New Year's Resolutions

With 2006 all but a blur and 2007 breathing down my neck, I think it's worth a few moments to reflect on a year full of amazing work, tens-of-thousands of miles of travel, new friends and hundreds of fantastic people met on the road, and what the next 12 months might have in store. First and foremost, I resolve to not let two or three bum lumbar disks put the kebosh on my getting out to the field and do what it is I love. I don't think the reefs can wait for me to loll about in pain and self pity. So core strengthening here I come.

Thanks to the SF CORAL Program Team: Sherry, Rich, Bryan, Flo, Cheryl Reena, and Liz in Hawaii, Kenneth in Mexico, Allejandro in Honduras, DiDi and Johnny in Fiji, Cam in Papua New Guinea, and Helen in Indonesia for an amazingly successful and fun 2006. Thanks, also to Janine, Tom, Eileen, Kate, and Michelle for keeping the money flowing and balanced so Program can do its thing. And of course, thanks Brian for your steady hand at the helm, holding it all together and giving me the chance to be a part of this team!

With equal amounts of excitement and challenge, 2007 is shaping-up to be an amazing year. We get to return to Raja Ampat, test our environmental standards in Mesoamerica, launch a whole new standards process in Hawaii, focus on program evaluation and assessment, and train hundreds more professionals in sustainable marine tourism. All the while strengthening marine protected areas, increasing community-based conservation, and preserving incredible reef systems. So welcome, 2007! We have a lot of work to do over the next 12 months. Oh, and just so I remain mindful of the long view, 2008 is International Year of the Reef. No rest for the weary.

Blame It On Brian

With my back in full hurt mode, I'm passing the torch of exciting conservation travel (and colorful travelogue) on to my esteemed boss and friend Brian Huse. Brian is a guest speaker this week in Porto Alegre, Brazil (Google it) for the Destinations 2006 Conference dedicated to sustainable tourism. Brian is presenting our work on coral conservation and marine recreation standards development along the Mesoamerican Barrier Reef (Google it). I begged him to email a bit of the flavor of the field. To wit:

Hey guys,
Of course, when arriving in a new country, one looks for the local color, customs, and unique attributes that define "place." Often there will be one feature so pervasive that it almost becomes syonymous with that place - London = fog; Australia = beer; France = berets, you get the idea. While I have only been here less than 24 hours, I believe that southern Brazil = meat. On the way from the airport, I counted 15 MacDonalds. I now find out that Brazilians eat more hamburgers than the US. When a fellow from Panama suggested dinner last night, we were directed to the nearby churrascuria. Of course. Within 2 hours of landing in the country, I proceeded to consume roughly 6 head of cattle before realizing that it would not stop until I turned a little card over. The menu of the hotel restaurant proves little different, the ratio of meat items to non meat is precisely 5 to 1, excluding drinks. But I think if they found a way to infuse beef into the matte...


Porto Alegre is very familiar, feeling quite bit like San Francisco with hills, similar skyline, its being situated on the water, and - at least today - rain. The areas around the hotel are very clean, but the evidence of poverty is prevalent. On the outskirts of the city is a large delta like region with extensive rice fields cut through with canals and rivers. On one canal will be a shanty town of dilapidated shacks and refuse piles, where the next will boast three story mansions with boats docks. There seems to be no in between once you leave the city proper. One curious feature that stands out is the number of locksmiths. In addition to storefronts, many street corners have plywood huts just to meet your need for making spare sets of keys. The city is inhabited by no less than 5 million, but how many keys do you need?


The big buzz early on here was the last minute participation of President Lula at the opening ceremony. There was a rush to get security clearances for those lucky few who were invited to the real ceremony - as opposed to the closed circuit tv virtual ceremony. It was never clear whether I was counted in the lucky few, and I began a series of inquiries. Soon word came back that, YES, I am to have cocktails with Lula and, by the way, you need a coat and tie. My mad scramble to find a tie was averted, however. Lula had abruptly sent his apologies, and perhaps he might show up later.

At noon today the conference facility was no where near ready, so this evening ought to be interesting. Now must prepare for my talk tomorrow - you never know, Lula might show up.

When Good Discs Turn Bad

After several weeks of pain, bed rest, pain, x rays, lost work days, MRI's, pain, refills on prescription pain killers, and still more pain, I finally have at least a provisional diagnosis. And the new info brings me no great sense of relief. Seems I have what is called Lumbar Spinal Stenosis, or a narrowing of the canal in which the spinal cord passes. Due to loss of disc height in my lumbar vertebrae, my discs are getting squished and putting pressure on nerves both inside and outside of the canal. Or at least this is what I think is going on since it changes depending on who is explaining the whole thing to me on any given day.

Regardless of what caused it, bottom line is it doesn't seem to go away on it's own. So it becomes a managed condition through physical therapy and the assorted anti-inflammation drugs. If the conservative treatment brings no relief, there's always surgery which is about as appealing an idea as another long plane ride to Singapore right now. To be honest, the whole thing makes me feel old, defeated, and somewhat angry. Mostly, I'm pissed at these lame disks that couldn't handle the evolutionary challenge of upright walking. I've been scheduled to have a consult with a neurosurgeon (even the name makes me cringe) to determine the urgency for cutting open my back. In the mean time, I'm resisting the temptation of starting a new blog that allows me to vent my spleen on the joys of navigating the health care system. All I can say is do your homework when you are healthy regarding your health care provider including how well your primary care doctor is networked.

Homeward Bound

Can't wait to see my guys! And my doctor!

Free Association

Australian expats, humidity, sweating, ceiling fans, mosquiito nets, doxycycline, tonic water, nasi goreng, beeping bemos, PMVs, "good morning sir," kopi Bali, Semenyak dinner, Raja Ampat, biodiversity, musical gecko's, roach in my shirt, bottled water, 1,000,000 Rupiah meal, instant friends, partnerships, complex logistics, back pain, hip pain, knee pain, 30 Vicodin in 18 days, batik, Moresby artists row, Ubud, Kimbe Bay, dodging Jemma, meeting at the UN, SP beer, chilled red wine, Singapore Girls, Malaysian desserts, missing Sze-Ling twice, missing the whale shark, missing Bali so much, cremation ceremony, whacky Indonesian TV, painful Singaporean pop bands, Huli Wigmen, 19 hour flights, long waits in stinky lines, Asian toilets, explosions of flowers, rice paddies, betelnut teeth, friendly hand-shakes, scary turbo flights, "Are you the fat man with tatoos?," 12KBS dial-up, volcanos, haunting Balinese music, Mark's humor, Villia's going the distance for me, my boss's email reminders that I'm missed.

Villia Nambawan... Thank You, Tru!

Spent my last day in PNG tooling about Port Moresby with Villa. She managed to snag me easy and painless flight changes back to Singapore. Drinks on me at DEMA, Villia! After limping about the Air Nuigini offices, we stopped by a favorite Chinese restaurant which I'm told also serves a big pot of strong PNG coffee. Twist my arm. The place makes good on the strong coffee promise, but I look around and there are posters of the various fish served on the menu. A good many of them are local reef species and a quick look at the menu confirms that indeed they are local purveyors of the live reef fish food trade. Wrasse cheeks, lips, and assorted body parts from high value target species like Napoleon Wrasse and Bump-Head Parrotfish. Kind of soured the taste of the coffee a bit.

After coffee, I stopped at a local pharmacy to pick what is rumored to be the surest way to knock-out malaria if I get home and a blood test turns up positive or if I find myself with a mystery fever and uncontrollable shakes. It's a mixture of herbs that's supposed to be taken in two stages. Artesunate tablets taken for 5 days, then three Fansidar tablets taken on the third day. Everyone here swears by this remedy, though US Food and Drug doesn't allow it's sale in the states. I'm bringing it just in case the Doxy missed anything.

With miracle drug in hand, back to the PNGDA offices, also known as Villia's home, to meet her parents and make a final call to Singapore Airlines to try to move my flight up from next week. Nothing like navigating a Byzantine electronic answering system on unreliable phone lines. I'd get so close to the final "Press 2 Now," only to be disconnected. After four attempts, I manage to reach a human and make provisional reservations to leave on Friday the 13th. The obvious bad omen notwithstanding, let's keep our fingers crossed that I can get home without a hitch or too big a penalty.

...but the Flesh is Weak

After 15 days, 13 flights, 16 meetings, and way too many pain killers, I've had to make a tough decision to cut my field work short and begin the slow process of heading home. The lower back pain has morphed into some bizarre hip and knee pain that's just unbearable. I think it's muscle and joint pain from all the compensating I've been doing on account of my back. Regardless, making this decision while I can still stand in Kimbe Bay is a lot easier than if I wait to get to Kavieng (which makes the remote bush of Kimbe look like Los Angeles.)

I'm sending Cam on his own to finish the mission, but the added complexity of a an erupting volcano (yes, a volcano,) Mount Tavurvur, on Rabaul may not even allow him to leave Kimbe either. This is wild and wooly country to work in.

Getting out of this country off schedule is no cake walk either. Try making arrangements with no e-mail and terrible yet expensive phone connections. My savior and project partner, Villia Lawrence, brain and go-to person for the PNG Divers Association, has offered to handle my in-country flight logistics from Port Moresby, so all I need to do is handle the Singapore Air leg once i get to Malaysia.

It All Starts With Education

CORAL knows that tourism professionals like dive and snorkel operators can be highly effective agents for conservation, but it has to start with changing attitudes and behaviors. That's where our Field Representative comes in. I'm here to model our Sustainable Marine Recreation workshop so Cam can continue the learning process even after I leave. We have a great turnout for the two-day trainings. About 20 participants both days representing the bulk of dive and boat staff at Walindi Resort, key Mahonia staff, LLG (local-level government) officials, some folks from the terrestrial TNC (The Nature Conservancy, AKA one of the BIg NGOs) project, and the manager of the LMMA (Locally Managed Marine Area), essentially a community-managed MPA.


We had a great mix of people in a really interactive environment both nights. One of the highlights for me was modeling effective pre-dive environmental briefings. Seems like the staff at Walindi were delivering last second, "Oh, and don't touch the coral," briefings which research has shown have about the same effect as saying nothing. After modeling, I asked participants to pair-up and practice with each other. It was fun and one of the most practical tools they can take away and use tomorrow.

I'd call this a good beginning for Kimbe Bay. What's really exciting is looking forward on how we can build and support the LMMA network here, help local communities understand the benefits of marine protected areas and reef management, and perhaps link this educational work with what Mahonia is already doing. And maybe next time I visit, I might even get in the water too.

Walindi Plantations Resort

Thanks to the silver-tongued Cam, we got to move from the spare Mahonia house with all it's local color, to one of the posh waterfront bungalows of the Walindi Plantation Resort. Tucked away behind Mahonia, this is as out in the bush as any resort can get. But it's a paradise.

It's the dream of Max Benjamin, an Ausie agriculturalist turned dive enthusiast. Surrounding Walindi are his acres of oil palm trees which among other uses can provide an alternative to petroleum fuel (though it's still a greenhouse gas contributor and the clear-cutting for oil palm fields can lead to increased soil erosion and reef sedimentation.) But did I mention how nice the bungalow is? No ants on my pillow tonight.

We are training the staff of Walindi this week in sustainable marine recreation and reef ecology. To Max's credit, the majority of his dive staff are local New Guineans and they are excited to be presented with an opportunity to learn. From what I can tell, they can use any information on best environmental practices and proper reef etiquette. The dive shop runs a good business with shore-based diving as well as two big live-aboards.

I've met very few Americans while in PNG. No big surprise there. Combine the distances, exorbitantly expensive airfare, safety issues, Dengue Fever and malaria and you have a tough sell. You can yammer on all you want about highest biodiversity this and amazing culture that, but it's a lot easier and economical to dive Hawaii, Palau, and even Fiji than PNG. None of this hampers the Australian market, however. With Port Moresby only an hour and a half from Cairns, it's a much more attractive proposition for Down Under. Still, the strangle hold of Air Nuigini makes it close to US$1000 for that short jaunt. The PNG government hasn't yet recognized that tourism can be a sustainable revenue stream. Sadly, it's still too busy happily handing over mining, forestry, and offshore drilling rights.

Mahonia Na Dari–Guardian of the Reef

After being met at the airport, we load our gear into a truck and climb into the back of another for an hour ride over disk-compressing unpaved road to reach our destination. Our work here in Kimbe Bay is based at Mahonia Na Dari, the only local PNG-based NGO dedicated to marine conservation and education. They focus on providing environmental education and outreach to local children as well as teacher professional development. It's terrific work and much needed. Mahonia has generously offered the use of their classrooms for CORAL's trainings and they're also allowing Cam and I to stay at one of the visitors houses on their property. It's a small house built from traditional materials just up from the beach. The place has so much local color it's killing me.


After last nights class, I was exhausted from the early wake-up. I switched on the ceiling fan, brushed the ants off my bed and pillow, crawled under the mosquito net, and eventually drifted off to sweaty sleep to the music of assorted squeaking geckos, chirping crickets and burping frogs. I awoke around midnight as the generator kicked off and my ceiling fan spun slowly to a stop. As the heat of the night closed-in, I picked-up on a subtle white noise as background to the burps, chirps and squeaks. It was the sound of the waves breaking over the reef crest just beyond the beach. Local color not withstanding, a great way to drift off to dreams.

This 'Aint Your Aunties Wig

We arrive at Hoskins Airport in Kimbe and are greeted by a group of spectacular Huli Wig Men. They are a highlands tribe and I'm told it is very rare to see them in full dress. They are assembled in two lines facing each other. The Wig Men chant, beating small hand drums while hopping up and down in unison. Just amazing!

Apparently the Wig Men must live in isolation for the time it takes to grow their hair which is then cut and used to make the ceremonial wigs. Some of the wigs are more hat-like, but still absolutely spectacular. I could just imagine the look on the faces of other tribes who tried to mess with the Wig Men. These guys are bad-asses!

White-Knuckles to Kimbe Bay

Woke at 3:30 AM to try once again to fly to Kimbe Bay. Dawn and dusk are the most active feeding times for Anopholes (malaria bearing) mosquitos so the breakfast bell was ringing loudly when we started loading gear into the shuttle. We had our own bags plus several big boxes of educational material to take along. At the airport, we managed to check-in fairly smoothly and didn't even have to bribe the ticket agent again. I'm no longer amazed nor stunned at having to use bribes to get my work done, it's just how things work in many places.

Our plane actually arrived and we were off to Kimbe via a brief stop in Lai, a small town just southeast of Madang. As we descended for Lai, I noticed I couldn't see the ground. Just thick clouds. No worries yet. Then the landing gear goes down. Still no ground. Now I'm worried. While pilots have instruments for navigation, they do not land on them here. They need to visually see the approach and runway. Plus, this is very mountainous terrain and more than a few planes have clipped trees with landing gear or full-on crashed into hills.

We then hear the flaps moving, engines kick-in and feel ourselves climbing steeply again. The captain comes on and says he couldn't see the runway so he plans to circle a bit then try again. So we circle for maybe 10 minutes then begin the decent again. Gear down. Still no ground. I notice a local woman next to me, her palms up, eyes closed and mouth moving in vigorous prayer. I'm not sure to whom she's directing the prayers, but I'm hoping her 110% is making up for the enormous faith-vacuum in my seat.

Once again, the captain bails on the landing and we climb back up. This time no word from the flight deck. We circle for another 5 minutes and the captain announces we will try once again. Again? I mean I admire the effort, but at this point the Port Moresby Holiday Inn is looking good. We descend, gear goes down, but now we can see a patch of ground through the clouds. I guess that's enough to convince the captain there's no mountain ahead of us and we drop from the sky onto the Lai runway to nervous applause.

Cam and I bolt from the plane to calm our nerves in the terminal. Maggi's chicken never looked so good.

A Night in Moresby

Air travel within PNG is an interesting series of acceptances you make between yourself and the sole PNG air carrier, Air Nuigini. They accept your money, and you accept that the tickets and itinerary they issue are somewhat worthless bits of paper. Air Nuigini is everything you might expect from a national airline monopoly. Planes are quite old and in-flight domestic service consists of two cookies and a tin of apple juice. On international legs you may get a hot meal, almost always an unedited violent or explicit Hollywood movie, and four cookies with two tins of apple juice. Flights are regularly late, cancelled, overbooked, never leave the gate, or delayed on the runway with little effort at explanation. All too often, this results in joining a long queue for re-ticketing which begins the entire hopeful process all over again.

So instead of being in beautiful Kimbe Bay, I am enjoying a night in Port Moresby compliments of Air Nuigini. With 2 other flights cancelled ahead of me, all the available rooms at the Airways and Gateway (the decent hotels) are gone. So Holiday Inn it is. CORAL's PNG Field Rep in training, Cam Hollows, is with me and he's just spent 5 months volunteering in rainy Alotau, so Holiday Inn may as well be The Four Seasons. While the rooms reek of smoke, at least I have a cute gecko in the bathroom to eat up all the ants around the sink.

Port Moresby is PNGs capital city and has a pretty bad reputation. While the downtown area is okay during the day, it's not a place you want to stroll about aimlessly. Downtown is considered the center of Moresby and there are settlements and subdivisions named by distance from here, One Mile, Two Mile, Three Mile, and so on. Near the airport is perhaps the most notoriously dangerous settlement of Six Mile. I'm told a sure way to get yourself killed is to venture here. This place is crawling with "raskals," the local pidgin for trouble makers. A lot of the problem is that people live under the crushing weight of poverty and many highlands people coming to Moresby looking for work instead find despair. Alcoholism and high HIV rates are rampant. Factor in tribal and clan tensions between warring highland populations who like to settle disputes with bush knives and machetes and it makes you greatly appreciate your smokey rooms at the Inn.

It's Not The Heat, It's The Humidity... Well, Maybe It's the Heat

Arrived two days ago to clear skies, but ever since the clouds closed-in over Milne Bay in Alotau Province, Papua New Guinea. Torrential bouts of warm rain are making it feel like an enormous communal shvitz. Except the Papua New Guineans don't seem to notice that it's 33 degrees Celsius with 100% humidity. They bundle up with extra layers in the downpour.

Been spending a lot of time in meeting after meeting with various players in our PNG work. The network of MPA's that was slated for completion by one of our partners has been derailed, and I'm trying to pick up the pieces to see how CORAL's work needs to adapt and move forward. Not unexpectedly, there's a lot of resentment and skepticism towards conservation-speak in these parts right now, so it's a lot of delicate footwork. I'm remaining optimistic that marine conservation will still happen in this incredible place, but there is a big knot to untie.

It's too easy to forget about all the people who have dedicated significant portions of their lives to make conservation a reality here. I shared a festive yet bittersweet dinner with several members of the local project team who were recently let go. Mostly Australians, but a few French, Icelandic, and British scientists, anthropologists, volunteers... all smart, dedicated, and passionate conservationists. We kicked-back at one of their apartments to share a dinner of Chicken Tajine prepared by a couple who met here during their work and are now getting married. They leave on Sunday so this is a farewell dinner of sorts. Local PNG eggplants, taro, and assorted local mystery herbs and spices smother big chunks of chicken that probably was running around Alotau just yesterday. All served over peanut couscous.

I was the outsider here, and didn't know anyone longer than a day. But we shared good local beer, great local food, and a common local interest in preserving this amazing PNG marine environment. I'm truly saddened that they won't be able to see their vision realized. I'm hoping CORAL can carry on some of that charge.

Making Conservation Happen

Doxycycline (dox-i-SYE-kleen): Anti-malaria; allows me to dive without threats of blackouts or psychotic episodes as do other malaria treatments; causes high sensitivity to UV exposure

Carisoprodol (kar-eye-soe-PRO-dole): Muscle relaxant used to treat my chronic lower back pain on 19 hour flights; makes me drowsy, particularly when taken with,

Hydrocodone (hye-droe-KO-done): Generic for Vicodin; pain reliever (see above)

Ibuprofen (eye-byu-PRO-fin): Anti-Inflammatory; Helps improve my lower back mobility

Benadryl (BEN-uh-drill): Antihistamine; for the random allergic reactions to new foods

Imodium (i-MOE-dee-yum): Anti-Diarrheal; do I really need to spell this out?

Last Bali Day–Ubud Style

Kidnapped by Helen early morning and whisked off for a day trip up into the hills to visit the town of Ubud. Kilometer after kilometer of stone carving shops lined the narrow road and we had to compete with a million and a half motor scooters for right-of-way. Passed a temple that was decked out for a festival and I stopped in to watch a group of excruciatingly adorable Balinese children practicing traditional dancing.


Ubud is essentially a large paddy field in the center, en-squared by rows of art galleries, shops, spas, hotels, guest houses and restaurants. We passed on the shopping and headed for the Mandala Wisata Wanara Wana–Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary. You pay admission then stroll through a dense forest that makes you appreciate what was here before all the shops. As soon as you enter, a troupe of Long-Tailed Macaques come running out of the leaf litter to see if you have a banana (which are "official monkey bananas" that you buy for 1000 rupia at the entrance). I'm not obliged to feed wild animals and I also like all my fingers, thank you. One look at your empty hands and the macaques high-tail, er, long-tail it out of there. Though apparently the baby macaques are happy to feel around in your pockets just in case. Sneaky little primates.


After an amazing lunch of what can only be described as Indonesian tapas, lots of tiny banana-leaf boats filled with amazingly hot but delicious chicken, veggies, smoked duck, and assorted satays, we had to head back to Sanur along roads lined with colorful pengols so I could pack. I will so miss Bali, even my neighborhood pimps. It ends as it started, an amazing overload and I can't wait to return. Next stop, PNG.

Sometimes a Massage Isn't Just a Massage

I'm developing a love/hate relationship with the Balinese. On the one hand they are some of the friendliest, most welcoming, and gentle people I've ever met in my travels. Yet everyone, and I mean everyone, is trying to be my personal pimp. From the fellow who met me at the airport to shuttle me to the hotel to the front desk staff at reception to the cab driver who picked me up from the internet cafe. Even the unassuming Hindu lady distributing fruits, flowers, and incense to the many neighborhood gods and gremlins lining the streets. It all goes the same way:

"You here alone? Oh no! I will find you someone."
"No thanks," I reply. "I'm good to go."
"Oh no, sir. What is your name?"
"I'm Tony."
"Hello, Tony. Where you stay?"
Well giving out that sort of info is just asking for a late night door knocking.
"I'm at the Hyatt," I respond.
"Ohhh, Hyatt. You want massage there?"

Do I have "Bali Virgin" written across my forehead? I mean I know I am the Fiji and Papua New Guinea equivalent of Brad Pitt. But Indonesia too?

Hey Looky! It's the Bird's Head Seascape!

I just love work partner and friend Mark Erdmann. If you don't already know him, just Google him. He's lead scientist on our joint project in Raja Ampat, Indonesia (and the reason I'm in Bali), has just discovered over 50 sexy new fish species there, has a knack for finding living Coelacanths where they're not supposed to be, isn't afraid to pepper his speech with colorful curses, and he's a fun drinking buddy too.

Raja Ampat and the rest of the Bird's Head Seascape of Papua, Indonesia is absolutely spectacular. These remote and isolated islands (or what Mark calls "species factories") are part of the absolute epicenter of global biodiversity. And not just bacterial diversity, but big charismatic stuff like fin-walking sharks and 15-foot mosquitos. Okay, that mosquito part is a lie. But the shark stuff is amazingly cool. And Mark thinks we're only just seeing the tip of the iceberg as far as what is living here. It's such a priveledge to get to work with him in this last frontier.

How to Kill a Reef: Part I

Follow the road down from my hotel till you reach the beach and you can watch a Komatsu backhoe slowly but steadily pound sand into this freshly built groin. These breakwaters do a terrific job of accumulating sand and sediment on one side while causing beach erosion on the other. Changes in sediment flow along coral coastlines like Bali are rarely good news for the offshore reef systems you can just see along the wave crests in the distance.

"Where are you going? Are you married?"

Now three days into the Bali leg of this trip and the obvious weakness of blogging my journey is that it's absolutely foiled by lack of internet access. Dial-up just doesn't cut it. Anyway, when in Sanur, Bali, look for the Star Cafe on Tambingan Road for the best high-speed internet access. They also pour a serious cup of strong coffee to boot!

I was completely unprepared for the sensory overload that is Bali. While a lot of the areas have been heavily touched by development (yes, McDonalds and Kentucky Fried Chicken are alive and well in Bali), Sanur is relatively quiet and mercifully lacking the neon glitz of Kuta and Denpasar. To be sure, the commercialization has begun here too as Hyatt has a plush, gated palace of a hotel here. But the town is still a maze of narrow roads, small markets, street food vendors, and temples large and small. The combination of stone and wood in the architecture is breathtaking, but it's the minute details and finishes that are really astounding. The intricate carvings and colors are like nothing I've seen before. Statues of deities or demons are everywhere... some Hindu, some Buddhist, some just animist icons. Tall bamboo stalks line areas of the streets dangling brilliant pink, purple, or fuschia streaming banners. Everywhere, the smell of incense and grilling satay mixes wonderfully.


I'm staying at the Stana Puri Gopa Hotel on Jalan Kesumasari No 4, Semawang Sanur. It's a short, narrow road that leads directly to the beach. The checked skirt on the god standing guard at the gate is symbolic. The black and white squares represent the good and evil that is part of every deity. The twice daily offerings are part of a contract of sorts. I'll scratch your back so no funny business, Okay? As with most of the Balinese I've encountered, the staff here are amazingly friendly and helpful. But it's taken some time to adjust to the rather direct Indonesian manner of initiating every conversation with rather direct if not blunt questions. "Where are you going?" "How old are you?" "Where is your wife?" Apparently a solo traveler in Bali is seen as rather odd and strange. To save time, I've just taken to saying "Yes, I'm married, thank you for asking." I could have clearly benefitted in traveling with Sherry on this trip. See, Sherry, I miss you already!

What Sunsets?

So a friend stumbled across my blog and asked why I'm including sunsets in a list of otherwise annoying and pesky moments of my field work. Good question, Steve, and nice to know you're reading my blog on your worktime. But hey, I do field work because I love the field... even with all the strange itchy unidentified rashes. And those beautiful sunsets distract me from my work. Just take a look at this pesky little sunset over Vanua Levu in Fiji from my July 2006 trip to Taveuni.

Speaking of travel, I have a doozy of a trip rapidly approaching. In about a week I'm off to Singapore, Bali, back to Singapore, Papua New Guinea, Singapore again then back to SF. All told, about 27 days of travel. This will be my first Indonesian visit (can't wait) and my second to PNG, though this time it's the all-access-pass to PNG with visits to Port Moresby, Milne Bay, Kimbe Bay, and Kavieng. Doxycycline here I come! While in PNG must also remember to shake the toaster before making my morning toast to avoid the pungent smell of cooked giant cockroach.

I'll Miss You Steve

Ask ten Americans who the Prime Minister of Australia is and you'll get ten blank stares. But everyone knew Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter. I woke today to headlines that this great wildlife and conservation icon is gone, apparently impaled through the chest by a stingray while snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef. He wrestled salt water crocodiles yet he's taken down by a stingray.

Think what you will about his methods or delivery, but he raised more awareness about conservation than any of us ever will. He was all the best things I love about Australia wrapped up in one person: loud, fearless, funny, sometimes annoying, yet a good heart underneath.

Thanks, Steve, for making the rest of us khaki shorts-wearing, "Crikey-spouting" wildlife conservationists look respectable.

Getting Started

While the blog title is far more descriptive and symbolic of what I'm hoping to capture in these postings (the less than glamorous yet still amazing moments of remote fieldwork), this blog is really just notes from the field: ramblings, thoughts, stunning images, remarkable people, and neat ideas that strike me while out and about to coral reef destinations in my work.


But first a caveat: This travelogue contains my own personal musings and does not necessarily reflect the opinions or positions of The Coral Reef Alliance. Any mistakes, gaffes, personal affronts, and libel are mine and mine alone (this just to satisfy my boss and HR Dept!)