24-25 May, 2003 

The following story joins Dennis, Fraser, Alex, Calan, Scotty, Mick and Daniel at the site of the Lincoln wreck.

By lunch we were at the Lincoln wreck site and our spirits were high. There were 5 hours of light remaining and with the final part of the adventure mostly downhill, our success seemed assured. However, it was strange how, when Calan has worked hard to plan for this adventure, to almost let it slip away. This was to be Calan’s second attempt at finding the wreck, the first being unsuccessful. We were very tired and I think this was the reason for the situation which was soon to develop.

We had initially planned to descend along the creek essentially back tracking our initial journey, but we abandoned this in favour of the Mount Superbus ridge further to the North-East. I cannot explain fully why we made this decision but I believe it was because we were all very exhausted and no longer thinking clearly. We had descended off the Lincoln site and were standing at the top of the Mount Superbus ridge. It seemed to make sense just to keep going downhill along the ridge.

At first the going was fast and we quickly gained pace on the steep ground. Then we struck the jungle, and amongst the stinging plants and wait-a-while vines, we could make almost no progress. Somehow, due to careless navigation in which Calan and Mick did not compensate for magnetic and grid differences, we had drifted off the ridge and were now in a maze of small streams, old timber roads, and minor ridgetops. It was a confusing tangle of tall trees and we could not see enough of the surrounding landscape to regain our bearings, the GPS was effectively useless under the forest canopy.

A feeling of impeding disaster began to close in all around. We were making no forward progress at all, the compass directions seemed all wrong, and the light was fading fast in the forest. I began to feel cold and knew (from experience) how miserable a night out would be with only a pair of shorts and a T-shirt for clothing. We tried to increase our speed but that only increased the confusion, and now under extreme stress, we began to feel the first twinges of panic enter our minds. At times we blindly and aimlessly, charging through the undergrowth, sometimes commando style, little caring, little knowing where we were heading. Read the compass, follow the creek, push through walls of vines. All the time totally oblivious to the thorns and scratches. It was becoming too much, and all the while the clock ticked on as the afternoon faded into night.

I can still remember the scene quite vividly – somewhere the sound of falling water, the fading sky overhead, the steep valley sides strewn with decaying logs that crumbled under our feet and sent Calan rolling down the slope. And there was Alex, sometimes behind sometimes in front, staggering, tripping, and like myself falling downwards, forever downwards, down those steep forest slopes.

The light had faded so badly now that the green had gone. Everything was in shades of cold grey. We were following a creek bed, where we stocked up on water and Alex decided to take a leak. Thankfully Fraser spotted this environmental terrorist and quickly warned Scotty from refilling his water further down stream. In the ten minutes of light that we had left all we could do was stagger through the forest. We continued in this fashion as our precious minutes ran out, until up ahead Fraser and Scotty stumbled on what seemed like a well worn path, that surely could not be natural. Then as we approached, Alex, who was stumbling through the forest beside me, uttered, ‘I remember this path!’, his voice breathless with total relief. Instantly Alex realised our problems were over. The path meant the way ahead was clear. Even if the night sky was upon us, we could still find our way out along the track the short distance to the Cryptocarya camp site. Within a split second, Alex was at full sprint and we were all following the newly inspired cross country runner down the narrow track to the entrance of the route guarded by a large sign warning bushwalkers to take extreme care before entering the National Park. The sky was dark, the last light had gone just minutes before, and it was hard to believe we were at last at Cryptocarya camp. We had completed the search for the Lincoln wreck as we had hoped and our sense of great satisfaction was marred only by the faint lingering shock of our near defeat.

Alas, we celebrated our adventure at the nearby Yangan pub, where Alex still exhausted, asked the bar tender: "How much is $5 worth of chips?". "FIVE BUCKS!" the bar tender assures Alex. The pub roared with laughter.