Tag: Solo hiker

“For the night is dark and full of terrors”

GOT

Well, I spoke waaaaayyyy too soon.  Another night of cyclonic winds belting their way like malevolent sprites through the Devil’s Kitchen.  It is very hard to describe what it is like being in the forest when 80km hour winds are howling through.  My tent, through luck rather than design, was being protected by a stout, dense tea tree shrub.  The trees creak and groan though.  Debris hits the tent with a flying thud.  The rain is not a gentle pitter patter that will lull you right to sleep.  It’s more lull, LULL, LULL, lull, LUll, luLL, LULL, LULL, LULL, LULL, LULL!!, LULL!!, LULL!!!.  You get the picture.

With little sleep, I did not need the alarm to wake me at 6am.  By torchlight I packed my things and thanked my lucky stars for my protected site.  James and Raye were already up when I left, forced back into the one-man tent again.  Augustin had left some time during the night.  Marg had not yet emerged, which was a good sign.

The trail was complete havoc.  With trees down everywhere it was difficult to get into any sort of rhythm.  Each downed tree was a problem to be solved.  Under, over, around, push through, balance precariously, try and jump, get down off the bridge and into the creek, fight and move and bush bash.

I arrived at the Gellibrand River in good time.  Very good time.  I would have to wait hours for the bus at this pace.  No sooner had I had thoughts to slow down and dawdle, then the first splats of rain began to fall.  I hustled, hoping to make shelter, but I was in a no-mans zone of roadway and bridge construction.  The rain became fierce, bitter and freezing, soaking my shoes instantly. 

With the rain, there went any thoughts of dawdling.  My mission now, reach the end, change into warm gear and put on my new waterproof socks.

The final five kilometers of walking was epic.  The track, easy trail through beautiful cliff top scrub.  The weather, madness, with cyclonic rain one minute and clear blue skies the next.  The scenery, although shrouded in mist, amazing, as I spied the Twelve Apostles for the first time.

I reached the semi-end of the walk. In a gesture I love, instead of at the end of the trail at the information centre, the marker for the trail end is located a little further away on a private cliff top viewing spot.  Here, completers of the trail can hoot and holler, take as many photos as they like, and soak up the feeling of achievement away from the public eye.  Whilst I did do all of those things, it was near impossible, with wind pushing so hard it was difficult to stay on your feet, let alone hold the camera steady.  I laughed and shouted at the absurdness of it all.  Wow oh wow, did I feel alive!

And just like that it was over.  Deposited brusquely into the highly touristed area of Gibson’s Steps, before the final, short push to the Apostles.

Here, the hikers gathered one by one.  Congratulations were made and hot coffees were drunk.  Marg made sure to thank me profusely for the help with the tent pole.  I recognised the look in her eyes….someone who doesn’t like to ask for help.  Like me.  Someone who has had to accept help, surrendered to that, and found it in abundance on the trail.  Like me.  It was a really nice feeling to have been able to pay all the kindnesses I’ve received over the years, forward. 

We all said our final goodbyes and I headed to the bus stop, feeling completely content and happy.  The Great Ocean Walk definitely rates up there as one of the best walks I’ve done.  The scenery, the tracks, the camp sites, the crazy weather, the camaraderie. As I said to the others, “This is one we’ll all be talking about for a long time!” 

PS.  My feet were dry, warm and toasty for the whole bus ride thanks to my new waterproof socks!

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 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.

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!

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.

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…

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!

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.

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 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.  

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.