The World My Wilderness...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

We’re a wholesome bunch here: We have hearty breakfasts of eggs and toast. We hydrate copiously with ice-cool water. We go through crates of apples and buckets of peanut butter like nobody's business. We get at least eight hours of sleep a night. And as you might be able to tell from past posts of mine, we love a good hike.

Someone once told me that hiking was basically consisted of three things: climbing uphill for hours, taking pictures at the top, and then walking back down. Truth be told, that’s a fairly accurate depiction of what can happen, but it hardly describes the incredible swooshing rush you get at the top of a mountain and the intense satisfaction you find at the bottom.

As I write this, we’re all groaning a bit; we’ve just hiked the highest part of Lambs Head (also known as Kahlpahlim Rock), and we all ache. It was a full day walk, and we hiked for seven straight hours. Our sore calf and butt muscles curse us with every step, but reader, it was so worth it!

The day started in darkness, as we had to leave the field station at six o’clock. When you leave the field station at six o’clock, that means you have to wake up even earlier to make your eggs and toast, in addition to packing a lunch for later.

Along with fruit and a turkey sandwich, I brought a ridiculous amount of gorp (good ole raisins and peanuts) to tide me over. Over the course of the hike, I probably ate my weight in gorp.

Bleary-eyed and stumbling, we climbed into the vans that would take us to Lambs Head. Naturally, we immediately fell asleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of those valiant and decrepit vans.

We all collectively woke up when the vans hit dirt road, jiggling us across a mountainous landscape. Soon enough, we were standing around at the start of the trail, adjusting pack straps and double-checking supplies of water (3 liters necessary, at the very least).

And then the hike began!

There’s something so meditative about hiking: it’s like the very act purifies your thoughts. Away with the small and large sins of yesterday, away with the plaguing guilt over tasks done and undone. It’s just you and the mountain.

Even though I was hiking with a small group of six, it was still easy to isolate myself mentally. The person in front of me? Just a pair of legs and a torso moving ahead.

I have a bad tendency of looking down when I’m hiking—mainly because I need to be careful with my footing. (My clumsiness should be nothing new.) Usually, I stare at the ground looking for any obstacles, like random logs or thorny shrubs. This time, though, I tried hard to look at my surroundings.

At the start of the hike, there was a multitude of grasses and lantana weeds, along with sparsely spaced eucalyptus trees. This progressed into more thickly situated deciduous trees with a multitude of feather palms, until you reached mossy boulders and huge trees. The hike up was steep and reminiscent of a Stairmaster exercise.


Like I said, we all ache now.

But we prevailed, and it was worth it. At the top, there were five lookouts, and they were all overwhelming in their span and beauty:


We had lunch at the fourth lookout, and there’s probably nothing better than a mustard, cheese, and turkey sandwich when you’re smack on the side of the mountain. We took a rest, which looks a little like this:

(That's my lovely friend, Laura, taking a well-deserved nap.)

We traveled on to the fifth lookout, where I took the requisite top-of-the-mountain picture:

And then we started on our way back down. The way down (much like the way up) was steep, and much of the time we were basically running down hills, meaning that we made it down in record time.

When we reached the foot of the mountain, we ransacked leftover supplies of gorp and water before lying back and looking up into the blue, blue sky.

Back safe and sound at the field station, we carry the remnants of the day—sunburn, soreness, and general tiredness. Another hike well-hiked, another wholly perfect day in Australia.

I’ve got a book of Walt Whitman here, and I’ll leave you with a stanza I’ve underlined in soft pencil:

This then is life,
Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and convulsions

How curious! How real!
Underfoot the divine soil, overhead the sun.

All my love,
Kaitlin

Next time: We’re going camping in the Daintree, where the rainforest meets the Great Barrier Reef.