Make Like a Bear

After my cockatoo encounter of terror, I felt I'd seen it all and was ready to face the wilderness. Nothing could phase me now. Like a wearisome warrior, with the echoes of battle still ringing in my ears and a faraway look in my eyes, I literally got back on the bike and cycled to the nearest Grampian trail. Ten minutes later, I was at the foot of the path up Mount Sturgeon.

Well that was easy, I thought, slightly embarrassed. Makes all the anxious preparation seem a tad ridiculous. Deranged birds and getting lost in the wild?... - pff, what was I so worried about?! With that, I began climbing. This was my first real hike, and what I'd been preparing for. In my trip planning stage, the intention was for hiking to feature heavily, particularly when I reach New Zealand later on, and I needed to get my sea legs, before attempting a several day tramp. Here was a well-trodden trail, frequented by day-trippers, young and frail alike. This should do me.

The path was steep and winding, and for the first couple of hours I was on an exposed incline. The sun was beating down and I was hacking my way through low shrubs and thorny bushes. No other hikers could be seen. At times I wondered whether the trail was a true one, but other than a couple of retraction incidents, I managed to stay on it. I kept a sharp eye out for snakes, but couldn't spot any, although I'd been warned they are everywhere, all I noticed were a couple of lizards. In fact, I'd been warned Australia was full of deadly animals. Lies, clearly.

On reaching the top, view was magnificent. I stopped for a short break, taking deep breaths and squinting in the sun.




Top of the Mount

Mt Sturgeon Trail Map

As I picked up the trail at the alternative starting point, as above, I had to return the way I came, a somewhat unnerving experience, the trail being as it was rocky, thorny, slippery and mainly steep. Incredibly, other than a grazed knee, I carried on unscathed. Gradually, as I got lower down, the trees began to surround me and the trail was more shaded and level.

I turned around when I heard a whoosh sound in the foliage, in time to see a gang of emus meandering down the slope just behind me. They were so bizarre and large, so out of place amongst the trees, and clashing with my own complacent ease of being all on my own, that I was immediately transported to a state of primal awe. My life of safety in a country where the most dangerous encounter with the wild, would be with a particularly bad tempered goat at the petting zoo, or a mangy urban fox, has all at once been put into perspective of how little I know of this world.

Odd bird

This encounter left me in a heightened state of awareness, which was just as well. For, following the path a little further down, I felt the blood in my veins turn icy as a 7 foot kangaroo loomed a few meters ahead of me. The animal was a good bit larger than those I'd seen until now - either harmlessly viewed from the safe distance of Margie's back garden, or roadkill by the side of the road. Alive it was, and entirely aware of my presence too. We both froze, and whatever ancient reflexes still flow in me clicked fully on. I knew that I need to remain still. Although in no way a bear, nor a dangerously carnivorous animal, I'd heard that roos in the wild would attack if feel under threat. And this being a particularly large specimen, I didn't wish to test my luck. I stood, watching it with my head slightly lowered, trying to steady my breath, and let it watch me, until I could sense that It knew I was no danger. After what seemed like an eternity, it looked away and hurried off.

Dangerous wild animal

Still standing there, the adrenaline coursing through my body, I was no longer the old me - I was now cave me, interacting with fauna, at one with nature. All that excitement and high hormonal release had an unexpected side effect, which was now becoming an urgency. Evidently, upon seeing a 7ft roo when alone in the wild for the first time, one is lucky not to soil oneself. Realising, I winced in horror - no, not here! Not now!... but to no avail, it was do or die. I listened out for human chatter or crackling of feet upon twigs, ensuring I was alone. Remembering conscientious respectful travel advice for the adventurer, I quickly dug a hole, and followed my gut instinct, as it were. Covering my little shame-grave, I felt quite the opposite, surprisingly. Like a child first boasting to their parents with pride - look, mummy, daddy, look what I made! - I felt even more alive. I was now literally part of nature. Had I not have been in a rush to get back to the main road before dark, I would've shed all my clothes there and then and frolicked in the woods as nature intended, celebrating my pagan joy.

Margie was going away that weekend, but had guests booked at the B&B. She called for reinforcement in the form of her not unattractive son Scott, to help with the registering, cleaning, cooking and to generally have someone there making sure I don't tear the place apart in an unexplained frenzy. It all went beautifully smoothly and we even organised a nice BBQ in the conservatory, chatting and drinking, and being The Good Hosts.

The next morning I cooked my scrambled eggs for the guests' breakfast, receiving accolades to my great relief. Scrambled eggs are difficult to get right to everyone's taste, and I'm not one to pander to those erring on the side of overcooking them. It is simply an insult to the eggs, especially freshly laid ones. They must be still creamy and with a sheen, not gravelly and dry.

Having fulfilled our duties of a thorough clean up and animal husbandry, we decided to go for a drive to Boroka lookout near Halls Gap. The drive itself was spectacular - Alpine dense green forests heavy with ferns lushly spilling over, tall fragrant trees, and hundreds of cicadas singing insanely everywhere. Here I got a proper view of the Grampians national park from the observation point. The only slight downer was how badly burned some areas were, consumed by massive fires, a constant risk. We wanted to climb up even higher to the fireman's hut for an even better view, but it too had burned down.

Grampians' Lookout

Getting back Scott and I just had time to say our goodbyes, before I had couple of precious hours to myself alone at the house, which felt pleasantly luxurious. Or so they should've been, but although it was the middle of the day, I couldn't ignore the heavy cloak of aloneness, which would take, I reckoned, a lot getting used to; every little noise was weird and every creak scary. The whole thing became spookier by the minute, not helped by the fact i found Manhunter, the book The Silence of the Lambs is based on, in Margy's library and was trying to relax with some light reading...

Red Dragon

Contrasting nicely with my overdose of nature and isolation, the next day Margie and I drove to the nearest town, Hamilton, where she was teaching her pottery class. I had the pleasure of feeling pavement under my feet, idly window-shopping, and scaring the locals with my obvious otherness. The chilly spring nights pushed me into the local department store to purchase a pair of long johns, which helped me through the remaining few days at the farm. Once Margie had finished her class, we rounded off the day at a "mingler" in the Dunkeld pub, where I was introduced to her smorgasbord of odd types she called friends. Several pints and bonding experiences later, we got back in her car and drove wobbilily back. Similarly the rest of the sodden ragtag crew made their merry way home. No surprise about the vast numbers of roadkill then.

My stay at Margie's was the perfect first Wwoofing experience - I got to get stuck in with some hard work, but not too punishingly so, hiked, climbed, mingled with the locals and had a good old fashioned Aussie barbie. I also began to fathom the complex Wwoofer-Wwoofee relationship, although being me, assumed I'd be smart enough to circumvent it next time... what a fool I was.

I managed to get a thank-you gift for Margie at dull but harmless Hamilton, and we had a cosy final dinner together, watching the sun setting over the southern tip of the Grampians one last time, kangaroos hopping around the surrounding paddocks and cockatoo calling in the sweet air. Goodbye Grampians.

An Uneasy Embarkation

I woke up in a small town in Eastern Australia, crying. This was not the start of a trip-of-a-lifetime I’d expected. The past two days were spent moping around my second cousin and his wife’s house in Narrabri, halfway between Sydney and Brisbane. Here, in this charming farmland town, I did a whole lot of not much, other than sleeping, weeping, and trying hard not to bum out my tolerant hosts. It was a mere fortnight ago that my family’s tranquil existence has been irreversibly disrupted, destabilising the vibe around the trip I’d been planning for many months as result.

We were sitting in the kitchen – our familial congregating area, its cramped cosiness and proximity to the fridge much preferred to the larger living room, only ever used for watching TV or entertaining guests - my mum, my sister and me. I was on a long visit, sort of an elaborate pit stop prior to commencing my long-planned trip, but in reality an excuse to spend much needed time in the bosom of my family. I’d been living away for so long, this was a singularly precious opportunity to gain some quality time on the family loyalty-points card.

Sitting in the kitchen, as we were, not unlike any other day, my sister casually mentioned she thought, but wasn’t certain, she may have a something lump-like in her breast, but perhaps it’s nothing. ‘I’m not sure’, she added laconically. My mum and I exchanged glances. ‘How long has it been there?’ we asked. ‘A few months, really’, she tentatively offered, fully recognising the implication of what she was saying, and the overwrought histrionics she may be invoking, ‘but honestly, I couldn’t tell if it’s anything. Here, feel it’. I knew, as soon as my fingers touched that Ping-Pong ball sized solid protuberance, that it was cancer. I’d felt it before, oddly, on my dog, years ago. I knew what it was then, and I knew now. ‘Make an appointment to see a doctor’, I said pointedly, whilst trying to maintain my cool. She seemed taken aback at my unequivocal tone, rather than being placated with a dismissive ‘oh it’s nothing to worry about’. But we all knew there was now no time to lose.

I was due to leave for my trip the following week, but was no longer sure I wanted to, or even could bring myself to. We went to see the doctor together, confirming what we’d already suspected, and set the wheels in motion for the next inevitable steps. Ominous words like ‘chemotherapy’, ‘terminal’ and ‘death’ were constantly going through my mind. I agonised over the decision whether to pack it in and stay put. But mulling it over with the family, they repeatedly pointed out that a. we didn’t know how soon, if at all, any treatments were to start, b. there is nothing any of us can do for the moment and c. I’d spent much time and money organising this trip and ought to at least begin, then if necessary I could always return.

I had just recently completed a postgrad diploma, later in life than is conventional, a feat undoubtedly driven by the dissolution of my marriage. The divorce papers have also just come through, the coinciding events both milestones of some epic. Feeling this was as right a time as any for a Sabbatical, I quit my UK based job, having put some funds aside for my adventure, and became a lady of leisure – for the next year or so, anyway. The plan was to travel around the south east of Australia, using Wwoofing as a great way of seeing as many remote parts as possible. Wwoofing consists of volunteering on sustainable and environmentally aware, mainly smallholders’ farms, sometimes organic or biodynamic, being provided with food and accommodation in exchange for 4-6 labour hours per day. My trip was then to take me around the north and south islands of New Zealand; however, here some work permit restrictions meant Wwoofing was not an option, and so I begrudgingly booked a hop-on-hop-off tour bus, with the intention of stopping off for independent hikes in various places. The final leg was to be around the southern states of the US, mainly by Amtrak train. I felt the tingle of freedom and yearned to consummate it by roaming the world, unshackled by concerns and trivialities of routine life. But now, It seemed, reality has sniggered smack dab in my face. Best laid plans and so on… a new perspective heavily wrapped round my escapade like a thick duvet. Still, I resolved to push on with my plan and put a brave face on. The airport goodbyes were not easy.