Larapinta Trail: Section 12 Mt Sonder the reckoning

Day 18 of 18 Wednesday

The Cheat before the assault on Mt Sonder, camping in style not quite my minimalist way

Well, it only took me three months and twenty-two days to get there but who is counting. I’m finally camped in the shadow of Mt. Sonder, it’s early evening and I’m sitting here nursing a fine single malt.   Everything is different, I kind of feel like I’m cheating. I’ve returned to the scene of the crime and there I am with my four wheel drive, fridge/freezer, all decked out for camping, I’ve got my comfy swag rolled out on a table and I’m sitting in a camp chair watching the sun go down and analysing Sonder.
From my deckchair this armchair warrior takes another sip of his single malt and I talk to the mountain, “You don’t look that big and nasty to me, there’s not a cloud in the sky, so what can you possibly do to stop me now”. I’m content and smug, I take another sip. Almost as if on cue, I shit you not, a cold wind blows from the direction of Sonder – “Challenge accepted” she whispers. I shiver.

And so starts the battle. After retiring early last night the wind picked up, it was blowing a gale all night, the temperature dropped, and I was bloody scrambling for another blanket at 0200hrs in the morning. At 0300hrs the tourist bus grinds up the hill to disgorge a few hopefuls for a sunrise summit. I’m too tired, bugger that, I roll over and try to sleep. Sleep doesn’t come easily. I am not sure if its apprehension or the cold, but I finally give up and get out of my swag as the first hint of pink hits the dawn horizon. Bloody hell it’s not supposed to be this cold in September, my fingers are numb and I’m shivering as I roll the swag up. The wind is blowing so hard it blows my pillow off into the dirt. Shaking my head, I know a little wind won’t stop me today. Tucking my hands into my pockets to ward off some cold, I sit patiently as the wind tries to blow out the flame on my stove and ruin my morning brew. Eventually it gets there and the whistle of the kettle announces it’s brew time. The first sip hits the spot, the car is packed up and now I’m ready for the assault on the mountain.  

Stairway to Sonder, the first Kilometre.

O645hrs I hit the trail, it’s blowing a gale and I’m cold, but I know I’ll warm quickly as I hike. Coming to the trail marker I stop and pause, the last time I was here I was also cold. But I was wet and miserable and the mountain was hidden behind cloud. Here today she was basking in the morning rays, formidable almost. I know I am being a little melodramatic but I can’t help feel the hint of apprehension of what lay ahead. Was it the  three months of sedate life and four kilograms heavier coupled with the fact that when I put on my pack for the first time I had to adjust the waist straps to accommodate my growing waist or was it that cold wind I felt last night when I mocked Sonder. Either way I put the thought to the back of my mind and stepped out. The first couple of kilometres were a lot of improvised stairs as you clamour up the western side of the mountain to the saddle, it certainly got the blood pumping and I’ll admit it, any trail fitness I had was well and truly lost with the passage of time. The trail map got it right again- “begin the arduous but rewarding ascent of mount Sonder. This is the longest climb on the Larapinta Trail, to the highest point”. Once at the saddle I took the advice and had a break, the wind coming up the mountain was seriously buffeting me. At one point I reached the sheer side of the mountain, I snuck my head over the edge to be physically blown back. That definitely put the shits up me as I’m not a fan of heights at the best of times. It was a reminder Sonder wasn’t giving up easily

The road to the holy grail

But I felt good and kept wondering where “the fuckening” was, sure enough it unfolded at the six kilometre mark, I stepped down off a rock onto another rock that slipped under my foot, rolling my ankle I came down hard. Only a mere one kilometre away from the prize. Crying out to the mountain in frustration there were quite a few expletives being thrown to the wind. My first thought was fuck not again (I was refering to the mountain beating me). Then I got on with injury assessment and ascertained it wasn’t broken, but it hurts like buggery. The pain subsided a little, I gingerly applied some weight to it, sore but bearable so no real harm done and simply pushed onwards and upwards hobbling up the mountain all be it at a slower pace.

The final push, as per usual the signs lie. at the bottom its says 7kms at the top its 8km, what’s another 1km straight up amongst friends

Arriving another twenty or so minutes I neared the summit and when I got within spitting distance of it the wind eerily just died in the arse. It literally went from blowing a gale to not a breath of wind in the blink of an eye. There was just silence and eerily like It was almost like Sonder was conceding defeat and letting me have my moment and have my moment I did. Ok I’ll confess, I was a little overwhelmed with joy, this had been a bucket list for so long and signalled a shift in the direction of my life. To me it was personal, I can’t explain it. .

Top of Mt sonder, a 233km trip and the pinnacle of the LT

But standing before the Cairn at the summit of this mountain, I teared up a little. I just flopped down at the edge of the mountain and looked out pondering what is next in life. Pulling out my trusty hip flask I took a long pull of the single malt. The whisky burned a little as it went down but lit the soul. Turning to the rock beside me and as if Sonder could hear me, I poured her a wee dram and said, “this one’s for you, thanks for the adventure”.  The liquid flowed over the rock and then I just sat there reflecting. To an outsider it would have seemed madness to be wasting good Scotch Whisky but to me it was anything but. To me it was clarity.  Off in the distance I could see Son of Sonder, that rock had nearly broken the merry band of adventurers that had started this journey with me

Mt Sonder finally at last you yield

If you are wondering, Irish has already done this journey a few weeks before me, she conquered Sonder too, congratulations there and thanks for being part of this journey and good luck doing Aconcagua . Big J has had a knee surgery since the Son of Sonder adventure so couldn’t join me anyway, he’s still in repair mode. He’s also about to get married too so time is precious, but I am sure he will get there eventually. If he doesn’t, he knows that he will be slaughtered with banter.

One happy Meanderthal

Mt Sonder looking north

of course there’s a quiet moment of reflection

Son of Sonder off in the distance, see how small she is and yet she nearly broke us

Postscript:

As I sit here writing this blog it is two days after the adventure. I am in pain and reminded of Sonder again - you are a beast and you had the last laugh. Walking off the summit, I had barely got one kilometre down, the wind was replaced by heat, a baking heat that boils your brain, whether I was distracted by the heat, tired, or had one too many wee drams, but I slipped on an unsuspecting stone. My momentum had me falling forwards, this was going to hurt because I couldn’t break the fall as my hands were behind me attached to hiking poles. Rolling off the trail at the last minute to stop myself biting the dust I rolled straight into a spinifex bush. For all those that don’t know what a spinifex bush does, let me tell you  it’s like natures game of pick up sticks on steroids.  A spinifex bush sole purpose in life is to hurt, it’s got thousands of spines that penetrate the skin and snap off. The fall had me lying on my back inverted like a turtle in the middle of this fucking bush. I was weighed down by my pack, trapped a prisoner to its spikey needles, every movement I was being pierced by more spines. Eventually the hiking poles saved the day, I was able to reverse them and use them as leverage to do a clumsy inverted sit up. I stripped off slowly and removed a good twenty or thirty spines from my skin. There I was standing naked, bleeding from tiny holes and some bark off my elbow. I laughed a little at how silly I looked, naked, bleeding and battered on a mountainside in the wilds of NT. I guess Sonder did not appreciate the Single Malt scotch whisky offering, she wanted more blood sweat and tears. A classic spin on the age-old adage of he who laughs last, laughs longest. Well played Sonder.

My arch nemesis - the ever so friendly Spinifex bush