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.

Take a hike, my friend.

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

Today is my birthday! And I’m in Australia! Could things get any better?

Actually, if I can be honest, things could have been a little better. We were scheduled to go up to Lambs Head on an all-day hike, but we can’t because of (what else) a rainstorm. That’s okay, though, because seriously, let’s put things in perspective—I’m in Australia, and it’s beautiful. Even in all its rainy glory.

I know this will sound tired and prosaic, but I feel very lucky to be here. Most days I wake up at six o’clock in the morning (what a difference from mornings at Swarthmore), and I just lay there for a while, listening to the rain and the birds. By now, I can identify some of these birds, and it makes me feel a little more welcome in this big, vast rainforest.

And, reader, I feel happy. That’s pretty rare for any human being to achieve, and I’ve been feeling it a majority of the time here. Even in sessions of intense paper writing, it's hard not to enjoy the beautiful surroundings. I mean, really—how could anyone be stressed when face-to-face with a bullheaded and foolish brush turkey, intent on stealing your lunch?

Just look at that face. We call him Charles.

Anyways, I promised that last time I’d talk about what you need to bring in your pack for hiking in the rainforest, and I’m here to deliver. What you need in the rainforest isn’t too different from what you’d normally need, with a few exceptions:

• Rain jacket: You better make sure this is waterproof. None of your fancy frills, please. Bless you, inventors of Gore-tex. You’ve protected me from many a blustery burst of water, and I love you.

• Rain pants: Before this program, I’d never heard of rain pants. The ones I found look laughably bad on me. They’re size extra-small, but they still balloon out like goofy, horrible jodhpurs. However, they get the job done, which is basically to protect me from leeches and puddles.

• Swiss army knife: Whether you’re slicing open your apple or screwing back together your glasses (don’t laugh at me), I can’t stress the usefulness of this.

• Sunglasses: The Aussies call these sunnies, and when the sun breaks out, like it did last week, they're a necessity.
  

• Sunscreen lotion: You’ll get tan no matter what you do, but I try to avoid it anyways. Wear sunscreen, and avoid the burn. My farmer’s tan is fairly ridiculous by now, so I’m trying to remedy it.

• Bug spray: This is crucial. My legs are the sorriest sight because I neglected to put on some good old DEET two days in a row. There are these huge marsh flies that take a chunk out of your leg and leave you with big old welts. Somehow, I’ve been hit the worse, and of course, I’ve been getting the “It’s because you’ve got such sweet blood!” comments endlessly. Hardy har har.

• Binoculars: Perfect for sighting kookaburras and the other many birds of the rainforest. Also for looking straight-up gangsta.

• Camera: I love my new digital SLR camera, and it’s been getting some serious workouts. It’s huge and ungainly but completely worth the trouble of lugging it around. Where else am I going to get a shot like this?

• Rainboots: Aussies call these gumboots, and we’ve taken to calling them “g boots.” (I know, what sophisticated humor! What enlightened wit!) Anyhow, my “g boots” have protected me from cow pies, mud, and leeches. However, they have not protected me from my own clumsiness. During water testing for a local creek, I fell in, and my poor rainboots overflowed with mucky scumwater. Not pretty.

• Compression bandages: Snakes are everywhere here, and these will help you in case you get bitten. You wrap them around the snake bite area, in order to slow the flow of poison in your bloodstream. Fingers crossed, I won’t ever have to use them.

• Water: Your Nalgene bottle will become a lifeline. It’s easy to get dehydrated when you’re doing a lot and when it’s so hot. I have a friend here who reminds me to drink water because I forget sometimes and then wonder why I feel so dizzy. Plus, is there anything more delicious than ice-cold water?

• Bandana: Effective in mopping a sweaty brow or in tying back sweaty hair. Sweaty sweaty!

• Headlamps: At night, there are no lampposts to guide you back to your cabin. And the darkness can be overwhelming. On my first night here, I walked back alone, and even with the brightness of my headlamp, I felt so frightened. The blackness envelops you, and you imagine all sorts of things. It’s all I can do just to remember that there are no large predators in the Australian rainforest.

• Extra set of clothes: You're going to get dirty so bring extra of everything, especially socks. I have about three extra pairs of hiking socks in my pack at all times. I also keep a swimsuit in there, just in case we have time to stop and swim in a lake. You know how I love a good lake-swim!

• Nibblies: Aussie-speak for snacks, and completely necessary for an overeater such as myself. Preferred nibblies? PB & J, apples, pita and hummus, and chocolate.
  

And of course, don't forget your trusty hiking boots! Mine are actually my sister’s (sorry again, Chrisann!) so they’re comfortable and already broken in.

Apologies for how long this list turned out to be! I’ll understand if you merely skimmed it over. I’ve never realized how much I actually carry in my backpack. Those who’ve known me awhile know that I favor my huge faux leather bag that I just dump things in, but currently, my North Face pack has been, for all intents and purposes, glued to my back. It’s gross and dirty, but these days, so am I!
Also, I have to say this before I sign off: As much as I’m in love with my new surroundings, I miss my family and friends so much. I may be currently infatuated with Australia, but the only real place for me, the place I continue to crave in the midst of all this green, is home with all of you.

All my love,
Kaitlin