I’ve been so busy with uni and Dragon Bones that I’d forgotten how much of a refuge the Australian bush has been for me. I was reminded last weekend when I went hiking with my brother. We’ve grown closer since he started travelling, but we haven’t spent much time together so he suggested a camping trip. He meant driving somewhere nice and putting up a tent, but I prefer to carry my gear into an isolated spot. We compromised by walking to Perch Ponds, only a couple of hours from Springwood in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney.
We stopped at the mountain town to buy some food, split up the load and stepped into the greenery. When hiking in Japan, Peru, France and Bhutan I needed at least a few days – it took me the whole of the first day to leave the distractions of the city behind. In contrast, I could feel thoughts of work, study and writing slipping away even with my first steps into the Australian bush. Perhaps it was the smell of the gum trees or the colour of their leaves in the sunlight. We chatted as we walked, jumping from topic to topic, stopping to admire the occasional pond or waterfall and picking up where we’d left off after long silences.
Perch Ponds was almost as I remembered it from years before. The creek we’d been following became a delta, splitting to flow around and between rocks and trees before joining the river at the Ponds. Recent rains had swollen the river to murky rapids. Otherwise the site was just as I remembered. We decided to test the water for a swim, but the current almost pulled me off when I sat on a submerged rock at the edge. Then thunder rumbled ominously putting an end to the idea of swimming. We quickly put up my expensive new dome tent on a dirt patch above the river junction and I fondly remembered the $20 A-frame I’d used on previous trips to this spot. My friends and I had often come down here in the dark on a Friday night and used Perch Ponds as a launching pad for longer trips. I’d been able to put up my cheap tent faster than the others put up their modern dome tents and I stayed dryer. Sadly, that tent had disintegrated years before, but I love my new tent as much.
We lay under its blue canopy through the storm, each lost in our own thoughts. I find the sound of rain on a tent fly even more comforting than on a tin roof and I soon drifted off. When the rain stopped, we emerged to find the ground sodden, but the air warm and still. I set some rice and dried vegetables to soak while Brady scouted the area for Perch just in case the Ponds’ namesakes were still in residence. Just as he got back, unsuccessful, a group of men trudged into camp, sat down on the wet log we’d been using as a seat and began pouring water out of their boots. They were locals who’d bushbashed their way into the next valley, then had to walk through the chest-deep river to get back again. These were men of different age and occupation, but camaraderie is immediate among hikers and we were soon talking about the joys of walking in the area.
When they set off for warm showers and their own beds, Brady and I began cooking sausages over a gas burner. Food never tastes as good as it does at the end of a day in the bush and this simple meal was no exception, improved as it was by the company. The light faded quickly once the sun had set so we turned in early. I lay on my sleeping bag, looking out through the open door and fly, finding shapes in the clouds, then in silhouettes of the trees. I was already looking forward to walking to a favourite lookout the next morning to watch the sun creep into the valley. As I fell asleep, my last thought was that I’d have to do more of this.