First of all the journey:
Tom Groggin (Kosciuszko National Park) - Alpine National Park - Metung - Lakes Entrance - Golden Beach (90 Mile Beach) - McLoughlins Beach - Port Welshpool
And some stats:
Number of inter-marital fights = nil
Average daily food spend = $12/day
Number of days spent fishing = 4
Number of fish caught = nil
Number of showers this week = nil
Number of times Kelly has said the 'F' word = 2
The reason for such seemingly unnecessary profanity? Adventure. This week we have had two of them. Great ones. I will give a brief description of both, but it was the second that elicited such vulgar language.
The Nissan Mountain Goat
Having decided to make our way into Victoria by means other than the national highway, Burnsey and I picked up a wee leaflet on the Davies Track running through Alpine National Park. On the back of said leaflet were a number of warnings advising the difficulty of the 4WD trail we were about to traverse. 'Very Difficult', it read. 'Only for experienced drivers', it proffered. 'Always travel in groups of four vehicles or more and with appropriate equipment', it warned. We postulated and decided that this was clearly a case of overkill and backside covering for the purposes of health and safety and off we went; two of us in one vehicle with no equipment and even less experience.
The track was most certainly 'very difficult'. Hair-raising in fact. By the time we reached the summit of the lofty Mt Gibbo we were both so pumped with adrenalin we ate bowls of pasta the size of our heads followed by a couple of Nerea's wonderful Italian biscuits and a cup or two of tea. The way down was no less difficult, but exhilarating nonetheless, and both we and the nifty Nissan Navara survived unscathed. Hoorah for blind optimism!
The Black Bog
Today marked day three of our fish-less fishing endeavours. Not to be deterred by such minor details we set off even more determined than before. We decided to head up to the end of the spit at the inlet opposite McLoughlins Beach where we were bound to catch more fish than we could carry home. The walk there was splendid. Golden sandy beaches that stretched into the horizon and not a soul to be seen. We walked triumphantly, knowing this... was... it! The moment we had been waiting for....
We fished. We tried different bait. We fished. I lost a lure or two on a snag or two. We fished some more. Nothing.
As the sun began to set we admitted (temporary) defeat and decided to head home for a warm supper. Rather than walk back along the way we had come (it was further), we decided to try the other way around the spit for a swift trip home before dark.
The beach rapidly turned to mud flats. We headed inland for some respite but it was marshy, boggy and covered in salt bush. We trudged on. We encountered what can only be described as 'Jab Jab Grass'. We went back to the marsh. The dark was descending and with no torches or any other light to speak of I was getting desperate . 'Let's try the beach again' I suggested. We crossed back across the swamp to the muddy flats and decided that barefoot, we could probably make it. Burnsey went first. Not ten metres in and he sunk up to his groin. Now Burnsey is not a panicky kind of man but I sensed panic (insert first profanity here). We made a swift retreat, realising the only way out was to walk some 2km through the Jab Jab Grass. At this point, in an attempt to lighten the mood somewhat, Burnsey made a joke about the fact that he was now 'half black' on account of the mud covering his lower half and could no doubt use his new found tracker skills to help us out of our pickle.... We reluctantly went back in. Burnsey in his best bush walking thongs and me in my bright white trainers....(insert profanity #2)
The best part about walking through knee high grass that pricks you like a thousand needles is that it takes your mind off whether or not there could be snakes looming. As we neared the end of our epic walk home in the now pitch black, the Jab Jab grass suddenly went from 40cm tall to 1.5m... oh how we yearned for the waist height mud flats!
Needless to say (and to cut a very long story short), nearly five hours later we arrived back to our trusty camp site. Two weary adventurers half black with thick black mud and not a shower to be seen.
So, a week of adventure centered around terrible fishing skills and limited bathing.... don't worry too much, we have bathed in the rivers and the ocean every day and I'm sure my one huge dreadlock will brush out eventually.
I have loaded a few pics below. Some more can be found here if you are interested:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10152372298581747&type=1&l=4690e2c5de
Speak soon
Kelly and Burnsey
