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.

Silly After Action Report - Down by the River

 Major Felix von der Füll winced as leutnant Meinschaft stamped to attention in front of him.  Meinschaft probably saluted as well but von der Füll was too busy wiping mud out of his eyes to notice.

"Get your men ready Meinschaft, we're launching an attack towards the river."

Meinschaft looked a little surprised, "Isn't this the river?"  His confusion was understandable, in this season in Russia the border between water and land could best be described as fluid.

"This isn't the river," replied von der Füll.  "The river is over there behind all of those Russians in foxholes.  What you are standing on is solid ground.  For given definitions of both 'solid' and 'ground' of course.  Have you deployed your flamethrower team?"

An evil grin split Meinschafts face, "Yes herr Major, I've given it to the most irritating men under my command.  Let's see how they like charging into battle with several litres of flammable liquid on their backs."

"Very good, all right return to your position, oh and take this satchel with you when you do?"

"What's in it?"

"Several kilograms of high explosives which I am entrusting to you due to my high regard for your leadership abilities and personality."

I returned from holidays eager to plunge into to battle.  Instead I plunged into a series of defeats but because my blog wont write itself (although I'm looking very closely at ChatGPT) I hereby present one of the less humiliating ones for your delectation.  I selected J202 - Down by the River because it looked interesting, presenting two different battles in one.  Here I command two forces of Germans attacking both sides of a river defended by two groups of Soviets.  The river is flooded and can't be crossed so apart from a certain amount of long range fire two separate battles rage simultaneously.  My objective is to get 10 VPs worth of troops adjacent to river hexes.  Each squad is worth 1 VP and AFVs are worth two.  There must be two VP worth of troops on each side of the river so both attacks have to be successful.

On the west (top) side of the river I have the brave landsers of the 8th light infantry division; nine first line squads and two elite led by three officers including a 9-1 and equipped with three lmgs, a dismantled mmg plus a DC and a flamethrower.  They are supported by a pair of early model StuGIIIG assault guns.  On the other side of the river is a collection of war crimes defendants dignified if that's the correct word (it isn't) by the title of SS Totenkopf panzer division.  Despite the name this is an all infantry force with eight and a half elite SS squads, three officers including a fearsome 9-2 and equipped with a pair of lmgs, a dismantled hmg and for some reason a dismantled 50mm mortar.  A cute little twist is that both sides have a sniper counter on each side of the river and randomly select which side of the river is affected by any sniper activation.

The meat in this wehrmacht sandwich is Dave's defenders.  Facing the army troops are ten first line squads (eight 447s and two 527s) an elite halfsquad and a pair of officers.  They have a medium machine gun and two lmgs plus an antitank rifle and six concealment counters.  They also have a 45mm antitank gun.  Facing the SS are nine first line squads (six 447s and three 527s), three officers including a 9-0 commissar, two lmgs, a heavy machine gun and a 50mm mortar of their own.  They also have eighteen factors of land mines and three wire hexes.  A dozen concealment counters are evenly distributed between both forces.  All Soviet forces in suitable terrain can set up in foxholes.

At start set up

With two forces to command that meant I had to come up with two plans, a struggle for someone who rarely manages to achieve one with any great efficiency.  For my top force I set up heavily weighted to the right intending to push through the woods, hopefully overunning his troops enroute and taking an at least partially sheltered route towards the river.  My StuGs would motor down the road and hopefully tiptoe through the trees to assist them.  A smaller force would plunge through the woods and hopefully attract the attention of his defenders in the centre.  I was paranoid about his 45mm atg which could wreck my StuGs whose utility in my eyes was more for their VP value than any support they might give to my hard pressed infantry.

At the bottom I set up my SS to try and cross the road and flank his forces through the forest.  A glance at the map will show that the Dave has pretty my ignored the left side of the board but I imagined that he would have laced the area with mines and wire so I ignored it in favour of a push through the middle.

End of German turn 1

My top force advanced through the forest setting up for an attack next turn.  A half squad headed to the left to occupy the attention of the two units Dave had over there.  My StuGs lined up to support the infantry.  In the bottom I hit the edge of Dave's force and almost broke through.  A dummy stack and a squad being all the force he had to oppose me.  The forest stretched out in front of me, beckoning me towards the river.

Of course it wasn't that easy, Dave raced some squads across and into the forest (I kept a close eye on the hexes they moved through to ensure there were no minefields).  On the other side of the river he largely kept his concealment and waited for me to move.  I did manage to break one of his forward squads on the right.  In my next turn I followed this up by moving into his forward position in force wiping out a hapless broken halfsquad and positioning themselves for the next push.  Down the bottom I pushed through the forest to make contact with the troops Dave had just brought up.  He also revealed his hmg guided by a 9-1 in a houe by the river bank.  Firing across the river Dave achieved a rate tear on a series of 2-1 shots which broke one of my top squads moving forward and served warning that a lot of the ground I had hoped was reasonably clear was anything but.

End German turn 2. Things are going ok but the hmg was a nasty shock

In his turn Dave broke a SS squad down (because of course 8 morale troops can't handle a NMC even when guided by a 9-2).  He also jumped into CC with a CX halfsquad which was doing fire drawing duties at the front of my force.  On the positive side long range fire on my part broke a squad in a foxhole thus cutting down the amount of shooting my troops would have to face in the next turn.

In my next turn I started to press forward and casualties began to mount.  Fortunately Dave malfed his mmg and broke it while attempting to repair it but his hmg swept an impressive amount of the battlefield and left a scattering of pinned and broken units in its wake.  On the plus side his atg proved rather disappointing.  I pushed a StuG through a narrow gap in the trees to support my troops on the right.  Dave unveiled his gun and took not one but two shots at the StuG's side.  He gained a hit each time and each time the shell bounced off the StuG's not terribly impressive side armour.  The gun would not fire again.

End of German turn 3, could be worse

 

Down on the bottom board I resolved the CC in my favour and moved up towards his recently arrived woods defenders.  I was starting to get concerned about time particularly as I could see more squads sliding sideways to take up defensive positions among the trees.  Still I was reasonably satisfied.  The trend on both sides of the river was generally forward and casualties had been acceptable to date.  The situation was improved when in his next turn I broke the crew of his 45mm and removed a major threat to my armour.

My turn four was probably the high point of my game.  Up the top my burgeoning forces on the right broke a pair of squads that made up the bulk of his defenders in last patch of woods before the river and I managed to push into the woods and an adjacent building.  A single squad remained to defend the woods and I had troops lining up to take it on.  Things looked so good that I sent the supporting StuG over to the centre to help out there.  I rolled it into bypass in a defenders hex and moved a squad in to CC.  If nothing else the defending squad would not be shooting out of its hex next turn.  Down the bottom I broke all but one of the defenders immediately in front of me and moved three squads into CC with the survivor.  Sadly that shifty character knocking on my door was reality.

End of German turn 4 - definitely the high point

Having been refused entry reality managed to sneak in through an open window in the next turn.  Down the bottom my three squad CC force proved incapable of dealing with a single squads worth of opponents.  That CC would rage for three turns locking up a good third of my force and consequently weakening my attack to the point of impotence.  Up the top in the little patch of woods that were all that stood between my troops and the river Dave's 7-0 managed to rally two squads back from DM and they proceeded to shoot the troops that I had got into the woods to pieces.  Suddenly I was back in the same position I was in two turns ago with fewer troops and less time.  Those two events, the CC and the rally pretty much ended my hopes but in case there was any doubt Dave's sniper shot dead the 9-1 who was guiding my troops on the top board and both the squads with him failed their LLMC.  That was an absolute killer.  I no longer had a coherent force on the top board just a scattering of leaderless squads.  Not even the fact that one of my StuGs vapourised a Soviet squad and lmg position with a critical hit changed that grim equation.

I made a despairing final charge which was simply a hope that the dicebot might shower me with love.  I was certainly showered with something.  The high point was when a DC toting 8-0 took a morale check.  I rolled snake eyes, went berserk and was incapable of placing the DC.  Instead I charged into a 4-1 CC and was promptly dispatched.  I conceded with tears in my eyes.  At least I assumed they were tears, I was a little ill in this session and that might have been brain fluid leaking out my ears.

One noteworthy thing about this scenario was the absolute failure of all our wonder weapons.  Dave's atg did absolutely nothing and his atr broke early in the game and never came back.  My flamethrower malfed on its first shot and my DC wound up lying on its owners blood drenched body.  Despite the outcome I genuinely enjoyed this game and would happily play it again as either side.  Many thanks to Dave for yet another defeat.

The end, with the exception of a single StuG I'm nowhere near the river

 

Major von der Füll spat out a mouthful of mud and looked around.  All he could see was German uniformed figures sinking slowly into the "solid" ground.  The last he had seen of leutnant Meinschaft he had been running screaming into a building attempting to beat some of the defenders about the head with a satchel of explosives.  A Soviet soldier in mud spattered valenki looked down at him.

"Is this the river?" asked von der Füll in his best Russian.

"Sorry, that's a few hundred metres away.  You're on solid ground."

Von der Füll regarded his sodden uniform for a moment.

"Define solid."

"You sink more slowly."

A Restful Weekend

 I peered at the face on the screen in some confusion.

"Excuse me, do I know you?"

"I'm your Blue Mountains correspondent," replied the other with some asperity.

I cast my mind back, a vague trickle of memory pattered over the jagged rocks of my mind.

"Oh yes, that's right.  Blue Mountains correspondent.  Yeah."  A little more seemed to be required so I followed up with an incisive question.

"Um so, how are things going up there?"

"Great," she responded with an enthusiasm so forced that I would have been suspicious if I hadn't been desperately trying to remember her name.

"What can I do for you?" as interrogations go this was rather poor but I was still trying to regain my equilibrium.

"Would you like to come up and visit for a couple of days?  It's a beautiful time in the Mountains and we'd love to see you again."

Faced with such an outright lie I finally focussed my attention.

"Really?"

She nodded with a smile normally described as brittle but which in my view had progressed to "splintered".

"No ulterior motive at all?"

The smile slipped or rather disintegrated and she finally broke down and admitted that she and her husband were currently caring for their two grand children under the age of four while the parents of said infants were rather selfishly enjoying a honeymoon.  Despite this revelation for some reason I agreed to make the journey to the Blue Mountains and give them another mouth to feed.

The word being the absentee stepfather of the deed it was only a few days later that I found myself on a train heading towards an idyllic weekend in the Blue Mountains with old friends.  I arrived and was handed a baby which promptly screamed at me.  To be fair that was my reaction as well.  Once both of us had been calmed down and greetings exchanged I offloaded the terrified two year old while the elder child politely ignored my existence and ran around the house.  I handed over the bottle of wine I traditionally bring to make a pretence of contributing something to the proceedings and my correspondent seized it with a desperation that made me seriously doubt if I would be drinking anything other than cordial tonight.

Once the children had been strapped into a soundproof room for the night we discussed the next days plans.  I was rather surprised to learn there were next days plans.

"We'll go to a park by the lake," announced my correspondent.

"I'm not particularly interested in parks," I replied.  My correspondent stared as if she had forgotten my existence.  Then as if I hadn't spoken she continued, 

"The kids want to feed the ducks."

"What to?" I asked.

The next day it turned out the threatened park visit wasn't an alcohol induced fever dream (I had managed to wrestle the wine bottle from my correspondent's frantic grip at some point during the evening) and some time after breakfast I, two small children that I had not the slightest legal responsibility for and my correspondent piled into a car and amid hysterical wailing that reached the heavens set out for the lake.  Said lake had a children's playground on the shore which was sensibly surrounded by the type of fence that adults fondly imagine is childproof.  This seemed like an excellent moment to drop the kids off for fun while I and my correspondent did literally anything else but apparently children's fun has to have adult witnesses.

Once inside the happiness compound I was assigned responsibility for the elder child, a girl of utter fearlessness who liked to run around no matter what might be in her way.  My duties were to keep an eye on her and steer her away if it looked like she was about to run into something that could kill her.  For a children's playground there were actually quite a few things that fitted that description and the little girl cheerfully ran towards all of them in turn.  After I had collapsed gasping on the ground my correspondent relented and asked me to look after the other child, a two year old (I think) whose mobility was somewhat impaired by the fact that he was recovering from a broken leg and he stopped to wail miserably every thirty seconds or so.

Fortunately he liked daisies.  He certainly ate enough of them.  This kept him quiet and my duties were reduced to intervening when rocks got in among the daisies.  He was quite a catholic eater and would happily chow down on the rocks if we let him.  It was imparted to me that letting him was an undesirable situation.  I got covered in drool fishing rocks out of his mouth while I left my correspondent to deal with the older child's penchant for high speed self harm.  Just when I thought we were going to have to put daisies on the endangered species list my correspondent returned and announced that we were going to feed the ducks.  This meant leaving the child protection compound and heading to the lake shore in the company of one child who would probably want to run into the water and another which would try and eat a duck if it got too close.  I was assigned the potential duck eater as the one I should attempt to protect from drowning.

The duck feeding actually went well.  Both children obviously liked hurling bits of bread at ducks and if the number of ducks who turned up was anything to go by so did they.  They say you shouldn't feed bread to ducks but then they say a lot of things and you can't listen to all of them, especially when you have two small children in your charge and drowning them is definitely off the table (I made a discreet enquiry to my correspondent on this subject so I can speak with authority).  Frankly I think the greatest danger the bread posed to the ducks was the sheer weight of it dragging them to the bottom.  It is fair to say that rarely have a small group of ducks been so well fed.  That's before you factor in the fact that I managed to hit a couple of ducks when tossing bread so there were probably one or two concussions as well.

That evening we listened to AC/DC and the Village People ostensibly for the entertainment of the children.  The young boy liked AC/DC so much that he stopped wailing hysterically.  Having heard AC/DC before I felt no obligation to follow his example.  Eventually I was put to bed with a dummy and a warning that if I didn't shut up my parents would be called.

The next day we intended to go to various gardens (the Leura Garden Festival is on) but the younger of the two children expressed his opinion of this suggestion by projectile vomiting over my correspondent and by the time she had washed, changed clothes, washed him, changed his clothes and generally contemplated her life choices it was decided to take them to another park.  This park had no lake but more play equipment that could hurt or possibly maim a fearless young child which who would tackle anything presented to her.  It also had a busy road which the young girl took a delight in running towards just to see how long it would be before her grandfather headed her off.  There were also cockatoos that looked big enough to swoop down and carry off the younger child should he irritate them.

Eventually when the adults were sufficiently exhausted to decide that the children must be tired out I was dropped at the nearest railway station and bid a fond farewell.  My correspondent commented that I should come up again soon.  Then we both laughed, my laugh was edged with hysteria.

Wrapping Things Up

 I had a wedding to go to.  This in itself was a surprise as I have reached the age where most of my friends are already married or licking their wounds after divorces with no intention of going around again.  However I have also reached the age where the children of some of my friends are now getting married and, possibly out of pity, one of these invited me to be a witness to his nuptials.  Out of surprise I accepted and realised that I now needed to acquire a wedding gift for the no doubt deliriously happy couple.  As it so happened I didn't need to acquire a wedding present but I didn't find that out until after I had bought one so they could damn well take it and look grateful.

Once I had successfully purchased an item which the recipients could at least pretend to appreciate without straining credulity too much I ran into the next gift related issue; wrapping.  For some reason gifts need to be wrapped.  I'm not entirely sure why.  Here you are handing something to a person that they have neither requested or done anything to deserve but apparently this isn't enough.  This offering has to be encased in multi coloured paper whose sole reason for existence is to be torn to shreds by human vultures slavering to get their hands on the loot.  Woe betide if you neglect this flimsy little token.  You lay yourself open to accusations of disinterest or laziness.  A tide of criticism from your social group will rush towards you leaving you gasping on a beach like a pilot whale with navigation issues.

Let's be clear, the wrapping does not protect the present, it is usually so thin and flimsy that it needs wrapping itself for its own protection.  The sole reason for the existence of wrapping is to add to the level of environmental devastation inflicted by the present buyer on a long suffering world.  I am also a dreadful present wrapper.  Jagged lines, sometimes ill matching paper and random bits of sticky tape result in a final product that looks like I got halfway through blending a clown before giving up.  This along with a card carefully chosen for its inappropriate nature is then presented to the recipient who mumbles a few words of thanks and rapidly hides it before any children can be traumatised at the sight.

For the present mentioned above I decided to get the store to wrap the thing for me.  This would result in a level of professionalism to the wrapping which would raise serious doubts as to whether I bought the thing at all and hopefully would drop the environmental karma points on the shoulders of the store personnel rather than myself.  Unfortunately I wasn't satisfied with the result.  In fact I was so dissatisfied that I decided to rewrap the thing myself when I got home.  The gift was somewhat bulky so I decided to be prepared.  I entered one of those stores that used to be called newsagents when they sold things that purported to inform us of the news of the day but are now reduced to selling lottery tickets and wrapping paper.  I was desperate to ensure that I bought enough wrapping paper so I bought five metres of the stuff.  I had to wait while they bulldozed a forest especially.  

Once I had assembled all the necessary materials, wrapping paper, scissors, sticky tape (there was a time after I broke a finger when friends and relatives received gifts sealed with surgical tape) I proceeded to not so much wrap as mummify the gift until finally a misshapen lump with odd angles and strange extrusions signaled my success.  Or if it didn't signal my success it signaled the end of my attempts.  Frankly the resultant parcel looked like something that could have come from the mind of HP Lovecraft if he had decided on a career in gift wrapping rather than spectacularly racist horror stories.  

With this wretched thing nestling in a bag hiding its shame from a fearful world I journeyed to the wedding, dumped it on the appropriate table and fled before anyone could associate my name with the hideous lump.  This attempt at anonymity was pointless as a single glance at the gift table would identify the giver although I'm prepared to bet that no one would be able to identify the present beneath.  Which I believe is the sole point of wrapping paper.

Travelling Hopefully - Cow Success and Snake Envy Edition

Of course my trip to Andorra La Vella triumphant though it was served as a mere interruption to the serious business of walking.  For a small country there is a lot of walking that can be done.  Since the country is about eighty percent mountain and twenty percent valley there is always another slope to be climbed and usually another spectacularly scenic valley to descend into when you’re tired of climbing (about twenty seconds in in my case).  In one of those valleys is a Tibetan bridge.  That is its modelled on bridges in Tibet apparently.  It is actually a giant suspension bridge that allows you to cross from one slope to another without the tedium of plodding through the valley below.  

Since the only people likely to come this far are probably quite happy with the valley plodding concept there seems to be little point the bridge.  The previous sentence is actually an understatement.  There is no point to the bridge.  It doesn’t lead to anything and the only thing you can do once you’ve crossed is turn around and come back unless you just want to keep walking until you violate the border of one of Andorra’s neighbours.  The whole thing is a tourist attraction pure and simple.  You have to pay for a ticket to get across as well as a shuttle bus to get you to the bridge in the first place.  Some of our company paid up and dutifully crossed the bridge.  Others like me continued proudly walking on terra firma which is why the bridge venturers got back to the hotel comfortably before us.  Next time I’ll take the bridge.

The final walk (at least it was the final walk for those of us whose knee finally gave out after giving good and faithful service) was a rather special one.  We headed into Sorteny Nature Reserve.  The trip notes gushed over the wildflowers and it wasn’t just flowers.  Marmots, wild boar, chamois and ptarmigans would be just some of the wildlife we didn’t see on the walk.  

Our walk would take us through valley meadows, up through forested slopes, onto somewhat more alpine appearing meadows, across narrow streams and finally end at a tarn or lake where lunch would be enjoyed.  At least that was the agenda if you were sensible.  Those whose last shreds of commonsense had deserted them could continue up to the top of a ridge where excruciating effort and the danger of vertigo would be compensated by 360 degree views over the countryside.  I gazed at the lake and the effort required to reach it and decided I had quite enough views to be going on with.

The lake was beautiful and the views across the valley stupendous and I regretted my decision not to climb the ridge not in the slightest.  I and one other sane person relaxed in the sun by a lake for an hour or so while our comrades struggled first up and then down the ridge.  We smiled smugly on their return and didn’t feel the need to greet them as they staggered in.

While wild animals didn’t exactly hurl themselves in front of my camera I was greatly pleased to encounter a meadow occupied by a number of rather handsome cows.  The clanging of their cowbells almost drowned out the shrill chirrups of the marmots who attempted to compensate for being invisible by making enough racket to wake the dead.  I was thoroughly satisfied with the presence of cows until I learned that a fellow walker had encountered and photographed an adder which the rest of us had missed.  I nearly wept with envy at the photographs.  Of course I could have been happy for my companion’s success and complimented him on some quite impressive photos.  There are many things I could have done in my life.

Also there was a report of bears.  We didn’t expect to see any but it certainly added a little urgency to the return journey.