First things first. With an actual toilet on hand, the day was off to a sensational start! A water tank too! I filled all my bottles and bags to capacity – around about 7L. That’s a lot of weight. By this stage it has become apparent that the available track notes are not really set up for a complete thru hike from Sydney to Newcastle. More so, they have been written for hikers intending to do a a couple of day’s here and there, using the train line to move to various starting positions. As a result, unlike notes that have been written with the intention of guiding someone over the course of a couple of weeks, these leave critical information such as potential water sources and resupply points somewhat lacking. At this stage, as far as I can tell, there are no permanent creeks, ponds, taps, troughs or any other places to get water from for the next couple of days.
The beginning of today’s walk is really nice! Lush green valleys and still pools. The buzzing of the insects and the stillness in the air leaves me thinking that nobody has been here for a very long time. It seems somewhat magical. Almost like it’s lulling me into not moving. There is a sense of heaviness and age.
Like a malevolent pool in a fairy-tale, the droning of the insects and frogs and the stillness in the air felt enough to lull somebody to sleep forever.
Despite being somebody who probably COULD be lulled by a malevolent pool into an eternal sleep, I gather all my strength and move on. Eventually, I make it back to the trail. That’s right – all this, just to get back on track!
From here the hills (mountains!) start back up again. As I’ve said before, flat is not a thing. Under the load of this water laden, heavy pack, I begin using my tried and true technique for making it through the toughest of hills….20 steps on each foot, then take a break for 10 -20 seconds. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. It may be slow, but it gets me there. Every. Single. Time.
Yeah….I’m puffed. And possibly still quite sick. Well, I need to blame that look on something!
Despite the hills, I’m conserving water like a drought stricken camel. Little sip here, little sip there. This shit’s got to last! Having restrictions in the amount of water that one can drink, is fairly rare in my circles. To go without. To HAVE to go without, gives such clarity as to it’s importance to our survival.
I come to a sign. Camp is only 3.5km away! But more than that, I’ve reached the halfway mark!! I look hard at the figures. Newcastle is only 88km away! Sure, I have to go back and cover what I missed….but I can make it to Newcastle! I’m sure of it. The elation of getting this far puts a spring in my step on the final push to camp.
I’m over half way. And I’m excited!
I skip into camp. And oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!!!!!
“Made my campsite and I could weep for joy. There is an unadvertised watertank here. I can drink as much damn water as I want! Mountains many today.”
Message to my supporters.
“Drink up Zargo! Not usually saying that about water! Ahahaha!”
Reply from my sister
My sister is right. I’m usually saying it about wine. But as I gulp down my fill of water, I make a pact with myself. If there is one memory that I am going to take away from this walk. One lesson learnt. It’s going to be remembering that feeling of dread at having to conserve what you drink. The fear of not knowing whether water is available. And the absolute joy when it is.
I set up camp and explore. The views from “Flat Rock” are amazing. I take my stove and cook up a dinner overlooking the edge of the world. Another day down. Just 6 more to go.
Another day. Another potential cooked breakfast. I downed my in tent coffee and dreamed of a breakfast stop in Yarramalong. 13km. I could do that. Like greased lightning I was packed up and on my way by 7am. The morning walk was really pleasant. Nice green valleys and moist creeks. I continued to listen to my tunes. The pace of my music dictated how fast I walked. That is, until the batteries on my headphones ran out. The disappointment was tangible, and a reminder that I was now into my fifth day without a power source. Sadly my headphones didn’t cut it as the number one priority to power up. Oh well.
The demise of my headphones occurred round about here.
I tip tapped my way down the road and into the Yarramalong servo by around 11am. Now let me ask you something…When you dream of an egg and lettuce sandwich, do you dream of mashed up egg, creamy mayo and crisp lettuce all on beautiful, fresh white bread? I did. So I was somewhat surprised, and quite frankly, inordinately disappointed by my fried egg, soggy lettuce and stale bread sandwich. Chips were good though. And I upped my drinks quota to four sparkling, cold beverages.
I sat outside taking a break for about an hour and wondered just how many people I was offending. There comes a point, where no matter how diligent you are with your “daily washing”, you realise that you do, in fact, stink. Sitting outside that shop, shoes and unwashed socks off, and in the same clothing I had worn for the past 6 days through sickness, floods and scorching heat, I came to that realisation. It’s something you have to wear like a badge – even though you feel mildly embarrassed by it. Hey, you’ve worked damn hard to smell this bad!
Still, there were those brave enough to approach. “Where ya headed?”. “The Great North Walk….from here and up the road to Cedar Brush”. “Oh. I’ve done that. And boy oh boy it was tough. Bloody tough! And that was without a great big overnight bag like you’ve got! It’s tricky too! Could be dangerous with a big bag like that! Good luck!”. Yep. Thanks for the chat mate.
Time to hit the road again. Quite literally. With a long road walk of around 8km until the turn off to the Cedar Brush campsite. Weighed down with a tonne of water, I set off.
I would eventually climb that mountain over yonder
I hummed along pretty well. There were some amazing properties, but it was boiling hot. Road walking is both a blessing and a curse. You can cruise along quite quickly, but you pay the price in terms of foot distress and reflective heat from the road. I sure was looking forward to getting to that turn off! From there, just a 2km walk to camp. I’d be there by 2pm!! Sweet!! A nice long afternoon under the shelter of the trees to rest up, relax, and get off my feet for a bit.
And just like that, my dreams of an early finish were scattered to the wind
Arrrrggggggg! What the hell! Surely this is fake news! I try the number, but I have no reception. The devil is sitting on my shoulder…”Just take it. Whose going to know? What’s the worst that could happen? Goddamn it – this is your rest day!!” I sit down and look at the map. The “alternate” route is a road walk, 9km long. At the end of all this decision making, there is nothing to do except keep walking. Up and up and up and up, a dusty, dirty road. No nice views. No nice scenery. No nice seats. Not nice.
Eventually I hobbled into camp around 6pm. It’s just going on dark. The campsite is impressive. Huge. It has picnic tables, a watertank, and, in a minor miracle, a pit toilet. I, of course, am the only one there. I strip off fully and use some of the available water to douse myself in liquid gold. It feels amazing, refreshing, and cold. I sit at one of the tables and boil up some water so I can make my dinner. It dawns on me that if I want to complete the Pacific Crest Trail next year, this is the sort of kilometers I will have to walk every single day. It’s confronting. But I’m proud of myself. This is the furthest I have walked on a single day. Ever. And if I’ve done it once, I can do it again. Can’t I?
“What a difference a little bit of music makes when you’re alone”
There were 3 highlights today:
Walking into the town of Somersby;
Clicking over the 100km mark; and,
Listening to my music for the first time on the walk.
To elaborate. The small town of Somersby was a tantalising 10km from camp. With the trail notes promising a small convenience store and cafe, it wasn’t hard to get motivated to be there for breakfast. The walk to the store is fairly non-descript. Nice, but not particularly special. I follow cut power lines and gravel roads, occasionally dropping into green gullies. There are welcoming signs posted on many of the properties.
“Do not come onto this property for any reason – even if you are very tierd or want to smell the pretty flowers”
One of the more industrious signs. Pity about the spelling.
I arrive at the general store, ready for my first “non-camp food” in 5 days. Having ordered a ham, cheese and pineapple toastie, chips, and 3 different varieties of drink, I sit down at a table outside. The magnificence of an actual seat should never be underestimated. It’s not long before I receive my first approach….”Where ya walkin’ to?” Ears prick up in interest around me. “Newcastle….hopefully”. A collective nod of approval around the tables. Suddenly, everyone who has ever set foot in Newcastle is an expert on the trail. The conversation now includes several tables, consisting mainly of truckers. I am told of potential shortcuts, beautiful places to go (up to several hundred kilometers off the trail), and am even invited to visit an indigenous art site whose location is kept secret. I decline that offer.
At the completion of my meal, I fill my water bottles and get going. Despite the recent bout of rain, the drought has been on everybodies lips, and I am very aware that I am about to enter a more technical phase of the walk – where water is really scarce. Or appears to be.
The afternoon’s walking takes me along bitumen and dirt roads, through a mix of rainforest and dry bushland. The creeks are dry. My nervousness about water increases. I arrive at camp nice and early. I spy an old tank, but hopes of a water supply are short lived. It’s going to be cheese and tomato on bikkies for dinner tonight.
Lots of space….anybody care to join me?
“I just made 100km! I’m trying to work out whether I’m enjoying myself or not. I feel achievement certainly, but am I having fun?”
Notes from my journal
Quite honestly, I’m feeling a little bit melancholy. There is no reception, so I can’t reach out to anybody. The aloneness is beginning to make me feel a little bit mad. I do the only thing I can do in this situation. I get out my music.
“OMG! What a difference a little bit of music makes when you’re alone!”
Also, notes from my journal
I dance my way right around that massive campsite. I sing at the top of my lungs. I watch the sunset with my musical friends. I find later that I’ve accidentally taken a couple of photos of myself. They answer the question for me. Yes, I am having fun.
When I wake I am raring to go. There’s been no rain. Everything is dry. The flu is receding back to just a dull thud. It’s the dawning of a new era! The age of Aquarius! Shoving my shoes on over all the bandages brings me back to earth. Still, I get cracking.
I follow the sandstone rock and ever present fire trails around Mt Wondabyn. Eventually I hear the sound of rushing water. I arrive at the beautiful and secluded Kariong Brook Falls. For the first time on the trail, I really enjoy a scenic break, dipping my aching feet into the ice cold water. The rain that has been so treacherous to me over the last couple of days has caused this waterfall to sing. Dappled sunlight flits across the deep pool, and it is wondrous how good my muesli bar tastes in that moment. I filter crystal clear water, re-tape my feet, and move on. I can hear the sound of the water long after I leave.
Bubbling Kariong falls were a balm to my suffering feet
Essentially I climb. And climb. And climb. Right back up to the top of the escarpment. Eventually I would come to realise that there is no “free pass” on this trail. For every steep down hill section, there is an equally steep uphill. Flat, easy walking is just….not a thing. I don’t realise this yet however, as I puff my way back up onto the sandstone rock. I’m headed for Scopas peak. This is the high point of this section of the trail, and the joy of it is tangible. Like the king of the world you can spread your arms, spin 360 degrees, and be amazed by the view in all directions! It is magic.
Delicious walking track at the top of Scopas Peak
First glimpse of Mooney Mooney creek. From Scopas peak the trail descends and then follows along the edge of the creek on the right hand side.
“I’m the king of the world!”
Who doesn’t love a good bridge crossing? After descending from the peak, I’m excited to reach the Phil Houghton Bridge. I read the description in my track notes:
“The bridge can hold up to 8 people and feels very stable”.
Track notes
This, of course, spurns me on to make the bridge feel as unstable as possible…Although I bounce with everything I’ve got, the bridge remains implacable.
The next section of the walk is just stunning. I’m ambling along side the wide, green creek. I pass tall eucalypts and mangroves. Insects chirp in the boggy marshes. There’s a greenness and stillness that is hypnotising. I realise after a while that for the first time on this walk I have just been walking and enjoying. No thinking about the flu or the shoes or the bag or the creeks. Just walking and enjoying. I have my walking mojo back baby!
I got my walking mojo back baby!
My blissful mojo walking is rudely interrupted. I reach the intersection with the Old Pacific Highway. There is work being conducted on the bridge and all the safety warnings, buntings and noise are disorientating. I cross the bridge. Soon I am following a gravel road past an array of housing ranging from resplendent to ramshackle. For some reason I find that there is a “sinister” feeling in the air. Seriously. It is really creepy. This is all in the back of my mind though, because in the fore front, niggling at me like it has been doing all day, is the knowledge that I have a creek crossing to make. Described as “Impassable when wet”. As I get closer to it, the dread increases. What if I get all this way and can’t cross?
The dreaded creek crossing….Spoiler – I made it!
Makes it! And ends up feeling like a complete dick for worrying so much! Oh well. I’d rather be a complete dick for worrying so much and easily make it across, than not worry and not make it. Or something like that. I filter more water, grabbing extra to treat myself to a “bath” tonight. Pack heavily laden, I once again start to climb.
The campsite is a beautiful little spot set among tall gum trees. There is a well established fire place and I decide to treat myself to some flames tonight. The captain of my support crew gives me a call, and it is so invigorating to see a friendly face and hear encouraging words and have it reinforced that I’m doing well.
Now dark, and under the light of the crackling fire I strip off to have my long awaited “bath”. Using just enough water to make a couple of cups of tea, I wipe away the dirt and the grime and the stress and savour the feeling of being alone in the bush, as the birds sing their final words of the day. It was absolutely, lay down misere, totally worth carrying that extra water all the way up the hill.
Just done filtering the water for my sweet, sweet bath and I can taste the cleanliness already
Distance: Backtrack to Thornleigh station (2.75km); Train travel to Woy Woy; Taxi to Patonga; Patonga to Mt Wondabyn campspot (14.25km)
“Reset. Deep Breath”
Morning arrives. I can hear the adjacent creek gushing with water. I know before I even see it that I am not walking forward from this spot today. I make my coffee and think. An internal battle rages. On one hand, it is like nature itself has now given me permission to quit – hell, now I’m literally blocked from going forwards! On the other, I am so furious with this thing, that I can’t stand the thought of letting it beat me. I make my decision.
” Blocked by flooded creeks. Have moved north to avoid. xx”
message to my support crew.
I pack up. My bag breaks. A great, big chunk of the metal frame comes off, split in two. I stare at it. And laugh. Fuck you trail. Fuck. You. I shove the bits in my bag and get going. Retracing steps. Back to the station. I take great pleasure in shoving the bits of my broken bag in the bin as I wait for the train. Half an hour later I’m in Woy Woy and not long after, relaxing in the front seat of a cab.
Another of the joys of thru hiking is those little moments of human connection. These become particularly memorable when you’ve been alone for a while. I sat back and listened to my driver talk. His dog had just died, bitten by a snake. He was visibly sad, and regaled me with stories of his heroic, sometimes mischievous, and always there for him, pooch. As we climbed to the crest of a hill, he explained that just the previous day, the bushland on that hill had been littered with bright red warratahs. Someone had come and stolen them, snipped them off and taken them during the night. We both shook our heads in unison at such a willful destruction of beauty.
We arrived in Patonga and he exited his cab to come and pick up my bag from the boot. “My, oh my” he said to me. “That’s a heavy bag!”. I didn’t disagree. He wished me well and drove away, leaving me to reflect that the half an hour in the cab may have been the high point of the walk so far. That lovely man hadn’t even commented on all my coughing.
The beautiful Patonga foreshore
Patonga is stunning. I nab a picnic table and spread my wet items out to dry. I have a mantra going through my head “Reset. Deep breath. Reset. Deep breath” and I use it to try and calm the adrenaline that has spurned me on to this point. I eat a cracker or two, kick back, and enjoy the scenery. Before long I feel ready. I gather my things and walk to the eastern end of the beach. Here is the entry point to the Brisbane Rivers National Park. I begin to climb.
Lurking storm clouds do nothing to dampen the view to Broken Bay
I reach a viewing platform. There are several groups of people and I offer to take photos for each group. Whilst they all take me up on this offer, nobody thinks to ask me if I would appreciate a similar service. People hey? I don’t realise it at the time but these are the last humans I would see for a couple of days.
A series of fire-trails follow. I’m humming along to a tune in my head when I see it. It literally stops me in my tracks. Deliciously plump and red, solid but immensely intricate, a single warratah stands stark against the dark trunk of a recently burnt eucalypt. It looks like perfection. And the view is all mine.
If perfection were a plant….
I continue along the trail and eventually climb a ridge up to a large rock platform. For the first time a feeling of ease comes over me. I’m up high, away from all the creeks; I can see Woy Woy way off in the distance and am self aware enough to finally acknowledge a little congratulations for some good decision making. The breeze is cool and the storm clouds in the air and puddles in the rocks evoke a sense of joy as I look around. The view is beautiful.
I descend from the rocky ridgetop, follow the fire-trails and before long I’ve made it to my campsite. I made it!! It’s such a great feeling… that I didn’t give in. That I didn’t stop. I finish drying out my things and crack into a dehydrated spag bol for dinner, happy that my appetite seems to be returning. It tastes incredible! I guess that’s what happens when you walk over 60km having barely eaten anything! I settle into my tent not long after sunset and enjoy listening to all of the night sounds, snuggled up toastie warm in my sleeping bag. The reset has definitely resulted in a deep breath.
Rocks on the ground to sit on help turn this campsite into absolute luxury.
Distance: 18.25km (+ 11km for retrieval of “misplaced items” + 5km for detour around flooded creek)
“I think I must be cursed”
Having slept well, I awoke to the sound of the magpie chorus. Snuggling into my bag, I commenced an internal audit. Head – clearer. Voice – stronger. Cough – constant. Nose – possibly never been more filled with gunk in my entire life. I was on the mend!
Life is full of moments of risk and reward. I had one such moment this morning, when I decided I was going to make myself a coffee. Right in my tent, still in my sleeping bag. Risk, smallish. Reward, great! I would continue with this routine for the rest of walk. To hell with the safety warnings! There’s nothing like the whoosh of your stove firing up right next to your highly flammable bed, or the steaming hot cup of coffee ready before you’ve even taken a step. Great start to the day.
I pack up slowly. My final task is to put on my shoes. Like the antithesis of Cinderella, my feet groan in protest as I wrench them on. My mind catches up with what my feet already know….my shoes are too small. Way too small. I had read about this phenomenon. That feet literally grow if you do a lot of walking. Why I didn’t think that this could apply to me I’m not sure. But it was very apparent that the shoes I had ordered, same type, same size as those I had done all my training in, were not going to fit. Another problem. I tape them up, shove them back in the shoes and send my support group a message with my GPS, “I’m on my way”.
I retrace the 3km back to the Rangers station, and this time, easily navigate my way back onto the trail. The walk follows a rocky fire-trail lined with large scribbly gums. I come to an intersection that is not signposted. I turn right, using my intuition as to where I should be going. Worry gets the better of me though, and I reach for my GPS just to check I am going the right way. In this sick condition, and with sore feet, I don’t want to walk any further than I have to! I reach for my GPS. It’s not there! I cannot believe my eyes…I had clipped it onto my bag. Hadn’t I? A frantic search ensues. Nothing.
I act immediately. I drop my pack where it is, grab my phone and nothing else, and begin racing back along the track, hoping that it’s come loose somewhere close-by. I call my supporters, hoping they can use the tracking feature to let me know where it is. My sister answers my panicked call, and proceeds to calmly and methodically help me track it.
“Ok. Latest location is from 7.40am at the caravan park xx”
Text message from my sister
My heart sinks. I ring the caravan park. They have it. I’m relieved. And I’m infuriated with myself…how did this happen?
“Got it! Now to backtrack again (cry emoji x 3)”
“One foot in front of the other…..enjoy the rest of your day Zargo”
Text exchange between my sister and I. The time is now 10.11am.
I complete my penance. An extra 11km and a loss of almost 3 hours of time. I almost cry with relief to see my bag sitting untouched when I get back to it. I safely stow my GPS, sling my bag onto my back, and move on.
It’s 12.11pm when the next disaster hits. I had been starting to enjoy myself. Nice easy track adjacent to the beautiful Lane Cove River. I had just finished a small break sitting next to the water when I heard it…the distant rumbling of thunder. Another rumble. This time closer. I was in no mans land, with very little shelter down by the river. I had read that there were sandstone caves ahead…I packed up and hustled.
My shelter was not so much a cave…more an…overhang.
The very definition of fake it till you make it.
Lightly at first, the rain came. By the time I reached anything resembling a sand stone cave it was bucketing down. Sheets of lightning ripped across the sky and the thunder grew ever louder. With no room to stand and nowhere to sit, I squatted under a small overhang and staring out at the ferocious weather, quietly contemplated to myself “I think I must be cursed”.
Eventually, the lightning passed, though the rain did not. I set off again, blissfully unaware at this stage just how much this downpour was going to affect my walk. In hindsight, I probably should have realised something was up when this happened…
This should have given me a clue as to what was to come…
I stride through the waterfall and come out the other side feeling somewhat smug. Yeah! I can do this! Ah….No. You can’t. Less than half an hour later I’m heading downhill. I hear the river well before I see it. In the back of my head, I have some sort of hope that I won’t have to cross this river, merely, stroll along beside it. I spot it. Brown, churning water, it sweeps along like just what it is..a flood. Sticks and debris are carried briskly and spittled foam swirls in the eddies. I know immediately that I cannot cross this river. That doesn’t stop me from searching desperately for a safer place to cross. I don’t want to turn back. I’ve been through so much already. This leads me to do something I really shouldn’t have done.
I decide that I should try and gauge how deep the water is. Maybe it’s not as deep as I thought! Leaving my pack on the riverbank, I tentatively place my walking poles in the water and take a tiny step…I’ll just see….Immediately my feet are whisked out from under me and I sprawl half on the bank and half in the water. I’m in no real danger, but my ridiculous decision is exposed for exactly what it was. I get out of the water, grab my bag and retrace my steps without so much as another glance at the river.
From here I just sort of wing it a bit, with mixed results. I follow a random fire trail, and before long come to the outskirts of a suburb. There’s electricians working there on the lines. I ask one of them if he knows how to get to the Thornleigh train station. He doesn’t but consults his phone and promptly tells me it’s 9km that way, with a finger outstretched. “Just follow this street around”, he says. Easy. I do his biding and follow the road in the direction he has indicated.
After about 2km, a worm of worry enters my head. It seems to me like I’m heading away from the direction which the GNW had been taking me on. I try to consult my GPS and Google maps. In this moment, I learn another important lesson. The rain is still pelting down. I try to use the touchscreen of my phone, but it is impossible. The moisture denies my fingers access, and the wet drops have control of the screen instead, randomly pressing buttons and changing screens. I literally scream in frustration. It is such an easy thing to have a waterproof case on the phone. Such an easy thing. But I haven’t done it. Lesson learnt.
I manage to shelter under a large tree long enough to work things out. That damn electrician had pointed the wrong way with his outstretched fingers! I backtrack again. And try, extremely unsuccessfully, not to give the worker full on stink-eye on my way back past. Under my own steam, I negotiate the suburban streets and end up back on the trail, on the other side of the creek, not far from where I left off. I’m on my way again.
The afternoon is wet, muddy and surprisingly wild. I’m already running behind schedule with all the delays, and the many creek crossings and sodden tracks slow me down even further. The rain doesn’t let up. It’s around 6ish by the time I traipse into Thornleigh. I cross the railway line, noting that there is an Aldi supermarket right there….why am I carrying all this food? Through the suburban streets I wind, eventually following a small track behind a house which leads into bushland. I’m just a couple of kilometers away from Jungo.
My arrival at Jungo campsite is deflating. The campsite is a little cleared area by the side of a dirt road. I’m not far from civilisation, and this is more of a worry to me than if I had been way out bush. I can see the track crosses a creek which is running swiftly but is still passable. My track notes tell me to filter this water very carefully if I am going to drink it. Not exactly a great recommendation for the consuming of said beverage. Disconcertingly, an enormous “widow maker”, the large branch of a eucalyptus, has recently fallen right into the middle of what I presume to be the main campsite area.
I set up my tent, eat a quick dinner and huddle inside. I get out my track notes and circle the words “impassable after heavy rain“. There are at least 5 circled phrases in the following days track notes. I try to sleep. The rain doesn’t stop, but it’s not a soothing lullaby. I think I hear music all through the night, but whether this was real or imagined I cannot say. The rain…it just does not stop.
Travellers Obelisk (Macquarie Park, Sydney) to Lane Cove Tourist Park
Distance: 21.36km
I’m at the monument. Shouldn’t I feel more? All I feel is awkward because I’m standing there taking selfies with a backpack on, whilst all around me are people in business suits sipping coffee from their keep cups and talking about serious issues. My walking poles are not helping me to remain discreet on the busy Sydney street. Nor is my constant coughing and sneezing.
The monument is behind a barricade, so I take a photo of it and my bag and call it…Time to move on.
Lesson 1 – Always remember to remove the airline tag….that’s just extra weight.
Me and my walking poles click clack our way down to Circular Quay. Ferry number 5, that’s what I need. I’m so early, it’s the first ferry of the day.
Sydney Harbour looks spectacular. Vivid blue, polished concrete, twisted metal, rocky walls and screaming gulls. Don’t bother scrolling down to find a photo of this amazing sight. I didn’t take one. Instead, I stared out the window and commenced an internal dialogue that I would re-visit many times “You can do this…You can do this….You can do this.“
Within 15 minutes I was deposited at Woolwich wharf. With a pleasant park on the left, and a rain shelter on the right, I did the only thing that seemed logical. I walked forward, along the road.
Guiding beacon
For me, one of the most wonderful things about thru-hiking (or any hiking for that matter) is the signage: the distance signs which tell you how far you’ve come and how far you’ve got to go; little arrows and symbols that let you know that you haven’t strayed from the track; and place names which tell you that you’ve arrived…somewhere. The GNW has a very particular sign used specifically when walking through suburban streets. I would come to know and love this sign, as I tried to master the difficult balancing act between not panicking and consulting the track notes (having not seen one for a while), and serenely wandering in a particular direction under the assumption (sometimes falsely) that you have been guided well.
The walk begins in earnest. Up and around the Woolwich streets, it wends it way through a number of small parks, some of which have amazing views of the harbour.
View of Sydney Harbour from grasslands en-route to Kellys Bush
My memories of hiking this day are really hazy. The sickness had taken my focus from enjoying the trail, to simply completing a task before I could lie down and go to sleep. When I look at my photos, I can see that there were nice sights – I just can’t remember any of them.
Boardwalk through the mangroves, en-route to Magdala Park (I think).Entering the Lane Cove National Park
Eventually, I reached the Lane Cove National Park Headquarters. I must be close! I came to a sign which said “GNW”, consulted my track notes and headed in what I thought must be the right direction. Before long, I came to an abrupt halt at a private property sign. Back to the start point, and I try a slightly different direction. This time it is thick bush that stops me in my tracks. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. It’s like the Bermuda Triangle! I just can’t work this out…the notes say here, but the track’s over there. My GPS track looks like a snowflake which has been traced over many times.
Park rangers drive by and see a girl looking lost, confused, and no doubt, pissed off. They bravely pull over, and ask where I am going. Trying to explain “The Lane Cove Tourist Park” when no voice is available is at best hilarious, and at worse, excruciatingly frustrating. We get there eventually. Turns out the caravan park is actually 3km off the official GNW track. Hence my confusion. And hence my utter disappointment at having an extra 3 km to walk.
Damn having to walk this extra 3km (even though the views are spectacular!)
I arrive at the caravan park at around 4.30 pm, absolutely wrecked. I cough, splutter, sneeze and mime my way through reception and am allocated a site (I’m still apologizing to the front desk staff in my head). I set up camp, and crawl into my tent, completely spent. The only person who knows I’ve been sick video calls me…
“Oh. My. God. You poor thing! I can’t believe it! You look terrible!”
“I honestly don’t know how I made this 20km…”
The gist of my conversation with a friend
I fall into a dreamless slumber, rousing at around 8pm. When I wake, I crawl out of the tent, sit at a nearby table and have a couple of vita-wheats and tomato. It’s the first I’ve eaten all day. It’s cool and the stars are out. A sneaky kookaburra swoops in to steal my food, so that I have to guard it zealously. It sits in the tree above me and laughs with every failed attempt. For the first time in the day, I breathe.
Traveller’s Obelisk (Macquarie Park, Sydney) to Lane Cove Tourist Park
Distance: 21.36km
I can’t believe it….I honestly can’t believe it! All the planning. All the anticipation. All the spending. And I’m starting out…like this…..
To backtrack… Earlier in the year I had made the exciting, but fraught decision that I was willing, ready and able to hike the Pacific Crest Trail – all 4200 km of it – and that this would occur in the immediate future. With this in mind I went on a frenzy of information gathering – the only way that counts these days – Youtube videos. Here, I was advised unequivocally, that 1. I must get my pack weight as low as possible; 2. I must do a “shakedown” hike in order to test and refine both my gear and attitude; and, 3. I must train and train and train.
I took this advice very seriously. Old gear was out the door, and a slew of spending ensued – a new tent, backpack, shoes, water filters, cook system…you name it, I bought it. A “shakedown hike” was planned. I had to go to Sydney anyway to apply for my US visa. I would take all my new gear, and hike the Great North Walk. “Australia’s most accessible long distance trail”. From Sydney to Newcastle, this 250km hike was bound to test out my new gear and fill me with confidence and inspiration for the long hike to come! And I trained. With my superstar training partner, Bronte the dog, I walked around and around and around tiny Norfolk Island…enough times to make myself dizzy…
None of this has gone to plan…
And so it arrives. Morning of. D Day. Ground zero. This is it! All the preparation; all the training; all the anticipation, it’s all about to come together in one big, amazingly well executed walk!! Ummmmm. No. Nothing could be further from the truth!
I awoke in a fever induced haze. All night long, hot, cold, shivering, sweating. My voice! I couldn’t talk. What about the amazing vlog I was going to put together! With sick, tired eyes I examined my gear. My old gear. Delays in shipping to Norfolk Island had meant that none of my shiny, new, light, painstakingly selected gear had arrived! This included shoes. I glanced at the brand new pair sitting on the floor….same as my old ones, but without a single use. Straight out of the box. This was not how I imagined it would go! It was decision time…To go – sickness, old gear, new shoes and all. Or stay – Cozy up in the nice soft bed, and try and tame this flu.
I chose to go.
My plan is to go on the attack, so I’m going to head to the start point very soon. Busted out some new gaiters to go with my new shoes. #blistersforsure
Me…to a friend in a text message.
New gaiters. New shoes.
I pack up and get going. In hindsight, I wish beyond anything that I’d thrown some tissues in my bag. As I set out towards the starting point, the Travellers Obelisk, in Macquarie Park, I realise that although I’m sick, and things have gone wrong, I’m excited!! Time for the real challenge to begin.
“You’ll be off on the adventure of a lifetime”. That’s what my Pacific Crest Trail permit tells me. When I try to explain this to others – friends, family, strangers – there is a different set of responses. Mouths aghast, eyes wide, more often than not with a confused, quizzical expression, people breathe “You’re doing…what?!” Invariably, this is followed by a quick…”Why?”.
The easy way to respond is to shrug my shoulders and coolly reply “Because I can”. This I do, because the real why, the why that’s driven me here, is still a buried secret which I’m not yet ready to fully articulate. “On the trail” I keep telling myself. “On the trail” I’ll be ready to explain it all…
Unsatisfying explanation in hand, people nod like they understand fully and proceed to give me their honest, if occasionally somewhat unjustified opinions….”That’s crazy!”, “That’s dangerous!”, “That’s so cool!”, “I can’t believe it…that’s amazing!”, “What a waste of a holiday!”, “That’s so inspiring!”, and time and time again “You’re going alone….Won’t you be scared?”.
Yes, I’ll be scared. Yes, I’ll be alone. Yes, it will be crazy. Yes, it could be dangerous. Yes, it will be cool. Yes, it will be amazing. And yes, I will feel inspiring. That’s how walking long distances makes me feel. Like the slowest roller-coaster in the world hurtling out of control. Like I can master destiny. Or destiny can master me. There’s nothing else in the world that makes me feel like thru-hiking does.
So, I have 3 and a half months before I begin. Mexico to Canada – 4200km of solid heartache, joy, boredom, freedom, pain and euphoria. I hope I can get to the start line….
