Wild Finn’S Journey: Discovering the Spirit of Australia

By Timo Kallioheimo

Timos done them all!

To the Gemfields from the building sites, hes had some epic journeys filled with adventures that tested his strength, courage, and determination through the trials, tribulations, triumphs, and tragedies. They include a five-year sail around the world with his wife and daughter on their yacht Iceberg. In 1999, he was the first man to paddle an outrigger sea kayak from Fraser Island to Cape York Peninsula. It was a four-and-a-half month journey, pitting him against some of the worst weather conditions, not to mention the man eating sharks and saltwater crocodiles, and he survived by collecting rainwater and hunting for his food with his throwing spear. Then in 2003, he walked one-thousand-plus kilometers, pulling a trolley loaded with his supplies, from Mareeba to Cape York, the most northern point of Australia. A few years later, in 2006, he rode a pushbike 2,300 kilometers from the Gold Coast to Kangaroo Island in South Australia. With a combination of memories and daily journal entries, he captures the spirit of Australia in a very unique way. Like his Viking ancestors, Timo not only survived, but beat the odds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Nov 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514442029

Timo Kallioheimo

This is the story of my life, including pieces of my poetry, which I created on my long ocean voyages and lonely treks through the wilderness. Poetry that I’ve written in those rare moments of calm, like the eye of Cyclone Monica and of how I have lived with my tribal background, friends, lovers, my journeys, and adventures. There’s a memory of every journey I've ever made, every beer I have ever drunk, every fight I’ve ever had, and every woman I have loved. Some of them are beautiful memories of love and understanding. Some of them violent, full of anger and resentment, but nevertheless, part of my life as well. It's been a long journey, but an interesting one. I am still like a little boy who opened up his eyes to see the wonders of the world.

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Copyright © 2015 by Timo ‘Berghem’ Kallioheimo.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 11/17/2015

Xlibris

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Contents

Preface

Acknowledgements

A Finn Down Under

Wrecked in the Desert

Defending an Aboriginal Woman

One Shark Too Close

Working as an Abalone Diver

Road to a New Destiny

Dreams of Uninhabited Islands and Long Sea Voyages

Free-Diving at Christmas Island

Encounter with Piracy

Storm on the Red Sea

Atlantic Crossing

Home Again

Sea Kayak Voyage to Cape York Peninsula

A Very Unusual Experience

A New Life in North Queensland

Walking to Cape York

Pushbike Journey to Kangaroo Island, South Australia

Saga of My Little Viking Boat Snorri

Apology Letter for Cyclone Monica

My Poetry

Chosen One

Memory of Finns and Sweden Eric

Memory of My Wife

To My Little Boat Thorfinn

Seaman’s Dream

Islands of the Souls

Wilderness Dream

Magic Bone

Cyclone Monica

Wounded Little Bird

My Friend Annie

My Tribal Sister

Love Is Like

Preface

This is the story of my life, including pieces of my poetry which I created on my long ocean voyages and lonely treks through the wilderness -.poetry that I’ve written in those rare moments of calm, like the eye of Cyclone Monica, and poetry about my tribal background, friends, lovers, journeys and adventures.

There’s a memory of every journey I’ve ever made, every beer I have ever drunk, every fight I’ve ever had, and every woman I’ve ever loved. Some of them are beautiful memories of love and understanding. Some of them violent and full of anger and resentment but, nevertheless, part of my life as well. It’s been a long journey but an interesting one.

I am still like a little boy who opened up his eyes to see the wonders of the world.

I hope I never grow up!

001_a_image.jpg

Ready for adventures. This particular day, I recall spending hours looking at the ants on an ant mound.

Chosen One

Wind-beaten shore of the North Sea.

When the autumn storms were raging, a little blonde-headed boy was born. A boy with a wild adventurous spirit.

‘Take my hand and follow me,’ the wind whispered ‘See how free I am,’ the seagull screamed. ‘See how strong we are,’ the waves boasted.

Take our hands and we will lead you to adventures long gone, journey through the untamed land and wild seas.

We know you are different. We see your visions—visions of your ancestors. Respect them and follow them, and they as well, will lead you through the unknown.

See the Arctic hunter following the wounded wolf. Hear the clashes of the Viking battle axes.

Hear the screams of wounded men and fallen horses. Smell the blood and dusty earth. The men who once lived and died with dignity following their pagan gods.

They are all part of you. You are the Chosen One. A man who hears and understands the whispers of the wind.

There is a way to learn. Moving through the quietness, every river, every tree, the mountains, and the animals will talk to you.

There is a way to listen. Ways of tribal shaman. Knowledge known for thousands of years. Follow them, and through your knowledge comes the freedom of your tribal soul.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank all the people who encouraged and helped me on my journeys. I am very grateful for the assistance that each one of you gave to me. You have been an important part in making my adventures possible.

Special thanks to Kari and Pirkko Seppala and Rob and Aya Beckwith, who made my dreams and journeys a reality.

Special thanks to my friends Liz Kassulke and Carolyn Shelton, who helped me with the writing, editing, and publishing of this book.

Also, special thanks to Hannu and Sandra Heikkila, Allen and Joy and Marianne Blomquist.

A Finn Down Under

A tall, blonde, strongly built fellow stood in the middle of the pub floor. He wiped the blood out of his mouth and rolled his burning bloodshot eyes to look at his opponent, who had clearly suffered enough. One of the men lay on the floor and tried unsuccessfully to lift his badly beaten head off the ground. ‘Now bastards, is there anybody else who has got problems with me speaking Finnish with my mates?’

There were no takers. The savageness of the attack had taken everybody by surprise.

I was concentrating on my half a glass of beer when I heard a comment from one of the drinkers in the corner. ‘Watch out for those bloody Finns. They can be pretty wild when they’ve been pushed.’

The Finnish victor turned to his Aboriginal girlfriend and put his arm around her. ‘Hey love, do you want another beer? I think I need one after that exercise.’ Leaning on his dark girlfriend and sipping his beer, he said ‘Hey, mate, we are a mix of Vikings and Arctic hunters, and our language is quite unique. You can insult me, but don’t insult my language. Us Finns have been known to take on any invader. When the Russians attacked Finland, my father’s generation beat the shit out of them. The Finns fought with terrifying ferocity, inflicting ten Soviet casualties for every one of their own. It took the Russians years to finally admit they lost over one million soldiers on Finnish soils. Ten to one! Now you know why I don’t take any bullshit.’

Ordering a carton of beer and balancing the case on his wide shoulders, he patted his girlfriend’s backside, and leaning on each other, they walked out of the pub.

Years later, I was thinking of his comments about our tribal origin and thought he may not have been that far off the mark. That probably explains why I have always been possessed with wanderlust, a need to travel and be involved with the sea most my life. A wild mix of Viking and tribal hunters’ blood runs through my veins.

That same restlessness was with me as a teenager when I left Finland in 1962. I travelled through Europe, working in Denmark and staying in Norway and Iceland. I often travelled with my good friend, another Finn nicknamed Eskimo, a name given to him in the French Legion, where he served five years during the Algerian conflict.

He was wounded twice during the heavy fighting in the Algerian mountains. He survived and worked as a merchant seaman after those military years.

I did my military service in the Finnish Navy, working as a merchant marine in Far East Europe and Africa. I jumped off a Swedish ship in Malaga, Spain.

I drifted through Europe and ended up in Copenhagen, Denmark without winter clothing or money. The Danish winter was closing in, and I knew I had to get some work before the snow set in. I was living with street people, most of them harmless alcoholics, but I knew there were two men in the group who had done time in prison for killing people. I didn’t feel too good about sleeping in an underground bunker next to a man who had earlier killed a policeman in Finland and had a reputation of being nervous, going for his knife at the slightest provocation, but I had learnt to live with it.

In those days, I was very confident in my ability to take care of myself. I had boxed and wrestled at a competitive level. When I was still young, I already had my share of street fights, earning a reputation of hitting hard and standing my ground. I still carry a lot of memories and markings of my early days. I still bear the scars of a broken nose, cracked skull, broken leg, and stab wounds that nearly took my life because they cut the main arteries and tendons on my right hand.

Once, in a drunken stupor, I fell under a train at one of Sydney’s biggest railway stations. It was a miracle that I came out of it alive. An ambulance driver stated with his sly sense of humour, ‘Buy yourself a lottery ticket mate. Ten blokes that fell before you came out in pieces!’

After that incident, I carried a new nickname, Popeye, probably because I was involved with the sea, and if my childhood memories are correct, poor Popeye was run over quite a few times by trains in the TV cartoon series. Another incident mirroring and reflecting those days was when I found myself penniless and broke in Barcelona, Spain.

A Scandinavian seaman told me that I would be paid 400 pesetas for giving blood, and that was a reasonable amount of money in those days. So I decided that was what I would do. Soon I was walking out the hospital with a smile on my face, holding my newly earned riches in my hand. I have always been fond of Spanish homemade red wine, and I bought myself a big bottle. I had been a long time without a proper meal, and that wine hit me like a sledgehammer. A bit unsteady on my feet, I was looking for something to eat and found my other love and weakness—heavily spiced Spanish octopus that the locals call calamari. After being well fed and still unsteady on my feet, I walked out of the restaurant, realizing that there was a brothel right at the corner of the street.

I found out that I just had enough money for the oldest lady in the house! Poor thing, I thought. She should have retired years ago! But it was love at first sight! However, I don’t think she quite felt the same way towards me because when I was doing my best, she was constantly complaining and asking if I had been eating that horrible spicy octopus. She told me she couldn’t stand the smell of those spices on my breath. So after my wine, octopus, and woman, I was broke again!

During my travels heading towards Africa, I spent time in Amsterdam. Holland is a place full of temptation for a young adventurous man. Again, the heavy drinking played a part in my next misadventure. I think I must have been a bit of a walking disaster in those days—or what those Aussies in their gentle and colourful language call ‘a pain in the arse’!

On one occasion, I must have been eating something that didn’t quite agree with my stomach (although two days of heavy drinking might have had something to do with it), and I had an urgent panic-driven rush to find a toilet. This wasn’t easy on a posh main street, and I was starting to get desperate.

I wasn’t feeling very heroic, but at that moment, I would rather have faced a wounded lion than shit my pants in the middle of the main street. In those hard situations, the hero always finds a way. My salvation was a partly open doorway to one of the most luxurious restaurants I had ever seen. An expensive crystal chandelier was hung from the ceiling, and deep red velvet tablecloths covered every table. No one was there, but I found a toilet, then I realized that the toilet compartment that I needed was closed. There was only a men’s urinal but no toilet paper.

Well, they say that with every disaster there is a solution. Mine was the red velvet tablecloth! I have to admit that never in my whole life had I felt so luxurious. At that moment, the manager, who was a mountainous man, walked in. At first, the poor fellow was too stunned to realize what had happened. That gave me enough time to pull up my pants and drop the remnants of the red velvet on the floor.

What followed were a Dutch language lesson and a left hook that barely missed my head. He was already puffing, and regardless of his massive size, he was very unfit. I made a quick retreat through the door, and because of his monstrous size, he wasn’t able to follow me fast enough.

I sometimes complain loudly about the young blokes doing wheelies in their cars and burning rubber around the bay where I am anchored and living in my sailing vessel. I sometimes forget that in my wild young days I left skid marks all around Europe and the Far East.

I haven’t touched alcohol in more than ten years and have never smoked. My biggest fear is to turn into one of those cranky old men who know everything. At the moment, I don’t think it will happen. My rebuilt Swedish Folkboat is ready to take me towards a new adventure.

The boat is named after the Norseman Thorfinn, the first white man who, over a thousand years ago, colonized part of the newfound land in America. I rebuilt the boat, and this small capable sailing vessel could take me around the world again if I wanted to go. Deep inside me, I still hear the call of the sea, and I’m willing to follow it.

Landing on Sydney wharf with $74 in my pocket and a seaman’s pack on my shoulders, I often wonder if anything has changed. I still have my seaman’s pack and head full of wild, adventurous dreams and ideas.

I met a Finnish girl Lisa in Denmark, and she followed me to Australia. We were married in Sydney, and we bought a small boat when we were living in a bay in Sydney. Lisa was born above the Arctic Circle, part of Finnish Lapland, but a year after I was married,