Introduction
Although the title of this post might suggest that I just turned up in Tasmania one day and decided to walk the traverse, the truth is very far from this supposition. So rather than leap in at a point which is almost at the end of the saga let me, instead, wind back the clock somewhat and give some context to how I ended up standing in the Huon Campground one bright February morning wearing a 40kg backpack and about to embark on one of the toughest walks I have ever undertaken!
In September of 2019 Denise and I decided that, after 24 years living in Australia, it was becoming pretty remiss of us to have completely ignored Tasmania, especially given its reputation as the Ireland of the Southern hemisphere. We decided on a whirlwind tour of the island hitting the major attractions of Hobart, Freycenet and Cradle Mountain with the intention of identifying what we liked and coming back at another time to explore more thoroughly. My Freycenet Dawn shot is a child of that particular trip and while I did get some nice holiday snaps at Cradle Mountain there weren't any which particularly stood out.
Of most relevance, in the context of this discussion, were two specific moments during our trip.
The first of these was in Hobart where I came across a print of Peter Dombrovskis's famous shot from the Western Arthurs of Lake Oberon framed by pandanus trees. I was immediately taken by the primordial nature of the rugged terrain and as we continued on our trip I kept coming back to the image during moments of contemplation and was slowly resolving to take on that wonderful landscape as a photographic target.
The second was not so much a moment as a realization which came during our circumnavigation of the lake at Cradle Mountain - I was simply too unfit to venture along the Western Arthurs. Even the, relatively light, 7kg camera rucksack I was carrying on the day had aggravated an old injury in my lower back and I ended our Cradle Mountain excursion limping badly and in some considerable sciatic pain.
Despite my initial disappointment over the fitness issue I did feel that the problem was binary - in that there were only two possible outcomes. Either I would resign myself to an ever increasing decline in my fitness or I would find a way to improve my fitness to a point where the Western Arthurs trip would be possible. Of course, anyone who knows me at all would understand that the former was an impossibility for me which placed me squarely on the path back to fitness.
The Road to Recovery
For me, long term plans, like the one upon which I was embarking, always require a hard target in order to maintain a sense of urgency so I resolved to be sufficiently fit for a trip along the Western Arthurs Traverse by February of 2022. I felt this would give me a little over 2 years to rebuild my body to a point where I could take on the trip.
Starting small and slowly building I began morning pushups and sit-ups, regular walks which gradually became short runs then longer ones and a return to the gym, initially for cardio but slowly adding in weighted strength training exercises. As I tried to increase the intensity of my workouts I found that my ability to recover and repair was being hampered by my age and so I also started to examine my nutrition specifically looking for elements which might be lacking in a 57 year old body. Apart from the expected supplementation of Vitamin B, Fish Oil and others, I found the following* to be of greatest help:
• A time limited use of Grape Seed Extract helped with senescent cells and alleviated joint pain throughout the body
• Daily collagen peptides aided and continues to aid cartilage recovery and help muscle repair under weighted loading
• Daily NMN supplementation (combined with the exercise) kept and continues to keep my body moving more fluidly
By early 2021 I had purchased a weight vest and over the next 9 months built up the weight I carried in it from 6kg all the way up to its 30kg capacity - this was added in anticipation of a 30kg pack being needed for the trip. From the time I acquired the vest all of my training was done while wearing it. Over this period I also started regular weekly walks in a nearby national park using the vest. I have to say that its design is not really conducive to this activity as it places a great deal of downward pressure on the trapezius and I have since moved to a weighted rucksack frame which has suitable waist and shoulder straps for distributing the weight correctly.
Despite all of this effort, and a huge improvement in my fitness, by the middle of 2021 the addition of the weight vest to my regimen had made it clear that I would not be ready for a 2022 expedition so I pushed my target for the trip back to 2023. I also added in a weekly climbing training session at a local training wall - a decision which proved critical when I tackled Moraine A.
All of the effort continued all the way up to the end of 2022 and into January 2023 then I took a 2 week respite from the routine and by the time February 2023 came around I felt I was ready!
Scotts Peak Dam to Junction Creek
So there I am, standing in the sunshine in the Huon Campground with 8.5km (5.3 miles) between me and the first campsite at Junction Creek. For sure, there was a certain level of apprehension, but I was here and I was elated as I struck out along the path through the trees and out onto the moorland beyond.
What was abundantly clear from the outset was that I had underestimated my pack weight and was carrying, what turned out to be, an extra 10kg. It may not seem like a lot but it represented a 30% increase over and above my training weight. It's also worth noting that the effort involved in carrying the extra load in non-linear. Despite this concern I knew that the weight would continue to decline as I ate into the 9kg of food I had prepared so I was comfortable continuing on, especially considering the relatively easy going I was encountering on the beautiful moorlands around me.
The moorland walk continued easily for about 3km (1.8 miles) along a narrow boardwalk laid by the national parks to preserve the vegetation from foot traffic. Then the boardwalk came to an end at a copse of trees but the path continued on, through to a clearing dappled with sunlight, fording a small stream and entering, what I shall always recall as, my own personal hellscape!
The next 5.5km (3.4 miles) were on a path (if it can be called such) which undulated over a series of, maybe 12, drumlins. Up and down, and up and down and on and on. The path itself was eroded away to the point of non-existence, with deep trenches where it had once been, and the valleys between the drumlins were more like mud flats into which I sank somewhere between mid-calf and knee. Moving and balancing on this treacherous terrain was made doubly difficult by my being significantly top heavy on account of the rucksack and on at least 7 occasions I found myself fallen into the mud and pinned on my back like a turtle by the 40kg load. Getting up from this quagmire was only possible thanks to the walking poles I had had the wit to purchase in Launceston but each time the effort was a drain on my resources - even more so as the temperature had now reached 29°C (84°F).
As I lay in the mud for the umpteenth time, struggling to even move due to severe cramping in both legs, and fighting back tears of frustration it seemed like this ordeal would never end and my trip would be cut short on the very first leg - indeed I began to believe that this first section was actually a process by which the wheat was sorted from the chaff and that only the worthy travelers would actually get through and be rewarded with access to the traverse.
These crisis moments are, without a doubt, a feature of all excursions out under the sky and require a gathering of strength (both physical and mental) in order to reconcile with them and carry on. I'd been here many time before so I lifted myself up from the mud and rested on a tussock, took a long drink from my canteen and centered myself emotionally.
"Can't be long now, one foot in front of the other and I'll be there before you know it," I thought.
Two more drumlins and 3 more mud baths and I cleared some bushes to find myself on the banks of Junction Creek.
I was exhausted and obviously not thinking clearly. As I stood on the side of the creek staring into the 0.8m (30 inch) deep water I could see a small set of steps - down into the water on my side - and another set exiting the water on the far side of the creek.
This section of the trip was having a last laugh as it turned out - as when I was halfway across (and my boots were soaked) I realized that there was a tree bridge a little up stream which I could have used as a crossing point! :-)
Too late - never mind - too tired to care. I found a spot to pitch my tent and crawled inside.
The 8.5km (5.3 miles) had taken me just over 11 hours to traverse but despite the adversity I was excited for what was to come and fell asleep thinking about the challenges I would face climbing up Moraine A, tomorrow...
The climb up Moraine A will continue in Part 2...
