GNW Teralba to Forestry HQ and sort of back again

Great North Walk Teralba to Forestry HQ

As the end of the school term approached, my mind as usual turned to "what adventures could I have".  Out came the maps (*sound of wife sighing*).  Imagination is a wonderful thing (although in my case it can be a bit weird and distracting), and my mind turned to a few long days of walking along the Great North Walk from Teralba (just before Newcastle).  I had my set of Dept of Lands GNW maps, and some course directions from the GNW100s race.  I considered a few options, but decided to simply start at Teralba on Sunday morning, walk for a day, and take it from there.  Do some exploring, be flexible.  Christmas was looming, so my leave pass was for three days tops.  A tentative plan was I would make base camp, spend next day running and exploring, then return back to Teralba.  I have a 64km Bogong to Hotham run in early January, and this was a bit of a training exercise as much as anything else (lots of good hills to climb along this stretch).

Simple ?

Not quite.

Saturday night was an early Xmas gathering, which meant bed time was midnight for a 4.30am wake up for the 5.30am train to Teralba.  I woke early, confused the dogs, downed a thermos of coffee, then headed for the station.

The dawn train to Newcastle was the Living Dead Zombie Express filled with young party goers all passed out and sprawled across train seats.  A sea of scantily clad mascara smeared beauties and boozy bleary eyed blokes.  When the voice announced "next stop Gosford" the undead silently rose and shuffled away, only to be replaced by another bunch of walking corpses, including a fellow covered in blood, cuts and bruises.  I avoided eye contact.  I'm a lover, not a fighter.

I disembarked at Teralba, where I was desperate for a loo.  Really desperate.  Thankfully I discovered a public toilet for teeny tiny people in Anzac Park, then filled up my water bottles, and by 7.30am I was off.

beautiful Teralba

and off we go

The walk started with a big question about water.  I had decided to head this way because with so much recent rain, I worried rivers and creeks would be up elsewhere.  Whereas this notoriously dry part might actually have water for a change.

view to the Sugarloaf Range

After about 6km of road bashing, I came to Wakefield.  A nice little community centre with a big full rain tank.  A good sign.  I had another drink and another desperate loo stop.  A reminder to not stay up late eating and drinking before an early rise (which I will no doubt ignore as usual into the future).

Wakefield Community Centre

Wakefield sees the start of actual trail walking, which should sound lovely, but it is also the unofficial local dump.  Couches, building materials, asbestos, crap at various places along the way.  I did get to walk under the F3 which I found thrilling (don't ask me why), and as the as the trail rose steadily into the Sugarloaf Range, the dumping dwindled.

going under the F3 / M1

The incline got quite steep, and was lined by tape warning "mine subsidence" for the entire climb.  I was passed by a group of bike riders, all safely attired, all riding safely, all giving me a wave.  Obviously they haven't read the biking hoon handbook.  They then disappeared off on a side trail (which was blocked with tape and warning signs and mining company vehicles on the return.  Hope they returned home safe and didn't disappear down a crack in the earth).

For some reason my brain disengaged at this point and I missed the most bleeding obvious right turn off to Brunkerville.  Being a State Forest, it is crisscrossed endlessly by trails (which is why bikes and 4WD love this area).  Not many are marked.  I was now descending a steep section and thinking to myself "wow, this is going to be a sucky climb on the way back".  As the sound of traffic grew louder I had my suspicions, then when a sign appeared I checked my maps and quickly realized I was way off, and that "sucky climb" was going to be sooner than I thought.  I began the return climb in tandem with a 4WD who pipped me at the post.  When I returned to the missed turn with its obviously large signage, I couldn't believe it.  It did put a dent in my plans both in terms of effort and time, but no real problem.

I had hoped to be at Brunkerville Gap by about 11.00, but that was going to be after 12.00 now.  When I hit the start of the downhill with about 3km to go, I was still making good time.  This was put to a halt by a large and incredibly beautiful black snake.  He eventually swam away through the puddle, then I was left to walk carefully onwards.

black snake

down to Brunkerville Gap.  Then up that mountain in the distance.

Arriving at Brunkerville Gap, I refilled all my water bottles.  I didn't want to, because I knew I had a long hard climb up to the other side and the extra weight of water is always a pain.  But you just have to along here because water is unreliable.  I rinsed off under the tap, called the lovely wife for a chat, and munched on trail mix for lunch.  My trail mix this time was fried noodles, some cheap Indian Nibble Mix on special and probably passed its use by date, some salt and vinegar chips the rest of the family had declared inedible, and the dregs of a nibble mix no one was going to finish that had been sitting in the pantry for ages. Deeeeeelicious.

After my rest, I started up to Heaton Lookout.  Oh my word, what a climb.  Just constant up, and very little shade.  All the rumours of this climb are true, and a 14kg pack wasn't helping.  By the top I was dripping sweat and had a nice sit down to cool off at the Communications Tower, then wandered off to Heaton Lookout accompanied by more bike riders.

views half way up

Heaton Lookout

Heaton Lookout has fantastic views, and a surprisingly large number of people were up here.  There were two water tanks.  One vandalised, one working.  Also a nice fellow who was walking the GNW who pointed me in the right direction (maybe I was going the wrong way...again...).

The next section is lovely rainforest, easy enough walking, but which was much slower going than I expected.  In part because all the recent rains and leaf litter have obviously covered over sections of the trail.  This put a real slow on my progress as I scouted around.  I have read some online postings complaining about orange paint markings, but I was most thankful to see them and know I was on the right track.  I did find trickling water in Wallis Creek to treat and top up my water, but I did also manage to lose a bottle down a gap between rocks as I was scrambling about.  I eventually hit 4WD trail again.  And then the fun began.

slow going, but beautiful

After the rainforest section, I was looking for a sign indicating Foster Rd that never appeared.  I backtracked and tried various tracks to match up with my maps and directions, but nothing seemed clear cut. I wasted a lot of time here, and did a lot of extra walking.  With so many 4WD roads, a few more GNW signs would be appreciated.

Eventually a sign indicating Great North Walk pointed off down a side trail.  I was expecting more 4WD road, but followed the trail.  It dropped away to a creek, became very vague, and eventually faded.  At this point I did crack it and got the poos.  After scouting around I decided to simply climb up and hope for the best.  Eventually I hit 4WD trail again and found signage for Glen Rd up to Bakers Rd.

From this point I had been hoping for some water from a creek to treat, but nothing except occasional pools of black death.  My maps indicated possible water tanks, but nothing (it turned out that finding my way to Hunter Lookout I may have found the water tanks, and maybe at Rocky Creek campsite, but hindsight is useless).  I hit the Forestry HQ campsite with its vandalised water tanks and had some thinking to do.

If I pushed on, I may well find myself miles from anywhere with no water.  Not good.  The "possibility" of water at Crawford's Tank in another 20km  was not a chance I wanted to take given what I had experienced so far.  If I tried returning to Heaton Lookout, I might well find myself night walking in rainforest and become somewhat more lost than usual.  Not Good.  I could camp the night, and desperately dole out my water supply and head back tomorrow.  Not so good either.  In hindsight I should either have camped at Heaton Lookout, or collected and treated extra water in my 3L bag at Wallis Creek.

For now, another option was to redirect down Watagan Creek Rd towards civilisation and look for either a creek, a dam, a school - something.

It seems incredible that with so much rain recently, it could be so dry.  I began wandering down towards the farms and there wasn't a sign of moisture along the way.  I hit asphalt and began a long long walk.  As the sun began going down, the temperatures dropped, a cool breeze began, my thirst decreased, and the walking was fairly easy.  I had enough water to keep me going for quite a while, so decided to just keep on going until...whatever turned up. I didn't have a map for this area, but the lie of the land is pretty obvious.  I was just heading back in the direction of Brunkerville, so eventually I decided, if I had to, to simply walk it into Brunkerville.  I was hoping for a school somewhere. They always have water and a clear spot to camp, but no luck.  Lots of signs indicating schools, but they must all be tucked away hidden somewhere.  Watagan Creek Road hit Sandy Creek Rd, and I took the right turn and kept on going. I saw lots of big houses, with lots of big dogs, all of whom heard me and set to barking as I passed by.  Does everyone have at least five dogs up this way ?  The sun eventually went down so I dug out my head torch.  I'm sure I surprised a few drivers as I plodded along.  After each car passed by, I turned off the light and enjoyed the night.  Pure dark skies and a night sky filled with stars.  We miss so much in the city.  I was in a lovely surreal state by now., appreciating that this is truly one of those things people just don't allow themselves to do and I was going to remember this night for a long time (although probably they aren't crazy as me and don't really want to).  Eventually I hit the main road back to Brunkerville Gap, and pushed on into the night.  By now I had begun developing some lovely blisters and was slowing down.  I found a Uniting Church with a water tank and had a refill and a break.  I toyed with the idea of camping here, but as I could now see Brunkerville Gap silhouetted in the distance I decided to finish this thing off.  These last few km were a slog with blisters and sleep deprivation creeping up on me, but being so near the end I kept going; and I was enjoying the challenge of it all.  I had the occasional roar of a truck to keep me alert as I plodded along the road shoulder.

Eventually I hit Brunkerville Gap and returned to my picnic hut where I had enjoyed lunch many hours earlier.  I dug out my 3L bag, filled it up, refilled my smaller bottles, and hobbled off to find a campsite back up the trail.  I noted on the way down that the stretch along here was like baked clay, and that 4WD used it.  I found a spot to the side with a bit of flat, and looked like it would take tent pegs and not get me run over.

Laying out my tent and getting pegs through the ground was hard work, and with my head torch on, every bug in the area was being attracted to me. I was also knackered (it was now after 11.00pm and I had been going now for 15 1/2 hours, and I later mapped out the walk to be 50km with change).  What else could add to the mix ?  How about a 4WD the size of a tank, covered in bars and an assortment of massive lights pointing in every direction lighting up the night like it was daytime !

"Maaate, are you camping here ?!?!"
"yep" 
"Jeeez, you're game"
"well I wasn't expecting company this time of night"
"awwww, maate, lotsa fourby's up here all night long"
"well I am off the road"
"yeah, but, ya never know.  Ya should be OK if they got their lights on.  Hope no one runs over you.  Have a good night"
"Cheers boys.  You have a good night too" 

I then completed the most dismal effort ever at pitching a tent, dived in and zipped up to escape the huge bugs enjoying a tasty late night feast upon my salty body, and stripped off.  I found my big square DECOR food container, slipped it under my head as a pillow, and crashed. 

a dismal effort but did not care

I woke, lay quietly as the sun rose, then as I moved I thought "what is that stench" and quickly realized it was me.  Whew ! What a smell.  Let me out of here.  Of course as I began moving about I remembered I had blisters.  Not the worst I've ever had, but definitely Top 5.

A quick breakfast of powdered milk and MILO and I was ready to face the day.  Except that after about half a km of hobbling I had to stop and drain the blisters.  A slight improvement, but an improvement nonetheless.  It allowed me to enjoy the climb along what I found the nicest part of the walking.  This small section along the spur to Brunkerville is so pretty.

spur up from Bunkerville

The 16km walk back to Teralba was uneventful now I knew where to go.  At Wakefield I halted to strip off, rinse my revoltingly stinky slimy clothes, and wash down.  I sat on the porch of the Community Centre like a homeless man in the sun.  I had brought some sports drink powder, so I mixed this up and had a huge glucose/ electrolytes hit, which got me powering along the road to Teralba in time for an early train home.  At the station I dug into my pack for one of life's great pleasures - a clean fresh shirt.  Bliss.  I bumped into the walker from Heaton Lookout who had been walking five days from Wondabyne.  If he reads this, apologies for my incoherence.  I was a bit weary.  I think his walk sounded much better planned than mine, especially as he seemed to be saying something about water at Hunter Lookout.  Thinking back, so many questions I wanted to ask him.  I did learn a lot though, and next time (oh yeah, there will be a next time) I will have my head around this part of the world a bit better, and a whole bunch of food and gear I just don't need.

I love both walking and running.  Running can orient a lot around events, specific training, or just squeezing it in when you can.  It is its own special pleasure.  Walking can be just as physically challenging (and at times way more), but can have an extra element of freedom and flexibility.  This was a hoot of an experience, despite being absolutely nothing like what I had planned.  Time to rest up, let those blisters heal, and get ready for a 64km run in January.

A Pacer's Tale Part 3 - September 2014

Another year, another spot of pacing at the GNW100 miler. To those unaware, a bunch of crazy people pay to run along the Great North Walk every year. Some stop at Yarramalong (100km), some choose to continue on to Patonga (100 miles). From the 100km mark you are allowed to have a “pacer”. Someone to run with, who can in turn encourage, berate, nag, drag, guide, inspire you. They also make sure you remain safe.

This was my third year running as a pacer. It has become the highlight of my running year.   In 2013 I was lucky enough to pace Gavin Markey as he ran to victory (the previous year we hadn't finished at all). However, during 2013 victory celebrations at Patonga, we heard that Andrew Layson had withdrawn at Checkpoint 6 (about the 145km mark) with about 25km to go. So near yet so far. At the time I had a fairly good idea that I might be running again with Gav in 2014, but also thought that if for some reason that didn't happen, I would like to offer my services to Andrew.

As fate would have it, Gav wasn't able to compete in the 2014 GNW100 miler. This was a hard choice for him, but it did allow me to touch base with the ever humble Mr Layson. He already had a better offer, but when that didn't come to pass, I got the tap on the shoulder.

(NB:  Whilst Gav wasn't able to run 100miles, he still signed up to pace another runner.  So we had a side bet on which of us would reach Patonga first.  If our runners had to die along the way, well that was too bad).

When I began discussions with Andrew about what kind of a time he was hoping for, he was a bit mumbly and cagey. After some waffle about just being happy to finish, doesn't matter when...etc (what a load of garbage), he finally admitted that he had a time in mind. 26:56.

Now to the average man in the street, 26:56 means nothing. However, to an ultra runner aged between 50-59 years, we know this is the course record for our age group. I know because I have had it written in my training diary for two years. Now that is a real time to aim for.

As the big day approached, I received an email with a multitude of spreadsheets attached. I suudenly knew why he didn't finish last year. His brain is obviously too big and heavy. I studied the mountains of information intensely for about two minutes before my head began throbbing. So I simply wrote down his projected leg times, ignored the rest, and I was done.

Race day arrived. I tracked his progress on the website, and all seemed good. Swapped a few SMS with his son Ben, who confirmed he seemed in great shape. So I headed up to Yarramalong a happy little pacer. When Andrew arrived at 100km, his crew (his kids) bounced into action like a V8 Super cars pit crew. Baked beans, coffee, nibblies, socks, jokes. What a great bunch. Then it was time to go running off into the night.

all dressed up with somewhere to go

and off we go

Here is where the fun begins.

As we head up Bumble Hill, Andrew noticed that his second watch (who has a second watch?) was missing. He had borrowed it from Nathan. He needed it to eat (what?) At this point “tired runner brain” was fully engaged. Despite being on record pace, he was intent on turning back. As we shuffled along, I was brainstorming scenarios to ensure this did not occur (“if it's on the road you won't find it”, “if it's at the checkpoint someone will pick it up”, “Nathan's a top bloke, he'll understand”...etc). Even if I had to tie a rope around him, I was NOT letting him go back. Eventually we reached the top of Bumble Hill where we met up with Ben, who calmly took matters in hand.

For a while the excitement of the checkpoint and the watch situation kept Andrew on a real high. He was concerned about the missing watch and knowing when to eat and drink. He seemed confused that I simply drank when I am thirsty. As we ran I could still hear his brain ticking madly and the adrenalin pumping. He was all happy and chatty as we ran the single track down to Dead Horse Creek. However, as we ascended the other side, he became quieter. After a while he said “Rob, I've lost my sparkle”. If I had known this was going to occur, I would have brought some with me. As a preschool teacher, I have lots. Maybe a little bag next year. I promised him that soon we would hit the fire trail, and life would be better. We would find him some sparkle.

We hit the fire trail, and Andrew began buggering around with course directions. Without wanting to sound big headed, I know most of this trail so well I could hop on one leg backwards with a blind fold and still get home. I let him have his fun for a while but really wanted him to kick on. From this point I began describing the course ahead to encourage him not to stop and check directions, and speed him through track intersections.

We reached Somersby in good shape. Andrew had found some of his missing sparkle. He had been eating and drinking extremely well (despite no second watch), and it was paying off. At the check point he sat down to another meal of beans, coffee, and assorted nibblies and looked quite lordly sitting in his chair as his crew fussed over him. As the humble pacer I filled my own hydration bladder and ate the stalest ANZAC cookie ever put on the planet. Then we were off again. The second watch had turned up, but was set up wrong (don't borrow a traithletes watch) and the batteries were failing. He was trying to run and press tiny buttons as well. Again, his big heavy brain was slowing him down.

There is an expression “what happens on the trail, stays on the trail”. Shortly after Somersby, all those beans and coffee began percolating madly. Something was about to happen on the trail. I turned off my head torch and stood serenely in the dark (at a safe distance), gazing up at the stars. So lovely and peaceful. Eventually Andrew caught up to me after leaving a little something to stay on the trail. Off we went again.

I suspect the downhill was a bit more painful than Andrew was letting on. He is such a tough cookie. This is a great section to run with legs in good shape, but murder with burning quads. We decided he should be in the lead, as my being in front would possibly push him harder than was necessary. He was slow, but definitely steady as we continued to consume distance. It was getting very misty, and we managed to pass under Mooney Mooney Bridge without even seeing it.

By now Andrew had begun running equations in his head – a dangerous thing to do. He thought that maybe he had spent too much time at Somersby checkpoint (maybe I agreed). He was also concerned about the time taken this leg. He began trying to remember what time we had left Yarramalong, when we had arived at Somersby, he was trying to remember what his projected split times were, multiply by the number the first number you thought of, divide by your birthday...etc. Way too many numbers crunching around up in his tired head. Gibberish. However, Andrew was flying, we were near Checkpoint 6, with about 30km to go and about 5 ½ hours to get the record.

We flew through the last check point. I was stuffing my pockets with pretzels, and I heard rumour of Pizza Shapes, so I grabbed a bag. Off we went. I soon discovered that pretzels are hard to swallow on the run, but got them down anyway. Then I began trying to open up my little baggie of Pizza Shapes, and in that wee moment of distraction I tripped. A little way back we had been discussing how time slows when you fall. It doesn't slow that much, and as I fell and rolled, I did manage to smash my arm and smack my head a treat. Andrew turned to check on me, I said I was fine (not really). The real miracle was somehow falling, and opening my baggie of Pizza Shapes, and jumping up to run without spilling one. Pure genius. I ran on munching happily.

Just as I finished the Shapes and stowed my rubbish in a pocket, a large muddy puddle loomed. Andrew seemed to glide over it. I saw a small rock he must have trod on, but the moment my foot touched it, the world disappeared and I did the biggest belly flop/ face plant combo. Again Andrew turned to check what had happened, again I said I was fine, but I was covered in cuts and bumps, all well disguised by the layers of mud dripping off me (and it stank) – but no whinging now.

Andrew was worried about our slow progress up the hill. I thought he had worked out a perfect split for this section (4:44) and we were right on track. I kept reassuring him that a slow climb was perfect, because it was all very runnable after this. He was eating and drinking, it was perfect prep for the last push.

When we finally reached the top (at 158.1km), Andrew began playing silly buggers again with his laminated course directions, standing there trying to make sense of all those tiny numbers, trying to orient the numbers to north or something. I asked for them to check something (maybe a little white lie) then ran away. If he wanted a look he had to catch me. I didn't hand them back until we were at 169.7km (I know this detail because I still had the course directions) and only fire trail to go.

Last year, after the big climb, this was where last year Gavin could really “smell the barn” and began powering to the finish. From here on I was trying to stay ahead of Andrew to double check small turns and twists so he wouldn't have to muck around (I think I lost him twice which isn't bad in this complicated section), but staying ahead of him was hard in places because he was flying. In my head, if we could maintain a steady pace he had the record – but he was going way faster than I expected. He was still trying to perform some weird maths in his head and wasn't sure about the record, but I was. We were miles ahead.

A few times I thought he was going to kill me he was going so hard, but a nice descent down from Warrah Trig to the sunny sands of Patonga slowed him down (I still had fresh 70km legs after all). Not that it mattered. All the hard work was done. I gave him a firm handshake just before we hit the beach, and invited him to lead the way to glory. Whereupon he promptly set off in the wrong direction. I ran ahead of him for a while longer until I was sure he was heading the right way, then let him fly off to the finish. Old record 26:56. New record 26:15. Well done Mr Layson. You are a legend.

Here we come

All done and dusted

Not content with beating me to Patonga, Gav resorted to fisticuffs to affirm his physical superiority.  Next time pick on someone your own size and age Gav.

Glenbrook Trail Marathon August 2014

The Glenbrook Trail Marathon has been on my “to do” for a few years. However, it was always on a date that didn't work. One year the choice was a) wedding anniversary or b) run a marathon (or to rephrase it “stay happily married or run a marathon”).

2014 saw it fall on Sunday August 24 – a day and week end totally free of any commitments. A miracle. The appropriate marital leave forms were submitted early and were approved by the lovely Cait. Of course the moment I actually paid and entered, a 50^th birthday jumped out of nowhere for the Saturday. My leave pass needed to be reassessed, but it was still all good. I just needed to leave the party at 9.30pm before I turned into a pumpkin. The Saturday night was cold and miserable, so leaving early wasn't too bad an option. So on the dot of 9.30 pm (sort of) and after only two beers (sort of) it was home to bed.

Waking at 4.15am I was all bouncy. I read about others being nervous before an event, but I slept so well. The weeks leading up to the race had been constant rain, and it was dark and cloudy as I head off, but just as I turned off the M7 and head west to the Blue Mountains, the clouds parted and the most beautiful sunrise began - and only got better as the day went on. It became a lovely warm and toasty day indeed.

In previous years before Glenbrook, I had run 6 Ft Track and Glow Worm Tunnel trail marathons. Both took over 5 ¾ hours . Today I was hoping to break 5 hours, but I wasn't too cocky. Trails, hills, and single track have a habit of smashing you. My training had gone well though, and I had had a screaming run on the last Wednesday night run. I wondered was I able to run that well for 42 km ?

To add a bit more spice, I had been joking about not getting “chicked” by Hannah, Karin and Alison. Hannah has a killer 21km time, and Alison keeps up with her pretty well (as my super secret STRAVA spying indicated). Karin is crazy and keeps on improving. I had my work cut out – but it added a nice spice to proceedings.

Pre-race was all chatty and buzzy.  Definitely the most relaxed and social start I have ever had to an event.  7.30am we lined up, someone said something about the course (hope it wasn't important because I couldn't hear a word), then we were off. We kind of went wandering all around – tracks, trails, creeks, up, down, then suddenly we were on open fire trail. I had decided not to hang around the back today and to push things harder than ever. Sub 5 hour or bust. The big plus to this was not getting stuck behind slower runners (lots walking already). - the minus being I did feel like maybe a had gone a bit too hard. Only one way to find out. Shut up and keep running.

Next was the big climb up to Mt Portal Lookout. It was nice passing so many people dying on the hill, but it did make me wonder again was I going too hard ?

One of the mysteries of a run with 25/ 34/ 42km options is that you never know who is doing what - who is out to race, who is out to wander about, who is aiming for a fast time, who is dawdling. It is difficult to assess your own effort by others. I reached the turn around at Mt Portal happy with the shape I was in, and began heading back. In my head, Hannah was probably hanging back with Alison who was running her first marathon, so I didn't need to keep pushing so hard to avoid being “chicked”. Those two are such good friends, they are probably chatting away, Hannah kindly offering words of encouragement. Wrong. “Hi Rob”. Hannah had her race face (smiling assassin) on as she steamed towards the turnaround only moments behind me. Suddenly Alison was there as well, and soon after Karin. Game on. Can't relax now.

About this time my two large coffees and sipping water on the drive up became an issue. A nice quick downhill run did absolutely nothing to help my bladder and I had to head off trail for a quick break – at which point Hannah tore past me.

Getting back on the trail, I settled in to keeping up with Hannah. I did, but it hurt. We hit a long downhill section of single trail. I upped the pace, but still couldn't catch her as she ran like a mountain goat. Then we hit the tricky track to Red Hands Cave. This is extremely technical and I finally caught and passed her (all my night runs paid off). However, I knew the course had lots of road running, and she is so much faster than me and plenty of time to leave me for dead. I didn't really have a problem with being beaten, and it was a great bit of fun to keep me pushing.

We hit the open trail and settled into about 25km of hard slog. Some didn't like this part but I was happy just to be out on some nice trails through the Aussie bush as the sun shone warmly down. It was lovely day for a bushwalk (but silly me, I was running).

I have read that you can't really teach running. True in part, but also rubbish. This course had lots of long steady inclines, and a lot of runners had such long clumpy strides. Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! Every time they hit an incline they slowed down. Like a good little trail runner I shortened my stride and kept my cadence steady (or even increased it). Pit pat pit pat. One fellow was doing his best to hold me off. We hit a downhill and he would go thumping past me trying to maintain his long stride. The trail would rise and I would go sneaking ahead. Pit pat pit pat. We kept this unspoken battle going for several km until he went “uuhh” and started walking. I kept on pit pat pit pat.

One of the enjoyable aspects of this course was the occasional crossing paths with the elite runners. The guys and gals with those quick legs and lovely clean strides, those things that some lucky folks are just born with *sigh* and us mere mortals can only dream about. No tired shuffling, even though their faces showed they were running out of their skins.

Heading back from Nepean Lookout I was wondering how much lead I had on Hannah. “Hi Rob”. A very short lead. “Hi Rob”. Alison as well ? Her first marathon ? Really ? Glad I didn't have money on the race. I also passed Karin who wasn't too close behind but still had the energy to give me a fake Hi 5 and ran off laughing. If she wasn't so busy having fun she could be so much faster.

Finally reached the last aid station. 5km to go. YAY ! Big shout out to the aid station helpers. “5km to go” I yelled. “no, its 7km” was the answer. WHAT ! It seems that Glenbrook is actually 44km, not 42. I hoped it was a joke because I was just hanging in there – but they weren't kidding. I had been chasing a girl with red hair to drag me along, but she dropped me like a turd at the aid station. Then I had a brain fart and just wanted to slow down just so badly.

At this point I was just constantly assessing myself. My breathing, my sense of effort, my legs, my cadence. Keep tall and don't slouch. Don't get sloppy. Trying to maintain a steady pace. Amazing how much it can take your mind off the pain (for a while) and helps to distance the hurt. Like meditating and being the self who watches. In my head I looked like Usain Bolt. Video replays might suggest I looked like Cliffy Young having a bad day – but its what's in your head that counts !! All this works for a while and then BANG ! The pain returns. So you start all over again.

Throughout the run I had been running a cracking (for me anyway) pace. My brain started doing sums that kept saying that if (big if) I could keep my same pace for the last 15km I would do the 44km in under 4 ½ hours. One voice was saying “don't worry, it's still under 5 hours, doesn't matter if you get chicked, slow down, this hurts”. The other voice was kicking my butt and saying “if you slow down now you will be so bummed about five minutes after you finish” - and I knew that voice was right (the voice sounded suspiciously like Gavin Markey and Michael Sims combined). When I finally hit that last km I got the biggest rush and flew to the finish (well maybe I flew like a penguin). 4:22 ! Didn't get chicked ! - but damn it was close. Those girls are tough to beat. I suspect they would have crushed me in the 25km event. I definitely know I wouldn't have run so hard without the “chick challenge”. Thanks girls. 

Not too hard to guess which one is me

 

PORTO RIDGE

After years of walking and running between Cowan and Brooklyn, I recently looked up at the ridge behind the old Brooklyn dam and began thinking "I wonder if...  From that point I began noticing what might be possible signs that others had climbed up there.  This is where every broken twig becomes a sign that there is a way up.  Surely that means someone has climbed up (usually a wrong assumption though and just wishful thinking).

Of course in this day and age you can also bang a couple of search words into Google and "presto" - you soon discover that others have had the same thought and apparently been doing it for years.  A big thanks to all those who post photos and trip reports. 

http://www.bushclub.org.au/PhotoPages/BrooklynPortoRidgeLoopDec12JK.htm

Time to dig out the maps and get busy.

I set out from Parsley Bay (Brooklyn) on a nicely humid and toasty day.  The final days of holidays, and nothing better than a nice bit of exploring to round things off. Up the enormous concrete ramp from Brooklyn to the GNW, then time to start scouting for signs of where others may have gone off trail through the bush to Porto Ridge.

A bit of tape tied to a tree ?  Could that be it ? That didn't look too promising.  A nice side trail led me to a nice sandstone shelf and nice views, but dropped me way below the ridge, and no amount of scouting brought any further trail.  So a backtrack to the GNW.

the nice little clear side trail on the left is NOT the right way.  Just some nice views.  Time to backtrack.

No amount of searching brought results.  A lovely bird song had me fascinated, so I stopped and stood whistling back to my birdy friend, and took some photos.  At which point I looked down and saw a good sized rock cairn at my feet, next to a faint but clear trail winding off into the bush.  Thank you little birdy.

My little birdy friend

A nice cairn and a trail.  What more could you ask for (how did I miss it ?)

Off I set.  All rather closed in, but very clear and definite. 

some nice scrambly bits as well

I reached the ridge, and had a view of Peak Hill.  Apparently I was going to be over there soon.

Peak Hill away in the distance

However, reports of snake sightings had me travelling slowly and carefully.  It was such delightfully snakey weather, so I was in no hurry.   Lots of foot stomping.

http://www.abc.net.au/local/stories/2014/10/03/4100120.htm 

A few places along the way large sandstone shelves required scouting around to see where the track resumed, but nothing too hard.  One section went west to views over the dam and over the river so another backtrack was required, but then it was on the Peak Hill.

Brooklyn Dam

Peak Hill.  One of those places I have seen for years with absolutely no idea it even had a name, that there was a track, and it was climbable.  I was very curious as to whether the track would go over or around it.  As I plodded along, it soon became clear that the track went straight up to the top.

Peak Hill.  Just follow the cairns

Peak Hill.  Nearly there

A bit of scrambling and mountain goat work, and I was on the summit with 360 degree views.

climbing Peak Hill

climbing Peak Hill

view from Peak Hill over Broken Bay

view from Peak Hill to Mt Wondabyne.  I was there three weeks ago, but that is another blog for another day (A Pacer's Tale - Part 3. Posted soon).

After taking in the sights, I began scouting for a track down the other side.  It was here that things became interesting.  Either I completely missed something, or there is no real track down to Sandy Bay.  I suspect the track out may be walked as a return trip more often than as a trip down to Sandy Bay.  Even getting off the top was a trick and I eventually improvised with a  bit of rock scrambling off the top.  From what I could gather, I needed to slide along the western/ left hand side of the spur to reach the creek leading to Sandy Bay.  However incredibly dense bush and a cliff line made this difficult.  

looking back up at the cliff line

 As I descended, I crossed back and forth across the spur in hopes of striking a track, but I found nothing.  An occasional rock cairn suggested I was doing something right, but absolutely no clearly discernible path.  Just random cairns bearing absolutely no relationship to anything I could see.  Just a reminder that at some point someone else as silly as me had passed this way (which was no great comfort at all).  Reaching a small cliff line, a bit more stunt work and scrambling got me down, but everything was covered in deep leaf litter and my snake alert meter was fully engaged.

I need to get down there somehow

Eventually I hit the small creek.  A dry waterfall was an immediate hurdle, but a bit of bush bashing around to the right dropped me past it, and then it was a simple bit of rock hopping (about 1/2 a km) down to Sandy Bay.

looking down the creek

Sandy Bay emerging through the trees

Sandy Bay with not a foot print in sight

The tide was out, so I had a crack at walking back along the shoreline.  However, land soon ran out, and I was forced to scramble on my hands and knees like a drunk goanna up to find where a trail (I hoped) would head back to Brooklyn.  There was indeed a trail (which next time I will sensibly start at Sandy Bay) and it meandered along to Dead Horse Bay and finally on to emerge at Parsley Bay (Brooklyn) next to the toilet block.  8km, 1 litre of water, a muesli bar and 4.5 hours later, mission accomplished.

 

I tried the shore line but no luck

Parsley Bay.  The track ends just to the right of the cave.  Someone has even painted Dead Horse Bay which I had never noticed before.