DAY 1 – PORT MORESBY TO KOKODA TO HOI

17th April 2017

MY TREKKING GROUP ARRIVED AT the Port Moresby domestic terminal shortly after 5:00 am. The thirteen of us, including trek leader, Martin, and trainee leader, Carla, had been up since 4:00 am to make sure we were booked onto the flight early enough for our excess baggage to make the trip with us.

Another group of Australians, also destined for Kokoda and wearing shirts printed with #notdeadyet, were already waiting in the Papua New Guinea airport.

Martin joined us with a handful of plane tickets and the good news that all the gear made it onto the flight. The bad news was the flight time had changed and we had an extra two hours to wait.

I was anxious to get going. At 96 kilometres, the Kokoda Track would be the first overnight trek I’d ever done and it had a reputation for being challenging. I’d only started serious training four weeks earlier and I was eager to know if I was fit enough to complete the ten day trek.

The later flight became delayed as the airport staff tried to find a working plane to fly us to the northern side of the Owen Stanley Mountain Range for the start of the trek.

We spent the time getting to know each other and it didn’t take long before our lack of internet had us making up a list of things to Google as soon as we finished the trek. A couple of people still had their phones with them, but ‘how many people have died walking the track’ seemed best to find out after our return.

“We’ll have run out of things to talk about before we even start walking,” someone said.

“I’ve heard much of the track is single file so we won’t have to talk to each other,” Danni joked.

Four hours after our original flight time, we were ushered out to an old twin propeller Dash 8 plane. The staff only allowed our group and the other Australian trekking group to board. The replacement plane wasn’t big enough for everyone else booked to fly to Popondetta – from where we would begin our journey to Kokoda.

We took our seats, noting the duct tape holding the inside of the plane together. Rachael made a comment about not liking ‘small’ planes.

As we began take-off, a guy from the other group proceeded to tell stories about plane issues he’d experienced during his time in the Airforce. Rachael, seated in front of him, giggled nervously.

Adrian leaned across the aisle with a nod towards the guy behind us. “He must be one of the ones Phil warned us about.” I grinned and tried to give Rachael a reassuring smile.

The previous night we had a meeting where the company owner, Phil, gave us the run-down of the trek. He made it clear that when we met groups coming the other way on the track, we weren’t to joke about what was ahead for them.

“You never know someone else’s state of mind. Your comment may be what makes them give up,” Phil said.

We flew over the mountain range we would be hiking, but I had an aisle seat and the clouds obscured the peaks, so I couldn’t see what we would be facing.

We landed at Popondetta airport with all the duct tape still in place. A light rain had set in and we huddled under the airport shed roof while our bags were unloaded.

“I’m glad we’re walking back to Port Moresby,” Rachael muttered, giving the plane a final look.

Two army-style trucks with bench seats waited for us beside the barbed-wire fence. A couple of native trekking crew took our bags onto one, while we piled into the other tarp-covered truck.

A couple of uncomfortable bumpy hours later, we stopped in the middle of a two-lane bridge. Climbing out to stretch our legs and look at the river below, trek leader, Martin, informed us this was the location of one of the first encounters between the Australians and the Japanese in 1942, before the heavily outnumbered Australians fell back to defend Kokoda.

Kokoda Village only had a small airstrip, which was why we flew into Popondetta, but during WWII it was a valuable asset to defend. It also marked the northern end of the Kokoda Track.

From where we stood on the bridge, that still had a newly constructed look about it, we could see the smaller peaks of the mountain range ahead of us peeking out from beneath the clouds.

We climbed back into the truck for the second half of the journey. The narrow gravel road wound past locals harvesting palm fruits from the plantations.

As we crossed one bridge, a couple of children played in the shallow water beside a section of rusty caterpillar track that looked like it had come off an army tank.

By the time we arrived at Kokoda, the Garmin Vivo Fit2 I wore on my wrist had racked up 6,000 steps from the bumpy truck ride.

We were four hours behind schedule, but the first day only had a two-hour walk scheduled. We piled out of the truck and Martin whisked us away for a quick look around the Kokoda Museum, with its information boards about the WWII battles (written in both English and Pidgin English) and various rusty guns and helmets.

I didn’t have enough time to process the experience of seeing weapons used to defend our country (Papua New Guinea was an Australian territory in 1942) 75 years ago before Martin called us outside to have a brief look at the memorials.

Four white memorial stones encircled one edge of a grassy oval. We conducted a brief walk past taking photos to look at later when we had time. The stones were dedicated to those who fought here 75 years ago, including one for the native carriers known as Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels who carried supplies and wounded for the Australians, and one stone with Japanese writing.

Looking back towards where we left the trucks and our packs, blue-grey mountains rose from the clouds. Beneath them sat the village houses with their corrugated iron roofs and louvre windows. We saw a couple of villagers, but none of them interacted with us.

A brief trip to the toilet hut revealed a long drop with a seat and lid — BYO toilet paper and hand sanitiser. With the door shut, it was difficult to see where anything was.

Nicole revealed the toilet-ranking system she’d developed over years of travelling. One star was given for every luxury, so a star for each of the following: a toilet, toilet paper, a place to wash hands, soap, and a place for drying hands.

We hurried back to our packs, as we needed to start walking soon to make our first campsite. Martin read out the names of the personal porters we were matched with. Mine shook my hand and rattled off a long name. I stared at him blankly.

“Ben,” he said. I sighed in relief. I’m terrible at remembering names, but Ben was simple.

He grabbed my big pack and set about packing his tiny bag and extra camp supplies in the top, while I tried to work out how to adjust my hiking poles to the correct height.

Trainee leader, Carla, came to my rescue, helping me set them at the right height and pointing out that the rubber boots came off the end leaving a spike that would be useful in the mud.

I’d never hiked with poles or a pack before, so I was still feeling flustered when Martin called out for packs on. I hurriedly pulled my gaiters on over my hiking boots before he led us towards the arch marking the start of the Kokoda Track. Several letters had fallen off, so it read, “KO DA TRAI”.

We took a few minutes to pose for photos under the arch before our native trek leader, Vicko, started what would become a familiar morning call:

“Are we ready?”

“YES!” shouted the rest of the trekking crew.

“Are we ready?” Vicko repeated.

“YES!” (Crew.)

“Ten seconds!”

“9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1!”

“Who are we?”

“Back Track!”

“What is our profession?”

(Everyone.) “Bo Bo Ba Ba! Let’s go, rock and roll!”

Vicko headed off down a set of muddy vehicle tracks and we fell in behind him. Our personal porters took up positions beside each of us, while Martin and Carla walked at the rear.

I ended up near the back of the group as my short legs struggled to keep pace with the others. My new hiking poles felt awkward in my hands, so I carried them as we walked. I briefly considered tucking them into my bag, but that would have involved stopping and I was already falling behind the main group.

I made myself focus solely on today instead of the whole ten-day trek ahead of us. All I had to get through was two hours walking and we would stop for camp.

About ten minutes in, we passed a group walking the other way. It was a surprise to encounter a team finishing so early in the month. April, being the tail-end of the Wet Season, is generally the wettest and therefore most difficult time to walk the track, but it’s popular for people wanting to be on the track for Anzac Day. That was still eight days away.

Their Australian leader paused briefly for a chat with someone he knew from our group. He said he was turning around when he reached Kokoda and walking the 96 km track back in the other direction the following day. For our group just...