Braving raging rivers, thunder storms and giant snow lopes, Robert Manning is thru hiking his way home from the Mexican border to Canada on the Continental Divide Trail – a journey of 3,100 miles (nearly 5,000 km) through the states of New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho and Montana.

Some mornings are so cold that he wakes up to frozen socks and has to warm them up with a brisk hike.

“You’re sitting on a rock on a ridge top and looking back over this huge vista and realising you just walked across the whole thing, how grandiose it is. But the main memory stickers are the terrifying moments that you just somehow managed to get through,” says the adventurer.

The general mantra for thru hiking the CDT is to embrace the brutality.

“I’m starting to understand what they mean.”

Robert says that for about eight hours a day he feels nice and warm in his tent, another eight hours a day he is somewhere fun, and the remaining eight hours are spent stuck in a situation he’s trying to get out of.

“Hip deep in a snow bank, or thunderstorms chasing you around, but it all passes and it’s a fun story to tell.”

Being so far away from the daily bustle and focused solely on the weather, trail safety, the next river crossing  or ascent brings things down to the essentials for him.

“It’s kind of like an analogy to packing. First you pack all this stuff and a month in you realise 90 per cent of it you don’t need […], so the mind set it similar and you realise what matters and doesn’t really matter.”

“Also your mind just wanders and you think all these crazy thoughts as you’re tracking through the bush and you get the universe all figured out, and the next day you forget what you thought,” he laughs.

Having been a forest fire fighter for 17 years and holding a commercial pilot license, Robert has solid outdoors and map reading skills and knows how to deal with dicey situations.

However, he doesn’t carry an emergency beacon and his family only knows he’s made it through the next stretch when he gets to a town and can update his facebook page with pictures and stories of the days past.

Despite the remoteness of the trail, though, hikers do meet each other frequently as there’s only a limited time corridor this trail can be done in.

“There’s only been a few days where I’ve been hiking entirely on my own.”

As he comes through Leadville, CO, he has completed about 1,300 miles of his epic adventure and is down to one set of clothes with various layers.

“I just wear the same thing everyday, which is great freedom. I don’t have to choose anything.”

The one set includes his cycling shorts that co-function as underwear.

Robert reckons river crossings double up as underwear washing days when thru hiking.

I think he made that part up because I don’t remember a wall of funk greeting me when we met, but then again, he had probably already showered and washed his clothes by then – wearing only his rain coat so that everything else could go in the washer.

Having only one set of clothes helps keep the weight down. Starting out with a big pack and gear for all sorts of eventualities, Robert says he soon sent parcels to his sister, realising he had completely overpacked.

“I had a knee brace in there, which, if I needed a knee brace, I wouldn’t be able to be on the trail.”

Gaining experience as he went, he improved his planning skills to the degree that he can now largely avoid emergencies.

“Instead of packing for emergencies, you just preplan and avoid emergencies, which is probably one of the best things to keep the weight down.”

His pack is now down to 20 pounds, excluding food and water.

And despite all the challenges, Robert is keen to extend his time on the trail. Having bought an orchard in Canada, he has time to hike while the trees grow and is moving faster than planned, giving him extra room to play.

The CDT runs to the Glacier National Park on the US border with Canada, but his true goal is a Canadian mountain his parents used to take him to as a kid.

“They are both teachers, so they had the summers off and they’d stick us all in a van […] and bring us out to the mountains for a month.”

Mt. Assiniboine is another few hundred miles of thru hiking along the Canadian Great Divide Trail, and trekking out to that mountain means more to Robert than just ending his journey at the Canadian border.

“I can’t wait to get there and see it again. Even in the crappy times, that’s what I think about is getting back there.”

“There is a neat little waterfall that comes off one of the adjacent mountains into a pool and there are always these little trout in the pool and I can always catch them. So that’s where I’m going, to catch those little trout.”

As I stepped out of the bus on the town’s wide main road, lined by old-time Saloons, I could hardly breathe. I had flown in from sea level Australia, and Leadville at over 10,000 feet (3,000 meters) altitude knocked the air right out of me as I dragged my suitcase to the Leadville Hostel on 7th Street. 

Learn more about the Leadville 100 and how to prepare for it from race director Josh Colley (Interview Aug. ’16):

A usually rather sleepy place with a population of some 2,700 people, Leadville is hub of activity leading up to the 100 Mile MTB and footrace in August each year. Cyclists with limited leave from work are frantically trying to acclimatize in just a few days. Runners are doing speed training, checking their GPS watches and chatting with their coaches online.

Others are in Leadville to do altitude training for other races. You might even run into celebrity athletes like Rob Krar. The popular hangout, City on a Hill Coffee & Espresso, is always packed.

I had done what I could in the months leading up to the Leadville 100 and saw little point in training hard in the last two weeks. The first three days I rested up and drank a lot of fluids, and then started hiking to help my body get used to the altitude.  

A great resource for hiking routes in the area is www.14ers.com.

First up was Mosquito Pass, followed by Mt. Massive at 4,400 m and finally, some five days before the race, four connected peaks in one long day – the Mt. Democrat, Bross, Lincoln and Cameron route. Five of us from the hostel started out long before sunrise and only just made the last peak before ominous rumbling and a blackening sky chased us off the mountain as one of the usual afternoon thunderstorms moved in. None of us wanted to get stuck in lightening above tree line.

Quietly I prayed to the weather gods for clear skies on race day. Hunkering down below tree line for an hour or two as a storm passes overhead can cost you your finish at Leadville. 

At the hostel, packed with endurance athletes, we discussed splits. I cannot run a race when I think of having to do 100 Miles in one go. But if I break it into many little goals, my mind can handle it. 

However, guessing expected completion times for an unfamiliar course is hard. How would I know how long a particular uphill section will take me? While researching online, I hit gold – a website called climbers.net  combines past finisher times, averages them out and calculates likely splits depending on the overall target time you enter.

I printed and laminated three versions – the unlikely super awesome splits if I found energy I never knew I had, the likely medium splits I was aiming at, and the risky last ass splits that should get me across the finish line just before cut-off.

Then on the night before the race, I popped two sleeping pills and headed to bed at 6pm. A lack of sleep before a big race can affect the mind in unpredictable ways. Before my first 100 miler, the Bear, I had been so nervous that I only slept one hour the night before. On the second race day after some 30 hours on my feet without sleep or rest, I kept thinking about frog liver pâté and desperately wanted to know whether my pacer had ever ridden on a deer. I had learned from that.

Leadville Hostel owner Cathy Hacking put on a huge breakfast from 2 am and the hostel was bustling with activity as nervous runners frantically searched for misplaced items while their supporters tried to soothe them with calm voices. I for the heck of it couldn’t find my favorite socks. Somebody else thought his shoes had been stolen. All turned up in the end. 

At 4 am we were finally toeing the start line in the cold morning air – 100 miles with more than 15,000 feet in total elevation gain were ahead of us. Just about anything could happen in the next 30 hours, and only half of us would make it back here in time. I hoped I would be one of them.

The sky was still dark, a drone was whirring overhead. I knew I needed to go out faster than usual to make the 22k to May Queen in 2h20 in line with my splits and, more importantly, to make the first 100k by quarter past eight that night. The 100k mark is Twin Lakes inbound on this out-and-back course, and I’d been told repeatedly that runners who get to the lakes after nightfall don’t tend to finish. 

The next moment, the countdown started and we were off, a sea of bright lights in the dark as crowds of people cheered us on. Then the voices ebbed away, subsiding in the distance, and all that was left was the sound of feet hitting the dirt road leading out of Leadville. This was it, too late to change my mind, the only way was forward now.

Reaching Turquoise Lake, the darkness slowly changed to light as we ran along the water’s edge on single track, over roots and bouncy forest floor. It was magical, this time of the morning, with strips of color stretching over the dawning sky above calm and deep blue waters. Listening to my own breath and the soft, rhythmical drumming of countless feet, I felt like I was part of an ancient tribe, moving in wordless unison, celebrating life in its purest form. 

Adrenalin and excitement made running easy and I reached May Queen in good time. I had arrived in Leadville without crew or pacers, but had found supporters among the wonderful people who gather year after year in this mountain town. Retired pharmacist Michael Hester, who spends every summer in Leadville, had agreed to crew me and I had also found three pacers to share the entire inbound half of the course. Big smiles greeted us as we dropped our now useless headlamps to save on weight and filled up on water.

The next goal was Outward Bound, with the big climb up Sugarloaf Pass at 11,000 feet in between. After rooty forest trails, we came up a long, paved road that slowly snaked its way up the mountainside. Rather than running and spending too much energy too early, I power walked at a steady pace.

On the other side was a steep, wide dirt track beneath power lines, hence the name. The section must be hell when muddy and slippery, and I thanked the weather gods for firm ground. But as I jogged into Outward Bound, I realized that this leg had still taken me 15 minutes longer than planned. I had to make up time. 

By the time I reached Twin Lakes I was all wrapped up in my own race and only focused on getting in and out as quickly as possible. 

With Hope Pass towering ahead of me, I was glad that nothing but blue skies greeted me ahead. I wouldn’t be fried by lightening at the top, or miss my cut-off cowering below treeline.

All I had to do now was climb up to 3,850 m after 40 miles of going hard. My legs were tired and it would only get worse. The trail up Hope Pass is brutal. Leading up through through thick forest, you can never gauge when it will end, and every hope gets dashed by yet another steep section.

But there was no time for rest or catching my breath. I was only just keeping up with my medium splits. Falling behind could endanger my finish. Spending months of training, money on airfares, gear and entry fees, and then running a very long way only to miss a cutoff and being pulled is the last thing I was willing to endure. I ignored the exhaustion and pushed on, pumping all the air into my lungs that I could.

As the trees got sparser and finally made way for a green meadow, I saw what I had been looking forward to for weeks – the famous llamas.  These animals are long-term supporters of the Leadville 100 race, together with Vicky Foster and many other wonderful volunteers. Every year they carry water and food for over a thousand runners and pacers up this otherwise inaccessible pass. Leisurely, they now grazed on the lush grass, eyeing each struggling runner with renewed interest. 

I didn’t have much time to enjoy the sight. I was more than 10 minutes behind my splits and had to work on my downhill running skills heading toward Winfield, the 50 mile turnaround point. Fortunately I love downhill sections. Sliding on rubble and jumping over rocks on the steep trail leading down into the valley, I made up a decent bit of time. I even came running into Windfield aid station slightly ahead of my target, completing the first 50 miles in just under 12 hours.

Jen Kraxner, the best pacer you could ever wish for, was waiting at Winfield, shouldering my pack as well as her own to make the return climb easier for me. Leadville is one of the few races that allows muling i.e. for pacers to carry their runner’s running vests. 

I had met Jen and her husband Joe at the hostel. Both are past finishers of the Leadman/Leadwoman challenge. This superhuman feat involves the completion of all races in the Leadville series in one summer: the marathon, the 50 mile Silver Rush running or MTB race, then the 100 Mile MTB race, followed by a 10k run right the next day and finally the 100 Mile footrace less than a week later.

Jen and Joe had done the MTB 100 miler on a tandem mountain bike and finished the 100 Mile trail run hand in hand. They have been coming to Leadville summer after summer for many years, racing, supporting and soaking up the mountain air. There are no better two people out there to help you with your first Leadville 100.

Joe had even lent me a small portable charger to make the battery of my Garmin watch last for the entire distance. The little charger was tucked into my running vest, and a cable fed through the sleeve of my shirt to connect it to my watch with a clip. Now Jen was to help me over the hardest climb in this race.

I had been pumped arriving at Winfield, but those 50 miles in my legs started to show as soon as we began climbing again. The second time going up Hope Pass was far more agonizing that the first climb.

Jen made me march up that mountain, waving food at me on a regular basis, and told me how great I was doing even though I felt like I was going to collapse toward the top. Her ceaseless encouragement and the camaraderie among all the runners, whether they were still on the downhill toward Windfield or coming up again like me, gave me the energy I needed.

No face flew past without a “good job”, “great work”, or “well done” being exchanged. There were smiles everywhere. And then there were the views. Seeing those majestic mountains stretch out to the horizon puts pain into perspective. I couldn’t help but feel awed and utterly fortunate to be part of it all. I was doing Leadville!

As we reached Hopeless aid station the second time, more than 15 minutes behind schedule, Jen ran ahead to get me soup while I sat down to eat and look at llamas. After some food in my stomach and faced with another long downhill to make up time I started running again. It hurt, but I needed to get to Twin Lakes before nightfall. I was wedded to the idea that if I could just get there by 20:15, I would finish.

Once we had waded through Lake Creek, Jen ran ahead again to get my drop bag ready. Everything was laid out as I came into the aid station right on time. A big group from the hostel was there, cheering and helping out. I was so glad to see them all. With that much help, changing out of my wet shoes and putting on warmer night gear took no time at all.

My new pacer Juliette Schmidt was ready to go, so off we went back into the forest, for the long hours through the night. Reflective trail markets flashed ahead, and the rustling of small animals making their way through the undergrowth accompanied us. The air was fresh now and a little damp, as the shine of our headlamps led us through the woods. 

Juliette was planning to run the Leadville 100 next year and wanted to get experience on the course. She had been volunteering for the race when another hostel guest matched us up.  

Having someone to share the journey with cheered me up a great deal, but I had been on my feet for some 17 hours now and physical exhaustion was threatening to settle in. Even my stomach was tired and eating wasn’t easy.  I sucked on hard candy and TUMS when my body no longer wanted the calories I needed. We walked some, and ran some, and walked some and ran some.

Energy levels rose and fell, but overall we were moving well. At Half Pipe I was 10 minutes ahead of schedule, and by the time we reached Outward Bound, I was half an hour faster than my medium splits. Even so late in the night, a big group from the hostel was waiting for us, cheering, updating how the other hostel runners were doing, and sharing hugs and smiles. 

Now came the climb up Powerline and I remembered another runner’s advice: It’s much longer than you think – beware the false summits. So I kept my head down, didn’t look for any summits in the dark and just marched on until music and flashy lights greeted us at the unofficial aid station at the top.

I had been told this aid station offered hard liquor and a naked guy. Wondering how the naked guy would survive the freezing cold at night and admiring is dedication, I had been looking forward to meeting him. No naked guy could be found, though, so I only filled up water and marched on, leaving Juliette to investigate the situation more closely and catch up with me later.

I started running again on the downhill, and by the time we arrived in May Queen at quarter past four in the morning, I was still more than half an hour ahead of my splits.

There was a problem though. My next pacer, Megan Finnesy, couldn’t be found. Jen Kraxner had recruited Megan for me, badgering her until she agreed to pace me from May Queen to the finish. But now she wasn’t there and I didn’t want to lose precious time waiting. 

Juliette had to go, so I set out on my own. Had I been sick or disorientated this would have been bad, but I felt alert. I was awake and had been warm all night under my various layers of merino wool. I was good to go.

As I left the aid station I even felt a sudden boost of energy and started running on the flat toward the lake, overtaking Chris Calimano and his pacer.

Chris is a very nice and very accomplished athlete who completed the 4 Deserts series in one year. The series involves running 250k each in the Sahara in Namibia, Gobi in China, Atacama in Chile and in Antarctica. Overtaking him made me feel pretty good and I had no desire to relinquish this hard-won lead over someone who is a much better athlete than me.

Of course, unlike me, Chris was actually doing Leadman and had completed the 100 Mile bike race just a week earlier. But I was ready to take every confidence boost I could get and “chased” further ahead into the forest along the lake.

I was going fast! 

Then a young man came lightly jogging up behind me, easily catching up. What bastard runner was this, looking so fresh at close to Mile 90??

He turned out to be a volunteer kindly offering to pace me after learning that Megan hadn’t shown. May Queen aid station staff had been alerted that I didn’t have a pacer and sent someone after me to help.

Together we continued when, suddenly, we heard rustling ahead and saw someone running towards us through the woods. It was Megan! After realizing she had missed me at May Queen, Megan had driven around the lake to catch me from the other side.

Now I had two pacers, which can get you disqualified, so one had to go.  

Too tired for decisions I let them sort it out amongst each other, and ultimately headed on with Megan. As the sky turned from dark to light for the second time during my Leadville 100, I could hardly believe the experiences that lay behind. All this time felt more like a dream that may have spanned weeks rather than just a bit more than a day.

Around me I recognized the same path I had run so easily the day before. Now the going was slow and my legs were stiff and wobbly, but every step also brought excitement. This was the final stretch, the final leg before the finish. I was going to finish Leadville!

Already years ago, I had read about this race in Born to Run, marveled at Ann Trason’s course record, the mind-blowing achievements of the Tarahumaras, and soaked up the stories and legends spun around the Race Across the Sky.

After winning the lottery, I had spent endless hours pushing myself, training in difficult terrain, doing sprint sessions on hills, still always fretting that it wouldn’t be enough. And here I was, just a few last miles from the finish, feeling indescribably happy.

Leadville. I couldn’t believe I had nearly made it.

One more hill, a few more steps, and ahead was the Leadville 100 finish line. As we drew close at eight o’clock in the morning, I ran the last meters uphill and made it in 28:03 as the 165^th finisher out of some 650 starters. As usual for this high altitude event, only about half of us finished that year. 

There were hugs from my wonderful pacers and new friends from the hostel, and a finisher medal, necklace and red rose from race founders Ken Chlouber and Merilee Maupin.

For a while I sat and cheered on the other finishers, including Chris, who wasn’t far behind and successfully completed his Leadman challenge. I drank some hot chocolate, but was unable to eat. Walking was also out of the question, so some lovely hostel buddies picked me up by car and brought me back.

I couldn’t eat all day. Sitting with Chris at the finisher’s ceremony, we were laughing at our nauseousness, hoping we wouldn’t suddenly puke when receiving our treasured belt buckles. Luckily, both of us managed to hang on to our stomach contents, and by evening food started to look good again.

After dinner we all rested up on the giant couch in front of the TV, eating ice cream out of the tub, and dozed off happily spoon in hand.

Finishing my Leadville 100 race, video by Joe Kraxner:

Leadville 100 quick facts  (latest information on the race website):

Course records:
Matt Carpenter 15:42:59 (2005)
Ann Trason 18:06:24 (1994)

Course type: Out and back

Cut-off: 30 hours

Elevation gain: 15,600 feet (4,800 meters)

Highest point: 12,600 feet (3,850 m)

Surface: Mostly forest trails, dirt roads and short stretches of asphalt

Mt Ngauruhoe, or Mt Doom

The Red Crater on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing

Climbing Mt Ngauruhoe

Mt Ngauruhoe crater

Tongariro Alpine Crossing

Often called one of the world’s most beautiful one-day hikes, the Tongariro Crossing on New Zealand’s North Island is nothing short of spectacular.

Starting at Mangatepopo car park, the nearly 20k route takes you through an active volcanic area and past stunning alpine lakes.

The Tongariro National Park is New Zealand’s oldest national park and is World Heritage listed. The country’s indigenous people gifted it to the New Zealand government in 1887.

And if you are a Lord of the Rings fan like me, you will be especially excited to set foot on this trail.

The cone-shaped mountain on your right once you’ve tackled the first climb is no other than Mt. Doom!

Its real name is Mt. Ngauruhoe. It’s a tough climb up to 2287m, but the views from above can be spectacular on a clear day.

To avoid the scree and sand slope where rocks are easily kicked loose, it is best to keep left and hike up the rocky ridge.

In late 2015, a tumbling rock on the scree slope injured someone badly enough to see him into hospital.

The other summit you can include during the Tongariro Crossing is Mt. Tongariro at 1967m, which gives you a great view of the imposing cone of Mt. Ngauruhoe from some distance.

I did both peaks on this trek and it took around 8 hours all up. However, I was hiking fast and run ultramarathons, so only attempt that if you’re sure you are fit enough or have late return transportation organized. You don’t want to miss the bus.

The usual recommended time is around 7 hours without the peaks.

Not far from the start, after a good climb, there is also the opportunity to fill up on drinking water from a clean spring. Always make sure to take enough water, as it can get hot. Three liters are recommended.

Sunscreen and lip balm is another thing to be very generous with, as even on a cloudy day, UV rays are fierce in this area and altitude. I used lip balm with SPF but didn’t reapply and ended up with a spectacular sunburn, on my mouth. Ugh!

After the turnoffs to Mt. Ngauruhoe and Mt. Tongariro, you’ll head down toward several intensely colored Alpine lakes where’re you’ll pick up a whiff of sulphur. It’s nearly all downhill from there.

On your way toward the plain and Ketetahi car park, you will pass the Te Maari craters, which erupted in 2012 for the first time since 1897.

There are some regions where you may be asked to move quickly to minimize any danger in case there is sudden volcanic activity.

HOW TO GET TO THE TONGARIRO CROSSING

To do the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, you can book a bus from either Turangi, National Park or Lake Taupo to drop you off and pick you up at the end of the hike. Most hostels and hotels arrange shuttles or you can book online googling ‘Tongariro Crossing shuttle’.

Alternatively, you can also leave your car at one car park and book a bus to get you to the other one before or after the hike.

From Turingi, drop off and pick up cost about NZD40 to NZD 45. Doing an out-and-back to your parked car is another option.

No matter what you choose, make sure to check the weather and potential warnings about volcanic activity. And if all is clear, enjoy this gorgeous trek – you’ll never forget it.

50 Shades of Green – or so it looked as the sunlight fell through leaves and ferns. But I wasn’t exactly bounding along with 7.2 kilos on my back and every step hurting after an intense speed session two days earlier.

I had gotten up early to jog the three kilometres from Katoomba to the start of the 45 kilometre Six Foot Track before it got hot, planning to do the track twice over two days.

While I had booked accommodation at Jenolan Caves and only carried a change of running gear, toothbrush and light merino clothes to sleep in, I also had a stash of emergency gear with me including a police supplied emergency beacon, compression bandages, whistle, map, emergency blanket and two torches.

Including four litres of water, trail food and 6 slices of home-made banana bread, my running pack was filled to the brim.

From Explorers Tree at the start of the Six Foot, the trail led down hundreds of steps, over rocks and tree roots through Nellies Glen rainforest and ended in a fire trail in Megalong Valley.

Temperatures were forecast to reach 29C but it wasn’t hot yet. Sometimes I was surrounded by clouds of tiny blue butterflies, then admired crickets and caterpillars or saw wallabies and kangaroos bound out of the way ahead of me.

I took it slowly. This was not racing, this was time on my feet. I walked when I felt like it, ran when I wanted to, sat down to have lunch on a hill and just loved spending a beautiful day in the mountains.

Wet Feet

After several kilometres on a single track through the woods following Coxs River, it was time to cross.

I had always thought that wet feet lead to blisters and normally avoided creeks, but in hot weather like this, the cold feeling on my legs was blissful.

Wading through, the water came up to mid thigh-level and a large fish shot off in front of me. I wouldn’t have minded staying longer.

Following a well-maintained fire trail, I made my way up two steep climbs and then followed the track through the woods, again surrounding by the most stunning colours as the light played between the leafs.

The hours flowed by and a few kilometres from Jenolan, the narrow trail looked so peaceful in the evening light that I no longer felt like running, even though it was all downhill.

The heat had dissipated and there was a slight breeze in the warm air, the soft light of the late afternoon sun gleamed through the trees and lit the track with dancing patches of light.

Bellbirds filled the forest with their calls and a couple of wallabies watched me pass but didn’t move. In ten hours, I’d only twice passed hikers, once a group of trail bike riders and trice some cars.

The slow speed had paid off. Instead of feeling sorer, the pain in my hamstrings was gone.

Making my way into the valley towards the Jenolan Caves village, I saw Caves House and the backpacker lodge through the surrounding trees – my home for the night.

The Jenolan Caves are limestone caves estimated to be the world’s most ancient open cave system dating back to around 340 million years ago.

I love visiting them, but right now, I could only think of the breakfast menu I’d studied online – I was already looking forward to the morning.

The Bat

As I checked into the hostel, I was told I had the room to myself – but not so. A bat already occupied the upper bunk.

I’d seen it flying in the hallway and had unsuccessfully tried to direct it outside. Then, suddenly, it was gone.

Inside my room, the bat greeted me in bed. The tiny animal had crawled through the gap under my door and now it sat on one of the pillows, partly covered in cobwebs.

I felt honoured to have such a room mate, but didn’t liked the idea of it potentially wanting to cuddle at night, so I wrapped it in a bed sheet to carry outside.

The bat complained with loud squeaks and, worried I was hurting it, I opened the sheet to look inside. Out came the bat in a flash and once again fluttered in the hallway. I finally caught it once more and released it under a bush.

After a good-night’s sleep, I thought I’d better make the most of the breakfast buffet to strengthen myself for the long way back.

Only when I tried to stand up after a large pile of scrambled eggs, baked beans, toast, croissant and a heaped bowl of musli, I realized I had completely overdone it.

Being upright was so uncomfortable that I went straight back to bed. When I finally got going at close to 10am, I was still so full that every time I tried to run, my stomach just wouldn’t have it. So I walked very slowly for the next three hours.

Could I have known better than stuffing my face until I couldn’t move? Of course, I’ve done several ultras, marathons and many long training runs. But I hadn’t wanted to know better, I’d wanted to have a giant breakfast.

Gluttony comes before the walk. I was well prepared for a late arrival with two flashlights and spare batteries.

Lyrebird Chase

As I came up the narrow serpentine walkway from Caves house, a lyrebird saw me approaching and fled around the bent. There weren’t many places to go on either side, so every time I came around another bent, the lyrebird was still ahead.

We played catch for a while until the path opened up and the lyrebird could have taken the wider walking track ahead. But instead, it chose to take the stairs following the Six Foot Track, looking back at me from the top.

When it AGAIN saw me taking the same direction, it flapped its wings in protest. On spotting me one final time as I reached the top of the stairs, it had enough and made a scene, fluttering towards a lyrebird mate down the hill.

I could only imagine its complaint: This woman has been following me all the way from Caves House! She’s not leaving me alone!

A few kilometres down the track, I came across an echidna that was busily looking through leaves and twigs.

Curling up at first, it soon stopped worrying about me and starting roving through the undergrowth again, coming up to just a few centimetres from my trainers. They mustn’t have smelled so good, as it then turned around and walked off into the forest.

The Thunderstorm

As the day went on, I heard rumbling behind me. While the sky got darker, I could still see a stretch of blue ahead and picked up my speed.

A storm had been forecast, but perhaps I could get away! I imaged the weather chasing me, as it seemed to rumble behind me every time I was particularly slow.

The first front moved past quickly, but the storm couldn’t quite decide what to do that day. An hour later, it was back, this time with a bang.

The sky turned black and it looked like late evening instead of mid afternoon. It started to bucket down, lighting flashed above me and I anxiously counted the time to the sound of thunder to see how close it was.

What would it be like to be hit my lightening? I probably wouldn’t notice, it would happen so quickly. I was happy whenever I made it over a bare hill unscathed.

Already on edge, I jumped when a bellbird rang out right next to me and then laughed about how easily I had worked myself into a fearful state.

I just hoped it would be over by the time I had to cross Coxs river. I didn’t want to stand in thigh-high water when lightening was close by.

Finally, patches of blue sky returned as the dark clouds rushed off. I crossed the river and munched the rest of my banana bread as I trotted through the forest.

Soon, I could see the cliff faces of some mountains ahead – a view that always stuns me. Somewhere on top of those mountains was Katoomba.

The Long Way Home

As I was hopping from stone to stone over a shallow creek, a strange feeling suddenly overcame me. I remembered coming this way yesterday. But yesterday seemed incredibly long ago.

Two days away from mobile and computer screens while being immersed in the Blue Mountains had stretched my perception of time to such a degree that I could hardly believe that as little as one weekend had passed.

By the time I was making my way up the steep section of Nellies Glen it was completely dark. A light drizzle had returned, but the headlamp gave plenty of light and the air was still warm.

I had told police that I would return late, but once I reached the top of the climb, an officer called my phone to check that I was alright in the dark.

This service Katoomba police offers to hikers has always impressed me. When borrowing a free emergency beacon for a hike, which is strongly recommended as most trails in this area have no reception, police keep information about the intended route and expected time of return. If they are worried about someone’s safety, they call.

I assured them I was fine and I ran the last three kilometres into town to drop off the beacon before treating myself to a warm dinner at a nearby restaurant that tolerates guests in runners’ clothes.

I had been out on the trail for 22 hours over two days.

When I closed my eyes to sleep that night, my whole body was buzzing with a sense of aliveness, and I felt complete contentment and peace of mind.

People who, like me, work on computer screens all day sometimes ask me “why do you do that to yourself” when I talk about trail running. I do it because I like feeling this alive, I say.

Heading to the Blue Mountains in New South Wales, Australia? Good choice – it’s hiking and trail running paradise. Here are some of the views you can expect to see.

Races in this area include the Six Foot Track Marathon (March) and the UltraTrail Australia (May).  Both start in or near Katoomba.

The Milford Track is a stunning 53 km walking track through rainforest and mountainous terrain on New Zealand’s South Island, ending with a ferry ride to scenic Milford Sound.

The daily distance is very manageable as it is divided over four days, with plenty of time to rest, swim in natural pools, and enjoy the truly spectacular views.

I had the extraordinary luck to enjoy four days of clear skies and sunshine on this track that winds its way through one of the world’s wettest inhabited regions. I wouldn’t count on the weather gods though, so make sure to pack your rain gear to stay comfortable.

In addition to stunning scenery, you can be sure to also meet the local wildlife when hiking the Milford Track. New Zealand’s South Island is home to the world’s only alpine parrot – the Kea.

These clever and colorful birds are known as the clowns of the mountains and are a pleasure to watch. They are not shy and their curiosity means that they will eye all your belongings with great interest. But be careful, Keas are always keen to take a nice pair of boots apart, or spirit away any clothes you are trying to dry, so it is wise to keep all belongings secured or indoors overnight.

How to book the Milford Track

During the October to April summer season, booking all three huts together is compulsory and due to the track’s popularity, reservations are best made online as soon as bookings open in June or July. Camping is not permitted.   Huts can be booked online.

The huts come with a kitchen that has gas stoves, simple bunk beds and wash basins but no showers, and each night costs NZD 70 for NZ residents and NZD 140 for international visitors for the 2018/19 high season.

This may seem a bit steep in view of the simplicity of the accommodation, but keep in mind that funds are used to support the country’s national parks and that the cost drops drastically during winter, when nights are only NZD 15.

Keep in mind that hiking the trail in winter requires solid outdoors experience as well as good gear and supplies, as gas and running water will be turned off in the huts and there will be no rangers on site to assist.

I did the track in summer and found the huts comfortable enough. There are also  flashier and more expensive options but those have to booked as a whole tour through external providers.

For more information about the Milford Track visit the Department of Conservation.