Blue in the Bluey's

We constructed fortresses of tarps and string. We fortified our nylon palaces against wind and runoff. We hid inside, fighting boredom with scrabble, cards, themed scrabble, pictionary, iPod Karaoke, international cook offs, more scrabble... we learned to balance on wet slacklines, stretched Dorothy's seating capacity to shuttle the entire climbing community to Horsham's pool... in the end, however, there was little that weeks of rain and perpetually dismal weather reports could inspire but mass exodus. While the farmers danced naked in the rain, marking the end of Australia's 10-year drought, we planned our escape to a warmer, dryer locale.



With the pillaged remains of vacated campers' gear and food, two extra passengers and a fresh coat of mud sprayed across our belongings, the 15 hour ride to the Blue Mountains might as well have been a caving expedition. The moldy aroma and our cramped, shallow breathing all proved worth it when we realized that we'd transported the perfect guide for the Blueys. We were quickly schooled on free camping locations, cheap meal opportunities, and great climbing areas. Trying to make the most of June's chilly, short days, we gobbled up as many steep sport routes as possible.




We learned that the Blue Mountains are as breathtaking as the climbing porn in the guidebook suggests, we learned the ways of the carrot bolt, we learned to appreciate worry-free sport climbing again after so many harrowing trad experiences at Araps...
...and we learned that traveling north does not always rescue you from the rain...

Kachoong!

After much preperation and nervous anticipation, we made a day out of trying what the Arapiles guidebook calls its most famous, most photographed, and most fallen off route. "Kachoong" is a sustained pitch of 21 (5.10d) which climbs to the base of an intimidating overhang, then follows a good roof flake, upside down, for about 2 meters before coming back out onto the face. What the guidebook doesn't tell you is that the heel hook necessary for pulling the lip is a sinker - deep enough to suck in an ankle and hold it there even after the climber falls. The resulting inverted whipper (fortunately into free space) and twisted tendons are colloquially refered to as "Kachoong ankle." Although our Kachoong attempt was successful and free of broken and twisted joints, Alex (on lead) had a close call that left him limping. As he reached for the key hand hold outside the roof, a bit of wetness caused him to slip and take the dreaded fall. A few seconds of "I'm not going to get Kachoong Ankle, how could anyone slip here? Oh Sh@#$t I'm falling, I'm getting Kachoong Ankle!" and he was hanging upside down below his last peice of gear. He glanced at his leg, saw bruising, and decided to finish the route before his adrenaline wore off. He climbed to safety and collapsed exhausted on the belay ledge growning in pain just as it started to rain. A bad bruise taught us a valuable lesson : never heel hook so deep that you can't pull your foot out if you fall. But great pictures nonetheless!

Rainy-Day Pump Fest

An hour away from the Araps is yet another climbing mecca. The Grampians offer something that the Araps don't, however: wickedly overhung, densley pocketed bolted routes that stay completely dry in pissing rain. A day at "The Gallery" - where grades start at 23 - lent itself to some great photos.

Ticking off the Classics

The Shawagunks guidebook describes "High Exposure" as a climb that you would have to travel to the Arapiles to match. A few days of climbing and we understood. Steep, exposed pitches of all varieties of difficulty. Tricky single-pitch workouts and 4-5 pitch moderates. With ideal weather and a campground at the base, The Gunks barely even compare.










More importantly, we were immediately adopted by a rowdy bunch of kiwis, who (a) had two copies of the coveted, out-of-print guidebook, (b) led at comparable grades, (c) built us a community kitch out of tarps and tree branches, and (d) agreed to take care of us - to the point of renting us a car and offering a free helicopter ride, glacier tour - when we arrive in "N Zed" in July.
It's unreal!!

Arapiles, Climbing Eden

Alex and I rolled off the ferry, bleary-eyed and still stuffed from a much- anticipated buffet dinner, frantically navigated melbournes busy interchanges, and cruised down Victoria's Great Western Highway (passing heaps of koala and kangaroo crossing signs) STRAIGHT TO DIRTBAG HEAVEN.



Research taught us that Victoria's Arapiles were considered world class. Okay, but they don't look like much more than a pile of choss in pictures: flat, flat farmland and one mangled blob of grainy, pocketed quartzite. But The Pines Campground, perhaps OZ's Camp 4, bustled with clanking gear, wobbling slack lines and myriad foreign accents. Other Climbers! Having suffered such a drought of like-minded rock lovers in Tassie, we basked in sounds and conversations we hadn't experienced in a month. Setting up our tent in what we hoped would be a semi-permanent spot, we quickly racked up and strolled the entire 200 meters to The Organ Pipes, an area rife with moderate, exposed, well protected classics... or so the guide book said.






The apparent pile of choss was tremendous quality quartzite, immovably hard and shaped in every conceivable climber-friendly formation. No more than 10 meters off the belay got us to a spectacular view. We topped out on "D-minor" at sunset, in time to see the rock lit up gold and the endless clear sky surrounding. Kukaburra's laughed, guitars strummed, hamocks swayed... Okay, Arapiles, you win.

The Overland Track, or When Gore-Tex isn't Enough

One of the most famous "bushwalks" in Australia, an 84Km trek through windy alpine plateaus and dense eucalyptus rain forest that provided us with sighting of some of Tazmania's rare and unique wildlife and a very visceral introduction to its weather patterns. Did we mention the rain? And the wetness? The fast moving storm systems were as much a part of the adventure as the hiking. And they validated our expensive gear purchases before we left.

The Road to Nowhere

Having learned NOTHING from our last experience, we took Dorothy to on the of the least populated regions of the state, on the 3-hour drive drown "reasonably maintained" dirt roads through conservation regions and mountainous seaside terrain, to an abrupt end at the Arthur River. No bridge had been built, but a ferry was able to float us back to civilization. We suffered little more than an easily-patched hole in our front tire.