The Coast Track (Bundeena to Otford)
October 02, 2016
How fortunate am I to have done the renowned Coastal Track for my first solo overnighter. It is the best walk I've ever done in Sydney, and not just because I took the plunge and decided to go camping by myself. The reasons will follow below.
As I sit here in the comfort of my room, I don’t even know where to begin to describe it. Before heading out, I didn’t really have any expectations, as I was just too busy with assignments and internship applications. In fact, I booked the camping spot on a whim two days before heading out, and I had to do a quick run to the supermarket at 9pm the night before I headed out to buy the supplies I needed.
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Ready to rock |
So i embarked at 6.30 the next morning, still thinking about all the optimisations that I had to complete on one of my projects, when I took the long journey south to Bundeena by train, then across Port Hacking by ferry. The holiday suburb of Bundeena with its random deers walking along the street slowly gave way to bushland, and in no time at all I was at the Royal National Park. Despite some serious clouds from the approaching cold front, the weather was warm, albeit with a cool breeze strong enough to make the rock puddles from last night’s rain shiver.
The infamous Wedding Cake Rock |
As the first few hours unfolded and I enveloped myself alternately with earphones or nature, I found myself slowly easing into a rhythm and religion that being around nature never fails to bring. But this was something more. Over the first clifftops, I was barraged with views that I couldn’t believe existed this close to Sydney: tall lookouts, rushing streams, waterfalls that led straight onto the battered sea, and beaches that traded creamy sand for shallow emerald waters. I wanted to snap my camera at every angle, but looking back at the photos now, most of them just seem so uninspiring and stale. I need to practice my photography or at least read up on it, because it’s so frustrating not being able to convey with the lens what I was seeing with my eyes.
Especially on the edges of unfenced cliffs, I was tempted to creep just to the edge to photograph how the golden rock face plunged into the broiling waters below. What stopped me wasn't the thought that the rock could be unstable, but that after the first ten kilometres, my legs were weaker and wobblier than a giant blow up doll at a car dealership. But that was just the start and it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle—with some fresh music loaded onto my phone, I delved back into introspection and my own brand of meditation. After all, I haven’t been training my legs in the gym just so I can’t fit into my pants.
Isolated beaches with shorelines you thought only belonged to the Caribbean |
I didn’t meet many people in that first stretch, maybe just one or two other parties, but then there was a certain stretch that was quite touristy all of a sudden. It was near a beach and a lagoon, into which a waterfall fell. Although the precipice near the waterfall was fenced off, it didn't stop a couple of miscreants from plunging ten metres to the cold waters below. I took my lunch stop here, watching as fathers in jeans and mothers in prams unloaded coolers of food, listening to the splashings of the uni kids on their break. It was at this point that I first noticed how tired I was, and how much my back was beginning to hurt. But again I ignored it, and with some scroggin in me, I battled on.
Random part where I was suddenly joined by packs upon packs of walkers |
The feeling of invincibility didn’t last long, until like water wearing away at rock, so too did my soul get slowly crushed by the weight of my pact. The uphills were treacherous enough climbing slippery rocks with legs like a two-year-old’s, but the downhills were unforgiving. Each step down I didn’t know if my legs would carry the weight coming down on it, and when it did, my bag would suddenly tug at my shoulders. Even when I took off my pack for breaks, it would still feel like a phantom bag was cutting into my lats and traps. Even walking along the beach, a romantic notion only rivalled by Netflix and chill, proved to be agonising as the sand tried to hold on to each foot.
With sweat pouring out of every orifice and wondering if I’ll ever make it to the end, my soul was slowly getting crushed and although the views did help some to alleviate the pain, I could hardly think of much else except placing one foot in front of the other.
A beautiful creek that became a waterfall as it went over the edge of the cliff into the sea |
This is a great photo. The top of the hill just before heading into the campground. |
With some big doubts and little time to sight-see, I made it to the North Era campground right by the beach, threw my pack on the ground, and kissed the ground.
No, I didn’t do that because the ground was littered with kangaroo or wombat droppings. But I did just lie on the grass for a few minutes appreciating what I had just done. Then I pitched my tent even though any action involving any muscle required some serious willpower, put some water on the boil, and headed for the Breez-a-loo at the back of the camp side, where the breeze came from both the open roof and the waft of the compost pit below.
When I came back, a pair of surfer dudes smoking pot had set up shot close to mine and they’d started an open fire even though they were forbidden. They were pretty cool though: one of them was playing some jazz riffs on the guitar while the other beat out some rhythms on the wood.
I really did not need such a big tent. My back really did not need that at all. |
Prime real estate |
Even though it was only about 5 pm, I thought it would be a good time to start cooking, so I set about getting everything ready, and waited as the world laughed at my abilities on the Trangia. My steamed rice for example had an unexpected crunch with each spoonful, and my attempt at a veggie stir fry was definitely ten times more "stir" than "fry". I brought enough canned salmon to feed four people too, and then while I sat down and prepared everything, I realised I didn't have a can opener. Meanwhile, the surfer dudes had already gone rock fishing and were watching their catch simmer in the fire.
Half of that bowl was just made up of sliced raw onions |
In the future, I don't think it's worth the effort to have brought all that stuff. Not just the food, but especially the food. Most of it could've been replaced with lighter alternatives or simply left at home. The problem is I'm so goddamn hungry all the time! I think I would've gotten the same satisfaction by doing the old Mi Goreng, with maybe some veggies added in. Much lighter, much faster, much easier, and same great taste ;).
That night, my body just collapsed after pitching my tent and dinner. My legs disobeyed commands from the nucleus, while my shoulders forbade me from any movement of the arm beyond a 45 degree raise forwards. At 8pm, I snuggled in to my sleeping bag with my skin stiff from caked sweat, expecting a few hours of reading. The moment I lay my head on the sleeping bag's case that I had stuffed with my jumper, I fell asleep. I woke up sometime in the night, probably because my stomach was revolting the food I made it digest, and also since the onions I ate didn't fry at all, I was basically farting out fresh onion scents. Looking outside my tent, the previously clear sky had clouded over and the surfer dudes' illegal fire was burning low (although I could hear some soft strumming coming from their tent).
Here's a good place to note that the isolation of being in your own tent away from your own tent can do strange things to your mind. Although it was warm during the day, it was windy enough to put on three layers at night. And when the wind really whipped up and the claustrophobic silence of the tent and the campground pressed down on you, I imagined that there was a congregation of hooded figures outside my tent, pushing it to make it collapse while running their hands all over the fabric to make weird noises. Or I dreamt that a man in a full tux with his hair gelled back suddenly appeared on the campground, and in one hand he had a big cleaver. And when I called out to the other campers nearby, all we could do was stare and hope he wasn't coming in our direction.
This is the issue when I spend too much time with myself. Other than that weird stretch where people were hiking in saris and thongs, I was all by myself with my thoughts. From previous experiences, I was naturally apprehensive hiking alone, as like travelling, I often longed for sharing observations or insights with companions. After all, as I’m reminded and as I have to remind myself often, "happiness is only real when shared". But antithesis to the same quote is the poem, so apt for the nature I witnessed on the hike:
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, there is a music on the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea and music in its roar. I love not man the less but nature more.
I don't know if I can necessarily apply that last line to me, but the thought of it was alluring as I spent that evening by the sound of water pounding sand, with the countless stars above ...
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There isn’t much to say about Day 2, since it was half the length of Day 1 and it was a weekend so the trains back to Sydney were 1.5 hours apart. I didn’t have time to spare.
I woke up at 7am having slept for eleven hours but already people were packing up tents and getting ready to go as I was doing my morning piss. So pressured into the same sense of action and urgency and adventure, I made do without my oats (more things I didn’t need to bring) and headed out.
The legs were surprisingly sprightly, even though they kept cramping in the middle of the night, and the back held up for about 20 mins until it doth protest and gave way to random spasming. There were some serious steep parts where I really had to push myself mentally and physically to go through. The thing was, anyone could have done the Coast Track given enough time, but I wanted to do it with as few breaks as possible. When I got to the top of the last ascent, I collapsed again on one of the numerous unfenced cliff lookouts and tried to snap a few photos, but again the results don’t do the realities justice. What was worth noticing though that even trying to piss hurt my abs and pelvic muscles, but I couldn’t have wished for a more beautiful setting to suffer some physical ailments.
There was more of the same beaches and clifftops, and a cool self-sustaining cabin community that was allowed to live in a cove even though it was a National Park. There were tropical jungles too and nude beaches, and then eventually I got to Otford station and took off my shirt, my boots, and my bag. It was an hour until the next train, but I just dozed on a hot bench with no one else at the remote train station feeling like a champ.
Took this pic while death took hold of me. That blue ocean is unedited |
It’s been a hell of a trip, and I’m glad I finally got around to doing it. I think despite the lack of friends, it was something I needed to do alone for reasons I won’t go into. I know it will be a while though before I do a hiking-camping combo again, not only because of the general busy-ness of things, but also because it is just so damn physically demanding. The pain and the effort is compounded by several orders of magnitude when you're carrying even just a night's worth of food and water, that you otherwise wouldn't feel on a normal hike. But boy am I keen for it, and the pain only accentuates the pleasure especially when I got home and ran a hot shower and a proper meal. I've even started googling where to go for the next adventure (perhaps with friends!). We’ll see what stories that next one brings ...