Cape to Cape

Words & Photographs by Louise Coghill - an extract from the Australia magazine

It’s my first day hiking along the Cape to Cape trail, 123 kilometres of picturesque southwest coastline. And it starts with a series of technological failures; camera batteries refusing to charge and a hiking app that won’t download. I’m stressed about starting ‘on time’. I am still in the city and, in the city, everything runs to a schedule. I drive for three hours, barely stopping, and park my car beside the Cape Naturaliste Lighthouse. It’s 3.40pm. The sun sets in a few hours. I hoist my big red backpack onto my shoulders and begin walking, hurrying to the hike’s starting point.

The trail meanders up onto the cliffs beside Sugarloaf Rock and the concrete-and-wooden boardwalks are soon replaced by sand and rock as I leave behind the popular tourist path. Except for the Cape to Cape markers guiding my way, I am alone up here. The ocean crashes below, stretching endlessly to the horizon, and I feel nature ease the city stress that felt so visceral a few hours ago. It’s hard to worry about intangible things when faced with an infinite ocean and a wide open sky. Nature provides space from our crowded digital world. I put my phone in my backpack and give in to the expanse. My insignificance is a blessing. It frees me up to find the pockets of magic hiding in the world, rather than focus on my place within it. I’m hiking to retrain my human muscles, the ones we used before we started living inside screens. The sun sets over the water. I finish my walk at dusk and am surprised how long the light lasts.

I wake without an alarm at 5.30am. The sunlight is already streaming through the thin blue plastic of my lightweight tent. I climb out full of energy and pack up camp quickly, wanting to find a beautiful spot along the path to eat breakfast. The wildflowers are blooming, pastel pink and rich purple. I stop often to admire these tiny worlds within worlds. They tell stories of 300-million years of unbroken, unique evolution. 

The days are hot. Finding myself alone on a beach, I strip down to my underwear and run into the surf. I spend ten minutes brushing sand from my feet so I won’t get blisters. I get blisters anyway. Hiking isn’t only finding happiness in nature. It comes with pain, too. My longest hiking day is 28 kilometres. My feet and shoulders ache and it’s a welcome relief to throw my bag down and eat a chocolate muesli bar when I finally make it to camp. My body is tender but I get to fall into my sleeping bag soon. 

Once the sun sets, exhaustion washes over me. The stars grow brighter as my eyes begin to adjust. My body resets to its natural circadian rhythm. I climb into my tent and read The Interestings by Meg Wolitzer. It’s been months since I’ve devoured any fiction. I read for as long as my tired eyes will allow and drift off to the sound of crickets, creaking trees and the wind. The air becomes a message board. I feel superhuman as my senses come alive. In reality, I was subhuman before, slowly becoming a cyborg with my phone glued to my hand. 

I’ll return to the city soon. I’ll wake up late again and fill my eyes with house lights and street lights and the glow of my screen. City time will pack my schedule as it always does. But I know nature will always be here, waiting for when I need it again. 

For more Aussie travel inspiration, check out our Australia magazine.