Eyes Open

I’ve lived on Cat Ba Island for just short of a year now. It’s hard to wrap my head around the idea that, at the winter solstice, days have barely shortened since August. December weather brings to mind crisp autumn days: when the sun shines, the world glows in a gentle warmth otherwise hidden by misting clouds.

Last week was huge. I wrapped my two largest projects yet– fitting, since I have only ten days left on the island.

We’re releasing the first climbing guidebook produced for the region since 2008. I’ve been editing the book for the past few months, working with my badass friend and volunteer Luca (Author) and my friend and General Manager Chris (Co-editor). Luca has been the most amazing partner in crime, headlining the project with monumental vision and sheer will. He combines a rare and genuine mix of talent, passion and humility. Chris has overseen the project with levelheaded grace, offering guidance in networking, tact, partnership and pride.

I’m so proud to have been included as part of this project as we worked to draw together the area’s rich and complex history. I’m proud to have coordinated amongst dozens of contributors on local and global scales. I’m proud to have learned intricate publishing software on the fly, building sections of the book, constructing maps and proofreading the document time and time again. I guess those Catholic High School English classes came in handy after all.

I’m humbled to have connected with individuals I never expected to meet. I’m humbled at the generosity and goodwill of dozens of people who contributed stories, information, photographs and history to the project. I’ve learned so much about the place I currently call home. Tremendous work has gone into developing rock climbing in the region, from original pioneers to those who have left their mark more recently– making the place accessible, working with authorities, exploring, bolting, putting up first ascents and gathering information to bring home. I’m so glad for the opportunity to work with Luca and Chris to compile decades of information, making it available and passing it on to those who come after we leave.

We submitted our final draft to the printers last week. Test copies are on the press as I write. With a little Western luck in a Vietnamese print shop, we’ll release the book before the end of the year. Our hearts and souls have gone into this project, and we can’t wait to share it with the climbing community at large.

Photo credit: Rich Fergus

Last week “in the office,” I worked as advisor, guide and subject for an American film crew  producing a documentary about life on the water in Vietnam. The crew were an absolute riot; Vietnam is the seventh of ten countries they’re filming, so they know each other pretty well by now. There were kung fu kicks with plastic samurai swords and Vietnamese hats. There were beautifully staged spats centered around awkwardly positioned cameramen. There were moustache selfies taken with air force tagalongs (we were filming in a militarized zone). Jaws hit the floor as Vu’s abs were revealed to the general populace before he began climbing. At one point I distinctly remember hearing, “Rip it off, kid!” (I even got paid to tell Vu to jump into the water... and Vu hates getting wet.) There were barbeque parties and beers. There was almost an unsuspecting slo-motion slap across the face filmed in retaliation for a friendly punch to a kidney.

The week was filled with speedboat rides through the bay, VIP meals on the boat, good company and visits to just about every place I’ve come to know through a year’s time living and guiding here. The shoot took me so much further into Ha Long Bay than the areas where I operate on a day-to-day basis. We filmed kayaking in a secret system of tunnels and lagoons I’d never actually seen before our scouting days.

I think I surprised myself more than anyone else as I realized how intimately I’ve come to know this place. With a tide chart in hand I was able to almost completely coordinate the shoot on a local level, from organizing meals and boats, to introducing the crew to their main characters, to acting as safety advisor, to fulfilling every request for places and opportunities to film specific footage. (The guys who served us at the bay’s floating business hub thought it was hilarious that a Vietnamese logistics team relied on a foreigner to guide them.)

Most importantly, I received a desperately needed gift through a simple reminder of where I live. It’s so easy to become immune to places serving as home base– places we experience day after day. In my last few months, stressed by large groups and worried about customer satisfaction, I had become largely apathetic to Ha Long Bay. I’d begun neglecting to take in the world around me. My focus had turned to wrapping up projects and moving onward at the end of the year. I looked forward to a bittersweet end, knowing I had grown beyond expectation, wishing I could stay longer to dedicate time fully to climbing, but more than ready to be somewhere– anywhere– else. Without looking back.

Preferably somewhere with access to Mexican food.

And then the film crew showed up. I had the time of my life exploring places I rarely go, looking north past slender spires from unfamiliar inlets and venturing deep into floating villages. More than anything, though, the crew brought a drone with them. On the way home from filming on the first day, Matt showed me a clip of the footage he’d collected. His camera rose from our kayaks to pan north over hundreds of ancient islands spread in a whorling maze amongst the sea’s deep emerald embrace. It offered a stunning, otherworldly perspective of the place to which I had lately become so numb, providing the crucial catalyst allowing me to again truly recognize and appreciate my surroundings before I leave the island in a few days’ time.

Although it’s certainly time for me to move onward, I’m able to do so now with true appreciation and recognition for the people and places amongst whom I’ve spent the last year. And so, to Luca and Chris and Ben and Matt and Dean– to everyone I connected with through my work on the guidebook and the film crew– you have my utmost gratitude.