Kokoda Prologue

Let me climb into your head and show you what it is like to get out of your comfort zone. Travel with me to Papua New Guinea and along the Kokoda track. Experience it all first hand through my eyes. No need to get up.

Some of the soldiers of the 39th on the Kokoda track

It was Kurt Fearnley, one of Australia’s most successful wheelchair athletes, that inspired me to kick start this adventure. It was well documented how Kurt crawled Kokoda and on his return to Australia chose to crawl across the tarmac rather than use the inadequate wheelchair provided by the airline.” It's more of a trolley than a wheelchair. I have no mobility at all. If that's a wheelchair, then a car is a wheelchair.” Said the athlete.

How hard can it be this Kokoda track. Let me put it bluntly and refer to the letter my doctor has to sign before I am let loose on the trail.

“The Kokoda Trail is 96 km long and we cover the distance in 9 days. The track is located in a mountainous and remote part of PNG. The track climbs to an altitude of 2,190 m and over the complete track we climb more than 6,000 m and descend over 6,000 m in height. This part of PNG is hot, humid and wet with rough mountain tracks, narrow passes and numerous river and log crossings.”

A basic map of the Kokoda track

Hiking 96 km on the flat can be done in three days if pushed. The trick is in the 12,000 metres up and down. Just to give you an idea: it is like walking three quarters up Mount Everest and then back down again. In one way a very alluring prospect, on the other a little nutty.



The sweat chart

The letter continues

“Conditions on the track are challenging, strenuous and physically demanding. High physical stress, dehydration and body overheating are major concerns for your patient. A large part of the area that we trek in is inaccessible by helicopter or any other emergency service. There is no access to emergency first aid or medical facility on the Kokoda Track.”

So if you get injured there is nothing anyone can do for you. I had many visions of being carted up and down the hills on a makeshift stretcher by several straining porters while I am writhing in pain from a bout of Malaria, scrub typhoid, dysentery or a broken leg. End of vision - thank goodness!!!

“Please advise your patient that they need to be undertaking a suitable training program and

they will need to be of a high level of fitness and in good physical condition. The trek is

arduous and physically demanding, with particular demand on the heart, lungs, knees and

joints.”

Training at Big Brook Dam Pemberton

And training I did. I hiked up and down every mountain we came across on our way to South Australia. Ran in parkrun Busselton, Bunbury, Albany and Kalgoorlie. Ran through creek beds, over dirt roads and through every National park I could find. Unfortunately, six weeks out from Kokoda I heard something snap in my knee whilst making beds at Fraser Range station (see previous blogs). What followed was a very difficult time trying to rest more and train less. The Kokoda track ain’t no picnic with a dodgy knee and I was no longer confident I would make it. Nine days out I felt like cancelling the whole thing. I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone on this track.

Beep test tank on the hill at Fraser Range. If you can still say beep when you get to the top, go again

 One encouraging but hard conversation with my lovely partner Jules and I was back on track. I am going to hike this thing with or without a leg. Just look at Kurt.

The Porongurup's were challenging

What on earth am I doing this for? Why??? I can hear these questions from the snug position I have taken in your head. Aside from the mental and physical challenge and obvious historical significance, I am questioning where the Dutchman within me sits around in his windmill with his clogs on and the akubra wielding Australian galah begins. To quote the Bee Gees of all bands “How deep is your love?”

Hiking on every trail in the Lincoln National Park, South Australia

Who in their right mind would want to do this with you? I can sense your grey matter instructing your mouth to express itself. Well, there is Jason my mate who after a couple of nudges said “yes” to join me on this adventure of a lifetime. I asked Paul, an ex-boss/co-worker, who instantly told me he had been dreaming about doing Kokoda for many years and was with me in an instant. To make my band of brothers complete, Simon, my brother-in-law loved the idea of the challenge and in a short time turned himself from a couch potato to someone who could easily carry a couch for hundreds of kilometres.

Four brothers on the track

I am so curious to who will be joining us on the Kokoda track. Who are those other fellow hikers in our group, the unknown guide, the porter I will be walking with, the other porters and what about Papua New Guinea. The trail awaits.

Nothing to see from the top of Mt Cavern, Flinders Ranges



Grey Bits

There are many companies that conduct organised tours on the Kokoda track. We chose Kokoda Spirit for our trek ,which coincidently was the same as Kurt Fearnley crawled with. Check out the website at www.kokodaspirit.com.au

I had some problems sorting out my visa. Where does the embassy send your passport with the PNG visa when you have no fixed abode? Send away  your passport for your visa well ahead of your starting date.

Yes. That’s right. Julie is staying in Adelaide. We have arranged for her Mum to fly from Perth to keep her company. In my absence, they plan to visit the Barossa Valley, Hahndorf and indulge in some retail therapy.



The steep hillside of Adelaide's botanic gardens 

Expect extra costs: hiking equipment, boots, Dr’s visits, malaria tablets, first aid kit and your flight in and out of Port Moresby all add up.

Kurt Fearnley’s quote was taken from the Herald sun website. Read more about Kurt in the following link: http://www.heraldsun.com.au/news/jetstar-forces-paralympian-kurt-fearnley-off-wheelchair/story-e6frf7jo-1225802884798




The clearing sky high up in the Flinders Ranges

The Vegetarian Butcher

The Vegetarian Butcher

Sometimes you just have to bluff your way into a job, but maybe not when it comes to cooking for a herd of hungry, carnivorous full-blooded grey nomads, especially when you are a long-term, wood chip eating vegetarian cook.

The herb garden at Fraser Range adding flavour to many a meal
 

When it was time for the cook at Fraser Range to go on leave for four days I was allowed to roam free in a stainless steel, commercial kitchen. Highly excited, I started two hours earlier so as to get my mind wrapped around the conundrum that is cooking for a large crowd. This kitchen has two store rooms, a walk in fridge, a walk in freezer and nooks and crannies everywhere. Trying to find anything was almost impossible on that first day. I remember looking for a can opener, even had to get one from our caravan. After many days I spotted it attached to a bench, glaring at me as I was walking past it.



The "smoko" table for a much needed break

As luck has it, fish and chips, and fisherman’s basket was on the menu. A relatively easy dish for a non-fish eating boaster like myself. In the first seven hours, I whipped up three, if I may say so, cracking salads followed by a familiar recipe of chocolate Weet-Bix slice covered in icing and coconut. At Fraser Range you never really know how many may come to dinner on any given night. It has varied between 10 and 30 diners so large quantities need to be prepared each night. During any late afternoon the office can call through the meal bookings which could suddenly blow out alarmingly -“struth – have I got enough food”  was the repetitive line in my mind.

 

You never know who's going to rock up

My saving grace in this situation has more often than not been my beautiful partner Julie who was rostered on to cover the last four hours. She knows way more about cooking meat than I ever will, although it had been many decades since she’d had Tom Cruise coming for dinner.
 

The set up in the 'Dinning' room as it was spelled

That first night we worked our backsides off and rode that ever increasing adrenalin filled wave of excitement. From preparation to cooking to plating up and then just holding your breath to gauge the reaction of the crowd. An under cooked stroganoff or a dry roasted pork, may turn out to be my last supper as the cook at Fraser Range. This night, however, the smallish crowd to my surprise, applauded when I sheepishly entered the dining area. Delighted and definitely more than pleased, I was encouraged to run the kitchen gauntlet again and again.





I looked a bit like 'Barby' (as in BBQ)

I have since cooked beef lasagne, crumbed chicken (whilst thinking I was cooking a lamb roast with pork crackling), shepherd’s pie and beef strugglenoff (it was) all for the first time in my life. For dessert there was Barbs apple crumble, sticky date pudding, trifle and impossible pie. Not bad for a 'vego' on a cattle station.

 

 

 “Could have butchered it mate"

Grey Bits

 

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Cooking on a remote station can be tricky as supplies are not readily available. At Fraser Range the nearest shop is 100kms away – bugger of a trip for a cup of sugar!
 

A work ute at the back of the kitchen

The internet provided awesome recipes. I loved the Naked Chef for his no-nonsense recipes - he saved my bacon several times.

For life-saving desserts (after a cheesecake tragedy) here is a proven recipe which did save the day on several occasions (thanks to Dolly for this one – she knows who she is). The grey-nomads loved it  – many asking for the recipe.

Impossible Pie

.  4 eggs

. 125g butter

. ½ cup plain flour

. 2 cups milk

. 1 cup sugar

. 1 cup coconut

. 1 tspn vanilla essence

Bung it all together mixing well – pour mix into greased pie plate/tin on 180 degrees (c) for approx 1 hour (make sure you watch it for the last 15 mins or so).

 

  
 


Geoff making sure uninvited guests do not come for dinner

 


The Chicken Run

One of the great pleasures of being employed here at Fraser Range is driving the quad bike around this beautiful place. Riding solo or having your chick sitting behind you on a bike while she is clamping on is one of the joys of life. Feeling that wind blow through my semi-grey hair - it is the taste of pure freedom.




Amazing Fraser Range

Other than evoking feelings of freedom we are using the bike to do our work. Jules and I have dubbed this job here at Fraser Range station as the “chicken run”. At 8am I hook a trailer to the quad and start the "garbo" round at the kitchen where a large bin full of food scraps is collected. After visiting the horse pens to check if the overnight visiting horses and owners have left any rubbish in the bins, I cruise with the airstream through my locks to the chicken pen. As soon as the bike stops in front of the gate, 30 odd chickens scramble excitedly to the entrance. At this stage I am not allowed to let the chickens become free-range. I push my way cautiously through the "great wall of chicken" into the large enclosure, closing the door carefully behind me so as not to cause any "chicken snitzel". I throw the contents into the pen as far away as possible, but cannot help it if one or two of the excitable chickens get covered in a left-over stray strand of spaghetti. A real frenzy for all these yummy snippets occurs. It is chicken pandemonium in the coop.  Before I have time to fill the bucket with the pellets from the disconnected freezer that serves as storage box or for chickens to roost on, the hens are back on my trail ready to party some more. After emptying the pellets in these cone-shaped feeding containers I am a free man, no longer haunted by the "crazy clucking crowd" (try say that fast a few times).







A safe enclosure with a freezer box

Having never being interested in any episode of “talk to the animals”, I suddenly realise that I have been chatting gibberish to the feathered creatures all the way through. “Good morning ladies, how are we all today?  My, my aren’t we in a hurry today. Oops, so sorry. Here chooky, chooks. Oh, no, that is dirty, and leave her alone you bully”.

At around 2pm the chicken run has a second phase. Again I am required to wildly blow-dry the toupee on the bike and dodge the headless herd. This time I encourage the ladies to escape their mundane surrounds and live it up in the big world by throwing some of the pallets over the fence and  opening the two gates of the enclosure. In my mind this should be an easy task but chickens do not appear to be putting as much value in freedom as us humans. They are more likely to demonstrate against liberation. I can see the banners at the rally already - “freedom sucks” or “our cage, our home”.  

A sit down protest at the gate

If you are looking for reasons why the chicken or "Gallus Gallus Domesticus" does not roam far from the pen it is not too difficult to find. The ladies have their warm cosy sheds, a safe enclosure and plenty of spots to perch on. Most of the “chickens” in the literal meaning of the word only venture a mere five metres over to the lawn across the road. The lawn does offer an undercover area and may act as a protecting shield from falcons or the family of wedge-tail eagles spotted gliding high above the surrounding hills. Maybe those chooks are not that silly after all.





The wedgies on top of the hill

After the girls have tentatively flown the coop it is time to collect the eggs. Some days there are three dozen of these "poop and allsorts" covered chook embryos of breakfast bliss. I dutifully check all the roosting spots and gather the unhatched offspring in the empty bucket even if I have to, like a thief, gently push an overzealous chook off her treasured googies. Every day the eggs are washed by hand, dried and placed in a box ready for sale or to be used in the kitchen. They are big yellow-yoked and so fresh that they are hard to peel after boiling them, but they taste great.  Some days there are kids in the park and I invite them over with a parent to help collect the eggs, wash them and in the end see them walk off proud as punch with a dozen in their little hands.





Another happy customer (photo courtesy of  the Fraser Range Facebook page)

On one occasion, the chickens  have been seen huddling up together underneath a parked ute waiting to be run over. Why cross the road if you can birdfully die in a driveway?

This chicken is strutting across the dirt road

The last phase of the chicken run occurs at dusk. A brief walk to the pen shows that all the chickens are back inside the pen and in essence know where they belong? Their movements are slow and their “pooohks” sound  relaxed. The chickens appear to unwind and crowd together on top of the freezer box and other favourite spots to keep warm from the sharp wind. I walk out, close the gates and through the safety mesh fence wish them ”goodnight”.  Let’s hope the foxes won’t bite.

 

Night falls over Fraser Range

 

Grey Bits

 
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Julie has taken to driving the quad bike. Now I get to hold on to her. We were explained by a bikie couple that stayed at Fraser Range that a guy sitting behind a girl on a bike is called “bitching”.

 

 
 


Julie on the quad waiting to give me a ride

 

The chook compound at Fraser Range is big enough to build a three bedroom house on. When I open the small gate to the adjacent paddock there is enough room for a retirement village but don't tell the chickens. 

A dozen eggs will cost you $4.50. The chickens at this time of the year can barely put up with the demands of the grey nomads and the cook for their produce.

I am using the hand held, CB or walkie-talkie to involve the chickens in the daily running of Fraser Range. This is when all the staff and some customers will hear. “Copy chicken", the chicken answers with a "cluuuuck". Roger that!

Wikepedia states that there are more than 19 billion chickens on earth. More than any other domesticated animal.

The facebook page of Fraser Range is https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=fraser%20range%20station

100 km East of Norseman. You can't miss it

 

In the trenches



You never know what you might find

 

Take a gamble on a track you have never been down before. For example the one kilometre track South to Fraser Range station on the Eyre Highway. The track winds itself into a valley surrounded by rugged, bare hills. You will come to a garden where the bougainvilleas are blooming profusely, you are greeted by the southerly wind in the mint trees and galahs are cutting through the air, screeching. Rough Aussie, colonial style outbuildings dot the valley where you can spend the night in stone cottages or there are more basic mining style quarters you can crash for the night. If you have rocked up with a caravan or a tent you’re in luck because the park has great camping facilities, powered sites, clean ablution blocks and a massive fire pit visitors gather round to tell their life story.

 

The garden with the Bogans in full bloom

If you are a semi-grey nomad you could even take a chance and ask for a job and get it. The next couple of episodes will describe some of the work that we were doing on the station.

The weather closing in

There are many ways to get fit or to flog yourself to fight the bulge. One way of physical torture I hadn’t quite experienced yet is the art of digging. One morning the station owner gathered all the boys together and gave us all shovels, picks, massive crow bars and rakes. The more skilled workers jumped on machinery called Kangas, Front end-loaders and plain and simple diggers. A network of trenches for gas pipes are to be dug around the caravan park and outbuildings of Fraser Range caravan park. This kind of blokey work is completely foreign to me usually done by workman or those men who do real work for a living. Guys with suntans, beards and long hair that you see on the side of the road leaning on shovels smoking fags. I pretty soon found out why they are leaning on their shovels. It is to wait for their spine to reassemble after collapsing in a thousand pieces. Good Lord.

 

The battle field with some of my handy work on display

Out of self defense I quickly learnt the hand signals required to work with a fully loaded front end loader thrashing its way towards the trench where at the bottom you are the guy directing this monstrosity with a massive shovel of allergy inducing red dust.  Hand signal ‘Stop’ is required at the exact moment the bucket hangs above your head in the trench. Hand signal ‘Turning Knob’ to tilt shovel down and start dropping red dust in the trench. Oh yes! Please move to the side and out of the way of the cascading rubble before turning the knob. Make sure the driver can see you and your little ‘Stop’ hand signal when there is enough rubble in the trench so that you wont have to use your puny shovel for spreading dirt more than you want to. You get to lean on that shovel for a couple of seconds before the loader is back with the next back-breaking load.

 

A scoop in action

Towards the end of three heavy days in the trenches and being shelled by loaded buckets the heavens opened up and large drops of rain mixed itself with red dirt and workmen as if whipping up a lumpy custard. Our boots became heavy with caked tennis rackets of dirt stuck to the soles of our shoes. We struggled on through the torrential down-pour as if nothing happened until I caught site of my front-end bomber trying to wipe down his front windscreen while mumbling “I can’t see a f…g thing”. This is when again, out of self defense,  I initiated a bold move and defiantly climbed out of my trench facing a possible battle with the enemy in the digger. I flung my shovel away in disdain when at that precise moment I heard the foreman yell out from his trench “that’s enough of this shit boys” and we were encouraged to get out of the rain before we would catch pneumonia. I was more worried about being buried alive and being found by a surprised archeologist 2000 years later.  “A curious primitive burial ritual from around the year 2000” would have been his or her conclusion.

A bleak resting place

 

On my way to the shower I noticed everything I touched with feet or hands had dollops of mud attached to it. I stood under the shower and the water turned that orangey, red that surrounds us at Fraser Range. A great day out with the boys. Now, where are my fags??

Grey Bits

Stay away from the area behind any moving machinery as the driver doesn’t have a clear view of what’s behind him.

Josh an awesome station hand in action

Working windscreen wipers would be handy.

Now I understand why manual labourers wear hi-vis clothing.

 

I can see clearly now

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