.....A decision that everyone would regret because as it turned out.......it wasn't grand at all!
Colin Todd Hut not a million miles away from Wanaka, New Zealand, 2001, 2am
Beep Beep, Beep Beep, Beep Beep. I'm not sure if I was awake already or the alarm just did the job. I was tossing and turning all night with a kind of nervous excitement due to the climb ahead. I had that funny butterfly feeling in my stomach that I used to get before swimming lessons when I was a kid. Everything intimidated me back them. "Its excitement" Mum used to tell me. She was right. I poked my face out from under the hood of my big puffy down sleeping bag. It felt tropical inside, but 30mm away the temperatures were Antarctic in the hut. I was half hoping the wind would be howling with a blizzard outside so I wouldn't have to get up. "Marko. You awake ?". "Yeah man, lets check outside." We uncocooned ourselves from our sleeping bags, both still dressed in polypropylene undergarments, threw on our down jackets, put our feet into our big cold mountaineering boots and headed outside. It was cold, crisp and clear. There was a very loud silence. The black sky was decorated with visible radiation emanating from nuclear fusion reactions that occurred a very long time ago, in Galaxies far far away......as well of course from the one in the immediate vicinity. The distances simply incomprehensible. We looked at each other. Marko nodded. "Porridge".
Marko is a large formidable unit that consumes food resources at an alarming rate. The best policy is to eat when he eats or you will starve. Marko cranked up the MSR XGK2 cooker jet the sound of which is similar to ....well.....an MSR XGK2 cooker jet. Anyone in the hut who was sound asleep was now sound awake. Marko doled out the daily staple. It was so thick you could have driven a 4 wheel drive across it. Back in the Bidet republic, you could tell the day of the week by the number of used Porridge pots on the kitchen counter. "Fill up the fuel tank Simo", Marko instructed. "Al. The Guy. Get up. Lets go climbing!".
The previous year Myself, Marko, Terry and Al bought some ice gear. "The person with the most toys at the end of the day wins", Al reminded us. Ice axes, Crampons, Snow Stakes, Snow Shoes, Boots and Ice screws were all added to the inventory, building on top of our arsenal of Caving and Rock Climbing gear. We did a few trips down to the Blue Lake which is nestled in the NSW Snowy mountains in the middle of winter to play with our new toys and develop newly desired skills. I had just bought a new book on Ice climbing techniques and I had watched a couple of Mountaineering movies, so I reckoned that I had got the hang of it. We practiced lead climbing with screws, constructing snow bollards, self arresting and rigging Z-rig's with a 2:1 purchase for hauling and rescue, a technique that we had employed previously on caving trips. I remember one particular night with Terry after we had crashed out in the tent, a full moon came up. We got up again, it was nearly as bright as day itself with the full Moon reflecting the Suns light and that attenuated light reflecting again off all the snow and ice, about 10,000 candle power in the Imperial system I reckon.... uuggghhh!. We went for a short hike, came back to the tent and decided it was time for a drink, but our two precious cans of beer were frozen solid. We put them in a pot of water and heated them up slowly. Terry handed me mine in a stubby holder. "Here Simo, wrap yourself around a hot Boddingtons" he grinned. Another Mountaineering first. Hot Boddingtons was very quickly added to the Crackpot quartermasters inventory list for Ice climbing adventures. During the summer we headed over to Kelman hut at the top of the Tasman glacier in New Zealand to further our Mountaineering careers, have a crack at a few of the smaller peaks and meet some new and like minded people. We had the usual run ins with a couple of the local guides who reckoned we had no business being up in the mountains. "That's a fine British Isles accent", one of the guides sledged. "I'm from the Republic of Ireland", Marko retorted. "They obviously haven't sent out the new maps to the colonies yet!". Again, our methodology as always was to build up rapid experience from the school of hard knocks. So long as we lived through the ordeal, we would all be experts after a few weeks. Twelve months later myself and Marko were back in New Zealand. We packed up our contract jobs in Sydney, flew back to Christchurch and bought a van, with a 3 month plan of Caving expeditions, Flying, Mountaineering and of course drinking and partying. We climbed Mt.Cook via the Zurbriggens ridge in December. "We knocked the bastard off!", Marko would joyfully report in Edmund Hillary style. Any conversation to be had with anyone in that following few months would eventually morph into a Mountaineering discussion and they would be subjected to hearing about our adventure on the highest point of New Zealand as detailed in the example below:
Arbitrary third party service provider: "Hello Sir, what can I do for you?".
Simo: "Its a fine specimen of a mountain, that Mt Cook you have here in New Zealand...."
Al joined us about 6 weeks later to Climb Mt.Aspiring via the impressively razor sharp South West ridge. An acquaintance of a friend joined us and it was decided that we would climb in teams of two. Myself and Marko were keen to climb together as we were "Ice Fit" and planned on moving quickly. Al had the basic skills and The Guy seemed to know what he was talking about and talk about it he did, so they were lumped together as a pair. "You'll be grand", we assured Al. A decision that everyone would regret because as it turned out.........it wasn't grand at all!
The four of us stood outside the hut and roped up in pairs for glacier travel. My crampons made a trudge, trudge, trudge sound, barely impaling the frozen snow. You can really minimise risk by covering as much ground as possible at night. You travel very quickly across the frozen snow reducing your time on the mountain and therefore your exposure to other dangers. Snow bridges that cross crevasses the depth of multi-story car parks and debris fields with ice blocks the size of small buildings and large vehicles that have fallen from Ice cliffs above, are all frozen solid. Wind the clock forward 12 hours and everything is creaking, groaning and glistening in the warm sun. Every few hours you often hear or see a big avalanche, erasing any tracks that have been made in the snow. Not a trace left. We all shiver and my hair stands on end. "I hope there was no one down there" someone would say. If you are in the path of that mass of Snow, Rock and Ice, the game is up. All you can do is limit your exposure by moving quickly and purposefully across those danger areas. I'm not afraid of dying, but I am afraid of not getting enough shit done before that time comes and because you never know when that is going to happen, its kinda difficult to develop a schedule. Like it or not, its a personal battle that we are all certain to face. In the words of Peter Pan - "To die will be an awfully big adventure"
Niamh stares at her plate of ravioli attempting to teleport it away like men that stare at Goats. "Whats in this one?.....water ? Its got water in it!". The offending piece of ravioli is auctioned off to the lowest bidder, but the zero dollar reserve is not met so it is put to one side on the plate. The next piece is selected, "This one is the wrong shape!" she announces and it is added to the pile. I offer Niamh a cold glass of sparkling mineral water to wash down the piece of Ravioli that she has eaten. "No thanks, its fizzy". The next piece is lanced with the fork and it is inspected following a stringent quality control process and associated risk analysis. "I don't know whats wrong with this one yet". She brings the ravioli closer to here eyes, like a philatelist studying a stamp. "Hey! It doesn't have any meat in it.........who wants it?". The rejected pieces begin to form a meal in their own right. "I'm not eating this one, it doesn't feel right. Its squishy". "How about a glass of Orange juice?", I inquire. "Its pulpy!". "Dad...........Dad............ALAN!". Niamh presents the "From Ravioli" plate. She smiles and flutters her eyelids at her father. "Can I be finished? Can I have something nice?".
We crossed back into Victoria from South Australia to take in the Grampians, which is a place I have wanted to visit ever since my first and only trip to Mt Arapiles some 16 years ago. I can assure you it was well worth waiting to lap up the spectacular walks, views and geology. We rocked up to "i" (the tourist information) and asked about some of the walks in the area. The pleasant and informative lady glanced at the kids and showed us a map of a circuit we could drive around and pointed out the associated walks. At the first walk, we just about managed to made it the whole 25 Meters from the car to the lookout without incident. "I think we are ready for the next level of difficulty Al". The following day we found it impossible to motivate the kids and rather than expend precious energy, time and patience battling with them, we left them at the pool and we embarked on the Pinnacle loop and bolted on the Grand Canyon walk. "No drowning or annoying other campers", Al directed. The whole walk was very impressive with great views, narrow walkways and fascinating rock features. The Grand Canyon, however, fell slightly short of its implied name. I'd call it, The Reasonably Good Canyon. At this time we were still bedding down all our procedures and processes for setting and packing up and we had not yet reached the efficiency level that we have since gained and now currently enjoy. Couple that with being behind with the home schooling, a few high level date/place milestones to meet and before to long it was time to move on again. "Its only a 13 hour drive to Sydney from here", I consoled Al. "Yeah man, we will have to come back to this place". Our rock gear didn't even see the light of day.
That evening while Al and Caoimhe were on dinner duty, I hopped on my bike and cycled up to the Halls Gap dam wall. At this point, I would like to digress slightly and segway into a brief discussion on units of measurement. I mean when you look at it, who the fuck developed the Imperial system. Seriously, it can only have been a bunch of British pot heads. "I say old chap, lets say 15", takes a big hit of the filter tipped rolled Marijuana cigarette, "no, make it 16 ounces in a pound and call it Avoirdupois, you can weigh anything with that". He passes the spliff to the gentleman sitting beside him, who delicately accepts it between the thumb and index finger with the little finger extended in the air, in true British teacup drinking fashion. "Unless of course it is metal old bean", takes a puff, "then lets make it 12 ounces and call it Troy. Like the thing we did with the dozen for the bakers. It will play havoc in the colonies". Then after a few hundred years and a relatively short lived invasion later, some American pot heads came along. "Hey man, this pints thing the Brits came up with", sticks his face on the bong, lights the cone, draws it down, holds his breath for 30 seconds and exhales. "While I agree in principle with the pint being 1/8 of a gallon", pauses, "lets reduce the volume of our pints and gallons by say .... 20% ?". He looks to his buddy for approval on the conjectured figure. "I agree, that figure has merit". The bong is handed over, loaded and punched. The dude does the math, because he can't do the maths. "So while an Imperial Pint remains 20 Imperial fluid ounces. Our new US Pint will be 16.653483693 Imperial fluid ounces or a nice round 16 US fluid ounces" . "Yeah man, that'll fuck'em. Now, what about that stuff on Candle power you wanted to discuss?". I thought I saw it all back in college doing my Masters, when a colleague, Boru, showed me an American telecommunications paper on ISDN lines, which was an emerging technology at the time. The ISDN cable was measured in Kilo feet. I nearly fell over. Surely the largest bastardisation of unit systems of all time. "Metric Boru" was born that day. It caused a greater shock to my system than when my high school Engineering teacher rounded off Pi to 3. I had to be carted off to sick bay. 20 years later and cycling up to the Halls Gap dam to marvel at the feat of Engineering and equal feat of environmental disaster, I glanced over the presented specifications. The dam had a capacity of 30,000 Acre Feet. I started sweating and getting heart palpitations. I nearly hit the 000 button on my spot satellite tracker so I could be evacuated by the Westpac helicopter to a Melbourne hospital.
"On belay Simo". "Climbing". While myself and Zak have been doing quite a bit of indoor climbing with our new friends in Port Macquarie, its been quite a few years since I have seriously interfaced with the rock. "I'll do 18 off the couch", Mossy confidently waffled to me while sipping a large glass of red one evening in Bright with a no fly day forecast for the following solar cycle. Mossy being a very accomplished climber and way above my skill level. That was 16 months previous and the last time I was on the rock. I wasn't up for, or capable of leading 18 on natural pro "off the couch", but fortunately Mt. Arapiles has fantastic multi-pitch climbs at every grade and is without doubt, Australia's best crag and probably one of the best on the Earth (the little ball of rock and water we live on and are fucking over for numbers on a balance sheet). Two attractive middle aged females with a Tonne of climbing gear hanging off them walked by and waved. "Nice rack" I commented. For some reason, the Pines campground at Araps was filling up at a non-linear rate. I scratched my head, at least we had a good spot.
I have discovered that Darwin's theory of evolution also applies to mobile housing. I have been camping in tents since I was a young fella in Scouts and now for the first time I have a decent 4 wheel drive camper trailer, well 50% of one. When we arrived at Halls Gap in the Grampians we felt like Paupers compared to the flash dual axle caravans that the baby boomer retirees had bought with their cashed in superannuation funds. When we got to Arapiles, we were elevated to the status of Princes, all the climbers with their light weight tents and tarpaulins. Grand for a week or 10 days, but not 5 months on the road. I wonder in 10 or 15 years if will I evolve, increasing capital expenditure and proportionally decreasing any required physical effort with the purchase of a Caravan. Where to from there ?...I have a house already.....well...the bank does! Maybe the evolution should actually be de evolution, removing or reducing the requirement for bricks and mortar, simplifying our lifestyles, being more in tune with the environment, working less and having more free time to spend.........but then again.......that wouldn't be good for the economy.
We opted to tackle several multi-pitch climbs in the range of grade 6 - 11 and about 40 - 70 meters high and while not technically difficult, they were very sporting with some exposed sections that gave me that tight balls feeling on lead. I'm still unsure if there is a female equivalent that the other sex experiences, I won't even attempt to name it here! Add the fact that we were climbing with a group of 5, including 3 kids, on climbs of up to 5 pitches, really adds to the adventure. I lead on two ropes which has several advantages including reducing rope drag, provides another rope to climb to the offspring should they experience trouble, plus doubles your abseiling distance from 30-60M if you need to get down off something. The disadvantages are obviously the extra weight to carry plus the overhead of managing a second rope, but well worth it. Caoimhe accessorised by clipping quick draws, 2 carabiners on a very short piece of sling, onto her harness much to Al's annoyance. "What are you doing with those? You don't need them!", Al protested. "Its looks kool and it matches the pretty rope". We had a lot of fun and the kids really impressed me with their climbing. Its a combination of skill, confidence and fearlessness. Kids live in the moment, something we should all learn from them. Sitting on the top of Pitch 3 of a climb, all clipped into the anchor on a ledge, singing, shouting and laughing. I knew that the only real easy way down, was to go up, but they were oblivious to the risks of their elevated location in space time. When we arrive at a new camping location, the kids radius of operation increases daily as they explore and become more confident in their surroundings. Its analogous to the climbs that we tackled on a daily basis, slowly got harder and more adventurous. We all felt that we were only really gaining momentum when it was time to leave. “When is Easter Al?”. “Simo, you know Easter is exactly the same time every year", Al reminded me. "The first Sunday, after the first full moon, after the Equinox”. How did a Christian feast involving a carpenter with super powers, coming back from the dead 3 days later, to teleport to live with his Dad, who he actually was himself, along with some other dude, get slated on a Pagan calendar ? Not even Superman can do that......or can he......? "Shit, that means its Good Friday today! No wonder this place is getting packed. Lets get outa here!".
We ended up staying with ShaneO in Adelaide for Easter. We go back since we were two years old and I clearly have vague recollection of much of our time together in primary school. By staying in a house which was a bit of a novelty, not only did we miss out on one complete camper trailer transition cycle, we avoided the Easter crowds and we were spoiled by having dinners and breakfasts cooked for us by my first friend. Al felt truly at home in ShaneO's man cave, fully endowed with an Irish/Australian sporting memorabilia shrine and associated bar. Al, assisted by Arthur Guinness and the Easter Bunny developed an egg hunt consisting of x small eggs, y medium eggs , z large eggs and 4 different locations, described by 5 cryptic clues of the standard seen in the Times crossword. "Dad is the Easter bunny really real?". Inflation forced the death of the tooth fairy long ago, particularly when Zak heard of the lucrative rates available in Sydney and the answers to the questions were becoming more difficult to spin. I therefore decided to sacrifice the Easter bunny in an attempt to save Santa Claus for at least another couple of years. "Don't be ridiculous, a Bunny who produces or procures and distributes chocolate eggs...?". "What about Santa Claus then?", I look at Zak in disbelief, "Of course Santa is real!". He smiles and nods in agreement. I have adopted my friend Karen's strategy with "Believe and receive". No further commentary or negotiation is required or allowed.
Before we started out on this trip we said we would travel around Australia in 6 months. In reality, you would need 6 years, this continent is massive and while we stop at all the koolest stuff to see and play, we end up driving past by more than we stop at. The trip is more like a reconnaissance race and way busier then we expected. I'm really excited about the journey up into the Red Centre. I've heard some great stories about Northern Territory and its recently introduced 130kph speed limits.
