It’s D day today. In around an hour the whole state will hear whether we are on track for the lockdown to lift. Whether life can become more normal. Whether the walk might go ahead. I have butterflies in my tummy. Fear and hope mix equally. What’s it going to be?
I’ve been in this strange world of denying hope to myself. It seems too risky. Too dangerous mentally. I’ve heard the facts and figures. They couldn’t be better really. But still, my brain refuses to process it into anything that might suggest things are going to work out. Because what if they don’t? What if the dream is going to remain a dream? I can’t process that yet.
I decided to head East again today. Although windy and grey, the rain is holding off. Time to go.
At the risk of being teased into infinity by my family (on account of a long running family joke….at my expense), it’s not long until I realise I’ve been noticed. When you are planning on hiking a long way, you don’t bring many clothes. What’s the point when you just have to carry them everywhere? So I haven’t been well set up for being stuck in the city for an extra 7 days.
I’ve been wearing the same clothes this whole time. My thermals with a “town skirt” over the top. And the “problem” is that my town skirt is really distinctive, with a somewhat indigenous design on the front. The first I realised that I had been noticed was overhearing a group of four talking amongst each other…”Hey, there’s that girl in the skirt again…”And then. “Hey! HEY!!! I like your skirt!! I really like your skirt!!!”. I gave them a wave and a thanks. And then the next group. And then the next. It really is a nice skirt.
The way east wasn’t as pleasant as the previous two directions have been. The greenery wasn’t as prevalent. Tall buildings proof that you are in the midst of a city.
At the 2.5km mark, a glorious reminder of home. A solitary Norfolk pine, reaching for the sky and looking graceful despite being out of context in the city.
A glorious reminder of home in the middle of the city
The rest of the afternoon was spent refusing to think about the walk. It takes a lot of energy to try and not do something. The weather starts to clear leaving the city in an eerie yellow gloaming. My world is on tenterhooks.
The big news of the day is that the glimmer of hope has become just a little bit brighter. Another soloist. Another person who has done the right thing. Another person I am supremely grateful to.
It’s an extreme weather day in Adelaide. Trees have been uprooted, hail has fallen and many people are without power. Selfishly, I look out the window and think of the brimming water tanks out on the trail…
Still, I don my rain gear and get out there. I have the path east to explore. It doesn’t last long. I get to the 2.5km mark and it starts to really bluster down. I decide to call it quits – no point getting sick from a cold at this stage!
View at the 2.5km mark
Many long distance hikers carry what they call “a luxury item”. This is something that doesn’t really make sense to carry, but can add to the overall enjoyment of the trip. Think a tiny, little pillow.
I actually carry quite a number of luxury items. My Kindle for one. Can’t live without that. Another item I have on this trip is a little board game called “Gate”. I am definitely glad of it this afternoon. I battle creatures from the deep, whilst the rain pelts down. Only a couple more days until decisions will be made…..
The lockdown continues. There is cause for a modicum of hope, as only one person tests positive. My level of gratitude to this person for having not been in the community is palpable. We are all at the mercy of each other.
Despite the image that long distance hiking appears wild and free, there is actually an inordinate level of routine involved. Wake up, coffee, pack up, walk, have a break, walk, have a break, walk, arrive at camp, set up tent, make dinner, sleep. It’s like clockwork every day.
I find that I have slipped into a daily routine in my hotel room as well. Wake, read in bed, coffee, make breakfast, wait for the press conference, wash up, watch the press conference, do my blog, have lunch, go for my 90 minute walk, get supplies, TV, bed. In it’s own way it’s just as controlled as you need to be to make it through the walking goals each day. It comforts me to think that this is mental training in its own right.
The pathway South took me through a number of parks and roadways. Whilst still grey, the air had lost its potent freeze.
View at the 2.5km mark
Highlights included listening to the guffawing rainbow lorikeets frolicking in the eucalypts. Getting drunk no doubt on the rich nectar extruding from thousands of new, plump, pink blossoms. We don’t have lorikeets on Norfolk Island, and the noise of them reminds me of childhood. Did you know however, that they have just been named one of the worst native pests in Australia? Their shear numbers and social nature mean they have the capacity to outcompete compatriate species for nest sites and that they are able to bully other species into absolute submission. They can also interrupt plant germination through their voracious seed eating. They are beautiful though. There’s no doubting that.
Fresh blossoms attracting the lorikeets
I also really enjoyed reading many of the indigenous based signage and murals around the city. It’s difficult in a mask, but drawing on years of memory to say hello to people in Pitantjatjara has felt a bit like coming home. “Wai….nyuntu palya?” “Uwa kungka”. I’m so blessed to have spent so much time with the indigenous mob in the desert.
Bush track
So the wait continues. With a tiny glimmer of hope – for the state, for the people and for my walk.
Time to head back to the cityMore eucalypt lined pathways
I woke up in a much more positive frame of mind today. Wandering about supply shopping in the eerie stillness of the lockdown had illuminated a shocking disparity between my situation and that of others, in the form of homelessness.
Whether it be the lack of camoflauge on the street; the need for people to be on the move in order to avoid police attention; or just a general malaise of foreboding amongst friends, homelessness in the city during a lockdown seems (to me at least) to be far more conspicuous than usual.
Which is immeasureably sad to say the least. Here I am thinking I’m doing it tough because I’m on holidays and have to stay in my hotel room for an extra week…Come on Mel. Get a grip. It’s not all as black and white as that I know. But the despair and sense of shame I felt in witnessing SO many people who are doing it tough, has been enough to knock me out of my reverie a little. To stop feeling so despondent and sorry for myself. And to try and embrace my situation a little. Here we go.
For my 90 minute walk today I decided to go North. The plan was to walk my allocated 2.5km, take a photo, and then meander back using the remainder of my alloted time.
The path North. Unsure how it calculates speed. I’m a fast walker – but not that fast!
The air was chilly and the wind was brisk. Wood smoke stunk beautifully in the air. Th grey skies cast a foreboding shadow over streets already stressed with a hint of fear. Fellow walkers passed, masks on, eyes down, wide bearth.
Got the keys to the city
At the 2.5km mark I was pleasantly surprised to arrive at a small park with grass the colour of crayons and trees brightly burnished.
2.5km mark
At another park, groups of horses all rugged up for the winter grazed slowly and contentedly in paddocks of yellow gold. I had not expected to find such a serene scene so close to the city, and I languished there watching them go about their business for a while.
Country meets the city
I really enjoyed my foray to the north. The churches, the green spaces, the farm animals, the bridges. It was a pleasure to be outside.
Pathway homeHome sweet home. Middle. Seventh floor. Left hand side.
Well. I’m not sure what to say. It’s Thursday the 22nd. And I’ve been in lockdown since Tuesday.
I skipped in to SA though the airport. My approval had come through whilst I was in the air, and it was all smooth sailing. Things were on the up! A sense of profound exhilaration came over me. “This is happening!” I couldn’t help but simultaneously giggle out loud and sigh in relief. The stress had been palpable. Victorious messages were sent to my supporters, and as I fell asleep, thoughts of the trail drifted through my head.
Monday started like any other. I wandered into town and shopped for a few supplies. Gas cylinder, lighter, fresh shoes, new bed roll (my last one got a small puncture that I simply could not find). Food to last a few days. I was set. The bus wouldn’t leave until Thursday. But I was ready. And now able to relax for a couple of days and enjoy the city before I left. For a moment, things were right where they should be. Things were pretty perfect. Until they weren’t.
News started trickling in that a case of Covid had turned up in SA. Restrictions were announced that evening. The mood was still upbeat. The walk still a go.
By morning, that had changed.
“Well. 7 day lockdown. All of SA”
message to my support crew
I’m not going to lie. I was devastated. When I compare myself to other people, my worries appear trivial. But in that moment, all the angst and excitement and fear and anticipation came crashing home. It felt like failure. And it felt insurmountable.
A moment of sadness
I’ve picked up a lot since then. Despite moments of tears. I have a clearer picture of what my options might be – and none of them are terrible. At best, I’ll get to start my walk in a week’s time. At worst, I will fly home and isolate in my lovely little house with my gorgeous little dog for two weeks. There are definitely worse things. At the moment, all I can do is wait and see.
I went for a long walk on Tuesday before the lockdown commenced. 20km or so along the Torrens River. It’s amazing the power that walking has to heal my head. That nature has to heal my heart.
I’m hoping that in a week’s time I will have an unlimited supply of both of these things. In the meantime, I’ll make do with my 90 minutes a day in the city. And be thankful that I even have that.
The river TorrensThe Torrens causewayCity scape natureForested pathwayMy unexplained love of urban graffiti near semi natural surround continuesThe old Hindmarsh cemetary, bordered on two sides by bustling roadway, made me pine for the beauty and calm of Norfolk Island
Well. I really don’t know what to say. I’m sitting in the Brisbane airport. The sun is streaming through the window. Around me, folks chat, enjoy a drink, chow down a snack, grateful for the temporary respite from the mask.
It’s 1.15pm on the 18th July. My name is Mel. And I have been dreaming of going on a long, long walk for three years now. The next few hours will either make or break me.
For those that know me, or have been following my blog for a while now, you will know that I refer to my ill fated attempt at the Pacific Crest Trail in March last year. After over a year of planning and training I was thwarted by Covid a week before leaving. We all were…
Despite my abject disappointment, I’ve really enjoyed my time since. Life’s been good. No complaints. But I was yearning still. Yearning to get out there amongst it, throw my backpack on and test myself both physically and mentally. I simply couldn’t put the idea to rest.
A long walk is an itch I can’t scratch
So an idea was hatched. Instead of America, I would set my sights closer to home…but what? Initially, I thought the Bibbulmann Track was the way to go. Booked a ticket to Western Australia and everything. But the more I looked at the Heysen Trail, the more I was drawn to it. It seemed more wild somehow. Tougher. The red sand that I loved for so many years was beckoning. And so I changed my mind. And I couldn’t have been happier.
The plan seemed simple at the time. The head of my support crew, Aubs, and I would do a substantial training hike in NSW, before I would strike out on my own for South Australia. Flights booked – check. Hiking plan for the Yuragyir Coastal Trail and Solitary Island Coastal Trail combo made – check. Campground bookings, public transport, other accommodation bookings made – check. Parents organised to pick us up at the end of the walk – check. And most importantly, a 3 month long housesitter for Bronte the wonder dog organised – check. Everything was perfectly in order. Everything was perfectly fine.
Until it wasn’t. Two weeks out. Two weeks and you guessed it…Covid. Goddamn, fucking Covid. Plans ruined. At first we started trying to just adapt to the changing situation. “Well I guess we can just stay in QLD and do a couple of walks there?” A couple of days later “Ummm, South Australia have closed off their borders to both QLD and NSW. Holy shit!” “It’ll re-open. It’ll re-open”. “Ummm. The border has not reopened. My housesitter is here to stay. My dream is going down the tubes. Again. BUT! The border between Norfolk Island and South Australia remains open! What do I do?”
It was like a miracle. Somehow, this tiny island – 5km long x 8km wide – had it’s own little section in the travel restriction guide to SA. And there was no restriction! As long as I transited straight through a mainland airport. I broached the subject with the head of my support crew. It was heartbreaking. We’ve been together for three years, but have never been off Norfolk Island together. This was to be a first for us.
My potential ticket to ride
But oh, the selfish relief when he looked at me and gave me the ok to fly straight to Adelaide. Gave us the ok to do our walk later. No matter how this turns out, I will be forever grateful for his support that day. Unwavering support really is the most wonderful gift in the world.
So, it was decided. But boy oh boy it has been hard. The plans have been in constant flux. Tickets to New Zealand have been bought and relinquished. Extra flights to Australia have been bought and relinquished. My flight from Brisbane to Adelaide has been cancelled 5 times in the last 36 hours.
Amongst all this madness, I’ve tried to hold onto my hope. All I want to do is walk and walk and walk. Surely that’s not too much to ask? Maybe it is. I don’t know. I flew yesterday. In Brisbane my onwards flight was cancelled. I was ready and willing to stay in the check in terminal of the domestic airport if I had to. To satisfy the conditions of my entry requirements. Luckily, a beautiful volunteer at the information desk informed me that I could get a quarantine room at the airport hotel. Having that bed has given me the strength to face today.
View from my isolation room this morning.
And it’s been tough. A cancelled flight already this morning. A rebooking for 7 hours later. A tense wait in the airport. And worst of all, I actually don’t have an entry permit for South Australia yet. I applied for it on the 9th July. They say it takes maximum of 7 days. They say they are emailed on the morning of the flight into Adelaide. I haven’t received mine. I have sent a couple of urgent emails. Spoken to someone on the SA transit helpline. I had to point out to that person that there was a specific section for Norfolk Island. I had to argue it with her.
She agreed with me in the end, but it really didn’t fill me with confidence. She told me all I could do was speak to the police at the airport when I arrive. They’ll either let me in or they won’t. Nothing like putting your life in the hands of the gods. Wish me luck. My flight is supposed to leave in one and a half hours.
Regardless of the outcome, I’d already like to thank my support crew from the bottom of my heart. My parents, family, friends, my special little dog who cuddled me through my tears. And especially Aubs, who supported me without complaint, even though it meant that his plans were ruined. The ability to help fulfil someone else’s dreams before your own is the mark of an amazing human being. Thank you Aubs.
Support crew! Ahaha! What is Bronte up to?
Next time I write I’ll either be in Adelaide or I won’t. I’m scared of getting to Adelaide. I haven’t trained properly. I’m nowhere near as fit as I was for my PCT attempt. But I am way more scared of having this dream ripped away from me. Again. Before it even had the chance to begin.
I do. I feel like I could just pick a new spot and keep on going. An endless cycle of walking, camping, exploring, re-supplies, planning, world’s greatest showers. Except I can’t. I’d miss my home too much. My dog. Partner. Friends and family. Even work, I’d miss too much. I’m so completely satisfied with what I’ve done, but I’m left wanting more. Maybe it’s the perfect outcome. Maybe this is how it should be.
I’m contemplating this as I watch my first and last sunrise of the trip. I’m not usually an early riser, but a fellow hiker had urged me to make the effort. Said it was spectacular at this lake. So I did. And it was.
Spectacular sunrise at Lake Garawongera
A yellow hue cast across the sky as the colours of the lake began to come to life. Slowly at first, before reaching a crescendo, the birds start to sing. Life is waking up around me under this pale, daffodil sky.
Morning stillness
I breathe deeply, feeling totally at peace. The anxiousness of losing my PCT dream is gone. Replaced with hope of a new walking adventure, a little closer to home. There are always dreams and goals to be achieved, no matter what the circumstances. And I’m starting to make some new ones. One day I’ll set foot on the PCT. I know I will. I’m strong willed like that. But not yet. Now’s not the time.
I take a last look around, reaffirming my love for this island which has provided me with so much opportunity and so many memories. I wouldn’t be where I am today, and have experienced all that I have, without her. And I love the island for that.
Last view of the lake
The girls have left by the time I get back to camp leaving me to pack up on my own one last time. I am quick and efficient. Everything now has a permanent place in my new bag and the rythym of putting everything away is effortless.
I set off. It’s a quick 7km to Happy Valley. Interesting walking but mostly along firetrails, so it doesn’t quite have the same pristine feel as the rest of the walk.
Helpful sign on the track just before getting into Happy Valley
I arrive by 10am. I had been looking forward to a big, cooked breakfast. Not to be – kitchen closed because of covid. I now had a 4 hour wait for my taxi. This was going to be rather long….
The bar was still open so I got a beer. Hey – I had some celebrating to do! Just as I finished it off, who should pull up but the taxi. I had felt that all through this holiday I had been blessed with lucky fortune, and this was just another example of that. The driver said he could take me straight back to the barge. Usually he couldn’t because it was high tide, but today, the tide was low and the beach was long. There would be enough sand available to drive on. So off we went.
The very last piece of luck fell into place as we careened down the sandy highway. I had been telling the driver that I hadn’t seen a dingo – something I was fairly disapppointed about because I had loved seeing them in the past. And lo and behold, the next minute we spied a skinny female slinking across the beach. She’d just had pups, and was scavenging for food. With pleasure I watched her going about her business before we motored past.
And that’s basically the end of the story for now. Once again, I humbly thank my super support crew who not only took on the responsibility of sending me motivating messages, but also looked after my precious Bronte dog too. These walks wouldn’t have been possible without them, and I am oh so very grateful to have had this opportunity to clear my head and enjoy one of the things I love doing most in the world.
Keep doing what you love to do yorlye. Till next time! xx
It’s nice packing up with a group of people in the morning – jokes being made about who was snoring the loudest and who has the most injuries after one day. Before long though, I bid my goodbyes.
It’s another easy day of walking. The body appreciates it after the longer day yesterday. Suddenly, I find that I’ve finally allowed myself to slow down a bit.
I take my time, meandering through the forest, giant trees acting as silent sentinels. I find myself wondering about them. How many people have they seen? How many birds have used them as homes? How close have they come to being struck down? And how much longer might they stand proudly as queens of the forest? They answer none of my questions for me. Just whisper with their leaves as I pass by.
Queen of the forest
I go through a patch of white-flowered lemon myrtle. When I crush the leaf, rub the fragrant oil into my hands and inhale the lemony scent, I am reminded of cooking fresh fish – the leaves of the myrtle and the fish encased in strands of paperbark and roasted in the open fire. It was the best fish I had ever tasted.
The fresh scent of lemon myrtle brings back some beloved memories
I arrive at the lake and set up camp for the final time. I’ve been becoming more nostalgic during the day. I don’t want it to end. I take all the time in the world to read every bit of signage before making a foray to the lake for a swim.
As many of the other lakes have been, it is still and quiet. The golden glow of the water refracts the light and the reflection of the surrounding landscape can be seen clearly. The sand is crisp white and there is a bed of green reeds with a distinctive parting that frames the mountains in the background. It is so pleasurable just to sit and soak it all in.
Mountains framed by reedsLake Garawongera in all its stunning colour
I feel happy. Completely and utterly happy. The feeling is profound.
I spend the rest of the afternoon picnicking and munching my way through some of the food that is left. I have more left over after this walk – something I think I can trace back to the couple of beers under my belt when I went shopping for my re-supply back in Rainbow Beach. Oh well, better to have some left over than be feeling hungry!
For some reason I think this might be my favourite photo of the whole trip. It just brings back how I was feeling. Fit and healthy. Relaxed, happy and content.
Evening falls and I’m at the lake. Just when I think I’m going to be alone, two young girls show up. The first thing I think is that is has been so pleasing to see so many women, of all ages, out there hiking and enjoying it. The second thing is, I’m wondering what they are doing…they have a life straw (a straw which filters water) and they are both knee deep in the lake, bent over and sucking on this thing, all whilst trying not to get wet. It is, in fact, hilarious to watch, and I surmise that they are fairly new to this past time.
We get to chatting, and talking about the walk. They are excited and nervous. There is less people out here than they thought there would be. They leave me down at the beach and tell me they’ll see me up at camp.
I enjoy my last sunset. Try not feel sad. I journey back up to the campsite, and find that I have company! Despite a large campground with a dozen spare sites, the girls have elected to camp right next to me – less than 10m away! I can’t help but laugh to myself and I let it slide. “Karma Mel, karma”. I tell myself it’s the universe telling me I need to more tolerant and flexible at the campsites. And honestly, they are quiet as mice all night.
First, a precautionary tale for potential walkers. You will walk into Lake McKenzie walkers camp. You will slowly peruse the sites, looking for the perfect place to call home for the night. You are about to put your bag down, when suddenly you see it out of the corner of your eye.
This site is just a little bit brighter than the others. Just a little bit shadier. The ground is perfectly flat with not even the hint of a slope. Surrounded by trees whose leaves are just that little bit greener. Dappled sunlight streams through their foliage. A log, placed at the table, is at the perfect height for sitting comfortably and is steady as a rock.
The dingo box has a small hole in it. You hesitate, unsure about this now, but like the lure of the sirens this site has convinced you to stay, have a rest, put your feet up. You drop your bag.
“DON’T! RUN FROM THAT SITE AS FAST AS YOU CAN! IT’S A TRAP!”
Me pleading to any hiker who’ll listen
Following my near perfect day I retreated to the campsite and commenced dinner preparations. It fell dark, but I was content cooking and reading with my torch on. Suddenly a noise in the bush! A very loud noise! I tentatively shone out my torch, hoping to see something benign. A wallaby? Sugar glider? Friendly gecko?
Instead, four sets of red, beady eyes stared sullenly back at me. A rat pack. As one, they began to march on where I was seated. I screamed and jumped on top of the table. Still they advanced. I stamped my feet and yelled. They smirked. Within meters of me they split up and ran around the table jumping with evil glee. I was on an island in a sea of rats. And they were going to get into that dingo box come hell or high water. Other things I can manage. This I could not do.
I jumped from the table, pulled up stakes and hoisted my tent into the air running for my life in a blind panic. My fortunes held. I stumbled into a site about 50m away. I checked the dingo bin. Sealed tight. Over the course of the next half an hour I summoned the courage time and time to go back and collect my things. The rats laughed at my suffering.
The new site was not as glossy, and had a definite slope, but it was blessedly silent. No scurrying through the bush. And for that I was supremely grateful. You’ve been warned. Don’t let the siren call of the site tempt you, as it did me…
Now onto the walk. This walk is advertised as taking 6-8 days to complete. I only had 5 days, so needed to make some time up. Today was going to be it. I was going to skip the Lake Wabby campground and walk all the way to Valley of the Giants. Long day, but definitely manageable.
First up, an 11km walk to Lake Wabby. Again, the track skirted Lake McKenzie before winding it’s way through dense, green forest. There were no real difficult parts, and I arrived at the Lake Wabby campground by mid morning.
Sunny stroll
From here a connundrum. To drop the bag in the dingo safe bins and walk the 1.6km to the lake and then all the way back for a swim? Or take said bag with me and either leave it on the track (considered a no no as the dingoes can potentially take the bag / rip into it for food) or not go for a swim at all? I decided to drop the bag and go at least to the lookout 500m away. If there weren’t too many people, I would go for a swim. If there were heaps, I would go back grab my bag and keep on truckin’.
At the lookout, I veiwed not a single person at the lake. This was usually a tourist hotspot – and I would have it to myself! I sped off.
Hammerstone sandblow at Lake WabbyThe unusual Lake Wabby
Lake Wabby is really unusual. Picture a sandblow, that dips sharply so that the steep dune runs directly into the lake. Something like that. I race down, strip off my clothes (I know, I know – it’s becoming a theme) and jump in. There’s nothing like swimming naked, alone, in green, murky water with at least ten wobbygong sharks swimming around you. Gulp. At least it was refreshing. And I was glad I had made the effort.
Run…and…jump!Don’t mind my bra…check out the sharks!
Now back up to get my bag again, back down the track again, and I was on my way. Another 15km or so to the campsite.
I enjoyed this next section of the track. It felt more remote than anywhere else on the island. Like you had been given permission to go into somebody’s room and look through all their personal secrets. This was the humming heart of the island, that allowed the rest of it to tick.
The heartbeat of the island
There were a lot of fallen trees on the track, and I enjoyed the challenge of working out how to go across, above, below or around them. Though the excitment of the challenge did start to wear thin the later in the day it got.
Anyone for an obstacle course?
Eventually, I arrived at camp. Imagine my shock when the place was abuzz with people! This was a walkers group from Brisbane, and the only site left was on a double space site, right next door to someone else. I wasn’t particularly happy. And must have been giving off that vibe, because one of the group jumped up and willingly gave up his single site to move into the double. I really appreciated the gesture. Thank you if you are ever reading this.
I set up and enjoyed the banter of the group. Tired after the long day, I was in bed early. I’m not sure if it was because I was so tired, or, after the horrors of the previous night I felt safer in the group environment, but I had a fantastic sleep.
I woke early, feeling refreshed. Following the storm, the air was crisp and clear. The morning cuppa was perfect.
The first leg of the walk contoured around Lake Benaroon. At times the track was quite overgrown, and in the dripping conditions, my shoes and socks were soaked in no time. It didn’t matter. The sun was shining and it was going to be a gorgeous day.
Wet feet and sunshine
I stopped in briefly at Lake Birabeen where the atmosphere was still and sage like. I spied a male red backed fairy wren flitting through the trees, and it let me admire it for a while.
Early morning at Lake Birrabeen
It was really easy walking through to Central Station. Usually a busy hub of traffic, it was eerily quiet. I stopped to have a break and was immediately picked upon by a young butcher bird, eager for a take of the food. It left empty handed.
Walking track crosses the vehicle track
Wangoolba creek is a place of pristine beauty. A creek, that looks like it has the clearest water in the world, trickles sedately through lush rainforest dominated by the mighty king fern. The boardwalks were empty when I walked through, and I could hear the water tinkling as birds called mournfully. It was lovely to experience in such peaceful conditions.
Beautiful Wangoolba creek, with what seems like some of the clearest water in the world
After another 4km of nice, easy walking I came to Basin Lake. I had really been looking forward to this, having visited once before. It’s one of those sites that are accessible by walking only, so it has a feeling of mystique and isolation about it that is different from heavily visited areas.
Nobody there. And it was so beautiful. I stripped off immediately and plunged in, screaming in delight at the icy waters, and the feeling of shedding sweat and grime.
One lone.pack at Basin Lake
I sat on the bank in the sunshine and dried off. It was just a perfect moment. Clear, blue water with sun sparkling. Peahens fishing and chirping in the water in their distinctive way. Dragonflies droned and there was a general drowsy feeling. A majestic white bellied sea eagle swooped in and patrolled the waters looking for a catch. It was magnificent and mine.
Just catching some rays. 😊😊
After an hour or two I donned the pack and kept going. It was a gentle 4km to Lake McKenzie and before long I arrived at the big, dingo proofed campsite.
I set up camp and walked the short distance to the lake. Picture what you would describe as the most beautiful lake in the world. Blindingly white sand. Azure blue water. Vast. And encircled in a hug by trees. That’s Lake McKenzie. It is beautiful. And it was also bustlingly busy.
Gorgeous Lake Mckenzie
I dived in and then sat on the shore in my underwear for a while, feeling incongruous and out of place. Eventually, I headed back to camp and spent a pleasant afternoon reading in the shade.
I went back to the lake a few hours later. There was still plenty of people around. I heard a grown man, swimming, exclaim with a giggle, “There’s a warmer patch right here if you know what I mean!” Read the sign dick. It’s a basin lake. Nothing goes in. Nothing goes out, Except rainwater. And now your piss. Nice.
As the sun sank lower and lower, so too did the crowd. Eventually there was but a handful of people watching the reflections of the dunes, and the pinks and blues.
Sunlit reflectionsSinking sun
And then it was just me. It was a magic moment. Pristine and perfect. I walked the lake edge and revelled in the solitude. Shadows darkened, and reflections brightened. Both the water and the clouds brilliant in shades of grey, purple and orange. The last calls of the birds sang out and echoed in the stillness.
Alone with the beautiful lake
I stayed until the clouds lost their colour and the lake became dark. It felt like this was her time now, to rest and be peaceful, before the hoardes arrive again in the morning. I bid her goodnight and thanked K’gari – “paradise” in the Butchulla language – for providing me with such a wondrous day. You really don’t get much better.
