It was a pleasant evening curled up in the sleeping bag listening to the boobooks gossip amongst themselves. I love hearing the boobooks so much! Back on Norfolk, a key component of my job is to try and conserve the Norfolk Island Morepork (morepork = kiwi term for boobook), one of the rarest birds in the world. They are actually a hybrid between the last remaining Norfolk morepork and a couple of NZ moreporks that were ferried to Norfolk in 1985 to try and save the species. We only have around 26 of these special birds left, and lack of genetic diversity makes it difficult for them to breed. Every single new chick is a little ecological miracle. And they are so close to the brink. So it is absolutely lovely to hear these boobooks calling with abandon.
I set my alarm with the intention of starting early, knowing it’s been so hot, and that this is the longest day of the walk. The air is cool and fresh when I awake, and I slip away before the rest of the camp stirs.
It’s a steep uphill to begin with. I use my fail safe technique and reach the top in no time. Before long, I move from a fire trail to a single lane track, which makes for the best of walking conditions. The feature of the morning, and what I’m looking out for, is the Dandahra Crags.
Following a stunning morning of eucalypts and warratahs, the lemony scent and the slash of colour, I pop out onto a vast yellow plain. Not a tree in sight. Muted, sun drenched colours. And the crags standing in silhouette, dominating the arid looking plain. It’s definitely time for a rest stop!
I turn away from the crags and wander beside a foul smelling creek. The lack of water is obvious here. Bridges crossing bone dry dirt. Flies drone in the midday sun.
A crossroad. A sign. And a person. We say hello. He asks me about my pack. If nothing else, it’s a great conversation starter. He’s a day tripper and smells of pine fresh. We are headed the same way, so it’s time to get out of my comfort zone and initiate some awkward small talk. Turns out we had a bit in common. He was German, (not in common) but had lived in Australia for a long time. “Grew up” on the north coast of NSW (common), always goes hiking / camping on holidays (common), was a biology post doc (commonish), and was all about conservation (common). He told me he was working on a big make or break project, and would try for another year to achieve success. I asked what the project was. “Have you ever heard of…..maggot therapy?” he said. I have but, (not common). He was wanting to go back to the old days. Use maggots instead of antibiotics to cure wounds, especially on the battlefield. It was a rather fascinating, and wholly unexpected conversation.
I feel like we’d only just begun to delve into the topic when we rounded the corner, and there, like a mirage, was a huge, glorious swimming hole! My allegiances were torn. Find out more about the maggots. Or dive into the sparkling blue swimming hole after a hot, old day on the track. Is it telling of my personality to say there was no competition? The swim won out. I asked if he wanted to join me, but he explained he didn’t have his swimmers. I didn’t bother to explain that neither did I. That undies are the swimmers of the future.
I has thought that we might finish our conversation at the camp if he was there, but I never saw him again. I didn’t even get his name. I hope his rather extraordinary venture is successful. Meanwhile, I enjoyed a sublimely refreshing swim. In my underwear.
It was a quick 3km to camp. After wandering the campsite I found my pre-booked spot right in the very middle of all the action. Awash with “keep out” tape where the vegetation used to be. I sat at my table and looked around. Encircled by visitors on all sides. School holiday crowds. Very few privacy trees. Not even my personal tap was working.
It’s strange how these sorts of disappointments take on a whole extra level when you are solo hiking. Instead of just being independent, I have to go and ask somebody if I can fill my water at their tap. All around me are cars and every conceivable piece of comfort and gear, kids, and family and friends. I’m surprised by the feeling of loneliness and isolation I’m feeling. I’m supposed to be enjoying a “rest” day here tomorrow to experience all the local walks without the burden of my pack, but instead I find myself seriously considering just moving on. I unpack, feeling like a circus show exhibit, and decide to walk to the nearby Nulla Falls.
It is beautiful. Rockpools of all shapes and sizes, gushing water, and a feeling of calm. I’m the only one there. I sit and relax. Take in my surroundings. Realise I’m lucky, Realise I want to be there. Realise I don’t want to leave.
Back at camp, the groups are gathering around their campfires. I see people using all sorts of paraphernalia to get theirs alight. And even then, with trouble at times. The tiniest little tuft of grass. And patience. That’s all I need. Feeding the smallest of slithers from the firewood stack, slowly onto the flames. It makes me feel accomplished. Capable. A survivor. I decide I am definitely staying here another night.
