"Are We There Yet...?!"

  Wilson's Promontory, Australia
Tuesday, May 27, 2008

"It's a really easy, flat walk and there's a great pub at the end of it..." said John, to cajole me into doing the 2-day hike to the southernmost tip of mainland Australia. 
 
Ok, I'm making that up... the truth of the matter is that I did actually agree, of my own volition, knowing that I am out-of-practice and out-of-shape, to a 46 km round  trip, in the full awareness that there would be plenty of upward slopes and impossible-to-walk-on soft sand, and I would be carrying the necessary supplies on my back... am I sound in the head these days?  Did I learn nothing from nearly inducing heart failure on that bike ride in Laos, Anju? 
 
I couldn't walk comfortably for several days afterwards, but it was, in fact, a fabulous weekend!
 
We kicked off on the Saturday evening, after a 3-hour drive south (with extra time for the obligatory wine-tasting stop, of course...), where we met up with Rod and Kim at our overnight halt, the 'Fishy Pub' at Fish Creek, and the surreal tone of the night ahead was set as the fellas transported the kayaks into the bedroom lest they be 'liberated' from the roof rack under cover of dark.  The bar was jammed full of the local football and netball teams, accompanied by their extended families, friends ,loose acquaintances, pets, and, it seemed, the entire local under-6 population.  It was a tough fight to get to the bar but we battled through, only to be served beer in veritable thimbles.  Nothing as excessive as a pint is available in Victoria, it seems... didn't those British convicts bring any useful customs with them all those years ago?!  After downing a couple of baby beers in a hurry, (apart from queue time, of course, no hurry about that...)  it seemed wise to order a big jug between us... it seemed less wise a couple of hours later, when we were the only remaining customers and I was tearing a napkin into a surf board shape  on which to place the wee Puss-in-Boots toy left on the floor by a random child... or when we threw coins into the 'Irish Bingo' machine, producing a ticket reading 'Biggo', and I tried to convince the bar staff that it is, in fact, spelled as such in Ireland, thus I must have won...ah, dear...
 

the beginning of the trail

walking the beach, Wilson's Prom

So, the head was a wee bit fuzzy the following morning as I dazedly waited for the toast to pop up, but the noise of the smoke alarm, which I repeatedly set off, conveniently helped to jolt me into the day.  And I was in fine fettle once we hit the trailhead at Wilson's Promontory and ambled off under a beautiful blue sky, in the crisp Autumn air, up and down slopes of vegetation recovering from forest fires, admiring the scale-like  burned bark and

"who's a pretty boy?"

Wilson's own Easter Island head

spotting parrots in the trees; along pristine, white, powdery beaches, dodging the spray as the waves hit shoreline rocks;  past misshapen boulders, some of which resembled the mysterious Easter Island faces; splashing across vast puddles on the sand...  it was one of those perfect 'good-to-be-alive' days.  Until we had finished our gourmet  picnic lunch, said goodbye to the entertaining company of Rod and Kim who had to head back, and realised it

picnic stop day 1

Happy Birthday Mick!

was 3 p.m. and we still had 15 km to cover!  That's when it began to resemble army manouevres as we yomped forwards, determined to reach our destination before dusk,  despite my dodgy foot groaning and my pack weirdly  appearing to gain weight with each km.  And the miracle came to pass... at 5 o'clock, the lighthouse appeared in the dying light and we managed to ascend the almost vertical final few metres just before dark.


 

Wilson's Promontory Lighthouse

Also staying in the lighthouse cottage were 3 sisters, originally from Derry, who had the place well warmed with the fire, beside which I sat to peel off my rank socks and catch my breath, comforted by a half pint of neat Cointreau (as beer or wine would have been too heavy to carry!  I was just relieved that my measure of drink wasn't proportionate to the volume of it I had actually lugged on my own back or I would have been very thirsty...thanks John!)  Neat spirit turned out to be excellent at disguising the 'flavour' of the rehydrated dried rations, so dinner was a  grand affair, and of course, once the liqueur kicked in, I took the opportunity to enlighten our cottage-mates on how ageist the Aus Immigration Policies are... I think I need to be fitted with an 'Immigration-Complaint-Detector' that clamps my jaws every time I get started on my soapbox, to save the Aussie population from dying of boredom...

 

dawn at the lighthouse

the light

The cottage's super-hot showers worked wonders on my sorry muscles the next morning and so, fortified with porridge and coffee, we headed off towards Waterloo Bay, confident that our brisk pace would have us back at the car by mid afternoon...ha!!!  How could it have been possible that it was again getting dark as we limped to the 'finish line'?  It wasn't the delay  occasioned by me nearly trampling on a snake, sunning itself on the trail:  that only held us up long enough for me to freeze to the spot, open-mouthed and goggle-eyed as it casually slithered off into the bush, inches from my foot.  Nor the hold-up as I marvelled at the speed of the wombat who charged past us, apparently in training for

along the trail

view back to lighthouse from trail

the marsupial olympics.   It couldn't have been all the chocolate and gummy-snake snack breaks, as they were frequent but all very brief.  Maybe it was my never-ending pee-stops... I had drunk a lot more water at breakfast that day...  But, no, I guess it was the picnic stop on the gorgeous, untouched, long  expanse of sand at Waterloo Bay, from which I found it hard to tear myself away.  In a rare act of bravado,

paddling... wading?!!

given my cold-wimpiness,  I tugged off the boots, unzipped the trouser legs and braved the rushing foam, squealing as it swirled around my (award winning...!) ankles and then roaring as a wave caught me unawares, aiming a good bit higher than the ankles!  During today's gourmet picnic, we were joined by a few crows and a very large, greedy gull (not quite chickens, Steve, but I did cast a thought your way...!) and amused ourselves watching them race for the scraps of thrown bread... you know what they say about simple things pleasing simple minds...
 
Eventually we continued, veering off the beach, along boardwalks through the marshes, back along the sandy trail, up an interminable hill... it was beginning to feel like the 'Bear Hunt' story: splash splosh, splash splosh; swishy swashy, swishy swashy; stumble, trip, stumble, trip;  oh God, my feet hurt, are we there yet?... (alright, I know that bit's not really in the original story...)  and finally, just as the bear hunt ended when the house loomed out of the shadows, so our hike ended as the Johnmobile loomed out of the shadows, and instead of a bear hunt it became a beer hunt as the critical business began of groping around inside the cool bag for the solitary remaining bottle, an extremely rewarding Youngs Chocolate Stout.
 
We had made it! 

watch out!

wallaby mid-bounce!!