Kokoda 10. The last breath

That morning we avenged ourselves. A small group of hikers snuck up on Major Cam's tent at 5:40am and surrounded his little lime green hiking dome. It was just before the wake up call. In Good Morning Vietnam style and in unison, they yelled out 'Gooooooodmorning Cameron!!! This is day eight on the Kokoda track'. I was later told there was a lot of frantic movement inside the tent with arms and legs flapping wildly, bulging up against the canopy. Cameron admitted the plan had been well executed and used one of his favorite sayings - ‘a little bit of poo came out’.

Friday 17 June 2016

I have seen countless generous acts from the Kokoda hikers towards their porters. Event though everything I was wearing was way too big for Smiddy and two of his feet could fit into one of my boots, I decided that he was the new owner of my trusted well-worn companions, my clothes and a brand new mosquito net for his children. I was told the porters like swapping shirts and shoes with each other. There were only a couple of items floating around in Paul B’s bag when he left Papua New Guinea. His porter Dick being the recipient of all sorts of  hiking gear.



The sun trying to shine through the canopy on the last morning

My body was feeling worn out that day. The intense downhill gradient caused my toes to attack the front of my boots, time and time again. Both my little toes were mushed beyond recognition. One of the nails was black, the other nail gone. The tiny pair looking an angry red raw and started oozing puss. Walking felt like trudging barefoot over broken glass until the endorphins kicked in.

We only had 45 minutes until we reached the end of the way - Owers corner. For reasons unexplained the porters left before us that morning. Just like I started on the Kokoda track, I ended up last trying to soak up the final stretch of green, tropical forest with a twinge of nostalgia. Can it really be over?

The jungle broke open

Nataly hung back to chat to me and basically snapped me into walking mode. The short walk, a lovely gentle incline, suddenly broke into open air where everyone was waiting for us on the last gravelly, zigzag of the trail. From above us came the joyful sounds of  harmonious Papuan song. The porters formed a welcoming line and were singing with gusto. I swear I could hear a couple of lines of Country Road thrown into the mix.



The end of the trail

One more last push and there it was, the arches of Kokoda. The longest row of excited, happy faces you will ever see greeting each other –  high fiving – bro hugging – Polar Bear hugging – tears of joy. It is done, Kokoda was ours.



Pandemonium at the finish line

This was the moment we said our goodbyes to the porters. Photos were taken and details swapped. It just felt like we were all mates for life.

Paul B, Simon, the Author and Jason. Happy times at the finish

After the quiet, green tunnel the sound of the two approaching buses was deafening. To send us off, the porters decorated our bus with banana leaves, muddy handprints, and with that same mud wrote the word Lauma, meaning Spirit in the local lingo.

The Spirit travelled with us

Unfortunately, the Lauma wasn’t strong enough to carry us up that first hill. With the smell of the handbrake wafting around us, half of the group had to exit the bus and walk up. The rest of us just waved them goodbye whilst driving past.

What followed, after we were all reunited in the bus on top of the hill, was the most hair-raising ride where the corners were taken at breakneck speed. I swear I felt the back wheels of the bus slide through the corner numerous times. The driver of the bus behind us resembled a beetle-nut, chomping gremlin who started to play chasey with us. Brandishing a wicked grin, he mischievously hung out of his window trying to touch our bus. All we could do was sit there and let it happen.



How fast?

Ironically we made it alive to the Bomana cemetery.

The war memorial at the cemetery

The Bomana cemetery is a large, well kept memorial site with many white headstones placed in rows. A fitting resting place for those brave soldiers that fought in Papua New Guinea. It is vast and stunning. A total of 7,500 Australians lost their lives on the Kokoda track. This cemetery is the perfect visual display, making those numbers way more tangible.



The headstones of Bomana Cemetery

We were on the trail only eight days. Spare a thought for the Australian soldiers. Most of the 39^th Battalion were fighting on this trail for two months. It wasn’t  just a lovely, self reflecting, butterfly spotting hike they were on . They dug trenches -  they carried heavy packs – they carried their rifle and amunition – they went days without food and supplies – they buried their mates – they laid waiting  for the Japanese mortar fire to hit -  they fought an enemy outnumbering them six to one, up close, and sometimes with fixed bayonettes – they saw the most horrendous acts possibly done to men - they were left to deal with the inevitable consequences without anyone, ever, to fully comprehend what it was like. Surviving the Kokoda track in 1942 was a remarkable achievement.

Flowers at the Bomana cemetery

Don did his best, but it was little enough. Though he dressed Butch’s wounds, and gave him morphine to ease the pain, the look he gave Stan confirmed the obvious – it wouldn’t be long.

They talked of the days on the farm. That time with Uncle Abe. Of Mum and Dad. Their sister and two other brothers. Sang songs of their childhood. At that moment, they knew, Mum would be just likely turning in after making Dad a cup of tea. What about the time during the floods when they were on their raft and Stan had nearly drowned, only to be saved by Butch getting to him in the nick of time? They talked of rugby, of days with the Powerhouse Club, of things that happened in the middle east. 

Finally though, at 4.00am, while Stan was holding Butch’s hand there was a sudden slight shudder then he went limp. Stan squeezed Butch’s hand, hoping for some return pressure, a spark of life left, but there was nothing, stone cold nothing. His brother’s hand was already cold and clammy.

Butch was gone. Stan wept.

The story of the Bisset brothers as described in an excerpt from 'Kokoda' by Peter Fitzimmons

The last resting place of Butch Bisset

Next to Butch, there lays Captain Owen, Private Bruce Kingsury and way too many others that took their last breath on this muddy trail to Kokoda. It is completely mind-blowing how many unknown soldiers are buried at Bomana. The quote on their head-stones reading

A soldier of the 1939 – 1945 war.

Known unto God

We all scattered through the cemetery,each of us deep in thought. What would life have been like if they were still alive? How many lives were impacted by the death of just the one soldier. How devastating would it be losing your son to war?



The universe as we knew it - ended. Another universe without son - began.

A Soldiers Farewell To His Son

I stand and watch you, little son,
Your bosom's rise and fall,
An old rag dog beside your cheek,
A gayly coloured ball.
Your curly hair is ruffled as you
Rest there fast asleep,
And silently I tip-toe in
To have one last long peep.

I come to say farewell to you,
My little snowy son.
And as I do I hope that you will
Never slope a gun,
Or hear dive-bombers and
Their dreadful whining roar,
Or see or feel their loads of death
As overhead they soar.

I trust that you will never need
To go abroad to fight,
Or learn the awful lesson soon
That might to some is right,
Or see your cobbers blown to scraps
Or die a lingering death,
with vapours foul and filthy
When the blood-flow chokes the breath.

I hope that you will never know
The dangers of the sea.

And that is why I leave you now
To hold your liberty,
To slay the demon War God
I must leave you for a while
In mother's care - till stars again
From peaceful heaven smile.

Jo N taking a quiet moment



Your mother is your daddy now,
To guard your little ways,
Yet ever I'll be thinking of you both
In future days.
I must give up your tender years,
The joys I'll sorely miss,
My little man, farewell, so long,
I leave you with a kiss.

H Bert Berros

                                    

We all piled back into the bus after spending a good deal of time at Bomana. Driving back into Port Moresby was a new assault on the senses. We had all been used to the peace and tranquillity of Pandan forest and jungle. The Gremlin still in hot pursuit.

In the afternoon we all celebrated our achievements at the yacht club, where we had a lavish meal and drinks spending our left over Kina.



The view from the yacht club

That evening, my brother-in-law Simon lent me his phone to call Julie. At the moment of the call I had a sudden allergic reaction, causing a flow of tears when I saw her on the mobile screen. This was the first time we had been able to talk to each other for eight days. Many moments I wished she was sharing this experience with me, but it would have been murder on her knees.

The cocktail of panadol, neurofen and beer knocked me out. With regret, I missed the presentation of the certificates for the completion of the Kokoda track - I was fast asleep in my hotel room. An unpredictable, unscripted finish to a tremendous experience.

Grey Bits



Peter soaking it all up

If you would like to walk with Kokoda Spirit, here is their website http://www.kokodaspirit.com.au/



Mark all smiles at the finish

The fighting in 1942 didn't stop after the Japanese advanced to the rear. They were dug in at Gona, Buna and Sanananda. It took one of the bloodiest battles in Australian history to clear those beach heads. If you would like to read about this conflict, please click on this excellent link

https://www.awm.gov.au/sites/default/files/2013%20James%20Brien,%20Bloody_Beachheads_Ver_15.pdf


Australian soldiers on their way to Gona

Kokoda 3. First Contact

We have touched down after an eventful flight at Kokoda airfield and are making our way to Deniki. The Twin Otter plane left parked at the end of the grassy slope that resembles an airfield.

There is no turning back!!!

  

Kokoda memorial sight

Thursday 10 June 2016

Those first steps were taken out in the bright sunlight with a fair degree of humidity in the air. After a brief walk we climbed a tiny mound on which the Kokoda memorial sight was situated. We were reunited with the first group that landed many hours before us who must have been pretty worried by now. Standing on a beautiful, well maintained grassy hill, Cam told us about the first battle on the Kokoda track that occurred on and around this hill.



Our first walk to the small, flat memorial ground ahead



The word hero gets bandied around a lot in this world and is associated with people like Gary Abblet, Usein Bolt or maybe Karl Marx, Walt Disney, John Lennon even Vincent van Gogh may take your fancy. Just take a load of this guy that was last seen in the area where we were standing.

Captain Samuel Victor Templeton (1900-1942)

Well known for his actions with the 39^th Battalion as the commander of ‘B’ Company during the first Battle of Kokoda. He went missing in action on the 26 July 1942 near the village of Oivi. It is believed that Templeton attempted to warn his men of the approaching Japanese Forces but was never seen again. Templeton was believed to have been killed in action at this time.

Many years later an Australian prisoner came forward, who in Japanese captivity, identified Sam as a fellow inmate and even spoke a few words to him just days after his disappearance. It is believed that the Captain was tortured and revealed convincing, but false information about the strength of the Australian troops. It appears that Sam was so convincing that it delayed the Japanese by 10 days. In those 10 days, the 450 Aussie diggers recaptured Kokoda airfield and set up a defensive stronghold at Isurava. The Japanese, prior to this interrogation, were steaming up the track conquering all before them at great speed. Hence the question should be asked 'Is Sam Templeton, by delaying the Japanese invasion, the man that saved Australia?



Captain Sam Templeton

It is believed that the Captain was killed by Colonel Hatsuo Tsukamoto's wielding sword after infuriating the Colonel. 

___________________________________________



Frank, one of the leaders read out the role call in which every porter was cheered on by the group as they were introduced to their hiker. A joyful occasion with broad smiles and firm handshakes all around.



Smid (second from the left) with his brothers and brother-in-law

This is where I met Smid for the first time. A bearded, lean young guy with an almost Rastafarian aura surrounding him. I took an instant liking to the Papua New Guinean.



Jo N and her porter

Six of us chose not to have porters and total kudos goes their way for doing this trail the hard way. They have to be mentioned. My own bro-in-law Simon, our resident kiwis Tanya and Mark, Kelsey, tough man Craig and the father and son team Greame and Kristian who shared a porter and one really heavy looking bag between them.



Simon and his imaginary porter



I caught Smid laughing and smiling while taking turns lifting my bag with his brother–in-law. I asked them to fill me in on the joke and they told me the bag was very light and they both took a lot of  joy out of this. Did I not mention that less is more before?

After a photo session underneath the arches which marks for us the start of the Kokoda track we hit the trail for real. I must admit I was a little apprehensive and wondered how my knee was going to hold up. I started singing the Police song “Walking on the Moon” and walked as slow as possible to warm up the ol’ knee. After the 'Police' tune, Smiddy and I were belting out Bob Marley songs, badly. 

I explained to Smid that in Australia short names are made longer and long names are made shorter and, therefore, Smiddy, Mars and our sizable group walked from the open valley into a dense rubber tree forest.

The start of the green tunnel among the rubber trees

I put my sunnies away in my daypack that day and did not need them again until eight days later - testimonial to how impenetrable the canopy was. The jungle became thicker and more damp as we walked along a relatively flat track for two hours. The early pace was hot. Everyone was excited to get cracking. 

So much to see in a strange forest

After entering this green tunnel it felt almost compulsory to take many photo’s and found myself walking dead last. This is where I spoke to the great man I dubbed, in my mind, Back End Frank. Franks job was to not lose anyone at the back of the group. I took up the challenge over and over again to have a conversation with the stoic beetle-nut chomping fellah and managed to crack a wry smile here and there. Sometimes he even spoke but you would never, ever get in behind him on the track

Smiddy started teaching me some pidgin and Avarratasohl (no idea how to spell it) soon became our favourite saying. I’m cool!!! There were some other words learned that cannot be repeated in this blog. Smiddy's mates had a good laugh every time I mentioned one of these words.

There was a memorable, initiating dip into a small, cool creek with most of us just hopping in clothes and all. A much welcome relief from the heat. Smiddy offered to refill my water bottles with the water of this creek. He went some way upstream and after dropping a couple of purifying tablets I was drinking the crystal, clear creek water of Papua New Guinea. There is a first for everything.

The refreshing creek of the first day

It was Peter Fitzsimons' writing in his book 'Kokoda' that warned me about the conditions. He stated that the track “reared up at them rather like an angry snake with bite more or less the same” and the last hour or so was a blunt lesson of what this actually meant.

That first day Kristian was feeling the pinch. His shoulders were sore from the heavy pack and I passed them at the moment where Cam was intensely talking to the young man. To his credit, he did not turn back or give up, but fought it out together with his Dad. Cam nicknamed Kristian “legend”. A fitting name for the youngest member of our team and the youngest ever to hike Kokoda with Cameron being the guide.

Kristian - our young gun

A sudden traffic jam of hikers appeared along a stretch where water soaked the track and to my delight they were all looking at several exquisite butterflies that were drinking the water. There it is the Kokoda track - steeped in history - heavy fighting all around - missing soldiers in the jungle - now also a place of beauty and peace.

The Kokoda butterflies

We all survived that first day and to my pleasant surprise I found a line of comrade hikers high-fiving and cheering me on at the edge of Deniki village - our overnight stop.

In the evening after dinner, we all got together for a highs and lows session where everyone was given a turn to talk about their day. For example some people found the waiting involved with the flight a little tedious. Others mentioned how happy they were to be on the track and with a great bunch of people to boot.



Cameron pointing out the facts of  Kokoda

That night it rained hard on my tent and the humidity was stifling. There was no way I was entering my sleeping bag or wearing anything else other than undies. Excuse the mental picture!

Unpredictable tropical weather at Deniki

Grey Bits

Templeton’s Crossing was named in honour of Captain Sam Templeton. It is the first point where the Kokoda Track, from Port Moresby, crossed Eora Creek. Sam Templeton's body was never recovered.



A rubber tree marked for harvesting

Place Silica Gel bags in your camera bag. They will keep the moist of your camera. You usually find them in the shoebox when purchasing shoes - for free!!!!