Barney Take II

Wow.

I can’t remember exercising ever hurting quite so much!

Having not climbed much at all since the beginning of March, partly due to holidays and partly due to a seemingly never-ending stream of maladies, I was keen to get back in to it as soon as possible.

Dad and I had a great day out my last day in Ireland, climbing the Sugarloaf and walking from Bray to Greystones - according to a feature I found on my phone, >15k total.  However, since then, all I’ve really done is walking around (and to) markets in Kenya!  

The Sugarloaf in Ireland with Dad

On my arrival home in Aus, I went to the doctor about my persistent sinus issues and cough, and she said just to wait it out a couple of weeks as sometimes a cough can last six weeks - but not to get climbing for a few days to “let your lungs rest.”  Okay... well that was Thursday.  I rested until Monday, feeling pretty okay, and then climbed Tiberoowuccum with Manda and Lily - also fine, and I felt pretty fit.  Mind you, Tiberoowuccum is an ascent of less than 200m.

So of course, having already planned well in advance to climb Barney’s East Peak on Wednesday 11th April, I was determined to go ahead (John said: if you’re sick, don’t do it).  Bear in mind that Barney is over 1300m high with a starting elevation of around 200m. 

The view of the Western Peak from the Eastern Peak which we ascended 

 

The initial walk from the carpark to the slopes (about 4K) was okay but fast and hard work.  My new hiking boots, having held up well for Maroon, and not quite so well walking with Dad, started giving me heel pain, so we stopped briefly so that I could put bandaids on the hot spots.  Then, having climbed a couple of hundred metres further, both John and I needed to change into our Approach shoes for the scramble (Ben didn’t have any) and I found them much more comfortable on my sore heels.

At this point, my lungs were on fire and I was gasping for breath - between the coughing and the blocked sinuses, blocked ears and runny nose - none of which had I been experiencing when we started.  We climbed a bit further, and rested again, and I felt like I was going to die right there on the slopes.  My heart rate was up above 190, I felt sick, my legs felt like jelly and my lungs were heaving.  We then proceeded another 50-100metres up and stopped on the first ridge to re-evaluate.

Stopping to admire the view

John seemed keen to discourage me, saying he was unsure we were even 1/3 of the way up and there was SO far to go, and about 3 fake peaks to navigate before we reached the top, and if I thought this was bad, it was going to get far far worse... and Ben wanted to help me have the actual facts.  I wanted to know how far we had climbed already, and how far there was left to climb.  Having worked out we were at 780metres, and had come around 500 - and had to get to 1360m, I told myself with certainty that we were half way.  I really felt like turning around and going back, telling the others to keep going, but what I actually said was “I’m not a quitter” and “I’m fine” and things like that, although neither of the others thought I was fine and agreed afterwards that I had been in a LOT of pain!

Ben climbing a particularly hard part that I wouldn’t have wanted to descend

After that, I broke it down into 50-100m chunks.  “I’ve only got to do 100m” I would tell myself.  Or “once we’ve done this 50m stretch I will stop and rest” and it became so much more achievable.  Feeling the numbers tick by really helped.  Knowing from the map that we were at 950m, or 1050m, encouraged me.  We would guess our current elevation while I gasped and heaved and slowed my heart rate enough to navigate the next 50m.  We would revel in the view, awestruck at the immensity of the mountains and the beauty around us - while I caught my breath and the nausea subsided.  Every different plant became worth stopping to admire, every lizard another opportunity to stop and say “wow, that’s a fat one.”

Flora

This is actually vertical, you just can’t tell

I didn’t stop feeling like I couldn’t do it.  The little voice in my head kept saying “you can quit at any time” and “just stop. Just go back” but I didn’t actually say any of these things.  When we climbed up almost-impossible rocks and once when John had to give me a foot up as my legs are ridiculously short, I said “I wouldn’t want to go back down that way” as much trying to encourage myself that I had no choice but to continue!

Another break to breathe

The top came upon us suddenly.  I felt like I was prepared to keep ascending ad infinitum.  I felt like the the keep-on-moving-you-can-do-it just kept on going... and suddenly we were there.  Right at the top, and we could sit and have a well-earned cheese and pickle sandwich.  We rested for thirty minutes which felt much much shorter.  I unwrapped and rebound the dime sized blisters on my heels, adding strong tape from John to my supply of bandaids (this actually fixed them for the remainder of the hike).

John in front of the Eastern Peak - Western behind and slightly to his left

And then... we started our descent.  I had thought the bad part was over!  I had thought we had done it!  Some how I had forgotten that what goes up must also come down, and as it had taken us four hours to go up... it was likely to take another four to descend!  My jelly-like legs objected to being forced downwards, and the dust and leaf covered rocks seemed extra slippery despite the good shoes.

Valley into Rum Jungle, with endless mountains in the distance 

At one point, hurrying to catch up with the others, I found both legs suddenly caught between two rocks that jumped out at me through the bush, and pitched forward to land on my chest, on a rock, winding me badly.  The others, ahead of me, had heard me fall, and shouted out “are you okay?” But, being winded, I was unable to say so!  Tears were streaming down my face from the shock, and gasping for breath I was raising my head from the ground when John came running back.

John was screaming “are you okay?! Oh my God, Kate, aaaahhhhhhh” etc in apparent panic at my contorted can’t-breathe face, and as I couldn’t initially breathe, I wondered momentarily whether I actually WAS hurt and maybe I was bleeding or or or - which didn’t help.  Once I caught my breath, I said “I think I’m okay, just winded” or something like that, and then coughed and hacked and gasped for a few minutes until I could walk again.  I think that was the most dramatic part of the day!

More views

We managed to add a little humour into the descent, with Ben deciding to go through a rotten stump instead of around it - which of course I photographed - and trying to take lightly the numerous times we strayed off track.  That was the hardest part, as if we went off track we usually had to climb back up to the fork... and every step we went up, I knew we had to come back down.

Ben hauls himself through a rotten tree stump

Once at the “bottom”, we had to walk the 4K back to the car.  We stopped for John to replace his hiking shoes, and for me to change my socks, hoping for some pain relief, and then we marched.  We marched, and we didn’t think about our fatigue, and we teased Ben about running back to the carpark (somehow we had to cure his endless energy) and we remarked on the flora, and the lack of fauna (John: I’ve never seen a snake on Barney) and the hot showers we would have when we got home.  We drank our last supplies of water, and we just kept on walking, uphill to the saddle, wondering why the world had to have uphills at such late points in the day, and then the final downhill, remembering each landmark and realising how much closer it put us to the finish.

Mount Lindesay in the background slightly touched by clouds

And then of course we had to drive three hours home in rush hour traffic.

Except, I didn’t, because Ben was driving, and hooray for Ben driving, because John was napping in the back and I was too tired to even move.  So, thanks, Ben!

And eventually, finally, after over fourteen hours, we pulled up at home.  And after a gloriously hot shower I found I wasn’t even that sore (although this morning - next day - I am decidedly stiff and sore).  

Was it worth it?  100%!  Would I do it again?  Yes!  But... not sick... and not without a lot of fitness training and climbing beforehand!  Definitely not a hike to do after a month off!