Paddling Up A River

It’s been a long time since I have had a “day after leg day” like yesterday. My last six week training cycle was almost all body weight training - think old school calisthenics - four sets of six reps of the fundamental human movements (push, pull, hinge, squat) mostly body weight but some accessory training with weights. Four different workouts repeated weekly for six weeks, which is very close to a Dan John style “Easy Strength” program. I am now on a short two week cycle of heavy strength and power, one day of each per week for two weeks.

Dan John, and many others, have found that easy strength training works, probably by leveraging the little and often principle which reduces fatigue while increasing skill and allows for more frequent training in the long run. Easy strength is great, but there is still a need to push harder on occasion with those workouts that some call “break-through” and others (Dan John) think of as “Bus Bench.” Monday was a Bus Bench day and it was gratifying to add weight to the bar and realise that the calisthenic “Park Bench” sessions did exactly as designed, increased capacity without too much fatigue and muscle soreness.

Tuesday, however, was certainly a “day after leg day” kind of day. I needed to get in a paddle training session but wanted to break the day up with some perambulation midway. I’m not necessarily super happy about leaving my kayak and kit on an easily accessible beach while I walk for an hour or two, so I decided I would paddle up the Clyde River where I could stash the kayak in the bush out of sight and hike uphill for a bit instead.

The best trip I’ve done like this up the Clyde River is the Sunday we paddled up to the Buckenbowra River and hiked up Sugarloaf Hill. This time I planned to paddle a slightly shorter distance up Mundarlow Creek and possibly end up somewhere near the inexplicably named “Humbug Gully.” Paddling the Clyde River for sea kayak training is really cheating a bit. I endeavour to do all my training paddles on the ocean. I don’t think sheltered river or lake paddling translates all that well to paddling on the open ocean exposed to the unpredictable mix of wind, swell, and sea. However, this is the first, and will be the last, of my training paddles on the river, so perhaps I can be excused this once. Or not, I’m okay with being called out.

On a winter’s morning, it is common for a westerly wind to drain out the Clyde River valley but I had the tide with me paddling from my home bay, across the Batemans Bay bar (no drama today) and up the river. In the winter, midweek the Clyde River really is a peaceful place, reflections on the water, fish jumping, herons and pelicans among the oyster farms. It took a bit of paddling about to find a spot to land up Mundarlow Creek. It was about half tide and the shore was mostly knee deep (literally as I discovered) in sucking mud with clumps of oysters interspersed. Just as I was about to give up I found the terminus of an old fire trail with solid ground and I was able to land and heft the kayak up into the scrub.

The overgrown fire trail took me up to the Runnyford Road – a high quality gravel road – in a half an hour with the usual face slapping from post-fire regrowth. The Runnyford Road was dusty and dry, unappealing in a different way to regrowth, so I turned around. Back at the River, I drank tea, thought about how good it would be to have lunch with me, and enjoyed the peace of this backwater of the Clyde River on a sunny winter’s day.

There’s always a head wind on the Clyde River no matter which way you paddle. The tide up Mundarlow Creek seemed to be at stasis point so I expected to have the current with me once I paddled back to the main Clyde River, but, alas, the tide was still running west up the Clyde River. So I had both the wind and the tide in the wrong direction – or right from a training perspective - back out to Batemans Bay. Perhaps such an occurrence makes up for paddling on the river not the ocean.

Objective Standards

It’s not the best of times or the worst of times, it’s the strangest of times. A friend of mine, currently heavily involved with the health care system as a consumer, related her experience with one of her ancillary health care providers recently. Ancillary providers, for those lucky enough NOT to be ongoing and active consumers of health care are professionals like exercise physiologists, podiatrists, physiotherapists, psychotherapists, and counsellors. This ancillary health care provider was well indoctrinated into the concept of “patient centred care” and asked my friend what her goals for therapy were. Which sounds really reasonable. Much like a “Voice to Parliament” or “gender affirming care.” Intuitively, it makes sense that better outcomes will prevail if the “consumers” of care choose their own goals. But is intuition right?

As firmly entrenched as society is now in what some call “the post truth era” and others think of as simply delusional, it seems archaic to think that objective standards might result in better outcomes than the pursuit of insubstantial and shifting personal goals. Certainly for my friend, some relevant objective standards such as “can walk one kilometre unaided in 20 minutes,” “is able to get up and down off the floor without assistance,” “can carry two loaded grocery bags for ten minutes” are suitable standards, the attainment of which indicates a capacity for independent living versus dependency. Most people, even those who aren’t quite sure what a woman is, might recognise that the achievement of objective standards such as those described above is a positive outcome.

Ironically, the societal advancement that we all appreciate – from medical care to smart phones – which we accrued using objectively verified evidence – also known as “science” – has now become axiomatically false. An agenda driven by the Critical Theorists but enthusiastically embraced by a vocal, powerful and ever increasing segment of society. I’ll believe it’s all a good idea when the Critical Theorists give up all the accoutrements of our modern society achieved through science. Until then, I am going to hold onto objective standards.

Did I Get Better Today?

Years after hearing Dan John say “The goal is to keep the goal, the goal,” I think I have finally understood what this pithy and much misunderstood expression means. Beyond not getting side tracked by diversions along the path, keeping the goal the goal means that your actions, all your actions are congruent with your stated goals. A statement that seems so simple but in reality encompasses everything we do, and imagine, and think about in life.

It appears that the easiest way to misplace the goal is to default to instinctive behaviours – particularly those we use to ameliorate stress – which are frequently orthogonal to keeping the goal, the goal. I am as guilty of this as anyone. I think some sort of meditative practice, whether it be strict meditation as classically described or a moving meditation such as long runs or walks in nature, is a helpful adjunct to keeping the goal the goal as such practices give our minds space to confront our reflexive nature and, at a minimum, consider if our predominant behavior is actually congruent with our stated goals.

An easy first step to keeping the goal the goal that I have implemented is simply asking “does this choice align with my ultimate goal?” Dan John, of course, has a more impactful way of communicating this “Did I get better today?”

In more prosaic news, I am experimenting with increasing the effort on my regular zone 2 training runs/walks. Peter Attia uses an RPE (rate of perceived exertion) slightly higher than I generally use for my zone two training. I typically use the top end of my ability to nose breathe, while Attia uses conversational pace where conversation is possible but verging on difficult. Coincidentally, the latter RPE for me is right around a heart rate (HR) of 120 which is also my MAF (Maximum Aerobic Function) HR. I lapped around the Dam Loop today at an average HR of 120 and felt like I could keep going forever (except for sore feet as the dry weather is making the trails extra rocky) which is pretty much how zone two training should feel.

Sunrise pictures from yesterdays aerobic conditioning session.

I've Seen The Blowhole From Both Sides Now

There is a row of people behind a fenced platform looking down on the three of us as we bob around near the big cave that is the entrance to the well known Kiama Blowhole. We had paddled around from the boat ramp on the north side of the headland determined not to miss the blowhole as we paddled past on our way to Werri Beach at Gerringong. Now, looking at the large chasm that is the entrance to the famous feature, I realise we would have to be daft to miss it.

From the sea, the blowhole entrance is massive: a huge arch of Latite with a vertical tunnel and a much smaller shallower cave at the very back at sea level which makes the “blow” when a big set of waves roll through. We took turns backing in and sitting under the shaft of bright sunlight that pierces the darkness. “If we mess this up we’ll be on the six o’clock news,” I said to Lisa as we rocked up and down in the low swell and watched the people watching us.

About a kilometre south, on the south side of Kaleula Point, we found a big dark cave. A much narrower opening with a high roof and absolute darkness inside. We could hear the water way back and were able to tell that the cave made a 90 degree turn to the north. This is Friars Cave and extends beyond the 90 degree bend but a head torch is needed as we could see nothing inside.

Further south again, Doug paddled behind a rocky islet, found the “waiting place” not actually a very good place to wait and narrowly avoided being pasted onto the rocks as his kayak pierced the belly of a bigger wave in a rapid exit. He did not swim, leaving that to Lisa who decided it was a good day to try toileting from a kayak and slipped quietly and inadvertantly off the back deck of her boat. Doug and I did not even realise that Lisa had not only been into the water but had also re-entered her kayak via the “cowboy” technique. I made a mental note to try this re-entry method again – I’ve never had success.

At different tide heights and swells, Werri Beach would have a nasty dump as it is a steep beach, but with a metre swell landing at the south end was easy.

Next day, with similar swell but stronger northerly winds, we launched into the Minnamurra River at James Oates Reserve and paddled easily out a shallow bar and around Stacks Island. With the northerly wind forecast to increase, we paddled straight over to Bass Point and around the far eastern side to Boston Point.

From Boston Point we paddled back hugging the coast looking for caves and clefts we could paddle into. We found some small slots to paddle into, some very shallow low caves, and a few deep tunnels but no really big features. There are lots of good rocks for scrambling, bouldering and even pitched climbing on the basalt columns, and this would be a good bit of coast to walk at low tide. A nice easy run in through the bar and late lunch in the sun. Another couple of enjoyable winter paddling days.

All photos DB.

Currockbilly Mountain

In 2016 we walked up Mount Budawang (1138 metres). Exactly why it took us a further 6.5 years to return to the area to walk up Currockbilly Mountain is not easily explained unless my entry in our database for Mount Budawang offers a clue: “This is a really nice but way too short walk.” Currockbilly Mountain is a much more interesting walk, the same length drive, and is also a good power endurance work-out because the final 100 metres of elevation gain to the summit is steep.

The access is simple via a public road to the edge of Budawang National Park. Pretty much everyone who walks Currockbilly Mountain (an unknown and unknowable number of folk) is via a reasonably prominent northwest ridge that pinches out about 100 metres below the summit whence the ridge is gained via a final steep, but not too brushy slope. Once on the ridge, a turn to the south leads to the summit trig, while a turn to the north leads to open ridge terrain with good views in all directions. The views vary depending on how recently a fire has been through.

I did, however, have some trepidation suggesting this walk to Doug who is a stoic and uncomplaining participant on most of my adventures. Our last trip into the Budawangs had involved some considerable bush-bashing even though we had lucked into being only a day behind a group of eight walkers who had sufficiently pressed through the bushfire regrowth as to make our passage just a bit easier. Reports of further extreme regrowth however, are legion, with some parties reporting speeds of under one kilometre per hour!

Doug, however, had found a possibly useful website that maps the extent of the 2019/2020 bushfires with categories ranging from unburnt to extreme. The area around Currockbilly Mountain had much less fire damage than other areas we had recently visited which we hoped would correlate with less vigorous regrowth.

Heading roughly east from roads end, a foot pad leads up and over a small knoll and joins Webbs Fire Trail which runs north south. This is lovely old open forest with sparse underbrush and big tree ferns in moister areas. An old road gains a westerly ridge (spot elevation on map of 785) and contours around the head of a small creek before terminating at about 840 metres. From here, the going is straight forward and, apart from the steepness of the upper slopes, easy. The bush is open and easy progress is made up over two small knolls separated by minor saddles. There are many rock cairns and even a pretty good footpad along much of the route.

A final flat area on the ridge is reached at about 1020 metres (ASL) where the remainder of the ascent can be seen. Topping out on the ridge, a turn to the south and a faint foot pad leads to the old trig and rock cairn while turning north leads along another minor footpad to a broad saddle where a sturdy summit register is found along with the best spot for lunch in the sun with views in every direction. We could even see the Tollgate Islands off to the south.

Winter Paddling Under A Summer Sun

There is something about sunshine in winter which is so energizing. Occasionally while ski touring in Canada, we’d pass on the days big objective to find a sheltered place in the sun to sit and enjoy the winter scenery surprisingly touched by a warm (if not objectively warm) feeling sun. Down at our local beach a few days ago, meeting Lisa for a paddle day, the sun felt therapeutically warm, the wind calm, the water clear, and the local dolphin pod was swimming in the bay. Sometimes you cannot ask for more out of life.

Our destination for the day was Guerilla Bay. I was thinking we would amble along the shore taking advantage of the minimal swell and escaping the westerly wind, but Lisa must be a “get it done” paddler as she was taking a straight line from headland to headland. The seal pod at Burrewarra Point is expanding, and the seals seem complacent and content, although I am sure I am anthropomorphizing.

I borrowed Doug’s camera for the day and actually took some pictures, so this post is mostly an excuse to post those somewhere.

Type Three Fun

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about getting old, which is, of course, a consequence of being old. Specifically, I try to discern whether it is still possible to do hard things as you get older. In my mind, there are two types of hard things. Type One are the hard things that are endurance based and are a matter of suffering through. Into this category falls paddling 60 kilometres in a day, or running 19 kilometres with 1200 metres of elevation gain. I don’t do as many of these days as I did even a year or two ago. It takes me longer to recover and the mental gain of knowing I can suffer through a hard day can seem off-set by my inability to train again for a few days. Recovery just takes longer.

Type Two hard things are the things you do even if you are scared. Into this category falls much of Sketchy Kelly’s (Kelly Cordez) Type 2 and 3 fun. This is a different type of hard, but often also includesType One Hard. Theoretically, it is possible, therefore, to have the ultimate hard, which combines Type One Hard and Type Two Hard into one super hard endeavour, which we might call Type Three Hard. Stacking up multiple Type Three Hard days, weeks, even months, might be the supreme Hard Project.

Candice Burt just wrapped up her 200 ultra-marathons in 200 days project which might be the ultimate Type One hard thing. You can catch her on a podcast here and here. Burt touches on a lot of the mental strength required to stack up 200 Type One days in a row. Discerning listeners will be as frustrated with the interviewers as I was because the hosts let all kinds of interesting insights pass unremarked upon presumably to follow their pre-prepared line of questioning. Many times, it would pay to be more like Jordan Peterson and say “Well, let’s talk about that for a while,” instead of following script.

Mark Twight always writes something which I wish I had written but didn’t. In his latest essay Freedom Perhaps Twight muses on our increasing culture of safetyism. You should read this essay, especially if you are in favour of MsInman Grant’s desire to regulate free speech on social media platforms or cheered heartily for forced vaccination and lockdown. Freedom, as we should all recognise, is seldom free, and safety at all costs is the least safe option of all.

I’ll close this strange and meandering post with a quote from Freedom Perhaps, because I too, above much else, despise being told what to do:

I'm a late-Boomer, older, and also not fixed or firm, able to change ideas, careers, location and social circumstances but one thing I cannot change is my resistance to being told what to do.

Vive la résistance!

Photos from yesterdays trip, single track and bushwack, over and around Pollowombra Mountain.

Do All The Things: Various Travels Along the Coast

We are back paddling out of Bawley Point. Nick wants to paddle up to Crampton Island as, apparently, this is one section of the coast he has never covered. There is talk of “playing” but my read of the weather is that there will be too much swell for that. And there is: a ten second period two metre swell rolling up from the south. There is very little sea, and no wind so it is almost glassy calm, but the big rollers keep us off-shore. We paddled this section on the first day of June with a low swell and there really wasn’t much to play about in. From Crampton Island we lap back down to Brush Island and then back to the beach. 22 kilometres in three hours without breakfast so it’s a pretty good training mission. When I paddle with Nick and Doug now, I have to paddle just a bit above my relaxed pace, and I can only hope that translates into getting a bit consistently faster. There is some truth, although it sounds simplistic, to simply going faster to speed up.

Three days before, we had paddled out of Bawley Point with Rae, going as far south as Snake Bay. It was one of those bumpy, lumpy days and the rebound off O’Hara Head and Snapper Point was making me queasy. Doug and Rae kept calling for me to “paddle closer in,” to which I would reply, “No, I’m good out here.” The swell dropped over the day unlike Sunday when we paddled to Crampton and Brushy Islands and the swell got bigger.

The previous day, I had gone down to Guerilla Bay to walk around the tracks and rock platforms. There are so many hidden footpads and bays around here which you have to find yourself by exploring. Although I have paddled into and out of Guerilla Bay multiple times – it’s a safe landing site – I had never walked the little footpads over the headlands or around the rock platforms. The tide was falling when I started, and the little isthmus of sand out to the rocky islet at Guerilla Bay was dry so I was able to scramble around the islet before heading south and then east towards Burrewarra Point. I knew I would get stymied before the point as the satellite imagery shows several deep clefts into the cliffs, and I have paddled into and out of most of the gauntlets along here before.

The arch I have paddled through – scratching my boat – was nearly dry and I scrambled up one side of the arch to a view point and over a low point to the east. Further on, a bit of scrambling on surprisingly good incuts and I arrived at an open tunnel which I climbed into and out again on the other side. A rocky bay, and then the deep gulch and the end of the road for me. There is a faint foot pad leading up to the main track around Burrewarra Point. From Guerilla Bay I went north as the tide rose. The rock platforms are not contiguous but there are good tracks over the headlands linking the bays and I went as far as a good lookout over Jimmies Island and the south end of Rosedale Beach.

Shortly after the big fires of 2020, the council was offering free rides on the local bus service, and I took the bus to Rosedale and walked home, following the rock platforms and beaches as much as possible. So there was something satisfying in also walking the section of coast from Guerilla Bay to Rosedale, thus closing a small gap. Now that the Headlands track is brushed out, it is easy to walk from McKenzies Beach to Batemans Bay.

I was feeling like a day off, but, with rain forecast (at least a chance of showers) over the next two days, Doug and I headed out early to go rock climbing. I live constantly in this state of tension between getting out every day and doing all the things, yet also feeling I need some training days and – gasp – even some recovery days. A lot of folks don’t realise that, especially as you get older, just doing all the things is actually catabolic and you need to spend some time building muscle back up. Of course, if you over-reach, you must recover, so doing all the things all the time is just not possible, except in TikTok videos and Instagram memes.

However, after an hour of driving, we realised that we did not have Doug’s pack, with the rope, his harness and rock shoes, his food – “I have no food” he plaintively said – so we came back home again. Frustrating for sure; and, when you hit my age you start to wonder if these moments of forgetting are a portent of things to come. But then I remember one of my Canadian friends who was caught in an avalanche in the Kokanee Range and one of her party had left the hut with no backpack (and hence no shovel, etc.), and my friend not yet turned 40.

Back home, I thought, “Why not take today as a gift. A day you don’t have to train, or get a long list of things done, or race out and run 15 kilometres, or burn my forearms up on the climbing wall, just have a day.” And, it was good. But tomorrow, I’m definitely ready to do all the things.