Big River to Lightning Creek
Jaimathang Country
20 March 2025
The moon is there. So is the wind. So are the clouds. Wind at night always feels ominous, even in windy places like Wyoming. The moon is probably somewhere around last quarter, not enough to really light my path as I pedal up the road in the dark.
That 5am alarm came too soon. I’ve probably only managed three hours of sleep last night. My head just kept needing reassurance that a big mass of clouds had not yet arrived.
I do enjoy the silence as I slip up the valley. Except for the wind in the tree leaves, all is quiet. I don’t even hear wallabies bounding away into the bush.
I hit the Big River camping area just after first light. The camping area is pretty full with caravans. I wonder if they hear me crunching up the entrance road on the bike. The toilet here is perfectly placed for final ablutions before the climb. Interestingly, this pit toilet is really old, I would have thought it would have been replaced with a newer one by now, given how popular this camping area is these days. But never mind, I’ve got TP, and all I really need is a hole in the ground I didn’t have to dig myself. It satisfies these needs.
And then we start the climb. It is somewhat open to start as we pass through private land and get views far up the Big River valley to the alpine areas beyond. This was one of the potential routes for the highway back in the day. But they didn’t want the road to impact the viewscape from the highest peak in the state, Mt Bogong, so they chose one of the alternatives that isn’t in such plain view from the summit.
The wind is pushy, blowing in from somewhere else, all hot air and fanfare, but nothing substantial yet – a bit like a pollie from the city visiting rural and remote regions with promises that have nothing to do with local needs.
We climb through the collection of houses strung along the road at Glen Wills, as we head up a side tributary and the valley closes in. The grade backs off a little as the homes’ woodsmoke wafts by in the wind.
Eventually we find ourselves at the sharp right-hander, where the real climb starts. The scent of pine in the air takes me back to early morning starts on hiking trails in Colorado. If I had any ‘nesting’ genes whatsoever, I think my property would have to have some sort of pine, even if I had to baby it to survive our harsh conditions and a future with climate change.
I crank it up the steep bits where the road weaves back and forth up the side of a hill. This is my third or fourth time riding up this hill, but the first time on the mountain bike. It is definitely more effort than the skinnier tyres of the touring bike. But we just crank away, enjoying the brief respite from the wind now that we are on the back side of a hill that blocks the prevailing wind.
The clouds are weirdo. And I’m not sure which direction the rain will come from. The rain is not a typical cold front where we’d get increasing northwesterlies before the front. The rain would come from the west or southwest, and the wind would swing that way as the front came through. This rain band is a tropical one and sinking down from the north. So I’m not sure if I should be concerned about clouds to the northeast, north or northwest… OR all three!
I make it up to the ridge and stop at the high point to see if I can get some phone reception and a look at the radar. I have seen on other sealed roads in the mountains where people will have spray-painted on the road where there is mobile service. I have seen none of that on this road, perhaps because there is no service! I certainly don’t find any service where I stop, but it conveniently gets me off the road when the first traffic of the day goes by – a group of four motorcyclists. My guess is that they are trying to beat the rain, too.
I continue on through the forest, enjoying the short downhill below Mt Wills and some views to the northeast where the clouds are slowly building and swallowing the sun. I grunt up the steep 3 km climb that weaves down below the ridge. Sadly the tree fern that once signified the halfway point in that climb has gone. It used to grow right in the crook of an elbow turn, its arched fronds hanging down in perfect symmetry.
Eventually we get to the high point at 1300+ metres at Christmas Creek Saddle. The clouds are advancing. We then start into that nice 8 km downhill, slicing down the opposite side of the valley that we rode up on Day 2 of the trip.
This side is sealed and doesn’t require a whole lot of braking. You can usually do about 10kph over the suggested speed advisory sign and be just fine. The only problem with this road, as I discovered last December, is that so much of the road is sliding off the hill on the outside edge that they’ve repaved half the lane a number of times. Even that new pavement is pulling away with gravity, so there are lots of humped seams and rough pavement on this downhill outside lane. You can’t quite get the speed or a nice smooth lean into an apex like you once could.
Still, we fling through curve after curve. We see a few motorcyclists going the other way. There’s no one heading my direction. I pass by the upper entrance to Dunstan’s Logging Road. This is a gravel, squiggly line track that follows the backside of this ridge. I had thought I might take that down, since I haven’t ridden that road before, and the gravel is more fun and challenging.
However, the sky is starting to look pretty scrappy. The sun is long gone. I think I need to escort myself down to the bottom of this run as quickly as I can to beat the poor, incoming weather.
So we cruise on down the hill to where the long run-out ends. At least I can say my shoulder is tremendously better than in December when we rode this. No sharp stabby pain, not much pain at all, really. My flexion has continued to get better as the ride has progressed.
We get to the nearly flat section of road where tall road cuts reach up the hill on the left. I pull into the informal camping area that is 300 metres upstream from the formal camping area. I think I have a better chance of setting up in a non-soggy spot here. The camping area has that rotunda where we hung out with the bogans on Day 1 of the trip, but I don’t want to camp in there, and I would like to be able to nap in the tent, rather than just layingon the picnic table. There are always mozzies around this area.. So I think this should do me a little bit better. Plus, I do not have to smell smouldering campfires or listen to generators here.
I go down and filter a bit of water first thing. The filter is slow and needs to be backwashed, but there is less sediment in the water now than there will be later. So that is the first order of business. The sky here is a flat grey. The wind is still around, but we are very protected here, so I cannot detect anything based on that.
I then pull on some pants – the mozzies are out – and start to set up the tent. There are a couple pitter patters of rain as I click in the poles and drape the rainfly over the tent. The pitter patters increase a bit as I stake out the fly. The pitter patters turn into a constant sprinkle as I cover up the frame bag on the bike, pull off the panniers and fork bags and throw them in the tent.
I do one last check of things and then dive into the tent. Just in time.
It starts to rain not long after. If I had been five minutes later in anything this morning, I would have got wet setting up the tent. If I had been 10 minutes later, we would have got wet filtering the water and had to set up the tent in the rain.
What excellent timing! You needed to be where you wanted to be by 10am this morning.
The rain increases in intensity. And then it proceeds to rain ALL DAY and almost all night. Yep, it is 18 hours of solid rain. It is hard rain at times and steady rain the rest. There are no real moments where it lets up. It just rains and rains and rains. I lie there, grateful for the good timing today, the painter’s dropcloth acting as an extra layer of protection and a safe and protected spot to ride it out.
I think about how I’m still looking for an older role model – a tough chick in her 60s that does challenging rides. I’d like to see what the future could look like. But, even though I’ve searched the internet high and low, I can’t find any Boomer that I find inspiring. All the touring cyclists I follow are younger than me. I’ve got my 70s sorted – there are plenty of activist grannies in Europe to use as role models. But I can’t find anyone that’s tough and independent in their 60s- all I see are women tied to partners or their ex-partner’s wealth riding easy routes. I can’t relate to that at all. So the search continues. I’d love to find the cycling equivalent of this lady: https://www.abc.net.au/news/2025-04-18/oldest-solo-woman-sailor-jeanne-socrates-world-record-holder/105159996
And the rain goes on and on, too. We nap. We snack. We do stretches, well, at least as much as we can in a one-person tent. Days like today are why I carry a tent instead of a bivvy. 18-24 hours straight in a bivvy would be torture, a bit like being in a cold, damp straitjacket.
Eventually, day becomes dusk and then dusk becomes dark and the rain continues on.