What I Wouldn’t Have Done If I Would Have Known: Bolaro Mountain

It’s always darkest before the dawn and the worst bushwacking is always at the very end of the route. “Do you have a headlamp?” Doug asked when we left home this morning. “Why would I need a headlamp we’ll be back at the car in four hours.” I confidently stated (the marriage of ineptitude and self-confidence again). After all, I’d been up Bolaro Mountain twice before (once on the fire trail and once up and down bushwacking) and, even allowing time to explore creeks and slabs and boulders, I had never spent more than four hours on the mountain.

The plan was simple: follow CPT532/1 to its end and then gain a ridge which we could follow pretty much to the top although the ridge flattened out near the summit. Everything went quite well for the first few kilometres, up until about 500 metres (above sea level). It was surprisingly hot, sweaty and humid for late April, but the bush was not too bad and we were making reasonable time. There were some big boulders that gave views north to the Budawangs and east to the coast – we could even see the Tollgate Islands.

With only about 100 metres of elevation gain remaining the bush got thicker and thicker and thicker and thicker. Some kind of leafy annual that was growing about 2 to 3 metres high and matted thicker than a rastafarian’s hair. Under the leafy annual were fallen tree trunks, roots and rocks, and in between the rastafarian annual were thick patches of bushfire regrowth, mostly acacias, but also eucalypts. And, of course, the vines. Over the top of everything vines.

Progress forward involved pushing the annual aside and down enough to balance on. We were not actually walking on the ground, more like 50 centimetres above the ground suspended on a mat of interlocked stems. We were probably averaging about 200 metres an hour. After some time during which we seemed to be making very little progress and the map/GPS showed we had actually crossed over the old fire trail, Doug wondered aloud if the fire trail was completely gone. I tried to remember last time I had run up to the top of Bolaro Mountain, but I could not quite locate a date (it was September 2021). “There can’t be nothing left,” I said plaintively. “This alien life form could have covered everything.” Doug replied.

We took another bearing and pressed – literally - on, and, within a few minutes we had stumbled out onto the old fire trail. Overhung with vegetation and narrowed down nearly to single track, but the fire trail! I have a picture from the first time I went to the summit (via a very similar route) and the difference is startling. As the other old adage runs “three times a charm” and it’s unlikely I’ll be up on Bolaro Mountain again.

Know Fear or No Fear

Being scared is no fun. Your legs shake, your hands sweat, you either hyperventilate or forget to breathe – it’s hard to say which one of those is worse – your vision narrows and options disappear. But, nobody has to be scared because despite what you see in the media, or among your friends, or even when you look in the mirror, your emotions are not you. It is possible to control your emotions and possible to control your fear. This is the basis of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT), which has proved to be one of the most effective treatments for psychological distress that humans have invented.

Memorial Route, Idaho

Doug’s wrist is still a bit of a bother so I led all the pitches today. I’ve been known to be an anxious leader even when the climb is quite safe. Once, I almost blacked out while leading an easy slab route! I don’t think many people can say that, although it’s likely not something I should brag about.

Prophecy Wall, Utah

On the first lead of the day, always a bit shaky, I thought “I don’t want to be scared all day. Fear sucks and it will ruin my day.” So I wasn’t. I fell off a few times, I thrutched a bit, I used my mantra, which is: “you can do this, you can do this, you can do this,” repeated as many times as needed, and I had a fantastic day. Because I am not my emotions and neither are you.

Surf Landings

The marriage of ineptitude and self-esteem. Tucker Carlson.

In a somewhat shocking turn of events, I listened to Joe Rogan interview Tucker Carlson yesterday, and, while some of Carlson’s ideas seem a bit out there, others made a lot of sense. Wikipedia describes Carlson, among other things as “the leading voice of White grievance politics” (their capitalisation). But I’m not sure what else one would expect from the hive mind virus controlled Wikipedia which is not exactly a source of unbiased information. 

In any event, I like the comment above so much that I might adopt it as a guiding philosophy for life, for who among us has not married ineptitude with self-esteem? It certainly is the mark of most of the so called experts who talk among us. Yes, I mean talk.

We are into the most fabulous weather period where I live. Sharp crisp mornings and sunny calm days. Perfect for every outdoor activity that can be imagined. I’ve gone back to the Sunday paddles, but with a twist. I want these paddles to be varied, some social days, some fast days, some far days, some skill days. I accept that I’ll be on my own some days, and some days there will only be a couple of other paddlers. But, my Mum always said (when I was a kid and begging for something we could not afford) “just because so and so jumped off a cliff – would you?” I expansively interpret this to mean that sometimes if you want to do something, you have to do that something alone.

PC: Unknown photographer

Today we went surfing, or surf landing. Nick was quick to point out that there is a difference between the two. Mostly I was “surf landing” as surf landing is what I will be tested on, but I admit that I snuck in a few rides as well. Conditions were fabulous. A nice wave to ride, and a handy rip which wisked us back out for more runs. The sun was shining and the water is still warm. Almost too much fun.

Hard Scrabble on Mount Scabby

I don’t know where or how Mount Scabby got it’s name, but I’ve seen the alluring open slabs, meadow and tarn that make up the U shaped summit area from multiple other peaks in the Namadgi Wilderness (Mounts Kelly and Burbidge, Mount Namadgi and Mount Gudgenby) enough times that a trip to Mount Scabby was unavoidable. It was my birthday in mid April, and, in leiu of parties, gifts and decadent dinners, I chose as my birthday celebration an overnight walk into the Scabby Range Nature Reserve to climb Mount Scabby. The older I get the more important these birthday events become; my annual benchmark for proving I can still “get shit done.”

There are multiple approaches to Mount Scabby, some involve more or less travel time on tracks. The final climb out of the valley is a bushwack no matter what approach you choose. We opted to walk up the Nass Valley on the Old Boboyan Fire Trail (FT). Not the shortest approach but not the longest either, and the first five kilometres were along a part of the valley we had not visited before.

I’m not a great fan of these fire trail walks as the ground tends to be hard underfoot. It would certainly be possible, if your partner was not recovering from a broken wrist, to bicycle the first 11 kilometres along the Old Boboyan FT and then Sams Creek FT. We walked, and although I did find the ground hard, the walk is pleasant enough along an open grassy valley once a farm, but now National Park.

We stopped for a break after 11 kilometres where Sams Creek FT meets Maurice Luton FT. Sams Creek FT continues north all the way to Rotten Swamp near Mount Burbidge except it is heavily overgrown now and is a bushwack all the way, most of the FT being indistinguishable from the surrounding bush especially the further north you get. Maurice Luton FT climbs up to a 1350 metre saddle before descending steeply to cross Sams Creek. The creek falls steeply through a massive tumble of large granite boulders.

The open grassland of Yaouk Creek valley is to your south as you walk along an old fire trail through open forest passing another two fire trails that lead south past farm land to the Yaouk Road (a decidedly shorter approach). We had been expecting copious water along this section given how much rain had fallen lately, but soon discovered that once we left Yaouk Creek many of the side creeks were dry. Just as we were thinking we would have to go back to find a camp, we came across a flowing stream that drains the Scabby Range near the junction of Maurice Luton FT and Reids FT. We made a good camp on soft grass under some eucalpyts and brewed up a well deserved cup of tea. Days are short, however, and within a couple of hours, it was dark and we were inside our tent.

The next day we continued along Maurice Luton FT for a couple more kilometres until we reached 1300 metres and a steep slope leading up to a southwest outlier of Mount Scabby. The first 200 metres (elevation gain) of bushwacking, while steep, was actually quite reasonable through relatively open eucalpyt forest. But, around 1500 metres that abruptly changed and for the next 200 vertical metres we fought through increasingly scrubby and thick brush eventually emerging onto a slabby clear area. We had just under 1 kilometre and 100 metres of elevation gain to the top which, from a distance, looked like more hard scrabble, but turned out to be reasonable travel again and ended in easy walking up clear granite slabs.

Mount Scabby is a U shaped mountain with the headwaters of the Cotter River cradled within the U. The 1:20,000 topographic map wrongly labels the western summit “Mount Scabby” while the eastern summit is actually higher. The entire summit area, however, is open and pleasant walking so we visited all three cairned high points, finally settling on the highest for a long lunch break. A small tarn, not the small lake known as Scabby Tarn, lies above granite corners and slabs on the long south ridge. Pleasant country once you manage to get through all the bush.

As we began our descent, a huge wedge tail eagle glided over the saddle and disappeared down the Cotter Valley. Unfortunately, our line down from the summit was just slightly tilted to the south and the fall line descent kept pulling us into thicker and thicker brush. Our initial expectation of a couple of hundred metres of dreadful bush became 500 metres descent through dreadful bush as we continuously tried to bear a little north, but terrain, granite boulders and bush all conspired to push us south.

Just after 3:00 pm we emerged from bush onto Maurice Luton FT and the short walk back to camp and cups of tea. Any thoughts of walking part way out that afternoon faded as quickly as the light and we were soon back in the tent for another frosty night.

When you’ve been asleep since 8:00 pm you tend to wake early and it was still dark when I got up and found the stove, crawled back into my sleeping bag in the tent and made us both a hot cup of coffee. Leaving camp just after 7:00 am, we walked past frosty grass on the big open plains and low fog lying along the base of the hills. A final few kilometres stony walk out watched by the mobs of kangaroos that live on the open grasslands, and the trip was over.

How to Make Hill Sprints Less Painful: The Headlands Track Episode

The title is a bit perjorative implying that hill sprints are painful and no-one really likes doing them. But hill sprints are painful and it’s a rare person who says “Yay for today, I get to go run up hills until I puke and my legs shake. Woot, woot, can’t wait.” Maybe that’s you, and, if it is, more power to you, brother, as we used to say in the ‘80’s.

I haven’t been on the south end of the Headlands track since December 2023, so I hopped the bus down to Malua Bay with the intention of walking back home and using all the hills along the Headlands track for sprint intervals.

The southern start of the Headlands track is McKenzies Beach but the nearest bus stop is Malua Bay. I went south from Malua Bay to Pretty Point where a huge amount of track work has been done: trail clearing and widening, gravel laid down in the boggy areas, steps and stairs, and seats at the lookout.

After a lap around Pretty Point I sprinted back up the hill and slithered down the track to the south end of Malua Bay. This section of track still needs an upgrade. Malua Bay is getting a big face lift with a new picnic area, toilets, kids playground and adult exercise area. Sprinting up the north end of Malua Bay, I found two new lookouts with seats, one right out at Malua Head and one looking south from the top of the hill.

Then it was on to Mosquito Bay where I used the new ladder down to the beach and passed some more steps being installed on the north side! Up and down, up and down, until I was at the last significant hill, the steps up to the hill south of Wimbie Beach. The footings for a new bridge are in and a new track to access the bridge across the lagoon has been established, but no bridge yet. My legs were shaky by the time I got to the top of Wimbie Hill, and, by my count, I had done 15 hill intervals, which seemed like a pretty good number. The track is going to be so fantastic when it is finished.

The Happiness of Pursuit

“The happiness of pursuit…” Robert Sapolksy

I was two thirds of the way around the Dam Loop on my mountain bike when I realised that the reason the track seemed excessively rocky was because I had my front shocks locked out. The last time I rode the Dam Loop I was with my nephew (30 years my junior); he was on his electric one wheel and I on my mountain bike. Every 10 to 15 minutes he would ask “Are you alright? Do you need water?” I wasn’t aware I looked like death and actually felt pretty good even though I been out in my sea kayak that morning.

My goal on the Dam Loop is almost always the same – ride the whole loop without putting a foot down. I rarely make it, but soak up the “happiness of pursuit” anyway. Bike technology has come so far (I don’t mean E-bikes) that I am amazed what an old lady like me, who rarely rides, can ride once equipped with a drop seat, disc brakes, front and rear shocks. Wouldn’t it be great if we could all rise to the challenge of how technology expands the possible?

Avoiding Leeches: Tomboye Hill and Benandarah Trig

I think we’ve all been there. You’re sitting in the car just about to drive home after spending the past five hours out bushwacking, and, you feel something just a bit off on the back of your head, so you wipe it with your hand which comes away bloody. Flipping down the visor the make-up mirror reveals a big fat leech attached to your neck. Or maybe, you are driving down the highway, 100 km/hour and you glance down; a leech is dancing its way up your pants leg, and there is nowhere to pull over. You wake up screaming, no wait, it’s real life!

When I got home on Thursday, I had seven leech bites, including three on my head. My shoes were so destroyed I simply threw them and the socks straight into the bin. On Sunday, after all that rain, I had no intention of going back into leech country, so I started from Shannons Road near Cullendulla and ran north to Tomboye Hill and back. Tomboye Hill has been on my agenda for a long time simply because it is a hill with a name. There is a single track “moto” track that crosses Tomboye Hill but the moto tracks are known leech country being narrow and wet, best avoided after 100 mm of rain.

There’s no view from Tomboye Hill, although you can see the ocean as you contour past on the north side and the final track to the top is classic leech country: narrow, wet and overhung with vegetation. Benandarah Trig, more commonly known as Big Bit Lookout has views, but the superlatives given on various websites might be a bit over the top. There is a view, but the 360 degree views claimed include a fair bit of forest. According to my Garmin watch, where tracking includes unsolicited gamification – I got about seven new awards for the trip. The exact same number of leech bites I had a few days earlier.