When Peter Brown from Mt. Molloy telephoned and in his typical relaxed way said something like "we're thinking of going on the Trail to put a few markers up in a couple of weeks" - I enquired in my usual 'keen to join in voice' about exactly when and how long and can I come and can a friend come too? Happy with his answer, I packed helmet, sleeping bag, sunscreen, mozzie stuff and a few other bits and hopped on a plane. My friend Julie had an assignment at Unandarra and couldn't join us at the start. She came along half way - the last 3 days - when one of the men had to leave but his horse was available.

I loved the whole 6 days, but think I giggled more to myself for the first three - there I was, jolly near a geriatric with three nice guys, setting off into the bush the way I like it best: on a good horse to ride, packhorses along and seemingly uncharted country all around. Why the giggles? - well, three men all to myself in the wilderness for 3 days and three nights - why didn't that happen 30 years earlier? You tell me! What I most liked about my human travelling companions was that they are real men. They didn't need to show off by giving the horses a hard time, they quite naturally afforded the animals consideration and kindness. That is a quality I treasure.

I learnt a few things on that trip; yet again about the beauty and the harshness of the Australian Bush. You must plan before you set off, really know where to find the next water, which is the top priority. Also, never to believe a local when he says "nah - won't rain in the next few days" and on the strength of that leave the oilskin behind. Murphy of course ensured that it rained on the first night out because you have also decided to leave the tents behind to lighten the load on the packhorses! So you spend the night in a wet sleeping bag, searching for a positive aspect - the only thing I could come up with was that at least I don't have to worry about moisturising cream!

The other thing I learnt was that there can be stress whilst bush-bashing. Peter probably needed a rest and/or got fed up with my smug 'isn't it bliss riding in the bush' face. Anyway, whilst traversing some particularly featurelss landscape, full of rocks, some the knife sharp slate type, well hidden in dry grass, tall enough to reach the horse's shoulders, he called me over. He handed me the 'Bicentennial National Trail' booklet for section number 1 and his compass, mumbled something about co-ordinates and being very careful unless I want to be responsible for somebody perishing in bush because I got it wrong - or at the very least that we'd have to retrace, take the signs off the trees where we had fixed them and loose a day!

There were no tracks to follow - those that were there you didn't follow because they were brumby tracks and brumbies don't care which way the National Trail goes! Without the help of distinguishing features on the horizon, especially when heading down and into and up out of a wide valley, you have to concentrate like hell to get it right. When the compass needle swings happily to the horses motion*, you become quite tense endeavouring to steer your steed to median range of needle movements, without cutting his leg off on a slaty rock. The whole process can be complicated at times by a packhorse with a preference for the brumby tracks rather than the direction your other arm tries to hold it to.

Under these circumstances, finding a suitable tree to fix a marker or a ribbon to, so future trekkers can see it from a distance, caused me more stress than I ever thought possible to experience in the bush. Full marks to Peter to actually volunteer again after having done similar before, very public spirited of him.

Of course it wasn't all like that - but it was that part of the trail which made the mission necessary. Our route was from Font Hill Station to Ikes Place and back. There were two days with only 3 watering chances for the horses in total. On day 3 we left Mooshgang (funny name for a Swiss isn't it), behind because his packhorse developed a sore back and had not recovered overnight. We could'nt abandon the horse, (even though it broke my big toe that day, but that's another story), so Mooshgang had to stay with it. The three of us then ended up at Ikes Place late afternoon on day 3. It was quite an experience emerging from aforesaid country to see a couple of sheds on the hillside from the old mining site, then reaching the river, riding through a gate and eventually encountering actual green grass and mowed at that! We had reached our campsite for the night. After unsaddling the horses and washing them in the river they were turned loose for a well earned rest. They enjoyed their dinner from the packs and with all that green grass there was no fear of loosing them. A little walk further along the riverbank brought us to a weir - crossing that and following the stone steps up the slope - we thought we'd found the Garden of Eden!

Fruit trees, flowers, vegetables, stunning colours from the abundant Bougainvillea in full bloom, a beautiful bungalow type house, designed and built by Ike brick by brick - and yes, he made each brick himself! 6000 of them it took him ..... minutes to form each brick, big concrete ones. Ike, a Scandinavian refugee from city life, keeps records, I suppose it is a hangover from big business. He now enjoys his hide-away and the fact that he can make over 60 different kinds of wine from the fruit he grows and that he is self-sufficient. This not enough, he is a friendly hermit who welcomes visitors, offers them the luxury of a hot shower and a flushing toilet (much appreciated after days of digging you own dunny) and he watches your face intently for signs of approval as you taste your way through as many of his wines as you can. I will have to go back another 4 times at least to get through the lot! It was well before we started 'tasting' that my friend Julie arrived, being dropped off in a 4WD by a neighbour (about 3hrs distance by car) and joined the gang.

The next morning we said goodbye to our third male (doesn't want his name mentioned), Julie took over his horse and off we rode towards Mt. Molloy. When we arrived at Mooshgang's camp again that night we found him and the horse in good spirits and ready to tackle the difficult terrain again next day. Campfire, cloudless, star sparkling night sky, bush noises and the occasional soft snorting from our equines filling the gaps in conversation gave that special kind of wondrous feeling rearely experienced. No wonder bush poets are not only prolific but also manage to express an enormous depth of feeling in very simple words.

The bag containing nails and aluminium BNT signs in the saddlebag, now a lot lighter than on day one, we headed out with the morning sun. It is incredible how in just 3days, traces of having passed with 4 riding horses and 2 packhorses have disappeared - the tall grass seemingly sprung back to its original position, the few broken bits hidden by the rest. It also made it quite clear that it was necessary to travel both ways, putting signs on opposite sides of a tree is not enough, somehow coming from the other direction changes the line of view.

We tested this by letting Julie take the lead for a while (without compass). She fell for the temptation of picking up a brumby track after crossing a very eroded dry creek bed, the horse being perfectly happy to follow it and in no time she was way off course. We let her go for quite a distance before Mooshgang followed and cooeed to bring her back. It was a good lesson! Whilst her general direction was right, she would have totally missed the only two watering places in 24 hours travelling, as well as having ended up along a steep, impassable part at the edge of the tablelands where the country sharply drops off into the lowlands. She would have spent many hours in extremely rough terrain to find the pass which early settlers used to access the mineral wealth of the tablelands. Moral of the story? - BNT trekkers beware and prepare!

We left the horses at Font Hill Station, Peter was going to truck them back home next day. I was happy to have had another chance to see more of our 'Trail' and hoping that maybe one day I can go back for more!

Julie, after spending 3 days on horseback and 4 nights in a sleeping bag in the open bush, got a lift from Mt. Molloy to Port Douglas at noon, then a bus to Cairns and within an hour or so after arrival there, dragged her uncrushable and very glamorous cocktail dress out of the backpack and did her stuff at a formal Tourism Industry Awards dinner! How about that for versatility?

* It does say in the book not to read the compass from horseback! But, the terrain is too rough to walk, the grass would be over your head - so you just have to do it from the saddle.

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