‘What’s the other one?’
‘The other one is “Why?”. But I’m not going to ask that. Just tell me how and I’ll be satisfied. I’m easily satisfied.’
‘That’s not what Corrie says,’ said Homer, beating me to it.
A few rocks were thrown; there was some wrestling; Homer nearly took the fast route into Hell. That’s two things guys are addicted to, throwing rocks and wrestling, but I’ve noticed these guys don’t seem to do either any more. I wonder why.
‘So how are we going to get in there?’ Kevin asked again, at last.
I pointed to the right. ‘There it is. That’s our route.’
‘That? That collection of cliffs?’
He was exaggerating a bit, but not much. Satan’s Steps are huge granite blocks that look like they were chucked there in random descending order by some drunken giant, back in the Stone Age. There’s no vegetation on them: they’re uncompromisingly bare. The more I looked at them the more unlikely it all seemed, but that didn’t stop me making my big motivational speech.
‘Guys, I don’t know if it’s possible or not, but there’s plenty of people round Wirrawee who say it is. If you believe the stories, there was an old ex-murderer lived in there for years – the Hermit from Hell. If some pensioner can do it, we sure can. I think we should give it our best shot. Let’s make like dressmakers and get the tuck in there.’
‘Gee Ellie,’ said Lee with respect, ‘now I understand why you’re captain of the netball team.’
‘How do you get to be an ex-murderer?’ Robyn asked.
‘Eh?’
‘Well, what’s the difference between an ex-murderer and a murderer?’
Robyn always did go straight to the point.
‘I’ve got one more question,’ Kevin said.
‘Yeah?’
‘Do you actually know anyone who’s been down there?’
‘Um, let’s get the packs out of the Landie.’
We did that, then sat against them, admiring the views and the old blue sky, and munching on chicken and salad. Fi’s pack was in direct line of vision from me, and the more I looked at it the more I began to realise how swollen it seemed.
‘Fi,’ I said at last, ‘just what have you got in that pack?’
She sat up, looking startled. ‘What do you mean? Just clothes and stuff. Same as everyone else.’
‘What clothes exactly?’
‘What Corrie told me. Shirts. Jumpers. Gloves, socks, undies, towel.’
‘But what else? That can’t be all.’
She started looking a bit embarrassed.
‘Pyjamas.’
‘Oh Fi.’
‘Dressing gown.’
‘Dressing gown? Fi!’
‘Well, you never know who you’ll meet.’
‘What else?’
‘I’m not telling you any more. You’ll all laugh at me.’
‘Fi, we’ve still got to get the food into these packs. And then carry them God knows how far.’
‘Oh. Do you think I should take out the pillow then?’
We formed a committee of six to reorganise Fi’s backpack for her. Fi was not a member of the committee. After that we distributed the food that Corrie and I had so carefully bought. There seemed to be a mountain of it, but there were seven of us and we planned to be away five days. But try as we might we couldn’t get it all in. Some of the bulky items were a big problem. We ended up having to make some tough decisions, between the Vita Brits and the marshmallows, the pita bread and the jam doughnuts, the muesli and the chips. I’m ashamed to say what won in each case, but we rationalised everything by saying, ‘Well, we mightn’t get far from the Landie anyway, so we can always come back for stuff’.
At about five o’clock we got moving, packs on our backs like giant growths, strange protuberances. We set off along the ridge, Robyn leading, Kevin and Corrie quite a way in the rear, talking softly, more absorbed in each other than in the scenery. The ground was hard and dry; although Tailor’s Stitch was straight, the track wound around, on it and off it, but the footing was easy and the sun still high in the sky. We were each carrying three full water bottles, which added a lot to the weight of the packs, but which still wouldn’t last us long. We were relying on finding water in Hell, assuming we could get in there. Otherwise we’d return to the Landie in the morning for more water. When the supply in the jerry cans there gave out we’d drive a couple of k’s down the track to a spring where I’d often camped with Mum and Dad.
I walked along with Lee, and we talked about horror movies. He was an expert: he must have seen a thousand. That surprised me because I knew him mainly for his piano and violin, which didn’t seem to go with horror movies. He said he watched them late at night, when he couldn’t sleep. I got the feeling he was probably quite a lonely guy.
From the top, Satan’s Steps looked as wild and forbidding as they had from a distance. We stood and looked, waiting for Kevin and Corrie to catch up.
‘Hmm,’ said Homer. ‘Interesting.’
That was about the shortest sentence I’d ever heard from him.
‘There must be a way,’ Corrie said, arriving at that moment.
‘When we were kids,’ I said, ‘we used to say that looked like a track, down to the left there. We always told ourselves that it was the Hermit’s path. We used to scare ourselves by imagining that he’d appear at any moment.’
‘He was probably just a nice, misunderstood old man,’ Fi said.
‘Don’t think so,’ I said. ‘They say he murdered his wife and baby.’
‘I don’t think it’s a path, anyway,’ Corrie said, ‘just a fault-line in the rock.’
We kept standing and looking for quite a while, as if staring at the tumbled rocks would cause a path to appear, as if this were Narnia or somewhere. Homer wandered along the escarpment a bit further. ‘We could get over the first block I think,’ he called back to us. ‘That ledge on the other side, it looks like it drops pretty close to the ground at the far corner.’
We followed over to where he stood. It certainly looked possible.
‘Suppose we get down there and can’t go any further?’ Fi asked.
‘Then we climb back and try something else,’ Robyn said.
‘What if we can’t get back?’
‘What goes down must come up,’ Homer said, making it clear how much attention he’d been paying in Science over the years.
‘Let’s do it,’ Corrie said, with surprising firmness. I was glad. I didn’t want to push people too much but I felt that the whole success or failure of this expedition reflected on me, or at least on Corrie and me. We’d talked them into coming, we’d promised them a good time, and it was our idea to take the plunge into Hell. If we had a miserable failure I’d feel awful. It’d be like throwing a party, then playing Mum’s ‘Themes from Popular TV Shows’ all evening.
At least they seemed willing to take a shot at the first of Satan’s Steps. But even the first step was difficult. We had to drop into a tangle of old logs and blackberries, then scramble up the tilted scarred face of the rock. We got quite scarred ourselves. There was a fair bit of swearing and sweating and pulling other people up and hanging on to other people’s packs before we were all standing on top, peering down at Homer’s ledge.
‘If they’re all as difficult as this ...’ Fi panted, without needing to finish the sentence.
‘Over here,’ Homer said. He got on his hands and knees, turned to face us, then slid backwards over the edge.
‘Oh yes?’ Fi said.
‘No worries,’ we heard Homer say. There was a worry, and that was how we were going to get back up again, but no one else mentioned it so I didn’t. I think we were too caught up in the thrill of the chase. Robyn followed Homer; then Kevin, with much scrabbling and grunting, lowered himself cautiously after them. I went next, scratching my hand a bit. It wasn’t easy because the heavy packs kept wanting to overbalance us, to pull us backwards. By the time I got down, Homer and Robyn were already jumping off the end of the ledge and fighting their way through the scrub to inspect the second huge block of granite.