Sunday 6th August 2016
Ruth kindly dropped me off at Qantas on Sunday morning and I flew to Perth. I sat next to Obeid a young Afghani Muslim who works for UNICEF. He was off to Perth to set up their fundraising at Carousel shopping centre.
On arrival I retrieved some left over food from my last trip which the Smithson’s had kindly looked after and then bought some Gas from Mountain Designs and went back to my hotel for a final pack. Craig took me out to dinner at Mt Lawley where we were able to catch up, and hear among other things about his family. Back to the hotel for a preparatory sleep.
Monday 7th August 2016
Turtleback time.
It was on again. I caught the bus from Perth to North Bannister on the Albany Highway arriving about 9.30am. It was a two kilometre walk back to the Bibbulmun Track and then I was off again.
Monday was a fine day and the walk through the first part was pleasant and refreshing. When I got distracted I missed one of my Waugul (Rainbow Serpent) pointers. Half an hour lost but a good reminder to keep alert. Back on the track I began the first of four climbs for the week. Steadily up Boonerring Hill (520 Mt). A granite dome shaped rock crested this hill and was interfaced with clear sky and lovely wildflowers. I discovered during the week that the wildflowers seemed to be in early bloom in the high places rather than their infrequent appearance in the lowlands. Pressing on in my early stages of unfitness the afternoon grew late and one hill to climb (Kimberling 460 metres +). By then it was into the dark on the descent. Fortunately after 16 kilometres the White Horse Hills hut popped out of the trees just after sunset and I was at home for the night. The salty soup is always welcome and then I set about rehydrating my tea, laid out my mattress with sleeping bag and off to nap. But it was a freezing night in the hill and I pulled my Space Blanket over me for the night, which gave me that added protection from the cold.
Tuesday 9th August 2016
A bit slow in the morning as a result of flagging energy meant I started late again. Another late arrival and less recovery time. Oh to have the fitness of the end of my last stint where I could do 16 kilometres in four hours
Sixteen kilometres to Mt Wells campsite and my body was crying out early to divest itself of the pains in the lower back, right hand shoulder, middle back and in the balls of my feet. I am thankful for the trees that fall in the forest that hears my wincing and ask me to rest awhile. I give the log a tap in case the real Wauguls want to eat my boots. Slowly the distance between stops increases and the pack is more on than off.
I mark the little achievements to the next fire track or to the South Dandalup River, which feeds one of the reservoirs of Perth. Half way to Mt Wells and the track takes the easy path along a fire track and visions of an early arrival begins to form.
But the 540 metres to the top of Mt Wells are unrelenting and darkness forms and my organization defy remembering where the head torch is. I scramble through the daypack on top of the backpack and find my hand torch but it is faulty. It flickers on and off: not really what you want at seven o’clock at night knowing that you are near to where you should be but don’t know how to get there.
Eventually the hand torch stabilizes with enough flickering light and walking back I wonderfully find the turn off Waugul to the campsite. But the track weaves and winds and I lose sight of my snaky friends in the flickering light. Persistence is rewarded and we break out onto a plateau where there is a water tower and a mobile transmitter and the hut.
The hut tonight is different. It is three roomed, with doors, accommodation for the workers of the tower. In Bib tradition there is no power but there is the water tank and, at a distance, the loo are there. Soup and meal consumed quickly and into the bag.
Wednesday 10th August 2016
Up early determined to make a better start. Chadoora Hut is 15 kilometres away and the terrain looks a little gentler. My back still screams out for a rest. The descent of Mt Wells takes a while then it is onto the flats again. I fling the pack and prostrate my back on the bauxite pebbles and regain the energy to pick it up again.
I meet my only companion for the week. He is traveling solo from Dwellingup to Mundaring. He is dressed lightly in shorts and jumper with shortish gaiters. He looks fit and able and talks confidently about the walk. We part.
The Muja power transmission lines are overhead and I have now crossed under them three times and walked ten ks under them back in May. We are never far from anything on the Bib track. To my left is the Boddington Gold mine, which is secreted away with their huge tailings dump in the background.
Just before the power lines is a rise, which challenges energy and understanding. Flat on the map is obviously not the flat I have in my mind. Now we cross the Pindalup Road and I can smell the water of the Campsite tanks. Eventually passing along the Swampy Oak Brook my eyes are on alert for the Tigers in search of frogs and I hang my pack on a tree for one last prostration in the face of exhaustion.
And then it pops up. The Chadoora Campsite, which has been a mirage in every big tree for the last hour, has become a reality. And in at 4.30pm which suggests improvement in my capacity.
Tonight I light a fire with firewood gathered by the guy I passed on the track. I dry a few clothes and my balaclava. But the fire is mainly for company. The shelter of the space blanket is not really necessary but it goes over the top of my bag, just in case. I had eaten a two serving of dehydrated lamb and mashed potato. Too much, must break these packets into two. Cleaning my teeth in a mug I give myself an insulin shot, douse the medication with Gatorade and listen for the rustle of the breeze and the Roos.
Thursday 11th August 2016
Up early and away quickly at last. Confusing map suggest 15 or 20 kilometres to Dwellingup. Turns out to be the latter but I arrive just after 4pm – a seven-hour coverage, which suggests my pace, is picking up.
We wound our way through a beautiful variety of domain. Close-knit forest provides a small avenue for progression. Then it breaks into a main road but the Bib people want you away from cars and so it is back to the bush. We are now in tall timber country where forests were once milled. The remnants of an old logging train line break out near Inglehope alongside the Pinjarra Williams road. It is tempting to jump out and hitch a lift into Dwellingup but I kid myself that it is not far.
We reach the Etmilyn Station and hope for a train; I could wait until Sunday. Not far now I say, forgetting that this well preserved line belongs to the Hotham Valley Railway. And what comes down to Etmilyn must go back up to Dwellingup. Eight kilometres up a hill. That is two hours of good walking. I am still inexperienced in working such things out. I tire of the bush bashing designed by the Bib people and break out onto a fire track. I look at the next climb and decide that it would be better on the railway track as the gradient is more even. And I see by foot the beauty of what people see on the train only tugging the turtle makes it less enjoyable. What I thought was to be a sprint was now a marathon and the unending climb was pausing my patience. I must really learn what those contour lines secretly mean.
Passing by hobby farms suggest civilization but they are out of town and the clambering continues. Then I see the Macadam miracle and know that I am on the fringe of Dwellingup. I summon my energy and walk through the Recreational Reserve towards the Information Centre to pick up my parcels of food. But they closed at 3.30pm and it is now 4.15pm. I begin to walk away when Marion calls out, “I have been waiting for you.” Dear Dwellingup soul and she loaded my kilos of goodies onto weary arms and a weary frame. Fortunately the Hotel/Motel is just over the road and I staggered over to accept my booking. An enormous lemon squash with ice helped me devour a large pack of salt and vinegar crisps (bartender is from Northern Ireland).
With body creaking I lumbered towards my room. It was typical paradise after the walk. Big bed, kitchen and the shower. Sleep and another therapeutic morning shower relinquished some pain in the hot water, more by panadol, much more. The possibility of a two-day rest and resuming the Bib on Saturday now arises like the small fist of a cloud.
The Parma was too much after dehydration as was the Sticky Date pudding. The Chef must have thought I lacked taste.
I woke after several hours and turned the telly off and later the reverse cycle. I was awake early the next morning. Habit.
Friday 12th August 2016
Today I spent most of the time reorganizing my pack. I really can’t carry the Archie comics again and have to relinquish my lifetime supply of Toblerone again and be content with mini Mars bars. The hotel washed my clothes for $20 so only my jumper smells smoky.
Bought some supply from the local IGA and found the Blue Wren cafe a place for good coffee. The Post Office lady helped me trans ship the unwanted to future destinations so. Tomorrow what marginal effect my shedding has on the turtle will be known.
The Irish pie beckons at the Pub so I will go. Again a monstrous meal. Beth and I had a meal at Arcadia in Northern California where they fed you like they did the Lumberjacks. Must be a tradition in logging towns. Every meal is monstrous. The big screen tells me the other Pies are equal with the Bullies – 47 apiece. I have had my steak in dedicated form, which has softened the meat to tenderness and helped the Houghtons dry go down.
Tomorrow I start my seven-day journey from Dwellingup to Collie. About 106 kilometres. I am told it is a journey of silence and beauty, including the absence of mobile coverage.
My editor is in Melbourne so you will have to endure the typos and nonsensical.
Saturday 13th August 2016
The Turtle feels ominously heavy after I stuffed all my belongings into my backpack at the Motel. A few final purchases at the IGA it was then up to the top of town to start my journey south.
So far we have been meandering east of Perth then across towards the coast ending up in Dwellingup. Today has a definite southerly feel as we head towards the Swamp Oaks Camp site – 13 kilometres away. The track meanders through some forest near to town and the hobby farms will keep bobbing up for a while yet, Near River Road I meet a lady taking her two dogs for a walk, one a noisy unrestrained Lab, the other a beautiful docile Kelpie. We chat about what a great Saturday it is. I ask her does she own the B&B Ruth and I stayed at back in April but she tells me she is her neighbour. And then the Kelpie is off the lease and she too is off, unrestrained by a Turtle. We strike a pine plantation. The secret beauty of this place awes me as I tread softly on pine needle and draw in the aroma. I cross a gravel road and see a car parked and the owner and her mongrel looking dog soon catch me up as they jog off to enjoy this beauty in their own way. Another couple is returning from their speedy Saturday race down to Yarrigal. I am amazed how quickly people move without the burden of a pack.
They share stories and I ask about the burnt out bridge down the track, which has meant the creation of a dreaded twelve ks Diversion. They say it is no creek and while people may have crossed in knee height water recently the rain would have caused the river height to rise.
People are out today and I had forgotten that we are still close enough to civilization for people to find their way to the track on the weekend. I even encountered a Telstra technician doing some work in a pit several kilometres outside of the town. I admire his ardor on the weekend and tell him he could find some work in the Somers area should good nature appeal to the needs of the less pleased Telstra customers. Trundling on through the pine plantation I find myself ready for lunch and drop my load near a road just below the afternoon challenge, a 250-meter hill on the way to the camp. I prostrate in the sunlight munching on my Pastie from Dwellingup and crunch my first of three apples. Then it is pack on and up the hill. Half way and I am greeted by a txt from Chris and a photo of a table full of Pasties in McKinnon. I take advantage of this last blip in communication and talk with Ruth then on up the hilly drag.
On reaching the circling road at the top I miss the Waugul (snake guide sign), which is a combination of first day inattentiveness and being drawn to a road rather than a track. By the time I realize my error I am down the bottom of a hill and the re-climb takes away time and energy. I reconnect and now weave my way across some low hills towards the campsite. I find that I overestimate how much territory I have covered and think the camp should appear sooner than it would. I am within striking distance when a rush of two-poled treckers overwhelms me. Appropriately donned in designer gear the female leader races past me and I am determined not to let the other three do the same lest I miss a good spot at the campsite. Eventually I relent and let them pass. The third is less eager and more chatty and shows me her Apple wrist thingy, which allows phone calls, takes heart rate and blood pressure and is able to measure closeness to
demensure and boils. It also measures her pace and she tells me they have done 13.8 kilometres and the camp is near. Sure enough around the next corner it magically appears. The first two people are tenters and have claimed the best tent site leaving Miss Apple to the other bumpy spot. The guy and I split the hut so I don’t have to sleep on the mezzanine which I prefer not to as climbing down the ladder to divest water in the middle of the night is a bit awkward.
So we are nicely set up. I discover that the four of them are entrants in the Oxfam challenge and each weekend do a bit of the Bib to prepare for the 100 kilometres in 24-hour challenges. I think of Justin and Warwick and their successful attempts at the same.
We introduce ourselves and become chatty and share stories and experiences. I even learn how to do up bootlaces in a different way to take the pressure off your toes. I pass on what I have discovered on my trek and they are most appreciative. It is all very mutual and supportive. I tell them of Beth’s grandnephew who is a competitive rock climber who said that rock climbers while being competitive share all the knowledge they could with each other.
Another couple join us, on their weekend retreat, he wanting to try out a wonky knee before trying bits of the Bib.
A common connection appears, as most of us seem to have a link with Kalgoorlie. Some were born there, others worked there and some – like me passed through there; had a daughter born there and have a half sister there. As they say not far from some link with each other.
I was now back in routine and munched my dehydrated, washed my fangs and off to a fire brightened slumber.
Sunday 14th August 2016
Up and away by 9am on the way to Murray Campsite some 18.6 kilometres away. Hills begin to lump up and the morning climb is relatively easy. A winding path again provides a gentle pathway for the feet on the needle type droppings from the trees. The summit is majestic with splendid views of the surrounds in a lovely sunny clarity. I meet a sojourner from the south who has joined the track at the Harvey Quindanning Road and has walked the diversion track and tells me it is manageable. I look at this muscled individual with his huge pack and think, “For him, anything would be manageable.” He must have read my mind and tells me there is a seat around the corner, which there is. On this section of the track the responsible caretaker warriors have installed three sleeper seats at appropriate places. The added beauty is they have carved the distance to the huts at each direction, which gives some clue to map bearings. My phone pings telling me that I have coverage and I chat with Ruth who breaks from another luncheon party to talk with me. I then descend with greater incline sharpness than the ascent and am thankful for the little, but not all relief on my toes from the new laces pattern. My left big toe is black from the previous Bib stint and I wait to pull it off, a la Wild style. I arrive at Yarrigal Form as they call it, a beautiful spot on a creek not a long drive from Dwellingup but a long enough walk. That couple yesterday must have been dropped off to walk back so quickly.
It makes me mindful that these places are accessible for the moment if one has the support to do so. Rental cars however cannot come down gravel roads because of insurance restrictions. That will come to an end on Wednesday when access becomes more inaccessible.
I prostrate for lunch in the quiet solo Sundayness and munch away on my light bread and Vegemite and have apple number two. A car is parked on the nearby road. The next ten kilometres consist of climbing with some flat pathways. I have my mini breaks by bending and resting the pack on my bent back; then I have a longer break on many logs and rocks; I have my pack off and, if necessary I take out the groundsheet and prostrate worshipping the god of great relief.
I meet two girls who own the car back at Yarrigal Form. They have walked down to see the Murray River. They tell me where I am on the map and tell me that the little bridge on the map is only 500 metres away. A bit of an underestimation.
We now hit the region hit by the massive bushfires here last summer. The fire that burnt down Yarloop. The ravage is obvious although some re-growth is also present in little leafy twigs or regenerating grass trees or small tufts springing from the ground.
There was a strange black and green combination, which has its own unique disaster/recovery theme. The track now begins to muddle its way from the heights down water ravaged slippery gullies and I am mindful of the “one step at a time” policy, particularly for one in his “final phase”!! I hit the magnificent Murray River with its large tidal swell, bolstered by the early spring rains. The white water is frothing at times and I look forward to the even pathway to the hut only to be disappointed by the predictable final moments climb. It seems that reward is often not without final pain. I am chuffed to see the fire from a distance which means company for the night and when I arrive I am greeted by a retired Dad and his early twenties daughter. Their dog accompanies them and is expected to carry a two sided pack containing her own food, a fold up water bowl and some other belongings as well. They have been dropped off early in the day at Driver Road (where I will walk to tomorrow) and have walked the ten kilometres to the camp. Tomorrow they will walk the 11 kilometres back to Yarrigal Form – where I had lunch and be picked up there. I continue to be impressed by what people do with our wilderness on the weekends.
We eat and chat around the fire and the young girl is wearing a swimming club T shirt. She tells me she holds the Australian record for 1500 metres in disabled swimming in her class. She has mixed feelings about the Olympics as this was to have been her moment. Not sure she should worry too much as the Olympics have been corrupted beyond measure and are at risk of losing their media money if things don’t change. I tell her Kerryn Harvey’s story and what she has done with her life. The young lady hopes to walk the Bib one day and has a love of being in the bush.
They have their classy little fold up nets set for Marron (fresh water crays) but only catch those small ones, which have to be returned to the water.
This Campsite was touched by the bushfires, which buckled the plastic roofing but all else seemed in order. That is apart from the rail by the campfire, which protected walkers from the drop at the side of the campfire. The rail is gone which I discovered as I fell in the dark when I took a step backwards. My companions came racing down to see if I was ok. I was lucky in this first fall as I landed on the dead coals from previous fires in the fire pit. Apart from a sore toe, everything was ok.
The sounds in the night included the dog moving, though not barking which I thought might have happened. However she is an older Lab and I guess has the attitude of let be rather than consent to the aggravation of intrusion.
A good sleep in company again.
Monday 15th August 2016
We are up early and off at a reasonable time in different directions. Dookanelly Campsite is 20ks away. They tell me that I will have an early climb followed by a journey along the river, which proves to be true. It is a delightful trek with the huge burnt gums and the gurgling Murray intersecting sight and sound. The timber is magnificent. Obviously an old logging coup with the fragments of huge trees still present over a metre and a half in diameter and straight and true. Where logs have fallen across the track, which happens often, you can see the even concentric circles of growth we were told to look for back in High School woodwork classes. There are various phases in the day. The early pain of the pack and the length of the anticipated walk raise all the existential questions about the purpose of this part of life. Then relieved of the burden, lying on the groundsheet one is encouraged to pursue further beauty through pain.
And then it rained. Bucketing and humid. I pulled out my Space Blanket for further protection. In the build up to the rain the perspiration poured off me. In the cool, which followed, I found myself very cold and changed out of the wet so called wicking singlet and shirt into something dry in my bag. It wasn’t long before that was wet as well.
Resuming the challenge of getting there overestimates capacity and so the day drags out with little discouragements. Knowing where you are is of great importance and lining up creeks, tracks and other things on the map is critical for morale. We weave away from the river and then back to it and it was a sign that we are getting closer to Driver Road leaving a 4 kilometres uphill to the camp. Now here is the rub. We have to go 4 kilometres up the hill to Dookanelly Camp knowing that you will have to come 4 kilometres back down that track the following morning to take the Diversion to the next hut at Possum Springs Campsite which will be thirty kilometres away. The diversion will add 12.6 ks to Tuesday’s trip meaning a 15-hour day. A temptation not to climb the hill and camp by the river reducing the trip by four kilometres. But the sign says you can only camp at Dookanelly or Possum Springs so up the hill we go.
The bonus is that half way up the hill the phone pings and it is a good time to download emails and talk with Ruth.
Finally we get to the campsite and again are greeted by a distant campfire. Gear is spread out everywhere but it all belongs to one person who makes space for me.
Turns out that he did not do the Diversion and waded across the river where the bridge used to be before the fire. Carrying over 40 kilograms in two packs he waded neck high across the Murray River – twice. Given he was a knockabout tradey from the Territory – a fit and able 45 year old he had a chance at and took it. It was the final piece, which confirmed my decision to walk the Diversion. But it too would have a price.
Turns out that my new friend was a man of many manual skills who had lived in three states and had traveled more. He was an “end to ender”. He expressed a genuine love of the bush and had many stories about his journey. He tended to avoid the towns, which are more prevalent in the southern section of the Bib. He had been coming up from Albany in the last months. I was a bit concerned that he carried with him two large knives, which he quickly put away after I arrived. Nevertheless!!
He was ADHD and said it had affected his judgment in some ways. He missed his girlfriends organizing capacity. He also had a lot of antique gear, which added to his carrying extra weight including a four-man tent!
An early night as an early rise was to follow.
Tuesday 16th August 2016
I decided to leave at 6am the next morning with an ETA of 9pm at Possums Springs the following night. I actually awoke earlier, probably aroused by curiosity over the knives. Which is interesting as you generally approach people on the Bib thinking they are of good intent! But sometimes you wonder.
I packed more quickly than normal and was away by 6.20am. Back down the track and to Driver Road and I quickly found the diversion. The early part of the day was easy but then I began to climb, and climb and climb! So much for the advice from the Sunday sojourner but then he was going the other way, which may have been easier. My energy was depleting and I found myself stopping and resting more frequently sending an ominous message. My big toe was throbbing and the balls of my feet felt very sore as if blistered. As I rolled around the 4WD track some of the track was mushy in the early part but quite firm later. At about 1.30pm I found a tree with DP 72 1 carved into it. This was the way the Fireys of old marked location trees and many still exist. With GPS these markers are no longer necessary. Finding DP 72 1 gave me a clear marker on the map and told me that the end of the diversion was near. Thirty minutes later I met a big ute/truck with a bunch of unlikelies all with tinnies and four big barking dogs in the back. I thought it best not to get too involved. They told me that the Harvey-Quindanning Road was very very close and off they went. I think that they were after meat of some sort with and for themselves or their dogs!!
I crossed a pretty little creek and rose up the last rise to Harvey -Quindanning Road. It gave me a real sense of achievement for this ended the first section of the Bib known as the Darling Range section. This section is managed by the Mundaring offices of the Parks people. The new section is managed from Collie, to which I was heading. I have walked 280 kilometres since leaving the Northern Terminus in April and 130 kilometres since leaving North Bannister last Monday. It was now 3 o’clock and I now had to walk 6 kilometres down the H-Q road to pick up the Bib track and then another 8 kilometres along the track to the camp. I had carried extra water and that was holding out but my energy was not. After resting it was now three o’clock and I wished that one of the few passing vehicles would offer a ride to the Bib track but they did not. When it reached 4pm I stopped.
I had nearly reached the track but it was clear that I would be walking in the dark for several hours along the track. I had already done more than a day’s normal walking and what shape would I be in for a 19 kilometres walk tomorrow. As I walked my phone would intermittently ping and Ruth and I had several conversations about what was going on. I told her I knew Tuesday was going to be a big day and that I would plod on. A little bit more and I thought that it would not only be Wednesday but Thursday and Friday as well to deal with, 62 kilometres in all. I kept walking and felt something of the impossibility of what I was doing and said to myself; “If the phone pings again I will call it quits for now!” The phone pinged – I rang Ian from Harvey taxis that drove the 40 kilometres out, picked me up and brought me into a Motel in Harvey. I would not have had that type of access road for the rest of the week and have been able to exit on Wednesday or Thursday.
So, the beginning of some measures of recovery over the next few days until Ruth and I connect on Friday. She will fly over to Perth, pick up a hire car and drive to Collie. We will meet at Harvey, which is on the way. Then I will continue as planned with the Collie to Balingup leg from Sunday until Wednesday. I will have to pick up the three days of walking this section of the track at some other time.
Wednesday to Saturday 16th to 20th August 2016
Off the Bibbulmun Track.
So here I am in Harvey on another bleak, windy wet day.
This weather threatens to continue over the weekend.
The benefit of rest is already evident but I am still hobbling.
I think survival is dependent on moderating ambition with sanity.
WEDNESDAY TO SATURDAY LAST WEEK
I did enjoy my three-day break in Harvey last week after a sudden conclusion to my walk from Dwellingup to Collie. The diversion last week was a bit of a ordeal for me and, faced with an 8 kilometres walk in the dark I decided on safety over conclusion and called a taxi. He came out the 35 or so kilometres and picked me up also rescuing my feet from any further pain. It gave me a chance to catch up with some rest, washing and “real” food after the dehydrated goodies I normally eat on the track. Ruth picked me up at Harvey last Friday and we scooted down to Collie to spend Friday night, Saturday and Saturday night together. Ruth stayed on for Sunday night as well. This gave us time to experience this famous coalmining town and to see the start of the legendary Collie-Donnybrook return Bike race.
FRIDAY AND SATURDAY.
Thursday and Friday was spent catching up with laundry and eating. I spent a lot of time at the Harvey Library and the Coffee Shops.
Late on Friday afternoon Ruth arrived by Rental Car and we drove to the Motel at Collie. A good meal at the Pub behind the Motel was followed by a good sleep. Saturday we watched the preparation for the Collie – Donnybrook return Bike Race and saw some riders off. We shopped at the shopping centre and lunched at McDonalds. Rest followed and we ate again at the Pub.
A good night of rest followed – five good days off the track.
Sunday 21st August 2016
Sunday it was off again on the track having left three sections incomplete for another day. Sunday was a meandering through the bush from Collie to the Hut at Yabberup (19.6 kilometres). Past the Mungalup Dam, under the Muja power lines again; through ancient logging coupes. The only folks I was to meet were a Father and two later Primary Children who were walking from Mumballup to Collie, overnighting at Yabberup. The countryside was undulating but not demanding and I sauntered through some lovely Jarrah forests with early spring still threatening. A few Roos and red tailed cockatoos were present, the latter obvious by the leaves on the path from their picks on trees above the path. There was one large River (The Collie) to cross and a number of little streams. Sometimes the boots are immersed leaving your feet cold but not wet due to the good construction of the boots. Muddy paths and slippery clay are often a danger and every step needs to be calculated and thoughtful. The conky nuts often cause a minor slip but you seem to steady as they crush under your feet in the mud.
I finally arrived at the sign, which said Yabberup Campsite – 450 metres. But it was all up hill. The bonus was it was early enough to get the campfire going. This is necessary to dry clothes as I perspire profusely and despite the wicking effect of various layers I wear the clothes are still saturated. The nights are very cold and if there is not much wind the clothes do not dry overnight. However with a little warmth they dry out very quickly. I thought of “Smokey” Dawson often and got a whiff of understanding as to how he got his name. I was alone in the campsites each night during this stint, which is both eerie and welcoming. It means you get on with your jobs and get to bed at a reasonable time, not that sleep always comes quickly.
I have discovered the importance of turn around time between arrival at camp and restarting the following morning. The more recovery time the better and it seems that at about 3-4am each morning your body says -“You can go again!”
Sleeping bags and blow up mattresses are interesting. There is the initial discomfort especially when trying to roll over. This takes an effort early in the sleeping process and generally means you are often awake. As the night progresses something happens, either your body adapts or the fabrics around you become more flexible and the rolling process becomes less disturbing.
Monday 22nd August 2016
I am awake early, around 6am and then follow the steady routine of breakfast, blow down mattress and packing takes place. Put on your cold clothes to replace your camp clothes and the toe protectors, socks, boots, gaiters, jacket. Load up food for the day in clothes pockets and backpack pockets. Heave in the 2-1/2 litres of water grab your walking stick and off. It is hard to get away within two hours after waking.
Monday was to be an interesting haul from the Hut to Mumballup where I would meet Ruth. There is a T intersection where sits a Pub where coincidentally my Mother worked and lived in 1933. That was a lunchtime goal and where I would meet Ruth for a Maccas wrap lunch, which she would bring down from Collie. The morning was a pleasant hike from my campsite up and over the hill and then around Glen Mervyn Dam, one of the many small water supplies gathered around these reaches. After crossing the main road it was a steady uphill around the ridge, past a pine plantation and back to the main road then a walk down the bitumen to the Pub. The designers of the trail are often generous taking you around a hill rather than over it. It prolongs the pain a little but is less severe than it might be. On this occasion the rising slope was followed by a rough and sharp decline, which is often not good. Sharp falls create watercourses on pathways into which tumble rocks and sticks and progress is slow working your way around those painful hazards.
We met at the Pub and had a good lunch in the Hotel Beer Garden and a little wind and sunshine dried out my two shirt layers very quickly. Being Monday the Pub Kitchen was not open and the Licensee let us eat our own food on his premises along with drinks, which he supplied. He told of the great variety of people who traverse the trail, mainly older folks, all with their fascinating stories. He told of one trying to give up smoking and drinking and was doing fine until he hit the pub. Someone transferred $50 into his account and his addictions were back on.!
We loaded the Pack into the boot and carted it to the top of a nearby hill where the trial recommenced. It took the drag out of one climb and meant an early completion of the 20.2 kilometres day at the Noggerup Camp Site. Again I was able to light my fire quickly and get the clothes dry again before reconstructing the dehydrated and pretending I was having food again. Into the quietness of my aloneness and an irregular sleeping pattern.
Ruth had moved on to Balingup where we had an Air B&B at the Old Post Office Residence. Not exactly Motel standard but servicing the Bib transients whose needs are simple: wash self and clothes, eat reasonably and sleep comfortably for one night. It also gave Ruth a chance to discover this little community not far from Bunbury. This weekend Balingup hosts a Medieval Festival, which attracts 10,000 people to this little town each year. Shades of the Corryong Festival.
Tuesday 22nd August 2016
I was up and about early and fulfilled my regular functions in preparation for the day. Part of the pre Trail training is to ensure regularity at the appropriate moments so that stops with shovels on the trail are not necessary.
A lovely walk in the early morning caught the wistfulness of the mists and dew before the sun fully rises to warm the exercise. Today we would wind our way around ridges following the kind pattern of greater ease even if it adds to the length. I was going well up one hill and down to the next creek and then the Waugal disappeared. I decided to follow my instincts as the landmarks, primarily a pine plantation, would lead me back to the path without any loss of time. All went well then my foot caught a wire and I lay for a while waiting for the pain. It did not come so I struggled up and pressed on. Next I discovered the hill of hills in the plantation. Designed for the plantations management four-wheel drives it went up in rolling stages, up and up and up. It sapped my energy and I finally made it and then nutted out how to get back on the path. With the day half gone and ten kilometres still to go I was rather shot. My energy was depleted and with the track was more difficult with concurrent rises up and down and weaving its way down to yet. Another creek, which meant another up. Darkness was coming fast and I wondered if I would ever find the hut, if it even existed!!!
And then nearly at the end of frustration the little pointer indicated the hut was near and I finally made it. Grimwade Hut, after 23 kilometres, is magnificently located on the edge of a rise and provides solitude and beauty. I got out my little Bunnings crosscut and quickly cut the long medium sticks into fire pit lengths and wallah, after tea my clothes were dry again. I fought with the bag and mattress until the 2am relief came and I rested easy when renewal of body came and I was ready for another day.
Wednesday 24th August 2016
I rose at 5am determined to make an early day of my last day. I had been in discussion with the Balingup Porterage Company who agreed to meet me after six kilometres of my walk. They would take my pack into Balingup and I would carry a daypack full of lighter goodies. I raced to the connection point and was there by 9am ready for the transition. My porter had a simple twenty-minute journey north but decided to extend the experience by going south first for forty minutes then back to me. I greeted the driver at 11am with a cup of soup and we made the switch. The daypack added to my speed and I was able to progress down an old railway line for a long period and then wove my way along a beautiful creek for some time before switching side and then back over the water and up a final climb. A rustle and squawk revealed a huge ostrich with five bantam sized chicks, which it had deserted on my arrival. When walking I find that I over-estimate the amount of ground covered or the distance to be gone over. As I drew to the conclusion of this section it got longer and windier as it took you softly down inclines by zig zagging. Finally I reached another creek near some hobby farms where I was met by a barking dog. Then out and on to the Balingup – Grimwade Road (15.6)
to await my Porter. We had decided that this would do for the day after this final three hour – 9 kilometre sprint. I would complete the final 7 kilometres the following day.
Thursday 25th August 2016
This I did resuming the trail at 9am with daypack again and completing it in around two hours. Again weaving over a 200 metre slow climb hill with a rough sharp descent past another pine plantation. Finally there was a beautiful walk along the Balingup Creek and into town. We have some great splendours in the rugged simplicity of this country.
Balingup was a treat. We ensconced ourselves in the Mushroom Cafe a very pleasant setting to sip and wonder over a one serving sharing of scones, jam and cream.
We were joined at our B & B by Ian and Dianne. They came from Ballina NSW with backpacks ready to walk down to the coast. Greatly experienced walkers (including Kilimanjaro) we quickly connected through sharing over an evening meal at a local inn. In the wandering around the track they met two younger guys who had “Double Hutted” i.e. done two sections (40 kilometres) in the one day. Wow. They must be whacked today. My previous understanding would be that “Double Hutting” means staying two days in the one hut!!!
FRIDAY
Today our Ballina friends got away early and are walking, in the late afternoon through rain. Hard not to feel for them.
Friday 26th August 2016
We are now settled in at the motel in rainy Pemberton. The August downpours continue with breaks of sunshine slowly increasing. I finished this walk yesterday (Thursday) with a short walk into Balingup after a little confusion the day before. It is 406 kilometres from Perth to Balingup and I have walked 344 of those kilometres so far. A bit over a third of the 1000 kilometres of the track.
Incomplete Trails, Meaningful Communities. 