Category: Great North Walk

Jungo Campsite to Mt Wondabyn campspot

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.

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.

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.

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.

Lane Cove Tourist Park to Jungo Campsite

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.

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…

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.