New Day Rising – Day 2

24 February 2025

Jaimathang Country

Willis Creek Bridge to 1150 metres Snowy Logging Road

The only sound is my tyres crunching over gravel on a moderate uphill. The birds are quiet, the wind is still. The day has creaked open with nary a creak, bird cry or branch swaying in the wind.

We are riding up the Willis Creek tributary, climbing high above the creek on the side of the valley wall. It’s all uphill for the first eight kms, on a pretty moderate grade. It’s steep enough in places for my chain to creak and click as it strains against the weight and grade. Yes, the only noise to start the day is my bike and my breathing.

In the first 50 metres I come across a muesli bar with faded print on the plastic, but unopened and presumably good to eat. It’s not on my eating list though, so I pick it up and then toss it up onto the deck of the D9 dozer as I go past.

Sunlight filters through the trees as the sun begins to crest the ridge on the opposite side of the valley where the main road runs. It’s going to be quite warm today – over 38C down in the valleys – so an early start means an hour of two without being really sweaty.

We roll in and out of each side drainage, large tree ferns down below along the water course reaching upward in the shady understory of the few big trees left standing. Each in and out of the side drainage makes for a squiggly line road, and squiggly line roads are always the best to ride.

We roll upwards and enjoy the few places that haven’t been (f)logged completely. In some places the acacia regrowth is thick, blocking the views but giving us shade. In some places, it looks like there has been little to no regeneration – an ecosystem completely lost.

After the first eight kilometres of climbing, the road flattens out for 4-5 kms and then gives us some gentle downhills. We’re happy to accumulate kms at a faster rate than the uphill 4-7 kph, but sad to lose that elevation. Eventually we’re going to have to regain all of it. The road surface turns pretty crappy after the second turn-off to Mulhauser Spur – no one comes this way much it would seem.

I slow to listen for running water at each side drainage. If I hear water running, then I look to see if there is any way to get to it. But no, we are prevented from reaching the water each time by heaps of blackberries, sharp razor-like sedges and other growth. I know I’m going to dry camp somewhere up ahead today in a makeshift campsite, so we need to find water somewhere along the way.

I eventually find a water source that is not covered in blackberries. But it has two puddles of road run-off on either side of the tiny flowing creek. The mud next to the water looks suck-y. I drop a large rock into it and it disappears. Nup, the only way we are going to get to the fresh water is to lay down on the side of the road and reach down to it. At least there are TONS of ripe blackberries to munch on afterward as a reward.

My back gets ouchy and there is just no way to shift in the saddle or stand on the pedals or do anything to relieve that pressure. Ugh. My shoulder does get a bit tired and stiff, but I can move that around a bit and use different hand positions to help with that.

Up, up we go. We finally reach the end of the flat and downhill bits in a very big indent in the hillside. We do a huge U-shaped run to cross the creek we’ve been climbing high above all morning. I stop for some food. Then I just lay down in the road for a bit to take the pressure off of my back. I haven’t seen anyone in 24 hours and I’ll hear anyone coming long before they get to my prone body.

We then start climbing again through open forest. We can see where the road climbs above us after a switchback ahead.

By the time we make it up there, it is getting quite warm and my legs are reminding me that starting a tour with 800 metres of climbing on rough gravel in 20kms on day 2 is a bit of an ask. I try to keep my daily climbing kms to a cumulative 800-1000 metres in the middle/end of a tour to prevent overdoing things and having a chronic fatigue syndrome relapse. So going straight into that on the second day is probably… ‘not advisable’.

But we slowly churn our way high up above the Willis Creek headwaters and ride through a section that has been clear cut not long ago, letting the sun beat down on us without any shady respite. I decide I’ll start looking for a wide spot in the road where we might be able to rest for awhile until the sun starts to set.

As if the road gods were listening, I soon come to an old loading area – a pull-out in the road where they would have loaded the logging trucks. And not far beyond that, some acacias are offering some good shade. And not far beyond that, is a tiny little creek a couple inches deep that will provide water.

Sold. To the only bidder.

We’re done for the day here. 5 hours of riding.

My legs could do more if they had to, but there are no formal or informal campsites marked on my map anywhere ahead, so this might be our best bet anyway (the next day I see there is another pull-out at the intersection of Snowy Logging Rd and Big River Rd ahead, but there is no water source there).

And my back… well, it hurts. A fair bit. This activity is probably not what a physio would have prescribed for rehab.

Shoulder… okay.

I go check out the water. It’s pretty easy to get to above the road, but the flow is shallow enough it will take awhile to fill my pot and then the filter bag (I’m sure a lot of people wouldn’t bother to filter this, but I filter ALL creek water. I don’t think my body could handle another big assault like an amoeba, parasite, bacterial infection etc).

So I do the lazy thing. I clamber down the steep slope to gather the water from the decent flow that is waterfalling from the culvert down below the road. I try to work quickly – I know leeches like this sort of place. Remember, Oz is one of two places in the world with terrestrial leeches. They are black and look like millipedes and move like inch worms.

Alas, they find me pretty quickly. I pry one off just as it attaches to my leg and I scrape four off my shoes and socks. Once back to the road, I find two more and flick them off and then squish them.

Yuck. Yes, there is an icky and gross factor about them for me. But the reason I hate them so much is that once you pull them off, you bleed like crazy for about 10 minutes, it leaves a bit of a welt and is CRAZY ITCHY for about a week.

And nope, I didn’t find them all. A bit later, I notice one on that little webbing bit in the bottom of the V-shape between my left ring and index finger. The bugger is pretty fat and has already had a good feed. I pry it off… and have blood trickling down my palm for 10 minutes.

But then, we have a very pleasant afternoon following the shade of the acacias and being thankful we are up here at 1100 metres, instead of down in town, since it’s plenty warm up here.

I have good views across the headwaters of the creek to logging coupes across the valley and a rounded hump on a nearby ridge. The Australian Alps walking track runs underneath that one.

One of the things I love about being out on the bike is matching the map to the landscape. After so many hours looking at maps at home while planning out adventures, I always find it so fun to see the map play out in 3D as we go.

I cook up dinner. It’s my first time packing dehydrated peas. They are good for fibre and protein which are two things I concentrate on these days. My lesson tonight is that you need to put the peas in with the red lentils when you start to heat the water. They take about the same time as the lentils to get soft but not mushy. Yes, I like it. I’ll continue to buy these and add them to all my cooked meals on the road.

Dessert is another three or four handfuls of blackberries. I will have definitely hit my fibre goals today.

The wind picks up and roars through the trees as the sun sets. I watch the trees sway back and forth and am glad my tent has no trees overhead or nearby. The wind doesn’t take away the heat – the fast movement of air just rolls forth across the mountains to the west and sweeps up the valley and through the trees on the ridge top above me. A million leaves dance and jiggle and create a white noise of movement.

And though the day creaked open with nary a sound, it creaks closed with the sounds of protest. A tree creaks and groans as it moves back and forth in the wind, protesting the wind pushing against its weakening cambium, sapwood and heartwood.

But my body does not protest the end of the day. Consciousness is quick to surrender tonight.