Snakes, Undies and Crocs, Oh My!

Katherine, NT, Australia

Snakes, used undies and croc-spotting. That was the agenda to wrap up the continual journey north along the Stuart, further away from Alice Springs and the blistering core of Oz, closer to Darwin and the tropic thunders of the north.

And half-way through, the mini-bus suffers from a crippling case of hunger, forcing us to remain in the town of Dunmarra slightly longer than anticipated. Scotty, of course, jokingly made the oil ordeal out to be worse than it was, but that’s to be expected, because he’s Scotty. Kirk wanted to be beamed up, but Scotty jacked up, beamed himself down instead and was stranded in the Outback.  Kirk, on the other hand, eventually wound up doing Priceline commercials. Who the better end of the deal? Scotty.

Named after a young Irish boy named Dan O’Mara, who tragically wandered off into the bush looking for his dad, got lost and died, the town mainly serves as a fuel and snack stop along Australia’s Overland Telegraph Line.  After O’Mara’s disappearance in the early 1900s, a massive search party went out in attempts to find him, but his body would not be discovered until nearly three decades later. Dunmarra is a mispronunciation of the boy’s name by the local Aboriginal people in the area.

 That’s okay, because his name has been immortalized, even if it’s the incorrect pronunciation.  Dan, O’Mara, or Dan O’Mara just doesn’t have that same ring to it.

Inside the local refreshment stop, several cages containing some of Oz’s most feared creatures slithered around in boredom. Scotty was the man to embark on the task of convincing them to come out and play. I softly freaked out, asking myself what the hell is he doing picking up a Western brown snake, one of the most venomous creatures on a continent known for deadly animals? Was he out of his damn mind? I mean, what’s next, taking us out on a crocodile-spotting adventure in the middle of the night?

The bad news is the snake appeared to prefer boredom over being handled. The good news is the snake was only a non-venomous python.

Several local Aboriginals came up to the group admiring the slithering beasts, but also expressing a healthy amount of fear. The snake was handed off, person to person, camera flashes streaking through its body as it coiled around the hands and arms of our traveling posse. Honestly, though, I was just glad it wasn’t a Western brown snake per the original rumor. As we held the snake and posed for photos, Scotty answered numerous questions on the snake, showing his enthusiasm and respect for the creature. One of the Aboriginal men mustered enough bravery to hold the snake while his friends took photos of him with their camera phones.

No one was bit or strangled in holding the creature, and he was promptly returned to his routine of boredom.

Lunch was the usual fare of sandwich prep, but not in a usual setting. We arrived at another small outpost, known as Daly Waters, a small town that traditionally was home to the Jingili Aboriginals, who believed the Dreaming tracks of the emu and sun passed through her on their way deeper into the Northern Territory. Now, all that passes through are hungry travelers and beer. Some of those same hungry travelers decide to leave a little of themselves at the famous pub in town, ranging from business cards and magnets to...

That’s right, ladies and gents, dirty undies. Dirty undies that very well could have seen more of the world (among other things) than myself at this current stage. We can all be thankful that the pub has great ventilation, because considering the oppressive heat of the Aussie Outback combining with dirty undies is a volatile combination to anyone’s sensitivity of smell.  And, let’s be thankful that lunch happened on the back deck of the pub rather than inside.

But it’s the quirky aspects of this town that I like. Whether it is dirty undies precariously hanging from the ceiling to signs pointing the way to the nearest McDonalds in a galaxy far far away, Daly Waters became an outpost for the Overland Telegraph Line followed by an airfield to refuel early flights to Singapore as well as a World War II base. With advent of more modern technology, the town has simply become the quirky stop we know and love, dirty undies and all.

After continuing north, we began to transition into the more tropical aspects of the Northern Territory. After stopping off at a spring for a swim, night fell and we finally made our way through the town of Katherine and out to a nearby camping ground where, the plan was, to bunk for the night. The only problem was the gate was locked,  and no one had evidently used the grounds for two months. After all, this was the month of November, and despite it being Spring in the southern hemisphere, the seasons at this latitude aren't dictated by changes in temps but more by wet and dry. We were already punching our way into the wet season of tropical Australia, a fact that would greatly excite us in the coming days ahead.

My sense of adventure must have been inflated, because I truly believed for a minute that the campground had no idea we were coming and that we were literally going to break in. But alas, Scotty harbored the key for the gate, and we were the only souls to immerse within a more natural tranquil setting of the Oz tropical experience. Dinner was, again, a team effort, one that paid off well. For sleeping options, we once again utilized the swags of Outback lore and had the choice to sleep outside in the cool comfortable air with the wildlife, or inside the stuffy kitchen with no wildlife.

That’s an easy one.

As most of the group laid out their swags inside the kitchen, preparing for a night’s rest, there was one last adventure on the agenda. Earlier in Dumarra, I was mistaken that Scotty was crazy enough to handle a poisonous snake, because it wound up not being as such….but was he really serious about this new adventure? Don your head lamps, bring flashlights, because we’re going croc-spottin’ in the middle of the night!

This was (sort of) my expression overlying the nervousness and excitement within. We all marched out of the kitchen, displaying acute carefulness as to not step on a bloody snake and went around a nearby pond. There, only alligators who could do us no harm lived comfortably. Spotting a few of their glowing eyes in the desolation, we continued along the backside of the pond, approaching a barbed-wire fence and subsequently passing through it.

We made our way down some stairs towards a river, with Scotty explaining to the group more about the dangers of traveling along the riverbanks in Northern Australia. We arrived on a boat ramp that was deemed safe enough to prevent any major croc attack, but upon examining the left side of the ramp that harbored a large opening between rails and hearing just how far a croc can attack from, I wasn’t fully convinced.

Scotty decided to then to head off the beaten path along an upper section of the sandy embankment in the hopes of spotting some crocs further down river. As we walked…

Scotty: “Females are known to head up this far on the bank and nest. It’s getting close to that time of year.”

Someone in the Group: “Is this fully safe?”

Scotty: “Probably not.”

And off we walked, close together in tight formation, meticulously taking each step to insure no one slipped down the sandy slope into the river of doom. Headlamps and flashlights lit up the area around us to watch for any flanking crocs. Within about ten or so minutes, we stopped at a relatively safe locale and shined the lights towards the river. In the distance on the other side, several pairs of eyes lit up, followed by another pair further down our side of the river.

We made our way back, no one got eaten for dinner, and we contemplated the adventure we just undertook. Yes, it had its rushes and its concerns, but it was amazing. I felt, at that moment, that we just had the privilege of living a moment in the real Australia. Content, the group drifted off to sleep.

The Great Divide

Australian Outback

Well, that was a fun experience, having the laptop out of commission for several weeks in February.  If only a burnt finger, pasta sauce and my keyboard didn't meet that fateful evening...well, I might be further along in catching up.

But alas, we continue on!

Oh yeah, there will be some foul language used in this post, so if that offends you, well, I really don't know what to say.  

The second portion of a three-pronged trip began like the first: a very early morning in Alice Springs, throwing our packs and suitcases into the minibus and sped off northbound on the Stuart Highway before the sun had a chance to do any damage.  We said our goodbyes to Brad (the first guide) and hello to Scotty, the second.  Scotty himself was quite a character, but we really wouldn't know exactly how much of one until we reached the town of Aileron, about an hour north of Alice Springs.

The stop over included a restroom break in a small convenience store/cafe.  Who can tell me where the toilet is?

Thanks, blunt sign!

After relieving ourselves and stocking up on the usual junk food that helped contribute to my surplus of 15 or so pounds on this seven-week venture, Scotty took us outback (hahaha) and introduced us to a friend of his.  We lined up along a chain-linked fence with Scotty shouting out "Hey, Fuck Off!"

At that moment, a large kangaroo looked up and proceeded to hop over to the group.  Fuck Off, standing around 6 feet tall on his hind legs, arrived to greet us in his own special way: urinating near our feet.  Some of the group put their fingers through the fence to try and pet him with Fuck Off attempting to reciprocate with his tongue.  With Scotty answering questions from our group, the roo decided to answer as well by showing off "his goods".

As we made our way back to the bus, Fuck Off stood up on his legs and looked into Scotty's eyes with sadness.  He told the roo to F off, the roo I'm sure said "F you."  Maybe that's what the roo named Scotty.

No matter, because the dusty road beckoned us as we made our way to Karlu Karlu (Devil's Marbles), playing "International Speed Dating" along the way as well as trying our luck spotting UFOs in Australia's UFO capital.  Large granite rocks, ranging from 50 cm to up to six meters in size, the marbles were originally one large formation that, over millions of years, formed vertical and horizontal cracks, allowing erosion to wear them down into the pages of geological history.  The area is sacred to various Aboriginal cultures in the area, factoring into important stories of the Dreaming.  One of the few that can be told to the public revolves around the Devil Man, Arrange, coming from the nearby hills, making a hair-string belt as he passed through.  Upon dropping bits of hair, they formed into the marbles seen today.

According to Scotty, the name "Devil's Marbles" came from sheep mysteriously dying in the area while the herd and their European shepherds would rest.  There were no signs of dingo attacks, so for a long time it was believed the area was cursed.  It was finally discovered that a toxic plant being ingested in the reserve was responsible for the many sheep deaths.

Scotty had the bright idea of boulder climbing in the blazing sun.  I only participated in the first "climb" as the second one was more precarious and involved a height factor I wasn't comfortable with.  I walked around with an English gal as her boyfriend and the rest of the group climbed the marbles.  As we made our way to the meeting point, we ran out of water only to be saved by two kind Frenchmen who had an ample supply on them.  For the grand finale, the group made their way to a split boulder to take a photo op "climbing" within.  My travel mate, Jennifer, and I tried our luck together, and though I didn't climb nearly as high as my ego led me to believe (stupid ego), the picture still recognized my effort in trying.

The remainder of the day was filled with pit stops, junk food and more tales of historical and cultural significance in Australia's serene desolation.  The outback itself was teeming with life, more so than usual due to several seasons of wetter than average conditions.  Intermixed with the reds and browns was a ground layer of minute green shrubs simply dancing to the wind and getting drunk with the sun.  As evening began falling, the Stuart Highway formed a diving line between light and dark, the serenity of an Outback sunset to our left with the majesty of a small but piercing thunderstorm to our right, lightning erupting to the heavens and back.  Very little rain fell, and emerging in the Tennant Creek area for the evening, we straddled the fine line, a man-made ribbon of asphalt that nature used as its great divide.

A Break Along the Yellow Brick Road, Mate!

Alice Springs, NT, Australia

As a reminder, I have been back from Australia for a little while now and am simply catching up from where I left off before Christmas on Facebook.

Uluru and Kata Tjuta were only the beginning.  Jennifer, Dany and I still had another four days of Outback experiences ahead, but for now, a little down time was needed from the insane early morning wake-ups. 

Alice Springs, middle-of-nowhere Australia, had its humble origins as a telegraph post in the latter half of the 19^th century in hopes of connecting Adelaide and other settlements in the southern part of the continent with Darwin in the north, and thus to the mother land of Great Britain.  If it wasn’t for gold, Alice Springs may have simply stayed a minor, yet important, outpost of communication.

But as became a major part of Australia’s transition from penal colonies to a challenging land of opportunity, gold would ensure the town to rise in population but subsequently arouse conflict with local Aboriginal peoples who have claimed the land for thousands upon thousands of years.  In the modern era, Alice Springs harbors a relatively large Aboriginal population in comparison to other Aussie cities, seemingly keeping to themselves with little indication of interaction with other people.

Not to show any disrespect or imply anything, but I was curious as to why the Aboriginal population seemed highly segregated from the rest of the people, and our next guide for the second portion of this Northern Territory journey would shed a little insight as to why this could be the case.  You’ll just have to stay tuned to the next episode of Dragonball Z for the answer, because Son Goku might actually scratch his ass and Freezer might pick his nose after staring at each other for the previous ten episodes.

In the modern era, Alice serves as a base for Outback exploration and expeditions out to Uluru and Kata Tjuta.  It’s also good for watching tumbleweeds, filling in a dot on a map of an otherwise empty center of Australia and having annoying drunks interrupt conversations with girls.  But even if the telegraph is caveman technology and gold has been all but used in the grills of annoying rappers, the town still harbors over 20,000 inhabitants with a few interesting sights to keep the traveler happy for a day or two. 

Anzac Hill, named after the famed World War I army corps consisting of Australian and New Zealand soldiers that formed in Egypt in 1915 and would go on to serve with distinction in the Battle of Gallipoli the following year, features lovely views of the surrounding landscape, showcasing a vibrant landscape with a taste of hills not always associated with the Outback.

Doesn't it seem like a charming place to live?  It would be if it weren’t for the oppressive heat that can easily rival, if nor surpass, the heat experienced throughout the American Southwest during the middle of summer.  That and the fact, even today, it’s still heavily isolated even though several arteries connect the town with the rest of the nation.

With the soft breeze of a searing spring day and hilarious cultural observations and questions, we walked through the artisan Todd Mall into the heart of Alice before heading north to the Royal Flying Doctors Service Museum.  At first, I wasn’t too keen on the idea of the visit, but once inside and learning the history, it suddenly became a dynamic curiosity.  Beginning as a vision of Presbyterian minister The Reverend John Flynn, the Flying Doctors Service began service in 1928 and expanded throughout the following decades to encompass 61 aircraft and 21 bases around the country.  Their mission is to provide both preventative and emergency medical care for people living in the scattered isolation of Outback reality.  In a punishing land of minimal resource and vast distance (but immense cultural and spiritual value), even “casual” cases such as a leg break can quickly descend into a medical emergency of medieval proportions.  When the call is put on, an aircraft loaded with medical and navigational goodies flies to the rescue, and people can breathe a sigh of relief as the plane flies away and they don’t hear the brooding voice of Dr. Claw growling “Next time, Gadget, next time.”

Why an animated villain of a cartoon character portrayed by Matthew Broderick in a mistake-of-a-live-action-film would be in an Aussie medical Cessna is beyond me, but hey, my subconscious has jumbled together plot ideas far weirder than that.

And they also can emit a ray of hope as their loved one will be flown to a hospital for the best care possible.  I wonder if they give out free lollipops and other goodies as cathartic distractions?  What if they had the latest movies and television entertainment to choose from?  I mean, think about it, watching Matt Damon kick ass in Elysium while you have a bone sticking protruding three inches from your leg…. I just hope they don’t show that scene from the NBC show, Revolution, where the Google geek bandages up a compound fracture….yikes.

Enough of leg breaks (tell Anderson Silva that one!).  The point is the Royal Flying Doctor Service is a vital institution for the health and safety of the hardy Aussies who call the unforgiving beauty of the Outback their home.

And to round off a pleasant, non-gruesome injury-of-a-day in Alice Springs, Jennifer and I indulged in a sunset camel ride, where our 17-year-old guide from the  Australian East Coast led our caravan while explaining the importance of these creatures to settling of the outback.  For the first half century of their arrival in Australia from India and other places, camels became instrumental in the settling of the lands in the Outback and Western Australia.  With the arrival of motorized transportation in the early 20^th century, camels were no longer needed as pack animals and were given their freedom to eat, drink and sleep with other camels at their own leisure.

Some estimates have the feral camel population at over 1 million with the capacity to double in population every nine years.  Other estimates, however, claim the 1 million number is an exaggeration and that the actual population is only approximately half that.  Regardless of who’s right and what sort of drinking game could possibly be created from this argument, we got to ride a camel and it was cool.  Unlike my first camel ride on the Canary Island of Lanzarote in 2011, I did not lose my cell phone this time and have a miraculous reunion with it several weeks later (that Blackberry would go on to die just a month later).

And so it was, a quiet night descended upon the heart of Oz as the mental preparation for the northbound journey began.  No yellow brick road here, just the paved path to the unknown.

So stick around, because the story gets a little crazier.  You might even get to meet a kangaroo with a special name.

Shock 'n' Awe

Okay, so for the past year and a half, I've diverted my blogging strictly to Facebook with the idea of attracting more attention.  It's quite difficult to determine how much traffic one is actually getting since it's likely the response in the form of likes and comments doesn't equal how many people actually take the time to read the posts.  I've also noticed that shorter posts tend to receive more of a response than the longer, drawn-out blogs.

That's fine and all, but I do like writing longer posts, and it seems ideal to revive this blog for the third time.

I tend to not follow through on things if I announce them ahead of time, so with the hopes of not jinxing myself out of accomplishing tasks, I won't make any foolish announcements until after the fact.  This also seems to work when dealing with contracts and placements for tours and such.  I would get all hyped up about doing a full contract in South America only to get placed on another ship because a certain wife of an officer took the last available Shorex cabin.

But that was over a year ago, and things drastically changed in 2013.  Brazil went off in a loud heartbeat of uncertainty but proved to be an amazingly fun experience.  Upon returning from Brazil, I was transferred to the m/s Zuiderdam for the final five weeks of my contract, getting tastes of Panama, Costa Rica and Colombia while saying hello to old friends, Aruba and Curacao, another four times.  It would prove to be, as of now, my final contract due to my mother's failing health and my wanting to be more readily available at home to spend more time with her.  

Holding out until August, I landed another job with Destinations America to begin running tours under their Insight Vacations and Trafalgar brands.  On August 2nd, my mother's 66th birthday, I accepted DA's Tour Director position, simultaneously resigning from Holland America Line, and five days later, my mother would pass away to join my father above.  

But even with the shock 'n' awe that is associated with the death of loved ones, we knew she had been suffering for a very long time, and despite the grief and sadness, there was also a sense of relief that no more suffering was to be placed upon her.  And with the formalities of dealing with the estate, I continued pushing on to prepare for my first ever escorted tour through the beautiful fall foliage of New England.

The tour was a rousing success, I was invited back for my first complete season coming up, and in the process embarked on a seven-week trip to Australia followed by a New Years-tinged two-and-a-half week trip to Western Europe.  The first half of my Australia blog and pictures were featured on my Facebook wall, but now it's time to regain the habit of returning the blogs to their home space.

So here it is, returning from its long slumber for those who want to enjoy my longer musings and posts.  I'll keep the Twitter-styled posts to my Facebook wall.  The site can also use a bit of a sprucing up with all of these new moments in time I've captured.

Riding the Tsunami of Life

Granted it has yet been a while since I last updated, and granted I said I would make the attempt to update more frequently, recent family issues have unfortunately delayed updates until now.

I have been back in Texas for a month now.  My second contract on the ms Oosterdam was quite tumultuous both on the home and work fronts.  I enjoyed Hawaii, the Mexican Riviera and a third summer in Alaska to the best of my ability.  I visited the somber site of Pearl Harbor, flew over Haleakala via helicopter in Maui, went whale watching a total of three times (once in Cabo, once in Honolulu and the other in Maui), visited the amazing Polynesian Cultural Center on Oahu (and had a tour guide who had long rants about 50 First Dates, the Karate Kid 2 and other somewhat useless information on the way to there)...

...okay, on that note really quickly, some people would love to hear about the cinematic flare of Hawaii (we sold a tour on Kauai dedicated strictly to that).  But these are senior citizens, many of them thinking that "wax on, wax off" will make you blind and/or send you to hell.  Back to the post...

...flew over the beautiful Misty Fjords via floatplane (finally) outside of Ketchikan, saw Sitka for the first time and many other great experiences.  It was good to see my Juneau friends as well.

In approximately three weeks, I will be boarding the ms Maasdam and repeating the Atlantic Adventurer cruise I did last fall, followed by six weeks in the Caribbean, an amazing 49-day Amazon and Carnival itinerary to Brazil (including two nights in Rio de Janiero), ending with another six weeks in the Southern and Eastern Caribbean and mostly likely continuing on to New England and the Canadian Maritimes for the encore (we shall see about that).  I am scheduled to return home April 22nd but if they want an encore expect me back home sometime mid-late May.

I also recently picked up an affordable camera lens add-on kit featuring a small wide angle lens add-on and a small telephoto lens add-on (this one increases the zoom x 2.2).  It's obviously not the high-end professional equipment but I want to build up to that.  Besides, just because my Nikon D3100 isn't what you would call a "pro" camera, it can more than take professional-quality photos (just without some of the real fancy stuff).  I am in the market to purchase another actual lens, most likely a 55mm-300mm or some variation of that but a nice f/1.8 for night shooting is also being considered.  I will say, though, that my 18mm-55mm lens kit is very sufficient for night shooting as is, so I might decide to go for a 24mm f/2.8 or some variation like that.

I'm also deciding which photos I've taken in the past couple of years to have printed out and hanging in my house.  I'm considering having three or four large prints and four smaller ones to hang up, and then all of the "finalist" photos printed out on 8x11 for portfolio purposes.  My skills are nowhere near professional quality yet (I still have a lot to learn about proper exposure) but hopefully in due time this will change.

So here's to another summer, this one being flushed down the toilet as quickly as humanly possible.  A very rocky road is ahead, so all I can do is try to go with every bump and pitfall regardless of the bruising that will occur.

Our String of Destiny

Everything happens for a reason.  Where we are meant to be at specific times, the trials we encounter and the tribulations that inject us with copious amounts of character are all part of a grander plan.  Or so many have said.

How much control over our own destiny do we truly have?  We have the freedom to make decisions yet sometimes the consequences of those decisions are completely out of our control.  It is also through those decisions we see a world full of uncontrollable variables play out before our eyes, a play that has a legion of outcomes with only one string attached to our very finger to manipulate a fraction of what is going on.  And yet, that fraction can make or break an entire scene.

This contract has been trying for a variety of reasons, all of which have tested the virtues of patience and perserverence.  This summer is gearing up to be among the toughest yet, and the only string I have to pluck is that of prayer.  But maybe one pluck can resonate a note so breathtaking and hopeful that equilibirum will, once again, be reached in my mind and harmony in my heart.

Our current Alaska itinerary is far from perfect.  There is no Glacier Bay, no Skagway or Vancouver, no evening stay in Juneau, no beautiful sail through the Johnstone Straights and Seymore Narrows (both featuring some of the best whale-watching on the Pacific Coast), no College Fjord or beautiful calls to Seward.  I was spoiled last year in every way.  However, upon returning this Sunday refreshed, I will chart out a new outlook for our repeating 7-day Seattle-Seattle itinerary.  After all, how can it be possible to have a bad Alaskan itinerary?  It's possible, but it can still be enjoyed.

But that is the least of the problems, and it's really a correction that must be made on my end.  An attitude adjustment is needed, and with that will come a very enjoyable time.  During my nine-week experience in Bermuda last year, I know that a positive attitude, a great working environment and surrounding oneself with great people will bring out the best of what seems like a boring itinerary.  This will also greatly help with the far more serious issues looming, but those will not be discussed at this time.

Right now, I must focus on returning to work better than ever, and finishing the final two-and-a-half months of my contract on multiple strong notes, one pluck at a time.

Luckenbach Jaaaaaa!

The frigid chill of the Texas Hill Country air added the bluesy feeling to the 5th Annual Blues Festival in Luckenbach, TX.  What's more interesting than it actually being cold in Central Texas is the fact Luckenbach isn't technically, well, a real town.  It encompasses a general store, one beer stand, several portapoties, another loo and a concession stand all in existance because of a dance hall.  Eight bands over the course of eight hours engulfed the hall with various blues-influenced sounds, yet many didn't even flinch so much as dance.

Beck Beckendorf featured a six-piece band, half of them guitarists.  There's nothing wrong with having three guitarists when it's for a purpose, but somehow I didn't see the purpose of it with this group.  Nevertheless, their contemporary blues sound was very enjoyable, and it was cool to see a member whose sole purpose was to kick ass on the harmonica. 

My favorite act of the day was an Austin-based three-piece band called Porterdavis.  With a beatnick-like appearance, they played a non-pretentious blues style with more depth than the other acts featured.  The drummer relied only one a kick drum, a stick and a tamberine.  Another member was strictly a harpist like in Beck Beckendorf, and of course, the guitarist/vocalist. 

W.C. Clark and his backing band played a more blues-jazz fusion with 60s-style keyboard thrown in for good measure.  While a very good set, a few of the songs felt a bit too long, which isn't a problem with the music itself but rather reveals my sometimes lack of patience when it comes to extended jazz and blues songs.  Then again it was also getting quite chilly by this point so that didn't help my patience any.

Guy Forsyth brought out a more polished country-blues fusion with catchy hooks, while Band of Heathens slanted more towards an outlaw country-blues combination.  Both were very enjoyable, and in fact, Band of Heathens was the only band I had even heard of in the line-up before today.

Unfortunately, the cold forced us to retreat to warmer areas of the grounds during two of the other acts, and we left as the final act was starting.

It was nice to hang out with Josh and Amanda, and it was nice to get out of the big city for the afternoon and evening.  Tomorrow, I think a nice morning bike ride around the neighborhood and a good core workout is in order before a pleasant rest before lunch.

The U.K. blogs will be posted soon.