Daffodils at Barhill.

We took the road from State Highway One,

headed straight for alpine hills;

inland from Rakaia a bit,

we found the wee village of Barhill.

Spring blossoms obscured our old house

by the corner of Lauriston Road.

Re-visiting my birthplace

long forgotten memories flowed.

When I was just a little boy

things towered over me:

I remember a hole in a huge hedge

of macrocarpa tree.
Still there today, that green portal,

once gateway to my home,

where country field and riverbed

were free for me to roam.
The earliest memory that I know

of flood waters all around,
but cradled in a wheelbarrow
I was safe from flooded ground.

Budded trees at the end of winter time,

spring jonquils' perfume strong,

I travelled back just recently

I had been away too long.

Oak, Birch and Sycamore,

the tree-lined avenues-

still as I remembered them

when they came into view-
planted by the farming squire

recreating English style.

A vibrant little village they tried,

It lasted mere a short while.
Surrounding the old stone church,

gay yellow daffodils

still welcome the few worshippers,                     

the parishioners of Barhill.

Just down along the Lauriston road

is the village cemetery:

there lies my dear young sister's grave

we had travelled far to see.

Through the tall wrought iron gates

we walked along the green.

Her simple rock headstone awaited

In such a picturesque scene.

Upon her stone I laid two flower

of bright yellow daffodil,

I picked them from the stone-walled grounds

of the old church at Barhill.
She lies to gaze on our old home

down at the corner there:

she must have loved this quiet place

to want to repose here.

Life takes amazing twisting track,

sometimes it draws full circle;
my young sister's grave now calls me back
to our birthplace of Barhill.

For June.

The small Barhill cemetery with the Southern Alps in the background.

..................................................................................................................................................................

Large farming estates were the backbone of New Zealand's agricultural economy in the late 1800's. An English gentry owner of a landholding south of the Rakaia River in South Canterbury, New Zealand, built an English style village for his many farm labourers. Laid out on a square grid pattern, the village street edges were planted with trees to create that English village scene. Mechanisation of farms during the 50's caused de-population of our small country villages and towns as labourers sought work and new lives in our cities. Under those now massive trees a few cottages remain clustered around the original stone church, which still is haven for the few folk living there and on farms in the district.

I've tried to describe the village, how to drive there, and what to look for.
Devastating floods were common on the Plains until massive stopbanks along major Canterbury rivers were completed during the 1950's/60's.

Oak, Birch and Sycamore remain the village lane names.

The church still ministers to its small congregation.

Our house, one of the few left, has been a home to many families over the past 60 years.

This poem about returning to home is submitted over here at Roys place royd-spiltmilk.blogspot.com/

Check out all the poems submitted for his Poe a tree hop.

All photos by Jim McIntosh.

Daffodils at Barhill.

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MY 7 LINKS: My Contributions to a Great Project!

A few days ago I came across a 'My 7 Links' project being talked about. I love new ideas, new ways of doing things, and to me this seemed a great way of bringing travel bloggers together. 
The goal was for bloggers to get together, share their older posts that may not have had the exposure they deserved, and build links to create a 'bank' of the posts we feel we'd like to see out there again. As we build our networks and gain a wider readership our older posts should be brought forth to our new audience.

'My 7 Links'  is a great concept for us all to come together, and share again those significant posts of the past. Thank you Katie at  Tripbase for creating this project!

Thanks to Christina Hegle of Jandal Road http://christinahegele.com/travel/ for recognising my contributions here at Holes In My Soles. I'm humbled and flattered.

It's tough trying to be a successful travelblogger because there are so many really great, informative, and inspiring sites out there. So I'm exploring various styles - narrative, poetry, and attempting good photography to retell my travelling adventures. Now while they are generally posted as 'my' adventures - my wife is beside me- Kay prefers staying unmentioned, but she is very much there so they are 'our'  experiences. We have been travelling a long journey together, we have had a lot of adventures, and there's many more to come. So I started blogging them, and hopefully Holes in My Soles can earn a few dollars and we can adopt a few more elephant babies at -
http://www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org/

My most beautiful post.
For pictures and prose to illustrate an unexpectedly beautiful place in one of the most deserted areas of Southern Africa I think this- Morning at Kubu Island; The Hand of Nature. So vivid in my mind...I hope in yours also after reading it.

My most popular post.
http://holesinmysoles.blogspot.com/2011/01/song-of-tui.html
Surprisingly, a wee bit of travel poetry has been my most popular, and still taking lots of hits. Thanks everyone. Someone must like my attempts at poetry.

My most controversial post.
http://holesinmysoles.blogspot.com/2010/12/violence-against-women-female-genital.html
This subject really does need more attention to change attitudes towards women in many countries.


My most helpful post.
http://holesinmysoles.blogspot.com/2011/01/meeting-hanna-child-sponsorship-why-you.html
Helping raise awareness of child sponsorship, and the organisations.


A post whose success surprised you.
http://holesinmysoles.blogspot.com/2011/07/this-moment-friday-ritual-fri-8th-july.html
A blog group I belong to has a Friday Moment- post a photo of a significant moment of the week. So I posted last Friday a photo dedicated to my craft of custom shoemaking- a pair of house shoes with cheetah paw prints across them that I made this week for my wife.
My simple slipper photo is now my third most read post. Wow thanks world!


A post you feel didn’t get the attention it deserved.
http://holesinmysoles.blogspot.com/2010/11/elephant-wars-in-chad-sos-elephants.html
The plight of elephants and rhinos can never get enough attention. The escalation in poaching throughout Africa is a major problem, fuelled by rising affluence in Asian countries mainly China and Vietnam.

The post that you are most proud of.
http://holesinmysoles.blogspot.com/2011/06/damaraland-embrace.html
Another attempt at travel poetry. While in Namibia last May, I jotted down some lines that came to me while enjoying the desert in flower after late rains.


My 7 Links requires me to recommend up to 5 bloggers to take part- many of those that spring immediately to mind have already appeared on the list long before me-
http://www.tripbase.com/blog/my-7-links-the-rules/


So here's a few more I follow-
AJ Poliquit at The Transcendental Tourist at http://ajpoliquit.wordpress.com/
Mike Lynch at http://blog.mikesryukyugallery.com/
Red Nomad at http://rednomadoz.blogspot.com/
Claire at http://www.lakwatseradeprimera.com/
Kerry-Anne at http://audaciousfreedom.com/

Have fun guys!

MY 7 LINKS: My Contributions to a Great Project!

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This Moment: Friday ritual.

.{this moment} – A Friday ritual.  A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week.  A simple, special, extraordinary moment.  A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.



.

This Moment: Friday ritual.

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Violence Against Women: Female Genital Mutilation.

I've just read a photo essay on Matador -''Photo Essay From Mexico City: No More Violence Against Women." written by Julie Schwietert Collazo, and came away lost for words apart from one word ringing in my mind- Powerful. Why? Because that essay dragged something to the forefront of my mind.

That word described the photos, and it described the effect on me. In asking why it struck me as it did, I have to say that for some months now I've been wanting to place this photo on my blog, but haven't found the right frame of mind to do so. It needs to be there, and it needs to be written about, and it needs you, the reader to look carefully at the scene depicted, and wonder why so much violence occurs towards women. This picture is of artwork I photographed in the Ethiopian National Museum, Addis Ababa, last August.

Like most visitors, we had gone there seeking 'Lucy', the 3.18 million year old skeleton of one of the earliest hominids so far discovered. Recent discoveries elsewhere have been dated back to 4.4 million years, but 'Lucy' remains the most well known early hominid find, and Ethiopia's draw card. The museum has a range of other cultural and historical artefacts, and some contemporary art on display also.

Walking through the museum I came upon a large painting, viewed it briefly, moved on by... turned and went back. Taking another look, my mind couldn't make sense of the jumble of angles and colours. So I walked away again, only to turn and walk back again. 

It was the child's face, in the top left, that had reached out and grabbed me and would not let me walk on by without telling me her pain. 

This time I had to know what I was seeing, so I stopped and read the sign. The painting is an interpretation of the violence and pain inflicted on a young girl through Female Genital Mutilation. The practice of removing the clitoris, and cutting away parts of the external female genitalia.

Take a careful look at the child, restrained by her own mother, legs held by relatives, while another does the cutting.

Powerful.

I took a note of the artist and title but have mislaid them. But the picture speaks enough for the over 70% of women in Ethiopia who undergo this assault as a child. A practice that will continue until Ethiopian men's attitudes change. 

Battling an ancient tradition: Female genital mutilation in Ethiopia
FAFFAN, Ethiopia, 10 July 2006 – These days, Asmah, 6, and her friends Deca, Ferhia and Hassina are secluded from their community. Their legs are tied together and they are told to sleep as much as possible and not to wash; it will help heal their wounds, adults say.

Testimony from women and girls

Hodan, 20, has never gone through the procedure but said she does not consider herself lucky. “All the girls of my age are married. Only I remain single, because people say that I am open,” she complained at the community forum. “If I ever have a daughter, I will make sure she is cut and sealed.”

But another young woman, Kauser, 18, had a different view. “Since the time I was cut I kept bleeding all the time. I am afraid of getting married because I will have to be cut again,” she said.

After hearing testimonies from many women and girls, Fateeh Mohammed Yassin, a single man in his early twenties, remained committed to the tradition. “I do not want a wife who has not been cut at all,” he declared.

Mr. Yassin’s comments illustrate the immense challenge of ending female genital mutilation and cutting in Ethiopia. It will be up to communities themselves to reach consensus on the harm being inflicted on their daughters and ultimately make the collective decision to abandon the practice.

The question is though, with so much violence against women in our cultures, how can we expect Ethiopian men to change, unless we change also?

This practice is not confined to Ethiopia, nor restricted to any religion but is wide spread in many countries in Africa, Middle East and Asia. FGM may even persist in immigrant communities in Western countries. Most countries have outlawed the practice.

wikipedia Female_genital_mutilation

Another valuable program in Kenya battling to change male attitudes.
Catapult.org/project/halt-fgm

Violence Against Women: Female Genital Mutilation.

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My Christmas Present : A Special Place- Cille Choirill.

My Christmas present from my wife Kay is this- a photo we took in Scotland, mounted for hanging on our wall. A special photo of a special place for our family.

Cille Choirill, Glen Spean, Brae Lochaber, Inverness-shire.





Cold, wet, hungry and exhausted the small party picked their way through the rocks in the dark and the rain, travelling at night down the long glen, and hiding by day from the marauding parties of Redcoats intent on punishing the rebellious Clans. Lashed by fierce gales, the fugitives struggled to maintain their footing in the mud and shale, unable to risk a light to see their way, relying only on pale moonlight where it seeped weakly through the storm clouds. The stocky mountain pony carried a bloodied body across its back.



Eoghunn Ruad Chulodair, a Mackintosh, died on this journey, his legs shredded and his wounds too severe to be staunched. Struck by grapeshot during the Clans charge upon the Duke of Cumberland's troops at Culloden, 16 April 1746, clansmen loyal to their local chief carried him from the battlefield and made their way south back to the family home in Glen Spean. In the killing time of Culloden...that scant desperate hour...over 1200 clansmen were slaughtered in a valiant but futile charge to break the English lines. For loyal kin to risk their lives under fire to carry the mortally wounded Eoghunn from the field, then to dodge the cavalry attack, and spirit him away, all the while avoiding the snapping hyenas of Redcoat pursuers, and carry his body so far home, must speak of how those clansmen regarded Eoghunn Ruad Chulodair.

From him are descended our family.

It has long been a dream to travel back to our ancestral lands, and to seek out Cille Choirill where the body of Eoghunn Ruad Chulodair ( Red Haired Ewen of Culloden ) was buried under the floor just inside the door. How strange it would be, if he could ever see that over two centuries later his descendants would pilgrimage to his resting place....

In September 2010, we travelled up route 82 from Luss on Loch Lomond, exploring Glencoe on our way, and taking walks in the glen and forests of this vast and magnificent valley. Purple flowering heather still draped the lower slopes, and the first touches of Autumn's golds tinted the forests bringing the deep greens of Scot's pines into contrast. There is a visitor's centre on the main highway, and in the village itself a very interesting museum. At both we spent time reading up more of the history of the area, and of the massacre of MacDonalds by Campbell lead English troops, that occurred in the early morning of  February 13th, 1692. It was a very full, interesting and enjoyable day for us, and although we had not hurried, arrival at Fort William was mid afternoon, spurring a last minute decision to head on through to Glen Spean. Cille Choirill was a powerful magnet...something pulled us there...a very strong sense of anticipation.

You could easily miss Cille Choirill, being high above the road, and masked by hedgerows and trees from passing motorists. That but enhances it's mystique and character...it welcomes those who have travelled to seek it out, and those loyal residents of the area who now lovingly tend and care for it, and worship there. The 15th century church was built in honour of Saint Cairell, who preached Christianity in the area around 600AD, and is named after him, in Gaelic

Cille Choirill attracts its own, as it has over the centuries, the wee graveyard full of generations of clan, parish worshippers, and Chiefs of Keppoch buried within it's walls under the floor. During the latter 1800's the church fell into disrepair, but was renovated and rededicated Sunday July 10, 1932, and its living spirit has been maintained since. A key may be obtained at the dwelling on the A86 Glen Spean road, 2 km from Roy Bridge, just opposite the turn off for the narrow road that winds uphill to a small parking area beside Cille Choirill.



The sky was overcast, lending an eerily dark and foreboding atmosphere to our arrival, but at the same time welcoming, as if the whole presence of the church and host of sleeping persons there would awake if they deemed our visit of worth or import. The interior of Cille Choirill is basic with very little ornamentation, just a functional Catholic Church. Around the walls, a few plaques and crosses marking the graves of those buried within.

Eoghunn Ruad Chulodair remains unmarked where he lies just inside the doorway. I stood for a while there, soaking up the atmosphere of the interior, a place of peace and reverence, where for centuries people have sought solace and salvation, prayed, married, and christened their newborn. Ancient churches like this are not just stone buildings, but living repositories of the history of countless lives: each generation setting another stone in place, another tombstone outside, another entry counter-signed in the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages. We stuffed 10 pounds into the donation box taking the Cillie Choirill history brochure in return, then walked out to explore the dimly lit graveyard.


By the time we reached the rear, to look back down on Cille Choirill, we noticed a circle of light upon the hills the other side of the glen, as old Sol managed to fight through the cloud banks and follow us up the glen. The light was coming our way, and in a fitting welcome finally it threw down upon us its full brilliance and warmth, and the whole setting upon that quiet hillside awoke to receive us...accepting us as more of its own...we had returned...we descendants of the Great Scottish Diaspora of the '45, and the Clearances, were home...reclaiming kinship, and being welcomed back into the clan.

 

The fugitives, joined by other relatives and kins-people, worked in the dim mutton-tallow lamplight to lever up the heavy flagstones of Cille Choirill's floor. Digging out a narrow pit, they lay their revered clan leader within, wrapped in the the plaids and sheepskins gathered from his croft, then covered him with dirt, and relaid the stone above him. The weeping of his wife and young son accompanied the prayers as the little grave was filled in. No sign of disturbance of the floor was left as tell-tale for Redcoats to seek excuse to wreak vengeance upon the inhabitants of the village in the heart of the area where rebellion had been strongest.

Eoghunn Ruad Chulodair lies undisturbed at Cille Choirill.

Cille Choirill now hangs upon our wall at home. A pilgrimage home completed.

A special photo of a special place.

As a footnote: Chatting with my visiting brother a few weeks before Christmas, and we talked of his wish to also travel to Scotland and do much as we did - research our heritage, and of our visiting Cille Choirill. We looked through the score and more of photos we had taken. Shortly afterwards, we and our wives settled in to watch a DVD, and we thought the most appropriate with Christmas coming upon us  was "Joyeaux Noel", a film about the impromptu Christmas truce of 1914 between Scots, French and German troops in the front-line trenches. During the first part of the film, the young men of each side are shown signing up and leaving their home villages to head off to war. At the start of the Scottish home scenes is a clip of a young boy cycling down a shingle track towards a wee stone church and its graveyard...Cille Choirill is that church used for that scene.
Coincidence surely, but strange as 10 minutes before we'd been in conversation about it.

Cille Choirill calls its own....

My Christmas Present : A Special Place- Cille Choirill.

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'Twas the Night Before Christmas ' Africa style!

Gap Adventures Watering Hole travel forum is a fun place to hang out, help new travellers, and chat about tours, places and travel tips. It's a great forum with a helpful welcoming ambience, and you'll find me there as Jimshu. The Christmas spirit has obviously infected another Moderator, JaliscoJudy or she's been tippling at it, because when I checked in this morning, here is what was waitng for us!
Thank you Judy for writing this fun prose.
I added a few pics.


Now where did I park that overland truck?



‘Twas the night before Christmas and all around GAP
Not a creature was stirring (Bruce was taking a nap)
The daypacks were hung by the work desks with care
In hopes that St. Jimshu soon would be there.


CEOs were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of border crossings danced in their heads.
And Red at the Base Camp and Meg in Halifax,
Had just settled down for Canadian naps.




The Bushman kids at Na'ankuse



When out in the street there arose such a clatter

Red sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.

And what should appear through his nighttime Raybans,
But an overland truck and eight Na’ankuse orphans.


With a little old driver, so lively and trim
He knew in a minute it must be St. Jim.
More rapid than rhinos his coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:


Now Tano! Now Kibo! Now Erik and Chemi!
On Neena! On Murka! On Judy and Wendi!


He better not poop on me!

To the top of Base Camp to the top of the wall

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!

He was covered in deet from his head to his boots

And his clothes were all tarnished with elephant poops
A bundle of shoes he had flung on his back
And he looked like a cobbler just opening his pack.


He spoke not a word but went straight to his work
And filled all the daypacks, then turned with a jerk
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And using his iPhone, blogged the whole episode.


He sprang to his truck, to his team gave a call
And away they sped to a refuge in Nepal.
But Red heard him exclaim ‘ere he drove out of sight
Happy voluntourism to all—let’s go make it right!





Merry Christmas and let's go make it right!



'Twas the Night Before Christmas ' Africa style!

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This Moment: Saturday ritual.

This Moment – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment.

A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

“This Moment” is a ritual I found on Life inspired by the Wee Man adopted from SouleMama. Check out their blogs…they are beautiful, and if you are moved too, please leave a link to your Moment in the comment box below.

This Moment: Saturday ritual.

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Romance in Ireland!

Over the past week I have been getting over the operation mentioned in  my Tomorrow's Leopard post, and I'm doing OK, everything is working but a wee ( pun intended ) bit tender, so just light duties at work which I went back to on Wednesday, as contrary to popular belief  shoes aren't made by little elves in the middle of the night! Dollars still need to be earned.
The support I have had from Kay has been bloody marvellous so I had been thinking of ways to show her how much I appreciated having her look after me, and her general encouragement. Kay and I married way back in 1973, and have been travelling this life together since. She's a loving, caring woman and a great mother to our 3 grown up children and has a great sense of family. I enjoy great health, hardly a flue, cold or any other illness, but this past week I drew upon her strength to face up to my wee problem. My father had prostate cancer, and two friends have had radical treatment for prostate cancer. So my benign enlargement was a trifle in comparison, but until the post operation biopsy result, there was  the fear that I could still have been one of the 10-15% who are positively diagnosed after the op.


There is a competition being run by Tourism Ireland for New Zealand residents called An Affair With Ireland and when I came across this I immediately felt this was just so suitable, as it has always been Kay's great wish to travel the Emerald Isle. In fact we very nearly did an impromptu visit for a few days from Stranraer when we visited Scotland this past September.

So I have entered to win this for Kay.

 Please help us by going to this link and voting for Jim and Kay. An Affair With Ireland.

Only takes a minute. And please spread the link through your friends.

Thanks everyone. It's wonderful to have your support.
BTW if we win I'll be donating $500 to Naankuse wildlife sanctuary to help with their wild dog program.

And another $500 to SOS Elephants a new organisations fighting to save Chad's remaining elephants.
You'll read two posts on this site about another 3 very courageous women leading the fight for those eles.

Romance in Ireland!

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Travel Friday for Thursday Photo.

I'm posting this photo for Friday here, because here it's Budget Traveller's Sandbox Travel Photo Thursday!

Here is Kanna. Kanna is a San Bushman boy I make custom boots for as he was one of the last survivors of Polio in Namibia. He's not just proudly wearing the boots I made him last year, but also his school uniform as at Naankuse wildlife sanctuary they're teaching all the San kids at the new Clever Cubs School built there especially so the children will get enough basic education so they can enter mainstream schools in Windhoek. There's another  pair on their way to him now being delivered by Russell Frankish from Green Bushpigs Safaris, who stopped over at our home while on a New Zealand tour. We think it's great that Kanna gets an opportunity now in his life to learn at a school .Hopefully when I'm in Namibia next May I'll have the time to get to go kick a soccer ball around with Kanna and the rest of the children.  Perhaps I should clarify that I made them for him and donated them. Least I could do for Naankuse.



Travel Friday for Thursday Photo.

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First steps and new boots.

Just signed up at MatadorU. Going to be a struggle for this guy with limited formal education, but a long learning period in the real world of business. So I've had to start another blog for all my assignments and needed to write an 'About Me' page for that blog, so here it is.

Riding the Bamboo Express, Battambang, Cambodia, Jan 2008

About Me 
They reckon I was born kicking and screaming 3 weeks early, walking at nine months and always impatient to put leather to the road. Left school at 15, moved out of home same year, travelled almost every weekend to another part of New Zealand, then moved cities and I’m sure during my teens my family never knew where I was for months on end. I think we found each other again, around the time I met my travelling partner …. my wife. We have been travelling together for many years now, and shoe leather has worn thin many times but being the canny, crafty shoemaker I am, they get Resoled often.

Kay and I married, saved hard, set sail for UK and an Overseas Experience that has set the foundation stone for our lives together. We are testament to the fact that you can raise children, pay off the mortgage, chase your career, even operate your own business AND travel. Ok, the big overseas trips and long term backpacking went on hold, but travelling is an attitude of mind we realised, and with 3 kids under 5 in nappies we bought an old caravan and towed it around New Zealand... and they were happy days, too quickly gone except in memories and a few faded photos. Those days you can’t get back.

Ah, but the kids have flown the nest now - well they got a boost actually - and we are back travelling the world with enthusiasm. 40 countries so far including Malaysia, Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, India, Japan… getting rather bored with Asia …so Africa! Now that’s where we’re at, and I’m heading back next May for my third volunteer project in Namibia. Kay will meet our daughter in UK and sip wine in Normandy. I’ll probably be wishing I was with her as I’m dying of thirst in the Namib Desert.

Favourite places-

The scenic vastness of Mongolia and throat-singing. Camels braying.

The scenic vastness of Namibia and a Herero family singing farewell. Baby desert elephant squealing for its mum.

The scenic vastness of Scotland and bagpipes playing Dark Isle. Mist thrush singing it’s heart out for its mate.

Yes, I’ve gone off claustrophobic Asia.

First steps and new boots.

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Why I'm still a handsome guy.

Some years ago I began to practise a self taught form of immediate meditation. I didn't realise it was like meditation until I started reading about Buddhism and came across meditation techniques, and thought yeah, that's similar to what I'm doing, but I don't take all day over it. And I don't count breaths, nor stare at my belly button for hours. I've been on a long journey since 1972, trying to understand and develop intuitive abilities. Why? Well it has been a guide throughout my life, and has lead me down interesting pathways in my career and family life.

1972, NZ Territorial Army training. Our intake was one of the last to train with the Sten submachine gun as the Army was adopting the US AR-15 M16 Armalite. The Sten was a cheap, blow-back action sub-machine gun, mass produced during WW11, which could fire 9mm rounds on single or automatic. Our platoon was ecstatic because all of us testosterone driven kids would finally fire a sub-machine gun instead of the single fire FN SLR  we were lugging around. Heavy brutes.

Sten gun, Pic ex Wikipedia.

Our platoon was briefed by the Armourer NCO about the Sten's capabilities, how to use it, safety and then finished off with a quick summary of known problems, explaining that because the Sten and it's ammo were old, and cheaply mass manufactured, it could experience blockages, where a round gets stuck in the spout. If you pull the trigger again, or on auto, then the next round colliding with the stuck round will blow up the gun, and send the breech block backwards taking your jaw with it.

"But don't worry chaps because in all my 19 years in the Army, I've never seen it happen!"

Our squad were second up on the firing mounds to fire 10 rounds single shot, aimed with the gun held up by our faces for sighting. I pulled the trigger once, then again...and my finger froze... as somewhere in my mind a voice said "Don't pull the trigger, Jim!"
I froze, finger on the trigger, and I just knew I cannot fire again.
"Soldier, keep firing !" yells the Rangemaster .
"No Sargent. I'm not firing"
"Keep firing. You're holding up the squad!" he yelled again.
I made safe the weapon, stepped down off the mound, and presented the gun to the advancing irate Sargent.
He checked the weapon, opened the breech then looked down the bore and went white! I still remember the look on his face as he realised there was a round stuck in the bore.
Had I pulled that trigger again, I'd not be the handsome fellow I am today! And he'd ordered me to fire....

A hurried conversation between NCO's and Officers and the gun was sent off to the armoury. Then the Sargent comes over to me, and asked me how I knew.
What could I say...a voice in my head? They'd send me off to sick bay.
"I just knew, Sargent." I said.
"You couldn't just know, Lance Corporal".
I shrug my shoulders and repeated, '' I just knew, Sargent".

A voice in my head... Well since then it has happened many times often when a danger might present, or a major decision is required. Either as if someone has spoken to me, or as a very strong impression that something has to be done a certain way, or an event or decision needs me to take a certain action.

It's a very strong certainty of knowing the correct decision.

It's called instinct, or intuition, many of us have it, most of us ignore it in preference to using logical or rational thinking. Over the years that event has stuck in my mind and I have tried to heighten that ability.

A quote from a Buddhist website-
"Detachment, objectivity, is an invaluable aid to clear thinking; it enables a man to sum up a given situation without bias, personal or otherwise, and to act in that situation with courage and discretion."

My way is just a quickie way of finding that detachment from the moment, voiding your mind of any thoughts, ignoring any outside influences, knowing the difference between feelings of want or greed, objectivity, etc, and just allowing a 'reading' of what your inner self, or your intuition is telling you about any situation you are in, or any dilemma you are facing. Allowing your intuitive response to occur rather than swamping it with our rational, logical mind. Can be done very quickly.

We all have intuition, well most of us anyway, but we're never taught to use it and instead we blanket, smother, or discourage it, because our education, and our social conditioning teaches us that whenever we make a decision we've got to have logical reasons for making that choice or taking that action. Hey, you can't just do it! You've got to have a reason, a logical reason. The figures have got to stack up.

After a while you begin to read what your instinct is telling you.And it's always right, often contrary to the logical analytical answer.
But more of us may be able to develop their intuition by adopting a similar meditation technique.
After all, it's just another way of altering your consciousness, and all the religions and beliefs in this world adopt different means to achieve the same inner peace, the same type of answer from within, perhaps?

Readers might like to read this story, it's true by the way, about an incident that happened when visiting Tuol Sleng, Phnom Pehn, Cambodia.
The Traveller World Guide
In strange, intimidating, or new situations, or when needing to make a decision I try to use my perceptive abilities, by practising a form of quickie meditation, blanking out my mind, ignoring any outside influences, and seeking that immediate inner intuitive response. Over the years this ability to sense influences in my surroundings, or happenings to loved ones has been a rather interesting journey.
There are many more stories.......

Why I'm still a handsome guy.

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Three Very Courageous Women In The Elephant Wars.

The previous post -Elephant Wars In Chad : SOS Elephants talked about a new website set up to seek support for this organisation.  Much of the information about SOS Elephants in my post has been written by a very enthusiastic woman, Meredith Kirkpatrick. Conservation of wildlife would be in a far worse state than it is today, but for the amazing work a relatively few dedicated individuals do, in seeing the need for an organisation, and gathering other followers together to work on much needed projects. I asked Meredith to  provide a bio about herself and how she met her friend Siggi  Hosenfield, another keen supporter of Stephanie Vergniault, because these 3 women are  instrumental in creating the framework for others to combine forces and effort in fighting for the survival of Chad's elephants.

Elephants out on a date at the local watering hole.

This is Meredith's story-



It was at a very young age that I discovered two things that would be very important to me throughout my life. These two things would be a necessary food for my soul. Like water is to the body. That is nature, and the wildlife that calls nature’s intricate web, “home”.

While growing up I had my fair share of hardships just like any other child, but I was lucky in the fact that I grew up with nature all around me, and it suited me. I was in my element, stuffing my pockets full of tiny tree frogs, catching lightning bugs, fishing all day under the shade of the forts I had built dotted along the river to protect what I truly believed belonged to me, my sister ,and the occasional lucky friend who joined us. I would run wild through the woods until the moon was high in the sky, and my eyes could no longer stay open despite what my heart wanted. As I drifted off into my dreams, I would curl my fingers under my nose and smell the fresh earth caked under my nails. The smell brought me back to nature. It brought me back home.

The day that I discovered how powerful I was as a human, and the impact I could make on the world around me, is as clear to me as if it had just happened yesterday. I set off on one of my daily fishing adventures. I packed up my wheel barrow with my poles, tackle box, worms, and of course my dad’s old painter’s bucket for my fish. I would normally catch spotted sun fish and yellow perch. I would bring them home at the end of the day, and clean them for my parents to fry.

However, on this one particular day, I caught a catfish, not my typical spot or perch. It was the biggest fish I had ever seen. I put the fish in the bucket, and because nothing else would fit in the bucket, my fishing day had come to a close. I packed up and headed home. 30-40 min later I was ready to show my mother what I had caught. I opened the bucket and to my surprise the fish was still alive! Gasping for air! To put it short…..I lost it. I threw my small body on the ground and screamed out in terror at the thought that I had caused the fish to suffer and to suffer for so long. My mother tried to calm me, but the only thing that would satisfy me was to get the fish back to the river, back in its home. My mother threw me and the fish in the car. We sped down to the cul de sac where the trail lead out to my favorite spot. I carried that bucket to the river and cried the whole way. Once I got to the rivers edge, I very gently put the catfish back in the water. It sat in one place for a bit and then it finally swam away. I was inconsolable for the rest of the night. I was terrified at the thought that I had the power to take life from something that wanted to live so badly. It was the first time I realized how powerful I was, and right then I knew I wanted to help to teach people how to protect nature and wildlife. I knew , even that young, that I wanted to give back to nature and wildlife because it gives me so much everyday.

With all of that said, I am always on the lookout for others who share my compassion and drive to protect wildlife. That is how I came to find one of the most amazing women I have ever met. I came across an article written about Stephanie Vergniault  Stephanie Vergniault who had started an organization in Chad, Africa called SOS Elephants. She had come to Chad to help with the elections, but while she was there she found herself in the middle of a full blown war on elephants. She started to work with the local communities, and local armed forces who where just as concerned as she was about the Ivory Wars. I had to meet her! I wrote her immediately and told her I wanted to help her in any way I could. We began talking back and forth about all the things she needed. She quickly introduced me to Siggi Hosenfeld, who has been working closely with Stephanie on raising awareness about SOS Elephants. Besides being one of the most positive people I have ever come across, Siggi is a wildlife photographer and a conservationist. She has traveled extensively throughout Africa working and volunteering on various conservation projects.

Knowing that there are women like these out there fighting for the survival of one of the most important keystone species of our time brings me a feeling of hope. A hope that all of us can find that fight in us, as I did as a small girl on the banks of a southern river shore. A hope that we can band together and stand up for all the wild lands and the animals that inhabit them. They need us, as much as we need them.

SOS Elephants are creating an orphanage for baby eles who have lost their mothers to poachers.

Thanks Meredith. Wonderful story.
We will be supporting SOS Elephants  and have made a donation. Can you?

http://www.soselephants.org/

Three Very Courageous Women In The Elephant Wars.

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Elephant wars in Chad : SOS Elephants

Elephants are being massacred in many parts of Africa, at an alarming rate, fuelled by rising affluence in China and the rising demand for ivory.  Incredible to think that we will wipe out a species just so we can make some trinket out of their teeth. As travellers, think about it before buying another souvenir that might just look great hanging around your neck or adorning your wall. What great animal died to provide it?

 Elephants are a special interest for me. I have been up close to them unexpectedly, Moonlight Nightmare  and in Kruger Park and was fascinated by their gentle nature as long as you gave them space and heeded their warning signs. Our largest land animal has an intricate social  behaviour and displays a very high intelligence. Their interaction with their environment is essential for the well being of other species, by digging seep holes for water, by keeping the savanna open, making pathways that help serve as firebreaks, and also dispersing seeds. Our world will be poorer should they disappear.


My experience with desert elephants while at  EHRA in Namibia fuelled an interest in Mali and Chads desert adapted elephants. And I have been following news of Stephanie Vergniault's work combating poaching in Chad -
 The unseen elephant wars in Chad

Stephanie Vergniault inspects a recent killing.



Central Africa is one of the last regions with a sizable population of African elephant, but their numbers are only a fraction of what they used to be. In Zakouma National Park in Chad there are an estimated 600 elephants. Twenty years ago there were 40,000. saving-elephants-in-chad

20 years........!

20 years of this!

Today , I have received this brief on a newly founded  website  that I now wholeheartedly support.
soselephants.org

 A small donation can be easily made at their website by Paypal.

SOS Elephants was founded in 2009 by Stephanie Vergniault after she realized the dire situation the elephants of Chad were facing. The poaching of elephants for their ivory was on the rise, while global awareness of the problem was down. SOS Elephants hopes to change that. SOS Elephants’ mission is to be dedicated to the preservation of elephants and their habitats throughout various African regions by employing methods in research, education, conservation and counter poaching disciplines. Specifically we strive to:


• Make the global communities aware of the fight for the survival of the African Elephant.

• Educate local communities and global communities alike about the important role the African elephant plays in the environment and the ecosystems we depend on.

• Work with and support local communities in ecotourism, something that elephants have a major role in.

• Contribute to the conservation of the African elephant and their habitats through conservation and education by promoting sustainable communities and livelihoods.

• Aid local anti poaching tasks forces in their fight against poaching.

• Provide a safe house for elephants that have been orphaned by the hands of poachers, in hopes that one day they can be released back into their wild environments

A small donation can be easily made at their website by Paypal -
http://www.soselephants.org/index.html
 

Thanks. We need you!



Elephant culling issue.

Elephant wars in Chad : SOS Elephants

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The effects of the Christchurch Earthquake.

A 7.1 magnitude earthquake struck Christchurch , New Zealand  at 4.35AM, Sept. 4th this year. Our hometown was lucky to escape such a large shake with no loss of life, and relatively few casualties. This has been a traumatic event, and we have been keenly interested as we have many family and friends living in our South Island's largest city. It is hard for us to truly understand the full effects the quake had upon people at the time, and more so the after effects as aftershocks keep rocking the city. The stress of living with daily tremors  must be debilitating for many.  It has not been surprising for us to hear friends have been prescribed motion sickness pills as many minor shakes have been recorded daily.
I've never written about my home city's quake, as I believe it's not my story to tell. The story rightfully belongs to those who experienced it. The following story is from a Christchurch friend who experienced the horror. We'll call  him ''Grumpy"
....he's probably got every right to be.




In the same way that so many remember what they were doing on November 22 1963, (Dallas Texas) or August 31 1997 (Paris tunnel) the people of Christchurch will always remember what the were doing in the early hours of September the 4th 2010! If we had had the extra few days on the Sunshine Coast then this would not be indelibly etched on my memory.

Suddenly I realised I was awake. I wanted to be asleep but something was happening. There was a scream. It was my wife. There is the sudden realisation that we are experiencing an earthquake. The noise was horrifying! Something like a cross between a Boeing taking off and a London tube rushing from the tunnel to the platform!

Later you are told it lasted around 30 seconds. However at the time everything is in slow motion. I guess that’s the adrenalin.

Some how we manage to remember “door frame” and we are holding each other in a door frame. Walking anywhere is impossible; it feels like extreme turbulence or a rough crossing on Cook Strait. The dog is a bit bemused by all of this, but he picks up on our anxiety and has a good bark. While that may work for him it doesn’t do a lot for us, but when we grab his collar he decides it’s no longer his problem and he settles down. I wish someone would grab my collar.

The house continues to heave in a sort of cork screw motion. I thought, “So this is the big one!” We were very conscious that it is getting a lot stronger. 30 seconds can be an incredibly long time.

We had felt absolute terror! I can’t say I have ever experienced it before and I never want to feel it again.

I expected the house to collapse, but it didn’t. The power has now gone off. When it all settles down I tell my wife I’m going to get the torch. I’m told to put shoes on and I remark, “It’s no time to worry about what I’m wearing.” I feel a bit stupid when I’m reminded that our pictures may be off the walls and the floor strewn with glass. Shoes on, I go and get the rechargeable torch from the bracket and with enormous relief find that was where it was supposed to be and it worked.

There is aftershock after aftershock so we decide to get in our 4X4 outside. In a very short time we have grabbed medication, hearing aids, and mobile phones. We must be really old! We even manage to grab camping gear and throw it in the back of the truck. None of our friends believe we were capable of all of this. When I reflect on back, I am staggered that we were that organised and calm.

The truck hadn’t been started in a month so getting behind the wheel I hoped the battery was not flat. It seemed to take for ever to start. Apparently that’s just how diesels work. Once it coughed into life we just moved to the middle of the road, away from any possible falling debris. The shocks after the main jolt are called aftershocks. This implies they are minor. We had a series of ‘5’s”. A 5 is a significant shake. It is very noisy. The family car was rocked a meter down the gentle slope of our drive. We were sitting in the road watching everything move. Again it was in slow motion. The neighbours were coming out now and one group, worried about Tsunami leapt in their car and headed for the hills and the quake epicentre.

At least the truck radio worked. Very quickly details were available. We sat there desperately trying to get family on the mobiles. Remarkably they were still working. Unfortunately with the power off, cordless phones didn’t work at the other end, and others were inconsiderate enough not to have their phone turned on in the middle of the night. It seemed highly likely that this was the sort of event that killed people. As we finally tracked everyone down we had an immense feeling of relief.

Just like in the movies the day dawned and we moved into a period of calm. We could check everything and take stock of it all. We were lucky, a few things had broken but there was no visible damage to our house. We would be back to normal quickly, put this behind us and a laugh about it all. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a movie and it would not be quite as simple as that.

Just one of many buildings damaged or collapsed.

http://www.geonet.org.recent%20quakes/

I've asked Grumpy to supply a follow up article , based upon living with the after effects. How do people go about rebuilding their lives, homes and businesses ?

The effects of the Christchurch Earthquake.

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Travel Competitions

Each month I'm updating my Travel Competition  list you'll find on the right hand side under "About Me".

Keep checking there, new competitions links are added  whenever they are announced.

The latest offering from Intrepid Travel has just got to be an incredible opportunity. Go to their site Intrepid Travel and follow the simple instructions for a chance to win 30 trips in 30 days!
And remember to place an entry every day! Good luck everyone.

Travel Competitions

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PTSS... A New Psychiatric Disorder.

There's a new Psychiatric disorder going around, and knocks a lot of good people over unexpectedly. Highly contagious, it transmits itself across gender, race, and border controls rapidly, and they've still got to come up with a cure for it. I'm a sufferer. PTSS (or as it once was- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) for many people has come to stand for Post Travel Stress Disorder. And it is seriously debilitating, no known cure, apart from deliberately incurring more of what caused it in the first place...but Bank Managers are not sympathetic enough to even consider any more funding for such an expensive cure. You are on your own ... left to get over it with empty pockets and without treatment... Perhaps Gap Adventures new brochures might help.....they're due any day.

When I started this blogsite, I had two main reasons.

1.Relating our travel experiences in a manner to publicise wildlife conservation issues.

I've had an intense interest in wildlife, and had my earlier life not taken an unexpected twist, I'd probably have pursued a more academic career in a Biological Science field. That was not to be, and looking back it has been a great life and I would not want it any other way. The unknown horizon has always held my gaze, rather than looking back where I've been.
There's a war going on, carried on by well funded criminal syndicates , fuelled by the strong demand of Traditional Chinese Medicine for animal parts, Africa's wildlife is being stripped at an ever increasing rate. Elephant poaching for ivory is soaring, rhino are being killed at an alarming rate, and in other parts of the world, growing concern about the rapid decline in species, much of that because countries are being stripped of rare species and container loads being illegally shipped to China..And the not so rare, are now endangered.
Returning home after our Namibia wildlife volunteer project at Naankuse, it was my intention do do a bit to help. It seemed I could be most effective at setting up a blogsite, and writing about our travel experiences to highlight some of these issues. You'll note that most posts do reference a species that needs publicising, without being overly zealous and ramming these subjects down your throat.

2. Taking the best of our travel stories and publishing them.
I've bookmarked a couple of websites where items posted on this blog, can be collated and published in a real book. Hey, no need to be the world's greatest travel writer these days. Wonderful. I kind of like the idea of our coffee table having a glossy book by a distinguished author like myself strategically placed  in front our very impressed visitors. Visitors be warned...it is going to be a very thick book, we have been travelling since our first OE (overseas experience for all you non Australasians) in 1974 when we took off to UK and Europe.
 Reliving our experiences and the revival of those memories makes the project more enjoyable. Some of our adventures now seem more real, and others are there just wanting to jump out and lay themselves out across this screen. So many.....


This PTSS has got me contemplating and reflecting ...time for a rethink.
Over on Caz and Craig's travel site we've been discussing how hard it can be to settle into a mode after travelling. For Caz and Craig the transition from Nomad to 'normality' is difficult, perhaps unobtainable. It is an interesting concept, and a lot of us may not understand the problem. I can. Travellers will.

PTSS is a wee bit different. It is lethargy when it comes to anything to do with getting back into 'normal' life. OK, you get over the jet lag, but the syndrome has it's tentacles around every neuron in your brain.
It is a time of mixed up thoughts, loss of direction, running off  on tangents, and ...oh what was I thinking...lost it.

But PTSS is also a time of renewal. It's a time of finding a new trail out of that directionless meandering.  It's a time of a complete refocus !  And decisions. Setting your sight once again upon the horizon.

A sign of recovery ?

Hopefully...still some work to do though.

Travel for me, over the years has become more of an experience to learn and contribute, rather than sightseeing, or another photo opportunity. Nowadays there have to be better reasons.
I have been intending to travel back next May to volunteer again with EHRA here-http://desertelephant.org/
It's a project making a real difference in mitigating the human-elephant conflict  in Namibia and I support them from home by publicising Johanes and his volunteer team at every opportunity. I long to get back there.

However, the more I read of rhino poaching and elephant slaughters in Africa, the more I feel I need to re-evaluate the effectiveness of my contribution there in terms of costs and time. Could my dollars on airfares etc. be better invested in other methods to aid animal conservation there? And these ideas cropped up yesterday during a conversation  with my wife Kay, over our after work glass of wine while sitting in  our  courtyard, enjoying the warm spring sunshine. We were chatting together about travel plans for 2011. We always have plans! But next year there are none, just ideas, and there's a void in our lives at present normally filled by that next booking we've just made. In fact  we have often flown out of NZ on one trip , having already booked the very next.
PSST surged, took over my neurons again and I found myself suggesting we don't travel next year. How incredible...  I couldn't believe I'd said it.
Kay looked at me, and said she couldn't believe how in sync we are....she was thinking the same!
Then stated "I can't believe you're saying that.That's not the man I know".

PSST settled down, relaxed it's strangle hold , and a more enlightened mood evolved, and discussions took a more realistic track. We may not do a 'biggie' trip. We have little enthusism (at this time ) for another 8 weeks away. Kay may plan to join our daughter in Europe for a shorter time. Myself, I'm up  in the air...... and not on a plane either.

A wee digression- Blogging has opened up a whole new world for me, as I'm sure it does for countless others , otherwise we wouldn't be wasting so much time, talking to so few, about so little. It's enjoyable because we're learning, developing latent skills, and most importantly we are  developing friendships with many more like minded people. And the realization dawns that I'm not going to be a great travel writer, or have a site that earns big bucks , but that was not what I set out to do and I need to press that Reset button and get on track again, and be a good travel blogger, and use my site for the original reasons above.

So here's the questions for my friends reading this-

Do I spend a lot of time and money travelling next year to help in another wildlife project in Africa?

Or do I stay home and invest that money in a conservation project or projects that make a direct impact there?

Post your thoughts please?

PS- This is why? --
http://www.bushwarriors.org/
Elephants of Chad

PTSS... A New Psychiatric Disorder.

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The Cobbler's Ghost: My Friend.

Here's a wee tale to kick it off for Halloween.


On our trip around Ethiopia and Scotland there were several weird happenings.

Under Edinburgh's Royal Mile, recently discovered, is a warren of covered over old cellars, streets and  houses. Covered over after the Black Death era, and long since forgotten, reopened about 1979 I think. Anyway, today walking tours take you under to explore this damp, dark, unlit labyrinth.
So we sign on for the Dungeons and Ghosts Tour and get shown around the hanging sites in the Royal Mile and then go underground. Our guide takes our group of 19 down and through several cellars, telling us about all the ghosts that have been seen down there.

As we walk into one of the larger cellars, I am not quite sure why, but being towards the front I walk in to the cellar and go to the far end and place myself in the very left corner...just because I thought I felt most comfortable there. Just seemed to me I should be there...no where else. I'm now looking back at everyone else arranged in a semi-circle facing me, with our guide against the centre of my end wall facing back at them. I'm on his extreme right.

Anyway, he starts telling us all about the 3 ghosts that inhabit the room. When he gets to the last ghost story he turns to point dramatically at my corner, directly at me, and says "And in this corner there is a cobbler!"

Well.....Jimshu? I am a custom shoemaker. Go figure....

"He's a nice guy. Older, slightly balding and he's looked at all your shoes you're wearing. And he likes you all being here" Sure, I'd sized everyone up by then. And I'm quite nice... well often.

I'm straight faced, reach out to my left and hug this 'ghost' standing next to me, my arm around thin air as if hugging a friend. My wife is cracking up. I don't let on that indeed there is a cobbler right in the spot he pointed to:  me...and my new found friend.

Then we get taken into a room for a wine in another underground cellar and everyone by now is scared and start telling of their past encounters with ghosts. Now normally that would be an entrée for me to get going, but strangely I shut up and kept quiet and never let on that indeed there was a cobbler standing in that corner. In fact there were 2!

So how did I know it was the right place for me to stand ? All I remember is thinking to myself I would feel most comfortable standing there. That was where I, as a cobbler, should be.

My wife meantime is rearing to get going and tell the guide that she did see the cobbler standing there. Well she certainly did!  She still wonders why I didn't let on that I was in fact a cobbler.

Perhaps it was between me and my cobbler mate to share in? It was our joke. A joke between two old cobblers, who are really nice guys...we wouldn't want to scare anyone now would we?.

(We aren't cobblers really, that's a shoe repairer - the term for we shoemakers is cordwainers but people commonly refer to us as cobblers.) 

The Cobbler's Ghost: My Friend.

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