New York: Seeing the small details in the Big Apple

I have always been a strong believer in the power of networking. Meeting new faces, sharing your story, finding areas of common ground. It has served me well in both my personal and professional life and opened doors that would have remained unseen had I not created the opportunity for them to be there to walk through.

So it was that I followed up on a post shared by a former colleague on LinkedIn from a New York based agency looking for freelance producers. It was 2019, I was in the early days of my Yachana journey, so I reached out and a few weeks later, had a call with Alan Doyle, CEO of the North American business at Set Creative, itself part of the global WPP agency empire.

I immediately connected with Alan. A fellow expat Brit, I was struck by his combination of friendly manner and sharp intellect. We chatted at length about my background and where my strengths lay in the breadth of production experience I had gained through my career. It felt a good fit and I was excited about the potential to collaborate. 

An opportunity came on the radar soon after - to manage the webcast for a Volvo launch event in Los Angeles - but the project scope changed and my role wasn’t required. The conversation continued over the following year but the impact of COVID limited opportunities until in May 2021, I was engaged as the digital executive producer for Intel Innovation, the first hybrid event for the global tech giant. 

The event, hosted in San Francisco that fall with a significant online experience in parallel was a success, and contained a career highlight when I went toe-to-toe (or should that be nose-to-floor) with Intel CEO Pat Gelsinger. Arriving on show day, he dropped to the ground to do some push-ups - part of his now iconic pre-event warm-up - and I felt compelled to join in. Little did I know that the moment was being filmed and I was immortalized on Pat’s Twitter feed soon after :)

The success of Innovation led to a further engagement to produce Intel’s virtual presence at the 2022 Mobile World Congress. Sadly, the planned keynote event that we were scoped to produce in Barcelona was shifted to an online pre-record in Santa Clara but working with a new team at Set and with collaborating agencies in Spain and the UK was a blast.

Which all serves as a preamble to why I found myself in New York on a sweltering early summer week at the end of June. Just as the MWC project was wrapping up, Alan reached out to see if I was interested in producing a live broadcast for Bayer to launch a new technology platform for radiologists. It was a new client for Set and I jumped at the chance to get back into the pharma world as many years had passed since I had worked for an extended period with GSK before my move to Canada.

The build up went smoothly, working with some new teammates on the set design and event planning and partnering with one of Set’s sister agencies Wunderman Thompson in Berlin. In these days of virtual collaboration when you only get to engage through the medium of Zoom or Teams calls, it was a joy to be able to spend a few days on location with the team that had supported me so well over the preceding months to design and deliver a top-notch event that the clients were thrilled with.

Finding satisfaction in working overseas has never been a challenge. Even as I’m well into the third decade of my career, I still get a huge shot of adrenalin from the whole process of arriving in a new place - or as was the case with New York, returning to a familiar one - and pushing myself to deliver the best experience I can. The blend of being in a different environment and forging immediate connections with a new tribe with a shared goal to excel remains intoxicating to me.

As ever when I travel with work, I look for moments outside of my official commitments to explore the place I am in, and this visit to New York was bookended by two that will last long in the memory. I was staying north of Central Park in Harlem. I’ve never been a fan of mainstream hotels, even more so when the nightly cost is egregiously elevated by their location in Midtown, so I found a basic guest house off the beaten track that afforded me a chance to explore a new area of the city.

Always an early riser, a situation exacerbated when - to paraphrase the immortal Frank Sinatra lyric, you “wake up in city that doesn’t sleep” - I decided to hit the streets at dawn and walk through Central Park. I was on 111th, the studio was on 57th. What could be better than a stroll of over fifty blocks first thing in the morning?

The air was already warm and humid as I entered the park. While I have enjoyed some part of it each time I have been to New York, it is still staggering to experience the scale. The iconic high angle shots of the park from the top of skyscrapers looking north and showing the green rectangle enclosed on all sides by the concrete jungle of Manhattan do no justice at all to the experience you enjoy at ground level. A vast labyrinth of pathways, roads, open greens, woodland, sports fields, lakes, and countless playgrounds and art installations, Central Park is a feast for the senses.

As I traversed the roughly five kilometres from north to south gates, my shirt getting increasingly damp from the effort and the rising temperature, I took a moment to pause and take this all in. I hadn’t visited New York for almost fifteen years but was again struck by the rhythms of the city. My ears were assaulted by the dawn chorus of the park birds. The distant sounds of car horns blended with the whirr of the endless bikers passing by and the pad-pad of runner’s trainers on tarmac, gravel and soil. Everywhere there is dynamism, movement, progress.

Which is why the park is such a sanctuary. Even as you see the increasingly large phalanxes of lycra-clad bikers rush by on the main thoroughfares, there are opportunities to find quiet. Every hundred metres I was offered a new option with the numerous pathways intersecting and curving away in all directions, winding around man-made structures and massive trees that have watched over the denizens of the park for centuries. Paths that disappear under bridges, wind up and around small hills, venture into secluded gardens. Central Park is the ultimate urban walker’s menu, offering something for every palate. 

I enjoyed the walk so much, I repeated it in the evening for my return journey. The vibe was quite different to the morning. The park was crammed with people, the inevitable summer tourists snapping photos and taking in the atmosphere mixing with the local dog walkers, exercisers, school groups and families -  a sea of humanity revelling in the balmy temperature.

I enjoyed the sun setting over the city skyline, reflected on the waters of the Jackie Kennedy Reservoir and shared the anticipation at a classical orchestral performance that was about to begin for the hundreds eagerly waiting in their lawn chairs. Darkness had fully fallen as I rounded the Ravine and landed back in Harlem, now alive with Afro-Caribbean music and patois along Malcolm X Boulevard.

My feet, clad in tight fitting leather brogues, were a little the worse for wear, with several sizeable blisters in evidence, but as I lay on the bed, trying to cool the body with the rattling air conditioner, no-one could doubt that I hadn’t received full value from my first day back in the Big Apple.

Fast forward a couple of days. The live event went great. Clients were very pleased and loved the whole experience. Time to celebrate. But instead of heading downtown for a ‘typical’ New York evening, I wanted to further explore the neighborhood where I was staying. After a few days in the city, the overall scale changes and you begin to notice the smaller details. Snatches of overhead conversation in different languages.

On a perfect summer’s evening, I set out around Harlem Meer, the small lake at the northeast corner of Central Park. There were people of all races, mixing together. An impromptu salsa dance party was in full swing with predominantly older Latino couple twisting and turning on a small verandah beside the lake. I wandered on and after a couple of blocks, found an enchanting Peruvian restaurant, Contento. It’s wooden outdoor seating area draped in flowing purple flowers was instantly inviting, and the vibe flowed inside with exposed brick walls and South American decor. 

I got talking with one of the servers and found out that it was established by five partners, two of whom are in wheelchairs, so everything had been designed with accessibility at the forefront. I was introduced to Oscar - one of the owners and the head chef - who chatted convivially about his journey to New York from a town outside Quito and his lifelong passion for food.  This was in evidence in the exquisite range of small plates that I sampled - amarillo potato stracciatella, caramelized beets, crispy pork belly and the best octopus I have ever tasted, accompanied by a Rkatsiteli orange wine from Georgia which was a delightful new discovery.

With a feeling of deep contentment and a heartful invitation from Oscar to visit again next time I was in town, I headed back to the Meer and completed a loop of the far side of the lake, before looping up again through the park to get around the construction of the new skating rink. Swallows hawked over the water and several species of heron fished noiselessly in the reeds as couples enjoyed the dying embers of the sunset.

My nightly adventure concluded with a lively conversation with Eddie, an older homeless black gentleman who regaled me with stories of his travels as a veteran of the US Navy who proclaimed he was a proud supporter of the Commonwealth. It was a well rehearsed patter designed to procure a drink - which against my better judgment I ultimately provided - but I felt pleased that I had taken the time to engage and not just walk on by, respecting that whatever circumstances lead someone to be cast aside from the mainstream, everyone deserves an opportunity to share their voice, wisdom and experience.

Wherever you find yourself tonight Eddie, I keep you in my thoughts  - you provided a memorable ending to an unforgettable evening.

Panama City: Old Meets New at the Ultimate Crossroads

I think Panama City must suffer from a sense of urban schizophrenia. Over a hundred years of foreign investment - principally from the US as a result of long time control of the Panama Canal - has resulted in the emergence of a contemporary skyline and the visible presence of the globe’s leading brands. The giants of retail and technology jostle for space on vast electronic billboards, vying for the eyeballs in what has become one of the world’s major financial centres - a position that remains in spite of the scandal caused by the revelations of the ‘Panama Papers” and the dealings of Mossack Fonseca. 

Yet a short walk along the Cinta Costera - the wonderful multi-use pathway that hugs the coast along the length of downtown - brings you to a completely different experience. Crossing the divide into the old town - Casco Viejo - felt like stepping back in time two centuries. The gleaming steel and gas was replaced by white-washed walls and red tile roof. The streets narrow and curving held small bars and bistros as well as the ever-present gift shops that are a feature of historic old towns today. Dotted with small plazas and with elegant churches on every corner, this was the Panama I had come to see.

The dichotomy of the new city and the old town is best enjoyed from one - or better several - of the rooftop bars that are much in evidence. Blessed with a year-round temperate climate, the nightlife takes to the roofs, offering everything from casual drinks to high-end dining, and as for the party animal, an open-air club scene to rival anything I have experienced. Each one offers a different vibe, typified by glamourous servers, flamboyant mixologists, and the constant toe-tapping beat of Latino music - an intoxicating combination that get everyone’s hips moving.

To truly appreciate the contract of old and new, a climb of Cerro Ancon is a must. Situated just north of Casco Viejo, this imposing tree-covered hill emerges steeply out of the urban sprawl, offering unparalleled, panoramic views of the city’s coast line. Wearing my intrepid explorer’s hat, I set off in the early hours from my hotel, walking the seafront for a couple of miles to the base of the hill. 

After a couple of false starts strolling up roads that reached dead ends, but also offered some enticing new species for my Panama bird list, I eventually found the trailhead that wound up to the summit. Conscious that I was against the clock to get back to the hotel for a final interview shoot, I stepped up the pace and was soon glistening with sweat. Even in the early morning, the humidity was intense. The narrow road made many switchbacks as it climbed, offering glimpses to all aspects of the city. Towards the top, I finally got to see the immense Panama Canal. The weather was overcast, but even through the gloom, it was possible to appreciate the gigantic scale of the vessels passing through, and the stacks of thousands of shipping containers en route somewhere around the globe.

With its combination of old and new, history and modernity, Panama City is a fascinating destination, one that warranted more exploring. The downside of a job that often involved short, focused visits, is that many places I have visited tend to be a one-shot deal. You try to pack in as much as possible, but then the experiences are consigned to memory. So it was a rare treat to have the opportunity to make a return visit just 4 months later. It’s amazing how much familiarity alters your appreciation of a place. Confidently navigating through the cobbled streets of Casco Viejo like a local rather than a tourist. Revisiting a favoured bar to share a known vista with a colleague. Assuming the role of guide rather than just explorer. 

Sadly, the return visit was all to brief - an afternoon and evening en route back to the airport for an early flight the next morning - but it offered the chance for a more intimate look at the old town. We found a great coffee shop with it’s own award-winning roastery, and took shelter from a torrential rain shower at the Panama Canal monument with its 10 vast carved tablets telling the story of the canal’s creation (which I just about managed to understand with my limited Spanish!).

Visiting a new place always leaves me wanting more. Having the privilege to see it again has cemented Panama City’s Casco Viejo in my heart as one of the most enjoyable locations I have explored. I hope I have the chance to feel at home there once again...

Prospect: Exploring the Land of Pirates

In the context of Canada, Nova Scotia is pretty small. Less than 600 kilometres in length and a little more than 100 wide, it juts out into the Atlantic Ocean, saved from being an island by a narrow strip of land - with the wonderful name of the Isthmus of Chignecto - that connects it to New Brunswick and the rest of the vast Canadian landmass.

Yet despite this physical connection, Nova Scotia feels lifetimes away from the busy hubs of Toronto, Montreal, Calgary and Vancouver. Nowhere are you far from wilderness that has been unchanged for centuries, and this is best experienced on the coast.

Despite its small size, the province is blessed with 7,500 kilometres of coastline and almost 4,000 coastal islands. As well as offering stunning vistas, this has created unique habitat for flora and fauna, so when I learned of the efforts of the Nova Scotia Nature Trust to protect large areas of this land, I was eager to offer my support.

It began by telling the story of Paul Gauthier, a highly successful tech entrepreneur and passionate environmentalist, whose donation as the catalyst for the 100 Wild Islands campaign to protect the archipelago along the Eastern Shore that has been largely untouched since the last Ice Age.

https://www.100wildislands.ca/#welcome

Enthused by the response to Paul’s story, our team was asked to produce another film to showcase Rogue’s Roost, an iconic and much-loved wilderness, close to the village of Prospect, with a colourful history of privateering, and now a haven for sailors. 

Combining intimate shots of some of the plants to be found on shore with spectacular aerial shots of the location, we were able to capture the beauty of Rogue’s Roost and help promote the valuable work of the Nature Trust.

Just recently, I took my daughter and friend Carmen - visiting from the UK - on a canoeing trip into Rogue’s Roost. A spectacular late summer day, we explored the open water and the hidden back channels almost alone. It was Carmen’s first time in a canoe and she was blown away by the experience and the beauty of our surroundings. 

I have always tried to view where I live through the eyes of a visitor, to try to retain an appreciation for the natural environment around me. With regular visits from friends and family giving me the opportunity to share some of my favourite places with them, this has not been hard to do, but every time I get out to the Nova Scotia coastline, I try to see it with fresh eyes. 

Having lived by the sea my whole life, it is hard to be away from it for too long, and as soon as I reconnect, it has a rejuvenating effect. I will never become complacent of our need to keep protecting our natural environment. In a time where the societal pressures and the challenges of mental health continue to mount, these spaces - especially the coastlines that give us a connection with the ocean - are ever more critical to help us keep life in balance.

Churchill: A Triple Play on a Summer's Day

I have always felt the pull to "go North". It felt like my own Manifest Destiny. Growing up in southern England, my natural inclination when it came to choosing a university was to trace the map upwards. Landing in Lancaster gave me ample opportunity to explore the great outdoors of the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales and the Highlands of Scotland.

Since moving to Canada, the name Churchill began to call me. It conjured up mystical images of a far flung community at the edge of the map, a place where you could experience larger-than-encounters with one of the planet's most inspiring and imposing creatures: Ursus arcticus, the Polar Bear.

Opportunity arrived in the shape of a commission from Destination Canada, the agency mandated to promote the land of the maple leaf to the world. Part of a series highlighting quintessential Canadian experiences that a little out of the ordinary, our task was to capture what awaits travelers who make the journey north from Manitoba's capital, Winnipeg to the community that clings to a narrow peninsula between the Churchill River and the vast Hudson Bay.

But there would be traversing fields of snow or adventures in trucks out on the frozen tundra. We were going in August, in the heart of the summer.

On a personal front, my life had taken some unexpected twists. I was recovering from a fight against cancer, and having regained my physical strength following a period of aggressive chemotherapy, I was beginning to view the world with fresh eyes. The final descent into Churchill's tiny airstrip is devoid of trees and pockmarked with small pools, creating a barren landscape that evokes the surface of the moon.

The short drive into town - primarily a wide main street, reminiscent of those you associate with the 19th century Wild West -  with a handful of side streets leading to single story residences - underscores that fact that you are at the end of the line. While we were there, that was further amplified by the fact that a broken section of the rail line, the only land route that links Churchill with the south, had stranded the train, and sent the cost of everyday items through roof as all supplies were reliant on being shipped or brought in by air. I have to admit, it wasn't quite the mythical place of legend that I had anticipated - in spite of the "Warning: Bear Country" signs that were much in evidence.

Over the course of our four-day visit, we captured different aspects of what Churchill has to offer. Giant building-sized murals created by Indigenous artists, as well as songs, dances and stories from the Dene from across Canada, who had gathered in town to commemorate Thanadelthur, a local Cree woman whose efforts in relationship-building brought peace with the neighboring Chipewyan, and forged connections with traders that ultimately led to the establishment of the Hudson's Bay Company.

Yet one day - one mind-expanding day - ranks as one of the most memorable in all of my travels: August 8, 2017.

It began with a boat ride to the Prince of Wales Fort, an impressive relic of colonial days when a British garrison was posted here to protect the valuable trade routes. For the purpose of our film for Destination Canada, I had become the subject of the story, providing the narrative of fulfillment of my northern quest. As I stood on the parapet of the fort, my cameraman lining up an aerial shot, my heart missed a beat. I lifted my binoculars to confirm that the large white shape that had materialized on an island across the water in front of me was not a boulder catching the sun. I was not mistaken. Through my trusty Leicas, I was watching my first wild Polar Bear.

As our local nature guide Paul Ratson later told me, nothing can describe the moment you first see a bear. He was bang on. It was definitely in the "time-stands-still" category. Yet it was undeniable - it was clearly a Polar Bear, lazily exploring the coastline, doubtless looking for food. Having alerted my colleagues, we quick-stepped it back out waiting Zodiac and motored around to the island.

Rounding a corner, we connected again, this time the mother with a cub in tow, picking at the remains of a seal carcass. We cut the engine and drifted nearer, getting to with 50 feet of these remarkable animals. No, it wasn't in snow, and no, it wasn't a close encounter with a bear's muzzle inches away through the glass window of a tundra buggy. But somehow this seemed more real. It wasn't staged, it wasn't expected. It was an authentic moment where our lives and these bears became intertwined. It was staggering.

After a celebratory lunch, our next activity awaiting - kayaking in the Churchill River. With the late afternoon sunset bathing the group of paddlers in golden light that twinkled on the rippling waters, it was a beautiful scene, but there is one reason that brings so many people onto the water - and that is because of what resides under the surface. The Churchill River plays host to the largest known concentration of breeding Beluga Whales on the planet. Small in size, but large in character, these white whales are known for their curiosity and playfulness.

Paddling out across the estuary, it didn’t take long to encounter the beluga. Pods of up to 20 were easily visible and true to form, they made a beeline for our armada of kayaks and canoes. I had learned earlier in the day that they respond well to singing, so in full voice, I paddled away with multiple whales in tow.

At one point, I looked down into the murky water and a beluga was right underneath me, just under the surface, so close that I could see its eye and “smile” of its upturned mouth. Moments when you truly connect with a wild animal are rare but incredibly powerful. That experience will remain with me forever.

Back on shore, we met up with a group of 30 high students from across the US, celebrating their last night around a beach fire. Full of enthusiasm and passion about their experience in the Canadian North, they invited me to participate in a share circle, everyone saying what they were most thankful for. When my turn came around it was an easy answer: the combination of encounters with nature and the incredible local guides who had made it possible.

Over dinner, we were buzzing about the day’s exploits, but there was one treat left. Travelling to Churchill in the summer, the chances of seeing the Northern Lights are slim. Relatively lighter skies and reduced solar activity makes a summer viewing a rare occurrence. However, our server - an Aussie - told us of the phone chain that exists that ensures that if the lights are showing, those who want to see it won’t miss out.

Several coffees and anxious looks out of my window later, around 1:30am, the call came. We scrambled out of the hotel, grabbing camera gear, and headed down to the beach car park where a few hours earlier we had enjoyed the fire.

A faint blue-green was visible above us, but as we watched, the heavens exploded with lights, dancing and gyrating. I was as if an invisible hand was painting vast washes of colour across the sky. Yet again - in one breathtaking, heart-stopping, invigorating day - my mind was blown. One of the most amazing sights in nature was playing out in front of my eyes, and after what we had already experienced that day, it seemed somehow pre-ordained.

I returned to my room, emotionally exhausted but still wired from the day’s events. Churchill had delivered...and we still had two days to look forward to.

Moose Factory: Finding Warmth in the Frozen North

There is nothing quite like opening the throttle on your skidoo and powering through the light crusty snow as you cross a frozen river. The wind in your ears, the bite of cold as a blast of air creeps through your many layers of clothing, the glint of bright sunshine from the completely white terrain surrounding you.

We were traversing the Moose River in northern Ontario on a perfect February morning, en route to the hunting cabin of Byron Corston, a native Moose Cree and member of the Canadian Rangers, the nation’s Army reserves providing a presence in the vast and largely uninhabited north of the country.

But let me offer some context. Having completed the majority of the filming we needed for out project the previous day - a profile of an energy conservation program designed to reduce the cost of power bills for residents of First Nations communities in Ontario - a chance meeting with Byron, the janitor at our hotel, set up a surprising addition to our shoot. Byron’s family was a recipient of some energy saving devices for his home, but he also spoke eloquently of a life spent on the land, offering a connection into the cultural side of the Moose Cree.

Having sourced some additional snowmobiles for our crew and equipment, we headed out along the river which had become thick ice in sustained temperatures of -35 degrees Celsius. It was my first experience of driving a snowmobile. With a helmet prone to fogging making navigation challenging, and trying to master which hand operated the accelerator and which the brake, it was a slow start, but I gradually got the hang of it.

However, crossing a frozen river was nothing compared with when we hit the far shore and started navigating the muskeg. In the summer, this endless bog strewn with gnarled shrubs and stunted trees would make for a tough walks. Covered by snow, we had to pick our way carefully, winding a route along narrow tracks.

Barring one incident that involved some less-than-optimum steering and particularly stubborn tree stump, we made it to Byron’s cabin unscathed. It was bitterly cold, but with a fire quickly stoked, we could remove a few damp layers and begin to thaw a little. The interior of the cabin was spartan, but held evidence of a fascinating history. 

The odd books and dated photos spoke of the generations that had spent time here since his grandfather built it. Byron spoke of his formative years learning to hunt, especially the Canada goose which has a prominent place in the diet and folklore of the Moose Cree. Only in his mid 20s, Byron expressed a calm authority and wisdom that belied his years. He spoke eloquently of the threats to his people from resource development, a loss of traditional knowledge and the impact of climate change. His command of wilderness craft, borne of a life spent outdoors, reminded me of the great value of being connected to your homeland so deeply that it becomes a barometer to experience other shifts.

Having warmed ourselves and rehydrated, we prepared for our return trip, but not before we made one further detour. Heading due north from the cabin, we crossed more muskeg, then crested a small lip (which we learned later was the waterline), and suddenly we were skimming across what at other times of the year are the extreme southern reaches of the Arctic Ocean. We were riding across Hudson Bay.

As a lover of geography, I had long recognized the vast size and distinctive shape of this waterway that looks like a great bite has been taken out the Canadian tundra. Large enough to swallow most European countries, Hudson Bay also has a mythical place in the history of frontier exploration and trade.

Standing on the frozen sea, nothing but infinite horizon in every direction, I caught a glimpse of what it must have been like for those early travelers, forced to ride out the long winter until their ships could make it through the breaking ice to the mainland. It was humbling to feel so small and insignificant, knowing there was nothing but ice for hundreds of miles north from this gateway to the Arctic.

The journey back to town was easier as we avoided the land and skirted the shore back to the mouth of the Moose River, then home. It put me in a reflective mood. I thought about what Byron had shared about the skills of hunting and trapping that he learned as a boy and still puts to good use, and of the desires of corporations - like the one that had funded this project - to help remote communities gain access to resources like electricity that have played a part in eroding that traditional knowledge. 

The message of a day spent on the land with Byron was clear: accept progress, but not at any price. Find the balance of old and new, traditional and contemporary. And seek out opportunities to be humbled and fully appreciate that we are servants of the earth, not its masters.

Oman: Finding Community in a Foreign Land

Like many places in the world, Oman is a country of contrasts. Ostentatious wealth exists beside obvious poverty. Ancient history is the backdrop for leading-edge technology. Benefiting from the benevolent rule of the current Sultan for almost 50 years, and the decision to exploit the country’s vast oil reserves, has resulted in the complete development of the country and a dramatic rise in the standard of living for many Omanis. 

Muscat’s location on the Gulf of Oman at the north of the Arabian Sea has made it an epicentre for trade, resulting in a cosmopolitan society with influences from all points of the compass. Billboards advertise major Western brands along the highway beside the breathtaking Grand Mosque, one of the world’s largest, and the call to prayer that echoes across the city several times a day blends with the horns of conspicuous Mercedes and BMWs.

It was into this environment that a small delegation comprising members of several First Nations bands and leaders of a small town in northern British Columbia found itself. They were there at the invitation of LNG Canada to observe an operating liquefied natural gas facility and appreciate the impact of the social investment projects that had been made possible as a result of the operation. I was there with a film crew to documentary the trip.

I will never forget the first morning as everyone came down to breakfast in our hotel. The group of around 15 included representatives from the Haisla and Gitga’at Nations, members from the town of Kitimat, and several of the LNG Canada project team. Each of the groups had arrived on different flights so there was a period of introductions, but I could detect a sense of nervousness about where we were and what was to come. This was the heart of the Middle East - a far cry from the tree-laden Pacific Northwest and an alien environment for most around the table. Whilst reassurances had been provided about the safety and welcoming nature of Oman, there was still an element of concern about what we would face when we stepped out of the doors.

There were also dividing lines between the different groups. All communities would be impacted by the creation of a planned LNG facility in Kitimat, but there were challenges of communication between Indigenous and non-Indigenous. Previous conversations about economic development and shared interests had been fractious and difficult to achieve. Would relations among this group change halfway around the globe, or would dividing lines become greater?

The tour began with a number of cultural visits in Muscat to get acclimatized, before we boarded a coach for the trip south to the town of Sur, the location of Shell’s Oman LNG facility and beneficiary of many social investment projects. Leaving the busy city behind us, the geography rapidly changed, giving way to an arid landscape, pocked with rocky mountains. Spectacular yet bleak.

Arriving at Oman LNG, the first impression was of a sprawling mass of metal pipes and structures spread out across the sandy ground and running down to the water’s edge. The conversation quickly shifted to imagining what a facility of this size would be like “back home”. And yet everyone was also struck by how clean and how quiet it was. There were no chimneys belching polluting gases, no incessant sounds of machinery at work, no rusting and decayed metalwork.

The tour of the interior of the facility further underscored that this was a low impact operation. The workforce - over 80% employed from the local community - were engaged and focused, highly skilled and knowledgeable about the operation, and many happy to share their experiences in excellent English.

The experience was certainly challenging perceptions about what an operating LNG facility would be like. The feeling of positivity was further increased as we visited a multiple community projects that had been made possible by ongoing investment from Oman LNG. A community facility led entirely by women; a museum showcasing the rich history of Omani fisheries; a sailing school for youth; and an initiative to protect the endangered green turtle by incentivizing local kids to capture and return hatchlings so more reach the sea rather than being caught for food. All examples of positive community impact as a direct benefit of industry.

As we reached the final day, the shift in opinion was palpable. On arrival, there was zero knowledge of what a working facility would look and feel like and nothing equivalent exists in Canada, but any concerns were allayed by seeing one up close. And seeing the level of support within a community that benefited from employment and social investment helped confirm the value of a well-managed industrial project of this type.

But the biggest movement was in the forging of relationships between Haisla, Gitga’at and the Town of Kitimat. Shared ground had been discovered, shared perspectives understood and new friendships formed. It was fascinating to observe first hand how this experience in a foreign land had the power to build unity and camaraderie that would sustain better relationships when everyone returned home.

Four years later, I was sat in a restaurant in Kitimat when a man approached our table. It was Taylor Cross, one of the senior leadership of the Haisla Nation Council who I had met in Oman. He was there to celebrate a relations’ birthday but our conversation quickly slipped into recounting memories of our trip together. I was struck by how vividly Taylor described these events, and his tone suggested the lasting value that the trip had had for him - both for his own understanding and for the opportunity to build stronger relationships between communities.

Oman was a delightful country to experience - warm, welcoming and exotic. There is a pervading narrative of hostility and anger that emanates from the Middle East in the eyes of Western media, perpetuating a feeling of fear towards Muslims and Islam. While this is clearly present in some areas, Oman’s sense of civility and honour and humility left a big imprint on me

Today, as the current Sultan of Oman faces terminal cancer and the impending end of his five decades of rule, I can’t help wonder whether a change of leadership will change the sense of balance and progressive outlook that the country currently enjoys. Whatever happens, I will never forget my first taste of Arabia, and look forward to journeying more in this fabled lands.

Ghana: A Feast for the Senses

It was very difficult to describe what I was feeling when I stepped out of the back door of our lodging, took the short walk doing a stone pathway onto the viewing platform, and took in my first views of the African savannah. It was all there. The waterhole, the mix of open grassland and scrubby bushes, animals and birds intermingled, and a horizon stretching miles into the distance. I could almost hear the great David Attenborough’s voice providing the commentary: “Here...in the heart of Africa...we can experience biodiversity unlike anywhere else on Earth…”

We had arrived at Mole National Park, one of the jewels in the crown of Ghana’s nature experiences. My father and I were booked in for a 3 day stay and we couldn’t wait to start exploring. The journey the day before had been a long one - a full day’s drive north from Takoradi to Kumasi to Tamale, culminating with a seemingly endless red dirt road, deeply rutted from the rain so it jolted the car incessantly. It was all we could do to shovel down some food and a swift beer before tumbling into bed.

We were into the second week of our Ghanaian adventure, which had already packed in an amazing list of “pinch-me-now” experiences: the canopy walkway through the jungle at Kakum,  the humbling slave fort tour of Elmina on the Cape Coast, punting through reedbeds and lakes to the floating village of Nzulezu, seeing a young boy dragging a 30 foot python up the street, and fighting the powerful waves of the Bight of Benin at Green Turtle Beach. And all this while being hosted as guests of honour in a tiny village, quite literally in a mud hut (albeit a nicely appointed one), dining on fufu - a kind of sticky dough ball made of ground cassava - and chicken and tomato broth. And don’t get me started on the heavenly, rich scent of chocolate that permeates everywhere as Ghana is one of the world’s leading exporters of cocoa.

My first taste of Africa had been everything I could have wanted and so, so much more. Through a neighbour from England who spent long periods working in region, we were offered an authentic experience that you wouldn’t find in any travel store. We were living and breathing Ghanaian life, albeit as ‘obruni’, a wonderful term that colloquially covers everything from ‘stranger’ to quite literally ‘white man’ and is used by some as a term of endearment and others as a lightly veiled threat.

The story behind it is very poignant. The word translates as “the people who come from the space between the sky and the sea” - an evocative description of the explorers and later traders and then slavers whose boats had appeared on the horizon centuries before. Having seen first hand the brutal conditions that were meted out on natives in the slave forts before they were crammed onto ships and sold around the world, it is not hard to appreciate why ‘obruni’ is a term with much cultural baggage.

From white sand, palm-fringed beaches and lush, humid jungle, through temperate forests and busy city sprawl, we had found ourselves in Mole, a completely new ecosystem in the far northwest of Ghana, close to the borders of both Burkina Faso and Cote d’Ivoire. After the preceding week of much driving and new experiences daily, we were looking forward to really getting to know this place. And the best way to do that, was on foot.

Every morning and afternoon, groups of visitors from the lodge gathered to go on walking safaris into the bush. Several guides undertook this task, but their leader - the incomparable Zechariah Wareh - was the guy to be with. An unassuming, softly-spoken and humble man, Zechariah possessed encyclopaedic knowledge of Mole and the surrounding area and most importantly for Dad and I, its wildlife.

Having gotten to grips with many of the jungle and forest species over the previous week (in the company of another phenomenal birder and guide, Robert Nkator), we were excited by the prospect of exploring a completely different habitat which would hold many new birds and animals that we had not encountered previously.

Over the course of our three days, we took multiple walking safaris, traversing different parts of the park, from the high escarpment where the lodge nestled, through dried-up wadis and hidden watering holes, and out across the savannah. The wildlife was indeed plentiful, with many species of antelope, warthogs, baboons and several different monkeys as constant companions.

And as hoped for the birding was spectacular. While never abundant in terms of vast flocks of a single species, the variety was stunning so several hours in the field brought a rapid accumulation of species. Several times, we bumped into feeding flocks. As we desperately tried to observe and identify each new bird, another one or two would hop into view. In no time, 15 or 20 new species were seen without moving more than a couple of feet - and getting neck ache looking up into the canopy.

On two of the three days, we registered over 100 species in the day, the majority of which were lifers for both Dad and I. Wonderful, descriptively named birds such as Green-tailed Bristlebill, Red-bellied Firefinch, Fork-tailed Drongo, Black-crowned Tchagra, Spotted Honeyguide, and the massive and stately Abyssinian Ground Hornbill. 

But it was our final morning that will remain indelibly etched in our memories. We had the pleasure of being Zechariah’s only guests. By this time, our shared love of birds and the natural world had created a great bond between us so it was fitting that we got to enjoy our last Mole morning together.

We took a new path that wound its way around the back of the rocky cliffs and gradually down towards the plain. When we reached a patch of trees, Zechariah beckoned for us to stand still. We heard movement in the undergrowth, and suddenly a female elephant started to emerge. The first time you meet an elephant in the wild is not something you forget in a hurry. I can still close my eyes and see the gentle look in her eye as she tenderly broke branches with her trunk and ate the leaves. We enjoyed her presence for a few magical minutes before she blended back into the undergrowth.

Invigorated by this sighting, we continued on, seeing many new birds and getting better views of some we had seen during the preceding days. Eventually we made our way back towards the main watering hole. We had heard there was a party of elephant around that day and Zechariah seemed determined that we would have more than one sighting.

Possessed with a innate sense of the environment around him, borne of years in this country, he led us on a circuitous route around the lake and wending between clumps of trees until we emerged into a clearing...and were confronted by a huge bull elephant. Standing on his own, he immediately surveyed us, weighing up the situation. Having recovered from the initial thrill, and grabbed a few photos, Zechariah encouraged us forward to get a closer view. 

As we approached, the bull started to get restless. The ears started flapping and he began pawing the ground. Zechariah could read the signs, but even then, what happened next got the adrenaline pumping full on. Suddenly, the bull charged us. Zechariah immediately went into offensive mode, shouting to us to run and holding his rifle high above his head and gesturing to the bull to stay back. 

After a few lumbering paces, he thankfully stopped, trumpeted his displeasure, then stomped off into the bush. Hearts pumping and excitedly grinning, we all agreed it was the perfect way to end an amazing stay at Mole. Later that morning, as we relaxed on the grass beside the overlook, enjoying the displaying pair of Martial Eagles overhead, we knew we had a story that would become part of Fieldsend folklore for generations. (And if you’ve checked out the images on my Work page, you’ll know we have the pictures to tell the tale!)

A nice postscript to this story is that we were able to give back to Zechariah in a very practical way. One of his passions was to educate local youth about birds, and light the spark about conservation, but one of the things he lacked were resources. Before the trip, we had gathered together a dozen old pairs of binoculars that had been donated which we presented to Zechariah on our final day. He was so touched and humbled by this gift. It made us appreciate all the more the chance to share in his passion and know that in our small way, we had provided the opportunity for others to do the same.