Olympic perspective

So, I love the Olympics. I love the spirit of good sportsmanship, the grace in winning and losing, and the drinking, smoking, zamboni-riding party after the Canadian women's hockey team won the gold medal.
Actually, I think that celebrating the win of a lifetime on home ice, and bringing some of that celebration out of the locker room and inviting some of your supporters to see you being happy. It wasn't as if they went on a drunken rampage through the streets of Vancouver, they didn't rub it in while the American women were on the ice, and they didn't drive the Zamboni through the plexiglass. They had a glass of champagne, they had a beer, they had a cigar. I find that much less disturbing than the tradition of the medal count, and the idea that whoever has the most medals is kicking butt.
Kris and I were talking about that very thing, and we were thinking of how to better compare the sporting achievements per country. Do you compare medals per capita? That didn't seem like a good idea, since the largest populations are not necessarily the countries that have the resources to invest in developing athletes. Therefore, we set up a table of medals per million dollars GDP (as of 27th of Feb - I have today off, and couldn't wait until tomorrow for this, but I think we get the right idea.
The top 8 medal winners, as ranked by medals/million USD GDP.
8. China - with 11 medals as of today, thats 1 medal for every 432,545 million USD
7. US - 36 medals total = 1medal for every 396,388 million USD
6. Germany - 29 medals - even in a recession, that's 1 medal / 111,551 million USD
5. Russia - 15 medals, 1 medal / 83,666 million USD
4. South Korea - 14 medals, 1 medal / 57,164 million USD
3. Canada - the hosts have 25 medals, which is 1 medal / 52,760
2. Austria - 16 medals and serious economic slowdown equates to 1 medal / 23,400
Aaaaaaand the number one country in terms of medal economy is...
...the envelope please...
1. Norway! A truly tiny GDP when compared to some of the others, but 22 medals. That's one medal for every 16,772 million USD. Very impressive, and something for those of us with Halvorsons and Elvestroms in our family tree to be proud of.
Of course, this was just the top 8 - Norway was about as good as Slovenia, slightly better than Estonia, but not quite the all-time leader.
That goes to Latvia - 1 medal/12,100 million USD.
That's a pretty good ratio. If the Americans earned medals at that rate, we would have 1,179 in the medal count. Even though we're leading in the medal count, it sounds a little underachieving when it's put in perspective.

Day 5 -7 (We suck at this!)

Day 5--Kia Ora to Windy Ridge:

This walk was relatively down hill for most of the day (Hallelujah!) It's big attraction was it was 3 big waterfalls along the way.




The really big highlight however was Nathan and I saw our first snake in Australia (ever); and yes it was poisonous. It's a tiger snake (we think).

We walked into Windy Ridge just as the wind picked up and it started to rain (perfect timing). It seemed like too much work to set up so we spent the night in a brand new hut with a huge drying room and a large communal kitchen area where almost everyone spent the night reading and playing cards.
Day 6: Windy Ridge to Echo Point Hut
The next day was an easy downhill walk on planked paths through lush green meadows. With rain sprinkling intermittantly, the trees were filled with birdsong. Overheating in our rainsuits, we stopped frequently to consult the bird book looking for superb fairy wren, cockatoos, and kurrawongs. We reached the suspension bridge that marks the final leg...the walk to Narcissus Hut and Lake St Claire.


Most of the other hikers stopped to set up camp on the lakeshore, planning to take the ferry back to the end of the trail. In a fit of machismo, Nathan and I decide to complete the Overland Track on foot--walking to Echo Point Hut and the last 15km to the end of the Lake.

This forest track was less-travelled--overgrown with giant ferns muddy and less repaired. I had taken off the bottoms to my rainsuit to allow for better temperature regulation (whew...steamy), and within 15 minutes was a wet, muddy mess. We arrived at Echo Point hut to find a fire in the coal heater and a place to dry our soaked socks.

After dinner, we walked the lakeshore searching for platypus but there was not a single sign of good habitat or platypi frollicking in the dusk.


Day 7: Echo Point Hut to the Lake St Claire Visitors centre.
We got an early start on the hike back to Lake St Claire...the ferns were covered in a thick dew and caught the morning sunlight. Again, we were soaked and muddy in the first 15 minutes. There is something psychological that happens when you are told you are on the last flat stretch....every minor hill becomes a major discouragement. As soon as we met the first day hikers out for a walk, the remaining kilometers crawled by...."Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"

When we hit the national park, people looked on in an admiring disgust. Admiring our fortitude at the long hike, disgust at the smell which permeated our clothes--sweat and coal. Before heading for the showers, we paused to say goodbye to our friends from the trail and to sign the register completing our walk.

Finally clean, we bought a lunch of fresh fruit and coffee (which was a major treat after a week of freeze-dried food!) and caught the bus back to Launceston. We arrived at Kilmarnock House where we filled the jacuzzi with hot water, drank red wine, and ate pizza. HEAVEN.

Day 4: Pelion to Kia Ora

The ongoing (retrospective) saga of the overland track continues, as told by Nathan. Kris, while she has plenty to say about this particular day, not much of it is suitable for public consumption. If you ask her about this day, she sounds like Yosemite Sam with a migraine.
If I say that we got a late start, I dare say you wouldn't be surprised. We hit the trail at 9am, and had a tough slog up to the pass, called Pelion Gap. From here, there was the option of climbing Mt. Ossa, the tallest mountain in Tasmania. Well, it was beautiful, not too hot, and there was a rumor that there was snow at the top, so we dropped the packs and started up. and up. and a quick down, then...up.
Now, by the time we were at the pass, we had already climbed about 1000 feet, and Kris was not in a good place. Since I am writing this, I think that I can honestly say that I offered to forego the ascent, in the interests of domestic harmony. She insisted that it would be okay. So we went.
Also because I am writing this, I am able to vividly recall roughly 718 times that I offered to turn around, since Kris was clearly having a rough time. Each time, with alternating weariness and peevishness, she assured me that it would be fine, it was a great day for a climb, we would likely never have this opportunity again, and how come we couldn't bring more water.
By the time we crested the summit, some of the other helpful hikers had pointed out that it wasn't the summit. The path was helpfully angled so that you couldn't see the fake-out that led you to believe that you were about to get to the top, until you got to the top of what you thought was the mountain, only to find that there was about another bjillion boulders to scramble over, leap across, and about another 1000 feet to climb.
Once morale had been restored to the minimum required for summit conquering, we scrambled, leapt, and climbed to the real summit. Kris lay down and fell asleep while I looked for water. There was a small patch of snow, and I woke up Kris to have a look before it melted.
The descent was very similar to the ascent, with the addition of facing the perilous drop-offs, making it even more hair raising.
(During this all, we were passed by the 9 year-old and her family)
(twice)
At the base, there were 2 surprises.
One - the ravens had unzipped all of the packs of one of the tour groups, as well as the family from Perth's, stealing treats and - even worse - their toilet paper.
Two - a guy came through, jogging. He was running from start to finish that day, about 80 km (50 miles). Not only was he running it, he wasn't even part of a race, he was running it alone. Now I have to ask you...doesn't that sound great? Maybe any other day this suggestion would have been received more gracefully, but today, Kris was not very receptive to the conversation.
So...moving on.
One of the ways to keep sane on these warmer days is to take off your boots occasionally, especially if you're next to an icy stream that is ankle deep. That's where we stopped initially.
Another way to stay cooler is to take a dip in an icy pool under a waterfall. That's where we stopped at the end of the walk. And when I say "dip" I mean sliding off of the submerged rock at comfortable knee-depth to be immersed in water that made you feel like your chest was in a vice it was so cold. I pretty much levitated, Bugs Bunny-like, and ran on the surface back to shore. Kris, slightly braver, stayed in for about 14 seconds.
Still shivering, we walked back up to camp, where we admired a passing quoll, ate dinner, and hung up our clothes to dry.
And so ended a very, very long day.