$1.10: Walking Alone, Upstream, Into The Darkness

$1.10. That is how much it costs to take the bus from my home bay south along the coast for a half dozen kilometres. The rain has stopped, so I walk a few minutes down the road and hop the bus. With the addition of myself, there are three people on the bus not counting the driver, and yet, the bus service runs a full size bus along these coastal communities on an hourly schedule. The bus is never full so a mini-bus would suffice and would use a lot less fossil fuels to run. Anyone who still lumbers under the delusion that humans are a rational species would do well to rethink that.

But, I get off the bus at a small bay with a boat ramp. A rough trail runs along cliff tops and beaches back to my home bay. The local council has plans to upgrade the track but these things, particularly when bureaucracy is involved take a long, long time, and Straya, being the perhaps the world capital nanny state will no doubt be compelled to install all kinds of safety barriers, railings, and other corralling devices.

Right now, the track is a rough pathway through bush that requires some scrambling up steep slopes, crossing seasonal creeks, and is generally only used by locals because, without local knowledge a person would never find the track.

After all the rain, the track is streaming with water and the seasonal creeks are running deep and, at mid-tide, the ocean is pushing into little lagoons along the track. I forget completely about keeping my shoes dry and simply wade through creeks and lagoons with my shoes on. About 45 minutes from home, a heavy shower rolls through and I walk the rest of the way home along a bush track with water streaming down my legs and my shorts stuck clammily to my skin.

As I walk, I am pondering the last book I read “Selfie: How We Became So Self Obsessed And WhatIt Is Doing To Us” by Will Storr. The book is an easy read as Storr, a long time journalist and novelist understands that humans grasp the world in stories. Facts and hypotheses, data and statistical significance, do little to move us, but stories capture our imaginations and form the narrative of our lives.

Selfie is not really about narcissism, although, for most of us, that is what the title conjures up. More the book is the story of how culture shapes our individual beliefs and pervades our lives even as we believe ourselves to be rational characters choosing our own individual and unique paths in life. If you have not assimilated the dominant cultural narrative, life can be a little like walking a wet path crisscrossed with deep streams on your way home, a persistent feeling that you are walking alone, upstream, into the darkness.

The Wild Lands Of Namadgi: Mounts Kelly and Burbridge

“Why do they always put the summit at the far end of the ridge?” Doug asks plaintively. We have carried our overnight packs 600 metres up the south ridge of Mount Burbridge through thick regrowth and bouldery terrain and, after propping our packs below a scrambly step on the ridge we are hastening towards the far northern end of the ridge trying to work out which large boulder along the flattish ridge is the top. So far, we have passed two or three possible “summits”, as we scramble off boulders, squeeze through chimneys and scurry under chockstones. Most parties hike up Mount Burbridge from the southwest via Bogong Gap, but, when we tried to traverse into the west fork of Middle Creek at around the 1500 metre contour from the SE ridge of Mount Burbridge we encountered such thick timber that we decided to take our packs up and over the top instead.

Now, however, it is almost 4.00 pm, and we still have to get to the summit, back to our packs and then descend into the open grasslands southwest of Mount Burbridge to find a campsite before darkness arrives. It is the 4^th of April, and we have just “fallen back” as daylight savings ended and neither of us are completely sure what time it gets dark. Stumbling through the thick bush with a heavy pack on steep terrain in the dark is not an activity we are keen on. Low cloud is swirling over the ridge of Mount Burbridge and a cold wind is blowing.

At 4.04 pm, exactly 10 minutes after I said “let’s give it 10 more minutes” we have reached yet another perched boulder, this one marked by a cairn, and looking back, we see that all the “tops” we have passed over have been about the same height. We scramble up lichen covered boulders, shake hands to mark the top, and immediately turn around and begin the trek back to our packs. Near a final gully that we had scrambled up, I pick up my hiking pole that I had left, we find a cairn we had placed, and looking down below one final step we see our packs.

There are granite slabs below us, however, so we have to traverse diagonally down to bypass those before we enter dense stands of thin burnt trees and stumble our way down, tripping on boulders and pushing through thickets of regrowth between burnt trunks until we finally find ourselves on a flat bit of ground under some large gum trees beside a small flowing stream and a fair bit of swampy ground. It is 5.20 pm and we have been walking since 9.30 am, having had only one short break soon after we left Middle Creek and began walking up the southeast ridge of Mount Burbridge.

While Doug levels a campsite and puts up the tent, I scoop water from the creek and set water to boil. Soon, we have a good campsite, our hands wrapped around a rich cup of hot chocolate, and all our extra clothes on as the sun sets, the dew begins and we cool as rapidly as the surrounding air.

In a direct line, we are only about five kilometres from the end of the faint footpad that is Middle Creek fire-trail, but, that five kilometres might as well be fifty for the time and effort required to arrive at this location. Bushwacking in Australia is not for the timid or those not willing to work hard. Average travel time, regardless of age, gender, pack weight, seems to be between one and two kilometres per hour, and, unlike Canada, which has its own brand of desperate bushwacking, one never really arrives in “alpine terrain” in Australia where walking is clear and easy. Sometimes, the tops of mountains, spiky with large granite boulders have some of the thickest bush to navigate.

We eat dinner in the dark and crawl into bed. Our new sleeping bags, bought within the past year, have lofted up luxuriously and we sleep soundly and well. I crawl out of the tent once in the night to a dark sky filled with a panoply of stars. Early next morning, before sunrise, I get out of the tent again and brew up coffee which we drink in bed, a treat on a dark morning when the ground is cloaked with light frost.

It is hard to get excited about more bushwacking on this trip but the idea of walking back out without tagging Mount Kelly now that we have thrashed this far in (and have no option but thrashing back out) seems worse than the prospect of additional thrashing.

Although the return distance to Mount Kelly is only about five kilometres we think we will be lucky to be back at the tent within four hours. We pack a day pack and walk up to Bogong Gap and then using a rough compass bearing we walk through more bush to arrive at the saddle southeast of Mount Kelly where we find a cairn marking where Sams Fire Trail – completely indistinguishable from the surrounding bush – crosses (or used to cross) into Rotten Swamp.

Scrambling up Mount Kelly is easy apart from one band of very thick small burnt trees which we stumble through on, coincidentally, the steepest part of the ridge. On the summit, it is calm and sunny, a dramatic change from the day before, and we enjoy a half hour break savouring the view and identifying the other granite topped summits in the area.

We make it back to the tent in just over three hours, so brew up a cup of tea and have some lunch before packing up our gear and beginning the long bash out to the car. After studying the map we have decided to walk down the creek for about a kilometre where a 40 to 50 metre uphill walk on will put us back on our ascent route and the southeast ridge of Mount Burbridge. This turns out to be reasonably easy going on faint animal tracks until the uphill section which runs through fallen trees stacked like pick-up sticks everywhere.

It takes a few hours, and a lot of patience, to walk down the ridge as it seems harder on the way down than the way up to find any kind of lead through the timber and we encounter some very thick sections – most often on the steepest part of the ridge – where descending is more like half-controlled falling than actually walking. Finally, we reach the split in Middle Creek and cross on boulders, walk another few hundred metres and find the very faint end of Middle Creek fire trail.

A last short break on a flat boulder and then walking the faint foot pad out to the car past mobs of kangaroos as the early evening light slants across the valley. Another magical Namadgi trip into the wild lands beyond the cleared and tamed river valleys. These mountains do not give up their joys easily.

After The Storm

The peak of the east coast low was Saturday down here on the south coast. The wave buoy off North Head peaked at 13 metres with an average wave height of 5 to 6 metres and winds off-shore were near 50 knots. It was definitely a day for heading out to some of the local lookouts, beaches and tracks for some storm watching.

At our home beach, the tide had run right through the parking lot and the swell was smashing onto the shore.

Next stop was Mosquito Bay as we were both curious to see what the reefs between the shore and Black Rock looked like remembering the day we had paddled north from Guerilla Bay with Nick. With a swell at about half the size we had been forced out around Black Rock to get past a string of breaking reefs. Today, the waves were so high they were leaping right over Black Rock and the strong SW wind was blowing the spray off the crests.

On to Pretty Point, where we could look north to Malua Bay and south to Jimmies Island. Quite a sight with about 800 metres of continuous whitewater into the beaches. The rain was like hard pellets driven by strong winds.

Passing Mckenzies Beach, no surfers out and no beach left even though high tide was still two hours away. Most impressive of all was the loop walk around Burrewarra Point where we could see almost the entire expanse of Broulee Bay had closed out. All the slots and caves we usually paddle into were buried in foam, and impressive wave faces were rolling in, plumes of spray blowing off the tops.

Coming home via Caseys and Corrigans Beaches, normally very sheltered inside the bay and there were surfers at Corrigans Beach and one lone surfer trying to ride the swell at Caseys Beach without getting smashed against the breakwall. The storm surge had been right across Surf Beach road.

Strolling around today, the day after the storm, the water is brown with soil raked off the backs of beaches, themselves stripped off soil. Seaweed is piled as tall as me on our home beach and on the rock platforms it is obvious that yesterdays swell reached about 4 metres up the steep banks behind the platforms.

The Rain Against My Window

I can’t stand the rain, against my window, bring back sweet memories.

As it never seems to stop raining long enough for anything but the shortest of bouldering sessions, I decided I may as well test my aerobic threshold (AeT) and lactate threshold (LT). Technically, you need to pay many dollars for this and go into a laboratory and get hooked up to gas exchange machines, but as I am not now, and never will be, a world class athlete that seems like overkill.

It is possible to do it yourself (DIY) lactate threshold and aerobic threshold testing. The beauty of DIY testing, apart from being outdoors in nature and costing no money at all (as long as you have a heart rate monitor) is that you can retest multiple times to track your progress.

In all likelihood, I thought I would have aerobic deficiency syndrome (ADS) - defined by Johnston, House and Jornet in their book “Training For The Uphill Athlete” as a greater than 10% spread between AeT and LT - but, heck, you never, know. Perhaps like the greatest in the world, my AeT would bump right up against my LT.

In truth, it is a long time since I have done any threshold training and was not sure how well I would be able to judge pace, but, it was no problem and after 30 minutes of threshold training I worked out why people so often train at threshold almost all the time. Threshold is a pace that feels good and leaves you with a pleasant buzz afterwards. Much more fulfilling than the long slow aerobic shuffle that builds a base.

And then the wind came. Close to 50 knots out at Montague Island and the wave rider buoy off north head peaked at a dizzying 10 metres. Funny to think we have paddled out to the buoy a couple of times and laid our hands on the side.

A Namadgi Wilderness Circuit: Mount Gudgenby and Sentry Box Mountain

It was a bit of a rude shock getting the legs working again on an overnight bushwalk. As usual, I started off with a plan that was far too ambitious for the time, energy and power endurance available but, after a little tweaking, we came up with a good circuit walk involving a couple of ACT summits, some bushwacking (to keep us honest) and some easy track walking.

Yankee Hat from trailhead

The recent rain meant that the two fords at Hospital Creek were higher than normal so we opted to park before them and walk an extra two kilometres to the trail head. Then southwest along the Old Boboyan Road to a maze of old tracks. Taking the first to the north, we walked north to Bogong Creek and then followed another vague track southwest beside Bogong Creek until we hit the wilderness boundary and the bushwacking began.

Mount Gudgenby from Naas Valley

John Evans, the guru on ACT bushwalking, mentions some flagging, cairns and even a vague footpad up to Gudgenby saddle but we found nothing. The area was all burnt in the 2019/2020 fires and, like so many other places, old footpads and tracks have disappeared under regrowth. The regrowth in the ACT, however, is much less verdant than that further east.

Walking up Sentry Box Mountain

We got to Gudgenby saddle feeling a bit scuffed about from the bushwacking but dropped our overnight packs under a large boulder, and with a small backpack containing a few essentials we hiked up the southern slopes of Gudgenby. There are rock boulders and some large low angle granite slabs which are grippy underfoot as long as you stay off the wet areas. We wrapped around to the west a little to walk up some clean slabs and then one final very thick bushy scramble led to the large summit cairn and lovely views over the surrounding ridges and valleys.

Trig on Mount Gudgenby

Time, however, was getting on so it was a very short stop on top, not even sitting down, just snapping a couple of pictures and then working our way back down, stumbling through the scrubby bush and finally arriving back at Gudgenby saddle after 5.00 pm.

Low angle slabs on Mount Gudgenby

Our initial plan had been to walk down to Nass Creek to camp, but it was really feeling like time for a cup of tea and a longer than 10 minute break so we decided to camp at the saddle, which, owing to our wet summer, had plenty of water nearby. Plenty of mosquitoes too.

View over Naas Valley from Mount Gudgenby

Next morning, we packed up a tent wet with heavy dew and walked through relatively open bush to Sams Creek fire trail. Or at least where Sams Creek fire trail used to be. In places, there is a vague old road bed, that fades in and out and we followed this as best we could to the major junction with Maurice Luton fire trail. There is a good campsite here, with water from the stream. We, however, walked a kilometre up Maurice Luton to a saddle near a confluence of many creeks and found a fine campsite in open forest beside a lovely fresh stream.

Forest camp

Feeling the work of the last day and a half, we had a longer break with a cup of tea and then with day packs, worked our way up steep boulder strewn slopes to where Sentry Box Rock sits atop a slabby ridge. This is not only part of the Scabby Range but the NSW/ACT border runs along the ridge top. The summit plateau is relatively clear right now, much scrub having been burnt in the fires, so we wandered along with lovely views until we could scramble up the final “sentry box” on Sentry Box Mountain. Here we took a pleasantly long half hour break before descending the way we had come.

On the plateau of Sentry Box Mountain

A second night camped out with a super bright moon was much more enjoyable as we had a stream to wash the days sweat off, and very few mosquitoes. Next morning, we walked back down Maurice Luton firetrail and then turned south down Sams Creek fire trail walking down Nass Creek as misty light floated around the open plains of the Nass valley. Finally, turning north again and walking back to the car on the Old Boboyan fire trail under big spreading gums.

Morning mist Naas Valley

Mid November

 Build Back Better is always my mantra when I return from endurance trips like our recent crossing of eastern Bass Strait. Frustratingly, during the training phase for Bass Strait I was so knackered after long days in the kayak, that I let my strength training – which I have been doing faithfully for about 40 years (except for the six years spent travelling in our caravan) – slide. It’s not that I did not train at all, my training was just too inconsistent to be very effective.

On top of that, I have not been rock climbing since mid November. Mid November, that is just shocking, and no wonder I could not struggle up any routes at one of our climbing areas today. Sure, the situation wasn’t helped by wet rock and moss growing over the routes because we haven’t been climbing since Mid November and it has been so wet and humid for months; but, holy s**t, I have some serious work to do.

My strength program is simple: the well tested 5 x 5 strength program. This leaves plenty of mental (if not physical) bandwidth for training for climbing. It has been years, literally, since I did a standard 5 x 5 program, but for simplicity and utility it is hard to beat this old standard.

What has caught my attention:

• Nonprophet the best articles are by Mark Twight

• Malcolm Kendrick labelled by the MSM as a “cholesterol denier” as if such a thing was a thing.

• I still listen to Endurance Planet, not because the podcast is any good (it is spectacularly bad), but more, because - like driving past a train crash - you just can’t help but stare.

The Low Hanging Fruit or Don't Complicate Things

 Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away. Antoine de Saint-Exupery.

Perhaps it is human nature, the allure of complexity, or even our innate tendency to conflate credentials and confidence with competence, but as a species we seem to consistently fall prey to adding increasing complexity to problems with simple solutions. Not necessarily easy solutions, but simple solutions.

Take frailty in the elderly, a project my niece is working on with a handful of “experts.” Frailty, sadly, is no longer limited to the elderly in modern populations but is increasingly being seen in younger and younger individuals and is inevitably a product of life in the modern age. I could quote endless studies on the prevalence of sarcopenia and its corollary sarcopenic obesity but none of that is actually necessary if you have eyes in your head. Simply look around you in any public place and observe the flaccid bodies across a spectrum of age groups and you will observe high levels of sarcopenia and sarcopenic obesity. We don't need fancy dexa scans or full body imaging to note that the last few decades have wrought frightening changes on the human physique. Even the youth in the modern world have no visible muscle mass, a situation which is simply not normal; average maybe, but normal no.

The solution to frailty in the elderly is elegantly simple:

• Eat more high quality animal protein (we know that older individuals have poorer absorption of protein rendering current RDA's too low):

• Perform some kind of progressive resistance training focusing on the five fundamental human movements: (squat, push, pull, hinge, carry);

• Move as often as possible, preferably walking (the other fundamental human movement).

And there, in three bullet points is the solution to frailty in the elderly; elegantly simple in theory, exceptionally difficult in practice. Therein lies the problem of increasing complexity. A task force cannot be convened and kept functioning for months on end with a solution that is so simple and basic. Instead, we must add unnecessary and ultimately unhelpful complexity.

Enter 1 RM testing and training at 80% of 1 RM. In theory, 1 RM is relatively easily tested but in practice every strength coach and gym rat knows that not only is 1 RM testing difficult in untrained populations, but also that there is nothing magical about training at 80% of 1 RM. If you want to get stronger (strength is defined as “the application of force against an external resistance") all that is necessary is an increase in load over time. Which is why the other name for strength training is “progressive resistance training”.

But strength in humans is not only a product of hypertrophy, strength is also influenced by neurological factors, primarily the wiring together of neurones that coordinate working muscle. This is the reason why, on a boulder problem that requires strength and power to climb, I can work the problem a few times in one session and ultimately send the boulder in that session. There has been no hypertrophy or strength gains over that time, in fact, my muscles have fatigued, but I have learnt how to move my current musculature in a way that enables me to improve my performance. And all of life is about performance; even frailty in the elderly is best visualised as a performance outcome: don't fall down and break a hip.

It follows therefore, that if you test one RM in untrained populations, such as the frail elderly (any older person that knows their one RM is highly unlikely to be frail) today, that one RM will be markedly different when tested in a few days time after the individual has practised the exercise. Ergo, any program based on training at 80% of one RM has perhaps a week time frame before it is outdated. This is complexity added for the sake of complexity. If you want to train the frail elderly for strength start somewhere, anywhere, and increase resistance in a progressive fashion. Anything works for a while, and in untrained populations, that while can be a long time.

Those who want empirical data to support this theory are going to be sadly disappointed. Perhaps it is my contrarian nature, or perhaps I am simply more realistic than many, but I think there are very, very few things that we can be certain about in the modern world and while we might pretend we have both accurate and precise information about all manner of things, “50% of what we know is false and we don't know which 50%.” John Ionnidis goes so far as to say that “most published research findings are false,” a position which people who unthinkingly accept the word of experts should definitely read and heed.