The Heysen Trail 10. "Too many sheep"

 

 

I was feeling a weary, bit of joy when the hill finally showed signs of levelling out. I glanced back and saw the fence disappear from view - testimony to its gradient. On top I disturbed a murder of crows feasting on a carcass. Was this the last resting place of the headless deer? To find out, I would have had to crawl over the four-foot fence. The blood I could see from 50 metres away wasn't exactly an invite. The way things were going on this trail, I could have laid down next to it and turned into crow fodder myself.




Dare I say it? Oh deer!!

 

I continued along the fence and still, probably due to exhaustion, got lost. ‘It said follow the fence, not  jump it, Mars!!!!’ Having lost any sign of the trail I had a gut-full and sat down to indulge in a cup of soup and some of my last blobs of extra deserved chunks of goats cheese. It was difficult to get to a sitting position with a knee that was stiff and full of fluid, but even more difficult to find where I went wrong on the map.

I was sitting at the end of a broad strip of sheep-dung-covered grass, pondering my next move with fences running on either side – paddocks as far as the eye could see, when I heard the sound of an engine coming near from the direction I came. A guy appeared at full speed, without a helmet, on an off-road motorbike and started working the two gates in front of me. At first he just wanted to ignore me, but I told him I had lost the track and could he please, please, please tell me where I went wrong. He pointed at a small rise in the landscape about 3km away, and said that the Heysen trail was to be found on that hill. I thanked him and told him that he had the best job ever in this amazing country side. With a cynical smile he replied, “there are just too many bloody sheep.”

Polite sheep

Having packed up, I soon understood what he meant as several hundred of the woollen bundles were herded towards me by a ute, some more guys on bikes and two working dogs. Being a city slicker, this were to be my first such experience of being swamped by sheep. It has to be said that the sheep were very polite, or were they just being cautious, and moved around me in a wide arc. I stood there like an agricultural tourist taking photographs of it all. After passing through the gate, the followers were expertly scattered in the paddock by a new dude on a bike running figure eights at full speed.

 

"You can go your own way!!!"

One of the sheep – there is always one – couldn’t keep up with the family. In my mind I was encouraging her to go faster. C'mon, you can do it!! Chop Chop!! Later on,  I spotted the grand ol' lady on the back of the ute, motionless, and laying down flat. By now she has possibly disappeared in the station's freezer. Life on a station in its full glory.
 

The sheep bee-lining me and if you look carefully the grand ol' lady struggling in front of the ute

“What a day it has been” I thought as I limped along an uninspiring dirt road. I had an accident, almost, and may still, quit this hike, nearly killed myself on a steep slope, watched a playful pod of dolphins in the surf, got stuck in the soft sand of Tunkalilla beach, saw many birds and other animals - even dead ones, clutched on to a fence and hoiked myself up into the sky, escaped the evil clutches of deer-hunting decapitators, got lost on a sheep station but life couldn’t be slapping me in any more in the face if I wanted it to.

 

This dog just stood and watched the sheep rather than chased them

 

The sun had started to set when I arrived at the Balquhidder/Waitpinga campsite. It was built on the side of a hill – ‘where is the flat ground for a tent?’ -  with a tiny shelter that my tent had great difficulty fitting under or was it supposed to go on the platform? I set up quickly when a large flock of white-tailed, black cockatoos flew over screeching their melancholic sounds under a pink sky. The sound evoking a queasy feeling of depression. ‘I concur’ I thought'.
 

The platform or the shelter?

Tomorrow I walk across the road and ask for a lift to the nearest town.

 

Grey Bits

The sheep station I was lost on for one hour was the Balquhidder station. I have to thank them for letting Heysen trail hikers traipse through their property, for showing me the way back to the trail and allowing me to take these photographs without asking for permission.




The Heysen Trail 8. The Ticket Out

 



 

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.

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.

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.”



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

 



I could be back in Adelaide in no time

 

The Heysen Trail 6. Three Blondes and a Guru.

I said farewell to my stinky overnight companion ‘Cadaver Jack’ and amidst magpie calls, the sound of little wrens and more South Australian birds I had never heard before, I headed up the hill. For a couple of hundred metres I walked on a ridge resembling a broad firebreak with the bush on one side recently burnt. The views from there were stunning and my camera was working hard to keep up with all that melancholy a scorched forest evokes.

 

After a large descent through the blackened landscape, I came to the bottom of a fence. Anyone that has ever hiked knows that fences are not welcome on a trail. Any kind of man made barrier is constructed by guys on utes or motorbikes and if they are any good at their craft, dead straight up or down a hill. Walking alongside a fence is, until the end of time, a torturous affair especially without a switchback in sight. Old railway lines to walk on, 'yes'. Along fences, a definite 'no'.
 

The trail hard up against the fence

Most hikers must suffer from severe memory loss. How else did I find myself on the side of this fence pushing myself up the slope? Soon snippets of the Kokoda track and its unreasonable steep hills, patches of climbs on the Larapinta trail and that slippery gravel of the Bibbulmun track came flooding back as I wrestled with this mongrel. Remember? It hurts!!!
 

The same hikers pest appeared again without apparent reason. This time a fully equipped electric fence. What the costs of building and maintaining kilometres of Berlinesque ugliness must be is any ones guess. Without a single cow in sight I must ask, what are we trying to keep in? - or should the question be – what are we trying to keep out? Doesn’t  this make it all the more tempting to take a thrill-seeking  jump over the fence and find out what Waco, doom prepping, nudist colony is singing its chants behind this barricade? Has this farmer found more than one wife and is worshipped into guru status while casually being driven in yet another Mercedes? Would it be worth risking electrocuted hands and genitals to find out the answer?

I was more than relieved to see Trig Campsite appear on top of the hill, with the need for strong coffee and a muesli bar to get over it all. Only 5km and I am, excuse me, pooped.
 

Views over Deep Creek Conservation Park

The next 6km were unforgettable. The air was moist and redolent of musky earth. The track gradually wound itself down through the small gum trees so prevalent in this area. At times it opened up and the views over the forest-covered hills were magnificent.

The slope increased its downward angle and the sound of rushing water came closer with every step. Several man-made flights of stairs lead to a spur trail. Having turned off the trail, the noise of the rampant water now deafening and announcing a tall gushing waterfall - the highlight of this trail so far. 

The fall cascaded into black water, very much alike the tea-tree infused rivers of South Western Australia. Beige foam frothed up and clung to the shoreline of a picturesque flowing creek. My pack of pain came off in an instant and I found a rock to sit and stare at this steaming water feature and was lost in its beauty.

 

 

My peace was suddenly disturbed when from behind me, three stunning, athletic young ladies appeared from the forest. They quickly changed their sweaty t-shirts for dry ones to prevent getting cold, a very short 5 metres in front of me - the waterfall losing its appeal rapidly. I awkwardly looked at the pale bubbles at the side of the river and tried to ignore the ultimate lone male hikers mirage that was on full display in front of a gorgeous waterfall.

I told the girls that they were the first people I saw in a day and a half on the trail. They were a friendly bunch and the four of us chatted briefly. They took photos of each other posing in front of the fall and I offered to take a couple on their phones. Somehow, one of the girls ended up in the bottom corner of one of my shots, creating the opening photo in this blog. Soon they left me on my rock, with my waterfall where I smiled to myself thinking life was good.

 

 

Grey Bits

 

The above story is fully approved by my supporting partner Julie.

 

This stretch of the Heysen Trail is only 7km but, due to its undulating nature, it may take longer than normal to complete. Reading back over this blog it may appear that I am complaining about how hard it is to walk this trail but I was enjoying every minute of the challenge.

 

If you would like to explore Deep Creek, check out the following website www.environment.sa.gov.au/parks

 

 

 



Guardian of the melon



The Heysen Trail 5. Up Aaron Creek.

The choice I had made to come and hike in South Australia appears to be the right one. I strapped my monumental obelisk back on my back and continued the slug-fest with the rolling hills of the Heysen trail.

 

Sizable lumps to go up and down all day

 

Hiking is an intense and exhausting game, causing my mind to start fantasising, wandering off and even has been blatantly deceitful at times. However, seeing a fully landed spaceship appear caused me to rub my eyes in disbelieve and question my sanity for the second time in one day. No wait - it is true!! I have photographic, non-altered evidence.

 

Yeah, really!!!

If you were surprised in the first instance cop this. "I have seen the exact same space craft before." Dear reader, before you click out of my blog in disgust, let me explain! More than 40 years ago, real estate agents built a display 'spaceship' at the entrance of Willetton in Perth, Western Australia. It was part of an advertising campaign luring young families to build in the area. The ship mysteriously disappeared one day to make way for a doctor's surgery. What you and I would like to know is: 'who would have flown it here? Extra terrestrial's from outer Willetton?'

 

Pondering possible dangers of infiltrating cockroach like aliens "Men in Black" style, probing the surrounding wildlife, I crossed into the Deep Creek Conservation Park leaving the grassy hills behind to enter gum tree country. Like wrought rafters forming a sheltered dome to walk through, I carried on a winding trail which had started to climb. This was a magic little stretch of forest called Cobble Hill, where small rocks were protruding out of the ground the size of little cobbles, making it hard to stay balanced. After an hour ascending, some of these little rascals must have found their way into my pack because the weight seemed to unfairly increase with every step.

 

The rugged shores of the Fleurieu Peninsular

Bathing in a layer of sweat, I arrived fatigued at the Cobble Hill Campsite. Cold gusts of wind hammered the bare hill on which the tent pads were set out without much protection. Even though I wished for the long day to finish, I simply did not want to be spending a cold, sleepless night being blown apart in my tent.  Only one decision could be made - carry on!



The arrows to follow in South Australian red


A ‘real’ hiking hut was promised by my map only 2km down the track. All I had to do is cross Aaron Creek. 'How hard could it be?'

I had only ventured 100 metres from the campsite when a large roo appeared in the middle of the track. Sturdy, with ears pinned back, it continued chewing grass or chewing gum while reaching in his pouch for his 24 calibre gun, staring me down. Ok, I may be exaggerating a little here but it simply wouldn’t move. I consulted my ‘defense against rampant roos’ manual. Rule number one: avoid contact with hind legs at all cost. Rule two: no boxing. Rule three: do not provoke a glaring roo otherwise rule 1 and 2 will become a problem. Lucky for me there was enough room to tiptoe around the gunslinger.

Pffw*#eeww!!

Relieved that I had avoided a scrap with the Aussie icon, I had only walked another 50 metres when suddenly both my feet slipped from under me. With legs up in the air, I went for the biggest arse- plant ever, staining my shorts a suggestive colour brown for the rest of the hike - a continued reminder of this ham-fisted incident. When I looked down on the totally flat horizontal ground, I saw that a layer of slimy green substance covered the red compacted earth.

 

Aaah!

'That' green stuff!! A light bulb went off.

Kermit has struck !!! 

 

My mate Aaron from Perth would have been in stitches if he could have seen me on my way to Aaron Creek. 

With my ego at the mechanic for a quick fix, I crossed the tranquil stream several times through the tall, lush grass growing adjacent. A hidden but solid branch was waiting dormant to do as much damage to an unsuspected meandering shin as it could – my shin fully obliged. With blood trickling down my leg, I could imagine Aaron telling me I was a ‘bloody idiot’ in his disarming, but outraged way.
 

Very pretty - but a possible weed growing alongside the trail

A bench appeared like magic next to a small waterfall. I sat down and would have licked my wounds if I could bring myself to lift my leg up to my mouth. Choosing the first aid kit instead as a more hygienic way to treat the gash, I applied the aid to myself in the absence of a volunteer; in fact I hadn't seen anyone else on this trail yet. Again, I took a breather and reflected on mateship in all of its form – a good moment up Aarons Creek.

Still baffled by how much can happen in five hundred metres on a hiking trail, I climbed out of the valley and arrived at the Eagle Hole Campground. I was all alone in my comfy wind-free hikers hut, unless you count the decomposing kangaroo only thirty metres away. Dinner was a delight; pasta, pesto and ‘au de rue’ wafting around killing the parmesan smell and any lingering armpit whiff stone dead.
 

The Eagle Hole hut. No tent but a gasmask needed

At dawn I heard a loud rumble coming from the grassy slope beyond my dead Skippy. Around twenty of the alive versions raced down the slope at dusk and started grazing not far from my shelter. The birds were plentiful and in full song. The sun set and I just had enough time to wash myself before hitting the sleeping bag at a wicked 6.30pm, dog tired.  Other than a large branch falling down nearby, an owls 'oohoo' and the occasional inhale of rotting roo, nothing disturbed me that night.

Grey Bits

Day one of this enormous 1200km hike can be done as a 16km stretch with a 9am drop off at the Cape Jervis ferry terminal.


If you like to find out more about the spaceship find more information on the following website www.adelaiderememberwhen.com.au

Thank you David and Anne Lymn for the additional info.
 

Aliens in disguise

The Heysen Trail 3. Last Centuries Beauties

You can’t get past smashed avocado and poached eggs to revive, no matter how frugal any politician tells you to be. I had been walking for four hours through Adelaide and by 9am hit a trendy café in the centre of town.  After Googling 'What’s on in Adelaide' I found myself only metres away from the starting point of my next adventure.

The 20^th century architecture tour happened to be on the Tuesday I was in town and a one off chance to get to know Adelaide better. The further into the 21^st century we venture the more our buildings of the previous century need our care and attention. Putting it in human, slightly depressing terminology: 'Things grow old before you know it'. It appears Adelaide has a ground- breaking heritage listing of sublime architectural gems and a free tour to admire them. Count me in!!

 

When I first arrived at the former Reserve Bank building, it appeared that a booking should have been made. For around twenty minutes, I was hanging in suspense to see whether there was enough room for me on the bus. Twenty minutes was long enough to discover that I had landed in a flock of the most lovely ladies. I was the only male, besides the driver and the guide, and pretty close to being the youngest of the group. ”Where have all the husbands gone?” I asked, but was met with lots of shrugging of shoulders and mumbles about work commitments. Due to cancellations, I was relieved to be able hop on the bus. What followed was a very funny and interesting tour.

 

The city of Adelaide's Colonel Light Centre clad in wall garden

At one memorable stop at the Greek church of Archangels Michael and Gabriel we were not able to go inside due to the sharp glue smells coming from behind the heavy, bronzed front doors. Carpet was being laid over the floorboards and glued down by several workmen. Together with two other ladies we defied the Occupational Health and Safety warnings and like naughty children snuck up the stairs just inside the front door. It was a trip worth making. The inside view of the paintings and the dome of this magnificent symbol of migration to South Australia were mind-blowing - the smells also very uplifting.

The dome of the Greek church

 

The banter was flowing freely after the glue-sniffing incident.

At the Deep Acres Apartments a member of the public was adamant that he was going to catch our bus. The gentleman obviously wanted to join the gals on the tour, but was told gently that it would have taken him many hours to reach any kind of destination.

  



Evelyn in front of the Deep Acres Apartments

I have found a pattern throughout my life where I seemed to get along famously with the more mature faction of the opposite sex. I don't know whether this should be worrying me or not. The fact remains girls appear to 'wanna have fun' and not in the way where I am taking off my shirt, wave it above my head whilst jiggling my hips.

We stopped at the atypical Adelaide High School building. This award winning structure has a sweeping, rounded façade - the fantastic condition of the school sets itself as a class apart. We were encouraged not to take photographs inside the building because of the proximity of the school kids. We left these capable children to take footage of each other on their mobiles.



The Adelaide High School

The sun bus that was refuelling itself by the rays of the sun, drove us along in a large circle through Adelaide. We viewed McConnell House, drove over Adelaide Bridge and our final stop was the fire station completed in 1983. The rounded features of the building were striking; even the blackened practice tower adjacent to the $16 million building had that “curve appeal”.



The rounded walls of the fire station



The training tower that tries and fries our firies



Unfortunately, this tour had come to an end and after the group shots we all went our separate ways. A great morning had, cruising around with Adelaide's finest offerings of the last century.



A happy bunch. Group shot taken in Diorama in front of the sun bus

 Grey Bits

Yes, and all that was for free. Thank you Kevin and Megan for your sublime commentary and organisational skills. If you would like to go on this tour, you can find contact details on this website http://www.cityofadelaide.com.au/whats-on 

  

The crows on the tower in front of the Greek church

Later that day, I visited the third largest collection in the world of the ground breaking Auguste Rodin at the Art Gallery. The exhibition is called Versus Rodin, bodies across space and time. Find out more at  www.artgallery.sa.gov.au/agsa/home. Except for a sleepy guard or two, I found myself all alone with these amazing sculptures of powerful distorted body parts and melancholic citizens. Check out some of the photographs below.

A study off the Burghers of Calais



Casts of these sculptures are rare. One of the completed sculpture stands at Westminster Abbey

 

The Heysen Trail 2 - Just Call Me Dumpling.

Crickey!!!!

For someone that eats a lot of vegetables the sudden impact of a huge plate of dumplings is not to be underestimated. Feeling so full I started to think that I had become a dumpling. With something JFK could have said ringing through my head – “Ich bin ein dumfling” – I rolled back from Adelaide’s Chinatown to the cheapest accommodation I could find; the youth hostel's four bed dorm where an interesting night lay ahead of me.

 

China Town, home of the dumplings

My dormitory soon turned into a three stooges show where the first stooge, who I dubbed Mr. Snoremore, was busy running his chainsaw through a variety of logs. The snoring pitch varied from an alarming high-frenzied, wood-grinding to a low, deep, shattering rattle, shaking the room as though Vesuvius had just erupted. The exhale produced a high-pitched siren that  would have had our boys in Kokoda ducking for cover, yelling “incoming”. This man was definitely single room material only; in fact he could be a single all of his life without knowing why, deserted Island kind of bloke. At first, I used my pillow to block out Mr. Snoremores duel with the sound barrier but soon I wanted to use it for more sinister purposes. I was only stopped at the prospect of having to spend the next 25 years in another more sinister dorm.

The second stooge, Sir Stinkalot, came in at eleven and chose the bunk below mine.  As soon as the man laid down the pungent, sour fumes of cigarette smoke ,with a stale bouquet of pub trough drifted upwards. Holding my breath wasn’t going to help as I slowly turned blue under my pillow.

Stooge number three, Mystery Stooge, I suspect was on the red eye flight. His hour of arrival was unknown but it was deep, deep in the night. Attempts to be as quiet as possible failed epically with the heavy door slamming with gusto, waking up even the best sleepers seven dorm doors down. 
 

These wonderful experiences in dormitories take me back to Spain and the Camino de Santiago where we, a group of ten hikers, were forcibly honoured to observe a Spanish couple having it on, on the top bunk. How would it be to have the sexual juices flowing so badly that you would ignore twenty eyes and ears? I can assure you that she was having the time of her life with the added bonus that we all learned some very rudimental Spanish.
 

The seedy side of Adelaide

Finally, there was me. Old Fart Stooge with an upset gut full of dumpflings. Believe me, I desperately tried to keep the incessant waft from underneath my blanket to a minimum, so much so I could have snapped one of the logs that were being cut below. Every time I rolled around in bloated discomfort the bed squealed in protest. I could hear and smell Sir Stinkalot's smoky sigh of annoyance coming from below.
 

Adelaide Awakes!

Among the cacophony of sounds and smells in our tiny room I was ready to fly away into another world. I grabbed my camera out of my locker, accidently slammed the door on my way out, and found Adelaide shrouded in mist at 4.30 in the morning. I walked  about 12km's through cotton wool filled streets  - I just couldn’t stop - past Anzac memorials and universities – dodged street sweepers and garbo trucks – photographed the seedy pokie clubs and massage parlours – experienced the magical, dark River Torrens -  wondered about my own safety - took snaps of the misty coloured lights – strolled past several homeless guys sleeping in window arches – admired the sculptures in parks and streets – saw a group of joggers disappear into the mist.
 

Joggers in the mist

I escaped into the urban beauty of Adelaide.

 

Grey Bits

Due to me trying to keep things as cheap as possible during this trip, I bravely went back for one more night with my fellow Stooges.

How bad was his night?

If you are flying to the start of a hiking trail remember that you cannot take any gas bottles with you on the plane, hence, the extra day I needed in Adelaide. More to follow about my day in Adelaide in the next blog.

Here are some more photos I took that morning, plus more on my website https://www.facebook.com/storiesfrommars/?ref=bookmarks



Independence Day or Adelaide Oval



Purple Rain



The newly installed lights under the Adelaide Bridge



The memorial walk - Kintore Avenue

 



Elder Park