On the plus side, I guess it was character building.
Knew heaps of people don't finish this walk (there are several places where you can do a few k's off to the side, get back to civilisation) – but always thought to myself something along the lines of “Well, they are only Europeans, the poor things.” Won't be thinking that any more – was sitting on a rock today, a dazed and horrified look on my face – got passed by some guy – this was at 1:30. He had come, not from where I did that morning, but from where I started the day before.... these people are insane. I reckon if the refuge had been another 1000 metres I would have been bordering on delirious. Spectacular scenery and all, but I am pretty sure I could have found a postcard of it instead – this is why motorbike touring is so much more fun than hiking: you don't have to walk.
Mind you, I have become notorious: the Australian backpacker trying to do the GR20 with a year's worth of gear on his back – will no doubt be an anecdote in a trail guide soon on what not to do. Threw out even more stuff today – even my portable cigar humidor, which was my pride and joy and has been very useful – ultimately not worth killing myself for, though.
Briefly got cell coverage on the top of some mountain – spoke to K – which was lovely – she had to put on an extra show because of demand, so that was a bit of a win – it finishes tomorrow night. Would have pulled out the laptop and answered emails and posted yesterday's blog while I had a window of opportunity with the network, but frankly I lacked the energy – was concentrating on standing up.
Tough day – bear in mind I am relatively fit, have been walking up to 15 kilometres a day since I left (never less than five) and every second day I do about 400 push-ups, 65 pull-ups – and I once did a walk in Tasmania that included a section where we didn't touch the ground for about five hours because the scrub was so thick – we were standing on branches a few feet off the ground – with 10 days worth of food. Which was hard work – but this is something else altogether. I am relatively fit, but damn.
Tomorrow is supposed to be the day that causes more people to pull the plug than any other stage. The day after that, the worst. Then it allegedly gets easier – though given these nut-jobs put splotches of paint on rocks and cliffs that terrify mountain goats, call it “a trail,” I am becoming a bit suspicious about what they mean by “easy”.
The nice English couple are nowhere to be seen – unless they did today as well as tomorrow's stage in one hit, which seems inconceivable, then I suppose one of them got injured. The other English couple, the ones I thought were having a bit of a disagreement on the bus – ate dinner with them tonight – they are quite nice too.
About four hours after I staggered into the refuge – and the word “staggered” here is not as much of an exaggeration as usual – the Australian couple came in. As it turns out they are not both Australian: He is a West-Australian, she is a Kiwi, working in Paris – they met, logically enough, at a wedding in South Africa – and are attempting to do the walk with another bloke who got in a few hours earlier, a Spanish guy who also works in Paris. Anyway, they have had enough – given the state of their feet I can't blame them – tomorrow will be their last day.
Photos: Three of the scenery – it is truly spectacular, once the terror stops. In the third you can see the ocean in the distance. Then a photo of what they call a “track”. Then two people clambering up what is called a track. Frightening enough if it were not for the plunging abyss behind me. Then a picture of what I stupidly thought was a track, and wandered down for a while before realising there were no little paint-marks. I back-tracked and eventually found the “track,” which seems to go straight up a cliff. Of course.
Cheers, B.
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