No Name Mountain

It seems as if it has been a long time since I went running, lots and lots of walking, but no running for a few weeks. After our aborted paddle on Sunday, I felt the need for some bush time or forest bathing as Eastern traditions call it, and headed out to ascend "No Name" Mountain. No Name Mountain is near Bolaro Mountain, which I had spent a few pleasant hours on some months ago.  

Of course, there is a road. There is a road everywhere. Mostly I dislike road running but some of these forest fire trails are old enough that they have become more like trails than roads and this was one such fire trail. Ascending gradually to a saddle with Bolaro Mountain, crossing a few small creeks along the way, and mostly shadowed by eucalpytus forest.

Since the fires last year the forest has opened up and there are views of the surrounding forests and hills, even all the way out to the Tollgate Islands on the coast. Lots of boulders and slabs along the way, some tree ferns, some small creeks running over granite stream beds. The wild and deafening shrill of cicadas and a few cackling Kookaburras.

It was uphill all the way, which meant it was a fast walk for me, not a run, but coming back, I was surprised how quickly I got back to the car. I am always a little bit shocked that I can still run even after a week or three off. That is the benefit of consistency and persistence.

The older I get, the more joy I take in the simplest athletic movements in life and the more I see the wisdom of Will Gadd's dictum which is to do something physical every day.