Day 4: Telegraph Saddle - Lt Waterloo Bay
Kilometres driven: 84km
Kilometres walked: 24km
Diesel: $0
Food: $0
Ice: $0
A comedy of errors? Bad things come in threes? These could have been the titles of today’s blog. We hit a kangaroo, a gas bottle caught fire and we had blisters like never before. Welcome to Wilson’s Prom.
We had always wanted to visit Wilson’s Promontory. We had seen the photos. The turquoise water, glowing white sand and giant boulders scattering the coast. Instead of paying a day-visit to Squeaky Beach or Tidal River, we decided to complete a 50-something kilometre section of the Southern Circuit.
Up at 4am, we said goodbye to our campsite by the river. As we entered Wilson’s Prom National Park the wildlife appearances increased dramatically. Chris saw his first ever wombat in the wild. Then his second. Then his third. Then maybe a forth and fifth. We saw and dodged countless kangaroos and were on high alert as we headed deeper into the park. We came around a corner to two roos on the road. They jumped off to the side and then one seemed to panic and jumped back out in front of us as Chris, instinctually, veered onto the wrong side of the road and slammed the brakes to try and avoid him, sadly to no avail. As we pulled over I began hysterically crying. Chris (thank God for Chris) went back to check on the roo. We knew the drill, check the pouch etc etc. He came back to a mess of a girlfriend with news that the kangaroo had hopped away. I’m not sure whether this made me feel better or worse as I spiralled into a “that poor kangaroo…he’ll be so confused, so sore and so sad.” The crying intensified again as we found the number plate dangling off the front of the car, a broken grill and a busted surrounding panel. It was 6am on Day 4 and a hike was the last thing I wanted to do.
We ate a little breakfast before setting off towards Sealer’s Cove and, thankfully it was beautiful enough to distract us from our morning so far. The landscape was varied and every time it changed from forest to ferns we grew in enthusiasm. After 10km we felt good and arrived at Sealer’s Cove, greeted with our first postcard-perfect view. Thick, green trees met yellow sand and crystal clear water lapped at the shore. The sun wasn’t even out and the bay glistened like magic as we ate lunch on the sand.
A few blisters had started to form by this point so when we came to a river crossing at the end of Sealer’s Cove, we were less than enthusiastic. Never the less we ditched the shoes, hitched up our pants, waded across and did our best to dry our toes before shoving them back into the confines of our boots.
As we headed up the hill out of Sealer’s Cove a rainy mist set in but did nothing to damped our spirits. In fact, we welcomed the cool change and the unique views the sheets of mist brought with them. The ocean looked like fabric moving softly beneath us so we took every opportunity to stand upon giant boulders and breath it all in.
The sun came out as we arrived at Refuge Cove and suddenly the water took on a whole new level of beautiful. Crystal clear and a colour I couldn’t seem to draw my eyes away from. Every peek between the trees was savoured.
Wilson’s Prom is so often visited by Melbourne-ites I had in my head that this hike would surely be a little cooshy. Oh how wrong I was. The track from Refuge Cove went up and over more headlands than I could count. We were taken back to our Everest Base Camp trek where every up was greeted by a similar down in a three steps forward, two back type scenario.
As we approached the 20km mark my mind turned to my Mum and her partner Pete who, in their 50s and 60s, have carried their own gear and hiked hundreds, if not thousands of kilometres through Europe on the Camino de Santiago trails. Pete’s two books, Buen Camino and Bom Caminho recount some of their days topping over 30km hiked so…Señora and The Scribe…we salute you, today especially.
We ditched our bags at one point to make the 400m trek to the top of Kersops Peak where we could take in the views of Waterloo Bay with sand so white it appeared to glow in the afternoon sun. Putting our bags back on after some time walking without them felt a little like torture.
The last three kilometres into Little Waterloo Bay made us appear like new born lambs, stumbling around unable to keep a straight line. I know it’s bad when Chris is slow. Chris is never slow. This afternoon his bruised hips and ankles in combination with my bruised collar bones and both of our blisters had us a little delirious. So, when we waddled into Little Waterloo Bay we were ready to collapse but neither of us could understand why. This was by no means the longest day we had walked. It wasn’t the hilliest day. My boots were the same boots that almost got me to Base Camp and had taken me through hundreds of kilometres around Victoria. Yet here I was, blistered beyond belief.
When using the leatherman to pop my blisters didn’t work, I hunted through our bags and pulled out a safety pin so I could perform my much-needed surgery. We then dropped our feet, which resembled tenderised steaks at this point, into the salt water before finding a waterfall and pool of fresh water to rinse off in.
After gorging on some snacks we had the energy to get some sort of dinner cooking as we contemplated whether we should continue our hike as planned tomorrow or cut it short. So, as he has done for the past five years, Chris screwed the cooker onto our trusty gas canister and turned the gas on. That’s where the similarities to previous experiences ended. Suddenly there were flames spewing from Chris’ hands. I sat in stunned uselessness as they grew in size, creeping closer to the nylon tent I sat inside of. Again, thank God for Chris, as he managed to get his hands through the flames to turn the gas off. Close call. No gas meant it was a delicious mix of dried fruit, nuts and crackers for dinner. We dropped our heads onto our rolled up jumpers and hoped sleep would come quickly.
