The snow was deep, the arrow markers rare and the ridge fairly broad. I came very close to losing my way within the first half an hour. The fog lowered the visibility to a couple of hundred metres, but looking at the map I could tell that the slopes dropped off very steeply on both sides of the ridge, plummeting down to the valley about three hundred metres below. I imagine the views would have been spectacular, had my view not been obscured by the dense cloud.
One section of four mile spur was a true highlight of the walk. For a distance of about a few hundred metres, the ridge narrowed into a rocky razorback where it was barely a couple of metres wide. While it was wet, rugged and therefore treacherous, what I remember above all else are the vibrancy and colour of the lichens on the rocks. These wonderful organisms are a symbiotic relationship between fungi and algae and are amazing because they do not require soil to grow. Instead, they tend to grow on rocks. In fact, they break down rocks, so once could claim they are rock eaters. In the wet, they come alive with a vibrancy that is great to behold.
This highlight area of the ridge did not last very long, and I was soon walking amidst a very thick eucalypt sapling forest. The regrowth was a result of bushfires having swept through the area. I had difficulty following the arrow markers. The pad was barely existent, and I decided to simply follow the ridge and forget about the irksome pad. I figured I would have no trouble following such a distinct ridge. I was mistaken.
The going got thicker and thicker until I could barely see a few metres in front of me. I soon made the first navigational error of the trip. Unable to see the ridge anymore, and perhaps too eager to walk downhill, I veered off the main ridge and onto a spur, heading prematurely off the ridge and into the valley of the South Buller Creek. I did not realise my mistake until I popped into a clearing, and having descended below the cloud line I could see that I was well below the main south west ridge and on a north east running spur. The climb back to the ridge, while relatively short would have taken me well over an hour through the thick regrowth. I decided to sidle the slope instead until the contour lines eventually met up with the main ridge once more.
It was a good plan but it did not work. The thickness of the gum saplings meant I was constantly being forced downhill and so I was not able to maintain my elevation. I was too tired to fight the landscape. I was forced to descend down towards South Buller Creek.
I did not figure it was a large problem since the creek flowed into the Howqua River anyway. I could not get lost but I did expect the going to get a bit slower. Naturally I underestimated how slow the going would get and the distance that I had to cover to reach the Howqua River along the valley.
Once I had reached the bottom of the valley, I resigned myself to wet boots, and started walking in the creek. It was a picturesque and remote valley; the vegetation was a thick a rainforest where often the easiest path was along one of the numerous wombat tracks that ran parallel to the creek. With a combination of climbing over logs, wading through the creek and pushing aside undergrowth, I began my slow march towards the river.
At 7pm I had been walking for over 11 hours and I was running out of energy. I decided to stop and assess my location using ‘memory map’ on my iphone (a topographical gps ap, it is a great alternative to a gps!). With one glance at my location, I knew I’d be spending the night in the valley, I was still roughly 3 kms away from the river, which could take up to five hours to cover in the dark. I set up camp right there and then, for I was exhausted. I cooked my dehydrated meal and went to bed. I was very aware of my poor choice of campsite, merely inches above the water level.
Luckily, the water level did not rise that night and the next morning I found the vale to be in a very good mood. The sky was blue for the first time since I have started walking from Howqua exactly two days ago. Knowing I had only a short day in comparison to the previous two, I struck off in high spirits. Nevertheless, my legs were lethargic and I had to stop to refuel quite often. I went through three muesli bars within the first hour of walking, not long after a big bowl of breakfast porridge. My body was catching up with me after two days of strenuous walking.
I followed the wombat tracks when I could, and the walking was quite pleasant, but some sections were quite rough with steep canyon like walls. As I got closer to the Howqua River, an invasion of berry bushes barred my way in places like a barbed wire fence. My relatively new rain gear was not going to be a sacrifice so I took the often strenuous route and climbed around the bushes.
When I eventually reached the river, I was dismayed to see the water level. It was deep enough that I would definitely have to swim, and the water was flowing fast with plenty of rapids. However, I was not prepared to commit to a 5-6 km detour to cross on the bridge at Sheepyard Flat so I decided to take my chances with the cold water.
I stripped down and put everything in my dry bags inside my pack. This was going to be my first ever wild river crossing. In hindsight I would have attempted it differently. As it was, I picked the 30 metre stretch within sight that had no rapids or larger rocks, just swiftly flowing water. The river was about 10 metres wide, and there were only about 3-5 metres of swift flowing water in the centre where I would have to swim. Despite knowing I was a competent swimmer, I was nervous. I pressed my lips together and entered the water, my heavy pack on my bag, with all the straps unclipped.
Within seconds, my feet went from under me and I was doing a rapid breast stroke across the river. My breath was caught by the cold water. I was perhaps halfway across when the current grabbed my bag and twirled me around like a folded paper ship in a bath tub splash. My head was pushed under in a split second and I could not surface for air. The pack on my bag was pushing me under and would not let me up. I knew I was being washed towards a particularly large rock. I decided to ditch my pack. I quickly slid one shoulder strap off and was about to let the pack go completely in a moment of panic when I suddenly touched the rocks on the bottom with my feet. I was on the other side.
