Hunters Hut - Red Hills Hut

I felt like I’d woken up from the dead. I’d slept so deep that when I woke up once in the middle of the night, I actually didn’t know where I was for a minute. This was our last full day in the Richmonds. It had been an intense journey. St Arnaud shone like a beacon ahead, and my squad and I logged out of Hunters Hut steadfastly at sunrise.

What a gorgeous day! Not a cloud in the sky, and the pretty trail cruised between fragrant manuka bushes, up rocky slopes before swooping back down again into dusty riverbed floors. I plugged in my favourite Christmas CD by Norway’s female student choir. The music was arranged by a distant relative of mine, and it felt so calming and homey to briskly walk the hillsides towards Porter’s Creek Hut. Today was hot and dry, but a breeze after the harsh terrain we’d put behind us. We snacked as we walked, only too keen to get to our destination. I swooned at the thought of the food I’d devour in St Arnaud. Cakes, Ice tea, pizzapizzapizza, omnomnom..!

Toby and I had developed into a solid twosome by now. He was exceedingly generous, always brewing tea for us in the evenings, handing me my trekking poles after a sunscreen-application break, waiting on top of hills if I fell behind. He even shared his Snickers. Snickers, as my fellow hikers will know, are a non-convertible currency. He was quiet and unassuming, expressed himself in simple terms and generally had a more stable mood than me. I’d gently push him away when he got too close, but I liked hiking with him. Patrick and Etienne were an equally dynamic duo. Etienne would glide along on worldliness and luck, Patrick was the technician, always administrating logistics behind the scenes. We made a for a quirky bunch.

Looking forward. A perfect, golden summer day.

El – whom I would never see again after this stretch – was another character altogether. Absorbed in the immediacy of her surroundings, she cared nothing for destinations. When our 4-pack reached Red Hills Hut after a straightforward day of stomping along briskly, she would waltz in at sundown telling us about the three waterfalls she’d swum in and all the rocks (!) she’d gathered. Talking to her, I realised how much better she was approaching this thru-hike than me. 1400 km of walking can feel like a lot of work. But El taught me to saunter, to go gentle. However satisfying it was to fly past trail time estimates, the real beauty lay in being fully absorbed in the moment.

The trail reduced me to the fundamentals of human existence. Suddenly I wanted to carry more so I could share it, embrace discomforts because they were intrinsic to the experience, revel in the beauty of nature and the wonder of being in this land where I’d always felt so at home.

Why was I rushing? This adventure had only just begun!

I thought about all the adverts at home claiming to “save you time” and “make your day easier, more convenient”. Why was everything about convenience, ease and time-saving? What were you supposed to do with that time? Be on your phone, pound out a few km on the treadmill while staring at a muted screen featuring cooking shows? If our time really is that precious, why are we so goal-oriented instead of letting ourselves be engulfed in the process of actually doing things?

The mammal brain craves process. It craves constructing all little parts into a coherent whole. Trail life = what humans are meant for.

The last few steps to Red Hills Hut, just visible at the forest edge

Red Hills Hut was my favourite hut of the whole trail, just because it was small and clean and perfect for a temperate afternoon nap. Eating a last freeze-dried dinner on the porch in the twilight, I savoured the sweet success of just being here. Sitting out here next to El in a pool of zen-like peace and liberation was a gift. I later learned she got off the trail not long after. But wherever she went, I’m sure she was happy.