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!
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.
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.
“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.
