Loo with a View

It was a mid-Autumn day when we embarked on our journey north.

A group of us, including one of my best friends and my sister’s friends, had planned this long weekend hike, along the challenging Cathedral Range, north-west of Melbourne, for weeks.

We drove through Melbourne’s eastern suburbs and soon were approaching the Great Dividing Range, a series of mountains that traverses Australia’s eastern states all the way to northern Queensland, under the sea and re-emerges in Papua New Guinea to the north.

The highway was now a series of sharp bends, with tall eucalyptus forest and sub-tropical ferns on all sides.

Our “skilled” drivers negotiated these curves with seeming ease, the passengers lurching from right to left, gritted teeth a common sight.

Before long, and to the relief of those present, the mountains receded, and the curves became more gradual, and we were driving along the centre of a broad valley, with farms on both sides. The sun was beaming down, and the paddocks were a golden brown.

We stopped at the small town of Buxton for a small snack — this was the last outpost of civilisation before we reached our destination.

We left soon after, and before we knew it, there it was, the magnificent towering Cathedral Range.

We turned right from the Maroondah Highway onto Cathedral Lane, then onto Little River Road, and before we knew it, we were at the car park at the base of the Range, our challenge awaiting us.

The Farmyard

I had been on this hike twice previously, with groups from College, and was familiar with the first part of our trek. This took us up a gradual incline, with the sounds of bush critters greeting our ears.

Then the track become steeper, with frequent hairpin turns, as we approached the The Cathedral, the left peak in the above picture, and a breathtaking view of the broad valley below greeted us.

We were now traversing The Ridge, and our journey became easier, and we were able to enjoy the views on both sides, with the parallel Rubicon and Blue Ranges to the east.

Soon we approached our first stop and overnight stay, a campsite known as The Farmyard, a sheltered clearance between the aptly-named North Jawbone and South Jawbones peaks.

As we were ravenous from a day of trekking with mountainous packs on our backs, soon our jawbones were munching through a delicious hiking menu, which included delicacies such as Two-Minute Noodles, Braised Steak and Onion and, for dessert, tinned peaches in a sugar-laden nectar.

We then assembled our two and three-person tents, and planned for what awaited us the next day: THE RAZORBACK.

The Razorback

We awoke from a night of satisfying sleep, and were soon tucking into a nutricious breakfast of Kelloggs allsorts, before the tents were hastily disassembled.

None of us had been on the next section of the hike. I had heard accounts of it from seasoned hiking friends, who had described it in terms varying from “not bad” to “a two-hour pain”. On the map, as always, it did not look impossible.

The entrance to the track leading to it from The Barnyard looked deceptively easy.

We then set off, and then the track ended, introducing us to a seemingly endless line of jagged, skyward-reaching rocks — welcome to The Razorback.

This was when we stopped being hikers and became clamberers, feeling our energy being drained away by a grueling journey of rock climbs.

Our planned destination was the camping ground at Sugarloaf Saddle, a relatively short downhill journey from Sugarloaf Peak, a monstrosity that our rock-filled trek was leading us up to.

We reached a narrow crevice between towering rocks, and I tried to climb up, but, with my large pack on my back, couldn’t. I then saw three pairs of hands extending down towards me, and before I knew it, I was being hoisted up, pack and all.

We were all standing in a small clearing, with rocks and high-altitude low native bushes on all sides. There was a magnificent 360 degree view to distant ranges on one side and the broad farm-filled valley on the other.

The high-altitude Loo

We then decided that, as we were now exhausted from our journey, we would now rest before heading back to our cars.

That was when my friend said those magic words: “I have to take a leak”.

As we were in a very exposed location, the first response was: “You’re joking — where?”

He decided that, when nature calls, don’t argue with it, and before we knew it, he had turned his back to us. I remember his silhouette against the breathtaking view to the Rubicon and Blue Ranges, with Mount Torbreck in the far distance.

Then we heard the dreaded sound of voices below us, not far away, just below where he was … naturing.

We had forgotten that the track doglegged just below where we were, and there were other hikers approaching.

We also noticed that it wasn’t raining, something that the other group would also be aware of.

The look of stagefright on his face was priceless, and we knew that he was no longer captivated by the wonderful vista.

Things were then rapidly tucked away, and we greeted the friendly hikers with a sunny “Hi!”

The journey back

We then decided that, on our journey back along our friend the Razorback, we would split into two groups, as one wise friend had examined our map and found a seemingly easier track to the west. This looked inviting, and half our group took his advice.

Unfortunately, this led them to a narrow cliff-hugging experience, with a bone-jarring drop to the left, as it traversed the side of the ridge.

I wisely chose the clamber over the now-familiar rocks, imagining that we were trying to hike along an enormous bread knife.

We then reunited, with a word of thanks to the wise soul who had put the group through a “Cliffhanger”-like journey.

The rest of the hike went without incident, and we reached our cars in one piece, with plenty to chat about during our drive back home.