I sit here in front of the TV, finally clean after a hot shower, watching the ‘Art of Walking’ DVD released by the Age. The images on the screen leave me nostalgic, even though my experience was incredibly different.
Although pegged firmly, our tent flaps violently, bending under the touch of the wind as it lashes in off the Atlantic. We lay on our backs; all that separates us from the hard earth is the floor of the tent; a thin layer of nylon and an unzipped sleeping bag to insulate us against the chill. A second sleeping bag, also unzipped, tucks underneath our feet and stretches across our bodies. Bringing only two sleeping bags between three people was definitely one of the poorer decisions made when we set off on the Great Ocean Walk a month short of winter, especially considering they don’t zip together.
Tonight is our first night in Apollo Bay and tomorrow we will start the epic 104km Great Ocean Walk. We go to bed before dark, rain pattering on our tent roof as we dream of pillows, big and cuddly, only to wake up to be reminded we are actually pillow-less; our arms tucked uncomfortably under our necks.
Even though we have been in bed for over 12 hours, we wake up on day one feeling un-rested and begin our breakfast preparations. I mix the powder as water is added ever so slowly until a milky liquid is formed. Opening a zip lock bag, I empty the contents into my bowl and voilà, breakfast is served; muesli and milk, our staple diet for the next week.
Packing up our sleeping bags and tent, we throw our packs on our back, and day one of five is officially upon us. The walk starts at Apollo Bay, Victoria and we will finish at the infamous 12 Apostles in four day’s time.
Rain showers down on us on and off all day and we are continuously stopping and starting to add layers of clothing, only to take them off again minutes later.
We arrive at Blanket Bay - our first campsite, a little over seven hours later. We go to take a shower only to realise they are non-existent along the walk and I predict a very smelly few days. We set up camp, enjoy a bowl of cold baked beans on the beach, and are asleep before sunset.
Rising early, day two brings further rain and strong winds. We crisscross our way through the Great Otway National Park, following the cliff face along the coast until we arrive at the summit overlooking Aire River. We are on the home stretch and in unison we let out a sigh of relief as we see our campsite in the distance. Lurking in the background however, is an enormous black cloud that spills rain across the ocean as it moves towards us. We pick up our pace but are caught in the fast approaching downpour.
Arriving at Aire River campsite after accomplishing a 21km walk, we stand momentarily looking for shelter only to hear voices beckoning us from beneath a pitched blue tarp in the middle of a field. There is a moment of hesitation before we bolt to the shelter, tearing off our bags and layers of wet clothing before we sit cross-legged on the ground. We look across to see the voices belong to several friendly young faces.
We share stories and learn this group are from a local Tafe where they study outdoor recreation. ‘Bear’, so dubbed because he once dwelled in a cave, begins to heat some water over a cooker. When it has boiled, he divides it between our three bowls that sit in front of us. We mix in some coffee from a tube and although it has only been two days since we have consumed anything hot, it feels incredible.
The group are shocked to learn that we have been sleeping without a mat or a pillow, with only two sleeping bags, no burner and lugging our ridiculously sized and awkwardly arranged packs over 20km per day.
While we unwind and warm up, the boys insistently set up our tent. We get changed into dry clothes and return to the shelter where we all have dinner together. Over dinner, various members of the group offload food onto us and we end up with a small fortune of goodies. Thanking them, we turn in for the night.
Entering the tent, I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. I must have screamed because the boys are at our door within seconds. Once the mouse has been retrieved, we thank them again and get ready for bed. Just as we’re nodding off, we hear a tap on the tent and Bear is standing there with his cooker. He begins, ‘when you are camping, there are two things which are paramount - shelter and warmth. You already have shelter so please take my burner,’ he says and hands it over along with tea bags and cup’a soups. The generosity and kindness of these strangers has been so overwhelming, we are left speechless.
Waking during the night, I find myself crying as short sharp pains spasm in my hip on the same side that has borne a stress fracture for over a year. Further more, I am so cold I shiver uncontrollably. I tap Jenna on the arm and ask if we could trade spots so that I can be in the middle. Changing positions, the two girls spoon me from either side until I fall back to sleep.
On day three we reluctantly pull ourselves from our sleeping bags early and pack up camp. A small parcel of food has been left at our door for us overnight. It is 6am and we must be on the road by half past. Today we have 27.5km to cover before reaching Ryan’s Den. Gail force winds and torrential rains have decided to join us again and we walk in silence, heads down and legs moving. Knowing we have such a huge distance to cross today is disheartening and it’s hard to stay motivated.
It’s funny how things change. One moment we’re trapped in sand dunes on Johanna Beach as waves crash down around us, the next we’re overlooking the beach at Ryan’s Den campsite in the afternoon sun, drinking wine and eating cake.
As a non-hiker there are a lot of things that once confronted seem incredibly logical, like checking tide times before walking across a beach, but as I have never done anything like this before, it is not something that even crossed my mind. Admittedly, we hadn’t paid much attention to the map for a while, so when we walked down the hill to find a beach, we were less than thrilled.
We take off our shoes, tie them so they rest loosely over our shoulders and begin what is to become one of the most frightening experiences of my life. The waves are enormous and appear to be coming in quicker than we can walk. We decide to get up into the dunes – safety in height and all that. To get up there though, we have to cross a sand bar. Jenna goes first and what appears to be a shallow pool leaves her waist deep, wetting her pants, her bag and the midriff of her tee shirt. Wet and annoyed she retreats and we wade cautiously through a gushing torrent until we get up into the dunes. Perfect timing. The next set that roll in are easily 10 feet and smash down on where we stood just seconds ago. We’re not sure how much bigger they will get so we pick up the pace and stumble through the dunes as the waves, wind and rain belt down around us. In the distance I can see a small dark figure. After about an hour we reach the end of the beach and run up onto a platform looking out. The hooded man stands there staring at us. We are defeated, exhausted. We could have died. I had visions of our faces on the evening news – ‘three girls washed out to sea in violent swells’. He begins to tell us how lucky we are and how stupid we’d been crossing the beach in these conditions. He had waited to make sure we arrived safely and then he leaves.
It is fair to say that by day three, we’ve come to the realisation that we had definitely underestimated the walk. We are silent. Wrecked. Physically and emotionally violated. And then, just like that, the wind stops and the sun appears. We walk a further 20 metres until we are on the grass and sit for lunch. Jenna disappears around the corner to change her saturated clothing, Evelyn unpacks our bags onto the grass to have lunch and I begin to put my shoes and socks back on. Just as quickly as it had stopped, the rain starts again and after a brief downpour, it stops again. Jenna is once again soaked, the contents of our bags, which spill across the lawn, are soaked and I stand with one wet sock in my hand. We are hysterical - not haha this is funny, hysterical, more a haha, that did not just happen, hysterical, when a Parks Victoria Ute drives around the corner. Pulling up beside us they look us over and ask how we’ve been enjoying our walk, almost sarcastically. We stare at them blankly and they ask if we’re ok. ‘Peachy’, we respond and they continue on their way.
Putting on my other shoe, Jenna goes to my bag and retrieves the map. Nose down, bottoms up, we stand over the map in deliberation. It is already 1pm and we have only crossed 12.5km, a further 15 to go, and by the looks of the undulated line dotting the map, it’s not going to be easy. ‘How about we hitch-hike’, I joke, but I take the silence, which follows as them seriously considering what I have said. The Parks Victoria Ute turns the corner. ‘We’ve gone away and had a team meeting and have decided to offer you some assistance’. After we tell them we have to get to Ryan’s Den tonight, they confirm our fears of a difficult path, telling us we have a further 15km across beach and steep inclines with further rain, winds and powerful seas forecast for this afternoon. ‘You’ll never make it before dark’, they say. ‘We can drive you’. The girls are already walking towards the car accepting the offer before I can say no. ‘I think I’ll feel guilty not completing this section of the walk,’ I say, but when we are dropped to our campsite six hours ahead of schedule, I realise the emotional stability of the group may not have withheld the rest of the distance. Armed with wine, collected along the drive, we stop at the campsite and thank the Parks Victoria boys for saving our hide. We set up tent with hours of daylight still remaining.
Over a glass of wine, we watch our first sunset for the walk from our campsite at Ryan’s Den. We sleep relatively well that night, maybe it’s because of the wine, maybe it’s because we have now mastered the art of bed making - arranging grass and leaves from the bush beneath the tent, or maybe it’s the knowledge that the worst is behind.
By day four the weather is glorious and it’s better late than never. While the terrain is equally difficult today, we’re in no rush as the walk is much shorter than previous days and we can thus stop as often as we like. The sun dances, casting a golden hue across a paddock and we decide here is as good a place as any to stop for lunch. We sit for hours and fall asleep in the afternoon sun. Waking a short time later, we decide we had better get moving, anticipating a further few hours of walking, and are pleasantly surprised to find we’re only minutes from our site.
Our last day is upon us, and it is by far our most enjoyed day. The weather is fine and our spirits are high. We walk today with great speed and force and before we know it the 12 Apostles dot the horizon. We have done it. 104km covered in five days. All of our hard work and determination has paid off and we are rewarded by self-contentment.
Although the experience I had was quite different to the one portrayed in the DVD, it is fair to say that what remains consistent is the strong sense of accomplishment for having achieved something amazing.
