6/12 Last Walk at Pambula

I stayed behind at Jigamy while the rest of the Land Arts group stayed at Davidson. It was good to spend some time with some of the great people we met from the Field Studies program. On the last full day at Jigamy, I decided to take a long walk around the estuary, retracing my walk with Cedra from several days earlier and then going from there as far as possible. I walked on the soggy lake bed at low-tide, trying not to trample groups of scampering sand crabs. Then I walked past the Bell birds' distinctive "ping" calls coming from the tops of the eucalypts (it sounds kind of like a submarine sonar signal). Then past the masses of straw-like material washed along the edges and past the red rocks where we broke for lunch before. Beyond this was new territory. After another hour and a half, and never getting close to the ocean (it was my initial goal), I decided to take my walk into the forest, which is largely made up of big red gums and other eucalypts, as well as areas with thick fern growth. Eventually, I stopped to draw something. It was my intention to cut through the forest to a part of the estuary where I was earlier, and I was navigating by the position of the sun, taking into consideration its westward arc and the fact that in this part of the world the sun at its peak is due north. Feeling fairly confident about my location, I stayed longer than I should have to finish my work, even though the sun was rapidly descending and was actually eclipsed by the mass of land behind me. Continuing on with a renewed urgency, even running at times, I sought the edge of the estuary. Beginning to feel a little panicked, I knew to keep descending, because that would surely lead to water, but incline/decline was now more random. The forest seemed as thick as ever — I could not see a clearing in the distance that would indicate a lake. Basically, I knew I'd be screwed if I were still in the forest after dark (though in retrospect, even under these circumstances, I'd likely be okay). The fact that this was a foreign environment, about which I knew virtually nothing, started to play in my mind as I clumsily, and with increased desperation, made my way. Eventually, I came to a finger in the estuary and knew I'd at least made it to water. But I was still a ways from camp, probably an hour at normal walking pace. So, moving considerably faster than normal walking pace I raced against the descending darkness. The toughest part would be the quarter of a mile or so just before reaching the campsite, which is thick with razor-sharp sedges (a type of tall, grass like plants, with large blades that inevitably leave paper cuts on the hands). The vegetation is so thick at this part of the estuary that you just have to force your way through. This was not an option in the near total darkness now. This meant I'd have to walk into the estuary, which was now at high-tide. My imagination went a little wild as I immersed myself waist deep in the dark water, moving among the now submerged mangroves. In the movies, whenever someone does this, they get eaten my a mutant crocodile or something. Closer to reality, I did remember talk of sting rays in the lake, but there was really no other option. I was not going to attempt to fight the dense overgrowth on land in this darkness. After just a few minutes (which is a really long time in this situation) I saw an abandoned shed, signalling the edge of camp.

Even though I was probably a little stupid for waiting so late to begin my return to camp, I also knew that this experience helped me to have a more direct interaction with the wilderness. Some pics of the trip.