How Facing my Fears led to Rediscovering my Love

If you had to ask my biggest fear, the crazed, true crime obsessed fourteen year old within me would say talking to strangers. I think she would drop dead upon hearing that I agreed to go hiking for five days, in the middle of nowhere, in a group of people whom most of them I had never met, and the one I had met, invited me on the trip ten minutes after meeting him.

Three years ago, when I was barely sixteen, the Jatbula trail was introduced to my life. My friends, less than a year older than me, were all going to walk it, and planned for me to join them. This plan was later crushed by the over-baring, over caring mother who was resigned to the fact that I was going to die on the trail. I sat by and watched the group of young people create a bond I didn't understand, through experiences I couldn't imagine, all because they had spent five days and four nights in the wilderness.

Finally an adult, I was adamant I was going to walk the Jatbula hike with my friends this year. We were going to make the memories I had been, admittedly, completely jealous of, looking at their photos from years ago. I yearned for the stories and inside jokes they had, but fate was not on my side, at least not in the way I imagined. Tickets sold fast for Jatbula, much faster than I thought they would and I missed out yet again. Or so I thought, that was until I met the members of my university's outdoors club.

I was certain I had met the only people I would enjoy the outdoors with through Scouting, despite the fact I am not yet twenty. So, when striking up conversation with a random person who just so happens to be in the outdoors club leads to an opportunity to wallow in self pity about the hike that would never be; well it was too easy to miss. What I didn't think would happen was the random person would find me, not ten minutes after meeting, and offer me the open spot in their group for the Jatbula Trail, in less than two weeks.

Stunned, on the spot, the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could think about anything else in the world. I agreed, apparently my instincts do not prevent me from spending days alone in the wilderness at least 60kms from civilisation with complete strangers. I spent the weeks preparing, food, equipment and everything I could need. I was terrified of being stuck with people who could have been the antithesis of everything I hated. My fear overshadowed my excitement, and make me increasingly anxious until the day to embark arrived.

Pushing down my nerves, and admittedly some rational thoughts about my safety, I got in a car, and happily made small talk for the day as we drove further and further from my home. We were supposed to spend the first night getting to know each other, before catching the ferry in the morning, but everyone was too exhausted for even a small round of UNO. My nerves were rising as I laid alone in my tent, staring up at the stars. I tried to distract myself by counting them but it is hard to keep track, when you are staring at such divine beauty as the outback's star ridden sky. One thing a tent has always given me are the luxury of stars, a luxury that is easy to forget about in the smog filled, clear city skies I was accustomed to.

It had felt like I closed my eyes for a second when I was being awoken my someone shaking my tent, it was time. Packing up a tent is muscle memory by now, so I occupied my mind by surveying my hiking group. Two men, one who had secured my spot, and the other who had driven one of the cars down. Both rubbing sleep out of their eyes, however the bounce of anticipation in their steps were hard to miss. The three other women couldn't be more different. One was tall and bubbly, a sparkle in her eyes, even at this ridiculous hour. One was shorter but had a look of ingrained intelligence, like her brain had started working from the moment she opened her eyes. The last woman was the one who had driven me down. She was the sort of kind that it seemed impossible for her to ever express anger.

The group shared a few laughs and offhand remarks through the safety briefing, and then, packs hooked on shoulders, sunscreen slathered across noses, we embarked to the jetty. A small cruise boat was waiting for us, to take us on an even shorter ride across the bank. Ten departed the ship, Seven made it to the first campsite.

The escarpment onto the track was some of the most gruelling walking I had ever done, add that to the fifteen of so kilos I was carrying, and I was beginning to consider turning back. Not many words were exchanged as we walked, and if they were they were spat out between heavy breaths. A lone hiker, a young woman who had introduced herself with a smile, took the lead, our group following so far behind we lost sight of her after a while. The last group caught up to us when we had stopped for a break. They were red in the face and looked on the verge of collapsing. Honestly, I'm not sure I looked any different.

We were walking in 32 degrees Celsius heat, with a humidity so thick you could taste it in the air. The nerves that had been reverberating though-out me, ever since I accepted this invitation were now at an all time high. I was feeling lightheaded, which the anxiety only increased when I realised I had barely made it halfway through the first day. But much to my surprise, every morsel of fear in my body evaporated, when my group began to brainstorm how to help these people. They offered to carry their packs all the way to the start of the track, offering up their water supplies without a second thought. This group of amazing people, who had just walked up a gruelling hill, still at least five kilometres from camp, had just offered to do it all again so that complete strangers were going to be ok. And in that, I knew that I was going to be ok.

The next five days passed in a blur of walking, swimming, and endless talking.

I discovered that I was the youngest person in the group by far, most of them were knee-deep in PHD research, and i barely had a toe in my bachelor's degree. I was the odd one so far out, I was barely on the same plane of existence. I was the only person not studying environmental science, there was so much shared knowledge between then I had no idea about. I learnt about the land I was walking on, the trees I was walking past, and animals I was walking with.

More-so I learnt about the people I was surrounded with. We even made friends with the lone hiker, early into the journey, and spent the last few days walking as a whole group. I found out about what life was like in my new friends home county of Costa Rica, even learnt snippets of Spanish as we walked. I envied the hike I was told about, in which they embarked across Japan. I learnt about the Tiwi Islands, Peru, Chille, and all the other marvellous places my fellow hikers had visited. I listened and shared stories of my own life, stories I'd never told about my dad's aboriginal connection with the land, my hopes, future projects.

I had so much time to connect with these new people, but also to reconnect with myself. I found myself pondering about the group I had dreamt to walk this path with, and where before I was filled with jealously, I was filled with a stinging happiness I didn't hike Jatbula with them. I loved these people, but in many ways, they would not have appreciated and fuelled interest in the land we walked on. They would not have stoped to survey the fruit perched on the end of a branch, in the way only a scientist would.

They would likely have been more fixated aspects of people in their own lives, than to be bothered to learn about the people who once walked the land so many years ago. I would have known every one of their stories, and featured in most of them.

The time I spent alone jolted my brain into remembering why I love hiking so much, a fact that had been forgotten by the opportunity to gossip, or snap great photos for social media. I loved hiking because I loved the sound of the rustling gumtrees, the smell of the wildflowers sweet in the morning, the menial feet pounding forcing your brain to delve into new heights of creativity, the awe of looking out from a view and knowing you are the only people there, for as far as the eye can see. My love for the outdoors would have been buried under boring, petty human semantics, had I not been brave enough, and arguably stupid enough, to face my fears of strangers, who I am now very happy to call my friends.