I departed at first light, not long before 7am, after a fairly restless but warm sleep. It was the first night I hadn’t worn socks to bed.

After crossing the rushing Thomson River on a rickety wooden bridge, which rested on top of the previous log crossing, the trail quickly joined an unsealed road.

I arrived at the official AAWT turn off but it was cut off with a locked gate and a sign stating the area was closed due to fire damage. I retraced my steps 1.3 kilometres back to an earlier turnoff, which was also closed, so I threw caution to the wind and hopped around the gate, not wanting to backtrack any further on my injured ankle.

The 4WD track took me above 1,000m elevation, where the most mystical looking trees with dozens of gangly arms towered above me.

As I passed 1,200m elevation, I walked beneath the towering canopy of giant but slender trees. It felt surreal being up there with just the trees talking.

I then left the comfort of the road and headed deep into a lush and moist forest as a misty rain continued to fall. The track was overgrown and markers had been handcarved into trees to help lead the way.

At 1,500m elevation I was greeted by my all too familiar friends, the snow gums – with fog filling the air. I stopped for a quick lunch break at the Whitelaw Hut chimney ruins and collected water from a stream in the nearby marsh before continuing on to the next camp.

It had been raining lightly for much of the day, so my afternoon was spent walking in soaking socks and shoes. The rain became more intense as the day wore on, and so too did the pain in my ankle, which was excruciating to the point of nausea.

With a short reprieve in the rain, I quickly set up camp on the flats of St Gwinear at around 3.30pm, stashing my belongings inside. With soaking socks, underwear, pants, shirt and shoes, I set up a tent version of a Chinese laundry in an attempt to dry out my gear for the next day.

A thick fog had settled in and there was a chill in the air as I hid in my tent and cooked laksa for dinner.