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Published: September 29th 2013
The journey began long before the actual trip as a lot of training and preparation was required. Ray and I spent Christmas hiking the Overland Track and I used the trip as my official start to four months of Kokoda training. Each Saturday or Sunday we would drive to the Bunyip State Park to tackle the 2.5 hour return hike straight up a steep 4wd track, pack loaded with weights and water.
A friend who completed the track a year earlier recommended the route and it certainly was gruelling. We regularly ran into others who were training but who had already been to Kokoda. The cheery comments such as 'this is nothing compared to the real thing!" did little for my confidence.
Training through summer and autumn meant we only encountered one wet day, a torrential downpour about half way up. What a difference! I fell several times and was bruised, cut, wet and cold. It took ages to descend and once again I was rethinking my ability to do the trek.
As May 8th drew closer I added a midweek walk up a shorter track near home but still felt I should be doing more. I hadn't even completed the five hour day walk recommended in the training guide although I had walked 3.5 hours up Mt Buffalo at Easter. I run regularly and was unwilling from the outset to reduce my hours as I had planned to take part in "Run for the kids" in March and other events after the trek. We also needed to fit in bike riding as I had booked for the Otago Rail trail also in March. Time and energy was running out.
The final two weeks before I left were fraught with trepidation. What If I got sick and had to be flown out? What if I was slow and held everyone up? I was nervous about travelling alone, meeting and spending 10 days with strangers, the humidity...the list went on.
I had told very few people about my plans but somehow it got around. Some just looked at me in horror or disbelief but others including my ever supportive daughter (who believes in me whatever I do) were very encouraging. I remember my manager saying " I don't know anyone that gutsy". I certainly didn't feel gutsy. Every book, media article or TV program I had encountered reiterated how hard this was going to be.
To back track a little I need to note down my motivation for choosing to do the trek My father was a soldier in New Guinea. Enlisting at barely seventeen years old he was shipped out as one of the undertrained militia of the 39th Battalion. He spoke little of the war but I remember he told us as children the legend of the fuzzy-wuzzy angels. He suffered many health problems including malaria and died when only 59. After my mother's death in 2011 I began to reflect more about them both and wanted to do something in their memory. I have done a few hikes and love walking holidays plus I like to challenge myself so I began to research and plan the trip. Even so, I felt it would be more of an endurance or tour of duty, not a holiday, and fully expected it to be very tough.
The months to prepare, buy clothes and equipment, undergo health check and immunisations passed quickly and too soon it was the night before the flight to Brisbane to join up with trek members for the flight to Port Moresby the next day. I felt very nervous about meeting the team and slept fitfully.
At the airport it could be avoided no longer. I arrived to find all the other members of the trek about to line up in the departure queue. The trek leader Tom introduced everyone and I was already sweating trying to remember all the names. I was relieved to see there was a variety of ages and I certainly wan't the only "older" person. We chatted during the long check-in process and everyone seemed nice. There was a lovely mix of two father/son and one father/daughter combos, two young sisters, three couples and one other lady and myself travelling alone. We all joked about our various training regimes, was it enough? And hell, it was too late now anyway!
Once in Port Moresby we met our New Guinea trek team and piled on to a ricketty bus for the Holiday Inn hotel. It was Saturday afternoon and the streets were filled with shoppers and market stalls and other buses overflowing with passengers. The various buildings and shops looked very derelect and the streets were full of rubbish but there were lots of waves and cheers as we passed.
On arrival at the hotel our check in procedures took some time. We were advised about "New Guinea time" where things happen in due course but the staff were friendly and welcoming, if somewhat overwhelmed. We had a few hours free to rest then gathered for our briefing and evening meal. Despite all my careful planning there were items I didn't have but our kind and attentive leader Tom rustled up some dry bags from his own gear for me to use. Word of warning, don't try to get by with bin liners they will rip on the first day! Our meals were a long time coming and I was feeling a bit stressed as we were to be up, dressed and ready to depart at 3.30 am. I had little appetite but knew I needed some fuel. Back in my room it seemed to take forever to sort and pack my few things, deciding what I would carry and what to give to my porter.
Day 1. Sunday 12th May. Port Moresby - Kokoda - Hoi Village
The early morning call seemed to arrive a few minutes after getting to sleep and we were back in the bus to the airport for our transfer to Popendetta. I managed to get down a small bowl of muesli as lunch would be 10 hours away. Even in these early hours the streets were busy with people. The unloading at the airport was again lengthy and I was distressed to see many young children trying to earn money by carrying bags. Security and check in seemed to take forever, hence our early start and once through we still had a two hour wait for the flight. The tiredness started to kick in and I had a powerful headache but felt rude not joining in the "getting to know you" conversations all around.
On the plane at last and a a quick half hour flight to Popendetta. Here we were to begin our long troop carrier ride to Kokoda. I had seen film footage of this journey and knew what to expect. We loaded into the back in good spirits and travelled the few kms into the township where we visited the war memorials and then shopped at the local supermarket. I was fascinated by the array of goods in the crowded aisles, more like a market, people (and dogs!) everywhere. We were greeted warmly as we roamed around the ramshackle building. One lady wished me "Happy Mothers Day" and I returned the favour. Most of the goods seemed to be a variation on two-minute noodles in every flavour imaginable. I finally chose some salted nuts and a juice to down some pills for the headache.
Back on the carrier and heading out of town we passed many villagers on foot. Being Sunday, I assumed most were walking to and from church. They all waved and yelled greetings as we passed. Some were carrying huge loads of groceries and hardware on their heads or in the huge expandable billum bags everyone, tiny tots included, carried. About a half hour into the trip we reached the first river crossing. We all dived for our cameras much to Tom's amusement as he pointed out there about twelve more crossings to go! Many of the bridges had been washed away in a flood some years ago so it was a bone-shaking ride across the rocky river beds. We passed many settlements, huts with beautiful gardens, veggie patches and chooks and pigs roaming free. The children ran out to wave to us in colourful clothes... or none at all. Along the road there were little shops and "petrol stations"... tiny stalls with just a few items and cans of petrol although there seemed to be very few vehicles. Some villages had open air churches were many groups were gathered. While crossing the rivers we saw women washing their dishes and clothes and then carrying the load in huge panniers on their head with one hand and clutching a child's hand with the other.
Two hours into the journey and the constant battering was taking its toll. We had left the bitumen surface and were now on dirt tracks. Our constant pleas to Tom about "how much further" always got the same response "about twenty minutes." He became known as "twenty minute Tom" for the duration of the trek. Just as the end was in sight we hit a snag. A huge rock had become wedged between the double wheels during a creek crossing and took some effort to dislodge. We reached Kokoda village three and half hours after leaving Popendetta much to the relief of a bruised backside and full bladder. Apparently this was a good time as the roads were dry. I still remember the trip as probably the most gruelling part of the whole trek! Tom reminded us that had we started at Ower's Corner we would have to face this trip at the end the nine day hike!
We unpacked at our lunch site and lined up to be introduced to our porters and trekking crew. So many names and faces, all smiling and friendly. I memorised Clinton my porter but the other names soon were lost. My headache was at crisis point now and I was looking forward to lunch and some painkillers. We had a short tour of the memorial sites while the supply truck unloaded and lunch was prepared. it was quite an amusing sight... all of our food supplies for the next nine days were spread out on the grass with the trekking crew organising each other while numerous skinny dogs milled around the outskirts. Rain began to fall and we scurried to fit rain covers to our packs. We were only to walk two hours today to our first overnight camp at Hoi village. Photos were taken of us all passing through the arch that marked the start of the track. I was looking for Clinton but he quietly slid in beside me and we began our walk. I felt quite shy and uneasy as I was mentally trying to formulate questions and start a conversation and was sure he felt the same. I discovered Clinton was 18 and had three younger siblings at home in Naduri Village where all our trekking crew came from and this was his third trek as a porter. He answered all of my questions politely but I soon discovered that most of the boys were quiet, very respectful but reticent and speaking rarely. We soon fell into a rhythm with Clinton gently directing me the best way through the increasing puddles.
We arrived at Hoi Village around 4.30 pm. The rain had stopped and our tents were erected right next to a picturesque creek with waterfall. The village was beautiful. So many varieties of colourful flowers and trees. We had time for a swim and wash in the creek before our evening briefing and dinner. The water was surprisingly cold considering how warm the day was. It grew dark quite early and I was to experience the wonder of the night sky and the amazing display of stars.
The dining huts were almost identical in every village, handmade with rough hewn wooden benches, tables and seats. The kitchen was attached and another area held a fire pit for drying. Each night the huts were soon adorned with our laundry and wet boots were placed around the base of the fire. All of our meals were cooked on a larger fire in the kitchen area. Our head-lamps were essential as there is no other light other than a couple of kerosene lamps near the table. The night was humid but we needed to cover up for mozzie protection. Dinner was simple but hearty. Curried snags and rice and vegetables in a coconut sauce, followed by TimTams. We all looked a little unsure about retiring by 7.30 pm but were to be woken by Tom at 5.00 am to begin the next day.
Once in my tent it seemed to take a long time to organise my bed and pack for the next day. It is amazing how little you have with you but how hard it is to have everything in the right place and accessible. Water bottles need to be refilled and sterilized and teeth cleaning is a challenging task using bottled water. Returning from the toilet I passed the hut where the trekking crew rest and sleep and heard the most beautiful harmonious singing! This was to become a nightly feature and one of the most memorable parts of the trip. Finally settled, I lay awake for quite awhile enjoying the sound of the falling water and the cacophany of what sounded like a thousand different species of frogs. It was just glorious. I had to visit the toilet during the night and stood outside just staring at the sky. As if the stars weren't awesome enough, I looked across and the trees surrounding the village were alight with fireflies! It was so beautiful.
Day 2. Hoi to Alolo
It was still dark when we dressed and had breakfast. I found the mattress and pillow I had purchased to be very comfortable and slept well. Each day was a struggle to repack bags, deflate the mattress etc but the worst bit was putting on the damp clothes washed in the creek the day before but were still wet. A word of advice - nothing dries even when hanging from your pack during the day. I kept a dry bra, shirt and pants for the evening but each day put on the same wet items. Take enough undies and socks for each day but don't bother with extra shorts or shirts. They just become smelly in bags and heavy to carry.
The early mornings were quite chilly. Each day we had hot porridge, cereals and sometimes damper. Our morning routine started with a yell of "packs on" and a chant from Terry our PNG leader and we were away before sunrise. We walked long that first morning and as the sun rose and filtered through the dense canopy of the forest it became almost mesmerising, the intense concentration on where to put your foot next. After several hours we reached Isurava, the battlesite now commemorated with a lovely memorial. It is set in a stunning location, the four pillars representing sacrifice, endurance, courage and mateship set on a high plateau overlooking dense forested valleys with views stretching forever. Of course this plateau was chosen as a stronghold to hold back the advancing Japanese army and many lives were lost there but the whole site had an eerie, peaceful beauty despite its bloody history.
Several of our team decided to hike a steep side trip to visit the Japanese bomber ruins. I still felt a little dubious about my abilities and chose to remain in Isurava. I also wanted to spend some quiet time reflecting in the beautiful surrounds. Whilst descending the steps to the forecourt I felt an overwhelming surge of emotion and began to cry. I am a shy person and rarely express emotions in public but Isurava had me quite undone. It was not to be the last time this would happen! When the others returned we held a brief service and the tears fell again.
The campsite on Day 2 lacked the roaring waterfall of the night before and we missed our swim. In bed early again, it was hard to sleep with the noise around the camp despite the exhaustion felt physically and emotionally. At some stage during the night it began to rain very heavily and some tents leaked so it was hard to settle expecting to get wet.
Day 3. Alolo to Templeton's Crossing II
I felt very tired as we descended from the village and the terrain was muddy and slippery from the rain. The leg muscles were complaining and the steep long climbs that always followed the descents became gruelling. I started to feel quite homesick and thinking about my daughter and the tears welled again. Where was all this coming from? Just when I thought it must be time for a rest we stopped The area was quite steep and as we sat one of our team lost her balance and skidded down the slope sending a trekking pole hard down on the bridge of my nose. The pain hit and blood poured from my nose but worse than that, I cried like a child! All of the emotion of the last few days spilled over with gusto! Team and trek crew flew from all directions in a bid to curb the bleeding and provide some comfort. The young girl who had slipped was in tears as well and I tried to reassure her it was just an accident and I was fine! I think the whole incident actually relaxed me a little as if by being so exposed to everyone made me realise I don't have to be so guarded and I learnt to start to trust them as friends. Only three days in and already there had been blood, sweat and tears!
Our lunch stop at Euro Creek was delightful. We had crossed the creek on a new rope bridge built in the traditional style. The sun was shining and the boys had all the tents out on the clearing to dry. Lunch was one my favourite times of the day. It is amazing how good crackers with vegemite, peanut butter and kraft cheese tasted, washed down with a good coffee made from bags given to me by my boss. We removed our boots, donned sandals and hung our socks and undies on various bushes to soak up the sun and then immersed our feet in the river while some of the guys fished.
It is hard to remember every day clearly. So much time is spent concentrating on where to put your feet and you forget to stop and look around. It is either a long steep climb and your heart is pounding, the sweat pouring off you, or a descent where you are trying to balance and your knees are screaming in protest. We stopped every 40-50 minutes for a break making the days long but it was imperative so we could all catch up with each other. Parts of the track on day three were quite open with a low thick carpet of vegetation and some beautiful flowering plants. At times we walked on the hillside with a steep drop to one side. Towards the end of the day the cloud cover thickened and the humidity became unbearable. We were climbing again and as we reached another summit the rain fell heavily, much to our delight. We all yelled and whooped and relished the drenching. Our trek crew were highly amused at our antics while they sheltered under the canopy. The steep descent into Templeton Crossing II village was the slowest and most treacherous yet, this was the slippery mud I had read about. We could see the village below us seemingly a stone's throw away, yet our progress was painfully slow.
My porter Clinton was always there to point out the best path and prevent me falling. At times he walked in front slowing the pace and hauling me up the steep steps by the hand and other times he walked behind catching my pack to steady me or cushion the impact of a steep decline. He silently slipped in beside me after every break and disappearing again when we stopped. His strength and concentration never ceased to impress me.
Eventually we arrived and after a shaky river crossing (the river was flowing fast) we dropped our packs and headed straight back to the water.
Day 4. Templeton's Crossing II to Naduri Village
The rain had stopped but again our progress was slow as we were walking under dense canopy with many exposed tree roots. There was a lot of excitement among the crew as today we would reach their home village and for us, there was the prospect of a shower! Our lunch stop at Bombers Camp was in a beautiful clearing with many colourful shrubs. The sun came out and we able to rest awhile and then explore the ruins of the American plane. The afternoons walking was punctuated with calls and whistles between the villagers and our crew as our destination neared. Entering the village was just wonderful. The track was lined with families welcoming us in their shy reserved manner. The younger children stared warily but then as soon as you smile and wave, their faces light up with smiles in return. There were stalls set up selling fruits and the beautiful handmade billum bags and beanies, but shopping was put on hold while we set up camp.
Naduri camp site was particularly picturesque and highlighted by a tree house set high in palm tree. Apparently it was a relic from past days when villagers built their huts in trees as protection from enemy tribes. I purchased a bag and a beanie from the ladies then queued up for the shower. It was a tap on a pole and very, very cold but as there was drainage we could use soap and shampoo.
Our dinner was very special, a feast of local produce including fresh pineapple, cucumbers and avocado! The best part of the night though was the performance of beautiful harmonious singing from the children. It was a delight to hear and experience.
Day 5. Naduri to Efogi
We had a sleep-in as today would only be a half day of walking. The morning would be spent touring the village and visiting Ovuru N'diki, the last surviving fuzzy-wuzzy angel. As I alighted from my tent I was delighted to see our crew boys and friends playing a game of soccer in the clearing behind our campsite with much laughing and antics going on. What a lovely way to start the day witnessing their abundant energy still evident after days of carrying our packs and supplies. Our village tour began with a tree planting. Clinton, my porter had prepared a hole and together we planted a seedling. When I asked what the tree was he replied that it was an avocado. What a coincidence, my favourite food! There were many villagers present and I asked if I could meet his family. His mother was there with his youngest sister. I tried to explain to her how well Clinton was looking after me and how very proud she must be, he was reluctant to translate the compliments but I hope she got my message.
Gifts were exchanged. Although we were advised not to add to our weight by carrying gifts, I wished I had bought some picture books for the children. One of our team had bought along inflatable beach balls which he blew up and gave to the children at each village. It was a wonderful idea, light to carry and provided so much enjoyment.
Following the tree planting we toured the village and saw the progress of the new school buildings and health centre and then visited Ovuru N'diki. I was totally unprepared for the effect he had on me. At first I thought it was just his fraility which reminded me with a jolt how my mother had looked in her final days but when I approached him and took his hand all I could say was that my Dad had been here and then I started to cry. It a was a profound moment a deep feeling of connection with someone who had shared such a time with my father and totally overwhelming. I made a spectacle of myself again and felt very raw and exposed, but was not alone in feeling such emotion.
The day had become quite hot and the sun had a fierce intensity. As we left Naduri the villagers bade us hearty farewells and after a long descent we climbed a tough ascent into the village of Efogi II. Stan (always in front) handed us a can of soft drink as we reached the summit. I still think is the best drink I have ever had! Another warm welcome from the villagers as we rested and then we walked a short way to our campsite for a late lunch. It was very restful to have a leisurely lunch knowing the afternoon was free with plenty of daylight to swim, wash clothes and relax. It was such a picturesque campsite and I managed to take a few photos of the varied plants, flowers and butterflies.
Day 6. Efogi I to Agulogo
We started very early, well before dawn, as today we would walk a fair distance. Tom felt we could push a little further each day so our final day would be very short. It was a sharp climb to Brigade Hill where we held a service. Another beautiful location with expansive views in all directions. As with Isurava the beauty contrasted with the brutal history as this was a site of a huge battle with many lives lost on both sides. The grave sites are marked with single rough poles each adorned with a poppy. The bodies were removed to the war cemetary in Port Moresby but a memorial remains. Back on the track we passed a stall selling fresh fruit. I purchased two pineapples to share at lunch and was deliberating on how best to carry them when Clinton took them from me and insisted on carrying them himself! Our cook cut one up for us and I asked him to give the other to the boys.
Our lunch stop was at Menari Village. The final few hundred metres took us along the air strip and probably the most open and exposed part of the walk. The heat was radiant and like a furnace but as we passed the school the children were out kicking balls and running around while we could barely put one foot in front of the other. It was a long afternoon of walking and it was a relief to reach our campsite.
Day 7. Agulogo to Ofi Creek
As a runner I have read a lot about "hitting the wall" and day 7 was it for me. The long walk from the previous day (and the many before it) was finally taking its toll and I was really tiring. I knew I hadn't eaten enough since the trek began as I didn't have much of an appetite in the heat. At most of our stops I gave my muesli bars to Clinton preferring to sip some hydralites and I usually found breakfast a struggle. I knew my glycogen stores were low and ate a bit more but my energy just would not return. The trek today began through a muddy swampy stretch with some serious creek crossings and followed by the famous "false peaks", a series of torturous climbs and brief plateaus. I even ate a banana, a fruit I have always disliked to try and boost myself. We spent a longer time at one rest stop as one of the trekkers was feeling unwell. Fearing Hypotreamia we waited to see how he fared but eventually decided to push on as our trekker GP gave him the all clear. We decided to not stop for lunch but push on to reach our campsite. I think that afternoon was the longest and hardest. It was mostly downhill but slippery and sticky. Again, we could see the village through the trees yet it took hours to reach it.
Ofi Creek was a less used campsite and a little overgrown with more than the usual collection of undernourished dogs. After an even earlier retiring time than usual I was surprised to hear urgent loud voices coming from the crew hut, thinking there must have been a fight or accident. We discovered the next morning there had been a snake in the hut which the boys had dealt with.
Day 8. Ofi Creek to Camp Goodwater
Today the sadness started to set in, our last night in camp was approaching. The walking is quite different and a welcome relief from yesterday. After a steep climb to Ioribaiwa Ridge we descend into a valley, cool and shaded and walk through and along the shallow creek beds. As an extra bonus, we could wear our sandals for a few hours. After lunch we faced the almost vertical climb to Imita Ridge. The steps are so deep Clinton has to haul me up but even so, I manage to lose my balance and fall backwards, my pack weight taking me down. Second last day and I managed to fall. My leg is cut and I am feeling silly as well as hurt. Clinton then takes my poles off me and insists on holding my hand all the way to the top. I still don't know how he managed my weight plus the two packs.
Our last night is in Camp Goodwater. We are honoured to be treated to a concert from the trek crew singing with their beautiful harmonious voices. We stay up a bit longer unwilling for the trek to end, despite the longing for a shower and a flushing toilet.
Day 9. Camp Goodwater to Ower's Corner
No early morning wake up call from Tom today as we can sleep a bit later. Instead I wake to the sounds of the boys singing again and it makes me want to cry. Only two hours of walking ahead with a stop halfway to take up the pack challenge, where porters and trekkers swap packs for the last climb up to the arches. I strap on the heavier pack and midway up the hill my calves are burning from the weight. We stop just before the last ascent to let all of our crew go through to the top to form a guard of honour for us.
Tom decides we must all file through in order of age and as we reach the top the boys are singing us through the arches. We then form a guard of honour for them to pass through and the tears start to flow as we all hug and congratulate each other. It is done!
It is an emotionally exhausting farewell to our porters and crew. I felt unprepared as a lot of the guys gave away clothes and boots but all I had to give Clinton was my torch, a few lollies and energy bars to go with the tip. On the way back to Port Moresby we stopped at the Bomana war cemetery set in beautiful grounds. We saw the graves of the men we had learnt about over the last week. The saddest part though was the vast number of unknown plaques, rows and rows of them.
We were a subdued lot for the rest of the journey desperate now to reach our hotel rooms. Dinner that night was relaxed, a sharp contrast to the night before we left which was full of apprehension. It is amazing how a group of strangers can be thrown together and unwilling to break up after sharing such a journey together. I had phoned my family before going down to eat and could barely hold back the emotion in my voice. It had been a remarkable journey which I will never forget.
Epilogue
My trip to Kokoda had been planned as a way of honouring my father and his involvement in the war. I felt I owed him this as I was never very empathetic to what he been through when I was younger. I grew up in the era of the anti-war movement when conscription and Australia's involvement in Vietnam divided the country and many households. Fierce political debates took place nightly in our home as the horrific images were portrayed by the current affairs programs on the television. Now that I am much older and have had a family of my own I can appreciate the fearful and unpredictable times my parents generation lived through and how they wished to protect their own children from the future they felt threatened us. Not long before I left for New Guinea my niece posted a photo of my father I had never seen before. It was an image of a baby faced boy in an ill-fitting uniform far too young to be sent to the hellhole of Kokoda.
I expected the trip to be tough, a tour of duty and probably not that enjoyable. My expectations were completely blown away. I fell in love with the landscape and the beautiful warm people who live in the villages. The military history was a big part but certainly not the sum of the journey. When people ask me how tough it was I have to say... Well... it was tough but that is not what I remember. The humidity, the physical exertion, the toilets!! The smell of your own body... is not what comes to mind. It is the singing, the smiles on the faces of the villagers, the strength and support from my porter, learning to loosen up and accept and offer support to my fellow trekkers, basically - the essence of the words that are carved into the four pillars at Isurava.
Sacrifice, endurance, courage and mateship.
Vale N'Diki Ovuru who has passed away during the months it has taken me to write of my journey.
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Rowenna Dunn
non-member comment
Blown Away...
You have no idea how proud I am of you. You are an absolute inspiration to me and your words brought tears to my eyes. I love you so much and thank you for sharing your incredible story x