Have Field Kit Will Travel

Australia’s biggest killers? #1: Humans

by Lucy Anderson on 30 September 2012

A sign at Airlie Beach warns bathers of potential marine hazards

Welcome to Australia?

The 737 thundered to a halt as we touched down on Antipodean tarmac and braced ourselves for the shark infested waters that lay ahead: the shark infested waters of Australian border control. Within moments of disembarking in an unseasonably sunny Sydney, we were confronted by the country’s notorious biosecurity barracks. If you dare to bring so much as a piece of fruit into the country (or – as we discovered – fill in the form in red ink), prepare to face their wrath.

Already pining for the white sands of Rarotonga, we hired a campervan and journeyed northwards along the vast coastal expanse from Brisbane to Port Douglas in Queensland. Despite being a path well-trodden, we managed to dodge the hoards of lobster-pink, Foster’s-fragranced British backpackers as we surfed, swam, sailed, snorkelled and kayaked our way through the national parks en route. After the obligatory koala hug at Lone Pine Sanctuary in Brisbane, we began our trip with a ramble through the Glass House Mountains (gnawing on some outstanding Wasabi Cheddar at Maleny cheese factory) before surfing ‘til we dropped in middle class Noosa and kayaking through the idyllic water-lily-sprinkled Noosa Everglades in the south of the state. We joined the crew aboard the Iceberg for a sailing adventure around the Whitsundays and dipped in cavernous plunge pools carved out by spectacular waterfalls in Queensland’s UNESCO listed Wet Tropics to the north.

Things that can kill you…

It’s no mean feat to find an Australia guidebook that doesn’t begin by boasting about the number of ‘deadly and dangerous’ creatures inhabiting the world’s largest island. The country is home to some of the world’s most notorious natural killers. By land there’s the inland taipan: the world’s most venomous snake, notoriously deadly funnel-web spiders and the prehistoric cassowary which can disembowel you with one swift kick (though we were disappointed not to spot any of these magnificent birds on a walk in Etty Bay). Meanwhile, silent assassins in the form of Irukandji jellyfish, saltwater crocodiles and great white sharks lurk in the water, the former of which treats you to ‘feelings of impending doom’ while momentarily paralysing you with excruciating pain.

Devastating though the rare human attacks have been, great while sharks are responsible for an average of 1 fatality per year, snakes have killed 41 people since 1980 and the last reported funnel web spider fatality was in 1981. But the number of fatalities involving these critters is miniscule compared to the vast swathes of entire species that us Homo sapiens have – either directly or indirectly – wiped out.

Predictably – as is the global phenomenon – early settlers were the first culprits, hunting out some truly magnificent megafauna in the imposing shape of the Diprotodon (giant wombat) and short-faced kangaroo (excellent display about these beasts at the National Museum of Australia). Later came the demise of the Tasmanian tiger. But it’s more recent ill-advised conservation decisions which have put Australian wildlife on the map for all the wrong reasons.

Amphibian Assassins

As a pint-sized figure hopped through our campsite in Port Douglas (and we’re not talking about Kylie Minogue here), we were reminded of Australia’s most famous bio-control fail: the rotund, warty-skinned South American cane toad. Originally introduced from Hawaii to Georgetown, Northern Queensland, in the 1930s, cane toads were released to keep tabs on the insect pests attacking the region’s precious sugar cane resources, but thanks to the deadly toxin that they emit to deter any creature that dares to have a pop at them, their populations boomed and spread across at least three states costing millions of dollars and wiping out numerous native species in parts of Australia. Their tale is so notorious there’s a cane toad museum dedicated to them and the local pub invites punters to bet on cane toad races (mind you, Aussie’s will bet on anything), not to mention the fact that they’ve inspired a Hollywood blockbuster (the trailer alone is well worth a watch)!

Meanwhile, when it comes to human death, the biggest killer in Australia is that fearful creature called… heart disease. And with gargantuan portion sizes and bargain priced fast food outlets on every corner in an otherwise prohibitively expensive country, it’s easy to understand why.

We’d be lying if we didn’t admit to feeling nervous about the prospect of an early-season Irukandji jellyfish whilst snorkelling in the Whitsundays or anxiously checking whether that spider in the campsite bathroom was of the benign variety… but it’s really us humans who should top the Australian deadly and dangerous hit list.

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From Korea with Love

by Steve Rocliffe on 20 September 2012

A waterfall cascades into a deep blue pool on Jeju Island, South Korea

“Steve: get the bags. Hail a cab. We’re going to make a run for it”. It’s not the sort of thing you hear every day when you check out of a hotel, but I can tell from the look of alarm on my colleague’s face that it’s a serious request. I decide it’s best to do as I’m told. I grab the bags, stride out of the air-conditioned lobby into the sticky humidity of a South Korean morning, and jump in to waiting cab. Twenty seconds later, my colleague follows suit, hotly pursued by a crimson-faced reception manager yelling something unintelligible in Korean. The taxi door slams, the tires squeal and we leap off up the road towards the airport, enveloping the angry Korean man in a cloud of exhaust smoke. Not for the first time this week, I feel like an extra in a Bond film.

The name’s Bond, Stickman Bond

As we speed towards the airport, I reflect on the events of the past few minutes, as well as the events of the past few days. I’m in no way surprised that our relationship with the hotel ended as dramatically and suddenly as it did. Over the last week, the front desk staff members have excelled themselves at crafting an experience entirely divorced from any Western notions of hospitality. On check in, for example, I was presented with both a room key and large circular retractable tape measure. On enquiring what the tape measure was for, I was directed to a sign depicting the Amazing Adventures of James Bond: Stickman Edition.

In this thrilling tale, Stickman Bond discovers a fire in his room and, instead of heading for the nearest fire escape, hooks one end of the tape measure to a nail on the wall, ties the other end around his waist and hurls himself out of the window. Staying on the 14th floor, I wasn’t particularly inclined to replicate Bond’s endeavours should the alarm be raised, instead resolving to stay and fight any blaze with the luxury accessories the hotel had thoughtfully provided: a tub of hair pomade, a bath towel for somebody one eighth my size, and a pair of children’s slippers embroidered with the phrase “we wish you a suitable stay”.

The World Conservation Congress

Five minutes since leaving the hotel, and we’re so obsessed with furtively glancing at the taxi’s rear-view mirror, expecting our red-faced adversary to roar into view, that we almost miss the colossal bulk of the International Convention Centre, our home for the past few days. Along with 8,000 other conservationists, we’ve been on the island of Jeju in South Korea for the World Conservation Congress, the largest event of its kind in the world, and the self-styled “Nature Olympics”.

We’ve been running a workshop for which we bought together leaders of community-based marine conversation projects from around the world. Some of them had never got on a plane before and seemed to regard the endless escalators and security scans of the convention centre as something of an urban playground. I wasn’t able to establish what they thought of the remote control toilets, with knobs to set the temperature, angle and pressure of all manner of nozzles secreted within the bowl. Though they did seem pretty impressed with a day-trip we took on an actual submarine!

A natural wonder of the world

One of the reasons Jeju, South Korea’s largest island, was chosen to host the WCC is the island’s strong association with nature. Over the past decade, this volcanic outcrop, 64km off the southern tip of the Korean peninsula and less than two hours by plane from Seoul, has had an array of prestigious honours bestowed upon it by environmental organisations. In 2002, the Jeju was designated a Biosphere Reserve by UNESCO, before being listed as a UNESCO World Natural Heritage Site in 2007.

A couple of years later, UNESCO awarded Global Geopark status to nine geological sites, making the island the only place in the world to receive UNESCO’s triple crown. And most recently of all, Jeju was named as one of the 7 natural wonders of the world, joining illustrious company like the Brazilian Amazon and Cape Town’s Table Mountain.

Evil lairs and erotic theme parks

As our taxi speeds on to the airport, the imposing bulk of Mount Hallasan, one of the Geopark sites, rears up ahead of us, whilst a second, the Manjang-gul Lava tubes, spreads out beneath us. A hollowed-out, extinct volcano and the world’s largest subterranean lava tunnels: both hauntingly, dazzlingly beautiful; both prime real estate for your common or garden Bond villain. But spectacular though the island’s natural beauty undoubtedly is, it’s somewhat diminished by the built environment, and especially by the island’s prized collection of some of the world’s most bizarre and outlandish museums.

There is the Africa museum, housed in a life-sized replica of Mali’s Djenne Mosque, a chocolate museum, a trick art museum and two (yes, two) Teddy Bear museums. Here, you can see Neil Armstrong land on the moon, Michelangelo sculpt Adam and Charles and Di tie the knot, all in teddy-bear form. Weirdest of all is Loveland, an erotic theme park and sculpture guardian. Stop by for sex-education films and to fumble with hands-on exhibits like the Masturbation Cycle. I jest not.

Never say never

After what seems like an age, our taxi finally draws up at the airport and we breathe a collective sigh of relief. Then, just as we move to pay the driver, a car screeches to a halt behind and several soldiers jump out. Fearing the worst, we frantically hatch a plan to escape across the heavily fortified demilitarised zone between South and North Korea in a hovercraft. Thankfully, the soldiers run off in the other direction, evidently late for their plane. The hovercraft will have to wait. Never say never, though.

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Ice cream for Hillary Clinton

by Steve Rocliffe on 1 September 2012

A roadside sign on Rarotonga offers free ice cream to US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton

Rarotonga, Cook Islands. Saturday morning, 2am. We’re heading back to our hostel after another night out when, out of the darkness, an individual brandishing an illuminated red wand unexpectedly leaps out in front of our taxi, forcing us to stop. Momentary panic that we’ve accidentally strayed on to the runway of the nearby airport is replaced with a deep unease at the realisation that the vaguely menacing figure is, in fact, a policeman. Our driver lowers her window and the policeman leans in. “Are you sober?” he asks. “Of course”, she replies, more than a hint of a slur in her voice. “Great. Carry on then”

That’s a breathalyser check, Raro-style. They usually don’t go that far, in fact. But this week, the island is hosting the Pacific Islands Forum, so security has been strengthened. Sort of. The Forum, a meeting of the leaders of 16 Pacific countries including Australia and New Zealand, has had the island buzzing for weeks. But it’s not but meeting itself, so much as its mystery guest, widely rumoured to be US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, that’s really piqued the islanders’ interest.

So far I’ve seen three signs gifting Mrs Clinton free ice cream, two offering her food and even one proposing a “Free QF”, which I’m reliably informed stands for “Quick Fruit Juice”. See what they did there?

The size of Swindon, only much, much nicer

Mrs Clinton’s visit is a big deal for this small island nation. The 15 islands of the Cooks cover a total land area of just 240 square kilometres. This is the same size as Swindon, but there the comparison thankfully ends. The main island of Rarotonga only has three roundabouts and none of them are magic. There are no traffic lights or international chains. The nearest MacDonalds is around 3000km away. And the tallest thing in the capital of Avarua is a coconut palm.

But though the islands themselves may be tiny, they are speckled across a vast swathe of majestic South Pacific ocean. The land part of the Cooks may only be the size of Swindon, but its sea is more than eight times the size of the UK. This huge splash of seemingly endless blue has a wealth of threatened creatures in need of protection. That’s what I’m doing here: scoping out my PhD research, arranging research permits and completing my Divemaster (with, shameless plug, the amazing Dive Rarotonga) ahead of my main fieldwork season in 2013.

It’s also, in part, what Hillary is doing here. Earlier this week, at the opening of the Forum, The Cook Islands announced the creation of the world’s largest marine park. At 1.1 million square kilometres, the park will cover an area larger than France and Germany combined. That’s a lot of Swindons.

Pacific Islands Forum Opening Ceremony

Now, as someone who specialises in marine parks, I could hardly miss out on that opening ceremony, could I? And so it was that Lucy and I found ourselves sneaking in as part of a delegation of school children draped in the royal blue of the Marshall Islands (a country, I’m ashamed to say, that I’d not previously heard of).

Things started off innocuously enough. Each of the leaders came into the arena atop a wooden chair borne by eight Cook Islanders. All that changed when, towards the end of the procession, a flash of red and a nasally “G’day how are ya?” heralded the arrival of Aussie PM Julia Gillard. As she entered the arena, someone in the audience decided to gave a passionate, impromptu rendition of Waltzing Mathilda, and within seconds, everybody had joined in. (Incidentally, who knew there were actual verses? Four of the little blighters!)

For a while, things returned to normality: a succession of soporific speeches sparked off a Mexican wave of nodding heads around the arena. And then Henry Puna arrived. Henry Puna is the Cook Islands Prime Minister, and I think I love him. On a previous encounter at a night market a couple of weeks earlier, he’d given me a scone with jam and cream (it was a cheese scone, but this isn’t the Great British Bake Off, so I forgave the faux pas). This time around, he went one better. Instead of a dry speech, he whipped out a mike, grabbed a young women from the crowd and duetted with her on a song welcoming everybody to the Cook Islands. Something else you wouldn’t find in Swindon.

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The man-eaters of Tsavo

by Steve Rocliffe on 25 October 2011

An elephant covered in red earth at Tsavo East National Park

It should be the perfect evening stroll. The powder-white beach blazes in the moonlight. The warm waters of the Indian Ocean tug softly at my feet. A gentle breezes whispers among the palm fronds overhead. But the 400m tranche of Kenyan coastline that stretches before me is liberally sprinkled with all manner of shady characters.

I stride purposively out onto the beach, sending a smattering of startled ghost crabs scurrying for cover. Almost immediately, a local dealer sidles up and enquires if I would like to purchase some of his finest marijuana. I politely decline and stride on.

Seconds later, I am ambushed by a trio of young girls, as stealthy as they are scantily clad. “Hey handsome” they screech in unison “you want massage plus?” Not enthralled at the prospect of a “massage” with added gonorrhoea or syphilis, I twist free of their claws and make a successful break for the protected confines of my hotel.

After six days of academic conference, I am to spend tomorrow on the hunt for a different kind of man-eater altogether: the fabled lions of Tsavo.

The man-eaters of Tsavo

During the building of the Kenya-Uganda railway through Tsavo in 1898, 135 workers were dragged from their tents at night and devoured by two hungry lions. The beasts were eventually killed and turned into floor rugs but their legacy lives on today: the lions of Tsavo are far more ferocious and cunning than their cousins in Kenya’s other national parks, not to mention much harder to find.

The big five

The following day, I rise at 4.30am and amble back along a now deserted beach to meet the safari minivan. With characteristic Kenyan efficiency, the van goes nowhere for 90 minutes. But we eventually depart, bouncing our weary way along the dusty, rutted highway, before arriving at the park entrance around 8.30am.

At 14,000 square kilometres, Tsavo is the largest national park in Africa and roughly the same size as the entire country of Montenegro. It is a haven for an astonishing array of wildlife, including the so-called big five: elephant, lion, rhino, buffalo and leopard. During a pre-safari briefing, our guide suggests we might see two of the five if we are lucky, but we have almost no chance of finding the famous man-eaters. Undeterred, we remove the van’s roof, assume the wildlife spotting pose and roar off into the vast wilderness.

Scanning the arid savannah a few minutes later, I spot what I think is a zebra with sunburn. Cue a slew of terrifyingly predictable “what’s black and white and red all over” japes from the rest of our party. The zebra, it transpires, has merely covered himself in the deep red earth of the park to provide respite from the heat and the ticks.

After this encounter the sightings come thick and fast: elephants and zebras, giraffes and buffalos, gibbons and ostriches, warthogs and antelopes. But no lions. We continue to spot amazing wildlife into the late afternoon, but the man-eaters remain stubbornly elusive.

Mud hole!

As we are about to head for home, the van’s radio crackles into life; lions have been spotted. Our driver whips the van around and sets off at breakneck pace. We speed down a dusty track with clouds of red dust billowing behind us, obscuring the landscape from view.

Then disaster strikes: in his haste to find the man-eaters, our driver attempts some ill-advised off-road manoeuvre and lands us in a mud hole.By the time we are extracted by the park’s tractor, the pride has moved on, leaving the bloody remains of a hartebeest carcass to maniacally cackling spotted hyenas and gargantuan lappet-faced vultures. Just when we think all is lost, one of our group spots something under a tree. It is two female lions. We have found our man-eaters at last, though it’s something of an anticlimax. They hardly move and studiously ignore us for the most part.

We bounce back along the rutted highway to the hotel and I ready myself for the beach once more, hoping that the man-eaters lying in wait will have learnt something from their feline counterparts today.

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Mount Kinabalu in a day

by Lucy Anderson on 15 September 2011

Mount Kinabalu, Borneo | Day 22

Eau de Tiger balm fills the air having been used in extreme quantities in a desperate bid to soothe our legs which are protesting against even the smallest of inclines today.

Yesterday we proved that, despite much advice to the contrary, it is possible to scale Mount Kinabalu in a single day (8 hours 40 minutes to be precise) and to avoid having to spend the night in a cold, damp and hideously overpriced (£150!) dorm room at Laban Rata, 3/4 of the way up the peak.

Having booked our day passes on the phone in KK the day before (no, you don’t have to turn up at Kinabalu National Park to do this, simply call the Kinabalu Parks Office on 6088-889098), we rose bright and early from the very homely Kinabalu Mountain Lodge (just outside the national park – much cheaper), bundled large volumes of glucose-laden snacks into our packs, paid the fees and were introduced to our 4 foot 8″ guide for the day (complete with golf umbrella) who proceeded to follow us up and down the mountain like a loyal hound.

The first 1.5km of the walk was kind. Gentle inclines were punctuated with sets of 10-20 steps, lulling us into a false sense of security. As we got higher (and the 0.5km markers became dishearteningly further apart) the gradient became progressively steeper and our limbs progressively achier! After only 4km, the relentless slope made my muscles burn and I cursed Steve’s ridiculously long legs, propelling him up the mountain in front of me. I began to wonder whether I’d be able to reach Laban Rata, let along the summit as the paths became rocky, slippery and irregular, preventing any momentum from being gained.

Laban Rata checkpoint

After what felt like 2.5 hours on a travelator, we reached Laban Rata, the check point 3/4 up the mountain where most hikers stay overnight (in the aforementioned extortionately priced dorms), before ‘summiting’ at dawn. There we were treated to a fleeting glimpse of the spectacular summit through the clouds (along with high praise from the other guides, impressed by our pace!) motivating us to continue up the next stretch: a relentless 700m stretch of steep steps.

It soon became evident that the ten minute pause at Laban Rata was enough to make our legs cease up completely and for the first 200m, every step became a battle: mind over failing body. Steve started to feel the effects of the increasing altitude and became dizzy and short of breath every time he tried to speed up. Our training hadn’t quite prepared us for this section; we had to slow to a snail’s pace to have any hope of continuing.

The rope phase

Above the vegetation line now, we had to haul our weary limbs the final 2km across sheets of shimmering granite, with a sheer drop below. It was a huge relief to give our legs a break as they’d pretty much given up at this point. 800m from the summit, the rain started and at 100m intervals, our guide threatened to take us back down but succumbed to our disappointed faces. A breathless Steve nearly gave up 300m from the summit, suffering badly from the altitude (at 6’4″, he was at much higher altitudes than me and the guide) but there was no way I was letting either of us stop now.

AT LAST!

After a final scramble up steep boulders, we made it! All our exhaustion vanished as we stood, elated, at the highest point in South East Asia! Not only had we scaled the peak in 4 hours 40minutes, we had the entire summit plateau to ourselves as nobody else had reached the checkpoint in time to summit that day( beats following a trail of 200 people queueing to reach the summit at dawn in my book). It was at this point that our guide (who’d clearly arrived at work that morning expecting to spend the entire day accompanying a typical rotund, velour-tracksuit-clad American tourist to Laban Rata) informed us he’d had no food or drink all day and urgently needed water. A celebratory picnic ensued before our rather rain soaked but very proud 4 hour descent.

Kinabalu in a day: the checklist

Make sure you’re prepared. Train beforehand (enough to comfortably walk for 8 hours on undulating terrain).
Call Kinabalu Parks Office park office (6088-889098) a few days before you want to climb to reserve a 1 day pass.
Get to the park early – there’s paperwork to complete and you’ll need to reach Laban Rata by 11am to be allowed to continue to the summit in a day.
Stay nearby (but it’s cheaper to stay just outside the National Park). We’d highly recommend Kinabalu Mountain Lodge which can be reached by public bus from KK.
Take plenty of water and high energy snacks.
Don’t overpack. We needed a t-shirt, a jumper and a light waterproof each.