Larapinta Trail: section 2/3
Day 5 of 18 Friday
Tangentyere Junction early morning tent view
Waking up today, we had a big decision to make - whether we were going low or high route on the LT. This was to be our biggest decision to date and it all boiled down to how we felt.
Consulting the trail maps I could see that the alternative high route was longer by about 600m and one hour. Now you’ll recall I’ve had a moan about the estimated times on these maps being set in stone for a Kenyan marathon runner being chased by lions.
Okay what does the map say – “you have the choice of following the main trail through the central valley, or taking the alternative high route over the top of Tangentyere ridge. The scenic high route (scenic sounds good to me and the morning pictures make it look amazing) follows the ridgeline and goes up and down 300m via steep slopes that are very rough underfoot”. (What devious devilry is this, it sounds like a fucking Myocardial infarct in the making right there and just God awful). “The main trail is similar in distance but less strenuous and takes less time”. Does anyone else get the feeling they are selling you the sizzle to try and get you to take the lower path. The rest of the blurb went on to mention a saddle, a creek bed walk and a few short scrambles over rocks. Nothing that sounded horrendous and challenging. Total distance to Standley chasm 9km or about 3 hours and rated moderate to difficult on the trail maps. Sounded doable and well, if I am being totally honest here I have a rule when it comes to hiking (I have many, like Agent Gibbs on NCIS) Randall’s #1 rule of hiking - always take the shortest and easiest route because you never know just what’s around the corner.
Whilst I had reached middle age and my body was a temple in the making I wasn’t going to risk it crumbling like a deck of cards in a Yasi blow. So the low route it was according to Rule #1.
Wolfing down a power morning bevy we were off to greet the day. From Tangentyere junction it’s a leisurely stroll down hill, but the thing about downhill that always gets me a little on edge is when you are surrounded by mountains, there is really only one of two ways things will go. The first being through a valley/gorge and the second is up and over a saddle between two mountains. Having just looked at the maps over my morning brew I wasn’t optimistic we’d be getting off with a leisurely valley/Gorge walk. So as we were walking down hill and following a trail that snaked around the base of the mountains, I kept looking ahead with a little trepidation because the mountains were closing in around with towering sheer walls and to be honest I couldn’t see anything ahead that even remotely was going to resemble an easy morning stroll.
The climb out of Tangentyere Junction, low route they say. Section 2 Larapinta Trail
Well it was labelled as a moderate-hard trail so this must be the hard bit I thought. Looking ahead I saw the trail drop down into a creek bed, more an ancient watercourse that allowed the water to tumble down the mountain when it rains. However, that didn’t exactly look like a meander down through the mountains, it more or less went straight down the side of this mongrel big mountain in front, then through a narrow gap between another mongrel big mountain. I now know this to be a saddle in official Larapinta Trail hiking terms. Moreover, I was rapidly learning that this term meant pain, huffing and puffing and a racing heart rate. It also meant that after the arduous climb we’d be in for a spectacular view. So being the glass is half full kind of trail hiking machine that I am, I just tightened pack straps, took one look at Irish, looked up at the trail mountain, back at Irish and nodded a telepathic thought but felt the creek bed climb warranted a spoken word of motivation. “This is going to fucking hurt, but we’re not here to fuck spiders, so let’s do breakfast at the top”. The motivation of a muesli bar at the top just didn’t have the zing I was looking for so I promised myself to break out the Snakes (not the biting kill you ones but more the delicious sweet confectionary ones). So motivation set we stepped off, you guessed it, 200m into the climb I was huffing and puffing like an old man with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease who continues to smoke against medical advice. So much for the Trail hiking machine I proclaim to be in my head, guess that needed some more granola bars, clean living and trail miles to develop.
In all fairness though the climb up this saddle was not exactly a defined one, more of a find your own way adventure that was more of a scramble over rocks than a designated trail. It simply followed the watercourse to the top. A path of least resistance for the ancient waters flowing down the mountain but conversely a path of resistance going up the mountain for the hiker. Despite this, the walk up was spectacular, the mountains closing in around you made you feel insignificant in a good kind of way, more blessed to be sharing their grandeur I suppose. It’s a feeling that is hard to explain, but I’ll attempt. You know you’re in the wilds of the Northern Territory (well it’s all wilds out here) but your walking amongst wilderness that is largely untouched and that feeling you are on your own, alive and living the dream just bubbles up.
Man was so not meant to be caged or shackled to the norms of society, we simply weren’t meant to live our life waking up each day to alarm clocks, rising from our slumber to don a suit, rush a quick breakfast, battle the traffic to get to work and clock on for a regular 9 to 5.
Then after your dues are paid, you clock off to battle the traffic on the way home again, grab a quick bite and spend some time with family if you’re lucky. Then you sleep only to do it all again for 5 days a week, 46 weeks a year, 45 years in a life if you are lucky. Depressing isn’t it but what is depressing is you know it’s true and still do it anyway. But out here all that simply slips away, time stands still and you are invariably broken down by the elements to the man you were meant to be. Out here all that shit doesn’t matter and it just slips away to insignificance. The alarm clock is replaced by the gentle warmth and light of the sun rising on your humble abode, the breakfast is more leisurely and a time of your choosing, the commute to work is replaced by the foot falcon that plods along at a pace set by you, shuffling to a distance in the future. Your dues are replaced by the reward of having climbed that mountain or reached that river. The evening meal is spent watching the sun go down and reflecting on the day’s achievement with quiet conversations that are deep and unreserved. Sleep comes quicker, there are no distractions (apart from things that go bump in the dark and my rodent friends). The next day you actually rise and look forward to it. It’s these quiet thoughts that come to you randomly as you struggle up a mountain or sit quietly on top of the mountain you have just conquered and are munching on your granola bar and snake, with an almost smug look of satisfaction knowing that the mountain didn’t beat you this time.
Breakfast Break on the 1st saddle after Tangentyere Junction
The view on top of this saddle was pretty impressive, distant mountains clawed up at a seemingly endless blue horizon and evoked the above mentioned emotions. Both Irish and I were pretty happy with this morning climb, we felt a sense of achievement and as we looked out over the trail figured it was going to be all downhill and a relatively easy day ahead. We couldn’t have been more wrong!
Heading downhill we had a spring in our step, we’d conquered the beast of the mountain, a belly full of granola bar, snakes and pond water. The sun was shining and the trail was clearly defined. Irish was out in front for once. We were chatting about our direction in life, all good meaningful stuff. As the trail entered a thicket of scrub I stopped momentarily to look back up the trail where we had come from. It was then I heard a god awful crashing sound behind me. It was so loud I thought an Elephant was coming up the trail to trample us. Hearing a cry out as I was spinning around in alarm I I saw the funniest thing I’d seen to date on the trail. There was no elephant or wild boar bearing down on us just Irish lying on her back, with a pack, and arms and legs all flailing around. She looked like an overturned turtle. She’d been talking away and walking looking down as she went but failed to see an overhead branch across the trail, she walked into it giving it a proper Liverpool kiss and knocking her off balance causing her to be sat on her arse. Tree 1 Irish 0. Fortunately for her there was no damage done, just a little wounded pride. We laughed about this mystical tree that jumped out in front of her and after struggling to get her on her feet we laughed some more and went off on our merry way. Passing the tree myself I ducked under the branch and looked at the offending branch, if you looked closely enough you could see where the bark was polished from repetitive Liverpool kisses from the trail folk and I laughed some more. It seems the Trail always wins in the end and today was Irish’s turn. I guess I dodged a bullet this time
Trail Tree verses Irish, Trail tree One, Irish Zero
Heading down into a river bed we started what is called bouldering. Bouldering put simply is clambering over boulders and rocks with no clear or easy path. It’s quite a novel thing jumping from rock to rock and scrambling over and around the bigger ones. But has its down sides It breaks up your stride and you can get no momentum to cover distances with ease. One wrong footstep and you can roll an ankle in the blink of an eye. After about a kilometre into this I was over it, Irish seemed to enjoy it, but I was cursing every couple of metres or so. My knees were not happy but you can’t get away from it so you just push on knowing that it will eventually end when you get out of the creek bed. I must confess though the countryside surrounding the creek was shaded and cool. The path of water over time had carved out the course and polished smooth some huge boulders. It made for great scenery and photography.
Bouldering at its finest - LT style
At one such point on the trail we came across a random wall blocking our path., This was like the mother of all boulders. in a narrow ravine. I couldn’t see a way round it without physically free climbing it and that’s what the blue arrow was telling us. Those that know me know I don’t do heights very well either so clinging onto the side of a rock wall with a 15kg pack on my back and shimmying up it was not going to be high on the priority list. But the Blue arrow was screaming at me to suck it up princess - so that’s what we did. Irish went first and climbed up the wall along the side of the ravine. Halfway up another Blue arrow became apparent and this one was directing us to change direction. It was bringing us back along the wall towards the centre of the ravine at the top of the wall. It literally was a case of one slip and you were a goner. It would have been a trail ending fall and you wouldn’t escape from that ravine without serious bones being broken. I held my breath as Irish (who also doesn’t like heights) moved with caution, but in a steady manner. I could see she was nervous but it had to be done and so she just got on with the job. Standing at the top of the wall she turned and looked down at me, she was clearly chuffed having nailed it and was egging me on.
Getting to the base of the wall I took a couple of deep breaths and started my climb up. Irish giving me some stick, “Just don’t look down whatever you do Don’t fall, I’m not carrying your fat arse out of here”. Thanks for that! I have no intention of doing that, my focus was on the wall in front of me. My heart was thumping out of my chest, I’ll admit I was shitting myself but there was no going back now. I just shuffled slowly and inched my way along the wall. Eventually I go there, had a few deep breaths and looked down from the top of the wall. It was probably only a 30m climb up but it was more than enough for this puppy. After having a laugh at each others expense and jokes about changing underwear we came to the realisation we were actually standing on top of what would be an awesome little waterfall when this creek bed flowed. It was pretty cool.
The only way is up, free climbing a waterfall with no water
As the day progressed I was getting a little low on water as I had used a bit overnight in our dry camp at Tangentyere junction and on the big morning climb up to the saddle, so I started to ration a little but it wasn’t enough and I knew I was going to be running on empty by the end of the day coming into our resupply point at Standley Chasm.
I had seen the odd pond of stagnate green water deep in the crevasses of the gorge we were struggling up earlier on in the day but not much recently. It wasn’t too much of a concern but enough for me to be on the lookout for it. Fortunately about hour later the trail provided and I came across a bathtub sized pool of water that was actually quite clear. So opting for a rest I stopped and filled up a 750ml bottle of water and treated it. Taking a big drink from my other bottle I knew I had about 2 Litres of water left in total so figuring this to be enough I set off again for some more bouldering, oh joy oh joy. Finally hot, tired and thirsty I I stopped at Angkale junction to wait for Irish. I polished off my water bottle on my chest rig holder and reached into my back storage compartment of my pack to replace it with the pond water I had acquired earlier, only to discover that I had lost it. Fuck it, I muttered to myself and reflecting on the fuck up I realised that I couldn’t even recall putting it in that compartment and surmised I had left it on the rock as I was distracted and daydreaming watching killer water scorpions turf wrestle in the bathtub of pond water.
No point crying over spilt milk or in this case lost water. I ended up consulting the map, Angkale Junction was 1.4km away from Standley Chasm. Ok, I knew I still had 500mls left in my 1.5l bottle so fished it out. Careful not to spill any I decanter this into my remaining 750ml bottle and secured it to my chest rig holder. I am always conscious of water ( I try to finish a day with at least 2L in reserve) and keep well hydrated because I have seen what dehydration does to people out here and it isn’t pretty. So to say I was a little annoyed at being in this situation may have been a little bit of an understatement. I guess this has to be rule #2 of Randall’s rules of hiking – don’t run out of water dickhead, always have reserves, But the damage was done and it was only 1.4 km to a cold drink and a juicy burger (I had run out of food too - I wonder if that constitutes rule #3. Nope that’s got to be don’t eat vegan trail food) so It should be okay for a middle aged apprentice temple body seasoned hiker like myself, how hard could it be.
Summing up my emotions apart from being, hot, hungry and feeling a little thirsty I figured I was not medically compromised or dehydrated just tired after a long arduous morning. So off I set at a subdued pace. What I am neglecting to say here is that I didn’t tell Irish I was almost out of water. It was a pride thing and I was always on her back about never carrying enough water so I didn’t want to own this. The trail ahead looked like it was more bloody boulders as it wound its way into Standley Chasm, but at least it was in the shade. Wrong, the trail just wanted to mess with my mind once more this day, and so 150m past the junction the blue arrows were telling us we weren’t going to get an easy ending to the days hike. Stopping, looking at the arrow in disbelieve, my mind had this little GPS voice inside it going “in 50m turn right and go straight up you fat fuck, do not go past go and do not collect $200 or your cold drink and burger”. Shaking my thoughts off I just pushed on, and up and up this trail clawed its way to the ridgeline. (Look at the topography on the picture below, that is Standley Chasm in the middle). I was sucking down lung full of air and my heart was racing. My mouth felt like sand paper and by the time I got near the top I was down to about 250ml of water. I felt like ordinary. Irish was soldiering on behind me but even she looked like she was in the hurt locker. I rested briefly in the shade of a little tree before tackling the top of this ridge line but I was in a foul mood and feeling terrible, surely we were almost there. Pushing myself off the rock I was resting my sorry arse on I shuffled onwards wanting the hurt to go away. I think I even sarcastically said out aloud to myself “are we having fun yet you fat C#NT?” or was it in my head, I really can’t remember. All I knew was I had to make it to the top of this ridge, down the other side and it was over. Pushing on I made the top of the ridge and that is when the trail just gave me a solid swift kick in the nuts. My knees buckled a little, my guts sunk and my spirit broke. I just flopped down on the side of the trail a broken man. Before me lay a steep downward descent followed by another near shear vertical climb back to another ridgeline about 200m opposite me. I was totally guttered. Irish arrived shortly thereafter and saw what I was seeing. I could see she was devastated as well. I think we both just sat there for a couple of minutes mumbling profanities at a random ridgeline, not wanting to move. I certainly didn’t.
I think it was the thought of a burger and a cold drink that finally got us up and moving (we had to get there before the shop closed at 3pm). Water check, a few sips and I was down to about 200mls with a fucking big ridgeline to conquer and what I assumed was one last final descent into Standley Chasm. Knowing I was in a shit state the more I thought about it the darker my mood got. I was livid at this fucking trail. If I could get on my sat phone and dial a chopper to pick me up I would have but that was not meant to be so off we pushed. I don’t know how I made it up that ridge, I think it was pure hatred that drove me onwards but we got there.
Irish, bless her, picked up on something was wrong with me as I was lagging behind and she kept asking me if I was okay. Naturally I denied everything but I couldn’t hide how shit I was feeling as we started the decent. After a 100m or so descending I suddenly started to stumble frequently as my concentration was shot to shit. I literally l felt like I had necked a dozen scotches and was pissed as a parrot but not in a good way. I finally told Irish I was down to my last few sips of water. Naturally being the kind soul she is she offered me some of hers but I refused. Call it pride, call it stubbornness, call it what you want but I felt like I needed to punish myself for fucking up and to not accept her offers of water was totally irrational I know.
Ok this is where Irish pays me to say she supported me, encouraged me and helped get me psychologically to the finish line despite me being an angry ex vegan. Truth be known she did and I whole heartedly credit her for that feeling of an icy cold poweraide, chicken burger, caramel slice induced resuscitation of my broken mind.
Day done, we collapsed into our tents after unpacking goodies from our supply box.
Standley Chasm, Larapinta Trail - look at the brutality of that topography
