Solo hiker Archives - Page 14 of 15

Great North Walk – Day 13

Ridgetop campsite to Brooklyn Pub

Distance – 16km

“I did it! And then promptly cried. xx”

This was it! The final day. I’d psyched myself up big time the night before. Early to bed. Alarm set. Good nights sleep and then into it. Of course, of all the nights, it had to be this one where something was snuffling around outside the tent. I could hear it moving. Then silence. Hear it moving then silence. Multiple times I shone my torch and peered outside, only to see…..nothing. I never once saw what was making all that noise. Eventually I decided that this was less invasive than the handyman at the Bates Motel. After all, whatever it was, it wasn’t trying to look in my tent, so I was able to drift off to sleep anyways.

“This is it. Final day. Thanks so much for all your support. Already done 4.5km today. Time to kick it. xxx
Message to my support crew

Despite the hills I got into Cowan relatively quickly. I was hopeful of obtaining food by visiting a vending machine at the Cowan train station. Imagine my utter delight when I saw a cafe, open for breakfast, just 2km down the road!! Multiple hash browns, iced coffees, soda waters and juice later, and quite frankly, struggling to get my bags waist belt on, I departed.

On Day 1 of the Pacific Crest Trail you must cross a train track, so I was overly excited when I got to cross this one!

Crossing the train track, I noticed a couple of blokes obviously setting off on a day hike. I crossed their paths multiple times during the day – the first time that this had happened over the course of the entire walk. What a small, but enjoyable thing, to be able to comment to someone how beautiful a view is, or how steep a track is, or how hot the weather is, as it happens.

The walking highlight of the day was the Bay of Jerusalem. Crystal clear water, rocky ledges, isolated. There was not a breath of wind, and the insects hummed steadily. Peaceful and serene, it was a view worthy of the last day.

One of the last signs I came across. Just 6km to go.

Two more escarpment climbs later and I was on the home stretch. Just 6km to go. This time, it was for real.

It’s hard to describe the feeling at that point. I think overwhelmingly there was a feeling of relief. Relief that I was finishing and could stop walking. Relief that I had done it. Relief that my Pacific Crest Dream was still alive. The relief was mixed with an awareness that this had been incredibly difficult. I kept asking myself “Did I enjoy this?” “Have I enjoyed this?”. It was like a mantra in those final few kilometers.

Hmmm. Which was I more interested in? The beer? or the soda water?

Spoiler alert. I made it. The two guys I had been passing had somehow gotten to the pub ahead of me! When questioned they told me they had taken a shortcut – they had been keen for a beer. They clapped me when I walked in. Offered congratulations. It was nice of these people I didn’t know.

I sat down. Sipped my beer, and thought about things. I was ready. Despite the difficulties, this had been the perfect training hike. I had dealt with sickness, floods, lost gear, broken gear, lack of water, no information, steep hills, false finishes, flip flops, long food carries, shoes that didn’t fit. And loneliness. I had dealt with loneliness.

If people were to ask now, “what’s the most important lesson you learnt?” The answer, undoubtedly, is that you need a support crew. You just do. You need people that are going to pick you up when the going is hard; keep you motivated; contact you if they are worried; be able to be contacted in times of difficulty; and, most of all, provide grounding during times of self doubt. I thank my support crew from the bottom of my heart. I know they will all be there for me when I take my first step on the Pacific Crest Trail. And I couldn’t be more grateful.

32 days and counting. I’m ready. I’ve got this!

You’ve got this Zargo!!
You’re an amazing, interesting and fun person. Embrace the solitude or step outside your comfort zone because anyone is lucky to have you in their path. xx
Go Zargo!! Your shower awaits!! xx
“You have beans in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose”
It claims it has a minibar so you might be in luck!! Go Zargo go!! xx
It must be absolutely beautiful. I cannot believe how far you’ve walked already. Amazing!!
Good luck today. Will be watching. xo
Mum says “Oh well, what is an extra 12km”. Maybe attach your GPS to a clip on your belt?
Savour that nice walk along the beach Zargo!! You did it!!
Ok. Hang in there. Thinking of you. xo
Final day of an awesome adventure!! Go Zargo go!! So proud of you xxx
Nearly there Mel. How good was the shower. Hang in there. xxxxxx
Yeah!!!! You got this. What a friggen achievement.
WOOHOOOO!! Congratulations Zargo!! I know you’ll enjoy a celebratory lunch!! What a champ xxx
Are you ok?
Various messages from my support crew. So grateful.

Great North Walk – Day 12

Tunks Campsite to Ridgetop Campsite

Distance – 18km

“What goes up. Must come down”.

“I’ve been feeling really sorry for myself because it was such a rough day today. But now, sitting up in the hills looking back on where I was and what I did, I’m actually pretty proud”.
Excerpt from my journal

Rough old day. 18km isn’t very far when you are hiking all day. It sounds like it might be, but it really isn’t. 18km is a casual day. A languid day. A day of taking in the sights and having a long lunch break and whistling when you walk. This wasn’t that.

I arrived in camp exhausted and despondent. A day spent going up. And going down. Five times up and five times down. “That’s not so bad!” I hear you thinking. And ordinarily it’s not. I was 12 days in and fit as a fiddle when it came to climbing hills. But this was the escarpment. And instead of a track with a gradient, switch-backing up and around the mountains, this was literally straight up. And straight down. I present exhibits A and B.

This was the rocky cliffs of hell. Boulders and scree and pebbles. Slipping upwards. And slipping down. No rhythm. Watching every step. Thinking every step. No turning the brain off. No breezing along. No walking mojo. I’m being honest here. I found it really hard.

There were some pleasant things too. On one of the up and down adventures I came across the river that would have certainly prevented me from going any further all those days ago. There was graffiti under the bridge, and I stood and caught my breath.

Place of rest, as the cars roared overhead at peak hour.

On another up and down I ended up in Crosslands Park. I sat at a table and ate some breakfast. Finding a long lost muesli bar hidden deep in my pack was enough to make me shout with joy! This was a lovely area, laced with boardwalks and bounded by the Berowra creek.

Follow the brown, wooden road. How I wish these planks had kept going and going and going.

On another up and down I walked past the Naa Badu Lookout. Meaning “see water” in the Dharug peoples language, this was the natural boundary between the Dharug and Gurungai groups.

On another up and down I saw houseboats hustling about on the Berowra River. The water gleamed blue, and I was envious of these people. Putt-ing around in their boats, seemingly without a care in the world.

Up I go again. Once? Twice? I don’t know. I’ve lost count. I straggle into camp and throw my pack down in relief. I begin to set up my tent and realise that now I am doing things “for the last time” on this walk. My last time setting up the tent. My last time washing myself from a pot of warmed water. My last time getting my comfy night gear on. My last time eating these horrendous tasting noodles. My last sunset.

I walk to the cliff and sit down. I can see the rocky escarpment stretched out in front of me. I can see all the ups and downs I have had to make that day. I hold a packet of beef jerky. This is the last of my food. I have nothing more. I have been saving this beef jerky just for this moment. I pull everything that’s happened inside of me. Spin it into a ball. Lodge it there so I can draw on it. So I can remember. I look at the colours starting to turn pink and hazy. And I ring the head of my support crew.

We watch the sunset together. Me, on the rocks getting eaten alive by midges, and him, thousands of kilometers away, but there all the same. I can’t believe you’ve done this, he tells me. You’re going to succeed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. When you are done.

I sit alone and look out for a while longer, a smile etched on my face.

“Should have known it would save the toughest day for almost last! Resting up. And hopefully finish with all guns blazing morla. xxx”
Final message of the day to my support crew.

Great North Walk – Day 11

Warner Bay to Newcastle to Tunks Ridge Rest Area

Distance – 28km + a train ride

“I made it to the end! Well, sort of”.

Today was going to be an interesting day. Had all gone to plan, I would have marched into Newcastle, glorious in the victory of having succeeded in finishing the walk. Instead, I was going to march into Newcastle, enjoy the moment, hop on a train and travel south to pick up where I had left off all those days ago with the floods. Making this decision had been quite a difficult one. Try to finish the entire thing? Or just relax in Newcastle and enjoy the rest of the holiday? Things had been quite arduous after all. In the end, I found out that I am somebody that likes to finish what they set out to do. Despite the fact that there will be no cocktails at my campsite tonight.

With this in mind, I set off very early. Around dawn. I’m really glad I did. The streets were quiet and the sunrise was lush. The walk does an amazing job of wending through parks, trails and scrub, so that you feel a lot further from civilisation than you actually are.

Beautiful view….but….shouldn’t I be over there somewhere?

I travel through the Glenrock State Conservation Area. I see a nice looking lagoon off in the distance and realise that I am mildly lost. My track notes say that I should be right next to the lagoon. Yet here I am. It doesn’t matter. The track I am on deposits me onto the beach. Right where I want to go.

View of the track up the beach. I can see that there has been people here – but still no-one around.

I make my way up the beach. It looks like lovely walking doesn’t it? Cool breeze in the hair, the sound of the pounding waves, seabirds wheeling about. But the reality is that beach walking with shoes and a pack on can be pretty tough – often totally dependent on how hard the sand is, following the tide. In a little victory I had somehow jagged a decent tide and I was able to travel fairly quickly along the shore.

Newcastle Beach. And up on that hill – that’s where I’m going.

Eventually I round a corner, and there it is! Newcastle beach! It was a Sunday, so the footpaths were teaming with people. I could see a focal point off in the distance, and I realise that I am almost there. 3km. I’ll be there in 3km. Although I know I am not finishing here today, the sense of achievement is overwhelming. I did this! I’ve done this! I’ve never walked so far in my life….on my own. I see all the people around me. They don’t know what I’ve done. They don’t care what I’ve done. But I do. And I know that there is not a lot that I can’t do, if I want to do it. That feeling infuses me. Soaks in like a sponge. And I feel amazing.

Off I go. Clickety clacking down the pavement. Looking for all the world like somebody that shouldn’t be at the beach. I climb the final steps. And there’s the monument! I take off my pack and go and touch it, reverently. I sit with tears in my eyes and reflect on what it has taken to get there. My phone dings.

Almost there! You can do it!
Message from the head of my support crew

Now this is weird. Because I know that the head of my support crew has been following along with the GPS tracking at home – excited to see me reach my goal.

I’ve made it already! I’m sitting here now!
My reply

Oh, it looks like you still have about 3km to go…Congratulations!
Head of my support crew.

I look at my maps. I look at my GPS. I look at my track notes. And fuck it. I do still have 3km to go. What an idiot! All that pontificating, crying and self reflection and I’m not even there yet! I put my pack on, and eventually make it to the actual end.

The actual end. No tears. I cried them all out at the other spot.

I don’t stick around here long. I make my way to the train station and jump on the first one headed south. Destination Hornsby. 2 hours later, I get off the train and start walking. Pulling into an Asian supermarket, I pick up my first resupply of the trail. I couldn’t really tell what it was, but hoped that the container might contain noodles of some sort.

Designed by Major General Sir Clive Steele in 1942, this is one of only 4 “Steele” bridges still in use in NSW

It’s nice being back in the bush. I cross an old military bridge, and snake along green paths. The day ends with a long climb back up to the top of the ridge. The campsite is expansive. And empty. I eat my dinner, which turns out to be vermicelli noodles in a super spicy soup which I dislike intensely. One more full day of hiking. I can do it.

Beautiful bush track. Sadly, I believe this has all been burnt out in recent bushfires.

“PS. I am very proud of myself for making Newcastle”. I’ve got this!”
From my journal.

Great North Walk – Day 10

Bates Motel to Warner Bay Hotel

Distance – 23km

“Suitably sloshed I continued on my way”

The day dawned and with it came the realisation that I had survived the night. Once the dedicated night time worker had left for the evening, I had slept really well. Kudos to the dog pillow for enabling a good nights sleep.

Rescinding on a cooked breakfast from the servo in favour of a bag of beef jerky I departed the Watagan Forest Hotel with the intention of never, ever, returning again.

The morning’s walk was fairly straight forward. Up and down fire-tracks with some good views. Nothing too challenging, and made easier by the fact that my hill climbing stamina has definitely increased. I am surprised by how quickly I reach Teralba, where I had been planning to spend the night.

Something I really like looking at is the interface between nature and humanity

I cross the railway tracks and like a mirage, there it is before me. The Great Northern Hotel. In all its splendid old school style. I have so earnt this beer.

“Ain’t no mountain high enough. Ain’t no valley low enough. To keep you away from Teralba pub beer!”
Message from a supportive friend

And the next beer. And the next. And the next. There was no restaurant, so pork crackling was the order of the day for lunch. All this walking leads to such a healthy lifestyle! A couple came in, having obviously just completed a day hike between Watagan and Teralba. They paid me little interest at first – some middle aged bird, semi-stinky over in the corner. But that all changed when the bar keeper (who by now I’d told my life story to) pointed out that I was walking all the way from Sydney. Then they got interested. We talked for ages. They told me I was “impressive”, multiple times. They bought me a beer. At one point they asked me where I had stayed the previous night. “The motel” I replied. Wide eyed and aghast they responded “Not the Bates motel!” with genuine awe that I had done something so risky. Before I left they had given me their address and asked me to stop in if I was in the area. I won’t. But it was lovely of them to make the offer.

Suitably sloshed I continued on my way. I had decided back in the pub that I was going to continue another 6km to Warners Bay. It was a beautiful meander along the river bank. And my fears that there were simply not going to be enough restrooms to comfortably cope with all this drinking, were soon quelled.

It was amazing seeing so much water after being in the bush, struggling just to get drinking water.

There were several sets of markets and a speed boat race on – so the esplanade was absolutely packed! It was very strange after being on my own for so long. Just to pull me back into line, I was given a room at the Warner Bay Hotel that had two queen sized beds and two singles in it. A little reminder that I was here, and on my own. I picked a queen sized bed.

I enjoyed a couple of glasses of red wine, garlic bread and a beautiful beef ragu down on the waterfront. It was blissful. I had been planning on having a look at a band that was playing at the pub where I was staying. But unluckily for them, when they hadn’t appeared by 8pm, I called it quits and slunk into bed. It was definitely the most luxurious, non physically demanding day that I had on the trail. And I loved every minute of it.

Great North Walk – Day 7

Basin Campsite to Flat Rock Campsite

Distance – 19km

“This walk is making me……thirsty”

First things first. With an actual toilet on hand, the day was off to a sensational start! A water tank too! I filled all my bottles and bags to capacity – around about 7L. That’s a lot of weight. By this stage it has become apparent that the available track notes are not really set up for a complete thru hike from Sydney to Newcastle. More so, they have been written for hikers intending to do a a couple of day’s here and there, using the train line to move to various starting positions. As a result, unlike notes that have been written with the intention of guiding someone over the course of a couple of weeks, these leave critical information such as potential water sources and resupply points somewhat lacking. At this stage, as far as I can tell, there are no permanent creeks, ponds, taps, troughs or any other places to get water from for the next couple of days.

The beginning of today’s walk is really nice! Lush green valleys and still pools. The buzzing of the insects and the stillness in the air leaves me thinking that nobody has been here for a very long time. It seems somewhat magical. Almost like it’s lulling me into not moving. There is a sense of heaviness and age.

Like a malevolent pool in a fairy-tale, the droning of the insects and frogs and the stillness in the air felt enough to lull somebody to sleep forever.

Despite being somebody who probably COULD be lulled by a malevolent pool into an eternal sleep, I gather all my strength and move on. Eventually, I make it back to the trail. That’s right – all this, just to get back on track!

From here the hills (mountains!) start back up again. As I’ve said before, flat is not a thing. Under the load of this water laden, heavy pack, I begin using my tried and true technique for making it through the toughest of hills….20 steps on each foot, then take a break for 10 -20 seconds. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. It may be slow, but it gets me there. Every. Single. Time.

Yeah….I’m puffed. And possibly still quite sick. Well, I need to blame that look on something!

Despite the hills, I’m conserving water like a drought stricken camel. Little sip here, little sip there. This shit’s got to last! Having restrictions in the amount of water that one can drink, is fairly rare in my circles. To go without. To HAVE to go without, gives such clarity as to it’s importance to our survival.

I come to a sign. Camp is only 3.5km away! But more than that, I’ve reached the halfway mark!! I look hard at the figures. Newcastle is only 88km away! Sure, I have to go back and cover what I missed….but I can make it to Newcastle! I’m sure of it. The elation of getting this far puts a spring in my step on the final push to camp.

I skip into camp. And oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!!!!!

“Made my campsite and I could weep for joy. There is an unadvertised watertank here. I can drink as much damn water as I want! Mountains many today.”
Message to my supporters.

“Drink up Zargo! Not usually saying that about water! Ahahaha!”
Reply from my sister

My sister is right. I’m usually saying it about wine. But as I gulp down my fill of water, I make a pact with myself. If there is one memory that I am going to take away from this walk. One lesson learnt. It’s going to be remembering that feeling of dread at having to conserve what you drink. The fear of not knowing whether water is available. And the absolute joy when it is.

I set up camp and explore. The views from “Flat Rock” are amazing. I take my stove and cook up a dinner overlooking the edge of the world. Another day down. Just 6 more to go.

Great North Walk – Day 6

Archers Campsite to The Basin Camping Area

Distance – 34km!

“WTF! Track closure?!”

Another day. Another potential cooked breakfast. I downed my in tent coffee and dreamed of a breakfast stop in Yarramalong. 13km. I could do that. Like greased lightning I was packed up and on my way by 7am. The morning walk was really pleasant. Nice green valleys and moist creeks. I continued to listen to my tunes. The pace of my music dictated how fast I walked. That is, until the batteries on my headphones ran out. The disappointment was tangible, and a reminder that I was now into my fifth day without a power source. Sadly my headphones didn’t cut it as the number one priority to power up. Oh well.

The demise of my headphones occurred round about here.

I tip tapped my way down the road and into the Yarramalong servo by around 11am. Now let me ask you something…When you dream of an egg and lettuce sandwich, do you dream of mashed up egg, creamy mayo and crisp lettuce all on beautiful, fresh white bread? I did. So I was somewhat surprised, and quite frankly, inordinately disappointed by my fried egg, soggy lettuce and stale bread sandwich. Chips were good though. And I upped my drinks quota to four sparkling, cold beverages.

I sat outside taking a break for about an hour and wondered just how many people I was offending. There comes a point, where no matter how diligent you are with your “daily washing”, you realise that you do, in fact, stink. Sitting outside that shop, shoes and unwashed socks off, and in the same clothing I had worn for the past 6 days through sickness, floods and scorching heat, I came to that realisation. It’s something you have to wear like a badge – even though you feel mildly embarrassed by it. Hey, you’ve worked damn hard to smell this bad!

Still, there were those brave enough to approach. “Where ya headed?”. “The Great North Walk….from here and up the road to Cedar Brush”. “Oh. I’ve done that. And boy oh boy it was tough. Bloody tough! And that was without a great big overnight bag like you’ve got! It’s tricky too! Could be dangerous with a big bag like that! Good luck!”. Yep. Thanks for the chat mate.

Time to hit the road again. Quite literally. With a long road walk of around 8km until the turn off to the Cedar Brush campsite. Weighed down with a tonne of water, I set off.

I would eventually climb that mountain over yonder

I hummed along pretty well. There were some amazing properties, but it was boiling hot. Road walking is both a blessing and a curse. You can cruise along quite quickly, but you pay the price in terms of foot distress and reflective heat from the road. I sure was looking forward to getting to that turn off! From there, just a 2km walk to camp. I’d be there by 2pm!! Sweet!! A nice long afternoon under the shelter of the trees to rest up, relax, and get off my feet for a bit.

And just like that, my dreams of an early finish were scattered to the wind

Arrrrggggggg! What the hell! Surely this is fake news! I try the number, but I have no reception. The devil is sitting on my shoulder…”Just take it. Whose going to know? What’s the worst that could happen? Goddamn it – this is your rest day!!” I sit down and look at the map. The “alternate” route is a road walk, 9km long. At the end of all this decision making, there is nothing to do except keep walking. Up and up and up and up, a dusty, dirty road. No nice views. No nice scenery. No nice seats. Not nice.

Eventually I hobbled into camp around 6pm. It’s just going on dark. The campsite is impressive. Huge. It has picnic tables, a watertank, and, in a minor miracle, a pit toilet. I, of course, am the only one there. I strip off fully and use some of the available water to douse myself in liquid gold. It feels amazing, refreshing, and cold. I sit at one of the tables and boil up some water so I can make my dinner. It dawns on me that if I want to complete the Pacific Crest Trail next year, this is the sort of kilometers I will have to walk every single day. It’s confronting. But I’m proud of myself. This is the furthest I have walked on a single day. Ever. And if I’ve done it once, I can do it again. Can’t I?

Great North Walk – Day 5

Quarry Camping Area to Archers Campsite

Distance – 23.2km

“What a difference a little bit of music makes when you’re alone”

There were 3 highlights today:

Walking into the town of Somersby;
Clicking over the 100km mark; and,
Listening to my music for the first time on the walk.

To elaborate. The small town of Somersby was a tantalising 10km from camp. With the trail notes promising a small convenience store and cafe, it wasn’t hard to get motivated to be there for breakfast. The walk to the store is fairly non-descript. Nice, but not particularly special. I follow cut power lines and gravel roads, occasionally dropping into green gullies. There are welcoming signs posted on many of the properties.

“Do not come onto this property for any reason – even if you are very tierd or want to smell the pretty flowers”
One of the more industrious signs. Pity about the spelling.

I arrive at the general store, ready for my first “non-camp food” in 5 days. Having ordered a ham, cheese and pineapple toastie, chips, and 3 different varieties of drink, I sit down at a table outside. The magnificence of an actual seat should never be underestimated. It’s not long before I receive my first approach….”Where ya walkin’ to?” Ears prick up in interest around me. “Newcastle….hopefully”. A collective nod of approval around the tables. Suddenly, everyone who has ever set foot in Newcastle is an expert on the trail. The conversation now includes several tables, consisting mainly of truckers. I am told of potential shortcuts, beautiful places to go (up to several hundred kilometers off the trail), and am even invited to visit an indigenous art site whose location is kept secret. I decline that offer.

At the completion of my meal, I fill my water bottles and get going. Despite the recent bout of rain, the drought has been on everybodies lips, and I am very aware that I am about to enter a more technical phase of the walk – where water is really scarce. Or appears to be.

The afternoon’s walking takes me along bitumen and dirt roads, through a mix of rainforest and dry bushland. The creeks are dry. My nervousness about water increases. I arrive at camp nice and early. I spy an old tank, but hopes of a water supply are short lived. It’s going to be cheese and tomato on bikkies for dinner tonight.

“I just made 100km! I’m trying to work out whether I’m enjoying myself or not. I feel achievement certainly, but am I having fun?”
Notes from my journal

Quite honestly, I’m feeling a little bit melancholy. There is no reception, so I can’t reach out to anybody. The aloneness is beginning to make me feel a little bit mad. I do the only thing I can do in this situation. I get out my music.

“OMG! What a difference a little bit of music makes when you’re alone!”
Also, notes from my journal

I dance my way right around that massive campsite. I sing at the top of my lungs. I watch the sunset with my musical friends. I find later that I’ve accidentally taken a couple of photos of myself. They answer the question for me. Yes, I am having fun.

Great North Walk – Day 4

Mt Wondabyn Campsite to Quarry Camping Area

Distance – 23km (and no backtracking!)

“Walking mojo….oh yeah”.

When I wake I am raring to go. There’s been no rain. Everything is dry. The flu is receding back to just a dull thud. It’s the dawning of a new era! The age of Aquarius! Shoving my shoes on over all the bandages brings me back to earth. Still, I get cracking.

I follow the sandstone rock and ever present fire trails around Mt Wondabyn. Eventually I hear the sound of rushing water. I arrive at the beautiful and secluded Kariong Brook Falls. For the first time on the trail, I really enjoy a scenic break, dipping my aching feet into the ice cold water. The rain that has been so treacherous to me over the last couple of days has caused this waterfall to sing. Dappled sunlight flits across the deep pool, and it is wondrous how good my muesli bar tastes in that moment. I filter crystal clear water, re-tape my feet, and move on. I can hear the sound of the water long after I leave.

Bubbling Kariong falls were a balm to my suffering feet

Essentially I climb. And climb. And climb. Right back up to the top of the escarpment. Eventually I would come to realise that there is no “free pass” on this trail. For every steep down hill section, there is an equally steep uphill. Flat, easy walking is just….not a thing. I don’t realise this yet however, as I puff my way back up onto the sandstone rock. I’m headed for Scopas peak. This is the high point of this section of the trail, and the joy of it is tangible. Like the king of the world you can spread your arms, spin 360 degrees, and be amazed by the view in all directions! It is magic.

Delicious walking track at the top of Scopas Peak

First glimpse of Mooney Mooney creek. From Scopas peak the trail descends and then follows along the edge of the creek on the right hand side.

Who doesn’t love a good bridge crossing? After descending from the peak, I’m excited to reach the Phil Houghton Bridge. I read the description in my track notes:

“The bridge can hold up to 8 people and feels very stable”.
Track notes

This, of course, spurns me on to make the bridge feel as unstable as possible…Although I bounce with everything I’ve got, the bridge remains implacable.

The next section of the walk is just stunning. I’m ambling along side the wide, green creek. I pass tall eucalypts and mangroves. Insects chirp in the boggy marshes. There’s a greenness and stillness that is hypnotising. I realise after a while that for the first time on this walk I have just been walking and enjoying. No thinking about the flu or the shoes or the bag or the creeks. Just walking and enjoying. I have my walking mojo back baby!

I got my walking mojo back baby!

My blissful mojo walking is rudely interrupted. I reach the intersection with the Old Pacific Highway. There is work being conducted on the bridge and all the safety warnings, buntings and noise are disorientating. I cross the bridge. Soon I am following a gravel road past an array of housing ranging from resplendent to ramshackle. For some reason I find that there is a “sinister” feeling in the air. Seriously. It is really creepy. This is all in the back of my mind though, because in the fore front, niggling at me like it has been doing all day, is the knowledge that I have a creek crossing to make. Described as “Impassable when wet”. As I get closer to it, the dread increases. What if I get all this way and can’t cross?

The dreaded creek crossing….Spoiler – I made it!

Makes it! And ends up feeling like a complete dick for worrying so much! Oh well. I’d rather be a complete dick for worrying so much and easily make it across, than not worry and not make it. Or something like that. I filter more water, grabbing extra to treat myself to a “bath” tonight. Pack heavily laden, I once again start to climb.

The campsite is a beautiful little spot set among tall gum trees. There is a well established fire place and I decide to treat myself to some flames tonight. The captain of my support crew gives me a call, and it is so invigorating to see a friendly face and hear encouraging words and have it reinforced that I’m doing well.

Now dark, and under the light of the crackling fire I strip off to have my long awaited “bath”. Using just enough water to make a couple of cups of tea, I wipe away the dirt and the grime and the stress and savour the feeling of being alone in the bush, as the birds sing their final words of the day. It was absolutely, lay down misere, totally worth carrying that extra water all the way up the hill.

Just done filtering the water for my sweet, sweet bath and I can taste the cleanliness already

Great North Walk – Day 3

Jungo Campsite to Mt Wondabyn campspot

Distance: Backtrack to Thornleigh station (2.75km); Train travel to Woy Woy; Taxi to Patonga; Patonga to Mt Wondabyn campspot (14.25km)

“Reset. Deep Breath”

Morning arrives. I can hear the adjacent creek gushing with water. I know before I even see it that I am not walking forward from this spot today. I make my coffee and think. An internal battle rages. On one hand, it is like nature itself has now given me permission to quit – hell, now I’m literally blocked from going forwards! On the other, I am so furious with this thing, that I can’t stand the thought of letting it beat me. I make my decision.

” Blocked by flooded creeks. Have moved north to avoid. xx”
message to my support crew.

I pack up. My bag breaks. A great, big chunk of the metal frame comes off, split in two. I stare at it. And laugh. Fuck you trail. Fuck. You. I shove the bits in my bag and get going. Retracing steps. Back to the station. I take great pleasure in shoving the bits of my broken bag in the bin as I wait for the train. Half an hour later I’m in Woy Woy and not long after, relaxing in the front seat of a cab.

Another of the joys of thru hiking is those little moments of human connection. These become particularly memorable when you’ve been alone for a while. I sat back and listened to my driver talk. His dog had just died, bitten by a snake. He was visibly sad, and regaled me with stories of his heroic, sometimes mischievous, and always there for him, pooch. As we climbed to the crest of a hill, he explained that just the previous day, the bushland on that hill had been littered with bright red warratahs. Someone had come and stolen them, snipped them off and taken them during the night. We both shook our heads in unison at such a willful destruction of beauty.

We arrived in Patonga and he exited his cab to come and pick up my bag from the boot. “My, oh my” he said to me. “That’s a heavy bag!”. I didn’t disagree. He wished me well and drove away, leaving me to reflect that the half an hour in the cab may have been the high point of the walk so far. That lovely man hadn’t even commented on all my coughing.

Patonga is stunning. I nab a picnic table and spread my wet items out to dry. I have a mantra going through my head “Reset. Deep breath. Reset. Deep breath” and I use it to try and calm the adrenaline that has spurned me on to this point. I eat a cracker or two, kick back, and enjoy the scenery. Before long I feel ready. I gather my things and walk to the eastern end of the beach. Here is the entry point to the Brisbane Rivers National Park. I begin to climb.

Lurking storm clouds do nothing to dampen the view to Broken Bay

I reach a viewing platform. There are several groups of people and I offer to take photos for each group. Whilst they all take me up on this offer, nobody thinks to ask me if I would appreciate a similar service. People hey? I don’t realise it at the time but these are the last humans I would see for a couple of days.

A series of fire-trails follow. I’m humming along to a tune in my head when I see it. It literally stops me in my tracks. Deliciously plump and red, solid but immensely intricate, a single warratah stands stark against the dark trunk of a recently burnt eucalypt. It looks like perfection. And the view is all mine.

I continue along the trail and eventually climb a ridge up to a large rock platform. For the first time a feeling of ease comes over me. I’m up high, away from all the creeks; I can see Woy Woy way off in the distance and am self aware enough to finally acknowledge a little congratulations for some good decision making. The breeze is cool and the storm clouds in the air and puddles in the rocks evoke a sense of joy as I look around. The view is beautiful.

I descend from the rocky ridgetop, follow the fire-trails and before long I’ve made it to my campsite. I made it!! It’s such a great feeling… that I didn’t give in. That I didn’t stop. I finish drying out my things and crack into a dehydrated spag bol for dinner, happy that my appetite seems to be returning. It tastes incredible! I guess that’s what happens when you walk over 60km having barely eaten anything! I settle into my tent not long after sunset and enjoy listening to all of the night sounds, snuggled up toastie warm in my sleeping bag. The reset has definitely resulted in a deep breath.

Rocks on the ground to sit on help turn this campsite into absolute luxury.

Great North Walk – Day 2

Lane Cove Tourist Park to Jungo Campsite

Distance: 18.25km (+ 11km for retrieval of “misplaced items” + 5km for detour around flooded creek)

“I think I must be cursed”

Having slept well, I awoke to the sound of the magpie chorus. Snuggling into my bag, I commenced an internal audit. Head – clearer. Voice – stronger. Cough – constant. Nose – possibly never been more filled with gunk in my entire life. I was on the mend!

Life is full of moments of risk and reward. I had one such moment this morning, when I decided I was going to make myself a coffee. Right in my tent, still in my sleeping bag. Risk, smallish. Reward, great! I would continue with this routine for the rest of walk. To hell with the safety warnings! There’s nothing like the whoosh of your stove firing up right next to your highly flammable bed, or the steaming hot cup of coffee ready before you’ve even taken a step. Great start to the day.

I pack up slowly. My final task is to put on my shoes. Like the antithesis of Cinderella, my feet groan in protest as I wrench them on. My mind catches up with what my feet already know….my shoes are too small. Way too small. I had read about this phenomenon. That feet literally grow if you do a lot of walking. Why I didn’t think that this could apply to me I’m not sure. But it was very apparent that the shoes I had ordered, same type, same size as those I had done all my training in, were not going to fit. Another problem. I tape them up, shove them back in the shoes and send my support group a message with my GPS, “I’m on my way”.

I retrace the 3km back to the Rangers station, and this time, easily navigate my way back onto the trail. The walk follows a rocky fire-trail lined with large scribbly gums. I come to an intersection that is not signposted. I turn right, using my intuition as to where I should be going. Worry gets the better of me though, and I reach for my GPS just to check I am going the right way. In this sick condition, and with sore feet, I don’t want to walk any further than I have to! I reach for my GPS. It’s not there! I cannot believe my eyes…I had clipped it onto my bag. Hadn’t I? A frantic search ensues. Nothing.

I act immediately. I drop my pack where it is, grab my phone and nothing else, and begin racing back along the track, hoping that it’s come loose somewhere close-by. I call my supporters, hoping they can use the tracking feature to let me know where it is. My sister answers my panicked call, and proceeds to calmly and methodically help me track it.

“Ok. Latest location is from 7.40am at the caravan park xx”
Text message from my sister

My heart sinks. I ring the caravan park. They have it. I’m relieved. And I’m infuriated with myself…how did this happen?

“Got it! Now to backtrack again (cry emoji x 3)”
“One foot in front of the other…..enjoy the rest of your day Zargo”
Text exchange between my sister and I. The time is now 10.11am.

I complete my penance. An extra 11km and a loss of almost 3 hours of time. I almost cry with relief to see my bag sitting untouched when I get back to it. I safely stow my GPS, sling my bag onto my back, and move on.

It’s 12.11pm when the next disaster hits. I had been starting to enjoy myself. Nice easy track adjacent to the beautiful Lane Cove River. I had just finished a small break sitting next to the water when I heard it…the distant rumbling of thunder. Another rumble. This time closer. I was in no mans land, with very little shelter down by the river. I had read that there were sandstone caves ahead…I packed up and hustled.

My shelter was not so much a cave…more an…overhang.

The very definition of fake it till you make it.

Lightly at first, the rain came. By the time I reached anything resembling a sand stone cave it was bucketing down. Sheets of lightning ripped across the sky and the thunder grew ever louder. With no room to stand and nowhere to sit, I squatted under a small overhang and staring out at the ferocious weather, quietly contemplated to myself “I think I must be cursed”.

Eventually, the lightning passed, though the rain did not. I set off again, blissfully unaware at this stage just how much this downpour was going to affect my walk. In hindsight, I probably should have realised something was up when this happened…

This should have given me a clue as to what was to come…

I stride through the waterfall and come out the other side feeling somewhat smug. Yeah! I can do this! Ah….No. You can’t. Less than half an hour later I’m heading downhill. I hear the river well before I see it. In the back of my head, I have some sort of hope that I won’t have to cross this river, merely, stroll along beside it. I spot it. Brown, churning water, it sweeps along like just what it is..a flood. Sticks and debris are carried briskly and spittled foam swirls in the eddies. I know immediately that I cannot cross this river. That doesn’t stop me from searching desperately for a safer place to cross. I don’t want to turn back. I’ve been through so much already. This leads me to do something I really shouldn’t have done.

I decide that I should try and gauge how deep the water is. Maybe it’s not as deep as I thought! Leaving my pack on the riverbank, I tentatively place my walking poles in the water and take a tiny step…I’ll just see….Immediately my feet are whisked out from under me and I sprawl half on the bank and half in the water. I’m in no real danger, but my ridiculous decision is exposed for exactly what it was. I get out of the water, grab my bag and retrace my steps without so much as another glance at the river.

From here I just sort of wing it a bit, with mixed results. I follow a random fire trail, and before long come to the outskirts of a suburb. There’s electricians working there on the lines. I ask one of them if he knows how to get to the Thornleigh train station. He doesn’t but consults his phone and promptly tells me it’s 9km that way, with a finger outstretched. “Just follow this street around”, he says. Easy. I do his biding and follow the road in the direction he has indicated.

After about 2km, a worm of worry enters my head. It seems to me like I’m heading away from the direction which the GNW had been taking me on. I try to consult my GPS and Google maps. In this moment, I learn another important lesson. The rain is still pelting down. I try to use the touchscreen of my phone, but it is impossible. The moisture denies my fingers access, and the wet drops have control of the screen instead, randomly pressing buttons and changing screens. I literally scream in frustration. It is such an easy thing to have a waterproof case on the phone. Such an easy thing. But I haven’t done it. Lesson learnt.

I manage to shelter under a large tree long enough to work things out. That damn electrician had pointed the wrong way with his outstretched fingers! I backtrack again. And try, extremely unsuccessfully, not to give the worker full on stink-eye on my way back past. Under my own steam, I negotiate the suburban streets and end up back on the trail, on the other side of the creek, not far from where I left off. I’m on my way again.

The afternoon is wet, muddy and surprisingly wild. I’m already running behind schedule with all the delays, and the many creek crossings and sodden tracks slow me down even further. The rain doesn’t let up. It’s around 6ish by the time I traipse into Thornleigh. I cross the railway line, noting that there is an Aldi supermarket right there….why am I carrying all this food? Through the suburban streets I wind, eventually following a small track behind a house which leads into bushland. I’m just a couple of kilometers away from Jungo.

My arrival at Jungo campsite is deflating. The campsite is a little cleared area by the side of a dirt road. I’m not far from civilisation, and this is more of a worry to me than if I had been way out bush. I can see the track crosses a creek which is running swiftly but is still passable. My track notes tell me to filter this water very carefully if I am going to drink it. Not exactly a great recommendation for the consuming of said beverage. Disconcertingly, an enormous “widow maker”, the large branch of a eucalyptus, has recently fallen right into the middle of what I presume to be the main campsite area.

I set up my tent, eat a quick dinner and huddle inside. I get out my track notes and circle the words “impassable after heavy rain“. There are at least 5 circled phrases in the following days track notes. I try to sleep. The rain doesn’t stop, but it’s not a soothing lullaby. I think I hear music all through the night, but whether this was real or imagined I cannot say. The rain…it just does not stop.