'Life on the 'Knife's Edge'

Two years ago, photographer Phil Kneen and myself set out to work on a project called ‘Harvest’, the story of a doomed Scottish fishing trawler and her 7 man crew, which went down with all hands in a raging storm off the Isle of Man in January 2000.

The idea had been to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the sinking in such a way as to tell the story from a completely different perspective, using the words of those most affected by the tragedy to recount the incredible story of what, is still, the worst maritime disaster to occur in Manx waters. The end project stirred up all sorts of emotions, reducing grown men to tears and testing mine and Phil’s friendship to the limit. It was a journey neither of us were sure if we could make again, but time, as they say, is a great healer……

And so, two years on, the creative juices are flowing again.

‘Life on the ‘Knife’s Edge’:

Tales from the Canadian Hinterland

Lying on the northern shores of the Great Slave Lake, some 500 kilometres south of the Arctic Circle, is Yellowknife, a city on the edge. This is frontier country, a land of ice road truckers and diamond miners, where you can enjoy the midnight sun, the AuroraBorealis and, apparently, the best fish and chips in Canada! The capital (and only) city in Canada's remote Northwest Territories, it is also the subject for our next collaboration.

Follow our adventures on...http://missluger.wordpress.com/


All photos and words copyright Phil Kneen & Trevor Gibbs

‘In the City of Djinns’

My latest adventure saw me riding across Rajasthan with Denise van Outen and Lydia Bright, as they attempted to raise money for Great Ormond Street Hospital. The following is a brief glimpse into the incredible journey that they undertook...

The adventure began amongst the chaos of Delhi and, in particular, its old Muslim quarter. Built by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan in the 17th century, the labyrinthine streets of Old Delhi still exude a little of the magic and mystery of a city that is all but lost now amongst the bustling thoroughfares of India’s thriving capital. Once surrounded by high walls and dominated by the imposing majesty of the Red Fort, this is home to the magnificent Jama Masjid, India’s largest mosque and a spectacular piece of Mughal design capable of holding some 25,000 worshippers. This was where our journey began in earnest, as we headed out to explore the rambling back streets by rickshaw. 

The city was beginning to take on a party atmosphere, with tomorrow heralding the start of the Holi festivities and, as we negotiated our way through the meandering streets, making our way past ruminating cows, spice stalls and tea houses, we could sense that celebration and mischief were in the air. The first water bomb came out of nowhere and hit Lydia. The second covered Denise in purple dye. Then suddenly, from all around us, water and dye hit us from every side. Our gentle amble through the back streets had turned into an ambush! 

Now rickshaws are not renowned for their speed, or their manoeuvrability. Neither do they offer particularly good protection against a concerted assault from water bombs and buckets. As water and paint rained down on us we made a frantic, but ultimately futile dash for safety. By the time we finally escaped the alleyways of Old Delhi we were a bedraggled and bemused mess, with Denise and Lydia bearing the brunt of the afternoon’s onslaught. Conversely (and bizarrely) our team photographer, Gareth, had managed to run the entire gauntlet unscathed. Whilst the rest of us looked as if we had just swum through blancmange, he still sported a pristine T-shirt and a sparkling camera. The Lord Vishnu obvious had his favourite!

And this was just day one!...

‘Don’t Worry...be Holi’

Even in a country renowned for its colourful exuberance, the festival of Holi takes some beating. A celebration to mark the beginning of spring and the triumph of good over evil, the annual Holi festivities explode across India in an all-encompassing cascade of water and colourful dyes. No one is spared, not even well dressed tourists...or celebrities.

As we made our way from Agra’s bustling train station, the early morning streets were alive with colour. Everywhere we looked people, dogs and cows were covered in brightly coloured paint and, given the events of the previous day amongst the meandering back streets of old Delhi, we were somewhat apprehensive as to what today might hold in store for us. We did manage to make it to the hotel unscathed, but this was to prove to be as far as we would get, before the inevitable mayhem overtook us. In the time it took to drop bags in rooms and change for our visit to the Taj Mahal, we had been joined by a travelling band of musicians and an enthusiastic collection of brightly coloured locals (including two dogs and a passing cow). 

By the time we left for the site we were all covered from head to foot in fetching multicoloured ensembles. The only bits of white that still seemed to be showing through were everyone’s grins! All of which made our visit to the Taj Mahal a memorable encounter, and not just for us. We became a source of amusement to the locals, as every step we took enveloped us in clouds of coloured dye. The security on the gate were somewhat unsure how to deal with us. And, once inside the complex, we seemed to be vying with one of India’s most iconic monuments for celebrity rights, as locals and tourists alike snapped away at us with cameras and mobile phones.

As the afternoon wore on and the celebrations ran their course, life began to return to a semblance of normality in Agra and we began the serious preparations for the bike ride ahead. It is said that one of the ultimate joys of travel is to be able to experience a little something of the true essence of a country and, on a journey of incredible contrasts, this brief encounter with one of India’s most colourful celebrations was to have a long-lasting and uplifting affect on us all...

‘In search of Sher Khan’

On the outskirts of the small town of Sawai Madhopur, lying in the shadow of an imposing hilltop fortress, sits one of India’s most famous national parks. Declared a Project Tiger reserve in 1973, Ranthambore National Park is today widely considered one of the best places in the country to see the majestic tiger in the wild. So, it was with some excitement, that we left our tented camp in the chill light of early morning to make the short journey to the park entrance. Only Lydia seemed a little unsure if she actually wanted to see a tiger up close and personal and, in light of what happened later, when she came face to face with a group of overzealous Rufous Treepies, I’m not surprised. 

The park itself covers nearly 400 square kilometres and was once the preserve of the ruling princes of Jaipur, who used it to hunt prey amongst the forested foothills of the Aravali and Vindhyan ranges. Today it is home to a rich diversity of animal and birdlife including wild boar, mugger crocodiles, nilgai, sloth bear and leopard and, although the tigers were proving elusive, as we drove along the rutted tracks that dissected the park, we came across herds of sambar deer grazing beside the glittering waters of a lake where crocodiles basked in the morning sunshine. We could also hear monkeys calling out warnings amongst the trees, indicating that a tiger was indeed hunting somewhere close by. All was going so well...and then the Treepies came! 

Rufous Treepies are members of the crow family, rather dapper members as it happens, with cinnamon coloured bodies and bluish grey tails. They are also incredibly intelligent and have obviously worked out over the years that tourists mean food! As we sat beside a small watering hole, taking in the tranquility of our surroundings, one came a sat on the roll bar behind the girls. This was obviously a ruse. Whilst our attentions were diverted two more came and sat on the edge of the open topped jeep’s windscreen, whilst another took up position on the wing mirror. In a scene reminiscent of Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’, these canny creatures then pounced. The one at the back jumped onto Lydia’s head and sat there in resigned indifference as she screamed blue murder. Two more then made a beeline for Denise as she rolled helplessly about the back seat, convulsed in fits of laughter. 

Another ambush! There seemed to be a pattern forming here. First Delhi, then Agra, now Ranthambore...even the birds were getting in on the act! Maybe that’s what the monkeys had been trying to warn us about...