Week 4 & 5

From Lakes Entrance, I trekked 35 km through bushland and onto the start of the east Gippsland Rail Trail and reached the small town of Nowa Nowa. Here I was lucky enough to meet a very special little girl named Inca.

Inca and her lovely mother Kristen (who ran the local caravan park) generously welcomed me into their café and made me a beautiful breakfast and coffee before the start of my upcoming 40km day. But the truly special thing was what Inca had prepared for me. She made me a lunch bag the night before with all the hiking essentials: Oreos, muesli bar, Banana, Nutella and $20 of her own pocket money!!!!!! This is by far the most special donation I have received on my journey.

I don’t know whether your childhood was the same as mine, but pocket money is a very special and often hard-earned treasure as a child. And for her to want to give me $20 of her own money is truly quite extraordinary. To thank Inca for her extremely thoughtful and generous lunch pack, I went to her local primary school and spoke about my Wandering Minds Walk (WMW) at her assembly. The kids seemed rather interested in why a strange lady was walking with her home on her back ‘like a turtle’ as I described it and were in hysterical giggles as I retold my war stories of being chased by emus and waking up with a fox poking around in my tent when I camped overnight at Seaspray.

Kristen since has told me of how excited she was about my visit and me speaking at her school. Some people in this world are just born with good hearts, and Inca is a perfect example of how kindness truly has no age limit.

I continued my walk for 42 km along the scenic bike trail known as the Gippsland Rail Trail. This gorgeous rail trail stretches from Bairnsdale to Orbost and is 96km of stunning bushland and lush rolling farm paddocks. After an accommodation mishap (disaster in general) the following day I continued 16km roadside to the small coastal town of Marlo. Here I was donated a night’s accommodation and an Icy beer at Marlo Hotel (gorgeous establishment worth the detour off the main drag!) That was also the night a friend named Sean arrived with the WMW support vehicle which was a lovely change of pace. We camped at Cape Conran the following evening where we hurriedly unfurled our roof top tent as the icy winter evening encroached. Banksia Campground is a lovely, rugged campground that backs right onto the coast and is surrounded by an undisturbed coastal reserve. We were also pleasantly surprised by the resident wombat who paid us a visit in the evening and wondered around our campsite in search of food.

The following day I hiked 22km to the town of Bemm River. I chose to ignore the ‘track closed sign’ and headed along an eastern track through surrounding coast shrub.  I shortly discovered the sign wasn’t just for show as the track quickly became submerged by recent downpours and I continued the remaining 8km in shin deep mud and wading through head height grass and reeds. Idiot!!! And yes, the self-deprecation in this instance is definitely warranted!

I headed inland to Cann River as suggested by the name this large river was uncrossable, so I detoured inland and due to recent fires and flooding a large portion of the Croajingolong National Park was closed so I unfortunately had to walk over 40kms on the A1 highway. By this stage my father tag teamed Sean, and he rejoined me as my support person.

Cutting into the second half of the Croajingolong National Park I wondered down the winding sandy roads and bush track that led to Mallacoota. Blue skies contrasted heavily with the soot black gum trees still jet black and charcoaled from the destructive bush fires that left Victoria ravaged in 2020. The extent of damage is truly unfathomable, and I struggle to justly describe the carnage left behind even 2 years on.

I spoke to locals in Mallacoota who described the trauma left from the fires as “just under the surface” for those Victorian communities affected. Families still living with friends or in shipping containers unable to rebuild after the catastrophe. You could feel the strength and unity amongst the stunning community of Mallacoota. It is exceptionally strong and something to be truly admired. But the suffering they have endured left scarring so deep it may never truly heal. Despite their own trauma as a community (or maybe even because of it) my walk to raise the profile around conversations and support for the Black Dog Institute’s mental health research and treatments obviously resonated with them. The local real estate legend named Kerry coordinated accommodation, again generously donated for several nights. The timing was perfect as we were able to take refuge from the unsettled and freezing winter weather conditions.

The next section of my walk was the Nadgee Wildness Walk. This is a grade 5 walk stretching over 55km of wilderness reserve that spans across the Victorian boarder and into NSW. This wilderness reserve is unlike any other. It has no road access and is completely untouched wilderness. A truly isolated and spectacular environment, with remote beaches, rugged coastline, lagoons and shifting sand dunes, steep mountains, stunning sheer cliff faces and massive sea swell. After speaking with locals who had completed the trek previously, they explained where I could source fresh water to drink out of with a sterilizing straw and that there was no reception on the track. This was fine as I had my Garmin satellite phone and GPS system. I was confident, excited, and ready to take on the challenge. I felt invincible and competent for such a journey. (WOW….. I was so wrong).

I got a boat lift to the sand bank across from Mallacoota by a national boat racing champion named Mark on his speed boat. Here, I started walking 20km along the beach listening to music feeling fantastic. The sun was shining, and I was surrounded by serene coastal beauty in every direction. Dolphins played on my right-hand side as tall sand dunes occupied my left. I even saw a baby seal sunbathing as I approached the boarder, who made a quick dash for the waves when I got too close.

I trekked over mountains of sand that rolled for kilometers. I felt as though I was suddenly transported to the desert. Crossing the boarder into NSW was elating to say the least. I made videos for my loved ones expressing my gratitude for their support and tucked my phone away.

But……. this is when it all started going horribly wrong. I couldn’t find a track anywhere. And my GPS system was pointing me into dense shrub that was an impenetrable wall of green. Trying not to panic I decided to scale around the rocks and onto the beach. I searched for a track with rising panic along the beach and only by chance I got off the bush and eventually found the ‘Bunyip Creek’ campground. I had originally decided to go further into Nadgee Lake campground a mere 5 km away, but I could not find a track anywhere. I began to bush bash where my GPS was guiding me, but the sheer thickness of the bush made it impossible. I began to cry in frustration as I scoured around Bunyip Hole hoping and praying a track would appear. It didn’t. With the light fading, I decided to head back to the Bunyip Creek campground and pitch my tent before dark. The reality of the situation I was now in, finally started to hit me hard. I was in the middle of nowhere, no reception, no access to people, and my only option was to walk 22 km back the way I came and hope a boat could get me somehow. But the situation got worse as my phone refused to charge and slowly started to lose percentage. I sent a satellite message to my father back in Mallacoota and Sean now back in Mudgee that if I ran out of charge to meet me with a boat at the sand Island the following day (where I was dropped previously) as I was not by any means going to do this walk without a GPS or functioning phone. They agreed. Without really tasting my food I ate and fell into a very restless sleep.

By some miracle, my phone had charged overnight, so the next day I was determined to get out and decided to set off moving forward instead of turning back and managed to get a message through of my plans. I cannot quite express, however, how difficult this day was. The tracks were overgrown and fallen trees reeked chaos on the reserve tracks that disappeared into thin air. To describe the environment as hostile is an understatement, to say the least. I barely felt the wind and rain as I walked because I had become so consumed by my sheer fight or flight response! Creeks had turned into rivers, and lakes that were supposed to supply me with fresh water had opened up to the sea, turning them too salty to drink from. I drank out of small creeks and puddles where possible and spent my day scrambling over giant fallen trees, scaling cliff faces, and navigating unpredictable river crossings. I was continuously lost and terrified, but unable to stop or slow down. I had no choice but to keep going. The monstrous swell made it impossible for a boat to access me from the water and the lack of tracks and roads made my retrieval even more impractical. In the late afternoon as I was nearing Newman’s campground (the closest access point to civilization and 10km to the ranger’s station and the NSW starting point into Nadgee), I decided to fill up my camel pack in a creek before setting up camp but what came next is a blur!! I remember being at a creek and slipping and feeling the sensation of falling. Then the next thing I was extremely cold and wet as though I had been submerged in an ice bath. Honestly given that time of the year it was literally not far off one. I clambered out of the creek, and I was saturated head to toe. My down insulated jacket was sopping wet and the clothes and tent in my pack were all saturated too. I vomited briefly but hadn’t consumed much food, so it was mainly bile and water. My vision was blurry and the trees and shrubs around me swayed slightly. The same feeling you get when you spin around quickly on the spot as a child to make yourself dizzy and fall over or when you stand up too quickly from a hot bath. I noticed the daylight was fading and I needed to get my tent pitched before dark. I headed to Newman’s campground still saturated, and the rain, which was sprinkling, gave me no hope of getting dry. I vomited again, stripped off my clothes and got into my sleeping bag. The sleeping bag was damp, but the rain soon made it wet as I pitched my tent. I have never been so cold. My hands and feet were numb and discoloured. I felt terrible and being unable to get a fire started thoughts of hypothermia crept into my mind. The sun quickly disappeared behind the trees, and I did something which is my least favourite activity. I swallowed my pride and asked for help. I pressed the SOS button on my Garmin with a numb purplish finger and set off my emergency beacon for help. The whole time I was in contact with dad and Sean via satellite messages, but these messages to and fro between us, were heavily delayed. They assured me emergency services had been notified and that they were on their way. I stayed down in my wet tent with a type of cold and chill, I didn’t know existed. Dizzy, freezing, and exhausted, I stopped crying and went very still. I didn’t care anymore if anyone came or not. I had no fight left. I was too exhausted. 3½ hours later I heard a chainsaw and crashing sounds in the distance, but by this stage, I thought I was dreaming or hallucinating. It wasn’t until lights illuminated my tent and a warm voice asked, “Bailey, you in there love?”. Two police officers and local ranger had arrived to collect me. They were absolutely amazing men who helped me more they will ever truly know. “Sorry it took so long love, but we had to chainsaw through all the fallen trees across the 4WD track”. They put me in a dry coat and in the back of one of the two 4WDs they had arrived in. After examining me with a torch they said I had a large bump on my forehead and eye. They believed I had had a large head knock, most likely when I fell in the creek and which we suspect that I had most probably knocked myself out, resulting in all my gear getting as wet as it did. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride back so hold on,” they said. They were not wrong. After 2 hours of getting stuck in thick mud, rough terrain, and having to cut through even more debris, we finally made it out to where my dad patiently had been waiting for over eight hours. I cried in my dad’s arms as he held me and told me everything was going to be alright. I spent the next few days warm, dry, and safe in Mallacoota with my incredible father Scott.