The Heysen Trail 14. Limp Epiphanies

 

Wolf Creek has forever changed the landscape as far as hitchhiking is concerned in this country. It is rare to see someone with their thumb up on the side of the road these days.

I had not accounted for a pavement pounding seven kilometre on top of the 17 km I had already  grafted out on the cliff faces on this trail. In a town full of retirees, I was awfully mistaken thinking someone would give me a lift to Victor Harbor. I guess that if I was one of the three fresh young ladies I met at the Deep Creek waterfall, I would have gotten a lift instantly. A wet, tired looking, shivering,  limping hiker with an obvious bowel problem, judging by those stained shorts, is much too Harry Taylor like to offer a ride. ‘Betsy, you never know with the youth of today’ and ‘Darling he is going to mess up the car.’ I imagined conversations that would be had in those warm four-wheel drives that drove past me.

 

The cold weather of Victor Harbor. Notice how my lens was smudged by
 remnants of the Heysen Trail bush

So on I walked!

Believe me, walking an extra seven km through this cold and windy place was fruitful in regards to a spot of epiphany hunting.

“Overall Mars” I told myself, “you still love this stuff”. Even walking with the bad combination of freezing hands and busting to go to the toilet (hands-free effort required), I maintained I was in the right place and at the right time. For me, hiking beats any TV program, anything you will ever find on the net (my blog included) or any other self-challenging activity I can possibly think of. Some may prefer to hang off cliffs with ropes, jump out of planes, be chucked down a ravine attached to a 'lacky' band or swim in altitude sickness on Mt Everest, but I loved the mixed-nut-bag of experiences on the Heysen trail. It has given me so much to live through that it has lit me up like a Territory Day cracker night. 'Who would ever think I would write fourteen blogs about a five day trek?'

 

Aproaching Victor Harbor and Granite Island

Hiking has proved to be more difficult this time around. This is something that is hard to come to terms with for my inner competitive self. The recently operated knee had michellinned out of proportions during the last hobble to the Harbor without the guarantee that it would ever improve. 'Totally reckless, to put yourself in this situation', some would argue but I just can’t see the point of staying at home and watch Bear Grills get his thrills. I may have to reduce the distances I walk per day or travel lighter – whatever that looks like. Maybe a bit of ‘enjoy it while you can’ could be a point to make here?

An observant reader of the first couple of my Heysen trail blogs would have noticed that there were many complaints about the weight of the backpack I was carrying. I have called it every name under the sun and thought about turning it into an unloved orphan many times. I think it even tried to throw me down a cliff just to get even. Well!!!  This bag of repulsion appeared miraculously light five days in. First of all, the balanced amount of stodgy hiking feed had all but vanished out of the pack. Much of the 'almost' edible kilos destroyed by outrageous, much needed, gobble sessions lightening the load.  Man, did I eat on that track!!

 

The whaling past of Victor Harbor commemorated in the town square by this water feature

 

Secondly, I realized that the bruising of the straps around my shoulders had hardened up to calluses with skin peeling everywhere. Every muscle from the neck to and including the Netherlands had gone 'toight'. The pack of sorrow, galvanizing all previous back issues, some stress-related I am sure, into surprising solid Dutch Oak. Am I saying that this trudging business can make you stronger, healthier?
 

Stumbling into a strange place

While I was walking, philosophizing and epiphanizing I had switched on the phone, googled a hotel and pressed the directions button. I followed the blue dotted line on the screen that appears when you press the rarely used, little lady that likes to walk and talk with you. She appears to know where you are at all times! I rounded the point where the horse-drawn carriage takes off to Granite Island and in the end I stood there in the lobby of this old creeker of a hotel tantalizingly named “the anchorage”.  Feeling totally hollowed out, destroyed and swaying on my legs, I bravely negotiated a good price for an ocean view while apologizing for my dishevelled appearance. 

I think I needed a break.

'Please? - No more - Drop the anchor!!!'


Grey Bits
 

The view from my room that night