It’s mid-morning on a Saturday in April and I’m lying crumpled on a rocky beach, clutching my left foot in pain. I’m deep in the Tasmanian wilderness, 40-odd kilometers from the nearest road. I’ve got 120km in the legs, I haven’t slept in over 24 hours and I’m fairly certain I’ve broken something in my foot. My face contorts as I hold my foot, and I manage to mumble something filthy but fortunately (thanks to the sub-par state I’m in) inaudible.
Rewind a couple of months.
The pandemic had us all aching for adventure. Lockdown measures and travel restrictions had us locked away like caged minks on a Danish fur farm. I was motivated to look for fun a little closer to home so on the lookout for something around the 100mi distance, I was reminded of the words of Australian naturalist Deny King, ‘those that drink the buttongrass water always return’.
If you’ve experienced Southwest Tassie, you’ll understand the allure. The land’s mottled history is variously coloured by feats of endurance, daring courage, unspeakable beauty and an indescribable darkness. It’s a beautifully eerie place that makes you deeply conscious of being entirely alone and at the mercy of the wild.
The plan was to run about 100mi from Scotts Peak
