The CrossingKalgoorlie to Kambalda
Back On Foot To Kambalda
Nigel and Allison joined me for the walk out of Kalgoorlie, and kindness kept appearing all the way to Kambalda. Muffins, dinner and a donated hotel room made a hard return to the route much softer.
Leaving Kalgoorlie meant stepping out of a warm room and back onto my feet.
We had been fed, welcomed, massaged, interviewed, parkrunned, and generally made to feel as if the Goldfields had decided HAA was worth looking after. Monday morning came anyway. The walking had stopped, temporarily, at Kalgoorlie, but now it was time to restart. Starting again was not really a choice. There was one goal and a clear path for reaching it, so we got back to doing what we were there to do.
Nigel joined me first and walked 12 kilometres before turning around to run back. Then Allison joined for another 9. I have always been comfortable with my own company, even across 50 or 60 kilometres in the middle of nowhere, but it was always nice to have company for some of those kilometres.
It also felt fitting that Allison had walked with us into Kalgoorlie and was now with us as we left. Thinking about it now, Kalgoorlie was like a running-event aid station. The volunteers met us before we arrived, looked after us while we rested, and then sent us back out with encouragement.
After 25 kilometres, tea and a muffin felt like a major event. Louise Miller had dropped the muffins off. Halfway through another ultra-distance day, one became morale, sugar, kindness and a reason to sit down before getting up again.
There was also the new Poppet’s Pantry supply travelling with us. Steve from Poppet’s had donated food before we left Perth, then offered another batch. That could easily have been useless timing, because we were hundreds of kilometres away by then. But Melinda happened to be coming to Kalgoorlie for a public speaking event, so she picked the meals up and brought them with her.
The food in the van carried Steve’s offer and Melinda going out of her way because she happened to be able to help.
The afternoon stretched out. Mine-site signs appeared, with warnings about trespassers and prospectors being prosecuted. Somewhere in the tiredness I started wondering whether the word “mine” came from someone once standing on a geologically interesting patch of land and simply declaring it mine. That was the kind of thought available after enough hours on foot. Part wordplay, part heat, part brain looking for entertainment.
At lunchtime I had put out a call to any runners or walkers in Kambalda, saying we expected to be about 5 kilometres north of town between 6:30 and 7. We were planning to stay at the Kambalda Caravan Park and head off again early the next morning.
Then the plan did what HAA plans often did: it changed.
Bree, a local runner, got in touch. The caravan park was no longer a public campsite. We think it may have been repurposed for FIFO accommodation. That would have been a fairly unhelpful discovery at the end of a 55-kilometre day, but Bree decided to make it her problem. She made a phone call for us and sorted out a room at the Kambalda Hotel.
When we eventually arrived, managers Jamie and Sarah were waiting. They were from Cornwall, on a working holiday, and donated a room for me, let us hook the van up to power and gave to the Heart Foundation as well. I slept in the room. Ben and Ols slept in the van.
A few months later, after the 6 Inch Marathon in North Dandalup, I ran into Jamie and Sarah again while they were helping at the BP roadhouse. Of course I did.
By the end of the day we’d added about 55 kilometres and taken the total to roughly 695. There was a warm room in Kambalda waiting for my feet.
Images From The Day
