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Solo hiking - An adventure in Gippsland

My ramble on the ups and downs of the first time hiking by yourself and why it's always worth it.

By: Katie Kessel + Save to a List

Once I had planned my solo backpacking trip to Mitchell River National Park, I tried to make excuses to cancel it about five times for various reasons. Weather (since there were some minor holes in the tent and what if it rained?!), cell phone reception (what if I got bit by a snake...?), scary men on the trail... The list went on and as the day got closer I got closer to cancelling the trip and sitting in the hotel room for a few days.

I've started planning quite a few hikes I never get to do, mainly because of logistics or time or just a change in plans. I had a few weeks off this month and was looking for something to do, so I started planning my first solo hike. I knew my boyfriend would be working in Gippsland (the eastern portion of the state of Victoria in Australia), a beautiful and lush section of the state, and decided to tag along and spend some time in the bush. 

In BC, I did a few hikes on my own, whether it be up in the North Shore mountains or snowshoeing in eastern BC while on a work trip. I loved the serenity. Being alone with my thoughts and making my own trail at my own pace was relaxing and I hadn't done it in some time. I didn't have all the gear to backpack nor the experience at that point so it never spanned to more than a day hike.

I've been lucky to have done lots of backpacking in Australia. In Tasmania and Victoria I've explored all sorts of landscapes, so I felt like I had sufficient experience to tackle the trail on my own. All of my other trips had been with my boyfriend Jeff, but with 3-4 weeks of cumulative experience on the trail I figured I could probably survive two days.

Once I picked Mitchell River, purely given its proximity to where he would be in Gippsland, I started looking at the trail. An 18km day one-way would be a fairly long way for an out-and-back, but I knew I could do it if I started early and kept pace. There were a few places to stop along the way with lookouts, and I didn't know how popular it would be, but it looked like a fairly populated place to start my first solo adventure. And the pictures looked stunning - red rock cliffs looking over a lush winding river in a rainforest. It was a thrilling idea and I was excited to try out the whole backpacking experience by myself.

The day before I left on my trip, the excuses were in full force. I had packed my bag reluctantly and gone to a local outdoor store to refresh my supply of iodine tablets, but I was slowly coming up with things I could do around town instead. To be honest, I was surprised I could fit everything into my bag that I needed. My 46L Osprey pack is sufficient when Jeff and I share space with our current equipment, but luckily with all the straps and compartments I was able to fit everything. There went that excuse.

Finally, I checked myself. Really, what was the worst that could happen? And how many hikes had I been on in the bush already? I think the thing that scared me the most was stumbling on some rude and scary men in the bush. But thinking back to all the hiking we had done, we had only met the best people on the trail. Families and couples just trying to do the same as me - get away from the city and reset. And if I was going to play it safe, really was that any way to live? Nope.

So the next morning, I got dropped off at the trailhead where the cell reception also dropped off. Jeff was fully supportive of my trip, but said he could pick me up if I changed my mind again and wanted to come back.

And that was that. I started down the trail and was fully overcome by how beautiful it was and I immediately relaxed. The thing I love the most about hikes in Australia is how you can have the most serene beautiful parks that are doted on by rangers and kept in perfect condition, but they feel completely untouched. As if you're one of the first people go walk through stunning wilderness, though of course the Aboriginals living here have walked it for tens of thousands of years before me. If a park like this existed back home, it would be full of people. But here, I could walk down to the creek, reading information boards about the Den of Nargun, by myself and quietly appreciate how beautiful it was for a moment before continuing on my hike.

Now that I had relaxed and begun to appreciate how silly I had been to be scared of hiking by myself, I started to giggle a bit. And of course that is when I slipped down a mud hill and scraped my shin, bleeding through the mud. And this is also when I realized I forgot my first aid kit back at home in Melbourne. I poured a bit of water on it, laughed a bit, and kept walking. 

Heading back into the trees from the clearing I had slipped in, I got into a great rhythm. The trail follows the Mitchell River along its bank and the colours were unbelievable. It was more lush than I realized it would be and due to the runoff from the mountains the river was bursting. The wildflowers were blooming as well, falling across the trail at regular intervals. I stopped every once in a while to appreciate the view of the exposed red rock cliffs on the other side of the river a few times as I went. Every half an hour or so, I would hear crashing in the bushes up ahead as a kangaroo or wallaby would hop as quickly as it could from the intruder down the river.

The trail along this stretch was about 20-30 meters up a somewhat steep hill before it hit the water. Sparse brush and small trees sprinkled the ground on the hill. The water below was moving quickly, though I could tell that it was fairly deep. To my left, there was a few meters of grass before a rock face at least 15 meters tall rose suddenly, boxing the trail in. I rounded a bend in the trail and in front of me was another stunning view of the river. The trees had parted and the sun was shining on the rocky cliffs on the other side, so I stopped to admire the view. 

I stood there, taking it all in for several moments, until I heard a faint rustle behind me and I quickly whipped around. As if in slow motion, I turned around I saw a large mass of dark brown fur less than a few meters behind me. My mind said BEAR and a scream (my first of several) escaped. I quickly calculated that in order to get out of this situation, the large furry blob or I would need to move somewhat quickly. But, before I could move, the wombat, which clearly had the upper hand and the element of surprise, charged at me (or so it seemed), then hit the trail to my right with a massive thud and ran into the bushes down the hill. I probably stood there for about ten seconds taking in what just happened and coming to terms with the wombat, which was bigger than I had imagined it would be. I had seen wombats in sanctuaries, but never on the trail. It was a bit of a joke between Jeff and I that I had terrible luck in seeing wildlife when we were hiking (I didn't see a kangaroo in the wild until a few months before though we had been on at least a few weeks worth of hiking). Then I started laughing, realizing the wombat was likely there, enjoying a morning graze on a lovely patch of grass in the sunshine when I come along and happen to stop right in front of him. He must have been sitting there, mid-chew, as I'm talking to myself about how beautiful it is, until I heard him and screamed, fully disrupting his meal. Hilarious.

I moved on, laughing for at least the next half hour at my exciting morning with the wombat. At this point in the trip, I didn't think anything of it other than a funny story I could tell my friends later since wombats were only cute and cuddly little mammals I hadn't seen before on the trail. As the path climbed and I realized how far from in shape I am currently, I started to reach heights that allowed for beautiful picturesque views of the river and surrounding cliffs up ahead. There's something about being on a trail all alone, seeing no one all morning, then stumbling upon almost surreal views of the surrounding landscapes that is unbeatable. Being by myself, I took about twenty minutes to move the 200m between the start of these views and Billy Goat Bend. 

At Billy Goat Bend, I stopped at the cliffs overlooking the bend and grabbed some water before I kept going, following the trail down the hill. At the bottom, there was a creek I didn't realize was on the map that I had to cross. The choice was obvious - wade through the creek (which was below my knees but meant that I had to take off my boots) or jump to a sandbar then crawl through some bushes and meet the trail. The bushes were dense, but this was the obvious choice for many of the hikers before me as evidenced through some parted brush, so I went this route. Once I was in the bushes, I realized there was a bit of a hill to climb, so up I went, tripping a few times. By the time I got to the top, I looked down to see that now, at least, my shins both had matching cuts.

Onward and upward. The trail continued, winding back and forth, meeting the river then heading back into the forest. A few times, the trail turned into some high rocky outcrops with obvious snake holes on one side and a sheer drop off on the other. I ignored the beady eyes staring out, telling myself there are many people who had done this before me, and walked on. Here I truly faced my fear of heights and snakes at the same time, battling my inner demons and forcing through. The views in hindsight were spectacular, but I didn't want to substitute my wombat experience with a snake high up on a cliff so I kept going.

As the trail descended again, it went through more forests and the furious hopping and crashing in the bushes became more frequent again. As I rounded a bend in the forest, heading back once again to the river, I saw a flash of brown fur up the small grassy hill a few meters up, which I now recognized as a wombat going full speed. I knew it was heading down the trail, but since there was lots of room this time, I wasn't too nervous. However, as I moved down the trail, in some tall grasses hugging the trail I could hear the wombat making some extremely territorial noises, grunting loudly at me. Now I didn't know until that point they were territorial animals and I did some research after the fact. Apparently they will attack you, first knocking you down then biting you repeatedly (at about 30kg, or 67 lbs, or more it could have easily knocked me over). The cuddly, furry wombat I had thought of as I was going into the forest was a bit of a myth. Good thing I didn't know this, otherwise I might have turned back. I initially treated it like I would anything else in my way on the trail, shouting loudly and hoping it would retreat further into the bushes and away from my path. However, when it called back with more grunts and rustling, I let it calm down a bit and waited a few moments. Over the excitement and wanting to get on with my day, I began to sing to the wombat. I told him I didn't want to hurt him and just wanted to get to my campsite, trying to sound as unintimidating as possible, confusing it with my sudden change in demeanour. I slowly moved along the trail, and as soon as I passed the grass picked up my pace. Luckily he wasn't in the mood to barrel over some girl with a large pack that day so I continued.

The rest of my day was fairly uneventful. I walked the rest of the way to Angusvale, my campground for the night, where my only neighbours were families that had driven in for the night and a few resident kangaroos. I set up my tent along the river, made some dinner and fell asleep pretty quickly. At this point, I realized I had forgotten my spork, but luckily the other end of my toothbrush worked like a charm.

It was funny that the point of my trip that I was the most nervous about, who I may find at my campsite, couldn't be farther from my fears. That evening, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The families that shared the campground kept to themselves. The closest family had three girls under ten and reminded me of my sisters and I when we were younger. I could hear them playing until it got dark in the grass up the hill from the river. The kangaroos, however, were a bit more intrusive. I heard them a few times at dusk and in the morning hopping from one side of my tent to the other, obviously not as happy with the grass patch on the one side of the campground and much more interested in the other side.

I spent the night reading and finishing off a large pack of dehydrated spaghetti before passing out. That night, from my tent, I could hear some grunting from the bushes, but the wombat whose burrow I camped near must have been all bark and no bite (or charge) luckily.

The second day was much sunnier than the first, which was lucky and unlucky. Though the trail was much more beautiful and sunny, it also meant snakes were much more likely to be asleep in the sun on the exposed trail. 

I hiked much more quickly on the second day than I did on the first. I was more careful about watching the trail and where I stepped, which meant I was less likely to look up and enjoy the view. I think I would have enjoyed the trail a bit more if, within the first hour, I didn't almost step on a black snake (I looked it up later and it was extremely venomous, as with most snakes in the area). I was about 10m away when I saw something jet black moving along the trail for about 20 seconds before heading off into the bushes. I sat and waited, stomping and making noise to make sure it went far into the bush. Given it was quite large and made a lot of noise heading in, it made me feel pretty safe knowing it wanted to get away from me just as much as I wanted to get away from it. Since I was far enough away from it, as it was heading down the trail initially, I had the opportunity to appreciate that it was actually quite beautiful. As much as I didn't want to get any closer (and really could have gone altogether without seeing it), I still enjoyed watching it waking up from its sunbathing and making its way down the trail. 

Since the trip was an out-and-back, a majority of the views I had already seen, but it was a much hotter day. I had thought 2L of water would be sufficient, but it definitely wasn't. I filled up once along the way, but was fairly happy I could gorge myself on water later that night. The rest of the walk to Billy Goat Bend was uneventful, as I made sure to make enough noise to wake sleeping snakes and did the "Bush Salute" to keep flies and termites from sticking to the sweat on my face. 

As I was walking from Billy Goat Bend back into more lush and dense forest, I started to relax a little as there was less sun spilling onto to track. I was also making good time and was going to have to wait for Jeff to pick me up, so I wanted to enjoy the walk a little. I slowed down a bit, taking some time to appreciate the view and finished off my water bottle in the process. I was quite hot, so I would stop in more shady spots where possible. 

I was in the middle of some high grasses, where there was about a meter to my left cleared and another few meters to my right. The river was audible but not within eyesight. I stopped at one section of track, exhausted from the heat. Then, to my immediate right I hear some extremely loud rustling heading in my opposite direction and I scream for the second time, turning and jumping at the same time down the track. To my surprise, an extremely large lizard with huge claws and around 2m in length, runs down the track before heading into the bushes on the other side of the trail. I found out later this was a Lace Monitor, but at the time I had no idea that there were any reptiles in the park with the exception of snakes and goannas. Again, he wanted nothing to do with me and rustled into the bushes away from the trail.

I laughed again for a long time about my scream and how I had happened to stop on the trail now twice within meters of a large animal with no notice. I also wondered how many other animals, poisonous or not, I had just wandered by.

By the time I got to the end of the trail, I was fairly happy to see the pavement, which marked the beginning of the family-friendly circuit near the carpark. I took the hike up to the bluff, cursing that the last piece of the hike was uphill switchbacks. When I finally got to the top, I propped my pack up on a table and took the opportunity to read for a little while until I got picked up. As it was in the beginning, the carpark was basically deserted. One car sat waiting for a family to finish the circuit. I didn't see anyone else for the two hours until my pickup.

Now that I had finished the hike, not only did I realize this was one of the longer two-day hikes I had done, but it was the most wild hike I had done, even being just one day from civilization. There are lots of hikes closer to Melbourne we have done that are more popular, but there was never one I finished with so few people and so much wildlife. I had intended on this hike, having several drive-in sections, being more tame for my first solo experience, but it ended up being the opposite. And I was really proud of that. I had only screamed twice in terror, both times out of surprise. The most I came out with were a few scrapes and a few mosquito bites. I hadn't stepped on any snakes. The camping was seamless. And I had really enjoyed it; it had been a real adventure. And even if the trip hadn't been as flawless or as exciting, it was exhilarating to be back out away from it all by myself alone with my thoughts and only dependent on myself.

Coming away from it, I expected that I would have ticked that box and moved on, appreciating the experience but happy to continue hiking with a partner or two. But after all is said and done, I can't wait to do it again.

We want to acknowledge and thank the past, present, and future generations of all Native Nations and Indigenous Peoples whose ancestral lands we travel, explore, and play on. Always practice Leave No Trace ethics on your adventures and follow local regulations. Please explore responsibly!

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