Western Australia’s border closed in April with a deafening thud.

I could handle all the other ways in which this pandemic had interrupted my life. The social distancing, empty supermarket shelves, closed gym, and my work in hospitality completely drying up overnight. I wasn’t even that fussed that I couldn’t travel interstate.

But no international travel? That was a different story.

No sitting in departure lounges, wondering where everyone around me is going and why. No first impressions of a new place, soaking up every inch of its captivating unfamiliarity. No traipsing around foreign countrysides, charming the locals while enthusiastically sticking my nose into their business. No Antarctic Treaty meetings. No taking my nieces out for gelato in Rome. No Croatia.

It took some serious Power of Now thinking to accept my new reality. Not dwelling in the past or stressing about the future. Embracing the present moment. All that good stuff.

Plus, I’m hardwired for positivity – to respond to delays and disruptions with defiant upbeatness while hunting down shiny, silver linings among those ominous clouds.

So it didn’t take long for me to reframe this travel ban as an opportunity to right a lingering wrong.

You see, I moved back to Western Australia – my home state – three years ago. And for those three years, while living in its capital, Perth, I’ve largely shunned the rest of the state in favour of more exotic, international destinations.  

Despite my best intentions to seek adventure closer to home, I always came up with valid reasons why I wasn’t exploring my own 2.6 million square kilometre (1 million square mile) backyard. Everything was too far away – remote, isolated, expensive. I didn’t own a tent or a car. I didn’t have anyone to travel with. And it was dangerous. I’d get eaten by a shark, bitten by a snake or killed by that guy from Wolf Creek. Possibly all three.

And so three years passed by with little to show but unacted intentions.

When the border closed, and all other options were off the table, I reassessed my list of ‘valid reasons’. Curiously, they began looking more like lame excuses so I gave myself a stern talking to. It went something like this: You can keep coming up with excuses or you can decide what you want to do and make it happen.

That’s how, a month ago, I found myself standing at Cape Naturaliste in the southwest corner of Western Australia. With me were my backpack and the 12 strangers with whom I’d spend the next seven days walking 123 kilometres (76 miles) of rugged coastline on the Cape to Cape track.

I chose the Cape to Cape track because it’s beautiful, iconic and challenging, and because I could do it fully supported as part of a small group tour. This meant I didn’t need any fancy equipment – just some good shoes, a day pack and my defiant upbeatness.

In a nutshell, the Cape to Cape track delivered rugged beauty, peaceful solitude, thigh-burning uphill slogs, and great companionship. I’ll let the photos and captions tell the rest of that story.

I still miss international travel and look forward to the day it returns to my life. Until then, I have plenty to keep me busy.

The list of excuses are out, replaced by a list of adventures – some big, some small, all of them closer to home.

p.s. If you’re interested in walking the Cape to Cape track, get in touch with Gene Hardy and his team at Cape to Cape Explorer Tours. They’re amazing!