Our trek began with a flight from Port Moresby to Kokoda crossing some of the mountain ranges which we would be trekking across. The mountain ranges were spectacular with small villages scattered at various positions up the mountains and as far as the eyes could see. Tension was building within the group as we individually wondered if we were up to the challenge.
The trek commenced at Kokoda with a 2 hour walk that started on relatively flat ground but then got increasingly steeper as we progressed into the mountains. The next 8 days consisted of trekking some of the most beautiful but imposing mountains I had ever seen. The track wandered relentlessly for 96 kilometres up steep gradients some of which took hours to climb and then back down to rivers where the currents were strong enough to knock your feet from under you. Occasionally, we would walk on the edge of wet slippery cliffs with sheer drops to the right. You dared not shift your attention from the track. Nothing could save you if you tripped and toppled over the edge. The experience was intense. Trekking down the various mountain ranges was no less challenging with endless tree roots and slippery clay ground compromising your safety. Intense concentration was required as the climb down could take many hours to complete. Many of the trekkers preferred an uphill climb to a downhill because there was less pressure on knees, ankles and toes. We trekked through the jungle under a canopy of huge trees but nothing would keep us dry once the rains started.
The track would become increasingly slippery and more treacherous whilst humidity would take your breath away. Rarely was there flat ground in which to catch your breath even though we took many breaks to recover from the intense physical activity.
Most nights were spent in small villages at the top of mountain ranges above the clouds. Nights were spent in communal huts where the snoring and farting of 15 – 20 guys made a good night’s sleep almost impossible. Some of the trekkers slept in small tents. They were happy to compromise space to get some solitude. Unfamiliar night sounds pervaded you’re sleep whilst the monsoonal rains would roar overhead soaking the track for the next day’s walk.
The mornings greeted us with stunning sunrises but a risen sun heated the air very quickly. Humidity became our nemesis. As the days progressed, we would seek relief from the heat by swimming in various streams and rock pools. The freezing water would refresh us instantly and reinvigorate us for the next hill challenge. As we progressed through the local villages, the local New Guineans would wave and look bemused as 25 weary trekkers with heavy backpacks, marched through the heat looking for relief from the sun. Of a night, we would shower in cold water from the mountain streams before eating at around 6.00pm. Every night, a fire was lit to stave off the cold. Often we would be in bed before 8.00 pm as the daily grind took its toll on our bodies and minds. We also knew that the following day would be no easier than the preceding.
The New Guinea Porters (our Fuzzy Wuzzies), tended to our safety, care & daily needs with pride and respect. There still exists an obvious and palpable bond between the two countries – the origin being the Japanese landing in New Guinea. At various parts of the track the porters literally hold our lives in their hands, monitoring our every move and every step as we trekked steep inclines & declines or the edges of cliffs. Their quiet disposition and unobtrusive manner belied their effectiveness and importance within the trekking group. They walked the track with the precision and grace of a panther, rarely faltering, always aware. They were a second shadow. It`s as if the track was part of their DNA. Daily, they would setup camp, cook the evening meals and clean up – no noise – no fuss – no personal request too big or too small. Occasionally, after the trekkers had retired to bed, the porters would sing – beautiful harmonies settling the weary trekkers.
As the days progressed, the trekkers bonded as a group and much moral support was provided to those who were struggling, tired or missing loved ones. It`s amazing how a pat on the back or a “high 5″ can lift your spirit when you feel flat. No-one was left on their own when the pressure was on – there was no excuse for not helping your mate. Days 6 & 7 saw many blisters, aching joints, Malaria carrying mosquito bites, and tired and weary bodies looking for relief – somewhere, anywhere. Whilst spirits were generally good, energy levels were diminishing daily as the steep climbs took their toll. However, all this pain and discomfort was put into perspective with a daily recount of what the Australian troops experienced during the war at various significant locations on the track. The diggers fought in monsoonal rains, carrying 50 kilogram backpacks, with no protection against Malaria, limited food, limited or no sleep and fighting a relentless Japanese enemy that seemed to have scant regard for their own lives and even less for those of the Australians. To win at all cost was the philosophy of the enemy – the collateral damage to human life was immense. With regular reminders of what occurred during the war surrounding us, the only battle we encountered was our own private one. Mental and physical fatigue dented your confidence. Sleepless nights, wet clothes, soggy weetbix and relentless climbs clouded your judgment. Every day was a new challenge but a new day bought us closer to our goal.
The last night on the track bought with it a new found enthusiasm. Pep talks and excitement replaced solemnity. Personal doubts were replaced by a feeling of achievement that the end was near. Trekkers mingled with the porters in quiet anticipation of the last day. On the last night of a Kokoda trek, it is tradition that porters stay awake all night. They too have much to celebrate. The trekkers were safe and all were capable of completing the trek – be it assisted or unassisted. They spoke and sang quietly amongst themselves – and at 4.30 am on the last day commenced the daily routine of preparing breakfast. Spirits were rising as the last day dawned. The weather was perfect – no rain likely. The final day consisted of a big climb, a 6 kilometre intense downhill run consisting of numerous river crossings and one last climb to the Kokoda Arch. It would take about 5 – 6 hours to complete.
THE LAST DAY
The day commences with the usual war cry. The war cry finishes with “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie – Oi, Oi, Oi. The head porter sets the pace of the trekking group. No-one can pass. Our head porter is called Mudman. The intention for the last day is to keep the trekkers together. In previous days, the more agile and fitter trekkers could be well ahead of the main group. There exists an element of healthy competition – who can maintain composure up lung busting hills – who can stay on their feet down uneven and slippery ground – who can cross a river and not be swept away. This competition dissipates on the last day and is replaced with a common focus. Everyone is to cross through the arches together – it is tradition. Mudman maintains a steady pace. If someone falls behind, he holds up the main group. Everyone enjoys a rest. I decided before commencing the trek that I would not wear a watch. I didn`t want to know that I had only been walking for 3 hours when it felt like 6. The strategy worked. Most of the time I had no idea what the time was. It becomes irrelevant when getting to the final village before dusk is the goal. The last day is different. I want to know what the time is. I check it every half hour or so anticipating a 2.00pm finish. The hours disappear and after an exhausting 3 hour downhill trek, we are confronted by the final hill – a 300 metre uphill climb, the last 20 minutes in hot sun.
Experiencing The Kokoda Trail has been an inspiring, exhilarating and amazing journey. I am humbled that I have been able to experience this with a group of people that mirror comradeship. It has been a somber reminder of times gone by and the many people who did not return. To utilize my Kokoda journey to raise awareness and much needed funds for Pinarc Disability Support Glimpses Project has also reminded me of the generosity of everyday people and that community spirit remains in their hearts.
Narrapumelap
