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.

Ben Lomond

In our quest for more forgiving dolorite, we completed our traverse of the east coast and headed inland to the isolated mountain-park of Ben Lomond, where the volcanic geology took the shape of towering vertical columns fractured by long, parallel cracks. This was Tassie's Indian Creek.

Our guidebook directed us to a stone hut tucked away from the main (dirt) road in the forest, an adventure to find in the dark. Despite our isolation, we shared the hut that night with a personable Aussie bicyclist, Damien, and 4 local climbers. Thanks to their beta and enthusiasm, we were able to navigate our way through the gloomy morning mist to a stellar multi-pitch 17, Ben Lomond's classic route, which Alex burled up using Utah-inspired crack skills. Our cycle touring friend was conveniently traveling with harness and shoes - we were happy to tie him into our ropes and share the climb.










This gesture paid off later, when Dorothy refused to start. Damien raced to the nearest farm and found us a willing truck driver with a pair of jumper cables. It was a lesson in driving to remote places in an old car.

Frecinet

Driven away by rain and the reality that we probably weren't ready for The Totem Pole, a lovely drive up the East Coast brought us to Frecinet (Fray-see-nay) Peninsula, home to more spectacular seaside cliffs and some of the only granite in Tasmania. After nursing bloody scrapes and watching our rope sheat fray, we vowed to stick to smoother Dolorite whenever possible.

The Best Approach Ever

Alex and I were eager to see and climb something spectacular. Enough tame warm ups, we wanted the Tasmania in our guide book's color photographs: towering dolorite cliffs, crashing ocean waves, endless, brilliant white light... Thus, we headed (perhaps prematurely) for the most famous of Tasmania's climbing destinations, Fortescque Bay on the Tasman Peninsula - home of the Totem Pole.

Fortunately, the Totem Pole was just one of many sea stacks in the area, not all of which required swimming through shark-infested channels, Tyrolean traverses, or leading grade 25 (12b) on widely spaced carrot bolts. Thus we began with the Moai, started off that morning on what could only described as the best approach EVER (see pictures below).






3 rappels (abseils) took us down dolorite cliffs to the sea, and a shimmering tower of perfect proportions. A trio of climbers from Victoria beat us to our intended route, managing to out-do just about all we did that day - but we were proud to work our way up the classic 18 to the top, Alex leading confidently, despite ominous waves thundering below.







With two pitches between us and the top of the bluff we hike in on, it was dark before we started the 4-mile hike back. Nighttime afforded us a very special treat, however. The eucalyptus rainforest was alive with foreign shrieks and bird calls, make all the spookier by a mysterious rustle. LOTS of rustling in fact. But before our imaginations took hold, we were greeted by a flock of furiously waddling (and very photogenic) fairy penguins! They were everywhere!