Plugging LUMC

Coming to Australia was pretty scary at first - its on the other side of the world and the first time I've ever left home! But getting settled in was pretty easy; we took part in some of the orientation activities La Trobe had to offer. At the Orientation Sports Fair, we signed up on the e-maillist for LUMC.

Our first time going to the weekly kayaking sessions was a hit. We found out about the Big Weekend and immediately had to join the club. The Big Weekend was my first time camping in Australia and it was awesome! Every day was fun-filled with white water kayaking (my favourite), rock climbing, bushwalking and mountain biking. Best of all, there were so many skilled people there that even if you weren't that fit (like me) or had never tried an activity before, they would take their time and teach you just how to do it. At night and in the morning, everyone did their part and we cooked the best camping meals ever!

I met some of my best Australian friends in the LUMC, and getting involved in the activities really gave me a chance to explore Victoria; something I probably wouldn't have been able to do without knowledge or a car! We tagged along on indoor rock climbing expeditions, improved our kayaking skills, and went on an awesome hike through Baw Baw National Park. My advice to international students - if you want to get the most out of your Australian experience, take a chance and join the LUMC. You won't regret it! -Rebecca Dorris, Member 2007

A Scrub bashing Epic: The Successful Ascent of Mt Latrobe, Wilson Prom

With our previous failed attempt echoing at the back of our minds, we spotted a window of good weather at the Prom, and the decision was made – this time, we were getting to the summit of Mt Latrobe (the highest point of Wilson's Prom). Having learnt our lesson from our previous attempt however, this time we came properly prepared. *cue dramatic music*

GARDENING GLOVES!

They were our secret to success. Other important ingredients included light packs – we were going fast and light to make it to Mt Latrobe and back in a day (although we did have enough extras that we were prepared to stay overnight if we had to), and it made the acrobatic manoeuvres required when scrub bashing on steep slopes oh so much easier. We carried plenty of water, M&Ms, jelly beans, as well as some other more boring food (and the emergency tube of army ration condensed milk).

Spending Sunday night at Tidal River, we woke up early and drove to the Oberon carpark for breakfast, before finalising our packing, donning our scrub-proof hiking attire, and setting off finally as the sun rose. There was an early scare as Megan’s large dinner the night before combined with a muesli breakfast obviously hadn’t been enough for her: with plummeting blood sugar she struggled to walk the graded path to Windy Saddle. This problem was solved with an impromptu second breakfast, and all was fine again, the mission could begin.

With memories of thick impenetrable scrub from last time, we found this time round it was comparably easy going. The light packs helped, and we were a bit more canny when it came to picking the best route through the scrub, and the best line up the mountain. In general it was a bit less damp than last time as well, which helped as well.

Having reached Mt Ramsay in about an hour, we quickly admired the view, then set off again. We only made the mistake of sitting down in leech territory once – the saddle between Ramsay and Latrobe is a BAD resting spot people, even if reaching it does feel like a significant milestone. We didn’t feel the scrub in the saddle area was particularly bad. From memory (repressed though they are) the worst scrub patches we hit were near the summit of Ramsay, with a few nasty bands coming up Ramsay from Windy Saddle, and a few more unpleasant bands coming up on the south side of Mt Latrobe.

Finally we reached the summit of Latrobe shortly after midday. There was much rejoicing, photo taking, lunch eating, and claiming of the mountain for the great pirate nation.

Our return journey was relatively uneventful, as we passed by the site of the Great Leech Battle of 2007 (where we had fought of the two leeches Megan had somehow acquired, and there was much singeing of leg hairs), and by the Campsite of the Great Summit Attempt of 2006.

By the time we got to the summit of Mt Ramsay, we felt like we were almost on a graded path it was all so familiar. As the scrub finally spat us out into Windy Saddle there was much rejoicing and consumption of jelly beans. As we walked back to the carpark, the sun sunk lower in the sky, and we had a lovely sunset to watch, silhouetting the burnt tree trunks. We reached the van just before the sun started tipping the edge of the horizon. Aaaahhhhh.

THE STATISTICS

Return time from Mt Oberon carpark: 11 hours 20 minutes

Attached leeches found on person: 3

Unattached leeches found on person: Innumerable

--- Megan and Alex

A short drive in the Hindu Kush

Ok, so my recent five week trip to Afghanistan wasn’t an official LUMC outing, but we did see some impressive mountains and white-water, which might interest some of you. The mountains of Afghanistan, the Hindu Kush, are the western extension of the Pamir, Karakoram and Himalaya and rise up to nearly 7,500 m. Areas, such as Nuristan and Badakhshan (where lapis lazuli is mined), were largely unexplored until the ‘50s and ‘60s, when explorers such as Wilfred Thesiger and Eric Newby became the first Westerners to enter some of the dead-end valleys since Alexander the Great and his armies over 2,300 years ago.

A trickle of hardy (some might say foolhardy) tourists are returning to Afghanistan after years of conflicts put the country out of bounds. Some of the older ones are reliving their trips (literal and metaphorical) from the ‘60s when Afghanistan was a popular stop on the hippy trail to India; many of the others are on overland journeys, across Asia – we met one Aussie who was cycling to Europe! Whilst not wishing to belittle the risks and problems facing Afghanistan, I think that the Western media tends to feed the public’s stereotypes of the country – suicide bombings, drugs, the oppression of women and bearded fanatics. I hope this short blog will give you an alternative picture of the country.

The breathtakingly beautiful landscape of Afghanistan sucks you in, and once there, some of the kindest people you’ll meet anywhere in the world make you want to return. For me, the definition of hospitality is when people scratching an existence from their flocks of sheep and goats share what little they have with you. Such generosity is typical of the Moslem world, in my experience, and almost always impossible to re-pay – they simply won’t accept anything in return.



So what activities could a LUMCer get up to out there? Well, the Minaret of Jam, where we worked in 2003 and 2005, is 65m tall – the spiral staircase up to the top gives you a great cardio work-out! Beside it are the remains of an 800 year old bridge.

Unfortunately, more recent bridges get washed away in the annual snow-melt floods, so you have the choice of attempting to ford the river in a 4WD or taking the ‘slide of death’.



Or...



And there are plenty of opportunities for ‘scree-scrambling’ on the slopes around the minaret, with majestic views if you make it to the top.







This year, however, we weren’t able to go to Jam, for a variety of tedious bureaucratic reasons which I won’t bore you. Stuck in Kabul for a month, we were itching for some fresh air (the city’s open sewers get pretty rank in 40 degree heat), so we drove up to the Salang Pass (ca 3400 m asl) one Friday. En route, we stopped for some delicious mulberries. . The 2.6 km long Salang Tunnel was opened in the 1964, a gift from the USSR; rather less altruistically, the Soviets used it as the main supply-route to Kabul following their invasion in 1979. The Salang was consequently the focus of some of the fiercest fighting during the war. Carcases of Soviet tanks litter the route and many of the valley sides are still being de-mined.



The tunnel is still the main artery feeding Kabul – overloaded trucks trundle backwards and forwards, although some drivers are a bit optimistic about what will fit through.





At the top of the pass, we stopped for tasty fried trout and took in the scenery before free-wheeling down to the village of Doshi. The north side of the pass is quite different from the south – much more humid, with lush rice paddies and irrigated wheat fields, ribbons of green lining the river in an otherwise barren landscape. Stalls of juicy peaches, pots of honey and kebabs smoking over hot coals dot the roadside villages – it’s quite an idyllic scene, until you come across the next overturned piece of military hardware and remember where you are.

Check out the project blog if you’re interested in what else we got up to:
www.dct-mgap.blogspot.com

Photos by DCT, apart from Fig. 2 (Ivan Cucco) and Figs. 6 & 9 (Dr Fiona Kidd)

Freaky climbing on the Moon

Above: Alice leading Hanging Fred Bonnet

Spooky shit on the Moon

Me and Alice went to Moonarie for a week of sunshine, nice rock and friendship. However before this happened we got completely freaked out. It wasn’t the climbing, which is often sustained, direct and steep, it wasn’t the odd bit of rock that broke off. It wasn’t even having to dig a poo hole every morning. We drove up there in a mammoth day of driving from Melbourne (14hrs), arriving where we thought we should be at around 9pm. We kind of knew where we should be, but drove around in the forest on unmarked tracks and paddocks for a bit just to make sure. After setting up the camper trailer (+++ luxury) we retired for bed to a breezy spooky night; lots of funny noises outside, a branch scraping on the roof of the trailer, and to top it off, around an hour later a vehicle drove up. Two individuals got out, walked up and said “hello in there, it’s the Police”. They also told us we weren’t allowed to camp there and that we would have to move on in the morning. Apparently there were some missing bushwalkers or something and they wondered if they were part of our party. So completely freaked out we once again retired to bed. We did eventually get the camping situation sorted, but it took a bit of frigging around. The first day was windy and a bit showery and quite cold. We did the 4 pitch ***13 classic “Garden Refuse Removed Cheaply”. Alice got a bit freaked out by the relatively hard moves (perhaps grade 14) on supposedly easy pitches eg. grade 9. Having been to moonarie once before I knew not to trust the grades, especially on the easy climbs. The climb its self was good fun, albeit cold and a bit wet. The next day the weather cleared and we launched up the mega classic ***15 face climb of Pagoda. Moonarie grading again featured here, with the crux pitch being very out there for 15….anyway, it was great fun. Next up we did some fun single pitch stuff, **16 Tim Tam and 19** The Prince which were both exciting, steep and fun. I had done Tim Tam on my earlier visit, but 2nding it after Alice, I definitely didn’t remember it being that hard last time! The next day, more quality including Alices epic 60m lead of Roaring Fourties *18, my lead of the mega mega classic Downwind of Angels ***19. We finished the day off with Outside chance **16 and Buckley’s **17.

Above: Alice leading Outside Chance


The next day we headed back to Checkers wall where Alice led the exposed traverse and face climb of Hanging Fred Bonnet ***18, and I thrashed around on Mr Ordinary **21. I completely buggered it up and could hardly clip the crux bolt let alone pull through. Alice styled it on 2^nd. On the way down, we headed to a small cliff called Goat Crag. I hit up Billy the Kid **19 which was fun, and Alice almost smashed her teeth when she snapped a foothold mantling over the final move. The next day we carried up our camping crap to the Top Camp. This is a big flat area with drystone rock walls constructed by climbers over the decades and an awesome place to camp. The next day we were up early to watch the sun rise and went over to hit up Thor variant pitch 1, a **16. Next I led the mega classic ***19 Pine crack pitch one. This was fucking awesome, a mixture of fun facey crack climbing and delicate groove climbing. Alice led the next pitch, another solid 19, taking a fall when she muddled up the sequence out of the roof, she had good gear in and got through next go. Of interest is her approach – being exceptionally flexible, she was able to do the full splits between the wall and lip of the roof!


Above: Tim Prussicking

Above: Alice leading the excellent first pitch of Roaring Forties. She also climbed the much less nice 2nd pitch combining the two in one 60m megapitch.

Above: Alice at topcamp

We rapped off at Thor ledge and headed over to the suspiciously graded classic ***15 Flying Buttress. We were moving fast but mucked a couple of bits up and ended up topping out in the dark. It took around an hour to get back down including descending the sketchy southern descent gully (which apparently has seen deaths…).

The next day Alice led the bloody hard one pitch *18 of the Seduction. She took a decent fall of the slightly undergraded crux before getting it next time – probably at least hard 19…Next up I led **21 Crawling in to Acid Rain – an excellent sustained face climb high up on Checkers Wall. It was quite steep and it found it very pumpy – luckily there was a small alcove halfway through that I could sit in to rest!

Above: Me on Dryland

On our final day we knocked off some great climbs – Tomorrowland **18 finishing up Boltarama **19. Next up I led Fatal Flame **21 finishing up 16 With A Bullet **16. Finally I led ***22 Dry Land, a fantastic thin face climb that fires up the guts of the Great Wall. I was quite pleased with this lead a) cause it was an awesome climb and b) cause the gear was crap (lots of micronuts and RPs) and I didn’t fall off. It was almost 5 by the time I got up we didn’t have time for Al to second it, so I rapped off and got the gear. Unfortunately the ropes got stuck when we were pulling them….so 35m of prussicking and another abseil later, we got our ropes and scampered back to (bottom) camp in the dark…

The next day we packed up the considerable amount of crap we had brought and made the 14hour trek back to Melbourne. A fantastic trip allround. Definitely put it on your list. Sorry about the “and then we did this and then we did that” form that this report has taken – I’m hungover and couldn’t be arsed.

Urban Adventure with the LUMC XTCT

While Victoria’s rivers bulged with drought breaking rain, the LUMC X-Treme Creek Team ticked the Darebin Creek (cough cough, “stormwater drain”). Alex, although not a Cave Clan member, has adopted this local creek/ drain as his own. He frequently suggests trips, checks the gauge on the way to work, posts related comments on the Paddle Australia forum, and undertakes related ambassador-like duties such as shopping trolley and truck tire removal, concrete slap polishing and water tasting.

It was inevitable that sooner-or-later Alex would guide us down his run, so one wet, cold and lazy afternoon at the beginning of the mid-year holidays, Claire and I agreed to a quick trip. We donned wetsuits, and under Alex’s tutelage put-in under the Bell Street Bridge where the gauge read 0.75 meters (and rising). We were served our first face-full of water by the little wave beneath the bridge. The rain persisted for most of the trip, and the increased volume of water in the narrow creek channel made for a surprisingly swift run.

We paddled past bemused joggers and cyclists, picked the odd flower from the bank, played polo with a washed-up basketball, ploughed through the wave trains and raced the ducks downstream. Claire scouted from the eddy above an interesting wave and we all filed down until a river-wide clump of willow trees blocked our path. The writhing mass of roots and branches could be negotiated via an almost non-existent trickle at either the extreme left or right bank. Claire and Alex remained in their boats and hauled themselves over the low-lying rocks. Instead, I passed to the right relatively unencumbered, tried waiting for the others, but was washed down the main rapid. Here the gradient dropped significantly (I was surprised), and the course widened. I bounced down a series of sketchy rocks, (concrete slabs?) and signalled to the others who were still struggling upstream. Claire ran the rapid like a pro but came unstuck in an easier section when she failed to anticipate the sturdiness of a shoulder height tree branch. The shallow creek bed preventing her roll, but even after a quick swim in the muck Claire was smiling. A little cold, but not deterred, Claire emptied her boat and set a cracking pace down to our next obstacle.

Concrete steps set into the creek bed allow park users to cross the creek when it is not in flood, and with the onset of rain these have the potential to form waves and holes. Our level was on the low side of runnable, so we faced a number of scrappy narrow rapids. The short, tight, and fast rapids required some interesting navigation and balance. Amongst the concrete obstacles a small footbridge appeared, so we carefully avoided it and after a little more paddling enjoyed two more ‘stepping stone’ rapids.

We were losing light rapidly, and by the time we passed under the towering Hurstbridge train line it was pretty dark. The creek became increasingly narrow and snaked its path at the base of residential properties. An interesting logjam required an unnerving duck under a felled tree, and the creek soon met the Yarra River at the slalom training site.

This run would have more potential at a slightly higher level, but was surprisingly enjoyable due to the fast moving water and unique narrow and turbulent sections of white/ grey/ brown? water. I was most impressed by the narrow one-sided gorge-like sections where a high rock bank accentuated the narrowness of the creek. The speed of the water was similarly impressive.

I always love paddling an unknown section of river. The uncertainty, anticipation and realisation of all this flowing water always provide a surprise or two.

Be sure to ask Alex about his next urban adventure.

Note: Darebin Creek flows past the western boundary of La Trobe Uni. If its raining heavily check the Melbourne Water website and carry your boat over. Putting in at Plenty Road would have you about 3km above the Bell Street put-in described above.

--Mikey

One Van, Two Bikes and “That Hill”

Mikey and I recently had occasion to take our bikes out for a couple of leisurely mountain bike rides. The occasion being that Mikey got his car fixed, mine was on its way, I’d recently got a kick-arse guide of some other LUMCers and we tend to do stuff like that from time to time. After consulting the possibilities we decided to take the VW of Doom out near Yan Yean Reservoir first and Kinglake afterwards.

The first ride started with a scenic, uphill climb (you don’t climb down a hill on a bike, come see me and I can explain it more) heading towards Kinglake. It may not have been the Alps or the Pyrenees for any Tour de France fans, but this wasn’t road riding (even though it was sealed to start) and the mist really made it pretty. The top of the climb left us a little warmer and definitely ready for a descent, but perhaps not what we were soon to encounter.

After a few Ks rolling up and down through some farmland, including what Mikey described as the steepest seeled road near Melbourne, we arrived at what we’d come for. The guide book gives a distinct warning to take caution on this particular hill, “The Yan Yean Drop-Off” – a “Decent with Attitude”. There was even a caution sign at the start as I approached, but I couldn’t read it all because Mikey barrelled-off in front of me, so I had to catch up. But we shouldn’t have been so hasty – this was not a hill to be shirked at, and a bigger gap between riders was definitely needed. It was that steep that you’d probably needed some gear to climb up back up for any climbers reading, and rough as anything to boot.

Large rocks look scary when you see them coming on a downhill section like this, and the shit-scared factor multiplies when all you can really see to react to is the rider in front. But even that wasn’t likely to happen, for amongst dodging the rocks and riding the brakes (which seemed to have little impact for either of us) I realised that I was picking up a little more speed than Mikey and edging within a few metres of him. “I’m going to have to stop!” I yelled out, anticipating a major stack, resulting in over-the-handle-bars action, and perhaps taking Mikey out in doing so. “What?” Mikey yelled back, not having heard what I’d said in his attempts to negotiate between rocks and a ditch. By that stage I’d realised that with this speed and this gradient, stopping was not happening, so I just continued being thrown around by this massive descent – being tossed into the aforesaid ditch and then thrown back out just as quick.

I’ve had some pretty nasty crashed that I didn’t see coming, and some that I’ve realised mid-motion, but on this hill it felt like I was going over the bars almost the entire way. I was seriously concerned that I’d be spending another month in a sling – at the least it would have been many metres of sliding on rock cutting open lycra and skin. Every bump threw the back wheel far more than what I’d usually be comfortable with, and every attempt to get myself over the back wheel was denied by another jolting rock. We’d let down the tyres, but we’d neglected to do the same with the saddles. “This is going to hurt” I kept reminding myself, and for a long time to – it was straight, steep and long – but I was able to make slight corrections with each threatening shove. Surely this was not a good idea without even inspecting what we had in store.

It kept going and we kept getting thrown around, with hands locked around the handlebars, index finger extended over the brake-lever. Eventually the hill sloped into a run out, with Mikey and I looking at each other speechless for a few moments. “I’ve never done anything like that on a bike”, were Mikey’s words, accompanied by a face both scared and exhilarated. I quickly agreed with amazement that I’d survived. We’d certainly approach that one with more caution next time – but it would take us a hell of a lot of convincing to do it again – but maybe not as much as another crazy ride we’ve done before, but you might not get that story out of us :p. The remainder of the ride was certainly not as exciting, a little up, a little down, a lot of calming our nerves and talking about what we’d just done. Oh yeah, and Mikey took us left when we should have gone right, a detour of about 15km involving a stretch of flat, boring, sealed surface including Plenty Road. The remainder of the day’s itinerary was left to my navigation.

On return to the car, we ate, a lot, called my mechanic, “The car’s good now – except for the clutch, you’ll need to replace it soon”…who cares, we almost get shredded on a seriously gnarly hill. We were ready for ride number two, but that was nowhere near as exciting. Out to Kinglake in the van, enjoyed the trails which were much more wooded this time, and even some fun sections of single track. We survived the “Yan Yean Drop-the-@#$%- Off” but came a little unstuck on some of the technical bits on this track, just some very low speed, “can’t get cleat out of pedal in time type stacks”, leaving us muddy and a little bruised at the end of the day. But it was certainly enjoyable and left us keen to ride out in that particular area again, if only to muck around jumping puddles. Some people say two-wheels are better than four – I can only agree when I do rides like this, especially when the uphill is paid off by a crazy descent.

More up and down to come

Pete

(And please excuse the lack of photos, we were busy riding)

Tim and Alice’s offwidth adventures

Me and Alice recently went climbing at Arapiles and the Grampians for a week or so. Whilst we did many challenging and interesting climbs, a few stand out as having that something extra special.

One day at Arapiles, we decided to do the classic crack struggle ‘Electra’ (grade 19). I cleverly suggested that we climb it as two pitches instead of one, meaning I could lead the relatively short and supposedly easier first pitch and Alice would have to lead the fire-breathing offwidth classic second pitch. I kind of cocked up the first pitch and ended up falling off and ripping the recently healed skin off the back of my left hand (injured on the nearby classic ‘Wizard of Ice’ a couple of weeks earlier). I was pissed at falling off, but after contaminating the climb with sufficient blood I got through on the next go.

Alice then set out on her journey up the second pitch. This pitch is offwidth – it’s not a crack that you can hand jam in a conventional sense and it’s not a chimney that you can chimney climb in a conventional sense. It’s in-between. You kind of stick various parts of your body in and squirm your way up. Alice led it like a champ – a fair bit of sketchy squirming and a few whimpers were necessary, but she got up it, and made her way up the relatively pleasant upper crack and across the majestic juggy headwall without any issues. This quite impressed the hardperson American we had been socializing with – he had already been impressed with Alice’s no-nonsense lead of Hyena a couple of days earlier (another ye olde fashioned crack climb). He and his friend had come up to the cliff that morning intending to climb Electra. He noted with a certain bemusement that it was unusual that, in the middle of winter, midweek, surrounded by pleasant classic non-crack climbs, that there should be a queue on the horrendous offwidth.


Fast forward a few days in to the future and Alice and I found ourselves at the base of “Genuine Wage Overhang” (grade 20) at Mt Stapylton in the Grampians. To give an impression of its steepness, the authors of the guidebook note that when you are standing underneath the lip (the edge of the overhang) you are closer to the lip than the start of the climb. Overhanging probably 40 degrees, this is one intimidating climb. The pictures don't do justice the the overhanging-ness. I had seen it previously when wandering in the area looking at other climbs, and knew we would need some big gear (gear = protection to stop a fall). Thus we brought two #4 camalots with us. These are about as big as most people normally own, but they weren’t quite big enough.

I set off up the climb, cautiously jamming bits of my body in it and using the small face holds next to the crack. I put in one of the big cams just before the roof got steeper (to almost horizontal), stuck my leg up and in the crack and shoved part of my arm in. This seemed to work and I was able to squirm around without falling off. I discovered a small face hold after this that was quite positive (good to hold on to) and this helped me establish myself in a kind-of-chimneying-kind-of-sticking-half my-shoulder-in-the-crack position. I squirmed upwards, in the process scraping skin off various parts of my body until I was about 3 meters above the cam. Here the crack started to get wider, so I figured I should stick the other big cam in before it got too wide. I played around with the cam for a few minutes until satisfied the placement was good. Gradually the wall next to me opened up a bit and I could get more positive foot holds for chimneying, but I was starting to get a bit concerned about how far above the cam I was, and how far I had to go. A good arm bar (this is where you jam your arm in the crack between your elbow and the palm of your hand) gave me some time to de-stress and work out a strategy for the rest of the climb. I came up with two options. A) jump off. B) keep climbing. I chose B. Alice assured me that I wasn’t going to deck (hit the ground) so I kept climbing.


Eventually, about 5 or so meters after placing the last cam, I latched on to the nice positive holds in the guts of the chimney and hauled myself up, where I put in 5 (!) pieces of gear, just because I could. I don’t think I would have hit the ground if I had come off, but I would have taken a massive winger (fall) and come very close! Alice seconded me, getting to use the prussics when she fell off the crux, but she styled the rest of the climb and we had a bit of a de-stressing hug when we were re-united at the belay ledge. All in all, two mega classic climbs!

East Kiewa

How does one find oneself picking through gear in the club boatshed at 4:30am on a Saturday and then waiting by the ring road for a lift? Who hatches a day of paddling that would be best titled end of semester assignment avoidance scheme? And what is it that lures a crew on uni kids to a 1.5km section of creek in a wet, cold and rocky valley 250+km from home?

Well it’s not just the paddling.

Along the road to Falls Creek an orange bridge represents the end and beginning of two runs on the East Kiewa. Refuted to be more ‘pushy’ than the Yarra Canyon ;), the Upper section above the bridge is a formidable and committing run with a gradient of 70m/km. Thankfully, the bridge exerts a calming effect on the Lower section: reducing its gradient, continuous nature, and technical level, and removing the odd waterfall.

Before putting in, we had consulted the orange bridge oracle for guidance. The needle of its ‘central core of hardness’ detector swung to the left to indicate that we should tackle the Lower section. I breathed a premature sigh of relief, Hairy cursed. Unlike the Upper, the guidebook description of our modest Lower section is not accompanied by a little red skull and crossbones. We geared up, and while waiting in the eddy I mimicked the strange practice of cupping chilled mouthfuls of water into my mouth.

The run was rather foreboding. Steep overgrown banks and glistening rocks of all imaginable shapes hedged the narrow creek. We scraped hulls and bashed our paddles over the low-lying rocks. The level was a little on the low side, and I found the prospect of a bonier but less pushy run slightly comforting. I had heard and read accounts of ‘steep’ and ‘technical’ boating on this river, yet roaring rapids seemed beyond the scope of this rocky – albeit well lubricated – narrow run. The lack of an immediately observable challenge had me on edge.

In usual style, we filed down stream, catching eddies and swapping the lead, all the while scanning ahead in anticipation.

Timmy tames the East Kiewa

Lower flow exposed the rocky banks, making scouting easier and framing all of our photos with impressively water-hewn slabs of stone. Inspection from the bank was necessary to detect fallen trees stuck in the rapids, and helped those of us unfamiliar with the river to plan our path. Approaching a sharp bend we observed that a large tree trunk had fallen across the main flow, and that beyond lay the first significant rapid. I scouted from the bank while the others ducked under the trunk and then turned into the eddy above the drop. Following my suggested direction, Tim, Simon and Mel exited the eddy, and went down an impressive rockslide. At its base they made a tight right turn and then followed the main flow down a smaller drop. With the rest of the party at the bottom, I mimicked their path by ducking under the tree and then grinding down the rockslide. At the bottom my sharp turn was assisted by the main flow as it caught my bow. Another small drop and we were regrouped.

Mikey styling the East Kiewa

Shortly following this, we encountered the rapid of the day.

From the rock wall above the drop we discussed our intended route. Entering down a smooth ramp of water from the left, would leave us perched above the converging columns of water, were we deemed that quickly tracking to the right would enable the boater to ride atop the white water down the drop, and then bounce out from the aerated hole below.

All four heads nodded.

Simon was the first to ride. At the bottom of the drop his creeker was launched into the air in a most impressive tail squirt. Mel followed with style, but was captured upside-down at the fall’s base. Standing on the ledge above, I observed her boat stop suddenly at the bottom of its descent and then disappear underwater. Re-emerging upside-down, it was buffeted violently in the hole and against the rock walls by the water falling against its upturned hull.

Mel in trouble on the East Kiewa

Mel remained here for a time, before swimming from her boat. But as with her gravity-defying stop at the base of the drop, she was sucked headfirst – as if she were a cartoon character at the hands of a revengeful artist – back into the aerated white pile at the base of the drop. Her upturned face alternatively appeared and disappeared, until the water released its hold and Mel was flushed from its grasp. She grabbed the stern of Simon’s waiting boat and made her way to the safety of the bank. An even more time consuming process was required to release Mel’s boat which had been pinned as water circulated in and out of a horseshoe shaped depression in the rock wall.

Once order had been regained, Timmy playfully ran the drop backwards – a move for which he deserved (were the river as spiteful as we had come to expect) to be severely worked at the base – and emerged from the foaming pile with a cheeky grin.

Our crew’s endeavours at this rapid had taken some time so I had grown accustomed to its roar, and had ample opportunity to observed the water’s regular flow. I felt that I had gained a realistic picture of what the rapid entailed and that I was well on my way to avoiding the unhealthy calm that had overtaken me during a recent paddling trip to Tassie. Although I felt a long way from the complacent casualness that had caused my demise on that Lower Broad trip, I felt that a little reminder right now would serve to heighten my awareness of the job at hand. On that ill-fated day in Tasmania I had learnt – from a slightly sub-optimal encounter with a log – that the decision to run a rapid did not qualify as a passport to safety, and, that in fact, the mental decision to plunge headlong down a rapid needed to coexist with a physical preparedness to act accordingly. Now seemed a perfect time to draw upon the lesson of this experience.

Mikey lucking out on Deathstar, en route to the scary log

In anticipation of things to come I dunked my head into the freezing water, geared up and resolved to hit the drop with enough speed to escape the clutches of the hole waiting at its base. I was reassured to know that Tim and Mel were waiting below in their boats and I knew Simon was ready on the bank with a throw-rope. Although attempting to follow directions, I missed the move from left to right and instead plugged down the middle of the drop. The left and right-hand pillars converged around me and I felt my upturned boat being buffeted by the water. Deprived of sight, I was distinctly able to hear the water as it rushed around me. According to Tim, my lack of speed and direction resulted in a back-loop at the base, but all I remember is the blackness and the sound of water. While under I took a moment to acknowledge the novelty of my situation, and then registered a mental image of where I thought I was in space. This was followed by a slight panic when the retentive hole refused to relent – even brief periods of powerlessness under water provide infinite time for thinking – and frustration that I couldn’t manoeuvre my paddle to roll. As immediately and as uncontrollably as it had happened I was upright and paddling towards Timmy’s smiling face. And while I was able to acknowledge an ‘OK’ nod of the head, I had to take a minute to regain control of my breathing which had become sharp and pressured from the cold. I could only imagine how Mel felt – we exchanged looks of relief.
Only later did we learn the name of this infamous spot – ‘the drowning pool’. Gentrify, gentrified asdf osid pretentious as


A little cold, but too pumped to realise, I paddled on. Subsequent rapids followed quickly. Ramp-like sections replacing the earlier drops. We confidently descended the remaining rapids, portaged a wood choked section, and before long had reached the take-out.

Watch out for wood, East Kiewa

Simon stuck in a hole on the East Kiewa

There’s nothing like a trip away to rekindle your desire to run more in the coming weeks. And were it not for more pressing assignments I would be back in a flash.
In response to those earlier questions I can only agree with Mel’s comments on the drive up, that ‘I wouldn’t bother going on a trip with people I didn’t like, no matter how good the river’. To which I can now add, ‘the quality of both the river and company complimented each other perfectly’.

Beginner trips coming soon! I promise.

Mikey

Arapiles: Easter 2007

Curious to discover what was so addictive about climbing, I decided to join a trip to Arapiles over the Easter break. I was, by all accounts, a beginner. I had never set foot in a climbing gym, let alone tackled any outdoor ascents. In fact, I had avoided climbing in the past. Hardcore climbers with their secret language littered with jargon seemed a bit inaccessible to a beginner like me. However, I was convinced that our crew - led by Timmy, Alice and Kate - would provide a good introduction.

There is something magical about Arapiles. It towers out of nowhere, the only upright feature in miles of flat farmland. It felt special being there, like I was part of a secret clan. Walking around the campsite you can here the sound of racks of gear (a noise which could strangely be mistaken for cow bells), clinking and clanking as climbers head off for the day.

Araplies - photo courtesy of Alex

On our first day Timmy chose to lead Mikey and I on a 14. I carefully watched Timmy head up to the first belay ledge. I was scared yet composed and kept telling myself that I could do this. It was not until I started climbing that I realised just how frightening this sport can be. Admittedly the climb was probably too hard for me, but my anxiety came more from the reality of the situation; I was trusting my life on the three pieces of gear Timmy had placed to form an anchor. Although logically this sounded safe, my inspection of the gear prior to leaving the campsite left me wondering how on earth a little metal nut could hold so much force. All of this ran through my head whilst I was clinging to the rock. But somehow, with all his superior convincing powers, Timmy managed to persuade me to keep climbing, at least up to where he was. Although I was convinced I wasn’t going to make it, somehow, I scrambled my way up. The sense of achievement was overpowering. Even though I stopped that climb after that first pitch, I felt I had conquered one little demon. I had stepped out of my comfort zone and kept going even when I desperately wanted to stop. I had also discovered what would remain one of biggest fears about climbing: trusting the gear.

Can you spot Mikey?

On day 2, LUMC superwoman Kate decided that she would lead Mikey and I on an easier, multipitch climb. Timmy gave Kate and Mikey some final tips about gear placement on the nearby boulders whilst I mustered together some food. We then set off, glancing every so often at the handwritten directions I had copied out of the Araps Bible. The different rock faces all looked remarkably similar to me, but Kate somehow managed to discern where we had to go and found the beginning of our climb.

After our previous day of climbing, Timmy had taken some time to teach me about different pieces of gear and how they work. This had helped (but not fully allayed) my fear that the gear would somehow dislodge. However it had (importantly) given me the confidence I needed to attempt another climb. I was initially hesitant about starting the first pitch as it required a traverse out onto an exposed cliff. Although we had only just started climbing, we were already up fairly high, which left me feeling quite vulnerable as I climbed out onto the rockface. Despite my fear of heights, I started to acclimatise to being up so high. I was somewhat distracted by the pain that came with wearing shoes a size too small for me but at least this made me feel like I was part of the climbing fraternity.

The heat was intense as the sun belted down from the middle of the sky. When we reached the end of the second pitch, we paused to discuss how we were going to tackle the next obstacle of downclimbing and crossing over onto the main rock face. Kate and Mikey both being very logical and bright people, took their time to discuss the pros and cons of different ways of approaching this part of the climb. Once across to the main face we took refuge in the shade it provided. As the day grew older, we became slower and our pace dropped. I became more relaxed and began to enjoy myself and the great company of my fellow climbers.

LUMC superwoman: Kate

As we approached the final pitch, darkness began to fall, the sky still had a hint of pink but that was fast disappearing. We had not planned on the climb taking this long and Kate had packed our only head torch. Kate elected to climb the last pitch without her head torch as she felt that Mikey was going to need it to remove the gear. Mikey and I waited on this last ledge nervously while Kate finished climbing and struggled to set up her anchor in the darkness. Although I was in high spirits after having an enjoyable afternoon I was extremely apprehensive about beginning a climb in darkness. Finally came the call “Cat, you are on belay”. Off I went. The first couple metres went well, I scrambled around with my hands feeling for holds as I could see very little. I then believe that I started to climb just shy of where I should have been. It was dark, the wind was blowing and I was exhausted. I desperately searched for holds but could find nothing. My fear of heights was also taking hold of me as I realised just how high up I was. The pull of the rope drag on my harness was zapping me of the little energy I had left. I called out to Kate that I couldn’t see where to go. She urged me to keep trying. I clung onto the rock, stationary for what seemed like minutes trying to find the courage to keep going. In desperation I made one final stretch upwards in an attempt to find a new hold, lost my footing and fell, swinging a few metres and crashing into the rock with my knees. I was completely terrified and in tears. I began cursing rockclimbing and all associated with it. My mind went straight to the worse case scenario: what if I couldn’t climb this last pitch? At this point Mikey decided (and I agreed) to climb down back to the ledge to rest and regain some composure. Here Mikey informed me that Timmy and Alice were on their way - with light.

Our failure to return to the campsite after an hour or two of darkness had concerned the crew and they had yelled up to Kate from the main track at the bottom of the rock, asking if we needed help. We waited patiently on the ledge for an hour. This gave me enough time to dream up a range of different rescue plans; my mind was clearly still being irrational. Finally Timmy and Alice arrived. Timmy climbed down a few metres from the top and illuminated the rockface with his torch and called down to us, urging me to climb. I asked Timmy if there were any other options. Under strict instructions from Kate, he replied a simple “No, not unless you want to stay on the ledge overnight”. This wasn’t a possibility in my mind so off I went - take two. The higher I climbed, the worse the rope drag became - but being able to see where I was going made the job much easier. It was surprising how much the encouragement of my friends above was able to give me the confidence I needed to continue. As I got closer to the top, I could hear Alice and Kate giggling and talking about what food they were going to cook. Everything seemed normal once again. Mikey followed, gleaning the last bits of gear and finally, after 10 hours of being out on the rock, our climbing epic was over.

It probably took a couple of weeks for me to think logically about what had happened. The sheer terror that I had felt when climbing wasn’t going to disappear fast, but over time an equal sense of self-satisfaction began to develop. Climbing provides a buzz like nothing else I have ever done before and challenges me both physically and mentally. There is no doubt that this feeling is addictive and will ensure I return to outdoor climbing in the future. Perhaps the most valuable and enjoyable aspect about my trip to Arapiles was the close friendships that I made. Although you have to rely on yourself to get through a climb, I would not have been able to continue without the amazing support and encouragement of those around me.

Safe & happy climbing guys!

---Cat---