You want me to WHAT?!

We just got back from a fabulous trip to our neighbour to the south, New Zealand. It's an absolutely stunning country, very hilly (Aukland, its largest city, made me appreciate the relative flatness of Melbourne as I contemplated what cycling to work would be like there). We were exclusively on the North Island, and we pretty much stayed put around Rotorua, a geothermal area in the middle of the North Island.

The area around Rotorua is absolutely beautiful, full of steaming lakes, boiling mud and volcanoes, active and dormant. It also stinks. Literally. The stench of sulfur is everywhere, so the entire area smells like rotten eggs. Sometimes it was better than others, but you always knew you were in a geothermal area. The customs official on the way back, when he heard we stayed in Rotorua, laughed and said, "Well, I guess you get used to the smell." And eventually, I guess, you do.

I get the feeling that you could just keep having a good time in the out of doors in New Zealand as long as your time and money lasted. We certainly didn't run out of stuff to do.

Of course, when you land in New Zealand you have to sign a contract promising you'll do insane things. It's just part of the NZ experience. And we did plenty - white-water rafting, hiking, kayaking, rolling downhill in a giant hamster ball, swimming with dolphins and yes, bungy jumping. There's far too much to tell in one post, so I'm going to string it out and tell you one or two days at a time. This will also, I hope, ward off some "why haven't you posted in ages, you lazy scamps" comments.

Our hotel was beautiful. It was called the Lakehouse Hotel, on Lake Road, and it had a postcard view of Lake Rotorua outside our window. The hotel itself was built in the 19th century and looked like the site of a shoot-out in a Western. It was full of outside staircases leading to upstairs porches, and you could just imagine gunslingers tripping up and down the steps, bursting in and out of windows and firing off six-shooters.

On the first day we went to Orakei Korako, an area known for its geothermal activity. The Lonely Planet guide says it is "one of the best geothermal areas left in New Zealand," a quote that figures prominently in all of the park's literature. But we figured if we were going to see a geothermal area, it might as well be the best one. I was tempted by the Lady Knox geyser, which erupts at another geothermal area every day at 10:15 am until I learned that it erupts so regularly because they put soap in it to push it along. We decided then to go au naturel and see geysers that erupted off their own bats, in their own good time.

The park was spectacular. The path took us by hissing geysers, boiling cascades, steaming lakes and bubbling mud, as well as down into an impressive cave with jade-green, lukewarm water. The colours in some of the pools were spectacular. Some were bright orange, some deep green, some sky blue and many acid white. We didn't get to see any geysers in full eruption, but the gurgled and sent up billowing clouds of steam accomodatingly.

The boiling mud was particularly impressive, as, well, you don't really think of mud as a bubbling sort of substance. It had a particularly noxious odour, and it made a rather disgusting plop-plop noise. Impressive all the same, though.

The park was near a town about 75km south of Rotorua, Taupo. Since we were close, we decided to poke the head in and see what Taupo was about. The guide book describes Taupo as a must-see for adrenalin junkies. Where's the place for those who are just fine where they are, thank you, but whose boyfriends want to do crazy things, I want to know.

On the way there we visited Huka Falls, a moderately impressive waterfall (NZ spoils you when it comes to natural beauty, and especially waterfalls, due to the aforementioned hills. You get to the point where breathtakingly beautiful waterfalls in any other country become merely moderately impressive) and river.

I was at the wheel when we drove into Taupo, and due to a possible mishearing of a direction from my navigator or a misdirection from the navigator (opinions differ as to this point), I turned left out onto a secondary road instead of right into the centre of town. When Leslie discovered we were going the wrong way, he said I should find somewhere to turn around. Frustrated, and not very good at turning around in cars, I screeched to the side of the road in a blaze of windscreen wipers (the bloody things were on the wrong side, as I was attempting to find the indicators - all is understood, Mum) and told Leslie that if he was such a smarty-pants about directions, he could drive. So I guess what happened after that was my fault, really.

I had completely inadvertently and through sheer dumb luck (whether it was good luck or bad luck is still a matter of some debate, but it was certainly dumb) pulled up outside Taupo Bungy. Leslie, now at the wheel, decided we should go in and see what the bungy jumping was like.

The jump is set up on a platform 47 metres (154 feet for you non-Communists) above the Waikato River. The river is a sparkling blue-green and quite peaceful, and the view from the clifftop was certainly beautiful. But not so beautiful you want to hurl yourself off it so it'll be the last thing you see, in my opinion. We wandered around and watched fool after fool, singly and in pairs, leap off the platform with naught but a rubber band tied around their ankles to ensure they didn't end up in the drink at a speed of 32 feet per second per second, or 9.8 metres squared. Some yelled, some shrieked, some swore, some whooped, and all bounced around like an out-of-control yo-yo.

We wandered out onto the platform as far as non-jumpers could go, and it was a really long way down. The flying monkeys who worked at the joint seemed to have no trouble zipping up and down in skimpy harnesses and bouncing around just as if they weren't suspended high above a river, but my breath came short just by standing on the platform. But Leslie was clearly intrigued. He kept saying things like "when we do this," and what position he wanted to jump in. He said we should jump separately, as he wanted to go by himself. I said there was absolutely no way on God's green earth I was hurtling off such a ridiculous contraption by myself.

We'd sort of discussed doing a bungy jump later in the trip, and while it was all in safe amorphous "someday" territory I came around from "you think I'm going to do a damn fool thing like that you got another thing coming" to "perhaps, maybe, we'll see." Although as any parent knows, those two things aren't actually so far apart - "we'll see" almost always means "not if I can come up with an excuse to weasel out of this." Actually standing on a shaky platform more than a hundred feet over a river put me squarely back in the first mindset. But Leslie was determined.

He talked me round. It was like a ride at Six Flags, he said, and even though I always thought maybe it wasn't such a good idea right when I got up to the top of the queue, I always had a good time, didn't I? And nothing could go wrong, look at all those people who were successfully leaping from this yoke without dying. I gave in, and we bought a ticket for a tandem jump.

When we got on the platform, though, and through a gate ominously signed "Jumpers Only", it suddenly did not seem anything like a ride at Six Flags. I felt panicky, and I was unable to slow my breathing. I was on the verge of completely losing it. The flying monkeys had us sit on a bench ever so close to the edge and attached a harness to our ankles, the other end of which was attached to a surprisingly heavy bungy cord. By this point I was shaking badly and on the verge of hyperventilating. They had us stand up and shuffled us towards the edge. I started shaking my head, "I don't think this is a good idea, no really, I don't think I want to do this..." Leslie tried to reassure me, telling me it was OK. It was difficult to believe him, though, when all of my senses were screaming that it was definitely not OK, and I should not be walking to the edge of a 47-metre drop.

The bungy cord at our feet felt as if it would drag me over, as its weight snaked over the edge and exerted force. The small rope separating jumpers from the Great Beyond was removed, and then I lost it. Paralysed by fear, I could not make myself go towards that edge. "No." The word was soft, but decisive. "I am not doing this. I am absolutely not doing this, get me down from here." My heart was pounding, I could scarcely breathe and all my limbs were shaking uncontrollably. Tell me again the fun part of this?

One of the monkeys disconnected the rubber band from my feet and asked Leslie if he wanted to jump by himself. As that's what he'd wanted all along, he readily agreed. The monkeys radioed to those back on terra firma: "Cassidy is DNJ." In an instant I had gone from game to that most contemptible of creatures, a DNJ - did not jump. I scarcely cared. With tears welling up I got off the platform as fast as I could.

I went to the viewing platform and watched Leslie tumble over the edge. I felt miserable. Now that I was in no more immediate danger, I was ashamed of my cowardice, but still shaking from my fear. All those people did it, why couldn't I? Why couldn't my rational mind overcome my basic senses, that this was, contrary to all appearances, a safe activity?

The mother of the kid who went before Leslie came over to me. "I saw you up there - did you jump?" I knew that if I spoke I would start roaring crying, so I just shook my head. "It's really high." "Yeah, I was too scared." Mercifully, seeing the tears in my eyes, she left me alone after that.

Leslie returned, safe and exhilarated from his fall. He said I didn't have to do it and he hadn't known how badly scared I was. But by this time (as you leap off a cliff, it takes some considerable time to climb back up it) I was no longer so scared, just angry at myself and humiliated.

I gritted my teeth. "I have to do it now," I said. He said I didn't have to prove anything, but I did. If everyone else could do it, I could do it. If I left without doing it I would feel like a failure. We went back into the office and asked if I could give it another go. I had to identify myself as "the DNJ," but they were encouraging. They said I could try it again.

Les and I once again went out on the platform. I smiled shakily at the flying monkeys. "I know I gave you trouble before, but I'm good now." They attached the harness as before and brought us to the edge. Once the rope was removed and the pull of the cord was dragging at my ankles, I again felt panic welling up. But my determination forced it down. I made myself shuffle to the edge, though I didn't want to get too close. One of the monkeys made sure we were all the way at the edge, toes hanging into space.

Leslie says he remembers jumping at that point, but photographic evidence documents the fact that at that point the monkey pushed us. I had my eyes closed pretty much from the time we got close to the edge, and I'm pretty sure I didn't jump.

However we got off that platform, though, in a second we were hurtling towards the river. I opened my eyes as we hit almost the bottom of our descent, and the actual falling wasn't at all scary. We bobbed up and down for a while, swinging crazily high up and swooping towards the river again. The thing that stays in my mind most about the actual experience is that it gives you a headache. Which makes some sense, given that you're suspended upside down.

But I did it.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas and happy New Year to everyone. Thank you so much to people who sent us Christmas presents all the way to the bottom of the world - we had a fantastic Christmas Eve with lots of love, presents and chocolate.

Sorry we haven't written in so long - I've been away and Leslie has been up to his eyeballs in team photos. He photographed a bunch of kids' sports teams and promised the kiddywinks' parents a 7-day turnaround. He still had a full-time job, which often demanded 12-hour shifts. The combination of these factors meant that he slept an average of 3 hours a night for a week and a bit and is just now getting back to normal.

I have been far lazier, lolling about and enjoying the good life while my poor boyfriend worked his fingers to the bone. I'd feel guilty about this, except I don't feel guilty very well. So there it is.

My parents have been here, and they just left this morning. My mother came on the 7th of December, and my father followed on the 15th. While they were in Melbourne we went out to the pier a few blocks from here to see the fairy penguins (apparently they are officially called Little Penguins and it is no longer PC to call them "fairy," but I think that's ridiculous and they shall be fairy penguins in my book forever), It took my mother from the other side of the world to introduce me to my neighbourhood - I had no idea there was a colony of fairy penguins living so close. They're adorable little things, about a foot high at their highest. They squawk and call to each other, and they nest in the rocks. They hop from rock to rock to get around, and I have to imagine they are more elegant in the water, as they look like they're going to lose their footing and topple over at any moment as they hop around the rocks. They scurry to and fro right in front of the feet of the tourists out to see them and seem oblivious to their presence. I didn't take any pictures of them because I didn't want to flash lights in their little eyes, but believe me, they were adorable.

We also went down to see the possums, as they seem to be number one on our tourist attraction list when we have visitors. The council has now put collars around most of the trees to keep the possums from having places to live, but they are still plentiful in the park at the end of our street. I don't know where they hide during the day, but there still seems to be plenty of them at night.

Two days after my father arrived we left Melbourne (and poor Leslie) and drove to Kangaroo Island, an island off the coast of South Australia. What we had thought would be a day and a half of driving turned out to be three days (turns out Australia is a big country. Who knew?). We drove along the Great Ocean Road outside of Melbourne. It has beautiful scenery winding around the coast and there are some great views along it, but all that winding around and around made me carsick. I was glad to get off it and take a somewhat less scenic, but also less nausiatingly curvy, road inland.

We stopped off at the Otway Fly, a treetop walk in a national forest in Victoria. We stayed over at a motel near the Fly and had breakfast at a general store/cafe/newsagent/off license (out there you have to be versatile) the next morning. They very nice guy behind the counter suggested we go on a hike around a waterfall before doing the Fly, as it had spectacular scenery and was full of natural beauty and unlikely to be full of tourists. We took his advice, and we were glad we did. The waterfall walk was just spectacular, full of lush greenery and impressive views of the falls. We didn't see many other people there, so we had the woods pretty much to ourselves. On our way out we saw a dingo, who stood and watched us for quite a while until a camera was pointed at him, at which point he scurried off.

Kangaroo Island is a magnificent place. They describe it as "a zoo without cages", and that's fairly accurate, given the amount of wildlife everywhere. We saw a goanna (large Australian monitor lizard), two echidnas (spiny porcupine-like marsupials with long snouts and back feet that are on backwards, allowing it to dig better) and countless koalas, wallabies and kangaroos. There are a few little towns on the island, but most of it is unspoiled bush. I guess much of Australia looked like Kangaroo Island at one point, but it is now one of the last refuges of undestroyed natural habitat left.

The week before we got there, lightening strikes set of devastating bushfires. At one point there were 12 fires going, and the people managed to contain 7 of them. The remaining 5 burned for days, consuming more than 100,000 acres of forest and completely destroying 90% of the big national forest on the island. Fire fighters came from New South Wales to help out, and they cut a huge firebreak through the bush between the forest and the adjacent wildlife sanctuary to try and save the sanctuary. They cut firebreaks and dropped water bombs and burned back bush in other areas to try and keep the fire from people's houses and farms.

The two people who manage the wildlife sanctuary were given the order to evacuate, but they didn't go. They have a huge exclosure (many many square kilometers, it's not a cage) as part of the sanctuary, with an electric fence to keep out wild pigs and feral cats (which are a big problem on the island, as both eat native wildlife). They opened the doors to the exclosure to allow the animals in it to escape if the fire came up that far. A kangaroo called Amy was human-raised (her mother was killed on the roads, as are an awful lot of wildlife) and is very tame and unafraid of human contact. She lives in the exclosure, and she led all the kangaroos in a big procession from the exclosure to the sanctuary managers' house. She actually came inside, hopping around their office, looking for refuge. They fed and watered the animals from the exclosure, and those fleeing the fire in the national park ended up running into the sanctuary as well. The firebreaks held long enough for the wind to change, and the sanctuary was saved. Now it's more of a sanctuary than ever, since they have more than 1,000 refugee animals who fled from the national park. They said they stayed up all night that night, giving food and water to all the wild animals who ended up in their sanctuary.

The koalas in the sanctuary, when they saw the fire, didn't try to run and get away (which they would never have been able to do anyway. Koalas are very slow). They seemed catatonic, sprawled out in their trees, resigned to die. When they didn't and the fire was kept from the sanctuary, they were completely normal the next day. They were lucky, but many in the national park were not so lucky.

The islanders were very shaken and exhausted from the fires, and when we arrived things were just starting to get back to normal. We stayed in a cabin in the wildlife sanctuary, with a gorgeous view out to a beach and lagoon. Dad and I had waterproof housings for our cameras, and we went snorkeling in the water one day. The housings worked and the cameras were unscathed by their underwater trip, but there wasn't much in the bay to take pictures of other than seaweed. We planned to go scuba diving and see coral reefs and fish, but a big storm came up and we were unable to.

There were lots of other activities, though, the highlight of which was a night walk tour through the sanctuary. We met Amy the kangaroo, and she is the world's sweetest kangaroo. When the tour group came into the exclosure, she hopped right up to us, excited for the attention. She seemed to like being petted, and one of the guides gave me some food to feed her. She's very gentle when she eats, putting her front paw on your hand. She's the only human-raised kangaroo in the exclosure, but the managers are currently raising another, Joey. Joey's mother was also the victim of a car, and his leg was broken when he was brought to them. He's now a healthy and feisty one-year-old, and he lives in a pen outside the managers' house. He also loves attention, and tries to play-fight and box with anyone who will play with him. When Joey is another year old he'll also go into the exclosure, where he'll have a large area to explore and be free.

We learned lots of amazing facts about Australian flora and fauna. For example, koalas' fingerprints are the most similar to human fingerprints of any animal. And kangaroos will often have a tiny joey in their pouches while they also have an older joey who can hop for itself but still breastfeeds. They can create two kinds of milk simultaneously, one to suit each of their offspring.

Two koalas were mating in the trees above us as we walked. They make a tremendous amount of noise. The males sound like a combination of a pig and a motorcycle, and the females scream. They really give it loads, and the two combined make an awful racket. Koalas are also pretty stupid - 30% of their brain cavities are empty. But they're adorable, though they sleep 19 hours a day.

We also went into a cave system on the island. There was the option of going "adventure caving," where you slithered around on your belly, but we chose to go instead to the one where you just walk and the caves are big and safe. After seeing The Descent I have no desire to go into claustrophobic caves.

There is a population of New Zealand fur seals and Australian sea lions on the island. They were hunted almost to extinction, but a colony of each remains on the island. We went on a tour to get up close to the sea lions. The adults were exhausted and sleeping, as they spend three days and three nights without sleeping fishing at sea and sleep when they get back to shore. But the little ones were scampering and playing in the surf. It was adorable to see.

That's about all from Kangaroo Island. I could go on, but I don't know if anyone will even have read this far. We're off to New Zealand in a few hours, so we should have an equally long and photo-filled post when we get back from there.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a g'day.

Labor of love

Yesterday was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and it was 25 degrees (77 in real temperature), and I went to the park with some friends. Poor Leslie had to work, but we met up later. We rented canoes at the park and went canoeing on the Yarra, the river that runs through Melbourne. We had a barbecue afterwards on one of the free municipal barbecues. It was a perfect day for canoeing, as the water was calm and it wasn't too hot or too cool.

Melbourne is a fabulous city, small enough that it's easy to bike around, big enough that it doesn't feel boring, small or crowded. And it has lots of big city things like fantastic restaurants and theatre (Les and I went to see a fun cabaret show on Thursday night), but lots of outdoors things to do, like canoeing.

After the park we went met up with Leslie to watch the election. The Liberal party (who despite their name are arch-conservatives) had been in power for 11 years, and it was time for prime minister John Howard to go. John Howard, for overseas friends not familiar with the Australian PM, looks a bit like a cross between Dick Cheney and a toad:
He had been in power way too long and had instituted inane and reactionary policies. His main priority seemed to be giving tax cuts to people who don't need them, and he committed troops unnecessarily to Iraq, did nothing about climate change, eroded civil liberties and tried to scaremonger his way into keeping power. Hmm, sounds like another politician I know who is long overdue to get the boot.

The Labor Party (and it is the Australian Labor Party, no U, even though the word is labour) is much more progressive. They promise to actually adhere to Kyoto, do something about education, withdraw troops from Iraq and help working people. The ALP has strong union links, which the Liberals tried to use against them. Though I didn't quite understand the "but aren't you afraid of the unions??!" campaign - aren't unions a good thing? Don't they protect the rights of workers? You just do a simple glance as to who's on what side - management against the unions, workers with. I'll stand with the unions, thanks.

Some polls put Kevin Rudd (leader of the ALP) way ahead, but Howard seemed to gain some ground in the last days. Most people thought it was going to be close ("knife edge" seemed to be the TV stations' phrase of choice). But in the end, the ALP gained more than 20 seats and swept to victory in what the Age cleverly called a "Ruddslide." The best part, I thought, is that Howard lost his own seat (we're almost certain, it was really close and they're still counting postal votes). It was fantastic to watch his seat slide into the Labor column. We cheered and threw our arms in the air.

We watched wonderfully partisan coverage. Whenever Labor picked up a seat, the station played a "ding-ding" noise, like at the beginning of a boxing match. If they called the seat too early (which was often - they were calling seats with 0.5 per cent of the vote counted) and it had to go back into the undecided column, they played a "eehhhnnn" noise, like when someone gets a question wrong on a game show.

The best was the shredder. When they'd called a handful of Labor pick-ups, they "shredded" the Liberals who currently held the seats. A picture of the sitting member came up on the screen, an X was stamped over his or her face, and the picture went through a computer-generated animated shredder. It was exhilarating to watch John Howard go through the shredder. They did the graphic at least four or five times throughout the night. I hope an American station will follow that lead during the American election - I would love to watch George Bush go through the shredder.

So it is a proud day for Australia. We have new leadership, and I hope this marks a turning point. After the last two heartbreaking American elections, it was fantastic to win one, to feel good when the votes were counted.

Now all I can say is, go Hillary!

Deadly spiders and murderous sheep

Sorry we haven't written in a while. I feel bad posting without pictures, but we haven't taken any blog-worthy pictures in a while, so no post. I'm just going to post anyway, without pictures, and that's just that.

We have the day off today for a momentous Victorian event. We're celebrating something so vital to the heart of Melbourne it's an official state holiday. The occasion? It's a horse race. The Melbourne Cup, to be exact. People dress up in their finery and wear big outrageous hats and drink a lot of champagne. It's like Ascot, from what I can tell, but drunker. We didn't go, but I must admit the idea of wearing a metre-in-diameter hat appeals to me, so maybe we'll go next year. We had an office sweeps to bet on it, but my horse didn't win.

Over the weekend we went down to Phillip Island (an island about 3 hours from Melbourne in the middle of the bay, famous for the fairy penguins, which land there every night and march up the beach) to stay with Tanya, a friend Leslie's. She has a summer house down there and she and her kids went down for the long weekend (I had to work on Monday, but Les had the day off). Unfortunately it was lashing rain, so we didn't get to go see the penguins land or see the koala sanctuary or see the pelicans get fed. But we went for a drive around the island and saw the pelicans after they'd been fed, milling around the beach. We also went up to the penguins' nesting area and walked around (in the absolute pouring rain - all three of us were soaked to the skin) to see their burrows. The penguins were smarter than we were - they hid in their burrows and didn't brave the weather, so we didn't see any. We were surrounded by bedraggled seagulls though, at all stages of development from tiny brown chicks to awkward-looking adolescents to full adults. We walked along the cliffs to a blowhole, but despite the wicked wind, the spray was not coming up through it. The cliffs were green and lush, and they looked a lot like Ireland (the weather probably helped in this resemblance, since it certainly felt like Ireland). You'll have to take my word for it, though - our cameras stayed in the car.

Despite the weather, it was a really nice trip. The island is beautiful, and I'd love to get back there in summer and get to see a bit more.

I promised you deadly spiders, and here they are. On the way down Tanya and I were chatting about the various kinds of deadly spiders in Australia (until her son exclaimed "can we please stop talking about things that kill people!" - earlier conversations had touched on sharks), and she mentioned the white-tailed and red-back spider. White-tails don't kill you, but their bite never heals. It's called necrotising arachnidism (means dead due to spider - I knew that Latin would come in handy some day). They hide in clothes on the floor and in duvets and bedclothes. Red-backs are worse, as they are quite venomous and can be deadly if the person doesn't get the antivenom in time. Tanya said that they lived in woodpiles and sheds and did not generally go into people's houses, so there would be no way we would see one.

The scene is now set. Tanya had sprayed the house the last time she was down, so she expected to find no spiders or bugs of any kind. In the afternoon she called me into her room to show me a dead spider, surely the victim of the last round of spraying. It was a white-tail. I was hugely grateful for spider spray, as a dead white-tail is unnerving, but a live one is infinitely more so. The above picture is of a white-tail, but not the white-tail in the house. That one was more curled up and dead-looking. But they're nasty looking yokes.

We thought that was the end of spider adventures, but later the afternoon one walked across the living room, easy as you please. Well, until Tanya killed it (Tanya is a tough lady). She said it was just a regular brown spider, not a dangerous one. But spider adventures were not yet over. Late that night, she found one in the shower, descending from a vent in the ceiling on its silk. Tanya seems to have a spider radar - she says she often wakes up in the middle of the night and walks right to a room where there is one, and she can't sleep until it's dead. This one, contrary to her assurances that they only live in wood piles, was a red-back.

Tanya went out for spider spray, leaving us to "keep an eye on it." I didn't know quite what we were supposed to do with it if it made a move, but she didn't specify. After Tanya left, Les decided to opened the shower door and photograph it. I wanted to keep it behind glass, but he would not be swayed.

Here is a picture of a red-back, but not the one that he took, because he forgot to put a CF card in his camera. From my perspective, he risked the lives of everyone in the house and didn't even get a picture out of it. But he says I'm being overly dramatic.

Once Leslie opened the shower, the spider started to move. It started walking up and down its thread, and Leslie decided to take action. He thought he could kill it with a broom, but I opined that it would just go up into the bristles and we wouldn't be able to get at it. I was of the "wait for the spider spray" camp, but I was outvoted. Tanya's son said "You're grown-ups, why don't you just do something?!" The broom worked, and Leslie chopped it into three pieces.

When Tanya returned we sprayed the entire house. Two more spiders made appearances, one dead, one alive, both in our room (Tanya found them, I tell you, spider radar). The alive one got a faceful of spray, and it stopped being alive. She said she didn't know what kind it was, that it was shaped like a white-tail but didn't have the white spot.

That was the end of the spider adventures.

Leslie went on a field trip a few weeks ago with his school. He said it wasn't much for pictures, actually, but he had a good time. While he was away I went to see a New Zealand movie about murderous sheep called Black Sheep. It was a parody of a horror movie (or "lamb-poon", as one clever reviewer said). It takes place on a sheep farm in New Zealand, where an unscrupulous farmer has been genetically engineering sheep. Turns out these genetically modified sheep don't just have nice fur (or wool, or fleece, as they say in the sheep business), they also eat people.

The people that the sheep don't eat but just bite turn into sheep themselves. It was a very silly movie - one guy figures out he's turning into a sheep when he calls his brother a "baaaaa-stard". It had all the jokes you'd expect about Kiwis and their sheep ("You've got a really sick idea of animal husbandry!"), but most of the humour was just the shots of sheep standing on grass, doing what sheep do, and the ominous horror-movie music underneath. If it leaves our fair shores, I recommend it as a very silly (and gory) movie.

On Wood-Chopping (and Flying Pigs)

I was at the Royal Melbourne Show a couple of weeks back and had the opportunity to witness the Grand Final of the Australia Vs. New Zealand Woodchop. Apparently, woodchopping is a well respected sport in certain areas where forestry has traditionally contributed to the local economy. It is also a big deal in certain parts of Canada, the northern US and certain European countries. I must admit that it was the first I'd heard of it.

As you might imagine, wood-chopping basically involves a group of skilled contestants who compete to be the first to either chop or saw their way through a log or block of wood. There are lots of different variations on and permutations of this basic principle. Uninteresting as that may sound, it is actually very impressive to watch.

There are four main categories in a wood chopping contest:

First off, you have the two-handed saw where several two-member teams attempt to be the first to saw through a log of wood using a long pull saw.
A third guy stands off to the left and shouts encouragement and when the saw reaches a certain depth, rams a small wedge into the opening to keep the cut from closing up and jamming the saw. Many wood chopping events are handicap events, where the axemen start at different times, depending how fast they are expected to chop through the log. So, you have about eight of these teams lined up ready to saw. The announcer begins to count from one and the teams begin to saw when he reaches their respective number. At the wood chop stage some individuals were so good that they wouldn't begin chopping until the announcer had reached 29 and then go on to be the first to fell the log. The handicaps were not as severe at the two-handed saw event as the whole thing is over quite quickly. The winning team on this day sawed through the log in 17.6 seconds. It seems to be primarily a male-dominated sport although one husband and wife team placed admirably.

Standing Block appears to be the most common of the categories with new competitions beginning almost every 20minutes. This is where the axeman stands and swings at a log level with his shoulders. Again, 8 contestants are lined up each at their own log waiting for the announcer to reach their number. They pull back for the swing a second before their number so that just as they are given permission to start, their axe strikes the log for the first time.
Prior to the event the axemen take every precaution to ensure that they do not lose one valuable second. They chalk rough marks on the log to guide their blows and often also their handicap number. Their axe heads are sprayed with a lubricant to prevent sticking in those first three crucial blows.

The logs are are all of a uniform thickness and are mounted in metal vice-like stands. Nails are hammered into the top of the logs to prevent "slabbing" where an entire wedge of wood separates from the log right to the top, which can lead to disqualification.
Once the chopping starts, the whole thing is usually over within a minute. While there is undeniably a strong emphasis on brute strength the skill and precision with which the blows are made are invariably what distinguishes the winner. They attack one side of the log first. Striking the log at 45 angles, first from the bottom and then from the top, every second blow removes a huge wedge of wood amid a shower of splinters. When they reach the mid-point they turn around and proceed to attack the other side in a similar fashion until finally the top of the log comes toppling down.
It's quite a scary experience standing only 6 feet behind these guys when they're in full attack mode. One can't help but think that if one of them just lost his grip for an instant some poor spectator would be struck dead on the spot, but the organisers didn't seem too concerned so I guess it probably doesn't happen all that often. In fact, as far as dangerous events go, the standing block and the two-handed saw were probably the safest of the categories.
Underhand, where the log is horizontal, and the axeman stands on it, swinging the axe between his feet looks as criminally unsound an idea as it reads. The horizontal log is fixed in metal bracket on the ground and as with the standing block, nails are hammered into the ends to prevent "slabbing." With the underhand the axeman, prior to the competition beginning, must cut himself footholds into the top of the log so that he can stand astride it without losing his balance mid-blow. A further example of the axeman's skill is shown in this prep work as he quickly and efficiently whittles two perfectly flat footholds. One gets the feeling that if you gave these guys a sequoia and an axe they'd hand you fully functional viking ship a week later.
The principle is pretty much the same as the standing block. They work one side and then the other until finally the log collapses under them. Crucially though, this time they're chopping very close to their feet. I'm sure it works an entirely different set of muscles and proves a different strength and skill set, but as a uninitiated observer the proximity to the feet was what really concerned me.

However, once again nothing went wrong so I guess they know what they're up to. They also had a strong man variation on the underhand where the winner was the one who could chop through the log in the fewest number of blows within 2 minutes. The axe had to weigh less than 3kg and not be more than 180mm thick. After the first two contestants took 26 to break the log, one would have thought that the third would have been happy with his result of 23. However, he was visibly annoyed as he probably could have done it in 22 if his penultimate hit had been made with just a touch more force. The fourth guy (and reigning champion) didn't make the same mistake. He split his in 22 and took home the golden axe. I spotted the guy who came second after the awards ceremony scrunching up his 2nd place ribbon and throwing it in the bin. These guys take this stuff seriously.
Each of the axemen has a metal case in which he has at least four if not five axes. They have one which is used exclusively for banging nails into the log, another for whittling etc. Their chopping axes are polished to a high finish and are not used for anything else. I watched a guy who hit a nail during the strong man underhand step off the log and not bother finishing because the axe was now effectively useless.

If the underhand looked kind of dangerous then the final category, Tree Felling, looked outright demented. Tree felling is where the block to be cut is vertical, but on top of a 16ft pole, so the axeman must first position some planks (usually three) in narrow cuts made in the pole, climb and stand on the highest plank whilst chopping through the log. It breaks down like this:

A log similar to that used in the standing block is affixed to the top of a 16ft pole earlier in the day. Then, when the contestants are allowed to start they take their axe and make a cut in the wood about 4ft off the ground. Into this cut they then place the end of what looks like a steel capped ski. The axeman sticks his axe into the tree above him, climbs onto the ski with two more skis in his arms, puts them at his feet, grabs the axe and makes another cut another 4ft up. He then takes another ski, slots it in and climbs up again. After doing this three times he finds himself at the top of the pole with the standing block at shoulder height and begins chopping through it. Once he is halfway through, he climbs down taking the skis with him and repeats the whole process on the other side the tree so that he can now chop the log from the other side. Finally, the log comes crashing down.

Needless to say, the whole thing sounds like a pretty comprehensive collection of things I was always told NOT to do with an axe and it's mind-boggling to think that not only did none of the contestants wind up paralyzed or dismembered but in fact they all finished the task within 4 minutes.

Competitions in each of these categories were held separately but they also held combination relays culminating finally in a great three-part race which had one guy on standing block, one on underhand and another on tree felling. When one had finished his task the next guy could begin his. I didn't hear the final time for this three-parter but it couldn't have been more than 6 minutes or so.

So, that's about I'll I have to say on woodchopping. Now, for all those who waded through that on the promise of flying pigs:

Strictly speaking they weren't actually flying (there's actually no such thing as flying pigs) but rather (as Woody would would say) falling with style.

They were billed as racing and diving pigs and they did just that. In fact they are the only racing and diving pigs working in Australia today by all accounts. They raced around a small track twice jumping over hurdles on the second go. Finally two of them climbed up a metal walkway and jumped into a pool of water before clambering out to get

their reward.

The new cat in town

Last week we went back to the shelter and got a new cat. We named him Link after seeing the movie Hairspray (one of the characters is called Link, and it seemed a good name for a cat). He's an incredibly friendly cat, to the point of being a nuisance. He always wants to be in someone's lap, purring,or rubbing himself around your legs. He loves being with us, and if we shut him out of a room we're in he yowls until he's let in. Which is kind of sweet and kind of annoying. He's a very good cat to read a book or watch a movie with, as he purrs quietly on your lap. He's not a great cat to do work on a laptop with, as he still wants to be purring on your lap.

When we got him home, we got him a bit settled and then went out to get a pizza. We'd shut the living room door, and all the windows were closed. So we were more than a little surprised when we got back and he was nowhere to be found. We looked under the couch, under the coffee table, in the cabinets, but he wasn't anywhere. It's a fairly small room, and he had no access to the rest of the apartment.

We then heard rustlings in the chimney, and bits of soot started falling down. How he'd managed to get up there is anyone's guess. He was so far up that only the tip of his tail was reachable when Leslie stuck his arm up as far as it would go. He had no choice but to yank on the tail, and the cat came back down. Les felt bad about pulling our new cat's tale, but he had no choice - there seemed no other way to get the cat back down.

This cat is trouble, to be sure. With Jazz, we could leave food on the table and he'd never touch it. Link tries to snatch it while we're eating. He has a playful and bold personality, always up for a bit of adventuring.

And he thanks my parents for sending us a big box - it's his new hideaway.