Ari Sharp pays tribute to porters past and present on Papua New Guinea’s 96-kilometre Kokoda Trail.

Porters provide a helping hand to a trekker on the Kokoda Trail. Credit: Ari Sharp

“Don’t look at the top of the mountain. Just look at your next step. Then the step after that. And the step after that.”

I had only known Jonathan for a few hours, but already he was giving me sage advice. As my ungainly figure lumbered up the first big mountain we had encountered on the Owen Stanley Range, my 22-year-old porter with a mop of braided hair had clearly sized me up as a neophyte in need of some gentle encouragement.

Such is the lot of a porter on the Kokoda Trail, the treacherous 96-kilometre path that winds its way up and down mountains, along ridgelines and across creeks in Papua New Guinea.

Each year thousands of tourists – mainly Australians – seek to walk in the footsteps of the soldiers who fought and beat Japanese forces on this muddy track to repel Japan’s southward thrust during World War 2.

Stories of that 1942 campaign typically centre on the stoic acts of heroism undertaken by frontline Australian troops, trekking through mud and heat with limited supplies, and often let down by senior command portrayed as ignorant or indifferent to the circumstances on the ground. Recognition in this wartime drama is also given to the Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels, the Papuan New Guineans who supported the Australians by transporting supplies and stretchering the injured to life-saving medical care.

In a famous newsreel Kokoda Front Line, Australian journalist Damien Parer’s voiceover says: “The care and consideration shown for the wounded by the natives has won the complete admiration of the troops.”

More than 80 years on, another generation of these Angels is an essential enabling force for Australians on the trail. Many of the porters, like Jonathan, are personal porters, carrying much of the gear of particular travellers, and others are group porters, carrying the collective supplies that are essential for a group heading into remote mountains for a week.

Just what is considered essential? Beyond the tents, medical supplies and food staples, some porters have giant cooking pots strapped to their sides, and one we spotted on the trail was clutching a bright blue guitar.

Our group of 13 Australians, a bunch of neighbours and colleagues whose ages ranged from 16 to 59, quickly came to rely on these porters. We had 18 porters with our group, a ratio of nearly one-and-a-half porters for each trekker, which is typical for the groups undertaking the arduous journey.

Beyond the logistical support they offer, the porters help keep trekkers upright and moving forward during the steep ascents and descents that are a hallmark of the walk, wade through waters at creek crossings to help trekkers find the optimal route and provide encouragement and morale boosts to weary travellers, just as Jonathan had on my first day.

Each afternoon, as we arrive at our next camp, while the Australians rest their legs, our PNG porters continue to work – pitching tents, gathering firewood and preparing our dinner. Grumbling is entirely absent. “Just because they don’t look tired, doesn’t mean they’re not,” observes my Australian guide Matt. “They don’t like to show any sign of weakness.”

As we trudge through the mountains, Jonathan reveals some of his story to me. Unlike most porters on the trail, he is from Port Moresby. Not married, he has a brother and sister still at school, and works as a porter to support them.

The porters share much in common. Some things are obvious from our first hour together – they are all fit young men, most are from the mountain villages that freckle the Owen Stanleys, they appear enamoured with Rastafarian cultural markers and bring endless reserves of energy.

But other details about our porters only become clear as our week progresses. Most porters are members of the Seventh Day Adventist Church, which since the arrival of missionaries early last century has had a strong influence on the communities along the Kokoda Trail.

The influence of the church becomes clear during the trek, as our porters lead an evening sing-sing filled with tunes reminding us that Jesus walks with us on the road to Port Moresby, and later as they abstain from the usual revelry on Saturday, the Sabbath for Seventh Day Adventists.

Four days into our trek we make it to the village of Kagi, high in the mountains. This is where many of our porters come from, and their families are keen to welcome us to the village. As a church service ends, our group of trekkers is ushered into a line for a welcome ceremony. A church elder offers some words of encouragement for the trek, before families sing a song with voices that carry the resonance of a life spent in church choirs. Later we give some balls to the children and play with them on a dusty field, the children bustling with energy as they demonstrate their rugby league prowess.

Back on the trail, I note that while the feet of trekkers in our group are wearing trail shoes or hiking boots, most of our porters are either barefoot or in flimsy pairs of thongs. Those who grow up poor in the mountains develop feet with an affinity for the land, it seems. And their method works for them – even as the Australians were slipping and sliding, our thonged porters stayed upright. “This is how we’ve always done it,” one porter explains.

As the final day arrives, we drag ourselves up one final steep ascent to the heroic arch at Owers’ Corner. Soon after I cross the finish line I collapse to the ground, my energy spent.

Jonathan checks if I’m okay, and I nod in the affirmative. Later that night, at a farewell dinner back in Port Moresby, he hands me a wood log carving he has made across the week. It is an apt memento, with my name and a silhouette of trekkers on its side. It carries a phrase in Tok Pisin: “Insait lo leg mak blo masalai.” “You are walking with the spirits”. Jonathan answers my unspoken question, a step ahead the whole way.

This is an edited version of an original article first published in the October-December 2024 issue of Paradise, the in-flight magazine of Air Niugini.