As we waited for the ferry to collect us at the end of our Hinchinbrook walk, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Not because I was exhausted, but because I was in shock.
I started the walk thinking I’d be counting the days AND kays (kilometres) until I reached the end. But here I was, feeling sad that it was over and wanting more. I was elated.
I’d lugged my 15 kg pack along rocky trails criss-crossed with tangled roots; negotiated slippery creek crossings; scrambled up and down rocky sections; and (almost) got used to the March flies that were fatally attracted to my hair.
And I’d loved every bit of it, with the possible exception of my bloke whacking me over the head constantly (“It was the March flies!” Yeah right).
Even with the bities and the humidity, it’s such a fantastic walk. One moment we were deep in cool, lush rainforest or rock hopping across crystal clear creeks, the next we were walking through mangrove and palm swamps, open eucalypt forest or grass tree shrubland.
Along the way, we’d stop to cool off in deep forest pools beneath cascading falls or slide into the pristine blue of one of Hinchinbrook’s bays.
At night, the island came alive in a very Jurassic Park kind-of way. There was a whole lot of squawking, hunting and foraging going on beyond the campsite – which was strangely comforting, except when you wanted to go outside for a pee.
Who would have thought carrying all your ’stuff’ on your back for four days could be so damn relaxing? Hinchinbrook was magic.
And no, Sash, I didn’t see any crocs. Especially none with Jodie Foster* in a death roll. No opportunities there for heroic rescues and possible movie script deals.
We’re back in busy-ness land, dancing to the tune of our mobile phones again, but we’re already planning our next adventure… which involves trekking. Who would have thought?
Elle
* JF was on the island at the time, for her part in some movie they were filming there (Mim’s Island?)
For the Hinchinbrook slideshow… Read the rest of this entry »
