There are three things (and three things only) that you think about when you’re hiking. They are:

1. How wonderful hiking is

2. How terrible hiking is

3. What (and when) your next meal will be

The mind does not edge close to a thought that goes beyond the realms of the trail. There are no to-do’s or should-have-done’s or daydreams. There is only wonder, terror, and hunger.

Oh, and fun. Lots and lots of fun, which is why me and my darling friend, Fruzsi, hiked the length of a remote tropical island for four days.

Hinchinbrook Island is a tiny speck of land just off the coast of North Queensland. At any one time, there are only forty people allowed on the island in order to protect its pristine coastlines, lush flora, and a-little-too-friendly fauna. The island is devoid of anything man-made, apart from orange arrows that mark the main route, the Thorsborne Trail, and a handful of delightful smelling drop loos. We had both heard about the trail respectively, and it wasn’t until I received the text from Fru – the “have-you-heard-about-this-island” text – that we found ourselves buying permits and “stylish” hiking sandals that very afternoon.

On a map, Hinchinbrook Island looks like a continuity error – a blip of green that the mainland has forgotten. But looking at it level from across the sea, magnificence is carved into its silhouette. Mountains, textured by the weather, cast looming shadows over the ocean that swirls beneath it. Its periphery is so thick and dense with mangroves that it appears as if the whole land mass is hovering gently above the water’s surface. Everything is green. Even the sky and the sea that touch it, green. The island is the epicentre of nature, and despite being empty – of life, people, things – it somehow looks fuller, even from across the channel of water that was dividing us and it.

We caught a boat from a small fishing town across the open sea and into a street-like network of mangroves at the northern tip of the island. As we sailed closer to Hinchinbrook, it became clear that everything within its circumference existed at a different frequency. The water and wind were stuck in the island’s orbit, circling noiselessly as if afraid to rouse the sleeping beast. “I am the wild,” was exhaled in every snore.

In the thicket of the mangroves a pier marked the first few steps of the trail, and from there we walked. Fruzsi and I found our footing so fast, it felt like we owned the island. The wildness felt normal, comforting even, and we slipped into our off-grid routine together seamlessly. The tent, up. The food, cooked. The trail, studied. Always, with a silent knowing of how the other was doing, where they were, how tired or hungry or ecstatic they felt. If happiness is only real when shared, then the same is true for adventure.

My initial trepidation was replaced quickly by awe. Hinchinbrook was not intimidating; it was untouched. The scenery changed at every corner turned; forest became creek became marsh became beach. The only constant was water. First a distant sound, then a familiar swoosh, and we knew that what lay around each bend was a pool more beautiful than the last. Pools, filled with water so crystalline and beneath a waterfall so mighty, that I’d have believed you if you said I was dreaming.

The experience can’t really be summarised by time, rather, by feeling. It was a feeling unbound by rules or clocks or norms. It was walking, swimming, eating, pitching the tent, sleeping to the sound of pattering rain, meeting new friends, fighting an army of rats then snakes then rats again, drinking straight from streams, hauling our heavy packs, complaining about our heavy packs, staring at the stars, trudging through mud, watching out for crocs. It was a feeling that required no thought beyond the next step (or the next meal). It was a feeling shared, between us and the trail.

The feeling was full.

The nitty-gritty parts, for those of you interested:

We hiked the trail in early July, which is apparently smack-bang in the middle of prime Hinchinbrook hiking time. The weather wasn’t fantastic, but the rain meant that drinking water was plentiful.
Our mainland transit point was a town called Cardwell, and I can’t speak highly enough of Brad from Hinchinbrook Island Cruises.
Despite the rumours, I would say that the mosquito situation was barely a situation for us (cannot say the same for the limbs of the other hikers we crossed paths with). Shout out to Rid Tropical Strength (#notspon).

I implore you to walk the Thorsborne Trail on Hinchinbrook Island. It really feels like one of those once-in-a-lifetime adventures. Don’t let it slip away!

Ps. I also implore you to visit Fruzsi’s blog and Instagram.

Hiking On Hinchinbrook Island