The Infamous NSW Trail That Broke Me (& The Other That Rebuilt Me)

Kate set out on what was meant to be a cruisy overnight hike. It turned into a confidence shake-up and a reminder that joy on the trail doesn’t have to come from pushing limits.

All good redemption stories begin with a moment of defeat. Mine starts with an overnight hike that was supposed to be ‘chill’, according to my ultra-marathon-running and thru-hiking friend, Gina.

Hey Gina *waves*

This wasn’t the first hike we’d done together, but while she’d been out walking the length of Aotearoa / New Zealand, I’d been starting a desk job and losing the habit of regular exercise. It’d been two years since my last overnight hike, so my nerves ran high. I always liked to think of myself as outdoorsy, but lately, I hadn’t done much to back that up. If this hike didn’t go well, I wasn’t sure that label would still feel true.

During planning, I tried to make it clear that I was unfit and that we’d need to pick something within my limits, but I don’t think the message got through:

Gina: ‘Are you happy for mountains? There’s one in the Snowies I’ve been eyeing off.’

Me: ‘Yeah I’d be happy with mountains (provided my piddly little legs can get up there).’

Gina: *Shares link to We Are Explorers article* This Hike has the Most Elevation Gain of Any Hike in Australia

In the end, we settled on an out-and-back overnighter from Kanangra Walls to Mt Cloudmaker – roughly 10km of the first day of the Kanangra to Katoomba (K2K) walk.

Read more: What I Learnt Hiking K2K in a Day

It all started so well. A nice drive up, a quick stop at Kalang Falls, and an easy start on the stunning (and very flat) Plateau Walk. I was feeling great! My pack felt light, and the views were incredible.

Feeling great on the Plateau Walk! | Photo by Gina Hebblewhite

Gina, chief of navigation (and basically everything, bless her), scouted ahead after lunch and came back saying she’d found the path. Turns out the ‘path’ was literally a dry waterfall, which we had to climb down. Some bum-scooting and pack-passing later, we were safely at the bottom, and I figured I’d conquered the great challenge of the hike.

Yep, that’s me, scrambling up a dry waterfall | Photo by Gina Hebblewhite

This Was Supposed to Be Chill

When I turned around, I realised there was plenty of challenge left. The clear, open path of the plateau was gone, and instead, the trail fell away down the ridge, more of a wallaby track, with tall scrub pressing close.

And so, we descended. And ascended. And descended again. I could feel myself fading. Gina lent me one of her hiking poles, and I leaned more and more heavily on it to drag myself up the hills and prevent myself from stumbling on the way down. My legs were getting shaky, and anxiety was bubbling as I thought about doing it all again on the way back.

About 6km in, we reached the lowest elevation point on the walk, and when, upon beginning the next ascent, Gina cheerfully informed me that there were ‘Only two mountains left!’, it all started to unravel.

Just another slippery climb

That next climb was less like walking uphill and more like hauling myself up a muddy slide. My heart was pounding, breath gasping, thoughts racing. Exertion and anxiety were feeding off each other until I tipped into a minor anxiety attack. Through tears, I told Gina I needed to stop. I wasn’t just exhausted, I was embarrassed. I felt like I’d been exposed as an outdoorsy fraud.

As I took some deep breaths and calmed myself down, it became very clear that I’d struggle to finish the hike as planned. After a quick chat, we both agreed it’d be best to stop where we were.

We set up our tent, read our books, demolished some excellent spaghetti bolognese, and settled in early, ready to set off at first light so we had plenty of time for the return.

In the end, the return hike was fairly uneventful. The distance passed quickly, and even the hills didn’t seem so bad. The fact that all of it was known made a huge difference. I knew I’d done the hike out, so I could do the return.

A huge credit is due here to Gina. When things didn’t go to plan, she stayed calm, helped me make a safe decision, and kept the vibes up even when I was feeling exhausted and embarrassed. Even though my hiking confidence had well and truly crumbled, I still came away with a smile on my face.

Please Let This One Be Fine

Coming out of what I now refer to as ‘The Great Humbling’, I knew I needed to regain my confidence. I didn’t need anything epic, just proof I could still do it, and that I still belonged on the trail.

In the months that followed, I started building back up. I did a few long day walks and treated myself to a pair of hiking poles (nothing says ‘I’m learning to hike within my limits’ quite like using shiny new hiking poles on a bike path).

All set with new poles! | Photo by Zoe Creelman

When my cousin Zoe said she was keen for a hike, I knew this was my shot. This one needed to feel like a win; something slow, manageable, and free of existential reckoning. Thankfully, Zoe wasn’t looking for anything epic either.

Oh hey Zoe!

We landed on a 7km stretch of the Hume and Hovell Track, from Barrois Campsite to Micalong Creek Campsite. Definitely not what you’d call a brag-worthy hike! Most people knock it out before lunch.

Read more: I Hiked 100km of the Hume and Hovell Track Through Country NSW From Burrinjuck to Tumut

The confidence rebuilding started earlier than expected, when, upon arrival at the trailhead, we were asked by a Scout group if we were walking the full Hume and Hovell Track. Me? Walking 426km? Well, no, but I’m thrilled you think I could be.

The Joy in Simple

We stopped for lunch beside some small, tumbling falls (no climbing down required, thank you very much). The track meandered gently, the creek burbled alongside us, and something about the ease of it all helped settle something in me. I didn’t need to conquer anything to feel like myself again. I just needed to remember I’m someone who loves being out here.

A lush lunch spot on the Micalong Creek

Like me, Zoe is a tree appreciator and bird enthusiast. Walking with someone else who takes time to gaze up at gentle eucalyptus giants and squint at far-off birds (‘I think it’s a Brown treecreeper, no, wait, a White–throated tree creeper’) is a great way to slow things down. 

We reached camp relaxed and energised, just in time for the afternoon sun to turn everything golden. The campsite was gorgeous – riverside, with a covered picnic table, a very respectable drop toilet, and a fireplace where some kind soul had left half a bag of dry firewood.

We made a cup of tea by the water, set up camp, and got a cosy fire going. It was quiet. Easy. The kind of camping that leaves plenty of space for conversation, both light and substantial, and for silent companionship.

Enjoying a cuppa by the river

I slept well beside the chattering river, and in the morning, knowing the return walk would be cruisy, we took our time for a slow breakfast, a stretch, and another cup of tea. The hike back flew by (helped by the threat of dark incoming clouds), and by the time we reached the car, we were already talking about what hike we’d do next.

This walk was, in almost every way, simple. Just a little adventure, basically in my backyard, with good company and plenty of snacks. It was the perfect antidote to The Great Humbling.

Slightly less incline than the K2K!

Sometimes the ‘outdoors’ scene can feel very focused on pushing limits to the extreme, and I get that! It’s amazing to see what we’re capable of and to conquer challenges we never thought possible. But I’m slowly coming to peace with the idea that I still have a place on the trail and amongst my outdoorsy friends, even if the adventures I seek out are a bit gentler.

I’m pleased to report that I’ve since hiked with Gina again, this time on a short and sweet hike, with no tears, no panic, and no dry waterfalls in sight.

Tick! A successful hike indeed | Photo by Zoe Creelman