King of the mountain (Mt Sonder and Glen Helen Gorge)

The moment we had all been anticipating since we first hit the trail. No, not the 2am wake call, the climb up one the highest peaks of the Larapinta Trail. At 1380m, it is fourth highest. Breakfast was highly recommended, not just to supply energy, but also to help your body combat the cold. It was another clear night and the wind had not let up. The climb up Sonder, we had been warned, is extremely exposed in sections. No one appeared particularly tired as we chatted at breakfast. Perhaps it was just nervous talk. Certainly I was worried about my knee lasting the distance, even with the walking poles.

Not quite at the summit.

There was no scenery to see on the drive to Redbank Gorge and while there were cars in the car park, we didn’t see anyone outside our group for quite some time. We started the ascent around 3am. Before I joined the trail, I knelt down and picked up a handful of dirt and made myself known to the spirits and asked them to keep us safe. It is a custom used by Indigenous people when entering country not their own. And then we were away.

Comfortably wrapped in a sleeping bag, waiting ...

It is difficult to describe the climb because we really couldn’t see anything. Declan had explained the changing terrain, the saddles and ridge lines, exposed rocky outcrops, the gradual climb to the peak, but all we could see were the feet in front of us in the light of our head torches. Or the slow climb of other walkers behind us as we watched their lights when we paused for a break. Lucas led the group and maintained a constant, if slow for him, pace. Some of our number talked of feeling 'car sick' from constantly looking down at the feet of the person in front.

Here comes the sun.

The wind did not abate. If anything, it grew in strength and was at times, ferocious. A mistimed step could see you blown sideways. Extra strong gusts pulled at the pack on your back. Jackets were put on and then removed in more the protected areas. Until finally, we reached the open part of the trek and wind protection was a must. I was warm and comfortable except for my fingers. The gloves I chose were actually inners and with my hands clamped firmly on the walking poles, my unmoving fingers felt like they were going to freeze off. More than once I thought of the Arctic and Antarctic explorers – what possessed them to do what they did?

The shadow of Mt Sonder.

Uncharacteristically, Dave began to drop back to the rear of the group. We were nearing the summit, it was in fact in sight, but he wasn’t feeling well. We were now protected from the wind, but it was still very cold. As we emerged from behind one peak we could see over the valley below and the colours in the sky were changing, a crescent moon floated above the horizon and there was one star left in the sky.

The colours changed quickly.

My description of that sky and the sun rise that followed are inadequate so I’ll let the pictures speak for me.

The range below.

Dave was still hypothermic, after a cup of coffee, despite being wrapped in the sleeping bag we brought for just this occurrence. A quick chat with Lucas produced a down vest for him to put on and a cup of warm water. Re-wrapped in the sleeping bag he sat and watched the vista change as the sun rose. Once Dave warmed up again he was fine and was one of the frontrunners in the descent to the car park.

It was agreed by most of the group that it was best to climb Mt Sonder in the dark because, when we saw what it looked like in daylight, it was decided most of us would have gone yeah nah and remained at the bus. It looked unsurmountable.

Heading back down.

The walk down produced some unusual sights. One girl jogged past us. The same one who was searching for Counts Point in the wrong direction days earlier. Clearly she survived her geographic embarrassment. Then there was the guy wearing sandals. I accept they are made for bushwalking, but before the sun arrived, it was freezing. Interestingly I did not require the walking poles on the walk back to the carpark. It appears the spirits looked after me and Dave just as I had asked at the beginning of the day.

Wide open spaces.

Back at the car park, we sat in the sun and waited the arrival of the others. The bird life kept me amused, particularly the quarrelling of the Hooded Robins.

The robins.

The chatter on the way to camp was anything but nervous as we relaxed into the triumphant glow that comes from achieving something momentous. Each of us had been King of the Mountain, an excellent song from Midnight Oil.

The view from the carpark.

Jonny had prepared a beautiful brunch which was enjoyed by the campfire before a few of us headed to our tents for quick nap.

Boots in hand. Time for a rest.

In the afternoon, we drove across to Glen Helen Gorge for a wander around. It is another beautiful area but was missing any abundance of wildlife that afternoon, so it was back to camp for afternoon tea. Dinner that night was lamb chops and roast veggies. 

Glen Helen Gorge.

Jonny joined us at the firepit for a while. This resulted in his apologising for some of the chops being a tad more chargrilled than others. Lucas described the barbecue during the cooking process as being ‘a mountain of fire’.

The endemic ghost gum.

Marcus decided the last night was perfect for a sleep out under the stars. We left him to his swag and we retired to our tent content in the knowledge that we had conquered the mountain.

Sunset after a long day.

Until next time.