After a day of walking, we set up a bush camp on a patch of scrub 20 metres off the trail. There is something specialabout this opportunistic camp site, made precious by its transience. Together and alone under a blanket of stars.

The full moon rises over a tent

There are crumbling cliffs on either side of Hugh Gorge and, as we enter, we scramble between boulders, trying to keep ourselves out of deep pools of ice-cold water.

Then an unfortunate realisation: I’ve miscalculated my food allowance and I am short two days’ worth of food in my second drop.

So lunch is simplified to a nub of pepperoni washed down with water – so salty and mouthwateringly good. Dinner becomes a tin of tuna in instant soup and it’s delicious. Turns out food tastes even better when there’s less of it.

After another tough day, our group makes it to Standley Chasm. The walk is only 15km to 16km long but there’s a steep climb out of Hugh Gorge and up to Brinkley’s Bluff.

alleyway and the site is a popular tourist attraction run by the Iwupataka Aboriginal Land Trust, with a kiosk/restaurant, toilet, shower blocks and picnic tables. The kiosk offers a five-course meal for those looking to diverge from dehydrated food supplies, which is all of us.

Redbank Gorge

With three days to go, I’m feeling good – with one exception. I’ve developed a knot in my shoulder so strong that I can’t physically lift my left arm over my head. I’ve been ignoring the constant pain, convincing myself it’s part of long-distance hiking with a heavy pack, but seeing myself in the mirror for the first time in 10 days is confronting. My entire spine seems to be crookedand my left shoulder is three centimetres lower than my right. I hope this new hunchback look is not permanent.

I decide to head out alone on the last few days, although I plan to meet up with the others for meals at night. Although this decision doesn’t go down smoothly with my companions, I realise I function better throughout a day’s hike if I get an early start.

Within the first hour, I know I’ve made the right choice. My mind and body are in sync and, for a handful of hours, I feel like I’m part of the flow of this ancient land.

I arrive at Simpsons Gap in the early afternoon positively buzzing. Rozza and Romain arrive separately over the next few hours.

It’s my final night on the trail, and there’s an orange glow off in the distance. A bushfire is burning about 10km south of our campsite.

The night air is still. Smoke billows directly above the flames without reaching us. We watch the fire increase in size but we can’t hear or smell it. As we watch from the top of the Simpson Gap shelter, Rozza calls the emergency services. They tell us five fire trucks are out battling it and to “not do anything stupid like get in a car and drive towards the blaze”. Not bloody likely.

Rocky cliffs above Standley Chasm

The final day of the trail is the hardest. So much for the zen-like flow state of yesterday, it seems 15 days and 200-odd kilometres have finally caught up with me. My shoulder still aches and I am only able to go a few kilometres before being forced to stop and rest.

Tough, tough, tough. Euro Ridge provides a spectacular view of my destination, with Alice Springs only about 10km in the distance, but I’ve hit a wall. My feet feel like lead while my shoulders are on fire.

With 3km to go, a mountain biker stops to look at me, remarking, “You look like you’ve come a long way.”

Six hundred metres out and I meet a couple well into their 70s – they easily outpaced me and my weary bones.

The end, when it comes, is outwardly anti-climactic. I sign the logbook inside a shelter at the old Alice Springs telegraph station just outside of town, and that’s it.

Inside, I’m experiencing a wave of satisfaction. There is no cheering crowd, no one to welcome this weary traveller, but that makes it all the more personal. There’s nothing that compares to the peace that follows endeavour, and as I lie down on the grass, the sense of calm is almost overwhelming.