With Every Step

by Cadigan, Neil;

  The next day, at about 13 kilometres from Exmouth, for no apparent reason Cad decided to start jogging; the jog increased to a three-quarter-pace run, which lasted about three kilometres until he felt like his chest was burning. From there, he walked uphill and jogged downhill and on the flat until he reached the outskirts of Exmouth in a sweaty mess.

  ‘I was hurting but pushed on,’ he wrote. ‘I legged it all the way then I was about to collapse but saw an “info centre 500 metres” sign and thought, “That will do.” I started getting faint-headed and was nearly passing out. I collapsed in a sack of shit across the road on some grass under some trees. I got the biggest rush of pins and needles in my legs and arms. I had to work hard to crawl over to Redge and get some rehydration tablets in a cup with water. It took ages to get my breath and come good. I couldn’t get my shirt off because it was stuck to me.’ He soon found out the temperature was 32 degrees, even though it was only late September.

  He hung out with some great people, was able to snorkel on the reef and just felt at home. A big Exmouth attraction is the chance to dive with the whales and that was certainly on Cad’s to-do list, but he had to settle for snorkelling as he didn’t get around to organising a dive.

  He’d arranged to meet up with Brett (whom, I assume, he’d met en route) and stayed with him, Jacinta, Matt and Merv for the first night. They took him for a drive to the reef and they swam with turtles all around and humpback whales breaching just a few hundred metres away. Next day was snorkelling at Turquoise Bay after going just outside the reef in a small boat, and he saw two reef sharks, a turtle and an eagle ray. He also tried riding a surfboard for the first time and was stoked to manage to stand up. He also went spearfishing for the first time and nabbed a good-sized coral trout. While in Exmouth his new friends helped him create a new sign on the back of a for-sale sign, which was then glued to the front hood of the pram and remained there for the rest of the trip: ‘OZONFOOT.COM– WALKING FOR CANCER AND MDS.’

  After four great days he packed two food parcels to be dropped at the roadhouses on the 540-kilometre leg between Exmouth and Karratha – Nanutarra (276 kilometres before Karratha) and Fortescue roadhouse (96 kilometres short of Karratha). Merv was able to drop one parcel to Fortescue roadhouse but Cad had to find a courier for the second, so he went to the information centre and stationed himself there for two hours hoping to find a tourist heading north – to no avail. He called the courier companies in town but had no luck there. Then, as he sat there pondering his next move, a tyre on Redge went pop. He tried three patches but it was still leaking, so he called the hardware store and a woman who worked there was kind enough to drop a new tube off on her way to the bank, as she knew Andrew was stranded without ‘wheels’.

  Once mobile, he went to the Big 4 tourist park but a woman in the office wouldn’t let him wander through and ask people to take his food parcel, which certainly got his back up: ‘“But we get people wandering around annoying the guests all the time,” she told me. “Oh, so you often get people who walk around Australia looking for someone to take food so they don’t die?” Stupid bitch!’ Eventually, he went to the post office and sent the food parcel in the mail, but by that stage most of the day was gone and so he walked only five kilometres, clearing the outskirts of town.

  At that moment Cad made a vow, deciding to turn over a new leaf: no alcohol, no cigarettes and no swearing until Broome! The prompt seems to have come from hearing someone swear more than he did during a barbeque with his new mates in Exmouth. ‘No swearing! Geez, it will be hard, I’ve got over a decade of job-site potty mouth to wash out – easier said than done. There was a guy at the beach party who swore more than me, and although I know the swearing sounds bad, especially in front of the chicks, it made me realise just how much of a bogan it makes you sound like. No more swearing in my diary either, or in texts, emails or anything – and I need a new phrase for “God knows” … maybe “Santa knows”?’

  A couple of days later he gave himself more incentive by deciding to start a ‘swear jar’ and donate $1 to the Leukaemia Foundation every time he used foul language. Cad may have been a bloke who was renowned for living up to what he promised he’d do, but this was one challenge that was going to be too great!

  DAYS 275–286, 27 SEPTEMBER–8 OCTOBER 2011

  EXMOUTH TO NEAR KARRATHA (530 KM)

  Incredibly, only a few hours into the next day’s walk, another other tyre blew, but at least Andrew was able to patch this one up. Later in the day he’d just passed the Learmonth RAAF base when some of his new mates from Exmouth – Billy, Gavin, Ash, Nathan, Jacqueline and John – pulled over with a barbeque on the roof rack of a vehicle. Cad couldn’t believe the effort they went to, driving 35 kilometres out of town to give him company and a good barbie dinner. Gav operated a microlight aeroplane business called Birds Eye View that offered scenic flights (and lessons) in the extra-light aircraft over the Ningaloo Reef and national park, and had even flown one of the tiny planes across Australia, refuelling many times along the way.

  The gang left about 9.30 pm; they never knew how chuffed Cad was that they’d come out to farewell him in style in the bush, although perhaps it was just another indication of how quickly he could gel with people. ‘It was the first time I’d had a send-off like that. I felt really welcome in Exmouth and felt like I could fit in. It’s joined Melbourne in the top two places I’d like to live post-walk.’

  The next night he made it to Giralia Station, an outback homestay, with a mass of ants, locusts and the occasional dead snake on the roadside becoming his new companions; the snakes unnerved him, considering he had to often go into the countryside for a ‘bush turd’.

  Almost as much went into the swear jar ($12 on the first day under the new censor rule) as he took in donations – from one phone call and talking out loud to himself! By now the temperatures were regularly in the mid-thirties, and the vegetation mainly dry rocky outcrops and spinifex, with Mount Alexander to his right. There was another $26 in the swear jar by the time he made it to Nanutarra roadhouse with less than a litre of water left; this led Cad to adopt a daily cap of $25!

  Soon after leaving the next day, he sat on his chair and found himself staring into the mountains in the distance thinking about ‘the real world and what everyone is doing back home’. His isolation really hit, and it was obvious his feelings had become magnified after experiencing so many enjoyable times with Kane, Josh, Billy and so many others since Perth. He diarised that evening, trying to explain how detached his life had become from normal life:

  ‘It doesn’t matter what people are doing, I’m in my little outback bubble and anything that is happening anywhere else on the planet is totally and utterly irrelevant to me. I can’t remember the last time I read a paper or watched the news. Who knows what’s going on – who cares, if it’s big enough people will ask if I’ve heard about it no doubt. I thought about everything I’d sacrificed to be here, the hard work and hard road travelled to get the house finished and sold to be here right here right now. And I looked around and all I can think of is what I’m missing out on by sitting here. What am I doing out here alone? It’s ludicrous. Shit is about to start getting heavy {presumably he was referring to the heat and trying conditions further north], I’m really not prepared. Can I do this for another year?’

  It typified the erratic mental state that really affected him on this long leg: days earlier he was on top of the world after a great time in Exmouth; before that he enjoyed himself in Coral Bay after vowing not to party hard again after his drunken embarrassment of Carnarvon; he was down after Josh left him at Denham yet relieved he was back to being responsible to himself only. It had been a continual roller-coaster since probably the start of the Nullarbor.

  What he wrote in his diary that night shows the depth of his depression: ‘I’d give away every step, every memory, every godforsaken anything to do with this walk to have my life back. The only thing keeping me going at the moment is Simmo and the promis
e I made at his wake to Matty and Jamie, and as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t get my life back until I walk home and honour that promise and honour Simmo. I’ve got nothing to look forward to on a day-to-day basis – making the next roadhouse to get a cold drink, make the next town so I can spend my days off washing clothes and shopping and doing shit I don’t want to be doing and getting drunk. I’d rather look forward to getting reception and calling my girlfriend {a reference to his split with Jaime].’

  He wrote about not looking forward to speaking to family or friends, and dreading replying to phone messages and emails and Facebook messages and not understanding why. He wondered why ‘the lonelier I get, the more I want to push everyone away’. He even considered removing his Facebook and Hotmail accounts and changing his phone number so he could cut himself off until he arrived in Sydney, which shows how random and irrational his thoughts could become.

  He continued:

  I’m sick of sleeping in a tent

  I’m sick of sleeping on a shit air mattress

  I’m sick of sleeping with a blow-up pillow

  I’m sick of walking

  I’m sick of wearing a hat

  I’m sick of wearing shoes unless I’m in bed

  I’m sick of pitching and packing my tent every day

  I’m sick of living out of a pram

  I’m sick of pushing it around

  I’m sick of eating out of a pot

  I’m sick of eating the same thing every day

  I’m sick of drinking warm water

  I’m sick of the sun

  I’m sick of the wind

  I’m sick of insects – ants in particular

  I’m sick of feeling tired

  I’m sick of looking tired

  I’m sick of being sore

  I’m sick of stretching

  I’m sick of protein shakes and supplements

  I’m sick of waking up every hour

  I’m sick of cars beeping at me

  I’m sick of putting on a happy persona when I speak to people

  I’m sick of feeling depressed

  I’m sick of crying

  I’m sick of being alone

  I’m sick of working out so I don’t look like I’m anorexic

  I’m sick of posting blogs and photos

  I’m sick of doing ‘thanks to’ [on his website]

  I’m sick of beating myself up over every stupid thing I’ve ever done or said

  I’m sick of smelling like BO

  I’m sick of waking up sweltering in a hot tent

  I’m sick of traffic

  I’m sick of listening to trucks all day

  I’m sick of writing in this diary

  I’m sick of having chafing

  I’m sick of having blisters

  I’m sick of Oz On Foot

  I’m sick of life

  This was one of the saddest entries I read in Cad’s diary, for two obvious reasons: firstly, for how detached I felt from him at that vulnerable time of his life, after seeing him only three months earlier and thinking he was fine; and secondly, because of how little of his previous life that he yearned for he was to experience after completing the walk. But in addition to the obvious, thirdly, I felt guilty when I realised that on the day he wrote that I was enjoying myself in a corporate box at the NRL Grand Final at Sydney’s Olympic Stadium, oblivious to my son’s dilemma and depression.

  Typically, he slowly regained his ‘mojo’ over the next few days and he recorded how he enjoyed receiving donations and food from several people he met on the road, including a ‘big cuddly guy called BJ’ who gave him $5 to spend on himself. After reaching Fortescue roadhouse, Rob, who was working as a train driver for the mines, shouted Andrew dinner and a few drinks. The next day Andrew met Shane, who was returning to Jurien Bay after having spent months taking part in a blockade to stop Woodside Petroleum’s proposed gas plant 60 kilometres north of Broome. Andrew found the issue fascinating and stuck ‘Protect the Kimberley’ and ‘Save the Kimberley Whale Coast’ stickers onto Redge.

  Soon after, Sheree, Tania and Shane doubled back with a pack of energy food and drinks and offered to pay for a night’s accommodation for Cad at the Eramurra mining village (Civic Pacific mine site) where they worked, 12 kilometres further north. He enjoyed the use of the gym, showers and the buffet dinner in the mess hall, all part of his first look at mine accommodation. He was fascinated to see the social segregation of the workers – Asians at one table, the Irish at another, Polynesians and Maori group, ‘the tattooed crew’ and the ‘old stick-in-the-mud-looking crew’ seated separately.

  He laughed when a couple of the older miners asked, ‘What’s all this balloons-on-the-table shit about?’ – only to be told it was a fundraiser for ‘some guy walking around Australia for cancer’. Then they noticed a photo of Andrew with his pram on a poster on all the tables and the penny dropped: ‘Oh, is that you?’

  Later in the night, Cad was asked to speak about his trip and gave the background about reading Giant Steps and Simmo’s death and his journey so far … and dropped the ‘f word’ at least once that he could recall! The generosity of that night was wonderful, with him receiving several large donations and one of the lads accepting a dare to eat a whole jar of hot mustard for $700 ($100 from each of seven workmates). More than $1300 was raised, on top of $1000 on the road over a week.

  His spirits had quickly, if temporarily, been restored.

  DAYS 287–294, 9–16 OCTOBER 2011

  REST DAYS, THEN KARRATHA TO ROEBOURNE (51 KM)

  At the end of the next day, after logging 57.6 kilometres, Cad’s mate Steve Browne from the Central Coast picked him up just 10 kilometres short of Karratha, where Steve and his wife, Jessica, were living and working. And so began eight action-packed days of fishing (two days out on a boat, landing some good-sized fish and seeing some whales), partying, relaxing and enjoying the company of good friends and their friends. In between, Andrew returned to walk the 10 kilometres into the booming mining port of Karratha, and did a 41-kilometre walk further along the route to Roebourne before heading back for another four nights with the Brownes.

  It would turn out to be his last extended ‘time out’ experience with friends on the road during his whole Oz On Foot expedition, and he was only just over halfway through. He certainly made the most of it, and left Karratha in a much better mental and physical state than when he’d arrived. It was either while there or shortly before that he consulted a doctor about his mental state, which saw him spasmodically unable to control emotion and crying without apparent reason, and he was diagnosed as suffering depression and was prescribed medication. From what I can gather, he took the antidepressants for a short while but, after speaking with close mates (especially Matt Delaney) and having second thoughts, he decided to send the pills home in a box marked ‘do not open’. I didn’t stop to think what might have been contained in the box when it arrived, but I know the story now. This was the period when he really questioned himself about continuing, and he relayed that to his mates. But, fuelled by the generosity of the Pilbara people, where his donations peaked, and by the determination or stubbornness that came from within him to refuse to surrender, he kept going.

  Like at other times during the walk when he felt low, his antidote was to have fun, to party and to enjoy to the maximum the time he had with people around him, knowing his existence would change as soon as he set foot on the bitumen again. Karratha was another case. He almost landed a massive manta ray of over 250 kilograms but it was just too big to get on Steve’s boat, but Cad was proud of the good sized cobia he pulled in. However, his other ‘conquest’ left a bit to be desired, according to the Brownes: a $50 pair of ‘happy pants’, which Cad was most taken by, but others were not, on account of the crotch being located closer to his knees than his groin. When he had to lift Redge from a ute after doing the Roebourne leg, the pants caught on the vehicle’s tray, which saw him tumble to the earth and just avoid injury, to the accomp
anying squeals of laughter from those present.

  Cad had already conducted a backyard ceremony of burning the shorts he’d been walking in for months, an event that didn’t go according to plan. A squirt of petrol didn’t quite light the pants, so he was a little more zealous with the quantity … which saw a backyard bonfire erupt, to the startled reaction of the Brownes, who spent weeks trying to get the grass to grow again. ‘One of the funniest things, of many funny things, I’d seen from Cad,’ confessed Steve.

  The Brownes and Tara and Jason took Cad to the KI International pub for Thursday night’s ‘mic night’, where anyone could get on the microphone and sing a song or tell a joke or story. Cad was egged on to make to talk after being introduced by a staff member, and hours later walked out with almost $4000 raised for the Leukaemia Foundation!

  Cad blogged of his Karratha stay: ‘Rolled into town last Sat’dy night, Browney picked me up, was only supposed to be here two days; eight days later … strewth! Had to leave the old detox and swear jar at Mairee Pool on the way in and picked them up yesterday at Roebourne; bloody kidding yourself thinking of taking either of them into Karratha. Had a ball, mate … Thanks to Steve and Jess for putting me up, and Jase and Tara for everything. Anyway, leaving the Pilbara, living the dream, but eight days there has left me with a massive eighteen-day slog to get to Broome for my cousin Luke’s wedding.’

  DAYS 295–310, 17 OCTOBER–1 NOVEMBER 2011

  ROEBOURNE TO ROEBUCK PLAINS ROADHOUSE (766 KM)

  After three successive 50-plus-kilometre days, Cad made it to his next bit of civilisation at South Hedland and was quickly befriended by a big Kiwi, Tom, who was the publican at the Hotel Fini in Port Hedland. Big Tom organised a fundraising night at the pub, which involved Cad again making a speech, something he had become comfortable doing. Yet he was very uncomfortable (just like his old man) when Tom called him up to sing karaoke. The good news was that Tom spared him total embarrassment by doing a duo with him; the bad news was that it was the Proclaimers’ song ‘500 Miles’. The fact that $1425 was raised softened his displeasure. ‘Tom is a legend, I won’t forget him in a hurry,’ Cad wrote.