“I realized that a simple life didn’t entail having fewer possessions; instead, it’s about having fewer desires.”

“About 240 kilometers.”

The receptionist told me. It was almost midnight when my tram returned from downtown Melbourne. The door to the front office was open when I arrived, and the 30º breeze of the night mixed comfortably with the bright orange glow of the heater that sat right by the entrance. I was met with a quiet, and uninviting, “Hello, how can I help you?” by the young man, Adam, working the graveyard shift. His stature only rivaled his monotonous voice; both shoulders slumped a little too far, his blue polo shirt half-tucked with a red smear of what looked like ketchup, his hair pointed in every direction, and his eyes watered red, probably from staring at their work computer all day. He reminds me of when I was his age working my first job! On a regular day, I would’ve taken the invitation for an unwanted conversation; however, he had some information that I needed from an idea that’s been on my mind since lunch earlier that day.

I’d left for the tourist sites in downtown Melbourne around seven in the morning from this in-city campground with the profound feeling of being in another new place.

Melbourne is located in the state of Victoria and was once Australia’s national capital before Canberra. Coming in second after Sydney, Melbourne is a bustling city with a diverse population of almost 5 million people. The culture of this city can be experienced in just a single afternoon while exploring the streets of downtown. From the murals that decorated the pathways that led to areas full of life and delight, to having beers while buskers serenade passersby, the diversity of this city was truly admirable. What was most surprising, however, was how fast the weather changed in just one day. The morning had been foggy and cold. By noon, the sun stayed high and hot in the sky, cooking every person outside. Within an hour or two, strong winds blew hats off of heads and sent street vendors scrambling for their items. Shortly after, rain poured and disappeared just in time for the sun to continue its job until twilight.

With a camera in hand and a pocket full of change to splurge on food, my priorities rested solely on comfort. At the time, I had just returned from four days of driving around the eastern coast of Australia, sleeping in various campsites and living off of eggs, tomatoes, and sausages. I was ecstatic when I finally reached the city, a friend of mine recommended months before.

“No kidding,” I said, looking at the map of Victoria that Adam gave me. With almost no hesitation, I pulled out my phone and checked how many days I had until I flew north. Three.

My original plan was to stay in the city for the remaining three days before I ventured up north to the city of Cairns in Queensland for a dive in the Great Barrier Reef. However, while I was having lunch in a Sushi restaurant, I met this couple who shared their experiences in a place called Wilson’s Promontory —or the Prom as the locals called it— a National Park that encompassed the southern peninsula of Victoria. It was over 190 square miles and housed a landscape of mountains, forests, and animals native only to that part of the country. The two were from London and needed to get out of their busy city life. They have spent the last few days hiking and camping and, like myself, came to Melbourne for some food and comfort.

“If you’ve got the time and curiosity, you should do it. Might be the only chance you’ll get!” The husband told me as he snatched another plate off of the conveyor belt. From dinners by a creek to beaches accessible only by foot, cliff diving, and morning greetings by curious wombats, the short adventure they told enticed me. They gave me recommendations on how to go about doing something like what they’ve done the next time I visit the country. Who to book, what to bring, and things to watch out for when I hike around the park. The three of us shared a half bottle of Sake as we shared tales of other adventures across the globe. After an hour or so, we eventually said our goodbyes and wished each other the best of luck. I’ve always enjoyed meeting other travelers. With a couple of drinks and some food, anyone can find like-minded individuals.

“I’ve got to run to the loo, so I have to lock up before I leave the desk,” Adam said with a yawn. “Do you need anything else?”

“Yes, I do.” I folded the map and tucked it in my jacket. “How early can I check out?”

—

At about half-past noon the following morning, I made it to the rental store for some camp gear. Besides some canned food and a few water bottles, I had enough to last me a couple of days outside of my camper-van. I rented one main pack, one tent, one sleeping bag, a burner, two butanes, a sleeping mat, and a water-proofing bag for my camera gear.

“Are you sure mate? You’ve got about 5 hours before sundown, and the park is still about two and a half hours away.” The cashier told me. I’d told him the story behind my impromptu hike, and the worry on his face was almost comedic. He explained how the park officials within Wilson’s Promontory would deny my request to leave my car so late in the day. I didn’t believe him.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Again, I’m sorry for the late notice. I didn’t mean to catch you before your lunch break! I’m sort of planning this as I go.” I laughed for some self-assurance, but neither one of us was convinced. “How far is South Point from the Telegraph Saddle lot? Have you done it?”

“I’ve done it, and it took about a full day’s trip. I want to say around 10 hours down and back? Maybe eight if you don’t stop to look around, but you’re going to want to look around. There’s a camp there. Roaring Meg. I would stay there and just continue the day after.” He showed me the trail map on his phone. I remember the couple from the restaurant mention this campsite.

“Where’ the nearest convenience store?” I said.

“Right off the expressway. You’ll see a small sign for it.” He frowned, deep in thought. “Mate, leave your information with me just in case something happens. Wilson’s Prom is two hours away if you hurry and Roaring Meg should be another two and a half on foot.”

I signed the receipt with the itinerary I had in mind and donned the pack. The young man was eating his meal and giving out some last tips between each chew when I exited the store.

——

South Point was designated as the continent’s southernmost tip. The southern edge of Wilson’s Prom was first noted down as “Furneaux Land” by the British explorer George Bass, who sailed between the waters — which was later named as Bass Strait —that separated Australia and the islands of Tasmania. “We were surprised by the sight of high hummocky land right ahead, and at a considerable distance,” Bass noted in his diary. It was only later that cartographers understood that what he described were the giant rosy boulders resting by the coastline.

Today, anyone can see the place for themselves without the need of a ship. However, the remote location can only be accessed via a hiking trail that originated 15 km from the nearest parking lot, Telegraph Saddle lot. Down a mountain and over a hill, through a forest and a garden of winding paths, the hike to the area was regarded as a peaceful and rewarding feat for the ones who’ve made the trek.

With no time to waste, I drove straight to the park, checked in with the officials of the Prom, parked my car, donned my gear, triple checked the batteries for my camera, informed my family of my plans, and double-checked my map in case I lose cellular signal. I left the lot just after 3 p.m. and booked it to Roaring Meg.

———

“That’s enough for today,” I said out loud as I freed my shoulders from my main pack. “Let’s get this all set up before it gets really dark.” Up above, a pair of curious bright blue eyes, which from an angle appeared almost white, watched intently as I took a bite from an energy bar while I struggled to set my tent up. My watch read 5:47, and according to the park ranger I checked in with, the sun had started to drop below the horizon not too long ago. I was hoping to see the shore from where I was camped, considering the rise in elevation on my way here, but there was nothing but trees. In fact, there was not a single soul on the site. The pair of eyes glided down right next to me and continued watching me with the curiosity of a child. The night was coming, and this raven was beginning to blend with my surroundings. I continued preparing for bed and donned a headlamp to speed things up. I turned to the direction of the soft wings flapping next to me and accidentally scared off my little companion.

Forest ravens, or Tasmanian ravens, are native to this part of Australia. With jet black feathers and bright eyes, seeing them for the first time was mystical and filled my mind with a wonder akin to seeing something beautiful for the first time. This one fancied me and stuck by my side just before I did the climb over Martin’s Hill a few minutes to the north of my camp. For a few kilometers and through a trail in a dense forest, it followed jumping from branch to branch and soared across any clearing that came our way.

“Thanks for the help,” I called out into the night, humoring myself. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I cocooned myself inside the sleeping bag and quenched my thirst with the freezing water from the small creek I dipped into earlier. Outside, gusts of wind vibrated my tent, and a chorus of leaves and branches rolling on the dirt gave the notion that someone — or something — was circling me. There were no stars that night, and the thick woods hid the moon and groaned like an old ship weaving through the sea. I was alone with the sounds of the forest. Isolated enough to care little for the cities and the problems that came with it. Here, it was just me, the weight of my pack, and a pocket full of ambition.

Overhead, the faint sounds of wings flapping faded along with a burst of human-like laughter. Slowly, I slumbered away, amused by how this whole day began.

The Boulder

Famed British explorer, Levison Wood, walked a staggering 4,250 miles following the world’s longest river — The Nile. The trek took him nine months. Nine months to cement his name in history and join the ranks of the ones who’ve done incredible feats in the name of exploration. I thought what a thing, to achieve so much in life, to be paid to do something most of us would pay to do. The concept captivated me, inspired me, and kept my eyes forward as I continued my way to Australia’s southern coastline.

With most of my gear back at the campsite, I began the last leg of my trip after a cup of coffee and some crackers as the morning slowly painted the trees around me with yellow light. The cold air soothed me, and the blanket of the sun gave me just enough motivation to move a little faster. By the advice of the park ranger from yesterday’s rush, I laid my bag down to not expose any of the zippers, clips, or openings. Seconds before I headed the hill of the trail, four ravens sat idly above.

“The birds are smart.” The man who checked me into the park told me. “They know exactly where to go and how to open any bags brought by hikers. There are even stories of a few digging into wallets, tossing credit cards all over the ground.”

I didn’t believe it at first, but an encounter with another traveler a day later proved the story to be true. The contents of his pack were scattered all over the ground.

Over creeks that were as clear as the water in my bottle and over fallen trees that I mistakingly thought to be sturdy enough to hold my weight, I reveled in the lack of carrying a heavy pack. For a moment, I stayed fixated with capturing everything I saw with my cameras, stopping every minute from trying and recreating the timeless images in my mind. After I accidentally dropped my phone down a hill, I stopped. I felt ashamed because I’d forgotten how essential it was to enjoy things like this as naturally as possible.

My two-kilometer quest faired little against Wood’s colossal feat. I ran for a few minutes, laughing loudly and freely in the sun-drenched jungles, jumping atop fallen trees (stronger fallen trees) and fixed rocks, enjoying the lightness in both my feet and peace of mind. I thought about the wonders that some of us could achieve by merely having the courage to jump around like a child with no worry about the time we’re spending. I realized that a simple life didn’t entail having fewer possessions; instead, it’s about having fewer desires.

I’d made it out to open air, far from the branches and roots that scattered much of the path within the trees. I slowed down and checked the map I kept on my back pocket to ensure I didn’t get carried away and deviated from the path. To my amusement, it was soaked in sweat. Diligently, I opened it and laid it against the ground and quickly found my location. I stood by the edge of a large hill, and to my right was the path; however, the left side of the map showed a steep decline of elevation. There was no longer a canopy over my head, and the sight of the blue waters of the Bass Strait appeared right before me. I knew that I was pretty high up, but I wanted to see just how high.

Through a bush large enough to hide a man, I noticed a beaten path that led to a small opening. I followed it, and what I saw struck me and silenced the world.

The islands of Tasmania scattered across the horizon

On this side of the mountain rested a gray boulder covered in moss and black spots. It overlooked the forest below and beyond it, the horizon. The sum of a hundred dreams sat before me, and while I expected to witness such an event with my friends and families, having that moment all to myself further reinforced my definition of simplicity.

I sat alone for almost an hour, accompanied only by the frequent soft brisk winds and the faint echoes of the water breaking afar.

An Ocean Away

The obligatory picture when reaching the area

A few minutes later, I made it to my destination. Seeing the sign that read “South Point, the most southerly point of the Australian mainland” forced a sigh of relief. Another one for the books. Initially, apart from the sign, everything looked like the path that led to the area. Branches were all strewn out, sand and dirt melted together, and animal prints cultivated the ground. However, further down towards the open sea, the land was splashed with an orange-red, almost pinkish hue. After walking for a moment, wondering if they were man-made, I realized that these were the boulders that Bass glimpsed over three centuries ago. I walked the length of the stones, carefully stepping only as far as what the winds allowed. Smoothed perfectly by the elements over centuries, peering too far down below was inviting death for a snack.

Try and find me to understand the size of this cliff face

I wanted to see exactly how large these rocks were, so I sent my drone out to the sea for a bird’s eye view of what Bass may have seen centuries before.

I knew I wasn’t the first to reach this place, and I was certainly not going to be the last. But for that portion of time, that place belonged to no one else but me. I wondered if the ones before also felt the overwhelming combination of excitement and tranquility. Granted that some of them may have had company, I wanted to believe that they too had a moment of silence for themselves. One that was long enough to transform their outlook on life after an episode like this.

I was deep in thought when suddenly, a blast of cold wind pushed me on my back. I dragged my body inland, fearful of plummeting into the waters below. The rush invigorated me. It was at that moment that a new profound thought appeared in my mind. Far beyond the horizon and over 4000 kilometers across the South Pacific Ocean, rested the last continent I needed to set foot on, Antartica.

Never in my life have I ever felt so close to something that I wanted so badly. With every second that passed, the cold winds on my face became more and more inviting because these cold air all originated from the breath of that vast continent.

I didn’t want to leave. Every ounce of my spirit wanted to dive into the waters and inch my way to the continent. For a moment, I almost did. Then I laughed and gathered my things, and snapped some photographs for my loved ones. I took one last look at my horizon and smiled, knowing full well that I’ll be over to my final goal in due time.

—

The air was warmer in the jungle. The light, now softer and calmer, didn’t produce as many shadows during my first walk. Perhaps my stride was shorter, or I received that second wind that runners often spoke to me about. There was no pain or excitement in my steps, at least not in the ways I felt the night before and the early hours of the morning. I wasn’t sweating, nor was I shivering, or did I wonder about the minutes that passed.

For the first time in a long time, I felt at peace. The trees no longer groaned but sang along with the birds that spoke to each other since time immemorial. The branches and their leaves moved with the gentleness of a symphony, and the shadows on the ground eventually peaked their heads out of the rocks they hid behind. Tiny little waterfalls from sources I couldn’t see shimmered and flowed to the direction of the small stream a few meters below me.

The sum of all my senses was Nature personified. Time moved through the space around me, but Nature left trails here and there for the next being to pass through this part of the world to keep her memory alive. Regardless if everything ended right then and there or the jungle lived for another hundred years, she will remain here, evergreen.

I wasn’t the first to experience this, nor will I be the last. Certain places in this world will change any person’s attitude about life. Sites that will connect us closer to what matters most, with people who share ideas like ours, and agree that our personal sense of paradise existed in simple, everyday places.

Just as long as that we weren’t afraid to find them ourselves.