Lost and Found

Started out fine, like those song lyrics…

Could have been the whiskey, might have been the gin.

Could have been three or four six-packs…

We all know how such indulgence ends.

Regardless, a lovely day, Monday holiday, long weekend. Slightly stir crazy after so many days work and nothing much else other than working at a keyboard on days spent at home. Grand Plan: Down to the Pipeline track, off onto Bullawarring, out near Kingfisher pools, to Waterfall train station, meet up with my unable to cope with rough bush walking tracks husband, and enjoy lunch.

As I walk away, intent on curtailing my spirit of adventure, resisting any temptations to explore new trails.

After being warned, ‘your phone won’t work much.’ I tested his comments and sent a message before I turn off the main, clearly marked trail, an unsealed roadway capable of vehicle traffic. Despite warnings; a signal. Evident with an electronic swish as my text bounds homeward.

The creek, Heathcote creek, trips over a low causeway, flowing through outlets, east of Woronora river, running into spillways from Woronora Dam. A tributary of Woronora River, making recent media due to topographical impact of coal mining.

Further than I expect is an intersection with Goanna Track. I’ve been here before, after an Anzac dawn service, keeping alive remembrance by completing a difficult trail walk to link with experiences of troops in trenches. Nowhere near mud, guts and intensity. At least no one shooting at us.

Signage indicates only half a km back to the pipeline, feels much further, but Goanna trail does go steep uphill then down again, traversing a precipitous slope, to steps across pipes and onto bigger better marked, can’t possibly get lost trail.

Things headed array way too quickly. Much of my headspace is spent thinking this track is very overgrown. Head spinning from too much drinking; my allegory again. Ducking, pushing aside tree limbs, overhands, doubling back more than once, stumbling through mini spaces. 

Not until I hear voices of other walkers – above me. Then I concede, this is not the correct path? I know how close you can be to a trail and nothing is visible. No indications uphill, toward sounds of others. If I push uphill, that way takes me deeper into National Park bush. Too steep anyway.

I continue frustrating efforts to push through thick brush, scratches on arms and legs, and encountering a sinking panic not being able to identify locations of tracks. Any signs of humanity vanished, consumed by bush. No wonder escaped convicts stooped to cannibalism, or preferred returning to their cells, suffering punishments rather than stay, alone, trapped out here. Trees, scrawny besides trail edges, fringed with unexpected sinister broodiness. Made my skin tingle.

At this point I make my first major mistake, a decision to head downhill. Impossible to visualize errors until after. Should have ascended searched for location of the correct track, yelled in the direction of those fellow walkers, Coo-wee’d, somehow attracted attention from other walkers. Shake their hands in kindred and friendship. If I lean on an earlier analogy, too much solo drinking.

Possible to follow the creek-line and pick up Bullawarring trail later, so says calm, pragmatic elements of my brain. Listening, I descend those boulders, lucky not to fall and hurt myself. As if I exited my first few bars, and now stumbled, hit in the face by fresh air, tripping over unfamiliar roadways. Except no roads, only trees, Gymea Lilies, shrubs and deep recesses in rocks. More than once a stumble through thick ferns, wet from recent runoff. I begin a mantra, don’t fall.

I am pushing upstream – another mistake, downstream would have brought me back to the Pipeline. Without hindsight, focused on keeping as close as possible to my initial plan, I worked myself deeper lost.

Crossing the creek. Perhaps another mistake. Didn’t see any alternative, limited chances to make my way upstream, looked easier over there. At least I could transition over a shallow rock hop, after encountering deep sections. Perfectly still water, no ripples and no breeze.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Will I walk this trail again – unlikely. Will I realize where I went wrong. Was it the beer, several six packs, maybe the whiskey! But I am in trouble now. My allusion continues to pull me deeper.

At this point I do look at my phone, realize deep in this abyss I have no signal. I cannot access maps, contact anyone, or generally use any of the device’s technology.

So, another hiatus, I need to head uphill, away from this communication method black-hole. Get high enough up ridge lines, to access commanding views of hill folds, site off phone towers.

Again, I am stumbling through shrubs, tripping on rocks, yelling, inside my head, at un-answering emptiness. Pause to take in breathless hushes. Listen to wind, take note of which way I am walking, east, toward the highway, can’t be too far.

My phone picks up, notches to indicate a signal, but I am still in rough bush. Rock outcrops, jumping across, pushing through trees barely a body width apart. Develop a strategy of pushing under-story plants away, stomp down low branches. Must work for deer, wallabies, even big lizards. Be easier if I found a deer trail through this bush.

12.06 – finally an admission. Sent an - I am lost text message. Announce not sure what to do. A mind abyss. Unfamiliar and troubling. A cerebral stumble. Inform him of what I am trying to do – get out to the highway. Use phone map function, arrow of direction – still technology says, Princes Highway is 18km away. Surely not. My planned walk was only 13k in total. Can’t be so far, it’s only 6 k along highway between Heathcote and Waterfall.

Already scratched, bleeding. Hot liquid on my leg, identifies surface injuries. I have some Band-Aids, cover the worst spots. Lasts about a Nano second. Before falling off, and bleeding anew.

Time is sucked up into bush, gullies and creek lines. It’s taken more than an hour to get up this ridge. Tell him, Phone said highway is still 18k away. Shit. In thick bush.

Still strong signal, but stumbling again. Turning my face to survey treed ridges and a phone tower, quickly descended into rocky outcrops and thick vegetation.

He suggests, you need to call emergency services. Get some help, identify locations.

‘Can I confirm your name and address? Am I speaking to Karen?’

I expected this request. A calming strategy, perhaps.

‘What type of phone do you have? Do you have an Emergency App on your phone?’

Go ahead and down load an App called Emergency +.

Several attempts involving multiple passwords, appears I cannot download this capacity without full signing into Apple store, getting through a password page, and then my phone will install requested function.

My emergency contact gets hung up on, ‘how did you get down to the Pipeline. Where did you depart from? Not Oliver street?’

‘No,’ I tell her, shaking my head, although she cannot see. ‘Through the scout camp, down Friendly trail.’

She cannot find this geographical feature on her maps. Meanwhile I grind my teeth wanting to say, makes no difference, I am not there anymore. An annoying mention of, ‘help is 20 minutes away and to stay in my present location.’ Time has marched on, I’ve been lost for hours, how can they reach me so quickly? I imagine uniformed searchers breaking through trees, smiles on faces.

Stumbling, thick vegetation again. Wistful for a deer trail. Warning myself not to stumble, break a lower limb, then I would have to stay put, and be winched out. Don’t want this to be my eventuality. I am descending into a new ravine.

Beep, beep, beep! I am cut off. Probably a good thing, charge was reducing. I’d already began to wonder how much longer my charge would last. Why don’t 000 ring back? I am still lost. Feels as if my drinking buddies deserted me while I stumbled around too full of booze. Look at the phone, realize I am in another no signal area.

Finally getting text messages direct from searching police I am being asked, send a screen shot of Google maps so my location can be assessed.

Make a comment, not sure how much use this will be.

My next text message asks, can I zoom out and get some features.

Different from my first image filled with a blank screen, this one takes in location of the Princes Highway, and even blue expanse of Woronora Dam. Two landmarks I’d have no difficulty getting home from, if my progress approached either. With this second image I can be readily located as west of the highway, east of the lake.

Suddenly my phone is busy Asked by my husband did you contact, Sam, the police?

Yes.

I spot overhead power lines. Between thick scrubs, a glimpse, enough to be breathless.

A text comes through, asking me, are you level ground?

Now. Yes.

Can you hear our sirens?

Yes, I can!

My phone rings, Sam asks, ‘can you hear me yelling?’

Tell-tale shouts come over my mobile phone. ‘Only on my phone.’

‘Shit. Sorry I will mute the phone, and try again.’

Faintly, but yes, I can hear someone yelling my name.

As if my new quest, getting out to power pylons exists only beyond impenetrable barriers. I am drunk, from a night spent in overconsumption and a vomit builds, but won’t quite release the pressure. I hover so close, fall badly in thick trees. Head over to a metaphoric toilet bowl waiting, cursing my stupidity. I lost sight of power wires, a few times. But know they are out there.

Akin to experiencing darkest moments existing just before dawn, thickest tea trees grow closest to a cleared track. As if an impenetrable barrier necessary to protect flora from ribbon of gravel cut by mankind. I fall, badly. Unable to get myself upright, rolling around in leaf litter resembling pine needles. Be about right if I have impaled myself on sticks mere moments from release out of here.

‘Shit!’

Sam asks, ‘what’s happening are you okay?’

‘Fell over, take me a while to get up.’

‘Haven’t hurt yourself, Karen?’

‘No. Hang on a minute, I need to pull myself upright.’

Finally, I tumble out, breaking through, exhilarated. Am at a power pylon, expecting to see a police vehicle. But no-one, nothing, I am still alone.

I am nervous about the yellow symbol appeared on my phone about switching to low power mode. My finger trembles. Cold wind makes me shiver. If I’d paid attention to the time I’d appreciate late afternoon looming. Chilling air.

‘Might be good if stay in one place.’

A jumper, I have warmer clothing. Time to eat pieces of fruit I brought with me. Wonder what to do with discarded peel, surely vegetable material is permittable litter in a national park? Forget it, police aren’t here. I reapply Band-Aids to worst bleeding scratches. Do a little inner dance of joy. I am safe, I will be found.

 ‘Can you see the helicopter now.’

‘Yes, its heading south, slightly to the east of my location.’

Penny drops, they are waiting at main lines, now slightly east of me. I can’t see pylons, but wires are visible on the next ridge.

While I pace about, still unsettled, inner mantras now silent. Wondering what I should do. Pol Air emerges above surrounding ridges. Ruffling swathes of air, getting closer. Thumping in my ears, I can see occupants in the capsule below rotors.

4.15pm. Invisible confetti to commemorate my new-found status sparkles. Smiling and waving from within this helicopter. Do I wave back? Within a short time, two police four-wheel drive vehicles emerge. Sam isn’t in either. Or at least I am not introduced to my rescuer. I want to hug someone, kiss a policeman, is that appropriate.