Written by Bruce Greenhalgh

‘The art of losing isn’t hard to master’ – Elizabeth Bishop ‘One Art’

Sometimes you get it right; sometimes you get it wrong. Unfortunately for Des Norman and myself the Tuilkilkey rogaine was one where things had a tendency to go wrong. Indeed, they went so wrong that it’s a rogaine I’d rather forget. But I know that tales of woe are at least as interesting as those of success so I will record our exploits for your edification and amusement.

It didn’t start badly. Not at all. We headed out to the northwest on the plain to begin and picked up our first two controls as we’d hoped and without too much bother. However, we then made something of a dog’s breakfast of going for control 57, not only wasting time but ending up abandoning our search for it. And it was more luck than our judgment that gave us the next control (30) as we saw it from a distance. I’d actually picked the wrong ridge – a bit of a worry. Never mind. Press on. Control 100 required minimal navigation as there was a steady stream of rogainers going to and from this high and highly visible control. There may have been an easy route to our following control on the same ridge, but we didn’t find it. The control only revealed itself after much tiresome rock hopping. Off the ridge and things were easier, even if our compass work was less than optimal. It was around about this time, and around control 52, that my energy started leaving me. A few controls later and energy and I were complete strangers. Had the safety car come by at this point I would have been sorely tempted to jump ship. In the absence of the yearned for vehicle Des was able to persuade me to continue on a modified (easier) route.

Darkness fell at control 79 and with me feeling a bit better (though a little nauseous) we opted to try for controls 90 then 68, both of which had their ‘challenges’. With Des holding his navigational nerve to lead us to 68 things were, if not looking up, at least looking better. Not that much better though, because at the next control we experienced our first thunderstorm activity. It was uncomfortable and annoying, but it was brief.  Nothing to be too concerned about (we thought). What was a worry was me, and at control 31 I was spent. There may have been rain around, but my personal well was dry. The decision was made to follow the dirt road back to the HH and only pick up controls just off the road. It was at this point that we made one of the most monumental rogaining mistakes I’ve ever had the misfortune to commit. Long story short – it took us two and half hours to find a control that was two kilometres away at the end of a straight dirt road. Des might be persuaded to give the details of our misfortune, but I don’t want to talk about it.

I was past ‘gone’ at this stage and then things got worse. Early on Saturday morning I’d discussed the weather with Doug Gillott and we both commented on how still it was despite the forecast high winds.  At that time, and having recently renewed my temporary residence visa to a fool’s paradise, I even thought that the thunderstorm’s forecast probably wouldn’t amount to much. Des must have been similarly afflicted with the same optimism since the rain coat he took was about as waterproof as thin blotting paper. We were WRONG. The 2025 State Champs will surely be remembered as ‘the rogaine with the thunderstorm’. It was a doozy. The gale force wind put the sting into the stinging rain and the rain turned the road into a river. The lightning was spectacular – night into day stuff – and at times close enough to be life threatening. As I contemplated my potential demise, I drew consolation from the thought that if I were struck by lightning at least I could stop walking and boy, did I want to do that.

We were both completely soaked by the time we finally made it back to our tents a little after 2:00 am. I flopped into mine to spend an hour or so worrying about the tent being blown apart before, not so much falling asleep, as becoming unconscious.

By the next morning the storm had passed. In its wake, amongst other things, it left a small creek running through the campground. Oh dear. We went out for another three hours or so and for a change we didn’t get anything wrong. I felt more like a human being and less like some personification of extreme lassitude and we collected controls as you do when things go right. It was, alas, too little too late. Never mind.

While we spent a good part of the weekend getting things wrong in subtle and not so subtle ways, I am thankful that the organisers got things right. The record number of setters produced a map with a seemingly endless number of route permutations and are to be commended, as are all those volunteers who braved ‘the rogaine with the thunderstorm’.

Thank you all.

(Note from the editor – Bruce obviously fell into a deep sleep as he missed the exciting second thunderstorm that rolled over us at around 4.30am, with the same resulting rain and cold wind. Those of us stupid enough to be out in both thunderstorms will remember this rogaine as ‘the rogaine with two thunderstorms’. Others may remember it as ‘the rogaine where my tent filled with water and mud then blew over’…)