Showcase-Sunday: My Kokoda Trek experience: THREE

This is the third, and last, part of a series of posts I'm doing on my 2007 Kokoda Trail trekking experience, some history behind the Trail and how it changed my life. You can see the prequel post here and part one here and part two here which will give some perspective.

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My journey was coming to an end, but the experience would stay with me forever; Such a powerful emotional experience could never be shrugged off easily. It had been days of effort, controlling one's attitude, motivation and battling demons within...And we'd now arrived at one of the most significant points.

Arriving in Isurava, the site of one of the biggest battles back in 1942, was incredibly emotional, not just from the sheer effort it had taken to get myself there, but for the historical significance of the location; A history I knew well.

The jungle simply opened into a vast expanse of immaculately-kept green grass which descended down the side of the mountain. On a levelled area nestled the Australian War Memorial to the battle and the Kokoda Campaign in general.

It was an extremely emotional moment after an arduous trek retracing the steps of the soldiers who fought the campaign all those years ago. The fatigue and mental stress seemed to lift somewhat though as the magnitude of what I had just done hit me...It wasn't over of course, there was a day to go, but reaching this point felt significant, and was both jubilant and deeply sad also; This Isurava memorial has a way of doing that.

Each of the trekkers in my group simply wandered the area in solitude, alone with their own thoughts, sat soaking up the emotions, their own and those that seemed had permeated into the very location itself; The legacy of brutal fighting and of life and death, played out in 1942.

The Papuans were nowhere to be seen now. Literally. They had simply melted away allowing us Aussies time to soak it in and express our emotions in privacy. I'll not lie...I teared up; It's that sort of place.

Australian War Memorial, Isurava, Papua New Guinea. This was the sight of a battle between the Japanese aggressors and the rag-tag Aussie lads who were 10 to 1 outnumbered, ailing and ill-supplied.

No one spoke; Most could not.

The only sound being the wind in the trees and the occasional sound from the surrounding jungle.

For forty minutes I simply wandered the site, touching the huge granite pillars bearing the four words that define the men that fought the campaign in 1942.

Honour Courage Mateship Endurance.

I wandered to the large boulder on the side of the monument where Bruce Kingsbury gave his life in exchange for the lives of his mates; Another brave Australian son who will never feel the warmth of the Aussie sun on his face...Sitting at the edge of the monument looking down the steep slope towards Kokoda I was filled with the stories and history of the campaign and the battle here. I could imagine the young Aussie lads in their muddy trenches, peering over the parapet wondering when the onslaught would come. I was filled with pride and awe at their bravery, their fortitude.

I don’t think anyone could understand, or comprehend, what it was like during this campaign; One had to live though it to know, like with all wars. Here the 39th Battalion and 2/27 AIF joined forces to slow the enemy advance allowing the bulk of the Allied forces to retreat. (A fighting retreat, it was called). It was the obvious place for a memorial to the campaign and the Australian Government have put together a very special place for Australians to come and pay their respects.

Paying my respects: Here I am poking an Aussie flag into one of the wreaths at the memorial. To get here one needs to trek the Kokoda Trail and endure its hardships...It was emotional and I felt a great deal of pride and privilege in traversing the same brutal track the Aussie soldiers did in 1942. I was to return home relatively unscathed; The men who fought here were not so lucky - They were either killed, or physically and emotionally scared...Or both.

Many brave acts were played out on this mountain side. The fanatical enemy charged right up the hill in banzai-style attacks oblivious to their own well-being. Wave after wave threatened to overwhelm the thin line of defenders which broke, reformed then broke again.

It was a chaotic battle, as they always are, and in the end the overwhelming odds stacked against the Australians forced them to retreat, pull back, fighting all the way. They simply caved under the weight of ten to one odds. But they served their purpose allowing the main body to regroup further back on the Trail, and slowly they fought their reward action, loathe to leave their mates dead and dying behind them, but desperate to execute the retreat.

Private Bruce Kingsbury (VC): This young lad was awarded the Victoria Cross for charging down the hill I was standing on with a Bren machine gun to close a breach in the line...He had stopped at the large rock where I was standing to reload and was shot in the head by a sniper. He was 24 years old. His selfless act held the line and saved countless lives. This plaque is mounted at the spot on which he died, right where I stood.

We awoke the next morning, at 4am, and gathered at the memorial to sing the Australian National Anthem, Advance Australia Fair, with the Papuans adding their voices to the signing. It was the 11th November, Remembrance Day, and we took a moment to pay our respects to all who have paid the ultimate price in war. The Papuans sang their National Anthem also and we then geared up and began the descent into Kokoda village, finally leaving for the 9 hour trek down at around 5:30am.

Descending into Kokoda. Kokoda lies in the valley in the background of this shot and the descent was brutal, as they always seemed to be on the Kokoda Trail. It was extremely hot as much of it was in full sun and by this point I was almost physically spent, but we pushed on.

Back in 1942 the Aussies made this same descent; Initially to probe for the enemy early in the campaign and then once again, months later, as they were pushing the enemy backwards and to final defeat. My descent was to be much easier than they experienced; There were no grenades, mountain gun shells, bayonets and bullets.

The Australians pushed hard at this stage of the campaign. They had endured much, had been brutalised by the Japanese advance and now they showed no hint of mercy now they had them on the run. Not even a bit. The fighting here was titanic, and devastatingly brutal. My trek down would have been a Sunday stroll in comparison...It was bloody hard though, exhausting, but I made it.

Kokoda was pretty much as I expected; A small village with no running water or electricity and houses made from whatever materials could be found. The people lived simply and yet happily.

We were welcomed by tribal dancers and spent a couple of hours cleaning up, tending wounds (many of these) and getting our gear squared away for our flight out the next morning.

A feast was held in our honour that evening and I spent a little time with my porter Winnie. I handed over my compass, knife, hiking boots, first aid kit, toilet paper, all remaining food and a couple of pairs of awesome hiking socks I hadn’t used. I also gave him some Australian money on the sly as a thank you. These people live poorly so every bit helps and I wouldn't be needing anything due the next-day flight out.

That night I slept on a mat on the floor in a hut rather than the ground. I’d be flying out the next day I thought, back to Port Moresby and the extremely comfortable Airways Hotel. Comfort and civilisation.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Welcome to Kokoda. This was a cool welcome ceremony that the locals put on for us. We sat around on the grass sipping the last of our water from Nalgene flasks as this colourful and musical procession greeted us. The Papuans are very enamoured of Aussies, especially those of us who take the time to come to Kokoda.

My outfit just isn't as colourful as the chiefs! This guy came over to us and shook everyone's hands and welcomed each of us personally. He only spoke Tok Pisin, (New Guinea Pidgin) English.

"Mipela amamas olsem yu kam long ples bilong mipela." - We'd like to welcome you to our village.

"Tenkiu" - We would reply...Thank you.

Comfort! This was our lodgings for the night...After a very tasty, and large welcome feast. I'd lost my appetite on the Trail and other than beef jerky, some rice and wild spinach plus a few nuts hadn't eaten much at all. The feast was welcome. Here you see Dan and Peter settling in.

We'd be flying back to Port Moresby in the morning we thought...Wrong!

The next morning I awoke with my head in the clouds. Literally. Heavy cloud had descended and on standing up one could only see about 5 feet through the murk, and that was inside the open-sided hut you see above!

The bad news came through...No flights in.

Kokoda sits in a natural valley so planes have to spiral their way down from altitude to land, they can’t simply approach from one direction and descend rapidly to the runway. I say runway but mean large, barely flat, grassed area. There's no aircraft kept at Kokoda, they fly in to collect trekkers and deliver supplies, that's it. Anyway, I was devastated but things have a way of working out.

We ended up being stuck in Kokoda for 3 more days, departing on the forth. This caused problems with our flights back to Australia but allowed me the chance to become a local which trekkers never get as they always fly out rapidly.

Remember, I had given everything I brought with me away so was completely reliant on hospitality. I had no food at all.

I got to hang out with Winnie and Ray, the porters I'd befriended, and a couple of the other porters. Peter, Dan and myself were invited to family meals, sing-alongs and general shit-talking sessions which was cool!

It was like being part of the family and it helped with my longing to be home again which had started to creep into my head. I missed my wife Faith, and my cats. However hanging around with these guys, my new friends, was an amazing experience that very few people get. I keep in contact to this day, twelve years later.

Invited to dinner. The lady is Ray's mum, (Ray to my left in white). They put on a very basic spread by our standards, but to them it was lavish. They even killed a chicken which for them was a costly item. On the night Ray and his mother presented me with a traditional wrap/blanket which I still have. It is hand made and painted. This was a special night and one no trekkers have probably experienced before, or very few at least.

The local market. Life is simple in Kokoda. No running water, no electricity. This was a small market where they sold foodstuffs and odds and ends. We bought a few things on our way up to the museum which is filled with bits and pieces left over from the war. Bits Japanese Zero fighter planes included.

Winnie (his house in the background). That tin shed is where this guy lives with his family. It's not lavish. On this particular day we walked out to a nearby village with some of the other porters and met their families which they were proud to show off. These people are such friendly, family-oriented people. I wouldn't want cross one of them though as they are strong buggers and can probably work up a pretty good aggression-level.

This isn't a great picture but this little chap latched onto me and wouldn't let go. Cute little fella huh? This was at a very small village near Kokoda where a few of the porters were from.

Eventually the cloud lifted though and the small plane was able to land in Kokoda. We were going home to Australia after a day layover in Port Moresby.

We said our farewells, which were tearful and emotional, then departed.

I was not the same man that arrived days earlier though. I was...More humble, grateful and self-reflective I guess. I had journeyed on the same Trail that men had fought and died over and I understood them and their sacrifices more than I ever had.

I had spent time with my Kokoda friends and saw how happy they were with their simple lives; The importance of family and of being grateful for what I have boarded that plane with me. At the time, and in reflection back at the lavish hotel back in Port Moresby, I wondered how that would translate back in Australia and if it would remain with me. It did.

My plane landing in Kokoda finally - Time to go home. Yes, this is the airstrip. The whole village turned out to farewell us; We were the trekking group that had become locals. We had bathed in the same streams they did, prepared fish, sweet potato, taro, cassava leaves and fruits and shared food together. I'd even gone hunting and caught a wild boar with them. We had sung with them, laughed and told tall tales.

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Two weeks later back in my comfortable home I was waking up in cold-sweats, disoriented by light coming through the windows and wondering where I was. Moments later I’d remember that I was not in the jungle, that I didn’t have to strive and struggle that day to ascend or descend mountains.

I actually went to my doctor to tell him about it and he said that it is normal after extreme emotional and mental duress for this to happen and that it should stop. Fortunately it did. I understand how certain events or situations can affect a person, it had happened to me before, it was just a surprise that this trip brought it out in me.

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I had returned to an emotional greeting from my wife a couple weeks earlier and was only just now starting to relate my experiences. It was difficult to order them sufficiently in my mind to relate them at first, but it started to come little by little..

It’s impossible for me to convey all of the emotion and inner-turmoil, the highs and lows, but I’ve had friends come over and sit in front of my computer to look at my pictures which makes it easier to explain. When alone with my wife I'd open up a bit more as the weeks went by.

Obviously I was glad to be back but I was also glad to have come back changed.

I valued peace and quiet more highly, avoided crowds and shopping centres where possible and focused on bringing simplicity into my life. I let go of materialism. I was grateful for everything in my life and had discarded toxicity from other people and myself.

I had grown.

In my first post I said how doing the Trek had changed my life and I meant it. I was a different person when I began to the one that came out of that jungle.

Now, twelve years later that has simply taken root and grown deeper. I love talking about my experiences on the Trail, even now, all these years later because it reminds me of how profoundly it changed me - Not that I was a bad person prior, I was just better afterwards.

On returning I spoke at several RSL functions, (Returned Soldiers League), and displayed my photographs. It felt good to talk about it and despite getting emotional I enjoyed it. It was also good to discuss it with returned soldiers who understood what I was saying. I had also raised around $12,000 for kids suffering with cystic fibrosis so thee were cheques to present etc. It was a nice way to round out the experience.

To this day, every year, I send a big wooden crate to Kokoda.

It’s full of bandages and antiseptic, small first aid kits, tooth paste and brushes, school books, thongs (flip-flops), guitar strings, colouring pencils and blank paper, rulers, pencil sharpeners, chocolate etc. These items are distributed around to the families that need them most with the first aid items going to the very ill-equipped “hospital.” in Kokoda. It’s a fun part of my year as I send it to arrive within the week I had trekked to Kokoda. I get some lovely letters (on paper) a few weeks later from Kokoda. They keep asking me to return and someday I will.

Phew...OK, so I guess that’s it. That’s the end of my Kokoda-experience posts. I hope some of you have enjoyed them.

If you want to start at the beginning see the links at the beginning of this post. It's not a historical account, but will give you a taste of it.

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I'm no writer so I’ve just written these words from the heart and enjoying the process. Maybe someone finds value here also.

I could never relate exactly how it was for me, the pain, exhaustion, emotional stress, highs and lows; I just don’t have the words. But I urge you to go and challenge yourself as I did, the way you think and act also; Take your life, turn it upside down and shake it about. I’m certain you’ll find out some wondrous things about yourself; Things that you can nurture and develop for the journey of life that lies ahead.

Thanks for reading.

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Tomorrow isn't promised - Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default
_{An original post written by a human
Discord: galenkp#9209} 🇦🇺

The original post was written and posted by me around September 2017. This post has been reworked it with some 1600 extra words and reposted for the @nonameslefttouse #showcase-sunday concept.