Birthday Greetings # 86

 So what do you do if you wind up as the ruler of a nation so small that you could cast a handkerchief across it?  Such was the dilemma that faced Bernard VII the Bellicose when he inherited the lordship of Lippe at the age of nearly one.  To be fair he probably didn't start considering the issue until a few years latter.  The epithet he was awarded gives you some indication of how he solved his problem.  Lippe was one of those tiny little statelets of the Holy Roman Empire that had been carved out of a larger entity whose ruler had got on the wrong side of the emperor.  Over the years the territory of Lippe was divided between various sub branches of the family, reunited when certain branches undertook a little constructive incest or did the decent thing and died out entirely and were divided once again when a new bunch of descendants were produced who all needed titles and approximately fifteen square feet of territory to rule.  It was this peculiarity of inheritance that made the Holy Roman Empire not so much a nation as a geo-political kaleidescope.

At its largest point Lippe was about 50km east to west and roughly the same north/south.  So Lippe was obviously a genuine economic and military powerhouse able to raise whole dozens of soldiers to serve in its wars.  They certainly got their share of experience under Bernard VII's rule.  While rumours that he punched the Price Bishop of Liege in the face when asked what he was going to do when he grew up are probably unfounded it cannot be denied that from the moment he took control of his handful of square kilometres of dirt farmers he got into feud after feud.  "Feuds" incidentally was what wars were called when the participants were too small and insignificant to have their squabbles dignified with the term "war".  Kings and princes had wars; counts, knights and local bishops had feuds.  Peasants died whatever the terminology.

Over the course of an eighty year reign Bernard managed to ally with the Landgrave of Lower Hesse against that worthy's brother and then allied with his own brother against the Landgrave of Lower Hesse.  On one occasion one of these feuds got seriously out of control and some of his enemies called in a Bohemian army (Bohemia then being a significant territory and a serious player in imperial politics).  The Bohemians then ravaged Lippe (which must have taken all of twenty five minutes) and levelled the town of Blomberg.  Bernard apparently wasn't present at the time.

Eventually most of these feuds got patched up.  At some point somebody would complain to the emperor and he would tell everybody to calm down.  They almost never did but resorted to the courts instead.  Warfare was never absent from the Holy Roman Empire but neither was lawfare and most rulers considered themselves unqualified if they couldn't conduct both simultaneously.  In between fighting with virtually everyone he ever met our birthday boy somehow found the time to get married and have seven children.  Strangely there were some bits of Lippe left for them to inherit once Bernard went off to quarrel with God (to take an extremely optimistic view on where he wound up in the afterlife).

Travelling Pathetically - Wacking Big Monitor Lizard Edition

 Well I guess the title spoils the surprise.  I'll just have to see how much padding I can insert before we get to the big reveal.  A slightly more adventurous outing in my ongoing attempts to decripple myself.  I headed down to Gray's Point to wander into the fringes of the Royal National Park.  Gray's Point is on the outskirts of Sydney in much the same way as Paris is on the outskirts of London.  Having taken two buses and a taxi simply to arrive at my starting point I was wondering if I would ever make it home even before beginning my walk.  The walk itself was nothing too strenuous, a six and a half kilometre round trip but there would be a certain amount of up and down.  At least I assumed there would be as at some point I would reach the Hacking River which, not being immediately present at my starting point, implied a certain amount of down.

A modest beginning

It has to be said the beginning of the walk was underwhelming as I entered the untamed bush courtesy of a fire trail.  I'm not crazy about walking along firetrails, I like the bush to be a little closer and if possible shielding me from the sun.  Still having committed myself I dutifully set out along what was essentially a well maintained road.  The day was warm and to stave off boredom if not heat exhaustion I took photos of random bits of bushland from my secure position in the middle of a strip of bare earth.

Things improved a bit as a narrow path paralleling the firetrail presented itself for my walking pleasure.  It was essentially a footpath and hardly rough going but at least I could reach out and touch the trees rather than merely view them from a distance.  The path justified its existence when it diverted briefly to take me to a lookout where I could gaze over the bush with glimpses of river lurking promisingly amongst the undergrowth.  Delight at such a sight was moderated by the knowledge that I would have to travel over the bush in order to reach the river.

There's a river down there somewhere

One thing that had occupied me was the lack of birds.  OK I had essentially been walking down a street but still the absence of flying things vexed me.  I paused for a rest, I had after all been walking for at least ten minutes by this time, and took out my camera to photograph a piece of bush.  Completely uninvited a very small bird photobombed my picture.  If you can't find it, it's the small smudge of blue in the middle of the next picture.  It's hardly a great photo but those birds flit about so much I've never been able to take even a halfway decent one before.

You may need to zoom in for this one

The firetrail came to an end just at the official start of the National Park.  Up until now the bush had been walking through had been unofficial and definitely not royal at all.  I walked past a small patch of spear grass adorned with a sign informing those who cared to read that this particular plant was vital to the local indigenous people who apparently used it for spears (obviously), firelighters, boat repair, refrigerator maintenance and as the basis of their space programme.  My own experience with spear grass being limited to a childhood encounter when I had grabbed a bunch to stop me falling and had wound up with interestingly red hands I gave it a wide berth and kept on walking.

With the bush now immediately present rather than viewed from a distance I was able to take a photo of the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus.  It wasn't a particularly good example if I'm being honest, it was rather desperate and scraggly looking.  Possibly it can gain a mention in the special needs section of the competition.

Distinctly disheveled fungus

Now that the firetrail was a thing of the past I couldn't help but notice a general downward trajectory in my path.  Somewhere down there was a river and I was determined to reach it.

Obviously the river was insinuating itself into the narrative and it seems like a good time to give you a few historical facts.  The Hacking River was named after Evangeline Hacking a young lady of good breeding who had been exiled to the New South Wales colony after embarrassing her family by cavorting with one of her servants during a family game of blind mans bluff.  Once here she met and swiftly married Lord Rupert Cough and became Lady Hacking-Cough.  Lord Rupert was an entomologist who had come to these shores to study both the colony's varied insect life and the effects of a hot sun on a latex fetish.  Soon their outrageous lifestyle shocked public sensitivities so greatly that the couple fled to Argentina where they opened a brothel and set up an aardvark farm.  One of the conditions of their departure from the colony was that a river be named after them and the authorities picked the most remote one they could find at the time to honour their pledge.  This is the sort of gem you just don't find in history books.

But back to the walk.  As I said I was going down, down is always pleasant although it is tempered by the knowledge that if you're going down then at some point you will have to start going up.  Unless you want to spend the rest of your life there.  Along the way I took a picture of some photogenic bush because these things I do.

Photogenic bush, sunlight etc etc

A small creek stopped and posed for a photo as I passed.  It seemed a little needy quite frankly but it begged and trickled so nicely that I indulged it.  I'm a pushover for a needy creek.  In return it directed me to a somewhat more acceptable candidate for the Clare McIntyre prize.

A needy creek

And a somewhat more impressive looking fungus

Leaving the creek behind, despite it's desperate cries, I headed on down towards the river.  The first thing I encountered when I reached it was a car park.  The second thing I encountered was a bunch of people fishing.  That was a slight let down it has to be admitted.  After traipsing through the bush I came across a bunch of people who arrived at the same location in air conditioned comfort.  On the other hand I took photos of ducks.  As you do.  And the most impressive fungus yet.

Duck!

Now that is a fungus

And these are more ducks

And finally the oft mentioned but rarely seen river

The river was indeed appealing and the presence of people fishing held out the hope that aquatic life abounded beneath the surface, at least until these people finished fishing.  But I turned my back, not for me hanging around with other human beings on a well mowed piece of riverbank.  I plunged back into the bush, for about thirty seconds until I realised that I had to walk along the access road if I wanted to continue my journey.  Sheepishly I slunk back past the fishers who were very kind and kept their sniggers to a minimum.  What the access road accessed was another patch of riverbank also populated by fishers, picnickers and general recreaters.  As I approached a ghastly noise assaulted my ears.

"Ah," I thought, "cockatoos".  Just for once I was right.  How many cockatoos there were I couldn't tell but from a distance it sounded like power saws were being used to conduct a massacre.  I paused amidst the cacophony to take the cockatoo photos that I assumed would be available.  A solitary cockatoo detached itself from the noise and took up a position where pictures were possible.

Aforementioned cockatoo

in flight

With the photos taken and my ears bleeding I stumbled away from the plaza of noise following, at last, a track through the bush which would in the fullness of time lead back to my starting point.  Kookaburras made their presence felt but too high up in the trees for good photos.  Below is the best of the bad photos.

Kookaburras on a branch

After skillfully avoiding high velocity kookaburra shit I headed on down the path where the trees had gathered close to produce a sort of glade effect.  Sunlight and shadow alternated in patches and a small trickle of water had produced a shaded, if somewhat smelly, pond roughly where the path might be if there wasn't a pond in the way.  The day was hot and this area was cool and I paused to take stock, catch my breath and generally convince my body to keep stumbling on for a little while longer.  I was just about to leave when a rustle in the bushes caught my ear.  Actually it wasn't a rustle, it was more of a stamping crunch.  I stared and before my startled eyes a reptile head appeared.  After a while a certain amount of reptile body joined it.  By implication there was almost certainly a reptile tail in the vicinity but I couldn't see that.  A large lizard shouldered its way through the bushes and stuck its head out.  I'm calling it a monitor but in actual fact I have no idea what it was.

Also I say large; large is a relative term.  As reptiles go it was quite tiny by comparison with say dinosaurs or crocodiles but by comparison with the cute little lizards you get in your garden it was freaking immense.  It also didn't seem to mind posing for the camera.  Unfortunately the sun dappled glade I had been enjoying just a second ago now worked against me.  The monitor's colouration seemed perfectly designed to conceal it in, for example, a sun dappled glade.  I took a large number of not terribly good photos.  One or two turned out all right but in most you have to look hard for the monitor before realising this was a photo you took before the monitor presented itself.  Apparently understanding my difficulty the monitor left its perch and wandered down to the path itself to pose for more photos while fossicking for something edible which it apparently found for it wandered off again with something large hanging from its mouth which I earnestly hope was organic and not plastic.

A sun dappled glade.  No there isn't a monitor in this photo, he's somewhere off to the left

There is however a monitor in this photo

And this one

And this one

And this one

And this one

And this one

It's fair to say I went a little overboard with the monitor photos but I've never seen such a large one in the wild before and particularly not one so accommodating towards photos.  By the end of it I was suffering from reptilian overdose.  As I left I passed a much smaller lizard sunning itself on a rock and I took a few photos all of which were terrible.  I blamed the sun but user error is the more likely reason.  This lizard would probably fit in the monitor's forearm.

A small and badly photographed lizard

I still had a couple of kilometres to walk including an unexpected reunion with the river when I took a wrong turn and some gasping and scrambling as the path took a sudden left turn to climb several contour lines close to simultaneously in a desperate attempt to return me to the altitude I had started at.  I didn't care, well I did at the time because I was exhausted but I didn't care in the larger scheme of things.  Nothing could beat the monitor on this walk and best of all my knee behaved itself and didn't present any more than the standard "you're unfit and you did exercise you stupid bastard" pains.  I'm writing this blog entry the next day and my knee is still a little sore but nowhere as bad as I had feared.  Possibly the physio and exercises (yes I'm doing them) are actually doing some good.

Silly After Action Report - Ciao Gurkha Ciao

 Maggiore Golfo di Carpentaria gazed around at the positions occupied by his soldiers.  At least he assumed they were his soldiers, there didn't seem to be any other officers of his rank nearby prepared to put up their hand.  To his right two soldiers were digging a foxhole, at the speed they were going it should be ready by the mid 1950s.  Further along the ridge a soldier was striking a 45mm mortar repeatedly with a rock.  "Care and maintenance," a caporal had explained to him although di Carpentaria's doubts were raised when one of the soldiers held up a bent firing pin with an expression of confusion.  Di Carpentaria cleared his throat.  Nothing happened, he tried again somewhat louder, still nothing.  The caporal stuck two fingers in his mouth and issued a piercing whistle.  Now at last the soldiers looked up.  Di Carpentaria began his speech.

"Brave soldiers of the Pistoia," he began and stopped at the confused looks on his men's faces, "that's you!"  Faces cleared and the maggiore continued.  "In defeat after defeat you have covered yourselves in glory.  Wherever Italian arms have been crushed by the enemy there has been the Pistoia fighting hard to no avail.  Now is your opportunity to do it one more time," di Carpentaria stopped at that point uneasily aware this wasn't the rousing call to battle he had intended.  Fortunately most of his men didn't seem to be listening.  He decided to get to the good bit quickly.

"But today there will be no last stand.  No desperate fight against the odds.  When the enemy attacks we shall show them our steel, and then we will sneak away to fight another day."  He definitely had his men's attention now even if the "fight another day" line had dimmed the hope engendered by the term "sneak away". 

"We shall fight hard," continued di Carpentaria, "and when we are defeated we will withdraw to more advantageous positions."  A hand shot up from the ranks.

"What are more advantageous positions?"

"Ones a little further away from the enemy," replied di Carpentaria.  The soldiers nodded, that certainly made sense to them.  "Now to your positions for the Gurkhas are coming and keep an eye on the exits."

Italians vs Gurkhas, how could I resist?  This is Schwerpunkt scenario SP242 - Ciao Gurkha Ciao which pits the brave men of the Pistoia autotransportabile division against the 1/9th Gurkhas of the 4th Indian division.  What could possibly go wrong?  My regular opponent Dave very kindly agreed to play this despite a 2-1 win/loss record for the Italians on ROAR.  I graciously conceded the balance and swapped out an Italian heavy machine gun for its medium counterpart.  

The Italians are defending a ridge line against attacking Gurkhas and victory is gained by CVP.  So far so normal but in addition to battlefield casualties the Italians gain points for all units successfully exited off the north edge of the board after turn four.  So the job of the Italians is to hold the Gurkhas at arms length long enough to make a frenzied dash for the exit at the appropriate time.  To do this I had ten squads of Italians, two elite and eight bersaglieri guided by three officers, the best a 9-1 the worst a lowly 7-0.  These forces have two medium machine guns (after balance swapping) a light machine gun, a 45mm mortar and a 75mm gun.  They also have eight trench counters for a combination of defence and covered exit routes.

Coming on hard and determined to give the Italians a kukri lesson (I'm sorry, a terrible joke but I couldn't resist) are Dave's hardy Nepalese shock troops.  On the first turn come nine squads (four elite and five first line) with an mmg, two lmgs and a 2inch mortar plus two officers.  On turn two another three squads (one elite, two first line) arrive with a 9-1, lmg, mmg and another mortar in tow.

 

 Above is my set up.  The Italians are somewhat constrained as to how they set up having to be within four hexes of three specific locations, one on each hilltop.  The end result is three resistance points.  The one on the left has a 45mm mortar, the middle and right are anchored by mmgs.  The gun set up where it couldn't be seen but where hopefully it will give an almighty shock to whatever Gurkhas first breast the crestline.  The middle force with my best officer (and the gun) was my stay behind force who would contend with the Gurkhas to the last.  Those on the flanking hills would look to flee at a convenient moment.  Each of them has a conveniently placed building in their rear which might facilitate their departure.

By SSR Dave was allowed to place smoke in two hexes not actually occupied by Italians and focussed on the centre and left (ok, I know that's actually my right but its just easier to refer to it as the left since that's how the map is laid out).  With bullet catching halfsquads Dave's Gurkhas came on heading for the high ground at a pace that can best be described as modest.  I gained my first VP when a 1-2 SFF shot wiped out a halfsquad.  In return I managed to malf and subsequently destroy the 45mm mortar without so much as gaining acquisition.  

As the game went on we learnt three things.  Firstly despite that awesome first shot the men of the Pistoia were not exactly marksmen.  The second thing we learnt was that they made up for it with sheer grit.  2MCs?  My Pistoia heroes laughed at such things and Dave's Gurkhas struggled to make progress.  The final thing we learnt was that while Dave's troops rarely broke under the Pistoia's somewhat wild fire they took every opportunity to pin.  Broken Gurkha's were a rarity but Gurkhas frozen in place littered the battlefield.

Dave essentially ignored the right flank focussing on the centre and left

In my first turn I fired largely ineffectually at his troops on the left (although I did gain a pin result) and moved my right hand mmg team to where it had a line of sight less affected by Dave's smoke.  I also sent a squad into the foxholes on the right hand cliff.  Dave's reinforcements would be coming on the right hand board edge and I hoped to greet them with a hail of 2-2 and 1-2 shots.  In the centre I huddled under my concealment counters and hoped the smoke would be an inconvenient for Dave as it was for me.

In his next turn Dave moved his mortar team to a smoke convenient location while his remaining troops incremented forward (less the occasional pinned unit).  I continued with my somewhat futile shots at whatever troops presented themselves although I was looking at the assault moving and pin results and counting up the remaining turns more than a little hopefully.

Two turns have gone and Dave doesn't seem to have got very far.

In my turn Dave's kill stack which had been banging away at concealed Italians in trenches protected by smoke to no avail finally got some worthwhile results and my best officer and mmg team crumbled under the pressure.  The rest of my defensive position held along the line and I started eyeing the rear with a speculative gaze.  I once again managed to pin one of his squads on the left which so far had made heavy weather of their attempts to shoot me out of my trench line.

In his third turn Dave's reinforcements arrived.

"But wait," I hear you cry, "weren't they supposed to arrive in the second turn?"  Er yes, about that.  I set up this game and sent it to Dave who failed to do his due diligence.  I had misread the scenario card and put Dave's reinforcements next to turn three which Dave happily accepted.  So Dave's reinforcements late but eager turned up ready to join the fray.  The only thing was there wasn't much fray to join.  Dave's forces were concentrated in the left and centre and his reinforcements probably felt a little abandoned as the entered under the eagle eye gazed of my Pistoia sharpshooters in shellholes on the clifftop.  Said sharpshooters proved that while they may have had eagle eyes they apparently also had eagle talons when it came to operating rifles and the reinforcements made it through what I had optimistically considered a kill zone with no ill effects.  I don't think there was even a pin.

On the left and centre Dave's mortar went on a smoky rate tear before running out of smoke rounds completely.  With my mmg team out of the running and the only other automatic weapon in the centre covered in smoke Dave moved his kill stack forward (except for one squad and lmg who pinned) and started climbing towards my suddenly attenuated positions in the centre.

My centre is starting to crumble but Dave still has pinning issues.  Over on the left my boys hold firm.

There was little I could do but cling on.  My exit pass wasn't valid until the next turn.  With his clifftop position now useless my troops there moved down close to the exit.  Supposedly they were there to support their comrades in the building but I think we all know they just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.  For some reason I thought that a concealed squad in a wooden building had a decent chance of surviving against Dave's reinforcements.  I had visions of spraying the open approaches with fire as he advanced towards me.  These visions were swiftly and brutally disabused.

Dave's turn four was a series of ups and downs.  Over on the right his mmg team blasted my boys in the building and the others moved up to capture the broken remnants.  On the left he pushed a squad into CC and the kukris came out with devastating effect.  In the centre though Italian arms covered themselves in glory.  In fact there was so much glory on their arms some of it trickled down onto their legs.  With broken troops in front of him and his only opposition seeming to come from a single squad/lmg combo still shrouded in smoke Dave moved two squads, his 8-1 leader and mmg team up onto the hill.  My 75mm only needed one shot but in fact it got rate and took another as well.  When the shrapnel had subsided the officer alone remained while the remnants of his command had surrendered to the smoke shrouded squad they had disdained.  This relieve pressure immensely firstly on the immediate tactical situation but also from a CVP perspective.  I had lost a couple of squads and this easily made up the imbalance.  Over on the left Dave had moved his forces up close challenging my men to a stand up fight but my guys checked the turn counter and decamped for the rear.

Turn 4, time to leave

Dashing along trenches my left hand force fled towards the exit and there wasn't a lot that Dave could do about it.  I exited several squads off the board and their heroics completed the gun crew and an 8-1 managed to join them.  Dave did his best to mop up the surviving Italians on the board who were obviously not going to get away but there wasn't enough time or remaining Italians.  My squad with the lmg who had done nothing all game cheerfully jumped into CC with his officer, killed him and helped themselves to a medium machine gun.  Dave did manage to capture a broken squad and a 7-0 leader on the left but by then the big fish were long gone.  A final desperate charge against my mmg team on the right (who had done very little all game except keep out of everyone's way) resulted in a couple of broken squads and little else.  So victory to Neil just for a change.  I think I made my best tactical decision when I selected the scenario.  Many thanks to Dave for his patience and good humour.  Next time we're playing something of his choosing.

The end, there are very few Italians to be seen

 

Maggiore di Carpentaria cheered his men as they stumbled into their new defensive positions situated as promised some distance from the knife happy maniacs they had just been fighting.

"Well done lads, I knew you could do it.  Once again the Pistoia shines in defeat."

"Excuse me sir," said the caporal, "exactly how long have you been here?"

"Pretty much since I finished giving that speech."

 

Snail Update

 I hate meeting with the controllers who oversee this blog.  Who would have thought that selling my soul would result in a group of eldritch and frankly somewhat bizarre powers from what I suspect is a definitely second rate plane of existence dictating what I write.  Still you make the deal and you take the consequences I guess.  It was a little late to point out I hadn't intended to sell my soul but simply got a wrong number while trying to order pizza.

"We are disappointed in you," boomed a voice that seemed to come from everywhere.  Not for the first time I regretted introducing them to public address systems.

"Disappointed?" I asked, I wasn't surprised.  They rarely summoned me to pat me on the back for a job well done.  And since I don't particularly like being patted on the back by a tentacle that was just fine with me.

"Your blog is a tedious repetition of after action reports and travel stories.  There is no excitement, no controversy.  Nothing changes."

"Another way of saying that is I'm consistent."  I needn't have bothered.  I won't say they don't have a sense of humour I just don't think I want to witness the sort of things that make them laugh.  "I just posted another after action report," I offered.  A second voice interrupted the first.  If pleurisy could speak its voice would sound like this.

"We have had enough of these things.  We desire entertainment and information."

"Have you tried Fox News?"

"We have some standards."

"Fair enough, fortunately I have good news for you.  A whole new line of blog entries starting today.  They will be informative, exciting and designed to appeal to a mass audience."

"This pleases us," said the first voice.  "On what topic will you discourse?"

"Snails!"

"What the fuck?"

OK, I have to admit that snails was simply the first word to come into my head.  Still it got me out of there with what was left of my sanity intact.  Let's see if I can inject a little undeserved enthusiasm into the below.

Travel out of Brisbane (always a good thing to do should you find yourself there) and head west through Toowoomba and keep on going (always a good thing to do if you find yourself going through Toowoomba) until finally all shreds of civilisation fall away.  Human settlement is limited to wretched little villages clinging to the earth surrounded by vast farmlands.  Here life is, well not cheap given the cost of bringing essentials to the shops but it gives the impression that it should be cheap.  On and on you go until the horizon blurs in front of your eyes and the occasion patch of unchopped trees leaps out at you with a suddenness you find shocking, particularly if you were meant to be driving down a road.  Slam on the brakes and stagger out to get your bearings.  There you will find that your bearings are fine and the countryside does actually look like that.  Take a closer look at the trees.  Step forward, do you hear that crunch?  It was probably an endangered snail that you just ground into the dirt.

Out here clinging to a tenuous existence is the Dulacca Woodland Snail.  I found out about this marvelous beast while gazing over details of an eponymous windfarm to be located in the area.  The wind farm's soothe the peasants brochure made quite a thing of the Dulacca Woodland Snail and noted that the wind farm was to be built within what was called the creatures "range".  Range?  It's a damned snail, its range is approximately fifteen centimetres on a good day with the wind behind it.

The wind farm's proponents concede that despite the heroic efforts undertaken by the planners an area of over a hectare of snail habitat will be "adversely affected" (translation; built on).  However because the proponents are proud snail fetishists (I'll bet there's a website) they have identified not one but three hectares of nearby degraded bushland that they will progressively remediate over the next thirty years to provide triple the habitation for our endangered friends.  Thirty years incidentally also being the length of time it will take the snails to travel from their current location to this new wonderland always assuming someone tells them where it is.

By the way "degraded bushland" is a pretty broad term.  Pretty much the entire CBD of Sydney could be described as "degraded bushland" depending on how degraded you like your bushland.  But back to the Dulacca Woodland Snail.  Don't worry it hasn't gone very far.  

Despite its small size the Dulacca Woodland Snail is vital to the environmental health of the native bush.  Fortunately there isn't much of that left either so its inevitable extinction won't create too much of a gap.  Incidentally I don't actually know that the snail is vital to the environmental health of the native bush or anything else for that matter (except the snails themselves obviously).  It's just that whenever anything small and not particularly appealing gets threatened and the general consensus is that this is perhaps a species that we can bid goodbye to without too much in the way tears some environmentalist jumps up to point out that all life on earth will perish if the damn thing so much as catches a cold.

Let us therefore bid the Dulacca Woodland Snail bon chance as it sets out on its thirty year journey just down the road to a new and brilliant future.  I predict in a few generations time the Dulacca Woodland Snail will be so prolific that we will need to organise culls to stop them feasting on small children and rampaging (very slowly) through local towns.

Silly After Action Report - Mook Point

 Captain Hank O'Hare gave the war correspondent a look of contempt.

"No we're not the Screaming Eagles, we're the All American. Christ don't you guys do your research?"

"This is me doing it," muttered the correspondent sullenly.  He looked around at the stands of pine forest covering the surrounding countryside.

"You say you're here covering the artillery?  What exactly can they see?"

"Shut up," suggested O'Hare.  "We're in the airborne.  We don't worry about pine trees, we hurl ourselves into battle from the skies."

A couple of nearby airborne soldiers nearly choked at this, for starters they were glider men and secondly it had taken three of them to drag the captain from the LZ to something approximating the front line .  The correspondent, however, looked impressed.

"Hurl yourselves into battle from the skies.  Can I use that?"

A benevolent smile creased O'Hare's features, "Of course you can son, always glad to help out the press."

The correspondent trotted off clutching his notebook.  One of the airborne soldiers rolled his eyes.

"Screaming Eagle?  He's more of a Whimpering Goony.  Have you told him the Germans are attacking yet?"

"I thought it would come as a nice surprise," replied his comrade. 

For our next game Dave presented Scenario AP116 - Mook Point and suggested I take the Americans.  The scenario sees a group of American airborne personnel attempting to defend an artillery position from a bunch of numerous but second rate German attackers.  As aforementioned Americans I am defending a ridge nestled among pine trees (playing hell with line of sight) and by extension a small collection of buildings behind said ridge.  The Germans have to win either by clearing all good order American MMC off level two ridge hexes or capturing more of said buildings than the Americans have good order MMCs on the ridge.  Since the buildings are behind the ridge one suspects that if he captures the buildings he's probably already secured the ridge.

As the Americans I have nine elite squads (all of which can be deployed at start) four officers led by a 9-1, two medium machine guns plus five foxholes and eight concealment counters.  A radio which cannot break down connects the Americans with a battery of 70mm artillery.

Surging forward against the airborne positions are the dubious warriors of the 363rd Volksgrenadier division; twelve second line squads led by three officers the best of which is an 8-1.  They have a single medium machine gun and two light machine guns for extra firepower.  On turn three a small but potent flanking force arrives in the shape of two more second line squads, a pair of elite halfsquads each of which has a flamethrower and two small AA halftracks mounting a 20mm cannon behind their flimsy armour.

I have to admit I was a little concerned about the Americans chances in this one.  I had nine squads but a lot of ground to cover whereas Dave could concentrate his forces at one point or another.  I also had to decide whether to defend forward and run the risk of being overrun or defend on the ridge and concede a lot of ground to Dave at the start.  I attempted a little of both and I think I wound up falling between two stools.  An 8-0 with the radio was of course in a foxhole on the ridge ready to testify to exactly how badly pine trees can screw up your line of sight.  Below is the set up I finally decided on, a few halfsquads and dummy stacks up front.  My 9-1 with a squad and mmg just behind and the rest hiding up on the ridge.  If I had my time again I would probably set up a bit more up front as the force I did have wasn't enough to appreciably slow him down.

My set up, not enough up front.  Foxholes for the guys on the ridge

Dave divided his force into two parts.  His main force barrelled straight down the centre while a smaller but not insignificant force attacked my left.  Straight away it became apparent that I didn't have the force to stop him although my halfsquad on my left did sterling work breaking a HS and sneaking away.  A halfsquad in the centre was rapidly broken and Dave's main force loomed menacingly.

End of German turn 1.  A lot of menacing looming is going on

My radio operator gained battery access and peered among the pine trees looking for targets.  Targets not presenting themselves he settled for dropping a spotting round on a piece of brush which had the advantage of being one of the few things he could see.  I told myself this was a tactic, the threat of the artillery fire would prevent Dave from crossing the semi open brushland and force him to struggle through the woods.  The fact that Dave showed not the slightest desire to cross the semi open brushland was either an indication of the success of my tactic or the depths of my self delusion.  I shall leave it to readers to determine which is more likely.

In my turn I attempted to dig a couple of foxholes up on the ridge with mixed results while retreating such remnants of my first line as had survived to attempt to shore up my position.  On my left my gallant halfsquad tucked a newly acquired concealment counter into its uniform and prepared to unleash fire on the open ground in front of it.  Elsewhere the retreaters were just grateful to be a little further away from the Germans.

End of US turn 1 my spotting round sits aimlessly waiting for Germans who will never come

The second German turn brought a vigorous exchange of fire.  On my far left my halfsquad took out another unit (and his broken halfsquad boxcarred a self rally attempt) and still managed to present a semblance of defence in front of his remaining units.  In the centre his attempts to move forward led to a couple of breaks but in return my elite squad with a mmg guided by my best leader fled shrieking for the rear because a car backfired a mile away.  In the brush my spotting round continued to disturb the nesting habits of certain endangered bird species.

The Germans haven't got much further but there is little in front of them

In my turn I decided my heroes on the left had done enough and they fled back to a newly dug foxhole up on the ridge.  My last line of defence had been reached.  In the centre I did something clever and sneaky (no really) I moved a concealed squad forward and sat it on top of my broken halfsquad in the hopes it would look like an officer sent forward to rally them.  It must have worked because the next turn Dave moved a squad right next to it which was smashed by a 12 flat shot.  Meanwhile my spotting round scored a critical hit on a hedgehog.

End of US turn 2, the last time it looked hopeful

On turn three Dave got his reinforcements which he brought on on the south (bottom) edge of the board to reinforce his flankers on my left.  The added firepower swiftly brought an end to pretensions of a defence in that area.  It wasn't all bad news though, he brought one of his AA halftracks up to my foxhole (now sheltering a pair of halfsquads who probably thought they didn't get paid enough for this and moved into the hex thus preventing the soldiers therein from shooting out.  One of them died in CC but the other immobilised said halftrack and when Dave broke one of his flamethrowers on its first shot I dared, briefly to hope.  In the centre he had got the bit between his teeth and bulled his troops right up to my defenders (despite losing the aforementioned squad).  My spotting round managed to scatter a group of location scouts for the latest David Attenborough documentary.

German reinforcements have added to my woes

In my turn I extracted my forces facing his main attack although what with his reinforcements in the south it was a little difficult to determine what was his main attack any more.  I pulled my freshly rallied mmg team in the north back behind the ridge.  I had determined perhaps a little foolishly that the north could look after itself for a while.  Particularly since I had finally managed to dig an extra foxhole to help protect my position there.  Dave promptly pushed forward against my attenuated northerners and suddenly my decision seemed a little foolish.  Mind you most of my decisions seem a little foolish.  My radio operator having briefly lost contact with his battery occupied his time filling out an environmental impact statement on his efforts to date.

Dave is obviously confident charging into CC in the north

Down in the south Dave had cleared away my defenders and now my radio operator sat alone in a foxhole in the path of a decent chunk of the German army.  The only reason he was still there was because I couldn't find anywhere safer to put him.  Once again I attempted to put a little distance between myself and Dave's burgeoning forces.  The only trouble was I was running out of distance.  Meanwhile my radio operator looked at the array of forces lining up before him with a speculative gaze.

For perhaps the last time I have managed to break contact in the north

Things turned a little better in the north when I won the CC which left a halfsquad sitting with a line of sight directly across where the Germans would have to move.  Of course it also meant that the halfsquad was sitting in the line of sight of a fair few Germans but c'est la guerre.  Frankly he was lucky to survive with a pin result.  I finally managed to get the halfsquad that had been broken at the beginning of the game back to somewhere he might be able to rally.  Others might win awards for bravery but for sheer survivability these guys deserve the Neil's Cross with Poison Ivy Leaves.  Down in the south my radio operator managed to reintroduce himself to the artillery battery and finally brought down a fire mission where it might do some good.  Just for once battery access was my friend and the accuracy was spot on.  A German halfsquad, the only one in the blast radius was broken but the real point was to create a wall of shrapnel between the Germans and myself.

Finally the artillery does something, not much but something

With his approach in the south barred by a wall of flying metal Dave decided the time had come to take risks.  It's not my fault only partly my fault that these risks paid off.  His remaining mobile halftrack rolled around to menace my radio operator.  This was followed up by a halfsquad toting his remaining flamethrower while other troops also skirted the blast zone to put themselves in contention.  Did I do anything about this?  I did, my recently retreated mmg team guided by an 8-1 blasted away proving exactly how useless these tools can be in the critical moment.  Utterly unscathed Dave threw an obscene amount of firepower at my hapless radio operator who to be fair stood up to it all (although he was wounded) until the flamethrower finally broke him.  At the end of the turn Dave asked why I didn't shift my artillery to land on his troops, my radio operator having the benefit of being in a foxhole it might have been decisive.  There was a very good reason why I didn't do that; simple incompetence.  Despite the firepower brought against him my radio operator limped away to well not exactly fight another day.

Well that's the radio operator done and the writing is on the wall

In the next turn my medium machine gun team proved their ineptitude once again before being broken and ceasing to take any further interest in proceedings although the level of interest they had shown so far hadn't been particularly high.  My no longer radio operator dragged himself, dribbling blood, in the direction of a building occupied by troops who up until that moment had probably thought they had a cushy assignment.  Up in the north I broke a squad and then pulled back to a space where I could gain concealment.  This was a stupid move which arguably cost me the game.  The squad in question circled in red below sneaked back to an open ground hex; the thinking was to maintain LOS over the sunken road and the approach path for his northern forces.  What I should have done was move back and occupy the wooden building on the reverse slope.  Failure to do so handed Dave the victory when he did the inevitable in the next turn.

The inevitable is coming

While his troops in the north slowly pushed forward against what I had decided was my last stand Dave proceeded to unleash the inevitable.  His surviving mobile halftrack rolled forward, laughing off machine gun bullets from my defensive position in the north and entered the open ground hex foolishly occupied by my squad.  This was pretty much the end.  There was a little wrapping up to be done with Dave holding some troops in the north in CC while others grabbed another building behind the ridge.  A Parthian shot was fired by me when his flamethrower team tried to challenge for another building.  Not only did I kill these guys but my wounded former radio operator went berserk and limped menacingly after the survivors.  But it was all for naught.  With two buildings under his control (including the one I had stupidly failed to defend) and only a single squad in good order on level 2 ridge hexes Dave gained the victory.

The end.  There is a squad in the foxhole in the north but the Germans have two buildings

This game turned out to be truly enjoyable.  I didn't have high expectations as I thought the Americans simply didn't have the troops to hold out but the game went to the very last turn and if I had won the CC in the north and freed up another unit I would have gained the victory despite my cock ups.  It has to be admitted I lost this one (although Dave played an excellent game).  Many thanks to Dave for the game.  Next time he is going to be facing Italians so he is rightly fearful.

A gliderman turned the page of the latest issue of Stars & Stripes and burst out laughing.  He waved his fellows around.  The article headline leapt out at them.  "Gliderman flees glider in mid air!"  Eagerly he read on, "lieutenant Hunk Au Pair admitted to throwing himself from a glider before battle."

One of his comrades grinned,

"Completely inaccurate and pretty close to the truth.  You can't ask much more of the media than that."

Travelling Tentatively

 I haven't been doing much walking lately since the steroid injection wore off and my weekends have involved trotting (or sometimes limping) down to my friendly local physiotherapist for treatment but yesterday she looked up from something she was doing to my leg and announced that I could try walking.  As long as the walk wasn't very far and didn't involve too much in the way of elevation change.

"Will it hurt?" I asked.

She smiled reassuringly, "Let's find out."

With that slightly less than ringing endorsement of my knee's capabilities I cast about for a shortish, flattish walk that wouldn't be entirely boring.  I chanced upon Tarban Creek which flows or at least trickles into the Parramatta River at Huntley's Point just a little to the west of the scene of previous walking triumphs around Hunters Hill and the Lane Cove River.  This would be a far more modest affair, a mere few kilometres of not too much in the way of effort.

Huntleys Point juts out into the Parramatta River almost severed from the remainder of human civilisation by Victoria Road which leaps across the river courtesy of Gladesville Bridge and lands in Huntleys Point amid a flurry of concrete pylons and access roads and promptly engages in a union with Burns Bay Road so explicit it should carry a children's advisory warning.  All of this makes it difficult to access the actual suburb unless you arrive by ferry.  I arrived by ferry and circumnavigated my way around nice houses and looming concrete until I arrived at Huntleys Point Reserve which is basically a bit of mown grass fronting the creek.  Further up is Riverglade Reserve which has more mown grass but also bits of well not wilderness exactly but at least places where the natural bushland hasn't been completely beaten to death.

First I had to get there.  Hopping off at what a sign proclaimed, in defiance of evidence to the contrary, was the Huntleys Point Public Transport Interchange I set out on my journey.  Incidentally the Huntleys Point Public Transport Interchange consists of the ferry wharf and a bus stop about five hundred metres up the road.

A narrow path through the wilderness which extended about fifty metres either side of this path

A park clung to the side of the slope leading down to the water and I followed it along passing a very small beach and then hugging the bridge and associated roadworks which served as escort on the early stage of my journey. 

A very small beach

 

Some straggly looking trees had been planted and a sign proudly announced that a local group was in the process of renaturing those bits of the ground not actually covered in concrete to help create a "green corridor" between the Lane Cove and Parramatta Rivers.  After a few minutes of tree fringed bridge buttresses the road veered left and I turned right in a generally creekward direction.

A green corridor, the sign says so

I came to a broad open area with a sign announcing that dogs were allowed off leash as long as they didn't maul small children very often.  It also begged the owners of the suddenly emancipated hounds to make sure they didn't crap in the creek which was lurking at one side of the parkAs a beginning to a bushwalk it was somewhat underwhelming.  I made my way to the creek which on the park side had a stone wall separating it from the land (just in case it leapt out and attempted to drown those pesky dogs) but on the other side had mangroves.  I'm just going to go onto the record here, mangroves must be some of the most visually unappealing scenery nature has to offer.  Depending on the tide you're either looking at what appear to be drowned trees or infected mud.  I had come at infected mud time.

I'm walking along the bit that is mowed

Once the excitement value of photographing mangroves was exhausted (estimated time about fifteen seconds) I continued on hoping that my side of the creek would eventually become a little more like its compatriot across the way.  Having waded my way through freedom crazed canines I left Huntleys Point Reserve behind me and immediately entered Riverglade Reserve.  A sign announced the change in jurisdiction otherwise I might not have noticed.

I suppose the least you can say about Riverglade Reserve is that it tries, it really does.  While most of it is an extension of the boring mowed lawn that made Huntley Point Reserve a delight to take dogs and small children in Riverglade there are patches of wetland and where the creek flows a genuine attempt has been made not to kill every plant over two inches in height.  They are also incredibly excited about the existence (at least theoretical) of wildlife that apparently frolic in this untouched wilderness.  There is a sign every ten metres giving you the latest turtle updates and facts on where you can see the turtles (nowhere) what types of turtle there are (none) and how to identify the beloved native turtles from the malevolent invasive species turtle.

Given the limited amount of creek space available you might have expected turtles to be stacked six deep along the waterway.  You would be disappointed.  You could examine flattish rocks.  A sign announced that flattish rocks like these were favoured by turtles for basking in the sun.  The evidence seemed to contradict this.  Signs told me how to identify turtles in the creek, where to look for them on land and then went completely mad and noted that they could be found in the creek, on rocks basking, nesting and sometimes wandering across the road.  It would appear that Riverglade is a hive of turtle activity or, considering that two of the four activities mentioned involved basking and nesting a hive of turtle inactivity.  What I didn't see was any turtles.  I'm embarrassed to say I did go looking.

In contrast to the manic profusion of signs about apparently invisible turtle population a mere solitary sign said something along the lines of, "oh yeah, there are flying foxes too."  I looked up to see if I could see them and realised I was in the middle of something that looked like the opening credits of Scooby Doo.

Flying foxes

They're an endangered species apparently

I have to admit I'm a bit of a sucker for bats and the sight of scads of them hanging out in trees, making a hell of a racket and swooping in that cool leathery way quite made up for the ongoing absence of turtles.  Yet another sign proudly announced that Tarban Creek was a free flowing stream as opposed to having been reduced to a wretched storm water drain that is usually the fate of creeks flowing into Parramatta River.  This statement is true for a given definition of true.  Between the partially walled entrance to the river and a sadly typical storm water drain there are several hundred metres of free flowing creek.  It is here that the turtles hang out (allegedly) and the flying foxes congregate (definitely).  It would be more accurate to say we did turn Tarban Creek into a storm water drain but didn't do a particularly good job of it.

For a few brief moments I was able to enjoy a stream trickling through bushland with notional turtles swimming free and flying foxes swooping overhead.  I even saw a great candidate for the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus.

Not a bad entrant if I say so myself

And another a bit further along.

But after that the creek vanished under a road and remerged channeled through concrete.  I walked along it until I ran out of path but my heart wasn't really in it so when I did run out of path I turned around and walked back.

I've got to admit you can imagine turtles lurking here

As walks go it was less than spectacular although the flying foxes were worth the price of admission.  It also has to be admitted that my knee wasn't crazy about even five kilometres over largely level ground.  Still I managed it without collapsing to the ground writhing in agony and because my standards are disturbingly low I'm going to call that a success.