09 November 2009

the stamp collector

I was a stamp collector. My collection was certainly no family heirloom but was still of great value to me since I had built it up at a time when we were struggling financially. I collected mint British stamps starting from the Coronation of Elizabeth II, and also accumulated a fair quantity of used examples of Victorian, Edwardian and Georgian stamps. The Penny Red above is a photo taken in 1976 from one of my original albums.

The main Post Office in Bournemouth used to have a philatelic counter run by a man who was himself a collector. He neatly tore off strips, blocks and singles, then transferred them to little clear envelopes with some deft tweezer work. I would queue there four or five times each year to buy the latest commemorative sets. There were also several stamp shops in town and all sold bags stuffed with used stamps still stuck to the corners of envelopes. These were a cheap but worthwhile investment often producing unexpected gems. Ah those Saturday mornings spent soaking the stamps off!

In about 1982 I sold my stamp collection. It was a case of necessity but the fifty pounds I made wasn't even close to the face value of the stamps, never mind their catalogue or sentimental value. I always regretted that move, especially since, within a few years, I could have managed comfortably without the proceeds.

Now, twenty-six years later, I have decided to atone for my mistake. The philatelic counter in Bournemouth (if it still exists) is now three and a half thousand miles away so I must use some imagination to reassemble things here in Canada. The electronic era has ushered in a new style of stamp collecting. An abundance of web sites sell individual stamps, sets, whole collections, albums and accessories. A few keystrokes have revealed whole albums and stock books which haven't increased hugely since my 1980's sale. I think I can replace my stamps and indeed improve upon the collection for only a couple of hundred pounds. EBay has proved to be a goldmine, full of collections for sale following the deaths of ageing uncles.

Luckily the market is not as buoyant as I expected. Collectors with spare cash have perhaps dropped away in the recession. The odd thing is, I am ordering and bidding on collections of British stamps being sold in Canada and the United States. There must have been plenty of immigrant uncles! Ironically, the heaviest cost is for postage to Prince Edward Island! An album posted here from, let's say Los Angeles, costs about thirty pounds. I wonder what my ancestors would have made of such an outrageous waste of what would have been two years' earnings in Victorian times?

I have equipped myself with tweezers, magnifying glass, hinges and a Stanley Gibbons catalogue and set up a few auctions to watch on eBay. Now I'll be watching out for the postman for the next few days!

06 November 2009

Everest: an unhealthy obsession

The route to the summit is glaringly obvious from this angle: follow the path of steep ice which flows relentlessly from the interior of the three giant peaks, Everest, Lhotse and Nuptse; shin up a steep ice wall and take a left turn where it's a mere hop and a skip to the top of the world. By all accounts Everest is not a technically difficult mountain to climb. An ambitious novice with excellent fitness, a steely nerve for heights and a huge bank balance can have a fair stab at it.

Armchair enthusiasts are developing high expectations, fostered by the latest high definition TV documentaries in which a cosmopolitan range of middle-aged adventurers reach for the sky and send video messages home to loved ones. True, today's synthetic materials have previously unimagined thermal qualities and mountaineering equipment is now stronger yet lighter than ever but it is money that is at the heart of the problem with Everest. Elite Guiding Companies all but promise to get you safely to the summit (and back) for a barely credible fee of $70,000, per client.

Bottled oxygen has become standard issue above 23,000 feet, an altitude above which the natural atmosphere does not sustain human life for more than a couple of days. A seemingly inexhaustible supply of altitude-adjusted Sherpas are keen to enlist as expeditionary guides and porters, at $2,000 earning ten times more than their farming income. The Nepalese Government long ago spotted the financial advantage of charging ludicrous sums for permits to climb the country's greatest asset.

Put simply, commercial pressures are putting too many people on the mountain, many of whom would never make it there on merit. These figures tell a story of rapid acceleration:

One might deduce that the mountain is becoming safer to climb but these statistics by decade are masking years when fatalities ran at higher percentages. A combination of weather and over-crowding in 1996 resulted in fifteen deaths in a year when ninety-eight people reached the summit and considerably fewer returned.

Despite the increasingly friendly statistics, this is no hike. Some people suffer the ravages of altitude sickness even before the real climb has begun. Base Camp is at 17,000 feet above sea level (already comfortably twenty per cent higher than the highest Alpine peak, Mont Blanc. As you climb toward the Troposphere, pulmonary and cerebral edemas occur frequently even among apparently fit people as bodies stop working in this hostile realm. Helicopters can barely stay aloft in the thin air of Base Camp so evacuations high on the mountain are simply not possible. If you get sick then your companions are unlikely to be strong enough to carry you down to safety. You will be abandoned to your fate and join the corpses of those who lie where they fell, frozen hard as ice. That is the code which has developed although it is one over which bitter debate rages.

Base camp, a collection of tents not visible from the high altitude photo above, lies at the bottom right corner of this view, just below the Khumbu Ice Fall. The classically climbed route involves negotiating more than a mile of Khumbu's five-storey high-ice-boulders and sickeningly deep crevasses before ascending the Western Cwm to the Lhotse Face - a thirty degree sheet of hard blue ice. After spending a night under canvas on a ledge halfway up this nightmarish slope you continue to a barren, windswept saddle slung between Lhotse and Everest, known as the South Col. A few hours sleep there and you have to choose whether to try for the summit or return to base.

Those who feel well enough to attempt the summit will strap on oxygen masks and draw several breaths for each step as they climb ever higher, then traverse nauseating knife-edge ridges with a choice of sheer drops into Tibet or Nepal, until they reach that crest where there is nowhere higher to climb. I salute those brave souls and I fear for them.

Websites now regularly report dangerous overcrowding in horrendous places like the Lhotse Face, the Balcony and the Hilary Step. Pedestrian bottlenecks at the same altitude as cruising airliners, are jeopardising the lives of ambitious but ordinary people. It is just possible to climb from final camp (The South Col) to the summit and back in the hours of daylight if all goes well. But the sudden onset of hurricane force winds with thick snow and bone-chilling temperatures and the ever-present threat of avalanches can thwart even the best-lead expeditions. Now imagine queues forming as dozens of light-headed, oxygen-starved climbers wait their turn to clip onto fixed lines, to slowly plod their way through knee-deep snow in the "death zone," to climb their personal Everest.

Now remember among these are often men and women with little or no experience, suffering hallucinations and at the very limits of their endurance. Yes... Everest is dangerously over-crowded.

03 November 2009

Veho Muvi micro dv camcorder

I couldn't obtain this little rascal online in Canada and neither Amazon USA nor its resellers will ship the product outside the USA. I ended up ordering it from Amazon UK for delivery in the UK (as per their rules for electronics). My sister kindly repackaged it and forwarded it to me in Canada. So here it is, the latest in miniature digital video camcorders delivered to my door in a roundabout way!

I took the "Extreme Sports Pack" too, as it seemed to offer a good range of mounts and straps to secure the camera to almost anywhere. First impressions are good. It feels solid and surprisingly weighty for its startlingly small size. I also bought a Class Six Micro SD Card as I hear that the basic cards don't write data as smoothly, resulting in some reported jerkiness on playback. The card is so tiny it would be easily lost or blow away in a light breeze.

The three operating buttons are obvious and seem robust and there is a simple warning light system to indicate what the little devil is up to.

The Extreme Sports Pack duplicates the lanyard, pouch and crocodile clip provided with the main unit. Initially I found the tangle of straps, Velcro and plastic somewhat mystifying as there are no instructions. The thing I thought was a jockstrap is actually an armband and the various clips and Velcro bands are almost impossible to identify from the miniscule illustrations on the back of the box. I investigated online and found names for the parts, or at least descriptions.

The pack is worth having and you can probably cobble the bits together anyway you want to suit your peculiar needs. I plan to use the straps to secure the device to my cycle helmet and the armband to film my runs. The crocodile clip will attach the camera to my lapel or backpack strap for discreet filming in the library or wherever! A very useful item is the swivelling metal bracket which I discover is magnetic so you might temporarily fit the camera somewhere in a room for some candid scenes.

Perhaps I'll clip the camera over my rear view mirror and go for a drive around town now.