Big Old Truck, at Newman, with sliver of moon above.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Sleep Apnoea
21/9/2000
Well, everyone knows how well I snore, so it was time to get it documented.
Last night about 9:30pm. After answering an extensive questionnaire about how I slept (which can be a little challenging sometime) that included little gems such as how often your partner sleeps in another room?, and how is your libido? I was wired up in just about every imaginable way. Electrodes were placed behind the ears, on the scalp, forehead, under the eyes and on the chin, then heart monitor, and a couple on the shins for good measure. Add to that a couple of stretchy type band to measure breathing (one for chest and one for diaphragm) and topped of with a little gadget for (I think) measuring oxygen levels that wrapped around your ears and ended up under your nose in this hard little bobble thingy, quite distracting really. Ooh, and I forgot there is this red light thingy that was taped to the forefinger, and all of this was held in place with miles of surgical tape.
Next thing required to do, is go to sleep!
Easy you say, do it every day. Can do it laying down.
Well, always a good sleeper, I dutifully closed my eyes and tried to think of nothing. Then sheep, no synchronised swimming, no the GDP of small Central African Countries, hang on, lets try the speech of the South African Reserve Bank Governor (published in fine print in the economist). Wave after wave of fatigue washed over me, and just as I would be zoning out, the bastard mind would kick back in and think of something different. Each time I dozed, more of the edge of tiredness would be eroded so that by 12:30 I was feeling wide awake.
What was worse, was all the wiring went into this little box that was plonked on the edge of the bed where I normally stretch out my arms. With all this wiring I had to be careful on how I turned in bed, otherwise I would end up wound up in wire. Within half an hour I managed to push the pillow sideways (I like to put my head on the ends of the pillow) and pushed the whole lot onto the floor. Left me wondering why I couldn't reach a glass of water as the red light wire was holding me back.
You would think that whoever designed all this would have put a bit more thought into the positioning of all this kit. Not even a place to clip it to the headboard. This place does at least 2 sleepers a night, probably every night, so things like this should be sorted out. Not so.
Next problem was the ambient temperature of the hospital was about 21 degrees, and no way of controlling this. Not uncomfortable, but a bit warm to sleep with covers that provide that extra bit of security. Fortunately, the windows did open, and while that helped it did let in a little bit of light, and unfamiliar noises (though fortunately it opened out onto a quiet suburb rather than a busy road).
1:00am. I rang the bell and said I didn't think I was sleeping. I was promptly told that I had slept OK up till then, and all I need to do was relax, break the thinking cycle and sleep will happen. Read a little (tempting, I am trying to consume the economist weekly now) or flick on the TV (enough games replays for the moment thankyou). Offered a panadol (that sometimes helps people), but that sleeping pills would not happen if they are not prescribed anyway. They only require 2-3 hours of sleep pattern to make an assessment, so we tried again.
6:00am. Dawn chorus. A nice day ahead. 10 minutes later I was being helped out of the wiring. Much ripping of tape quickly off a hirsute body. Just thankful to be done. By 25 past I was in my car heading home for breakfast. While offered the choice of hospital breakfast, I felt that keeping contact to a minimum, including meals, I could pretend that I wasn't really in hospital. Hospitals are not great places in my book, and besides, my brand of muesli won out.
Now I go back for a followup appointment next Friday to discuss the results.
How well do you sleep? I plan to sleep real well tonight.
Well, everyone knows how well I snore, so it was time to get it documented.
Last night about 9:30pm. After answering an extensive questionnaire about how I slept (which can be a little challenging sometime) that included little gems such as how often your partner sleeps in another room?, and how is your libido? I was wired up in just about every imaginable way. Electrodes were placed behind the ears, on the scalp, forehead, under the eyes and on the chin, then heart monitor, and a couple on the shins for good measure. Add to that a couple of stretchy type band to measure breathing (one for chest and one for diaphragm) and topped of with a little gadget for (I think) measuring oxygen levels that wrapped around your ears and ended up under your nose in this hard little bobble thingy, quite distracting really. Ooh, and I forgot there is this red light thingy that was taped to the forefinger, and all of this was held in place with miles of surgical tape.
Next thing required to do, is go to sleep!
Easy you say, do it every day. Can do it laying down.
Well, always a good sleeper, I dutifully closed my eyes and tried to think of nothing. Then sheep, no synchronised swimming, no the GDP of small Central African Countries, hang on, lets try the speech of the South African Reserve Bank Governor (published in fine print in the economist). Wave after wave of fatigue washed over me, and just as I would be zoning out, the bastard mind would kick back in and think of something different. Each time I dozed, more of the edge of tiredness would be eroded so that by 12:30 I was feeling wide awake.
What was worse, was all the wiring went into this little box that was plonked on the edge of the bed where I normally stretch out my arms. With all this wiring I had to be careful on how I turned in bed, otherwise I would end up wound up in wire. Within half an hour I managed to push the pillow sideways (I like to put my head on the ends of the pillow) and pushed the whole lot onto the floor. Left me wondering why I couldn't reach a glass of water as the red light wire was holding me back.
You would think that whoever designed all this would have put a bit more thought into the positioning of all this kit. Not even a place to clip it to the headboard. This place does at least 2 sleepers a night, probably every night, so things like this should be sorted out. Not so.
Next problem was the ambient temperature of the hospital was about 21 degrees, and no way of controlling this. Not uncomfortable, but a bit warm to sleep with covers that provide that extra bit of security. Fortunately, the windows did open, and while that helped it did let in a little bit of light, and unfamiliar noises (though fortunately it opened out onto a quiet suburb rather than a busy road).
1:00am. I rang the bell and said I didn't think I was sleeping. I was promptly told that I had slept OK up till then, and all I need to do was relax, break the thinking cycle and sleep will happen. Read a little (tempting, I am trying to consume the economist weekly now) or flick on the TV (enough games replays for the moment thankyou). Offered a panadol (that sometimes helps people), but that sleeping pills would not happen if they are not prescribed anyway. They only require 2-3 hours of sleep pattern to make an assessment, so we tried again.
6:00am. Dawn chorus. A nice day ahead. 10 minutes later I was being helped out of the wiring. Much ripping of tape quickly off a hirsute body. Just thankful to be done. By 25 past I was in my car heading home for breakfast. While offered the choice of hospital breakfast, I felt that keeping contact to a minimum, including meals, I could pretend that I wasn't really in hospital. Hospitals are not great places in my book, and besides, my brand of muesli won out.
Now I go back for a followup appointment next Friday to discuss the results.
How well do you sleep? I plan to sleep real well tonight.
Knowledge
A geologist is said to be a person who knows very little about a great deal and keeps knowing less and less about more and more until eventually he knows practically nothing about everything.
Whereas on the other hand, a geophysicist is a person who knows a great deal about very little and goes on knowing more and more about less and less until finally he knows practically everything about nothing.
A field assistant starts out knowing practically everything about everything, but ends up knowing nothing about anything, due to his association with geologists and geophysicists.
Whereas on the other hand, a geophysicist is a person who knows a great deal about very little and goes on knowing more and more about less and less until finally he knows practically everything about nothing.
A field assistant starts out knowing practically everything about everything, but ends up knowing nothing about anything, due to his association with geologists and geophysicists.
ACROSS AUSTRALIA IN A P6B
This is a tale of a fairly ordinary crossing of Australia, west to east style. Done out of a job by those that know better (or those that control the purse), I was at a loose end for the first time in nearly 4½ years. Having a friend involved in the political scene, and with the upcoming 1993 “GST” election, I thought I could amuse myself there well.
So packing up my gear and stashing half at my parent’s place, I still had the P6B stuffed to the hilt, such that the headlights were better suited to spotting possums.
Just 2 days (and weekend days at that) and final going over on the car, facing the drive across the Nullabor with some trepidation, I purchased the de-riguer spares (Fan belt, hoses, oils, container for water, etc). I also had the car run up on hoist for a quick going over. To my horror, one of the uni joints in the half shafts was a bit sloppy. Enquiries as to whether I could get this replaced (on a Saturday morning) were met with disbelief. A last ditch was to obtain the replacement bearing kit.
Setting of on a fine Sunday morning, with my mother traveling with me for company, we cleared the hills behind Perth by midday. The journey was uneventful until some 5 hours later at Coolgardie the dreaded “knocking” of a buggered bearing became evident. By this stage we had already booked ourselves into a hotel for our overnight stay. Tense is one description for the next 170 odd klicks to Norseman
Fate was fair to us that day, and we made it in the darkness (almost 8pm) to town without incident. The next morning I set out to trawl the local garages to find a mechanic who appreciated my restlessness. By 8:30 I had it up on a hoist, supervising some poor apprentice in dismantling the rear end of my car.
The key to all this was the preparation. Without the bearing kit, I would have paced that town for at least an extra day waiting for delivery, and then most likely suffered that usual fate of receiving the wrong part.
I knew little about pressing out bearings, and the next two hours was an interesting education on the use of vices, oversized and undersized sockets to drive the bushes out, and when to employ the gas axe to provide extra encouragement. End result, I was back on the road with no trauma before midday.
Striking east towards Adelaide for some reason seemed quite a daunting task., With roadhouses becoming more scarce (in fact not really, but seeming like that) and armed with everyone’s horror stories, including those of my folks who were occasional traveler’s of the dirt track it used to be. For some reason every rhythmic bump and grind, whether by road or engine seemed to augur doom.
My nerves were being tested. I even had the bonnet up checking the fan belt when the ignition light appeared, but that was just a loose shovel clip at the back of the alternator (it still drops of from time to time).
Somehow, by the time the SA border loomed, I had begun to relax, and infact the rest of the journey was trouble free (mechanically). Nullabor Roadhouse overnight, then ploughing on to reach a place called Carathool in western NSW late the next night (or was that early morning). Sharing the driving certainly made the push worthwhile, dropping in on an old friend of my Mother’s.
Perhaps my only horror was driving at night, and having relinquished the wheel, waking to find Mother playing a judgement game on when to dip the lights. Now, my car has never had well aligned lights courtesy of some little front-end bingle and dodgy repairs prior to my ownership. With a heavily laden boot they tended to look up a bit. Mother decided she would try to judge the dipping of the lights to within 5 white posts of the oncoming vehicle.
In reading the new national road rules in the paper, the new rules is that lights are to be dipped by at least 200m distance from the oncoming vehicle. Having grown up in the country, and done a lot of driving since, particularly with spotlights, I have always considered it proper to dip much earlier than this. But these events do pass us by.
Canberra, the original destination was then reached after 4 days, and not too much difficulty. The election passed, and I drifted back into my original game (exploration geology) and found myself working up in NT. After a 3 month period, they let me out for a quick break, and taking advantage of company paid flights, I came to Canberra to rescue the car from my Uncles back yard. Sydney beckoned for some quick partying with some friends.
Thus, at 9:30am, slightly hungover in the Eastern Suburbs, I fueled up once again, and pointed the car west. The next 3 days saw me break some personal driving records, and impressed me on the ease of the old car to drive. Having driven many miles in Japanese 4WD’s, they seemed a breeze in this car. With a big day of 950 miles in the middle, I covered Sydney to Perth, and collapsed on a friend floor around 4:30 pm, who had enough sense to pull the cork from a bottle of red as part of the recovery program.
To keep fuel economy records, all fuel was purchased on credit, and this leads to an amusing little side story. A week after returning to work in the NT, I received an urgent message to contact my bank. So calling them to find out what the problem was, they stated that they had tracked my card moving rapidly across the country, and were concerned that I may have lost it (particularly as I was now in the NT).
I wish the fuel economy figures were more amusing. With the load I was carrying I struggled to average 16mpg.
So packing up my gear and stashing half at my parent’s place, I still had the P6B stuffed to the hilt, such that the headlights were better suited to spotting possums.
Just 2 days (and weekend days at that) and final going over on the car, facing the drive across the Nullabor with some trepidation, I purchased the de-riguer spares (Fan belt, hoses, oils, container for water, etc). I also had the car run up on hoist for a quick going over. To my horror, one of the uni joints in the half shafts was a bit sloppy. Enquiries as to whether I could get this replaced (on a Saturday morning) were met with disbelief. A last ditch was to obtain the replacement bearing kit.
Setting of on a fine Sunday morning, with my mother traveling with me for company, we cleared the hills behind Perth by midday. The journey was uneventful until some 5 hours later at Coolgardie the dreaded “knocking” of a buggered bearing became evident. By this stage we had already booked ourselves into a hotel for our overnight stay. Tense is one description for the next 170 odd klicks to Norseman
Fate was fair to us that day, and we made it in the darkness (almost 8pm) to town without incident. The next morning I set out to trawl the local garages to find a mechanic who appreciated my restlessness. By 8:30 I had it up on a hoist, supervising some poor apprentice in dismantling the rear end of my car.
The key to all this was the preparation. Without the bearing kit, I would have paced that town for at least an extra day waiting for delivery, and then most likely suffered that usual fate of receiving the wrong part.
I knew little about pressing out bearings, and the next two hours was an interesting education on the use of vices, oversized and undersized sockets to drive the bushes out, and when to employ the gas axe to provide extra encouragement. End result, I was back on the road with no trauma before midday.
Striking east towards Adelaide for some reason seemed quite a daunting task., With roadhouses becoming more scarce (in fact not really, but seeming like that) and armed with everyone’s horror stories, including those of my folks who were occasional traveler’s of the dirt track it used to be. For some reason every rhythmic bump and grind, whether by road or engine seemed to augur doom.
My nerves were being tested. I even had the bonnet up checking the fan belt when the ignition light appeared, but that was just a loose shovel clip at the back of the alternator (it still drops of from time to time).
Somehow, by the time the SA border loomed, I had begun to relax, and infact the rest of the journey was trouble free (mechanically). Nullabor Roadhouse overnight, then ploughing on to reach a place called Carathool in western NSW late the next night (or was that early morning). Sharing the driving certainly made the push worthwhile, dropping in on an old friend of my Mother’s.
Perhaps my only horror was driving at night, and having relinquished the wheel, waking to find Mother playing a judgement game on when to dip the lights. Now, my car has never had well aligned lights courtesy of some little front-end bingle and dodgy repairs prior to my ownership. With a heavily laden boot they tended to look up a bit. Mother decided she would try to judge the dipping of the lights to within 5 white posts of the oncoming vehicle.
In reading the new national road rules in the paper, the new rules is that lights are to be dipped by at least 200m distance from the oncoming vehicle. Having grown up in the country, and done a lot of driving since, particularly with spotlights, I have always considered it proper to dip much earlier than this. But these events do pass us by.
Canberra, the original destination was then reached after 4 days, and not too much difficulty. The election passed, and I drifted back into my original game (exploration geology) and found myself working up in NT. After a 3 month period, they let me out for a quick break, and taking advantage of company paid flights, I came to Canberra to rescue the car from my Uncles back yard. Sydney beckoned for some quick partying with some friends.
Thus, at 9:30am, slightly hungover in the Eastern Suburbs, I fueled up once again, and pointed the car west. The next 3 days saw me break some personal driving records, and impressed me on the ease of the old car to drive. Having driven many miles in Japanese 4WD’s, they seemed a breeze in this car. With a big day of 950 miles in the middle, I covered Sydney to Perth, and collapsed on a friend floor around 4:30 pm, who had enough sense to pull the cork from a bottle of red as part of the recovery program.
To keep fuel economy records, all fuel was purchased on credit, and this leads to an amusing little side story. A week after returning to work in the NT, I received an urgent message to contact my bank. So calling them to find out what the problem was, they stated that they had tracked my card moving rapidly across the country, and were concerned that I may have lost it (particularly as I was now in the NT).
I wish the fuel economy figures were more amusing. With the load I was carrying I struggled to average 16mpg.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Inland Fish
A long time ago it was pointed out to me the folly of ordering fish and chips too far inland, when I watched so fellow students ditch some greenish battered fish bought from if I recall correctly, North Banister, southeast of Perth. Since I have been working up in the Pilbara for the last 5 years I have been having encounters with live inland fish that is far more delightful. Commonly any near permanent water will have fish in them, even when the water is muddy and stained with cattle dung and smelling to high heaven. While that would put me off any temptation to eat them, it does provide a feed for various eagle or roaming pelicans that can turn up for a look.
Recently I was looking at a prospect some 200km inland not far from the FMG railway in the east Pilbara and apart from the country being burnt out, rainfall had made a permananet pool overflow, which was still trickling over a rock bar while I was there. Splashing alerted me to some bigger fish trying to get back to the deeper pool upstream, and on watching it for a bit I saw the fish make about 3 attempts, getting caught up in trash, before turning back and resting in weeds. I was able to take two steps and pick up this fine looking fellow, a spangled perch that was probably 20cm long, get a quick photo before helping it on its way to the bigger pool. Any longer there and it would have been a feed for an eagle I saw not far away. Under a nearby tree was the remnants of a fish that was not so fortunate to get that assist, and from the freshness of it had been a mid morning snack for the bird.
Spangled PerchI also learnt a simple trick to find out if any fish are present., Lob a small pebble into the water near weeds or reeds, and if there are any decent fish they will rush out to have first crack at a possible feed. Doing this I have seen fish from Marble bar to old mining pits sounth of Karratha.
Another fish left behind in a shrinking smelly waterhole in the Pilbara. Possibly a Hardyhead? or Tarpon
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