Day 0 – A Long Drive and a Late Start

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[This hike is being done for depression and anxiety. Some awesome people do big walks to raise awareness or funding for organisations combatting mental illness. I’m taking matters into my own hands and cutting out the middle man.]

A ridiculous proposition. A truly mad goal. I want to fill in the gap on my line between the Namadgi Visitor Centre in Canberra, and the southernmost tip of Tasmania. By this point it should come as no surprise to any of you that I’d do a stupid walk just to make some pretty squiggly lines arbitrarily appear on a map. No big mystery there; my particular madness is writ large upon every page of this blog.

What’s confusing is why when I told my friend Robyn about it — about the gruelling long days and the dirt country roads; possibly drinking from agricultural runoff and bunking down in caravan parks — she enthusiastically invited herself along. She claims it’s good training for her October AAWT thru, but I’m skeptical. I’m tellin’ ya; some people are just inscrutably crazypants. Oh well; I could do with somebody to provide a tasty diversion when some grizzled farmer inevitably releases his pig-hunting dogs on us.

From Walhalla we’ll head vaguely south west then south, picking up a couple of rail trails to carry us smoothly through farmland, through towns and rainforest, down to the coast and eventually into Wilsons Prom national park, where we’ll finish up with a three day loop taking in Southpoint.

We leave Canberra early and drive south through Cooma and Nimmitabel to the Victorian coast. The roads are good and Asphaltia, goddess of safe travels must have smiled upon us as we make decent time, There’s a little urgency; we’re planning to knock 12km off as soon as we arrive, trimming tomorrow’s planned 30km down to a more manageable amount out of the gate.

We stop at Lakes Entrance and quickly scoff down some fish and chips on the foreshore before swapping drivers.

Driving into Walhalla is a trippy experience. The little houses are nestled into nooks or pinned to the sides of the steeply forested hills. The last time I was here, I was a tenderfooted little hiker setting out alone into something I was only vaguely prepared for but determined to do with an indomitable whim of steel. It’s hard to believe that was only three years ago.

Packs hoisted, we wander over to say hello to the rotunda. A set of concrete steps trail their way up the mountainside. You have to be careful setting foot on those stairs. If you don’t watch out, they’ll carry you all the way to Canberra. All being well, Robyn will be walking down them exhausted but elated in a few months time. There’s a nice sort of roundness to things.

And just like last time I was here, we leave Walhalla immediately without taking time to properly look around the charming historical town.

We shoot up a hillside and immediately fall into stride. The broad fire trail opens to swallow us into a temperate Victorian rainforest of mountain ash and tree ferns. We’re a pair of strong walkers setting out on a hike that has been anticipated longingly for the last few weeks. Junkies finally settling in to a fix.

As the kilometres start to fall away beneath our feet and the day slides comfortably towards shadow, a change overcomes us both. The stresses and niggling concerns of daily life melt into the background. Tomorrow and the tomorrows to follow, there will be no bills or phonecalls or extension-activity-practice-change-review-meetings. There is only wake up and walk. Steps become lighter, brows unfurrow. We are walking.

Eventually the winding series of 4×4 tracks gives way to a rough trail which carries us down through shadows that deepen into proper darkness to Brunton’s Bridge; our campground for the night. We pitch camp by headlamp light.

The first night out is always a little fraught. Who knows what vital gear we’ll discover we have accidentally left at home. While I’m setting up I find that my cat has chewed clean through the shock cord holding up my peak shelf (a storage pouch in the end of my hammock) but I’m able to effect a field repair.

Down here at 190m above sea level, the night is pleasantly warmish. The stars are surprisingly bright for how close we are to Melbourne. It’s going to be a good walk.