… the good ship Tenacious!

Third time lucky.

The first time the Trust ran out of money. The second time was disrupted by Covid. But finally, more than three years down the line, my official buddy Jock and I set sail on this adapted wooden square-rigger — this time for a winter jaunt around the Canary Islands.

I faced the prospect with a degree of trepidation. In 2019 I still considered myself an independent sort, ready to try my hand at most things. But lately, decades of out-of-balance walking have since come home to roost and the end result, an unpleasantly curved spine and a pronounced list to starboard, meant I would probably need more help than before.

But that’s where the Jubilee Sailing Trust makes a difference. Still going strong after 20 years, the Tenacious takes mixed-ability crews on trips following the sun around the UK, the Mediterranean and Caribbean. For our own belated adventure we flew to Las Palmas (Gran Canaria) and, after a couple of days R&R, stowed our kit in a tiny two-berth cabin aboard the vessel. Me with the bare minimum; Darroch, never knowingly underpacked.

We assembled on the messdeck for a slew of briefings and drills. Surprisingly, out of some 25 ‘Voyage Crew’, I appeared to be the only wheelchair user (Charlie, a volunteer Watch Leader, managed almost everything with a crutch). This, I learned later, was a casualty of the continuing funding difficulties faced by the Trust, which means they are unable to offer disabled folk previously generous discounts. For our cruise, they were largely replaced by individual adventurers and Trust supporters.

We were split into watches and handed our watch cards, detailing our duties while aboard. We sailed the next day, heading to the north and then west against the Atlantic wind and swell towards La Palma. In fact we deliberately overshot the island, creating the opportunity to set the sails and beat downwind overnight. We voyage crew were told which ropes to heave or check away, providing the muscle to manoeuvre the boat under the guidance of Bosun’s Mates Chelle and Amy.

For the next six days we shuttled between the islands, taking in visits to Tenerife as well as LPx2. The vessel moved about a fair bit under sail, which appeared dramatic as your correspondent appeared to come within a degree or two of being tipped out (especially when heeling to starboard in the Atlantic swell). However, only once did he require lashing to the wheel during a dog-watch (this is 95% true) and the services of Jock and four companions to regain his cabin afterwards. That was quite diverting.

Nearly there Bill

Other highlights incuded me hauling my sorry ass in a sling up to the forward mast crosstrees, where the Bosun had thoughtfully provided a beach chair. We sat in the sunshine for a half-hour or more, just chatting. I then watched in wonder as shipmate and senior adventurer Bill climbed to the very top of the mainmast, beyond the security offered by a harness, on the way to raising £1,000 for the Jubilee Sailing Trust.

Incidentally, the organisation deserves a bright future but it badly needs help like this. The Tenacious offers a unique opportunity for handicapped and able-bodied folk to work together in a challenging environment, with few concessions made to individual limitations. Yet her future is far from secure. Her sister ship the Lord Nelson has not yet been sold and next summer’s UK programme, peak season for disabled crewmembers on a budget, will provide an acid test.

Cream tea, anyone?

Back to highlights. The food was brilliant. Cooks Ian and Mike — with a little help from voyage crew messmen — consistently served up quality meals. They baked their own bread as well, including a particularly tasty chilli loaf. And one afternoon, as we stopped work for a smoko (break), they served up a full cream tea. What a treat.

Finally there was Jock. He kept me upright from stem to stern, from Gatwick drop-off to pickup. Thanks pal. BZ

Back to the bad old days

A family celebration in Jersey was ruined by my experience at the hands of the EasyJet handling agent. I use a lightweight manual wheelchair and on arrival in the island from Gatwick, it had been brought to the aircraft door as expected. With a handler’s help we negotiated the boarding ramp with ease and my wife, daughter and I were soon joining the Covid Queue. A seamless procedure – one I have come to expect during many flights this century.

Our return flight provided a different experience. Before pre-boarding EZY896 (13/9/21), I was informed I would not be permitted to use my own chair to scale the ramp. Instead, I would have to transfer to one of their devices, then again to an aisle chair to reach my seat.

The chair waiting for me was totally unsuitable. A flimsy affair, the armrests were fixed making a transfer awkward at best. The footrest was tiny, offering little room (let alone support) for my size 8 paralysed feet. It looked more like a coal-sack trolley and I refused to be loaded onto it. I explained that my own chair had proved perfectly adequate four days previously.

Initially the handler acquiesced but by the time I moved onto the ramp, he had obviously been rebriefed. We argued but I was conscious that my fellow passengers would not be on my side for long. With difficulty I managed to transfer and my feet immediately fell off the rest, one becoming trapped underneath. I continued to argue with the handler (a man in his 60s with a grey beard and a badly-fitted face mask) until at the aircraft door he lost his temper. He thrust his face into mine, wagged his finger and threatened to have me removed from the flight. (The exchange was witnessed by the flight crew. He said I had been rude; I had told him to shut up.)

I was now furious. The handler’s complete lack of empathy reminded me of behaviour I encountered when I was newly disabled – 30+ years ago. Since then, airport and airline staff around the world have been trained and, until this incident, I felt confident that I would be treated with consideration and my dignity more-or-less preserved.

I want this man to be reprimanded, relevant procedures reviewed and passenger-facing staff retrained. @EasyJet has so far ignored me (I sent a survey response to the CEO the following day) but I have had an apology from @JerseyPorts, who are in touch with (the agent) @SwissportUK.

Wheelchair users do not like using unfamiliar substitutes – in extreme cases they can be dangerous – and, as far as practical, they should be avoided. But more importantly, in the 21st century, disabled passengers are entitled to expect a far better service than I received in my former home the other day.

… To Hong Kong

This time for real, for the first time in over 30 years. It’s, er, not the same.

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The only building Johnny recognised was the Connaught Centre, now re-christened Jardine House. Opened not long before he landed in the city, it was notable for its round windows and, in the left-hand image above, was an obvious landmark. Today, it is barely visible (centre-right in the RH pic) among the much taller buildings.

The area around the former HMS Tamar is all reclaimed but, roughly where we would have tied up, now lies a marina. There’s still the Star Ferry, and the Peak Tram and the Peninsula Hotel (of Cleopatra Jones and the Dragon Lady fame — and my glittering wide-screen debut). Otherwise it’s high-rise enterprise all the way, from Chai Wan to Lantau, and beyond.

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L-R: ET, David, Ryan & Cheryl on the ferry

We walked peacefully round the summit of the Peak and then crammed ourselves into the descending tram with hordes of tourists — who knows from whence they came? We took the Star Ferry; about the only bit of the entire visit that was familiar to me (the wooden seat-backs, that the first passenger aboard flips to face the front, made me smile). Over in an equally frenetic Kowloon, we saw no Rollers at the Peninsula but an MD902 took off from the roof so standards there are being maintained.

The MTR is impressive and largely accessible, although step-free routes at some stations require a degree of creativity. The taxis are familiar, but presumably new models, and the drivers helpful.

In no particular order we also enjoyed racing at Happy Valley, champagne at a rooftop cocktail bar, dim sum and jellyfish (surprisingly tasty). We pottered around Chai Wan, to the east of the island, where life was equally industrious but somewhat lighter on limousines. And we took a cab over the hill to Stanley Market, where I bought the first set of chopsticks that caught my eye and a small water colour of Central District that may just have featured Victoria Basin, back in the day. You have to learn to let go, Andrew.

Then, before we knew it, we were saying goodbye at the airport. Vaya con Dios, muchachos!

HK airport farwell

 

… with Thresher Sharks

They can be seen most mornings — early mornings — at the Monad Shoals, off Malapascua Island in the northern Philippines. The vertical wall, with a convenient viewing point 30 metres down, provides a convenient cleaning station for the graceful beasts with the elongated tail flukes. Johnny and the Varmints hitched themselves to the guide-rope.

IMG-20171021-WA0001The small island of Malapascua lies a 40 minute boat ride from the northern tip of Cebu, which itself is 200km from the international airport on the southern tip. The journey between these two points can be covered by a rental vehicle, either a car, van or in our case, a float plane. Never assume that the fastest vehicle will be the most convenient; we had arrived at the fag-end of a typhoon so adjustments were necessary. As it turned out, including the plane, the poor weather meant we utilised nine separate modes of transport to reach our destination.

Some transfer or another

One of several boats and chairs. This one was in brown rattan

For the final leg the dive centre sent its boat (there is a public service but it was now way too late for that). We made a night assault on the beach and I and the kit was dragged round to the shop. Johnny’s hotel was next to the Fun&Sun PADI centre, one of several dotted along the fine sandy beach on the southern island coast. An idyllic setting for grown-ups but never less than challenging for wheelchair users. Luckily, son Ryan would be at my side throughout the adventure.

To visit Malapascua from the UK and return after only four nights may seem an odd use of one’s time and money. But Ryan was joining Cheryl, his girlfriend, for a family reunion and a subequent invitation to me seemed too good to turn down. I love my diving; I knew this would be difficult but was also confident there would be plenty of willing hands.

Our programme began the next morning, bright and early. The boat’s ever-resourceful crew would experiment with ways of getting me on board from beach, boat or ocean, before settling on a plastic chair lashed to a pole and hoisted by them onto the fore-deck.

We made several dives during the build-up to the thresher descent; one to the small marine reserve of Gato, where we swam through a tunnel that was long enough for us not to be able to see the other side. It took a small leap of faith to make the dive into the abyss but it was probably only half a minute before the pale blue exit hove into sight.

And thrillingly, there were white-tipped reef sharks! Several of them, more of a conventional shark shape than a thresher and more menacing for that. By the time we saw them I was clear of the swim-through but others behind me inadvertently hemmed one in, and it darted towards them before finding a way out.

But the threshers were the highlight and they didn’t disappoint (video by Warwick Ngan Kee. The shadow at the end is of the diveboat, 100 feet up). As we were deeper, our sightings were limited to appearances through the gloom. Later there were arguments about just how many we had seen — several in succession or just one swimming in circles? Their mouths, while the familiar sickle shape, are far too small to pose a threat. But sharks of any kind have this mystique and thresher tails, which they use to stun their prey, are especially impressive.

Again due to the depth, our bottom time was limited and we needed to make a decompression stop while surfacing. On our way back to breakfast we were an excited group.

I always enjoy night dives, from the tip backwards into the blackness to giving the thumbs-up signal and piercing the silver surface above. And you always see good stuff; to improve my chances I tied a torch to my mask strap. This evening’s highlight was a writhing mass of green and black sealife, presumably feeding on some corpse, looking for all the world like the fabled snakes on Medusa’s head. They looked like eels but I later learned they are a type of catfish.

IMG-20171028-WA0000Now, back in England, having spent most of the past week either in the air or under the water, I feel a sense of accomplishment. I also feel shattered, which is odd considering others were doing most of the hard work. Would I go back? I initially thought never again. But on the other hand the hotel quickly put up several ramps, one permanent (Ryan christened it before the concrete set). I eventually found an almost sand-free route between the hotel and the dive school (the FreeWheel was again invaluable). The chair device works, although we must have stressed this particular one to its limits. And I finally made it into the shower without Ryan’s help (the exiting manoeuvre requires more thought).

So, with all that infrastructure now in place — madness not to, really.

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Johnny gets a pressy. Thank you all!

… to Malapascua, Philippines

The 7P principle

Odd, you might think, to write a travel blog about a place that you haven’t yet visited. But scuba-diving this remote Philippine island, lying off the northern tip of Cebu, will present something of a challenge for Johnny Sombrero and his trusty steed. And as the departure date approaches, as is Johnny’s wont before any trip (ask Juanita), he starts to worry.

It’s not that he’s alone. Ryan and members of Cheryl’s family will be there to provide all the support he needs. His concerns have nothing to do with the distance, or the flights, or the Hong Kong stopover, or climbing into the minibus for the four-hour drive north — or even the scuba diving itself.

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The paraw dive boat

It’s getting on the damn boat. Ordinarily, this is my favoured method of starting a dive. You get driven to the site, you kit-up, you sit on the side like a frogman and, boom, there you are surrounded by bubbles, above what you came to see. Getting on a modern dive boat is also a cinch; you wheel along the side of the marina and balance onto the stern dive platform. Still in the chair, job done. Well, more or less.

In this case, the stem of the local vessel, a paraw outrigger, faces the beach and access is via a plank. For an able-bodied person, negotiating this requires no more than a few steps up (maybe with arms outstretched for balance/effect). For me, well, I’m still not sure.

Plan A

If the plank is wide enough for my arse-cheeks, and if I can get purchase on it with my hands underneath them, I propose to sit on it and bum-shuffle my way backwards, up to the stem. If someone is standing either side of me in case I overbalance and if a third helps me reposition my feet in front of me as I mount. I can see that working.

My concern is that, from a manoeuvering point-of-view, my arms and shoulders are all I have. And after decades using them to pull myself up from the ground into my chair, my shoulder joints aren’t as secure as they once were. They have no effect on my day-to-day mobility and, for weeks now, I have been exercising to re-stabilise these joints. I have made progress, but I don’t want to undo this good work by being manhandled.

And while I’m at it, helping me out of the water after each dive needs some thought too. After passing my kit up, I do not want to be dragged up by my wrists until my belly folds over the side of the boat. That will hurt. We should find a point from where I can be pulled up using a twist-lift.

IMG-20171002-WA0006Most sailors will be familiar with this method. The deal is,  from in the water I face the side of the boat with my upstretched arms crossed above my head. A crewman takes each hand. We start a plunging motion into the water and, on my count, we all lift on the upstroke, untwist the arms and (in theory at least), I end up sitting on the edge. Minimal strain on the shoulders that way.

If this option isn’t available, again, we will find an answer. I may end up being towed. As long as we talk it through first. Because, as we used to say in the Navy, Proper Prior Planning Prevents Piss-Poor Performance

Johnny feels better now. Andale andale muchachos!

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Photos courtesy Cheryl Kng

 

… with a new bedroll

The Unstoppable gearbag clips to the rear rail of a wheelchair for hands-free carriage. It is not only hugely practical but possibly the first bit of kit ever designed for the disabled community that actually looks cool. Consisting of an 87 litre capacity main bag and a 31 litre back pack, the two fasten together for towing behind the chair or, if required, separate for check-in and carry-on baggage.

Unstoppable_1Designed in the UK by Andrew Slorance, the Unstoppable also features a nifty set of wheels that turn in two axes, allowing the user to spin as well as roll. It doesn’t affect balance in the chair so you can cop a wheely up a kerb as usual. The zips and materials look pretty hard-wearing too so we shall see how they behave during next month’s Far East trip. While the wheelchair clip appears tough as well, it protrudes and so appears more likely to be vulnerable to the tender ministrations of the world’s airport baggage handlers. If damaged, the component is simple to replace.

Zips, straps, handles and clips abound on the Unstoppable in fact, so much so that Andrew thoughtfully places stickers next to the ones you need to fasten the bags together. Another zip at the top allows access to the main bag while it is attached to the wheelchair, if say you feel the need to panic-stow your liquids at check in. There’s a telescopic handle too, for the use of a companion.

20170913_172723The Unstoppable costs £289. If you’re a regular traveller, Johnny doesn’t even think that’s overpriced.

Which makes a change.