Great South West Walk, Day 7 – Nelson to Moribeong camp, 26km

I’m sitting here trying to be really enthusiastic….but finding it difficult.  The wind is up again, and unfortunately I feel a little bit beaten down with it at the moment.

My rest days in Nelson were…ok, without being wonderful.  Not what I had really envisaged.  I’d envisaged the kiosk being open, and being able to dive into one of the world famous pies I’ve heard so much about.  I envisaged at least being able to buy a few things and get some takeaway. Not to be.  The kiosk has closed for good. And just a couple of weeks ago.

I head to the service station, which is now apparently the place to pick up mail.  Thank goodness I mailed myself a food package! The service station really hasn’t jumped onto this new business opportunity…hasn’t realised it’s now the only shop in town.  I grabbed a couple of drinks, a chips with the lot and a toasted sandwich which both proved to be inedible, and a loaf of bread and two small tins of spaghetti.  So much for my dreams of scrumptious rest day breakfast!

That was the down side.  The rest was pretty good.  Accommodation, ok (who doesn’t leave a washer and some soap available after advertising for hikers?); pub, great; chores, done; look around town, done on a nice sunny day. Rested, yes.

I hit the road again.  And the rain hits me again.  Not more than 5 minutes along.  “Come on!” I think.  Just a little break please.

I get down onto the beach.  The wind is raging.  Bleak and wild in all directions.  Not another soul. In a boon of luck, the wind, at least, is headed my way.  I feel like I could almost literally fly down this beach, if I wasn’t weighed down by all this baggage.

It’s very grey.  The waves breaking from a long way out and frothed up by the time they arrive at shore.  I look for pops of colour in the seaweed and shells littered along the foreshore.  Pied oystercatchers, with their bright red beaks, squawk as I approach and dance in the air.  Ruddy turnstones sit in groups, resolutely faced into the wind.  Lone seagulls screech, and cormorants sail the currents that exist just above the waves.

I reach an inland track which traces around Nobles Rocks.  Ancient middens are exposed, the shells in such huge numbers that the number of gatherings and people dining at those gatherings is incomprehensible. At times, the track has the feel of a choose your own adventure…you never quite know if you are on an animal track or the actual one! I figure as long as I’m paralleling the ocean, I’ll be fine.  

Back down on the beach, and I have a choice between continuing on or once again turning inland.  The wind makes my mind up for me when it sweeps me right past the turnoff.  It gets a little more difficult.  The sand becomes soft and I’m feeling the weight of a heavy pack, loaded with seven days worth of food. The sound of the wind is constant. I scream a couple of times, just so it knows it’s not the only entity that can sing.

The camp is comparatively small and exposed compared to the others I’ve stayed at.  Once set up, I have a quick look at the Lake where small waves, chop and swell have been stirred up by the wind.  I don’t stay long, dreaming of diving into my tent, closing the zips, and falling back onto my bed, feeling protected and warm.

This wind can’t go on forever can it?