I may or may not have just ordered a new camera. My old camera may or may not be covered by my travel insurance, but at least I won’t have to pay the excess. And I may or may not have enough money in my bank account to pay for a camera this afternoon, as the United States seems to have no concept of electronic banking, so every month, in order to get paid, I have to fill out forms, and then go into the University to collect my cheques, which I then have to take to the bank to deposit. Pah.
I usually get a lift to and from work with my supervisor, seeing as we live in the same area. One of his more unusual traits is his tendency to become obsessed with ideas, and be able to talk about the one idea for most of a car ride, and then return to that idea time and time again (for example, the ‘inside lane theory’).
One of his more endearing obsessions is his desire to buy a horse, and ride it to work. Despite the fact that most of our drive to work is along a major freeway, he’s quite convinced that if only he can find a way to get the horse over the bridge, it would be a fantastic idea to ride the horse along the grassy verge that’s sometimes at the edge of the road. His plan is to hobble the horse while it’s at work, leaving it to wander around eating in the patch of wilderness across the road from work (hence he shouldn’t need to buy much extra feed for it). And it will live in the 6 by 6 foot backyard of his townhouse – which, being built in the 1800s, has a ponywalk, which is what inspired the whole idea. Which is why scientists should be safely locked up in their workplaces and not allowed to interact with the rest of the world.
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alas, poor camera, i knew you well
As a result of the weekend climbing trip, I’m also in the market for a new camera. I usually keep mine double clipped to my harness, but managed this time, to only reclip the camera bag after having it out on a belay ledge. The camera bag came open, and my camera went flying. Luckily it didn’t hit anyone. I’ve recovered the memory stick, and it looks like I’ll get the camera back too – in one piece, thanks to the metal body, but I don’t think it will want to turn on.
Now it occurs to me that I have two options. 1) to pretend the whole thing never happened and buy the same camera again, or 2) pretend I meant to upgrade all along and get a better camera. The one I had was a Sony DSC-W1, and I like everything about it apart from the lack of shutter/aperture priority, and lack of zoom (which could be remedied with a lens though, as it had a lens thread). Faster shutter speed would be nice too. Suggestions welcome. Must decide quickly, I don’t like not having a camera. Anything could happen, and I wouldn’t be able to take a photo of it.
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“super mice threaten seabirds”
Supersize mice that are eating chicks alive are threatening the world’s most important seabird colony, on British-owned Gough Island in the South Atlantic….
It’s only later they get to mentioning that they’re talking about albatross chicks that are nearly a metre tall, and weigh 10kg. Link to full article.
You realise what a fragile grip you have on your climbing lead head, when you start up the third pitch of a climb, stick your head out around a corner, and are confronted with a large shiny, sticky pool of congealing blood. It’s bright red still, with flies crawling around it. It’s also exactly where you need to go. You’re 40 metres up the climb already – you knew there was blood somewhere up here, and you knew the guy was fine – he just nicked his ankle apparently, you’d heard him yelling down to his belayer about it. You just weren’t expecting quite so much of the stuff.
He and his partner kept climbing – oh, they certainly did, as there is blood sprayed all over the rest of the pitch. Gingerly following a trail of blood, and trying not to get too queasy as you look down at the rope below you, and the swathes of blood zoom into focus, multiplying. Suddenly everything seems a lot harder. It seems like you’re looking into the future every time you look down, and the pool of blood lying there is yours, waiting for you to fall and create it. Dizziness overtakes you as the queasiness from all the blood goes to your head. You clasp the rock in front of you – it’s still cool from the morning. Your helmet rests against the rock, as you try and calm down, and return to the task at hand.
The climb is supposed to be a 5.5 … well that’s about a 10 in Australia. Even taking into account the Seneca sandbagging, the moves you are looking at doing seem a lot harder… more like 16? Your hands are sweating, and you have no chalk. You look down and across to work out where the traverse is supposed to go, there should be an easier way – oh, there’s the blood again. Getting it together for a minute, letting your belayer know to watch you, you haul yourself through a few more moves, get some more pro in, backed up with one of the ubiquitous dodgy pitons. The traverse here doesn’t look any better. And look, more blood. The sun has moved over, and you lie there, hugging the rock, and wondering what the hell you’re doing there.
A few hours later you’re standing in the river at the bottom of the crag. You got off the climb ok. Everyone is fine. It wasn’t one of the days you climb for, but right now the river is cool, and you can stand here watching the ripples in the water, and nothing else matters.