Larapinta Trail: section 2- kicking goals

Day 3 of 18 Wednesday

Trail leaving Simpson Gap

. Waking on Day Three … Sunrise. I had a quick check of the body and surprisingly it was still in working order. Don’t get me wrong the aches and pains were still there but it was nowhere near the ‘I have been run over by a Greyhound Bus just shoot me now’ level, more like a dull roar of protest. I couldn’t really complain, hell, I even felt like I had managed to get a couple of hours sleep in my Taj Mahal tent (more on that in the gear review to follow) ,so things were looking up. I knew it was inevitable that Team Willowra would soon be buff trail machines eating up the miles and pissing on mountains but to use the Northern Territory adage …. just Not Today, Not Tomorrow, Not Thursday!
Today was going to be a decent day's hike. Our destination was Mulga camp 16.4km away and our biggest day yet. More importantly, after a little map reading and talking to other East bound hikers the day before, I knew we were in for a treat with today's stroll not having a lot of mountain goat work and a very delightful gem in the form of our first waterhole at Bond Gap. This was great news to me because after walking for two days, rolling around in the dirt and sweating my arse off, I could feel I was overdue for a washing of my bits. Hell my socks on day three we're ready to march there themselves and dive right in.
Departing Simpson Gap we were greeted with a lovely little meandering trail with gentle undulations and it was just what the doctor ordered for a beaten up soon to be demi god like trail machine like myself. Speaking of trail machines in the making Irish was sporting her new Boots looking rather dapper, whilst she didn’t quite have a spring in her step the murderous glint in her eyes had somewhat abated and dulled a little now that her feet had room to move.
Whilst our trail hiking speed was no ‘Kenyan being chased by a cheetah’ style of hiking, ours was more of a ooh look there’s some grass lets watch it grow kind of pace. The meandering trail really was quite a chilled morning walk for us. The sun was hidden behind the clouds most of the day which took the sting out of it so we were happy in our own little world plodding along. We normally walk to the nearest feature point on a trail map or the 5km whichever comes first, but today I just slipped into the zone and the closer I got to washing my sacred bits the more I could smell the sacred bits so the faster I walked. It was worth noting Bond Gap was 9.2km away from our start point of the day. Now the NT parks and wildlife’s rangers say this distance should be done in about 2.5hrs, they even provide a nice little better cover our arses spiel that goes like this “These walking times are provided as a guide only, for walkers of average fitness and capable of carrying overnight packs (e.g 15-20kgs). The times are based on a steady walking pace and some brief stops but no long rests”. Arriving at the blistering pace of about 3.5 hours for the allocated 9.2km carrying 18km, walking at a snail's pace and with a shit ton of brief breaks I was pretty chuffed with my efforts.
I mean these time guidelines have to be for some sort of “average” trail hiking freak with a rocket up his arse, indulging in copious amounts of ‘go’ juice and washed down with Ritalin smoothies to make it in those times. Either that or I’m just a slow fat fuck. Anyway I made it and that was all I cared about. Looking around I had the Bond Gap all to myself. The water was clear and it looked ever so inviting. So what did I do? You guessed it. I stripped off, freed willy, threw my clothes in, and watched my socks do a happy dance as they slowly sank in the shallows. I then proceeded to push imaginary titanic crushing icebergs out of the way as I slowly walked in. Anyone who lives in Australia knows that entering a waterhole should be done with caution for the obvious reason that submerged rocks and logs can cause you serious injury should you dive in. But what they don’t really advertise is just how bloody mind numbingly cold the water is around these parts. There is no schooling in how to get into cold water. I mean you see people trying to ease themselves in but no sane person can, with any dignity, slowly walk out and submerge himself bit by bit.. In the absence of decorum a true Australian knows, it's got to be done like ripping off a band aid, -brutal and fast. Moreover, there is no graceful entry. You just end up doing something like a forward facing 'Jesus save me’ baptism type belly flop. It isn’t pretty or graceful by any means but it gets the job done and that’s exactly what I did, flopping in all arms and legs thrashing away at the biting cold and pushing away those imaginary icebergs.
I shit you not, I knew it was going to be cold but this cold was next level and unlike anything I was prepared for. Needless to say my swim whilst refreshing was a brief dip in nature, just long enough to wash off the trail dust and dull the accumulated scent of the unwashed. Mind you the socks loved it, so did the rest of my clothes.

Bond Gap waterhole, if you look hard enough you can see the iceberg

Lying on my own little beach, sunning myself and waiting for my clothes to dry was my kind of living the dream. Just there in the wilds with my own thoughts was soothing and as I munched away on a delightful muesli bar all cares in the world slipped away. I was really starting to unwind and digging this trail therapy.
Forty five minutes slipped by and I was roused from my daydreams. I could hear what I thought was someone coming up the river bed. Thinking it was Irish, I didn’t want to blind the poor girl with my scantily clad Adonis-like body, so I scampered behind the nearest tree and started quickly donning my damp clothes. I could hear loud voices now quite close and after I was fully clothed I gingerly stepped out from behind my tree to see a middle aged couple, only a couple of metres away, trying politely to avert their eyes. I guess they’d seen my mad dash to cover up so I just looked sheepishly and gave a cheerful hello. Uncomfortable polite talk endured for a couple of minutes.
It seems they just came from the same direction I had travelled, coming off the woodland trail that intersected the LT about two kilometres away. Asking if they had seen my trail Buddy I was somewhat surprised they hadn’t passed her, which meant she was further away. This alarmed me a little as she was a bit behind schedule. The couple, quickly finished a sandwich, that I almost murdered them for, and hurriedly headed off. I guess they were too traumatised to relax, either that or my evil murderous glint whilst drooling over their sandwich did the trick. They were out of there,- didn’t want to hang around in case they were the next Peter Falconio case.
I decided to wait another 30 minutes for Irish before heading back to look for her, fearful that her beloved ‘rape whistle’ she carried everywhere had not scared off an Azaria Chamberlain dingo or drop bear attack. Fortunately it never got to that and Irish meandered in under her own blistering steam. Oblivious to my concerns for her safety, proclaiming her delays were due to an "off day" coupled with many breaks because her pack was still too heavy. At least her new dapper like Boots were not the problem.
Ok, it might appear to the reader that I'm being a little harsh here ‘giving out’ (a famous Irish phrase translates in Australian to having a go at) to her. But in all fairness she is one tough cookie and doesn’t let on that she is in the hurt locker. As much as it pains me, I’ve got to give credit where credit is due. What I didn’t find out for several days later was that at breakfast that day she had burnt her fingers handling her stove. They were burnt badly enough for them to have blistered, making gripping her hiking poles very uncomfortable. Now if that was me, I would have been moaning worse than a man with Man Flu and letting everyone that passed know about it.
Irish and I are good mates, so what do good mates do in Australia, they hang shit on each other in a jovial way, in fact I think it’s pretty much a favorite pastime when we hang out together. So before you huggers roast me I'd like it to be known that the author reserves the right to sledge all. Don't worry I'm sure Irish will put her funny extract in and ‘give out to me’ later on in this blog so watch this space.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully, getting into Mulga camp later that day. We weren't overly inspired by the location of the campsite but the country around it was pretty scenic and after a long day on the trail. it was time for some dehydrated meals and much needed rest, the Hilton could wait.

Irish Bringing home a long day with Rape whistle at the ready, if you look hard enough you can almost see the dust trails she’s kicking up from her blistering pace .

Mulga camp vicinity, Larapinta Trail