Larapinta trail

In December 2025, while on a transfer shuttle from Launceston to Cradle Mountain for the Overland Track, a fellow Australian hiker casually suggested that my next long trek should be the Larapinta Trail. I had never heard of it, but after a quick search, the raw allure of the Red Centre completely hooked me, and I booked my spot for late July 2026 with Trek Larapinta, an Australian hiking tourism company.

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Across 14 unforgettable days and 230 kilometers of pristine outback, the trek delivered far beyond expectations, leaving me with deeply fond memories of ancient geology, resilient flora and fauna, and the sublime stillness of the Central Australian wilderness.

Little did I know when I landed at Alice Springs Airport that the long, blue-tinged ridge stretching across the horizon was the exact range I would spend the next two weeks getting to know intimately. These MacDonnell peaks rise sharply above the ancestral lands of the Arrernte people, one of the more than 200 distinct Indigenous nations that make up Australia’s deep cultural tapestry. Winding through this dramatic, ancient landscape flows the Finke River, widely considered one of the oldest river systems in the world. To the Arrernte, this sacred waterway is known as Larapinta, which translates to "Salty River," giving the trail both its name and its timeless soul.

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The evening before the hike, we met our guide for a briefing on what lay ahead. Just prior, we were introduced to the brewery and a cockatoo drinking beer! The directives from the guide were clear: carry a mandatory four liters of water, pack versatile layers for the desert's extreme temperature shifts, bring a headlamp for early starts, and strictly observe Leave No Trace principles.

Our trek accommodations would be broken into three core blocks: five days, then three days, followed by four days, across a series of rugged wilderness campsites where we would sleep in traditional canvas swags under the outback stars.

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After an early breakfast the next morning, our guide picked us up promptly at 6:30 a.m. for the short transfer to the Alice Springs Telegraph Station, where Section 1 of the trail officially begins.

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Led by our guides, Penny and Yasmin, we were a diverse mix of trekkers, with travelers hailing from Canberra, Melbourne, Belgium, Hong Kong, and San Francisco.

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Around 7:30 a.m., with our daypacks loaded and trail snacks secured, we paused at Telegraph Hill for an opening group photo before officially setting off along the historic 1870s telegraph line. The desert morning was chilly but the landscape quickly came alive as we passed early historic markers, quiet cemeteries, and spotted a local euro Walla Roo bounding across the rocky scrub.

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Along the way, we crossed paths with another guided group of eight, as well as a pair of independent German and French hikers carrying massive 20kg packs. By 10:45 a.m., just over three hours into the trek, we hit the 10-kilometer mark and paused to take in the vast outback morning. The Stuart Highway and the Ghan railway line servicing Central Australia were two notable stops to wait and regroup on our first day.

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The landscape was dramatic, with red quartzite rock formations along the Chewing Range, sweeping panoramic views across the desert landscape, and the distinct wooden sign marking Euro Ridge, a vantage point along the route offering vistas over Alice Springs and the surrounding MacDonnell Ranges. We had not completed the entirety of section 1, a few KM remained for the next day.

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Reaching camp, we set up our canvas swags and pitched our tents while getting accustomed to the remote outback setup, complete with compost toilets using sawdust. First the hors d'oeuvres appeared and we all dug into them. Dinner was a surprisingly impressive spread featuring perfectly cooked barramundi, rice, and a warm custard for dessert.

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Afterwards, all ten of us gathered around a crackling campfire, identified the birds on trees, sitting in a circle on camp chairs, and sharing stories under a dense canopy of stars. Before turning in, our guides laid out the plan for Day 2: a challenging 26-kilometer push, with a 5:30 a.m. wake-up to enjoy a breakfast at 6:00 a.m.

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Day 2 started with a classic camp moment, after packing down in the early morning dark, I realized I’d left my hat inside the tent. With every tent in camp looking completely indistinguishable from the next, finding it required a search that I left for the evening.

Once on the trail, Penny took the lead for the day. We fell into an easy, engaging conversation. She mentioned replacing her trail shoes every 1,000 kilometers before diving into stories from her five-month journey on the Pacific Crest Trail. It was her first trip to the United States, and she made the absolute most of it. She spoke fondly of "trail angels" and the incredible generosity of locals who offered rides, home-cooked meals, and shelter along the way. She walked under the trail name Big Money, carrying ultralight gear—titanium stoves, compact sleeping pads, and featherweight shelters. Listening to her recount those five months made it clear just how profound and transformative her long-distance trek had been.

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We reached Simpson's Gap, the end of Section 1. The sudden transition back to civilization was striking, parked near the trailhead info center was a massive Outback Spirit tour bus, along with a crowd of nearly a hundred visitors.

Leaving our main packs behind, we took the easy 20-minute round-trip walk into the gap itself. The towering red rock walls framed a serene, dark pool of water at the center, where a couple of black-footed rock-wallabies were quietly bounding along the sheer stone faces. We had a good break with photo sessions.

Penny’s guiding style was a clear contrast to Yasmin’s. While Yasmin preferred to stay close to the pack, keeping a steady visual on everyone, Penny loved to set a brisk pace out front. At times, the gap between her and the rest of us stretched out to half a kilometer or more, though she always maintained an easygoing cheer whenever we regrouped.

Early into the walk, I realized I had misplaced one of my gloves. In a strange twist of trail karma, we stumbled upon a lost pair resting beside the track just a bit further along. The morning had warmed up quickly, and wearing my heavy beanie was becoming unbearable, so Penny kindly handed me her stylish Fractel cap to keep the fierce desert sun off my head.

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Around noon, we pulled into Jay Creek for lunch. There, we crossed paths with a solo northbound hiker completing the trail in reverse (west to east). In another odd coincidence, he was carrying just a single glove, having lost its match earlier.

While Penny set to work slicing cucumbers, tomatoes, and bell peppers for a fresh trail spread, a few of us wandered off to explore the nearby gap. For the past couple of days, I’d been listening to Brian Greene’s Until the End of Time on my headphones. As I picked my way across the ancient, sun-baked terrain, his descriptions of the Big Bang, cosmic inflation, repulsive gravity, and Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle drifted through my mind. Standing on red quartzite that had endured for hundreds of millions of years, realizing that this very ground was once packed into the exact same cosmic singularity 13.8 billion years ago, I was left in a state of quiet awe, and it made my head spin just a little.

Breakfast on Day 3 was scheduled for 5:30 a.m., meaning we had to break down camp in the dark—rolling swags, dismantling tents, and neatly folding ground tarps to pack into the support 4x4. The forecast predicted a biting -4°C overnight; while a thin layer of frost coated the rainflies, it felt surprisingly milder than the night before. Sleep had been intermittent anyway, interrupted periodically by the deep, echoing calls of two wild bulls spotted near camp the previous afternoon. Anxious about the early turnaround, I woke at 3:45 a.m., but our group moved with impressive efficiency, wrapping up camp pack-downs by 4:20 a.m. After a quick group breakfast, we folded the camp chairs, loaded the truck, and hit the trail at 5:00 a.m. sharp under a sky full of stars.

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Walking under the pre-dawn sky, I noticed how the orientation of the crescent moon felt subtly different here in the Southern Hemisphere. As light broke over the rocky pass near Spring Gap, our guides pointed out the surrounding buffel grass, an invasive weed originally introduced as packing material for saddles and spread by longhorn cattle. Highly flammable, it poses a severe wildfire risk to native flora like the ghost gums. Higher up near Gastrolobium Saddle, we learned about the poison peas containing natural fluoroacetate (Compound 1080), which native wildlife can tolerate but is lethal to feral cats and foxes.

It was a demanding 26-kilometer day with two major climbs, dry creek crossings, a bit of scrambling over vibrant red quartzite, and a few brief moments of losing the track before finding our rhythm again. Along the trail, we crossed paths with a solo trekker who had first tackled the Larapinta five years ago and was back for round two; I casually asked his age and was humbled to learn he was 73. Meanwhile, our guides diligently picked up tiny scraps of micro-trash along the way, keeping the track pristine.

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As we hiked, we came across the flora that would become routine for the next 11 days. The trail was lined with a striking tapestry of resilient outback species, from golden-flowered wattle bushes and soft-seeded grasses dancing in the desert breeze to vibrant red tubular blossoms clinging to the rocky soil and delicate pink groundcovers tucked among the ancient quartzite. These hardy native plants added bursts of life and color to the sun-baked landscape, serving as a vivid constant throughout the trek.

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By late afternoon, we reached the end of Section 3 at Standley Chasm (Angkerle Atwatye). The geological sheer scale immediately brought Zion to mind, though wider at its base, a dramatic fissure carved between towering red cliffs, framed by brilliant white river stones and river red gums.

Arriving at Standley Chasm came with an unexpected reward, a kiosk selling cold ice creams. Dinner that evening was a magnificent comfort meal of juicy cheeseburgers, fresh coleslaw, and a second round of ice cream liberally drizzled with Magic Shell chocolate syrup.

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Our accommodation for the night felt outright luxurious: spacious semi-permanent tents that spared us the ritual of pitching and breaking down camp. All we had to do was unroll our canvas swags.

Each swag had its own painted name, mine was fittingly labeled Starry Starry Night. The trick to packing them up was rolling from the head down to the trail end, keeping the name clearly visible at the bottom so you could easily reclaim your own bed at the end of every day. By 7:00 p.m., beneath the glow of a bright full moon, I turned in for a deep, restorative sleep before my 4:30 a.m. alarm.

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Day 4 kicked off with a 6:30 a.m. spread of warm porridge, muesli, yogurt, fresh bananas, peaches, and much-needed hot coffee. Once on the track, Penny set a rapid pace out front, occasionally bursting into song as we moved through the crisp morning air. I fell into step right behind her, matching her stride. When we finally paused for the group to catch up, a few hikers lightheartedly complained that we were moving too quickly. Penny laughed and admitted that hearing my footsteps right on her heels made her speed up, while I admitted I was only pushing the pace to keep up with her, a perfect self-reinforcing loop.

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A variety of dramatic terrain was encountered throughout the trek. Navigating these paths required constant concentration, as the trail was defined by endless expanses of sharp quartzite, steep inclines, and loose rock scrambles where a single misstep could lead to a fall. From exposed ridgelines with expansive views over the MacDonnell Ranges to narrow, boulder-strewn descents, the striking beauty and the demanding physical reality of hiking through this unforgiving outback landscape was ever-present.

Along the trail to Reveal Saddle, our guide pointed out more clusters of the toxic Gastrolobium (1080 poison pea) and shared stories about the local dingoes that roam these ranges.

To take my mind off the physical toll, I turned back to my audiobook, Oliver Burkeman’s The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can't Stand Positive Thinking. I was listening to a chapter on mindfulness and meditation, specifically the practice of gently redirecting your attention every time your mind wanders. It turned out to be a remarkably practical tool on the trail, giving me a way to acknowledge the dull ache building in my knees and calves without letting it dominate my focus.

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When we reached Brinkley Bluff (Reeve Saddle), we bumped into the same familiar hiking group that had been leapfrogging us over the last two days, naturally leading to a few warm nods of mutual recognition. Beyond the saddle, the ridge exposed us to biting desert winds and a treacherous, boulder-strewn terrain where every step downhill required absolute focus.

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Reaching the bluff also brought a rare spot of Telstra phone signal, a welcome touch of civilization that we all eagerly exploited to check messages, share quick updates, and catch up with the outside world before disconnecting once again to continue the trek.

As we hiked through the rugged pass, we came across ancient MacDonnell Ranges cycads, living fossils that have survived in these protected microclimates for millions of years. Nestled against the stark, towering rock faces, their lush, palm-like fronds offered a striking contrast to the arid landscape.

Mid-descent, my audiobook cut out, replaced by the sharp ping of my Continuous Glucose Monitor alarm alerting me that my blood sugar had dropped to 59 mg/dL. I pulled a fresh apple out of my daypack to boost my levels while picking my way down the jagged rock face. Penny looked back, impressed, and teased, "Are you really eating an apple while negotiating a steep climb?" I grinned back, "I'm just walking and chewing gum on the Chewing Range!"

Arriving at the 'Birthday Waterhole' we settled into camp for another tranquil outback evening. To mark the milestone, Penny uncorked our fresh bottle of Glen Moray 12-Year-Old single malt, sharing a dram as the twilight settled over the waterhole. We crossed paths with a few eastbound hikers completing their journey toward Standley Chasm, exchanging trail conditions and stories over the quiet crackle of the campfire.

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Day 5 began with a 5:30 a.m. breakfast before setting off at 6:00 a.m., but not before our guides gave us a firm reminder to cinch our swags tightly to for easy loading in the SUV. The day’s profile promised a grueling 17 kilometers through steep terrain, a daunting prospect given that my knees and calves were already throbbing from the previous days.

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Most of the trek led us through the rocky, dry creek beds of Hugh Gorge, scaling loose, rocky saddles along the way. But the moment I had been quietly dreading all week was waiting at the end: the infamous Hugh Gorge waterhole swim. Being a non-swimmer, facing a deep water gap was intimidating, to say the least. 

Fortunately, Yasmin and Larry stepped in, carefully guiding and helping me shimmy along the sheer rock ledges above the deepest section. Once past the deep channel, I waded through the waist-high shallows with my pack balanced over my head. The slick, submerged river stones proved tricky, I slipped and lost my balance twice, completely soaking my backpack and skinning my shin on a sharp rock edge.

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Along the track, we spotted some of the region’s distinct birdlife, including striking crested pigeons that looked like they were rocking mohawks. The terrain quickly grew rough and featureless, an uneven, boulder-strewn stretch with barely any visible markers where it was exceptionally easy to lose the trail. The second hiking group crossed our path at the exact same time, and we ended up leapfrogging each other for miles as we all carefully navigated the rugged route.

When we finally made it into camp, I opened my pack to a frustrating reality of dropping my bag in the water, I had completely soaked gloves, jacket, pants, and beanie. Taking advantage of the lingering late-afternoon sun, I draped everything across the top of my tent to dry. As dusk settled and the temperature plunged, I pulled the half-dried gear inside. It wasn't until the next morning that I realized I’d left my hiking pants draped outside, finding them frozen stiff with a thick coat of morning frost!

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Day 6 was a gorgeously lazy day on the trail, a gentle half-section designed to break up the long stretch of Section 6. After a relaxed 7:00 a.m. breakfast, we packed camp by 8:00 a.m. and hit the track by 8:30 a.m. under a warm, sunny sky. Our first milestone was Hugh View, just four kilometers in.

For the first seven kilometers, barring a couple of brief pauses, I found myself walking completely solo ahead of the group. It was pure bliss, soaking in the soft sunlight, the cool breeze rustling through the leaves, the colorful scatter of wild flowers, the ever-present buffel grass, native pines, and golden wattles.

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We eventually regrouped at Ghost Gum Camp, anchored by two massive ghost gums, one bearing the charred scars of a past bushfire and a lone park bench that offered a welcome rest.

By this point, I was seven hours deep into Brian Greene’s book, listening to a mind-bending chapter about the 10^{40} subatomic particles in my brain conspiring to generate the illusion of free will as I placed one foot in front of the other.

After a fresh, healthy lunch at the 10-kilometer mark around 1:00 p.m., the terrain remained gentle, easy undulating hills, smooth descents, and a few kilometers of winding creek beds. By 1:30 p.m., we reached Ellery Creek Junction (Camp 6A), complete with park benches and, remarkably, a couple of outdoor chaise lounges. After greeting an Australian and a Belgian hiker having lunch by the water, we walked 200 meters to our campsites, where Yasmin surprised us with a fresh plate of pan-fried gyoza hors d'oeuvres.

The rest of the afternoon was pure leisure. We set up our swags, prepped our water bladders and snack packs for tomorrow, and spent two easy hours chatting around camp, debating classic British cinema, TV series, and Quentin Tarantino films. Dinner was a soothing spread of veggie-packed miso soup and noodles, capped off with a dessert of fresh berries, meringue, and sweet cream. As a brilliant Venus pierced the twilight sky, we retired early with instructions for a 7:00 a.m. breakfast and ready-to-move camp.

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We rose to a crisp outback morning, our shivering bodies and freezing hands making the simple task of packing down camp feel like a real challenge. A warm bowl of porridge and muesli topped off with a mug of strong coffee perked us back up, and by mid-morning, we set off on Section 6b, a 16-kilometer stretch heading toward the transition from the Chewing Range to the Heavitree Range.

The walk itself was relatively gentle for most of the day, winding through vast fields of spinifex before taking a semi-steep climb near the end. Walking alongside those dense, needle-sharp clumps, I couldn't help but give them a wide berth, I was still smarting from a nasty fall into a patch of spinifex a few days prior and many needles were stuck in my fingers!

As I crested the final ridge of the day, I was reaching the closing chapter of Oliver Burkeman's The Antidote. The book concluded on memento mori, a meditation on mortality and the impermanence of all things. Standing atop the ancient, weather-worn spine of the MacDonnell Ranges, looking out over landscapes shaped over hundreds of millions of years, it felt like the ultimate setting to reflect on the beauty and fleeting nature of our time here.

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Our trek for the day culminated at Ellery Creek Big Hole, a spectacular natural feature where a deep, dark waterhole sits wedged beneath a massive gorge carved straight through two red quartzite cliffs. A few brave souls in our group didn't hesitate to plunge right into the glacier-cold water, while I opted to take in the dramatic scene from a comfortable distance on the sandy shore.

Today marked a major turning point in the logistics of the trip: from here, a transfer vehicle swept us away to a camp where we would stay put for the next three nights. Shedding the daily grind of packing up camp in the dark every morning and setting it all back up every evening felt like a luxury, granting us full permission to sleep straight through until breakfast was served.

Burritos, rich dark chocolate, and a lively round of camp trivia made up tonight’s feast, fueling a great night of laughter around the tables. With the bright full moon of the past few days finally fading, we retired to an incredible, unhindered view of the outback night sky, the Milky Way stretched out in absolute clarity above us, brilliant and deep.

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Day 8 began at a delightfully leisurely pace, breakfast wasn't until 7:00 a.m., and with no tents or swags to dismantle, the morning felt almost decadent. After loading into the Toyota Land Cruiser, we were dropped right back at Ellery Creek to resume the trek, officially hitting the trail by 8:30 a.m.

The creek area offered a fleeting pocket of cell service, providing a rare chance to check in with friends and catch up on the world outside the Outback before stepping back off the grid.

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Nearly at 10:00 a.m., we reached Trig Point, where we paused to take in the extraordinary geology underfoot. The sedimentary rock formations here were mesmerizing, sharp, distinct striations of rich brown rock that looked remarkably like layers of dark chocolate sprinkled with golden toffee.

By noon, we pulled over at a shady spot along the track for a relaxed lunch. Today was a noticeably shorter leg, just 13 kilometers in total, making for an easy, unhurried pace. An hour and a half after eating, we reached Serpentine Gorge, the endpoint for Section 7. Serpentine Gorge is a sacred site for the local Arrernte people, radiating a quiet, tranquil atmosphere. A few of us took the steep, 10-minute side trail up to the lookout, where we were rewarded with sweeping panoramic views across the gorge and the dramatic ridgelines framing it.

We returned to our camp by 3:00 p.m. for a serene afternoon. The guides put together an impressive platter of cured salami, prosciutto, basil pesto, and crackers, which I paired with pours of whisky. It was the perfect afternoon to kick back, share stories, and soak in the stillness of the desert.

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On the morning of Day 9, we slept in until just before our 7:00 a.m. breakfast, thoroughly enjoying the luxury of basecamp. By 7:30 a.m., we loaded into the SUV for the transfer to the start of Section 8. The main track covered 13 kilometers, but with a couple of short side trips to explore offshoot lookouts, our total distance came out to around 15 kilometers.

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While the terrain wasn't overly strenuous, it included a few steep, rocky pinches that opened up to staggering panoramas, including a rare vantage point where all three distinct mountain ranges met in a single frame. By 2:00 p.m., we reached the end of the section at an old, defunct dam. The reservoir held far more water than usual, and despite the frigid temperature, everyone plunged straight into the icy water to celebrate another successful leg on the trail.

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Day 10 called for our earliest start yet, a 4:00 a.m. wake-up call to hit the trail by 4:30 a.m., headlamps illuminating the dark track ahead. The section began with a climb over three distinct saddles before flattening out, but the reprieve was short-lived as we were soon faced with a relentless, punishing ascent.

By 10:00 a.m., we reached the summit ridge, leaving the grueling climb behind us. The rewards were immediate and sweeping: Mount Giles stood proudly directly in front of us, while the majestic profile of Mount Sonder loomed in the far distance.

After taking in the views, we paused for a well-earned freshly made lunch before tackling the second half of the day, a tough, sun-drenched stretch beneath the blazing desert heat.

Everyone dug deep, pushing through the fatigue to complete the section in 10.5 hours, well ahead of the expected 12-hour mark. Finishing at Ormiston Gorge (Ormiston Waterhole), we made a beeline for the trail kiosk for cold drinks and ice creams to celebrate the effort. A quick SUV transfer brought us to our new campsite, where our tents were already pitched, a wonderfully kind gesture courtesy of two hikers in our group who were resting and recovering from foot injuries.

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The evening wrapped up with a delicious spread of Massaman curry, grilled halloumi cheese, and tender poached pears for dessert, all while watching the wonderful colors of the sky.

We had the privilege of meeting Amanda, who shared a fascinating presentation on traditional bush medicine on Western Arrernte Country through Irritja Bush Medicine Tours. We were able to get hands-on with some of the remedies, trying out a natural foot washer made from traditional bush plants along with a soothing hand cream. Beyond introducing us to local flora like Arrethe (Rock Fuchsia) and Irmangka-Irmangka (Scented Emu Bush), Amanda offered a moving window into her culture’s deep-rooted traditions and healing wisdom. 

Amanda also opened up about the urgent cultural challenge her community faces. Her tribe’s population has dropped dramatically from around 200 people to just 30 as younger generations head to urban centers, putting centuries of heritage at risk of being lost. To combat this, she is building a small enterprise around bush medicine aimed at popularizing these ancient practices while creating vital employment opportunities for local youth. Supporting initiatives like Amanda's gives us hope that these traditions will remain vibrant for generations to come.

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After the long prior day, Day 11 felt blissfully relaxed. We woke up just before 7:00 a.m. for breakfast, followed by a quick 10-minute drive in the SUV to the trailhead for Section 11. (We saved Section 10 for after our Mount Sonder climb, planning to make it our 14th and final day on the trail.)

Today’s route covered 13 kilometers, starting with a flat, easy warm-up before tackling a long, steep climb toward a summit lunch spot. Along the way, we crossed paths with four Tasmanian hikers who were following the exact same schedule for the next two days, agreeing to catch up with each other at the top of Mount Sonder. Our high-altitude lunch break provided a staggering, direct view of Sonder’s iconic silhouette, with everyone pulling out phones for photos and selfies against the vast outback backdrop.

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The rest of the hike took us down a steady descent and into a winding, sandy riverbed. At one point, we all paused to sit on individual boulders in complete silence for ten minutes, simply listening to the wind and musing on the vastness around us. Afterward, we met the SUV for a short ride back to camp. Having our camp stay fixed for four consecutive nights was a huge blessing, sparing us the daily ritual of packing and unpacking. The day ended on a culinary high note: fresh-baked scones, a vegetable lasagna that I jokingly insisted on calling ratatouille, and a crisp arugula salad with walnuts and green apple.

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Day 12 was billed as the easiest leg of the entire 14-day journey, starting with a luxurious, hour-long breakfast spread of fried eggs, warm porridge, toasted sourdough, and fresh French press coffee. A 40-minute drive brought us to the start of Section 11B by 8:30 a.m.

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We ambled along at a relaxed, unhurried pace, well aware that the following morning would require a brutal 2:00 a.m. wake-up call for the Mount Sonder summit climb.

Along the track, our guides pointed out ecological features of the desert, from 1080 poison baits deployed to control feral cat populations, to vibrant flowering Eremophila bushes (emu bushes) dotting the red dirt. We learned about the resilient mallee eucalyptuses, whose underground woody tubers allow them to rapidly regenerate after severe bushfires.

Having finished my previous audiobooks, I was thrilled to catch enough phone signal to download Rebecca Goldstein's Plato at the Googolplex. Engaging with philosophy in the Outback proved to be the perfect way to keep my mind occupied while my feet moved on autopilot.

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By mid-afternoon, we reached Redbank Gorge, where the low water levels had caused an algal bloom, leaving floating dead fish along the edges of the pool. From there, we made our way to camp by 3:00 p.m.

After freshening up and grabbing a late snack, our guides gathered us for the briefing on Mount Sonder (Rwetyepme). Because breakfast was scheduled for 2:10 a.m. ahead of a 2:30 a.m. SUV departure, I set my alarm for a painful 1:30 a.m., giving myself that extra half hour to wake up before our 3:00 a.m. night-climb to the summit.

During the briefing, our guides emphasized smart layering for the night climb: start with just one or two layers to avoid sweating through the initial ascent, but keep a third or fourth warm shell easily accessible in our packs to throw on as we hit exposed, windy ridgelines or cooled down at the summit. We were advised to carry a full three to four liters of water, and everyone took time to restock their snack pouches from camp supplies for the big push ahead.

By 5:00 p.m., we sat down to an early, fantastic dinner of tender lamb chops, fresh arugula salad, and warm apple pie for dessert. With everything prepped for our 1:30 a.m. wake-up, we turned in early under the quiet outback darkness, resting up for the trail's grand finale.

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I had packed all my warm clothes into my backpack the night before and filled 2-liters in my hydration bladder, ready for the early morning push. Waking right on schedule at 1:30 a.m., I fueled up on a warm bowl of porridge and mixed a fresh batch of electrolyte water into my bottle before heading back to the tent.

That was when I noticed the snack bag stashed in my pack's side pocket felt noticeably damp. Initially assuming it was just overnight condensation inside the cold tent, I looked closer, only to discover a puddle pooling on the floor. To my horror, every layer of clothes inside my backpack was completely soaked; the hydration bladder had leaked, dropping from 2 liters down to 1.25. Not wanting to create a scene or delay the group's 2:30 a.m. departure, I made the call to roll with it. I tend to consume less water than most anyway, and under the freezing pre-dawn skies, drinking cold water was going to be the last thing on my mind.

The ascent up Mount Sonder was structured in three distinct stages. To pass the time as our headlamps carved a path through the pitch-black pre-dawn air, I listened to John Grisham’s The Widow. Before I knew it, stages one and two were behind us, and we reached the famous drop toilet perched just below the peak, a landmark signaling we were only minutes from the top.

By 6:20 a.m., we stood on the summit awaiting sunrise, though the horizon was already painted in brilliant, fiery gradients of orange, pink, and deep purple. We were immensely grateful to our guides, who had hauled heavy packs up the dark climb just to pamper us with hot, freshly brewed coffee at the top.

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As the sun finally crested the horizon, its warm light flooded the vast desert floor below. Despite the freezing winds whipping across the exposed summit, everyone was beaming, snapping selfies, capturing group photos, and celebrating the moment. It was an unforgettable, magic way to greet an outback morning.

By 7:15 a.m., after a final group photo at the summit, we began our descent. Coming down was smooth, peaceful, and fast, I’ve always loved picking up the pace on a good downhill run. We all got into the SUV for a half hour drive back to camp where brunch with bacon, eggs and salad was waiting. Since both our guides were with us during the Sonder trip, the Ops manager/guide from local Larapinta office came to fill in to cook the brunch ensuring our instant gratification!

The afternoon was lazy and we had time to visit the Glen Helen gorge nearby which had great views, and cold refreshing swimming water.

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The last day, day 14, was a walk on the skipped Section 10, and it was a mere 12km, with one hill climb, which we finished by noon. It was followed by a celebratory lunch, reminiscing, wearing the TrekLarapinta T-shirts gifted by the company and .... watching Australia's most venomous Mulga snake creep next to us then swim across the Ormiston gorge.

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A two hour drive took us back to Alice Springs, and just like that, we were back at the hotel where we were picked up 2 weeks ago for this epic adventure.

Looking back across the entire journey, I felt deeply grateful to have gone on this trek. Beyond making great new friends, it was a privilege to walk across the ancient, sacred lands of the Arrernte people, share stories with passionate guides and tough solo hikers hauling 20-kilogram packs, experience the resilient plants, wildlife, and birdlife of Australia's Red Centre.

The dedication and thoughtful care of our guides from Trek Larapinta made every step that much more memorable.

I tried to capture the experience in a limerick:

Awake ye between 2 & 5 AM

Make no sound till brekkie.

Walk, delayer, climb

You Larapinta Trekkie

Butcher bird, Witchetty grubs, Cockatoo

and Spinifex Pigeons,

Birthday hole, Standley chasm, Serpentine gorge

Grace the Arrente regions

Mulga alert, stand back

Serene Larapinta and Mount Sonder,

The snake bite can be deadly

And can transport you yonder

Most of all, I gave myself a quiet nod of satisfaction for listening to that Australian trekker on the shuttle bus to Cradle Mountain seven months ago. Taking her recommendation to hike the Larapinta Trail turned out to be an outstanding choice I ever made.