The Blue Cave: Solstice Edition

The fourth paddler into the Blue Cave has been in there a long time and, worryingly, had paddled bow first into the tunnel which lies perpendicular to the narrow entrance passage. The Blue Cave is a somewhat mystical place, scene of dramatic rescues, and bragging rights for people who have got into the Blue Cave for the first time. Rumour is the cave was discovered by PL, a local paddler turned mountain biker who looked at the entrance every time he paddled the Tollgate Islands and finally decided to venture in one day. It’s both conventional and eminently sensible to back into caves stern first so you can easily see what’s coming and make appropriate adjustments to your paddle strokes. But, the entrance to the Blue Cave is very narrow, less than a paddle width wide so entering stern first was not a reasonable option. PL, a bold paddler in his time, paddled in bow first and discovered he could spin the kayak around, continue backing up, make a 90 degree turn and then paddle deep into a tunnel under the island. On a sunny day, blue light filters in from above, hence the name.

PC: DB

My tactic, on this day, and all days when I enter, is to paddle smartly in bow first. I don’t dither in the narrow constriction where even the smallest wave is squeezed to impressive heights. Immediately through the squeeze channel is a larger cavern where I spin the boat around and then reverse back, turn 90 degrees and continue reversing until I am back in the dark, rising up and down, listening to the boom of waves at the back of the cave. When it is time to exit, I move forward, pause to assess conditions – it’s not uncommon to have to wait out a set of bigger waves - and paddle smartly out. It’s not really possible to see exactly what size swell is coming as the opening to the cave is narrow and the cliffs on either side high, but, if there is a lull in swells, I break out smartly. There are multiple dodgy points, but the narrow entrance is definitely one of the dodgier points as it is impossible to brace because the entrance is too narrow to accommodate a paddle. Other folks paddle bow first all the way to the 90 degree turn and rotate the kayak there to back paddle stern first into the tunnel. No-one paddles into the tunnel bow first because if you can’t turn the kayak around, you have to back out into some pretty exciting and dynamic conditions.

I am starting to think two things. The first is, as a new leader I should never have brought people to the entrance to the Blue Cave and paddled in myself thus setting the stage for everyone to want to paddle in; second, that I am going to have to go back in to find the fourth paddler and how challenging will a rescue be in the confined and dynamic conditions? Just as I am preparing to get tow ropes handy and to sort the remaining paddlers into a rescue back-up, the bow of the fourth paddlers boat emerges into the narrow passage, and, with tentative strokes but a very big smile, the paddler exits safely. It is with relief that I move the party along. One more paddler should have been given the opportunity to enter as, ironically, the fifth paddler has much more equanimity and paddle skills in dynamic conditions but my new leader nerves aren’t up to another long wait. When I got my Paddle Australia Sea Guide qualifications a few months ago, my assessor told me this would be the start of another learning journey and he has thus far been proven correct.

PC: DB

This year the winter solstice fell over a weekend, and, as I run a regular Sunday paddle, l would be paddling on Sunday anyway so I decided to run a weekend paddling trip with a night camped out on the 21^st. There were the usual sign-up, drop-outs, but, come Friday evening, I had six paddlers happy, if not outright keen, to spend the darkest, coldest night of the year sleeping in tents wet with dew but with an outstanding weather forecast: calm, sunny, with a falling swell.

PC: DB

From Kioloa, we paddled the Murramarang Coast, a delightful section of coast protected by national park status and with some areas of marine reserve. This is the sort of coastline that sea kayakers love – steep cliffs, rocky headlands, small islands, quiet coves and beaches, caves and gauntlets and cliff-lined slots. We hugged the coast on the way south paddling under 40 metre high cliffs near Snapper Point, through a narrow wave washed gap between Dawsons Island and the little sandspit, through the gap between Clear Point and its offshore rock bombora to land on a small steep and completely deserted beach for lunch.

PC: DB

After lunch we had more island gaps to paddle, more cliffs to sneak alongside, more small beaches and coves. The water was astonishingly clear and we could see fish swimming below us, while off-shore whales breached and closer in, dolphins and seals hunted, swam and rested along the rocky shore daring the breaking waves. The hidden cave at a tiny cove was too wave washed to enter so we carried on past until we found a deserted beach where we landed to pass the night.

PC: DB

When I walked along the beach early the next morning, the kayaks were encased in a coating of ice, the first time I have seen this so close to the ocean. We paddled south with an even smaller swell than the day before which meant we were able to play in slots and caves. Near North Head as we were paddling through various different gauntlets, tourists were looking down at us from the lookout and a drone flew overhead. Perhaps we would star in somebody's movie. At North Head we landed on the beach and walked up to the lookout and then launched and headed due south to the Tollgate Islands and the Blue Cave.

 The Tollgate Islands are a paddlers paradise, there is always something interesting to see and fun features to paddle through, and after the Blue Cave we finished with our circuit of the island paddling around rocky islets, visiting the horizontal shower and backing into the big arched cave on the southern end. In some of the glassiest and flattest conditions I’ve paddled in, we finished up our circuit of the Tollgate Islands and paddled back to my home bay and the end of the weekend.

Should You Be In? Mostly solo to Burrewarra Point

I got a text on Tuesday inviting me on a paddle on Thursday. Winter is my climbing season so I usually only paddle one day a week (the 20 kilometre day) but I seldom get invited on things having a very small circle of outdoor partners all of whom are getting older (as am I). My memories of big days ski touring in Canada with a cohort of keen skiers who, if I suggested something seemingly ludicrous like skiing south to the US border would happily say “I’m in” convinced me to say “I’m in.”

But I wasn’t going to drive down and launch from Mossy Point, I decided I would paddle down. Accordingly, I got all my gear ready the night before including some warm clothes. It’s dropping down to about 1 degree Celsius overnight currently and I would be on the water soon after first light. I got away right on schedule, in fact, a bit too early, as I had hoped to run into my two paddling companions just on the south side of Burrewarra Point, but I got to Burrewarra Point at around 9:20 am and my friends were not launching until 9:30 or 10 am. The low winter sun was mostly obscured by cloud, but the slanting light on the water made me feel a little queasy so I looked for a place to land on the south side of Burrewarra Point.

South of the point I found a little shingle sand beach, accessible only via kayak or private property down a sketchy track and walked about trying to warm up. From my location, it was only about three kilometres (or less) to the channel entrance at Mossy Point but that would have made a 34 kilometre paddling day and I didn’t feel fit enough for that without generating many aches and pains! After a bit, I spotted two kayaks paddling past far off-shore and I had to sprint out to catch up with them near Burrewarra Point.

We went around Burrewarra Point and into Guerilla Bay via the narrow slot on the north side of the semi-detached island, and had a welcome cup of tea. From there, I convinced my paddle partners to do a lap around Jimmies Island before they headed south so we all paddled through the gap between Jimmies Island and the south end of Rosedale where I waved them goodbye and paddled home.

As I paddled most the of the day alone, I thought about all the trips I had done and how many I truthfully wished I had said “I’m out,” instead of “I’m in.” After 45 years of adventuring, I can count on one hand the number of times this has happened and those were big multi-day ski trips where we had exceptionally bad weather which gave rise to extreme avalanche hazard. When everything is avalanching there is very little you can do but find a safe space and hunker down. When these weather conditions persist for your entire trip, that’s a trip that is not really worth spending your time on. Most of the time, the situation is far less clear cut, and, although there might be a modicum of “suffering” (in it’s loosest sense), I’m always glad I said “I’m in.”

Caves and Climbing

There’s a new book out with the ambitious aim of reducing rock climbing accidents mostly based upon the writers experience at Portland’s busiest crag, Ozone. Every town and city in every country in the world has an Ozone. There may be more accidents at the Ozone’s across the world but some of that is simply a reflection of the number of people climbing at the world’s Ozones. My first thought was the new book will add little to a topic which is already more thoroughly covered in other books. The Mountaineers, of course, have their excellent series on rock climbing, and other authors such as Andy Kirkpatrick have covered any other details likely to be missing. But perhaps, a new book is just what is needed to assist gym climbers transition to outdoor climbers.

Years ago, we climbed a route called Takakkaw Falls in the Rocky Mountains of Canada. We were a party of three climbing with a friend who had climbed the route recently and knew all the different route variations. There was a party above us, coincidentally people we knew from our time in the Calgary Section of the Canadian Alpine Club (CAC) and they were a little slower than us so we had to wait at some belay stations. At the 8^th pitch of this 10 pitch route, a big bulky body builder type bloke wearing only shorts (no shirt, no pack) leading two timid and similarly scantily clad women on one rope approached from below. He was linking pitches and climbing fast. Which is actually no surprise as the entire party must have been very cold as the appeal of the route (it’s certainly not the climbing which is easy and loose, very, very loose) is that it ascends a wall right beside the thundering Takakkaw Falls and is frequently misted by water from the falls.

The top of the route has a cave which you crawl and squirm through to stand right beside the falls. At almost 400 metres high and fed by the Peyto Glacier, the falls are the second highest in Canada and impressive especially up close. After viewing the falls we crawled back through and discovered a new traffic jam at the top of the route. Our bodybuilding friend was tethered into the only bolt on the final pitch of the route (25 metres, 5.5) because he had run out of rope trying to link pitches. Our CAC friends who had been exiting the tunnel when we were entering were waiting to rappel the route. So we all waited because Sly (we had started calling our hulkster friend, Sylvester Stallone) had decided to climb the route in clothes more appropriate for the beach than a Canadian Mountain while linking pitches that were not necessarily able to be linked with the rope he had.

Finally, Sly and friends, cleared the middle of the pitch and we rappelled all ten pitches as a party of six. This worked really well as we had two sets of ropes so could leap-frog down with one party of three setting the new ropes while the other party cleaned the previous pitch. Just as we hit the scree at the base of the wall, a brewing thunderstorm finally broke with thunder, lightening and torrential rain. Luckily, we had only to scrabble down the loose scree to the tourist trail and back to our car, but, for years afterwards I wondered what had happened to Sly and his friends, dressed as they were and with only one rope to descend 10 pitches with only one (allegedly) experienced climber in a group of three. I searched the American Alpine Club’s database and they don’t appear there, although there are other accidents from Takakkaw Falls.

There are two rather obscure points to this story, one is that accidents are frequent in popular areas where no amount of “education” will result in a zero accident rate, the other is the tunnel, which is a lead-in to crawling through the Gosangs Tunnel on the Beecroft Peninsula near Currarong. We had been climbing at Nowra the day before and drove out to Currarong to hike out to Gosangs Tunnel and around Coomies walk. Gosangs Tunnel was closed for years but finally the steel pylons put in to “enhance safety” are complete and the tunnel is open again. It was strangely reminiscent of crawling through the tunnel on Takakkaw Falls route but, of course, at a much lower elevation and you look out over short but steep sea-side cliffs instead of waterfalls and pine trees.

The whole circuit walk is worth doing with all the little side trails to Mermaid Inlet, Beecroft Lookdown, Moores Inlet – the best view is probably from Moores Inlet – and back via Merimbula Trig and the cleverly hidden lookout platform in the trees which despite its modest elevation does show both sides of the Beecroft Peninsula.

Cheaters and Shame: 1000 metres on a Mountain Bike

In the fitness and recreation context I have seen plenty of people choose to participate in an endurance sport and then search high and low for a way to do less of the activity while still trying to achieve the stated goal. Mark Twight from the essay Cheaters.

This is the reality on every mountain bike park in Australia: the overwhelming majority of riders are on electric bikes, even young people who should be at the acme of their fitness. It’s worth reading through Twight’s entire essay to understand why this is not the win that everyone thinks it is. Every time you take the easy route, you give up a little more of your own ability to do the hard thing. And hard things will come, no matter how young, old, rich or poor you are. By learning to enjoy the hard thing, you not only push the boundary of what you can do right now, but you future proof yourself against growing old as a weakling. Weaklings fall over and break hips, end up in care homes and spend their last years watching their capacity shrink away. It’s no way to live and it is certainly no way to approach death.

Sometimes I crash

I’ve given up thinking that myself, or Twight, or anyone else who rails against this will ever swing around the majority of the populace. The shackles are simply too comfortable in the present time and visualising the future if you continue to remain shackled in comfort too hard to imagine accurately. Everyone thinks they will be the one who escapes death, taxes, and sarcopenia but no-one does, most particularly no-one on an electric bicycle.

I can crash just about anywhere

My brain thinks up challenges. Most of them are meaningless to anyone but me and are non-randomly attached to round number digits. In winter, for example, which is my off-season for sea kayaking, I always try to paddle at least 20 kilometres in one go once per week. This is not hard. If I remain modestly fit, 20 kilometres takes 3 or 3.5 hours, not a big effort, and means I can have breakfast before I leave, and lunch when I get home. It’s a minimal effort meant to keep me minimally paddle fit over the winter months.

The Sunday 20 km

When I first hit 700 metres gain on the mountain bike on our local (and new) mountain bike trails, I thought, in my non-random way, adding up 1000 metres in day of elevation gain would be a good goal to shoot for. Quite a few times, I hit the mid-700’s or even 800 metres over the course of six months or so but usually found that my legs were disturbingly shaky on the last uphill ride to home. I’ll train, I thought, and, I did, a bit, but not with any detailed plan or definite intensity or schedule. I did, however, stop running, and tried to ride the trails a bit more often, and, went back to Crossfit workouts (for no real reason other than I like the variety of Crossfit training). Abstractly and with no concrete metrics being measured, I thought I was getting stronger.

Crossfit workouts at backcountry campsites

On Saturday, I was out riding around and eventually, after a few ups and downs – our trails are mostly up and down – I found myself descending The Mogo at Mogo and having coffee at a cafe in the sun in the tourist village of Mogo. This is a nice little leg break even if it means riding The Mogo at least three times. The first time you see The Mogo (the name for the heavily switchbacked track out of Mogo) you think “wow, what a cool trail feature!” After riding it a few times, you think “this is a slow and somewhat annoying way to gain 30 to 40 metres of elevation gain!”

The Mogo at Mogo

Out of Mogo, I did an extra lap because I’d never ridden the new blue uptrack (Grandstand) which runs uphill to Mitchell’s and the new jump lines (way too hard for me); nor had I ridden the new blue skills run (Flipping Pancakes). The up-track, ironically enough given all the young riders were too lazy to ride up and were shuttling the 80 metre ascent Grandstand is probably one of the easiest up-tracks in the system (possibly the easiest). Yes, a paltry 80 metres. If ever there was an argument for bringing back shame, it is the ubiquity of electric bicycles.

Mogo logo

By the time I had gone up and down the required number of times to get back to Mogo trig my watch was reading 843 metres of gain. Only 170 metres more and I would hit my 1000 metre goal! My legs felt pretty good so I took a blue line down to Jackhammer and rode up that. Jackhammer is an up-track, but has some downs, and I thought if I was lucky, I would manage all the rest of the elevation gain on one loop, but, I got down to the Curtis Road trail-head around 60 metres shy of the goal. So, I did what any self-respecting rider should do and I rode back up until my watch had ticked over 1000 metres and then blasted back down to the trail head and home. My final tally 1050 metres of gain and 45 kilometres of riding.

Al Capones Garden

It felt really good to tick off that goal, not least because I don’ t have to do that particular goal again. A not unfamiliar state of affairs to most goal oriented individuals. The truth is, we enjoy the journey at least as much, if not more, as actually attaining the goal. No doubt, I’ll find another goal, but it will likely be a goal that emphasises technical difficulty not merely elevation gain. I am more intrigued by those kind of goals than simply going further for longer. In the early days of ultra-running when ultra-running was not really a thing, I had a friend who would cobble together his own endurance events which generally involved bashing up and down scree slopes to various mountain peaks. There was little to no technical difficulty and I never understood the appeal. A classic arete like the NW Ridge of Sir Donald offers superb but easy climbing in a scenic position or you could scree bash up half a dozen peaks in Kananaskis Country, I know which I would choose.

The NW arete on Sir Donald

The next day, Sunday, I did my 20 kilometre paddle (21.5 kilometres) at an easy pace but no other training as we were climbing the next day and I had big goals. You can prepare but you cannot always win, and I had no idea I was as fatigued as I was until I started climbing and, on the first route of the day, I got the dreaded flash pump. The forearm pump quickly spread and I fell off many times on routes I can normally climb. It was horridly frustrating and, obviously, I didn’t meet any of my goals. I simply could not get my tired body to perform.

Doug showing good body tension

Consistency and conscientiousness are important in both sport and life. If you say you are going to do something, you should, and the only way to really improve at anything is to persevere even if you don’t feel like it. I am pretty good at that. If my training plan says paddle 20 km and it’s cold, wet and windy, I’ll find a way to get it done. The hardest step, most frequently, is just walking out the door, particularly on days when you feel a bit tired or the weather is a bit rubbish. I’m used to doing that. What I am not used to doing is recognising when I’m too fatigued to benefit and dialling the program back or, most horrific of all, having a rest day. It’s a reminder and a lesson that your greatest strength is at the same time, your greatest weakness.

Trumpism Comes to the South Coast!

This report out of the south coast where a work party was over-run by militant toxic masculine identifying persons. Our reporter Ima Fended was on the ground (not literally). Below is they/them’s report:

Upon arriving at the agreed upon meeting place I was shocked that there were no flags flying, none. Not even the rainbow colours flag! Strikingly, I was the only attendee wearing a keffiyeh, even though, this location and activity was absolutely tailor (not used in the gendered sense) made for showing our solidarity with the oppressed world-wide.

But even more shocking was the gender make-up of the work party. Fully 80% of the attendees were cis gendered hetero-normative white males! The patriarchy clearly had control of this event! Introductions were completed and I was both horrified and appalled that no-one asked my pronouns or what my sexual proclivities were. Obviously, when maintaining trails it is of the utmost importance to know who likes boinking men, women, sheep, or no-one at all. Anyone who was asexual or identifies as a eunuch or echidna would have been traumatised by this omission. I stand in solidarity with you!

There may have been eco-sexual’s amongst us, but without the traditional acknowledgements: land acknowledgements, welcome to country, reciting of your various personal intersectional oppressions it was impossible to know. For myself, I identify as short, stout, stocky, female and old, thereby having at least five different and intersecting oppressions forced upon me. I’m sure there are more I just haven’t identified yet!

Once the actual work of the day began it was clear that the patriarchy was going to continue their oppressive colonisation of other peoples. The cis gendered hetero-normative male identified persons took on the more difficult and dangerous job of running the brush-cutters. The operation of this heavy and unwieldy piece of equipment is more suited to larger stronger individuals and I felt robbed of the chance to have my legs sliced off and my hearing damaged permanently, not to mention the possibility of losing an eye (or two). How dare these patriarchal colonisers rob me of my right to suffer bodily injury! It’s obvious that the patriarchy does not understand that there are no physical differences between persons assigned male at birth and persons assigned female at birth. The reason that men can compete in women’s sport and win all the medals is only because women are such shit athletes! If persons assigned female at birth complain it is because they are sore losers. Remember, the most effective way to protect womens’ rights is to erase them all!

On the topic of labour and work, it soon became evident that the male identified persons worked very hard. They barely stopped for almost three hours, brushing, raking, clipping, cutting. Sadly, there were no blessings to the earth mother offered when vegetation that encroached upon the trail was removed. This is a perfect example of the toxicity of the patriarchy: the belief that nature can be bent to the will of “man.” On a number of occasions I attempted to kneel to offer a non-denominational prayer to the fallen vegetation but the “men” simply asked if I was alright, and offered to relieve me of my burdens. They seemed completely unaware that the burden I carried was wrought by the oppressive masculine patriarchy with its colonialist ways!

At the bottom of the trail we had cleared, the “males” offered me a ride back up to the meeting place in a gasoline powered vehicle. There was not a single electric vehicle in attendance, not even a Tesla, even though we no longer speak of Tesla as saving the planet after Elon Musk became a patsy to the fascist dictator of America (aka Donald Trump). I refused, despite the fact that all my clothing, the bicycle I had ridden to the event, my house, and entire life-style runs on so called “fossil fuels.” I believe, as do all right minded people, that my endless moralising and virtue signalling off-sets any carbon that I might be using and grants me exclusive access to taking long haul flights anywhere in the world that I wish to go where I indulgently gaze upon the more primitive and less evolved life-forms who have not yet discovered the blessing that is “diversity, equity and inclusion”: DEI is that DIE? I’m not completely sure, but what I do know is, that like all leftists, I hold the high moral ground and am not required to change any of my own behaviours to reduce my environmental impact.

As bad as all this was, things got worse! A propane powered cooker was brought out and sausages made from actual living animals were cooked up! There was also fried onions, bread, and a variety of beverages. I asked for a vegan option, preferably a sausage made from the ground up bark of the eucalyptus sanctamonious, but the other attendees looked at me as if I was mad! It did not escape my notice that the male identifying individuals – aka the evil colonialists – had gotten up early on a winters morning, packed their vehicles (carbon powered!) full of the supplies that were needed, arrived early to set up the event, coordinated the event, cooked the food after the event, and cleaned everything up afterwards. This was done purportedly to support the community of mountain bikers, as if we cannot support ourselves by sitting at home on the NDIS and complaining endlessly until the government hires immigrants to do the work thus making our community more resilient and connected! It’s almost as if they don’t think that communism works!

In opposition to the tyrannical control exerted upon me, I have begun to organise a community event where those of us who identify as oppressed victims are able to meet in an emotionally safe space. Don’t worry, we won’t actually be doing anything to support the community, get our hands dirty or inconvenience ourselves in any way. We will however, fly all the flags, wear our keffiyehs with pride and, hopefully buy some cheap goods made in overseas sweat shops bearing appropriate logos – for example, Fight The Patriarchy, De-colonise Australia, End The Occupation, Australia Is A Genocidal State - preferably manufactured in Chinese sweat shops. China, as you know, is a very successful communist country with an outstanding record of protecting human rights and they have the most sophisticated social credit system in the world! The Chinese can track everything their citizens do and right aligned behaviour is rewarded with visits outside the labour camp and the ability to buy consumer electronics (but not access the nasty free speaking internet). They might even let you keep both your kidneys!

Your Feelings Don't Matter

There is no difference between thinking about yourself and being miserable. Jordan Peterson.

Near the end of almost an hour of near meaningless babble, when I semi-seriously thought about throwing myself off the nearby cliff onto the rocks below to end the misery of listening to two self-obsessed people talk about their climb up Temple Crag, I heard the words Contact Pass, and thought, “Wait just a minute, I think I’ve been to Contact Pass.”

Pallisade Crest from the South Fork of

Big Pine Creek

And, in fact, I have. Back in 2011, the year before Doug and I moved to Australia, we skied up to Contact Pass at the end of April. My trip notes indicate that I took my skis off and kicked steps for about 60 metres, while Doug managed to ski the entire distance to the pass. I remember the pass, it was a very spectacular narrow notch with Temple Crag on one side and an unnamed peak on the other. Our trip notes also indicate that we had an excellent corn snow descent. We had come up from the South Fork of Big Pine Creek, while a few years previously we had hiked into the Big Pine Lakes from the North Fork of Big Pine Creek. Things are high in the Sierra Mountains. Big Pine Lakes lie at over 3,000 metres while Temple Crag is almost 4,000 metres high. I’d be huffing and puffing up there now after a decade of living at sea level.

Doug on a crest of wind-blown snow at

Contact Pass

I’m not sure why M and M featured on the Sharp End Podcast, a podcast ostensibly about mountain accidents, as there was no accident and their story is merely a trip report. Interesting, perhaps, to people who are intent on climbing Temple Crag, but otherwise similar to dozens of other trip reports. What stood out to me, apart from the fact that M and M both talked too much to say too little, was how much emphasis they put on “checking in with each other.” The final half hour of the podcast, it’s possible they mention “check in” around a million times (OK, I’m exaggerating). These people were slow, 8 hours to descend 500 feet is slow, as is 4 hours to ascend a couple of hundred feet to get to the start of the climb. As I listened, I wondered if BB “checked in” with his partners every five minutes when climbing Wild Thing on MountChephren or did he and his partners simply focus on the task at hand, climbing the impressive and daunting east face in winter? Would these two slow climbers have been faster if they spent less time “checking in” and more time climbing?

Contact Pass

I’m going to check in with my readers now and say that if you think Blanchard or any other serious adventure athlete spends such an inordinate amount of time and energy “checking in” you don’t understand peak performance. Peak performance requires doing things despite how you feel, because, in all honesty, you probably feel like quitting.

Corn snow on the descent from Contact Pass

Which is not to say that outdoor adventurers should ignore conditions. If you are in the middle of a thunder-storm (as M and M were on their first attempt up Temple Crag), bailing is entirely appropriate, but, mostly your feelings don’t matter; what matters is facts, even though facts are slippery to grasp in dynamic outdoor environments.

Willow Lake, South Fork Big Pine Creek

The emotional people who like to “check in” constantly, often seem to be a generation or two younger than me which makes me wonder if this is a generational issue or a social and cultural issue. It’s possible it’s both. Perhaps, as you get older, you start to realise that if you want to get shit done you have to ignore your emotions and focus on the task at hand, but, it’s likely that a bigger chunk is cultural. Young people today are raised to believe that feelings are all important and virtually immutable, when in fact feelings are merely imperfect conjectures of our defective attention system. We give away our own power when we become focused to the point of obsession on our feelings. If you are 21 hours into a 23 hour day, forget about your feelings or “checking in” and focus on getting the f**k off the mountain.

View from Contact Pass

I don’t mean to denigrate M and M’s achievement. They did an awful lot of things right and, most importantly were willing to have a go, not just once but twice. Undoubtedly, they have the hubris of youth; that mix of heady self-confidence and absolute certainty that allows adventurers to charge forth into the face of challenges they can’t quite imagine unencumbered by the baggage of decades of hard won summits and equally disappointing retreats. Those times you tried and failed, that eat away at your confidence; the accidents, the injuries, even the fatalities. All those years and experiences that strip away youthful hubris and leave you knowing that you can prepare for success but the outcome might well be as predictable as game of roulette.

Skiing up Big Pine Creek

There are many things I miss about youth. The physical strengths of course, but more importantly the blind faith that allows you to set off on expeditions and adventures for which you are ill-prepared whilst holding fast to your own ability in the belief that success is all but guaranteed. You get older, your body is less cooperative, but your mind still dreams of the days when you believed anything was possible and acted accordingly.

Tinderry Peak

The day after we hiked up Tinderry Twin Peak we hiked up Tinderry Peak. The most common route appears to be along Round Flat FT for a couple of kilometres to a point where the FT makes a 90 degree turn to the east. An old road bed marked “closed for revegetation” continues roughly north. The commonest route appears to be along this old road bed towards Roberts Creek and then up onto an east facing spur ridge and thereafter to the top.

The Ballroom with Tinderry Peak behind

Instead of following this route, we decided to walk an extra three kilometres along the FT (joining East Tinderry FT) until we were due east of Tinderry Peak and bushwack straight west to the top. Australian bushwacking is often as slow as 1 to 1.5 kilometres/an hour (sometimes less) so we figured we could gain a couple of hundred metres of elevation gain at least as quickly on a FT and reduce the amount of overall bushwacking. Given how slow and thick some of the bushwacking was, this seemed like a sensible choice. Additionally, but unknown to us when planning the trip, an old road bed leads west from East Tinderry FT for 750 metres to the head of Groggy Creek thus reducing the bushwacking distance even further.

Tinderry Peak Summit

A pig trap marks the end of the old road bed and the best and quickest route to the top of Tinderry Peak is to head west up a gentle draw/gully to a spot just north of a closed contour (1540 metres, GR067468). The closed contour is a big area of large slabs and boulders. I called it “The Ballroom” as once on top, a big flat expanse of slab gives views to the south and north to Tinderry Peak. However, thick brush and lots of scrambling over, under and around boulders surrounds The Ballroom. It’s nice to visit once, but much quicker to avoid the boulders by staying slightly to the north.

The flat terrain on the way to Tinderry Peak is thick in places but, near the top, older forest is open underneath and another small draw leads to a saddle of boulders and slabs just south of the very top. It is an easy scramble north along boulders to the top where there is another NPWS log book, although with much fewer entries than the one on Tinderry Twin Peak. The view is better than Tinderry Twin and is a full 360 view right out to the Main Ranges with, on this day, snow covering the tops. From the peak you can see that Tinderry Nature Reserve is an island of native forest surrounded by farm land. The round trip distance to Tinderry Peak isn’t all that far (maybe 18 kilometres all up) and the elevation gain under 1000 metres but the travel at times is quite slow. For the second day in a row we were wondering if we were going to get back to the trail head before dark.