darsh's life

wodi wodi hike journal

table of contents

motive, preparation, and driving

On the first day of August, 2026, I set out to Dharawal country with a need to feel through nature as deeply as I could and try to regain a sense of self again.

I would attempt to walk through the Wodi Wodi track, named after the custodians who lived across this coastline before they were permanently displaced by colonial settlers. They would have spoken their own Wodiwodi dialect of the Dharawal language and moved across this place and waters for tens of thousands of years.

This would be an out and back 6km track. It starts at Stanwell Park railway station. I hadn't properly hiked a track solo for many months now. I was partly nervous as this was a trickier hike with footwork and steep descents. I trusted in myself to make the right call, like I had in the midst of a thunderstorm-laden hike last year at the Grand High Tops in Warrumbungle National Park.

I woke up at 5am on the Saturday. It was cloudy and showering with rain outside. I had known this was a possibility. One part of me wanted to call this off because of the unfavourable conditions. But I decided to take a chance and just push myself through it. It might not be too wet yet.

I decide to get in the car before anything in my head changes. I start driving the one hour journey. I decided to put on an album from LESOTHO, a post-rock band recommended by a group of music friends. I grabbed a veggie pie and some coffee from 7 Eleven as my sustenance. I feel excited, nervous, and slight trepidation as I arrive at the starting point.

starting point

I arrive at the station parking. I remember smiling as soon as I get out of the car as I hear loud Sulphur Crested Cockatoo and Eastern Whipbird calls filling all the space around me. There is a fully operating train station behind me. And on the other side is the track. It felt good to embark on something unknown and a much needed test to prove that I was capable of doing hard things.

I do a mish-mash of actions to equip myself of everything I would need on hand. One pocket contained my fisheye camera. Another pocket had my audio recorder. I have my binoculars over my neck. And then finally, my shoulder bag slung across. I do some test recordings and end up capturing a symphony of cockatoos, whipbirds, magpies, fairy wrens, spinebills, and some amateur audio recorder handling sounds.

moving through the rainforest

I start walking towards the signposted track. This track is connected directly to the train station. It's times like these that I recognise how fortunate I am to live in this city. Only in this city can we have a train station adjacent to a mostly pristine coastal rainforest track.

As I walk through, a sea of green floods my eyes. There is green-ness everywhere. As I keep walking, moss and lichen takes over as much of the surface area as possible. It's getting damper and the wetness is soaking through my jacket. It's just the right amount of wetness.

As I move through the track I notice things around me even deeper:

I can hear the ocean to the left of me. Crashing waves.
In the beginning, I can still hear the train, roaring past in the background,
not quite sure where it's coming from. I hear whipbirds all around me, their calls and responses.
There are numerous small birds hiding in the understory. All I can do is hear them and record them.
My binoculars are fogging up profusely.

I am entering a flow state. All my senses are attuned to the green. I encounter beautiful trees of all formations, benevolent moss-covered rocks of all shapes, a constant song of big and small birds, and the path starts to become less recognisable. The forest is inviting me to become a part of itself. I keep moving through.

walking and bird sounds (scrubwren, whipbird, cockatoo):

It's starting to rain more heavily. There is a worry setting in that I may not be able to complete the walk. I try to push that feeling aside and observe the bubble of nature around me, changing slowly. The ground turns darker brown. The forest trees and plants shine now with water. The pitter-patter of rain trickles down from the tallest tree to the smallest plants. A delivery network of much needed nourishment. The entire cycle of life unfolding before me.

depending on the trees

As I navigated this forest, I depended on the trees to move. A network of trees had grown their roots that often protruded from the ground. Without some of these, I would slip. I placed my foot within these roots strategically as the ground got more unruly and wet.

Each tree's roots were stepping stones for me.

rising difficulty and nearly slipping

The track was getting harder and harder and rain was getting more intense. I was losing quite a lot of confidence that I could continue. I had only completed around 2km and I had another 4km to go (total) to return back to the starting point. There was no one around me. I was pretty sure I would sprain my ankle or worse if I continued. There were massive drops I navigated with a lot of care. I climbed down a rope to reach more stable ground.

The amount of near misses became more numerous. There was some fear setting in, especially having to climb up the mostly downsloped track so far. I thought I should brave it and be adventurous. But my instinct told me otherwise. I could always complete this another time when the conditions were better. Plus, this allows me to go slowly and observe more of the mossy rocks and the truly distinct spirits that were giving me company for the last hour and a half. I decide to turn back.

The old Darsh would fixate on this as a failure and focus on it so much. Today, I reminded myself that life is to be experienced, not measured.

fog, mist, dripping water

I start walking back to the starting point while I still can. The rain is a steady downpour. I think I hear some thunder in the distance.

One of my favourite sounds is the roar of low clouds. It often happens during storms. But it was here again today. I stood in this spot for as long as I could. Just staying still. Watching the fog and cloud roll past me. The sound of rain and the comforting cool air filling my entire conscious mind. I wanted to live in this fog forever. I imagined I was riding through it and it would transport me to a new place when it clears.

I feel euphoric. I can't stop looking up. The mist hovers around the trees. I want to cry. The second shot below is something I am so proud of. I decided to take a double exposure. I took a picture of the trees above, then rotated my camera 180 degrees and then took another. And by pure luck and maybe a bit of planning, there is a mirror of the trees as a full circle, almost indistinguishable as they all blend into one.

I remember someone recommending to me that during nature walks, I should try and let go of everything and sit or stand still in one spot for as long as I could. No binoculars, no camera, no walking or moving. Just sitting in the one spot and being there. Waiting. It was magical. I heard all the different ways water dropped from leaves. I saw the fog and mist roll slowly and quickly. I felt the temperature change as the water dried off my clothes. I saw some birds taking shelter from the rain. A grey fantail showed me her tail and her fanning dance. I think she saw me too. There were chirps of the smaller birds still foraging. Gossiping most likely, as they go about their day, thriving.

5 minutes of rain and pitter-patter sounds:

rosella watching at bald hill lookout

After safely making it back, whilst feeling a little bittersweet, I decide that I want to have a coffee and a snack and decompress a little bit before heading straight home. Stanwell Tops is nearby and there's a lookout there (Bald Hill) that I love for people (hang glider) watching. As I waited for the coffee I ordered, I see a strange bird in the parking lot. Wait, it's a Buff-banded Rail! What! In a parking lot?!?! They are usually so shy. I quickly take a photo so I can properly ID it later. But wow. I turn away for a bit and it has disappeared. Classic rail behaviour.

I enjoy my toastie as I look at the hang gliders getting ready to float and fly at the lookout point. I am noticing the wind and the chatter around me. Families are talking, kids are getting excited, and a pair of rosellas are getting cheeky with grabbing people's food.

I retreat to a quieter spot up some stairs at another level of the lookout. It's still cloudy and windy but the rain has stopped. The bench is a bit wet but I don't mind. I start to read Train Dreams. I get through a few pages before noticing a pair of Crimson Rosellas. One is younger than the other. They are finding chips and bringing them up above, where they are less disturbed. The use one leg to eat the chip, the other balancing on the wet, metal railing. The younger one seems to be learning from the older one. They almost take turns. Sometimes, the young one gets a big chip and the older one politely steals it from it. They've got a system going.

They look below and survey the humans eating food. One of them dives down again. It comes back up with a yoghurt cap. The rosella looks at it quite intently. It bites it a little. And then drops it.

The rosella then looks at me. Its eyes are locked on mine. I am smiling and try to say a few words to say hi. I say you're smart birds aren't you? It seems to be assessing me. I have no food to offer but it has curious eyes. After a little while, it turns away and looks at the people below again. Finding the next chip.

I've been thinking to myself. Why do we think we own the world? These rosellas have adapted this world way more than we have. They should be the true masters. Us, mere disrupters of this fragile cycle, seeking a false superiority.

A scruffy, damp raven lands next to the younger rosella and steals the chip it took. It daren't touch the older rosella.

Enjoy some ambient people and bird chatter here:

As I conclude this adventure, I felt a little more myself again. Thankful to be able to move and feel through nature. A reminder that while she is crying out for help, she tries her best to thrive. And like the selfless mother that she is, guides you through by giving me her own roots to support me so that I might thrive.

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In case you read this H, thank you for inspiring me to experience and live through nature much more deeply. I will be forever grateful.

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