Thanks for coming along

Landing back on solid ground was a peculiar ordeal. I was worried that it would be strange to wake up and have no where to start walking to. Perhaps I should've expected the intense hangover of boredom I was to endure from being in the same place for more than a day.

I've been enjoying catching up with friends and family but the desire for travelling on has crossed my mind. For the 11weeks I was walking it felt as if Winter was right on my heels. Only days after making it to Brisbane the cold set in. It's not likely that I'll keep walking north now.

The feat still meets with flabbergasted expressions as the beach tan fades back to its pale blueish pigment. When I tie my boots in the morning I jump up ready to walk somewhere. It's a sad disappointment to have no where to go. My mates grab my legs and want to show everyone my calf muscles.

My body's relishing the chance to recover. There were some growing discomforts in the last few days when the gravity of Brisbane pulled me to do over 40kms a day.

A few repairs have been made and my swag's been cleaned out ready to go at any moment.

My inspiration has been healthy and most days I enjoy the chance to sit and write as if ideas are spilling out onto the page. It's become clear that I'll write one or a few books in the coming months.

When Winter is through I'll reconsider whether I will get in a car. If I decide to get in a car again it'll be coming at it with a new attitude. I doubt I'll accept a lift out of laziness. I also doubt that I'll forget the value and beauty of walking.

One of my reasons for the walk was to grow up a little. I guess I feel a little taller.

Thanks for all the well wishes and for coming along on my Rambles. I'll post again as long as it doesn't seem like a chore.

Cheers
Swaggie

The morning after

Weighing in:

Fully laiden swaggie (including; slightly damp swag, mostly foodless tuckerbag, hat, boots, person items, clothes, swagman and road dust): 80kg

Swag (including; canvas, blanket, Tilba poncho/blanket, Drizabone, smaller canvas, string, belt strap, extra strap): 8.2kg







Tuckerbag (including; empty water bladder 1.5L, plate, tin box of writing gear, small shoulder bag, calico tuckerbag with a few slices of bread, vegimite, salt): 3.9kg










Boots and socks: 2.4kg









Person items (pen, notebook, hat, tea tree oil, mobile phone, step counter, pocket knife): 0.6kg

Bare foot (clad) swaggie (including; shirt, shorts, lots of hair): 65.5kg

Clothes: 1.5kg

Road dust (following a recently showered swaggie): 1kg


Bone dry swag (contents as above but sun dried): 7.6kg

Made it!

11th May : Well yes, I've made it to Brisbane in time for tea and biscuits. Beyond Brisbane lies Mitchelton where I'm camped til it's all sunk in. Except for some dinner engagements there's no place to be tomorrow and it's a bit daunting. For now I'm thinking about the pint of Guinness at hand. JJ Cale is playing and I'm here.

Letter

Maybe you could say that every day of my journey had been leading up to this day - 'Do-it Day'. It felt no different to any other in so many ways. Perhaps I expected to be excited?

Through some of the less priviledged suburbs of the south I came to wonder how some places and people came to be that way. I had no answers, only questions. Through headache, sore feet and other random pains I trudged the inhospitible glary bikeway. The skies offered a welcoming cool sprinkle as I passed through the CBD. It was a comfort to be amongst such familiarity.

At one point I had an idea to find a dry spot to rest. Within a minute of sitting at a bus stop there was an outpour of Brisbane rain which drenched everything except for this intuitive swaggie.

Arriving in Brisbane could be considered an anti-climax if I'd expected anything to have changed profoundly, or if I'd expected a rousing reception. There was no explosive ending to my adventure. The only huge reward was to see my good friends again. I rewarded myself along the way and didn't feel a great need to help myself to anything more than quiet contentment.

The experience itself has marked a point in my life from which I will draw personal inspiration from. The memory is a lifetime of reward. For now I'll lay low and enjoy the achievement. Soon it will become clear what my next journey will be.

Sunset

The sun sets on the final day of my journey, 11weeks after it began in the bustle of Melbourne town.

Slipping into Brisbane

10th May : I've slipped into the southern areas of Brisbane. I feel comforted to be almost in site of my destination but solemn about the end of my journey. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone.

Letter

The aim of a motorway is to get you to your destination fast. Maybe designers think that destinations are huge fun but travelling between them is dreary? My destination was on my mind too, passing landscapes that were neglected and ill-considered. Unfortunately longing for the destination has never helped me get there any quicker. The car is king on the motorway and the people element is forgotten. But for the basic idea of heading north, I was forced to navigate the complex maze of side roads. There are very few places to stop and rest.

The trail north leads me through a hole in a fence, through waist deep weed infestation, over a drain, over a fence, down unnamed roads and along dirt tracks. I placed a lot of faith in this 'just head north' idea.

On my journey I've passed train stations, completely aware that my enduring pain could be over quickly and easily just by buying a ticket. That whole notion of giving in soon disappears as I considered for the first time how it might feel to walk into Brisbane. Train catching seemed like laziness. If a leg fell off at this point I'd regard it as a minor inconvenience.

A pretty girl on a bicycle smiled and waved as she struggled to steer in a straight line. My heart fluttered and everthing seemed lighter all of a sudden.

40km south of Brisbane I watched the sun go down. For a short while I considered walking all night to finish. Very little seemed impossible for me if I summoned one last surge of determination. My better judgement prevailed as I remembered the priceless value of sleep.

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.

Broadwater to Ballina

4th May : It was a rainy day in Broadwater and a pleasure to sit it out. The last of the journey will be all the more enjoyable for the rest. Everyone needs a catch-up day.
Broadwater, Australia, the Earth! It's this whole place you all should go sometime! There's like trees and buildings and people and stuff. Pretty great if you like that kind of thing.

Letter

It turned out to be a drenching night, one of those that begins without a cloud and by morning one shoulder or hip is resting in a swag puddle. By staying at my mate's place for the day I'm well rested, dry, warm, clean, fed and in much higher spirits to continue with my journey.

If I walked this trail again it would be even more exceptional if others were on the trail. I can see why people would go on walkabout and how moving through the wider envrionment can expand one's capacity for seeing it how it is. I'm very lucky.


5th May : It's goodbye to the southern cane lands as the sugarcane lines the street to wave and whisper its well wishes on my way.
It was a relief to find that I'm no longer frightened of the Ballina Big Prawn. Staying with mates at Lennox Head where I'm safe from giant props and in good company.

Letter

The morning fog on the 'Sugartown' (Broadwater) canefields turned me into a regular rubberneck, photo-taking tourist. After walking 45-50km days, the 35km to Lennox Head should've been a breeze. For some reason it turned out to be an extra 6km. I must've been on the scenic route.

On the approach to Ballina a 50m high ghostly shape dominates the skyline. It's the one and only Big Prawn. Built initially as a town scarecrow, it then, to the Ballinese residents' surprise, began to attract tourists. The ghastly shape with its man-sized beady eyes near scared the pants off me in our first meeting. It's now safely fenced off from the public to prevent it from terrorising plankton in the area, or from escaping to perch on someone's home amid rumours that a developer wants to demolish it. Except for it's amusement value, I have no opinion on the matter.

As I walked into town more amusement! A go-cart shot out of a side street and paraded along the main street, probably after having burst through the minature gates at the race track. A perfect example of why you have to walk to be in the place and witness the madness of every day life.

When I had calmed down from all the amusement, I returned to my deeply serious state of contemplation. Some people are quirky and some people are not. But is there really an 'us and them'? Maybe there's just a the type of people that think there is an 'us and them'. Wait... that's confusing. I mean, maybe 'us and them' is just for people who refuse to believe that we're all in this together?

It might seem, at this stage of the journey, that I'm just travelling from mate's place to mate's place. Today that was true, but it could have easily been spoiled. Before I could find the right place I had to solve the Lennox Head street numbering system. They have fractions and dashed numbers, to baffle visitors and entertain the locals.


6th May : The sun has just set on Byron Bay and a day of beach walking. I've no idea where I'll sleep tonight with so many revellers about, but I'm fed and looking for a quiet drink.

Letter

My mates loaded me with honey, pepitas and avocados. Sonse I was a child and my mother convinced me I wouldn't like avocado, I've been somewhat juvenile over the exotic fruit. I tend to get a little giddy in the presence of an avocado, giggle like a school girl and pledge to be friends forever if I get given one. They gave me three!

On my way I stumbled across an unclad beach and considered a swim. The truth is that an unclad beach is much less enticing than a completely deserted beach.

The beach carpark, in big painted letters said 'LOCALS ONLY'. This could explain the suspicious looks I recieved.

In Byron it seemed like everyone was in the street, in the park or on the beach, completely absorbed in whatever they were doing or where ever they were going. There are plenty of people doing all sorts of weird and wonderful things there and hardly anyone noticed there was a swaggie there at all. On the foreshore the sun was setting as I ate and gazed at the beaches to the north. I'd be walking along them tomorrow.

The Great Northern Hotel is a favourite spot of mine. A local commented on my neat handwriting. I hope my primary school teachers are reading. But if they were they'd just be picking out all the spelling mistakes.