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Well I'm going down, going down a hard road.
Just don't know, don't know where I've been.
But I think I've been walkin', I'm walkin' round in circles.
Can't even find a friend.
Leon Russell
Out in the Woods
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There are a lot of words that do not describe me well. Just starting with the letter A, I can think of agile, acrobatic and athletic. (Mind you, achy and arthritic also begin with A so it's not a complete wipeout.)
Moving on to the letter B, the word bushwalker is another that does not describe me. Mostly because I am big and bumbling. But also because I am a big fan of civilization and its advances, which clearly include pavement and concrete. After yesterday I am even surer of that position.
Looking to get home the easiest way possible, I entered the Gore Cove Track after reading the sign at the entrance. It said it was a moderate-grade walk and only .9km to Vista St in Greenwich. Quick calculations on my part - 900 meters is less than 1,000 yards - 10 football fields. That's not far, I thought, and even I should be able to handle something called moderate-grade.
The sign said the walk to Vista St was 25 minutes. And then it went on to describe the flora and fauna I could expect to see on the walk. "Keep an eye out for locally rare bird species," the sign urged - as if I would know a rare bird from a common one. "This walk will delight wildlife watchers," it added.
Anyhow, the sign lied. In fact it lied repeatedly. And when it wasn't lying, it was misleading. Let me tell you how.
It started with the name, Gore Cove Track. A track is well-defined, something you can follow easily. But this was more like a path that just disappears part-way through. I had walked about 300 meters, when the path just wasn't there anymore. I looked around, took a few steps in one direction, a few in another. Time to guess which way to go, Right or Left.
I chose Right. I chose wrong.
I was soon walking through prickly things and stepping around fallen branches, and I was pretty sure I was no longer on the path. I could have backtracked, but I didn't even know which way that was.
Then I saw a jogger - a jogger! - running on the path. Technically, I saw the top of the head of a jogger, because he was about 30 feet below me. There didn't seem to be any way down there from where I was short of sliding down a big rock face. I considered taking a chance, but I wasn't sure I wouldn't keep rolling all the way down to the mud flats. But at least I now knew my goal was to get lower, and I kept in that direction until I finally found a reasonably safe way to slide down to the path.
And of course, that leads me to the second lie because there was no way this trek was only 900 meters with all that extra walking, stumbling and sliding I had done. Let's not even talk about the 25-minute guideline, although that was probably always dicey given my speed.
The bit about keeping an eye out for birds was pretty misleading, too. Oh sure, you could look for birds, but every step of the path involved a rock, a root or some other obstacle designed by Mother Nature to trip you. Given how many times I did trip even though I was watching the path, I am also pretty sure there would be no delight for the wildlife watcher in me since it surely must have sounded to any fauna that the ghost of Hannibal was bringing his elephants along the Gore Cove Track.
But the sign's Big Lie was surely at the end. "Moderate-grade walk" the sign had declared. But there staring me in the face was a 3- or 4-storey climb up steps made from rough rocks to get to Vista Street.
Surely no one can get up there without a rope and pulley, I thought in despair. It was at this point that the jogger raced by on his return leg and then did a reasonable impersonation of a gazelle as he went up the steps. I cursed him as he became smaller and smaller and finally disappeared.
Oh well, since the option was going back, there really was no option. So it was up three steps, hands on hips, gasp, gasp, gasp. Repeat. Repeat 20 or 30 times.
Since this post was not found scribbled on the corpse they found halfway up the climb to Vista St, you know I made it so there is only one more thing to add.
Sitting on a bench at the Vista St Lookout trying to get my heart to beat no more than 4 times a second, I was approached by a fit-looking Irishman about my age. He was visiting the area and was looking for the Gore Cove Track.
"It's right there, mate," I said. "Pretty steep walk down and then follow the path for about 900 meters till you get to Berry Island Reserve. If the path seems to disappear for awhile, just stay low and you will find it again."
"Thanks," he said. "It's always good to talk to somebody who knows what they're talking about."
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