Why do I hike?
I hike for the view of the night sky from our tent—watching it shift and soften into pink and indigo behind ancient pencil pines, while my girlfriend scoops ramen from a tiny pot.
I hike for the quiet intimacy of red head-torch light, the rustle of sleeping mats as Amy snuggles into me, her beanie lopsided, our hands finding warmth beneath fleece and puffer layers. I hike for the beauty of a swarm of bugs dancing in the air, and the comedy of a possum trying to steal our snacks in the dark.
Last night, Ames patrolled the tent with a trekking pole, smearing Deep Heat along the outside to deter our curious visitor. We laughed as the possum stole a cookie, then quietly packed the rest of our food into dry bags and tucked it between our feet for the night, just in case.
This morning, the world is frosted. The outside of the platform glitters with ice. We’re summiting two mountains today—short side trips by comparison, nothing like Mount Ossa. We’re expecting a cruisier day than the Overland. Time will tell.
The sky is painting itself again—threads of pink, blue, and orange behind the silhouetted ridgelines. I hike because I get to witness these quiet marvels, even on a cold dawn toilet run in socks and thongs.
29.03.24 — Walls Hike, Day 3
Now, I’m sitting atop Mount Jerusalem, resting against a sun-warmed rock, shielded from the wind. Lakes glisten below. Out here, it’s easy to imagine never returning—just staying, getting lost in the rhythm and simplicity.
Later, Ames walks through the pencil pine forest, twirling her trekking pole. Sunlight dances across her bandana and tattoos. There’s a braid in her hair, and I feel completely at peace. My mind is quieter today.
This morning, a kind couple invited us to sit on their platform and chat in the sun. The ranger shared a wild story about someone who dropped their phone in a long drop toilet on the Larapinta Trail—retrieved it with help, then had to be hosed off with a drink bottle. Worst part? The phone was beyond saving.
Yesterday was slow and magical. We wandered the trails and visited Beth’s Pools—a place so tranquil, it felt biblical. We chatted with a veteran and his dog, Lenny, who’s probably done more hikes than me. Ames and I summited ‘The Temple’ and later saw the man cuddling Lenny on the mountaintop. It filled her heart, she said. She feels so deeply—always attuned to others’ emotions.
We also climbed Solomon’s Throne. I remember how the sun warmed my palms as I clambered up the cool rocks in the shade. At the top, we peed behind some boulders, giggling. Ames snapped a cheeky photo of me. The view was endless—thousands of glittering lakes stretching in all directions. The currawong calls echoed through the valleys below.
But my favourite moment came later, lying in the tent with Amy, the door open, the air warm. We took off our shirts to cool down, and she rested her head on my chest. Later, she lay on top of me, gently popping my blackheads—something she loves and I tolerate, but somehow, it felt full of care and connection. As her fingers touched my face, I saw swirling blues, greens, and purples behind my eyelids. Being with her feels spiritual—her love softens me and teaches me how to love myself, too.
We spotted a native bee with a black head, red torso, and electric blue wings. Heard a quoll in the night. The moon lit up the tent like a lantern.
30.03.2024 — Walls Hike, Day 4
Thank you to Lisa and Greg, who opened their hearts and home to us. Your generosity means so much.
I choose to carry my spiritual practice with me—every day is sacred. I connect to the higher, to my breath, to the earth. I am always enough.
This morning, I did root chakra breathwork and chanted the Hare Krishna mantra. I am valuable, grounded, loving, and whole.
I meditated by the lake, sun on my skin, the chorus of birds, crickets, and flies around me. Life isn’t on hold—it’s happening, and I choose to be present. I’m proud of the person I am becoming.
Yesterday, Amy and I dipped into Lake Ball. The cold shocked us into full aliveness. Afterwards, the sun felt richer, the colours more vivid. We wandered off track for a bit—through a creek, along a lake, past fallen white trees and cushion plant meadows. It felt enchanted.
The trail was whimsical—like walking through a fairy tale. That night, I finished my dinner even though Ames didn’t finish hers—a quiet but significant win for me. I felt binge urges, but I didn’t act on them. I was proud.
Life is unfolding, and I’m here for it. Thoughts are just suggestions. Now I’m off to dunk my face in the lake and exfoliate with our leftover coffee grounds from breakfast. Bush skincare at its finest.
