How cold is it at 6.30am in Berowra? Below 10 degrees! But at least it looked like the week's heavy rain might be nearly over so at least our luck with the rain was continuing. Just in case, we carried large, heavy rainjackets in our small, non-spacious backpacks, leaving precious little room for food and changes of clothes. Turned out we didn't need the raincoats at all, which is exactly why you take them, if you follow me.
Being up so early on a cold, slightly wet Sunday morning does have its privileges though, as the water down on the river was a still as glass, with little wisps of mist, and the only sound the occasional bird, kayaker, or puffing Trailwalker.
We made record time on the steep climb down from Berowra to the river, munched a little breakfast in Apple Tree Bay, and then began the massive climb back up out from Bobbin Head up to the high ridges of St Ives. Bride used the break at Apple Tree Bay to make phonecalls, as usual. She should be sponsored by her mobile phone company!
Cruelly, the track up to St Ives passes a firetrail that provides direct access to the oval used as the next checkpoint, which would be a shorter route by several kilometres. Instead, the route follows the Darri Track, which winds up and down several small but steep scrambles before ending near a very steep climb up a suburban street.
Roger blew off a little steam by jumping onto a tire swing by the side of the trail. I let off a little steam by swinging Roger into a tree trunk. Well, I felt better!
At St Ives, a surprise awaited us in the form of Helen and Norm, mum and mum's partner to Rog. Rog had mentioned they would be bringing some soup for us, but nothing suggested the massive spread that Helen and Norm had trucked out from Westleigh to St Ives to bring us some lunch, including four hot homemade soups (so we could choose two for the Trailwalker event), comfy seating, and even a tablecloth! Sometimes it's such a shock to come out of the wet, cold, muddy bush and land right in the middle of civilisation, but the shock is lessened somewhat by the generous application of hot soup and a comfy chair!
Remember the rain from the week before? Well, the rain had gone, but it had left so many muddy tracks and overflowing creek crossings that it sometimes felt more like the Kokoda Trail than Sydney bushland. Here's just some of the creeks we had to cross...
We also met some interesting characters along the way, including a team of three older guys, one of whom wouldn't shutup, and another carrying his gear in what appeared to be his wife's Gucci handbag. Good thing for him it didn't rain!
The curse of the dreaded blisters struck Felicity in a big way and by the half-way mark she was beginning to feel some significant discomfort. Bride meanwhile addressed ny recurring wandering right knee-cap with some of her fancy physio strapping. We stopped at a beautiful sunny creek junction called The Cascades for a bit to lick wounds and bandaid up the sore bits.
There are two stages of the Trailwalker route where time seems to slow to a halt, and no matter how hard you walk, you just don't seem to be making much progress. We call 'em "Trailwalker Timewarps". One of those is along Middle Harbour Creek before Roseville Bridge, where the bridge itself seems to be tantalisingly close, yet comes no nearer despite your best walking. It certainly wore us down a bit, and we were all feeling a little worse for wear heading into our last checkpoint at Davidson Park before the finish. Bride and I had turned on our iPods for this section, which really helps you think about something else. I got a few worried stares as I mimed the drumming track from a live version of a Joe Jackson song, 'Got the time' which really got the blood flowing, even though I probably looked like someone with Tourettes Syndrome trying to shake off a cloud of gnats.
From there, the last 8km into Frenchs Forest is relatively flat and usually not too hard going, but the Spirits of the Trail had really seen fit to give us a good sendoff with lots of muddy trail sections to almost-but-not-quite jump across, boulders to scramble over, and even a few scenic waterfalls to traverse.
We clambered up the last steep hill into Ararat Reserve in Frenchs Forest about 5:15pm, completely knackered but actually slightly ahead of the punishing schedule set for us by our 'numbers man' Rog. The sun had set on another day of challenging Trailwalker training, and while we crammed into Nick the Native Guide's grubby 4WD wondering if we could ever complete a full 100km, in the back of my mind, I knew we'd be in the right shape to do it by the end of the month. For the time-being however, the immediate requirements were a cold beer, two ibuprofens, a hot bath and a long sleep. I got everything but the sleep!
