Where angels tread

WALKING the Kokoda Track over six days strips life back to three basic ingredients: water, food and friendship.

TWO hours into a six-day hike along PNG's Kokoda Track, and I was already exhausted.

My five fellow hikers, fit and well-prepared, had disappeared uphill into the distance, leaving me alone on the jungle track with my porter, Tony, and our guide, Paulo.

"Try to relax," Tony said. But far from being relaxed, I was wondering how I was going to make it through five more days of this punishment.

I had signed up for a six-day "fast trek" of the infamous 96km Kokoda Track, and I was struggling. I looked up at Tony and Paulo and noticed that despite carrying 20kg packs, they hadn't even broken into a sweat.

"It's OK, we're with you," Tony said, looking at me with empathy. "The first day is always the hardest – after that it gets easier."

Then it occurred to me that I should stop feeling sorry for myself; that the Australian soldiers – Diggers – who had made this track legendary during fierce fighting with the Japanese in World War II had faced a whole lot tougher situation than I did.

I had malaria tablets, modern hiking boots, wet weather gear and purified water. And no one was shooting at me.

It is the unforgiving nature of the Track that makes the efforts of the Australian troops so remarkable. In atrocious weather conditions they were the first Allied soldiers to turn back the advancing Japanese army.

The legend of their courage and sacrifice in 1942 is being rediscovered by Australians who walk the track every year.

I was now one of them, and for the next five days life would be stripped back to three basic ingredients – water, food and friendship.

Earlier that day, our group had flown into Kokoda by light plane, where our guide Paulo met us at the grass airstrip and took us by four-wheel-drive to the start point.

Gathering us together under the shade of a tree, Paulo introduced us to the porters who would be with us for the journey – a total of nine food and personal porters who would also serve as guides, cooks, protectors and bush medics and become our mates.

Tony had been picked to be my porter because, Paulo said, he played rugby league and therefore would be fit enough to carry my pack. There was no doubt Tony was fit – small in stature but big on muscle and heart.

Introductions over, we set off down the path that leads out of the village and becomes the Kokoda Track. At this point the path is wide and flat.

After about an hour, the track narrowed and we started to climb through thick, green jungle. Hour after hour, the track climbed mercilessly upwards. Sometimes dry, at other times slick and muddy, it seemed impossible to get any respite from the track.

Somehow, I endured six hours of lung-bursting climbing.

Nothing seemed to escape the attention of our guide and porters.

It wasn't only the physical acts of kindness that stood out. Early each morning, Tony would take me aside and quietly give me advice for the coming day.

I would need all Tony's tips to survive the third day of the trek, a 13-hour hike that tested the limits of my endurance.

To give me a headstart, Tony and I left an hour before the rest of the group at 5am. For the first half of the day, we set off on another seemingly endless climb.

But, following in Tony's footsteps, I was feeling stronger. I was even able to "relax" and not fight so hard for every breath, but rather, try to stay loose and not fight the track.

By the eighth hour we hit our first series of serious descents. I had never imagined that going downhill could be even more painful than climbing.

After two hours of steep downhills, I began to develop shooting pains through my knees. After another half an hour each step triggered a searing pain behind my kneecaps.

At the next rest stop, Tony came up to me with a handful of leaves that I had seen him and the other porters rubbing on their shoulders.

"Do you want to try some to ease the pain?" he asked. "It will sting, but only for a few moments and then it will make you stronger."

Willing to try anything, I agreed. He rubbed the leaves vigorously all over my thighs and knees. The plant felt like sandpaper and, as he rubbed and I looked closer, the leaves looked remarkably like stinging nettle.

Sure enough, within moments my legs were on fire. I was convinced I'd just had poison ivy rubbed all over me.

But the pain did settle within a couple of minutes and it worked as a surprisingly effective deep-heat rub.

By the 11th hour, I had reached the end of my physical limits. But there was still one more uphill climb to go, the most vicious of the day. In places, the Track led straight up a waterfall.

On that afternoon Paulo, Tony and one of my friends literally pushed and pulled me up the mountainside.

Throughout the next three days, each member of our group would play some part in helping me complete the Track. Old friendships were deepened and new ones were formed.

Walking through the Kokoda Track arch at Owers Corner on that last day was special for that unique feeling that comes from sharing a hard experience.

A veteran of countless treks, Tony had walked barefoot on his past few crossings but the fast trek had been tough for all of us, including our porters.

"You know, I might get a pair of boots in Port Moresby for the next trek," he said.