Day 15- Bridgewater to Cheddar 18 miles

  My body was now desperate for a break having walked nearly ninety miles over the last four days. Today would be long but flat. The only down side is it would go over farmers fields and my enjoyment would be dependent on them.

A rain cloud drifting past just before Cheddar

  As it turned out a great set of farmers between Bridgewater and Cheddar with maintained fences and trimmed fields. The weather was still confused on whether it wanted to rain or shine but on the whole good waking weather.

Most of today's walk was along country lanes

   The land here is fascinating, as if from a foreign land. Each field is surrounded by a mote to drain the excess water, and the land is broken up by them like the north is by stone walls. I'd never realised there were such things.

Youngest lamb so far, barely opening his/her eyes

  Reached Cheddar at about four and found my way to Petruth Paddocks, a pleasant open campsite with free showers and a friendly lady at reception. Once shopped I watched the weather fly past, the rain coming in single clouds between sunny patches.

Petruth Paddocks campsite

  Two cyclists rode in on their third day of the End to End which was a little depressing but they were covering 90 miles a day so there was little wonder. Nine hours on a bike seats... no thanks.

Wilmslow To Lyme Park

  Last week I went on a day jaunt along the Bollin river and the edge of the Pennines. Its a very flat walk, easy to navigate and a perfect for my first attempt since last summer to carry my rucksack. Since it was half term I took my younger brother who, while he's a big fan of football, does not see the point of walking. I expected winning so took my earphones.
  We set off early and were rewarded my wonderful frost covered landscapes.We walked across the field heading East of Wilmslow towards Prestbury.

  After about an hour or two we curved along a golf course across the bridge and past top o' hill and across Bonis Hill Lane and north east towards Adlington.

  While crossing these farms there seemed to be an awful lot of dead foxes, we counted at least five at different levels of decomposition. Didn't m,ake us feel very safe and we were glad when we left. The sun was high though and is smelt and looked like spring was pushing away the winter.
  Once through Adlington we headed up a wooded path and climbed the hill to see Lyme park's guard tower in the distance. It had taken us around four hours of walking, not particular hard ones, but it  felt like an accomplishment.

   What did surprise me is how easily I carried the backpack, my back hadn't hurt at all the entire way. The phone camera was also well tested and as you can see from the picks above, it isn't half bad. Will test it again when I'm off on an overnighter next week.

P.W. Day9- Middleton-in-Teesdale to Dufton 21miles

  I woke ready to start, packing up my tent before my fellow campers had woken and marching out  for the day the books states is one of the "best days between Edale and Kirk Yetholm" (Trailblazer series- Pennine Way). The sun was getting warmer by the second and my right ankle was as good as new, while the left heel was under blister plasters wrapped in medical tape under a supportive pandage sock thing- it would not be causing me problems today.

River Tees

  The Pennine Way is straight outside the campsite and your achy legs will be warmed up by an extremely tame and pleasant wonder up stream to low force. The path flits up and down the fields before resting on the banks of the River Tees.  This is clearly a path passed by dog walkers, and local residents- your walking through meadows squashed between the river and a minor roads, crossing farm land and stone walls. That said its extremely pretty and restfully flat.
  Along this stretch there are wonderful rocks to the west, making the tame and mindless path very charming, if heavily dotted with stiles. I felt a bit lade under by the rucksack compared to the light and brisk day walkers passing me.

Holwick Scar near the River Tees

   The path along the river carries on for another couple of miles to low force, the current growing in ferocity. Low force is pretty dramatic enough, the torrents wiping round rocks and crashing down towards Middleton-in-Teensdale.

Low Force

High Force

  It was along here that I stumbled over a ram with its head caught in a wire fence. As I went past it began to panic and try to pull its head back. Its horns were preventing it and the wool already trapped in the wire showed just how much it must have been hurting itself. I considered it for a while but any attempt to get close made it struggle even more and I was frightened of it catching my fingers between the head and the wires. After another hundred meters of so I saw a farm yard ten minutes walk up the hill. Knowing a guilty conscious would ruin my day I trudged up and looked for someone I could tell. The path wound round the farmhouse, and while climbing the style I spotted someone working on construction. He followed me down and I left him to it.
 The river winds further up to High Force, where I paused to glance at the waterfall through different viewpoints in the shrubbery. Its a pretty dramatic waterfall, only thrown into perspective when you see the tiny figures of people below you.

Smooth path along the river Tees towards the Falcon Clints

 
   A quick saunter across some fields, past a few other day walkers, before turning right and following the Langdon Beck down to another bridge crossing. Your have to fight your instincts along here not to carry on following the road up the valley and not along the river but there is a sign a few meters off the path to confirm your on the right course.
  Here is where you meet the hairiest cattle you're likely to find. The day stays true to form and you keep following the river Tees through the landscape. Its only a page in the guidebook but this next sections hard work and dangerous walking. You're scrambling over rocks right near the riverbank with a heavy backpack throwing off your weight. My previously quick pace is quartered.

  At long last you reach the end of the scrambling for a climb up yet another waterfall. This is equally scary but with the comfort that there would at least be tourist to watch be fall to my watery grave. The path, believe it or not, it on the photo on the right hand side of the waterfall.
  Here I stopped and ate my orange finishing rather early in the day the entirety of my snacks. The water was loud enough to block out my audiobook, the force quite scary in ferocity. A little further up lies the damn but the Pennine Way turns away before getting there, crossing over the stream and curving back south. This section is a slow slog up hill, but consists of a clear track with stunning views on either side.
  As with the end of most walks, you expect to reach it a long time before you actually do and half way through this section I was a little impatient. The track fades into moor land with slightly tricky navigation here and there.
  High Cup Gill is the final breath taking view of the day and the perfect climax. Its was formed by a mighty glacier and sitting in the central point of the rim you feel enveloped by it. The view spans far into the distance and as I enjoyed the view I saw the mists been blown towards me, up the abyss and around. Very soon I could see only a few meters in front. After having posed as dramatically but subtly as I could I hurried on eager not to be trapped in the weather before finding the correct path down to Dufton. Since I was in such a hurry I failed to notice that I headed down the wrong side of the gorge.

Upper Cup

Mist sweeping into the Upper Cup

  The path down disolves into nothing pretty quickly, possibly because it was the wrong way, and it was quite a hard slog down when visibility is at a minimum. The farm at the bottom was a misleadingly good sign since both paths come out near a farm but soon after I knew I must have made a mistake at some point. I found I was at least two kilometers south of where I should have come out. The road I was on would lead me straight to Dufton so gurding my loins I carried on angrily calculating how much longer this diversion had taken. The road been dull and hard felt like the last straw in a long days hike but day light remained so I didn't feel any urgency to rush.
  I decided that I'd go to the first campsite I saw. This was a slight mistake since I ended up in someone back garden with a field of baby sheep crying for their mothers near by. I was however alone and there was both a good shower and toilet near by with a flat surface to pitch my tent for no more than a fiver.
  As soon as I'd laid the bed and washed I walked down to the Stag Inn for dinner. I ordered nothing more adventurous than a burger and chips but it was a huge quantity and very well cooked. Definitely a good place to visit if your wondering through, and on the was back to the campsite I spotted a sign offering a cheap breakfast in the post office which would set me up tomorrow with walking snacks as well as a good start to the day.
  Only half an hour after I reached the campsite the rain came and in torrents blocking out the lambs bleating and sending me straight to sleep.

Pennine Way Day6- Gargrave to Horton-in-Riddlesdale 21miles

  This is the day you begin the walk you imagined, and for me probably the best on the entire Pennine Way. Hard, disbelievingly long but the landscape you see while you're up there takes your breath away in every sense. Whats even better is that after Malham there are no more villages or roads its just moor land and paths. I began fed up with the entire walk and second guessing myself and ended walking into camp like the living dead but exhilarated and excited about whats to come. This is the real start of the walk.  

  The day started like the others, the path meandering through hamlets and across country paths and rivers. This section is simple enough, holds a few too many gates and styles for someone carrying a twenty pound bag, but I reached Malham my midday.
  Malham is gorgeous, full of life and bustle and completely covered in tourists, which was understandable since the weather was wonderful. I stopped at Old Barn Cafe for beans on toast and a hot chocolate.

  From there its a 15 mile straight walk up to Malham Cove and finally a sense of majesty and wilderness.  This is the site of an ancient waterfall and the start of limestone country, springy turf and very little bogs.

From the top of Malham Cove

Malham Cove

  The path covered with tourist follows the river to Malham cove and then climbs up some sturdy steps to the top of the falls. Its pretty steady and with a few pauses for breath a much easier alternative to rough land. I did feel a bit like a pack-horse compared to other people around me with day packs but as soon as you reach the top you leave the crowds.
  Its a little confusing here but if you turn right as instructed and work your way to the back you eventually stumble upon the style and enclosed path. The terrain before the style is intense, the lime stone worn away to form spike like areas with foot deep gabs between. One slight slip and a very very painful wound.
  The climb continues but steadily and the audiobook of Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers is my constant companion. Once the Pennine Way turns away from the main walkers routes from Malham it gets quieter again and opens up to an even more grandiose landscape.
   From here you walk down towards Malham Tarn- a large lake in front a Edwardian style house. A few people are dotted around the place but fewer and fewer as you follow the dirt track around the lake to the structure manor house. With the terrain easy and flat I covered several miles an hour and felt some of my old energy coming back. My heel had finally been overcome by medication and I was on my way. It was time to leave Lord of the Rings for a while for the quicker beats of the Lion King, there is no need to attempt coolness when hiking.
  Part of the lighthearted enjoyment of this section was the fact that there was little point in worrying how much I'd covered. I was going to be walking all day no matter what so I wasn't paying attentions to the miles.

Malham Tarn

    The dirt track goes down along the lake for a little longer before breaking away and following a stone wall up to the farm. As with Stoodley Pike the lake gives a satisfying sense of distance as you move away and it shrinks into the landscape.
  The fields, like most I'd gone through the last week, were full of sheep and the path was indistinct. Keeping to the wall its a stunning view nonetheless. Then its a quick jaunt up to the farmyard and then a steep climb back into the abandoned and solitary moor land of Fountains Fell. Any tiredness is easily recuperated by glancing behind at Malham Tarn shrinking behind me, and the open wilderness in front as far as the eye can see.

Fountain Fell Moors

  Fountain Fell is a wonderful path and in less than an hour I was already descending a steep track to the valley road. The pains in legs, heel and back were all intensified by the concrete under-foot. I was now ready to reach camp. I figured I must have covered the majority of the ascent and there were only two or so pages of maps left in the guidebook. I hadn't realised that within those two small pages there was another ascent to 696 meters as the Pennine Way pops up to Pen-y-ghent- one of Yorkshire's three peaks. Parts of this climb is literally a climb, which with the rising winds threatened to push me off. I was a little scared but there was little other choice and once it was completed it would be all down hill.

The path doesn't twist around, but goes right up over those rocks

From neat the top of Pen-y-ghent

   

Top of Pen-y-ghent

Pen-y-ghent as I descended into Horton-in-Riddlesdale- the Pennine way pretty much follows the profile in view.

Path down to Horton-in-Riddlesdale

     The decent was painful but with me giggling and talking my way to camp like a crazy woman not without its moments. It took at least an hour to get into the town making today's walking time well over thirteen hours but having the destination in view makes such a difference. My feet felt like sponges on sharp stones, every step baring the entire weight of the backpack. It didn't matter though, I'd done it and I was finally engaged in the walk and excited about what was to come. I kept on glancing back at what I'd just climbed over as it began to look above me and couldn't stop grinning.
   It was nearly dusk already and I was a little worried about finding somewhere to camp. Once in a while I glanced around to see if there was a handy corner to pitch my tent but I was nearly out of water and in need of a good meal and a toilet. I checked the map and concluded that the best course would be to go to the first campsite I spotted and hope there would be space. It was a Sunday though and the hordes at Malham might have been an ill omen. With an hour left of daylight I reached Holme Farm, a massive makeshift campsite run my a loudly spoken and friendly Scottish man. Tents filled two large fields and a number of loud parties were taking place. I headed away from the large crowd and found a slightly quieter patch behind the edge facing the smaller of the two fields and a family tent. For a little while I simply lay on my rucksack as I felt my feet decompress from the shoes. The mother of the family drifted over and introduced me to her wonderfull husky. I was glad of the introduction so I'd know where to direct my screams should the need occur. This was the fullest and most inebriated of the campsites I'd come to and I felt a little more weary than usual.
  Stiffly I raised my tent and not bothering to shower sorted out my stuff and eating my powdered soup/couscous concoction fell straight to sleep with my earphones in place to block out the drunken uproar around me.

Pennine Way Day2- Crowden to Standedge

 

View climbing out of Crowden

  I woke early but the rain was too heavy to attempt packing up. I dozed until there seemed a break and packed up as quickly as possible. Overcast as it was as I made my way from the campsite it seemed to dry out a little and the path up and out of Crowden was steady and pretty. I passed the couple I'd seen the day before very early on and made my way alongside Crowden's Great Brook. The water was flowing with worrying force considering the amount of streams I'd be crossing throughout the day . The path contours the hillside precariously, sometimes a little under water and other times going straight through a quickly flowing stream. It made it very hard going, and at times scary.  At several points I needed to throw my bag across before leaping after it. The views however were fantastic, equal if not better than the day before.

The Crowden Great Brook looking back to Crowden in the distance

   The creeks got steadily harder to cross, at times forcing me to search for routes around to avoid been swept away. I was very conscious of my camera through out after my last creek crossing and camera disaster. Very soon my feet were soaked.
    In many ways the terrain here is considerably harder than yesterdays and certainly took a lot longer. I suspect on a dry day this is very different.

  It was with relief I finally, after the mother of all crossings (took nearly half an hour), took the path branching out towards Black Hill. The climb is steady enough and the path clear with slabs here and there to help you over the bog. At this point I was listening to Bill Bryson's 'A Walk in the Woods' but the earphones kept on pausing the ipod driving me absolutely crazy. I also realised that at some point I'd lost all my snacks and was steadily getting hungrier. I stopped myself from having lunch in the hope to stumbling across a pub or food van when I crossed the A635. The moors still held a lot of charm and I quite enjoyed the steady walk, although my backpack was still causing me grief as well as my map cord around my neck. I was so scared of getting lost though that I kept it instantly at hand to double-check my route. Even when I was clearly on the path I'd refer to it in the hope of learning out to read the contours of the land around me.

Path to Black Hill

  I'm afraid the next section to the A635 is tiresome and after the rain, which we'd had all the week before, quite horrible. There's a river crossing which the sign warns not to attempt after rain, it suggested an alternative route but I was too lazy and too worried about getting lost to take heed- a bit like in Australia I know but I am somewhat of a slow learner. This time, however, I got away with it. The path goes up and down a couple of times too often and the road deceptively far away. The couple later told me that they followed, ignoring the alternative route also having concluded that if I'd managed they would also.
Glancing back I spotted them in the distance and kept up my pace, determined that I'd not be overtaken. After the road crossing the path is very simple and goes along the road to a gravel drive along the Wessender Reservoir. Wessender Lodge, my hoped source for lunch, turned out to be a private home. So settling myself on the side of the path I cooked myself some couscous on my JetBoil stove. As soon as I'd finished cooking and turned off the stove the rain came. For some reason I'd decided I was nearly at my destination when I set off which is wrong, two thirds of the way maybe and definitely the hardest parts are completed but there is a way to go. The rain made it all that much harder, and my wet feet were in serious pain. This was not the peppy energetic first few days I'd imagined and I was getting a little worried the walk was going to beat me.

The view from just after Black Moss Reservoir

  Across the moor and a long a series of reservoirs which, if they hadn't lost their novelty yet, will seem quite tiresome  by the end of the trip. As you descend once more to the car park in front of the Brun Clough Reservoir  you cross onto the rather scary A62. Here is my first Pennine Way map on which I posed in a cheesy manner while pointing at my current position. I'm pointing to only a center-meter or so above the starting point, there's still a long way to go,

Looking down towards Standedge as the mists come down

  The days walk complete I now headed off the Pennine way and walked the kilometer of so to The Carriage House. I got there well before it's opening hour and sat outside a while hunching my shoulders to the rain. By this point I was well and truly soaked. The couple of elderly gentlemen who'd been behind me the last few miles caught up and we stood around talking awkwardly. They were hunched over horribly and their packs did not look very supportive whatsoever.
  A kind caravan man popped over and told us to set up and settle the bill later. I gratefully obeyed and blessing the heavens for the clearing of the rain set up the tent and sorted out my stuff. I limped inside and paid for my pitch but mainly to optain a shower token, nearly jumping with glee when they said I could also have a bath if I wished. I did wish. I adopted their boiler as a dry room and soaked myself until I could hear the gentlemen waiting for their turn outside.
  That night was very pleasant. Wondered inside and bought myself a lasagne, attempting to write up the days travel and failing. Instead I examined the next days route, an exercise I'd repeat every night after. It would only be another eleven mile day but if it was going to rain it would be another day of hell. I wanted a sunny few days to kick start the hike, instead I was looking at wet shoes and wet clothes with howling winds over the moors.
  The couple who'd been behind me came in and I introduced myself a little. They were taking a gap year and had given themselves a month to walk the Pennine Way but were finding it much harder than they reckoned- I could relate. The first few days, I can now say in retrospective, are very hard and do not ease you in. Again this might be different in hot dry weather but in the rain the crossings and the bogs are extremely draining. 
  I also met four boys, definitely nearer teenagers than my age, who were doing mountaineering training. One of their number had slipped and hurt his ankle so badly they'd had to get the helicopter in to get him out, by which point he had hypothermia. This gave me guilty comfort- even if I was finding it hard I was having an adventure with dangers just like Australia.

Pennine Way Day 1- Edale to Crowden 16 miles

Looking down from the top of Jacobs Ladder

Stone Church as you Walk in to Edale from the Station

 The only section of the Way I had a companion was the first day. Me and my mother caught the train to arrive in Edale by eleven and after a quick drink at Cooper's Cafe we began the stroll along the valley towards Jacobs ladder. The rolling hills are lovely and a good warm up among flocks of sheep before the stiff climb up Jacobs.       

View from Edale Rocks looking down at Jacobs Ladder

  Not having done half a much preparation as I'd planned the backpack was causing me a lot of problems, moreover I was attempting to keep up with mother who (unlike me) wasn't carrying twenty odd pounds on her back. I failed to keep a constant pase and by the time I reached half way up the accursed hill I'd begun to rethink the whole plan. Luckily I have a talent more essential to hiking than endurance, fitness and strength of character: I have the memory of a gold fish and within a minute of completing a painful and desperate climb I'll have fooled myself into thinking I'd competed it easily.
   Things leveled up after Kinder Low and when we began to walk along ridge I finally claimed sense of rhythm. The wind however grew in strength and the promised rain seemed to be sweeping in. My mother, not having snacked as she walked, needed lunch so I stopped to allow her to eat her sandwiches. A man paused alongside us and began a conversation. He turned out to be a volunteer park ranger. Sat together munching on nuts he treated us to a little history of the place and his job.
  As always when retracing the route the second time, the walk along the ridge seemed to take twice as long as I thought and it was a relief when we finally came to the end and the sharp decent called 'Jacob's Ladder: The Reckoning" to the snake path. It's at this point that I went wrong last time, walking straight forward instead of turning right a few hundred meters from the sign post at the acorn marker on Mill Hill.

Looking back from Snakes Path to Jaccop's Ladder: The Reckoning- cotton grass and slabs over the Moor

  The Snake Path is where you realise how much harder it would have been for walkers doing the Pennine Way thirty years ago. Massive slabs from mills and old factories mark a set route through boggy marshland which at times is a foot deep in rainwater. With no clear path and only a compass bearing it would have been a work of half a day to cross instead of a dull and effortless hour or two. It is easy to image it as Tolkin's marshes before Mordor and as the rain began to fall it looked bleaker and bleaker.
  We reached the A57 at around six and collapsed for ten or so minutes. The weather was too windy to remain for long without getting cold so getting to our feet we trudged onward. We were both already exhausted but one thing made all the difference, I lent mother my Mp3 player while I listened to my Ipod. We past another couple at the cross point, in the mid twenties, and also resting. The girl seemed to be carrying nearly as much as the guy which earned them my approval instantly.
   The ascent up Devil's Dyke to Bleaklow Head was considerably easier than I'd expected even though my feet and back were hurting at this point- in fact both me and mother had already rationed ourselves a painkiller which I think was helping things along considerably. Things weren't helped my the fog creeping in and the rain increasing. We both raised out hoods and went into our own little world- Mother's was listening to Dick Francis while my audio companion was the Bortemaius Trilogy.

Bleaklow Head

  The descent took longer than the ascent and the rain got worse. Around half-seven father phoned to check on our progress, I told me to wait half an hour before leaving to pick up mother. We stopped again along Clough Edge on the 'Pulpit'. It took another hour from there to get down to Torside Reservoir, cross to the other side and up to A628. A quick track up and back down to the Crowden campsite.
  Crowden campsite is the best on the entire hike. It has a massive drying room, good showers, a small shop and nice flat areas to pitch the tent- moreover the guy who runs it popped out of his camper without a grumble to check me in and sell me some soup. Mum was picked up and I was left to collapse and massage my aching feet. I went straight to the shower and changed into wonderfully dry clothes- shoving the rest in the dry room. Once fed I put myself straight to bed.

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.