Hiking Blog Archives - Page 4 of 15

Great Ocean Walk, Day 5 – Ryans camp to Devils Kitchen, 14km

Well, we all survived the night. In fact, comparatively, even though the wind remained strong, it was rather pleasant.

We all woke up feeling refreshed and declaring “I slept well!” All except Raye, who, on his first hiking trip, declared he was waking up all the time and had slept badly. “Yeah, no that’s a good sleep Raye…when you don’t sleep at all, that’s a bad sleep. When you sleep intermittently, that’s a good sleep”. Turns out Raye had had a good sleep.

We set off and the ferocity of the storm and prevailing winds became quickly evident. I’d not gone more than 200m when I came across James, stopped, and reaching for something in his bag. I’ve been both curious and amazed at some of the equipment that Raye and James have bought with them. A magnetic chess board, full sized thermos, multiple lunch sized eskies….and now, a hand saw.

There was a large tea tree across the track, limbs protruding at every angle. In one of the most gallant declarations I’ve heard in a long time, James informed me that he was going to cut all the protruding limbs away in order to make things easier for Marg, who’d been having a bit of a tough time with her broken tent pole. I really admired him for thinking so much of others, though felt compelled to tell him that it would likely be a very long day if he was going to cut away all the fallen trees. The next time I saw him, he thanked me for my advice.

It felt great walking today! No rain and considerably less wind. The morning consisted of pleasant forest and cliff top walking through tea tree and paperback scrub. I took my break on a protruded sandstone platform overlooking Moonlight Bay. The sea still looked incredibly powerful, a muddy grey now, with huge swells rolling around the points.

The afternoon was more ups and downs. Easy walking really, but the 14km day felt a little longer with all the ascents and descents. The alternative route along Wreck Beach to camp was a definite impossibility, with the waves pounding right up to the cliff face and no beach to speak of.

We’ve all arrived at camp and set up, very spread out this time. I wander along the 1km track to the “Fiji memorial” which commemorates those lost in a shipwreck in the late 1800’s.

Final day of the trail tomorrow. It’s going to be an early start for me to ensure that I make it to the bus in time. I need to do 16km by 2pm or so, so I will rise early, get the skates on, and hopefully fang it enough to both reach the bus stop in time, and enjoy all the final sights of the trail…including the Twelve Apostles.

The dunny had the best view of the campsite! Honestly, they were so good! Plenty of toilet paper, a light switch that came on when you entered and always an amazing window!

Great Ocean Walk, Day 4 – Johanna Beach to Ryans Den, 14km

The big news of the day, is the night. And quite possibly the worst storm I have ever encountered whilst huddling in a tent.

First things first, and it was a pleasant surprise when James and Raye trundled into the camp site with a booming “Hey Mel!”. I’m very pleased at the addition of a couple of people who don’t mind conversing a bit.

We briefly catch up on proceedings before I head to the table near my tent to cook up dinner. It’s absolutely beautiful. Calm, out of the wind. The ocean seething down below, the sound of the waves rolling a metronome that has me in a trance. Honestly, you couldn’t ask for a better camp site experience. I even saw a couple of koalas in a tree, red eyes gleaming in my torchlight as I cleaned my teeth. Even at that point in the night it looked like a bit of a rollercoaster for them, their tree bending back and forth dangerously in the wind.

I had known, as I made my way into bed for the night, that I should be expecting a bit of rain to hit, possibly from 9pm onwards. The wait was like an anxious boil. The night getting hotter and hotter, the air sucked out like a vacuum. I look at my clock…11.15pm. Just waiting.

It starts with a patter, that turns into a pour. The rain is fine, but then the wind. Monstrous gusts that make the tent shudder. The rain slams into the tent with alarming force at every push of the wind. It was both chaotic and electrifying. I seriously wondered whether the wind was strong enough to lift the tent, me and all, and deposit it over the clifftop and into the sea below. My poles and tent, bending at seemingly impossible angles under the force.

I noticed lights starting to flash around camp, but there was nothing to do except close my eyes, hang on tight, and hope. It’s one of the few times I wished I had noise cancelling headphones, so I could block out the noise of the wind and the fear.

Morning arrived. The rain stopped. I opened my tent fly and stared down at the raging white capped sea, thankful that my possessions had survived the night. A quick look around camp told me that others were not so lucky. A broken tent pole for the quiet woman. James and Raye had been forced to move into a one-man tent. Everyone was a bit shell shocked. I asked the quiet lady what she planned on doing. She wasn’t sure. I offered my pole repair equipment if I saw her at the next camp, and that was that. One last look at the view and I left camp whilst the rain held off.

The morning walk consisted of roadwalking through lush green farmland and forests. The weather varied from brilliant sunshine to spitting squall, though the wind was a constant companion.

What it was actually like!

I caught up with James, who had headed off early. James had only recently been told that he was going to be a father, and was understandably nervous. It’s very rare for me to tell my story. That I was once married. That we had tried to have children. That we were one of those unlucky couples for whom that just wasn’t on the cards. But, because it’s the trail, and people bond quickly, I told him. And advised him, that from my perspective, he should try to enjoy every moment of this precious journey.

I left James having a rest break and made my way down to the beach. The ocean was fierce. Dark, muddy blue waves. Foam whistling into the air. It did it’s very best to try and claim me for its own!

At the end of the beach walk…check out the water in the background…

From the beach, the last 5km consisted of a pleasant track winding in and out of forest and rainforest gullies. Although it was mostly an uphill walk, with quite a few steps, it didn’t feel taxing and I made camp by around 1.15pm.

Problematically, the wind was still raging, and the the campsite offered very little in the way of sheltered sites. I felt quite lucky as the first to reach camp that I could try and choose the best fit for me.

One by one everybody staggered in, and places were found for all. The quiet lady, Marg’s, tent pole was fixed as best we could. With one-man tents she will be sharing a tentsite which was reasonably out of the wind, with Raye. James, in his tarpaulin, will set up in the shelter and the Mexican fellow, Augustin, will more or less set up on the track.

My site is muddy, and pretty gross. But I’m sitting inside dry, and because of the buffeting shelter, very safe. My tent is barely moving in the raging gale around me.

Things are supposed to quieten down around midnight. Fingers and toes crossed that they do.

Great Ocean Hike, Day 3 – Aire River to Johanna Beach, 14km

Well this day had a bit of everything! First thing to contend with, the stairs to the toilets. I note to myself that the magical nighttime restoration fairies have been and I’m feeling back in the game.

I hear a teacher from the group down below, a boys school apparently, yell “Packs on boys! We’ve got a bit of an uphill first thing…so keep your jumpers off!”

Great, I think to myself….they must be headed the other way, up the sand dune….Hooray! I set off. And don’t get far before I detect the inane gaggle of semi- prepubescent boys. They are headed my way! Decision time. Wait and let them pass. Or fang it. I fang it. But they fang it even quicker. After a game of cat and mouse which lasts a couple of kilometres, me staying ahead by millimetres, they pass. I step aside and wait for the 20 or so young fellows to trudge past me. I start again. And realise they have stopped. Getting drinks out of their backpacks. Resting. I sigh and walk through the middle of them again.

The walk is pleasant. Softly rolling with occasional views out to the ocean. What’s this? My mates are back. They pass, this time a few of the bolder ones saying hello and thanking me for moving aside. I walk another 200m and spy them, stopped again. One explains that they need to wait for the teachers and they accidentally keep catching up to me right before they have to wait. All good mate. No stress. Catch you in a bit.

The view really opens up now and I’m descending down very close to the beach. Sandstone hues paint the beach yellow, and the sea is a cold, icy blue. The boys pass me again. Comment on the views. I wait this time. The teachers pass too. I don’t see any of them again. Such is hiking.

Through a woodland forest and down to the beach. I notice on my way down that blustery has become an understatement. I request a forecast from my trusty Garmin. Hitting the beach, I realise it’s incredibly windy…and blowing straight from the direction in which I want to go. This is going to be a tough couple of kilometres! Garmin dings….Windy. Up to 80km/hr gusts. Hell.

I make a start. Smashing my poles into the sand so I can get traction forward. It’s hard not to be blown off my feet. Shells and sand and grit slam into my legs and eyes. Beautiful. But just a little too windy for comfort. And a final insult at the end, whereby, in a rookie mistake I get caught out by a wave crossing an inlet. Wet shoes and socks. Bummer. My only consolation is that it is supposed to be raining all day tomorrow anyway.

The campsite is to die for. And in an incredibly lucky turn of events, the view side is protected from the gale force winds. I can feel smug both from an aesthetic and safety perspective!

There is a little wallaby hanging around camp and I relax mesmerised by the pounding waves. The wind has caused the swell to rise, and there are some real behemoths making their way to shore. It’s destined to be a quiet night. The lady who is not up for company or conversation has set up in the wind on the other side of the campground. And the Mexican fellow from the first night has arrived…and as I didn’t glean anything from him that night, I assume he’s quiet as well.

Oh well, we’re all going to be tucked up and sheltering from the rain anyhow…

Great Ocean Walk, Day 2 – Blanket Bay to Aire River Campground, 20km

It was a bit of a drizzly night, but I was nice and warm and slept relatively well considering it was the first night back in the tent.

I was ready quickly and the first to depart camp. Unlike all the other people I had met last night, I was doing another “jump” and travelling past the next camp at Cape Otway, to Aire River.

It was another epic day! Gloriously overcast, but with no rain (except for a few squally showers), it was a day made for hiking!

The highlight of the morning was reaching the Parker Inlet. Within sight, the rain was coming down in a cold drizzle, yet when I got onto the beach, dazzling sunshine. Again, I recognised that feeling you get with long distance hiking, when you see a beautiful location through sheer hard work alone. That feeling of pride and gratefulness never diminishes.

I reached the lighthouse at Cape Otway fairly quickly, and decided to press on rather than pay a visit. I’ve been there before, and I wanted to keep going whilst the going was good. I struck up a conservation with a couple of rangers on a lunch break. It was nice to talk to them about “the business”. One of the rangers had seen the recent “Last Dog on the Moon” cartoon about the Advena Campbellii snails on Norfolk…and so had plenty of questions to ask about that!

I had a quick break at the Otway campground and then pressed on. It was relatively easy walking in the afternoon. Nice flat, easy track winding through coastal vegetation before being propelled out to another stellar view. I saw a couple of wallabies, yellow faced black cockatoos and heaps of other little birds, particularly wrens. The presence of the sandstone cliffs made themselves more apparent, standing bare above the might of the toiling sea.

The track into Aire River ended in a long, steep, very sandy descent, before traversing a bridge to reach the camp. The walkers campsites have been so great so far…but what’s with the steep stairs from the toilet block back up to the campsite at this one!! Haha! There were a couple of very slow movers on those stairs…not nice when you are feeling ridiculously stiff from the walking!

It gets hard to know what to take a photo of! The coast line is so amazing, but all the photos look very similar! It’s hard to even know where was where now!

Initially, there is only one woman at the campsite, whom very much seems to want to keep to herself. I’m not expecting she will be a talkative travelling companion. Oh well. Each to their own. A school group eventually showed up, but one of the teachers took mercy on me and said they would camp down the bottom of the stairs. I thanked him heartily.

An early dinner, a beautiful (but deadly), slinky fox patrolling the campsite, moonlit stroll back and forth over the bridge a few times to stretch the legs, and then a dive into bed. A very satisfying day.

Great Ocean Walk, Day 1: Apollo Bay to Blanket Bay, 23km

I’m back on the road again! And so keen, that I wake early with a jolt…must do one final check and go! Sadly, it was still dark outside and my enthusiasm was stopped at the door. I’m not usually one to be up for sunrise, but with little to do, and still needing to go to the shops for one final thing before departing, it seemed only sensible. I made a cuppa and headed for the beach.

Not for the first time, I berated myself for not being more proactive about sunrises. This one was spectacular, misty blues and oranges on a deserted windswept beach. It felt like a good omen.

So did the sausage roll I purchased from the bakery, and with a full stomach and everything procured, I headed off in the bright light of day.

What a treat the first 10km of the walk was! Sun beaming, cornflour blue skies, clifftop views of gently rolling waves and broad rocky platforms. It was an absolutely impressive start to the trip, and I found myself smiling with the sheer beauty of it. It felt good to be back in the saddle.

The walk weaves in and out of these gorgeous rocky bays

Giant kelp bringsB the flies in over the rocks

I had only myself for company…didn’t see another walker until I got to camp

The morning passed quickly, as time in beautiful places often does. A little leg weary I pulled into Elliot Ridge campground. I had decided previously that creating time by skipping a couple of campgrounds would be a great idea. Yeah! More time in Melbourne and visiting family at the end! My brain still agreed with this in principle…the body, not so much.

So after a brief hiatus, I headed off again. The afternoon was spent in what my brain now refers to as “Australian Eucalypt Forest”. You know what I mean…? They all look sort of the same….nice, without being spectacular. Large, impressive trees dotted amongst bracken fern, banksias and sedges.

My new shoes didn’t stay clean for very long!

At one point I noticed the sky visibly darken. I became alarmed, and urgently requested a weather report from my Garmin. It obediently started whirring away, desperate to give me the answers I was seeking. Alas, before the information was forthcoming, a huge, fat drop followed by an almighty BOOOOMMMM, signalled that a thunderstorm was forthcoming. Weather signs 1, Garmin 0.

My legs, which had been feeling particularly weary now accelerated with a second wind. All I knew was that the sky was ripping apart around me, tall trees swaying dangerously in the ever increasing wind, and that I wanted to get off this plateau as quickly as possible. I was very lucky that there wasn’t a lot of lightning around. Just the occasional shimmer in the air, meaning I was able to somewhat enjoy the tremendous force of the performance around me. My Garmin dinged….current conditions…..thunderstorm. Thanks for that.

I reached camp at Blanket Bay with just enough time to set up before another deluge. Straight into the tent and into some warm clothes, wondering how long this forced imprisonment might last.

An hour or so later and I wandered down to the under cover seating area, and met James, Raye, Jackie and a Mexican fellow, all of whom had left Apollo Bay the day previously and stayed up at Eliot campsite last night. They were a talkative lot – Raye on his first long distance walk (and carrying approximately 3kg of trail mix), James who was interested in Norfolk and wondering how to become a ranger, and Jackie, a solo hiker like myself, slightly older than me, and enjoying balancing a diminishing work life with time on the trails. We had a very interesting conversation around the question we always get asked “Aren’t you scared of getting killed or hurt?” and putting the risk of that occurring on the trail into context with everyday living and the proclivity of domestic violence. I’m guessing that for many, just being at home is a much more realistic way of getting hurt.

My sleeping bag called to me early, so not long after dark I was tucked away nice and safe in my beloved tent, hoping that the fairies do their overnight magic, and I wake up tomorrow good as new.

Great Ocean Walk (and a rather late finish on the last post)

A year on. I’m sitting in an enormous apartment suite in Apollo Bay, hiking gear askew around the room. A typical scene for a holiday. As always, and despite everything, I have pre-hike nerves. A nervous rolling in the belly that will only settle by taking the first steps on the trail, with or without all the gear I require.

Looking back, I realise I have been very slack, having not finished off the blog on the last walk! Life hey…it gets in the way of the best of intentions.

I do have my notes here with me, which I will now cordially disperse and see if any of it jogs my memory.

This is what I’ve got:

“Sharing camp with a goanna”….I don’t really remember it, but I assume I had a goanna slinking through my campsite.

“Murrumbooee Cascades”….Ah yes. This was my rest day. I was up very early on account of the heat. Made my way along a scenic path of several kilometres to reach the cascades. There was nobody there and the sunshine was beautiful. As it was still so early, the water was crisp with the overnight chill. I found a deep, little pool and in the early morning haze, jumped right in. I remember screaming with the cold.

“Dandahra Falls”…A side trip. Signage that described a steep and overgrown track. Signage that was correct. Eventually reaching the falls, dodging branches and sliding down gravelly banks. It was boiling hot, and there was no water….just the view of the narrow falls over yonder in the distance. I sat around with a family for a while, lamenting having come all the way to the bottom. We reluctantly returned to the top and I reached camp, a sweaty, dirt laden mess.

Still unsure if the walk was really worth it….

“Arvo @ favourite place Barra Nulla”….Best part of the walk. Relaxing all afternoon, mostly on my own, with my book. Dipping in and out of my perfect little bath-like waterhole whenever I liked. Perfection.

That is all the notes I took. I remember the rest day was great and I felt on top of the world finishing the final 10km, most of which was uphill, the following day. Another completed walk!

I’m excited about this trip. Can’t wait to see what the trail and weather gods have in store for me. Unseeasonal heat equals unseasonal storms equals tricky conditions. But hell, I’m training for Scotland next year, so perhaps I should be in the mindset of bring it on! (But gently please….)

No better feeling than being back at the beach.

Day 3 – WGR World Heritage Walk – 21.4km

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!

Bone dry creek, looking back to the treeline

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.

Day 2 – WGR World Heritage Walk – 18.1 km

I slept amazingly well listening to the frogs happily chirping all night long. I wasn’t sure what had happened when I eventually woke up, hot in my tent, the sun streaming in. 8.15am! Unbelievable! Something about being the only camper in a walk-in only site makes me feel extremely secure. That, and the frogs.

So it was a late start whilst I had my cuppa and took stock of affairs.

Positive – I’d had a good night’s sleep, It was only 10km to Boundary camp with a few extra side trips. One 10 Amp battery pack working. A pack of matches (7 years old and thrown in at last minute) which are working.

Negatives – Dodgy bag. Supplies a little bit dodgy. Not enough coffee for one (terrible rookie mistake) and the coffee I did have hadn’t seen sunlight for more than 7 years and was two years expired. Same with my sunscreen (it’s a long story). Probably not quite enough unhealthy snacks. Pillow not replaced or repaired following previous trip, and, surprise surprise, it’s still deflating at night. One dead 20 Amp battery pack (checked but now not working – and bloody heavy!). A torch that must have turned on by itself and drained the battery. One bar left. The ignition on my stove no longer working. No cigarette lighter.

All in all, not too bad.

Negative – it is already blisteringly hot.

Positive – it is time to get going.

The start of the day was a nice, little uphill. Just to get the pulses flowing. At the top, five minutes later, I couldn’t bear it any longer, so stopped and readjusted my bag again. To my utter relief, whatever I did seemed to work a charm, because when I shouldered it again, it felt somewhat “pleasant”.

I set off, admiring the dry Australian bush with its hazy colours, delicate scent and abundant birdlife. An interesting looking rock stack loomed in the distance and provided a marker by which to measure distance walked.

A small sign indicted the turnoff to Duffer Falls, which I imagined to be a gloriously blue haven; cold water splashing and the thrum of the cascade. I hastily abandoned my pack, having long ago gotten over the fear of somebody stealing my belongings. Armed with just my water and small towel, I skipped along the path towards watery salvation. Down, down, down and down some more. Mildly beginning to question why I couldn’t hear the roar.

I reached the bottom to find a family, seated on the rocks, one small child running their hands through a meagre looking puddle. My despair must have shown, for they were quick to inform me that if I walked upstream a little, I would come to a “trickle” with enough water to lie in. This sounded like better than nothing to me!

A short clamber, and there, as promised, was the pool looking majestic in the heat, despite it’s lack of grandeur. With the place to myself, I stripped and breathed a sigh of joy and anticipation as the rush of the icy cold water hit my sweltering body. Nothing like cooling off on a hot day, and reaping the reward for effort.

As I set off for the top I passed another small family who had just reached the bottom. I recognised the despair on their faces as they surveyed the parched scene. With a grin I let them know that if they just walked upstream a little they would come to a trickle, enough to swim! Smiles ensued.

Back at the top, with just 3km to camp, I powered along the mostly flat track, aiming to arrive relatively early and beat the afternoon heat. Off to the side of the track, a red beacon glinted at me, and I turned to stare. A beautiful Gilbralter Range Warratah, so graceful in its blatant beauty, a solo pop of colour in the pale greens and yellows of the bush.

The oh, so special Gibraltar Range Warratah

On arrival at camp, I set up at my designated camp site and gulped down some water. Too hot to lie in the tent, I dawdled around the campsite visiting Lyrebird Falls and then braving the stairs to Boundary Pool. This was more like what I had envisaged earlier in the day with a cascading torrent, black water that you know even before feeling it is going to be cold, and logs and debris scattered along the shore. Another bracing swim!

Boundary Pool complete with roaring waterfall

A pleasant day was topped off with a spot of spotlighting in the evening, scaring Euros (and myself!) in the process! Tomorrow is the longest day of the walk!

Day 1 – WGR World Heritage Walk

Washpool loop – 8.5km

Coombadjha to Grassy Camp – 7.5km

I was up early, ready and raring to go. The plan for today was to walk the Washpool circuit track sans backpack, before heading towards the intended campsite for the night, 7.5km away.

The Washpool circuit track was great. Terrific scenery and a good introductory workout for the body. Drifting between lush, green rainforest and dry, brittle schlerophyll meant birdlife was abundant.

Differing shades of greenery on the tracks

The very first creature I saw was a nimble, little grey fantail. Straight away I am struck by the little reminder of home. The whipbirds were strenuous in their cries, whilst catbirds yowled in their mimicry. Russett coloured rufous fantails flitted through the understory and Eastern yellow robins repeatedly drew the eyes with their splendid pop of colour.

A highlight of the walk was staring up at two enormous cedar trees, both supporting an abundant array of epiphytes and wildlife. With an estimated age of over 1000 years old, it was impossible to look at these twin giants without feeling both a sense of awe and sadness, so aged and alone in the bush.

Back at the carpark I grabbed my bag, did a last check of my supplies and got cracking.

Now this wasn’t without a certain level of trepidation. I knew that my bag wasn’t exactly in tip top shape after the last walk. I hadn’t spent a lot of time on preparation, taking basically just a throw everything in the bag approach. And, the family I met the previously night had told me the Grassy campsite was “awful”. No facilities, hot, with hundreds of flies. They had pushed their young kids on rather than staying there. So it was with some nerves that I set off.

I should really be enjoying the cool of the rainforest and bubbling of the water whilst I can….it’s about to get HOT!

It didn’t take long for the landscape to change from thick, wet, green to bare, dry, brown. I should have expected it. Most of Australia looks this way. Recovering landscape in one way or another. Although still pleasant, I had now moved from a single track to a sparse, new fire trail and the level of heat intensity rose dramatically.

Granitic boulders start to dominate the landscape

My bag also wasn’t feeling quite…right. Painful on the shoulders in a way it normally isn’t. You all know I love Aarns. And this one has done over 2000km now, so I really can’t complain. But you change just one little thing and everything is connected to everything else and cascades into….chaos. As I’ve said before. Sometimes I wish they were simpler. I stopped a few times, made adjustments, and continued on.

I was starting to feel a little hot and bothered as I staggered my way into camp. I have done absolutely no training for this (and don’t I feel it!) So it is an absolutely incredible surprise to find that the Grassy Camp is wonderful! A choice of tree scrub or creek lined grassy sites, firepits, a table and best of all, a babbling creek bountiful in frog song. I loved it. Perhaps I’m just more used to this type of no-facilities site, but this had everything I was looking for.

I quickly set up camp beside the tea coloured creek before plunging into the icy waters. No one around, so you know what that means! Somebody had left a nice load of campfire nearby, so I warmed up by the fire and enjoyed a relaxing afternoon. A reminder that with the tough times comes great reward and experiences.

Swimming hole reflections before I disturbed the calm, screaming at the joy of the ice, cold water.

A little, bitty walk….

Washpool – Gibraltar Range World Heritage Walk, 45km plus side trips.

Well. Here I am again…walking. Trying to get the head straight. I am SO looking forward to this!

It’s been close to a year since finishing the first section of the Te Araroa trail. It feels like so long ago. So much has happened. Some good. Some not so good. Some a bit of both. Overall, it’s been a bit of a tough time.

I’m back solo walking. Is that enough information to explain the situation? I’m not going into it. The HOSC and I are still friends. May even do some more walking together at some stage. But for now, it’s back to being wonder woman on my own.

For the first time in an age, this walk hadn’t been the focus of my trip. Instead, I’ve been getting out of my comfort zone, catching up with long lost friends and attending my 30 year reunion. Yup. 30 years.

So this walk is really just intended to be an enjoyable little escapade from what has been an intensely social (and awesome) holiday. My plan is to take things a little slower and really focus on enjoying my time in the bush.

This walk is a little, bitty one that links two world heritage National Parks, located between Glen Innes and Grafton. The walk itself is a loop walk of 45km, with another 30km or so of side tracks if you’re game.

I begin the walk at Coombadjha campsite. Park the car, cross a small creek, and walk all your gear into a large grassy area fringed by spacious, shady sites with picnic tables and fire pits. Not bad at all!! There’s even wood near the pit toilet if you fancy a fire.

I really enjoy setting up my space, the procedure to follow now inbuilt in my brain. For a while I suspect I’m going to be the only camper there. It’s rainy, misty and getting on towards dark. Kids yelling loudly signals a large family group entering the campsite, everybody shouldering their portion of the gear. Another straggler, looking like they’ve got supplies and equipment to hole up in this spot for a week, arrives shortly after.

After dinner (Vietnamese noodles!) I grab my torch and adventure along a small loop trail near the campsite. The white limbs of the eucalypts look surreal in the torch beams. Beady eyes glint back at me down by the creek, water plopping as creatures dive from the light.

I feel cosy in my little tent. Like coming home. The rain pitter patters softly all night long and I luxuriate in my warm bedding feeling very much at peace with the world.