Dive time at the Fish House

Time for a story ...


I wrote up my episode in the Jungle, for the NOBRA website, or Mountain River Blog, or whatever it's called. I realise I've been silent for some time, so I've put in the effort.

I also went Scuba diving to paradise at the weekend. Pulua Perhentain is a couple of Islands out in the South China Sea, about 45mins speed boat ride from the Malaysian Mainland.

I flew early on Friday morning, arriving at the Jetty at 9:30am. By 11:30, I had the gear on, and heading for the first of my Open Water dives. Its was Mega Mega. Like swiming inside a fish tank. I found Nemo, and 1000's of other tropical fish.

By Saturday afternoon, I had completed all 5 dives, and was now PADI Open Water Qualified. This gives me licence to dive anywhere in the world to a depth of 18Meters (Which is deep, when diving along a reef).

I was due to fly home on Sunday evening, however Sunday was a No Dive day, since you need 18hours between multiple dives and flying at altitude, because of Nitrogen levels in the body.

The other people on the course had driven from KL, which had taken 6 hours, over narrow roads to reach Kuala Besut (The Jetty), however they were able to dive Sunday. I was satisfied with my weekend, and planned to read a book and do some snorkelling.

Then after dinner on Saturday night, one of the instructors suggested we gear up and go for a Night Dive. I jumped at the chance, since my Nitrogen level would still recover in time.
The dive was mental, which I'll explain in a pub when I get home at some point.

When we were finished, we were getting the gear sorted out, when one of the guys from the dive resort came over and said "If you guys can keep a secret, I plan to go to the Fish House tomorrow, and you could join if you want."

Since I'm obviously clueless, I keep sorting out gear, however the two instructors who had been leading our dives almost made a mess of their wet-suits. I couldn't believe how excited they were. I asked, what's the story with Fish House. They told me it's a mysterious place, which is a bit of a legend in the Diving world (A bit like our Secret bothy in the cairngorms)

It's out in the deep sea, where fishermen have dropped weights to the sea bed, with a 42meter chain of Bamboo leading all the way from the bottom to the surface. The bamboo has branches tied to it, which creates a catch zone for plankton. Small fish feed on the caught plankton, medium size fish feed on the small fish, and big fish feed on the medium fish. It's very scary, since its a deep blue dive, all the way to 42meters.

These guys were like wains, all excited and chit chatting. I kept asking more questions over the next hour, until one of them said do you want to come?

I explained about the flight, and they said F-ck your flight, come down the road in our car with us. He didn't need to say it twice. I was in.

I went to bed with the same feeling I had the night before I climbed point five on the Ben. Part of me really excited, part concerned I was being stupid, not responsible, etc.

By morning, I was totally fired up.

One of the instructors had a Sony T1 camera, like my own, however he had a dive housing. I asked to put my camera in the housing and he agreed, no problem.

The photos below don't really capture what it was like. As we entered the water, I couldn't believe how amazing the deep blue descent was. All dropping into the thermocline. It was an experience of a lifetime. We had Shoals of 5ft long Barracudas, Bat fish, Tuna (although I missed it).
Whale Sharks commonly go to the spot, however we didn't see these 15ft monsters. But it was just tremendous.

The car journey home took 9 hours, because of bad weather and traffic, and I didn't make it back to KL until 1:30am, however it was worth it.

Cheers,
Alan

HHH, Are You Tough Enough?

The Malaysian Tourist board owe Karyn and I a sizable commission cheque. We have been living here for just under 2 years, and there isn’t too many places we haven’t visited. We have encouraged countless visitors and local friends to go explore.

Whether you want the hustle and bustle of an Asian city, or the tranquility of old traditional temples. Rock climbing on amazing steep limestone, or mountaineering on exposed granite at altitude. SCUBA dive in search of Nemo or just or lying on a desolate beach.Malaysia is a very good place to take a holiday.

At some point, I’ll stop “getting away with it”. I’ll wake up to the reality they have found me out, and are shipping us back to somewhere less Tropical. However until that day comes, we’re continuing to fill every minute.

I have a short mental list of things we must do before we get deported back to the UK. Running “The Hash” has featured on this list for some time.

I had read about the Hash House Harriers many years ago, however when my company asked me to take up post in KL, I never linked the two.
It took a scan through a copy of the Lonely Planet to realize the crazy tradition actually originated in Kuala Lumpur.

I fancied doing one, however the thought of running through thick jungle in 35 degrees heat and 90% humidity, brought back a flood of TV memories.
I love the story of the guy in the Railway, who shouted to the German, as he was leaving the office for a walk down Buchanan Street, one unusually sunny lunchtime in Glasgow. “ Ho Graham! You watch yirself oot there. Everyone knows your sh:te in the heat”

The fact is, Scottish folk are generally all sh:te in the heat. We’re not that well adapted to exercise in the Tropics. One visitor I had last year told me the minute he stepped out the shower, he felt like he needed a shower. Any sort of physical exercise, results in heavy sweating. Now days I define physical exercise in much broader terms, which includes carrying shopping from the car to the lift, or walking across the car-park to get to the shopping center.
The thought of long distance running took 6 months to even contemplate. Even then, I tried a wee road run with embarrassing results. After 1.5miles, I wished I had brought along the fare for an Air-Con Taxi. After 3 miles, I was walking, feeling sick and looking more like a capsized canoeist, than a runner.
Nevertheless, the longer we live in the heat, the more accustomed our bodies seem to become.


I also visited a couple of website, which were full of “Hash Jargon”. I realize to the dedicated Hasher, this is no different than our beloved NOBRA p:sh patter, but … it’s was crap patter, which only a NOBRA member will understand is much worse then our pish patter ???
It actually put me off, so I dropped the idea.

And then there’s the wildlife to consider. The jungles around KL are wild places. In a country, which still has wild Elephants, dangerous reptiles and the occasional tiger, remote outdoor sport is a serious under-taking. The worried looking Glaswegian in the photo below is me. The local guys are foolishly looking at me for advice. This is a 10ft long Malaysian Python, caught in the receiving area of our facility. The other picture is of a Cobra, caught just last week. I work in a factory in a built-up area, 15K west of Kuala Lumpur. Hardly out in the sticks.





But I can’t live in KL and not take part in at least one of the Hash races, so I check out the Petaling Jaya Hash website for details. The directions on how to get to the start, are given as an intricate plan. The whole thing has an air of secrecy about it, which reminds me of a Rave in Glasgow during the early 1990’s. I’m starting to like it, so I copy down the details and let Karyn know I’m going outside, and maybe some time.

By 4:15pm on Saturday evening, in the middle of nowhere, 65 KM north of KL, in the blistering sun, 60 runners assemble around an old van, full of Tiger beer, and bottles of water. The race organizer explains the format for the race very briefly, blasts a big air horn, and off we go into the thick of the jungle. And I mean thick!

I quickly realized I was right at the front within the first 5mins. This was unfamiliar territory for me, since I typically find myself further back in the field. I knew my fitness had not developed significantly since coming to Malaysia, and doubting some late developing natural ability, I knew something was wrong. Racing snakes were behind me, while real snakes were probably up in front.

We were following a trail of paper, with a Dennis the Menace logo printed on one side. Then suddenly, without warning, the trail ran out.

The couple of guys in front of me shout 'Searchin' and head off in different directions, leaving me standing, wondering what to do next. I decide to go straight on, and start my own search for Dennis. The route is silent for about 100meters. The theory being, as the front-runners try to sniff out the trail, the slower runners catch-up. When the trail is located, the finder shouts 'On On', and the lemmings (covered in leaches!) follow on. The front-runners, who are out searching in a different direction, then try to catch-up again, and effectively the race starts over. So regardless of how good a runner you are, if you have a poor sense of direction and natural navigation, you're screwed.

The trail was located at 90 degrees to the last paper marker, and therefore my 10mins-searching straight ahead, was all wasted effort. As I crawed through thick jungle, and over a Cafe Latte colored river (ever conscience of the who really belongs in it!), I realized why so many experienced looking runners were not bothering their arse at the start of the race.
I was now at the back, trying to pass people who I'm sure was sniggering at the stupid new guy.

After about 20mins of effort, I was back near the front, slightly wiser than before.

Within a couple of minutes, the path came to another halt, and we were faced with more “searching”.
By this point, I was knackered. I looked down at my sweat soaked running vest, which was now covered in jungle insects. I thought Denggi! And frantically started swatting them off my body. Although I had applied good quality Deet Repellent, the river and the sweating had either washed it off or at least diluted it’s effectiveness.
Before long, I realized I was fighting a loosing battle, and decided to concentrate to moving forward again. The middle of the pack had just reached where I was standing, when we heard 'On On' over to our left. I felt slightly guilty as I easily joined the trail. Apart from the finder, the other front-runners were somewhere within the radius, and my wee rest had given me an advantage.

I tried to catch the guy in front, but after 10mins, I seamed to be making no progress on him. I was in the company of two fit guys, who had managed to catch up with me.
Then all of a sudden, a river blocked the trail in front. The Leader was waiting on company before starting the waist high wade back to Dennis who was teasing us on the other side.
We all jumped in together, shouting and splashing uncontrollably, probably out of fear.
Safely on the other side, we started running again. We could hear swearing behind as the next group of runners spotted the river, directing their obscenities at the race organizer. I was smiling, and then my face changed to panic as I realized, my car keys were in the wee pocket (normally used for Taxi fare money) in my Nike shorts. Since the waterline was above my waist, I was sure the electronic key has been drowned. No point worrying about it now, so my mind returned to the leg pain, as we did the fell runner up hill march, with hands on knees, up and over a very steep ravine. I was feeling gubbed and wondering when the next problem would present itself.

We arrived on a land rover track, leading into a rubber tree plantation. It was great running for a change, and a chance to stretch out the legs. I looked down to see blood on both legs. The group I was running in also had similar war wounds. This was no picnic.

However, one guy asked me if I wanted to go to his Bar-B-Q the following day? I thought it was a strange conversation between competitors near the end of a race, however it was hell of a nice of him to ask, all the same.

I recognized a familiar building ahead and realized we were near to the cars, and hopefully the end. All 4 of us were running at pace, although the front guy was very strong. He left the track still following Dennis into very rough jungle again. Reluctantly, we followed, adding to the cut as we waded through the thorn bushes.

The path of paper came to another stop, but the guy in first was out of site. I decided to stay with a big guy with ginger hair. Built like an outside toilet, and obviously a veteran of several past Hashes, since he knew all the patter.

He did a grand job, finding the trail within 30seconds. We left the Jungle, and ran across a clearing, before joining the tarmac road, which gave us 200yards to the finish.

We could see the first guy nearing the left turn to the finish, as we picked up pace. The Ginger Toilet thought we could drop me with a short burst of speed, but I hung on. He tried again, but again I came level, as we made the left turn towards the Beer,

I get the impression no one really wins a hash. Everyone just takes part. However the competition is always there. 'Its not the winning, its the taking part that counts...???”
I personally don't agree with that statement. I never win races, however every time I run a 10K, a Half Marathon or run the KIMM, I'm always racing against myself. I always time my performance against my previous records.
If I have a bad race, I call it 'just training' for something bigger in a couple of weeks time.
If I do well, I smile from ear to ear. I typically pick out someone in every race, who I plan to beat. The guy has no idea, he's been stalked by some competitive nutter, but I've been doing it for years, and it helps pull better performance from somewhere.

Big Ginger knew he was in a race. Whether the rules say so or not, we were joint second and he was pissed I couldn't be dropped.
I offered my hand at the end, but he showed me his bleeding cut across his palm. I nodded, and offered him a bottle of water instead. He took it, and asked if it was my first time.

We sat down and watched the others fight their way out the undergrowth, and down the road. I was consuming 100 Plus and Water, like there's going to be a fluid shortage.

When I got Home, Karyn couldn’t believe the state of my gear. The vest had blood, mud and grass stains all over.

It will take several washes to get it clean, however it will take several weeks to wipe the big smile off my face.


Alan Kelly
Kuala Lumpur
14th Aug 05

Borrowdale Fell Race - 6th August 2005

Decisions SHOULD be easy – we make loads each and every day.

The idea of the Borrowdale race has been rattling around for years -ever since Joe, Alan and Byso came back from a climbing trip with tales of a long hard fell race followed by a surreal party in a marquee with much jumping about to a steel band. That was in the days when we were limited to walking and climbing. The idea of running around mountains was to take a while to grow. There was some talk about the Borrowdale race again earlier this year but it was on a plane to Birmingham (of all places) that the final decision to run was made.

With Rob P at a wedding, the only other person mad enough to think it would be a nice way to spend a Saturday was Lesley. We drove down on the Friday evening stopping briefly at a chippy in Keswick. The campsite was busy and it was hard to spot the tourists amongst the fell racers. Next morning and there was much faffing about trying to decide how much food and water to carry as well as what to wear. Lesley seemed very calm and very sorted. I briefly considered sharing my concerns about how hard the race was …but thought better of it.

Registration done, kit packed and last minute nerves in check (well sort of) and it wasn’t long till we were under way. Not exactly sure why, but we got caught in a slow(ish) pack and the first few miles along to the foot of Bessyboot were a little frustrating – not helped by a lass who insisted on trying to overtake on very narrow sections of track. The first climb was better – a chance to settle down and get some height under the belt and gain a few places. First control out the way and the running out towards Scafell Pike was great – even managed to get a gel down replenishing energy for later. The climb from Esk Hause up Scafell itself was familiar – not because I had ever been there ….but it was so similar to so many of the Scottish Munros. For the first time in the day we were joined by groups of walkers.

The descent from Scafell Pike was mental. The race organisers had suggested a “safe” route but the majority were opting for an incredibly steep scree gully. The decision was made …descend by quickest (but rather unsafe) route. Holding back and trying to control the descent didn’t work – best strategy was to kinda fall and then try to regain balance before the gully ended several hundred meters below. Once onto the corridor route, sensible running resumed – how sensible it looked to the walkers ascending by the same route is debatable.

By the time I reached Sty Head I was totally gubbed. The wobbly legs and dizzy head were making it difficult to manage anything more than a slow run / stumble combination. The decision to only carry one litre of water had been wrong. I didn’t have enough left to get a dry energy bar down and the remaining gel didn’t appeal. Thankfully, the kindest girl on the planet (who was doing support for some other runners) gave me a pouch of lucozade (did I really look that bad ????). Another girl gave me a square of flapjack and soon the world seemed a better place again. The drink was added to the little water I had left and recovery began. As I started up Great Gable I wondered how Lesley was getting on and where about in the madness she was.

Over Great Gable and I was feeling better again. Some scrambling down to Windy Gap then nice ridge running along Green Gable, Brandreth and towards Grey Knotts. A pack of about six runners started working together – positions changing but nobody opening a gap …or falling behind either. The best line down to the slate mine & Honister pass control was not obvious and a committee decision was made. We passed though the control at exactly 3 hours 30 minutes. The last climb on the route was to Dale Head and it was actually alright ... but the last few miles to the finish were not. I nearly fell dozens of times and the effort to stay upright was ridiculous. Don't remember much about the final lanes or the river crossing that lead to the finish in the village, but staggered across the line spewing in 4 hours 27 minutes and 53 seconds.

All I could do was kneel down in the grass and try to stop the gut wrenching. It took about another few minutes before I was able to sit up and relax again. Getting Ben & Milly (the dogs for those who don’t know them) from the car, I returned to the finish hoping to see Lesley finish in better condition than I did. Sadly, she missed the cut off by 6 minutes. A later discussion revealed that two other runners who had been in the pack with Lesley but who decided on a different line from Grey Knotts, made the cut off by 2 minutes.

The results show Lesley as having “retired” which sort of suggests it was her decision - which it was not. Especially harsh considering she had already run for 4 hours 36 minutes, up Bessyboot, Scafell Pike, AND Great Gable. In the end only missing about 4 miles of the total 17 miles (and 7000 ft ascent) and even running the 2.5 miles back to the finish along the road.

We managed to hobble to the after-race party, which certainly lived up to it's reputation - wild pogo-ing to a steel band in a marquee in a field, culminating in a drunken Phil Davies skilfully negotiating the rings of barbed wire to reach the top of one of the marquee poles! We met a heap of folks all of whom were wearing the same “shattered but isn’t all this wonderfull” style smiles.

I was proud to wear the kilt to the party although it did seem to cause a little stir amongst one of two of the locals (i.e. the English folks). Scanning the results, there is a distinct lack of Scots take part (judging by the club representation) – not sure why this is the case ?

A great weekend based around a great race. The decision to head back north and the return to real life was probably not an easy one - it seemed a shame to stop !

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German Race splits

Rosthwaite (start) 00:00:00
Bessyboot 00:45:30
Esk Hause 01:30:00
Scafell Pike 01:59:35
Sty Head 02:24:10
Great Gable 02:54:05
Honister Pass 03:27:50
Rosthwaite (finish) 04:27:53

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