The Art of the Fine

The day before we began our expedition, while lazily sitting around the pool at the Airways Hotel in Port Moresby listening to our pre-trip briefing by Mick O’Malley (owner/operator of Australia Kokoda Tours) he ended his segment by introducing the “fines” system that he was going to enforce as part of our adventure.   Not sure I heard him correctly – did he say fines system??    I could tell by the look on the faces around me that not everyone was thrilled by this new turn of events especially given that we had (some might have believed at that point in time rather foolishly) paid such a significant amount already to take part in this expedition, if you include the tour fees, insurance, purchase of your equipment, medical examinations, assorted pills……the list goes on and on; and now we were also on the hook to also pay fines……?    It felt a bit like being on the HMS Bounty and Captain Bligh at the helm – no one was convinced or particularly over-thrilled at the thought of being fined on top of what we had already paid to be here.   Mick quickly added that the fines would go toward the porters as a tip at the end of the trip.   There was definitely an air of “we’ll see” that permeated the end of the meeting as we quietly disbanded and went back to our mates to chat about our upcoming adventure, but nary a word was spoken about the fines…… interesting I thought to myself.

Justin (a.k.a Arab)

So with this as the backdrop, each night Justin Abrams (a.k.a Arab) gathered us just before dinner and went around the circle to ask each of us about our fines for the day – fairly straight forward on the first night in Deniki as everyone was a little quiet and still getting to know the other.  So Arab decided to fine himself and Mick to get the ball rolling – nice touch.   The average fine was 5Kina (PNG currency which is equivalent to around $2.50 AUD).   Still not a lot of action in the fine department, but clearly it was early days and with a modest sum on the books the main talk was of “who was going to take the first fall?”    With the recipient of the first fall having to pay 20Kina it upped the ante considerably, as well as the anxiety of many in the group……..me included.   

The view from Deniki village - note
the Kokoda airstrip in the far off distance

As Day two dawned over the beautiful Eora Creek valley and faraway Kokoda airstrip some five kilometers distant it was with some trepidation that we began our hike out of the village.  Surprisingly to some, but not to those that know me well, less than 10 minutes into the morning hike I achieved what no-one else had yet done – fell ass over on the track!  Now caked in mud and hoping above hope that someone else had fallen before me I was destined for a rather humiliating call out at that night’s tribal council – bugger I thought to myself as I struggled to my feet and tried to get some of the thickly caked mud off my arms and legs.  

Sure enough, Justin started off the meeting by relating the story of how he had personally witnessed Terence falling – clearly he was first down no question….   Fortunately for me Mick came to my rescue and mentioned that he had witnessed a fall by Mark Lindorff earlier that morning as well.   So now there was just a glimmer of hope that perhaps I hadn’t been the first – back and forward it went with embarrassing eye witness accounts flooding the floor for each of us, each one better than the last and getting bigger and more exaggerated by the minute.    God at this rate, we’ll be more famous than Laurel & Hardy I thought.   I just had to intervene and nip this in the bud, rather stupidly in hindsight……I posed a question to Arab and Mick “well can you give me the definition of a fall cos I’m not sure I actually fell”…….   If ever the consultant spoke too soon it was now, and I was summarily fined and because I had contested the fall with such a crap defense the fine was now doubled thank you very much……40Kina - ouch!  

A lesson learned the hard way – but at least I was a comic relief for the group and now everyone seemed to ease a bit and the fines began to flow hard and fast.   At a later juncture in the expedition I personally fined Arab for his ugly choice of socks – each day he donned uglier long socks than the day before, always with hoops…..one day Geelong socks (blue and white hoops), another the Crows (ugly yellow, blue and red hoops) in any event he took it well and paid his 5Kina fine.   All square mate but whose counting J

Chris Packer (a.k.a Ralph) and Ash Harrison on break

Our fines system brought forth some notable and notorious transgressors, who both fined others and were, fined on a daily basis themselves.   A couple of names that come to mind Chris Packer (respectable tax accountant by day and hapless victim of the ever increasing fines by night) – we named him “Ralph” after a couple of days due to his uncanny ability to gather fines like a local would collect bananas.   Why Ralph you ask?    Easy…… Ralph Fiennes.    That’s Mr. Fines to you!    He was a constant source of hilarity over the course of the trip, racking up fine after fine each day, always self deprecating and willing to take it on the chin – good on you Ralphy.    

Mark Patterson (a.k.a Patto) with Bren gun at Isurava museum

Another of the colorful characters that we got to know pretty well was Mark Patterson.   In his real life “Patto” is the CEO of the Ballarat Roosters in the Victorian Football League (professional Australian Rules football league).  Patto’s motivation for coming on the trip; other than his desire to test himself physically and mentally was to join an elite group of people who have completed the trek along with their spouse.  Patto’s wife had done it the year before and raved about the experience, not to be left out Patto (who had a rather dodgy knee – full replacement a decade earlier) was determined to also complete it.   It was evident that he was a character when at our first tribal council at Deniki on that fateful second night when he produced from his pocket a cigarette butt that he found on the track earlier in the day.   Leaning heavily on his extensive CSI skills (directly from the TV show) and noting that the butt was relatively fresh, not sodden like everything else on the jungle floor and clearly surmised that one of our group had obviously smoked it.  As well, during the day he quietly observed that there were two smokers in the group and it could only one of two people.   So it was with this circumstantial, and some might say flimsy evidence that he rather sheepishly called out Barry Standfield (a.k.a. Big Baz) as the culprit……gutsy move considering Baz was close to 6’4’’ and over 220lbs.   Baz had been a well known professional football player and just a tad intimidating as he starred at Patto incredulously, at which point Patto now seemed to momentarily waiver in his conviction……, but after a couple of tense seconds, Baz smiled, agreed it was likely him and didn’t contest the fine – everyone roared with laughter and a wave of relief broke over Patto’s face, but from that point on he became, like Ralph a lightning rod for fines each day.  

We were quickly to learn that the group had many characters (we’ll hear more about them in future blogs – yes, you know who you are….) but each day both Patto (smiling his toothy grin) and Ralphy laughed off fine after fine, often contesting and losing (which doubled the fines) but relishing the laughter and camaraderie that it brought to the group.   They quite adeptly worked out that to really get the group to gel and function effectively was a good dose of laughter.   This daily ritual (tribal council) was to become one of the centerpieces to our day’s activities with everyone looking forward to reliving the day through the “fines” stories.   Well done boys.

On the bus ride back from Owers Corner (end of our expedition), our final fines were tallied – Ralphy and Patto clearly led the way with a significant amount of Kina each against their names, but as with all our experiences on the track, where everything was shared it was quickly agreed to that we should also share the collective cost of the fines and we all happily paid 50Kina each for the privilege.  

In all, Mick had gathered an additional 1250Kina as a tip for the porters and that bus journey back to Port Moresby was full of laughter and reminiscences of the fines and the situations that brought them about.     Who would have thought that the fines program would be one of the best parts of the trip?

The Adventure of a Lifetime

Wow what an unbelievable adventure!   Over the coming weeks I plan to share with you some of stories from my expedition to Papua New Guinea as well as some of the lessons I learned along the way – clearly there were quite a few.  As you know and for those playing along at home, prior to heading out on my trek I had researched every aspect of the trip “six ways to Sunday” or so I had thought…..

I arrived into Melbourne's International airport on Saturday November 5th in the early afternoon and was greeted by my mate – Craig Darrell (see blog 6 – Why Kokoda?)  Our bus back to the Melbourne airport was leaving on Sunday morning at 3:00 am from the local sports ground, so I had little time to acclimatize to the new time-zone (16 hours behind Canada), and after a 28 hour journey was just a tad disoriented with jetlag to say the least.  Our first flight took us from Melbourne to Brisbane (3+ hrs) with a two hour stopover before boarding our Air Niugini flight (PX003) and heading to Port Moresby which was another 3+ hours north of Brisbane.   The Coral Sea was so beautiful as we jetted silently far above the many reefs and turquoise fringed islands far below.   Idyllic thoughts flooded my mind as I sat there contemplating the journey ahead and the paradise and beauty of the Papuan jungle, but I guess the young Australian militiamen also had the same thoughts as they chugged along on their troopships in 1942 on their way north.   As I was soon to find out I was just as naïve as those young soldiers all those years ago.  

We met the final members of our group which had now swelled to 23 trekkers, three guides plus our native porters (“the boys” as they were affectionately known to everyone).   The heat and local smells were an unusual and overpowering; some might say even an intoxicating mix as we deplaned at Jackson’s Field airport with our backpacks and gear mid afternoon.  The plan was to overnight at the Airways hotel which was close proximity to the airport so we could catch our turbo prop over to Kokoda first thing the next morning.  After a swim and a beer (only one mind you J) we had our final briefing from Mick O’Malley (Owner and lead guide for Australian Kokoda Tours and retired Super Featherweight Commonwealth boxing champion).   I can't seem to shake the boxing influence and overtones with this adventure - hear that Horace?!

As I listened along with the others in the group of which I only knew two people, it struck me that there seemed to be an inordinate number of rules that we needed to adhere to but clearly they knew what they were talking about as I was about to find out the very next day.  Not to scare us, but he reiterated that if we didn’t follow along there would be potential health risks and consequences of which the likes we'd never even contemplated - you can do the math on this one.

Early next morning - 4:30 am to be precise (which was to become a habit for the next 10 days) I was awakened to sound of the cohorts stirring and readying themselves for the adventure ahead – one last check of the pack, first aid, malaria tablets, water purification tablets, the list went on and on.   Breakfast was at 5:30 am with the first group heading to the airport shortly thereafter, fortunately I was scheduled on the later flight which gave me another 30 min before we left.  Who knew that this would be my last solid meal for the remainder of the trip?  We got to the airport around 6:30 and so began the weigh in – each of us had to be weighed along with our equipment to ensure we could balance the plane.  

The initial group was the recipients of the first prank of the trip.  Mick told the first two guys in all seriousness that had to be weighed but that they needed their clothes off to do so accurately, I can see them now, going "Jeez if Mick says we need to strip then we had better".   My compatriots began by taking their t-shirts off as quick as a flash and were about to unbuckle their pants before everyone in the terminal began laughing hysterically, I mean everyone…….first point to Mick!   So glad it wasn’t me cos I guarantee I would have done the same thing.



Lethal and Heath at the back of the bus

After our weigh in and lots of waiting about we finally walked out to our plane on the tarmac and boarded – I didn’t realize that there was so much planning into the balancing of a plane, although Mick wanted to load just two more packs - he was like a dog with a bone – and just wouldn’t let up until the pilot finally had had enough and flatly refused to take on any more weight.   Finally the turbo-props roared to life and before you knew it we were lifting off over the dry and dusty city of Port Moresby and headed over the mountains to the lush and very green village of Kokoda and the grass airstrip beyond, just 30 minutes away.  Our pilot was clearly an expert as I don’t think I’ve had a smoother landing…..ever!   


Kokoda airstrip

As soon as I stepped down from the plane the heat hit me like a sledgehammer – shit it was hot!   I could feel the sun prickling my skin and I quickly applied sunscreen and my bush hat to stop the imminent burn.  The advance party was already in the village some 1km away waiting for us so we raised our packs and began the walk to meet them, have a quick lunch and begin our adventure.   No worries I thought, only a kilometer…..I could do that walking on my hands!

Now I thought I was pretty fit; what with all of the hiking around Toronto each weekend for the past three months, the fitness with Horace three times per week, not to mention the mountain training weekend in the mountains outside Vancouver but as it turned out I was unprepared for what I was about to face.   In the first two hundred meters I was already sweating profusely and gulping from my Platypus water bladder, my Achilles was sore and swollen from sitting too long on all the flights over the prior five days so I was limping badly……not a good sign by any standard, and by this time I was trailing the pack by some distance with my unhappy porter trudging along behind me.   I'm sure he was thinking "why me? - the slowest guy.....really?"

As I limped ever so slowly into the village of Kokoda I was truly beginning to doubt both my sanity and my ability to actually do this – it was a very sobering walk/limp to the village and to be honest I was at one of my lowest ebbs for the trip.   To say I was disheartened would have been an understatement of epic proportions, but one thing kept going over and over my mind.  “What would dad have done?”   I realized then and there that if I was going to be get through this then I would have to just suck it up and stop whining and get on with it – get past the pain……or as dad rather eloquently said to the nurse after his five hour brain surgery “I don’t have any pain and that’s all there is to it!”   He mentally had dismissed the pain therefore he didn’t have any – the power of the human mind eh?

Thanks dad – another lesson to you mate!

A Dingo's Breakfast.....a what?

As you may or may not know I’m a voracious reader (really?? – thank you Sherlock Holmes), and never has that been more firmly ensconced that during my preparation for my upcoming trip to Papua New Guinea.   The expedition that I’m about to embark on is a very famous part of Australian folklore, and with me being a bit of history buff is right up my alley.  

So what the hell does a “Dingo’s breakfast” have to do with your expedition to Papua New Guinea?   Great question……

The year was 1942, and Australia was under the threat of invasion by the Forces of the Empire of Japan.  They had been unstoppable since their surprise attack at Pearl Harbour and subsequent surge across the Pacific and much of South East Asia, landing on the north coast of Papua New Guinea their aim was to completely catch the allies off guard, as they had done so recently in Malaya and capture Port Moresby by overland route vs. a seaborne invasion having recently been defeated in the battle of the Coral Sea by a combined US and Australian naval force.   At that time Australia was completely unprepared and unprotected as their regular army was fighting in North Africa with the British 8^th army.  

So the task was left to a small, mostly untrained and definitely under equipped rag-tag militia force   (39^th battalion) to hold off further advance.   The militia force was made up of those that were either too young or too old for the regular army, so it was a real mixed bag of characters that set out from Port Moresby to Kokoda with all of their gear into the vast unknown that July morning in 1942 (at that time the track wasn’t marked, it ran in a circuitous route from village to village over the mountains and used primarily by local tribesmen, brave missionaries and the occasional miner looking for his fortune).  

The odds were clearly stacked against them;  having to carry all of their own gear – including weapons, ammunition, water and finally food.   It’s hard to fathom that food was the least of their worries and often last to be packed, with much of it being left behind.  They were truly beast of burden – remember no high tech packs and walking paraphernalia, they had canvas packs, with thin shoulder straps (must of cut into them painfully), cotton clothing that soaked up the sweat and chaffed mercilessly, well you get the picture.…painful to just think about it actually.  The worst must have been about the third day out on the track, when they had pretty much run out of food, and this is where the phase was coined a “dingo’s breakfast”.  It was in reference to when the soldiers got up in the morning – stiff, sore, hungry and aching all over that they all enjoyed a “dingo’s breakfast”…… a bit of a scratch, a piss and a look around.   Shoulder your gear boys and let’s go – that’s all there is.   They walked for eight brutal days until they reached the village of Kokoda and a date with destiny.

Fast forward sixty nine years, and fortunately for me I’ll be in a team that has all the high tech gear including maps (nice touch!), an abundance of food, as well as friendly villages if we need to procure additional supplies.  Clearly my hope is that I won’t need to resort to a “dingo’s breakfast” anytime soon, but that being said, as part of the experience I might just have to do it once as a salute to those brave souls who passed this way all those years ago.

As you can see by my stories over the past month (I know if feels longer doesn’t it), the significance of this expedition is not only in the physical and mental effort required to conquer the track, but the historical legacy for me as an Australian who grew up surrounded with these stories.    You mention the “Kokoda Track” to an Aussie and there is a universal understanding of the extreme sacrifice and dedication paid to hold the track in those dark and desperate days of 1942. 

I’m leaving later this afternoon (got that John Denver song in my head and can’t seem to get it out – Leaving on a Jet Plane), during my expedition I won’t be able to post any new blogs, but have skillfully packed an old fashioned pen and notebook ready to jot down my thoughts, emotions and stories from the track as I definitely want to share all the trials and tribulations of my adventure with you.  

Clearly the upside for you is that you’ll be able to enjoy my experiences and stories from the safety and comfort of your own couch, while sipping a latte or perhaps a glass of merlot – hey it’s almost better than National Geographic! 

So until my next installment……….