Tasmanian wilderness walk to cleanse the soul

Finding freedom on the Overland Track

Shortly after dawn, in a forest on the western shore of Lake St Clair in Tasmania, I had one of the most moving experiences of my life.

I was on the home stretch of the Overland Track, the island’s famous long-distance walk. I left my campsite at dawn to walk the last few miles to the southern end of the lake. There, a bus would take me to Hobart and a hot bath.

The lake was at its still, mournful best, living up to its Aboriginal name leeawuleena, meaning ‘sleeping water’. It reminded me of Wastwater in the English Lake District, which can be equally moody and ethereal.

It had rained in the hour before dawn and the pines, eucalyptus and tree ferns were dripping moisture. The scent of the drenched woodland was overpowering. Peppermint, myrtle, pepperberry and a potpourri of a thousand other fragrances. I breathed deeply, infusing my senses.

I heard secret, unseen streams trickling down from the slopes of Mount Othrys. The sound was wholesome and comforting; nature’s own Zen spa soundtrack. The water therapy harmonised with the descending trills of Superb Fairy Wrens, which were busy feeding deep in the ferns, making the fronds twitch as they hopped between them. Every now and then one emerged from the greenery and I caught a glimpse of its brilliant, sky-blue head and up-turned, ultramarine tail.

I looked deep into the forest understorey and watched its myriad greens merge from emerald to absinthe and avocado to kale. Mist evaporated slowly from the ferns revealing a lone and well-camouflaged Bennett’s Wallaby just 10ft away. I had disturbed its breakfast and it looked at me indignantly, its cheeks full of grass and leaves.

The wallaby blinked. I blinked back. It started chewing again, tentatively. It watched me, its ears swivelling like tiny, furry, radio telescope dishes, picking up every murmur and movement. I breathed silently, fixed to my spot, my heart quickening.

The wallaby’s perfectly groomed coat glistened with moisture; every hair sported its own tiny droplet. It nodded its head towards me. A ‘hello’? A ‘get lost’? I wanted to believe it was the former so I nodded back. What did it see when it looked at me, I wondered: a friend, a foe, or just another wet and unwashed hiker?

Then, as mysteriously as it had appeared, the wallaby took a slow hop and vanished through a curtain in its wondrous forest.

My experience in that forest on that magical morning was hugely therapeutic. The serenity and innocence of the scene salved my anxiety and sent flickers of elation through me. Nothing mattered but that immersion in nature, that feeling of relief and hope.

It came at the ideal time. Being a news reporter and foreign correspondent (my main job for years) takes its toll. We see horrors, we know too much and learn just how truly wicked our fellow human beings can be to each other. We toughen ourselves so we can brush most of it off but some trauma takes longer to shed; the worst you never forget.

After writing a particularly harrowing series of articles, I needed peace and freedom. The Overland Track and Tasmania’s incredible wildlife helped me cleanse my soul. I’ll be forever grateful.

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