It's mine, mine, all mine!

A while back we purchased a little piece of paradise. Just a couple of acres in the Swan Valley with some shady trees, space to ride my bike and a place to go for a dip. It is crawling with snakes, foxes and field mice but I adore it and I spend countless hours down there contemplating the wonders of life. Like anyone, we are very protective of our little piece of paradise. Because we don't live there and we have previously had items stolen from it, we keep the gate locked and we keep an eye on it.

Recently, we struck a deal with a local business owner (a stalwart of the Swan Valley business community). To protect his identity and ensure no harm to his business or reputation we shall call him Mr X. Mr X organised and payed to have our property 'hay baled' in exchange for the hay: a good deal. Reluctantly, I handed over the key to the gate so he was able to come and collect the hay as he needed it. I very clearly espoused my feelings about trespassers and other unwelcome visitors. I expected that he had understood.

It did not take me long to regret my decision to allow strangers access to my utopia, but what happened yesterday was the last straw (pardon the pun).

Whilst mowing the fire breaks I started to pieced together smippets of evidence that suggested someone had been frequenting the property in my absence. Low and behold, a vehicle enters through the gate and approaches me. It was Mr X's son and his mate and his mates dog. What transpired was an awkward exchange.

Judging by their attire, the unseasonably warm weather and the fact that Little Mr X had the gate key in his lap it was quite clear that they had come down to the property for a swim. Midst our discussion, my recollection of the rubbish I had collected near the dam and vehicle tire marks all over the property it became immediately apparent that this was not their first visit.

With the tension palpable, Little Mr X had the audacity to inquire as to the possibility of him hosting a party for his mates on my block. Really? I am not sure what was more affronting; his asking or his reaction to my refusing. 

Little Mr X and his side-kick genuinely thought that they were entitled to take the key, that I had loaned his father to execute a mutually beneficial arrangement, and come onto my property whenever it suited him to do as he pleased. Moreover, Little Mr X genuinely believed I would welcome the prospect of he and all his buddies turning my utopia into a cesspit of drunken debortuary they would skulk away from at sunrise leaving me to deal with the aftermath.

The most amusing part: following my vehement refusal to accommodate his requests, he returned an hour later in the hope that I had packed up and departed. I have since changed the locks!

The Happy Gilmore Approach to Marketing

I grew up with the understanding that 18 holes of golf took about 12 - 14 hours to play. My father used to disappear quite early in the morning, returning in the late afternoon with barely enough time to prepare a decent meal for his two hungry boys. Preparing dinner was not his penance for a day spent on the golf course; he was a single dad. I so admired my dad for his commitment to his sport. I was certain that, if a game took that long, he must be very good at it. I had watched tennis on the TV and the most intense battles between top seeded players went on for hours. My dad must have been a 'pro'.

It is such a strange sport. Even with the grass cut so short it is impossible to find the hole and even harder to find your ball.

Naturally, I took an interest in golf and would hack up the local public golf course with a few of my mates on weekends when the weather was forecast to be particularly foul. Playing golf in the driving rain, enveloped in a seething mass of thunder and lightning, added a much needed extra dimension to what is traditionally regarded as an 'old man's' sport.

It wasn't long before I came to realisation that 18 holes of golf did not take 12 hours to play. I couldn't help but wonder what he was doing for all that time? After giving it some careful consideration I came to the conclusion that the 19th tee must have been where he was getting held up. But even that made no sense, as he never, ever came home drunk.

As a 41 year old business professional one would expect that I have seen my fair share of corporate golf days. Well, I haven't: I enjoyed my first only just the other day. 

For a very brief moment (very brief) I thought I would take it quite seriously. In fact, when I read the dress code for Lake Karrinyup Country Club, I really thought I had no other option: it is one of Western Australia's most prestigious golf courses. I was going to borrow dad's golf shoes, a pair of his gloves, buy some nice white knee high socks and wear some nice 'slacks'; whatever they are.

But common sense got the better of me and I thought "Hang on a minute - what have I to prove to anyone?" Instead, I wore my Billabong shorts, a Billabong hat, some fairly sedate Vans and a work polo. I did wear a belt and I did tuck my shirt in, which was particularly unusual. The other guys must have struggled getting organised too, as most of them forgot one of their gloves.

I felt very comfortable and, as a result, I had a really great day. Somehow I managed to hit several balls quite straight, one of which went about 220m and parked itself just shy of the green on a Par 4. That is golf speak for a "big hit" and I did not even have to take a run-up (Happy Gilmore style) to get it there. My team mates were suitably impressed. I heckled the opposition from the 6th green, whilst they were on the 7th tee. Again, my team mates were very impressed. I did not swear and I did not throw any clubs. My team mates were grateful for this. 

We all look very chuffed, not just because of how well we had just played. Cheech (front left) from Ignite Search gave a great presentation on marketing. 

It only takes about 4-5 hours to play 18 holes. But, midst the tranquillity of a world-class golf course that provides a refuge from the rat race surrounding it, it is easy to lose several hours building corporate bonds and expanding your professional network. Golf is a fantastic way to do business. 

Now How Does It Feel

One sheep, two sheep, red sheep, blue sheep. 

Woolly sheep, shorn sheep

I really need to get back to sleep.

It is 3:30 am and I have already been awake for over an hour. The cause of my insomnia is so very sad and ironic. I would like to say chronic, but that rhymes with ironic, and that would be just stupid. So, I will just say it is happening a lot lately.

What has changed in recent weeks? Why am I suddenly finding it hard to get to sleep and even harder to stay asleep. I have no doubt in my mind it is that I have gone back to training. And there in lies the irony: To stay fit and healthy I chose to give up one of life's most precious gifts.

It starts with restless leg, which is essentially the uncontrollable urge to move or jiggle your leg as the nerves fire incessant and unnecessary signals to your muscles causing them to contract, which in turn cause the most insane agitation and irritation. Doctor Google says it is genetic, age related, and exacerbated by medication, pregnancy or chronic disease. Sorry Doctor, but I am not pregnant, I have had it for about 8 years, I am not sick (other than sick of the autonomous twitching of my extremities), and it has nothing to do with medication. 

It comes and it goes, but it only goes when I am not training. Furthermore, when I am focused on kicking I get it in my legs and when I am working punch combos I get it in my arms. So I am going to get out the crayons and draw my own conclusions - it is related to over-stimulation of muscles; otherwise known as exercise.

To add insult to injury (pardon the pun), an injury at training dictates that the nights slumber will be severely disrupted on each and every occasion I chose to re-posture my person. Last night (tonight - whatever) I can't lie with my left arm under my head/pillow because one of my sparring buddies decided that a 'flying knee' was a good move to practice during a light sparring session. "Craig - I forgive you. Now where is your phone number so I can keep you awake to share my misery."

Guilty party on the right; not me on the left, but sums up how I feel at present

And the cream on the cake? When you finally drag your sorry self out of bed, the floor is a foot lower than it was last night when you went to bed and you fall into a miserable heap on the ground. Why? Because all of the muscles that you 'exercised' in your training session are staging a protest against any further body function for the day.

Like pregnancy, once the worst of it is over (around lunch time) you forget just how bad it was and pack your training gear that afternoon and go and do it all again that night. 

What you can teach vs. what cant be taught

Regular readers know well how I feel about....Hang on, do I actually have any regular readers?? It is remiss of me to be so very presumptuous.

Anyone willing to trawl through my 45 blogs will quickly conclude the following:
1) I like snakes
2) I do what I can to imbue respect for, and the conservation of venomous snakes
3) I get frustrated with the general public's indifference (or in most cases, malevolence) toward snakes.

It has worn me down; eroded my fortitude. It has fractured my solidarity with the serpent. My passion and my affinity with reptiles is still, as always, ever present, but my desire to imbue upon others my knowledge and ardor has long since left me.

Despite how I feel, it is unacceptable to give up; to quit. So I have set about a solution. I am going to train someone else to be the person I no longer have the energy to be. I am the master and now I have my apprentice.

I am quite certain that if I had have advertised on SEEK I would have been inundated with nutbags and fruitloops, heros and hooligans. I did not want to go there. So it was quite by chance that I met my prospective apprentice at a very low-key and casual herpetological sun-downer. Sun-downer is Australian for 'excuse to drink before the end of the work day'.

Amy Wild is a young and terribly enthusiastic herpetologist who has been handling venomous snakes for about one year: approximately 1/25 the amount of time I have been handling. She does not lack confidence, as is evident in the video.

As Uncle Ben said to Peter Parker "with great power comes great responsibility,". It wont be long before Amy has some of the worlds most venomous snakes laying at the foot of trainee venomous snake relocators on dozens of mine sites and work places around Western Australia. There is a certain intensity about being the only thing that separates the Trainee from the bite of a highly venomous snake. Can you teach someone to cope with that intensity? I doubt it.

Work'n hard or hardly work'n

When we toured Queensland, we arrived at the most picturesque of picnic spots: Lake Eacham on the Atherton Tablelands. APM, the office, the staff, the clients, bills, finances etc. etc. were among a long list of things that were so far from my thoughts at that moment in time.

Within five minutes of finding a lovely shady spot on the grass, I jumped to my feet and expressed my desire to whip around the lake and see if I could scare up a few local reptiles. Before my beloved was less than half way through the definition of a 'family holiday' I had vanished. I returned 2.5 hours later (NB: It was a big lake!).

I thought nothing of doing, in those 2.5 hours of leisure time, what I fundamentally get paid to do quite regularly at work. But when you are having as much fun as I was having, crawling through the tangles root masses and lianas of the giant figs chasing the sound of claws scratching on bark, it can hardly be considered work.

I am not the only one who constantly stumbles back and forth across the blurred line of work/leisure. After a whole year of teaching dance to 400 screaming kids, the teachers at Step-up Dance Academy decided they would spend another 15 hours filming this parody of Taylor Swift's Shake It Off just for the love of dance.

You Had Me at Hello

There is always one heckler in a crowd. There is always one guest who gets just a little too drunk at a wedding. There is always one testosterone fueled neanderthal at your favorite pub that wants to spoil your night out. On the flip side, there is always one club member that is the first to roll up their sleeves and put in the hard yards. Typically these people, who are the backbone of our social structure, are not the least bit narcissistic. They do what they do because it is inherent in their nature. They can't help but help. My dad is like that and, by default, so am I (it is coded in the genome, of that I am certain). 

My father played golf and became so heavily involved in the day to day of the club that he was nominated president. My father rode Supermoto and then found himself so wound up in marshaling, track preparation and co-ordination that his riding faded to grey. My father recently took up lawn bowls and within his first year he found himself taking over the grounds keeping because he felt so sorry for the old digger that was suffering the task in silence, but with unwavering solidarity.

One of the greatest rewards for such selflessness is the warm embrace of friendship. It is expressed in Zen Do Kai and Muay Thai with the offer of the Tomodachi Cross - it simply means 'friend'. By virtue of it being an 'award', it is a reward that one never expects, but it so honoured to receive. I have one given to me by my Sensei Ashley Hunt from Ellenbrook Martial Arts and I still remember how shocked and grateful I was when it was awarded to me.

A true Tomodachi does not actively seek gratitude or acknowledgement for their effort. Sometimes being showered in praise can actually make you feel a little awkward.

So, if "Thank you, we could not have done it without you" makes you squirm, what are the alternatives?

"Hello"............Hello binds us. It is welcome, are you OK, thank you for coming, thank you for your effort and your energy, thank you for your support and 'we appreciate you' all rolled into two tiny syllables. Hello has it's own energy. It marks a moment in time when two or more people come together to start something great.

Yesterday, in the cool of a beautiful afternoon, my wife, myself and our two kids came together with the matriarchs of Step-up Dance Academy, our surrogate family, midst the beautiful maple-lined path to the Lady Wardle Performance Centre,

The energy and excitement of the exchange of greetings captured the enthusiasm and anticipation of the performance that lay ahead and set the scene for the most amazing night. 

Just Another Day at the Office

Every year, as a representative of the environmental consulting company Animal Plant Mineral, I make a presentation to the third year students of Conservation Biology at UWA on career opportunities. Most of them are completely unaware of the opportunities that exist for field biological consultants.

They look at me all starry-eyed and dreamy as their young minds ebb and flow with romantic notions of field work in far flung places. And why wouldn't they? I have the best job in the world. 

For a start, the accommodation is always top shelf. There is nothing quite so grand as a hot shower and a warm, dry and comfortable bed after a long day of survey work in the drizzle.

  

Field work is physically demanding, so it is important to have good and wholesome gastronomic extravaganzas prepared fresh for your enjoyment at the end of the day. Meals are frequently consumed in the most wonderful of alfresco settings. Whole skin-on roast pumpkin, fresh out of the coals.

 

On any and all occasions, how much one enjoys one's lodging is very much aligned with how well the accommodation is integrated into the receiving environment. Nature retreats can hardly be considered retreats into nature if you eat, sleep and bath in a manner that is disconnected from the environment. I am not at all averse to sharing by quarters with the local wildlife. I find it the most visceral way to truly experience all that nature has to offer.

As far as the work is concerned, a biologist faces many challenges. Two of the greatest challenges are:

1) desperately trying to find highly cryptic fauna in very thick and impenetrable vegetation. Can you spot any animals in this photo?

2) trying to determine the taxonomy of individuals within a genus that has many, many morphological variants (i.e. individuals that look so radically different but could well be the same species based on genetics). Look at how dramatically variable these little froggies are, yet they are all the same species!!

We have a very important job, as biological consultants. In what is typically a very short space of time we have to get out bush, dig in our traps, catch as much as we can, pack up and get home. As hard as all that sounds, we are even expected to work within six figure budgets. This is all very demanding. However, the welfare of our animals is always our #1 priority. 

Clearly, judging by the size of this little guys testicles, he too is a very busy little man! I suspect we did him a favour, giving him a 'night off work' whilst he was safe and secure in one of the hundreds of aluminium box traps we deploy.

Everybody loves a holiday, but nobody loves to clean up and pack up. As a biological consultant working on the north-western edge of the Tanami desert, hundreds of kilometers from nowhere, sometimes you just can't be bothered driving home at the end of a long hard trip. So the solution is to just throw a tarpaulin over the vehicle and leave it behind. Then we just call in the helicopters and off we go. To easy!

As I have said countless times over the 20 years as a field biologist, the sun will always set on our survey and we will soon be fortunate enough to wake up in a new location, in a different ecological setting with a whole new suite of animals to pursue. Where we go next is at entirely up to our clients. 

KMG - Konservation Management Grants from Kimberley Metals Group

I was in Bunnings the other day: Australia's largest hardware warehouse chain with exceptionally large warehouses full of..........well, hardware (in-text footnote - I actually believe that all Bunnings stores function in a parallel universe on a different space/time continuum: men (and women) of all ages 'pop' in to quickly grab a hardware item and emerge three days later with a bunch of stuff they neither want nor need)

Accustom to the typically very friendly service I was rather taken aback by one young female employee who, upon seeing the company logo on my car and questioning me as to what I did for a living, unreservedly and assertively quipped about her 'hatred for mining and mining companies'.

At this point, I had to make a choice: am I going to be dismissive of her or am I going to present her with an alternate view in an attempt to encourage her to reconsider her values. I had nothing to lose and very little to gain from either of the above.

I had to dig deep to muster any amount of my usual enthusiasm and effervescence, but within seconds I was waxing lyrical with countless personal experiences and examples of how the mining dollar underpins a lot of very valid ecological research and an endless array of conservation projects across this great state of ours. In a brief and fleeting display of cognizance about the subject matter this young lady rightly pointed out that mining companies are only funding said research and conservation projects because they are legally obliged to do so (though she did not put it quite so eloquently). She is correct, of course. But is it not better that the work get done out of obligation than not done at all? Moreover, there are many companies that contribute beyond their Ministerial requirements by choice. Often this results in recognition through industry environmental awards which are valued by the companies staff and shareholders.

The outcomes of this exchange have been threefold.
1) I may have actually influenced this young lady's way of thinking and she has since embraced miners as conservation allies rather than enemies.
2) I have concluded that Bunnings would do well to educate their staff in communicating in a manner which is both warm and embracing, rather than abrasive, abject and affronting.
3) I am suddenly very concerned about what the nationwide slow down in mining means for conservation projects in Australia.

Mining companies in the Pilbara are delivering hundreds of thousands of dollars into the government coffers and that money will be used to fund many projects on Northern Quoll (a species under significant threat in W.A. with the recent Cane Toad invasion, the Greater Bilby (threatened by feral predators), the Malleefowl (threatened by habitat loss and predation) etc etc etc.

Closer to home, at least for me, one of Animal Plant Mineral's clients has spent tens and tens of thousands of dollars protecting and enhancing feeding and breeding habitat of the Gouldian Finch. That same client funded a regional helicopter survey to find new populations of a flora taxon that was thought to only exist in the Northern Territory. And while we are talking about KMG, it is worthwhile mentioning that they financed a survey to extend the known distribution of the Northern Leaf-nosed Bat, which is to this day the most exciting field survey I have ever designed and executed See this awesome clip to appreciate where I am coming from.

What will happen to the great work that is currently being done when the active mines shut down and no new mining proponents are seeking environmental approval for new mines. Quite simply, the research and conservation work will cease and we will see a return to the era that preceded the mining boom where the staff within government departments, such as the Department of Parks and Wildlife, are stranded at their desks sitting on their hands because they no longer have any money to go bush to do real work.

Taken years ago (2010) these photos capture some of the still ongoing work that APM and KMG are doing on the Gouldian Finch. But with the iron ore price in the gutter, who knows how much longer such projects will last?

They are called Snappy Gums for a reason: best not lean the ladder on dead hollow limbs.

If you were a finch, would you be happy to call this home?

Yes - this looks bad. But no mine equals no money. Benefits outweigh costs.

Magic memories

Sunday morning. Lazy wake-up and not much in the paper other than world events and the G20. Abbott and Putin in neutral corners cuddling koalas. The world seems safer again. I decided to re-visit some very old you tube clips of biological survey work in the Kimberley. Magic memories with Animal plant Mineral

Kimberley Fauna

Crash Test Dummy

When I logged on to blog on I was intent on dissecting, debunking and dismissing all of the diatribe on the internet to do with Safety and the use of All Terrain Vehicles (quads, buggies and the like). I wanted to disseminate my vitriolic dissuasion from the highest dais. 

Until 4 pm today I was utterly contemptuous of the need to formulate Reference Groups and National Strategy Plans to outline bleating obvious - All Terrain Vehicles are dangerous. 

At about 3:54 pm, being the responsible blogger I am, I thought I'd best do a little research before I put pressure to keyboard. Discounting the fact that I am a 100% fully organic Crash Test Dummy with a pulse, I put aside my fractured and bloodied experiences and dived into the ocean of online statistics. I almost immediately came to realise, with crystal clarity, that......All Terrain Vehicles are very, very dangerous. They kill many people indiscriminately: old, young, male and female. This makes me sad....and angry at the same time. 

Does an accident that would be considered minor or innocuous for a young male kill the elderly farmer who is no longer as robust. In 2011, one of the deceased was 94! Yes - 94! I don't expect I will even be able pull up my own pants at 94.

Of the (average) 50% of women who die as passengers, how many were wearing helmets when they jumped on the back of their boyfriends Yamaha Raptor 700SE (i.e. very fast and angry racing quad). The stats suggest very few. In 2012 all four passenger deaths were female. Aged 5, 7, 13 and 18 none of the victims were wearing helmets.

The situation is that bad that there is actually a Register of ATV Deaths generated from the National Coroners' Information System. That means, not only are there a lot of deaths, but those deaths are worthy of Coronial inquiry.

I am angry at quads and the people who chose to ride them; myself included. They are convenient, comfortable, agile, well equipped, fit for the task, dynamic and some are even desirable. They are seductive in their appeal and they invite you to push them beyond your own ability as a rider. The consequence is a high crash frequency. The motto of the video linked below is 'would you risk it'. Normally, people would not take unnecessary risk with mundane tasks. But ATVs over-ride our internal risk regulator whether the pilot is 9 or 94. 

I have crashed road bikes, road racing bikes, road racing sidecars, supermoto bikes, dirt bikes ridden for recreation, dirt bikes ridden under race conditions, quad bikes ridden for recreation and quad bikes ridden during field work. This week I managed to add yet another string to my bow by cartwheeling an off road buggy and hurting myself quite badly in the process. To ensure my safety the manufacturer had kindly fitted racing bucket seats, a five point harness and a full roll cage. I was wearing motocross pants, boots, full-faced helmet and gloves. 

Does this make me a model citizen for recreational off road motor vehicle use? No, it does not. Riding at relatively ( circa 50 kmph) low speeds on the soft loamy clay of my Swan Valley property, I demonstrated all the intellect of a 100% synthetic Crash Test Dummy and chose not to secure my self within the harness. The poetry of justice through punishment for my complacency was epic in its performance. I watched, as if in slow motion, my arm shoot out to the left to cushion my fall. Too late did I realise the gravity of this error as the roll cage roof came down upon it. Crushed for only a second it had gone bloody and blue before the buggy had even came to rest. 

Heed the following advice.

The working groups and reference groups and friends groups and community groups can preach safety until the cows come home. But it will always remain the choice of the rider to make their own decision on whether to ride to their ability or to push the limits. Whatever the case the rider should be the only one responsible for their actions. 

I ride hard, I crash, I get hurt, I heal and then I ride hard again. Am I irresponsible? No. I choose to ride like I do and, as a result, I crash frequently. Make the choice that is right for you. Establish, accept and implement your own level of common sense. Live your life; don't endure it. Don't expect sympathy for stupid mistakes and wait your turn in Triage no matter how much it hurts. Ride your All Terrain Vehicle over 'most terrain' only after you have developed a synergistic relationship with it. 

I ask one thing: Please take care of the kids as they, unlike us, are not responsible for their own actions. 

Quad Safety Video

Quad Watch