OUT and ABOUT The Collected Quasi Non-fictional Recollections Of the Occasional R.J. OLDCASTLE, Part One
PREFACE
The following are the hazy anecdotal memoirs of some of the adventures of Robert John Oldcastle. They have been assembled with illustrations taken by the author. They are quasi non-fictional (or fictional). All of the events happened in the locations described, but not necessarily in the larger context of the story as a whole. Some names have been changed to protect the actual identities, with no innocence or guilt implied.
The author occasionally digresses into observations and advice for travellers and explorers gleaned from his experiences. These are offered in the hope that his readers may learn from his hard knocks rather than suffer them themselves.
So, in that context, I hope you enjoy them. -R.J.O.
Chapter One
TRINIDAD – ‘69
It was the summer of ’69 that started my life of travel and adventure. I was really too young in June of that year to apply for the job that was advertised one evening in the Toronto Globe newspaper:
Wanted: Earnest, intelligent, young man that is willing to travel. Must be available immediately for 2-month commitment. Must be comfortable with outdoor work and be conversant with survey fundamentals. Apply in person.
And they listed a room number at the Queen’s Hotel on Front Street.
As well as my regular schooling, I had been active in the local “Drill Association” for two years and was quite conversant with basic military map & compass work. I had been fortunate to be able to advance quickly through my studies and passed my Junior Matriculation exams at a young age. Now school was out and I was free for the summer.
At 8:00 am the next morning I presented myself to the address indicated in the newspaper and was met by two gentlemen. I presented my Junior Matriculation certificate and military identification and somehow convinced them that I was older than I appeared. They asked me a series of questions on the Mercator projection, magnetic variation and the like. They were surprised at my accurate answers and asked for a sample of my handwriting. They then asked if I was able to leave in three days’ time. I gulped and said, “Yes”. “You’re hired”, they replied. Then I remembered to ask, “Where are we going and how long?” They replied, “Trinidad, and you will be gone for at least six weeks. Be at Union Station by 9:00 a.m. We leave for New York from Track 9.”
They gave me a list of personal equipment I would need, a train ticket and an advance of $20.00 cash! Only then did I think to ask what we would be doing. They had a contract to instruct surveyor’s assistants for an upcoming large scale topographic survey of the island. I was to be their peon!
That night there was an animated conversation with my family. They finally relented and supported me in my first real adventure. I spent the next two days in madcap shopping and packing the necessary tropical kit.
There were many memorable moments, but I’ll mention only a few. The northwest corner of Trinidad is only a few miles from the South American coast of Venezuela. There is a region of jungle covered highlands along the northern part of the island. We were based north of Port of Spain in that hill country. The government had assigned us a building, however shortly before we arrived it had been burned down by monkey hunters. We ended up living in a warehouse-like structure that was open on both ends. We slept on cots, listening to the jungle noises including the eerie sound of Red Howler monkeys. That was my first experience living with snails the size of golf-balls and two-inch cockroaches.
We were warned about poisonous snakes in the area and told not to walk into the jungle (and even be careful on the tracks and roads). I wondered whether we were being teased until I saw a dead Fer-de-Lance that had been run over on the road into our camp. The snake was over three feet long and with a dull colouring that would effectively camouflage it in that terrain. The Fer-de-Lance is a pit viper whose bite is fatal. Our new friends were not joking – thus I learned to always listen to the local experts when they offer advice. I bought a walking stick with a snake carved around it as a memento of that day.
An amusing episode happened on one of our visits to Port of Spain. The three of us were wandering along a side street on a hot afternoon. Summer is the rainy season and the daily afternoon rain torrent opened up on us. We spotted a sign that said “Recreational Club”. It was at the top of a set of stairs leading to a roofed balcony overlooking the street. Up we went. We sat down at a large table and ordered rum punches. The price the waiter asked was exorbitant, but we paid. Then a parade of rather rough looking “ladies” began to walk past with enticing smiles, making rather provocative comments. It was at that point we realised what kind of “recreation” the sign referred to. We downed our drinks and escaped into the warm rain.
We took time to make trips around the island which allowed for a couple of interesting swims. Macqueripe Bay on the north coast has a beautiful beach. While swimming we saw giant manta rays offshore just below the surface that must have had an eight-foot wingspan. Closer to shore, we saw Goliath Groupers below us that we were told were between two and four hundred pounds.
The scariest event I experienced was when we visited the small island of Gaspar Grande. I ventured away from the group and went for a swim in a small bay amongst myriad small colourful fish. When I was about one hundred feet from shore and in about ten feet of water, a long thin fish swam between me and shore. He was at least five feet long! Barracuda! I was out of the water as fast as I could make it. Our local friends laughed at me and assured me that barracuda never attack anything larger than themselves.
That summer, I learned a lot about how wide the world was and how I so much wanted to see more of it.
End of Chapter One.