As it turned out, two choc chip cookies didn’t even get me close to the carpark. The bounding has become trudging. I am now 15klms into the hike. I know the brain is sending messages to the feet and they are responding, but it seems my body is taking no active part in the communication. Looking somewhat anxiously at the map, I see Wards Canyon is my next stop. There’s no pretense here. The stairs start immediately and there’s a warning sign, Short Steep Climb – adjectives that can either challenge or in this case, terrify . It was only the vague promise of a ‘small’ waterfall that started me up….and up….and up.
The waterfall is such a non-event, that I didn’t even take a pic. The only saving grace was that this particular spot is the only remaining habitat in the world of the king fern, a relic from the age of dinosaurs. The towering sandstone walls and the constant, cool and moist environment, protected it from eons of climate change everywhere else. So, I suppose ‘unique’ was worth it, especially since it was downhill all the way back to the main trail.
Once again, heading back. Six klms to go. By now the legs and brain had parted on bad terms. For some reason, I abandoned referring to the map and instead concentrated on counting the creek crossings; 12, 11, 10, 9. Clearly, a countdown offers a lot more encouragement. This hike had already become a contest of wills, so my despair was palpable when I came to to an intersection, and remembered that there was not one but two more side trails to explore. I had picked up a fellow hiker and her daughter who were also struggling and we debated the merits of another climb. Then out of the bush came yet another couple that I’d met back at Boowinda Gorge who said “Mate, you gotta go. The Amphitheatre is even BETTER!” We all gave each looks of baleful resignation, girded what was left of our loins and headed in.
Six hundred and thirty metres, five hundred of those were stairs. This better be totally amazing. The entrance was above the end of the trail, a crevice only accessible by ladder. The crevice disappeared into darkness. I had no idea what to expect.
It was hard not to compare this scenario with Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Indiana having to navigate a passage of doom to find the cup of eternal life. Luckily, “only the penitent shall pass” was not a deal breaker. A gloomy passage of about twenty metres, became an opening into the narrowest of gorges. More of an IMAX theatre than an amphitheater, we were surrounded on all sides by towering cliffs. So difficult to capture on ‘film’. I guess that’s why we ‘go there’. So ,we stood in the silence and admired where we were and how imposing it was. There was no exit other than the way we had come, so back down the ladder and back down those wretched stairs stairs.
We eventually got to the Moss Garden turnoff and we were looking for any excuse not to go. We collared the first person coming back. “Lots of stairs, too many people and goannas.” And the truth DID set us free. We turned on our heals and headed on to the Visitor Centre. Only the ascent and descent of the first kilometre remained. My mini tour group had left me behind. A final cruel reminder of just how far I’d hiked – 22klms in 9.5 hours. The last creek crossing hove into view. The weary had kicked off their shoes just to cool the aching feet. I had no hesitation in joining them. After not nearly long enough, including laying prone on the lawn for a time, I shuffled across the carpark to the Jeep, climbed in and just sat. I was done.
