Day 5 – Balook to Yarram

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A beautiful morning breaks and you can tell right away it’s going to be blue skies and a mild warm day. Perfect walking weather. From the visitor centre we follow the Forest Trk for a scenic detour to start the day. We are sung to as we walk.

We turn onto the Wild Cherry Track and descend down a long spur. It’s lightly muddy clay under a thin veneer of grass, and we frequently find our feet sliding beneath us. It makes for tiring walking, but it’s hard to be dispirited surrounded by such beauty. At some point Robyn realises she’s dropped her sunglasses somewhere, but decides it’s too much effort to backtrack and look for them. We’ve got 26km to cover today.

As warned by the nice man at the visitor centre, the broad benched track ends where it meets a pine plantation and becomes a walking trail. Attempting to follow the spirit of his advice rather than the marked trail, we head off along the old benched track through the pine forest, get turned around, bash our way down to another trail, and have to backtrack. We should have just followed our nose and the plentiful trail markers. Oh well. We’re still following the Strzelecki track and its yellow echidna.

The track follows the course of Macks Creek and there are a number of shallow crossings to negotiate. It’s an absolutely beautiful bit of forest that has received a fair bit of track work at some point. It’s tough and steep in places, and windy, and in places it climbs high above the creek with precipitous slopes. It’s reminding me somewhat of the Leven Canyon track in Tasmania.

The delightful rainforest bit was certainly delightful and rainforesty.

-Robyn

We pop out onto a road and stop for lunch. The 12km so far has been rough going compared to the open breeziness of the rest of the walk. It’s no trouble for two hard-bitten mountain people such as ourselves, but there’s a decent stretch of road still ahead today. A sleepy lazy warmth lies like a blanket over the fields and cows.

One road turns into another, and eventually we’re pounding asphalt and stepping into long grass while dodging cars and tractors. In planning the walk I did my utmost to minimise these sections as much as possible, and once we hit Yarram it should be the worst of it done. This is my very least favourite type of walking, but Robyn seems just happy to be out under sunshine and blue skies and saying hello to the cows and the birds. It’s difficult not to be buoyed by her enthusiasm. And besides, there’s no point ruminating; I’m all out of cud.

Before long we reach Yarram; tired and sore, but feeling very pleased with ourselves.

Once we reach the caravan park there are a million things to do. We race to Woolworths to supply our food bags. Shopping hungry, we end up with a bunch of heavy but delicious food that we’ll have to eat tomorrow before we’re far into the day. We put laundry on and repack our food bags while we wait. Then it’s into the local pub for a well-earned dinner.

I’ve been thinking about two young women I shared a fire with in New Zealand. They were nearing the end of five months of walking Te Araroa. From what I gathered they’d done much of the early walk together, then split up, only to reunite near the Kepler. I listened reverently as they ran each other through a set of well practiced gratitude questions, the specifics of which I now forget. I spend the afternoon considering the value of this, and coming up with my own, with Robyn’s input.

We sit in a corner of the busy bistro wearing our laundry clothes — rain pants, thermal leggings, puffer jackets — fatigued and footsore, but self-satisfied, and ask each other; what did you learn today? The word silviculture. What did you struggle with today? My mood during the road bash. What did you do well today? Not beating myself up for losing the track. What are you grateful for? Sunshine and junk food.

When we retrieve our clothes from the drier after dinner I’m missing a sock. I’m not even mad.