lost & found: a brief memoir about coming unstuck in the forest
The bus drops me into this one-pub town with my oversized backpack. The air here is dry and cold enough to make a nose bleed. I check the map and start to move towards the inlet. Overgrown shrubs on the path loom over my head like a barrel as I meander along the water’s edge. I feel vulnerable, due solely to the weight I carry on my back. There would be no quick moves if I encountered a creep right now. I look around for creeps, but it’s just me. I finger the leatherman in my pocket but shamefully I must admit it takes me at least ten minutes to actually open the bloody thing...
There will be no Crocodile Dundee moves today.
The direction of the path veers away from the waters edge and I find myself trudging through low, scratchy scrub. I look for creeps but again there is no one around, just birds and insects going about their business. Winter sun beats on my face.
I can’t remember when it was this kind of silence. Folk of the west know this quietude: it's cellular & palpable. It resides in their bones. Here, the world’s noise is drowned out by the sound of wind song and giant creaking trees. This quiet is ubiquitous, a backdrop to the vastness of the landscape.
Soon I stop to tend to my first blister and to eat some questionable cheese. As I apply the bandaid I’m dubious of the potentiality of my feet - they don't look too crash hot. But I’m fresh into the trail and I have adrenaline & optimism to bullshit me through all reasoning, so before I know it, I’m strapped up with this big-ass bag and charging ahead again.
The track stretches up into a Karri forest and now the climbing gets real. I peer behind me, gaining glimpses of the tiny inlet that I was edging not so long ago. Soon there is nothing but giant trees pulling me up towards the sunlight that blasts between them. Oddly, I hear music. It sounds like bass lines of a bush doof. I look around, only to realise it’s only the sound of my heart punching beats underneath my shirt.
With everything I need in my backpack I feel free, sovereign and dependent on no one. Ironically, I feel burdened with the frickin weight of it.
I stop to rest and have a feed of some cold pasta. Below me in the depths of the forest, the river winds like a snake. It feels close and far away at the same time. My feet are wet with what I suspect is either blood, sweat or pus. I’ve been walking for hours now and according to this map I should arrive at the camp site soon.
On I walk....and I keep walking…and I keep walking...
Over bridges and through creeks - not a soul around. The track bends around and introduces me to yet another uphill climb. It juts into deep bush and I sit my sweaty ass down and rip out my phone to check the time. 4.38pm - almost sunset. The elusive camp site has to be coming up because dammit I have been walking since this morning.
By now the mental dialogue is loud and pretty vulgar: I want to be saved. I want to stop. I want to reach my fucking destination. I’m tired. I cannot do this. I’m in serious pain. I’m exhausted. Fuuuuuuck.
But I’m here. Alone. In this forest. Angry. And I willingly brought myself here – carrying...all...this...shit.
Within half an hour its dark and I’m no closer to that river. In fact, I cannot hear the reassuring sound of the water at all anymore, just owls and birds calling out on their way to finish for the day.
I pull out my head torch to discover the battery has shit itself and right about now I'm feeling pretty pleased that I took my husband's advice to pack a spare one. The torch lights up the forest like day and in it’s flood I see my frosty breath, though I’m far from cold. This may be the most cardio I’ve done since giving birth. There is nowhere to set up a tent around here – its wet and slippery and full of sticks and fallen branches.
On I plug.
But within half an hour I need to stop. In the darkness I chuck my pack down on a log and squat down and cry into the forest with the overwhelm of a frustrated child. I need to offload SOMETHING and if it cannot be this fucking pack, it may as well be a few tears. I’m not sure if it will give me strength or direction but it seems my body just needs the release. I take a deep breath and beg for a place to rest. Come onnnnnnnn.
And now I'm walking into the night and I swear the pain lessens or perhaps my feet are numb with shock because now I actually prefer to be walking in the dark. Here, the world cannot see me, failing and suffering under my own ruling. Here, in the dark I'm offered the possibility of sneaking on by with my stupid pack and stupid bleeding feet and no one will ever be the wiser to the idiocy of it all.
After another hour I’m pretty bloody certain there is no camp site and I start eyeing off patches of ground where I can sleep. I find a small patch of woody ground at the base of some massive tingle & karri trees. With shaky hands and stiff feet, I set up the tent by the light of my torch. I do the job quickly and badly: I am too preoccupied with the idea of getting off my feet.
But before I climb into my home for the night I stop to survey the stars twinkling through the huge tingle trees above me. I take a moment to exhale.
On embarking on this solo hiking trip, I had considered that I may feel vulnerable in the dark: rapists and murderers would sneak around my tent ready to knife me or 'more-animal-than-human' noises would torment me all night. To my horror, more than one person had mentioned the Blair Witch Project when I had told them of my plans. I deduced I may have to piss in a cup through the night because all sorts of murky shit would be waiting out there in the darkness for me.
But you know, I had words with my brain. These fears were under my ruling, created only by me. It was conjecture. I thought of the beauty of the darkness - and what life would feel like without the blackness of night to help rejuvenate our bones and souls. And so I offered myself an alternative - I entertained the idea that perhaps I will just go walking and be in nature and it will just be ... amazing? no rapists, no murderers and no Blair Witch.
And you know what? That fear (the one I was so sure I was going to experience in the dark, alone in the forest) never arrived. I peed outside my tent in the pitch black of the night while countless stars winked from their suspension in the night sky. It was remarkable.
Never had lopsided ground and a sweat stained jacket-pillow felt so darn good. I wanted to celebrate by slamming down a litre of water to replace the bucketloads of sweat I had shed, however one of the downfalls of missing the camp site was missing the water tanks that were at the camp site. I decide to save the measly 100ml I have left for the morning.
As I laid in my tent, I couldn't get that Woody Allen quote out of my head:
“If you want to make god laugh, tell him about your plans”
I had charged through the bush like a moonstruck woman, only to collapse in a pile of tears and festering blisters. Overdoing it is not an estranged concept to me though it was suddenly clear now how it no longer served me.
It is so easy to swim with the current of the perpetually pulsing modern world - and much more difficult to swim against it. Society sells the myth that we need to feed our incessant wants. That our happiness depends on an extra car, a bigger house, more followers, more money, another degree or just a way to prove to the external world that we are, in some way, a success. We search for that one thing that is going to confirm that we are different, special and enough.
But it is our simple existence that is a miracle.
The West Australian bush has always felt raw and rugged and harsh and wrathful to me. But as I lay in my tiny tent surrounded by nothing but wilderness, I realised that nature totally had my back. I was being offered a pretty clear message to soften and slow down. At that moment I realised that the harshest thing in this forest was me.
As this sinks in, the wind song sends me into sleep.
In the morning the sound of the wind fanning the tree tops wakes me. This is by far my favourite sound.
I gnaw on dried mango and review the map, with clearer eyes. I soon come to realise that I had surpassed the camp site by a long shot. I had hiked almost 30 kilometres with the equivalent of a baby elephant strapped to my back. My days of overdoing it, my friends, are done.
I had come onto that track with my ideals & thermal socks and left with damaged feet, torn muscles and abrasions to my ego. But I also left with a new narrative. It wasn't empowering to consistently overdo it. It was empowering to shift my perception. It was empowering to listen to the wisdom of nature. It was empowering to operate in a space outside of my ideals - this was real freedom.
I mentally cringe at the thought of donning my evil shoes & heinous back pack, but the motivation of drinking water gets me moving. I heat some soup while I take in the surrounds. Dew drops fall off leaves into the earth while birds dart around me and blue sky starts to appear through the tingle forest roof.
In the light of day, this forest, my haven, feels softer and sweeter.
Onward.
