Work so far this year has been great fun and Ecuador was great. The expedition has now moved on to Peru and soon off to Bolivia!!! Loving it!

Lighting a fire in the morning....

A lot of people look at the pile of burnt logs in the morning and get frustrated that they didnt manage to keep their fire going all night.

If you are lucky enough to find an ember then you can restart it quite easily. If all the embers are out, then a fire steel will relight it in exactly the same way! save your matches! give it a go!

Expedition kit.

This is the gear that i live and work with on an expedition, minus clothing, food and water.



mountain hardware lamina 0 (-18 limit) sleeping bag
120ltr flight bag
8 man group shelter
issue reversible bivi jacket
vaude taurus 1
25 ltr forces day pack
msr quick system 1
therma rest prolite regular
issue camelbak
winter jacket
msr whisperlite international
winter trousers
gloves/hat/microlite fleece
first aid kit
petzl myo xp
hennessy hammock explorer dulux asym with 30d hex tarp and garda hitch modification
soft shell
fuel bottle
120ltr berghaus vulcan (modified)
mora frost knife
msr exped maintainence kit/wind shield
snugpack jungle sleeping bag
gloves goretex
mosquito net
googles
mummy liner
snugpack response pack with survival kit
lowa mountain boots
drinksafe explorer bottles
wildcountry climbing harness
40mtr beal rope
lowa jungle boots
asortment of dmm carabiners with sling
5 dmm prowire quick draws
side pouches of my bergen/day pack
walking poles

This is fixed to my body at ALL times to ensure that if the worst should happen, I am prepared.



first aid kit
iodine
pace counter and gear karabiner
gps with waterproof case
emergency strobe
every day firesteel
id tags with blood group
cotton wool tinder
100ft para cord
signalling mirror
spare fire steel
inner tube
fishing kit x 2
spare clip and whistle
water proof matches
knife
waterproof note paper and first aid memoire
knife sharpener
chinagraph pencil
compass
candles
camel bak mouthpeice
spare torch
pencil
button compass
parachord (lil bit extra as a bracelet)
windproof/uv blocking buff
1600ltr filter
waterproof box
mess tin
lighter
dry sack
spare batteries
waterproof storage tin
Lancashire hot pot rat pak

Now its currently a little depleted as im back off to borneo again for six months in three weeks so it needs a top up. i.e more spare batteries etc.... snare wire blah blah blah.... this was just a quick show and tell.

Hope at least someone found that vaguely interesting.....

Crossing the Andes

Believe it or not, the entire reason that this journey took place was due to a bet in a bar. An American called Sean asked me if I'd like to ride a horse with him from Cusco to Bolivia and someone told us that we would die trying. CHALLENGE!

About two weeks later we set off. Cowboy hats, horses, leather saddle bags and the open road of the second highest plain on earth. It is every man’s dream to be so carefree and on an adventure that will be remembered for years to come. Little did we know that the fairy tale would be soon over and that one and a half months of hardship lay ahead of us.

It actually took almost two days to fully get out of Cusco. It stretches far out into the valley, squished between mountains on all sides. The first night was spent in an abandoned house, something that would become quite regular on our trip. The rest of the time we stayed either in my tent or with whoever was kind enough to put us up for the night.

The temperature at night was generally well below freezing. Everything was encased in ice every morning, even to the point where sometimes the horses had ice on their manes. There were no trees and we had to rely on burning dried manure for warmth and my petrol burner to cook the food. I had come fully prepared for this sort of trip from the start whereas Sean often had to wear as many clothes as he physically could to keep out the elements and use the saddle blankets for extra warmth at night as he didn't have a roll mat.

The terrain varied quite regularly on our trip. We would find ourselves in amongst endless rice paddys for a few days, then nothing but mountains and then finally nothing, all the way to the horizon. We tried following the railway lines, power lines, rivers and sometimes roads; always heading south (ish)

We found the local people to have odd advice for us. Our general meetings would go a little something like this. We'd round a corner and there would be a local person gawking at us with their jaw on the floor. (Guess there weren't that many six foot white people on horses in the area.....) "where are you going?" they'd ask. We'd tell them and they'd smile and retort "You and your horses are going to die, would you like a drink?" So whilst hospitable they really were under the impression that what we were trying to do was impossible, yet the Spanish must have done something similar.... that thought always kept me going....

Riding into towns was an even more complex affair and usually involved being surrounded by the entire population who wanted to know everything about us and to help by giving us food for the horses. The further along we went, the less we were told that we were going to die, in fact once we’d passed the half way mark, it was barely mentioned. This definitely boosted our moral. We even had to change the horses shoes around a town called Siquani and people kindly enough offered to help us which was a huge bonus!

The main thing that struck me about this trip was how much people who had nothing were seemingly willing to give to strangers. They were more than happy to let us put the tent up on their land, show us the nearest abandoned house, invite us to stay at their house even! There was more to it than that though, they were genuinely pleased to help, in some cases sharing what little food they had, their cigarettes, getting alcohol and inviting us to drink with them! In return, we shared what we had as well, even helping to sheer a lama at one point!

Our food sources were often few and far between and overall I lost around 12kg on our trip. The main things that we could buy in towns were sweets, bread and tins of fish. I can’t stand fish and never eat it but obviously had to for sustenance! I still have nightmares about tinned tuna/sardines in tomato sauce! Occasionally we did come across the wondrous tinned peaches..... When we got hold of them it was like my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. Opening the tin with a gigantic machete and slurping down the sugary mess whilst sharing out the dividends between the two of us was just magical.

We also found the Church quite helpful along the way. There was at least three separate occasions when we were allowed to sleep in spare rooms within the church/monastery. This was very different to what I had imagined our reception would be but I was very grateful. Its certainly the only times we really ate properly without the help of the locals.

As our journey progressed onwards, things got slower and slower. The mental strain of the task ahead as well as being ill, not having enough food/water and just being exhausted due to the altitude was really taking its toll. The combination of the extreme sun light and lack of oxygen had led to us progressing at a trudge. We were covering a maximum of 20km a day. At one point i actually passed out whilst riding and fell to the floor unconscious, Sean organised someone to drive me to the nearest doctor/medical station, where I was rehydrated, diagnosed with a flesh eating parasite, pumped full of anti-biotics and sent on my way. We stayed put for the next few days with the most amazing local family; so that I had a chance to gain some strength. We were less than 150km from the finish line and there was no way I was giving up now!

The final stage of the journey was down the valley towards Lake Titicaca. We had to pass through both Juliaca and Puno to get to the border. This almost proved to be the hardest part of the journey. Walking the horses through a bustling city, with no way round was very stressful for both them and us. It was also very difficult to find somewhere to keep them over night. We eventually made it to the other side of Juliaca and decided that enough was enough. Once we got past Puno there was no more major settlements and we wanted to make sure we had time to sell the horses. We found someone local who looked like they needed them and sold them to them at a massive discount so that they would be able to afford them. It was a shame that we didnt make it all the way but it was still an incredible journey.

Its by far one of the hardest things that ive ever done and something that I will always remember. This was one of the first really challenging that I had ever undertaken and by the skin of our teeth we had made it work. It taught me that the native people were everything. They were the knowledge, the hospitality, the comfort and the help. Without them, the trip would have been impossible and we would have had to turn back or died in the process. This has meant that on all my other trips I have strived to learn the local language and customs and have as much interaction as possible. Because of all of these experiences, I have come to the conclusion that the poorest people, are the ones who have the most to give and the are the most willing to share it!

This was painted by a local, whilst we slept in an abandoned house. It currently hangs in The Point Hostel Cusco.

People of Papua

Papua New Guinea is another mystical place that has been on my dream list for a very long time. However, as I was in Indonesia already and there were flights more readily available, I decided to go for West Papua instead. Two countries, one island, much like Borneo, separated for political gain but united in culture.

Even through the plane window, as you head into Jayapura, you can tell that this is an incredible place. Surrounded by the most incredible mountains, Jayapura really is a mash of cultures in a mystical back drop.

I met with a local guide called John who was very informative. We had a long chat about the resistance movement in Papua and how i could meet up with some of the ring leaders once I had gotten further into the interior. For the time being I had to sort out finance and permits to visit the interior. Money was a bit of a problem as my card didnt work at a single ATM and my mother kindly sent me a loan via Western Union.... to Papua New Guinea... which I was not in....

Money was eventually sorted and I started the rather laborious process of applying for my interior permit. I had to get passport photos done, then photo copies of tickets, itineraries, my passport and list the name of every place I intended to go to. Without a map that last bit proved quite difficult so I relied on my guide to list off random villages that he thought were of note. I got everything sorted and went down to the police station. I was told by John that I needed to sweeten the deal as that's how everything worked in Papua. So whilst my paperwork was being processed I practiced the classic and age old art of shaking hands and transferring clandestine tips. I convinced myself I was ready for the challenge, the policeman came out of his office to ask me some more questions about my trip, I reached out, shook his hand and the money floated gently to the floor like a feather. He merely looked at it and said, you dropped some money, turned around and walked off. I hastily picked it up and looked over at John who looked like he'd just swallowed his own tongue in fright; he shrugged, I stowed the money in my pocket ready for round two.

Some time later the policeman came back and made me sign something else and then gave me all my paperwork back and told me I was free to go. I didn't see another opportunity to "say thank you" so left as quickly as possible. Maybe he just wasn't the bribing type (odd as every other man and his monkey after that wanted money for even the slightest thing!)

I read through my visa and noticed that even though we'd listed all these amazingly complicated place names off that the clerk had just written the name of the district they were all in. Had we thought of that earlier it would have saved a lot of head scratching. I set off to get my ticket for Wamena and then went to bed early as I could.

In the morning I checked in at the airport. I had one giant rucksack and a smaller one. Other passengers had spears, pigs and bags the size of a Mini Cooper yet no excess of handling fees were even mentioned. The flight was in the twin engined plain shown below and was once a day. The sheer expanse of jungle between Jayapura and Wamena is unimaginable. 300km of the most unexplored jungle and mountains in the world. The scenery took my breath away even from the plane window.

I finally landed and unloaded my gear.

I got in touch with the head guide for the area. His name was Issac and he was a VERY strict Christian who also ran an orphanage. He took me to the police station get all my paper work sorted and then invited me back to his orphanage for some food and to stay the night. This was the first time I encountered sweet potato in Papua. It is virtually the only thing that some of them EVER eat. For dinner I was handed an enormous plate of sweet potato and told to tuck in! I LOVE sweet potato, but by the end of my time in Papua I was sick of the sight of it.

I spent the night in an gigantic bed with the orphans. They ranged from about 12 - 20 years old and were all found on the street.

We sat down that day and planned, did some shopping for provisions on set off for the mountain tribes. I found the climate quite different to the jungle tribal areas that are often shown on television. Everything was very dry, the sun was beating down ferociously and the going was slow due to the altitude. As Baliem valley has only be open to the outside world for a few decades, it still retains a vast amount of traditional Papuan culture. Penis gourds, local languages, and stone age technology were all rife. The valleys were littered with small settlements, hamlets of wooden, round huts.

After a day or so, we came across the first large village and asked if we could stay with them. I ended up sleeping on the floor of one of the main families houses. Darius (my guide) slept with the other Dani tribe members in small room in the back. This room was lined with lots of straw and had a fire pit in the middle. This was great, although this house had a much more modern construction due to the new found wealth of the family, they still preferred to sleep in their original way.

The host was great! A nice pair of boar tusks were shown off via a massive hole in his septum.

We sat round having a conversation about Christianity and how they felt about it. Everybody was quick to state that they were overwhelmed with joy at being saved from the fires of hell and how it had bettered their lives etc. However, when I asked what the first missionary was like, there was an unusual silence.... everyone looked everywhere else but directly at me.... then someone at the back went: "tasted nice" and they all fell about laughing. Apparently they cut him up into six pieces and spread them out amongst the villages in the valley. They then went on to tell me that the chief of the next village originally had six wives but decided to eat one during a particularly poor harvest.

In the morning I was glad to leave. Fun as the night had been, discussing various ways of eating each other, I was eager to get further away from the airport and find people who had had less contact with the outside world. The next village we hit was far more traditional and nestled neatly on the steep side of the valley. The view was breath taking.

The houses were round, with the multi purpose rooms and main kitchens being rectangular. The men all lived in one house, with they wives and children occupying a house each.

The insides of the houses had two floors, believe it or not. The womens houses were also split into 1/3 pig sty and 2/3 ground floor living space.

This village had a lot more traditionally dressed people.

The doors of the houses were so damn small that i felt like I was living with pygmies, it was virtually impossible for me to get in an out in a dignified manner. I had my standard portion of sweet potato that night and we sat around the fire discussing hunting methods, hunting tools, fire making methods (see video at the bottom), their language, culture, their lives in general and after having inhaled my life times limit of smoke from the fire we all fell asleep. I slept like a baby, even though it was cold outside the house was like an oven.

As I completed my time in Western Papua, we had time to loop back and visit a village that was very famous in the local area. They had mummified their chief some 150 years ago and still had him intact. In order to see the chief, we had to have a ceremony and get all dressed up which was awkward to say the least.....

It was an eerie site as they bought a crouched mummy out and stood him on a stool. The man holding him was in the exact same position, wearing the same clothing..... Was almost as if it was the same man....

That was my trip over and done with. It hadnt been anything like id imagined. Visiting the hill tribes as opposed to the jungle people had given me a totally different and very unique perspective into their culture. This was the second place in as many months that I had stayed where cannibalism and head hunting had been, and in some cases still was, an integral part of their culture. Now that I understood their belief systems and reasons behind such an unusual activity, it made a lot more sense and I was more comfortable with it. The Papuans were so stone age with their technologies that I really felt as if i had gained an insight that most British archaeologists would die for. Right down to the continuing use of stone axes, which stopped in Britain thousands of years ago.

Borneo - a Bejalai

Going to Borneo was a childhood dream, an adventure that had finally come to fruition. One of the main reasons for my going there was to experience a culture that was so different to that of the western world in which I grew up. A culture that included tattooing, head hunting and an intricate knowledge of their surroundings.

After leaving Kuching, Sarawak, we found ourselves in Pontianak waiting for a bus to the Bornean interior and Putussibau. This is virtually the "capital" of an area they call "the heart of Borneo" so we knew it was going to be an experience from the start.

The bus journey took 18 hours and was on some of the bumpiest roads I'd ever been on, my head literally hit the roof on several occasions. We arrived and headed off to the forestry department to get some more info. We managed to hook up with an organization called Kompak, a locally run organisation that puts travelers and local guides together. They advised us of where the best places to go tattoo hunting were and the best places to try and make contact with different ethnic groups. Whilst we were sorting out plans, the head honcho aka "Hermas" asked if we wanted to stay in his long house, we couldnt believe our luck. In fact we ended up using it as a base (his choice not ours!) for the rest of our travels and stayed their on and off for a month! The level of hospitality was incredible, i have made a life long friend in Hermas and am going back to see him later this year.

We found a family group of Iban that still knew how to tattoo in a long house called Sadap, which is in a national park that borders Sarawak. We did a little recon trip there just to check everything out, meet and greet, sort out somewhere to stay etc. Then we returned about 10 days later to start one of the most unique tattooing processes on the planet.

On our first night we had dinner with our host family and went to visit the man who did all the tattoos for the tribe.

The following is an extract from my diary:

"Whilst talking to the tattoo master of Sadap in the Kapuas Ulu district, unfortunately he was blind but he still recounted the original system of tattooing and the significance of each design. This man was tattooed with original designs from head to toe, whilst ironically having a plane, rosary and a naked woman tattooed on his chest. When asked how he had come to have such modern designs along side his traditionally covered body several comments arose that made me smile.

The reason for having a plane was as follows; someone else in the village had paddled up into Malaysian Borneo and had managed to catch a lift back into Kalimantan with a missionary. This journey had taken weeks and he was very grateful to have been brought back so swiftly and in such style, having never seen a plane before, so he asked the tattoo master if he could tattoo a sketch of a plane on his chest. The tattoo master did as he asked but found himself jealous, so he set about on a quest to find a plane. He paddled for weeks up through Sarawak until he found an airfield, he looked at the machines with awe, yet was denied a lift back. After deciding there was nothing he could do, he paddled all the way back to Sadap, where he decided that seeing a plane was enough and had a similar design tattooed on his chest.

Now this may be seen as a horror story for those that like tradition to be kept pure, however, the Iban tattoo is a part of their Bejalai, which is similar to the aboriginal concept of Walkabout. Therefore, a plane had been part of their lives, it may not have been a traditional symbol or following the normal structure, but the whole point of a Bajalai is to gain knowledge through experience. This for me is what tattooing is all about, a map of one’s life, a successful joining of both the old and the new ways in something that could be appreciated by all that came across him."

The following photos show the mans tattoos:

We also learned that all Iban men are required to go on a bejalai when they come of age. This is equivalent of the Australian aborigines walkabout. The Iban men must leave their homes and go in search of wealth, knowledge and wisdom for a period of up to one and a half years. During this time they were tattooed by different villages as a map of what they had accomplished. The majority of tattoos bestow protection on the bearer in various different forms and also, due to variances in designs, show the regions and peoples that he has visited.

The tattoo master told me that the order of tattooing for his village was quite precise. They have 5 distinct levels that went as follows:

1. Throat

2. Shoulders (front)

3. Back

4. Lower Body

5. Ribs

Each tattoo represented an animal or sacred spirit in Bornean mythology and or a piece of protection. For example, the tattoos on the mans ribs represent an elephant and the elephants tusks, which protect him from both sides. The tattoo on the back of his neck prevents another tribe taking his head off.

After some discussion they agreed to tattoo me and my traveling partner Sean. We had to follow the specific order but I declined to have one on my throat. This led to further discussion and he agreed that I could have my shoulders done with the Bunga Terong, what some of you may know as the Bornean Rose. I was overjoyed and felt really privileged to be given such an opportunity. It was clearly a big decision for him but one that he felt happy to do. That night we had a few drinks of the local palm beer, Tuak (approx. 5-8%)

I awoke with the sun, after spending the night in the forestry departments hut, finding the man preparing the ink outside with a candle and a bowl.

These photos show the collection of soot, the binding of the needles and the creation of the ink:

There were two sets of tools in use, the outliner had 4 needles and the filler had 7 needles, much like with modern tattoo guns. At some points i was being tattooed with both at the same time to speed the filling up.

We then began with my outline, centre design, filler, second one and a bit of self tattooing by myself:

The whole process took 9 hours in total and was excruciatingly painful. I was told that complaining was unacceptable as I was being honored and had to be brave. I meditated and stared at a spot on the roof whilst the constant tap tap tap went on and on. The pain shooting down my arm in one direction and into my head the other. The force of the needle hitting my collar bone eventually caused my fingers to start twitching independently and regular breaks were needed to ensure both my body and the of the artist could withstand the constant effort required.

The two people who worked on my tattoos were apprentices as the original master had gone blind. This led to mistakes in places and overall, my tattoos being rather unusual. They aren't very symmetrical, they aren't filled very well and they took longer than they should have. At first I was a little disappointed, but then realized that what I had was better than any perfect tattoo. I was part of a revival. I was part of something that had gone on for centuries, almost been lost and was now coming back. The fact that it isn't perfect means that for me they are the most valuable tattoos i have. I hope that now they have learnt a bit more that they will continue this tradition through generations to come.

Finally, what do they really mean? I have read many things on the Internet about the Bunga Terong and its significances. Some are right, some are totally wrong and some are almost there.... The thing is, this design has been copied, changed, edited, artistically adapted and each tribe does it differently. The first tribe to do this design, called it the "eye of the dog" This tribe calls it the "egg plant tattoo" I have chatted to various tattoo anthropologists, experts and artists alike and no matter what they call it, the meaning is always quite similar.

For the Iban of Sadap, the Bunga Terong represents a cross section of the Egg plant. A plant that is commonly seen all over Borneo in the right season. The spiral in the middle is called "Tali Nyawa" which loosely translates as the rope of life. (If you take a tadpole from Borneo and turn it upside down, it has this pattern on its stomach) It also represents protection from harm, from both directions as its on both shoulders. Finally, it represents the start of a mans Bajalai, his walkabout and his progression to adulthood. For me it represents all of those things and so much more....