Bike Ben's Blog

Sinking like a stone

Ben — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 10:58:25 +0000

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“Hey, everything ok?” he asks. “Not really” I reply, I look at my watch, it shows 5 am exactly.
My first reaction is to swear, a lot! I then look at my watch, 2.15 am. It’s pitch black and there is water all around me, I’m floating on my Therm-a-rest. How is this possible? I open the tent door to see my shoes floating in 20 cm of water. By the time I’ve had time to stash my camera in my dry bag and throw on 2 extra thermals, the water has risen to 30 cm, I swear more. I jump out into the heavy rain, the wind bites into my wet body. This is serious! Katie emerges, I start quickly grabbing things and throwing them to higher ground on the tussock nearby, it’s taking too long, the water is rising. I jump into the knee deep water, barefoot and boxer shorts only. I quickly pull each corner of the tent up, I look inside to see papers and books in the netting above, still dry somehow, I quickly stuff them down into my drybag before dragging the tent over to the side. With great trouble, I empty the tent, remove the poles and stuff it into my bag. My sleeping bag is soaking wet, and my hands begin to become stiff and slow. I find my rain pants and pull them onto my freezing legs followed by my soggy shoes. My head torch shine weakly into the black night.
Our only option is escape, the only escape is a hut 1.5 hours back down the track, but no easy track.
Just a few hours before, exhausted and facing extreme winds, our chosen campsite behind a huge rock seemed a wise choice. The dry riverbed nearby seemed like just that, a dry riverbed. Having cooked and eaten, we tucked down into the tent to avoid the biting wind and light rain. The wind gusts to gale force, but the tent holds. Finally, around midnight, the wind eases and I fall into a deep sleep after a long 10 hour walk that day.
I’m loosing heat fast, most things are packed, well the important stuff anyway, it doesn’t matter, we need to get out of here before exposure sets in. We track back towards the lake, crossing small rivers and large pools. Quickly we reach the shore and follow the coast to a stream, now a raging torrent. The small orange triangle on a stake indicates that this is the way up and over the cliffs that surround the lake shore. My light is loosing power, Katie takes the lead, her light shining deep into the total blackness.
We climb the first scree slope, it falls away under our feet but we push on. I can feel myself cooling down, I try to keep moving and to keep my hands protected from the bitter wind. We get half way up and it feels like we’ve gone the wrong way, we turn back only to find a deep gorge which neither of us recognise from earlier in the day. We climb back up to realise we were on the right track from the start. We continue…
I wait at the orange marker while Katie goes on ahead to find the next one, once found, she yells to me and I proceed to meet her and we continue. Finally we arrive at the last scree back down to the track, a great feeling of relief comes over us as a proper track start just ahead.
The track is gone, the triangles or gone, there is only a steep cliff on the left and rolling hills on the right, nothing either of us recognise, we are lost, cold and tired. Panic is not an option. We stop and discuss, it must be over that hill, is it? maybe… crossing the hill we find a small lake. A bloody lake! There was no lake when we passed earlier… where are we? Which way is the big lake? Left, right? I don’t know. Katie retrieves her compass and I easy my bag open with my frozen, almost useless hands. I pull out the map and look closely, to my surprise this tiny lake appears as a small dot on the map, incredible! I line up the map with north and take a bearing back to the track, east, we need to go east.
After 5 mins walking over some huge boulders the track appears, what a relief. We continue quickly down the hill, over stones, through trees and across raging streams. Finally we arrive back on the flat, which drags on for what seems like forever.
The hut finally appears and I already feel better, I take off my shoes and go inside, the people sleeping in the tent respond to my answer quickly and jump into action, giving us extra clothes, making a cup of tea and putting the fire on. We are given one of their sleeping bags and made comfortable as we slowly warm up. I’m happy to be alive.
After a day drying out, we made a second attempt at the pass. After retrieving the last of the things we had lost of left behind at the campsite, we continued on and over the 1879 m Waiau pass into North Canterbury and continued on to the Lewis Pass via the St. James Walkway to complete the 120 km, 8 day epic adventure.
Another one to remember, though perhaps just a little more adventurous than planned.

Paddling With the Current

Ben — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 05:03:32 +0000

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Standing on her hind legs, arms in the air and looking unhappy, a mamma grizzly bear reacts aggressively to my presence in her space, just 30 or 40 m away. Her young cub stands behind her. Exactly what you don’t want to happen, has happened. I have startled a grizzly bear with a cub by coming over a ridge and finding her upwind of me. My immediate reaction is to panic. I know that you are not supposed to run from these creatures, but my instinct is too strong, I take a few steps backwards and away before turning and running to inform the others in my party that there is a bear and cub. Not wanting to hang around, I head directly for higher ground where I can see if she is coming. Sure enough, a few seconds later the mother and cub appear on the ridge opposite, by now both are on their hind legs with arms raised. We yell as we have been doing periodically to scare them away and she drops to all fours and runs in the other direction. My heart beat slows and we continue cautiously on our way.
Meanwhile, all up and down the beautiful Tatshenshini River, bears, wolves and moose roam freely in this enormous wilderness area, not familiar with human intruders since the first nation people left the area some time ago. Attempts have been made at mining the area but finally after a lot of action from environmental activists, the plans were canned and the entire area was turned into a park covering areas of the Yukon, British Columbia and the Yukon. This enormous wilderness is only visited by rafters and a few hardy fishermen and hunters, but it is the wildlife the rule the ranges here. Historically it was an important trade route for first nations people trading commodities between the coast and the interior.
The landscape here is as if it were in reverse, the rolling, wooded hillsides of the upper reaches of the river give-way to ever growing mountains with glaciers flowing down their valleys while the snowy peaks rise high above the clouds. Floating icebergs and cracking glaciers beyond create a polar feeling as the Alsek River nears the sea. A truly spectacular part of the world which must looked after for future generations.

Bon voyage monsieur!!!

Ben — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 15:35:02 +0000

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A hooded man walks towards us, not old, maybe 24 or so. In Spanish, the driver of the van beside me says that he will provide accommodation for the night. My mind clicks backwards about three hours. In a small village, we are invited in for tea by a local, in his rather kitsch bedroom, we waited while tea and omelet was prepared. Tacky plastic ornaments hung from the walls, a small television blared out the worst of an American TV. A bunch of fake plastic flowers stand in a corner while a hanging rack of shoes overflows as if ready for any high street event. A musty smell of dampness fills the air and a rickety wardrobe stands open in a corner.
Tea appears as does a brother, son and friend. The friend, who later turns up in the van, speaks Spanish and talks happily about the cost of living in Morocco compared to Spain as well as assuring me that he IS Bin Ladin?!!. He tells us that there is a place to stay 8 km down the road. My broken Spanish only grasps half of what he is saying. We drink up and move on.
The smiley man with a baseball cap and a black jacket in the van is the friend from a few hours before, why he is now in this town, driving a shuttle, and how be had arranged for the hooded man to host us within minutes is beyond us completely. Sometimes not worth working out. We follow the man back to his family home where we are warmly welcomed by his family. Tea is quickly produced and a snack before we are taken out to meet his friends. He speaks no English, only French. We manage to get a fair bit of what he is telling us. Along a muddy street, we are shown into a poorly lit room, on one side, cabinet is filled with sugary cakes and biscuits, soda bottles stand on a shelf behind. In the back corner, behind a concrete pillar, a plastic table and chairs make for a comfortable place for these young guys to hang out, where are the girls? A round of fanta is ordered and everyone sits around enjoying the sweet, artificial drink. Another hooded man arrives, with the outfit from Starwars, which is, in fact, a traditional outfit from this country. He speaks English with a high pitch American accent, very good English. He tells of not having the money to continue his studies, he hopes to get the money together to continue soon, he’s not sure if it will happen. This town has no library, no Internet, no newspaper and no social activities. Young people only get information via satellite TV which every home has. Our limited experience of that TV makes it a very sad situation. Al Jazeera news blares out stories of war and instruction from Libya, no sign of the disaster in Japan or elsewhere in the world. The sense of hopelessness in this community is tangible. Our new friend speaks of a girlfriend in the US that he met online, if only she was as real as he thinks, hopes and wishes.

Soon it’s time for dinner, we return home and are joined by our new friend. We sit and do some calculations on a piece of paper, what would it be possible for him to earn if he were to get a loan to buy 3 computers for a small Internet cafe at the place we had soda earlier. The maths works out, 600 dirhams (about 50 euros) a month will be a significant wage which he lights up about. In a country where most people survive on less than $2 a day, it’s not surprising that this seems like a hansom income. I make a promise to look into the load he will need to get things up a running, about 1000 euros, it must be possible.

The mountains continue, up, down, up, down, up, up, up, my legs complain after not being used in this way since ’09. The Moroccans keep their distance but never cease to be friendly with a wave and a ‘salam’ or hello. Road side workers call after us, ‘Bon voyage monssieur’, I’m not sure if I’ve been in a safer more respectful country than Morocco.

Shaken but not stirred

Ben — Sun, 27 Feb 2011 07:52:52 +0000

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It’s 9.16 am, a deep rumble instantly grabs my attention, the rattle and shaking come soon after. Sitting in front on my computer, I quickly post this: “Blood pressure through the roof after a small aftershock in Christchurch…lucky I’m not here for too long or I’d have a heart attack!”. The Geonet website shows that it was 3.1 on the Richter scale, just another of the 4600 aftershocks that has hit Christchurch since the 7.1 quake on September 4th last year.

This awareness of earthquakes goes back to the 17th of October, 1989 when a 7.1 earthquake devastated the San Francisco Bay Area. I was 6 years old and making a bow and arrow in the workshop with my brother. Everyone got out without physical injury, but I never forgot. From then on, my brain has been programmed to react strongly to even the slightest tremor. Adrenalin pumps into my veins, making my heart race and I look for the nearest escape, a door, a window, anything.

It starts slowly, my mind races, calm down, it’s only another aftershock, just like the one this morning. These thoughts don’t last long, my instinct points me directly to the door about 10 m away. I hop from side to side as the floor shakes violently under me, every item in the entire restaurant is in motion, plates clatter and crash, plants tip and shelves fall, nothing remains in position. I feel like I am in a salt shaker, being shaken back and forth, just waiting to fall through a hole. I reach the door frame where several others are already grasping on, trying to shelter while being tossed about. My conscious brain has totally switched off by now, I’m in survival mode, only instincts apply, this is a very dangerous situation. Upon reaching the door frame, I can see daylight at the bottom of the flight of stairs. Red carpet on the floor and a hand railing each side. I can’t stay standing. With both hands on the railing, I semi-slide, semi-run down the stairs, regaining my footing after each leap as I go down. The door way is clear, I run for it.

An incredible noise fills the air, the sounds of falling rock, right in front of my eyes, the spire or the cathedral collapses into a heap of stone and twisted metal. My heart pounds, where is Steve? Did he hide? Is he ok? The building is still standing, he must be just waiting it out inside. It seems like ages. A dense cloud of dust, almost yellow in colour fills the air, I can taste it. Behind the building we were in, a think burst of black smoke rises into the air. I survey the situation, my rational mind is in full swing, people need help! Where? How? I take 2 quick photos while I wait, then my camera battery dies, typical. To my left, a 4 or 5 story building stands in total ruins, the fences around it tell me that it must have been condemned in the last earthquake, no one would be inside. Further around, a white building is severely damaged, the red domed roof sits precariously above a large crack in the building. I notice that all the windows in the ANZ bank are gone. Steve comes, relief. I say that we have to help, people are under there. I run towards the cathedral. Half way, I meet two elderly women, a uniform colour, head to toe. The dust has painted them grey, I put my hand on one women’s shoulder. “Are you hurt? Can help you at all?” one women responds calmly “We were inside, I think we were quite lucky really” shock has not yet set in. I suggest that they sit on a nearby bench which I think they did, I didn’t see them again as more and more people filled the square.

A lone policeman walks around the rubble, looking just as helpless as I feel. I walk along close behind him, looking for something I can do, anything! Clinging to a second story window, a women, at least I think it’s a women, battered, bloodied and covered in dust, is calling desperately for help. She’s is making noise, she will be ok, but I can’t get to her, I feel desperate. What can I do? There are people under there, many people…they are all dead, I know it. You can’t survive being hit by those stones. The tower is unstable, do I cry? No, what can I do? People need help! Someone is running, they had someone inside, where are they? I hope, hope, that they are found, my guess is they weren’t.

A man wearing a dark t-shirt holds a crude bandage on his head, blood drips down his front and pools on the ground. His wife stands next to him, her cream polar fleece strangely matches the dust, it looks clean in stark contrast to everything else. A large gash stretches from her right ear down to her collar bone. I ask if I can help her, she says that she’s alright considering. I see that I can’t do much, people have already done what they can for the walking wounded. I feel the chill in the air and realise my jacket is inside the restaurant. We walk back to the other side of the square. Feeling like there is little more I can do there, I take a photo of the bank. It hits, again, just as violent but not for long, the first aftershock. I see further stones crumble from the spire. I say to Steve that there must be something we can do, we walk back to the cathedral. It’s too unsafe to do anything without huge risks. We walk back to the middle of the square, I see another bloodied person being looked after by bystanders. I try to call Anna whom I was supposed to meet soon after. The network is overloaded, but the internet is working. I post this on facebook “Massive earthquake in Christchurch, we’re ok for now.”, it’s 1.24 pm. I turn on Skype as it’s the only thing I can think of to get in touch with people. I notice a girl in a blue jersey, head down, crying hysterically. I try to comfort her, I rub her back. Her friend smokes nervously, in shock. They are dutch, on their way into the cathedral, but didn’t make it there yet. I stay with them. A group of circus people sit near us, I look on Geonet and see that it was only 6.3! Is that possible? Word spreads fast, 6.3, 10 km from the city, 5 km deep. Everyone in Christchurch is all too familiar with all this jargon.

Someone from the crowd gets onto a loudspeaker and tells everyone to stay where they are, away from tall buildings. Soon after the policeman that I had seen before tells everyone to leave immediately, either north or west out of the city, there will be a total evacuation of the downtown, everyone must go NOW.

Taking a little bike tour of the town, I had parked Anna’s bike just down the street. Realising that many of the streets were badly damaged, I didn’t want to leave it behind as I may well need it. I ran between the two tall buildings and asked at the police cordon if I could just grab my bike, they agree. I pull it free from the 10 cm of silt which has risen up from the ground below, liquefaction.

I rejoin the others and we walk together towards the museum, passing the beautiful, historical art centre which is heavily damaged but not destroyed. The street is littered with debris and the relentless layer of dust. Obedient staff have already cordoned off the building and a staff member places a “Site Closed” sign on a chair in front of an entrance.

My heart races again as several loud explosions break the relative silence of Hagley Park. Not knowing what it was we continue. By this stage, helicopters are buzzing over head, a monsoon bucket is being used to douse what we later find out was the CTV building where it’s believed 120 people died. Liquefaction is everywhere, in the middle of the park, piles of sand have appeared everywhere. Water from somewhere has flooded the low laying parts of the park and the river has changed to a deep grey as the silt runs into it. After a long walk we arrive at a friends place where we find them sitting out on the street in front of the second floor flat. We go upstairs together to use the toilet, no realising that the sewerage system is totally out of action. As I survey the mess in the house, the second major aftershock hits, violently shaking the last things of the shelves. I run for the door frame as getting out isn’t an option. The already afraid Dutch girl, more or less falls out of the toilet and we decide that it’s probably better on the street.

I finally reach Anna, all is ok and she’s on her way home, so wrapped in a blanket, we start the 10 km walk towards home, passing the back through the now empty city centre which has been reduced to a dusty wreck. The SmithCity car park which was once 3 stories (I think) now is one single sandwich of cars and concrete, precariously balanced above the road. Everything in me want their not to be anyone in any of the 40 odd cars but my instinct tells me otherwise. The lack of search and rescue personnel on site indicates the shear scale of this disaster. A police patrol keeps people away from the unsafe structure until the professionals are able to look at it.

We continue, cracked streets, burst pipes, cars left where they stopped on roundabouts, verges and median strips. In the distance a dense black cloud of smoke rises from the CTV building, from here I can see the helicopter dousing flames that leap into the air. We give all damaged and tall buildings a wide birth to not tempt fate. I notice the crumbling supports of an overpass, fortunately, it is still standing.

We finally arrive home to find the front door off while the kind neighbour adjust it’s form with a hand plane to allow it to again close. He brings with him bottles of fresh water form the spring in the backyard of his suburban house. The house is intact, just a little bit more wonky than before. Nothing remains on any shelves apart from an orchid which somehow has maintained its position above the crooked fireplace.

We drive the dutch girls as far as possible before the proceed on foot to where they are staying. As we let them out, the car rocks back and forth as a large aftershock passes. We help a friend of Anna’s clean up a bit as she’s home alone with two young children. The rain begins and we pitch the tent and cook up a storm on Anna’s camping stove, all to be washed down with a bottle of bubbly to celebrate having survived the ordeal but knowing that out there, hundreds of people wait for friends and family who won’t every come home, we were constantly reminded of the seriousness by the air force planes flying overhead ever 20 minutes, carrying supplies and personnel in and the injured out.

The night was full of 2′s and 3′s about every 3 minutes and on top of that, more than 50 aftershocks over 4 rolled through during the hours of darkness. Each one jolting me from my sleep. My heart pounding and my blood boiling. It was a long night. After a major jolt at 6 am, I decided enough was enough and got out of bed. The power had come back on around midnight soon after a massive jolt had cracked the large plate glass window in the lounge, We turned on the TV only to see the full extent of what I’d seen the day before. It was devastating!

As my flight was booked for 3 pm on the 22nd, I was able to get one of the first flight out on the 23rd once the airport reopened. Anna and I headed out to help a friend of hers to get everything out of her house which had partially collapsed and was at risk of total collapse. All along there were scenes devastation but amongst that, amazingly people were smiling, laughing and really helping each other out. Checking on neighbours, friends and family and really making the most of whatever was available to them. Tents were pitched on parks and lawns in front of condemned houses.

I flew to Auckland feeling numb from the emotion of all that I had seen, with the overwhelming feeling of helplessness, that I couldn’t be of more assistance to anyone. Being back in Sweden now, it all feels so surreal, almost dreamlike yet so there as each rumble from the flat above gets my heart going again. This is a scare which I will probably carry for a lifetime, it’s a small price to pay to have come through that ordeal unscathed, and for that I’m hugely grateful.

Destination: Antarctica

Ben — Tue, 15 Feb 2011 23:56:40 +0000