Everything stinks of campfire and sweat. I feel around my tent in the pre-dawn dark for my damp thermals and wriggle into them, lying on my back. Condensation drips onto me. My headlamp is broken, so I do everything by feel and memory — this corner has dry bags, that one has clothes.
I unzip my tent and step into the moonlit fog. I pull socks and wetsuit from a tree branch and wring them out, thankful there’s no frost this morning, and squeeze into their clammy embrace.
Other early risers have re-lit last night’s fire and I head towards its flickering light, stepping over barely-visible guy lines. My neoprene boots flop as I walk: sand broke the zips.
Other students huddle close to the fire, clutch coffees, stamp feet. We are nearly through a two-week expedition from the summit of Mount Kosciusko to Marlo Beach. Every day is a flurry of activity — pack up, hike or raft for twenty-plus kilometers, set up camp, dinner, bed. No rest days. No contact with the outside world.
To get through the constant discomfort I find silver linings in everything: icy water sloshing around my raft is good because cold exposure boosts my immune system; aching muscles from hours of paddling means I’m getting stronger; the fact that I ran out of breakfasts means I’ll see my abs again. I will come out of this lean, mean, and ready for anything — or so I think.
Ongoing health problems have caught up with me. I decide to tell the group this morning.
“I’m disabled”, I say, looking down at the ground. I tread out a pattern in the sand.
“Last year my doctor said I had a potentially fatal medical condition. I was in hospital; he didn’t think I’d make it.”
I glance up at everyone’s blank faces. I flash a nervous smile. “I didn’t prepare a speech! I’m not sure what to say.” I take a breath.
“I recovered, but I’ve had a recent setback.”
I look up at our instructor, who stares back with an unreadable expression. Will he think I’m incapable of completing the trip? Have I shot myself in the foot?
Faye speaks up, “Is there a time of day you feel best?”
“I feel much more alive during the daytime. I fade fast in the evenings. I’m like a reverse vampire!”
People laugh.
“Are you okay with afternoon shifts?”, Faye asks.
“Yes, absolutely. I want to help, but I’m struggling and I don’t want people to think I just have a bad attitude.”
She nods.
Then Peter barks, “Okay, let’s get going! We’ve got a long way to go and can’t just stand around talking!”
We move to our rafts. Emma smiles at me.
“That was brave! I’m so proud of you!”
“Really? I felt awkward!”
“Now we can understand what you’re going through.”
Maybe a little, I think. We wade our rafts into the river and paddle into the dawn glow. Paddling brings me out of my ruminations, just in time for our first grade three rapid.
Our raft slams into a rock and catapults me into the whitewater. I grab the OS line to heave myself back in, but the raft hits a wave, bounces up and slaps me in the face. I flop back into the water. Over my shoulder I see a boulder sticking out of the river. Our raft races straight for it, pushing me ahead.
“Get him back in the boat!”, our instructor yells, “Quick!”
Greg dives over our pile of gear into the front of the raft. He leans over, grabs my lifejacket, and hauls. I rise out of the water, then slip back. The jagged boulder is just seconds away.
“Go!”, I yell, and desperately yank on the OS line. Greg heaves and I flop into the boat like a fish. Our raft slams into the boulder and spins off.
“Back on the job!”, Kylie shouts, guiding our raft. We scramble to our positions.
Whitewater slowly gives way to flatwater and the days slip past, like the Snowy River beneath us. The river infuses every part of our lives: we travel on it, drink from it, wash with it. We will leave the river, but it will never leave us. It is part of us now.
Today we paddle over thirty kilometres to reach the sea, our finish line. The ocean whispers to us from beyond the dunes. We beach our rafts, stagger up the timber steps and the surf greets us with a roar. We run wildly down the sand into the sea, sealing our expedition with saltwater baptism.
We’re celebrating at the pub tonight and I have to get ready. I’m looking forward to wearing something special, something fancy — deodorant.
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