The Kokoda Track: Conquering the Track After 60

I had heard bits and pieces about the Kokoda Track, mainly that it was very difficult, but really knew nothing about it. Why, then, did I decide to walk it? Why did my wife Marian decide that she would walk it too? Good question!

I have always enjoyed a physical challenge. I was on the athletics team in high school and loved sports. I went on a cross country bicycle ride, from New Jersey to Seattle with a mate in 1971. I resumed running when I turned thirty and decided to run a marathon within one year, and did just that. I kept up running and working out here in Australia, played some basketball, but it was only at lunch with a friend last year, who told us he had walked the track that I began to consider it. I was 60 and felt that there is still one more good challenge left for me, and maybe this was it.

After leaving the information evening I knew I would go. I turned to Marian and before I could say, “You know, you could do this,” she said, “You know, I can do this too!” So there we were. We would be on the track in about seven months time.

Yes, we prepared, worked out and did training walks. It would be absolutely foolish if not outright dangerous not to prepare. We both went to CrossFit and ran and walked every Sunday. We hit the Thousand Steps in Ferntree Gully, the Tan, Lerderberg Gorge and the Glasgow Track. All of this was good training, but in truth, nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared us for the reality of the track.

We flew to Port Moresby and met our fellow trekkers, six other Melbournians and our Australian guide, George. We were briefed about what was to come: mosquitos, mud, rain, rocks, roots and more. The reality that we would be in the wilderness began to sink in. Once we began the trek there was no way out other than to either finish eight days and 96 kilometres later, or to be helicoptered out, only in the event of a medical emergency. Marian and I were determined that this would not happen to us, but still, you can never be sure.

We woke at 3:30 am, left Port Moresby, flew to Pompondetta and then had a four hour ride in a lorry to the village of Kokoda to begin the eight day trek southwest to Ower’s Corner, where the track ends.

The trek began innocuously enough in the village of Kokoda, down a tractor trail that was a little bit muddy but nothing to worry about. After a few hours, however, it began. Day after day, for each of these incredible eight days we climbed up, up and up, sometimes up near vertical stretches of mud and rocks and roots. Harder were the steep descents, for hours on end, carefully placing every single footstep where our local Papua New Guinea porters and guides instructed us and feeling each step in our aching knees. The mud was deep, sticky and slick, and there were numerous slips and near falls. Our nice new hiking boots which we had broken in were quickly submerged in mud and water, absolutely soaked and would remain wet and damp for the entire trip, as would most of our clothes. We quickly got used to dressing in the morning in damp clothes which never dried overnight. But after a few minutes of trekking we quickly warmed up, and the damp, cool shirts and shorts were actually a blessing.

Although we officially were not trekking in the rainy season it still rained, and it was still very warm. Beneath the canopy of the jungle’s trees it was shady, moist and even cool at times. Higher up, without the canopy’s shade it was extremely hot. We drank litres of water from our water backpacks, which we refilled from the innumerable streams but which needed to be purified before we could drink. We crossed countless streams and rivers on bridges made of vines and logs, often holding our porters’ hands.

We trekked on average 10 hours a day. We would awake at 5:00 am, and head for bed by 6:30 pm. Each night we were in a different village along the track. Our meals were prepared by the local team and were simple and filling. The last few nights we enjoyed hearing our porters sing in three and four part harmony. We didn’t know what the words were but their voices were beautiful.

Each day brought us breathtakingly beautiful and awesome sights: the mountains and the clouds which blanketed the valleys below us; the rushing streams and waterfalls; the mosses, lichens and flowers of the jungle. Even while on a narrow muddy ledge, where one slip could result in a disaster, while carefully holding on to our porters’ hand or the nearby trees’ branches or roots protruding from the ground, I couldn’t help but look down, across or up, and marvel at sights I had never seen. Yes, there were dangerous sections and one slip would have seen us tumble or slide down for many metres, but even so, the natural beauty just could not be ignored.

The history of the track was also always on our mind. We saw remnants of war left by the Japanese and the Australian soldiers. To walk the track as we did was hard enough, and it is simply impossible to imagine the intense jungle warfare, the hand to hand fighting in the mud and the heat. Walking the track doesn’t glorify war. It does reinforce, or bring to light just how important the Kokoda campaign was. I certainly did not know how important it was. Read KOKODA, either by Paul Ham or Peter Fitzsimmons for the full history and to understand the importance of the campaign.

Suffice it to say, Australia was under direct threat from Japan, and had the Japanese succeeded in taking Port Moresby the outcome of the war in the Pacific, and the welfare of Australia would have been far different. A small group of Australian militiamen in Kokoda village, not formally trained soldiers, were pitted against highly trained and experienced Japanese soldiers. The Australians retreated and retreated down the track, taking enormous losses but also inflicting many losses on the Japanese. Eventually, with the arrival of soldiers from the AIF, the Australian Imperial Force, the Japanese were gradually forced to retreat to the north east shores of Papua New Guinea where they had landed months earlier, and from where they fled.

Many soldiers were assisted by the local natives. Then they were known affectionately by the Diggers as the Fuzzy Wuzzies (perhaps though not politically correct according to today’s norms). Their descendant were our local guides, porters and other men of our support team. Shy at first, Marian and I got to know our porters, Henry and Kenneth. They were incredibly strong and supportive.

Marian’s father, Misha, served in Papua New Guinea, although not on the Track, and after the Japanese had been defeated there. His memory made the trek very special for Marian and also for the local men with us. They showed Marian their deep appreciation of the Australian soldiers when she spoke of her father.

So, how tough was it? It was the most difficult, gruelling physical challenge of my life and of Marian’s (according to Marian, even counting childbirth!). No words nor photos can convey how hard it was, how steep it was, how rocky or rough or muddy. Those who have done it know what I mean. Those who haven’t never really will. It was also challenging mentally and emotionally. There was no stopping, no turning back, for hours on end. Just when it looked as if we had reached one summit or another, we could see there were more ascents to come. But the support of our guides, of our fellow trekkers and each other made this the most incredible experience of our lives.

Many say walking the Kokoda Track is life changing. It may not be that at the age and stage we are, but it certainly was life affirming. The physical and mental challenge, the sheer beauty amongst the sites of so much fighting, the friendships and knowledge have enriched our lives in ways beyond words.

Have you walked the Kokoda track? Was it a moving experience for you?