DEEP WATER SOLOING IN THAILAND

Kip...trying hard not to soil himself.

When we got to Railay Beach in southern Thailand and Kip heard about deep water soloing, there was little doubt of what the next few days would involve.

Not that he knows anything about rock climbing. But as he pointed out, it's not every day you get the chance to scale the faces of sheer limestone cliffs, dangling high above jade green waters without ropes or harnesses to hold you back (or up, as Liz pointed out).

Soon after arrival, he signed up for a day trip with one of Railay's climbing companies, of which there are quite a few.

As he quickly learned, there's not a ton of skill required. You pay your fee (about $30 for a day), get a two-minute briefing, and grab a well-used pair of climbing shoes. Then, off you and your group go on a half-hour sailboat ride on the Andaman Sea.

Once at the chosen spot, your instructor points to a rock wall, asks who wants to go first, and off you go. It really is that straight forward.

Two guides were on hand to shout directions to you if you couldn't figure out where to go. "Up" was the most-often heard word of advice. And so, driven on by such professional instruction, up everyone went, until we couldn't go anymore.

It was everything you can imagine and then some. Because you're so terrified when you fall or jump from the cliff face, there's not much pain when you hit the water.

Usually.

Our deep water soloing guide. He's scared of heights and was terrified to climb without ropes. Seriously.

Our climbing group. Kip's in white shorts. Our fearless guide (black shorts) hugs the stalactite below him to the left.

A LITTLE HELP GOES A LONG WAY

OK, so if you've been reading this blog, hopefully you know we try to do some sort of volunteer work at least once a week wherever we are. It's not a monumental goal, nor is it going to change the world. We realize this.

But giving back, even a little, does make us feel good. Plus, sometimes we get to see/do some cool stuff we may not otherwise get to do, such as photographing whale sharks or spending Earth Day underwater in Palau. 

Last week, doing our "1 of 7," as we like to call it, we experienced something we thought was pretty nice. 

We had found our own little paradise--a beach hut for $10 per night (whoo hooo!), complete with front porch, hammock, and ridiculous views, all on a remote island in the Philippines where few foreigners visit except during surf season, which it wasn't. There were even seashells out front for Liz to collect and water buffalo out back for Kip to take pictures of!

The only problem was the beach was scattered with trash. Most of it came in with the tides, but some also fell from the hands of locals, many of whom still think tossing their chip bags, food wrappers, and cigarette butts in the sand is acceptable behavior. A few folks even call the plastic bag the "Filipino Jellyfish" for its prevalence and appearance when found in the water or washed up onshore. 

After breakfast and a less-than-stellar surf session, we grabbed a few plastic bags and hit the beach to start a clean up. Side note: You may have noticed picking up trash has been a go-to activity for us; there's litter everywhere, it's easy to collect, and cleaning it up makes an immediate impact, especially in tourist areas; if only we could figure out how to get people to stop littering. Hmmmmm. 

After half an hour or so, a graying man and younger boy in board shorts walked down the empty beach toward us. Looking closely, it appeared as if they both were carrying plastic bags and that they were picking up trash as they walked. 


Helpers? Indeed, it was.

The man's name was John. He was an expat American living in the Philippines, and he and his Philippine-born son, Kenji, had seen us and wondered if they could lend a hand. 


"Of course," we told them, "we'd love to have the help."  So father and son joined in, and, together, we walked along talking and filling our bags. 

John said he hoped this would be a good lesson for Kenji, who spent hours on the beach or on the waves nearby. He also thought it may help convince some of the locals who'd been watching us to stop littering and maybe even consider cleaning up after others who weren't as conscientious. 

It was nice to imagine. 


After emptying our bags in a nearby trash can, we shook hands and parted ways. And then we got back to enjoying what we felt was our own little slice of paradise...