Moving Along...

My stint as a cotton farmer is up. From October 7 to January 8, I planted cotton, irrigated with siphons, threw siphons, offset disced (weeks of this), hoed weeds, drove a fuel truck, and watched the cotton plants I planted grow. After making a small dent in Australian agriculture, providing a bit of fabric for the world's blue jeans and polo shirts, I'm moving along, heading east, then south. Let the adventure continue:)

The first adventure on the docket (already accomplished) was the Green Gully. Jordan and I, after weeks of anticipation, having bought the passes sometime in early December, wound our way into Oxley Wild Rivers National Park, towards this gully, marginally aware of what it held for us. He had been idly looking through hiking and backpacking opportunities in our area when he came across it; the gully sold itself well: huts to stay in each night, beautiful hikes through dry rain forest and a deep, solitary canyon. On the 11th, a Sunday, we drove our Commodore into the park and stayed that night in Cedar Creek cabin, a spacious accommodation with several bunk beds, a shower (believe me, quite a luxury), and a deck overlooking the green, wild expanse of the park.

The first day was the easy hike, a ridge walk mostly that plunged us 17.5 kilometers (10.8 miles) into Oxley Wild Rivers. That first hike, starting at 7:00 a.m., ending at 1:00, took us only six hours, and we were feeling pretty good about ourselves. Although our packs were at their heaviest (we carried all of our food and over a gallon of water in), we rocketed through that part of the expedition in no time. The first hut, known as the Bird's Nest was basic: tin walls and roof, wooden beams, some sketchy cooking supplies inside with a little gas-burner stove, army cots for sleeping. But we loved it. We felt adventurous and had a grand time napping outside on our cots, until we were run inside by a torrential downpour, and playing in the creek.

The second day took us "off track", and we wended our way along a ridge, picking out the faint trail left by previous hikers. All was well and we were feeling strong until we started the stark down-hill plunge, which dropped over 1,000 feet into the Green Gully bottom. Much to my chagrin, my right knee started acting up about 1/3 of the way down this ridiculously steep hill, and it only grew worse as we descended. By the bottom, I was hobbling along like an old crone, and the 4 km.-to-the-next-hut sign at the bottom of that evil hill nearly burst into flames with the power of my anger towards it. But I did manage to gimp my way to Green Gully Hut, awash with relief that I had to go no further for that day.

The next day I floundered through a creek for about six hours, and though my knee kept popping and making ungodly, awful grindy noises, I had a great time. We played trail games, fell over slippery rocks, went swimming in the most beautiful, clear pool surrounded by towering shelves of rock on each side, and managed to see a brush-tailed rock wallaby, an endangered species that inhabits the park. I was physically miserable but in comparatively good spirits by the time we reached Colwell's Hut after 8 hours of frustration with my knee and the creek, which I threatened with a boiling death each time I fell in it.

That night, we slept outside under an awning of sorts, and the next day we climbed out of the gully, reliving the second day but in the opposite direction. I thought I was moving slowly, my knee still hurt pretty badly and my left leg was sick and tired of taking all the weight, but we managed the uphill, 17.8-kilometer hike in about 5 hours. Overall, we hiked 65 kilometers, or 40 miles, and had a grueling good time.