Get lost! That’s what I did, and this is what I learned.
May 29, 2020
“Oh my god, what if we never get out of here and they never find us!”
Kim pulled another spiky vine from her hair and swore in frustration. Surrounded by jungle greenery, our girl’s weekend to the oldest rainforest in the world didn’t seem so wonderful now. I slipped and fell a short distance down an embankment onto a fallen log, or thick branch,… who knows?
“It’ll be fine,” I said. “We’ve just gotta be patient.”
Our weekend in the Daintree was almost over. We’d snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef, cruised the estuaries and learned about crocodiles, dined at some great restaurants, and this track was the last on our “must do before we go” list.
Our hosts waved at us as we crossed the creek into the forest. “We’re heading to Mossman tonight. We’ll be back in the morning.”
We waved the track’s laminated instruction sheet at them. “Have fun! Quick walk before dinner.”
“You’ll love it,” they promised.
The track up the mountain was overgrown but traceable. When we weren’t too sure where it had gone, we followed the trail of markers (bases of aluminum cans nailed to trees) that led us to the numbered points of interest on the sheet. It was a perfect system.
By the time we’d wound higher up the mountain, the track had all but disappeared beneath leaf litter and low-growing plants. It was still easy going though, we just relied solely on the markers and worked out the best way to reach them. It was a bit of an adventure to find our way through without a track, and easy to imagine how explorers must’ve felt carving their way through unfamiliar country; not knowing what was around the corner.
We came across refreshing cascades and pools, and even though we were hot and sticky in the late afternoon heat, we kept moving. We dodged spider webs, and unstuck each other from the masses of lawyer vines that seemed to appear from nowhere and with monotonous regularity. Every so often, finding the cans nailed to trees became a game of hide-and-seek, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.
Our feet slipped on the damp earth as we made our way back down the mountain. Fallen trees reminded us of the storm that had passed through the area in recent weeks.
“Oh crap, look,” I said to Kim and pointed to a fallen tree with a marker on it. “That’s why they’re getting harder to find.”
We often followed paths we thought were the track, only having to backtrack when they led to a wall of impenetrable greenery. We soon learned to stop when we couldn’t find our next marker.
After several ‘wanderings’ we made a note of what was around before we set off. A large mossy rock, or a tree with a massive spider web became our temporary base. From there, we decided on our direction and set off in search of a marker. If we couldn’t see one within a reasonable distance, we went back to the original spot and headed off in a different direction. Yeah, it was frustrating but oh, the joy and elation and whoops and high-fives and little dances when we found a marker!
Then we’d take a deep breath and start the process again.
It was getting darker, but we weren’t too pressed for time. We still had enough daylight to make it the relatively short distance down the mountain to the cabin.
“Stop,” Kim held my arm. “What was that?”
“Just another weird bird call.” We’d poured over the book in the cabin that listed and described the calls of all the local rainforest birds and giggled while trying to imitate them from our balcony.
“What does a cassowary sound like? What if Elvis comes back?”
I pulled a bug from my hair. The last thing we needed was an Elvis sighting! Elvis was a local cassowary that had attacked tourists and been relocated 35klms into the rainforest. There was also another cassowary who bailed up some hikers and held them hostage on the Mt Sorrow track, which was nearby.
“I’m sure she’s miles away.”
“Who calls a girl cassowary ‘Elvis’ anyway?”
“Someone who doesn’t want to get too close to check.” We trudged on a bit further and I analyzed the possibility of meeting a cassowary. We’d better be on the same page.
“Just in case.” I ventured, “Do you remember the rules?”
“Stay calm,“ she said, “Keep something between you and the cassowary.”
There were plenty of trees. I figured as long as we mastered the ‘keep calm’ part, we’d be okay.
A few zig zags and backtracks later, Kim climbed over a huge mossy log. The lesser option was crawling under it, and we weren’t doing that. She plonked herself down and sighed. “It’s getting darker, and no one knows we’re here.”
“We’re almost back, and seriously, even if it gets dark, we’ll just have to wait it out until morning.”
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Heat. Mosquitoes. Snakes. Leeches. No phone coverage… Elvis.
So we walked, and we tripped and slipped and swore and got tangled in lawyer vine, and when we saw what we thought was the creek that ran alongside our cabin, we forgot all about the markers and crashed our way through the jungle to it, and then onwards to our cabin.
We sat on our balcony that night and toasted every call we heard from within the jungle. It didn’t matter that we didn’t know their names anymore.
Sometimes life is just like our little adventure. Things just don’t go the way we expect. We get tangled in vines or get halfway up a mountain and there’s no clear way down.
I’m feeling a little tangled right now, and figured it might be worth applying what I learned that day to my blog, and anything else that tangles or interrupts my clarity and heartspace. Here’s my 8-step action plan for tangled adventurers!
- Accept you’re lost. Don’t pretend you know the way and that everything is cool. Decide where you’d rather be while accepting where you are.
- Find your ‘mossy rock’; the thing that acts as your stability and the place to can come back to as you explore your terrain.
- You need to step out and find out which is the right way to go. Signposts can be tricky, so keep in touch with your intelligence and intuition. It’s okay to step out and discover it’s the wrong path for you. At least now you know for sure! Backtracking is good for the soul; it does wonders for the ego. Keep moving, BUT…
- Sometimes it’s good to just stop and take stock. Have a drink of water and think about your surroundings, where you’ve been and where you want to go. Reflection and refueling are important too, and these moments require stillness.
- Sorry. No one is coming to rescue you. Sitting around and waiting will not get you anywhere. Literally or metaphorically.
- Of course, we all hope Elvis doesn’t turn up on our path, but have a plan just in case she does!
- Realize there’s a worst-case scenario but don’t set up camp and live there. Being truthful about where you’re at is good, but keep watching for those markers.
- Celebrate every single shiny wonderful marker, not just the final one that leads you home.
Lisa King is a speculative fiction author and amateur nature photographer who lives in Brisbane, Australia. When she’s not writing, you can find her hiking though lush rainforests, taking notes for her novels and capturing the diverse and complex ecosystems where she feels most at home.
“Explore your humanity, one story at a time.”
Lisa loves to transport readers to worlds where the heroes have everyday struggles, flaws and inner conflicts, and the natural world is part of the nurturing and healing process. As an advocate for education and empathy for trauma survivors, Lisa hopes her books will encourage readers on their own healing paths.
