How to Lick a Dragon

I’ve spent a good portion of my grown-up life chasing mythical creatures: mermaids, unicorns, leprechauns, “the one”, and now a new sort of quest has evoked me – the dragon hunt.

Because my flying academy came to a very abrupt end when I was caught jumping off a two story wall (age 8), I still can’t fly. This makes getting around a whole lot harder than it ought to be. But life at sea is a close second.

It took a good few days of sailing to get into the dragony waters. And in an attempt to psych myself up for the chase, whilst on a 4am night watch, my ipod fell to the depths of the ocean half way through ‘The final countdown”. I really hope the mermen below have good taste in music.

Our beautiful anchorage in Rindja island

Rindja (or Rinca or Rincha) island was as mysterious as we’d hoped; a desolate island mass teeming with deer, wild horses and macaque. We took on a friendly guide A) because we had to and B) Because a man with a big stick to fight off dragons is better than no man with a big stick to fight off dragons.

The quest continued.

One. Two. Six. A cluster lay sprawled out in the shade. Almost lifeless – like statutes. The magical dragons were as big as I’d imagined – their piercing stares shot shudders down my spine.

Fortunately, they didn’t move much. They stood up only to defecate, and then they’d lie back down after a few lashes of their long forked tongues. Komodo dragons do not shoot fire. This was a disappointment.

We ventured deeper into the island.

Solitary dragons lay hidden in bushes [and the young in trees] guarding their nests and digesting their bellies. They eat but once a month, but when they do eat [monkeys/ buffalo/ horses/ humans] they eat everything – fur and bones included. It probably explains their hairy poo.

Licking hairy dragon poo - apparently it will take up to a month to see if this  action has done any permanent damage to my being

Komodos may appear to be the laziest creatures on earth (after the people in the world's tax and traffic offices), but they run at 18 km/ hour and often just administer a single bite to their prey. They then follow the victim for up to two weeks until death by infection consumes. What a horrible way to go.

[At least it' a pretty place to die]

For two days we explored the island, marveling at the violent landscape and marvelous wildlife. For two days we kept our heartbeats up - hoping not to fall victim (or lunch). For two days I tried to find the courage to lick a dragon. And then finally…

[Photoshop is a powerful tool!]

I lived.  

Equatorial Escapades : Homeish at Last

The purple seas swarmed rigorously about me as I tried in desperation to locate south and; more importantly, the captain. Clearly the breathing of fresh Southern hemisphere air was too much for him to handle, and, only a few feet before the equator, he’d hurled himself mercilessly over the railings and into the ocean depths. In an attempt to save the sharks his indigestion, I’d leapt overboard too.

The swells were bigger than they’d looked from the deck, but there, in the distance glistened what could only be his beardfulness (or I suppose, a very large, hairy fish). Eventually Fiddler returned to rescue us – but Kirk’s craziness had contaminated all the crew and now everyone wanted to swim the equator, so we about shipped and crossed the line again; his time doing it the same way we came into the world (lucky none of us drifted far out to sea – if we did happen to be rescued by a passing vessel, it would have taken a lot of explaining and I don’t speak Indonisian, Malay, or Chinese - yet).

With the northern hemispherian crew making their first entry into my world, it’s almost understandable that they should think wearing underwear on the outside appropriate. They seemed to think everything would be wrong way up in the South. So much they have to learn; in the South the air is sweeter and the beer is crispier, people smile wider; the world is just about as it should be.

Equitorial pancakes

other equatoriaal pancakes

It’s been a long run too – all the way around Sabah (Borneo) to Brunei, and then back East - around the tip and 928.8 Nautical miles (164.5 hours of sailing; 29 vomits) later, we entered Indonesia. We stopped off to pick up Memo, our newest crew member, and to explore remote islands and jelly fish lakes and the unfathomable beauties of the ocean depths before carrying on South for the equator. 

Jelly fish lake, Kakaban - squirming about with billions of stingless jelly fishies - one of the happiest experiences of my life 

Tarakan, our first port of entry into Indonesia

Why I am the only one licking a customs official, I don't know

Some of the many many many smiling Indonesians

 The North didn’t let us go easily either. First the pulleys that held our dingy up gave in and we almost had what would have been a very unfortunate loss. Then our main sail ripped and we lost the first two reefs leaving us with only half a sail. To add to the trauma of our final day as northerners, the toilet paper took a dive in the sink – oh, the distress! 

  

The near loss of the dingy

The ripping of the sail

The remaining half...

 The past week’s added another 645+ miles to our journey and thrown us soley to the mercies of the ocean. We ran out of bread - we learned to make our own. We ran out of fruit – we resorted to scurvy stopping vitamin C tablets and popcorn (yes, it’s a fruit). We ran out of contact with the outside world – we learned to survive without Wikipedia, facebook and all other human interactions.

It’s a very simple life out here – a life of freedom and subsistence.. Sunshine and storms. Winds in every wrong direction and sometimes none at all (at which point you drift in the currents, normally backwards). 

The windi meter on a very very long backwards sailing night

 We’ve just arrived in Makassar (Sulawesi) to restock supplies and extend visas. Soon I’ll be attempting my first steps back onto solid land – there’ll be real humans again – I wonder if I remember how to pretend to be civalised? (Wow, I can’t even remember how to spell the word). The thing that scares me the most however is the land sickness. Ten days at sea – my longest stretch yet - and this is just the prelude to the one month ocean crossing that lies ahead.

It’s good to be back in the home hemisphere and homeward bound at last.

The Life of a Dead Kitten

On our second day as illegal Indonesian immigrants (Sunday), we found a kitten.A kitten so small it's eyes hadn't opened yet- meuwing helplessly under a tree - squirming at the pain caused by the puncture wounds in it's neck and the ants biting their way into it's flesh. Next to it lay its dead brother.

We just stood and starred. And eventually James bent down, picked it up and stroked the ants off it's trembling body. The silence was deafening, there were big decisions to make here: We could put it back down and walk away like nothing had happened. We could try find someone else to take it in. We could help it find rest faster. Or we could get completely involved and do what we could to nurse it into catfulness.

The silence shattered as our footsteps wondered off in search of milk. "Can we call her Ninja?" I asked "because Ninjas never die." And that's how "Ninja Taracat" came into our lives.

She had a 50/50 chance of survival.

I sat on the roof of the yacht that evening pondering life (and stitching curtains). Nobody has a clue how long they have on the planet - it could be 20 years - it could be 120 - either way, life is flipping short.

Mine flashed before my eyes as I listened to the shrieks from below as James washed the maggots from the wounds.  I contemplated the things I'd done with my life: childhood tree climbings, flying lessons, those awkward high school years, uni, the spectrum of bizarre jobs I'd acquired over the years, people I'd met, places I'd traveled.

The crash helmet indicates that I may have been accident prone from an early age!

I don't know why I thought this picture appropriate.

 I remembered small accomplishments:

And bigger ones:

17000 km in a little car that never should have made the drive to Mongolia

I started jotting down a list of random life memories.... then I tried to squat a mosquito and threw my pen over board and went to get a new one.

Down below, Ninja TC had stopped crying and started taking in milk.At last!

Coated in deet infused mosquito repelant and with a brand new pen, I continued my list and thought long and hard about what I'd be doing with my life if I'd taken a career seriously or if I'd never caught the travel bug or if I'd settled down and bought a goat or... I suddenly remembered what we all know but seldom remember: It doesn't matter who we are, what we do, where we do it, it doesn't matter what our past has held - it's up to us to be make sure we make the most of every second of the now for however long we have to live it.

Solomon, allegedly the wisest man to ever have lived, once said [probably in Greek or Hebrew, but I don't speak either so you get English]:

"Young man, it's wonderful to be young! Enjoy every minute of it. Do everything you want to do. Take it all in. But remember you must give an account to God for everything that you do."

Ecclesiasties 11:9

And whether you're religious or not I think it's an important thing to grab onto. The only person you can blame for a life filled with regrets is you.

James stayed up all night nursing Ninja. In the early hours of the morning she died. At least we knew that everything that could be done for her was. She may not have lived very long and I was too scared to get to know her well, I didn't want to have to say goodbye, but she made an impact on my life all the same.

You only die once. Make sure your life ends doing something you love. Make sure you die happy. But please don't die any time soon!

About a Boat

I've pretended to be a lot of things this year:

A camel (slash backpacker):

 This is how I arrived in Indonesia after a whole year in Aus land

A nautical engineer (the boat sank)

A hardcore biker ganger (but we never really created any gang related havoc or got arrested)

 A cross continental cyclist (with  a crappy Chinese bike)-  

A hitch hike extraordinaire

And now I pretend to be a vegetarian sailor

Today marks one month of sailing for me and, if anyone knows me well, that's quite a long term commitment! So much so that I feel the need  to involve you in my life of nauticasity...

Firstly there's the crew: 

Four of us at present, with a fifth joining the ranks in Indonesia.

Captain Kirk, apart from being our skipper, is also our in-boat chef extraordinaire - without him a diet of peanut butter and chilli coated starches would prevail

James is our Engineer, plumber, electrician and resident DJ - he likes to subject us to the wholesome lyrics of murderous gangster rock. And fortunately he also fixes our toilets and fans when they brake.

Teddy is the mandatory slob that lazily lounges about watching other people work - because there always has to be one.

I'm not sure what my actual job description would be now that I no longer provide sea sick amusements by hanging over the port side but "resident licker" slash "rapid consumer of expiring first aid supplies" (I tend to injure myself all too frequently) will suffice for now.  

We'll start with the deck, shall we? It's all good and well having an autopilot on board, but the amount of fishing nets and tankers and freak wooden planks and killer whales (I say this in hope that we may actually see some whales soon) about means that there always needs to be someone on the watch - day and night

It's tough being at the helm (actually, sometimes it really is)

In calm waters it's brilliant and you can see for miles and relax, but in bad weather and strong waves the horizon bends to 45 degrees... I for one had no idea that boats could tilt so much without flipping!

Inside we have the saloon (dinning table) where teddy currently resides (man am i glad I don't have to carry him anymore)

 We have a remarkably open plan kitchen (galley) for a boat - if only I knew how to cook!

My 'stateroom' (bunk) used to be, and I quote "a glorious wardrobe closet" and when the boats not rolling about too crazily, it's the comfiest bed I've probably ever had!

To use the toilet ('head') you need to pump water in and then pump everything out after use - This alone should ensure that some day I will actually own arm muscles.

Everything onboard has bizarre names and bizarrer purposes and whilst I still confuse my mains with my gibbs and often untie the wrong sheets and tangle up the black loopy thing, I've made massive progress and can generally steer without crashing - I also know now that you should always puke leeward.

We've done some mammoth supply shopping sprees

This picture holds 47 blocks of cheese and a very happy amrican

And some mamother fuel missions (lugging almost 3000 litres of fuel in 20 litre jerry cans is no easy feat!) 

I've just feasted on a delicious popcorn and chilli sandwich and we're finally sailing out of Malaysia - next stop, Indonesia.