The human body is an amazingly adaptable machine! Never was this more evident than on the Kokoda track, but for some it took longer than others to find their “track legs”. This (some might say mythical state) was when you were in complete harmony with the track and were considered to be in your stride, not laboring or struggling too much and overall handling the intense exertions and ups and downs with apparent ease.
Well, we (mostly just me) had already felt the initial pain of walking from Kokoda village up to Deniki in the afternoon heat (yes all 5km of it), but we were to find that this was a comparative “walk in the park” when it came to the difficulty of the track itself.
There were two distinct states of walking, the first state was where you’re walking for extended periods completely uphill, so steep that all you can do is concentrate on the heels of your cohort directly in front of you, legs burning with pain, your chest heaving from sheer exhaustion which left you unable to do anything but breath in large gulps of hot, humid air, your heart and lungs pounding and wheezing in tandem so much that you think they’re going to leap from beneath your ribs and flop on the track in front of you; and trust me there are times when you wished it would just happen, anything to end the pain!
The second state was once you finally crested that peak, you began the even more dicey passage down the other side and now the reality is that you’re frightened shitless with the steepness of the track down – slowly navigating the slippery contours of the red sticky clay or the billions of tree roots always ready and willing to trip you or ensure you slip as you try and plant a foot. And, beg your pardon but please don’t look anywhere but at the heels of your mate in front of you lest you completely seize up with anxiety at the enormous mountain drops that surround you – potential danger lurked with every step.
I used my walking poles from the moment I got off the plane at Kokoda – I’d like to think of myself as a bit of a trend setter vs. a nerd – “who uses poles on flat ground?” – okay fair point! Many of the group that had silently pooh-poohed the idea of poles initially – nah, they’re for sissy’s (sound familiar?), yet after a day or two of trying to navigate this devilish track most of the guys had either miraculously discovered walking poles in their backpacks or had one of the “boys” cut a limb from a vine and trim it for them to use as a walking stick (a.k.a a Jesus pole). Clearly TW was a trend setter! J So to respect the track was to take it slow and steady – no prize for first, but to do it in your own way.
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| Nathan, "Ralph", Jimmy (center), next to Kruser and Ang taking a well earned break day two |
Bugger me! I thought as I walked behind Jimmy Grant whose apparent level of fitness and nonchalance on the track made him the poster boy for “Afternoon Walks Weekly”. Most days Jimmy literally strolled along on the heels of Mudman (our lead guide) chatting away to whomever was within earshot as if he were sitting at the local coffee shop sipping a fresh latte, whilst the person traipsing along behind was gasping for breath or hanging on for dear life (depending on whether you were going up or down) and trying to understand how and the hell Jimmy wasn’t even breathing hard. Although there was the afternoon in the swamp when Mudman walked directly into a honey bee hive and turned trying to beat a hasty retreat before getting stung to within an inch of his life only to find Jimmy less than a step behind and blocking his exit. The first thing Jimmy knew was that Mudman had pushed him aside and was quickly sloshing his exit waving his arms in the air frantically……it took just a couple of bees stings to get Jimmy’s attention before he also found himself making a hasty retreat also via another man made track through the adjacent jungle…..he may have even puffed just a little, but that’s only a rumor! Clearly Jimmy was one of those rare and most fortunate people to have his “track legs” from the moment he met us at the airport in Melbourne the day before we landed in Papua New Guinea and we were all just a little envious – can’t you tell?
The track provided more than just the obvious fitness challenges which Mick had pointed out in his initial briefing to us in Port Moresby. It was pretty evident that this important little fact would get to quite a few of us over the ensuing days. I took this to heart, each day waking at 4:30 am to check my feet for blisters or hotspots? After a good rummage around my feet and ankles I’d apply a band-aid or tape to spot that I considered a candidate for a blister. This coupled with fresh, dry socks each day enabled me to escape blister free, I was lucky but for many in our group it was a very painful experience that played its way out each and every painful day. I could only watch and thank my lucky stars that I had escaped this terribly affliction.
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| Typical village "out-house" |
Yes, all well and good that I dodged a bullet on the blisters front, but night six saw me up much of the night with a terrible case of nausea and diarrhea. Just the worst possible thing – putting on your sandals and headlamp during the night and schlepping out to the palm leafed covered hut that served as a toilet (yes, just a smelly hole in the ground) to poop…….most unsavory even at the best of times. Again I wasn’t alone with this either affliction, I guess six or seven of us had this over the course of the expedition on varying days.
As I reflect on the trip there are a couple of classic examples of our team either finding their “track legs” or in Arab’s case not finding them. Last week I talked about Justin (a.k.a Arab) and his fining finesse but I must admit he had some tough days and suffered in so many ways that it’s hard to imagine even contemplating finishing the track under your own steam. Surprisingly this wasn’t his first foray on the track, nope he’d done Kokoda before (a glutton for punishment clearly), but this time saw him a few pounds heavier and with a few niggling injuries leading up to the trip making for an interesting adventure. Let’s see; he was able to successfully pull his calf muscle on day three (well I suppose he did sort of deserve it after kicking the football with the boys at morning tea, all the while being egged on by Ronny and company so going just that little bit harder to prove he still had it……twang - damn that hurt!), a high ankle sprain on day six after slipping and falling, very sore knees and to top it off a stomach virus (thanks TW) that left him dry retching for much of days seven and eight…… All I could think of was how mentally tough he was to not complain and keep going.
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| Hilly with his Jesus pole resting as he listens to Darren provide us a history lesson |
Another of our crew was the laconic and surprisingly funny – Marcus Hill. If you didn’t know “hilly” as he was commonly referred to on the track you’d never expect that in real life he’s one of the top executives with one of Australia’s retail giants (Myer). His dry wit, unbelievably chic 70’s safari suit attire (thought I didn’t notice eh?), compounded with his uncompromising and biting humor often left everyone around him in stitches. I was fortunate enough to walk with hilly for a fair bit of the track, and he left me breathless almost every time I walked behind him…….not sure if it was the mountain breads (baked beans and bully beef for lunch) or the diet of coke and dried Chinese noodles but whatever it was it was a powerful brew which were both loud and at times rather odorous J And yes, he was as funny as hell. Anytime you’d take a break he’d have others around him laughing uncontrollably at his insights, quips and comebacks. The problem that hilly had that not many people knew was that his feet were very badly blistered – in fact during one break when he took his boots off it looked as though the entire bottoms of his feet were one large water blister…….they looked that bad! Yet, like Arab he didn’t complain once, but just kept going step after miserable step, hobbling along with his Jesus pole, semi bent over to try and relieve the weight on his feet. Okay he did look a bit geriatric but clearly he found his “track legs” albeit a little more painfully than most of the group but in the end he made it in good form. Well done mate!
Each day a couple more found their “track legs” and were pretty jovial at camp that night, you could see it written on their faces – mostly relief and with a sense that now they’d be able to actually make it physically barring any unforeseen accident on the track. However for those that were still struggling and looking for their elusive ‘track legs” they began to use a rather derisive tone whenever the term mentioned.
I must admit I was fortunate to find my legs toward the end of day two, but then not so fortunate to then lose them on day seven with my bout of the stomach flu (a strict diet of Imodium, dry crackers, jam and water ensued and now became my best friends). Strangely I’d never considered losing my “track legs” – perhaps I was even a bit of a trend setter in this area as well…….lucky me!
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