White Water Rafting (Bucket List #59)

Tully River, Queensland, Australia • July 2010 • Length of Read: 3 Minutes

Fraser, Mary and myself crowded into the back of the mini bus as it screeched out of the hostel car park and down the Bruce Highway. Still on a 'high' from the previous day's skydive we would now be hurling our bodies down the rapids of the Tully River in a little inflatable dinghy. It was time for some white water rafting.

Raging Thunder, the company through which we had booked, offered two packages: ‘Normal’ for AUS$185 or ‘Xtreme’ for AUS$215. Both packages included accommodation transfers, 5 hours of rafting, lunch and tuition; however the Xtreme package also guaranteed a smaller group, more thrilling paths through the rapids, and extra challenges such as rock jumping, rapid swimming and raft surfing. In true Epic Bucket List style we of course opted for the latter.

On the drive we were divided into groups of six and kitted up with Jesus style sandals, life vests, wetsuits and paddles. As bad luck would have it the three of us were unfortunately paired with a trio of 'mature' crew mates, who upon seeing our enthusiasm and fearlessness were evidently regretting not having opted for the cheaper package. Our cox for the day was a lovely Spanish fellow and following a quick safety brief he steered the raft out into the current. It was time to soak up the white waters.

Off we set, paddling aggressively and screaming “EXTREME!!” at 30 second intervals… well half of our raft’s passengers anyway. The rapids were a lot faster than I expected and it took some careful balancing and positioning simply to avoid falling into the choppy waves that persisted on crashing over the sides of the raft and soaking us through. One of the elderly women was evidently not happy with this and kept complaining that her hair was getting wet. This isn't meant to be a trip down an amusement park's 'lazy river' darling!

When this bickering failed to cease within the next half an hour the Spaniard coined a secret plan by which to end it for good: a deliberate capsizing. When we reached a quiet point in the river he suddenly shifted his weight in a way that flipped the raft 180 degrees and sent us all flying overboard. I was in hysterics watching this woman cling on for dear life to the now inverted vessel, with no hope in hell of saving that shaggy barnet.

After righting ourselves we continued the journey, quietly sliding along the ribbon of water that weaved its way through the dense foliage overhanging each bank.  This eventually broke into a clearing that was home to a massive tower of rocks and the Spaniard docked the raft to let us test out diving skills. Leaping from the platform with screams of 'EXTREME' echoing around I hung  for an age before crashing ungracefully into what felt like a concrete wall of water. My attempt at some Tom Daley finesse had clearly not paid off and what was originally meant to be a classy swan dive turned into an uncontrollable mid-air tumble whose crescendo was a belly-flop splash into the pool below.

...never mind, I would soon get a chance to redeem myself...

For the second ‘Xtreme challenge’ we had to make our own way down a mini waterfall without the use of the raft. The Spaniard again chucked us out, this time with the warning: "hold your breath so as not to swallow any water and let the current do the rest. Do not try and swim up to the surface, it will not work!"

Letting go of the raft I was immediately dragged under by the current and for the next twenty seconds found myself fighting the urge to start paddling as I was flung down the rapids in a coffin-position: "please don't let this be my funeral" the untimely phrase repeating in my head.

After twenty of the longest seconds I was rewarded with the sweet sweet taste of fresh air; my life-vest having served its purpose. The group members popped up behind one by one and we gathered to watch the Spaniard expertly weave the dinghy down through the minefield of rocks we ha just traversed. Stroking our paddles some more then brought us to the end of our rafting adventure: tired, sunburnt, and drenched. Despite being overpriced, this adrenaline fuelled day on the Cassowary Coast of Queensland was a fantastic experience, and one that if you happen to have some reserves in the travel budget I would thoroughly recommend.

Raging Thunder Adventures - http://www.ragingthunder.com.au/

Climb A Mountain (Bucket List #54)

Ben Nevis, Scotland, UK • July 2011 • Length of Read: 2 Minutes

Living in Scotland, there is not exactly a shortage of hills to climb; with 282 peaks that clear 3000ft. Collectively these are known as the Munros, so named after the gentleman who first produced such list, and since this is the Epic Bucket List there really only was one option to choose.

At 4,409ft, Ben Nevis is the highest mountain in the British Isles, attracts an estimated 100,000 ascents a year, and is only a three hour drive from my front door. Setting off at the crack of dawn on a beautiful Saturday morning, Twiggy, Ally and myself stocked up on rations at the local supermarket before hopping in the Honda for a winding journey north along country roads that connect Glasgow to Fort William.

Beinn Nibheis, as the mountain is known in Scottish Gaelic, may be the highest mountain in the country, but it is certainly not the most challenging. A nice pony path runs up its east side which makes the climb accessible to those of all mountaineering standards who have a moderate fitness level; the ice axes and crampons could be left at home. We arrived around noon; put on our gear; hitched up our bags; and set off after a strategic toilet break. The climb was wonderful and the Scottish weather brought with it the need for sunscreen and plenty of fluids. Despite ascending in the height of summer however, as we approached the top patches of snow were still visible; a reminder of the altitude we had reached. On went the gloves and woolly hat and as our competitive spirit took over we raced the last couple of hundred yards to the cairn that signified the completion of our summit. It was victory for Crobs!

Once we had regained our breath it was time to break out the packed lunches and have the highest altitude picnic available in Britain. Whilst tucking into our sandwiches a woman appeared dressed as a banana and tried to warn us of the environmental impact that littered fruit is having on the world. At first we laughed at the stupidity of her claims, but now realise that a banana skin takes two whole years to fully bio-degrade and is a visual pollutant, if nothing else, to the unmatched scenery that surrounded us. A lovely day out in a truly magnificent part of the world that makes me proud to say I'm Scottish.

Snowboard Down A Mountain (Bucket List #55)

Andorra La Vella, Andorra • January 2011 • Length of Read: 10 Minutes

I started taking snowboarding lessons in February 2010 having spent weeks marveling at some of the Winter X-Games greatest moments on YouTube, and from the minute I strapped in my boots I was hooked. The indoor dry slopes of Glasgow quickly lost their novelty however and before long a bigger challenge was needed, which is why in January 2011 I found myself on a winding bus journey through southern France with my friend Twiggy towards the Pyrenean nation of Andorra; a hot-spot for those in search of real powder but who seemingly can't afford winter sports elsewhere.

Our accommodation for the week was so close to the slopes that you could almost jump onto the resort's primary chairlift from our hotel room window, and across the landing from us were four similarly aged lads from Stoke who had started drinking before they'd even checked-in. In the words of Cooper Harris from the teen comedy Euro Trip: "This is definitely where I parked my car."

Smuggling some food from the breakfast buffet the next morning I used our dressing table as a chopping board to produce a family-sized picnic of Norwegian smoked salmon with cream cheese baguettes. Unfortunately however I had no bag in which to put them so had to find somewhere on my person. Thankfully the jacket I had bought came with approximately 5,431 different pockets and I found a nice break in the lining where they would stay moderately 'fresh'. Perhaps Karl Pilkington's theory that Napoleon invented the baguette as a space-saving snack isn't 'bullshit' after all! He claimed to have read on the wall of a train station that, whilst marching through the Russian tundra, the French Army were so laden down with warm clothing that there was no room in their backpacks for supplies. To resolve this problem they therefore invented a sandwich that could be slipped down their trouser leg. I still question the validity of this origin, but at that moment was happy to run with it.... or board with it as the case would be.

The Adrenaline was pumping through my veins as we picked up our rental gear and started to ascend the mountain. The panorama was breathtaking; not just because we were 10,000 ft above sea level but due to the sheer awe and scale of the distance the mountain range ran. This spectacle was unfortunately broken in the most ungraceful manner however when I attempted to disembark the chairlift.

Raising the safety bar I positioned my board left-foot-forward and when the moment seemed right pushed myself from the safety of the seat. For a split second I'd nailed it, like a gymnast's perfect 10 dismount from the high horse, but then I soon hit a piece of ice that flung my whole body into an entranced spasm. Looking like some ecstasy fueled raver I spammed out of grace and control before crumpling onto my tail-bone and howling out: "fuck my ass"; much to the bemusement of a Twiggy bent over in stitches beside me.

"No thanks" he trolled back.

This was going to be a very painful week.

After one particularly bad fall that afternoon in which my safety gear ended up sprawled about the slopes like I was having a yard sale, I dusted myself down to find a crumbling mess. I'd been travelling at what felt like supersonic speeds only to become momentarily distracted by a group of toddlers easing effortlessly past me in squadron formation, levering the twists like they'd popped out their mother's wombs wearing a set of skis. This lapse in concentration was all it took to send me careering into an off-piste minefield of rocks and boulders; the resultant crash leaving me covered in a oily and slimy substance. The baguettes in my pocket may have cushioned the fall but the salmon had also escaped its cling-film wrapper and was making it's way into every crevice of my jacket. For the rest of the day I smelt like a travelling fishmonger... and was frightfully hungry.

But bruised buttocks aside, winter getaways are just as much about what happens off the slopes as on them. The holiday reps had decided to break us in gently the first evening with a pub crawl that featured free shots at each stop along the way; much to the delight of the four lads from Stoke. We made drinking buddies with them straight off the bat and carnage quickly ensued, culminating in myself being the sole occupant of dingy nightclub's deserted dance-floor whilst Twiggy was being violently sick all down the hotel stairwell. Not only was this place I found myself completely void of almost any other human presence, but it was also of questionable legality due to – and I kid you not – a secret knock having to be given on a steel shutter before the bouncers let us inside.

You're probably now thinking: "Ahh Crobs, that doesn't seem like an ideal scenario to be in. Did you decide to immediately leave this Andorran Underworld and go assist your friend in need?"

I'd like to say "yes", but that would be (a) far too sensible, and (b) not make a great story.

Instead I found myself standing at the bar hitting rounds of Jaeger bombs with the lead singer of a local cover band whilst making absurd additions to their future set-lists until I blacked-out.

Needless to say the drinking over the next couple of evenings was taken a little more feebly, despite our Irish waitress’ best efforts to switch out starters for vodka-jelly shots each meal-time. She apparently didn't get commission for serving just bruschetta. Then, instead of occupying the seemingly male-only bars until the early hours of the morning, Twiggy and myself became somewhat experts on the Egyptian political crisis that was gripping the world. BBC News was the only channel that broadcast in English, and having failing to grasp the Spanish version of ‘Deal or No Deal’ we settled down for marathon runs of Tim Wilcox's commentary on the Cairo uprising whilst stuffing our faces with potato chips. To this day it would probably still be my niche topic of selection on Mastermind; that looped footage of a man being dragged on a rope by a camel through Tahir Square etched on my brain.

Friday night rib night soon came around and entering a room that had been set up in the form of a school dining hall we were ordered to sit ourselves in teams of twenty along the wooden benched that lined tables groaning under the weight of meat and beer. International drinking rules applied and it seemed that every resident in town had turned out with the sole goal of getting as drunk as physically possible.

This was none more-so than the Stoke lad who was celebrating his birthday that day and whose party trick was to down a pint in under three seconds flat. As the band came on stage, the lead singer giving me a cheeky wink, Chris was singled out by the compère to do dirty pint after dirty pint until he was staggering about like a toddler learning to walk.

Standing on those rickety benches, stuffed to the brim with meat and belting out drinking songs with strangers equally-clueless as to the true lyrics really sums up Andorra’s apres-ski in a nutshell. And in a way this is what my Bucket List is really about; not just conquering the ‘things I want to do before I die’ but acting as a platform reminding me to go out there and do cool shit, to experience new things, and to meet some amazing people I otherwise wouldn't.

...and the band never did play the Geto Boys' hit 'Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta'.

Address To A Haggis (Bucket List #129)

Glasgow, Scotland, UK • January 2015 • Length of Video: 144 Seconds

The poetry of Robert Burns, Scotland's favourite son, is celebrated every January 25th in the form of a Burns' Supper.  On the anniversary of The Bard's birthday millions of people gather together to recite some of his most famous work whilst tucking into a traditional Scottish dish of 'haggis, neeps, and tatties' and drinking large quantities of whisky.

As is custom at these events the haggis, which is effectively a bag containing a sheep's heart, liver and lungs, is marched into the room under the accompaniment of a piper before being  by seduced Burns' 1786 spoken-word poem 'An Address To A Haggis'; an act of pre-dinner foreplay.

This year I took it upon myself to do the honours so invited some friends around for an extremely 'ghetto version' of this celebration and to cross #129 off the bucket list.

Solve A Rubik's Cube (Bucket List #27)

Glasgow, Scotland, UK • November 2012 • Length of Read: 1 Minute

The Rubik’s cube originated in Hungary in 1977 as the ‘Magic Cube’, but not until a name change to that of its inventor in 1980 did it become an international success. It is now the best selling puzzle game of all time and was also the puzzle that plagued me as a child; causing numerous frustrated tantrums. The closest I got to ever finishing it was peeling the stickers off and replacing them on the correct sides, and was determined to redeem my younger self by conquering this little piece of plastic once and for all. To complete this challenge I would have to use logic and algorithms; thankfully the internet was there to answer my call and lend a helping hand.

I purchased a brand new cube from Amazon and breaking open the packaging on its arrival immediately went to Youtube for a lesson or two. Here I stumbled across Dan Brown (unfortunately not the author of the Da Vinci Code) who has amassed over 40 million views from his ‘how to solve a Rubik’s cube’ tutorials. With this step by step guide and the Solutions manual from the official Rubik’s Cube website it took me only a couple of hours to unscramble a whole childhood of anger.

However I felt somewhat unfulfilled from this experience. After all, the game is designed to test your logic and by following the tutorial felt like sitting an exam having seen the answers. I can now tick this off my list, but lure of the puzzle and the satisfaction of it’s completion have unfortunately been lost.