Sunday Blog 248 – 30th August 2026
“It’ll seem much quicker on the way back,” darling husband reassured me.
Here I was again, hoisted on my own petard of faulty memory, thinking that this time I could add in a new activity for us to do together. Having a regular beach walk, going to the movies, having dinner, or more likely, breakfast is about as far as our list extends. He’s extremely fit, and I am moderately fit. This level of fitness only dates from the beginning of this year, when I bucked a lifetime of disliking exercise by starting, then enjoying, then embedding a weekly functional weights regime. With my new-found strength and stamina, could we add hiking into our mix of mutual pastimes?
Did I not remember our Bali honeymoon trip when instead of lounging by the pool reading, I ended up parasailing behind a banged-up dinghy? It puttered far below me as I hung in the sky, wondering if this would be my last hurrah.
Or the bike riding trip in Cambodia, where halfway into the muggy ride I was overtaken with a migraine, and had to hail a tuk-tuk, get the driver to strap the bike to its flimsy front and ferry me on the ostentatious ride of shame back to the hotel?
No, dear reader, I did not remember any of these salutary lessons. Or instead, I leaned into a belief in my new-found strength due to above-mentioned regular weights training. Hiking Kitty’s Gorge would be a breeze. Level 4? Pshaw. No sweat.
So accordingly, around three hours into the walk, we had made it to the destination where there was a carpark, toilet and tables. It’s a spot that would have been discoverable by an Uber. That was my tuk-tuk escape moment, but I let this rescue rope slip from my grasp without even reaching for it. After a short rest, we turned back to make the trek to the starting point.
It may not surprise you to know that it was not quicker on the way back. If anything, it was more taxing than the walk there, because I was already tired. By the end, I had dubbed the Kitty’s Gorge walk “Always Another Hill” because the path followed the river at times, then scaled the magnificent hills in an undulating pattern which is lovely to look at but challenging to walk. There was always another hill. Like a woman in labour, I reached the transition phase where I believed it would never end. And then, one last hill and we were delivered to the car park.
Did I mention that it was absolutely beautiful? That the trees, flowers, waterways were almost enough to elevate me above considering of blistering feet and tired legs? That despite everything, my teeth became dry from all the smiling I was doing in the forest/bush bathing extravaganza?
I’m taking it as a good sign that even darling husband feels we overdid it by starting with a 19km level four trek, and next excursion will be a flat rather than hilly level 2, with a more manageable seven or eight kilometres. Maybe I can slot it onto our short list of mutual entertainment.