Travelling Hopefully Birthday Edition Part 3

 Having got a decent amount of sleep I awoke refreshed and after breakfast set out to discover what the day would bring.  What the day brought as it turned out was freezing winds interspersed with showers of equally freezing rain.  There had supposedly been a promise of snow for Mt Wellington but mist covered  the top of the mountain.  It also covered the middle of the mountain and a good deal of the bottom as well.  If this was your only visit to Hobart you could be forgiven for thinking the place was built on a plain.  

For some reason I had decided to wear a pair of shoes that leaked and my walk around the centre of Hobart rapidly turned into a squelch.  Possibly the only good thing about the morning was my adding a Tasmanian devil to my burgeoning collection of plush toys.  I sent a photo to my correspondent and she responded by suggesting a mini road trip.

Having set herself the task of entertaining me she now found herself on a windy, rainy, freezing cold Sunday afternoon in Hobart trying to think of something for me to do.  A road trip had the joint advantages of keeping us both out of the elements and me away from her children.  Oozing icy water from my shoes I hopped into her car where in a burst of extreme generosity she allowed be to use her bluetooth to play music.  Strangely she didn't stop me at any point.  With the wind howling up the coast she pointed us southwards to enjoy the grey.

And grey it was; the sky was grey, the water was grey and the land was grey, or at least the mist we were viewing the land through was grey.  The water was the D'entrecasteaux Channel which is a good example of why we don't name too many things after French people.  Out in the grey Bruny Island loomed and the occasional suicidally enthusiastic fishing boat ploughed through the waves.  We passed through Margate and then into semi rural land rapidly followed by completely rural land.  We went through the small farming locality of Middleton and its fierce rival the small fishing locality of Gordon.  Occasionally we stepped out of the car to take a photo of a particularly interesting piece of grey.  The wind and the rain drove us back into the vehicle pretty quickly.

Food was promised, I was skeptical.  It was now getting close to 4pm on a Sunday in Tasmania and the centre of Hobart had seemed pretty much closed at 10am.  The charming little town of Cygnet would have food places I was assured.  Indeed it did, they were all closed.  Cygnet did have swans though.

"Hey look, swans," I said in some excitement.

"Why do you think it's called Cygnet?" responded my correspondent.  I had honestly not made the connection up until that point.  

Huonville would definitely have food my correspondent stated and indeed it did.  Amongst the sea of closed cafes and restaurants a lone takeaway chicken shop proudly defied convention to give sustenance to those foolish enough to be out on such a day.  I'm not saying it was the best dining experience in Huonville but at the time it was the only dining experience in Huonville.  Once our hunger was sated my correspondent pointed the car at the mountains to drive us back to Hobart.  Shadows were lengthening and at some point her children were going to notice she was missing.

The wind lessened but the rain got more enthusiastic to compensate and by the time my correspondent decided it was time to take me to the airport it was pissing down.  I thanked her for her hospitality as swiftly as I could, icy rain was running down my collar and squelch limped to the terminal.  A surprise was waiting for me, I went to check in my baggage to discover that I hadn't booked any luggage space.  It was my fault, firstly for choosing Jetstar and secondly for assuming that when one bought an airline ticket one naturally got luggage space.  This was apparently not the case and I paid an extra sixty dollars so I didn't have to abandon my luggage in Hobart.

Having finished the book I bought in Sydney I bought another in Hobart which turned out to be wise.  We got on the plane in good time at which point the pilot cheerfully informed us that one of the landing lights was buggered and there would be a delay while it was removed.  We were assured that we didn't need both landing lights and we could still fly to Sydney which begs the question of why it was removed.  Presumably airline safety requires that you have a functional landing light or none at all.  A goodly period of time later we were informed that the offending light had been removed and now we were waiting on the engineers approval for us to leave the ground.  Said approval took sufficiently long to arrive to make at least one passenger nervous about the state of the aircraft generally but eventually the engineers decided that the plane probably wouldn't crash until it reached Sydney which was better provided with emergency services and we were good to go.  We had actually been due to land in Sydney about twenty minutes ago by this time so its fair to say we were a little late.

With domestic air travel in Australia having reverted to type after a moment of shining glory on my way down I staggered towards my home which hadn't changed appreciably in my absence.  Many thanks to Clare for her hospitality, despite the occasional snarky comment towards my correspondent it was a pleasure to see her in her natural habitat and spend a little time in Tasmania.

Travelling Hopefully - Birthday Edition Part 2

 After a refreshing hour and a half's sleep I rolled out of bed.  Fortunately the floor broke my fall.  I belly crawled to the bathroom and snaked my way into the shower.  Somewhat later breakfasted, dressed and showered (although not necessarily in that order) I set out to face the day.  The day seemed somewhat surprised to see me.  Mount Wellington loomed over Hobart (not that looming over Hobart is difficult.  I could probably do it myself if I stood on a box) and posed obligingly for photos.

Mount Wellington in full on loom mode

Since my hotel was conveniently close to the docks I wandered across there and took photos of fishing boats and a starfish.  I always associate starfish with tropical waters which Hobart harbour most definitely is not.  Once my starfish fetish had been very temporarily satisfied I wandered along to Salamanca Markets.  I did this largely to cement my tourist credentials, my correspondent had already told me she wasn't intending to go near the place.  Stall followed stall, most of them appeared to be selling the sort of clothing you buy so that you can say you bought it at Salamanca Markets.  Aside from that the principal attractions were various sorts of refreshments.  Having decided it was too early for lobster or home made gin or whisky I settled for grabbing a coffee.

Boats, fishing for the purposes of

The starfish appears to be trying to escape

With caffeine nobly staving off sleep deprivation I wandered down to the fish punts where my correspondent had promised to collect me so that we could get up close and personal with Mt Wellington.  As I may have mentioned in the past my correspondent is a keen bushwalker.  I would consider fifteen kilometres a decent days walk.  My correspondent would agree but she would do it up the side of a cliff in a snowstorm before settling down to a refreshing meal of whatever she had caught and killed along the way.  Sadly my knee which has been the subject of a number of self pitying diatribes on this blog was not in a condition to do very much of anything really.  Walking along a flat surface in the city it twinged just enough to let me know that if I did anything silly I would regret it.

No problem announced my correspondent once we met up.  There were apparently gentle walks that could be done which would at least allow me to set foot on Mt Wellington and get some views while not disturbing my treacherous joints too much.  Without further ado we jumped (well I hobbled) into the car and set off in the direction of Hobart's most famous mountain.  About ten minutes later we arrived, it really isn't that far.

We set off along a path which my correspondent assured me followed the contour lines and therefore didn't have much in the way of up and down.  It did have a fair bit in the way of trees, and boulders and mushrooms.  My correspondent teased me by pointing out the ones that were probably hallucinogenic and absolutely guaranteed that she hadn't boiled any into the tea I had before we started.  I didn't pay too much attention, I was more concerned with avoided the giant six legged gerbils that were crawling out of the forest.

Once I had returned to something approximating sanity we continued through  mixture of somewhat charred mountain forest and (in the damper bits) temperate rain forest.  We were heading for a lookout so that I could see something more than trees, rocks and fungi.

We had been walking for thirty seconds and I was already lagging behind

A gate blocked our path to the lookout.  Parks officials had locked the gate to prevent people falling off the edge of the cliff.  Since the gate was a good twenty metres from the edge of the cliff the only thing it would prevent was you getting a good run up.  Fortunately the gate wasn't actually connected to a fence so we just went around it.  The promised views were produced and I made appropriately impressed noises while my correspondent tried to keep the disbelief off her face.

Actually the views were quite impressive

And then there was this

Once views had been appropriately gawped at we threaded our way past the gate and resumed our walk along the path.  I had no idea where we were going but my correspondent knew, or at least gave the impression of knowing, every inch of the ground and talked knowledgeably about other paths that connected, some which were dedicated to mountain bikes and others that were deemed too steep for a semi cripple such as myself.  I smiled and nodded and took photographs of random rocks.

Random rocks

After a not particularly strenuous walk we wound up in a picnic area occupied by ravens and a group of middle aged men on mountain bikes.  My correspondent pointed out that they were e-bikes and thus "helpful" to aging muscles attempting to persuade themselves they were as young and vigorous as they ever were.  Any pretensions I might have had to that condition myself were banished by the ache in my knee.  I took a series of photos of a raven none of which turned out particularly well.

A not particularly good raven photo

Once the raven opportunities had exhausted themselves we retraced our steps back to another picnic area where my correspondent had left the car.  The walk in total was only about seven kilometres and was essentially flat and I managed to complete it without completely crippling myself.  Also check out this for a fungus.

The fungus is so big it has lichen growing on it.

My correspondent dropped me off at my hotel so I could get an afternoon nap before the festivities of the evening.  Before I did so I took a final photo of Mt Wellington.  It would be the last time I would see it this trip.

The sky above gives a hint as to why this was the last time I saw it

That evening I put on clothes I considered respectable and, after lengthy consideration, reluctantly left my new but already much loved ugg boots in the hotel and attended my correspondents birthday celebration.  It was a low key affair, various relatives were introduced to me, there were people wearing horns and the police wrestled some man to the ground and bundled him into the back of the world's smallest paddy wagon.  For a while it looked like he wasn't going to fit.  Drinks were drunk conversation was had and at a time that was not early but not too late I took my leave and limped back to my hotel.  My correspondent promised to call me at some time the next day once she'd woken up.

Travelling Hopefully - Birthday Edition Part 1

 A few weeks ago I checked my employee records and then, in a state of muted excitement, I contacted my Tasmanian correspondent.  She greeted my appearance on her screen with the traditional recoil of distaste followed by a wary demand to know what I wanted.

"Your birthday is coming up," I announced.

"Yeees," her look of distaste was rapidly being replaced with a look of suspicion.

"Are you having a birthday party?"

Distaste and suspicion both vanished from my correspondent's face as there wasn't room for both them and the sudden look of pure horror that overwhelmed them.

"I might be."

"Can I come?"

"Do you still have those photos of me?"

"I do."

"Then I guess you can come."

With my correspondent's enthusiastic invitation ringing in my ears I set about preparing for my journey to Australia's southern frontier.  I was giddy with excitement.  Face to face meetings between me and my correspondent are rare and not just because of the restraining order.  My preparations consisted of finding the thicker of my two jumpers and buying some ugg boots.  Now I was ready for a trip to Australia's icy south.  I have traveled to Tasmania before of course.  A few years ago I joined my correspondent for a road trip around Tasmania's west coast.  This time I would be hanging out in the part of Tasmania with running water and electricity.  My correspondent lived in Hobart, Tasmania's capital village and all the comforts of civilisation were available, if you were prepared to pay for them to be shipped in from Melbourne.

With more hope than expectation I booked tickets on one of our domestic airlines and informed my correspondent that I would be turning up sometime within twenty four hours of 9.20pm Friday.  My correspondent had kindly agreed to pick me up from the airport once I had pointed out to her that "Visitor Freezes to Death in Airport Carpark" was not a headline that would help the state's tourist industry.  I turned up at the airport in plenty of time and settled down for a six to twelve hour wait.  Imagine my surprise when close to the scheduled time for departure I was directed to what looked like a Pringles tube with wings and was invited to take a seat.  Since they have (deservedly) copped a lot of criticism lately I will happily reveal that it was Qantas who was responsible for the completely unexpected on time departure of my aircraft and its slightly early arrival in Hobart.

Once I found my correspondent we set out for a lengthy trek through the carpark (which is comfortably larger than the airport itself) until we found where she had abandoned her car.  Pausing only for some takeaway chicken she deposited me at my hotel which I had selected largely on the basis of its proximity to her party venue and promised to collect me the next morning.  My hotel room overlooked the docks and the light streamed into my room all night making it difficult to sleep.  At 6am I accidentally discovered how to close the shutters and plunged my room into darkness just as I was thinking of getting up.

Silly After Action Report - Tretten in Flames

 Hauptmann Karl-Heinz Heinzkarl knocked the snow off his boots, brushed the snow off his uniform and wiped the snow from the brim of his peaked cap at which point it was time to knock the snow off his boots again.  He had been engaged in this process for an hour and a half already and his superiors had let him go on with it on the grounds it was less likely to be harmful than anything else he was likely to be doing.  Now, however, things had changed.  

"Cometh the hour, cometh the man," muttered Oberst von Lipschtik.  He was pretty sure if the man that cometh was Heinzkarl then it was time to be somewhere else.  "Heinzkarl," he shouted.  Heinzkarl jumped to attention and ripped off a salute that wouldn't have been out of place on a parade ground in Brandenburg.  Von Lipschtik wiped the snow from his face and returned the salute with a good deal less enthusiasm.

"Time to move Heinzkarl, are your men ready?"

"Ready as they'll ever be Herr Oberst."

Von Lipschtik suspected that this was true.

"What do you see over there?" asked the oberst pointing vaguely north.

"Snow,"

"Very good, and beyond that?"

"More snow."

"Look a little further hauptmann."

Heinzkarl screwed up his eyes,

"Are those buildings?"

"Very good Heinzkarl, that is in fact Tretten.  Your troops are to capture it.  If they need motivation you can point out one of the buildings is on fire which is about the only chance they have of getting warm in the near future."

"Oh I don't mind the snow sir and I quite like the cold."

"You are going to regret that statement in eighteen months.  Well off you go.  If we can chip the ice off the panzer I'll send it to help."

So here we are with Scenario J37 - Tretten in Flames.  It hasn't exactly been a good ASL time in the past few weeks.  Dave and I have played three games where the VASL dicebot defeated both of us.  We played Ancient Feud where my Romanians won a victory directly caused by Dave's inability to roll below eight on anything.  Subsequently the dicebot gave Dave his revenge when we played Hill of Death and I lost two of six tigers and half my infantry in the first turn.  Finally we played Downsizing the Uprising where my heroic defence was hampered by the fact that my average morale check roll was nine.  I didn't pass a morale check the entire game.  Neither of us felt particularly good about any of those victories (and we felt even worse if we were defeated).  Having given the dicebot the opportunity to take a Xanax and have a nice lie down we decided to head to Norway for a battle among the snow and the alpine hills.

It is April 1940 and the Allied campaign in Norway is a signal lesson in why it would take them another five years to defeat the Germans.  For right now however Dave's British of the 1/5 Leicesters and 1/8 Sherwood Foresters are huddled inside various wooden buildings in Tretten awaiting my no doubt unstoppable attack.

To do the unstoppable attacking I have thirteen squads, a mixture of first and second line with a trio of elite gebirgsjager making the rest look rather shabby.  I also have a first line halfsquad which I presume is to man the most irrelevant mortar ever to be seen in an ASL scenario.  Support weapons consist of the aforementioned mortar a pair of light machine guns and one medium.  Three not particularly good officers herd the bulk of my troops forward while the gebirgsjager have an inspiring 9-1 to motivate them.  Perched on the top of the biggest hill they could find is a 150mm artillery piece whose principal job is to provide the German's opponent with a free two VP when it inevitably breaks and then gacks the repair roll (spoiler alert).  Before the British set up the Germans select one building hex within three hexes of 15K10 to place a blaze marker.  I made my worst tactical error of the game with my selection.  On turn 3 a single PzIIA grinds through the snow to support the attack.  Oh by the way the gebirgsjager have skis for what that's worth (nothing).

Defending bustling downtown urban Tretten Dave has nine squads divided between first and second line.  They have a pair of light machine guns and an antitank rifle.  Dave has three officers with a quality best described as "variable".  A 9-1 encourages grim resistance amongst his troops while in the rear a 6+1 cowers weeping in fear.  In between a 7-0 keeps his head down and hopes to make it to the evacuation site.  To bolster the somewhat patchy leadership a battlecrazed hero accompanies Dave's troops ready, nay eager, to make the Germans pay for every inch of Norway.  All British troops can set up concealed in concealment terrain and he has four extra concealment counters to make things (very) slightly harder for the Germans.

The Germans win by capturing twenty or more building hexes on or north of row O.  However they must do it without the British amassing 11 CVP.  By SSR Alpine Hills are in effect and the hills themselves are under deep snow (although the rest of the board just has normal ground snow).

Set up

Above is our set up with my foolishly positioned building blaze.  My gebirgsjager are in the south east, the remainder are crammed into a rather constrained set up area in the southwest.  My plan was use the artillery piece to fire a smoke shell into his forward building, deploy as many second line squads as I could and swarm forward towards his forward buildings while the bulk of my force moved somewhat circumspectly in their wake.  My gebirgsjager would take the unoccupied building up on the hill (free VP) and then ready themselves to take out the defenders of the only other building on this side of the hill mass before adding a flanking threat to what appeared to be his main position.

Things went well initially.  My 150mm did indeed drop a smoke round into his forward building by the river and all the halfsquads I could deploy surged forward.  A pair plunged into the smoke filled building hex while others headed for his other foward defenders.  I got a scare when his hero, equipped with a boys antitank rifle opened up on a charging halfsquad but fortunately I passed the 1MC that resulted.  With my halfsquads in place I brought my squads forward only to discover that Dave had been exercising iron fire discipline.  He had kept his concealment counter proudly in place while my halfsquads capered around but a full squad was a ripe target and his halfsquad gained a KIA result killing an entire squad.  My halfsquads advanced in and gained a bloody revenge but there were already two CVP to Dave's name and we were only half a turn in.  On the other hand I had two of the twenty building hexes I needed.  Incidentally a 1MC and a KIA result are indicative of the IFT rolls Dave had gained so far.  This would not change for the entire game.  The other thing that resulted was the enthusiastic spreading of flames from the burning building.  The one thing Dave and I consistently did was roll spectacularly high on the spreading flame DRs.

End of turn 1, a squad dead but two building hexes taken

Dave decided against defending his smoked out building on my left, abandoning it and granting me a trio more VP.  He also abandoned the remaining building on the far side of the hill mass allowing me to capture it with no casualties.  Now the easy stuff was done and I would have to fight my way forward not particularly assisted by the fact that a building that should have provided juicy VP was now a roaring mass of flame.  His hero with the atr broke a halfsquad and when I rolled snake eyes on a subsequent MC the worthless bastards disrupted.  Dave would later rue not taking another shot at those guys to try and kill them but they actually survived the game albeit without taking any further part.  My mortar team dragged their unwieldy charge forward to where they could bring down fire on the aforementioned hero and enjoyed a couple of spectacular but utterly impotent rate tears before breaking the thing which at least released those manning it to join their comrades on the front line.

End German turn 2

For his turn Dave settled more shuffling out of my line of sight where he could and breaking the occasional squad where he couldn't.  Principal honours went to his hero who was carving up the attacking force with an antitank rifle of all things.  I got quite obsessed with this hero as I desperately wanted the atr out of the way before my tank turned up.  That didn't happen but with halfsquads leading the way I was squeezing him for room.  I also started shuffling my forces around the raging inferno blocking my way towards the woods mass in the centre of the board.  This I thought would be my jumping off point for further advances.  Rather foolishly as it turned out.  My gebirgsjager took advantage of their winter camouflage to creep forward to overlook his defenders.  I was starting to feel a little hopeful despite the fact that further casualties had been incurred on the way and the CVP total was starting to creep up.

When my tank turned up I sent it up through the hills despite the deep snow.  The only explanation I can give for this was I wanted to keep it out of the line of sight of his hero with the atr who had already given plenty of examples of his sharpshooting ability.  What it did mean was that my tank was useless for the next turn or two.

I'm getting somewhere but I'm not entirely sure where

With my force shuffling to the right around the blaze Dave naturally took advantage of this to move a unit forward and recapture a previously seized building.  Fortunately I was up to the challenge sending my former mortar team forward to prevent any further incursion and killing off the offending halfsquad in CC although I lost a halfsquad of my own along the way.  Dave's hero decided not to mix it with my battle hungry halfsquads and fled for a rear most building allowing me to ease my way forward.  I was starting to squeeze him.  The squeeze would be even tighter if it weren't for the fact that he managed to break a concealed squad sheltering in the woods with a 2+1 shot.  For the rest Dave attempted to put a little distance between himself and my troops but he was running out of distance.

End of British turn 3

In my next turn I finally got rid of his hero which had been the bane of my existence.  My gebirgsjager shuffled forward menacing buildings down in the valley.  To prevent my eruption out of the forest Dave had been forced to finally reveal his lmg teams which broke a number of units and put a dent in my expansion plans but the worst result I suffered was breaking my gun while attempting to fire more smoke.  I should never have tried to repair it, any advantage it could give at this point was marginal, as it was I simply gifted Dave a couple of VP which brought me perilously close to the 11 CVP cap.  With the atr gone my little tank trundled forward to provide some more firepower to my somewhat attenuated assault force.

I have made real gains. Unfortunately I have also taken real losses

Dave's turn was a time to take stock, rally broken troops, anguishedly count up the CVP losses and watch as he pulled troops back to rearward buildings where possible.  I still had distinct hopes.  Those hopes took a bit of a battering as another squad vapourised under a 2-2 shot as it dashed across a road hoping to get to another building.  Fortunately another squad was luckier and I grabbed a couple more building hexes.  My tank rolled forward to give his lmgs a fighting chance of ending the game with one shot.  Technically it was there to provide additional firepower but in actual fact it did nothing apart from attract machine gun fire.  Fortunately Dave's dice finally failed him and the thing survived to the end of the game.  Up on the hill Dave decided desperate times required desperate measures and he dropped concealment from a squad to fire at one of my concealed gebirgsjager.  The normal morale check which resulted wasn't enough to break the 9-1, he merely pinned.  The troops with a measly eight morale of course fled sobbing for the rear.  I decided not to break the 9-1 since while it was there Dave couldn't simply move back towards the buildings I had captured on the hill. 

 

In Dave's fifth and final turn (I had one more) his lmgs bounced bullets off my PzII which sprayed the buildings the fire had come from with cannon and machine gun fire to no greater effect.  On the right I was finally in a position to do him some serious harm and serious harm was indeed inflicted with a pair of British squads raising their hands to a suddenly overburdened halfsquad.  Up on the hill Dave moved his squad to support his suddenly tenuous position in the village which was a relief as my 9-1 was looking distinctly threatened.  Actually my 9-1 was distinctly threatened as Dave still had a concealed unit that the squad left behind.  I suspected it was his 6+1 leader.  Said concealed unit advanced into CC with the 9-1.  It was indeed the 6+1 and suddenly we had a 1-1 CC raging that could decide the game.  Fortunately I survived.  That would have been an embarrassing way to lose.

My final turn rolled around and I took stock.  I needed three building hexes.  One was a gimme but to take the other two would require some desperate running through the open under the guns of his remaining troops.  I did a quick check, how many CVP did Dave need for the win?  Answer: 1.  I sat there for several minutes too scared to actually make the moves.  If I wanted to win I had to do it and simply hope the dice would be kind.  The dice were not kind.  My troops were mown down in the open and the CVP cap exceeded.  So victory to Dave at the last with me two building hexes short of what I needed.  This was a genuinely gripping game that went on to the last turn.  It was certainly the most enjoyable game we had played in a while.  

End game.  The squad in the street died a horrible death to put me over the casualty cap

As I review the map from the final turn I can actually see a way that would at least have given me a much better chance of winning.  Pity that revelation came a week too late.  Many thanks to Dave for the game which was at least close.

Oberst von Lipshtik warmed his hands by the fire from the burning building and waited until a snow covered Hauptmann Heinzkarl shambled up and saluted.

"How many building hexes did you get?"

"Eighteen," muttered Heinzkarl looking at the snow which, fortunately, was everywhere.  This was actually more than the oberst expected but he wasn't going to let his subordinate off the hook.

"The artillery have complained that you broke one of their guns."

"It's not my fault that the crew stuffed a shell into the breech back to front."

"Agreed but you must admit it doesn't look good.  They hadn't finished making the payments on that thing.  At least the tank survived, the last thing we need is bad relations with the panzerwaffe.  Still, I think I see a lot of snow in your future."

Heinzkarl brightened, "I like snow."

"Not for long, I assure you."

 

Travelling Pathetically - Bare Minimum Edition

 I stared nervously at the plague doctor who was showing just a little too much enthusiasm in preparing a foot long syringe filled with a murky, somewhat viscous liquid.  He squeezed a few drops from the needle and I couldn't help noticing they burnt a hole in the carpet, also...

"What the hell is that smell?"

"Bear urine and burnt lizard feet," replied the plague doctor.

"You're not injecting that into me!"

"Of course not, that's my aftershave."

"Are you actually qualified to conduct this procedure?"

The plague doctor looked outraged.

"I'll have you know I studied at the Sorbonne."

"I thought you studied interpretive dance."

"Yes but I did it at the Sorbonne."

"And now you're going to stick that massive needle into my knee."

There was more than a hint of malice in the plague doctor's chuckle, 

"Oh this doesn't go into your knee, it goes in through your eyeball.  Hold him down!"

Too late I attempted to flee but was submerged under a tide of plush toys.  After the injection was completed and the restraints had been unbuckled I gathered together my gear and what little remained of my dignity and prepared for my walk.  As I prepared to leave the plague doctor stopped me.

"Just a quick word on side effects," he said.  "You may experience some slight dizziness."

"OK."

"Shortness of breath, bleeding from the ears, lesions to the frontal cortex, dry heaves, wet heaves, general heaves, liver damage, heart palpitations, explosive diarrhea and of course severe knee pain."

"Knee pain is what I was seeing you about in the first place."

"And you can't say I don't deliver.  Good luck."

After my previous walk where I wound up limping pathetically for the last couple of kilometres I decided to try out my knee on something a little less strenuous.  A nice twelve kilometre walk from Cabarita to Chiswick alongside the Parramatta River.  There would be even less bush element to my walk than on the previous occasion but I would have a river at my side and surely there would be parks and things along the way.  Indeed there were.  The day was grey and threatened rain but that was still better than the previous day when it had actually been raining so I set out to catch a ferry to Cabarita.

Cabarita is a riverside suburb of Sydney with a ferry stop and now you know as much about Cabarita as I do.  For the record it seemed quite nice and the ferry obligingly dropped me off at a park so there would at least be a few trees around for the start of my walk.

From Cabarita ferry wharf looking forlornly back at civilisation

There were indeed a few trees around at the start of my walk but it has to be admitted that this walk wouldn't be about the bush.  If anything it would be about the wetlands.  As you can see from the photo below some of the land was indeed wet.  The recent rain helped with that as well.  Despite the not particularly clement weather there were a fair few people about picnicking and strolling along the path.  I cursed the propensity of people to go out walking along paths as I walked along the path.

Definitely wet

In defiance of the generally built up nature of the area a thin fringe of vegetation clung desperately to the river's edge trying to avoid being pushed into the water by the encroaching suburbia.  To be fair surburbia had pretty much encroached as far as it could without getting its feet wet and the vegetation was reduced to huddling in a fringe that could be classified as "too wet to build on but too shallow to float a boat".  I took the occasional photograph to encourage the vegetation's efforts.

The vegetation is doing its best

It has to be admitted I was less than inspired by my surroundings but I reminded myself that this was more of a knee test than a jaunty Sunday walk and persevered.  It was good that I did so because in compensation for the absence of wide ranging bush a single tree in a park was giving shelter to a spectacular series of contenders for the Clare McIntyre Memorial Fungus.

Check out this lot

And this one

And these

With my spirits bucked by the sight (and possible consumption) of various absolutely non hallucinogenic mushrooms I continued with my walk along the river.  There were small beaches and even smaller patches of what, if they had been more numerous, would have been called mangroves.  As it was they were struggling to be even a single mangrove.  Not that this was the fault of the local council.  Signs abounded informing us of the importance of mangroves and the council's desperate efforts to preserve and encourage the growth of the two or three that are left.  Personally I doubt there was much left in the budget for mangrove preservation after they paid for all the signs but possibly I'm a little cynical.

One of the things I've noticed about walking through waterside parks is the predilection of people to leave strangely shaped pieces of metal lying about the place.  It's either art or littering on an extreme scale.  I'll show you the photographs and let you make up your own mind.

Art or possibly litter

I think I'm going to go with litter

With my mind improved or at least not appreciably degraded I moved past the art (or litter) skirting the grey waters of the Parramatta as I headed towards Chiswick still several kilometres ahead.  Chiswick isn't actually that far away as the ibis flies but the land describes an inconveniently long curve around a bay in between the two which adds a few kilometres for those of us tied to the earth.

I had to head away from the river briefly as certain selfish people had managed to build their homes pretty much down to the waters edge.  I hope they get jellyfish in their basement.  Or at least I would if anyone had a basement.  I don't think we do basements in Australia, it's more of an American thing.  It does make me wonder how local serial killers manage.

The houses have reached the water which means I must leave

After some uninspired street walking I managed to wangle my way back to the waters edge by walking through a riverside development which had nevertheless opened (I suspect reluctantly) its riverside path to the general public.  I think we can all agree that the public doesn't get much more general than me so I cheerfully padded along a well laid out path with handsome, well tended vegetation of the decorative rather than native kind until I reached, well I'm not sure what I reached.  It might have been a rotunda or a pergola or just a random construction but as I think you will agree from the sign above the entrance it was making claims a little beyond reality.

Cape Cabarita?  Really?  Where exactly?

Still I was please to see this little construction as it marked my reintroduction to the river which showed no signs of having noticed my absence.  As I walked along the riverside the council signs redoubled their efforts to convince me that any random plant I encountered was due to their heroic environmental efforts.  Now wetlands were the focus (possibly they'd given up on the mangroves) and signs breathlessly informed me of how vitally important the eighteen square inches of wetland I was looking was to the overall health of what little environment was left.  Or at least I would have been looking at the wetland if the sign hadn't been blocking my view.  I peered around it and did my best to take a photograph.

It does look a little wet

And on the right you can see the mangrove

Despite my snarky comments the sign and the wet patch signaled the beginning of a narrow but definite fringe of mangroves/wetlands separating me from the river.  If you wander in there you can break your ankle on a tree root before drowning in land that could probably be best described as "well irrigated".  Mangroves (the plural finally justified) presented themselves for the camera and because I had nothing better to do I obligingly took photos.

Yep, mangroves

Having finally discovered a piece of wilderness (very broadly speaking) I immediately turned my back on it so that I could photograph a golf course.  In my defence the golf course was covered with cockatoos and the occasional galah and the mangroves weren't.

Galahs and cockatoos

Once I got over the galahs I returned my attention to the riverside which, possibly insulted by my fickleness dispensed with the mangroves and presented mudflats instead.  I wasn't bothered, the presence of the mudflats enabled me to take a series of blurry, long range and not particularly good photos of birds.  Said birds were wandering over the mudflats digging out edible things from below its surface.

The birds are blurry but the mudflat is looking pretty good.  You will rarely see flatter mud.

And here is a rare opportunity to see an ibis with its beak stuck in something that isn't a garbage bin

I think these are black winged stilts

Then it was back to the mangroves for a bit.  I took a photo of something big black and shiny (a bird you sick freaks) that was hanging out on a mangrove branch looking cool.

Then the bird hurled itself off the branch directly towards my face.  Unfortunately that photo is somewhat blurry due to the fact that I was fleeing in terror as I took it.  I was circling around the bay I mentioned somewhat earlier plodding on towards Chiswick.  There were birds out on the bay but unfortunately they were too far away for a decent photograph.  The below photograph demonstrates that the bird in question was indeed too far away for a decent photograph.

It's white and, if you zoom in, somewhat blurry

I had to leave the river again at this point as a golf course had crept down to the shoreline and then a suburb had bisected the golf course leaving it as two separate segments on green pocked with sandpits rather like a severe case of acne with a neat grid pattern of houses between the two.  All of which is an overly long explanation of why I found myself again trudging down a suburban street hopefully in the direction of the river I had so recently abandoned.  I crossed a charming watercourse, its natural splendour making a pleasant counterpoint to the buildings all around.

Aforementioned charming watercourse

My return to the river was greeted by pelicans.  Well the pelicans were there and I chose to believe that they were there to greet me.  There were also ibis but I was focused on the pelicans.

"We were good enough for you when there was nothing else," sneered the ibis.  "Now you're ignoring us completely."

"Damn straight, now get out of the way, you're blocking the pelicans."

I had to elbow an ibis in the neck to get this photo

I was walking along a fringe between the road and the river designated as a park probably because the authorities couldn't think of anything else to do with it.  A rainbow lorikeet flew overhead and then landed in a branch directly above me.  I risked lorikeet crap in my eye in order to take the below photograph.

Literally directly above my head

This blog is rapidly becoming little more than an excuse to post not particularly good bird photos and strangely I am comfortable with that.  The exposed pieces of river bank allowed me to take a couple of semi good shots of birds who were sufficiently far away that identifying them was a little difficult.

I'm not really sure what this is but it looks ok

 

There was no such difficulty with the crested pigeons who got so close to me that I was afraid they were going to mug me.  I flashed my camera at them and they sidled away attempting to look innocent.  I didn't believe it and took a photo in case the police recovered the camera from my dead body and needed a clue to solve my murder.

If anything happens to me it was probably these guys

Breathing heavily from my lucky escape (and not at all because I'm hopelessly unfit) I made my way along the river.  My destination was almost forgotten as birds pranced in front of me clamouring for attention.  Getting snobby I selected only the choicest.  I think the below is white faced heron, it's certainly a white faced something.

Note the ibis trying to get in on the photo

I was now seven kilometres into my walk and whatever the plague doctor had done was definitely wearing off.  The last five kilometres were a painful hobble driven on by sheer irritation at the fact that my knee wouldn't let me do a simple twelve kilometres without whining.  It started raining too which was loads of fun but I eventually stumbled onto Chiswick wharf giving thanks to whatever deities might be listening that my leg hadn't collapsed entirely.  I am definitely going to have to do something about this before I go on holiday.

Travelling Pathetically - Beside the Seaside Edition

Weather having interrupted my last few attempts at bushwalking I seized on an unexpectedly dry Saturday to make at least a token attempt at fitness before my trip.  My handy walking app having delivered the opinion that the Bondi to Coogee coastal walk would deliver a certain amount of needed up and down plus views I set off towards the the sand and surf Mecca that is Bondi Beach.  According to the app the walk was about twelve kilometres which seemed like an appropriate distance.

I should state at the beginning that I have absolutely no interest in sand and surf and having arrived at Bondi Beach my first instinct was to leave it as soon as possible.  Leave I did, heading along the coastal walk that would in the fullness of time deliver me to Coogee another beach location I had no interest in.  

My progress was certainly not setting any speed records and my predilection for pausing to take photographs was only part of the reason.  The main reason was that half the population of Australia also appeared to be doing the walk and with the exception of a handful of joggers they were all doing it extremely slowly.  I was a little more schizophrenic, I would pull out to overtake a group of slow moving walkers, stride ahead, spot something I wanted to photograph and pause while said slow walkers continued past me.  I overtook some groups of people four times.

As can be seen from the photographs above Bondi becomes more appealing when you put some distance between yourself and it.  Having started at a beach naturally the first thing I had to do was climb up from it.  Once on the clifftop I turned my back on Bondi and towards the path ahead.

It was hardly splendid isolation

So there I was, all alone just me and half a million other people.  We lurched and shambled forward, bumping into scenery and trampling the slowest underfoot.  It was like a badly dressed zombie apocalypse.  Along the way there was a look out where one could watch for whales.  I stared out for a little and my patience was rewarded when absolutely no whales presented themselves for my entertainment.  To take my mind off the lack of whales and the spectacular over abundance of humans I took pictures of the more photogenic parts of the coastline.

Photogenic coastline picture #1

Photogenic coastline picture #2

In all fairness there was a decent amount of photogenic coastline to photograph.  I took quite a few pictures if only because where the rocks met the sea was the only place free of people.  A little further on even that would be denied to me as various rock fishermen diced with death in the hopes of dragging a small piece of sea life out of the ocean with a nylon cord.  At that point their catch would become a small piece of sea death.  I could imagine that the fish were all hoping for a really big wave.

The coastline became less rocky and more sandy announcing the arrival of another beach.  There are quite a number of these and I'm not going to bother pretending I remember their names or the order in which they come.  I started at Bondi and finished at Maroubra, fill the intervening beaches in as you wish.

OK so I'm reasonably sure this one is Tamarama

 

The one good thing about being so far on the beaten path was that helpful people hung around selling coffee at pretty regular intervals.  With my body awash with caffeine I continued on my way.  I took a photo of a small and unexceptional bird because I suspected it might be my only opportunity.  Also I've finally figured out how to use my camera.

Not unexceptional at all really.  Sorry bird.

Once past the beach it was back to photos of the shoreline again.  I wasn't disappointed, the sea put on a lovely display of colours for me (that's right for me, not for the six hundred and eighty seven thousand other people walking along that day) so it seemed only appropriate to take a few pictures.

Water colours

I turned my gaze inland briefly as I wandered past Waverly Cemetery proof if proof were needed that overcrowding issues don't stop once you're dead.  One of the great things about being dead is that you don't have to answer the door when people visit.  Which doesn't seem to stop people visiting.  One of the prevailing characteristics of the human race is our inability to take a hint.

Dropping in on dead folk

And for no reason at all, a small flower

I continued on my walk, essentially just going through the motions.  While the crowds that had attended the beginning of the walk had started to thin I could still hardly claim to be alone.  To justify the presence of my camera I took a series of photos of a small and rather hyperactive bird.  None of them turned out particularly well because the irritating little bastard couldn't stand still for more than a second.

The best of a bad bunch of bird photos

Fortunately my day was about to improve.  Not only were there fewer and fewer people to get in my way but the scenery was improving as well.  I took a photo of a boat rack (like a gun rack but for boats) in a little bay and even managed to photograph the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus clinging to a fallen tree branch along the way.

Boat rack

The bay the boat rack was in

And the Clare McIntyre Memorial Fungus - the day is looking up

I arrived in Coogee supposedly the end of my walk to find I had travelled a meagre seven kilometres when the walk promised twelve.  I realised that I was supposed to turn around and retrace my steps and immediately decided against it.  Instead I headed further down the coast deciding I could put more kilometres under my belt by carrying on to Maroubra instead.  It was an excellent decision.

Just out of Coogee I came to a point where the sealed path I had been walking on intersected with a dirt track leading off into the bush and immediately took it.  I knew I wasn't going to get far, there was a cliff and the sea not too far ahead but at last I felt like I was doing a bushwalk rather than simply walking down the street.  My decision was rewarded when I walked past a burnt tree stump.  I had actually walked past it before I realised it wasn't a burnt tree stump but a thoroughly unburnt tree with a large black cockatoo sitting on it.  I took a photo and then I took about a hundred more.

I'm not even going to apologies for all the black cockatoo photos

Dizzy and glutted with cockatoo photos I moved on about ten metres and almost ran into another black cockatoo sitting on a fence.  More photos ensued.

Another one

After that an asteroid could have hit the path and I would still have been happy.  I moved on to the South Coogee Wetlands which is a narrow strip of soggy land between the cliff and the houses.  It is apparently a peat bog and careful maintenance over the last decade or two is helping to eradicate the worst evidence of absolute abuse the place has suffered for the previous two centuries.  They even have a raised platform for people to walk along so the precious bog is not sullied with human tread.

Wetland

More wet, less land

Very wet land

I padded along to the end of the walkway where I encountered an elderly Asian couple harvesting what I hope was non-endangered vegetable material for tonight's soup.  After that it was sadly back to sealed footpaths again.  I was coming towards the end of my walk, for more reasons than one, but there was just time for another bird orgy, this time involving rainbow lorikeets (I think) who dined photogenically on the local foliage.

I spent quite a bit of time here

With my cup officially running over I set out on the last lap to Maroubra.  Here I have to admit that I skimped on my preparations.  Normally I wear a constrictive bandage on my knee as I'm prone to what I suspect is arthritis.  Today I forgot it and ten kilometres in I was in a considerable amount of pain.  I winced and hobbled along pausing only to take one final bird photo.  It wasn't as big as the cockatoos or as brightly coloured as the lorikeets but I think you will agree that it surrenders nothing in pugnacious attitude.

You looking at me?

Now my main goal was to get somewhere with a big enough road to arrange transport to my home.  According to my trail app the path made its way to the waters edge and then along towards Maroubra.  That wasn't quite true, the path made its way to the waters edge and then stopped.  You were supposed to look at the sea slicked rocks and make your own way from then on.  Somewhat nervously and with an uneasy awareness that my speed and mobility were now significantly reduced I did so.  I paused for photos partially because of the scenery but mainly to give my knee a brief rest before continuing on.

This is apparently a path

 

I think the tide may have been coming in

With much wincing and self pitying moans I hobbled along and greeted the presence of Maroubra with such gratitude that Maroubra was rightly suspicious.  Eleven and a half kilometres is hardly a lengthy walk but I was semi crippled by this stage and limped and whimpered my way home, pausing only for another cup of coffee along the way.