on an angle and I was on the low side, if it weren’t for the harness and safety rope and a bit of balance I was looking at a very cold and watery grave lapping at my ankles.
After this little adventure things started to settle down and the weather eased overnight. By the next morning we were becalmed and had to motor. It was an opportunity to catch up with our companion vessel and cook some proper food. The last day and night were spent motoring and I could finally get out the camera and take some photos.
As we’d been motoring for some time it was also an opportunity to have a much-needed shower. I’d been living on board for three weeks and the last time I had showered had been two weeks previously. My hair was lank and I’d pretty much been living in my thermals since we left the river. I was desperate to feel clean and wash my hair. That shower in the tiny area set aside for the head was the best shower I have EVER experienced. There are no words to describe how wonderful it was to feel clean again.
We eventually motored into Las Palmas on Saturday morning, a week after we’d set out from Portugal. For hours before we arrived I could see the lights of the city and kept a steady course towards them. My first steps on land were strange, I found myself rolling as though I was still at sea. The guys had told me stories of people who found they were land sick after being at sea and I could understand why. It was the most peculiar feeling and took a week to subside completely. I would wake up in bed on land and feel the waves rolling beneath me.
When we left Vila Real de Santo Antonio in Portugal there was no hint of the weather to come. The wind was light as we motored out through the mouth of the river early on Saturday morning (22 November 2008). We were two boats of two and we were to sail a course of 219 degrees towards the Gran Canaria.
We started our shift pattern straight away; it was to be three hours on and three hours off 24 hours a day for the next seven days. The first 36 or so hours were quiet, Chuck could steer if a little sloppily and apart from sticking my head up regularly to look for ships, I could lie back and take in the waves. During this time I had a lot of time to think and I started to miss my family and think about my Mum. I decided when we got to the Canaries I was going to sort out going back to Australia for Christmas instead of sailing on to the Caribbean.
Vaquero, our little 32ft yacht, wasn’t in the best of shape as she’d spent a lot of time in the Guatemalan jungle not being looked after. Keith had spent a considerable amount of time fixing another boat and when he bought Vaquero he simply wanted to set sail again. Our VHF radio didn’t have a very big range, the bilge pump would go on the blink, the stove was a normal domestic gas stove and didn’t swing on the gimble very well, but she was sea worthy and kept us both alive when we hit the rough stuff.
A couple of days out the weather came from the North West and we began to get more wind combined with a serious swell. I don’t think I’d ever seen a swell quite like it, not even off Bass Strait where I grew up. When below deck I was thrown around so much I got some serious bruising, when above deck I had to be in full wet weather gear as the waves rolled over the deck as they went by.
Here is the evidence!
I still have no idea if the clamping in my stomach was seasickness or fear for I never threw up. I simply had no appetite and my stomach refused to let me eat for most of the time at sea. The waves were huge (around 20ft) and I had to hang on and strap myself in with my harness so as to not be lost overboard. I was becoming convinced that the old sailors superstitions of not having a woman on board were accurate and that Neptune had taken a serious dislike to me thinking I could cross the Atlantic.
On day four the wind was so bad we had to put up the storm jib and trysail, still we were doing over 5 knots over land (about 6.5 through the water which was the maximum Vaquero could do). By this stage I was starting to get use to the rolling and I could see the end of my ordeal was nigh, the GPS was ticking off the nautical miles. I was setting myself goals to get through each shift; I’d give myself a target of how many miles I could travel in three hours – 15 was the target.
It was on one of these shifts when I’d wrapped myself up in my boots, overalls, jacket, and beanie and had my hood up that something broke. Keith’s voice came up from below deck “What broke?” I hadn’t heard anything as my ears were covered and the wind was howling around me, “I can’t see anything” went the reply. His head popped up through the companionway and looked around and he quickly spotted a broken stay. Not very happy he was going to come out without any of his gear on to fix it.
By this time I was tired and grumpy and just shouted at him to stay below, give me the tools and watch me in case I fell overboard. I went forward and screwed the stay back together while the waves rolled up onto the deck at my feet. For me it was a tense couple of minutes while I worked out which way the thread on the bolt went. The boat was on an angle and I was on the low side, if it weren’t for the harness and safety rope and a bit of balance I was looking at a very cold and watery grave lapping at my ankles.
After this little adventure things started to settle down and the weather eased overnight. By the next morning we were becalmed and had to motor. It was an opportunity to catch up with our companion vessel and cook some proper food. The last day and night were spent motoring and I could finally get out the camera and take some photos.
As we’d been motoring for some time it was also an opportunity to have a much-needed shower. I’d been living on board for three weeks and the last time I had showered had been two weeks previously. My hair was lank and I’d pretty much been living in my thermals since we left the river. I was desperate to feel clean and wash my hair. That shower in the tiny area set aside for the head was the best shower I have EVER experienced. There are no words to describe how wonderful it was to feel clean again.
We eventually motored into Las Palmas on Saturday morning, a week after we’d set out from Portugal. For hours before we arrived I could see the lights of the city and kept a steady course towards them. My first steps on land were strange, I found myself rolling as though I was still at sea. The guys had told me stories of people who found they were land sick after being at sea and I could understand why. It was the most peculiar feeling and took a week to subside completely. I would wake up in bed on land and feel the waves rolling beneath me.
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
And so the adventure begins (and ends?)
It's been a while since I blogged and a lot has happened. Here's a brief run down:
- Finished work on 3 November
- Spent a few days with friends Mike, Ree and Georgina before flying to Madrid.
- Spent a few days in Madrid with my friend Paul, where a stomach bug laid me low for 24 hours.
- Spent 12 hours travelling from Madrid to the south of Portugal to meet the skipper of the yacht I was to sail on.
- Sailed from Vila Real de Santo Antonio in Portugal to Las Palmas, Gran Canaria
- Flew back to Blighty.
Three weeks in total from leaving the UK to setting foot back in Edinburgh. It's been a roller coaster and I've met some great people, more of which I'll fill you in on in coming days.
So why am I back, I hear you ask? Well a number of reasons really. By the time I got to Las Palmas I found I had a number of loose ends that needed tidying up back in the UK and I'd had a lot of time to think.
During an ocean going passage with only two people on board you have to keep watch 24 hours a day, that meant we did three hour shifts at a time. When the weather was good and we could let Chuck steer (Chuck was the aries steering device) I could lie back and watch the Atlantic go past and think. It was the first time I'd had to slow down in months and I found myself reassessing life. Two days in (before the really bad weather his us) I'd found I was missing my family and just wanted to be home for Christmas.
A day or so later the bad weather really hit us and my decision seemed really sensible. We had waves coming at us from all directions and it became very unpleasant. Combined with the fact that I hadn't showered in almost two weeks and if I'd seen land, I would have got off and swam.
So now I'm heading home to Australia to spend some time with my family. I've booked some time in Asia to keeep me from going mad and will just see how things pan out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
