The Problem of the Longhouse

Before you read any further you need to watch this video of comedian Tyler Fischer parodying every NPR show ever. If you find the skit offensive, don’t read any further. If you find the skit hysterically funny and frighteningly accurate, you may read on. NPR, of course, is the American equivalent of our very own ABC, and what Fischer satirises in his two minute skit transfers exactly to our ABC. The relevance of this, is, of course, that the host of the Rescued Podcast is ex-ABC Caro R who spends virtually the entire hour of the podcast talking about Olga’s feelings. At no point does Caro talk about anything useful like having a paper map and compass, knowing how to use both of these essential implements (despite the fact that Caro teaches navigation), or being honest about your abilities. Instead, Caro, in typical ABC/NPR fashion emotionally vomits about “super powerful” moments and talks about “well thought out decisions.”

This most recent episode details the events behind a 38 year old solo female walker who became lost on a circuit walk in the Blue Mountains. The introduction to this episode reads:

“She's sharing her story today with real courage and gratitude, having received a bit of unhelpful judgement after the event. So in the spirit of the Rescued Podcast, I ask that we receive her story with kindness and see what we can all learn from her experience.”

The problem with this attitude is that if we are prohibited from forming any opinions we are unable to learn. In fact, you can listen to the entire episode of the podcast (almost one hour) and NOT learn a single thing because, apparently, judgements are emotionally unsafe. The reality, of course, is that Olga went out for a bushwalk with no map (she had AllTrails on her phone but did not know how to get the map with GPS location to work with no mobile phone signal), no compass, and, frankly, no clue. She had very little back up gear (no first aid kit, very little food, no paper map, very little extra clothing) and was, in the famous words of Accidents in North American Mountaineering, suffering from “inexperience, poor judgement, and exceeding abilities.”

Very soon after descending through the cliffs on the Devils Hole track (a route used by hundreds of hikers and climbers), Olga is lost. Initially, she attempts to use AllTrails to locate her position but when this does not work, she switches to Google Maps! A preliminary attempt to retrace her steps to where she had last definitively been on the track results in her being lost in a different direction. Her mobile phone died early on in her experience, but, luckily for Olga, not before she managed to get one text message out to her boyfriend who called SES and reported her lost. Eventually, Olga climbs a ladder and settles into a cave to await rescue. Ironically, during the entire 24 hour episode, Olga is less than a kilometre from the suburban streets of Katoomba.

Both Olga and Caro are opposed to “judgements” which they say are unhelpful. What is unhelpful is pretending that there is anything edifying coming out of this podcast despite Caro’s gushing about “gold nuggets” and “really good stuff.” In fact, if you listened to this podcast without judgement you would come away thinking that there is no amount of preparation, equipment, knowledge or even basic common sense that would change the outcome.

But, of course that is not true. After even a cursory glance at a map, an experienced and competent navigator would know that to “get found” all Olga had to do was walk downhill. Had she done this, she would have intercepted the Six Foot Track – an unmistakable fire trail at this location – which she could then follow back to Katoomba.  Of course, there is also a climbers track that runs from the base of Devils Hole all the way to the old waterboard (Dicksons) ladders 400 metres south of Devils Hole.  This could be followed back north to regain Devils Hole track and back up to Katoomba.  

This the epitome of the Longhouse in action. An obsessive focus on feelings and safetyism, to the detriment of all else. The Longhouse leaves us stuck in a place where we cannot learn anything, cannot course correct, cannot change because our feelings are too tender to be assaulted by any kind of comment, no matter how carefully worded or obvious in actuality. The sad reality of the problem of the Longhouse comes at the end of the podcast where Olga reports that she never walks in the Blue Mountains alone any more. Left unsaid is the obvious assumption that Olga is too anxious/nervous to walk by herself because she lacks basic navigational skills. So an opportunity to learn a new skill and expand horizons is put aside in favour of the elusive comfort of avoiding any disquieting emotions.

Into the Walls of Jerusalem or Choosing the Wrong Option: Solomons Throne and The Temple

It is a decade since Doug and I walked into the Walls of Jerusalem with Jason who had not long completed his successful circumnavigation of Australia by sea kayak. The Walls were a quieter place then. Now there is a constant stream of bushwalkers heading in or heading out, the flow is almost uninterrupted! We started at 7:30 am walking up – the best bit of the track – the initial uphill section to the undulating plateau at about 1150 metres. Dozens of walkers passed us on the way out. When you are on the way out at 7:30 in the morning, I always wonder why you didn’t just finish the walk out the night before. At this time of year, it is dark until almost 7:00 am so, unless these folk started walking at 4:00 am (perhaps they did), they must have been within striking distance of the trail head. But, if the increasing creep of left wing authoritarianism in Australia has taught me anything it is that it’s not my business!

We passed the old trappers hut (1050 metres) and the track that goes to Lake Adelaide. A new (at least to us) sign at the trailhead advertises the route through Dixons Kingdom, down to Ball Lake and back via Lake Adelaide as a two or three day circuit. I imagine the circuit is quite popular. I also imagine, after reacquainting myself with the trail, that many hikers find it tougher than the track statistics would imply. I certainly did!

Past the Lake Adelaide junction, the track goes up a bit, down a bit, up a bit, down a bit, to the left, to the right, to the right and left, followed by to the left than right. In other words, it is surprisingly slow given there is no real elevation gain until the ascents to Herods Gate and then Damascus Gate. I kept looking at my Garmin watch and thinking “how is it possible that we are so slow?” Eventually, we passed the new (at least to us) campsite at XXX creek, just below Herods Gate. It was gratifying to finally come out into some more open terrain as we passed by Lake Salome. We had a brief stop here, sitting on a boulder in the sun looking down on Lake Salome and across to The Temple with King Davids Peak behind. As an aside, how is it possible that the woke crowd has not demanded that all these places be renamed? The Christian themed names of these places must be driving them bat-shit crazy!

Of course I had hopes of tagging the three highpoints around Damascus Gate: King Davids Peak (the highest and most impressive although the ascent is, as usual, up the gentle back/west side), Solomons Throne (which I had done before) and The Temple. Doug, who is eminently more sensible than me was planning on hiking up one of these only and chose Solomons Throne (called Halls Buttress on the topographic maps). I decided I would walk up Solomons Throne with Doug and continue along to King Davids Peak. All Trails shows a footpad along the ridge between the two.

Walking up Halls Buttress/Solomons Throne was like a mini-Everest expedition – there was an actual traffic jam! A group of seniors was slowly crawling up, with one fellow making so much noise I thought a cardiovascular event must be imminent. We managed to pass this group near the ridge top and soon were at the top of Halls Buttress and a magnificent view point. I walked up here at dawn on a frosty morning ten years ago and remember being impressed with the quality of the track. The track is stellar. Big boulders have been moved to make good steps all the way. 

A young couple of backpackers who were ahead of us continued on to King Davids Peak their speed a bit of a wake up call to me that the walk between Solomons Throne and King Davids Peak would not be any quicker (and likely a good bit slower) than the track into Damascus Gate. The ridge between the two drops 60 metres and then gains 90 metres, and is about three kilometres return (not counting all the twists and turns). A son and his father who were just ahead of us were enjoying the view and later we would meet them after they traversed the ridge to King Davids Peak and descended the northern aspect to regain the track near Lake Salome. The seniors group stumbled past us, moving exceptionally slowly and shakily. One woman had an unusual (honestly stupid) pack design where most of the weight and bulk was carried on two enormous pockets on her chest. This might seem like a good idea to someone who has never scrambled before because, initially, it might seem that you are equalising the weight between the anterior and posterior aspects of the body. It’s not, however, a good idea, and impairs the ability to use your arms for balance and for minor climbing moves.

But all this is beside the point as I realised I had chosen the wrong door. The walk to King Davids Peak would take more time, energy and leg endurance than I had available to me – I am an old, out of shape, walker too! I should have chosen The Temple because I had never been up it before. I left Doug on top of Solomons Dome and hoofed it down the track to Damascus Gate and up the also amazing track on the opposite side of Damascus Gate that climbs to the top of The Temple. The Temple is only 50 metres lower than King Davids Peak and has a tremendous view of its own, including across Jaffa Gate to Mount Jerusalem. There is a good track up Mount Jerusalem as well (we did that with Jason back in 2016). Even better, there was no-one at all on The Temple. I could see Doug across Damascus Gate on Solomons Dome and texted him to say that if he let me know when he was leaving Solomons Dome, as I would also descend The Temple and we could walk out together.

Doug regained the main track perhaps a minute or two before me and we started the long walk out together. We were now passing hordes of walkers coming in, rather than out. What a busy place! I got back to the van at about 4:00 pm so an 8.5 hour day (including stops) to cover a meagre 14 kilometres, although there was a decent amount of elevation gain included. I had to resort to more Vitamin I that night (Ibuprofen) as my injured hip was aching. We were camped in our van beside Lake Rowallan and had a wonderful fresh water swim when we got back to camp. I like to think the “cold therapy” (although it wasn’t actually that cold) did something to help recovery!

Ironstone Mountain

A number of tracks pierce the Western Tiers from the valleys to the north, most (all?) fork off the Westrope Road which runs west to east along the base of the tiers at around 700 metres ASL (above sea level). It is two years since we were last along the Westrope Road to walk a loop up Mother Cummings Peak and, in that time, the road has deteriorated some. The road bed is still good but the road itself is increasingly narrow as the forest grows in from either side. Nevertheless, we parked at the intersection of the Westrope Road and a small spur road that leads up to the start of the Western Creek trail. There is a loop walk along this trail – an endeavour that would take you about 1.5 hours and would be a singularly unrewarding walk for the effort involved. We did not realise this and set off immediately from the end of the spur road on the lower half of the loop track.

There were a few fallen trees to navigate and, in places, the track was vague. Throughout it was rocky, rooty, and slippery, the dark rainforest humid and wet year round. An hour or so after leaving the vehicle we intercepted the “top” half of the loop walk and some signage. For a short while, the track improved and was well banked into the hillside, but this lasted only 10 or 15 minutes before the character reverted to rocks, roots, talus, ups and downs, all while sidling along the hillside above roaring Western Creek. After a further half an hour, a side creek with a small waterfall is crossed on a sturdy bridge. Without the bridge this would be a difficult crossing as the creek is a foaming precipitous torrent.

In another 15 minutes, the main creek is crossed on rocks and the track finally emerges from the dark forest onto the scrubby plateau. Ahead on a hillside, the new outhouse that is nearby to the old Whiting Hut is visible, and, although it looks a long way, the going is much easier and the old hut is soon reached. We were about two hours to the hut which is awfully slow for the distance covered and a sad reminder that I am now an old lady. It’s not a fast track to walk, in fact, in places, the track is more a scramble than a walk, but, ten years ago, I would cover that terrain much faster.

Beyond the hut the track quickly becomes indistinct but is still easily followed for perhaps a kilometre until low scrub gives a view to a series of narrow talus slopes that ascend towards a pass to the northeast of some steeper crags that run west down from the Ironstone plateau. Looking at the Ironstone plateau, there is a prominent craggy buttress to the far right (climbers or “lookers” right) and then two smaller little crags to the left. The aim is to ascend 200 metres to the plateau via this pass. If you walk up the talus fields about half way up, cairns appear and a rough footpad ascends to the pass. Lose this footpad at your peril as to either side, the scrub is thick.

Ironstone Mountain is really a large flat plateau and once at the pass the major difficulty is working out where the summit trig is. A compass helps, but the best route we found did not head straight to the trig station, rather it followed areas of lower scrub and talus to finally arrive at the sturdy and familiar black circle trig. There is a good view from the top with all the familiar peaks of Cradle Mountain/Lake St Clair National Park easily seen, and of course, the lakes; the hundreds of lakes, tarns, ponds, streams and rivulets of the Central Plateau.

It had taken us four hours to reach the top so we did not have time to linger for much longer than 15 minutes before retracing our route. We were slightly faster back to the hut, although we did have to reverse our path part way down from the pass as we had veered off the footpad. In general, the footpad will be to your left (skiers left) as you descend but it is easy to trend right and lose the footpad on false leads. Back at the hut, we had another quick break and removed all the detritus that had collected in our shoes, and then began the slow walk out.

Only on the way down the track did I realise just how rough a track it actually is. This is frequently the case. Tracks that seem like a pleasant gradient on the way up, suddenly seem quite steep once you begin the eccentric loading against gravity that walking downhill entails. However, it’s not the steepness of the track that makes it difficult. It is the rocky, rooty, technical terrain all of which is covered with a slick of moisture and is slippery underfoot. At the upper track junction, we took the upper trail back which was a lot better than the lower trail having a reasonable benched in trail for part of the distance. We may have shaved a further 10 or 20 minutes off our ascent time but, overall, this trip will take as long on the way up as it does on the way out.

That Person

I feel as if I’ve become that person; the one who orders the ridiculously specialised coffee at the cafe. The half-shot, triple decaf, no froth, snow leopard milk, extra tepid in a mug made in Machu Picchu during the Inca period and rinsed out with unicorn tears. And it is a trendy cafe we are in: Doug and I completely out of place in this hip back alley cafe trying to get a plain old burger for Doug and something without meat – I can’t believe I am asking for something with NO meat! - for me. When I ask the very helpful and friendly (trendy and handsome too!) barista if they can whiten a coffee with something other than dairy milk, he looks upon us kindly, aliens that have arrived in the new trendy Devonport, our grey hair and wrinkled visages giving us away as old people or worse boomers.

In the 1980’s I lived in Devonport, in an old house only two blocks from the ocean. I kept swimming right up until mid April, although the water was pretty cold by that time. Devonport seemed a lot smaller and a lot less fancy in those days. There were no trendy cafes, or Kathmandu retail stores, just milk bars serving burgers and pubs that were a little rough around the edges. Even then, however, there was a back to the earth, trendy contingent in the area. I was training as a midwife at the Mersey Maternity Hospital and occasionally a couple would ask us to wrap up the placenta for them to take home. Some had rissoles recipes (true story), while others had secret mystic rituals planned. I volunteered once a week at the Wilderness Society Office and my beat up old car sported dozens of ‘greenie’ stickers. For some reason, the Wilderness Society Office always smelt of joss sticks and so did I when it came time to leave.

Two days before I had used my epi-pen and called an ambulance to the mountain bike parking lot. Some mild dizziness which had troubled me in the night, had gradually worsened after eating a piece of bacon for breakfast. In my usual, “I’ll just ignore it” fashion, I had started riding my mountain bike up the trails. But the dizziness progressed until even I admitted there was something wrong. I took the much shorter, downhill road route back to the van and realised that without intervention I was rapidly heading for unconsciousness, just like when I get a tick bite. By the time the ambulance arrived, the epinephrine had taken effect and my symptoms had receded.

As long as I’ve had my anaphylactic allergies (which is over 25 years), I’ve considered myself lucky because I don’t have food allergies. True anaphylactic food allergies are difficult to manage. Every label has to be examined closely and eating anything you have not prepared yourself carries some unknown, but possibly life threatening risk. You can be prepared but you can never prevent every eventuality. I carry a very comprehensive anaphylaxis kit which is prominently labelled EPI PEN and includes instructions on what to do should I be found unconsciousness.

We always think we would know what we would do in any circumstance. I’ve had friends die from cancer, more and more as I get older and cancer becomes more prevalent. Almost all of them fought the good fight, the valiant battle to the end. The last year(s) of their lives were consumed with medical and surgical treatments that, in the end, simply delayed the inevitable. Very few, two that I can name, refused treatment, and one chose MAD (medically assisted dying). I think about this a lot now. What would I do? I want to believe I would go gracefully and fearlessly into “that good night,” but when I feel the darkness closing in and I desperately reach for my epi-pen, I know, in my heart, that I am nowhere near ready to leave this world, which is crazy and imperfect, but nonetheless breathtakingly beautiful.

Are We All LARPing?

Mark Carney’s speech at the World Economic Forum (WEF) made a big splash yesterday. The elbows up crowd had their elbows so far up they practically began flying. I listened to the whole speech twice. Not because it was the best speech I had ever heard but because much of it was reminiscent of someone’s Linked In profile or the weird HR lady doing a presentation on cultural strengths at the wokest workplace. Jargon that sounds profound but when you slow the sound track down and actually listen, not simply hear, you wonder how lofty ideals, like “calibrating our relationships so their depth reflects our values” are instituted in real life.

Of course, if you do listen carefully, and also dig into the substance of Carney’s speech you realise that the lofty goals of decarbonising and net zero went out the window when economic crises loomed. Which, with the exception of everyone who has spent the last decade LARPing as a climate advocate while flying around the world, knew they would. The carbon tax, at least for households, was the first thing Carney removed. Next came boosts to mining, oil and gas production. In Carney’s own words: “We are fast-tracking $1 trillion of investments in energy, AI, critical minerals, new trade corridors and beyond.” Fast tracking, of course, is code for we have reduced environmental protections that cover resource extraction industries.

Canada is in a tough spot. The USA, which has always loomed over the country as an elephant towers over a mouse, is extremely reliant on trade with the USA. And, it’s not all one way, Canada imports 30% of its food and this is not all processed junk food which any country can actually thrive without, it includes fruits, vegetables and even meat. Almost 50% of Canada’s fresh produce is imported.

There is no doubt that Canada needs a new way forward, and Carney could be the man to orchestrate that. All this stuff is way outside my pay grade. I found being President of a recreational club challenging so I cannot imagine the pressures that the Prime Minister of Canada must feel as he seeks to realign an entire country's economy whilst trying to maintain the high standard of living that Canadian’s have come to expect.

Canada’s strength, Carney propounds is “a recognition of what’s happening and determination to act accordingly.” It is an “honesty about the world as it is” and “the capacity to stop pretending, to name realities.” This is the only way forward because no problem has ever been solved by obfuscation, and certainly Canada needs some truth and honesty about the issues it faces. The only problem is, are Canadian’s ready for truth and honesty?

The entire country is still in the grip of one of the greatest controversies of its entire history: the residential school affair, which has cost the country upwards of $40 billion despite the fact that no human remains have ever been found. And, of course, there was the illegal freezing of bank accounts during the trucker convoy in February 2022 when Canada’s government (under Trudeau) acted against its own citizens. In 2024, Canada’s publicly funded health program was forced to pay for a man to have a fake vagina created while keeping his own penis. The case was won because Ontario signed up to the WPATH guidelines (an interesting story by itself), and, Canada continues to house “trans” women (even those guilty of violent crimes) in women’s prisons. In fact, we can thank Canada for exporting to the world, entirely new categories of gender. Carney’s speech was both inspirational and aspirational but it remains to be seen whether the Canadian public is actually ready to grapple with reality or whether the entire enterprise is simply the placing of a different sign in the window.

Heart Rate Variability: Lessons from Sea Kayaking

On Monday we got our long paddle for the week done. Roughly 41 kilometres in 6 hours. The current must have been running slightly north this time. My theory is that the standard north to south east Australian current sometimes eddies back up the coast because our pace was almost a kilometre slower on the return journey. If you have a smart watch you can look at all your statistics from any training session at a glance. It’s interesting (at least to me) to look at pace with distance along the X axis and an overlay of heart rate.

The 20 kilometre mark is where we turned around (somewhere north of Grasshopper Island). Our speed drops immediately but my heart rate doesn’t really begin increasing until the 25 kilometre mark when we really start plugging back into the current outside the semi-shelter of Durras Bay. My heart rate is 10 to 20 beats per minute higher to maintain a slower speed! You might be tempted to think this is cardiac drift, but, it’s not because at the 35 kilometre point, my speed increases as my heart rate drops. From 35 kilometres on we are inside Batemans Bay, which provides shelter from ocean currents and swells even though it is a big open bay compared with other bays along the coast (like Jervis Bay). The paddling always gets much easier once we turn the corner and enter the bay.

Wednesday, Splashalot came up the coast and we went out for a downwinder and to test out our kayak sails which have not been on our kayaks since we paddled southwest Tasmania two years ago! It wasn’t nearly windy enough despite BOM calling for winds up to 25 knots. Some of these northeasterly days just turn out to be fizzlers. The lads set out at a cracking pace and despite starting before them (only by minutes) I was quickly the laggard. However, about half way out, their pace slowed and I was able to keep up. I had high hopes that with a sail up, catching waves would be easy and I might – for once – keep abreast of Speedalot (also known as Splashalot). It was not to be. Speedalot was out front despite having no sail. The waves were moving fast and the pissy amount of wind we had was not enough to get onto the runners without the usual sprint paddling.

This morning, Garmin thinks my body battery is 39 out of a 100, and I should “Try to keep stress low and relax today to charge your battery.” That’s not going to happen.

Loser Think: Vale Scott Adams

Scott Adams has died. Originally known as the author of the very popular Dilbert cartoons which lampooned cubicle life and spawned a book series, daily calendars and a range of merchandise including a video game, Adams also authored many books which became big sellers and garnered him a large following.

Adams was, of course, cancelled by the wokerati who claimed he made racist comments on his extremely popular live-streamed show Real Coffee with Scott Adams. What is notable about Adams, apart from having his career destroyed by the woke mob, is that many of his books, which could loosely fall into the self-help genre, changed millions of lives. Not because he was racist, or transphobic, or any other slur intended to destroy careers, reputations and livelihoods on the basis of imagined slights, but because his books showed ordinary people how to live less ordinary lives.

Adams was neither right nor left and advocated for a wide ranging world view where each individual idea is assessed based on its merits not according to ideology. He refused to define the world in terms of oppressor versus oppressed and gave average people the skills to improve their own lives. The left hated him for this.

Our ABC, re-published from AP (Associated Press) a hit piece masquerading as an obituary which features a sub-header “Descent into Misogyny and Racism,” proving, once again that the leftist woke movement is neither empathetic, nor caring, and is profoundly anti-human. To his credit, Adams, whose book, Loser Think, outlines the way in which modern media manipulates the readers would find the “obituary” fantastically amusing. He is probably composing a Dilbert cartoon about it right now.

Vale, Scott Adams. We are the poorer for your passing.