Mapleton Forest during the floods

  Just before returning to England I made one more attempt to get to th Gold Coast Hinterland Great Walk. I'd made the attempt a few times but never managed it. This time was no different. Floods and storms had been battering Queensland for over a month and the trail was closed without any idea of when it would be safe enough to re-open. This was the first time I'd planned to walk with people, two friends from work Nick and Sara and I was desperate to do something. So it was back to Mapleton Sunshine Hinterland Great Walk. This trail was also closed but when I phoned the rangers I was told that they would be re-opening it the day we planned to leave.
  With this fixed as our destination I decided to attempt to get us round the entire Great Walk in three days instead of four. We'd get off at Mapleton, walk through the Forest reserve to Thilms Thalma Camping ground on the first day, straight to Flaxton on the second before attempting the longest day to Monteville on the third. Weather wise we were in for a rough one with rain on an off the entire time with the occasional thunder storm. The ranger I'd talked to had told me that the tracks were in a bad condition and would not yield good walking. The were, however, no longer dangerous. I also asked about the creek crossings and was informed that they were doable. 


Day1 

 Once we got to Mapleton we stopped for lunch, the urgency to be on our way already gone now that public transport had delivered us at the start of the walk. Eager to go back to the cafe I'd visited a few weeks before I agreed. We all ordered out sandwiches, drinks of ice coffee and shared a berry tart for desert. A relaxed approach which was a nice change to my usual charged hike. I'd walked this walk a number of times but this time there would be a very different challenge.
  Full, we set off walking up Vilancia road before making  a right turn to enter Mapleton Forest reserve. Yet the track we headed towards was shut, a sign closing it off warning us of the danger of death which proceeding would incur. While, alone, I would have almost definitely gone the safer route group provado prevented it and we forged onwards, me been too eager to show them the entire path to back down. Soon the path was under a foot of water and our legs and shoes were drenched. A leech was happily working its was up Nick's boot and all our concentration was bent on finding and remaining on the footpath.
  Progress was slow, accompanied by moans and laughter as we worked our way through the marsh land. Flashes of Bilbo heading to Mordor went through my mind although their progress seemed blissfully free of leeches. Again, by myself I'd have been swearing my head off, but its a completely different experience when you're sharing it with others. It was great fun.
  As we curved round a gigantic tree we all stopped to take some photos, posing on the trunk I was barely able to scramble up.

 It was a relief when the land began to rise again and the mud recede. The leeches did not and Sara was having miniature hysterics every time she saw one. Sara and Nick had been smart in their choice of clothing, covering their legs completely with tightly nit garments to prevent them from attaching themselves to the skin. I wore shorts and with my usual luck ended up been the only one not to be bit. I think this might be because I could see them better, and they struggled more to get a grip- but more likely it was complete and utter luck. 
  Nearly two hours had past and we were making excruciatingly slow progress. Every time I 'd done this part of the hike I worried I'd gone the wrong way, and true enough I began to worry once more. It always seemed to take twice as much as I thought it would. Not wanting to show my uncertainty to my friends I didn't say anything.
  As we crossed a little stream me and Nick began to chant the verses from the child hood story 'Were going on a bear hunt'. It was the type of silliness which makes a walk and is hard to reach on your own.
  A five minute break at the Ubajee campsite before going down to the valley floor. The next ten or so kilometers would be low down and involve crossing and recrossing the creek. The descent however had already injured one of the team, Sara's ankle  hurt causing her to limp. We stopped several times, applying plasters and creams to try to prevent it from getting worse, but it seemed to be the heel itself. Nothing was visible but I quickly realised how stupid it was of me to undertake such hard days with someone who'd never done it before and was not a walker. I should have chosen a much easier route- although in truth we'd barely started a real day's walk.
  Here came our next problem. There creek crossings went quickly from fun dips to torrents of water with strong currents. The previous times I'd been here they'd been dry rocks and I was shocked at the difference. On our way down to the valley a strong stream had been flowing to out rights, little rooks crossing out path once or twice. Everything was overflowing with water. Stunning but hard work, and Sara was seriously struggling. Nick offered to carry her back at one point, but she would not allow it. I also was worried, while I was sure Nick could have managed it anyone forced to carry 30 odd kilos for ten or so kilometers over hard terrain would be exhausted the next day and at this rate there would be two done in on day one.

  We came to another creek, this one deeper and fiercer than the last one, about three of so kilometers from the start of the valley floor track.And here is there reason why all these photographs are of me and Nick and from Sara's camera.
  The bridge had been washed away, my first clue that I should have turned back. The bridge was originally constructed with two concrete upright walls about a meter and a half apart, two pipes passing through them to channel the current, and dirt filling in the middle to allow you to walk across. The current and floods had washed away all the dirt in the centre leaving a meter to a meter and a half depth of water in the middle. Water was flowing fast over the sides. We considered trying to balance on the walls and walk across that way but these were only half a foot wide and if we fell the fast flowing water was deep enough to submerge us, and shallow enough for us to cause our self damage on the rocks. Better wet and safe was my logic. I charged on and attempted to walk across. The washed away inside of the bridge was too deep so I attempted to get over just before the bridge, using the walls to help me balance.
  The current, as the water reached my waist, started to over balance me and I was struggling to stay on my feet. Then my foot past in front of one of the tubes and I felt the current grab a hold of my leg. I could neither move it foreward or take it back since it was only my actual weight which prevented me from be sucked in. The tube was about a foot in diameter, it would suck my leg in dragging me under water. I was carrying a 20 pound rucksack and trapped under the water would have been very dangerous and scary- apparently my face changed colour very quickly. I'd been carrying my camera above the water but at this point I was too concerned with getting out of there, I allowed it to drop back in my waist and hoped the water proof bag would protect it enough.
  I finally managed to get my foot back from the tunnel mouth and nearly falling over several times I made it back to the sure. Sara helped by extending my hiking pole for me to grab a hold of. Even before I was fully out the water I checked on my camera only to find it gone. The current had pulled it from its bag and away. I think I screeched its absence rather loudly and with the panic I'd tried to hide a few minutes before. It had cost me most than any other camera I'd ever bought times five, and I loved and cherished it. But I'd honestly thought that I was in a great deal of trouble a few minutes before, and thinking you might drown puts things into perspective very quickly, plus I partly deserved it for been such a silly twit. I read 'do not cross flooded creeks' again and again and ignored it.
  Sara suggested trying again but both me and Nick flatly refused and we turned around to head back the way we came. Night was already threatening so we headed back to Ubajee camp, back up the hill and eager to set up camp. Eager to show I wasn't upset over the camera and attempting to urge forward my hiking partners I shouted 'I spy' s back at them and been extra energetic as we climbed back up the hill. In the end it took barely more than an hour to get back to camp. Water tank provided us with water and once camp was set up me and Sara took ourselves off to wash before cooking.
  The night was a clear warm one in the end, and we spent it playing scrabble, Sara reading her book and talking. The day hadn't been anything close to a physical challenge, not what I usually strive for in my hikes but it had held it fair share of drama. Walking with partners can frustrate, you can't maintain your own pace or set your own challenges but the advantages are equal if not greater. It becomes a team effort and as soon as one of us was in trouble all worked to get them out. Usually in the evening I read and eat in my tent before going straight to sleep. Because of that you miss the magic of the forest night, on this occasion a forest mouse bouncing across our camp site every few minutes.
  I slept ontop of my sleeping back at frit, the night too ho for me to climb in. About midnight I noticed water all over the tent floor. I figured my sleeping back had gotten wet in the rived and sighing curled up in the liner. I woke up when the water become a pool, I was coland and the sleeping back was so completely wer that it needed to be rung. My three leter water bladder had sprung a leak.

Day 2
   I mannaged a few hours sleep but was relieved when morning came and I could climb out. I had to wring them dry again, and by day light I realised just how much water I'd been attempting to sleep on. We packed up and I hoped we'd be blessed with another dry day so that I'd have time to dry things out.
  Todays plan was pretty simple.. It was an easy 15 km to Flaxton and should take us any more tha four or five hour. We remained on the road for the first section, our shoes already soked and the novelty of marsh ladn wearing thin. Our shoudlers were also suffering a little, and Sara was no limping badly and walking on the back of her shoes since they hurt too badly on. After I adjusted my rucksack straps the pain in my shoulders disapeared, but Sara was still struggling and we made slow progress.
  We made our way to Mapleton Falls and rested at he bottom of the waterfall. It was a fantastic view, the water scarily fierce and Sara photographing all the way.
  On the way up Nick took the lead and set a good pace. It was quite a challenge and much faster than I would have done alone. I kept behind Sara to prevent her falling behind. Its hard walking at the tail end though and you find yourself looking at their boots more than any of the land around us.
  The camp was just after the summit and since it was already beginning to rain we set up camp as quickly as we could. Peeled the leeches from our legs, washed off and began to took shelter as the rain began to pour.
  Nick had been bitten twice yesterday and today Sara, who'd  screamed blue murder every time she found one, had been bitten once. They didn't stop when we were in our tents and their dark outline were visible flipping their way up the outside of the canvas. With the rain crashing down we crambed ourselves into the tent for two and while Sara read me and Nick had a rematch of scrabble followed my chess.

   Dinner was a rushed affair as we tried our best not to get soaked. We are an interesting combination of cuscus, mash, lamb stew and tomatoes pasta. Although cramped and damn the evening was great fun and I went to bed contented with my water bladder firmly on the outside of the tent. The slleping back was still damp but with my rain coat on I mannaged to dry it out well enough.
  Nick had washed and hung is clothes to dry on a set up washing line outside. He'd told me how it would prevent the due from wetting it.
  Sara's and Nick' tent was less waterproof than mine and as the heavens fell around four o'clock I wondered whether I should shout to see if they were okay, but I didn't want to wake them to check. In the few hours of dryness before bedtime Nick had hand washed his clothes and hung them to dry on a et up clothes line. He pointed out proudly that them been off the ground would prevent the due from settling and keeping them wet. In the morning I couldn't hear them above the rain, the pounding was so loud I needed to shout at the top of my voice.  I asked whether his clothes had escaped from due, he replied sarcastically that they had but at that point everything was wet and at least his smelt less vile than mine.

Day 3
   As soon as there was the slightest break in the weather we rushed around to pack up, and get on our way. We'd abandoned any notion of making it to Montville, Sara was walking worse than ever and the rain was unceasing. Instead we'd go to the Kondilla waterfall, then back up for breakfast at the cafe. The bus would pick us up and we'd be back in Brisbane in time to go back out for a workmates goodbye drinks.
   My rucksack was wonderfully light, having been relieved of both the three liter water bladder and two liters of red wine which we'd consumed the night before. The path was flat and it was easy walking. I also got the sense that Nick had found his rhythm and handled walking from the front a lot better than following. Sara was still struggling but neither complained or held us up, considering she'd been struggling since the very first day that was quite impressive.
  Once again I was shocked at how much water had appeared since my last visit. Just after the Flaxton picnis area there was another water fall which I'd not even realised was a river. It made me excited to see the larger fall further bellow. We passed a miniature stream on the way down and me and Nick took the chance to brush our teeth before making the final decent and we weren't dissapointed with out efforts. The waterfall was by far the largest I've seen, nearly eighty meters of a sheer drop for the river's volume of water to fall. Its noise reached us long before we say it. a good climax to our walk. Having posed for photographs we trudged back up and indulged in a full english breakfast at the flaxton barn. Its my third visit to this cafe and it really is a treasure, the food is wonderfula nd they didn't bat an eyelid when three wet and extremely smelly people walked in. The lady even remembered me from two months ago and asked me when I was heading back to England.


  The journey back was smooth and easy ending a successful and full three days walk. It taught me how much I still had to learn about hiking, dealing with the weather and planning group walks. I was far too ambitious and a little too confident. I could have managed the whole of the Great Walk in three days but not under those conditions, and not with a group of people with very mixed fitness levels.

6 Foot Track, New South Wales, Australia - 44 Kilometers

Day 1 - 15 Kilometers                                                                                                      10/02/2013

   I left Sydney late and only reached Katoomba at 1:00. Before beginning however I needed to get a locator beacon from the police station which would make that day's hike even later than I hoped. With instructions, a map and if I needed it even a compass I marched bravely into the small town full of danger and excitement. Very soon after I got lost and ended up in a residential street full of play grounds and schools. Since I was planning to go, straight after I found the damn police station, into the great wild where you need experience at perky things like navigation I could not bring myself to ask for directions. Eventually I did find it, and a little worried that they would point blank tell me not to go I entered. I'd checked the weather and there were predicted thunderstorms for the next few nights, a large one tonight and I wasn't sure at one point they would stop people from walking- never mind a English girl by herself. The worried however were unfounded, a very nice officer showed me how to use it and handed it over telling me in a good natured manner that the second day would be the tough one and to enjoy.
  After the disastrous night on the Great Ocean Road I had invested in a rain cover for my bag as well as wrapping everything in it in plastic bags. I'd also, having looked at the weather forecast and predicted temperatures (around 10 degrees), bought a sleeping bag liner in the hope it would keep me warm.
  The hardest part of the navigation, like on previous hikes, was simply getting to the trail head. You're forced to walk along a very busy highway without a footpath. I kept on looking for a better route and finding dead ends. I tried both sides of the road before giving up and making my way alongside the freeway, only to be stopped and given a lift within a few meters by a charitable driver. They dropped me off at the trail head car park.
   The first two kilometers were wonderful. It was horribly steep and it left, within half an hour of jumping down half meter deep steps, my knees and calves literally shaking but there was a feel of wondering down the rabbit whole and it exited me.  You decened into the valley floor, crossing half a dozen small streams and battling through overgrown foliage before heading through into farm lands. I thought it would be a little more wilderness but a clearly marked path was also a relief.

  Still walking alongside a narrow path you enter a series of privately owned properties, kangaroos and wallabies everywhere. Across the fields I encountered two or three more snakes and found my ability to scan the ground instantly improve ten fold.

  This little beauty is a red belly black, a poisonous but not deadly variety and in large numbers in the valley's fields. It was here that I saw four snakes in as many miles.

  The views were dramatic, rolling hills with cliff faces but always broken up by clumps of trees and clouds. After a few more kilometers, and a road crossing, I entered the forest and the path followed alongside the river bed. The floods in Brisbane hadn't affected up here yet and the massive rocks in the river bed were visible, although the areas where the water did flow would have been too deep to cross. The rocks splitting the current up were massive, smooth pebbled- times a thousand in size.
  About 1.5 kilometers from the campsite there's a wire bridge, about fifteen or so meters wide made only to support one person at a time. A photograph doesn't do it justice. Its horrible high and when your crossing it with a heavy backpack it feels far from stable. I haven't a few of heights but I am sensible careful and nervous of been thrown off a wire bridge over massive rocks ten or so meters bellow.

   Crossing the bridge was a scary, giggling and talking to yourself fun but scary. It wobbled just enough for you to believe it could flip over, and half way across the other size takes a long time to reach.

  A tad shakily I climbed down the other side, already having decided that I would make my way from here to the campsite and not go back the way I came. The bridge is there for the when floods make the river crossing, a kilometer or so further down the path,  too dangerous and while this would not be the case I preferred not to cross the bridge again. Crossing the bridge also will help with navigation and is, all round, a better route.
  However, it was at this point that I realized that I'd left my hiking poles on the other side.
  About twenty minutes later I reached an old camp site, which was along the Cox River is on the wrong side. I assumed it was the actual one and dumping my stuff searched desperately for the toilet and water tank. The toilet was a set of four semi erect walls, and a metal sheet as a roof. The toilet paper was soggy and muddy, while the whole thing smelt awful. I reasoned that, since it was a free camp site, they hadn't maintained it. The truth it that the actual campsite involves you crossing the river and walking another hundred or so meters.

  Desperate to put my tent up before the storm hit I didn't search any longer and went straight to setting camp. It had been raining a little on and off for the last few hours and I'd spent most of it praying that it wouldn't pour till the shelter was up. Someone must have been listening since I had ten minutes of no rain, and only that before the storm hit and it tipped it down. I set the tent close enough to trees for it not to be the highest point, and not too far underneath that the branches would fall on me. I was at the bottom of the valley so I hoped I'd be given a little shelter from the winds.
  It was a wonderful spot to sleep, the river barely five meters from me and not a sole in sight. It did cause me a little worry, my ignorance causing me to imagine flash floods coming and sweeping me away. The storm was fierce and as I lay in my tent I spent the next half an hour counting the seconds between the lightning and thunder. By doing this I could tell it was coming nearer and as it left me behind. What helped to make the experience more exhilarating than horrible is that all my bedding was dry, and I was warm and comfortable- the plastic bags and rucksack cover proved good investments and it was a very different night than the one I spent on the Great Ocean Road.

Camp Site at Cox River

Day 2                                                                                                                                      11/02/2013

  I was told the second day would be 'hard' and by god that was not an understatement. I think it showed how this particular hike's attraction is only half the landscape and the other half is the physical challenge. It consists of 20 kilometers of a up hill climb, first taking on Mini Mini Saddle Range before taking on the larger slope which ascends into the Black Range and low lying clouds.
  I woke quite early and consulted the map, struggling to find the path out. I crossed the bridge and headed to what my compass promised me was west. It wasn't that long after though that I realised that it was pointing west no mater what direction I pointed the damn thing. I'd been climbing for about twenty minutes when I turned back, deciding that I had already passed far too many 'Do Not Enter' signs. I considered recrossing the river but before hand walked passed to where I'd crossed and went the opposite direction, just to check what the closed fence told me. I'd dismissed it as the wrong way since it was obviously locked The sign, facing the other way said in bit red writing 'WRONG WAY'. I'd crossed too far down the river.
  I climbed over the fence and was instantly in a very well furbished camp ground, with 6 Foot Track information boards. There was also a large and full water tank for me to refill my bladder. I'd filled it with river water but since it had things floating in it I'd put off drinking it till I absolutely had to. Filling it from the stream, actually, had been quite a challenge since the current wouldn't allow me to fill it up more than half way. It was a relief, however, to have a clean and full bladder before the climb starter. I could see the path curving away from the campsite, and knew it was just the beginning.

  The climb was hard but doable. What I was struggling with the most were the flies. There were hundreds of them, at least ten or so on my rucksack at any one moment, others continually landing on my face. I hated it it. Spent quite a while shouting and swipping at them but all in vain.
  I'd nearly reached the top of Mini Mini Saddle when I stooped in a fresh bit to get rid of them. I spread the toxic bug repellant on me and all over the rucksack but even before I'd put it back on my back it was once more covered. I must have put almost half the tube on but it seemed like the only way to get rid of them was to walk faster than I was physically able to.
  Sying I made to put my rucksack back on only to jump with fright as a voice behind me, belonging to a jogger, offered to help me on with it. I'd only paused to pick up the bug spray but it must have looked like I was struggling with the weight. He was nice enough, and we exchanged the usual niceties. His 'poor you' when I told him my destination didn't bode well, he said I'd completed the mini version of the rest of the days walk and since, me been a relatively new hiker, that had been the largest hill I'd tackled it didn't bode well.
 I'd left camp at half eight but partly because I'd got lost at the start of the day, and because I was walking up hill the entire way, it was already two o'clock and I'd only completed eight or so of the twenty kilometers. A slight decline before the second range allowed me a breather and got rid of another kilometer.
  The track here isn't a walking path but a, as suggested by the hikes name, a six foot wide track. Not exciting but consistent and smooth terrain with little cover for snakes or other dangers. Steep though, and unyielding. The glimpses pf the valley bellow were beautiful by mostly it was nothing but trees blocking the view and copper coloured dirt. The beauty of this day, I found, was mainly in the butterflied which were unnoticeable (also copper in colour) until they take flight a few feet away as you walk past.

The seconds day, if it had to be encapuslated in a word is exactly what everyone promised- hard. I think if I was in a gym, or near public transport, I'd be unable to push myself that hard. You need to be in a  place where there is no out. At no point was I scared I wouldn't make it but I dreaded to think of what state I'd be in for tomorrows walk.
    When I passed the distance sign post telling me I still had another ten kilometers I turned off Harry Potter and switched for Disney and other comfort. I also stopped and made myself a pot of mash, which in truth did a lot of good.
  Another five kilometers later I felt a small thrill as I began to pass through the lower clouds, as everything was covered in mist. This was around five o'clock and I was beginning to worry that I'd be forced to set up camp in the dark.  Luckily the land leveled up a little, still heading upwards but it allowed me to quicken slightly. Every time I paused I could feel the pain in my legs and bum, and was horrible away that tomorrow they'd be expecting a rest that would not be allowed.   Yet with all this complaining and panting when I reached camp I felt like I'd achieved something, and it was with joy that I set up camp and lounged about for a few hours before sleep. I reached camp around 6:30 making it well over 9 hours walk- another new achievement.

  Today there was no rain. The fog however was so thick that I could only see ten or so meters in from of me, and made everything drenched. the camp site is a lovely enclosed area, fitted with a large water tank, toilets (with no toilet paper) and a picnic area. While it was, once more, deserted of people it did hold numerous other inhabitant. There must have been five or six kangaroos and wallabies grazing and wondering round the place- a true Australian camping experience.

Day 3                                                                                                                                    12/02/2013

  I slept so well I didn't wake till 10:00 am. Since the bus left at two o'clock I attempted to get myself moving, the bus I was aiming for been the only one all day heading back to Katoomba. The map said it would take me four and a half hours to reach them, but once I packed up I only had about three hours and forty minutes.
  The few minutes it takes to leave the tent are always the worst. Once I was on the way the walk was easy. It was a little ruined by loggers, and entire sections go along the road. In fact it seemed very soon that the walk was over and, on this day in particular, it was a rather dull one. It wasn't long after that that a golden eagle swooped across the path in front of me. It happened so fast I didn't even have a chance to breath in- I verbally exhaled in completely and pure awe.The track was nearly six feet wide and it took up over half of it in length along. The wing span was much much larger. It had such grace and power that I was walking on clouds the rest of the day. The whole three days had been made worth it for that second alone.
  The next five or so kilometers were a steep decent to the caves below. The Jenolan Caves were pretty dramatic, large and surrounded by beautiful scenary but my elgs were done in and would not be persuaded to move another inch unless it was towards the bus.

The Great Ocean Road was over a 100km but I'd  felt absolutely fine, this one had left them shaking and a wobbly as jelly. That said, it was a wonderful completion of my travels around Australia, and I'd achieved both of my goals that I'd spent the last few months training for. The Six Foot Track wasn't as beautiful as I'd expected, not as wild and not even very enjoyable but totally unmissable.

Snake in the drain near the caves

Great Ocean Road, Victoria

The Great Ocean Walk - 6/8 Days - 104 Kilometres

    The Great Ocean Walk was opened 7 years ago and runs from Apollo Bay to Glenample, just before the Twelve Apostles at Gibson's car park. While some crazy people run the return journey in a day most take a more leisurely route walking it between six to eight days east to west. The eight day itinerary is a bit too easy, some days consist of less than ten kilometres, meaning that you finish the walk before lunch time. Then again, if you wished to do a few side tracks, explore the land around the track or simple get away from everything, this might be the better plan. Each night costs twenty dollars for the camp site however and the idea of carrying eight days worth of food wasn't an attractive one. I chose the six days and five nights option. It involved an easy first day of ten or so kilometres followed by two days harder days, after which the itinerary is the same as the other one.

  Day 1- Apollo Bay to Elliot Ridge 10.3 Kilometres                                                         28/01/2013

Official Start of Walk- Apollo Bay

  Woke up around seven still sleepy after having slept over twelve hours. This was partly due to being childishly excited about the hike, but mostly  the fact that my hostel in Melbourne was a drugs den I did not feel particularly safe sleeping in. My hostel at Apollo Bay, 'Apollo Bay Backpackers Lodge', was lovely however and I was in bed by six. Moreover the gentleman who ran the place let me leave a bag full of things behind which saved me from having to carry the extra weight. I'd already arranged a food drop which meant I only needed to carry three days not six. The Great Ocean Road information centre, near the bus stop, provided me with tidal times. These are essential if you are planning to do the coastal sections of the walk- I'm afraid I'm going to avoid them at all costs but took them anyway just in case. I'm afraid I'm not a fan of hiking in sand, I've neither the patience or fitness it requires.
  Shifting my rucksack uncomfortably as I got use to the weight, I walked down to the official start point. Took the needed photograph with me pointing to where I was on the map and prepared to get started. Within a hundred meters I realized I still had the hostel door key and walked the ten minutes back to the to return it.
  Back at the start I made my way through the town. I had to consult my map quite a bit to check, the signs aren't at every corner, but so long as your on the road nearest the sea your on the right track.
  I slowly crossed from the town to farm land, my backpack already giving me grief. For the first five kms there were houses scattered across the landscape, the path easy with the feel of a country lane, pleasant but not yet exciting.

  One ear phone in, the other on the alert for snakes (not an advised technique) I finally got a rhythm as I giggled my way through Terry Pratchett's 'Interesting Times' audio book. The path meandered alongside the ocean, at one point offering the option to walk across the rocky shoreline. Attempting to get into the spirit I took a few photographs but none were at all dramatic, houses still polluting the view.
  The path entered a more forested area, rising and falling. Reached a car park and picnic area where I stopped and had a bite but eager to get on I followed the path down to sea level again, crossed the stream and began to climb on the other side. I reached camp at about 2:00pm and after setting up camp stood around and wondered what I should do for the rest of the day. Decided to take a stroll around the place. Promptly got lost and got back at around 5ish tired.   The camp was completely deserted. I'd expected it to hold at least a few other hikers but it turns out I was a week too late and everyone had gone home. The camp site was a lot like the ones in Queensland, consisting of a large wooden shelter, toilets, two large water tanks and camping tables. Very pretty and well worked into the landscape. Hard soil though and my tent pegs were instantly bent which boded well for the rest of the week.

  Day 2 - Elliot Ridge to Cape Otway - 24.7 Kilometres                                                     29/02/2013

  A sound woke me up three times night. Some sort of animal loud and close to my tent. The log book, present at each campsite for hikers to write notes it, talked of a strange monster they'd heard but not seen which had haunted their campsite. Sense told me that the dangerous things in Australia didn't make loud noises, were in fact quite small and could not break into tents. It was also a sound I recognized but couldn't place. Hard to put it down on paper in words, 'huckhuckhuck khaaaaaaaaa' noise is the closest I can get. It was as if some large creature was struggling to take in air and release it as he dragged its axe towards my sleeping helpless form. Sense is all very well in day light. Then on the third occasion I realised what it was. A koala bear was obviously in the tree above me. Grinning and feeling like a true bush girl I rolled over a fell straight back to sleep. Woke up later than I'd planned and packed up my camp in my usual hour. Saw my night's companion up in a tree before leaving, still calling out.

  The second days hike skips the Blanket Bay camp site and goes straight to Cape Otway. Leaving the shore line the first half of the day goes inland through stunning forests. The trail is a rather large dirt track, easy walking and relatively flat. What made it special was the glimpses of wildlife around you. First I spotted my first kangaroo, a mother followed my a child, crossing my path. It was barely a glimpse but left me grinning. Then barely a kilometre after I nearly walk into another koala sat dopilly in the middle of the road and barely bothering to look up at me as I approached. It had apparently gotten itself high on the uchalipses leaves. Its a miracle that they're not extinct with the survival instincts this one showed.
  The road eventually turns onto another track, a really pretty path canopied by trees and bushes. Still very easy terrain making a really idilic and peaceful walk. My companion audio book today was Dick Francis' 'Blood Sports' a rather dark crime novel about depression, a bit more morose than I expect out of my Dick Francis books.

  Soon you go back to the coast, another dirt road and eventually the actual Great Ocean Road leading up to the Cape Otway light house. A track runs alongside it with the occasional shriveled blackberry. I ate one or two but they weren't ripe yet.
  I should have, perhaps, walked to Blanket bay from Apollo Bay, joining those to legs and just doing the single one today so that I would have time to explore the light house. Since I reached it around four o'clock it was too late to enter. Stopped into the souvenir shop and bought a cold drink, the lady in there telling me rather severely to leave my pack outside, after explaining in more mollified tones that pack-packers tend to break things a lot. It is worth noting that this shop does sell camping gas and a few meals which might be helpful on the 8 day hike to stop you having to carry quite so much on the first three days.
  The camp site is about ten minutes walk away, higher up in the hills, hidden by tall bushes. Again deserted. Already quite cold I set up camp and settled in for the night. The campground was made up of sand like soil making pitching the tent a breeze.

  Day 3- Cape Otway to Johanna Beach - 25.1 Km                                                             30/02/2013

  Another first. I've read what to do if its raining when you wake, how to pack up camp without getting everything wet and have been waiting to see how I do. The morning shower wasn't heavy by Australian standards, just enough to ruin my stuff if I didn't have it packed away quickly. I did as much as I could in the tent. Then I carried everything I could the fifty or so meters to the shelter before returning to dismantle the tent itself. My guide book on hiking tells me to use the camping poles to prop up the outer flap while dismantling the actual tent beneath so that it remains protected by the rain. The hiking poles, however, did not keep up the flap very well and soon collapsed which meant the sand stuck instantly to the nights condensation.

   It took longer, nearly an hour and a half to pack all my stuff away and I left the campsite a little worried about time. My food drop up was at 4:30pm at Johanna Beach and I left the campsite at 9:30 which gave me seven hours to walk the 25 odd kms. To try to speed me up I allowed myself an hour of music from my ipod which was very nearly out of battery, my choice I confess been the lion king. Not high brow I know but lively and fun. I switched to my mp3 player, whose batteries were equally low, in the hop e I could squeeze a few hours of Dick Francis' melancholy before it went flat.
  The path continued to be enclosed for a few more kilometers, rising higher up above the sea. As on previous days I avoided the beech options and remained high on the cliff tops. Rugged and dramatic I wanted and the land around me was stunning, cliffs breaking up the landscape where the land had decades ago collapsed into the sea. Below which the waves crashed with frightening force. The bushes were coarse with deceptively bare soil underneath. The occasional movement suggested a passing wallaby or kangaroo but all stayed out of site.
  I reached Aire River at half eleven. After crossing the river the drive in campsite stretches along the water banks and the walk in campground is above. Again I was glad I'd decided to do the two stretches at once. I still had five hours to get to the food drop point so pausing I ate some lunch.
  From this point a sign warned me that there was maintenance and machinery on the path ahead. About 7 or 8 workers were stretched over about a kilometer or two ahead, cutting the sides back and tidying the path. All stopped and smiled or greeted me as I past. Pretending that I'd not been listening to my audiobook I returned to greeting, thanked them and hurried on.
  Then came the rain. At first it wasn't a great deal, as the afternoon wore on, it fell with increased vigor. From leaving the camp the sky had been cast over and it had threatened to pour for some hours. Half wanted to face a thunderstorm, the other was well aware how woefully by sack was prepared for it. My electronics were protected, the rest of my stuff however would have to rely on the packs protection. By about 2:30pm the rain had gotten considerably worse and, exposed to the sea, blew straight into my face. I was soaked through and my shorts were hanging low enough over my bum to nearly be fashionable- if I'd been an adolescent male.

Aire River

  Squealing as I lost my footing I relied on my hiking poles to keep me on my feet. The gradients on the second leg of the days walk had become steeper and with streams now flowing down them they were treacherously slippy. On the final decent to Johanna Beach in particular I was leaning on the poles as if my life depended on it. If I fell not only would I be covered with mud but probably slip a dozen or so meters before mannaging to stop myself. The path at this point was seriously steep and the streams gushing down it half a foot in depth. When I could I remained on the slightly harder sides of the path but near the end I was forced to wade through the water itself. I must have covered about a kilometer an hour.

Just before the rain really set in, five or so kilometers from Aire River

  It was during the decent the Mp3 finally gave out, yet the earphones remained in my ears till I reached camp, my hands fixed to my hiking poles and concentration on the path. Although hard and intimidating these last three hours were exhilarating. I only hoped that my sleeping back at least had escaped the drenching.
  Relieved as I was to have reached the bottom of the slope I found the beach scarier. Even rushing I reached it half an hour or so before high tide and the water was rising fast. Moreover behind me was a stream blocking any escape I might attempt if I did become trapped. The waves on this coast line left no allusion to the power which the tides would hold, and with a backpack I'd be helpless. Even if I discarded all my equipment I'm not a good enough swimmer to tackle that sea. With a new surge of energy I quickened my pace, determined to get off the beach as quickly as I could. The sand however was soft and I was barely covering two km an hour. At every possible inlet l looked for a path up and away.

A few kilometers from Aire River- Stitched Photograph

  A sand dune, although not clearly a path, had hundreds of foot print leading up it. Unsure now that I'd not missed the camp, and seeing that the sea had reached the rocks ahead of me and was crashing against the side of the cliffs I decided to climb the dune and check. Once I'd struggled to the top it was evident that the footprints belonged to carefree explorers and there was no path higher up. Climbing it I'd fallen twice, my feet sinking over a foot and the gradient somewhere between (I'm guessing) 35-40 decrees. So covered in sand, and a bit fed up, I went back to the beach. It was when coming down I realised I could run, flat footed due to the softness of the sand, down the dune. Even with the backpack I could hit a fair speed and it felt like I was jumping of a bouncy castle- worth the climb if there had been more time.
  Water was spraying off the rocks as I reached them, the rain even heavier and my hopes of having a dry night equally sodden. The beach on the other side of the rocks, that turned out to be barely ten meters across, was considerable larger and my fears of been drowned were relieved. A hundred meters from the rocks however I searched for my map and found it must have fallen from my pocket. Unsure on whether to turn back and look for it, crossing back over the quickly dissapearing rocks, or head on a rely on signs. I chose a compromised, I'd look a few hundred meters back, no further. I left my backpack on the beach. Luckily my search took only a few minutes, the map lying just on the other side of the rocks.
  It fluttered into my mind that I could get the food drop off service to give me a lift back to the hostel. There wasn't a doubt that I would be in for a hell of a night which I could easily escape.
 Finally the path stood out five or so hundred meters ahead.The drive in camp site stretches quite a way back, at lease eight or so hundred meters. I saw the G.O.R. shuttle van half way up the street, he signaled to carry on walking while he turned and we met at the entrance to the campsite. He gave me my food, didn't offer a lift back and I didn't request it. Before leaving he pointed to a far off fence leading to a steep path up the far hill- the walk in camp site was another kilometer from there.
  Another torrent of water was flowing down but since my boots were now wet through the problem was more the slipperiness. From the plastic bag full of food I now had I searched out the largest supply of chocolate and swallowed it feverishly in attempt to summon a little more energy and comfort myself. I was exhausted. Already I'd made up my mind that, if the campsite was deserted like the others, I'd set up camp in the shelter itself in an attempt to shield myself a little from the weather.
  On a sunny day the Johanna Beach hike in campsite would have been a real joy, a highlight of the walk. Its high up above the sea giving you panaramic views of the entire coastline. Far below a haze devideds the hills and inlets, created by the crashing waves against the rocks. It was one of the most spectacular views on the entire walk, and the tent pods were positioned so all you'd need do is open the flap to appreciate it. If I had a chance to revisit a certain campsite it would be this one.
  I dumped my stuff on the shelter's table and checking that I was in fact alone peeled my wet clothing off and put on the dry. That was the one waterproof thing I had, a small 4 liter waterproof sack for my clothing I kept on the outside of my rucksack. Now that my body was cooling, and the evening was approaching, I had to stump my feet to prevent to keep warm. The winds comes straight from the Artantic and in such a high point your left exposed. Unpacking I discovered that half of my sleeping bad was soaked, as was my mattress, and the rest of my stuff. All the pockets in my backpack were full, about a hundred millimeters each, of water.

Johanna Beach Shelter, and camp

  I put on my dry socks and a sandwich bag on each to prevent them from getting dirty and wet. My shoes were squeezed and stood upside down on the bench. Then I tackled the tent which was a challenge in itself. The ground of the shelter was concrete making my tent pegs useless. I'd have rather slept outside than gone back out in the rain.Thank god I had the rope, I'd only bought it a day before leaving because enough books told me I should. I tied as much as I could to the shelter pillars, table legs and bench. It wasn't torte but it stood. I put all my food and everything that wasn't dripping inside and as advised climbed straight into the sleeping back in the hope my body would dry it before the temperature fell. Because of the sleeping bag was wet not damp all that I managed to achieve what that the clothes I wore, which were dry, were now also wet. So much for the scorching Australian summer that would defeat the poor English girl, might have well stayed  at home and enjoyed the rainy weather there. In a mood by that point, the novelty of the challenge gone, I got back out of the tent and cooked some food. I made some instant mash as first, after something quick and comforting, and then cooked the actual meal of couscous and lamb. Fort he rest of the evening I boiled a few mugs full of water and held, blew and drunk it to try to prevent me from shivering.
  Rain finally stopped and the sky cleared as twilight fell. I left my shelter, got water, went to the toilet and took my camera from it's protective sandwich bag.

View from Johanna Beach Hike in Camp ground at twilight

   Not wanting to get my clothes wet again by getting back into the sleeping bag I put my rain coat back on and opened the exposure blanket. It came as part of my first aid kit for use in an emergency while waiting for rescue. It crumbled like tin foil as I opened it and wouldn't have saved a thing. I stuffed it in anyway and as night fell completely closed the sleeping bag around my head, my body completely emerged and as deep into it as I could go to try to get away from the wettest part near the mouth of the sleeping bag. After two or so hours of shivering I decided to use the last few hours of my ipod and played first Guilbert and Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance and then a little Merry Poppins. I caught an hour or so of sleep before my legs crampt, they needed to stretch but were curled to me for warmth. The tent wasn't torte and condensation began to drip on me, the rain coat prevented moisture from evaporating, trapping it against my skin and as it cooled making my clothes wet . Hardly as bad as those trapped in the North Pole or drinking urine out in the bush but a pretty rotten night nonetheless. The sun seem to take and age before rising.

  Day 4- Johanna Beach to Ryans Den - 13.8 Kilometres                                                01/02/2013

Fingers shriveled from the night

   I slept perhaps two hours in short intervals till I glimpsed day light. When I climbed out my fingers were still shriveled with water. Nothing had dried and would weight much more that day because of it. My legs were stiff beyond belief and my back wouldn't even acknowledge my backpack, which still sat dripping on the shelters bench. Moreover my admiration for survivalist like Bear Grills had turned to consternation that anyone would by choice leave a dry tent behind and sleep outside in the cold. I could barely get through a Australian summer night because of a little rain.
   I made myself porridge and considered my next move. I was tempted to walk the next two days worth in one, and if the weather continued to get worse push on to the end and see if I could phone for a lift from there. The weather forecast predicted a thunderstorm but I hoped that it had struck yesterday, arriving early and leaving today to the sun. It would be thirty of so kilometers to the twelve apostles which, theoretically, I could do by five o'clock. I kept my phone on that day in the hope of finding signal so that I could phone G.O.R. shuttle and  arrange for them to pick me up ahead of schedule.
  I used the plastic bag the food drop had been made with to waterproof my sleeping bag, two of the larger ones to cover my mattress. The tent was as wet as the bag was so I didn't bother with them. If the weather improved I'd hopefully reach camp in time to dry some of it and have good night sleep.

Morning view from Johanna Beach Hike in Campsite

  I placed a fresh pair of plastic bags over my socks and cringing inserted into my shoes. Once walking though they were they were fine. Even my wet backpack didn't bother me much and as my body warmed up my hands finally dried and I could enjoy the walk.  
     From the campsite you follow the spine of the hills inland across golden fields, dry from the previous months lack of rain. They were gentle mounds, a river curved like a snake in the valley bellow. They reminded me, with the forest in the distance between the hills on either side, of the 'The Princess Bride'.

An hour or so from Johanna Beach campsite

    From the hills the track heads in past houses and through farm land. One charitable person offered free water to hikers at their front garden gate. Eventually you head back west and down to the sea for a hundred or so meters. Before attempting the climb I took out my cooker and made myself some noodles, using my body to shield the flame from the wind. A few droplets fell threatening a repeat performance of last night but my luck held. I thought the camp was near the beach. I'd misread the map though and still had about two hours of walking to go. At this point I knew I wouldn't never have mannaged the three days worth of walking in one.
  Then blackberries. Four or so kilometers of nothing but blackberries and sea views. They were the juiciest and largest I've ever picked and I gorged myself on them till I felt sick. The hills were no problem since I split it up into bushes, only climbing a few feet when I'd taken all the berried in reach where I stood. It made the day. I was so grateful I had had no escape route the night before, since it made me appreciate everything so much more today.
  I also met my first short-nosed echidna (spiny anteater) hidden in the edge beside the path. A beautiful elegant nose with an impressive array of spikes a little like the English edge hog but much large and longer faced. Then shortly after I reached the Ryan's Den Campsite. I found it wonderfully deserted and sunny. I used the rope to create a clothes line and after raising my tent spread everything on every flat clean surface I could find. There was even enough light to recharge, using my solar re-charger, my MP3 player to give me half an hour of power. Not wanting to be far from my sleeping bag, at hand to grab it and shove it in the tent if it showered, I sprawled near by and basked in the sun. Thinking of very little I lay listening to the rustling in the foliage around, a kangaroo once in a while bounced across the clearing, another echidna wondered past burying its head in the ground every time it sensed me looking. 

  Later three men hiked in, all over fifty. We exchanged greetings and they moved on to set up camp. It was the first time I'd shared a campsite on any hike and it made me feel a little exposed. I took down my bras rather sharpish, especially the one covered in dirt and drying a nasty brownish colour. It soon, however, became evident that they were lovely. I fell asleep by seven so saw little of them. My sleeping bag was dry, my matress fully inflated, my clothes warm and the tent fully raised. I was in heaven.

Day 5- Ryan's Den to Devil's Kitchen- 12.8 Kilometers                                                  02/03/2013

   Slept in till eight having clocked over twelve hours sleep. While my aches had gotten worse I was warm and nearing the end. One more night. Taking no chances I once more waterproofed everything I could but the rain stayed away. My three gentlemen left before me which I was grateful since it meant they'd be unable to over take me. I planned to take my time today.

  I was told after that this was the hardest day on the hike and I did struggle. No extensive climbs as such just many, the track dipping up and down galleys every kilometer or so. My legs were no longer up for it. My heart fell every time the land descended again knowing what would come after. A young couple past me and were far ahead as soon as we reached our next climb. Eating more nuts I suppressed slight feelings of jealousy over their partnership, reminding myself that I loved hiking alone.

  Along this stretch of the walk I saw my first snake, a thick brown one. Not having had anything to listen to I'd been a well behaved hiker, my poles pretecting me in part and eyes peeled. Yet when this particular snake came across my path I was still eating my nuts and grumbling, the hiking poles tucked beneath my arms. Luckily the snake had more wit than me and got out of my way. Within the next five hundred meters I saw two more, these ones black and long.
  Once I reached the cable look out however I met them again, obviously not only me finding the going tough, and there too w
here my three gentlemen. We talked for a while before parting ways again, them taking the Wreck Beach route, I going inland.
  When the campsite came it was out of nowhere. Estimating that I had another hour or so it was a surprise when the shelter rose above me. Because the track inland is newer than the hike in site, and the older trail went along the sea front before backtracking to the camp ground, I entered the campground through the back. The best site, if you get there first, is on the highest point where a bench looks over the ocean. The couple were already in place in each others arms bathing in the sun. Wheres a tsunami when you need one?
  I settled further down in a more sheltered area near the entrance. The ground was hard so I bend my remainder pegs getting my tent up. It didn't bother me a jot knowing that tomorrow I'd be sleeping on the train and then in a hostel in Sydney. With this in mind I made myself a shower, hanging my spare water bladder from a tree and standing beneath it, keeping a sharp look out for the three gentlemen who's not yet arrived. I even managed to shave.
  Spent the rest of the afternoon dozing and reading, moving as little as I could manage. Later on on the the gentlemen wondered over and invited me to join them for wine and cheese, I agreed and although I'd already eaten and didn't feel like drinking sat and talked to them for an hour or so. This was a taster of what I imaged the campgrounds would be like, more communial and a sharing place to boast your hiking adventures to people who'd share your interest. These men however were several leagues above me having done this for decades. They were marvelous and I wanted to live my own version of their lives, cycling across Europe, traveling around the world, hiking in Tasmania, New Zealand and completing trails such as the Camilo de Santiago. Two were retired engineers and the other a orthobedic sergean who still volunteered every year in parts of Africa. Real characters, obviously intimate friends and passionate about the things they did.

Devil's Kitchen Campsite

Day 6 - Devil's Kitchen to Gibson's Steps- 14.8 kilometres

 I've no idea why but I woke up and my legs were as fresh as the first day. Perhaps yesterday was spend recovering from the day before and lying around all afternoon did the trick. It was as if I'd not walked the last five days. My shoulders were less happy but the pack now was light and I felt energies and sorry that it was ending. My lift was meeting me at 1:00pm and since I left camp by half seven I had plenty of time. My three gentlemen said they might also be catching the same lift so bidding them goodbye I exchanged numbers so that they could contact me if necessary.

  That day's stretch was mostly level with only a few minor inclines. Easy and after the river you're practically at Gibson's steps. It took, in the end, only four hours to complete and I reached the end point by half eleven. From this point, I was a little dissapointed to find, you can only see the very first of the apostles. Not knowing how far the others were I daren't go further. Instead I climbed down the steps to the dramatic beach full of other tourists. The car park above was nearly full and it felt very slightly strange to have so many people around me. It's not the same for them though, they didn't walk a hundred kilometers to be there and as I walked along the beach I felt slightly apart from them. No doubt by car they'd see things much more dramatic, and a larger variation, and in such a amount that this beach was but a pit stop.

Gibson's Steps, the image is distorted, the beach flat but it does give a good impression of the size of it.

  Gibson's steps lacks the jaw dropping beauty I wanted at the end of the hike but, as the shuttle driver kindle showed me, if you cross the road and walk barely five or so hundred kilometers further down the twelve apostles are waiting. The walk as a whole is a beautiful journey going through rainforests, beaches, farm land, and fields. Its more about the contrasts between them than any particular destination.

Looking back towards Gibson Steps

  My three gentlemen did catch a ride back in the same shuttle and I accepted off them a lift back to Melbourne from Apollo Bay. I think it's the ride back, when someones driving you sixty odd kilometers an hour that pride begins to sink it. When I reached the car park at Gibson's steps I felt ready to walk another five or so kilometers, it didn't feel like it should have ended here (on a side not the track is been extended in the next few years) and I'd not accomplished what I'd hoped to- not broken any of my limits. It was easy, in the sun and waiting for my lift, to forget the damp night and the day before. But as I sat, for over an hour, watching the landscape I walked flash past I felt true pride. Even though I knew the distance I didn't expect it to take to long to get back, and I had to fight back a clownish smile rising to my lips in front of the other passengers- who having done this for years felt none of the same goofy satisfaction.  It doesn't matter that hundreds perform the same hike every year, thousands, that some run it and others can do in a couple of days. You feel as if you've accomplished something special, irrespective of anyone else. No self doubt, you completed something you weren't knew you could do, and because you did your excited to do something even longer and harder.