NSW Titles

After so many years of supporting others who competed in hang gliding events, I've finally come to the point of wanting to compete in one. I've been flying sailplanes for 40 years ago (since I was 14), powered aircraft for 38 years, and hang gliders for 18 years. In all that time, however, I've only flown for the singular joy of the amazing experience of being up in the air, carving turns, climbs, and descents through space however I choose.

I'm not generally competitive by nature and perhaps even quite the opposite. Yet I do see the merit of bringing the best out of ourselves by competing against others. And so I set my glider up with 57 others in Manilla, Australia on the first day of the NSW Titles. In this competition, the highest placed finisher who is also a resident of the Australian state of New South Wales is declared the State Champion.



Being a bit too involved in the competition to take photos myself, every picture here and in the slide show below, excepting one (its identity will become obvious) was taken by my driver, Gaynor Schoeman.

Of the seven possible days of competition, the weather cooperated for five. I flew the first four but, having trashed my glider by landing in a tree, was forced to miss the fifth. In 51st of 58th place at that point, missing the last day altogether still only dropped me to 57th. I actually beat somebody.

Tree landings are not so terribly uncommon in hang gliding. I know someone who has had three in the last two years. They usually come about when an intense sense of competition overrules logic and judgment. As I'm not that competitive, there should be no reason I'd ever land in a tree. Or so I thought.


In retrospect, I can find at least six consecutive errors in judgment which compounded each one before it and concluded with me spending two and half hours hanging perilously 20m above the ground. It would take too long to explain all of them but one surprises me the most: excessive competitiveness, i.e., as I was so determined not to land, I stayed too long in a place that, from it's topography in relation to the current winds, should have provided me the lift I needed. It didn't and by the time I finally gave up, I was already trapped.

When I landed on the trees and seemed to be stable, I nevertheless shot my left hand out to the nearest significant branch I could find to hold on. An extension to my radio's PTT (push-to-talk button) is attached to my left index finger and activated by pressing my thumb against it. In grabbing the branch, I had also unknowingly pushed and held down the PTT. The pilots on my frequency (I was told with a laugh that evening) where treated to about twenty seconds of heavy breathing and profanities.

My dilemma was witnessed by many of the pilots waiting to launch on the ramp at the top of the mountain and some of those already in the air. Once I determined I was stable and finally released the grip on the branch to my left, this also released my PTT. Only then was Gaynor able to call me and ask if I was okay. Advised that I was, she and a friend of mine from Norway, Thor Landgraff, drove down to find me.

Once below me, Thor made the wise suggestion of deploying my parachute over the nearest major branch I could reach to ensure that, if the branch holding me gave way, I would not fall completely to the ground. Before I let the parachute go completely free, I made sure the bridle attaching it to my harness had enough wraps around the branch to ensure it would lock if I fell.

The most notable aspect of the rescue was Thor. I was so high in the tree that there were no substantial branches near me that anyone could climb. Furthermore, the local volunteer unit that responded within 30 minutes had the equipment and ropes needed to bring me down but weren't really up to the task of climbing the tree. The alternative was waiting for a ladder truck from the nearest major town's fire department (an hour away). Pondering this, Thor graciously volunteered to don a harness and climb the tree himself. He got to within five meters of me and, after a lot of effort, finally got a line to me.

It would have been a much bleaker afternoon and perhaps evening as well, had Thor not be there with his wisdom and enthusiasm.

So many lessons learned, some of them for the second time in as many months (e.g., how foolish it is to cling to the hope of lift while your options of escape diminish by the second). Though I still contend that the most dangerous thing I do is ride two-wheeled vehicles (responsible for three episodes of broken bones while all my other activities have left me free of injuries), I know I'm very lucky to have escaped this with nothing but ripped sailcloth and broken aluminum tubes.

The glider will be fixed in a week. I, on the other hand, have no consequence except a profound experience which hopefully taught me a thing or two (or six).

A Van Down by the River

Coledale sunrise

I bought a Ford Falcon station wagon here in Australia just before Christmas. Though Chris has been so gracious as to give me her small Volkswagen to use while she's away in Africa (for almost the entire time I'm here in Australia), I still needed a car to which I could subject the typical abuse a hang gliding vehicle must endure...and one big enough to accommodate five people, five hang gliders, five flying harnesses, and more.

The Russians have been using it these last few weeks but now they all have gone home (excepting Zhenya, who's still working at the Moyes factory). So I've parked Chris' car back in her garage in Bathurst, caught the train to Sydney, took possession of my own car once more, and have begun living a kind of life I've been wanting to live for some time; that of a vagabond with means.

There's no shortage of friends here who would give me a place to sleep and, even if that weren't so, I could still afford to stay where I wanted. But what I wanted to experience was a life of chosen simplicity, something a bit like my year on a boat from '07-'08 as I circumnavigated the earth.

This time the goal is merely to experience various places I enjoy here in Australia with a sense of being as low maintenance as I can. So I park by the sea (different places each night so as not to be too intrusive into what are often residential streets) and sleep in the back on a pad, waking at sunrise without effort as the light begins to pour in.

This morning found me at Bronte Beach, north of the harbor. In the night I'd been woken by the sounds of heavy rain but, rather than being disturbed, it was actually very pleasing. When I woke, it was still raining. I left the car, barefoot and bare-chested, clad only in boardshorts, and walked along the beach in the warmth of the air and the coolness of the rain.

Bronte, like so many other beaches in Australia, has pool built at the edge of the surf that is, in effect, a man-made tidal pool. There is no need for plumbing, chemicals, pumps, or maintenance because the pool is naturally flushed out and cleaned each day at high tide.


It was high tide this morning just after I woke, it turns out, for time to time I watched the people swimming laps be momentarily disoriented by the waves that would breach the walls and pour foam and turbulence into the lanes.

I joined them for a while, swimming a few laps without goggles, opening my eyes in the saltwater to orientate myself as needed, then took a cold shower in the public showers nearby and strolled the beach once more, feeling strangely animal-like and natural, cool rain falling on my bare skin, content with the simplicity of my needs.

I dried my head and chest and put on a t-shirt (leaving my boardshorts to drip dry), then went to a coffee shop on Bronte Road to enjoy the feeling of cleanliness and warmth so simply attained while I sipped a latté, watching the rain continue to fall.


It was, in truth, an illusion I created for myself. Warmth and dryness were, if not just a car's door away, then also an open door away. Bill and Molly live in Bronte beach and it was nearly right in front of their home that I was living my private fantasy. All I needed, were I to feel any true sense of distress, was to simply knock on their door.

Still, I had the freedom to live this way and so I wanted to. Though I'll be at friend's homes from time to time as my final weeks in Australia come to a close, I'll also be living this way whenever I can.

Twelve years ago, before my daughter left to go to college, I had told her that once she moved out, I was going to move out, too, and live in a van down by the river, just like the Chris Farley's "Motivational Speaker" character.

It took a while, but I'm finally there.

Mt. Beauty, Australia

This entire trip to Australia had many purposes and goals. All of them, however, grew out of the notion that the eastern part of Australia is home to two of the worlds most significant hang gliding competitions; Forbes Flatlands in the beginning of January, and The Bogong Cup just a few days later.

Bogong is the state of Victoria's highest mountain, on a ridge just outside of the town of Mt. Beauty. In terms of landscape, the seven hour drive south to here from Forbes in was like passing from Flagstaff, Arizona to Burlington, Vermont in the same amount of time. In the last two hours, as you drive up into the mountains, the land turns from dry and arid to a breathtakingly lush and verdant setting.

Mt. Beauty is a ski area, for pete's sake. I didn't even known any part of Australia actually had enough snow to ski. Mind you, it's no Aspen. From what I've seen and read, I'd equate the probable skiing conditions to northern Maryland (which means minimal at best). Still, it's more than I imagined possible in Australia.

Eight days had been allotted for tasks at this meet. Unlike Forbes, which is an aerotow comp, this was a hill launch one. Each morning the site with the best angle of winds (from four or five within a range of 30 kilometers to choose from) was selected and a caravan of cars and trucks loaded with hanggliders, pilots and drivers (like me), headed up the hills to set up and launch. A task was set, once the task committee reached the top of the hill and had both internet and visual references to contemplate, and the pilots were off.




Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate so agreeably as it had at Forbes. There we had eight straight days of flyable weather, with the ninth day and last day available cancelled, perhaps, more out of pilot exhaustion than anything else.

At Bogong, the pilots flew only two out of eight days.

As the driver for the same four Russians as I had been in Forbes (Zhenya, Yulia, Anton, and Marat), this gave me a lot of rest from my accumulated exhaustion of driving for many long and consecutive tasks at Forbes, where I would often cover three or four hundred kilometers down bad roads in the process of picking up the pilots along the way or at a distant goal, then not arrive home with them until close to midnight, unfed and too tired to do anything about it.

For the pilots, however, the imposed rest at Bogong was a rather frustrating time. They came to fly.

We amused ourselves with horseback rides, fishing trips to mountain lakes, and a number of other things that a resort area was quite ready to offer. One striking aspect I found was the ghosts of forests on several mountain tops, the sites of huge forest fires only two years back. Most of the structure of the trees had remained and, in those two years, the charred bark had fallen off to reveal sentinals of steel gray wood. From a few kilometers back in the valley, the hills looked as if covered with a silver fur. Up close, each individual sculture was hauntingly beautiful.

Of the perhaps 20 people who have made this Australian adventure such an amazing one, only a handful actually live here. The rest, now that the Bogong Cup is over, are heading back home to various countries around the world.

Originally, so was I. My three month tourist visa expires on January 31st. My request for an extension, however, as been approved. Though I've been allowed an extra three months, I do have commitments back in the States in late March, as well as many plans for April. This, then, gives me another seven weeks more to enjoy in Australia.

Down She Goes

The boat I sailed around the world on from '07-'08, Uniquely Singapore, was renamed "Cork" when sponsored by Ireland for the '09-'10 edition of the race.



She is no more. The 21.7 meter (68 ft.) yacht sank here a day ago, during the race from Western Australia to Singapore.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/8458382



I 'liberated' the ship's bell from her before I was the last to leave the boat at her homeport of Gosport, England. It's bolted to the wall of my temporary home (a trailer) in Florida. I suppose I should do something significant with it now.

Forbes Flatlands

The Forbes Flatlands is the premier hang gliding competition in Australia. The conditions are so perfect and consistent that many days, by the time all four of my pilots had been retrieved and brought home, it was close to midnight. The next morning I'd wake up at dawn, go for a run if I had the energy (only 2/3 of the time) then head for my favorite coffee shop for good coffee and a simple breakfast, then head for the airfield for the beginning of the tasks.

That coffee shop indirectly provided me with the highlight of this week here (full of so many other good times). The daughter of the owner, Amy, took an interest in all the new people visiting her town and our activities, so I invited her to come to the airfield when she had a free day. She did and, as the events evolved, got to take a ride in a Bailey-Moyes Dragonfly with Bobby Bailey himself.


Her delight was unconcealable. Imagine if you'd never been flying at all and your first introduction to the air was in the front seat of an open cockpit ultralight, drifting along just above the tree tops with nothing around you but the warm, summer air. After they landed, Bobby told me she'd flown 90% of the flight herself.

My reward for being the mediator of her adventure was a week of the warmest smiles and energy whenever I'd come by the coffee shop and, perhaps, a life-long friend.

Such is the times I'm having here in Australia though, in truth, this has been the case for a string of countries over the last few years.

People. It's always about people.

I've neglecting having my camera at hand much of these last two weeks here so I'm relying on Ashanta's photos (except for the last one of her) in the slideshow below to give one a hint of the experience here.

Russian New Year in Australia

l. to r., Yulia, Anton, Bobby, Zhenya, Marat, myself.

I ushered in the new decade at a campground just outside Forbes with the four Russians I'll be supporting in the up-coming competition at the airfield here. Just before midnight we were were joined by Bobby Bailey, designer of the Dragonfly ultralight that makes aero-towing possible for hang gliders and, therefore, competitions at sites like Forbes: flat but so full of the kind of lift that makes flights over 200 kilometers common.

One surprise the Russians had for me was a calendar published by Aeros, a Ukrainian hang gliding manufacturer. Seems pilots in Russia and Ukraine and a few other places will be staring at my butt for the entire month of May.



The photo was taken in Solvenia last August, where I knew many of the pilots, among them Claudia Mejia (pictured) from Colombia.

International Christmas

One that always pleases me about the hang gliding community is how international it is. At various times over the last year. This Christmas was a perfect example. I spent Christmas Eve and morning with a group of four Swiss friends (mother, daughter, and their two boyfriends, l. to r. Fredy, Dolores, Ashanta, Jörg) and then spend the rest of Christmas day exploring a dune soaring site with (below, l. to r.) Zhenya (Russian), Noma (Japanese), Gerolf (Austria) and Kathryn (Irish).



This December has been one of as full of flight as I could ever fantasize, be it from cliff sites like Stanwell Park, where one flies hundreds of meters above the surf, or at dune soaring sites, such as Redhead Beach near Newcastle, where I flew with my wingtip only a meter or two away from the sloping sand dunes, then choosing to stop and hover, then levitate back down to earth whenever I chose.

With all my time in the air and even more among the best of friends, this has been one month of endless days of happiness; hanging out with Curt and Louise in Stanwell, Scott and Monica in Newcastle, the Swiss, and so many others.

Stanwell Park, Australia

I had a two hour flight yesterday off of Stanwell Park's Bald Hill, cruising up and down dramatic cliffs pounded by exploding surf 700 meters below me. Absolutely stunning. Absolutely glorious.




Zhenya was there, too, in her new job as a test pilot for the Moyes factory. She was testing a prototype of the smaller version (for women and lightweight men) of the same glider I just bought.

Though I took the photos above, I didn't make the video below. But it was made at the same place I flew. Take it's five minute length and multiply it times 24 and you'll have an idea of the amazing experience I had yesterday.

Today was a bit of simpler fun: dune gooning at Wollongong beach (90 minutes south of Sydney). I made this short video of Curt surfing the wave in the air off the bushes at the end of the dune.

Timmy's in the Oz Report

I just bought a new glider. The full story is in the Oz Report (details below).

Somewhat embarrassingly, I now own three hang gliders. They each have different roles, however. One is like a top-of-the-line road bike from a few years back, built for the best speed and performance at the time but, in today's technology, only well above average in performance. Another is like a very good mountain bike; capable enough but sacrificing speed and a bit of performance for strength and durability.

This new one like a beach cruiser; as simple as a glider gets because sometimes simplicity is an advantage.

Davis Straub's Oz Report is probably the most widely read hang gliding e-zine on the internet. It began perhaps ten years ago when Davis, an American hang glider pilot, was traveling and competing in Australia. He started putting posts on the internet to keep his friend back home informed and, once back home, began posting on news-worthy events in the States as well. Eventually anyone in the world with anything to say about free flight (or a few other of Davis' special interests, such as going barefoot and internet technology) need only send Davis an e-mail. More likely than not it would appear verbatim on the Oz report.

I've long been submitting pictures for Davis, as I'm usually free to photograph what most pilots are too busy being involved in to record.

An odd experience (pleasing, I suppose, if not surprising) I've had lately that first occurred last summer at the World Hang Gliding Championship in France last summer is that someone I've just met in a hang gliding related activity and chatted with briefly will ask me, "Wait a minute. What's your full name, Tim?"
"Timothy Ettridge"
"Oh, yes. So you're Tim Ettridge. I've heard of you."
"Really?" I've always asked. "How?"
"I don't know," is the usual answer I'll get. "I just have. Something to do with hang gliding, I suppose."

My only plausible explanation is a subliminal recollection of the byline of photos I've submitted to Davis over the years, as well as my reoccurring appearance in Jamie's blog, which many hang glider pilots read as well.

Recently I opened the Oz report index of back issues to discover this:

Issue #236 ^(Nov.26): Happy Oxytocin * Atlantique Delta Race - the video * Tracking down a rumor * Tim Ettridge becalmed at Gulgong * Gordo, video

This was new. I'm actually the subject in the Oz report?

The story is this. A low-slung three wheeled land sailer was always sitting by the clubhouse at the Gulgong competition where the pilot briefings where held in the mornings, as well as escape the searing sun while waiting to launch.

On most days there wasn't enough wind to get it moving. In that picture you'll see my hand on the wheel. I'm trying to get it rolling by pushing on the wheel so that, once it starts moving, it's momentum might be enough for the wind to keep it moving. Usually this wasn't possible. I was, in fact, becalmed most of the time.

There were three days during the seven days of competition, however, where the tasks were canceled because of too much wind. And on those days, I could hope in the land sailer and zoom around all over the field. It became kind of an indication, then, of the likelihood of a task. If I could get that thing rolling on it's own, it meant that it was probably going to be too windy to launch or fly. Me being becalmed was a good thing.

A recent experience while flying here taught me a few valuable lessons I thought worthwhile to share. The same episode led to my purchase of a glider.

The full story is here, in the Oz Report.

Kid in a Candy Store

I'm based now in Bathurst, Australia at the home of my friend Chris, with whom I spent last Christmas in Haiti. Her home, a two hour drive west of Sydney, is happily situated in the very center of everything I want to do in my remaining two months in Australia. The next two competitions are either a three hour drive west or a two hour drive southwest. Additionally, some of the best hang gliding sites in the world are a few hours drive southeast on the coast.

Months ago, Chris generously invited me to use her home as a base in between each of my forays out into a different area of New South Wales. Only days after I arrived here, however, she was unexpectedly given an three month assignment in Chad, Africa by the U.N.

My role now is not so much a guest but a caretaker in a very quiet house.

After taking Chris to the airport, I took the chance to spend a few days with friends in Sydney, as well as visiting the Moyes Hang Glider Factory.


Other than Francis Rogallo, who invented the aerodynamic shape that evolved into the first hang gliders, probably no other name is more well known in hang gliding than Bill Moyes. In the '60s, Bill was instrumental in the development of a foot-launched and free flying glider originally based on water skiing kites towed behind boats. He opened up his own factory in the early '70s. Not only are his gliders still considered to be among the world's best, his son Steve eventually became a world champion in hang gliding championships.

In the 80's he teamed with American designer Bobby Bailey to develop what's now known as the Moyes-Bailey Dragonfly, the first ultralight powerful enough to tow a hang glider and yet able to fly slow enough to make being towed something even low time pilots could learn. Last spring Zhenya had the chance to be instructed in how to fly one by Bobby Bailey himself (here).

The Dragonfly transformed the sport of hang gliding, taking away the need for a hill to foot launch off of and allowed hang glider pilots to fly wherever the lift was best. This opened up the possibility of world record distance flights (currently over 700 km) in places like the south of Texas and permanent hang glider flight parks in the flatlands of Florida, such as the one where I now live (though I'm rarely actually there).

Walking among the endless rows of tools, machinery, and clearly recognizable hang glider and Dragonfly parts, I felt like a kid in a candy store.

Is it hot enough for you yet?

Flying over Gulgong, Australia a few days ago with Scott Barret in a trike (a two seat powered hang glider), it felt so easy to imagine I was cruising a few hundred meters above the Serengeti plain in Africa. Even though we're still in the last weeks of spring down here in the southern hemisphere, I could see that the vegetation had lost most of the green it had when I first arrived in Australia's east coast two weeks ago.

With close cropped grass and many eucalyptus trees randomly scattered across most paddocks below me as we flew around the dry landscape, I half expected to find zebras and antelope below.


I'm here in Australia to be involved in a string of hang gliding competitions that span their summer, mostly in a supporting role for various friends (Russian, Swiss, and Australian) but perhaps I might even fly and compete in one myself. One thing is for certain, however. I will take the opportunity to fly here, even if it means I've got to buy a third hang glider (I've got two back in the States) to do it. Hopefully I can find a simpler solution.

This last week once more I've been the ground crew for Jonny, as well as Hungary's Attila and two of Jonny's friends here in Australia that I hadn't met before.


Strong winds ended up forcing the cancellation the task on three of the seven days allotted for the competition. I took those opportunities to explore the neighboring countryside or, as below, make use of a land boat that could only be coaxed to roll over the grass when the wind was too strong for flying.


As with any hang gliding competition, the event is as much about spending time with friends (both old and new) as it is about darting about in the air at cloud base for hours on end, sometimes covering more than 200 kilometers in the process.


One thing I couldn't understand, however, was how hot everyone kept claiming it to be when all one needed to feel comfortable was shade and a breeze, both of which were available most of the time. "Is it hot enough for ya?" I'd hear from both friends and strangers on the street. You think this is hot, I kept thinking to myself (and occasionally voicing), then come to Florida anytime from June to September.

My Favorite Places on Earth, Part II

I've written of this feeling before, here. Once more I find myself in a place that makes my shoulders settle pleasingly in relief with that feeling of being at home, even though not at home.

Fremantle, Australia and in particular this one coffee shop, The Merchant on South Terrace Street, represents a small slice of a grand adventure of my life; not only my involvement in several different kinds world class ocean racing events, but the kind of traveling I've somehow found myself unwittingly but happily flung into these last five years or so.

The first time I passed by The Merchant once in town, it was full and overflowing with people onto the sidewalk tables. It was a Sunday, one of the first warm and sunny ones of this boreal spring. I waited a day to enter it to relive memories. Late Monday morning, it was as empty and as welcoming as I'd always remembered it.

I am home (for a week).

The World's Best At Anything

Years ago a friend visited me in Groveland, Florida one spring during the height of an international hang gliding competition. Perhaps ten of us left the airfield one night to eat dinner at a restaurant. From the comfort of our seats I took her around the table, explaining who was who.

"That's Manfred, from Austria, who's been World Champion a few times and who is pretty much unchallenged as the best hang glider pilot in the world. That's Oleg, from the Ukraine. If he's in a competition and Manfred doesn't win it, Oleg will. That's Christian, from Italy, current World Champion in the Class V hang glider subcategory. That's Alex, also from Italy, who was World Champion before Christian. That's Kari, three times Women's World Champion, that's Corinna, who has been World Champion twice in the past..."

My friend interrupted me and, with a clear tone of feigned indifference, ask, "And I should be impressed because....?" She looked at me, seemingly satisfied with her wit, and waited for my answer.

She had a point, yes, but I thought I did, too. "How often," I responded, "do you ever get to meet the world's best at anything?" She had no reply but just nodded her head in contemplation.

It's often been a source of amazement to me at how I've somehow found myself rubbing shoulders with the international elite of the hang gliding world. My explanation has always been that I know Jamie and Jamie knows everybody. Still, it seems a privilege to have found myself in the company of the people I have these last five years.

Somehow this same luck has followed me over into the sailing world, where I've found myself sharing beers, working shoulder to shoulder, and having heart-to-heart talks with the elite of the ocean sailboat racing world.

I met Dilip Donde, from Mumbai, India, in September of 2006 while working on Sir Robin Knox-Johnston's shore crew for his solo round the world yacht race. The two are polar opposites. When Robin strides into a room, his confidence and even arrogance takes over. A web article aptly describes Dilip thus:

Sometimes the most quiet and unassuming people do the most amazing things. Commander Dilip Donde is one such person. He’s quiet and sparse, his language and manner without any unnecessary flourishes and frills. Perhaps if you saw him in a crowd, your gaze would stop at him for a moment, and then pass on.

And yet he is now posed to become the first of his nationality to sail solo around the world. Already he has surpassed the sailing achievements of any one individual from India.

I am no Robin, that much I know for sure. But I'd really like to think that I am very much of the same mettle as someone as kind and gentle as Dilip. And so to see him following his dream and actually making it happen inspires me far more than the exploits of more typical headline makers.

It reminds me of the time I had the chance to meet and chat with John Denver many years ago. He was one of the most well known pop musicians of the 70's and yet in person he was no different than anyone I knew...except that he'd sold millions of records.

Who we choose to become does, at times, truly seem to be within the scope of whatever our will has the confidence to manifest, nothing more. This thought inspires me greatly.

A week ago Dilip noticed my comment on Facebook that I would be coming to Australia and wrote me, inquiring when and where. It turned out that we had, by a good stroke of luck, we had just a few hours of overlap between my arrival in Fremantle and his departure from it for a 5000 kilometer sail to New Zealand. I warned him that, having just recovered from a mysterious illness in Thailand, I might not be the best person to have contact with just before departing solo onto the ocean for a month. He countered, however, with, "Don't worry about infecting me with tropical viruses! I have developed a natural immunity since the last 42 yrs!"

We had the time for a tour of his boat and a bit of catching up before a small crowd showed up to bid him farewell.

I was happy to be in Fremantle, happier still to be there to send off a good man on the next leg of his accomplishment.


You can follow Dilip's progress at http://sagarparikrama.blogspot.com/

Hot Thai

The plan had long been to spend much of this winter in Australia (summer for them) for the hang gliding competition season. The question had been just how much time and when to actually show up. When Gay invited me to join her for a week in Thailand at the conclusion of her own vacation there with her daughter, the answer was found.

We met in Phuket on October 24rd, upon which I was whisked immediately into a waiting car, and driven around the Phang Nga Bay to Krabi. There we waded out to the boarding ladders of a long-tailed boat to be ferried to a small resort on Railay Bay West.



We spent the rest of that day and the next swimming and rock climbing (a first for Gay) and contemplating scuba and other plans for our other days there and elsewhere in Thailand.

On my second night in Thailand, however, I woke in a sweat and spend my remaining five days there fighting a fever, peaking a few times at 39.4C, seeing little else than the linens in my face and occasional blurry views of the ceilings.

So much for my philosophy of willing illness away. Gay, far more pragmatic, came equipped with a medical kit sufficient for anything short of minor surgery and lovingly took care of my useless slumping lump of a body for the rest of the trip.

We did manage a few days in the north in the city of Chiang Rai, but I saw little more than my pillow.

Still, of what I saw, it was beautiful.

Mind the Gap, Part II

Yes, there's about a five month gap here, of which only June through August has stories to tell. Someday this space here will be filled in with tales of:

France...


Spain...


Turkey...


Slovenia...


and Austria.


Until then, time moves on.