Roth Regatta

From the saddle at the top, their view is nothing short of spectacular. Micheners’ description comes to mind again when viewing the necklace like coral reef completely encircling the island. Walking a few steps either way, they have a commanding almost three hundred and sixty degree panoramic view.

Apart from the azure incandescence of the ocean beyond, their eyes are continually drawn to the delicate aquamarine of the shallows of the lagoon inside the reef. As the depth of water increases or

decreases, so the colour shades darker or lighter, but always retaining a purity and crystal clarity that only nature can create.

A magical stillness pervades the scene, and sitting in the lush grass up here is akin to being in another world altogether. Drinking in the scene and lulled into a stultified silence, our two gaze around in wonder. Perched at around six hundred metres, the micro view below is somehow abstract and everything viewed appears in slow motion. White yachts anchored, outr

igger canoes plying the lagoon, bicycles and humans dotted on the road, all seem very far off.

The midday air up here today is so still and so heavy, yet so pure, laying between them and the scene before them, making it seem somehow disconnected. Nearby sounds creep in – birds calling, seeds popping, the odd thump of something falling from a tree, the breeze stirring occasionally – and oddly, far off sounds emanating from the Lilliputian scene below, drifting up the mountainside and floating i

nto their ears on a stream of childlike satisfaction.

Munching on a couple of sweet bananas plucked from the ground and a generous swig from their water bottles, our two decide reluctantly it is time to descend to reality again. Working their way down the track they take a wrong turn and find themselves moving down the shaded eastern slopes, the opposite side which they climbed – Batik buying moves down the list of priorities at the same speed they descend – there’s always tomorrow!

Underfoot is so grassy and spongy, our captain now shoeless, finds himself jogging down the dappled green tunnel. Staring down at his running feet for a while, he marvels at the science of nature, the human anatomy and how it works. With each step his foot goes forward, the metatarsals automatically curling the toes upward, at the same time lifting the forward part of his foot, allowing the heel to come forward, striking the ground first and propelling him forward for the next step. Of the twenty six bones, thirty three joints and over one hundred muscles in the foot and ankle, he sees only the final result of putting one foot neatly in front of the other – not to mention the part played by his legs, upper body and brain – culminating in this strange vision of first his left foot and then his right coming into sight fleetingly, before disappearing again. Perhaps this action observed by the early Greek warrior runners, is when the term ‘fleet footed’ was coined!

An almost close encounter of another kind with the large root of a tree, brings our captain to his senses and he pulls up. Way behind, a large panting animal is pursuing him down the trail, and glancing behind sees WK pounding around the bend, puce faced, wild eyed and sweating. Throwing his arms around a nearby tree, he crashes to a halt, and between gasps enquires as to the reason for the sudden disappearance? No reason at all is proffered by our captain. Coming straight from city living, WK is yet to find his sea legs, and is suffering accordingly.

Bursting forth from the jungle at the base of the twin peaks, they tumble onto the thin tarmac strip. Bubbling tar sticks to their sandals. Thumbing a ride with the first ute that happens along, our gallants are happy to share the tray with a pig, a brown dog and a couple of chickens. Tongue lolling, the dog gaily looks at them in his complaisant way, and everything else. The pig takes a more circumspect view and studies them intently. Sitting back on his haunches, he fixes them with his bleakly knowing gaze, his pygmy eyes veiling some higher form of intelligence known only to him.

Pigs are endowed with a very solid body and this fellow is no exception. The undulations in the road however, transmitted through the springs and body of the truck, win the battle, and his body is a constant rippling tremble as the shock waves travel up his brown flanks. Ignoring this assault on his frame with disdain, his curious eyes never waiver, presumably on the basis