So I’ve been home for about two weeks and everyone keeps asking me the same question…
“How was it?”
To be honest I don’t really know where to start. I can say it was hot, humid, steep and muddy. But the words don’t really do it justice. I have some pics which I will sprinkle throughout this, but again most of the pics don’t really do it justice either.
Day 1: Due to what can only be described as poor planning by my father, who had organised the trip, we flew from Melbourne to Sydney and then to PNG/Port Moresby.
Now, as anyone who travels with international connections knows you need some time to make sure that both you and your bags arrive in the same place at the same time. For us, we had an hour in Sydney. While we made it, just – our plan started boarding as we cleared Customs – our bags did not.

This is how you look when all your gear doesn't turn up.
We had all worn our boots as they are probably the most important thing for the whole experience, but most of our essential stuff was in our bags. Well, not mine, because I had brought my pack onboard with me and that had my first aid kit, water bottles and bladder plus some snacks. The only thing I was missing was my clothes to walk in and spare socks.
But things were different for my Dad and brother – everything that was critical for them was in the luggage! We were obviously quite concerned about this. The plan was that the group would head off at 9am the next morning. As in be on a plane to start walking at 9am! Given the next flight from Australia was arriving at 11am this was going to be a problem…
In the end it turned out to be much ado about nothing. Thanks to my Dad running into a guy who used to work for him who had connections at the airport our bags turned up at 11am, we got changed at the airport and the flight out had been delayed by 3.5 hours meaning we all ended up leaving together. Which was way better than my plan which was to go flat out carrying my gear plus my Dads and make up two days of walking to catch the main group. For reasons I’ll explain in a minute we never would have managed that.
So we end up flying to Popondetta. Because of the recent crash there’s not much air traffic going into Kokoda. Popondetta is a 4 hour drive from Kokoda. While it was dry in Moresby and Popondetta we started to get a feel for how hard it rains during the drive – every single bridge we came to had been washed away! Now some of these were flimsy wooden things, but several of them were concrete! I’m no engineer but I can tell that if a river floods hard enough to wash away a concrete bridge it must really rain!

River crossing PNG style.
The drive from Popndetta to Kokoda is fairly unremarkable except for one small detail… There is a big river – like about 150m wide at its banks during wet season – that needs to be crossed. Just like the other rivers its bridge had been washed away during the severe floods in 2002. Think about that for a second – a concrete bridge spanning a 150m river had been washed away. Are you starting to see what I mean about how hard it rains? The locals now have these big inner tubes that they chuck the gear on and then the people to get them across.

Check out how wide this river is! And the bridge got washed away!
After a looong drive bouncing around in the back of a truck – seatbelts..? What are they..? – we arrive at Kokoda at 6.30pm. That basically leaves us time to eat and then get to bed.
The next day we’re up at 5am – not much of a change for me, but I can see most people aren’t accustomed to the early starts. I’m ready to go by 5.15am and have already eaten breakfast by the time the next person rolls up to start eating.
At 6.30am we walk a short distance down a road to the battle site at Kokoda. First off, it’s no surprise they crash planes here! The fog is thick, thick, thick, with visibility less than 100m. Standing on the high ground looking into the village I’m wondering how the hell anyone did battle here because the conditions are terrible. The hillsides are almost vertically steep and the jungle so thick at the outskirts of the village the enemy would be upon you with no warning.
Today is the first day of actual walking. It’s hot, exposed and uphill all day. We have a flat, easy walk of about 90 minutes and already I can see people struggling with the heat. The first two days are the most dangerous times as the body hasn’t yet adapted to the heat and dehydration is a very real risk. One girl in our group is suffering from gastro and is doing it tough. She spends the next two days either trying not to spew or crap her pants. Tough chick, very impressive she didn’t chuck it in. Another guy is super struggling. A bigger guy he is clearly not coping with the heat. I grab his pack, chuck it on my back, turn mine around to the front and away we go. (Taking someone’s load, whether it be their full pack, or just parts of it, is about the nicest thing you can do for someone under the circumstances).
By the end of the first day I have drunk 8 litres of water and gatorade, but apart from that the rest of the day was a doddle. My brother is coping fine, although he’s a bit fatigued. Dad also seems to be ok although I am worried after he says that the first 90 minutes was a bit tough for him! This is concerning because it was flat and I felt pretty damn easy. This does not bode well for the remainder of his trip…

This is a section of track.
We arrive at Isurava, another famous battle site, and the location of the War Memorial that night. At 5am we wake up. Again I’m ready in about 15 minutes and once I’m done I sort my brother’s feet out. He’s learning quickly how to look after himself and he’s ready a few minutes after me.
At lunchtime a few people are complaining of blisters and I sort their feet out. Fairly simple – needle the blister, drain fluid, wipe with alcohol to dry out and tape over once its flat.

This is how steep that section is - you have to climb it.
Dad is really starting to struggle. For the uphill sections he holds out one of his hands to his porter who then helps to drag him up the hills. In fairness, the hills are STEEP. Words can’t do justice to how steep they are in places. Near vertical and you use your hands to hold onto tree roots and climb up like a ladder. Behind him another porter helps to give him a push. We are at least 30 minutes behind the group into every rest stop, usually 60 minutes.
This goes on like this for the entire next day. I carry his pack for half the day plus my own. It’s painful to watch. He’s 69, and the effort is clearly taking its toll. On the uphills he needs to stop every 20-30 steps to catch his breath. His preparation was not great. He overdid it about 4 months before we left and injured his hip – just a stupid ego thing. So that meant he could no longer strength train, and his fitness work became minimal. Then, about 5 weeks before we left he slipped and fell and cut his leg requiring 5 stitches. The intern who did it must have done it with his teeth in the dark because it required restitching and a further 2 weeks off. With only 2 weeks before we left he was finally allowed to walk again.
I asked him at this point how many omens he would need before wisdom decreed that we postpone our trip. I knew that my brother and I were ready but at 69 my dad doesn’t have a lot of residual strength or fitness. There’s a really strong streak of pig-headed stubbornness in my family and not surprisingly dad didn’t want to postpone the trip. At this point I decided that it would be better to hire a porter to carry my sleeping bag and clothes because I could tell that the wheels were going to fall off sooner or later.

Steep and muddy. Notice the porter holding onto my Dad's pack to grab him if he falls.
Day 6 dawns and as it happens its my birthday! Everyone sings me Happy Birthday which was great. While it wasn’t my first choice for a birthday party, the card I got from everyone will be kept forever. The trek leader, Nerida, somehow managed to whip cream and make a chocolate ripple cake in the middle of the jungle. Again, big props to everyone because after an easy day we end up at Brigade Hill, I get a birthday cake and feel great after such a short day. Not everyone feels the same way – I carry dad’s pack up all the hills and he’s really struggling.
We have a dawn service which was moving. I had thought that I would be a mess, but the jungle is so thick, the conditions are so unbelievable that the reality of what happened here is impossible to comprehend. The porters finish off the service singing their national anthem. Their voices are so beautiful and pure. A strange highlight, but their singing is one of the things I will remember most.
The next day is a big day. We had a short day the day before because it was deemed that my father wouldn’t have made the trip to the next campsite that day. So we have to make up the time today. We arrive at lunch over an hour behind the main group. Nearly everyone is already eating (given it takes about 30 minutes to boil water for lunch this tells you how far behind we are).

Another section of track.
Several things happen during this lunch break. Firstly, my Dad says that the trip is harder than what he had expected. I’m not sure what fantasy land he was living in before we went, but Kokoda is no joke. You walk past a few memorials for people who have died either from heat stroke or heart attacks. Its got the same amount of ascension as going 2/3s of the way up Everest. Every book written about it tells of the horrid steepness, the unrelenting heat and humidity and the mud. Yet, Dad thought he would breeze through it. This tells me that even when he wasn’t injured he probably was not really working very hard in training.
Secondly, my brother and I are down to our last couple of water purification tabs. We started with a box of 50 and have 2 left at this point. We’re quite concerned because we’re drinking about 4 litres a day, and we know that for reasons unknown Dad has only brought 100. We ask him how many he has left thinking it will be about 20-25 as he should have drunk the same as us…
When he tells me he has 40 left I just about lose my shit. That means he’s only drunk 2 litres of water a day. At this point I corner the trek leader and let her know that we’re going to have a real problem sooner or later. The day is a scorcher and we spend lots of time on exposed hill tops in the sun and also in a swampy lowland with no wind and heat that is stifling.
That afternoon Dad stops sweating. For people who don’t know, that is bad. Very, very bad. The body uses evaporative cooling – sweat – to regulate body temperature. If you don’t sweat, your core temperature rises. Only two degrees more and you start to suffer some real problems. By this stage we are at least an hour behind everyone else. My brother, the trek leader and I are with dad and his now customary two porters. None of us have much water. I’ve been carrying Dad’s pack all day. This presents problems for me as with both my front and back covered I overheat easily, so it’s a good thing our pace is so slow or else i would probably gave gone down too.
The climbs up to the camp site are steep and we’re now hauling Dad up with both hands – me on one side and his porter on the other with another porter behind him assisting. The pace is slow. We come to the top of the hill and I see that camp is still a few kilometres away. Dad is in urgent need of water so I run off to go get some already treated water. My brother tells me later that Dad is delirious and thinks I’ve run off to get a good tent (some of them leak at night). I scream into camp, grab water, alert the ambulance guy in our group to get a drip ready, just in case, and bolt back to Dad. I can tell you that a 3km run, in scorching heat, uphill, is not much fun. I get back to Dad with 2 litres of gatorade and start forcing it into him. We finally make it into camp and between the ambulance guy and the trek leader Dad is forced to drink over 5 litres of fluid that night including 2 litres of rehydrate.
He goes to the toilet once.
The group we walked with were amongst the nicest people I’ve ever met anywhere in the world. To have a group of 18 people who can all get along is rare. Because they were all so nice they voted that they would walk slowly the next two days to help dad out and make him feel more a part of the group. That kind of selfless behaviour is rare, particularly on things like this.
Dad is better the next day, still slow, but clearly better. He remarks to me that its amazing the difference that some water makes. Go figure, huh?
The second last day! It’s hot. Jungle hot. And dad is struggling right away. I think he went back to just having little baby sips of water again. I’d checked him at the end of the day and he wasn’t very sweaty. I had been thinking that he would be borderline dehydrated for a few days and I wasn’t wrong. I carry his pack up the climbs for the day. At the top of Imita ridge (very steep) we’re an hour behind. Dad drops down to the ground immediately and is out like a light. I kid you not, he just passed out on the ground. The descent from here is down the Golden Steps. That’s kind of misleading. What it is is steep, really steep and muddy.

Dad waking up from his disco nap.
About halfway down it starts to rain. That’s an understatement. In seconds I’m drenched. Absolutely soaked. My waterproof boots are filled with water as it runs down my legs, soaks my socks and then squishes out into my boots.
Because of the rain I don’t hang around and as soon as the decision is made to make it to the next camp asap I’m off with the head guide. By the time Dad arrives an hour later assisted by 4 people, I’ve already eaten lunch. He’s clearly exhausted. While his determination is impressive I can’t help but wonder how much more enjoyable he would have found the whole experience has he actually been in shape and taken it seriously.
Our final day is an easy climb to Ower’s corner. Dad has got 2 porter’s plus my brother with him so I take off with the lead guide. He ends up running this final section and I go with him, happy for the chance to stretch my legs and finally get my heart pumping. We rest about 100m from the top. he’d set such a fast pace that by the time the next person turns up I’ve stopped sweating and my breathing is back to normal.

Ower's corner.
The entire group gets Dad to the front and he leads us up to the finish.
Overall the trip was great. Watching my brother realise that he was strong enough and fit enough to enjoy the experience was awesome. After about the second day he was just so relaxed about the whole thing. I often forget what a witty, funny guy he is. Sharing a tent with him for a week has given me a new appreciation for what a good guy he is. The downside was watching my Dad almost check out. He still doesn’t recognise how close he came to cashing in all his chips. I find that somewhat frustrating but I guess he’s probably not going to change.
My message to anyone attempting this is simple – Kokoda is no joke. While I may not have struggled at all, I trained hard for this. I was walking with a 30kg pack on three days per week for up to 5 hours at a time up the biggest hills I could find. On top of that I was doing kettlebell training another 2-3 times per week and boxing at least once.
The mistakes I saw most people make went like this – at some point they expected it to be easy. It’s never easy. It just gets to the point where you can relax about it. Sleeping on the ground is never comfortable but you just need to accept it for what it is – sleeping on the ground. Using slit trenches for toilets is gross too. If you don’t fall in the smell could kill you anyway. The conditions are tough – hot, humid and the footing is treacherous. You can’t take your eyes off the track at any point. There are so many tree roots running across it, mud, rocks, etc. that you need to keep your wits about you the whole time. And its steep. Almost vertical in places. How on earth they fought a war here I’ll never know.
If you do plan on going make sure you prepare. Heavy pack, lots of hill work, plenty of strength work for the legs. Once there drink a litre per hour of movement and eat as much as you can. Go to sleep once its dark and get all the rest you can. But most of all respect it – people die there because its tough. Do not go into it thinking its like doing a marathon or whatever the new thing is for those seeking to prove their fitness. Stumbling a 5 hour marathon on 12 weeks of training won’t even get you to the finish line of Day 1. And you need to repeat that for a whole week.

Mud, mosquitoes, hills, heat, humidity and sleeping on the ground. As good as it gets.