The Demon’s Fault

Planning my hike, I was poring over a topographical map of Washpool National Park in northern NSW, when I noticed what appeared to be a straight line tracking north-south – a deep scar from the geological past. The more I looked at it, the more I felt drawn to it for some reason. I zoomed in closer to the northern part of the line to reveal what my brain was already machinating - some kind of lost valley. If I went off-trail, perhaps I could hike down to see it for my own eyes?

I booked a week camping at Coombadjha campground nestled in the Gondwana forest alongside a creek, from where I would investigate the Demon Fault as part of a larger hiking exploration of the area including the adjacent Gibraltar Range. The final weeks at work leading up to the trip were intense, making the planning and research even more challenging. Nevertheless, one thing kept pulling me along - that geological scar – refusing to loosen its grip on me. I even found myself sharing my intrigue with others, asking them if they too noticed anything interesting on the topographical map.

Upon arrival at the planned base camp, I realised I had chosen well – a remote location perfect for multi-day hikers as the sole facility was a drop toilet. Only 3 tent sites. No RVs, no noise. Just rainforest and a stunning creek. A fine, misty rain had given the area a damp yet enchanting feel, perfect for the legion of leeches that welcomed me as I was setting up my tent. No matter I thought, because I knew the forecast was dry and warm in the coming days. To avoid being dinner for leeches, I used the boot ledge of my trusty old Corolla as a dinner table and enjoyed tinned salmon and bean mix while contemplating the plan for the following day’s big mission.

I would have to use my big pack to potentially support an overnight wild camp. The 14 km would be a long ascent of around 350 metres up onto a ridge followed by an increasingly sharp descent of around 600 metres down into the jaws of the Demon Fault. My pack would have to carry 7 litres of water to last two days just in case I found no supply. With lightweight tent, food and gadgets including a personal locator beacon, I was at around 17-18 kg. Too heavy to do a 28 km out and back, so there would have to be a cunning plan to defeat the Demon.

The plan was to go as far as possible with the heavy pack before parking it at a potential wild camp site and continuing with an essentials-only bag down onto the valley floor. That way I could save energy and consume less water. I generally don’t seem to consume a lot of water, but as a newcomer to multi-day hiking I had to be conservative. I went to bed content with the plan and preparations and slept reasonably well.

After a high calorie dehydrated breakfast I set off early in resplendent morning sun. The first two hours followed an existing trail, part of Gibraltar-Washpool World Heritage Walk. It was hard work with the weight, but the lush rainforest and general excitement of the mission helped me along. I had time to reflect. I was intrigued by how, once we get fixated on something - obsessed even - what makes us continue forward, regardless of hurdles? And in my case, I felt like I was walking in four dimensions, taking in all this verdant scenery while trying to imagine this land some 250 million years ago.

I came to the junction from which I was to peel away from the main walk. I noticed a sign that said private land. While there was no actual warning, something jarred within. I continued on nonetheless, noticing a slight degrading of the trail into what was a fire trail. Onwards and upwards I climbed, happy in the knowledge I would be alone on this mission. About half an hour later, hotter now, I began to feel the first physical signs of the effort. My plantar had said good morning and I was drenched with sweat. I had not drunk much water as usual, and was beginning to think I was carrying too much water. I needed to lighten the load, so I cached a 1.5 litre bottle on the side of the trail in a welcome shady glade and treated myself to an energy bar.

Pack back on, it didn’t feel much lighter. I slowly continued to ascend for another half an hour until finally the ground levelled off. I was up on the ridge and now needed to look for potential camp sites on the side of the trail. Despite the elevation, I had no spectacular views to help push me on because of the trees lining the trail. Neither were there any suitable clearings for a tent site. Soon I started descending, gradually at first, but with the increasing gradient eliciting further complaints from my sore plantar.

I continued descending, eyes sweeping left and right, but with an increasing sense that I might not find a suitable tent site at this rate. Obviously I could not set up a tent on the fire trail. If I could not find somewhere to camp, I would have to hike all the way back to base camp. I figured it would be right at my limit, going down to the Demon Fault and returning the same day, even with a cunning plan. An epic 28km effort. No sooner had my mood darkened at this prospect than up on my left I finally noticed a clearing.

There was a sign that read ‘Apiary’. I recalled the private land sign a while back. I walked into the clearing anyway to have a look around. No hives or bees, but something didn’t feel right being there. But it was perfect for a tent site, so regardless I started clearing an area of rocks and sticks until after fifteen minutes it looked good enough. I reasoned that if I couldn’t find anything better further down soon, I’d have no choice but to camp here. Either that or no overnight rest. I pressed on with the descent without feeling much relief, my footfall now becoming noticeably laboured.

After ten more minutes I knew I was getting quite tired, so I took off my pack and decided to park it in a tree, off the ground to prevent wildlife ingress to my food supplies. Although this felt much better, I realised now that for every meter downhill to wherever I might find a more suitable tent site, I would have to double back uphill to get my pack. I also noticed a blue painted marking on a tree - some numbers and letters and a definite arrow pointing back in the direction I had come from. I could also see the trail was getting rougher.

Despite the uneven ground, lighter, I moved downhill faster now, feeling a sense of urgency. The pull of the Demon Fault I guessed. What would I find down there? On the topo map it just showed as a white clearing at the bottom of a valley with a small river running through it. A wide rocky river bed I supposed. I started doubting it would even look anything special, much like the rest of the trail so far. I checked my AllTrails app on which I had downloaded the offline map. I still had some way to go. Possibly another hour. That didn’t help my legs feel any better, but my scattered cognition carried me onwards and downwards. Suddenly, I glimpsed and heard something almost under my feet to the left. Reflexively I leapt forward into the air to escape it.

Thinking that it was definitely a hiss that I’d heard, I turned around to face the culprit. It was a large, patterned green snake. A handsome specimen, of which species I did not know at the time. I felt my heart beating out of my chest, mostly because I had almost trodden on it, rather from any imminent danger. While I was not surprised to have come across a snake, I was mildly disturbed that I hadn’t seen it. And was it dangerous? I did not know. I got out my phone and approached it to within a few meters. It still hadn’t moved. I chucked a stick towards it. Still it didn’t move. Not shy. It then occurred to me that I would have to come back this way in around two hour’s time. How would I spot it again? Where would it be? I decided to quickly walk back past it to grab a large fallen branch on the trail and dragged it back past it some 10m downhill. That would mark the spot for when I came back up. Somewhat shaken, I continued downhill, as fast as possible, but again noticing my sloppy footfall. After another five minutes I saw another blue marking on a tree with the arrow pointing backwards. The trail ahead was choppy and steep. Something made me continue.

The gradient was becoming steeper making concentration required for downhill safety. I would have to walk back up all this and I was still some distance from the Demon Fault. Another half-an-hour? Exhausted I continued. I had packed a lunch to eat down on the valley floor. I’d need those calories to climb back up. All the way up to my pack and then setup camp, hopefully avoiding the snake. Who knew, maybe he headed off towards the planned camp site? It wasn’t that far away. I spotted another blue marking and stopped. These markings probably had some useful meaning that I didn’t understand – the letter and numbers. But the backward pointing arrows kept tormenting me. I noticed the trail was now not only churned up, but the grass on it was much thicker and taller. I hadn’t noticed the snake when there was little grass, so well was he camouflaged. What chance would I have noticing his mates if I continued careening down hill like this? The noise of a compromised brain.

I had read about the anterior mid-cingulate cortex (aMCC), a part of the brain involved in decision making during difficult tasks. I recalled the keywords cost, benefit, limbic vs logic and willpower. Not to mention the whole Demon Fault obsession thing. I continued, but slowly now, knackered, my thoughts seemingly taking over the physical effort. I stopped and checked AllTrails again. Still half-an-hour to go it seemed. But it wasn’t about the time anymore…

I decided enough was enough. Was it the top-down executive control taking over? Was it the bottom-up instinct signal? Exhausted capacity to simulate a way forward? A subconscious cost-benefit calculation? Only my aMCC knew the answer, but it wasn’t going to tell me any time soon. I took one last look at the rough track disappearing downhill and turned around to face the uphill task ahead. It would be a tough climb back to my pack, although thankfully my plantar prefers ascent. But this was just the beginning and I knew the following long descent would literally be painful.

Soon though I felt some relief despite my burning legs and feet. Something in me had managed to override a narrative I had subscribed to. Some would say I had failed, but I didn’t feel like a failure. I eventually got to the branch snake marker. Slowly I walked up to where the snake had been. He wasn’t there, which was slightly scary in itself. Then I saw him, curled up against a tree close to where he had been, settling in for the afternoon nap. I bade him farewell and continued uphill. Gratefully, I reached my pack and rewarded myself with lunch of tuna bean mix, salted nuts and dried mango. The sound of my chewing was loud against the silence of the bush. I stopped chewing to listen to the silence. A couple of bird calls. Some insects. Not silent, but peaceful. There was something immensely satisfying about simply being here. Just being. Alive.

All I had to do now was march the long way home to base camp and hope for a Turner sunset…