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July 3, 2023July 3, 2023

Orienteering Women’s training weekend

I had read that there was an orienteering women’s training weekend happening at St Helens, but entries had closed when I went to join in. On the Friday, however, I got the bright idea of seeing if there’d been any cancellations. Weee. I was in.

First session was in 3 hours, but I had made dough and needed to bake the bread or my efforts would be wasted; I had to pack, of course, and drive 90 minutes to the venue in the Fingal valley. Hm. Rush rush. I threw gear into a bag (without a great deal of thought) while the bread was cooking, threw food with equal haste down my gullet, and set out for the location, Rajah Rocks.

Dawn Bay of Fires. I decided I didn’t want inside accomodation.

Here we practised a Middle distance course in a fabulously rocky area. I had already been training that morning, not realising I would be accepted into the camp, so was pretty tired as I drew near to the finish. As I headed further east to the coast, I witnessed the most wonderful sunset, but needed to keep driving, so hoped there would be more over the next two days. After a fun activity after dinner where we had to build a tower made out of spaghetti and string (and perch a marshmallow on top), I left the 32 or so others to their warm, comfortable accomodation and went to the coast to pitch my tent in the dark.

I wanted to camp, and near the coast, as I love the sound of waves lapping against the shore while I lie in my sleeping bag. It’s a pity I packed my old 1980s bag in my haste: it wasn’t very warm, but I survived, and the beauty of dawn next morning drove away any thoughts about relocating to standard-type accomodation.

Orienteering day 2. Waiting for things to get underway.

The Saturday contained lots of training sessions and even more camaraderie than that. Our fabulous coach, Francesca, had to design courses for total beginners through to former international representatives, from people who struggled to run to people who were very fit, and with ages from 14 to over 80, and she pleased the lot of us. Perhaps her biggest problem was to get us to stop chatting and laughing, and get the next session started. We did relocation in pairs, compass only (HELP – I decided I was actually a shocking orienteer in this session), and contour only courses, where I was allowed to slightly revise my opinion of myself.

On the final day we did a longish course practising long legs. I was stunned that I still had legs left to do this, but once I’d got going, somehow all was fine. It was very lonely out the far end of the long course; I think most took the shorter option for this session.

I was too busy orienteering (or chatting or eating) to photograph orienteering in action, but I did want to share the beauty side of our weekend, so here it is. As it is a post about orienteering, I will finish with a shot of one of my very favourite orienteers taken recently rather than this weekend. She’s not quite a woman yet, but I’m sure she’ll join in such a camp one day.

May 8, 2023

Eaglehawk Neck and more

Eaglehawk Neck is not a place that thrills me, in that it has no high mountains and no lush rainforest, but I do like beaches and cliffs, so, as my camera club had a weekend there last weekend, I decided to join in.

It would be fun to see the Tessellated Pavement under different lighting conditions, and spend some time at the beach. I have always found the paths to be too tame and manicured for my particular tastes, but the tourists like them, and they need some spots, so this one does the trick.

As it turned out, I hardly saw my club members at all, but I made some lovely friends instead, and they gave the trip a pleasant flavour. In particular, I had fun with Daniel and Sarah from Sydney while we waited in the cold for the moon to set so it would be dark enough for aurora spotting. I had delicious coffee on the hill with them next morning, but had to do the 1 a.m. shift alone, as nobody else seemed to want to get out of bed at that hour. I received a small aurora as a reward.

Tessa, my dog, mostly lived in the car, as my accommodation was a “pets not allowed” place, but Tessie is fine with that, as she knows I keep popping in to visit her, and that she gets several runs and walks each day. She feels secure in the car, and does not suffer from the normal separation anxiety that has been her lot since Bruce’s death. We both adored the Neck beach, where dogs are allowed to romp and play. She dashed in and out of the surf with joy. It’s so great to find a beach that lets dogs have some fun.

On the day I left, I popped into the Springs on kunanyi, and made friends with Sharon; we had fun walking trails together and talking heaps.
The next few days were spent admiring the wonderful Gussy and Abby, and watching gymnastics, waterpolo, chess club and the regional Primary School Athletics Championships – photographing Abby’s gym and Gussy’s Aths races.
Shown here are some highlights from the trip..

May 26, 2022May 26, 2022

February Plains Basil Steers Huts

This was only my second visit to the beautiful February Plains. I tend to always want to go up things, or else down cliffs in search of waterfalls. The February Plains involve almost no climbing at all (who counts two hundred metres?) , and no cliffs. You just amble your way through often very open forest – at best, myrtle forest – or along wide, flattish glacial valleys with ankle-high vegetation.

It is nice to have a goal for one’s ambles, and February Plains provide several excellent ones, part of which is a visit to the old huts of possum-trapper and snarer, Basil Steers.

My friends tell me that this is the biggest cushion plant in the world. Who am I to dispute such a claim?

On Wednesday, a small clutch of us visited the two huts left standing, as well as two ruins, where we searched for scraps of tin to indicate that a hut had once been there. We also navigated ourselves to the old Innes Track, where bits remain, which we also examined. We could manage to follow it for a little, before signs of its former existence petered out. This was intended to be a long track, from Liena on the Mersey to Rosebery and the mines on the west coast. The idea was no doubt good, but the reality of the terrain and the distance, inter alia, held the trump card. It was a failure, but by no means because of the excellent surveying done by Innes. The Innes Falls are also named after him: what a beautiful place to be remembered by.

Sue climbs a tree to get a better shot of the cushion plant. Hope it worked, Sue.

As we headed down to Sardine Creek, right near the end, someone said: “Look. Little Horn.” You wouldn’t believe how close it appeared to be. On this day, it was still covered in white from last Friday’s snow.

Somehow or other, we managed to clock up nearly 16 horizontal kilometres plus 277 ms of climb. That was very inventive of us. And right near the end, we got another aspect of interesting and important history. Brian O’Burne, one of the small group I was in, had been part of a blockade trying to save the February Plains from the destruction of Gunns. He showed us various aspects related to the struggle and amused us with tales of being put in gaol and taken to court for daring to protect an area of stunning beauty. I’m so very glad they won. Once you kill an ancient forest, it is gone forever.

It is hard to believe, looking at barren Afghanistan, that it once had beautiful forest. The Russians cut down trees at the rate of 200 trucks of timber per day, following their invasion of the country in December 1979. Their destruction of this neighbouring country seems very similar to what they are currently doing to a different bordering neighbour, this time, Ukraine. The world around us seems threatening and in turmoil. How wonderful to retreat into the wilderness. Even a single day refreshes us and reminds us of the healing powers provided by a retreat into a realm of calming green, open spaces and rugged wildness.

April 19, 2022June 27, 2022

Garden: Family Easter 2022

As I explain every time I post on cultivated nature, such as my garden, rather than wild nature (wilderness), my love of nature is not restricted to bushland and forest, but also encompasses beautiful gardens. This year, as I photographed the family Easter egg hunt, I was in my element, enjoying the colours of autumn, the profusion of glorious trees that I have planted, (which my neighbours hate!) and the thrill of the chase.

I was also fascinated, not so much by the joy of the children – Easter is a fun family time – and a life force here symbolised far more by activity than the chocolate eggs they were hunting, but by their exuberance in the hunt. The images show rushing, urgency and the thrill of the chase.

Another one for Fletchy. His first Easter.

But what if I explain to you that they are just running for the sheer pleasure of it? The rules in our family are that you rush to get eggs, sure, but not for yourself. No. You get the eggs for everyone and you put them in a communal basket. There are no prizes or rewards for being fast, or faster than someone else, for finding more or bigger. Later, after all the eggs are gathered, we take it in turns to take an egg from the basket until we feel complete, and then opt out of any more taking. If only society at large could operate like that!

He didn’t get to taste chocolate, but he liked finding eggs anyway. Letting go into the basket was a challenge, but he got there.

Don’t you just love her style? Textbook. She’s six.

So, all that running that you see here is just movement as an expression of joy; movement as an end in itself rather than a means to it.; movement as an expression of the wonder of partaking in life.

Meanwhile, the children ran like that for nearly forty minutes: 8.37 until 9.15 is the range of times in the photos’ metadata. No wonder they do well in beep tests, cross country and orienteering. No wonder it’s not a big issue to climb a mountain with me.
Probably 17 photos is a large number for a blog post, but I had real trouble culling it down to that!! I hope you forgive me the indulgence.

March 15, 2021June 27, 2022

Wellington kunanyi anxiety detox

What do you do in times of stress? Here is what I did.
My daughter went to hospital yesterday to hopefully give birth after too many miscarriages. Her waters broke at 6 a.m.. At about the same time I pulled out of the drive to travel south to have breakfast number two with my Hobart family, 2.5 hours away.
How do you kill a day punctuated with meaningful texts from your son-in-law telling you your daughter is being brave but there’s not much progress? Her pain continued.

First I went running on the Pipeline track, followed by fungi hunting (and catching) in the Fern Tree area, in a mossy, peaceful glade, whose serenity provided a break from this world by transferring me to one in which there was neither time nor pain: only beauty. I entered the world of plants and was made welcome. For me, to photograph fungi is to dissolve myself and enter their world; to become temporarily part of it. We are one as I devote myself to representing the magic of that world.

Emerging from that aegis, I checked messages and drove higher, to the Big Bend area near the top of kunanyi (Mt Wellington) where I switched from a green, moist, protected world to a wild, windy, grey one, but one in which a few flowers could be found lingering into early autumn. The challenge of focus stacking in the wind distracted me a while.

Messages checked; I transferred location to the Springs, where, I confess, it was hard to find flowers through the tears now falling.

Billadiera longiflora Climbing blueberry

I had not wanted lunch, so decided it was time to walk the eager dogs who know nothing of maternal angst, after which it was time to walk to collect children from school and walk them home.
So far the exercise tally was looking pretty good and it was to get much better.
The after-school activity for Wednesday is Orienteering. I think I entirely forgot I was worried as I did the Novice course with tiny Abby and her friend Riva, and then tackled the first third of the long course with young Gus, who discussed at each control his plan and then executed it with me shadowing for safety. A bit of chatter decorates exertion.

Ozothamnus ledifolius (Asteraceae) Big Bend

There is still no progress. Now Yelena needs an epidural block as she has been in pain for over half a day and it is taking control. Having not felt like lunch, I ate dinner with gusto (and it was delicious).
We were given an ETA of 2 a.m. I was exhausted and went to bed around 11.

At 12.20 there’s a text announcing a Caesar. I wait. 1.30. No news. I am not going to sleep, so I dress and pace the streets of South Hobart, now allowing shocking fears to take shape.
Some people drink; some smoke; some take harder drugs. I pace. I paced through the night Bruce disappeared. Pacing helps me enter some zone of semi-oblivion that smothers pain, sorrow, frustration, anger, loneliness or any of life’s negative emotions. It detoxes and de-stresses me in moments of trial. Swimming laps and running have the same function: their regular pattern induces a kind of hypnotic trance that quietens the orderly left hemisphere and allows the poetic, creative and freer right hemisphere to wander.
Very nice Louise.

At last at 2.40 there is news. Mother and baby are alive. I don’t care about fingers and toes, weight or name. I just want life and now I have it. Time to walk back to the house and get three hours’ sleep before driving back to Launceston, packing my bush pack and driving to the far SW of our island for a three-day walk.
And for those who’d like to know, my 161 cm daughter gave birth to a bouncing 51 cm boy. Oh life is glorious. He has already won our hearts completely.