Bread at the Edge: St Helena Island Part 2

A Remote Island, a Shark Conspiracy and the Ever-Watchful Bread

It was not until we had dipped in the cool waves two or three times that we began to hear the rumours of sharks. At first, one 12-foot mako shark had been spotted in Rupert Bay, one headland over from Jamestown. The next day, this had become two mako sharks, one 12-feet and the other 14, and they had now been spotted from fishing boats and from the wharf itself in both Rupert and James bays.

These sightings did, naturally, make us freshly nervous of the water. Though we reassured ourselves that mako sharks generally prefer fast swimming prey, such as mackerel and St Helena had never before seen an attack, this was not enough to completely quiet our new fears. Over the following day, we questioned as many people as possible, asking their views on whether the public’s concern was genuine or not and heard many stories on both sides.

Eventually, the picture that we gleaned and decided to take on board was that the sharks, if seen at all, had not been seen since before we arrived on island. We therefore decided to try and not let this sap our enthusiasm and reinstated our daily visits to the wharf steps.

Alas, the next few days brought rough weather and the water in our safe cove was covered in white foam, from the huge swell. The waves even washed onto the wharf and around our feet as we stood hopefully looking out, rationalising that it surely couldn’t be too dangerous. We weren’t convinced though, and so we had three full days without being able experience the bliss of the sea.

One of the days we, with Bread in tow, walked around the headland to Rupert’s Bay in the hope that things would be calmer there, and we could swim, but to no avail. The walk was short and not too challenging so we set out thinking we would walk both there and back. We assumed the hotel staff were exaggerating about the cliffside path and felt confident we could brave it twice. We couldn’t have been much more wrong.

In places, many places, the path, made up of loose stones, was less than two feet wide. Just by looking at the placement of our feet we could see the rocks and crashing waves far below. We managed to get round without falling, but not without feeling sufficiently queasy to prevent us from ever attempting the route again. Therefore, once our swimming ambitions had also been dashed by the swell, we summoned a ferry for our return.

We were eventually able to return to the water. The first time we discovered it was now calm enough was at midnight on a night our colleagues had tried and failed to entice us to visit the local nightlife. Instead, we decided to try a dip in the dark…

A patch of water close to the wharf steps was lit with flood lights, which from the shore we thought was a good thing and then, once actually in the water, we immediately started wondering whether it might not actually attract the sharks. Our fears on this point escalated to such a level that we only managed to stay in for about a minute before we ascended the ladder again, fully panicked.

The second time we attempted to swim in the dark, we brought lookouts with us. I am sure we knew deep down that if our fears were realised and a shark really did arrive, there was very little our friends ashore would be able to do, but their moral support worked wonders anyway. We succeeded in spending fully ten minutes in the water this time, before we were driven out again, this time by the cold.

We thought this was our last swim, as the following morning, the weekly flight was due. In the early hours of the morning, before finally sleeping, Bread was returned to his place, folded in my suitcase, his contents still wet and stowed in hand luggage.

Our planned departure, however, was not to be. That morning at breakfast the news trickled through from various members of the community that the plane had not taken off from Johannesburg due to low cloud cover over the island and would be delayed for at least two days. The following morning, the news came that it was now rescheduled for the third day.

We were thrilled. Our work now complete, we had been gifted three days to explore and enjoy our surroundings in full. We completed a post box walk to the Heart-Shaped Waterfall to sign the visitors’ book and collect a stamp, bought souvenirs, and even applied for a local driving licence.

Our final swim on our last morning was the most triumphant of all. We had been psyching ourselves up for something more daring on each visit and today, we decided, was the day to push ourselves out of our comfort zone, fear of sharks notwithstanding.

Under Bread’s able and calm supervision, we swam out of our cove, under the mooring ropes for the boats bobbing in the bay and around the harbour wall. As soon as we rounded the corner, in the face of the openness of the water on one side, and the potential of being dashed on the rocks on the other, the hope of completing our expedition in a fully dignified manner faded.

Our barely contained and mostly irrational fears quickly resurfaced. The idea of touching the ropes, though clearly visible and harmless, suddenly became abhorrent, and, of course, we were much more vulnerable to sharks out there. We pushed forth regardless, however, intrepid as we were, and successfully completed our mission of reaching the next set of steps and returning whence we came. Thankfully, and somewhat illogically, our fears dissipated again upon our return, and we were able to continue exploring and watching the fish until we could put off our journey to the airport no longer.

Less than two hours later, as the plane touched down after its unusual 10-day absence, Bread safely packed once more, I realised I was reluctant to leave. Our time in St Helena had ended: suddenly, sadly and without ceremony.

What will Bread get up to next? New adventures coming soon – stay tuned!

Bread at the Edge: St Helena Island Part 1

A Remote Island, a Shark Conspiracy and the Ever-Watchful Bread

When I was told that my next work trip would be to Saint Helena, I was very excited but also had no idea what to expect. There are only very few pictures of St Helena available online and the tales of slow-to-no internet, cash only except in the hotel and the unreliable flights are probably enough to put a purely leisure traveller off. I, however, am so glad I got to go!

Our flight from Johannesburg departed on time, landed to refuel as scheduled at Walvis Bay, Namibia, and, to our great relief, took off again. The seats were very comfortable and spacious, and we were so well looked after – we were provided with two meals and three drinks services during the approximately six-and-a-half-hour flight. My colleague, who I had only met the day before but quickly bonded with, and I very much enjoyed mishearing the much too quiet announcements from the air steward – I am quite sure he cannot really have said that use of the toilets was “suboptimal” – and speculating over the number of glasses of wine consumed by one particular passenger in business class (four large glasses in total, at the end of which he was noticeably inebriated).

The landing on St Helena’s relatively newly created runway was an experience not dissimilar to that of riding a rollercoaster. The manual feeling of the adjustments for the wind shear and the last-minute appearance of the island upon descent below the clouds did make it quite nerve wracking. Then, once we did touch down, fears immediately turned to whether we would stop in time, since there was a cliff edge drop at both ends of the runway. Everything went smoothly though, with only one attempt required – by no means a given in St Helena – and we had finally arrived.

Because the airport area had all been created from nothing, it was a bit like stepping out onto the moon, or at least a quarry, surrounded by black volcanic rocks and dust. As soon as we drove out of the valley, though, we were engulfed in a lush, jungle-like landscape, with steep hills and deep rifts, all covered in flax, eucalyptus trees and prickly pear cacti. It was wild and untamed, yet so beautiful and freeing to be amongst.

As we approached Jamestown, the main town on the island, the landscape changed again. It felt as if we were above the treeline on a mountain range, with the hills looming over us on each side and sparse foliage visible only in patches. Jamestown itself is densely populated, with the oldest Anglican church in the southern hemisphere, the institutional buildings and almost all the shops on the island. Our driver boasted to us that the roundabout is the only one in the world with parking on it, that the maximum speed limit is 30 miles per hour and that there are no traffic lights on the island.

Even this initial drive from the airport to our hotel was thrilling. The dramatic Jamestown scenery of the black cliffs plunging into the blue ocean, the ever-visible Jacob’s Ladder, 699 steps ascended the aptly named Ladder Hill, and the beautiful Castle Gardens with the bright purple bougainvillea filled me with nothing but excitement for our two weeks there.

We quickly became aware of just how small the island we had invaded was. During dinner at our hotel, we were surrounded by our fellow plane passengers, including the red wine drinker, who had two more glasses with his meal. By the end of the first few days, we already felt part of the community: we had sampled all the restaurants in Jamestown, met what felt like half of the population and settled into the routine of our new lives.

As in the Cayman Islands, our time during the day was dominated by meetings, and for the first couple of days, as we were getting used to it all, bread, safely holding my swimming costume, goggles, towel and flip flops, silently taunted me from the desk in my hotel room. The evenings, however, did offer a small amount of time to slip away…

My colleague first discovered the delights of the wharf. Just a minute’s walk from our hotel was the arch, which led to the harbour wall.

It was an industrial feeling port, littered with a growing number of cargo crates as they were unloaded from the ship, the island’s monthly visitor, cranes and building materials. Alongside this activity was that of fishermen and pleasure boaters, all of which harmonised to create an ever-changing landscape and energetic atmosphere. The juxtaposition between this, the surrounding cliffs and the open water beyond the bay made for a raw but very beautiful place, at first off-putting but quickly fully engaging and exciting.

As I first ventured through the arch, Bread in tow, I was thrilled by all the sights, at once so harmonious in situ and yet seemingly incongruous. We ventured down to the very end of the wharf, where ropes hung from metal frames to help incoming boats offload and ladders plunged down into the deep.

The colour of this water was different to that in Cayman and, to me, even more beautiful. The deep teal evoked the cold, unforgiving nature of sea and the clarity was unmatched in my experience. We could see right to the rocky bottom in small inlet we at first confined ourselves to and could see the depth shelving down beyond, with the hulls of the boats visible across the harbour. It was incredible to think that there was no land for so many miles, out beyond what we could see.

Read what happened next in part 2!

Bread on the Beach: Cayman Islands Edition

A Whistlestop Tour of White Sands and Turquoise Water

In April, I was fortunate to go to the Cayman Islands on a business trip. Though I was fully aware our schedule would not permit much down time, I also knew the water would be warm, clear and easily accessible, as well as teeming with exotic fish and even the occasional turtle. So, I held out hope that I would be afforded the opportunity to sample the delights and optimistically included Bread in my luggage, along with my swimming costume and travel towel.

After the approximately 12-hour flight and slightly painful adjusting to the six-hour time difference, our gruelling programme of meetings, note taking and report writing began. The humidity and heat were constant companions, though thankfully the air conditioning did offer some relief indoors. And, throughout it all, so too was Bread, always secreted in my rucksack, attending every meeting, party to every discussion and symbolic of my inward longing to visit the ocean – tantalisingly close and, yet, out of reach.

The small glimpses of the landscape our schedule permitted revealed a wonderful place. It was very flat, with the highest point in the island being the top of the rubbish dump and very built up in the west. As you travel east, however, everything became sparser, eventually giving way to thick foliage on one side of the road.

The eastern end of Grand Cayman is home to the botanic park, which offers a fascinating display of the endemic flora, and even the fauna in the form of blue iguanas and many amazing and unusual species of bird.

None of this, though, I imagine, held much interest for Bread, hiding throughout in my work bag. His primary purpose, of course, has always been to carry the towels, so nothing could quite provide the same pull as and the sand and waves on the other side of the road…

Eventually, after almost a full week on island, my colleague and I were able to steal away for a morning to go snorkelling. Perfect, I thought, Bread would finally be in his element!

The scenery of the mangroves, interspersed with the enormous ex-pat owned houses and then, finally, the open water were astonishingly beautiful. I have heard and read about the Caribbean, but nothing quite prepared me for the colour of that water – so bright and so clear, I had never seen anything like it. We were taken out to our first snorkelling spot, Coral Gardens, and I was excited to finally swim…

It was glorious! So warm that it felt like floating in air, or nothing at all, and I could have stayed there forever. Bread was forced to watch on enviously from the boat, no doubt also craving the feel of the lapping waves around him – he, however, was confined by the important task of guarding the valuables, ever the enabler rather than an active participant.

The next stop was Stingray City, a sandbank where fishing boats historically discarded unusable parts of their catch, attracting large numbers of stingrays. Here, Bread once again observed while we swam amongst them, fed them and even held them – an amazing experience only slightly marred by the possibility of being stung if we were to accidentally stand on a ray. Not too likely but, with the occasional larger wave sweeping us from our feet, not quite impossible either…

The last stop was the barrier reef, which surrounds the whole island and was again gorgeous! So many interesting fish and coral species. Then the boat ride back to the harbour with more interest in the view, since the desire to swim had been at least partially sated.

Other than lounging briefly in my hotel room, Bread’s last adventure in the Cayman Islands came a couple of days later in the form of a visit to the beach. We had only 20 minutes spare, so we ran the whole way, got in the water at top speed and were only able to stay in for a few minutes before the call of our laptops became too strong to deny any longer. But this allowed Bread to feel the white sand for himself and look out across the waves, his view unimpeded by the sides of a boat or any other obstacle. This was the furthest he had ever been from home. As he gazed at the Caribbean Sea, perhaps he too was wondering which other shores might one day welcome him…

Where next? Stay tuned for more travels and unexpected detours, under the ever-watchful gaze of Bread.

Introducing Bread

An unlikely friend and fellow adventurer

It all began with a questionable decision to try wild swimming for the first time and the need for something to look after the towels and, most importantly, the car key on the beach. We decided to take one of my older, less well looked after and less often used Bags for Life with us.

We were braving the cold, murky water of Frensham Great Pond. On the beach sat our chosen companion: a bright orange bag with ‘BREAD’ in big letters on the side, with a loaf illustration, just in case the message was unclear. A very prominent and comforting presence. We made sure that we never ventured too far from the opening, through which we could see ‘him’ and were worried for his safety whenever anyone else got too close for comfort.

Since that first use, Bread has been a constant presence on any beach or shore whenever we have been wild swimming. One time, on a pebble beach on Hayling Island, a huge group of people arrived for a church service and barbecue while we were in the frigid depths and chose to settle immediately beside Bread. They were so close that their drinks were overhanging him as they stood chatting. We were incensed by this blatant invasion of Bread’s personal space and very concerned for his wellbeing.

As is often the case, the remainder of our time in the water was punctuated by new exclamations of annoyance when someone stepped yet closer to Bread, nearly trod on him, or just continued to threaten his general vicinity. Deep down, I suppose, we were really worried about our towels, clothes and secreted car key, which, if damaged or lost, could have caused us serious problems. But concern for Bread was all we ever voiced and seemingly only his welfare troubled us, not our vulnerability. And in this case, this hurried us from the water earlier than we may have liked.

He has developed into such a true companion that he is now branching out into other, non-swimming activities! We greatly enjoy taking Bread to ridiculous and inappropriate places, whether that be on a hotel room bed, holding snorkelling equipment on a boat in the middle of the bright turquoise waters surrounding the Cayman Islands, or, most recently, guarding the wharf steps while I braved the deep, clear and (definitely not really, but conspiracy theories were running rife) shark-infested waters of St Helena Island.

I was once asked the classic ice-breaker question: if you wrote a book, what would it be about? This first made me ponder the possibilities of telling Bread’s story. It could be funny, poignant in places, and bring in material for many different genres.

So here we are: Bread is ready to explore and I’m ready to document it – travel, lifestyle and exercise, one inappropriate location at a time. Welcome to ‘Adventures with Bread’!