Keeping Calm and Carrying On

The first sign that you're starting to panic is you hear yourself say:
"OK, man, don't panic." 

One of my favourite things to do in the woods is to visit places no one else does. Places where there are no mapped tracks, and where most people don't even consider going.

But sometimes things don't go to plan.

The Hike (Planned)

The Megalong Valley is a gorgeous area of the Blue Mountains near Sydney that has the shallow meandering Coxs River flowing through it, lots of grazing farms, and hills and mountains on all sides. It's very peaceful, and teeming with interesting wildlife - lyrebirds and goannas in particular.

Years ago, I'd done a short hike in part of it with the Sydney Bushwalkers Club, which involved some off-track walking and some stunning views. We also passed through part of the valley while doing the Six Foot Track last year.

This weekend I thought I'd go back again and look at a different section - the plan was to follow a track part way up to Ironpot Mountain, then pick my way down a spur into a little-known track along a waterway called Breakfast Creek. Follow that to Coxs River for lunch, wander the river a bit, then climb back up over Goolara Peak to Tinpot Mountain and take the ridges back to my car (Clockwise around the blue track, roughly).

The planned track (in blue), and the actual track detours (in red)

The Hike (Reality)

Everything went smoothly until lunch. The descent was steep but largely manageable. Breakfast Creek was mostly dry but a nice place to walk and seems to be where all the lyrebirds go. I think I counted eight, which is seven more than I had seen in my entire life to that point (no photos - the little buggers are very shy). Shortly after lunch I startled a good size Lace Monitor up a tree, and got a nice pic of it camouflaged while it hissed and growled at me in irritation.

This creature was very hissy about me
mucking about with my camera

Danger, Will Robinson

Then came time to go back off-track and explore Goolara Peak and the saddle to Tinpot. After doing the very hard climb from Coxs River, I discovered that Goolara Peak is not so much a mountain as it is a pile of extremely large rocks on top of a hill surrounded on all sides by cliff face. From where I was sitting, I couldn't see a way up or around without some very risky exposure. Worse, I had no idea what the peak looked like on the other side. Even if I could pick my way up to the top, I might not be able to get down.

The alternative wasn't much better. It's always less scary to go up than down, and as I looked back over my route I did not relish climbing back down this incredibly steep hill full of loose dirt and rock. On the other hand, I at least knew that there was an alternate route back to my car that was passable since it was the one we'd used in 2014 (Red track in the image).

Besides the difficult descent, also arguing against that option was that the day was getting on and sunset was coming. Since I would be well off-track for my backup option, this could mean that I would be navigating by map and compass.

Alone.
After dark.

Navigating by map and compass during the day takes a fair amount of brain power, but at least you can see the ground while you walk and make out features of the terrain around you. Doing it in darkness, while exhausted and alone is a bad mix.

In the best case scenario, the wrong decision could lead to a helicopter ride from search and rescue. The worst case scenario is disappearing in the Blue Mountains, never to be seen or heard from again.

So my choices were a) try and climb the rocks and hope there was a way down the other side, or b) race the sun and hope not to get lost in the forest at night.

"OK, man. Don't panic."

My main goal was not to end up like this ex-cow
from the walk several years ago.

Racing the Sun

I figured I'd rather chance a night in the forest than find myself falling off a rock and ending up in a truly bad place. There was still some daylight, so I had a good chance of getting close to the car. I had some extra clothes and food. The river could give me water. It wouldn't be pleasant, but I could get through the night if it came to that. So I started the climb downhill. Or the slide down the hill. It was just as hard as I expected it would be. For the last few hundred metres I was clinging to trees to lower myself without tumbling.

When I finally hit the river, my adrenaline was pumping and I race-hiked to the entry point for my alternate climb to Tinpot Mountain. Before setting out on the climb, I filtered a litre of water into my Camelbak and packed out another 3/4L of dirty water in case I needed it later. At this point, between the mental stress and the massive amount of off-track climbing and descending I'd already done, my body was exhausted.

Every moment of the climb to Tinpot was accompanied by an inner monologue of "Just get to the top of the mountain before sunset, so that we're only navigating ridges." The reply from my body with every step: "You will pay for this."  The bribe came next: "We'll eat the leftover tomato from lunch when we get to the top. I promise."

I made the mountain top with daylight to spare. This was when my brain reneged on the deal.

Brain: "I know I said we'd rest now, but we can't waste daylight. Keep walking until dark, then we'll eat and rest."
Body: "I hate you. So much."
Brain: "I hear you, and I acknowledge your feelings. Shut up and walk."

Each hill was excruciating, and I would decide I had to rest at the top. Then the terrain would ease up and I'd check my bearing for the next saddle and walk on until I hit the next climb. It would be excruciating. It felt like I repeated this a thousand times, but my map tells me it couldn't have been more than two or three.

Then I couldn't anymore. I just couldn't.

The Mind Body Dichotomy

I don't think there was a single one of the 140 days of hiking the AT where I was this tired. As I was climbing the peak to Ironpot Mountain I hit a small track. A small track that was contouring around the peak instead of climbing up to it. My legs stayed on the track. No matter what my brain said, I could not get my body to do what was clearly the smarter choice.

Brain: "We need to climb. This track may not be going to the right place."
Body: "This is flat. It may be going to the right place."
Brain: "It's getting dark, we don't have a choice, we have to climb and be sure."
Body: "If you make me climb now, I am going to kill you."
Brain: "I hear you, and I acknow..."
Body: "#!?$@ you."

We - my brain and body are separate entities now - contoured until we hit what looked like it might be a saddle! Or a spur. But maybe a saddle?

Brain: "I think that's a spur. Turn back and climb to the peak."
Body: "It might be the saddle!"
Brain: "I really think that's a spur. Stop so we don't go too far!"
Body: "Did you say Stop?!?! Done."

A quick check of the GPS coordinates confirmed that Brain was right. It was a spur. I was moments from darkness and instead of heading to the car I had circled around to a track that was heading downhill back to the valley. I'd gone out of my way at a bad time, but there was a silver lining: I was done with map and compass! In the uphill direction, this track is easily followed back over Ironpot mountain and leads directly to my car where a large bottle of sparkling water and two apples were sitting in a cooler. I was still going to be hiking out by headlamp in darkness, but at least I wouldn't need to navigate while I did it.

Other than startling a few kangaroos with my headlamp, I finished my hike with no other excitement.  I gleefully dumped the extra dirty water I'd packed out and drank a litre of cold sparkling mineral water. My plan for around 18-20km in a relatively leisurely 6-8hours, ended up as 29km in a much less relaxed 9.5 hrs.

Some things I learned.

1. Don't panic, even if you're panicking.
2. Exhaustion really does lead to bad decision-making.
3. Even when your brain is making good decisions, you need your body on the same team.
4. Always pack a jumper and rain jacket for warmth. No matter how nice the day is. Just in case.
5. A compass that allows you to fix the correction for declination and saves you having to do arithmetic is worth every extra penny.

In the end, I didn't need search and rescue (or worse). One day I'll head to Goolara Peak from the Tinpot Mountain side, and see what it looks like just for fun. Also I'm really happy to finally get a good shot of a goanna, so it was worth it.

And I discovered a neat "Make Your Own Gear" trick:

I made a tripod out of my
(adapted) poles and a stick

Photo Gear Test

One of the things I always regretted a little bit about my AT hike was that I didn't have good camera with me. Like most hikers, I relied mostly on the camera in my phone which led to some decent shots but mostly pretty low quality stuff - particularly in the low light that often makes for the most beautiful images.

After that trip, I'd decided I would find a way to bring some quality gear with me on hiking treks to give myself better options. A couple of weeks ago, a friend invited me to join a group on a 30km (18mile) hike along the coast in New South Wales (The Coast Track, in the Royal National Park). This seemed like just the excuse I needed to buy some stuff and see what works. Discussion of the gear follows these pics.


For the gear heads, I have a Canon T6i (750D) DSLR with the standard kit lens (18-55mm). At some point I want a wider range zoom, and either a wide-angle prime lens or a portrait prime lens (I'll decide when I figure out what kinds of photos I tend to take more).  Before upgrading the lens, I wanted to figure out ways to carry stuff, so the first two things I wanted was a way to pack camera gear into a bag, and a way to carry the camera around that would keep it secured but also very accessible. I don't want to have to open my bag every time I want to take a shot, and I also don't want to have it dangling around my neck swinging while I walk.

Storage

f-stop's Small Shallow ICU

For the last hike along the Six Foot Track, I had a standard Lowepro bag. It's great for wandering cities and day-to-day, but I could never really get it to be convenient with a pack and poles. I'm not looking to carry a full pro rig or anything, so I settled on f-stop's small shallow ICU insert.  It's still too big for what I own but down the road I'll want to have spare batteries and a charger, filters, memory cards, and probably two lenses.

In the end I didn't really make much use of the insert except on the way to and from the track. The weather was beautiful and dry, and the track has no really technical bits. There were some beach walks where sand concerned me a bit, but never enough to make me hide the camera. I'll have to report back after I've taken it on a longer hike where I need to hide the camera more often (rock scrambles and weather), or have access to more options.

Accessibility

Doubles as a perfect bracket
for shooting your feet.

On the Six Foot, I had to constantly open my Lowepro bag and take the camera out whenever I wanted a shot, then return it to the bag when I was ready to walk again. For this trek, I picked up a Capture Clip from Peak Design. This clip attaches to your shoulder strap and allows you to suspend the camera (lens down) from the pack directly at chest level. A little release button is all it takes to pop the camera up and start shooting.

I loved it! The camera was always either in my hands or on the clip. It was super quick and easy to go from hands free to shooting. I did have to be a bit more cautious when putting the bag down, but that wasn't hard to remember since the camera was in my face.

Stability

Is that an MYOG monopod in your pocket,
 or...?

One final problem I need to solve is how to get a tripod without carrying a tripod. As a hiker, I generally dislike carrying anything that has only one purpose if I can avoid it, and a tripod does not have many other uses. I had seen some people talking about turning their trekking poles into monopods as a compromise. This also had the added appeal of being my very first make-your-own-gear project! I ran off to the local hardware store and picked up a small 1/4" thread bolt and two matching nuts, along with some epoxy. Half an hour with a drill and I had what I needed - thread the camera onto the protruding bolt at the top of the pole et voilà: Monopod! I was surprised at just how strong it was - most people are using them with small point-and-shoots, not DSLRs. My camera was solidly attached.

Cost: $4.

It was a very bright day, so there was no call for a monopod. I tried to force it a bit but any time I used a slow shutter speed, the shot came out badly overexposed. My sense was that the poles I'm currently using (Black Diamond adjustable poles) don't really provide the stability that I'd need with a heavier camera. I'll have to test it more fully when I get a better opportunity. I also don't love that I have to remove the Capture Clip baseplate before affixing the monopod. If this is going to work as a monopod, I might invest in some sort of mount for the top of the pole to avoid that minor irritant.

In the end the Capture Clip is my favourite thing ever, and I'm pretty sure the f-stop insert will be just right for my purposes. The monopod is still a work in progress. But gear aside, I had a great walk with a really eclectic mix of people (we were 17, including a Swedish former tennis pro, an American teaching English in Hong Kong, and a Welsh doctor).

For more of my photos, look at the following:

• @serjepedia: I'm least picky about photos on Instagram. Pretty much anything could end up here, but usually only one or two related to any event. More of a "this is what I did today" thing than a photography thing.
• Flickr/dimthoughts: Most of my good shots end up here. Lots of pics othat are good, but probably not of interest to people who don't know me or weren't involved in the events. The amount of post-processing varies a lot.
• 500px/kryptych: My best stuff goes here, usually after some more serious time in Lightroom/Photoshop. So if you want a small set of more highly curated photos, this is the place to go.

Paralympic Flashback

My post for August 6th in the White Mountains was titled More Of Same. Here's the whole post, reproduced for you:

Not much to note today really, except that I dodged two rainfalls by hanging out in huts where I met lots of nice families. Unfortunately, I left my map at the last one so I'm now mapless until Hanover.

That's it. I didn't get into any details, even though, in many ways, this was one of the most interesting days on the trail.

I think I was just too tired to get into details.

But today, a year and a half later, I'm going to fill one of those details in.

What I didn't mention is that one of the families I met and chatted with at length at one of the huts was Dannelle Umstead's. Her kids were wearing Australia green and gold caps, and when I asked about it they explained that it's because their mom travels a lot.

She travels a lot because she's a visually impaired Paralympic skier. She skied for the US Paralympic Team in Vancouver and Sochi and has three paralympic medals to show for it.

And today, she skis again representing the US at the Pyeongchang Paralympic Winter Games.

So I've decided to revisit that blog post just to say how cool it is that I met a paralympian. As much as I love the Olympics, I find the Paralympics about 10 times more inspiring. All olympic and paralympic athletes achieve levels of athleticism that most of us can only dream of - but paralympic athletes do it toiling in relative obscurity and with a tiny fraction of the financial support that other olympians get.

So I'll be watching the Paralympics again this year, and though I'll obviously be cheering for the Canadian athletes first - I'm also looking forward to seeing Danelle at work.

And just because I didn't include a photo last time, here's one I took that day:

New Camera and New Friends

The new DSLR makes selfies harder.

After the sad death of my camera on my last outdoors adventure, I went out and bought myself my very first real exchangeable lens DSLR (Canon EOS Rebel T6i/750D for camera gearheads).

Last weekend, the camera made its first trip into the bush as I hiked the 45km long Six Foot Track over a couple of days with a group of new friends.

The Cast

I was invited along by Anna, a good friend who is also an outdoor adventurer. She had a trip planned with two Brits and a couple of New Zealanders - making us a pretty eclectic mix of ex-pats. Most of the group were new to trail names, but the girls all found themselves with one by the end.  You can see from this group photo that I'm still getting used to the camera.

Anna (Gollum), Nigel, Krissy (Necky), Kirsten (Gnomey), and Mack

The Hike

For those not into the local bushwalking scene, the Six Foot Track is a 45 km "trail" that is probably most famous for the annual Six Foot Track Marathon race. It's one of those trails that everyone does at some point, and so this was our turn. As it turns out, the Six Foot Track really ought to be called the Never Ending Dirt Road. It felt like we spent half a day hiking in the woods, and a day and a half walking along a dirt fire trail - shared with trucks, cars, and dirt bikes. I wouldn't rate it highly for the walking.

On the plus side we did end up with some good wildlife. In addition to the usual array of kangaroos, wallabies, and lorikeets, we saw two echidna, a wombat, a lyrebird, and a large goanna. Sadly, I have still not ticked koala off of my list of Australian fauna seen in the wild. Next time, I guess.

Goanna gettin' hisself some eggs

Kangaroo. Tree. Harmony.

There is also a long suspension bridge at around the midway point which made for a bit of fun.

Necky did not hate the suspension bridge.

Trail Philosophy

Every hiker has their own approach to being on trail. After doing the AT, my style now leans heavily towards "minimalist self-deprivation." I also lean towards "camp is the place you stay while you wait to walk again." This is not a common hiking philosophy. The 6' Track crew was keen to get to camp early to have lots of time there. They also had a very different meal philosophy - where I happily dine on a diet of cliff bars and peanut butter wraps for a few days, our meal plan for this weekend included:

• fresh wraps with lettuce, tomato, cucumber, avocado, cheese, and deli meats for lunches; 
• mushroom risotto, banana custard, and a bit of port for dinner; 
• and coffee, tea, eggs, bacon, and toast for breakfast.

All of that was made with fresh ingredients, from scratch. Mack is a killer trail cook. Mack also made me carry a lot of food. I have mixed feelings about Mack. (But then, I've made a conscious decision to carry rocks for nothing in the past, so I suppose I won't hold this grudge.)

Trail cook extraordinaire.
Also an all around delightful guy.

Besides the gourmet food, it was rather nice to have some real time hanging out at camp. I even managed to redeem myself as a fire builder after the fiasco of my last attempt in Australia. I didn't even have to resort to accelerants.

Nigel takes a moment out from wombat spotting
to look very British on some logs.

Most of the highlights of the trip involved a lot of conversation, laughter and inside jokes. Unfortunately, those are difficult to convey here. Here's a picture of Necky trying to explain to Gollum what a meerkat is, for a flavour of the sort of thing:

If only the Italian word for meerkat was "meerkat",
this would have been much easier.

All in all, the hike was a great time. The trail itself was forgettable, but as is often the case in these things, the people made all the difference. I guess that's a good general life lesson: visit beautiful places, but most importantly, bring beautiful people.

Gnomey proves that even walking on a dirt road
can be fun with the right companions

Happy Trails!

(More photos taken with my shiny new toy here)

Old Camera and Old Friends

This post is a bit delayed, since the trip took place shortly before I had to pack up my life and move it around the world again. Now that I'm settled in, I have a few minutes to recap it.

The trip

Some of you will recall that around a year ago I had some friends visit me on the AT and take me to NYC. Well those same friends are also fans of the camping life, so while I was in Canada for the summer we decided to squeeze a four day canoe trip on Lake Opeongo in Algonquin Park into our schedules. (My schedule was easily squeezed - the others have jobs.)

The plan was to canoe 10-12kms out to a campsite on an island, set up there, camp/paddle and eat for a few days before paddling back to the cars. A little like creating our own version of Upper Goose Pond in Massachusetts.

The best part was that only half of us were paddling to the campsite - the rest were taking an outfitter's ferry. Such luxuries meant that we could bring a lot more gear and food, and have a bit more of a glamping experience. Which we did. In spades.

Day 1 - Getting to camp

Maple paddles like a champ.

Maple was new to backcountry canoeing, so we headed off to learn a little about shoulder strength. It was a fun, challenging paddle, including a moment when we discovered that we'd set off without a map of the lake, so had to rely on my memory for navigation.

I'm not really great at navigation with a compass and a map in hand, let alone having both of those things only in my brain. Fortunately for us, my memory worked really well when assisted (read, supplanted) by the Google maps I'd downloaded to my phone, so we still found our way to the campsite. On the way we were harassed by a large group of seagulls who thought we were being a bit cheeky paddling so close to their chicks in the water. In our defense, we didn't even notice the chicks until we were practically on top of them. The seagulls did not seem particularly interested in our excuses.

We arrived just in time to make camp, and begin what ended up as an epic multi-course meal prepped by Mike and Nettie. There really are some times when glamping is the way to go.

Day 2 - Goodnight sweet prints.

Friday morning it was clear that the forecasted rains were not going to pass us by. Most of the crew decided this was a perfect excuse to do not much of anything at all except sit at camp, read, nap, and otherwise just be happy not to be at the office.

Yours truly is not that wise.

I decided I'd grab a canoe and go for a paddle. Bundled up in waterproof wear I headed off into the light mist on a serene lake to enjoy the quiet (not many make their way out in this weather), and generally just be glad to be on a lake again. I took a few shots, some of which even turned out reasonably nicely and was feeling pretty good about myself.

Then I happened on an island where the water was so calm and still that it made for a nearly perfect mirror so I decided to find a good spot to turn the canoe sideways and take a picture that in my head would end up something like this:

Just as I turned myself into position to take the shot, and without any warning, I found myself in the lake frantically trying to get back to the surface.  I'm still not sure exactly how it happened - I mean, in the image to the right, you can see how glassy and calm the water is. It's unlikely that a sudden swell pushed me over. 

As I floated at the surface trying to don my PFD, I thought I must have leaned out too far to take the picture. That made a lot of sense until I realised that my camera was still in my zipped pocket which meant I hadn't gotten anywhere near that point in the process. Fortunately it also meant that I hadn't dropped the camera to the bottom of the lake, so I might still salvage photos from the memory card - though the camera was clearly now an ex-camera.

I didn't have a lot of time to think about these things though, while floating alone in the middle of a large lake. My thoughts turned to getting back into the canoe somehow. It was a long two-person canoe, so self-rescuing was going to be a tall task. Instead of burning a lot of energy that way, I swam it to the shore of the island. There a couple of young guys camping took time out of updating their instagram accounts with photos of this idiot who'd tipped his canoe on the calmest day in history to help me right the canoe and set out again.

In the background of this shot of our accompanying pupper (taken by Chantelle), you can see me returning to our camp as a drowned rat.

Hershey looks at the camera, probably wondering why I'm so wet.

Day 3 - Short excursion

Day 3 was relatively uneventful. Maple and I took a canoe ride out a few kms to a trailhead, hiked in to find the small deer pond that definitely wasn't worth the mosquitoes, and then headed back for camp. The rest of the day was just chilling out at the campsite now that the rains had passed.

Day 4 - Hershey starts to make sense.

Immediately on Day 1, Colin and Chantelle's dog had developed a couple of peculiar behaviours at the campsite. The first was a desperate dislike of the area near the fire pit. Hershey hated this place so much that when playing fetch she would run across the tent-flies around the outside of it rather than through the wide open space. Even if we placed the ball in the area, and tried to entice her with food, she'd look at us like we must be insane to be standing in what was so clearly the world's most terrifying 3 m².

She would also get uncharacteristically upset if anyone left the campsite, particularly as it got darker. And particularly if that person was Maple, who happened to be the smallest of the party.

On Day 4, Mike figured out why. While using the thunder box early in the morning, he saw something like a large cat scurry up a tree. He didn't get enough of a look to identify it (lynx or bobcat?), but now we reckon that it had sprayed near the fire and that Hershey could hear it going about at night so knew that the forest held dangers of which we were unaware.

The lesson here is, when your accompanying dog tells you a place is unsafe, don't ignore the pupper.

Luckily for us, this was our departure day allowing us to escape without any more dangerous big cat encounters. Maple had decided that she was done with canoeing so Colin agreed to paddle back with me while Maple would ride with Dave and Rebecca as a third in their canoe.

Epilogue

If I summarize the trip for people, I say "we accidentally camped on a lynx's home turf, and I lost my camera in a near drowning incident. So it was a pretty awesome weekend."

And on the way home I had an email confirming that my Australian work visa had come through, so it was now official: Wallaby was going home.

In which Wallaby heads home (part 2)

While I was travelling in Sydney, I'd been expecting the city to feel like home. I was surprised when it didn't particularly feel like a homecoming.

I was even more surprised when being in my tent in the woods did feel like home. Apparently I'm now most at home when homeless.

Air mattress update:

It turns out my air mattress is still leaking, but slowly enough that I was able to get lots of good rest. I did wake up needing to reinflate it twice. I think I may be forced to replace it, but for now it still works.

(I know. Boring story. Most of hiking is about minutiae, really.)

Day 2

Day 2 opened with a beautiful sunrise over Pigeon House (I think) in the distance.

Sunrise over Pigeon House

[Ed Note: I have confirmed the Pigeon House sighting.]

I sat and quietly watched the sun come up for a bit and then broke camp, had breakfast, replenished my water, and headed off for the day's hike. Originally, I didn't think a 10-15km hike would be that bad, but after the trail yesterday I was now a lot more concerned about the clock. If today's trail was as challenging, I was going to be in trouble.

In the end, the hike was considerably friendlier (though still a good trek). And the rewards were well worth the effort: The Nibellung Pass and the deep, dark, lush vegetation was amazing.

A little more work than
your typical stroll

Hard to believe what can grow
in the dark

Lush green. It was too dark to really
get good pictures in the depths.

From the dark wet valleys, I'd come up to what felt like dry ridges, but was really the Monolith Valley corridor between Mount Cole and the Seven Pinnacles. It was truly spectacular. Unfortunately my camera seems to have had enough of my adventures so the photos aren't coming out as well as I'd have liked.

Monolith Valley

A quick shower to cool down

I had planned to walk around Mount Cole and climb over through a small ravine between Mounts Cole and Owen, but as I approached the entry point to the ravine, the clock started ticking in my head. The access looked passable, but I couldn't tell from below how technical it would be, and I knew if I was going to retrace my steps I needed to do so right away. I'm not usually one to take the easy way, but hiking alone in an unfamiliar area, and knowing that the last 7k of trail was going to be challenging, I decided not to risk the climb.

Besides, I'd enjoyed the Seven Pinnacles and the Nibellung pass so much that I was happy to experience it again.

Final verdict: It felt really good to be back on a trail again. I really wish I could have made it a three day hike though, especially after reading this report.

GPS trail info: Cooyoyo - Mount Cole - The Castle, The Castle - Long Gully Campground

In which Wallaby heads home (part 1)

After months of being off the trail, and recently seeing both Trout and Foggy start their PCT journeys, I've been absolutely itching to get back into the woods. Conveniently, I've also found myself in Australia visiting friends again for three weeks. This meant time for a little bit of a bushwalk in NSW for possibly the last time.

Me, showing off

Years ago a fellow Sydney Bushwalkers Club member (also Canadian) had told me that the Castle Track and around through the Monolith Valley was one of the best hikes he'd ever done here. It had always been on my list to try and get to it, so I figured this was as good a chance as was ever likely to come along. Sadly, Pouch has retired to my parents' basement, so I sewed the proof of my hiker credentials onto my smaller pack, borrowed a friend's mum's car, and set out for Morton National Park and the Budawangs.

Things I was about to try out:

1. no cook hiking: with only a 32L pack, space is at a premium so instead of bringing a stove and fuel, I thought I'd save some real estate and try eating only cold food.
2. the patch on my mattress: Near the end of the AT, my mattress had sprung a slow leak. A few weeks ago I patched it, but still hadn't had time to test it out.

Originally I'd planned for three days, but heavy rains on the first day forced me to shorten the trek to two days. The goal was to drive the 4 hours to the trailhead, and then make my way 7km to the Cooyoyo Creek camping area, possibly summitting The Castle on the way. The next day, I'd hike out through the Monolith Valley, past the Seven Pinnacles, circle around Mount Cole and cross through between Cole and Mount Owen, then make my way back along the Castle Track to the car. This would be around 15-20km.

Day 1

For day 1, I figured 7km was no more than 2.5 hours of hiking, so this should be easy.

I was wrong. 

The Castle Track, while not particularly difficult, is slow going. It's a long steady uphill with narrow track, tonnes of roots and rocks to scramble over, and lots of false tracks to lead a wallaby astray. It took me a solid 4 hours to get to the campground - partly because it was slow going, and partly because I'd assumed it would be faster so I wasn't pushing it. By the time I got there, I was worried about getting up to The Castle and back before dark. I knew there were some more treacherous climbs, and am not a fan of descending rock scrambles in the dark.

There were, however, some nice rewards along the way.

I think that's Pigeon House in the distance, but it's not on my map, so I can't be sure.

Sometimes nature tells you its time to take a shower.

Near camp, I met a group of hikers who were planning to go watch the sunset from the Castle. This seemed like a brilliant idea. We could go up without packs, and the track back to the campground was easy to follow, so hiking in the dark wouldn't be so bad.

Wrong again. It turns out that trying to summit The Castle from the east side requires a very steep, difficult rock climb without ropes. I'm not the most agile of climbers, but one of the girls was obviously very strong (and she recognized my AT patch!). When she decided it wasn't safe, we all abandoned the cause and headed back to camp. If time permitted, I figured I'd attempt it again from the west side on my way back the next day.

One of the things that I'd thought after hiking the AT was that cooking meals was unnecessary for the most part. You never go more than 4 days without hitting town, so you can get hot meals pretty regularly. Going a few days without one didn't seem like it would be that difficult (at least during the warmer months). In cold weather, or for longer sections (say the 100 Mile Wilderness), it might be tougher. But for a quick two day hike in warmer temperatures, I really didn't miss a hot meal at all.

... in which Wallaby proves that thru-hiking the AT does not require skill.

It was now about 6pm, and dark (it's autumn here). With a lot of hours to kill, a fire seemed in order - and it would have been. Except that I had forgotten to buy a lighter. And I hadn't brought my flint. And I only had one, broken, storm match left in my emergency kit.

So it's 6pm in the dark, and I have exactly one chance at making a fire after a heavy rainfall. People think that if you've done a lot of hiking like the AT, you must be skilled. This is not true. AT thru-hikers are merely persistent. On the AT, you rarely make fires, or do anything that actually requires a learned skill. I met many, many thru-hikers who didn't know any knots, or how to make a fire, or how to navigate/trap food/find water/etc... We are not survivalists.

So here I am with only one match and wet fire making materials. Suffice to say that the light breeze rapidly did away with the small flicker of a flame that I was able to make.

So now it's 6pm, dark, and I have no chance of making a fire. I supposed this meant it was time to go test the mattress.

(Part 2 to follow)