Lake Baroon to Flaxton Walkers Camp – 16.9km + Montville Apartments to Baroon Dam – 5km
“Just Cruising”
I had a really nice time in Montville. It’s a lovely little mountain town, full of quirky shops and eateries. Had an early dinner with the eye on the prize of heading back to my room and lighting the fire. Mission accomplished. It felt like a very luxurious way to start the walk.
Fire and wine…not too shabby!
Although I had set my alarm for 7am, I bounded out of bed at the crack of dawn..literally. With a 5km walk to get from my accommodation down to the start point, I decided to get on my way.
The air was crisp and cool. Vapour breath. The first few km passed very quickly with lots of interesting houses and roadside markets to look at. My alarm going off scared the shit out of me!
I came to an intersection and was told there was to be a very steep descent for the next 2km. They weren’t wrong! But slow and steady and it was fine. And I was incredibly grateful I wasn’t going the other way…that would have been a hellish way to begin or end the walk!
Before long I arrived at the start point. Immediately it was beautiful. Luscious green and soft underfoot.
Back on track!
The track was lovely. Well marked, and for the most part fairly flat. I’ve struggled with my AARN bags over the years…wrong size for one and then breakages on another. But boy oh boy was I pleased that I went with my gut and got another one. This time – the Featherlite Freedom. They may look weird. They may cause a few sniggers. But man, when they are working, it’s like magic. So much weight, and you barely feel a thing. Yep, magic I tells ya.
Highlights of the morning included a couple of lookouts. Red rock and green dappled with the morning sun. A soft, green river framed by the surrounding trees, but sluggish and dangerous looking in it’s stillness. The rocks and spray of Kondawilla falls. Big, fat monitor lizards basking in the sun. The crack of the whipbird, the melody of the whistler and the cackle of the kookaburra. And numerous opaque blue waterholes.
Pool at “The Narrows” lookout Slimy green river, but oh how beautiful! Crazy colourLovely grassy track…where does it lead?Playing chicken with a big, fat monitor lizard
Right before lunch, after a set of steep stairs, I was able to stop in at “The Rockpools” where I took the opportunity to refresh in the freezing water.
The “Rockpools”Never pass up the opportunity to soak your poor, old feet
I made it to the Kondawilla picnic ground by lunchtime, feeling really pleased with my steady pace. From here, I had less than 5km to campground. In the spirit of making sure that I enjoy this walk more than I was able to on the Great North Walk, I pulled out my stove and cooked up some noodles for lunch. A couple of kookaburras and a couple of bush turkeys were my companions. My very eagle eyed companions.
I set off again. Another road walk. Not too bad though. Before long I exited the road and was back in the bush. Quick call to the head of my support crew and I sauntered off for the final km to camp.
View from a section of the road walk
The campsite is really nice. There are about 12 spaces. All really private and framed by ferns. Although there was heaps of day walkers out today, it appears that I am to be the only camper here for the night. I can already tell that I am going to be a little creeped out by the night noises…
In a post covid world the PCT dream is shattered. I take solice on the Sunshine Coast Great Walk
How’s everyone doing? It’s been a hell of a ride, hasn’t it…
I must say, I’ve been struggling a bit. It’s all a little…overwhelming. I’ve found it terribly hard to step back from the dream of the PCT. The planning, the prep, the all consuming thoughts, the training, the adventure. Though on the other hand, I’ve watched in horrid fascination from the beautiful safety of Norfolk Island and said to myself over and over….”Thank God I’m not there. Thank God I’m not there….”.
It’s all left me a bit down. I see you nodding. “Join the club Mel”. I know, I know. But this is MY story.
You may recall that I free-wheeled after realising the PCT was a no go. I had plans to go to Western Australia and try the Bibbulman Track. Followed by walking the length of New Zealand on the Te Araroa. Neither of those things are happening. Borders closed. Instead, I’ve snuck (hey, hey…not literally…I’ve followed all the rules!) into QLD. I’ve grabbed all my brand new gear that’s been anxiously waiting for me since March, and I’m going to hit a few walking tracks.
First sight of the new gear!
So, adorned in my mask, I’ve left the safety of Norfolk and flown into Brisbane. Selfish?? I don’t know. It’s an argument that’s been circling in my head since I made the decision. In my mind, it’s a calculated risk. Others may not agree. All I can do, is my best.
Travelling…corona style
The International Terminal was terribly creepy in it’s loneliness. No buzz and bustle. Just sombre silence. A stark reminder of the state of the world at the moment. Perhaps the only positive, free booze on the plane. However, even I – lover of red wine, am able to say with certainty – I wish things were normal. And that I wish I had had to pay.
I saw my family! Well, the majority of them. Mum, Dad, sister, husband, niece, nephew. It was wonderful! Because you worry. And you stress. When you’re at a distance. But this was all so…normal. We picniced and played cards and danced and checked out all the new kid’s stuff. Just what the doctor ordered. The only down side…. My brother and my fella missing from the party. However, they are fulfilling the most important function of all – the care of Bronte the wonder dog. Respect men!
Little freedoms…so unbeliveably good to see the family!
This morning I set off on the train to get started on my walking holiday. The Sunshine Coast Great Walk is the first cab off the rank.
Ready and raring to go!
My family often say that I always seem to attract “interesting” people to me…Case in point….First off, a fellow directly behind me who was singing “swing lo! sweet chariot” over and over again. Not the whole thing. Just that line. And in a voice which really didn’t have much of a timbre to it. He got off the train after about 15 excrutiating minutes.
Next up, a young “metrosexual” type who seemed to be crackling with energy. He sat across the isle from me. At one point he said to me “Look I’m just going to be filming something over here…be assured the camera is pointed at me though”. Oh, just a bit of scenery filming I thought. “No worries. Go ahead”. Turns out this guy was making a half hour video for his “millions” of YouTube followers. An expert in “supreme confidence”, this guy was an officianado in religion, the vortex method, and…confidence. There were mantras galore – he unexpectedly received 65 thousand dollars over the course of three days! And miracle after miracle! And all you have to do is pay 10% of your income! He’ll accept the money. He’s a priest. And will invest it wisely in others. His video was halted when another passenger exclaimed “Did God let you know that you’re annoying all the other passengers!” End of You Tube video. Sad for his millions of followers.
So, now I am in Montville. A little village high on the hill with vast views out to the coast. It’s cold and delicious. I’m packed and ready. 58km and around 5km to get to the start point. 3 nights and 4 days.
I absolutely CANNOT wait! This has been like an itch that I just can’t scratch. I need to get something out of my system. Have an opportunity to rethink. Come up with some new goals. The PCT feels like a lost dream I’m afraid. Time to scratch the itch!
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!
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?
22 days so near, so far.
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.
Passport packed. Electronics packed
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.
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 Bay of Jerusalem
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.
“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.
Down…..Up…
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.
From flood to tricklePlace 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.
Meandering through the mangrovesBeautiful Berowra creekFollow 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.
Naa Badu
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.
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”
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.
The rocky pools of Merewether Beach
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 false 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!”
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.
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.
I chose the dog side
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.
“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 long and winding road
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.
So much water. And so little to drink
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.
The view from my campsite. I could see the twinkle of a thousands lights off in the distance once it grew dark.
