tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-135660982011-09-12T23:00:16.439+01:00Dedicated to adventures small, medium, and occasionally large.Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.comBlogger1651100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-18570915950335506642011-07-29T09:28:00.002+01:002011-07-29T09:56:56.873+01:00

An odd motion of the boat woke me with a start around 03:30, a slight bumping and jerking uncomfortably reminiscent of her motion when floating off a trailer. Not having a functioning echo-sounder, I had relied on my charts to find a good depth for anchoring: could I have made a mistake? Perhaps even now we were going aground as the water ebbed all around us. Briongloid is a fin-keeler; she

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-6214103736416015782011-07-08T13:54:00.012+01:002011-07-29T09:27:58.961+01:00

I awoke around 06:30 to find my boat still anchored in Lawrence Cove. Good start! A light breeze is raising light ripples - and is blowing our way. No engine this morning! We weighed anchor under mainsail and jib, washing some reassuringly clingy grey mud from the anchor flukes - ideal holding ground for our anchor.Soon, the very convenient direction and strength of the wind suggests the

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-36220221338116895312011-07-06T13:30:00.007+01:002011-07-06T16:30:09.975+01:00

On a fine July evening, microlights droned through a summer sky as we loaded Briongloid against the BBSC slipway in a couple of frantic minutes as the ebb tide sucked its way through the perilously thin margin of water below our keel, tossing kit bags, mattresses, ropes, groceries etc straight down the companionway. Then, suddenly, we were free, bow and stern lines back aboard, bow firmly set

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-3852072247598380452010-12-16T12:24:00.005Z2010-12-16T15:23:57.915Z

After a day of mildly painful "trapped wind" during which I completely failed to belch my way back to a happy belly, I fell back on the obvious remedies - Andrews, Rennies, a couple of paracetemol for comfort. After a couple of hours of completely failing to begin a healing slumber, I tried some Zydol (normally used to erase post-operative pain). My "indigestion" chuckled and nipped me a little

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-91333221102156161442010-10-04T12:10:00.006+01:002010-10-11T12:09:15.691+01:00

Winter haul-out is a melancholy time; the final admission that, this year, there will be no more sailing... no more anchoring in quiet and beautiful places, no random encounters with big beasties from the deep. This winter, Briongloid will get new pintles & gudgeons, and maybe a few electrical tweaks to satisfy her owner's fantasies of hot drinks in cold places.In compensation for having to leave

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-29164205880163660092010-09-30T10:32:00.003+01:002010-09-30T11:14:21.117+01:00

Last night, a tiny light blazed above our neighbour's rooftop, far brighter than Vega or Deneb. It couldn't be the ISS (which really whizzes past) , so I knew I was looking at Jupiter, currently a mere 368.8 million miles away. I can resist anything but temptation, so I finished my chores as quickly as possible, pulled a middling-sized Newtonian reflector out of my car boot and took aim at the

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-43636979995823182612010-01-10T17:52:00.010Z2010-01-10T20:08:30.993Z

Week after week, the frost has held fast; on some days, the sun can chase it from the grass, but rarely from the shade. Below the sun's reach, the ice is creeping deeper into the earth; mud has set like cement, and the ice reaches a full foot below the ground. Freezing fogs turn bare branches into a freezing filigree, every twig heavy with ice crystals. Apart from the fog, the sky stays clear,

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-62437927162620594142009-11-11T10:11:00.004Z2009-11-11T10:44:17.250Z

On a chilly November 11th, red flowers on lapels bring my mind back to a sunny August evening in Normandy, when I stood on a low hill carpeted with golden fields and striped with lush green hedgerows. On that summit stands a circle of stones, each pointing a to each nearby town or village, and naming it. Besides the name, a number has also been engraved into each stone; the price, in lives,

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-9272530416072536222009-09-10T22:54:00.003+01:002009-09-10T23:15:38.870+01:00

A furry stranger arrived in our garden this evening; he was found clinging upside down to a shrub. We watched as he began to scramble from twig to twig. Now and then, he would flutter a couple of feet, but couldn't quite get into the air.Pipistrellis pipistrellisA quick look at the small ears and nose and some leafing through my wildlife guides, I had him down as a Pippistrelle (Latin for "I

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-39702245328485609912009-09-09T22:04:00.005+01:002009-09-09T22:50:02.234+01:00

Sitting at the piano, tinkering with the motifs and fragments that might one day gel into a soundtrack, I rattle through variation after variation, evolving note by note the music I will need to accompany the landscapes playing in my memory's screening room. As a freezing desert and a distant mountain range float before my eyes, I search higher into the treble, trying for the phrases that will

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-72917461275700477422009-06-25T13:49:00.001+01:002009-06-25T13:53:46.233+01:00

I wish I had read this post a couple of months ago. Reader, you cannot be too-well moored.

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-85451669667314946382009-06-15T10:27:00.001+01:002009-06-15T11:01:15.773+01:00

Who is Alex Boote?

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-63082418255010708892009-06-11T12:01:00.004+01:002009-06-11T14:10:11.605+01:00

My wife bellowed, then shot past the window, accelerating so fast that she assumed a reddish tint. I followed her out, and found her standing in front of the gate which guards our neighbour's yard, faced off against our very angry cat. Behind the gate, a very frightened juvenile starling huddled against a wall, shivering. No wonder: apart from being soaked in cat saliva, each and every

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-34937685856812698212009-05-20T18:42:00.007+01:002009-06-15T10:20:07.315+01:00

The call came late in the evening from an unfamiliar number; a voice I had never heard before told me that Briongloid (Irish for "dream") was hard aground the rocks outside her home cove. Several hurried phone calls later, I was on the road to the coast, racing through the darkness in convoy with a hastily press-ganged brother-in-law, trying beat the water to our precious boat, and take the

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-61802185965389532912009-05-20T14:12:00.007+01:002009-05-20T18:33:42.955+01:00

Our resident lap-warmer and dog-scarer was waiting at the door for his breakfast, wearing his most winning "poor starving cat" expression. The performance would've been much more convincing if he had remembered to clean his blood-soaked face...It wasn't his blood; our back garden looked as though a lunatic anatomist had been doing his dissection al fresco. A blood-mad killer he may be, but he

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-63182520102485715252009-04-06T12:04:00.006+01:002009-04-06T14:53:47.883+01:00

Early on a sunny Saturday afternoon, Briongloid slipped her mooring carrying mainsail, genoa, and a crew of four, and rode a rushing ebb tide into open water; her first proper sail of the season. Sails filled by a gentle force 2-3 from west-north-west, we began our first long tack west, our goal the vast arena of Holeopen Bay some 10km distant - my first proper sailing of the season.Actually, I

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-89590255870337822422009-03-30T23:12:00.006+01:002009-03-31T16:01:11.758+01:00

In which the saga of the near-sinking is concludedIn brazen defiance of ancient nautical tradition, the owner of the boatyard called with the news no boat-owner expects: repairs complete on time and under budget! Briongloid would be returning to the water on exactly the promised day. ~On a calm and sunny Saturday, I found Briongloid floating calmly on the river by the boatyard, rafted to a

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-14248140358764993832009-03-06T12:06:00.005Z2009-03-06T14:23:23.574Z

Spring is coming fast now, daffodils and crocuses in full bloom, sunsets and dawns pushing back the night. "Any day now", the men at the yard where Briongloid lies sleeping beneath her tarp will make her hull watertight again; after that, I want her back in the sea at the earliest opportunity.So, it's time to get ready. The flowers of rust blooming on her iron keel have been ground away,

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-16736350211778446652009-02-16T14:31:00.015Z2009-02-18T08:55:37.384Z

For a recent trip to Stuttgart (work, not pleasure, although I enjoyed it so much it might as well have been a holiday), I left the world of scheduled flight, and instead of the usual 737/A320, traveled by light jet - a Cessna 525B Citation CJ3. Although I've been on private (unscheduled) flights before, it has always been for short, informal flights in uncontrolled airspace - and very

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-32523468091306921362009-02-04T12:04:00.012Z2009-02-04T14:06:40.540Z

Being the third installment of a tale of a watery tale begun here and continued here. At last, Briongloid was safely on her trailer. On a snowy afternoon, I left The City early to go the boatyard and get a look the problem from the outside. I love the approach to the boatyard: it lies near the navigable limit of a tree-lined river - very scenic. This time, the tide was low, and some very

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-52795390771388272952009-01-27T12:58:00.007Z2009-01-29T13:44:01.563Z

Having established that our beloved Briongloid was letting in something on the order of 40 litres of sea water every 24 hours (see Part 1), it was time to get her hauled out and fixed by the yard that fitted the loo (and the leak). So, last Saturday, I got up before the sun did to drive to the cove and sail her to the yard.I pulled up on the slipway just in time to see the sun touch the western

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-89528470668247510822009-01-26T17:03:00.005Z2009-01-26T18:17:46.514Z

Briongloid was always a wet boat; ever since I launched her, pumping her bilges has been a regular pre-sail ritual. On overnight stays, I got used to pumping out in the mornings. Every now and then, I would work my way around her deck, looking for weaknesses and blasting them with sealant. Bucket-testing proved I was making progress, although oddly, her bilges didn't get any drier. After a

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-43350743242913039312008-11-23T12:33:00.008Z2008-11-24T11:19:54.318Z

Day-dreams of craggy headlands, taut canvas, wide blue horizons - clearly, I was in the grip of a bad case of sea-fever. The fever was not reduced by a steady stream of reports that huge beasts were on the move just off-shore. This far north, the sun sinks early, and gales are frequent; I would have to wait my chance.I found a Saturday with a weather window just wide enough to slip through (

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-87390688381677473772008-11-04T14:32:00.002Z2008-11-04T14:35:28.926Z

This blog is for adventures; to record them, to share them, and to remind me to have them. Quite often, I have ideas that don't belong here - and so I've started a new blog which I'll be writing in parallel with this one.

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-530432459188113582008-10-21T10:24:00.005+01:002008-10-29T10:39:18.319Z

Picture a peerless Sunday morning in mid-October; the sky is cloudless, the air crisp. To the left, a vast sweep of sea, a rich and perfect blue, over which dozens of yachts are gliding, white hulls all a-gleam, borne on a land-breeze just sufficient to fill Spinnakers and mainsails. Some older rigs, too - the complex and gorgeous gaff-rigs of the classic yachts operated by Etoile Marine are a

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-22609158046370773172008-09-08T10:01:00.005+01:002008-09-08T16:00:36.824+01:00

Some equipment needed testing, and that testing required a large body of water. So it was that on Sunday afternoon, I went a-boating on the largest convenient river. Pushing my dinghy clear of a deserted launching ramp, I allowed the current to take us. The air was perfectly still, and so Briongloidin rode swiftly downstream in complete silence; the river waters were very dark, rich peaty

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-33379006037116624602008-08-16T17:39:00.007+01:002008-08-16T22:44:20.308+01:00

Sometimes, I get a little blasé about the sea; through familiarity, the magical slowly comes to seem mundane, and the hundred little jobs that any sailor must do to keep even a very modest little yacht seaworthy and neat begin to weigh a little heavier. Then, it is time for a sailor to see the old plaything and the old playground through the eyes of a novice. A few days ago, I had the pleasure

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-68614448515929172062008-08-05T22:19:00.003+01:002008-08-05T22:42:35.484+01:00

We are still getting to know the small personage who entered our lives with such spectacular effect, but have already discovered his main interests; these are feeding and sleeping – mostly sleeping. He does this for 3 or 4 hours at a stretch, before reminding us that it is breakfast, or lunch, or dinner-time, or any one of a number of other mealtimes of his own invention. This is indicated by

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-83308234934698547732008-07-21T22:45:00.004+01:002008-07-21T23:47:04.087+01:00

Last Wednesday, the centre of the universe made a considerable shift, at least for this observer - from a point lying about 14 billion years astern of the Milky Way to the centre of a small table overhung by a heat lamp. Wriggling on that table, Briongloid's youngest crew member, LOA approximately 0.5M, grossing 0.0035 metric tons, my dark haired, blue-eyed first-born. He is approximately two

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-49202989446388027352008-06-15T23:32:00.006+01:002008-06-18T14:22:36.044+01:00

By way of rounding off a weekend of preparing a certain Mr. B to enter married life, I put to sea on a Sunday afternoon with a full crew - of my three brothers-in-law, plus Mr. B himself. Sailing in the lightest of airs, my crew made a neat job of tacking their way out the mouth of the inlet to open water, while I orbited them in Briongloid's dinghy, shouting helpful advice and snapping

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-34553640177844432662008-06-10T08:09:00.004+01:002008-06-10T08:33:31.001+01:00

Another day, another piece of natural history, courtesy of our resident furry psychopath (FP), who has been on something of a killing spree these last five days - catching two blackbirds (one male, one female), a "probable rat" (identification based on a single scrap of bloody fur and unusually large entrails), one robin, two tiny birds with yellow plumage (unidentified as yet), and, this morning

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-3194220850784582012008-06-06T09:30:00.004+01:002008-06-06T13:24:25.310+01:00

Still bleary and slow with sleep, I had already served breakfast to our resident furry psychopath (FP) when I noticed the scatter of black feathers on the lawn - nearly a third of the grass being covered in down and flight feathers. The corpse of the victim, a female blackbird, lay upright, black eyes still bright and unclouded - a bit fresher than the maggot-ridden male blackbird that I had

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-5631555344719588482008-06-03T08:36:00.012+01:002008-06-04T15:28:39.239+01:00

We slipped our mooring early on a foggy Saturday, motoring on a sea as slick and smooth as silk. Outside the cove, we steered into blank fog, trusting to GPS. We were not the first to sea, however - the surface was thick with birds a-fishing, and I glimpsed the fin of a hunting dolphin. A long line of tall masts loomed out of the murk: yachts in a line, racing in slow-motion, inching out to

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-34052639917768340502008-05-25T21:29:00.007+01:002008-06-04T12:00:47.387+01:00

Working on Briongloid's foredeck on a sunny Saturday afternoon, I was in the perfect position to watch the arrival of a sleek low double-ended boat I didn't recognise, coming in the from the open sea with only a singly scrap of sail still flying. At her tiller sat a man in full foul-weather gear who waved a salute as he sailed by up-river. As I worked, I saw the red hull work a few hundred

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-8534535329326783512008-05-14T10:18:00.002+01:002008-05-14T10:36:09.731+01:00

Late one evening, I went to the garden to fetch our resident assassin's food bowl. It being after sunset, I saw no more than the silvery outline of the steel bowl as I reached to pick it up - so the soft squishy/slimeyness that met my fingers beneath the rim came as quite a surprise. An inspection in better light revealed a solid mass of slugs on the walls of the bowl, drawn by the rich odor of

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-81926715119185751942008-05-10T23:04:00.006+01:002008-05-10T23:41:09.892+01:00

Another surprise outside the door this morning - mouse shaped. On closer inspection, this particular mouse had one sad little wing furled up beside it. Our resident assassin had subtracted a third or so from the whole, but the small snout, reddish-brown back and grey underbelly suggest that I am looking at Europe's most common bat, Pipistrellus pipistrellus, described by Schreber in 1774, with

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-42119791865542023452008-04-28T13:21:00.005+01:002008-04-30T10:30:30.035+01:00

Our jeep rattles through the dilapidated centre of a struggling town, and on into similarly struggling suburbia. Our driver stops outside what seems to be a small cafe: outside, old men of un-defined function - not patrons, but not apparently employees either - are talking in the shade. A guide takes us down a leafy path, and into the dark mouth of a large cavern.The rock around us is weirdly

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-26149419828783284222008-04-21T17:21:00.006+01:002008-04-23T14:13:23.891+01:00

After several days in a resort where sailing boats were far too valuable to lent to mere guests, I was champing at the bit. Every day, a perfect breeze blew over the blue, blue waters of the Caribbean, and every day, I was without a boat, while Hobie Cats tacked in and out under my very nose. My wife was under the necessity of keeping me under a very close watch, lest I attempt a "cutting out"

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-20874094459129404782008-04-15T15:17:00.003+01:002008-04-16T13:43:22.888+01:00

Nearly ten hours in the air took me across my local ocean to a middling-large island, and into an entirely different season. A couple of days of excessively easy living later, I stood on coral sands beneath a dark but starry sky and looked out to sea, past the gleam of surf on the reef, to where the stars met the water. Above and to the north, Polaris gleamed low in the sky... back in the

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-29921762518182818052008-03-18T11:14:00.004Z2008-03-18T11:54:31.102Z

We arrived home a few hours after sunset, and I commenced unloading luggage and tools. Glancing upwards - now a fixed habit - I found the sky pretty clear, even with waxing moon grown near to full. The constellation Leo was pretty high in the sky, well clear of our garden wall, and Saturn blazed a few degrees below the Lion's head. Exactly the opportunity I've been awaiting for two whole

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-50930648018454467592008-01-30T13:20:00.000Z2008-01-30T14:00:28.566Z

This Christmas, the box I found under the tree was really enormous. A few seconds later, I was holding an enormous tube - as it turns out, my gateway to the universe. After quite a bit of fiddling with intricately-made parts, I got its equatorial mount into something like the correct configuration, and there it stood: a brand-new fully-functioning Newtonian reflecting telescope of my very own.

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-60334194218345596942008-01-11T17:50:00.000Z2008-01-21T16:04:13.431Z

I went along on the trip to the hospital only because I knew there might be bad news; expected just to stay in the waiting room, brought a thick novel to keep me occupied. Then, they let both of us into the radiologist's examining room, where I sat with eyes glued to the monitor looming above the workstation.Then, there you were - in fuzzy, monochromatic cross-section, but suddenly, magically,

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-3116100282021830952007-12-21T15:29:00.000Z2007-12-21T15:32:17.177Z

It is late in the afternoon when I arrive at the cove; tomorrow will be the winter solstice, and a copper-gold sun is already sinking to meet the far shore. At the cove-mouth, a heavy swell is bursting against the cliffs, the huge eruptions of spray made brilliant by the sunset. Under a clear blue sky and a rising moon, the sea is cold, furious, and beautiful. Launching the dinghy, I open the

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-75884932028775462632007-09-25T17:19:00.000+01:002007-09-26T10:14:22.909+01:00

Briongloid left her home cove on Saturday under blue skies, carrying myself and Mr. T. We beat to westward for 34km against a steadily rising wind - choppy, damp, but exhilarating. After dropping anchor in the shelter of Broadstrand Bay, her hungry crew took to the dinghy for a 4 kilometre transfer to dinner at the nearest pub.The wind having risen further after sunset, the return journey, in

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-73996178620069121852007-09-21T10:56:00.001+01:002007-09-21T11:03:02.770+01:00

Less than a week on dry land, and I was missing salt water already - so left the office early, a colleague in tow - Mr. G. After a slightly damp dinghy transfer across the cove, we were tumbling aboard Briongloid and losing no time in rigging her for open water.Briongloid, beating to windwardAs we cleared the sheltering land, we felt her rise on the swell rolling in from the south west. Her

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-87528789100704123722007-09-12T09:25:00.000+01:002007-09-12T10:53:32.888+01:00

An (adapted) extract from the log recording Briongloid's first cruiseOn the last morning, I raised anchor at 08:00, rescuing two very bewildered starfish from the chain as I gathered it in. With the storm jib already set, Briongloid bore off a little and began to move as soon as the anchor cleared the bottom; I had already lashed the tiller amidships, and she "self-steered" very smoothly out

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-66881982710948941332007-09-07T10:08:00.000+01:002007-09-07T11:27:11.380+01:00

From "Briongloid"'s log for Thursday, August 25thRaised anchor in Baltimore Harbour at 10:00 and slid gently out past "Lot's Wife" with full main and genoa set. Once outside the lee of Cape Clear, good westerly helped me to progress eastward, running almost dead down-wind with sails goose-winged, easy sailing under a clear blue sky, the sun bright enough to make me cover my hands for fear of

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-31882770500395974572007-09-06T08:06:00.001+01:002007-09-07T10:07:10.939+01:00

The final episode of the "Back Country" serial postOur night at Mystic Camp was punctuated by long rumbling peals of thunder, and fat rain drops drumming on the canvas above us. By the time we woke, though, the weather was clearing up; and when we rode out, the sun was shining again - though invisible to us, riding now along a densely-forested valley floor. This was the easiest riding by far,

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-49673304615641056782007-08-15T21:36:00.000+01:002007-08-16T10:19:24.292+01:00

Continued from "to Flint's Peak" and "Into the Back Country"We woke to another beautiful Rocky Mountain morning - to blue skies and the fresh smells of the dewy meadow and the surrounding pines. Back on the trail, a detour and a short walk along a rather exposed path brought us to the exceptional North Cascade Falls - a real gem of a waterfall in a gorgeous little canyon.Back on the horses, our

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-5669361953547770802007-08-10T09:49:00.000+01:002007-08-10T10:41:30.197+01:00

Continued from "Into the Back Country"On our second day, C rode out on a fresh mount, the very handsome Ricky - her previous mount, Gent, was being given an easy day, on account of having been bitten by Ajax while in the corral. Ricky was very lazy, always falling behind - until motivated with a freshly-cut switch, after which he became a reformed character.We rode first along a winding trail

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-11901146494544024572007-08-02T12:43:00.000+01:002007-08-09T09:39:04.143+01:00

I knew I was close - lots of fresh scat on the ground, seed-stippled, each heap with its own orbiting cloud of flies, the stink competing for my attention with the pervading reek of rotten fish. Turning a corner, I sent a cloud of scavenging ravens flapping into the sky; the eagles remained, unmoving but watchful of my passing. There were pug-marks in the mud, broad game-trails in the grass.

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-53671271151652921532007-07-31T19:33:00.000+01:002007-08-09T10:15:03.430+01:00

Our guide, Mike, was waiting for us at the trail head, horses (10) saddled, mule (1) packed, ready for the trail. Riding out that sunny morning, we were one cowboy, born and bred (Mike), 3 keen riders from Indiana, a Danish family of 3 of mixed experience, and, finally, C and myself (riding dilettantes).The first few yards of the trail took us through a shuttered ski resort (Mount Norquay).

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-89747352849312295352007-07-12T11:03:00.000+01:002007-07-12T12:14:45.072+01:00

Sorex minutus is a predator with a particularly high metabolic rate; so high, in fact, that going more than 2 hours without eating could be fatal. Over the course of 24 hours, this efficient hunter will devour prey equal to two thirds of its own weight. Teeth that do that much biting need to be tough - and they are, containing so much iron that the tips are red. Sorex is also extremely

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-4143986888317574162007-07-06T10:37:00.000+01:002007-07-06T10:57:29.971+01:00

With a small-craft advisory and a gale warning out, I did the only sensible thing – drove as quickly as possible to the cove where we keep Briongloid. The row out was brutal – a squall hit, and actually kicked my dinghy sideways over the water; a vicious chop even managed to slap a little water over the bows. My row out told me all I needed to know about sail choice; I cast off with a

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-17857091422898838932007-06-27T09:30:00.000+01:002007-06-27T14:04:46.728+01:00

Rowed out to Briongloid last night, for a evening wander, pursued for a while by a lone seal. We had an easy time of it, sailing close-hauled into a steady breeze from due west, and making about 8kph over the ground towards towards the light on the Old Head. With full main and working jib hoisted, she barely heeled at all; would have carried a genoa easily, I think.Sun declining over the Old

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-63768630303668814422007-06-18T09:11:00.000+01:002007-06-18T10:25:26.660+01:00

Briongloid left Kilmacsimon at high water, carrying myself, C, and our teenage pilot (on loan from the yard). Mast lashed to the deck to clear the bridge just above Kinsale, motoring was our only option; the Bandon river looks broad enough at this point, but the part of the channel deep enough for a fin-keeled yacht is narrow enough to make for tricky sailing, even for a bilge-keeled boat (which

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-74847871362751541052007-06-11T17:19:00.000+01:002007-06-11T17:21:27.585+01:00

We didn’t see a thing until it was nearly over; the assassin had pinned him on the grass, and from the mess around the pair, we thought at first that she had killed him already. Kicks and curses sent her running for cover, and we turned our attention to the victim, who lay blinking silently at us; pulse running like a jackhammer. We knew he must be dying. No need to extend his suffering

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-36273556039724058302007-05-28T13:43:00.000+01:002007-05-28T14:59:13.696+01:00

We launched out kayaks (sit-on inflatables) from a broad and sandy beach in near-perfect conditions - a sunny Saturday afternoon with no detectable swell. Mr. T and I paddled south from from the beach in the generous lee of a long and narrow headland. To port, the cliffs of the headland rose from modest beginnings, while ahead and to starboard lay the open ocean. This early in the season,

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-91254048207879151842007-04-12T09:52:00.000+01:002007-04-13T14:31:46.594+01:00

Our little vessel is about to acquire a fixed VHF DSC radio, navigation lights and cabin lights, in addition to her ancient NASA echo sounder. We'ld also like to add a socket or two for things like phone chargers. To run this modest little setup, we'll need a little power. Marina-dwellers can simply plug in, but on our swing mooring, shore power is not an option - so we are going solar, with the

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-66516412658776278082007-04-06T09:19:00.000+01:002007-04-12T09:51:56.002+01:00

I followed the track through the darkening forest, moving uphill at a jog. The winter has taken its toll - here and there, trees lean at crazy angles, a few stubborn roots still scrabbling for purchase, while others, exhausted, are slowly dissolving into the earth that fed them. The zig-zagging of the trail is punctuated by dark stone slabs; in them, a man is painfully climbing a very distant

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-28322341436644868172007-03-22T09:15:00.000Z2007-03-22T09:52:21.268Z

I've been a sailor for quite a few years now - but, recently, really a lapsed sailor, with only the occasional afternoon on a rented dinghy. Well, I've been shore-bound long enough - so, this latest equinox, I left the office to do a little bit of shopping. Just the one purchase: her length overall is 21ft 10 inches, she is beautifully curved; slim and low, with just 435 kgs of ballast in a

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-83944265275713024612007-03-05T10:25:00.000Z2007-03-05T10:43:30.808Z

Yes, really. Astronomically inclined readers will probably have seen this for themselves - the first total lunar eclipse in several years (and the first I've watched for quite a bit longer than that).When I saw my first eclipse, it was through a very crude telescope - a toy, really. This time, we were armed with C's digital SLR and a 550mm telephoto lense - much lower magnifying power than my

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-83518266693747362452007-02-28T13:30:00.000Z2007-02-28T14:19:57.149Z

On my last trip, I relied on "muscle memory" to get me safely down, with a rather mixed outcome (injuries and indignities mixed with occasional flashes of competence). This time, nothing was to be left to chance: I signed up for another round of ski school, claiming an "intermediate" skill level.Cultural differences between Andorran and French ski-schools became apparent pretty rapidly; my

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-52284985736406515542007-02-19T22:20:00.000Z2007-02-28T13:29:00.130Z

Flew to Lyon on a Saturday evening; boarded a coach which took us east, slowly wending its way into that part of the Alps which curls south to define the French/Italian border. The bus made increasingly heavy work of the journey as the road became ever narrower and more precipitous. Eventually, it was a narrow two-lane switch back, with a rock wall on our left, and a deep void on our right,

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-75313380857397809022007-02-08T08:48:00.000Z2007-02-08T09:10:11.374Z

Adventure in a rather flatter environment today; the cartesian plane. An interesting problem came my way this morning, and I found it so exquisitely satisfying to solve that I decided to set out my journey across said plane for the edification of my readership. I realise that many of you will be starting out rather sceptical that words like “elegant” belong on even the same page as a mathematical

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-30989044184006423032007-01-15T14:15:00.000Z2007-01-15T15:14:21.060Z

Continued from a previous post, we rejoin our protagonist the morning after a rather painful return to the ski slopes, high in the magical Bernese Oberland.Just after dawn on Sunday morning, I limped back to the cable car through light drizzle; a blanket of low cloud gave the valley a rather melancholy look. Rather than continue to Murren, I stopped at Winteregg; at this height, the weather was

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-25734552308083409142007-01-12T11:03:00.000Z2007-01-12T11:49:57.114Z

Business brought me to Europe; pleasure led to arrive on a Friday rather than a Sunday, in Zurich rather than Stuttgart, and to take a succession of (very punctual!) trains to the village of Lauterbrunnen, in which I arrived around 22:30 to find the valley moonlit and snowbound.The next morning, I rode a cable car up to Grutschalp; our cable car was met by a tiny two-carriage train, and a

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-18512095304107389132006-12-20T10:42:00.000Z2006-12-20T11:51:33.362Z

Once more, a retrospective post, but this time, something in the nature of a prequel, as will be revealed in the coming weeks...Some years ago, business took me to a small town in the Schwarzwald - a place with a real fairy-tale feel. I still remember coming over a rise and seeing the extent of the forest of the first time - dark pine to the horizon. Within the forest itself, I saw

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-41959610242058495462006-11-30T09:07:00.000Z2006-11-30T10:07:41.871Z

Three weeks to the winter solstice; dark outside, gale force winds, lashing rain and a thick overcast cover the closest thousand miles of ocean. Months since I've been afloat, and I'm missing the sea - time for a wander down memory lane.Two autumns ago, I was standing on the fore-deck of a nicely fitted-out 40ft Beneteau, the great white masses of an unreefed main sail and genoa carrying us

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-77129985376728783462006-11-15T08:14:00.000Z2006-11-15T08:40:35.639Z

Last night, our cat was suspiciously happy to be spending time outdoors, for reasons which soon became apparent: he had found a new "playmate", and was having the time of his, that is to say, his victim's life.The poor mouse had a rough time, I'm afraid: batted into the air, pounced on, bitten, and then released for a few seconds for the fun of re-capturing it. Occasionally, it landed close to

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1162931433073957442006-11-07T19:21:00.000Z2006-11-14T22:00:57.673Z

Returning to the city close to the witching hour on a misty, moonlit night, we crossed the Blackwater at Lismore Castle and stopped to take this picture. Just across the bridge, we just missed getting a really special shot: a fox was waiting by the roadside.On seeing us, he drew back, then stopped. Parked 15 metres away, we rolled the window down and started shooting; alas, without effect. Our

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1161940856187973032006-10-27T10:14:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:57.592Z

...raided the Port of Cork last night, inflicting terrible things on the inhabitants of that unhappy place, the worst of which crimes involved not his sword, but a microphone & attached karaoke machine.

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1161249531585534882006-10-19T10:09:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:57.480Z

Opened the door to feed the cat this morning, and in he bounded, as usual. Very playful and wide-awake, swatting his favourite toy mouse around the floor. Except that his toy mouse was purply and fluffy and several feet away, and this one was brown, bedraggled, and limping.Oh dear. Well, we did add him to the payroll for exactly this kind of work - except we'ld hoped for discreet executions,

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1158575904852749092006-09-18T11:24:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:57.344Z

At last, a decent swell; it rolled in from the west over the weekend. I met it on the usual beach, late on Sunday afternoon. Haven't been out on my board for quite some time; paddling was very tiring, and I succeeded in getting out to the main break only when I decided to ignore protesting muscles and paddle flat out, using long, deep strokes, as if rowing.Catching the waves was still easy,

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1157705711758499442006-09-08T08:48:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:57.195Z

Went back to The Beach yesterday, this time to meet my little brother for a snorkel. Almost a complete novice, he'ld had to buy some gear specially; however, his shopping list apparently didn't include a snorkel. Or a mask. He did have fins (albeit the "wrong" kind - designed for bare feet) and a pair of goggles, so we set off along the old clifftop route to the (smugglers?) steps.We stepped in

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1155635699937121062006-08-15T09:57:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:57.024Z

Yesterday, I returned to the scene of a previous night-swim on a truly beautiful evening - green hedgerows framing clear blue skies, the gold-on-gold of evening sun on ripe fields. This being my first daylight visit to the cove, I began with a cliff-top survey. This is (part) of what I saw...From the sea, the views are, if anything, even better. Rugged cliff faces fall steeply into the sea, their

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1155553746913134022006-08-14T10:39:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:56.901Z

I first saw them just outside The City - two bikers, southbound like ourselves, whizzing past the four-wheeled folk. Both with helmets; the second rider had a jacket, the first one just a leather waiscoat. I looked at their gloveless hands, jeans, runners - and their wheelies! - and shook my head in my best old-fogey style.About three miles along the road, we met them again - this time,

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1154604100192381052006-08-03T12:07:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:56.804Z

Back to the sea I went, on Tuesday evening. Came to the beach with a car full of gear; surf was good, but not great, so I decided to experiment. Out came an inflatable kayak (Lild, special offer, bought two). This isn't really a surf kayak - more a paddle-on-calm-lakes kind of vessel, with the paddler sitting on top rather than inside. The paddle itself is assembled from five seperate pieces, and

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1154076929395321552006-07-28T08:58:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:56.672Z

After a long spell (too long) ashore, I returned last night to the ocean, this time in a sea kayak. We were a large group - a dozen or so colleagues, mostly novices (even my own modest paddling skills appeared relatively competent and economical). The boats were beautifully efficient, and perfect for novices: streamlined enough to let even weak paddlers maintain a good speed, but broad enough

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1151308831278244142006-06-26T08:58:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:56.560Z

Another video post...

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1150879362634001042006-06-21T09:40:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:56.464Z

As threatened, the video version of the last post...

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1150793182008437512006-06-20T09:15:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:56.358Z

In another diversion from the African story, a fishy tale from the hills...Last Saturday, I returned after a hiatus of some years to an old haunt in the hilly country which lies 50 miles or so south west of The City - a pair of swimming holes filled by waterfalls which lie hidden in a cleft high in the hills. After several weeks of good summer weather, I arrived on a hot and sunny afternoon to

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1150276508071529492006-06-14T09:32:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:56.275Z

In which I recount the story of our last few hours on safari at Gomo Gomo.On our last morning, we had the usual 05:30 start, after which we set off on our final game drive. After the wealth of animal sightings we'ld had in the previous few days, we were a little disappointed to find the bush almost eerily empty - even the omnipresent impala seemed to have moved on. With only about an hour or so

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1150102554665693812006-06-12T08:41:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:56.193Z

Continuing the story of our safari at Gomo Gomo on the 15th day of our honeymoon...We spent an uneventful morning attempting to find a pair of leopards known to be mating in the area - I was amazed at the nonchalance of our tracker, who seemed quite happy to hop down from his perch on our bonnet to stroll off into dense bush, looking for leopards who I can only assume would find an interruption

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1149842352931216782006-06-09T08:53:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:56.078Z

In which we return to our African Odyssey, taking up the story on our first full day at Gomo Gomo, Timbavati, South Africa (just west of Kruger National Park)Woken at 05:30 by our guide. Not the first time we'ld woken, either - hippos keep very unsociable hours, and aren't exactly built for stealth, and seem to be constantly snorting and puffing. This is at the same time, an annoying and

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1149754811469110402006-06-08T08:32:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.979Z

Just for today, I'm going to break the "Africa sequence" with pictures from a swim I did last night, returned to the caves that I explored last year with Mr. T. This time, Mr. T couldn't make it, but Mr. S (he of the night-snorkel and a sailing adventure or two) could.We reached The Beach around 18:00 and used an old entry point - sea was extremely calm, with only the ghost of a swell remaining (

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1149673408259993892006-06-07T10:39:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.902Z

Almost a fortnight into our honeymoon, we arrived at the Gomo Gomo camp in the Timbavati private reserve (adjoining Kruger National Park, South Africa). The picture below shows the intertior of our tent (the door in the shadows to the right leads into the tent's fully tiled bathroom...).Roughing it at Gomo Gomo We reached camp just in time for lunch, eaten beside the river, with a thatched roof

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1149592008402653772006-06-06T08:52:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.820Z

...must have been gazed upon by angels in their flight - wrote Livingstone, in 1857.Propelled by turbine and rotors rather than supernatural powers, we made steep turns above the falls, windows revealing a very vertical view of the chasm into which the Zambezi plunges so abruptly. This chasm is a huge slot in the bedrock which opens into an extremely sheer canyon that zigs very abruptly, before

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1149245736984514672006-06-02T09:14:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.733Z

We woke on the 10th day in a bed strewn with rose petals - in the Airport Southern Sun, Johannesburg. Off to departures, where we discovered that our flight north would land in the town of Victoria Falls (Zimbabwe) and not over the border in Livingstone, Zambia (where we wanted to be). So it was that we came to spend a very uncomfortable couple of hours in Mr Mugabe's Zimbabwe. Some numbers that

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1149161420871412232006-06-01T09:16:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.666Z

Dawn on the 8th day of our honeymoon found us deeply asleep in a beachfront hotel in the centre of Swakopmund, a resort town surrounded on three sides by the vast emptiness of the desert on three sides, with the fourth side occupied by the even vaster blue of the South Atlantic ocean. By contrast with the land, the sea here is anything but empty, with a fish population that supports large

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1148550389361814402006-05-25T08:52:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.582Z

Waking at Vingerklip, our big picture window revealed a beautiful dawn in a clear blue sky. To the restaurant for breakfast (very Germanic), and really wonderful views. Alas, we musn't linger - we have a date with the White Lady, who waits for us at the foot of Namibia's highest mountain some hours to the south. First, we drove west to refuel at Khorixas, having been warned that Uis doesn't

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1148459541885751692006-05-24T08:45:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.499Z

Up early on this, the 6th day of our honeymoon, to see what visitors the dawn has brought to the watering hole - none. I climbed the tower near the camp gates (part of the original German fortifications) and spotted zebra converging on the watering hole from several directions. Back down the stairs in double-quick time, I arrived at the watering hole in time to at least 100 striped heads dipping

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1148376864559430582006-05-23T10:07:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.429Z

My first dawn within Etosha found me sitting by the watering hole adjacent to the Halali rest camp. Four springbok were drinking and grazing, with bouts of play-fighting – they lock horns, and try to force each other back. All four were extremely wary, huge ears all a-turning and a-twitch. Young buck drinking at dawn We left camp after breakfast, intending to stay out in the bush all

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1148286815617172292006-05-22T09:25:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.360Z

Four days into our honeymoon, we reached the eastern extremity of Etosha National Park, in the north of Namibia. Entering the park, we found ourselves driving in an area of very thick bush; nevertheless, we began to see game almost immediately - first, a large kudu, followed by a small herd of zebra. Other creatures followed quickly - later, there were giraffes, and possibly the oddest looking (

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1148037384167833492006-05-19T09:56:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.294Z

We spent just forty eight hours in Cape Town before we flew out for Windhoek, Namibia (a note to other travellers: Cape Town deserves more time that we gave it). Two hours after arriving, we were moving north from the capital under our own steam in a very new Toyota Hilux (a large 4x4 pickup of legendary toughness). Our first stop had been planned months ahead: the craft market at Okahandja.Craft

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1147874058657906872006-05-17T14:34:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.230Z

This beautiful creature, seen walking a dry riverbed in search of a cool place to sleep and digest, is a member of a small pride which hunts a territory within the Timbavati reserve (adjacent to South Africa’s Kruger Park). Her father, who lives away from the pride, occupies the apex of the local food pyramid, being the local alpha male. We came upon him by chance one morning, in the cool light

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1147767959571874432006-05-16T09:06:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.165Z

Last Thursday afternoon, I was bobbing in the warm, warm waters of the Indian Ocean, taking this picture of the tiny (uninhabited) island of St. Pierre (you can see more or less the whole island in this picture), part of the Seychelles group. The trees are heavy with fruit (coconuts, almonds), and the leaf litter is disturbed only by the passing of the occasional skink (this is skink heaven:

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1145654073479660632006-04-21T21:58:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.093Z

On a sunny Monday afternoon, Miss C became "Mrs. Phibius". This is Friday night, and I'm posting from a little hotel between Bantry Bay and the Lion's Head - Cape Town. On the basis that we'ld like to see somewhere...Very different to anwhere that either of us has previously beenExceptionally beautifulWarm and sunny...we'll be spending the next few weeks touring southern Africa, with a side trip

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1144850596259370352006-04-12T15:03:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:55.019Z

It may be that I’ve been taking my work just a little too seriously – this morning, writing a note to Miss C, I found myself using scientific notation humorously.  Yes, I know…In my defence, it has been a rather fraught week, professionally speaking: I need to solve a fairly significant accuracy “issue” which is holding up development on an interesting new Device (a secret Device, at least for

Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-1143713217547339512006-03-30T11:06:00.000+01:002006-11-14T22:00:54.949Z

Dance class again last night.  A new instructor, in her twenties: picture Bambi made human, female, and Latin. Technically excellent, I like her strategy, but she talks a little too much.  Afterwards, we went downstairs to the bar, and practiced our own routines: definite improvement already.  I’m enjoying it, particularly, the first few combinations.Later, we sat out a few dances, and, like

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