Transition into Training: Weeks One and Two

Continuity. Gradualness. Modulation. Scott Johnston, Training for the New Alpinism

I’m not sure I need to “transition” into training as I never stop training but, in my 63^rd year I have been forced to admit I am not unbreakable. Especially, I want to avoid any tendon or ligament injuries such as I had in Tasmania earlier this year which appeared out of nowhere and interfered greatly with my travel plans.

Scott Johnston in Training for the New Alpinism recommends that the transition period last between 6 to 8 weeks and begin at a volume that is half of the average of last years training volume. If you don’t have a training log, you’ll have trouble knowing what this volume is but, I have both a training log and a Garmin watch so I was easily able to look up my volume on Garmin’s Connect application.

Last year, this came in at about 620 hours but that does not include strength training or rock climbing. It includes only cycling, paddling and walking. That comes out to about 12 hours per week, but includes an awful lot of paddling, which is good endurance training, but not for carrying yourself and a pack up and down big hills. In an average month in 2026, my “on feet” time was about 22 hours per month (about the same kayaking and much less mountain biking). There is some consistency there, so I settled on 2.5 hours per week on feet for my first three weeks of the transition period. On top of that, I continue to paddle and mountain bike one day per week.

For strength training, I am using Johnston’s strength and core circuit in addition to all ten glute, core and hip exercises that I do daily to prevent a recurrence of my hip injury. Because I had the best part of a month off over the Queensland trip I started these at one circuit in week one, then moved to two circuits in week two (where I am currently) and will finish up at three circuits for the rehab/prehab exercises in week three but will get to four circuits for strength in week four. And, I started back on the climbing wall, which is always the hardest training to resume as this is my weakest discipline.

Here is what week two looked like:

This feels like frustratingly little training and in my younger and more resilient days I would simply ignore the plan and increase both volume and intensity until I felt suitably tired and sore, but feeling tired and sore is not an indication that you are actually getting fitter and stronger. Often, you are simply getting tired and sore. Muscle is built at rest, or at least that’s what the experts say.

Going Back: Townsville to Flying Fish Point by Sea Kayak

Looking for a bit of shelter from the 20 knot southeast wind we dropped our sails and pulled in close to Thompsons Point. With spray, spume and drizzling rain, it’s hard to determine exactly where Flying Fish Point is. I am pretty sure it is almost due north where a low lying isthmus of land is vaguely visible on the other side of a long bar break at the mouth of the Johnstone River. If I am right, which it turns out I am, we’ll have to fight both wind and waves to paddle east for a kilometre or thereabouts to try and come in through the channel.

We head off, but the wind, which has had a consistent easterly component to the normal southeasterly trade wind, has picked up a good size sea and the waves are breaking and running as the tide streams out. It feels like a losing battle as we sidle over each wave crest and hit the force of the blasting wind. “Let’s just run in the through the bar,” I say to Doug. He is not convinced but says gamely “I’ll follow you.” Immediately, I’m catching a wave and my heavy boat is careering down the face and soon broaching because a wing blade really doesn’t rudder well and my kayak is way too heavy to lean and carve. “Lean and hang on” I think. The wave runs out and I straighten up, soon to be hit by another wave and off I go again.

After repeating this cycle about three times, I think about trying to back-paddle to let the waves go past so I might have a bit more control but by then, I am just about through the line of breakers and I can see Doug, upright and to my left, is also through the surf break. All those days surfing in the Batemans Bay bar certainly paid off on this one short section of our two week trip. A short paddle north and we land on a bit of sand beside a small boat ramp just inside Flying Fish Point. The end of a two week trip along the Far North Queensland coast which featured days of strong winds and calm conditions and very little in between.

Our first stop is Magnetic Island, only six kilometres off Cape Palleranda north of Townsville. We leave from the very popular, even at 6:30 am when we arrive with gear and kayaks, Strand where the locals are exercising early before the heat of the day. It is calm inshore but by the time we are half way to Magnetic Island the 20 knot southeasterly is blowing across our kayaks and getting to camp involves both paddling into the wind, and, for a very brief time, sailing comfortably along. There are strangely few boats around Magnetic Island even though it is Sunday. Perhaps it’s the wind, we see no boats at all on the windy days when we are out on the ocean all alone in our sea kayaks. It’s funny how these small and intimate vessels can be so sea worthy.

The wind blows all day and all night and the sea is lively the next morning but luckily, the mornings seem to feature a bit more southerly component to the wind, so we can sail past Rattlesnake and Herald Islands and, with conditions getting more and more punchy as the wind builds and swings more to the east, we have a bit of a wild ride to Acheron Island. We aimed off to counteract the easterly flow of the wind but we still have to edge even more easterly as we approach. We have done 30 kilometres and the next island is a further 20 kilometres away so we want to stop here but the island is not conducive to landing. The sand spit on the western side isn’t sand, it is steep, broken coral and the sea has picked up so much that the side of the island that should be sheltered (north) has such big waves dumping that they run right up and over the steep spit which is at least two metres high.

We prowl back and forth around both sides of the spit and eventually decide on a spot to land. Doug goes in first but a kayak with 20 days of food and 7 days of water is heavy and it is really difficult to get the kayak up out of the waves. I come in next and we man-handle my kayak up. I cringe thinking of the damage these rough landings are doing to our keels. Someone has, within the last few days, taken a shit right near the only spot available to camp and left the faeces and the toilet paper sitting out in the sun. It’s disgusting but unfortunately surprisingly common. On a previous trip north of Yeppoon we encountered this multiple times and came to believe we were following the toilet paper trail of the infamous“Capricornia Crapper.” I bury the offending items wondering how our species has survived this propensity to shit where we live.

We paddle the next day northwest to Havannah Island. We load the kayaks and then slide them out into the water during a break in the waves, jump in, and paddle out before we get caught by a dumper. It feels too windy to sail. I can hardly see Doug as the sea has been building for a couple of weeks now and the wind and swell are again very easterly so it is beam on most of the way to Havannah Island. I amuse myself by wondering how difficult a rescue might be and making sure I brace when the big waves wash over. We keep clear of the southeast tip of Havannah Island and are soon sliding around the north side still pushed by the wind but the sea is broken by the island.

Havannah Island has a great beach to land on, good swimming, nice shady camping under she oaks behind the beach and a fringing reef. As the tide drops, I manage to walk almost all the way down to the southeast tip of the island on a mix of broken coral and rock slabs. The next day, we have a lay day here and walk up the grassy hill side at the south end of the island to look across at the rest of the Palm Islands spreading to the north. The grass looks easy walking from a distance but it is surprisingly thick and in places reaches as high as my head. We get to the very top, which is covered in thick rainforest so the best views are lower down.

We had hopes to paddle the east side of Great Palm Island but the wind is again quite strong and quite easterly so we head north to Brisk Island. Plans to paddle the east side of Brisk Island give way to paddling up the west side as we encounter two metre waves pushed along by the easterly wind at the southern tip and it is too much of a battle to get around the east side. On the more sheltered west side, a large shark bumps into Doug’s keel. An attempt to paddle between Falcon and Brisk Islands is thwarted by too little water over the reef so we pass around the north end instead and slog across to Great Palm Island.

Pulling in at the jetty, three aboriginal kids are kicking a dead shark up and down the length of the jetty. I stay to mind the kayaks as the tide is falling fast, while Doug walks up to the service station to ask about getting some drinking water. At the service station, the taps don’t work but at a nearby works yard Doug gets water and drops off our garbage. Just as we are leaving the barge bringing supplies from Townsville pulls in and the kids abandon the dead shark.

We want to make use of the wind so we head up Curacoa Channel from Great Palm Island using the sails but still needing the odd brace as the wind is gusty. At the north end of Curacoa Island, a herd of goats is running along the shingly beach. I get out and stumble over rocks and broken coral to see if we might find a camp but it will be another tough landing on the kayaks so we keep going to a better camp.

On Friday, our sixth day out, the wind eases and we paddle with a little bit of help from the sails up the east side of Orpheus Island. There is a large and breaking reef off Iris Point but a good channel near Pelorus Island and, in a fit of perversity, we decide to paddle against both the wind and the current three kilometres south down the west side of Orpheus Island to Pioneer Bay. A couple of whales are swimming only a dozen metres from our kayaks!

The tide is just high enough for us to sneak into Pioneer Bay with a nice campsite and a picnic table. There’s mobile phone reception so I can book us in using the Queensland National Parks web site. After lunch and tea, we walk up the track behind camp that goes past an old stone hut to the ridge top. Doug and I last stood up here in September 2013. It’s good to still find the old track. There are nine boats (yachts and power boats) anchored off-shore. The most we will see in any one place.

Dolphins swim with us the next morning as we paddle into Lucinda. There is a puff of wind so we keep the sails up but they mostly only lift the kayaks out of the water a bit. Our bearing is pretty much right on and we arrive near the jetty and right in front of the lovely park with garbage facilities and toilets.

Our food rations on this trip are lacking as I managed to forget two tubs of homemade lentil crackers and all our dehydrated dinners so while Doug dumps the garbage and fills our water bladders I slink off to the shop and with some slight feelings of shame, buy fish, chips and a burger with extra egg and bacon for Doug. I could slam back a steak if I wasn’t allergic as my meat craving is quite high!

From Lucinda we head north keeping out as much as we can without heading due east as there are extensive sand bars off George Point. The water gets shallower and shallower but we make it over. At Sunken Reef bay there’s some small waves and I land where I can see a Parks sign as we are not exactly sure where the camping is and what facilities are available. There are no facilities, but just north of the trail head marker there is a good campsite with decent shade that has a dirt rather than sand base and I signal Doug in. It’s too much faff to relaunch simply to paddle 60 metres up the beach so we carry my kayak up to the beach near the camp. This trip has involved a lot of awkward carries. An old codger at Lucinda had told me I would be pulled from my kayak by a giant crocodile but we didn’t let this legend of Hinchinbrook stop us from having our daily swim.

Before leaving the next morning, we walked the track up to a saddle where it joined the Thorsborne track and followed this across Mulligan Creek and down a long hill to the base of Mulligan Falls. The walkers have luxurious camps with big toilets, large shaded tent sites, camp furniture and poles to hang food. The pool at the base of the falls is delightfully clear but given we have to walk back uphill again and get all sweaty we don’t bother swimming. Also, on the flats at Sunken Reef Bay there is a waist deep creek we need to cross to get back to our kayaks so we can have fresh water freshen up there.

It is a very calm day and the sea is flat as we paddle around Hillock Point with it’s prominent granite cliffs to Zoe Bay. There is a yacht and power boat at Zoe Bay and about a billion mosquitoes. Lunch is quick and punctuated by swatting biting bugs and we continue on just squeaking through a very narrow and shallow channel between Agnes Island and Hinchinbrook Island to Banksia Bay.

The camp at Banksia Bay is on the western side of the bay and is again an awkward carry. At high tide, you can paddle into the estuary but at lower tides you have to carry across a rocky shore line through small trees that flood at higher tides. There are spacious tent sites and a structure to hang food but no furniture or toilet. There is, however, a track that climbs quickly uphill and connects to the Thorsborne track. There is a better, but possibly unofficial camp, if you continue east past the first small beach to the second. It has one tent site, a freshwater creek and an easier carry.

The next day we have a good walk along the Thorsborne track to Nina Beach. The trail goes over a couple of headlands but also follows sandy beaches, boulders and rock platforms. It is surprisingly slow going and takes us two hours to get to Nina Beach but I am feeling very saggy from our poor quality diet. On the way back we have a fresh water swim and get back to camp as the drizzle starts. The bugs are bad and the drizzle makes them a bit worse than normal. Late in the afternoon, a tour group arrives and they set up camp on the eastern end of the beach. It’s funny watching them knowing that they have no idea we are only a few hundred metres away.

Our next camp is at Banshee Bay which is just south of Cape Sandwich. We have just enough wind to get some assistance paddling up long Ramsay Beach but before we plug north we have a quick stop at Blacksand Beach. We camped here in 2013 and I recall it being infested with sandflies as well as mosquitoes. It is a delightful beach however, and an easy walk up to scenic Nina Peak.

Banshee Bay looks out on Eva Island and, with calm weather, there are a few power boats about but none anywhere near us. Before going into Banshee Bay we paddle around Cape Sandwich in case there is a better campsite at Sunset Beach. Sunset Beach is further west than we had thought and we don’t paddle far enough west to find it. A bit of breeze will help keep the bugs down though and Banshee Bay has more chance of that so we return past Cape Sandwich and pull into Banshee Bay.

Again, there are no facilities for kayakers and the only obvious tent site is not very good – no shade and rough ground – and has an old fire pit (illegal) and garbage left behind. At least it’s not human faeces. There are however, big granite boulders at the north end of the beach with excellent shade and we can camp on the beach. The boulders at either end of these beach would be good for bouldering with cracks and big scooped out holds. Holey soles don’t seem to work well, however.

We have never visited the Brook Islands so we skip Gould Island the next day and go straight to Coombe Island via the Brook Islands. These islands are some kind of wildlife refuge so we just paddle past over a shallow coral reef home to many green turtles as we lazily drift along the three main islands and few rocky islets. Coombe Island has another steep broken coral beach but also a nice shady campsite and picnic bench. It has been a hot day with no wind and we paddled with our decks and life jackets strapped to the kayaks.

On our twelfth day, we island hop again in very calm and hot conditions past the rest of the Family Islands to Dunk Island. Dunk Island has changed since our last visit with a small cafe open near the jetty and glamping units on the south side of the sandy spit. The camping is now on the north side, west of the jetty, and it is very good. Large shady and private sites with a picnic table, showers (hot!), toilets, barbeques, garbage and water. The beach is great for swimming! Dunk Island really is a lovely place. We have paddled right around Dunk before so instead of expending extra calories I sheepishly shuffle down to the cafe and buy the usual fish, chips and burger. I feel revitalised by the food and after it cools off a bit, I walk up to the Mount Kootaloo lookout on a very good trail. I pass Doug on his way up when I am heading down.

The wind is back and leaving Dunk Island in the early morning we are confronted by very lumpy seas and bumpy conditions. Strangely, there is little wind for the first hour and the long crossing to the Barnard Group feels like it will take for ever in these conditions. Sitting in the kayak is a bit like being on one of those old dodge-em car rides where you were getting bumped around by other riders. The wind builds quickly however allowing us to get the sails up and the final two hours to Sisters Island takes all our concentration.

The tent sites at Sisters Island are hacked out of dense bush. These islands seem to have got more heavily vegetated since we paddled this coast in 2013. We should have stopped at Sisters Island but pressed on to Kent Island in strong winds which push us along at 9 km/hour. Kent Island is steep, broken coral again and we have to faff around to find a spot where we can land without bashing our hulls on broken coral. The north side, which again is only semi-protected, is too steep so we have to land through small waves trying not to hit the shore too hard as the waves drive in. There are a couple of tent sites cut into dense bush with some benches and a picnic table. In 2013, we walked up to the light station but there is no sign of the track now and the bush is very thick. Instead, I walk around the south side of the island in blustery winds on rocks and boulders.

The forecast is for another week of strong winds, up to 30 knots, and we are growing weary of the battle with beaches and blustery conditions. We have paddled the coast from Flying Fish Point to Cairns twice in the past and the prospect of long crossings in rough conditions as we travel to Russel, High and Fitzroy Islands is not appealing. Our food supplies are also a bit of an issue although we have plenty of crackers and peanut butter left. I feel myself growing weaker and weaker as I feel too queasy in the morning to eat any breakfast so I typically only have two small meals a day. We can end the trip at Flying Fish Point. The first time in my life I have ended a kayak trip early, except for one year when Doug got a sorewrist (coincidentally on a trip north from Lucinda). Without making a firm decision, we crawl into the tent and fall asleep.

It is surprisingly easy to end the trip the next day. It is our 14^th day out and it is windy and rainy. We lurch across to Double Point in bumpy conditions and then kayak sail north up the coast with gusty winds flipping the sail from side to side. I think how lucky it is that my brace is instinctive every time the sail flips across the kayak with a rough jolt. It feels strange to pass by Etty Bay where close in shore we can see holiday makers on the beach and the bright colours of the resort. Flying Fish Point, in contrast, is hidden under drab clouds and blustery squalls.

We have had a good time but I am left with mixed feelings. It was a very long drive to get here and we had paddled this coast before, some of it more than once. I am an explorer at heart and love most of all going some place new. It feels churlish to not gush over the splendour of the landscape through which we’ve travelled but I do feel somewhat let down. The last few years we have done so many absolutely epic paddles – out to the Percy Islands in 2022, High Peak Island in 2023, the eastern crossing of Bass Strait, also in 2022, and finally, southwest Tasmania in 2024 – that this one feels a bit bland. The islands are nice but not spectacular like the coast north of Bangalee where the tides run at 8 metres and there are 20 metre deep sea caves. Southwest Tasmania and even eastern Bass Strait feel so much more remote than North Queensland where the ocean and the landscape feels somehow tamed by the combustion engine.

But perhaps it’s coming back because nothing is ever the same when you go back. We spent many weeks paddling this coast since 2013 and, over the years we have paddled virtually the entire coast north from 1770 to Lizard Island. Going back is never the same as your first visit when everything is new and exciting. Like southwest Tasmania, this is one of those trips I probably wouldn’t do again but for entirely different reasons. I feel too old for southwest Tasmania now, and too jaded for a repeat of the far North Queensland coast.

All on water images: Doug B.

The Bigotry of Low Expectations

Content warning: This essay features dozens of judgements. If you are ideologically opposed to judgement you may be offended. I have attempted to defend all judgements but, at the end of the day, these are just judgements and subject to error. My only defense is to quote Rowan Atkinson: “… in my view, the right to offend is far more important than any right not to be offended.”

I woke up early this morning. I thought about lying in, it was still dark, but I had lots of things to do so I made a judgement to get out of bed. After coffee, but before breakfast, I went out for my aerobic training. I judged that I was not so hungry that I could not do this brief bit of training without eating. When I got home, I did have breakfast – salad with smoked salmon and two hard boiled eggs. I judged that would be enough protein to kick start some muscle protein synthesis. This judgement I can back up with some data as my nutrition calculator informs me that my breakfast had about 31 grams of protein (all favoured animal protein) and the research literature supports the contention that about 30 grams of protein at a single meal is necessary to induce muscle protein synthesis. I had a lot of things to do, so I made a judgement about the order in which I would pursue these chores.

At this point, you must be wondering, judging if you are smart, why you are reading about the dull minutiae of my day. That is a very good question and the answer is to illustrate that there is no such thing as not making judgements. Humans make judgements all day long and we would very quickly cease to exist entirely if we suspended judgement for even a few minutes during the average day. Our lives are literally a series of judgements, some are better supported by objective data than others, but every single decision or failure to make a decision (which is making a decision by default) we make throughout the day is based on a judgement. Anyone who tells you they do not judge is engaged in one (or both) of two things: self-delusion or false-hood.

The Rescued podcast begins with this introduction: It’s about the lessons we learn about ourselves, the places we go and why, without judgement, to help us have better adventures, manage risk and deal with the unexpected; and ends with this coda: The Rescued podcast is produced on the unceded lands of the Gondungara people….”

Right away, there are two judgements book-ending the podcast which immediately negates the opening statement that the episode is presented “without judgement.” The first judgement is that learning lessons and managing risks is valuable, and the second is that land acknowledgements somehow absolve us from the responsibility of returning any unceded land that we hold back to its rightful owners. You may, or may not agree with these judgements but every listener has, within minutes of listening to any and every episode, made multiple judgements.

My judgement is that the first statement (judgement) is valid but sadly unsupported by the presenter because we can neither reflect and learn nor manage risk without making judgements. The second judgement rings hollow and I judge to be performative nonsense to appease white settler guilt unless it is accompanied by actual concrete and substantive actions such as paying a portion of your monthly salary to the Gondungara people to compensate them for the loss of their land or, even better, returning any property you own to the Gondungara people.

The reality is, of course, that Caro makes judgements on every single episode of the podcast – as do we all. Sometimes, the judgements are obvious, as when she will nod along “so good, so good” to a judgement that fits her preferred narrative, other times the judgement is buried in the exhortation to “not judge.” But every non-judgement is simply a judgement by default (much like not making a decision is actually making a decision). And the default judgement is that the guest(s) is (are) too emotionally fragile or intellectually incompetent to reflect on their experience or to learn any lessons. The guests, and by extension, every listener to the podcast, is stuck now in the trap of continuing to make mistakes, have accidents (some extremely serious) for the rest of their lives because if we were to make a judgement that, for example, suspect anchors should be backed up before abseiling, we are guilty of the ultimate crime against humanity: judgement. Personally, I judge this to be a depressing world view wherein we are all stuck in a never ending cycle of unpleasant or outright dangerous consequences of events which we are completely unable to control. If we accept this judgement, we must also confront the fact that we are both very, very stupid and very, very emotionally fragile. None of these conclusions are appealing.

The act of “non-judgement” is both the bigotry of low expectations and the imbuing of a moral value label to a non-moral act of cognition. If you look judgement up in the dictionary you will find three definitions:

The cognitive process of reaching a decision or drawing conclusions;

The determination by a court of competent jurisdiction on matters submitted to it (law);

The mental ability to understand and discriminate between relations.

None of these definitions imply or specifically explicate a moral opinion. We can, and do, judge all the time without adding moral dimensions of good and bad to our judgements, although most, if not all, of us are able to recognise the differences between outcomes, some of which are most definitely good or bad. Breaking your pelvis I judge to be extremely bad and, my personal judgement is, that if there are actions I can take which will avoid this complication I will most certainly take them.

Caro’s podcast is, of course, a derivative of Ashley Sharpe’s very popular Sharp End podcast, which is itself a derivative (all work is derivative) of “Accidents in North American Mountaineering” published annually by the American Alpine Club. The annual volume of accidents (a selection only) has always included an editorial judgement as to the contributing causes of the accidents. This is because the editors are climbers (often very high level climbers) who understand that when you play risky games you might take home unwanted prizes if you do not use judgement, wisdom and intelligence to manage risk.

The difference between the two podcasts is stark. The epilogue of every single episode of the Sharp End podcast includes the lessons learned. In fact, the entire podcast is structured around the concept of learning from the mistakes of others so that the listeners do not have to make the same mistakes themselves. These lessons are most often advanced by the guests themselves although Ashley will also note lessons learned. Many times, I have thought that the real lessons to be learnt have been missed but that is a relatively unimportant detail when compared to Sharpe’s staunch adherence to the concept that accidents can be prevented by better knowledge and judgements. Ironically, the Rescued podcast with it’s exhortation to make no judgements, encourages us to become the podcast equivalent of accident voyeurs without redeeming qualities. We become the ghouls (a judgement) who slow down to stare at accident sites without offering to help. Gawking spectators to the tragedies of others with no moral constraints, but at least we aren’t judging.

I don’t believe (but I could be wrong) that Caro is truly committed to non-judgement – an impossible state of affairs – she simply suffers from the intellectual and moral confusion which comes from identifying strongly with certain ideologies. Anytime we adopt an ideology we abandon reasoned thinking and allow our ideological beliefs to make our judgements for us. I am reminded of the quote attributed to G. K. Chesterton: When men choose not to believe in God, they do not hereafter believe in nothing, they become capable of believing in anything. If we are forced to suspend judgement we become both morally vacuous and intellectually stupid, a state of affairs which we should judge to be abhorrent.

Spring Training

In Alberta, the tanned face and neck with white body is called the “farmers tan.” I’ve come back from north Queensland with the equivalent: tanned fingers from the knuckles down and white hands from wearing paddling gloves for two weeks on the water. Driving through the small towns of country Australia you realise how disconnected from reality the Hannah Ferguson’s of the world are. Out in the dusty hot unforgiving Australian bush, it’s the men who drive the monster road trains, rustle the cattle, and extract the resources that allow the women (and men) of the far left to indulge their fantasies of men becoming women and Australia not generating income from resource extraction. All these towns, including much of our agricultural production would wither and die without resource extraction which is all that allows Cheek media to market mass produced tote bags and ball caps to fund endless quasi-moral proselytising while living comfortable lives in inner city Sydney advocating for the working class who they have never met and wouldn’t like if they had.

It is really another world in small town Australia. But, back in my world, it’s time to shuffle up the training program to get ready for my next big trip. I’ve got five months and my new schedule starts now. As my next long trip will involve big vertical gains, I’m back on one of the Training For The New Alpinism plans. Consistency and gradual increases in duration and intensity might test my patience but I’m an old lady with a history of tweaks and injuries and the most important goal of training is to be able to keep training.

Ignorance and Confidence

All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence, and then success is sure. Mark Twain.

Back in the days of industrial trail breaking in the West Kootenays, I had a good ski buddy who loved to break trail the way a Collie likes herding sheep. In other words, it was bred into him with strong legs, a big heart (in both a physical and spiritual sense) and a boundless work capacity. The only two things that held him back from the ranks of god-like trail breakers was a tendency to get geographically misplaced and a propensity to miss rather obvious terrain management cues. This meant he could break trail for hours at a time and build fabulous gradually ascending trails that even the most infirm in the group could follow but they might be up the guts of an avalanche gully with a looming cornice overhead and the entire group stacked up so that an avalanche would take everyone out all at the same time.

My strategy for managing this, because everyone hates a nag even if they pretend to be OK with you blowing the whistle for the 45^th time on a three hour sea kayak tour, was to ignore any and all crazy foibles unless there was identifiable risk. Not imaginary discomfort from your “lived experience” but actual risk to the ski party, such as ascending steep convex terrain when shallow angle terrain was available, or going 180 degrees in the wrong direction (sometimes both at the same time).

This remains where I fall on the continuum of legitimate criticisms on shared trips. If I’ve made poor decisions such that I have endangered people, you should definitely raise the issue with me. We may not reach agreement, as people often choose a risky option over a safe one because we value outcomes and experience differently. But, if my decision is based on some kind of hare-brained over-confidence and encompasses a paternalistic (or maternalistic) “I will take responsibility for X,” attitude – especially where X is too inexperienced or inept to make a rational judgement and is simply trusting me (or you) blindly – those decisions are absolutely fair game for an open and reasoned discussion (or debrief, as the terminology runs). If I am angry about this, I am a delusional fool and you are right to mistrust me until I prove otherwise.

PC: Mark P

This system can work, although it may be uncomfortable to confront your own errors of judgement or lack of skill. What doesn’t work is pretending to forget (even if you do forgive) dozens of trips where poor judgement had real consequences. Medical emergencies aside, if you need professional rescue multiple times in your outdoor adventure career, you have a judgement problem. It was Mark Twain, the famous satirist and novelist, who wrote “Good judgement is the result of experience and experience is the result of bad judgement.” Twain, of course, wrote from his own experience of declaring bankruptcy in 1894 after a series of bad investments. By 1898 however, Twain through hard work, help from friends and associates, and not making the same mistakes multiple times, had paid his debts off and amassed a significant estate. Twain died a wealthy man. If the “first casualty of war is truth,” trust is the first thing lost when arrogance and hubris prevents accurate assessments of decision errors.

Connections

The best climber in the world is the one having the most fun. Jeff Lowe.

This year’s Accidents in North American Mountaineering is out at a record 144 pages as climbing accident reporting rises again. Pete Takeda who edits the annual volume speaks about the 2026 issue on the American Alpine Club podcast and reports that there has been an increase in top-rope soloing accidents. When I first started climbing (the dark ages), rope soloing (either top rope or lead) was virtually unknown and, to this day, I’ve only ever come across one person engaged in top-rope solo climbing at a crag in Castlegar, B.C. The bloke was climbing a 5.10 or 5.11 crack climb and all I really remember is that he had a boom box (also a thing from the dark ages) blasting (at a sensitive residential crag) and the whole procedure from set up to climb appeared to take an inordinate amount of time.

H. Mutch photo

The rise in rope soloing is perplexing given that there are more people climbing today than ever before in history and yet, apparently people are having trouble finding partners. I have to wonder if this reveals something about our culture, which is both increasingly individualistic and increasingly divided along identity lines. If you’ll only climb with women, or non-binary people (whatever that is), or black, brown or yellow people you might start to run short of climbing partners.

Alternatively, it could be social media culture. In an age when everyone is “projecting” it’s gotta be like solving the middle east crisis to find a partner who wants to project your project, on the day, time, humidity level and lunar cycle that your training schedule predicts you’ll be peaking to send the project and clip the chains. While I understand the satisfaction of finally accomplishing something you have worked hard for, I wonder if we have lost something ineffable about climbing when every midwit climber believes the most important thing is working their project not having a good time with their climbing buddies.

Today I paddled out to the Tollgate Islands with some friends. It was so nice to talk with people you haven’t seen for a while, to hear how their lives and the lives of their families are going, to share a little bit in their joys and adventures, and to remember that we are connected by more than some filaments of nylon rope, or at least we should be.

Tempo Paddling

Over the last couple of days the swell dropped precipitously until the HS (the average of the highest one third of waves during the observation period – generally the last 20 minutes) was down to only 0.6 metres with a HMax (the highest wave in the observation period) was only about 1.3 metres. Those waves were still packing a punch though with a 15 second wave period. That’s a wave period you associate with Tasmania or South Australia not the south coast of NSW.

PC: DB

At the Tollgate Islands, there were two very relaxed seals hanging off the east side of the south island but no sign of the bigger male I had seen a couple of weeks ago. As we paddled through the gap between the two islands and through various slots and gauntlets on the east side we noted an off-shore wind increasing. By the time we lapped around the north end of the north island, the WNW wind was about 15 knots and it was a cold and wet paddle (at least on one side of our bodies) down to Black Rock where the west side was uncharacteristically calm compared to the east side.

PC: DB

After that we nipped into the headland that bounds Mosquito Bay and headed back home. It was meant to be a “tempo” paddle for me and I had been hoping to keep the pace between 7 and 8 kilometres an hour for the full distance but the wind played a bit of havoc with that. The only other occurrence of note was that we paddled right through the gap between the two rocks that form the bommie off Mosquito Bay. This reef/bommie almost always breaks but today it was calm enough that with a bit of timing, you could pretty much paddle right across!