Guilt trip

Came back from South America (Chile, Argentina, Antarctica, Uruguay, Brazil) on Tuesday morning and that evening held a meeting for the 3-day Green Walks hike, Brooklyn to Somersby. A part of me feels my time might be better spent sorting through my photos and finishing my diary (I kid myself that I write on planes—I never do any serious writing) over the Easter long weekend but I'd promised a friend I'd host the hike so there I am, talking to the walkers and figuring out an inventory.

It turns out my friend, Rahima, is injured and won't be coming but now I've met with everyone else who has RSVPed I have an obligation to do it for them. The weather looks a bit dodgy—rain on Thursday and patchy on Friday—but Saturday and Sunday look all right so it's on.

The period between Tuesday evening and Friday morning sweeps by like a clock wipe on a movie screen and I find myself legging it to Ashfield Station on Friday morning, afraid that I am late. If I am late we have to call the whole thing off because the water taxi from Brooklyn to Patonga will only pick us up at 9am and the trains to Hawkesbury River Station only go once an hour. I make it and still feel like maybe I've made a mistake and should be home spending time with Boff. And yet we've spent almost 24 hours a day with each other for the 30 days of our trip, maybe we need a break?

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DAY 1
One of our party misses the train and needs to drop out, so there's only three of us, the bare minimum, to do the walk. We board the boat to Patonga and it's a lovely 10-minute ride across the Hawkesbury River. It occurs to me that if I had my camera and if this had been another place, ie not just outside of my city, I would've taken photos all the way: of the pelicans roosting on the boat posts, the beautiful water views and their surrounding hills.

We head off from Patonga, along the waterline at first and then up the cliff that offers stunning, sparkling vistas both of the terrific weather with which we've been blessed and the natural beauty of the river and its surrounds.

The day goes by quickly. I've walked with Sonia before but know nothing about Kirsten (who, incidentally has asked around about me and apparently discovered only my good reputation). We chat and sympathise and make jokes.

Even after what I'd consider to be a lengthy lunch on top of a windy peak we arrive at our campsite just after 2pm, at a loss at how to fill our afternoon. We unpack and set up camp. The other two laze while I check out the Mt Wondabyne pathway, which gives an excellent panorama of the waterside suburbs as well as the rolling hills to the west. Again, I can't help feeling I'm being blase about the incredible beauty of the place. Sans camera I'm just agog rather than a person making a careful record of the scene. "Stick it in your memory hole," I might say to myself if I were in the mood to seem a little mad (mostly I hide it pretty well to see who's smart enough to find it).

We make dinner at 6pm and then at 6.45pm I bring them up to the peak to show them the sunset (the good one I prepared earlier). It's true that the sun sinks a lot quicker near the equator; I actually see it plop behind the horizon when it sets. When twilight sets in we brush our teeth and say our goodnights—nothing more to do or say for the day.

In the middle of the night, which is to say around 2am, I wake up to go to the bathroom. I at first mistake the time for pre-dawn as there's a grey light that enables me to see the inside of the tent. I hold onto the hope that my bladder can hang on until morning but after establishing the actual time I unzip, unzip and unzip myself from my cocoon to find that the sky is so clear and the moon is so bright that I don't need a torch. I turn on the torch anyway because the last thing you want at 2am is to pee on yourself because you were looking at the moon and not the ground.

DAY 2
The second day begins with a resplendent sunrise over the waterside neighbourhoods, which we view at a distance as we pack up camp. We have a long day ahead, well, longer than the previous day (6 hours according to the notes) and rougher terrain to cover. Our next water stop is Kariong Brook Falls. Fortunately I have almost 2L remaining having carried more than usua; after a bad experience at Mt Solitary just before Christmas taught me a lesson about relying on creeks. We decide to pack and have breakfast at the falls so we can drink tea without having to carry the water.

In deference to the fact that we arrived at Mt Wondabyne so damn early we end up staying at the falls for an hour. It's better to stay at a nice spot for an hour rather than have acres of time at a dull campsite, is the new rule. Hydrated, we push on. Having come down into the valley to reach the falls, we need to climb out. Then we reach Scopas Peak. It's not as high as Mt Wondabyne but it makes us long for the falls or another way to take a dip. It's exposed up there, and we've been going for a couple of hours, so as soon as we spot some shade behind a rock wall we stop for what is nominally lunch, though I'm not as hungry as I perhaps should be.

My topo reading skills are a bit rusty (and I don't have an altimeter handy) but it looks like we're near the top anyway and shade is scarce so we make use of it while we can. As we settle, we're overtaken by two guys and encounter a dads-and-sons trip going the other way. One of the dads confirms we are very near the top so the rest of lunch feels vindicated. I don't think I've ever had a vindicated lunch before.

At about 2pm we cross a wide but shallow creek where the boys who overtook us have been (sort of) swimming. We pause to reduce our core temperature in the shady dampness. While it hasn't been blazingly hot (bureau had indicated top of 25C) the exposed parts of the walk combined with a hefty rucksack and our relentless movement northwards has driven our body heat up. It's also quite humid, which makes the heat uncomfortable.

It's not long before we cross the Phil Houghton Bridge. There's no sign on the bridge to say this is the name, but the Wildwalks notes describes it accurately enough for identification. Who knows, maybe Phil Houghton is the Wildwalks writer for this section of the walk and he noticed the bridge had no name so decided to bestow his own upon it?

The bridge crosses a very wide part of the Mooney Mooney Creek with a clearing on the other side that has been used as a campsite and an escarpment that practically begs for entry into the water. Kirsten and Sonia comply, while I'm content to remove my shoes and dip my legs in. It crosses my mind that it's amazing there are no mosquitoes or leeches, which is a thought I come to mark later on.

The last part of the second day's walk is pleasantly cool, under the canopy of trees that line the creek. At first I have a mild panic attack that we have gone the wrong way because we seem to be on the wrong bank (walking with it to our left instead of to our right as the map shows for the campsite location) but after a thorough map check and a comprehensive read of the trip notes I'm satisfied that it's because we haven't crossed the final bridge yet.

In the end it's pleasant, flat and boring: largely along a gravel road where we see a lone fisherman, some kayakers and a row of houses, some dilapidated, some prettily done up like a holiday show home. When the foliage gets dense the mosquitoes come out to play, though by the time we pull out the repellent it's too late.

Soon we reach the campsite, Mooney Mooney North having apparently missed the southern clearing, leaving a little doubt as to whether we're at the right one. Location established, we decide against a fire as too much work so set up tents next to the established fire circle. As we finish, the boys from the creek sidle up. Phil and Tim, they say. It turns out they want a fire so they spend 10 minutes gathering wood while we rethink our earlier decision and throw benefits, such as discouraging mozzies, into the mix.

I take a short hiatus in the tent while Sonia builds the ignition pyramid. The mozzies have got me everywhere, even through my clothes and I need some relief from having to fight them off at every moment. When I later check, there is an unfortunate cluster of dozens of bites along the top of my butt and the backs of my arms. Bastards.

We make dinner; soup and couscous again for me, while the boys do an elaborate pasta dish that takes three times as long to make as all of our meals combined. Although I cloak myself in the heat and smoke of the fire, my skin still crawls with the possibility of those flying bloodsuckers so I excuse myself and retire soon after nightfall. Another long, reasonably comfortable night.

DAY 3
Us girls wake at 6.45, just before dawn, and pack up camp. Our breakfast spot will be Mooney Mooney Dam, where we will take our water for the day. It's a flat start, with the only difficult terrain being a wet crossing about 50m wide where the creek flows over a rock platform.

We arrive at Mooney Mooney Dam without trouble... only to find that there are leeches along the shoreline. It's a less than comfortable breakfast, taken standing up and quicker than we intend. Once we take on board water for the day we sprinkle ourselves with tea tree oil and leave with pack covers on.

There's a little bit of undulation in the morning's path but no significant hills so we trundle along at a good pace. There's only one more difficult crossing: a creek that is supposed to be 'ephemeral' but most certainly exists. It looks too deep to cross with shoes but I dip one of Kirsten's poles in and figure it's shallow enough to barge through. It's slightly slippery from moss on the rocks but we all make it across without mishap. I love my Keens.

At the Quarry Campsite Sonia decides to find a bathroom spot and instead runs into a snake. Not literally, but close ("That's the kind of branch I would've grabbed to steady myself," she says, pointing at the yellow-specked black snake measuring around 3m draped on a small tree). I snap a photo for evidence and kudos later.

Some parts of the walk follow the management trails, which are quite boring but easy to navigate. At the end of a three-day hike it's good to not have to spend extra energy thinking about every step. Before long we find ourselves on the road and on the uphill climb to Somersby Store. We get there and despite the numerous signboards surrounding it declaring it 'open', it is closed. It's Easter Sunday after all. I call the taxi company and cancel my 1.30pm pick-up and order one for 'now' (12.45pm).

While we are waiting, the boys arrive, disappointed that the store is closed ("I was looking forward to a burger and a milkshake," says Phil). We donate the remainder of our food and water and wish them luck on the way the Yarramalong, where they will end the walk on Easter Monday. The taxi takes us to Gosford Station and the train takes us home.

All in all an easy walk to do and with enough views and nature experiences to make the boring bits worthwhile. The only drawback is the cost and inconvenience of the transfers (Brooklyn to Patonga, Somersby to Gosford). And now I start sorting through my South America photos...