Outback in two movements - Moonarie

Moonarie in hand-jam major

Neil has been trying to get me to go to Moonarie for about 15 years.  Part of the problem is that from Sydney, it's about twice as long a trip as getting to Araps.  Instead of 13 hrs you are looking at approx 18, before you find yourself trundling through a rutted track on the eastern edge of Wilpena Pound in the Flinders Ranges, to a dusty campsite that would be home for the next week.  Despite it being the premiere crag of South Australia, and peak season, we were the only inhabitants.  The cliff loomed to the west, but it takes a good 40 to 50 min of uphill trudge to gain the 400 meters of elevation to get there.  Fortunately, most of the heavy lifting is done on the first day, lugging hardware, ropes and paraphernalia up to "top  camp", the only bit of bivyable flat rock at the junction of the two main sections of cliff; Checkers wall to the left and the Flying Buttress and Ramparts to the right.  A water tank, which collects a seep, is not far away, so not even water needs to be carted up the hill on a daily basis, just lunch and a few swigs worth of aqua for the journey.

To say Moonarie is an adventure cliff is an understatement.  Most of the lines follow cracks, with the easier the grade the greater the potential for catastrophe.  If you fall on the easier stuff you are going to hit something.  Rescue would not be trivial, but Neil had an EPIRB in tow just in case.  The Leader Does Not Fall, was far preferable to having to hit a button.

After basking in sun at top camp that first morning, we got the ball rolling with a 3 star big easy, Nervine (12, 3 pitches).  Pine Crack (19, 2 pitches) was next, and whilst Neil thought the hardest move was getting off the deck, I struggled with the jamming section in the middle and took a rest.  The following ramp was also not trivial, so my confidence was a little shaken by the time I reached the belay.  Neil kindly tackled the gymnastic overhang of the second pitch (also 19) which, again, he did in fine style.  To finish the day and settle nerves I lead the pleasant corner pitch of Thor (16).  We ditched ropes and racks at top camp and plodded home.  

Nervine (12)

Neil, spreading'em on Pine Crack (19)

Another party, Nige and Bev on Pine Crack

 Nice rock on Thor (16)

Our second day started chilling in the shade on a couple of single pitchers: Vortex (17), which I thought pretty full-on, given awkward gear placements; then Neil ticked the neighbouring Buckets (19), essentially a sports route with 4 bolts in 25 meters.  Given the lure of more fixed hangers, Neil then embarked on the single pitch of Toblerone (20).  The only problem, however, was that moves to the highly placed first bolt were strenuous and poorly protected.  After some hemming and hawing he backed off and escaped into the corner.  I came up on second.  Neil wedged a tape knot into a constriction, allowing our escape.  

 Neil on The Buckets (19)

We finished the day at the far RH side of the cliff to gawk at the jewel in the Moonarie crown, the Great Wall, a beautiful steepening orange marvel, 50 meters high and 100 meters wide.  Not even Araps has anything that quite matches it.  It's easiest weakness is the LHS arête, Outside Chance (16), which was a joy to lead.  Good gear and position on perfect rock.  For the second pitch Neil led Buckleys (17), which boasts quite a bit more punch for the extra grade.  As we trundled back to camp I could feel that pretty much every muscle in my body was now sore, to the extent that my recently acquired tendinitis in my left elbow no longer stood out.  We decide that the following day would be a "rest day", and that we'd restrict climbing to one of the 3-star big easies.  

 The Great Wall

Outside Chance (16)

Day 3 was a hot one, and the obvious choice was The Flying Buttress route (5 pitches, three at 15), straight up the guts of the buttress itself (Moonarie's answer to The Bard).  It's gargoyle blockiness kept the central line in shade.  Like with many of the routes here, pitch lengths didn't quite match the descriptions, but it turned out to be a pleasant ramble none the less.  That said, if ever there was a climb you didn't want to take a tumble on, this was it.  In the afternoon we trundled into Hawker to update supplies of water, ice, and beer.

 The Flying Buttress (15)

somewhere high on pitch 4

The sign marks the narrow descent scramble

We weren't the only ones at the cliff.  Around camp wandered kangas, emus and sheep.  On the daily hike in our movements were perused from on high by various possies of goats.  Much like a clichéd western, they held the high ground whilst we plodded up through the gullies.  Random bleatings rung out through the day.  One of the lower cliff lines , Goat Crag is so named in homage, with most of the routes themed appropriately - conjuring route names kept us amused during afternoon beers; we thought  "Goat on a Rope ", "In Goat we Trust", and the more modern "Stop the Goats" were obvious oversights.

Bummer of a birthmark

Bird wise, the campsite was super, with the usual assortment of  species one might expect in an inland cypress landscape - red capped robin, weebill, spiny-cheeked and brown headed HE, striated pardalote, yellow rumpled thornbill, whiteface, Horsfields-bronze and black-eared cuckoo, and the enthusiastic rufous whistler.  An unfamiliar but sweet call turned out be a new tick altogether; southern scrub robin.  Up at the cliff the white-eared HE of the lowland scrub was replaced by the spectacular but poorly named grey-fronted.  Another first for me were the Little Woodswallows,  which surfed the cliff eddies along with welcome swallows and fairy martins.  At the top of the crag the stunted vegetation was flooded with the feeble pees of black HE.  Raptor wise, the odd wedgey or kestrel would show.  The other notable tick was Shy Heathren on call, but he was too quick for me to capture on film.

 eggs on legs  

  red capped robin

 rufous whistler

 grey-fronted HE (aka mega-plumed or bubble bird) 

 spiney cheeked HE showing his hipster lamb chops

Day 4 started with the classic Pogoda route up the middle of Checkers Wall (15 going on 17,  4 pitches).  On the third pitch the obvious RH line turned out to be a little more committing than I was expecting with tricky gear in strenuous positions.  Turns out we'd taken a more direct line than that proposed by the guidebook.  Although body and headspace were weary, Neil had us trudging back to the Great Wall so I could have a crack at the 3 star mega classic, Downwind of Angels (19).  It didn't disappoint.  Perfect rock, gear and moves for the 40 meter first pitch. I had to talk myself through fatigue in several of the jamming difficulties as the climb tilted back, but I was thrilled to reach the belay of probably the best pitch at the grade I've ever climbed.  Worth the drive all by itself!  Neil pushed through the short second pitch (also 19 and involving the J word), before we retreated for beer.

Checkers Wall, with the Pogoda in the middle

 Neil on the Pogoda flake

 Downwind of Angels (19), pitch one 

Three nuts and a cam at the belay 

Day 5 started with some sport routes on Checkers wall: Mr Ordinary (21), which was actually really good apart from my inability to tick it onsight without resting on the last bolt; and Better Out Than In (18), which seemed to culminate in a single ring, which we weren't entirely happy with.

Mr Ordinary (21)

Better out than in (18)

Buoyed by a solid start, Neil was keen to jump on a wall route he ticked 15 years ago, The Endless Pitch (23).  Neil was probably climbing better back in the day as this time he ran into difficulty about a third of the way up, culminating in a bit of a hang and a whip, before bailing into the corner.   The corner itself was a 3-star classic, Miles from Nowhere (18), so we opted to keep going.  The second pitch (18), had me grovel through a cruxy jam section, before easier ground blasted up the remainder of a terrific corner.  The last pitch was Neil's (16) and involved launching into an improbable bottomless chimney - improbable because Neil could barely squeeze into it.  It took about 10 min of convulsive thrutching for his entire body to be consumed.  It wasn’t over.  After exiting the first chimney, a second chimney loomed, and halfway up this one's gaze eventually settles face to face with a mummified goat, which must have fallen in.  It had perfect dentition.  At the beer debrief Neil concluded that Moonarie was not the place to be pushing grades, and we both acknowledged that more than just trips to the gym would be requisite before another visit.

 Never Ending Pitch (23) 

  Miles From Nowhere (18), second pitch 

Our 6th straight climbing day on the trot loomed and we started with Asimov, with two pitches at 16.  The first was a joy to lead but the second pitch looked an entirely different kettle of goat; through some "meaty" territory, which Neil correctly interpreted as meaning lumpy and poorly protected.  So much so that after having a good look he backed off and found a corner system to the RHS, which we finished up. There was time enough for one last pitch, with Moondance (15) getting the nod.  I found the middle section quite spartan gear wise despite looking featured enough from the ground.  The biggest climb of the day, however, was cleaning out top camp and lugging it all back down the hill.

Asimov (16)

Moondance (15)

By this stage some climbers from the UK, Nige and Bev, had also been at Moonarie for a few days.  As Neil and I downed a beer at the tents, we worried about their progress on a route up the side of the Flying Buttress, following their movements through my birdwatching scope.  We were fairly sure they'd bail with shadows lengthening fast, but unbelievably they pressed on.  We knew they hadn't been down the descent gully before, which is tricksy enough by day, so I resigned myself to running up the track one last time with a pair of AYUP LEDs to help them down.  I complicated things further just before leaving camp, by treading on my specs and breaking them properly this time, although at least the lenses were intact.  Fortunately Nige and Bev were well into the descent gully by the time I got to them, so potential epic avoided.  

Next morning we packed up, ice-blocked at Hawker, then headed south to the Clare Valley, where Neil sniffed, sipped and spoke a different language, culminating in a box of this and that to be shipped back to Sydney.  We rolled into Adelaide just after 4, checked into a hotel, and I was lucky enough to find a magician at the local chapter of OPSM just before closing, who conjured some hipster Frankenspecs by fitting my lenses into some junk frames they weren't designed for, even finding one arm that matched.  A weeks outback birding without specs would have been a disaster.  Thus concluded the first part of my adventure.  Thanks Neil for introducing me to such an amazing cliff, and for the camaraderie, cooking and laughs we had along the way.  The following day Neil flew out and Anita flew in, whence our Strezelecki adventure would begin.

The Big Kowalski

Last year the Kowalski was one of my most solid and enjoyable squiggle performances (flow and enjoyment often go hand in hand) on what I considered a perfect 90 km loop, so I was keen to front up again and reassess.  Realistically though, I wasn’t anticipating quite as good an outcome.  My last race was 7 weeks ago after which fitness got flushed away in a wet month.  Additionally, the organisers puffed the distance out to 100 clicks, which was going to add another 30 min to the equation.  I was curious to know whether such an extension (like the rug) would “tie the room together”.  As for each edition thus far, the course was quite different from the one prior, with most of the climbing difficulty this year coming in the second 50.

The first 50 was mostly played out in the magical trails of Sparrow Hill, and for me turned out to be quite a disappointment performance-wise.  Starting in the second non-elite wave I struggled to find my mojo and hold wheels, in part because the half and full-distance riders, even though seeded, were started together.  I could comfortably hold my own on the climbs but I just didn’t have the ooze in the twists (hundreds of these) and consequently succumbed to the constant hounding from riders burning hotter over the shorted distance. This was at its worst about 20 km in when another group of red-blooded 50 km guns from the following wave started aggressively demanding track – apparently the no-d*ckhead policy of the  Choc Foot 7 hr series didn’t apply here. 

I eventually found good chunks of free track upon which to focus but undid it all by missing a corner and losing a minute in the about face.  In an instant I was now trailing riders I’d fought hard to claw ahead of, not to speak of losing a rhythm that would have to be regained.  Towards the end of the lap the diesel started to kick in and I started pulling in riders one by one, then being passed by some of them again on loose descents.  “I’m guessing you’re a roadie”, quipped one.  It was that obvious.

I passed through the 50 split at 2:38 (70^th outright  (of 280) and 20^th in Masters), which turned out to be about 10 minutes adrift of riders such as Israel and Moore, whom are in a similar league, at least in the engine room department.  That's the sort of handicap a poor skill set can dish out when applied to a course built for technicians.

Hence began the second 50, exclusively in Kowen, which turned out to be a far more enjoyable experience, albeit in a painful kind of way.  That is to say it I started the loop pretty rooted, but that's true for most in this game.  Faced with mega amounts of climbing and numerous rough fresh-cut connectors, I felt the pendulum slightly swing back to my favour as, one by one, more riders succumbed to my brand of chugging.  Favourite bits were the almost airbrushed-smooth groove and gloom of the enchanted forest, and the fabulous escalator climb and accompanying rooftop jungle sector.  Loads of squawks from yellow-tailed blacks and choughs as periodic diversions.  I finished a strong second half to come home in 5:18, only 4 min adrift of Israel and 3 from Moore – almost identical gaps to last year’s edition, placing me 11^th in Masters and 40^th outright in a hotter field. 

I finished with over a liter of un-guzzled fluid courtesy of my non-stop strategy, which was another self-inflicted handicap, which might have to be rectified next time.  If I’m only going through 4 bottles in such an outing I might as well swap two at the 50 and not carry anything on my back as I’ve done in the past, although the camelback does make drinking easier.  Not my best performance, but as good as I could muster on the day, with obvious places for improvement, and for the record (because I know I’ll forget), nearly everyone thought a dually was the smarter option. 

The soggies were also admirably represented by Anita and Sara in the half, and GK in the full.  Both the girls seemed to enjoy the outing; in Anita’s case despite a handful of minor offs which produced an assortment of interesting scratches and bruises and, in Sara’s case, an incident-free run off the back of a hamstring tear which almost had her not take to the start.  Anita was most relieved I’d talked her out of ticking the 100 box, whilst GK, who had a grand day out on little preparation, perhaps wished he hadn’t.  100 km on the dirt is a long way no matter how you cut it.

We’ll be back at Kowen in just over a month for the short-track convenience of the rescheduled Mont 24.  Should be a cracker!

More escaping the wet - camera 2

Escaping the wet

--> On Monday morning the radio news reported that only 3 of the last 27 days in Sydney have been rain free.  Sums up nicely why, on a bit of a whim (and with inspiration from an article provided by Kev  - along the lines of “get out and do stuff!”), the Mudge and I bailed for the ACT on Friday eve.  On Saturday, albeit with a chill in the air, we bashed our way round the Centenary trail.  Only got magpie’d twice, and sorted out the Arboretum fiddle.  Even managed to finish before dark this time (10 hrs 40 min hotel-hotel for the 150 km).  Vibrant yellows of acacias flowering en-masse replaced the autumnal oranges and reds of our sortie in April.  Seem to have aggravated some tendinitis of the elbow – the result of lifting two bikes over 28 gates (should make climbing in the desert interesting later this month), but otherwise was well worth another look.  On Sunday took in breakfast at the Arboretum before dabbling at Stromlo and the lake before heading home.  It never ceases to amaze just how good the ACT bike infrastructure is, both on and off road.  No wonder the ACT punches well above its weight in the cycle racing department.

A good Awaba Whacking - ChocFoot7hr Rd3

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If Mogo was the Alpes, Awaba is the Pyrenees.  Gentle gradients and swooping non-technical descents are swapped for an assortment of nasty pinches, technical, loose, shuddering plummets, jungle warfare and general rugga-bugga.  Whilst both courses are climb-heavy, the buttocks and hands much prefer the former.  In last year’s Awaba jaunt I did well until the 5 hr mark when things started to go wrong in the engine room, culminating in slipping from 2^nd to off the podium on the last lap.

I was hoping to maintain some good form after the Mogo triumph.  This was largely intact despite spending the intermediate Saturday in bed.  Thankfully, come race day the coughing had largely abated and I was again ready to roll.  Had the phases of the moon been out by a week, I’d likely have been a non-starter in both events.  On the radar were a solid Bridgland astride a Specialized dually, and what was sure to be a McAvoy revival, if Strava rumblings were any indication.  Like me, Jason gambled on the hardtail option.

It was announced at the briefing that number plates were now colour coded in one of 4 flavours, to help seed the start.  However, enjoying chit-chat with Bridgland down the back had me miss this little technicality.  By the time I registered my number plate was red (= front runners) it was too late to push my way through.  Anyway, I was convinced it wouldn't count for too much over the 7 hours that were to follow.  By the time I was into the singletrack both Jason and Ian were well out of sight and there was no doubt I was in for a long chase.  

I'd caught glimpses of Jason on the first lap but it wasn't until midway through about the third lap that I finally made contact.  Even sitting on, however, proved difficult due to the pace and repeatedly getting gapped by traffic.  Burning a match here, a match there, it was status yo-yo before I was able to make my move on what was arguably the pivotal piece of track for the day, the brutal camelback climb up the back of the course.  In last year's edition the course sidled through switchbacks to negotiate the climb.  This year it was straight up the guts for 200 meters of pinch climb pain.  

Tractoring past I had my first twinges of cramp for the day - definitely not a good sign so early.  In any case, the effort had been expended, the weakness (hopefully) disguised, and the gap was established.  Not even a km later, however, I undid it all by binning it on a tight loose right-hander.  Having dusted myself off and re-fitted the dropped chain (the second time for the day), I then had to wait for Jason and a few others to file through before re-mounting and continuing the descent.  After all that lead up work I was back where I was a lap prior.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Jason was gone.  Even 10 sec on this course can be enough to put one largely out of view.  Psychologically, losing your target can be a big factor for the chaser, especially when you are burning as hot as you dare for no apparent gain.  Hammer time, and I couldn’t touch this!  I lost sight of Jason for maybe two laps, even on the bits where the course opens up.   If he could maintain this pace that was it.  But every effort has to be paid for and all of a sudden he magically reappeared on the track ahead.  

Depending on feeding and hydration one oscillates between just going through the motions and spitting fire when all is in balance.  I was enjoying a fast spell when re-gaining contact, and this time made my pass definitive.  Jason offered me encouragement and the beta that Bridgland was just 3 min up the track.  The way I was travelling I believed that catching Ian was inevitable, probably for both of us.  

Like I said, every effort has to be paid for, and my period of invincibility soon spluttered in an almighty battle through cramp to even clean the camelback climb later that lap.    Back to chugging, focusing on just keeping the rubber side down through the rough.  Ed McDonald caught me at about 4:20 (late for me) so I knew the pace thus far had been quick.  I was hoping Bridgland would start to fade, but the gap, kindly provided by Kylie McAvoy in the pit area, was holding firm at 3-4 min.  

In the last two hours survival trumped speed, with cramp never far away.  The hands were blistered from the corrugations and the lower back and arms were aching.  Such a tough track, mentally as well, offering very few places to switch off or feed and drink.  Near the end of my penultimate loop I noticed Jason closing again through the switchback trees below, well inside a minute back, coincidentally almost in the identical place as happened with Phil a year ago.  

All in then, through gritted teeth for the 11th and last lap.  I survived the late scare, finishing just 2 min shy of Ian, who had a terrific outing, and, like me last week, picked up his first 7 hr win.  Awesome effort!  Credit to Jason for re-discovering some lost form (didn’t take long!) and pushing me so hard throughout.  He's been one of the enduro benchmarks for as long as I've been racing fatties, so it's a thrill to be in a similar ring, if only briefly, although I do think he needs to put more effort back into his swimming ;-).

The aftermath.  Well, it's Tuesday and I'm still trashed.  I've honestly come out of 24 solos in better nick.  Mental note that a dually is the more appropriate tool for future dances at Awaba.  

Chocolate Mogo

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Singletrack Mind Rd2, Mogo

I thought Id start with a picture to illustrate that unbelievably I've managed the top step in Masters for a 7 hr mtb race.  But before I get too carried away with my own magnificence, there are a few caveats to acknowledge.  Firstly, some of the gun protagonists were absent (Adams, Brodie, Morris etc).  Second, the ever-youthful James now has his own super-masters category to crush.  Third, other combatants opted for the 4hr version of proceedings (Moore), or, like Master Welch (my usual sparing partner), raced as pairs. 

Perhaps most significantly, however, the raging favourite with the bookies, Mr McAvoy, had, as the French would say, "un jour sans" (or a “shocker”, as he later acknowledged)- still suffering from flu, carrying a hand injury, and to top it off had been eschewing the bike for the joys of swimming and running, as is demanded by triathlon.  But this was unknown to me as we assembled in the chilled air at the dog’s breakfast known as the start.  I fully expected not to see him again.

I'd been sick the weekend prior as well, but felt I was on the up.  We funnelled into the singletrack and before long I was most surprised to catch glimpses of Jason, not too far ahead in the conga line.  I methodically sniped places and half way up the 2 km climb which dominates the first half of the course I attached myself to his wheel, getting the impression that the universe was distinctly not as it should be.  I was stumped whether to go or sit for a little longer.  I didn't want to kick a hornet’s nest, but 2/3 rds through the first lap I felt I really should push on as I suspected that Bridgland, another fast starter with good recent form, was further up the track.  I offered some encouragement as I went past.  

Although we’d raced against each other a few times I’d not actually met Bridgland, but I’d taken note of his bike, which I spied adorned with number plate in the pit area before the start.  I caught sight of its seatpost-mounted toolbag half way up the main climb on the second lap, and latched onto his wheel.  At least I suspected this to be him.  Suspicions were confirmed when he lifted immediately as I passed.  After a bit of yo-yoing I finally gapped him on the nasty pinch at the top, but barely a km later dropped my chain on a rubbly creek crossing and Ian slammed past.  It took me another 3 km to wind him in, and jumped in front just before the unbelievably delicious “snake track” segment commenced.

A few words about the course.  Absolutely brilliant, in beautiful tall-timbered native forest, and well worth the 4 hr drive. The 12 km loop was deceptively hilly, with two main sections of climbing, totalling 300 m of rise per lap.  That said, the grade was mostly mild, with only two real pinch climbs to damage the legs.  It was almost entirely sandy loam throughout, which would have made descending awkward apart from the fact that, aside from one or two off-camber numbers, almost the entire course was fantastically bermed -  massively in places, and buttery smooth, fashioned for speed, and with hardly any rough.  In short, perfect for the hardtail.  Descending was similar to what I imagine skiing powder must be like.  The snake track segment, in particular, rates as the best sculptured km I've ever surfed.  Cory Dimmer was all over my wheel for the first trip down this sector; "how good is this " he yelled, justifiably proud of his home track's ooze.  “Shame you have to do so much climbing to get to it”, he lamented.  This, of course, was to work in my favour, compensating for my general lack of skills in the gravity department.

With Bridgland finally gapped I set to work putting down some solid laps, making the most of the climbs.  Little known at the time there was another speedy Masters rider up the track, Thompson, splitting a minute of two quicker.  Luckily for me though, after 3 hours fatigue eventually got him and by half time I was finally correct in assuming I had the category lead.  McAvoy having an off day was certainly an anomaly, so I was committed to making the most of the opportunity.

Most of the riding at this point was quite meditative, as 7 hr events often are.  Conditions were still cool, although the arm warmers were now off.  When not engaged in polite communication, or simply hanging on, senses were diverted from the rhythm of breathing by the beautiful forest, peppered with the dalmatian trunks of spotted gums, and even the odd antechinus attempting to sneak across the track in front of me, only to retreat at the last second.  Not much in the bird department, aside from the odd whistler and treecreeper calling – it is the middle of winter after all. 

Come the 4 hour mark Ed McDonald surged past, kindly suggesting I was doing well.  A lap or so later I passed the all-seeing all-knowing Wendy Stevenson, who was initially surprised to see me, noting that I was probably in the lead.  Gaining the pit area, Anita, who’d returned from the hotel after a more civilised start to the day, was now present and offered, “your doing well, keep it up”.  A lap later I got my first split.  5 min.  Not as big as I’d hoped.  But to whom?  I feared that McAvoy had finally come good and was tearing up the course behind me.  At the 5 hr mark I knew id probably be out for another 4 laps, but by this stage my body had started to fail me.  I got my first bout of cramp on one of the pinch climbs.  Five minutes all of a sudden didn’t seem like much of a cushion.  I spent the next two laps guzzling fluid and being super careful metering out my effort. Amazingly my gap was holding, and I finished my 11^th lap with just 2 min to spare, but opted not to roll again given that my chaser, Mr Bridgland, in fact, would likely roll home safely after the 7 hr cut off.  The gap in the end had blown out to 10 minutes, placing me 5^th outright.

And so it was over.  Very relieved to have closed it out for the top spot in Masters.  It really was totally unexpected, although in hindsight I reckon it was one of my best performances, aided by lovely cool conditions, and in no small part by Jason, who is usually on another level, having a shocker.  But I’ll take it!

The mighty Snake Track;

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-VAoVrmlhA

Lap 1, with Cory Dimmer on my wheel