Surviving The 80's: Good Times at Indoor Climbing Walls

Back in the ‘80’s, The University of Calgary (UofC) had one of Canada’s only indoor rock climbing gyms. It was a dank, dark, smelly hole in the ground, cement lined, with some off-vertical slab walls, one roof feature, and a series of vertical walls. Polyurethane climbing holds were unknown, so the holds on the UofC wall were either river rocks embedded in the cement walls or small incuts or cracks shaped into the cement. Climbers arrived and climbed down a steel ladder into the hole and then either led the routes – on gear (!) plugged into cement cracks – or more commonly scrambled around a small ledge atop the wall to rig their own ropes through steel carabiners. These days, the heads of the safety bureaucrats would explode; not only did we survive but we thrived and no-one needed a trigger warning.

Back in the early days of climbing walls, the only reason climbers went at all was to train to climb outdoor routes. The idea that climbing would become an indoor sport in a controlled environment with ropes set on the routes and auto-belay devices was an anathema and its proponents would be condemned as “girly-men.” Yes, we did use such language back then and, again, we all survived, mostly because our mothers quite rightfully informed us that “names would never hurt us.”

I like modern climbing gyms. Typically, they are bright and airy with impressively high and generally overhung walls. Autobelays are awesome if you are climbing by yourself and the horizontal or overhanging bouldering walls with the big, thick, cushy, impossible to break yourself pads at the bottom are confidence inspiring. Climbfit Gym in Kirrawee, which I recently visited, even has a full gym attached with showers, toilets, lockers that lock without keys or padlocks, friendly staff, good music playing, four autobelays, a kilter board and a bouldering area. Old codgers like myself even get a seniors discount!

The bouldering wall, however, appears to have got “just a bit worse” than it was before. I think it is the trend to volumes and slabs that has dominated world cup bouldering in recent years. It makes little sense to me. Admittedly, some climbers frequenting Climbfit may never go outdoors, but, if they do, they could be in for a surprise because east Australian climbing is about as like bouldering on volumes as Starbucks is to 7-11 for coffee. Not much at all. The ACT has granite cracks, but most Sydney area, Blue Mountains or Nowra climbing is steep walls on small (to large depending on the grade) slopey sandstone crimpers. Jumping from volume to volume, apart from looking cool on your ‘gramme feed, is not anything like outdoor climbing.

It’s odd being the oldest climber in the gym (and female, climbing is still a male dominated sport) by about 30 years, but hey, those young punks didn’t survive the UofC climbing gym nor do they get the seniors discount!

Stockyard Spur and Mount Gingera

The track up Stockyard Spur comes with a warning, which I neglected to take a photo of, but something about over 500 metres of gain in a couple of kilometres. On my topographic map the elevation gain is about 500 metres to the end of the Stockyard Spur fire trail which continues to gain elevation as it undulates along a ridge through a beautiful open eucalpyt forest. Stockyard Spur peaks at about 1700 metres before descending a short distance to Mount Franklin fire trail.

Stockyard Spur Fire Trail

Apparently, this is a popular walk but midweek there was just a solo runner coming down as we walked up. The track is so good, it took us only an hour to join Stockyard Spur fire trail which provides lovely walking along a broad ridge through an open and mature forest. There are a couple of good rock slabs, one to the left of the track and one to the right, which make good rest stops with views.

Snowy Flats

We joined Mount Franklin fire trail at the base of Little Ginini Mountain and walked along with the open plains of Snowy Flats to our east to Pryors Hut and the small plantation of Scotts Pines – untouched by fires while the snow gums were burnt. Then another kilometre along the fire trail to the foot path that ascends Mount Gingera where we had lunch on granite slabs overlooking familiar peaks like Namadgi, Burbidge, Kelly, Bimberi and Murray.

Summit of Mount Gingera

Doug returned via the track to the fire trail, while I walked along the ridge top to the northern end of Mount Gingera before dropping down to rejoin the fire trail. At the junction with the final spur track down Stockyard Spur, I caught up with Doug having a last stop at the end of Stockyard Spur fire trail and the start of the foot path.

Tidbinbilla Skyline: Camels Hump, Johns Peak, Tidbinbilla Peak and Tidbinbilla Mountain

There is great bush-walking in the ACT, which should surprise no-one as Canberra is surrounded by bush land. I’d only done one walk in Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve before, Mount Domain from Fishing Gap (it appears I never wrote that trip up for the blog). Anyway, when we walked up Mount Domain (1506 metres), I thought we were walking up the highest peak in Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve but we were not. Tidbinbilla Mountain, about four kilometres north at 1615 metres is the highest peak in Tidbinbilla NR.

Camels Hump

ACT Parks, who seem to be eminently sensible compared to many other state Parks and Wildlife government bureaucracies, are clearing a grade 5 track which will, when complete run along the spine of the entire ridge crest that divides Tidbinbilla from Namadgi. The trail will start at Fishing Gap in the south (fire trail accessible) and run all the way along the ridge top to Camels Hump in the north (accessible via various fire trails). Note that the fire trails in Tidbinbilla are, appropriately enough, walking or bicycling only.

On the Camels Hump looking towards John Peak

This is not a new route as bush-walkers have been trekking along this ridge for many years, likely decades. No real major work is required, just a little cutting back of brush. Certainly, ACT will garner a new high quality bush-walk for far less than the recently opened “new” Clifftop Walk in the Blue Mountains, which ran at a cost of over $500,000 per kilometre to essentially upgrade an series of existing tracks. Publicity, I guess, costs a lot these days.

The Pimple

With that digression out of the way, on a wonderful clear blue sky day, we parked at Mountain Creek car park in Tidbinbilla, and walked along the fire trail that runs north below the ridge crest until we reached the ridge crest at a saddle immediately south of the Camels Hump. A short walk up a steep track (the grade 5 bit, I guess) and we were on top. Second breakfast or first lunch, was taken on a rocky overlook just below the top in the sun with grand views.

Along the ridge to Tidbinbilla Peak

Back at the saddle, a good track runs along the ridge crest to Johns Peak which has some rock and scree on the northwest side. Beyond Johns Peak, the track is not yet complete, but it is easy enough to walk along to Tidbinbilla Peak, a kilometre to the southwest. Tidbinbilla Peak has an old burnt down trig which makes a good spot for second lunch. From Tidbinbilla Peak, we wandered down a good track for about 100 metres vertical chatting away before I thought “Wait a minute, this track is going down too steeply to be heading for the pass with Tidbinbilla Mountain.” Indeed it was, we had inadvertently wandered off the ridge and down the spur track which leads back to the fire trail. Doug decided to keep going down, but I turned around and walked back up soon regaining the ridge that runs along to Tidbinbilla Mountain.

Good to see the bureaucrats have a sense of humour

The two kilometre section to Tidbinbilla Mountain has only a vague track and some flagging, but it is easy enough to follow if you don’t get drawn into conversation with your hiking partners. I was longing to walk out to The Pimple from point 1555 metres on the ridge, but was aware that Doug would be waiting for me back at the car, so I continued past. Tidbinbilla Mountain has probably the best views, but, with Doug waiting at the car, I did not linger long but found the track that plummets down a steep spur ridge to join the short nature trail at Mountain Creek. This section of track loses about 600 metres of elevation in about 1.5 kilometres so plummet is a good adjective, or even a verb as I was plummeting down the track.

Ridge to Tidbinbilla Mountain

If I were to do this walk again, and I might, as I did not tag The Pimple, I would walk up the steep track to Tidbinbilla Mountain and take the fire trail route down.

Mount Rufus

A maintained trail to the top of a mountain with the opportunity to walk a loop is about as good as it gets in Tasmania, especially if it is a clear sunny day. And, if it matters to you, Mount Rufus is also an Abel.

There is not too much exciting or different to be said about following a well marked track. However, I’ll try and pad the photos out with some words. The start of the track is also the end of the Overland Track although I don’t imagine many people walk the lake shore when the ferry is running. In any event, a short flat section along the lake shore on wide and well graded track leads quickly to the Mount Rufus track which climbs steadily but never steeply to reach an alpine plateau in a couple of hours.

This is the best part of the walk as you are out in the open with views all around including southwest to Frenchmans Cap. Of course, it was windy on top of Mount Rufus so we found a sheltered spot for lunch while playing the usual “identify those peaks” game.

The track then heads northwest down a broad ridge to the saddle with Mount Hugel before turning east and following a valley down to Shadow Lake where Little Hugel is framed across the lake. Down another ridge so broad and forested it is hard to tell you are on a ridge and then the track joins the Overland Track at Watersmeet, and a couple of kilometres walk to the ranger station.

Projection Bluff

Another good short bushwalk when you are driving past is Projection Bluff. There is a small (1 to 2 cars only) carpark on the western side of the Lake Highway. The map shows the true highpoint is (probably) the spot elevation on the northwestern end of the bluff. It’s possible a track does lead through the scrub if someone is compelled to gain an extra five metres of height.

View from southern high point

The track is good and goes pretty much straight up from the car park (yep, my favourite). And emerges onto the plateau through a gap in the dolerite columns. There are tracks going both north and south with cairns and I visited both while Doug went to the southern one. The best view might be from the southern end. Projection Bluff is not an Abel, but, it does overlook Rats Castle, another nearby Abel.

I'm pretty sure this is Rats Castle

Quamby Bluff

We are on our way up to the Lake St Clair for a bush-walk. The driving route passes the track that leads up Quamby Bluff. Quamby Bluff is an Abel, which is surprising on a couple of counts. The first is that Quamby Bluff does not seem a very impressive peak, the second is that I wonder how the term “Abel” has been able to persist in these anti-colonialist, inter-sectional, critical theory times. I am sure it is just a matter of time until the term is replaced with something much more palatable to the progressives.

Quamby Bluff

Anyway, the trail head is easy to miss but comes soon after you pass the small community of Golden Valley (heading south). The trail head sign indicates that five hours should be allowed for the return walk. I do not profess to understand how Tasmania Parks and Wildlife Service manages their tracks. It’s not altogether clear to me (unpopular opinion ahead, brace yourselves) that the agency is not staffed by petty bureaucrats drunk on power; but it won’t take that long. Just over two hours should be plenty for most regular bush-walkers.

It’s a pretty nice walk when you are driving by. I like tracks that go straight up. Why faff around. If you are going up, go up, if you are going down, go down. I once walked up a mountain somewhat ostentatiously called Matterhorn Mountain in Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness (it didn’t look much like a Matterhorn). The route to the top branches off Ice Lake trail and requires a short easy “off-track” section which was all well and good. It was the 7,000 switchbacks needed to gain the ridge that were tedious. I think I walked about 38 kilometres that day and I was foot sore at the end. Thirty of the 38 kilometres were on unnecessary switchbacks.

But back to Quamby Bluff. The track leads past a small monastery and then proceeds uphill through some forest to cross a talus field and emerges onto the plateau via a shrubby gully. From the top of the gully it is a gentle stroll south to the top.

Minimum Effective Dose

Everyone should know the concept of the minimum effective dose. The smallest amount of anything, be it medication, supplementation or training, that produces the desired effect. As a concept, it is worthwhile to think about when planning your training for a big event or trip, but, in practice, it is impossible to determine in advance, and probably equally infeasible to estimate afterwards. You might get through the trip but perhaps, with a little more or a little less training, you might have been faster, or less tired, or more able to do extra distance.

Camp near Mulcahy Bay

After a big trip, I always think about whether or not my training was adequate. Less often, I wonder if my nutrition was adequate. Nutrition on trips is much harder to control than training. I would love a steak, salad and potatoes every night on a sea kayak trip but it is just not possible. Nutrition often falls into the category of just doing your best while recognising that best is nowhere near ideal.

First real meal after finishing at Southport

Before we started and certainly once we finished paddling from Strahan to Southport, I was convinced I would never undertake such a trip again. It was not so much the trip that put me off but the training. As I enter my 7^th decade on this planet (I’m 61 this year), I realise, with a good dollop of dismay, that while I can continue to stay active and do lots of things, my ability to recover from “lots of things” is reduced and takes more time; steak, salad and potatoes for dinner every night notwithstanding. The corollary is, if I’m doing more kayak training, I have to decrease the other activities I do in order to recover. Trail running, bush walking and climbing all fell away in the months leading up to our Tasmania paddle trip.

Nick and Doug at Southport

My schedule was roughly – every seven to ten days (dependent on recovery): one long paddle day up to 50 kilometres, one day working speed: 12 to 15 kilometres on the ocean maintaining as fast a pace as possible (trying to maintain a pace of about 8 km/hr), one day on skills, and one day paddling in “Tasmania like conditions” – wind, rain, big swells (or all the former together). Additionally, I strength trained three days per week, albeit focusing on maintenance not building, and, I ran the Saturday Park Run for metabolic conditioning.

Plugging into a 20 knot wind on a training day

Doug and I did all our training, with the exception of two days, on the ocean. While I think it is possible to train for flat-water paddling on the ocean, I don’t believe one trains appropriately for ocean paddling on flat-water. The two are different in so many ways, not least getting comfortable paddling in difficult conditions.

Early morning start on a long training day

Various friends and acquaintances had different ideas about how we should train for such a trip, and these varied from doing all our paddling with loaded boats, to training almost entirely using intervals or sessions of no more than three hours. As none of these folks had successfully completed a trip like ours, I felt confident giving these ideas no further space in my mind. Talk, as Mark Twight said, minus action equals zero. Additionally , there is fairly well supported research evidence to suggest that none of these suggestions is actually a good way to prepare for long endurance events.

Entrance to Mainwaring Inlet on a stormy day

Overall, I think my training was effective, although towards the end, a good deal of mental discipline was required as I was thoroughly sick of spending so much time in a small boat on a big ocean, week after week, and month after month. I don’t think I could have got away with less, but I’ll never really know. I was certainly tired after a long days paddle with a loaded boat but not overwhelmingly so. Weather days were occasionally welcome!

Weather day at Spain Bay

When the trip was over, I felt surprisingly “run down.” It’s hard to explain, but I did not have my usual energy and, although we did some bush walking afterwards, the bush walking trip we did was much less than I would normally have been satisfied with doing. I lost three kilograms on the paddling trip, a percent of my body weight that would be declared a rampant success for any weight loss program or treatment. In retrospect, I think the weight loss was the cause of my general run down feeling.

On the Du Cane Plateau overlooking Walled Mountain

It’s not quite three weeks since we finished up our big trip with an easy 18 kilometre paddle into Southport on a sunny and calm day. I swore I would never do a trip that required that much preparation and training again, but, already this morning, as I strolled along my local beach on a drizzly morning, I started thinking, maybe it wasn’t so bad.

Mount Stokes

I can’t speak for Doug or Nick but I felt some relief paddling past – or more appropriately being blown past – the Breaksea Islands and into sheltered waters. The west coast of Tasmania is a bit like the black dog of depression, it lurks about in the corners of your mind taking up space. As we neared Bramble Cove, we passed, very quickly as we were getting blown along speedily by our kayak sails, a guided group with Roaring Forties. “You must be the group from Strahan,” the lead paddler said. We only had time to nod before being whisked past.

Mount Stokes

Bramble Cove has several beaches and, as they came into view, Doug also noticed the white streak of a track heading up the hillside behind the most westerly beach. We love a good walking track beside a campsite so we decided the westerly beach should be our camp for the night.

Looking down on our camp beach from Mount Stokes

It was a lovely spot. White sand, the amazing surrounds of Bathurst Harbour, and a stream running with fresh water. After another long mid-40 kilometre day out on the open ocean, it was delightful to land on a sheltered beach with the sun still shining. Perhaps we could even dry our paddling clothes.

Mount Rugby from Mount Stokes

But, before we could relax, the walking track beckoned. At least it beckoned me. A “vigorous cold front” was forecast for the next day and I wanted to get up the view point when the views were good. From the eastern end of the beach, after jumping another fresh water creek, I found a little track that led up over Aylen Point and down to the next beach. At the end of the second beach, the track runs almost due north up through low vegetation – the views start right away – to a ridge that runs west from the saddle between Mount Stokes at 484 metres and Mount Berry at 651 metres, a couple of kilometres to the north.

View towards Bathurst Harbour

Soon, after a very pleasant walk, I was wandering up the last 80 metres to the top from the saddle. The view is magnificent spanning all of Bathurst Harbour and Port Davey as well as far off islands and rocks out to sea. Doing what every good peak bagger does, I used my compass and map to identify various peaks and was also surprised to find I could see across the south side of Port Davey to Flat Witch Island near Maatsuyker Island.

Looking over Bramble Cove towards Spain Bay

Looking over the north side, I could see Nick and Doug almost at the final climb so soon we were all on top marvelling over the view. A quick walk back to camp and then it was time for the tents to go up and dinner to be cooked. It was 7:00 pm when we got back to camp and we had been on the go since our usual wake-up time of 5.30 am. It felt like a full day, and I went to sleep glowing with satisfaction.

Mount Rugby

I ran the Dam Loop this morning through wet vegetation and down the hill to the house as the rain set in. My legs are so stiff now I can barely walk which does not seem to bode well for tomorrow’s regular Park Run. But, it does make me think about walking up Mount Rugby on the north side of Bathurst Narrows just west of Bathurst Harbour.

Mount Rugby from Mount Stokes

The day we blew in – literally – to Port Davey from the west coast, we had walked up Mount Stokes from a lovely beach camp in the northern edge of Bramble Cove. This was a delightful walk on a good trail with views that started almost immediately. Mount Rugby, on the other hand, was wet, viewless and had the kind of track that one associates with Tasmania, narrow, and overhung with spiky vegetation, not much more than a rough footpad. I am sure in good weather (it was raining when we walked up) the view would be amazing, but I still think if you can only do one of the two walks: Stokes or Rugby, Stokes is likely better.

Blowing in to Port Davey,

PC: DB

Anyway, here’s how the day unfolded. The three of us left Claytons Corner where we had been enjoying a picnic table, a toilet and, when it rained, a dry space to sit (Claytons Hut) over the past couple of wet and windy days, and were moving camp to Bramble Cove in the expectation that we would soon be able to paddle out of Port Davey and continue our sea kayak trip around the southern end of Tasmania to finish at Southport. I really wanted to get up Mount Rugby which appears to be – at least by my reading of the map – the highest peak in the immediate surrounds of Bathurst Harbour and, has the added advantage of a “track”.

Nick at Claytons Corner

We paddled to the start of the track which is just off a very small beach (disappears at high tide) about a kilometre west of Platypus Point. There were no really good places to take loaded sea kayaks ashore so we paddled as far west as Starvation Bay looking for a better spot but when nothing else presented itself, we went back to the track head and labouriously carried fully loaded boats up to a grassy ledge where we could leave them. It was a grey, drizzly sort of day with a moderate westerly wind blowing, the sort of day that seems pretty common around these parts. Nick decided to forgo the ascent which left Doug and I to wallow and wade up the track while Nick caught the tide out Bathurst Narrows and Bathurst Channel and set up camp at Bramble Cove.

Having a grand time on Mount Rugby,

PC: DB

Incredibly, we got to the summit in two hours which is a bit amazing as the track is a really narrow ankle and knee twister and it was raining solidly from the first saddle about half way up all the way to the top. We were wet through as the thick vegetation was, of course, streaming with water and it was too cold to stop, which might have contributed to our solid pace. Doug asked somewhat plaintively “Will you ever turn back?” to which I replied, characteristically “No.” This was difficult for both of us because alone neither of us could manage our boats so even if Doug walked back down to the trail head he would have to stand about in the wet and cold in soaking clothing to wait for me. I greatly appreciate Doug enduring an unpleasant few hours in exchange for making me happy while getting no views at all!

Mount Rugby by from Mount Beattie,
PC: DB

The absolute top of Mount Rugby requires a bit of scrambling to gain which was somewhat dodgy given how wet it was, but we did stand atop the last rocks, shake hands and immediately descend. Such is mountain climbing. There were quite a few slips on the way down as no matter how careful we were, our feet frequently went out from under us. Luckily, years of falling over have made me not only somewhat resilient but pretty good at falling without injury.

Slight clearing on Mount Rugby track,

PC: DB

We had a small snack near the trail head when the rain stopped and the wind, which was blowing solidly from the west, had begun to dry our clothes. Back at our boats, we had to carry them back to the water, and then we set off to paddle 14 kilometres west to Bramble Cove. Paddling out to Bathurst Narrows we quickly gained a full appreciation for how quickly the tidal current runs through this narrow waterway, particularly when the tidal current is running in the opposite direction to which you are paddling. The current must have been running at around two knots and with the wind howling up the narrow channel, also against us, getting back to Bramble Cove was a laborious affair. We tried desperately to catch back eddies along the channel and to hug the shore to lessen the impact of the wind but I’m not sure either of these tactics made a big difference. It was one of those days when you just need to put your head down and plug along.

Nearing Bramble Cove,

PC: DB

Mentally, I was calculating how long we had until dark and thinking that if we just kept paddling we should make Bramble Cove before dark. At Turnbull Island, at the south end of Bramble Cove, we finally got a little relief from the wind and the current and had a little bit of food. It had been another long day with little to eat – a familiar theme on this trip.

Our first camp at Bramble Cove,

PC: DB

As we paddled north into Bramble Cove, the current no longer a bother and with some shelter from the wind, we saw an orange and white kayak on the beach, and then a figure in a dark green anorak, and with plenty of time before dark we landed on the beach and were very grateful for Nick’s help in carrying gear up to camp and carrying the kayaks up to the top of the beach for the night.

Bramble Cove from Mount Stokes,

PC: DB

Later that evening, the guests from the luxury boat “On Board” landed at the eastern end of Bramble Cove for a wine and cheese sunset extravaganza. The guests strolled along the beach, well dressed, well coiffed and smelling fresh. How different our experiences were.

The Mind Drags The Body: Lessons From Tasmania

The mind drags the body – struggling behind it – rarely the opposite. Mark Twight.

“What will you do if you have been paddling all day and can’t land?” My niece asked as we planned and prepared for our sea kayak trip along the west and south coast of Tasmania. I did not want to think about this eventuality because I really had no good answer. It didn’t help, that my niece, bless her heart, asked me this question every time I saw her in the lead up to our kayak trip. I did not want to think about it early, I did not want to think about it late, I really did not want to think about such an eventuality at all, oh no, I did not (apologies to Dr Seuss).

PC: DB

Whenever I did think about this question I shuddered; a deep, dragging shudder, the sort that reaches down to your bones because what would we do? If we could not land, conditions would be desperate and how would we survive at sea in desperate conditions on the wild west coast of Tasmania? My mind, that catastrophe generating machine, would visualise three metre seas and five metre swells, with 30 knot winds all converging as night fell and we desperately searched for somewhere to land exhausted after a 40 kilometre paddle day.

PC: DB

Of course, it never came to that. Most catastrophes that we imagine never happen, and whilst it is good to be prepared – “failure to plan is planning to fail” - big trips require tight mind control. That is my pre-eminent lesson from what I think will be the hardest and most committing ocean kayak trip I will ever do. You simply must control your mind.

The mind, as Mark Twight said so succintly so many years ago, is primary.

The mind wants you to quit as soon as things get hard. The mind wants to imagine one calamity after another, the mind nags and niggles about all the things that might or could go wrong. Sometimes it feels as if the mind never gives you one damn moments peace.

PC: DB

If the weather is good today, what will it be like tomorrow? If the swell is pumping as you paddle out of a safe harbour in the morning, what will it be like as you approach the next possible landing spot? If there is a headwind, how bad can it get? Conversely, if the kayak is being pushed along by a strong tail wind and things feel just a bit uncontrollable, how much more can you handle? What if the queasiness you feel from the swell and sea and the endless lumpy, bumpy, messy conditions that constitute the average paddle conditions make you really sea sick and you start vomiting? What if, what if, what if. The mind just never stops.

PC: DB

I learnt long ago on big ski traverses through the Canadian mountains, that the mind must be controlled. Avalanche hazard is the biggest risk, but there is also the possibility of falling into a crevasse (with a heavy pack on!) or losing an edge and tumbling skis still on your feet down very steep, very long, very icy slopes most of which are handily placed above cliff bands guaranteeing that you will be catapulted a great distance. No-one has any hope, under those conditions of arresting a fall even if you are skiing with an ice axe in your hand, which, I can attest, is not easy.

PC: DB

On such trips, there are two options, one is to lay awake all night worrying about the next day, the other is to make a solid plan that mitigates any risks that can be managed, then relax and get a good sleep. After two decades of completing at least one big ski traverse every year, I came to view the thin nylon of our tent as some kind of magic barrier. Once I was inside, I simply did not worry anymore. The nylon became a force field to repel catastrophic thinking.

PC: SF

It takes energy and practice to control the mind. I’ve heard the uncontrolled and irrational mind compared to an elephant with the tiny, rational part of our minds, the rider atop the elephant. The rider thinks they are in control but, in truth, the gigantic and muscular elephant is making all the decisions. Long paddle days are the norm on the west and south coast of Tasmania and seven hours on the water allows the elephant a long lead time to get up a head of steam and crush everything in its path. The mind drags the body.

PC:DB

I had a mantra when paddling that I used when ever those catastrophic thoughts threatened to overwhelm my equillibrium. It’s pretty simple, it’s quite well known, and it’s been around for a really long time: that which doesn’t kill me.