Secret Caves and Ullswater

This week, the Guild struck out for the Lake District in search of a secret cave somewhere in the Langstrath Valley.

Simon set out on Tuesday afternoon and picked me up in Sheffield. Even if we couldn’t find the cave that day, we were hoping for a sneak peak into the valley when we arrived. Alas, by the time we had navigated the tiny winding roads of the District, it was dark upon our arrival in Stonethwaite campsite.

Never quick to be disheartened, we erected our tents and broke out the BBQ for a feast by the light of the moon. Fish and sausages made up the food, whilst drink came in the form of Kraken rum, the only real fuel an adventurer needs.

Bored: A Crossing

Seriously, fuck travelling by bus in Laos.

It is 600km from Luang Prabang to Chiang Rai…and it has taken us 40 hours. FORTY HOURS!! That’s long enough to build my own bus, find and extract my own oil for petrol AND drive to bloody Thailand!

40 hours. 24 of which were spent thus:

And 6 of which were spent thus…

A Cave Too Far: Stopping for Cakes in Luang Prabang

After some much-needed recovery time in Vang Vieng, we catch a morning minibus to Luang Prabang.

Although it isn’t a very long bus by our standards, it is probably one of the worst; the road to Luang Prabang is slow and winding to a nauseating extent. It is a mere 185km, but it takes us all day aboard the most uncomfortable bus I have ever had the displeasure of placing my ass.

Still, when we arrive we stroll through the night market and check into a lovely little guest house by the river. The next day, we break our fast at a wonderful little bakery and spend the day taking in the many sights of the city, starting with Mount Phousi, a hill in the middle of the town with some very nice views.

Based on my small amount of research, the accepted way to review Mount Phousi is as follows;

“It takes some time to get to the top, but keep on going because the views are worth it.”

It’s 339 steps. Unless you are 85 years old, physically disabled or entirely pathetic it is no harder than using the London Underground. Yet the views are definitely worth it:

We decided it was too hot to wander around the museum, so we headed to the other side of the town to take in the spectacular Wat Xieng Thong (Golden City Temple).

Unhappy Pizza

24 hours after eating our Happy Pizzas, we are still pretty stoned. 48 hours later, we still feel rather strange. The last 2 days have been hell. Who mixes weed and mushrooms?! As if thinking something is trying to kill you isn’t bad enough, now you can see it too!

To be fair, it probably doesn’t help that these were sharing pizzas and we ate a whole one. Each. Still, when in Rome! Or…when in 4000 Islands…

In any case, we’ve made it to Vang Vieng, the Gods only know how.

The journey hasn’t been easy…

Been There, Don Det: 4000 Islands

After an enjoyable but harrowing few days in Cambodia, the time came for us to move on.

To help us get over the sights of the Killing Fields, we went out for a drink. Being us, this quickly turned into 15 drinks as we steadily worked our way through the entire cocktail menu. By the end of the night, we were given what we can only assume were Loyalty Shots:

Luckily, we ordered four dinners to absorb some of the Purple Rain…

Please Don’t Walk Through the Mass Grave

After our energetic day around Angkor Wat, we relaxed for the rest of our stay in Siem Reap. The following day we ate three cakes, drank lots of beer and did nothing more active than looking around the old market, where we purchased some trousers more suited to the Cambodian climate.

This was the first day that I started feeling truly shitty, with some kind of stomach ailment that would last the entire rest of the month. Some might speculate that it was caused by my tendency to eat thrice the foods of a normal man. Those people I would punch in the knee…then claim their breakfast as my own, by right of conquest!

In any case, the time had come to leave Siem Reap and, given our lack of time in the country, we turned away from the coast and headed inland to the capital city, Phnom Penh. To get there, we bought tickets on an overnight bus, which turned out to be in the form of bizarre flatbeds stacked on each other. Naturally, these were not of Western proportions and I spent most the night spilling out of mine.

Although we arrived in Phnom Penh early in the morning, we went to bed almost immediately and stayed there until mid-afternoon. At that point, we went out for lunch and spent the evening drinking beer and watching a movie about the Khmer Rouge takeover of Cambodia (still one of the most horrific pieces of human history).

Tomb Braider: The Tale of Angkor What?!

Having spent three days in Bangkok, eating cakes, drinking bad cocktails and getting excellent massages, it was clear the time had come to venture elsewhere – lest this year’s foray into South East Asia turn into nothing more than an implosion of hedonism.

It was, therefore, with the perverted excitement unique to long-haul bus journeys that we booked a 12-hour bus to Siem Reap in Cambodia. Having never been to Cambodia before, this was the obvious place for me to visit first; despite becoming a tourist haven in recent years, it is just a few kilometres away from the incomparable Angkor Wat – the largest religious monument in the world!

Although I’m not really into religious monuments on the whole, I do love ancient things – especially epic architecture. I also never turn down the opportunity to take some bleak and honourable photographs, in honour of the Guild!

This time, however, I am traveling with a different adventurer, Vikki Moyse, who I temporarily dubbed the Tomb Braider in a honour of her adventuring hairstyle of the day.

To Fishguard…and Beyond!

This weekend, effectively gate-crashing a romantic getaway for my good friend Sam Steak Davis and his delightful girlfriend Rosie, the Guild descended upon Pembroke in Wales with the intention of going deep water soloing.

For the confused amoungst you;

Deep-water soloing (DWS) is a form of solo rock climbing, practiced on sea cliffs at high tide that relies solely upon the presence of water at the base of a climb to protect against injury from falling from the high and difficulty routes.

Luckily we are very sensible young men…

Email me for prints of this photograph. Now, onto the weekend…

Adventure Inspiration

This morning, I got up at 05:30 and drove my brother Will to the airport. He is flying to Estonia, to cycle around the country for three weeks. I am purple with jealousy and respect.

Although there are too few moneys in my bank account and too many events in my calendar to allow me to go with him today, I dearly hope I will be able to join him for a week or so…who knows.

Yet that is not why I am writing this post. I am writing this because Will’s decision to shoot off to Estonia is entirely and utterly awesome. Does he know anything about Estonia? He read a Lonely Planet guide this week. Does he know anything about cycling? Not a thing. Has he ever even ridden a bike? He cycled a bit in Cambridge and managed to break his arm in three places in the process…

Will doesn’t dabble in bullshit; he wanted an adventure, so he is going on one. This is EXACTLY what the Guild stands for and exactly what I mean when I get drunk and rant about how people should do more brilliant stuff.

Instead of finding excuses and reasons not to do something, Will simply bought a return flight with Easy Jet and arranged to hire a bike for eight Euro a day. Anybody could do that; Will happens to be an epic human being in general, but his Estonian adventure plans don’t hinge on the fact he is a genius.

Like the Guild has always said, you don’t need anything special to have a badass adventure. All it takes is balls. And a map. And multicoloured socks.

Did Somebody Say…DOWNLOAD?!

I love it in New Zealand. This place has everything; the people are delightful, there are mountains and lakes absolutely everywhere and the general attitude is positive, pro-active and inspiring.

What it doesn’t have, however, is very much good music…and hardly any festivals.

Specifically, it is lacking the best festival of them all:

DOWNLOAD

For that reason – any really not many more – I am going home. Back to the UK!

Bye!

The Surprisingly Icy Summit of Mount Doom

Today, I climbed Mount Doom. For those too boring to be familiar with Lord of the Rings, please see below:

The ascent of the mountain, which is actually a volcano called Mount Ngauruhoe, starts a couple of hours into the Tongariro Crossing. Alas, I was told by my shuttle bus driver that I wouldn’t have enough time to do the entire crossing and also reach the summit of the Ngauruhoe, or even the summit of the smaller Mount Tongariro.

Of course, he said this because he hadn’t realised I was a Guildsman. If there wasn’t enough time, I would simply punch Chronos in the face until he gave me some more.

In fact, I would climb BOTH mountains and make the crossing. That would show…somebody…something.  

Gallery: A Week in Orc Land

I have just spent a week in Orc Land.

[Titter.]

See what I did there? Because it’s New Zealand…and the Lord of the Rings…and…and…

Ah, screw you guys. My brilliance is wasted on you.

Only kidding – it’s hurtful jokes day, after all!  What’s that?  It isn’t?  But, they told me…  Oh.  Oh I see.

Here are some pictures from my awesome week in Auckland, including: FIRE, RUM, ICE CREAM, MUSEUMS, BOURBON, BIG HOUSE, CAKES, RUM, SUNSETS, RUM…and so on.  

A Song of Fire and Ice Cream

Last week, I successfully failed to climb Mount Taranaki. If that doesn’t seem like a ‘success’ to you, you’re simply not reading hard enough. Read harder. HARDER!!

You’ll get there.

In short, Taranaki was covered in ice and the local adventurers wouldn’t rent me any ice-climbing gear because they said I would get myself killed.

I, however, am not easily killed. To date, for example, I cannot think of a single time I have died. I tried explaining this to the grizzled mountain veterans, but all my ranting and raving got me nowhere.

I sat with this tiny bird and stared at the mountain, angrily. I didn’t help.

THE GUILD DEMANDS IT!!

Apparently this expression doesn’t work in New Zealand. So I left – not without questioning their COMMITMENT TO THE GREAT ADVENTURE – and headed to Auckland to regroup.

Now, Auckland many not seem like the epicentre of adventure, but it is home to some fantastic people. These include Fanny and Susan, two delightful German girls I met in a bookshop in Wellington, and Ryan, an extraordinary man I met at Ferg Burger in Queenstown.

Whilst Fanny and Susan gave me a roof over my head and epic dinner times in the 21-person Big House community, Ryan set about planning an Auckland adventure to make up for Mount Taranaki.

In the end, we settled on heading out to Rangitoto Island; a absolutely kickass island off the coast of Auckland, where examples of Māori culture, hot springs and boiling mud pools abound!

Views from a Mountain

I have a problem. Actually, I have a few.

I have been sitting in New Plymouth (not the most rocking town in the world) since Tuesday afternoon, waiting to climb conquer the local piece of badassery – Mount Taranaki, 2600m high and the most lethal mountain in New Zealand.

My problem is that New Zealand is in the middle of a cold snap. The temperature dropped by about 8 degrees over night on Monday, covering the entire of Egmont National Park in so much snow that the shuttle buses into it haven’t even been running for the last few days.

With no other realistic way of getting there in time to climb the mountain, I have been stuck in town waiting for the damn thing to thaw out a bit. So far, it has done so just enough for me to book myself onto a shuttle bus for tomorrow morning!

My second problem, however, is that I need some gear. One does not ascend a mountain like Taranaki – or indeed any decent mountain – without at least some crampons and an ice axe. Without them (indeed, even with them), you’ll simply slide back down again, quite probably to your death.

Being entirely out of money, I cannot afford to buy this gear. Instead, I am attempting to hire it from the local adventuring shop. The problem is, however, that they won’t give it to me.

Mental Warfare

Today, it is way too cold to climb Mount Taranaki. Tomorrow the weather will be better. So I wait…

…and eat cake…and drink tea…and stare at Mount Taranaki.

I’m getting inside its head. Psyching it out for the big day.

I’m playing mind games with a mountain.

This is mental warfare.

AND I’M WINNING

By the time the mountain disappears into the evening gloom, I am ready for war.

So I find the local fight club…and I fight.

I sat with this tiny bird and stared at the mountain, angrily. I didn’t help.

Plugging In. Charging.

Wellington. I turned up here on a whim to see Tenacious D and, a week later, I cannot leave.

Every day, I wake up in time to check out of my hostel, intent on leaving the city…

Every night, I check back into my hostel and vow to leave on the morrow.

It is no use. I am smitten.

The Plane of Destiny

Today was meant to be my first day in Nelson and, to be fair, it was. It was, however, also my last day in Nelson. I have already left… But let me start at the beginning of this silly tale.

After failing to climb the Franz Josef glacier due to financial restraints (I am bankrupt), I caught a lift with a wonderful Californian wine maker called Tom, all the way to Greymouth. Here we spent the night playing the piano, eating pizza and sitting by the fire. It was delightful!

The next day, Tom dropped me in Barrytown – possibly the smallest town on the entire West Coast. There, I forged the Emperor’s Blade and spent the night alone in the All Nations hostel, drinking tea, coffee and vodka. The tea and coffee were complements of the hostel. The vodka was complements of Sarah, with whom I walked the Keplar Track.

Early the next morning, I walked the beach looking for precious stones. I found none, but it took my mind off the fact I hadn’t eaten in 40 hours or so. There are very few cash machines on the West Coast. Very, very few. There are also no shops or eateries in Barrytown…

Forging the Emperor’s Blade

24 years ago this very day, the Great Smith in the Sky forged my own Brother in Thunder, Emperor Matthias Bunn of Murderbeers.

With him, I have feasted, reveled and lifted for time immemorial.

Together with my Brother in Blood, William Billiam, we carved our path through the cities of Europe and danced through Thailand, to the song of Mr. Whiskey. Alongside my Brother in Iron, Simon Bunnslayer we drank and sang our way through to the mountains of Poland and discovered what it was to be as beast.

It was he who first uttered the name Murorga Sim Bowa which, for over a decade, has been the name under which I have performed all my wrestling shows.

It was he who permanently disfigured both my brother’s right hand (by slicing it open in a duel) and my own left hand (by breaking two of my fingers in a wrestling match).

It was he who named me Champion of Murderbeers, the title that has justified my drunken debauchery for the last two years.

It was he who led the way in my pilgrimage to see the Man Punching a Hydra and helped me drown my sorrows when we realised he was caged away.

The greatest gigs I have witnessed, he witnessed also. He even offered me his own bed whilst I trained in the noble art of lifting; a sacrifice I only realised the next day, after sleeping on the floor.

Over 24 years, he has seen me at my mightiest and lowliest both. And we have sung. Oh how we have sung.

It was in his honour, therefore, that I stepped up to the anvil today…and forged my first blade.

Cold Steel

Heating the Blade

Hand Pounding the Steel

Hot Steel

Guesswork

Sawing the Blade Free

Work in Progress

Cutting the Handle

Planing

THE BLADE

Also I Threw Axes

Not Climbing the Glacier

The time has come to leave Wanaka. There is much to do here, but I am exhausted and cannot do it justice. Instead, I pack my bags and walk a few kilometres to the main road. Here, after much waiting around, I manage to hitch a lift 300km from Wanaka to Franz Josef, via Lake Hawea.

I am too tired to remember my ride’s name, which is rare for me, but he is a lovely man and we talk of professional wrestling and his aspirations as both a golfer and manager of a dairy farm. Partway to the glacier, he stops to fish for salmon. Naturally.

By the time we reach the town of Franz Josef, I have just enough time to discover that my Ice Climbing tour will not be running this weekend (not enough people have been foolish enough to pay for something so expensive) and check into the YHA, where I meet Lucas – a great German man, who hitched the same route as me today.

Grits and Shits. All Outta Both…

I don’t know if this is a real thing…but I think I might be exhausted.

It feels a bit like my body is shutting down; my legs aren’t working properly, every part of my lower back aches for reasons I don’t understand and the space between the roof of my mouth and my eyeballs feels like it is full of week-old rum and coke.

Any time I sit down, I fall asleep. Any time I get into bed, I lie awake and sleep for maybe 5 hours a night.

I do not feel entirely capable of withstanding even small bursts of activity. Life has become a clumsy, sticky-fingered God daughter and I, I am Jenga.

Hear me roar?

So anyway, today I attempted to climb Roy’s Peak; a modest 6-hour trek up to an elevation of 1578 metres. Upon reflection, this is 250 metres higher than Ben Nevis…but I don’t know its prominence, so that is largely irrelevant.

What is relevant is that I couldn’t do it. Or rather, I could have done it…but I didn’t. I just didn’t want to. I was bored; bored of spending my time in New Zealand walking around – normally on my own – for days and days for fucking scenic panoramic views.