GOD’S PUNISHMENT

It’s Maria Island day, which involves being ready by 8.30 a.m., something we haven’t managed at all this trip, for the ferry departure.  Worrying about being ready and my dodgy right knee means little sleep is had because, for some unknown reason, I have decided to have a go at climbing Bishop and Clerk, a distinct outcrop of rock on the northern tip of the island that’s over 620 metres high.

Reading the reviews of others indicated it was probably out of my limits, but I figured if I factored in the push bike, there may be a faint hope.  “The climbing is relentless” one reviewer wrote and, apparently, at the end it gets a lot worse.

So, with much trepidation I headed out on the pushie after the ferry docked, hoping to beat all the walkers who would be trying the climb (turned out there were only six others).

Maria is an enchanting place, free of unnatural predators and thus wildlife flourishes, wombats, echidnas, cape barren geese and native hens, not to mention all the roos, are all flourishing. As you head out, you’re apt to come across some of them.  I mean, where else in Australia can you find a nice furry wombat right beside the dusty trail trying to have a sleep?

It’s open country initially, with vast seascapes across the water to a couple of tiny islands just offshore.  As you swing around to face the distant outcrop the trail gets steep, very steep.  I’m resigned to using a granny gear and zig-zagging and still have to stop a couple of times before the top.  Then there’s a matching steep downhill before another similar energy-sapping ascent with a bench seat for respite about half-way.

After that it’s woodland, though the edge of the cliffs is quite close on the port side still and, on the other side of the trail is the most patterned eucalypt I’ve ever seen in my life. However, as the lady wrote, it’s “relentless” in terms of uphill, though the trail itself is good and easy to follow. 

I manage to get further up, stopping to catch my breath on occasions until, finally, I give up, dismount, and leave my bike and helmet behind.  I figure I’ve only got about 2 kms to go, how hard can it be?

Well, it’s alright and I’m moving freely until the trail has tree roots and a few rocks here and there and it gets just a little arduous.  Then it gets a little more steep, more rocky and more arduous.  That was the good bits because it’s then that you see the landslide rocks.  Nothing in my entire bushwalking life prepared me for this.  It’s a nightmare..

At some stage in the past masses of lumpy rocks have cascaded down the mountain and now, devoid of vegetation, you have to walk up it.  Still, I can see that just 200 metres up the trees start again.

Oh dear, there are only a couple of trees and then the nightmare starts again and the summit looks light years away, it’s so much higher.

Through another couple of trees and then onto a bigger slope, it really is relentless but, then it gets worse!  When you finally get just below the summit, many people don’t go any further because, frankly, it’s just plain scary.  You have to scale a couple of vertical rocks with faint footholds to actually get on the summit.  It is no place for the faint hearted. 

I have a couple of goes before I get enough confidence to throw the top half of my body on the slab and literally drag myself onto it.  How I’m going to get back down I have no idea.

As every reviewer suggests, it’s a spectacular place to be.  There’s an aura here that wraps itself around you and won’t let go.  Whether it’s viewing the lower nearby “Clerk” bit of the formation or gazing back 5-6 kilometers from whence you came, it’s all impressive.

There’s a split rock formation here that involves jumping from one to the other and risking serious injury or death if you make a mistake.  I move around a few but won’t go on the furthest one.  After all, slip and it’s nearly 2,000ft to the ocean.

Eventually, after eating my meagre lunch and emptying my water bottle, other climbers arrive, two men followed by a younger middle-aged German lady, all much more supple than I.  Photos are taken and we get chatting.  Apparently Mount Amos is more scary because it has a slippery granite slope; I remind myself never to go there.

Because one of the gents is comfortable wandering around the far rock I eventually give it a go.  It’s not as scary as I thought but I can understand why all three women (another two have just arrived) point blank won’t go there.

Then, if you thought coming up was bad, wait till you have to descend!  A change of underwear would be a requirement for some.  Going over the edge onto three uncertain steps has everyone worried and I’m glad I remembered my “go down backwards” policy because it makes it a lot more doable, but still scary.

My knees are in “complain” mode all the way back down the rocks.  “Will it ever end” keeps crossing my mind but, of course, it eventually does and the roughish part of the bushwalk commences.  A tree root here, a rock there, but at least I’m going down and the bike lies in wait somewhere further on.  That “somewhere further on” seems twice as far as when I was ascending, and my relief is palpable when the bright green helmet strapped to the frame comes into view.  Now it’s all downhill and much faster and easier.

When, on the top, the German lady and I had compared bike notes and she said she loved riding the mountains in Germany.  Imagine my surprise when I passed her walking.  She’d left her bike about two kilometres before mine and had hardly climbed anything.

I’d originally hoped to make the 2.30 ferry and rocked up with nearly half an hour to spare.  It had taken me around 5 hours to do something I’ll never do again or recommend to anyone.

Still, having done it, you get boasting rights (and a lot of pain for a few days afterwards!).