NOTES FROM CHRISTMAS ISLAND. CHAPTER 3

Image: Christmas Island Red Crab, found in the rain forest, with an unusual dent in shell. No idea why. Crab was cool though and moving normally.

 

Below is the third in a series of five monthly reports I sent back to friends in 2007.

Should you be interested, recommend that they be read in order, to get the best out of them.

 

Notes from Christmas Island

Chapter 3

SEPTEMBER 2007

 

For those of you who live in busy times and cannot spare the time to read all of Chapter 3 here is a summary of the contents.

Injury, beaches, snorkelling, geological information, scenic lookouts and Hash Runs.

If you have to leave it here, thanks for dropping by...

 

For those remaining, here we go:

 

The nurse’s lovely Irish accent lilted.

“There’s definitely something there, I’ll go show the Doctor”

The x-ray revealed what the Doctor confirmed, there definitely was something there.

A short but definitive break to the little finger of the left hand.

 

Jody’s left hand.

 

She was chatting to my mother, the closest witness, when she stepped off the kerb.

From a distance of 25 metres, my vantage point, Jody’s fall had all the grace and elegance of an emu slipping off a wet rock.

 

The fall was slow, irretrievable following a trajectory of slightly left to right then down, until both knees, hands, a hip and a shoulder were the grazed contact points of skin and bitumen.

 

Doof !

 

That will be putting any proposed snorkelling, mountain bike riding, dishwashing or any dexterous use of her left hand on hold until the bandages and splint are removed.

 

And that’s a shame as snorkelling at our beaches is wicked.

 

There are many beaches on CI with access varying between awesomely convenient and magnificently inconvenient.

One in particular is quite a drive, then a serious hike.

Carrying a machete, known locally as a parang, to re-clear paths can be necessary.

 

But all beaches have their own rewards.

 

The most commonly used beach is at Flying Fish Cove.

Named after HMS Flying Fish when visiting the island in 1887.

Flying Fish Cove also blends into the town port.

When I mean the town port I really do mean, the Port right in the middle of Town

Attentive readers will recall from Chapter 2 the Kampong is a residential area directly across the road from the ocean.

 

Despite being a working port for over a hundred years the coral is in good condition and generally visibility is very good.

With flippers, mask and snorkel fish and coral can be seen within the first 10 metres from shore.

 

CI juts out of the ocean very steeply.

Very little fringing reef or continental shelf exists.

Think of it as the top of an undersea mountain.

 

Even within the confines of Flying Fish Cove when we, if our hands aren’t broken, swim out say 30 metres from the coast, the ocean floor drops away.

One moment rock and sand are 10 metres below the surface, at next glance it is hundreds of metres down to the bottom, it just drop’s off. Just like that.

This drop off is called: The Drop Off !

 

It truly is the Deep Blue without any exaggeration whatsoever.

 

Ships that come into the port actually tie up on one side to the port rockwall.

Their anchors just can’t cut it.

The ocean side of the ship secures to permanent anchorage buoys.

Despite being within a hundred or so metres from the coast these buoys themselves are anchored to the ocean floor 400 metres below or 222 fathoms.

 

The convenience of these depths for recreational divers is remarkable.

Divers who want to dive deep to see our wonderful marine ecosystem do not have to travel for kilometres out into the ocean to get to the good stuff.

They can either swim out from the beach or couple of minutes by boat.

 

What’s it like out in the cove?

The fishes laugh, the birds smile, the coral waves and the rocks stand proudly in the sand.

[from Bob Dylan's, "When the Ship Comes In"]

 

In another maritime point of interest, three weeks ago a whale, either Humpback or Southern Right Whale swam by.

Numerous independent sightings were reported.

Didn't see it myself though.

 

Also on the whale front, a few Orcas / Killer Whales / Free Willy's, so they say, were seen from the coast in front of our place. Missed them too.

 

But twice I have seen pods of the smallish Spinner Dolphins.

The first occasion was when Jody and I went out on a boat along the coast for some snorkelling.

As we rounded the point away from Flying Fish Cove suddenly three....four.....five dolphins parallelled the boat.

Would I like to swim with them? The question was floated.

Sure would.

Quickly, it was off with the hat, shirt and sunnies.

Slowly, too slowly on with the gear but fun loving Spinners wait for no one.

By the time I was in the water they were heading away.

All I felt was a very clear, very blue ocean and very deep isolation.

Right, now where is that boat!

 

Back on deck and within twenty minutes our boat was tied up to a buoy ready for snorkelling up against a cliff face.

As the swell surged us back, forth, up and down we viewed masses of fish busily living their lives with eternal vigilance.

Looking for prey and looking out for predators.

 

In nature, a peaceful demise is a rare thing.

Few creatures die in their sleep and fewer die of old age.

Lucky perhaps they have no concept of the day after tomorrow.

It’s a tough gig out there.

 

Anyway, the omni directional oceanic movement was also the home of another phenomenon feared by all who dare go into the water.

Yep, snorkel sickness almost snared another unsuspecting victim, sending Jody back to the boat for timely relief.

 

It’s not as difficult to get as you may think.

Mix three-dimensional motion with a head full petrol fumes courtesy of the outboard motor plus some strenuous activity and a nauseating bout of nausea can swim right by.

Fortunately the cure was getting the boat moving and moving along fast.

Then fumes trail behind the boat, fresh air rushes on to the face and the world is a great place again.

 

The second time I spied the dolphins was during a tour to view the Western side of the island.

At the lookout the rugged coast and relentless waves are sights in themselves.

A small pod of dolphins, at their own expense, spun out of the water for us.

My clients could not have been happier.

 

Whale Sharks swim by the island during the wet season towards the end of the year.

Some say, it is for the eggs and hatchlings of the migrating red crabs that the island is famous for. Others say it is for the ocean life that feeds on the crab hatchlings.

Whatever......Either way they come here.

 

I have spoken to a number of divers who had a Whale Shark unexpectedly appear from the depths and they tell the stories with a deliberate low voice and wide eyes about these astonishing encounters.

 

The beaches on the eastern side of the island, the ones facing towards the west coast of Australia, are nesting areas for turtles.

These beaches are often small and due to their remoteness require some effort to walk to.

The turtles endure quite an effort themselves to make landfall due to the ruggedness of the rocks around the beach and the power of the surf.

 

My most recent tour group were very fortunate to see a large solitary turtle in the surf zone.

She, I am assuming a female turtle, was there for at least fifteen minutes.

The waves were big though not impossible and no appearance of distress was apparent, which was cool [because if I had been in those waves someone would have had drag my my drowned body up onto shore] she just seemed to be getting on with life.

Another set of pleased clients.

 

The island first broke the surface of the ocean about sixty million years ago but has during geological history also submerged.

About twenty million years ago, give or take a couple of weeks it came up for good.

 

Of course everyone knows this time was around the beginning of the Miocene era, in the fourth epoch of the Tertiary period, between the Oligocene and Pliocene epoch.

 

In more recent epochs CI has uplifted a few more times causing the marked terrace or plateau effect that characterises the island.

Between lower and higher plateaus the rockwall areas are steep craggy drops and cliffs.

Referred to as knolls.

I looked for the grassy knoll but couldn't find it.....maybe it was hidden in a Government Conspiracy!!!

At the top of some of the knolls panoramic vantage points have been established.

 

The golf course lookout is one of the more significant.

Access is gained from the highest terrace.

Although the track is marked very well, first time visitors usually go with guides or locals.

The walk is steep as the slope between the highest and intermediate terrace needs to be transversed.

Twenty minutes down, the track efficiently terminates by a sheer drop of 150 to 200 metres.

That'll stop ya!

 

While the trekking stops, the views start.

Looking high and long, the dark navy blue of the ocean is broken only by the whitecaps of passing intercontinental waves.

 

Looking low and short, the entire golf course is below.

Even for a non-golfer it provides some passing interest.

Wedged between the ocean and the curtain of rock that makes up the cliff-face, the course is small but appealing.

By using various approaches the nine greens support eighteen holes for the regular Saturday competition.

During WW2, CI was held by the Japanese Imperial Forces.

In the creation of a market garden, prisoners of war cleared an area of jungle.

One of the POW’s was a keen golfer and could see the area he was clearing, in the fullness of time and fullness of peace would make a great golf course.

 

Within a decade of conflict cessation Christmas Island Golf Club formed.

 

The boundaries between adjacent holes are rows of coconut trees.

While coconut trees do not have the spread of boughs, limbs and foliage such as gum trees or fig trees it is still easy enough to hit one.

 

In 1995 on the fortieth anniversary of the Club’s incorporation a gathering was held of previous members.

The golfing ex-POW presented the Club with the original measuring tape he laid out the entire course with four decades earlier.

Fine effort!

 

On most golf courses players tee off on hole 1 and return to the clubhouse after hole 9.

A long walk occurs in between and can seem longer if a drink is needed from the bar.

The original CI course designer had vision and foresight.

He put the Clubhouse central to the course.

Therefore after every three holes a player can quickly run to the bar and get drinks for the rest of his team and be underway without undue delay.

 

During the dry season, understandably the course dries out a bit but in the wet season it is a lush emerald green and a pleasure to view from above or play on below.

 

For instance, when playing hole number five, the right hand side is rainforest climbing the escarpment.

The view to left, through the hundreds of mature coconut palms is the ocean.

Virtually all the course has an elevated ocean view.

 

Of recent times a dedicated volunteer has built an outdoor wood fired pizza oven. Nice touch!

 

Cost for a casual golfer, for example a tourist, is amazingly cheap.

You can play nine holes or eighteen holes for the same AUD$10.

Compare this to courses on the mainland or around the world.

Sure plenty may be more elaborate but few have a history or location as this and none have a red crab migration that run right through the middle of them.

 

Oh yeah........Red Crabs.

 

I briefly touched on them in Chapter 1.

These particular red crabs are endemic to CI. That is they naturally are restricted to CI.

Their evolution has been specific to the island.

As an adult their body size is similar to your fist plus four legs hanging out each side.

 

The amazing thing about them is not of their endemic nature but their sheer numbers and what they do when the time comes to reproduce.

 

Historically, they say there have been up to 135 million of them at one time, but accounts vary nowadays between 40 and 80 million.

 

Either way this is a LOT of crab. Damp, moist or wet areas are the favoured conditions for the crabs to survive and flourish. They eat the leaf litter that falls from the rainforest canopy and give the forest floor a neat and tidy swept appearance.

 

Once it rains heavily they emerge from their burrows.

The long migration from the upper terraces to the ocean is dependant on the first true rains of the wet season.

 

The march starts with all the adult male crabs heading coastward where they create a burrow ready for all the hot chicks to arrive.

Then everyone is shagging and once mating has finalised, the males as expected lose interest and hit the road leaving each female holding the baby, actually 100,000 eggs.

Following alignment of tidal and lunar cycles, eggs are released into the ocean.

Those crazy girls at some places are known to stack themselves 100 to the square metre.

Then with a job well done, they head for the hills back to their homes.

 

Weeks later, and if the tides are kind, tiny red crabs wash back to the island to begin a tough odyssey back up the terraces.

 

This back and forth of tens of millions of the crabs is the migration of international renown.

People fly in from all around the world to be a part of this. Sir David Attenborough, he's cool, made a documentary here.

A common description is of a carpet of crabs, and whilst perfectly valid and correct is a little clichéd.

I prefer to think the land is fully crabbed.

 

When the migration is at it's most hardcore roads are closed off for days at a time, the entire focus of the island is on nothing else, while film crews and documentary makers abound.

 

Playing golf as thousands scuttle past tees, fairways and greens is an exercise in patience and awe.

 

Sadly the crabs have been taking a pounding from crazy ants. These unsympathetic ants attack the crabs and have reduced their numbers by a third. Bastards!

 

Fortunately the ant issue has been addressed again only recently, hopefully the plans and funding in place will reduce the impact of the ants permanently.

 

Crab burrows or ex-crab burrows provide a challenging environment during Hash.

 

Let me clarify Hash.

Hash as discussed here is the international running group.

More formally is known as Hash House Harriers or acronymed down to HHH or just plain Hash.

 

Word is, Hash originated in Kuala Lumpur in 1938 where five English expatriates started running to offset their hard living.

To add some interest one would set a trail and the others would follow a short time after trying to catch the trail setter.

The Hash name derivative came from the Selangor Club Annex in Kuala Lumpur, known locally as the Hash House because of its plain lame food.

 

The fundamentals as set by the original runners are still in place at seventeen hundred Hash groups that run regularly around the world.

 

4.30 every Thursday evening on CI, our group meets somewhere on a road or in the jungle to run the Hare’s trail.

One person is nominated a week in advance as the Hare.

Their task is to set a trail that the others have to follow.

The trail is tagged by tape hanging from trees to notify runners of the direction.

However in an attempt to keep the group somewhat together, false trails are included.

Therefore the faster runners lead the way but when they come to a T-junction or Y-junction the tape may show either direction could be taken.

 

One will be a false trail but the only way to find out is to run it. If after a few hundred metres no further tag is sighted then the trail has ended and a return to the junction is needed to try the alternate trail.

The trails can follow sealed roads, graded or overgrown tracks, rainforest floor or rocky slopes.

Every week is different and that is what makes it entertaining.

There is no requirement to be a champion runner, in fact, there is no real requirement to be a runner at all.

Age is no barrier with the youngest around 2 and the oldest over 80.

A single trail is set but it has an abbreviated walkers component within the runners trail.

As a general rule, the slow runners complete 3 to 5 kilometres while the runners return after 6 to 9 km.

What can be tough on CI is the nasty gradient of the hills and the energy draining humidity.

 

But that is what makes the finish so good.

Located at the finish area are the drinks and informal formalities.

The organisation of Hash is superb, ably supported by the Hash Trailer.

This is a standard vehicle trailer that has two fridges, with motors removed, lying on their backs full of ice and drinks.

The trailer is rugged enough to go anywhere into the jungle and is parked awaiting the return of the Hashers.

Behind the fridges the BBQ stands with lighting rigged up to a spare car battery.

 

Following the run, anyone who has brought attention upon themselves, in a positive or negative manner, can be called up for a Down-Down.

This is a ceremonial sculling of a beer or another mixed alcoholic concoction, in front of the assembled Hashers.

All in a fun-loving way, of course.

This is supposed to be an honour though rarely feels like it.

 

Examples, in a positive light could be reaching a milestone run.

Such a 50th 69th or 100th run and so forth. Perhaps returning back from an absence.

Or a final run before leaving the island permanently.

Examples in a less glamorous light:

- Falling over while running, being a Hash Crash,

- Running without a Hash shirt, although no shirt is supplied.

- Not paying attention

- Taking short cuts

- New shoes

- Dobbing someone else in

- Getting lost

- No particular reason at all

The list is unending and unrelenting.

 

It is from these activities that Hash is understood as “drinkers with a running problem.”

 

As I enjoy my running and the social side is excellent Thursday is my favourite day of the week.

Attentive readers would remember that running through the rainforest is a great way to see different parts of the island and invigorating when it rains.

The great news is that the rains are getting closer.

 

On CI, Hash is an institution, this week we will be running Hash Run 1457, being 28 years of weekly runs.

My run total is 61. 50 from my original CI stay, 1 on Cocos and 10 on CI this tour.

The number of runs a person has accrues, as they attend any Hash run throughout the world.

A persons Hash name also stays with them.

I was named Chops some 17 years ago.

That is the name that all will refer to me before during and immediately after a run.

Quite often, during the week as well.

I occasionally get people who call me Chops who have no idea what my actual name is.

 

After the designated third run, Jody received her name of Yogey Bare.

In the circumstances, got to be happy about that.

Names can get so much worse.

 

Despite being very, very tentative with her hand Yogey still completed her ninth hash run last week, trekking the rough rainforest floor including climbing over a tree trunk about three feet in diameter and finishing the last five hundred metres at a canter.

 

And now for today’s Hash news.

Thursday 9pm in the evening having just dragged my sorry bones back from this weeks Hash run.

We ran from the Cove, past the Kampong and the roundabout, up the incline [being the old access from bottom to the top of the hill] through Silver City to the Territory Day Park.

This is a sensational lookout over the residential areas, which is one complete terrace above the Cove.

Getting there via sealed roads, while stable under foot is really hard yakka.

For the non-Australian readers Hard Yakka means Hard Work.

 

The way down was via rainforest track that stopped being track and started being rainforest only with a dash of rain to make it slippery.

We had temporarily left the trail to go a better way.

The three Hashers climbing down the rocks in front of me were, in my fully justifiable opinion, going too slow so I temporarily left the first temporary trail to go down a different batch of rocks.

 

It was here that my feet temporarily left the second temporary trail off from the first temporary trail off from the real trail.

 

When climbing over rocks, trees and bushes I consider my balance and stability to be on par with any competent mountain goat.

However…

At this point I became a Hash Crashing Bastard on a, not slippery looking but slippery in reality, patch of random concrete.

Lucky that concrete was there to save me from landing on soft soil and leaves.

The scorching graze from behind my knee to the base of my gluteus maximus has a red glow to it.

Friday morning is going to be a sore one.

 

Also taking the impact was an area that will be diplomatically described, since my mother will be reading this, as the buttocks.

 

But I didn’t hit the rocks shadowing the trail and that is a very good thing.

Think of the rocks here as Rottweiler rocks but with less compassion.

 

The point, at which I slipped on the concrete, was at the top of a genuinely steep gully.

Those in Perth compare with the steepness and length of Jacobs Ladder but without the stairs.

Those not in Perth compare the steepness and length with something steep and long.

 

I waited around for Yogey so I could offer assistance if required.

And although I could have got a down-down for being a Pandering Bastard, I just knew her climb down this nasty gully with one only free hand while keeping the busted one protected was going to be tentative at best or total and permanent incapacitation at worst.

 

By now she had already whacked the broken finger on rocks, cut one leg, grazed the other three times and was sporting a graze and puncture wound to one arm. But she was still going.

 

Right now the invigorating nature of pure exercise should be emanating straight off the page at you. Go on, get off your butt and go outside and run.

 

As the sun sets on Chapter 3, I do recall mentioning way back in Chapter 2 that I would provide greater information on the rainforest, mining, wildlife and history.

 

I lied.

 

In the event that these things might interest you, maybe they will be covered in Chapter 4.

Or maybe they won’t. Can’t say.

 

That’s it.

 

Thank you and Goodnight

 

Keith

(Owner of two good hands and one bruised tail)

 

 

Done