Targeted to Men Than Woman

If you didn’t keep a training log how would you know it was three weeks since you went bouldering, except that carrying the pad about suddenly felt odd and unfamiliar. But, of course, we’ve had the rain, and then a long bushwalk to escape both the rain and the election weekend, and a few days at the local crag working on a project or two, and a bit of a virus (not the ‘rona) and suddenly, it’s three weeks since I went bouldering.

I miscalculated the tide by not noticing that the low tides are relatively high right now, so the wall I expected to climb on was under water at the base. But, I found a couple of nice easy walls to warm up on, and then a good boulder, unfortunately with no easy way off, and then a nice steep boulder to fail on. There is a point at which you know you are done, and, after a couple of hours, I was at that point but I strolled, as much as one strolls with a boulder pad on their back along slippery rocks in slippery shoes (never buy Merrell Vapour Glove minimalist shoes unless you are only wearing them in urban settings, the soles suck) to a lookout over the ocean and passed a couple more good walls on the way that I knew about but had forgotten, such is the life of an old boulderer.

While I was climbing and failing, a young couple came past with two trekking poles each clicking away, undoubtedly walking the Bingie Track. They looked like giant spiders from War Of The Worlds. Do young folk really need trekking poles on a flat easy track? Perhaps they had read something about how trekking poles “engage your core,” which is clearly nonsense because the most functional way to engage your core is to not fall down while walking over uneven ground. Sometimes (most of the time?) I think we have forgotten the obvious in our search for the solution. Trekking poles seem like a solution in search of a problem. If you are interested in one of my obnoxious rants, I wrote about trekking poles in 2014.

I just finished reading The P:E Diet by Naiman and Shewfelt. I have wanted to read this for a long time but the hard-cover has a ridiculously hefty price tag and even the Ebook version seems a bit on the pricey side, but, for some reason, I got a deal from Amazon and got the book for $1.64. I could see this would be an unpopular book proposing as it does that you eat real food, train to failure and get uncomfortable. Just doing the first of those things – eating real food – is likely to make the average person used to a steady diet of processed food the third thing (uncomfortable).

The nutrition part of the book is on point, but likely to be seen as “restrictive,” impossible to follow, expensive, elitist, and on and on. How any of this stuff can be either controversial or subject to argument is “outside my ken,” as the Scots would say. But, as with trekking poles I think we have forgotten the obvious. Junk food, is, well, junk food. Eating a whole foods diet is less expensive than chronic illness, which is also not a whole lot of fun, and not actually expensive when you compare real food made at home to ultra-processed junk bought in either the grocery or the cafe.

The exercise part is interesting; not because of this charming one star review by Dawn in the USA: “Its [sic] more targeted to men than woman [sic] we are built different and we can't eat as much as men can and the exercises are clearly for men.” I love one star reviews for their, almost universal, laugh out loud inanity. Given, that the book is predominantly about eating less and exercising the fundamental human movement patterns (show me a female who does not need to squat multiple times a day and I will show you someone with a urinary catheter) this review gets a real belly laugh.

But, I digress. The reason the exercise part is “interesting” is because the authors unequivocally recommend training to failure on every set of every exercise, every single day. I can understand how Dawn in the USA might think this makes the exercises clearly for men because my first thought, as a 59 year old female who has been lifting for four decades, is that training to failure might suit young bucks with truck loads of testosterone but is disastrous for the masses.

Jocks and gym rats have been arguing about training to failure since god purported to make Eve out of one of Adam’s ribs. Many of these debates are so esoteric that they appeal only to true aficionados. It’s debatable whether novice lifters can even determine whether or not they have reached failure as, funnily enough, just as strength is a skill, learning to push to the maximum is also a skill and one infrequently realised in the modern world.

In reality, I don’t think it is even possible for most (?any) of us to truly train to failure every day on every rep and set. Personally, if I followed that strategy the end of the training week would see me prostrate with fatigue, facing a week of recovery before I could train seriously again and that clearly is counter-productive. So, while the training section of The P:E Diet should come with a YMMV warning, the rest of the book is pretty darn solid.

Where The Dingoes Roam: Mount Murray The Long Way

Rain again on the coast and, as usual this year, the ACT is the driest location within my “drive to adventure” ratio. We could do another long wack through the increasingly dense regrowing bush to tag another Namadgi summit, or we could, in equal time, walk a long, long way, on trails and tag a Namadgi summit that requires only a short bushwack.

A few friends of mine had walked into Big Creamy Flats (the normal campsite for ascending Mount Namadgi) a couple of weekends previously and that 12 kilometre distance had taken about 6.5 hours – a normal pace for that distance of off-track travel. In 6.5 hours, we could walk a long way on tracks, and, as we had done our last two trips from Yankee Hat but had never been into the Cotter or Orroral Valleys we chose the long walk over the shorter off-track walk.

With the Orroral Road closed, access to the Orroral Valley is via the north from the Corrin Road or from the east via the Apollo Road. Orroral Ridge Road, which used to be open to vehicle traffic is now closed to vehicles so that adds about 3 kilometres and an extra 300 metres gain to the day, but, over a 900 metre gain/loss and 20 kilometre day what is an extra hours walk, and, after all, we are here to walk.

The air is clear and crisp and after about an hour we are walking down the Link Track (also the AAWT) with a view of the Orroral Valley and Orroral Tor 300 metres down. There is a bridge over the Orroral River but it is acting as a dam and the fire trail is flooded for about 75 metres with calf deep and very cold water. We sit on the bridge for a snack before wading across and continuing up the other side of the valley to another major fire trail junction. Fire trails run north and south up the Orroral Valley and we follow the Cotter Hut fire trail up another long hill to a ridge crest where we turn off onto the more trail like Australian Alps Walking Trail (AAWT) which immediately descends down old stone steps to cross Sawpit Creek before the final climb of the day up to Cotter Gap. It is nice to be on single track and off fire trail.

Passing by Split Rock, Pond Creek has flooded into marshy flats and it is a struggle to keep our feet dry. It is forecast to be a chilly night and it would be nice to have dry instead of frozen shoes next morning. The sun has tipped behind ridges as we approach Pond Creek Flats and cross the south fork of Pond Creek. I knew of a campsite here, but we could not find any established camp but do find a dry spot on gravelly granite soil with water nearby. By the time we have the tent up and a hot chocolate brewed up, dew is settling thickly on everything and it is early dinner and into the tent for a long winter night.

All the way down the hill from Cotter Gap we have been hearing the mournful howl of a dingo and intermittently we hear its long, lonely call through the night. Like a wolf or a loon call in Canada, the sound is evocative of deep wilderness and lying warm in the tent with the stars glittering in the frost hard night sky I feel that deep sense of joy and belonging that comes from being far from people, roads and civilisation.

I am up in the dark of early morning with the water on for hot coffee which we drink in the tent, a delicious luxury, before packing up and putting on every piece of clothing we have brought with us to walk stiffly down the track towards the Cotter Valley.

In the open grasslands of the Cotter Valley we meet another bushwalker packing up preparatory to walking up Mount Bimberi and we exchange some small talk before fording the Cotter River and walking south down the Cotter Valley until our trail forks off to climb 500 metres up to Murrays Gap.

On a bit of flat ground below Little Bimberi there is a tremendous campsite with a view over Mount Namadgi and the Scabby Range with a clear running creek a short distance away. Murrays Gap is boggy and sodden and we turn off the track to the south as soon as we reasonably can and walk steeply up open snow gum forest emerging at 1800 metres at the saddle between the east and west tops of Mount Murray. We scramble up the granite slabs on the east peak of Mount Murray to look out over the Cotter Valley and the line of ridges and mountain tops that roll away to the east.

Before the fires, trip reports indicate there were no views from the main summit, but the snow gums are burnt and mostly dead, and the views now are nearly as good as from the east summit. We rest and eat lunch in the sun but cannot stay too long as we have 11 or 12 kilometres to walk back to camp and the winter days are short.

Dropping down to Murrays Gap we land into the middle of swampy ground and I finally give up trying to keep my feet dry after stepping into several ankle deep puddles. Back down in the valley, near Bimberi Creek, at 3.30 pm we meet some bike-packers pushing their gravel bikes along the fire trail. They are heading to the Oilfields Hut for the night and have a long push up the steep trail ahead of them. Intermittently, we wonder if they make it that night as they have gravel bikes not mountain bikes and they are pushing the bikes not riding even on the flattest bit of track.

Back across the Cotter River and past some kangaroos on the plains and we walk back uphill to Pond Creek Flats and our small campsite. It is another early to bed night although much warmer with much less frost and the dingo has moved on and apart from the odd thump of a passing kangaroo or wallaby, the night is dense and dark as only winter nights are.

Into sodden shoes the next morning but luckily not frozen and again we leave camp with all our clothes on walking stiffly in so many layers. It is a 300 metre climb up to Cotter Gap so that warms us up and we have our first of two stops of the day on a boulder in the sun overlooking the Orroral Valley again.

Knowing that the final 8 kilometre 400 metre climb back to Orroral Ridge would feel like work I let myself listen to a talking book on my MP3 player. Doug also listens to a podcast on the final hill. “Generally,” Doug said, “I like to be in the moment when I am out in nature.” While I agree wholeheartedly with the sentiment, “Right now,” I say, at the bottom of a long uphill track with sore feet “I don’t want to be in this moment.”

You Can Do This Becomes Where The F88k

Rain is coming but for this week we are enjoying the most glorious autumn weather. Yesterday I got on my bicycle to ride downtown for some errands and ended up riding all around the area enjoying the sights and sunshine as if I were a tourist. Truthfully, I was a bit too stiff and sore to do too much more after a hard climbing day the day before.

I have a simple mantra when I am climbing “you can do this” repeat as many times as necessary. That worked pretty well for a few pitches but the routes got harder, and I got more and more pumped and on the penultimate route of the day, “you can do this” became “where the f88k is the hold?” I can’t recommend this as a mantra as it is not near as effective at spurring a good try hard effort.

So yesterday was a recovery day. I went to vote, because it is a privilege taken for granted but none the less a privilege to live in a country where voting matters. Kitty Corner (a weird Canadian term meaning diagonally across the road) is the Water Gardens Town Park, a small wetland with a couple of boardwalks and some short trails. Somehow, I had never visited this little park, so I cycled around it and found thousands of grey headed flying foxes in situ. I get that these mammals can be smelly and noisy if camped near your house but they are fascinating creatures and I spent a fair bit of time watching them. They come into our garden at night, mostly to eat our guavas but since I netted the gauva tree they seem to come by less and less.

Then I cycled over the new bridge over the Clyde River and along the northern foreshore to Cullendulla boardwalk. The new bridge is great to cycle (or walk) over. It is higher than the old bridge – which was dismantled as it was an opening and closing bridge that stopped traffic every time a tall boat went under, and we all know that stopping traffic has become some kind of unspeakable crime – and gives a great view of the bay over Snapper Island and out to the Tollgate Islands. Riding over, I thought what a beautiful place I am lucky enough to live in. The new bridge gets lots of self-propelled traffic and there was a big group of walkers heading across.

Council is making the whole area around the bridge and along the northern and southern foreshores great for community recreation. There is a big cycle off-ramp as well as pedestrian stairs, and new parks are going in on the north, south, east and west sides of the bridge. Right now there is a great cycle route along to Cullendulla reserve which has a mangrove boardwalk and access to a lovely little protected beach with good swimming for families. Cullendulla Creek runs out here and the creek is a great protected kayak as well. When I was learning to roll my kayak, I would paddle over to Cullendulla as the water is warm and clear and a cup of tea on the beach afterward is a good way to warm back up and knock the water out of your ears.

Tomorrow is back to the main event, “you can do this” followed inevitably by “where the f88k is the hold.”

#Endless Rain

Well, another rainy week in southeast Australia (probably most of eastern Australia). I had to look back at my log to see what I have been doing as the rainy days just seem to blend into one drizzly mishmash. The ground is so soaked that we don’t even think about going out rock climbing the day after rain, too much seepage on the crags, so now we need two dry days in a row to climb. Not a problem I ever thought I would have in Australia.

I did get out bouldering in the forest on Monday. I had found and brushed off some new boulders a couple of months ago but had not got back to climb because #endless rain. As usual, I was by myself, which I kind of like being a bit of hermit and a lot of a loner. Solo bouldering definitely gives you some extra impetus to pull the top moves with only one bouldering pad and no spotter.

According to my log we had one day where there was enough of a dry period that I managed to climb on our outside wall and work on some endurance. I seem to recall feeling painfully pumped by the end. Speaking of pumped, the Wide Boyz have a new video out of an ascent of No Way Jose in southern Utah which is worth a watch, and somewhat comforting to me to observe two hard climbers also getting pumped.

We did have a dry day for climbing, but, not expecting to get out the next day, I had somewhat thrashed myself training in the gym and on the wall the day before and did not feel exactly on top of my game. Still, I did manage to pull off one hard (for me) route and any day climbing is a good day. And, some trail running, because it does not really matter if it is raining, some low tide walks on the rock platforms around home because I am old and need to keep working my balance on rough ground, boulders, and little scrambles.

Three Days In May

Autumn in Australia, fall in Canada, whatever you call the season, this has to be the best time of year. Crisp clear days, cool nights, and, if you are lucky, a wonderland of wilderness to explore out your back door. On Friday morning I ran the Durras Lake trail which I have not done for a couple of years. There was a faint mist over the lake as the warm water steamed into the cool air, and no-one about until I got to the ocean and even there only a couple of people were on the beach.

With all the wet weather, Durras Lake is open to the sea, and today would have been a very easy paddle over the bar into the lake. My to-do list of trips, which percolates away at the back of brain, still has paddle from home to Durras, cross the bar and paddle into the lake to camp overnight. We have paddled into Durras Lake as a day trip from home, but on that occasion had neither the time nor energy to paddle around the lake as well.

The day we paddled into Durras Lake, it was just Doug, myself and Speedalot Blacklock which meant we were cracking along at between 8 and 9 kilometres the entire way, with a headwind approaching Durras Lake and then the inevitable sprint intervals on the way back to catch runners. Gosh, I feel tired just remembering.

PC: DB

On Saturday, we went rock climbing and we are slowly dragging ourselves back into decent climbing shape. With all the rain, the usual ramp up to climbing season has been slower than normal as we can only climb on the second day after rain as the ground is so saturated that the day after rain the crags are seeping and wet. As it rains almost every second day, getting out climbing has been tricky.

PC: DB

When I talked to Speedalot on Saturday night to organise paddling on Sunday, he claimed to be tired, but Doug and I have learnt to take that with a silo sized serving of salt. We decided on a lap out to Montague Island followed by a cruise south from Glasshouse Rocks back to Mystery Bay as there are interesting slots, caves and other features along that section of coast.

PC: DB

It was a very calm launch from Mystery Bay and one of those days where Montague Island looks about half an hours paddle off shore when it is actually between 9 and 10 kilometres away. The tiredness factor did not appear to be in evidence as we got out to Montague Island the fastest I ever have in just five minutes over an hour.

PC: DB

Then it was up the east side of Montague Island in very good conditions, it is seldom so calm on the eastern side, and around to the northern end where we paused for a few minutes among a large pod of seals. The air was so clear we could see the peaked triangle of Glasshouse Rocks just south of Narooma about seven kilometres away so paddled back across and weaved around the rocks before heading south and inspecting a series of small beaches before deciding to land at a little pocket beach just south of Hankerchief Beach. None of the landings were particularly difficult but some would involve more wetness than others and none of us were too keen on getting doused; the sun was lovely but the air was cool.

PC: DB

We paddled in over a sand bar and landed for a quick lunch and as, Speedalot helped me carry my boat up the beach, the front toggle pulled right out and the boat crashed to the ground. Speedalot was worried about how close to his foot the boat had landed but I was more concerned with the new hole in my bow which would undoubtedly be difficult to patch.

PC: DB

The last five kilometres south to Mystery Bay is past a series of small beaches and then along a rocky coast with slots, caves and arches. A really excellent day out and a reminder that I need to add, walk the coast at low tide around Mystery Bay. Years ago we had walked from Narooma to Mystery Bay, but that seems so long in the past that I have quite forgotten the trip.

The Black Swan

Even now, in an era free of infectious diseases but full of man-made chemicals, scientists, and the public share an unthinking preference for infectious over noninfectious pathogens. Both groups share an obsolete microphobia but tolerate the use or even indulge in the consumption of numerous recreational and medical drugs. Moreover, progressive scientists and policymakers are not interested in recreational and medical drugs and man-made environmental toxins as causes of disease, because the mechanisms of pathogenesis are predictable. Further, prevention of drug diseases is scientifically trivial and commercially unattractive.

Peter H. Duesberg, Inventing The Aids Virus.

I got onto this somewhat obscure book after reading about the banishment of Duesberg during the AIDS crisis of the late 1980’s and early 1990’s in Robert Kennedy’s book, The Real Anthony Fauci. Both books are an eye-opening look at the machinations, malfeasance, corruption and incompetence that is common place in the most powerful health institutes in the USA, namely the FDA, the NIH, and the CDC. Only a fool would think that health institutes in other countries, such as the ATAGI in Australia operate much differently.

In addition to revealing fraud and corruption in the NIH, Duesberg takes away the veil on peer-reviewed science. More and more in the modern world I get the sense that ordinary people believe that science is an ever-rising trajectory of knowledge and excellence, beatifically set apart from the grubby emotions that seethe among groups of humans everywhere. Science, particularly medical science is anything but a holy pursuit for knowledge instead it is deceptive, messy, often fraudulent, business beset by the normal human biases that affect everything and overwhelming corrupted by incentives (mostly money but also prestige – which brings money). Peer review, held out by many as the gold standard to winnow out corruption, fraud, and bad science is in fact as plagued by the former (corruption, fraud and bad science) as any other human endeavour.

Science, rather than progressing by consensus as many would like to believe, actually progresses by heretical questioning of the dominant narrative. The science is “never settled” because the scientific method can only provide evidence in support of a hypothesis, never absolute proof. This is as basic as the metaphor of the black swan. Prior to the “discovery” of Australia, all swans were believed to be white, however the discovery of one black swan is enough to discredit the truism that all swans are white.

Duesberg was a black swan swimming among white swans and, as such, suffered career ending ostracism for daring to question the dominant (and poorly proven at the time, possibly even now?) narrative that AIDS was a new disease caused by HIV. The treatment of Duesberg by the scientific community was not and is not an unusual aberration. Censorship of science or even questioning the dominant scientific narrative continues apace to this day and may have even become more rampant with the advent of “fact checkers” and cancel culture.

Putting aside whether or not HIV is the cause of AIDS, Duesberg’s book raises two critically important issues for the advancement of human kind, one is the toxic and paralysing group think that stifled any enquiry that did not fit the narrative and the other is less obvious but may be more damaging in the long run and that is the opportunity cost of silencing the best and brightest independent thinkers among us.

Human innovation and creativity has always leapt ahead in great strides when we have allowed the black swans amongst us to have free range to think, experiment and create. When we stifle any one of these rare and valuable humans we lose so much more than we can ever imagine.