A few weeks ago I walked the Gidjuum Gulganyi Track. This isn’t a post about the walk but it suffices to say that the weather was perfect, we did not encounter any leeches or mosquitos, and my walking buddies are great people to hang time with. So, yes, the walk was excellent and I would give it a five star rating if I did that sort of thing.
Actually, as I write this, I’m not really sure what this post is about.
I very much enjoy an activity where the only important action of the day (depending on weather and food) is the movement from one campsite to the next. Modern camping gear is very sophisticated and I have taken to carrying a Kobo e-reader on hikes. Walking and camping gives me an outlook that life is good. Some walks are challenging. Many less so. I choose walks that pique my interest and within my capabilities so all are worth my while.
While that last sentence is entirely true, I did do a walk where I rogered my left shoulder but, technically, it was climbing injury in unfavourable conditions. I am not a climber and it was the Adelaide Cirque in December 2019 after New Zealand - not a dry country by any measure - amassed a full year of rain and floods. In any case I now have a permanent loss of strength and flexibility in my left shoulder. So whether the walk was within my capabilities and worth my while is, in retrospect, debatable. While I am big on reflection I am not big on regret. I would do it again if placed in the same situation with the same information and aspirations and, in retrospect, I would almost certainly fail again. That’s life.
The lesson for me is that the Western Arthurs Traverse in Tasmania is a nonstarter for me if it wasn’t already so in 2019.
Warrawilla Creek on the way up Mt Bowen, Hinchenbrook Island, 1999.
Anthony in the process of doing something stupid for a bet in Mt Field National Park, Tasmania, 2024.
I am lucky to have started camping as a child and to progress to hiking as a young adult. Hiking gear is not cheap and, like everything else, is getting more expensive. Over time I have bought stuff and borrowed stuff. I have accumulated stuff and worn out stuff. I have given away stuff that I won’t use again. And thrown away stuff that cannot be repaired or is structurally unsound. My favourite item is a fleece beanie-thing with flippable ear covers made by Wilderness Equipment (which I also use for running on the coldest mornings in Brisbane), I still carry my 3-season Mont sleeping bag (sturdy, heavy, does not pack down well) that, like my beanie-thing, is also 20 years old, I have a six year old Nemo Hornet tent (light, freestanding, easy to pitch), and a bling Acteryx rain jacket (which cost me more than my tent) to replace a 15 year old Patagonia jacket that lost its seams, wind resistance and water resistance on a bitter day in the Walls of Jerusalem National Park.
I have owned two pairs of Scarpa hiking boots.
My right boot delaminated on the second day of the Gidjuum Gulganyi Walk.
I say this in the past tense as I don’t think this sort of boot suits my walking style. I have a slightly unstable left knee and both Scarpa boots failed during walks through delamination of the sole of the right boot. I’m not sure whether there is any relationship between an unstable knee and contralateral footwear failure. Just a thought that crossed my mind. In any case, a leaky boot is one thing, but structural failure of a boot during a hike can be more than just an inconvenience. Over the four days Mother Nature was charitable and I didn’t even get a wet sock.
Take that as a win. Multi-day hikes don’t often allow the luxury of waiting for clothes to dry. You don’t get the opportunity to wonder whether a piece of clothing is cold or wet as it doesn’t really matter. Well, I guess you wonder, but the answer doesn’t matter. You are getting into them anyway. This is one of many challenging questions you don’t have to fret about when when you are out camping but fret about when you are living in the city. Just consider what happens on a normal morning in the city. You wake up, check your laundry, then check your devices. You scan the news.. automatically reloading the dread that somehow, somewhere, you are missing out on something. You see a person on screen and wonder: is he for real? You then ask yourself: is he a folder or a scruncher? You put away your screen. You open your fridge, see last night’s dessert, and wonder: what would a cave man do? You decide to go shopping. Now, you have to decide what to buy. You find your keys. And wallet. And open a door into a world of random, real people. You wonder why the feet of so many able-bodied humans suddenly stop working as soon as they step on an escalator. Curiously, the handrail moves slightly faster than the platform. Must be a slip in the gears. Probably better than if it went the other way - especially if the escalator is going up. You wonder whether that is intentional. A kid reaches up on tip-toe to help her dad choose Brussels sprouts of all things. You are not sure whether the dad is cruel or the kid is an anomaly. You make light banter at the counter. You see a sign and ask yourself: is this a rule or a recommendation? You eventually get home, take down your laundry, and wonder: is it still cold or is it wet? You check your watch. It’s not even 9 AM.
Truth is much of life is drudgery and there is ample time to fill it with distraction curiosity, wonder and discovery. Spinning endlessly: does the human brain know anything else? Probably not. If you are lucky you can tap out. Maybe sail a boat. Or travel to distant land. Or tend to a garden. Arrange flowers. Rebuild an engine. Play chess. Quilt. Go fishing. Restore vintage furniture. Build a model airplane. Or go on a bicycle adventure.
You can go hiking and camping.
It ain’t cheap but it’s cheaper than owning a boat.
If you have reliable hiking buddies that happily carry electronic safety equipment (like an emergency beacon with tracking features), along with basics like a wrist watch and a camera, then you can leave those items at home. That, for some, is liberating. I pack my e-reader on hikes as there isn’t much to do before the sun rises at a campsite. Reading with a soft back-lit screen is a pleasant way to pass time in the dark - whether it is in a house, in a tent, or under a canopy of trees.
There are also “unknown knowns”. Such "tacit knowledge" raises the possibility that - somewhere, deep down - my brain recognised my right boot experienced greater shear loads than my left boot over hundreds of thousands of steps. It just didn’t inform the other part of my brain that looked at the statistics and shrugged off an inadequate dataset.
The Art of Uncertainty. David Spiegelhalter helps us navigate chance, ignorance, risk and luck.
Like many recreational activities hiking is human-scale and immersive. Nevertheless hiking is an infrequent activity for the vast majority. While a typical week might include a soccer game, or a couple of runs, or a few evenings building a model army, a multi-day hiking trip takes time and a bit of planning. Sure, you can do an over-nighter but that will still take the whole weekend. And, if you are out camping, who will tend to the garden?
I also need to get a new pair of boots.
Who would have thought that a life so free of actual burden can be so pressingly complex.
