I surprised myself the other day when we went for our hike, which Keryn wrote about here. I hurt my back three years ago and I've gradually recovered so that walking is fine, but I didn't think I could climb hills anymore. I'm not saying that I managed this walk easily, and Keryn and Matt could literally run rings around me, but I did finish the round trip. I had threatened that they might have to get the rescue helicopter out at one stage, and my back complained the next day, but I pulled up okay.

The puppies loved it, how such tiny things could gamboll along for kilometres is beyond me, but apart from flopping down at every pause they showed no signs of flagging.

We found two leprous looking little huts in a grove of trees, I have no idea what they were for. Too small for accomodation surely, old time dunnies perhaps?

Whatever their use, Eric Lawson left his name in 1915; I love this early graffiti, and his writing is very nice despite being scratched into plaster.

Everyone was hot and bothered and thirsty when we got back to the house, and a drink was in order. Nice to share with the family.....


until..

Don't you just hate it when your Dad does that?