Boomerang

Photos: Help exchange

boomerang — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 01:55:00 GMT

I survived the farm!!! (The farm survived me)

boomerang — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 21:24:00 GMT

I lived! Thank you all for your concern.

We ended up staying on the ranch for a month. Beda was soon to join Suzy and I on the farm, with the enticing lure of free food and booze, plus she got to drive a tractor!

For anyone ever interested in taking part in the program we did where you exchange on average 25-30 hours a week work for food and board there are two web sites with thousands of different home stays across the world with endless different experiences and adventures.

www.helpx.net or www.wwoof.org

Granted, you may end up eating mung beans and living in a tree house with some stinky hippies, or living on an isolated farm with a gun wielding crazy alcoholic cowboy. It's up to you to chose your own adventure, keep an open mind and learn a different way of life. Try it.

Most of our work was based around helping with the tree farm business. We were left alone on the ranch for a week with instructions to 'paint the fence'. Nights were spent drinking and playing cards with the other volunteers, mornings were spent sleeping in, and a few hours during the day were spent painting the fence. Unfortunately the three cats, two dogs and several horses were also painted in the process. They in turn were left with very bad cover up hair cuts.

Being a lover of horses I was 'lucky' enough to be given special cow girl duties. This involved worming an entire herd of wildish horses.
I was equipped with a quad bike, several ropes and a stash of syringes filled with worming medicine. Away I burned, through the paddocks McLeod daughters style. I was then to halter them and squirt the paste in to their mouthes (I know you were thinking the syringe was to go elsewhere). Most of my day was spent chasing this pack around the acreage, as one would take off the others would spook and follow, sometimes 20-30 horses at a time galloping either side of me. Those I did manage to capture received most of their medicine speared down their sides as I would mis squirt when they pulled away. I just rubbed it in to their fur and hope to this day that they are still alive. Except for Chinook. That little bastard colt was out to make my life difficult. He reminded me of a shit stirring teenage boy. He would creep up behind me and kick me with his front foot, or nip me on the arm. When I would finally have one of the other horses haltered he would bite them on the ass so they rear up, pull the rope from my hands and consequently cause a stampede. Determined not to let him beat me I sort some advice from the owners of the ranch. They said he was just testing me and I should stand up to him, smack him if needed. I couldn't smack a poor little foal! Or could I. Next day he was at his old game again. He crept up behind me and bit me on the back of my arm. Reflex action I spun around and punched him square between the eyes. Chinook learnt to respect, and the horses got their worming medication...well some of it.

Hulk Hogan's Farm - Don't shoot me!!

boomerang — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 21:21:00 GMT

We decide to head to a tree farm in the middle of nowhere to live and work for a month and wait for the snow. Time to experience a different side of Canada. Oh boy it's different. This is cowboy land, red neck country! It’s great!

An 11 hour overnight bus ride sees us standing bleary eyed at a roadhouse, which turned out to be the town, waiting for our new family to collect us. Up pulls a big red truck, and out steps a guy, shoulder length bleached blonde hair, looking exactly like Hulk Hogan, wearing the full cowboy get up complete with a cow hide hat and a coyote fur jacket head and all. That’s him. Should be fun.

We get to the farm. It is a massive timbered farmhouse. It’s a cowboy mansion. There are two dogs and three cats all super cute plus 57 horses to ride whenever we want, and quad bikes to burn around on. This guy is loaded…and so are his guns as he frequently mentions. Our initial tour of the house does bring up four alarm bells. One, the house is decorated with maybe 100 shot and stuffed animals. This really works well for my phobia of dead animals. I’m a little jumpy. Outside my bedroom door is a full sized stuffed grizzly bear, but luckily the screams of terror during my nightly bathroom visits are gradually slowing down. Two, 'This is where I store my guns, I have 80, but I haven’t shot anyone yet. You’d better work hard’ Three, ‘Do you like steak? ‘Um yes’. ‘Over in that paddock is Apollo’. ‘Oh, he’s cute’. We are shooting him next week, gotta stock the freezers up. Gulp. Four, ‘It’s really remote out here, you could bury a body and no one would find it’.

Aside from the constant jokes of them shooting us these people are a real hoot, albeit slightly askew. We had a party one night and cranked up a bon fire and all the local cowboys came around. The next morning we sported cowboy boots, saddled up and went for a ride. The background information on my horse- he is really chilled out most of the time but can ‘schitz out at nothing’. Soul mates I say. So of course he ‘schitez out’ at nothing and rears and bucks me off. I land on my ass in the grass and don’t even so much as get my clothes dirty. What a rush! I feel like a real cow girl now-Yihaaa! Next time we ride I am swapping horses. This time I get the one that is blind in one eye. Me too. Soul mates I say! Just make sure you are steering when we go along the cliffs. No problem. His left eye, my right. We’ll be fine.

This is where I must leave you all. Not for good I hope!

When the sun shines we shine together.

boomerang — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 21:07:00 GMT

Living in the Rocky Mountains, living in an isolated mountaintop paradise, living to snow board.

Sunshine Village.

Minus 20. Snow flakes falling. Three aussies. Inadequate clothing and footwear. Severely overloaded with luggage. In front of them brightly coloured, fast moving carriages suspended on a thin cable and traveling off in to the distance upwards of 2000 plus meters above rugged, rocky, snow covered outcrops, before vanishing off in to the unknown. This is us, and this is where we are going. The only way in and out of our 'home' for 7 months is via a cable car. In we pile. People, LUGGAGE, snowboards and our excitement. The view is astonishing. We are cutting through the Rocky mountains on the way to our village nestled amongst these colossal formations. The mountains with their sheer size are daunting; the starkness of the alpine landscape is apparent yet beautiful. It is big, bold, remote and an environment to be respected.

When we first arrived at the village with the remainder of the staff for the season the ski hill was not open to the public, nor were any of the lifts running. We had this winter playground to ourselves to explore and get to know one another. Some had, some hadn’t skied or snowboarded before. Heck, I had never even made a snow ball before, but I was determined to give it a go.

First things first, a hike up a steep snow covered mountain carrying this board that you were to strap to your feet with no real easy release mechanism, nor any brakes. The snow was hard and icy, the decent steep and fast. In hindsight perhaps I should have received some tips on how to ride before giving it a go but this didn’t happen. I now know you are meant to ride the board on one of the edges to slow yourself down and not to angle your board flat and straight down the hill - you will go very fast. There I was, standing strapped in, no escape, looking down at a big white hard punishment. Pretty much like riding an oiled oven tray down a refrigerator. With the cheers from the crowd, off I went, flat boarded, pointing the nose straight down the hill with absolutely no clue as to how to stop. I guess I was to figure this out in about 5 seconds, or let the mountain figure it out for me. I flipped, I flew, I rolled several times, my legs bent behind my head, and I stopped covered in snow like I had just been caught in an avalanche. It didn’t hurt. Let’s do it again. This time I caught an edge, flew through the air like a graceful swan, and then carried on with the swan dive face first in to the mountain with my eye socket breaking my fall. This one hurt a tad more.

Learning to snowboard is like crashing your car at high speed in to a tree daily.

It does get easier, the falls lessen. However, making self esteem issues worse are the 3 year old Canadian kids on their ski’s or baby boards carving it up around you as you sit on your sore ass, disillusioned and broken in the cold, hard snow. Patience and persistent and a whole tonne of guts and things start to get easier. When you get the hang of it it is amazing. You feel on top of the world. Then you start to think you are the shit and take more risks until the mountain yet again slams your arrogant over confident Aussie ass in to more cold hard reality.

The first time up the chair lift is always a memorable experience. Before boarding the chair you strap your front foot on to the board, the other you just leave dangling about to help you skate through the snow. So your front leg has a heavy long piece of wood attached to it and you are expected to hobble over to the lift and jump on to the seat as the chair swings around the corner at a hundred miles an hour to collect you. Oh no the lift doesn’t stop, in fact it doesn’t even slow down. Next to you on the slippery narrow platform, also hobbling about with a large log of wood attached to their feet are your buddies with just as little a clue as yourself. The chair lift scoops you up and there you are launched up the mountain. Higher and higher over beautiful white, steep terrain. Your only way down is to control this piece of wood strapped to your feet. Once you reach the top the chair lift it throws you off down a steep narrow ramp, 3 of you at a time each sliding in different directions.

Needless to say our first chair lift experience saw us crash spectaclary in a pile of snow and limbs laughing hysterically as the following lift hurled three more friends in to our pile of bodies, followed by a third lift just like a multi car collision on a slippery highway. Now, to get down this mountain on this piece of wood!

Whistler - Boarding and the Bears

boomerang — Mon, 30 May 2011 04:25:00 GMT

Just when I thought things couldn't get any crazier along came my second winter season in Canada, and in particular my belonging to 'The Big House' family of misfits and blow ins.

Whis - a - lah.

A beautiful little village nested amongst the Whistler and Blackcomb mountains. Where the Aussies out number the Canadians, and the bears out number the humans.

I live in a big three storey house, 5 bedroom plus a den, backed on to the river with a large decking and pool table. Inside lives 10 looney Aussies, 1 token Canadian and one corruptable nice Irish lass. Add to that the swagger of visitors and squatters we have had living on our couches, in the basement and even in Harry Potter style in the cupboards.

Bears. They are everywhere. I am going to dedicate a whole paragraph to bears, because I think they are awesome and make for a few uniquely Canadian stories. Seeing my first black bear amble less than a meter behind me as I stood outside the local pub one my second night in town brought me back to the time Danika and I paid $380 each to go bear spotting in Alaska, only to see one scraggly bear from 50+ meters away. Now, you walk side by side with them down the village stroll. We have also seen several of them poking around in our backyard. Humorous to me, but not to my housemate once she learnt afterwards of her near death experience was the time I was walking down my street one afternoon, spotting my housemate walking a short distance in front of me, followed by a large black bear that wandered out from a neighboring house. She had no idea as she was walking with her ipod in and the bear followed her for 100 meters down the street. Not to be outdone I was walking home in the pitch black of night, two bags of groceries full of fruit and veges, only realizing the bear was there when I heard it sniffing me!

Nearing the end of my time in this community which for years I had wanted to be a part of I can say what a worthwhile experience it has been. Everyone is happy in Whistler. This may have something to do with my choice of not working in the hospitality/tourism field for the first time in a long while. I made the decision to not let whingey, miserable, complaining people effect my energy and happiness in my 'living the dream' near perfect little world. Instead, I began work at a small family run market at the base of Blackcomb mountain. Great owners, flexible with my desire to have a life, plus a lot of free food. It's been great! In order to live and play in paradise you also have to pay the price for it. It is not a cheap place to live, most rentals have three times the regular amount of people living in them and even with the rent spread out twenty ways this still doesn't leave for a lot of spare change. Growing tired of random expired food combinations and butter chicken without the chicken I dreamt of living the high life, a life with steak and chicken and veges! So, I got my self a second job. Having volunteered at WAGS, the local pound, helping them to walk the dogs, I then got a job at the doggie daycare where I got paid for it. This was definintely an interesting job. We would have up to 25 dogs all running free is a big room with couches and toys. I mean we had a very varying arrangement of pooches from tiny little ones up to great danes as big as a horse. They all generally got along very well. There was also a lot of office work and the dogs had a reservation system much like a hotel. So for me it was great. It was like working at a hotel front desk, which I do enjoy, except when guests piss me off this time I can hit them, lock them in a room, or tie them to a fence. The office side of things was a little different as when people came to check their dogs in I would also have 5-6 of them standing up at the desk with me, scattering papers every, drooling all over the keyboard, or scratching at my leg for attention. Bending down to scan or fax would often lead to being humped by a labradoor. During the day I would take them out for walks along the valley trail, through the snow, in to the forests and along the rivers. On nice days it was pretty hard to take as you can imagine!

Snow boarding.....When crashing in to trees at high speed, rolling, flipping and cartwheeling several times on ice, living with weekly whiplash, flying through the air and breaking your fall with your skull all becomes no big deal and a part of your everyday life! My new hobby, my new love. Whilst saving up for a seasons pass led most just short of queing at the local food bank, once you have that shiny new laminex in your cold mittened hand then it's on. Unlimited access to one of the worlds best ski resorts, and right in my back yard. When even on a bad day it is still good, and less than perfect conditions give you an excuse to miss out on a day and sleep off that three day hangover.

You can tell your an AUSSIE in Canada if;

You wash your hair then pop round to mates place with your hair still a little damp. You arrive with icicles in your hair.

Just like back home when someone calls 'soocer' football instead of aussie rules you imedeatelty think they are an idiot. Trying calling hockey 'ice hockey' and see the look you get.

You sleep in a little bit late only to pop out to your car in a hurry and it's completely covered by snow. Enter at least a half hour on the end of the shovel.

New people to the town are recognizable by their difficulty in opening the bear proof bins. Bears proof bins, making people and bears smarter....

Leaving the nest to fly North

boomerang — Mon, 30 May 2011 04:13:00 GMT

My first venture from the nest, apart from a fleeting flutter for a month or so , was to the Kimberley region of Western Australia to a pearling town by the name of Broome. This was also my first time I would leave my chickens( expression used for my collection of close friends) who I had been inseparable from for years. This was definitely not a push from the nest but more an independent nestling wanting to spread her wings. So I flew north, a long way north with my friend since we were five. We embarked on the adventures of the frizzy haired whale and the lame-duck shrimp friend. So Em and I shared a room, it was a decent size. Well a decent size for a walk in wardrobe. I had the bed, Em made her nest on top of our suitcases, with a home made barricade for protection against the gigantic tropical bugs that also shared our room. We soon discovered that our cramped living conditions were nothing on our neighbours.

We had landed our home right in the midst of an aboriginal community, where, on an average day 40 plus people would share a tiny house. From our balcony at any time of the day we could sit and observe the original inhabitants of my country and their way of life. Snotty nosed children would run naked down the street, the furniture would would be set on fire in the front yard, and those who couldn't fit in to the house would sleep under a tree in the mangroves surrounding our house.

Broome proved to be an interesting place to live. An oasis paradise in the middle of the desert where the common phrase amongst locals is Broome Time. If you've lived here you will get it. There is a blossoming frangapani tree on ever corner, the lizards wave at you, the geckos bark at you, and the moon had a shimmering staircase leading up to it.

Past the rocks, otherwise know as the nude beach, was a great place to spend countless hours, clothed or otherwise. The sand was hard enough to drive along and the white sand beach ran in either direction as far as the eye could see. Often we had it to ourselves. Other times you would share it folks who had driven down in their 4wd's with a bbq set in the sand, always happy to give you a wave, stubby in one hand, tongs in the other, and more than just a sausage hanging from the bbq. Countless hours were spent here, with our superb set up, a canopy pulled down from the car, a bbq, deck chairs and the finest tunes cranking from our sound system. The hard white sand gave the perfect dance floor, cricket pitch, footy field or frisbee paddock.

Sure enough as the day progressed, the clement ocean provided the idyllic backdrop for another sinking searing sun. When nightfall hit, the fiery sun was swapped for a blazing bon fire, not needed for warmth as the evenings were always balmy, but helpful in providing light so you can find where you left your can. The sky would blacken and then explode into a canopy of dazzling stars in every direction you turned. The only worry on these night was keeping an eye on the impending tide. Broome is well known for its extreme fluctuating tides and possibly even more well known for the galahs that get their cars stuck past the rocks with nothing more they can do than watch their vehicle go down like the titanic in the salty sea.

Then there was Cable Beach and the most beautiful end to daylight you will see anywhere. The ritual at dusk to watch the sun set into a vibrant spectrum of shapes and colours over a tranquil deep blue sea was so magical it made my spine tingle. ..every time.

And lets not forget the camel trains of tourists walking the beach each sunset watching the locals 'hang out'.

What a unique place.

Gorillas in the misty Congo

boomerang — Mon, 30 May 2011 04:07:00 GMT

I traveled to the DR Congo in 2005. In hindsight I would have liked to have written of my experience whilst I was there when everything was fresh in my mind. However, recounting my experience was very easy as moments like these will never be forgotten.

July 25th. Gorilla Eve. The excitement around the campfire that night was unsurpassable. Tomorrow it would be the jungle we were to unwrap, and our gift, the chance to see some of only 700 highly endangered Mountain Gorillas left in the world.

We had traveled a long way to get to this point, and that was an amazing journey in itself. Through the poorest, roughest, dirtiest back roads of Uganda our safari truck battled across boulders, and down gullies sometimes 3 feet deep and tilting the truck on a 45 degree angle.

Having previously traveled through Kenya and Tanzania the poverty and living conditions once we crossed over to Uganda seemed to worsen, and the desperation and helplessness in the eyes of the people seemed to increase.

As our truck wound along a steep single laned dirt track high up through the mountains children appeared out of nowhere to take up chase in the dust flung out from behind the truck. Although they were such young children it was evident they weren't playing, this was not a game for fun – it was for survival. Along the way up to 20 children ran and ran for miles at a time, dust flying up in to their eyes and face, but their little lungs and little legs kept on carrying them. Then I did it. I’m not sure if it was the right thing to do, but given the living conditions these children were born in to I felt it was far from the wrong thing to do. From our food supplies at the back of the truck I took a bunch of bananas and dropped them out the window. They bounced along the dirt track and were snapped up in squabble of a dozen or so kids. I hoped they would share. It got me thinking. If I knew I was the fastest runner out of the entire group and a big bunch of bright yellow bananas landed in my arms, would I grab them as tight as I could and run as fast as I could in to the jungle, or would I stop and share them with my 100 or so brothers and sisters. I decided I would share, and I believed these kids would as well.

That evening, with our bellies full of warm stew, we sat around the campfire enjoying a couple of Uganda’s finest brews, and listening intently to our local guide explaining what to expect the following day – Gorilla Day. Depending on the location of the families of Gorillas we would either be traveling in to Rwanda or the DR Congo early the next morning. Both places not rating highly on popular tourist destinations, however, I was excited by the opportunity to experience life inside one of the world’s most dangerous countries.

Not long after dawn we walked across the border to the tarnished soil of the Demographic Republic of the Congo. There were seriously armed officials everywhere, but also many children armed with seriously beautiful smiles. It instantly saddened me to think of the death, destruction and brutality these big brown eyes had witnessed.

We congregated outside a government building. It was sprayed with bullet holes. Hopefully no more would be added today. I swallowed hard.

Gathered around us were a group of local children, observing us as much as we were them. A young boy had spotted a tiny corner of my muesli bar poking out from my pocket. He tapped my ever so gently on the hand and pointed to my pocket, all the while gazing up at me with a big cheeky tender smile. How could I say no. I put my finger to my lips as if to say shhh this is our secret. He nodded in acknowledgment. I smuggled the boy my muesli bar knowing if we were spotted it would open up a huge can of worms. I saw him grab two other boys then the three disappeared. A short time later I felt the same gentle tap on my hand. Great I thought, they are back for more and I have nothing to give them. But no, they had returned simply to thank me before disappearing again. Perhaps my questions of sharing had been answered right there.

We boarded our mini van to be transported to the base of the mountains. In our van were our guides and our armed protectors. I’m unsure if they were there to protect us from the gorillas or the guerrillas. At the time I deemed it inappropriate to ask and left my mind debating the outcome. Here I sat, in the middle seat behind the driver, his passenger, a khaki clad man with a giant machine gun resting between his knees. Next to me was Osama Bin Laden, also with a huge weapon, and to my other side a bearded machete wielding man. There I sat wide eyed. Nervous and excited. I always get the good seat. His high speed driving in an overloaded, unroadworthy van still wasn’t enough to keep my over active imagination from freaking myself out. As foreign voices crackled over the two way radio I invisioned myself as the modern day Diane Fossy. Then I pictured my mum sorting through thousands of photos of me trying to find just one picture for the evening news that didn’t have me drinking some form of alcoholic beverage.

We made it to the mountain base and set out on foot. We walked a short while through the fields where women clad in beautiful cloth worked tirelessly, children strapped to their backs. Some places you visit the locals are always happy to see you and give you a smile and a wave. These women never even made eye contact. I’m unsure of the reasons.

In single file we began the ascent behind our guide who slashed through virgin jungle with his machete. Bringing up the rear were his armed friends.Still hadn’t worked out the gorilla or guerrilla bit yet. He informed us that it may take only an hour to reach the Gorilla family, or it could take up to 8 hours depending on where they slept the night before and where they had moved to. I was Ok with this. The more jungle he slashed, the blunter the blade became, and the harder it would be to get my head unexpectedly sliced off.

After an hour we came across some fresh poop. I had never been more excited to see faeces in my life. They were close. The guide parted the vines and lying on a nest made of broken branches and leaves was a mother and her baby. They were just lazing around playing, like they were waiting for us to arrive.I was standing less than 4 feet from them. They were so gentle and appeared completely relaxed with our presence. Everyone was speechless. We watched the females and the young for around half an hour then we found the silverback. He was much less active and sat with his back to us eating. Next thing, he jumps up and charges right for us, teeth showing, beating his chest. The silverback stopped within a few feet from me. Others were frightened. I thought it was awesome. Check that one off the list – being charged by a silverback! As much I begged our guide to stay we weren’t able to due to the permits only allowing a small amount of visitors for a limited amount of time. It was back down the mountain to wait at the border for the other groups to return.

This gave me a good six hours to spend playing with the local kids. I showed them my photos of the gorillas, as well as photos of themselves, neither of which they had ever seen before. I then played soccer in the dust with half a drink bottle as a ball. Once we had all been reunited safe and over joyed it was time to leave the Congo and head back to Uganda. The bare footed children walked us to the border holding our hands.

After returning to camp from one of the most unforgettable days for many reasons I took some time out in my tent. As I was laying there with the front flaps open children started walking past. Ten, twenty, thirty, maybe more. All I could here was laughter and happiness. Then rows and rows of big radiant smiles beaming through the nightfall. I waved to them but really didn’t know what was happening. It turns out these children were from a local orphanage for children whose parents had died from aids and they had come to our campsite to perform song and dance as a surprise for us. There were boys, girls, tiny kids to teenagers. They sang and they danced their little hearts out for us.Their energy and spirit was so mind blowing and so uplifting. I had tingles down my spine and tears in my eyes. At the end of their performance they invited us up to dance with them. Here we were, Craig and myself, two fortunate laid back kids from Oz, along with our other traveling companions from right across the world dancing together with these African children in the middle of nowhere under the Ugandan stars. Electric.