Fred to DB Day Trip

Come to think about it; if I were to paddle from Fred's to DB in a day, that would make it a day-trip, which means I won't have to bring extra water and camping gears...!

It turns out, if I don't go around the Islands east of On Gong Chau, and if I don't go over to Lamma, I can trim the route down to 70Km.

Wow, that suddenly seems like such a good idea!

0400 breakfast, fill camel pack with water, check sunrise/sunset/ tide chart

0425 move kayak and gears to launch site

0445/0.0k launch from Tai Tan
0530/ 4 k Ko Lau Wan
0645/10k Mai Fan Tsui
0830/ 18k Is. outside of Long Ke Wan
0845/ 20k between Pak Lap and that piece of rock...
0945/ 25k SW Point of On Gong Chau
1145/ 35k S. Tip of Tung Lung Is.
1245/ 40k Hok Tsui between Cape and rocks
1345/ 45k SW tip of Cape D'Arguilla
1430 /49k NW tip of Tong Bor Chau
1500/ 52k NW tip of Ap Lei Chau
1545/ 55k E. tip of Explosive Is.
1645/ 60k W. Tip of that rock off Kennedy Town (Mt. Davis?)
1745/ 65k N. Tip of Siu Kau Yi Chau(?) <--- that small rock East of Peng Chau
1845/ 70k Landing in Disco Bay Tai Pak Wan
70.02k --> pig out in Wildfire ^___^

Gears on deck/ on me:
1) me, Kayak, paddle, PFD-aka-seat,
2) Paddle leash/ lanyard
3) 2L Water (Camel Pack?)
4) SPF lotion and lipstick.
5) sponge
6) Map
7) Spraydeck
8) wrist watch
9) sugar bomb of some sort (M&M's, Mars Bar, Power Gel...)
10) Paddle-float
11) Tow Line
12) notepad and pencil with floatie
13) Sun glasses fastened with elastics
14) hat or cap fastened with lanyard.
15) GPS?
16) Compass?

Things to keep in water-tight container:
1) Strobe Light
2) Space Blanket
3) flash light to wear on head
4) Lighter, candles, fire-starter
5) FA kit.
6) windbreaker
7) dry clothes
8) Cell Phone
9) Fred, Dennis and Coastguard's number written down (in case of phone failure)
10) Extra space blanket.
11) Extra copy of map (murphy's law)
12) Extra batteries
13) Octopus and Cash

From Fred's to Disco Bay in One Day?

Going back to look at the few trip logs I kept online, it turns out I had managed to paddle 60Km in a day in the summer, when the wind and current were in my favor.

So if I were to launch at the crack of dawn, (say, 0445) and skip lunch, I might be able to paddle from Fred's to DB in a day. Of course, I will have to land in the dark again... (15hrs of non-stop paddling to cover 76km, appr 5k/hr is quite reasonable.)

First Trip since Sabbatical

Heh, there goes my 2009 resolution of never landing in the dark again. Good thing Dennis is always so sensible and conservative in trip planning. So for our first trip in March, we will just head over to Grass Island and circumnavigate it.

The plus side is that there will be no major channel crossing; the down side is that there really isn't anything interesting to look at. I suppose we can do some rolling to look at the sea creatures if the water is clear that day. Afterall, Chek Chau (North of Grass Is.) is one of the top diving spots in Hong Kong.

Let's say we do Sunday (8th March):

0100 / Low Tide (0500 fastest)
0830 / Meet and brief at Fred's
0900 / High Tide
1000 / 0.km: Fred's (launch)
1100 / 5km: Southern Tip of Grass Is.
*circumnavigate counterclockwise
1200 / low tide
1230 / 12km: Pier of Grass Is.

lunch break

1400 /12km depart from Grass Is.
1500 /17km: Fred's. Clean up, debrief in the Thai restaurant in Sai Kung?
2000 / high tide (1600 fastest)

Good heaven, it's 20 degrees C in HK today. I'm beginning to resent Japan...
* Tidal data is for Ko Lau Wan

Foot In Mouth Syndrome

It's just like me to open up a can of worm and have to eat it too. I found the captain of Authority; he found my blog.

Wish I was more polite about him and his crew. Actually, I meant to say that they are all very nice people; I just happened to have used some, err... "unconventional words" to express my gratitude. He is really nice about it though, I hope he wasn't offended.

Strawberries and Wine

Anyway, I am going back to the Coco Winery tomorrow for what I am sure would be the last time in my life. It's a beautiful place, and I am sorry that I will never see it again; but still, I haven't seen the ocean for a year now, I have to say I am very glad to leave Tochigi behind.

I just hope it's gonna be sunny tomorrow. Because we are also going to go and pick strawberries at Ichigo no Sato in the morning.

Authority 591: my guardian angel at sea

I still can't sleep!

And I am in a state of constant euphoria, what's wrong with me?

Well actually, I got some sleep last night. I think what went wrong is that I keep getting up to read a novel everytime I lie in bed for 10 minutes and can't fall asleep. And then I ended up finishing the entire book as the sun threatens to rise...

Funny how I used to dread sunsets; now I am nervous about sunrises too.

Right, that irrational fear of sunset. I have been going through my mishaps on the water in my head lately, as I remembered how I overestimated my speed and waited until well pass 4pm to leave Po Toi for Lamma Island. By the time I reached Aberdeen, it was dark enough that I had to turn on the strobe light.

That was my 4th day of being stuck in a kayak, away from civilizations. I suspect my head wasn't working properly, either due to heat-exhaustion or, well, general exhaustion (fatigue). I actually arrived Po Toi before noon and allowed myself to lie around on the warm sand and procrastinate till 4:30 to depart. I just glanced at my map and decided I didn't need to embark until 4pm, I even talked myself into believing that I was protecting myself from a potential heat-stroke. That was... suicidal.

I was paddling that crazy-busy channel between Aberdeen and Lamma. The sea was calm but the sun was also threatening to retire. It's pretty obvious that I wasn't thinking at all, because I decided the only way to survive was to paddle the shortest distance between where I was and Lamma. That is to say, smack in the middle of the shipping lane.

Bloody hell, that was really stupid.

I tried to catch every mini push generated by the boats-driven ripples (waves). But my gears were heavy, and Indian Summer was also taking in a long of water. I had to stop at intervals to bail water out with my sponge. The sun was setting so it was right in my eyes; the sunglasses weren't providing enough protection and soon my eyes were protesting. I had to close my eyes for intervals to retain my visions. Even with sunglasses on and my eyes closed, I was still seeing red the entire time. I was getting dizzy from the constant glare and the heat.

I also had to keep turning around to watch the chain of sealiners behind me. Literally, there was a long queue of them. They started out so far away that it was very difficult to judge their distance. In fact, I wasn't even sure if they were heading my way, or if they were sailing away from me.

So I shutted my eyes and paddled on. I was terrified, I knew there was no way in hell I could get back before nightfalls. I started to zone out, which happened too often in these ridiculously long trips. It's a silly thing to do, of course, you are suppose to be alert and ready to respond to anything the sea might throw at you. Ha! Alert and responsive! Fat chance. I'm pretty sure my mental capacity was seriously compromised by that time. But then again, a lot of people think I have always had compromised mental capacity... u_u

Next thing I knew, I was only 10 meters away from a gigantic, powder-blue sealiner. I jabbed my paddle into the water to my right and made a sharp 90 degrees turn. and paddled as fast and hard as humanly possible. For the second time of that trip, I asked myself, "why the frog am I sitting on, instead of wearing my PFD??????!?? Grrr.."

The gigantic sealiner generated a huge pull on my kayak; and I can feel my vessel being sucked backward towards it. I paddled desperately, not thinking about anything other than to get away from that monster. The stern of my kayak sank into the water and even my waist was below the waterline. The bow of Indian Summer turned up hopefully, I paddled frantically, thinking only to gain forward movements inch by inch. The waves generated by the sealiner was huge, but for some reasons I knew I wasn't going to capsize, despite the violent rockings of my tiny vessel.

After much struggles and a sh!tload of adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream, I felt the pull towards the sealiner began to ease. I moved myself closer towards the Hong Kong Island as the powder-blue sealiner passed through the channel, blissfully oblivious to the fact that they had almost ran over an insane, suicidal kayaker. (Their stupid radar probably thought I was a particularly large piece of drift wood...)


The calm that rippled through me afterwards was unreal. I was panting, relieved, glad to be alive, and amazed at my own stupidity. I paddled on meekly, trying to deal with the adrenaline dump that was still surging through my blood.

I kept looking behind again, more sealiners were lined up behind me, I also saw a small sailboat closing in. Having had the displeasure of being rammed by a small dinghy while I was windsurfing in St. Stephen Beach, I was getting really wary about the approaching yacht. "Gosh, not another one of those bullies."

But it was no bully, it was an angel, the answer to my frantic prayers. (metaphorically speaking, of course. I am an atheist.) They came alongside my kayak at a gentle speed, and one of the crew spoke to me.

"You are paddling in the middle of the fairway." he stated the obvious. (I mean, how could he think that I did not notice? Didn't I just fought for my life..?)

"I know" I shot back moodily. Last thing I needed was another assault to my morale. What is he going to do, make me do lines for not following the guidelines of watersports safety?

"Where are you going?"

"Pak Kok Tsuen, the Northern point of Lamma Island." (What is it to you, you self righteous prat, I silently cursed.)

Just goes to show how contemptuous I can be. (or.. I ... am..???) Because the gentleman then went on to offer to tow me back, I declined initially, claiming that I don't have much further to go (I was near Luk Chau by that time.) But eventually, sensibility came back to me and I accepted their offers. They gave me a line to hold onto, which resulted in my kayak trying to speed forward sideway... I constantly felt like I was about to capsize and had to fight the instinct to brace with my paddle. I tensed up every muscle in my body, getting increasingly terrified by the minute. Eventually, I released the line, and politely declined their offer again.

After some discussions between themselves, they slowed down their yacht for me again. This time, one of the young men on the yacht reached down from the port side gunwhale and grabbed the toggle in the bow of my kayak. He then tied the towline to it. Finally, my kayak was moving the way it's supposed to. I could sit back, relax and feel ... saved.

They offered me drinks; most of the young men onboard were drinking. Losing the last bit of my modesty (!?), I practically begged for a can of coke. Would have loved a can of beer after such a long journey, but was terribly dehydrated. I remember leaning back in the cockpit, the paddle lying idly on my spraydeck. I stared up into the beautiful yacht as I sipped the heavenly can of cold soda, admiring the unblemished white hull, marvelling at her beauty not unlike the translucent skin of a small child. White as angels were supposed to be; her sail spreaded out magnificently like the wings of a benevolent angel. It was as close to a religious experience as I've ever experienced in my life.

After a few polite exchanges with the crew and helm of the yacht, I fell back into a blissful silence and quietly watched the crews onboard. One of the young men was leaning out of the yacht with a bottle of beer in his hand, in a posture very much like the album cover of "Chet Baker & Crew." I then stared at the sail again; the number "591" was printed on the main sail. "Hmm.... 591 ... laputa... I must remember this number. It's my angel's number, my lucky number..." I said to myself quietly.

At some point I asked them where they were going, they told me they were heading back to Disco Bay Marina...


Why am I digging up such an old memory? Because I just found out today that this magnificent, angelic yacht is called "Authority," and her owner is Mr. Torben Kristensen, who still lives in DB Marina.

I should try to contact him, see if I can get his address and at least send him a thank-you postcard. If not... well, I am sure I will run into him at sea again. Hopefully next time I see him, I will not be the center of another self-inflicted disaster...

Insomnia Again

I don't know what is it; maybe it's just nerves of relocation again. Maybe it's the new brand of tea I have been drinking for the last week or so. I haven't been able to sleep for 3 nights in a row. Actually, I have been having troubles getting sleep for over a week now, but a week ago, I was still getting some sleep at night; I only stayed up late voluntarily, staring at maps of Hong Kong longingly and making trip plans. Now, I can't get any sleep even if I try.

I was so tired yesterday morning, I fell asleep while I was riding to Mashiko with Osamu san. In fact, I was so very tired, I fell asleep on our way back too. It's rather embarrassing; you just don't snore in front of your male coworkers in Japan! On the brighter side, it means I am getting some sleep, even if it is only in transit.

I also fell asleep on the train yesterday, riding from Imaichi back to Utsunomiya. I fell asleep again today on my way to Suzume. You know, this is awfully familiar. I was exactly like this back when I was working nightshifts. I used to sleep on the minibus and MTR, and I would know exactly when to wake up -- not a minute too soon, and not a minute too late -- without fail!

I thought I worked night shift by choice before, but then again, maybe my body can't handle sleeping at night. I know sleeping adequately is very important, I get grumpy when I am sleep-deprived. Today, I actually felt nauseated, dizzy, and cold; and I snapped at a kid for trying to rough-house with me at the end of the class, and I'm feeling pretty ashamed of myself. This is all too familiar, I lived like this for 2 years, back in the days when I used to work full time at night and then play in the water from sunrise till sunset, scraping only about 2 to 3 hours of sleep a day in transit and during lunch break.

But I don't want this anymore. I used to thought of sleeping as a waste of time, but I am older now, and I know my body better, I need my sleep. The trouble is getting them.

On the brighter side of things, despite being so tired and sleep deprived, I have finally mastered the discipline of dragging myself to work on time. I used to be late regularly, working as an underpaid interpreter. But it's not very becoming for a teacher to be late, and I am almost proud to say that I've only been late twice this year, due to fucked up schedule-change, and trains-delay due to "jinshinjiko" (i.e. somebody killed himself by jumping in front of a passing train.)

I'm going to try to get a nap before I go back to work at 3pm. But then again, I already know I am going to fail...

I can't believe I just pulled another all-nighter to make trip plans for Hong Kong while I am still in Japan!

I had an adult eikaiwa group this morning, all I could talk about was poaching and crabbing and kayak-camping. My tongue is still in Japan; but my mind is already somewhere in the big blue sea.

I was hoping to dock a kayak in DB so I can regularly put in two-days circumnavigation of Lantau drills, and still have a soft bed to sleep in once I finish. But as I start plotting around on Google Earth, I begin to appreciate how good Fred's location is. I'm half a day away from Tung Peng Chau, Double Havens, and maybe even Long Ke Wan. Which means, when I am in shape again, I can do regular day trips to any of these places. Double Haven holds such great memories for me though, I wouldn't mind doing some leisurely camping trips there either. (Like three or four days with only 30Km of travelling!)

I'm still feeling rather nostalgic about the west side of Hong Kong, especially around Lamma, Lantau, and even the airport, but still, this is a great chance for me to get to know Sai Kung better. I was reluctant to base my kayaking activities there before, mostly because of my many disastrous landings during my circumnavigate-HKSAR trip. But once I know the area better, once I know where are the landing sites, once I get to explore the area in broad daylight, it can't be any worse than, say, Lantau or Lamma.

Better yet, Fred's and Disco Bay are only 76Km away. So if I feel particularly masochistic, I could possibly cover the distance in two days. To avoid any more disastrous landing and night-paddling though, I prefer to give myself three days. Still, it's quite a reasonable distance and it's probably a good route to use both for explorations and for long distance drills. Once I am familiar enough with the areas, I should be able to add detours like a quick visit to the Ninepins group, Waglan, etc.

As I mull over route plans and such, these emotions came to me strong and loud:

1) Longing. I miss going out to sea.

2) Fear. An irrational fear of the sunset. An irrational fear of the dark. It's like I have regressed back to being a small child, completely unexperienced in the camping craft. The darkness of the nature grew on me when I was camping in the Algonquins as a teenager; but now, the fear of the it is amplified 10 folds, to the point where I start to panic when the trip route distance accumulates to 45Km or so. I start wondering, "would it be past 6pm by that time? Would it be too late to start looking for landing sites?"

3) Dread. The dread of heading out again after lunch break. I remember lying around on warm sand around noon, after a modest lunch. My body tired and punished beyond what is humane, and I knew I need to move on, so I got up and felt how shaky my legs were; dragged myself back to the edge of the water, unleashed my kayak, and dragged the heavy, half-filled-with water craft back into the water with great dismay. Sometimes I will fall on my knees in exasperation, regretting taking so long a lunch break such that the tide has ebbed too much, leaving me with a punishing distance to cover. And then I would feel ashamed of myself, "whose compassions are you appealing to? You're alone; there is nobody to help you do your work. So stop acting pathetic."

4) Contentment. Oh yes, lying on the warm sand with a full stomach, bathing in the warm sunlight, I've yet to experience greater pleasures.

5) Thrill. That excitement of riding the currents, with the waves pushing behind you and you catch it with your paddles in effortless but brisk strokes so that you travel so fast that you momentarily fear the loss of control. The speed multiplies with the fear to heighten every sense and you are excited to the point of being indecent...

6) Insanity. By the third day of a solo trip, I go gaga predictably. Like, I would talk to the clouds, making up stories as they transform. I would also hold conversations with my left paddle "Lisa," and my right paddle "Richard." And I thought I was an asocial loner! Ha!

So, this year, I should work on what I fear: either do more planned night-paddling in areas I know well and with little traffic; or avoid making any more emergency landings. I should also discipline myself to start looking for the nearest landing site by 1700. Also, to avoid feeling too punished, I shouldn't plan too many solo trips that are longer than 3 days. If I need to cover more distance than that, I should take a break in between, get a shower, hang out with family and friends, before I push on.

As soon as I got off work, I have been pouring over maps of HK again.

I can't believe how much I have forgotten. For example, I saw Yim Tin Chai on the Sai Kung map, and briefly wondered where that is. Then I zoomed out of the map and saw where it was located, then I remember, that's where I finally landed my kayak after Tung Ping Chau, all dehydrated and exhausted.

I still remember I had beef and vegetables on rice for luch that day, along with three sport drinks. The food was rather nasty, but I made myself eat it all anyway. I mean, it can't be any nastier than trying to eat peanut butter without any water.

I am a bit apprehensive about trip-planning again. I used to paddle so regularly that getting the equipments together was second nature to me. But now, even though I am still stuck in the middle of inland Japan, I am worrying about finding a good enough sponge to bail water out, to find enough floatations, etc.

Another thing I want to experiment with is a sea anchor. I want to be able to sleep in a kayak, but I will probably have to buy a wider and more stable kayak first. Another thing is to be able to rig my kayak with wood planks or other stuff so I can lie down and stay dry in a calm sea. (I don't think I will be trying to sleep when it's stormy anyway...)


Issues I need to deal with:

1) better trip planning. Most if not all of my solo trips have been very punishing, with frequent late night emergency landings. Ego must defer to safety and sensibility.

2) Make some friends, for christ's sake. group trips aren't for show-offs, it's for socializations...

3) become a better swimmer. I still haven't capsized in a solo trip yet, but it's bound to happen, sooner or later.

4) Practice and practice and race against time to pitch a tent, especially in the dark. 75% of the punishments in a solo trip came from laziness and trying to survive in a bivy. I also reasoned that it's a waste of energy and time to pitch a tent, sleep for a few hours, and then break camp again to repack. Well, get used to it. For longer trips I need to rest well to be able to continue to paddle safely.

5) rolling. I suck at it. Actually, it's more accurate to say that I can't do it. I can only do it half of the time when I am calm, when I am merely practicing on calm water with a watchful partner. And I absolutely cannot do it on the LHS. So, in all practicality, rolling will not save my life in a stormy sea that is rough enough to capsize me.

That's all for now. I just remember all my precious kayak logs were messy loose-leaves, so more likely than not, I cannot go back to read them again, ever. So, from now on, I should probably put my logs online, maybe in a blog.

-Lia

Last Friday, I had classes in the Szm-Kindergarten as usual.

Most of the kids were leaving the building when I got there. Most of the kids were well-mannered, they said "hello" and "see you" while waving to me. Kids in Japan learn to bow and say thank you and other polite things to each other everyday in school, as a routine. So they are all supposed to be little gentlemen and ladies, right?

Wrong. My days in Japan are numbered; I have less than two months left in Utsunomiya and I kept hoping to my lucky star that I can get away from this hole before I have a car accident (as most teachers and staff in my school already had multiple accidents), or worse yet, ANOTHER kancho.

And my lucky star wouldn't even grant me that wish.

When I was taking off my shoes and greeting the children at the kindergarten entrance, another stupid boy gave me the good old kancho.

When I grabbed his wrist and yanked him around to face me, he was still smiling. It took him a moment to realize I wasn't smiling.

I willed myself to calm down, then I asked him,

"saki doko sawatta?" (where did you just touched me?)

the boy wasn't smiling anymore. But then he wasn't exactly crying either. Looking into my eyes, he answered,

"oshiri" (your ass)

"sensei ni sonna koto shitewa ikenaiyone?" (you know you shouldn't do that to your teacher right?)

the boy nodded.

I stared at him for some times. Maybe 10 seconds or so. Then I said to him,

"ja, nani iimasuka" (well, are you going to say something?)

"gomennasai" the boy whispered.

He didn't look particularly upset or scared; but then I wasn't exactly shaking with anger, like I was the first time a boy did that to me.

So what have I learnt?

1) if you want to be noticed, jabbing your finger against someone's asshole usually does the trick.
2) I still haven't developed that "sixth sense" that many gaijin-teachers claim to have. (many have advised me to always keep my back to the wall. But then again, I was trying to take off my shoes.... so, lesson learnt here: no exceptions. Not even when you are taking off your shoes, you should watch your back, always.)
3) I am getting better at disciplining kids, and more importantly, I am a lot more forgiving than what I used to be.

Then I noticed I wasn't even upset at all. Funny how a year ago, I got so very upset at these little pranks that kids like to pull. It's not like I was an angel when I was little, so I really should have been a lot more understanding, and forgiving.

The classes went well that afternoon. Takumi's mom came to watch our lesson, she wrote a note of appreciation, she said many nice things, but somehow, the only sentence that felt really personal and touching was "Lia-sensei, arigatou" -- it reminds me of working at PAVC, when clients sometimes write notes of thank you's even after their pets died.

One of the things I used to hate most about Japan is how fake people are. If they don't like you, if they have a problem with you, they won't tell you, they will just talk behind your back. If they did nothing wrong, but their superior decides to be difficult, they will always bow and apologize anyway.

But I am starting to appreciate how important to have these social rituals now. Did I not teach children that they should apologize when they've done something wrong? How is that any different from saying thank you when you have been helped? I still remember clearly how I had offended a stranger in Canada when I didn't thank him after he went out of his way to help me. I thought he was being difficult then; but now, thinking back, I can feel my cheeks burn with shame. I was being a very tyical, rude, ungrateful Hongkie.

I wouldn't want to come back to Utsunomiya, and I am feeling pretty contemptuous about my boss, but still, I like to think that this one-year experience did me some good. Hopefully, I am leaving Japan a better person, a little more patient, a bit more mature, and a lot more polite.

-Lia

It's 0330 and I still can't sleep, and I have early morning classes in Ito tomorrow. It's bizzare.

I have been arranging private language lessons in HK in March. I googled for a HK map, and then I saw Lantau Island, and then I saw all the bays and capes labeled, and the memories hit be so hard my heart literally skipped a beat.

4 hours later, I am still shaking with excitements.

Why did I stop kayaking? I understand now. Now that I am a teacher, now that I handle students and children and learners and young people every day, I understand.

I am not very good at managing people. I am getting better now, but I am not good, and I was horrible. That circumnavigate HKSAR trip, it broke me.

I pushed myself to my physical and psychological limits when I was paddling through outer-Sai Kung in the dark; and then I pushed myself over again on Tung Ping Chau. I didn't know what the ocean was capable of then -- I still don't know now, of course, but at the very least, I know that I don't know. I overestimated myself; I let my pride make the decisions, and mother nature punished me hard for it.

Looking at the map of Lantau, every landmark brings back vivid memories. Some were happy memories, others were frightening.

The worst of it was the emergency landing and camping in the bay just opposite of Kai Yik Jim -- it was dark; from 6 o'clock I started looking for landing site, but there was no beach, it was all rocky shore. Then it was dark, and it was no longer possible to make out the shoreline. I was torn between paddling as fast as I could to find landing site with the remining hint of light of the setting sun; and to stop paddling in the middle of the sea, dry my hands, fish out my cell phone from my dry-bags, and call Dennis to make a safe call.

Finally, I found a pathetic landing site -- I had no idea where I was at the time (by the morning I figured I was just opposite of KYJ, but in the dark, I had no idea.) It was a tiny stretch of small pebbles lined beach no longer than 10 meters in length; I thanked my lucky star for giving me a landing place at last, and tried and tried to call Dennis and Fred. But there was no signal. I dumped all my gears on land, took my EPIRB, two phones and the kayak back onto the water, and paddled as far as I dared to find signal -- but there was no signal. Finally, I spoke into the radio channel that Fred said his friends were monitoring in regular intervals, hoping someone would pick up. Thinking back, it wasn't that important to make that call. The worst that could happen is that Dennis would call the police and report me as missing. But I was psychologically stretched to the breaking point and I needed debriefing. I needed to talk to somebody, I needed to hear myself say and confirm that I was safe and sound.

I was so exhausted that night, I didn't make dinner. Starting a fire felt like too much work. It was all I could do to hang all my wet clothes to dry, and change into something dry, pull out my bivy, and settle into the sleeping bag.

I jammed my flashlight on the rock face so that a ray of light shines right at where my bivy was. I needed to drain the puss and dress my blister wounds on my hands to make sure they didn't get any worse. That was a mistake. A BIG mistake.

I thought I was alone; I wasn't. Santiago said "no man is ever alone at sea. Ever." Well, that's true, but then it's true on the shore as well. The beam of light attracted an army of fireants into my bivy, so there I was, exhausted, psychologically defeated, in pain, lonely, frightened -- and forced to dance on jagged pebbles to get the stupid ants off me.

And I thought I was such a great advanturer. A couple of ants defeated me.

I gave up on dressing my wounds. I gave up on the idea of food. I even gave up on sleep. I shook the ants out of my bivy and moved it to a different spot on that tiny stretch of land, left my flashlight shining on the original spot with the hope that the ants would stay there (they did.) I curled up in my bivy feeling so very very small.

By 4am I was breaking camp. I didn't get any sleep, but it was good to be able to lie down anyway. I still remember the first time I went camping in Algonquin Park, how the darkness frightened me at first, but eventually I grew to love the simplicity of obeying mother nature -- as the chinese people say, "work when the sun rises; rest when the sun sets." Nature can be so simplistic and beautiful when you stop struggling and just go with it.

Breaking camp from KYJ didn't feel beautiful though. There's nothing to do but to struggle.

An hour ago, I wondered why I stopped paddling. It can't be such a mystery, can it?

But I miss the ocean now. I miss Lantau; there is something about suffering every bit of that landscape, somehow, as penniless as I am, it felt as though the Island belongs to me and me alone. To every Hongkie, it's just another polluted Island in the the SA Region. To me, every landmark along that shore is personal, and sacret.

March feels like a life time away. I don't think I can wait that long to embrace Lantau again. To be honest, I don't even know if I will ever come back to Japan again. And if I do, I will die before I'll come back to Utsunomiya. Still, there is no urgency to get to know this city. My body is still doing the work of an Eikaiwa teacher; my heart is already riding the waves in Fred's little Indian Summer.

-Lia