younger than my age and fighting fit. Provided I did as she said. In addition to keeping up resistance training, I was to cut out caffeine, alcohol and wheat, lower dairy and eat protein every meal and add in lots of vegetables, broccoli, blueberries and lemon juice. She also issued me with some supplements, including a magnesium powder. I can’t in all honesty say that I managed to stick rigidly to Caroline’s regime, but I did adopt enough of it to begin feeling well and lively again. After a bit of cursing, I became a devotee of her approach and kept up a semblance of the plan for quite some time. I learnt to prefer rye bread to wheat bread, cut down if not eliminate alcohol, and abandon cappuccinos. I thought of it as a sacrifice for the goal of Kili’s summit. I now had a little team – Debra and Caroline plus Steve at the gym – to help keep my health on track.
So, back to the training regime. For February I headed to the Blue Mountains west of Sydney for a weekend day hike. As the car climbed higher into the mountains a wet and misty fog settled around us but, as I cheerily informed my companion, ‘that’s what Gore-Tex®is for’. We fortified ourselves with a hearty late breakfast at one of the cute cafés in the trendy Mountains village of Leura then continued on and parked at Katoomba’s famous lookout, from which you can usually see the panoramic Jamieson Valley spread below and the triple rock formation known as the Three Sisters looming close by. Today it was a misty pea-soup from the guard rail out – nothing at all to be seen. We had studied maps of the many walks and hikes around Katoomba and had initially planned to tackle one of the more demanding ones. In view of the weather, the late start and the indulgent breakfast, we decided just to wander some of the century-old walking trails that lead around and under the Three Sisters, down into the valley and back up. We set out squashily, Gore-Texed to the full.
The dripping ferns, full waterfalls and ethereal mist rising around the tall gums were magical. We spent some time descending to the floor of the valley then paused for lunch beside a stream. I always enjoy the lunch stops on a hike – a well-earned rest and much accomplished, yet the pleasure of the afternoon still ahead. Happily fed, we continued on under the base of the Three Sisters (still completely invisible) through picturesque, if muddy, bush to the way up, known – accurately – as The Giant’s Staircase. I’m not sure how many steps there are in The Giant’s Staircase, a set of rocky stairs cut into the side of a sandstone cliff face, but it took us half an hour to climb them. With rests. I am fond of rests when hiking. I’m never out to prove my sporting credentials, having none, and always enjoy looking about me. This is one difference between taking a hike or bushwalk, and the dreaded gym work-out with a conscientious trainer keeping your nose to the grindstone.
Towards the top of The Staircase, one of the Three Sisters loomed out of the mist, only a few metres away. A small railed walkway led out to a grotto in the flank of the Sister – it was still impossible to see the top or a view in any direction. This was as close as we came to seeing the famous Three Sisters that day. Our wet and bedraggled Blue Mountains hike had taken only four or five hours, and had not been very demanding. Still, it was great to get out in the boots, to eat lunch in the bush and exert myself a bit up those stairs. The après-hike hot chocolate was good too.
In March, time was running short and I hadn’t squeezed in a hike for the month. No time for a weekend away – what could I do that was close to home? I consulted a guide to walks around Sydney and miraculously found one that I could commence right at my front door. It was called the Two Creeks Track. Feeling a trifle foolish, I geared up with boots and pack and closed my front door behind me. After about five minutes walking through my familiar suburban streets I found the start of the track and was soon deep in bushland. The traffic noise faded quickly, though there were quite a few morning joggers using the track at first. Once it began to narrow and climb a little, I was pretty much on my own, apart from the occasional kayaker down in Gordon Creek below me.
This turned out to be a delightful meander through some lovely bushland, coming out after two or three hours under the Roseville Bridge, where I could walk on to the marina and a popular waterside café. I paused for a cup of tea (should have made a lunch reservation – the place was busy), then turned around and walked back the same way.
I found an alternative return to my street involving a stiff hill climb, which made me feel quite self-righteous. Until then, the walk had been easy, if long. I walked back to my front door and plonked down in the kitchen feeling that a good day’s work had been done.
April took me further afield for a good long trek in New Zealand – three days on the Abel Tasman Track in the north of New Zealand’s South Island. The flight into the small town of Nelson, the starting point for the walk, gave spectacular views of the glorious coastline, with pristine bays and wooded, hummocky islets surrounded by glittering green sea, and of course the skies of the long white cloud. It is an extremely beautiful region.
On this trip I tried my hand – or should I say my arms – at kayaking for the first time. I found that I felt a lot more stable than I expected but paddling was a lot more tiring than I expected. I think my technique needs work, but how lovely it was to sit quietly, at water level, in the inlet off Marlborough Sound and absorb the surroundings. Before having to paddle against the tide, anyway.
The Abel Tasman hike took three days and two nights, with a guide and a small group. A second group kayaked their way up the coast and joined us each evening at the lodges where we enjoyed luxurious overnight stops. We walkers tramped along the coast, sometimes high on the ridges looking out at spectacular seaward views, and at other times dropping down to the stunning secluded beaches. But the exciting parts were the estuary crossings, which involved wading, shallow or deep, depending upon the tides and how well we had judged our timing.
Due to a mix-up on day one, we accomplished our first estuary crossing in bare feet – having been told we wouldn’t need our sandals. Lesson: always make your own decisions about your gear! The oozy, silky estuary mud actually felt very nice to bare feet, but unfortunately was seeded throughout with tiny sharp shells. It felt a bit like walking on a bed of needles. I griped and moaned about having been given the wrong advice, but really it was my own responsibility to carry the gear I’d need. Despite the crunchy sharp shells, estuary wading was fun!
I carried my sandals always after that and thoroughly enjoyed the beach and water aspects of the hike, which were so different from the Australian bush. Usually the estuary channels were only knee-deep, but sometimes they were thigh-deep, or if you were as short as me, crotch-deep. It was a different kind of hiking and I enjoyed it very much. Despite walking – and wading – for three days, I never felt really stretched on this hike, and I began to feel smugly that my fitness was definitely improving. As always, it was good to get out of the gym and into a beautiful place, with boots (or wading sandals) on my feet and a pack on my back.
Chapter 5: Arusha
One of the most important elements in a fun and successful trekking experience is the group with whom you trek. Who wants to walk all day and then camp with people you can’t stand? Or even people who bore you? Luckily for me, several years before I had the good fortune to link up with a small group of friends, lawyers like me, who decided to trek to Everest Base Camp in Nepal. Fortunately for everyone involved, the core group gelled very well, and we became fast friends. Trekking in third world countries at the extreme end of your comfort zone is very bonding. We had taken several other treks together since then, usually the same core group with others coming and going. For Africa – our highest attempt yet – we had a large contingent of twenty people, all of whom had been training madly for at least a year.
The group gathered in Arusha, the ‘Geneva of Africa’. We speculated on this sobriquet, seen on an airport billboard. We assumed it was inspired by the UN connection. Our African adventure had commenced.
Arusha, in Tanzania, has a large United Nations delegation in residence, and has been the site of the Rwanda genocide commission hearings for the past several years. We also found out later that Arusha lies just about half way between
