Arriving at the north end of Lake Alabaster after hours in the bush
The rest day is a long-honoured and essential tramping tradition. Back in the Pilbara, Scott and I spent a wonderful day on the George River, massaging ourselves in the fast-flowing rapids, slowly getting our aching bodies back into shape for the return run, and it gives you time to reflect on where you are and how you got there. After all, tramping isn't so much a destination, as a journey – indeed, quite often the destination is the same car that you left from – and the rest day is when you can sit down and enjoy the complete solitude and total lack of the human world that you can only get by walking miles into the wilderness.
I spent most of the day writing letters, talking with Rick about the hardships we'd suffered to get to where we were, and counting my scars. It felt good to know that the worst of the trip was over – the journey to Alabaster sounded easy in comparison – and we spent the day revelling in the knowledge that we'd managed to conquer the Pyke Loop. If only I'd known what lay in store for the next day as I watched the stars appear in the clear night sky; it's not over until the fat lady sings, and she hadn't even turned up yet...
