Journeys taken step by step
I think this is happening! I really do think this is happening!! A start at least. The next time I write I’ll be on the trail. I can’t believe I’m getting this chance. I’m fired up, grateful, and, determined to make the most of it. See you on the trail…
The lockdown continues. There is cause for a modicum of hope, as only one person tests positive. My level of gratitude to this person for having not been in the community is palpable. We are all at the mercy of each other.
Despite the image that long distance hiking appears wild and free, there is actually an inordinate level of routine involved. Wake up, coffee, pack up, walk, have a break, walk, have a break, walk, arrive at camp, set up tent, make dinner, sleep. It’s like clockwork every day.
I find that I have slipped into a daily routine in my hotel room as well. Wake, read in bed, coffee, make breakfast, wait for the press conference, wash up, watch the press conference, do my blog, have lunch, go for my 90 minute walk, get supplies, TV, bed. In it’s own way it’s just as controlled as you need to be to make it through the walking goals each day. It comforts me to think that this is mental training in its own right.
The pathway South took me through a number of parks and roadways. Whilst still grey, the air had lost its potent freeze.
Highlights included listening to the guffawing rainbow lorikeets frolicking in the eucalypts. Getting drunk no doubt on the rich nectar extruding from thousands of new, plump, pink blossoms. We don’t have lorikeets on Norfolk Island, and the noise of them reminds me of childhood. Did you know however, that they have just been named one of the worst native pests in Australia? Their shear numbers and social nature mean they have the capacity to outcompete compatriate species for nest sites and that they are able to bully other species into absolute submission. They can also interrupt plant germination through their voracious seed eating. They are beautiful though. There’s no doubting that.
I also really enjoyed reading many of the indigenous based signage and murals around the city. It’s difficult in a mask, but drawing on years of memory to say hello to people in Pitantjatjara has felt a bit like coming home. “Wai….nyuntu palya?” “Uwa kungka”. I’m so blessed to have spent so much time with the indigenous mob in the desert.
So the wait continues. With a tiny glimmer of hope – for the state, for the people and for my walk.
I do. I feel like I could just pick a new spot and keep on going. An endless cycle of walking, camping, exploring, re-supplies, planning, world’s greatest showers. Except I can’t. I’d miss my home too much. My dog. Partner. Friends and family. Even work, I’d miss too much. I’m so completely satisfied with what I’ve done, but I’m left wanting more. Maybe it’s the perfect outcome. Maybe this is how it should be.
I’m contemplating this as I watch my first and last sunrise of the trip. I’m not usually an early riser, but a fellow hiker had urged me to make the effort. Said it was spectacular at this lake. So I did. And it was.
A yellow hue cast across the sky as the colours of the lake began to come to life. Slowly at first, before reaching a crescendo, the birds start to sing. Life is waking up around me under this pale, daffodil sky.
I breathe deeply, feeling totally at peace. The anxiousness of losing my PCT dream is gone. Replaced with hope of a new walking adventure, a little closer to home. There are always dreams and goals to be achieved, no matter what the circumstances. And I’m starting to make some new ones. One day I’ll set foot on the PCT. I know I will. I’m strong willed like that. But not yet. Now’s not the time.
I take a last look around, reaffirming my love for this island which has provided me with so much opportunity and so many memories. I wouldn’t be where I am today, and have experienced all that I have, without her. And I love the island for that.
The girls have left by the time I get back to camp leaving me to pack up on my own one last time. I am quick and efficient. Everything now has a permanent place in my new bag and the rythym of putting everything away is effortless.
I set off. It’s a quick 7km to Happy Valley. Interesting walking but mostly along firetrails, so it doesn’t quite have the same pristine feel as the rest of the walk.
I arrive by 10am. I had been looking forward to a big, cooked breakfast. Not to be – kitchen closed because of covid. I now had a 4 hour wait for my taxi. This was going to be rather long….
The bar was still open so I got a beer. Hey – I had some celebrating to do! Just as I finished it off, who should pull up but the taxi. I had felt that all through this holiday I had been blessed with lucky fortune, and this was just another example of that. The driver said he could take me straight back to the barge. Usually he couldn’t because it was high tide, but today, the tide was low and the beach was long. There would be enough sand available to drive on. So off we went.
The very last piece of luck fell into place as we careened down the sandy highway. I had been telling the driver that I hadn’t seen a dingo – something I was fairly disapppointed about because I had loved seeing them in the past. And lo and behold, the next minute we spied a skinny female slinking across the beach. She’d just had pups, and was scavenging for food. With pleasure I watched her going about her business before we motored past.
And that’s basically the end of the story for now. Once again, I humbly thank my super support crew who not only took on the responsibility of sending me motivating messages, but also looked after my precious Bronte dog too. These walks wouldn’t have been possible without them, and I am oh so very grateful to have had this opportunity to clear my head and enjoy one of the things I love doing most in the world.
Keep doing what you love to do yorlye. Till next time! xx
It’s nice packing up with a group of people in the morning – jokes being made about who was snoring the loudest and who has the most injuries after one day. Before long though, I bid my goodbyes.
It’s another easy day of walking. The body appreciates it after the longer day yesterday. Suddenly, I find that I’ve finally allowed myself to slow down a bit.
I take my time, meandering through the forest, giant trees acting as silent sentinels. I find myself wondering about them. How many people have they seen? How many birds have used them as homes? How close have they come to being struck down? And how much longer might they stand proudly as queens of the forest? They answer none of my questions for me. Just whisper with their leaves as I pass by.
I go through a patch of white-flowered lemon myrtle. When I crush the leaf, rub the fragrant oil into my hands and inhale the lemony scent, I am reminded of cooking fresh fish – the leaves of the myrtle and the fish encased in strands of paperbark and roasted in the open fire. It was the best fish I had ever tasted.
I arrive at the lake and set up camp for the final time. I’ve been becoming more nostalgic during the day. I don’t want it to end. I take all the time in the world to read every bit of signage before making a foray to the lake for a swim.
As many of the other lakes have been, it is still and quiet. The golden glow of the water refracts the light and the reflection of the surrounding landscape can be seen clearly. The sand is crisp white and there is a bed of green reeds with a distinctive parting that frames the mountains in the background. It is so pleasurable just to sit and soak it all in.
I feel happy. Completely and utterly happy. The feeling is profound.
I spend the rest of the afternoon picnicking and munching my way through some of the food that is left. I have more left over after this walk – something I think I can trace back to the couple of beers under my belt when I went shopping for my re-supply back in Rainbow Beach. Oh well, better to have some left over than be feeling hungry!
Evening falls and I’m at the lake. Just when I think I’m going to be alone, two young girls show up. The first thing I think is that is has been so pleasing to see so many women, of all ages, out there hiking and enjoying it. The second thing is, I’m wondering what they are doing…they have a life straw (a straw which filters water) and they are both knee deep in the lake, bent over and sucking on this thing, all whilst trying not to get wet. It is, in fact, hilarious to watch, and I surmise that they are fairly new to this past time.
We get to chatting, and talking about the walk. They are excited and nervous. There is less people out here than they thought there would be. They leave me down at the beach and tell me they’ll see me up at camp.
I enjoy my last sunset. Try not feel sad. I journey back up to the campsite, and find that I have company! Despite a large campground with a dozen spare sites, the girls have elected to camp right next to me – less than 10m away! I can’t help but laugh to myself and I let it slide. “Karma Mel, karma”. I tell myself it’s the universe telling me I need to more tolerant and flexible at the campsites. And honestly, they are quiet as mice all night.
First, a precautionary tale for potential walkers. You will walk into Lake McKenzie walkers camp. You will slowly peruse the sites, looking for the perfect place to call home for the night. You are about to put your bag down, when suddenly you see it out of the corner of your eye.
This site is just a little bit brighter than the others. Just a little bit shadier. The ground is perfectly flat with not even the hint of a slope. Surrounded by trees whose leaves are just that little bit greener. Dappled sunlight streams through their foliage. A log, placed at the table, is at the perfect height for sitting comfortably and is steady as a rock.
The dingo box has a small hole in it. You hesitate, unsure about this now, but like the lure of the sirens this site has convinced you to stay, have a rest, put your feet up. You drop your bag.
“DON’T! RUN FROM THAT SITE AS FAST AS YOU CAN! IT’S A TRAP!”
Me pleading to any hiker who’ll listen
Following my near perfect day I retreated to the campsite and commenced dinner preparations. It fell dark, but I was content cooking and reading with my torch on. Suddenly a noise in the bush! A very loud noise! I tentatively shone out my torch, hoping to see something benign. A wallaby? Sugar glider? Friendly gecko?
Instead, four sets of red, beady eyes stared sullenly back at me. A rat pack. As one, they began to march on where I was seated. I screamed and jumped on top of the table. Still they advanced. I stamped my feet and yelled. They smirked. Within meters of me they split up and ran around the table jumping with evil glee. I was on an island in a sea of rats. And they were going to get into that dingo box come hell or high water. Other things I can manage. This I could not do.
I jumped from the table, pulled up stakes and hoisted my tent into the air running for my life in a blind panic. My fortunes held. I stumbled into a site about 50m away. I checked the dingo bin. Sealed tight. Over the course of the next half an hour I summoned the courage time and time to go back and collect my things. The rats laughed at my suffering.
The new site was not as glossy, and had a definite slope, but it was blessedly silent. No scurrying through the bush. And for that I was supremely grateful. You’ve been warned. Don’t let the siren call of the site tempt you, as it did me…
Now onto the walk. This walk is advertised as taking 6-8 days to complete. I only had 5 days, so needed to make some time up. Today was going to be it. I was going to skip the Lake Wabby campground and walk all the way to Valley of the Giants. Long day, but definitely manageable.
First up, an 11km walk to Lake Wabby. Again, the track skirted Lake McKenzie before winding it’s way through dense, green forest. There were no real difficult parts, and I arrived at the Lake Wabby campground by mid morning.
From here a connundrum. To drop the bag in the dingo safe bins and walk the 1.6km to the lake and then all the way back for a swim? Or take said bag with me and either leave it on the track (considered a no no as the dingoes can potentially take the bag / rip into it for food) or not go for a swim at all? I decided to drop the bag and go at least to the lookout 500m away. If there weren’t too many people, I would go for a swim. If there were heaps, I would go back grab my bag and keep on truckin’.
At the lookout, I veiwed not a single person at the lake. This was usually a tourist hotspot – and I would have it to myself! I sped off.
Lake Wabby is really unusual. Picture a sandblow, that dips sharply so that the steep dune runs directly into the lake. Something like that. I race down, strip off my clothes (I know, I know – it’s becoming a theme) and jump in. There’s nothing like swimming naked, alone, in green, murky water with at least ten wobbygong sharks swimming around you. Gulp. At least it was refreshing. And I was glad I had made the effort.
Now back up to get my bag again, back down the track again, and I was on my way. Another 15km or so to the campsite.
I enjoyed this next section of the track. It felt more remote than anywhere else on the island. Like you had been given permission to go into somebody’s room and look through all their personal secrets. This was the humming heart of the island, that allowed the rest of it to tick.
There were a lot of fallen trees on the track, and I enjoyed the challenge of working out how to go across, above, below or around them. Though the excitment of the challenge did start to wear thin the later in the day it got.
Eventually, I arrived at camp. Imagine my shock when the place was abuzz with people! This was a walkers group from Brisbane, and the only site left was on a double space site, right next door to someone else. I wasn’t particularly happy. And must have been giving off that vibe, because one of the group jumped up and willingly gave up his single site to move into the double. I really appreciated the gesture. Thank you if you are ever reading this.
I set up and enjoyed the banter of the group. Tired after the long day, I was in bed early. I’m not sure if it was because I was so tired, or, after the horrors of the previous night I felt safer in the group environment, but I had a fantastic sleep.
I woke early, feeling refreshed. Following the storm, the air was crisp and clear. The morning cuppa was perfect.
The first leg of the walk contoured around Lake Benaroon. At times the track was quite overgrown, and in the dripping conditions, my shoes and socks were soaked in no time. It didn’t matter. The sun was shining and it was going to be a gorgeous day.
I stopped in briefly at Lake Birabeen where the atmosphere was still and sage like. I spied a male red backed fairy wren flitting through the trees, and it let me admire it for a while.
It was really easy walking through to Central Station. Usually a busy hub of traffic, it was eerily quiet. I stopped to have a break and was immediately picked upon by a young butcher bird, eager for a take of the food. It left empty handed.
Wangoolba creek is a place of pristine beauty. A creek, that looks like it has the clearest water in the world, trickles sedately through lush rainforest dominated by the mighty king fern. The boardwalks were empty when I walked through, and I could hear the water tinkling as birds called mournfully. It was lovely to experience in such peaceful conditions.
After another 4km of nice, easy walking I came to Basin Lake. I had really been looking forward to this, having visited once before. It’s one of those sites that are accessible by walking only, so it has a feeling of mystique and isolation about it that is different from heavily visited areas.
Nobody there. And it was so beautiful. I stripped off immediately and plunged in, screaming in delight at the icy waters, and the feeling of shedding sweat and grime.
I sat on the bank in the sunshine and dried off. It was just a perfect moment. Clear, blue water with sun sparkling. Peahens fishing and chirping in the water in their distinctive way. Dragonflies droned and there was a general drowsy feeling. A majestic white bellied sea eagle swooped in and patrolled the waters looking for a catch. It was magnificent and mine.
After an hour or two I donned the pack and kept going. It was a gentle 4km to Lake McKenzie and before long I arrived at the big, dingo proofed campsite.
I set up camp and walked the short distance to the lake. Picture what you would describe as the most beautiful lake in the world. Blindingly white sand. Azure blue water. Vast. And encircled in a hug by trees. That’s Lake McKenzie. It is beautiful. And it was also bustlingly busy.
I dived in and then sat on the shore in my underwear for a while, feeling incongruous and out of place. Eventually, I headed back to camp and spent a pleasant afternoon reading in the shade.
I went back to the lake a few hours later. There was still plenty of people around. I heard a grown man, swimming, exclaim with a giggle, “There’s a warmer patch right here if you know what I mean!” Read the sign dick. It’s a basin lake. Nothing goes in. Nothing goes out, Except rainwater. And now your piss. Nice.
As the sun sank lower and lower, so too did the crowd. Eventually there was but a handful of people watching the reflections of the dunes, and the pinks and blues.
And then it was just me. It was a magic moment. Pristine and perfect. I walked the lake edge and revelled in the solitude. Shadows darkened, and reflections brightened. Both the water and the clouds brilliant in shades of grey, purple and orange. The last calls of the birds sang out and echoed in the stillness.
I stayed until the clouds lost their colour and the lake became dark. It felt like this was her time now, to rest and be peaceful, before the hoardes arrive again in the morning. I bid her goodnight and thanked K’gari – “paradise” in the Butchulla language – for providing me with such a wondrous day. You really don’t get much better.
I have visited Fraser Island – now called K’gari – many times over the years. The first was as a young girl, aged maybe 8 or 9, with my family. I remember travelling in an old, open air jeep named “Apache”. We flew through creeks, swam in lakes, rolled in sand dunes, and I remember feeling that this was one of the most exciting days of my young life! We visited a few times as a family.
Later, all grown up and at the ripe, old age of 20, I again visited the island – this time with my TAFE class. Advanced Certificate in Outdoor Guiding is what we were doing. It was an amazing course! We travelled all around the country side, and my love affair with hiking began with lessons in types of gear, how to pack a pack, and navigation. I remember thinking to myself “I would like to work here one day…”
One day arrived a few years later, when I began work as a tour guide for the then, newly established and completely environmentally innovative, Kingfisher resort. My god, I had a good time! It was a mecca for young folks, and we all rocked it!
So now, more than 20 years later I am back. And really excited to experience the place again.
I slept well and was up with my alarm. Iced coffee, sausage roll and a custard tart for brekky. Can’t beat it. I was able to easily hail the local taxi driver, who again re-iterated that it’s been amazingly busy. Folks travelling in their own backyard under the circumstances. Perhaps one positive to come out of Covid….
He dropped me at the ferry, and I was able to walk straight on board. There was Catherine! How nice to see a friendly face. Sadly, she let me know that Pauline was unable to make it with a medical problem. Hopefully she’ll get the all clear and be able to join her sister later in the week. I really felt for them both.
Arriving on the island we awaited the taxi service. Catherine walked the Bibbulman track a couple of years ago as a birthday present to herself. It was great to get her insights into it whilst we waited.
The taxi arrived and ferried us up the beach to Dilli Village, the start point of the walk. Here I said my goodbyes to Catherine. I only have 5 days here, whilst she had 8, so I am hustling a little faster than her.
I set off. The first 4km of track was through dry scrub, following a sand dune ridgeline to the top. A small side track enabled a view of a small sandblow.
The first stop of real significance was Lake Boomajin. I came across the walkers camp, looking all safe and secure fenced off from the local thugs, the dingoes. Nearby was a large, fenced, car camping area as well. I walked past both of these, hoping for a more secluded point of entry to the lake.
My wish was granted! What a view! Walking lakeside for a couple of km was fantastic. White sand, brown and purple stained lake, green reeds, patches of colour, little creeks, and wonderful aloneness. It was so good!
Eventually, I left the lake and recommenced forest walking. This time in forest with some extremely tall, large trees. Some areas had been burnt, others not. It was easy walking, mostly flat, and it wasn’t long before I arrived at my campsite.
Huh. No dingo fence. And no one else at the camp. This could be…interesting. There was big dingo boxes at each campsite, and I enjoyed setting up and just throwing everything in the box rather than the tent. Rain is expected tonight, so it should all stay nice and dry without impeding on my sleeping space!
Next up, a trip down to Lake Benaroon. Little bit windy, but beautiful and sunny. What’s a girl to do when there is no-one else around, but to strip off and plunge in the water! Oh so refreshing. And kind of naughty too. Can’t beat it.
I sat on the shore drying off and spent a pleasant few hours patrolling the lake shore and reading. I have to say, this is probably the most relaxed I’ve felt over the last couple of weeks. In the swing of it and just loving every second.
I returned to the lake on sunset. Nobody else arrived, so I have the place to myself. I have a wonderful time paddling and watching the refections change on the water. It is absolutely serene.
Later, up at the campsite, I hear it. The first menacing growl. Not a dingo, but thunder. The sky growls again and I can see clouds, dark and ominous, scudding on the horizon.
I hasten to finish my dinner and chores before the storm hits. Just as I’m finishing, the first heavy drop plops down. The sky flashes silver. It’s here.
I dive into my shelter and watch the sparks crackle across the sky. The tent lights up like a disco strobe inside. Rain pelts the roof and the sky roars. I feel utterly snug and safe – despite the co-threats of dingoes and an electrical storm. This I can handle. Rats, I cannot.
I did not sleep well. I always leave my bag outside, and am very careful about putting all my scraps in my Opsak bag (apparently no odour). However, I was lying in my bed trying restlessly to sleep when I heard a crinkle, crinkle. Snap on the torch. Nothing. But now I’m wired. I should have moved my bag inside. But I didn’t. Again with the restless sleeping. And again with the crinkle, crinkle. I sat bolt upright and looked outside. Nothing. Looked at my bag with the torch through the mesh, and holy mother of god there is a hole in the mesh! Those little….shits.
I moved the bag inside , but then had another problem…what if the rat had gone into the bag and now I had inadvertently transferred said rodent inside! I started sweating at the thought. And tossing and turning. And tossing and turning. There was no rodent. But I slept the sleep of a woman facing her worst fear. That is to say, I didn’t sleep well.
Packed up, I got away a little later than usual. Most of the group had already left before me.
As I walked I was thinking about the connections between the small group of people I had been walking with. Pauline, avid plant lover and horticulturist is friends with folks on Norfolk. I had drinks with one of them a couple of weeks ago. The sister, Catherine, self assured and also a horticulturist knows the mother of the two Greek sisters.
Travelling with the Greek sisters is Paul and Angela, who have bought plants from the nursery in Kyogle where Pauline works. They also walked the Great North Walk just before me, and I’m sure I remember seeing their names in the walkers logs. It was geat to reminisce about it all. Poor Andrew is the fifth in that group, whom I fear will find his walk story eclipsed by the fact that he forgot to bring the car keys with him for their ride home. They have a dinner booked at a 4 star restaurant – at 4.30pm – to celebate the finish of the walk…it all depends on whether they can break into the car or not. I really hope they made it…
Back on the walk, and I came upon Sophie and Lauren. Close to 30’s, this was their first long hike, and they had been doing extraordinarily well. Seeing the gear and excitment reminded me of me way back when. It was really cool. Both girls had big, hearty, joyous laughs, that made me smile more than once on hearing them at the campsites. They were a breath of fresh air after being camped alone for so long.
Anyway, I caught up to them, and this is the story that they told….
Lauren was lying in bed and thought that Sophie was “strangely caressing my arm”. Sophie asked “Did you just touch my foot?”. “No!”. “OMG – there’s something in the tent!”. That something turned out to be a rat.
An emergency conference was held outside the tent, and a cunning plan devised. Using blocking tunnels, lolly food lures and pure balls, they would extradite this rat from the tent! If this had been me, I would have been a piddling mess, moaning in a heap in the dirt. These girls used their wits and humour to defeat the beast. I think both will be long distance hikers for life.
After hearing this story and feeling both enormously bemused and horrified, I moved on. The majority of us met up a Lake Poona, a beautiful little spot that would have been great for a swim…if only it wasn’t so cold and we were all itching for town.
Carlo sandblow was the final feature of the walk. It was a weird ending. It’s a long weekend in QLD and the sandblow was crawling with people come to visit. It felt confronting, after all that solitude, to see so many people. I took a couple of snaps and quickly left.
And then I finished the walk! There was no fanfare. I didn’t even take a photo – there was so many people around. I saw Paul and Angela and the gang and wished them well. I then headed for my accommodation, and a nice break before I head to K’gari tomorrow.
I was excited about today – the chance to put myself to the test a little bit and stretch the legs with a 21km hustle.
Again, I was away first. I dawdled down the hill. I had walked this way yesterday looking for an advertised lake in which I thought I might swim. No way of getting to the lake, so I returned to camp empty swim handed.
Today’s stroll was a walk in thirds. The first third consisted of some moderate ups and downs in burnt dry sclerophyl forest. Honestly, nothing really spectacular here. But a nice enough walk.
Having lived out at Uluru for 10 years, I was lucky enough to be taught some tracking skills by the indigenous Traditional Owners. I always enjoy using this skill when I’m hiking and trying to interpret the goings on behind the scenes. It has been disappointing, though not unexpected to see so many cat tracks as I’ve been walking. Huge problem. World over.
The second third of the walk was through intensely beautiful rainforest, fragrant with honey, and all on a steady downwards incline. Gorgeous walking. And very reminiscent of home.
The final third was back to sandy heath and dry forest. Nothing too difficult. The 20km seemed to fly by, though I was happy enough to reach camp and set up for the evening.
The campsite was in lush rainforest, and to my great pleasure, I found a site that had a natural backrest. Perfect!
I allowed myself to think about the PCT a bit today. Allowed myself a little cry at the loss of it. I haven’t really let myself do that yet. It’s not off the cards forever, but it is for now. I find myself wondering whether I could have achieved the ultimate goal. Lamenting the friendships that I never made. The joy of doing something solely for me for 6 months – I regret not being able to do that. Secretly I think I would have made it. But, for now, we’ll never know. I’ve put it back on the shelf – as a dream…maybe one day.
Meanwhile back at camp, I know that I have a couple of hours up my sleeve before the others arrive. I put my headphones on, turn it up full bore, and dance and sing my heart out. I’ve missed doing that!
Woke up refreshed and ready for the day. It’s sprinkling, but doesn’t seem too bad. I wonder what time it is? I unzip the tent and peer outside….nothing but darkness. Might just be because it’s overcast? Gonna have to turn on the phone and have a look. Phone turns on. 2.15am. Bloody hell! Phone off. Back to restless sleep.
When I wake again I can tell it’s early morning. The kookaburras are cackling. And the magpies are singing. The tent is lovely and dry. Until I spill my morning coffee inside it. Then it becomes quite wet.
It’s stopped raining! And I emerge from the tent to dripping trees and wispy clouds.
I don’t hang around. Pack up and push off. It’s wet. And it’s town day. The morning’s walking is mixed. Some areas of tremendous weeds…the downside of being just below a road I suppose. And some areas of absolute beauty. Grasstrees and wattles bursting with yellow. Easy walking, contouring around the mountain.
I came to a lookout and watched the mists rolling in the valley. Soon, this walk will be over. I reflect that it’s such a great introduction – short distances, great signage, stunning scenery, challenges. It’s got it all, in a small neat bundle. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself.
Too soon, I reach Delicia Rd and from here I have around 7.3km of road walking to get into the township of Mapleton and reach my accommodation. The roadwalking is quite do-able. Steep at times, but with lovely rainforest off to the side. It takes just over an hour to get into town.
I arrive at my accommodation by 11am. They are not quite ready for me. I drop my bags and head back into town for a cooked brekky of eggs on toast, pineapple juice and a coffee. By the time I get back they are done.
The afternooon is spent relaxing, figuring out what to do about my power bank (I have a plan!) and showering! Ah, the after walk shower. You just can’t beat it.
I write this from the Mapleton pub where I’m having dinner. It’s a nice old place. People are sitting apart because of Covid 19. No band here tonight. The dinner was great, and after a couple of wines I feel sleepy. Time for an actual bed!
