“Water. You need water. There’s no water.”

Well, not entirely true, but it’s important to create good habits. Or what I like to call ‘best practice’. This was a term Rachel, Katie, Pauline and Troy would hear many times over their introductory weekend at Mt Arapiles.

We drove up on Friday night, having carefully packed 5 people’s camping gear, almost all of LUMC’s climbing gear, and the bouldering mat, into my just-big-enough new wagon. The drive involved lots of rain and traffic, a stop at Ararat Noodle for dinner, and squashing three days worth of shopping onto people’s laps in Horsham.

Day 1 – Introduction to lead belaying / trad climbing / multi-pitch climbing / seconding / Arapiles micro-climate / real rock

After arranging for Rachel to spend the day in RMIT Sarah’s capable hands (thanks again Sarah!) Katie, Troy, Pauline and I headed over to the Pinnacle face to climb the super-appropriate Introductory Route. During the walk to the cliff raincoats become increasingly necessary. At the base of the cliff the clouds had cleared (somewhat) and I quickly ran through the plan. The plan included an explanation of what gear I would be placing, what to do with a nut-key, how to belay a lead climber [(when to give slack, take slack, when to let go of the brake end of the rope (never!)] and the necessity for everyone to double check everyone else!

After seven hours we’d all made it back to camp with a bunch of firsts under our belts. My first’s included the route, the top pitch of the route (shared with tip-toe ridge) in daylight, not getting too lost on the walk-off, and my first lead climb in about 2 years. And taking three beginners up a multi-pitch.

Day 2 – Top-roping and First Leads

Sunday saw our intrepid adventurers head out to Deacon’s Dilemma area at Mitre Rock. I set up my first top ropes (ever). These included the single starred Deacon’s Dilemma (14) and the undeservedly no-starred Prelate (17). The severely overhanging but rather cool 17 proved too much for all but Rachel, who styled it to the top first go.

After much jumping around on top-rope I led The Priest (8), and justified my excess bomber gear placement with the idea that I would get someone to lead it after me on my gear. Back on the ground, Rachel and I gave an earnest explanation of why not to back-clip, and then Katie, Troy and Pauline led their first climbs! We then all gathered at the top of the climb for a run-down of what to do at the top of a climb / pitch, the importance of communication and how to set up a rope anchor.

While we were all busy learning the sun disappeared leaving a beautiful sunset and necessitating a speedy, mostly dark pack-up. Cheers to those who thought to bring head-torches to the cliff! True trad climbers in the making…

Day 2 (Evening) – The Squeeze Boulder

Following a scrumptious dinner of Pumpkin, Baby Spinach and Pine Nut Risotto, washed down with two litres of expertly mulled wine, our crew wandered out of lodgings in the North campground and over to the Pines in search of playmates. Finding an empty circle of RMIT chairs, we decided to befriend a nearby group of climbers. A bunch of random friends from Albury and surrounding towns, the group were unexpectedly enthusiastic about our night bouldering ambitions, and followed us and our wine to the notorious squeeze boulder.

Lots of squeezing, bouldering and social drinking ensued. Highlights included attempts to climb one armed, one armed one legged and backwards up the boulder; and me getting very stuck inside the squeeze test, twice, and Troy helping me escape by pulling up and backwards on one of my legs.

Three boulders were visited and a late night had by all. Unfortunately I was the only one to attempt the squeeze test. The rest of the…well thinner, LUMCers, declined the opportunity for squeeze glory (soft).

Day 3 – Sober bouldering / how to spot / how to land / why you should consider the descent before the ascent

(see title)

In conclusion, it was a swell weekend. And we only got rained on once.

-fingernails

by peter_donald

An inordinate pause follows, while Chris ponders the scene. Katie and Chris are aside the stellar traverse pitch of The Bard. Rain clouds loomed that morning, Pete suggested they were crazy but Rob’s radio spoke only of cloud and Chris’ brain had whirred Bard Bard Bard since first light. Titillating up the first two pitches, Katie noted the clouds frolicking from the Grampians towards Mitre Rock; the sprawling tumblers now shimmering on the lake. Baaaah! Rain-fearing sheep huddle towards a tree as the sun’s arc bears splinters in the clouds. Rosellas preen and bob their heads in the buttresses’ alcoves. Hoppers doze in the distance. Climbers stir in the gums, far, far below. What a view. And what a week! Keyboard. The Shroud. Horn Piece. Muldoon. Tiptoe Ridge. Boomer. Trapeze. Swinging. Bouldering at night with Simey. Impromptu Yoga. Mulled wine. Fine friends, quality climbing and tasty cheese.

“No. Not a chance.”

“How could they?” said Chris.

by narky

We arrived in Christchurch mid-November, with a hostel booked for the first night and a ‘wicked’ van ready to be picked up the next day… the rest was left up to fate and our every whim and fancy. Whimsical and fanciful the trip was indeed- but how to best summarise this rambling trail for our fellow LUMCers? In categories of course! (Who doesn’t love some good old-fashioned categorisation?). Read on to discover the best and worst that the world’s biggest adventure playground had to offer us.

Grab a cup of tea at this point, the report turned out to be as epic as the trip…

TOP 10: MOST SPECTACULAR

• We had the pleasure of watching the most incredible sunset at Glendhu Bay. Initially I was suspicious that our perception may have been influenced by alcohol (it was the same day we had a bottle of wine for ‘afternoon tea’ and fell asleep on the grass), but photographic evidence confirms that the sky did in fact light up with flames of red and orange. However our reaction to said event may have been influenced by afternoon tea, as we dropped our forks mid-dinner… me squealing, “Now!, Quick!” and Pete sprinting off towards the horizon with his camera.

• Sometimes the most amazing discoveries happen when you have no expectations at all. One night we stopped at Ahuriri Bridge- a nondescript free roadside campsite. It was essentially a big gravel carpark with a complimentary drop toilet. After some tucker we went for a stroll, and as we ducked under the tree line we were met with the most beautiful field of wildflowers I have ever seen. They seemed to stretch on forever, only punctuated by the occasional rocky stream. I was obviously delighted as I pranced about taking photos, giving Pete unnecessary verbal descriptions of what he was also staring at, and even hugging the especially pretty ones (I am somewhat of a flower person).

• One of the top things on my wish list for the trip was to do tandem paragliding. It ended up being a spur of the moment decision when we had good weather on our second visit to Wanaka. Within a few hours of making the booking, I was preparing for a running take off from 800m up Treble Cone (a popular ski area in winter). I was strangely calm about the whole thing, probably because I have wanted to do it for so long and climbing seems to have made me immune to any fear of heights. When we were gliding around the view was unforgettable, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. We hovered near two enormous waterfalls and the landscape below looked like a beautiful painting- featuring snow capped mountains, a snaking river, a huge lake and a tiny, tiny wicked van. After some drifting, I was given the option of cruising down gently or spiralling quickly. My inner daredevil chose the latter, and I ended up losing my breakfast once we had landed. My vestibular system eventually forgave me and I watched Pete glide down to where I sat on the grass (he also chose the spirals, but clearly has a stronger stomach). Within a few hours I had decided that hang gliding is next on my list of aerial pursuits.

• I know it’s a big call to include a burger in my ‘Top 10 most spectacular’ list, but if you have been to Fergburger in Queenstown, you will understand. I was sent on a mission to seek out the Ferg by my housemate Steph, and it was well worth the hunt. If you dig coriander, yoghurt and tangy mango chutney, try the ‘Bombay Chicken’ like I did. Or go for the ‘Big Al’ if you don’t mind having your mobility restricted, like Pete did.

• We saw seals a few times on our trip, but our closest encounter was at Point Kean in Kaikora (a seaside town on the East Coast). Apparently they are sleek and elegant in the water, but they are so lovely and dopey on land. They made me think of a bear crossed with a fish, who scratches their head like a dog and curls up like a cat. Perfect.

• Dunedin was probably my favourite city that we visited on the trip, mostly because it was the least touristy and most artsy, and we got to take a squiz at the University of Otago. It was so beautiful, the buildings were very old with incredibly detailed architecture and the gardens were immaculate. As we wondered through the grounds in the pouring rain, I fantasised about going there to do a masters in…. anything…

• It’s hard to choose one spectacular scene or event from the 3-day hike that we did on the Greenstone & Caples Track (near the Routeburn Track). We passed though lush green forest, rocky creek beds, open grassland and soggy marshes, with too many waterfalls to remember and vibrant colours all around. We saw bright green and purple stones, fiery red and orange ‘leaf confetti’ on the forest floor, glowing blue rivers and every shade of green from the moss on the tree stumps to the tallest canopies. One of my favourite views was from a narrow wire bridge that was suspended above the tree tops, I could look straight down through it onto the giant ferns, trees and rushing river below.

• If there’s anything that gets me more excited than flowers, it’s birds. I’ve been told that New Zealand doesn’t have any native mammals (I haven’t checked this fact, but my sister told me, and she tends to know stuff) and so to compensate, they do birds particularly well. Of all the birds we saw, my favourite was the New Zealand falcon, which we often spotted when driving through the high country. We had a few good sightings when they swooped down to eye level, and on one occasion we had one gliding along just in front of our van for a few seconds. They were too elusive for a photo, but we were always watching for their brown and white feathers or a silhouette circling overhead.

• Our biggest indulgence on the trip was a night at a fancy resort, courtesy of dear old mum and dad. I’m well aware that this makes 2 out of 10 of my spectacular things food-related, but the pancake brekky we made in the apartment was pretty bloody spectacular and that’s all there is to it. Blackberry jam, maple syrup, ice cream, sugar and lemon…. yummm. The spa that I had that morning was also quite pleasant!

• Most of the Department of Conservation (DOC) campsites that we stayed at featured a short walk of some kind, but none were as impressive or enjoyable as the one at Canaan Downs campsite in the Golden Bay area. There were 3 incredible features on this walk and the first was Harwood’s Hole- New Zealands deepest vertical shaft. I had never seen anything like it, and was captivated as I lay on a rocky slab at it’s edge and stared into the infinite abyss. The next was Gorge Creek viewpoint, where we sat and absorbed the overwhelming view of the enormous valley stretching out before us. The clouds appeared to be rimmed in gold as the setting sun lit them from behind. The last stop on this short venture was a small pool of water alongside the track. The surface was incredibly still and provided perfect reflections of the trees and plants above. We experimented with the camera and got some weird and beautiful shots.

TOP 10: MOST FUN

• Birthday + blow up trampoline = good times.

• As if jumping around like an acrobat/lunatic on my birthday wasn’t enough, we also took a tour of Monteith’s brewery to celebrate my 23rd year (AND walked on the beach in Greymouth, went to an art gallery, a jade museum and an op shop, had cake at a café, walked at Lake Mahinapua and cooked Thai green curry… best birthday ever). Now I’m not usually much of a beer drinker, but the tour ended with a sampling of every beer they currently have on tap… I got through 7 of the 8 and was mighty proud of myself. Proud, and requiring a short nap on the grass in town. I didn’t know beer could be so distinctive and varied, from the rich Winter Ale to the zesty Raddler. Although not technically beer, my favourite would have to be the Crushed apple cider (this preference was reinforced when I had a pint of the stuff in Hanmer Springs, and decided to sing for the entire car trip to Christchurch. Sorry Pete.)

• One of the main reasons for heading to New Zealand was to sample our neighbours climbing areas. Our first day of climbing was spent in an area called Hospital Flat near Wanaka. This is where I learned to lead sport climbs, as I have only ever seconded Pete on trad gear at home. It was a pretty hot day but we crossed the road to another crag at lunchtime and stayed in the shade (whilst gratefully avoiding a group of boisterous youngsters). I was so relieved to finally be on some New Zealand rock that I felt compelled to declare my love of climbing to Pete, who replied, “I know, this is the first day that you haven’t complained”.

The next chance we had to ‘rock out’ was in Castle Hill for a tiny bit of climbing and a whole lot of bouldering. We met up with our buddies Kat, Chris and Kate, as well as a lovely Canadian called Linda that they had adopted on the plane. Usually I consider bouldering to be the cocky younger sibling of climbing, but in a setting as stunning as this I thoroughly enjoyed every minute. I can tell that I had a good balance of ‘victory is mine’ vs. ‘you’ve gotta be bloody kidding me’ moments, because I was motivated to keep trying all day and could hardly walk the next.

The last place we climbed was at Payne’s Ford near Takaka. This spot was unlike any crag I have ever seen before, because it was smack bang in a lush forest. I found most of the climbs pretty challenging that day but after some initial frustration I really enjoyed problem solving and pushing myself.

• Apart from getting thrown around a bit when my faithful steed ‘Knox’ got spooked on a bridge, I had a great time on our backcountry horseride. Pete is an old hand at horseriding and I am a relative newbie, but I think we both appreciated the beautifully rugged scenery of Cardrona and the varied hilly track.

• I was a little bit apprehensive about going sea kayaking as I have little experience in this area, and can’t really say that I enjoyed my ‘wet exit’ lesson back at uni before we left… However, after a thorough 2 hour tutorial at Abel Tasman Kayaks I was ready and raring to go. We were incredibly lucky with the weather, and blue skies greeted us as we paddled away from shore in Marahau. We headed to Adele Island and pulled up on the sandy beach for some packed lunch, then watched some seals chilling out on the North side of the island. Next we paddled over to Watering Cove (on the mainland) and had a dip in the beautiful clear water, and then hugged the coast all the way back down to where we started.

• After some initial lacklustre weather on the trip, I was so relieved when we had our first warm days. One of the best places we swam was in Lake Ianthe. Although the lake itself was lovely, it was really the mix of scotch/chocolate/sunshine and a middle aged couple playing ukuleles that did it for me.

• Although you’re probably aware that I love rocks (especially big tall ones) you might not know that my favourite colour is green and this means that searching for greenstones was a particularly thrilling past time. We found a great searching spot when we did a walk out to a seal colony from Gillespie’s Beach. The rocky shore seemed to be covered in them and we wandered along picking up any particularly pretty ones. I kept one as a souvenir- a bumpy little thing that has light and dark green patches with white quartz all mashed up together.

• One of the most relaxing days of the trip was the one we spent at Marfell’s Beach. We were camped about 2 metres from the sand and were woken up by a pair of orange seagull feet pattering around on the sunroof of the van. The sun was out and we had no real plans for the day so we dragged our folding chairs down to the beach and read for a few hours, enjoying the soundtrack of the waves and looking up occasionally to take in the view of the coastline. Who needs meditation? (Not me, but I do need to remember to put sunscreen on my knees.)

• I don’t think I need to accompany this picture with too many words… check out these little fellas that we played with in Nelson.

• Just when you thought we couldn’t have come across anything cuter than the ducks, meet the stray kitten we fell in love with in Tapawera.

Maybe refill that cup of tea….

TOP 10: NOT SO FUN

• Our first impression of ‘wicked vans’ was not very favourable, the lady behind reception was mega pissed off at us because we were apparently late (we were never told to get there by noon!). She huffed and rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue, whilst we bit ours and waited for her to hand the keys over. We were disappointed to discover that we weren’t allowed to choose the design on the van, and were given one with ‘POISON’ painted down one side and some creepy monster eyes on the other. I’ve been told that Poison are a bad glam metal band from the 80’s, but I am still too scared to listen to them and find out what I paraded around for a month. At least we liked the quote on the back: “POLITICIANS AND DIAPERS NEED CHANGING FOR THE SAME REASON”. Other people liked it too; we had teenagers beeping and yelling out their approval on the freeway, tour groups of old ladies giving us compliments, and even a photo request when we pulled over at a public toilet…

• Dear Hine-nui-te-po (Maori Goddess of death), please kill all of the sandflies. Amen.

• It seems that New Zealands definition of ‘light rain’ differs somewhat from Australia’s. We thought we could brave a few light showers on the first day of the hike, knowing that the other 2 days had perfect weather forecasted. It pelted down on us all day and I was pretty miserable in my soaked gear (it seems I didn’t learn my lesson in the Grampians – see previous blog post ‘A most gramptacular adventure’. Actually I take that back, I did learn my lesson but that doesn’t stop me from being too poor to afford good gear. I need dollars, not sense!). I was freezing so we made a last minute decision to stay in Upper Caples Hut and avoid the difficult Steele Creek section, but this meant that we didn’t get as far as we planned to on the first day. We needed to make up a lot of extra ground the following day, and spent a gruelling 10 hours on the track (including breaks). We were both pretty delirious by the time we set up camp that night, especially after concentrating so hard on the steep route down from McKellar Saddle to Lake McKellar. The track was fairly difficult to navigate, and footing wasn’t the best on the steep and slippery network of tree roots. The phrase, “some idiots do this for fun” kept coming to mind, something that was mentioned on my first overnight hikes in Canada. That’ll learn us for doing a ‘moderate 4-5 day hike’ in 3 days.

• One lane bridges. Everywhere.

• It goes without saying that Pete and I spent a hell of a lot of time together. It got to the stage where Pete had categorised the different ways in which I point at things, as well as the level of interest that was implied by each motion. In return (and by trade) I carefully analysed Pete’s speech patterns and reported on my observations, until he didn’t want to open his mouth anymore.

• One of the best things about finishing a hike is the first meal that you get to have back in civilisation. We stayed in Glenorchy the night we came off our hike, and chose the better looking of the two restaurants in town. The menu looked pretty upmarket, with prices to match. I chose the chicken breast (for close to $30), and shuddered as the waitress delivered my plate- it was a giant chicken nugget! Genuinely, the kind that comes in a box and someone called Shazza or Baz pulls out of the freezer for a TV dinner…

• We went to Puzzle world, and I realised that I hate puzzles. Pete, however, loves them- and can solve them retrospectively in his head whilst he is making a sandwich.

• We got a bit lost in Mt Aspiring National Park when we were headed for the trailhead of our hike. This wouldn’t have mattered so much if not for all the unnecessary fording we did, and the squabbles that came with judging each others fording style (I maintain that slow and steady wins the race!). Luckily Pete and his GPS saved the day.

• Capsicums were about $3 each. We realised this when we put 4 through the checkout. They must grow them in gold dust and water them with champagne over there.

• I’m probably biased from my experiences of some of the best hot springs in Australia as a kid, but I found Hanmer Thermal Pools pretty underwhelming. It was essentially a series of concrete spas, apparently heated from a natural source (?) with the odd rock/plant artfully arranged on the edges. There are little signs that inform you of the exact temperature in each pool, as well as a list of chemicals floating within (sulphur is good for me, right?). The place was full of little kids in suspicious nappy-shaped bathers and staff taking photos that they flog at the exit. One small child told me that I wasn’t allowed to read in the water and then fell off his rock, splashing me and the book in question (I love kids, just not in my bath).

TOP 10: FUNNIEST

• It was at this point that I realised we needed to find some other people to talk to-

Pete: “Hello bird! Check it out, it’s all orangey-yellow”.
Kim: “Where?”.
Pete: “Oh. I was talking to the bird about the tent”.

• Every trip needs a little slapstick humour, so I graciously obliged during the hike. I was attempting to scale a ridge at the side of a dry riverbed when the dirt under my feet gave way… During my quick yet spectacular drop, my pack was thrust upwards and then into the back of my head, causing me to face plant into the soft wall of earth. I can assure you that it felt even more ridiculous than it would have looked.

• I was adamant during the whole trip that Pete and I didn’t share cutlery/bottles because I have a tendency to get tonsillitis. I wish I had a photo of Pete’s face when he was busily brushing his teeth and I joined him at the sink and held up… his toothbrush.

• It’s always useful to seek information from locals, and use informational displays when available. Take for example, the gravity meter at Hangdog campground (near Payne’s Ford, it’s a hub for hippy climbers and the office smells like weed…):

• We passed a sign coming into Lake Waihola, it said:

SLOW DOWN.
We passed another sign about 20 metres after the first, it said:
NO DOCTOR.
NO HOSPITAL.
ONE CEMETARY.

• Remember how I missed out on sampling one of the beers at Monteiths? I made it my mission to seek out ‘the Celtic’ so I could be satisfied that I’d tried the whole range. I achieved my goal in Queenstown, where we picked up some beer and went down to the waterfront to hang out on the grass. I attempted to impress Pete with the party trick of opening a beer bottle by twisting it into one’s forearm, and he watched me quizzically as I gritted my teeth in pain. After a few moments he asked, “…isn’t it a flip top?”.

We got another laugh out of it a few days later when I discovered the semi-circle bruise it had left on my arm.

• The first native bird that got our attention in New Zealand was the Kea. Not only was I fascinated by their magnificent colouring (especially the bright red visible when in flight), but also their personality- they are known to be incredibly cheeky and a little too brave. In Arthur’s Pass I saw one that had grabbed a plastic bag from inside a boat and the bag’s owner was attempting to wrestle it back from the bird in a crazy tug-of-war.

• Pete: “Maybe we should get up now”.

Kim: “Don’t rush me”.
Pete: “I’ve been not rushing you for 4 hours”.

• Pete and I developed a minimalist language for use in extreme circumstances such as the colossal 10 hour hiking day, it went a little something like this-

Kim: “light green”. (translation= “Hey Pete, if you look where I am looking you will see a parrot-like bird with magnificent light green plumage.”)
Pete: “mmm, yeh”. (translation= “Ah yes, I see the bird and it’s green colouring is most impressive. Good spotting. Also, that face plant you did before was awesome.”)

• We saw lots of sheep in New Zealand, but my favourite by far was the rare and intriguing Beach Sheep.

Eventually adventure month had to end, Pete had a conference in Malaysia to attend and I had a whole bunch of unemployment to get back to. I couldn’t have asked for more in an expedition, and have far too many amazing memories to list here. I hope you’ve enjoyed these snippets of our trip (and well done for getting all the way through them!). If you are considering an adventure, I highly recommend the South Island but try and go for as long as you can. We spent every night in a new spot and still didn’t get around to everywhere that we would have liked to. You wouldn’t believe what is just next door…

Until next time, ay.
Hei kona ra!

Kim

by peter_donald

We left on a pretty cold friday evening, with all the backpacks and other stuff rented from the LUMC. A fleet of cars consisting of 15 LUMC-ers took off to Mount Cole, somewhere north-west Ballarat. We stopped for a great dinner at Ballarat, knowing that for the rest of the trip we had to survive on tin food or whatever else we had managed to sneak into our packs.

We reached the carpark around 9pm, and yet another surprise was broken to us - that we had to walk 2 kms to the campsite!! It was a trail of steep challenging steps. With the torch lights strapped to our head, we walked like nomads, carrying everything we needed for the weekend as backpacks. Boy was that fun! At 11pm, a pitch black campsite awaited us, but it was lit by a full moon. I had a sound sleep with nature singing lullabies with various rhythms; the poetic version of lightning followed by gushing wind Smiley

Stepping outside the comforts of a city life, in itself was an adventure for me, but each of these experiences enhanced it.

Morning chores weren't any different; we brushed what we had to brush and wiped what we had to wipe:)….
Chomping on some tuna sandwiches and spring onion dips (any combo goes when you're starving), we embarked on our day's inviting plan. A slow but picturesque walk up the mountain took us around a 10 km track through the forests. I felt the scenic walk was just what my mind and body needed. A breathtaking getaway is how i would describe my weekend. And yes, quite often if was literally break taking as the physically demanding walk took a toll on me, thanks to the 20 kg backpack. Gym memberships are just for charity, I can vouch for that!.

Around early afternoon, we reached the Mt Beeripmo campsite. We pitched our tents and continued to explore though the forests. The afternoon siesta rejuvenated us for a fun night around the campfire. I wonder if anyone noticed that I haven't yet figured out the rules of the games we played!

Sun set and rose again to witness a tired but resilient mob dragging themselves to the next venue. Nothing prepared us for the next sight - the ' Mount Buangor Lookout'. My words won't do any justice to the beauty of that place. You had to be there to believe it. We clicked away liberally with out digi-cams.

We resumed our journey again through more beautiful sceneries and before we know it, here we are - back to our carpark after a 17 km walk over two days and two nights through two mountains. Whoa! what a sense of achievement. I wonder what LUMC has in store next!

by peter_donald

After taking turns at weighing ourselves with and without packs and scoffing at the sheer magnitude of our weight bearing capacity, we piled into my little car and headed for the hills. Conditions were slightly cramped after the realisation that the seatbelt in one of the back seats was stuffed, and Rob and Nicole almost had us convinced that they weren’t enjoying the new ‘up close and personal’ seating arrangement. Clearly my choice of music (Tegan & Sara) wasn’t helping to keep the conversation clean, and in fact provoked retrospective taunting for previous hairstyle choices…

First stop was dinner at a nice restaurant in Ballarat, run for generations by the Nando’s family. Nice people. After we achieved portugasm (all meals come with a side of sexual innuendo) and after someone who will not be named pilfered a piece of cutlery (and then promptly lost it under the car seat), and after we took an accidental scenic tour around Ballarat (it’s just this thing we do)… we continued on our merry way to the Grampians.

Eventually we found our way to the Troopers Creek car park. I won’t pretend there wasn’t wrong turns in the process or "unplanned explorations" as Pete prefers to call them, but our spirits couldn’t be dampened with ‘yellow submarine’ bopping away cheerily in the background. We set up camp for a wet and chilly (like, down-jacket-inside-my-sleeping-bag chilly) night and awoke to grumpy drizzly skies in the morning. Pete’s enthusiasm for food was as strong as ever, and I watched in amazement as he cooked up a full hot breakfast complete with percolated coffee. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed as I stared down into my previously appealing muesli and powdered milk.

After I made an exception to my ‘no photos before 12 noon’ rule for a group shot, we were finally on our way.
Early highlights include ogling the rock climbing sites, a rare sighting of a bush sequin, and a massive pool of incredibly thick foam that could swallow twigs without a trace. Mmmm…giant dirty cappuccino.

The further we walked the wetter it got, and the more I realised my hiking shoes were not quite as awesome as initially assumed. In fact, they were shit. Lesson learned: hike+rain=need boots. The trail became a flowing stream, and a few decent river crossings were required. Topics of discussion included the legality of prostitution, the availability of Codral at suburban chemists and what powers does Sailor Moon have anyway?. Featuring prominently in my own inner monologue was, ‘wow, I wish I had thought of saying X when they said Y’.

And so after sampling some of the ‘strenuous walking involved’ we reached Mt. Difficult (or Mt. Gar for those who question it’s difficulty), summited the thing, and saw absolutely nothing but fog. And that’s all I have to say about that.

Thankfully the constant rain had eased by the time we arrived at our campsite, which has yet to be identified but was somewhere near Brigg’s Bluff. Tents were pitched, unpalatable dehydrated pad thai was consumed, cheap port was sipped and then offered back to Pete and much shit was talked before drifting off into broken sleep (due to a combination of bizarre temperature fluctuations inside my sleeping bag/ lack of pillow/ lower back pain like a pre-Diorama Daniel Johns).

After a quick brekkie and packing up the tentage, we had a brief moment of decent views before the cloud set back in and we headed off for another day of trekking glory.

The second day was much drier, although visibility was still poor. Rob’s knee was giving him some trouble and so he begrudgingly agreed to take some Naprogesic (period pain) tablets I had in my first aid kit, for the pain and inflammation. Hilarity ensued.
Rob: “my ovaries feel great… uterus, great…”
Nicole: “how are your fallopian tubes?”
Rob: “angry at Pete for being a man.”

A little more unplanned exploration followed, but to be honest I missed the technical explanation because I was wearing the map on my back and had to face the other way while everyone pondered it. Whether we intended it or not, we ended up back at Mt. Difficult and a second summiting provided identical non-views as the day before. Nonetheless, extravagant poses were necessary and photographic record was taken.

Growing ever more cold and tired, we continued our journey back to the car and a clean set of socks (can I just add in here, that Rob’s ice climbing socks from Norway were by far the most life-changing socks I have ever experienced). As we neared the end of the hike we finally enjoyed some spectacular views of the Grampians from the lookouts, either the cloud had lifted or we had descended far enough to see beneath them. Either way, I was clearly inspired by the sea of green that stretched out before me and Pete politely listened to my musings about life in general, some rambling about the state of Indigenous health and intermittent repetitions of the phrase, ‘I LOVE trees’.

Rob and Nicole made it back to the car first, with Pete and the forest philosopher not too far behind. We cruised back to Melbourne without a hitch, except for a mysterious windscreen defog problem (um, the A/C button wasn’t on), an unsuccessful attempt to dry my socks by hanging them out the window (they just flapped everywhere and picked up moisture in the night air), and an ipod cord that only wanted to play music on the left hand side of the car.

A traditional greasy dinner was enjoyed by all at George’s in Ararat, with new found respect/fear for his deep frying skills after sampling the vege burger. Some driver switching was necessary as we approached Melbourne and I was getting a little lead-footed, and some soundtrack switching resulted in some quality Gold104 hits to finish off the night. Our grand adventure had come to an end, with one last laugh as Rob’s wet undies were flung from the car as we dropped him off at the station.

by kim bagot

All that aside climbing of course doesn’t and couldn’t appeal to everyone some people can just never see the point or upon trying it discover that it just doesn’t do anything for them. For those however that catch the climbing bug, it tends to become a lifestyle more than anything. You can generally pick climbers in the club by just watching how they touch walls, or window frames, and stand in the middle of rooms moving their arms almost like a mime artist as they work out in their minds how this or that could be climbed.

Can I climb ?

Of course you can, there’s all different flavors of climbers big, small, tall, fat, thin, male, female and ambiguous. Of course it does help to be a little on the fit side, and a minuscule amount of flexibility but hey, its mostly mental anyway so who cares what your body thinks, just pretend you’re the little red and think you can (This being the little red engine that thought he could and did). Think hard enough and you can even drown out other people’s laughter derisive or otherwise.

Types of climbing

Soloing, the most basic and purest of the climbing forms, one doesn’t even need a rope because of course there’s no need to hang oneself. One itty bitty slip and well let’s just agree it’s going to HURT!, a lot. Soloing involves climbing without any kind of protective gear at all, shoes are advisable but not compulsory. To solo one must have a high chutzpah index and more than a little self confidence mixed with just a dash of INSANITY (stupidity really but insanity sounds so much more user friendly).

Top roping, this is where most of YOU come into the glorious sport of rock climbing, all the hard work is taken out and all that is required from you is a little effort to haul your rounded ass to the top. This is the mainstay of indoor climbing and introductory outdoor climbing. For the most part top roping is safe.

Lead climbing, the only way to truly claim a climb at the grade given is if one leads it. Leading is FUN!, remember that when your 40m off the deck, legs shaking and a light drizzle has just started, your last piece is 5m’s down, (Being 5m above your last piece of gear equates to a 10m fall - the equivalent of a 3 story building (included for educational purposes only) a dodgy cam, and over and over in your head the word f#%k! is being repeated.

Lead climbing is climbing whilst placing one’s own protection, as much or as little as the person climbing believes they need. The protection consist of little metal thingies called wires or rocks or nuts, which are basically metal wedges that hopefully when you fall jam (wedge) into the crack you put them in. In addition to wires the other staples or protection consist of slings wrapped around things and cams, high tech devices, (this is where that derisive laughter comes in) that are great fun to play with.

Bouldering, there’s some contention over whether this activity is climbing or not. Bouldering is a form of climbing where the objective is generally either to go up or across using a given sequence of moves that is generally HARD to link together. Problems are usually less than 3m in height and can be any horizontal length. No rope is involved, and as the difficulty increases the nasty fall index increases. A big rubber mat is recommended, if not a good friend to fall on.

Note: this article originally appeared in Autumn 99 Crapon and then in the Autumn 02 Crapon. No changes except fixes to grammar and spelling.

by peter_donald

Mark had been in Canada for 7 months, and I’d been sitting around the whole time trying to think up exciting things to do instead of what I should have been doing (thesis) when a ripper of a trip came up on the cards. We’d been trying to tee-up something for a while, but neither of us seemed to be able to wag school or work at the same time. But this obviously couldn’t last (and I’d be worried if you were willing to keep reading about a trip that didn’t happen…even a ripper trip that didn’t happen), and a couple of calls later, we were both out of work (not permanently, just a few shifts between us) and in the car to Harrietville late Wednesday afternoon.

We managed to take up my entire Corolla with gear and food and set off with many tales to tell and chocolate bullets to consume…no, wait, the chocolate bullets come later in the story, but I’m sure we had something tasty to eat. Harrietville arrived and we decided to set up at the base of Bungalow Spur, our planned descent route from Mt Feathertop. Mark assured me of the awesomeness of his tent – but after the long set up time, cramped space and lack of pegs (he’d only brought the snow pegs) I was not at all convinced. Although I did conclude that if I was caught in a storm in the Main Range, it would be a good tent to be in.

Thursday morning saw us up bright and early, well, not that early, but it was bright – another downside to the tent, the red material makes you angry in the morning when the sun shines through it! We’d packed our packs and donned our volleys, and decided we couldn’t be arsed making breakfast that morning, so we’d buy something in town instead. Speaking of the packs – they were great; we’d managed to pack that light it felt like a daypack, albeit a rather large daypack.

After a rather tasty baguette (cue Flight of the Conchords), and playing with the border collie, we walked to the end of town, thumbs hitched in search of a ride up the mountain. “Last time I did it, it took me an hour to get someone willing,” said Mark, much to my dismay, particularly as it was mid-week and half the snow had melted already. But he made up for it by calling every car that passed us by all sorts of nasty things (more the drivers than the cars), including a middle-aged lady on a bicycle, “Stupid b#$^h had plenty of room!”

But lady luck was with us that day, and a tradie pulled over after only fifteen minutes and quickly opened his utility to get our skis, packs and boots inside. Turned out he knew Mark’s aunt and uncle, and was also a very fast driver – the two of us noticed that he was rarely out of fifth gear…going up a mountain. We must have arrived at Diamantina Hut by 10:30 – not bad considering we couldn’t even be bothered making muesli earlier that morning, and speaking of muesli, we even got some breakfast bars at the toll gate, score!

Swapping volleys for ski boots, and smothering on some pink zinc - or is it pinc zink - we were off and skiing across the Razorback. The weather was fine and the snow was just softening, perfect spring skiing by and large, and Mark was carving up some nice turns on the fist decent descent (alliteration – see, Arts students do learn something) with me ploughing behind. I think Mark took the first spill of the day with a long bum drag that could have ended up in the trees, but with all fairness, I side-stepped down the majority of that slope, and within an hour recognised that vast superiority in his skiing ability. But not put off, I struggled through the day, picking up some tips as I went and really happy I was out there and not stuck in Camberwell for the day. And I soon got over the struggling part, and started to focus on getting better, as Mark was jumping of cornices and skiing some really cool looking stuff that I wanted to be doing some time soon (i.e. next season - damn snow melting for kayakers).

Through many annoying and burnt out sections of trees, and up, down and across some tricky terrain (that time was an accident, I swear) we made it to our destination for the night – Federation Hut. Time to take off our skis – the first time all day for Mark, and probably the 20th time for me, take some snaps and relax in the hut. We soon realised that we’d carried far too much for the trip – we could have left all our food and fuel behind, as there was ample in the Hut…no, not the emergency food that you shouldn’t touch, but a big bag set up to swap and share…and share we did, finishing off a packet of liquorice chocolate bullets! Dinner was hot, the sky was clear and the snow was white (well, it was a little brown immediately around the hut). I didn’t have to remind myself why I wasn’t studying.

We decided that we couldn’t really be bothered ascending the mountain proper that afternoon, nor could we be bothered the next morning. For that matter. We both figured that we’d definitely be up there again some time, and that we still had 20 years of snow, so what would it matter if we didn’t go now?

Friday saw us walk the entire way down Bungalow Spur with skis strapped to our packs, acknowledging the wankiness of using ski poles when walking, and we were back at the car in under two hours. Eating lunch in the car on the way home (how good is home made quiche?) we were back in Melbourne by 4, giving me enough time to pack up again and head over to Footscrazy for another trip, this time mountain biking at Forrest with some other Arts students.

So the Featherpop trip was hardly a Featherpop trip at all, but that hardly mattered when you can get out for a mid-week ski in spring, when you probably should have been working, and studying, and generally stressing about the daily grind. That mountain would have to be conquered another day…most probably a week day in Spring 2009.

Pete Ay

by peter_donald

Alex, Pete and Myself walked, scrabbled and at times hauled ourselves to the top of Mount William from Sheep Hills and across the major Mitchell plateau and down to Wannon Creek taking in some magnificent views along the way.

Driving up Friday afternoon stopping at George’s Fish and Chippery in Ararat for one of the cheapest burgers with the lot around and set up camp at Borough Huts Campground for the night.

Day one: was filled with inclines, rocks and brilliant weather as well, climbed (or walked in part along a sealed road) to the top of mount William across a few hills and up the very steep rocky side of the Major Mitchell Plateau. The campsite on top of the said plateau had everything one could hope for: a creek for water, a clear area for tent set up and a toilet to top it off! Once we settled into our tent and the wind picked up we realised what was missing. The only thing we heard for the rest of night was the sound of the metal toilet door banging against the wall. Note missing piece of the pie: a device to keep toilet door shut.

Day two: involved a lovely amble and part rock scrabble across the plateau and a rather steep descent down into the Valley to camp at the Jimmy Creek Campground. This bogan sounding campsite was in fact in the middle of a reconstruction site for the new Jimmy Creek Campground and so we left the Tonka trucks to find a nice spot beside the river and set camp for the night. Here we learnt an invaluable lesson about using the club tents ultra light weight option: when leaving out the inner, the footprint aka random tarp must not poke out under the edges of the fly, else water on top of the tarp sticking out of the tent can travel into the tent and make your thermarest and other stuff wet.

Day three: Having learnt a lesson in movement of water the night before we walked along a management track to pick up the car in what was a reasonably boring and undulating track in comparison to the days before.

On our last day in the gramps we meandered up Mt. Rosea to have a lunch with a view before returning to the car to drive home. Special mention to Alex who made a valiant effort to walk with very sore feet up and down those really steep sections! And of course to the Grampians for being so pretty.

by peter_donald

We skied

Camped in the snow

Ate some yummy food

Went exploring between the trees

Then it was time to head home

by peter_donald

Coming to Australia was pretty scary at first - its on the other side of the world and the first time I've ever left home! But getting settled in was pretty easy; we took part in some of the orientation activities La Trobe had to offer. At the Orientation Sports Fair, we signed up on the e-maillist for LUMC.

Our first time going to the weekly kayaking sessions was a hit. We found out about the Big Weekend and immediately had to join the club. The Big Weekend was my first time camping in Australia and it was awesome! Every day was fun-filled with white water kayaking (my favourite), rock climbing, bushwalking and mountain biking. Best of all, there were so many skilled people there that even if you weren't that fit (like me) or had never tried an activity before, they would take their time and teach you just how to do it. At night and in the morning, everyone did their part and we cooked the best camping meals ever!

I met some of my best Australian friends in the LUMC, and getting involved in the activities really gave me a chance to explore Victoria; something I probably wouldn't have been able to do without knowledge or a car! We tagged along on indoor rock climbing expeditions, improved our kayaking skills, and went on an awesome hike through Baw Baw National Park. My advice to international students - if you want to get the most out of your Australian experience, take a chance and join the LUMC. You won't regret it!

-Rebecca Dorris, Member 2007-

by peter_donald

They were our secret to success. Other important ingredients included light packs – we were going fast and light to make it to Mt Latrobe and back in a day (although we did have enough extras that we were prepared to stay overnight if we had to), and it made the acrobatic manoeuvres required when scrub bashing on steep slopes oh so much easier. We carried plenty of water, M&Ms, jelly beans, as well as some other more boring food (and the emergency tube of army ration condensed milk).

Spending Sunday night at Tidal River, we woke up early and drove to the Oberon carpark for breakfast, before finalising our packing, donning our scrub-proof hiking attire, and setting off finally as the sun rose. There was an early scare as Megan’s large dinner the night before combined with a muesli breakfast obviously hadn’t been enough for her: with plummeting blood sugar she struggled to walk the graded path to Windy Saddle. This problem was solved with an impromptu second breakfast, and all was fine again, the mission could begin.

With memories of thick impenetrable scrub from last time, we found this time round it was comparably easy going. The light packs helped, and we were a bit more canny when it came to picking the best route through the scrub, and the best line up the mountain. In general it was a bit less damp than last time as well, which helped as well.

Having reached Mt Ramsay in about an hour, we quickly admired the view, then set off again. We only made the mistake of sitting down in leech territory once – the saddle between Ramsay and Latrobe is a BAD resting spot people, even if reaching it does feel like a significant milestone. We didn’t feel the scrub in the saddle area was particularly bad. From memory (repressed though they are) the worst scrub patches we hit were near the summit of Ramsay, with a few nasty bands coming up Ramsay from Windy Saddle, and a few more unpleasant bands coming up on the south side of Mt Latrobe.

Finally we reached the summit of Latrobe shortly after midday. There was much rejoicing, photo taking, lunch eating, and claiming of the mountain for the great pirate nation.

Our return journey was relatively uneventful, as we passed by the site of the Great Leech Battle of 2007 (where we had fought of the two leeches Megan had somehow acquired, and there was much singeing of leg hairs), and by the Campsite of the Great Summit Attempt of 2006.

By the time we got to the summit of Mt Ramsay, we felt like we were almost on a graded path it was all so familiar. As the scrub finally spat us out into Windy Saddle there was much rejoicing and consumption of jelly beans. As we walked back to the carpark, the sun sunk lower in the sky, and we had a lovely sunset to watch, silhouetting the burnt tree trunks. We reached the van just before the sun started tipping the edge of the horizon. Aaaahhhhh.

THE STATISTICS

Return time from Mt Oberon carpark: 11 hours 20 minutes

Attached leeches found on person: 3

Unattached leeches found on person: Innumerable

-Megan and Alex-

by peter_donald

A trickle of hardy (some might say foolhardy) tourists are returning to Afghanistan after years of conflicts put the country out of bounds. Some of the older ones are reliving their trips (literal and metaphorical) from the ‘60s when Afghanistan was a popular stop on the hippy trail to India; many of the others are on overland journeys, across Asia – we met one Aussie who was cycling to Europe! Whilst not wishing to belittle the risks and problems facing Afghanistan, I think that the Western media tends to feed the public’s stereotypes of the country – suicide bombings, drugs, the oppression of women and bearded fanatics. I hope this short blog will give you an alternative picture of the country.

The breathtakingly beautiful landscape of Afghanistan sucks you in, and once there, some of the kindest people you’ll meet anywhere in the world make you want to return. For me, the definition of hospitality is when people scratching an existence from their flocks of sheep and goats share what little they have with you. Such generosity is typical of the Moslem world, in my experience, and almost always impossible to re-pay – they simply won’t accept anything in return.

So what activities could a LUMCer get up to out there? Well, the Minaret of Jam, where we worked in 2003 and 2005, is 65m tall – the spiral staircase up to the top gives you a great cardio work-out! Beside it are the remains of an 800 year old bridge.

Unfortunately, more recent bridges get washed away in the annual snow-melt floods, so you have the choice of attempting to ford the river in a 4WD or taking the ‘slide of death’.

Or…

And there are plenty of opportunities for ‘scree-scrambling’ on the slopes around the minaret, with majestic views if you make it to the top.

This year, however, we weren’t able to go to Jam, for a variety of tedious bureaucratic reasons which I won’t bore you. Stuck in Kabul for a month, we were itching for some fresh air (the city’s open sewers get pretty rank in 40 degree heat), so we drove up to the Salang Pass (ca 3400 m asl) one Friday. En route, we stopped for some delicious mulberries. . The 2.6 km long Salang Tunnel was opened in the 1964, a gift from the USSR; rather less altruistically, the Soviets used it as the main supply-route to Kabul following their invasion in 1979. The Salang was consequently the focus of some of the fiercest fighting during the war. Carcases of Soviet tanks litter the route and many of the valley sides are still being de-mined.

The tunnel is still the main artery feeding Kabul – overloaded trucks trundle backwards and forwards, although some drivers are a bit optimistic about what will fit through.

At the top of the pass, we stopped for tasty fried trout and took in the scenery before free-wheeling down to the village of Doshi. The north side of the pass is quite different from the south – much more humid, with lush rice paddies and irrigated wheat fields, ribbons of green lining the river in an otherwise barren landscape. Stalls of juicy peaches, pots of honey and kebabs smoking over hot coals dot the roadside villages – it’s quite an idyllic scene, until you come across the next overturned piece of military hardware and remember where you are.

Check out the project blog if you’re interested in what else we got up to:
www.dct-mgap.blogspot.com

Photos by DCT, apart from Fig. 2 (Ivan Cucco) and Figs. 6 & 9 (Dr Fiona Kidd)

by peter_donald

Spooky shit on the Moon
Me and Alice went to Moonarie for a week of sunshine, nice rock and friendship. However before this happened we got completely freaked out. It wasn’t the climbing, which is often sustained, direct and steep, it wasn’t the odd bit of rock that broke off. It wasn’t even having to dig a poo hole every morning. We drove up there in a mammoth day of driving from Melbourne (14hrs), arriving where we thought we should be at around 9pm. We kind of knew where we should be, but drove around in the forest on unmarked tracks and paddocks for a bit just to make sure. After setting up the camper trailer (+++ luxury) we retired for bed to a breezy spooky night; lots of funny noises outside, a branch scraping on the roof of the trailer, and to top it off, around an hour later a vehicle drove up. Two individuals got out, walked up and said “hello in there, it’s the Police”. They also told us we weren’t allowed to camp there and that we would have to move on in the morning. Apparently there were some missing bushwalkers or something and they wondered if they were part of our party. So completely freaked out we once again retired to bed. We did eventually get the camping situation sorted, but it took a bit of frigging around. The first day was windy and a bit showery and quite cold. We did the 4 pitch ***13 classic “Garden Refuse Removed Cheaply”. Alice got a bit freaked out by the relatively hard moves (perhaps grade 14) on supposedly easy pitches eg. grade 9. Having been to moonarie once before I knew not to trust the grades, especially on the easy climbs. The climb its self was good fun, albeit cold and a bit wet. The next day the weather cleared and we launched up the mega classic ***15 face climb of Pagoda. Moonarie grading again featured here, with the crux pitch being very out there for 15….anyway, it was great fun. Next up we did some fun single pitch stuff, **16 Tim Tam and 19** The Prince which were both exciting, steep and fun. I had done Tim Tam on my earlier visit, but 2nding it after Alice, I definitely didn’t remember it being that hard last time! The next day, more quality including Alices epic 60m lead of Roaring Fourties *18, my lead of the mega mega classic Downwind of Angels ***19. We finished the day off with Outside chance **16 and Buckley’s **17.

The next day we headed back to Checkers wall where Alice led the exposed traverse and face climb of Hanging Fred Bonnet ***18, and I thrashed around on Mr Ordinary **21. I completely buggered it up and could hardly clip the crux bolt let alone pull through. Alice styled it on 2nd. On the way down, we headed to a small cliff called Goat Crag. I hit up Billy the Kid **19 which was fun, and Alice almost smashed her teeth when she snapped a foothold mantling over the final move. The next day we carried up our camping crap to the Top Camp. This is a big flat area with drystone rock walls constructed by climbers over the decades and an awesome place to camp. The next day we were up early to watch the sun rise and went over to hit up Thor variant pitch 1, a **16. Next I led the mega classic ***19 Pine crack pitch one. This was fucking awesome, a mixture of fun facey crack climbing and delicate groove climbing. Alice led the next pitch, another solid 19, taking a fall when she muddled up the sequence out of the roof, she had good gear in and got through next go. Of interest is her approach – being exceptionally flexible, she was able to do the full splits between the wall and lip of the roof!

We rapped off at Thor ledge and headed over to the suspiciously graded classic ***15 Flying Buttress. We were moving fast but mucked a couple of bits up and ended up topping out in the dark. It took around an hour to get back down including descending the sketchy southern descent gully (which apparently has seen deaths…).

The next day Alice led the bloody hard one pitch *18 of the Seduction. She took a decent fall of the slightly undergraded crux before getting it next time – probably at least hard 19…Next up I led **21 Crawling in to Acid Rain – an excellent sustained face climb high up on Checkers Wall. It was quite steep and it found it very pumpy – luckily there was a small alcove halfway through that I could sit in to rest!

On our final day we knocked off some great climbs – Tomorrowland **18 finishing up Boltarama **19. Next up I led Fatal Flame **21 finishing up 16 With A Bullet **16. Finally I led ***22 Dry Land, a fantastic thin face climb that fires up the guts of the Great Wall. I was quite pleased with this lead a) cause it was an awesome climb and b) cause the gear was crap (lots of micronuts and RPs) and I didn’t fall off. It was almost 5 by the time I got up we didn’t have time for Al to second it, so I rapped off and got the gear. Unfortunately the ropes got stuck when we were pulling them….so 35m of prussicking and another abseil later, we got our ropes and scampered back to (bottom) camp in the dark…

The next day we packed up the considerable amount of crap we had brought and made the 14hour trek back to Melbourne. A fantastic trip allround. Definitely put it on your list. Sorry about the “and then we did this and then we did that” form that this report has taken – I’m hungover and couldn’t be arsed.

by peter_donald

It was inevitable that sooner-or-later Alex would guide us down his run, so one wet, cold and lazy afternoon at the beginning of the mid-year holidays, Claire and I agreed to a quick trip. We donned wetsuits, and under Alex’s tutelage put-in under the Bell Street Bridge where the gauge read 0.75 meters (and rising). We were served our first face-full of water by the little wave beneath the bridge. The rain persisted for most of the trip, and the increased volume of water in the narrow creek channel made for a surprisingly swift run.

We paddled past bemused joggers and cyclists, picked the odd flower from the bank, played polo with a washed-up basketball, ploughed through the wave trains and raced the ducks downstream. Claire scouted from the eddy above an interesting wave and we all filed down until a river-wide clump of willow trees blocked our path. The writhing mass of roots and branches could be negotiated via an almost non-existent trickle at either the extreme left or right bank. Claire and Alex remained in their boats and hauled themselves over the low-lying rocks. Instead, I passed to the right relatively unencumbered, tried waiting for the others, but was washed down the main rapid. Here the gradient dropped significantly (I was surprised), and the course widened. I bounced down a series of sketchy rocks, (concrete slabs?) and signalled to the others who were still struggling upstream. Claire ran the rapid like a pro but came unstuck in an easier section when she failed to anticipate the sturdiness of a shoulder height tree branch. The shallow creek bed preventing her roll, but even after a quick swim in the muck Claire was smiling. A little cold, but not deterred, Claire emptied her boat and set a cracking pace down to our next obstacle.

Concrete steps set into the creek bed allow park users to cross the creek when it is not in flood, and with the onset of rain these have the potential to form waves and holes. Our level was on the low side of runnable, so we faced a number of scrappy narrow rapids. The short, tight, and fast rapids required some interesting navigation and balance. Amongst the concrete obstacles a small footbridge appeared, so we carefully avoided it and after a little more paddling enjoyed two more ‘stepping stone’ rapids.

We were losing light rapidly, and by the time we passed under the towering Hurstbridge train line it was pretty dark. The creek became increasingly narrow and snaked its path at the base of residential properties. An interesting logjam required an unnerving duck under a felled tree, and the creek soon met the Yarra River at the slalom training site.

This run would have more potential at a slightly higher level, but was surprisingly enjoyable due to the fast moving water and unique narrow and turbulent sections of white/ grey/ brown? water. I was most impressed by the narrow one-sided gorge-like sections where a high rock bank accentuated the narrowness of the creek. The speed of the water was similarly impressive.

I always love paddling an unknown section of river. The uncertainty, anticipation and realisation of all this flowing water always provide a surprise or two.

Be sure to ask Alex about his next urban adventure.

Note: Darebin Creek flows past the western boundary of La Trobe Uni. If its raining heavily check the Melbourne Water website and carry your boat over. Putting in at Plenty Road would have you about 3km above the Bell Street put-in described above.

-Mikey

by peter_donald

The first ride started with a scenic, uphill climb (you don’t climb down a hill on a bike, come see me and I can explain it more) heading towards Kinglake. It may not have been the Alps or the Pyrenees for any Tour de France fans, but this wasn’t road riding (even though it was sealed to start) and the mist really made it pretty. The top of the climb left us a little warmer and definitely ready for a descent, but perhaps not what we were soon to encounter.

After a few Ks rolling up and down through some farmland, including what Mikey described as the steepest seeled road near Melbourne, we arrived at what we’d come for. The guide book gives a distinct warning to take caution on this particular hill, “The Yan Yean Drop-Off” – a “Decent with Attitude”. There was even a caution sign at the start as I approached, but I couldn’t read it all because Mikey barrelled-off in front of me, so I had to catch up. But we shouldn’t have been so hasty – this was not a hill to be shirked at, and a bigger gap between riders was definitely needed. It was that steep that you’d probably needed some gear to climb up back up for any climbers reading, and rough as anything to boot.

Large rocks look scary when you see them coming on a downhill section like this, and the shit-scared factor multiplies when all you can really see to react to is the rider in front. But even that wasn’t likely to happen, for amongst dodging the rocks and riding the brakes (which seemed to have little impact for either of us) I realised that I was picking up a little more speed than Mikey and edging within a few metres of him. “I’m going to have to stop!” I yelled out, anticipating a major stack, resulting in over-the-handle-bars action, and perhaps taking Mikey out in doing so. “What?” Mikey yelled back, not having heard what I’d said in his attempts to negotiate between rocks and a ditch. By that stage I’d realised that with this speed and this gradient, stopping was not happening, so I just continued being thrown around by this massive descent – being tossed into the aforesaid ditch and then thrown back out just as quick.

I’ve had some pretty nasty crashed that I didn’t see coming, and some that I’ve realised mid-motion, but on this hill it felt like I was going over the bars almost the entire way. I was seriously concerned that I’d be spending another month in a sling – at the least it would have been many metres of sliding on rock cutting open lycra and skin. Every bump threw the back wheel far more than what I’d usually be comfortable with, and every attempt to get myself over the back wheel was denied by another jolting rock. We’d let down the tyres, but we’d neglected to do the same with the saddles. “This is going to hurt” I kept reminding myself, and for a long time to – it was straight, steep and long – but I was able to make slight corrections with each threatening shove. Surely this was not a good idea without even inspecting what we had in store.

It kept going and we kept getting thrown around, with hands locked around the handlebars, index finger extended over the brake-lever. Eventually the hill sloped into a run out, with Mikey and I looking at each other speechless for a few moments. “I’ve never done anything like that on a bike”, were Mikey’s words, accompanied by a face both scared and exhilarated. I quickly agreed with amazement that I’d survived. We’d certainly approach that one with more caution next time – but it would take us a hell of a lot of convincing to do it again – but maybe not as much as another crazy ride we’ve done before, but you might not get that story out of us :p. The remainder of the ride was certainly not as exciting, a little up, a little down, a lot of calming our nerves and talking about what we’d just done. Oh yeah, and Mikey took us left when we should have gone right, a detour of about 15km involving a stretch of flat, boring, sealed surface including Plenty Road. The remainder of the day’s itinerary was left to my navigation.

On return to the car, we ate, a lot, called my mechanic, “The car’s good now – except for the clutch, you’ll need to replace it soon”…who cares, we almost get shredded on a seriously gnarly hill. We were ready for ride number two, but that was nowhere near as exciting. Out to Kinglake in the van, enjoyed the trails which were much more wooded this time, and even some fun sections of single track. We survived the “Yan Yean Drop-the-@#$%- Off” but came a little unstuck on some of the technical bits on this track, just some very low speed, “can’t get cleat out of pedal in time type stacks”, leaving us muddy and a little bruised at the end of the day. But it was certainly enjoyable and left us keen to ride out in that particular area again, if only to muck around jumping puddles. Some people say two-wheels are better than four – I can only agree when I do rides like this, especially when the uphill is paid off by a crazy descent.

More up and down to come

Pete
(And please excuse the lack of photos, we were busy riding)

by peter_donald

One day at Arapiles, we decided to do the classic crack struggle ‘Electra’ (grade 19). I cleverly suggested that we climb it as two pitches instead of one, meaning I could lead the relatively short and supposedly easier first pitch and Alice would have to lead the fire-breathing offwidth classic second pitch. I kind of cocked up the first pitch and ended up falling off and ripping the recently healed skin off the back of my left hand (injured on the nearby classic ‘Wizard of Ice’ a couple of weeks earlier). I was pissed at falling off, but after contaminating the climb with sufficient blood I got through on the next go.

Alice then set out on her journey up the second pitch. This pitch is offwidth – it’s not a crack that you can hand jam in a conventional sense and it’s not a chimney that you can chimney climb in a conventional sense. It’s in-between. You kind of stick various parts of your body in and squirm your way up. Alice led it like a champ – a fair bit of sketchy squirming and a few whimpers were necessary, but she got up it, and made her way up the relatively pleasant upper crack and across the majestic juggy headwall without any issues. This quite impressed the hardperson American we had been socializing with – he had already been impressed with Alice’s no-nonsense lead of Hyena a couple of days earlier (another ye olde fashioned crack climb). He and his friend had come up to the cliff that morning intending to climb Electra. He noted with a certain bemusement that it was unusual that, in the middle of winter, midweek, surrounded by pleasant classic non-crack climbs, that there should be a queue on the horrendous offwidth.

Fast forward a few days in to the future and Alice and I found ourselves at the base of “Genuine Wage Overhang” (grade 20) at Mt Stapylton in the Grampians. To give an impression of its steepness, the authors of the guidebook note that when you are standing underneath the lip (the edge of the overhang) you are closer to the lip than the start of the climb. Overhanging probably 40 degrees, this is one intimidating climb. The pictures don't do justice the the overhanging-ness. I had seen it previously when wandering in the area looking at other climbs, and knew we would need some big gear (gear = protection to stop a fall). Thus we brought two #4 camalots with us. These are about as big as most people normally own, but they weren’t quite big enough.

I set off up the climb, cautiously jamming bits of my body in it and using the small face holds next to the crack. I put in one of the big cams just before the roof got steeper (to almost horizontal), stuck my leg up and in the crack and shoved part of my arm in. This seemed to work and I was able to squirm around without falling off. I discovered a small face hold after this that was quite positive (good to hold on to) and this helped me establish myself in a kind-of-chimneying-kind-of-sticking-half my-shoulder-in-the-crack position. I squirmed upwards, in the process scraping skin off various parts of my body until I was about 3 meters above the cam. Here the crack started to get wider, so I figured I should stick the other big cam in before it got too wide. I played around with the cam for a few minutes until satisfied the placement was good. Gradually the wall next to me opened up a bit and I could get more positive foot holds for chimneying, but I was starting to get a bit concerned about how far above the cam I was, and how far I had to go. A good arm bar (this is where you jam your arm in the crack between your elbow and the palm of your hand) gave me some time to de-stress and work out a strategy for the rest of the climb. I came up with two options. A) jump off. B) keep climbing. I chose B. Alice assured me that I wasn’t going to deck (hit the ground) so I kept climbing.

Eventually, about 5 or so meters after placing the last cam, I latched on to the nice positive holds in the guts of the chimney and hauled myself up, where I put in 5 (!) pieces of gear, just because I could. I don’t think I would have hit the ground if I had come off, but I would have taken a massive winger (fall) and come very close! Alice seconded me, getting to use the prussics when she fell off the crux, but she styled the rest of the climb and we had a bit of a de-stressing hug when we were re-united at the belay ledge. All in all, two mega classic climbs!

by peter_donald

Well it’s not just the paddling.

Along the road to Falls Creek an orange bridge represents the end and beginning of two runs on the East Kiewa. Refuted to be more ‘pushy’ than the Yarra Canyon ;), the Upper section above the bridge is a formidable and committing run with a gradient of 70m/km. Thankfully, the bridge exerts a calming effect on the Lower section: reducing its gradient, continuous nature, and technical level, and removing the odd waterfall.

Before putting in, we had consulted the orange bridge oracle for guidance. The needle of its ‘central core of hardness’ detector swung to the left to indicate that we should tackle the Lower section. I breathed a premature sigh of relief, Hairy cursed. Unlike the Upper, the guidebook description of our modest Lower section is not accompanied by a little red skull and crossbones. We geared up, and while waiting in the eddy I mimicked the strange practice of cupping chilled mouthfuls of water into my mouth.

The run was rather foreboding. Steep overgrown banks and glistening rocks of all imaginable shapes hedged the narrow creek. We scraped hulls and bashed our paddles over the low-lying rocks. The level was a little on the low side, and I found the prospect of a bonier but less pushy run slightly comforting. I had heard and read accounts of ‘steep’ and ‘technical’ boating on this river, yet roaring rapids seemed beyond the scope of this rocky – albeit well lubricated – narrow run. The lack of an immediately observable challenge had me on edge.

In usual style, we filed down stream, catching eddies and swapping the lead, all the while scanning ahead in anticipation.

Lower flow exposed the rocky banks, making scouting easier and framing all of our photos with impressively water-hewn slabs of stone. Inspection from the bank was necessary to detect fallen trees stuck in the rapids, and helped those of us unfamiliar with the river to plan our path. Approaching a sharp bend we observed that a large tree trunk had fallen across the main flow, and that beyond lay the first significant rapid. I scouted from the bank while the others ducked under the trunk and then turned into the eddy above the drop. Following my suggested direction, Tim, Simon and Mel exited the eddy, and went down an impressive rockslide. At its base they made a tight right turn and then followed the main flow down a smaller drop. With the rest of the party at the bottom, I mimicked their path by ducking under the tree and then grinding down the rockslide. At the bottom my sharp turn was assisted by the main flow as it caught my bow. Another small drop and we were regrouped.

Shortly following this, we encountered the rapid of the day.

From the rock wall above the drop we discussed our intended route. Entering down a smooth ramp of water from the left, would leave us perched above the converging columns of water, were we deemed that quickly tracking to the right would enable the boater to ride atop the white water down the drop, and then bounce out from the aerated hole below.

All four heads nodded.

Simon was the first to ride. At the bottom of the drop his creeker was launched into the air in a most impressive tail squirt. Mel followed with style, but was captured upside-down at the fall’s base. Standing on the ledge above, I observed her boat stop suddenly at the bottom of its descent and then disappear underwater. Re-emerging upside-down, it was buffeted violently in the hole and against the rock walls by the water falling against its upturned hull.

Mel remained here for a time, before swimming from her boat. But as with her gravity-defying stop at the base of the drop, she was sucked headfirst – as if she were a cartoon character at the hands of a revengeful artist – back into the aerated white pile at the base of the drop. Her upturned face alternatively appeared and disappeared, until the water released its hold and Mel was flushed from its grasp. She grabbed the stern of Simon’s waiting boat and made her way to the safety of the bank. An even more time consuming process was required to release Mel’s boat which had been pinned as water circulated in and out of a horseshoe shaped depression in the rock wall.

Once order had been regained, Timmy playfully ran the drop backwards – a move for which he deserved (were the river as spiteful as we had come to expect) to be severely worked at the base – and emerged from the foaming pile with a cheeky grin.

Our crew’s endeavours at this rapid had taken some time so I had grown accustomed to its roar, and had ample opportunity to observed the water’s regular flow. I felt that I had gained a realistic picture of what the rapid entailed and that I was well on my way to avoiding the unhealthy calm that had overtaken me during a recent paddling trip to Tassie. Although I felt a long way from the complacent casualness that had caused my demise on that Lower Broad trip, I felt that a little reminder right now would serve to heighten my awareness of the job at hand. On that ill-fated day in Tasmania I had learnt – from a slightly sub-optimal encounter with a log – that the decision to run a rapid did not qualify as a passport to safety, and, that in fact, the mental decision to plunge headlong down a rapid needed to coexist with a physical preparedness to act accordingly. Now seemed a perfect time to draw upon the lesson of this experience.

In anticipation of things to come I dunked my head into the freezing water, geared up and resolved to hit the drop with enough speed to escape the clutches of the hole waiting at its base. I was reassured to know that Tim and Mel were waiting below in their boats and I knew Simon was ready on the bank with a throw-rope. Although attempting to follow directions, I missed the move from left to right and instead plugged down the middle of the drop. The left and right-hand pillars converged around me and I felt my upturned boat being buffeted by the water. Deprived of sight, I was distinctly able to hear the water as it rushed around me. According to Tim, my lack of speed and direction resulted in a back-loop at the base, but all I remember is the blackness and the sound of water. While under I took a moment to acknowledge the novelty of my situation, and then registered a mental image of where I thought I was in space. This was followed by a slight panic when the retentive hole refused to relent – even brief periods of powerlessness under water provide infinite time for thinking – and frustration that I couldn’t manoeuvre my paddle to roll. As immediately and as uncontrollably as it had happened I was upright and paddling towards Timmy’s smiling face. And while I was able to acknowledge an ‘OK’ nod of the head, I had to take a minute to regain control of my breathing which had become sharp and pressured from the cold. I could only imagine how Mel felt – we exchanged looks of relief.
Only later did we learn the name of this infamous spot – ‘the drowning pool’. Gentrify, gentrified asdf osid pretentious as

A little cold, but too pumped to realise, I paddled on. Subsequent rapids followed quickly. Ramp-like sections replacing the earlier drops. We confidently descended the remaining rapids, portaged a wood choked section, and before long had reached the take-out.

There’s nothing like a trip away to rekindle your desire to run more in the coming weeks. And were it not for more pressing assignments I would be back in a flash.

In response to those earlier questions I can only agree with Mel’s comments on the drive up, that ‘I wouldn’t bother going on a trip with people I didn’t like, no matter how good the river’. To which I can now add, ‘the quality of both the river and company complimented each other perfectly’.

Beginner trips coming soon! I promise.

-Mikey-

by peter_donald

There is something magical about Arapiles. It towers out of nowhere, the only upright feature in miles of flat farmland. It felt special being there, like I was part of a secret clan. Walking around the campsite you can here the sound of racks of gear (a noise which could strangely be mistaken for cow bells), clinking and clanking as climbers head off for the day.

On our first day Timmy chose to lead Mikey and I on a 14. I carefully watched Timmy head up to the first belay ledge. I was scared yet composed and kept telling myself that I could do this. It was not until I started climbing that I realised just how frightening this sport can be. Admittedly the climb was probably too hard for me, but my anxiety came more from the reality of the situation; I was trusting my life on the three pieces of gear Timmy had placed to form an anchor. Although logically this sounded safe, my inspection of the gear prior to leaving the campsite left me wondering how on earth a little metal nut could hold so much force. All of this ran through my head whilst I was clinging to the rock. But somehow, with all his superior convincing powers, Timmy managed to persuade me to keep climbing, at least up to where he was. Although I was convinced I wasn’t going to make it, somehow, I scrambled my way up. The sense of achievement was overpowering. Even though I stopped that climb after that first pitch, I felt I had conquered one little demon. I had stepped out of my comfort zone and kept going even when I desperately wanted to stop. I had also discovered what would remain one of biggest fears about climbing: trusting the gear.

On day 2, LUMC superwoman Kate decided that she would lead Mikey and I on an easier, multipitch climb. Timmy gave Kate and Mikey some final tips about gear placement on the nearby boulders whilst I mustered together some food. We then set off, glancing every so often at the handwritten directions I had copied out of the Araps Bible. The different rock faces all looked remarkably similar to me, but Kate somehow managed to discern where we had to go and found the beginning of our climb.

After our previous day of climbing, Timmy had taken some time to teach me about different pieces of gear and how they work. This had helped (but not fully allayed) my fear that the gear would somehow dislodge. However it had (importantly) given me the confidence I needed to attempt another climb. I was initially hesitant about starting the first pitch as it required a traverse out onto an exposed cliff. Although we had only just started climbing, we were already up fairly high, which left me feeling quite vulnerable as I climbed out onto the rockface. Despite my fear of heights, I started to acclimatise to being up so high. I was somewhat distracted by the pain that came with wearing shoes a size too small for me but at least this made me feel like I was part of the climbing fraternity.

The heat was intense as the sun belted down from the middle of the sky. When we reached the end of the second pitch, we paused to discuss how we were going to tackle the next obstacle of downclimbing and crossing over onto the main rock face. Kate and Mikey both being very logical and bright people, took their time to discuss the pros and cons of different ways of approaching this part of the climb. Once across to the main face we took refuge in the shade it provided. As the day grew older, we became slower and our pace dropped. I became more relaxed and began to enjoy myself and the great company of my fellow climbers.

As we approached the final pitch, darkness began to fall, the sky still had a hint of pink but that was fast disappearing. We had not planned on the climb taking this long and Kate had packed our only head torch. Kate elected to climb the last pitch without her head torch as she felt that Mikey was going to need it to remove the gear. Mikey and I waited on this last ledge nervously while Kate finished climbing and struggled to set up her anchor in the darkness. Although I was in high spirits after having an enjoyable afternoon I was extremely apprehensive about beginning a climb in darkness. Finally came the call “Cat, you are on belay”. Off I went. The first couple metres went well, I scrambled around with my hands feeling for holds as I could see very little. I then believe that I started to climb just shy of where I should have been. It was dark, the wind was blowing and I was exhausted. I desperately searched for holds but could find nothing. My fear of heights was also taking hold of me as I realised just how high up I was. The pull of the rope drag on my harness was zapping me of the little energy I had left. I called out to Kate that I couldn’t see where to go. She urged me to keep trying. I clung onto the rock, stationary for what seemed like minutes trying to find the courage to keep going. In desperation I made one final stretch upwards in an attempt to find a new hold, lost my footing and fell, swinging a few metres and crashing into the rock with my knees. I was completely terrified and in tears. I began cursing rockclimbing and all associated with it. My mind went straight to the worse case scenario: what if I couldn’t climb this last pitch? At this point Mikey decided (and I agreed) to climb down back to the ledge to rest and regain some composure. Here Mikey informed me that Timmy and Alice were on their way - with light.

Our failure to return to the campsite after an hour or two of darkness had concerned the crew and they had yelled up to Kate from the main track at the bottom of the rock, asking if we needed help. We waited patiently on the ledge for an hour. This gave me enough time to dream up a range of different rescue plans; my mind was clearly still being irrational. Finally Timmy and Alice arrived. Timmy climbed down a few metres from the top and illuminated the rockface with his torch and called down to us, urging me to climb. I asked Timmy if there were any other options. Under strict instructions from Kate, he replied a simple “No, not unless you want to stay on the ledge overnight”. This wasn’t a possibility in my mind so off I went - take two. The higher I climbed, the worse the rope drag became - but being able to see where I was going made the job much easier. It was surprising how much the encouragement of my friends above was able to give me the confidence I needed to continue. As I got closer to the top, I could hear Alice and Kate giggling and talking about what food they were going to cook. Everything seemed normal once again. Mikey followed, gleaning the last bits of gear and finally, after 10 hours of being out on the rock, our climbing epic was over.

It probably took a couple of weeks for me to think logically about what had happened. The sheer terror that I had felt when climbing wasn’t going to disappear fast, but over time an equal sense of self-satisfaction began to develop. Climbing provides a buzz like nothing else I have ever done before and challenges me both physically and mentally. There is no doubt that this feeling is addictive and will ensure I return to outdoor climbing in the future. Perhaps the most valuable and enjoyable aspect about my trip to Arapiles was the close friendships that I made. Although you have to rely on yourself to get through a climb, I would not have been able to continue without the amazing support and encouragement of those around me.

Safe & happy climbing guys!

-Cat-

by peter_donald

After experiencing moderate success on the Rubicon the weekend before (the rocks were well lubricated) I was fired up to hit up some (higher) quality, more voluminous water. It just happened that president Mikey was unburdened by his heavy course load on that day and could also come. So we hatched a plan. The plan would involve us driving to the Avon River, roughing it at the put in and paddling down to the Wombat road where a pre-placed bicycle would aid us in returning to Mikey’s van. Luckily I remembered that Monash Bushwalking Club member and all-round carnie (short for carnival-folk) Bron lived in Sale.

On the premise that Bron could come paddling with us if she let us stay at her house, we stayed in Sale that night. Mikey’s snoring was verging on spectacularly annoying before I found an alternative and we finally left Bron’s crib at the leisurely hour of 10am.

After dropping Bron’s four wheel drive beast (Ford Laser) at the Wombat road put out, we headed to Hugget’s crossing (the put in) in Mikey’s slightly less beastly van. With wheels spinning we bounced our way to the put in and got in to some latex and rubber.

Suited up and ready to go, we were pleased to discover that unlike the weekend before, everyone actually had a full set of gear and we didn’t have to rig up a homemade-poncho-spraydeck. The river took on an initially gentle character, with the odd bit of moving water as the river snaked its way through a channel hemmed in by attractive native vegetation and was generally quite pleasant.

Perhaps thirty minutes in the rapids started to get more interesting, with a fun section of continuous class II for around 500 meters. From my previous adventures I knew we would soon reach the Avon river Channels, the crux of the river and most interesting set of rapids. Without much further ado, we reached the Channels and set about having a look.

The Channels is a 500m long ‘sub-gorge’ of sorts – the river channels (surprise surprise) down in to a mini-gorge that is perhaps five meters wide and boxed in by three meter high rock walls. The four rapids are linked by fast moving water and you would probably not be able to exit the river until you reached the end of the channels if you swam. With this in mind, and having scouted the entire channels, I positioned myself on one side with a camera (and a throwbag) while Mikey and Bron walked back up for a run.

The run was successfully executed, with Mikey and Bron both going deep on the third major rapid. Due to its continuous nature and the need to follow a line, the Channels rapid warrants a class III rating – both Mikey and Bron agreed it was the most fun rapid that they had run.

Buoyed by the success of their run, Bron and Mikey were motivated to carry their boats up the tricky banks for another run with me. This time Mikey was the cameraman (and chief throwbag technician) and followed us down when we had completed our run. Hats of to Bron, who wouldn’t know how to roll if her life depended on it, for successfully running the channels twice without swimming (Luckily Mikey knew how to roll).

After the excitement of the channels, everyone was pretty fired up, which in one sense is a shame as it doesn’t get nearly as exciting anywhere else on the river, though there are a bunch of fun class II rapids to contend with to the takeout. One of the nice things about the Avon, as opposed to most other Victorian rivers, is the fact that until the last 30 minutes of the trip there are no blackberry bushes or willow trees – hopefully it will stay this way!

Bron managed a swim on an uneventful rapid, but this was overshadowed by her achievements on the Channels, so we gave her less crap than usual. By this stage, owing to the strange paddling style I engage in (canoe or C1), my knees were fairly fucked and I would have jumped at the chance for an above the knee amputation. To counter this I swapped Mikey’s pleasure cruiser for my mobile torture chamber and had a relaxing, pain free 20 minutes until Mikey wanted to swap back.

Three hours after starting out we reached the put out and Bron’s car. Loading the boats on after getting changed, we made the drive back to Hugget’s crossing. Shortly after dumping the boats at the top of the final hill (we didn’t think the laser would make it down with the boats on) we bumped in to a random/space cadet called Kel who, in response to questions about whether or not he thought Mikey’s van would make it up the hill told us the van would “shit it in” and that “it’s grippier in the wet” though he had doubts about the Laser.

As it turned out, the Laser, despite being front wheel drive and having no clearance made it with little trouble. The same could not be said for Mikey’s van. Whilst being rear wheel drive and having lots of clearance is about as close to 4WD as you can get without being 4WD, we had some serious traction issues. After a bit of mucking around, we decided that, given the van was perched precariously on 3 wheels with no hope of driving up the hill, we’d seek some outside assistance.

Bron had a contact in the Sale CFA who would be able to help, but they could not get there for a couple of hours. Luckily we found a farmhouse that had a Toyota Hilux (i.e. Proper 4WD) and they were only too happy to help us out of our little predicament and even provided us with tea and biscuits afterwards which was very civilised.

All in all it was a fun adventure, made more so by the fact that we didn’t roll Mikey’s van and aside from me hitting my head on the Hilux’s door, free of injury…

-Timmy-

by peter_donald

As a clumsy beginner I fell over countless times. However, by the end of the week I had improved my speed of recovery if nothing else. Having spent the days challenging ourselves physically we spent the evenings testing our mental agility and endurance playing cards, liar dice, monopoly and early eighties trivial pursuit.

-Alice-

by peter_donald