My life is so comfortable. My bed is so soft, the sheets are always cool and clean. My house is orderly and so comfortable. My lounge has more cushions than I know what to do with. My phone is always within reach, and I can answer any question that pops into my mind with a quick Google or AI search so that nothing is left to ponder.  If I’m a bit hot, I’ll turn the fan on. My car is comfortable. My job is comfortable. I just got a stand-up desk for goodness’s sake. My world is engineered to have my joints ergonomically supported at all times.

I’m so comfortable!

But in my privileged, enviable life – (don’t worry, I know how lucky I am) – my head is on fire.

My mind is doing all the work – constantly scanning for danger. It tells me not to be lulled into calm, because that is when the dangerous thing finds an opening. Stay alert, it says. Isn’t that what kept our cave-dwelling ancestors alive? I try to quiet my thoughts, but I can only still my mind for two breaths of time. So I reach for my phone, doomscrolling my way through the unease. The dopamine hit of the next video barely grazes the edges of that feeling of disquiet.

I need to get out of here!

‘We treat the body rigorously so it will not be disobedient to the mind.’

I love this Stoic quote. But achieving the outcome I crave requires real discomfort.

Here’s another quote that brings me inspiration – curtesy of some Facebook blogger.

‘Anxiety is what happens when energy has nowhere to go. Move your body bitch.’

I wrangle a few days off, on either side of a weekend. I start planning for my next multi-day solo hike. Why solo? Because I really like it.  I almost always hike on my own. Friends have offered to come solo-hiking with me – they’d like to ‘try it too.’

Hmm. I love you all – but no.

I booked campsites in advance – $30 for four nights.  I’m going to complete the Cooloola Great Walk. I plan to do the inland route which is 88.1km (by the time I finish my phone says I’ve covered 106.1km which includes a bit extra before and after) with 2062m elevation. It’s a five-day one-way hike which can be walked in any direction. I choose to walk south to north, starting in Tewantin at Noosa North Shore, heading to Rainbow Beach.

Here are some QPWS instructions that you should take seriously if you ever consider doing this hike.

• Don’t forget your map. I always carry a topographical map when I hike. I don’t think I’ve ever had to bring it out of my bag – but I have it – just in case. My other very strong advice is to download each segment of the trail from the AllTrails app in advance. Once you have it on your phone, it can pinpoint where you are on that map, even if you don’t have internet (which is a lot of the time). DO IT! Also, get a Personal Location Beacon if you can.
• Leave your itinerary with someone – so if something does go wrong… etc, etc.
• Pack light and pack right. Once you’re in there, it is not easy to exit the trail, so make sure you have everything you need. But not too much. It’s not easy getting it right.
• Take safety seriously. This means – staying hydrated (with electrolytes). Walk carefully – especially when carrying a heavy pack. You’ll be navigating lots of fallen trees, uneven and slippery terrain, – so don’t hurry when there’s a chance you could twist an ankle or worse. There’ll be snakes (snake bandages are a must in Australia) and many other critters. You’ll be managing boiling water – a scald would not be pleasant out there, so take great care.
• The QPWS say – Never walk alone – four is a good group size. I get it. This walk is remote. And there’s a strong chance you won’t have internet just when you need it. What can I say? I know the risk and I do it anyway. That’s on me. My advice for you – if you aren’t sure, don’t do it on your own.

Another couple of extra tips from me. 

• Each campsite has a long-drop toilet. They’re totally fine – just don’t look down. You need to bring your own toilet paper because it is not supplied.
• There are rainwater tanks to refill water bottles – but you must treat the water before you drink it. You can boil, treat or filter. Up to you. I have boiled my water on other hikes. This time, I plan to treat it. 
• You’ve got to have a good portable charger. I used a 30,000 mAh charger which was ample for my needs (but weighs a hefty 700g). You need to work out what you need to keep your gadgets charged. I always have my phone on flight-mode and low-power mode to make sure it lasts the distance.
• Bring a good book. Make sure there are enough words (don’t laugh), so it will last you four long nights of reading. I’m a fast reader and have learned this the hard way.

To be frank, the website says that this is for experienced bushwalkers. I read that carefully and asked myself – do I qualify? Well, I know I can think under pressure. I have the equipment. My body is strong and healthy. I have some relevant experience – this would be my fifth solo multi-day hike (I’m not counting the Camino because there were people around).

I weighed up the pros and cons for myself.  I don’t want to hurt myself. I want to keep being able to get out there.

I checked the weather as the weekend got closer.

I’m not made of sugar, so it didn’t deter me one bit. It might have, if it was going to be cold. But we’re in early autumn and my sleeping bag is designed for sub-zero temperatures. I’ve never really tried hiking in proper rain before, so I wanted to see what that was like.

Decision made. A new experience awaited me.

Day 1. Noosa North Shore to Brahminy Walker’s Camp. 17.3km (my phone says I walked 22.4km).

I parked my car at the QPWS Great Sandy Information Centre and walked the short distance to the North Shore ferry.  My 17kg pack felt awesome on my back, and I could already feel myself relax. For me – as my joints are compressed from my shoulders to my feet, it feels like a comforting hug from above – did I mention I’m a bit nuts? Maybe it was the memories it brought back, or maybe my body simply knew I was heading somewhere good. The ferry ride is so easy. It departs every 10 minutes, and you can just pay when you walk on board. One whole dollar.

Since I hadn’t been able to get in contact with the QPWS information centre in advance, it was a pleasant surprise that the friendly ferry man gave me the information I had wanted in less than a minute.

‘Yes – there had been recent rain so the water tanks would be full.’

‘There was a single couple last week who started the walk from here.’ I guess the answer to the question of whether there were loads of people walking on the trails at the moment – was ‘no.’

‘No, there aren’t any dingos around.’ A sketchy Facebook post to the contrary had given me some trepidation. Even though I couldn’t be completely sure, I decided that his reassurance was enough for me. Mind you – I would have gone anyway.  

The entry to the Great Walk was 2km up the road from where the ferry dropped me off. I was feeling the usual delight at the beginning of yet another adventure. Sunny with a few wispy clouds overhead, the birds turned it one for my arrival. There was a gentle breeze, and I was on top of the world. The path was a bit overgrown in places, and I made some noise as I pushed through tall grass, hoping that snakes still don’t like my singing.

The path led me onto the beach, which was just delightful – exactly what I had been hoping for. A gorgeous beach curved gently around to a faraway tip. The sand was firm, for easy walking with my pack. I passed an elderly couple walking hand in hand and we tipped our heads in greeting. Several horses and their riders emerged out of the dunes, and I suspected that the world had morphed into a Disney movie. Yep, I thought to myself. This is living.

Far too soon, I was back in the dunes again and the coastal forest path led me inland and north. It was easy going and I kept stopping to take photos. There was a bit of climbing, but it was more meandering really – the path curving this way and that – giving me occasional panoramic views of the ocean on my right (it was raining out there), and Lake Cooroiba on my left. I finally stop for a rest and decide to have a bit of a stretch. Honestly – the Disney vibes were muddling my brain, and I think I was channelling some Rocky Balboa vibes at the time which made me forget that I can’t fully bend my right knee (boring ligament tear). Oh Laila! That quad stretch smarted like a slap in the face with a pointy stick.

Serves me right. I picked up my pack and started walking again, but my knee was saying ‘hello’ already – especially on the downhills. Not great on my first day. I started scanning for a stick. Not a crutch. A stick. I tried out a few, but they weren’t quite right. And then I saw it. The straightest, smoothest stick I have come across. It was light, but strong. A little long, but I couldn’t bear to break it, so I left it intact. I named it ‘Stick’ – my more than adequate spider web breaker, snake deterrent, and up-hill propeller – who also became my proxy confidant and friend.

At 2pm, I finally limped into camp – happy to have arrived. I head straight to the water tank to check – yes – lots of water in there. Check the toilet – no snakes (see my previous blog) and they weren’t joking when they said to bring your own toilet paper. I’d never seen metal food-boxes at campsites before., with a sign that animals are likely to break into your tent if you don’t store it securetly. That was new.

I laid claim to a site some 20 metres from the toilet block and quickly set up my tent. The sun was shining and I got the water boiling for a coffee. My new book was finally in my hand. Not half an hour has passed since I arrived, and I felt a drop of water on my neck. I kid you not, but within 10 seconds, it was like a swimming pool had appeared above me, its floor removed and its contents delivered straight down. An instant torrent of water that had me saturated by the time I pitched all my belongings into the tent and threw myself in after it – muddy boots and all.

Within the space of a minute, I had gone from super organized, clean and tidy, with I’m-so-good-energy to ‘WTF-energy’. It was so sudden I started to laugh. I think I was constantly wet from that point onwards.

* Please don’t be confused by my photos – which were almost all taken when the sun came out. I’m obviously not a photographer and rainy photos aren’t that easy to take when trying to keep my phone dry. For the first two days, the mornings were actually sunny and lovely, but by early afternoon, it rained. After that, it was very sporadic during the day. Honestly, it would be sunny and glorious one minute – and the next, I was caught completely by surprise as I fumbled around for my poncho. By the last day, I just had my poncho in position slung over my pack all the time, ready to put my arms through in record time. It rained every night.

By that stage, I’d resigned myself to a night on my own, but later  – perhaps around 4pm when the rain was particularly torrential, I thought I could hear something that didn’t sound like nature. At the first lull in the deluge, I came out of the tent for a toilet break and decided to do a quick scan to see if there was another human around. Surprised, there was a tent not 15 metres from me – and movement. This turned out to be Bruce, who was on his last day, having walked north to south. We only chatted briefly as he was trying to deal with all his wet gear and I wished him well. I walked around a bit more – saw a beautiful rainbow and as I was putting my phone away, the rain started again and undid any drying I had achieved over the last two hours. Much later, I heard voices – one was female – and I went to sleep knowing there were people around. It rained pretty much all night, stopping mercifully at dawn.

Day 2. Brahminy Walker’s Camp to Dutgee Walker’s Camp 20.3 km (I walked 24.2km)

I woke early – as is my usual way when hiking, having a sense of urgency that I want to get going as soon as possible. My default mode is – get the mission done, then you can relax.

A woman’s voice called out a greeting as I was packing up, and I chatted to the young woman (possibly mid-twenties) who’d arrived late in camp the night before. She and her boyfriend had planned to walk the full five days, but they were going to turn back. She was finding it very hard going to walk with a pack. And she was worried about the weather.

So, it was just me (and Stick) going onwards (Bruce was heading south). I wanted to get going and my (pathological) sense of urgency had me stuffing my breakfast into my mouth faster than I could chew so my cheeks were stuffed like a chipmunk as I started walking. My knee felt completely fine, and I felt strong. Let’s go!

The morning’s walk reminded me of the Great Ocean Walk in Victoria. It was also sunny with a slight breeze, and I loved it. Elevated coastal paths with panoramic views of the ocean – with everchanging flora. Such a delight for the senses.

One minute it was sandy trails and coastal plants, the next – rainforest with their intriguing but strangely frightening strangler figs, sometimes encasing ghosts of their former hosts. Those strangler figs kept me weirdly entranced on this trek, and I had to stop myself taking too many photos of them, for fear of draining my phone battery.

By early afternoon, it started to rain again, but my trusty poncho kept me (at least the top half), and my pack pretty dry. The path led me to the Cooloola Sandpatch. There was an official sign with instructions on how to cross this natural phenomenon safely, that would give anyone pause. It seemed that crossing it was more serious that I had anticipated. I must ‘study the topographic map to get my bearings and set my compass to magnetic bearing 340 degrees’. I didn’t have a compass, but I had my AllTrails map downloaded, so I would just follow that. Turning it on, I realized I had no internet – so for some reason (as I hadn’t used the map at all so far that day) I couldn’t open the map right then and there. I’m not sure if I’d just had a technical glitch but going forward it made me more aware to open up my downloaded map early each day – before I needed it – not when I needed it.

Without a compass or a map, I got my bearings and started walking. I was delighted to see that Bruce had left some footprints behind the day before which looked to be heading in the right direction. Those footprints disappeared after just a few metres – as the wind and rain on the more exposed parts had wiped them all away, but they gave me confidence to start.

Regardless of any of my mild trepidation, it was a hoot crossing that sandpatch. Such fun! The wind blew a gale, but the sand was wet, so it stayed landlocked. Once I reached the middle of that desert – I stopped and basked (yes, I basked) in the immense gratitude of witnessing nature’s finest on show – exhilarating, noisy, life-affirming wind. For all I knew, I could have been the only one left alive on the planet. I spun myself in circles like an overpacked, wind-drunk, crazy person, until the whole desert titled.

Reaching the other side at last, I sobered up, and diligently followed the instructions – keep the forest on your right and the sand on your left till you see the sign that directs you to turn into the forest. I did that for a long time and did NOT see a sign – but thankfully, after what seemed too long, I saw footprints. There was a sign, but it was not easy to see if you were not already inside the forest. Anyway, I was back on the trail and continued on my merry way, invigorated by my windy adventure. I ate some food on the go, finding no need to sit down at any time during that day. The trail led me away from the coast – and I wouldn’t see the ocean again until the end of day five.

Out of the blue, a man came flying down the trail. He was completing the trail in 3 days, skipping the 1^st and 3^rd campsites. Respect!!! Turns out he had recently completed the Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc (UTMB), a 174km mountain ultramarathon, so he knew that was able to cover long distances. He looked like there was barely anything in his pack. We chatted for a short while and he hurried on. The last 8km of this day felt very easy going. The path led gently downhill or flat, and I followed the Noosa River for the last few kms till I turned into Dutgee’s Walkers’ Camp.

There were campsites near the beautiful river, but I didn’t want to be too far from the bushtoilet/water (something about the sturdiness of the structure that made me feel safe I think). I nestled my tent into a very cosy spot and had time to give myself and the clothes I had worn for two days already, a bit of a wash. I strung up some rope and hung up my laundry. I sat near the river and wrote in my diary for a while, but the rain started again and I ran back to pull my still-soaked laundry into the tent. At this point, I realized my terrible mistake. Now I didn’t just have dirty laundry – I had waterlogged clothes that I doubted I would be able to get dry. (Spoiler alert – I didn’t. I had to carry them the whole rest of the way like that).

I did get out of my tent for a short reprieve a little later and saw the sun setting over the river which was gob-smackingly beautiful – but then headed back into my tent to hide from the mossies, and – yep – more rain.

Day 3:  Dutgee’s Walkers’ Camp to Litoria Walkers Camp. 14.8m. I walked 17.9km)

Today was supposed to be an easier (shorter) day – but while it was shorter, it certainly wasn’t easier. I woke up to a totally soaked tent, and my laundry was still sopping wet. The sandy path had a small stream in its middle, but I could avoid getting my feet wet by walking through short foliage as I zigzagged along it. That was until I had to give up trying to keep my boots dry.

This continued for a long time. I kept telling myself that this is what I signed up for. I wanted to get uncomfortable – right? I was certainly having all my wishes come true today. My drenched tent and wet laundry made my already heavy pack, much heavier. Now my shoes were squelching as well. My collar bones were screaming under too much weight. Can I just say that I know how to adjust my backpack straps to move the weight onto my hip belt – but I simply could not shift it that day. The weight stayed on my shoulders no matter what I tried – and I felt like my collarbones were literally about to snap.

Sometimes when I’m doing things like this – when I’m suffering a bit – the obvious question surfaces: why in the world am I doing this – it’s bloody hard. And then my brain responds logically – because you’re nuts. And I nod earnestly in confirmation.

Seriously though – I do know that what I’m doing isn’t that big a deal. There are many men and women doing longer, harder way more gnarly hikes for months on end. This would be considered a breeze to them. I get it. But hey – I’m pushing my limits and maybe that counts for something.

I was overjoyed to finally see camp. I couldn’t really remember much of that day as I was so focused on trying to ease the weight off my shoulders. I’m pretty sure the whole day provided different variations of forest, with a couple of big climbs in there. I’m glad I took some photos along the way to remember it by. It was raining cats and dogs as I walked into camp. I didn’t want to start putting my tent up in the rain, so I made a little nest just inside the open door of the bush toilet. I even laid out my laundry on the floor, on my until-then dry microfibre towel – hoping that at least a little evaporation might occur. Inch by inch, I was forced to retreat further into the toilet, eventually having to close the door as the rain came in sideways. Sitting in the bushtoilet -in the dark now with my torch – I wrote this in my journal – It’s not fun. But it is pretty funny. I’m looking at the trees above the spot where I’ll have to put up my tent. I’m not really pleased with them being there. But I don’t think that if one of the branches were to fall off it would be life-ending. I don’t have much choice, so I’ll hope for the best. I’m happy.

I stayed in that toilet for a long time – many mosquitos keeping me company.

Much later, I was sitting cross-legged inside my tent (having wiped up a big puddle of water I’d been carrying around all day) – trying to gather some Zen – when I heard footsteps. I stuck my head out, and a woman (possibly early 30’s) was walking towards me. As articulate as always, I said ‘Wow – a person!’ in greeting.

It was drizzling and I had my last pair of dry socks on – so I excused myself for not getting out of my tent – which she seemed to take in good stride as she proceeded put up her own tent within arms’-reach of mine. To be honest – I was happy with that, after my rough day. Another solo woman! We would have some amazing things to talk about. She was from Europe on a sabbatical to do some travelling. She’d just walked part of the Overland track in New Zealand and had previously trekked all over Europe. She said that she’d heard from the QPWS that I was out here (how did they know that?) and was hoping she would run into me. She said that when she’d booked this trip, all the campsites had nearly been booked out – but in reality she had also been alone the whole time as well. Seems the weather was turning people away.

She also said that she would exit the trail tomorrow. Apparently she’d noticed there was a fire-trail that she could follow for 10km out to a main road from which she planned to hitchhike. She wasn’t really enjoying it. It started to rain so hard then – that she also hid inside her tent, and it wasn’t until much later, when the rain became a dull roar, that we were able to talk again, both of us inside our tents in the dark – like girls on a sleepover – or adjoining cellmates.

Day 4. Litoria Walkers Camp to Kauri Walkers’ Camp. 20.5km. (I walked 22.5km)

It turns out that having someone watch me pack up my campsite– especially if they are standing with their arms crossed (admittedly, there wasn’t anything dry to sit on) – is not one of my favourite things. Especially if they are giving me advice – albeit well-intentioned – as I try to squeeze my belongings into my backpack, like too much filling inside a sausage. ‘Your pack is not big enough – it’s also too heavy. The fabric is wrong. I’ll get you what you should get.’ I dutifully write down the brand and size of the ideal backpack. ‘Your tent is also too heavy’. I mean – I knew that already. 3.2kg to her 1.8kg is a certain loser in any competition of tent levity. I write down the correct tent I should buy. And so it goes on.

As we finally wish each other well, and I start walking in the direction she came from, I can’t help but reflect that I’m a bit bothered.  I mean – she was nice and just trying to be helpful. I remember a boyfriend once told me – “Laila, you really don’t like being told what to do – do you?” No. No, I don’t. But it’s not just that. It’s a logic mismatch. I may not have the best equipment or skills or knowledge. I may not be the fittest, fastest or strongest. I may even be a hot stinky mess out here. But guess who is still walking – and guess who is exiting the trails? One thing I do have – and this is the one of the things I’m most grateful that my forefathers passed down in my wonky genes – is grit. That counts for something.

That mood passed quickly. For the first 15km of the day at least, I was skipping along the trail like a forest sprite –a fairy-like spirit wearing unwashed socks, a blue poncho, a lopsided tent perched atop her shoulders, and a goofy smile. The forest seemed to have no end. Deciduous forest for the first half of the day – breaking suddenly into rain forest for the second. Up, down, left and right the path veered. Dancing over fallen trees and avoiding dangling vines like a first-rate boxer. The trees impressed me constantly. I paused often, putting my hand on their trunks to see if I could feel them (or could they feel me?), putting my ear against their solid coolness.

Being totally immersed within a tall forest for days is something everyone should try at least once. It makes you feel predictably insignificant but at the same time, important – a passing observer who might just be rendering a segment of the forest into reality, for a brief moment.

I thought about a lot of things. A forest fire had come through in recent times. The undergrowth was recovering. A thought came unbidden – ‘who will win?’ Out of all the new growth coming through, which of the sprouted seeds would surpass the others and stand tall to become a tree – and which would wither and return to the earth – their potential unseen. Like people. I also thought of how unafraid I was. I suspected that I was truly miles and miles away from any other person. I had no internet or any way to communicate. I was in my element.

I wondered which of these is true: Is it people we should be afraid of – or is it no-people? I keep forgetting. Why don’t we try to stop being so afraid all the time. And if we are afraid – face the fear. Be afraid sometimes. Scare yourself a little. That’s where life gets real.

I was in fact, not becoming delusional with all of these thoughts. In fact, I was starting to come back to myself.

That night, I sat in my tent and wrote the following: Sitting in my tent right now, is a feat that engages all of my core muscles. I’ve placed it on the flattest part of the campground I could find. It still slopes a cool 10 degrees (pure guesswork as I didn’t bring my protractor) in two directions, so that I can’t sit cross-legged because if I do, then I slide down the vinyl floor. Both feet flat on the ground act as a brake. Sleeping on this slope tonight will be interesting. The forest around me is so alive. The sounds are an ever-changing symphony with no sheet music, but all the players know when to come in. The wind roars from afar, approaching through the canopy like a locomotive a mile wide. The wave passes overhead but doesn’t touch the mere mortals on the first (autocorrected here from ‘forest’ – I like it) floor.

Before I laid down to sleep, I made myself a cup of pumpkin soup to warm up. I ate one delicious, steaming spoonful at a time. Nothing else to think about. Nothing else to do. Just blowing steam off the top – slurping and swallowing.  My attention was purely on that delectable MSG, orange-flavoured cup of pure presence. Best cup of soup I have ever had.

Day 5. Kauri Walkers’ Camp to Carlo Carpark (15.2km + 2km to the bus stop) (I walked 19.1km)

From this day forward, I will always sacrifice prime real estate (i.e., with unimpeded view of the bush toilet) for a level surface. I don’t know how many times I woke up to find that I had slid downhill and had to commando crawl my way back up to where I started. Don’t get me started on how difficult it is to avoid rolling off a narrow mattress, when the hill slopes sideways too.

I started the day in the dark, long before the dawn. In the forest, when there is cloud cover and the trees are tall around you, the darkness is complete. There is no difference between having your eyes open or closed. I’d planned my exit strategy with military precision. My pack was as pre-packed as I humanly possibly, only leaving out the things I absolutely needed to use. Water had been treated the day before, some already in a cup with coffee granules – to be drunk cold to avoid an inevitable caffeine withdrawal headache, rather than for pleasure. I managed to get going by 5.45am. Still dark. Initially, it felt a little unnerving as it was my first time hiking in the dark (in Australia at least) by myself. Of course it was totally fine.

I had been stressing about this last day. My trip back to my car involved catching a Greyhound bus within the town of Rainbow Beach – at 12.25pm. The bus stop was 2km from the trail exit. I’d been thinking about this deadline way more than I liked, as I walked each day – wondering how in the world I was going to cover 17+km and still make the bus on time. Hence the early start. But I knew that even an early start might not be enough. I knew I’d need to go fast. So I walked as fast as my legs could carry me. I even ran some of the time – even uphill. It truly surprised me that I could do that with my pack. Four constant days of walking, and I was so much fitter and stronger already.

As I was passing Poona Lake, I rounded a corner and almost crashed into a little tent pitched just off the path. A young man (as exquisitely beautiful as only French men can be) was standing there as stunned as me, holding a cup of something steaming in his hands. We greeted each other and had a short conversation – “Wasn’t it a nice day?” – etc, before I said something about having a bus to catch. He must have thought I was totally bonkers.

I still had a long way to go. Another sandblast near the trail exit offered some excitement and I took an opportune moment, when the sun came out for a brief visit, to catch my shadow. I don’t know about anyone else, but I saw a mighty wizard with a cape and a staff staring back at me.

When I emerged from the forest – I realized it was only 9am! I’d walked 15km and it was only 9am! I couldn’t believe it. I thought maybe I’d forgotten a time zone change or something like that – but no. So apparently, I HAD been dawdling on those other days where I thought I was making good time.

As I was about to leave the carpark, I realized that I would probably look a little odd walking around Rainbow Beach with a long staff (I mean stick). I sadly bid goodbye to Stick – (imagine Tom Hank calling out sweet nothings to Wilson as he drifts off – forever gone). I can only hope that Stick is picked up by some other lucky hiker, and gets another turn on the trail. He was (is) a good stick.   

A short walk through the lovely town of Rainbow Beach. I had so much extra time that now, I dawdled properly. I passed a caravan park and saw a lady on a deck chair talking to a passer-by. There were two huge banners in front of the campsite. One was of a respectful image of a soldier, head bowed in recognition of Anzac Day that had passed while I was in the forest. The other sign had a picture of a glass of bubbly and said – “It’s 5 O’clock somewhere”. Oh – Australia! I thought.

I located the bus stop for my future self, but my present self was suddenly hungry. As I was stuffing my face at a café, a man in a paramedic’s uniform noticed my bag – then looked at me – and said, ‘Are you about to do the Cooloola Great Walk?’ Bless his absolutely innocent cotton socks in thinking that I might look fresh enough to be on the starting side of this walk. Little did he know about the bag of wet – possibly now toxic – bag of laundry, just inches from his right foot. We talked for a while – he was planning to do the walk himself, just never got around to it.

Tummy full, I was early at the bus stop. The bus arrived a little early too. The bus driver came out to meet me and check my name off. Then he said, ‘I really feel like some chocolate liquorice.’ I replied, ‘Well that’s understandable – chocolate liquorice is nice.’ To which he added – do you mind getting me some – just at the Shell station. I’ll wait for you,’ he adds, with my backpack already on board.

‘No problemo’, says me, and I sprint off without my bag, feeling as light as a darn feather. Half a km later – I hand over the sugary treats to a very delighted, recently separated (it turns out) bus driver who proceeds to talk to me at every opportunity for the 2.5-hour drive to Noosa. The drive itself is delightful. I have a chair with a back on it that requires no core strength to sit upright. I am dry and I can look at the view zooming past on the horizon with no effort at all. I find it almost difficult to believe that just few hours ago, I was walking in those forests between the road and the sea. The driver seems a little sad when he waves goodbye to me at my drop off.

This commute is followed by an Uber drive to my car (10km away) at Noosa North Shore, and then I drive 3.5 hours. Dark and rainy when I finally get home, my son has dinner ready. I have a much needed shower first – and then we settle in to watch our favourite Top Gear Special (the Bolivia one of course) before I get into my soft, clean bed.

Boy oh boy, did I appreciate being comfortable.  

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For anyone who read this far – I’m impressed by your commitment. And thank you.

If you can stand a little more Laila-musings, here are some final thoughts.

What did I wish I’d brought but didn’t: My headlight for packing up my tent in the dark. It’s hard to do one handed while juggling a torch. Also – possibly my hiking poles. (No offence to Stick).

What do I wish I hadn’t brought: So much food. I brought enough for 4.5 days. I forgot that I rarely feel hungry when I hike, so ate only half of it. I had essentially piggy-backed two dehydrated dinners and a bunch of snacks on a 106km journey through the forest for free.

Equipment that needs replacing: My beloved Merrell hiking boots. I worked out that I’ve walked about  2500km in them. They started failing me on day 4, giving me symmetrical hot spots under the balls of my feet where I have never had them before. I’m going to get the same boots again. They were SO good.

What I have learned:

• Don’t put your tent on a slope – ever
• Don’t do laundry on trail, when there is even the slightest chance of rain
• Have a sense of humour when you’re stuck in a bush toilet with rain coming in sideways
• Keep one pair of socks dry – no matter what

Happy Hiking Everyone!!

On another note: I hate to ask this, but if you did enjoy following along on this, or any of my other slightly crazy journeys, I would be ever so grateful if you subscribed, left a comment or gave it a like. It would help me a lot.

You see, I love writing. I write a lot. In fact, I am trying to get my novel published – a trilogy, if I’m being precise – and potential publishers rather like it, when it appears that people enjoy what you write. Funny that. Even though I can see that this site has had more than 30,000 reads, no-one else can see that. So a visible little sign of support would mean a great deal.

In 2019, I wrote a young adult fiction novel called ‘Suletu’. I was overjoyed when it was accepted by a publisher, and I had the privilege of working with a fabulous developmental editor on the manuscript for over a year. During that time, the original story became two books – and then I wrote a third to complete the trilogy.

Sadly, at the end of 2024, I asked for my manuscript rights to be returned when it became clear that the publishing side of the publishing company’s contract was unlikely to go anywhere.

My great wish is still to see ‘Suletu’ in print. This is a story that means a great deal to me. It came from my heart – long before AI became a legitimate presence in the writing world.

If you’re interested, here is the story pitch: Sixteen-year-old Suletu learns she can fly at the exact moment she realises no one is coming to save her. Set against a backdrop of political unrest and a fractured family, this character-driven YA fantasy explores what happens when escaping gravity is easier than escaping a cruel mother and a broken home.

Who knows, someone might know someone… Sometimes you just have to try.

If you have any ideas or leads… I’d be very grateful.