Aspirations and realities…

...for Knots in the String.

On Friday week ago, husband and self set off on what I loosely called an adventure.

We did one early in the year when we kayaked Dove Lake at the foot of the wilderness bulwark of Cradle Mountain.

I did a half a one when we stayed at Bay of Fires in June, (beginning of winter) and I dived into the winter waters in just my swimsuit and radiator top.

Today’s adventure was well out of my comfort zone, if not my husband’s. We stayed on the edge of the Southern Forests (Tasmanian wilderness protected by World Heritage) and the loose plan was to hike from Cockle Creek to Southeast Cape, the southern-most point of Australia. The other most southern points in the world are Tierra Del Fuego in South America and Slope Point in New Zealand, just to give you an idea.

Anyway, that was the loose plan, as I said.

I say loose because we’re not dyed-in-the-wool hikers and I’m operating with that balance deficit plus torn glutes. My sports medicine physician, an accomplished hiker, had laconically counselled, ‘If it’s too hard, just turn round and walk back.’

Bearing in mind the literature told us the walk was easy to moderate, a very small amount of inclined rocky trail before opening out into easy walking; four hours return.

Ha! What balderdash! Utter bollocks!

We had the correct clothing and footwear, poles, water and food and set off across a small boardwalk. I thought, this is easy, I can manage this no problems! Whereupon the gap between the boards grabbed the bottom of my poles and I remained stuck!

Problem solved and moving on, we started up an incline, no boardwalk, and met with slippery mud, sharp, exposed ankle-twisting rocks and untrimmed roots, then bigger rocks where if one fell, a shattered kneecap would likely result. Followed by fallen trees which one had to clamber over or go round.

‘Thank heaven for poles,’ I called to my husband as I click-clacked two steps forward and one muddy slide back along the defile. I won’t call it a trail because trails are what they have in New Zealand – groomed and user-friendly.

By 45 minutes, we were just over a third of the way, my brain in overdrive as it managed my balance deficit, and my buttock and thigh getting a little snarky with over-extension. I was getting tetchy with myself too, as I consider myself reasonably fit for age, likewise my husband. But his hips were starting to ache, and his knees were letting him know they didn’t like the rough terrain. The scenery, for want of a better word, and with another 95 minutes yet to walk, was nothing at all out of the ordinary (although the birdcall was beautiful).

And so my husband called it, reasoning the full walk to the Cape at this pace would finally have us back in the carpark at dusk (which wasn’t the plan at all) and that the return might be quite a physical strain despite what the brochures said. I agreed as my glutes began to ping and my brain needed a sugar hit.

Disappointing…

And thus, I didn’t make the southernmost point of Australia.

I gave it a red-hot crack but the awful trail and my physical issues conspired against me. Reality check.

Initially I was deflated, but then I decided it was giving it a go that mattered and not whether I succeeded. There will be other friendlier hikes, I hope. We like the bush, the air, the wildlife and don’t want to feel at any moment that we will tumble onto an axe-like rock set in the middle of the track and end up with orthopaedic surgery.

I do know that as we took a shorter hike to Fishers Point after a lunch break, I jumped down onto the soft white sand and yelled to the world, ‘I’m home!’ – by the sea, on the sand and feeling the ripping southwesterly breeze in my face!

My Time:

Despite the hike, I find it hard to go past our three day break.

The house (Elements at Lady Bay) we are privileged to stay in is a perfect retreat – beautifully styled with a simple aesthetic. The colours are the subtle tones of the Australian bush and I walk from room to room soaking up the artwork and ceramics – all pieces from Huon Valley artists that I covet.

I’m high on meetings in the dark with possums, potaroos and wallabies, with two sightings of massive wedge-tailed eagles, one sitting on the dirt road over a carcass. His wingspan as he lifts is at least a glorious metre across. Breathtaking.

I wander across shifting and rolling grey rocks on the cove shore near our accommodation, lifting massive segments of bull kelp and finding a taupe-coloured sea sponge.

I watch a family of native hens, colloquially called turbo-chooks, whose home is the 2 acres on which the house stands. I admire the golf-ball sized wrens who flit self-importantly between gabion wall and rough pasture.

I gaze at the Viking (short) long house in the paddock up the road and wonder if the builder is a fan of Uhtred of Bebbanburg like me.

I salivate at the sourdough bread, fresh butter and blackberry jam left for us, the fresh eggs and fruit and the bottle of farm milk.

I listen to the crackle of wood and flame in the heater, the frogs beyond the gabion wall, the night rain on the tin roof. On another night, I suck in a breath at the sight of the moon-bridge from Bruny Island to our cove and the flashing light of South Bruny Lighthouse.

I’m in awe of the dense blackness of a night sky on a clear night. Not a blemish from civilisation because even on our own home coast there is the odd glimmer that lessens that heavenly sight.

I soak up the peace and quiet.

It’s all encompassing.

No traffic, no people, no dogs, nothing at all but nature’s silence. Almost overwhelming and I wonder if I ever really could retreat, become a hermit.

Later, after our walking day, we drive to Hastings Caves Visitors’ Centre for a hot chocolate, and I spy loquacious Jo, from Substack’s Life Glitters.

We three laugh and chat for an hour or more on many things, and I realise that being a hermit is only a part-time aspiration for me. Despite being an introvert, the reality is that a bit of social interaction every now and then is the oil that helps make wheels turn, and we wave goodbye to Jo to immerse ourselves once again in the solitude of Elements.

***

Song for this week?

Not because I think I’m a natural at anything really, but just because NEXT time I want to achieve something (eg: tough hikes), I’m going to have this Imagine Dragons song on a loud loop in ear pods!

I chose this clip because both our children rowed for this school back in the day. My son rowed in an Eight and a Double and my daughter in a Four (state champions). It’s a beautiful sport to watch and so this recent clip inspires about 9-10 years of excellent memories. Our kids are near middle age now.

FABULOUS song! And much prefer these visuals to Imagine Dragons own.