Near miss in Blue Gum Forest
I’m in Blue Gum Forest near Blackheath in the Blue Mountains on a section of the Hounslow Classic 68 km Ultra Sky Marathon. This is my favourite place to get some vert under my belt. Leaving Perry’s Lookdown, I descend 600 odd metres into the Grose Valley. I cross the Grose River, which seems to have recently lost its famous log crossing (if anyone knows what happened to the log, I’d love to know!):
I begin the climb towards Lockleys Pylon, a 600 m ascent I’ve done dozens of times in the past. To get from the forest floor to the rocky trail taking you up and out, there’s a short and steep section of dirt track dominated by tree roots. The particular root in front of me is at about my waist height. I’m 6’ 2” so my lanky limbs don’t usually struggle with big steps like this. I place my left foot onto the root and it’s a little awkward as I lift my right foot off the ground to reach for my next foothold. My balance faulters a little and my body rocks backward. It’s no matter as I plant my right foot on a rock behind me to stabilise myself as I prepare for a do-over.
Except that the “rock” behind me is in fact a shrub which offers little resistance as my foot promptly penetrates the scrub. I’m confused as I’m suddenly upside down, tumbling down an embankment. At no point prior did it register that anything out of the ordinary was about to happen. One moment I had my left foot on a tree root where I should probably have used my right, the next moment I’m upside-down wonder WTF is going on. This is how quickly things can go wrong.
Mid-fall, my body releases a surge of adrenaline similar in magnitude to that administered by Vincent Vega (John Travolta) to Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman) in the famous Pulp Fiction “OD scene”.
Miraculously, I land more or less on my feet in thick scrub, around three metres below my previous altitude. I pause to take stock, scanning my body for injuries. Nothing more than the unfortunate dislodgement of my trucker hat which requires retrieval from the bushes.
Shaken but undeterred, I press on. My hands begin to shake as the adrenaline wears off and I become aware of the pain in my hand that must have taken a knock on the way down. “Fuck that was close…”.
This is, without question, the closest I’ve come to serious injury on a trail run. By pure luck and zero skill, I avoided spinal injury, head trauma, impalement, bruises and broken bones. Luckier still it was three metres and not 30. Had I suffered any of these misadventures, I’d have been at the bottom of a valley, alone, with 600 m of near vertical rock either side of me. I’ll say it again, it’s better to be lucky than smart.