Day 4 - Isurava Memorial > Alola Village > Abuari Village

That damned pillow! I just can't get it right. Either too low, or my head rolling off it, or both! So, another night of really broken sleep. It was a bit colder last night too, but the sleeping bag seems to be doing the job ok.

Because of the pillow, I again woke early. 4:40AM today. I lay there trying to get back to sleep without luck. So at 5:20 I gave up and got up for a wee. Back at the tent, I started packing my gear, determined to do it a bit quicker than yesterday. The wake-up "cooee" was at the standard time of 5:30, and I kept packing. At 5:45 I was almost done, when Peter called out to say we were heading down to the memorial for the dawn service.

I quickly threw on my clothes, which were still wet from washing them the night before. It wasn't as bad as I expected. With skins and trousers on, I threw on the crocs and raced down to the memorial, putting the wet shirt on as I ran. It was a cold morning, and I expected the wet clothes to be worse than what they were. Within 5 minutes I hardly noticed them.

Maybe that had something to do with the solemn occasion. At the memorial, Peter said a few words, then read a poem written by one of the diggers back in '42 - Sergeant Bede Tongs. It was about Private Bruce Kingsbury VC, who died not 20m from where we now stood, as he single handedly changed the course of the battle.

What do you say to a dying man?

What do you day to a dying man,

Do you call him Bob, or Digger, or Mate?

As you look down at the face you knew so well,

And the look in his eyes says, "It's late",

You remember your first hand-shake,

On a troop train going to war,

Training in various military camps,

Wallgrove, Greta, Ingleburn, Bathurst and more,

To have tired muscles,

To go hungry. Thirsty

And the pub - the Duke of York

Where we had our last beers

Before leaving Australia's fair shores.

A fleeting sad glimpse of his loved ones,

You knew that from being his friend,

And you know that if you happen to survive this onslaught,

They will surely ask you of his life's end.

Just three minutes ago he was so full of life,

Firing his bren from the hip,

The platoon attacking as it had many times before,

When all of a sudden - he's hit!

A Japanese sniper, so deadly,

Fires from a dark weapon pit,

And my best mate falls close to my feet.

"Tell them I tried" he said,

My words of goodbye froze on my lips.

by Sergeant Bede Tongs

After the reading, the boys sang a most haunting traditional song/hymn, followed by their national anthem. Dawn was just breaking, the sun rising. We were looking at the battlefield. The boys voices were uplifting. It was a scene of unbelievable beauty. More tears flowed. The trekkers then sang our national anthem. With choked voices, after the inspirational tones of the boys, we sounded pathetic. No-one cared. We weren't there for us. We were there to remember the sacrafices of those who went before us. Those who gave so much so that we might enjoy Australia today. We embraced the boys, and all walked slowly back up the hill for breakfast...

After the now standard breakfast of muesli, coffee and canned fruit, we were once again on our way at about 7:00AM. Up a steep hill, we surveyed more of the Isurava battleground. It is one thing to read about the battle, and look at the maps, but they just can't convey the ruggedness of the terrain, the placement of Front and Back Creek, the positions of the men. From there, past Back Creek along a relatively flat section, where there is a diamond shaped rock on the side of the track. It turns out that this is the rock that the doctors used as their operating table - amputating hands, arms, legs, stitching up torsos. Unimaginable in today's warm, peaceful surroundings.

After that it was downhill - WOOHOO! But, boy, was it steep. Some ups and downs, then down another really steep section. Morning tea in a village, then down a bit more to a river crossing and an early lunch. The water was flowing quickly, but it was too good an opportunity to miss - we stripped down to skins (sports bra and shorts for Catherine) and jumped in the water, with the lunch table set up just meters away. The water was FREEZING! I put my head under and washed some of the sweat out of my hair - no-one else was silly enough to get more than their body wet. It sure cooled the body, and put us in a great frame of mind for the next section. It was sad to leave such a beautiful location. The river, the mountains, the outlook , the stillness of the place was magnificent.

The next section - a damned great steep uphill! We were on another track that not many groups visit - Japs Track. This was the track that the Japs tried to send troops down to outflank the diggers at Isurava. The 53rd stopped them - but not well.

We hiked along the ridge, then had another downhill to a huge waterfall. This is where a group of Aussie officers were ambushed - there were still Australian water bottles sitting on the side of the creek. A beautiful, but sad place. You could almost see the officers bending down to fill their water bottles, and shots ringing out killing them in their tracks.


Of course, after any downhill, you know there is going to be an almighty uphill, and we weren't dissapointed. Only this time, because we were on a little used track, the uphill clinged to the side of the mountain, and was crumbling away under our feet. Behind us was a drop of hundreds of meters - not a place for those scared of heights. Yep - I'm scared of heights. And with the footholds crumbling underneath me, I've got to admit I was worried.


Then another climb up another damn great hill, until we arived at Abuari Village. It was hot. It was steamy. We had done some big hills during the day. And I was more than pleased to see we'd arrived. But the village is pretty big, so it took another five minutes to reach our campsite at 2:30. And what a feast awaited us. A huge spread of mandarins and passionfruit sat on a table decorated with ferns and flowers.

We quickly unpacked, and sat down to some of the best tasting fruit I've ever experienced. Then, to top it off, the villagers brought us plates of donuts! Not the light ones that we are used to with suger, but flowery, heavy ones. No matter - after our diet of pasta, they were delicious. Then out came the scones. Then out came some rolls. Then out came some biscuits! We stuffed outselves silly. I don't think I've ever felt so full.


Which was good timing for a shower. As usual, there was no shower rose, just a stream of water. But there were mens and ladies showers, and the mens was surrounded by 3 sides, with the 4th side looking out across the valley. It was an amazing view as I soaped myself up. Then, the water stopped! I was covered from head to toe in soap - and no water! I turned the tap off and waited. A small trickle after a couple of minutes. It took 10 minutes of this before I had enough soap off to risk getting out.


No sooner had I got out and dressed, and the water returned. So Paul jumped in the shower, while I used the nearby tap to wash my clothes.

We both went back to the hut to eat more fruit, where we found Catherine sitting looking out over the valley. "I could see you in the shower" she said to Paul. "But I didn't look". Sure enough, from the hut you could see right into the shower. I wonder how long she had been sitting there "not looking". Hmmmmm.


Catherine has actually become quite chatty. It turns out that she has a sore ankle - apparently she sprained it about 10 weeks ago, and it is just a little niggle for her at the moment. Alex has been quiet. He has a churning gut. I know how he feels - mine started churning today as well. Sam has started coming out of his shell (and has pulled a ligament behind his knee), and Paul has a fantastic laugh, which we tend to hear often during the day.


The usual dinner was followed by some great banter in the "Drying Hut". This is a hut that Charlie Lynn (the owner of Adventure Kokoda) has had many of the villages erect. It is a hut with 1/3 open sides, with 2 fires, and poles or ropes to hang wet clothes on and dry over the fires. Being a small group, there was plenty of room for all our clothes. Everyone was very chatty, and Alex took on Peter in another game of chess. It turns out that Peter is just learning, but he has been learning for about 17 years now. Poor Alex keeps getting beaten...

All the clothes were dry before we went to bed at 8, which after this morning I was very pleased about. Tonight I stuffed my dry clothes back into the wet sack, and used that as a pillow. A bit higher and a bit softer. Hope I sleep better tonight.

Day 1 - Sydney > Port Moresby > Sogeri

You know that feeling when you are desperate to go to sleep - but sleep just won't come? That was me last night. So many thoughts going through my head. The trek. The plane trips. The people. What would it be like? Try as I might, I couldn't stop thinking, and it seemed that I was awake all night.

That is, until the alarm went off at 4:20AM. Then my eyes refused to open. I dragged myself out of bed, cursing the fact that I had still been packing last night at 10:00PM. Showered, said my goodbyes, and off to the airport.

I was lucky enough to be first in line at check-in. It concerned me that my bag weighed in at 27kg - but didn't seem to bother the lady behind the Air Niugini counter. Sure, I had clothes for Brisbane when I got back. And some books and gifts to give to a village along the way. But still - my pack was only supposed to weigh 12kg before water - I wonder how much it will really weigh...

I then tried to exchange some $AU for Kina. Unfortunately, they only had K50 notes - which would do me no good on the track when the locals charge K5 for a bunch of bannanas, so I decided to wait till I got to Moresby.

The plane trip saw me seated next to a couple of nurses from Tamworth, travelling with a couple of doctors to Rabaul. They were on their way to organise for a trip later in the year when they would do volunteer surgical work for the locals. The usual questions - "How long will it take?" (10 days trekking) - "How far is it?" (I'm doing the original wartime track which is 155km rather than the tourist route of 96km) - "What training have you done?" (5 months of intense work; 4 walks per week with 18kg backpack, 2 weights sessions (legs and core), 2 HIIT sessions) - "Are you catching the same type of plane as that which crashed?" (yes).

Unfortunately, the headwinds meant our flight was late landing, which meant that 2 planes arrived just before us. The immigration queue started on the top landing, went down 3 ramps, then snaked its way through the immigration section. The queue for locals dissapeared quickly - at which point the person manning that station went to lunch. Meanwhile, 1 person handled everyone who wasn't a local. It took an hour to get through.

Into baggage collection without a problem, then to the money exchange. I was pleasantly suprised to find that the exchange rate was about $1 > K2, whereas in Sydney it was $1 > K1.77 plus a $15 commission!

I was the last into the arrivals hall, where I met up with our group. Peter Davis, the trek leader, is a farmer from Orange, with a passion for all things PNG. He is also attending ADFA studying military history - specialising in PNG. Then there is the gym junkie couple from Perth. Alex (26) a mining engineer and Catherine (25), an admin person at a finance company. They met at the gym, and both play sport a couple of times a week. Very fit looking. Catherine is bubbly, and Alex a bit reserved. Perhaps his upbringing in Zimbabwe? Who knows. Will be interesting to see how they warm up during the trek. Then there is the father / son team of farmers from 6 hours south of Perth - Paul and Sam. Paul (50), the farther has a warm persona and a ready laugh. Sam (20), who is currently going to uni (studying farming of course) is friendly but perhaps a bit shy, with a ready smile. Paul trained on a rowing machine - but only for 10 minutes a day. Sam did some walks and gym work, and is carrying a few extra kilos. He would be my bet for the person who might struggle (after he listed the sport he plays as drinking...).

Then a bus tour of Port Moresby. Scary place. 5th highest murder rate in the world. Us "whities" should only travel with a couple of local security personnel in the vehicle. Nothing like what I remember as a kid growing up here. Razor wire everywhere. People on the streets looking lost/mean/disinterested. We're told that the unemployment rate is 87% in Moresby - and there is no such thing as the dole. Security guards everywhere. The whole place has a tense atmosphere. Not a nice place to be.

That contrasts with Bomana War Cemetery. A beautiful, well maintained, solemn place. Marble headstones of the diggers who died fighting to keep the Japs away from Oz. Thousands of stories buried with the boys. A few of them told by Peter. We'll hear more as the trip progresses, but the ages surprise - many of them in their late 20's and into their 30's. I guess that reflects the fact that many of these guys were the home guard - couldn't get into the regular army for age / physical / work reasons. Emotions swelled, but tears were kept in check.

From there we travelled up the hill to Sogeri. With at least 20 wrecks seen over the edge of the sheer sided road, the trip gave a feel for what was ahead.

Our "hotel" (the term used loosely) for the night was the Sogeri Lodge. Rooms were very basic, with a hard bed, harder pillow, bars on the windows, razor wire around the perimeter, and 2 bathrooms down the hall. A pretty good dinner of steak and vegies, with icecream for desert was followed by a trek briefing and allocation of backpacks. Alex and I are the only ones carrying our own packs. I hope I can keep up with him - I don't really care if I can't keep up with the others who are just carrying their water.

Peter reviewed what I was about to pack, and I was able to ditch half the first aid kit - which saved at least a kilo. My guess is that the pack will weigh in at 16kg when I add the 4 litres of water. More weight than I wanted, but nothing I can do about it at this late stage.

Missing Kerrie and the kids already. Luckily I was able to call her. In bed by 10, and pretty tired.

Tomorrow will see a 6AM wake-up call, with breakfast at 7. I hope I can sleep tonight...

Hit the sack thinking of the phrase for the day - "Gone bugaup". Which means it's broken/stuffed. Apparently it applies to lots of things in PNG.