How safety first culture takes risk out of adventure sports
The idea is to test the body and mind against the harshest of conditions, to give everything in the attempt to cross the finishing line but also to have the guts to call it a day when the going gets too tough. However, at a time when adventure sports are booming, enthusiasts say they face an even tougher test of their resolve - over-regulation, bureaucracy and public suspicion. It emerged this week that the venerable 280-mile North Sea yacht race from Scotland to Norway had been cancelled because not enough crews could afford the safety certificates. Fell-running clubs, which have never been busier, are taking a long look at how they organise their events after the outcry over the Lake District Original Mountain Marathon that went ahead in awful weather a fortnight ago. The North Sea race between Macduff in north-east Scotland and Stavanger in Norway was introduced 25 years ago to give experienced coastal and fjord sailors a chance to race in difficult ocean conditions. The organiser, Tony Brown, said safety was paramount but crews were now balking at paying up to £200 for an international offshore safety certificate. Only 10 crews entered this summer. Brown said: "Twenty years ago all you needed was insurance and away you went." This weekend hundreds of fell runners will line up in Yorkshire, Derbyshire, Staffordshire and north Wales to compete in races rejoicing in names such as the Shepherds' Skyline, in Calderdale, West Yorkshire, and the Leg It Around Lathkill in the Peak District. The Fell Runners Association boasts 6,000 members and the number is rising, but its secretary, Alan Brentnall, said there was concern that after the ill-fated Original Mountain Marathon health and safety officials would be taking a closer look at the sport and that landowners might hesitate to give permission for races. "That would be worrying," he said.Richard Asquith, a fell runner and author of the admired book on the sport Feet in the Clouds, said organisers were under pressure to tone down their events to fit the "risk assessment culture". He added: "The whole onus of society is on safety first. Who would be an organiser"Martin Stone, who runs a marathon called the LAMM in the Scottish Highlands, said: "It's so important for people who are so regimented in everyday life to have a way of escaping. We've got to fight the regulation and the dumbing down." The premise of events such as the Lakeland race is that competitors, not the organisers, assess the conditions and decide if they should go ahead. David Munn, 39, who has taken part in 19 Original Mountain Marathons, said competitors did not expect someone else to take responsibility for their actions. "This is a hugely refreshing view in a world where everything always seems to have to be someone else's fault," he said. The charge levelled at the competitors that they are a burden on the emergency services, including the voluntary mountain rescue service, are roundly rejected. Mike Park, who took part in the race and is also team leader of Cockermouth Mountain Rescue, said that mountain marathon runners were almost always better prepared than normal hikers. Mike Parsons, the organiser of the Lakeside marathon, pointed out that out of the 1,427 people who entered only 14 were injured, none seriously.But some events have already changed. Youngsters who compete in the army-organised Ten Tors expedition on Dartmoor in Devon every summer can carry mobile phones for an emergency after the death of a 14-year-old girl while training for the challenge. The event spokesman David Harris said: "Ten Tors is all about risk, but acceptable risk." Other sports are feeling the pressure. Sand yacht enthusiasts have found it harder to stage events since a woman was killed after being hit by a sand yacht while walking on a beach in Lancashire. Families who went canoeing on the River Wye in south Wales this summer found hire companies on tenterhooks about health and safety after the death of a nine-year-old girl. Caving bodies, gliding clubs, even rollerskating groups have reported that they have struggled to cope with increased insurance premiums. Ian Anderson, chairman of the International Coasteering Association - whose bag is climbing, scrambling and leaping around sea cliffs - said some landowners saw enthusiasts as irresponsible risk-takers. "Is it going to get to the point where we have to wear a helmet to walk to the shops" he asked. Julian Brazier MP, the co-chair of the all-party parliamentary group on adventure and recreation in society, called for Britain to follow the example of the US and Australia and make it harder for organisers of sport and leisure pursuits to be sued. He said: "Society needs to accept that accidents happen without it always being someone's fault."Case studyAnne Jago, retired teacher, 64, veteran of 30 mountain marathonsIt's not just a physical challenge, it's a mental challenge as well. It can be very hard. You go up and up. Your lungs are bursting, your calves are burning but you don't give up. When I finish the event I'm glowing with pride because you've tested your self-sufficiency in the wild - and I am very proud of beating men who are a lot younger than me. It's really all about self-reliance. You are away from civilisation and you are self-sufficient in the wilderness. You've got everything you need in your rucksack. I had an accident one year. I fell forward on slippery rock. I was slightly concussed, there was blood everywhere. What was amazing was that immediately there were people all around. I was wrapped in a space blanket. I was given Ibuprofen and jelly babies. I didn't want to retire so I carried on. It's so important. There's so many people who would rather I just drove to the shopping centre and home. But it's such a healthy pastime. You have to keep your weight down and do all the things the government wants you to do. I feel much more in danger when I'm driving down the motorway. If one car goes everyone goes.I'm determined to go on and on as long as I can. At the end of an event I always think I can do another one.guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2008 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds
2008-11-08 02:26:40Gay marriage supporters march in Calif., Utah
LONG BEACH, Calif. AP -- Thousands of protesters angered by the passage of a state measure banning gay marriage took to the streets Friday in San Francisco and Long Beach, while thousands more protested outside the headquarters of the Mormon church...
2008-11-08 02:07:39Gay marriage supporters march in Calif., Utah AP
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2008-10-26 21:49:19Kids, curries, Kerala: the perfect recipe
It would be dark soon, we could tell, because the sun had dipped behind the far ridge of the absurdly picturesque valley, but there didn't seem to be any urgency to return to our bungalow. The tea country of the Western Ghats in southern India, the knuckle of mountains separating lush Kerala from the plains of Tamil Nadu, is tranquil to the point of caricature and the only danger lay in the eyes of our seven-year-old, Esme, who feared we might encounter more tea pickers. Earlier, walking up from the bungalow which had once belonged to the English manager of the vast Tallayar estate, the last of these to finish work had descended past us. Three women, Tamils wearing saris, had pinched Esme's cheeks so hard her smile had morphed into a grimace. Now the tea pickers had all reached their homes further down the valley, from where later in the dark we would hear Tamil film music drifting up. Instead, we were stopped by the recently installed manager of the estate, having first been alerted to his presence by the growl of his gleaming Enfield motorbike. Elephants, he said, roamed these hillsides; and yes, they could be very dangerous and yes, we'd best hurry back to the bungalow.Packing for this two-week adventure, we had not counted being savaged by wild pachyderms among the possible dangers. Instead, there had been questions about what would Sam and Esme eat and what sort of malaria pills should we take, or would they be simply overwhelmed by the country itself. Before Zoe and I met we had both travelled around India. The three weeks I'd spent in the south with a gang of teenage mates, rucksacks filled with filthy washing on our backs, had left me with the potentially foolhardy idea of wanting to instil the fascination I'd felt with this part of the world in two under-10s whose weltanschauung had hitherto been bound by Ryanair's flight routes.Kerala's history is intertwined with that of travellers seduced by its spectacular beauty. In Cochin, to which we flew via Sri Lanka, there is still - just about - one of the oldest Jewish diaspora communities in the world as well as India's oldest European church, St Francis, where the explorer Vasco da Gama was originally buried. Our own journey had seen Zoe pick up a bug on the flight, and the family's entrance into the country had been heralded by a fellow passenger announcing to the stewardesses, 'she is vomiting', with the sort of hard, percussive 'v' and elongated vowel sound that also announces India. So much for the children's welfare.But this was a holiday at which we were chucking the savings, and whereas last time it had been trains and buses, now we were met by our own car and driver, the heroic Rajesh, with whom we weaved calmly north for an hour-and-a-half to what we could see, in the warm light of morning, were the Athirapally Falls. This is a popular spot for local tourists, and the view from our adjoining bedrooms at our eco-friendly hotel of the Chalakudy River crashing down 80 feet was spectacular. The falls had also attracted a film crew shooting a Malayalam movie in the forest when Sam, Esme and I sweated past later in the heat, with a chorus line of extras and a troop of monkeys waiting in the shade. For the children, it immediately felt very different from the school playground on a Friday afternoon, and later, on a drive deeper into the forest, we saw deer and a giant red squirrel, but no elephants here either, despite the promised chance of a sighting.The deal had been that we would split the trip between wildlife, beach and culture and next morning, with Zoe recovered, we drove back to Cochin. The route was initially through lush countryside, with Rajesh pointing out the banana trees, tapioca, rubber trees and much more, as if this were a botany lesson. This is a fertile land for religion, too, and beside the temples and mosques, there were huge churches with gaudy paint jobs to enable them compete with their Hindu counterparts. Imposing mansions also studded the roadside, evidence of Kerala's growing prosperity.Long the most literate state in India, it is benefiting from workers at every level, from construction workers to medics, sending money home from newfound jobs in the Gulf. Tourism plays its part, too, and in Cochin the sort of boutique hotel that simply didn't exist in India twenty years ago - backpacker's budget or not -was awaiting us. Before dinner in the courtyard of the chic Malabar House, there was the inevitable visit to the city's famous Chinese fishing nets and then to a kathakali show. Genuine performances of this ancient form of dance-drama apparently last through the night, but even though this show was thankfully truncated and the protagonists looked spectacular in their lurid make-up, there was still the question of why the children should be subjected to it when I had suffered a similar show that had bored me close to tears 20 years ago. But it proved a surprise hit thanks to the woman who explained the action to the audience and could have passed for Les Dawson in drag; coincidentally, she also shared his comic timing.The cultural trail was leading us to Madurai across the Western Ghats in Tamil Nadu, but to break the nine-hour drive we stopped for the night in tea country, 45 minutes on from the town of Munnar. En route, the children were entertained by the scenery but also by a CD of the Just William stories we'd brought with us to play on the car stereo; it turned out that the sound of Martin Jarvis recounting the adventures of William, Ginger, Douglas et al proved the most apposite soundtrack to our arrival at the Tallayar Estate bungalow - a perfect throwback to the Raj. Delphiniums and forget-me-nots prettified the garden and the strawberries were just coming into season; later, the cook asked the children to identify the veg patch cauliflower they fancied for dinner. We were the only guests, treated to vast bedrooms and chipped ceramic baths, and the cook and housekeeper were there at 4am to see us off.The early start wasn't in the itinerary however relentless it seemed, but the stoic Rajesh had been alarmed by news of a hartal - a strike - called to protest against rising fuel prices in Kerala. So we wound through the mountains as dawn crept up - privilege to the most spectacular views - in order to make the state border before angry picket lines could stop us; Rajesh was genuinely relieved when we made it down into the plains without incident. The ancient city of Madurai with its rubbish-strewn streets served as a sharp contrast to the more genteel charms of Cochin. But to visit its stellar attraction, the Meenakshi temple, we took rickshaws from the hotel and the children loved the mayhem of our race there. If ever any journey made a mockery of the demand that they put their seat belts on when in the car back home, this was it. The vast temple complex, with its 12 gopurams, beats an Anglican church hands down when it comes to child-friendliness, too: we could pad around barefoot, play hide and seek among the sculptures, visit the temple shops - and gain a keen sense of a religion practised in near-unbroken form for millennia. Sam said later that the temple was - and here he adopted the sort of formulation that would see Rajev tell us that from Madurai to our next destination it was 'near ... and also far' - both 'boring and ... interesting'. Serious praise.In Madurai we also visited a tailor, who kitted out both children in Indian clothes, which seemed like a further measure of their acclimatisation. The food, too, was proving a breeze - the idea of a curry provoked few fears, with biscuits and bananas coming to the rescue if there really wasn't anything they fancied. Only a ritual of our own cast a pall; advice on whether it was really necessary to take precautions against malaria in southern India was mixed, which meant that the children were bullied into wolfing down their bitter pills every evening before dinner. This, Esme maintains, was, cheek-pinchers included, 'the absolute worst thing about India'.From Madurai it was a scramble back to the coast, but the journey was broken by two nights at the Periyar Wildlife park, the biggest in south India. The first time I had visited here, if memory serves, there were few buildings and little in the way of hotels and it was in the adjacent town of Thekkady that my friends and I had been approached by a wiry fellow asking, 'sirs, would you be interested in seeing marijuana growing', followed by his sales pitch. Now it was shop owners inviting us in to look at artefacts from around the country - pashminas from Kashmir and such like. The advantage of Periyar remains that it is easy to visit - a vast artificial lake dominates the park and every hour three or four boats with Indian honeymooners and Western tourists sputter off across the water.But first we hired a guide to take us walking into the jungle, which meant more monkeys and a raccoon, as well as tiger scratch marks but no tigers and no elephants. Easy to imagine they were scared off by the occasional moan from a child still sweltering in the becalming, relative coolness of the thick interior. But it was still fantastically like The Jungle Book. Later, the boat ride proved restive, apart from the sudden frenzied gesticulation necessary when anyone thought they had spotted a big beast on the shore. Sadly, they were only deer.Never mind, because next day, finally there were elephants, tame ones that we rode around a patch of jungle in Thekkady. The Madurai rickshaw race was recreated at ambling pace - the danger now in the possibility of Zoe panicking and falling off. This was, Esme later said, 'the best thing we did in India'.From there, we bumped down towards the sea, entering the part of Kerala famous for its luscious backwaters, where the distinction between land and water threatens to disappear. First we stopped for two nights at an absurdly luxurious hotel called Privacy on the shores of the vast Lake Vembanad and then hit a beach resort.This stretch of the frenzied journey served as a reward for everyone - lazing by the swimming pool, cycling through country lanes, being buffeted by the warm waves of the Arabian Sea, drifting through backwaters in a modified canoe. By this stage, for the adults, there was little of the sense of adventure that had characterised our earlier trips to India, though we continued to marvel at recent developments in the country that made our lives easier now - such as functioning cash points. But every day brought something new to Sam and Esme.The only shame was that we had to part company with Rajesh who, like everyone we met, could not have been nicer to the children. Sam gashed his foot in the pool at Privacy but by then Zoe and I were beyond worrying. The junior contingent started moaning, but only that we absolutely had to return to Kerala at the earliest possible opportunity.EssentialsCaspar Llewellyn Smith travelled with Transindus 020 8566 2729; transindus.com. A 16-day family trip staying at the Rainforests, Malabar House, Tallayar Estate, Taj Garden Retreat, Spice Village, Privacy and Marari Beach, costs from £2,298 per adult, and £2,048 per child under 12, including flights, sightseeing tours, all transport, and breakfasts. A shorter, nine-day escorted group tour 'Kerala in Style' costs from £1,629 per adult, £1,498 per child. Caspar and family flew with Sri Lankan Airlines 020 8538 2000; srilankan.lk.IndiaSri LankaFamily holidaysguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2008 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds
2008-10-26 20:43:19Champions Tour - Wal-Mart First Tee Open at Pebble Beach - Round One
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