Lerderderg 15hr Rogaine

A few weeks ago, Cecilia and I were on our way home from canoe polo at the campus pool when we bumped into Dan.  I didn’t know Dan, but Cecilia did – presumably because they’re both exchange students from the states.  During the course of our brief conversation, Dan said he was keen on the idea of Rogaining.  I had been out of contact with my rogaine partners from last year, so I did my best to etch Dan’s contact details on a banana I had in my pocket with my keys (in lieu of pen and paper).  It turned out that he gave me the wrong phone number, but we set the record straight with facebook.

I sorted out entry and payment for our team of two, Dan hired out camping gear and whatnot from the bushwalking club and found us a ride to the event.  Unfortunately our driver did her ankle at a netball game the Thursday before the rogaine and pulled out, so I found another ride at the last minute.

Greg met us at 8 on Saturday morning, we made it out to the hash house by about 10:30 after a wrong turn, a stop to pick up Greg’s partner Mick, and a coffee break at a fantastic small-town bakery along the way.  Dan and I pitched the tent, checked in, collected the map and made a flight plan.  We left at noon – Dan was the pack horse and I was the navigator.  Not how it’s usually done, but this arrangement turned out to be quite effective.

The first couple of checkpoints were quite crowded, as is to be expected at the start of an event.  At one of the early checkpoints, two older women arrived as we were writing our particulars on the marker.  The lady in front, while explicitly stating that she didn’t mean to be pedantic, pretty much accused us of trying to sabbotage their game by taking too long at the checkpoint.  Bitch!  I mean, waiting 15 seconds for us to finish isn’t going to make much of a difference over a 15 (or 24) hour event.  We were determined to get more points than the older women.

It was pretty smooth sailing all afternoon with few navigational errors.  We occasionally referred to features on the map more nerdily as things like ‘local maxima’, ‘local minima’ or ‘places with a maximised directional derivative’.  Steady progress was made in a southerly direction, away from the hash house to where all the high-scoring checkpoints were.  We met some older bush walkers from Tasmania at around 4:00, and then again before dark.  Nice to talk to, but they’d bite your ear off when given a chance.

We got lost on dusk (Mick told me later that’s what usually happens) – turned off the road too early and went up the wrong hill.  Oops.  By the time we went back down that hill and up the right one to the checkpoint, it was time to put our headlights on.  It was the first time I had done night navigation, and to my suprise we were spot-on most of the time.  We made it to a water drop at about 8:30 to find not only the usual supplies of water and fruit, but sandwiches too!  A fine selection of jam, vegemite and peanut butter we had to choose from.  Dan ate about half a dozen, but then again he’d been carring the backpack for the two of us from the start.

Tiredness made for some delusional conversation for the hour or two before we got back to the hash house at 10:30.  Soup!  Stew!  Cous cous!  Chocolate custard and stewed pears!  The hash house always has a top-noch meal for returning rogainers.  The catering team ran their first-class volunteer operation from a farm shed, all night long.  In addition, there were a number of camp fires to choose to warm ourselves with; the flames and a warm meal seemed to facilitate communication as tired rogainers swapped stories from the day.

Woke up around 7:00 the next morning, had a quick bite to eat left within half an hour.  I found the early moring walk a relaxing experience, perhaps even magical; the air was crisp and sweet as the dirt road – clearly less traveled than it once was – took us on a tour of crumbling houses, rusting machinery and vintage trucks with vines poking out of the cabin.  The odd pile of hay bales indicated that someone still used the land, but whoever they were they were nowhere to be seen.

This tree managed to catch my attention, for it had clearly suffered a traumatic experience earlier on in life.  Nevertheless, it manages to maintain a carefully balanced perfection, smooth, seamless, stable.  Do trees know about center of mass?

We made it back to the hash hous a couple of minutes before noon.  I experienced the most amazing cheese toastie ever.  Monash actually won the university competition, so we (along with two other teams) were recognised during the presentation and awarded our choice of chocolate bar.  I was quite pleased with our team score of 1420 points (unofficially, as one checkpoint wasn’t counted for some reason).  Packed up camp and headed back home.

We stopped at the same bakery, this time for a vanilla slice.  A top-notch vanilla slice is characterised by a crispy pastry and light custard filling; where I live most bakeries are run by Chinese bakers who have little appreciation for the humble vanilla slice.  I am pleased to report that this particular slice was top-notch.

I was sore and stiff for two or three days afterwards, but the weekend away was completely worth it.

Apparently there are rogaining events run in Europe, Japan, North America and North Queensland, so there’s really no excuse not to try it out.

End of summer and back to school

Well it looks like three months of summer vacation has finally come to an end.  Long as it may seem, I still could have used an extra month or two.  Nevertheless, I think I made good use of the time I had.  Mango farm stints are always good for money and meeting crazy people.  I read some books, and started to read some others.  Some ideas were fleshed out, namely the vegetable patch and a website called Supply Project (not done yet!).  I managed to fit in a slight amount of adventuretainmnet on top of that and even caught up with my local acquaintances.  I did not, however, manage to make it to Temptations Cafe to see Emma for my annual dose of gossip.  But that’s not something I really regret.

I wasn’t happy how the weather turned good just before I left for uni, but better late than never.  Kimberley felt the same, so we returned one last time to the infamous Churchill Creek.  We spent a good deal of time on a Japanese Walk (ie, with camera in hand) because the cities we study in lack natural delights such as our creek.  I wish I could photograph smells, because the rainforest smells so nice.  In late November I made a promise to photographically document the natural beauty of where I’m from, but unfortunately all I have to offer him at the moment are three mediocre pictures.  As always, better photo opportunities were discovered without a camera at hand.  Igrar, perhaps it would be easier if you just visited me and took the photos yourself.

I arrived back in Melbourne to be part of the residential O-week team.  I can’t think of anything exciting that happened during the week, however I did have a couple of episodes with some female team members who had a heightened sense of self importance.  Although she doesn’t know it, one particular individual elevated herself the rank of Stupid Bitch.  People I admit to such an exclusive category no longer bother me with their words or actions, for periods of more than two minutes.  However, I still maintain an outward sense of civility politeness towards them.  This year, I am determined to identify Stupid Bitches where possible so as to reduce the amount of stress caused by them.

In terms of accommodation, I’ve leveled-up to 10th floor.  This affords me a view of the city in the distance, all the more appreciated as the campus and its industrial/suburban surroundings do little to inspire or motivate me.  I’ve also sourced some plants to put on my window sill, they’re probably the greenest within 20 kilometres.  After speaking with a like-minded American, I’ve decided to grow some “erbs” and she’s decided to grow some “herbs”.  We’re calling this an inter-cultural experience.

I asked one floor mate if she was from China or Hong Kong.  She snapped back with “Hong Kong belongs to China!  Why do people always ask as if Hong Kong is separate?”.  It seems that Chinese people can be sensitive when it comes to territory, especially when you also consider tensions with places like Taiwan and Tibet.  As far as I’m concerned, even though Hong Kong is technically a part of China, people from Hong Kong will readily identify as such, rather than as Chinese.  I don’t think the same people identified as British back before the handover, either.  What it all boils down to identity, and Hong Kong is both unique and well known case.

Languages spoken by the residents of 10th floor include Greek, Italian, French, German, Cantonese, Mandarin, Malay and Tamil – not to mention English.  Monolinguals are by far the minority.  Within walking distance I can find speakers of Persian, Hindi, Russian, Japanese, Urdu, Korean and Indonesian – just off the top of my head.  Arising from such rampant multi-lingualism would be a huge variation in thought, which truly amazes me.  My neighbour’s name is Pear, which I suspect is a direct translation from her native language.  Pear gets easily confused.

Keeping me busy this semester will be units entitled Linear Algebra, Real Analysis, Quantum Physics and Symbolic Logic.  I’ve half a mind to blog about what I study – not to show you how much of a nerd I am (for that should already be apparent), but rather to help me learn, to answer the question ‘so what do you actually study?’, and to spread ideas.  I’ve mentioned previously that because reading a blog is a purely opt-in affair, I am at liberty to write about whatever I want.  Talking about maths and physics at the local pub would promptly result in one being labled a big-headed twit, however the blog is the perfect venue to stage such discussions.  If it doesn’t interest you, don’t read it – but it’s OK to get intellectual.  Sometimes.

Lighthouse Mountain

Many years ago – 400 million to be precise – much of what is now Far North Queensland was below sea level.  Places such as Chillagoe, now about 200km inland, were surrounded with coral reef.  I imagine that animals such as fish, whales, turtles and nautilus floated above the mango paddock where I worked, throughout down town Mareeba and most certainly Mossman.  To stop them bumping into rocks, the prehistoric creatures were in desperate need of a navigational aid.  This prompted them to build a lighthouse.

Today, the remnants of this mythical navigational structure sit on top of the aptly named Lighthouse Mountain between Mt Molloy and Mt Carbine.  The mountain has been scaled by many people in the past, including one young girl who would eventually give birth to a child who would father somebody who on Valentine’s day 2009 (last Saturday of the summer vacation) would see the mountain as an opportunity for adventuretainment with a couple of mates.

Being the middle of the wet season, it is difficult to plan more than a few days in advance.  Lighthouse Mountain presented a somewhat more rain-proof expedition than other trails in the area.  Plans materialised from meta-plans at the last minute, which is really the best way to do things anyway.

I must admit experiencing a bout of insomnia the night before.  Surely the effects of an iced coffee don’t last for five hours, right?  Even so, never again will I drink a coffee after five in the afternoon.  Perhaps it was a sense of excitement at finally making it outdoors (after weeks of rain) that kept me up.  The Insomnia Support Chatline provided some assistance, for which I thank her, but I think I may have rudely interrupted her in the middle of trying to get some honest work done in a different time zone.

People often complain about how the English language lacks a sense of elegance and style.  I suspect this reputation comes from English’s ability to adulterate innocent, harmless foreign words into monstrocities like ‘rendezvousing’.  Perhaps the blame also lies in how easily English allows misinformed bloggers such as myself to use such vile creations in sentences like: “However, I woke up the next morning with ample time to prepare before rendezvousing with Cowan, Matt and Alex”.

The first venture out into unfamiliar territory often fails to  an efficient route.  Such was the case today: we spent the better part of the first two hours following Luster Creek and making it to the base of the mountain.  Here’s the route we took. Along the way we found a flask of stale tea and a massive stick insect.  The bright green stick insect must have been close to 30cm long, but it seems that Cowan lost the photos he took of it.

View from the lighthouse (click for full sized image). I do admit that it's a bit dark. It's really easy to stitch panoramas together with the Gimp and Pandora plugin.

After a couple of breaks along the way, we eventually made it to the lighthouse just after lunch.  While the view from the top of the rock would have been amazing (and Cowan reports that people have climbed it, only to get stuck up there), we were disappointed to discover that this lighthouse lacked a staircase.  Not surprising, really, when you consider the fact that the lighthouse predates the advent of the staircase by 399 million years.  Did you know that the word for ‘stairs’ is the same in Japanese as it is in Korean?

We made it back along a power supply route which joined on to the main road – in hindsight this would have been a quicker way to get straight to the lighthouse, but who’s worried about speed on a Saturday morning anyway?  I’d estimate our total mileage for the day would have been about 16km, more than half spent travelling cross-country (ie, without a trail).  We made a brief stop at Churchill creek on the way back – unusually cool and clear today after the recent rains.

It’s unfortunate that most of our peers in the area spend a great deal of time drinking.  Alcohol, whose many applications include enabling the socialisation of people who are uncomfortable with themselves (or just plain awkward), is not a prerequisite for having a blast.  Sure, parties are great for catching up with mates and all, but it’s important to know that you can have a good time while staying sober as a noodle.  I find that the satisfaction from a good day spent outdoors is usually longer lasting to boot.

For those who are interested in planning future expeditions, topographic maps can be bought in Cairns from Absell’s Map Shop or Cairns Navigation Centre.  Google Earth (or Maps) is also a useful resource, providing recent satellite imagery.

Photo update

Where do you blog?  It’s usually too hot inside the house, so I go outside and blog here:

Blogging buddies Scout and Rocco

Nice Frog (Erin's photo)

Denise was cranky last weekend.  Erin tried Triangle Therapy once again…

Triangle Therapy (1)

Triangle Therapy (2)

There was a respectable lightning show put on by the powers that be this afternoon.  Close too, the smart one in the photos above got a zap after she decided to wash some dishes in the storm.  Going for a run afterwards was an experience for the senses.  All kinds of colour, sound and smell were out: in different patches the sky went from rich orange and pink on the clouds, to clear blue and a deep dark blue that faded to heavy grey.  There was that dim, rich after-rain hue to on the ground.  The bark beneath one tree had turned a deep red colour, almost maroon.  Flowers, leaves and branches had fallen in the wind.  A turtle was crawling around near the creek.  I should have taken a camera.

Cosmospostman’s top tips for the aspiring runner:

1. Don’t run in wet clothes or you’ll get chafed!
2. Don’t run in boxer shorts or you’ll get a wedgie!
3. Don’t run in wet boxer shorts or you’ll get both!
4. Breathe in through your nose and out your mouth, as this will reduce the chance of you inhaling a flying insect
5. Don’t stickybeak too much if you run past a dope plantation or observe any suspicious activity
6. Take care you don’t run towards an escaped cow or bull

Consider me paused

A recent favourite from XKCD

In a case of bizzare, recursive self-reference, GEB briefly touches on whether or not the universe is deterministic – not too long after this comic was published, and just before I read a blog post with the same title as this one.  After a discussion on formal systems (basic elements and rules with which to operate on them, usually with an interpretation that links them to the ‘real world’), our author Hofstadter wonders if there is a formal system which could describe the entire universe.  According to the definitive article on Wikipedia, quantum mechanics could oppose a deterministic universal view, due to probabilistic (aka ‘random’) events at the subatomic level.  I ask, could seemingly random results actually be the making of a formal system, not yet discovered by mere mortals?  Perhaps the ‘randomness’ in, say, atomic decay is explainable by some process which distributes outcomes in a pseudo-random manner.

The supernatural is but a label applied to the things we can’t explain.  Not yet anyway.  Modern science can explain some things – such as stars, geography, the weather and all kinds of electronic, wireless gadgetry – that were in the realm of superstition hundreds of years ago.  Could it be that God is the personification of such unexplained phenomena, and that pesonal comprehension of god is shaped by the hand of intuition?

I haven’t finished the book – in fact, reading has been on hold all week.  I have a feeling that determinism may reappear before I’m done though.

On Mango farming, nature, travel and breast implants

At the end of last week, there was an influx of new workers in the mango paddock.  A guy who called himself Robbie claimed he had experience, but had recently been working on oil rigs overseas.  I think he might have been on the run, given some of the comments he made, and that he stopped work after a couple of days.  After that, you have to hand in a form for tax details, you see.

Also starting work was Jay the 30 year old father, Nolan the large 50-something man, Darren-just-back-from-schoolies (wants to do Engineering in Townsville) and a couple of other randoms who didn’t last long. Some people only work a day or two, get paid a couple of hundred dollars, quit and go down to the pub to drink it.

Most intriguing of the new workers was Julien, the 25 year old nurse from France who’s travelling the world, currently in need of money.  I adopted the unofficial role of on-paddock interpreter for him, having to rephrase instructions from Michael given in the North Queensland Bogan dialect to a more conventional form of English.  Julien’s dad is from Africa (Algeria), so he’s got olive skin that doesn’t get sunburnt.

Michael’s been in a generally good mood for the past three days, and hasn’t been a problem for me since the new guys started.  He has the occasional whinge, but his mood stays good.  Memorable paddock conversations this week have included a lively debate on Evolution and the statistical observance that 10% of men are gay, so of the dozen-or-so of us in the paddock, it’s likely that one is checking out everyone else.  Micahel and Nolan engaged in conversation about self-sufficent energy (wind/solar).  It would be nice to not depend on the electricity grid, I think.  Jay efficiently and elegantly contradicted himself when he proclaimed “I’m so fucking polite” (in good taste, not grumpiness).  By the way, here’s a contradiction of my own: “It’s wrong to generalise”.  For efficiency, a smart alecs would say “P and not P”, but really – who says stuff like that anyway?  Michael came up with a theory that the recent economic crisis is going to stunt China’s growth just as a similar crisis retarded Japan’s growth post-war.  A stroke of genius from George Bush unrecognised by the public?  A conspiracy?  Michael.  Mango paddock.  Perspective.  Michael likes to hear himself talk.

I’ve got four days off because we’ve picked all there is to pick (including two hours of limes), and we’re waiting for the rest of the fruit to ripen.  Here’s what happens in our back yard after the rain:

Clouds gently caressing the mountain tops

Did anybody see this in the sky the other night?  I saw a resemblence to the household puppy.

Spot the difference

Last night I put a mattress and blankets on the back of Dad’s truck and slept out under the stars.  The moonlight illuminated the low clouds as they hovered over the mountains.  The air was cool and scented with eucalyptus and dew on the grass, and I heard the frogs, crickets, nocturnal birds and other sounds of old as I stared out into the universe as it lay bare before me.  We always talk about space and to me such talk makes me feel like space is so far away from us on earth.  But on a nice clear night, it’s right there.

This is the best shot I could get

Check out these PhD Science students dancing their thesis: Dancing Scientists Invade YouTube

Hey Erin, just a quick reminder that reading someone’s publicly accessible blog does not constitute spying.  Dear readers, tensions have escalated since I pre-emptively blocked Erin from viewing my facebook profile and she gets frustrated when she doesn’t know how to block me in return, and can’t even research things on google herself.  Oh no.

Now to today’s news, I took Julien to Mossman Gorge for a swim.  I met him in Mt Molloy where his van broke down, and we drove down to Mossman together.  We did the usual – swim in the cool clear water, sit on the rocks in the sun, watch people.  He seemed quite adept at jumping around on rocks, I think it would be really handy to have a nurse come rock hopping with us one time.  I mean, it’s as safe as you can be should something go wrong, short of bringing an entourage of emergency trauma specialists, a complete mobile operating tent and a caravan full of supplies.

Let’s get hypothetical.  For the price of a return ticket to a place like, (let’s pick one at random) New York, I may as well buy a round-the-world ticket and go to Japan, California, the West Indies, England and Switzerland at the same time.  Sequentially, I mean.  Julien explains that while his friends expressed their envy at his pre-departure travel plans, it’s not like it’s all that hard for somebody who wants to do it.  Save some money, pack your life into a suitcase, go where you like and work when you need the money.  You’re on your own, often in a country with a different language to your prefered one, but really, it’s easy.  I’m getting my degree done first, but everyone else has no excuse.  Quit your jobs and travel the world you bunch of slackers!

Julien tells me he worked in a clinic that did boob jobs.  “Did you see that woman back there?  She had fake books.  They’re the wrong size for somebody her age.”  He knows what to look for.  I was too busy explaining to said woman that she could continue to walk the 2km walking circuit all day if she so desired, and that because of the circular nature of the loop, either direction could be regarded as ‘forwards’ and that’s why we were going one way and her the other and we were both still walking the loop in an acceptable fashion.  I asked Julien if he became a nurse just to watch breast augmentation in action (not the case), and proceeded to explain the word ‘sleazy’.  We agreed that breast implants are fine for people who loose one to cancer or in an accident, so that they don’t end up lop-sided and walk around in circles for the rest of their lives.  But surgery for aesthetics – like any kind of cosmetic surgery on a fully abled person – we don’t yet appreciate or understand.