More people have been to the Moon

Cave Diving Exploration really is the last frontier of true exploration. Mountains have been mapped, seas have been scanned by sonar and even the moon and planets have been studied. But the spaces under the earth really are unknown until somebody visits them in person.

Over the last few years I have organised cave diving expeditions to the south of France to push caves beyond their known limits and map places on this earth that no other human has ever seen. In 2002 my caving club visited the Herault department of France, an hour north of Montpellier in the Languedoc-Rousillon region. It was to be my first of five trips to the area, many of which yielded new discoveries, fantastic diving and interesting caving. At the age of 21, having been caving on and off since my early teens, I was truly bitten by the caving bug and it wasn't long before I began cave diving. The Herault is mainly a limestone expanse, carved up by deep river valleys, gorges and speckled with dusty, dry limestone plateaus and scrubby bushes, which hide a wealth of potential cave entrances.

The area is probably best known for the excellent red and ros wines, natural features such as the Cirque de Navacelles, showcaves such as Clamouse and Dargilan and canoeing down the stunning river gorges such as the Vis and Herault. The area is breathtakingly scenic but my friends and I don't go there for holidays. We go for the caves. For cave divers, the potential for exploration is tantalising. It is not a cave diving tourist hot-spot like the Lot or Dordogne. The access to the caves in the Herault, either on the surface or underground, is time consuming and physically demanding, requiring large teams and logistics. There are much easier sites to dive in France, so the majority of divers go elsewhere. In 2007 some friends and I went to a cave called the Calaven de la Seoubio, which I had first visited in 2003, to see if the cave could be pushed any further. Three trips into the cave to set up and haul out equipment, plus 11 hours on the day of the push, yielded about 70m of new cave passage beyond 7 sumps (the 8th sump had become an air space due to low water levels).

The local caving club, the CLPA headed up by Nathan Boinet, had supported us enthusiastically and it was an email from them that encouraged me to go back to the area and look at a cave called the Perdreau-Fourmi, which had been left unexplored by a British team who were unable to find a way on. A team of four divers, Joe Hesketh, Osama Gobara, Richard Walker and me, found the way on underwater in the second sump and we left the cave ongoing but well surveyed, as time on our trip ran out. 2012 was to be a return, to continue pushing the cave and also to take a look at another system called the Garrel, which the French cavers had asked us to dive. The Team The 2012 team was Richard Walker and me again, assisted by Jarvist Frost and Tim Webber, both members of our section of the Cave Diving Group back in the UK. Sadly Osama and Joe could not make it this year but were wholly supportive in our continuing explorations. This year we had help from Andras. Although an experienced cave diver, he mainly dived backmounted and was only just learning sidemount techniques.

He had also never done any dry caving, so he was given lessons in rope techniques so that he was able to help us with our exploration. He enjoyed himself immensely. We were also assisted by the CLPA caving club and their help was valuable in shifting equipment in and out of the dry cave passage, negotiating ropes and boulder squeezes. We had two main objectives in this trip. The first was to take a look at the sump in the Garrel, called the Siphon de Pas Perdus. Nathan Boinet had dived it once and 45m into the underwater passage, had come across an underwater squeeze which he did not fancy taking on. He handed the job over to us and Tim and I planned to take a look at it. Here follows our Blog report of the exploration: It was not a pretty sight at 9am this morning! Last year we were chased all over the French countryside by Jean Tarrit and his friend, Jean-Claude, who were desperate to find us and show us an exciting dive site in a cave called the Garrel.

I had visited the Garrel in April 2003 and remember it as an easy, dry and pretty cave with no tackle required. I don't recall there being a sump, but Nathan Boinet, the local activist in these parts, had been dipping his toe in the sumps at the end of the system, some of which came to nothing early on and one which was looking to go but he was diving back mounted 7 litre cylinders and couldn't fit through the troiture (squeeze). So, we were invited to take a look using our techniques anglaise (sidemount) and were promised a large group of slaves from the CLPA to carry all our equipment. We were due to meet the French cavers at 9am near St Jean de Buges but the troops were not to be rallied. Tim Webber and Jarvist Frost arrived last night having made awesome time but they were paying for it in exhaustion. Duncan Smith and Elaine Hill also arrived yesterday but Elaine was staying firmly between her tent and the toilet block, having eaten something dodgy. So Duncan was up and about, Rich was dragged out of his pit by me and there was no sign of life next door.

The plan was for Tim and I to take a look at this squeeze and see if we could pass it. I would go first and sort the line and have a look, then, assuming I would be too fat to fit, as Nathan had insisted on a thin diver, I would hand over to skinny Tim to continue. So, having had a minor epic trying to find bread for breakfast, we got on the road and Tim would show up later with Jarvist in tow. The French team were at the side of the road, half kitted up and there was a buzz in the air. Lots of banter and greetings and introductions went around and after a degree of faff, we set off minus SRT kits. This concerned us a little as the others all seemed to have them.Nathan assured us that the climbing was easy and we werent to worry. So we didnt. Five minutes in to the entrance we were met with a 15m pitch!! Never mindThe French guy ahead of me descended and Duncan behind me lent me his descender. I attached it to my belt, abseiled down the pitch and sent it back up the rope.. I could see this being quite a fun trip for those of us minus rope gear! However, the French were obliging and over the course of several rope climbs and abseils, I employed just about every technique in the book including those with red crosses through them! I used a stop, figure of 8, Italian hitch and krab, one or two jammers depending on what I could scrounge at the time, a full kit at one stage loaned by Jean-Claude who can free climb just about anything someone elses cows-tail hauling me from above and quite a lot of brute force and ignorance!! It was excellent fun and Jean was correct in his time estimation.

It took 4 hours to get our teams and two sets of divers gear to the sump. There was climbing, crawling and boulder chokes by the bucket load and it was very, very hot and sweaty in there! But the banter and morale kept everyone going with frequent breaks. We arrived at the sump and it was large, blue and clear and very inviting. I was desperate to get in and cool down!! Everyone arrived on the boulder slope and began unpacking their lunch. It was a natural amphitheatre, with graded seats for the cavers to watch the divers kit up in comfort. We treated ourselves to sausage roll, taboul, bread and cheese. Nathan became insistent that it would be better for two people to dive together as the second diver would not get to see anything. I was unsure about this, but as he had dived it and we hadnt, we went along with his suggestion and Tim and I kitted up together. The line was broken at the very beginning, so we tied the reel off and set off down the sand slope in zero visibility. I went in front with the reel and we laid 20m of line until we found Nathans broken line in situ. We tied into it at a good belay and the water suddenly became crystal clear as we moved away from the sand slope and into a level passage with a boulder floor, about 3m high and 5m wide. We patched up the line in one place where it was needed and soon came to the end of Nathans line, marked with a 45m tag, just at the start of the squeeze.

I had a good look at it and it didn't look to bad, so after a quick chat with Tim, I set off through the squeeze and passed it easily, stopping for a moment to make a good tie off at the end, before turning slightly rightwards into bigger passage. Tim duly followed and continued tying the line off behind me. We moved forward until the passage seemed to come to a bit of a break down and spotted a higher passage so moved on up into that and went forward some more. We laid about 42m of new line altogether after the squeeze. The biggest problem in this sump was the visibility. It is a static sump so there is no flow to help you. The silt seemed to rain down in clouds from the roof probably because there had never been any air bubbles in there before to dislodge it. Furthermore, the roof sloped upwards so bubbles were travelling up the roof ahead of us and raining silt clouds down like swirling mists of powder, right in front of our noses and interfering with our visibility. This problem began to obstruct progress and I got to a bit of passage where the way on was less obvious and it looked to be breaking down. I stopped to have a good look and was engulfed in red swirling powder so I thumbed the dive and tied the line off, cut the reel free and we set off back home in awful viz. Following the thin line home was much easier than I anticipated and we soon arrived at the sand slope and looked up to see the dozen or so cavers lights glowing on the embankment in expectation, all staring at us through the ripples on the surface of the water. I gave Nathan and the expectant audience a brief explanation of what we had found in dubious French and received a round of applause and what looked like an explosion of paparazzi!! We cleared up, had some water and food and started the journey out en masse, which was not without amusement! Still minus an SRT kit, I scrounged all sorts of items on the way home.

The other Brits were having similar epics and we ended up fighting over the sole karabiner for use with an Italian hitch! The journey out was a little slicker and we stopped in the Salle de Dejeun which Jean explained was the resting place for the original explorers. We arrived at the last pitch and I was given an SRT kit from somebody and made my way up the pitch. Rich was also donated a kit from somewhere but I have no idea how the others got out! I arrived at the traverse line and was faced with a French caver, lying on his side looking like he wanted to die! He said in English (cue French accent): Christine, please can you help me..? Can you take my equipment because I am very, very tired. I said Of course! He went on to explain: I cannot feel my arms or my legs any more! Poor guy! He had left his jammer on the rope and couldn't face the return journey of all of one metre to retrieve it!! I offered to take his bag the last 15 metres of uphill crawling and he insisted we do it together! We surfaced to the flashes of cameras and dusk was settling.

A gang of us returned to the campsite for a great BBQ cooked by Rich and far too much wine! A grand day out! Perdreau Fourmi Monday evening we set off for the Event de Perdeau-Fourmi, a cave our team left ongoing at 30m depth in the second sump. It was a remarkably easy carry this time up the river bed. Rich and I shifted gear through the boulder choke whilst listening to the delightful sound of tap-tap-tapping as Jarvist set to work putting some bolts in and he and Tim set up an elaborate but excellent cable car system for hauling larger cylinders. The plan was to have a set-up dive to make the air-bell in between sumps more user friendly for big cylinders and for getting in and out of both sumps. We made light work of it and all the gear - 4 divers worth of equipment - was assembled at the top of the pitch by 6pm. Tuesday. It was time to see what Oz and Joe had done with my line reel in the passage Rich and I found last year, and on Oz's advice, to check it really was still going before we threw a big team and trimix at it.

We were very lucky to have Jean Tarrit and Claudine from the CLPA come along to help us underground and they did a great job of getting everything down to the sump's edge in under an hour. Jarvist and Tim set off into the sump wearing equipment I am too young to have ever seen before....but it seemed to work as they crossed the sump, tidied the line so that it was tight and immaculate and they preserved the visibility well. Rich and I were to follow about 30 minutes later to give them a chance to rig a ladder to make climbing out of sump 1 much easier and to place a few bolts for ropes and general helpful tatt. They did a great job and Rich and I kitted up whilst Jean and Claudine went up the ropes to get warm and get lunch. We crossed the sump easily and had the luxury of walking straight up the ladder fully kitted without breaking sweat and straight down into sump 2.

We dived to the end of the line, surveying last years new passage again as we went and hit 30m depth and my line reel. The line had been beautifully laid by Oz and Joe and the reel was well tied off at the end. I shone my cave-hunting torch down the ongoing passage and could see large cave ongoing for at least 20m. Satisfied, we cleaned up and left, very much looking forward to the return trip on Friday, to allow the viz to settle after a couple of days. D-Day I would be lying if I said I wasn't just a bit nervous or under pressure the night before this dive. Our last attempt was thwarted by my failed attempt to pass the almost vertical rift in zero visibility, which we now realised was due to a very loose, sloppy polyprop line. We had made attempts to fix it, but ultimately, it needs to come out and a heavy line put in. We had a quick breakfast and drove over to the parking spot to meet the French from the CLPA, who were keen as ever to help us.

After a lot of banter and greetings, Jean, Etienne and three others offering surface support, set off to the cave entrance and shifted the gear through the small boulder choke. this consisted of a pair of 12s, a pair of 15s, two deco bottles of oxygen, and 4 7litre bottles for Jarvist and Tim, plus all sundry bits and bobs you need for diving, like masks, fins and regs etc. We embarked on a mammoth lowering session which involved pulley cars and 'staged' people but it worked fantastically and all the gear was at the bottom of the pitch in not much more than an hour from leaving the surface. Jarvist and Tim were to kit up first and cross sump 1, with the plan to shoot a bit of video and help us out of the water with our large cylinders. They also carried our oxygen deco bottles, which was very welcome. Once they had set off, Rich and I got kitted up slowly and with some help from Andras (Kuti), it wasn't the nightmare we envisaged. We had a 12l and a 15l each of 18/45, as we were expecting the cave to go deeper and wanted plenty of gas to allow for surveying at depth. A pair of 12s would have been ideal, but we didn't have any - and so it was.

Rich and I dived to the air-bell and Jarvist and Tim did an excellent job of helping us un-kit and carefully pulling our big bottles up the slope, to get them ready for re-kitting in sump 2. I got into the water first and with a little help, managed to kit back up again in the narrow rift and float around a bit, trying to keep warm whilst Rich went through the same process. We were handed our deco bottles and had agreed to get them to the other side of the 'annoying flop'. Sump 2 is a very short dive to another air-bell which is passable by belly flopping over a narrow rock bridge which gets in the way. We passed our deco bottles over this and I found a good place at 6m to drop them, quite close to airspace. We set off with the intention of picking up my line reel from where Oz and Joe had left it last year. The cave appeared to be going deeper, but on recent inspection, it may stay at -30m for a while at least. We set off along the rift and the viz had cleared from our last dive a little, but it was not perfect despite being given 2 days to settle. We continued for a while and were both very surprised to meet an upwards line into airspace. Somehow we had overshot the junction which takes us to the 'new' line.

Confused, we went back on ourselves and realised that, in our efforts to avoid the appalling floating polyprop line which had taken off into the roof of the rift, we had swum past the clothes pegs and other general tatt. Even more surprising was that the floating line had hidden itself so far up into the roof, it was quite an effort to pull it down and put it back into the downwards rift which was looking empty. We made several attempts to fix it but ultimately, polyprop sucks and it will be coming out next time. We continued on the correct path, having wasted a few minutes. We very soon came across the 'new junction' and set off along Oz and Joe's line. I surveyed the last leg whilst Rich untied the line reel that had sat quiet for a year and once I had underlined the numbers in my wetnotes, Rich turned to me, reel at the ready and smiled an 'Ok?' I nodded and we set off along beautiful rift passage, horizontal and about 30m depth, dipping to 34m temporarily.

The rock was sharp, pale, sculptured and pretty. the passage was 10m high and 2m wide at the widest part. Rich made a lovely, tight line with good tie offs and I bimbled along behind, counting knots, recording the depth and the compass bearing. It was heading north and all I could think of was that poor geologist who was desperate for the cave to go in the opposite direction! The thing is, it might yet as it has already done one weird corkscrew and we emptied the reel as the rift started to close down - a sign maybe that we should be looking elsewhere now for the continuation. The Coudoulire is known to connect from dye tracing and that cave corkscrews considerably before settling on a path - and it goes deep. It currently lies at 1650m long and 100m depth. We looked at the floor nervously waiting for it to engulf us into the depths - but it never did. It just started to pinch up and Rich was getting itchy feet in large 12 and 15 litre bottles.

The reel emptied at just the right time. We dived back in appalling visibility which was very patchy and were relieved to get back to our deco bottles at 6m with no deco incurred. We had spent 36 minutes in the sump with an average depth of about 20m. We returned to expectant sherpas and delivered the empty reel and Rich was pre-occupied with the fact that he found his long lost Halcyon knife!! We were helped out of the water and out of our cylinders by Jarv and Tim. I was absolutely freezing - I had somehow managed to be the first in the sump and the last out - so I got an extra 10 minutes of coldness either end! We climbed out and I was generously given something sugary by the resident diabetic. He'll live! (probably). We had a shivery dive out. I went ahead and Rich followed, exiting the sump at a rate of knots even I found alarming! Clearly he wanted out! We changed into warm fleecy caving undersuits - the posh element changed into fourth element underclothes! We started packing up and getting gear ready for hauling and we were out of the cave, with our gear back at the car, by 6pm!! Unbelievable! Many thanks to the gang for their help - Elaine, Duncan and Gerick turned up later in the evening to help on the surface as well.

The French cavers had asked us to take water samples from the second sump to confirm that the water was the same as other sites in the area. This job was handed to Jarvist and Tim and we carefully carried the water bottle out of the cave. Once on the surface, the French began doing their science bit and confirmed that the water was the same as that in the nearby source and also others in the area, helping prove a connection between systems including the Garrel. We retired to the campsite to shower and get tarted up for an evening meal in St Jean de Buges - a timely place - but devoid of champagne.

St Kilda : Island on the Edge of the World

If you enjoy my article Id really appreciate a like on my FB page In a far corner of the United Kingdom, forty miles from the Western Isles, lies a speck of land that has caught the imagination of many. St Kilda supported a modest population, adapted to survive in such harsh and isolated conditions, for two millennia, but with the influx of modern world influence the population began to dwindle as religion, tourism, emigration and disease eventually eroded the sustainability of this fragile society.

The 29th of August 1930 saw the final evacuation of its last inhabitants. Now the archipelago is recognised as both a natural and cultural UNESCO World Heritage Site, its significance on a par with sites like Machu Picchu in Peru. Trying to get from London to St Kilda, or just the Outer Hebrides on a budget will mean you're not in for the most comfortable of journeys. Its going to be long and tiresome, but I say to myself; it will certainly be worth it! If money is less of an object, you can fly to a number of small airports on the Western Isles with FlyBe, changing at Glasgow, or even get the Caledonian sleeper train from London Euston Station to Fort William (or Glasgow) where you continue for the last few hours by coach. For me, it was on the 9pm overnight Mega Bus (tickets as little as 5) from London Victoria which gets me to Glasgow for 5am, and then a short wait for a connecting 7am Scottish CityLink couch to Uig (about 46 return) and finally a ferry to the village of Tarbert on Harris.

Opting for the coaches is cheap, but long and boring, it's not really until after I pass Glasgow that the amazing Scottish highland scenery begins to tantalise my mind. The mountains, valleys and lochs make for a lovely scenic ride, made slightly harder to appreciate after a sleepless night on the motorways of England. Its 2pm when I finally escape the confines of my coach seat at Uig, and here the ferry to Tarbert awaits (5.70 single). Excited, my short adventure begins as I board the MV Hebrides, a roll-on roll-off ferry, similar though smaller than those you would cross the English channel in, but way more exciting simply due to where it's heading, one of the UK's most remote locations. As the sun shines, I go on deck to celebrate making it this far with a can of Tennents Lager as I watch the Isle of Skye disappear below the horizon. After an hour and forty minutes we arrive in Tarbert, Harris which will serve as my base of my stay. Tarbert is a small and charming settlement, which acts as the capital and administrative area for Harris.

You wont find too much here; a few shops and couple of hotel bars. Its located on a narrow strip (an istalus) of land with the sea on both sides, and steep hills which contain its spread. As I walk off the ferry, I recognise the tourist office at the end of the street. I head there in the hope of obtaining a basic bus timetable. Its closed, so my second port of call is the Hebrides Hotel on the same road. I'm not checking in as I suspect this place may be a bit out of my budget, but the hotel bar looks inviting - I'm a great believer in a short break at the nearest pub presenting a solution to whatever situation you find yourself in. I walk in and ask if they know when the bus leaves for Leverbrough (as that is where the boat to St Kilda will leave in the early morning), and I figured its best to wake up close by to where Id be leaving. Sorry, we've no buses on a Sunday, I'm told by the young bartender. Ah, taxis? I ask. I sense a little hesitation when the bartender smiles and tells me shell check with her manager. It turns out Sunday may not have been the best day for my arrival. She disappears, so I figure Ill treat myself to a pint and a late lunch or perhaps an early dinner of fish and chips.

Just as I've placed my order the supervisor appears and informs me that they've the next best thing to an official taxi; she explains that only one real taxi firm operates on the island and they're based an hour away in Stornoway, which incurs a substantial additional call out cost. They offer me the next best thing, and call a local man who sometimes offers to undertake taxi duties. A pleasant half an hours ride starts to give me a feel for these islands. First, I begin to realise that they're massive: looking at a map just doesn't do this place justice, and I soon realise my backup plan of walking would have been foolish. Instead, I enjoy the ride as it takes me past wide deserted beaches, moors, highlands and lochs, occasionally passing a lone building or playing chicken with stubborn sheep on the narrow roads. 30 lighter after my ride, I arrive at Leverbrough to be told there's nothing open today, not that there is much there anyway. I'm told I wont find anything to kill time until the morning, but why kill time when it looks like time has stood still? Leverbrough is a lovely spread out village, with no person in sight, just a light breeze in the late afternoon and the evening sun reflecting off the coastline.

My pre-arranged bunkhouse is hard to miss; a big red building with a large BUNKHOUSE sign on its side will be my home for the night. I'm eager to dump my bags and set off for a little wander to the small harbour where I will be setting off for St Kilda the next day. A few boats are moored in the nearby waters but the highlights are two stunning vessels moored close to each other, the bright red hulls of the Orca III and the Hirta are the unmistakable hallmark of Kilda Cruises, who Ill be sailing with. As the sun begins to set on this sleepy place I find myself on the porch of the Am Bothen Bunkhouse. Its a pleasant summers evening but as the sun continues to disappear it also becomes noticeably cooler and time to put on a jumper. The rest of the evening is spent sipping on a couple of bottles of beer I picked up in the Hebrides Hotel Bar before turning in for my early morning.

Now I'm certainly not a morning person but today, waking at 5.30am, showering and making my coffee wasn't at all a burden I'm far too excited by the anticipation of my upcoming voyage to the edge of the world. Following a brisk walk towards the nearby harbour, where a few people were gathering, I'm approached by a man who seems to know who I am, he introduces himself as Angus; he runs Kilda cruises and captains the Orca III. A brief handshake and he explains the sea swell on St Kilda is much too high and that it wont be possible to land today. An overwhelming sense of disappointment fills me, and I'm not really sure how to respond to Angus. After all, I've travelled up from London all this way, only to be told I wont be sailing anywhere. Of course, at the time of booking Kilda Cruises strongly advised I allocate an extra day to my itinerary in case of such circumstances, but still I cant help but feel disappointed. Angus tells me that we can try again tomorrow, though he didn't sound too confident that tomorrows conditions would be any better.

Perhaps tomorrow was down to luck, or maybe years of experience have taught him to limit expectations. Angus kindly offers me a lift to Tarbert, where Ill find my way to another bunkhouse, Rock View, which is pretty much a self-service affair. Punch in a code to let yourself in and drop the money in a small box left downstairs, it reminds me of my old student digs so I feel right at home. I have the place to myself but I wont spend much time here as I want to explore. I've a few choices on how to proactively spend my day. Not too far is the Clisham, a 799 meter high mountain whose peak marks the Western Isles highest point, or perhaps I could rent a bicycle and head to the beaches of Harris world renowned as some of the most stunning beaches on earth. Id driven past Luskentyre Beach and from my ride it looked like a scene from a Caribbean holiday brochure, miles of flat white sands and turquoise waters hugged by green Scottish hills and moorland. Its a tough choice but instead I opt to make this tomorrows back up plan. For today I decide Ill visit the Callanish Standing Stones and Stornoway, the capital of the Western Isles. First its a visit to the Tourist Office to formulate a travel plan.

They explain to me the nature of the islands bus system. Essentially, coaches service the islands public transport needs; they run few and far between but provide the vital link connecting the settlements for many of the islanders. I'm told Ill need to change coaches in what appears to be the middle of nowhere. Furthermore, timetables aren't really printed to keep cost down, and if I miss a connection then it could be a very long wait or a long walk back to civilisation. I'm told to let the driver know my plans and he can drop me off and tell me where to head onwards, so I do just that. The fifty-seater coach races though the moorlands on narrow hilly roads like a giant rally car: these coach drivers clearly know the terrain and Im sure they must enjoy ragging these massive vehicles around the empty roads. Miles and miles of barren, uninhabited landscape as far as the eye can see truly make an impression of unforgiving terrain should one be caught out, and its not long before a new found respect for this place is thrust upon me. Yes, the emptiness is strongly beautiful but it could well be deadly.

The remoteness is occasionally broken up with scattered settlements and every so often with locals running from their front road to coach our bus, the reality seems to be local transport service offer close to a door-to-door service and will pick up and drop you anywhere along the route. After about forty minutes, I disembark to find another coach already waiting for me, and then its only another twenty minutes ride before I arrive at my first stop, the remarkable Callanish Standing Stones. I make my way up the path, conscious of the fact that the next bus leaves in forty minutes or its a two hour wait. While there's no rush, I'm just not convinced that I could appreciate the forthcoming landmarks for that long. The standing stones come into sight, massive grey rocks vertically planted in the green grass. Dated to about 5000 years ago, they represent an ancient burial ground. Like Stonehenge, these monoliths are impressive, but unlike Stonehenge you can walk straight up with no restrictions. Impressed with my first replacement trip, Ive almost forgotten my cancelled sailing as a coach takes me to the administrative capital of the Outer Hebrides, Stornoway.

I arrive here and begin to explore on foot. Though the population is only around 9000, this is a bustling metropolis compared to the rest of the settlements I've seen so far. I quickly notice the abundance of pubs - perhaps an attempt to make up to the scarcity of them elsewhere! I note to myself it would be rude not to visit at least one before I leave town, but first I wander the streets and make my way to the neo-gothic Lews castle. Unfortunately, I cant get as close as Id like due to renovation work. Most of Stornoway can be easily covered on foot, its a modest town with a few recognisable high-street chain stores. Perhaps its the grey skies and the rain which contributes to my subdued mood here. For now its time to wait for the bus home - well, after a pint of course! Its amazing how quickly the day slips away, and before I know it I'm back on an almost-full bus to Tarbert. The driver speeds across the barren landscapes of the Western Isles as I chat to a native Glaswegian who settled here over eight years ago.

Back in Tarbert the suns shining and I begin to formulate a backup plan for the next day, should my voyage to St Kilda be cancelled again. Over dinner in the Harris Inn I think about tomorrows back up plan of climbing the Clisham, and then a ride to the beach, perhaps even braving a dip in the North Atlantic. At this point Im excited by how tomorrow may turn out, and have nearly put St Kilda out of my mind when my mobile phone suddenly vibrates on the wooden table. Its Angus, letting me know the sea conditions for the morning. Its a yes: we are due to sail first thing! For a moment I feel a pang of disappointment as my planned alternative day wont materialise, but this quickly passes. Angus kindly offers to pick me up from Tarbert as Im on route back to Leverbrough, its much appreciated, even if pick up is at 6am. The next morning Im in Anguss 4x4 with his young son Alex and crew mate Murdur as we head back to the harbour at Leverbrough. I see another Kilda Cruises crew preparing the sister vessel, the Hitra. Im there before the rest of the passengers and while Angus, Alex and Murdur refuel and prepare the Orca III for sail I wonder what kind of people visit St Kilda, and why. Finally Im called on board the newer of the two, the Orca III. She carries twelve passengers, is very modern and with the open bridge I'm fascinated by the vast array of monitor screens, radar, GPS and other instrumentation positioned upfront.

After an initial safety briefing, Angus takes his place on the captains seat, the engines roar into life, and we head for the open ocean. Were allowed outside on the rear deck, providing we have our life jackets on. I'm joined on deck by a few middle-aged couples as well as a retired couple, and a family of bird enthusiasts. I'm the only solo traveller. It seems there's no stereotype visitor to St Kilda, and the one thing we all have in common is that for whatever reason, this fascinating place has caught our imagination. Sailors often see a variety of wildlife from whales to puffins, but for this voyage were out of luck and all that's abundant over the long two hour and forty minute trip are the dark clouds forming overhead; it seems the heavens could open up at any moment. I half expect a shout of land ahoy when the island of Hitra appears on the horizon, but no such cry is made. We continue our approach into Village Bay, anchors drop and we prepare to disembark on to a small jetty via a small motor dinghy. I'm given a hand up, and were soon greeted by the islands warden. He explains that hes one of three employees of the Scottish National Trust, his colleagues comprise an archaeologist and an ornithologist, in his words a bird woman. He describes himself as a general dogsbody, filling multiple roles from maintenance to clerk of the gift shop, which hell later open for us. He continues to explain that there are a number of Ministry of Defence contractors on the island who are best not disturbed.

They share the island with a number of researchers and students who are here for the summer to study the unique species of found here on Soay and Boreray. The weathers not looking good and the surrounding peaks are engulfed in cloud. The warden points in various directions suggesting where to go and where to stay away from. He emphasises the dangers of getting lost or worse, falling off a cliff. Wished a good day, we set off to finally explore the island. On first impressions I think to myself, this was not in the brochure; blocks of green portacabins used by the MOD as barracks and offices, and a large ugly grey building disturbs the peace with what I assume to be the generator for the complex. It takes a few minutes to navigate past these modern monstrosities before a visitor can finally make eye contact with the old village buildings and wow, what a sight! Instantly I forget about the modern structures behind me as I get lost in the atmosphere. A lone street with the ruined houses along one side that once stood inhabited.

The first five houses have been restored and let to the researchers as accommodation. House number three has been converted into a small, elegant museum with much information, illustrations and artefacts. Many of my fellow day trippers have their packed lunches here, however I'm much too excited to be in such an astonishing place to sit inside, so after absorbing as much information as I can, I carry on along the village street. To my left is the bay, to my right is the single row of houses along the old village street, the backdrop to which are the steep hills, disappearing into the mists. Scattered all along landscape are cleits, small stone structures roofed with turf used for drying foodstuffs and keeping goods cool and dry. I stroll along slowly along my path, entering these now roofless buildings to truly get a feel for how the islanders lived. Fittingly each ruined building has a piece of slate, no larger than a roof tile, on the ground resting against the wall with the name, age, and year of the last occupant. Names like Ewan Gilles and Rachel McDonald really bring to life that this isn't just a ruin, but it was a home for someone, a home they were forced to leave. Leaving the village behind I now follow a concrete track laid by the MOD uphill. It leads to a radar station positioned on one of the islands high points.

I'm eager to reach a high point, or ideally the highest point on the island from where I'm sure the views must be amazing. I'd be able to see the village from high above and the sea stacks in the ocean miles way which make up this archipelago. Wishful thinking with the current weather conditions, Id be lucky to see a metre in front me at a respectable altitude, but I'm not deterred. The walk is steep, and as I carry on upward I can see the village bay below, the grey buildings, the lush green grass with the slight turquoise ocean, fading into deep blue further along the horizon, even on such an abysmal day. A few more vertical metres and I'm completely swallowed up in the low cloud, visibility is down to a few metres, and the village below me has now completed disappeared. Its raining, windy and not at all pleasant as I persevere onward for another half-an-hour when suddenly, out of the white, grey buildings with domes and masts begin to emerge. Its the unmanned radio stations on top of Hitra. They give this place a ghostly feel, and I half expect zombies to come at me.

Though I cant see it, I certainly feel that this is a very exposed area as the winds blast my body and sideways rain drops sting my face. Here the road ends, and under normal circumstances, if one were to continue to reach the islands highest peak, they'd have to walk off-track along some of the highest cliffs in the UK. With such bad visibility any attempt would be extremely unwise, so I reluctantly turn back down the road. With every downward step the conditions seem to improve: less rain, less wind and thirty minutes later the village comes back into sight. I pass a flock of unique sheep, they're much darker, and with larger horns then what Id expect, but that's as far as my analysis goes. Back at the village bay, its time for the mandatory photo opportunities as I carry on exploring every nook and cranny of the village - I even make it down to the sandy beach.

This place seems to exert such presence that I think I could never tire of it: a dramatic landscape, amazing natural beauty and fascinating history as well as an important wildlife habitat. I begin to sense a break in the weather. Typical! I shout at myself. Hesitantly, I think, is now the time to hike up to the viewpoint again? I look past the buildings to the area called The Gap. Its not as high I was previously but connects to high points and the views should be just as impressive from there should the clouds dissipate. From where I'm standing, the tip of The Gap becomes visible and that's my sign to make a brisk hike for it. I race up the steep hill past the many clients dotted around and within fifteen minutes I'm making my final approach. I see the edge of The Gap, just about clear of any cloud cover but within seconds of me reaching my view point the cloud again foils my plans as it swiftly blows in. My pace slows as disappointment seeps in, and then, just as I'm about to plant my right foot on the ground, I suddenly, instinctively jump backward, and simultaneously feel like my heart jumped not just one, but a few hundred beats.

Catching my breath, I slowly crawl to where I was about to plant my foot, and I'm gazing out over sheer cliff. I just about make out the ocean below before more cloud works its way in. This is exactly what the warden warned us about. Realising how close I've come to simply disappearing off the most remote outpost of the United Kingdom, I sit down for some lunch and reflect on my day, and hope it may still clear up before I head back down. Unfortunately, it doesn't. Back in the village I visit the small shop and buy a postcard and the warden kindly promises to send it on my behalf. Then I wander into the nearby chapel where I'm told services are still sometimes held, and on to a nearby artillery gun, mounted in World War Two after a German U-boat attack.

My fellow visitors have gathered at the jetty awaiting pickup. The day has flown by and I'm not at all disappointed anymore about the weather, I tell myself that its been more authentic this way, the islanders would have probably had more of this weather than the sunshine I had hoped for. Once on-board the Orca III were all greeted with a much welcomed cup of tea and some homemade banana cake. Its not long before Angus brings his engines roaring back to life. Our return trip will take us past some of the steepest cliffs and sea stacks in the UK, and well visit the other islands of the archipelago where some of the most important bird breeding colonies on the planet are situated. In particular, the gannet population here is of major significance. On deck, an elderly gentleman tells me Now imagine how the islanders felt when they left their homes for the last time, a sobering thought which stuck with me for much of the return voyage.

The Orca III takes us further seaward for close of views of Stac Lee, Stac An Armin and the island of Boreray. Angus and Murdur explain to us how the islanders used to sail here to these unforgiving cliffs to collect bird eggs and how they'd stay here for weeks at a time. They point out features in the rock, shelters built for and by these brave men for the gatherings. They share their knowledge with great enthusiasm, and its obvious to me that these two love what they do. The boat is piloted close to these cliffs to give us a true sense of how enormous these monoliths are. High above us are thousands of birds, flying, diving and nesting. The dark cliffs are lined with white guano, the noise from these sea birds is loud, and the smell is strong. I was later told that they eat thousands of tons of fish a week, which in turn means they produce thousands of tons of guano a week, with no one to clear it up! Angus pilots the Orca III around the tall stacks: for perspective, these sheer cliff faces are substantially higher than the tower which houses Big Ben.

The tour comes to an end as we head into open waters once again for the trip back to the small harbour in Leverbrough. Its been a long day and opposite me a fellow passenger looks to be turning a bit green as the rocking of the boat puts me to sleep. The final moments of our time on board are marked with a complimentary whisky poured by Murdur, here the weather has lifted and the suns come out as I sip away. When we all say goodbye to each other at the pier, it feels like saying farewell to old friends. We've all shared this magnificent place and its clear that everyone enjoyed their day, however they spent it. I wait behind for a lift back to Tarbert but not before having a quick pint with the crew of the Orca III.

The conversation revolves around St Kilda, the boats, the sea, fishing and then back to St Kilda. I'm grateful for the chance to visit this amazing place and to share the experience with people who have a real passion for what they do.

 www.doinitonline.com

Pennine Way for Crisis UK

I completed this challenge for Crisis UK on 10th July 2013. The Pennine Way is 270 mile / 430 km from Edale in the Peak District to Kirk Yetholm in the Scottish borders. I realised after the last four walks that I need to keep my own costs down so I camped where possible and did the walk without support.

You can read more about the walk including the kit that I took athttp://rucksackrose.wordpress.com/distance-walks/the-pennine-way/ This was my fifth distance walk. I did Hadrian's wall (84 miles/135km) for the MS Society in June 2012 and the Dales Way (78 miles/126km) for the British Lung Foundation in August 2012.

This year I also completed the St. Cuthbert's Way (65 miles) and the Cumbria Way (78 miles) in preparation for the Pennine Way.

St Kilda: The Island On The Edge Of The World

In a far corner of a United Kingdom, 40 miles from the Western Isles, lays a speck of land that has caught the imagination of many. Its thought that for two millennia St Kilda supported a modest population, which adapted to survive in such harsh and isolating conditions. With the influx of modern world influence the population begun to dwindle as religion, tourism, emigration and disease eventually contributed to the un-sustainability of this fragile society. It was the 29th August 1930 which saw the final evacuation of its inhabitants.

Now the archipelago is recognised as both a natural and cultural UNSECO World Heritage Site, its significance on a par among such sites a Machu Picchu in Peru. Trying to get from London to St Kilda, or the even Outer Hebrides for that matter, on a budget will mean youre not in for the most comfortable journeys. Its going to be long, uncomfortable, tiresome, but I say to myself; I it will be certainly be worth it! However if moneys less of an object you can fly to a number of small airports on the Western Isles with FlyBe, changing at Glasgow, or even get the Caledonian sleeper train from London Euston Station to Fort William (or Glasgow) where you carry on last few hours by coach. For me, however, it was on the 9pm overnight Mega Bus where tickets start from 5 from London Victoria Coach station which gets me to Glasgow for 5am, wait for a couple of hours for a connecting 7am Scotish CityLink couch to Uig (about 46 rtn) , the Ferry terminal which will finally take me to village of Tarbert on Harris. Opting for the coaches is cheap, but long and boring, its not really until after you pass Glasgow where the amazing Scottish highland scenery begins to tantalise your mind.

The mountains, valleys and lochs make for a lovely scenic ride, though made slightly harder appreciate after a sleepless night on the motorways of England. Its 2pm when I'm finally escape the confines of my coach seat at Uig, here the Ferry awaits to take me to Tarbert (5.70 single). Excited, here my short adventure starts as I board the MC Hebraises, a small roll on roll of ferry, similar to what you'd expect to cross the English channel, but way more exciting simply due to where its heading, one of the UK's most remote locations. As the sun shines and I go on deck to celebrate for making it this far with a can of Tenants Lager as I watch the Isle of Skye disappear below the horizon. After a short 1 hour and 40 minutes we arrive in Tarbert, Harris which will serve as my base of my short stay. Tarbert is a small and charming settlement, which acts as the capital and administrative area for Harris, you wont find too much here; a few of shops and couple of hotel bars. Its located on a narrow strip (an istalus) of land with the sea to either side of it and steep hills contain its spread.

Very scenic though and everything seems to be a few minutes walk away. As I walk off the ferry, instantly recognise the tourist office at the end of the street. I head there in the hope I can obtain some basic bus timetable information. Its closed so the second port of call, the Hebrides Hotel on the same road, not to check in as, as I suspect this place may be a bit out of my budget, however the hotel bar looks inviting and I'm a great believer in which ever situation you find your self in a short break to the closest pub will present a solution. I walk in and ask if they can know when the Bus leaves for Leverbrough (as that is where the boat to St Kilda will leave in the early morning), and I figured its best to wake up close by to where Id be leaving. Sorry weve no buses on a Sunday, I'm told by the young bartender. Ah.. Taxis? I ask. I senses a wee bit of hesitation when the bartender smiles and tells me shell check with her manager. Turns out Sundays may not have been the best day for my arrival. She disappears so I figure Id treat myself to a pint and a late lunch or perhaps an early dinner of fish and chips. As I've placed my order the supervisor appears and informs me that they've the next best thing to an official taxi She explains that one real taxi firm operates on the island and theyre based all the way in Stornoway, about an hour away, and hence the additional call out cost. So they offer to call me the next best thing a local man who sometimes offer s undertake taxi duties.

A pleasant 30 minutes ride starts to give me a feel for these islands. First, I quickly begin to realise a that theyre massive, looking at a map just doesnt do this place justice, I soon realise my backup plan of walking would have been foolish, instead I enjoy the ride as it takes me past wide deserted beaches, moors, highlands and lochs, occasionally passing a lone building or playing chicken with stubborn sheep on the narrow roads. 30 lighter after my ride I arrive at Leverbrough, Im told theres nothing open today, not that there is much there anyway. Im told I wont find anything to kill the time till the morning here, but why kill time here when it looks like time has stood still? Leverbrough is a lovely spread out village, with no person in sight, just a light breeze in the late afternoon and the evening sun reflecting off the coastline. My pre-arranged bunkhouse is hard to miss, a large red building with the large BUNKHOUSE sign on its side will be my home for the night.

I'm eager to dump my bags and set of for a little wander to the small harbour where I will be setting of the St Kilda the next day. A few boats more in the nearby waters but the highlight are to stunning vessels moored close to each other, the bright red hulls of the Orca III and the Hirta are the unmistakable hallmark of Kilda Cruises, who Ill be sailing with. As the sun begins to set on this sleepy place I find myself on the porch of the Am Bothen Bankhouse. Its a pleasant summers eve but has the sun continues to disappear it also becomes noticeably cooler and time to put on a jumper. The rest of the evening is spent sipping on a couple of bottles of beer Ive managed to pick up in the Hebraise Hotel Bar before turning in for my early morning. Now Im certainly not a morning person but today waking up at around 5.30am, showering and making my coffee wasnt at all a burden Im far too excited and anticipate my upcoming voyage to the edge of the world. A brisk walk towards the nearby harbour where a few people where gathering.

I'm approached by a man who seems to know who I am, he introduces himself as Angus; he runs Kilda cruises and captains the Orca III. A brief handshake and he explains the sea swell on St Kilda is much too high today and that we wont be possible to land today. An overwhelming sense of disappointment fills my gut, not really sure how to respond to Angus after all, Ive travelled up from London all this way only to be told I wont be sailing anywhere today. Of course, on the time of booking Kilda Cruises strongly advise I allocate an extra day into my itinerary in case of such circumstance, but still I cant help feel disappointed. Angus tells me that we can try again tomorrow though his voice didnt sound too reassuring that tomorrow will be any better condition. Perhaps tomorrow was down to luck or maybe years of experience have taught him to limit expectations. Angus kindly offers me a lift to Tarbert, where Ill find my way to another bunkhouse, Rock View, which is pretty much a self-service affair. Punch in a code to let yourself in and drop the money in a small box left downstairs, it reminds my old student digs so I feel right at home. Ive the place to myself but I wont spend much time here as Ive the day to explore. Ive a few choices on how to proactively spend my day. Not to far is the Clisham. A 799 meter high mountain whose peak marks the Western Isles highest point, or perhaps I could rent a bicycle and head to the beaches of Harris world renowned as some of the most stunning beaches on earth. Id driven past Luskentyre Beach beach and from my ride it looked like a scene out of the Caribbean holiday brochure, miles of flat white sands and turquoise waters hugged by green Scottish hills and moorland. Its a tough choice but instead I opt to make this tomorrows back up plan for today I decide Ill visit the Callanish Standings Stones and Stornoway, the capital of these Western Isles. First its a visit to the Tourist Office to formulate a travel plan. They explain to me the nature of the islands bus system. Essentially coaches service the islands public transport needs, they run few and far between but provide the vital link for many of the islanders connecting much of the settlements. I'm told Ill need to change coaches in what I assume to be the middle of nowhere on to another coach. Furthermore timetables aren't really printed to keep cost down and if I miss a connection then it could be a very long wait or walk back to civilisation. I'm told to let the driver know my plans and he can drop me off and tell me were to head onwards, so I do just that. The 50 seater coach races though the moorlands on narrow hilly roads like giant rally cars, these coach drivers clearly know the terrain and I'm sure they must enjoy ragging these massive vehicles across the empty roads. Miles and miles of barren, uninhabited landscape as far as the eye can see truly make an impression of unforgiving terrain should one be caught out, its not long before a new found respect for this place is thrust upon me. Yes, the emptiness is strongly beautiful but it could well be deadly.

The remoteness is occasionally broken up with scattered settlements and every so often with locals running from their front road to coach our bus, the reality seems to be local transport service offer a close to a door to door service and will pick and drop you along the route. After about 40 minutes I'm let off the coach to find another coach already waiting for me, its only another 20 minutes or so before I arrive at my first stop, the remarkable Callanish Standing Stones. I make my way up the path, conscious of the fact that the next bus leaves in 40 minutes or its a two hour wait, and while there's no rush I'm just not convinced that I could appreciate the forthcoming landmarks for that long. The standing stones come in to sight, massive grey rocks vertically planted in the green grass. Dated to about 5000 years ago, they represent an ancient burial ground. Like Stonehenge these rocks are impressive, unlike Stonehenge you can go straight up to these monoliths with no restrictions. Pretty impressed with my first replacement trip, I've almost forgotten about my cancelled sailing only a few hours ago as a coach takes me to the administrative capital of the Outer Hebrides , Stornoway. I arrive here and figure Ill walk around for an explore. Though the population is around 9,000 this seems like a bustling metropolis compared to the rest of the settlements Ive seen so far. One thing I do quickly notice is the abundance of pubs perhaps an attempt to make up to the scarcity of them elsewhere, I note to myself it would be rude not to visit at least one before I leave town, but first I wander the streets and make my way to the neo-gothic Lewis castle. Unfortunately during my visit the castle renovation work presence stops a more close up visit. Most of Stornoway can be covered on foot in not much time at all, its a modest town with a few high-street chains. Perhaps its the grey skies and the rain which contributes to my subdued mood here. For now its time to wait for the bus home well, after a pint of course. Its amazing how quickly the day seems to have gone, before I know it I'm back on a bus to Tarbert chatting to a native Glaswegian who settled here over eight years ago. The bus back to Tarbert is almost full as it again races for an hour across the barren landscapes of the western isles. Back in Tarbert the suns shining and I begin to formulate a backup plan for the next day should my voyage to St Kilda be cancelled again. Over dinner in the Harris Inn I think about tomorrows back up plan of climbing the Clisham and then ride to the beach or perhaps braving a dip in the north Atlantic Ocean.

At this point I'm even pretty excited by how tomorrow may turn out, and I even put St Kilda out of my mind. Then suddenly my mobile phone vibrates on the wooden table. Its Angus, Id almost forgotten to expect his call to let me know what the sea conditions are looking like for the morning and if we are due to sail. Its a yes! Were good to go first thing in the morning. For a moment I feel a bit of disappointment as my planned alternative day wont materials but this quickly passes and my excitement again returns. Angus kindly offers to pick me up from Tarbert as Im on route back to Lavenbrough, its much appreciated, even if pick up is at 6am. The next morning Im back in Anguss 4x4 along with his young son Alex and crew mate Murdur as we head back to the harbour at Levenbrough. I see another Kilda Cruises crew preparing the sister vessel, the Hitra. Im there before the rest of the passengers and while Angus, Alex and Murder refuel and prepare the Orca III for sail I wonder what kind of people visit St Kilda, and why.

Finally I'm called on board newer of the two, the Orca III. She holds 12 passengers, is very modern and with the open bridge Im fascinated by the vast array of monitors screens, radar, GPS positioned upfront. After an initial safety briefing, Angus takes his place on the captains seat, the engines roar into life and we begin to leave the land behind us as we head to the open ocean. Were allowed to go outside on the rear deck, providing weve our life jackets on. Im joined on deck by few middle age couples as well as a retired couple, a family of bird entrusts. Im the only solo traveller. It seems theres no stereotype of visitor to St Kilda, but one thing weve all have in common is that for whatever reason this fascinating place has caught our imagination for one reason or another. Often sailors will see a variety of wildlife from whales to puffins, but for this voyage its like were out of luck and all thats abundant over the long to two hour and forty minute trip with dark clouds forming overhead; it looks like the heavens could open up any moment. I half expect a shout land ahoy when the Island of Hitra comes up from the horizon, but no such cry is made. We continue our approach into Village Bay, anchors drop and we prepare to disembark on a small motor dingy which takes us to a small jetty. Im given a hand up were soon greeted by the Islands warden, an employee of the Scottish National Trust. The warden explains, that hes one of three employees of the trust, hes colleagues comprise of an archaeologist and in his words a bird woman. As for himself, he is a general dogsbody, filling multiple roles from maintenance to gift shop clerk which hell open later for us. He continues to explain that there are a number of Ministry of Defence contractors on the Island who are best not disturbed. They share the Island with a number of researchers and students who are here for the summer to study the unique species of Soay and Boreray found here.

The weathers not looking good and the sounding peaks are engulfed in cloud cover, he points to various directions suggesting where to go and where to stay away from. He emphasises the dangers of getting lost or worse, falling off a cliff. Wished a good day, we set off to finally explore the island. On first impressions I think to myself, this was not in the brochure, green porter cabin/container sized blocks used by the MOD, a large load ugly grey building disturbs the piece with what I assume to be the power plant or generator for the complexes. It takes a few minutes to navigate past these modern monstrosities before a visitor can finally make eye contact with the old village buildings and WOW, what a sight. Instantly I forget about the modern MOD structures barracks and offices just behind me as I get lost in the atmosphere. A lone street with the ruins of the houses that once stood inhabited along one side, the first five houses have been restored and have let to the researches as accommodation. House number three has been converted into a small and elegant museum with much information, illustrations and artifacts.

Many of my fellow day trippers have their packed lunches here, however Im much too excited to be in such an astonishing place to sit inside so after exampling information I carry on along the village street. To my left is the bay, immediately to my right is the single row of houses along the old village street, the backdrop to which are the steep hills which disappear into the mists. Scattered all along landscape are cleits. A cleit is small stone structure roofed with turf used for drying and keeping goods cool and dry. I stroll along slowly along my path, entering these now roofless buildings to truly get a feel for how the islanders lived. Fittingly each ruined building has a piece of slate, no larger than a roof tile, on the ground resting against the wall with the name, age, and year of the last occupant, Names like Ewan Gilles and Rachel McDonald really bring to life that this isnt just a ruin, but it was a home for someone, a home they were forced to leave. Leaving the village behind I follow now follow a concrete track laid by the MOD uphill.

It leads to a radar station positioned on one of the islands high points. I'm really eager to reach a high-point or ideally even the highest point on the island where I'm sure the views must be amazing, id see the village from high above and Id be able to see the sounding sea stacks in the ocean miles way which make up the this archipelago. Though with the current weather conditions once at a respectable altitude Id be luckily to see a metre in front of my feet, wishful thinking at this point but I'm not deterred. The walk is steep, and as I carry on upward I can see the village bay below, the grey buildings, the lush green grass with the slight turquoise ocean, with its deep blue further along the horizon even on such an abysmal day. A few more vertical metres and I'm completely swallowed up in the low cloud, visibility is a few metres, and the village below me has now completed disappeared. Its raining, windy and not at all pleasant as I persevere on for another half an hour or so when suddenly out of the white soundings buildings become to emerge. Its the unmanned radio stations atop of Hitra. Grey buildings with their domes and masts give this place ghostly feel, I'm half expecting zombies to come at me. 

In the cave of the holy mountain - Athos, Greece part 2.

The new explorations of Athos Mt. Greece The second stage of the international project Study of the caves of Mount Athos (Mount Athos) - Greece. ended.

The same was initiated by the Bulgarian side and held under the patronage and with financial and material support of the European Federation of Speleology. The project team is composed Zhalov A. - Head, V. Gyorev , Zh.Vlaykov (Bulgaria), L. Makrostergios, J. Oykonomidis, T. Komaditis and M.Karidas (Greece), I. Agapov, S. Kaminski (Russia), A.Yamac (Turkey). The group works on an area from 1 st to 11 September. In this period were surveyed the areas of the monasteries , Diohar, Xenophon and heritages Kafrsokalivion, Little St.Anna, St. Anna and Nea Skiti. The distances between these holy places were mostly overcome with walking tours lasting from 1 to 4 hours, the movement by sea is carried by ferries. During the event were identified and mapped (according to preliminary data, information obtained on site and as a result of the search) about 45 underground sites. They can be divided into three main categories - caves associated with the lives of Saints, caves cells, usual and sea caves and artificial caves (catchments and reservoirs ). Along with it was collected many oral and photo information to other cave objects, which will be the subject of future studies. Preliminary data show that the team were surveyed 36 sites with a total length more than 350 meters. Other 9 objects was only visited and sketched among which is probably the longest cave in Athos for the moment. There were localized but not explored 2 more caves, one of which probably is so called The Big Cave of Athos. According the existing data (http://www.isihazm.ru/?id=1592) the cave over 150 m long. Its entrance is 50 m wide and around 80 m in high. The total number of the explored underground cavites under the project up to date is around 100.

The information for the results for the first stage and later for the expedition in 2012 is available at :https://sites.google.com/site/athosmistery/home

Getting Taken for a Ride

I'm always amazed when I run safety workshops and ask how many of the audience wear a seat belt when getting into a vehicle in their home country. Without fail everyone raises their hand and some even look at me as if I have just asked a rather stupid question. However, when I ask the same group how many of them wear a seat belt when they travel abroad, fewer than half raise a hand and when I ask how many refuse to travel in a vehicle that isn't equipped with seat belts I'm often on my own.

So why is it that when we travel we no longer feel the need to protect and preserve our own safety? This, despite the fact that in many cases the countries we are travelling to have lower standards of road safety and higher rates of road fatalities than our home countries. Perhaps its the perception that because we are abroad and we often associate this with a positive experience that we lower our guard. Or maybe we view poorer safety standards as being part of the romance of travel.

A when in Rome mindset perhaps. If you think this is just another safety expert having a moan, don't take my word for it, have a look at the stats from the World Health Organisation; Road traffic crashes kill 1.2 million people a year or an average of 3242 people every day. Road traffic crashes injure or disable between 20 million and 50 million people a year. Road traffic crashes account for 2.1% of all deaths globally. The majority of deaths from road traffic crashes (90%) occur in low and middle-income countries. Many of these are the same countries that, we as western tourists and business people, travel to. One of the issues we have is that despite greater awareness about vehicle safety the problem is actually getting worse rather than better.

According to the Burden of Global Disease the outlook is not good and the situation is only going to get worse. In 2004 road traffic crashes were responsible for 1,274,845 deaths globally, making it 9th in the list of causes of death. By 2030 it is predicted that it will rise to 5th and overtake diseases such as cancer, diabetes, hypertensive heart disease and HIV/AIDS. So, whats the solution? In many respects this lies with us. If, as travellers, we continue to accept poor quality ill-equipped vehicles driven by unqualified drivers, who exceed, or ignore speed limits then we are asking for trouble. If, on the other hand, we insist that tour operators and ground agents provide good quality, well maintained vehicles with fitted seat belts and qualified drivers who are adequately rested and not under the influence of drink or drugs, then we are taking steps to decrease the risk.

You wouldn't get into a cab or bus at home if it had bald tyres, no seat belts and the driver smelt of alcohol, so why do it when we are abroad? The problem is that it takes courage to turn away an unsuitable vehicle or driver, because we are concerned about insulting people or being disrespectful. These would seem like pretty feeble reasons if you find yourself in a foreign hospital or worse. On more than one occasion as an expedition leader I have refused vehicles or drivers on safety grounds, and yes, it has at times made me very unpopular. However, I would rather deal with unpopularity than the aftermath of a vehicle crash. As a former police officer I have seen the results of vehicle crashes and trust me, its not a good look. The more people who take a stand and refuse to put their lives in danger by using poor quality drivers and vehicles the sooner the message will start to filter through. Especially when it starts to affect peoples livelihoods. I have seen this in other aspects of expedition safety, where rogue operators go out of business once they are unable to meet the safety requirements and expectations of the paying customer. Its also about education and many people in developing countries simply haven't had the benefit of the training in road safety that we take for granted.

Be under no illusion, seat belts save lives. Fact! However, it some countries this seems to be systematically ignored. A study in Kenya showed that 99% of those injured in vehicle crashes were not wearing seat belts, despite it being law for drivers and front seat passengers to do so. Its not just a case of those in the front seats wearing seat belts either. When travelling in buses it only takes one person not wearing a seat belt to become a human missile. Consider this. A person travelling in a car moving at 30 miles per hour is also travelling at the same speed. If the vehicle suddenly stops (as happens in a crash) the person will still be moving inside the car at the same speed and will continue to do so until something (the steering wheel, dashboard, windshield......... another passenger) stops them. They would hit these objects in the same manner as he/she would hit the pavement falling from a 3-storey building. Being hit by a fellow passenger who weighs say 170 pounds and travelling inside a vehicle going at 60 miles per hour at the time of impact is not ever going to have a positive outcome.

Therefore, everyone travelling in multi-person vehicles has a responsibility to themselves and their fellow passengers to wear a seat belt, but its only through awareness that this message is going to get through. I have worked for a number of organisations who train their drivers not to turn the ignition key until everyone is wearing a seat belt. It is a very simple technique and it doesn't take long for the message to sink in. Its not just cars and buses that we need to be thinking about. Many travellers think nothing of renting a motorcycle or moped when abroad. Yet these machines are responsible for a disproportionate number of tourist deaths every year. According to the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office, 38 people a day die in motorcycle crashes in Thailand alone. That's nearly 14,000 people a year using only one mode of transport in just one country.

There are times in life where we don't have choices, but when it comes to transport and travel we often do and these choices could quite literally make the difference between life and death. Yes, tour operators and employers have a moral responsibility for our safety, but they are often governed by the bottom line. Ultimately, it is up to us as individuals to ensure they comply to the highest levels of safety and if they don't shouldn't travel with them. At the very least you owe it to yourself to speak up and demand safe transportation.

www.lloydfiggins.com

San Agustin 2013: Sistema Huautla established as the deepest cave in the Western Hemisphere

Sistema Huautla established as the deepest cave in the Western Hemisphere after a 7 week long caving and diving expedition featuringmore than 40 cave explorers.

Short summary of the expedition: Caving began on Tuesday 26th February. Thanks to a strong team within one week the cave was rigged to sump 1, camp 3 established and Jason Mallinson had relined sump 1 and 2. After another week the rest of the diving, exploration, beyond sump supplies and the four dry tubes were ready at the sump so that a team of 5 divers could spend one week exploring. Jason went through and set up camp 6 on Monday 11th March. The following day the rest of the divers made their way through sump 1 and 2. In total 6 dry tubes worth of gear was dived through with each of the three rebreather divers making two dives. A total of 6 dives were made in sump 9 between Jason Mallinson and Chris Jewell. On the first dive Jason reached -30m in poor visibility. On the next dive Chris reached -48m before ascending to surface in a static pool after 250m. A muddy ascending tube was followed for around 30m.

On the third dive Jason returned to this section with some rope but all passages closed down. Next Chris and Jason dived together with each diver on opposite sides of the passage in an attempt to find the main underwater continuation. Jason found a tunnel leading off the left hand wall which both divers followed down to -60m before surveying out. The final dive was made by Jason who followed this tunnel down to -81m which was the limit of the trimix being used. The final dive reached a point 440m into sump 9. Meanwhile the rest of the team (Mirek Kopertowski, Jon Lillestolen and Rich Hudson) were busy looking for dry passages. The Rio Iglesia waterfall was found to choke after a short distance and short sections of cave were surveyed in Perseverance hall and shortly before the low airspace swim. However long extensions were discovered leading from the back of the sump 9 chamber. These extensions followed the trend of Adams Avenue and in places dropped back down into known cave. In total 1,774m of dry passages were surveyed but no bypass to sump 9 discovered.

One mystery does remain however, when on the last day an undescended pitch was reached. Appearances suggested this would drop into known cave and the team was short of time and rigging gear so it was left. However when we plotted the survey data this pitch was going into new territory. Whilst the diving team was beyond the sumps they were in touch with the rest of the cavers at camp 3 by Nicola radio and teams took it in turns to stay at camp 3 and monitor the radio twice a day. During this period the route up to Anthrodite hall was. On Monday 18th March the diving team returned to camp 3 and a day was spent hauling kit from the sump before most people headed to the surface for some rest. During the following week (week 4) most of the diving kit was carried out of the cave and at the same time photos and videos taken.

Week 5 saw the arrival of our de-rig team and whilst they were getting ready to camp the rest of the diving kit came out. One final camping trip saw the cave de-rigged to the 620 depot. After that several long day trips during week 6 de-rigged the cave completely. In total we estimate that something like 30bags of diving/exploration kit (average weight of 16kg per bag) were carried in and out of the cave.

Thanks to a strong support team of more than 30 cavers from the UK, Canada, US and Mexico all this was accomplished quickly and efficiently. Thanks to our sponsors for making this happen and thanks to the local people who have made us feel very welcome.

More info - www.facebook.com/CaveDive andwww.cdg-exped.org

Sunrise on Mount Sinai

Sunrise on Mount Sinai Nestled within the southern part of the Sinai Peninsular, Mount Sinai offers an exhilarating climb which rewards you at the summit with some truly amazing views of this mountainous desert region of Egypt. Moses Mountain, as its called in Arabic, stands at 2285 metres and is said to be the place where God passed to Moses The Ten Commandments.

Mt Sinai is seldom the primary reason why one might fly to Egypt, but if you find yourself travelling around the Red Sea, it makes a great day, or more appropriately night side trip. Whilst the climb can be done at any part of the day, the majority of people decide to make the ascent at night in time to watch the sunrise from the summit. Most visitors arrive by organized tours, these are frequent, cheap and by far the simplest way of reaching the start point. Virtually all hotels and camps will be able to organize this. The foot of Mt Sinai can be reached in two hours from Dahab, an additional hour is required if travelling from Sharm El Shiekh. We prefer Dahab's laid back charm to Sharm so thats' where we set out from.The usual course of action will start with a pick up around 11pm, when youll be whisked away through the night desert in what ever mode of motorized transportation your host has acquired for the 2 hour journey.

Arrival time at the foot of the mountain should normally be 1am. The base of the mountain is a hub of activity with traders, shop-keeps and camels handlers all biding for your attention. Here visitors are introduced to their Bedouin guide. Hell explain the biblical significance of the mountain and go over some safety tips. This will also be your last chance to use a toilet for a few hours. Your guide will briskly take lead as you start to climb the mountain, ascending in the dark is truly a surreal experience. With the absence of any electricity and light pollution, the stars truly come to life, meteorites skim the atmosphere, constellations become defined, and the Milky Way twinkles brightly. The sheer beauty of the night sky is best enjoyed while resting, as its best to keep your eyes and touch on your feet while you climb the rocky path to the summit.

When you're not admiring the night sky, you'll be able to see enormous dark shadows which will start to resemble the neighbouring mountains and slow moving beams of flash lights from the hikers below. The gradient of the track frequently changes, there'll be parts where it climbs steadily and others where it zig-zags past steep walls. The route is littered with make shift shacks which sell refreshments and snacks. At higher altitudes close to the summit, these shacks rent out blankets and mattresses as it can get very cold before sunrise. The last such shack or tea house stands just before the final push to the summit begins. This is also where the camel tours dismount. Oh yes if you're not one for putting in the hard work, you can arrange for a camel or donkey to take you most of the way, but be warned riding a camel for a few hours should not be taken lightly. Here you must take the final 750 steep steps up to the summit. The entire climb takes about three hours, here the wind blows fresh and the temperature can truly get crisp so if you haven't brought some extra layers to keep you warm, its well worth renting a blanket. At the summit you'll find a few brave souls who have slept there in anticipation of the morning sun. Most parties arrive well over an hour before sunrise, this maximises your chances of find that perfect spot where you can await sunrise. The summit is home to a small Greek Orthodox Chapel (closed to the public) and a small Mosque still used by locals. The nature of this sacred place means that it attracts members of the Jewish, Christian and Islamic faiths and one can quite often see people reciting ancient texts, praying and singing hymns as the sunrise. Finally, the bell of the chapel breaks the sound of the wind. This signals the official time of sunrise. One day there may be applause, the next a chorus of hymns. How the crowd at the summit react to the start of the day is often as unpredictable as how a day will unfold. As the sun rises into the clear sky, you start to see the shadows fade away as the surrounding peaks start to turn different shades of red and orange. Eventually, its time to make the return journey. Walking back down the 750 steps is necessary, back to the last shack and return your blanket if youve rented one. Now you have to find possible routes back down to normality.

You can now take the same route as you came up and take in the view this time in daylight, or a greatly steeper route aptly named the Steps of Penitence. As the sun rises, so will the heat so if youd rather descend at a faster pace (and many do) aim for the luxury of a shade; the 3750 steps may be more appropriate. The definition of steps is a quite loose, almost as loose as the actual rocks that youll be traversing down, but it is the shorter and more direct route which eventually take you to the Saint Catharines Monastery at the Base of the mountain. Famed as the oldest working monastery in the world and dating back to the 6th century (at this particular location). The grounds are open to the public to use the facilities and purchase refreshments. The actual monastery building opens its doors at 9am, meaning for those wanting to take a look inside, you'll have an hour or so wait, depending on how long its taken you to arrive from the summit.

Groups are allowed to enter every few minutes after listening to a priest explain that taking pictures, talking and making any noise is strictly prohibited. Frankly, unless you have a particular interest in the field, missing a trip through the monastery is no great loss. However, most organised trips factor the monastery in as part of the trip. If you're on such a tour, if you descend quickly from the mountain, you'll have to wait for the monastery to open, be spoken to like a child, be rushed through and then find your transport back at around 10am arriving back in Dahab two hours later. The cost of this entire excursion, including transport, the guide, entrance to the mountain (which by extension to the nature reserve) and entrance to the monastery can be obtained for 120 EL (12). If you're not interested in entering Saint Catherines Monastery you can get this reduced, but be sure that the pick up arrives at a more appropriate time. This is a very fine yet demanding fete, partly the physical effort needed and partly concentration needed in the night part of the climb. When you get back to the shores of the red sea after a sleepless night, you'll have earned a relaxing holiday that most tourists come here for.

Prepare It should go without saying that good walking footwear is essential. Ideally carry a backpack with layers of clothing. It will get very cold at night particularly when waiting for the sun to rise at the summit. However, upon returning, the temperatures increase dramatically. Take a bottle of water and bring your wallet as you can replenish your supplies in the many shacks up the mountain.

Finally, and surprising often neglected by many visitors, if climbing by night, BRING A TORCH. Need to Know There's no need to follow the stereotypical itinerary outlined in the article. If you'd rather have the summit to yourself, you can climb up during daytime and watch a sunset instead and descend at night. Or if you can take the daytime heat, climb and descend in a day. Its worth emphasizing that Mt Sinaiis not the highest mountain in Egypt, neighbouring Mount Catherine with its peak at 2,629 metres is.

www.doinitonline.com

The Murmansk Challenge

"Exploring our arctic regions can evoke assumptions of expense, precision preparation, and lengthy expeditions through snow-torn landscape utilising equipment reserved for the specialist. The reality is that Europes share of the Arctic Circle is quite accessible throughout the summer months.

The sun shines 24 hours each day, and temperatures can reach 12 degrees Celsius, meaning that the region can be reached even by the fool-hardy. From the people who brought you the Banjul Rally comes the spin-off event: introducing the Murmansk Rally, where amateur adventurists take to some of Europes most northerly and remote roads. Preparation can and that's not to say it should be kept to a minimum. In fact, the only necessary prep work is to obtain a Russian Visa if you're planning on going the full length. Our adventure starts a day behind the official start date (thus behind the rest of the teams). The major benefit to travel with other cars in a convoy of sorts is the security (or perceived security). Should you break down, friendly faces are available for help, moral support, and even a lift.

For us the first leg of the journey was actually from London to Prague by plane to pick up our chosen rally carone wed left with a mechanic six months earlier on an ill-fated rally attempt, buts that's another story. The K (1995) Reg Vauxhall Astra 1.8 diesel rolls out of a storage unit behind the airport, its red bonnet emerging from a black cloud of smoke churning in the confined space. Luckily, it started on the first go! We load up and within minutes head off on our arctic adventure. Of course, the first point of call is a petrol station, and not far off the Western suburb of Prague, we pull in for a quick service. We fill up the tank, check the oil, tire pressure, top up the water in the coolant-tank, pay the attendant, and hastily pull out of there, gaining speed on the single county road. Suddenly, we hear something flying off the car and see a flicker of something in the dark in the wing mirror. Quickly we realise what I had done: Id placed the cap for the coolant tank on the roof. Ops! Breaks are quickly applied, followed by hazard lights as myself and my co-driver jump out. Theres no cap in sight. It must have bounced off the tarmac into the ditch, or into the soft verge overgrown with vegetation. Wearing shorts, I wade through the stinging nettles along the roadside. After about 45 minutes of searching, enduring honks from the traffic flying by and narrowly avoiding being struck, we make the decision to cut our losses.

We leave, deciding to risk driving without the coolant cap and hoping all the liquid within doesnt evaporate before we can find a solution. Nervously driving along, keeping an eye on the temperature gauge, we drive through a town where we luckily find the Czech equivalent to a Halfords store that is able to sell us a replacement. Finally easing into our journey as we race (obeying the speed limits at all times) up north through the Czech Republic, conscious that the last ferry departing Poland for Sweden leaves in eight hours time. The journey is a pleasant one as the Czech motorway twists and turns, passing through the mountainous region of the Sudetenlands before the gradient levels out and we pass into Germany. Enjoying the renowned German motorways, we pass signs for Dresden and, a few hours later, Berlin. Hours of continual driving fly by and as the sun sets, we pass the standard blue EU sign welcoming us to Poland, it and the change of the roads surface serving as the only indication that weve passed into another country.

As darkness starts to set theres little to report back on the scenery here, so I just concentrate on getting us on the ship on time. We pull into the Polish ferry port in the town of Swinoujsci with 15 minutes to spare and purchase our tickets (approx. 170euro - one way for one car + two people). Finally we can relax: it has been an exhausting yet exhilarating day. The ferry crosses the Baltic Sea overnight, taking about eight hours. The ferries are very much what youd expect crossing the English Channel. Cabins are available, but as were on a tight budget we do what so many around us do: lie on the floor in our sleeping bags between a row of seats, crack open small cans of Czech beer, and toast our travel to date before trying to squeeze into an appropriate sleeping position and finally get some shut eye. The ships tanoi makes an announcement in a language I assume to be Swedish, with a further assumption that we have arrived as the next day beginsat 6 AM. We roll out of the ferryour hostel for the nightand drive out of port, map in hand, and ready for adventure.

George my co-driver (who hasnt driven a car in the ten years since he passed his testand I have no intention of changing that during this trip!) assures me he knows which direction to head and the number of the road we need to take. Relatively easily, he navigates us out of town (with the help of plentiful road signs) and onward towards Stockholm! The Swedish motorways are good to us. Theres no traffic, and the roads are well-surfaced with pleasant, green-rolling scenery broken only by a lake. Still a day behind any other British bangers, were loath to stop and actually experience any of this, our feet on the ground only to fill up at a petrol station, check the oil, water, and again almost driving off with the caps on the roof! Hours fly by as the motorway bypasses Stockholm and we see the city skyline, church spires piercing though the urbanity of it all. Here, we joke that its our last chance to come to our senses and board a low cast airline home. Hours of driving fly by, fuelled by determination to make good time along Swedens coastline at the Gulf of Bothnia. The view is almost uninterrupted forest, save for the road, which seems stark by comparison. More and more hours pass and the landscape seems the same as two hours previous.

The feeling of remoteness grows, as well as sadness that my first visit to Sweden is bound to be a fleeting trip confined to the drivers seatyet, in our minds, its crucial to reach another team before we press through to Russia. At these longitudes, the summer days are long with night barely managing to creep in for a few hours. This helps with visibility. As we head farther north, the days get longer until there is no darkness at all. Closer to evening, the repetitiveness of it all can cause fatigue. You're eager to pass something of significance: a border, a town, a river, a taller treeanything that will give some sense of the distance travelled. Finally, a sign for the Finnish border appears. We decide to end the long day on the Finnish side, near the town of Kemi. On the outskirts of the town, we find a small lay-by on the countryside. Its 4 AM, its light out, and weve just calculated that wed driven 21 continuous hours, interrupted only by the inevitable stop to refuel. Were too tired to fluff around with a tent, so we try to make ourselves comfortable in the car, amidst the mess and man-sweat and trace fumes of fuel. Its amazing how much mess can accumulate in a car carrying two men over a few days of driving! I decide to try and lie on the backseat, crawling into my sleeping bag, and wrapping a t-shirt around my eyes to block the sunlight.

My co-driver fends for himself in the front seats. Closing my eyes, the image of pristine, never-ending road seems burned to my retinas, yet I soon fall asleep. Four hours later, around 8:30 AM, were both unpleasantly awoken by flies and midges, which have no doubt been attracted by the smell emanating from the slightly-open car window. Hopping around any exposed body parts, I try in a half-sleep to wave them away, but they are a consent irritation, landing on my lip, my one exposed ear, really anywhere that isnt covered and a million places that are. Theres no option but to admit defeat, so we jump out of the car and prepare for another Le Mans-esque feat. Pesky flying beasties circle us, even beyond the cars walls, waiting for moments of absolute stillness to land on us again. Annoyed and grumpy, we jump into the car, open all the windows, and drive off, trusting the airflow to vanquish any leftover intruders. Our route takes us farther north, though Finlands northern wilderness.

Finland is know as the Land of a Thousand Lakes, and as our route meanders through the wilderness, we feel like we've seen most of them as the sun reflects off the surfaces of these enormous bodies of water through thin green blanketed with forestry. The road skirts the banks of these shores, marked with trees on the other side. Its as if the Finns who laid these roads wanted to treat drivers to a wonderful picturesque scene, maybe even reward them for making the effort to travel so far north and the enchanting idyll is certainly appreciated. Although not too dissimilar from what we've experienced throughout our drive through Sweden, the Land of a Thousand Lakes is somehow more rewarding: the trees seem thicker, more dense and green, and the lakes somehow more large and picturesque and the roads have an unvanquished feel about them.

Relaxed, nearly forgetting our rendezvous with other teams, we casually pull over every so often to stretch our legs, even managing a little toe-dip in a lake. The air is fresh and piney, inviting us to snap pictures at our leisure. Of course, some stops are necessary, for another kind of nature calls to my co-driver; he disappears to do what if many often ask bears do in the woods. I flick through the map and run my finger over our anticipated route along the page. A few minutes later, George comes running back from the sylvan roadside, waving invisible beasties from his body and shouting Go go go! They bite! Its like a scene from a comedy script. We set out as he explains how the swarm of midges and mosquitoes hid in the dark woods, waiting to ambush him at the sound of his belt unbuckling. Its hard to concentrate on driving through the laughter, as George laments that hes been bitten in the most sensitive areas. Mid-afternoon takes us to one of the highlights of our road trip: appearing suddenly out of the wilderness are signs for Santas workshop appear and finally a large sign welcoming us to the Arctic Circle, complete with a line drawn across the road depicting this invisible line of demarcation between the extremities of the midnights sun and the polar night. Taking the obligatory photos of the Arctic Circle sign a must and using our phones to confirm the GPS coordinates is fun, even if the large Santa souvenir shop and cafe ever-so-slightly cheapen the experience.

Deep in Finlands north-country, we slice through the forest on long, single-lane roads, continuing north when suddenly the road widens and the walls of trees, once inches from our windows seem now to be 100 feet away. Unsure what this Finnish road-feature means, I let off the accelerator and coast on the cars momentum. With an examination of the markings, it dawns on us that the massive longitudinal tarmac could be an emergency runway incorporated into the road, and why not if you've got the space! Coincidentally this is where we encounter our first reindeer. These massive, majestic creatures cross the roads calmly, almost oblivious to traffic. This is their land drivers will stop for them, passengers admiring the close encounters until the reindeer decide they've paused long enough, allowing traffic to resume. This also sparks up a discussion on the difference of elk, moose, and reindeer, which becomes a recurring theme in our conversations for the reminder of our trip (until finally settled by Wikipedia upon our return).

As we drive north, our trips progress is occasionally disrupted by a herd of reindeer walking across the road. The sun gleams much longer then were accustomed to, and as we progress to the Norwegian border again without customs or border processwe encounter a simple sign welcoming us to the Kingdom of Norway. The landscape changes subtly for a few miles, but after awhile, much of the forest disappears, giving way to hills, and then mountains. It isnt until late afternoon that we finally catch up to another banger team. After a few introductions and a sigh of relief that we have a ride back home should our car decided to give up, we decide that we can just about make the Russian boarder before it closes at 10 PM. We race through the relatively short Norwegian leg, stopping only to refuel (my co-driver eagerly reminding me not to place the fuel cap on the roof).

Indeed, we make it to the border in time. This is the first real border check, and were prepared for this to be a thorough one. Russia has a reputation for bureaucracy. This, compounded with the fact that old British bangers trying to enter Russian territory through a far off, lonesome outpost not being something the guards come across often, means were in for a proper going over. First we approach the Norwegian customs post, where they check our passports and happily wave us off. A brief, slow, and cautious drive over no-mans-land takes us toward what weve mentally prepared ourselves for. Its strange how simple things, such as foreign border guards, can get the butterflies flapping in ones stomach. Surely the worst thing they can do is deny you passage and send you backor could they arrest you for spying? Its too latewere committed! We exit the vehicles and enter the customs building, all our papers in hand (What papers?! See below!). One by one, we are inspected by the official.

He checks our passports and visas thoroughly before turning his attention our vehicular paper work. Opel? he asks in a firm way, I consider correcting him by explaining its a Vauxhall, but decide this isnt the best time. I approach and pass him the paper for the car. In broken English he explains that I need to fill out temporary import papers for the car and lends me a pen. He continues to explain that our vehicle can stay in Russia for up to six months, however I cannot leave without the car. No pressure, I suppose, as its only 15-years old and has a history of breaking down. I fill out the comprehensive form, and hand it over minutes later. He sighs, passing me a blank formId filled out a wrong field. Oops! Repeat the process, and Ive cocked it up again! Clearly, nerves and the fatigue of driving are catching up to me. On my third attempt, the official is satisfied.

During the paperwork formalities and stamping of passports, our vehicles are being searched by the border guards. Admirably these formalities aren't as difficult as I expected, and in a little under an hour we are allowed to continue on into the largest country in the world. By 10 PM, its been a long day, but we expect to be in the city of Murmansk in a few hours where wed finally be able to check in to a hotel and have a shower and treat ourselves to little comfort or so we thought. Indeed, Murmansk in only a few hours away from the border, providing you take the correct road and not the unfinished motorway which prematurely erected signs suggest is open. The final push to Murmansk is a demanding one. However, to call this the worst road Ive ever driven on is unjust, as the road has not actually yet been laid. Rather, its a very wide mud track, where land has been cleared in preparation for the road to go down. With no idea how far the track went on for, after a few hours, we are sure well reach our destination after the next gradual bend or hill in the clearing. Yet each horizon only exposes nothing new.

The sun disappears behind dark clouds, yet its still light out, which helps. In the early hours of the morning, tiredness really takes a toll as we struggle to concentrate on maneuvering the car though the path of least resistance, progressing truly at a snails pace as we avoid holes, bumps, and scraping the undercarriage. Each vibration and knock helps to prevent the danger of sleep kicking in. Its the fear of what damage we must be doing to our car that delivers true insomnia. A light fog lines our route and the surrounding moorland, almost like a smoke machines be left on, providing eerie feel to the drive. Hours later, we finally come across tarmac, and though it is completely riddled with pot-holes, we can finally increase our speed and make actual progress to Murmansk. The route takes us over an old, metal-framed bridge spanning a powerful body of water.

As we near the other side, Murmansk comes into sight. This city, home to some 300,000 people, is an architecturally interesting place. Surrounded by forested hills on one side and heavily industrialised on the water-front with a sea port, the city is positioned along a wide sea inlet on the bay, some 12 km inland from the Barents Sea. The horizon holds a truly stark contrast of naturally lovely landscapes and large, grey, Soviet-era buildings. Theres little in the way of touristy stuff to see and do in Murmansk, but wandering through the city is an experience itself. Crossing large boulevards, walking past massive concrete structures with facades depicting the classic communist hammer and sickle is arresting. Some of these buildings are clearly in a severe state of disrepair, and as with so many Russian stereotypes, statues of Lenin aren't difficult to find.

When the sun shines, its surprising how many different shades of grey are noticeable around the city. I begin to feel strangely attracted to this domineering city, like a flower blooming amidst this vast concrete jungle. There is a museum for those interested in the regions art, history, or proud shipping and naval heritage. A worthy place to visit is the nuclear icebreaker docked nearby, where guided tours take you through the worlds first nuclear-powered surface ship. Overlooking much of the city is the Alyosha Statue, a massive 30-meter tall statute of a soldier, which is accessible by car. Accommodation in Murmansk is not really tailored for those on a shoestring budget, so do not expect hostels or bunk houses. Instead, there are hotels which cater to business men.

Nevertheless, you can still find decent offers, like the city's Park Inn. If you're after a pub, you may struggle a bit. That's not to say there aren't any just that they're not easy amidst the sea of grey communist exteriors. Its easy to mistake the local pub for just another housing block. But its fun to get lost in the town and to ask locals to point you in the right direction. The younger people here can be very friendly and eager to practice their English. After a short conversation, they're happy to help, suggesting the best places in town. 

Crossing the Makgadikgadi Pans in a home-made wooden go-kart

Crossing the Makgadikgadi Pans in a home-made wooden go-kart By Ben Freeth Like all the best expedition concepts, this was an easy one! My young sons, Joshua (12) and Stephen (10) decided to make a go-kart that would sail and could be used on an expedition to raise funds for the Mike Campbell Foundation.

So, with some cheap Zimbabwe pine, a few tools and some bicycle wheels, we made the vessel. On a windy Sunday, we found an empty car park in Harare and sailed it up and down the tar using a pre-1980 Optimist dinghy sail that had proved its worth in innumerable regattas. The vessel went at great speed and it was rather fun but we all felt that the expedition had to be over more than a car park! We looked at a map and discussed the possibility of the Makgadikgadi salt pans located in northeastern Botswana, southeast of the world renowned Okavango Delta. Surrounded by the Kalahari Desert, the Makgadikgadi is technically not a single pan but many pans with sandy desert in between.

They didn't look too big on our little map, but we were unsure how our rather holey made in Rhodesia sail would stand up to a howling August wind in that unforgiving wasteland southwest of Zimbabwe. It was then that we hit on the idea of powering the go-kart with a kite. It would obviate the inevitable sore heads from the low swinging boom that scythed across the deck - and it would give a lot more room for the three of us to perch on our little craft. We made a few successful wheel modifications using extra bicycle wheels and car inner tubes that would allow our weight to be displaced over the thin salt crust of the pans. Then, after some rather hairy self-taught kite flying trials at home and on the beaches of Mozambique, during which we became prone to levitating at considerable heights, we felt we were ready.

The Meteorological Department in Gaborone, the capital of Botswana, was very efficient and gave us all the historical wind records showing the direction and wind speed in August. We set off, confident that we would storm across the pans with the galloping fury of being harnessed to a span of the areas famed wildebeest and zebra that range across the area in Africa's second largest wildlife migration. Unfortunately our back-up team was not up to full strength. I discovered that my little daughter Anna's passport had expired and we could not get a new one in time. So my wife, Laura, opted to stay behind with Anna while Granny Claire, my mother, who was out on holiday from England, would do the honours of sending us off and hopefully! receiving us at our intended destination. Day 1 We arrived at Sowa pan and were amazed it its immensity. It stretched out like a great vast ocean before us flat, featureless and, like the sea, clearly unforgiving.

There was very little wind but before my last sip of tea, made on a fire the boys had got going from the reflector of my torch, Josh said, Lets go! We assembled the go-kart, tied down our 50 litres of water and some other scant essentials, and made sure the map, GPS and compass were safely on board. Now the go-kart, which wed named the Mike Campbell dune dancer to raise funds for the Mike Campbell Foundation, was ready. There was only a slight wind, but we got the five-metre arching span of the kite pumped up and launched . and then we were away. It was high drama sailing out to Kukonje Island in the sun, dust and wind. At times we were going faster than the boys could run after they had launched the kite. With the wind behind us we had to use our rudimentary brake system copied from a traditional ox wagon, to stop the go-kart from catching up with the kite which was twirling ahead in fierce figure of eight loops. The setting sun cast dappled light across the pan and the dusty salt billowed behind us as we careered along in a westerly direction.

The African stars are famed throughout the world but out there on a moonless, dry Kalahari winters night, the stars are at their most magnificent. To lighten our load we did not bring a tent so we camped out under those stars - close to Kukonje Island. Lying on my back in my sleeping bag on the surface of that vast pan and looking upwards with my binoculars, I counted about 150 stars just within the four imaginary lines that enclose the constellation of the Southern Cross. It made us feel very insignificant. Beyond, in an uninterrupted view that stretched to every horizon, there was no light, nor any sign of man. We were nestled in the folds of the unending silence, completely alone. I spent many hours caught up in the excitement of it all, looking up into the vast and vaulting heavens, watching the shooting stars. Day 2 The wind took a while to pipe up next morning and so we did not get going until late. Eventually we were off on a reach, battling to get the dune dancer really singing because the wind was not strong enough and the direction was not ideal. Soon the wind dropped completely. We stopped and sheltered from the intense rays of the sun under the scant shade of the kite while we ate lunch.

Our exhilaration ebbed considerably as we discussed the possibility of pushing our craft westwards so as not to waste time. The lifeless pans are no place to linger. I attached a bridle rope to the steering axle and strode out in front while the boys pushed on from behind. We crunched over the surface of the pan for the rest of the day, panting and sweating profusely with the exertion of heaving our craft along. It was not unlike a great snow field where the surface has been melted by the sun and then frozen to form a crust that is broken with every foot fall. Then in the distance we saw what looked like an abandoned vehicle out in the echoing loneliness. Inching forward, we were drawn towards it, fascinated by something that broke the bleak, barren profile of the flat expanse. As we drew closer, we realized it was a rock but it was no less intriguing on reaching it to see that other creatures had also discovered it, as if drawn by its magnetism.

At its base we found owl droppings, a few feathers and faded springbok spoor On and on we trudged, becoming one with the empty reaches of salt and sky. We passed the bleached remains of a zebra skull and then a little further on a horn bills skull and leg bones. Stephen found a fossilised grasshopper and then an entire bird a starling I think desiccated and white. This place is scary, he said. As the sun dropped towards the rim of the horizon, we walked on into its receding rays. Light shone through multiple holes in the pans crust where it had lifted from the mud. It was as if the whole surface had come alive with tiny illuminated subterranean passageways of golden light and shadow beneath our feet. Checking our bearings, we headed for another rock and reached it just before dusk. This one was about 20 feet across and a foot and a half high. It was somehow comforting to camp beside such a solid, ancient feature. I introduced the boys to savory pancakes a great meal when water is scarce. It was cold and we snuggled into our sleeping bags, thankful to lie down and sleep after a long and wearying day. The boys commented that it was the first night that they had ever slept out in the bush without a campfire for there was nothing remotely suitable for kindling in sight. The GPS indicated that we had another 26 kilometres to go before we reached Kubu island. Lets get going early, Josh said, even if there is no wind. Day 3 Somewhere close to the rock a cricket started to sing. It didnt continue for long, but it was amazing to hear the sound of a living creature in that place of emptiness and death. We thought it must be pleased to have company at its lonely island.

After a little while it stopped and then some time later started again, only to fall silent soon afterwards. After a cup of sweet black tea we headed off. With each step forward, cricket rock gradually disappeared behind us and once more we were all alone a tiny little speck of a vehicle in the great white sea, the only object breaking the surface. It was breathlessly still but at last we felt a slight breeze spring up and so got the kite ready only to have the wind disappear again. In the still, early morning our long shadows stretched far ahead, like a path. They were the only point of reference in that barren, empty wasteland with its unbroken horizon. As we pushed on, our shadows marched in front of us then moved slowly around to our left until, as the day wore on, they were finally behind us. We felt like three sundials telling the time to the surrounding empty white infinity. There is a certain discipline about moving onwards towards nothing.

The wheels turn around and around, while your tracks stretch back towards the starting point. After a while all conversation stopped as we focused on pushing, placing one foot on in front of the next into the great unchanging beyond. To relieve the monotony and keep up morale, we decided to break up the journey and stop for five minutes every two and a half kilometers to rehydrate. After a slow pushing plod of nearly five hours, Stephen, always scanning ahead, sighted an island swimming on the horizon. There was great excitement and we steered for it, thankful to have something tangible to aim towards. It seemed to be floating above the surface of a still sea which reflected its shape in the glassy water. At noon we finally came upon the low, barren island which was about 40 metres in diameter. Strewn about were thousands of carcasses of dead flamingos, mostly juveniles. They looked like fossilized dinosaurs bleaching in the sun. We moved on. The surface was harder now, without the crunching crust. Do you want to ride on the dune dancer? I asked Stephen. No, I will carry on pushing, he said wearily, although I could see he was getting tired. I would prefer to push rather than pull, I said.

Can you steer us on the right compass bearing? He assented and we pushed on, ever westwards, towards the unbroken horizon until dead flamingo island disappeared behind us and we were all alone again. I found it easier to push, and with the hard surface we started to make better time. The crust was only a few millimetres thick and our feet slipped periodically on the mud underneath. It was a clear that a vehicle would immediately be bogged down if it tried to cross this section of the pan. Scattered here and there on the surface were unhatched flamingo eggs. At one of our stops I took out the ginger bread that Laura had made for the trip. It was sticky and moist and quite warm from the unrelenting heat that was making us sweat so profusely. We all agreed it was the best ginger bread that we had ever eaten. Subsequently Josh declared that Everything we ate out there was the best food I have ever tasted! Eventually, with 16 kilometres of pushing still stretching out before us, a small, dark island appeared directly ahead. We stood up on the wheel arches like meerkats in the early morning sun, craning our necks and peering through the binoculars.

This put a fresh spring into our mechanical steps and we moved forward with a new surge of speed. Slowly, ever so slowly, the island came closer, its floating form reflecting itself in the glassy mirage. Gradually, imperceptibly, hour by hour, the diameter of the reflection decreased until eventually the island settled on the surface and through the binoculars we could see trees and rocky features punctuating the skyline. Finally the landscape took on the appearance of a vast expanse of sea at low tide, with Kubu Island, like Robinson Crusoes island, devoid of people but with signs of life. We noticed a dry stone wall and clambered up to it. Stretching for several hundred metres, it is thought to be an outpost of the Zimbabwe complex of enclosures and it was eerie to think that people had once lived in this place. We discovered porcupine spoor, then a raven greeted us.

Look, two people, Josh said. We stared at the strangers through the binoculars and, as they drew closer, I walked out to meet them. Hello Ben, the man said, are you looking for Claire? We realised then that we completed our crossing of the pan and that in this weird place with its ancient ruins and gnarled, other worldly baobab trees - different to any baobabs I have seen before we were back in civilisation! It was clear the with the lack of wind that there was no time to journey on to Chapmans baobab to the northwest as planned, but decided it was a challenge we could possibly take up another time. With special thanks to Granny Claire who met us at the end after many, many hours of driving over the dusty, trackless and dangerous wastes of the Makgadikgadi. And thank you to all those who donated towards supporting the Mike Campbell Foundation on this expedition, we are most grateful for your support. Our target was 10,000 and the amount raised so far is 5,125.32, which is very encouraging.

If anyone else would like to contribute towards the expedition fundraiser, please go the Just Giving website, its very quick and easy. www.justgiving.com/Mike-Campbell-Foundation The Mike Campbell Foundation is a charity working towards the restoration of the Rule of Law in Zimbabwe. It is committed to seeking redress for the gross human rights violations committed against some of the now poorest and most vulnerable people in the southern African region. We will continue to strain forward towards the goal. Ben BEN FREETH E-mail: freeth@bsatt.com Mobile: +263 773 929 138 (Zimbabwe) "

Desert Expedition Medicine Course

This is about my exciting experience in the Namib desert, where we practiced desert expedition medicine course. I am a Paediatrician by profession and currently working in Great Ormond Street Hospital as part of my paediatric rotation. But expedition and wilderness medicine is my hobby. I participated in several high altitude expeditions in the Himalayas and attended the jungle expedition medicine course in Costa Rica in 2011.

Desert Medicine Course, Namibia June 2012. 15th June, Friday: I boarded BA flight to Frankfurt from Heathrow terminal 5. The flight was at 4 pm. It was one and half hour journey. There was extensive security check before boarding the Air Namibia flight to Windhoek. The flight to Windhoek started at about 8 pm. Dinner was served quite late, especially my vegetarian dinner; Video was not working. There were many German tourists in the flight. My row was empty. I had a quiet and refreshing sleep. Breakfast was served an hour before landing. 16th June, Saturday: The flight landed at Windhoek at 4:30 am. There was a queue at immigration counter.

But it was smooth. The immigration officer asked my departure date, and then allowed me to go. I exchanged US dollar for Namibian currency. I got 610 Namibian currencies for 80 US dollars. The Windhoek airport was small, only a few planes standing in the airport. Outside temperature was 2 degree C. The sky was clear, sandy terrain, mild wind and shrubs here and there. I took a taxi to Kalahari Sand Hotel. The speed of taxi from airport to hotel was average 120 kmph. At one point, another taxi crossed my taxi with a speed of 140 kmph. It was a smooth highway, desert on either side with shrubs and bushes. There were alert signals on the road as wild animals cross the highway. I reached hotel by 6 am. Taxi fare was 180 NC, although I was told to pay 280 NC at the airport. I reported at the hotel counter and collected my keys to my room on 10th floor, 1002; had a cup of tea, went to toilet, went to have breakfast at ground-floor, then went to sleep. In the afternoon, I unpacked and then repacked my expedition kit.

I went to the local supermarket in the afternoon, a 10 minutes walk. Came back to hotel; had my dinner and then watched a movie on TV Eagle; the story of a Roman Legionnaire. I called Heikki at night. We attended the jungle medicine course in Costa Rica together. He just finished the Wild Medicine Course. 17th June, Sunday Today, meeting with other members at 10:45 in the hotel lobby I had my breakfast with Heikki and paid hotel bill. Saunders, Martin, Heikki, Sundeep and Catherine arrived. I also met Luke from Devon. He is a GP and just completed the Wild Medicine Course. He was not going to attend the Desert medicine Course. He was going back to UK. Clare from London and Estera from Australia arrived. Keletso Nyathi, the cheerful Zimbabowan doctor also arrived. His wife Barbara came to say goodbye. Journey started at 1 pm a 5 hours journey in a caravan cum bus. Korbus joined our team in the midway. He is one of our instructors. A trawler was also picked up with all our ration and water. The journey went along the National Highway. We saw baboons and gazels on country side. Our caravan went through wide valleys, dry terrain, meadows, rocky hills and mountains. We reached our campsite after sunset.

It was at the foot of a rocky hill. Our tents were erected; makeshift toilet and kitchen were built. It was pitch darkness and pin drop silence under the vastness of starry sky. The sky was full of unknown starts and cosmos it was southern hemisphere. The temperature was dropping rapidly after sunset. Within hours it was shivering cold. We had our dinner in the heat of camp-fire, then the introduction phase. Dr Sundeep Dhillon, our chief instructor, went through our plan for next few days. I started shivering; went to my tent to change to warm cloths and entered my sleeping bag. Although woke up several times, I had a refreshing sleep. 18th June, Monday I woke up early in the morning, before sunrise. I went to climb the rocky hill to view our camp from height and watch the sun rise; came down to the camp to have warm breakfast. Hiking started through dry grassland. We saw ostrich and Kudu on our way. We saw snake trail on sand and a dwarf tree with leaves having medicinal value. We then crossed a rocky hill and stopped under the shade of trees for GPS training and how to find direction in the wilderness using compass or even using shadow or wrist watch in the absence of a compass. We then trekked to the Ugap river valley dry sandy river bed, water flows under the sand. Water level is visible when it rains.

Green vegetation along the river bed was seen due to the abundance of underground water. It was a favourite place for wild elephants to roam. Water purification procedure using different gadgets and techniques was taught by Sundeep and Korbus. Faan drove the van from base-camp onto the river bed through a different route. Folding tables and chairs were opened and ready lunch was served pasta, cheese, bread, oranges, fruit juice (meat for others as I am a vegetarian). After lunch, we discussed theoretical aspects of medical emergencies in desert, dos and donts in the wilderness etc. Faan and Korbus told about their experience with difficult situations story about a trainee having shoulder dislocation and how some trainees accidentally freed a captive snake. The lunch camp was dismantled. We returned to base camp using GPS. We crossed green vegetation and shrubs on Ugap river valley. There was wild elephant dung everywhere. We crossed rocky hills and vast open terrain. In the camp, wilderness medical kit demonstration was performed by Dr Dhillon. He also shared his personal experience. We also discussed about our own personal experience. Stopping haemorrhage is the priority before airway in the wilderness. He also demonstrated different items used by military doctors.

After the lecture, we went for a mini hiking around the base camp. We went into the surrounding hills. We enjoyed sunset from hill top. There were abundance black rocks with metallic tone scattered within the background of brown hills and landscape. They looked quite unusual. They were possibly from asteroid hitting the earth surface. Keletso told us about the White Lady Cave; There was painting of a white lady was discovered in one of the hidden caves. It was very ancient and mysterious. The white lady was surrounded by people painted in black. It was a mystery who this white lady was whether it was an alien or a Shaman among local tribes. We came back to our camp; chatted for an hour. Heikki was not around. We found him in his tent. Dinner was served. During and after dinner, there was a long discussion on aliens, adventure movies, about our jobs etc. After dinner, there was a lecture by Dr Dhillon using slide projection on infectious diseases in tropic. Images were projected on the back of our trawler. It was pitch darkness around and very exciting. It was an interactive lecture. It was only 8.30 pm, looked like midnight. The sky was full of unknown stares and constellation. I just kept staring at the beautiful sky for hours standing alone in the darkness. Pin drop silence in the valley. I saw shooting stars flying across. 19th June, Tuesday I woke up by 5.45 am. After toilet, went out to explore.

I went to the other side of the rocky hills behind our camp. I sat on a rock to start writing. Splint and carrying device demonstration was done by Dr Dhillon. After breakfast, we started our days hiking. It was a more treacherous journey. We saw baboons sitting on hill tops. We passed through mountain and valleys, uphill and downhill and through cliffs. There were screaming alerts of baboons. In a valley we discovered a skull of an unknown carnivore with big incisors, like a carnivore or a sabre tooth tiger and also herbivorous teeth. It later came out to be a skull of a baboon, possibly hunted by a leopard. We had to cross a cliff less than one foot wide. It was difficult to cross with my back-pack. Heikki helped me to cross. We went further down in another valley.

There was a field lecture on radio-communication by Dr Dhillon. We were divided into two groups to practice radio-communication with each other. My shoe was hurting. I was getting slow. We saw pug mark of a leopard. A whole family of baboons were watching us from the hills. We crossed wide valleys and hills. It was a dry land, resting sometimes. We walked for hours through the dry land before reaching the dry Ugap river valley with green vegetation around. After crossing the green lustre, we reached the sandy river bed. Faan already brought the caravan and opened the folding chairs and tables and prepared the makeshift lunch camp. Before our lunch, we practiced fire lighting; we used techniques like flint technique, lens, and bushmans technique. I had to open my shoes and walked bare footed as my shoe was hurting. After lunch, there was demonstration of satellite phone.

The temporary camp was dismantled. We started walking using GPS towards our base camp. After dinner, we started chatting around camp fire. It was dark with the sun set. It was freezing cold. We had a mini lecture on star gazing. It was comfortable only within the rim of heat around the camp fire. We were getting closer as the temperature was dropping further. I remember the constellation of Scorpio. There were other constellations which I cant remember now. It was an amazing night.

20th June, Wednesday

There were snake and scorpion demonstration after brake-fast. The maximum people dying from snake bite in southern Africa were due to the bite of Puff Adder which has got cyto-toxic venom. The Horned Adder was haemotoxic. It was only a foot long and brown coloured. The Cape Cobra was about 4 feet long with golden yellow colour. The spitting cobra was also about 4 feet long with alternate black and white stripes. Two scorpions were demonstrated. One was looking awful covered with reddish hair and dangerous looking sting at the end. Its toxin was fatal, people die immediately. The other scorpion, although venomous, was looking less awful. Clare and then I picked up the second scorpion to play with. It behaved appropriately, crawling on our hands. We were told not to touch the other scorpion as it could be fatal.

We then played with the python on our shoulder. We had photo sessions with it. Both the puff Adder and the horned Adder, when released, decided to come towards me. I was bit worried when the puff Adder was crawling towards me and I jumped to a safer distance. With the horned Adder, I was a bit bold. I stood quite to see what happens. I came towards me and made a coil to rest under my shade. There was demonstration of milking venom from horned Adder and its effect on blood. Blood was drawn from a vein of Dr Dhillon and poured into two different containers. Then the milked poison was added to one container. After half an hour, the container without poison was found to have the clotted blood, where as the container with venom, the blood was found to be liquid still. Our base camp was dismantled. Now onwards we would hike through desert, halt at night in the open desert and hike further next day. We started our journey; came down to Ugap river valley, crossed the green lustre of the river valley and entered into a jungle of thorny plant. We were careful about wild elephants. There was elephant dung everywhere. As we approached, we noted commotion into the jungle - one huge sized Kudu and its calf came running out of it and climbed the hill next to the jungle and disappeared. It was not easy to move through the thorny bush land. We all started bleeding from thorn injury. We then started climbing the hill. In the middle of the hill, in the shadow, we stopped for a break. It was a safe place with full view of the valley. After break, we started climbing the hill again and went to the other side. It was like a plateau of dry land and rocks with minimum vegetation.

The sun was getting hotter. We set our GPS co-ordinations We came down the plateau, entered another dry river bed next to a mountain range. We saw plenty of foot print of wild animals on the sandy river bed. It was quite an eerie feeling there. On the right hand side, there was the mountain range and on the left, the high land. The dry river bed was in between. We stopped for a while to set up our GPS co-ordination and then started again. After crossing the terrain we reached an open stretch of vast rugged landscape. There were bushes scattered within the landscape. The leaves were long and slender and thick. They are called poison bush, as the secretions from the leaves are deadly. The juicy secretions could burn the skin or even cause corrosion of the oesophagus if ingested. All animals except the rhinos avoid these bushes. Only rhinos are able to digest the leaves. We walked through the vast open landscape for another 2 hours before reaching our designated latitude and longitude. Faan already drove through this place left our ration and drinking water hiding behind a poison bush. It was not difficult to find out as we were in a group walking in a straight line vertical to the direction of walk. The makeshift camp will be here. We choose a place behind another poison bush, as it would cover our back from most of the wild animals. There were more bushes and dry vegetation scattered in that area.

After this, there was an open stretch of dry grass-land. We saw some ostriches grazing in that grassland. We put our rucksacks down. Faan was called over the radio. He arrived in his caravan. There was demonstration of fixing a broken caravan in the middle of wilderness; the rear wheel of the van was lifted using a jack, a coil of rope was wrapped around the wheel and then the rope was pulled heavily by all of us to roll the lifted wheel. As the wheel started to roll, the engine started automatically. This is useful in a situation where the engine ignition was not possible due to mechanical failure. Camp setting was started. Jobs were distributed amongst us. Heikki and I wend to dig toilets behind another bush, about 30 metres from our campsite. The toilet was dug and toilet codes were explained to everyone. The sun was set in the horizon. The cold was creeping in the valley along with the setting darkness. Again, we, few creatures from other parts of the world, were spending another night in the middle of desert vastness under the vastness of starry sky. It was a different feeling, a feeling of humbleness. The vastness of dark sky and the vastness of desert made us feel how small we were compared to the universe. Humble dinner was prepared with tinned food, warmed on our campfire.

After dinner, we discussed our next days plan and gossiped for a while. As my digital camera running out of battery, I had to take snaps using my manual camera. Now it was time to prepare for sleep. There was no tent. We had to sleep under the open sky. I opened my polythene sheet, sleeping bag and orange coloured survival bag. I purchased the survival bag before my jungle expedition in Costa Rica in 2011 where it was hardly used. It would be a difficult night to spend in the freezing cold, the temperature dropping every minute. I wrapped up myself with all sorts of warm cloths I had, entered my sleeping bag which was already kept within the survival bag on the polythene sheet. It was really difficult to fall asleep. It was uncomfortable not only in the openness, but also a feeling of insecurity and eeriness. I am sure other also had a similar feeling except Heikki. Heikki was sleeping not far from me and within minutes I heard his snoring, which, in the middle of night could be mistaken as the roaring of a lion. 21st June, Thursday I woke up in the morning with the sun rise. The sleep was not very deep at the beginning but had a better sleep early in the morning. My survival bag was wet. The sleeping bag and the liner were also moist but less moist as within the survival bag. Fire was lighted again with dry wood. Morning tea was prepared as well as the breakfast with corn flakes, milk powder, sugar and hot water on mess tins. We were ready for the days hiking. The camp was dismantled. Make-shift toilets were covered with sand. We started our journey through the dry valley.

We crossed a dry grass-land to reach the mountain range. We crossed the mountain to reach the valley on the other side. It was again a dry land with dry grass and shrubs. This valley was known to be the grazing land of rhinos and elephants. We looked for any movement from the mountain top for any movement and descended into the valley only when were safe. Elephants were unable to chase uphill. But the story is different for rhinos. They are more dangerous as they can chase up hills. Rhinos can cover 60 km in a single night. We came down into the valley. It was a sandy terrain. The land was filled with all sorts of animal foot-prints. Korbus taught us how to track animal foot-prints. Best time for tracking is either in the morning or in the afternoon when sun is in the horizon. That helps to see the animal tracks much clearer as the shadow is elongated. The factors which affect the tracking include sunlight, wind, and direction of food source, shade etc. Rhinos have poor vision but excellent smell and hearing. That is why the way to survive if a rhino is chasing is to lie down in the ground rather than running.

Bush people are the best people to track wild animals. Korbus and Faan worked in the black rhino project, protecting the wild rhinos. They taught us how to track rhinos two persons needed for tracking; first person would look for rhino foot-prints and mark them while the second person would stand behind and look for possible dangers. Tracking the poachers is different from tracking wild animals. 3 persons needed for tracking poachers like the shape of V. The first and third persons look around for possible dangers while the second person tracks foot-prints. While tracking through grass-lands, look for bent grasses for the direction of animal movement. Tracking is very difficult in rocky ground. Cheetahs usually have marks of nails in front of their pug-marks as they cannot retract theirs nails whereas a leopard foot-print doesnt have marks of nail in-front of it. Elephant foot-prints have corrugated lines radiating from the centre resembling the corrugated skin underneath. Ostrich foot print has marks of a single nail in front of it. Ostrich kicks forward while running which can kill even a lion. White excreta belong to hyenas as they can crush bones. Baboon marks resemble like the palms of a human baby on sand. The big 5 in the desert are elephants, rhinos, lions, cheetahs and leopards.

We crossed the valley, looking carefully for wild animals. Generally they avoid human beings unless rabid. We started climbing the next mountain range; stopped for a while for little break under the shade of a tree to eat dry fruits and water. There was a tree up in the mountain with hugely wide trunk known as Moringa tree. We started climbing again to reach another valley filled with rocks and dry shrubs. There was another mountain range after the valley; we started climbing using our compass; the top was grassy which looked like a green road from a distance, from previous mountain range. We started climbing down a rocky cliff with mountain on either side. This was actually a dry waterfall. The surface was very very uneven, filled with boulders and rocks; very dangerous to climb down. We descended into a wide sandy valley. The sun was really getting hot; the weather getting dry. We walked for an hour through the sandy terrain.

There was a Bushmens village at a distance. We found few scattered trees after an hour with lots of dry elephant dung scattered. We decided to rest under a tree. We had to be careful as it was a favourite place for ticks. Fire was lighted with dry wood to prepare hot tea. After resting a while Martin and I went to the nearby hill top after walking about 20 minutes. We called Faan over radio to ask about the GPS co-ordination of our destination; then came back to our temporary camp. We started our journey again using our GPS. It was again walking through the sandy terrain. We discovered Faan hiding behind a boulder on nearby hill top. The terrain was getting hotter. There was another mountain range in front of us. We discussed whether to go around or to cross the mountain. We all agreed to go across. It was rocky uphill with dry shrubs and bushes.

There was danger of stepping on snakes. We found another valley after reaching the top. Unlike the previous valley, it was a dry grass land. From the hill top we found Faan crossing the valley. He already left our companion and crossed the mountain through some short-cut. The valley was about 500 metres wide. There were two parallel mountain ranges on the other side of the valley. We saw Faan disappearing in between the two. We came down and walked through the dry valley with bushes and shrubs here and there. Korbus stopped us after we crossed the valley. He arranged a funny game to spit dry Kudu droppings as far as we could; he reassured that the droppings were harm less, as made up of grass only and being sterile in the desert heat. He himself did the first attempt to reassure us. I ranked second. After rest for a while, we started again through the narrow valley in between two parallel mountain ranges. We discovered the tyre markings of Faans caravan on the ground.

The tyre marks went around the second mountain range. In the middle of the valley we debated whether to cross the second mountain range or to go around it. Ultimately the decision was to go around the valley. Martin and were at the front guided by our GPS. We walked another hour through dry sandy terrain to reach the other side of the second mountain range. Although we were blindly following the tyre marks, Martin noticed that the GPS was pointing towards left into the grassland away from the direction of the tyre markings our water and other items were hidden behind a bush. After walking another 10 metres we discovered the place. We called other members. We discovered a nearby place without any grass. It was a favourite place for zebras to roll over and relax. Although it was a good place for camp fire, there was risk of tick-bites.

Anyway, fire wood was collected to light camp fire. Chris and I went to dig toilet holes behind another bush. Faan taught us how to measure distance in the wilderness. Looking from high to low ground, the distance seems to be increased; whereas the reverse happens, i.e., the distance seems to be decreased while looking from low to high ground. Sundeep taught us how to measure approximate sun set timing each finger equals approximately 15 minutes. We all opened out rucksack. It was the second night in wilderness. Sander and Chris discovered the carcass of a hunted springbok behind a tree just 20 metres away from our camp site. It was a dried up carcass. It was possibly hunted by a leopard or a cheetah. The neck was fractured and bent backwards, the hind legs were torn away. Abdomen was opened and eaten up to the chest. It was also eaten up by hyenas and jackals. It was a dangerous place for night halt, but we had no other choice. Estera and Claire began to cook tinned sweet-corn, packets of beans and beet-roots, noodles, roasted nuts and raisins and biscuits. After dinner, Sundeep arranged infectious disease quiz. Weather was getting cold very rapidly. Just outside the rim of fire, it was freezing cold.

We prepared our sleeping places. Chilling cold wind was entering the valley through a cliff of the surrounding mountain. Korbus reassured that the wind will stop blowing after sometime which actually happened. It would be the last night in the wilderness. No one was willing to enter the sleeping bag. Also there was a hidden fear of wild creatures roaming around. We already heard howling of a baboon from the mountain. The carcass of the springbok was lying very close to our camp. After infectious disease quiz, we started another quiz on our knowledge of geography. Everyone would have to name a geographical place, city, ocean, river or mountain and the next person would name another one starting with the finishing letter. It was very interesting, continued for next 2 hours. We discovered that most of the places were ending with a, d, n, e, i or y. Very minimal number of names were ending with p or b. The game continued until 22.15.

The fire started to cool down. It was deeply silent valley; starry sky above, darkness outside the rim of fire. Howling of baboon reminded about the presence of wild creatures, chilling cold wind, carcass of the dead springbok all made that night an unusually eerie night and quite uncomfortable. I opened up my emergency shelter sheet. After clearing the ground with shovel, I spread it on the ground. It was secured from blowing wind with rocks. I opened my emergency shelter bag and entered within it with my sleeping bag. This was done lighting my head torch next to a bush. Keletso was sleeping on the other side of the bush. Claire moved away from her original position. I looked into the starry sky and very soon went into deep sleep, forgetting the eerie environment we were staying. 22nd June, Friday I woke up early in the morning. The head end of the sleeping bag was outside the survival bag and was completely wet with dewdrops. I fall asleep again. I woke up again when the eastern sky was getting red and stars were fading.

It was freezing cold. I came out of my sleeping and survival bad and went to the fire. Heikki, Estera and Sundeep were already there and lighted up the fire. Others also came soon. Boiled water was served to prepare black tea; then breakfast with porridge, sugar and milk powder in hot water for breakfast. It was already 8 am. Heikki reminded that the starting time would be 8.20. I packed up my rucksack quickly and went behind a bush for natures call. I heard Faan was driving the caravan towards our camp. After toilet, I covered the pit with sand and handed the shovel to Clifton. I lost my compass in hurry, although I had another spared one. I came back to the camp site. Everyone was ready to move. I went back again to look for my lost compass. Surprisingly the terrain was so confusing that I was totally confused where I went for toilet. Hiking was started again.

It was 8.30 am; sunny day. We walked through the sandy valley for an hour. We were following the tyre marks. I was walking faster than others. Korbus called me from behind; asked for a toilet roll and disappeared behind a bush. We started walking again. We stopped after 100 metres. Korbus was calling us from behind, giving us hand signal asking us to return quickly as someone was bitten by a snake. Claire and I ran immediately. Heikki was lying behind a bush. Others also arrived soon. It was a scenario on medical emergency. It was a snake bite over right leg. Right leg was exposed, bandaged, immobilized using a splint. Heikki was laid on the ground, log-rolled over a mattress. 6 people would carry the casualty to our van, waiting about 500 metres away. We halted several times to exchange hands or change sides. Within half an hour, we reached our van. Apparently, the wheels were stuck into the sand and engine was not starting. The rear left wheel was elevated using a jack. The wheel was made to roll using a flat rope and by pulling. The engine was started again. Champagne was served. It was the end of our strenuous training. Now it was the time to return to civilization. Our rucksacks were loaded into the caravan; we also boarded. Faan started driving. We drove past the sandy valley, rocky landscape, dry grasslands and vast landscape. It took nearly 2 hours to drive past the desert. The caravan was driving at the speed of 80 kmph. We saw few springboks and a lone giraffe on our way. We also drove past grazing goats of local Bushmen. Their guard dogs were chasing our van.

After nearly 2 hours drive, we reached the main highway. The van stopped for a while at a petrol station and for refreshment. We already had our packed lunch in our caravan sandwich, apple, and chocolate and fruit juices, all labelled from South Africa. We all fall asleep in our long journey. We started at about 10.30. By 4 pm, after more than 5 hours drive at the speed of 80 kmph, we reached our destination, a place to stay overnight near civilization Okahandza guest house, at the outskirt of Windhoek, about 100 km from Windhoek. We crossed more than 400 km to reach civilization. We unloaded our luggage. It was a natural environment within the desert. It was a single storied lodge.

There were few scattered trees with wild birds chirping, African arts at the entrance. We went to the reception to collect our room keys. Cherry wine was served in small glasses. Chris and I shared a room. I unpacked my entire luggage from my rucksack and went for shower. At 6 pm, we all met at the bar. I had coke, others had wine. Claire sponsored drinks for us. We went to the dining room for dinner. My starter was with a mushroom preparation and main course was with Pasta. It was getting cold again although there was a burner in the dining hall. We had gossips and photo sessions in between our dinner.

After dinner I went to my room, others went to the bar. Chris came back after sometime as the bar was closed. 23rd June, Saturday I woke up at 5.30 am; went out of the room with a cup of tea. Sundeep was going towards dining room. I called Sundeep in our room and offered a cup of coffee. Estera was ready to leave. We all went to the dining room for breakfast. Estera left in a hired car. We all packed our luggage and came to the reception area after an hour. We had another photo session. We loaded our luggage in the van. Our journey started towards Windhoek; reached Kalahari Sand hotel by about 11.30. Barbara was waiting for Keletso. Clare left for airport in the same car.

We carried our luggage to the reception. The reception kindly agreed to keep them. We went out for a tour in the city. We got separated. We went to a huge shopping mall. It was a lovely and well maintained city within desert. The population mostly is African with some descendants of the early European settlers. Keletso invited us to his house. He took me and Heikki to his house. It was within a well maintained and well secured flat complex on the slope of a hill. We had our lunch. We discussed a lot about Namibia, Zimbabwe, how Keletso managed to escape from Zimbabwe to Namibia, Robert Mugabe and so on. By about 4 pm Keletso dropped us to Kalahari Sand Hotel. He went to attend a delivery. Chris was waiting in the reception.

We collected our luggage. Our van which we booked in the morning didn't arrive. The hotel staff called a taxi to airport. It took nearly an hour to reach the airport. Me, Chris and Heikki went together. After security and immigration check we entered the waiting area. The flight was at 9 pm, the Air Namibia flight to Frankfurt. The flight was uneventful except some mid-air turbulence. We reached Frankfurt next morning. Heikki disappeared to catch his flight to Helsinki. I and Chris had cups of coffee. We had to wait to catch our flight to Heathrow. It was one and half hour journey to Heathrow where Chris and I separated. The flight landed at Heathrow by 11.30.

This is my story about desert expedition.

Discover Syria's Dead Cities

Syria is currently experiencing severe political unrest. The FCO advise against all travel.

Scattered along Syria's North West region are the remains of a past civilization, long dead and forgotten. Its claimed that 40 ancient Christian Byzantine settlements dating back to between the first and the seventh centuries make up Syrias mysterious Dead Cities. Surprisingly, yet somehow quite fitting, the modern world has forgotten about these incredible and well-preserved ruins. Even UNESCO, it would seem, has overlooked these sites up until 2011, when they were finally recognised as a world heritage site. With relatively little archaeological research conducted in the area and many questions unanswered, this is the time to allow yourself to wander off the beaten track and immerse yourself in history.

The majority of these cities are concentrated around and between the modern cities of Aleppo and Hama, making either of them the perfect base to explore these settlements. If youre on a tight deadline or just interested in a whistle-stop tour it is perfectly easy and affordable to sign up on excursion or hire a driver who can take you around the more obvious sights of interest. If you have the time, hiking, cycling and even driving through these sites gives you the freedom and flexibility to explore these dead cities at your own pace. The peaceful landscape provides a great opportunity to simply wander through these ruins, sit down for some lunch, maybe even taking in a nap. Most of these fabulous ruins have been left to fend for themselves against the elements (and put up a pretty good fight), adding to their majestic charm. With no designated walking paths, no keep-of-the-laws signs, no entrance fees and best of all no health and safety, visitors can get right up and personal with the walls and columns which stand proud across the countryside.

This also makes it perfectly viable to wild camp in the grounds of the past surrounded by almost 2000 years of history as you gaze up at the night sky as the ancients may have with only the orange glow of your camp fire reflected by the ancient grey stone walls and the crackling of your fuel to keep you company. Over hundreds of years, some of these ruins have found new inhabitants as the modern civilisation of Syria have reclaimed some of these buildings for themselves and their farm animals, but there's plenty for everyone to share, tourist and local alike. The reality is that its unlikely you'll stumble into someones front room. Its somewhat strange that much of the population nearby don't know the significance of what lies across their landscape. Nevertheless, the people you come across will be welcoming and friendly.

While some of these cities may be more renowned than others and guides will highlight certain places to visit, there's little need set yourself a particular goal or dwell on reaching a certain site. Its worth buying a local map once in Syria and plan your route once there, and with 40 to choose from, its doubtful you'll see everything.

Don't be to disheartened about only visiting a small fraction, as you'll be part of a relatively small handful of visitors that make it to this part of Syria, which will truly be an unforgettable experience. The cities often highlighted to visitors include: Church of Saint Simeon, Stylites, Serjilla, Khrabe Shamass and al Bara.

www.doinitonline.com "

Blue Beauty

Sudden movement flashes under the canopy of waves, her silver side reflecting brightly in the sun as she passes quickly just below the surface from bow to stern. Get in now Amanda! You're only going to have a couple minutes. Go! How big is she? I asked, but the answer I did not hear.

Fear of losing the encounter trumped the fear of the unknown as I eased myself into the water, ducking under the chum bucket and up along side of the boat; camera in hand, I was ready to shoot. The waters off Rhode Island are quickly becoming a shark diving Mecca, being one of a few key destinations around the globe where you are almost guaranteed encounters with two very distinct and beautiful species of sharks; blue sharks and makos.

This is largely in part to underwater filmmaker and Rhode Island native Joe Romeiro of 333 Productions. Joe has been documenting the behavior, movement and hot spots of these sharks for years, and has quickly become the go to expert for professional cinematographers and photographers worldwide who seek footage and encounters with them. A chance encounter with these large pelagic sharks are not only sought after by photographers alone however; every year thousands gather on docks and off the coast to participate in shark fishing tournaments held in New England's prolific waters. Although shark fishing tournaments continue to rally support in the Northeast culture, conservationist groups have been outspoken in the need to end such practices in other locations. In the Bahamas and Florida for example, many tournaments have switched to full catch and release models and now support Shark Free Marinas; where no dead shark is allowed within their boundaries. In an environment where shark numbers are declining at an alarming rate, moves to protect these animals prove invaluable to the welfare of the oceans.

This leads to the question, Why arent we fighting to protect the sharks of New England? Positioned tight against the side of the boat I scan the water column for a glimpse of the legendary fish that has brought me here, the mako. Known for their speed, agility and unyielding poster in the water, makos are high-energy powerhouses that can grow up to twelve feet in length and weigh over eleven hundred pounds. At an estimated top speed between fifty to sixty miles per hour makes this shark is one of the fastest fish in the sea and within seconds of entering the water I find myself face to face with one. A flip of her tail jettisons her towards the boat and in my general direction, but she is completely disinterested the lone diver she shares the water with. Fixated on her every movement I track her in a nauseating trail of twists and turns.

Eventually she turns, following the oil traces back to the boat and comes in fast to explore my dome port. I cannot help but shriek in delight as I watch her close the gap of space between her and I at an astonishing rate. My time with this beautiful mako is a painfully short five minutes, but I savor every moment. Mako sharks come in hard and fast, a stunning swim by, a couple exploratory nips and they are gone. Brian and Joe work the bait hard from the boat, twisting and pulling it through the water to keep her interest. Still positioned close to the boat as Joe had recommended, I pulse in excitement as she comes blazing in toward me over and over. Fire after fire my strobes light up the ocean as she darts around my dome port in a crazy swirl of energy. She is stunning, a beautiful site to behold. Shimmers of iridescence; brown, blue, purple and violet dance across her back and along her sides under dappled sunlight as she effortlessly moves through the water.

She is not without scars though; across her side she bares the painful marks of an encounter with another shark. Short lacerations ending in a gaping wound sprinkle her side. Pink flesh stands exposed as she twists and turns through the ocean. Perhaps due to her size, around four feet, she was attacked by a larger mako or other shark species; or these were simply mating scars, but her unrelenting power is unmistakable. With one small thrust of her tail she powers through the water zipping from one bait fish to the other on either side of me. Makos can reach speeds of twenty two miles per hour and are known for the short, but quick burst of speed. It becomes quickly apparent to me why Joe wants my back up against the boat. Her lightening speed makes her difficult to follow, and her forward gapping nips from an open mouthful of protruding teeth could lead to serious ramifications very quickly if she had so chosen. These sharks are not for the faint of heart. Encounters with this species are fast paced, adrenaline filled gut checks that demand you give the shark a healthy amount of respect while in the water with them. Twisting and turning, heart throbbing, mind racing, darting fins and flashing teeth all dissipate in a matter of seconds as she makes one last sweep and darts off straight down into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.

Sitting there motionless, I stare down into the depths hoping for another glimpse of her, but she doesn't return. My time with her is over. The ocean gives us these gifts, these encounters that I cherish with every fibre of my being. Whether its the five minutes I spent with her, or the hour long encounters I've experienced with whale sharks off Isla Mujeres, these animals never cease to amaze me. Every moment spent in the ocean with the immense diversity of marine life leaves me eager for more. I come away from these experiences forever changed and longing to fight harder to protect the oceans and all the life that lives within them. In an amazing twist of fate I received word from Joe two weeks later that my mako has been spotted twelve miles from the location we first encountered her. To the best of his knowledge this is the first ever known double sighting of the same mako in these waters. This news is all the more exciting knowing a local shark tournament started the day after my departure from Rhode Island in the same area we were diving in. In honor of this joyous event Joe proclaims I should name her. I choose Nani, which means Beautiful in Hawaiian.

The waters off the coast of Rhode Island are magical. On previous trips Joe has encountered countless blues and makos; basking sharks, leatherbacks, mola molas, hammerheads, tiger sharks and more. Frequent sightings over the last few years of white sharks in the area have lead researchers and photographers to Rhode Island in search of this species as well. The wealth of marine life in this area can serve many generations to come with opportunities in interacting with the Mother Nature on her terms. As divers, ocean enthusiasts and neighbors on this small planet, we must take it upon ourselves to protect the oceans that hold these vast amounts of ceaseless treasures within her bounty. Without education and protection we stand to lose a vital component to the health of our aquatic eco systems.

Learn more about Amandaby visiting her website atwww.acottonphoto.com"

EC Sea Kayaking Trip

Saturday 1st September 2012: We arrived at Dean Farm at 9AM to meet up with the 11 strong group and our 2 instructors, Rob and Darren. Having only minor sea kayaking experience in the still waters of South-East Asia I was quite pleased that the group had a mix of experienced and newcomers to the sport. Rob gave us a brief lecture on what we could expect from the weekend and then we jumped into cars and vans for the short journey down to Lee Bay. Once there, we received some tips on how to best pack our kit into the kayaks. The plan was to wild camp on a beach so the kit included tents, sleeping bags, cooking equipment, clothing and the obligatory bottles of alcohol. The boats were carried down to the water before the kit was put into the kayaks.

I was given one of the more slender faster boats, fittingly called Explorer. It was quite an art getting everything split up and wrapped water tight into the small dinner plate sized dry hatches. Once everybody was set we headed out onto the water where we familiarised ourselves with our kayaks and Rob parted with a few useful handling tips. When everybody was ready we headed out into open water ready to explore the North Devon coastline. We headed down the coastline towards the town of Ilfracombe. It was great seeing the coastline from another aspect other than from up above or from a beach. My last foray into sea kayaking was in Ha Long Bay in Vietnam and although the water was a lot calmer there, I'd have to say this was no less spectacular with rugged weather-beaten rock formations rising out of the sea and an abundance of birdlife to be seen.

The sea was getting noticeable rougher as the wind started to pick up and I began to find that my boat seemed to have a penchant for swinging left making it very difficult to keep a straight course. I was soon aware that I was getting a little bit left behind and as I tried to correct my course a large wave was on me and the next moment I was upside down underwater! For those of you that have unintentionally capsized before, there is a split second of panic before you pull the splash deck cord. As I came up with my boat flipped over I was surprised to note the sea was not as cold as I expected, maybe it was the adrenaline but I think it might have been a different story in February. Luckily Rob was on hand to assist me back into the boat in what turned in to a comical sequence of events trying to rescue a few bottles of water and a gas canister that had somehow eluded the dry hatch. Fortunately a bottle of red wine was still lodged between the seat and the bottom of the boat, although the same could not be said for the small bottle of whiskey which was now destined to wash up on ashore somewhere as a little surprise.

Back in the boat as we headed back towards the group, Rob explained that I might need to address the weight balance in my boat as this might have been one of the reasons for the boat being difficult to handle. Despite being a bottle of whiskey down I was glad it happened as it all adds to the learning experience even if it did mean a bit of ribbing from Jim and the guys! We headed into Ilfracombe at Arganite Bay and aimed for a small beach, Matt was the second person to capsize en route in which suggested that it was definitely a bloke thing! We pulled the kayaks up the beach and got out of wet things, had a bit to eat, whilst Rob and Darren went to assess the conditions. It ended up being a slightly longer stay as expected due to the tide and the conditions, Rob and Darren had some difficult decisions to make. It seemed that the conditions were now too rough to continue with our intended plan along that section of coast; the other issue was that our beach would not be there for much longer meaning we had to get off the beach with kayaks on the water.

Eventually, the plan was to kayak across the sea lagoon to another beach where there was access to a road via a rock tunnel. Once everyone was safely across the kayaks were taken one by one through the impressive Victorian tunnels which were carved out of the rock in the 1820s. With the kayaks on dry land, there was then the issue of transport which was sitting 4 miles away in Lee, so four of us went on a brisk walk along the coastal path back down to Lee to retrieve them. It was past 6pm when we returned and after all the kit was packed on the trailers it was looking less likely that we'd be able to wild camp. People were also starting to get hungry and tired so The decision was made to spend the night in a camping park just outside Ilfracombe, not the wild camping adventure we'd hoped for but it did allow some people hot showers!

Sunday 2nd September 2012 We started the day at Watermouth in light drizzle but fortunately more serene sea conditions; I also opted to swap my boat for a slightly wider model in the hope that I wouldn't be taking many dips in the sea! Without the kit in the boats, the kayaks were easier to handle. We explored a selection of sea caves and bays, marvelling at the beauty of this section of coastline. After a couple of hours exploring we rode the surf into Coombe Martin and watching while Belinda managed capsizes her trying out a narrow sea passage.

After lunch it was time to return in the direction we came, it took quite a bit of effort to battle the current and the wind until we got back within shelter of the cliffs. On the way back we stopped at the beautiful beach we were supposed to wild camp at, here we attempted a 'running' launch into out kayaks from the beach. I'm sure some people succeeded but I predictably ended up in the sea a couple of times! Back at the end point there was still time to try out a few balance techniques which involved standing up in your kayak and then sitting back down.

Rob performed this perfectly, unfortunately, my attempted was fairly short lived and I was tasting the drink again. And so that was it, the trip was over, despite the lack of wild camping it had been a great weekend with great company and 2 great instructors in Rob and Darren. In the end, we are at the mercy of the weather in this country and they made the right call in ensuring our safety came first. I look forward to going back next year to explore more of the amazing coastline and capsize a few more times!

Photography Belinda Kirk and Andy Webb (www.dreamabstract.com) 

Taming Teide

the Island of Tenerife attracts hordes of tourists looking for an inexpensive sunny getaway. The package holiday machine ensures that by day the sun is soaked in by the pool and by night the inexpensive nightlife is taken full advantage of.

However for a hiker Tenerife can to be a true gem of a destination as the island is home to some of the most beautiful and natural scenery around, all available on a tidy budget. Best known, the centrally located Teide National Park, is home to Pico del Teide. With its summit of 3718 metres above sea level, Pico del Teide is the worlds third highest active volcano (measured from the sea bed) and also Spains highest peak. Though still active, Teides last eruption of 1909 has faded from memory and the volcanic cone is now a major tourist attraction. Most visitors will make their way up Teide via the precariously dangling cable car, which for 25 Euros will whisk you to the top viewing platform within eight or so minutes and back down again once youve had your fill. Visitors are free to go for a little wander around the main cone which almost symmetrically towers up a further 200 meters to the true summit. A summit that is restricted to all but those with an advance permit from the authorities. Hiring a car is a practical solution for those who wish to explore the island and pretty much a necessity if youre planning on climbing Teide.

Public transport links are sparse and links to the starting point are non-existent. The main TF-21 road passes through the national park and is where the trek to the summit begins. Approximately 2km down the road from where the cable car and visitor centre is located, is a small layby were hikers start their journey along the official route (Route Number 7). As this is a protected area youre reminded by official notices that its prohibited to stray from the designated trail and warned not to undertake the strenuous hike if you hold any heart or respiratory problems. The trek itself starts at an altitude of 2100m, well above anything in the UK. Even at this relatively low altitude, the effects of the thin air pressure are visible on air tight products, an effect that many will experience when opening a packet of crisps on a flight. Our team of nine set off in the early morning to avoid the mid-day heat and head along the gentle and gradually winding gravel track known as the Montana Blanca, a surreal but beautiful hike on a Mars like landscape consisting of orange dry rock and rolling hills which run for a few kilometres.

As the sun rises and the moon begins to disappear the shades of reds and oranges really do make you feel like youre on another world. The temperatures begin to rise, but still the morning air is refreshing rather than too hot or cold. Teides towering peak becomes visible but seems like a mere speck amongst the surrounding horseshoe of mountains. The solidified lava flows that have scared the landscape and the Teide Eggs offer an unfamiliar glimpse of a catastrophic eruption that happened over a century ago. The huge, dark boulders scatter the slopes and you cant help but think of the sheer scale of not only the eruption but the forces that Mother Nature can unleash in order to shift such enormous rocks. The gradual track continues for approximately 4km and can be considered an enjoyable walk, compared to whats to come. As we walk, only the sound is of our footsteps landing on the gravel, breaking the silence as we press on. Surprised by the stillness of air, it is easy to imagine were in the vacuum of space.

We take a moment to just stand and admire the eerie atmosphere in complete silence, overlooking the very edges of Tenerife and the sleeping tourist towns. Every step we take brings us to our ultimate goal and the ascent becomes more and more justifiable with spectacular views. Before we continue, we refuel ourselves for what we know will be a long day. Even as we rest here for approximately 30minutes we remain the only people in sight and begin to wonder whether Teide National Park is truly living up to its reputation as one of the Worlds busiest. The fairly easy going section eventually comes to an end and its time for the steep and arduous climb. The route begins to play tricks on you as it turns back on itself, like a snake slithering along from side to side. The summit is no longer visible and instead the immediate view is limited to the gradient before us. Altitude is gained in little distance, but with no clear goalposts in sight, progress is slow.

As if straight out the textbook, we reach a height of just under 3000 metres and there is a noticeable difference in air pressure. With every step we take, it begins to dawn on us how much of the volcano we have to go, only reaching approximately half of the climbing attitude. Effects of the lower air pressure start to physically manifest themselves in our team as it becomes harder to breathe. A constant shortness of breathe is not helped by the fact were physically exerting ourselves in a panic over making our allocated summit climbing time. The only respite we have is that our backpacks are going down in weight with every bite of food and drink of water.

Surprisingly, as we continue progressing, despite the drop in air pressure, we cant help but notice the living environment. Lizards upon lizard chase each other through lava rock and a flurry of insects, mainly consisting of bees can be heard through the dry bushy vegetation; the latter of which proving an unwelcome accomplice on what is already a challenging trek but alas, with the Altavista Refuge (3260m) falling into sight and with something to work towards, progress seems to speed up once again. Here the first signs of human activity appear. The refuge itself houses beds for climbers wanting to spend the night (20 euro) but during the day its locked down, and so are its toilet facilities - an extortionately expensive drink vending machine does remain accessible the mind boggles on how they got that up there in the first place though!

The views from the refuge are absolutely stunning as you look down. The initial gradual route along the Montana Blanca remains vaguely visible and triggers the back of your memory that it was just a couple of hours earlier, we and come from down there. What really catches the eye though is the Island of Gran Canaria that emerges form the deep blue sea. A stark contrast colours, and a perfect picture postcard moment is made here. Straight past the refuge, the route will take you through a cooled lava flow; the narrow defined track takes you through the dark brown violently jaggered rocks and really gives you the feeling of what the earth is capable of if in a geologically foul mood. Shortness of breath worsens; headaches and even a mild confusion are experienced as our body struggles to replenish oxygen. Regular stops to catch our breath are made and by this point its fair to say all members of our group are experiencing some difficulties.

Even a drink of water becomes hard work as after every sip comes the inevitable grasping for oxygen. A temporary relief of side effects takes place when we crack open a canister of 99% oxygen; an action which may seem a little bit dramatic, considering people have climbed Mount Everest without any supplemented oxygen, but then again this is nine unfit individuals that have never gone to such dizzy heights and any relief is good relief! Replenished, a new sigh of optimism sweeps across us. After a much longer than expected hike from the refuge, the summit falls into place and the viewing platform with the unmistakable top cable car station catch our attention. A few metres further and yet more switch backs we hit the tourist trail.

The solitude we've experienced on the way up is suddenly gone as the crowds of tourists from the cable car hop along the lava route in their flip flops without a worry or a stretched muscle. Perhaps its the exhaustion, perhaps the thin air, but my frustrations are projected as these visitors get in the way as I try to make way along route 7 to the final observation point by the cable car. I cant help but feel that wed earned these amazing views through hours of hiking and that everyone else had simply cheated and taken the easy route on the cable car. Rather than express my feeling and taint my experience, I suppressed them and carried out looking over the entire archipelago of the Canary Islands. The final few meters are on a rocky but horizontal path leading to the large cable car building; impossible to miss, looking very out of place. A toilet and running water are located here as is the tiny office with a hatch which allows those with a permit to persevere on to the main vent. Here park rangers inspect your permit and passport before they open a small wooden gate to the path leading up to the peak. The authorities cap daily visitor numbers, citing environmental protection, so many of the cable car tourists will not make it further.

Its not long before the solitude feeling returns, as we head closer to the crater, and higher in the atmosphere. Though the final summit looks pretty daunting, its only about a further 25 minutes climb from the below viewing platform before we reach the crater at the top. Make shift steps along the way make for quick progress and the time we spent around the cable car and other people seem to have helped in our acclimatisation. Hot sulphurs gasses escaping through the rocks below our feet and along the main crater walls which were holding on to are the new challenges. Almost as steam bursts from a locomotive, the gas blows out from small cracks, never sure where they come from next we hastily move on along the rim of the main vent. The main crater itself is out of bounds and the strong concentrations of white gasses escaping from it are enough of a deterrent to stop you venturing into it. At the highest point of Spain and all the Atlantic Island your greeted by amazing views of much of Tenerife and a truly awesome sense of achievement.

Along the horizon, a subtle curvature of the Earths surface is just about noticeable only to be broken by another island in the distance. Far in the distance the coastal resorts are visible as specks, it truly is as if you were looking down from an aeroplane window. A short break and the obligatory picture taking are soon over as this exhausting experience, unpleasant smells, coupled with the thin air, doesnt really make you want to stick around too long. We make retrace our steps along the steep route back down to the cable car station where we buy our one way ticket (12.50 euro). The quick decent relieves any ill felt effects from the altitude and before you know it were at the base. A large car-park as well as caf and souvenir shop is situated at the base of the cable car station, and a well-earned drink is a must. For those who chose to climb Teide its a further 2 km (30 minute walk) along the winding TF-21 road with no pedestrian footpath to the layby where the hike began.

The route is described as difficult, not technically but physically. No doubt its the high altitude which brings Route Number 7 into this category so before setting of, make sure youve read up on high altitude and any precautions. At times it may not seem so, but on reflection Teide is a really rewarding experience and well in the reach of any outdoor enthusiast. How to get a permit? Many online sources and blogs state a permit is granted through small office somewhere on the island and that its difficult to find. THIS IS NO LONGER THE CASE. The permit is free and available online through following link: www.reservasparquesnacionales.es. You will need to present you passport with the permit at the top. Its not all about Teide! If climbing Teide is not enough, then don't worry.

A quick internet search will unveil a comprehensive network of hiking trails across the island, ranging from over 80 kilometres to just a kilometre. The Barranco del Infierno (liable to closures) as well as the Barranco de Musca offers the best hikes on the island due to their extensive network or tracks and trials.

With no starting or finishing point, you're free to wonder how far you wish. www.doinitonline.com Like my FB "

Exploring Petra

"Thrust into the lime light by Indiana Jones (of Last Crusade fame), Petra will undoubtedly always make it on to any must see, visit, or bucket list out there.

The accessibility, preservation, and grandeur of this rose-red city provide any visitor with an up-close and personal experience with the ancient Nabataeans as they walk through history. Jordans biggest tourist attraction, surrounded by the town of Wadi Musa, isnt hard to find. The town has expanded significantly thanks to tourism and attracts over half a million visitors annually, so connections to Amman and Aqaba via Minibus are frequent. In fact, wherever you find yourself in Jordan, you wont be far from a tour offering visits Petra. Or simply rent a car and make your way at your own pace you'll soon discover there's a lot more to Jordan then just this site.

Petra's touristic gravity even attracts visitors from neighbouring Egypt and Israel, where tourists can be coached out and even flown out on day trips for a price. The reality is that you can even hop on a low-cost airline now, with no guide book or map, and you'll still make it there with little pre-organisation or stress. Its even becoming more and more feasible to have a long weekend in Jordan, providing you can tolerate the five-hour flight time. Its best to arrive in Wadi before you plan on visiting the archaeological park, leaving you time to plan a visit and pick up any supplies. There's plenty of accommodation in Wadi Musa catering from the shoestring backpacker to those in search of five-star luxuries. A popular place to lay your head down before a day of exploration and a location recommended by many travel guides is Valentine Inn. Offering a backpacker feel, the inn is situated on a hill, offering lovely views of the surrounding town a great place to relax as the sun sets. Staff can provide a pack lunch for the long day ahead, sell you water, and organise night-tours of Petra. In the morning they operate a free shuttle bus-service to the entrance to the site.

As you pass through the main site entrance at Petra, and leave behind all the tacky souvenir huts offering Indiana Jones hats, whips, and postcards, you'll find yourself in a less crowded, open space where you'll be greeted by camel and donkey handlers offering you a lift. Officially included in the ticket, they will expect an additional tip. If you want to avoid this, take comfort in the knowledge that Petra is best explored on your own two feet. A dry and dusty (but well-defined!) route carries you along. With the faint smell of animal manure in the light breeze ruffling your hair, you'll enjoy a pleasant stroll to the Siq. The Siq is a large, narrow sandstone canyon through which visitors must pass. You'll be dwarfed by its steep sides and bathed in wonderful shades of red, orange, and rusty browns running along the smooth walls. Lines of tourist groups sheltered from the blazing sun with their cameras flow through its winding canyon, much like ants march through pavement cracks in our world. The Siq twists and turns, slicing through the earth for roughly two kilometres, and provides a very enjoyable and tranquil walk indeed.

Some carvings can be seen here: for most, its the canyons itself which remain the primary draw to Petra. Winding through the Siq, the famous picture of the Petra Treasury is the image that's constantly on your mind. With every turn you cant help but be excited: will you finally see this famous picture with your own eyes? Anticipation is followed by deflation and then, as if a mirage has appeared unexpectedly, you begin to see part of the structure before you. Every step brings you closer and the mirage becomes larger. The dark canyon walls disappear as you exit the Siq, suddenly face to face with the monumental Treasury. Wow! The Treasury's position has sheltered it from the elements and the ravages of time. It is by far the best preserved archaeological ruin on site. Arrive here before ten in the morning, as the Treasury looks at its best with the sun illuminating it fully, which brings every incredible detail to light.

This is a classic photo opportunity and you'll struggle to get the perfect shot without anyone else in the background. If you do want the Treasury all to yourself, increase your chances by arriving at the park entrance for a 6 AM opening time. The Treasury at sunrise is certainly a grand start to your visit, but Petra is huge, and this is only the beginning. Follow the canyon to the right where the next bend reveals large tombs and facades incorporated into the rocks in hues of the desert. Walk the stunning Martian landscape a few minutes more, and you'll come to a 7000-seat amphitheatre. Its incredible to imagine the huge lengths past inhabitants went to for their city. Wherever your eyes are drawn, they fall upon the sandy shades of ruins nestled into the surrounding cliffs. Its not long before you enter the central part of the park. Here, free-standing ruins independent of the canyon walls occupy much of the area. Ancient columns, walls, and arches are all that remain of the Grand Temple.

Here you'll find a restaurant and some modern toilets which can provide a good resting area before the next stage of your journey. Here starts the hike to the Monastery, as featured in the Transformers film. Essentially all this time you've been at a lower elevation, so its time to make that up literally by walking up a natural stairwell through a long canyon believed to be a precession-route to the monastery. Unlike the smoothness of the Siq, the canyon-sides here are rough, rocky, and jagged, almost as if the Earths crust has violently ripped itself apart. Still the shades of red orange and brown persist with only a few shrubs that seem to have broken through the rocks high above, and cling to the canyon walls, towering high above where it would seem only the mountain goats can reach.

With the blazing heat of the afternoon sun on your back, this section may take you up to two hours with regular water breaks and occasionally stops to haggle with a jewellery merchant, their goods laid out on the soft sand, with no discernable method of transport (besides magic, perhaps). Finally the climb comes to an end as you exit the canyon into an open space. There's no obvious route to follow: your senses tell you that surely you must be here, but where? Wheres the monastery? Walking away from the canyon you've just exited seems natural, so head on out. You'll see a refreshments hut and with the hike you've just done you deserve a cold drink. You can be forgiven if you fail to notice the massive Monastery carved into the cliff behind you on the right, close to the slot canyon from which you just emerged. When you do finally turn your head, you'll be rewarded by the sight of the Monastery and realise that you've finally accomplished what is for so many a touristic pilgrimage. Unlike the Treasury, if you can get up the huge entrance of the Monastery, you're free to enter.

But as often is the case with historical ruins, it may strike you as impressive from the outside. The small refreshment hut incorporates a small cave with tables set out, where you can take a well-earned rest and pay the overpriced refreshment cost in the shade with a great view. A visit to Petra is certainly worth the time, combining history, archaeology, and architecture with a days hiking. Photographers rejoice as setting your lens on the subject in hand is both fun and challenging. Capturing the feel, and playing around with the lights and shades can keep you entertained for days. Walking through Petra is an amazing experience, but oddly the gravity of the place doesn't quite have the impact most expect. Perhaps its a victim of its own reputation.

Almost engraved in the touristic psyche as pictures of Petra are waved in front of us by every travel publication and rightly so Petra deserves to be promoted and shared with the world, but that can lead to an anticlimax of sorts for some visitors. I would recommend and even urge anyone to visit Petra at least once in their life, but if you ask me if I would visit again, I would struggle to say Id hurry back, and that really does make me feel a bit guilty. Cost Petra is not a cheap place to visit. One day entry is 50 JD (approx 45) Two day entry is 55 JD (approx 49) Three day entry is 60 JD (approx 53) Many people do buy a two or three day pass, and for enthusiasts this provides a great opportunity to explore every nook and cranny. But for most people, one day is enough. We even bumped into an archaeologist who told us he'd had is fill after one day!

The practice of selling on or gifting two or three day tickets does occur. Technically, this is stealing, so you'll have to decide for yourself whether the practice suits you. Though the entrance is steep, tourism is a major contributor to the economy and helps preserve this site for eager generations to come.

www.doinitonline.com "

Nordkapp : Continental Europe's most northerly point

Nordkapp and Europes Most Northern Point High up in Norways polar region lies Nordkapp. Translated to North Cape its often yet inaccurately credited as Europes most northern point. Nordkapp is essentially a 300odd metre cliff which towers above the Berets Sea.

At the top, sits the visitor centre, restaurant, handful of monuments and most notably a carved out passage leading to an opening in the cliff face where you can view the ocean. Nordkapp is well on the tourist trail, reachable by a single road (E69) which terminates at the visitor centre. Entrance to the visitor entre is 275 nok (26) per person. For the purists whom aren't satisfied by the latitude on offer by Nordkapps visitor centre, then you'll be pleased to know that many adventurous souls press on to the neighbouring point of Knivskjellodden, which is in fact over a kilometre further north, and a stronger contender for Europe's most northern point. Reaching Knivskjellodden will not be as straight forward as arriving at Nordkapp but the rewards are greater.

The route starts at a small car park about 7km south of Nordkapp, and runs for 8km (5 miles) to the finishing point. A small information point maps out the area. From the start point, one should follow the red Ts and stone cairns which are marked out along the route. Whilst a map may not be necessary in clear weather conditions if fog sets in (which could happen) suddenly the next marker will not always be visible. The actual trail itself isn't as well defined as you may expect, meaning its quite possible to get lost. Carrying some form of GPS device capable of getting you back to the car park would be a wise move. The three hour hike will take you across a relatively shallow gradient past lakes, muddy bogs and grassy plateaus before making a steep descent to sea level.

Shortly afterwards, there's a small stream which runs into the sea. The modest bridge is the only evidence that man has ever stepped foot in this part of the world and its recommended to take a few minutes to cast your eyes around the spectacular situation you're in and to fully absorb the sense of remoteness. Looking around, you'll be surrounding valley walls and only the ocean in front sparks your intuition to head towards it. The final section can be tricky on the ankles as it hugs the coastline taking you along slanted rocky shores for a further kilometre. The end point is marked with a metal box containing a guest book, where you can record your achievement and join the list of people that have undertaken such a memorable experience before you. At this point, its possible to walk right down to the sea a further few metres away, before you truly can not walk any further. Beyond the horizon just over 1300 miles away lies the north pole.

Returning to your starting point is along the same route so factor that in. Though its a three hour hike, its also a three hour hike back totalling 16km (10 miles) of walking. The harsh winters mean that the only viable option to embark on a trip to Nordkapp and/or Knivskjellodden is over the summer months. The road to Nordkapp is closed in the winter. Bear in mind that the summer months in the Polar Regions wont necessarily mean warm and sunny. The extreme latitudes mean that visitors can experience 24hour daylight, so take on this track at anytime of the day. Midnight sun is visible between 14 May-29 July. So, after all this, can one say that theyve been to the most northern point of Europe? No well, sort of. Both Nordkapp and Knivskjellodden are positioned on the island of Magerya which is joined to the mainland by a 4.27 mile undersea tunnel (tolled at 145 NOK (16) for a car plus an additional 47 NOK (5) per adult each way).

Being positioned on an island means that strictly speaking its not part of the mainland Europe. The actual northern most point of mainland Europe lies at a lower latitude, at Cape Nordkinn. This article focuses on taking you beyond the most northern point in mainland Europe, though the reality of it is that there's not much in it. Which ever northern most point your journey takes you to, you will be taken to the frontiers of human settlement, the surreal surroundings will leave you amazed and it will take some time for your accomplishment to truly sink in.

Wings of Kilimanjaro - The reconnaissance climb

"I had such a brilliant time climbing Kilimanjaro!! I loved it. Its a mountain Ive wanted to climb for years and for many reasons it was everything Id hoped for and more. Unlike Everest Kilimanjaro is accessible to most people. It can be done in a week, its realistic to be able to train for it with a full time job, its not too expensive, its challenging without being crazy and its beautiful. The reason this trip came about was because I was part of the Wings of Kilimanjaro reconnaissance team.

Wings of Kilimanjaro (WoK) is an event that will see up to 200 paraglider and handglider pilots attempt to fly from the summit early next year and in doing so raise over $1million for charity. We didnt fly this time!! Kilimanjaro is in a national park and the permit to fly has only been issued for the main event next year. This trip was to check out the routes to the top, the camps, possible take off sites and to work on event logistics. There were seven of us including myself Adrian McRae Founder of Wok Peter Bowyer Safety officer for the event Peter Grieg Photographer Jayme Moye Journalist Tim Katya Leach Pilot and locals with insider info! We spent 8 days on Kilimanjaro this is longer than most trips. We had to allow time to circumnavigate the mountain, visit different camps, make sure we acclimatised well and explore all of our options.

We summited the mountain and spent time looking at the possible take off areas. There are several options but their suitability will depend hugely on conditions when we are there in January. It was a clear blue sky day and the clouds were below us. Stunning! At 5,895m the mountain is over 1000m higher than Mont Blanc and should not be underestimated! Its definitely not a climb, its a trek and there is no need for crampons. You are not on ice or snow but the effects of altitude can be felt from around 3000m. Whilst lots of people do make it to the summit many people become ill and don't make it. I was on this trip because I wanted to see the mountain for myself and because I wanted to know exactly what WoK was about, the people behind it and how the money raised was being spent. Its one thing organising a climb and fly when you are doing it for yourself (as I did on Mt Blanc) but its quite a different matter organising up to 200 pilots plus a support team of up to 1000 people. Was this even a realistic idea?! Adrian McRae is an intelligent man with big dreams and, I believe, has the right components to make this a brilliant event. He has been working on this project for a few years now and has invested large amounts of his own time, effort and money to give it the best possible chance of success.

After many visits and time spent in the county he has an understanding of how things work in Africa. It is no easy task dealing with and understanding how the authorities function! Peter Bowyer is a very experienced pilot. He has been instructing for years and has worked as safely officer on many events. Having spent time with Peter on the expedition I know that he will have no issues with making the decision to fly or not. If the conditions arent right or the pilots are not fit to fly Peter will not permit them to do so. There will be a minimum of one helicopter present on the mountain should a rescue be necessary. Leading the expedition was Silvano Hamisi Mvungi, the owner and chief guide of Top of Africa Expeditions and guide partner for WoK. The logistics for this trip went smoothly and Im hopeful that this company has the staff, equipment and ability to handle the huge group that will be on the mountain next year. I think it might be worth remembering though that TIA.. this is Africa! and perhaps all people involved in the main event should pack a good amount of patience and understanding, especially for the first few days of the hike as everyone finds their pace and this large group settles into things!

Peter Greig is a wonderfully creative guy and has been very involved with WoK since the beginning and has worked closely with Adrian McRae. He documented this trip and his stunning photos can be seen by clicking here I met the team, I climbed the mountain. so what do I think about WoK?? I think its an absolutely incredible project with a remarkable team of people behind it. I'm excited to be a pilot and to be part of the main event. The mountain is beautiful, the route is good, there are camp sites that will accommodate the WoK group and there are good take off sites if the weather plays ball! The money raised will be going to very good causes and the WoK team are actively encouraging people to stay longer or re-visit Tanzania to get involved with the projects that the money will be funding. I think it is critical that people have realistic expectations. This is the largest group of people that Kilimanjaro has ever seen and as I mentioned before this is Africa!

Things probably wont run smoothly 100% of the time. Climbing mountains and paragliding are both sports that involve risk and elements that are out of our control. To climb the mountain and fly off the top would be great but that is not a given. The real glory in being a part of WoK is that you are part of a journey and a team that will see you try to climb a wonderful mountain and attempt to fly off the top. That may or may not happen, but what will happen is that the combined amounts of money that we all raise and donate will make a positive difference to many peoples lives and that is quite simply incredible.

www.squashfalconer.com"