According to the Qld Government website, the best time to walk the four-day Sunshine Coast Hinterland Great Walk is between March and November. The second-best time – according to me – is January, during an officially declared four-day extreme heat event. I say this very much tongue in cheek. Sometimes I do wonder why I do these things to myself. Then I remember how good I feel afterwards.

I’ve also come up with a new word, inspired by something I heard on a podcast the other day. Apparently, hiking has an equal but opposite effect to heroin. Heroin makes you feel amazing in the moment and terrible afterwards. Hiking, on the other hand, often makes you feel terrible in the moment – and then borderline euphoric afterwards. So – here’s my new word: hike-oin. I’m not convinced it will catch on.

Did I enjoy every moment? No! A hard no. Am I glad I did it? Hell yeah! By the end, I was in serious need of a shower, but I was grinning ear to ear.

I was able to wrangle a four-day weekend and started considering my options. My mind automatically drifted to thoughts of a relaxing few days at home – watching movies, doing a bit of gardening, reading a good book. I imagined my favourite spot on the couch, my comfy cushions, and then I realized – it’s a trick! My mind was choosing the easy option.

We’re programmed to choose the path of least resistance, aren’t we? Because why would we voluntarily beat ourselves over the head with a big stick?

Then I think about the older people I have met in my travels who continue to hike and do hard things. The secret – as far as I can tell – is that they never stopped doing the hard things. They never woke up one day and realized they were old. They just kept doing what they’d always done, day in, and day out – and never lost the ability.

I really do believe it is true that – if you don’t use it, you lose it. And that is what inspired me to get up at 4.45am and drive three hours to the starting point of this Great Walk. I knew it was going to be a very hot long weekend, but I felt confident – and prepared.

Day one: Baroon Pocket Dam to Flaxton Walker’s Camp. 16.1km. A combination of Grade 3 and 4 trails. Estimated walk time: 5 to 8 hours. (I took 5 hours)

Can I just say that the kilometres on the trail, aren’t normal kilometres. I’ve walked back-to-back 30+km days on other trails, and this was not the same. Here is an image of the elevation to give you an idea.

For context, the Walk is shaped a bit like a P. You start at the bottom, head up and around the loop, then peel off and finish somewhere along the stem. Qld Government Parks and Forests have a great website for everything you might like to know about walking it yourself. This blog is about my adventures and misadventures – so please don’t be led astray by me.

As always, when setting off on a solo hike, I’m a bit nervous. Have I thought of everything? What if I get lost? Do I have enough water? What if I get bitten by a snake? Just the usual worries – but once I start walking, I’m usually happy. My pack weighed about 16kg, well within my comfort range, and felt good on my back. I felt strong, energised, and free of injury or concern. Despite this, it took a while to settle into this walk. Immediately, I entered into a dark, humid rainforest that had recently been rained on. It was slippery and hot. I don’t have anything against rainforests per se, but they’re not my favourite terrain. I much prefer being able to see the horizon. That’s just my personal preference. Within minutes, I was coated in a layer of sweat. I was trying to get into the ‘zone’ but there were a lot of stairs. The first 12km was like that.

I didn’t see many people to begin with, but as I started to climb out of a gully, I entered a very popular area for locals and tourists, drawn to the lovely rock pools and waterfalls. I felt completely out of place, with my big backpack and very dorky hiking poles. People were wearing board shorts and bikinis, looking fit and attractive, and there I was – like a Heffalump – trying to squeeze out of the way on narrow paths so they could pass.

I wondered what I had gotten myself into – and how different I felt from these people.

At long last, I emerged from that cacophony of loud and beautiful people and god-awful stairs into a clearing – the Kondalilla National Park Day-Use-Area. People were buzzing about, making full Use of the Area. I found myself a nice spot to sit in the shade for a while, my social battery at about two percent, hoping that no-one would talk to me. They didn’t.

I set off again and discovered that the next section meandered through the lovely town of Flaxton. After the darkness of the rainforest, this felt like a nice relief – and I was a little sad to leave it. A short hike through more rainforest, I reached Flaxtons’ Walkers Camp. First stop – as always – was the water tank to check there was something in there. Jackpot! All was well in the world.  I could hear a few male voices and see a couple of small tents off in the distance, which was reassuring on my first night.

I got busy putting my tent up and boiling water. I did bring purifying drops with me, but when I looked more closely at the bottle, I realized that they were very out of date. Some people might say that I take a few small risks with my personal safety on my adventures – but I don’t mess around with water. Getting gastro while hiking is NOT FUN! My little Jetboil can only handle 500ml at a time, so there were a lot of trips back and forth to refill it.

There were quite a few mosquitoes, so I retreated to my tent at about 5 pm. I’d brought a book to read, but when I opened it, I realised I could easily finish it in a single night. So, I decided to ration it – one third tonight, and so on. It wasn’t long before I reached my quota.

I was already rationing my phone battery, relying on a portable charger that would see me through the four days and three nights, as long as I behaved myself. With nothing else to do, I just lay there listening to the sounds of the bush. Somewhere nearby, someone was playing music. Trance music – which isn’t my normal vibe, but for some reason, it felt just right.

Day two: Flaxton Walkers Camp to Ubijee Walker’s Camp. 13.1km. A combination of Grade 3 and 4 trails. Estimated walk time: 7 hours. (Took me 5 hours).

I am a terrible tent-sleeper. My iWatch told me I woke up 17 times. Seventeen. Hmmm. I think I have to do something about that. It took me about an hour to have breakfast and pack up, and I set off at about 6.45am. I knew I didn’t have that far to go, but I wanted to avoid the middle of the day as much as possible. The first stage was really easy – gentle zigzagging downhill for several kilometres – before crossing a suspension bridge and beginning the climb back up.

I knew I was the first person to walk the trail that morning because I was soon covered in a fine layer of spider webs, which mixed nicely with my already generous layer of sweat (not). The webs really were quite beautiful though, when the sun hit them just right.

My speed that day was not impressive. I wasn’t tired – just sluggish. It was hot and humid, and I just didn’t feel like going fast.

Eventually, I emerged onto a road which I obediently followed till I reached a lookout at the Mapleton Falls National Park. Someone had set up a large tent in the middle of the area, but I could still get around it to get to the lookout.

While I was chilling in the shade, a couple of park rangers wandered over for a chat. After asking me where I’d been and where I was going, they wanted to know whether I’d encountered any fallen trees. I mentioned that the day before, near the lowest part of the gully, the crown of a newly fallen tree had completely obstructed the path, and I’d had to do a fair bit of bushwacking to get around it. They looked positively crestfallen when I told them, explaining that it was one of the most difficult areas to access. I almost wished I’d lied. I couldn’t imagine lugging a chainsaw up and down those trails, as they must do regularly to keep them so beautifully maintained. After I told them how wonderful I thought they were, they wished me well and moved on.

Not long after, I could hear them having some serious – but polite – words with the occupants of the tent.

Back into rainforest and heading downhill, I came upon a dog trotting well ahead of a couple of women. I said a friendly hello as I passed them, but it struck me as a bit unusual to see a dog in the rainforest. Without really thinking, I called out to them after they passed me, “Just so you know – there are a couple of rangers up ahead.”

They both got quite bothered by that and started to make plans for how to avoid being caught, telling me that there was a $600 fine for having a dog in the National Park. I kept walking and kept my mouth shut, but spent a fair bit of time second-guessing myself – should I have said anything at all? I’m never quite sure where the line is between being helpful and being that person.

Eventually, that trail opened onto another road, and I passed close to one of the exits from the Great Walk – the Delicia Road entrance. I was tossing up whether to eventually exit from here or to head to the other option, being the Mapleton Day Use area, on my fourth day. With no phone reception there, and knowing I’d need to organise a taxi or Uber to get back to my car, I decided this exit wouldn’t work for me.

From there, the trail – the Linda Garrett track – wound through much nicer forest (in my opinion). There were gaps between the trees, little bridges, and a sense of openness that felt quietly beautiful. It was easy walking.

Then it opened out into my favourite section of the trail – majestic trees, a wide path, gentle rolling hills. After the darker, more stifling rainforest earlier on, it felt like heaven. I came across a woman riding through the area with her daughter on horseback, and we stopped for a brief chat. As they rode on, I found myself wondering whether that little girl realised just how lucky she was – to be having that experience, in that place, with her mother.

Before long, I walked into Ubajee Walkers Camp. Even though it hadn’t been a long day of walking, I was glad to be there. My pack was hurting me (my shoulders) and it was just so hot and humid. A couple of tents were already set up, and I found myself a lovely spot, checking that the trees around me did not have any branches that might come down in a storm. Once my tent was secure, I started my water-boiling routine and did some laundry, which I hung up over the tent to dry.

Before I set off for a little exploration, I thought I’d recharge my phone. My portable charger was still showing almost full, so I was feeling really confident. I also noticed I had good reception at this camp, so I decided to see if I could advance-book that Uber for the end of day four. The possibility of not being able to get a lift back to my car was worrying me a little. I had no trouble setting it up and took a screenshot of the booking, just in case. Then I noticed my phone-charging seemed to have stalled at 34%. I checked the portable charger. It said 0%.

It took a moment to absorb that information. It didn’t really matter why it was empty – just that it was.

So, I had 34% left. No – 33% – of charge on my mobile phone. I still had two days and two nights of solo hiking to complete.

I packed everything away and went for a short walk, eventually finding a stone bench where I lay on my back, closed my eyes, and let my mind go quiet. I wanted to work through the problem without emotion. My first instinct was that I would keep going as planned. To that point, I’d been using my phone to take photos and videos – but also to check my downloaded AllTrails map quite regularly when I had any doubt I was going the right way. I’d also had easy access to family – and help – if I needed it.

With 32% left, I would have to turn my phone off for the remainder of the hike – to save what I had left for an emergency.

I thought about the thru-hikers I follow on social media, who regularly walk far longer distances than I do, often with little or no phone coverage. I knew I’d be on well-marked trails, and that there would be people around – eventually – if something went wrong. And I also had my paper map in my pocket, including a topographical map of the area. The risk was acceptable to me.

Decision made, I went back to my tent. There was a bit of thunder in the distance, and it was getting dark as a storm rolled in. I pulled my still-soaked laundry inside the tent with me and waited it out.

About an hour later, the storm passed. I unzipped my tent, only to hear someone calling out to me. From a distance, I could hear him saying something about a snake. I went over to where he and another person were standing, and they pointed out a python curled on the floor of the long-drop toilet. I’d been there earlier and hadn’t noticed it. I decided that I didn’t need to use the toilet anymore that day.

I got talking to the couple, and they asked where I was heading. I mentioned my plans and my issue with my portable charger. Without hesitation, they offered to let me get a full charge from theirs, as they were heading home the next morning and had more than enough power. It was incredibly kind of them.

I ended up charging my phone to about 85% while we sat and talked. Joe and I discovered we had something in common – that we both feel much safer in the forest than in the ocean – possibly related to the fact that we’d each had a near-drowning after being caught in a rip when we were younger.

With my phone nearly fully charged, and in the dark, I returned to my tent and settled in for a peaceful night.

Day three: Ubajee Walkers’ Camp to Thiba Thalba Walkers’ Camp 13km. (7 hours) Took me 6 hours. Grade 4.

It rained again during the night. I’d assumed my laundry would have dried, even inside the tent – but it was as wet as ever due to the humidity. Not much I could do about that, so I bundled everything into a snaplock bag (best invention ever), and packed up my tent.

I set off at about 6.30am – following the signs to Thilba Thalba. The first section was a relatively steep descent (approx 500m vertical) that was super easy, but I felt a little sorry for my future self as I knew I would have to come back up this way the next day. This was part of an overlapping section of the Great Walk – on the stem of the letter ‘P’.

I soon reached a sign I was expecting, since I’d done this section with my son (who was 18 at the time) about three years earlier. That hike had been a single overnighter, mostly done to test my equipment for my first solo multiday walk on the Great Ocean Walk in Victoria – with the bonus of getting to spend some amazing time with my son, who was such a good sport despite not being a lover of hiking at the best of times.

I remembered this part being really difficult. It was where I’d learned just how important it is to carry more water than you think you’ll need. I’d struggled with the relentless stairs back then, and also remembered how exposed we were to the sun as we climbed the final ascent into camp. I hoped I was better prepared this time.

I decided to go anti-clockwise, thinking it would be a longer but easier ascent. It took me much longer than it should have to realise that we’d gone this exact same way three years earlier. I could have kicked myself – if I’d had the energy.

There were countless fallen trees along the way, and sometimes I was unable to get over or under with my pack on. I had to take it off and push it through first. There were also countless spider webs slung across the trail, so I was certainly first on the trail. I didn’t see anyone coming down from Thilba Thalba.

There were several times I lost the trail as it zigzagged over a dry creek bed and re-entered the forest on the opposite side. I had to backtrack a few times to find it again. Many times I had my hand on my phone, ready to open up my AllTrails, but apart from a few token photos along the way (perhaps a risky luxury) – I managed without it.

It was so hot. The day before, I’d seen an ‘extreme weather warning’ forecasting 38 degrees in the nearest town of Belli Park. That probably explained the complete absence of other hikers. By the looks of it, it was just me out there.

I have a very strong suspicion the temperature was in the mid-forties – especially once I started the last 5 km ascent. I was fully exposed to the sun from above, while heat reflected up from the rocks and dry earth below. I climbed steeply for a very long time.

I was carrying four litres of water, including electrolytes, so I was drinking as much as I wanted. Even so, I was moving very slowly, and as the sun got higher in the sky, I needed to stop more and more often for short breaks. During the last 3km of that final ascent, I realized that I was closing my eyes every time I stopped and was on the verge of falling asleep – something that is not normal for me. I was probably bordering on getting heat stroke.

There wasn’t any shade, so I just kept going. Walk a bit, rest a bit, drink some more water, and so on. It felt brutal in the heat. Flies were constantly landing on my arms and face, sweat was pouring off me, and to top it off, my pants had started to fall down. I had to keep hoiking them back up, which was driving me a bit bonkers.

After a very long time, I finally saw a sign up ahead, and I could make out the words ‘Thilba Thalba’. Thank God. I didn’t think I could have gone any further. When I got closer, it took me a while to make sense of the little sign under it, which said ‘500 metres’. I’m pretty sure I swore.

Since there was nothing else to do, I kept going. Something must have gotten into my left eye because it started to sting, and I couldn’t open it without terrible pain. Tears streamed down my cheek as I walked those final 500 metres.

When I finally reached the campground, I did a quick scan – with my one functioning eye. The campground was huge – and empty. I headed straight for a spot in the shade. I had a lot of trouble getting my tent off my pack, but I eventually managed to spread it out on the ground and collapsed on top of it. I must have lain there like a beached whale for at least thirty minutes. Maybe a lot longer.

I took my time setting up. I have camped and been completely alone in the forest before – with no one around for miles and miles – while walking the Great Ocean Walk. I remember how liberating it had been then. I was alone again, and I wondered how it would feel here.

I realised that the strong urge I’d had to keep going, despite the weather forecast and the battery issue, had been for this moment.

I’d wanted the time completely alone on top of a mountain. I really like existing in nature unobserved. It’s vastly different to being silent with someone. Solitude in nature allows me to experience it in a very different way. It is humbling and loud and a little bit frightening. But sometimes you have to scare yourself a little bit, right? To remind yourself how insignificant we are – I am – and that the problems that come along in our socially constructed, unnecessarily complicated lives – are actually quite silly and inconsequential.

I spent many hours with nothing to occupy myself (I was saving the last bit of my book for after dark), other than just ‘being’. I watched a brown caterpillar make its slow way across the leafy undergrowth. I watched the clouds and the tree branches waving in the wind. I wandered around the campground and made ‘friends’ with a very large golden orb-weaver spider whose huge web was strung across the path between my tent and the water tank. I had to stay alert on every trip I made so that I wouldn’t get a nasty surprise. The females are massive with very long legs. There was a male spider at the edge of the web. The males are tiny and barely look like the same species.  

Much later, as I was settling down to sleep, it sounded like a rather large animal was trying to break into my tent. It was unnerving enough that I realized that I had to work out what it was, otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep at all. I unzipped the tent and stood up with my torch. The culprit turned out to be a harmless toad, which hopped away as soon as the beam of light hit it.

The night was very hot and humid, and there was not a single breeze to cool me down.  

Day four: Thilba Thalba Walker’s Camp to Mapleton Day Use area.

I felt a little sad to leave the beautiful, serene campsite. It really is a great place – once you’re there. The way down (still going anticlockwise) was ridiculously easy – and my advice to anyone who wants to visit this part of the Great Walk is to climb up that way. It’s obviously the same amount of elevation, but with a much friendlier gradient and NOT in direct sunshine.

I’m sure that these trails are usually very well maintained, but on this day – the grass was very long in many sections. I made sure to make a lot of noise to scare away any snakes.

The route I had chosen to exit the Walk was not obvious or well signed, and I needed to use my map a couple of times to check which way to go. By this stage, my phone battery was down to 40%.

When I finally reached the Mapleton Day Use Area, the layout was not what I expected at all. I had assumed it would be buzzing with activity – and near a town – like the Kondalilla National Park Day-Use-Area had been. Not even close. Turns out this is an area used for trail bikers, horse riders, and motorcross bikes. There were two Utes in the carpark – but no people. I realized that I didn’t have any phone coverage there either. It was very unlikely that a pre-arranged Uber would turn up if I couldn’t connect to the internet. (When I finally got some internet much later, I saw that the booking hadn’t gone through anyway).

I realized that I was still very far from a town.

I wasn’t panicking, since I knew I could technically just walk along the road if I needed to. Still, I was a little worried. I had to get to my car, then drive three hours back home – and I had work early the next morning.

I hadn’t been there long when I heard a couple of trail bikes roaring up the road. Two men hopped off, slapping each other on the back and looking very pleased with life. I was pretty sure they were father and son. Without even thinking, I went over and told them that I’d “gotten myself into a bit of a pickle” (I really do sprinkle in a lot of Australian euphemisms when I talk), “and had no internet or transport. Could they help?” They were so kind, and so eager to help. They were also pretty impressed that I’d been walking for four days in that heat. They even offered to drive me all the way to my car. It was actually much further away than I thought.

I felt there was no risk in getting a ride with these two men and almost thought that they were the ones who should have been worried about taking me with them. I hadn’t showered for four days, and I’m sure I looked a little worse for wear, to say the least.

They drove me the 20-minute trip back to my car – with me in the back seat sitting completely upright since I didn’t want to put my sweaty back against their nice upholstery. We chatted happily the whole way and wished each other well at the end – I think all of us happy for the brief connection.

Once again, my faith in humanity has been restored by the people I meet when I go on adventures. I didn’t meet many on this trip, but the few I did encounter went out of their way to help me when I asked.

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I’m home now, sitting in air-conditioning after a very comfortable night in my own bed. I appreciate my own bed so much more after being reminded of what it’s like to be uncomfortable. I also appreciate being cool, having so recently been very, very hot.

Even though this hike was not that epic or challenging, I’ve still benefited greatly from doing it. Especially because I confirmed – once again – that I can usually figure things out on my own when I need to, I can still do hard things, and also that people are kind and willing to help. You just have to ask.