Our camp site is set under whispering peppy trees. Such a beautiful sound to wake to on day three. The air is chilled as I filter my water for the trek ahead. We saunter out just after seven and walk wide dirt tracks. Soon enough these begin to narrow, and our arms are raked by prickly bushes and over hanging limbs. Bright limestone pinnacles wink at as from afar and the track takes far too many twists and turns to pass them. The ground is littered with little tree stumps that act as trip points to unwary hikers. My over-sized boots stub them; I almost eat dirt. I curse myself for looking at the view and not where my feet are going.
The trail spits us out on the beach again. But, this time, the sand is firm under foot – winning! Four-wheel drives pass us and line up facing the calm, pulsing waters. We scurry around rocks and tease the lapping water to wet our boots. Longingly, I look at the transparent liquid and the treasures below the surface. Should I walk in?
There is a rock waiting just for me at the end of this beach section. The last half of the Club Lemon disappears. Final push. We climb and skirt the limestone cliffs, greeting inquisitive day hikers and tourists. The wind picks up. I find myself fighting the hat on my head and the sand at my ankles as we pass the Margaret River. I envy everyone on the beach; having fun and smelling great.
Pavement! The last kilometre-and-a-bit might be hills, but at least it is solid under foot. At the final bend, I thankfully chew a lolly snake and begin the descent into Prevelly. Everything aches. My friend is already at the café and she rings to make sure I’m still alive. I take my time shuffling down, while fantasising about what drink I will order and throwing these bloody boots in the bush.
High five! “We fuckin’ made it!” Fifty-two long arse kilometres and ice coffees to celebrate. We sit at the café smelling like death, with dirt smothered legs…wearing the biggest smiles.
Inbetween Coffees 