by Cate Ellink
Mornings are routine. We rise, pack gear, eat our meagre breakfast and prepare for the day’s walking. Meagre breakfast doesn’t begin to describe it. It’s disgustingly bland but we planned it ourselves so can hardly complain. We line up each mug and evenly distribute two big spoons of oats and one spoon of milk powder to each. We pour in water to suit our own taste, then stir until it resembles some kind of porridge consistency and eat. No one gets out of bed eager for breakfast.
Our ‘exciting’ meal of the day varies between dinner or lunch. If dinner is TVP, textured vegetable protein, then lunch is the best meal. Any other evening meal will win. Lunch is cracked pepper flavoured cracker biscuits spread with peanut butter or jam. Nothing exciting. We’re methodical about lunch. Each day a different person’s pocket knife is used in the spread and then you lick your knife when the meal is finished—an added treat, and a few extra calories.
Most days I wonder why I’m here. Jason asked me something similar and I’m not happy with my answer. I don’t know what possessed me to sign up for such a trip. It’s not something I was burning to do. I’m not a mad bushwalker. The advertisement appeared and I responded. Sometimes opportunities pop up and you take them. Call it fate.
Over the trip, two days stand out as especially challenging. One of the days was my hell on earth.
We became intimately associated with ‘wait-a-while’, a vine with hooked thorns that catch onto you. It takes some manoeuvring to extricate yourself, or anyone else, from it. Walking in rainforest means dense vegetation, rocks, boulders, hills and creeks. No roads, no paths, no tracks. We have to follow maps, use our compass and cut our own path. Secateurs are a part of walking, they remain in your hand, used at least every second step—particularly if you’re in the lead.
This particular day, travelling through the forest becomes too onerous. We are hardly making any forward progress and everyone is frustrated by the slow pace. A shallow creek runs beside, beckoning us. We decide to walk in the creek for easier, and hopefully faster, going. Wet boots are normal even without walking in water, so that is no consideration. I agree to creek walking, thinking we’ll wade in the shallows. My imagining is wrong. We rock-hop along the creek.
Rock-hopping is exactly how it sounds. We jump from rock to rock along the creek. I’ve never done this. I’ve walked around rock platforms at the beach, with my parents telling me to be careful and to not hurt myself, but I’ve never rock-hopped. After a few rocks, it becomes abundantly clear that I’m no rock-hopper. Everyone hops happily past me, while I quiver and tentatively step from one rock to the next until I give in and wade.
This is new and rattles me. Why can’t I rock-hop?
The rocks become larger and further and further apart. The creek is filled with smaller rocks. I can no longer wade. I have to jump from large rock to large rock. I set myself up for the first jump. My legs become jelly snakes dangling uselessly from my body. My knees are shuddering pieces of flesh, useless to hold me up, much less catch my weight when I land. My stomach takes a nose dive to someplace as low as it can go.
This is ridiculous. I have to move. I steel myself to jump. I call myself all manner of names. I tighten up my jelly snake legs and then Ed’s hand extends towards me. I hadn’t noticed him come back for me.
“Problem, Mac?” he asks.
“Just my knees.” I try to sound flippant but it comes out as a shaky whisper.
“What’s up with them?”
I shrug and hang my head. I hate being at the end of the group and I hate being useless. “They’re jelly.”
“You been rock-hopping before?”
“Nope and it looks like I don’t like it.” I try to smile but I’m sure I only manage a grimace.
Ed keeps his hand out in front of me. “Grab my hand and follow with your feet. Trust your feet Mac, they don’t want to fall. Take a breath and trust.”
As terrifying as it is, I have to do it. The water is filled with rocks so I can’t wade. It’s jump or remain here. My mind has a litany of questions. What if I fall? What if I twist my ankle? Break my leg? Drown? I have no answers to any of the questions my mind is screaming at me.
I take a breath, block my brain, lean forward with my hand outstretched and leap. I land right where I wanted to without knocking Ed off the rock. Without noticing, I grabbed his hand mid-flight. My body must be working even if my mind is frozen in fear.
“Easy. Just do the same for the next one.”
Easy? It’s not at all.
Ed leaps to the next rock and we follow the same procedure. My legs still have the memory of jelly snakes but become stronger with each leap. After a few rocks I no longer need to grab his hand.
“You have to have faith in your feet, Mac.” I nod and he goes on ahead, leaving me alone to leap and think.
This question of my lack of confidence has come up again. First Jason. Now Ed. I didn’t realise there was a problem.
What would Jason be like if he was here instead of Ed? Would he be yelling in my ear to keep me going? I can’t see him yelling. Swearing, yes. Screaming and carrying on, no. Maybe he’d promise a kiss for each leap. I relive one of Jason’s kisses with each jump and it’s easier. My mind still doubts and questions but the kisses confuse it.
Ed gave me confidence and the quiet support I needed, yet I have no strong attraction to him. Life is strange.
With concerted effort I make it to lunch—a long way behind everyone else, but I get there. No one makes any awful comments but I still feel like a fool.
I survive the day and learn that I have no faith in myself.
How many times will I have to learn it and hear it before I turn it around and believe in myself? Jason said he believed in me but how can he when he doesn’t know me?
Towards the end of our long trip, another day brings more of my worst thoughts to keep me company. The mountain slope before us is different to every other mountain we’ve climbed. It’s covered by pieces of shale, flat rock created from mud laid down over years and baked hard. It’s smooth and slippery. Jagged pieces poke out all over the entire mountain-sized hill. It’s like thousands of glass shards poking out of plasticine. The slope must be close to a forty degree angle, so not something we can walk straight down. We plan to attack it as if traversing a ski slope. We’ll angle across the hill on a slightly downward trajectory for about forty metres and then cut back on a similar angle—effectively making a zigzag down the mountainside. This is a solo pursuit. Each person does a segment before the next person starts, so there’s minimal chance of a slide taking everyone out. Shale moves underneath each footfall. My ankle twists and turns with the uncertain footing. It’s slow and painstaking.
For me, the hardest part of this journey is being alone. At random moments you can make a joke or shout to someone, but for the most part your own guts and mindset have to get you down the mountain. My mind is quite opposed to my guts.
I elect to go last because I’m the slowest and don’t want to feel like I’m holding anyone up. There’s a well trod path for me to follow but that doesn’t make the journey any easier. I don’t know how far it is because you can’t see the bottom from the top, but it takes us the best part of a day to traverse this mountain.
I spend a whole day with only my thoughts to keep me company while trying not to think about falling, being hungry, my ankles hurting, my knees quivering and thigh muscles screaming. I try to think positively to get down this bloody hill but my mind is full of my lack of self-belief. I know I’m not the most confident person, but until this trip I had never seen it as a problem.
To come on this trip, I wrote an application detailing my experience and making a claim to attend. I never believed I’d be chosen to participate in such a trip. My lack of self-confidence means I didn’t dream of success—but it didn’t stop my hope. Did that matter? I don’t think so because it didn’t stop me achieving.
One segment of the mountain from hell is done and I’m still alive.
I didn’t expect to achieve much
at school, academically or socially. I had friends and did enough to get to uni. No great achievements but enough. I was a member of many sporting teams but I wasn’t terribly good at anything. A support player, not a star. I put those things down to talent, not self-confidence.
I remember doing a quiz at school to work out what I could do afterwards career-wise. The results indicated I could do anything I set my mind to. And if I didn’t set my mind to it? If I thought I might fail before I started, what then? Could I have done more than I have? Could I achieve great things?
I still don’t know. But the next segment of this hell hill is complete.
And what about with guys? I’ve never achieved there. Is that because I haven’t put my mind to it? I’m a great friend. I have no trouble talking to males but that’s where it ends. Is that because I don’t set my mind to taking it further?
Why is it different with Jason? I’ve gone further with him than anyone. How did that happen? Do I want him more than anyone else? Or has my virginity plan made me set my mind on him?
How have I become an ‘okay-achiever’ with no confidence? Why hasn’t anyone, before Jason, instilled confidence into me? Does it just get classified as my ‘personality’ and ignored? So many questions, so few answers.
There’s something about Jason I like. He’s warm and caring, fun and easy-going, hot and sexy. I want to go further with him. What’s more, I don’t want anything getting in my way. I’m no longer after a one night stand, I want a relationship. That’s stretching my goal much further. Am I ready for that? Is that what he wants?
Thinking about the possibility of a relationship consumes me so when I skid over bits of shale, I right myself automatically. My mind is full of what might be, causing bubbles of anticipation to gurgle inside me. Or maybe it’s the effervescence of fear.
I make it down the shale-covered mountain with a new resolve. I have no idea how I’ve ended up like I have but it stops now. I’m seizing all life has to offer. I’m going to believe in myself. I’m going to see if I’m what Jason wants. What’s the worst that can happen? He can say no. But at least I’ve asked.
On the morning of day seventeen, we know we’re not going to make our rendezvous point today. We have at least a day to go, probably two. I can hear Jason’s voice telling me not to keep him waiting. I pick up my pace trying to make us not go past day eighteen. It hurts. Walking downhill, even on normal mountains, is worse than going uphill and of course the last few days have been mostly downhill. Leg muscles scream either way but my thighs scream louder than my calves, and thigh muscles are the ones that hate going downhill. I push my screaming thighs. Silently I chant to ignore the pain. Massage, sex, soak, sex, swim, sex, rub, sex, stretch, sex, relax, sex. Something has to encourage me down that hill and the only word capable of drowning out my screaming thighs is ‘sex’.
The thought of ten days working on mangroves, no hills in sight and my nights spent with Jason, is a huge incentive. My legs are so weakened from the downhill trekking that I can think about heated sex scenes without any extra knee wobbling. My stomach churns and my pulse races, but they aren’t unfamiliar either. Much of what I’ve encountered on this trip is as scary as any thought of being accepted, or rejected, by Jason. I keep up with the others so that we make our destination by early afternoon on day eighteen. I’m exhausted but only a day late.
And Jason isn’t here.
Every part of my body screams, except my voice. I’d convinced myself rejection wouldn’t hurt, but it does. Everything in my body is achingly sore. A bruised ego and cracked heart only add to the damage.
Neil, another army guy, is here to pick us up. Eighteen days I’ve waited. Dreams of Jason meeting us teased me down the hill faster than anyone thought possible. I promised myself so many things and he isn’t here. Neil doesn’t look at me, so he obviously has no message from Jason.
I climb into the 4WD with the others, keeping my eyes downcast. When we’re dropped off I mumble my thanks. Neil makes no move to speak to me and I don’t ask. My mind tells me all I need to know—I’ve deluded myself. Kidded myself that someone like Jason could be interested in me. I’ve tricked myself into believing in lust. I’ve focussed so hard on losing my virginity I’ve let logic fade away.
Shattered inside but determined to let no one know, I do what everyone else is doing: enjoy a hot shower with soap, eat a real meal with fresh food, drink icy cold fresh milk and flavoured cold drinks and sleep in a sleeping bag, alone.
It’s only at night I allow myself to sob softly at my naïvety. By day, I sparkle. Nothing’s wrong with me. Only darkness knows the truth. I’ll never lose my virginity.
CHAPTER 5
The next day we meet the mangrove team, who are real scientists from Townsville. It’s incredible learning about mangroves, measuring and weighing trees, collecting and bagging leaves, pods and pneumatophores. Pneumatophores are the greatest things. They’re those stick-like things that come out of the ground and help the plant roots to breathe. I love this work. We’re so busy I think of nothing but mangroves. The biology of the mangrove system is fascinating and I can’t learn enough about them.
During the days I’m too busy to think but the nights are difficult. Night is time alone to berate myself for my stupidity. I thought Jason cared about me. Sadly, the last few weeks away from him, I’ve built a relationship from nothing. I deluded myself with dreams and reality has hit me in the face with a sharp, stinging slap.
On the third morning I’m eager to get back to the mangroves after another night of self-recrimination. We go out and work hard. I like feeling the ache of my shoulders as I lug and weigh tree trunks and branches. Muscles hurt and heal. My heart is a muscle so it must be healing too. Picking mangrove leaves and filling a bag with them is satisfying. Struggling to get the huge, bulky bag hooked onto the scales is a moment of fun. The expanse of river amazes me, so much water. Beside the river the mangroves are like the rainforest, dense stands of vegetation that appear to be green, but once inside they’re magical. The backs of the leaves are yellow, or orange, or grey and taste of salt. Roots, in shades of grey, brown and black, protrude from the water and the oozing mud. Some roots look like rib bones in the way they arc from the tree and vanish into the black soil. Other roots are great slabs of timber, curving like an entryway, welcoming you to the tree. And in behind the mangroves if you walk back far enough from the river, there’s a gradual change where ferns and trees appear until it opens up to a forest.
The day is over and we’re going back to camp. With night coming on my heart is heavy. As we pull into the boat ramp, something nags at my mind. The vehicle is parked differently. My breath skips, not enough so I’m holding my breath, just a little blip in the rhythm. The man beside the army 4WD is not Neil. That blip becomes a more pronounced stutter in my breathing. I look again. Blink hard. Stare. Dark hair. Broad shoulders.
It’s Jason.
Jason.
Before there’s time for anything other than a huge breath that stirs a hundred emotions, the assistant quartermaster appears beside him waving madly. My heart, which had started to thump loudly, falls to my toes. Fiona’s with him? Standing next to him, laying her hand possessively on his arm, which he hasn’t shaken off. I don’t need a degree to put that together. She’s waving as the boat slides into the boat ramp. I try to work away the huge lump in my throat. I try to be as happy to see them as everyone else is. I try not to be a jealous cow. I fail.
I slip from the boat and straggle up to the vehicle. My feet are heavy and my legs may as well be tree trunks. Fiona beams and laughs and jokes. Jason politely smiles at everyone. I dreamed of his smile, or a wink, especially for me. There’s none.
It really is over before it started. The only good thing is no one knows. I couldn’t handle anyone giving me pity. Imagine if I’d told Belinda or Annie and they were watching now with sad expressions on their face. Thank goodness, they’re all laughing and oblivious to my pain. My heart is like shards of toffee.
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“I thought I’d come out and surprise you guys.” Fiona waves her hands as she works her way around hugging each of us. “I brought you extra food. I thought you might need it. You guys went the farthest and had the least provisions. And you all look starving.”
Jason stares at me but I can’t read his stare. It’s heavy, intense and I know he’s trying to tell me something but I don’t know what it is. Fiona’s in front of me and I collect my hug dutifully but I’m stiff. She gives me an extra squeeze which does nothing to relax me. I don’t want a hug from her. I glance over her shoulder at Jason but he’s turned away. I would have relaxed in his hug.
We pile into the vehicle for the run back to the caravan park. I know I should look into the rear vision mirror and catch Jason’s gaze. I feel it on me during the short trip. But I can’t. I don’t want to see apology. I don’t want to see pity.
Fiona makes things lighter. Her teasing nature brings out the best in everyone. Our group is full of laughter as the night progresses. I don’t want to enjoy her company. I want to hate her but I can’t. I learned long ago you can’t hate women because men like them and not you. It’s not easy to sit here with merriment surrounding me, when I’d much rather slink off and feel sorry for myself. Although, I’ve had two nights of wallowing in my misery so I probably should get over myself and try to enjoy the evening. Plastering a smile to my face is the closest I can get to merriment. It might take a few days for my ego to be soothed.
A while after dinner I realise Jason isn’t with us. I saw him at dinner and we spoke to each other in the general conversation with others. I haven’t tried to be alone with him. I’m a scaredy cat at heart. If I see him alone then the bubble really will burst and I’ll have nothing to pull the shards of my heart back together. It hurts not talking to him and I hate being like this. I hate not knowing. Is it better to know?
It’s frustrating being in a crowd of happy people when you’re preoccupied. Is that why Jason left? I wonder if I can sneak off to be alone. Heck, where did my self-confidence go? First sign of trouble and it’s fled. Is that what I always do?
