It sounded like a good idea at the time. 10 days out of Canberra’s winter, 9 days of solid exercise (in keeping with Coaches “off season” training program) and I might even learn something about what took place during WWII on the Kokoda Track.
Michael (who suggested the trip and organised all the details whom I called a variety of names early in the trek) and I arrived at Port Moresby on the Monday and met our leaders from Adventure Kokoda and fellow trackers. The other trackers ranged in age from their twenties to their sixties with the vast majority in their 40’s.
The Monday night and Tuesday morning meals were excellent at the Hotel which put all of us in a good mood as we headed out after breakfast to the start of the track at the Southern end of the island with Kokoda in our sights in 9 days time.
After lunch of sandwiches and fruit (quite civilised) we were introduced to the 40 odd porters who would be carrying our tents, food and back packs (for 9 of the 18 trackers). Nine of us carried our full packs weighing about 16-17kg while the others were left to carry a small day pack of about 5-6kg.
Everybody was very keen to start. How hard could it be even though the mountains in view dwarfed us and seemed to go on for ever?
After 3 hours of climbing and falling we finally reached our first camp site. The yellow tents were already set up by a lovely fast running creek. By the end of the trek I was sick of the sight of creeks. Every camp site was next to a creek which meant a climb down to the creek and then a climb up to the camp site then the reverse in the morning.
During the day there were always creeks which meant we had to cross them. Some ankle deep, some waist deep, some with one log, some with two logs to assist in crossing. As I am with heights a helping hand by the porters was always a relief crossing some of the creeks.
To my amazement the only fall off a log crossing was by an ex commando bloke (left 16 years ago) who lost his balance and the small hand support could not hold his weight and he fell backwards luckily missing the flowing creek and landing on his back like an upside down turtle. After it was established that he was OK his friends kept at him for some days about the incident. I didn’t utter a word it could easily have been me
Next morning was an early start, up at 5.30am breakfast at 6.30am with 7.30am start. Even after going to bed at 8.30pm little sleep was had by the 5.30am wake up time.
After 3 hours trekking we stopped for morning tea which consisted of coffee/tea and biscuits. I needed a rest – off with the back pack, boots and shirt. The shirt has been covered in sweat since 10minutes after the start. Before you knew it, we were off again and 2 hours later we stopped for lunch which consisted of tined fish, beans and biscuits.
Well into the afternoon after we had been trekking for 6 hours we started to climb this mountain that was just covered in mud and every step was a stretch upwards. After an hour of this I started to cramp in the hamstrings. The tour leader suggested I give my pack to one of the porters for the last 100 metres of the climb. With the constant pain I knew I had no alternative. So I gave my pack to a porter who was already carrying a pack. He neatly picked up my pack and placed it behind his head and he was off. Within a minute he was gone and for the next ½ hour I struggled to the top, relieved not to have the pack but saddened when I realised it was waiting for me at the top.
After an update from the tour leader on the activities on the track to date, we were off again. Only another two hours climb down hill to the camp site. By the time I was climbing up again to the camp site my cramping had returned.
Michael came to my rescue and filled my water containers for the next day as I couldn’t bring myself to climb down and up the hill again to get the water. Others helped with lotions and tablets for my hamstrings. I started thinking of the weight of my pack and I quickly disposed of any items not worthy of being carried any further. A diary which was a bit wet from the sweat was deemed unnecessary. I will certainly remember all this I thought. Pencils and writing pads for the village children was next. I was told that the leader of the porters was in charge of the village we would stay at tomorrow night. He was quite happy to take these items and distribute them to the children to my relief.
I dragged myself up to dinner even though I wasn’t hungry. The normal dinner consisted of meat stew, mashed potato or rice and biscuits. For the first time in years I actually put salt on my meal in a hope to stop the cramps the following day. After a 9½ hour day we were informed that tomorrow would be an early start as it would take at least 10 ½ hours to get to our camp site the next day.
No cramps today but after 10 ½ hours of climbing I couldn’t move any more. I was getting the hot and cold shivers. I was still not hungry but continued to eat out of habit. The singing from the villagers was enjoyable, but I had to listen to them from my tent as I had to rest.
By this night two trackers had employed porters to carry their packs and another tracker was struggling to keep up. We were informed that tomorrow would be a very hard day. Michael and I had been taking it in turns to lead between the two of us if only to follow the others foot steps to the inch except when the step was miss judged and you would end up on your backside or spread eagled, then an alternative step was thought appropriate.
After lunch on the 4th day we started to climb the last mountain before reaching the village. We had all learnt early on not to look up as you could never see the top and when you thought you could you were wrong. This mountain was going on forever. Michael and I were starting to pass some of the other trackers who were just stopping for a break. I thought if I stopped I might not start again so we kept going. Michael started to get a little ahead so I told him to blow his whistle when he gets to the top. The rest of the trackers behind readily provided support for this idea. This seemed to encourage Michael for in no time at all he was out of sight.
After what seemed hours (and a lot of name calling) to our relief we finally heard the whistle. At least Michael was at the top. I finally reached the top and there was an air field on the plateau. After a quick discussion with one of the porters it was established that the village was still 20 minutes away. Michael was nowhere to be seen. I continued on dragging my feet. 20 minutes seemed like a long time. I kept looking for the yellow tents. There they were, Michael smiling, he had saved me a tent on reasonable level grassy ground.
After a quick cold shower I sat back and rested for an hour. After the hour I felt good and for the first time in 4 days I felt hungry. I had heard the tracker that was struggling to keep up was asking to go home. The tour guide convinced him to continue on by off loading some of his pack to his friends and letting him take the direct 2 hour track with the porters to tomorrow nights village stop instead of the 8 hour trek out to see the airplane drop off zone. This quickly dispensed with the motivational theory that every step was a step closer to Kokoda. A couple of times we even took off our packs and trekked out and back to visit various strategic places.
Day 5 even though it was a round trip it seemed to be easier, the mountains now were like speed humps.
Day 6 to our surprise we actually finished at 12 midday. We arrived at a small village to see all our yellow tents already up. It was only early and no one was willing to unpack and settle down until we saw the smiles of the tour leaders.
Day 7 was another easy day. After lunch I started off behind Michael and in front of a 63 year old man who was an experienced tracker and his 24 year old son. As soon as we were starting to climb down a hill I would be left behind. All of a sudden after an hours walking I realised that I was on my own. Was I on the right track? Had I taken a wrong turn? Everything looks the same here.
A quick stocktake – plenty of water, one banana and two biscuits – how long would that last?
I decided to stop and wait. Within 5 minutes I saw the red cap of a porter and happily joined in behind the porter and another tracker mentioning that it was nice to have company.
When we reached camp Michael was already there and pointed out my tent. This village was high in the mountains; the clouds were travelling by at eye level. Times were getting easier. The village people had made us welcome and had supplied some local food. This was first time I had had a full stomach in a long time.
The tour leader pointed to another village just across the valley. That was morning tea stop tomorrow. It didn’t seem that far away at all except for the creek in between.
The last 3 hours into Kokoda was the only part of the trek that you could say was flat and was enjoyed by all. Michael even had some banana leaves sticking out of his pack which amused the porters no end.
At the end I enjoyed the adventure but from what I learned my adventure was nothing compared to what happened in WWII where soldiers fighting along the track not only had to contend with the surroundings and climate, the huge weight of their packs and equipment but also the snipers.
All the trackers that started had finished with a sense of achievement and the knowledge of what Australia could be like today if not for the efforts of the Australian Army during WW11 along the Kokoda track
Greg Mitchell