I’m back from a holiday that felt more like boot camp. My girlfriends and I accidentally chose the most gruelling trail to climb Cradle Mountain. Picture this: trudging through mud, leaping over puddles, rock climbing, camping in flimsy tents, and dining on gourmet canned food. If two days of bushwalking with 10kg backpacks didn’t kill us, it definitely made us stronger. We praised and thanked God for getting us through the wilderness unscathed.
The weather was freezing, and at one point, I was so tired I almost toppled off a rock. Luckily, I grabbed a branch just in time. So here I am, still alive and writing. Going downhill was a blast—I just slid down, letting gravity do its thing for the first time. Starving seemed like the worse option, so I caved. My friends swore the sweet chilli tuna was delicious, but after one hesitant bite, I concluded: NEVER AGAIN. I should’ve trusted my instincts—cold fish from a can that smells like regret is not for me. Trauma, thy name is tuna.
This trip has fundamentally altered me. I never understood why people would bushwalk for fun, but reaching the summit of Cradle Mountain made it all clear. The reward of that view was worth every muddy, sweaty step. Nature’s beauty is divine, a stark contrast to my office. Returning today felt overwhelming. The people, the cramped cubicles, the glaring computer screens—it was all too much. The office was bustling yet felt so empty and cold. I longed for the trees, the dirt, the lakes, the crisp air, and even the scary possum Tracey and I fled from.
It was a fantastic experience, reconnecting with the girls and having some solid fellowship. Surviving the two-day hike together bonded us like never before. I was too busy staying alive to snap photos, but the breathtaking view from the top is forever etched in my memory.