hiking the castle

A rare quiet morning. Hitchy, the kangaroo with the broken arm, is getting more and more comfortable with us.She’s happily munching on premium grass just outside the glass doors with her baby who is finally too big to fit in her pouch. The garden glows verdant, fluorescent green under the rising sun. Every puddle on the balcony is transformed into liquid gold. The tanks are overflowing. The world shines like precious jewels in oscillating shades of emerald and gold. 

Under last nights new moon we  played guitar, pulled cards and set intentions. Rod said ‘I’m going to get as much work done in the dark as possible and have fun in the daytime.’ He left at 4am this morning. Even earlier than me. 

If this sounds nauseatingly wholesome, I’d also like to point out it’s a rarity. Often in the evenings we’re all on our phones, or I’m reading and they’re watching a movie and I’m telling them to turn it down. Having said that, I’m settling in well to family living. I’ve got used to the constant mountain bike talk and TikTok references and the occasional dead mouse. Periodically the cats will bring in dead things as gifts and then hide them in the most random places. The smell of rotting flesh will start to permeate some corner and the search will begin. The latest unfortunate bush mouse proved particularly difficult to find. We were close to climbing up in the roof to see if more rats had died up there, but I eventually found the stinking, decaying little body inside the vacuum cleaner attachment. It must have crawled in there and died. 

Along with that rather macabre tale there are multitudes of sweet moments. My favourite part of every day is sitting down at the dinner table with these two beautiful beings and asking them about their days. What are you grateful for today? I always ask. You and you ,they always say. 

Last week Rod and I climbed ‘The Castle’, the big square topped mountain in the heart of the Budawangs. ‘Not for the faint hearted’ the description said. I rolled my eyes and thought ‘how hard can it be’. I’d heard lots of stories about rope climbs and scrambles up rock faces and was excited rather than scared. 

I spent a large proportion of my youth scrambling around the Welsh mountains, shunning the well worn hiking trails and diving into tussocky peat filled bogs and heather covered slopes with my Mum, Dad and brother.  Every year we’d camp at ‘our valley’ nestled between Hay Bluff and Lord Herefords Knob (yes really!) in the Welsh hills just West of our house. Every year the climb felt impossible. I’d ask to be carried and Dad would swing me onto his shoulders before I got too big and had to be bribed with sweets. My brother and I would sometimes bring friends and we’d mark out the camp site, girls against boys, and spend all day playing some intricate but long forgotten game that involved sneaking around in each others camps and not getting caught. 

No one ever came to this valley because it was off the track. We would sometimes see ‘proper walking people’ trudging along the top ridge. Why would they stick to the path we’d ask. How boring! No scree slopes to slide down. No rock faces to climb. My parents never followed the path. My Dad always carried a compass and an ordnance survey map and had excellent navigation skills. We never got lost, at least not for long. I remember one day I went hiking with Dad, I might have been about 14. We got caught in a snow storm and the whole world went white. It was hard to tell up from down. I started to feel faint, due to altitude or not enough food. We didn’t have any provisions with us. I could sense Dad getting slightly worried which was not his usual ‘we’ll be fine’ style. Eventually we made it back to the car only to find the lights still on and the battery flat in the middle of deserted Wales. We got out of there eventually due to the help of some kind stranger. I remember getting back home to central heating and a hot bath and eating hot buttered toast that tasted like heaven. 

Years later Dad and I hiked up Mount Roland in Tasmania and survived wild dog warnings, vertical rubble climbs and freezing temperates in hardly any clothes. 

I was no rookie. I’d be fine. 

Let’s climb the castle I said to Rod one day. Let’s carve out a day and actually do it. We can just do it in one day. We’ll be fast!

So we got up in the dark and drove into the wilderness. He’d done the climb before, 30 years ago, with a bunch of his friends from the board-riders. There were no waves. He shrugged. So we needed something to do. Apparently they all ran up, which is the sort of thing you can do when you’re 19.

We arrived at the car park around 6am. The mist was starting the clear and the first strands of light had started to seep through the trees. We waded through the river and started to climb, accompanied by a few leeches and made our way through the riverside rainforest under prehistoric looking ferns with trunks as big as oak trees. 

Eventually we popped out onto the ‘saddle’ and were greeted with the first and last clear view of the Budawangs shining in iridescent emerald gold like precious jewels in the rare sun. Hiking in Australia is very different to the Welsh hills. You have no choice but to follow the path. Everything else is impenetrable undergrowth, sheer drops and thick scrub. Even sticking to the path was a challenge. It meandered into multiple dead ends and sheer drops. We wondered a million times, how did people find their way up here in the first place. 

The ascent started to get steeper and sharper. I had to stop and catch my breath. I should be fitter than you I said after all that F45. He was in front of me, striding seemingly effortlessly up the steep steps as he strides seemingly effortlessly through life. 

As we sat on a rock and ate apples as the weather changed. A heavy band of rain cut through the clear sky. In a few minutes the view had disappeared and we were thrust into the clouds. ‘It will clear up’ we said as the sky got darker.  

As we got closer to the summit we were walking less and climbing more. On the first rope section I realised how over-confident I’d been. This was not your Sunday afternoon scramble. This was not the gentle rolling Welsh hills. This was smooth rock face peppered with the tiniest divots for experienced fingers and toes. There’s a large sign at the bottom of the rope section that basically says ‘dont trust the ropes.’ But I have no idea how anyone would ever climb the mammoth summit without ropes. I’m reminded of the interconnectedness of everything. Whoever put these ropes there in the first place, whoever maintains them regularly, whoever has the passion and the drive to make this climb possible is enhancing the lives of countless adventurous souls. I thank you!

I watched Rod climb. I tried to do the same thing and realised very quickly my upper body strength wasn’t up for that so I used my legs. I sandwiched myself against the rock and rather awkwardly pushed myself up using my elbows and knees. ‘

Dont let go of the rope’ he shouted from the top. ‘Lean back! Trust the rope!’

I kept falling into the rock when my arms gave way and I found it hard to move my hands. Eventually I hauled my way to the top, suitably humbled.

We kept going. We lost the path a few times and doubled back. We shimmied our way through a tiny crevice in the rock and eventually came to a platform beneath three huge, almost vertical rock faces. ‘It looks worse than it is’ Rod said. I wasn’t so sure. If I’d been by myself I honestly think I would have turned back. By this time it had started to rain and the rock face was slick and shiny as a seal. 

‘Dont look down he said. Little steps. Use your legs, press into your feet’. 

When we got to the summit we were so high in the clouds it was hard to see a metre in front of us. The famous view was completely obscured. I’d had visions of long picnics and cuddles in the sun at the top of the world, but it was a cold, grey, harsh yet strangely beautiful land. 

‘Oh well. We’ll have to come back!’ I said. 

‘We’ve got to get down first.’He laughed. 

A few times on the way down I had to steel myself. I had to dig deep. Take a deep breath and get on with it. There was no other choice. I couldn’t stay at the top of this crevice. When we arrived back at the car with sore feet and grazed elbows it was still early afternoon. We took a swim in the river and washed off the sweat, dirt and few determined leeches that had hidden in our socks.

I felt elated. We’d done it! I didn’t even mind we couldn’t see anything at the top. It was the process of doing it, rather than the outcome that was important. If I’d been totally focused on the view I would have been disappointed. This teaching is everywhere in yoga philosophy. Act with intention. Act with presence. Let go of attachment to the fruits of your actions. the outcome isn’t up to us. 

Each morning I say a prayer ‘dear God ( Cosmic Intelligence, Source, Unified Field, Oneness etc) I surrender this day to you. May it be used for your purposes. I only ask that my heart stay open to give and receive love. May all the results unfold according to your will.’

I cant control the weather. I cant control the visibility at the top of the castle. We could have decided not to go. We could have waited for a clear day. But that day may not have come. When the intention is there, and the will is there, I would say act on it. Dont wait. When inspiration strikes, follow it. As much as my mind wants to control situations I know it’s not up to me. There’s a bigger plan at play. Some divine plan that I can never, and have no desire to ever understand. It’s not my job to control the outcome. It is my job to stay open. To keep the channel open. 

I’m reminded of this quote from the dancer Martha Graham.

“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”

And that’s it. I surrender again and again to the cycles. The grass is green - for now.  There is ample food for the kangaroos. The birds are raucous on this blue sky summer day. We just picked some juicy capsicums from the garden. The studio is busy. There is a natural summer flow. I feel grateful for this Lakshmi abundance and bow in gratitude at the feet of the divine but I also know that winter will come. The rains will stop. The grass will die again. The herbs will go to seed. The studio will get quiet again and fear will creep in. There will always be challenges to navigate and hard conversations to be had. I will feel frustration rise. There will be grief and loss and death. My job is to stay connected to my heart. To deeply trust in the great mystery unfolding around me and within me in every moment. To trust life moving through me, as me. Life Is The Dancer, And You Are The Dance

I’ll leave you with this poem from John O’Donohue. Thank you for reading. I love you. 

In out-of-the-way places of the heart,

Where your thoughts never think to wander,

This beginning has been quietly forming,

Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,

Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,

Noticing how you willed yourself on,

Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety

And the gray promises that sameness whispered,

Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,

Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,

And out you stepped onto new ground,

Your eyes young again with energy and dream,

A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not yet clear

You can trust the promise of this opening;

Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning

That is at one with your life's desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure;

Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;

Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,

For your soul senses the world that awaits you.