SARA’s embedded journalist, pedant and rogaine junkie, Bruce Greenhalgh, reflects on the Onka Three ‘n Six.
During most, if not all, of the rogaines I’ve competed in there comes a point when I conclude that rogaining is an insane thing to do and that the current rogaine will be my last. It happened again during the ‘Onka Three ‘n Six’.*  It could have happened when I attempted to clamber over a fallen tree trunk at the creek crossing near control 94, lost my footing and performed a manoeuvre that even Simone Biles wouldn’t dare attempt.  But it wasn’t then. It wasn’t shortly after as we climbed out of the gorge toward control 77 when it began raining making the track slippery, dropping the temperature and dampening my spirit. It wasn’t even when we made the long, slow, steep climb toward the road from control 71 with me having nothing in the tank. Nor was it when I was crawling underneath bushes in a futile attempt to find control 46. And it wasn’t when we had to run the last kilometres to make the cut off (increasingly faster as the time slipped away) with my body screaming ‘NO!’
It was, instead, on an innocuous rise as we traversed the controls south of the river. We were on a roller coaster of a route with seemingly endless ascents and descents – very wearing. However, it was made tolerable by being mostly on established tracks meaning that I could concentrate all my energies on simply plodding on. That changed on the aforementioned rise, which was distinguished by having long grass that hid an assortment of ankle twisting rocks. As well as plodding I had to think about my footing and that was when I cracked. Plodding – okay; plodding and thinking – not okay. I silently ran through my store of expletives before declaring that this would be my last rogaine.
How silly of me. Who am I kidding? I know I will be back to experience the joys of rogaining, which include, but are not limited to; getting lost; having to push through thorny bushes; slipping; tripping; falling; and becoming exhausted, frustrated, wet, cold, hungry and thirsty. All that suffered for the privilege of standing in a cold, dark paddock somewhere hoping to be awarded a – wait for it – chocolate frog. I must be insane. Or addicted? Am I a rogaine junkie?
And if I’m a rogaine addict does that mean the organizers are pushers and dealers? However they are described the organizers deserve a huge thank you. Their efforts allowed over 500 people to experience the highs and lows of the Onkaparinga Gorge (and there were plenty of both). It’s probably wrong to single out individuals from the volunteer group, but being an addict and therefore unbalanced and lacking in sound judgement etc, etc, I’m going to do it anyway. I would especially like to thank Jo Powell, whose mammoth effort as Coordinator and Setter made my rogaine fix possible, and the indefatigable Peter Milnes for supplying the ‘gear’ in his role as equipment officer. It’s a vital role that Peter performs with great diligence and energy. Chapeau to both of you, and to all the volunteers!
* No, the missing apostrophe in the title did not escape my attention. It should be ‘n’.
