Paul Davison

 
 

Base Camp

Friday, December 4th, 2009

I’ve never been regarded as a particularly decisive person, ask me to make a decision and it’s probably best you sit down, make yourself comfortable and expect to lose a decent chunk of your life before getting an answer.  Choosing a backpack and the kit needed for the 10 day trek to Annarpurna Base Camp (ABC) was no exception. In hindsight the ridiculous packing and repacking mission was totally unnecessary as the trek to ABC shouldn’t be considered one of the world’s most isolated walks.

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Stunning and remote as the scenery is, you’re never that far away from a guesthouse serving up daal bhaat, pizza or a Mars roll.  For those who haven’t had the pleasure of one of Nepal’s finest and surely most authentic dishes, a Mars roll is basically the equivalent of a battered Mars bar. Looks like a pasty, tastes like nothing else on earth! Having said that my opinion of this culinary delight might well have been clouded by the sheer boredom of eating from the same menu for 10 days. NO MORE EGGS!! I should get my cholesterol checked after a month long egg-a-thon but the potential results concern me, they say ignorance is bliss and that works for me.

Anyway, with my backpack now carefully loaded, with Khukuri rum, I set off with my guide feeling excited, if not a little apprehensive, as I had no idea what to expect from the next 10 days. I had obviously expected to be confronted with amazing scenery but I hadn’t bargained for a constant mind over matter battle with seemingly endless steps.  After spending a couple of grinding hours dragging myself up Satan’s staircase, cursing all the unnecessary stuff in my backpack that I’d previously decided was absolutely necessary, we approached a village and decided to call it a day.

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The guesthouse provided little more than a small cardboard room, extremely efficient in amplifying the outrageous snoring from the beast next door. However it turned out to be a good choice. That night I met a fascinating mix of travellers from Nepal, America, Israel and Latvia. It was a priceless evening, most of it spent trying to decipher all the broken English and different accents.

I was fortunate to meet some lovely people on that first day and crazy night, some of whom I ended up spending the rest of my holiday with. I say crazy night because it must have been at least 11pm before we went to bed. Nepal is a country that goes to bed early and gets up early. In the mountains this philosophy is greatly exaggerated, anything past 9pm is considered a late night. I’m sure this was partly due to the bizarre warping of time we experienced on the trek. If you thought an hour had passed the likelihood was that it had actually only been 5 minutes. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it. I’ve also never been told to keep the noise down at 8pm before (the raging debate on whether dragons ever actually existed will have to be settled another day).

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Setting off early also meant arriving early at the next day’s destination. This in turn led to many evenings huddled round the tables in the guesthouses, being warmed by the large gas burners placed under them. I very much doubt that placing, basically a small volcano, under a wooden table would be allowed back home, but apart from the odd moan about my legs melting I wasn’t going to object. Many hours were spent sitting round these tables, eating, playing cards, eating some more, and exchanging travelling stories. I count myself lucky that I met so many interesting and fun people in the 10 days I spent trekking. As increasingly breathtaking and spectacular as the scenery became with every passing day, it was the people I met along the way that made the experience so enjoyable. When my guide, who had quickly become my friend…and mother at times, fell ill and had to head back, I was thankfully already in good company.

Although the constant battle with steps was distinctly depressing at times, the ever- changing scenery more than made up for it. Every day was different, bamboo forests, amazing mountain ridges, deep gorges and steep valleys.

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But all of these natural wonders were eclipsed by the simply staggering amphitheatre of rock and ice on display at base camp. Those that managed to drag themselves out of bed that freezing cold morning at ABC, were treated to a truly magical sunrise. Standing on the high plateau completely surrounded by a ring of 7,500m high mountains, watching the sky being set alight by the morning sun, is an experience I’ll never forget.

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It took us 7 days to reach base camp but only 3 days to descend. Either we were fairly lazy on the ascent or just highly motivated on the way down by thoughts of a slap up steak dinner (washed down with wine rather than iodine flavoured water). Although the return to civilisation was a bit of a shock, the steak, wine and cocktails helped to ease the pain of reality. Well, perhaps not the cocktails they were truly horrific, but apart from those alcoholic disasters it was a great way to end an amazing trip.

Returning to the cold and rain of England was a significantly bigger reality check, the biting cold of base camp is no match for the bitter chill of Winchester High Street. Thankfully I have plenty of photos to sift through from the comfort and warmth of my appartment, glass in window frames, what a novelty.

I find having no manual controls in a camera fairly daunting but there are many advantages to having a small, high resolution compact like the ST550. Cloud formations are often a major factor in many landscape images but have a nasty habit of changing at pace. Having a wide angle compact in your pocket that can be accessed and ready in seconds is very handy, especially as most compacts have a considerable depth of field, ideal for landscape shots.  The ST550 coped well in low light situations with the flash turned off.  I had expected some of the sunrise images at base camp to lack sharpness, but the in-built stabilisation managed to keep most shots well focused and with minimal loss of detail.

The innovative front LCD panel is a great new feature, athough I haven’t included any of the photos taken using this function. I figured that close up images of my unshaven face, along with a variety of other random photos taken by people in bars were not best suited for public viewing.

Urban Landscapes

Friday, November 6th, 2009

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I’m not entirely sure why I decided to take a walk around a fairly run down industrial area of Southampton, especially on such a sunny afternoon, but I’m glad I did. I find these types of urban landscapes very atmospheric and found myself engaged in some interesting conversations with all manner of different people. It’s funny how walking around with a camera and taking photos seems to encourage interaction. Maybe it’s simply our curious nature or perhaps, and probably more likely, our general mistrust of people taking photos through fences saying ‘PRIVATE - KEEP OUT’

Anyway, armed with my ST550 I thought I’d try and break away from my favoured people shots and try something a bit different. As I wandered around feeling increasingly ‘watched’ I stumbled across a yard full of strange industrial tanks. I say strange only because of their colour and the fact I have no idea what they were used for. Undoubtedly something fairly mundane but at least someone had made an effort to make them look more appealing.

Annoyingly there were some fairly substantial gates preventing access, probably for the best, the yard had ‘curious mans demise’ written all over it. Unfortunately I didn’t have my SLR and zoom lens with me and as a result missed some shots that were simply too far away to capture. However, even with the ST550 straining at its maximum focal limit, and after some fairly heavy cropping, the image quality held up better than expected.

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I have no idea how long I spent innocently loitering outside the yard taking photos. Obviously long enough as I was beginning to think I might look moderately suspicious. As the sun started to disappear behind the urban skyline, the increasing darkness began to slowly trigger all the powerful security lights, creating quite an eerie effect. The slightly surreal lighting and lengthening shadows only added to my sense of being watched so I decided it was probably time for me to head home.

The Ashes Have Come Home!

Wednesday, August 26th, 2009

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The Ashes have come home!  Not that they ever leave this country whether we win or lose but that’s not the point!

The stage had been set for an enthralling day and what a day it turned out to be!  The sun hasn’t exactly been a frequent visitor this summer but there was no escaping it at the Brit Oval, not that everyone was trying to avoid it!  Having spent most of the day engaged in some healthy “discussions” with a bunch of Aussies sat behind me, I noticed a mixture of supporters watching the drama unfold from their balcony overlooking the stadium.  There’s something quite special about the Ashes and it’s the supporters of both teams that play a major role in making it that way.  It’s a stereotypical love hate relationship steeped in history but ultimately good humored.

Although there is an intense rivalry between the two sets of supporters there is also nothing quite like the banter. With the advent of the Barmy Army it’s become an art form through years and years of practice.  Having been dominated on the field by our arch-enemies far too often, we’ve often had to settle for being the superior power in the art of banter.  Not so this time!!

The game was so far out of the Aussies reach that surely the only result possible was an emphatic English victory.  Or was it?  Supporting England in any sport can be a stressful and uneasy experience.  Always full of expectation shortly followed by the dawning realisation that we’re actually quite average and prone to losing spectacularly.

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After enduring a moderately terrifying few hours watching them accumulate runs seemingly at ease, it seemed that the impossible run chase was now a definite possibility.  Enter Fred!  A moment of genius signaled the end of the Aussie resistance.  After the run out of Ponting, wickets began to tumble and it was just a matter of time before the world’s smallest trophy returned home.  With only about 30 minutes of play left the last wicket fell sparking absolute bedlam on and off the pitch!  A truly memorable experience.

The massive, if not slightly surreal banners all around the ground were perhaps quite fitting for the occasion.  Finally the cricketing ghosts of Ashes past were being laid to rest.

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