March 2020 - Melly Takes a Walk

Pacific Crest Trail…..

KA BOOM!! And she was done.

Very hard post to write. I thought some of the other stuff I have done was hard. But no. This feels like torture. I’ve been sitting here tapping my fingers on the table for at least 5 minutes, trying to work out how to start this. How to put all the complicated mess down on paper. But I realise that I don’t have to. Everyone is living it. Everyone knows. I actually don’t have to explain it. It just is.

It’s heartbreaking. The end of a dream. And with no real say. But it’s also not. After all – this might have been a crazy, potentially once in a lifetime plan that I had put my heart and soul into for more than year now – but it is still just recreation. Just fun. Just a walk. If this is the worst that comes to me with all that is happening, then I can think myself lucky. There are thousands of people out there suffering in this shit storm, whom have every right to laugh at my struggles. It’s about perspective I suppose.

I’m trying not to lose all my momentum and planning. When things calm down (as I’m assuming they will) I have in mind the Bibbulmun track as well as the Te Aroroa in New Zealand. The Bibbulmun winds 1000km through Western Australia from Perth to Albany,and was recommended to me more than 15 years ago by Edie and Wolf- part of my “tramily” (trail family) from my first solo thru-hike, which happened to be on the Overland Track.

I remember them so vividly. They were so experienced compared to me, and they really kept an eye on me every day. I tried “smoked sausage” for the first time when they offered me some, and shared laughs every night with them. They were much older than me, and treated me almost like a daughter. I’ll never forget it. And so, it will be with much excitement that I hit the Bib, and experience it for myself all these years later.

The Te Aroroa is a different kettle of fish, and will take a lot more planning. I’m determined. But first things first. Let you know when I know more!

So that’s it. I’m disappointed, but I’ll recover. I have already recovered. And I’m excited for what’s to come. In the meantime, I just hope that we humans can be resilient enough, clever enough, thoughtful enough, determined enough and compassionate enough to beat this thing.

Stay safe all yorlye. xx

PS. I’ve thanked all my other supporters, but I haven’t yet thanked my most avid supporter; greatest training partner in the world; and giver of supreme comfort and cuddles, Bronte the dog. She is an absolute legend. No word of a lie. And it suits her just fine for me to continue my training walks!

Pacific Crest Trail….

Where am I at with it all?

“Shitting myself. That’s what.”

I sit staring at the countdown on my phone. The seconds tick on, but the number of days to go remains the same. 22 days. Just 22 days until I am supposed to take my first steps out on trail. Until I take a photo of me sitting on the monument. Until I attempt to walk over 4200 km up the length of America. But will I make it? Not to the end…But to the start point?

When I started writing this blog and revealing my dreams, did anyone suspect that a mutated animal virus might be the cause of my failure to make the trail? I didn’t. And as I sit here with the time counting down I can’t work out whether I wish things would just move quicker, so I can get through the airports and get to that start point before more airports and more borders close. Or do I wish things were moving slower? Would more time help sort out some of this mess and could the world revert back to it’s “normal” self?

I can’t change the timing, but I can make decisions. And I have decided that if I can go I will. Despite this walk being my dream for a year now, this hasn’t been an easy decision to come to. Travel insurance – problematic. Reliance on trail angels, town shuttles and hitchhiking – potentially problematic. Ability to buy hiker food – almost certainly an issue. Could things get worse? Could I somehow get stuck in no mans land somewhere between Mexico and Canada with no way of returning home? It’s possible.

Still. My personal risk of death from COVID-19 is low. I have some money behind me if things go wrong. And I have a strange faith in the ability of humans to exceed expectations in times of crisis. So, I am going to go. If I can.

It will be a different hike. That’s for sure. No Europeans allowed in for 30 days. That’s going to change things. I could almost cry in frustration for all those people whose dreams are in tatters. And no doubt there will be more border closures within the 22 days that I must wait to begin my hike. Instead of the snow in the sierras or the lack of water in the desert, will all the hikers instead be talking about the lack of human diversity on the trail – something that I was particularly looking forward to? Or, the health status of the town ahead? Are shuttle buses running? Will we be able to get food?

I am not somebody who scares easily at these sorts of things. And I am not particularly scared of contracting the virus itself. But I am scared that twelve months of meticulous planning could go down the tubes. That what I have been visualising and thinking about every day, is just not going to be attainable. And that even if I do get over there, extraneous factors are going to turn this once in a lifetime experience into something….different. It would be incredibly difficult for me to accept that the dream was over, before it even began.

I’m trying not to dwell on it. I continue to pack and repack my bag. Make decisions about what to bring or what to leave behind. Send trip plans to family and friends. And prepare to shut my regular life down for 6 months. And I look at my countdown. And I hope.

Great North Walk – Day 13

Ridgetop campsite to Brooklyn Pub

Distance – 16km

“I did it! And then promptly cried. xx”

This was it! The final day. I’d psyched myself up big time the night before. Early to bed. Alarm set. Good nights sleep and then into it. Of course, of all the nights, it had to be this one where something was snuffling around outside the tent. I could hear it moving. Then silence. Hear it moving then silence. Multiple times I shone my torch and peered outside, only to see…..nothing. I never once saw what was making all that noise. Eventually I decided that this was less invasive than the handyman at the Bates Motel. After all, whatever it was, it wasn’t trying to look in my tent, so I was able to drift off to sleep anyways.

“This is it. Final day. Thanks so much for all your support. Already done 4.5km today. Time to kick it. xxx
Message to my support crew

Despite the hills I got into Cowan relatively quickly. I was hopeful of obtaining food by visiting a vending machine at the Cowan train station. Imagine my utter delight when I saw a cafe, open for breakfast, just 2km down the road!! Multiple hash browns, iced coffees, soda waters and juice later, and quite frankly, struggling to get my bags waist belt on, I departed.

On Day 1 of the Pacific Crest Trail you must cross a train track, so I was overly excited when I got to cross this one!

Crossing the train track, I noticed a couple of blokes obviously setting off on a day hike. I crossed their paths multiple times during the day – the first time that this had happened over the course of the entire walk. What a small, but enjoyable thing, to be able to comment to someone how beautiful a view is, or how steep a track is, or how hot the weather is, as it happens.

The walking highlight of the day was the Bay of Jerusalem. Crystal clear water, rocky ledges, isolated. There was not a breath of wind, and the insects hummed steadily. Peaceful and serene, it was a view worthy of the last day.

One of the last signs I came across. Just 6km to go.

Two more escarpment climbs later and I was on the home stretch. Just 6km to go. This time, it was for real.

It’s hard to describe the feeling at that point. I think overwhelmingly there was a feeling of relief. Relief that I was finishing and could stop walking. Relief that I had done it. Relief that my Pacific Crest Dream was still alive. The relief was mixed with an awareness that this had been incredibly difficult. I kept asking myself “Did I enjoy this?” “Have I enjoyed this?”. It was like a mantra in those final few kilometers.

Hmmm. Which was I more interested in? The beer? or the soda water?

Spoiler alert. I made it. The two guys I had been passing had somehow gotten to the pub ahead of me! When questioned they told me they had taken a shortcut – they had been keen for a beer. They clapped me when I walked in. Offered congratulations. It was nice of these people I didn’t know.

I sat down. Sipped my beer, and thought about things. I was ready. Despite the difficulties, this had been the perfect training hike. I had dealt with sickness, floods, lost gear, broken gear, lack of water, no information, steep hills, false finishes, flip flops, long food carries, shoes that didn’t fit. And loneliness. I had dealt with loneliness.

If people were to ask now, “what’s the most important lesson you learnt?” The answer, undoubtedly, is that you need a support crew. You just do. You need people that are going to pick you up when the going is hard; keep you motivated; contact you if they are worried; be able to be contacted in times of difficulty; and, most of all, provide grounding during times of self doubt. I thank my support crew from the bottom of my heart. I know they will all be there for me when I take my first step on the Pacific Crest Trail. And I couldn’t be more grateful.

32 days and counting. I’m ready. I’ve got this!

You’ve got this Zargo!!
You’re an amazing, interesting and fun person. Embrace the solitude or step outside your comfort zone because anyone is lucky to have you in their path. xx
Go Zargo!! Your shower awaits!! xx
“You have beans in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose”
It claims it has a minibar so you might be in luck!! Go Zargo go!! xx
It must be absolutely beautiful. I cannot believe how far you’ve walked already. Amazing!!
Good luck today. Will be watching. xo
Mum says “Oh well, what is an extra 12km”. Maybe attach your GPS to a clip on your belt?
Savour that nice walk along the beach Zargo!! You did it!!
Ok. Hang in there. Thinking of you. xo
Final day of an awesome adventure!! Go Zargo go!! So proud of you xxx
Nearly there Mel. How good was the shower. Hang in there. xxxxxx
Yeah!!!! You got this. What a friggen achievement.
WOOHOOOO!! Congratulations Zargo!! I know you’ll enjoy a celebratory lunch!! What a champ xxx
Are you ok?
Various messages from my support crew. So grateful.

Great North Walk – Day 12

Tunks Campsite to Ridgetop Campsite

Distance – 18km

“What goes up. Must come down”.

“I’ve been feeling really sorry for myself because it was such a rough day today. But now, sitting up in the hills looking back on where I was and what I did, I’m actually pretty proud”.
Excerpt from my journal

Rough old day. 18km isn’t very far when you are hiking all day. It sounds like it might be, but it really isn’t. 18km is a casual day. A languid day. A day of taking in the sights and having a long lunch break and whistling when you walk. This wasn’t that.

I arrived in camp exhausted and despondent. A day spent going up. And going down. Five times up and five times down. “That’s not so bad!” I hear you thinking. And ordinarily it’s not. I was 12 days in and fit as a fiddle when it came to climbing hills. But this was the escarpment. And instead of a track with a gradient, switch-backing up and around the mountains, this was literally straight up. And straight down. I present exhibits A and B.

This was the rocky cliffs of hell. Boulders and scree and pebbles. Slipping upwards. And slipping down. No rhythm. Watching every step. Thinking every step. No turning the brain off. No breezing along. No walking mojo. I’m being honest here. I found it really hard.

There were some pleasant things too. On one of the up and down adventures I came across the river that would have certainly prevented me from going any further all those days ago. There was graffiti under the bridge, and I stood and caught my breath.

Place of rest, as the cars roared overhead at peak hour.

On another up and down I ended up in Crosslands Park. I sat at a table and ate some breakfast. Finding a long lost muesli bar hidden deep in my pack was enough to make me shout with joy! This was a lovely area, laced with boardwalks and bounded by the Berowra creek.

Follow the brown, wooden road. How I wish these planks had kept going and going and going.

On another up and down I walked past the Naa Badu Lookout. Meaning “see water” in the Dharug peoples language, this was the natural boundary between the Dharug and Gurungai groups.

On another up and down I saw houseboats hustling about on the Berowra River. The water gleamed blue, and I was envious of these people. Putt-ing around in their boats, seemingly without a care in the world.

Up I go again. Once? Twice? I don’t know. I’ve lost count. I straggle into camp and throw my pack down in relief. I begin to set up my tent and realise that now I am doing things “for the last time” on this walk. My last time setting up the tent. My last time washing myself from a pot of warmed water. My last time getting my comfy night gear on. My last time eating these horrendous tasting noodles. My last sunset.

I walk to the cliff and sit down. I can see the rocky escarpment stretched out in front of me. I can see all the ups and downs I have had to make that day. I hold a packet of beef jerky. This is the last of my food. I have nothing more. I have been saving this beef jerky just for this moment. I pull everything that’s happened inside of me. Spin it into a ball. Lodge it there so I can draw on it. So I can remember. I look at the colours starting to turn pink and hazy. And I ring the head of my support crew.

We watch the sunset together. Me, on the rocks getting eaten alive by midges, and him, thousands of kilometers away, but there all the same. I can’t believe you’ve done this, he tells me. You’re going to succeed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. When you are done.

I sit alone and look out for a while longer, a smile etched on my face.

“Should have known it would save the toughest day for almost last! Resting up. And hopefully finish with all guns blazing morla. xxx”
Final message of the day to my support crew.