Pole Position

So last time I did this, I had broken my foot and still had illiotibial band syndrome, a long name for a simple condition someone once described as like having a craft knife roughly inserted into the side of your knee. Not an ideal starting point for a 100Km mountain jaunt but fortes fortuna adiuvat and all that. Despite this, before starting the event I had inwardly mocked those that were spending a hundred bucks or more on that simplest of accessories … a stick. Or in some extreme cases, two sticks. Should not prove hard to find a stick in several hundred acres of mountain forest, I thought, gamely.

Predictably, my knee gave out in the first stage and I spent 95Km longing for a stick, secretly hoping some enterprising local might have setup a walking stick outlet in the middle of the trail. The only sticks I found on the trail were just sturdy looking enough to fool you into putting all your weight onto them, before snapping and leaving you in a heap doing that pathetic double-take people do when they trip over in public. Paul W had a fine stick, but I think he had it specially made, or imported it from Middle Earth or something. There was none like it.

So, this time, I’m not going to pooh pooh sticks, instead I am going on an artificial stick hunt and I intend to buy a quality pair.

Sticks, I mean, "Trekking Poles"

Of course you can’t just go into a hiking store and ask to buy a stick. You’d reveal yourself as hopelessly ignorant of the immense demands of walking up a hill. The mere mention of “stick” and you’re marked out as some appalling city-dwelling weekender who probably can’t read a map, navigate by the stars or stalk and trap a deer. No, you have to request a “trekking pole”. Bear Grylls wouldn’t need a carbon-fibre stick trekking pole but I’ve convinced myself I’m in the market. My name spelt in Japanese, is, after all, ポール (“Pole”).