Bourke and Beyond

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After a year's wait we finally escaped for another inland bird bash.   Brown trousers, bins, scope and new sleeping bag and thermaRest at the ready.  Bird on! In past outings we've trundled round bits of South Australia, but this time decided not to sail quite so far west but steer a northerly trajectory, via Bourke, into central Queensland and Carnarvon Gorge, before tending to the coast and home.

We popped over the chilly Bluies, still adorned with slush from the day before, and bunkered down in Mudgee.  The standard pie and coffee breakfast was followed by an outing at the nearby Pucca Bucca wetlands.  Despite an absence of finches, we picked up the delightful Crested Shrike Tit, which we'd not seen in about 4 years.  With eyes ever on the clock we bundled back into the car for the long northerly haul to Gulargambone (love that name) and the eastern entrance to the Macquarie Marshes, which are looking pretty dry despite decent rainfall over the last few weeks.  Some good ticks at the Monkeygar Crossing, then on to Willie Retreat.  

We stayed at Willie some years ago, and it's good to see its custodian, Myra, still bubbling and well, as were Patrick the pig ("he eats all day"), and Tiny Tim (see attached poem).  Myra provided a few logs for the fire (it was chilly), switched on the hot water and bid us good eve.

We had a great morning listening to the sounds of the western bush.  Morning highlights included the resident Spotted Bowerbird and a Superb Parrot fly-by.  Unfortunately, we had to keep moving so by late morning were back into the car and travelling at warp speed, first to Bourke, then over the border into QLD.   Crossing the border one crosses both a cartological and architectural divide; all dwellings were now magically propped up on stilts.  Large straights were traversed in a zig-zag manner, with road kill to be dodged literally every 100 meters.  Good reason to make haste and not be caught out after dark.  The only other vehicles out there seemed to be; the intermittent migrating Greynomadus campervanus, 4WDs adorned with mining logos, or the odd 3-segment road train.  Birding highlight was probably a flock of Major Mitchell's Cockatoos feeding roadside; a pink-rainbow-crested version of the Sulfur-Crested, and one you’ll not find anywhere near Sydney.

We were aiming for a particular property, Bowra Station, now a reserve managed by Australian Wildlife Conservancy, and renowned for inland rarities.  Accommodation was one of several rooms in the former shearers quarters, now all occupied by migratory birders. Mostly retired or semi-retired, good-natured jolly folk, sometimes with less enthusiastic partners in tow, and generally toting cameras and lenses substantially more impressive than my kit.  But sometimes luck is just as important; we'd barely arrived and cracked a beer by the bore-drain lake when a flock of Major Mitchell's settled into a tree in front of us.  A rainbow briefly backlit the scene.  Magic.  In an instant it was over, but I'd been the lucky Johnny-on-the-spot.

At 6 pm every evening a gathering occurs in the shearers quarters where the property managers host a roll call of all species seen on the property that day.  Great for getting a feel of what was there and where one might go looking for them.  Following the roll-call, meals are cooked and consumed, and discussion continues centric to the hobby we all share.  The adjacent thermal bore shower has to be up there with the best.  Hot water on tap 24/7 and with loads of pressure behind it.  A-grade.

We stayed 2 nights at Bowra, and despite not ticking any mega rarities the property is renowned for (there’s that luck element swinging the other way), we did get great looks at Bourke's parrot (which we didn't see in Bourke).  Bourke’s Parrot was a new tick for both of us.  Given the number of times I’ve gone inland and not seen it, I think it was probably bird of the trip for me.  And GK was right; it hadn't occurred to either of us but the parrot carries the name of a former Governor of NSW; no connection to Burke and Wills.  

We bid Bowra farewell and headed north on another long transit towards Carnarvon Gorge, overnighting in Mitchell, which had a great small bird boil up in the camping ground.  Carnarvon is like a Jurasic version of the Blue Mountains, plonked in south west QLD, with tree palms replacing tree ferns in the gullies.  

We expected that any new ticks we'd get would be found on Bowra, but this turned out not to be the case.  We were now far enough north (similar latitude to Frazer island), to pick up birds with typically more northerly ranges.  On our third morning at Carnarvon we finally tracked down the owner of the crack-of-dawn chorus belter; hello White Throated Honeyeater!  Other highlights included the almost deafening cacophony of Rainbow Lorikeets and Noisy Friarbirds, which dominate the Carnarvon birdscape, and the Platypuses (appropriately; Ornithorhynchus anatinus) which were viewed in the stream next to camp each morning.  I’m guessing Carnarvon is about as dead-cert for platypus as it gets!

After a combined 30 km of walking it was time to give weary feet a break and head eastward.  We next dropped anchor at the smaller Cania Gorge, where I finally matched call to delicate pink breast and calculated the answer to be my first proper view of Rose Robin.  Unfortunately, both my camera and Anita missed the moment, and we didn't happen upon another chance this trip.  However, we both nailed Forest Kingfisher (another new one) before departing.

We next drifted towards the coast in the form of Inskip Point; the sandy gateway to Frazer Island itself.   Highlight of the transit were a posse of Red-tailed Black Cockatoos feeding by the road in no place particular – another new tick for both of us (Anita’s bird of the trip).  Naturally enough, the bird we were aiming to tick (Black Breasted Button Quail) failed to show at Inskip.  But we've become so used to dipping on signature species we are no longer disappointed. Still, we were now adding coastal species to the trip list, which was now coasting past 150 species.  And it's always nice to have the ocean wafting through ones nostrils.  

Later the following day we found ourselves dropping in on Anita’s parents in lovely Coolum, who kindly spoiled us rotten for three days and nights.  Aside from mostly relaxing, we managed some lovely walks and even managed another new tick in the form of Collared Kingfisher at the Maroochy Wetlands.  Sometimes time moves fastest when you are doing nothing much at all, and before we knew it we had to bundle back into the car for an express trip back to Sydney over two days via the New England Hwy and Thunderbolts Way.  With a day to travel the trip list stood at 190 species, and despite a couple of rainforest stops in the Barrington area, we only added 3 by the time we rolled back into Busaco Rd – weary from travel but a little bit PO’d that two weeks had gone just like that (I snap my fingers).  Really looking forward to this retirement thing!

Spotted Bowerbird's bower, complete with vertebrae and 303 shells

Wintery Wingello

The second round of the Choc Foot 7 hr season beckoned, but after my lackluster 5th in round 1, and given the chilly forecast (0-12), it was one I was entirely ready to swap for staying under the doona.  But the Salmon collective were keen, and I do like the Wingello trails, so I found myself on the road at 5 am en route to a Campbelltown rendezvous with Ben and Mikey.

And in any case, once the gun goes I tend to perform better in the cold.  According to the inter web it was -3 overnight, but had warmed to a balmy 1 C for the 8 am start amidst a fog that wasn't destined to lift till after midday. 

Although opinions about courses vary as much as courses themselves, in my view this is the most pleasant of all the tracks I've squiggled.  That's an understatement.  I love this course: predominantly sandy loam in ancient tall forest.  Flowing, forgiving, buttery smooth (generally), with understorey peacefulness punctuated by lyrebirds strutting their stuff.  Nothing too rough, and perfect for the hard tail.  A scale model could be constructed by starting with an ice rink the size of a tennis court.  Dump on a thick slab of sorbet of various hues and varieties, infiltrated with lumps of chocolate and assorted nuts.  Use a bobcat and shovels to contour (this would be messy), then grab an ice cream scoop and carve the sinuous track over its surface.  Delicious.

Some days the engine just feels good, and today was one of them, although maybe we just perform better on tracks we like.  Not expecting too much I didn't go bezerk at the off and spent a few laps settling in, learning the course, and earmarking lines which might be explored later.  A couple of guns were entered in the masters field and were presumably up ahead.  My immediate concern was Mr Locke, betrayed by impressive calves astride his trademark titanium steed.  We spent the first three hours shadowing each other.  I'd lose Clayton through the downs, then gain him on the ups.  After sitting rooted to his wheel for a lap I sensed I had his measure so on one of the fire-road pinch climbs upped the tempo to see if he'd let me go.  This seemed to work, so I kept the pressure on to incrementally consolidate a gap I could cash in later.

The temperature was perfect.  A generous helping of smooth fire road made feeding a breeze.  In contrast to all the other 7 hrs I've done this felt easy.  Splitting consistently just under 30 min I had a real sense this would be the first 7 where I'd clock a magical 15th lap, and perhaps more significantly, actually relish going out one last time.  I read of others anticipating a final swing, but never quite understood how such desires are possible.

Of course it wasn't going to last.  Somewhere through the event, hidden amidst bottles of staminade, coffee milk or half a dozen gels, I ingested something that didn't agree with me.  Five and a half hours in I popped a gel and about 10 min later an avalanche of internal rumbling ensued, but not the benign type pleasantly relieved by the venting of gas.  Greg Lemond's “bad peach” episode immediately sprang to mind.  This was starting to get really uncomfortable with no simple solution. 

I wasn't sure where I was running but on-course chats with Wendy and Cory suggested I might be in contention.  What was clear, however, was that the increasingly frequent and painful stomach cramps were going to force a change of strategy (hello survival!), not to mention dashing thoughts of 15th-lap bravado. 

The cramps came in waves, endured through an anguished face and gritted teeth...then they'd ease and I’d momentarily forget what all the fuss was about… until the immense pressure returned, with episode frequency increasing.  In short, the last two laps were agonizing.  I almost crawled off the track and into the bushes half a dozen times, but that would have taken the whole Soggy Bottom thing a touch too far. Somehow I completed my 14th lap with the clock at 6hr55min, did a U-turn and bee-lined it to the row of portaloos, where I remained cocooned for about 10 min, listening to Joe on the p.a. welcome riders home and count the clock down to the 7 hr finish.

Fortunately for me, Clayton missed the cutoff for a 15th lap to gift me a most unexpected win in masters, with Cory rounding out the podium.  One of the guns, Mr Morgan, was actually present but changed categories and raced the 4 hr instead, and the other, Mr Speering was a no-show.  That's just the way it goes sometimes.

Ben and Mikey had good days out as well, even though Ben was way underdone in the miles department and Mikey was nursing a cold.  It was nice to see them every now and then out on track and exchange a few words.  And I was most grateful for the company on the way home.  On top of three trips to the can prior to leaving, another two pit stops were required just to make Campbelltown.  Despite it all it was still a grand day out, and I suppose also means that doing the third and final round in Nowra is in order.

Wylde Encounters

No snakes or wallabies, but loads of pinches made for a tough outing on a 7hr format.  Sydney’s own XC track is a breath of fresh air for those of us who are accustomed to travelling further afield for XC fun.  Whist the track is good, it's quite unlike any of the other courses around. 

“What are all those lumps in there for?”, queried an exhausted Cory at the finish.  I find myself in agreement.  Whilst the designers have got a lot of stuff right, perhaps their worst offence was overpopulating the track with rollers that interrupted flow, detracting a little from lumps that gravity allows one to have fun with.  There is already a deceptive amount of climbing in the 12 km loop, and the additional lumps just exacerbate the pinch-climbiness of what is otherwise good singletrack.  So much singletrack, in fact, that eating and passing (even post haircut) were sometimes challenging.  Eating especially. 

On a personal note I didn’t have the best of outings (5^th in Masters, and approx. 15^th solo outright), so far from the pointy end that for the first time in a 7hr race I got lapped by the top two Masters category place getters (hats off Jason and Jamie) in what was a pretty stacked field.  I think the 3peaks form has finally waned. 

My saddlebag slipped to the back wheel early in the affair, and then I burnt a little too hot (on a warm morning) working my way back through the field.  Drinking was restricted to the short but lumpy fenceline section, and the horrible paddock stretch of pit lane itself.  During the race I consumed half a banana and some slices of watermelon, but had absolutely no appetite for gels, so ended up consuming none.  I was still getting through a small bottle a lap, but in hindsight not taking on enough in the carb department. 

But the bike of choice for the day was terrific – first race outing for the 26er Anthem in 2 years.  So much easier to pilot than the 29er hardtail on the twist and pump segments.  It was a nice day, the vibe was friendly, and there were other Soggies out on course to rub shoulders with.  At various kiss points I could see Anita and Ham gradually running me down, and by half distance Anita passed easy as you like.  She and Ham just missed the podium in the Mixed Pairs.  And Mikey had his first 7hr solo experience, which unfortunately coincided with battling a leaky tire for a couple of laps.  7hr events are tough enough without having to deal with mechanical issues, something I’ve luckily avoided thus far.  Well done Mikey, Ham and Mudge!

On the whole a pleasant day in the woods (creak, groan), so much so that I suspect that we’ll all front up again for the next 7hr Choc Foot outing at Wingello come the end of June.

Soggies at the Mont

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All round probably the best outing the Soggies have had at the Mont for several reasons;

Perhaps most importantly, no one came a cropper.  No major biffs, grazes, tears, pressure bandages or trips to the medical tent or hospital, even on a course littered with body parts and zombies.  No industrial action.  And everyone who desired one got a hot shower.

We celebrated Sara's birthday.  Giles, on top of cracking out 6 laps with his reappearing twin, whipped up a bonza cake that was something to behold.  Moira, on top of being all over the lap board, distributed stars and the best party packs ever.

Great course and weather.  19 km of fast track with multiple hucking opportunities.  Clear but cold night rounded out by a morning mega fog so thick bikes became spray-painted in matt-finish ACT talc.  This (the talc also) kept the sun at bay for most of the morning too.

And, as a consequence of some strategic team shuffling, we came away with a category win.  Granted, it was a foolish proclamation 3 hrs in that "we got this", because a lot can go wrong and often does, but we managed to keep a lid on it.  

Not to say there weren't a few nervous moments.  Ham had some night-time meanderings off piste.  Nicky finished a dawn lap almost blinded by goggle condensation.  Anita had to wrestle the old stick-in-the-wheel trick, but managed to extract it without breaking spokes, or the new 1*11 drivetrain she was rocking.  My worn-out fork (gouged stanchion and leaking oil) was offset by brand new wheels – the first MTB wheels I’ve built myself.  Hence, tempting fate at both extremes; employing clapped-out gear plus new stuff I hadn’t rumbled in practice etc.

Jeremy and Frazer look keen to swap the kids races for the real thing, perhaps inspired by Mikey posting some seriously fast splits (including our quickest collective lap).  Unfortunately for them, this being a reality is still some Monts away.  Apparently they fell asleep soon after departure, as did I, always a sign of an excellent weekend, although it did make for a challenging drive home.  Thanks all for making it so fun. Shame we have to wait another year for the next episode.