…the trivial ills of my own flesh….

I cannot describe how a rose smells other than to say it is beautiful. Likewise I cannot describe what this journey was like other than to say it was incredible. Neither words nor photos can do the Trail justice. Besides words can’t explain how it feels to pull on wet Skins for the 7th day in a row – or how much they smell. Or how I smiled when I was woken at 5.15am each morning by the sound of a didgeridoo or to a whistle owned by a digger who served on Kokoda or to the sound of our local carriers’ “coo-ee”. Or how good Pineapple Fanta is on a hot day. Words also can’t explain the wave of emotion that rolls over you and causes a lump to form in your throat as you are given the honour of reading the Soldier’ Oath at a dawn service at one of the most important battle sites on the Trail. Or how you feel staring, with awe, at a magnificent waterfall knowing that one Australian officer hid from the Japanese behind that very waterfall and others were captured and executed nearby.

I had anticipated that it would be physically & mentally hard and that I would get emo from time to time. But I could not have known how the Trail and its people – both past and present – would get under my skin and remain in my thoughts and my heart. It was, quite simply, inspiring, amazing and humbling – by far the hardest physical, mental & emotional journey I have ever been on. And I would go back in a second to do it again if given the chance.

Our trek leader, John, was fond of saying “you don’t go to Gallipoli for a swim. You don’t come here for a walk”. He’s right – if you do so, or if you only come to tick Kokoda off your list of things to do before you die, then you are missing the point – as well as the heart & soul of the Trail.

We were constantly challenged during the 10 days on the Trail – and not by the mud or the heat or the humidity or the mountains. Our trek leader John is a very passionate Kokoda historian and liked dishing out the challenges. And I, for one, lapped them up. He challenged us to apply lessons learnt and examples set during the war in our everyday lives. To imagine the diggers in the weapons pits which line the Trail; to look ‘em in the eye and tell them it was worth it (this particularly challenge still gives me goosebumps). On our second last day on the Trail, our challenge was to honour the diggers by effort. Imita Ridge was Australia’s “Alamo”. It was the line in the sand for the Australians. They had been told that no further withdrawals would be approved and that they had to die there if necessary. Our challenge was to walk up Imita - a steep, muddy, tree root-riddled ‘path’ which took around 50mins - without stopping.

Some of our challenges were reserved for home. As very few Australians know the history of the battles fought on the Trail, John reminded us that we were now the custodians of the story and it was our job, once back at home, to spread the story. Our challenge - to find a digger and learn their story. Many diggers have never spoken of their experiences. So with their death, their stories will be lost. We were also challenged to place 2 photos – one of ourselves next to the pillar at Isurava that meant the most to us and a second of Ovoru Idiki (a ‘fuzzy wuzzy’ angel that we had the honour of meeting) – in a place in our home where it can be seen by visitors. So if / when someone asks where that photo was taken, we can tell ‘em to take a seat ‘cause we have a story to tell … ;-) And yes, the photos are already in place and the search for a digger has begun.

John shared so many stories of courage and sacrifice with us. The story which most touched my heart was that of Corporal John Metson. Metson will forever be my ‘go-to’ guy – the person I draw on when faced with (what I perceive to be) a difficult situation. Metson was shot in at least one ankle (some sources suggest he was shot in both). He refused a stretcher. He applied bandages to his knees and hands and crawled – yes, crawled – for 3 weeks along the Trail until he was killed by a Japanese patrol. When I think about the terrain over which he crawled and the conditions under which he did it….

Osmar White, a wartime journalist who was on the Trail wrote – “I felt proud to be of their race and cause, bitterly ashamed to be so nagged by the trivial ills of my own flesh.” I often thought of this quote, and of Metson and over 1000 other injured soldiers who walked or were carried by the magnificent ‘fuzzy wuzzy angels’ over the Owen Stanley Ranges, when my feet were sore after 8 hours of walking over some of the most difficult terrain I’ve ever been on. “…trivial ills…” indeed. With stories & thoughts like these flooding my head, well I guess it’s no wonder that I have trouble describing it now.

If you are thinking of walking the Kokoda Track, I would urge you to do it (and look up Adventure Kokoda – they were absolutely sensational). But do it not just because it’s on your list of things to do before you die. Do it to learn about, honour, remember & respect the men – from both sides – whose footsteps you follow in. They deserve nothing less.

Lest we forget.