One large hill and a small amount of pain

It has been a little while since I posted last - a great sadness to all my readers no doubt. In that time many many things have happened, too many to possibly recount - an excuse which allows me to not have to put in the hard work of thinking and remembering.

It has been pointed out to me in that time that I am unable to spell the word 'the' and more often end up typing teh. Should that occur throughout the process of this masterpiece please bare with me, every true genius has their blind spots.
However the most significant event of recent memory - a memory which is being fast turned into mush because of a strange but unavoidable process of mental degradation inherent in life in the Po - concerns a certain breakout that took place last weekend. Anyone who hasn't had to take a breathe during that last sentence is doing well. Everyone else: you should work on your lung capacity.

Over the last week we have studied several very interesting subjects....all of which escape me. Oh wait, biographical studies. Biographical studies is essentially a lesson in which we listen to radio productions from the 70's on famous people, all of which sound like gothic horror radio plays. No doubt my dad would approve - from the sounds of things they probably had moving scenery. In actual fact it was a great subject and I would highly recommend it.
The very best subject that we have done however was Hosea. Taught by the half bald man from a local town (for local people I shouldn't wonder) I would have to say that it is incredible how you can make the word of the living God quite so dull. I only barely survived by consuming a lot of sugar, distracting myself by looking out the window and inventing haiku poetry on the subject of irradiated badgers (and their detrimental effect on the world ecosystem). I am considering publishing a book under the stage name of Bernard Wiebretchtenstien and donating the proceeds to greenpeace.

After a hard week of biblical study (all of which paid off when I failed the test on Monday morning) I was ready for youth cafe. I honed my backgammon skills - still in fine working order and ready to take a certain Mr Richard B. Stamp to Chinatown and back when I return to the UK - played several random games and created a masterpiece of art on today's culture of mixed-up love. Midnight came, and 6 hours later I was awake and ready to spring into action for our 3 hour bus trip to Strahan. Thanks to an incredible amount of windy roads I felt sick on the way there. It was fun.
Our arrival at the Strahan sand dunes (the biggest dunes I've ever seen in my life) we climbed a hill whilst tied together, had lunch and got into our small groups - in reverse order. A certain amount of sun tanning, hill jumping and activities later we rocked up to Ironballs Mackensie for our final activity of the day. It came and it went.
And then one of our small group said: hey there's a huge hill here that we can jump down. I said: "well ok. But be careful." A short conversation on timing followed whilst my group threw themselves over the precipice. At least I thought they threw themselves over it.
So I looked at the dune and thought: I can run down that. When I hit the ridge in the middle I'll slow down and then when I hit that small ridge at the bottom I'll run up it, jump off it and fly through the air like a bird. (see fig 1)


There were several flaws in that plan as it turned out.
The first flaw was that the hill was slightly steeper than I anticipated. This was ok, I am fairly good at cliff running and so I took it all head on. Hurtling toward the first ridge I think: man this is steep, gonna have to keep running to keep balanced. True to form I keep running. As I near the first ridge I think: wow, that ridge is smaller than I thought and the hill below it is steeper than the first bit. Again, this was ok and I conclude: think of the cool air time I will get from jumping out at the end. Pain, after all is fleeting.
My plan of action is now modified: (fig 2)

As I near the bottom I become aware that perspective from 30 or 40 metres up is slightly misleading. The ridge at the bottom is slightly larger than I had thought and I muse: hmmmmm, does that look steeper than I first thought? Optimism prevails once more - score one for cheerful enjoyment - and I decide that in any case I'll just stuff it a bit and we'll all laugh as I fly like a concrete elephant. It will at least bring joy to my group and that's more or less my job as a leader. The plan is modified with a happy result: (fig 3)

I am now travelling very fast. Not quite the speed of sound I note as I make a quick physics calculation based on the space between group members interspersed down the hill and rate at which they pass my field of vision, but nevertheless fairly fast. It occurs to me at this point that many of my group are in fact not this far down the hill havign stopped at some point. I think: that's strange. As my attention is brought back to my death defying leap at the point at which I would normally shout: hey watch this, (but they were already looking with some strange expression that later turns out to be horror anyway). I think: damn that ridge really is big. And steep. In fact it's not as close to the ground as I thought either. I update my plan: (fig 4)

If my calculations are right I can still make it over the ridge and fall down the gap causing some pain and much hilarity. Unfortunately this is precisely the point at which my brain and body are no longer connecting in the way necessary for me to make any coordinated movements. I think: jump now! My body fails to respond. I think: at least it's a sand bank and will be soft: (fig 5)

I'm no physicist to be sure, but somewhere in my brain a part of me knows that impact has something to do with how fast your going when you hit a big object. I'm also now fairly sure that the hardness of the object you strike has some kind of multiplying effect.

At the last second my neurons fail to fire and I hurtle at a velocity in excess of a cheetah on speed into a large sand bank, perfectly parallel to my body and considerably larger than I am. I also discover that the effect of years of sand compacting turns an apparently inoffensive dune into something resembling a large amount of concrete. Ironballs Mackensie and several other spectators claimed that the sound of the impact was "like smacking a mattress with broom" and could be heard all the way across the Henty dunes. I expect that it looked something like this: (fig 6)

If ever we need proof that there is a God it probably lies in the fact that if I had made it over the ridge I would have been falling 10/15 metres to the hard almost rock forest floor - another small miscalculation on my part. I didn't, and so I didn't die. Next to that at the las second my body flailed all my limbs out to absorb as much of the impact as safely as I could - saving me from a broken neck and either total paralysis or that tricky state of affairs we like to call death.

A short climb back up the hill and I was able to evaluate my wounds - later to develop into one of the stiffest necks and backs I have ever had. I suffered only minors injuries and a face-full of sand. Pride was actually boosted because of the tremendous obstacle I had overcome - viz. near death. And from then on I received many acclamations from the people who were there. It also turned out that my group hadn't run down it because they weren't stupid - which was why they weren't at the bottom.

For all the official pictures please follow the Flickr links to the right.

Other stuff apparently happened on the breakout but my memory is a little hazy.

Until next time people - love ot you all