Early Friday morning I woke just a few minutes before the alarm went off. It was dark, as I quietly crept round the kitchen making a cup of tea. After last week’s break in our Friday morning routine, due to the amazing hike in the Stirling Ranges, the ritual was restored. This week only Howsie and myself headed to Welly Dam to start the last day of our working week with a climb. We were both feeling a bit weary. Maybe from the big weekend away, the heat that had stayed up, and/or the hay fever that had suddenly come on again. Regardless we were keen, and smashed out eight fun routes and still got to work for 8am:
Saturday came and it was not such an early start, although I do find it hard to stay in bed much past 5am. Especially when it is light an hour before that and the dawn chorus, which often rouses me from my slumber, starts half an hour earlier than that. At 8am today it wasn’t time to start work, but to be picked up by Eski and head out for a snorkel. The conditions were great, an extremely low tide, minimal swell and hardly a breeze. The Capel River is still flowing so we weren’t able to head past the point, but that same reef extends a long way eastwards so we accessed it via The Huts near Stratham:
I’ve been down this way once before, and had an amazing dive when I swam with a cuttlefish for what felt like ages. Today we were driving past where I had previously gone in. Past the mob of cars parked up at the first point, at the end of the bay of the main Stratham beach, from where the divers had put their boats in. We counted a neat line of fifteen boat trailers, and at least 20 cars. And also past the location where the commercial fishing crew had built their huts, in days gone by. It was busy on the water. But driving that bit further we came to an area of reef that both Eski had been keen to check out and was completely empty and away from the crowds:
The cray pots had all been emptied much earlier in the morning, and were now set ready for the next night to trap unsuspecting crays, which are really rock lobsters. The reef here was varied and interesting, lots of caves, crevices and swim throughs. We saw lots of life, even if most of it was skittish and didn’t hang about for too long. I even spotted a pair of Zebrafish (Girella zebra), which I don’t recall seeing on this reef that stretches for 7km from Stratham to Peppermint Grove Beach. With the conditions being as they were, visibility was brilliant. Not that I needed to see far when a Batwing Slug (Sagaminopteron ornatum) swam right in front of me:
I’ve seen these a few times now and have even videoed them swimming, https://sandbagged.blog/2021/02/14/deja-vu/. These are a opisthobranch that quite literally meaning “gills behind”, and they sit behind and to the right of the heart. They are often called sea slugs or sea hares. This stunning species was first see and identified in Sagami Bay, Japan, which is where it got its scientific name from. They fall in the gastropoda class and are normally found on the sea bed or on a surface, being benthic crawlers. If they are disturbed they can vigorously flap the enlarged parapodia like wings. Calling them wings is however a bit demeaning, as they can also be used by some creatures for sensation and/or respiration:
Above in a sandy clearing I spotted an old friend, a Gloomy Octopus (Octopus tetricus) and had to take a quick video of his bobbing head. He’d collected a few shells and stones to try to and conceal himself, but it really wasn’t very successful, and I was a little surprised at just how exposed a location he was in considering all the reef around him. My next find was under a ledge and I had to duck dive and go upside down to see it. The light wasn’t great, and nor was my breathe holding capabilities, so I sadly didn’t get any really clear images. But I was so excited that I simply had to include an image:
The oddly named Pustulose Wart Slug (Phyllidiella pustulosa) is a nudibranch, which means something like “naked gills”. However, this species doesn’t have the external gills seen on most nudibranchs, which will look like a collection of feathers at rear of the body. Instead the wart slug family has it’s gills hidden, or more likely being protected, on their ventral or underside area. Sea slugs are the most common nudibranchs in the tropical Indo-West Pacific waters, yet I have seen very few and have to date not been able to get a great images of one. This particular one is also one of the few monochrome species, with most having a splash or more of vibrant colour:
I saw heaps of fish but not many big shoals, other than the Western Pomfred (Schuettea woodwardi), with the mob above drifting lazily about in a narrow crevice. I went down to see them but didn’t dare following them, as they moved to a narrower area with a roof looming overhead. Today I also spotted quite a few Sea Fans (Gorgonia), but with some 500 species I wasn’t game to narrow them down. These soft corals will usually be oriented to allow the prevailing water current to flow through them. This will maximise the opportunity for the polyps to collet any small food particles from the water. It would be great to see them when the polyps are not hidden away under the leathery tissue of the coral, as they were today:
My last image from The Huts is a male Brown-spotted Wrasse (Notolabrus parilus), or also known as an Orange-spotted wrasse. A fish I have often seen and included but today I came across one in the shallows that was happy for me to get really close image. This occurred both as I swam out and then again as I came back in. There are some 600 species of Wrasse and I do see other species, but this is the only one that tends to sit round long enough for me to photograph. While it is a relatively large species of wrasse, at up to a foot long, the largest is the Maori Wrasse, which can be as much as 2m long. I was lucky to swim with one of these gentle giants way back in the mid-90s when I dove on the Great Barrier Reef:
We were in the water for over an hour and it was a great dive, Eski’s catch bag came out of the water empty. But that wasn’t a huge surprise, the crays were there but with such deep hiding holes there was little hope of catching any at that time of the day. As we drove out we came across a commercial fisherman who was pulling his net from the rear of his boat, still on the trailer of his ute. He’d spied a small shoal of fish that could be seen swimming in the shallows near the beach, and was slowly walking out and round them to trap them. It reminded me when Elseya first saw this type of drag net fishing in 2008 near Albany, admittedly on a much bigger scale. She was devastated as she watched the process unfold. We drove on, past where all the cars were still lined up and headed home:
On Sunday I had been invited by Ash to head out to Wilyabrup with him and his mates for a climb. Some may be surprised to hear that I declined, and this was for several reasons. First I was feeling a tad weary from last weekend’s big hike, Friday morning’s climb at Welly Dam and a busy four days of playing catch-up at work. In addition there were going to be road closures resulting in the need to take the long road out during which I would have to battle with roadworks. Lastly it was going to be hot and my hay-fever has been blowing up recently. With all those thoughts rattling round in my brain, the idea of a cool dip in the ocean seemed more appealing. So for the second day as 8am arrived, Eski and I headed out:
On the way home on Saturday we had driven to a few places including a spot of Peppy Beach that he was keen to check out. So that is where we headed today, neither of us knew the area so just went for it. The bottom soon disappeared below us, 6m or more. It was a long swim over mostly sand followed by level broken and lifeless ground, a little disappointing. But we were in the water now so preserved. Tracking eastwards, with the direction of the swell, the depth gradually decreased and eventually the reef took on a bit more form. We also started to see signs of life with fish darting about here and there. The first significant sighting being a small cave with a small shoal of Rough Bullseye (Pempheris klunzingeri) lurking inside:
We were aiming for a place where I knew the reef was reasonable and hopefully had more life in it. Wave Walk’s reef has always come across as a bit of a nursery, shallow waters with plenty of ledges, crevices and weed. Sure enough as we got closer fish popped up all over the place and I captured a heap of them on camera. As I crossed a particular wide crevices I noticed a movement out of the side of my eye. A Samson fish (Seriola hippos) lazily swam in the opposite direction to me, sadly at a healthy distance only allowing me to catch a silhouette image:
To give you an indication of size, I guessed it was a good meter long. These fish grow very fast, reaching 60cm within the first two years of its life. They can grow to approx. 180cm in length, weighing in at a healthy55kg and living for up to 32 years. They are powerful predatory fish and called Samson fish based on, well, Samson who was given superhuman strength. I also came across quite a few Western Smooth Boxfish (Anoplocapros amygdaloides) and love seeing these clumsy looking fish awkwardly swim with their whole body seemingly wobbling, as they try to go faster. But this box fish had me baffled:
I’ve now discovered that this is the male Western Smooth Boxfish, and it has a very different pattern to the white with brown spots I expect with them. In fact I do not recall seeing one like this before and it seems that only large males will have this pattern that changes from spots to brown blotches, lines and spots. If you look closely in the image above you will see that there is a small fish following alongside it. This fish, which I have not been able to identify, latched onto me and followed me for the rest of my dive which was another 20 minutes or more. Hanging round my flippers every time I looked back:
My next find also had me very excited. The above Western Rock Octopus (Octopus djinda) was completely in the open. Unlike the smooth scaly looking pale to dark blue, grey skin of the one in the video clip from Saturday, this one was beautifully camouflaged against its background. Not only by its colouration, but also the skin texture making it look more rocky like. Whilst I saw lots of other fish including Garfish, Herring, White Bait, Trigger Fish, Herring Cale, Wrasse, Sweeps, and more. I thought I would include this image of what is either a female or small male Western Smoot Boxfish, so you can see just how varied the pattern is between this and the large male:
The swim back towards where we came in was approx. 500m and we were going against the swell, which was fortunately not very strong. After close to an hour and half in the water my legs were tiring, but I kept seeing more life that was worth diving down for. That included this young Giant Cuttlefish (Sepia apama), which are sometimes referred to as ‘chameleons of the sea’. This one swam across various ground including weed, sand and reef and put an amazing display of changing colours and skin textures as the environment changed. They can grow to 50cm, and that is measured just for the mantle so not including the tentacles, this one was a small one with a mantle of probably no more than 20cm but no less impressive to see:
I was finally a mere 20m from shore and the final stretch was a sandy bottom broken up only by a few small bare rocky outcrops. I really didn’t expect to see anything else, which is when I spotted a juvenile Port Jackson Shark (Heterodontus portusjacksoni). No more than 30cm long. They pose no threat to humans despite growing up to just shy of 2m in length, using their unique flat grinding teeth to pulverise crustaceans and molluscs. That said their the dorsal-fin spines are venomous so care is required. I felt extremely lucky to find this nocturnal fish out at this time of the day, and it was yet another first for me during what turned out to be a very successful dive:
Friday last week, as I did the finishing moves on the last lap on the final route of Rongy, Howsie and my before work climb at Welly Dam, Howsie said he had some exciting news. He and his best mate, Daz, were going to trek the Stirling Range Ridge walk. And whether it was the tone of my response or maybe Howsie was just putting it out there to test the water, either way I seemed to get invited to join them. On arrival at work less than an hour later, I checked my calendar and there was nothing I couldn’t shuffle about to make it work. Next I texted Lisa and she, as always, encouraged me to say yes:
I’m not sure if Daz knew anything about me joining before then, but Howsie checked in with him and he was fine with me tagging along. For which I was super grateful, and then it dawned on me that I needed to do some rapid thinking about what to take. We were to leave Thursday morning, giving me five days to sort my stuff out. And this hike is pretty serious and you need to carry everything including water. Being a ridge walk you don’t cross any creeks to fill up your water bottles, and while there is a barrel you might be able to fill up from you can’t depend on it having any water in it:
I’m pretty well kitted out for sleeping gear, but my rucksack is relative small at 45 litres and I would have struggled to fit everything in it. Luckily another person I told of my trip was Alan, who I knew had done the hike before and his first response was whether I needed to borrow any gear. All his belonging are in storage and as it happened, it was located at his mates work place and it was someone I actually knew. So Monday after work I was rummaging through his storage unit and pulled out his rucksack and a 10 litre water bladder:
He had suggested that I take his hiking poles, but I couldn’t find them and felt I would be alright without them. He said he wouldn’t hike without them, having been converted after one trip when he finally had a go at trying them. Lisa said I was dumb not to get some. Still I now had all I needed, although a friend at work who recently hiked the cape to cape track also offered me any gear I needed. So on Tuesday Clint brought in another 4 litre bladder and some electrolytes, I didn’t end up using his bladder as with 12 litres already I felt I had enough:
I did however take the army surplus electrolyte sachets, which were very welcome after a long day’s hiking. In addition to all of this organising I had numerous text chats with Howsie and Alan about multiple other things to check. This included essentials and who was bring them, such as a first aid kit, compass, etc. We didn’t want to be carrying extra items or doubling up, as with 12 litres of water in my pack was already 22kg and as it was all three of us had about equal weight on our backs:
Alan was a wealth of knowledge and I picked his brain about bits and pieces. I get the feeling he was as excited as me about the trip. He also sent me a copy of the ridge walk bible called Mountain Walks in the Stirling Ranges, which is a 1996 publication that is out of print and sold out. Someone really should print more copies, they would make a killing as this hike is getting very popular. He also provided me with a very handy map that was very useful and is worth looking at http://www.torridonbooks.com.au/ridgewalk_map.pdf. With all these offers of gear and a bit of knowledge I felt I was ready for this, other than fitness:
Seeing I was tagging along I went along with the plans that Daz and Howsie had made. This included staying at the Stirling Retreat Caravan Park, who were to provide our lift into the start and pick up at the end of the hike. One of the concerns I had was that the drop off time for the start of our hike was not till 8:30 or so, as a group had snuck in before us. They were starting from Bluff Knoll and heading east to Ellen Peak, whereas we were going westwards. So we couldn’t join their drop off and had to wait till later:
This was concerning to me as the temperatures were on the rise and Friday was forecast to be 27 and from then on it was supposed to rise by three degrees each day. In those conditions you really want to set off early in the morning when it is cool. I wasn’t sure whether to broach the topic with Howsie, not wanting to meddle with their plans. But he was happy for me to do so and he and Daz had already talked about hitting someone up from the campsite to give them an earlier lift. My first thought was to check in with Lisa and my friends, John and Margot:
Admittedly they ran the other campsite in the area but I know that us staying at the competition on this trip wouldn’t phase them. Sadly however, they were going to be away at that time, but wished us well saying it would be a glorious weekend for it. My next option was a very cheeky one. When Clint had found out what I was doing, he said his mate who he had hiked the cape to cape with was also going to be at the same campsite as us and intended to do some hiking in the Stirling too. As such he introduced us for a brief ten minutes on Tuesday morning:
When I met him Simon had come across as a very genuine guy, what you see is what you get and very approachable. So I sent him a text Wednesday evening asking if he could help us out. I thought I was out of luck as I didn’t get a quick reply, as Clint had said he was very techno savvy. Then in the morning there was a message not only saying he would be happy to help us out, but also apologising for the late reply. To boot, like me he is an early riser so an early lift was no problem at all:
I have to say that I am so grateful for the amazingly kind and generous people I know and continue to meet. So it was Thursday morning arrived, and after Elseya and Lisa had gone to work I waited eagerly to be picked up. Daz was driving down and offered to detour via Peppy Beach to pick me up, the last time I had met him was at Howsie’s wedding a long time back. Back then he had picked up and brought down a box of the South West Climbing Guides I had written, from the publisher in Perth, way back in 2015:
I was nervous about this trip for three reasons. First was that Howsie and Daz are like soul mates and have known each other forever, and it was hard to say how if at all my presence would change the dynamics. Fair to say it didn’t one bit and things went like clockwork and ran amazingly smoothly, and we all had the same attitude and thoughts in all decisions made. Second was the temperatures, and for those that know me this will come as no surprise. I will normally hide from the sun and for much of the ridge there is no hiding:
The forecast was admittedly based on the surrounding terrain, and these stunning peaks that tower from an otherwise flat landscape can and do make their own weather system. So much so that you can get caught out with unseen clouds or at times storms suddenly descending on you. I’ve experienced this before elsewhere in similar terrains and become very serious and sensible when it happens (https://sandbagged.blog/2017/08/27/part-6-scotland-the-long-road/). The forecast had however been stable and mostly clear skies were expected. Hence, while up high the air temperatures would be lower, it would be impossible to escape the full force of the sun on a cloudless sky:
As per concern one, all went well and we had plenty of water to keep hydrated. My final concern, and probably the biggest, was my fitness and the weight of the pack. I’m used to carrying a climbing pack that can weight up to 15kg, but an extra 7kg is a big increase and added to that the terrain we were to encounter would often comprised long steep ascents. When Simon came by to give us a lift, at soon after 5am on Friday morning, he picked up my pack and groaned at the weight. But when I said I was nervous about my ability he made a very astute comment that anxiety can manifest from excitement, and when it does you just need to think about why it is exciting and focus on that:
So it was that at 6am on Friday morning, Simon dropped us off at the eastern end of the mighty Stirling Range Ridge walk that would take us from Ellen’s Peak through to Bluff Knoll. He wished us well and as we started, and said he would be heading to Mount Trio to have his first sample of what the Stirling Ranges has to offer in the form of bushwalking. I need to check in with him as to how he went with the high steps up that peak. On our trek the first 5km was along a fire break, and it was the first time any of us had shouldered our packs and walked:
I might add here that on Thursday afternoon I spotted that the campsite sold hiking poles so I made a last minute decision and bought a pair, as did Howsie. Despite the poles the rucksack still felt heavy, very heavy, and my legs were feeling it from the start. Positive thinking was needed, but knowing they hurt on the flat made me more worried about the slopes. After the firebreak we found the trail that headed into the heart of the National Park and made a beeline for Ellen Peak. We couldn’t see any of the peaks as the cloud hung heavy across the ridge, and you’ll have to scroll back several images to see this. The path started flat and then gently inclined, which is where Howsie spotted an orchid:
I hadn’t expected to see any, but here was one that I had not seen before. It was a Late Donkey or Diuris emarginata, and very different from the other Donkey orchids I have seen. Kneeling down with the pack on my back was not easy and when getting back up I decided I would now focus on walking and not photographing flowers. Fortunately we didn’t see any more orchids until the next day. Shortly after this find the track went steeply up to Ellen Peak, and as this happened the cloud lifted giving us out first glimpse of what lay ahead:
When we got to the base of Ellen Peak the tracked skirted round the base of the west side, where there was wonderful and very welcome shade in amongst the Sheoak trees. Here the bags were dumped, and the boys were keen to bag Ellen Peak. I however had to be sensible and left them to it, and lay there resting up in the shade. When they came back all buzzing it was time for lunch, while we still had shade. They later told me they had signed the summit book, the only one we found on the trip, and included my name saying I was sleeping at the base. I had no regrets about staying down and found it hilarious:
They also said a hiker had already been up there before us today. Shouldering the pack again after a rest was not much fun and the legs were soon groaning as we left Ellen Peak behind us. The next peak is Pyungoorup, which at 1,061m is second highest peak in the Stirling Ranges but is rarely ascended. Maybe it’s remoteness or maybe due to being a big rounded hill so not seeming so impressive? We didn’t go to the top, but followed the track that skirts the southern face blissfully in shade. Some way above there are two images, one showing Me scrambling down the “exposed corner” to access the south face, which was very fun:
The next images was of us walking through the sword grass, for which some people take gloves to avoid getting cut up. But it really wasn’t that bad, and the level ground was a relief, other than the hidden holds in which we on occasion lost our footing. If you go back to that image and look at the sheer cliffs, behind you might spot some ropes and a climber. Here we came across Jonas and a friend of his. I’ve been in touch with Jonas years back and he has invited to take me climbing in the Stirling Ranges, which is where he seems to spend most of his free time. But this was the first time that I have met him, so it was great to meet him and even better to meet him here:
They were camping out for a week, and have been developing climbing routes up the very impressive south face of Pyungoorup. It’s a very big effort to even get there, let alone thinking of scaling those high steep cliffs. Maybe one day I’ll venture there when I’m more hiking fit, for today however there was not even a thought in my mind about climbing. After That peak we popped back onto the main ridge and into the sun. Heading for the Bakers Knob, a large rounded dome that resembles a bread knob. The hike up was a steady pace but going down the western side was a steep scramble, and there is an image above of the boys heading down:
The image after that is of one of the many flowers that were out, there may have been very limited orchids but there were plenty of other blooms about. The image after that is looking back at the Bakers Knob and the seemingly impossible path that we had descended is lost in the sheer size of the feature. Strangely however, when we got to this section where there was a lot more scrambling involved the weight of the pack didn’t worry me as much and I really enjoyed this section. And even more the next, being Mirlpunda (The Three Arrows), which offered heaps of scrambling:
Three amazing peaks (arrows) with clefts between them making for very fun hiking, scrambling and even climbing. But today we were only going as far as the third arrow, which was the most easterly one. On the northern side is the biggest and best camping cave on the ridge. The person who had signed the book on Ellen Peak was here, so we shared this brilliant camp cave with Michael. There was plenty of room for all, but I am glad that the seven people who were also starting from Ellen Peak on the same day as us didn’t also turn up. We didn’t know they were behind us and never saw them, only finding out after we had completed the hike:
We had a great vista from the cave, which was 12km into the 24.5km walk. It had been a very big and spectacular day, but we were glad to rest up now and didn’t leave the cave till morning. From here we watched clouds start to form initially over Pyungoorup to the east, blowing in from the south. And then slowly engulf the entire view, before the wind started to howl above as we were sheltered in our cave. Dinner came at 5pm and I was in bed at 6pm, soon after the boys were getting cold and they too hit the sack. Next morning I could just make out the morning light through my bivvy bag and looked out to see the clouds this time below us:
I gently knocked on the tent that Howsie and Daz were sharing, suggesting they may want to get up to see the sight, even thought it was 4am. Daz had been hoping to be above the clouds and was stoked when he saw what greeted him, and many images were taken. In fact I’ve now come across someone who takes more images than I do. With such a spectacle unfolding before our eyes, we took our time to have breakfast and pack up. Michael left before us and was going home today, so would be heading off the ridge just after The Three Arrows. I was packed up and ready before the boys and knowing I would be slower going I got a head start:
The pack was some 3kg lighter, as a result of what I had drunk and eaten, and it felt better. My legs were feeling tired but up for the challenge. We left the third arrow via central gully, and as I went through it our destination of Bluff Knoll could be seen way off in the distance. I purposely kept going and started up the back of the second arrow so I could get a silhouette image of the boys as they came through the gully, and once they caught up with me the three of us made our way up and over the second arrow:
The second arrow was the easiest to traverse, and from our reading we knew that the first arrow was the one that may provide more challenging route finding and also required steeper scrambling. Some people are even known to lower packs so they don’t need to scramble down with them on. But we all managed it fine, other than going off track at one point. The excitement of the terrain got the better of me, and maybe all of us, and we ploughed onwards instead of going sideways. We realised this when we came across a huge drop that can be seen behind Howsie in the above image:
All three of us were buzzing after the amazing camping cave and three arrows. It was a stunning section of the ridge with variation, dramatic scenery and exposed sections. Exactly what made all three of us froth, but now we knew that there would be a long mild sloped ridge walk ahead. Here we would hit the open ground, with no sheer rock walls to hide behind or find shelter. Rounded hills and ridges being belted by the full fury of the sun. At this early hour it wasn’t too bad, but as the morning wore on we knew it would get a lot worse as we could feel it starting to sting already:
We made our way up the north peak of Isongerup, and from here we got to see the view of the western end of the Stirling Ranges stretching out beyond the unmistakeable 300m plus sheer face of the north face of Bluff Knoll. Way off in the distance familiar peaks of Toolbrunup, Mount Trio, Mount Hassel and others lay. While a very different landscape to what we had just come from, we equally enjoyed the change in pace and views. Everywhere we looked was a feast for our eyes:
On these more gentle slopes the weight of the pack didn’t seem to hang so heavy and I kept pace and we even swapped leads, as we moved on from the north peak to the true summit and then towards the south peak. Each peak being separated by a small saddle requiring a decent and ascent. Daz was feeling his knees on the descents. This was in part due to old injuries from a reckless youth spent on skateboards, but we also pondered whether his decision not to take up the offer of hiking poles may have been his undoing. Howsie and I had, like Alan, been converted they were very effective and useful:
Above and from the top of the third and last peak of Isongerup we took our last close view of the rocky terrain of Ellen Peak, Pyungoorup, Bakers Knob and the three arrows. Still buzzing and all excited about where we had just come from. We then hiked down the western side of the south peak. A 200m decent on relatively steep ground, and Daz’s knees really felt it. Not only did his knees start to burn, but he also started to feel the sun more than we were. Both Howsie and I were well covered up, but Daz only had a T-shirt and despite lathering up with sun cream his arms were getting red:
Approx. two years back the park was ravaged by a massive bushfire, which I have mentioned in previous posts. On this walk we had passed a few cols, another word for saddle or the lowest point on a mountain ridge between two peaks. Some of these are marked up as good camping spots with higher vegetation that provide a degree of protection both from the sun and wind. The Sheoak col at the end of the arrows had faired quite well and here we found a couple of Irish guys who hadn’t even broken camp when we passed them, they were heading east and said their first day had been brutal. But like us they had covered almost half the distance in the first day:
Sadly much of the vegetation had not fared so well. While, the dead looking trees and shrubs were coming back, and it has been a great winter for their recovery, they were growing back for the base and the foliage was at best shoulder height in most places. We were currently aiming for the Eucalypt col that lay just passed the slight bump in the ridge. This bump is the most undefined, and as such, smallest peak of the ridge but with the longest name of Moongoongoonderup. It was on the hike up this that I spotted the second and only flowering orchid I saw, a Scented Sun Orchid. Our plans were to rest up here, have lunch and take advantage of the whatever shade may have been on offer:
There was however very little shade. The sun was directly above us, being just past 11am, resulting in what little foliage there was being ineffective. Howsie used his tent to rig up some shade, while Daz opted for his sleeping bag. I found a suitable shrub and wormed my way in preferring to use nature to shade me, with just my feet sticking out. We had lunch and drank water, it was really hot and none of us were keen to continue on in the heat of the day. In fact this was the campsite we had initially considered aiming for today:
While we were here, a solo day walker came past having hiked from Bluff Knoll and continued past us after a brief chat. We all thought he was doing really well as he bounded off, but also recognised he only had a small 5kg day pack. Next up came a group of four, they were also heading eastwards and like us were eager for some shade. There had been none for them all day, and they looked hot and exhausted made all the worse with full packs being their first day. So our makeshift campsite grew, but for the most part everyone was quiet. The main talking point was that one of their party had blown a hiking shoe and their thong (flip-flop for non-Australians!):
Daz pulled out his cable ties and gaff tape, which he offered and was very grateful received to allow some essential shoe repairs to be made. The guy seemed confident they were fixed enough to keep moving onwards. The day walker came back as all six of us were in our make shift shelters, he was looking as spritely as he had the first time despite the heat. The group of four quizzed him and us about what lay ahead, and then after a good two hours of resting up they continued. As they walked off under hot sun heading for the Sheoak col, we wondered how the repairs would hold up on the rocky sections:
We hung about for maybe another hour. I had lain inside the vegetation for about four hours, snacking, sipping water and snoozing. It is a rare thing for me to stay still for such a long time, but the time seemed to go relatively quickly and none of us became fidgety. Other than when Daz jumped out of his shady spot due to a goanna deciding to snuggle up to him. Finally the heat seemed to die down and a breeze came in. We decided it was time to move on, aiming to get closer to the East Peak where we knew a 400m ascent awaited us. Something we wanted to tackle in first thing in the morning while our legs felt fresh and before it got hot:
Interestingly the crew of four had indicated Sunday would be cooler, maybe the forecast had changed since we had started our hike. But we were not chancing it, today was hot enough and if it got worse the 400m ascent in full sun would feel horrendous even in the morning. The maps and book doesn’t indicate there are any other campsites before the end, and neither the day walker nor the group of four said they saw anywhere to camp between where we were and the East Peak. But it would save an hour to an hour and half hiking up and down more slopes before the big hill, so all three of us were in agreeance that we should just do it:
Walking in the late afternoon, with a lighter pack after all the water we drank and cooler air was lovely. And we were rewarded with a choice of two campsites, big enough for the tent and my bivvy bag. We settled or a small cleared, flat and sandy patch nestled in a small area of vegetation. For this camp we didn’t see anyone else, and that made it feel that bit more special. While it was nice to see others out and about, enjoying this amazing hike, part of the thrill for us comes from being isolated. So having such a cool second campsite all to ourselves felt great:
Once camp was set up we tucked into dinner, and there was still time to watch the sunset behind Bluff Knoll. Then as the darkness drew it’s cloak over us we settled in for the night. Unlike the night before there was not a cloud in sight and while the wind kicked up, we had just enough shelter to keep it at bay. With no cave roof above us, the wanning crescent moon was bright enough to make it had to determine when morning had truly arrived. I peeked out at some early hour to see a blanket of stars above, before zipping back up and snoozing until morning was really here. We were all up in time to watch the sunrise, and with no clouds about we knew the party of four had been misinformed and it would be a hot day:
Even though we set off at 5:30 it already felt warm, but fortunately it was a short ten to fifteen minutes to get to the base of the mighty ridge that takes you up to the East Peak. We had come up this far yesterday, but the second closer campsite option was rocky and probably more exposed with less vegetation. This short hike was however just enough to get the legs warmed up, ready for the main event. Also in our favour today we had rationalised water. We hadn’t thrown any away, but had drunk more and shared what remained between us. We were each only carrying 3 litres:
I estimated my pack had gone from 22kg to 13kg, no more than a climbing pack. And with such a light pack on my back I was ready for what looked like a typical scree slope ascent in the Lake District, one that Bob and I would have chewed up in an after work evening foray to some classic remote climb (https://sandbagged.blog/2017/08/13/part-5-the-lake-district-a-place-to-live/). In fact all three of us were excited by this climb, which probably says a lot about us and why everything between us just seemed easy on this trip:
One step at a time, and we all kept pace. A third of the way up I laughed out loud as I found the perfect shelf to camp on. We all stood there in disbelief at what we saw and even more so that none of the people from yesterday had noticed it. If someone had mentioned this place we would definitely have climbed up here just to experience camping on it. If we come back again this will definitely be a place I would consider camping at just for the pure exhilaration of the view and setting. Onwards we went and what the book indicated may take an hour and half, took us 45min. While the legs felt liked they had worked hard we were not huffing and puffing anywhere as much as previously:
That was probably a good thing, as from the East Peak looking across to the East Bluff we could see the downs and ups were far from over. A great chasm splits the East Peak and Bluff and we had to make our way back away from the cliff faces into the top of a gully and then climb once more steeply up. Bluff Knoll stood there tantalising close, but still far enough away that we had to pace ourselves. As we descended off East Peak the wind really picked up and buffeted up through the chasm and at times we struggled to stay on our feet:
Battling the wind and slopes was almost comical, but none of us fell over although I’m not entirely sure how we managed to avoid it. Climbing up the others side it felt like this may have been the last real hurdle of steep ascents. We could tell we were getting back to more accessible terrain here, as we started to spot fenced off areas and in places individual plants were being protected by guards. But we didn’t spot to really inspect them. Despite the signs that indicated more people came this way the heat from above forced us to take our time, after all it only takes one silly slip for things to go south:
Just set back from the East Bluff is a large natural feature that looks just like a rock cairn or some may say a stack of pancakes. Two images above you may be able to make it out set on the downward slope of the ridge ahead. We had seen this way back on the hike and wondered what it was, a strange rock feature that possibly only nature will truly know why it is there. And probably just like everyone who comes to see it we couldn’t resist the ridge to climb up it:
I keep saying that Bluff Knoll was our destination, but in truth it was 3.5km from where we would be picked up. That lay 630m below the summit at the carpark, the biggest piece of infrastructure in the Stirling ranges. In fact most of this National Park is relatively untouched and still wilderness making it quite unique. Unencumbered by the safety requirements of modern day life that creep into many of these natural places, because people just can’t be trusted to be sensible:
We made it to the summit of the highest peak in the Stirling Ranges in a little under two and a half hours after leaving camp. Standing at a lofty 1,099m but a mere 38m higher than the little known Pyungoorup. From the unfettered edge of the sheer 300m plus drop down the north face of Bluff Knoll we could see Pyungoorup. It’s towering height obscured any sight of Ellen Peak but we still had a spectacular view of almost the entire ridge walk. While the images still indicate we had the place to ourselves, we were now well and truly on the tourist track:
We snacked and drank, as people came and went. Eventually however the sand blasting we got, as the strong gusts of wind whistled up and over the vertical north face, made our minds up for us and we started the long descent. Being the tourist track it came with steps, the last thing our knees wanted. That said they are so important to control the erosion that some days will see literally thousands of footfalls. It was really hot now and as we came down still more people came up, most were dripping in sweat and it was hard to know if they were all enjoying themselves:
We later found out that today the forecast was 38 degrees, and it felt like it. We felt for those up on the ridge today, including two young guys we had met as they were walking up to start the ridge. Especially knowing they would have no shade all day. On the final stages we came across a Rosenberg’s Guanna (Varanus rosenbergi) and I seem to remember that Daz said it was one of these fellas that wanted to get all cosy with him at our lunchtime stop yesterday. We were a little surprised that on the whole trip we had only see two of these and two Bobtail Lizards (Tiliqua rugosa) and not one snake, which was a shame:
We sweltered into the shelter at the carpark at 9:30, and with such an early finish resulted in talk of getting back to the campsite freshening up and heading home today instead of tomorrow. Again, like it had been since the trip started, we were all on the same page. We glugged water waiting for our lift and watched more people only just starting their 3 to 4hr hike up and down Bluff Knoll in what I thought were silly conditions. Bully the driver rolled into the carpark, and on the drive back down we got talking orchids and he pointed to spots on the road where we might find particular species:
Needless to say we didn’t do back to check them out, instead when we got back we weighed our packs, showered, drank, ate, reorganised gear and got ready to head home. After the final leg during which we drank heaps of water, Daz and my pack came in about 10.5kg. Howsie’s was however still close to 12kg, not that it ever seemed to slow him down as he was ahead for most of the hike. Our last job before driving off was to head back to the National Park to sign out in the visitors book, and it was only then we realised that we had seven people on our tail that had also started from Ellen Peak on the same day. But even looking at the images we took I can’t find any trace of them. A humongous thanks to Howsie and Daz for allowing me to tag along, and also to Alan, Clint and Simon for the loan of gear and the lift:
I mention in my last post that I was hoping to get to a location I’ve not yet explored. This was planned with Esky, who today was instead heading out for a scuba in search of crays. So I put that idea aside and reached out to Geoff and Nana, and they were keen to head out. The Capel River hasn’t completely stopped flowing yet, meaning there was still a vague channel connecting the river and ocean. While there wasn’t much depth of water in it most people were not risking taking their cars across it, instead launching their boats right near the beach access:
Esky’s car was there too, and we also didn’t risk the river crossing. Like last weekend the initial plunge left cool as the water started to seep into the wetsuit, but that soon passed. Despite being early it felt like the wind was already starting turn. We swam out and westwards going against the current, not that there was much of it to compete against. The reef here isn’t all that good, but it improves as you go west. However, like last weekend it felt like the ocean hadn’t fully responded to the changing season and everything seemed a bit quiet:
Some fish were about, but it was mostly the sea stars that once again caught my attention. The above I believe is a type of Bat star (patiria pectinifera), even though it looks quite different to the one I saw last week. A key reason for thinking it is a Bat star being the scale-like roughening on the upper body, which I have found out is called the aboral surface. These usually have five arms but can occasionally be found with four or six, and on rare occasions even seven. There are some sea stars that can have up to twenty limbs:
The above is a close up of a sea star that despite it’s very distinct patterning I have not been able to identify. The image does however show very clearly the small tubes, or papule, protruding from the aboral surface. I mentioned these last season and their thin walls allow an exchange of gasses, both to allow the sea star to breathe oxygen in and exhale carbon dioxide, as well as other waste gasses, out. The oxygen rich fluid within its body is then moved round a cavity inside the body over its organs, by hairs, or cilia, that line the walls of the cavity:
As a result of the way they breathe they cannot breathe if taken out of the water, and most species can only hold their breath for half a minute. A bit like how long I seem to be able to, at the moment, when I duck dive down. This is a good reason for not taking them out of the water to inspect, when you find them. I was also a bit surprised to find out that on average they can live for 35 years. This next skin coloured one, Pale Mosaic Seastar (Echinaster arcystatus), I have found a few times. I always love seeing these as their arms being rounder in cross-section and flabby make them quite different:
Next up, I am more certain of this Mosaic Sea Star or Vermillion Biscuit Star (Pentagonaster dubeni). They look really colourful and pretty as a whole, so I have not before bothered to take any close up images, which again shows the protruding papule. In the animal kingdom bright colours will often indicate danger, but some edible species have taken on the bright colours of poisonous species to deceive their predators. While they are in the Animalia kingdom, sea stars are echinoderms, which means “spiny skin”. And as such are related to sea urchins and sea cucumbers, which is why the term starfish is being replaced with sea star:
The next image is of a Red Sea Star or Cushion Star (Petricia vernicina), probably the most common species I see off our beach. One of about 1,800 identified species of sea stars that can be found in the world’s oceans. They live in depths of up to 6.00 meters and can be found in tropical and cold waters, including polar waters. There is one last fact, which follows on from my last post and that is how they feed. There are two methods. The detritivore species that collect and take decomposing organic matter in via their mouth, but the second is more common:
I detailed before how they cover the food source with their stomach. Well to do this scavenging or carnivorous species actually turn their stomach inside out, ejecting it from their body. The soft tissue parts of the prey are covered and then partially digested, and the rest is dissolved and the soup like substance is then drawn back into the body. It’s a slow process and can take up to ten hours to complete, and allows sea stars to prey and feed on creatures bigger than them. Thinking about this their cuteness factor is somewhat reduced:
Nana, Geoff and I looked about a lot today but it was not until we were getting cold that we started to come across ground with more marine life. Shoals of grunters, bullseye, sweeps, herring and quite a few other species in fewer numbers. Including a large flathead hiding in the weed that was way too quick and darted off as I approached it. This very colourful Horseshoe Leatherjacket did however keep coming back for a look, but our time was up by then. Or should I say our body temperatures were getting low, and we started our swim back to shore:
The beach is back! During my previous trips to Moses Rocks I was in awe of just how much of the beach had been washed away by the winter storms. The last trip was in late August only ten weeks back (https://wordpress.com/post/sandbagged.blog/6710). But the sand is now returning and not just to the main beach, which was beautifully lit up in the morning light, but also the little cove that we cross before getting to the crag:
Today Andrew was keen to get back out and like me he really likes Moses Rocks. My thoughts were on climbing in one particular spot and he seemed amenable to the idea. So we wandered along the top of the crag, and set ourselves up to rap into the zawn. With a two to three meter swell I wasn’t sure it would work, but easterly winds and a low’ish tide made it possible. Better still, and I was a little surprised, the rock was dry with no seepage coming down the slab at the back of the zawn:
None of the routes here are particularly hard, especially when the rock is as dry as it was today. But Andrew was still more than happy for me to rack up for the first lead. And I of course obliged. These routes mostly have generous holds, although the horizontal breaks in which they sit can feel a little spaced, plus most of the holds are rounded or slopers. Regardless of that I felt immediately at home, as my hands made contact with the friction this rock offers which more than makes up for the lack of positive edges to pull on:
Climbing initially on the southern wall we didn’t use the rap line for each decent, instead scrambling down. The scramble is never too hard but you do need to keep your wits about you, checking the rock and watching where you are going. I wasn’t too worried about not rapping in each time, as I feel much more comfortable scrambling down. It just seems to me you have more control of what you are doing. I was soon on the sharp end again, as Andrew was happy for me to lead him up another route:
The local climbers may notice the shiny looking quick draw above. Like a few others, Andrew took advantage of a local outdoor shop selling these quick draws at almost half the retail price. And since having bought them he was yet to put them into action. Normally we would have organised who was to bring what, but for one reason or another that didn’t happen this time. So while I had carted all my gear in we only used my cams and I racked up with his quick draws, extenders, wires and tricams:
As we scrambled down for the third route Andrew started to hint that he might be keen to have a lead. He racked up while I sat there and watched as the next set of waves rolled in and sent water spraying over the rocks. It felt great to be back in the zawn, the low tide and easterly wind kept the swell from coming in too hard. That said we kept a sharp eye out in case anything bigger came in. Whenever the next set of waves rolled in, they sounded worse than they were and only on one occasion did we get caught out when both of us landed up with wet feet:
Andrew tackled the right side of the slab at the back of the zawn and I could tell from his movements and chatter that he was having a ball. So I was hopefully I could encourage him to bag another lead. As we sorted the gear looking out to sea the water in front of the crag was looking very inviting. I mentioned my plans to mix up the trips out with a snorkel, which Andrew liked the sound of. But we both agreed that the swell would need to drop a bit before it was worth thinking of going in here, so maybe next time:
Going back down Andrew was happy for me to take the next lead, so we plumped for the classic of the zawn that also happens to be one of the first route recorded here. Two routes were established in 1989 by Tyson. By then there were five instalments of the A Nightmare on Elm Street franchise, which he made use on in naming the two routes he put up. I had led Freddy Kruger’s Claw for my second lead, but this one called A Wet Dream on Elm Street is the best line. With a steep middle section that keeps you on edge:
I could tell Andrew was getting tired, as he followed me up this steeper line. But as you will see above he had left his jacket in the zawn, so we had to go back down at least one more time. I wasn’t sure if he would be keen, but I kept hinting that he could take the floppy end for a second lead. And I was very happy when he racked up and tied in to take on the big corner. He was a bit tired I could hear concern in his voice, as he made the first few moves. This also happened to be when we both got caught out by a wave:
He inched his way up, breathing more heavily and each movement looked like it felt strenuous and tenuous. That no doubt meant he was holding on harder than he needed to, further draining his energy. But the gear is plentiful on this line and each time he placed a piece I could see and hear him relax a bit, before going back into tension as he moved above the gear. In part as I was away from the base of his route to avoid standing slippery boulders and in part not being sure how he would go, I anchored myself in ready to take the fall:
But just like the mosquitos that never gave up trying to draw blood, even from the rope! Andrew also didn’t give up and he managed a clean ascent with no falls or rests, topping out deservedly very happy. Admitting afterwards that he had to push himself both mentally and physically to keep going. This time there was no reasons to head back down, but he foolishly told me he probably had one more second in him. So it was we rapped back down:
Knowing that Andrew was a tad tired I picked one of the slabs at the back of the wall. This one looked the thinnest and most poorly protected of the lines on the slab, and it is not one I have led before. I made it harder for myself by avoiding the bigger holds but even using them I wonder if this is the hardest line on the slab, which is contrary to what the guidebook says. I even noticed that there is a typo that snuck into the guide, well not so much a typo but more of a not so uncommon mix up of mine with lefts and rights:
Speaking of guides, Andrew spied one at the base of Hand’s Up Wall just across from where we were. Obviously having been left behind by someone and fortunately only sporting a little water damage, and unfortunately having no hint of who the owner may be. Needless to say we took it with us as we walked out, going along the base of the crag in case there may have been more crag booty lying about. There were no other forgotten treasures to be found but we did have a surprise as the beach came into view:
The beach was packed with more people than I’ve ever seen here. Heaps of people were surfing, so many so that we wondered if there was an event on. But as we wandered along the beach, which had been empty on our arrival, there were no signs of an organised event being run. I guess the sun was just bringing everyone out, and like the beach the carpark and road leading towards it was also packed. It felt weird coming into this hive of social activity after we had the crag all to ourselves, completely unaware of and isolated from the beach that was getting increasingly busier:
The sun sets and rises really quickly in this part of the world, and if you look away you might miss that magical moment. In a similarly fast fashion the season seems to have switch over almost overnight. It seems that after weeks of looking at a grey and weed ridden ocean things have magically cleared up. The only reason we spotted it was because Lisa and I were heading back along Forest Beach Road, after a late breakfast and game of King Cribbage in Busselton. The only nagging doubt I had, having just come of the back of another front, was whether it may have been a bit chilly:
I feel that I normally wait till its properly warmed up before going in, closer to the school summer holidays that are still five weeks away. However, my mind was made up and so this swim felt like it may be one of the earliest snorkels of any season for me. I rugged up with my wetsuit and headed down, and as I walked along to my usual entry point I dipped my feet in the water and much to my surprise it didn’t feel too bad. Swimming out, as the water trickled into the wetsuit, it felt a little cool but the trapped water soon warmed up:
It felt really good to be back in the water, and the visibility was amazing. There wasn’t a heap of fish life to report on, but it was great to say hello to some familiar faces. I did however spot heaps of seastars. Including quite a few of the above Biscuit Seastars, and this one seemed to have latched onto something tasty being in unusually position that left its soft and more vulnerable underside exposed. I have not come across a mustard brown one before and based on the colour and swollen plates at the end of each arm, I think it may be a Southern Biscuit Star (Tosia australis):
Above is a Bat Star seastar (Patiria miniata) that not surprisingly gets its name from the webbing between the arms. I’ve seen them before, but not in bright orange. It seems this seastar is a bit of a gut bucket and will eat both plants and animals, regardless of whether they are alive or dead. It does this by covering the food source with its stomach, releasing digestive juices that liquefies the food and then ingesting the tasty meal. It is also a bit different in that there are no pincers, which most starfish use to clean their skin surface. Instead it has small, moving hairs that create enough of a water current to keep its skin clean:
I had to include one image of a fish, and for this post it is a female Brown Spotted Wrasse, Notolabrus parilus. Whenever I kicked my fins to come back up from a duck dive I would stir up the sediments, and within second these fish would be darting though the murky water I left behind. I’m guessing looking for food. I can tell I’m out of snorkelling practice, as my breathe holding ability seems to have waned somewhat. I felt like I struggled to stay down too long, but I made an extra big effort when I came across this floral garden arrangement:
I’ve made a mental note of the location I found this amazing sight, which was under a rock shelf, and hope to be able to find it again to get some better close up images. They are obviously not feather duster worms, but I’m pretty sure they are filter feeders of some type. I can only guess they are tube worms, but have failed miserably in trying to find out any more detail on them. While I wasn’t feeling cold, after what felt like ages I started to make my way in. That was until I got distracted by this school of Western Striped Grunter, Helotes octolineatus:
It was a forty minute dunk and I didn’t come out blue with cold, which I’ll take as a good sign for the season to come. I even came across a few schools of baby fish, something I didn’t see until quite late into last season. Now last year I had intended to combine a swim with my climbing trips, so I could check out some new locations a bit further afield. Hopefully I can make that happen this time, but for now I’ve already lined up a snorkel next weekend at a new location not too far from home. Fingers crossed the conditions are alright:
Steve was in need of a circuit breaker from the non-stop lifestyle of the big smoke. And what better way to do that than to head down to the relatively sleepy south west, camp out and then head to the cliffs at almost day break. In addition he also managed to get a bit adventurous 4WDing in to get to the scheduled campsite he was aiming for. Plus he managed to catch his own dinner and prepare a fish curry. With such a rewarding, peaceful and relaxing afternoon and night out with nature, when we met at the Wilyabrup carpark he was ready for adventure:
Both Hannah and Glen had hinted at joining us this morning. Sadly neither of them made it, and this left the two of us with the crag all to ourselves. It had been a while since Steve had been out and managed to climb with any conviction plus, as I was to find out later, in his usually way he had done a thing or two that wasn’t helping with his mobility nor state of mind. Wandering along the base of the cliff we passed English Ethics. It was looking in reasonable condition, compared to previous trips here, but I knew that would be way to feisty for Steve:
We walked on, what we needed was something fun and nothing too taxing. Orryjohn fitted the bill, and it didn’t take long to come to this decision. I could see Steve’s eyes drawn to it and a grin spread across his face, a bit like a kid in a toy shop when they see what they would really like for Christmas. I was more than happy with his choice, an enjoyable trad outing with a flared chimney, at the back of which there is crack wide enough to gobble up even Steve’s biggest tricams. While I had offered to supply the gear and rope, he insisted on bringing his tricams:
Due to the route he’d picked I only allowed Steve to put tricams on his harness, which I knew he wouldn’t mind. For those more familiar with climbing protection, you may recognise the wired tricams Steve is fiddling with above. The only other person I know who has these being Wiggins, and after one outing they never saw the light of day again. But when Steve stumbled across these without knowing about Wiggins nor my experience of them, just like the appeal of Orryjohn today he simply had to have some. It was to be their first outing, and the question is whether they will make it out again:
By the time he had fiddled the wired tricam into position and clipped the rope in, I had scampered like a mountain goat from my lofty position taking images back down to put Steve safely on belay. Now for those not familiar with climbing protection, the way tricams work is by using the rotation on the single pivot/point to wedge the curved back against the rock. For those mechanically minded; as the wire, or in the image below tape, is loaded it pulls the back of the curved edge forward to increase the pressure on the back curve creating greater friction. So why did Wiggins hide his wired tricams from daylight you may ask:
With a taped tricam it is usually not too hard to push the head of the tricam back, reducing the pressure on the back curve allowing the piece of gear to be taken out. But with the wired tricams, the wire becomes spring loaded when it is placed. This means when taking it out you need to continually place tension on the wire to stop the spring loading effect, as well as knock the head back to remove the pressure on the back curve. These two actions are opposing, so can be pretty hard to achieve while hanging onto the rock. So while they may provide completely bomber protection for the leader, the person coming up second can have a very hard time getting them out:
Steve had not been moving too well on his first lead. It was easy to see that he was comfortable being out and was placing enough solid gear, but his movements seemed awkward and he wasn’t really in the right frame of mind. While I suspected something as he led, it wasn’t until after I followed him up the route that I discovered about the “thing or two” he had done recently. As soon as I heard it made absolute sense as to why he was not moving as well as would be expected, nor why his focus was a little off kilter today. But it wasn’t until he had followed me up my lead that he hinted it was bad enough to consider calling it a day:
It wasn’t that my route had been too hard and worn him down too much, as it really wasn’t very difficult. In fact the line isn’t even written up as a route, and I doubt that anyone ever thinks to climb it. I picked the line because I could tell we needed to go easy, and more importantly because I saw a great opportunity to place a sling. This was the only piece I used that wasn’t a tricam, and I also used a wired tricam! After we got back down and I offered Steve two options, pack up and walk out or climb out with the packs. I was quietly happy when he voted for the latter:
We plumped for another low grade but tradition style climb. I was again only armed with tricams and Steve was tickled pink when he came across one of his larger tricams nestled in the perfect pocket, shown below. I had intended to climb one of the earliest recorded routes here, Stormcock first written up as having been climbed in 1973. But I had never climbed it and after the climbing big leaning block, from which the climb gets its name, I went straight up. While never too hard it felt more sustained and certainly had exposure:
In addition it was made more exciting by a reasonably weighted pack on my back, full of my climbing gear that had been unused today. It was a stellar line and I thoroughly enjoyed it, and began to wonder why I hadn’t previously climbed on this section of Wilyabrup more often. It’s the same area where a month or two back I sent Rongy up a line he had never done before. I was nervous about what he might say but he ranted and raved about it. I think on my next trip to Wilyabrup I’ll aim to jump on another line here, as there are a few I have yet to experience:
Next time I will however check the guidebook. Despite having written it myself, today proved I really didn’t know where all the routes went. The original Stormcock route, traversed right from the top of the block and then up an arête. The steep crack I had climbed seems to be part of a route called Sombre, which was quite a few grades harder than the intended line. Despite this and how he was feeling, plus not knowing what we were really climbing, Steve also loved the line and came up beaming. And I think all the bomber tricams added to his pleasure:
He was also very weary, and we really did need to call it a day now. It was probably one of my shortest visits to Wilyabrup on record, but we had bagged three very fun traditional style routes. Plus we had laced all three with copious amounts of tricams of multiple sizes and styles, which is always enough to put a smile of both Steve and my faces. So it didn’t feel wrong as we packed up and walked out, getting back to the cars before 9am. Leaving the twenty plus people we walked past, as they headed to the cliffs, to enjoy the crag in a more crowded state. I also have a feeling that the trip had provided the much needed circuit breaker Steve was looking for:
With the warmer weather, supposedly, on its way and first light getting earlier and earlier Rongy, Howsie and I have decided to once again start up a weekday before works climb. I don’t intend to record every session, as it will get a bit repetitive, but this one is warranted it is the first. On the way up the scarp driving through state forest, as light was just creeping into the sky, I avoided a number of kangaroos. I also spotted an echidna crossing the road. While I have seen these guys up close and personal many times before, it was the first sighting in what I consider my own back yard. While I stopped to check it out, he was quick to scoot off the road and into the bush:
The above image was taken at ten past five… may the proceeding begin! Rongy was a little late arriving but still in time to join us for the first line. Being the first session we haven’t sorted travel arrangements and will endeavour to reduce our carbon emissions for future sessions, with at least two of us carpooling. The great thing about these early morning sessions is that we get hew place to ourselves. After the last few daytime trips here with families and tourists staring at, photographing and even videoing us it felt very nice indeed:
The only on watchers this morning were a bunch of kookaburras. After an hour or so they got bored, or realised that there would be no food scraps from us and moved on. Of course and as to be expected we heard the distant cawing of the red-tailed cockatoos, but there was no other sound to disturb our concentration. The intention of these sessions is more to get us climbing fit. Also for Rongy and Howsie it is also an easy way for them to squeeze a climb in during their changing lifestyles, with ever more demands on their time:
This being evident by how few weekends they have got out on rock. In fact they both found a number of the routes here unfamiliar, despite having both led them numerous times over the years. They were also lacing the usual climbing stamina they once had. At times I could tell they were starting to tire, question what to do and/or yoyo wasting precious strength. So on occasion I guided them as to where either a hand or foot hold was, and how to best use them. Almost to millimetre accuracy. It’s not something I would normally do. However for today, seeing they were getting back into it the beta was very well received:
You could at a stretch call these before work sessions training, not that I like to think of them as such. But we are very focused and organised to maximise the climbing time. If you check the second image you’ll see Howsie cleaning the line he finished, as Rongy starts up the next one. Two sets of draws and ropes and a well-planned attack keeps us moving, and there isn’t a lot of rest between climbs for anyone. Today we picked six lines that we were comfortable with meant we could smash out the quota in less than three hours:
For this first session only one person led each line, the other two seconded up with the rope above. As we continue these quick fire morning climbs this will change and we will pull the rope every time, but for today we were easing back into it. Hitting six lines in rapid succession on the steep technical walls of Welly Dam can be pretty intense, so I’ll have to be careful not to overdo it especially as we start to jump on the harder lines on offer. Even after finishing up there is no dilly-dallying, it is then time to drive back down the scarp to Bunbury, work and today rain:
It’s amazing just how many walks are dotted about the place, and I seem to be hearing about them as more people cotton on to my growing flower fetish. The most recent one being a spot out in the Wheatbelt reputedly littered with orchids, including several I have not as yet personally sighted. But that place is a two-hour trip, one way, so it is tempting to leave it for next spring. Today Lisa and I didn’t fancy going too far away, and we opted for a quick 45min drive to a short walk that Glen mentioned to me just yesterday:
The Kondil Wildflower Walk is just out of Nannup and offers three walks the longest a mere 3.3km. Strangely several websites suggested allowing up to three hours for this walk. Lisa and I, even when I’m in full “look at the one, and that one, and that one…” mode, can cover 3km in an hour, so either this walk was overflowing with treasures or they were making allowances for the real, really, really unfit. The general area was forested for the Allocasuarina tree in the early 1900’s when Barrabup Mill was operational:
Casuarina comes from the neo-Latin word of casuarius, which means Cassowary. The tree looks a bit like a pine with thin spindly leaves that droop down, very much like the feathers of the Cassowary bird (but also the more broadly distributed Emu in my mind). Allos means other, in Greek, and was used to describe this endemic Australian tree’s relationship with the broader Casuarina genus. When Lisa and I saw these trees, we pondered what they were and they reminded us of the Desert Oaks we used to see and love in Central Australia:
The Desert Oaks, or Allocasuarina decaisneana, are directly related to those found near Nanup, which have a common name of Sheoak, or Allocasuarina fraseriana. The name Sheoak being given as the timber resembled the deciduous Oak tree that the workers were familiar with from back in England. I seem to have digressed and talked about a whole heap of stuff I hadn’t intended too, and I’m sad to say I didn’t even take a picture of any Sheoaks. Instead my focus was on the smaller flowers dotted about the place:
So far I have included an image of Banksia grandis, commonly called the bull or giant banksia. What struck us about this tree, which was only just starting its journey, was the strange looking centre. We were not entirely sure what it was, but having checked it out it is now pretty obvious that they are the new leaves at a very early stage of development. The second image is of a Granny Bonnet pea, Isotropis cuneifolia. The flower was larger than most peas at close to 20mm across and had very clean and clear colours, with a lovely orange fringe round the petals:
We did pretty well and found seven or eight species of orchids on the walk, all of which we had previously seen or so we thought. If you look closely you will see a couple of Purple Enamels in the background of the image of a Pansy Orchid. The close up above and below are of the Scented Sun and then Blue Lady Orchid, and I purposely took the close up images to show the difference in the column and tufts. The Scented Sun Orchid being the most common of the sun orchids, and can grow up to a meter in height and have upwards of fifteen flowers on one stem:
The reason for including the image of Lisa walking ahead of me, was not because of mosquitos of which there were a few. But the nastier March Flies, it is warming up and it is the first time we have come across them on our walks. Mosquitos stick a needle in you, while in comparison the March Flies will take a pound of flesh. Lisa did however stop a few times including when we came across this next Scented Sun Orchid, and it was after this that we started to wonder if we were seeing different plants:
The petals and sepals on this one were much narrower and the flower looked much more star like. It seems that this could be either the Scented or Plain Sun Orchid, but they are hard to tell apart. All I can find to tell them apart is that the latter flowers slightly later in the season, but their flowering period does overlap. That is when I then started to question whether the shorter plants we were seeing, all of which looked to have wider petals, such as that in the close up image earlier on, may be the Shy or Slender Sun Orchid but other than size I could see no distinguishing features:
As I said we did pretty well on the Orchid front, and in addition to the above mentioned finds we saw Cowslips, Rattle Beaks, a single White Spider and several Forest Mantis. The latter were getting on in life and shrivelling up. While there are so many varied shapes and sizes of orchids in the South West of Western Australia, there is one thing in common and that is at the base of the flower is where the ovary sits. It is possible to tell if pollination has been successful, as the green pod between the stem and the flower will swell up:
To my untrained eye I’m going to take a stab and say the above Forrest Mantis was not successful with reproduction, which I say because for some other orchids I’ve seen the ovary has been very noticeably swollen and looking back at other images of Forest Mantises this one isn’t. Below was a pea that stood out for me, due to the tight cluster and the deep colours of the flowers. It seems this plant, endemic to the south-west of Western Australia (again!), has had a name change over the years. Originally named Burtonia conferta in 1825, and changed in 1987 to Gompholobium confertum:
I haven’t discovered the reason for the name change, but the term confertum means “crowded”. This does not relate to the cluster of flowers at the end of each branch, but the foliage itself. Despite the trails being relatively short and also in quite close proximity to each other, the area was lovely to wander through. Unless there were other people on the tracks, which only happened once for us, you would have no idea how close they were. Indeed, when we walked on the next circuit there’s no way we could have told we were within tens of meters of the last track:
I’ve mentioned both the Purple and Yellow Flag, or Patersonia sericea and umbrosa, and we saw plenty of them today. We did however find one plant that was definitely of the same genus, but I’ve been unable to identify the species. I hazard a guess that it may have been a single albino plant, but while the three petals were a soothing pale creamy colour the stamin was the same distinctive yellow of those found on the purple and yellow variety. I’ve been using Google Lens but can safely say for this trip it has been utterly useless:
We’ve also been spotting and taking a liking to the many native grass species. These are usually clumping and do not sprawl across and engulf the ground like the pasture or turf grasses that we have introduced. The seed or is it flower head of these grasses are architecturally fascinating, and they look like they have been created by a perfectionist with perfectly sized overlapping leaves with just a hint of colour graduation. The image below being of a Hooded Lily, Johnsonia lupulina, that was opening up in the warm sun:
One last pea, this one being Bossiaea linophylla and I can’t find a common name for it. Abundant and much smaller flowers than the other peas I have included in this post. But they stood out so brightly when the sun hit them. The flowers can be a bright yellow to orange or apricot-coloured or red flowers, and the fruit of this plant is known to attract the Western Rosella parrot. The reason I took the image was that I thought it was the plant from which I found the fruit or seedpods, but looking at the leaf structure now it is obvious I was wrong:
So now I have no idea what plant this was, but I simply couldn’t walk past these strange looking bulbous pods and had to include them. I have attempted to identify them with Google Lens and had some quite funny results. Originally leaving the app to pick out the part of the image to focus on it suggested they were peaches, then when I manually focused it on just one whole pod it came back with a pomegranate. Of course there is no way of telling Google Lens they are only 20-30mm in size, so you can understand the results. Needless to say I’ve given up on this one, but if I come across them again I will untangle the plants to see it I can track down any flowers that will hopefully be easier to identify:
Even packing in the two longer trails we were ready to leave within a few hours, which was a good job as the sun was out and it was getting warmer. It seems that dogs are allowed here, so Lisa has in mind to pop back with the poodles. If that happens sooner rather than later, I might get a chance to check the above pods out in more detail. But for now, we considered heading into Nannup for a bite to eat but have taken a liking to the Shelter in Busselton. So this is where we ended up for lunch and a celebratory beer to say cheers to twenty-one great years of marriage:
It’s been a while since Glen has been out on rock and this week he posted that he was keen to reinitiate his involvement in climbing. He also foolishly posted that last weekend he went out fishing, and left home at 4:30am. However, instead of capitalising on the chance for an early start and possible first light climb we were wandering down the path at 6:30 well after another glorious day had begun. The reason for not getting out so early was mostly because Glen self-confessed to not being all that fit, and it had been close to a year since he had touched rock:
Despite the long duration since he had climbed, and his very intermittent appearance on rock for a year or two before that, Glen hinted of two climbs he might consider leading. But before we got to that it felt only right for me to take the sharp end, allowing him to reassociate himself to what climbing felt like with the safety of a rope above. Tom Thumb is a fun route up a widening crack that almost gets to body width. As I watched his footwork looked a little cack-handed and I could see the extreme focus on his face, as he worked the route:
He indicated the first taste of rock was a bit of a rude awakening and his forearms were pumped. Also that his head was in a bit of a spin. So I was a little surprised when he said he would jump on lead, hitting the first route he had mentioned before. Twenty Questions was in his sights, and as is so often the case your ability and mindset can really change when you are leading. With the rope below the brain can sharpens and old skills can come back to the fore, as proven by Glen who really didn’t spend too long in getting up the line:
I had to encourage him to pop a piece of gear in a couple of occasions. As I could see from his movements he was tempted to move on and run out the gear. But other than the two interjections I was impressed with how he kept his cool and didn’t do anything silly. All of his gear was bomber, something I come to expect of Glen when he remembers to put it in, and is in part as a result of all his prior state emergency services training. The reason he was keen to come to Wilyabrup today was to jump on longer lines, as most other crags round here are relatively short:
I thought that may have been his undoing when I next led Thunder Thighs. The initial crack that is six or so meters long can feel insecure and technical. Then the upper section requires more focus on small holds, for the grade, up a steep wall. But he again impressed, and while I could see him shaking out a lot more than on the previous two routes he held it together. Today I was making sure my belays were set up to ensure that if Glen took a fall I’d be in a comfy position not needing to take any weight, but I never had to put any of the setups to the test:
The other route Glen had in mind to have a go at leading was Hope, but after the first three routes and based on how his body was feeling he sensibly lowered his sights. Instead he opted for the alternative start of Dunlop Special. I understood what he was thinking, in that he would have the initial steep wall to deal with after which the route would switch to a nice angled slab. So as his energy levels depleted the climbing would get less strenuous. That said, climbing is so much more a mental challenge than physical. And today Glen was definitely managing to control the mental strain, when the climbing got steeper:
Once on the slab he was able to relax a bit more, but his movements were getting slower and more deliberate. A sure sign of getting tired, but his well laid plan served him well and the easier angle provided lots of opportunity to rest that he sensibly made use of. I was all prepared to hear that it was time to wrap up for the day. But as we sat on top of the crag Glen said he was happy to follow me up Hope, comic to the self-realisation that it was probably a bit too hard for him today. As we wandered back down, it was close to ten and finally other people had arrived:
While there was currently only one small crew that had arrived, we were advised that a big mob of climbers were on their way down. While he seems to have an aversion to them, Glen confessed that early starts were great. Not only to avoid the sun but also the crowds. In addition for both of us climbing isn’t a sport and we come here to enjoy the place. While it may come across a little selfish, it feels like we can enjoy the setting more when the place is quiet and peaceful:
For those who know the route, you may notice what is wrong with the image above. While Glen had started well as he got half way up the crux sequence his head started to play games. I can say that as he had enough strength, will power and control to be able to traverse off the line, Heading left and up with no prior knowledge of what lay ahead, without slapping for holds or losing control. Also he probably expended more energy doing that than if had simply finished off the crux sequence. After his little detour he stood there shaking out his arms, as he watched out to sea. There was no rush, as we both watched a small pod of dolphins cruise past:
As we wandered back down more climbers were milling about, with more ropes and gear being taken out as we passed. We said a few hellos as we carried on towards the final route of the morning. I’m not entirely sure how or why but Glen was up for a final lead. I had previously pointed him towards First Climb, and it was decided that we would climb out with packs. However, I could see he was getting weary so we stuffed all of our gear into my pack ready for me to shoulder when I followed him out. That was a definitely a wise move, with Glen climbing slower and slower:
After each move he stopped looking for the next holds and where he might place gear. I could see him breathing more heavily and his body had that weird hanging posture that is not quite boneless but wanting to slump into a heap. Then, as he approached the part where he was supposed to launch into the corner he falter. Just like his last trip outdoors eleven months back, when I sent him up this very line, the corner drove fear into his heart and intimidated him to the point that he took the very same detour he did back then. He finished up Dunlop Special but there was no shame to it. Having managed to get up six routes, half of which he led, I really couldn’t bag him out… this time:
Kym and I have been trying, and failing, to tee up a weekend to catch up for some time now. The wet winter and now spring we have had has not helped our cause. But this Friday I had to head to Albany for work, helping out with a workshop that ran from nine till two. It seemed the weather gods where being kind to us and there was a possible window of opportunity aligned with this weekend, squeezed between yet two more prolonged wet periods. I rolled into Albany at eight on Friday morning and despite the forecast of dry weather it was raining, but I put those thoughts to one side and headed to work:
As with all good workshops it overran, but not by too much and I was at Kym’s place sipping on a cuppa by three. We would normally have a plan for our catch-ups, These normally comprise a classic big multi-pitch route, a remote hard to access crag, camping out and/or stunning new routes to bag. But this time we had no plans other than heading out to a local crag, and then see what gives. Kym and Meg live at the perfect location, for climbing, with so many crags and boulder fields within a short drive. It only took five minutes and we were parked up at The Gap:
This is a place that I have wanted to climb for many years, but have never got to. You may recall The Gap from the week long climbing trip with Rongy, Howsie and Andrew nearly a year back: https://sandbagged.blog/2020/11/13/south-coast-revisited/. It doesn’t feel like that long ago, but there you go. We had some wild weather on that trip and the day we came to The Gap we had no illusions of getting a climb in. We came to see the massive swell smash the coast, and it was spectacular. Today it was very different, despite the rainy start to the day it was now glorious and the rock had dried up just enough for us to have a play:
There are a few reasons I have not climbed here before. One being it is very close to the public and secondly it has a bit of a reputation for being hard. Neither reason should have put me off before, yes there are lots of people about but as I found out there are many spots where you can hide away from them. Even now with so many more people out and about due to the lack of travel allowed, we were soon out of sight and it felt like we had the whole place to ourselves. As for being hard, well there isn’t a lot of easy stuff and what makes those climbs feel even trickier is the climbing style:
Jamming is an old school traditional technique of climbing. Instead of finding a hold to curl your fingers round you wedge your body parts into a crack and hope that nought but friction will keep it there. Above Kym made use of a perfect hand jam, and while it is not a technique I will profess to be proficient in there are two things that make jamming here a bit more forgiving. The first is the smooth texture of the granite, so when you press your skin against the rock there are rarely any sharp crystals or rock surfaces that are sharp or painful. Secondly, Dan had kindly bought me a pair of crack gloves and they made a huge difference and provide greater friction, as well as protection for the back of your hand:
The first route things went well, it felt tougher than it should have. I could blame the 4am start or the rock that was a still bit greasy after all the rain and big swells of the week before. But, in truth it was my jamming style and ability that made me work that bit harder than I should have. After that, and following Kym up the route he led next, I felt more prepared mentally. Things or should I say jams slotted into place. And not just hand jams, also fist jams and arm bars. The final moves required a finger jam which had to be reached at full stretch. The fingers on my right hand didn’t quite get in deep enough, resulting in a painful slip should you care to zoom in to see the damage:
The routes may not be super long, but they are steep and strenuous and require the whole body to engage. There is no just using your arms and to climb well here you have to activate every muscle. Despite my body feeling it after just two routes the sun was still in the sky and it seemed silly not to make use of the daylight, so back down we went. One of the things I love about traditional climbs is the natural features or weaknesses that they follow, in which you can place protection. This route followed an amazing looking flake followed by a wide chimney that you had to wriggle your body up in an exposed position with limited protection:
I was a tad nervous, as it was the same grade as the route Kym had just led. But I needn’t have worried. That was maybe because it didn’t require jamming the whole way and had a fair bit of laybacking which I relish. Where you holding onto the flake and press your feet against the wall, a style that I feel I am not too shabby at. Despite the slip on the second route, all three climbs were very classy. Solid clean lines with sustained and interesting climbing. We made plans to come back here in the morning to hit more of the fine routes on offer. The grades would be going up, but I felt more prepared for them after my reintroduction to the art of jamming:
The evening and morning light are well known to provide the best light for photography. But, as the shadows grew longer and the orange hue of the lowering sun made things glow in that magical way we had the place to ourselves. The viewing platform stood eerily empty, as the sun drifted towards the horizon and mist from the crashing waves drifted up from The Gap. Both Kym and I felt weary but very satisfied, as we threw the packs back in the ute and drove off, wondering what the morning would bring. Back at the house I caught up with Meg and the kids, Beau had grown so much and was a right little chatter box. He, Tess and Claire were going well and as with any house with three young kids the place never seemed to stop:
Kym was working that night so he headed off soon before eight and I hit the sack, as their house started to go quiet. As is the way when I have an early start, I wake at a similar time for several days afterwards. It is almost as if my body gets rewired and it takes a few days to reset. Rather than disturb the household I headed out for a walk, and I soon realised I was pretty achy already without having hit the rock. Meg was making breakfast when I got back to the house and everyone was up. Being a Saturday morning with no school to get ready for everyone was fairly chilled and there didn’t seem to be that urgency of rushing into the day:
Kym rocked up soon after 7:30 and had a reasonably quiet night, even having managed to get a bit of sleep. I’m not sure how he manages to keep his energy levels up with the irregular work hours, study and of course the family. He and Meg somehow seem to make it work and whenever I come down they always seem to manage to have the energy to make me feel so welcome. He came back this morning raring to go, so it wasn’t long before we were back in the car for a short five minute drive. The water looked reasonable flat to my untrained eye Kym however suspected, and was right, as wandered around checking the various walls:
The swell hadn’t gone down, it just seemed flatter because the swell period was longer. But when the sets came in the rocky coast got pummelled. This resulted in spray drifting upwards landing on the rock and not only making it damp but giving it that greasy feel. Seeing the granite here is quite smooth. and you have to rely so heavily on friction to make those jams stick, the conditions were not looking favourable. Especially seeing we would have to up the grades if we went to the same area. Instead we wandered eastwards and the big waves, as shown in the video below, made it look likely that we might not get to climb here:
Whenever I think of The Gap at Albany, I tend to only consider of the main tourist feature where the paths and viewing platforms are. If you walk east from there the place is littered with rock faces. I was aware and had been to the amphitheatre before but today that too was wet. So we continued to the next area called Zig Zag, which I wasn’t even aware of and is a seldom if not rarely visited area. Kym had only climbed here a few times, and wasn’t even sure what the routes were. The rock looked marginally bit better here, and the lines looked fun so we dropped the packs and got ready:
We started today’s session a bit more sensibly, Kym pointed out a wide crack on the far wall in the sun. I was happy to jump on a more relaxed line to get the body moving the this offered that opportunity. As Kym set up his phone to capture the action, I sat and watched the waves occasionally looking up at the wide crack wondering how I would go. As I started up I wedged my hands, fists and arms in, and I felt comfortable and secure jamming my way up the first route of the day. It seemed kinda nice not knowing the routes or having an agenda, instead we scoped the place looking for lines that looked appealing and interesting. Then we just let the day unfold:
I was a little surprised when Kym opted for what looked to be a stiff opposition for just the second climb. A short but steep wall with a series of vertical and horizontal cracks that took you on a dog legged line up the face. It started with strenuous jamming and laybacking off the deck. On the steeper wall the jams felt a little less secure, with hands and feet squished in a narrow and more shallow crack. From the first horizontal break, tenuous and balancy moves on small rounded holds where needed to make it to the second horizontal break. All this made more nervous due to the dampness. And it was only then that the route really got serious:
You can see the line Kym followed, towards the left of the wall. The chalk marks giving it away. The top vertical crack was flared and difficult, even for Kym with all his jamming skills. By flared I mean that the sides were not parallel, with the crack being narrow at the back and wider at the face. These cracks are tough to jam, and Kym had a battle on his hands quite literally. And made all the harder with limited options for feet. He eventually unlocked it but it required pulling up on a dodgy jam, then in an unbalanced position releasing the jam and slapping the same hand higher up and hoping it would stick:
Having a rope above makes things feel not as bad, but there was no way I could climb the final crack of the route the way Kym had. I still had to jam the flared crack but the slap of faith was not in my repertoire of skills mentally or physically, so I had to work out a different way. It felt super strenuous when I eventually figured out what worked for me, and we both felt like the route had given us a right royal serve. After such a battle you would think we would pick something fun and a bit easier. But no, and added to that I’m sure an off-width crack is definitely not on everyone’s list of what they would call fun:
But we had lugged the big guns with us, the number five and six Camelots, and we had to use them at least once. I felt laddened down with all the hardware hanging off me, but it got used and I was very grateful for them once I got stuck into the meat of the crack. Too wide to fit hand or fist jams and too narrow to squeeze your body into. Arm bars also didn’t feel secure and added to that it was steep. It was a monstrous fight to be able to stay in and then try and move upwards. I had to use hand-stack jams, something I had never done before, and knee bars. Needless to say I fell out of it lots of times, and each time lost a bit more skin. By the time I topped out it felt like I had been put through a cheese grater, and we call this fun:
Kym also struggled but nowhere near as much as I had. With his far greater jamming skills coming into play, he seemed to make much lighted work of it and I think it is fair to say he probably didn’t lose any skin. This the style for much of Albany climbing, jamming rules down here and you either learn to do it right or struggle to get up many of the great lines. There are very, very few climbs where I live that require full on jamming. It is however a technique that I strangely enjoy. I just need to make more of an effort to get down here so I can hone my skills and learn how to avoid losing so much skin:
The next line was far more relaxed, and in many ways reminded me of climbing in the Peak District of England. The home of gritstone, famous in the climbing community, known for its gnarly trad routes https://sandbagged.blog/2017/07/30/part-4-the-peak-district-learning-the-ropes/. It has a very wide range of routes and there are literally thousands of them. As such I was able to and did avoid the lines with more full on jamming, instead opting for routes with layback flakes and technical walls. Kym was starting to get weary, not surprising after his night shift, but he battled his way up this fun route. It had funky moves between wide horizontal breaks that needed a bit of thought, and finished on a fun upper section with layback flakes:
There was one more route we had to bag, Kym felt it may not have been previously climbed. It looked great with what looked like, from the ground, just enough holds and gear to make it go. So I set off full of confidence until I got half way up. Here perched on the steep wall it became evident the spaced horizontal breaks were sloping downwards and not very deep. Small slopey holds and only friction for feet were between me and the top 5m above, plus the gear was unknown. Added to this the slightly greasy rock and my weary body made it less appealing, so I traversed left into the more obvious line to top out. One to leave for next time and better conditions:
It may seem that we hadn’t climbed a lot today, but our bodies told us otherwise. Plus these trips are not all about the climbing. Catching up and just being outdoors soaking up the atmosphere, which this place provided in bucket loads, is all part of it. Kym and I certainly felt we had had our fill. Plus I was driving the four hours home today and it would be nice to get back in daylight, which I managed only just. Walking out we came across Michael and Zed hauling lots of boulder mats in, we wished them luck thinking the conditions may not be what they were expecting. No matter, just like us having being spat off several routes, they will hopefully still have fun:
Sandbagged 