Day 7 – Welshpool to Foster

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I cut my snake bandage in half and use it for a makeshift compression brace. Let’s see how that goes. We walk over to the café and “supermarket” for breakfast. 9/10.

With bellies full and rain gear donned, we stride out into the morning drizzle like a couple of hard-bitten mountain princesses.

A wind farm graces the continuing foothills of the Strzelecki ranges to our right. I’ve always found them to be an attractive addition to a pastoral landscape. At the very least, they’re less of a blight than the coal power plants from a few days ago. There’s something a bit SciFi about them.

At Toora we leave the track and wander up the main street in search of morning tea.

At the Windmill Cafe I have a scrumptious mango chai and Lindt chocolate cake. The lady there is gregarious and chatty. She says she’s lived there for fifteen years and still isn’t considered a local. 10/10 Beef Wellingtons.

We spot what we think might be a brown falcon. Then a little further down the track a pair of birds in the kingfisher family laugh derisively at our attempts to identify them. A flock of black cockatoos play in the treetops. The branches of a massive pine tree protest under the weight of approximately twelve billion ibis a little further down. A few hundred black swans graze in a field. Quite the day for bird spotting.

We fetch up in the old gold mining town of Foster (née Stockyard Creek) without having made so much as a turn. It’s a well provisioned little town, and after setting up camp at a caravan park full of characters, we head into town for supplies. My knee has been fine all day, but the snake bandage is uncomfortable so I remove it. Right around the time I’m buying a neoprene brace from the pharmacy (I buy the one marketed for idiots who want to keep being active on an injury), the knee gives me a twinge. I guess that tells me something. Robyn buys some cushioned inserts for her shoes and a fetching pair of sunglasses. Endless long days pounding hard surfaces with a heavy pack are finally taking their toll.

We resupply our hiking food from the supermarket, then wander around reading the interpretive signs about the gold mining days before heading back to the caravan park.

My friend Lis recently offered me the trail name Stitch because I sew so much of my own gear. I thought there was an amusing double meaning, since I’ve been in the emergency room three times in the last three years for hiking injuries requiring stitches, so I took it. I have a few hours to kill before dinner, so after a refreshing nap I pull out my needle and thread and hand embroider it on my pack. I’ve wanted a trail name for a while. Now that I have one it seems silly and indulgent. I decide to embrace that.

We have pizza for dinner at the hotel bistro, and it’s an epicurean delight. 10/10 Beef Wellingtons. We run each other through the four mindfulness questions I developed the other day. I’m loving it as a way to debrief on these long days.

Tomorrow we leave the rail trail and turn southwards towards the prom. The walk is going to change from here on out. Tidal River campground might have some food if we manage to get there during the abridged opening hours, but there will be no more towns. For the first time we’ll have to be careful with battery usage, and we’re likely to lose mobile coverage for some decent stretches. As always, I’ll try to upload the blog when I can, but some interruptions are to be expected.

I go to bed worn out and fall straight asleep, waking only for the sound of somebody trying to reverse a caravan at 10pm despite clearly being wholly unsuited for the task.