Tag: Solo hiker

I know it’s very important for young folk to get out in the bush,  learn some resilience and perhaps even develop a love of hiking.  But wow! It is so extremely jarring to go from being solo to part of a hive in one foul swoop!

The group takes up both tables, and with insistence, I am allocated a tiny portion at which to sit.  They cook their dinner on Trangias around me.  The talk, such as it is, is constant.  I’ve picked it all up before long.  Mila and Maggie are the “cool girls” and loudest of the group.  Matilda is the most sensible.  Lachlan and Liam are partnered up, for the purposes of the walk, with Mila and Maggie, and therefore Lachlan does the majority of the cooking.  Maggie likes Liam.

And on and on and on it goes.  I stay as long as I can and then retreat to bed.  A koala, situated directly above me, also appears to grumble about the added noise to it’s usually quiet camp. 

I’m lucky enough that my tent is situated right next to Mila and Maggie.  I hear them chat, chat, chatting at full volume as they get ready for bed.  They go up to the toilet together (of course!) and on the way back I hear one of them say “Oh shit! I might have forgotten to close the zips”. They reach the tent, and the next thing I hear…

“ARRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH.  Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! There is a possum in the tent!” They flee off towards the boys.  The camp is mayhem whilst the situation is rectified.  I swear I hear the koala chortling. As do I.  Good on you possum!  Someone had to try and teach them some basic campside manners.

I take off early expecting to see all of my new friends at the next camp.  It is both a spectacular day, and a spectacularly disappointing day.  The walk itself is incredible.  One of the best cliff top walks I’ve ever traversed.  But it is absolutely pouring rain, which both dampens and sours the spirits. 

I still enjoy the walk.  How could you not? The Bridgewater Lakes, special perched lakes like those found on K’gari.  The Tarragal caves, limestone which has been carved out by erosion over millenia.  And the cliffs.  Utterly amazing.  The murky blue of the ocean pounding into the rocky coves down below.  Stunted clifftop growth and an unbelievable track which feels like it’s as far to the edge of the cliff as possible.  Cormorants diving into the ocean looking for a feed.  Giant kelp, swaying in clumps offshore.  Salt laden rain slicks down my face.

It was incredible.  But boy did I long for a different scenario.  One in which I could meander, bask in the latent heat of the cliffs, use my camera whenever I wanted, and without my fingers being numb.  Sometimes a perfect walk deserves perfect weather.  And I feel disappointed not to have experienced that today.  Guess I’ll have to come back again hey!

I rally once I get the tent up and dry off inside.  Have a little break. At some point I realise the rain has stopped.  I gear up and head out again.  Tentatively, tentatively the sun starts to shine.

I retrace my steps, rejoicing in the opportunity to enjoy this magical landscape.  It all seems worth it now, in this minute. I prepare to take a photo of the sunlight glistening on the water and see a lithe little body pop up out of the water.  A seal! I watch it frolicking in the waves until it submerges and never reappears. 

I’m enjoying a moment of solitude staring out at the waves when I hear it.  “Oh yes!  We’re here! Finally!” A group of school kids trundling in.  Peace over.

In a moment of inspiration (and potentially to get away from the campsite) I decide to take my dinner down to the sunset view.  It’s cold, windy, but I absolutely love it. This has turned into a very special day indeed. And I’m very thankful for it. 

It feels like such a relief to be headed away from the beach this morning.  The ground hard and unyielding. No sinking into the sand.

I’m feeling quite good this morning.  I receive a number of supportive messages, in particular, from my good friend Miriam who always reminds me that she, and others, will be there for me when I return.  It is very motivating.  Particularly when it feels like I’ve not really been part of society for a little while.  I think it was my 5th?, 6th? night camped alone.

Secondarily, the sun is sort of shining.  It’s not raining and the wind has disappeared.  Time to get hiking.

It’s a bit of a hill challenge today.  Slowly creeping up and up and up along fire trails, across paddocks, through bush tracks and across bridges. A huge kangaroo blocks my path at one stage, nonchalantly chewing on a long piece of grass.  I’m not tangling with this fellow.  He slowly finishes up, looks at me once more, and moves on.  As do I.

I reach a high point, and although there’s no sign I decided to risk it….I look back.

Eventually I reach the peak of Mt Richmond. There are no views from the picnic ground, but I enjoy sitting down and taking my shoes off.  Having an actual break that isn’t rushed because it’s raining. There is a large group of superb fairy wrens dominating the picnic ground, the males luminescent with their bright blue feathers.

The rest of the walk to camp is a reverse of the start of the day.  Down and down and down along fire trails, bush tracks and sandy roads.  Xanthorrhoea (grass trees) offer a bright splash of colour under the pale of the eucalypts.  Spring flowers are starting to show and the bush smells of honey and burnt caramel.  The yellows of the wattle reign supreme but orange peas, and red correa are bright flashes in between.

I arrive at camp and receive a rather severe culture shock.  School group! About 15 of them. They are spread out all through the site and the collective sound of talking is rather shocking after being alone for so long.  I claim a spot at the back of the group and hide in my tent.  Eventually I realise I have to take control.  I must leave my tent! I go to the shelter and clear a small space for myself.  And here I now sit. Happy sac circle in full swing next to me, others cutting up their dinner across from me, girls braiding hair and gossiping.  They inch closer and closer until I’m surrounded.

This could be the hardest part of the day!

I wake up to more clouds and rain.  Sometimes I wonder if someone is trying to tell me something.  Trying to tell me to slow down…why do this? Why not just relax somewhere with a glass of vino and a pool in the sun? Why go through this….torture?

During these low times it’s hard not to concede that maybe the voice is saying something worth listening to.

I get started.  The beach is wild and grey.  Not quite as windy as yesterday, but not calm.  I see a patch of blue and take a photo, evidence that sunlight does exist.

This is not easy.  I’m being drenched by scudding rain making it difficult to try and schedule in breaks.  Who wants to sit in the sand when you’re fully clothed and saturated, large, sodden grains sticking all over? The sand is soft, even though I’ve timed it right for low tide.  Sinking down with every step, weaving all over the shore trying to find the most compact route. And the waves themselves are tenacious and tricky. They are once again breaking way out the back, a line of froth and foam.  The surge up the beach is incredible and unpredictable.  Not for one minute can I become complacent about not being chased by waves. Many times I need to actively sprint to avoid being blasted by an incoming surge.

It’s tiring business.  Even the birds don’t seem to be interested in being there today.  I see a couple of small gangs of hooded plovers, a few pied oystercatchers, some sort of petrel shrieking plaintively into the wind.  But these sightings are few and far between.

I’m very pleased when the track leaves the beach, only to be met with a series of huge sand dunes, stark and bare.  Apparently this area has an active dune buggy club that races through these dunes.  Today, there is nobody.  The huge campsite is completely empty.

I stumble into the walkers camp and eagerly sit down for a break. Tent up and I slide inside, locking the world out as I go about my beloved cleansing routine.  A wash down with moist towels.  Moisturiser rubbed in, paying particular attention and care to my workhorses, the feet.  Change into my warm camp clothes.  Lie down on my bed, feeling clean and warm, eating a snack and reading my book.  Snoozing if the idea takes me. Bliss. 

The sun comes out, warming the tent even further.  Luxuriating in this unexpected warmth, the idea definitely takes me.

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?

Like a masterful mystery novel, the beauty and secrets of the trail slowly unfold.

The river.  Oh wow, the river!

Firstly, I awoke very unrested.  Couldn’t sleep.  My body was protesting a little.  The long walk, without my usual “walk down”.  The legs felt hot and my feet ached. 

The good thing was that I slipped into what I call “hiker unconsciousness”.  It’s something I have noticed over time.  An incredible ability to recall memory.  Things that you haven’t thought about in years, the most obscure things, in the greatest of detail.  I expect it is possible because the brain is clear of clutter.  I haven’t seen anybody for a couple of days (well, apart from the Tinkler).  I’ve had no signal, so no real communication with the outside world.  It’s just been me, and the hike.  And I think that in this space of simplicity, the mind has the capacity to recall in amazing, stunning clarity.  It’s very cool.  Your own little time machine.

I got up, body mended, and had my first proper look around the campsite.  Large, white sandstone cliffs.  One directly opposite, and one a little further up the river.  The feel of it is incredible.  Old as time.  Wise, if that’s a feeling a river can give.  An entity.  What a place!

It’s drizzling, but I pack up and get moving.  The walk is incredible, paralleling the clifftop with amazing views of the river.  It’s so wild.  I see flocks of geese, at home both swimming and flying.  Gangs of gang gangs squawking in battalions, tracking from one side of the river to the other.  Parrots and wrens and robins, all trackside.  It is breathtaking.

I’m really happy that I did the long walk yesterday, so I could enjoy the spoils of the walk today. The river is like a serpentine beast, scaled on either side in thick limestone armour.  A colourful and ancient cloak. 

The walk weaves its way into Nelson and I let myself into my home for the next couple of nights.  So far,  it has been challenging, but really good.  Spectacular today.  It makes me excited for what’s to come. But first.  First, a well deserved rest.

I struggle a bit today.  I think it’s the bush.  Don’t get me wrong, the bush is beautiful, black, green, yellow, pink and orange, but I’m struggling with the…..sameness of it.

There are a couple of moments today which I really do enjoy.  For a little while we break out of the bush and walk along a fenceline protecting a verdant green paddock, full of cows.  In the distance, mountain ranges are visible along with two vegetation types.  The coastal swamp of the Glenelg River and what looks to be a plantation right alongside.

I also enjoy “The Inkpot”.  A little lake, black as night with tannins,  surrounded by a circle of white sand, like eyeshadow. 

The campsite is the real reward for the day.  Right next to Bochara (the Glenelg River), my campsite sits on a lush, green lawn and overlooks the slowly moving water.  Kangaroos and wallabies graze contently, seemingly oblivious to my human presence.  Blue fairy wrens flit about the camp, also unafraid and happy to make themselves known.

I’m the only one at the campsite for now, and it is supremely peaceful.  I sit on the jetty and dangle my poor feet into the cool of the river, enjoying the simple pleasure of a Cheesestik on corn chips.  The reflections are beautiful, and a large flock of birds that I haven’t yet been able to identify fly up and down, like the river is a runway. 

The rest is doing me some good.  In my head I’ve made a change of plans for tomorrow.  I had been going to stay at Battersby campsite, about 17km away and then do a really long day into Nelson the following day.  Instead, I’m thinking of going to Pattensens camp tomorrow.  I’m intrigued by it.  Elle had done half of the walk previously, and when I asked her which was the best campsite, she had immediately responded “Pattensens”.  It’ll mean a longer day for me, more than 30km, but I figure this will be offset by a shorter day into Nelson and more time to rest at my accommodation.  A win all round!  The problem is, that it is supposed to be raining pretty much all day, and 30km in the rain isn’t much fun.  We’ll see I guess.

I kick back with my animal friends, and enjoy the colours of the river as the day moves to dusk. After some lovely contemplation time on the jetty, I emerge to see an array of wildlife.  Firstly, a man.  “Tinkling” obliviously onto the grass in the park in front of the jetty.  He looks up, sees me, startles and then does these things in order.  Waves to me, pulls up his pants, grimaces / smiles sheepishly, waves again, gets in his car, drives off. 

I move to the campsite, wary now.  Disturb a herd of around 30 wallabies and kangaroos loitering on the lawn.  This I can deal with. Satisfied after dinner, I don my torch in the fading light.  And see an army of gleaming red eyes slithering down the tree trunks and plonking onto the ground.  Possums.  And many of them! They maurade around the campsite, offering their “friendly” companionship.  I know I’m alone drinking my hot chocolate mate….but I don’t really need you to sit up at the table with me!

I go to bed dreaming of a peaceful night’s sleep.