2022: The Year That Crazy Broke

Intermittently, at this time of the year, I’ve written a “year in review” post. In 2014, it was the seven best trips of the year, which I repeated with less literary skill at the end of 2017. 2020, which was the year lock-down madness peaked, I wrote about local adventures. I could call 2022 the year that crazy broke, as the world went from full scale draconian lock-downs with police enforcement to learning to live with the ‘Rona, which, of course, should have been the goal from the very beginning given an infection fatality rate of well under a single percent before the availability of any “vaccines.”

PC: DB

First, the best trips of 2022 were, in no particular order:

• Crossing eastern Bass Strait by sea kayak.
• A 500 kilometre sea kayak trip 80 kilometres off the coast of North Queensland.
• Bushwalking trips in the Namadgi Wilderness, particularly Mount Gudgenby and Sentry Box Mountain and Mounts Kelly and Burbridge.

A couple of shorter, easier trips make the list simply because they were local and memorable because normal was a little bit mixed up and I believe strongly in adventuring locally:

• Rock platforms at sunrise.
• Islands at sunset on the winter solstice.

More important, however, than the ramblings of someone far too old still trying to perform at activities for the much younger are the lessons learnt in 2022:

• Challenge yourself to think differently.
• Understand that “experts” are frequently biased, corrupt, incompetent or all of the aforementioned.
• Keep working at the seemingly impossible, eventually you might just succeed.
• Celebrate every day that you can still do what you love by doing what you love, even if you only manage a few minutes or hours a day.
• Don’t waste time, that most irreplaceable of resources, trying to argue, convince, influence or change anyone else. Use your influence on yourself.

And, what do you know, that adds to five, which is a big enough number to be meaningful but small enough for us to wrap our heads around.  Get out there into 2023 and don’t let the anyone convince you that barricading playgrounds and perpetuating a culture of fear has anything to do with public health.

Finding Peace: Dark Beaches and Wild Camping

A friend of mine, a giant of a man who has punched salt water crocodiles and towed sea kayaks snapped in half by “boomers” (towering long period ocean swells) across the southern ocean recently auditioned for something called “Adventurous Australians.” Adventurous Australians are, apparently those who, and I quote: “have stories to share that are related to… Flying (lessons, scenic flights, sky diving, hot air ballooning; Driving (car racing, motorbikes, luxury cars); Dining (fine dining and wine tasting); Ocean (sailing cruises, swimming with dolphins).

Crossing Bass Strait in a sea kayak, paddling to Thursday Island, these things are not adventurous really when compared to fine dining and driving a luxury car! In his audition, Dave, who did not make the cut - damper cooked in an open fire in the middle of a six week sea kayak sojourn obviously does not qualify as “fine dining” - described sea kayaking as “audacious… out there in tiny boats … on a sometimes angry ocean.”

Funnily enough, even on days such as the two we just had, where the ocean is almost glassy calm, disturbed only by a long period, slow rolling ocean swell, sea kayaking can feel at once audacious and incredibly calming.

On Christmas Day, we loaded our kayaks with food, water and camping gear for a short overnight trip and trolleyed them down to our local beach. We paddled north, past sandy coves, rocky headlands and islands inhabited only by sea birds. Dolphins paced us and shear-waters floated in flocks on water indistinguishable from the sky. Landing on a steep beach under large cliffs, we tucked our kayaks away and spent the afternoon and evening walking through the forest or simply sitting mugs of tea in hand watching the ocean swells roll in and out.

In the morning, with sea fog shrouding the beaches, we pushed off again, in our tiny boats, on an ocean sometimes angry, sometimes calm but always offering a place where we can at once feel both small and connected to something larger than ourselves.

Photo credits:  DB

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

On Thursday we paddled over to Cullendulla on what felt like the first day of summer, warm, sunny, light winds, and practised some rolls. I ended up the last summer season with a pretty solid roll on both sides, but I started this season stiff and clunky, hanging upside down thinking “what is it I do now?” About a week ago, I’d blown my first roll, blown my re-entry and roll, and finally, after about three tries, I managed to re-enter and get up using that old stand-by the Pawlatta roll. I felt half-drowned but was, of course, fine.

Yesterday was better, a dozen or more rolls on my good side; I get up pretty easily but the roll feels stiff and clunky. I also managed 5 or 10 rolls on my off-side, although I did have to divert to a Pawlata roll a few times. That’s not bad, zero to 10 in one short session, which is a mathematically incalculable increase because if you multiply anything by zero you get zero.

The point of the previous two paragraphs is that failure must inform progress. You simply cannot succeed simply by trying harder if you’re strategy is wrong. My unbridled inclination on my off-side is to set up, panic, and pull on the paddle. Of course, this does not work, as my first few off-side attempts showed. One must instead, set up, calm the mind, and then use what-ever cue works to trigger a full sweep of the paddle, an appropriately timed hip flick with the head trailing and, then, you are up. This takes less than a minute and is over so quickly that you have to wonder what all the fuss was about.

If you are trying to improve, each attempt should feature a quick debrief so that you can correct errors next time around. Debriefing however, although something that we all acknowledge as vitally important generally deteriorates, almost immediately, into ego massaging or avoidance. Something about our frail and foible filled human minds means that actually admitting error is, even when the error was almost fatal, almost universally a shit show of excuses and platitudes.

And so, after four long paragraphs, I finally come to crux of the post, when a debrief is not a debrief but a group hug session and almost, apart from the warm and fuzzies that come from group hugs, virtually useless.

I wrote previously about the gentleman impaled by an ice axe and this morning (my time) The Sharp End Podcast had a live question and answer with the two protagonists. The story was briefly recounted but most of the podcast involved how the two “victims” were physically progressing now. The gentleman, and “bless him” (we all know “bless him” is a preamble to saying something less than complimentary) has recovered well and is incredibly optimistic, even talking about climbing Mount Denali (‘nuff said). The lady, however, has recovered less well both mentally and physically and, as she admits, her climbing days may be over. This is clearly not a win-win situation and anything that could have prevented this outcome is worth entertaining no matter how seemingly ridiculous.

Ninety-nine percent of the audience comments were group hug, warm and fuzzy, “love you” comments which are nice enough but completely unhelpful. This would be very similar to Doug saying to me as he watched me flop back into the water after a failed roll “big hugs, you got this, love you.” Kind of sweet, in a sacchariny fake sweet kind of way but does nothing to get my kayak right way up with me still seated in it.

A couple of people (one mysteriously called bramblerumblefumble) and I mean literally two out of a couple of dozen, asked about things that could have prevented the accident – the use of running belays, ice axe belays, placing pickets, etc. Gob-smackingly, even the host of the show used the phrase “coulda, shoulda, woulda” which like “bless her” is code for “Don’t you understand this was an accident, completely unpreventable and coming, like a bolt from god, out of the proverbial blue?”

Except it wasn’t. It’s clear that the two victims were NOT operating within a reasonable safety zone. They were both so close to the edge that falling over occurred in a fraction of a second. Accidents like these (both victims had extensive injuries) are costly, both from an economic point of view but also from lost opportunity, pain and suffering, ongoing mental and physical impairments. Putting myself in their shoes, if I could prevent something like that, with fairly simple actions, I would. I certainly hope I would not resort to “coulda, shoulda, woulda” justifications for not recognising my limitations.

In answer to the two questions about simple activities that could have prevented the accident, after the grimace inducing “coulda, shoulda, woulda” comment, both victims said that people do not normally use running belays, pickets, ice-axe belays, or any other sensible safety precautions on the terrain they were on. This is true, but most people may well be more competent than these two people, and most people do not fall and impale themselves on an ice axe. Alex Honnold just soloed a bunch of rock climbing routes in Red Rock Canyon during his HURT event. I’ve been on routes in Red Rocks when soloists climbed past my belays. That’s fine and perfectly acceptable if you are operating within a large margin of safety. If you are teetering on the edge, so tenuously anchored to the slope that you are starting to worry about how you are going to get down (victims words) or unable to pause for even a minute or two, you do not have the margin of safety to operate like Honnold, soloing. Just because most people do not do something does not mean you should not either.

It’s like correcting a failed roll. It does me no good to keep doing the same thing and hoping for a different result. Here’s a couple of folks whose bench-mark skill is below the average climber on Mount Rainier (remember they are climbing the easiest route on the mountain). High fiving yourself and “coulda, woulda, shoulda” does not remove your weaknesses. Bless them, it’s time to step back, learn how to use an ice axe in both self-belay and self arrest mode, climb snow/ice slopes in balance, when and how to use pickets, how to identify a no-fall zone, etc. When they have done all that, they can return to the mountains and, like the average climber, summit Mount Rainier without the need for running belays, etc.

Habits Make The Day

The change gurus tell us that the way to make lasting change – and surely personal change is one of the most difficult of human tasks, else why do we fail so often ? – is to make small incremental habit changes. Gradually, each small change is stacked one upon another as bricks in the wall until one day a new person emerges. The only people who view this as a linear experience are the ones who believe in a land where unicorns frolic under rainbows with pots of bitcoin at either end, or that watching or making TikTok videos is a great way to spend your time. Change, like the sea, is an up and down process.

I have no doubt this model of change works for some people some of the time. But even small habits changes can require large doses of grit. Eating junk food or smoking cigarettes. On the surface, these are pretty small habit changes, eat eggs for breakfast instead of oatmeal or any other breakfast cereal (which is basically just sugar), or, stop smoking, not buying cigarettes will basically ensure you never smoke again. In reality, both of these habit changes are infinitely more difficult due to complex reward sequences wired into our brains, and, as anyone who has tried to quit addictive substances will attest to, neither of these small changes are easy at all.

As do most folks, I have a couple of morning habits – with the exception of coffee which is actually a requirement to life not a habit – the first is to meditate for 10 minutes, the second is to walk for an hour (unless I have plans to go rock climbing, or bushwalking, or any other thing that will entail a minimum one hour walk). Neither of these things are really hard, but some days, it’s hard to follow through.

Take today, I’m stiff and a bit sore from the activities of the week – paddling and climbing on my home wall on Monday, trail running and strength training on Tuesday, rock climbing on Wednesday – and I could easily make another coffee and see what’s happening with the Twitter files, but, #habits. So, off I go walking. Habits are much easier to keep if you simply do not indulge in rethinking them.

All the pictures in today’s blog post are from the “work in progress” Batemans Bay Coastal Headlands Walking Trail. This trail has been a long time coming (around 2010) but is finally being upgraded although it will not be finished until 2024. Late last week, walking along the track between Denhams and Surf Beaches, I noticed that there was new flagging and recent clearing of overgrown areas, and later that day, when we paddled south from our home beach to go surf kayaking, I saw some guys in fluorescent work-wear clearing the track along the cliff edge.

A couple of days after that, on my usual morning walk, I strolled through the reserve to Caseys Beach and followed the route of the Headlands Walking Trail around to Sunshine Cove and south almost all the way to Denhams Beach. What a delight. The little track had been getting quite overgrown and difficult to navigate, but it has been cleared all the way south to what will be one of the final lookouts on this section of track before the route detours around private property.

This track will be a real asset to both the community and visitors as the scenery is lovely, there are multiple points to access the track and either end is accessible by local transit. It’s great to see work finally underway. Particularly nice for locals, who’ve been walking along this track for years is the now clear delineation between public and private land. Quite a few properties that back onto the track have, over the years, expanded their back gardens into the reserve and walking the reserve, although public space, has felt uncomfortable.

For sure my #habit of early morning walking just got way, way easier as I can simply stroll down the street and onto the track.

You Can See Better From The Sea: Walking Booderee National Park

The south coast kayak Christmas event was at Greenpatch last weekend, although it barely feels like summer in southeastern Australia. Distracted by other things – mostly more rock climbing routes – Doug and I drove up without kayaks intending to walk around Booderee National Park instead of paddling with the squad. We’ve paddled around this big headland before, most recently in August when Doug got his new kayak, yet I have never walked the tracks.

Governor Head

On Saturday, we set off on a walk around the southern area of the park: from Steamers Beach to Blacks Waterhole covering all stops along the way. This was a nice walk but mostly the track is away from the cliffs and coast so you only see the really spectacular scenery every so often when a side track leads out to the coast. Lots of pretty spots, however, and Blacks Waterhole is lovely for a final rest stop before walking the old road back.

Bowen Island

Sunday, we were heading home but walked a shorter northern circuit, out to Murrays Beach and Governor Head where you can overlook Bowen Island, then south through open heath with views to the old Cape St George lighthouse. Paddling along this spectacular coast I had often looked up and wondered which is a better way to view the coast, by kayak or foot. Kayak wins.

Caves south of Governor Head