Having completed our surveys at the 800 metre site the previous day, there was little to do except head out for the forests at 1000 metres, along the Dalrymple road. This route heads out north from Eungella township, and its perch overlooking the Pioneer valley, rapidly climbing from the 700 odd metres at the campground to nearly 900m within the first 4 Kilometres. This was a decent climb for this stage of the journey, and I was beginning to feel the contrast in energy expenditure between this and my normal field schedule: early starts, followed by long mornings surveying (sometimes without breakfast, sorry Tom), interspersed with the physically demanding task of self-propelling ourselves to the next location… an advantage of which is a distinct feeling of being more “in” the landscape, somehow less a spectator and more a part of things. I noticed more the calls of birds as we cycled through the forest, the sound of the wind in the trees, and the changes in temperature between sun and shade, or low and high altitude. I also noticed more my own breathing, fatigue or alertness, and other sure signs of life like muscle pain… This latter aspect also became more apparent on this day, partly due to an accumulation of fatigue perhaps, but also due to a demanding triathlon event: Stage one was a mercifully relaxed breakfast at the Eungella Chalet, which also over looks the Pioneer Valley, and has a charm which hovers somewhere between fibro-kitsch and euro-chique. Stage 2 was the above-mentioned climb onto and then traverse along the northern arm of the Clark Range heading out towards Mt dalrymple and the 1000 and 1200 metre sites.
The road passes between the rainforest to the east and open dairy country the west, evidently in decline (following deregulation of the dairy industry, according to locals) judging by the lack of cows. Stage 3 was the clincher… getting from the end of Dalrymple in along the Mt Dalrymple walking track about 1.5 kilometres to where there was freshwater and a camp site within reach of my survey sites. Sounds simple, but when you have just ridden 20 kilometres that day, and about 150 in the previous 7, and have no gear but panniers with which to lug your stuff along the track… it suddenly took on intrepid proportions. a feed sack found in a ditch served to make a backpack for my gear, sherpa-style, complete with shoulder-slicing rope straps, while Tom and Tiff hung panniers from every available limb, and of we went in the fading light. Two lessons worth learning from this event… firstly, participants appreciate being fully advised of the nature of each leg before it happens, for mental preparation if nothing else, and secondly: pack light, pack light and pack light.
