Tg Lobang Beach ( as it was known in the 80s)

I used to sit on the top portion of this slanting slab of sandstone enjoying the golden yellow warm bath of the setting rays , the salty sea breeze & watching the whites of waves over a patch of rocky outcrops a short distance close to shore.

The slanting slab must have been 'sinking' over the years.. used to be able to walk right in the cave some 20 feet inwards . .. with overhead dripping water and even bats flying in and out.

To give you an idea of the size of the 'lubang' or 'hole' in the cliff.. the arrowed show a guy standing there. U can only walk there during low tide.

Sand stone.. see the thin crust brown iron oxide layer weathered and revealed the white harden sandstone

Poker-dotted with smooth rim holes .... water erosion.

Fossils of the burrows of yesteryears marine animal. A common finds over all Miri's sandstone as far inwards as the Canadian Hill.

NZ - recollections of plants, trees and walk

In1978 I was in Wellington, NZ - the windy City famous for her horizontal sleet of rain (where rain can literally seep in horizontally and foiled your carpet), howling wind with overhead singing telephone wires, Victorian-style wooden flats, steep zig-zaging roads and the famous cable-car in Kelburn.
I stayed at a rented flat at the foot of the Mt Victoria - 97 Brougham Street. Wellington High school - I was attending was just 10-15 minutes walk away. From the single window in my bedroom could just makeout Mt Victoria look-out points - a pyramid-shaped structure, a resting hut and a cannon. On the other side of the hill sometime appeared groups of school childrens among the hardy shrub dotted all over the slopes. The peaks looked accessible to me so one day i decided to check it out myself. I walked uphill instead of the usual path that lead to the city's centre, passing the Indian dairy shop where i sometimes pickup my last-minute groceries , TVs programme(The Listerner?), tabloid(Sun?) for my flatmates( i bet they reason they bought if is 'cos of the centre-fold) and other knick-knaps. The air was cool despite the overhead sun and a breeze was blowing from the bay. Just before the ended of the asphalt
road, i branched off to a footpath and arrived at a little green field just on the fringes of the pine 'forest' territory. I noticed a few thistle, plants with torny leaves and purple flowers, daisiy with its sun-flower-like heads. I pick a 'clean' patch under the shade of tree and lie down cushionning my head on my pair of the slipper and watching the white clouds rolling by and the fresh smell of grass/earth. For that moment - it was so carefree and peaceful, no faraway love-one to miss and my borneo home, any troubles if were any seems so far away. I recalled walking barefoot before, clothed in pyjamas to the dairy - no one threw me any unusal glance. I could do whatever i want, I thought. I got up and continue my walk towards the peak- passing through the undergrowth. It was surprising monotonus: the ground were carpetted with dead pine needles, an occasional fallen big branch strewn here and there and mushroom sprouted on decaying piles. The air felt cooler in the shade, before long i arrived at the lookout point basking in the early evening sun. I patted the cannon glowing warm under glaring sun. From this vintage point one can take in the panaromic view of the Wellighton city. Kelburn on the opposite side and the Wellington Bay where ferries depart for Picton and railroads disappearring in the Hutt valley on the other end and our flat at the foot. Turning behind was Wellington International airport and the suburban.


I lingered a while before choosing another longer route back - this time i have to brush aside the hardy pest gorse ( Ulex europaeus) shrub slender branches to make my way through. It was like walking in a labyrinth. Luckily there were no stinging ants and I was back to my flat feeling contented.

The two storey- flat had a washing/laundry area at the back - two old style washing machines ( each fitted with roller where put your clothing through to sqeeuze out the water- there is no spin-dry function). Behind this little hut was the laundry-lines. Hardy thorn/cooking apples were planted as hedges. They looked bare but with striking red-pinkish flowers.

canadian hill continued..

There were strange rustic pipe-like branches ( up to diameter of 40mm) protruded from smooth sandstones at places. At first I thought they were sort of oxidised rusty iron rods/bars. But they crumbled into powders when hammered with a stone. These strange criss-cross 'branches ' structures apparently were very common in the hill sandstone outcrops and similar ones were locate at near beaches. No one knew what they were and I could not remember anyone mentioned about them or anyone bothered to ask. [As late as 95s, i rememberd taking some pics of them when I revisited my hometown. I asked (via internet) around the world and a Canandian expert emailed back telling me they were fossils remants of marine animal's burrows - trace fossils. ] which means once-upon-a-time, the top of the canadian hills were submerged in sea!* ( no wonder seashells were presented in some part of the hill.)
Instead of heading towards to the water- fall, there was another narrow path on the right which lead to a diesel powered oil well. You have to climb on all 'fours' and hold on to the shrubs/tufts for support while pulling yourself up. I used to throw stones down the ravine and watched them ricocheted off the rocky surfaces. We found a way down there and had brought back sticky clay . We wrapped them in large green Simpoh - imitating the local market of using them to wrap taufu. To support and maintain the oil wells that dotted the canadian hill, a series of network of dirt roads were built. Along these deserted road 4-5" dia. metal pipe were located at ground level. We chanced upon one that brought us all the way to Oil Well #7 and back to my Primary School ! Numerous trips were made to explore more of these dirt trail and I found another interest pretty sandstone outcrops and named it "pretty stone". Soon a sketch of the visited trails were penned. [ a few years later I was thrilled to see my sketch matched up with a detail published map of the Town and the neighbourhood]




*in fact the whole of miri were under 200 metre of Sea water eons years ago ( more on this much later) with few spots above water - small parts of canadian hill....

eXploring the 'hinderland'

In primary school time before the arrival of TVs , there were few distractions - the town had two cinemas, a (good) Public library and sandy beach and free-dark sky at night. Reading , cycling, listening to the radio [ favorite The American Top 40 - the DJ is still around and he is on 90.5FM here!! ] my reading diet were mainly books on African Adventure, Coral Island, Robinson Crusoe, Kon Tiki's Expedition, Thousand leagues under the Sea - some of the titles from our local town library- my second home. Favourite 'in-class' past time was map-reading with my buddy Kim Hua who sat just behind me. He was a short, slightly plump, bespectabled, good-humoured and kind-hearted guy. We were avid map readers and invented our guessing game of ' where is the xx island, rivers'. As a result both of us had intimate knowledge of names of small island, obscure african countries making good use of Atlas of the World from Geography. I could and still can draw the world maps freehands. Cartegraphy/charts making fascinated me. [ In secondary school i was chartered to reproduced the Town map on a giant scale that filled the wall behind our classroom] These probably fueled my numerous trips to the 'hinderland' or 'interiors' - a tradition I extended to Mt Victoria, Wellington, New Zealand many many years later.

Not far from our housig estate was a low sandstone hill. I could also see this from my bedroom window. In early eveing the outcrop was basked in golden sun and stood out from the lush green forest. In rainy season - it was just a wall of gushing milo coloured or yellow. To get there took only 5-10 minutes of walking on a sandy dirt road and crossing the main lutong/miri trunk road. At the foot of the 'hill' - you will be greeted with 'reindeer-horn like' smooth touches of nodding Clubmoss/Lycopodium cernuum moss and clusters of tiny floor pither plants - like little bottles striving in low nutrient and little clayey thin layer of soil edging the hard sand stone. Further up the slope, resam /Dicranopteris curranii fern dominates. In extreme dry period they wiltered leaving behind a tinder mass - just the right fuel for a forest fire. [ forest fires were common in those days, i have seen the whole hill burning bright for days. The afermath was tragic - the whole chunks of secondary forest were totally wiped out.] Near the outcrop's edges overhanging branches provided the needed shade from the hot sun. It was a great place to relax and watch the nature in the quiet afternoon sea breeze. The running water sound was soothing and the place had a slight aromatic smell. ( from oil wells nearby).

In and Around No 43

A secondary school was in the neighbourhood - with its entrance less than 100 metre from our house. The school gate was seldom locked and even if it did - climbing over the 7 foot tall gate posed no problem. The gate opened into a gravel road flanked one one side by tall causarina trees which always attracting black beetles and adjacent to it was a wide open field. In 'drier' period the ground there hard and it was real fun to run 'amok' in the empty field in the cooling late evening or to collect the freshly mowed grass and layered them to form a thick bed of grass to 'trample' on or lying down and watching the blue blue sky and smell the earth. We used rectangular boards as high-speed 'frisbees' - we flung them at great force and watched them slicing through the air and soared to great height and eventually ended up on the opposite ends of the field. The field was mostly empty on weekends - we had the whole field to ourselves. The drainage out of the school was bad - as a result the concrete drains outside the classes and the basketball court often got flooded. Water stayed literally for weeks resulting in the best breeding grounds for water-borne insects and creatures - water spider, jelly-sticky frog - eggs , tadpoles in various stages of growth , cicada-like nymphs etc - a truely naturalist paradise for those who care to investigate. The school was surrounded by marshlands where water buffaloos roamed and 'water-bird' waded through muddy water infested with unseen leeches. Pockets of Simpoh ( the broad leaves were once used for wrapping toufo) , isolated seven candles with orange candle-like flowers, sendudok flashed pink/purplish flowers and panduan screwpines with bright orange red 'pineapple-like' fruits dotted landscape. I remembered we had encountered one huge lizard ( not monitor-lizard) size of a adult croc. In front of the gate were a desiel powered oil derrick which was connected to other passive oil derrick via inch thick cables. Nearby were rows of huge sedimentation tanks - for separating sand from the raw crude oil. Whenever oil wells were found, the crude oil formed a hard crust no plants life can strive for years. It was the same well that had caught fire on day.. I could see the thick black smoke some kilometers from my primary school not knowing then it was so close to my home.

touch feel and listen to them

I spent a sizeable time with plants in my old house. They gave me hours of relaxation and entertainment. In the evening hours I linkered with the 7 foot tall indian corns - feeling the silky combs, watching the wavering and the beatings of the long grass-like blades in wind, or run my palm through the leaves of the tomato plants and quickly smell the lingering fresh aroma. On other time on the lookout of green grasshopper perching on leaves or fence-post and try to catch bare-hand. ( you need to be swift and accurate, holding down of the insect at thorax and ignored the kick of the barbed hindlegs, they hurted a bit but not much. And aoid the mouth parts - they nibbled) Or squatting down inspecting the rows of sprouting spring onions in a raised wooden box and picked off the invading garden snails and watched them literally dissolves under NaCl - table salts . Or do a 'simulated rain' by shaking lightly the chempaka tree trunk shortly after rain and see how fast can i run away from it. Or peeping into the clear pockets of water collected in the pineapple leaves or watching ants rebuilding their nests after the ' flood'. Weeds and tiny plants had beautify of their own. I came to know them by their appearance - tiny fruits / flowers / leaves arrangment and noted which one oozes white latex when cut. While dad concentrated in growing vegetables ( eg chilly, tomatoes, brinjals, ladies finger, bittergourd, melon, long beans, corns, sugar canes, pandan leaves, lemon grass, ginger, lime etc) my contribution was little - a cactus, and a low carpetting plants with colorful tiny flowers.

Under the Cherry Tree

The Indian cherry tree or Muntingia calabura at the backyard was one of the largest one i had ever seen. It was more than 2 stories in height and its canopy covered most of the narrower end of wedge-shaped backyard- a much need shelter from the scorching afternoon sun . The fruits were larger than usual - ripening from green to yellow to red and deep red and imaging the whole trees fulled of them attracting birds during days and high-pitch sound fruit bats at night. For me I enjoyed eating the berries whole- skin and all. For some reasons this 'cherry' had never made it to the commercial status. Under this marvellous tree, my dad reared ducks and chicken. The chicks and ducklings were first bought from market and at night we kept them in carton boxes in the living room, warmed up with a kerosene lamp with wick turned low ( away from predators like cats / dogs /rats / cockroaches etc) . Dad had to change the soiled newspaper linings often to keep them dry and clean. By night fall as if by instinct they all fallen asleep and not a sound was heard. When they grew a bit older they were let out to roam fenced-in under the cherry tree. Nearby in our kitchen - one of the gas stoves at the floor level was reserved for the daily boiling of the husks ( chicken-feed) mixed with tiny fishes that dad bought cheaply from fishmongers. I remembered the rectangular cooking oil container, the wooden spatula, and the sight of my kittens cuddled around this stove for warm on raining days.