Back into civilisation

by Dorothea Riffert (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown Australia

As I got out of the car, I thanked the woman again who had picked me up in the middle of nowhere, as I was walking along the highway all alone in the dark, with nothing but a backpack and dirty clothes, and given me a lift back to Alice Springs. I put my pack back on – so blissfully light now –, closed the door of the SUV, turned around and started walking towards the town centre, back into civilisation. Two weeks before, I had set out on a hike. I was going to hike the Larapinta Trail, 225 km from Alice Springs westwards through the MacDonnell Ranges. Only I was going to do it backwards, starting at the end of the last section and walking back to the city. I had never done anything like this before. I had actually only got the idea from a fellow traveller on a tour, who had just completed the trail. Intrigued and full of romantic notions of self-discovery and adventure, I thought if this sixty-something-year-old lady can do it, so can I. Less than three weeks later, I found myself staggering towards the highway with a set of trail maps and my brand-new 65L-backpack, trying to find a ride to Redbank Gorge, the end of the trail and my starting point. A day later I started, without any experience but full of expectations. It was a tough hike. After a day of walking with my grossly heavy backpack, laden with food for a week and enough water to get me through a day in the Australian outback, my whole body – shoulders, back, hips, knees, even my toes – was constantly aching. The rock in the West MacDonnell Ranges is extremely hard, often sharp, rough underfoot, taking its toll on your shoes. And knees. And ankles. Endlessly walking up and down mountain slopes, around spiky spinifex grass and thorny bushes, climbing rocks, walking on jagged mountain crests, through grassland, making my way through dried-out riverbeds, through gorges strewn with small pebbles and huge boulders. Sometimes the gravel would give way under my feet. Once I slipped and fell, ending up sitting on my bum with my legs hanging over the edge. The terrain is rough and rugged, harsh and arid. But it's also gentle, peaceful, beautiful, and full of life. Despite the aridity, there is life everywhere, defying the unfavourable conditions. Every day the same struggles, the same thoughts circling through my mind, as relentless as the sun burning down on me. But with every passing day, the thoughts and worries were losing their power. And I became increasingly content with having only my thoughts and the trail as company. I went from thinking, "Why am I doing this?", the first hour of hiking every morning, to not wanting the trail to end. I realized that every time you lose motivation, that you're so tired and exhausted, standing at the foot of the next slope to ascend, knowing there is always another one to come, that whenever you think you can't go on, all you need to do is stop for a moment, take a sip of water, breathe. Then you go on. Because you can. Whatever you need to do, you always can. After thirteen days and nine and a half sections on the Larapinta Trail, one pair of shorts, three shirts, one shower and zero hair washes later, I arrived back in Alice Springs. As I made my way to a restaurant to celebrate my return, acutely aware of how dirty my clothes were, I felt slightly disoriented. Suddenly there was all this noise: people talking, traffic, loud music. Slowly the realization that I was back in civilisation kicked in. At the thought of to-do lists, plans, obligations, I felt a weight slowly settling on my shoulders, and somehow it was more uncomfortable than the literal weight of my pack. Despite everything you have to plan beforehand and all the things you depend on out there, I had felt an unknown sense of freedom. I took the first bite out of my burger, savouring the juicy beef, the melted cheese and the crunchy lettuce, and mentally started to plan the next hike…