Revisiting George Bass Coastal Trail

The George Bass coastal trail elevates my exercise regime to another level. The sixteen-kilometre up and down trail is rarely flat. A descent one way is going to be a climb on the return leg. I am conscious of the steepness of every outbound descent, measured by how hard my toes push against the front of my shoes. I have done the trail twice before. Yesterday morning, before setting out, we found some other trails in the vicinity. Even after parking the car near the trail head in Kilcunda, we toyed with trekking in the opposite direction to Wonthaggi, but the pull of the George Bass coastal trail proved to be too strong.

The only flat part is the short half kilometre walk to the start of the trail. It tells you nothing about what to expect. We reached the start and immediately began climbing along a cliff top where we paused to take in the view. It was a perfect day for walking, cool, bright and sunny, with no wind to speak of. One of those magical mid-winter days on which one can actually frolic outdoors in shorts and tee-shirt. Yes, the views. It is one reason why this part of the world gets under my skin, in a good way. I looked out on Bass Strait, notorious and treacherous but, today, calm, rippling, not glassy (I wonder if it is ever glassy). I turned around to take in the vast expanses of rolling pastureland, a rich vibrant green courtesy of recent rains. It struck me that all the colours around me were strong, the sky, the ocean. Even the white of the breakers had an unusual intensity.

It is close to two years since we last took on the trail. I remembered one formidable hill on the way to Punchbowl Street, which marks the other end of the trail. You have a disquieting view of it when you are still some distance away. I had forgotten another earlier hill, also viewable from a distance, not as difficult but still challenging. We climbed this one. My legs suggested it wasn’t the one. Half an hour later we turned a corner and saw our awaiting hill of tears. We clambered up, my legs complained as expected, and then we descended to a beach. The other reason we love this trail is the variety of trekking terrains: clifftops, grassland, foreshore scrub, and a beach walk thrown in for good measure. The last kilometre to Punchbowl was a relentless ascent of a few hundred metres. This is why I prefer starting out at Kilcunda. I wouldn’t relish this climb at the end of a sixteen-kilometre hike. It is difficult enough after eight. On a little promontory in Punchbowl, we lunched on sandwiches and mandarins while looking out on Bass Strait, Half-moon Bay on our left and the bottom end of Phillip Island to our right.

The walk back to Kilcunda was dominated by my desire to reach the end, the reason I normally avoid up-and-down trails, this one being the only exception I can think of. On the way I added an extra kilometre when I took a wrong turn and ended up on Half-moon Bay. My partner had spurted ahead of me, deciding to jog along some less-challenging stretches.

What is it about the George Bass coastal trail that will pull me there again one fine day. Most of the long treks we have done have been ‘once only’s’. A few come to mind. The Beenak loop for example. Not even an up and down trail. Normally I prefer loops, for the obvious reason that one doesn’t need to go over already trodden terrain. Every step is taken on fresh territory, more or less. On a beautiful day, such as yesterday, coastal areas are a joy to visit. I have already said this.

I think the George Bass Coastal trail presents me with a challenge that is just right for me. It is doable but pushes me the right amount to give me a tremendous sense of achievement at the end, even though I am too tired to fully enjoy a rush of endorphins. A trickle maybe, but my sense of achievement is more mental. After yesterday’s trek I didn’t walk on air; the effort had made me briefly leadfooted. But not as tired as I felt after climbing Mount Fuji. I remember sitting for ages on a low concrete wall, physically sore, bereft of energy, too tired to summon pride at having prevailed in a tough gig. I won’t be doing Mount Fuji again. Nothing to do with the climb, tough as it was. I’d do that part again, but not the steep, treacherous descent along which every step felt like a lottery.