Shiver-me-timbers

Land of the Giants

I’m flabbergasted.

For days now we’ve been hiking through vast tracts of some of the most magnificent trees my eyes have ever gratefully witnessed, and my wonder-filled hands have ever set upon. Without a twig of a doubt, this incredible place is home to some  of the greatest, most awe-inspiring trees in this whole, vast  continent.

Minute after minute we pass more ancient giants, each unique in its own way, all of them sacred to the Noongar people, the traditional owners of this place. Many of these trees were already beginning to tower above these forests when Dutch sailors first saw them from their wooden schooners in the early 1600s.

Breathtakingly tall white karris rocket out from the earth, their light brown flaky bark littering the forest for metres around their base, creating their own unique mini-ecosystems.

Huge jarrah and marri trees are everywhere, their hard textured bark making beautiful patterns as we stroll past, gobsmacked.

And then, of course, there’s the megastars of this place, the red tingle trees. Not only are they massively tall, and stunningly beautiful, but their huge buttressed bases are nature’s brilliant final touch, the scale and magnificence of which makes them stand out as truly great works of sculptured art.

See Miranda down there? This tree is estimated to be over 400 years old. It’s girth is around 25 metres. 25 metres!

That means that around 50 Mirandas could stand shoulder-to-shoulder around it.

50 Mirandas! Wow.

That’s actually a bit scary.

I just wondered what it would be like to hike with 50 Mirandas, instead of just one.

Well …. I guess I’d only have to cook half of one dinner for the whole 4 weeks of hiking, that’d be pretty cool. Plus there’d be no annoying water to wade through because all of their clothes and backpacks would’ve soaked it up when they all fell in one by one. (I’d just make sure I was at the back).

But I also have a slight inclination that it might be a little hard to get a word in, which, for me, would be quite traumatic.

Just jokin Miranda, I don’t mean it, I really don’t  (🤞behind my back + legs nonchalantly crossed).

I’ll pay for that comment. I know I will.

Yeah anyway, compared to all the other neck-breakingly tall and fat-but-dead-straight trees around here, the hugely wide buttressed bases of the red tingles are completely unique in these parts. They’re sorta like the Clive Palmers of the SW old growth forest.

Aww shit. I’m sorry. I really apologise for destroying the vibe. I shouldn’t have mentioned that guy in the same breath-phrase as these magnificent trees.

Differences between a red tingle tree and Clive PalmOil:

Red tingle tree

Stands in the forest

Lives in a symbiotic relationship with many species around it

Wide hollow girth

A sight to behold

Clive PalmOil

Stands for parliament

Rips off his workers, blatantly lies to the Australian people, dodges tax

Wide girth, full of bile, that periodically erupts from a mouth-crater near the silver crown

Torturously hard to watch.

Please don’t tell Clive that an alleged blogger, me, allegedly made these allegations about him, allegedly.

He’ll sue me otherwise. He sues a lot of people, unallegedly.

Btw did you know that PalmOil sued the WA government for introducing Covid border restrictions because it affected his mining business, even though a huge 92% of Sandgropers supported the restrictions? He lost the case.

And did you also know that Scomo used federal taxpayers’ money to initially support PalmOil’s legal case, some of which came from WA taxpayers?

And did you also also know that Scomo got absolutely caned in WA last election?

I think that’s what’s called political dumbfuckery, or am I missing something?

I smell a dog

I smell a rat

I smell.

Unposed action shot of me before an important game of quidditch.

The track really helps me to get out of my head.

It also seems to be working for Franceskenstein:

I felt a bit guilty putting in my 74 tent pegs and digging a rain trench around my tent on this beautiful flat campsite we passed.

Metal in-plants:

Cauliflower fungus

Me just after I dematerialised. This time I quickly zipped off to Varanasi for some fresh samosas, I’d been really craving them.

Burl-esque.

When insects, mites, bacteria or funghi attack a tree, it responds by producing growth hormones, and the tree forms a protective scab around the area, called a burl. Clever aren’t they.

Live stream

The Bibbulman Track, the long distance track we’re currently hiking, was named after the Bibbulman Noongar people, and recognises their practice of walking long distances for ceremonial purposes.

Flower-eyed rainbow serpent

Well, Miranda and I are, somehow, miraculously, already nearly halfway through our 335,000m hike. And shiver-me-timbers, speaking of miracles, I keep seeing them all over the place.

This mossivore was crawling off looking for something to eat.

Ah! Got one!

Hat party

Taken during my morning levitation

Ant home

We’re out of the forest for the time being, and have walked to the coast again. I’m at the campsite, it’s early afternoon, and there’s sweet nothing to do. I love it so much.

I thought Miranda had died of inactivity. But then she got up.

I’ve read 3 whole books on this hike already, two by local WA author Tim Winton, Dirt Music and The Shepherd’s Hut, and a book called A Passage North by a Sri Lankan writer, Anuk Arudpragasam.

They’ve all been amazing, but I wish The Shepherd’s Hut went on a bit longer, I loved it and really didn’t want it to end when it did.

You know those books you can get where you can choose your own scenarios, and the plot goes in different directions based on your choices? I so wish The Shepherd’s Hut had that option at the end.

So, looks like it’s time to play a little literary game! How exciting!

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[Theme music, “Roll Out the Barrel” German ooompah style]

[Voiceover]

Und now, direkt from our studio in Dickidorf, in ze heart of Schwabenland, Tschermany, and brought to you by our 2 zuper cool sponsors, Death Parfum, (ze next corpsey fragrance for ze next necs’ necks), und ze new WeeDoubleU wan, (ve’ll krap in your ear to get your zmellybums on our zeats), it’s time for…

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

ZE PLOT SICKENS!!

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[Audience applause, cheering, cowbells ringing]

Und now, let’s velcome our hosts, Hansy und Futsy!

[Applause, wild cheering, wolf-whistling in German]

Hansy: Yor yor yor, zor gut to zee you Futsy, schatzli, wow, zat was one hell of a veekend in ze spa togezzer at Baden Baden, you kleine devil you

Futsy: Shhhht! Futsy!!!! Ve are on air, you dumkopf!

Hansy: Ooooh scheisse, I mean, yor yor yor, it was ganz gut you could go to ze spa togezzer mit your Herr, mein gut freund Rrrollf, ja zuch a nice person he is, und bik und schtrong too, he von ze Dickidorf treecutting championships mit his very sharp saw, und ja, I’m very glad you could spa avay mit him. Let’s hear it for Rrrolllf:

[Applause, cow bells, one handsaw RrrrolllfHarrising]

Futsy: Zo, each veek on Ze Plot Sickens, vee tell you ze whole plot of our speshel book, und zen our contestant gets to choose vat happens next! Ja!!

Und zis veek’s book is Ze Shepherd’s Hut!

[Applause, someone accidentally farts, says ooopla!)

Hansy: Und now, it’s time to velcome our contestant, Brooos, von up Nord in Denmark!

Bruce: Straylia!

Hansy: Vas?

Bruce: I’m from bloody Straylia ya noong, not from bloody Europe.

Denmark, Western Australia, not the fucken country Denmark ya goose!

And it’s Bruce, not fucken Broooos, I’ll give you a fucken bruise if ya keep that shit up.

Hansy: Orrrr, yor yor yor, ok, zere must’ve been a little mishymushy mixup zere, anyvay, errr, guest, vould you like to read ze plot of our speshle book for zis veek?

Bruce: Well righto then. Me new girl Lotti, she’s German, told me just to read it out without stoppin, and said I gotta make sure I don’t fucken swear cos it’s a live coverage and all, just like the cricket and that Anzac Day thingy.

Yeah, just quickly, I met Lotti at the butcher’s in the village the other day, her dad, the butcher, introduced her to me. When I ordered me beef rissoles, I said “I’ll ‘ave 4 rissoles with the Lotti! Haha! Get it?! With the Lotti! She smiled at me, I was bloody shocked, back in Denmark the chicks would’ve just flipped the bird at me if I’d a said somethin stupid like that. But she bloody liked it!

Futsy: Oooh, you’re quite ze cutey Broosieboy!

Hansy: Tschhh! Stop it Futsy. Now guest, pleez, pleez read ze plot.

Bruce: Righto. Well this is The Actual Plot of A Shepherd’s Hut:

Seventeen year old rough-as-buffalo-guts Jaxie is madly in love with his first cousin Lee. They get each other. One Christmas day Jaxie’s dad finds Lee giving Jaxie a blow job out in the paddock, and proceeds to smash Jaxie’s lights out, which he does quite often anyway, because he is, in poetic terms, a violent alcoholic nasty fucking motherfucker cunt.*

*Look what my phone just did

Jaxie and Lee are banned from seeing each other.

Soon after, as it turns out, Jaxie’s bastard dad accidentally kills himself, when his car jack, which is holding up the car he’s working underneath, slips out, and the car falls on his stupid stinky head, making it decidedly redder than it already was. I think that’s what’s called fucken karma.

Everyone in town knows Jaxie hates his prick of a dad, and Jaxie assumes he’ll be accused of his murder. So, in a panic, he goes bush, not really thinking through what he might need out there.

After a few days, and close to death himself, Jaxie chances upon an old Irishman in a shepherd’s hut, who gives him water, feeds him and brings him back to health. They help each other.

Later Jaxie accidentally discovers a massive hydroponic weed factory nearby, gets discovered, and then watches the old Irishman get tortured and killed by 2 drug thugs, as a result of Jaxie’s own stupidity. Jaxie ends up killing both thugs in revenge.

The last scene of the actual book (and the first), is Jaxie screaming down the highway in a stolen car, with a massive wad of cash and a shotgun, on a mission to collect Lee, the love of his life, who has been on his mind constantly for the whole story.

Hansy: Zank you zank you zank you! Now Broos

Futsy: Vy don’t you call him Broosieboy Hansy, he likes zat

Hansy: Yor yor, vatever. And vy you pay him zo much attention anyvay Futsy, hmmm?

Now ok, Broosieboy, you can choose from ze following 3 options to continue ze schtoryline.

Futsy: Ooooh Broosieboy, you could vin somezing!

Hansy: Tschhhh Futsy! Put a lederhosen in it! Broosieboy, here are your options:

Option 1:

Jaxie gets to Lee’s place und she’s vaiting for him.

Option 2:

Jaxie gets to Lee’s place und she’s not zere.

Option 3:

Jaxie doesn’t make it to Lee’s place.

Futsy: Ok, Broosieboy, vich von vill you choose?  Vy not go for option 1, true love is pozzible after all, isn’t it schatzli?

Bruce: yeah well orright, wtf I don’t really care, I’ll go with that one

Hansy:  Yor yor yor, good choice Broosieboy!

Und now please open ze envelope to find out vat happens next:

Bruce: Right, this is the Option 1 Storyline:

Lee’s there waiting for Jaxie.

Lee is ecstatically happy to see Jaxie. She knew he was coming cos she gets him. They change their names to Steve and Debbie and move to Tasmania, where as teen first cousin lovers they’ll fit in perfectly and go unnoticed. They have 3 kids , who also fit in perfectly, cos they look like all the other kids. Jaxie and Lee live happily ever after … well, as happily as you can if you live with the same person for your whole adult life, and do it in Tasmania.

Hansy: So Broosieboy, pleez read ze ozer 2 schtorylines:

Bruce: Jeez, how long does this bloody show last? It’s fucken goin on and on.

Hansy: Yor yor, but pleez Broosieboy, vor all zose volks vatching at home.

Bruce: Orright, if I must:

Option 2 Storyline:

Lee’s not there.

Jaxie didn’t realise it but the moment Lee and him were banned from seeing each other Lee’s parents sent her off to a boarding school in Perth. Lee struggles at first, but then begins to get on famously with her female roommate there, Jacinta (Jacie for short). They become closer and closer, and then one day her and Jacie innocently, almost accidentally, end up in the sack, and from then on become wild, passionate lovers. Lee realises that Jacie gets her in a way Jaxie never did.

Eventually Jaxie finds out where Lee is and visits her - but she brushes him off as if what they had together meant nothing to her. Jaxie is devastated, becomes an alcoholic, gets married to a woman he doesn’t love, they have kids and when he’s drunk, Jaxie regularly bashes everyone up and ends up sleeping on the floor. Just like his dad.

His wife escapes with the kids, and Jaxie finally gives up the drink, and gets a job for an NGO in Delhi, helping victims of domestic violence, where he spends the rest of his days, quietly and benevolently. He FaceTimes his kids when they’re available, which is hardly ever, they secretly hate his guts but are also sorta proud of his turnaround. Every single day he thinks of Lee and thinks he sees visions of her all over the place, wispy images through the choking, thick, deadly Delhi smog.

Option 3 Storyline:

Jaxie doesn’t get to Lee’s.

As he’s careering down the highway a police car clocks him speeding, and gives chase. Jaxie panics, because he’s just killed 2 drug thugs, and a spectacular car chase ensues.

They narrowly dodge cars buses motorbikes trucks coming towards them in the other direction, they crash through roadhouse fruit stalls, sending apples and oranges rolling everywhere, which pedestrians trip up on and go arse-up flying through the air like they’ve just stepped on honky nuts, and they almost crash into 2 guys carrying a big pane of glass across the highway, the 2 guys move in one direction then the other then the other and then eventually get out of the way.

The first police car rolls and explodes, the second crashes into a roadtrain, but the cops already have a bunch of reinforcements on the chase.

Eventually Jaxie takes a bend too fast, and his car rolls and then catapults spectacularly off a cliff and explodes on the way down. Before he hits the ground, and as everything around him is burning, Jaxie thinks of Lee’s fiery red hair, and wishes he could stroke it one more time.

The car lands in the ocean, which puts out the fire, and, remarkably, Jaxie survives. He swims towards the shore, only to get attacked by a great white shark only 2 metres from the beach. He survives, but ends up as just as a head arms and torso, rolling around everywhere on his skateboard feeling sorry for himself.

Lee, however, doesn’t mind a bit, as Jaxie was always disappearing off into the bush and now he can’t do that so easily anymore. They move in together, Jaxie cheers up a bit, and they have a happy life together, and spend loads of quality time together at the local skate park.

Hansy: Zank you wery much! Let’s hear it vor Broosieboy!

[Applause, cheering, wolf-whistling]

Futsy: So Broosieboy, schatzli, you have von a speshel prize for coming on ze program, a speshel veekend pass fur ze spa at Baden Baden, maybe ve could go togezzer?

[Audience uncomfortably shifting in seats, sound of timber furniture being sawn rapidly]

Bruce: Yeah well that sounds orright, that place Bar Den Bar Den sounds like it might be a bitta fun, maybe a bit like Wagga Wagga? Sounds like they got beers there then?

Hansy: Tschht! Enuff Futsy!! Zat’s all ve have time vor volks, ve’ll zee you next veek on

ZE PLOT SICKENS!!

Futsy: Ooooh, getting a little jealous are ve Hansy? Tables turned a bit now have zey, yor yor yor?

Hansy: Ach!! Tschht! Schutup!

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Well well well.

This “travel blog” is pretty weird, talk about stream-of-unconsciousness.

It was actually another spectacular day’s walking today, and I can hear the Southern Ocean roaring below.

Easy, Tiger

A massive tiger snake and I faced off today. It wasn’t pretty. I was walking on the sunny track minding my own business when I suddenly came upon him, he was right next to my right leg-target, he was rearing up, head up, neck fully flat. Shit!

He was a giant of a snake, he looked like he could swallow a whole quenda (WA bandicoot), or maybe a rat?

It was a full action moment, he scared the shit out of me, I nearly scared the venom out of him.

Before I could say “please spare me, I’m a father, what about my children, I’ll deliver you one of my daughters tomorrow instead of me if you like,” he took off into the bush, head still up, neck still flared, and a very angry fuckyou look on his face.

From then on I stomped around on the track like a 3 year old who wasn’t getting what she wanted. I was very keen to make sure all those other tigeries got my vibe well before I was anywhere near them.

We’ve seen a lot of them on this hike.

Miranda nearly stepped on a juvenile. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.

This is one of the mean venomous tigeries we’ve seen

At last! Some real death-defying adventure!! I could’ve been killed!! Imagine if he’d struck me on the leg! Imagine!!

Actually, nothing much would’ve happened. I would’ve put a snake bandage on and got Miranda to call 112 and make me tea. I would’ve stayed very still. I’d’ve probably had my first ever helicopter ride on my way to Albany Hospital, where I would’ve pretended to be really relaxed and chatty with the paramedics even though I was totally panicking, and then been given an antidote or something at the hospital.

I definitely would’ve said I was super hungry in the hospital and ordered fruit jellies, lemon meringue slices, carrot cakes, crème brûlées, lamingtons, a whole pavlova, a wedding cake (if they had one) and hot pāczski (the most delicious Polish donuts, you gotta try them, my phone doesn’t have the proper “a“ letter btw). And that would’ve just been for entrée.

I would’ve just said the venom was making me extremely ravenous, and could they please help me.

Sorry, I think I’ve started to food fantasise again, it’s been happening a lot lately, not surprising.

Mmmmmm. Salad, fresh juice, a banana. Just one banana, come on, that’s all I ask, what’s the big deal? Just one! Ladyfinger please.

When you live on dehydrated food and stay in the bush too long apparently your cognitive functions begin to decline.

Lucky I’ve gotta handle on it. On it. Lucky. Handlehandle. Hot chips. Toast with Vegemite. Pancake Kitchen large stack with buttermilk cream and icecream, swimming in maple syrup. Aaaaah!

It’s A Southerly, Buster

Well well well.

Today was next level adventure.

Knowing it would be our longest and toughest hiking day so far, with a forecast for heavy rain, we left camp earlier than normal, but it only took us about half an hour to get lost. Engrossed in some conversation about something-or-other, we both missed a track marker, continued up a bush track that led us to another boots off water crossing, and then had to continue in the wrong direction before being able to backtrack up another road and eventually find the track again. Great start.

The rain held off though, and we made it to an inlet, that we needed to cross by canoe. The canoe buoyancy limits meant we couldn’t both go together in one canoe with our packs, and we also had to make sure there was at least one canoe on each side of the inlet for the next hikers.

The strong wind had whipped up a chop in the water, it hit me hard as I crossed first on my own, with the packs, and without a life jacket. Oops, I forgot that bit until I was already out there, not smart.

It was rougher than it looks

Anyway I made it across by heading way upstream from the landing, then letting the strong wind and current push me quickly downstream to the landing.

But coming  back to collect Miranda, heading into the wind with an empty canoe, was a completely different animal. It took forever, as the wind constantly pushed me sideways to the swell (not good, as you can capsize), it was really hard work.

But heroically, with my superhuman strength and hyperhuman modesty, I made it back to collect Miranda, who, as it turns out, is inexperienced with canoes and didn’t feel very confident attempting the crossing alone herself. She, of course, took pics of me as I reached the shore, and, finally out of the gale and in the lee of the bush, I pretended to look totally calm and happy, which is what heroes do. I learnt that from Iain on the Larapinta Trail.

What I pretended to feel like

What I actually felt like

Of course there was no paddle for Miranda on that side, so I had to ferry her like a princess across the inlet. Luckily it was easy with the wind sorta behind us and her weight in the canoe, along with my bionic arms and unflappable demeanour.

Then we had a long stretch through dune country, before finally making it back to the magnificent coast, which looked like this:

Miranda playing a game with the waves

A gusty shower hit us from over our right shoulders as we walked along the magnificent beach, but it didn’t last, and we both dried out again.

But then in rolled the southerly buster. We could see it coming, stretched right across the horizon, an enormous wall of black clouds and heavy rain, whipping up masses of white water in the ocean as it headed straight for us.

We were hiking separately when it hit, like a bomb. I was on a headland, close to the ocean, and it threw me off the track, pack’n’all, like I was a rag doll. Miranda said that when it struck her she needed to get down on all fours, like a scared bandicoot, she was unable to stay on her feet. It was so intense.

There was low bushy coastal scrub around, luckily, that provided some shelter once we moved inland a little, but the track often headed back to the cliff tops, where it was seriously hectic.

We got saturated, the gale throwing water at us horizontally, huge gusts seeming to come from every direction. We both said later we were so thankful the wind was pushing us away from the cliffs, not towards them. That really would’ve been over-the-top.

So, after about 7 or 8 kms of that super fun we finally made it to the shelter, relieved and definitely invigorated. We got into our dry warm sleeping clothes and our sleeping bags, and then just greedily drank hot soup and teas and ate chocolate and curry etc etc and chatted about our near misses like we were real hardcore adventurers, which we now definitely are.

The sign writer charges by the word

But all that comfy banter hasn’t stopped that southerly, buster. It’s been buffeting the shelter for hours and hours, tossing the bushes around, throwing rain and pounding wind against he walls and through the little gaps, it’s so loud, I even decided to sit up and write for a bit so I’m awake when we get blown off into oblivion.

Apparently it’s good to have positive thoughts at the moment of your reincarnation, and I definitely need to be awake for that. My dreams can sometimes veer a little from that trajectory.

Dinner guest

Tent guest

Yor yor yor, Denmark

Well, we’ve hit our second town, and, after another week of smelly hiking in the bush, it feels so bloody luxurious to have a hot shower, some fresh food, a beer. To wash some clothes in an actual washing machine. It’s amazing how much more you appreciate things when you don’t have them.

I hate being comfortable for too long. It irks me. If I get too comfy I start to find it a little annoying to be uncomfortable, and I hate that. So being on the road, being out bush, sleeping wherever, washing in some creek or even in a lukewarm little shower cubicle in winter, I just appreciate the fact that I can wash or sleep at all. I’m hardening up again, just like my early travel days, I don’t need those creature comforts so much anymore, I’m a comfortable creature without them.

Denmark was founded as yet another logging town. Surprise surprise. It was named after some random unknown Captain, not the European country.

Cutting down trees was the thing to do.

Bobby and Ginny in 1898

Aussie Huck Finn and his mates

There was this dude at the campsite with trousers and blue suede shoes. He was wearing a parrot costume. Weird.

We’ve been hangin with Steph and Dave for a few nights, a really fun and super interesting couple from Galston near Sydney, we’ve been sharing huts, great conversations, wine and whisky. The other night we all had dinner at the Denmark Hotel.

We won the pub raffle! The prize was either $20 (lame), or you can pick a box , from 20 boxes, and get what’s inside (maybe not so lame).

Steph went for the pick-a-box, and won ….. wait for it …. a big fat nothing. The box was totally empty!! Later the bartender confided to Steph that 19 of the 20 boxes were empty, bloody ripoff! But she felt sorry for us and offered Steph a bottle of cab sav - which she gleefully accepted on our behalf, and which we all drank last night in the dunes near our campsite. Perfect!

You probably think from reading this blog that I actually drink a lot. I don’t. Well, I drink shitloads of water, but not that much alcohol.

Alcohol’s never really been my thing. In a former life, especially when I was a younger working muso, booze was around everywhere, so I guess I drank a fair bit. I admit to the occasional messed up lyrics, swallowing hard to avoid a technicolor yawn on stage, maybe a little stumble-dance here and there. But these days it’s all pretty mild. How boring.

So we’ve hit the last week of our hike, and the last long coastal stretch to Albany. It’s so beautiful, the wildflowers are bursting with colour, the temperature during the days is slowly starting to inch up a little, (from fuckoff freezing to stupid cold), the insects and birds are out in force, and there’s so many snakes.

Action alert!!!

Miranda came really close to being bitten by a snake today, even closer than I was a few days back. She was walking down some steps in the dunes, a massive tiger snake was curled up in them, she came within inches of its head, it reared up, then jerked towards her, she jumped back screaming, and it again came towards her, chasing her, before suddenly detouring into the bush.

And I missed it! Again!

Miranda said that’s the closest she’s ever been to being snake fodder. Scary shit. They’re seriously everywhere around here, we have to be really careful, I’ve got my eyes peeled for them, and actually see some every single day. I haven’t been in such a festering snake pit since I was last in the public gallery at parliament house.

The End is Nigh

It’s pretty hard to believe, but we’ll be in Albany in less than a week. That’s so soon! The hike’s nearly over. I feel sad. But I’m happy at the same time.

That’s the sorta guy I am.

We’re gonna bus it to my car in Northcliffe, then stay in the palace in Gracetown again. We were gonna do Buckingham this time cos someone told me that it’s suddenly become vacant, but then I found out that KC is squatting there with sunny Camilla, and apparently that’s the way, uhuh uhuh, he likes it, uhuh uhuh.

Then I’m gonna drop The Meander-thal Woman in Freo, eat myself to near-death at the markets, and then head east to find me some fun in Kalgoorlie.

Btw once-speed hiker Miranda used to be called the Dreadlock Express, but has now been renamed due to her refashioned new hip style of meandering dawdle-hiking.

I can see it coming. Soon I’ll be champing at the bitumen again!❤️