Crawling out of the comfort cave.

We’ve cleaned the oven, washed the windows, had the carpets cleaned and mowed the lawn for the last time in a year. The ears in the walls of our gorgeous little house have fresh voices to listen to, and the laughter and energy of a new family to keep them company for a while.

With kayaks strapped to the roof and all our shiny possessions stuffed into bags, boxes and plenty of dry sacks, our car has become the vessel for the first stage of our journey north.

Right now I am sweating in a hammock in the overgrown paddock of my mum’s place in sultry, damp Brisbane with a trickle of misty rain catching the light of the swollen moon. Brissy is the opportunity to wave off family and friends, and catch a few more hours of rest after the last few crazy weeks of final preparations. Like mountaineers at camp 1, we have left the comfort of base camp but still have such a long way to go.

Mountaineers rarely have the opportunity to gather last minute supplies at high camps on the mountain so perhaps my analogy is flawed as despite our bulging possessions we are still racing around crossing equipment off the list. Pumpernickel bread, emergency flares, bungee cord, even batteries – our main power source for the next year are still on the list (Jaycar was frustratingly out of stock). I guess there’s still the opportunity to pick up a few more bits in Cairns…Cooktown…Thursday Island…Port Moresby…

The cocktail of emotions (shaken, not stirred) of leaving behind our house, our friends, our families, our dogs is difficult to describe. Our decision to climb well out of our padded, warm and colourful comfort zone is perhaps hardest to appreciate when we are almost out of the cave, and not yet quite on our own. Just a few more days of burning overpriced fossil fuel and we’ll leave the comfort zone behind for a while, and this adventure will really get started.

I expect that this time in a week there’ll be salt on my eyebrows and blisters on these fingers. I can’t wait.