The Death of Apollo Creed

As was mentioned in the previous post JR and I had a plan. Our plan was to make a plan as we needed a plan. This was working tremendously for us until we slowly began to realize that of the nearly 4 grand we each had saved we had spent 900 each on the car and somehow, for some reason we had both spent over 1000 dollars between Melbourne and Sydney. This was initially an embarrassing secret we both kept from one another until slowly we began to hint our respective monies were dwindling.

Regardless of how we realized it, we realized we needed to make some more money if we were going to survive. So with an arrogant pride we decided to call up the working hostels we'd read about in the travel guide and work for a week or two and then continue our trip. All was going well until we got a hold of a hostel in Ayr, Queensland that regretted to inform us that there were not only no jobs currently available but that there were no rooms available in their hostel as they were entirely booked for two weeks with people waiting for the jobs that didn't exist yet. This was not part of our plan. We were already past the survive-for-two-weeks-on-our-savings point. In fact, we were getting quite desperately broke. All of a sudden the wind was no longer in our sails. We had plans...we were going to hike a trail called Eungalla "the one surefire track to see platypuses on" we were going to go sea kayaking in the Whitsundays we were going to do a lot of things. But we were counting on that dwindling savings to push us through these adventures and then with moths flying out of our wallets graciously walk into a harvest job (which to be fair the guide books made it seem they were innumerable, easily acquired, and everywhere--False). So, we skipped these adventures--vowing to return for the Whitsundays--in lieu of rushing up to Ayr where through the friendly receptionist JR had secured a room and there was the hint of another spot opening in which I could fill.

So we begrudgingly passed by Airlie Beach and the Whitsundays to arrive in the town of Ayr nearly 6 hours later. Hmmm....how to describe Ayr. Well it was the type of city whose Super Market closed at 5 pm and though we spent several days there I never actually saw 80% of the shops open at all. It was humble. It was meager. It was dull as hell is what it was. But the hostel seemed pretty cool at least. JR had his room and I managed to squeeze into a room too. Overall, we were feeling quite lucky. However, it was a bit alarming as the next day we noticed that dozens of hostel goers lounging around the hostel during the day doing nothing at all. This was vaguely perplexing but it was Saturday after all so we assumed that everyone would traipse off to work Monday. So there were tons of people just hanging out but not in the typical hostel-hippie-happy way where you meet everyone in the place in about half an hour and everyone starts drinking heavily where those new friendships are codified into lifelong facebook friendship status. No, not like that at all. There were cliques of seemingly those that were 'older' residents that didn't really seem to be interested in socializing with JR and I--'new' residents. To me this was quite a new feeling at a hostel. But my uneasiness passed when around six that evening (after a contingent of 20 or so more hostelers returned from working--meaning those sitting around DID NOT have a job at the moment) when we found out that an 'old' resident had his last day of work and further more his stag (bachelor) party that night. That is when the drinking began. Sufficed to say the ensuing time was debaucherous, disorderly, embarrassing, slovenly, glutinous, and many other such adjectives. It got ugly. Details of the night will not be given as they are both shameful and not readily accessible from the old noggin. Namely JR and I consumed 3 or 4 or 5 or 17 (as I mentioned, I can't quite recall) pitchers of white "goon" (boxed) wine--the cheapest drink at the bar--with super sugary cordial added in. 

For those of you that don't know boxed white wine it is pretty sugary in itself. Add the cordial and put on repeat several, several times that is both A-a lot of low quality alcohol and B-a lot of sugar. This is of course perhaps the most deadly recipe for a deathly hang over. And unsurprisingly, that is just what we got. The hangover to end all hangovers in fact. My body hurt. It was not happy. Both of us were miserable all the next day AND the next day as well. Yes. A two day hangover does exist. 

Just to add to our overall happiness and morale we decided to investigate the ins-and-outs of how the working functioned. To our annoyance we were 22nd and 23rd on the wait list. Meaning that we would indeed be stranded for 2 weeks at least before we could get work. This was not good. This made my head hurt. It was too much thinking and too much bad to comprehend at the moment. But at least matters couldn't get too much worse, right? WRONG! Very wrong. In our unbearably empty day JR called back home and talked to his grandmother and his mother. Unfortunately neither household was doing very well. His grandfather was bedridden and his mother in the hospital for surgery. His grandma seemed distraught and overwhelmed and he finished his conversation feeling like his family needed him. So much so that when he got off the phone he had this sad, empty, distant look in his eye and in a very slow and measured way told me that he felt like he was going to have to cut his Australian adventure short and go home. And soon. Soon in like if-we-can't-get-work-in-two-weeks-I'll-just-head-home soon. 

... Well ... shit ...

Imagine every single bad action movie you've ever seen and more importantly ever single bad action movie  plot line. In reality there is only one. This plot line has an initial rising action where everything is going well. Then just before midway the protagonist is confronted with a terribly difficult challenge. 

Imagine Rocky 4 when Apollo Creed dies. 

This is the only way I can think of to adequately describe our mental state at the time. Just utterly shattered.

At this juncture my body hurt, my head hurt, and now my heart hurt. This was devastating. The one, if not only, thing that JR and I's plan did include was always a "we". Now it was looking like even that was not going to work out for us. This was perhaps the most profoundly unhappy I have been in years. Not only was I feeling physically putrid I was profoundly unhappy. Unhappy in a way that is completely devoid of pleasant looking methods of actions: unhappy without hope. What followed was another day (day two of our hangover) of JR calling home, calling OEG, calling home, and then calling OEG again. He talked to Paul Horton, one of bosses who is perhaps the kindest man in the world, who was nothing but supportive of whatever JR felt he needed to do and in the end JR decided he did need to go home and live with his grandparents in Florida. But not right away if we could find work. He still wanted to both see some more of the country as well as earn a bit of money as he had no job waiting for him in FL. 

This whole time I sulked. I licked my proverbial wounds as it were. Life was just sucky at the moment and nothing was going our way. True fact of life though is that one can only act this way for so long. About midday the second day I began to realize this. I realized I still felt like crap because of my hangover but instead of idly resenting the feeling I took ownership of it because after all who else was to blame I drank like a 16 year old highschooler at their first party? No one but myself. I decided to stop being a useless slug and get active rather than passive. I jumped online and literally in 20 minutes of dedicated searching not only had found a harvest information phone number, called it and received a number of a grape vine pruning job but ALSO called the farm, interviewed, and had gotten JR and I hired starting in two days. 

20 minutes. No more. Just like that. From as low as one can be to lost in the stars. We had a job which meant we could leave Ayr and its hangover in the our wake and that JR could stay longer and hopefully finish out the winter and our road trip. 

Cue 'rebuilding' hero montage.

The Shaking Skirt on Tina Turner’s Shaking Hips

Subtitle: for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.

And just like that, JR and I were on our own with no work, no structure, no deadlines, no obligations, and--as any good Aussie--absolutely no worries. This is not to say that we did not have certain minor details of our trip to work out but this was more of mental frame of mind whilst considering these trifling details. These minor details included but were not limited to: 

where were we going to buy a car? 

where were we going once we bought it? 

how much money would it cost to finance our trip?

    --did we have that much in our accounts?

               --and if not, were we going to work?

                   --and if so, where, when, and doing what?

and if so we did have enough, what did where did we want to go?

       and what did we want to see?

             and what did we want to do?

when were we going to return?

        and how were we going to get back?

Again...trifles really. We had 2.5 months off work and had all of Australia to explore. Nothing was going to stop us.

We had to of course start at square one: transportation. While JR and I were traveling companions in theory we were not actually residing in the same place and since coming to Sydney had only met once or twice as JR was staying with his friend Simona and I was staying in a hostel in the lovely King's Cross neighborhood. So, what followed of our car hunt was an rather half-hearted, disjointed, and thoroughly inefficient search. JR was looking online, I was scouring my hostel's "Cars for sale" book and both of us were making calls and arranging appointments to view cars that suited our criteria. Said criteria was that the car must be suitable for both travel and accommodation; nice, but not too nice as to be expensive (we were hoping >$2000); and having all the proper paperwork that we could drive away immediately. So that put us in the same market AS EVERY SINGLE OTHER BACKPACKER IN SYDNEY, more or less.

The first car we committed ourselves to seeing wound up being at the far end of the Sydney metro-rail system. It took us nearly 3 hours to ride out to the edge of the Blue Mountains outside Sydney. We were greeted by a friendly enough German fellow who had spent the past couple of weeks climbing and was selling his 1994 Mitusbishi Magna before returning to the motherland. The Magna is the equivalent of the Dodge Neon or the Toyota Corolla or some other ubiquitous car model that given the time, the boredom, and a large cup of coffee one could record an impressive tally of sightings while gazing out the window of any run-of-the-mill coffee shop along any mundane road. The setup itself looks pretty legit. There was a butane gas stove, pots, pans, plates, knives, etc., GPS, campsite book, Australia guide book, a mattress, pillows, blankets, a tent, and even curtains. Perfect for our plans to synthesize our transportation with our travel. After milling around making minor comments about minor problems, "This seat bet buckle has lost its cover." "Yep. It has. But it still works fine though." "Yep, it does." we took it for a test drive. 

Well it was a bit of an interesting ride. The motor itself started up fine. It drove really smoothly except for some faint, but still worrying, whirling and whammings but what can you expect from a car that's nearly 20 years old? The thing that really had JR and I a bit worried was not the driving bit, it was the idling bit. While idling the car tended to jump around and voice rather load complaints. It was enough to make your teeth rattle a bit, comparable to one of those massaging chairs, ya know? Well after the drive, since JR and I are such shrewd hagglers we passed some of those comments that are meant to strike fear into the seller but realistically don't do much of anything. "That idlying thing is kinda worrying, huh?" "Yea its always made that sound but it runs great." "Yea it just really is loud and I don't think it's a good sign for it." "I know what you mean but it runs great." --This continued for 20 min...use your imagination for the rest--"Well we like you buddy but we'll need to discuss it together before we buy." Huddled conversation: 

Well what do you think? -JR 

I haven't got a clue. I don't know diddly about this sort of thing.-Me

Do you want to make him an offer?-JR

Yea, sure. It's a bit scary but, yea. Or no. I don't mind.-Me (I'm really helpful in these things)

Well I think if we low ball him down to 1200 instead of 1800 it'd be a good deal.-JR

Yea ok. I'll follow your lead (aka say as little as possible)-Me

All right let's do it. But we will walk away if he won't come down. -JR

OK- Me

(Haggling commences) Another huddled conversation.

Ok, well he didn't come down. What do we do?-JR

I dunno. I mean it's not the best but it's not the worst either. And we've come all this way.-Me

Yea, I know. And it's getting late too.-JR

Yea.-Me

Ah, fuck it. Let's buy it.-JR

Cool. -Me

And this, pretty much, is how we became owners of a white, kinda junky mitusbishi station wagon for $1800. Obviously, we are super shrewd hagglers. And at the time of purchase there appeared to only be fumes left in the tank so we immediately had to fill up which basically made it cost 1900. So it goes. One lesson, never commit to a 3 hour one way trip to see a car because if the car looks kinda shitty it looks way better than another 3 hours on the train to get back... Anyway, we had one of our 'minor details' ticked off. We were car owners.

It was the middle of June at this point and for those unaware June=Summer in North America (and the rest of the northern hemisphere) but June in Oz=winter. Now I like most of you readers back home came to Australia with this post card picture of the land down under in my head namely this:

Sunshine, beaches, and nearly intolerable heat. The whole works

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before but even if I have it deserves a second mentioning. Everyone warned me about how Aussie winters and how miserable they can be. But having grown up in Ohio where winter means 3 ft of snow and -4 degree days I was hardly concerned. This is a patently false assumption Aussie winters suck. It's just cold and rainy and nothing else for ages...and ages......and ages. This is a much more accurate portrayal of Aussie winter:

This is all a matter of setting up JR and I's next mission: find the sun. The next day we hopped into our newly purchased car and started driving north, almost with abandon to find the postcard version of Australia. 

This adventure took us much much longer than I would care to recount. Basically it took us a week to ten days of nearly continuous driving and an absolutely horrible night out in Byron Bay to get past the bulge that holds Brisbane and painfully slowly began to see the sun in brief, cherished glimpses. The trail we scorched to find the sun forced us to pass by many interesting sounding destinations. For example, Fraser Island, the world's largest sand island which is covered with trekking trails and natural fresh water lakes and sounded magical but the rain was slowly dowsing the flame of hope and happiness in both of us so we kept driving on past. We spent our nights sleeping comfortably, if not compactly, in our station wagon at rest stops and free camp sites we could find. During this time we put our new car under a magnifying glass only to find a thousand minor quarks that were, let's say, less than desirable. I.e. the power steering gave out, the oil was dangerously low, the scary noise never really got better and always left us in the "it's going to die today" feeling, and, unnoticed at the time of purchase, short phrases had been added to the exterior in stick on letters that classily labeled the car as "The Mercedes Benz Pimp Mobile" on the trunk and by far the most clever and attractive a simple "FUCK OFF" spelled out just above the rear view mirror. For these slight defects and just in general the tiredness and tough life quality of our car we christen her Tina Turner because of 'the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.' (the title/subtitle of this post comes from my favorite slam poem called "Shake the Dust". Check it out. It'll make your life better: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u--_-tyuejc) It really was a gem of a buy. But it was still working so we had no complaints.

After the never ending drive we did manage to finally find some clear sky and sunshine. And man when life is good. Life is REALLY good. We were doing the exact same things as before: driving most of the day and finding free places to camp but it seemed that the drives were shorter and the camp sites all butted up against beautiful beaches. As soon as we'd found the sun we naturally fell into its rhythm, waking at 6:30 or 7 and going to sleep at 830 or 9. It was fabulous.

First touch of sunlight in the morning

The world spinning the sun further up into the sky

Introducing Tina Turner in all her glory (that is the same sunrise as above through the trees).

Cozy home. Fell asleep to the lapping of the ocean.

Full set up.

About two weeks out of Sydney we managed to rendez-vous with a couple of friends from OEG Liz Slingsby (UK) and Lisa Sink (Virginia) at a place called Cape Hillsborough national park. It was incredible. We stayed at a caravan park (Liz and Lisa had rented a decked out van designed for camping) that was, again, 20 meters from beach access. It was wonderful. We passed the time sharing stories about our past month's worth of adventures, lounging on the beach, and exploring the area--with some help of a super friendly Kiwi who let us borrow his sea kayak for a day. The beach was great and quite singular in that it's sand was infused with mica particles (fools gold essentially) which gave it a quality of shininess and sparkle that really was quite stunning. We stayed at the park for 3 nights simply living the high life. I could go on for pages on this but as I am already so so so so so so so far behind on my postings I'll leave it for now. I'll let each of these pictures from this time give their 1000 words instead:

 

UPCOMING FOR OUR HEROS:

With any simple truthful saying like "...when life is good. Life is REALLY good," hides a much deeper and unpleasant converse truth, in this case "...when life is bad. Life is REALLY bad." Well our good life was just about to take a sharp turn for the worse. But that's a story for another post.

Sydney-Big City Lights

To start I must make several apologies.
First, I must apologize to the English language for the acts of cruelty I my previous posts have committed against it. Sorry.
Secondly, to those who have read my previous blog posts who have any reverence for grammar and spelling. My bad.
Lastly, I must apologize to my parents. I do not doubt that something along the lines of, "Hold the phone. We paid a lot money to send this boy to college for 4 years (yes they are pretty amazing like that). He MAJORED in English. WTF?" Fair enough.

My defense:
My idea of traveling rarely includes spending several hours in front of a computer screen writing blog posts. My eyes go blurry and my arms start cramping. Boo hooo, I know but...well....deal with it.


Back to our irregularly scheduled update--

When we last left our travelers they were catching an overnight train from Melbourne to Sydney. Don't imagine overly cramped cabins with rickety fold-down beds for this 13 hour train trip. No. That would be far too classy. We being of the "perpetually poor" traveled the only way we know of: business/economy class. Essentially, we vainly tried sleeping sitting up in rather stiff backed chairs. Not a great night's sleep.

But it was effective as the five of us--JR, Emily, Andrew, Claire, and I--exited the train with swollen and cavernous, bloodshot eyes in Sydney. It couldn't be described as "hot" and "warm" would be pushing it but it was...fair. Some sunlight peaked through the clouds. But it was more of a mental benefit than a thermoregulatory boost. But it wasn't raining and it wasn't cold. So it was better than Melbourne at least.

Andrew, Claire and I split a room at a hostel immediately next to the Sydney Central and dropped off our packs. We caught maybe half an hour of rest/watching the first episode of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman (I always thought it was a movie for some reason). After which we had agreed to meet Em and JR at the Circular Quay (pronounced 'key' rather than 'kway' in Australia. Why? No one knows) and catch a ferry to Manly Beach--a famous Syndey surfer beach.
The Circular Quay and surrounding area I would describe as the tourist's city center. The quay area is home to swankier cafes, restaurants, and bars; the ferries to Manly and Bondi Beaches; and most famously the Sydney Opera House; as well as being one of the best places to view the picturesque Harbour Bridge.

----
This is as good a time as any to take a small detour and talk about the creativity of Australian names. Let's just say that Australians are practical.
 "Hey what do you call that bridge that goes over Sydney Harbour?"
"The Sydney Harbour Bridge."
"Hey, what do you call the opera house you have in Sydney?"
"The Sydney Opera House."
"Hey, what do you call that great giant reef you have up north? You know the one that is like a barrier, stopping waves and such from getting to the mainland?"
"The Great Barrier Reef."
Hey, what do you call that long road that goes along the ocean below Melboure; it's got a lot of great beaches and scenery on it?"
"The Great Ocean Road."
"... ... You guys really spent a lot of time on these names, huh?"
"Aw, heaps of time mate. Heaps."
----

In the modern world pictures, postcards, and videos can make world icons that are several thousand miles away seem familiar and comfortable. Take for instance, the Mona Lisa. Everyone has seen the Mona Lisa a million times, right? She's everywhere: movies, tv, posters, billboards, stickers, T-shirts, book covers, place mats, and coffee mugs for christ's sake. Since the Mona Lisa's imagine is so well circulated I recall a profound sense of anticlimax upon seeing the painting in real life. I left feeling underwhelmed. A rather long way of saying that sometimes real life simply cannot live up to the reputation. Let me tell you though that the Sydney Opera House does not suffer from this effect whatsoever. Again, I've seen images of the Opera House countless times but even with this I was captivated by it, entranced even. Something about the juxtaposition of the elegant flowing curves with the sharp and jagged lines of the structure simply demands one's attention.

The ferry we took to Manly beach turned gently around the building allowing us to see it from all angels and it made us all crane our necks till was blocked entirely from the boat.We spent the rest of the day at Manly Beach.
JR straight away rented a surf board. One of the massive, long, foam numbers designed for those that are hopeless at surfing (see my previous post for a better description "hopeless"). Manly, true to its reputation, treated us much more kindly than did Rye. We shared the board around everyone having a go. It was great. Without the threat of some horrible death-by-ocean the comedy of our nyophytism shown through. Pretty much everyone got owned. In my estimation JR came the closest to actually riding a way. While Andrew definitely took the "observer" award.
During the surf sessions everyone else took it pretty easy on the beach doing typical beachy things: sun bathing (it did warm up a bit), reading, videoing the surfing, and spinning poi. The latter being my newest obsession.

Several hours later we caught the return ferry back to the center of the city and Andrew, Claire, and I returned to our hostel, where we cooked an economic rice meal and prepared to meet up with JR and Emily who were hanging out with a friend of Emily's.
For the life of me I can't recall the name of the bar we met but I do remember it was probably 250 meters from our hostel. If I recall it was a Tuesday night; or a Wednesday night; or a Sunday night. Some night that would be considered a 'dead' night most places. But the bar we went to was a backpacker mecca and the thing about backpackers is that they have no jobs, so every night is a drinking night! The place was jammed and besides the ridiculously cheap beer (finally!!) its unique draw was a "crab racing table". Use your imagination on that one. Sadly, JR's crab, Daniel LaRusoe aka the karate kid, failed to bring home the cup. So it goes. The night was pretty uneventful. Lots of beer and a shorter night as most people were already feeling quite tired. But a long enough night that JR and Emily were sneaked into our hostel instead of getting a taxi and Andrew slept on the floor.

The next day Clair, Andrew and I changed hostels to a cheaper option in the only district Claire's mother specifically recommended against-King's Cross. A very interesting neighborhood where one could find some really nice, sophisticated bars butted immediately up to a gentlemen's club. And this was par for the course. Every other door had neon lights and blacked out window's. But due to its seedy nature it was a natural destination for us penny-pinchers. Anyway, we checked into our new hostel and headed out to explore the expansive botanical gardens which are adjacent to Sydney Harbor. An easy, short walk delivered us to the gardens where Claire and I meandered through. By far the most interesting things we came across were a type of tree--the curtain fig I believe. It was awesome. Dropping roots from its branches that made their way to the ground and dug themselves in. The end result is where the name comes from, it looked like a curtain. Very very cool.
We walked past the Opera House once again in a mild trance and we (Andrew had joined Claire and me at this point) ate the left overs of our rice dinner on a bench by the harbour. An innocuous activity to say the least. However, Andrew was with us and life is rarely dull when he is around. Actually, Andrew is better known as Cluster. Those of you whose imaginations don't need prompting can a pretty accurate picture of Cluster. Life is always interesting when he's around. This was no different. I forget whose plastic bag it actually was but a thin plastic bag, like one used in grocery stores for produce, slipped from our little posse's control and gently blew over the edge and into the harbour. Now this should be a conundrum for anyone. Littering is bad. But Claire, Cluster, and I are all employed in the outdoor field. Sadly, this means our pollution sensitivity is much keener than the general public's. So only using what we had handy, which was quite meager: the closes we were wearing, Claire's poi (socks with tennis balls in the end essentially) we attempted to construct a sufficient retrieval device. We spent the better part of an hour and half going for it. Connecting Cluster's and Claire's sweatshirts, Claire's poi, my raincoat, Cluster's flip-flop, a carabiner I had on my bag, and a full Nalgene bottle. It was rudimentary at best but funny as hell. First it was more or less ridiculous. Second, it attracted A LOT of attention. Upwards of thirty people stopping and staring at times. All questioning us, "What's in the bag?" To which we said "Nothing. We are doing our part to stop pollution." "Extreme vexation" would be the only way to describe their reactions. Ultimately, someone got fed up with watching us through the ferry's ticket booth and got a shepard's crook and retrieved it. However, our mission was successful! One less piece of litter in our oceans.

Afterward we floater boated the nearby fountains, nearly losing my nalgene and took shelter from a heavy storm at the Sydney museum which was pretty ordinary.

We returned to our hostel and changed into our fanciest clothing for soon after we went to see a play in the Sydney Opera House. There was a small feeling of let down when we were admitted into a quite ordinarily sized auditorium. For some reason I expect there to be only one stage with 20,000 seats. Upon reflection it wouldn't really work well--hard to sell out for every show every night I suppose. The play was called, "Under Milkwood". It was a play adaptation of a long poem. It was...interesting. One of that kind of show that at the end everyone stoop up and mumbled vague, nebulous comments of enjoyment vainly trying the mask the "what the hell was that?" feeling in their guts. Maybe it has some great meaning but if it did it was lost on us, or me at least.

Outside the Opera House was stunning. There was a world light show exhibit running at the time and running around the Circular Quay were a series of light show exhibits all with their own unique qualities. Some were stunning: the Opera House had images projected upon it making it shimmer and wave; buildings whose lights danced to music playing from nearby speakers; spinning globes of color; 45 story buildings changing colors--from purple to green to red to blue. Some were interactive: walking by triggered sensors that changed the surrounding colors; playing tick-tack-toe on a giant lit board; one that lit up only when screamed at; one that created artwork based on people dancing in front of it. Some were strange: bicycles with brightly lighted and colored angular fish thingys put on top and ridden around; an igloo made of gas containers lit from the inside (you couldn't go in); the world's biggest flash light (?!?). And some were plain pathetic--giant wooden dogs with glowing heads that "amazingly" turned your way if you pushed the one button the exhibit had. Thank you Australia's finest for that one.

By far though the clock tower was the best. Check out this quick clip of it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LiQof-jAnbA&feature=youtu.be


[put your arrow over top of that colored text and click grandma :-)]


A light showed played over top of the elaborate structure of the building and the light show actually incorporated the structure into the show! It was amazing! Columns turned into highways that cars drove over; windows became holes things fell into; doors became a tongue. It was incredible. I spent at least 20 minutes standing transfixed.

All in all the light show was stunning. It really turned Sydney into a special, unique experience for me.

Nothing of note that evening. A quite return the hostel and a good night's sleep.

Most of the next day was spent taking it easy. Not really sight seeing not really doing a whole lot except relaxing in one of the city's parks, listening to street musicians, reading, and spinning poi. It was great really. Every week or so a day like that is mandatory for backpackers. It just clears everything out so you can reboot for more traveling.

Sadly, this evening was time to say goodbye to Cluster, Claire, and Emily. It's strange thinking about it now, nearly 2 months later. It seems ages ago we parted and honestly, I am looking forward to getting back to Eildon to see some familiar faces again. They are definitely all good people and friends. But that will come.

This being the end of the 'group' traveling I suppose it is as good a time as any to give you readers a break as well as me. My shoulders are starting to hurt and I am more susceptible to carpaltunnel these days. But that is a story to come later.
--------------------


Yet another way to die in Australia

Red Gum Trees

Nope. That is no typo. The trees can even end your life. Although not in the way you probably expect.

You think killer tree you tend to think it's somehow poisonous, right? I do anyway.

Well nope. Not gumtrees. See some times Australia can have lots of rain. At the moment for instance Melboure is doing fine in its water reserves. But sometimes Australia can practically be a desert. Not long ago (~3 years) there were kids who were 13 years old that had never known rain in the Melbourne area.

Anyway trees don't like this so much because if they have water available it is beneficial to grow limbs to catch more sunlight to photosynthesis more to get more energy to grow bigger and stronger and so on and so on. However it is not a good idea for trees to have lots of giant limbs when there is not much water because it means they have to spread the water everywhere meaning they need lots of water which sucks when none is around.
Gum trees have a strategy for this. If they don't have the water they'll just say "F@#$ this I don't need this limb," and they just drop it. No warning. No notice. Just giant tree limb randomly falling.

Now this is not too big a deal if you are just hanging out around it cause it will crack a second or ten before falling and you're awake, you can walk/run away. But camping near this type of tree can be a hazard because well you aren't awake and get the hell out of there.
This is pretty serious around OEG as they actually had a girl killed years back from a red gum limb in the night. So now it is mandatory procedure for group leaders to do thorough tree checks to ensure camp sites are safe from these hazards.

Nearly a Death: Nearly a Sport

Greetings and salutations!
So it has once again been ages since my last post and this has an inverse correlation to how much has happened since.
Currently I am a town called Ayr just south of Cairns and am about to head out tomorrow to start my new life as a grape vine trimmer. We'll see how that goes. But FIRST, time for a quick play by play of the past month or so...

After being stuck in Eildon for much longer than I wished to be after my last program for the first half of the year JR, Emily, Claire, Andrew (Cluster) and myself spent 4 or 5 days in a town called Rye. It is a little surf town on the southernely side of the bay on which Melbourne resides. Our plan was to spend these days hanging out on the beaches both bayside and ocean side, trying our hand at surfing, and general beach going activities. We'd gotten in touch with a holiday house via a friend and all was good. After a day sizing up the area and hanging out on the beach (it was only like 50 degrees) we decided surfing was a great idea for our second day. Claire got intouch with her roommate Lisa, who lives half an hour north of Rye (and who more importantly owns heaps of surf boards lol), and invited her to come down for our surf session. The next day we got to Rye's ocean side beach which is a renowned surfer beach and despite the bit of a chill in the air (and worse in the water). From the car park the surf does not look particularly stellar nor does it look dead. There is even one other surfer out and catching some waves; we decide to have a go.
Lisa, JR, Cluster, and myself all sported surf boards at first while Claire and Em took up boogy boards. Now let me be quite clear here, Lisa is the only one who has any idea what she is doing at this juncture. Claire and Emily both have lots of beach experience but are not pros whereas JR, Cluster, and myself are pretty clueless. But that all aside we fearlessly run to the water surf boards in hand.
Pretty quickly things are pretty strange. The waves are really choppy and very difficult to stay on board the surf boards while stroking out to behind the breakers. I suppose "trying to stroke out to behind the breakers" would be more appropriate. Not quite accustomed to balancing on a board to begin with the rough, foamy water makes it doubly hard. And embarrassingly soon starting to fight the waves I am not significantly futher from shore and my arms are already starting to burn. But determined not to give up I persist. Then in only a moment of paddling I look back and all of a sudden the shore seems miles away and I find myself practically on the break line. Now here is a fact I learnt that day. Waves are always much larger when you are in the water than they appear from shore. These waves that seemed pretty tame from shore were anything but. They were large, they were unevenly spaced, and they were breaking on my head practically. To be able to see my struggle would have been hilarious. For about ten minutes I just barely held ground but the whole time was a bobber. Wave would come I would swim hard into it (I learnt later you should go under them...) the wave would knock me from my board, I would flounder a second, recover, regain my position on the board and just in time for the process to repeated. As I said this lasted for about 10 minutes. Eventually I found my board and myself had been spun 90 degrees so that my broadside was to the wave. This is not a favourable position to be in as in this position you expose the most surface area for the wave to pound on. What happened next is not entirely clear to me as most of it was spent underwater but I am quite certain that the number of flips, twists, turns, and contortions that happened would have impressed even the most stoic of gymists. However, for me this was one of those "and this is how it ends, huh?" moments. For a second I can remember forgetting which way was up and not being quite sure when how I was to get my next breath. But fortuitously waves pretty much always end up on a beach which is a good foothold to stand back up, cough up the litre of water you inhaled, stagger back a little sheepishlywhat seems like a mile you got pulled down beach to where the group's made homebase.
The sheepishness soon passed as upon arriving at the base I found JR already there as well as Claire. JR and I laconically discuss the conditions until we each realize that we both got our asses kicked equally and both were near death on at least for a moment, at which time we freely admit to our humilations. Claire, whom probably acted most prudently, said she only needed a couple minutes to realize it was a bit much for her. The three of us gaze out to watch Emily on her boogy board only to realize that she has enlisted the aid of the only surfer to tow her in because as she told us later she was paddling as hard as she could be was getting nowhere. The surfer chastisted her for "not wearing fins like you always should" but ultimately gave her a lift back in. That leaves Cluster and Lisa who we loose track of for quite sometime but are seen again ages down the beach exiting the water. Cluster was taken for a ride much like JR and I were only perhaps with a little more violence and Lisa simply said that the waves were too big for her. All in all we were in the water for no more than 45 minutes. And I, luckily (stress on the this part), can happily say it was an absolutely stupid idea to go out that day.

After another days and evenings spent on the beach (playing bocce or going for a late night swim) or at the house (watching the LOTR triology on 3 consecutive nights) our crew departed for a couple days in Melbourne.

One of the most noteable aspects of Melbourne--and I am finding with Victoria in general--is the masses obsession with one of the stranger sports I've ever come across known as Australian Football League (AFL for short) or lovingly referred to as 'footy'. I got to witness just how strange the sport is first hand when we went with a small crew of OEG folks to the match between the St. Kilda Saints and the Richmond Tigers.
Let me try to explain this sport...
The game is played on a giant ovular pitch. And by giant I mean ~165 yards long by 135 wide! It is played with the bastard child of an American football and a rugby ball: so, oblong like an American football but with the points rounded off and with a fatness of a rugby ball. End result? Strange. About as unaerodynamic as you can get. There are 18 players per side plus...hold on one sec...7 umpires for a total of 43 people (not including bench/coaches) at one time (this is not including that least 8 water boys that run in and give water whenever the ball goes to the other side of the field). They tell me there all have positions, jobs, and duties which I believe intuitively to be true but to watch the sport you wouldn't garner that yourself. Basic rules are this, each team trys to kick it through the other team's goalposts. There are four of these. The four goalposts make three slots to kick through. Kick it through the center posts will earn you 6 points; miss by a bit and make it through the outer posts and you only get 1 point. That's all there is to scoring (as far as I know).
To do this each team naturally has to move the ball close to the other team's goals. This is accomplished three ways: 1-running with the ball. Completely cool except that while in motion with the ball you can be speared by any of the other team's players. Also, every 10-12 yards/steps (how this is enforced is beyond me..."foul. you took one too many steps although i must admit i kind of lost count...umm...too bad!") the player must bounce the ball. This is quite a feat taking into consideration the unique shape/size of the ball.
Way #2: you can while running pass the ball to another teammate. Any logical system (of which there are many) would allow you to in some way throw your teammate the ball. But no not in footy, not in Australia. Logic does not conquer all. To pass the ball players have to hold the ball in one hand and punch the ball to their buddies. Why? Who knows. But that is how it goes.
Third and final way (and I think most bizarre) is the punt. Don't have to be a genius to guess what this looks like. However, the result of the punt is quite singular. Say one dude punts it to his teammate. His teammate goes to catch it (which in the attempt to he can--and is encouraged to do so--literally put his foot/cleat into the other players shoulder, back, head, neck, whatever he can to elevate himself high enough to make the catch. And then, once he does, now this is the strange bit, he gets to land and take it easy. And by take it easy I mean the other team cannot come with one yard where he caught the ball. While the catcher can quite literally walk away from the other team, take his time, find his target, retie his shoe laces, adjust his socks, take aim and then punt it on towards his teammate. What's more it is legal and definitely the best strategy to score from this way. So most often goals are scored by players who have NO ONE EVEN CLOSE TO THEM! Unless this is golf that doesn't seem ok.
Sufficed to say when your only options are bouncing, punching, or punting this overlarge egg shaped ball the outcome is that 75% of the time you bungle your bounce, botch your punch, and your punt sails over your teammate's head. And what follows this fact is that the ball spends a great deal of time on the ground. And it is my opinion that here is where the true fun of this game lies. Anyone who watches American football is familiar with the awesomely unathletic gawky awkward and bumbled heyday that happens when a fumbled football starts bouncing away pell mell. Grown men, the biggest, the baddest, the strongest are reduced to child like ability when determining which way the bumbling ball will bounce. This is, again, 75% of footy. Grown men vainly trying to secure a ball that by all indications should have bounced right but instead chose to bounce left and cause them to fall facefirst onto the turf.

Anyway, the game itself was quite rivetting but I think I was mainly excited the same way a 5 year old does in front of the TV watching the game with their father. Though the wee one has absolutely no idea what is going on, who is who, or even what sport it is, the child will share in their father's highs and lows, mimicing the fierce crys of anger and sharing in the jubilation of the celebration. I was this five year old. I had very little idea what was going on but did my best to cheer when the other supporters cheered and yell when they yelled. It was invigorating.

All in all my stay in Melbourne was short but enjoyable. Still together the gang of Cluster, JR, Emily, Claire, and I took the overnight train to Sydney. Which will be the next chapter of this affair. But no promises when this comes. As I stated at the beginning of this blog, I am going to be pruning grape vines for the next 3 or so weeks. So till then...


Death By Seashell

NO JOKE YOU CAN DIE SEASHELL HUNTING!!!

These cone snails (as they are often called) are nocturnal, meaning they are active at sunset and just before sunrise.
The shells are speckled, with various colors and this can make them pretty enough, especially for unsuspecting children to pick up and this can be deadly.
The Cone Shells have very sharp teeth that have the capability of piercing right through clothing, so beware! Their venom is made up of several neurotoxic peptides that can and do result in death of humans.
The venom works by causing weakness, inability of coordination, blurred vision, and loss of speech and hearing. Severe cases could result in death by causing muscle paralysis or respiratory failure. Less severe cases just cause extreme nausea.
The best way to avoid a sting from a Cone Shell is not to touch a live one. It is not safe to touch the wide end because the extendable harpoon-wielding proboscis can reach most parts of the shell. Wear heavy shoes when walking through the waters of the Great Barrier Reef to protect your feet from harm. And please do not put the shells into pockets or sleeves!
The venom is in the saliva, which comes from two glands, each larger than the creatures brain. The same poisonous saliva that is present in toad or puffer fish is the same type that the Cone Shell uses to kill humans. You may not feel the bite right away, but very soon you will notice numbness around your mouth, followed by paralysis. Death results from respiratory failure!
Cones feed on worms, mollusks, and are know to be cannibalistic (meaning they feed on other cone shells).
To catch fish a snail needs fast acting venom and the cone shells definitely have that. They detect their prey from chemicals in the water drawn through its siphon. Then it extends it proboscis, (a hollow feeding tube) which has a hollow barbed tooth on the end with a poisonous sac attached.
The tooth is driven into the victim, and then poison is injected through the tooth. They can only use the tooth once but a supply of spare teeth is kept in a tooth sac and they are moved into position as needed. The cone holds victims by the tooth and releases poison into them and then draws it into the proboscis to be digested.
The cone shell carries a toxin concoction that is capable of killing humans and the venom from just one cone can kill (in theory) seven hundred people.

Work Work Work

Let's be real here...I suck at blogging. My father pointed out I am late for my bi-monthly frenetic, boarderline-incoherent, and more-or-less uninformative blog post...that was three weeks ago. So, NOW I am really late!!

But it's ok. Because I have something to blame...work. Work. and more WORK! So, I've realized recently I've never actually described what I do here. Let me take this time to rectify this by explaining a typical first day...the first day is by far the most chaotic and stressful. I started with doing a full week but realized it would literally take ages to both write and read despite that, I warn you this may take a while.

Monday morning between 6:15 and 9 o'clock:
Arrive to what is known as "the slab", aptly named for the narrow stretch of concrete that is the only workable surface outside of our operations shed. This is a gigantic unsightly pole barn that houses about a bazillion tents, sleeping mats, sleeping bags, camping packs, rain gear, cooking gear: everything necessary for up to like 600 kids to be fully outfitted for their time on camp. The shed is the launch pad. Sitting outside the shed is the OEG fleet of hilux trucks with attached fully loaded box trailers (or bike or canoe trailors, depending on the program). Programs can be up to 12 groups large. Each group can have up to 14 kiddos anywhere from grade 5 to grade 10 or 11 depending on the week as well as 1 teacher. So...(12x14kids)+(12x1teachers)=180 bodies. All of which will need gear. But that is not the whole of it because there are of course sizes to backpacks, overgear, and gaiters (an outdoor version of leg warms used to keep legs safe from blackberries and snakes). So, with allowing for an appropriate size assortment we're talking a veritable shit ton of gear.
Once on the slab Group Leaders (GLs) must complete a safety check on any vehicles that are to be used: tire pressure, oil, mileage (recorded in kilometers if that makes any sense). Those not checking vehicles begin pulling out the food tubs/eskies--coolers--to be loaded. Another quick math problem food for 192 bodies (including GLs) for 3 meals (there is also one snack and one dessert per day but we'll ignore that for now) for 5 days...192bodies x 3meals x 5days=2880 meals. This is by no means a small ordeal. Once food is loaded then an empty hilux is loaded with all the GL personal gear and we are off to the races. OEG programs can be as close as Eildon/Wanggari which takes no more than 7 minutes to drive to or who knows the upward limit like 8 hours (these typically get a travel day though which mean you leave on sunday and ruins your whole weekend!). Anyway, we're going to Eildon Centre this time.

Monday 8-10:30ish:
 Arrive at Eildon Centre. Find and retreive your briefing notes and map case that you stupidly packed away with your pack (everytime!!), make yourself a cup of coffee and get ready for the group breifing by your Course Coordinator (CC). The CC is the one whole plays God for the program. Anything you need done your CC is there to cover your back. They are the ones who designed the program. They talked to the school to get the idea of what the focus of the week is going to be. These are of not abstract concepts but are a big selling point for OEG programs and are called Educational Outcomes. Examples are Accepting Challenge, Leadership, Enviornmental Connection, Followership, Emotional Resiliance, Spirituality (???), Respect and Responsibility and others that I should be able to list but can't be bothered right now. These ideas are meant to be a blanket outcome for the entire week. School will typically pick two or three to focus on. As a GL it is your job to make everything that happens good/bad, fun/boring, easy/hard whatever to relate in some way back to these goals. Back to the briefing, huh? The CC lays out the game plan. Imagine they are Lombardi and you play for the packers--they have the confidence, they have that experience, that look in their eye that makes everyone excited. If that is the case your week is going to be awesome! You can bet they've thought of everything and will anticipate your every need. Sweet as! But if they are like Romeo Crunell and have a glossy sheet over their eyes, look confused, and basically stand there the entire time with their arms crossed over their chest you can bet you are in for hell.  At this point you first get your roster and med forms. These tell you who is likely to die spontaneously because they are allergic to jumping jack ants that are literally EVERYWHERE! And you have a moment where you frantically review the emergency first aid procedures for epipens in your head and realize you may have to forcibly stab a needle into this person's leg to save their life at some point this week. And it could happen at any time! Or see who in your group are lac-tards or glu-tards or like to think they are vegetarian which means cooking is going to three times harder than it has to be. Anyway, the CC and the however many GLs all have a nice chat about how great this week is going to be. And it has been so far....the kids haven't gotten there yet.

Around12:00 Monday:
Buses roll up. Game face goes on.
Picture this-- two chartar busses with probably 100 kids all of whom have been couped up storing energy--as only children can--for sometimes upwards of 4 hours arrive and all file off the bus. Daunting to say the least! Crowd control starts early or it won't start at all!
"Laides and Gentlemen welcome! We need everyone to grab a bag off of the bus and carry it to where I am standing! It doesn't have to be your bag just any bag! And bring it over to where I am! You there? What are you waiting on? Nope nope just grab any bag our main goal is just to unload the bus! We'll worry about whose bag is whose later! For now grab a bag and bring it to me! What are all of these bags doing right next to the bus? Am I standing by the bus? Then let's fix this shall we!"
From here you roll call your kids and you hear yourself say things like "if I botch your name I'm sorry and just let me know" even though you remember from being a how annoying it was that everyone who has ever done a roll call ALWAYS said that without fail!
Now you have your kids and believe it or not the next 10 minutes will be critical to your week! Fun fact, kids are like sharks. Sharks can smell blood from miles away. Kids can smell fear, hesitation, and weakness. The first 10 minutes they'll get a feel for your style. You can't be weak or they'll walk all over you but you can't be too hard or they'll not connect with you. No pressure now...just relax...AHHH!!
***In reality this isn't quite as monumental as all of this (I don't think) but it sure does seem like it***
Play a quick game with the kids to ease the awkward we-just-met-each-other tension as well as try to remember 15 names in 10 minutes--my favorite is one called Who Stole My Flaming Dead Monkey. At some point during the first 30-45 minutes you pull aside your teacher and start your genial and professional relationship with a clear and concise explanation of emergency procedures as well as what is expected of them and the start of the buddy buddy chats you'll have. It is your job to make the teacher happy. They are the ones who fill out the performance reviews for GLs and once back at school are the leading authority on "Was the OEG camp worth it." So both you and the company has a vested interest in making them have a good time.

Next you herd your group to your staging area which because you are a good group leader you have already set up in advance. The staging area is where and when the kiddos get issued their backpacks, their sleeping mats, their tents (3 per tent), their gaiters, and their rain gear. It is also where they transfer their possessions from the bags they came with (their 'soft' bags) into their hiking packs. This may sound simple but it is probably the most important segment of the week. Why? "There is no such thing as bad weather. Just bad clothing." That's a quote I've run across and find it particularly well phrased. Most weeks have had some sort of rain or cold or heat or wind or whatever environmental factor you can imagine. Kids having the correct gear is of paramount importance if you want your week to go over well. So, sadly, you must literally ask the entire group to take clothing out to show you piece by piece because as I have experienced first hand if you simply ask "Ok, so everyone has a full set of thermals? Top and bottom, right? I know I've asked 5 times but this is important. I need to see everyone shake their heads, 'yes'" only to find on day three when it is absolutely freezing and wet that Patrick doesn't have either top or bottoms! Sigh...
If you don't check what your kids are taking you would be amazed at what they try to stuff into these packs--3 huge cotton sweatshirts, 4 pairs of pants, 8 shirts, 3 beanies, 2 scarves, 3 pairs of shoes...and they are only going to be on camp for 4 nights?!? Not ok. So you pretty much tell them what they have to pack and then, because most of these kids do not have much experience in outdoorsy stuff, you go over how to pack their backpacks: sleeping bags and clothes in the water proofing at the bottom of the pack, then group gear, then miscellaneous personal gear, then food, then flashlights (called torches here) and rain gear in the top of their packs. Lots and lots of information for them really.

And you typically have about 1 or so to do all of this. Why/ Because you have to get them ready to go do their first activity...

Monday ~2 o'clock:
Stash their soft bags wherever your CC has told you to and get your group ready to go on their first activity. Mountain biking today.
Corral all of the kids and distribute appropriately sized bikes, helmets, reflective vests (sexy!), riding packs, and gloves and then go over a safety briefing for the "how to"s of biking. No wheelies (called monos here), feather the brakes, roll up your right pant legs, check your brakes are working, how to adjust your seat, etc. Make sure you get the kids to get a test ride in because there is a distressing population of kids that have NEVER RIDDEN A BIKE AT THE AGE OF 13! Makes me sad. But in a group of 14 nearly every time you have one kid who has never been on two wheels.
After they ride in a circle for to show they can at least balance on the thing you are start off riding on a 100 km road (about 55 mph). really it is pretty easy because it doesn't get too much traffic but that traffic is flying so it is kind of scary. The GL typically leads the pack, always with an eye behind you to make sure no one is dying, letting the teacher bring up the rear. Pretty flat, smooth sailing for the first 5ks or so. By that time you've left the highway and have gotten to the "mountain bike track" on OEG property. This course is pretty tame but statistically I believe mountain biking is the number one incident-ed activity OEG runs so that is fun. Anyway, guide the chitlins through the course testing their endurance, emotional resilience, or whatever the learning outcomes of the week are. Be sure to point it out to them as they are doing it..."Look at that element you just rode down? Congrats on accepting the challenge laid out before you." or whatever.
Finish up your cycle ride with a long winding downhill section which is a welcome feeling after going up for the majority of the ride and you cruise on into OEG's privately owned and operated campsites called Wanggari. Immediately upon arriving restate how the activity helped them in the learning outcomes..."scale of one to ten who is felt a bit challenged on the mountain bike course? Awesome! i see a huge range of numbers. those that were challenged a lot, well done! it takes a lot of courage to face your fears. those that found the course easy you may think about helping out those that struggled with this task in our activities tomorrows because guys we are a team here. Be a leader and lend a hand to those that are struggling. Great job!" Something like that...

By now, if all has gone well, it is probably around 5 o'clock:
Now, let's say it is late fall (end of April). 5 o'clock the sun has already begun to set. So, the mad camp dash begins. Organize your kids to pick up the gear--kindly shuttled by your cycle support dude--not only their own packs but also the group food and the group gear and shuttle all of it to your camp. This'll take about 30 minutes with the 3 laps it'll take the group to get all the gear and the "I have to go to the toilet" breaks. By now, the sun has set behind the hills and you know the residual glow lasts no time at all so you have to get camp set up. But, these kids don't really know how to set up their tents. So, with no time to show them properly you tell them to start putting up their tents and you'll come around and help when they need. After they reply "But I don't know how!" you tell them to give it a go and you'll come around to help when they need. Which sounds a lot like what you just told them, right?
Anyway, while they start trying their tents you have to start setting up the cooking circle. This isn't too difficult really. Grab a rope from your group gear and make it into a circle and put all of the cooking gear in it: big pot, big wok, 2 spaceships (which hold the pot/wok), and a trangea--camp stove and pots.
Before you get this done though the kids all want some help with their tents so you run around giving tips and explanations for how the tents work. Depending on the group this can be more suggestions such as "You should think about how you orient your tent so you have your heads up hill" to "This heavier part that has the zippers on the things that look like doors is the body to your tent. It goes up first, not your fly." To be fair it's not their fault but pretty much every wrong way to put up a tent they will find. and they will try.

Eventually...about 6:45:
All tents are up and everyone has moved in. But now it is of course completely dark. You give the hollar for everyone to exit their tents with their torches (flashlights). Your briefings for the day are not done yet because it is time to teach everyone how to use the OEG cooking equipment because they are the ones in charge of their meals. By now though I have briefed them on how camp is going to run, how to pack their backpacks, how to ride mountain bikes, how to put up their tents, handwashing station, and probably a couple of others and they are tired of hearing you talking and frankly, you are tired of talking. So I typically try to do a I've-lost-my-voice-from-talking-so-much-today silent briefing where they have to guess from my acting how to not kill themselves while cooking with open flames. All in all it is pretty easy to do but it is also one of most likely to seriously injure a kid if you don't do it well. After everyone has seen the briefing (they'll all get a chance to cook during the week) everyone except the 3 or 4 who are on cooking duty that night have an hour or so of free time while dinner is being prepared.
Here is where you get your teacher to take the ball for a while. You have them preside over the food prep. They watch over the food gathering and the food chopping and so on.
While they take charge of that section you tell the kids not cooking that if they want a fire they have to go gather fire wood. Leave them to that task and wander away with your work cell phone/walkie talkie to contact your CC. Apologize that you missed the 6:00 check in (you check in every day at 8 am and 6 pm) to get your group sorted out. These check ins are a chance for the CC to give you pertinent weather information and any changes to the outline have been (i.e. you need to be at high rope at 930 tomorrow not 9). This is also the chance for you to relay any pressing matters about your group. Any kids you have doubts about going on the bushwalk tomorrow? or any kids been feeling ill? etc. Get and give your information and get back to camp.
Have the kids bring in their fire wood and give a short spiel about how to make a sweet fire tepee or log cabin...depending on your personal tastes. Get the fire going and the kids will naturally congregate around it as it is starting to get pretty chilly.
Head back over to the cooking group to oversee and lend any advice you have garnered from cooking the same meals every week for the past 3 months and help monitor the cooking circle. Typically meals only are fried veggies and some precooked meat with a easy and tasty sauce on top all served on rice or noodles. Number one challenge here? Cooking rice in the field. Two reasons: first it takes about 32 hours to boil enough water. and second, this is one that doesn't behoove you to let the kids take charge of unless you like your rice black, crispy, and stuck to the bottom of your pot.

something to consider...is it raining? if so everything becomes 10 times more difficult!

Hopefully, dinner is finished and served sometime between 730 and 8 o'clock.
Once dinner is served and before you eat chuck half a pot of water back onto the burners to warm up for dishes later. Spend dinner chatting around the fire. Allow kids to be kids and make their jokes and have their laughs. This is actually pretty awesome. Kids are freaking hilarious! If the kids aren't the talkative kind this is a great chance to entertain with riddles or camp stories or songs. Personally I am riddle kind of guy. "What can travel anywhere in the world but has to stay in one corner?" "1 costs 20 cents. 12 costs 40 cents. and 129 costs 60 cents. What am I?" Love riddles.
Anywho, as dinner is dying down you clear some space to get in your end-of-day debrief. The goal of this is to get an active discussion going about everyone's day. One of my go-tos is the poop sandwich. 1 good thing about your day. then one bad thing. followed by another good thing. good.bad.good=poop sandwich. This is typically the best part of the day as you would be surprised the great answers you get. Kids that didn't seem to have fun say there was so many goods to choose from and some kids won't be able to come up with a bad. It's great.
After everyone has shared you rally the troops once again to come learn how OEG does the dish clean up. Kids HATE this! Most of these kids are pretty privileged and comment that "they have never had to do a dish in their life"...sigh...
By now it is every bit of 930 which in my camp is tent time. Everyone finishes dishes, using the toilet, brushes teeth and has 30 minutes to talk in tents before lights out and silence takes effect. More than likely this is the kids favorite part of camp. Rarely do they have an opportunity to just hang out with kids their age without ipods, cell phones, ipads, laptops, gaming devices, internet and so on. During this time the teacher typically will stay up to help put the kids down and it is also the chummy chatty time where you do your best to relate with, comfort and have fun with your teacher.
If you have been paying close attention you may have noticed that nowhere yet have i written "and here you sneak off and set up your tent" . Well you're right. I haven't. Mainly because 80 percent of the time my tent wont go up before 10 o'clock on the first day. Granted other GLs manage to do this quite easily. But me, personally, rarely can accomplish such a feat. Anyway, while they are talking I sort our my home: tent, sleeping bag, sleeping mat, etc. 10 o'clock roles around and I scare my kids into getting to sleep by threatening to make them do the pot scrub on friday.
Now, finially, 10:15 I am in my tent and kids are asleep. And I'm Spent...
But wait...there's more! Have any of the kids needed first aid throughout the day? Anyone have a blister you had to put tape on? Anyone cut their finger chopping veggies (probably)? Anyone fall of their bike? not really even hurt themselves but just come close? You get to fill out a lovely incident form to turn in on the last day of program. Fun fun. And then after being up at 6 you get to bed around 11. Ready to be up and excited for the day at 7 the next morning.




I realize my portrayal of the first day of program may come a bit jaded and even cynical. Any and all of that is simply meant to describe the sheer duties of the job and not my experience with it. Overall it is a challenge for me, as a group leader, to better manage, plan, and execute days like this. Any time I mentioned kids being stupid it holds true that the worst taint the best as there are many kids I've had that I would be proud to have as a son or daughter or for some of the great ones even as my friends. The preceding is just a glimpse of what all goes into a day as an Outdoor Recreation Group Group Leader. Also, it is hopefully meant to explain away some of my horrible communication track record since I've been here. See, programs end on Friday night (around 6) and then in merely 2 days programs start right back up again. When I get back from this kind of stress I really can't be bothered to spend an hour writing diligently away when there is sleeping, drinking, and socializing to be done.


Hope all of you enjoyed this. But I am a realist. I know that the only people likely to read such a mammoth post are either locked in some sort of procrastination (especially those still at school. It is getting close to finals time, right?!) or related to me by blood.

Either way. I'm outta here!



Oh yea.
Aussie death trap for the blog

Box Jelly Fish

In every top deadliest animal IN THE WORLD list you'll find.
Enough said...