Pottsville to

7th May : The banks of Pottsvilles lake is my home for the night. Only at Brunswick Heads did I briefly rejoin the highway. People I meet are in disbelief I've walked so far.

Letter

Last night I had an extraordinary dream. I've never really felt completely welcome staying in Byron Bay but in all my nights of sleeping outdoors I've never experienced anything like this. While sleeping at the shadowy edges of the local showgrounds I felt several abrupt shoves intended to wake me. It was an aboriginal man who was angry at me camping there.

When I awoke with a fright I concluded that the whole shoving affair was probably a nightmare. Could it have been a message from my subconscious (or elsewhere) to reinforce that unwelcome feeling? Byron Bay was an interesting mix of strictness and leeway. You're not allowed to sleep just anywhere, but tourists come in search of the renouned Australian laid-back culture.

Trudging from the beach at Brunswick Head I began chatting with a bloke who was embittered by the world. I left the conversation wondering 'is the system stuffed' like he'd said? If you ask me it's an easy option to come up with the evidence and declare it completely well and truley stuffed. It may build enough anger to motivate some action against it being so stuffed but no one can be angry forever and ultimately if it is stuffed then there's not much anyone can do about it but moan and groan. If you're aware that the world at the moment isn't perfect then you can accept your part to play in the mamouth (but never impossible) task of building a world that is closer to perfect. You can nibble away with something simple every day or devote your whole life to it if you like, but it's not fair to 'put me on a bummer' like that. I probably wouldn't say that to a person I'd just met though... I thought of it afterwards.


8th May : It's a peaceful night in the dunes of Kirra Beach. I feel my momentum building with only 100km to Brisbane. It seems like a Tuesday evening arrival. So this eve I crossed the Tweed River into the demilitarised zone between NSW and QLD. I'm surprised not to have seen any border clashes so close to the rugby league state of origin.

Letter

Waking up in Pottsivlle, by the morning light it was interesting to read the comprehensive 'DO NOT...' sign post. I tried to comply but in my ignorance I'd already been breathing out of turn for the entire night. The wind was at my back and the home stretch was imminent so I didn't give myself the time to read the whole list of restrictions, although it might have been a fun challenge to see how many I could infringe over a 24hour period.

More people are encountering me and my walk from Melbourne with shock and disbelief. To each, I respond with a growing sense of exhaustion each time.

No one is completely sure about where the NSW/Queensland border actually is. The locals use this confusion to take the extra public holidays, accept the most leniant laws and as a reason to turn up late during daylight savings. North of Coolangatta I began scoping a place to camp. I'd just rejected a spot for having too much sand, when I almost tripped over a swag. That moring in Pottsville I'd come across a swag laid out near the neverending list of 'do nots' and now it appeared I had some competition to deal with. Competition with a less fussiness for privacy or the discomforts of sand. My impression was that life wouldn't be worth living if there was sand in my swag, but mine isn't the opinion of every swaggie it must be said.


9th May : I'm camped just south of Oxenford. It's good to be in familiar territory but the track to Brisbane is segmented. I've already scaled a 4m cliff, waded through waist high weeds and crossed barriers.. to walk into Brisbane without doing something illegal is impossible. Now is the most technical stretch navigating the Motorway sideroads.

Letter

Behind the primary dunes of Kirra Beach I'd found some sleep. It was comfortable with the sounds of the surf and relatively secluded so I was greatful to lie wide awake for hours enjoying it. Perhaps there's a note of sarcasim in that last statement but it made no sense in letting it frustrate me. In fact it raised the point that I'd, for some time, lost all interest in being frustrated. Probably too exhausted to waste the extra energy.

Walking through the Gold Coast was a blur. I remember noticing a cyclist wearing a formal suit and no shoes. Soon after that I found a place to have a snooze.

I've come across some of the thickest and darkest chocolate ever. It takes a few swallows to get it down but just the touch on my lips is enough to release a deeply satisfying sigh.

The tower stretched skywards as I rounded each headland. The Gold Coast is a place where money means freedom. It's an acceptible place to flaunt your wealth. Beware of leaning on the buildings there as some are only an elaborate facade.