Kokoda Trail - The journey begins: Part two

My Kokoda Trail experience started at the Australian Cemetery the day after a group briefing with the lead guide. Approximately 600 Australian’s died along the Kokoda Trail with about 1000 wounded in action. Death was often slow and painful. I read one story of two Aussies in their weapons pit (Australian version of a fox hole) peering into the jungle when it came alive and one was stabbed in the stomach by a bayonet before his mate shot the enemy; The Japanese were the best jungle fighters on the planet at the time and expert in moving through the jungle silently and unseen. Others were shot, mostly in the head due to that being the only part of them visible above the parapet of the pit. Many were blown up by shells, mortars and grenades however. (Picture above: The monument marking the beginning of the Kokoda Trail, Owers Corner).

View my post outlining the campaign in a little more details here: https://steemit.com/australia/@galenkp/kokoda-trail-the-war-my-trek-and-reflections-part-one

The cemetery was sobering, hundreds of headstones stood in perfect rows reminding visitors of the sacrifice these men made. Men. Mostly they were young boys, Aussie sons who will never again set foot on the land they gave their lives for.

Bomana Cemetery, Port Moresby

After paying my respects it was off to Owers Corner, the start of the Trail.

In my mind I had a vision of a path-like walk through the rain forest, some water crossings and waterfalls and some incredibly steep ascents and descents. Of course there would be mud and mosquitoes but it all seemed quite achievable. In my mind.

DAY ONE: Reality check. Chest deep water-crossing within the first hour. Can’t breathe, sweating profusely and aching shoulders from my pack. Feet hurt and slipped twice. Add wet boots and clothing, (an embarrassing but entertaining to others slip and fall on the way up the far bank) and the understanding that this was the easy part. Only 95km to go.

A fellow trekker crossing a typical Trail bridge. Falling in here was not recommended.

Putting one foot in front of the other doesn’t seem hard right? The problem is that the path-like walk through the rain forest I had envisioned was somewhat more challenging. At no point could I put one foot in front of the other as per normal. The foot would have to twist one way or the other to slot between snake-like tree roots that resembled a plate of dropped spaghetti. “Step on the roots,” I heard someone say. Nope. Too slippery. Ah yes there you go, on your butt trying to pick yourself up…Again. Slipping meant risking injury or death on the steep and narrow Trail.

I tried to imagine being an 18 year old (average age of Kokoda soldier) carrying a 45kg pack, rifle (Lee-Enfield 303 circa WWI), 2-3 ammunition bandoleers with 150-200 rounds, grenades, food, water, a mortar or mortar shell, possibly a heavy machine gun (Bren Gun) and other war-like things whilst trying to move through this terrain, look for the enemy, navigate, dodge bullets and shells…Hmm, and this was the “flat part.” They fought a war here. It seemed unbelievable.

Looking back on the creek crossing I'd just completed.

Looking up was almost impossible for fear of misplacing a foot, falling and breaking something. I trudged rarely taking more than two steps in the same direction due to the tree roots and twisting path. As a note, the Trail is sometimes footpath wide, sometimes the width of one booted foot and sometimes not there at all. It moves from place to place so is more of a general “direction” than a Trail at all. Lag behind and get lost and you’ll be lost for a long, long…long time.

Loads of snakes hiding in the weeds I'm sure...This section of the trail was flat, that is to say not straight up or down.

Emotionally at this point I was feeling fine with only the odd, “WTF am I doing here,” running through my mind. Walking by myself some 50-100m away from the next nearest trekker or porter I was starting to lose the excitement I had held and felt instead the emotion of what it must have been like in 1942. That stayed with me throughout the whole trek. What was it like for them? I didn’t have to fight a battle today, didn’t have to make camp and dig pits, to stay up most of the night in fear of being killed in my sleep or suffer through dysentery, malaria and jungle fever. At camp on night two and into the early hours of the next morning I simply suffered through intense leg cramps and pain.

Setting up camp night three. Accommodation was in a open-sided hut as per the left of shot.

In my previous post I mentioned the 39th Battalion and their B Company commander Captain Sam Templeton. He was a well-respected leader. Templeton led a patrol into Kokoda and encountered the scout elements of the Japanese. In the firefight Templeton was separated from his force and was never seen again, presumed dead. He was the first casualty of the campaign. Just one story amongst many. Eora Creek was renamed by the Australian’s to Templeton’s Crossing. A place in which I felt deeply emotional after having read about the exploits of the 39th there. The image below is of a Japanese mountain gun emplacement above the crossing where they decimated the Australian’s on the opposing mountain side, a mere 200m away.

Remnants of the Japanese mountain gun emplacement above Templeton's Crossing. I made the hike up adding 3 hours to my days' march along with Dan and Peter. Mountain gun shells at my feet. Here we found piles of bullets, grenades, shells, machine gun magazines and more.

Live Japanese grenade on the left, Aussie one on the right. Picked up at Templeton's Crossing.

It is a misconception that a trekking group treks together, at least on the Kokoda Trail anyway. We woke at 5am to eat, break camp, gear up and march by 6am. Lunch was around 12 and a halt was called at about 4-4:30pm. When not at lunch or camp it was rare to see another person usually. They were there but in the dense jungle and steep mountains it was impossible to see anyone. I would go for 3-4 hours without hearing or seeing anyone usually. It was unnerving yet seemed appropriate for my reflections and contemplation. At camp or lunch I’d catch my breath and speak with a couple guys I had met on day one called Dan and Peter. Top blokes. Peter had Peter Fitzsimons' book Kokoda with him so we would study it, learn about the very section we were on and what had transpired there. We’d also consume loads of beef jerky which was the only thing I was able to eat as I’d completely lost my appetite. More on that later.

Peter and Dan were top blokes there for the same reason as me: Respect and to understand what it took to make the journey. Although we didn't trek side by side all the time we offered support to each other and helped get the other guys through. It is a mentally and physically draining trek in itself. Add to that the history of the Trail and it makes for an emotional and very difficult journey.

Peter and Dan ascending. Lead guide behind - Shouldn't he be in front? :)

My bro's Peter (left) and Dan (right)

Some of the group down below preparing to tackle one of the steepest and most difficult climbs. I had already begun the ascent.

The guides were fantastic blokes. The lead guide had matched us up with one each on the pre-trip briefing the night before we left for Owers Corner. He matched me with a guy called Winnie, an intense looking guy, smallish but tough as nails. Quiet but a lot of fun too. Ray was another porter, noisy, inappropriate and quick-witted. Top bloke! We all clicked and had a great time along the way. The porters and guides carried some of the camp set ups and would carry trekkers things as well if required. I carried my own as did Dan and Peter. We got to meet their families in Kokoda and spend some time understanding their lives. More on that in another post.

These guys were awesome. Ray on the left, Winnie on the right.

The trail is just ahead, as in you're looking at it. These choko vines hide it completely. See it slopes to the right? I almost fell off a cliff on this part of the trail as the path had washed away and I didn't know. Winnie caught my arm I was good to go.

My Aussie flag went everywhere with me. This section was a tough climb followed by knee-deep mud. Welcome to the Trail.

Every ascent meant a descent. Going down was harder on the knees but going up led to false hope. You'd look up and see what looked like the crest only to get there, find a narrow flat section, then look up to see the mountain looming ever higher. Soul-destroying. Note the mist in this shot. The heat and humidity was oppressive.

Breaking out from the jungle canopy into the sunlight brought temperatures of 35-40 degrees Celsius. This shot was of us exiting one of the villages in the middle of the day with the sun high overhead. I took little packets of coloured pencils, note pads and some small koala toys to hand out to the kids as we passed through. That was cool. They live pretty simply so the joy on their faces was worth it.

Kokoda Trail dead ahead...

So, day by day we got closer to Kokoda knowing our last night on the Trail would be at Isurava, the site of one of the fiercest battles of the campaign and one in which the 39th Battalion and 2/27th AIF got to join forces and fight together. In my next post I'll write about it and the Australian War Memorial there. It's a special place. I'll also write about Kokoda with more images as well.

Thank you for reading.

G