Giraween and Spicer's Peak

G’day y’all,

This weekeng had a holiday on the Monday, and that means adventure! My latest love interest Oksana was departing early Saturday morning from Gold Coast, so after work we loaded up Lessie my Subaru and shuttled south through somewhat hellish traffic as everybody flees the city in these situations. It took two hours to arrive, twice the normal travel, and we rolled through the airport in an attempt to drop her bags off early. Unsuccessful, we checked into the Coolie YHA a km away. We then drove a few km to Kirra/Coolangatta beach and went for a trot. This is one of my favourite beaches because of its beauty and vibe. We wandered to a greek restaurant and had an amazing dinner and wine, then we walked to Coolie point for romantic views of the surf beaches.

I should note that I rather like this girl. She’s a Russian doctor that makes babies. She literally sorts through millions of sperm in a microscope to pick the best looking ones, and then she injects the lucky guy into an egg. If all goes well that zygote becomes a bunch of cells that grows into a human eventually. This is an odd pairing for a guy who doesn’t like kids, eh? However we get along well and despite my adventure terrifying her frequently, she still sticks around. I took her rock climbing at my gym, got her hooked, got her climbing easy rock in the city at Kangaroo Point. Last weekend I taught her how to belay (and not drop) me at Mt Ngungun at the beginner wall, and she did great. Then I took her dinghy sailing and scared her to death almost flipping the Pacer over multiple times in fickle winds on the Brisbane river. Her screams of terror earned some chuckles amongst the other seasoned dinghy sailors within earshot. Still, she hasn’t run away yet.  There’s potential.

We had to sleep early at the YHA, which we didn’t do but that was the intention anyway. We woke at 0445 to get her to the airport by 0455. I went back to the YHA to sleep an hour and then I set off for the 4 hour drive to Giraween NP. This area of the state is called the granite belt because of old volcanism created large meandering hills of granite domes which have become exposed over the millennia. I arrived by 1130 and made friends who were part of the Brispane Rockclimbing Club (BRC). Eager to climb on granite, we packed our climb bags and set out to the crag. We had to walk an hour (3km) up into an area called Turtle Rock which is a very large granite blister sitting atop and separated from the underlying dome. The relief of the turtle was about 75m, so we clambered up to our first pitch.

I’ve never climbed granite, and neither had my leader. We were appalled to see no features to put a hand on. The rock, while beautiful and smooth surely can’t be climbable. We picked a line bolted with Australian “carrots” which are machine bolts glued into a hole drilled in the rock. You hang a SS hanger off them and clip a quickdraw in. This is part of the climbing culture here because doing such thing is a NP is strictly illegal, but it’s really hard to see a machine bolt sticking barely above black and white granite, so the law doesn’t seem to notice or mind. My leader walked up this sheer granite slap (slightly forward sloping rock) like a spider stuck on a wall.

Her partner was next, so I waited while he climbed, although he’s much less experienced and was less spider-like. I tied into my top-belay, which means if I fall I only fall the length of the slack and stretch in the rope. The start was atop a boulder with a gap to the turtle’s shell, and to my left was a 30m fall to rock. I’d like to think I’m getting my fear in check but this is testing me. I took a broad step onto the rock and I stuck. I got both feet on and it was like I was glued on. Only by the feet, mind you, but I’m glued to this seemingly smooth rock.

I start to leg up, searching for a divot or relief. There isn’t anything, it’s just all featureless smooth granite polished by the ages. I just trust that the rope protecting me won’t let me fall too far and take a step. It’s like glue! This is amazing. I climb a few meters and then see a ¼” ledge to use as a handhold. My instincts to hand the rock take over and I rely on my upper body. Suddenly, the glue that holds my feet to the rock falters and I have a leg sliding. It’s all good, because my knee has a lot of traction against the rock as well, and for a moment I’m hanging from my fingertips and knee. However blood has this terrible lubricating property and my knee slides as well and that’s too much for my tiny fingerhold and I fall!

Against my rope, silly. However I’d lost what I had gained. Spectators cheer me on and I regain my feet. This time I ignore my hands. The rock has its first blood sacrifice from me drawing a line in the direction that I must go, up! I rely on my feet and step upon step utilize the superior traction that this rock offers to ‘send the climb. I’m greeted at the top of the 30m slab to cheers and I strap my safety in and tidy my rope for the descent.

We’re on the precipice of the turtle’s back, and he has a turtle on his back that wants to push us off as we try and find the walkoff. This part of the climb is unprotected, no rope, so one must needs be careful. Just beyond us his shell bends downward and out of sight, towards certain oblivion. We found the walkoff by sighting a chalkbag streak where another climber slid down after a misstep. This very steep section had me leery, but I trusted in the magic rock glue that my shoes were made of. The downclimb is so much more scary than the upclimb!!! We managed it and trotted down the last 15m over very steep but comparatively less scary stuff.

Climbing is a process and it takes time, so this was two hours here. We only have time for one more climb before sunset so we pick a slightly harder and longer route. Our leader, an Irishwoman named Shenade, has problems with this one which makes me mighty apprehensive. This is also a 50m pitch up another flank of the turtle. After some flailing she manages to find invisible features to place her feet on and she climbs up and out. Her partner follows with much more difficulty. It’s now my turn, and this is what I came here for.

I think blood helps me learn faster, I had to keep wiping the blood off my shin so it didn’t stain my shoes, because this time I did it right. I did it all right, getting my toes on the tinies depression or smearing against the smallest single protruding quartz crystal. This type of climbing is such a different mind game, because I have to have an extensive trust of the grip on the tiniest of surfaces. My fear never left but I had it under control. Maybe. I ‘sent this climb and rejoined my belayer at the top. We still had the same descent which really didn’t feel much better even though I did it once before. On the ground amongst the boulders of the turtle’s feet we started our walk back to camp into the twilight.

I come from a world of the sea where old men drink beer and tell tales of the mighty storms they’ve weathered in their small vessels and lived to tell the tale. I’ve had my own storms and tales as well, but in this company we sit around the campfire in the chill and listen to the old men wax poetic on the nature of the rock on different locales. Some folk distaste for this granite slab is evident as being too easy. Some prefer to crack climb, some prefer face. Each has their own story of a high grade climb ‘sent or a failure to become a future project. One way or another this adds to my burgeoning todo list. I retired without any beer because I had aspirations for tomorrow, thinking I need to buy even more adventure kit for my new hobby.

I’m first up before the light with the Magpies sounding off. They are such strange birds, and as relatives to the raven I don’t care for them. I’m packed and fed and in Shenade’s car towards the next crag. Today we are climbing the lower Pyramids for a day of varied crack climbs. Climbing involves a lot of walking with a heavy backpack full of rope and expensive metal bits in the general direction of up. We scatter roos by our presence as we slog upward and upward. The walk turns into a rock scramble up Aussie scrubby hillside interspersed with giant nodules of granite. The scramble continues for 40 minutes until we are greeted by the giant slab of the lower pyramid. It’s relatively featureless except for a grand crack that the better climbers discuss their attack on. That’s above my level, so I follow the group of greenies to the right where there’s an epic 16 (pretty hard) called Charlotte’s Web.

We scramble and crawl up towards the next climb. At some point I interacted with a piece of spiky shaggy that cut my calf and let loose a torrent of blood that I only felt as wetness at the heel of my approach shoes. Once again I used loose detritus to clean the liquid so it doesn’t soak my shoes and rely on my immune system to fight infection. We approached this huge slab from below which has been expelled by the mountain like a moulted skin. However mountains have thick skins, in this case 20m thick, and we’re at the base of it.

The next part is so much fun, as we squeeze through a crack to be in a cave created under this broadly contoured dome section, and I’m thinking of how many tons of rock are above me as I do a protected rock climb and scramble underneath this world of solid earth above me. Emerging from this grandiouse cave, I see Charlotte’s web. The climb follows the crack between granite layers in a broad moon beyond line of sight. This is one of the easiest climbs here, but that doesn’t make it easy. One must ascend the slab with a hand or two under the crack in the rock in a traverse of the event that calved the rock shell that we had just climbed under. I watched as the leader ‘sent the climb placing pieces of trad (traditional) pro (protection) to protect the rest of us climbers.

There was a fair line and the climb took the leader 40 minutes, so I went a-wandering, as I do, while I waited my turn. I followed the pyramid around and delved into mammoth cracks in towering granite. I may be the the only person in the group who enjoys hiking as much as climbing, as must folks stayed and watched the climbing action. My explorations were fruitful, and I saw an expanse of curving granite domes and boulders off into valleys. I found a crack that I believe led to the precipice and I climbed to the level of my approach shoes. I also had in mind that if I fall and break, it would be nice to not have to rely on my voice to get help. I returned to the climb.

My return was timely, as it was almost my turn. Susie, who you may remember from my Japan adventure, was ahead of me. I don’t think she likes me any more, and the feeling may be mutual. All the same I trust her to not drop me on belay, because what sort of evil person would do that willingfully. She ‘sent her way out of sight, and 40 minutes later I was tied in and climbing.

This was a different game. The rock was very steep and my shoes wouldn’t hold like before. I had to have one or both hands underneath an overhanging crack a bit wider than a hand’s width, and by applying torsion in my body to apply more downward (sideways?) force I made my feet stick. This was good fun, and the fall below was 50m of smooth slab to the calved shell. I did well after slipping only once. The expertly placed pro gave me confidence and I climbed hard and fast until I could rest on a ¼” wide crack before the next push.

At this point I could see Susie, and I passed the last piece of pro. At this point it became an exercise of impeccable balance against featureless slab before I reached a bare spot. At this point my hands are useless, and there’s 10m to Susie who is my las bit of pro. I’m making my way precariously towards her, and she has to let me know “don’t slip” which is all I’m thinking of. This is exactly what a belayer shouldn’t say, and I think this was yet another stab at me from a jilted lover. Now slipping is on my mind, and I get handsy, looking for a lifeline. There isn’t one, and I palm a feature that offers no grip.

The transition of my weight from foot to hand detatches the magical glue that stuck me to this sheer face, and I slide onto my other knee which finds traction. I remember my previous ‘teaching moment’ and I get my other foot stuck before the blood has a chance to lubricate my way 7m down the face. I’m cool, so I span my way to safety and clip into the pro gear beneath me. Susie escapes the belay snd scrambles down, we don’t say a word. I belay the next in line without incident and then it’s time for me to climb down.

The downclimb is more exposed and precarious than the climb, at least that’s how it feels. One mistake and I’m tumbling 200m down a granite slab. Talk about a rush, I’m focused like a green flashy laser as I carefully choose my footing and avoid too much pressure on my otherwise useless hands. I reach the crux of the downclimb and another helpful girl tells me where to put my feet as I descend. It’s fairly terrifying to be descending with hands barely grasping rock while hunting for footing. That’s why I do this I guess.

A bit more footwork to avoid falling into a deep cave that would have been my fate had I slipped further and I’m at the top of the calved shell. There’s 7 yo kids climbing this section laughing like kids do. They’ll grow up with a different fearset than myself I reckon. I get back to the cave area and take a rest.

No I don’t, when do I ever just take a rest. There’s a cute blonde girl who I call Boston because I can’t remember her name but I make fun of her for a lack of a Bah’stan accent. I convince her to follow me to that cool overlook area. Then I convince her to follow me up the crack that leads to the top of the mountain, I think. She follows me up to the point where I felt unsafe, but with these magic shoes I’m much more confident.

She’s not so keen, and then I confide in her the real reason I dragged her this far is that I wanted to explore and if something bad happens she’s the one to get help (no cell coverage anywhere out here). I ask her to wait 15 minutes and go get help, set my watch, and climb the crack. This crack is fairly glorious, and I ascend in perfect safety. If I make a bad mistake I won’t be hurt, just wedged into a crack and unable to escape. I get to the precipice, but I’m at the bottom of a 5m deep crack. I squeeze inward to a tight spot. I dive down and crawl forward but my helmet stops me.  I take it off and push forward until I decide that was the wrong thing to do.

I inchworm in reverse and try to go in standing. I can see where it opens up but by pelvis is too big to get through the crack. I give up. I’ll have to lose some bone or ass to get through there. I am back to Boston by 13 minutes, and we walk on to the base of Charlotte’s web. Lunch time, and we all talk about the next crack to climb. Shenade is keen, so we lug our gear back through the cave to the base of the mountain, then we slog along.

This crack is a 15 (less hard but still pretty hard), and it goes up about 35m. I watch Shenade be a spider monkey placing pro as she goes, and I’m 4^th in line. While I’m waiting I walk and find another crack that I spelunk up into. Once again I see the massive world of cracked rock skins shed like an onion that has been squished. However each layer is 5-20m thick so the cracks are extensive. I got back to the climb and it was my turn. After watching Shenade’s partner struggle up I’m apprehensive. But I’ll give it a go.

The climb started out OK. I got about 5m up and it was a bit of stress pushing my feet onto the vertical cliff by pulling on the crack. 10m up and I’m trembling and sweating (I was shivering cold before I sterted.) I’m also cursing.  A lot. I told people I’m a sailor and now they hear it along with grunts and more curses. I’m cursing my legs, then my hands, then the rock. Then the rope annoys me, and there’s a tree nearby too that draws my ire. Nothing is spared. My belayer is invisible through the crach and is encouraging me, so I hand her a decent platter of cursewords as well. All good fun.

I get to a point where I’m humping an arête (an outward pointing piece of rock) with a chickenhead (an upward facing pillar of rock) shoved up my ass. My cursing takes on sexual innuendo for those on the ground watching me climb as I inchworm wriggle myself out of violation up the arête while cursing. Suddenly, I have foot contours, and handholds, and I climb up and out. I don’t know how all these knee scrapes happened, and again I use eucalyptus leaves to wipe the blood so it doesn’t fill my shoes. The next climber, which I belayed, noted where he saw my blood on the mountain. I told them all it’s my holy sacrifice to the rock gods.

Now I need to R+R after an easier descent. I’m still amazed at the verticality that I’m able to do without ropes as my confidence increases. After the last climber finished we went towards the third pitch of the day. By now the sun’s getting low at 4pm, and it’s getting cold so we need to finish. Shenade took lead but lost her confidence. This is a 17 and she couldn’t find the start. Another girl, who I call LA, took lead and fairly walked up the slope (45m!).  At this point a hiker came by and told us one of our group was injured and needed help.

I was next in line to climb, but chivalry demanded that I assist (and not climb this scary looking slab with more blood sacrifice). I left my 70m rope with other climbers as I trekked back to our main meeting point. I met Katherine (BRC Mommy) and we heard one of the girls had broken her ankle leading. She had fallen into the same cave I almost fell into when Susie belayed me. I picked up the afflicted girl’s pack (heavy) and hiked to another pack. Shenade’s partner (can’t remember his name) couldn’t carry this entire thing plus his, so I loaded gear into mine until I was at my limit. Now I’m the turtle carrying two packs 330m and 3km down the mountain. I’m better off than the guys carrying her out on the stretcher. I have henceforth been inducted into a special sub-club of the BRC, the Brisbane Rescue Climbers.

I got to the car park and dropped my 35kg load and was handed a beer. That was nice. I was beat after the day’s adventure, and my dinner was terrible. One of the rescuers brought pizza back from town so that salvaged my nutrition, and I couldn’t keep awake long.

Monday, and I had different plans. I’m done climbing, but I want to get home and do a bushwalk on the way.  I got packed up and said my goodbyes and drove the 2 hours to Spicer’s Peak. This is one of the peaks in the “Main Range NP” that’s been on my todo list. Aussiebushwalking.com lists this is a 6km return, 4 hr extremely hard hike. I’m glad my Subaru can beat its way up this 7km rutted rocky road.

I prepared a daypack for an aussie bushwalk, with snakebite bandage, water, food, head torch, cell phone and spare battery. I’m ready to rock. As usual I don’t know where I’m going other than up. Up is a direction like north or south. As long as you climb up you’ll find the top of the mountain. The approach was quite overgrown and steep, so my most concern was for snakes but I walked hard enough that my muscles starved my brain of oxygen and I couldn’t be afraid of much. I met some folks hiking down. My internet intel indicated going to the left was steep, dangerous. These folks said go right and it was better.

I found myself in a bush bash upward, falling and covered in dirt. It was steep, but if I fell it would be into bush and softer than rock. The grass was also something good to grab onto. As usual I considered if my water supply was adequate, one of the few things that actually gives my anxiety. I had camelled a litre of water at start so I felt my 1.5l reserve was adequate, but I wasn’t sure for 5 hours. I was on the side of a hot mountain sweating out my clothes.

And then, suddenly, I climb into an enchanted land. I expect a fairy to buzz by me head amongst the moss and ferns. There’s a gorgeous rainforest surrounding me. It’s close, hugging me with love and shade. I enjoy it. A short climb and here I am at the peak. I look out across the valley and I see the neighboring peaks and a reservoir in the distance. This is a lovely land.

I decide to take the dangerous and well trod route down. I follow the arête as I clamber down through Aussie dust and dirt. I find a washed out gulley of rocks that was the ‘dangerous’ way up and I find it to be child’s play. There is so much for my hands.  Sure, a mistake to one side and I fall 300m but I feel warm in the land’s embrace. I have an amazing view as I scamper down this rock gully. I should have gone up this way! It’s only 75m down and I can’t see 5m ahead of me so I continually think I’m walking off a cliff. Don’t make a mistake as I’m solo, but it’s all good.

Far too soon and I’m back on the track that I remember. I have excellent trail memory, and I see a tree or a vine that I’ve seen before. That wasn’t scary at all, or maybe I’m becoming jaded. Once I reach non-life-threatening locations I start to run. It’s so good to run. I run through the bush and slip and slide but I don’t care. At one point I slip and grab a blackboy. These trees are old, a 2m blackboy is 300+ years old. They’re called that because their trunks are black from bushfires, and they’re hard to kill. It kisses me and applies makeup across my arms and face that I wear to the bottom. I ran the rest of the way down.

At the bottom I met some locals who were interested in my curious makeup, accent and sweat. I told them my abridged story, and the lady acted as my mum and told me to hike with friends. I didn’t feel this was dangerous, aside from the snakes. And the 2 snakes I saw were ostensibly moving away from me.

I got in my car and drove the hour home, another adventure complete. My skin will replace itself, and my sore muscles will get stronger for next time. I had a great weekend!

Cheers Mates,

Mike