Ty Sawyer's Adventures with Another Shade of Blue: Chased by a buffalo

Ty Sawyer's Adventures with Another Shade of Blue: Chased by a buffalo: "Well, we just got back from Catalina Island, off Los Angeles, California. We were exploring the backside and came across a buffalo named Hen..."

Chased by a buffalo

Well, we just got back from Catalina Island, off Los Angeles, California. We were exploring the backside and came across a buffalo named Hendrix, one of our guide Chip Upton's favorite old bulls. Hendrix is about 1,500 pounds of ornery old buffalo. Of course, I wanted to get a nice up-close shot of its face. Now, every animal in the world has what's called a "zone of comfort," an invisible space around them that, if you stay outside the boundary, there's no problem, but if you cross into their comfort zone they either: a) scatter; or, b) attack.


I kept inching closer and closer, trying to not look too threatening. Apparently I tripped the invisible wire and just as Chip announces that I might be getting a little close, Hendrix looks up, I see the red of its eyes, it stomps and then charges. Bill, the producer and first camera, and I grab our gear and run like crazed madmen to escape the maddened bull. All I hoped was that I could outrun Bill.

Turns out that old buffalo bulls have a limited charge left in them and it gave up after about 50 feet. Whew. But, at least I know I can outrun Bill. ;-)

Champagne For Breakfas

The balloon filling up for launch.

 A peek inside the balloon.

 Aloft over the Temecula Wine Country.

 The crew wrangling the balloon when we landed.

When the day begins at 4 am when the alarm goes off, it's a bit painful. But, the payoff was worth it. We hopped in the basket with California Dreamin' and floated over the Temecula Valley Wine Country. We'd had several days of "June Gloom," which is a thick marine layer that doesn't make for great images. Today, we awoke to a low fog and literally a mile from the house, the fog lifted and we had the bluest sky we'd had all week. Riding in a balloon and watching the sun rise from 3,000 feet with only the sound of awe from our group of 12 sucked all the words from our lips. Every now and then the pilot, Ferrel, sent a hot stream of flaming propane into the balloon to adjust for the cooler air of the higher altitude. There were several other balloons joining us this morning, so the sky looked spectacular with the punctuation of color. In the distance to the west,  a low mist enveloped the coast, but we could see several layers of mountains glowing under a cloudless sky to the east. A balloon ride is spectacularly unlike an airplane ride. Noiseless and effortlessly romantic, I was surrounded by all couples celebrating their anniversary or on their honeymoon. Then, there was me and Bill, the producer and cameraman. Not quite so romantic for us, but certainly equally jaw-dropping.  Enjoy the pics.

Seven-gill-o-rama with the Scuba Diver Girls

Now, I have to admit to being a bit of a cold water wimp. So, as I'm pulling on my 8/7 mm semi-dry wetsuit, gloves, hood, booties and a 2 mm shorty underneath to keep warm, I'm definitely: a) not feeling too svelte with all extra thermal padding; and, b) thinking way too snidely, it better be worth all the effort. Before we get to the "b" part of the blog, I have to say a few words about our hosts, the wonderful, professional and definitely fun-inducing, absolutely contagious Scuba Diver Girls. We dived with Margo, Stephanie, Sonja, Bethy, Karma and Anita. And, to all the scuba diving boys out there, here's the deal: the girls bring the thrill and fun and adventure back to this sport in a way that I haven't seen since I first took to the water in 1978 to, of all things, meet girls. During almost two decades in the dive magazine trenches, travels all around the world, two stints as a DEMA board member, I've preached lifestyle and adventure and fun and focusing on the reason you learn to dive in the first place (the thrill of discovery, marinelife, exploration, people), rather than being a gauge watcher and been-there-done-that punk. I've seen two groups that bring diving to life, the Theresa Kaplan-led (noted female diver) PADI Diving Society Total Submersion events, and now the Scuba Diver Girls. We laughed, we relaxed, there was no stress, no get-in-the-water-now, no competitive strutting, no my fins are better than yours, just a let's enjoy life as the coolest people on earth, divers, vibe. I could go on and on. But, since it's my soapbox, here's the deal: The Scuba Diver Girls are growing like mad for one simple reason — they make diving fun, adventurous, memorable and stress free. They don't say it, they live it. And, I for one, loved diving with them. I'm thinking of becoming a Scuba Diver Girl (Margo?? Honorary?). And, yes, I did just say that out loud, and it gets even better.

We geared up, waddled down to the beach and did a surface swim to the kelp forest and a buoy to hopefully glance at a rarely seen seven gill shark. They're normally a deep water species, but they've been cavorting in the cove and rubbing elbows with the giant black sea bass and bat rays. We descended just outside the kelp forest and meandered through the mesmerizing world of shadow and light that makes this underwater scenery so alluring. Like all sharks, seven gills are sneaky and one slipped from the gloom at the edge of visibility (about 20-feet) and swam right up to my camera. I was show stunned I just watched. Then came another, then another...pretty soon we had seven seven gill sharks weaving through, around over and under our group. You could hear us all exclaiming through our regs. They just hung around for about 20-minutes. I never even noticed the 58°F water. I'd never seen such a thing as this. A rare, prehistoric, seven gill shark coming right up to eyeball me. All I can say is woohoo!

Back on the soapbox for a second: There are apparently a bunch of small minded spearfishermen that keep spearing these sharks because they get interested in the dead fish they have dangling off their waists! Are you stupid? Or, competing for a Darwin award? Of course, sharks are gonna go for the bait. Get a float for your catch, numbnuts. 

After the dive we went to the Spot and, as you'll see from the TV segment, we were all still amped up from the experience. It was mind-blowing. I can't wait to go back and dive with the SDG again.

The SDG's dive in Southern California's La Jolla Cove every single day and still keep it fresh and exciting. Guys, feel free to friend them on Facebook. Breathing life back to diving is not exclusive. They're happy to share. And, to get a daily taste of their brand of diving, check out Bethy's daily dive report.

Thanks, ladies. You rock!

Two Weeks of Australia! #1

It’s Two Weeks of Australia!

Monday, June 20, 2011

For the next fortnight, we’re going to romp from corner to corner of Australia, starting in Broome, in the northwest corner. Broome was built on the wide-shoulders of a Pinctada Maxima, a massive pearl oyster, and now the town feels like it’s stuck in the middle between a wild-west outback town and a tourism hub for the natural treasures of “The Kimberly,” a vast stretch of land that stretched across the top half of the Australian Continent. During my visit, I arrived to a phrase I wasn’t too keen to hear, “I haven’t seen it rain during the dry in thirty-three years.” Yep, I had a whole 15 hours of rainless skies. Since the life of travel writer and photographer does not include sitting still, I jumped in my rental car to head to Gantheaume Point, about a mile from town, in time for sunset.

All I really had in mind was a nice sunset shot then scurrying on to find something else to shoot, but I ended up staying until the last fingers of sunlight released their grip on the sky. Plus, there were some pretty cool things to see including 120 million year old footprints in the sandstone made by dinosaurs, and the Anastasia’s Pool, etched into the rocks by a lighthouse keeper to ease his wife’s arthritis.

But, what kept me there was the constantly changing relationship between the deep red sandstone rocks, the blue of the water and the lightshow of the setting sun. In fact, I picked up my camera several times thinking I was done, then the sun would throw some golden light on the sea and the rocks would glow and I’d be scrambling to set up and catch the moment. I ended up just leaving my tripod open after three or four failed attempts at leaving, and getting laughed at by a group of girls that had thrown a blanket next to me. They’d shown up to toast the sunset with wine and champagne and they offered me a glass, or two, which certainly helped pass the time between shots. They modeled for me, I modeled for myself and I stole, paparazzi-style several shots of locals fishing off the point of land. The girls did what most girls apparently do: talked about boys, and they kept turning to me after a particularly personal comment and laughing and saying, “sorry, TMI,” to which I replied that their conversation was tremendously more enlightening than the Cosmo I read on the flight from Sydney. Either way, I stood in my spot feeling like a man-spy, while they chattered on and the sun put on a show that kept me there until long after everyone else had left. The girls generously “loaned” me a half bottle of merlot since it was clear I was in for the long haul, but had to take back their glasses, so I stood on the darkening point of red rocks, watching each star in the night sky pop to life as if a million switches turned on at random intervals, drinking my wine straight from the bottle. I have to say, after traveling for two solid days to get to Broome, it was the exact time I can say I started to feel the pulse of this vast land.

 Two photos of Point Gantheaume, one with me and one without. Crazy beautiful.

We’re staying in Broome for tomorrow’s Australia Fortnight Blog, where the landscape becomes even more stunning before the rain hits.

Where I stayed: www.pinctadacablebeach.com.au — Great rooms, close to famous Cable Beach where you can ride a camel at sunset and drive your car onto the sand to enjoy sunset from your fave 4WD.

About Broome: www.broomevisitorcentre.com.au/ — Chinatown, pearl luggers museum, shopping, restaurants.

Where I ate: www.matsos.com.au — I went here because they have handcrafted beer, and when in Rome, right? I sampled the Smoky Bishop, the Diver’s Porter and for pure science the Staircase Cider. Oh, yes, I did eat, too. Duck liver and brandy pate (yum) to start and the Matso’s famous Fish and Chips, which went well with the second Smoky Bishop. I was joined by four backpackers from Germany, Uwe and Monika, Kaspar and Petra, and we diligently took on the journalistic duties of sampling the rest of what was on draft until we could all communicate perfectly.

About Australia: www.tourism.australia.com — Anything and everything important to know about what travelers call, “Oz.”

Two Weeks of Australia, #2 — Cape Leveque, Western Oz

Two Weeks of Australia, #2

Cape Leveque

The first thing my guide (www.pinnacletours.com.au) says when she picks me up at, yep, 7am is, “looks like we might be trying to outrun some rain today.”

Great. But, at least I’m still in the dry part of my journey. You see there are two seasons in the Kimberly region of Western Australia: Wet and Dry. No shoulder season. Usually, or should I say, typically, you can’t travel anywhere during the Wet because the roads are underwater and the rivers rage with fierceness that would give you pause, and rain pours from the sky as if an aboriginal god tipped over a pitcher. Crocs, which are all over Western Australia, roam deep inland during the Wet. But, during the dry, which is when I’d traveled to the Kimberly, you’re lucky to see a cloud, and the closest you get to rain is perspiration dripping from your nose because of the heat. The blue of the sky is unlike that anywhere on Earth. That’s what I wanted. Light and sun generally work better for making travel images than rain.

So, with nary a drop of coffee in my blood, we thunder out of Broome in Land Rover to make the three hour, 220 km drive north to the tip of the Dampier Peninsula and see the red cliffs of Cape Leveque. Within a couple of miles, we left the sealed road and were kicking up a red, dusty rooster tail from the pindan. The pindan is the red dirt that’s everywhere in Western Australia. When you see these red dirt roads from the sky, they look like blood vessels winding through the outback. And, during the wet, the road we’re on becomes a river that, in fact, seems swollen with blood. But for now, it’s dry.

We pass great expanses of wattle trees and white barked ghost gums. It looks like a place you’d die in about 5 minutes from exposure and lack of sustenance, but the aboriginals see this land, and the flora and fauna that grow here, as a great bounty. There’s food somewhere in the red and green landscape, under the dust cloud, I just don’t know how to look. Every now and then, there’s an explosion of pink, as if the land has erupted in a sudden case of breast cancer awareness. Pink, frilly, bushy flowers, which the locals call bachelor buttons, ignite the open areas with their color.

After a couple of stops, we make it to Cape Leveque, wander down to the shore and the world changes from green and red to red, white and blue where the shore and sand meet. The water seems alive with blue, shimmery, clear, and where the horizon and the sea meet, there’s almost no discernable line: just blue on blue. The white sand leads up to sandstone cliffs that look like they’d burst into flames, they’re so red. The first of the cold front pushes clouds over the beach, and my guide tells me I only have 30-minutes, that I need  to catch a flight back to beat the cold front. Thirty-minutes!!! I can see shooting here for days, each change of the light luring me deeper into the landscape. So, I shoot like a crazed monkey. I run, literally, up and down the beach. Looking for any and every shot possible. Soon my guide drags me off the beach, enticed, but unfulfilled. There are no later flights. I’m already pushing my luck to get stuck, which I think would not be so bad as there’s a wilderness camp right on top of the cliffs (www.kooljaman.com.au/).

But, I just make the flight, dreams of the landscape washing through my head, filling it with red and blue visions.

Once in flight (www.kingleopoldair.com.au), I see the sense of urgency. As far down the horizon as I could see was a dark cloud, looking like a giant wave. So, to the east I see dark purple clouds, swelling with rain; to the west, the sky still shimmers with a mostly cloudless blue. But the buffeting and rodeo ride we’re having in the small plane tells me tomorrow will bring a change. 

Where I stayed: www.pinctadacablebeach.com.au — Great, modern rooms, close to famous Cable Beach where you can ride a camel at sunset and drive your car onto the sand to enjoy sunset from your fave 4WD.

About Cape Leveque: www.westernaustralia.com or www.tourism.wa.gov.au. — Lombadina, pearl farms, Beagle Bay Aboriginal Community (famous church decorated with pearl oysters), Buccaneer Archipelago (massive tidal flows).

Where I ate: www.kooljaman.com.au — I ate a massive lunch of fresh caught barramundi alfresco with a salad and rice at the Kooljaman Wilderness Resort, which, of course, piqued my desire to stay there for a few days and explore this landscape and Cape Leveque more with my camera.

About Australia: www.tourism.australia.com — Anything and everything important to know about what travelers call, “Oz.”

Two Weeks of Australia, #3 — Rain and Boab Love, Western Oz

Two Weeks of Australia, #3

My Boab Obsession Begins … but First My Life at the WaterMan!!

I checked out of my posh room at the Pinctada Cable Beach (pinctadacablebeach.com.au) and drove to the Broome airport to return my rental car. I arrived amid a waterfall storm (way more water than a simple deluge of rain). I sat in the car at 5 am waiting for it to abate. The rental car return was actually closed, and the only dry spot was just under a bus stop sized canopy. I was meeting Marc Banfield from Kimberly Dreamtime Adventure Tours (kimberlydreamtimeadventures.com.au) to drive down the famed Gibb River Road and straight into the desolate heart of the Kimberly. He and his father, Rob, were first taking me to meet the elders of the Jarlmadangah Aboriginal Community to see local rock art sites and hear the dreamtime stories of the first occupants of this land. Here, as in much of Australia, the Aboriginal communities are beginning to open up their lands and share their knowledge of bush tucker, their stories and myths and their sacred places with outside visitors. For the next two days we would camp in “mozzie domes,” tents made of mesh, and sleep in a swag, which is a crossbred bed that combines a sleeping pad and bag.

But first, I have to negotiate the rain. And get my cameras, gear, and bags from the car to the 1 X 1 foot dry space to wait for Marc to pick me up. Of course, there’s no one else about at this time of the morning, and it quickly becomes clear that the rain is not abating, in fact it’s increasing it’s fierce defiance of the Dry versus Wet season here in Western Oz.  I grumble to myself that this is one of those glam moments in the life of a travel writer and photographer and that it could be worse, I could be in an office. Only slightly buoyed by my middling pep talk, I open the door and within 5 seconds I’m not just soaked, I’m actually a moving human tower of a hundred waterfalls: from my nose, each fingertip, my earlobes, eyelashes, chin, down the center of my back to the place that a rivulet of water feels downright eeek.

I feel like one of those misguided superheroes that decided WaterMan was a good idea. Splashing about in drenched and heavy shoes, soaking bad guys with the stream of water that just passed through the narrow canyon of my butt cheeks. That would be my superhero move. Yes. But, the romance of being WaterMan dissipated and I hurriedly moved my bags to the 1 X 1 dry spot and placed my rental car key in the after hours slot and tried to stay less wet.

About then, the only other human being awake at this time of the morning drives up in the essential outback ride, a 4WD with the exhaust above the roof. Marc rolls the window down, introduces himself and says that line, “G’day. You must be Ty. You know, I haven’t seen it rain in the Dry ever. I heard it last rained in the Dry 33-years ago.” Obviously Marc is not old enough to remember rain in the Dry.

“Well, hopefully, it’ll pour itself out.”

He laughs uncomfortably.

Stuffed into his 4WD, the water evaporating off of me forms a cloud in the car. We get gas, a flat white coffee and egg and bacon sandwiches at a petrol station while I change. Then, we’re off. About a mile down the road, I fall in love.

It’s still raining, but all along the side of the road are these trees with big, bloated trunks and stubbly branches, set amid the 12 foot tall termite mounds that abound in Western Oz. They’re boabs. Magnificent trees. And I now have to have light, so that I can make a memorable image of these incredible trees. Yes, it’s just a tree, but despite the rain, I’m already excited about this part of my journey.

It has been said that, “adventure happens when things go wrong.” And these big trees are the standing sentinal to the next to days of our adventure.