This Is Contentment

This is contentment. I'm holed up in a funny wee cabin-on-stilts that is my four bunk dorm at Lorne's YHA. No one else is here right now. The heater behind me is on, low and steady. Outside, it is a damp chilly autumnal afternoon - in June! Australia's seasons disorientate me utterly. A kookaburra squats on a branch down below, and sulpher-crested cockatoos squawk raucously as they gather on the decking outside the hostel's kitchens.

This morning, I ran 3 miles along the beach at Lorne and over the rocks. At the turning point, stood on a spur of hollowed-out honeycombed rock, I watched the surf roll in, and the sun rise behind the lighthouse away off at Airey's Inlet. I caught myself feeling invincible.

After breakfast, I packed an apple and a banana, and marched up to Erskine Falls and back. A 13 and a half mile roundtrip, up steep hills and through grey chilled eucalyptus forests and fern-tree gullies. Along the way, I picked up a smooth branch as a walking stick, and bashed the undergrowth as I went, uncharacteristically concerned about snakes and isolation. As I walked, layer upon layer of exploring memories separated out, letting me back in on chinks of exquisite past expeditions, before concertina-ing back in on themselves. I was transported back to the backwoods of Aomori in Northern Japan. Back to the rainforest guches of Maui, damp dripping trails, my feet scuffing tree litter as I pass, on my own, as ever. Back to the misted hills of the Scottish Highlands. Wineglass Bay in Tasmania, and even the Cremorne-Mosman path in Sydney!

I am an explorer.

It doesn't matter to me that my explorations take me along trails that countless others have walked before me. Why would that matter? I gather my maps and provisions, and I head off into what for me is the unknown, to see for myself what's there. I push myself, and I'm glad my body doesn't fail me. And the return is always one of triumph and well-deserved rewards - a scalding hot shower, a steaming mug of tea, a cake where the calories are already accounted for, or a plain buttie that hunger transforms ino fine food fit for a king.

This is contentment. This is all there needs to be.