Laughing, Jack handed my last bag to me, closed the boot, and locked the car. We loaded everything into the Cruiser, Jack and I climbed into the back with Amy, and we set off down the fire trail.
When Connor said the drive would cut ten kilometres off the trip, I was grateful, yes. But the trail we were driving on was no more a road than it was a billygoat track. It was all rough ups and sharp downs and bumps and belly-swooping jolts.
I now understood why Connor got a bigger four-wheel drive than Jack. This was hardcore off-roading, though I didn’t dare complain or even squeak, even though I wanted to several times.
It was foggy, misty, wet, and incredibly cold. The forest had closed in on all sides, the track barely recognisable in front of us. But Vince and Amy kept conversation with Jack, asking him about the regeneration progress after the bushfires and, of course, Jack could talk about his work, his park, all day long. I spent the trip trying to read over the information I had on the cave we were heading to and the photographs Connor had taken of the specimens he’d collected. I couldn’t see much detail, granted, but it was enough to keep me looking. There were photos of the cave that defied belief, and I couldn’t wait to see it for myself.
And soon enough, the track was too rough for me to read anything, and after an eternity of off-roading hell, it ended. Though the spot Connor had declared was the end of the road looked no different to the path we’d just driven, if I was being honest. But I could hear a river now, rushing and loud, and the sounds of the forest came to life.
We sorted our bags, fitted our backpacks, attached our helmets to said backpacks, and ensured everything was secure and even-weighted. Knowing getting to this location was difficult, I hadn’t even brought most of my gear. I was bringing only the basics, given we had to carry our camping things as well.
When we were ready to set off, Connor declared the direction and said we’d find the hiking trail about forty metres through the thicket, and sure enough, we did.
I feared we’d be hiking through rainforest without a path, but the track was well-walked and the footing easier than I’d expected. We walked single file, Connor at the lead, then Jack, then me, then Amy and Vince. Every so often, without stopping, Connor would call out, “How’s my team?”
And without fail, Vince and Amy would reply with some variation of “Good, boss” or “All square, boss,” and I liked that.
Perhaps I needed to reassess my initial impression of Connor. Though the finger guns would live in infamy of awful.
We kept a good pace and made good time. We stopped an hour in for a drink and energy bar break, finding some quartzite boulders to sit on. It was a semi-cleared area and I got the impression it was a popular hiking stop.
“We start the ascent from here on in,” Connor explained. It had been a steady incline for the last hour, but apparently now we were about to climb. “Everyone feeling okay?”
He looked at everyone, but his gaze finished on me. “Yes, perfectly fine, thank you,” I replied. If he was expecting me to complain or cry for wanting to return home, he would be sorely disappointed. I slipped on my backpack, then picked up Jack’s and helped him into it.
“You guys have obviously done this before?” Amy asked.
Jack gave her his charming grin. “Once or twice.”
“I didn’t know butterfly research was so . . . hands-on,” she added.
I knew she meant no offence, but still. Did she think a butterfly’s natural habitat was a research lab? “Lawson’s been all over the country in his career,” Jack said. There was no malice in his voice, just stating a fact. “And actually, I’ve learned more about ecology and environmental impacts by traipsing all through the wilderness with him. It’s really fascinating.”
Amy smiled. “I bet it is. And you’ve saved how many species from the brink of extinction?”
“Oh, um,” I replied. “Well, I didn’t save them singlehandedly—”
Jack laughed. “Yes, he did. His modesty belies the truth.”
“A lot of my time is spent in my research lab,” I said, ignoring Jack’s boasting. “But to observe a specimen in their natural habitat is very important. There is a direct correlation between the species’ health and the habitat in which we find them.”
“And you built your own butterfly house?” Vince joined in. “I read about it when Connor said you were coming here.”
I gave a nod. “Yes. Jack built it for me. It’s amazing.”
“Will you take some of these species back to your butterfly house?” Amy asked.
“That depends on a few factors, and I won’t know until I see them,” I replied. I rather liked that Vince and Amy were excited about this expedition. “Should we keep moving?”
“Yep,” Connor said, and we began on the path again.
Up and up the path went. He wasn’t kidding when he said the ascent started. It didn’t seem to ever stop. But onward we went, never complaining, never stopping. Rocks and tree roots made a natural staircase for the most part, and my thighs and lungs were starting to burn. But we trod carefully and Connor asked every so often how his team was travelling.
Then the trees and forest suddenly thinned out, and we simply appeared to climb out of the forest and into shrubland that hunkered down from the wind. The entire side of the mountain was low brush and grasses and sheets of ancient quartzite we had to clamber up.
The wind was biting now and it was hard to tell if it was sleeting or biting rain. I couldn’t see how high up we were as we were fully immersed in mist, or cloud, for all I knew. I had my beanie and gloves on and was thankful for the weatherproof outerwear that Jack insisted we buy for our Snowy Mountains trip a few years ago.
And we trudged onward and upward further still. Until we stopped again at a wall of craggy rock that provided a bit of a windbreak. And, pridefully, I was pleased to see I wasn’t the only one out of breath.
We all were.
“We’re almost there,” Connor said, his cheeks flushed. “We cross the bluff, then we set up camp for the night.”
Everyone nodded and sipped their waters and gluco-gels. It was three o’clock, and it’d be dark by five. Jack gave me a look with a smile that asked me if I was okay without saying a word. I gave a slight nod and he returned the gesture. I took my phone from my thigh pocket and began taking photographs of the flora interspersed between the grey rock formations that now dominated this landscape. Trying to record much else was futile with the mist.
“I wish you could see the view,” Connor said, nodding out into the grey cloud that surrounded us. “It’s amazing. Fingers crossed the cloud’s lifted by tomorrow. You can see near all the way to the west coast.”
I took barometric readings and could only shake my head. “And the photographs you sent me were taken this week?”
Connor gave half a shrug and nod. “Sure. Is that unusual?”
I wanted to laugh at that, but it wasn’t his fault he didn’t know. “Extremely. Butterflies are dormant during winter. Especially at this elevation, given the rainforest below us would typically be an ideal habitat. I’m yet to see inside the cave, obviously. But these readings,” I held up the barometer. “To say it’s unusual to find a colony of active butterflies in these conditions would be an understatement.”