Thursday 23 October 2014

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 However, during 2013 victory celebrations at Patonga, we heard that Andrew Layson had withdrawn at Checkpoint 6 (about the 145km mark) with about 25km to go.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 50th 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
 

Sunday 5 October 2014

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. 



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.


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.

Friday 3 October 2014

Rob and Cait go Glamping

ROB AND CAIT GO GLAMPING

Training in the Blue Mountains early 2014, I discovered Leura Forest, the Prince Henry Cliff Walk, the Undercliff Pass, and a host of other goodies. As nice as the training was, I really wanted the chance to take my time and walk the section between Katoomba and Wentworth Falls. I also was hoping that I could convince the lovely Cait to join me.

In my world, this trip would involve a nice camp out. Tents, sleeping bags, suspect water, peeing in the bush. However, this is never going to happen in the real world where happy wives reside. No climbing into a sleeping bag all sweaty and smelly, pooing in a hole, and scary night noises. My girl needs a warm shower, clean clothes and clean sheets, and a glass (or three) of wine and fine dining after a walk. So after a nice bit of net surfing booked us a “camp site” at the Waldorf in Leura, the glamping adventure was all systems go.

Like all good adventures, not all goes to plan. The trip up was painfully slow, so we arrived at the Conservation Hut close to 10.30, not the 9.00 start I had hoped for. This meant we would be out in the hottest part of the day – and the lovely Cait isn't the biggest fan of the heat.

Parked the car, called for a taxi. Taxi arrived, and “Rocket Man” drove like lightning the Echo Point. I think he drove fast enough to go back in time, so maybe we made up some of what we had lost. We screeched to a halt at Echo Point, and off we set.

Being a Monday, it was very quiet. We went down the Giant Staircase, and Cait was introduced to the beauty of Leura Forest. A magical place. 




 We dilly dallied around eating and taking photos. Then it was time to tackle the stairs up to Leura Cascades. These are a challenge to all. After my first training run along this section I could barely walk for a week. I had warned Cait, but I think the reality was more than she had imagined. However, she stuck to the task and did her personal trainer proud.



As we went up, down, sideways on our merry journey, Cait made all the same “ooh” “aah” noises I had made the first time along here (some were in awe, some were because of the climbing). Every turn brings something new. Waterfalls, the Amphitheatre, tracks under cliffs, look outs and views (as well as more stairs).  Of course there are also the Bridal Veil Falls.



oh goody !  more stairs !

The Amphitheatre

Bridal Veil Falls

yep. more stairs
Bridal Veil Falls lookout
We eventually hit Sublime Point Rd and checked out the lovely houses. It was along here that the heat kicked in and my lovely petal began to wilt. The climb up from Lillian's Bridge was not fun for her. She later confessed to looking at my back and thinking “I hate him” as well as visualising horrible ways I could die. All those cliffs I could mysteriously fall from.  "Officer, I told him not to go so close to the edge..." Eventually though, we reached the Conservation Hut after about 14km of ups and downs. The power of a double scoop of ice cream magically turned her toad of a husband back into a Prince. My charms were even more apparent when our rooms turned out to be quite nice. If only the pool had been warm enough for a swim – then I would have started to look like Ryan Gosling (its my blog – I can exaggerate as much as I like). A quick scoot into Katoomba to do some shopping, including a trip to “A Bra Ca Da Bras” for a bra fitting with the lovely Gina (for Cait, not me).

http://www.abraskadabras.com.au/

After a beer at the pub I was definitely back in the good books.  Being tired, we nearly gave in and had left over crackers and soy snacks for dinner in our room, but hauled our butts to a local cheap and cheery Thai restaurant where we had a lovely meal and witnessed the rudest children in history.

The next day we enjoyed a big breakfast and a turn around the lovely gardens at The Waldorf. Then we “broke camp” and returned to the Conservation Hut to complete our walk. A nice stroll along the Shortcut Track to Wentworth Falls warmed our stiff legs a little. Yesterday had left us both a bit achy from all those steps. The Undercliff Pass was fun, and even the vertically challenged Cait had to duck down. I had been taking it easier on her today, but when she started doing tricep dips on the steps I thought maybe I should have planned a harder day.  Then it was down the stairs to under the falls, and onto the National Pass.
Undercliff Pass
Undercliff Pass

Undercliff Pass
so fit she even has time to do some dips

A liitle blue tongue we met along the way
Undercliff Pass

Wentworth Falls

the stairs from Wentworth Falls down to the National Pass.  See the teeny tiny people.

I had only walked the National Pass the first time myself the week before, and was still in awe of the amount of work it must have taken to construct it in the early 1900's. Blokes hanging off rock walls, chipping away with big heavy tools with a bit of rope tied around their waist. Unbelievable. 


Look Rob, it says "many steep steps".  Don't make me want to kill you again.





looking up to Wentworth Falls





Cait and I wandered along playing silly buggers. She was even inspired by the magnificent acting of Sylvester Stallone in "Cliffhanger" (in his memorable role of "Gabe") to try some rock climbing.  Then, inspired by my race photos from TNF100 in May, we took some "race photos" for Cait ( and I said "race", not "racey" so don't get your hopes up boys). It was still early and cool, as well as being a much cooler day than yesterday. We eventually reached the end of the pass, where it meets the Valley of the Waters. Cait was stunned to discover that we were walking a piece of track that I had never walked before. I was a bit nervous, as I had promised it shouldn't be too hard, but wasn't really sure. It was steep, but not too far, and there were stairs, but not too many.
Go Cait Go !  Climb that huge rock wall.








Valley of the Waters and the lovely Cait.  Two of natures true beauties.
The beauty of the Valley of the Waters and some idiot



Upon reaching Empress Falls, we realised where all the yelling had been mysteriously coming from yesterday. I had suspected it was possibly canyoners yesterday (they come down Empress Falls), but a group was jumping into the pool below the falls, and I am sure it was freezing and would make anyone yell. Here is hoping the fun police don't stop this sort of reckless behaviour. They were having a great time in the great outdoors.



We hit the last section below the Conservation Hut and crazy lady started running to the top. Yesterday she wanted to arrange my death, today she is racing me to the top. We got to the car, cooled off, said good bye to our Glamping adventure, and headed into Leura for a spot of dress shopping to make the trip perfect.

Almost the last of the stairs. I promise.  Well maybe a few more. But not too many.  This time I really mean it.
Looking way too chipper methinks.  Obviously what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

And yes, she bought several dresses.  It may be so much cheaper walking alone, but not nearly as much fun.  Time to start saving for the next adventure I guess.