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Cameron’s pack contained 2 x 1.5 litres of water; 1 x 1.5 litre Coca Cola; 2 x hip flasks of rum; 4 x stubbies of Speights beer; bacon, eggs, mushrooms for breakfast; jet aeroplane sugar lollies, 2 cakes of chocolate; cheese/biscuit snacks; and cooking oil that by the time we reached our destination – had leaked!

Sleeping bag and gear and additional apparel made up the remainder of his worldly possessions stuffed into his back pack.

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What he thought was a three hour tramp, was.  Except, that it just got us to the junction point before the next three hours of serious up to reach Black Hill Hut at 1335 metres above sea level.

 

 

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Huh, it wasn’t the altitude that had him sleeping like a baby soon after the boots came off, it was share exhaustion from the crap he lugged for 14 kilometres.  It was the first time in years that we had done an overnight tramp together.

 

His youthful cockiness as we stepped out our first strides had him admit in his sleep talk that perhaps the old man’s travel experience had some weight of experience after all – “pack light ya twit!”

 

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Even more so, we have lived more summers to understand that the old tradition of hard work does pay off in the end.

And this was realized after a good night’s rest.

 

Families of forest coral lichens, Birch trees that weep sweet tasting sap and the tiny bird – the Wren, just a plump of fur with a beak whose chirp is more like a mouse squeak.

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Not a squeak from Cameron neither as we retraced out boot prints to exit the hectares of timeless awe the next morning.

A weekend walk that had wisdom, wonder and wit … and wally!