February 2020 - Melly Takes a Walk

Great North Walk – Day 11

Warner Bay to Newcastle to Tunks Ridge Rest Area

Distance – 28km + a train ride

“I made it to the end! Well, sort of”.

Today was going to be an interesting day. Had all gone to plan, I would have marched into Newcastle, glorious in the victory of having succeeded in finishing the walk. Instead, I was going to march into Newcastle, enjoy the moment, hop on a train and travel south to pick up where I had left off all those days ago with the floods. Making this decision had been quite a difficult one. Try to finish the entire thing? Or just relax in Newcastle and enjoy the rest of the holiday? Things had been quite arduous after all. In the end, I found out that I am somebody that likes to finish what they set out to do. Despite the fact that there will be no cocktails at my campsite tonight.

With this in mind, I set off very early. Around dawn. I’m really glad I did. The streets were quiet and the sunrise was lush. The walk does an amazing job of wending through parks, trails and scrub, so that you feel a lot further from civilisation than you actually are.

Beautiful view….but….shouldn’t I be over there somewhere?

I travel through the Glenrock State Conservation Area. I see a nice looking lagoon off in the distance and realise that I am mildly lost. My track notes say that I should be right next to the lagoon. Yet here I am. It doesn’t matter. The track I am on deposits me onto the beach. Right where I want to go.

View of the track up the beach. I can see that there has been people here – but still no-one around.

I make my way up the beach. It looks like lovely walking doesn’t it? Cool breeze in the hair, the sound of the pounding waves, seabirds wheeling about. But the reality is that beach walking with shoes and a pack on can be pretty tough – often totally dependent on how hard the sand is, following the tide. In a little victory I had somehow jagged a decent tide and I was able to travel fairly quickly along the shore.

Newcastle Beach. And up on that hill – that’s where I’m going.

Eventually I round a corner, and there it is! Newcastle beach! It was a Sunday, so the footpaths were teaming with people. I could see a focal point off in the distance, and I realise that I am almost there. 3km. I’ll be there in 3km. Although I know I am not finishing here today, the sense of achievement is overwhelming. I did this! I’ve done this! I’ve never walked so far in my life….on my own. I see all the people around me. They don’t know what I’ve done. They don’t care what I’ve done. But I do. And I know that there is not a lot that I can’t do, if I want to do it. That feeling infuses me. Soaks in like a sponge. And I feel amazing.

Off I go. Clickety clacking down the pavement. Looking for all the world like somebody that shouldn’t be at the beach. I climb the final steps. And there’s the monument! I take off my pack and go and touch it, reverently. I sit with tears in my eyes and reflect on what it has taken to get there. My phone dings.

Almost there! You can do it!
Message from the head of my support crew

Now this is weird. Because I know that the head of my support crew has been following along with the GPS tracking at home – excited to see me reach my goal.

I’ve made it already! I’m sitting here now!
My reply

Oh, it looks like you still have about 3km to go…Congratulations!
Head of my support crew.

I look at my maps. I look at my GPS. I look at my track notes. And fuck it. I do still have 3km to go. What an idiot! All that pontificating, crying and self reflection and I’m not even there yet! I put my pack on, and eventually make it to the actual end.

The actual end. No tears. I cried them all out at the other spot.

I don’t stick around here long. I make my way to the train station and jump on the first one headed south. Destination Hornsby. 2 hours later, I get off the train and start walking. Pulling into an Asian supermarket, I pick up my first resupply of the trail. I couldn’t really tell what it was, but hoped that the container might contain noodles of some sort.

Designed by Major General Sir Clive Steele in 1942, this is one of only 4 “Steele” bridges still in use in NSW

It’s nice being back in the bush. I cross an old military bridge, and snake along green paths. The day ends with a long climb back up to the top of the ridge. The campsite is expansive. And empty. I eat my dinner, which turns out to be vermicelli noodles in a super spicy soup which I dislike intensely. One more full day of hiking. I can do it.

Beautiful bush track. Sadly, I believe this has all been burnt out in recent bushfires.

“PS. I am very proud of myself for making Newcastle”. I’ve got this!”
From my journal.

Great North Walk – Day 10

Bates Motel to Warner Bay Hotel

Distance – 23km

“Suitably sloshed I continued on my way”

The day dawned and with it came the realisation that I had survived the night. Once the dedicated night time worker had left for the evening, I had slept really well. Kudos to the dog pillow for enabling a good nights sleep.

Rescinding on a cooked breakfast from the servo in favour of a bag of beef jerky I departed the Watagan Forest Hotel with the intention of never, ever, returning again.

The morning’s walk was fairly straight forward. Up and down fire-tracks with some good views. Nothing too challenging, and made easier by the fact that my hill climbing stamina has definitely increased. I am surprised by how quickly I reach Teralba, where I had been planning to spend the night.

Something I really like looking at is the interface between nature and humanity

I cross the railway tracks and like a mirage, there it is before me. The Great Northern Hotel. In all its splendid old school style. I have so earnt this beer.

“Ain’t no mountain high enough. Ain’t no valley low enough. To keep you away from Teralba pub beer!”
Message from a supportive friend

And the next beer. And the next. And the next. There was no restaurant, so pork crackling was the order of the day for lunch. All this walking leads to such a healthy lifestyle! A couple came in, having obviously just completed a day hike between Watagan and Teralba. They paid me little interest at first – some middle aged bird, semi-stinky over in the corner. But that all changed when the bar keeper (who by now I’d told my life story to) pointed out that I was walking all the way from Sydney. Then they got interested. We talked for ages. They told me I was “impressive”, multiple times. They bought me a beer. At one point they asked me where I had stayed the previous night. “The motel” I replied. Wide eyed and aghast they responded “Not the Bates motel!” with genuine awe that I had done something so risky. Before I left they had given me their address and asked me to stop in if I was in the area. I won’t. But it was lovely of them to make the offer.

Suitably sloshed I continued on my way. I had decided back in the pub that I was going to continue another 6km to Warners Bay. It was a beautiful meander along the river bank. And my fears that there were simply not going to be enough restrooms to comfortably cope with all this drinking, were soon quelled.

It was amazing seeing so much water after being in the bush, struggling just to get drinking water.

There were several sets of markets and a speed boat race on – so the esplanade was absolutely packed! It was very strange after being on my own for so long. Just to pull me back into line, I was given a room at the Warner Bay Hotel that had two queen sized beds and two singles in it. A little reminder that I was here, and on my own. I picked a queen sized bed.

I enjoyed a couple of glasses of red wine, garlic bread and a beautiful beef ragu down on the waterfront. It was blissful. I had been planning on having a look at a band that was playing at the pub where I was staying. But unluckily for them, when they hadn’t appeared by 8pm, I called it quits and slunk into bed. It was definitely the most luxurious, non physically demanding day that I had on the trail. And I loved every minute of it.

Great North Walk – Day 9

“The Narrows” to the Watagan Forest Motel

Distance – 19km

“The story of the Bates Motel…..”

Had a great sleep, despite the wind, and was up early, anxious to get to the motel and all of it’s amenities. The Watagan Forest Motel….sounds nice doesn’t it. And so much going for it. When I’d had to change my plans, and without reception, I’d asked my sister to book me in, worried I might not get a room. As I walked I ticked off all of the amenities in my head – restaurant, outdoor garden, packed lunches, air conditioning, snack bar, bottle of water, shower…..oh, the gloriousness of it!

With all this luxury in mind, the first 6km passed quickly. “Hell yes!” I thought to myself. “I’ll be there in no time – maybe even before lunch…I can eat at the restaurant!” That was not to be.

“Not all kilometers are created equal. And that last 6km were the hardest so far! 5km more to the hotel. God I hope they have beer”
Message written to my supporters.

I don’t know whether it was because I’d psyched myself up to get to the motel quickly or not. But this next section was the steepest, rockiest, slipperiest, bitchiest, longest part of the walk yet! I really wasn’t having much fun. Eventually, after much muttering and swearing, I came to a picnic area and viewing point. Despite my mood, I did grudgingly admit that the view was good.

There was a large family sitting at the picnic table when I arrived. Initially, and most likely because I was in a snarly mood, I begrudged them the spot under the awning. With nowhere else to sit, I had collapsed onto the ground, squashed into a modicum of shade provided by a small shrub to have a snack. It soon became apparent to me however that the family were there for some serious business. They were about to scatter a family members ashes. My disgruntlement vanished.

I watched as the family members stood at the fence and a small announcement was made. The urn was held over the fence, tipped up, and….dropped. There was stunned silence from the group, shortly followed by a few muffled giggles. The dropping wasn’t supposed to have happened – they had hardly tipped anything out, and now the urn was just sitting there, upside-down on the other side of the fence! This was a group of rather large individuals too. Discussion ensued as to how they were going to get the urn back – there was nobody really capable of getting over that fence.

Guess who stepped in to help. I can’t say I’ve ever done that for anyone before. Jumped over a fence at an extremely high clifftop viewing area to retrieve a dropped urn for a family that I didn’t know. Obviously the family were thrilled with my efforts and thanked me profusely. I realised later that I had gotten the person’s dust on my hands. I didn’t know this person in life, but somehow I’d become involved in their death. It was quite humbling; a reminder of how precious life is, and reinforced what a privilege it was to be doing what I was doing. Right when I needed it most.

I continued on my way. The final 5km was down a very steep slope right next to the powerlines, before finally dropping onto a busy road – and the motel!

I stared at it, my expectations of a “forest” motel sinking dramatically. This was a squat, nicotine stained white building, baking in the stinking heat with thousands of cars driving past and no verandah whatsoever. The shower had better be fucking good.

I crossed the road and made my way to the “reception desk” which also doubled as the counter at the service station next door. When I told the operator that I had a booking at the hotel, I could have sworn he thought I had said that I was a mad queen who lived in Westeros and was the mother of three dragons. I don’t think they get many bookings. Rather than looking my booking up, which he assured me I hadn’t paid for yet, he offered me a room at a reduced price. He tells me that (surprise, surprise) I am to be the only guest. Ok, I accept.

“Is this where the food is served?” “How late does the restaurant stay open?” I enquire, pointing at the solitary table near the counter. “Ah. The restaurant has already closed for the day” I am told. It is only 2pm. “What about just kitchen food?” “Sorry, the fryer has already been turned off”. Oh… My…. God! I grab an assortment of cold sausage rolls and deep fried somethings from the unsavoury looking pie warmer and make my way to the unit. “It’ll be ok”, “It’ll be ok”. I put the key into the lock on the grime covered door.

This room had certainly seen better days. And whilst I’m quite the dog person, I found these two staring out at me vaguely disconcerting. In my head I had pictured a lovely cool fridge stocked with beers, snacks and little spirits bottles. Minibar denied. No beer. And not even the promised bottle of water!

One of those chip cups held one teabag of unknown flavour or origin. The other held white sugar – just poured in there and left for who knows how long. I decided not to use the teabag, preferring the coffee that I had carried for around 180km!

Still, the cold drinks, warm food, shower and bed were like heaven….even though there was some random persons used soap sitting in the shower. I let that slide. After the shower, food and rest, I filled the sink and washed my clothes. Look away if you are squeamish.

That’s what 9 days of wear gets you. Somehow I imagine this sink has seen worse.

Chores done, I grab some snacks and ice-cream for dinner. Finally I have some reception and make a call to the head of my support crew. It is so wonderful to talk to somebody. The support renews me. So lovely to see a friendly face.

I settle into the bed around 7.30 planning on an early night. I’ll just read for a bit and then drift…off….to…..sleep….I am blasted out of my reverie by thumpingly loud, heavy metal music. I look out the window and am certain this must be someone just grabbing something from the servo – nobody staying here could be this thoughtless, could they? My hypothesis explodes when a leaf blower starts up outside. I’m sitting on the bed, in what passes for my pj’s when you are carrying all your gear, and I hear the leaf blower coming closer and closer. Suddenly, there is a face pressed against my window! “Oh sorry love! I didn’t realise you were here!” I kind of half wave in embarrassed response. It doesn’t seem to concern him that he is peering into a strangers room at a motel. He continues leaf blowing. The music does not stop. Next up, he gets the shovel out and starts scraping out all the gutters. The shovel screeches against the concrete.

Eventually I get dressed and go outside. “Are you going to be working much longer? It’s just that I was hoping to get an early night”. AND SLEEP IN THE GODDAMN BED! BECAUSE I PAID ACTUAL MONEY TO SLEEP IN THIS SHITHOLE! “Oh, this music isn’t bothering you is it?” he replies. Eventually he leaves, and I am able to go to sleep – probable bed bugs and all.

“It was filthy. Definitely needs to be shut down and needs inspectors to inspect the place. 2.5 out of 10”
“The staff was nice but that is the only positive really”
“The doona smelled like cigarette smoke, the over-head light didn’t work, the room was freezing and there was no hot water for the shower. A bag of baby wipes was on the bench – now I know why they were there”
The 3 reviews left on Booking.com since I stayed. Luckily for them the shower in my unit was working – or I might have actually done a Khaleesi on them.

Great North Walk – Day 8

Flatrock Camp to “The Narrows” Lookout

Distance – 25km

“If you can read this, you are in range (gun emoji)”

Today I have a mission. According to my trip plan, I have 18km to walk. This, I have decided, is not far enough. I’m booked into a posh hotel tomorrow night – and I’m going to get there as quickly as I can! Which means pushing on today. All of this I have decided whilst lounging in my sleeping bag, reluctant to get up and face the day. With a yawn, I make my tent coffee, and commence the packing up ritual.

The morning’s walk is pleasant. Meandering down the mountain towards the Congewai Valley Rd. Once on the road, it’s difficult to know what the motivation is, but there is a particularly unfriendly vibe. Every house has a “KEEP OUT” sign; “NO TRESPASSING”; “Beware of the dogs!”; “CCTV in use”. And my personal favourite for making me feel particularly uncomfortable, “If you can read this, you are in range”, with a picture of a large, black, rifle at the bottom. Charming. Especially as the owner of the property was outside mowing his lawn. Eyes to the front, and keep marching. I didn’t bother waving.

The landscape is beautiful. But it’s boiling hot, with very little opportunity to rest in the shade. I stare wistfully at one of the dams. I am back on water rationing again, uncertain where I will get my next fix. Perhaps this is why people are so unfriendly? They are sick of hikers stealing their water in a pique of thirst.

Finally I left the road and came to……an old hut, with…….you guessed it! Another unannounced watertank. I stopped to have lunch. Shoes off. “Cheese” (that Kraft stuff that doesn’t melt) on bikkies, a muesli bar, and guzzle, guzzle, guzzle. As I’ve said. There’s nothing quite like unexpectedly satiating the thirst.

After lunch I’m….you guessed it…..headed uphill again! This was a big slog, but I was prepared for it, and using my tried and true, patented, 20 step system, made reasonably good time. I fairly quickly got to where I had intended to camp – Barraba campsite. And goddamn it – there was a watertank there! A scream of frustration and joy all rolled into one, as I had slogged up the hill with 4L of water and a camels fortitude.

From there to here – the size of the uphill slog explained

The Barraba campsite, where I had originally intended to stay is lovely. Giant grasstrees, shady and sheltered from the wind. My resolve is tested as I consider staying on. The pull of the luxury to come is too alluring however, and I decide to continue on.

These giant grass trees show the scale of my bag.

I walk along the ridgeline, and although the views are amazing, it is terribly windy. Each potential campsite that I come to is quickly ruled out – the area being dominated by gnarled old eucalypts whose falling limbs could ruin the holiday.

Eventually I come to a small lookout area called “The Narrows” and decide to call it quits. It’s not particularly sheltered, but if I camp on the road I should be safe from bucketing branches. And lets face it. I haven’t seen anybody since that surly old fellow mowing his lawn, so the chances of getting run over are slim at best.

I set up and enjoy the amazing views from the lookout. Once in my tent, I try and drown out the disconcerting noise of the trees as they groan and shake. “I’m going to the hotel tomorrow”. The thought is comforting. I use the last of my battery power to charge up my musical devices. I’ve moved 6km closer to my goal. And I’m prepared to smash it out to get to that room. If not for anything else other than the fact that it’s been 3 days since I last spoke to anybody.