Why we do it

I sit here outside Nairobi, unpacking mentally and emotionally from another Secret Compass expedition. This time eight team members from the widest possible variety of backgrounds trekked and climbed in the remote bush of South Sudan, the world's newest country, before rafting for five days on an almost unexplored section of the mighty White Nile. That followed on the heels of 2011's three-week horse and yak trek to Lake Zorkul in far north-eastern Afghanistan, arguably the world's most notorious country. As I sort through the inevitable backlog of electronic missives from civilisation enquiring as to my success, health, or even continued existence on this earth, I am repeatedly asked the same question from my friends - why?

Why do I devote my spare time, spare funds, and considerable effort in planning and execution to taking off to some of the most remote, and ostensibly inhospitable, places on the planet? What's wrong with two weeks on the beach in Thailand anyway? When asked to explain his ambitions on Everest, Mallory replied Because it's there. True, but so is the Thai beach, and the answer doesn't explain why choose one over the other. Of course there is the enjoyment and excitement of the activity itself. A trek in the mountains, or a river raft trip, is worth the time, effort and money by itself.

But these things can be enjoyed in relatively civilised surroundings. We live in a world where everything is pre-selected, packaged and delivered neatly to our door on request. Our food, our entertainment, our travel, all available in easily consumable servings. Thanks to modern technology - Youtube, Facebook, any number of pay-TV channels - it seems as if every part of the world has been digitised, uploaded, voiced over and put to a cool soundtrack. We can download the e-book or buy the HD Blu-Ray disc. We can be sold these things - however we can't be sold the experience. Because these things are just impressions, copies, filtered through someone else's senses. The true experience of being there, seeing it and hearing it for ourselves can never be packaged.

We can only have that by undertaking the journey ourselves. Theodore Roosevelt said (amongst many things) The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; Secret Compass expeditions involve only a limited amount of face marring, but the sentiment rings exactly true. It is better to be in the arena - trail, mountain, river - ourselves than to watch from the sidelines while others do it for us. Our society also tends to package and provide to us our information and opinions. These opinions may not be exactly what we would have formed for ourselves if given the opportunity. Another advantage of an exploratory-style expedition is that it almost requires us to become informed about the region we visit, in more than a superficial, sound-bite way. We may not always be going where no-one has gone before, but we are treading the path less travelled. It requires more than a cursory effort to do the necessary research beforehand. One fact uncovered leads to another, a map here, an obscure blog there.

Before our boots wander across the landscape, our curiosity wanders across the available information (such as it may be). And once in country, our curiosity is only aroused even more; our knowledge is confirmed or corrected, our opinions reinforced or refuted. We look with different eyes if we think our views are pioneering too. The opportunity to acquire unique knowledge of a remote location is only half the story however. Once back in civilisation, with the dirt removed from clothes, hair and fingernails, we have the chance to share our new-found perspective with friends and colleagues, and anyone else who happens to enquire. The water-cooler conversation is significantly different if we've just returned from South Sudan rather than southern Spain.

But as much as anything we take part in these expeditions because it's in our nature to do so. We humans are natural explorers, natural adventurers. Watch a small child at play: everything they do is exploration, is a question of what and why and how. What's around this corner, what's behind that door? They are constantly pushing their own personal horizon outwards. As adults our sense of adventure gets lost in the noise of everyday living. Exploration isn't a part of our nature, it is our nature.

This article was originally published on the website of Secret Compass, who ran the mentioned expeditions to Afghanistan's Wakhan corridor and South Sudan. I'm uploading it here in response to Explorers Connect's recently posted question Why do we explore?."

Lessons learned. Things that can go wrong on a 1140km triathlon!

I am passionate about life, learning and travelling, hence my lifestyle has always been very creative: finding ways to combine work, challenge and 'something new' I went from studying Biochemistry in Australia over being a journalist for a German newspaper to working at the BBC studios in London - oh yes, I dipped into the corporate world once or twice as well.

I realised that I would never fit 'one' job-description and decided it was time to filter-out the elements that are making my day and a difference in my life. The result: discovery, endurance, outdoor and learning by doing the idea of simply being an adventurer was born. Besides coming up with random adventures such as walking the Grand-Union Canal from Birmingham as far as I could get with a couple of pounds in my pocket, I made it my quest last year to create an adventure within 29 days including sponsorship: Mission Spain was born, cycling 4000km solo around Spain as free-cycle courier learning fluent Spanish on the way. What followed was the urge to digest of what happened and actually remind myself of 'the how' I made it happen. I self-published the book:

Don't just talk, do it first draft written in 30 days, another 30 days to get it up online. I was stunned about the evolution of a simple idea to the actual creation of an amazing life-changing project including the people and teams you build around you during this time. Knowing what I loved I was unstoppable to come up with the next idea: How to prepare better for a half-ironman than being adventurous and discovering new territories cultures at the same time? With this my Three Border Triathlon was born, a solo triathlon crossing 3 countries in just a month and a bit: 680km across Switzerland by bike, over 200km swimming along the Danube in Germany, finishing off with a 260km run traversing Austria. It took me a month to come up with the concept, another one to develop and organise it to then actually do it. The initial idea looked different: 550km swimming along the Danube and running 320km across Austria what went wrong? Let's have a look of what I have done? What went wrong and how I would do it differently next time? This can be useful for your adventure to prevent some good learning-mistakes Equipment transport: Bike Leg 1. Don't rely on the post-office I first went by bike, starting out from Geneva. All the equipment for my individual legs was packed in my rear panniers, such as the triathlon wetsuit, one pair of running shoes and other things I would need.

Everything except one item my lightweight tent. What went wrong here? I agreed with a friend in London that he would sponsor my 1.7kg Jack Wolfskin Gossamer tent (you know the lighter, the better). I had 10 days in Geneva before starting the journey. He bought the tent in London and sent it over via royal mail. It never arrived for some reason it was stuck in Zurich. One day before I was due to start, still nothing and no explanation from the post-office what happened: was it lost? Not allowed to pass? Or already been sent back? Only assumptions, no clear answers and no one in charge to solve this matter. The last thing you like to deal on your adventure is time-/energy-wasting administration. As there are not many good outdoor ships in Geneva, I couldn't even buy a tent with blowing my budget I was lucky that I had the chance to borrow one: instead of my expected 1.7kg lightweight tent I was now carrying a tent that weighed 3.7kg. Not good. I later bought the right one myself and spent money that was not accounted for. Lesson learned: Don't rely on the post (even if someone tells you the amount of time it will take) make sure you have the main equipment ready. Or check the stores you are travelling to and reserve the equipment you require to prevent extra costs, time-delay or simply giving up the control over your journey.

Equipment back-up: 2. When the equipment gives in I trusted that one set of equipment would do the job. So I had only one pair of running-shoes and one wetsuit. I had faith in the quality and did not even consider back-ups. What happened?: Have you ever swam 200km in a river on successive days?Before my last adventure, me neither and I think equipment companies don't test their items up to this endurance. For some reason my wetsuit became more porous with every day and more susceptible towards nail bits until it ripped trying to glue it did not work really. I was standing there with no back-up. Buying another one cost a hell of a lot. I had a great sponsor who sent out a second one, it only took days until it arrived cause it was coming from the US. I also had a bright buoy that not only kept my daily supplies dry but also acted as security hook just in case. After more than 10 days, it ripped my food and camera equipment soaked. For the run I thought one pair of shoes would do, everything was fine up to KM 240, then all of the sudden my Achilles were swelling, running turned into walking and walking into hopping.

The intended 320km across Austria turned to 260km. It changes your adventure completely if you trust on equipment that has not been tested under this circumstances. Lesson learned: There are two things I have learned 1. Evaluate the dependence on the set of equipment you take with you and see if you have the budget to buy yourself a second one if things go wrong. I was dependent on the wetsuit to keep away the cold and as for the safety swimmer to provide security during my solo swim-stages. Agree on a potential back-up with your sponsor or have two pairs. 2. When it comes to sports and you do something you have never done before, such as myself doing a 260km run, keep in mind that items such as shoes can cause a repetitive frictions on your muscles or ligaments see that you have two different pairs to reduce this as they will surrounds your body in a different way. Sponsors 2. Make sure you have a set agreement with your sponsor I was very lucky to have a Sponsor for the bike on board. I picked it up in Geneva and we agreed that once I would hit the Swiss border to send it back via train. No problem. He even provided me with a train ticket that you have to show at the station so they assume that you are going back as well and will pick up your bike from the train storage.

What happened? The train station did not allow to leave the rear panniers on the bike, nor the helmet. So I had to send them back via mail additional costs. Also in order for the station to take the bike you have to pay a small fee as well. Mentioning this to the sponsor he simply said it was my duty to pay for it. Ups. Lesson learned: I don't like unexpected costs on my adventure as everything is budgeted. Make an agreement with your sponsor if logistics are involved that he is taking over any unexpected costs that require the equipment to transport from A to B. It was not much that I had to pay but you know if you are on a longer trip, every penny you spent more is a penny spent less on food or things that might be necessary. If he disagrees from the start at least you know that a little buffer is required in this area, just in case. Independence 3. Don't give up control. I was very lucky that one day before I started my swim-leg, a local radio station sent me an email, saying: 'One of our reporters is going to accompany you'.

My first response: Great. My second one: Can I put my luggage in his car? The intention was to carry my luggage in a 80L dry-bag around my ankle while swimming the river. I tried it out, but when I got the offer from the station, I was just thinking of how to conquer the swim so if I can make it easier, why not taking the opportunity. What went wrong? The radio station said they would be with me up to a certain town. Great. It only happened that short-noticed their plans changed, and it turned into 10 days. So I was missing the logistics to transport my luggage up to the point they mentioned.

The weather was unusual cold for May, and it was a hardship to convince myself to step into this cold water, day after day to tick of the 20km stages. You spent the time and energy looking after yourself to be ready for the next day listening to your body to keep out of the danger zone, such as hypothermia. I had given up the organisational side of the project, got used to it and wasn't ready for plan B when it happened. I did manage on a daily basis, but it simply added 'stress' and organisation to actually doing the challenge. Lesson learned: If you are offered company to support you on the project, make sure you are prepared to take over it yourself again at any point. As for media, it is invaluable to have them on board, capturing your adventure in amazing perspectives and helping you to spread the word just make sure that they don't become involved in other aspects of your journey, such as equipment transport. Only if you have made a set agreement. Team 4. Have a team you can count on Before I started the journey I contacted all the canoe clubs along the Danube to look-out for support. It was great how many replied and offered their help for a day or two. I nearly had all the distance covered it gave me back-up for my luggage transport in case I had problems with pulling my equipment behind me.

What went wrong? 1. Don't underestimate how exhausting it can be to arrange and introduce new team-members on a daily or weekly basis. I thought it would be great to have different people for different stages on board, I simply made it too flexible, trying to hold everything together simply put me under pressure to arrive at certain points in a certain time. 2. I didn't know the people beforehand and for me it was a bonus to have someone on board. It turned out that some decided short-noticed to pull out, such as sending me an SMS at 11pm leaving me behind to sort out the next bit. It was a volunteering team not a set support team, there is a difference. 3. When people are involved that don't understand the adventure, it can be quiet irritating if they recommend you to stop and keep mentioning what is not working or bombard you with negative input. You know what you are doing, and you know that it can be tough you don't need someone put doubts in your head and actually recommending to stop.

It drains and most of all if you are exposed to hardship you are more sensitive and even may think about it. Lesson learned: I have learned that there is a difference with having extra people on board or having a good support team that stays with you. If you are in a medium you cannot escape, such as cold water and have dependence on aspects like luggage transport you need a set team to support you with and things you can delegate to, so you can keep the focus on the challenge. Next time I am out with a bunch of people that are going to support me and I have not really spent a lot of time with them beforehand, I will make the agreement that there is no room for negative advice, such as giving up. It's always your own choice. 

This adventure has been a great learning curve, I combined three different things without having tested them individually and thought that a preparation time of 30 days similar to Mission Spain would do. I had to realize that adventures have a different dynamic, different dependence and different requirements, so it is good to keep this in mind when preparing the next one.

If you have more specific questions, ideas or like to give your feedback just comment below or visit me on my site: www.nadinehorn.com

Written by Nadine Horn

Black C90: A Rather Unusual Moped Odyssey

Is this challenging enough for you? mocked Marley, his blue eyes clashing with the purple hue of his frozen skin. All around us the Kuban steppe was bent sideways in the tempest, the wind flattening everything in its haste to reach the Sea, whilst above, surging banks of black cloud prepared to unleash yet another biblical torrent upon us. We could have been fanning ourselves under Goan palms, or sipping Mojitos in Mombassa, but instead we were battling our way around the Black Sea on a pair of ageing mopeds, cold, wet and decidedly miserable. Everything had looked rather different in glorious August sunshine when Id first encountered the Black Sea four years previously.

Beguiled by its complex and fascinating history, its beautiful beaches and its glorious lack of pallid-skinned British tourists, Id vowed to one day return and travel its 3000-mile circumference. When a happy clash of circumstances made this possible last year Marley, my boyfriend, needed little convincing. As for a mode of transport, what could be more perfect than a pair of Honda C90s, of which we were already the proud owners? Marley was still a Learner and there was a certain comedy value in the fact that Ken, my bike, sported a zebra paint-job whilst Zulu, Marleys beast, was latitient in leopard livery. Idiot proof, light and indestructible, our 300 ebay purchases ticked every box in our Ideal Vehicles for Circumnavigating Oceans criteria. The plan was simple. From Bourgas, on Bulgarias Black Sea coast, we would speed southwards to Turkey, troll along the north Turkish coast, get a ferry from Trabzon to Sochi in Russia (thus avoiding the political minefield of Georgia and Abkhazia), tootle around the Crimea and romp through Romania back to the finishing line in Bulgaria.

On a sunny Saturday in September, we wobbled out of Bourgas in the general direction of Turkey. Despite months of procrastinating about the journey, it had never seemed quite real. But now, with the vast expanse of the Sea glittering beside us, the reality of the task ahead hit me like a brick wall. Oh my god I thought to myself, what on earth are we doing? We cant ride around the Black Sea on these mopeds, this whole thing is absurd. What the hell have we let ourselves in for? My barrage of nerves wasn't aided by the fact it was the first time Id ridden Ken with any extra weight and for the first few miles I lurched all over the place, feeling about as stable as Lindsay Lohan on crack. It wasn't the triumphant start I had hoped for. Our nerves were soon eroded, however, by the elation of being on the open road. Our first night was spent camped under a pendulous harvest moon in a wild corner of Bulgarias Standja National park, our only companions the bikes and the waves below. And the next day we rode to the Turkish border through enchanted oak forests, the road a tunnel of dappled light, the trees a kaleidoscope of colours.

Marleys bike sliced sliced through the autumn light in front of me, fallen leaves eddying in his wake. This was what it was all about, I thought, riding through a little known corner of Europe on a perfect autumn day, thousands of miles from anyone we knew. Yesterdays nerves seemed a distant memory. Things took a temporary turn for the worse when tackling the pan-continental superhighway across Istanbuls Bosphorus. An altercation between us and the curmudgeon at the toll gate ended with us fleeing into Asia, a cacophony of alarms signalling our arrival on the new continent. As we fled, we were buffeted by cross-winds and cut up by vast lorries and kamikaze taxis. It felt like we were flies stuck in a monstrous web, escape from which was by no means certain. By the time we got to the other side we were wide-eyed and shaking. Maybe we should get a ferry to Russia now? I only half-joked to Marley. Our day wasnt improved by being chased by vicious packs of wild dogs in the woods beyond Istanbul. But the wondrous thing about a trip like this is the constant flux of your emotions, and soon the bounteous beauty of the Turkish coast had thrust us back into the upper echelons of elation. Such is the joy of seeing the world on two wheels. Getting to Trabzon, in Turkeys far east, took longer than we had anticipated.

Progress was slow and we were only averaging around 17 mp/h. The Black Sea coastal highway, as its name suggests, clung to the shores of the Sea, at times wildly beautiful, at other times a crippling morass of construction. From Amasra to Sinop we plunged and weaved along 200 miles of breathtaking coastline, every corner opening up a new vista of capes cascading into the Sea. No traffic, no tourists, just the buzz of our engines. Our days were punctuated by stops at Turkeys ubiquitous tea shops, where crowds of men interrupted their clattering games of backgammon to ask us where we were going and how many miles a gallon the bikes did (an astonishing 223 we have since worked out). In one of these the owner, Mustafa, an ardent Ataturk devotee, not only refused payment for the buckets of tea we consumed but lovingly cleaned our bikes and grimy visors. Such kindness was typical of people throughout Turkeys Black Sea coast. After eight days on the road and 1000 miles covered, we finally made it to Trabzon, where a whopping $370 each bought us our passage to Russia.

Our fellow passengers on the 150-mile crossing were a motley assemblage of Turks, Russians, Kazakhs, Georgians and Uzbeks; the latter of whom were returning from the Hajj on a trio of matching purple bicycles. As they prayed to Mecca we drank illicit gin and tonics with four Russian bikrs, whose Yamaha FJR1300s made our ageing mopeds look all the more risible. Hours later, the sensation of the ferry lurching drunkenly on the waves interrupted a fitful slumber. Wed hit one of the Black Seas notorious off-coast squalls and the little ship was plunging and listing at the mercy of the tempest. The only human movement was people staggering to the loos to vomit the stench soon permeated the ferry. Thankfully, by dawn, the squall was behind us and through the mist we could see the Caucasus rising majestically to our right. After a single, cyclonic day of riding across Russias Kuban steppe we crossed the Kerch straits into Ukraines Crimea, the former jewel of the Soviet empire. At Feodosiya, the ancient port of Kaffa, we explored the ruins of the old sea gate, the very place the Black Death had crawled into Europe in 1347. It was extraordinary to think this unmarked spot had played such a devastating role in history.

Similarly, at Livadia Palace, we looked upon the table Churchill, Stalin and Roosevelt had signed the Yalta Treaty at in 1945, thus carving up post-war Europe. There was so much more to see in Crimea, but our mistress time was cajoling us on, and we had to press on. Our final leg took us through the grandiose city of Odessa and the idyllic Danube Delta; place names such as Tartarbunary (meaning Well of the Tartars) and Babadag (Turkish for Father mountain) reminders of the millennia of settlement and invasions that have befallen these shores. A legacy of this complexity seemed to exist at the tripartite border between Ukraine, Moldova and Romania, where for the first time in my life I spent several hours with no idea which country I was in. It was only when we finally got out of this customs Rubiks cube and noticed an absence of Ladas that I knew for sure we were in Romania. As we reached Galati that night wed clocked 209 miles that day, our record of the trip. We spent our last night on the road at the Romanian resort of Vama Veche. My somewhat out of date 1998 guide book alluringly described it as the idyllic haunt of poets and thinkers. But sadly things had changed in the intervening 12 years and it was now a blitzkrieg of concrete and hotels, which looked even grimmer in the persistent rain.

Despite this, it was a milestone on our moped safari and we set off from the rainswept beach on our final morning with wildly mixed emotions. We were tired and had both had some uncomfortably near misses, but the prospect of finishing the adventure and returning to normality sat heavily upon us. Finally, after a what seemed like an eternity of endurance, we drove into Bourgas. 21 days, 2600 miles, 6 countries and two continents later, our circumnavigation was complete. There was only one thing left to do, and that was run victoriously into the freezing waters of the Black Sea. To read more of Ants' adventures please see www.theitinerant.co.uk and follow her on @AntsBK"

Unsupported Ski to the South Pole 2012

Unsupported 950km Ski to the South Pole via the Messner Route From Nov 12 - Jan 13, I will be attempting to ski unsupported to the South Pole.

I will be following Reinhold Messner's route of 1989. Acommitting, 580 mile (934 km) ski traverse through remote, unexplored terrain, from the Ronne Ice Shelf on the edge of the frozen Antarctic continent to the Geographic South Pole. I previously spent 6 months in Antarctica in 2000-1 whilst serving with the British icebreaker HMS Endurance when I was in the Royal Marines. It was great fun supporting the British Antarctic Survey's operations and also doing the safety diving under the ice with the BBC for a documentary on Adelie Penguins. I also led a small ski expedition to retrace Shackleton's famous route across the Antarctic island of South Georgia, one of the worlds most beautiful and remote islands. I have been keen to get back down to the Antarctic since then and knock off a remaining childhood ambition to ski to the Pole.

This ambition is about to become an exciting reality and experience. As part of the expedition I am also attempting to raise 100,000 pounds for the international children's charity Warchild (www.warchild.org.uk). If anyone sponsors me over 2,000 pounds I will take a (small and light) momento of yours in my sled to the Pole, and assuming I get there, will take a photo of it at the South Pole.

Please donate here:www.justgiving.com/skisouthpole2012 You can follow the ups and downs of my epic on Facebook www.facebook.com/toby.selmanand on twitter twitter.com/tobyselman. 

The Big Africa Cycle

I have undertaken 2 long distance solo bicycle adventures. Between 2005-2008 I cycled from Japan-UK through 30 countries, and between 2009-2012 I cycled from the UK-South Africa. In total, over 50,000 miles and 60+ countries. Next up: a book about the The Big Africa Cycle.

thebigafricacycle.com

Expedition Yacht sail or motor

Hi,

Looking for information on an expedition yacht (power or sail). 50 to 100 foot with a RIB for filming in Greenland/Iceland. The expedition is a mixture of kayaking and diving around the Greenland Coast.

Our biggest issue is it's fairly last minute. Our original support vessel has had mechanical issues so we're looking for a replacement. The expedition is only 3 weeks around the end of August/beginning of September. Any information gratefully received.

Many thanks,

Alasdair Boden

Has anyone hiked to the Giants Of Manpupuner

I am looking for advice and or guidance toward a possible trip a friend and I are considering in Russia.

I and a friend are looking to travel from mid to end January in 2014 giving aprox' three to three and a half weeks to travel to the famous hidden wonder the Giants of Manpupuner (eg:http://int.rgo.ru/news/the-manpupuner-rock-formations/ ) It is approximately 100km from the nearest settlement and we are planning to hike or ski tour to the location and return. I was wondering if anyone had done this themselves and or is able to provide details of the likely weather conditions present in late january in the area and if reaching the starting location (the nearest town) is a reasonable consideration in this time of year.

Any advice what so ever would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you,

Will