tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29469283659379359342024-03-27T22:50:56.085-07:00The Conspiracy TimesMotivation - it's your responsibilitySandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.comBlogger1145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-7103128321685650842024-03-27T22:50:00.000-07:002024-03-27T22:50:18.381-07:00Tidbinbilla Skyline: Camels Hump, Johns Peak, Tidbinbilla Peak and Tidbinbilla Mountain<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">There is great bush-walking in the ACT, which should surprise
no-one as Canberra is surrounded by bush land. I’d only done one
walk in Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve before, Mount Domain from Fishing
Gap (it appears I never wrote that trip up for the blog). Anyway,
when we walked up Mount Domain (1506 metres), I thought we were
walking up the highest peak in Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve but we were
not. Tidbinbilla Mountain, about four kilometres north at 1615
metres is the highest peak in Tidbinbilla NR.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8nfOXweRq9_8lOAez8oo61KhvKChTvufXTAl5W76hxgQrE_GadxvCWmFaP2PIP8zQ4b4j_i2zoTY27NU_QoC8OE4keRid-cGLAF1q0lzRtTlO1y2-e3JMboql9kyVwKwdw0tGTjp66-snzNR2kcmp6MubcgtGDUUP_kFXdsRWclJ7-9XhhF5BV0MzKA/s3000/camels_hump_from_johns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1846" data-original-width="3000" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8nfOXweRq9_8lOAez8oo61KhvKChTvufXTAl5W76hxgQrE_GadxvCWmFaP2PIP8zQ4b4j_i2zoTY27NU_QoC8OE4keRid-cGLAF1q0lzRtTlO1y2-e3JMboql9kyVwKwdw0tGTjp66-snzNR2kcmp6MubcgtGDUUP_kFXdsRWclJ7-9XhhF5BV0MzKA/s320/camels_hump_from_johns.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>Camels Hump</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">ACT Parks, who seem to be eminently sensible compared to many
other state Parks and Wildlife government bureaucracies, are clearing
a <a href="https://www.trailhiking.com.au/preparation/track-grading/" target="_blank">grade 5 track</a> which will, when complete run along the spine of the
entire ridge crest that divides Tidbinbilla from Namadgi. The trail
will start at Fishing Gap in the south (fire trail accessible) and
run all the way along the ridge top to Camels Hump in the north
(accessible via various fire trails). Note that the fire trails in
Tidbinbilla are, appropriately enough, walking or bicycling only.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEX1UN9VWQqGIUfWEa_ylBN7LRhK7nswoi7DRXnjL3g96sF8_Vy47bZFfjFPbSesCTO3uBjhQdkFqtZHj1Gbj7lS-Oho2-Mj2_oFH2LORJmXlmYmlqW4IxgFPTgXmIghklNmDXvpAeoGnxAmoBw2xJcEYhgbjCLwnSidqN1skl0F3bYg-C99muWkSIEkc/s3365/doug_camels_hump_view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3365" data-original-width="3360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEX1UN9VWQqGIUfWEa_ylBN7LRhK7nswoi7DRXnjL3g96sF8_Vy47bZFfjFPbSesCTO3uBjhQdkFqtZHj1Gbj7lS-Oho2-Mj2_oFH2LORJmXlmYmlqW4IxgFPTgXmIghklNmDXvpAeoGnxAmoBw2xJcEYhgbjCLwnSidqN1skl0F3bYg-C99muWkSIEkc/s320/doug_camels_hump_view.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">On the Camels Hump looking towards John Peak</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is not a new route as bush-walkers have been trekking along
this ridge for many years, likely decades. No real major work is
required, just a little cutting back of brush. Certainly, ACT will
garner a new high quality bush-walk for far less than the recently
opened “new” <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2024/mar/25/blue-mountains-grand-cliff-top-walk-opening" target="_blank">Clifftop Walk</a> in the Blue Mountains, which ran at a
cost of over $500,000 per kilometre to essentially upgrade an series
of existing tracks. Publicity, I guess, costs a lot these days.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXK3pQBUhiCelkB0X_PG7qoFWaDuRzOpJ2BALUU5TBSWStGwYXCr1Ug_Q0aMXzkj8NCN4RZ2pSjvsj6VlGgeA1W3avUDgB4qKQiY8yZasVMRod8CfwaKADsrq42Ap5vFxDj4I_yrcFM-qUnz-gWgYf93-m0vZMvYGDUiKOhSSwcvPx3HXYh-pBxCKMr-U/s3000/pimple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1802" data-original-width="3000" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXK3pQBUhiCelkB0X_PG7qoFWaDuRzOpJ2BALUU5TBSWStGwYXCr1Ug_Q0aMXzkj8NCN4RZ2pSjvsj6VlGgeA1W3avUDgB4qKQiY8yZasVMRod8CfwaKADsrq42Ap5vFxDj4I_yrcFM-qUnz-gWgYf93-m0vZMvYGDUiKOhSSwcvPx3HXYh-pBxCKMr-U/s320/pimple.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">The Pimple</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">With that digression out of the way, on a wonderful clear blue sky
day, we parked at Mountain Creek car park in Tidbinbilla, and walked
along the fire trail that runs north below the ridge crest until we
reached the ridge crest at a saddle immediately south of the Camels
Hump. A short walk up a steep track (the grade 5 bit, I guess) and
we were on top. Second breakfast or first lunch, was taken on a
rocky overlook just below the top in the sun with grand views.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhme-mSpt_s350wDcSdaXYffBy10vBuyAe4s43mgILKEfl1PeO1jKlzGLJ8EsruNlA3cvNmALNiWAYrnd2q-LbXM7Mlojus29tROyG77TFrd65nWO0RXTqnIZY4GwtuVC0HuHTMNZ_qA8JOBkWSiRuX1Yt-UBlUkbXtYmMF1Ra3DnfJIhtRnig_RiZ3ukc/s3000/doug_ridge_to_tidbinbilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="3000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhme-mSpt_s350wDcSdaXYffBy10vBuyAe4s43mgILKEfl1PeO1jKlzGLJ8EsruNlA3cvNmALNiWAYrnd2q-LbXM7Mlojus29tROyG77TFrd65nWO0RXTqnIZY4GwtuVC0HuHTMNZ_qA8JOBkWSiRuX1Yt-UBlUkbXtYmMF1Ra3DnfJIhtRnig_RiZ3ukc/s320/doug_ridge_to_tidbinbilla.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Along the ridge to Tidbinbilla Peak</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Back at the saddle, a good track runs along the ridge crest to
Johns Peak which has some rock and scree on the northwest side.
Beyond Johns Peak, the track is not yet complete, but it is easy
enough to walk along to Tidbinbilla Peak, a kilometre to the
southwest. Tidbinbilla Peak has an old burnt down trig which makes a
good spot for second lunch. From Tidbinbilla Peak, we wandered down
a good track for about 100 metres vertical chatting away before I
thought “Wait a minute, this track is going down too steeply to be
heading for the pass with Tidbinbilla Mountain.” Indeed it was, we
had inadvertently wandered off the ridge and down the spur track
which leads back to the fire trail. Doug decided to keep going down,
but I turned around and walked back up soon regaining the ridge that
runs along to Tidbinbilla Mountain.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gKhRWRoc3-RwCmPb3P3sNjdBgJWXfoiza39EETZDNz9q7gktWZ37HU3xdBJm3T05BS8AswYye2rkmhvPXjfzq8mpCs4C8B_iMkR2w8i79tMXWOxoj18vlsBfuryi6ElSZaFkOHHcirO8eRXJ8lA7xtJTmqkYkU16oqqJDNK6PfyLrleu0thUH0c1j2Q/s3000/dragons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="3000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gKhRWRoc3-RwCmPb3P3sNjdBgJWXfoiza39EETZDNz9q7gktWZ37HU3xdBJm3T05BS8AswYye2rkmhvPXjfzq8mpCs4C8B_iMkR2w8i79tMXWOxoj18vlsBfuryi6ElSZaFkOHHcirO8eRXJ8lA7xtJTmqkYkU16oqqJDNK6PfyLrleu0thUH0c1j2Q/s320/dragons.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Good to see the bureaucrats have a sense of humour</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The two kilometre section to Tidbinbilla Mountain has only a vague
track and some flagging, but it is easy enough to follow if you don’t
get drawn into conversation with your hiking partners. I was longing
to walk out to The Pimple from point 1555 metres on the ridge, but
was aware that Doug would be waiting for me back at the car, so I
continued past. Tidbinbilla Mountain has probably the best views,
but, with Doug waiting at the car, I did not linger long but found
the track that plummets down a steep spur ridge to join the short
nature trail at Mountain Creek. This section of track loses about
600 metres of elevation in about 1.5 kilometres so plummet is a good
adjective, or even a verb as I was plummeting down the track.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOHHR0Z3Ac-SjL93jF8__3rweSWBF6a71OX0uzOsC2qJDhf350Oh3odnVuO8AiliR_vH83IstOIgrKukAZn00nW-4lz8Y_M9x-rbgC0i9BCCjtqhYNak5EsHtEQR_2Co9o7dLxwkVryYs6j0CjuzLKL8s6sBxXRB6YOZTStDliwXMOBiKGFKYYzHyyiA/s3000/ridge_to_tidbinbilla_mountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1257" data-original-width="3000" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOHHR0Z3Ac-SjL93jF8__3rweSWBF6a71OX0uzOsC2qJDhf350Oh3odnVuO8AiliR_vH83IstOIgrKukAZn00nW-4lz8Y_M9x-rbgC0i9BCCjtqhYNak5EsHtEQR_2Co9o7dLxwkVryYs6j0CjuzLKL8s6sBxXRB6YOZTStDliwXMOBiKGFKYYzHyyiA/s320/ridge_to_tidbinbilla_mountain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>Ridge to Tidbinbilla Mountain</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">If I were to do this walk again, and I might, as I did not tag The
Pimple, I would walk up the steep track to Tidbinbilla Mountain and
take the fire trail route down.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-66613172389107542442024-03-20T12:59:00.000-07:002024-03-20T12:59:04.605-07:00Mount Rufus<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">A
maintained trail to the top of a mountain with the opportunity to
walk a loop is about as good as it gets in Tasmania, especially if it
is a clear sunny day. And, if it matters to you, Mount Rufus is also
an <a href="https://theabelmountains.com.au/abel-tables/" target="_blank">Abel</a>.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWubL0H-rheLK3d7JkPLRQ5H82Cq9fViEPSt8cAXpd6nBw6rLlojJ_YtC4D3AkhG_iX95vZXoPVm7PoF8hgw4Xkqw47V-aP0aJcr3nbqcjHsjhJVPH4Q3I0jgabakujW9U-usHrxhNmZyqB-N3cFu4rCstp9ftnhoATUH8JPCNAeEgZU1cd7wzbZ9nIUU/s5184/rufus_view_one.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1887" data-original-width="5184" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWubL0H-rheLK3d7JkPLRQ5H82Cq9fViEPSt8cAXpd6nBw6rLlojJ_YtC4D3AkhG_iX95vZXoPVm7PoF8hgw4Xkqw47V-aP0aJcr3nbqcjHsjhJVPH4Q3I0jgabakujW9U-usHrxhNmZyqB-N3cFu4rCstp9ftnhoATUH8JPCNAeEgZU1cd7wzbZ9nIUU/s320/rufus_view_one.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">There is not too much exciting or different to be said about
following a well marked track. However, I’ll try and pad the
photos out with some words. The start of the track is also the end
of the Overland Track although I don’t imagine many people walk the
lake shore when the ferry is running. In any event, a short flat
section along the lake shore on wide and well graded track leads
quickly to the Mount Rufus track which climbs steadily but never
steeply to reach an alpine plateau in a couple of hours.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5jRxo-JoMxELJydQaKV6Z3LW8YUMW7yKjBdh5z6AsR6ym1_2DtdHeyW0xtzc2PVShEDP3G7KIp6R17EcvoJyDRVHowcj8XWH38c3EIsVpRYbWLs343XbCIYg3Mo1jwoQehK-WhWXeh638Cg-A0FDU0IFf9uQPv2T2z1ewoQLyRz4a5ZkVVuSUJsXH3Oo/s3000/descending_rufus_towards_hugel_doug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1933" data-original-width="3000" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5jRxo-JoMxELJydQaKV6Z3LW8YUMW7yKjBdh5z6AsR6ym1_2DtdHeyW0xtzc2PVShEDP3G7KIp6R17EcvoJyDRVHowcj8XWH38c3EIsVpRYbWLs343XbCIYg3Mo1jwoQehK-WhWXeh638Cg-A0FDU0IFf9uQPv2T2z1ewoQLyRz4a5ZkVVuSUJsXH3Oo/s320/descending_rufus_towards_hugel_doug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is the best part of the walk as you are out in the open with
views all around including southwest to Frenchmans Cap. Of course,
it was windy on top of Mount Rufus so we found a sheltered spot for
lunch while playing the usual “identify those peaks” game.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilHIbw_9657wIbCqW7sAJfAR-1h-_hAFIdpH4rNIIFomXqxzZR45flRDlEOyf9FsK0PMgsZsLEMISezXbrx-Iqs34OS7lv0tDiPU8l6IlY7TDiHfubmSjEnaDelYJtW-fTCqbnIJJlewCd2xJA_G9xvSGu7g9kbcobLpQLpeOO1k8Y7SmmRyQvw8IwKuA/s3000/australian_tarns_mount_gell_frenchmans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1550" data-original-width="3000" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilHIbw_9657wIbCqW7sAJfAR-1h-_hAFIdpH4rNIIFomXqxzZR45flRDlEOyf9FsK0PMgsZsLEMISezXbrx-Iqs34OS7lv0tDiPU8l6IlY7TDiHfubmSjEnaDelYJtW-fTCqbnIJJlewCd2xJA_G9xvSGu7g9kbcobLpQLpeOO1k8Y7SmmRyQvw8IwKuA/s320/australian_tarns_mount_gell_frenchmans.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The track then heads northwest down a broad ridge to the saddle
with Mount Hugel before turning east and following a valley down to
Shadow Lake where Little Hugel is framed across the lake. Down
another ridge so broad and forested it is hard to tell you are on a
ridge and then the track joins the Overland Track at Watersmeet, and
a couple of kilometres walk to the ranger station.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-78324010667776947692024-03-19T19:40:00.000-07:002024-03-19T19:40:59.162-07:00Projection Bluff<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Another
good short bushwalk when you are <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2024/03/quamby-bluff.html" target="_blank">driving past</a> is Projection Bluff.
There is a small (1 to 2 cars only) carpark on the western side of
the Lake Highway. The map shows the true highpoint is (probably) the
spot elevation on the northwestern end of the bluff. It’s possible
a track does lead through the scrub if someone is compelled to gain
an extra five metres of height.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqXiJO2hBLA3URWHzycrwYumf3Qzu7H-AerPxUtPGIf8gXwEgXReXo0dBXmP-0R9WMFD8oXnOx602EUnIc8UUkop_85Ly3UdfFT26IhBym34ATV1iMszil5tiZ_VBr81v_k_gpGbY1v_cCirc89K9fN_GsGjQeDPBy2T0EGVG6RCXrIZTdNtOKt1BYT4/s3000/north_view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1570" data-original-width="3000" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqXiJO2hBLA3URWHzycrwYumf3Qzu7H-AerPxUtPGIf8gXwEgXReXo0dBXmP-0R9WMFD8oXnOx602EUnIc8UUkop_85Ly3UdfFT26IhBym34ATV1iMszil5tiZ_VBr81v_k_gpGbY1v_cCirc89K9fN_GsGjQeDPBy2T0EGVG6RCXrIZTdNtOKt1BYT4/s320/north_view.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">View from southern high point</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The track is good and goes pretty much straight up from the car
park (yep, my favourite). And emerges onto the plateau through a gap
in the dolerite columns. There are tracks going both north and south
with cairns and I visited both while Doug went to the southern one.
The best view might be from the southern end. Projection Bluff is
not an <a href="https://theabelmountains.com.au/abel-tables/abels-arranged-order-altitude/" target="_blank">Abel</a>, but, it does overlook Rats Castle, another nearby Abel.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZzHUL81ZUCdpmL-GrYjghAH7gH4C6VDHBildJ4jUqQVgeWJTAqwAGwgVVPOGbYcE98sZmxnqW2Dl3gO0qTIqDBLk3Umw8yaC3Vjgd5c9tijqlTsuzZ4Ct-dpTXb4VgxChTTnr83P8a8pIuL1uGhBMM9XxivsqDMcbNK3eYxcls7SLPkYhBsQkTDlt-GY/s3000/rats_castle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1235" data-original-width="3000" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZzHUL81ZUCdpmL-GrYjghAH7gH4C6VDHBildJ4jUqQVgeWJTAqwAGwgVVPOGbYcE98sZmxnqW2Dl3gO0qTIqDBLk3Umw8yaC3Vjgd5c9tijqlTsuzZ4Ct-dpTXb4VgxChTTnr83P8a8pIuL1uGhBMM9XxivsqDMcbNK3eYxcls7SLPkYhBsQkTDlt-GY/s320/rats_castle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">I'm pretty sure this is Rats Castle</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-65700164377299748732024-03-18T22:40:00.000-07:002024-03-18T22:40:03.834-07:00Quamby Bluff<p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We are
on our way up to the Lake St Clair for a bush-walk. The driving
route passes the track that leads up Quamby Bluff. Quamby Bluff is
an <a href="https://theabelmountains.com.au/abel-tables/" target="_blank">Abel</a>, which is surprising on a couple of counts. The first is
that Quamby Bluff does not seem a very impressive peak, the second is
that I wonder how the term “Abel” has been able to persist in
these anti-colonialist, inter-sectional, critical theory times. I
am sure it is just a matter of time until the term is replaced with
something much more palatable to the progressives.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHiWUlCXWxTb4HH9Mk8OqUY8iTn4Xo2V3u72SNk7hY1bRfQYl45GjrYHoHU-uIT2OVVf_amNaCR258UcgfbC0oPz3rahLAmRj_Y2KEIO11PU6LZHK5ERV_FfQKfrI9o6OKuYcvGUCyVY3TSzBInOvrIJNbL9gQHAJpho8_7HVbIG9Xuda5Trp92SIECc/s3000/quamby_bluff_from_start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1984" data-original-width="3000" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHiWUlCXWxTb4HH9Mk8OqUY8iTn4Xo2V3u72SNk7hY1bRfQYl45GjrYHoHU-uIT2OVVf_amNaCR258UcgfbC0oPz3rahLAmRj_Y2KEIO11PU6LZHK5ERV_FfQKfrI9o6OKuYcvGUCyVY3TSzBInOvrIJNbL9gQHAJpho8_7HVbIG9Xuda5Trp92SIECc/s320/quamby_bluff_from_start.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Quamby Bluff</span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Anyway, the trail head is easy to miss but comes soon after you
pass the small community of Golden Valley (heading south). The trail
head sign indicates that five hours should be allowed for the return
walk. I do not profess to understand how Tasmania Parks and Wildlife
Service manages their tracks. It’s not altogether clear to me
(unpopular opinion ahead, brace yourselves) that the agency is not
staffed by petty bureaucrats drunk on power; but it won’t take that
long. Just over two hours should be plenty for most regular
bush-walkers.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5DwyvFeK6Zwq7hjBPulngzf8_S_n-khZp26xAit_p3l2kwF3JhAwvmU0CYle13BWc3UE5vZvcirVQDSxoT-yJhKamgd7bHa-4jemmX3U-N_lS1diaUxD95f_7geUnKw6XTIBT-1vAb2D3UD_ibpfNKyav18_pqmluN94SUPcLWqH9fRHpsXeTbzr3xc/s5184/summit_quamby_doug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3035" data-original-width="5184" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5DwyvFeK6Zwq7hjBPulngzf8_S_n-khZp26xAit_p3l2kwF3JhAwvmU0CYle13BWc3UE5vZvcirVQDSxoT-yJhKamgd7bHa-4jemmX3U-N_lS1diaUxD95f_7geUnKw6XTIBT-1vAb2D3UD_ibpfNKyav18_pqmluN94SUPcLWqH9fRHpsXeTbzr3xc/s320/summit_quamby_doug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It’s a pretty nice walk when you are driving by. I like tracks
that go straight up. Why faff around. If you are going up, go up,
if you are going down, go down. I once walked up a mountain somewhat
ostentatiously called Matterhorn Mountain in Oregon’s Eagle Cap
Wilderness (it didn’t look much like a Matterhorn). The route to
the top branches off Ice Lake trail and requires a short easy
“off-track” section which was all well and good. It was the
7,000 switchbacks needed to gain the ridge that were tedious. I
think I walked about 38 kilometres that day and I was foot sore at
the end. Thirty of the 38 kilometres were on unnecessary
switchbacks.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIyy_QNvZ2sJUhUc6KmXiJQjGcYEFEwMbigWQGYZuV04tvQ6BcuuSA3woWFRfmatxq-d91ftLQya8ZrIV4bvD8wZHZ9k0k7o5Bth2WDWzOE971TvO6QdBYm_JDW4aZ3jP9ghYEOEuWZ3VRXbp60h_4l9lEZLb8MdjVps72XaOajhYvuontuDhfBZfHIIk/s5184/doug_distant_top_quamby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2795" data-original-width="5184" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIyy_QNvZ2sJUhUc6KmXiJQjGcYEFEwMbigWQGYZuV04tvQ6BcuuSA3woWFRfmatxq-d91ftLQya8ZrIV4bvD8wZHZ9k0k7o5Bth2WDWzOE971TvO6QdBYm_JDW4aZ3jP9ghYEOEuWZ3VRXbp60h_4l9lEZLb8MdjVps72XaOajhYvuontuDhfBZfHIIk/s320/doug_distant_top_quamby.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">But back to Quamby Bluff. The track leads past a small <a href="https://bodhicitta-monastery.com/" target="_blank">monastery</a> and then proceeds uphill through some forest to cross a talus field
and emerges onto the plateau via a shrubby gully. From the top of
the gully it is a gentle stroll south to the top.
</span></p><br /><p></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-25150578322185382182024-03-17T17:59:00.000-07:002024-03-17T17:59:54.005-07:00Minimum Effective Dose<p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Everyone
should know the concept of the <a href="https://startingstrength.com/article/the-minimum-effective-dose-of-training" target="_blank">minimum effective dose</a>. The smallest amount of anything, be it
medication, supplementation or training, that produces the desired
effect. As a concept, it is worthwhile to think about when planning
your training for a big event or trip, but, in practice, it is
impossible to determine in advance, and probably equally infeasible
to estimate afterwards. You might get through the trip but perhaps,
with a little more or a little less training, you might have been
faster, or less tired, or more able to do extra distance.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCqiENESLcIkQR9_bZOgq9Y2DsK4sAfYIdb_TP04e902dA1OLd2XrdEGOA0ANmglAm5MTc8eoJXzwG5ZFcI3gSX1lkLh1Tt9xVIwuSWLPGqKn55KYIgkOK5yEi11lzEnM_gf90L_hKCWZElqWndN60IaqZaOq1Qw4UgWTQnUJ7My74p4rPIwV0bJG2yI/s3000/mulcahy_camp_doug_nick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1760" data-original-width="3000" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCqiENESLcIkQR9_bZOgq9Y2DsK4sAfYIdb_TP04e902dA1OLd2XrdEGOA0ANmglAm5MTc8eoJXzwG5ZFcI3gSX1lkLh1Tt9xVIwuSWLPGqKn55KYIgkOK5yEi11lzEnM_gf90L_hKCWZElqWndN60IaqZaOq1Qw4UgWTQnUJ7My74p4rPIwV0bJG2yI/s320/mulcahy_camp_doug_nick.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Camp near Mulcahy Bay</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">After a big trip, I always think about whether or not my training
was adequate. Less often, I wonder if my nutrition was adequate.
Nutrition on trips is much harder to control than training. I would
love a steak, salad and potatoes every night on a sea kayak trip but
it is just not possible. Nutrition often falls into the category of
just doing your best while recognising that best is nowhere near
ideal.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aXIPn1mShOYwHd1StvXBXeoHY8aKzm94t5QIJPWV3AMiF94R-9OlXt2INWKWYhoCvnQKJgtGnkSX-7MEltRwkl75wl0-UTZJtQQ9XT1MRGBypycmN-OkJsgyszy7b45WAJgSL-Bf0kekNzhrTIMFieJQ4AJbCI-i-fqoE7Wxu-nYiUKdYbt68tEWkio/s3264/BBQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aXIPn1mShOYwHd1StvXBXeoHY8aKzm94t5QIJPWV3AMiF94R-9OlXt2INWKWYhoCvnQKJgtGnkSX-7MEltRwkl75wl0-UTZJtQQ9XT1MRGBypycmN-OkJsgyszy7b45WAJgSL-Bf0kekNzhrTIMFieJQ4AJbCI-i-fqoE7Wxu-nYiUKdYbt68tEWkio/s320/BBQ.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>First real meal after finishing at Southport</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Before we started and certainly once we finished paddling from
Strahan to Southport, I was convinced I would never undertake such a
trip again. It was not so much the trip that put me off but the
training. As I enter my 7<sup>th</sup> decade on this planet (I’m
61 this year), I realise, with a good dollop of dismay, that while I
can continue to stay active and do lots of things, my ability to
recover from “lots of things” is reduced and takes more time;
steak, salad and potatoes for dinner every night notwithstanding.
The corollary is, if I’m doing more kayak training, I have to
decrease the other activities I do in order to recover. Trail
running, bush walking and climbing all fell away in the months
leading up to our Tasmania paddle trip.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0hVnEsTBWS5XFtRpihkdnvlnDH44j8g9PhNeOK63yUJHIVYIqMKXnFSTS3Vj1RxUEIzAAO8txwaCTzN2jD0alqtsHDGr8XtYMjvFJH2i34cIV56_UNUZY_iFGKkJBfCDwBQjThI4IFdbAyRa6pSGuHbz_XmaAwJ7QTBR9lPhg6DBDGeFe9KHG73aBvJ4/s3000/nick_doug_southport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2369" data-original-width="3000" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0hVnEsTBWS5XFtRpihkdnvlnDH44j8g9PhNeOK63yUJHIVYIqMKXnFSTS3Vj1RxUEIzAAO8txwaCTzN2jD0alqtsHDGr8XtYMjvFJH2i34cIV56_UNUZY_iFGKkJBfCDwBQjThI4IFdbAyRa6pSGuHbz_XmaAwJ7QTBR9lPhg6DBDGeFe9KHG73aBvJ4/s320/nick_doug_southport.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Nick and Doug at Southport</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">My schedule was roughly – every seven to ten days (dependent on
recovery): one long paddle day up to 50 kilometres, one day working
speed: 12 to 15 kilometres on the ocean maintaining as fast a pace as
possible (trying to maintain a pace of about 8 km/hr), one day on
skills, and one day paddling in “Tasmania like conditions” –
wind, rain, big swells (or all the former together). Additionally, I
strength trained three days per week, albeit focusing on maintenance
not building, and, I ran the Saturday Park Run for metabolic
conditioning.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6h245nBpbtypKzsViopTSJESyrEhYsknkHvk001WuB0d0xZ2vCfTkK1eXnGxMuLg4NGyTswFEPSWGM8OpZK-1fg2BQCCXNI2V59qOWKNTqmlT1gDqzGoZedf-CIgEWPzBB5V1N9yUFPy-YkFEmJWz8ozXwqHblQ-JZ6J__l0rFyq8oB4-UJEbD-TjUyc/s3077/sandy_into_wind_dec_2023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1619" data-original-width="3077" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6h245nBpbtypKzsViopTSJESyrEhYsknkHvk001WuB0d0xZ2vCfTkK1eXnGxMuLg4NGyTswFEPSWGM8OpZK-1fg2BQCCXNI2V59qOWKNTqmlT1gDqzGoZedf-CIgEWPzBB5V1N9yUFPy-YkFEmJWz8ozXwqHblQ-JZ6J__l0rFyq8oB4-UJEbD-TjUyc/s320/sandy_into_wind_dec_2023.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Plugging into a 20 knot wind on a training day</span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Doug and I did all our training, with the exception of two days,
on the ocean. While I think it is possible to train for flat-water
paddling on the ocean, I don’t believe one trains appropriately for
ocean paddling on flat-water. The two are different in so many ways,
not least getting comfortable paddling in difficult conditions.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirOQnv5BGsifBZcOo-KWHTpJchjC368gKn4AnOMZ36WCyR71bOh8UK8RP3Y_LdyA2tpaqdb_t_G8TTy3nXg2NfhTkXknq4D5iZj3XrLlo2nX6q6ugu95QHP3Ad23qJ3RyVGu0jvCTRnab4GYyh1OM1WuhzH30Dkbkh8qzLTx4UNwzLOBP3fpypqQj0Nkw/s3000/doug_silhouette_sept_2023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1381" data-original-width="3000" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirOQnv5BGsifBZcOo-KWHTpJchjC368gKn4AnOMZ36WCyR71bOh8UK8RP3Y_LdyA2tpaqdb_t_G8TTy3nXg2NfhTkXknq4D5iZj3XrLlo2nX6q6ugu95QHP3Ad23qJ3RyVGu0jvCTRnab4GYyh1OM1WuhzH30Dkbkh8qzLTx4UNwzLOBP3fpypqQj0Nkw/s320/doug_silhouette_sept_2023.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>Early morning start on a long training day</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Various friends and acquaintances had different ideas about how we
should train for such a trip, and these varied from doing all our
paddling with loaded boats, to training almost entirely using intervals or sessions of no more than three hours. As none of these
folks had successfully completed a trip like ours, I felt confident
giving these ideas no further space in my mind. Talk, as Mark Twight
said, minus action equals zero. Additionally , there is fairly well
supported research evidence to suggest that none of these suggestions
is actually a good way to <a href="https://mtntactical.com/knowledge/mil1957-long-and-easy-rethinking-our-approach-to-endurance-by-jordan-smothermon-2014-04-16/" target="_blank">prepare for long endurance events.
</a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ta9tzp2g_H3bAG-YFIKJNwxHWH1PX6dEtYoP812EN1jELp6TRO4MYxe66wcV5mHBdx28c7hYMn6Yc-uwm0MMmT_PzKivOmHiXAN1eOg7dOqkj9oCn8h61rDCx4g8OVD8Nlj-hWTCMplwyZBT0XPmhNSdN65mabBDzDKAK3h-WmNjGF9A9-SZislJ0uI/s5184/mainwaring_entrance_storm_day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2406" data-original-width="5184" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ta9tzp2g_H3bAG-YFIKJNwxHWH1PX6dEtYoP812EN1jELp6TRO4MYxe66wcV5mHBdx28c7hYMn6Yc-uwm0MMmT_PzKivOmHiXAN1eOg7dOqkj9oCn8h61rDCx4g8OVD8Nlj-hWTCMplwyZBT0XPmhNSdN65mabBDzDKAK3h-WmNjGF9A9-SZislJ0uI/s320/mainwaring_entrance_storm_day.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Entrance to Mainwaring Inlet on a stormy day</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Overall, I think my training was effective, although towards the
end, a good deal of mental discipline was required as I was
thoroughly sick of spending so much time in a small boat on a big
ocean, week after week, and month after month. I don’t think I
could have got away with less, but I’ll never really know. I was
certainly tired after a long days paddle with a loaded boat but not
overwhelmingly so. Weather days were occasionally welcome!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzIFkplyY5W4TDv4PM1KqEp7kxzv_tRhzWU3uEomjyEaR6OHHXE8piYBYR6O-Jujo5TNjASbNgqLDNvZG79PWeMGn3n55n80F-mrzZSFK7SvNlGYBYxYusmw8RU6G80mozQqJPmrlygjzl2jtXpB9u1gbUYbx6ydWnni2DbWURIkIQyJacoUNYrBYjKk/s3990/weather_day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2606" data-original-width="3990" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzIFkplyY5W4TDv4PM1KqEp7kxzv_tRhzWU3uEomjyEaR6OHHXE8piYBYR6O-Jujo5TNjASbNgqLDNvZG79PWeMGn3n55n80F-mrzZSFK7SvNlGYBYxYusmw8RU6G80mozQqJPmrlygjzl2jtXpB9u1gbUYbx6ydWnni2DbWURIkIQyJacoUNYrBYjKk/s320/weather_day.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Weather day at Spain Bay</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">When the trip was over, I felt surprisingly “run down.” It’s
hard to explain, but I did not have my usual energy and, although we
did some bush walking afterwards, the bush walking trip we did was
much less than I would normally have been satisfied with doing. I
lost three kilograms on the paddling trip, a percent of my body
weight that would be declared a rampant success for any weight loss
program or <a href="https://www.nature.com/articles/s41591-022-02026-4" target="_blank">treatment</a>. In retrospect, I think the weight loss was the
cause of my general run down feeling.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9TxeuKsCdpZSIsNB1V2WCOnBgfTihBpYG9QIE2aQoifSt3K22dFCuwBuPyrwOMGLMDy7ySB8m3WoyK0q4BICrpy3F50S16nX0cd0qEEZfjwqjYyMXyq_CMcJ_zrEAPGQffqATSmWYHV-Zxl20qAFdInJnUFOYOsrDMqe7_o8Tko8kMVxkqGkiF424TWA/s3000/ducane_plateau_overlooking_walled_doug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1679" data-original-width="3000" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9TxeuKsCdpZSIsNB1V2WCOnBgfTihBpYG9QIE2aQoifSt3K22dFCuwBuPyrwOMGLMDy7ySB8m3WoyK0q4BICrpy3F50S16nX0cd0qEEZfjwqjYyMXyq_CMcJ_zrEAPGQffqATSmWYHV-Zxl20qAFdInJnUFOYOsrDMqe7_o8Tko8kMVxkqGkiF424TWA/s320/ducane_plateau_overlooking_walled_doug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>On the Du Cane Plateau overlooking Walled Mountain</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It’s not quite three weeks since we finished up our big trip
with an easy 18 kilometre paddle into Southport on a sunny and calm
day. I swore I would never do a trip that required that much
preparation and training again, but, already this morning, as I
strolled along my local beach on a drizzly morning, I started
thinking, maybe it wasn’t so bad.
</span></p><br /><p></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-76513591884153710612024-03-15T21:35:00.000-07:002024-03-15T21:35:41.958-07:00Mount Stokes<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I
can’t speak for Doug or Nick but I felt some relief paddling past –
or more appropriately being blown past – the Breaksea Islands and
into sheltered waters. The west coast of Tasmania is a bit like the
black dog of depression, it lurks about in the corners of your mind
taking up space. As we neared Bramble Cove, we passed, very quickly
as we were getting blown along speedily by our kayak sails, a guided
group with Roaring Forties. “You must be the group from Strahan,”
the lead paddler said. We only had time to nod before being whisked
past.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVjOLx9YMTKwiuDwh_39qO_4enor_Db1LPVmgHnpca6i59vNgrUCe-IEuiY2cT1ptEuBT6G1agSR7dVq7JyGTionUtC7Ux58yVqiaF5D7GaBU3HHXOPvNV1_q2vdYcCjNDeqqz10aGYhsxE98dXoK-ocG8l7f-AbOo4vGjXv4r57nquoeAuEvLJyqux8/s3000/mount_stokes_from_start_track.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1719" data-original-width="3000" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVjOLx9YMTKwiuDwh_39qO_4enor_Db1LPVmgHnpca6i59vNgrUCe-IEuiY2cT1ptEuBT6G1agSR7dVq7JyGTionUtC7Ux58yVqiaF5D7GaBU3HHXOPvNV1_q2vdYcCjNDeqqz10aGYhsxE98dXoK-ocG8l7f-AbOo4vGjXv4r57nquoeAuEvLJyqux8/s320/mount_stokes_from_start_track.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Mount Stokes<br /></span></i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bramble Cove has several beaches and, as they came into view, Doug
also noticed the white streak of a track heading up the hillside
behind the most westerly beach. We love a good walking track beside
a campsite so we decided the westerly beach should be our camp for
the night.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCZ15sa1q0KM64okRDo9LaNYmCyZrhMMeeDB1i9cgECgzX1wGp7oX2hyphenhyphenqEGsdNDn6AdLp4fQJkgT0FU6Vlo93TqYKWo-lAZGdQux8XxiwI6ygziDOrmQBDR2-ClGnN3FbHrFWd4XLabrs5PafM50h-96DUZgAhzlZajVYFcuzW-zsQeE17SgtC_1WdIOg/s3000/camp_bramble_from_stokes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="3000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCZ15sa1q0KM64okRDo9LaNYmCyZrhMMeeDB1i9cgECgzX1wGp7oX2hyphenhyphenqEGsdNDn6AdLp4fQJkgT0FU6Vlo93TqYKWo-lAZGdQux8XxiwI6ygziDOrmQBDR2-ClGnN3FbHrFWd4XLabrs5PafM50h-96DUZgAhzlZajVYFcuzW-zsQeE17SgtC_1WdIOg/s320/camp_bramble_from_stokes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Looking down on our camp beach from Mount Stokes</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was a lovely spot. White sand, the amazing surrounds of
Bathurst Harbour, and a stream running with fresh water. After
another long mid-40 kilometre day out on the open ocean, it was
delightful to land on a sheltered beach with the sun still shining.
Perhaps we could even dry our paddling clothes.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZPnvbwCJhbruuJIJ0_7oa9NzO3MjTry-QqFPgm-qbx5avr7lObnsq7_5HMGajwgsBlVZRGvKzcEkgK4tMcamzumYSoXHYJtpg9IiVXN2CA2uFl-hu8PeFwoWwODYhob13uiLTgmdtBny5hAZoHbaxEgo_P1L3kcJ89oGhtim9HR6kvsKRTpmlQLiBV_0/s3000/mount%20rugby%20from%20mount%20stokes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1660" data-original-width="3000" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZPnvbwCJhbruuJIJ0_7oa9NzO3MjTry-QqFPgm-qbx5avr7lObnsq7_5HMGajwgsBlVZRGvKzcEkgK4tMcamzumYSoXHYJtpg9IiVXN2CA2uFl-hu8PeFwoWwODYhob13uiLTgmdtBny5hAZoHbaxEgo_P1L3kcJ89oGhtim9HR6kvsKRTpmlQLiBV_0/s320/mount%20rugby%20from%20mount%20stokes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Mount Rugby from Mount Stokes</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">But, before we could relax, the walking track beckoned. At least
it beckoned me. A “vigorous cold front” was forecast for the
next day and I wanted to get up the view point when the views were
good. From the eastern end of the beach, after jumping another fresh
water creek, I found a little track that led up over Aylen Point and
down to the next beach. At the end of the second beach, the track
runs almost due north up through low vegetation – the views start
right away – to a ridge that runs west from the saddle between
Mount Stokes at 484 metres and Mount Berry at 651 metres, a couple of
kilometres to the north.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4huvIqX33veMi3xKJBSC0hEb_3FHsaxZgT3dElXCtM7L1u4YeagBj1PJUmbxjz-Y8HHoLtHj_pU-46ve_9cN-dCJUYnZ_5muMbIo2ca6JtlX0-AWCdJBPXgwdfGcEL20xn5S0S7h65fXSMFodoiLl76rvW7zs34atlSXNdoBIzQqeFIpR6s7eMK770Hs/s3000/view_towards_bathurst_harbour_from_stokes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1748" data-original-width="3000" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4huvIqX33veMi3xKJBSC0hEb_3FHsaxZgT3dElXCtM7L1u4YeagBj1PJUmbxjz-Y8HHoLtHj_pU-46ve_9cN-dCJUYnZ_5muMbIo2ca6JtlX0-AWCdJBPXgwdfGcEL20xn5S0S7h65fXSMFodoiLl76rvW7zs34atlSXNdoBIzQqeFIpR6s7eMK770Hs/s320/view_towards_bathurst_harbour_from_stokes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">View towards Bathurst Harbour</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Soon, after a very pleasant walk, I was wandering up the last 80
metres to the top from the saddle. The view is magnificent spanning
all of Bathurst Harbour and Port Davey as well as far off islands and
rocks out to sea. Doing what every good peak bagger does, I used my
compass and map to identify various peaks and was also surprised to
find I could see across the south side of Port Davey to Flat Witch
Island near Maatsuyker Island.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PQJ533PTuffNcxUXqxLO0X5zsccboBcrTm2rrKo7DJMLRptKJGiL-LGqU7kU6xBfanKAX8Ki6Amy7uVzZkMx2uG9L-DbshxRTHW2wRfKDRzqHA8N8UWy9WFxQInUax0m6wV4_860JBr58uXfk_seM-YXmKL8nJVl47QVxQPXBXUcIU9Yzit8M-Emams/s3000/bramble_cove_surrounds_from_stokes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="3000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PQJ533PTuffNcxUXqxLO0X5zsccboBcrTm2rrKo7DJMLRptKJGiL-LGqU7kU6xBfanKAX8Ki6Amy7uVzZkMx2uG9L-DbshxRTHW2wRfKDRzqHA8N8UWy9WFxQInUax0m6wV4_860JBr58uXfk_seM-YXmKL8nJVl47QVxQPXBXUcIU9Yzit8M-Emams/s320/bramble_cove_surrounds_from_stokes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>Looking over Bramble Cove towards Spain Bay</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Looking over the north side, I could see Nick and Doug almost at
the final climb so soon we were all on top marvelling over the view.
A quick walk back to camp and then it was time for the tents to go up
and dinner to be cooked. It was 7:00 pm when we got back to camp and
we had been on the go since our usual wake-up time of 5.30 am. It
felt like a full day, and I went to sleep glowing with satisfaction.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-39087094716810733542024-03-14T20:45:00.000-07:002024-03-15T21:38:57.948-07:00Mount Rugby<p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I ran
the Dam Loop this morning through wet vegetation and down the hill to
the house as the rain set in. My legs are so stiff now I can barely
walk which does not seem to bode well for tomorrow’s regular Park
Run. But, it does make me think about walking up Mount Rugby on the
north side of Bathurst Narrows just west of Bathurst Harbour.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUMfod4QhP_lKExRVgYGqaKyUleo1uIbDDtlTcE64hpVlO5Yt1-OZoflkp83p39j_0Q9naRi6Y5L9aGGZXHbbNf3BeSmAPYb020OEdOQKMxP2YPtWk-vd69exL0ABVXB7gAWIclFl__FDN7JJvzpa5PTTS-zN4cFeO2ekjWIBL9w5eG-q7qXD0kyf7Xo/s3000/mount%20rugby%20from%20mount%20stokes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1660" data-original-width="3000" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUMfod4QhP_lKExRVgYGqaKyUleo1uIbDDtlTcE64hpVlO5Yt1-OZoflkp83p39j_0Q9naRi6Y5L9aGGZXHbbNf3BeSmAPYb020OEdOQKMxP2YPtWk-vd69exL0ABVXB7gAWIclFl__FDN7JJvzpa5PTTS-zN4cFeO2ekjWIBL9w5eG-q7qXD0kyf7Xo/s320/mount%20rugby%20from%20mount%20stokes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Mount Rugby from Mount Stokes</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The day we blew in – literally – to Port Davey from the west
coast, we had walked up <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2024/03/mount-stokes.html" target="_blank">Mount Stokes</a> from a lovely beach camp in the
northern edge of Bramble Cove. This was a delightful walk on a good
trail with views that started almost immediately. Mount Rugby, on
the other hand, was wet, viewless and had the kind of track that one
associates with Tasmania, narrow, and overhung with spiky vegetation,
not much more than a rough footpad. I am sure in good weather (it
was raining when we walked up) the view would be amazing, but I still
think if you can only do one of the two walks: Stokes or Rugby,
Stokes is likely better.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgarjd5K1KE9HeAqsAUkP1_2EuF_LOV7IYP4fIKyr4ct7caRaTh3M-y6jHa7mNOi0YA0tLJ5MUwS87HCdM4b2R0TzMcybEdpJZDYRacKjIJ_vFDHJV1hZ_0vYHoOplQjOOm2hxM-ksaRFKc1fFKAvCP3UgqwUoFOTGvOaQUIjgZexB6lCQfMa5RofxTwQs/s3997/blowingin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1668" data-original-width="3997" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgarjd5K1KE9HeAqsAUkP1_2EuF_LOV7IYP4fIKyr4ct7caRaTh3M-y6jHa7mNOi0YA0tLJ5MUwS87HCdM4b2R0TzMcybEdpJZDYRacKjIJ_vFDHJV1hZ_0vYHoOplQjOOm2hxM-ksaRFKc1fFKAvCP3UgqwUoFOTGvOaQUIjgZexB6lCQfMa5RofxTwQs/s320/blowingin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>Blowing in to Port Davey,</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>PC: DB</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Anyway, here’s how the day unfolded. The three of us left
Claytons Corner where we had been enjoying a picnic table, a toilet
and, when it rained, a dry space to sit (Claytons Hut) over the past
couple of wet and windy days, and were moving camp to Bramble Cove in
the expectation that we would soon be able to paddle out of Port
Davey and continue our sea kayak trip around the southern end of
Tasmania to finish at Southport. I really wanted to get up Mount
Rugby which appears to be – at least by my reading of the map –
the highest peak in the immediate surrounds of Bathurst Harbour and,
has the added advantage of a “track”.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4hECz13kjrag0OKMcv8o6Ojo1ury1XlRZlAnldIRRGKvINspScPDxuy1iSWA_Ait8RosO-gDRV4kfSnld0exFJ1FUp-_J1e6VghSQKaPdAy-43BWmk1JIh03vu20PmighJ8QJdzj2YPX7urxzQIEv8y2LczJYalI58twBnW8zV2PfYiu4g3KOCP_vewA/s5184/nick_claytons_corner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2908" data-original-width="5184" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4hECz13kjrag0OKMcv8o6Ojo1ury1XlRZlAnldIRRGKvINspScPDxuy1iSWA_Ait8RosO-gDRV4kfSnld0exFJ1FUp-_J1e6VghSQKaPdAy-43BWmk1JIh03vu20PmighJ8QJdzj2YPX7urxzQIEv8y2LczJYalI58twBnW8zV2PfYiu4g3KOCP_vewA/s320/nick_claytons_corner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">Nick at Claytons Corner</i></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We paddled to the start of the track which is just off a very
small beach (disappears at high tide) about a kilometre west of
Platypus Point. There were no really good places to take loaded sea
kayaks ashore so we paddled as far west as Starvation Bay looking for
a better spot but when nothing else presented itself, we went back to
the track head and labouriously carried fully loaded boats up to a
grassy ledge where we could leave them. It was a grey, drizzly sort
of day with a moderate westerly wind blowing, the sort of day that
seems pretty common around these parts. Nick decided to forgo the
ascent which left Doug and I to wallow and wade up the track while
Nick caught the tide out Bathurst Narrows and Bathurst Channel and
set up camp at Bramble Cove.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh717Nknta_nxHvh_U-BJWyAjhaIwh037FMQuGBeaOgVGDrgBRwUhLTNYNJQXkMF5PsDhFcT0AcfI1MaHqVESz_UJwIVJ06qud3cSnW-LrDQBziGAxCASIMK5Q5zebxvTpozgjm091_0f11uMh89qDqDxrY8VmtPJEXCpqDfZzzu8FlzMHAELdiqhsrmXY/s4000/drowned_rat.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh717Nknta_nxHvh_U-BJWyAjhaIwh037FMQuGBeaOgVGDrgBRwUhLTNYNJQXkMF5PsDhFcT0AcfI1MaHqVESz_UJwIVJ06qud3cSnW-LrDQBziGAxCASIMK5Q5zebxvTpozgjm091_0f11uMh89qDqDxrY8VmtPJEXCpqDfZzzu8FlzMHAELdiqhsrmXY/s320/drowned_rat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Having a grand time on Mount Rugby,</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: DB<br /></span></i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Incredibly, we got to the summit in two hours which is a bit
amazing as the track is a really narrow ankle and knee twister and it
was raining solidly from the first saddle about half way up all the
way to the top. We were wet through as the thick vegetation was, of
course, streaming with water and it was too cold to stop, which might
have contributed to our solid pace. Doug asked somewhat plaintively
“Will you ever turn back?” to which I replied, characteristically
“No.” This was difficult for both of us because alone neither of
us could manage our boats so even if Doug walked back down to the
trail head he would have to stand about in the wet and cold in
soaking clothing to wait for me. I greatly appreciate Doug enduring
an unpleasant few hours in exchange for making me happy while getting
no views at all!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbERJMRCaGil-stM9fpcwHVAmRPsskoS63zXybdFy-NBj4Bl9rwzd5KefzLZbzmGzRMMQg2u6KetXcPURcIYV6WWaCTBxuUYQErtNiAx7lmzljpCINKHZY50g4F48jQO1NjQxDLRnRylPSwwMQKY-fglt2_Ng784Za4ykBkJbWrjIqkMVK6rxK1kDBJI/s4000/rugby.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2237" data-original-width="4000" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbERJMRCaGil-stM9fpcwHVAmRPsskoS63zXybdFy-NBj4Bl9rwzd5KefzLZbzmGzRMMQg2u6KetXcPURcIYV6WWaCTBxuUYQErtNiAx7lmzljpCINKHZY50g4F48jQO1NjQxDLRnRylPSwwMQKY-fglt2_Ng784Za4ykBkJbWrjIqkMVK6rxK1kDBJI/s320/rugby.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Mount Rugby by from Mount Beattie,<br /></span></i><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i></div><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The absolute top of Mount Rugby requires a bit of scrambling to
gain which was somewhat dodgy given how wet it was, but we did stand
atop the last rocks, shake hands and immediately descend. Such is
mountain climbing. There were quite a few slips on the way down as
no matter how careful we were, our feet frequently went out from
under us. Luckily, years of falling over have made me not only
somewhat resilient but pretty good at falling without injury.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkANG2TDt1dfLwNTK1zJcD7WJj6upi7tUSnSzkz3YEGNK536Gp6G7NL_8-rx-HUMyzRgYB036vE2BkWZgqsbp5LpYcRkI-i9LXajhlvvBm3Z-QLzP1IWc_C1vfQmDhSBqe0gsr8CwonC8IkcOBs6HyrKUg2LNfx8fRRWL7TilJGQRV4v3_zTHLeTqeSJs/s3988/slight_clearing.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2310" data-original-width="3988" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkANG2TDt1dfLwNTK1zJcD7WJj6upi7tUSnSzkz3YEGNK536Gp6G7NL_8-rx-HUMyzRgYB036vE2BkWZgqsbp5LpYcRkI-i9LXajhlvvBm3Z-QLzP1IWc_C1vfQmDhSBqe0gsr8CwonC8IkcOBs6HyrKUg2LNfx8fRRWL7TilJGQRV4v3_zTHLeTqeSJs/s320/slight_clearing.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Slight clearing on Mount Rugby track,</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We had a small snack near the trail head when the rain stopped and
the wind, which was blowing solidly from the west, had begun to dry
our clothes. Back at our boats, we had to carry them back to the
water, and then we set off to paddle 14 kilometres west to Bramble
Cove. Paddling out to Bathurst Narrows we quickly gained a full
appreciation for how quickly the tidal current runs through this
narrow waterway, particularly when the tidal current is running in
the opposite direction to which you are paddling. The current must
have been running at around two knots and with the wind howling up
the narrow channel, also against us, getting back to Bramble Cove was
a laborious affair. We tried desperately to catch back eddies along
the channel and to hug the shore to lessen the impact of the wind but
I’m not sure either of these tactics made a big difference. It was
one of those days when you just need to put your head down and plug
along.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrnpqtFKYcAsUe2vxgZa-K_BybBvXwStaTPaAv8TV0iSq9ePwifuMsF7I-6F_x4ibyd_IRS_cV_lPG3Ci0hUz_lRAj11g_q_2WVrg8agGXKdVJZ0C-pblfVjBvJOKl98VEivoYo8xbKzH4t3kg5BCFwUY2DFHHYK7NHg4n0AAqk3Ny9B48ce1uvsfVHtQ/s4000/almost_bramble.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1898" data-original-width="4000" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrnpqtFKYcAsUe2vxgZa-K_BybBvXwStaTPaAv8TV0iSq9ePwifuMsF7I-6F_x4ibyd_IRS_cV_lPG3Ci0hUz_lRAj11g_q_2WVrg8agGXKdVJZ0C-pblfVjBvJOKl98VEivoYo8xbKzH4t3kg5BCFwUY2DFHHYK7NHg4n0AAqk3Ny9B48ce1uvsfVHtQ/s320/almost_bramble.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i style="font-size: small;">Nearing Bramble Cove,</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>PC: DB</i></span></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mentally, I was calculating how long we had until dark and
thinking that if we just kept paddling we should make Bramble Cove
before dark. At Turnbull Island, at the south end of Bramble Cove,
we finally got a little relief from the wind and the current and had
a little bit of food. It had been another long day with little to
eat – a familiar theme on this trip.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigd2E65_PGSS5AqXnYJ9elOfyE9WR1R7ZTAcXqzmF3nYNEfPL-qtUhz1GrSH-C7JbNc1DKgYCpfNIuKm3AMy8Ts8BtY_BNMfVVdfaC-EotZo4QQ8TFJrTeOVee7GHKd2NRDC7AvQhgIjzVQ69CpNXHdFmRCSHBNdH7CyaOcfH5xkxZHDqcxXygUkKOEB0/s3997/bramblecove.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2391" data-original-width="3997" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigd2E65_PGSS5AqXnYJ9elOfyE9WR1R7ZTAcXqzmF3nYNEfPL-qtUhz1GrSH-C7JbNc1DKgYCpfNIuKm3AMy8Ts8BtY_BNMfVVdfaC-EotZo4QQ8TFJrTeOVee7GHKd2NRDC7AvQhgIjzVQ69CpNXHdFmRCSHBNdH7CyaOcfH5xkxZHDqcxXygUkKOEB0/s320/bramblecove.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Our first camp at Bramble Cove,</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">As we paddled north into Bramble Cove, the current no longer a
bother and with some shelter from the wind, we saw an orange and
white kayak on the beach, and then a figure in a dark green anorak,
and with plenty of time before dark we landed on the beach and were
very grateful for Nick’s help in carrying gear up to camp and
carrying the kayaks up to the top of the beach for the night.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57sQDxUkBUZ4SOteUf58qQIcv6uh-y9krWk7q99H9OF6tSZNypWntwApU2sRXtSsZ0ejtsYFZcxqV9ZE3Opkha8NE_qEkl6M-q6dlonx4F9u_yXmCrbmfFgSDrv7NLMSFSVQ17CMPq-Cw3pOPs_csobBh2NeyBgrQP_S83wPW3U8j70afF6lvtSM2UNg/s4000/bramble_from_stokes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2038" data-original-width="4000" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57sQDxUkBUZ4SOteUf58qQIcv6uh-y9krWk7q99H9OF6tSZNypWntwApU2sRXtSsZ0ejtsYFZcxqV9ZE3Opkha8NE_qEkl6M-q6dlonx4F9u_yXmCrbmfFgSDrv7NLMSFSVQ17CMPq-Cw3pOPs_csobBh2NeyBgrQP_S83wPW3U8j70afF6lvtSM2UNg/s320/bramble_from_stokes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bramble Cove from Mount Stokes,</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Later that evening, the guests from the luxury boat <a href="https://onboardexpeditions.com.au/" target="_blank">“On Board”</a>
landed at the eastern end of Bramble Cove for a wine and cheese
sunset extravaganza. The guests strolled along the beach, well
dressed, well coiffed and smelling fresh. How different our
experiences were.
</span></p><p>
<br /></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-88742622424657009092024-03-13T22:18:00.000-07:002024-03-13T22:19:48.847-07:00The Mind Drags The Body: Lessons From Tasmania<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>The
mind drags the body – struggling behind it – rarely the
opposite.</i> <b>Mark Twight.</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">“What will you do if you have been paddling all day and can’t
land?” My niece asked as we planned and prepared for our sea kayak
trip along the west and south coast of Tasmania. I did not want to
think about this eventuality because I really had no good answer. It
didn’t help, that my niece, <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2022/12/coulda-woulda-shoulda.html" target="_blank">bless her heart</a>, asked me this question every time I saw her in the
lead up to our kayak trip. I did not want to think about it early, I
did not want to think about it late, I really did not want to think
about such an eventuality at all, oh no, I did not (apologies to Dr
Seuss).</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvWsJzKXYuqsNBaX8CctJDxlCbU4M2F-oxqK__N8kjF3ezp2sqgRLDdr9TwU0YlDzv2BGl93PcHRbJfvMmZVlV0UtMVjU9h6q-v6n_dDJ32OFu0CjWz8q0lFi7rk6PUXC0HTmhyphenhyphenJoyDwt040IUf7WRznYx1Kf2BaIxWMazLLwVjOIGUbV_xMbgJrxEdPI/s3709/mind_one.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3709" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvWsJzKXYuqsNBaX8CctJDxlCbU4M2F-oxqK__N8kjF3ezp2sqgRLDdr9TwU0YlDzv2BGl93PcHRbJfvMmZVlV0UtMVjU9h6q-v6n_dDJ32OFu0CjWz8q0lFi7rk6PUXC0HTmhyphenhyphenJoyDwt040IUf7WRznYx1Kf2BaIxWMazLLwVjOIGUbV_xMbgJrxEdPI/s320/mind_one.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Whenever I did think about this question I shuddered; a deep,
dragging shudder, the sort that reaches down to your bones because
what would we do? If we could not land, conditions would be
desperate and how would we survive at sea in desperate conditions on
the wild west coast of Tasmania? My mind, that catastrophe
generating machine, would visualise three metre seas and five metre
swells, with 30 knot winds all converging as night fell and we
desperately searched for somewhere to land exhausted after a 40
kilometre paddle day.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-TbM4oXQPyOqRa8DvNJRi7bfLOlHXZ13XgIz9uP5r3Ellu6gq3Uu_bce37Zx9w3eRGv7MAC5iwidyUlrR7IAmmqpvvnZ6OHkDUn4Zgc4cJkSRIG3B_juXw1flUyPpfYEEjVShXBd3fmNxHMUN9rSTwjiDJ0bW3DpOMWpUUUU22NdUbTLB1sixwktC1_M/s3004/mind_two.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1990" data-original-width="3004" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-TbM4oXQPyOqRa8DvNJRi7bfLOlHXZ13XgIz9uP5r3Ellu6gq3Uu_bce37Zx9w3eRGv7MAC5iwidyUlrR7IAmmqpvvnZ6OHkDUn4Zgc4cJkSRIG3B_juXw1flUyPpfYEEjVShXBd3fmNxHMUN9rSTwjiDJ0bW3DpOMWpUUUU22NdUbTLB1sixwktC1_M/s320/mind_two.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Of course, it never came to that. Most catastrophes that we
imagine never happen, and whilst it is good to be prepared –
“failure to plan is planning to fail” - big trips require tight
mind control. That is my pre-eminent lesson from what I think will
be the hardest and most committing ocean kayak trip I will ever do.
You simply must control your mind.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The mind, as Mark Twight said so succintly so many years ago, is
primary.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic20FpCe35GkJ9gp3ektSb_Iz5ATsQAQImFSNexH4gp9kcNkSwlaVH5MDpETsOf4vNfOgxJekVMCfEM2pbsL1aFsPfRAsT8EBiRMY5hf1y2ZAkbQrJRco9zHP9vRzzDY_P5HvgUXEdLFZZZn_QxfF1LfmwdFK_yAS8JnC2dhOPxPZMsxWfYcT0PWWfqH0/s4000/mind_three.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic20FpCe35GkJ9gp3ektSb_Iz5ATsQAQImFSNexH4gp9kcNkSwlaVH5MDpETsOf4vNfOgxJekVMCfEM2pbsL1aFsPfRAsT8EBiRMY5hf1y2ZAkbQrJRco9zHP9vRzzDY_P5HvgUXEdLFZZZn_QxfF1LfmwdFK_yAS8JnC2dhOPxPZMsxWfYcT0PWWfqH0/s320/mind_three.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The mind wants you to quit as soon as things get hard. The mind
wants to imagine one calamity after another, the mind nags and
niggles about all the things that might or could go wrong. Sometimes
it feels as if the mind never gives you one damn moments peace.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAzkHwlXhvr6ghyAHlBDfpcFu2Mtp6Pz5pLpA8CnZGhmTB3NN_uLVAAPjXtTK91dAJv7r8FnMT7_2pWcqawZthyphenhyphenT6MC0nscfLyMmVfbx_EedOUwla_IvHR-R2LLWorhAfBaeP0Vsr07K890aroy-n1mai4mOObGrL0Z992flRvm2TuNLrj8nUmUFbwKA/s3486/mind_four.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2297" data-original-width="3486" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAzkHwlXhvr6ghyAHlBDfpcFu2Mtp6Pz5pLpA8CnZGhmTB3NN_uLVAAPjXtTK91dAJv7r8FnMT7_2pWcqawZthyphenhyphenT6MC0nscfLyMmVfbx_EedOUwla_IvHR-R2LLWorhAfBaeP0Vsr07K890aroy-n1mai4mOObGrL0Z992flRvm2TuNLrj8nUmUFbwKA/s320/mind_four.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">If the weather is good today, what will it be like tomorrow? If
the swell is pumping as you paddle out of a safe harbour in the
morning, what will it be like as you approach the next possible
landing spot? If there is a headwind, how bad can it get?
Conversely, if the kayak is being pushed along by a strong tail wind
and things feel just a bit uncontrollable, how much more can you
handle? What if the queasiness you feel from the swell and sea and
the endless lumpy, bumpy, messy conditions that constitute the
average paddle conditions make you really sea sick and you start
vomiting? What if, what if, what if. The mind just never stops.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBq1-enmoyZrJbUTg0u3_tbN-Mwu8-5E_SsiygfWReExYM-LXikaRb3TbOBngep4gpIYl6nYeaTTKR0EjGmHqma3FXwvzCaQPNV5BjoQN80QCm9P9MOlnEeNBw7KQhQgHQQPWpDxG3ewMpSfAnjEBbclQgnLB2nQ7E9Z0aFSk3sDZuJJpyBUwtgBRrwqc/s4000/mind_five.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1752" data-original-width="4000" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBq1-enmoyZrJbUTg0u3_tbN-Mwu8-5E_SsiygfWReExYM-LXikaRb3TbOBngep4gpIYl6nYeaTTKR0EjGmHqma3FXwvzCaQPNV5BjoQN80QCm9P9MOlnEeNBw7KQhQgHQQPWpDxG3ewMpSfAnjEBbclQgnLB2nQ7E9Z0aFSk3sDZuJJpyBUwtgBRrwqc/s320/mind_five.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I learnt long ago on big ski traverses through the Canadian
mountains, that the mind must be controlled. Avalanche hazard is the
biggest risk, but there is also the possibility of falling into a
crevasse (with a heavy pack on!) or losing an edge and tumbling skis
still on your feet down very steep, very long, very icy slopes most
of which are handily placed above cliff bands guaranteeing that you
will be catapulted a great distance. No-one has any hope, under
those conditions of arresting a fall even if you are skiing with an
ice axe in your hand, which, I can attest, is not easy.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1MAsDraKLFLmuR3WnTol7wi2w1Zn_nfnkiKih7KDvvXipko6dYye5fBQQgSJDfRXZwRJjF-h7P6XhTUbBwlFtYZGkx7B41ry-Go3daaq9IomVRhdULJHL4FUADpEttmm6kksg2IgooFMWdopIglbL0vthTd568VGhffyAG-nZtaLo8_Ug6pRD3A-i6IY/s2000/sandy_descending_swside_solomons.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1MAsDraKLFLmuR3WnTol7wi2w1Zn_nfnkiKih7KDvvXipko6dYye5fBQQgSJDfRXZwRJjF-h7P6XhTUbBwlFtYZGkx7B41ry-Go3daaq9IomVRhdULJHL4FUADpEttmm6kksg2IgooFMWdopIglbL0vthTd568VGhffyAG-nZtaLo8_Ug6pRD3A-i6IY/s320/sandy_descending_swside_solomons.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">On such trips, there are two options, one is to lay awake all
night worrying about the next day, the other is to make a solid plan
that mitigates any risks that can be managed, then relax and get a
good sleep. After two decades of completing at least one big ski
traverse every year, I came to view the thin nylon of our tent as
some kind of magic barrier. Once I was inside, I simply did not
worry anymore. The nylon became a force field to repel catastrophic
thinking.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIONvE791qTQTeBRRqzANmnJ0WbpUQksfD71cppwFDAaEvqf4_IeUQ-q9EafGtIVq8ZUA9EtWSVWB71zs-uBkKHg19lrldQJJKP-E824UFaMMfPMrzUo8T2f6-Z_iuNdPBzCArwx_MtaMfD6iylNHJITPpc6ZquwDED05EAML4wlWRLtzH3kPE-E7eYLE/s2048/fooddropcamp_scott.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIONvE791qTQTeBRRqzANmnJ0WbpUQksfD71cppwFDAaEvqf4_IeUQ-q9EafGtIVq8ZUA9EtWSVWB71zs-uBkKHg19lrldQJJKP-E824UFaMMfPMrzUo8T2f6-Z_iuNdPBzCArwx_MtaMfD6iylNHJITPpc6ZquwDED05EAML4wlWRLtzH3kPE-E7eYLE/s320/fooddropcamp_scott.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: SF</span></i></div></i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It takes energy and practice to control the mind. I’ve heard
the uncontrolled and irrational mind compared to an elephant with the
tiny, rational part of our minds, the rider atop the elephant. The
rider thinks they are in control but, in truth, the gigantic and
muscular elephant is making all the decisions. Long paddle days are
the norm on the west and south coast of Tasmania and seven hours on
the water allows the elephant a long lead time to get up a head of
steam and crush everything in its path. The mind drags the body.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnMDq23ksuk_N2JIwiVbiLAGEMpObatUzZeklbbkA-c-55AQ4-BT6bqGNUT7oKHeePIl_79H097d-IqlblEqELppqomzf4tCSzihnz731v84XukaV4JwITguR02aC0-w3Hsoka7STq0vd0PH6UZ5WK7KkAalrgSkw76aj3QOBnqGE-8Me_eVUwud60gg8/s2848/marv_jump_avalanchecreek_2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2136" data-original-width="2848" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnMDq23ksuk_N2JIwiVbiLAGEMpObatUzZeklbbkA-c-55AQ4-BT6bqGNUT7oKHeePIl_79H097d-IqlblEqELppqomzf4tCSzihnz731v84XukaV4JwITguR02aC0-w3Hsoka7STq0vd0PH6UZ5WK7KkAalrgSkw76aj3QOBnqGE-8Me_eVUwud60gg8/s320/marv_jump_avalanchecreek_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC:DB<br /></span></i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I had a mantra when paddling that I used when ever those
catastrophic thoughts threatened to overwhelm my equillibrium. It’s
pretty simple, it’s quite well known, and it’s been around for a
really long time: that which doesn’t kill me.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-27323199369995799872024-03-12T21:50:00.000-07:002024-03-12T21:50:16.415-07:00Gulp Don't Sip<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We had
a wonderful black labrador dog called <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2011/01/dogs-lives-are-too-short-their-only.html" target="_blank">Kumo</a>. His brain ran something
like this:</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Food, food, food, food, food, food, food, food;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Go ski touring, fabulous, let’s go;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Food, food, food, food, food, food, food, food;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Go climb a mountain, awesome, I’m in;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Food, food, food, food, food, food, food, food;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Walk in the woods, yes, my favourite;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Food, food, food, food, food, food, food, food;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Lie in the sun on a winters day, don’t mind if I do;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Food, food, food, food, food, food, food, food;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Food, food, food, food, food, food, food, food;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Food, food, food, food, food, food, food, food.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlJBJE2r0tVsrggML5G3jRv7e9YNKRKfJ_vSJelNRGunpRHbXWi3DtnFa6C3iCOhDMMVZUBlcYDR4K8OVSPHhQ3LE1BM4wP_Qzv38ek48S0Zgy2S9mZuDOCUGUjG_mYJlxJ_ggjfnPztGN2ellJEsSU75c-v16GvrspIQ8sByfOo5WHSRnMwfmKa4tmY/s1000/kumo_pond_sir_donald_camp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlJBJE2r0tVsrggML5G3jRv7e9YNKRKfJ_vSJelNRGunpRHbXWi3DtnFa6C3iCOhDMMVZUBlcYDR4K8OVSPHhQ3LE1BM4wP_Qzv38ek48S0Zgy2S9mZuDOCUGUjG_mYJlxJ_ggjfnPztGN2ellJEsSU75c-v16GvrspIQ8sByfOo5WHSRnMwfmKa4tmY/s320/kumo_pond_sir_donald_camp.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">My brain, which likes to gulp not sip at life, is a bit like this
except it runs:</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; page-break-before: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Go for a run, go for a run, go for a run, go for a run, go for a run;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Lift weights, lift weights, lift weights, lift weights, lift weights,
lift weights;
</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Paddle, paddle, paddle, paddle, paddle, paddle, paddle, paddle,
paddle;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Climb, climb, climb, climb, climb, climb, climb, climb, climb, climb,
climb;</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Rest, nah, don’t want to, run, paddle, climb, lift, run, paddle,
climb, lift.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFspR3uyv5PxReYDb5JhE76bbtj7Kg7eK9ps13e7cFFItYCgzbpxRBosAp9DdJiHwde43IM-lmi455SoIM3bRJZs0PPngA5mkgn41yxFoj_QdAhX1Hs3_PVI3jB4g2hFKJ81hhWZ575MyZ672WzvvDW4-UCDFiCGqrd1owioLMwUVXetFK1fFmpXC9nw/s3643/dawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1766" data-original-width="3643" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFspR3uyv5PxReYDb5JhE76bbtj7Kg7eK9ps13e7cFFItYCgzbpxRBosAp9DdJiHwde43IM-lmi455SoIM3bRJZs0PPngA5mkgn41yxFoj_QdAhX1Hs3_PVI3jB4g2hFKJ81hhWZ575MyZ672WzvvDW4-UCDFiCGqrd1owioLMwUVXetFK1fFmpXC9nw/s320/dawn.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>PC: DB<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, of course, as soon as we got back from Tasmania, I started
training. But where to start. Strength obviously. After six weeks
of endurance activities, I really need to build my strength, power
and not least, muscle mass back up. That part is easy. Back into
the fundamental human movements: push, pull, hinge, squat, carry with
some additional core and glute training (my weak areas), but, I also
wanted to get back into trail running and, in an effort to build up
my legs, some hill running.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIPemI2iaAxLK9eUy-zs0psq20_9b3_lTT9Qg1s_Z-VDv9I7llWRh0fyNzyELMGH3t_m4ggkahq749qRf4znnqnkn5-Ysi6qQN2pUH8up0kQntw61rTj-pDUlI0oOYIXZLbPM1R0yK9V4nRNKWEbSjEOZmhVXBGMkueycbZ0z2Y3VliFw165MA76MR7Q/s2000/illawong_doug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIPemI2iaAxLK9eUy-zs0psq20_9b3_lTT9Qg1s_Z-VDv9I7llWRh0fyNzyELMGH3t_m4ggkahq749qRf4znnqnkn5-Ysi6qQN2pUH8up0kQntw61rTj-pDUlI0oOYIXZLbPM1R0yK9V4nRNKWEbSjEOZmhVXBGMkueycbZ0z2Y3VliFw165MA76MR7Q/s320/illawong_doug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The brain that gulps not sips, starts with hill sprints and
optimistically thinks, I’ll do five sets. There is actually a
really good hill for this about a three kilometre walk (or jog) along
a nice bush track from where I live. There is about a hundred broad
steps and the hill gains 70 metres, which is a decent amount of
elevation around these parts. Optimistically, I thought five
repetitions sounded like a good number. Turns out 3.5 was a good
number and my legs were as Elvis doing the blue suede shoes when I
finished.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimKVgioinHLWV4hnSRHhReXycIZXmWXUnuN2HK1vK7OzTdRIb934gdSjHJ0HFPEC18SqgMfuROXXegELpkOOmSAVzZGCIs6v_3jC4-O6k2a7sXhhPubNALUykRz4NWa09TMpJP2h8jLrRHlghS5ndx0cBAEV7WweXitQS3JviqgaWaH8JE2nBglEFXWe4/s2910/pollwombra_single_track.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1855" data-original-width="2910" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimKVgioinHLWV4hnSRHhReXycIZXmWXUnuN2HK1vK7OzTdRIb934gdSjHJ0HFPEC18SqgMfuROXXegELpkOOmSAVzZGCIs6v_3jC4-O6k2a7sXhhPubNALUykRz4NWa09TMpJP2h8jLrRHlghS5ndx0cBAEV7WweXitQS3JviqgaWaH8JE2nBglEFXWe4/s320/pollwombra_single_track.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Next
day, climbing on my home wall and an easy aerobic trail run. Why not
run eight kilometres (five miles), the minimum distance for any
self-respecting trail runner? Once I started that also seemed a bit
daft so I settled for a Maffetone</span><a class="sdfootnoteanc" href="#sdfootnote1sym" name="sdfootnote1anc" style="font-family: verdana;"><sup>1</sup></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">
approach which uses time not distance, and did just over six
kilometres. On the plus side, I was able to run almost all the way
at my nose breathing pace (approximately VT1) which is actually a
huge leap forward for me as I usually have to walk a lot more to stay
around VT1 (first ventilatory threshold). Turns out doing primarily
endurance for six weeks really improves your endurance.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><p>
</p><div id="sdfootnote1"><p class="sdfootnote"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a class="sdfootnotesym" href="#sdfootnote1anc" name="sdfootnote1sym">1</a>The
Endurance Handbook by Dr. Phillip Maffetone.</span></p>
</div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-41908260458582630772024-03-11T19:41:00.000-07:002024-03-11T19:41:22.811-07:00Being A Better Friend<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I
listened to this <a href="https://mumsgoneclimbing.podbean.com/e/40-amanda-watts/" target="_blank">podcast </a>the other day, which, truthfully, I probably
wouldn’t advise unless you have time to kill while you perform one
of your least favorite chores. I was unpacking from a big trip away
which certainly must classify as one of my least favourite chores.
Why and how does the gear one takes on a trip suddenly expand upon
arriving home to cover over 700 square metres and all it require
washing, drying and mending when, prior to departure all the gear was
in good nick and fit into the back of an average vehicle?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5dbHPWuNO0Q8lkXq1JXR4rjjdHM_QO31k4nGTdm2h9wBrLeoTcv2AnmjV-7k5CCcZmFCykSTNWj-KqCdNtcYB9CspXuP79JkJUXTAsLUiDr06aG2_9z93hNmBnNMRNwRo_GoBvzDeoK0NnCLvE4DYnGACkRVgH2UpHLfPvJRgBD-i1ThDGNFZK-QHNFA/s2000/gear_explosion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5dbHPWuNO0Q8lkXq1JXR4rjjdHM_QO31k4nGTdm2h9wBrLeoTcv2AnmjV-7k5CCcZmFCykSTNWj-KqCdNtcYB9CspXuP79JkJUXTAsLUiDr06aG2_9z93hNmBnNMRNwRo_GoBvzDeoK0NnCLvE4DYnGACkRVgH2UpHLfPvJRgBD-i1ThDGNFZK-QHNFA/s320/gear_explosion.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Normal explosion of gear when kayakers reach camp.<br />PC: DB</span></i></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">As we both ruminate on the expansion and deterioration of gear in
the “post trip phase” I will give you my thoughts on the podcast.
First, the guest speaker comes dangerously close to saying “you
are just not a good enough person to be friends with me.” There’s
an audacity and hubris about this that is somehow a bit chilling,
like the concept of the Aryan nation being the purest expression of
our species.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgFpDowp3sPRnJ9Vze1k9bHYRYV-en409t2DqAhPQuQjhv3tmwImxqXhoTUVqq3xvYl-8Ur50nta5aHeahP8UoHBtnwrDrsV1cvz6LaiaHiFJrHXAgW7t2Q_8pAFiemt_uKSAuwQc-o_2kp2b-C44sMmUrAjf9E8uumquttfNx18aCouxqdZ62omkZ7kA/s3622/sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1612" data-original-width="3622" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgFpDowp3sPRnJ9Vze1k9bHYRYV-en409t2DqAhPQuQjhv3tmwImxqXhoTUVqq3xvYl-8Ur50nta5aHeahP8UoHBtnwrDrsV1cvz6LaiaHiFJrHXAgW7t2Q_8pAFiemt_uKSAuwQc-o_2kp2b-C44sMmUrAjf9E8uumquttfNx18aCouxqdZ62omkZ7kA/s320/sunrise.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Sunrise and the start of a 50 km day on the </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">south coast of Tasmania,</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’m all for personal development and life-long learning but
simply reading self-help books and following “inspiring”
Instagram accounts achieves neither of those things and we are
fooling ourselves if we think it does. My own personal life
observations support my personal hypothesis (and you may have a
different one) that the more reading, listening, viewing one does of
self-help and personal development books, podcasts, stories, etc.
the less personal growth one actually achieves. It’s a bit like
that <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2012/08/you-are-what-you-do.html" target="_blank">study</a>
done way back when and since forgotten because the ramifications were
unpalatable which found that people who visualised having done the
thing (whatever the thing was) were actually less likely to achieve
the thing. The one facility that all of us excel at without
realisation about just how exceptional we are is how good we are at
fooling ourselves.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfSwAAWRYL6T5cYcTiBgGlMyvA2ZS2kvqg0_rqvXifpf1ULeKLvMoPPJm-tYq9f1bPr1DEM3d4VKVxh2a7Qm4WBBg8uzJ-IyaMYOUpoJi_tj8PLP5SQNrRrR6NxFzFH1f0BcBmo1Ko76sDusY0pjv_mY4hII4uW0LLAL4oOADuskf7CRquS8sdVYoRc1Q/s2000/toasties.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfSwAAWRYL6T5cYcTiBgGlMyvA2ZS2kvqg0_rqvXifpf1ULeKLvMoPPJm-tYq9f1bPr1DEM3d4VKVxh2a7Qm4WBBg8uzJ-IyaMYOUpoJi_tj8PLP5SQNrRrR6NxFzFH1f0BcBmo1Ko76sDusY0pjv_mY4hII4uW0LLAL4oOADuskf7CRquS8sdVYoRc1Q/s320/toasties.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">I could be judgey and say that making toasties with chocolate bars</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> is not a healthy choice</span></i><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> but if you've just paddled </span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">the west coast of Tasmania, you get to do what you want. PC: DB</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We never know another persons struggles or difficulties or walk
along the exact same path as them so it really is best, as much as is
possible, to avoid assumptions and judgements and instead focus on
being a better friend rather than demanding other people in our life
be better friends to us. </span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-77147191952836339622024-03-10T13:11:00.000-07:002024-03-10T13:23:13.239-07:00Letter From A Friend<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A
couple of days before we began our sea kayak trip from Strahan on the
west coast of Tasmania to Southport on the east coast, I got this
message from an old and dear friend in Canada:</span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; page-break-before: auto; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Hey S and D,</i></span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>I am writing today as it is the first of Feb, the month of your BIG
TRIP. The sea kayaking equivalent of the Salathe Wall on El Cap.
Experts only. I know that you and Doug have practised, planned and
trained to the max, and beyond, and will just need reasonable weather
for a successful trip. So I wish you good weather, and success.</i></span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; line-height: 115%; margin-left: 1cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Cheers and all the best, Uncle Aitch.</i></span></p>
<p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPbFMft9bcDsENTtMdbGCGesdX0CBxlP8SWjlPtoPPiNCw04O8cydLsE7B_z-tXfc598VdwOcJsHgbAaWIel-c6mPj7RZKQAYARwtJEUyRN2MZRTOWo5__1TTe3HAakMiVw6qT71hyphenhyphenUizwsMR1-D6gPM9UkajPPHg6nKuc6QcyFuTgYVaBp6VzudHrpU/s2848/hamish_sandy_westridge_clutterbuck.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="2136" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPbFMft9bcDsENTtMdbGCGesdX0CBxlP8SWjlPtoPPiNCw04O8cydLsE7B_z-tXfc598VdwOcJsHgbAaWIel-c6mPj7RZKQAYARwtJEUyRN2MZRTOWo5__1TTe3HAakMiVw6qT71hyphenhyphenUizwsMR1-D6gPM9UkajPPHg6nKuc6QcyFuTgYVaBp6VzudHrpU/s320/hamish_sandy_westridge_clutterbuck.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Chasing Hamish up the west ridge of Mount Clutterbuck:<br /></span></i><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">I'd like a rope, Hamish is happy to solo (PC: DB)</span></i></div><p></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; page-break-before: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Years
ago on a ten day mountaineering trip into a remote and wild area of
the Purcell Mountains, Hamish, Doug and I split from the rest of the
group to establish a high camp out of the valley where the remainder
of our party were camped to more easily facilitate climbs of various
mountains by – as yet – unclimbed ridges. Yes, first ascents.
Each night when we came back to camp, Hamish would regale us with
tales from his climbing history which, by that time, (20 years ago)
already spanned five decades and included dozens of first ascents in
remote mountain ranges, hard rock and ice routes as well as the
development of several local rock climbing crags including the <a href="https://gripped.com/profiles/the-epic-first-ascent-story-of-university-wall-in-squamish/" target="_blank">first ascent of University Wall</a> on the Stawamus Chief. </span> </p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; page-break-before: auto;"><br /></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; page-break-before: auto;"><br /></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioapqNP3alDJcxQ2lVaNm1dbeYagMk0FXkjL_1225tq_rjY12-IQx-13qhF9weYkV1Je_bV8DfNZY9K7y95ABDp8vrwNloev3cg9aewiPL2-KkWs5YvJiEnEqOoJDP8xSC6qXyEXuz_j-wB9zIzLW1Q048sS3hm1xrFBFHHUHPKpIYpuq2kbsDgPyIfbo/s1424/hamish_climbingtree.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1424" data-original-width="1068" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioapqNP3alDJcxQ2lVaNm1dbeYagMk0FXkjL_1225tq_rjY12-IQx-13qhF9weYkV1Je_bV8DfNZY9K7y95ABDp8vrwNloev3cg9aewiPL2-KkWs5YvJiEnEqOoJDP8xSC6qXyEXuz_j-wB9zIzLW1Q048sS3hm1xrFBFHHUHPKpIYpuq2kbsDgPyIfbo/s320/hamish_climbingtree.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">Climbing a tree to hang food</i></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>PC:DB</i></div></span></div><p></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hamish’s
stories span continents, mountain ranges and disciplines. He had
climbed hard ice routes and big walls, spent time in Camp Four in the
Yosemite Valley climbing with Jim Bridwell, and journeyed deep into
Canada’s remoter mountains with Fred Beckey. An accountant by
education, Hamish is one of the best natural story tellers I’ve
ever met: his stories absent of the now common self-aggrandisement
were instead funny, humble, scary, occasionally instructive, mostly
full of the joy and <a href="https://gripped.com/articles/two-to-peru/" target="_blank">ebullience</a> of a life-long climber pushing limits,
seemingly fearless. We quickly came to call our around the camp
stove – no smoky fires - evenings “Story Time with Uncle Hamish.”
The moniker, abbreviated to Uncle Aitch stuck.</span> </p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqzD_0du9Lu7qfpYObJfpqFRzKYAuDxYsBPF764ipp-XRCTX04u9bdCyUxANjB-aKs7CUEoFUY7DCtJeKdL2cQUwe-WY7jjNFlz1voHr8F-a9anE4JSS_41ODNfldoTO85iB2tBW38KKzMpD0pdIP4BrpsI7-8MeNO5VAsg7ciuImtJQb3liFdELXjq1s/s3264/hamish_caterwaul_d.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqzD_0du9Lu7qfpYObJfpqFRzKYAuDxYsBPF764ipp-XRCTX04u9bdCyUxANjB-aKs7CUEoFUY7DCtJeKdL2cQUwe-WY7jjNFlz1voHr8F-a9anE4JSS_41ODNfldoTO85iB2tBW38KKzMpD0pdIP4BrpsI7-8MeNO5VAsg7ciuImtJQb3liFdELXjq1s/s320/hamish_caterwaul_d.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Hamish on one of his own first ascents</span></i></div></i><p></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">There’s
something about getting a note from a friend when that friend
expresses confidence in your abilities that helps to allay some of
the quite natural – almost fearful – anticipation and anxiety
that marks the beginning of any long trip. The training and
preparation has been done, but, until the expedition itself is
complete, there still lingers some doubt about whether or not you are
equal to the task. </span></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; page-break-before: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP90MA3-BGiWlcyuQWeB6xgGQAohy_NcIfF_UlkyoLtMQ6bn3SV6Cnil6F57Qe8257KQEJr9AVJzM3Kr43I_VOxCaGCcHDUedX7AtUckLFvAl2hbZ1QNV8C_RlSASk3HBQYk79NR9zDQ6r3YcrK8MzPnri8zFWmKNhRJ89SP-jS_rQWweUrnKZapCMMSk/s2848/sandy_hamish_clutterbuckglacier.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2136" data-original-width="2848" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP90MA3-BGiWlcyuQWeB6xgGQAohy_NcIfF_UlkyoLtMQ6bn3SV6Cnil6F57Qe8257KQEJr9AVJzM3Kr43I_VOxCaGCcHDUedX7AtUckLFvAl2hbZ1QNV8C_RlSASk3HBQYk79NR9zDQ6r3YcrK8MzPnri8zFWmKNhRJ89SP-jS_rQWweUrnKZapCMMSk/s320/sandy_hamish_clutterbuckglacier.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">Unnamed glacier in the Purcell Range:</i></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>PC:DB</i></div></span></div><p></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Two
days later, as we paddled out of Hells Gates I remembered one of the
last days I had climbed with Hamish before we left Canada. He led
all the pitches as I was feeling stiff, sore, and probably sorry for
myself. With his usual fearlessness and enthusiasm, Hamish decided
to “quest” up above the finish of an established climb following
a small crack up through a roof, hopefully, an extension to the
current route which would instantly become a classic. He placed a
small cam, went to pull the roof and abruptlly pitched off falling
well below the belay and back down the route we had already climbed.
He was bleeding profusely from a “flesh wound” he said and denied
needing any medical attention or even a bandage from my first aid
kit. We rappelled the route (abseiled in Aussie lingo), and Hamish
promptly led the next two pitch route. The blood streak was still on
the wall when I returned a few days later with friends. </span></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; page-break-before: auto;"><br /></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh49VWmuDhH5hJMN0SJHVZemnsWJKrCvZMR4F1f9qaWq0RyNyRmNGuF0BIGRzfHLs01ecEuJQYTo34eLyyFJqrbHKq42g263j1_PExIBJ2IefRndku5vzzHzNiPVGz3i68DVqDS2q3EwO941yExN6Rp-UEnVPgpOXFPn9sICDjt3v2mpsWS6Fywcm_4-jo/s3072/IMG_1889.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="3072" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh49VWmuDhH5hJMN0SJHVZemnsWJKrCvZMR4F1f9qaWq0RyNyRmNGuF0BIGRzfHLs01ecEuJQYTo34eLyyFJqrbHKq42g263j1_PExIBJ2IefRndku5vzzHzNiPVGz3i68DVqDS2q3EwO941yExN6Rp-UEnVPgpOXFPn9sICDjt3v2mpsWS6Fywcm_4-jo/s320/IMG_1889.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">Climbing at Smith Rocks, Oregon</i></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>PC:DB</i></div></span></div><p></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; break-before: auto; line-height: 115%; page-break-before: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Not many of us can be just like Hamish, but as a role model, there
are few better.</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-78989754813790951652024-01-24T20:57:00.000-08:002024-03-10T13:15:36.034-07:00Helter Skelter<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">“<i>Brilliant
news!! Still no recurrence of my supposedly incurable </i><i>#cancer</i><i>!!
Median time 2 recurrence 4 all pts is 6 months; I’m now out to 8
months! Perhaps neoadjuv/adjuv combi immunotherapy is effective??
Need clinical trial.”</i></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Do we need a clinicial trial or do we need to step back and take a
rational and unbiased look at the data? I think the latter.
Statistically, the median is the mid-point of all observations. That
is, 50% of patients with #cancer will have progression free survival
under 6 months, and 50% will have progression free survival over six
months. The median is a good measure of central tendency when the
distribution is non-normal. Under normal distributions, the median,
mode (most frequent measure) and mean (arithmetic average) are all
very similar.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0gooe7PWEoIRbA9s4DumuvSaomgIIpDeJjyY_vpuF7fcryS92IzuJh1oIIBhKIgX7uBz9vO5bdADJtafZn4eudOtqYkZPKWTj72wQwYYoM_W81PIhiyq5q-kvI0k2sHvK1Dk0QlgkcmX44q3j4w3I2ytWySbOHa4SSCU8-CRjAJ2i9Wd0nz63l_wD_GM" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="474" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0gooe7PWEoIRbA9s4DumuvSaomgIIpDeJjyY_vpuF7fcryS92IzuJh1oIIBhKIgX7uBz9vO5bdADJtafZn4eudOtqYkZPKWTj72wQwYYoM_W81PIhiyq5q-kvI0k2sHvK1Dk0QlgkcmX44q3j4w3I2ytWySbOHa4SSCU8-CRjAJ2i9Wd0nz63l_wD_GM" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I am assuming the individual in question is using “recurrence”
to denote progression free survival (PFS) which is the new kid on the
block for clinical trials attempting to show progress in slowing (not
curing) cancer. PFS is a surrogate measure beloved of pharmaceutical
companies because it is much easier and cheaper to show a benefit
than it is to show an overall survival (OS) benefit in cancer.
Sadly, many new cancer treatments, including much hyped therapies and
targeted treatments which show a statistical benefit when PFS is used
as the endpoint, show no difference at all when compared to the
older/conventional treatment when OS is used as the endpoint.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyTovtWOocxaHWgBeTbM-vNdHY4TYd1HwWluckAMXX1wIuXZoyCAaByduKXxg3U7G-lf35_ph7nvUWNhq8i7WCJzMD6sPlh0YUeXXRna5M-QEy1njiE5wlH5Sb91f3nYuEyKvCUE3IcQ_0dYz-QQvXRpKzBs4oEAiiXYxlbonHizsdtkYuoWouk-Fbg2M" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="474" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyTovtWOocxaHWgBeTbM-vNdHY4TYd1HwWluckAMXX1wIuXZoyCAaByduKXxg3U7G-lf35_ph7nvUWNhq8i7WCJzMD6sPlh0YUeXXRna5M-QEy1njiE5wlH5Sb91f3nYuEyKvCUE3IcQ_0dYz-QQvXRpKzBs4oEAiiXYxlbonHizsdtkYuoWouk-Fbg2M" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the case quoted above, there are a myriad of other explanations
besides “ neoadjuv/adjuv combi immunotherapy” for why the
individual is in the 50% of #cancer patients who have PFS greater
than six months. Arguably, first amongst these is this individuals
priviledged position in society as a well-nourished, well-socially
supported individual with priority access to health care. It’s not
hard to imagine that a well connected individual might get priority
treatment before an immigrant living in a one bedroom apartment in
western Sydney driving Uber whilst trying to raise three kids.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0jvkNilzS-RCcMg4dqeophAIN86frFaypXmcyi8s6YbmbLUK5Xc6zvLneDoRgsg3AVO9UuQKEMnSzNmxgO1Q8QN1eBtXKeYn7q1pnb6H013iEp3v1yyiJ_bbKhrgwRSXHDS4zt5uMDCtezQxNgYqYrMjiypw4VPscq-hedJ2308_pGmRYE3_Vt6dGFHw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="474" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0jvkNilzS-RCcMg4dqeophAIN86frFaypXmcyi8s6YbmbLUK5Xc6zvLneDoRgsg3AVO9UuQKEMnSzNmxgO1Q8QN1eBtXKeYn7q1pnb6H013iEp3v1yyiJ_bbKhrgwRSXHDS4zt5uMDCtezQxNgYqYrMjiypw4VPscq-hedJ2308_pGmRYE3_Vt6dGFHw" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sadly, income and social position remain the greatest determinants
of health in the modern world. No amount of clinical trials will
change that. In fact, given the cost and resources these trials suck
up a strong argument could be made that we would achieve better
outcomes overall if the money that went into pharmaceutical trials of
drugs that have high levels of toxicity and incremental (at best)
beneft were funnelled into primary and preventative care. Obesity is
a leading cause of cancer and yet despite annual increases in the
number of obese, overweight and metabolically deranged Australians
comparatively little money and virtually no public or political will
goes toward curbing the obesity pandemic (the real pandemic).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFGxi98nuloRIl4nDhW29aAR2CaeJC0PZAMwv5FEISMKQtDIsgMcnWf8iRLltTlrMzOkvEM8ZPoNGesEP_ov6W0mSWf5tXQWNKulOC0cgDi4YQxYT_y3gLOKb_nXo1YxYW4Gbxtnil1LN74obX94UZJZ2Ewog4c9WSogIKbh8F5BzAZFmHb_eaDiOq-XI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="474" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFGxi98nuloRIl4nDhW29aAR2CaeJC0PZAMwv5FEISMKQtDIsgMcnWf8iRLltTlrMzOkvEM8ZPoNGesEP_ov6W0mSWf5tXQWNKulOC0cgDi4YQxYT_y3gLOKb_nXo1YxYW4Gbxtnil1LN74obX94UZJZ2Ewog4c9WSogIKbh8F5BzAZFmHb_eaDiOq-XI" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the case above, we have one person whose response thus far is
comparable to the response of a large proportion of #cancer patients
given standard therapy, is this cause to rush towards a clinical
trial of several unproven, toxic, and expensive therapies or a call
for compassion towards the afflicted whilst we bravely turn towards
the real pandemic? I think the latter.</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-77238334369331595752024-01-23T11:00:00.000-08:002024-01-23T11:00:28.097-08:00The Last 50<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">There
is no wind and the sea is greasy grey under low clouds and drizzling
rain. There are two swells and left over sea from strong southerlies
the last two days. It’s a queasy kind of day and I am queasy all
the way to Depot Beach, 20 kilometres north up the Murramarang Coast,
while Nick is queasy all the way back. Paddling into Depot Beach we
wrap around the outside of Grasshopper Island, no-one can be arsed
with trying to get the timing right to go through the reef strewn gap
between the mainland and the island with a two metre swell running.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZLcuEsg7BL14-UHm3vvBLc35nADiSNTC0w0Ng6-nKCrwEtu8zY2Zw2clqq2etyF0u6VWFKvwD9oaT2UgjfQdo8R3kEatrcoyT2SwO5k-lJ-GiIKdxq7RB8pQYo4pofwgwewzEIw5YIebj9JXl_JlldxSN-gzAE2Q7CWYQeCGxPe_jXJvd3NMyXBMtg_k/s3120/sandy-nick-north-head.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1755" data-original-width="3120" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZLcuEsg7BL14-UHm3vvBLc35nADiSNTC0w0Ng6-nKCrwEtu8zY2Zw2clqq2etyF0u6VWFKvwD9oaT2UgjfQdo8R3kEatrcoyT2SwO5k-lJ-GiIKdxq7RB8pQYo4pofwgwewzEIw5YIebj9JXl_JlldxSN-gzAE2Q7CWYQeCGxPe_jXJvd3NMyXBMtg_k/s320/sandy-nick-north-head.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: DB<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">At Depot Beach I finally eat breakfast and feel better almost
immediately. We don’t stop long. It is mid summer and yet wet as
we are, it is cool and uncomfortable on the beach, and, there is
still so far to go. Around Three Isle Point we are sheltered from
much of the swell and land on Judges Beach, quiet and empty as Judges
Beach almost always is. We are 36 kilometres down and the couple of
hundred calories I had earlier feels long gone. My appetite fully
recovered I eat two meat patties which Nick eyes warily. Even a
homemade ginger biscuit can’t tempt him.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4he8L28e0WyJVfdmc2AkBaAmWdNRjMLSAEkMccIqe6-iHSyCB57svwlpP4MVDQUAX-e5jLUjt7bUsE6IeLMZDfK1otGXl2v9gogMrRHB8Uhf1KUmg71-I7su-xoOvoBnLigliobopf6XBb5RrDUjH0H3rcmUdWJGfM5e7CtB9exkWep8-CVUPNjiVois/s3841/nick-pebbly-beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3841" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4he8L28e0WyJVfdmc2AkBaAmWdNRjMLSAEkMccIqe6-iHSyCB57svwlpP4MVDQUAX-e5jLUjt7bUsE6IeLMZDfK1otGXl2v9gogMrRHB8Uhf1KUmg71-I7su-xoOvoBnLigliobopf6XBb5RrDUjH0H3rcmUdWJGfM5e7CtB9exkWep8-CVUPNjiVois/s320/nick-pebbly-beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">PC: DB</span></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nick streaks off towards the southern beaches, while Doug and I
paddle south to the Tollgate Islands, then further south to Black
Rock, where currents swirl around the reef, finally turning towards
home and, for the last six kilometres paddling into both current and
headwind. I feel stronger, not nearly as tired as usual at the end
of one of these long days, the result of less sometimes being more.
Training is easy, recovering is hard. The beach is inexplicably busy
given the strong northeasterly wind blowing in. Boats onto trolleys
and the walk up the hill and home. The last 50 was 49 kilometres.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-9549151276219040832024-01-16T21:39:00.000-08:002024-01-16T21:41:26.822-08:00A River And A Hill<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Be
wise with who you spend your time with. Select people that want you
to succeed and aren’t fearful of your success.</i> <b>Brette
Harrington.</b> <a href="https://enormocast.com/2023/10/enormocast-273-brette-harrington-keeper-of-the-flame/" target="_blank">The Ernomocast.</a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Said a dozen different ways by a dozen different people and always
easier said than done -particularly if you live in a small community
- but, a worthy goal nonetheless.</span></p>
<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQT5-Hz5nIMMMCtRkFUiKx46Gm7hVWVKx0W9942wxPrCPD7DkLhitCo4AuLxjPGRL2LG9foOjqUMkuKrqhhSrnu0C2jkN4eZyp79ZKO46btVHOVHyVJrDP-hgeQ3CrqpC84arfGJJMAjmFef-mOND7MGp9Ij9Xcfs70BNXvHC5-WzSjvbfVmAnndRwWZI/s1000/misty_day_49er.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQT5-Hz5nIMMMCtRkFUiKx46Gm7hVWVKx0W9942wxPrCPD7DkLhitCo4AuLxjPGRL2LG9foOjqUMkuKrqhhSrnu0C2jkN4eZyp79ZKO46btVHOVHyVJrDP-hgeQ3CrqpC84arfGJJMAjmFef-mOND7MGp9Ij9Xcfs70BNXvHC5-WzSjvbfVmAnndRwWZI/s320/misty_day_49er.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yesterday, up a river, up a hill. A glassy calm day that also
featured intermittent showers and cloud low over the hills. I like
these sorts of days, it reminds me of Canada, and the tree covered
hills of Australia look bigger and more mysterious with fog covered
tops. I dragged my kayak up a steep bank out of the muddy river bed
and hiked to the top of <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2020/09/i-have-always-been-peak-bagger-and-even.html" target="_blank">Sugar Loaf Hill</a>. There used to be filtered
views but they are all grown in now with wattle regrowth after the
2019/2020 fires. Luckily, there is still enough of a foot pad to
avoid bush-bashing.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-57699737426254056262024-01-10T14:05:00.000-08:002024-01-10T14:05:38.770-08:00Why Are We So Slow: The Current Edition<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">First
table is wind speed (from Moruya airport), the last two columns (on
the right) for the nautical minded are knots: average wind speed and
gusts. Ticking up as the morning progressed (as forecast) but, easy
enough to paddle into. The next image is the data from the Batemans
Bay wave buoy. The scale is cut off the side but the high point on
the graph is five metres with an average wave height of 2.5 metres,
bigger waves are up to 4 metres. Not shown is the period, around 12
seconds. No drama if you keep your head up and stay away from
bommies and reefs, although landing at certain locations could be a
challenge.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVw2j2lqSzWDIuX55Z0vqJawefqRyfe6pcTjr6szEpc1lcVv9t9j7ZFd9R2hc34YAigDB2rki2vPGQYkI0wOj9bc5Gp4zOPb9T1X32TarnDaPOJ90zjggCNfxlHDVBXPEWnPCzu9Xe-Ddb61lcXJOKKeI2H2hA57PD5R5_mMWFMIOh_FMEKrJxsc-PYmA/s738/wind_speed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="166" data-original-width="738" height="72" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVw2j2lqSzWDIuX55Z0vqJawefqRyfe6pcTjr6szEpc1lcVv9t9j7ZFd9R2hc34YAigDB2rki2vPGQYkI0wOj9bc5Gp4zOPb9T1X32TarnDaPOJ90zjggCNfxlHDVBXPEWnPCzu9Xe-Ddb61lcXJOKKeI2H2hA57PD5R5_mMWFMIOh_FMEKrJxsc-PYmA/s320/wind_speed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The next graph is speed. Whoa, what’s going on there? At
around 6 kilometres, our speed decreases. That’s pretty normal as
we pass North Head where conditions are almost always a bit bouncy,
the swell and sea pick up and there are currents. Around 8
kilometres, however, we are just getting progressively slower and
slower. Remember, the wind is only around 10 knots. The last image
with all the pretty colours are the ocean currents with a fire hose
aimed at the south coast and speeds reaching up to 3 knots! As we
were nearing Flat Rock Point, I was doing calculations in my head
based on our current average speed and the resulting numbers were not
appealing. Our speed was half our usual average!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitTCPDqT4w_IruOmA8x_iiy5m0MqTobJOM2Ek24aNjyS5V7mC9Fqs9fw0NAt50LoGQEPYEwGFJVIoYHyyJBMtbetBKNKDfTDcZX-Cv9z7bobjv1T711DRtp1GWXV2srP-2R2JVYjkN11pZ-vqKuZc8TD12FzM0nhVObZpF8czKaTXN-6RYhSWsnyOUtpA/s465/wave_buoy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="458" data-original-width="465" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitTCPDqT4w_IruOmA8x_iiy5m0MqTobJOM2Ek24aNjyS5V7mC9Fqs9fw0NAt50LoGQEPYEwGFJVIoYHyyJBMtbetBKNKDfTDcZX-Cv9z7bobjv1T711DRtp1GWXV2srP-2R2JVYjkN11pZ-vqKuZc8TD12FzM0nhVObZpF8czKaTXN-6RYhSWsnyOUtpA/s320/wave_buoy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We often get the <a href="https://earthobservatory.nasa.gov/images/15366/east-australian-current" target="_blank">East Australian Current</a> along the coast in summer
but I think this is the strongest I have encountered. It was
reminiscent of paddling the Capricornia Coast in Queensland.
Randomly, as we paddled north, we would paddle over patches of
boiling water and standing waves as the current ran over undersea
features. Turning around near Flat Rock Point, our speed, paddling
with the same effort, bumped up to almost 10 kilometres an hour
immediately!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8B0kGRPexobTYamr5-ZEE_gbKynZoxXgWWcfJG_OzQBlWpLRHeoja1j6Y7T_wvc1quEW8BeUL96D9Y1lcbcqtlRDnRk63EJiwUov3Gk4y76bOCxsr-_XNeq6ZuklAVhJt2nQvqjzTNVCbNjkGJ9a6hHmvgErvSc-BZ3XYi-BPO9eVIFauJ61gaXjHVdQ/s1190/speed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="147" data-original-width="1190" height="40" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8B0kGRPexobTYamr5-ZEE_gbKynZoxXgWWcfJG_OzQBlWpLRHeoja1j6Y7T_wvc1quEW8BeUL96D9Y1lcbcqtlRDnRk63EJiwUov3Gk4y76bOCxsr-_XNeq6ZuklAVhJt2nQvqjzTNVCbNjkGJ9a6hHmvgErvSc-BZ3XYi-BPO9eVIFauJ61gaXjHVdQ/s320/speed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I had not eaten so we stopped at Judges Beach for breakfast and a
thermos of tea before some sprint training back to our home bay. A
light tail wind at this point but enough to enable us to catch some
runners. So, half the distance planned, which, as an obsessive
finisher of check-lists and goals was a bit tough to reconcile, but
not tough enough that I wanted to spend five hours covering only 20
kilometres.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPFwMxmKk5G4G4nsQcsrGB03WVMyuJ2nT1jNMBVcRG6wpzOmVsG6-KVAbbCzAlkISA0mv1XxKgs1H6OcLEmFK089A0wuxjm9RwfNLy6VU2SLc3WjmoYgjrXpv27uTUE4HRaKlYc8h3fXjVvwqEDryDOHnca1Geqe_1UjHx7GOVbFZUDpZ8fkmKy2N_ZsA/s629/currents.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="629" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPFwMxmKk5G4G4nsQcsrGB03WVMyuJ2nT1jNMBVcRG6wpzOmVsG6-KVAbbCzAlkISA0mv1XxKgs1H6OcLEmFK089A0wuxjm9RwfNLy6VU2SLc3WjmoYgjrXpv27uTUE4HRaKlYc8h3fXjVvwqEDryDOHnca1Geqe_1UjHx7GOVbFZUDpZ8fkmKy2N_ZsA/s320/currents.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-75027046203925857932024-01-07T13:57:00.000-08:002024-01-08T11:31:35.218-08:00Where The Current Runs<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>“Forecast
looks interesting for Sunday. Any interest in a paddle?”</i> And with
that, Quick Nick was out from under the roof, predictably on a day
with the northeasterly wind forecast to hit 30 knots. Foreshadowing a difficult day ahead, it was exactly what I
needed to fully relax into my <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2024/01/d-is-for.html" target="_blank">deload week</a> and instead of squeezing in
one more strength session for the week, I strolled around the rock
platforms near home, did some stretching and finally let myself enjoy
a day without serious training.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFc4U4GBR3Q1bTEOkpS3Dvpp5p1tH11ALolL6uEq_QXRhEAeQGo_cBWfiwE_dikKVJbnForkU-hohw-4k4G4Ma1IuAbOu5dIsBl4c3A1iuwvrX9nFRj2o_f607MJ6Pd8DuoKSDAU3XraTlwY2cjTV8fFRTHyOt8h5GjtC_TyD9VaGInaGQThKP0-EeJlI/s3000/morning_rock_platforms_july_2022.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1532" data-original-width="3000" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFc4U4GBR3Q1bTEOkpS3Dvpp5p1tH11ALolL6uEq_QXRhEAeQGo_cBWfiwE_dikKVJbnForkU-hohw-4k4G4Ma1IuAbOu5dIsBl4c3A1iuwvrX9nFRj2o_f607MJ6Pd8DuoKSDAU3XraTlwY2cjTV8fFRTHyOt8h5GjtC_TyD9VaGInaGQThKP0-EeJlI/s320/morning_rock_platforms_july_2022.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ironically, conditions on Sunday were the easiest Doug and I have
had on a training paddle for a long time. The swell had fallen right
off to a mere one metre easterly, and it was mostly calm with little
sea or wind all the way to Wasp Island. I called a halt at Mill
Beach after two hours so I could eat breakfast. From Wasp Island, we
paddled into a light northeasterly until we were a couple of
kilometres off-shore. Still, there was very little wind, but, it
turns out we were far enough off-shore to benefit from the East
Australian Current (EAC) running south.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMbZ1iEvudMDfi8dzmx8_TSi4Oy_Zm3ShBOgu-4G52RrLmu16MURDzNeeg-x9IYLcVlj8216pc-kxqZusqkxedWJ9IJ60K8xvBCjH-Abi0VWQIDavGoUsCIahR3PFtwWtUj6g0h19LTdmQ4ECHeyHGRm8wrV7pHIT_kGE8vp9PPQ1JLC7xjwF1IR1Xlk/s2800/nick-sandy-calm-murramurang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1575" data-original-width="2800" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMbZ1iEvudMDfi8dzmx8_TSi4Oy_Zm3ShBOgu-4G52RrLmu16MURDzNeeg-x9IYLcVlj8216pc-kxqZusqkxedWJ9IJ60K8xvBCjH-Abi0VWQIDavGoUsCIahR3PFtwWtUj6g0h19LTdmQ4ECHeyHGRm8wrV7pHIT_kGE8vp9PPQ1JLC7xjwF1IR1Xlk/s320/nick-sandy-calm-murramurang.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We started south with a good line should the wind arise as
forecast, and made quick time to North Head. I had covered my watch
with my shirt sleeve so I did not have to see the kilometres click by
demoralisingly slowly but, it turns out, we paddled the 10 kilometres
from a couple of kilometres beyond Wasp Island to North Head in an
hour. At Yellow Rocks, we finally got the forecast wind and the run
back to the beach was one of my best ever – recovery works - but only if preceded by training! Five
kilometres in half an hour and catching lots of runners. I had
pulled my sleeve back so I could see my speed as I paddled to provide
extra motivation to paddle hard. I wasn’t even shattered when we
hit the beach!</span></div></div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-60182218538486604162024-01-05T15:07:00.000-08:002024-01-05T15:08:49.800-08:00D is For.....<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dynamic,
damp, <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2014/01/deloading-on-liver.html" target="_blank">deload</a>, disappointed, dusky and delighted. Disciplined
athletes deload frequently. The conventional advice – which is
actually pretty good unlike traditional nutritional advice – is to
reduce load by about 50% every fourth week. I used to do this when I
was <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2021/09/wamban-mountain.html" target="_blank">trail running a lot.</a> The schedule goes roughly like this:
increase load (time) by about 10% on weeks 2 and 3, reduce by 50% on
week 4, week 5 is week 3 plus 10%, week 4 and 5 increase by 5 to 7%,
reduce by 50% on week 4, and etc., etc. You can do this virtually
forever, time, injuries and energy permitting, because the recovery
week allows the body to absorb the training and “build back
better.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0a0-xkGLKX1ddoidb-GfD4CyxzZpYy8lRtcYAT1ne1XcqUL5Ti3ts7aJrXKpkzyX6VWelwemwfbTPz4u_tiQeBekPJVNNRxnCmllw9u9LoOb8OK4_CX3YjVsCgSwwGk2LtYrPgUqZF_Wv1y1YR-XjRuCKW5j4QFW_KxKpjE41G2EFEzrfrjJGT7EmN0E" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="165" data-original-width="348" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0a0-xkGLKX1ddoidb-GfD4CyxzZpYy8lRtcYAT1ne1XcqUL5Ti3ts7aJrXKpkzyX6VWelwemwfbTPz4u_tiQeBekPJVNNRxnCmllw9u9LoOb8OK4_CX3YjVsCgSwwGk2LtYrPgUqZF_Wv1y1YR-XjRuCKW5j4QFW_KxKpjE41G2EFEzrfrjJGT7EmN0E" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like many recreational athletes, I have the discipline to complete
the build but lack the courage to live through the deload week.
People like me are not ultra-disciplined, we are actually
neurotically worried that if we take a week off training our hard won
fitness will completely disappear. We take time under tension to its
anxiety ridden extreme.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEGcXAHF7pKHol0UkTS3U7V9qkL7ug1bXISgCoUet46AtRSli_FvWwli9jFzhXY5IwMCF1tH_vyw6G0bpNESxDY3syOxT1zWy57-x1y_1V6v9Fs36tNDRLmwyRBls07qhELgtY4hzMyNXtmgiEOk6_zb4XdgYg5UjW1wHkighdkZlEd2gM2tyqq5VyJbk/s2048/dusky_whaler_one.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEGcXAHF7pKHol0UkTS3U7V9qkL7ug1bXISgCoUet46AtRSli_FvWwli9jFzhXY5IwMCF1tH_vyw6G0bpNESxDY3syOxT1zWy57-x1y_1V6v9Fs36tNDRLmwyRBls07qhELgtY4hzMyNXtmgiEOk6_zb4XdgYg5UjW1wHkighdkZlEd2gM2tyqq5VyJbk/s320/dusky_whaler_one.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">This never works. <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2021/07/deload-week.html" target="_blank">Never</a>. It might be week 10, week 15 or even
week 37, but at some point, fatigue sets in – if injury has not
side-lined you first – and regardless of how willing the mind is,
the body cries out for rest. Perhaps it’s fitting that I entered
the first week of 2024 feeling deeply fatigued with a tweaky tricep,
shoulder, neck and IT band. Deload weeks, if you can let yourself
relax into them, are actually quite enjoyable, although I think, true
to form, I did a bit too much to consider the week a true deload.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGoixCmoyoudhyphenhyphenzbkMREbI1r_xa9IzmK9CGOlcXg6r5rGgVa6Y8652kywAqIVxtJTMClDJQp0seJYf-h6aR5kWI0zn0hXBQYiZiXhYSp_jR3DKIdlLw8NCet6Ph74BuZRjRY6MAO3DaIAJ0dpF-aLsnP27zJPxUkpoXkVxKoUNUv8ehMumQ8m8V2ICxfE/s2048/dusky_whaler_wound.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGoixCmoyoudhyphenhyphenzbkMREbI1r_xa9IzmK9CGOlcXg6r5rGgVa6Y8652kywAqIVxtJTMClDJQp0seJYf-h6aR5kWI0zn0hXBQYiZiXhYSp_jR3DKIdlLw8NCet6Ph74BuZRjRY6MAO3DaIAJ0dpF-aLsnP27zJPxUkpoXkVxKoUNUv8ehMumQ8m8V2ICxfE/s320/dusky_whaler_wound.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">On Friday, we paddled south to Burrewarra Point, a round trip of
about 22 kilometres so maybe not the best deload, but after four days
of no paddling, I started to feel that twitchy anxiety that I must
surely have lost ten kilograms of muscle and be unable to hold the
paddle for an hour, much less actually move the paddle through the
water in an efficient manner. In a nod to deload week, I did
however, paddle easy.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT31FpM9rw-CvE-Cw2SShLl1-Y2uDe5oi6YdDpzVkii8wit6kIGcBNbYfRNgxgsYHMEhqDLf4n3EmKP00TSZ-d9bTc6f8zwjK62npCo3N5QoQo3W-ngCqe52PjZn1jeMp3EekikMPq4bI5Lk-fqoXFJLSwmV_PhBfwcXqAyyXBDdmQtNzybz6f1JATQV8/s1603/easy_as.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="621" data-original-width="1603" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT31FpM9rw-CvE-Cw2SShLl1-Y2uDe5oi6YdDpzVkii8wit6kIGcBNbYfRNgxgsYHMEhqDLf4n3EmKP00TSZ-d9bTc6f8zwjK62npCo3N5QoQo3W-ngCqe52PjZn1jeMp3EekikMPq4bI5Lk-fqoXFJLSwmV_PhBfwcXqAyyXBDdmQtNzybz6f1JATQV8/s320/easy_as.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was dynamic, in a lumpy kind of way. Lots of big waves, swell,
clapotis and general confusion. East of Mosquito Bay where there are
lots of bommies and reefs and shallow water, there were breaking
waves from all over the place. It drizzled with rain (D for damp),
and, as we neared the end of the paddle, we passed by a <a href="https://www.sharksmart.nsw.gov.au/" target="_blank">shark tagging boat</a> with a Dusky whaler shark alongside being tagged and released.
We pass the shark drum lines all the time but this is the first time
we have encountered the team catching, tagging, measuring and
releasing a shark. This one was 2.5 metres long, way off our guess
of 1.5 metres!</span></div></div><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6THG24sEu0F9kIlwTTMgtRTGVc5lBOCER5N7YSeL3JeGdIsYX9a6YGPDqjP0YT9IC0tS22H-57D4TS0MEOVFHx7pQVt_q3AppxupR66QWuOR0SV7b-2Hj3VPVHaoo6V80DWeS_KYhJDlhJUXW2TL4Fv3Lauvu8eEX2IApfCTBVYtLyptr6luxVzmZ3aw/s1006/failure.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="804" data-original-width="1006" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6THG24sEu0F9kIlwTTMgtRTGVc5lBOCER5N7YSeL3JeGdIsYX9a6YGPDqjP0YT9IC0tS22H-57D4TS0MEOVFHx7pQVt_q3AppxupR66QWuOR0SV7b-2Hj3VPVHaoo6V80DWeS_KYhJDlhJUXW2TL4Fv3Lauvu8eEX2IApfCTBVYtLyptr6luxVzmZ3aw/s320/failure.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">When you skip deload week, PC: DB</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It’s <a href="https://www.parkrun.com.au/batemansbay/" target="_blank">Park Run</a> day today but I won’t be there. Somehow, I’ve
gone from forcing myself to attend the Park Run every week to ensure
I get my intensity training done to enjoying the process. There’s
a lesson in there, fake it until you make it, might just work. But
my <a href="https://www.webmd.com/pain-management/it-band-syndrome" target="_blank">IT band</a> is just beginning to recover and five kilometres at zone
4/5 is not recovery in any dictionary. I’m a bit (D for)
disappointed, but perhaps I should instead (D for) delight in the
freedom of the deload week.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-74414120452811092722024-01-02T15:03:00.000-08:002024-01-02T15:03:49.635-08:00Into The New Year<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Will
you have a New Years resolution this year? Did you have one (or
more) last year, and, if so, how did that go? It will surprise no-one
that I’m not a New Year’s resolution kind of person; although,
like so many other people, I feel the temptation to start afresh on a
date that, despite January 1 only having significance because we live
in a society wide communal delusion wherein we’ve all agreed that
somehow the 1<sup>st</sup> of January is radically different to the
31<sup>st</sup> of December, is really no different to any other.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibx55uBGXs-WlUB_1ockE6qjlGzAhBf9eu_6I67UQAfjPIMBrkNa_M7Xd4qgKs6IjS8EqsMM86MaS5o0t7U3dw3YVohuHpY2df86sdJ4PE3BRmwIlk1gbAIuaPWUpYxez5EwrItiWvYO6nbofd2WxdZziyBEO55yDpH9FML6RDpxpXRo904_E35j7_uM4/s4000/spring_mounatin_sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibx55uBGXs-WlUB_1ockE6qjlGzAhBf9eu_6I67UQAfjPIMBrkNa_M7Xd4qgKs6IjS8EqsMM86MaS5o0t7U3dw3YVohuHpY2df86sdJ4PE3BRmwIlk1gbAIuaPWUpYxez5EwrItiWvYO6nbofd2WxdZziyBEO55yDpH9FML6RDpxpXRo904_E35j7_uM4/s320/spring_mounatin_sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It took me years to realise that the power of dates is almost the
exact opposite to what we think. How often have we decided that
we’ll start our new program of self improvement on a Sunday or a
Monday (people seem to differ on which day they consider the first
day of the week), or the first of the month (regardless of whether
that falls on a Sunday or a Monday)? Too often in all likelihood. I
know I did that for years before I woke up and realised the true
power of dates is that if you want to change something you should
start now, literally right now; which might be the third of the
month, or the fifteenth, or even the last day of the month or even
2:00 pm on the 21<sup>st</sup> of the month. The power is in the
starting without delay because the longer you procrastinate the more
grooved in becomes the habit you want to change. And, it’s all
about habits. You are kidding yourself if you think you can go
through life making rational and well reasoned decisions about every
single choice in life (“thinking slow”). Success lies in
developing a series of habits that are congruent with your goal.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSMhizdk982M9sSy9slt2fWLbDzOERsUm_qr5DEreeey-nOFVknHWG7Sow4W5GzkaYrB33rSX_iKz-ltzZWM5drT1F160X0davdMnloE4UHT-tYnHWWaAnG23-QmMKtCpsbV_ak5YMnYQ3VJNitszYfUCDT9Ve49cDWdpcCCaYN_K10Q-QDO04cFdbPw4/s2848/benhureveningview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2136" data-original-width="2848" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSMhizdk982M9sSy9slt2fWLbDzOERsUm_qr5DEreeey-nOFVknHWG7Sow4W5GzkaYrB33rSX_iKz-ltzZWM5drT1F160X0davdMnloE4UHT-tYnHWWaAnG23-QmMKtCpsbV_ak5YMnYQ3VJNitszYfUCDT9Ve49cDWdpcCCaYN_K10Q-QDO04cFdbPw4/s320/benhureveningview.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Maybe you are a climber, maybe you’re not. Doesn’t matter.
If you have any type of goal for 2024, read this </span><a href="https://www.climbstrong.com/education-center/jan-2024-blog-start-again/" style="font-family: verdana;" target="_blank">essay</a><span style="font-family: verdana;">
by my favorite climbing coach, Steve Bechtel. I particularly like
his strategy for dealing with fear – doesn’t matter whether it is
fear of falling on a rock climb or fear of getting trashed in the
surf in a kayak. Two things: one, I wish I’d written this essay
because it is brilliant; and two, I wish I had read this essay 20
years ago. Eventually, I worked out that progressively practising
success is a winning strategy but had that epiphany come 20 years
ago, I would have progressed so much faster.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiuFV8zlEoFgToUV0NbYJkuUY9vDLkx-hCcZ6rPvR-6WC303JrXbqo6j-sUMyT2kJaaT2cZBYprJeCMKsJZhQCBTihup48QfCNfhJKtuI8fkBI4T7RdHFVmBY6i2xalZsX7tbdcoI1PqbI99Uv8JcYJg0v4SFEjB9TZ5rcVMO3EZRTyMM3uOuzpKWO24Y/s2000/morning_sun_yambuk_one.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiuFV8zlEoFgToUV0NbYJkuUY9vDLkx-hCcZ6rPvR-6WC303JrXbqo6j-sUMyT2kJaaT2cZBYprJeCMKsJZhQCBTihup48QfCNfhJKtuI8fkBI4T7RdHFVmBY6i2xalZsX7tbdcoI1PqbI99Uv8JcYJg0v4SFEjB9TZ5rcVMO3EZRTyMM3uOuzpKWO24Y/s320/morning_sun_yambuk_one.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here is one more <a href="https://www.sensible-med.com/p/three-words-that-cause-harm-bone?publication_id=1000397&post_id=140254415&isFreemail=true&r=gep8f" target="_blank">essay </a>for the new year which is about the power
of labels. I dislike labels as they pigeon hole people into boxes
which are hard to escape. But, this essay is not just about labels
and boxes, it’s about metabolic health which is the biggest driver
of modern disease today and is ubiquitous in Australia. A month
could be all it takes to convince you that “no sugar, no grains, no
industrial seed oils” makes a huge difference in, to quote <a href="https://robbwolf.com/" target="_blank">Robb Wolfe</a> “how you look, feel and perform.” Of course, we live in a
free world, and if the latter is of no interest to you, you are free
to continue with the former. In 2024, you get to choose your own
box.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-60452425904711935352023-12-31T15:05:00.000-08:002023-12-31T15:06:01.489-08:00A Wimper Not A Bang: The End of 2023<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">There
was, as there so often is, an early sign of trouble which we ignored.
Our speed, heading north up the Murramarang Coast was excellent.
When I glanced at my watch from time to time, we were cruising along
at between seven and eight kilometres, often even over eight
kilometres with no serious effort, despite rather lumpy seas and a
large swell. The shallow and narrow passage between Grasshopper
Island the northern end of Point Upright was pretty messy with a
breaking swell so we paddled around the north side of Grasshopper
Island between the big bommie and the island and into Depot Beach.
Just over 2.5 hours for 20 kilometres. Maybe we can knock this 40
kilometre day off easily and quickly.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKcp7ovp8mdptOaF1G6hgBDNpETAOaf9wIQ6bHEVnIhS3Q7LFUlb3AU5SAyb49P4zIdPs8vPALBMTPizqsH5HwRsPE_LSoW95vVOUY-D5uNkdRcSMMMiL6lFPnMGpvbFJHYz0Jeovz9dL9dSiheg5jjmt8-Y0o0Z9B-J03xcz5huOweWab_p_XjzA-CJo/s2048/sea_foam_near_depot_dec_2023.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKcp7ovp8mdptOaF1G6hgBDNpETAOaf9wIQ6bHEVnIhS3Q7LFUlb3AU5SAyb49P4zIdPs8vPALBMTPizqsH5HwRsPE_LSoW95vVOUY-D5uNkdRcSMMMiL6lFPnMGpvbFJHYz0Jeovz9dL9dSiheg5jjmt8-Y0o0Z9B-J03xcz5huOweWab_p_XjzA-CJo/s320/sea_foam_near_depot_dec_2023.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We didn’t land. Depot Beach is a steep beach and there was a
large surge running up the beach from deep water. The kind of
landing that requires a quick exit from the kayak at exactly the
right moment before the kayak gets sucked back and, frequently
results in the paddler being completely immersed as they stumble to
stand up in deep water with a sucking swell. We could land at South
Durras (Cookies) Beach and, I always find if we take our one break of
the day past the half way point the mental boost is worth the longer
time in the kayak.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgKvi8NAQK0jPe8XmDcLPULk0loZ0pwSKWIhF3wLC2ZREQtJRz5PKHfv-YiHLVIMA2WhDl0DAt0mpY1_UwD_3olIq5UJB1UjGGL08Y5VwvHYYyogK3VVWcFlH1V-04f2q83LfdXixkFOBmBlP_EpLvTD_-9mcgOz_3XXKbqYsICwHCZ2kel_uA_R3WGs/s1615/speed.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="1615" height="109" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgKvi8NAQK0jPe8XmDcLPULk0loZ0pwSKWIhF3wLC2ZREQtJRz5PKHfv-YiHLVIMA2WhDl0DAt0mpY1_UwD_3olIq5UJB1UjGGL08Y5VwvHYYyogK3VVWcFlH1V-04f2q83LfdXixkFOBmBlP_EpLvTD_-9mcgOz_3XXKbqYsICwHCZ2kel_uA_R3WGs/s320/speed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Paddling back out, the gap east of Grasshopper Island still looked
messy with waves from both sides exploding in the middle so back
around Grasshopper Island and into Beagle Bay at South Durras. But
our speed, we are barely pushing six kilometres and the seven
kilometres from Depot Beach to Cookies Beach takes an hour. We have
a short break at Cookies Beach. I’m not hungry but force myself to
eat something as I know that I’ll get slower and slower if I don’t.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">On any average day, South Durras to our home bay would take around
two hours, but, as we head south, my watch is telling a sorry story:
five kilometres an hour, sometimes even 4.5 kilometres an hour. This
is going to take three hours. That is 50% more than normal. I am so
tired I could weep with fatigue. It has been a heavy training week,
a heavy training month and 40 kilometres on the last day of the year
was not really a good decision.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUSAiN02pBd2Mt9a0fGBxP0wH-WYuX9_hOWFsmM4IvReXAsIHjWhTQY4quJOVGmXWLjkU3em73DRxipX29NjT3XOxnvJdskJGpETiL_9fcARv6kBwBNYXufJAqgHCPjxcMtn_9jhjDnXTUDshXyATVqLdSdsJZkgCOVJB6NysP6wNZ1_zrcqXliqYcYDQ/s2048/near_depot_dec_2023.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUSAiN02pBd2Mt9a0fGBxP0wH-WYuX9_hOWFsmM4IvReXAsIHjWhTQY4quJOVGmXWLjkU3em73DRxipX29NjT3XOxnvJdskJGpETiL_9fcARv6kBwBNYXufJAqgHCPjxcMtn_9jhjDnXTUDshXyATVqLdSdsJZkgCOVJB6NysP6wNZ1_zrcqXliqYcYDQ/s320/near_depot_dec_2023.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">At Yellow Rocks (Three Isle Point) we can see the current
streaming north up the coast. I want to take a brief pause and rest
for a moment, but not until we get into Batemans Bay as I feel, no
matter how irrationally, that the current will suck me back out if I
don’t get past Yellow Rocks. Somehow, we manage to pace at between
6 and 7 kilometres on the way back although my core muscles feel so
worked they are almost painful to touch. Seven hours after we left,
we land on the beach, which is busy with holiday makers, lying on the
sand or reclining in beach chairs. We live in different spaces, the
average folk, whose time off is given to “leisure” and
“relaxation,” and us crazies who spend the last day of the year
getting worked on a long paddle to nowhere in the hopes that the
suffering now will pay off later.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-36816204458481281652023-12-30T00:08:00.000-08:002023-12-31T11:52:25.238-08:00Who Am I<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Years
ago, blogs were a thing, then came Vlogs, then Facebook, then
Instagram, now it’s TikTok (OK if you want to be brain-washed and
tracked by the Chinese but probably best avoided), X (formerly
Twitter, if you spend $44 Billion you get to call the app what you
want), and for the more literary Substack. Half the people that
started writing Substacks because they discovered blogs are a thing
of the past have already quit. I admit, I’m not a fan of quitting,
<a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-dip.html" target="_blank">except in certain circumstances</a>.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZAj0nPeEEQiufpwtLHuHdknayNcTG3cAprGQDiORxn1nOdKkv1rQzMV3NZcLBF683Bq096DRitzBgFUA-USaPehOmBcjMWZOvQNYinRsIahIZZ8GcTuwjyuOijn6rkBsKctOZA9ef8L8U_kdc2ZUZZfBWMHdjj8s9s-XHPsL1cOa9B2pSr-KYidt41i4/s1000/neil_baker_beattie_tour.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZAj0nPeEEQiufpwtLHuHdknayNcTG3cAprGQDiORxn1nOdKkv1rQzMV3NZcLBF683Bq096DRitzBgFUA-USaPehOmBcjMWZOvQNYinRsIahIZZ8GcTuwjyuOijn6rkBsKctOZA9ef8L8U_kdc2ZUZZfBWMHdjj8s9s-XHPsL1cOa9B2pSr-KYidt41i4/s320/neil_baker_beattie_tour.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A long, long time ago (2010) I wrote a post called </span><a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2010/12/purpose-of-blogs.html" style="font-family: verdana;" target="_blank">“The Purpose Of Blogs”</a><span style="font-family: verdana;"> which was, in hindsight, strikingly uninformative. More
useful, was this entry </span><a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2010/12/back-to-blog.html" style="font-family: verdana;" target="_blank">“Back To The Blog” </a><span style="font-family: verdana;">which I wrote three
years after I first started my blog (2007) which was fun to look back
at as it turns out my blog hasn’t really evolved at all, it’s
just changed locations. In 2007, I restarted the blog with
“adventures in the West Kootenays, opinion pieces and general
rants.” If you subsitute “adventures in Australia” for
adventures in the West Kootenays, that’s still pretty much true.</span></div></div><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQwlxOSk_R5lQqP82kCvpGC0Fg2GkCVdb1bNfpAy_tHNcNPkFSVCpKOw5Oj4BI2CrhRye6rUBCOuDZWAWDPqt1jnOXd8vlmkN5yiuCJsBCAPd_419nWZtUM-grCt_XGF-dHxLvBS9Scz5NNqKvZ-fTfeayV4LAe0bxqer2k5cxiY6G7s9Ig-M7XGLJSw/s2000/peter_gimli_s_ridge_summit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQwlxOSk_R5lQqP82kCvpGC0Fg2GkCVdb1bNfpAy_tHNcNPkFSVCpKOw5Oj4BI2CrhRye6rUBCOuDZWAWDPqt1jnOXd8vlmkN5yiuCJsBCAPd_419nWZtUM-grCt_XGF-dHxLvBS9Scz5NNqKvZ-fTfeayV4LAe0bxqer2k5cxiY6G7s9Ig-M7XGLJSw/s320/peter_gimli_s_ridge_summit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">What has changed is the level of offense people seem to be able to
work up about things that are really not worth getting offended
about. I used to be a lot more caustic and a lot less careful with
what I wrote. These days, I’m much more careful not to use certain
words – for example, I’m very careful using the word “fat”
even though most Australians are fat (this is statistically true) –
because we have the <a href="https://naafa.org/community-voices/catpause" target="_blank">Health At Every Size</a> movement which tries to
pretend that being obese does not increase your risk of cancer or
other health conditions (imagine that, being fat significantly
increases your cancer risk!). The truth is, I have great sympathy
for fat people because the only reason I am not fat is because I work
hard every day to NOT be fat. And work it is. Our society is set up
to not just enable but promote fatness and weakness.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5cSkBHIdCid1rgpK0uDCShzIv6xGY2YHTdgN-vU4tmb9BQswIfV6KTvxWl0vnFkOIMeBiQPqZnNY9hdtb7I-K9pq7-QillWlGxt0trj0m9n4t2If0JZfOPkyoJHVnWeud1epFz5pzu_sif4_j5JgoqWxSHTQiOCYhfbvNtvSgP0yuQxo5mSeiaAar1E/s474/fat.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="302" data-original-width="474" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5cSkBHIdCid1rgpK0uDCShzIv6xGY2YHTdgN-vU4tmb9BQswIfV6KTvxWl0vnFkOIMeBiQPqZnNY9hdtb7I-K9pq7-QillWlGxt0trj0m9n4t2If0JZfOPkyoJHVnWeud1epFz5pzu_sif4_j5JgoqWxSHTQiOCYhfbvNtvSgP0yuQxo5mSeiaAar1E/s320/fat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Anyway, I was cycling home from the Park Run this morning – over
300 people!, compare that to the middle of June when the Park Run has
30 or 40 people – thinking I should write about a blog that has a
little about me in it. What a change that would be from my barely
disguised social commentary rants. So, first thing and this
shouldn’t be a surprise, I am fascinated by human psychology. I
think this reaches way back to my pre-school years when my Mum and I
would watch this ridiculous TV show (small black and white TV) where
the psychiatrist said – every episode – “I think it’s time
for the couch.” A statement like that would be considered sexual
harassment these days, or misogyny because, of course, the
psychiatrist was a white male. Cue comments about the patriarchy,
colonialism and oppression.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0NYx-BGyfHNK9DmjS2fvopl6Ao5r9rtFDA79s9gw_5zqec7w-UulJ1VuJJV5aiBlKjdLPRvF2Gh3WCzMnSm_gOUZnXHNpBevXL2mJKvsA_p9ilo7EK8OkbVtVTHGUfP_x_NqacsaWWbnlU_RqBuTyhEKw0vkOj3zJZ411PZ0H0Kjuzh7MEYVl0R1LJ4/s630/patriarchy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="630" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0NYx-BGyfHNK9DmjS2fvopl6Ao5r9rtFDA79s9gw_5zqec7w-UulJ1VuJJV5aiBlKjdLPRvF2Gh3WCzMnSm_gOUZnXHNpBevXL2mJKvsA_p9ilo7EK8OkbVtVTHGUfP_x_NqacsaWWbnlU_RqBuTyhEKw0vkOj3zJZ411PZ0H0Kjuzh7MEYVl0R1LJ4/s320/patriarchy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Truthfully, I think understanding a bit about the human psyche and
human behaviour would be extremely helpful to people, more helpful
than most of the ridiculous social movements that have sprung up in
recent years, because we all need to be disabused of the notion that
we act rationally and sensibly most of the time and realise that we
actually make rapid emotional decisions which we rationalise later.
Along the scale of <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11468377-thinking-fast-and-slow" target="_blank">“thinking fast and slow”</a> it’s pretty clear
that humans think fast and save most of our brain power for – well
who knows what? Thinking fast made sense in evolutionary times but
does not make sense in the modern world where thinking fast means
being buffeted by the psychopathy of whatever the latest “thing”
is.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4Q21XiJek0nVjsbxnmKm6aquDBT3VX7-S-Jzug0LaKNVRC7L0jSixxQCPOdE5ylfdexHhaIml74N0pcnbUq3uiv0aKHN07ofmLwUEZBEVGc1c5PkSHS1JgVYYzZBvUZDH9PzB-ZNhQmESMbtu6WhwFJ8qV_48SJI1XWp27xluuqu7cYgUMQBmFaGSGU/s1000/fast_slow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="1000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4Q21XiJek0nVjsbxnmKm6aquDBT3VX7-S-Jzug0LaKNVRC7L0jSixxQCPOdE5ylfdexHhaIml74N0pcnbUq3uiv0aKHN07ofmLwUEZBEVGc1c5PkSHS1JgVYYzZBvUZDH9PzB-ZNhQmESMbtu6WhwFJ8qV_48SJI1XWp27xluuqu7cYgUMQBmFaGSGU/s320/fast_slow.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">But, I was talking with a friend of mine the other day about what
podcasts I listen to and, we both agreed (there’s not much else
we’d agree on), that the podcasts/media/books you listen
to/watch/read, actually reveal a lot about you. So, herewith are
some lists:</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Podcasts: </b></span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Joe Rogan if the guest is interesting (usually a book
author, journalist or contrarian thinker). </span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jordan Peterson with the
caveats above (I have no interest in traditional Christian
religions). </span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Peter Attia (The Drive). Most episodes and almost
always very informative. Subversive Voices: What else would a
contrarian thinker listen to. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sensible Medicine is a podcast I
would recommend for everyone to understand how the medical system
really works before you become a victim (words used intentionally). </span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Sharp End, fascinating tales of adventures gone wrong (mostly
climbing and North American focused). </span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rescued: An Outdoor Podcast
for Hikers and Adventures is an Australian copy and I only listen to
hear how cringe the host is (way too <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2022/11/fear-and-victimhood.html" target="_blank">ABC </a>for me) and how insular
Australians can be (try not to be offended.) </span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Don’t listen to
Endurance Planet for training advice as it is a train wreck which is
the reason I listen to it – the latest episode was full of blatant
contradictions and illogical reasoning, but that’s kind of why I
listen.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">I dip into various climbing podcasts if they have
interesting guests (The Nugget, The Enormocast, Lattice Training
Podcast, Climbing Gold, The Run Out) but I miss the days when climbers were anarchists not obedient servants to the latest thing. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Finally, my guilty pleasure: Case Files, a true crime
podcast that I listen to when I can’t concentrate on more
intellectual podcasts. The irony of Case Files is that every single
episode they issue a content warning about violence, etc. which
summarizes modern day psychopathy succintly. It’s a true crime
podcast, of course, it involves violence, etc.</span></li></ul><br /><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Uykh-HNW1-VRC86NQctNRnXZXSSiSLsKgdHeTkOB1lzVUf-vIfAbhDs9M40eq4kzItcdWgrVxtqIXGD9TyM3RiML7KsGInGrpuo8LHZBG57yCYIO_kbw9CzNkHpCUixIPwJBDKxaWKPLhermlBP-tCXV8ryuMnatZW4EmJLiuVZzGjGUhM1Hcq9JEvM/s640/triggers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="640" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Uykh-HNW1-VRC86NQctNRnXZXSSiSLsKgdHeTkOB1lzVUf-vIfAbhDs9M40eq4kzItcdWgrVxtqIXGD9TyM3RiML7KsGInGrpuo8LHZBG57yCYIO_kbw9CzNkHpCUixIPwJBDKxaWKPLhermlBP-tCXV8ryuMnatZW4EmJLiuVZzGjGUhM1Hcq9JEvM/s320/triggers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Books: </b></span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Real Anthonly Fauci (JFK Junior).</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Politics of
Suffering (Peter Sutton).</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Inventing the AIDS Virus (Peter
Duesberger).</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Cynical Theories.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Social Injustice.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">And a host of books by
Theodore Dalrymple, Dan John, Pavel Tsatsouline, and Douglas Murray.</span></li></ul><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3iI0pIJ_eLJgHUXsNQDLNr5RkGDH2dD5r5QiEKNh9bTUa7vQYj-QC57QUoVNUk76QDumy6j-aYPPcY5VF0p0ZW4QVxZbJj09n54RK0DlGmRZbe-CyfG72r6sFCHXfrWg4Btgd-6bnzgLDRpHNr4l3vihNczX1Nc4iB-HE-rHVECKiOybYsA2Xk9n0g4/s474/science.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="474" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3iI0pIJ_eLJgHUXsNQDLNr5RkGDH2dD5r5QiEKNh9bTUa7vQYj-QC57QUoVNUk76QDumy6j-aYPPcY5VF0p0ZW4QVxZbJj09n54RK0DlGmRZbe-CyfG72r6sFCHXfrWg4Btgd-6bnzgLDRpHNr4l3vihNczX1Nc4iB-HE-rHVECKiOybYsA2Xk9n0g4/s320/science.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’m sceptical of everything and everyone, (so don’t be
offended if I question some claim that seems a wee bit outrageous),
believe in the ubiquity and power of incentives, support your right
to any kind of diet that you want, but wish we all collectively
didn’t have to pay the consequences for the health outcomes of
diets low in animal protein and high in sugar, grain and industrial
seed oils, am dismayed by the deterioration in both mental and
physical health of most people alive today, sadly but truthfully,
think things are getting a wee bit worse over time rather than
better, and despise with the utmost passion, our obsessive culture of
(fake) safetyism. No-one who lives in overly “safe” environments
is ever really safe because the buffer of what they can tolerate or
even thrive under has become too narrow. Politically, I’m neither
left (does anyone on the left have a sense of humour?) nor right (I’m
no fan of Trump but think the whole “insurrection” is nonsense)
preferring to assess each issue on its own merit. I am, however, not
a happy person under the intolerant tolerants or the authoritarian
and censorous left (nor right). And, finally, I cannot forget the utter lunacy
of locking people in their homes for 23 hours per day during the
‘rona rounds because of </span><b style="font-family: verdana;">“The Science."</b></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-37490318556731055302023-12-28T20:23:00.000-08:002023-12-28T20:23:34.787-08:00Almost Nothing Happens Overnight<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i> “...it
turns out that many of today's problems are a result of yesterday's
solutions.” </i><b> Thomas Sowell.</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">None of us got soft and weak overnight, or found our houses
cluttered with junk overnight, or realised our lives were riddled
with complexities we are unable to solve overnight or, in any other
way suddenly woke up and found life was simply intolerable in its
current form. In reality, all such difficulties arose “</span><a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2023/03/gradually-then-suddenly-31-kilometres.html" style="font-family: verdana;" target="_blank">gradually then suddenly</a><span style="font-family: verdana;">.” But is the solution simply the problem in
reverse? Gradually then suddenly everything is better? Maybe, but
only if we tackle the high impact issues first.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEl5JrVVJaMkC_cqA3YslaGSgcXdw9Qp3ln9CQ-fXUlCppt5N_mgSJcivKM5qbMzTrpAfDSEFLqGYPxRLIwFsre5nnVP9l19-R5uhYBl6EhqLOlN0N-EjnH33fQN3teS3gb0mHHNoHfy0-opTIxx3jmfO5slxq4Y9oA1F9sFQZWwV0awk1keIl3hI8ubE/s1600/surf_feb_2020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="826" data-original-width="1600" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEl5JrVVJaMkC_cqA3YslaGSgcXdw9Qp3ln9CQ-fXUlCppt5N_mgSJcivKM5qbMzTrpAfDSEFLqGYPxRLIwFsre5nnVP9l19-R5uhYBl6EhqLOlN0N-EjnH33fQN3teS3gb0mHHNoHfy0-opTIxx3jmfO5slxq4Y9oA1F9sFQZWwV0awk1keIl3hI8ubE/s320/surf_feb_2020.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The problem is determining what is high impact. And here the
issue becomes a <span style="font-variant: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Möbius</span></span></span></span></span>
strip, because if we were all able to identify high impact solutions
in the first place we would not end up soft, weak, cluttered, etc.
etc., see paragraph one above. In all likelihood, we found ourselves
soft, weak, cluttered etc. etc., because we prioritized the wrong
activities first; time got away from us – a common feature in all
our lives – and suddenly we were soft, weak, cluttered, etc. trying
to work out how we got here.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiI5umwFQpnJfq770luieaMIMAFYXnYD0y4StNzad2yogCXi5GB9sksCZKLlpDrSURgd18FAjWcETnBakMo5RElWYCs8KcJcCLvRF06GqbADS_i0-9HCG2M_Us_ryDp6bK56cdtpppYdcjDAoWvf8JFQUK_ELXPN-RAm5r3_b0qSQsKPGkOyS67LN5G7tE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="797" data-original-width="1080" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiI5umwFQpnJfq770luieaMIMAFYXnYD0y4StNzad2yogCXi5GB9sksCZKLlpDrSURgd18FAjWcETnBakMo5RElWYCs8KcJcCLvRF06GqbADS_i0-9HCG2M_Us_ryDp6bK56cdtpppYdcjDAoWvf8JFQUK_ELXPN-RAm5r3_b0qSQsKPGkOyS67LN5G7tE" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">How we got here, was gradually then suddenly, often, I think, as a
result of our unconscious defense mechanisms which, by very
definition are unconscious. Primitive defense mechanisms are likely
not very helpful at all, but even higher level defense mechanisms may
have limited utility. The biggest life hack we can make, in a world
besotted with life hacks, is to prioritize the important things in
life and make sure that our actions align with our beliefs. This is,
as a friend of mine used to describe it, putting your big girl
panties on and doing what needs to be done.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg69diJ1fP0hGKkV3xrBHnvURs9XkN8ZHgeg6QHoehdAiIn_Re8UAQjylNE9llGISQ-h9sVBPEP1w_beu2r4grbKjKZJGl7aNa_w5zvnR9wJa8bz-dFaGo9vf3uBfGbXSfPqZmmG7YpW5CVVsEJkesL1ievq1lEo0nn92XyyT-2ItHyX1YCwdCMT2iqTXo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="825" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg69diJ1fP0hGKkV3xrBHnvURs9XkN8ZHgeg6QHoehdAiIn_Re8UAQjylNE9llGISQ-h9sVBPEP1w_beu2r4grbKjKZJGl7aNa_w5zvnR9wJa8bz-dFaGo9vf3uBfGbXSfPqZmmG7YpW5CVVsEJkesL1ievq1lEo0nn92XyyT-2ItHyX1YCwdCMT2iqTXo" width="298" /></a></div><br /><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">What needed to be done today was intensity training. Which do I
dislike more: intensity training or distance? Gosh, it’s hard to
say. Distance is painful for a long time, intensity is painful for a
short time but a short time that seems like a long time when you are
in it. Intensity requires longer recovery and is much more depleting
than distance, but distance takes so bloody long! In any case, I
went out first thing into a drizzly grey morning with no wind but a
surprisingly large swell. I could not decide where to go: Black
Rock, Pretty Point, the Tollgates Islands? - so I just paddled, my
course at the end looking rather odd as I almost went to Black Rock,
and the Tollgate Islands, and Maloneys Beach, and Snapper Island, but
not really any of them.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1qgS1-XjkZR06Q6gYOYObkYYIqtmRvj186ntC44TxtQGAYsWM-mDX7Ej2ZbT63os_o5RFildbBVLrSV9m7INourXekF9BTCrPUJIGE2-mJrvybP0XAfRwdHkkfXniCDmXGFoqkBssOmIn0hxDE1dhWm9MuYr0V7LM4-w9xx7MAzrhSuzQbMlVvCuaXlg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="566" data-original-width="1639" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1qgS1-XjkZR06Q6gYOYObkYYIqtmRvj186ntC44TxtQGAYsWM-mDX7Ej2ZbT63os_o5RFildbBVLrSV9m7INourXekF9BTCrPUJIGE2-mJrvybP0XAfRwdHkkfXniCDmXGFoqkBssOmIn0hxDE1dhWm9MuYr0V7LM4-w9xx7MAzrhSuzQbMlVvCuaXlg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The last kilometre, like the last repetition, the most painful but
maybe the most useful, and then the slow paddle back to the beach,
popping my deck before I land because there’s a big surge today and
struggling to carry my boat off the beach by myself, but ultimately
managing, and coming home to dry clothes and a hot coffee. Absolute
bliss and the high impact activity over by 11 am.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-9717413765311840302023-12-27T12:20:00.000-08:002023-12-27T12:20:37.880-08:0050 Kilometres is Never Easy<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>It’s
training, not entertainment.</i> <b>Steve Bechtel.</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">50 kilometres is never easy. Off the beach at 6.30 am and west
into Batemans Bay, the tide is running in so we should have the
current with us but the Clyde River is awash with water from the
latest rain with so much water running out that the tide makes little
difference. It feels like a long, slow pull all the way to the
highway bridge at Nelligen. Two kilometres past Nelligen I paddle up
to the very end of Cyne Mallows Creek, also running out swiftly,
getting to the end of navigable water right when my watch indicates
I’ve paddled 25 kilometres. I can turn around. Thank the good dog for that as today, everything seems to hurt.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAcLrnrR_pq-o_HV8CZfPkM7ctRTde49Bi1UNrhj9e357hRNi50_JSNc9uWL-rDa0hE5J2IyQlRPprjhlKwxGyVpiUkETn2_Rult7rpfO4gLeszytt0Rzc1uVWZW8JVxYKm-I_ZeA3D9NIdwOzQc6RSFFi1EWb6lIgOCOpt5KP5XvTleXy-E-9XLdwUM/s2800/doug-clyde-river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1575" data-original-width="2800" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAcLrnrR_pq-o_HV8CZfPkM7ctRTde49Bi1UNrhj9e357hRNi50_JSNc9uWL-rDa0hE5J2IyQlRPprjhlKwxGyVpiUkETn2_Rult7rpfO4gLeszytt0Rzc1uVWZW8JVxYKm-I_ZeA3D9NIdwOzQc6RSFFi1EWb6lIgOCOpt5KP5XvTleXy-E-9XLdwUM/s320/doug-clyde-river.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Back at Nelligen, I stand out of the rain under a picnic shelter
and eat some food. I have no appetite again but I’m pretty tired
and I’ve still got 18 kilometres to paddle and, the usual easterly
wind will be in my face on the way back. Doug arrives shortly after,
he had paddled past Cyne Mallows Creek and his total for the day is
56 kilometres. My shoulders ache just thinking about that.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjikHZVCbHyHf9NqT382gMjvngh3-etURH-d44mO3z6A4F520pRy4sLqQ0jO3qI5s9YJ_5Lqxj4BtEuYeA_yR7VvFnKVEMhRJ2szJFaRXHDmRKbDsJVCWey0oT_E3Vbc-l50emxnNc6sZS79UGwuFrMmR8Ij9lAq3Ls9avq4fsj0d9vCKapCoC4pDbqv4k/s3000/dec_2023_sandy_clyde.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1314" data-original-width="3000" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjikHZVCbHyHf9NqT382gMjvngh3-etURH-d44mO3z6A4F520pRy4sLqQ0jO3qI5s9YJ_5Lqxj4BtEuYeA_yR7VvFnKVEMhRJ2szJFaRXHDmRKbDsJVCWey0oT_E3Vbc-l50emxnNc6sZS79UGwuFrMmR8Ij9lAq3Ls9avq4fsj0d9vCKapCoC4pDbqv4k/s320/dec_2023_sandy_clyde.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The current helps on the way south and, at times we are nudging
nine kilometres an hour. At Chinamans Point (I can’t believe some
<a href="https://news.emory.edu/stories/2021/09/esc_left_wing_authoritarians_psychology/campus.html" target="_blank">authoritarian anti-libertarian</a> hasn’t renamed that yet) we meet the
easterly wind. The last nine kilometres will be a trudge, if it is
possible to trudge in a kayak, into the wind. The current is strong
however, so although the kayaks begin to bang, bang, bang into steep
wind waves, we are still moving well.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-9lrKV3oiAPLp-hF2yvTZ01u2dTrgqzA1xEASAQyvXpJuEvJPoartgBQx7BveKjNlLb4PX5wogeISgobS65ee3pzNBBeeHoWeJsKlUPyjq2Z2jopIvjtRRWTtt-Oa3fpIxKIrxHh9T88twVYJBAEmcZdnQZLPtwXNqyGIYJrSA_xFW4ImzI4l10c6bM/s3000/ship_from_side.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="3000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-9lrKV3oiAPLp-hF2yvTZ01u2dTrgqzA1xEASAQyvXpJuEvJPoartgBQx7BveKjNlLb4PX5wogeISgobS65ee3pzNBBeeHoWeJsKlUPyjq2Z2jopIvjtRRWTtt-Oa3fpIxKIrxHh9T88twVYJBAEmcZdnQZLPtwXNqyGIYJrSA_xFW4ImzI4l10c6bM/s320/ship_from_side.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Notorious Anchored in the Bay</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Batemans Bay bar is as rough as I’ve seen it with 1.5 metre
– really! - breaking standing waves where the current hits the
wind. The kayaks plunge down and up, the worst is approaching motor
boats who are coming in not expecting kayaks and the waves are so
tall and steep we are buried in the troughs. We want to stay in the
main channel, not just to get the benefit of the current but to avoid
the lines of breaking waves on the sandbars to the north. Luckily,
the only boat coming in is a NSW Maritime boat which, although large
and powerful, is driven at a reasonable speed.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYFnmIc5eVozBtnY3uI-5yizP-OBhIypOJWieCO984hq8Llv4myZgK7EGjQAvpYilk32AZsvWXscK26Di4YjZgq0442ysaOIXMn9k8dlDLOnisJl8ICsCFjiC66Csp5dlTvAaHnxkiYw4m6pwu2G5GG3r_X3oieytcM2yQSnT0iYbKODzCfmsxKusA8Zc/s3077/sandy_into_wind_dec_2023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1619" data-original-width="3077" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYFnmIc5eVozBtnY3uI-5yizP-OBhIypOJWieCO984hq8Llv4myZgK7EGjQAvpYilk32AZsvWXscK26Di4YjZgq0442ysaOIXMn9k8dlDLOnisJl8ICsCFjiC66Csp5dlTvAaHnxkiYw4m6pwu2G5GG3r_X3oieytcM2yQSnT0iYbKODzCfmsxKusA8Zc/s320/sandy_into_wind_dec_2023.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The standing waves run almost all the way to Snapper Island and
then ease up a little, but it’s rough with a confused sea paddling
around the headland to Sunshine Bay. It’s only the fact that the
current is still ripping that we manage to keep going at a good pace.
Finally, our home bay, dodging in through the reefs to calmer water.
It wasn’t entertaining and mostly not fun, but it was training,
and it is over, again.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-30662177524485024992023-12-24T14:55:00.000-08:002023-12-24T14:58:21.560-08:00In The Rear View Mirror: The Best of 2023<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Given
that we’ve entered a world where we cannot distinguish men from
women or fuzzies from humans, using the correct epitaph for the
season is guaranteed impossible. Is it Merry Christmas, Happy
Hanukkah, Seasons Greetings, Happy Holidays, or - taking inspiration
from the <a href="https://babylonbee.com/news/10-politically-correct-alternatives-to-saying-merry-christmas" target="_blank">Babylon Bee</a> - “Greetings Humanoids/Spirit People/Fuzzies of
indecipherable and fluid gender, may the next few days be filled with
the consumption of mass produced and toxic junk food, your house be
filled with plastic junk produced in sweat shops in communist
countries under dictators, used once and discarded, and your social
life revolve around arguments with relatives best forgotten.” Who
knows? No-one, like gender, if you pick your own commemoration and
excoriate everyone who picks a different option you’ll be on the
right side of history.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQr6MrZ9TcxTtcDiQI9AykX6OizF2bDhRtmXQB7ey6w-HrjWnVfnif5VK_QsUalUmDjvSzGsSMpn6829U5j9Gke5fbLgvavHsi5yllQFByg7xmqry0oFSJ_MGr_-EipsSX7nBsdgQTbnHRUsvGQCLp_tft_cIKjS6EuCWB2iVjobmOmUyNIfQPumMKTE/s3000/dawn_july17a_2023.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1682" data-original-width="3000" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQr6MrZ9TcxTtcDiQI9AykX6OizF2bDhRtmXQB7ey6w-HrjWnVfnif5VK_QsUalUmDjvSzGsSMpn6829U5j9Gke5fbLgvavHsi5yllQFByg7xmqry0oFSJ_MGr_-EipsSX7nBsdgQTbnHRUsvGQCLp_tft_cIKjS6EuCWB2iVjobmOmUyNIfQPumMKTE/s320/dawn_july17a_2023.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Winter Sunrise from home</span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">But, this post is not a post-truth polemic, it is, in fact, the
annual (sort of annual?) best of the year.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Best Single Day Kayak Trip:</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">No question on this one: <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2023/06/feeling-young-again-paddling-kangarutha.html" target="_blank">Paddling the Kangarutha Coast.</a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGeLWUaW7kMbIRpqLQtHBiPGr2r3zKj3IAk2vNPGzS9V0efzROKxU3yfc3qN0qBTOGg6TNj36BSTRmnJWaQalR8DPzb5YmHUlFoy2IH9cASZz1wmcADn7P2aQskKMKG7SIw8ojqIA7q7o2kvgUEwScjJzvgsDGMsCyWZV3TRSAhQzky0yLUdjEwPxCwU/s3000/tall_ships_prow_kayaker.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2250" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGeLWUaW7kMbIRpqLQtHBiPGr2r3zKj3IAk2vNPGzS9V0efzROKxU3yfc3qN0qBTOGg6TNj36BSTRmnJWaQalR8DPzb5YmHUlFoy2IH9cASZz1wmcADn7P2aQskKMKG7SIw8ojqIA7q7o2kvgUEwScjJzvgsDGMsCyWZV3TRSAhQzky0yLUdjEwPxCwU/s320/tall_ships_prow_kayaker.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Amazing conditions on the Kangarutha Coast</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span><br /></span></i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Best Multi Day Kayak Trip:</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2023/09/position-of-island-is-approximate-high.html" target="_blank">Bangalee to Clairview and High Peak Island.</a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0y-DQ1vJQ_7aVTc7GIpf7K7CuKxNialQiz-SkqnwkAlJjeOzoyABMNdGF2S3SZHq-pxW7PbYKh_gzUhhme8gXxAJmolw2vldelGVVhQS2Pm9mDYyFNJndgvMU7sYkLioboO44KNykG4sMQkA3waQYiW1_IXA2XlSl4O5QsL9Xv0hI7tUW53j4-k11jI/s3000/corio_bay_sunset_doug_distant.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1503" data-original-width="3000" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0y-DQ1vJQ_7aVTc7GIpf7K7CuKxNialQiz-SkqnwkAlJjeOzoyABMNdGF2S3SZHq-pxW7PbYKh_gzUhhme8gXxAJmolw2vldelGVVhQS2Pm9mDYyFNJndgvMU7sYkLioboO44KNykG4sMQkA3waQYiW1_IXA2XlSl4O5QsL9Xv0hI7tUW53j4-k11jI/s320/corio_bay_sunset_doug_distant.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Sunset Over Corio Bay</i></div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Best Single Day Walk:</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2023/07/currockbilly-mountain.html" target="_blank">Currockbilly Mountain.</a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWadYcaM4YK7KP6K0LUypjUKVcCFDzWQA3auKycG2iFT-EknpLayntgY6IcLmjA7faCFLn6z8d-WCguNFxSsGgKLX7zMUsboL2fR-h2ktDd9qnsr12gUzmsGUGX3cXsGCwHJk_NMMzEIW2RV0AFO8i-oYbiYTpZ1JW3gMLsWuYVPZ3JI4X7f7VDugP5g/s2000/maurice_spur_mount_roberts%20from%20saddle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="894" data-original-width="2000" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWadYcaM4YK7KP6K0LUypjUKVcCFDzWQA3auKycG2iFT-EknpLayntgY6IcLmjA7faCFLn6z8d-WCguNFxSsGgKLX7zMUsboL2fR-h2ktDd9qnsr12gUzmsGUGX3cXsGCwHJk_NMMzEIW2RV0AFO8i-oYbiYTpZ1JW3gMLsWuYVPZ3JI4X7f7VDugP5g/s320/maurice_spur_mount_roberts%20from%20saddle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Maurice Spur from Currockbilly Mountain</span></i></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Best Multi Day Walk:</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2023/09/mount-namadgi.html" target="_blank">Mount Namadgi.</a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOL5xrEqoIpqRymtMjFwgLCXDgwRzzhdMxOJx4FAZAH-5zGB9Opg2dOcvcp3fyZCkVp_ow9GobVmc5uv2xA5RAfRJGxQrbhYPmCfhEHKuzdcly07jXz2pZ7GjtlTCmoqPdwWWIV2J9biQH0ginoEp8ybFmZemwRAOGlKXSvwFwzcj0hQTFqJ-hWbWvYE/s3000/summit_namadgi_doug.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1754" data-original-width="3000" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOL5xrEqoIpqRymtMjFwgLCXDgwRzzhdMxOJx4FAZAH-5zGB9Opg2dOcvcp3fyZCkVp_ow9GobVmc5uv2xA5RAfRJGxQrbhYPmCfhEHKuzdcly07jXz2pZ7GjtlTCmoqPdwWWIV2J9biQH0ginoEp8ybFmZemwRAOGlKXSvwFwzcj0hQTFqJ-hWbWvYE/s320/summit_namadgi_doug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>The top of Mount Namadgi</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the runner up category are the two Nadgee trips I did this year
(<a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2023/03/the-dry-hair-tour-nadgee-wilderness-by.html" target="_blank">trip one</a>, <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2023/12/an-anthropological-study-of-homo.html" target="_blank">trip two</a>). The Nadgee paddle is the best paddle on the
southeast coast and should be done by every sea kayaker at least
once. The character, however, is changing with more development and
more people so if the only reason you haven’t done the Nadgee is
because you are afraid of surf landings, get over it, and go.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyF3qz20iZpWRs651UfZlbDH39PXxyXIhfuRWaJLW-l6a5ruV53FATVRpchuuV9873aE_kl6QwCYBOtxHAEEOyFUh_x2w3h3P5BWpeJv6uMr7gawVzJNKWOdwYLOWu0DA1muBKgZ6sj20hm3cmbC60T172aX3A9bRxc_iEIXWGlECAYhy_QyU5DsftH8c/s4000/sandy-gabo-lighthouse-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="4000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyF3qz20iZpWRs651UfZlbDH39PXxyXIhfuRWaJLW-l6a5ruV53FATVRpchuuV9873aE_kl6QwCYBOtxHAEEOyFUh_x2w3h3P5BWpeJv6uMr7gawVzJNKWOdwYLOWu0DA1muBKgZ6sj20hm3cmbC60T172aX3A9bRxc_iEIXWGlECAYhy_QyU5DsftH8c/s320/sandy-gabo-lighthouse-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Gabo Island Lighthouse</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Most Demoralizing Trip:</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Also no competition, our <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2023/06/the-day-i-got-old-more-misadventures-in.html" target="_blank">piss-weak attempt</a> on Mother Woila.
Maybe, if conditions change, I’ll go back.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SuykTaYHPoaD01kYm1MOcMU5PmEC1veHH2VoCdpHSgQDFnHK4hWRmRRn7mon-reaYGhzZkm6EG8C55AZIRy15w1Z2Etuy3sHb_aLP6Q0M3o374rUOykUC_oGrj0wqwSpMfS_4_lOFw6wY-iXSLTRm1NSlaaupHjphguBbpcWBeT7E4aAIVzRFcOjI6c/s3000/doug_overlooking_mother_woila.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="3000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SuykTaYHPoaD01kYm1MOcMU5PmEC1veHH2VoCdpHSgQDFnHK4hWRmRRn7mon-reaYGhzZkm6EG8C55AZIRy15w1Z2Etuy3sHb_aLP6Q0M3o374rUOykUC_oGrj0wqwSpMfS_4_lOFw6wY-iXSLTRm1NSlaaupHjphguBbpcWBeT7E4aAIVzRFcOjI6c/s320/doug_overlooking_mother_woila.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Mother Woila: might as well be the moon</span></i></div></i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Best of the season to you, whatever your age, gender, species, religiousity – or lack thereof.
</span></p>
<p><br />
<br />
</p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-82832623991685795772023-12-18T21:48:00.000-08:002023-12-18T21:48:35.385-08:00The End Of Easy<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I
think it was Quick Nick B who spoiled the notion of an easy and fun
downwind run on summer days. Soon after we bought our house on the
NSW South Coast we noticed that the summer northeasterly winds blew
directly onto the beach trolley distance from our house. On summer
afternoons, this made for a perfect downwind run. When we started
these easy adventures, we would leave the house around 10 am and
arrive at North Head beach within a comfortable hours paddling. On a
typical summer day, the northeasterly wind has just begun to tickle
the water at 10 am and crossing the big bay is easy. We would land
on the beach, have a mug of tea, perhaps stroll up to the look-out
and launch as the wind built to at most 15 knots.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEfMgwrW5lTB9RHtH1YTrsRBL3SjMQ7ENr76vFSqqqmXGFy5T6Pu7rAdG1E3DKGfUb4MrH274v7R03Gf8clOyILzRMr-lKGij3eLfM-FgnG0A8_S5owf8eJj02T34pkGhieyEgVMorNgyhz5cJVfCUWhsV7XD7NGdxDI4TuBCByxv8_CxIcNiWQUPBEg/s1055/nick_spearing_jan_2021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="1055" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEfMgwrW5lTB9RHtH1YTrsRBL3SjMQ7ENr76vFSqqqmXGFy5T6Pu7rAdG1E3DKGfUb4MrH274v7R03Gf8clOyILzRMr-lKGij3eLfM-FgnG0A8_S5owf8eJj02T34pkGhieyEgVMorNgyhz5cJVfCUWhsV7XD7NGdxDI4TuBCByxv8_CxIcNiWQUPBEg/s320/nick_spearing_jan_2021.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">With a sail up, the run home across the bay was delightful and
effortless. Most days we would simply skim our paddles across the
water from time to time if needed for a brace or throw in the odd
paddle stroke to catch some runners. We would arrive back home after
a few hours feeling invigorated and lucky to live in a location so
convenient to downwind runs.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrZQZT-p5kg0ua2GxZkRzKnVu7tnGgkzHcU7L12kYpfq5Ciaji4q_usz5lDFfCacXsCYJHCLGzFnizZ6NvllIxBJsXwctqEfoAfIOWvfQgPS5s86DFNMe4r20JJg6f7LRXrUDb0Z_vXMvX8lZL7czxGhnad8m45TI3qI2ZV8gDSfdJPVJ-PmD0GLWt_A/s3226/windy_day_sandy_dec_2023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1843" data-original-width="3226" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrZQZT-p5kg0ua2GxZkRzKnVu7tnGgkzHcU7L12kYpfq5Ciaji4q_usz5lDFfCacXsCYJHCLGzFnizZ6NvllIxBJsXwctqEfoAfIOWvfQgPS5s86DFNMe4r20JJg6f7LRXrUDb0Z_vXMvX8lZL7czxGhnad8m45TI3qI2ZV8gDSfdJPVJ-PmD0GLWt_A/s320/windy_day_sandy_dec_2023.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC:DB</span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">But then Quick Nick burst onto the south coast scene bringing with
him strange customs acquired in regions further to the north. These
customs involved waiting until the summer northeasterly had reached
its acme, preferably over 20 knots, at which time we would launch
from the beach and paddle into this stiff headwind for a hard hour or
two before we would finally arrive into the shelter of North Head.
There was no rest on the beach, no stroll to the lookout, certainly
no cups of tea, and most definitely NO sails.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStOBetXEEcqD5uiXwXWSg-LazqArWbqs7S-Ba6vshsaqFJoZqFnFZCCRzUjAV2-Quj9sMs5k-LRkwm_vcvyW2HC51zq1TJDL24vr0i6bOCpzGJ9794ZMVqnDSBClKbHK73NtQddegsmuAlc0-X8qbzB8SNwPHKNjp5MuqaqVgslOYp2b3Y6FGPiOyf-0/s2400/nick-surfing-murramarang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStOBetXEEcqD5uiXwXWSg-LazqArWbqs7S-Ba6vshsaqFJoZqFnFZCCRzUjAV2-Quj9sMs5k-LRkwm_vcvyW2HC51zq1TJDL24vr0i6bOCpzGJ9794ZMVqnDSBClKbHK73NtQddegsmuAlc0-X8qbzB8SNwPHKNjp5MuqaqVgslOYp2b3Y6FGPiOyf-0/s320/nick-surfing-murramarang.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC:DB</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">With barely a moment to catch our breath, we would leave the
shelter of North Head and paddle back out into a powerful wind and
breaking sea and, if we could paddle fast enough, we could catch
runners all the way back to the beach. In the early days of these
adventures, I would trolley to the beach like a (wo)man condemned.
At once keen to learn this new skill of catching runners in a strong
wind but also half-terrified lest I capsize, miss a roll, bail-out,
lose my boat …. On very windy days, my anxiety would be such that
eating lunch was difficult and by the time we crossed the bay and
reached the lee of North Head, I’d be shaking with a mix of hunger
and nausea.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNn4th52IiioYMNVcUGwuiFze8AenE0wh6o9vh7DVpXckAfxGoacfpk7IamDaak4uuIqm5PXBIfeAA3FM1xIw3BI9K4Y15rJ_ujYTy3Ni3SF9W0mUCQhogqaDUO_ulNGFVRhVLq_7Nzk_Wg4lV_d8MrUJi8PgbFVTH19DK2ngjCfJtXvt1Jj8nxW-Yn8k/s1094/end_downwinder_ssb_jan_2021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="509" data-original-width="1094" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNn4th52IiioYMNVcUGwuiFze8AenE0wh6o9vh7DVpXckAfxGoacfpk7IamDaak4uuIqm5PXBIfeAA3FM1xIw3BI9K4Y15rJ_ujYTy3Ni3SF9W0mUCQhogqaDUO_ulNGFVRhVLq_7Nzk_Wg4lV_d8MrUJi8PgbFVTH19DK2ngjCfJtXvt1Jj8nxW-Yn8k/s320/end_downwinder_ssb_jan_2021.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">According to Quick Nick the wind was never above 15 knots although
many days I had to hold my boat down on the beach lest it blow away
before I launched. I would check the weather data when we got home
and find the wind had, in fact been blowing 20 knots with much higher
gusts. I came to believe we could be standing in front on
approaching Category 4 Cyclone and Nick would think the wind about 15
knots.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2zRd7LtLyYhDmDDCMh_QuzOHzmep4wuykbOk8BHpkeWYbl_4BiaUadQjFYAlvzcsCxEMByl8F4cWJDva1e3S20i-_maLwd_9NDPTrX89IwUua-Rz5lfYaJte3Unr4qAYyiEOghgXocBeA3V04L5u3eYWYeoAsKZ3_PGL2MC-Rd-MI40oxXLCm_INHyI/s1060/downwind_feb_2021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="1060" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2zRd7LtLyYhDmDDCMh_QuzOHzmep4wuykbOk8BHpkeWYbl_4BiaUadQjFYAlvzcsCxEMByl8F4cWJDva1e3S20i-_maLwd_9NDPTrX89IwUua-Rz5lfYaJte3Unr4qAYyiEOghgXocBeA3V04L5u3eYWYeoAsKZ3_PGL2MC-Rd-MI40oxXLCm_INHyI/s320/downwind_feb_2021.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Apart from paddling bloody fast to get on the waves, it helps if
you can speed up at the right time. Watching Nick, and later Doug, I
would marvel how these two could throw in a few quick powerful paddle
strokes, get onto a wave and then pause and ride the wave for a few
seconds or even longer; not only speeding ahead but also getting
little mini-rests. As a smaller paddler who is neither quick nor
powerful this technique continues to elude me and, most of the time,
although I can ease off a bit when I get on a wave, a full rest with
no paddling is rare indeed. Mostly, I paddle like I’m being
pursued by a Great White Shark the entire way arriving at the beach
with barely enough energy left to land the kayak.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDxKFTU00ab_8iZOyEa9a3UtJJ75pLAxS8MpRHaGmoy55WhbPtNbY_InFoQ0bqq0sJ8mNeFTPNFLLkF5e5B43iL6o4mq3lCoLvO-36JgV4r-WNCGXKanZACOHFAGUtt4or27GIgvZdfi7If0vyRXhktwaKnxton-Tz0P1f3olMMsMSWxI1YgHbBNSyxk/s1185/nick_windyday_jan_2021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="1185" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDxKFTU00ab_8iZOyEa9a3UtJJ75pLAxS8MpRHaGmoy55WhbPtNbY_InFoQ0bqq0sJ8mNeFTPNFLLkF5e5B43iL6o4mq3lCoLvO-36JgV4r-WNCGXKanZACOHFAGUtt4or27GIgvZdfi7If0vyRXhktwaKnxton-Tz0P1f3olMMsMSWxI1YgHbBNSyxk/s320/nick_windyday_jan_2021.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">When I was first learning timing, Quick Nick would paddle beside
me and yell “Speed up now!” or “Paddle hard now!” “What,”
I would think to myself “does Nick actually think I am doing? I am
paddling as hard and fast as I bloody well can. Any harder and I’ll
pop an aneurysm.” Occasionally, we would make really good time on
the downwind leg and, checking his watch back on the beach Nick would
say “That’s not bad, but you can probably go quite a bit faster
if you just try harder.” I began to research Personal
Defibrillators. Is there a model that can handle exposure to salt
water?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6rvW68Yc3B_wPygY5ocg41jhkNESPwYsGTYN-E22uKxHaGNOoswokXEzjWDnQz327YeRDS3BqQAhrmZPPx45ajMR3jMpctCAbEoXhyunQH3NJRWInjA_qsJ518zB3qPrGWnysUjjaCI6MznNFNbnmtvcTOGAPhgvZm6m08S_SZI-QPoK0NC4qzesrJQ/s3106/sandy_dec_2023_windy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1620" data-original-width="3106" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6rvW68Yc3B_wPygY5ocg41jhkNESPwYsGTYN-E22uKxHaGNOoswokXEzjWDnQz327YeRDS3BqQAhrmZPPx45ajMR3jMpctCAbEoXhyunQH3NJRWInjA_qsJ518zB3qPrGWnysUjjaCI6MznNFNbnmtvcTOGAPhgvZm6m08S_SZI-QPoK0NC4qzesrJQ/s320/sandy_dec_2023_windy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC:DB</span></i><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
<br />
</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We don’t see Nick as much anymore for afternoon downwind runs
but we’ve never gone back to the cushy days of leaving before the
wind gets too strong and employing a sail. Somehow, those eminently
sensible practices feel like cheating. It was the end of easy.
</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946928365937935934.post-38901163487470576932023-12-16T18:07:00.000-08:002023-12-16T18:07:04.475-08:00Lost At Sea<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Do
you know where we are?” asked Doug. I was tempted to reply “F88ked
if I know,” but instead replied “Somewhere south of Broulee
Island” (which isn’t an island). Within an hour of leaving our
usual launch site we had been plunged into thick sea fog which
obscured everything. It was strangely disorienting, sea and sky were
merged into a grey blanket, we could hear the surf crashing onto the
shore line to our west, but nothing was visible and the larger waves
took on the appearance of land on the horizon.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJVczAlh1bArciNGuyqL8grzOMgizHUUJ1ohcKzF8k9U6qvKfTygyNGsVnQ-n5JgBQuD85hbIBfp1RKG-shwxyA8wauvLWZtX1RFyI5GOOyHu_XeChr7fkftJrp-WxgWviqnuZaWSOqwgvzQrdNtzQZiAH4ochgiVszFLHmgWFDkPQWzwt_Te7_vPvX0/s4000/intofog_dec2023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJVczAlh1bArciNGuyqL8grzOMgizHUUJ1ohcKzF8k9U6qvKfTygyNGsVnQ-n5JgBQuD85hbIBfp1RKG-shwxyA8wauvLWZtX1RFyI5GOOyHu_XeChr7fkftJrp-WxgWviqnuZaWSOqwgvzQrdNtzQZiAH4ochgiVszFLHmgWFDkPQWzwt_Te7_vPvX0/s320/intofog_dec2023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">At Pretty Point, we had a brief glimpse of the rotten cliffs of
the peninsula but then the fog thickened and it was only when I heard
waves both ahead and to the west that I had realised we were on a
collison course with Jimmies Island. We abruptly turned east and
passed within 100 metres of the the island unable to see anything at
all. I steered a more southeasterly course for a couple of
kilometres knowing that we also had to pass to the east of Burrewarra
Point. After a while, there was no more feeling of large waves and
we settled into paddling due south. Fixing my compass on my deck
after the <a href="https://theconspiracytimes.blogspot.com/2023/11/the-story-of-erowal-bay-part-one.html" target="_blank">Erowal Bay affair</a> was already paying off.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOc0P41wmQnTyrX3-BZm8S4DXaG9vCHda27vKzrMh9Ltz6otrWLzeH4QNde8FyjYYUNZIN9TUW5XWkdFt83KF07KTOm0Q0gPRTCU_r51YVtKtzoWTvbAuel133ye_J0qnZIM5KksNhOkDeYpV3UaioZXriG1-t_6102RAT2LwVIFO2WFqHSEAXqj3U2Jw/s4000/south_ssb_morning_dec2023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOc0P41wmQnTyrX3-BZm8S4DXaG9vCHda27vKzrMh9Ltz6otrWLzeH4QNde8FyjYYUNZIN9TUW5XWkdFt83KF07KTOm0Q0gPRTCU_r51YVtKtzoWTvbAuel133ye_J0qnZIM5KksNhOkDeYpV3UaioZXriG1-t_6102RAT2LwVIFO2WFqHSEAXqj3U2Jw/s320/south_ssb_morning_dec2023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">PC: DB</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We had, however, neglected to bring a map, and on this day, I had
also left our radio behind. Why do we (I’m sure I’m not alone)
continue to make the same mistakes? We continued following our
compasses south, but, of course, if you look at the map, it’s
obvious that to paddle to Moruya Heads - our destination for the day
– a southwesterly course is required. At about 18 kilometres, I
pulled out my mobile phone and checked Memory Map and saw that we
were about 8 kilometres off Bengello Beach. We probably should have
headed due west as, in a north south direction, we were only 1.5
kilometres from the breakwall at the entrance to the Moruya River,
but it was hard to see the map on the phone through the waterproof
case so the bearing was a bit of a guess.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDop6d65gd537bpR4iMhHiouNCNZKEzvjS9t8d68iSmUlR_qh1WA3gvBgO7MDUvEY3AdjmUfMhHhe05PaUp4ISuFX6T_guhw1DNKbzKNVYG5xArdeu2eZQqbkk5VeWQEjOfhstjWZLgqN5zhWCooCEF8Qd8hYgZlC-ZkO9lAYvFdsv0zppHV-1GntrdiY/s4000/leaving%20SSB_dec_2023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDop6d65gd537bpR4iMhHiouNCNZKEzvjS9t8d68iSmUlR_qh1WA3gvBgO7MDUvEY3AdjmUfMhHhe05PaUp4ISuFX6T_guhw1DNKbzKNVYG5xArdeu2eZQqbkk5VeWQEjOfhstjWZLgqN5zhWCooCEF8Qd8hYgZlC-ZkO9lAYvFdsv0zppHV-1GntrdiY/s320/leaving%20SSB_dec_2023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">PC: DB</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">At 23 kilometres, I checked the map on the phone again and we were
now south of the entrance to Moruya Heads. Neither Doug nor I had
eaten before leaving home. Six in the morning on the water is too
early for anything but coffee which is a necessity. We were planning
breakfast at Shelley Beach inside Moruya Heads but quickly decided
that finding our way in through the bar in such thick fog would be
difficult so we would head north to Shark Bay for our break. We had
a quick bite to eat in our boats and then headed northwest thinking
at some point we would see Bengello Beach and, hopefully, the
entrance to Shark Bay.
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pnsA7kxODkotSbOJc5fxGDjqXhND258xjI_XNw9OUqNhLlE1sfaOVWbjEcUPOTMVfOCUbcB-S8BNQpYRGjU4kvFTTn_sA7ivzQbXAQ70Y3EljMsYSgO52LWyUINZtmvhaPH9Q-38pnIixp2TZ5iCFmLZX3EzEK-txzVhWO88GvDUhmubSt6BzvmRlcc/s3000/south_ssb_sandy_dec_2023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1352" data-original-width="3000" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pnsA7kxODkotSbOJc5fxGDjqXhND258xjI_XNw9OUqNhLlE1sfaOVWbjEcUPOTMVfOCUbcB-S8BNQpYRGjU4kvFTTn_sA7ivzQbXAQ70Y3EljMsYSgO52LWyUINZtmvhaPH9Q-38pnIixp2TZ5iCFmLZX3EzEK-txzVhWO88GvDUhmubSt6BzvmRlcc/s320/south_ssb_sandy_dec_2023.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">PC: DB</span></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Of a sudden, as these things do, the fog lifted as drier air blew
in from the south. We noted that Shark Bay was due north should the
fog descend again, but the rest of the day was clear. We both
effected an entrance to Shark Bay which has a large shelving reef
which breaks, and stopped for tea and breakfast. The one good thing
about missing Moruya Heads was that we were past half way for the
day. Passing half-way is always a big mental hurdle for me on these
long days out and a real morale boost to know we had only about 20
kilometres remaining.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNzS1njFttYcSQIxCgoGKWYUti6TgQqEHLw0MvEKrDIavHTqlwQ3osS77d0qL3pGbIfIsBnT1OAukKQ48_9DKgQ7Q73fWdc1b9WrAfWUhnX3lDi5qoP3OCE22P3WULoD4TpJTFOFupReN-gX7yoG5HX7YZSQJUfbwzmTS2ZYqrnwyEKdGpvZh-HUxZ8c/s2041/grey_burrewarra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1075" data-original-width="2041" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNzS1njFttYcSQIxCgoGKWYUti6TgQqEHLw0MvEKrDIavHTqlwQ3osS77d0qL3pGbIfIsBnT1OAukKQ48_9DKgQ7Q73fWdc1b9WrAfWUhnX3lDi5qoP3OCE22P3WULoD4TpJTFOFupReN-gX7yoG5HX7YZSQJUfbwzmTS2ZYqrnwyEKdGpvZh-HUxZ8c/s320/grey_burrewarra.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">PC: DB</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We had the effects of the East Australian Current (EAC) which runs
north to south as, we passed Burrewarra Point at over eight
kilometres an hour going south but under six going north. There was
lots of clapotis and current effects and we bounced around all the
way north with the jostling most pronounced on the points –
Burrewarra, Jimmies and Pretty Point. At Lilli Pilli conditions
always ease and this day was no different. When we came around the
last reef, of a sudden the water was smooth and we had a light
tailwind. I was astonished how much easier the last four or five
kilometres felt, which was good, because I was getting tired and
cramped. At 1:30 pm, we landed back on the beach, 48 kilometres down
in 7.5 hours including our short break. Another long day complete.</span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09628340905019981807noreply@blogger.com0