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---