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I just couldn’t get up. I remained in the same half split
position, man-flow yoga-style for several moments contemplating the feeling of shock oozing through
my gut making me feel sick. With my brain now
flicked to flight mode, the large obstacle on my back that was pinning me down
came off in an instant. With a thud the pack fell backwards. Rolling to my side, with the sound of crackling ligaments, joints and bone realigning itself,
I could now straighten the affected knee slowly.
Nagging voices from concerned friends haunted me. ‘Don’t overdo
it!’, ‘ Give it time to heal!’ - An ‘I told
you so!’ moment dealt in one single, perfect blow.
I dragged the anchor down the hill while scooting like a dog
with a bad gland problem for another 20 metres - my shorts now marked as if I had suffered a serious bout of incontinence.
I made it to the bench and had to take some deep breaths. ‘If I am going
to have to quit this hike I better do it in style’ my mind said. While seated, I managed to brew a reincarnating coffee (see opening photo) and
fished out enough snacks in an attempt to push the fuel gauge to full. The knee now feeling tight from the swelling, I praised
myself lucky I did not hear a snapping
sound and prayed that my newly refurbished cruciate ligament was still
connected.
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When I was still in the middle of feeling sorry for myself, I suddenly spotted a large pod of at least fifteen dolphins. With my camera at the ready I limped to the edge of the cliff – a great distraction at a difficult time. After cruising towards me, they started surfing in the waves and I instantly thought I should be down there taking more photos.
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| The dark shadow of a dolphin riding a wave |
I quickly packed up my billy and stove, and headed down the rest of the cursed hill. Halfway, I said out loud “this hill is trying to kill me”. My balance was completely shot – all adrenaline was burnt up leaving me feeling jittery and week – my cunning enemy of hiking pleasure tried to flip over my head into the deep a couple of times nearly dragging me with it. Somehow, I scrambled all the way down the hill.
There, in a bizarre twist, two young men were busy next to a small stream cleaning a
deer's head with a large hunting knife. Apparently they had been watching me and could
hear me falling about, yelling random distress calls to no one in particular,
above their heads. Slightly embarrassed, but increasingly taken aback by the
scene, I asked them what they were doing with the head of a, for me, gracious animal. They said they had found the
decomposing deer down the track, had beheaded it and were cutting the foul-smelling flesh of the
skull to be able to take it home. “Mate” one of them said with a surprising amount of enthusiasm “this is the place to
go hunting deer.”
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| A trophy for some! |
These two blokes, even though brandishing a large blade and possessed with
an abhorrent disrespect for animal corpses, were this desperate veggo’s ticket
out. I stood there next to the dead deer's head, with my throbbing knee; gathering up the courage to ask for a
ride out and put an end to this awesome experience that is the Heysen trail.
Go on Mars! Ask the question! Say it man!!
Say it….
Grey Bits
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| I could be back in Adelaide in no time |
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