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‘He was always a stubborn bugger’: on love, loss and legacy on the Kokoda Track

  • Writer: Carla Deale
    Carla Deale
  • 3 days ago
  • 4 min read

As the warm waters of the Goldie River trickled past her boots, Liz Ross clutched the small canister close to her chest. It held the ashes of her husband Ray; her soulmate, a fellow Victoria Police veteran, and a passionate military history buff who had long dreamed of trekking Kokoda.


On the final day of her journey, surrounded by the towering greenery of Papua New Guinea and fellow trekkers standing in a silent guard of honour, Liz opened the container, though not without a fight. “He was always a stubborn bugger,” she laughed tearfully, as a porter finally pried it open with a knife. A single butterfly fluttered past. The porters sang. And Ray went home.


It was a moment that formed the heart of Liz’s journey with The PVV Kokoda Trek, a fundraising initiative of Police Veterans Victoria (PVV), held to honour Australia’s military and policing legacy while also raising vital funds for the organisation's support systems.


Held in August 2024, this inaugural trek saw current and veteran members of Victoria Police, family members, emergency services personnel and supporters walk the historic 96-kilometre track, retracing the footsteps of the Australian soldiers who fought there in World War II.


But for many, like Liz, it became far more than a physical challenge.


It became a pilgrimage of remembrance, resilience, and ultimately, release.


Carrying grief walking forward


When Liz first saw PVV’s call-out for expressions of interest, she applied instantly. “I thought, I’ve blown it, I didn’t say enough,” she recalls. But something deeper compelled her. Her late husband Ray had often spoken of Kokoda with reverence.


Though Ray passed two years earlier, Liz felt him walking with her every step; his fingerprint engraved on a pendant around her neck, and his ashes quietly hidden in her pack.


What began as a personal tribute unfolded into something communal. “The emotional bond was immediate with the other trekkers,” Liz says. “With the common background and the added PTSD component, we could all relate to each other’s circumstances, emotions and camaraderie.”


Together, they laughed, cried, climbed; and carried one another through some of the hardest terrain on Earth.


That final ceremony, which was unplanned, initiated by the porters, complete with face paint and blessings in true PNG tradition, became the culmination of Liz’s grief and strength. “I felt calm afterwards,” she says. “It truly was such a beautiful and special moment. I’ve never had so many hugs.”


The PVV Kokoda Trek was the brainchild of Luke Lawlor, founder of Emergency Services Property Advisors, and Kokoda Courage’s Pete Condon, a police veteran with 30 Kokoda treks under his belt. Luke had previously trekked Kokoda in 2016 and had long harboured hopes of doing so again with Victoria Police members.


“COVID derailed our first attempt in 2021,” he says, “but when I became more involved with PVV, I suggested we pick it back up.”


Luke wasn’t a police member himself, but as a friend, advocate, and now fundraiser, he quickly recognised the quiet, unspoken bonds among the veterans. “There was this deep mutual understanding that I found incredibly humbling,” he says. “You could feel the weight of their shared experience.”


Two moments particularly stood out to Luke: a tribute at Isurava marking the anniversary of the Silk-Miller murders, and that final riverside farewell to Ray. “Not a dry eye in the house,” he says.


The track as teacher


The Kokoda Track is no gentle stroll. With oppressive humidity, relentless hills, and ankle-deep mud, it tests every fibre of the human spirit. But as both Liz and Luke affirm, that’s part of the magic.


“I trained hard, thank goodness,” Liz says, laughing. “It’s eight days of continuous hard slog. But did I like it? Yes. Not once did I think I wouldn’t finish.”


What carried her through wasn’t simply grit, but the group’s unity.


“We had each other’s backs, like the soldiers before us. We were a united front.”

For many, the journey revealed more than physical limits. It offered catharsis. “Kokoda has not really changed me,” Luke reflects, “but it has made me appreciate both our war veterans and police veterans more deeply.


“Kokoda makes you slow down and appreciate the simple things in life. No matter how bad your day is going, it's still a great day to be alive.”


A message of hope


Liz’s story is not uncommon among police families. PTSD, trauma, and grief often ripple far beyond the person in uniform. But her story carries a message of hope.


 “PTSD is a struggle not just for the person suffering, but for the family who lives through it too,” she says. “But anything is possible. Reach out, speak up, don’t suffer in silence.”


To others who have lost a partner, she offers this: “Just do it. Step out of that comfort zone. Yes, it’s hard. But you can do this. Kokoda is just a walk. Uphill, downhill, bloody long…but just a walk. And the reward is worth it.”


The spirit of Kokoda lives on


Police Veterans Victoria isn’t government-funded. It exists to support Victoria Police veterans and their families facing challenges including post-service trauma, social isolation, and career transition. The list is long, and continues to grow.


The Kokoda Trek was as much about honouring the past as it was about forging a future; one filled with support, camaraderie, and healing.


For Liz, the trek instilled something deep and enduring: resilience. For Luke, it was fulfilment. For every participant, it was a lesson in courage, endurance, mateship, and sacrifice; values etched into every step of an unforgiving, sacred trail.


As Liz says, “I want to live a full life, because so many before me weren’t given that chance.”

The PVV Kokoda Trek is more than a fundraiser, more than a hike, more than a historical homage. It’s a movement; one that affirms the humanity behind the badge, the weight behind the uniform, and the beating hearts still healing behind it all.


And in the quiet flow of a faraway river, one man’s ashes danced in the current; free, remembered, and finally home.

 


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