I’m having a bit of trouble getting started with today’s blog. Its a tricky one. It was a difficult day. Taxing in the body and on the mind. We had a disagreement. Our first since we started the trail. It’s all sorted now. But it sure did make a long day, infinately longer. Definitely harder. Anyway, I’ll just get into it I suppose…
The day started early. Very, very early. I was woken, in the dark by my buzzing alarm at 4.30am. Groan. We have been thoroughly and expertly briefed by James. If we want to complete two river crossings today, we MUST be at the second crossing, 13km away, by 9.30am. Time to get up.
We reach the first crossing right on time at 7.30am. Waist high at points, but nothing unmanageable. We have been advised by James that it is “pretty muddy” at the other end. Best to keep the shoes off. Understatement. It’s foul at the other end. Thick, squelchy, stinking, black, gooey mud. Not just a little bit of it. Several hundred metres of foul. I enjoy it immensely. “People pay good money to do this” is the joke going around. It’s made bearable because James has advised us that there is a large pool of rainwater at the far end where we can wash our feet off before moving on. Again, his advice is reliable. We gratefully wash off the goop and move on.
This time a quiet road walk to the small town of Pataua Beach. We cross a foot bridge and make our way through town. Arrive at the second crossing just before 9.30am. We’ve made it!
The second crossing is much, much longer and much, much deeper. Several kilometers. At times shallow sandbank, and at times, waist deep. We get about half way across when it happens. The argument. We break apart and walk separately to the end of the crossing.
My mind is swirling, yet I’m still trying to enjoy the experience. Fairly unsuccessfully. Especially when I reach the far end and find more of the deep, squelching, putrid smelling mud. With nowhere to wash at the end….
All the hikers languish in the grass taking a rest. We’ve all marched here without a break in order to beat the tide. Folks are trying to remove the mud as best they can using grass, a bit of drinking water, whatever is at their disposal. I wipe my feet off with a wet towel, yet my legs remain covered in black, foul smelling stockings.
The HOSC and I exchange a few words, but it is still tense. I enact our pre-arranged plan for this scenario. I take off, and walk alone. We will walk separately until we can resolve things.
I’m the first to leave. I take off at a clipping pace, keen to leave the group, my feelings, thoughts and everything behind. All I can think of is the ocean. The sweet, salt water. Cleansing all this stenching mud off me. Washing away the tension. Starting afresh. I fang it.
Which is really hard to do, because it is straight uphill. The longest uphill of the walk yet. But I do it. Barely stopping. The views are amazing, though I am barely taking them in. I reach the top and immediately make my way down a set of stairs though a nice patch of bush. Just a couple of kilometres to go. I am powering.
I reach the ocean. Immediately I shed my pack and clothes and plunge into the water, scrubbing at my legs and hair and thoughts. It’s cool and fresh and mine. I feel my temper dissipating. I catch waves, the enjoyment rising. Salt on my skin.
Other hikers begin to arrive. Some swim, some don’t. I sit on a log to dry out and wait for Aubs. He arrives. Sits for a minute. We tentatively start walking together again. Another 8km down the beach. Sand, thick and heavy just after high tide. Massive bluff, a beacon, along with the knowledge it will have to be climbed tomorrow. It is difficult, but we make it.
It’s been a long, tiring, emotional day. We talk it out as best we can before turning in for the night. The whole camp is silent by 7.30pm. Tomorrow is another day.