tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30495828306648983542024-03-26T23:37:54.130-07:00Shooting Kittens For FoodNeilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.comBlogger1226125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-8095699333751586122024-03-26T04:08:00.000-07:002024-03-26T04:10:01.920-07:00Travelling Pathetically - Now With Extra Canine<p>If there are two things that my colleagues at work can count on it is that firstly I will bore them to tears with stories of my supposed heroics on the bush walking track and secondly if any of them still possess some faint trace of a will to live then the Persian Princess will regale them with stories about how gorgeous, loveable and generally desirable to have her little dog is. She normally does this just before enquiring with more than a hint of desperation whether anyone would like to dog sit for a while. The end result of the pair of us sharing a workplace is that our fellow employees have mental lacerations beyond the capacity of HR to document. It was only a matter of time before the two of us would combine to produce a perfect storm that will tear at the increasingly frayed fabric of our workmates sanity. <br /></p><p>We decided to combine obsessions by taking her dog for a walk. I suggested the Bay Run, a seven kilometre running/biking/strolling/dog walking track which circled around a couple of coves lurking to one side of the Parramatta River. The princess hesitated, apparently seven kilometres might be a bit much for her darling's small paws to handle. The she realised that if we started at Haberfield Rowers Club then a walk of a few kilometres would see us arrive at Birkenhead Point Outlet Centre. With visions of shopping dancing before her eyes she announced that her dog could certainly make it that far. I suspected it would make it that far if she had to drag its exhausted corpse the last few hundred metres.<br /></p><p>I checked out Haberfield Rowers Club and found to my delight that it was only a few minutes walk from Hawthorne light rail station. Truly the light rail is a gift that keeps on giving. Hawthorne light rail station is named for the Hawthorne Canal which flows or at least oozes towards the river at this point. I doubt if the river is particularly pleased at the meeting. </p><p>The day was cool and grey, perfect for a gentle stroll around some of the more water adjacent parts of my home city. I hopped off the light rail, walked past the off leash dog park which fringes the canal (for some reason the significance of this place didn't register at the time) and ducked under a low flying motorway to reach the Bay Run and more specifically Haberfield Rowers Club.<br /></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-4ApH5O28pwAG7XSGtuXVU555XopuOu4lHFLjO-OMEmJJKl0Ypu2oII5bZehrwCK-oBrtCL1UUGk8qYaKBdxdYqMu4-tR6mseZ05a_2TNDTyXsLRP_M0XWMcfZ_3N3TEa2No87t5YadgAntrJbxq_FPjBO3mcMsQ6HPuuImdTTaU_tyuSp5c3CS6vco/s5712/IMG_0199.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-4ApH5O28pwAG7XSGtuXVU555XopuOu4lHFLjO-OMEmJJKl0Ypu2oII5bZehrwCK-oBrtCL1UUGk8qYaKBdxdYqMu4-tR6mseZ05a_2TNDTyXsLRP_M0XWMcfZ_3N3TEa2No87t5YadgAntrJbxq_FPjBO3mcMsQ6HPuuImdTTaU_tyuSp5c3CS6vco/s320/IMG_0199.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where Hawthorn Canal hits the bay<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The Bay Run is a popular exercise route. I know this because about half the population of Sydney appeared to be pounding along it at speeds varying from "trample you under foot" to "I will trample you under foot". I seemed to be moving against the flow of humanity as I headed towards the rowing club which kindly provided me with coffee while I waited for the appearance of the princess and an accompanying canine who henceforth shall be known as Ruby mainly because that's her name. I was a little early and right on time the princess arrived accompanied by her dog, husband and six year old daughter. The princess and Ruby alighted from their conveyance at which point her husband burned rubber in an attempt to flee the scene as quickly as possible.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Ok, honesty compels me to admit that Ruby is terribly cute, she's an adolescent cavoodle who greeted me with every mark of affection and delight. The princess spoiled it a little by pointing out that Ruby greets absolutely everybody the same way and is, in fact, a bit of a tart. With my ego thus reduced to manageable levels we commenced our walk. Pretty much the first thing we walked past was the path to Hawthorne station and I mentioned there was an off leash dog park there. It was only then that I realised my companion might have been able to make use of that information a little earlier. As it was she was committed to Birkenhead Point and indeed had already made arrangements for her husband to pick her up from there. So on we went leaving the delights of the dog park behind. Since one of the dog parks delights was an unfenced canal and Ruby wasn't known for her common sense I'm not entirely sure avoiding it was a bad idea.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0nfVeBN9juz9U5XFyZ7UcjiT9ZmH7u5U4sMGjapiFuBKJpJdmEXqwxo2swwK5mk4k5GnbXuFPKggMBvyXvzgs9hRN0uF8HgXgYNCsR33AFu-46MHxwwT01UP_UMT7v5-LLSuyAuuj_5OBOvlIlWdL_K0STr_gTKEQKvpIrlG1CBONxcunNMhL88GAhOE/s5712/IMG_0200.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0nfVeBN9juz9U5XFyZ7UcjiT9ZmH7u5U4sMGjapiFuBKJpJdmEXqwxo2swwK5mk4k5GnbXuFPKggMBvyXvzgs9hRN0uF8HgXgYNCsR33AFu-46MHxwwT01UP_UMT7v5-LLSuyAuuj_5OBOvlIlWdL_K0STr_gTKEQKvpIrlG1CBONxcunNMhL88GAhOE/s320/IMG_0200.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The scene on our left. The scene on the right was far less impressive<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The princess strode ahead while Ruby and I weaved from side to side. I weaved to avoid tripping over a dog every thirty seconds and Ruby weaved because, well that's what she does. Unlike my other walks I couldn't even pretend that I was was walking through unspoiled nature. Any unspoiled nature was sealed beneath layers of concrete and tarmacadam. The other strange thing was the number of people. Normally if you see this many people on the move in the same direction its an indication that a war is happening just to their rear but in this case it was apparently exercise. I reflected on the folly of mankind (war is bad too) and pretended to concentrate on what the princess was saying while actually concentrating on not inadvertently tripping over her dog</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmVGqY9e2c20eirx3sMvcUTqEg9rEcIVfSr45UkktQJuwIKioFgl5FmSe4Woo1hz5DCtbXAp-jyXMjm2_LkKFPApIeKYfsACqGG7hhYVPSOQcP9Vwje4IMl3MgkWspi9LgC5Z62f-zhgfGuGVB_ZW49cprA30bIn1jlhrTzAZfebBx_Otu_5_OKMfqhU/s5712/IMG_0203.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmVGqY9e2c20eirx3sMvcUTqEg9rEcIVfSr45UkktQJuwIKioFgl5FmSe4Woo1hz5DCtbXAp-jyXMjm2_LkKFPApIeKYfsACqGG7hhYVPSOQcP9Vwje4IMl3MgkWspi9LgC5Z62f-zhgfGuGVB_ZW49cprA30bIn1jlhrTzAZfebBx_Otu_5_OKMfqhU/s320/IMG_0203.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty much the closest we came to wilderness. Check out the small dog.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Since I've mentioned Ruby and given her top billing in the title of the blog it is only right that I include a couple of photos which don't really do her justice because I took them close to the beginning of the walk when she was still so eager that standing still for any appreciable period of time (like three seconds) wasn't an option.</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApRsDruZJ6yJ-iZ6xqdqfCF7mf4ysJf8tDJMan82SKkEXG_BndD5fEwW7fMQ886nNpKmzJWM2vR7H5bfY0jQ5mg1AJqOLFLWI17zZvx6pvFjiVoG91HO4wf_79AOw5hPTvt5NQdqMR-IN-0pLRKfkWPRy4_Bj6GM8A5YTlxGxoXbGfo9FVU37wthuQ90/s5712/IMG_0204.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApRsDruZJ6yJ-iZ6xqdqfCF7mf4ysJf8tDJMan82SKkEXG_BndD5fEwW7fMQ886nNpKmzJWM2vR7H5bfY0jQ5mg1AJqOLFLWI17zZvx6pvFjiVoG91HO4wf_79AOw5hPTvt5NQdqMR-IN-0pLRKfkWPRy4_Bj6GM8A5YTlxGxoXbGfo9FVU37wthuQ90/s320/IMG_0204.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruby plus feet<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcDJv8XuJhcOrhxC_gOBHvsZvthMvFSEFu-06LphhxXUPJVD6WzHvTz8gYUfgJALGHSYzJnEiafzNCFvqQG43NJjbYN6kb6nGXhCJSuLQk2MQNLCDc6XR1dSKRk0v0se6wRFgmU1dxc9i3Bt_xzSa96gKYDd2tPJaUEkmHT_yNfuuul2HdcrnTiqMK54o/s5712/IMG_0205.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcDJv8XuJhcOrhxC_gOBHvsZvthMvFSEFu-06LphhxXUPJVD6WzHvTz8gYUfgJALGHSYzJnEiafzNCFvqQG43NJjbYN6kb6nGXhCJSuLQk2MQNLCDc6XR1dSKRk0v0se6wRFgmU1dxc9i3Bt_xzSa96gKYDd2tPJaUEkmHT_yNfuuul2HdcrnTiqMK54o/s320/IMG_0205.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A brief second when she acknowledged that the princess was speaking to her before ignoring her</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47ePZg4XKWglXzm6qFSK2QC8KFUXtG9jN6oBepCnsU9rf6hR5MsphX-xqTrUgLi_5z72sJzfgq8pecqjrpSQwkIRJ5OILHcHi1p7IWSUCqZYK9wnX4uCY1UJ8MSCXWMuBXdmSb0x5_HXNRBttLwvLfemzc0poYwn_vZ47YBntHQlJLyVGd4NFcErlps4/s5712/IMG_0207.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47ePZg4XKWglXzm6qFSK2QC8KFUXtG9jN6oBepCnsU9rf6hR5MsphX-xqTrUgLi_5z72sJzfgq8pecqjrpSQwkIRJ5OILHcHi1p7IWSUCqZYK9wnX4uCY1UJ8MSCXWMuBXdmSb0x5_HXNRBttLwvLfemzc0poYwn_vZ47YBntHQlJLyVGd4NFcErlps4/s320/IMG_0207.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes ok Ruby is as cute AF<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">With some less than impressive dog photos under my belt we headed off again skirting Leichhardt Aquatic Centre (for some reason they chose to build an aquatic centre right next to a large amount of naturally occurring water). Out on the water the surface was marred by the appearance of a small island with even smaller buildings on it. This was Rodd Island and despite the buildings is apparently uninhabited. I know this because I looked it up when the princess pointed out the buildings.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9plLzXpjXQ1LXU06AbN5x0UAxFZII25IdG9IRm5IBPjjHTG11DiaxdEJvZFM6vR0Nfqpcubd7fMCmemf40ZgGMBhKhMkqCVcBbYpJJaONcwDiSAx5VyMDtUq4jpcER8ORYy1x7-YJGKZA1e8xaENp3VDcIakaqQBBfFFes2_rfzcSpEbAlXi6OdqzRa0/s4032/IMG_0210.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9plLzXpjXQ1LXU06AbN5x0UAxFZII25IdG9IRm5IBPjjHTG11DiaxdEJvZFM6vR0Nfqpcubd7fMCmemf40ZgGMBhKhMkqCVcBbYpJJaONcwDiSAx5VyMDtUq4jpcER8ORYy1x7-YJGKZA1e8xaENp3VDcIakaqQBBfFFes2_rfzcSpEbAlXi6OdqzRa0/s320/IMG_0210.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ignore the buildings and the moored boat. Rodd Island is definitely uninhabited, apparently<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We climbed a small hill and then descended always skirting the waterfront until Iron Cove bridge loomed in front of us in all its magnificence. By now Ruby wasn't frisky but was doggedly (get it; doggedly, thank you, I'm here all week) putting one paw in front of another as she (and by extension we) neared our goal. Across the bridge and we abandoned the Bay Run and made our way along the waterfront to Birkenhead Point. Here the princess rather foolishly left Ruby in my care while she popped into a store. Fortunately her husband arrived before anything terrible happened.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Now that we were at Birkenhead Point the princess indicated her intention of going shopping. Out of what I can only assume was an excess of good manners she invited me to join them. I politely indicated that I would sooner scoop my eyeballs out with a teaspoon. We parted ways there with the princess helpfully pointing the way to the exit since I had managed to get lost inside the shopping centre. Now alone I decided to complete the Bay Run since I had come halfway and the light rail station that would take me home was at my starting point.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The second part of the walk took me along the other side of the cove me had walked along and was a slight improvement on the first part. This was due to the fact that whether by accident or design some tiny shreds of mangrove had survived and provided something vaguely green to look at (as long as you looked in the right direction).</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1yTn32ALf0uB4kQqS6a1DwiYlC5ZY0Nn5HJYsO1PJlP5qxCADNOzd8oovkzSVVNLzeMjhiBE9v9Wl9T9yM3O3itpiR8kEF05m-RenRVvedTVYU6kGNcMr7oRv5a48FtlZG30CksNMdMT8vFh4w7F82h3gRdHMTqiyzDuN7y9ZE9I5qEKKvaHZqr03hZw/s5712/IMG_0214.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1yTn32ALf0uB4kQqS6a1DwiYlC5ZY0Nn5HJYsO1PJlP5qxCADNOzd8oovkzSVVNLzeMjhiBE9v9Wl9T9yM3O3itpiR8kEF05m-RenRVvedTVYU6kGNcMr7oRv5a48FtlZG30CksNMdMT8vFh4w7F82h3gRdHMTqiyzDuN7y9ZE9I5qEKKvaHZqr03hZw/s320/IMG_0214.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About as close to nature as I would get<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">You couldn't actually walk through the mangroves, for starters if they had put in a path there would have been no room left for the mangroves but you could at least gaze on them from a distance.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNBR2tAeWxJA4qWL6MLYfijdR5psSRZyRgeV6exekh8EJkjXIPjcueMeG3YSU-DWkp3BRWLrv0CnbxU0B6AcW9N26q8AULUk3jU2vGawpgr8lhDhgDyimNewdYzT9zMa2TOTUd3xk39mGgcRCkW_A5DtLkagmXdPrA6fDH7Ro6UkM3q8s5NglHDQiVx4/s4032/IMG_0215.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNBR2tAeWxJA4qWL6MLYfijdR5psSRZyRgeV6exekh8EJkjXIPjcueMeG3YSU-DWkp3BRWLrv0CnbxU0B6AcW9N26q8AULUk3jU2vGawpgr8lhDhgDyimNewdYzT9zMa2TOTUd3xk39mGgcRCkW_A5DtLkagmXdPrA6fDH7Ro6UkM3q8s5NglHDQiVx4/s320/IMG_0215.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby mangroves, not as cute as Ruby but possessed of a certain charm<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The local council seems terribly proud of their mangroves and has erected signs every few feet pointing out that these are indeed mangroves and how important they are to the natural environment. Given the scarcity of mangroves its probably a good thing we destroyed the natural environment because otherwise it would be in trouble. In between the placards of mangrove praise there was the occasional outraged sign announcing that mangroves had been vandalised. I mean the natural environment is all well and good but if you pay top dollar for water views you're going to be a little pissed off if some scrubby tree is in the way aren't you.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Still the presence of the mangroves even in an apparently vandalised state allowed me to take a few bird photos.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8cAB350HS1qG5_G6BuIC40m5TuGFCFhGYK32exRGTyo8lLaPIERSA3ROUOeRK1siHMzCOe64jE6waRi2n83dAKAUlaWX454nuj4nObcG2ZS5z-VWbJYY4o4rnPKDAjqQMuIiUpHjPOlI2j_2LtNQU3V_Jto7M5eIlauF4OKWFWO7fSDEwq6kXzvFFqg/s4032/IMG_0216.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8cAB350HS1qG5_G6BuIC40m5TuGFCFhGYK32exRGTyo8lLaPIERSA3ROUOeRK1siHMzCOe64jE6waRi2n83dAKAUlaWX454nuj4nObcG2ZS5z-VWbJYY4o4rnPKDAjqQMuIiUpHjPOlI2j_2LtNQU3V_Jto7M5eIlauF4OKWFWO7fSDEwq6kXzvFFqg/s320/IMG_0216.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Humans are also allowed to use the amenities<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihwZ4WwGGG7L1kPXWNBwVQHXdMjl3Dowj_U5twTWI9m8-7Z0p6BcuM15OWcbXHMQdv5wH6TkMAmqXN3Rhxxyo_RybgsHlb0Ho5wA1T9kh8PzSZOflmCnG2g-5YzWYkOJ_Zx79j-eVT4uyVHvZxaVNLqYztAx9zOTwwk9aVxHl6HgJM9LhntQ42hC4vpPw/s4032/IMG_0217.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihwZ4WwGGG7L1kPXWNBwVQHXdMjl3Dowj_U5twTWI9m8-7Z0p6BcuM15OWcbXHMQdv5wH6TkMAmqXN3Rhxxyo_RybgsHlb0Ho5wA1T9kh8PzSZOflmCnG2g-5YzWYkOJ_Zx79j-eVT4uyVHvZxaVNLqYztAx9zOTwwk9aVxHl6HgJM9LhntQ42hC4vpPw/s320/IMG_0217.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the few occasions I've seen two gulls and they're not fighting over a chip<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrht4fOIwA5WfKpaoCPqjfBnTctAMMultYoy9FBCVWxddVYgeLcYZaOdMD_cjEl8K68myLbs7nI1cnuBSAodVktiA1E-p6AVDUknMLSiZ6bHvKf7OTnroPECT_UOEC5EVdbRafiaEy_EtbQZ2N920nQfSxHO0E5t1rALOwM24Uv3H7hH_rQGne9rfQ8TE/s4032/IMG_0218.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrht4fOIwA5WfKpaoCPqjfBnTctAMMultYoy9FBCVWxddVYgeLcYZaOdMD_cjEl8K68myLbs7nI1cnuBSAodVktiA1E-p6AVDUknMLSiZ6bHvKf7OTnroPECT_UOEC5EVdbRafiaEy_EtbQZ2N920nQfSxHO0E5t1rALOwM24Uv3H7hH_rQGne9rfQ8TE/s320/IMG_0218.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And here are ibis doing what ibis did before the invention of rubbish bins<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Eventually the mangroves gave up and I crossed Iron Cove Creek about which I will only say that it makes Hawthorne Canal look clean and healthy by comparison and wound up back at the Rowers Club. Since I was there and so was it I had another cup of coffee and headed back to Hawthorne light rail station.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And once I got there I had a fit of absolute insanity and walked most of the way back home. Most of it was tedious slogging through suburbs and absolutely not worth mentioning but I did get to walk along the greenway they're creating alongside the Hawthorne Canal. When it's finished it will apparently go all the way from Dulwich Hill to Hawthorne. At present its dimensions are much more modest but still a pleasant bit to walk along.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_iSF_7KWFccq31CqDB9IqzStlUkGdx6VDUT3BzCMDpqwxZxq8v-kXKpYo5MOj-yV2VHZ8mE7Mek42ZRtsw_plfzipmoWwWiouBk2Hd94XtqpsfwcsFg37lCHIN9lpkbKKGqPfwrKuwmlbPwUgtrR-H38JRE0eix3jTnFwpi_RuqeWeoU3KQLunltBKYM/s5712/IMG_0220.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_iSF_7KWFccq31CqDB9IqzStlUkGdx6VDUT3BzCMDpqwxZxq8v-kXKpYo5MOj-yV2VHZ8mE7Mek42ZRtsw_plfzipmoWwWiouBk2Hd94XtqpsfwcsFg37lCHIN9lpkbKKGqPfwrKuwmlbPwUgtrR-H38JRE0eix3jTnFwpi_RuqeWeoU3KQLunltBKYM/s320/IMG_0220.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By comparison with the Bay Run this is untamed wilderness<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p><br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-31468797152572626942024-03-22T19:27:00.000-07:002024-03-22T19:31:04.869-07:00Travelling Pathetically - Half Arsed Preparation Edition<div><p> Tumble out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pour myself a cup of ambition and yawn and stretch and try to come to life. Seized by the spirit of Dolly Parton I gazed at my bush walking accomplishments to date and found them lacking. In a fit of what I can only describe as a fit of delusional insanity I agreed to do a 22km walk/race in the Blue Mountains with a couple of friends of mine. Shortly after agreements had been made and event fees paid reality kicked in and I reflected on the possibility of my completing such an event without dying.</p><p>"Time to get fit," I announced to a group of plush toys lounging on couches.</p><p>"Do you mean us or you?" asked the platypus.</p><p>"Me."</p><p>"OK, carry on."</p><p>Thus encouraged by those who fit at least half the definition of "nearest and dearest" I started making plans. As I left the room the puffin removed its head from a plastic bag impregnated with air freshener long enough to mutter,</p><p>"This time he is definitely going to die."</p><p>The Blue Mountains walk involved a certain amount of climbing and descending so I sought out an appropriate bushwalk on the new trail app my Tasmanian correspondent put me on to (check out the professionalism). I selected a modest 14km stroll between Cowan and Brooklyn in Sydney's so far north its almost Newcastle which went through the Kuringgai Chase National Park thus promising a scenic locale for my desperate exertions. The trail app noted that it was marked as "hard" although having nothing to compare that to I was taking the difficulty on trust.</p><p>Normally I just head half baked into the bush but given my new level of seriousness I packed plenty of water, a charger for my phone, things to eat and (very important) advil. Then, just to emphasise the seriousness I called my father and informed him of my intentions so that he could call a rescue team should my decaying body fail me. My father had few questions and most of them were centred around how I managed to keep on getting their phone number but eventually I extracted a reluctant promise that if he hadn't heard from me for a week or so he would definitely consider calling the authorities. I was all set.</p><p>Then it rained so I put my heroics off for a weekend. The next weekend it rained again. The third weekend wasn't promising too much better but my Tasmanian correspondent had been assured by a random group of Norwegians that the day of my walk would be precipitation free. Placing my trust in some Nordic weather diviners on the other side of the planet I struck out towards Cowan despite the grey clouds and a moisture content in the air that made actual rain pretty much superfluous.</p><p>The ground was wet underfoot when I alighted at Cowan's modest railway station but to turn back now would be to insult the entire nation of Norway so I crossed the tracks made my way through the mud and gravel beside the railway line until I encountered a modest sign announcing that if I didn't turn back now I would be commencing a bushwalk.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2eAYRgmy3CcqD3NfsTOJeFIXJOG6keT-V7D3xFxYzSghLmSzVJV7gGniu1Sg_x8flDDpxQwua4cbrmnuw_kh9bQgTr7reYkDlsT9AQ9L1Fc0NgpX2qjIhG3DlCT6ovPcrcEFApl61Rc1W9kZpXm3V42UgKwUdciCbI3ORcW1HR-DCRPUKu5zUFnv2wtk/s4000/P3160082.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2eAYRgmy3CcqD3NfsTOJeFIXJOG6keT-V7D3xFxYzSghLmSzVJV7gGniu1Sg_x8flDDpxQwua4cbrmnuw_kh9bQgTr7reYkDlsT9AQ9L1Fc0NgpX2qjIhG3DlCT6ovPcrcEFApl61Rc1W9kZpXm3V42UgKwUdciCbI3ORcW1HR-DCRPUKu5zUFnv2wtk/s320/P3160082.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The somewhat less than auspicious start of my walk. Cowan railway station is just behind me on the left<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Screwing up my courage I stepped forward and began my walk. A tree lined trail struck off at ninety degrees to the railway line and since my trail app said proceed I obeyed. The ground was muddy and the trees which crowded the trail were heavy with water. Embracing the rather soggy wilderness I proceeded, images of rugged trail walking filling my head. The rugged trail walking lasted about two minutes before it gave way to crossing a bridge over a particularly large motorway. There were an astonishing number of vehicles on it. I pointblank refuse to believe that that many people want to go to Newcastle.</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89JHNQ1dJtPHQOTvvgmKDFdBYXR62slL-TsMOOrs_xb9K5AV_d-vwZqDd1tk2LB_yxlvNsifxWVTLMD_wCadDrSqj982WHpXhndCaG-AyNJLcoAqTnQa3RYGYWtdJV75zplHqQKqGrh3LZ4PagUMF9ACFw9AaixcVt5IKJGfFl3mO4nT8c0qdlMn6IZU/s4000/P3160083.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89JHNQ1dJtPHQOTvvgmKDFdBYXR62slL-TsMOOrs_xb9K5AV_d-vwZqDd1tk2LB_yxlvNsifxWVTLMD_wCadDrSqj982WHpXhndCaG-AyNJLcoAqTnQa3RYGYWtdJV75zplHqQKqGrh3LZ4PagUMF9ACFw9AaixcVt5IKJGfFl3mO4nT8c0qdlMn6IZU/s320/P3160083.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sign says "abandon all hope ye who enter here"<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Once past the motorway the bush reasserted itself and now properly inserted into the wilderness I squelched forward with renewed purpose. Water laden branches reached out for me and frogs croaked from hidden places nearby. At least I assumed they were frogs, I didn't actually see one although I did spend a considerable amount of time looking. Eventually I had to abandon staring at tiny patches of leaf mould from which loud croaking was emanating as I realised that time was getting away from me and I was covering virtually no ground at all.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoh4bO6QX-FNVv3aPTjEm6bgUC-KjJWQpwA02VwsA12Cj9WfC_iX6jzjVWm0hAdgumVlSGWLdOfZQUyIavo9TrR9CqAF-ns7lQqbwmlwIkkgiwSM-X_wYEfDLeJad6HWhcf6wx1twaSNEo4PmTzPKxwCx0RHy5-5fPkMtE6ygubjifSJfALJmc16ziN7o/s4000/P3160085.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoh4bO6QX-FNVv3aPTjEm6bgUC-KjJWQpwA02VwsA12Cj9WfC_iX6jzjVWm0hAdgumVlSGWLdOfZQUyIavo9TrR9CqAF-ns7lQqbwmlwIkkgiwSM-X_wYEfDLeJad6HWhcf6wx1twaSNEo4PmTzPKxwCx0RHy5-5fPkMtE6ygubjifSJfALJmc16ziN7o/s320/P3160085.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a damp walking track not a shallow stream<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">If I had done even a shred of initial research I would have realised that the presence of Jerusalem Creek was one of the selling points of this particular bushwalk. As it was it featured in my consciousness as a wavy blue line on the map that I needed to cross. To be fair my first introduction to it was a rather modest, low key affair. If there had been concrete in the vicinity the first definition that would leap to anyone's mind is "gutter". No concrete being present we have to settle for creek.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRjB_bkL18eePt6x6oq5poYu6UDCfAbKxMx6lCDAfis2L7CG4QskJyt-xILWaOyGbJmLg3xRjWRWu4bug39Ph9L0i4s5Gn4Ppcbu6yjFT1XpUd7_Dotk6XPgdbF7Dwp-HKpYCxBeUXLtNJ9k-mDhLWL1Xd6NZCOn9Ym4qb9wwlKU1pS1hbX17ZUSTch8/s4000/P3160089.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRjB_bkL18eePt6x6oq5poYu6UDCfAbKxMx6lCDAfis2L7CG4QskJyt-xILWaOyGbJmLg3xRjWRWu4bug39Ph9L0i4s5Gn4Ppcbu6yjFT1XpUd7_Dotk6XPgdbF7Dwp-HKpYCxBeUXLtNJ9k-mDhLWL1Xd6NZCOn9Ym4qb9wwlKU1pS1hbX17ZUSTch8/s320/P3160089.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jerusalem Gutter, I mean Creek<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">To be fair it was pretty picturesque as gutters go. As gutters go it was going down. I was descending as well but the gutter and I took different paths to the bottom. When next we met I would have to swallow these condescending words.</p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ybFx2NvtBLJTQD6xfsrz7EbBqfYvKfg7wKJ5NFNkKR-TQOcxgptJUWX2b4aq8jlqVj7WGiGZE8RkECUYnnBFO6wN4PKGs4yluAl1PZet-kmuGYqZmt7EEwkdDh38UJUXLqCyCSv2kpr8javZDwcdf98kP33CY590MKtOj_-g1PUMLnEiOvIpBxP2f44/s4000/P3160086.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ybFx2NvtBLJTQD6xfsrz7EbBqfYvKfg7wKJ5NFNkKR-TQOcxgptJUWX2b4aq8jlqVj7WGiGZE8RkECUYnnBFO6wN4PKGs4yluAl1PZet-kmuGYqZmt7EEwkdDh38UJUXLqCyCSv2kpr8javZDwcdf98kP33CY590MKtOj_-g1PUMLnEiOvIpBxP2f44/s320/P3160086.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going down; the creek has made its own arrangements<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Pausing only for protracted periods of frog hunting (which involved staring fixedly at whatever piece of bush the sound appeared to be coming from and hoping a frog would present itself) I made my way slowly downwards. My ultimate destination was on the banks of the Hawkesbury River so obviously the general trend of my walk would be down but there were a couple of modest ridges (low hills if you're not actually walking across them) between myself and Brooklyn so I was uneasily aware that descending at this stage in my journey implied a fair amount of climbing at a later point. As I was descending I managed to snap the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus. Given the number of creeks in the area and the generally moisture laden atmosphere I expected to be overrun with eager candidates for the Memorial Fungus award but this is the only one I saw. As the attached photo proves the most important part of a victory is turning up.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNrBDo1SvrhGFKmXiGS398CqU4BEYBIOOXxB6QuuyJVDG6cDU_NvCOsEGXqs8eO95EyF7e7pjbrGWnvUEl9dtTCunAmjd17zGLLakQMhho2Gbz_NVLKlh_K4AS9M56WqCm7RHa0SWtWrdwt6YxdMuveoFNkk_sK7kY___OubBCzGuXCSS8LLXaTbKV_k/s4000/P3160092.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNrBDo1SvrhGFKmXiGS398CqU4BEYBIOOXxB6QuuyJVDG6cDU_NvCOsEGXqs8eO95EyF7e7pjbrGWnvUEl9dtTCunAmjd17zGLLakQMhho2Gbz_NVLKlh_K4AS9M56WqCm7RHa0SWtWrdwt6YxdMuveoFNkk_sK7kY___OubBCzGuXCSS8LLXaTbKV_k/s320/P3160092.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Clare McIntyre memorial fungus<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Down, ever down I plunged (total descent a couple of hundred metres tops) passing forest, picturesque mossy logs and the usual "beauties of nature" stuff one encounters when one steps away from buildings and paved roads for a while.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhztlxsk3m_ILEufONze-yIXNqBgNaDKj8JqVgIEM4jaHRtc5O5F9EFETp21ePCfkMpMWWq78-bPP1aXf8sFc8KDhgq9o1w28vsyQmNIAf1BJ9Awzow228NNfccF69sufLohqWHTOZErqaoa-ZTi3gJZBEFbBa-eg72f3HpBk91p_HTkIEMz-2VIXr7RZ0/s4000/P3160095.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhztlxsk3m_ILEufONze-yIXNqBgNaDKj8JqVgIEM4jaHRtc5O5F9EFETp21ePCfkMpMWWq78-bPP1aXf8sFc8KDhgq9o1w28vsyQmNIAf1BJ9Awzow228NNfccF69sufLohqWHTOZErqaoa-ZTi3gJZBEFbBa-eg72f3HpBk91p_HTkIEMz-2VIXr7RZ0/s320/P3160095.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They're logs and they're mossy<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUFDWrS9Tu6WO-oefSOXHy_dPi8hY7YlFk7H25DGcOjEiwDMnfKoBiw-Mc5r2_0BTmUrYp4KHIiPnkNctpCi6_5jREaj2TuOhs3Af9lhSVrDKVNnfvMl-9mjLGu9PORMeXpoSotBLBa9MyNktJKUA_Qeaq9_TGEfzk5xSnrzkIZY1QvrIQWrNI8ubqPU/s4000/P3160100.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUFDWrS9Tu6WO-oefSOXHy_dPi8hY7YlFk7H25DGcOjEiwDMnfKoBiw-Mc5r2_0BTmUrYp4KHIiPnkNctpCi6_5jREaj2TuOhs3Af9lhSVrDKVNnfvMl-9mjLGu9PORMeXpoSotBLBa9MyNktJKUA_Qeaq9_TGEfzk5xSnrzkIZY1QvrIQWrNI8ubqPU/s320/P3160100.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And no walk would be complete without a rocky outcrop photo<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Then the path flattened out and became more horizontal. I didn't realise it at the time but I had arrived at Jerusalem Creek, again. In blithe ignorance I reveled in the sudden flatness of the ground and walked along taking photos of random trees simply because I could.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJ_AmtZnZ3DxNYgJPZcV5tSOzOa9sf-qXRW9dnX2ZrS9vA2F3sgFbViTo9VXgNSeOiZyq2FHGCB__EPe2G_f5uyPjHcQMhP__iTf_AKG60TOjBNUZ_p-MpqvJ6zvCfIoORWn8_oX7xOiImNsD2i18QLu_awdl332XdyTUZ_ZKLl6RTQYlRJKvq2ZYcXM/s4000/P3160102.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJ_AmtZnZ3DxNYgJPZcV5tSOzOa9sf-qXRW9dnX2ZrS9vA2F3sgFbViTo9VXgNSeOiZyq2FHGCB__EPe2G_f5uyPjHcQMhP__iTf_AKG60TOjBNUZ_p-MpqvJ6zvCfIoORWn8_oX7xOiImNsD2i18QLu_awdl332XdyTUZ_ZKLl6RTQYlRJKvq2ZYcXM/s320/P3160102.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A random tree<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Then I glanced to the right and realised why the path was suddenly flat. If I had descended much further I would have drowned. Jerusalem Creek was back and apparently had spent all of its absence working out. A vast expanse of water greeted my somewhat astonished eyes. What had actually happened was the creek had dialled in reinforcements and rebadged itself as Cowan Creek leading into Jerusalem Bay which was what I was actually looking at.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJJHsltxr3OaP_hJA7UJU0BaNO5oyEidPYLsytF_UNAECNh7N7wjQ1gmDNJj3gQ2L7yC1T9dT-g0cVqvRk80LGVvNH3Rh0CDZ3kQYhQH-Fjo6EjOnlaPyunx-3QOvBZI3PRtDaK69ALAsn8SEeuMWTnwT9kqsQbAtdfFjS35rtvdqXOg81xQhRxFlVvg/s4000/P3160107.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJJHsltxr3OaP_hJA7UJU0BaNO5oyEidPYLsytF_UNAECNh7N7wjQ1gmDNJj3gQ2L7yC1T9dT-g0cVqvRk80LGVvNH3Rh0CDZ3kQYhQH-Fjo6EjOnlaPyunx-3QOvBZI3PRtDaK69ALAsn8SEeuMWTnwT9kqsQbAtdfFjS35rtvdqXOg81xQhRxFlVvg/s320/P3160107.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little more impressive than our first meeting<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">My path skirted this unexpectedly impressive body of water but I did make my way to the waters edge so that I could get a better view of the oyster shells which covered pretty much every exposed surface. I have it on good authority that they cover the non-exposed surfaces as well so wading barefoot is not a good idea.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkbLTJbC4BdDzvvqkWuRoxeW7Qleka3KSMSm2odCVpICd78w6yAl2bmVV2mytp-OtZdwYy6UWWGoloAzB_5pssG2qBGfet9FehG-paQN3Doglq_ZayKTN3OAuUrZe4i0mLadW_gfVYlUxniEegsG4iNGraHuh7unoY8zssnCK1QMlbZoHPVQfqAZ3u4A/s4000/P3160110.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkbLTJbC4BdDzvvqkWuRoxeW7Qleka3KSMSm2odCVpICd78w6yAl2bmVV2mytp-OtZdwYy6UWWGoloAzB_5pssG2qBGfet9FehG-paQN3Doglq_ZayKTN3OAuUrZe4i0mLadW_gfVYlUxniEegsG4iNGraHuh7unoY8zssnCK1QMlbZoHPVQfqAZ3u4A/s320/P3160110.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jerusalem Bay, now with added oyster shells<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><p>The bay was attractive enough but it had one serious downside, people. There were people on a boat being noisy and disruptive and generally enjoying themselves. Other quieter people were wading through the bay doing god knows what. I decided that the population density was reaching saturation levels and decided to remove myself from it. I had a creek to cross and then, according to my contour laden map a rather steep hill to climb.</p><p>Crossing the creek, a very modest affair dwarfed by the liquid magnificence of Jerusalem Bay, turned out to be slightly harder than I expected because the rocks were very slick and for a couple of moments I did wonder if I was actually going to have to rely on my father to remember my existence and send out a rescue team. Fortunately hiking boots with decent ankle support (check out my preparations) prevented a couple of potentially nasty injuries and I slithered onto somewhat more solid ground. Going forward the ground solidity was not going to my most pressing concern.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAzKnSnkl4g1d7FlZCQYuZv4ualbmbxTSf9MTfueYenqnyYGpKZKO4uKvOr8W0YOlKUplptSGxZvJ6pIgsOZQOPiwcxv36wdXnX4T1VbiZiIDK97Y6JnqnkqiZF_LIInutvPdeiWqALrTGZqjMbS9shWnoOLqQf2a5vFBjB15-mAWfV7gkZZEq6iqtDQ/s4000/P3160116.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAzKnSnkl4g1d7FlZCQYuZv4ualbmbxTSf9MTfueYenqnyYGpKZKO4uKvOr8W0YOlKUplptSGxZvJ6pIgsOZQOPiwcxv36wdXnX4T1VbiZiIDK97Y6JnqnkqiZF_LIInutvPdeiWqALrTGZqjMbS9shWnoOLqQf2a5vFBjB15-mAWfV7gkZZEq6iqtDQ/s320/P3160116.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A last picturesque rock photo before the climb.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">So far the walk had been enjoyable but not particularly taxing. That was all going to change. Jerusalem Bay is at roughly the same level as my destination but there was a lot of high ground between the two which I would now have to cover if I didn't want to stay in Jerusalem Bay for the rest of my life or slink back to Cowan in shame.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Neither of these two options being desirable I pressed on or rather, up. There was one good thing, the earlier dampness had burnt away and any threat of rain had faded into the distance. I breathed a silent prayer of thanks to some anonymous Norwegians and struggled upwards. And a struggle it was, I am in no way fit. I can walk fair distances due to a combination of habit and muscle memory but this ascent was a strain. My lungs burnt and my legs trembled, it was a measure of the difficulty that I didn't stop for a cigarette until I was at the top.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Gasping and lathered in what I hope was sweat I dragged my aching body up a series of semi virtiginous steps. On the way I encountered others going up or down. I stepped aside from the path to politely let them pass. At least that was the excuse I gave myself, in actual fact it was a rather transparent attempt to get my heart rate down to a level where I could actually measure it. Two of the people I passed were a couple of girls who seemed to be engaged in putting their clothes back on, I'm not sure what they had been doing but I suspect I would have liked to join them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1V__rg-kd_G-3YnxdRXSxeq2Rzhr5m9SaXPG5K18WbGTUXghneIUwpLWKO7iGbYoOzXH_yChYH9Cq4AwzRMqAAasjR_af5jQ8XwnQ0o16Cl8MfEy1HOJ2C61ROdDpEHQDz7vsG6PFgF39J6zXMZyD63RsYc1PVFoOizaGGc__Z1dx3anIKE3WJ1A3og/s4000/P3160120.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1V__rg-kd_G-3YnxdRXSxeq2Rzhr5m9SaXPG5K18WbGTUXghneIUwpLWKO7iGbYoOzXH_yChYH9Cq4AwzRMqAAasjR_af5jQ8XwnQ0o16Cl8MfEy1HOJ2C61ROdDpEHQDz7vsG6PFgF39J6zXMZyD63RsYc1PVFoOizaGGc__Z1dx3anIKE3WJ1A3og/s320/P3160120.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now I'm roughly back at the elevation I started from<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">With triumph singing in my ears (or possibly an incipient heart attack) I allowed a feeling of pride and achievement to flow through my body. A feeling which was abruptly banished when I checked the map and realised I had only gone halfway. With rubbery legs and a sinking heart I pushed on. Fortunately now that the ground had leveled out I found that I could push along a little more easily.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfkBsM86qzAbSB3pjxVaNpHj0N-HcEX2kloRQ1XoxY8wgYD889Gmy1RkapAPdqWLlHVO-qoPHN9gnqlo5B129dR8de-fy-JXrUrhOV3WliCx25du_d2wDxcQey9uNria_raVMq_JIPUUFM4SDV3LcMWcE27ZgiS3rBcJkkRMIvIUfefaxG_n0Y5nQP6Eo/s4000/P3160122.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfkBsM86qzAbSB3pjxVaNpHj0N-HcEX2kloRQ1XoxY8wgYD889Gmy1RkapAPdqWLlHVO-qoPHN9gnqlo5B129dR8de-fy-JXrUrhOV3WliCx25du_d2wDxcQey9uNria_raVMq_JIPUUFM4SDV3LcMWcE27ZgiS3rBcJkkRMIvIUfefaxG_n0Y5nQP6Eo/s320/P3160122.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"level" is of course a relative term<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">No sooner than I had recovered from the climb and decided that I could certainly handle the new flat walking path said path treacherously began to dip again. I knew this would happen because I had a map with contours and everything but I had driven it from my mind after that first ascent. Fortunately this one was distinctly more modest. I ambled gently down to another creek (can't they put the creeks at the top of hills?) which posed for photos and then had a, by comparison, gentle climb back up to something approximating the previous altitude.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDYZ9iMCV2Jt1SKUJ-AlEHY5Q9W1rYwnXg-krxnzrHBgDCsRiKaiOgsuVKLk7RHVHbymknLuaB9TBQnxJR4BfaJx14aQoTqLfj_Uq55-eAAUbnh7em24fDKzR4TajevDUDeJljWv5aFusRut8hDdBltirvG_wnB6L3BG4dQnMYzkyw5V0DUbg_w6Dzx2k/s4000/P3160124.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDYZ9iMCV2Jt1SKUJ-AlEHY5Q9W1rYwnXg-krxnzrHBgDCsRiKaiOgsuVKLk7RHVHbymknLuaB9TBQnxJR4BfaJx14aQoTqLfj_Uq55-eAAUbnh7em24fDKzR4TajevDUDeJljWv5aFusRut8hDdBltirvG_wnB6L3BG4dQnMYzkyw5V0DUbg_w6Dzx2k/s320/P3160124.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey ho, another creek<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgLNalJuLu1N59r4fIiSSZmaHrDuCizGyn9iJC89lphbX1Xr0A4jpxhZbhOMMw_H3bn-2H6HnOVs21g0Gg0kxY0xy360nLCj6U8y6iynlao0Yi2RttkTIeEpXFyGOSARtPZ63UrrQuswy40d1-vSZz5Gobu9iYo347ViOS9rcGbJVRdv_hjHoE7ARV18/s4000/P3160125.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgLNalJuLu1N59r4fIiSSZmaHrDuCizGyn9iJC89lphbX1Xr0A4jpxhZbhOMMw_H3bn-2H6HnOVs21g0Gg0kxY0xy360nLCj6U8y6iynlao0Yi2RttkTIeEpXFyGOSARtPZ63UrrQuswy40d1-vSZz5Gobu9iYo347ViOS9rcGbJVRdv_hjHoE7ARV18/s320/P3160125.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think I tried something a little artistic with this shot. It didn't really come off<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Gentle this latter climb may have been but my much put upon knees were now submitting formal objections to the abuse they had suffered and I was very grateful to return to level ground once again. To give myself an excuse for a pause I took a photo of what looked like a sea anemone but probably wasn't given its position at the top of a hill.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCC-i_9Hrjn7rymngLn4hqTOWJBkFc_3IjkL2jFCJOTXtNSEGAYpx5796OZZovNJrW5yfRaKn8a7NL5uu2Daf5p6IWYvjHkfyEJPsIhYsc0LJUleZ2YyEPYj4RJRahHfqwZEdmISE1_1hbUbe2gTs0sNWPEwEnDFnjPDkLlOtA39LA-d5HnoKlRHYVe4s/s4000/P3160128.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCC-i_9Hrjn7rymngLn4hqTOWJBkFc_3IjkL2jFCJOTXtNSEGAYpx5796OZZovNJrW5yfRaKn8a7NL5uu2Daf5p6IWYvjHkfyEJPsIhYsc0LJUleZ2YyEPYj4RJRahHfqwZEdmISE1_1hbUbe2gTs0sNWPEwEnDFnjPDkLlOtA39LA-d5HnoKlRHYVe4s/s320/P3160128.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a sea anemone<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Of course being at the top of a hill had advantages beyond the obvious of there being no more steps to climb. The gathering of trees politely stepped aside briefly and allowed me to take the following photo which if nothing else proves that I was at the top of something.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5axD4F0Vd1igR2hLUc0SjuOWCD7oes3XG3gCFSkv_1XLjk2qGkgnMYea3dP9ANq747LslJ3okXi9C6oOQUk4WIFbpwPE_ql8NxR3u1pAhI3WCSy4JS96Qqu2kf89mJV26X38B6QEHLGgqvz8XPKKoMoPYs30KuMHEdntTtAr9UyDRQBRC_coVyLOM4Y8/s4000/P3160131.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5axD4F0Vd1igR2hLUc0SjuOWCD7oes3XG3gCFSkv_1XLjk2qGkgnMYea3dP9ANq747LslJ3okXi9C6oOQUk4WIFbpwPE_ql8NxR3u1pAhI3WCSy4JS96Qqu2kf89mJV26X38B6QEHLGgqvz8XPKKoMoPYs30KuMHEdntTtAr9UyDRQBRC_coVyLOM4Y8/s320/P3160131.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Definitely at the top of something<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Photo opportunities very temporarily exhausted I headed on. It was early afternoon and I still had a disturbing number of kilometres to cover. Fortunately the trail became easier although somewhat less interesting as it had connected up with a firetrail. Walking along the firetrail was relatively easy but it did cut back on the tree cover just as the sun to make up for its earlier tardiness threw itself into its job with renewed vigour. I wish I could say the same. Instead I lurched forward with rapidly diminishing vigour and increasingly desperate looks at the map to see how far I still had to travel. Quite a way as it happened.</p><p style="text-align: left;">With the sun beating down I stumbled along the firetrail muttering curses at the arrogant, over optimistic fool who had got me into this situation. It's a good thing I'm not capable of time travel, I suspect I would spend a good deal of my time going back and beating myself up for various acts of stupidity. Then I wandered over to the other side of the firetrail from the previous view.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij8S9R66QlkgLeE3JmWCRLpiSuE_v9qDD1D2DDt3_rmW2LRcTSQmO60WaaboGvvMnWoLBWOzAPo7SZmqjacf_UDjp0eXphLot86mvKCPPKPyoTorxWHW4KAZgKi8DsZvJMMvdKB-LsnDyJFXyP_gq83we-FgOEmiipvo5aDyA9q4o41IyrhrNDjS_8N0o/s4000/P3160137.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij8S9R66QlkgLeE3JmWCRLpiSuE_v9qDD1D2DDt3_rmW2LRcTSQmO60WaaboGvvMnWoLBWOzAPo7SZmqjacf_UDjp0eXphLot86mvKCPPKPyoTorxWHW4KAZgKi8DsZvJMMvdKB-LsnDyJFXyP_gq83we-FgOEmiipvo5aDyA9q4o41IyrhrNDjS_8N0o/s320/P3160137.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My destination is somewhere near the bridge<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The pleasure I took in the magnificent view I was accorded was tempered somewhat by the fact that it was a visual representation of exactly how much further I had to walk. I winced and carried on encouraged by the fact that I was once again heading gently downward and as far as I was aware there were no more grueling hills between myself and my destination (wrong).</p><p style="text-align: left;">One thing that had been missing from this walk so far was wildlife. Normally my bushwalks are good for some decent bird and lizard photos at least but so far there had been nothing except oysters and its fair to say that the ones I was able to photograph were probably dead. Finally a bird landed in a branch at an inconvenient distance from me but I photographed the crap out of it. The results were less than stellar but I assure you there is a bird in the following picture, somewhere.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32l-gBRa6u3F5yL3UAgjEFCoLBklWZsOgsyYr6DS7yBkSlN6Pde-myZSgFadhEudZjkv-C5fRSjit_EmSOPTGcTDvbymqQZGBiiEnRYF6lZWKnaOYZmh1TxK6C2Vt5xq9ecEp-NbX0OGipjVM9Zppt31UBJ759DJAhPedXI1jn6uklyEC7vY21ZxECtY/s4000/P3160144.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32l-gBRa6u3F5yL3UAgjEFCoLBklWZsOgsyYr6DS7yBkSlN6Pde-myZSgFadhEudZjkv-C5fRSjit_EmSOPTGcTDvbymqQZGBiiEnRYF6lZWKnaOYZmh1TxK6C2Vt5xq9ecEp-NbX0OGipjVM9Zppt31UBJ759DJAhPedXI1jn6uklyEC7vY21ZxECtY/s320/P3160144.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a bird in there<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">My descent had a destination of course. I was heading towards Brooklyn Dam camping site. I took what comfort I could from the fact that the landmarks were now bearing the name of my final destination. Surely this must mean that I was getting close. Indeed I was but there was one final surprise waiting for me. But first, Brooklyn Dam.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBTttvL3CdZm_df__V-HXzG7HHbsaS6U2KU9fNorq8z41Q5jDwmJJ8bxmSIYnXOYFS6tTQTsVIQknrnraiqACUkrAfL3RrY2pYeTrkmOIeJzuJzqczBL8V7DN3dp8aTYghXDqvgvR7uwo0Vex6SeJ8hyy7UzX4eY2VAGYeSzXxaIIIPz0WwdF0FaPhvs/s4000/P3160146.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBTttvL3CdZm_df__V-HXzG7HHbsaS6U2KU9fNorq8z41Q5jDwmJJ8bxmSIYnXOYFS6tTQTsVIQknrnraiqACUkrAfL3RrY2pYeTrkmOIeJzuJzqczBL8V7DN3dp8aTYghXDqvgvR7uwo0Vex6SeJ8hyy7UzX4eY2VAGYeSzXxaIIIPz0WwdF0FaPhvs/s320/P3160146.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As promised<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GWF1vdxBveVBPXb1NPTEX4yFeyHgLfHg5iwEsJed80tHamLCDEJHvsTYJ2-69yce5Vyp2uIdoi9Fzha6GyDH1esmvaaNm1xhV9l0JUoGogQGRbSrKulp9uTsPfOkJVaYJplDyGVg2EYwKTLYrRk-OWYOuZCHlgoaELpQeIQOihFQNRBCusv1viFjnk8/s4000/P3160148.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GWF1vdxBveVBPXb1NPTEX4yFeyHgLfHg5iwEsJed80tHamLCDEJHvsTYJ2-69yce5Vyp2uIdoi9Fzha6GyDH1esmvaaNm1xhV9l0JUoGogQGRbSrKulp9uTsPfOkJVaYJplDyGVg2EYwKTLYrRk-OWYOuZCHlgoaELpQeIQOihFQNRBCusv1viFjnk8/s320/P3160148.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And now with added lilypads<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The trail circumnavigated pretty much the entire dam/lake thing which I thought was a little excessive and then of course started to climb. I wasn't particularly concerned, I was very near the end now and I knew this climb wasn't particularly difficult. Unfortunately nobody had told my knees. Having been roundly abused earlier in the day they decided that there was a level of shit up with which they would not put. Whimpering I dragged myself slowly upward pausing supposedly to admire the scenery but actually so that I could recuperate a little before hobbling slowly onward. Finally I reached the top and now I knew I was really near the end. I assured my knees that the worst was over and in my defence I really believed it. I had forgotten that Brooklyn being on the water meant that there was another descent to do. That descent was a nightmare. It was a vehicle accessible road sealed in what appeared to be concrete ripple and extremely steep. For someone whose knees were already in active revolt it was excruciating. I literally descended by taking a dozen steps, waiting for my knees to stop screaming, taking another dozen steps and so on. Said descent took an uncomfortably long time. At one point I considered lying down and rolling down the hill, the presence of hairpin bends stopped me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Finally as can be evidenced by this blog entry I got to the bottom without losing life or limb (although it was touch and go on the limb) and hobbled through the streets of Brooklyn in search of the railway station that was my final destination. Strangely as soon as we hit level ground my knees stopped complaining and I was able to reach the station without weeping in pain. On arriving at the station I was confronted with a set of stairs to take me up over the line and down to the station. There was also a lift. For reasons I can't begin to explain I decided that the lift would be cheating. I hobbled painfully up the stairs and even more painfully down to the platform and raided my pack for advil which almost immediately made my knees feel better. That's something else, I had the advil all along but deliberately refrained from taking it until I had finished the walk. The only explanation I can give is that I am an idiot. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Now with the walk behind me and in better time than I expected a feeling of triumph flooded through me washing away all of the aches (although that was probably the advil). I called my father to let him know I had finished.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Finished what?" he asked.</p><p style="text-align: left;">To celebrate the end of my walk I took a photo of the Hawkesbury River from the station and waited for the train home. Fortunately the advil was still working when I had to climb the stairs to my flat.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvMM8Or0lDq05SZNGKPSM5KQXinxoi_bs3CHEdlOeWLiXcvN8S-oNLm0oWcIzXjYoivj2yztxD74D9e-0-0C9-uCucYlQAJXqeb95eZ6NS2TbikZexm8yZlGs1rb10rFsePAJgjwdjpCmMbjpi5uo1J1uW8VkQJMG8AhgQaneyHcqQNtRXVQvuh9sWKY/s4000/P3160155.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvMM8Or0lDq05SZNGKPSM5KQXinxoi_bs3CHEdlOeWLiXcvN8S-oNLm0oWcIzXjYoivj2yztxD74D9e-0-0C9-uCucYlQAJXqeb95eZ6NS2TbikZexm8yZlGs1rb10rFsePAJgjwdjpCmMbjpi5uo1J1uW8VkQJMG8AhgQaneyHcqQNtRXVQvuh9sWKY/s320/P3160155.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Journey's end<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p></div>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-44664058300603403232024-03-12T03:04:00.000-07:002024-03-12T03:04:46.536-07:00Travelling Pathetically - Recycling Pyrmont<p> I had big plans. I had prepared for one of my more ambitious walks to date. There would be ups and downs and making my way through a national park in one of the more scenic Sydney adjacent areas. Then it rained. I muttered and put off my plans for a week. The next Saturday it also rained but this time I had a contingency plan in place. For reasons I can't really explain I had been glancing at a map of Pyrmont. I have of course been to Pyrmont before, several times. In my thrilling series of blog entries centred around light rail stations (I really do need to find a more interesting hobby) I had wandered around bits of Pyrmont as that suburb is practically overrun with light rail stations. There are five such stations within Pyrmont's official boundaries, not bad for a suburb which is only one square kilometre in area.</p><p>Being small and quite densely populated Pyrmont is obviously covered in buildings which made me wonder if there were in fact any parks or open spaces at all. There are of course a couple of significant parks at the waterside but what about within the suburb itself. I applied myself to the map and by zooming in as far as I could go managed to identify quite a few tiny little green splashes amongst the grey. That was sufficient excuse for me.</p><p>"I shall go to Pyrmont," I announced to a collection of disinterested plush toys, "and I shall attempt to walk around the suburb through as many parks, parkettes, reserves and random pot plants as possible."</p><p>"You really need a hobby," said Humpy the camel.</p><p>"This is a hobby."</p><p>"I mean a much better one."</p><p>"I could always take up camel racing."</p><p>"Enjoy your walk."</p><p>Of course having wandered around bits of Pyrmont in the past I would perforce be going over some old ground. That means while I might struggle to have something new to say I could shamelessly crib bits from the earlier blog entries, toss in a few photos and claim its all new. Pleased with the concept of achievement for little effort I set out on a Sunday which after a rainy Saturday rapidly developed into the sort of day it would be nice to go on a proper bushwalk but I was committed to Pyrmont and I wasn't intending to let the suburb down.</p><p>Like many inner city suburbs Pyrmont has gone through its ups and downs over the years. At first it was a working class suburb with warehouses, factories, docks, a power station and quarries. In fact much of the sandstone used to build Sydney's handsome public buildings was quarried here. This has led to a fair amount of up and down in Pyrmont. Your next door neighbour can sometimes live thirty metres higher than you do. There are quite a few sets of steps to assist pedestrians in getting about. </p><p>Over the years the industry moved away or shut down and Pyrmont went into significant decline. Then in the 1980s inner city living became popular and a spectacular renaissance took place as the population jumped from a few hundred to about twelve thousand. Now there are pubs, cafes and all of the usual accoutrements of inner city living. Despite the vast influx of population Pyrmont manages to give the impression of being slightly apart from the rest of the city. The main reason for this is motorways. A series of motorways taking people from somewhere that isn't Pyrmont to somewhere else that isn't Pyrmont encircle and virtually transform the suburb into an island. The council signs announcing "Sydney, a City of Villages" sounds slightly less like fatuous garbage when you read them in Pyrmont although only slightly.</p><p>I hopped on the fabled light rail, subject of many an excellent blog entry (and a few crappy ones) and rode the rails to Wentworth Park the first of many light rail stations that serve Pyrmont. Wentworth Park clings to the south west corner of Pyrmont wedged between some new apartment buildings and a large vacant lot. In a pitiful attempt to make it look like a country railway station a small fringe of bushland approximately two trees wide flanks both sides of the station. The attempt is more successful than you might think.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWly8Ati7OqNfDPQhidUdtrItec9Gjk7LzGye2UDSnquwcBUbOsBaEYZzEgM-YEHDGjd3rsmvdmobVblHkW7zP3dXVtvCSp0iqBRMFcWKo7zOG68-LfIQlNRJ0pw2F6PSm9qIiAomT6ualtBcfJoXjr0DX-kBOSqm0H4T8NuhB0KKZ5fcU2pSFdSjCXs/s4000/P3030047.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWly8Ati7OqNfDPQhidUdtrItec9Gjk7LzGye2UDSnquwcBUbOsBaEYZzEgM-YEHDGjd3rsmvdmobVblHkW7zP3dXVtvCSp0iqBRMFcWKo7zOG68-LfIQlNRJ0pw2F6PSm9qIiAomT6ualtBcfJoXjr0DX-kBOSqm0H4T8NuhB0KKZ5fcU2pSFdSjCXs/s320/P3030047.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A charming country lane next to Wentworth Park light rail station<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">In contrast to my usual half arsed attempts at organisation I had made detailed plans for this walk. I would hop out at Wentworth Park, walk along Wattle St and then turn left up Fig Street to take me into the belly of the beast or, rather, Pyrmont. This plan came to an abrupt halt two minutes later when Fig Street disappeared under a bridge that would eventually spit it out onto the Western Distributor. What I actually wanted to be on was Upper Fig Street which was on top of said bridge. I retraced my steps and headed further up Wattle Street until I reached Quarry Street. It had taken me precisely five minutes to leave Pyrmont and instead venture into the gritty urban landscape of Ultimo.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I hurried up Quarry Street before roaming cannibal gangs took advantage of my soft sweet flesh. Reaching Jones Street in a lather of sweat (that wasn't the cannibal gangs, I'm just not used to going uphill) I took a sharp left and headed back towards the safe haven of Fig Street (Upper). I paused just long enough to take a photo of Quarry Green a little park attempting to bring a spot of nature to Ultimo.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-XF29s6-yxidktLqNVPeHR5OYZR7XSefZQZbyEqTorNlMe-Y7F3bG8Gia1xLl1gHYmzQU3OduUHANQVOh0cxXC9XZQe1zY_GFlQXTrqJvZgAsVl-g04vWLta7uikX1ehdOlsEkmJ5XbaZsuzs4bo0PF0z4HMTZmLG77aa1JlPi07YJR5v6E4hr9OKoNA/s4000/P3030048.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-XF29s6-yxidktLqNVPeHR5OYZR7XSefZQZbyEqTorNlMe-Y7F3bG8Gia1xLl1gHYmzQU3OduUHANQVOh0cxXC9XZQe1zY_GFlQXTrqJvZgAsVl-g04vWLta7uikX1ehdOlsEkmJ5XbaZsuzs4bo0PF0z4HMTZmLG77aa1JlPi07YJR5v6E4hr9OKoNA/s320/P3030048.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Quarry Green but its in Ultimo so it doesn't count<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Fig Lane Park occupies a narrow block between Fig Lane and Fig Street but I didn't take any photos of it because it was occupied by a large number of children in bathing costumes disporting themselves and I can do without another visit from the police. More importantly by stepping onto Fig Street I was back in Pyrmont. I promised not to leave again before I was done.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Having found Fig Street I promptly abandoned it again instead taking shelter under the Western Distributor which made its way overhead supported by quite low lying concrete. I almost had to duck my head to avoid hitting my forehead on a motorway which is something that doesn't happen every day. Once past the just overpass I found myself in the rear of a handsome block of flats and my next destination the Ada Place Streetscape. Ada Place used to be (and a little further on still is) a narrow lane between two blocks of flats. The "streetscape" is a name given when you've removed the cars and tossed in a few pot plants but the result still can't legitimately be called a park. It was essentially a walkway with plants on one side and balconies of flats on the other. Beyond the plants there were more balconies belonging to a different set flats.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzkubnUxzDLtnkPJViu1e8AgF8Dzk2WepeknPj9efktYHg5_DTLQWbRioyxqPNu5A3AWalX_GXChlZuTKx2PVAz_CMeNgVAS2rPzReNQUNEBzVZMHxWykwzbCo0Wxow7R1QsEom4qVnL50-90EXJXo9ueN3U2WjbqWXob1CaOrsSv2BtjV2MRFD3pKII/s4000/P3030051.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzkubnUxzDLtnkPJViu1e8AgF8Dzk2WepeknPj9efktYHg5_DTLQWbRioyxqPNu5A3AWalX_GXChlZuTKx2PVAz_CMeNgVAS2rPzReNQUNEBzVZMHxWykwzbCo0Wxow7R1QsEom4qVnL50-90EXJXo9ueN3U2WjbqWXob1CaOrsSv2BtjV2MRFD3pKII/s320/P3030051.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not exactly untamed wilderness but the best Ada Place Streetscape can do<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Making my way through the tangled wilderness of the streetscape took about two minutes before I was thrust out onto a leafless street. I turned left and scurried down Bulwara Road in search of my next patch of green. In fact the green was immediately to my left. It wasn't dignified with a park name and was fenced off so that you couldn't enter it. The reason is that nestling at the bottom of once again a narrow fringe of trees was the light rail line I had abandoned earlier and which had now come crawling back. It was nice to have trees by my side again after an agonised two and a half minutes walking down a suburban street but I had bigger fish to fry. Ahead of me lay Paradise Reserve. You may have heard of Paradise Reserve but unless you live in Pyrmont probably not. It usefully fills a gap between the Western Distributor and Bulwara Road and incidentally gives the passengers of the light rail something green as they journey through Pyrmont.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Paradise Reserve announced itself with a truly enormous tree and for a moment I thought that was the reserve but no, the reserve went on with well sculpted greenery for whole minutes until it spat me out near Fish Market light rail station.</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVpdDHNQrIH_ICuRAvrfc5BUHShU3PJWwrXVuskb0AiVl664BP2j8sTEnz7-KiSZ0oA2OT4QYAE5sxuZ-kVQBubzqevg0D8MR0bbswBxvotgjLyUBYbjm9QGmwqF8wcAWPU-DEr86Ogr0CpMDDHDQqN898JyUa9X25Mx3mYeaayZxq5U6qDmOKOn59pXI/s4000/P3030053.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVpdDHNQrIH_ICuRAvrfc5BUHShU3PJWwrXVuskb0AiVl664BP2j8sTEnz7-KiSZ0oA2OT4QYAE5sxuZ-kVQBubzqevg0D8MR0bbswBxvotgjLyUBYbjm9QGmwqF8wcAWPU-DEr86Ogr0CpMDDHDQqN898JyUa9X25Mx3mYeaayZxq5U6qDmOKOn59pXI/s320/P3030053.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A tree so big it didn't all fit in the view finder</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkW1s_69kqwf9PDwIYX930qxjY37agVylPlsSCG028glIfBRs-wZOIQ0kF3LoUBo6PSYJrsyp_Al5urtYJNv7vzjZMgTFYK1qUjM45cZe8ptcF7upG0gscSHgKX0RmgTGYZJi6hoU-r4caEFrMInNzGvNE8Eho0ZXMQbDwmqugx3bJ8UqOZerX3gtw9TE/s4000/P3030054.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkW1s_69kqwf9PDwIYX930qxjY37agVylPlsSCG028glIfBRs-wZOIQ0kF3LoUBo6PSYJrsyp_Al5urtYJNv7vzjZMgTFYK1qUjM45cZe8ptcF7upG0gscSHgKX0RmgTGYZJi6hoU-r4caEFrMInNzGvNE8Eho0ZXMQbDwmqugx3bJ8UqOZerX3gtw9TE/s320/P3030054.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gazing from Paradise Reserve over the light rail<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">The earlier greyness of the day had already starting swinging around to "don't you wish you'd brought sunblock and water" which is ridiculous when you're five minutes from a shopping centre. A light rail vehicle pulled up and disgorged no doubt fish crazed individuals eager to spend their hard earned on the least polluted thing that can be dragged from the nearby waters. I hope the damage to their DNA is limited to the bare minimum.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlAnIwbhS7jA3y-QcgzerQ7sM1hKbSJILKwSLHodyrW-s3ATLDYWeqtZEHp5Z3sz19XfC9ZPTHKNgNzsrcre6alacwap_ZA0olwbvz-etoE5jmlRomyLV8IORi1YoSBf8jOyfuVBZtPV2yj7YV2E3gn7-Q6c3tvlh4JNLv0-eJ3zg_jqmyDwQRE-ziOc/s4000/P3030056.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlAnIwbhS7jA3y-QcgzerQ7sM1hKbSJILKwSLHodyrW-s3ATLDYWeqtZEHp5Z3sz19XfC9ZPTHKNgNzsrcre6alacwap_ZA0olwbvz-etoE5jmlRomyLV8IORi1YoSBf8jOyfuVBZtPV2yj7YV2E3gn7-Q6c3tvlh4JNLv0-eJ3zg_jqmyDwQRE-ziOc/s320/P3030056.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fish Market station complete with tram<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Above is Fish Market station. If you hop off here, turn left, go under the overpass and keep on walking you will fall into the harbour. If you stop just before that point you will find the fish market your focal point for all things piscine as long as they're dead. If you want living sea creatures don't stop walking when you hit the fish market.</p><p>I had no interest in fish of either a living or dead persuasion so instead I made my way across what was probably a normal intersection before somebody decided to shoehorn a motorway off ramp onto it and fled down Jones Street. Jones Street once upon a time stretched from Broadway all the way to Pyrmont. Technically it still does but various developments and motorways mean that the street tends to vanish and then reappear when you least expect it. At the end of Jones Street is Jones Street Pocket Park. A pocket park is another cute name for "there isn't enough room here for another apartment block so lets stick some trees around and pretend it's deliberate".</p><p>I've been to the pocket park before (when I did the Fish Market station blog entry) but saw no reason why I shouldn't grace it with my presence again. Remember I mentioned that Pyrmont was a quarry? It was actually three quarries and I had been walking around the bottom of one. The pocket park is where the you run out of flat land before having to climb to the top of the quarry. Since people don't necessarily like living next to a cliff that can drop rocks on their homes there was scope for a pocket park although not much more because these people can afford insurance.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIYv0tXNFGmS0_whphqTP2FwmHVBUe86MGsPNz6OX-rHHkdiAZ3iPalhYFsQ544nvZubywqjac6slCgCK3jlTdYZkrXMTViYW4ZPzBORNjC7xyAoDE1UvfY0zz0jTL_5vxfy2_JHh2Wu3u2BgGPd6rAg_lY9Zvy4OBJtFkHPqt3rECgh9YFRdcO1pQBE/s4000/P3030057.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIYv0tXNFGmS0_whphqTP2FwmHVBUe86MGsPNz6OX-rHHkdiAZ3iPalhYFsQ544nvZubywqjac6slCgCK3jlTdYZkrXMTViYW4ZPzBORNjC7xyAoDE1UvfY0zz0jTL_5vxfy2_JHh2Wu3u2BgGPd6rAg_lY9Zvy4OBJtFkHPqt3rECgh9YFRdcO1pQBE/s320/P3030057.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jones Street Pocket Park with the quarry wall.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The pocket park stretched left and right, my journey took me left but to show willing I went right first and traveled the length of the park although it would be more accurate to say I traveled the shortth of the park. The last time I was there a fence was protecting passers by in case bits of the quarry wall leapt out at them. Now four years later the fence is still there, apparently feral quarry walls are an ongoing problem. I came to the end of the park shortly after I started. There was a flight of steps that would lead stout hearted pedestrians up to the top of the quarry where Pyrmont continued at a slightly higher altitude but I hadn't finished with the lowlands yet.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRv-Fagxl89dk1aDw2cGQzq_uoq_0dEu2SqF9lu148GJsIb_y89Hd1BagPWjwZMmournovQBxdhn33rUB6IqVpZAgnLnEKqSKDyHU33Pog76Oxdoesgx421QQWA3NHdiosRYqv-dLDp6j0EbvvGdMgBN8zgS-VkStVnaOheArkXJ4ihh9tLxNUINeOZPw/s4000/P3030058.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRv-Fagxl89dk1aDw2cGQzq_uoq_0dEu2SqF9lu148GJsIb_y89Hd1BagPWjwZMmournovQBxdhn33rUB6IqVpZAgnLnEKqSKDyHU33Pog76Oxdoesgx421QQWA3NHdiosRYqv-dLDp6j0EbvvGdMgBN8zgS-VkStVnaOheArkXJ4ihh9tLxNUINeOZPw/s320/P3030058.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fence is there for my own protection apparently<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">I headed back to my pocket park starting point and went left as I had always intended to do. A bridge took me across the light rail and into what I assume was a public walkway through an apartment block. Once out on the street I headed for Carmichael Park fifteen seconds up the road.</p><p style="text-align: left;">There was a dead fish in Carmichael Park for reasons I can't imagine. There were also lots of rainbow lorikeets and the back yard of an apartment block (I think the one I just walked through). A few seconds of walking and a fence prevented my from tumbling onto the light rail line. To my right another fence prevented me from tumbling into the apartment block. I took a couple of photos of the lorikeets because they hung around badgering me until I relented. Then I walked to the other end of Carmichael Park which took all of a minute and climbed up the side of the quarry. I was going up in the world but not far and not for long.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFX_tCBbdp6qBQeCTMq-hUfOTwwhtqCopsqLDJF8B_AYhilP4MTtadiGaZYeaISofpglF-h212FN_SS8DxbjA-4gZmWEEgVKbEupZIW_OZ_DGfq7Vq3UXjGjVt7xPTgOI1yDY4jm9ixq_tResyHlrM85Gvq9-4Hqb_AIkTLEnqXaKzzv8sTJNaJy_hGAo/s4000/P3030060.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFX_tCBbdp6qBQeCTMq-hUfOTwwhtqCopsqLDJF8B_AYhilP4MTtadiGaZYeaISofpglF-h212FN_SS8DxbjA-4gZmWEEgVKbEupZIW_OZ_DGfq7Vq3UXjGjVt7xPTgOI1yDY4jm9ixq_tResyHlrM85Gvq9-4Hqb_AIkTLEnqXaKzzv8sTJNaJy_hGAo/s320/P3030060.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainbow lorikeets</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYz7fKhcN_GnvzY41Hcg0mJJQOq2QcouhTr6kDPFyNtM_6d1tgW1MqEknOZ_L6K-QA_Htn0Y3VKmcupz-M0cNEra6kXzn3mIdl4cK4UdBuvL04GO-qB2AIH4nwkk8XtdBYKIdGtrNGUXmVJpKWXkQcT7pGAiwlbpbYLxl52EI2KjQ5AI5YTNYFwLLXb0/s4000/P3030062.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYz7fKhcN_GnvzY41Hcg0mJJQOq2QcouhTr6kDPFyNtM_6d1tgW1MqEknOZ_L6K-QA_Htn0Y3VKmcupz-M0cNEra6kXzn3mIdl4cK4UdBuvL04GO-qB2AIH4nwkk8XtdBYKIdGtrNGUXmVJpKWXkQcT7pGAiwlbpbYLxl52EI2KjQ5AI5YTNYFwLLXb0/s320/P3030062.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A much better photo of rainbow lorikeets although the people in the apartment probably weren't pleased<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Now I was up on high and after a few minutes to acclimatise to the altitude I set off across The Knoll a neatly shaved park perched on the top of Pyrmont. I was heading towards the water (to be fair in Pyrmont its difficult not to, its a headland) and the more decorative, well sculptured parks of the foreshore. I did pause for a couple of photos from my new elevated vantage point.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_HVW9Gy-1wNIdzk20EajRcOZy5WFzbyS7RaGftHcMjxjgAnqsHzMjG0GY-sAHlf45gFykTgrb74FvbPOhyphenhyphenaXTcKw6uGZQb8WtWM0oR9dT41l7g1ew2uLUe-oJLbUT7q4FsPQeStRPACo2N7nb6HGOCOMwXJgYvwhdO4q9tZbYPvlmjcZTSjtPSYmCXI/s4000/P3030068.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_HVW9Gy-1wNIdzk20EajRcOZy5WFzbyS7RaGftHcMjxjgAnqsHzMjG0GY-sAHlf45gFykTgrb74FvbPOhyphenhyphenaXTcKw6uGZQb8WtWM0oR9dT41l7g1ew2uLUe-oJLbUT7q4FsPQeStRPACo2N7nb6HGOCOMwXJgYvwhdO4q9tZbYPvlmjcZTSjtPSYmCXI/s320/P3030068.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A photo to the left<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBA19lcm7hPLVLv5DTCmNRPmZZVQbcF0yDmBFhbXRmOTqxy0iNg-DI9KK0jveHlJzy7Z7jpdiScsiYHJUGS3D00JbQFqwjfDu6EV_KQKXkticoAlhB9GDJ07l4Z5KH6z8c11mdeYRJlkKzBo683xNDIICudoy-7QyK32aGESHNRRMCk1McvR_xdHmrQJg/s4000/P3030069.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBA19lcm7hPLVLv5DTCmNRPmZZVQbcF0yDmBFhbXRmOTqxy0iNg-DI9KK0jveHlJzy7Z7jpdiScsiYHJUGS3D00JbQFqwjfDu6EV_KQKXkticoAlhB9GDJ07l4Z5KH6z8c11mdeYRJlkKzBo683xNDIICudoy-7QyK32aGESHNRRMCk1McvR_xdHmrQJg/s320/P3030069.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And a photo to the right<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Then I was off again skirting the western part of The Knoll until I found a flight of steps to take me down to sea level. Said steps dutifully presented themselves and I trotted back down to the level I just left and made my way through what was either a very well sculpted miniature park of the front yard of the apartment block just to my right. It was getting increasingly difficult to tell. On the one hand nobody chased me off on the other I didn't feel quite comfortable about taking photos and there weren't any lorikeets around to justify my invasion of privacy.</p><p style="text-align: left;">All that came to an end when I crossed the road and wound up in the unimaginatively named Waterfront Park. I knew that I had stepped into something a little more impressive than a pocket park or a street scape when I saw the art. I know it was art because there was a sign announcing that it was art. If the sign hadn't been there I would have assumed that I was looking at bits of abandoned industrial machinery.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV84K6r5jkGlEa3NRxZ1oVlpPp1b-ADF7b9F5t57yJy-WgJdhJwnWkr1qJVri_ivCs8dKo7TcSbWlquqZmzUq7u94Hz_0XaM3vNLPMCudsyYuVHzD2YHF1ZoOuJlWkP_8no95neByMdh_FtH4RdpIFFxxIghjj_4RT52jfdZt5J9dzieB77LF1kasNk80/s4000/P3030071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV84K6r5jkGlEa3NRxZ1oVlpPp1b-ADF7b9F5t57yJy-WgJdhJwnWkr1qJVri_ivCs8dKo7TcSbWlquqZmzUq7u94Hz_0XaM3vNLPMCudsyYuVHzD2YHF1ZoOuJlWkP_8no95neByMdh_FtH4RdpIFFxxIghjj_4RT52jfdZt5J9dzieB77LF1kasNk80/s320/P3030071.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waterfront Park, the art is on the right<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Along with a sudden outbreak of art I also encountered people. It may seem strange but I hadn't run into too many people so far on my walk because I had essentially been walking through the back parts of Pyrmont but now I had emerged into an area where the denizens disported themselves in the afternoon sun. I decided it was time to move on. Other parks awaited my attention. Lest I seem ungrateful I did take a couple of photos of the less people intensive parts of the park which I present for your delectation.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPE4yF4ef7vakmh-SCSSvcwqYqvWHMwQWaHHE7ZECNDV1jPnNK2uHOa8vqQ6Fl08radYcO4DBRkBCXkrEGBmXE58mHgIGHP9kXDoZrwO_6ahlYo9YcOKUWcEn6lw5IsBfd9wUo-IhlJtk1WJ30n7o2dkV7GuxGpBhD6mlMhUwts2j1foinvfElxyC2E8U/s4000/P3030072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPE4yF4ef7vakmh-SCSSvcwqYqvWHMwQWaHHE7ZECNDV1jPnNK2uHOa8vqQ6Fl08radYcO4DBRkBCXkrEGBmXE58mHgIGHP9kXDoZrwO_6ahlYo9YcOKUWcEn6lw5IsBfd9wUo-IhlJtk1WJ30n7o2dkV7GuxGpBhD6mlMhUwts2j1foinvfElxyC2E8U/s320/P3030072.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waterfront Park without people<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQZdD74XIg22gtVwoY4VXrMUiB6f96KiW9lRuEB-u4qRRKrV-QBcpH-z6cRx9saq0DPd89pZpv7YFHEUdiOrTeJw2e5xFA2gITBGG5WDU4RT3-mNtDAtCkn78fzcQXxR_4UIF5N0BT3mlmLTm3Y4hL-XVN0nLG5Jef3mj7Uwv2LzU3V2Smf06IgjGqUE/s4000/P3030074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQZdD74XIg22gtVwoY4VXrMUiB6f96KiW9lRuEB-u4qRRKrV-QBcpH-z6cRx9saq0DPd89pZpv7YFHEUdiOrTeJw2e5xFA2gITBGG5WDU4RT3-mNtDAtCkn78fzcQXxR_4UIF5N0BT3mlmLTm3Y4hL-XVN0nLG5Jef3mj7Uwv2LzU3V2Smf06IgjGqUE/s320/P3030074.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The water that the park is fronting<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Once past the park there was a bit of dockside with a sign warning you about a crane. There was no crane in sight, I can only presume that it was hiding somewhere waiting to jump out at unsuspecting passers by. I kept alert and put my best crane threatening face on. Not only did this stop the crane from making an appearance but it also kept the other pedestrians at a safe distance. Although from the expression on some of their faces not safe enough.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YrFs4s8b5kNF6m-ADzs9acgEqD1JHcgp0lNCOzO1IxkduCerWzJeh2I1oe8-5x4xHbCuFbjBfFCEyTTDfo9rsHKLRwan2hbFwvej6i2wfNvAzN0CzkkTxJdRmFrA6ZV3Ln0z62hzoGzmYLP08oIxx9YzV7mGfs_eRTM6VZQ_Zqiv1F2XpxrKcZZa6Qk/s4000/P3030075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YrFs4s8b5kNF6m-ADzs9acgEqD1JHcgp0lNCOzO1IxkduCerWzJeh2I1oe8-5x4xHbCuFbjBfFCEyTTDfo9rsHKLRwan2hbFwvej6i2wfNvAzN0CzkkTxJdRmFrA6ZV3Ln0z62hzoGzmYLP08oIxx9YzV7mGfs_eRTM6VZQ_Zqiv1F2XpxrKcZZa6Qk/s320/P3030075.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was no crane in sight<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Although I was largely ambling along the waterfront I took a detour to go up a flight of stairs. Stairs aren't something you can really avoid in Pyrmont although I could have avoided these ones. At the top of the stairs was another park. All neatly trimmed lawn with the occasional tree. I suppose it was nice enough but it was a little too manicured for me. I like my parks the way I like my men, a little rough around the edges.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLGWzi24mKHHELOgPGsWsBIUWS7tGqr6mIOh7kAsCrw26Q_3wSevPlsRHb1D15g1evAvQ0Pp6lLxbEaXj1PP1DyLSQ1ssduFdZwBQDhyLiNlOwZN-q8ZEX2ZP9ILhgorTSQxE_KVHul-Xl03g6cl4yXFoUTAlCxPi7MsSC-6JWu9NcuKKDfZMEvrw7aw/s4000/P3030077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLGWzi24mKHHELOgPGsWsBIUWS7tGqr6mIOh7kAsCrw26Q_3wSevPlsRHb1D15g1evAvQ0Pp6lLxbEaXj1PP1DyLSQ1ssduFdZwBQDhyLiNlOwZN-q8ZEX2ZP9ILhgorTSQxE_KVHul-Xl03g6cl4yXFoUTAlCxPi7MsSC-6JWu9NcuKKDfZMEvrw7aw/s320/P3030077.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little too well trimmed for my taste<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Having graced the over presented park with my presence I returned to the waterfront and another park. This was the big one, Pirrama Park. Pirrama Park is the largest park in Pyrmont with lots of space for families and children to frolic. All of this frolic territory was walled off with temporary fencing and signs noting that due to an unfortunate asbestos situation the frolic parts of the park were out of commission. I walked along the path gazing at the gaoled greenery. This was only the most extreme example of something that I had encountered all the way along. At least half the greenery I had admired had been separated from me by similar warning signs. It would appear that asbestos was the material of choice for park bedding in Pyrmont. The entire "asbestos in parks" issue has developed into a low level scandal as it turns out that a lot of the government's attempt to promote green spaces include the insides of people's lungs.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I made my way through the small part of the park that was walkable and headed south. There were other parks to see but I figured I'd inhaled enough asbestos fibres for one day so I turned right, climbed another flight of stairs and made my way to Johns Square Light Rail Station to cough my way home.<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-9145907514652374122024-03-02T22:38:00.000-08:002024-03-02T22:38:50.133-08:00Travelling Pathetically - Semi Professional Edition<p> I was speaking with my Tasmanian correspondent the other day. God knows why, each of us must have hit a personal low at the same time. To fill in the increasingly awkward silences I regaled her with tales of my previous walk that had involved me scrambling frantically up the trackless heights of Padstow. For context at this point I should note that my correspondent is used to traveling the wilds of Tasmania on foot with nothing but a toothpick which she uses to catch and kill her prey. When I got to the end of my tale of woe she laughed. When she finished laughing she laughed some more. Eventually a lack of oxygen brought her hysteria to an end and red faced and gasping she made a couple of suggestions.</p><p>The most practical of her suggestions (other than just locking myself in my apartment and never leaving again) was that I download an app that had bushwalking trails on it and a map that actually had contours so that I could tell if my path was suddenly going to get a little vertical. She carefully coached me on which app to get, I wrote down the name and then downloaded something else. Nevertheless it has bushwalking trails and contour lines so I'm considering it a success. With my new travel tech nestled in the bosom of my phone I decided to put it to the test by hopping across the Georges River which had been adjacent to my previous weeks travails and following a fire trail that said app assured me existed. Giddy with excitement at my new contour enhanced guide I set forth. Possibly I should have taken more of a look at how close some of those contours were together.</p><p>But before I could plunge into the well contoured bush I would have to get to Alfords Point a suburb on the southern bank of the Georges River. This wasn't as easy as it sounds as accessibility isn't Alfords Point's most pressing problem. The suburb appears to be carved out of bush on a headland fronting onto the river but for reasons which might be aesthetic but are more likely to be geological a fringe of bushland still surrounds the suburb on three sides. I actually had to get a bus past it and then double back along what seemed like pretty much the only access road. </p><p>Mill Creek fire trail (and by extension, Mill Creek) borders Alfords Point on its western side. This was my destination or rather my starting point and I traipsed up suburban streets in the hot sun to get there. Along the way I saw a guy in an anarchy t-shirt washing one of the three late model cars in his driveway. Fight the power brother! </p><p>As is frequently the case the entrance to the bushland was rather low key. I walked down a street equipped with houses, cars, well trimmed lawns and all of the usual accoutrements of suburbia until I came to a somewhat scrubby patch of trees and realised I had arrived. My handy app noted that the walk was about eight kilometres but that was for a return trip. However now that I was on site the app also provided evidence of various other trails leading further on. I would do eight kilometres I decided but I wasn't going to retrace my steps. I would come to the end of the fire trail and press on along less famous tracks. The fact that said tracks seemed to peter out after a while didn't bother me, after all I could always turn around. At this point you're probably preparing yourself for another tale of disaster, well I'm sorry to disappoint you because it all worked out perfectly.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrSg-F33iosQS8s-Z1erzyADVqojv8Is750Bl_FvfDTIbqiMxvX8Dqftkj52h3hvwijG7FNd8aTTqBeIvrugV4H2fkVA36U0x-oOdJ4oFi31JikGtcSoaT9sDCwhxiY-q7XDGcvV5CjUNLTufA7Rn0IaDCLUWYFbZQwCbYMtz3MyNibIEoZFRKOeOR_gg/s4000/P2170010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrSg-F33iosQS8s-Z1erzyADVqojv8Is750Bl_FvfDTIbqiMxvX8Dqftkj52h3hvwijG7FNd8aTTqBeIvrugV4H2fkVA36U0x-oOdJ4oFi31JikGtcSoaT9sDCwhxiY-q7XDGcvV5CjUNLTufA7Rn0IaDCLUWYFbZQwCbYMtz3MyNibIEoZFRKOeOR_gg/s320/P2170010.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The start of the trail. I'm hardly forcing my way through the bush<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I set off along the fire trail. It may have been named after Mill Creek but that was more because "Mill Creek Fire Trail" sounds a little better than "the Back of Random People's Houses Fire Trail". The creek was of course at the bottom of a gully whereas the fire trail clung to the side rather near the top. Wanting to at least see the creek that had given the firetrail its name I struck out down one of the side paths indicated by my app despite the fact that the contours clustered together a little closely for comfort. Here I learnt something else about my app. The moment I left the trail I had noted I was walking on it started making worried comments about the fact that I had left the trail and did I want to make my way back. I was starting to suspect if I had gone much further it would have called the authorities without any further reference to me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I didn't quite get down to the creek but I did get down to a rock from which I could take a photo after which I responded to my app's increasingly hysterical requests that I return to the course I had plotted.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3rlmkRhxSuPC0XCA_NE_V2t0ImIBwzfnsDnlasGfVSd4QxTbS9FIhYYgKCJlTwa09Q_2zxr_MywjpZHdmFiUrXnNL_jDuAP5mSN0OOt1FOFR6JR8nKIi-F8Qyo-fRgF9B2NgaCdf4QjbEQecsh_jCZ5tobLsDnV_tVH3jd1327iDYa_ycx3A_5ffz7w/s4000/P2170017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3rlmkRhxSuPC0XCA_NE_V2t0ImIBwzfnsDnlasGfVSd4QxTbS9FIhYYgKCJlTwa09Q_2zxr_MywjpZHdmFiUrXnNL_jDuAP5mSN0OOt1FOFR6JR8nKIi-F8Qyo-fRgF9B2NgaCdf4QjbEQecsh_jCZ5tobLsDnV_tVH3jd1327iDYa_ycx3A_5ffz7w/s320/P2170017.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mill Creek<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">To soothe the app's fevered brow I stuck to the trail for a while photographing the scenery and ambling along what was essentially a dirt road. The sun shone and through the trees I could hear the sound of dirt bikes in their natural habitat. Fortunately I must have been on a side trail when they went by.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3qsLdBFLC4xLhnmkXR76hoVBURPJH8iESQE5ySZF9ZejgZT96o174OVAuyDsGVgqcFiOnhwqGrjipnJ7YkkeZvpueDgNrKmUeRuzA6IwDeL0XhSx1ED0KLGPDEDrwFSNLMCzclNu3bVYTsP8xCo0sEtHbxhvFJ1eP7QBYU44dIYNHEz6dlGvWjfvdnk/s4000/P2170011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3qsLdBFLC4xLhnmkXR76hoVBURPJH8iESQE5ySZF9ZejgZT96o174OVAuyDsGVgqcFiOnhwqGrjipnJ7YkkeZvpueDgNrKmUeRuzA6IwDeL0XhSx1ED0KLGPDEDrwFSNLMCzclNu3bVYTsP8xCo0sEtHbxhvFJ1eP7QBYU44dIYNHEz6dlGvWjfvdnk/s320/P2170011.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trailside scenery<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">One thing that was noticeable by its absence was wildlife. Normally I'm beating the lizards off with a stick but on this occasion virtually none presented themselves for my entertainment. A large spider had somehow managed to build a web across the trail but the photo didn't turn out particularly well.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQ6tfNlbxyhpciam6ABaBXSj9zjwRf-c8TstlL-ZzHmaibFimEuY1oQbZJNsAxQOhfIsHqGazmtjDjgtONlWADgSt3bTCkXw-_TeFamjR7eCz0g_8DIBVAZhFO48I7rlwxE3o9M6VbY7tQpq40wIKvvHOtsi_5xzczyCIw7cTCM1t5rB__zikV4zXiNs/s4000/P2170015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQ6tfNlbxyhpciam6ABaBXSj9zjwRf-c8TstlL-ZzHmaibFimEuY1oQbZJNsAxQOhfIsHqGazmtjDjgtONlWADgSt3bTCkXw-_TeFamjR7eCz0g_8DIBVAZhFO48I7rlwxE3o9M6VbY7tQpq40wIKvvHOtsi_5xzczyCIw7cTCM1t5rB__zikV4zXiNs/s320/P2170015.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you spot the spider?<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwv9A-glj4zRY_ZlYoi3LBdlVquxVuuFoplGD9P7L10NPih7IK-G4NU0CBOFV3LVPmBIEVpn_5M0qaQk7g4FnM2v_OV_bSTm1B0clGuoZY8bbjRUgfjAYpYaYu20x_ccLg7EGHAgDgXNXU8bjIT7AMtbZl7XsMpomVB1m0-7OKT0-5R6U47zG9RfWNmN8/s4000/P2170025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwv9A-glj4zRY_ZlYoi3LBdlVquxVuuFoplGD9P7L10NPih7IK-G4NU0CBOFV3LVPmBIEVpn_5M0qaQk7g4FnM2v_OV_bSTm1B0clGuoZY8bbjRUgfjAYpYaYu20x_ccLg7EGHAgDgXNXU8bjIT7AMtbZl7XsMpomVB1m0-7OKT0-5R6U47zG9RfWNmN8/s320/P2170025.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A smallish lizard, sorry the best I could do<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I made my way along the trail and I have to admit I wasn't enjoying it as much as usual. It's difficult to imagine you're walking through the bush when you can lie sideways on the path and there is still room for a dirt bike to manoeuvre around you (not that I tried that). The bush to either side was appropriately photogenic but it was difficult to overcome the feeling that you were walking down an overgrown street.</p><p style="text-align: center;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJok-54bmkma2Bx-kSNIca8qbFAv7E9l0GK6_EXVdMWgX-bOYYUhPkz9RlRyz7DjRxevT08AjgRG0lCEa1DNX1lNEG0j7Vz30ZM1liA_lEv55cj_lhWmhe2BIMK5aVf2iuRrtkmdQ-fPOBmCHTTGIufpKAFtJZLvUHZnk4FJXiKUagwwr2iTQgwpip_A/s4000/P2170021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJok-54bmkma2Bx-kSNIca8qbFAv7E9l0GK6_EXVdMWgX-bOYYUhPkz9RlRyz7DjRxevT08AjgRG0lCEa1DNX1lNEG0j7Vz30ZM1liA_lEv55cj_lhWmhe2BIMK5aVf2iuRrtkmdQ-fPOBmCHTTGIufpKAFtJZLvUHZnk4FJXiKUagwwr2iTQgwpip_A/s320/P2170021.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Appropriately photogenic bush<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQMDGydpX7g09sgN34YtC5RjEm_QKr4NKwN1XRVSQygWfsL_IHVOQ3TrV8V0IFy7ZPkO_9kiYXZzHphj7TazqCa-cRZ95ELUUXMerEQjPC_6ZqIvlHQFJ_W4zENldVr9EvXtJmjdhFW6ib2DHxAVl54BoE43-UmVD2eCGpGvxya7N1ks2a2wrrLnr77Q/s4000/P2170030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQMDGydpX7g09sgN34YtC5RjEm_QKr4NKwN1XRVSQygWfsL_IHVOQ3TrV8V0IFy7ZPkO_9kiYXZzHphj7TazqCa-cRZ95ELUUXMerEQjPC_6ZqIvlHQFJ_W4zENldVr9EvXtJmjdhFW6ib2DHxAVl54BoE43-UmVD2eCGpGvxya7N1ks2a2wrrLnr77Q/s320/P2170030.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A tree growing out of a cliff<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p style="text-align: left;">Still, I persevered if only because I was worried about what the app might do if I abandoned the walk. I in defiance of my app I took another side path and this one took me all the way down to the creek. I eagerly photographed it before it disappeared and made my way back to the trail before the app started screaming. On the way I found a two cent piece, younger readers ask your parents. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrdzCdFRjkcQiU9C4cEL-EoLqMb9gJkoAxfxOIlgRoPdU1cyMHZbnY6k4ukn8MEjwTKT6uHpp_rvKin8PEegX1GHSAUsMxk4HOogbkTNefappZJQ-XjJqDBVgFtOCoSIITnrxBB4eASLnBWUj6dbpixqvGZpCYVmGzs9J4nOC4RSiXMRfhqPDQmrvwBE/s4000/P2170028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrdzCdFRjkcQiU9C4cEL-EoLqMb9gJkoAxfxOIlgRoPdU1cyMHZbnY6k4ukn8MEjwTKT6uHpp_rvKin8PEegX1GHSAUsMxk4HOogbkTNefappZJQ-XjJqDBVgFtOCoSIITnrxBB4eASLnBWUj6dbpixqvGZpCYVmGzs9J4nOC4RSiXMRfhqPDQmrvwBE/s320/P2170028.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now that's a better creek photo<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p style="text-align: left;">Delighted with my creek efforts I then I felt thoroughly stupid as the trail itself started to descend obviously aiming at its own rendezvous with water. I still feel I was the winner though as the trail merely crossed a very tiny mini creek before proceeding on its way. I don't know if I was walking through rainforest but I was definitely walking through "it has recently rained forest" and the fire trail became more of a water trail at some points. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Then the contours took their revenge for my ignoring them. Having made its way down towards the mini creek the firetrail remembered its responsibility to the houses on the ridge and hastened back up to join them. I struggled up wishing the trail was narrow enough to shelter me from the sun. Finally gasping and lathered in sweat I wound up at the end of the fire trail which butted on to a road (because it would be a useless fire trail if it didn't). I skipped hastily across the tarmac and picked up a path my app had found on the other side.</p><p style="text-align: left;">This wasn't so much a path as an open space between the backs of peoples houses and the bushland below. A couple of benches were located in strategic places so it was either a park or somebody's backyard. I took advantage of the rest offered to eat my lunch and consider my next moves. My app showed a positive tangle of trails leading back down creekward and at least a couple of them popped back up near a road a bit further along. Decision made I set forth while my app had a nervous breakdown.</p><p style="text-align: left;">These paths were somewhat narrower and definitely more bushwalky and my spirits rose as my elevation sank (I had forgotten about the contours again). The presence of an increasing number of spiderwebs across the path signalled that I had left the fire trail behind and had entered different territory entirely. This was a much narrower fire trail. At least I can't think of many other reasons for the trail to exist. Navigating by my excellent new app and ignoring is desperate pleas for me to turn around and reconnect with the trail I made my way up Mills Creek<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMIWQIRPOkv0R8bqj8f57PELwoDmxNb8z1ot7kvxqiZmM5TMCajxwgJDQRoGMQepVX4vqxr6397QiDNIu6Y-9iAekWHZdcnpxW377CqtoG-oBZT6JnxNFCeX8R8YpIxELFVY0ePBel5swCztRmWLqbx0fiVx0oDslTknDqCflHcEdIORWjw0-qssFqJyA/s4000/P2170034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMIWQIRPOkv0R8bqj8f57PELwoDmxNb8z1ot7kvxqiZmM5TMCajxwgJDQRoGMQepVX4vqxr6397QiDNIu6Y-9iAekWHZdcnpxW377CqtoG-oBZT6JnxNFCeX8R8YpIxELFVY0ePBel5swCztRmWLqbx0fiVx0oDslTknDqCflHcEdIORWjw0-qssFqJyA/s320/P2170034.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A much better path<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">From being quite broad, as creeks go Mills Creek had now reverted to the water gurgling over rocks style beloved of creek purists such as myself. Let's face it a broad creek is just a shallow river. The path obligingly crossed the creek. Well it would be more accurate to say the path ended at the creek and another path started on the other side. Crossing without getting your feet wet was up to you. Fortunately the aforementioned rocks assisted in this. Just to prove this wasn't a fluke the path jumped back and forth across the creek a couple more times demonstrating a level of indecisiveness I'm not keen on when I'm relying on it to ultimately lead me back to civilisation.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHXwpgNMYmf_EMlH6hQ-QJESP2oMPNan5XNNyR3ue9P-KEJcQWCl-sszN35RTKaBKbbP4Z47xC0CZbYjFM5N-ZuHOal9xlrzjgXIoWGNQh9p76WMNpTtyuZkO74YLiLnx6wvKT5YM11ROsyXaUIYAnOAc0hBAbqVK6WAjkgiMNzehery_aR0CHrwBa2fo/s4000/P2170037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHXwpgNMYmf_EMlH6hQ-QJESP2oMPNan5XNNyR3ue9P-KEJcQWCl-sszN35RTKaBKbbP4Z47xC0CZbYjFM5N-ZuHOal9xlrzjgXIoWGNQh9p76WMNpTtyuZkO74YLiLnx6wvKT5YM11ROsyXaUIYAnOAc0hBAbqVK6WAjkgiMNzehery_aR0CHrwBa2fo/s320/P2170037.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now that's a creek<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ZBGtxDLlk5y3zUIckQjDPN0bcIVVIx20GcGWRMNrui4TOOfk5w9sKZfLxyOlQvNvHQl31HX8zjop4bYNyqFjlXU7HJY49FrDRfJ1OtE8YNtm0azoHk69lVpYlXEsIz7wfVwD0fGAvnm6LVy7l6FBje1m-H04xnB6PiEotbNs2IhaE8QxrJEnSQZyVNI/s4000/P2170045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ZBGtxDLlk5y3zUIckQjDPN0bcIVVIx20GcGWRMNrui4TOOfk5w9sKZfLxyOlQvNvHQl31HX8zjop4bYNyqFjlXU7HJY49FrDRfJ1OtE8YNtm0azoHk69lVpYlXEsIz7wfVwD0fGAvnm6LVy7l6FBje1m-H04xnB6PiEotbNs2IhaE8QxrJEnSQZyVNI/s320/P2170045.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And another of those photogenic red dragonflies<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I photographed another bright red dragonfly and was feeling very pleased with myself when I suddenly encountered an electric blue dragonfly flitting through the leaves. Sadly the damned thing wouldn't stay still long enough to photograph. I waited quite while in hope but decided to leave before somebody other than my app reported me missing. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">After that the contours reasserted themselves and the path wound tortuously uphill while I dripped enough sweat to start a creek of my own. On I struggled telling myself I was getting fitter and not inadvertantly killing myself. As I reached the top I had another problem. According to my app the trail came to an unceremonious end a couple of hundred metres ahead. I was aware of this but there was also a body of water shown so I figured I could walk to the "lake" and then if need be, retrace my steps. I forced my way forward, the path was now very narrow indeed and had water running along it. It might have been a creek. Then the path ended and a couple of paces forward told me why. Stretching ahead of me the land rose and fell only to rise again; I had blundered onto a golf course. The "lake" was actually a decent sized water hazard.</p><p style="text-align: left;"> I spent the next twenty minutes wandering around the golf course in an increasingly desperate attempt to find the exit. Apparently the owners are concerned that if they make it too easy to leave people might never come back. Finally a friendly native pointed me in the right direction and didn't ask awkward questions like why a sweat covered individual with a day pack and hiking boots was wandering around a golf course. I was actually very glad to get out of the bush at this point. Just as I got onto the golf course the first rolls of thunder started and I was pleased to have ended my walk before the rain began (it rained for all of thirty seconds before giving up but by that time I was in an uber on my way home). I informed my app that I had finished which at least stopped it from from pestering me to get back onto a fire trail now several kilometres in my rear.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-44630845557800568662024-03-01T22:36:00.000-08:002024-03-01T22:36:35.107-08:00Silly After Action Report - Wildcat Strike<p>Lieutenant Makoto Minikupa oversaw his men's defensive preparations from an already fortified building. There was no hope of escape, final letters had been written and the regimental flag burnt. Captain Taro appeared silently behind him causing the young lieutenant to jump several feet into the air.</p><p>"Is everything ready?" asked Taro.</p><p>"Mines have been laid, guns hidden and the last booby traps are going in now," replied Minikupa. "I've issued a hand grenade to each soldier for use when the time comes."</p><p>"Well done, nice work with the regimental flag burning by the way. I've never seen a flag so thoroughly burnt. I'm not sure it was necessary to include the stores hut and the CO's quarters but it was impressive nonetheless."</p><p>"Sorry, the wind changed at the last moment. Is the CO very upset?"</p><p>"Yes but more about his lack of eyebrows than his quarters. Apparently it isn't quite the look he was hoping for when he meets his ancestors."</p><p>"Does he want to borrow my eyebrow pencil?"</p><p>"Why have you got an eyebrow pencil?"<br /></p><p>"This isn't my first regimental flag burning."</p><p>After a brief sojourn into Korea I dragged us back to more familiar territory by demanding to play scenario WO 16 - Wildcat Strike. Here a large force of Americans (army, not marines which is odd considering the location) are attempting to drive out a smaller force of Japanese from a very small island so that the Americans can use it as a support base for their conquest of a slightly larger island a little way across the ocean. I am commanding the Japanese trying to stave off the inevitable for one more day.</p><p>The victory conditions are a little complex. To win the Americans have to have more troops in buildings west of a road at the top of the playing area than the Japanese. Seems easy enough but the Japanese gain a victory point each turn if they have a good order, unhidden MMC in a building on board 67. They gain another victory point each turn that the Americans do not have a MMC in a building on board 10z. These points are then subtracted from the American total at the end to produce a revised score. The Americans also have to stop the Japanese from amassing 25 CVP which is an automatic Japanese victory. If the Japanese do manage to amass that many CVP they should start planning the victory parade through the streets of Washington DC.</p><p>To hold off the ravening American tide I have three officers including a 10-0 commanding nine squads, three elite and six first line. I also have four crews to man the support weapons, two medium machine guns, a 47mm AT gun and a 20mm AA gun. A trio of light machine guns and one 50mm mortar round out the support. In addition to that I have 24 factors of minefields and four fortified building locations which can be swapped for tunnels (which I foolishly didn't do). I also had level B booby trap capability.</p><p>The Americans commanded by Dave Wilson are certainly tooled up to do the job. On board he had eight first line squads guided by a pair of unimpressive leaders. They had two mmgs, a bazooka and a 60mm mortar. However his real striking force was in his turn one reinforcements consisting of another six squads, a pair of leaders including an 8-1, two elite half squads to carry respectively a flamethrower and a DC plus a pair of Sherman tanks and an M8 self propelled gun.</p><p>I agonised over whether to set up a forward defence or not. Ultimately I settled for a small forward force of three squad equivalents plus the mortar and the 47mm gun. The gun was far on the right looking for a side shot if the American tanks went that way. If they didn't then the crew was well placed to sneak into a building and hopefully snatch a VP after Dave thought he had cleared me out. The mortar went on the hill on the other flank. I didn't expect it to last long but hoped it might hit a unit or two moving through the jungle. For the rest I HIPed a squad forward in the brush (not bamboo), set up a half squad in a rear building of board 67 and garrisoned another building with a full squad. The remainder of my force was back on board 10z with troops with lmgs guarding the flanks and the 20mm in the large building to the rear. I fortified that location neglecting the fact that you need a full squad in a fortified building to keep the enemy out. Basically my strategy was to delay rather than to stope and hopefully run Dave out of time. The minefields I scattered across my front in four lots of six choosing locations where I hoped Dave would run into them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZCoNe1_zCGvX0-Exwtz81DkPgdBaX_QEZK0fWOvVoDU4_YFlGjnhOVf1QA2klM2in1BtkOUcI3x8poyiLyBIq1zDjcUMy9QG_NgzR2Kh5nxtTjXZZYspGFZrYv0G-4Dos_7Uc6xyVXdMLZR-MeJVAJRa89plxgxwQT-i7zyKDe1cDglMFNywku9fgck/s848/WildcatStrike0.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="848" data-original-width="592" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZCoNe1_zCGvX0-Exwtz81DkPgdBaX_QEZK0fWOvVoDU4_YFlGjnhOVf1QA2klM2in1BtkOUcI3x8poyiLyBIq1zDjcUMy9QG_NgzR2Kh5nxtTjXZZYspGFZrYv0G-4Dos_7Uc6xyVXdMLZR-MeJVAJRa89plxgxwQT-i7zyKDe1cDglMFNywku9fgck/s320/WildcatStrike0.png" width="223" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is my set up awaiting Dave's pleasure<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">So Dave chose the left and the centre rather than the right to launch his attack reducing my 47mm to impotence before a shot was fired. My HIP squad forward was a mistake as it essentially sacrificed an entire squad from the get go. It did indeed break an American squad sauntering through open ground but then laid itself open to a hurricane of fire which I for one thought was a little over the top. Halfsquad scouts had swept away the dummies holding the front line and Dave seemed poised to sweep through the village to victory. On the left Dave recklessly moved a stack of three squads and a leader onto a minefield hex which brought them to an abrupt halt. He would rally these in his next turn but they would all pin trying to leave the hex which delayed them another turn.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZkF-7qHMV-Pic2ODAr2BjotLNEBf-u7XZDPBlX_jKcjL35Sryg8A2DcSzUFY1viJ5dsLlBUqsFi2hqzthdlPqzEBCNffBtvAO_zo8ZZH9X-_Hi5gSVa_iwzOMx_f19gWpL9G475F5q5_sBA1Y-BT8GUqjWgnbSi1exoFY9XpxklxEvNO1qMPMrUwpPI/s858/WildcatStrike.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="591" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZkF-7qHMV-Pic2ODAr2BjotLNEBf-u7XZDPBlX_jKcjL35Sryg8A2DcSzUFY1viJ5dsLlBUqsFi2hqzthdlPqzEBCNffBtvAO_zo8ZZH9X-_Hi5gSVa_iwzOMx_f19gWpL9G475F5q5_sBA1Y-BT8GUqjWgnbSi1exoFY9XpxklxEvNO1qMPMrUwpPI/s320/WildcatStrike.png" width="220" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of American turn 1.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p>The delay to these squads was very necessary because other parts of my defence had failed. The mortar got off one harmless shot before being vapourised by a nearby Sherman. My HIP squad, it's moment of glory gone went down under the weight of American armoured firepower and American squads were pushing into the village. Any coherent Japanese forward defence had failed. Now it would just be a case of how effectively the remnants could scramble to delay the Americans a little longer.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiczU25rwbSQlH1nrxyHmz_tiQhQl9rslxFPwoTKNXlY8EPgk58LfJgzB8hmptenPVJhPqp_sNU5vlJCBH2h7YdxxYvWqJJW3nVHmp1HN4lvNO759Q-bhVYQpyq-DDvolqDlHdweOBd4zffJtMhHqV-SCwlNsZQnJF3FRQ44oOEnUuB8F0BmUoLLO9CCBA/s860/WildcatStrike1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="860" data-original-width="583" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiczU25rwbSQlH1nrxyHmz_tiQhQl9rslxFPwoTKNXlY8EPgk58LfJgzB8hmptenPVJhPqp_sNU5vlJCBH2h7YdxxYvWqJJW3nVHmp1HN4lvNO759Q-bhVYQpyq-DDvolqDlHdweOBd4zffJtMhHqV-SCwlNsZQnJF3FRQ44oOEnUuB8F0BmUoLLO9CCBA/s320/WildcatStrike1.png" width="217" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of Japanese turn 1. For the most part cringing under concealment counters and hoping for the best<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Dave spent the second turn consolidating his hold on board 67 and blowing away my two remaining units holding onto buildings in the village. On the left a halfsquad was broken and fled for the cover of some trees. On the right a combination of American firepower and good rolls obliterated the full squad which I foolishly thought was protected by a building and concealment counter. In the right rear a group of sweat lathered Americans hauled a mortar slowly forward. It wouldn't take long before he would abandon the useless piece of scrap iron and bring the infantry forward to support the rest of his crew.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Things looked bleak to me and I wondered if turn 2 was too early for a concession. Firepower had achieved virtually nothing and the one moment of glory with the minefield was all I would get as Dave carefully avoided all the rest. I wasn't done with extracting VPs from board 67 however. Over on the right my 47mm gun crew bereft of armoured targets abandoned its dubiously useful weapon and hurled themselves into a building in time to snatch another VP. Elsewhere I rearranged the deckchairs on the Titanic and hoped that the dicebot would suddenly take a violent dislike to Dave.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6qMxgb1E0p8d98ccO7uM7MxciHwsW4HJoBOu3HyxyNfNM8xjiuem2SgEvDTZSIIWT2VV63w107DgT40o0LzrnKsLTuoqGN1CnLqgzvNyW88TTcocjBYO5YsyNnIq3LzLhM4Kzeh0VphI33IgWBs0vx_0ZP0PbWjOg-LV-eamd4HAvRhHAyJ4RA4HFuPY/s851/WildcatStrike3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="574" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6qMxgb1E0p8d98ccO7uM7MxciHwsW4HJoBOu3HyxyNfNM8xjiuem2SgEvDTZSIIWT2VV63w107DgT40o0LzrnKsLTuoqGN1CnLqgzvNyW88TTcocjBYO5YsyNnIq3LzLhM4Kzeh0VphI33IgWBs0vx_0ZP0PbWjOg-LV-eamd4HAvRhHAyJ4RA4HFuPY/s320/WildcatStrike3.png" width="216" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One crew clings on to board 67.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The third turn was somewhat mixed for yours truly. On the one hand a combination of American firepower and low rolls exterminated my plucky gun crew without having to resort to anything as plebian as close combat. In the centre he pushed his luck with his open topped M8 and some uncharacteristically accurate Japanese fire stunned the thing for a turn. His vanguard in the centre was similarly repulsed with loss. Normal service resumed on the left as I foolishly attempted to use a medium machine gun for the purpose for which it was designed thus breaking the shoddily constructed piece of crap. Dave, who showed a disturbingly pyromaniacal bent throughout brought up his flamethrower team no doubt hoping to seize the Japanese marshmallow stores. Incidentally check out the broken Japanese halfsquad on the far left, believe it or not those guys would survive almost to the end.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht2JcaPNp13yFkGIdlmDxXKAdxcEOqlCffP0-wMkkBZkNRUanrCzEblWS7LcoOJPN-Z-EHAS59oCSgIsFvcJDAYNtgFrqIM0GTHhUuQKfQdBVOpwGAIBKyQadYoO6XGhWrghVs-QoqEfhyphenhyphenWkK8igOBCWV0qe6TbAgYXkr7m3QNbdvZZeKRpyA2V42RoVQ/s865/WildcatStrike4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="865" data-original-width="582" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht2JcaPNp13yFkGIdlmDxXKAdxcEOqlCffP0-wMkkBZkNRUanrCzEblWS7LcoOJPN-Z-EHAS59oCSgIsFvcJDAYNtgFrqIM0GTHhUuQKfQdBVOpwGAIBKyQadYoO6XGhWrghVs-QoqEfhyphenhyphenWkK8igOBCWV0qe6TbAgYXkr7m3QNbdvZZeKRpyA2V42RoVQ/s320/WildcatStrike4.png" width="215" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well that's board 67 gone<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The next turn I trashed the useless mmg but managed to break an American squad that had predatory designs on a board 10z building. Everybody else slunk away from the Americans, particularly those carrying the flamethrower. Dave questioned my courage and manhood but I had already realised that the Japanese sole hope of survival was to be somewhere the Americans couldn't hurt them too much. Over the next couple of turns I also started to inch my troops rearward so that they could hop across the road and occupy the victory area. I was somewhat successful in this inasmuch as a few battlescarred survivors did indeed manage to stagger across the road pursued by American bullets and curses.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlz2QrpuAVV6DbjUGpf672yAno9-LZQ8UdJFte80tPpFr5ZsRYHVJId_3eqZCDPTkN5nE9zxas-r0XK5YqB6kW92PwKQl5Qo6v7KGzGUAM-q8xWVLBRu30S9zjvcUg8qc66-TqiBIUzs8p1kxEVV2023ULtgRXmzdV1juLn8FNWO_01_ABIvn8wQs2Nc/s666/WildcatStrike6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="586" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlz2QrpuAVV6DbjUGpf672yAno9-LZQ8UdJFte80tPpFr5ZsRYHVJId_3eqZCDPTkN5nE9zxas-r0XK5YqB6kW92PwKQl5Qo6v7KGzGUAM-q8xWVLBRu30S9zjvcUg8qc66-TqiBIUzs8p1kxEVV2023ULtgRXmzdV1juLn8FNWO_01_ABIvn8wQs2Nc/s320/WildcatStrike6.png" width="282" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Americans moving forward<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p style="text-align: left;">Dave obviously decided now was the time to strike and he advanced across a broad front. Over on the right he ran into a HIP squad with a lmg which broke one squad but cheerfully moved others up to take its place. I wasn't disappointed, I was reasonably confident of my defences on the right and was happy to see a few US squads occupied some distance from the victory road. On the left my defences were more notional than real and Dave swiftly moved to crush what little existed. I was lucky, of the first line squad I had on the left a second line halfsquad limped away to not so much fight as die another day. Before it did so however it killed the flamethrower halfsquad and residual broke an 8-0 which attempted to collect this valuable piece of equipment. On the right I fled rearwards with a most un Japanese haste. On the far left my long suffering halfsquad which had been pinballing from one piece of rally terrain to another since the second turn actually self rallied. Being unable to get back to the victory area without being slaughtered I opted for leaving it in place. If Dave ignored it I might be able to sneak back into a board 67 building. If not it would occupy the attention of some troops who should be looking elsewhere. I also created a tank hunter hero and sent it towards his M8 but said vehicle reduced it to a red smear on the ground before it could achieve anything.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2ADLhX3siBcEdqWfaXkcqQlDLFji7XGJ-E60-j8RGdonP2KYgRv_PwaCIIKHWtgp5jMF4SQxl9wobAwqCLrGaHsj7w2H26PrjVhJGbckueIFYDaXgUEawJrcSCWe0RJliorkpF3V-oNFoecX7_wHUzs-i16iwJu674mRnOj68YdiLOnnTqm4r4VF3XY/s591/WildcatStrike7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="583" data-original-width="591" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2ADLhX3siBcEdqWfaXkcqQlDLFji7XGJ-E60-j8RGdonP2KYgRv_PwaCIIKHWtgp5jMF4SQxl9wobAwqCLrGaHsj7w2H26PrjVhJGbckueIFYDaXgUEawJrcSCWe0RJliorkpF3V-oNFoecX7_wHUzs-i16iwJu674mRnOj68YdiLOnnTqm4r4VF3XY/s320/WildcatStrike7.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My halfsquad has self rallied! Victory is assured<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Dave was now muscling up towards the victory road and in anticipation of some reckless American infantry moves his armour dumped smoke all over the road and the sole halfsquad still barring passage. This effectively blocked the LOS of my 20mm AA gun which I still had not revealed. As for the guys on the right they fought their own little war. I had a squad in a fortified location and for a time they defied American firepower and attempts to move forward.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdeobdq2kFdS2l4U4QMHjQmYAaY_3KyiRaejL7V-9CIurdlfQDfQ1Jfd0OKc9AjDd4mzNO_hT2z1WEEbTuuZtKtX_fH5sSaJQztPrzs4VTqhZtG7ZQ2IJd8OdAZrZuDtWC9pHGpLW9VvyyuMJwHl_JvGNeGR8i5-bECZQjcraeF85N-L7ZXpaK5JirTHI/s593/WildcatStrike8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="593" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdeobdq2kFdS2l4U4QMHjQmYAaY_3KyiRaejL7V-9CIurdlfQDfQ1Jfd0OKc9AjDd4mzNO_hT2z1WEEbTuuZtKtX_fH5sSaJQztPrzs4VTqhZtG7ZQ2IJd8OdAZrZuDtWC9pHGpLW9VvyyuMJwHl_JvGNeGR8i5-bECZQjcraeF85N-L7ZXpaK5JirTHI/s320/WildcatStrike8.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The final push is about to come<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">With only a turn and a half to go Dave made his move. Firstly he decided to deal with my poor little half squad on the left who had actually done nothing all game except break, rout and eventually self rally. Dave moved a squad and 8-1 leader against them and suffered the embarrassment of seeing them both break whereupon in a spectacular case of overkill a Sherman diverted itself from supporting the final attack to overrun the thing. That finally killed it. On the right defensive fire had managed to send an American halfsquad berserk but since it couldn't get into the fortified building it was reduced to shaking its fist at the walls.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But it was in the centre that the action was happening. Dave got a significant stack of troops across the road and into a building I no longer had the manpower to defend but it was a different story when he pushed his flamethrower troops forward. These guys (plus another squad) wound up adjacent to my still hidden 20mm who had been cursing the smoke. Presented with a target not shrouded in choking clouds the crew picked up their personal weapons and once again broke the lot. That flamethrower was more of an albatross around Dave's neck than an asset. I think it got off one shot all game.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLS5aYMd8nXePO8LlByYjWllC9_WbfXXr8koTCL6J0dEQbjDh1PSQvkAnmCSnlzzcTwCKWvmLxKkg8ErDy9rSSxZUNFKm5m_GUPdyNd5eAEav5CqH9XBERECCDQ5pMz20JRYP5KS_zrqXiXT95n-162uOIyQbt7o4F68G05tjDAdZA-gGeJ7s9pw04-Q/s586/WildcatStrike11.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="586" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLS5aYMd8nXePO8LlByYjWllC9_WbfXXr8koTCL6J0dEQbjDh1PSQvkAnmCSnlzzcTwCKWvmLxKkg8ErDy9rSSxZUNFKm5m_GUPdyNd5eAEav5CqH9XBERECCDQ5pMz20JRYP5KS_zrqXiXT95n-162uOIyQbt7o4F68G05tjDAdZA-gGeJ7s9pw04-Q/s320/WildcatStrike11.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The flamethrower fails Dave again<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">With the final turn upon us Dave decided to eschew attacking such troops as I had left. Instead he sent his last remaining stack on a long looping run around to the left avoiding such firepower as remained to me and snuggled into a victory building at the last. I cursed and wept as I felt that I had lost the game. Actually I had felt that for most of the game but to my astonishment when we added up his victory points and then subtracted those for my units west of the road and those I had gained earlier in the game he came up one short. I had won by the slimmest of margins.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I sat back gasping in disbelief. The truth was that I had felt absolutely beaten in this game since around turn two. So much so that my eventual victory was somewhat anticlimactic, like putting lipstick on a corpse (personal note, make sure somebody puts lipstick on my corpse). Many thanks to Dave for the game, for tolerating my increasingly hysterical shrieking and swearing (another personal note, close the window before playing this game, the neighbour's children have a greatly expanded vocabulary). Dave has now fled to New Zealand to rebuild his personal morale before returning to face me. Incidentally you may notice I mentioned nothing about booby traps. On the rare occasions Dave took a pin check eleven was about five more than he rolled.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Lieutenant Minikupa stumbled out of the smoke and saw a red eyed Captain Taro approaching him.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Not my fault," said Minikupa hastily, "that's the American smoke mortars."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Did you booby trap the CO's quarters?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"What was left of them. Does he still want to borrow my eyeliner pencil?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"No, he wants you to help him find his ear."<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-65427967317879878492024-02-28T02:17:00.000-08:002024-02-29T03:38:59.400-08:00Going Up in the World<div>It would appear that my apartment block is on a self improvement kick. I came home the other day and the first thing I saw were freshly installed mirrors on poles in the driveway to assist motorists in not hitting things. Actually the first thing I saw was a massive transit van making rather heavy weather out of reversing out of the driveway but once it was gone the second thing I saw was the mirrors which must have made the driver's life marginally easier.</div><div><br /></div><div>Four of these concave (or possibly convex, they're definitely con-something) mirrors now stand proudly at the fringes of the driveway lending an air of spurious class to my decaying 1950s apartment block. One gazes at them in all their glittery, reflective glory and can only assume that this must be the domicile of well heeled, thrusting professional types who can demand such driveway accessories so their late model sports cars and monstrously oversized SUVs don't get their fringes scratched on the way out of the driveway. This is an impression that lasts until you tear your eyes away from the mirrors and cast them upon the apartment block they are decorating. The let down must be extreme. At that point you assume the mirrors have been installed so that the garbage trucks stored there don't bang into each other.</div><div><br /></div><div>Presumably the mirrors are there to assist vehicles in the arduous task of entering and exiting the driveway. The only other possibility is that somebody is going to bounce a ruby laser off them as part of some sort of low rent doomsday weapon. If you hear word that an apartment block in Marrickville has taken over the world you know what happened. Personally I would be surprised if anyone in my block has ambitions higher than low level meth dealer but I suppose everybody can dream.<br /></div><div> </div><div>While drivers may be grateful for their presence I have to admit that my own experience so far has been a little more problematic. I shambled out of my driveway at 7.30 the next morning having completely forgotten their existence and nearly screamed when I looked up to find my distorted head gazing down at me from on high. Let me tell you that a bloated version of my face is not want you want to see first thing in the morning if you want to maintain mental equilibrium for the remainder of the day. You particularly don't want to see it a couple of feet above your head and apparently not attached to a body. Once I got over the shock I attempted to slink out of the driveway without registering on a reflective surface. I wasn't too successful in this as reflecting things slinking out of the driveway is pretty much why the mirrors have been installed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course now I know they're there I can take advantage of the fact to cut some time out of my personal grooming regime. From now on I'll be able to shave as I walk up the driveway. Naturally the other people in my block will probably find this a bit weird but to be fair it isn't the most antisocial thing they've caught me doing in the driveway. <br /></div>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-83470243406249830692024-02-24T17:20:00.000-08:002024-02-24T17:20:00.708-08:00Travelling Pathetically - Battered, Scratched and Festooned with Baby Spiders<p> Well it started off as a walk like any other. Having exhausted most of the possibilities within walking distance of my home I looked a little further afield for a walk and settled on the Georges River. The Georges River is the southernmost of the four major rivers in the Sydney area and is best known for having the highest dumped stolen car to water ratio in the southern hemisphere. Nevertheless its quite nice to look at and the authorities have graced the less buildable parts with the title of Georges River National Park. Most of the park is on the southern bank of the river. I, in a spirit of sheer perversity decided to walk along the north. I did actually have a reason. Back in the mists of time (four years ago to be precise) I had had a surprisingly enjoyable time walking around the Salt Pan Creek wetlands and a glance at the map showed me that there was a decent strip of green between said wetlands and East Hills a suburb on the Georges River. I decided that I would pop down to East Hills and see if I could walk back to the scene of my earlier triumph.</p><p>There turned out to be a bit of problem with that. A closer examination of the map showed me that the strip of green between the two was intermittent at best and there would be a certain amount of walking through suburbs. It was also not entirely clear whether there was actually a path through some of the green that did exist. I dealt with this problem by ignoring it and hoping for the best. Thus with optimism taking the place of common sense I hopped off the train at East Hills (which appeared to be closed) and pointed my nose towards the river. I strolled through a park, overhead feathered swoopy things swooped featherily. I wasn't quite sure what they were, probably crows but I like to think they were eagles. The park ended at Henry Lawson Drive a road that would rapidly become my nemesis. There was a fence to stop you crossing the road which was a problem as the river was on the other side. I had to retrace my steps and find another way across the road. Eventually I did so and found myself in a park on the riverbank. This was picturesque but walking through a park is like walking across your back lawn with the added disadvantage that you can't tell all of the other people there to piss off.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gkAYjIGdxUM74EjSNB8fFTvZZR3FHvBjl1hM1Kya7ogwZkkwTBNP6egk5I95utRIi3zaBg_utSTDzTanRFX5Nma2VDT68EQ2YZSe2K7kCfAtMlFlZW9SQy3LvsBx5zLDkje-Omm_uLRHyLe0wRbWyj74wxdKXxdQOTI2u4aC37_8dWFrmnXeYKYapb4/s5712/IMG_0129.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gkAYjIGdxUM74EjSNB8fFTvZZR3FHvBjl1hM1Kya7ogwZkkwTBNP6egk5I95utRIi3zaBg_utSTDzTanRFX5Nma2VDT68EQ2YZSe2K7kCfAtMlFlZW9SQy3LvsBx5zLDkje-Omm_uLRHyLe0wRbWyj74wxdKXxdQOTI2u4aC37_8dWFrmnXeYKYapb4/s320/IMG_0129.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, ok quite picturesque really<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The park in East Hills was named, in a burst of inspiration, East Hills Park and there were reeds and small beaches populated by little crabs all of whom fled into their holes at my approach and none of which hung around for a photo. I walked through the park and wound up on Henry Lawson Drive. Here's the thing about Henry Lawson Drive, except where it actually goes through an inhabited area they haven't bothered to make the slightest concession to pedestrians. Walking along Henry Lawson Drive is a sure way to get yourself killed. There are no footpaths except where houses actually front on to the thing. Fortunately this was one of those spots. I headed along aiming for the next bit of green, Monash Reserve. The houses ended before I got there but I scurried along the road and managed to hit parkland before I decorated someone's bumper. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Monash Reserve was slightly different to East Hills Park, it was less manicured for one thing. I can hardly claim it was untamed bush but it was at least not quite bludgeoned completely to death bush. A slimy looking creek oozed between overhanging trees and I felt quite happy with my choice as I strode along a path between the trees, which ended about thirty seconds later and I was once again in what was essentially a park.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY7d0KcBoH4Kpg4W_PESJELSgyXWCuUhqvrWusRauwFSu3OcwOQ8-CRl57Akq7WIbBIx0rmK__dxbZD93tR3pomxdx5ZgEk85B1pGekIvTNpvzL6moFv_F9XA5lqyiqY60Wc4l3ZCZeaZvDS-DLWIqSxg86_xV7EqsucYh6pNWvWamADeawj1i66N3Oh8/s5712/IMG_0132%20-%20Copy.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY7d0KcBoH4Kpg4W_PESJELSgyXWCuUhqvrWusRauwFSu3OcwOQ8-CRl57Akq7WIbBIx0rmK__dxbZD93tR3pomxdx5ZgEk85B1pGekIvTNpvzL6moFv_F9XA5lqyiqY60Wc4l3ZCZeaZvDS-DLWIqSxg86_xV7EqsucYh6pNWvWamADeawj1i66N3Oh8/s320/IMG_0132%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A slimy looking creek<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I walked across this park too. A couple had pitched a tent there apparently under the impression that they were getting back to nature or possibly just further evidence of the housing crisis. More reeds and river presented themselves for my delectation and since they had made an effort I took a photo to encourage them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitQAIBSpFPQPaxzJfkUhI_TobClJSGe4ZGWBN16n4gaZ_5nwIB4fboaCVgPZDWf_lyqdSXblV6_RmCYGlK2QhyphenhyphenxPtjc_7g9gg3E5NtJUoUQjuiRczm7LRKuffp99zSBVYrQNkel0NIfGIhaQ6gIxWgKlbsn_tjk0eKjfrG7TNipdBMLL_vjikcVOD6xZQ/s4032/IMG_0133.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitQAIBSpFPQPaxzJfkUhI_TobClJSGe4ZGWBN16n4gaZ_5nwIB4fboaCVgPZDWf_lyqdSXblV6_RmCYGlK2QhyphenhyphenxPtjc_7g9gg3E5NtJUoUQjuiRczm7LRKuffp99zSBVYrQNkel0NIfGIhaQ6gIxWgKlbsn_tjk0eKjfrG7TNipdBMLL_vjikcVOD6xZQ/s320/IMG_0133.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Monash Reserve<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Once across Monash Reserve it was back to Henry Lawson sodding Drive for another burst of suburban strolling. Fortunately there was a footpath on this bit. Unfortunately the footpath ended before I needed to get off the road. I scurried along the shoulder until I found I path leading into the bush. And bush there was because I had encountered Lambeth Reserve which had a genuine bush trail which extended for metres before coming to an end in yet another riverside park. This time however I was not to be disappointed for the path (and the bush) reappeared on the other side of the park and I was able to make my way down to the river surrounded by trees.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Having arrived at the river a path led along the shore line with the river to my right and bush to my left. I Left the frustrations of the suburbs (temporarily) behind me and struck out along the path.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Dg3-AdHtv-BpvgTmMFPQ-OfPHyxxlDw_UDVU4X8vSCj54P8KnvHNnWJqryqhlI_hDVruLD3u5_Qkg6vBTKGx_ir-3pYOny-fVl7ECq5iaGrN9d8obsYAFvWwD4mvbqS9fsQaaYEBSrvVvONcjYGCNMb8Se_bKks1-aQredU2_30ltv9laORuUKNf_zs/s4032/IMG_0137%20-%20Copy.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Dg3-AdHtv-BpvgTmMFPQ-OfPHyxxlDw_UDVU4X8vSCj54P8KnvHNnWJqryqhlI_hDVruLD3u5_Qkg6vBTKGx_ir-3pYOny-fVl7ECq5iaGrN9d8obsYAFvWwD4mvbqS9fsQaaYEBSrvVvONcjYGCNMb8Se_bKks1-aQredU2_30ltv9laORuUKNf_zs/s320/IMG_0137%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now this is a little more like it<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The path skirted the waters edge indeed you can see from the above photo that it did more than skirt. From time to time it struck out boldly across the river itself before returning to a more appropriate land based version. I leaned on the bridge and looked out at the water. Things went "glop" and I stared without success to see if I could find the glop origination point sadly I was unsuccessful. A rather handsome bird slid into the water and submerged beneath surface. I waited for quite a while but it didn't emerge again. I hope I witnessed a water bird in all its glory and not some normal bird bringing an end to its miserable existence. Pushing thoughts of avian suicide from my mind I carried on pausing only to photograph one of the smallest beaches I've ever seen.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXiSjsgTtESM6D5Hj2zWyVXW-fUNUxvA8gYcP4C_oXEbGAUdFOnAplQfG3MnvgshdgGRUaPihaqG7Y8YDC1hKSwst7wiszEY-tIevYazGW4crq7cfL9YAXgH6F2qXH5yVISi2CPO1rhvdOImvTS1R0OqEk-csOOtcIZ6xKkicpT0bAI-s4YLQaHaXFbM/s5712/IMG_0141%20-%20Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXiSjsgTtESM6D5Hj2zWyVXW-fUNUxvA8gYcP4C_oXEbGAUdFOnAplQfG3MnvgshdgGRUaPihaqG7Y8YDC1hKSwst7wiszEY-tIevYazGW4crq7cfL9YAXgH6F2qXH5yVISi2CPO1rhvdOImvTS1R0OqEk-csOOtcIZ6xKkicpT0bAI-s4YLQaHaXFbM/s320/IMG_0141%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very small beach<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The river curved in a bend to stop Picnic Point from falling into the water and the path (and therefore I) followed the same route. East Hills was behind me now and the charming suburb of Picnic Point was my new location. I say it was charming because I saw it at its best; bushland, a river, no houses and very few people. Of course it couldn't last, as I approached the bend itself the hitherto accommodating population of Picnic Point lost all of their brownie points with me by pushing their dwellings as close to the river as possible. What had been bushland became a narrow riverside park festooned with people and a beast that looked like someone had cross bred a dalmation with a great dane and given the resulting offspring steroids. It was not unfriendly for which I was grateful as it could probably have killed me if it had accidentally trodden on me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">A glance at the map told me that this collection of foreshore parks went on for a while but then I could walk around a lagoon. I paused for lunch in a convenient park and studiously ignored the bird eyeing the crumbs falling as I ate. It tried to be nonchalant about the whole thing but every time I looked up the bird was a little closer staring innocently out over the river until I dropped my eyes again. I left approximately thirty seconds before it decided to mug me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I struck away from the river now heading towards that artery of annoyance Henry Lawson Drive. Just on this one occasion however the road came up trumps. The river was on one side of the road and the lagoon (and an associated walking track) were on the other. There wasn't a formal pedestrian crossing but a path led to the road and continued on the other side with the distinct implication that if you survived the crossing you could continue your journey. I did survive the crossing and was rewarding with the Yeramba Lagoon Loop Track. It will probably come as no surprise that I didn't in fact loop the lagoon.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I started off well though, the path passed conveniently close to the lagoon and I crossed a small creek on my way where a particularly handsome bird preened for my camera.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0MBuMFT_a24EykzhgnooS2rdwBaGic-d0gJjmIT8FL0NnDJsVm6-uju_28TMzr8dq7-tG25esp380NrfAMdWt9pPUAag17D8QE_R0-TSZE7XLFKahe7kS1gJPFy_JJ6DW0wQzARriikUzYHklDKbUgZiro-_xfcYbmZX_znFzW6BaXRAdRelPhciNv80/s5712/IMG_0148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0MBuMFT_a24EykzhgnooS2rdwBaGic-d0gJjmIT8FL0NnDJsVm6-uju_28TMzr8dq7-tG25esp380NrfAMdWt9pPUAag17D8QE_R0-TSZE7XLFKahe7kS1gJPFy_JJ6DW0wQzARriikUzYHklDKbUgZiro-_xfcYbmZX_znFzW6BaXRAdRelPhciNv80/s320/IMG_0148.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeramba Lagoon<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKUfDvRphImB1TwCE-AnvJLSfvufjWvTVZ0CD8hlxrwvlvSi64zHBH2E5Wf2mb1VohWI6mXNTsk6Ogvz5VkSW7zcvFwnEHhonQ591O_5vJ8SMotThFeQoFxGGuoWzPjWPGtOvObcm0X_-2kdw-mX0klWPwnuUtD28oRHMtzbVm-7GZ_Z_JzjJjIH0A5Qk/s4032/IMG_0151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKUfDvRphImB1TwCE-AnvJLSfvufjWvTVZ0CD8hlxrwvlvSi64zHBH2E5Wf2mb1VohWI6mXNTsk6Ogvz5VkSW7zcvFwnEHhonQ591O_5vJ8SMotThFeQoFxGGuoWzPjWPGtOvObcm0X_-2kdw-mX0klWPwnuUtD28oRHMtzbVm-7GZ_Z_JzjJjIH0A5Qk/s320/IMG_0151.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A particulary handsome bird<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I headed off through genuine bush and soon lost all sight of the lagoon. What thirty seconds of research would have told me was that the lagoon was only the centrepiece of a chunk of bushland that was crisscrossed with a range of paths some of which indeed led back to the lagoon and others led up to the more inhabited parts of Picnic Point.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7FnIda3azchyphenhyphen_T__ghnx6ecwWhJuQyVYHJL_LeJUKZnycoBN6468JHQP2LblEmPKhZPqUnDVrCwQmHuZDxCZv_fB4kmab7gB2IknuCQ-rwM8fWFdrFZHBIJmSAOplp1F72zDwCo0X2HQbf5q4rGETAcK-x9Jtul2ymRxi_1Q_aMur1pCZA1cV42PQzlU/s4032/IMG_0153%20-%20Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7FnIda3azchyphenhyphen_T__ghnx6ecwWhJuQyVYHJL_LeJUKZnycoBN6468JHQP2LblEmPKhZPqUnDVrCwQmHuZDxCZv_fB4kmab7gB2IknuCQ-rwM8fWFdrFZHBIJmSAOplp1F72zDwCo0X2HQbf5q4rGETAcK-x9Jtul2ymRxi_1Q_aMur1pCZA1cV42PQzlU/s320/IMG_0153%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roaming the wilds of Picnic Point<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">From time to time the happy shrieks (I presume they were happy, perhaps I'd better check the news) of other walkers interrupted my otherwise solitary roaming but with a little care I was able to avoid coming into contact with most of them. Despite being unaware of the presence of a virtual road network of walking tracks I was aware that I was climbing which didn't seem conducive to reacquainting myself with the lagoon. Eventually I pulled out my phone and realised I was in the middle of a spider web of tracks. The other thing I was in the middle of was a spider web of spider webs. Many of the tracks obviously weren't traveled terribly much and of course spiders had taken the opportunity to build their homes across them. This turned out to be a terrible mistake as I blundered through cutting a swathe through their artfully constructed dwellings.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflIVHCzdqXnlJk-Rc8aVe38s9K7zPhSAvpilWryHf8a7R9NTwh-ocvEgLPr8_LwSrTsqRB5DktlqzbyMcGoot3qsA39u1CSQIXYGsxsTgE-viUF5VSyCBz2N9YI8gFxe7ifYhGbXhyWAxOCGDlB7aKVYWjqm-nckv1jg3rEIYyI5ez0h4o8AF_qMm2_M/s5712/IMG_0154%20-%20Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflIVHCzdqXnlJk-Rc8aVe38s9K7zPhSAvpilWryHf8a7R9NTwh-ocvEgLPr8_LwSrTsqRB5DktlqzbyMcGoot3qsA39u1CSQIXYGsxsTgE-viUF5VSyCBz2N9YI8gFxe7ifYhGbXhyWAxOCGDlB7aKVYWjqm-nckv1jg3rEIYyI5ez0h4o8AF_qMm2_M/s320/IMG_0154%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Definitely going up<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1S-ioeLkt6-aSxs8cOKVbU9HPv7O2N28U6b8D-PdPeqXvLHi9wxLFjM1bfVqM0a-DAv0QHelbBnSXtmxi7q9ms6XTk3vshBRJ1EvIgTqjip2ZE2_U-Ec5RHfqJBjkVMbRiM4TgzDJi91gbgJYN3E8E-YNuBAiFoKmaxD-ZnM8Pp0VCf5kyi7LVQJ2dY0/s5712/IMG_0154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1S-ioeLkt6-aSxs8cOKVbU9HPv7O2N28U6b8D-PdPeqXvLHi9wxLFjM1bfVqM0a-DAv0QHelbBnSXtmxi7q9ms6XTk3vshBRJ1EvIgTqjip2ZE2_U-Ec5RHfqJBjkVMbRiM4TgzDJi91gbgJYN3E8E-YNuBAiFoKmaxD-ZnM8Pp0VCf5kyi7LVQJ2dY0/s320/IMG_0154.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A last glimpse of the lagoon before goodbye forever<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="text-align: left;">As I climbed the bushland changed from the ferns and trees around the lagoon to the more traditional Australian bush of widely spaced trees, scrubby bushes and exposed sandstone. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly that happens. I have literally climbed fifty to a hundred metres at most and I'm in a completely different world. The one constant was the inconveniently located spider webs.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOl04qhhyw9sMPOi3NGvlqOcVUoFg9BKHGhSKzWSYEFSueKkEPxwXNGxt-_ehyphenhyphen3G4KP0HP38Cm0iquHTEUHT3kVXs-yjC27C8sz1LtEVSmZeI_gvL4NNAbvRyIefnZ7z3mkPHsX8p7pf4JEBVWKAxtgUNd4UPClfVhfvIjkTpHIvTLsDaoYlJpSiDsx-I/s5712/IMG_0161%20-%20Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOl04qhhyw9sMPOi3NGvlqOcVUoFg9BKHGhSKzWSYEFSueKkEPxwXNGxt-_ehyphenhyphen3G4KP0HP38Cm0iquHTEUHT3kVXs-yjC27C8sz1LtEVSmZeI_gvL4NNAbvRyIefnZ7z3mkPHsX8p7pf4JEBVWKAxtgUNd4UPClfVhfvIjkTpHIvTLsDaoYlJpSiDsx-I/s320/IMG_0161%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very different environment<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I roamed up this track and wandered down that. Despite the distance I was travelling I was doing it within quite a constrained area. I had checked out the map and realised that when I got bored with this I could make my way along one of a number of tracks that would spit me out in the inhabited part of Picnic Point. Then, according to my map, I could walk down a few suburban streets before picking up a firetrail that would take me to the next step on my journey, Boomerang Park. Very technically this was correct. But before I left this little patch of bush I was treated to a glorious bright red dragonfly which graciously paused on a branch for photos.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxNi8P9MbRINp75CQTpfIb-VRgBB-rtyGCpMPhYrkOPxljp-OciqH3Ibti0wXFcWFrXR7ERkP9K1046SweD5KhMqHSdYR2cTbwnveJ3S1w-sDc3amt-cvTycRg3y7jyyw5-3XNF0sGmxsTS2yfPWqZlv0Ou9SVQdDXmXXiyMtVwofuLVzNN6r_ET7o-g/s4032/IMG_0172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxNi8P9MbRINp75CQTpfIb-VRgBB-rtyGCpMPhYrkOPxljp-OciqH3Ibti0wXFcWFrXR7ERkP9K1046SweD5KhMqHSdYR2cTbwnveJ3S1w-sDc3amt-cvTycRg3y7jyyw5-3XNF0sGmxsTS2yfPWqZlv0Ou9SVQdDXmXXiyMtVwofuLVzNN6r_ET7o-g/s320/IMG_0172.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now that's worth the price of admission<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Eventually semi-aimless wandering palled and I emerged blinking from the bush into the afternoon sunlight where I rapidly discovered I had arrived just too late to be served coffee by the only convenient cafe. Weary, dehydrated and craving caffeine I stumbled down the street towards the firetrail. Here's a funny thing, I actually find it more exhausting and hard on my body to walk down a concrete footpath than to traipse through the bush.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Without fanfare I left Picnic Point and entered Revesby Heights. I hadn't realised Revesby had heights, I was soon to discover it also had lowts. According to my map the Gurawak Fire Trail would lead me through a stretch of bushland and arrive at Boomerang Park from where I would work out the rest of my trip. As noted above this was technically correct. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The firetrail skirted the edge of human development, there were suburban houses on my left and bushland sloping down to the river on my right. I caught what would turn out to be my last glimpses of the Georges River as I went along.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigm45WrwWg-W991Iwj6eaTqZxM9_IkV-1ypclMuYZPUj9Seuf8MkuVoHYMfpSrVGEHSLAwXUIZXSPrcyc3lXe7ua6LZRhvlMh4-IpkvL1ovRTTob-EfpwqWCVWl9Tn7ccQ4qX6aR_yAVmrC7-j7kq_rDPhStmjSZ3O0SsMh3zm0FzHnjtlmQixevnA324/s4032/IMG_0176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigm45WrwWg-W991Iwj6eaTqZxM9_IkV-1ypclMuYZPUj9Seuf8MkuVoHYMfpSrVGEHSLAwXUIZXSPrcyc3lXe7ua6LZRhvlMh4-IpkvL1ovRTTob-EfpwqWCVWl9Tn7ccQ4qX6aR_yAVmrC7-j7kq_rDPhStmjSZ3O0SsMh3zm0FzHnjtlmQixevnA324/s320/IMG_0176.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A last glimpse of the Georges River<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9s6il_tBdGkuAx5B3RqvjkoU_DuPQuLDyvJjf6B-8Ok0DKz8ScvGQhjRWe52tp9iaGRXza9cMvmp4NWLJpHnOHF5BeWfzJULEDfM4ILEUKpTTWhnf_VHIc_frEKMkmTGBftw_M96LunwAjvNGSblAlOu6aXNm4LvTPKBJkzK4E9Oys8vUBnLLJ2tpj4/s4032/IMG_0177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9s6il_tBdGkuAx5B3RqvjkoU_DuPQuLDyvJjf6B-8Ok0DKz8ScvGQhjRWe52tp9iaGRXza9cMvmp4NWLJpHnOHF5BeWfzJULEDfM4ILEUKpTTWhnf_VHIc_frEKMkmTGBftw_M96LunwAjvNGSblAlOu6aXNm4LvTPKBJkzK4E9Oys8vUBnLLJ2tpj4/s320/IMG_0177.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And of course the Clare McIntyre Memorial Fungus<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">I made my way cheerily through the bush and feeling, I will confess, rather pleased with myself. So far my journey had worked out pretty much as planned and Salt Pan Creek was only a few kilometres ahead. There was no obvious path out of Boomerang Park shown on the map but even if there wasn't I could simply retrace my steps and do a little more suburb hopping.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Then the path ended and I gazed down on Boomerang Park. And I do mean "down". The firetrail had followed the top of the hill and the park was at the bottom. Between the two was a modest cliff or ambitious hillside depending on your definition and whether you have to climb up and down it. There was no immediately obvious way of getting to the park. I stopped in confusion for a moment wondering what to do. Then I made what was in retrospect the second silliest decision of this walk. While there wasn't an actual path it did seem as though a certain amount of scrambling and clinging onto convenient bushes would get me to the bottom in one piece.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Down I plunged following I suspect the same course that water would when it rained. I hopped from rock to rock and forced my way through inoffensive bushes. Ok I guess hillside is a better definition than cliff, it isn't as though I had to step out into space. I arrived at the bottom sweaty, a little scratched and foolishly feeling quite pleased with myself. I then discovered that there is literally no way out of Boomerang Park if you don't have a car. Henry Lawson Drive in all its pedestrian hating glory bound one side and the rest was surrounded by the bush shrouded hillside devoid of paths that I had just descended.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I wandered around the park for a little wondering what the hell I was going to do. Then I made the silliest decision of this walk. On the other side of the park from where I had emerged an access path for some piece of electricity infrastructure presented itself. Rather than retrace my steps which I already knew was manageable I would walk up this path and possibly the path itself would go further and I could make my way to the top. It was obvious I was going to have to walk back along the firetrail, the issue was getting there. I walked up the path, it ended very soon but there was a convenient rock so I pulled myself up it and kept on going. I forced my way through some intervening bush until I encountered another rock I could pull myself up. By this time I realised I had made a blunder but I was also surrounded by trackless bush and random rocks and going on seemed at least as useful as going back, assuming I could find back since I had left the path. The bush grew thicker and the number of spiders I was dehousing became quite spectacular. I'm pretty sure I'm the number one cause of arachnid homelessness in the Sydney reason.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Walking through the bush without a path to follow is actually very difficult since the bush itself is disinclined to get out of your way. It's even harder when you're doing it uphill. I was reduced to hurling myself at the bush and smashing my way through by brute force. Obviously you have to be judicious, if you hurl yourself at a tree you're going to come off second best. Slowly and painfully I made progress, turning aside occasionally when the bush was obviously too thick to penetrate. I was exhausted, gasping, baby spiders I had recklessly dehoused were crawling over the accessible bits of my body and my body was wet and sticky with sweat. Then I looked down at my hand and realised it wasn't just sweat making me wet and sticky. Using my body as a battering ram had been moderately successful at the price of covering myself with scratches (perhaps wearing a singlet wasn't the brightest idea) one of said scratches was deep enough to draw blood which was now disporting itself all over my hand and, because I had just pulled it out, my phone as well.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It is amazing the among of blood that can be produced from the most trivial of injuries and the injury was trivial, a tiny cut on the finger. At home you'd put a bandaid on it and get on with your day. I took a much needed rest while I cleaned off such of the evidence as I could find, mopped the sweat (and spiders) from my brow and took stock. Despite my somewhat chaotic approach I was making progress in so far as I was higher and further from my starting point. Encouraged, or possibly with few choices I plunged on and almost banged into somebody's back fence. Here's the thing, I was likely never more than a couple of hundred metres from this housing at any time. The bushland was a tiny fringe between the houses up on Revesby Heights and the park which was down at river level. A walkable path or a flight of steps and you could probably get from one to the other in about two minutes. Absent a walkable track it had taken me considerably longer and used up all of my reserves. I followed the fences until I rediscovered the firetrail and walked (stumbled) back down it until I came to a street. I sat down, dislodged a few more spiders and called an Uber. The driver politely didn't comment about the exhausted, bloody individual who got into the back of his car and I left before he discovered the spiders.<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-70729101779618799702024-02-17T21:26:00.000-08:002024-02-17T21:26:48.188-08:00Silly After Action Report - Rebels Roost<p>"All I'm saying is that I don't want to be here. When the sergeant called for volunteers I thought he said "a career move". The soldier stopped fiddling with the recoilless rifle for a moment and peered down the barrel as if hoping to find a transfer order inside.</p><p>"Technically he wasn't lying," replied another scraping rust off a bazooka, "Where the hell did they get this stuff? Army surplus? Hey what did you do with all of the white phosphorous rounds? The captain wanted those up with the tanks and the mortars by dawn."</p><p>"Do you know how heavy those things are? I dumped them in a creek, who's gonna miss them?" <br /></p><p>I don't play Korean War scenarios very often. I haven't bought the module and don't know the rules. The reason for that is simple. Having spent thirty years learning (or, more accurately, not learning) the rules of ASL I find myself disinclined to attempt to learn any more. Possibly as a reaction to this aggressive laziness my regular opponent Dave has produced one Korean War scenario after another.</p><p>"This one doesn't have too many extra rules," he'll whisper seductively while flaunting a brand new sheet of cardstock designed to entice. Finally he sent me a batch of about a dozen scenarios so with a deep sigh I surrendered to the inevitable. We played RPT 143 - Rebel's Roost which sees a force of rather brittle Americans backed up by some wholly inadequate tanks attempting to push tough North Koreans off a hilltop. For my sins I would command the Americans. </p><p>To win the Americans have to clear levels 2&3 of good order North Korean MMCs. It must be admitted that I have a decently sized force. I have thirteen first line squads, a pair of elite 667s and two 546 second liners making up the numbers. These are equipped with two medium machine guns, three light machine guns, a pair of 60mm mortars, three 1945 vintage bazookas and a 57mm recoilless rifle. Four officers spearheaded by a doughty 9-2 are in command and four M-24 Chaffee tanks are present in support. The devil is in the details, these six (with two exceptions) morale troops have an ELR of only two. I wondered how many first line squads I would have left at the end of the game.</p><p>Dave commanding the North Koreans had twelve squads, three elite and the remainder first line. They are commanded by a trio of leaders one of which Dave swapped out for a 10-0 commissar. They have two light machine guns and a back breakingly heavy medium which they must have got at a Soviet garage sale. Supporting this none too shabby force are a pair of T34-85 tanks and a 82mm mortar which threatened to make my approach to the hill a death zone. He is also allocated six foxholes to hide in as the Americans spray their firepower around.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJqCjdYR7y9I4Q5Mwmx4gMCY1nWY4GZYPuOpCPxu4y8LvnmIzcw1y6rOlFYDhIa3YHFmQmWCuMl2Xq4zH8hA6DF45gilnxQfvrR6Y79ELKMsKMQNZgD27IzHcNeEykom6JBlikdPi91cSF7y4Yxg2gUs9PVLGV6LPdAqEBsO-etJi_8z7-e13DQ9aWmSU/s1204/RebelRoost0.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="1204" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJqCjdYR7y9I4Q5Mwmx4gMCY1nWY4GZYPuOpCPxu4y8LvnmIzcw1y6rOlFYDhIa3YHFmQmWCuMl2Xq4zH8hA6DF45gilnxQfvrR6Y79ELKMsKMQNZgD27IzHcNeEykom6JBlikdPi91cSF7y4Yxg2gUs9PVLGV6LPdAqEBsO-etJi_8z7-e13DQ9aWmSU/s320/RebelRoost0.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is the set up. Dave's two tanks are on the level 3 hills. Foolishly I thought the mortar would be there too<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I made a bad mistake with my initial set up. I set up my 9-2 officer with the two mmgs to act as a firebase, fair enough but I allocated both my elite squads to machine gun duties. I should have deployed a first liner or even a second liner and and had each gun manned by a halfsquad. This didn't look like an issue at the start but would come back to bite me later as I tried to make my final push and found myself short of bodies.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Dave's tanks are formidable, their guns can rip through anything I possess and their armour is pretty resilient against the sort of firepower I can bring against it. Being unable to effectively destroy them on the first turn my aim was to shroud them in as much smoke (WP actually) as I could. WP turned out to be a little less available than I had hoped nevertheless by firing off both mortars and the MA of all four tanks I managed to drop two WP rounds (my last) onto his tanks. The attack could begin. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Begin the attack did with my infantry sweeping across the valley towards his position. I then discovered his mortar was absolutely not where I expected it to be. My infantry charged enthusiastically into its line of sight. With a cackle of malice Dave opened fire and broke the mortar. The very next turn he destroyed it attempting a repair. Luck it would appear was showering down on me.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CJoeVXA81W_xTdo4Ei9elBRU043Kp8nCjHv4qc9MtXl5wn9fhStmhxMi53tENxHoxIbttoX_KLpoYm4pn-eZp382EZjVoFtPRhyZhgSfXGPCpYAzehRvgBmv8Ef_qV8pje4fH2tgwC671xdBSoyH3xu_vxqOc3pP9h0ihXAzYDTEyvNniwwYm1X_TRM/s1203/RebelRoost.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1203" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CJoeVXA81W_xTdo4Ei9elBRU043Kp8nCjHv4qc9MtXl5wn9fhStmhxMi53tENxHoxIbttoX_KLpoYm4pn-eZp382EZjVoFtPRhyZhgSfXGPCpYAzehRvgBmv8Ef_qV8pje4fH2tgwC671xdBSoyH3xu_vxqOc3pP9h0ihXAzYDTEyvNniwwYm1X_TRM/s320/RebelRoost.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the end of American turn one things look good. The hill awaits and his fearsome mortar is gone<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">In Dave's turn something showered down on me but it wasn't luck. Some people might attempt to move their T-34s out of the billowing clouds of chemical laced smoke that enveloped them. Dave sneered at such pessimists. One of his T-34s fired out of WP at a range of 17 hexes, buttoned up with red to hit numbers. He hit and burned one of my Chaffees before it could move. Then he did it again, at least this one didn't burn. My armour force had been halved in the first turn. I raved and wept for forms sake but frankly I had been somewhat unsure of what to do with these vehicles now that they had fired off their WP and at least the decisions I had to make had been somewhat reduced. </p><p style="text-align: left;">In my turn the remaining two tanks attempted to flee the hill, Dave caught and burnt a third and the sole survivor fled for the safety of a patch of woods where it remained trembling and trying to recover its equilibrium. Meanwhile Dave proved that his tanks were perfectly capable of firing out of WP and hitting infantry as well which messed up my left flank a bit.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1zVz1l-mHIIx8G30KUBNWD1JjiYYGNIxF1mmX32vPJoWrKMT2se81SSGHPWDwp-ncCaS6C1KnXIdUXKHoMPigtSoRQ870q7m-8BDcqyxKNJdUERU2qBtfzb7vLFtMInlDLOZlnvQWcf_GxFconOdNL01rb0jdCf_Fvb-Ep8v124MQBDwAWZIH5SE74-s/s1198/RebelRoost2.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1198" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1zVz1l-mHIIx8G30KUBNWD1JjiYYGNIxF1mmX32vPJoWrKMT2se81SSGHPWDwp-ncCaS6C1KnXIdUXKHoMPigtSoRQ870q7m-8BDcqyxKNJdUERU2qBtfzb7vLFtMInlDLOZlnvQWcf_GxFconOdNL01rb0jdCf_Fvb-Ep8v124MQBDwAWZIH5SE74-s/s320/RebelRoost2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The armour battle such as it was is over but my troops have reached the hill<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Despite the burning metal my infantry (with a few exceptions) had made it on to the hill and now had nothing but brush to protect them from blood crazed T-34s. Dave's infantry for the most part huddled in their foxholes or attempted to dig more. My mmg firegroup was doing sterling work shooting his troops out of the nearest foxhole unfortunately they simply fled back to the 10-0 commisar hiding behind the ridge who automatically rallied them. I think I broke the same squad about four times.</p><p style="text-align: left;">With the American armour dealt with Dave moved his tanks forward slightly to menace what was obviously my main attack on the right. Some defensive fire produced an American hero who would turn out to be Rambo on steroids (OK, Rambo on more steroids). One T-34 still lurked in the remaining WP but the other rolled out onto the hill to menace the infantry. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKfXl1U9UlGZEUynPerxVvo6gBK_rBLf0lHfh1jIpZHWUKjpilEfYrPwO3Bd9AEvpfiLiWH45_FudCsWmQFzCq61RxuDe6-NugkLzfi5D2eHXqQAVVKUeT0nBVywU-YPZQU9i_6rG7O1jhCTJqEJgiB2pN6K4mX2qvhZpSQY6yZiGy2vMWTC7XnGKkXQ/s1202/RebelRoost3.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="753" data-original-width="1202" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKfXl1U9UlGZEUynPerxVvo6gBK_rBLf0lHfh1jIpZHWUKjpilEfYrPwO3Bd9AEvpfiLiWH45_FudCsWmQFzCq61RxuDe6-NugkLzfi5D2eHXqQAVVKUeT0nBVywU-YPZQU9i_6rG7O1jhCTJqEJgiB2pN6K4mX2qvhZpSQY6yZiGy2vMWTC7XnGKkXQ/s320/RebelRoost3.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tanks are coming out to play<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I needed to get rid of the tanks and strangely I had a plan (for a given definition of "plan") and even more strangely it sort of worked (for a given definition of "worked"). I boldly moved a squad with a bazooka towards his tank still shrouded in WP, of course its defensive fire sent my boys back in bloody ruin but that was just a ruse as another squad guided by my hero moved next to them. In the advance phase they would move in and rip the thing apart in CC. Meanwhile I moved other troops forward to "menace" the tank in the open. With Dave's attention nicely engaged I sent my remaining Chaffee on a death ride which resulted in it screeching to a halt a few hexes away from the rear of his T34 whereupon Dave slewed the entire tank around, rolled the necessary three to hit and killed the Chaffee before it could fire a shot. At that point my conversation was reduced to incoherent gibbering. Dave didn't seem to notice.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Q-KAQlprl52JUH3p4N8DGmUdJgAIrG5eceJd3ZQczmuzXdjKjbeuZ3FF-OZrHA-jJT7Uxb8_ywOPTpqrMp0tPmnPCB9MtyPRb2UUHFpNVu6dt-Hq6biStiWeZuoONphDM6XwHQIhlyB-Gs2TYRDp-TTZSEafoQiyJmGlyY2m0GwELGpzJDTm4njtChY/s1195/RebelRoost4.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="759" data-original-width="1195" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Q-KAQlprl52JUH3p4N8DGmUdJgAIrG5eceJd3ZQczmuzXdjKjbeuZ3FF-OZrHA-jJT7Uxb8_ywOPTpqrMp0tPmnPCB9MtyPRb2UUHFpNVu6dt-Hq6biStiWeZuoONphDM6XwHQIhlyB-Gs2TYRDp-TTZSEafoQiyJmGlyY2m0GwELGpzJDTm4njtChY/s320/RebelRoost4.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tank killing plan partially successful<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Over on the left a maniacal rate tear on the part of one of my mortars had broken the squad he had in a foxhole on level 2 and I slipped forward to occupy that to discourage a return. I had now reached Dave's main position, hidden behind the level three hill hexes. Here his best officer (except that damn commissar) commanded a mmg and elite squad in a foxhole with another squad nearby to act as protection. My close combat victory had resulted in a squad and a hero standing on top of the hill staring directly down at his main defensive position. The WP had now drifted away and a whole bunch of North Koreans took the opportunity to pour fire at them. The squad broke of course but the hero shrugged off all fire and was still doing so when the game came to an end causing Dave no end of frustration.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But what about my tank killing plan which seemed to have faltered halfway through? Well one of my soldiers blew the cobwebs off an old bazooka and nailed the remaining T34 through the frontal armour with a kill roll that was almost Dave-esque in its improbability. Suddenly Dave's armour was gone. It remained to be seen if I could capitalise. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwF1rV62vuBLEN-xSuSw84Px7NepQpYNb33sSJ_9XQ9ypdV4qJ10sMzgPaCutwWcFA_ZZEiRC62SpSzwcJ7OpSczmppux51fqqo9XUNtxgQfFAyO5pV6VWTFI0hKdopCFSdipmMr3WDsnp0CrymZQZRWbWHqNi354muPkowGrrZnnLMqjjJv6rYRJLrQ/s1147/RebelRoost6.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="1147" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwF1rV62vuBLEN-xSuSw84Px7NepQpYNb33sSJ_9XQ9ypdV4qJ10sMzgPaCutwWcFA_ZZEiRC62SpSzwcJ7OpSczmppux51fqqo9XUNtxgQfFAyO5pV6VWTFI0hKdopCFSdipmMr3WDsnp0CrymZQZRWbWHqNi354muPkowGrrZnnLMqjjJv6rYRJLrQ/s320/RebelRoost6.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The North Korean armour is gone but there are a disturbing number of broken US squads<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Yes, Dave's armour was gone and the remainder of his position was at my mercy, so to speak. Another way of putting it was Dave's troops were in a perfect position to spray the poor morale Americans with fire if they dared advance. For fire support I had two 60mm mortars and it has to be admitted that they did their best. Spectacular rate tears were the order of the day as they impotently but frequently pounded his position. Results were a little thinner on the ground but they certainly kept Dave on the edge of his seat.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I took advantage of the newly provided cover (a wrecked T34) to insert a squad and leader into his forward foxhole on the right. My hero still ruled the hill. I had hoped that the foxhole might protect my guys against the inevitable fire to come. I was wrong and the next couple of turns would involve various American squads advancing into that foxhole and being shot out of it in the next firephase. I was breaking his squads in the rear but they just stepped back one hex, got rallied by the commissar and rejoined the fray.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Up until this point our snipers hadn't taken any part in proceedings but Dave's now stepped up and put a bullet through the shoulder of my 9-2. This was disheartening but not terribly serious, he was still effectively an 8-1 and three movement points don't matter when you're not going anywhere.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi25beo_XMAlxNsFMtk8dXzpOoaPDFwW_H0n6A0Qr_tKyP4YAqcBifRqVR1uo4PPLucPs8yWQ6KH6WBa1TNt2evO6ktfXr8GFrqa9AATz_bVHZh7Dr0mLnDyHC3hrpYEftX7U8DgUwLJYNUEUKG7WWfj9Xdx9p_t54sFRzLpC6DjSc3iRW5gtg8Zo7Jvvg/s1215/RebelRoost7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1215" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi25beo_XMAlxNsFMtk8dXzpOoaPDFwW_H0n6A0Qr_tKyP4YAqcBifRqVR1uo4PPLucPs8yWQ6KH6WBa1TNt2evO6ktfXr8GFrqa9AATz_bVHZh7Dr0mLnDyHC3hrpYEftX7U8DgUwLJYNUEUKG7WWfj9Xdx9p_t54sFRzLpC6DjSc3iRW5gtg8Zo7Jvvg/s320/RebelRoost7.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tank wrecks litter the battlefield but Dave clings on to the remaining level 2 hill hexes<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I tried to spread out my forces on the right so that a lucky shot wouldn't obliterate a large chunk of my force. On the left where my "force" had been reduced to a squad and a half they simply prayed and hoped that the mortar would remove the opposition in front of them. At this point I remembered the recoilless rifle that had been dutifully hauled around by a squad for much of the game. Through sheer good luck this piece managed to drop a WP round on his mmg position thus at least hampering his efforts to shoot out of it. My own sniper then targeted his 9-1 leader and wounded him in a tit for tat exchange to avenge my own wounded officer.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjupXOetS44gL9zh0QBgd7nWkRqkvveQaoW2qBC6U6VINPli_k50Iroeqc-nYaUzDn0CjOSXrzvVUDiMo4yrVAv1MdMIr5F1kTOPK9IpaAWADZlaV9ifPWO4uwzXewqEuVWcgjSqwJWgQC-Lx2p5kTofq-L1ZxBY__L1GfRSvzixDFIblUPy9KQwH1yoJY/s1201/RebelRoost8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="806" data-original-width="1201" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjupXOetS44gL9zh0QBgd7nWkRqkvveQaoW2qBC6U6VINPli_k50Iroeqc-nYaUzDn0CjOSXrzvVUDiMo4yrVAv1MdMIr5F1kTOPK9IpaAWADZlaV9ifPWO4uwzXewqEuVWcgjSqwJWgQC-Lx2p5kTofq-L1ZxBY__L1GfRSvzixDFIblUPy9KQwH1yoJY/s320/RebelRoost8.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Things don't seem to have changed materially since the last picture<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">At this point I realised another mistake I had made early on. Having held back my best leader to command the firegroup I had naturally sent all of my other officers forward to lead the attack. What this meant was that there was nobody to rally the now quite numerous broken units piling up in between. Of course when you have a broken morale of eight you can expect to self rally quite a few. Or at least a few. Or at least one or two. One or two did indeed self rally but I felt the absence of a leader to rally the rest. Particularly since Dave's commissar "encouraged" any broken troops back into the battle within a turn (and only killed one halfsquad along the way). I made a comment about how I intended my mortars to shoot my troops forward and promptly broke one of them. Karma is not just a bitch, she's a bitch with a sick sense of humour.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFeI8imOjMD3Ta55njTl51v4GUEDMHnmFSLb7dKm16CWlQTscelgwEtRzJl0vS0EkovPX66TetXy34v1vg13frq4yHsG7POSzIfBFpZl6XeOivH3Q8sgXqSUwwWecMCJbJWTz_ILVooqiGPz0PipGSB5Mgt2lzpFm9nbo4SQqUVI_ARhENEYQQGKMq_o/s1193/RebelRoost10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="1193" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFeI8imOjMD3Ta55njTl51v4GUEDMHnmFSLb7dKm16CWlQTscelgwEtRzJl0vS0EkovPX66TetXy34v1vg13frq4yHsG7POSzIfBFpZl6XeOivH3Q8sgXqSUwwWecMCJbJWTz_ILVooqiGPz0PipGSB5Mgt2lzpFm9nbo4SQqUVI_ARhENEYQQGKMq_o/s320/RebelRoost10.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Things still don't seem to have changed much with the exception of a broken mortar and more American squads down<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p style="text-align: left;">Time was starting to run out and I hadn't made any appreciable progress towards driving the rest of Dave's force off the hill. I managed to break his elite squad manning the mmg and thought my time had come. I then inflicted a morale check on a first line unit which promptly battle hardened into an elite squad and remanned the machine gun. Each time I attempted to push forward those squads would break leaving me in much the same position as before but with fewer squads. Thanks to the attentions of his commissar Dave actually wound up with more unbroken squads than I had. </p><p style="text-align: left;">With my troops unable to cross the last hundred metres or so I gave the concession with one turn to go. I had come close but not quite close enough. Congratulations to Dave who stuck to a well thought out defensive plan even when it looked like things weren't going his way. Korean War or not both Dave and I thought this was an excellent scenario with lots of fun for both players.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Two American soldiers hiding behind a tree peered out as the sounds of battle faded.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Do you think its over?" asked one.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"One way or another," replied the other, "are you regretting dumping those WP rounds?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"I've thought long and hard about it and the answer is no."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"What are you going to say if the captain asks?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"The last time I saw the captain he was hiding under a bush trying to dig his way back to the States."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"That'll save Graves Registration some time."<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-49906273515017547202024-02-10T14:50:00.000-08:002024-02-10T14:53:36.047-08:00Travelling Pathetically - Spit Edition<p> OK, so I couldn't resist that title but for the more delicate of sensitivity among you permit me to assure you that it merely relates to the Spit Bridge, the starting point for this little stroll. Having made my way (in widely spaced stages) from the Spit Bridge back to Milsons Point I decided to complete the efffort by walking from the Spit Bridge to Manly. As is usual when I have these bright ideas I managed to undertake it on a day when it was blazing hot but I prefer sunshine to rain particularly given my propensity for walking down creek beds and river valleys.</p><p>This was hardly striking out into the great unknown, the Spit to Manly walk is an established feature on the hiking and tourist trail and for the most part the path was only marginally less difficult than walking on a treadmill. I pottered across the Spit Bridge and down a flight of stairs on the other side. On the way a gave a polite greeting to a couple of guys coming the other way. This would become a rather tedious routine.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5FWBaPJVNjonCvCki6wvrIGO5LqqjPF2aDJ71w0DMjy5ZsMOBK9GyPHSwH7MOOD5zoJkAEHA10LVpWn4oP9z34_zL-JSfS-Do-x_L7vLNa3zyEHTpXE0FyB99pYDbmGzGKeoSUy_gp0ExNZEMc_LxfK2DKYIiq15aJeThyphenhyphenn3o1rTgpEfppoIf9nnJ5gc/s5712/IMG_0093.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5FWBaPJVNjonCvCki6wvrIGO5LqqjPF2aDJ71w0DMjy5ZsMOBK9GyPHSwH7MOOD5zoJkAEHA10LVpWn4oP9z34_zL-JSfS-Do-x_L7vLNa3zyEHTpXE0FyB99pYDbmGzGKeoSUy_gp0ExNZEMc_LxfK2DKYIiq15aJeThyphenhyphenn3o1rTgpEfppoIf9nnJ5gc/s320/IMG_0093.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ducking under the Spit Bridge to start my walk<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>My previous walk involved a lot of walking around headlands and so will this one so as you can see originality isn't one of my besetting sins. A couple of minutes quick walk across a neatly trimmed reserve and I was ready to plunge into the wild bushland.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkgidD6VEKPsupECm2kWw1_cJO_TI6rfFqtVJ-r0-r8zPaniuQOQcdDYxEW_g9XDLhs5HK5WM32sopsGr6NMDEtM_PY30-01ICNpLqYfVndLT19EiSE5kLbj9wQBgGUOc3getbGHgSbqJjHGftG9NBO6o3-VobzUWykdkVobQcTyV2LRn-_6VrJy3pZY/s4032/IMG_0096.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkgidD6VEKPsupECm2kWw1_cJO_TI6rfFqtVJ-r0-r8zPaniuQOQcdDYxEW_g9XDLhs5HK5WM32sopsGr6NMDEtM_PY30-01ICNpLqYfVndLT19EiSE5kLbj9wQBgGUOc3getbGHgSbqJjHGftG9NBO6o3-VobzUWykdkVobQcTyV2LRn-_6VrJy3pZY/s320/IMG_0096.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hopefully I can force my way along this narrow and overgrown track<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Despite the suspiciously good condition of the track I was surrounded by greenery which took the edge off a day that was both cloudy and oppressively humid. The path led along the water's edge (everything else being covered in suburbs) so picturesque views of the harbour or at least small parts of it were frequently dangled for my entertainment.</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgich5Qpdjg6LVNODLijRQqlmM6femjOK1ZY2Kv6-J3dQx7VPqEc5elU2mrKUEW750ngUpyXqOhxjDXqllzZ1GzzU_XVdddIAwmnmJHd_w8EYAnIqm58N6ca0FQ15MJJ6yV2MpMa_wCubIO_7qjy8vuC6FOFBGdfaop4irb15BMaTGueek15qWTaiR1_JQ/s4032/IMG_0098.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgich5Qpdjg6LVNODLijRQqlmM6femjOK1ZY2Kv6-J3dQx7VPqEc5elU2mrKUEW750ngUpyXqOhxjDXqllzZ1GzzU_XVdddIAwmnmJHd_w8EYAnIqm58N6ca0FQ15MJJ6yV2MpMa_wCubIO_7qjy8vuC6FOFBGdfaop4irb15BMaTGueek15qWTaiR1_JQ/s320/IMG_0098.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A small part of Sydney Harbour dangled for my entertainment<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Bush and sandstone flanked my left with the harbour on my right. You really can't avoid sandstone in Sydney unless you walk around with your eyes shut. Despite the opinion of those who know me I don't actually do that, often. I walked through what would be coastal forest if it extended a little further. I was heading towards Clontarf beach. Not that I was interested in Clontarf beach, it was just in my way.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXM0dqMnLn7-CeOxIFN4t9VoVtQrJ56Z1_mlfoR9LXfYDgj7COFgb-EeDnwzYtl8mTRl5ZE4A8CKUmTpyKhBorNlm3LUuUCFMYU-m-0xAPJULQYnKV5BD8Qf9hObNN-86FOmh-Xy_b-R9xa8-ZpEqLDPJFdgXIm_YKmBGgzI06ROUg3iGgsSqbb5Je82I/s5712/IMG_0099%20-%20Copy.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXM0dqMnLn7-CeOxIFN4t9VoVtQrJ56Z1_mlfoR9LXfYDgj7COFgb-EeDnwzYtl8mTRl5ZE4A8CKUmTpyKhBorNlm3LUuUCFMYU-m-0xAPJULQYnKV5BD8Qf9hObNN-86FOmh-Xy_b-R9xa8-ZpEqLDPJFdgXIm_YKmBGgzI06ROUg3iGgsSqbb5Je82I/s320/IMG_0099%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coastal rainforest in miniature<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">If you've been reading this blog for a while you're probably sick to death of lizards by now. Not me, I will never get sick of lizards and certainly not while they're posing obligingly for photos directly in front of me.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgufMkPkzcCMv7QjKIpaCJk4ECwDGsLdd3nC-wjkg5ZLekwyZyA_x9E8EW7fCA38dKB8fRgN_D9AFOp-JSl4QpoYcNrfqLXHha_XIlsBXolBofMeVc_Bu_GulxYJ6W7tpSUxfhgtj6E6TTN7fhABB9cwzikp7UnpBXSFrEAbjezCOz3SMH_W4O1Q29nB3o/s4032/IMG_0101.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgufMkPkzcCMv7QjKIpaCJk4ECwDGsLdd3nC-wjkg5ZLekwyZyA_x9E8EW7fCA38dKB8fRgN_D9AFOp-JSl4QpoYcNrfqLXHha_XIlsBXolBofMeVc_Bu_GulxYJ6W7tpSUxfhgtj6E6TTN7fhABB9cwzikp7UnpBXSFrEAbjezCOz3SMH_W4O1Q29nB3o/s320/IMG_0101.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lizard!!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2-52Shf79oLdKG9G_daTlQXi83_xTR1mSc3ojO0Js_YN11YCLyphSXDGR9x_j509iblPzE6L6UKjPWbIaj2ToPoDDmoveCY-bTU4vMu19cohEUhzuEOAzfHUL2aOcYmIMq04o_9Yp8sYi1huAyyb83Jdp-wQCcv7OuOHyp8P-hIag62XbWZup0tJtAI/s4032/IMG_0103.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2-52Shf79oLdKG9G_daTlQXi83_xTR1mSc3ojO0Js_YN11YCLyphSXDGR9x_j509iblPzE6L6UKjPWbIaj2ToPoDDmoveCY-bTU4vMu19cohEUhzuEOAzfHUL2aOcYmIMq04o_9Yp8sYi1huAyyb83Jdp-wQCcv7OuOHyp8P-hIag62XbWZup0tJtAI/s320/IMG_0103.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't worry, there will be more lizard shots later<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Having obliging photographed a frankly shamelessly self promoting lizard I moved on. It is said that if you find a lizard in your house it symbolises something new in your life such as, for example, an unexpected reptilian house guest. I've no idea what it means if a lizard finds a human in its house although based on my experiences with this one it means photo opportunities and the possibility of becoming the world's first reptilian influencer.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The lizard had wisely picked a sunny rock on which to expose itself but once past it the trees closed in again hemming me to the shoreline. Small rivulets trickled down sandstone outcrops and trees fought each other for shade provision duties. I was grateful because the earlier clouds had given up and gone home leaving the sun in undisputed possession of the field.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCfJOzc9u7Qgx6AEO_b1oBj9-7WmZlRprgPgGeowy54HvcYkerRDijLwoLH9kbkq6_YS-YAnBh0rf2VC_7IVdvmbmxqwjiCwEjkqA504BzfzTLKLdG7Ax23DXWo1ckXpdEWfJrER0VuXyKclWjp40v518LGILuggyu2qVWUCIGnyreYEhyphenhyphen2YPC6zlVRdk/s5712/IMG_0109.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCfJOzc9u7Qgx6AEO_b1oBj9-7WmZlRprgPgGeowy54HvcYkerRDijLwoLH9kbkq6_YS-YAnBh0rf2VC_7IVdvmbmxqwjiCwEjkqA504BzfzTLKLdG7Ax23DXWo1ckXpdEWfJrER0VuXyKclWjp40v518LGILuggyu2qVWUCIGnyreYEhyphenhyphen2YPC6zlVRdk/s320/IMG_0109.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is probably within spitting distance of some very expensive real estate<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Little did I know it but my time in the cool forest was coming to an end. The path I was following had taken me around Shell Cove and now deposited me on a street next to Clontarf beack. The beach and the park attached absolutely heaved with people despite, well I'll let the photo say it for me.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6mnennePGAKRMQ8V3FSnPU3AjNAcKMAyds3Cpl-IVFr0IyVTH0vtzOHMmWPFq8COf_aBekFGDJUt-WR1j33JT3Jh4OF1rab6W35rTSuyE6FLIJ5N8fn5WvTnqf3JUXOYyjun-sGTq0i2rCxr2GhEh6aTCCaxa-JNMzFG71ribiT32gL43QxY_lp6_QH0/s5712/IMG_0110.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6mnennePGAKRMQ8V3FSnPU3AjNAcKMAyds3Cpl-IVFr0IyVTH0vtzOHMmWPFq8COf_aBekFGDJUt-WR1j33JT3Jh4OF1rab6W35rTSuyE6FLIJ5N8fn5WvTnqf3JUXOYyjun-sGTq0i2rCxr2GhEh6aTCCaxa-JNMzFG71ribiT32gL43QxY_lp6_QH0/s320/IMG_0110.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoy your day at the beach guys.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">My usual disinclination towards crowds of people wasn't exactly helped by the prospect that they had spent much of the day splashing around in sewage. I hastily made my way through the park and hit the track on the other side.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Here a distinct change in vegetation greeted me. Whereas the first part of my walk had been through cool semi rainforest type surrounds now I was climbing rugged terrain (there were steps) and the surrounding bush was of a hardier, scrubbier variety. It also provided less protection from the sun. Having successfully navigated Clontarf Beach I was now walking around or at least in the general vicinity of Dobroyd Head. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuiyojDXrJaQ1gpqnOFNGlIWXMGcj9Jn_EtZe-l8xWypG-RP0f3o_TKouNeI3j8QWIqcSaqk4Qvkqz2RapVgc08QZYr3ZRDyfmMCzQshBybHa3w74NyK7K5wDuIoYL98LjdXwMozDpatwVctVD68yqnlMNzcxiS_q1du2vB5B1LIBGngjfBs7P79JW3Pg/s4032/IMG_0111.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuiyojDXrJaQ1gpqnOFNGlIWXMGcj9Jn_EtZe-l8xWypG-RP0f3o_TKouNeI3j8QWIqcSaqk4Qvkqz2RapVgc08QZYr3ZRDyfmMCzQshBybHa3w74NyK7K5wDuIoYL98LjdXwMozDpatwVctVD68yqnlMNzcxiS_q1du2vB5B1LIBGngjfBs7P79JW3Pg/s320/IMG_0111.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spindly trees and bushes with teeth would become more prevalent from now on<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Now considerably above the waterline I traipsed across Dobroyd Head, I was now walking through endangered heath land which I had encountered before at North Head. As with North Head the local authorities had laid down a raised walking path so we didn't sully the earth with the touch of our boots. The area had a somewhat charred look due to some fires last year apparently but there was plenty of green among the black although undergrowth was still a little lacking.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The sound of birdsong drew me towards a bush by the side of the path. I stared for a while, there was a round sort of leafy, twiggy thing. Could this be a bird nest? I peered closer and a bird flew out and almost hit me in the face. I stumbled back reflecting in my panic that "killed after an encounter with a finch" would be an embarrassing thing to put on one's obituary. Fortunately I recovered before I tumbled the eighteen inches or so to the heathland below.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2AMz3cd8dTFUQPMO5FvawLvu-hPxVHX6UO6HvCCRnWNqazkAwQSKSFTJGK14SjwrCsKcQ7JOvCXZLYWiqqL_I5agQeRLYLadcKLnSJI_YhqrpdWzCKvcT_Xkh78T792gGjipTwF_37TE6bZeUuRqH_Hl9lXrrLS8UJ4KfLIPvR4jpUhQj5pyDrXVvc5U/s4032/IMG_0115.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2AMz3cd8dTFUQPMO5FvawLvu-hPxVHX6UO6HvCCRnWNqazkAwQSKSFTJGK14SjwrCsKcQ7JOvCXZLYWiqqL_I5agQeRLYLadcKLnSJI_YhqrpdWzCKvcT_Xkh78T792gGjipTwF_37TE6bZeUuRqH_Hl9lXrrLS8UJ4KfLIPvR4jpUhQj5pyDrXVvc5U/s320/IMG_0115.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bird nest, I know this because a bird flew out of it<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Gasping after my brush with death I stumbled on in a daze. Tourists were becoming more and more prevalent. In fact they were all over the damned place. I gave a gritted smile and polite greetings to those I passed and as a consequence probably engaged in more conversation than I had all week. I passed one large group of tourists with the obligatory greetings but then headed down a side path to see some Aboriginal rock carvings. As a result when I returned to the main path I had to go through all the greetings a second time when I passed them again. I don't want you to think I'm in any way misanthropic I'm as fond of my fellow human as the next man, as long as the next man is my Father, its just that I rather like wandering alone and this was turning into something akin to a social event. On the other hand given the views one could hardly blame them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVZhMxjDBNtyn5GKRbCoCnbbMIb6mlBy3Vp1a2RdEu-oNHQgKD-l4xxTgEbVH3D87lGWJpKmYKHWWrSc6bhDfkI6pFUNVKTT3yEfe_s-8I7-8UR5VhOiXk0bz1FpNbyUhLOogvFUDjYdgDwvTb-zf65YtchewZH48Gs0wUSXcqPOufIA3LtLxxljqeoXk/s5712/IMG_0117%20-%20Copy.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVZhMxjDBNtyn5GKRbCoCnbbMIb6mlBy3Vp1a2RdEu-oNHQgKD-l4xxTgEbVH3D87lGWJpKmYKHWWrSc6bhDfkI6pFUNVKTT3yEfe_s-8I7-8UR5VhOiXk0bz1FpNbyUhLOogvFUDjYdgDwvTb-zf65YtchewZH48Gs0wUSXcqPOufIA3LtLxxljqeoXk/s320/IMG_0117%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aforementioned views<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">As I went along muttering anti tourist curses under my breath the landscape changed from "somewhat charred" to "distinctly charred". Ashy soil was more in evidence than undergrowth and the surviving vegetation still had a rather shellshocked appearance.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6cK8UIADwSgfd7mLNAY1ptrDGyDpy1BFjMz5_-BxbiX75wdmhZDkLipp7mxPDganU_6FCxDWOHGS7ec6xncLAFmoNXg9MkEs0K5uP5lfs_Z0L8tFNYfQm5k5JolcWl5KiYWMS6Xkl1c0da_gKSJFI4VURLu_NpQXL9Ee4liLeecW-y9S5OXRByiV1FxQ/s5712/IMG_0118%20-%20Copy.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6cK8UIADwSgfd7mLNAY1ptrDGyDpy1BFjMz5_-BxbiX75wdmhZDkLipp7mxPDganU_6FCxDWOHGS7ec6xncLAFmoNXg9MkEs0K5uP5lfs_Z0L8tFNYfQm5k5JolcWl5KiYWMS6Xkl1c0da_gKSJFI4VURLu_NpQXL9Ee4liLeecW-y9S5OXRByiV1FxQ/s320/IMG_0118%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Distinctly charred<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I was actually heading towards somewhat familiar territory. On the other side of Dobroyd Head was Balgowlah Heights and Forty Baskets Beach a place where I lived briefly in a youth that was not so much misspent as simply spent. Winding my way down towards the waterline again I obviously passed the bushfire zone and entered lusher, wetter climes more akin to the vegetation I'd encountered at the beginning of my walk. Once again I encountered a gaggle of tourists but this time I really couldn't blame them for gathering because a lizard was proudly posing on a bridge over a small creek and was surrounded by eager photographers.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9e-a0TyGXDDETFwu4qr7lllKSCER1fm963-3K7wpuM0_KtXb7AXOMQhy4hgOHtFb4dns2mErxHkbo8anan9t5TkJScicdTzbDotAHEEOAR009WPOiD6x1m0zobRcpcm_6NQSgZhKsGfqip9IbkXuQb4kB-UF-rPA9hRaPaGQp7iTC4AzVob-xYLg3so/s4032/IMG_0118.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9e-a0TyGXDDETFwu4qr7lllKSCER1fm963-3K7wpuM0_KtXb7AXOMQhy4hgOHtFb4dns2mErxHkbo8anan9t5TkJScicdTzbDotAHEEOAR009WPOiD6x1m0zobRcpcm_6NQSgZhKsGfqip9IbkXuQb4kB-UF-rPA9hRaPaGQp7iTC4AzVob-xYLg3so/s320/IMG_0118.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doing its best Smaug impersonation<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Despite the writing on the bridge on the left I've no idea if this is an Eastern Water Dragon but I checked wikipedia and the colouring seems to match. Let's face it, David Attenborough I am not.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5ijWiShOfTmH5qRC-t7p35fKWfIcFIBKCeyNP8z3zgrEHOwb_NEUxiaH4aea2aWn1qEG3MtNNdE29dbD40RNJbd9jkw_bLNJym9K1Q7ZOv3cL7uImGPn2JmqVCbm11Yv0al2Ycie5jzCUidlk1E8dyDXk2HgT9gWyMq-QFS-6LkyZwPKJvscXCtRLg0/s4032/IMG_0121.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5ijWiShOfTmH5qRC-t7p35fKWfIcFIBKCeyNP8z3zgrEHOwb_NEUxiaH4aea2aWn1qEG3MtNNdE29dbD40RNJbd9jkw_bLNJym9K1Q7ZOv3cL7uImGPn2JmqVCbm11Yv0al2Ycie5jzCUidlk1E8dyDXk2HgT9gWyMq-QFS-6LkyZwPKJvscXCtRLg0/s320/IMG_0121.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a completely different lizard I encountered a little further along</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Glutted on lizards I made my way through the reserve that surrounds Forty Baskets Beach and then along the shoreline itself for a while. That wasn't my choice, the track ended at the shoreline with a distinct hint that surely I could find my own way for a little while before picking up the track again at the other end.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIt7gRraCjTYAOMUiyBrS9Jr2hZiBE5tsswTwHpnIrUpG0lOHfRpuA3iGP8q2AfTPcL8YNYOoWf_btxehJP5QYe0q6yXptcMtaeEYY4OBDECkAshEfN8p40eVkEWLDDGqdjOeJxnEC5bHKWEz48wXwmYJLTRTLNjR-yPECopnLIY5pQFA3UFxx-5qTxGc/s5712/IMG_0123.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIt7gRraCjTYAOMUiyBrS9Jr2hZiBE5tsswTwHpnIrUpG0lOHfRpuA3iGP8q2AfTPcL8YNYOoWf_btxehJP5QYe0q6yXptcMtaeEYY4OBDECkAshEfN8p40eVkEWLDDGqdjOeJxnEC5bHKWEz48wXwmYJLTRTLNjR-yPECopnLIY5pQFA3UFxx-5qTxGc/s320/IMG_0123.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aforementioned shoreline<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeU-nG9PcKBSV-3lIsZSJBgsIjqTc6Ip-6fufVVAfbZGNtutuQdGyw36GAwXSXCPJOJh1UV1et_UWy3VhhVdX2MaTtmWZn0mjCH1WY6qGYFQpJLqQRuNPqBrHYnUmMT0AKPUbC9njrC6ngwRjXbI2xA4MM_SagoxULtmZd2nthsU9RNwC-AGCmt6sRxG8/s4032/IMG_0125.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeU-nG9PcKBSV-3lIsZSJBgsIjqTc6Ip-6fufVVAfbZGNtutuQdGyw36GAwXSXCPJOJh1UV1et_UWy3VhhVdX2MaTtmWZn0mjCH1WY6qGYFQpJLqQRuNPqBrHYnUmMT0AKPUbC9njrC6ngwRjXbI2xA4MM_SagoxULtmZd2nthsU9RNwC-AGCmt6sRxG8/s320/IMG_0125.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And for no reason at all, a pelican<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">That was the end of the bush part of the bushwalk. Ahead of me lay a kilometre or two of walking through well sculpted shoreline parks until finally I reached my destination. The most common sight along that last stretch were signs everywhere telling people to keep their dogs on a lead to help protect the penguins. I looked quite closely but I didn't see a single penguin. I suppose it's possible the last one was savaged to death by a dog yesterday. Once I arrived in Manly there was nothing else to do except buy coffee and catch a ferry home. I could have joined friends who were apparently in a bar about a hundred metres from where I turned up but I didn't find that out until I got home by at which point I wasn't going to turn around and go back.<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-43420681485215409202024-01-29T03:17:00.000-08:002024-01-29T03:17:59.815-08:00A Wretched Cavalcade of Failure and Despair<p> It occurs to me that the above could be the title of my autobiography but I have set my sights somewhat more narrowly in order to give a brief account of my performance at CanCon this year. I use the term performance in much the same way as a drunken mother in law's behaviour at a family barbecue is referred to as a "performance". </p><p>I rolled out of bed on the Friday when those parts of our nation that are so inclined celebrate it's existence. Here I reacquainted myself with a couple of friends who had been selected, by me, to drive me to and from the venue this year. After a quick breakfast consisting largely of protein and carbohydrates (definitely not the breakfast of champions in my case) we headed to the EPIC Centre which hosts the gaming convention which is where our modest little tournament is played out.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Yangtze Doodle <br /></p><p>After some perfunctory greetings we sat down to do battle. I was introduced to each of my opponents over the course of three days but their names all blended into an incoherent symphony of misery so I shall just say that first up I played some guy. The first scenario was Yangtze Doodle which pitted a group of culturally offended Chinese against a bunch of Japanese invaders. Some Chinese set up in a village while a group of Japanese try to drive them out. Another group of Japanese set up in a different village while some other Chinese try and drive them out. In the middle of this military push me pull you is a bridge, for some reason the shining beacon that both sides are prepared to spill blood to obtain. I had the Chinese.</p><p>My troops in the village awaited the oncoming Japanese while the Japanese in the village awaited my oncoming Chinese. By the end of the first turn three quarters of my village garrison were dead or irretrievably broken thanks to my inability to roll less than ten on a morale check. That was pretty much the end of the game. I did indeed fight my way into the other village but his other force pretty much unopposed wandered up to the bridge and had a picnic while my troops poured out their blood for a few houses.</p><p style="text-align: center;">The Badger's Breath</p><p style="text-align: left;">In this one I commanded a group of Canadians in late war western Europe. They were attempting to prevent the escape of a fleeing group of German paratroopers. The Germans are well gunned up with a trio of StuGs and some weird arse antiaircraft gun mounted on a Czech tank chassis but they could be no match for my elite Canadians with a carrier, a Sherman, a mortar and a Sherman Firefly, definitely the queen of this particular battlefield. Although style points have to go to my Badger. The Badger was a variant of the Ram Kangaroo which was itself a variant of the Ram tank which was itself developed on the hull of the American M3. Suffice it to say it was a tank chassis with a monstrous flamethrower attached.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The Germans had to attack across a valley and the quickest way to reach said valley was over a ridge. I set up my mortar and the Sherman to cover the ridge while my Firefly guarded the flank and the Badger lurked behind the trees at the Canadian end of the valley to fry those who approached. My opponent, some other guy, played right into my hands. His StuGs crested the ridge and parked in my line of sight while his infantry plowed forward under the watchful gaze of my mortar crew. It was now that I learned something about my supposedly elite Canadians; they couldn't hit the side of a barn from inside the barn. Having failed all my defensive fire shots and then all of my subsequent prep fire shots I had to watch as his StuGs required just one shot to kill my Sherman and disperse the troops manning the mortar. Utterly unopposed his troops and StuGs raced across the valley to where my Badger and remaining troops waited in horror.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It wasn't all bad news, the Badger fried a squad and a half of German troops so thoroughly they became air pollution and my Firefly killed a StuG and the AA tank as well as taking out a couple of infantry squads. Unfortunately the smoke from the burning vehicles provided enough cover for the rest of his forces to get through. This game was at least hard fought but I lost it in the final turn.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Backstabbing Paratroopers <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">With nothing but misery in my first days gaming I mustered my personal resources and resolved to do better the next day. The next day saw me pitted against a different guy playing Backstabbing Paratroopers which saw a (not very large) collection of Soviet paratroopers and partisans trying to prevent a somewhat larger group of Germans from capturing some village buildings. I had a board to defend whereas the Germans could pick their spot and throw their entire force against it. Pick their spot the Germans did. I was actually quite pleased with my performance in this one as my troops retreated under far heavier firepower and managed to hold the Germans off for quite some time. Not as it turned out long enough however and my opponent grabbed the required buildings in the final turn.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Blackjack is Back</p><p style="text-align: left;">OK, I do remember my opponent in this one because it was Richard Weilly who is a frequent opponent. It's early 1945, snow covers the ground and any sensible German is learning English and trying to pretend they've never heard of the Russian front. For my sins I commanded some of the Germans yet to get the memo. My force was, shall we say, mixed with some hotshot 658 SS squads and some deeply suspect 447 SS squads making up the numbers. Yet another StuG graced my OB as did two Panthers which surprised me by surviving the battle. Rich had the Americans with a pair of gyro stabilised Shermans, a couple of other Shermans and an M26 Pershing, truly the Panther's equal if not its superior. Backing up this plethora of armour was a host of elite infantry looking to push their way through a rather tatty German defence.</p><p style="text-align: left;">For a while I was hopeful in this one as Richard's dice did to him what mine had done to me in earlier scenarios. He got no smoke, couldn't pass a morale check and only by being very reticent with his tanks did his armour survive the first couple of turns. Eventually of course the dice evened out and I hadn't really been able to inflict sufficient (read, any) casualties on him. Slowed but not stopped Richard deployed massive firepower to gradually crush my troops and inch forward. Despite the presence of all the tanks their contribution was rather muted, a silly move cost me my StuG and Richard dropped a Sherman into the cellar of a building he drove in to but for the most part the tanks acted as fleets in being, preventing the other from interfering. With my infantry shot to pieces with very little by way of reply Richard was able to swarm down one side of the board to victory.</p><p style="text-align: center;">I Have No Idea What I Played on Sunday</p><p style="text-align: left;">By this time my brain was so lacerated with defeat that I could have been playing monopoly. The scenario was one of the ones that used the Sparrow Force map and pitted Australian's against Japanese in Timor. Here's a tip, if you want to win a scenario don't play the scenario designer. I took the Australians in this one and advanced boldly forward hampered only by the predilection of my elite and first line troops to flee for the rear if the Japanese so much as shouted "Bang!" near them. By halfway through I was ready to concede but my opponent, tournament organiser and scenario designer Andy Rogers persuaded me to continue. Blinking away tears I did so. Things did even up and I swept through capturing all but one of the buildings I needed but too much time had been lost and the final turn saw a desperate charge through the open to try and capture the final required building. It was messy, the ground turned red.</p><p style="text-align: left;">After this final humility lesson I slunk off by myself until it was time to leave. It was a profoundly depressing experience leavened only by good company, enjoyable meals and a pleasant ride home. OK, I guess it wasn't too bad really. Also Lake George had water in it which is always worth seeing. Andy organised a great tournament and did an excellent job of herding the collection of cats he had been foisted with. As for me, ordinarily I would be playing Dave Wilson my usual opponent on Monday night but by mutual agreement we put it off for a week. Dave so he could get some rest and me so I could find a reason to live.<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-43385906494069271292024-01-25T05:50:00.000-08:002024-01-28T17:38:17.081-08:00Travelling Wearily<p> “I need to leave at a decent time this evening,” I announced to my work colleagues flaunting an economy class ticket on one of our shabbier domestic airlines (which, to be fair is all of them). I waited for the gasps of envy but strangely they didn’t come. Nevertheless by dint of hard work and a collaborative team effort (I let everyone else do the work) I managed to slip the corporate chains and flee my office in plenty of time for my flight.</p><p><br /></p><p>Which is probably why the airline waited until I had actually arrived at the airport before cheerfully informing me that my flight would be an hour and a half late. Assuming it turned up at all. With suddenly far too much time on my hands I looked around for something to do. Ten seconds later I gave up. I have in the past been, shall we say, a gnats critical of Sydney’s international terminal but I realise I was wrong. It is a glittering beacon of excitement and hope by comparison with its low rent domestic cousin.</p><p>If the international terminal is like a badly lit shopping mall (it is) then the domestic terminal is like a badly lit DFO which has fifty thousand items that no one on god’s earth would ever want piled haphazardly all over the floor but ran out of the one thing you wanted half an hour ago.</p><p>I dined on something spectacularly overpriced. I’m not entirely sure what it was but I think it had bacon in it. That’s a pretty safe bet, most of the things I eat have bacon in them even, occasionally, the cereal. After what for want of a better term I shall call dinner I found a bar where in return for spending half my disposable cash on a glass of wine I was permitted to sit and watch the tennis. Aryna Sabalenka was playing Coco Gauff and with the exception of the tennis racquets it bore a remarkable similarity to certain dreams I have. The grunting, screaming, sweating and low level cursing in Belarusian were all familiar at any rate.</p><p>Having enjoyed the “tennis” for a while I headed off to find my departure gate. The corridor narrowed as I walked along, the lights flickered, the brushed concrete changed to exposed brick and when I saw my first skeleton chained to a wall I knew I was getting close. Eventually I arrived at what appeared to be a run down cow shed. It was attached to the terminal but one got the impression that this was only because the terminal couldn’t get up and walk away. I swear there were goats grazing outside.</p><p>Here I waited until a bus pulled up. A couple of dozen passengers including me hesitated for a moment not daring to hope that the time had finally come. Eventually the sole airline employee present informed us that if we wanted to get on the plane then getting the bus was an essential first step.</p><p>The bus swept us past rows of large planes. Then it swept us past a bunch of smaller planes. Finally it pulled up beside the powered metal tube that would take us to Canberra. I could tell right away why the flight was delayed, they were waiting for the Airfix glue to dry. If you stuck wings on our bus you would have a larger and more plausible aircraft. Still we were here now and the driver seemed disinclined to let us stay on the bus so with varying degrees of reluctance we boarded our petite princess of the sky.</p><p>I had gained a window seat in return for indicating my readiness to help in an emergency by pushing out the emergency exit I was sitting next to. I didn’t realise said exit weighed over ten kilograms and that I was effectively being asked to tear off a chunk of the plane and hurl it into the night while terror stricken passengers trampled me to mush in their frantic attempts to preserve their worthless lives for a few more seconds by throwing themselves bodily through the hole I had just created.</p><p>The flight attendant shambled his way through a safety announcement while apologising and pointing out he was very tired and should have been off duty two hours ago. I hope the same couldn’t be said for the pilot. Eventually they wound up the elastic and the plane trundled towards the runway only twenty minutes late. That is twenty minutes later than the hour and a half it was already late.</p><p>Ten minutes later we were still trundling towards the runway and I started to suspect the pilot was going to drive us to Canberra. The flight attendant explained between yawns that there was a build up of flights trying to land and we had to wait for space on the runway. I’m not sure why, a decently sized slingshot could have launched this plane into the sky. Eventually a narrow window appeared and we made a mad dash for the runway before anyone else could land on it. I doubt if we used a tenth of the runway before our little plane was airborne and rattling towards Canberra. The flight attendant shambled around with a bottle of water and some random cookies. These were labelled refreshments but could well have been the remnants of his packed lunch. He forgot what one of the types of cookies was despite only having a choice of two.</p><p>As we neared Canberra we hit some turbulence which would probably have gone unnoticed on a 747 but which made our aerial steed plunge like a bronco. I gazed at the emergency exit and wondered if I should get a head start on the plane dismantling. I underestimated our narrow tube’s toughness however and it erupted out the other side of the turbulence and plonked us on the ground at Canberra with nary a bruise. I patted the aeroplane on the fuselage on my way out and told it I had always had faith in it. It called me a liar and threatened legal action for sexual harassment. Next time I take the train.</p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-24384109908793614592024-01-23T18:23:00.000-08:002024-01-23T18:23:35.964-08:00A Date With Destiny<p>The time is almost upon me. The time when I gird my loins and square my shoulders, or possibly square my loins and gird my shoulders, and head for the centralised collection of Work for the Dole programs that is our national capital. Here I and a select handful like me will meet amongst a horde of crazed hobbyists, crazed role players and the just generally crazed to participate in a wargaming competition which I'm sure you will all agree is a thoroughly sane way to spend a long weekend.</p><p>We will sit in our corner of the convention centre looking out at the great unwashed (and definitely undeodorised) mob and reflect smugly on how different we are from these losers who devote vast amounts of time and money to these childish and trivial entertainments. Then we'll go back to our war go bang bang game which largely consists of cardboard counters and a rulebook and which none of us has spent less than ten thousand dollars on and counting.</p><p>Yes CanCon is upon us again. The Australia Day (or whatever) long weekend is the signal for me to head in the direction of Canberra in the company of those of my acquaintances who can still tolerate my presence for two and a half days of hard fought competition against Australia's best*. Actually the number of my acquaintances who can still tolerate my presence is apparently none since I am flying to Canberra alone. However once there I shall meet up with fellow cardboard molesters Dave Wilson and Mark McGilchrist who between them will be transporting me to the competition venue (they don't know this yet, I like to keep it a surprise).</p><p>Traditionally I have done well at this tournament. I have turned up and frequently got through two or three turns of the game before screaming about how everything is rigged and hurling my dice at the ceiling or, on one or two occasions, my opponent. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times concerned fellow gamers have had to coax me in off window ledges as a result of poor play. Mind you the number of times amused fellow gamers have gathered around shouting "jump, jump, jump" has now reached a level where I can no longer consider it a coincidence.</p><p>OK, I haven't done terribly well at this tournament. I never do terribly well at tournaments because I'm not a particularly good player. What I have to hope for is some spectacular pieces of dice related good fortune fall my way thus enabling those who deserve victory to be crushed beneath my chariot wheels. This happened once at a competition I attended in America. I was matched with a genuinely superb player and the look of absolute outrage on his face as I diced and bullshitted my way to a victory kept me warm for many nights to come. </p><p>Once the dust has settled and the medication has started to take effect I shall of cause give a brief update of the games played and results gained and post it on this blog if only because I'm afraid that the thing is becoming a bushwalking blog by default. It's useful to remind people that I have two strange hobbies that no sane person would contemplate. I call that having a balanced personality. Others refer to it as "suffering from multiple conditions".</p><p>*"best" being defined as "those who bothered to turn up"</p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-62025238205462170092024-01-20T20:01:00.000-08:002024-01-20T20:01:32.121-08:00Travelling Pathetically - Unfinished Business Edition<p> Back in the early mists of time when life was easy and Covid merely a bat sandwich at a Wuhan biological warfare facility I walked around Mosman. At the time I was intending to walk from the Spit Bridge back along the harbour foreshore and wind up at the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Sadly my less than robust body failed me and after fourteen kilometres of wandering through the hot sun I limped and staggered to a halt while still in Mosman. It really is quite a large suburb. Since that time a sense of incompleteness has nagged at me. It nagged at me so badly that a mere three years later I decided that the time had come to finish this walk and make my way boldly from Mosman to Milsons Point.</p><p>In deference to my habit of wandering around random bits of semi-wilderness I had been given a shirt for Christmas specifically designed for hikers. It apparently whicked away the sweat that was an inevitable consequence of such activity leaving the walker comfortable and ready to proceed. The shirt was a miracle, it did indeed whick away the sweat and then deposited it on my body giving me the distinct impression that I was walking in a bath. I am gradually getting if not more professional then at least more professionally equipped.</p><p>Starting from Mosman meant getting to Mosman which, since I was walking along the foreshore, meant taking a ferry. I turned up at Circular Quay to find my noble (and arguably seaworthy) vessel sheltering in the shadow of the CelebrityEDGE. The CelebrityEDGE is a gargantuan cruise liner whose name manages to be both flatulent and fatuous at the same time. If I encounter a celebrity edge I'm likely to push them off.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IXlWkJMIjhLawV0H7FzTUNoFc54MHDUS0yM55fNulR7N257ZPblbZfR2YApa0MhkLEQYeDR8wfdrVvWO9xr_tR0dDoSapQumeaIqV_RqtX0ug2le1AV5x3e-tFMBkhA3y-FRC-EoauLT4UJFAgz_RbVee4E3zPtPO0JL5XtEmJGnanaCr6fwhuUxZeQ/s5712/IMG_0055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IXlWkJMIjhLawV0H7FzTUNoFc54MHDUS0yM55fNulR7N257ZPblbZfR2YApa0MhkLEQYeDR8wfdrVvWO9xr_tR0dDoSapQumeaIqV_RqtX0ug2le1AV5x3e-tFMBkhA3y-FRC-EoauLT4UJFAgz_RbVee4E3zPtPO0JL5XtEmJGnanaCr6fwhuUxZeQ/s320/IMG_0055.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The CelebrityEDGE. Surely there are better ways to spread disease.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We sailed out of the CelebrityEDGE's long shadow and entered the more picturesque parts of the harbour (ie those bits not occupied by the CelebrityEDGE). It was a pleasant trip to Manly, the sun was shining and the ferry didn't sink. Soon I was making my way along a harbourside carpark enroute to a walking track that would take me at least part of the way towards Milsons Point. I took a photo of Mosman Bay for no better reason than it was the starting point of my walk.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwv23DcSqS-5kM6wwA_LQ5OutqcJETO6aze1TbZbOFWpOer0DMvVK8SOlvsPEDEzPIJLtq8TBKaU8NitHVtSuERIQI3eoBI2yZ5eff0mS6cQTHxHPCvOd3s1oy305B7XcoGy5WYMwXx5HearltEZJUhvDFWJ-DzKyWeUjvjhYkLj_nPyJyTUVX8JWuLZg/s5712/IMG_0057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwv23DcSqS-5kM6wwA_LQ5OutqcJETO6aze1TbZbOFWpOer0DMvVK8SOlvsPEDEzPIJLtq8TBKaU8NitHVtSuERIQI3eoBI2yZ5eff0mS6cQTHxHPCvOd3s1oy305B7XcoGy5WYMwXx5HearltEZJUhvDFWJ-DzKyWeUjvjhYkLj_nPyJyTUVX8JWuLZg/s320/IMG_0057.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mosman Bay because it was there and didn't move when I photographed it<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Behind Mosman Bay Marina is the path that would take me at least to Cremorne Point. After that there would be a certain amount of making it up as I went along. The path followed the shoreline because if it did anything else it would bump into peoples houses. As with my previous walk in Greenwich the "bush" is essentially a fringe between the shore and the nearest place people could build houses. To my left the land sloped down to the harbour adorned with trees, plants and all of the usual accoutrements of bushland. To my right aforementioned houses loomed to basically inform the bush that flat land was off limits.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbghMD_sxs2jI1o9HDRQM2HkmSOPa-z7Lo9q6kLdopF0YfLcDfJ1k9DBzLkHbiGTscA_XZEVzTmTUfJF-8TqhwSGUp7o31_xw2r-O3NMRtcmdulJ1RcqIIUFrmF8CvlNGNghtw9_QXNF8BikaLuLVunEYYtDyohl0bncnq-gP9MUKkF5j1ZQsXv9DRFj0/s4032/IMG_0059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbghMD_sxs2jI1o9HDRQM2HkmSOPa-z7Lo9q6kLdopF0YfLcDfJ1k9DBzLkHbiGTscA_XZEVzTmTUfJF-8TqhwSGUp7o31_xw2r-O3NMRtcmdulJ1RcqIIUFrmF8CvlNGNghtw9_QXNF8BikaLuLVunEYYtDyohl0bncnq-gP9MUKkF5j1ZQsXv9DRFj0/s320/IMG_0059.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A path through the bush trying hard to pretend there isn't a house 50 metres away<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p style="text-align: left;">It was hardly plunging through the wilderness, the path was sealed for much of the journey but if you looked left instead of right you saw the harbour peeking through the trees and you could imagine yourself in pristine nature. At least you could if you imagined that pristine nature could nevertheless provide sealed walking paths and periodic signs imploring you to be kind to the little bit of bushland that was left.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6YWplpX10xCh6I_AJIjV62QTBzUeY_vjFNQfifmBzoy4Svg-yBs6MaIE0l8K1G9SJ0qXbXL1sOj4jdLYLjNgvLqeZNe8jXF-e6Xcmc5wlqSwJsUX2SwjZ4YzESDQniv-jX5p7Tnpgvc3mNEzEfw5Sl59RYApvORyydZOasU6JKeoHGmTInrz89rTZf0/s5712/IMG_0062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6YWplpX10xCh6I_AJIjV62QTBzUeY_vjFNQfifmBzoy4Svg-yBs6MaIE0l8K1G9SJ0qXbXL1sOj4jdLYLjNgvLqeZNe8jXF-e6Xcmc5wlqSwJsUX2SwjZ4YzESDQniv-jX5p7Tnpgvc3mNEzEfw5Sl59RYApvORyydZOasU6JKeoHGmTInrz89rTZf0/s320/IMG_0062.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you looked left...<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">To the right was evidence of what had happened to the remainder of the bush. Large, handsome homes that were built at a time when wealth was if not synonymous with good taste then at least synonymous with being prepared to hire good taste.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOULikUnXoMshyphenhyphenCwUX0fxVqhNEON86VL8H-6nhbirgUIhuoVsej6AxBirpJgdzQgn9KTJ2V6yK01PSH1GLP8bbkEt_x4i6cFWVyiJxiBVWzmeAe-EqYkxVAkkPuVc732ADGj1GshKRST4WrloJvahM2sP672ijlsV_sSu4I0bPkoslnfED0IZOpW8iuG0/s5712/IMG_0072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOULikUnXoMshyphenhyphenCwUX0fxVqhNEON86VL8H-6nhbirgUIhuoVsej6AxBirpJgdzQgn9KTJ2V6yK01PSH1GLP8bbkEt_x4i6cFWVyiJxiBVWzmeAe-EqYkxVAkkPuVc732ADGj1GshKRST4WrloJvahM2sP672ijlsV_sSu4I0bPkoslnfED0IZOpW8iuG0/s320/IMG_0072.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And on the right.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The paucity of the bushland didn't seem to concern its inhabitants however. I stepped off the path for a moment to investigate a small dirt trail that actually just circled around a tree and came back and encountered a lizard sunning itself. It was more than happy to pose for photographs. Incidentally there was no information as to why this particular tree got a path all to itself. Possibly its there simply to encourage people to take photos of the lizards.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_qHwnL4ylSASQx8xMxKdjmNwf1y__Od8WoAiI5JHsHDKvR8jE6QdORelMs1riWq3wWRCJ65oDLTp6ERjKAhnnLRZYttzLN4VrtHgb01lF6gmucssGqaT4jpuXg7x03cmzjhAqxChxmJBFA1yu4_RAvgUOjjgayaHkzFcX-5VjZpM8ibpsHuyHcMoJxU/s4032/IMG_0064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_qHwnL4ylSASQx8xMxKdjmNwf1y__Od8WoAiI5JHsHDKvR8jE6QdORelMs1riWq3wWRCJ65oDLTp6ERjKAhnnLRZYttzLN4VrtHgb01lF6gmucssGqaT4jpuXg7x03cmzjhAqxChxmJBFA1yu4_RAvgUOjjgayaHkzFcX-5VjZpM8ibpsHuyHcMoJxU/s320/IMG_0064.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OK, I seem to be developing a lizard fetish<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">My unnatural lizard urges temporarily sated I plunged on pausing only to take a shot of the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus (well mushroom really) that popped up out of nowhere. I should really rename this blog "Shooting Lizards and Fungi".</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8e6dC9zrbZbf9QZxh8xx3_E-25_JWsiFfHGdq8mAG8HRSHbIEJlZFaDLi2VwU3v3xLIgaDVxtxTRx3gaSMCTIfPgaUCOdQDBD12V9j8pR_D7n6mpcbDmtGWQTRyync7KTCD3DjdJKG3aN043154jXqPFYHwhyk6-IXQm0RUQpubLEM3LhfDQinSexWs/s4032/IMG_0066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8e6dC9zrbZbf9QZxh8xx3_E-25_JWsiFfHGdq8mAG8HRSHbIEJlZFaDLi2VwU3v3xLIgaDVxtxTRx3gaSMCTIfPgaUCOdQDBD12V9j8pR_D7n6mpcbDmtGWQTRyync7KTCD3DjdJKG3aN043154jXqPFYHwhyk6-IXQm0RUQpubLEM3LhfDQinSexWs/s320/IMG_0066.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As far as I'm concerned mushrooms, toadstools and fungi are all pretty much the same<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The path widened out into a small park with the occasional bench and tree placed for decorative purposes (as opposed to growing because that's simply what they do). A couple of people disported themselves on the flattish grass and there was a brush turkey wandering around because of course there was. I'm starting to suspect that there are only two brush turkeys in Sydney and they just keep following me around.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLYWSufQJ4MQG7TejIB2zWCo7qKER-nBbnQhLxQUDPz0ErOVN19O4-bmJeuQ5budM4x-TfLpy1LxJ-4JddqvFopYtgnzk8zlu1vYjsQ5WBrdm0-7o4GUa4JODWzv5YqsFQ77GNLW3vzJMayUS_YoJ7OfGzM8ZLrbI5-9MV0xyR2nETCsrzn81-KnPsy4/s4032/IMG_0068%20-%20Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLYWSufQJ4MQG7TejIB2zWCo7qKER-nBbnQhLxQUDPz0ErOVN19O4-bmJeuQ5budM4x-TfLpy1LxJ-4JddqvFopYtgnzk8zlu1vYjsQ5WBrdm0-7o4GUa4JODWzv5YqsFQ77GNLW3vzJMayUS_YoJ7OfGzM8ZLrbI5-9MV0xyR2nETCsrzn81-KnPsy4/s320/IMG_0068%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OK Shooting Lizards, Fungi and Brush Turkeys<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I was now walking through or at least adjacent to the Lex & Ruby Graham Gardens. In case you hadn't worked it out the likelihood of a strip of bushland along the shore being left untouched for the last two hundred years is pretty low. The bush that grows there now is primarily what started growing after we stopped killing everything in sight. A lot of the escarpment was used in the traditional manner, ie we tossed our rubbish there and generally it looks a lot better now that it probably did a hundred years ago. Part of the reason for this is Lex & Ruby Graham. Lex Graham was bathing in the harbour when a bulb floated by. On a whim he plucked it out of the sea and planted it in a convenient bit of dirt. To his amazement the thing took root and started to grow. Inspired, Lex and his wife Ruby started cleaning up the escarpment in the immediate vicinity (thousands of bricks, a washing machine and tons of other crap) and planting other things in the hopes they would follow the bulbs example. They did and in the process the Grahams transformed what was essentially a rubbish tip into a bit of bushland. Not likely to be the original plants occupying the area but I think we can agree that any plants are probably an improvement over bricks and a washing machine. A path leads through the garden down to the shore where there is a small rock pool where Lex was disporting himself when the critical bulb made its appearance.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I took this path myself and got almost to the water's edge but was prevented from getting any further by the back of another individual sitting gazing out at the water. The reason for his obstructionism became plain when his (wife, partner, former primary school teacher) hauled herself naked from the water. At that point I got a phone call from my parents because the situation couldn't get any more awkward so why not. At least I was able to concentrate of the phone call while she got dressed and they made their departure. I ran into them a couple more times over the course of my walk but we didn't stop and reminisce. </p><p style="text-align: left;">On a slightly more suitable for work note I took a photo of a small but handsome sandstone cliff I passed by on my way to not actually seeing the rock pool. I made my way along it for a bit but the path petered out so I returned to the more established route.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3NIPj8rkI5rItlvcHCi0YTfa7-vNtwNJ4LKLgRu3Scvk3PzfwrcR2o_N2zweR60GyqYNFK4B4zeWrVelGbcTCU7aDV39Liq69aid6REdqR7kLwSABbC7sfUhLQcuH-vSTyhdHSupYiTzA5OnF6iEoSF3jdGqugyf7BqF7OkxPaZ0MIOAeKbBab4Qmgg0/s5712/IMG_0077%20-%20Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3NIPj8rkI5rItlvcHCi0YTfa7-vNtwNJ4LKLgRu3Scvk3PzfwrcR2o_N2zweR60GyqYNFK4B4zeWrVelGbcTCU7aDV39Liq69aid6REdqR7kLwSABbC7sfUhLQcuH-vSTyhdHSupYiTzA5OnF6iEoSF3jdGqugyf7BqF7OkxPaZ0MIOAeKbBab4Qmgg0/s320/IMG_0077%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A small overhang<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmpMz4ObmbO0vdwDrPXo0MDSZD4NLzcuMoiGYeparDPedw4uRbR-aD-4GSk8T9PUNvvI3LziO47BkC3i-TSozhCnrYpmsBWJX2y_oGDmV1TVDrapNioSbXVXV19wh8EoknMrQ4fsc0qRq1PJz1UtIRd-D8bfvchKztCQ1zGRqgtXQRkln3F3RG8QDI6E/s4032/IMG_0075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmpMz4ObmbO0vdwDrPXo0MDSZD4NLzcuMoiGYeparDPedw4uRbR-aD-4GSk8T9PUNvvI3LziO47BkC3i-TSozhCnrYpmsBWJX2y_oGDmV1TVDrapNioSbXVXV19wh8EoknMrQ4fsc0qRq1PJz1UtIRd-D8bfvchKztCQ1zGRqgtXQRkln3F3RG8QDI6E/s320/IMG_0075.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Random garden photo #1<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXoqDQBEBisf10oAweTRtoUPk7Ez2LY8PwIcYybuR-Whn9tr_roloeowgNN8zr-SEDk6FViQ773y7DN2QezTyNRQz6l_7BhRVFLEL3j72YldGTJdCtWwmTFwR2TFmlOKRRf1MtFOxOJgCwHEMJt3g_ioV3RgQ9fPq4M5p4-vzrYJq23F8Qmj7hXPrWv64/s4032/IMG_0076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXoqDQBEBisf10oAweTRtoUPk7Ez2LY8PwIcYybuR-Whn9tr_roloeowgNN8zr-SEDk6FViQ773y7DN2QezTyNRQz6l_7BhRVFLEL3j72YldGTJdCtWwmTFwR2TFmlOKRRf1MtFOxOJgCwHEMJt3g_ioV3RgQ9fPq4M5p4-vzrYJq23F8Qmj7hXPrWv64/s320/IMG_0076.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Random garden photo #2<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Setting back out along the path I came across Cremorne Reserve, a parklike area (ok, its a park) where all pretense of bushland peters out. Instead I walked along beside sculpted grass adorned with people picnicking and doing all of the other things people do for recreation at the seaside. I walked to the end of Cremorne Reserve and with that the walking trail I had been following came to an end. The remainder of my journey would be suburban with brief intervals where parks had intruded into the wealthy's grasp of the foreshore.</p><p>I was essentially doing a point to point. From Cremorne Point I made my way to Kurraba Point. Once at Kurraba Point Neutral Bay and Kirribilli Point exercised their siren song on me. Panting in the heat I stumbled down suburban streets (and frequently up suburban streets when I realised I had been reading the map upside down) snatching rare opportunities to reintroduce myself to the coast line and the occasional piece of well disciplined greenery.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmMZfIje84vd2kEmCH3OM1eUdd8xT88yJ7Bx6I-whewG2652nL6Sgtsa8w8QTi89Cen0K7TYqVyXd3swL-lam8NKyH1H_O2cbGqqtxrOn5T4jAwA-y6nWneyephzB1sdLkQ61sAy83z7-CEwCkipJOoB058i710SLT42BUw2r5KL8oJwiGg2o58tAXKA/s4032/IMG_0084%20-%20Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmMZfIje84vd2kEmCH3OM1eUdd8xT88yJ7Bx6I-whewG2652nL6Sgtsa8w8QTi89Cen0K7TYqVyXd3swL-lam8NKyH1H_O2cbGqqtxrOn5T4jAwA-y6nWneyephzB1sdLkQ61sAy83z7-CEwCkipJOoB058i710SLT42BUw2r5KL8oJwiGg2o58tAXKA/s320/IMG_0084%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is either Kurraba or Kirribilli Point, they were all starting to blur together by this stage<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I saw Admiralty House which is the Sydney residence of the Governor General and Kirribilli House which is the Sydney residence of the Prime Minister. Despite these handsome dwellings both are forced to spend a lot of their time in Canberra. I imagine each of them sitting in their respective offices in our nation's capital staring at photos of Admiralty and Kirribilli Houses and weeping gently to themselves. I was tempted to take photos but decided I didn't want to explain myself to the AFP so you're going to have to google them like ordinary people.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I did wander down to Kirribilli ferry wharf to take a photo of such of the shoreline as presented itself to me. Then I wandered away again because there was one more point on my agenda.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-FVPqnDrPzaF5FyHXKei0CgXRDGiCK99mEHPQ-x-7-IL55213Xcq91_q84_Ov-6cT1_6e1e_x7vWdhAdEj_bbkMpg0dmI2y1QsTdlnwGk24ftP6wZZ5lRnVZD0eYSjJwuwwDtlml7P2t_9K_UuGXVN88F-Vj_95ZZwtLQhUXWEklBD-wTF4Esi6afAg/s5712/IMG_0089%20-%20Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-FVPqnDrPzaF5FyHXKei0CgXRDGiCK99mEHPQ-x-7-IL55213Xcq91_q84_Ov-6cT1_6e1e_x7vWdhAdEj_bbkMpg0dmI2y1QsTdlnwGk24ftP6wZZ5lRnVZD0eYSjJwuwwDtlml7P2t_9K_UuGXVN88F-Vj_95ZZwtLQhUXWEklBD-wTF4Esi6afAg/s320/IMG_0089%20-%20Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The shoreline at Kirribilli.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The harbour bridge had been an increasingly intrusive presence as I headed towards it. Now I could hardly avoid it because I was walking straight towards it. Milsons Point my final destination loomed and the bridge showed me the way.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUSs1n7qVWAHtKitiGKJ71UCTV63_SfLxNGa5xUhUplxz28cElLxRrU36LR7VaBKxb5RaNhsDmNSB6xrVuXOpu23IyJ1bpZ2DHnKKg28MXQbil0wvGiqAgjNLt2bn_dq9_q9e0RQ4A521qVRSpj6_aKAdnoDPjvBP7wzkzrbuLXFWhoe33N8OsNribhc/s4032/IMG_0082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUSs1n7qVWAHtKitiGKJ71UCTV63_SfLxNGa5xUhUplxz28cElLxRrU36LR7VaBKxb5RaNhsDmNSB6xrVuXOpu23IyJ1bpZ2DHnKKg28MXQbil0wvGiqAgjNLt2bn_dq9_q9e0RQ4A521qVRSpj6_aKAdnoDPjvBP7wzkzrbuLXFWhoe33N8OsNribhc/s320/IMG_0082.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting closer<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Finally I stumbled into Milsons Point, the shade of the bridge above me. I gazed across the harbour and got definite confirmation that my journey was over. Yes, there it was the damned CelebrityEDGE. A photo of its rear seemed an appropriate bookend to my walk and the sight of it's rear is reassuring because it gives the impression it might be leaving.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFxW9RrPtscUHqmmUgasFpO9rl9gy4lrYCXgG3rds634jJ_Tb_gebEln_p4WrRsllUwXAShQRd4hUWYaIp-FiuvxMS-cC9YQ71nUJUlHMufwnyVs26ss8WPcjVLG9T4Co2h2AHjUUP83BwHhPv_sc71yF2MDxa-oz-YP2KhdnTAXA0Z8uAOZh89tl7zR4/s4032/IMG_0091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFxW9RrPtscUHqmmUgasFpO9rl9gy4lrYCXgG3rds634jJ_Tb_gebEln_p4WrRsllUwXAShQRd4hUWYaIp-FiuvxMS-cC9YQ71nUJUlHMufwnyVs26ss8WPcjVLG9T4Co2h2AHjUUP83BwHhPv_sc71yF2MDxa-oz-YP2KhdnTAXA0Z8uAOZh89tl7zR4/s320/IMG_0091.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please go away<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">With a little time before my ferry I wandered around Luna Park (because it was there and so was I). People were dragging kids around and sweating in the sun pretending they were having a good time. Or possibly they were having a good time and it was the heat exhaustion making me cynical. Either way Luna Park has one thing going for it. You can't see the CelebrityEDGE from there.<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-10748164903921699902024-01-13T16:50:00.000-08:002024-01-13T16:50:52.671-08:00Human Semi-Interaction<p> I have been trotting around random patches of bush in Sydney for the last few years now. In between pestering lizards and photographing fungi I occasionally meet other human beings. No, that's not correct. In between pestering lizards and photographing fungi I occasionally pass other human beings. They rarely impact my consciousness for any longer than it takes to step politely out of their way and I'm sure that my own intrusion into their awareness is similarly minimal.</p><p>However it occurs to me that it might be helpful to record the types of people that one might encounter on such trips for the information of others. I do this out of a selfless desire to educate and inform and not at all because after fourteen odd years (and some of them have been very odd) I have completely run out of original ideas for this blog. Please enjoy the brief anthropological survey below and reflect on the amazing diversity of our species.</p><p>Bushwalkers;</p><p>Let's get this one out of the way right off the bat. Of course the bulk of people I encounter are bushwalkers. After all what else are we all doing here? Bushwalkers fall into two basic types which I have designated the <i>bushwalker superior </i>and the <i>bushwalker inferior.</i></p><p>The <i>bushwalker superior </i>is a noble beast. It strides through<i> </i>its domain as if by right. Boots adorn its feet, a pack rests comfortably upon its back, there is a hat to protect its brain case from the scorching solar rays and in extreme cases a pole is held in each hand officially to aid mobility but in actual fact to assist in brutal dominance battles within the pack. One glance at this creature is enough to tell you that it probably uses those poles when it walks down to the shops for a bottle of milk. Sometimes alone, sometimes in a small group these creatures have no love for the bush. Rather it is a hated rival against which they measure their strength seeking glory and prestige on a battlefield no one but themselves<i> </i>would bother turning up to.</p><p>If you encounter these beings in the wild nod politely or mutter a greeting and step respectfully to the side to allow them passage. They will return your greetings as etiquette demands and your stepping respectfully to the<i> </i>side will impress them with your good manners and minimise the danger of them accidentally sticking a walking pole through your shoe.</p><p>The <i>bushwalker inferior </i>is a much less impressive specimen. I am one of these myself. We wander aimlessly along bush tracks pausing for photos, accidentally treading on lizards and generally reducing the noble art of bushwalking to a pathetic farce. The appearance of the <i>bushwalker inferior </i>is a mocking copy of its noble cousin. Something adorns our feet, they may be boots but they're just as likely to be tennis shoes. Our water bottles were purchased from a convenience store on the day of the walk because once again we forgot to prepare in advance. Hiking gear consists largely of clothing slightly too casual to be worn to a wedding. At best a cap will cover our thinning hair and at worst we stagger along half dead from heat exhaustion. We do not carry fucking walking poles!<i> </i>Quite a lot of us (from my<i> </i>experience) are middle aged to elderly Asians taking a constitutional. We will return your greeting with enthusiasm and might even stop to chat for a couple of minutes if you're so inclined, anything to put off the moment when we have to start walking again. The main difference between us<i> </i>and the <i>bushwalker superior </i>is that the latter likes the exercise while we like the location.</p><p>Picnickers;</p><p>Depending on where you walk you might not encounter this particular specimen. Obviously they tend to gravitate to areas that are flat enough to lay down a blanket and where the children are less likely to fall off a cliff if left unsupervised for thirty seconds. If like me you take your walks in areas essentially surrounded by suburbs then you will encounter this type more often as ragged bits of bushland quite frequently abut neatly mowed reserves and parks where people drag their families in the desperate hope that a change of scenery will somehow render their presence a little more tolerable. Another term for picnic incidentally is "collective punishment".</p><p>If you encounter picnickers while on your walk whatever you do don't interact with them. They're already having the worst day of their lives and the sudden appearance of a sweaty, wild eyed, half mad stranger from nearby bushland in close proximity to the most vulnerable members of their family is not likely to incline them to welcome your arrival. If you have a camera then in the name of god do not take any photos until these wretched endurers of the outdoors are safely in your rear. Otherwise you may find that the next type of people you encounter are of a law enforcement variety.</p><p>Locals;</p><p>These are people who live quite near whatever native remnant you're currently soiling with your presence. The paths that you are recreating along are simply footpaths to them, a means of getting from one spot to another within their immediate neighbourhood. And because it is their immediate neighbourhood they tend to react in much the same way as you would if a complete stranger suddenly wandered into your backyard. They're not fans of bushwalking or bushwalkers at least as far as it pertains to their particular locality. Don't talk to these people, they will stab you.</p><p>There are two types of locals; wealthy locals and not wealthy locals. Female wealthy locals have plastic surgery and greyhounds. Male wealthy locals have women who have plastic surgery and greyhounds. As you can see a fear of being stabbed is not the only reason to give these a wide berth. Wealthy locals are quite common as the type of suburbs that have attractive pieces of bush in close proximity to them tend to be occupied by higher income brackets.</p><p>Not wealthy locals occupy areas where the bushland exists simply because the property developers haven't finished bulldozing it yet. Or possibly a small patch was simply not economically viable to destroy. These people tend to mind their own business and it would be a very good idea if you did the same. I encountered a group of four such on one occasion. Well actually I encountered a group of two as the other two fled into the bush on my approach and didn't come out until after I had passed along. I had a polite but stilted conversation with the two who apparently didn't have outstanding warrants but both sides were visibly relieved when I made my excuses and departed as swiftly as possible. One of them was carrying a shovel for reasons I was far too sensible to ask about.</p><p>Bushland Regenerators;</p><p>Yes I know that sounds rather like a reverse vajazzle but in actual fact these noble defenders of the bush are part of the reason why anything green still grows in the Sydney region. Where ever you walk you will encounter signs discreetly informing you that this or that local bush care group is lovingly tending to the patch of ground you are clumping over, nurturing native plants, removing noxious weeds, cleaning up rubbish and trying to persuade storm water to flow to less environmentally sensitive areas. These people are heroes. They are also invisible. While evidence of their presence in the form of the above mentioned signs abounds not once have I actually seen such a person tugging out a noxious weed or telling encouraging stories to some delicate native plant tentatively reestablishing itself in an area that used to be a toxic waste dump. I can only assume that they do the bulk of their work at night. I honestly don't know how you might communicate with these and can only suggest that a ouija board might be your best bet.</p><p>Mountain Bikers;</p><p>Fuck those guys!</p><p> I hope that the above is of help to you in identifying the various subgroups of humanity you may encounter as you crash helplessly through the bush. Just remember, they're probably not as scared of you as you are of them.<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-20136827874663008732024-01-12T23:58:00.000-08:002024-01-12T23:58:08.006-08:00Travelling Pathetically - Filling in the Gaps Edition<div><p> The Christmas break beckoned to me as the perfect opportunity to take long, wide ranging walks through Sydney's bushland, becoming one with nature and preparing myself physically and mentally for further challenges to come. But then it rained or I was tired or there was something good on television or there was something bad on television or I simply couldn't be bothered. The upshot was that I barely left my home for the entire Christmas break and when I did it was in the context of "takeaway coffee and cake" rather than "roaming the wild magnificence of nature". I did make one exception. At some point during my voluntary coma I opened one eye and thought, "I really should make an effort." That thought was rapidly replaced with "perhaps I could pretend to make an effort." Finally I settled on trying to look as though I was pretending to make an effort and in that spirit I made my way to Greenwich.</p><p>Greenwich sits on the northern shore of the harbour between the Lane Cove River and Berry Creek both of which had been inflicted with my presence on previous walks. This seemed like a good chance to fill a missing spot. I would take the ferry to Greenwich Point and walk around an apparently bush strewn foreshore until I reached Gore Creek Reserve. I would then follow the eponymous creek upstream until I started bumping into people's houses.</p><p>The appointed day for my walk dawned and to my irritation it turned out bright and sunny and I really had no excuse not to go. Muttering imprecations against the rain gods that had failed me I dragged myself ferryward and psychologically steeled myself for a little walking. The ferry deposited me at Greenwich Point from where I could choose to turn left and walk along the foreshore through such bush as hasn't been poisoned by home owners and property developers or I could turn right and wind up at the Gore Bay fuel terminal. I decided on option one since that dovetailed pretty much with my original intentions. Also I had no need for a container ship full of fuel.</p><p> I made my way along what was somewhat optimistically signposted as a "bush track". There was indeed a certain amount of slightly disheveled looking bush preventing me from toppling into the harbour and for that I thank it. Given that the good citizens of Greenwich had their houses approximately fifty metres from the path I suppose I should be impressed that there was as much bush left as there was. Revelling in the slightly tatty nature presented for my inspection and resolutely refusing to look at the houses on my right I made my way along the bush track heading inexorably towards the park that housed Gore Creek.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoWOjVWZwMV5xmJ1eOj1CEfUZSEsg5tlrjpaBR_167Y4VFMLkWhaYGrA54WEiSJL7Rwukyj7-8savhvWSwwa_-wVVQwR3FWOrW-BmFaIa1-UXYJTk0oZdkk1hNmvAvgqBgg33lwW5V0VFd-cuGCzRHulObqSwPP1PxCHZ8jyUQJNSTgPFG0GKAYGEFUiw/s5712/IMG_0028.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoWOjVWZwMV5xmJ1eOj1CEfUZSEsg5tlrjpaBR_167Y4VFMLkWhaYGrA54WEiSJL7Rwukyj7-8savhvWSwwa_-wVVQwR3FWOrW-BmFaIa1-UXYJTk0oZdkk1hNmvAvgqBgg33lwW5V0VFd-cuGCzRHulObqSwPP1PxCHZ8jyUQJNSTgPFG0GKAYGEFUiw/s320/IMG_0028.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OK, I suppose it doesn't look too bad really<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;"> Along the way the bush track stopped and I found myself blundering through what was obviously somebody's back garden. I encountered a brush turkey, we gazed each other up and down and mutually agreed not to mention the others trespassing. I did take a couple of photos in case I needed to rat it out to the police later.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvA6C9vT58OOSsj1HpzJDkhve7XkZAUhq4yltzqJOLmPBHaigN3vn4JZfRyQNzjDbV9mDsTTH7eMb2fWCR3J5L9jo77I7rCh4SBAjYLV8HoeZFjlVPqKErstWwhyMbNR5sqdiUQOjMucKr9Y7pmkIUTCpcVfnVoSgvRsS5iLhj7zH-QP1_5BiE9vYgoZ8/s4032/IMG_0024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvA6C9vT58OOSsj1HpzJDkhve7XkZAUhq4yltzqJOLmPBHaigN3vn4JZfRyQNzjDbV9mDsTTH7eMb2fWCR3J5L9jo77I7rCh4SBAjYLV8HoeZFjlVPqKErstWwhyMbNR5sqdiUQOjMucKr9Y7pmkIUTCpcVfnVoSgvRsS5iLhj7zH-QP1_5BiE9vYgoZ8/s320/IMG_0024.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is someone's backyard. I think you can understand my confusion<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Hastily checking the map on my phone (I don't know why I do this, I have abundant proof that I can't read a map to save my life) I realised that the bush path had come to an end, as had the bush, and if I wanted to go further I would have to return to suburban streets. Not wanting to end my days as a brush turkey's bitch I hit the streets and wandered reluctantly past rows of houses that I couldn't possibly afford. Fortunately my sojourn in suburbia was brief as I made my way to the Bob Campbell Oval which is where Gore Creek stumbles into the harbour. Google maps describes Bob Campbell Oval as a sports complex but since its basically a patch of mowed grass I think the term "sports simple" would be a more accurate term. Towards the rear of the simple the trees closed in around the creek and suddenly I was walking through bush again. What's more I was walking through lush, abundant bush rather than scrubby, clinging desperately to the cliffside trying not to fall into the harbour style bush.</p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcm-SpGtFDIsdJhyBaNEL1tleSMPxwPyq4iyR5GRP2OTidbmzkKUWC0oyhZLInhzMTZtiUzTB5hcRfK_bf5x8zNbUt187-tbjUttGVrBSjbMzchqmWO779ciLk5mDBybZBbRTLswCVGg7wPHMCeWjPrwXnLqlS2u0cCia9b_n_nWoc5TrIkvhpDuJVxMs/s5712/IMG_0032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcm-SpGtFDIsdJhyBaNEL1tleSMPxwPyq4iyR5GRP2OTidbmzkKUWC0oyhZLInhzMTZtiUzTB5hcRfK_bf5x8zNbUt187-tbjUttGVrBSjbMzchqmWO779ciLk5mDBybZBbRTLswCVGg7wPHMCeWjPrwXnLqlS2u0cCia9b_n_nWoc5TrIkvhpDuJVxMs/s320/IMG_0032.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now this is more like it<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Gore Creek trickled picturesquely on my right. At least I assumed it trickled, in my mind every creek sounds like an incontinent three year old at the top of a flight of stairs. What with bird song, and aircraft noise, and motor boats on the harbour and vehicles on roads which although out of sight were certainly not out of earshot the creek could have been singing Ave Maria. In my defence it looked like it was trickling.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I followed Gore Creek along mainly because alternatives were few and as I went I became increasingly annoyed at the behaviour of the lizards. Normally lizards hang around posing for photographs and I frequently have to kick them off the path so that I can proceed. Not here, a few brief flickers of movement and the sound of panic stricken reptiles crashing through the bush was as close as I came to lizards for most of my walk. I felt personally offended. Am I not a friend to lizards? Haven't I immortalised them in my blog? Don't I manage to avoid treading on them most of the time? Now the little reptilian bastards are treating me like a distant relative who wants to borrow money.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Muttering and fulminating over the fickle nature of lizards generally I pushed on through the bush. Sometimes the path meandered close enough to the creek for a photo opportunity and I was able to take some photos of shallow water moving slowly towards Sydney Harbour. For some reason I did so. I was also able to sneak up behind a lizard and grab a photo before it fled through the undergrowth.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieGpJ6WxRc8TX0nH2V87cDitWs3RxgbL3Wc1pfyOs33ej-m3E4h-c1YIbr-573hO4ZxTEt4Ztgn04FJocJS51BwuMshFYfVd1gRaVn42KjwCaOozHtKdZEHC5Xh4kmHfsusrkAkla6xGRvSV3hKSN68nYtDI1mUIhl5uUbE7cYECEMS0AYCBO-9gXJchQ/s5712/IMG_0033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieGpJ6WxRc8TX0nH2V87cDitWs3RxgbL3Wc1pfyOs33ej-m3E4h-c1YIbr-573hO4ZxTEt4Ztgn04FJocJS51BwuMshFYfVd1gRaVn42KjwCaOozHtKdZEHC5Xh4kmHfsusrkAkla6xGRvSV3hKSN68nYtDI1mUIhl5uUbE7cYECEMS0AYCBO-9gXJchQ/s320/IMG_0033.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gore Creek<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGIj7bAggDxsjagxJTdUh6Vwx2WVEoziw9g8U0apDEQ_L0dSUloln9WpVW87jrtJwCNWriUyHidkfYBBQbFEAHDD6fO976PFwip_zH2HzXcFsydAhZtxQ6CGvVsgnima0eR2pmcRRcHVxJNkzexU5Vf8gxd7LaDmt3BcxeAM7zGJp-8f7fkDQjXsQYuaM/s4032/IMG_0034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGIj7bAggDxsjagxJTdUh6Vwx2WVEoziw9g8U0apDEQ_L0dSUloln9WpVW87jrtJwCNWriUyHidkfYBBQbFEAHDD6fO976PFwip_zH2HzXcFsydAhZtxQ6CGvVsgnima0eR2pmcRRcHVxJNkzexU5Vf8gxd7LaDmt3BcxeAM7zGJp-8f7fkDQjXsQYuaM/s320/IMG_0034.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lizard I managed to take by surprise<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">With my lizard fetish temporarily sated I pushed on until I came to Lillypilly Waterfall, a small but charming waterfall that enabled Gore Creek to drop more altitude in two seconds than it had achieved in the previous couple of kilometres. A helpful sign pointed out that the waterfall had once been much more spectacular and the pool at the bottom had been a popular swimming spot but then, well, development. Now the waterfall is somewhat more modest and the pool at the bottom is fit for wading at most.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQr9wGEw8T0CH74XvjAgpJMZAnWGenEhRFvl0DDNpg13wDbGYxRZ5FjsBfXEL36LmOQCRDnvBh4h5cSXzSLFBhcF1pqiiL5vaZ3ud9E9eaKn6S-mkXj8RAj0hc6IflcCWd_QDCaUB0YOTJ3nI-O87IvBA7qwYfvxYVM2bPhPoLIXHgLZdDh7eMSgZ8k9Q/s4032/IMG_0035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQr9wGEw8T0CH74XvjAgpJMZAnWGenEhRFvl0DDNpg13wDbGYxRZ5FjsBfXEL36LmOQCRDnvBh4h5cSXzSLFBhcF1pqiiL5vaZ3ud9E9eaKn6S-mkXj8RAj0hc6IflcCWd_QDCaUB0YOTJ3nI-O87IvBA7qwYfvxYVM2bPhPoLIXHgLZdDh7eMSgZ8k9Q/s320/IMG_0035.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The waterfall is lovely but I'm pretty sure I don't want to go swimming in that pool</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Leaving the waterfall behind me I also left Greenwich behind me passing briefly into Northwood before plumping for Lane Cove as the principal location for my walk. I crossed a road and came to an area where the stream branched. Actually since I was walking upstream I came to an area where two streams flowed into each other. The stream to the left maintained the name of Gore Creek, I've no idea what the other one was called possibly Septic Tank Overflow. Gore Creek flowed through a golf course so I followed the other one which flowed through the Lane Cove Bush Park (not to be confused with the Lane Cove River National Park a far grander affair). Still the bush park had its compensations, bush, an apparently nameless creek flowing over sandstone (yes I did check for platypus, no I didn't find any) and the possibility of critically endangered fungi.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Yes, a small part of the bushland had been fenced off and a sign announced that said fencing was to protect critically endangered fungi which grew in the area. I stared, I peered and finally saw something that might be fungi or might not and might be critically endangered or not or could have been anything at all really. I took a photo which completely failed to clear things up.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3qs1HyzgFELwezzgK8vx-rsB9w4YHvNMCDgf5MbVO1c8FnfZo4Uhg3j5bewr0fkvn5NiI5LAUwy3XOXJTOVEXgS7TEtSZFTLUPrResk_5MFR7XDV822Qz9Cy4EbNFkx57RkyEVGtw90XK8D2exal6PPuhwv3CXHKr39LuqHrtrK4yEn6OqwhNfHWoOEI/s4032/IMG_0044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3qs1HyzgFELwezzgK8vx-rsB9w4YHvNMCDgf5MbVO1c8FnfZo4Uhg3j5bewr0fkvn5NiI5LAUwy3XOXJTOVEXgS7TEtSZFTLUPrResk_5MFR7XDV822Qz9Cy4EbNFkx57RkyEVGtw90XK8D2exal6PPuhwv3CXHKr39LuqHrtrK4yEn6OqwhNfHWoOEI/s320/IMG_0044.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure if the fungi in this photo is critically endangered. I'm not even sure its fungi<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After almost pulling a muscle attempting to photograph something that may or may not have been fungi I headed on my path heralded by the sound of lizards fleeing my approach. I could easily get a complex about this. To make myself feel better I took another creek photo.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINHblahVtMbOFZ-YB43hMP6yhsaKMMiGxWRliiHD_8J0Qul6Ulh0SZfLq2CiS7zFKg4fqLHaemnyrbNByMW8sS3xWrNi7p70jqLetWEWWTMrwvgIRJB6DpQWCPvGAkDZrijsCq0Rg983BVXNLhMVj_Z19nHpil1ApGiz8V6c8acOXY1Ghyeti4wKr3R0/s4032/IMG_0045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINHblahVtMbOFZ-YB43hMP6yhsaKMMiGxWRliiHD_8J0Qul6Ulh0SZfLq2CiS7zFKg4fqLHaemnyrbNByMW8sS3xWrNi7p70jqLetWEWWTMrwvgIRJB6DpQWCPvGAkDZrijsCq0Rg983BVXNLhMVj_Z19nHpil1ApGiz8V6c8acOXY1Ghyeti4wKr3R0/s320/IMG_0045.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For no particular reason another creek photo<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">On I soldiered lizards fleeing left and right until finally I stepped out onto a suburban street. My bushwalk had come to an end and now there was just the awkward job of finding out where I was and how I was going to get home. This turned out to be slightly easier than I expected as I had come out reasonably close to the Pacific Highway and headed in the general direction of St Leonards. Along the way I came across mushrooms and photographed them as a semi acceptable substitute for fungi.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibD2ZXUAAEwHTJwd2eHCcnpnrbZ5cwq2NOeenthHeeuo0ZJY4c21Gsc2Dsmim7nxDhNnTWUzhFLJCEG7Eo5HW-MWAptbSMkw3tjzolLXQg_Oyx9rni8VXmx_ApNpxmNe2j8jl4WjR_ivr_qk25r6aBX-sB49o1Aub-bDaEycokEYLHmu716Oq7KDfJ8w4/s4032/IMG_0046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibD2ZXUAAEwHTJwd2eHCcnpnrbZ5cwq2NOeenthHeeuo0ZJY4c21Gsc2Dsmim7nxDhNnTWUzhFLJCEG7Eo5HW-MWAptbSMkw3tjzolLXQg_Oyx9rni8VXmx_ApNpxmNe2j8jl4WjR_ivr_qk25r6aBX-sB49o1Aub-bDaEycokEYLHmu716Oq7KDfJ8w4/s320/IMG_0046.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not really a Clare McIntyre award contender but possessed of their own subtle charm<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I had a destination in mind, St Leonards railway station from which I could begin my journey home but before I did that I wandered through Gore Hill Cemetery. Not deliberately it just turned up and I found my way in. I like old cemeteries, all crumbling graves and overgrown paths. I mused on the fleeting nature of existence as I passed by forgotten memorials to forgotten people. Well no I didn't, what I did muse on was the human habit of fetishising the dead. For some reason doing things to dead people seems to be taboo in virtually every culture (except for Haiti where dying is basically a work for the dole program). I've never quite understood why after all if you have to rob, mistreat or abuse somebody the dead are those least likely to complain or suffer any real harm as result of your actions. I'd much prefer you did horrible stuff to the dead than the living. Most people don't seem to see it like that.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOCvPDxdco9M2tLPjE0fuECqqhCS0nrsdZl5DVPuZ8gmVNOh5FIbOuLUrJA_E2cD4hiSeCnlsLXE9gp1vEs0ShYONz9WBjkjVIiZLN2-8u4ZERE17sXyEIJy7r7d3UOIjErnZZxtfrGxM5m9oOa-63-yqbOEmnKC824uSHOvejaPhFkx_y5ZxDu9htE8/s4032/IMG_0047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOCvPDxdco9M2tLPjE0fuECqqhCS0nrsdZl5DVPuZ8gmVNOh5FIbOuLUrJA_E2cD4hiSeCnlsLXE9gp1vEs0ShYONz9WBjkjVIiZLN2-8u4ZERE17sXyEIJy7r7d3UOIjErnZZxtfrGxM5m9oOa-63-yqbOEmnKC824uSHOvejaPhFkx_y5ZxDu9htE8/s320/IMG_0047.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gore Hill Cemetery, mowing optional<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p style="text-align: left;">Leaving the cemetery I almost walked into Royal North Shore Hospital. Having a hospital so close to a cemetery is either a sign of administrative efficiency or a serious vote of no confidence in the medical staff. I hastened away before some wannabe Frankenstein decided to test his latest techniques on my hapless carcass. As I passed through the carpark the lizard population redeemed itself with a solid looking blue tongue more than happy to preen for the cameras.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-DvaW5wQTE0G6QKNNWfHSCE9HeUP0xL-6nN0x8qisQyuKRSSsSI4sMW-lcazXoi0SuKrGTEX59gAwcOIb96XkDpmvzSGE8RL5xEjXUb1_XgWWjCpjuYnwoxSacPM-ei2bB7tGqkF9nCL70v4D73XTQDNdIXUh_7hZo3S-wRSvgKxc_4M391uqpiX4WsE/s4032/IMG_0049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-DvaW5wQTE0G6QKNNWfHSCE9HeUP0xL-6nN0x8qisQyuKRSSsSI4sMW-lcazXoi0SuKrGTEX59gAwcOIb96XkDpmvzSGE8RL5xEjXUb1_XgWWjCpjuYnwoxSacPM-ei2bB7tGqkF9nCL70v4D73XTQDNdIXUh_7hZo3S-wRSvgKxc_4M391uqpiX4WsE/s320/IMG_0049.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Worth the wait<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTk4_KJ0CjXfQiB3Ib1P1z9-Pn8X5Wlv0MkK7I5QCow9M5Fw8XjSj80QOfZrFdiPYwx4kC1cm8nmSbxBJWrX0YVGSXaeNpEt8UirW9ULHcNqT2yRPc9uVuZmjjEx85aovuraPcAO2Vh69gKtyFRFBDUhScUzeegKsLfw__28e8TpbHzvMfQhNQNXpEJKE/s4032/IMG_0051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTk4_KJ0CjXfQiB3Ib1P1z9-Pn8X5Wlv0MkK7I5QCow9M5Fw8XjSj80QOfZrFdiPYwx4kC1cm8nmSbxBJWrX0YVGSXaeNpEt8UirW9ULHcNqT2yRPc9uVuZmjjEx85aovuraPcAO2Vh69gKtyFRFBDUhScUzeegKsLfw__28e8TpbHzvMfQhNQNXpEJKE/s320/IMG_0051.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And a second photo to prove the first wasn't a fluke<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I skipped delightedly towards the train station and spent the rest of the day in a lizard induced high. Sometimes it is convenient to be so easily pleased.<br /></p><br />Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-36014585643141020382024-01-06T22:54:00.000-08:002024-01-06T22:54:24.316-08:00Silly After Action Report - The Arab Legion<div><p>Captain Abdul Mahut Behbey el Efanti stared aross the searing desert sand towards the low hills sparsely adorned with the sort of scraggly vegetation that made you wonder why nature even bothered. From a track between the hills he could hear the sound of vehicles. The French were coming. He turned to his troops crouched over an ancient machine gun.</p><p>"Get ready," he whispered. To his right was an ancient truck plastered with random bits of metal, his armoured support. Wisely el Efanti didn't place too much faith in it. It was difficult to take an armoured vehicle seriously when bits of the "armour" dropped off every time you revved the engine. He was also more than a little concerned about the machine guns his troops had been equipped with.</p><p>"Where did they say we got the machine guns?" he asked a corporal next to him who seemed a little under employed.</p><p>"I think the Household Cavalry stole them from the British Museum," was the reply.</p><p>"Stealing <i>from</i> the British Museum, that's new."</p><p>"Sadly the machine guns aren't."</p><p>I selected this scenario to play based purely on the title and the fact that I don't know of too many scenarios involving the Arab Legion. Dave very kindly pandered to my less than scientific method of scenario selection and took up the doomed cause of the Vichy French while I commanded Glubb Pasha's finest or at least most geographically convenient. The Arab Legion are tasked with defending a small and utterly worthless Syrian village from the predations of the French. Dave needs to control ten building hexes or amass 30 CVP while my soldiers of Jordan win by avoiding those two situations.</p><p>I have seven second line British squads led by three officers including a 9-1. In addition to this rather slender force I have four incredibly heavy and very old medium machine guns which labour under ammunition shortage and red to hit numbers. I also have two "armoured cars". God knows what these are but they are depicted by Chinese counters which doesn't fill me with confidence. They have a cmg and an aamg which can't fire through the vehicular covered arc. These vehicles are technically there to support me in actual fact they're really just there to help the French get the CVP they need. On turn three the Household Cavalry comes steaming to the rescue with four tiny Daimler scout cars. Their armament is derisory but the armour is quite impressive for their size.</p><p>Fighting bitterly to hold onto France's least desirable province are the men of the 1st Light Desert Company. Dave has nine first line squad equivalents transported to the battlefield in four large trucks. They also have three officers, five light machine guns and three mediums. Rolling on in armoured support are no fewer than six AMD 50 armoured cars. They carry stubby 37mm guns and a machine gun which for some reason sticks out the rear. These would be Dave's go to tools for victory. <br /></p><p> I set up two forward outposts in the only semi defensible terrain forward of the village. In the east a squad and a Chinese gun truck lurked among the olive groves. The job of the squad was to lunge forward and take possession of the two forward buildings, just to make Dave fight for his prize and hopefully slow his progress a bit. In the west two squads with an mmg and a leader prepared to make fight for the only other two buildings forward of the village with the other gun truck in support. The remaining force went into the village with a pair of mmgs (guided by my best leader) covering the track and a third mmg (under a less impressive leader) guarding the eastern flank. I think I had fantasies of catching Dave's forces in a crossfire as they obligingly manoeuvred under my sights. Strangely Dave didn't cooperate with this delusion.</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGf2_8gJIxq-S8-QLU8nytVQOIWaTKDhb0AM-0TFDSN9Fr4U4U6FXlhxdBMh0t7cJBoHnvd79H3VMHLOOA6CpL1BmX5ZPdo-61VJc4M8rgVhKKnQP3y09Kj50AxO5tYNpzXhYp8m12pFMfzkXL2C8DATvvEd5HJncH3YcSXWw9JOViGirFWky6ZDIx-gs/s1149/ArabLegion.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="1149" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGf2_8gJIxq-S8-QLU8nytVQOIWaTKDhb0AM-0TFDSN9Fr4U4U6FXlhxdBMh0t7cJBoHnvd79H3VMHLOOA6CpL1BmX5ZPdo-61VJc4M8rgVhKKnQP3y09Kj50AxO5tYNpzXhYp8m12pFMfzkXL2C8DATvvEd5HJncH3YcSXWw9JOViGirFWky6ZDIx-gs/s320/ArabLegion.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of French turn 1. Apart from one long range shot my guys remain nestled beneath their concealment counters<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The first couple of turns were largely violence free as Dave closed the gap between our two forces. His trucks rolled up onto the hills to deposit his infantry out of sight of my defenders while his armoured cars sought positions of advantage. Incidentally we forgot that the French armoured cars have to use platoon movement until turn two. Dave was able to link up five of the cars but the rear most one (naturally containing his 9-1 armour leader) failed its independent movement die roll two turns in a row. In my turn my easterly squad lunged forward and did indeed occupy the forward buildings. So far everything was going according to plan. This would be the last moment when I could say that.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBuvM1XntrwG7aUntcZvnk5L77w2I4IdKaTjBLtufl9wjR2XS3RSxjpm8Ytxo7UX9-1WgUDRiZfTrAODOIX3aOicZk3NI38lGViZGoF-_2E7XgBJR9HDcXcb0DkzhLDD5l0-hc1qs1A4ox20YRQTTI_DN9qY2J3eeeOHwICKdIq0DiR3NAikExk-AisXM/s1157/ArabLegion2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="1157" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBuvM1XntrwG7aUntcZvnk5L77w2I4IdKaTjBLtufl9wjR2XS3RSxjpm8Ytxo7UX9-1WgUDRiZfTrAODOIX3aOicZk3NI38lGViZGoF-_2E7XgBJR9HDcXcb0DkzhLDD5l0-hc1qs1A4ox20YRQTTI_DN9qY2J3eeeOHwICKdIq0DiR3NAikExk-AisXM/s320/ArabLegion2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of French turn 2. That is quite a frightening armoured force Dave has amassed. Mine, not so much.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The second turn saw Dave's trucks kick their passengers into the sand and head for the rear at a great rate of knots. Infantry started moving towards my flanks while on the track five armoured cars (their commander was still trying to start his vehicle in the rear) prepared to strike. I could do little except wait for the oncoming storm and pray safe in the knowledge that all would eventuate as god willed. Inshallah.</p><p style="text-align: left;">In my turn I managed to break one of his units taking up position on an inconvenient hilltop (well it was inconvenient for me) but sadly not his mmg team. My squad in the east which had so boldly staked its claim to the two forward buildings now slunk into the rearmost of said buildings in the hope of avoiding the terrible retribution coming its way.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9PgS30mTg9V568Sf_3v29Bx-nJILV0PnjaCZHxUKgrecwygqyQPOSM4stvyoZqWx-9yNoVF9fXLyF_7eNb4_Fs7XfmXxcUdS4b3TmDIwI2x51FOPIYRei6_h67-J2IkV_Ueu91VyR0Z55jpazKZGg3SmquZwMntjV9MpABp9ow8A7eNkbdYxHqIOrPys/s944/ArabLegion4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="944" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9PgS30mTg9V568Sf_3v29Bx-nJILV0PnjaCZHxUKgrecwygqyQPOSM4stvyoZqWx-9yNoVF9fXLyF_7eNb4_Fs7XfmXxcUdS4b3TmDIwI2x51FOPIYRei6_h67-J2IkV_Ueu91VyR0Z55jpazKZGg3SmquZwMntjV9MpABp9ow8A7eNkbdYxHqIOrPys/s320/ArabLegion4.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of French turn 3. Dave makes his move in the west (bottom)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">With his armoured cars and an infantry stack giving my lone squad in the east their undivided attention Dave sent the rest of his infantry forward against my position in the west. Defensive fire resulted only in a squad going berserk. With Gallic shouts they lunged forward towards the exact sort of crossfire I had been hoping for. Sadly the results were a little sub optimal. One of my trucks broke its cmg and the other results didn't even achieve that much. The berserk squad shrugged off the hail of poorly directed fire and broken weapon parts and readied itself for the final charge next turn. In the east retreating to the rearmost building proved to be a wise move and my squad got away with a pin result.</p><p style="text-align: center;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyRBSFjB57W-hTBZRp0DD4Tluz4aJHe0uK5Xs8Fk6dFIihTjzYongsOujd-sMF6NYTe9JobwNZpSvaCObXkHBCm642rg9MrevWrxXIi-FmASbf9Llo5gPj6d-KrGF_TFsHT32hpJ7hn8ptv5gCIPEh7DHrRZTMwXM7NkyhHehl29VoJ9kYB1g5bCW29EY/s1143/ArabLegion5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="1143" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyRBSFjB57W-hTBZRp0DD4Tluz4aJHe0uK5Xs8Fk6dFIihTjzYongsOujd-sMF6NYTe9JobwNZpSvaCObXkHBCm642rg9MrevWrxXIi-FmASbf9Llo5gPj6d-KrGF_TFsHT32hpJ7hn8ptv5gCIPEh7DHrRZTMwXM7NkyhHehl29VoJ9kYB1g5bCW29EY/s320/ArabLegion5.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of British (Arab) turn 3<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">With my turn 3 the Household Cavalry arrived just in time to witness one of my hapless Chinese trucks being blown apart by the less than impressive 37mm gun on an armoured car. I was somewhat at a loss as to what to do with these little vehicles. Their 2FP armament didn't seem to threaten infantry much more than armour and being open topped their crews were not immune from small arms fire themselves a fact proved when Dave promptly shot one of them up terrifying its crew so much that they drove immediately for the rear. The other two circled up onto the westernmost hill, breaking a French squad on the way. There they sat trying to pretend they knew what they were doing. My mmg team had their moment of glory, immobilising an armoured car the crew swiftly left but later got back in. On the other hand my other Chinese truck broke its cmg as well, cheap imported rubbish.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Speaking of cheap imported rubbish I managed to break the car killing (or at least car hurting) mmg when I took a shot at the berserk guys as they rushed towards certain death. Once again they survived the (distinctly lighter) hail of fire and jumped into CC with the squad now reduced to throwing bits of broken machine gun at them. But that wasn't the only close combat as Dave now rushed forward to deal with my forward defences. In the west a squad leapt into close combat with my armoured truck while in the east approximately half the French army swamped my poor isolated forward squad. Dave really went all out with this one. He sleazed the defenders with an armoured car and then poured three squads into CC while moving another stack carrying his two remaining mmgs next door. My heroes neatly ambushed his troops and fled before the combat could be resolved. Of course this left them sitting in the open adjacent to three squads worth of troops but it was the best I could do at the time.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Meanwhile his sniper managed to kill one of my officers the accompanying squad naturally failed its LLMC and suddenly my eastern mmg position was gone. I was now desperately short of officers as one of the two remaining was locked in melee with his berserk squad. Somewhat to the rear his armour leader had finally persuaded his driver to turn the engine over and his last armoured car was trundling towards the battlefield where a pair of scout cars awaited it. <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQLIfXjBuZ4JC02nJKu8ZH-CSGZ9OCw_cufx3EJb7lJEDuWzu1loVt2eLCaT86f5RmnF8EsmGrSxpnMrKpHulopQFT0fblqm9702vhDQE-7kna0Lf0ESj5oX0ocN2Pu5Yx4wHxstwveeq6jFZneVL_JUVidcL-oUVQWGuA161GCMgfCD2BGw0seh5Ri40/s1118/ArabLegion6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="422" data-original-width="1118" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQLIfXjBuZ4JC02nJKu8ZH-CSGZ9OCw_cufx3EJb7lJEDuWzu1loVt2eLCaT86f5RmnF8EsmGrSxpnMrKpHulopQFT0fblqm9702vhDQE-7kna0Lf0ESj5oX0ocN2Pu5Yx4wHxstwveeq6jFZneVL_JUVidcL-oUVQWGuA161GCMgfCD2BGw0seh5Ri40/s320/ArabLegion6.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think time is running out for my eastern defenders.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Over in the east there was a brief moment of glory as the squad which had withdrawn from melee took an 8+3 shot at its neighbour and managed to break all three squads and their leader. Sadly they didn't have much time to celebrate as return fire from the next position along wiped them out. I reversed my surviving truck out of melee which in retrospect was possibly a mistake as it allowed Dave to reinforce the melee with his berserkers who had so far made no impression on my defenders. Up on the hill Dave's newly arrived command AC took a shot at one of my scout cars but their so small you need a microscope rather than a gunsight and both of them rolled around behind his car, sadly failing their own bounding fire shots.</p><p style="text-align: left;">At first glance things didn't look too bad. The main village was as yet unthreatened and I was still contesting the buildings in the south (I killed half his berserkers in CC) but this was misleading. Half my force was gone and my remaining machine guns plinked harmlessly at his armoured cars while Dave pulled his troops together for a final push. The simple fact of the matter was I had no answer to his armoured cars. Their 37mm guns were more than capable of killing any of my vehicles and it would be sheer blind luck if I was able to inflict any harm on them. As the end turns approached Dave used them more aggressively, essentially daring me to try and knock them out.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Well I tried. My little scout cars now well to the rear rolled up behind his armoured cars and did their best to make an impression with their cmgs to no avail. I slipped my only available officer across to the east to rally the squad there. They celebrated by destroying their mmg on their first shot (I rolled five boxcars in the last two and a half turns of the game). Dave's other armoured cars (ie not the ones occupied with my scout cars) rolled around and destroyed my other truck which had been a monument to worthlessness the entire game and started menacing what was left of my position there.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3xwW-M5VumM9jG6Pp8e4yR7o0zBhK6hpk1mZkb8pHkeoYeZyazzrLJxa17jCcLO02Ppy1CmvyUS57Dku7LRF0E-TlV_rWau6C5_pCzvQJZfS45Mgw-8fDpUyGmJ7MENBSlw4UQ4U9H5xHqx88ctYM-9Mia1aYLSoFcga-3xBe_2ra5rRRC3AJjO6DyqQ/s946/ArabLegion9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="946" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3xwW-M5VumM9jG6Pp8e4yR7o0zBhK6hpk1mZkb8pHkeoYeZyazzrLJxa17jCcLO02Ppy1CmvyUS57Dku7LRF0E-TlV_rWau6C5_pCzvQJZfS45Mgw-8fDpUyGmJ7MENBSlw4UQ4U9H5xHqx88ctYM-9Mia1aYLSoFcga-3xBe_2ra5rRRC3AJjO6DyqQ/s320/ArabLegion9.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My peashooters are doing their best but Dave laughs at my attempts.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">It all ended rather anticlimactically. There was no final charge on the village. Dave sniped another of my officers and killed the third in CC. That plus the three vehicles destroyed put him on nineteen CVP. The deaths of a couple of other squads was more than enough to tip him over. I managed to kill a couple of half squads and break some infantry but never enough to truly slow him down. His armoured cars absolutely ruled the battlefield, roaming with impunity and laughing at my feeble attempts to stop them. The one immobilisation was the sole result I achieved against them despite hitting them with enough metal to overstress their suspensions if nothing else. Both Chinese trucks broke their MA on the first shot and two mmgs also broke. Not a single officer survived the battle.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Despite the miserable tale above we both enjoyed this game but agree that it seems a little tough on the British. The simple fact is that they have no answer to the French armoured cars except to roll incredibly low, a lot. The French for their part can afford to lose all six on the road to victory but the British vehicles are little more than rolling CVP.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Do we have any of those machine guns left?" asked Captain el Efanti as the tattered remains of his force attempted to regroup around a water barrel.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"A couple," replied the corporal. "The men are using them as clubs. They work much better like that."</p><p style="text-align: left;">Suddenly a noise attracted the captain's attention.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Glubb, Glubb, Glubb."</p><p style="text-align: left;">He leapt up electrified.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"We're saved. It's Glubb Pasha himself come to rescue us."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Actually that's Sergeant al Khaponi drowning himself in the water barrel."<br /></p><br /><div> <p></p><p><br /></p></div>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-91153502602551369882023-12-15T04:24:00.000-08:002023-12-15T04:28:45.736-08:00Plague Update #59 - Finally!<p> Do you remember covid? That dread disease which scoured the world and forced the bulk of the human race into panic stricken isolation until we decided to ignore it instead. Now that all of the shouting has died down, the restrictions lifted and the politicians we praised for saving civilisation are now being pilloried for wasting huge amounts of money the time has come. Naturally I had to wait to catch covid until it was no longer fashionable. Rasping, coughing and trembling slightly (you might call that covid I call it "morning") I blew the cobwebs off a covid testing kit that was so old it should have been sold in Africa and stuck a swab up my nose. Possibly excited at finally being the centre of attention the test kit came up with an enthusiastically positive result. Right on cue my symptoms started deteriorating as my body realised it had a perfect excuse to stop trying.</p><p>"I have covid," I announced to no one in particular. The seedy gang of plush toys who collectively make up "no one in particular" in my household greeted the news in a variety of ways. The spider stared in horror at the ruined cobwebs and muttered something about me being a home wrecker. Boris the bear from London said something but his Cockeye accent is difficult to understand (Cockeye is like Cockney but a bit higher up). The puffin was on a three day Ajax bender and simply gibbered but the most disturbing response was from the plague doctor. He was delighted, apparently he had been breeding a fresh crop of leeches for just such an occasion.</p><p>"Don't worry about a thing," he said unsuccessfully trying to remove the grin from his face. "I will take care of you. I'll heat up the cupping jars right now and sharpen my best blood letting knife." I looked around at the others but they were all backing slowly away and doing their best not to breathe the suddenly polluted air. I tried to inform the plague doctor that I was vaccinated and that surely I would be fine after what I hoped was a brief period of discomfort. He wasn't listening, he was too busy pulling out his medical textbooks (the most recent was written by Galen) and checking the potency of his scorpion venom.</p><p>As much to escape unwanted medical attention as for any other reason I fled to my home office and informed my colleagues that I had covid but would nobly struggle through without missing any work. One of said colleagues contacted me and, as politely as she could, queried my sanity. I admitted I was afraid of showing weakness in front of the plague doctor who would try and treat me or the puffin who would steal my shoes. In light of the concern showed by this individual I revised my "nobly working through" plans in favour of "sitting around doing nothing" plans. It was as well that I did. Logging on to my work computer was the last coherent thing I was capable of doing that day. The discomfort increased to the point where "pain" is a better definition and my attention span disintegrated to the point where I couldn't remember whatever it was that I was doing when I stopped remembering it. </p><p>One constant remained, the plague doctor fussed around pressing various liquids on me that he wanted me to drink and producing ever more disturbing pieces of surgical equipment whose fate it was, apparently, to wind up in some part of my anatomy. At any other time I would have wondered where he got all of this stuff from. I'm pretty sure you can't order it over the internet without the police paying you a visit. At the moment though I simply forgot its existence whenever I left the room which made it an unpleasant surprise when I encountered it again. I didn't drink the liquids. I spilled a little and it burned a hole in the carpet. I was going to pour it down the sink but the puffin said he would take care of it.</p><p>I spent a miserable, pain tossed night. Sleeplessness was my companion partly because of the covid but mainly because I was terrified of what the plague doctor might get up to if I fell asleep in his presence. I dragged myself out the next morning whimpering in self pity. The dining table was adorned with burnt herbs, prepped leeches, various extraction instruments (although god knows what they were intended to extract) and a bowl of something green and bubbling sitting over an open flame.</p><p>"No," I whimpered, "no, no, no."</p><p>"Oh for god's sake," snapped the plague doctor. "If you really want to feel better there's half a box of Codral on your bookcase that you've had for ages. That should deal with the symptoms at least."</p><p>I can't really explain why it took forty eight hours to figure out that Codral might help in this situation but once realisation dawned I started gobbling them like tic tacs. It is for this reason that the next two days of covid were infinitely better than the first two. I can still feel the covid under the surface but the Codral is managing to mask the symptoms quite effectively and frankly that is all I usually want from medication anyway. Recovery or death will happen eventually, I just don't want much in the way of discomfort while my body is making up its mind.<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-30256120272820707212023-12-10T04:17:00.000-08:002023-12-10T04:17:30.043-08:00Silly After Action Report - The Last Fire Mission<div><p> Hauptmann Rudolf von der Rotnasige-Rentier winced as a whistle blasted shrilly in his ear. He turned to face the referee.</p><p>"For the last time, my guns are not offside. And do you honestly think this is the best time to be playing a football match?"</p><p>"It's the quarter finals," replied the referee with a helpless shrug. "What are we supposed to do?"</p><p>"Frankly I'd suggest learning Russian because in about fifteen minutes you are going to have one mother of a pitch invasion."</p><p>"Can we have our ball back?"</p><p>"In a minute, Gefreiter Blitzen is taking a penalty."</p><p>After the lengthy Konitsa Crackdown Dave and I agreed that with the year drawing to a close and our mental reserves pretty much drained that we would cap off the year with a couple of smaller scenarios. I selected FT286 - The Last Fire Mission. It's Berlin 1945 and while those in the German army with any sense were heading west at a great rate of knots an artillery battery is preparing to engage the oncoming Soviets over open sights. I shall command the brave (indeed, some would say foolhardy) members of Artillerie Regiment 20 of the similarly numbered panzergrenadier division who have paused in their panic stricken flight to give the Soviets a decent chance of overrunning them.</p><p>Apparently this particular football field is worth defending to the death (well it is the quarter finals after all). Victory goes to the Soviets if they amass more CVP than the Germans as long as at least one German gun is captured or eliminated. My force, to give it a name it doesn't truly deserve, consists of five squads, three first line and two second line commanded by a pair of deeply mediocre officers. These heroes have a grand total of one lmg between them. There are also five concealment counters (because a football field is a great place to hide). Also in the mix is an SS halfsquad carrying a panzerschreck who apparently just happened to be walking by at the time. Then there are the guns; three 150mm artillery pieces. It's fair to say that these don't often feature on the front line. Unfortunately for them the front line is now moving faster than they can. Given that this is Berlin 1945 the guns are short on rounds with circled B9 for low ammo purposes. Still if they hit anything that thing is going to stay hit.</p><p>Spearheading the 10th Guards Tank Corps is Dave's force consisting of eight elite squads and two half squads. They're led by two officers inluding a 9-1, considerably better than my commanders, and have a pair of lmgs, a heavy machine gun and a 50mm mortar. Armoured support is present in the form of three T34-85s commanded by a 9-1 armour leader.</p><p>The guns must set up unconcealed and non-emplaced with CA facing east and both adjacent hexes of each guns CA cannot contain building or rubble. This is an issue because in Berlin 1945 there's very little that isn't rubble. Oh, also the guns have to set up adjacent to each other and they can't set up in gully hexes. Basically they have to sit out in that field and invite firepower. One of my MMC can set up HIP, if he has any sense he'll stay that way and try and sneak off after the fighting is over. In addition to all of the pre-existing rubble both sides get to rubble four more locations just for a laugh.</p><p>Below is my set up. The guns as required are set up in an open field. I set them up like that so that at least one gun could deal with a frontal attack and the other two could pivot and hopefully deal with any flanking attack. A couple of squads and a leader sat in buildings directly in front to hopefully provide a little protection. The remainder skulked in the buildings and rubble to the south hoping to hold off flankers. A squad, the lmg and my other leader were HIPed with a line of sight down the road that ran NE-SW towards my front. The halfsquad with the schreck went into the hex next door to keep an eye on the other road and hopefully kill a careless tank. Sadly Dave's tanks wouldn't be quite that careless.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNGHnaTTygsrMoso62K_c5NmxztBKckTw9xbTzNAYbHE3IHIPwl4WryES4JjBecjblCT5tqKnAq4T3cIxAlJkOhyphenhyphenTrsXb58j5KvWicskWknsyQcoK6AvKrahdwAgaECpMYTymUkTYKkWhWPz1T4nzALhZh7_WCctZI5Gg5UqJHKdAZITnL10LHJn4n_Q/s974/LastFire0.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="974" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNGHnaTTygsrMoso62K_c5NmxztBKckTw9xbTzNAYbHE3IHIPwl4WryES4JjBecjblCT5tqKnAq4T3cIxAlJkOhyphenhyphenTrsXb58j5KvWicskWknsyQcoK6AvKrahdwAgaECpMYTymUkTYKkWhWPz1T4nzALhZh7_WCctZI5Gg5UqJHKdAZITnL10LHJn4n_Q/s320/LastFire0.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At start set up. Whoever heard of a soccer field with a gully in it?<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Dave hastened slowly in his approach, rightly fearful of the staggering firepower I could deploy. For me any turn I didn't have to test the low ammo provisions was a win. A stack of three squads skipped gaily across the road covered by my HIP lmg team who fired on them with no effect except to reveal their position. For the rest Dave had been careful not to give me any targets. My troops tugged their concealment counters a little closer about their persons and waited.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEionT0ulpebJ97ZpdsHe9ObngzSiEq0fctI20I3TiFjJQTCWkvcej7itQA8D6Qo2jpyVJ6JHiknL70QxPlMAQqDWEqUk-DxLLxSYf8w1KmaJE4egbkBrsnrLF7xb11YDIzyVhT_dP70ra9_Cl7QoUT27jdLIH5WmxF8gQXPvRGsf4MxR7OwddyrJYZm5uM/s957/LastFire.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="437" data-original-width="957" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEionT0ulpebJ97ZpdsHe9ObngzSiEq0fctI20I3TiFjJQTCWkvcej7itQA8D6Qo2jpyVJ6JHiknL70QxPlMAQqDWEqUk-DxLLxSYf8w1KmaJE4egbkBrsnrLF7xb11YDIzyVhT_dP70ra9_Cl7QoUT27jdLIH5WmxF8gQXPvRGsf4MxR7OwddyrJYZm5uM/s320/LastFire.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of Soviet turn 1,it's hardly a triumphal charge to the Reichstag<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Still I was a little nervous. Two tanks lurked beneath concealment counters on the other side of a couple of hedges from my guns and I was uneasily aware that only one of my guns could actually take the relevant hedge under fire. In my turn I tried skulking and discovered that the one Soviet squad in firing range had a line of sight to the shellholes I had intended to hide my troops in. Fortunately my boys passed the ensuing morale check. The rest somewhat more successfully shuffled away from tank fire. Given the number and quality of my troops skulking was survival or at least a better chance of survival than would otherwise be the case.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8obEXAC2894sWCG0LOLM0Yc2SawWv8xbZ4_T8hKoleesNP9bXiqnOsPPYsdXL0vBfO_PF8MU03cQBUTaNqnwjlSg5sqDPF8gD9cCSWlBUbcjFsKOexq0EQEmWVlTI85Jeo6vSVTWbKY9i107ZPBnfkN6SrXwI5J52jG7MauVVvh0oQXLcWRN_EcVu89Y/s961/LastFire1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="961" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8obEXAC2894sWCG0LOLM0Yc2SawWv8xbZ4_T8hKoleesNP9bXiqnOsPPYsdXL0vBfO_PF8MU03cQBUTaNqnwjlSg5sqDPF8gD9cCSWlBUbcjFsKOexq0EQEmWVlTI85Jeo6vSVTWbKY9i107ZPBnfkN6SrXwI5J52jG7MauVVvh0oQXLcWRN_EcVu89Y/s320/LastFire1.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of German turn 1. So far I've survived<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Things really kicked off in Dave's second turn. He pushed a pair of tanks forward to the hedge and started to move other forces up as well. A 150mm had mixed success firing on one squad. I casualty reduced it but the survivors battle hardened meanwhile down in the south a lowly second line squad broke such troops as had been rash enough to disdain their fire. But the big result was in the north. The one gun that had LOS to the hedge found a HEAT round and smashed a T34-85. Dave's tank force had been reduced by a third.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTYQwa_dMIrbbi8R-HEZYFCrz2qPo9BWm61PaEzKdX6P5n9h3nk8wbn-rnoySjy5IM2rv7zTKz_P6i8nYbD-uhU3sedqKmWOzd1hb0lX8euhwnTwEbsY3rJXLpRpRMT1nllui_cI_sRrhbRoTuzVcGQp7ovkCTLjxUQRBmXZns_x2wTHqHNmxzM2qK8zw/s911/LastFire2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="435" data-original-width="911" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTYQwa_dMIrbbi8R-HEZYFCrz2qPo9BWm61PaEzKdX6P5n9h3nk8wbn-rnoySjy5IM2rv7zTKz_P6i8nYbD-uhU3sedqKmWOzd1hb0lX8euhwnTwEbsY3rJXLpRpRMT1nllui_cI_sRrhbRoTuzVcGQp7ovkCTLjxUQRBmXZns_x2wTHqHNmxzM2qK8zw/s320/LastFire2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of Soviet turn 2. I'm feeling smug, not for long<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">My second turn didn't live up to its early promise. His surviving T34-85 in the north broke one of my squads and the other exterminated itself when an attempt to fire a faust from within a building simply resulted in my laminating myself over the walls. Suddenly my guns infantry cover was gone. Down in the south I slunk my troops away from the gradually approaching Soviets and prayed.</p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqhIE3uPNQ3OjYBZXzzDGLssJR8Am9DCkI9bMxui7HDQwAx80jabGo1C8Brd3iD7dF8ku3e5kvtBRREPvWYR8TBg2wbLzFWG2uX_nrYLfxeVOPb8d2LDz23_l7JYUakVFq9XsfjnQfecSOuyAPup71gisteeRDKUCZFvcoWBuZ6kE_zYfLoLtcZojNpLY/s961/LastFire3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="961" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqhIE3uPNQ3OjYBZXzzDGLssJR8Am9DCkI9bMxui7HDQwAx80jabGo1C8Brd3iD7dF8ku3e5kvtBRREPvWYR8TBg2wbLzFWG2uX_nrYLfxeVOPb8d2LDz23_l7JYUakVFq9XsfjnQfecSOuyAPup71gisteeRDKUCZFvcoWBuZ6kE_zYfLoLtcZojNpLY/s320/LastFire3.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Normal service has been resumed.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><p>The next couple of turns saw the brutal grinding down of my defences in the south. With troops to burn Dave flooded my front with troops (judiciously, I didn't get too many free shots) and bulled forward challenging me to close combat. In the far south a pair of second line squads and a dummy stack survived by being a little better at hiding than most but soon my centre such as it was would go the way of their comrades in the north.</p><p>My lmg team survived a little longer than expected, being routed they fled over a wall. Dave promptly moved up to the wall meaning my boys kept their DM counters. The next rally phase I rallied both officer and squad and Dave promptly claimed WA over them which is the first time I've ever seen that done in an opponents rally phase but Dave assured me he could do it. The end result was that my newly rallied troops got slaughtered before they could fire a shot.</p><p>While my troops in the centre went the way of all flesh Dave took his courage in his hands and roared his southern T-34-85 past my remaining defenders and took up a hull down position where he could bring fire on my guns. With no gunshields or emplacements nothing but a little grain (on a football field? Seriously?) protected my gunners from death or at least serious injury. To add more injury to injury he pulled his northern T34-85 out and sent it after its southern comrade. I had of course cranked a gun round previously in anticipation of this very event and I celebrated my foresight by first running out of HEAT and then persisting in hull hits.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZw_fXbTfBRdnMPlZyjbfj_vjpn2rgATmmXCeF3XYf9G1vAD2zsava5aed5u-8F_SPj3GOwnV9X_ULw-hI66ozvsNqRl_Ydev-uA7E8RDUT7JE0N35kpcFmiZ8rKA8nIUNYQDVt8kinIKQg43IjqPU6pr_AUb0nIaeSnBW3akolVw6ONbtmZYan6rijuk/s913/LastFire5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="446" data-original-width="913" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZw_fXbTfBRdnMPlZyjbfj_vjpn2rgATmmXCeF3XYf9G1vAD2zsava5aed5u-8F_SPj3GOwnV9X_ULw-hI66ozvsNqRl_Ydev-uA7E8RDUT7JE0N35kpcFmiZ8rKA8nIUNYQDVt8kinIKQg43IjqPU6pr_AUb0nIaeSnBW3akolVw6ONbtmZYan6rijuk/s320/LastFire5.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A tank has sneaked around behind me and a bunch of guys with a hmg are threatening my last infantry<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Then Dave malfed the MA of his tank. My gun crews heaved a collective sigh of relief. A second line squad which had spent most of the game cringing from one building or rubble hex to another now sneaked into the building behind the tank. We both knew what was coming next it was just a matter of how it would work out.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw33CCo3Zv9kAsG04p0d0j6ByqZjnCcL3oZrTFwIQba3qjs9AlmKQgTfFgk6f-Ie9W1zpB1p6CykvQVSicg05vQ-E41n7PlgUpDRpGM5ozTvfk94ne3_lI_FyuZfBk8i2uyvFTER35FBaTVSjK6qQXA0GTdm6ZX15GzfXwjTnPmMIr96Phs8WaCp6LcCw/s891/LastFire6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="891" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw33CCo3Zv9kAsG04p0d0j6ByqZjnCcL3oZrTFwIQba3qjs9AlmKQgTfFgk6f-Ie9W1zpB1p6CykvQVSicg05vQ-E41n7PlgUpDRpGM5ozTvfk94ne3_lI_FyuZfBk8i2uyvFTER35FBaTVSjK6qQXA0GTdm6ZX15GzfXwjTnPmMIr96Phs8WaCp6LcCw/s320/LastFire6.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A malfed MA and I survive another turn<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Dave started his tank but before it could move my hero second liners dug a faust out of their knapsack and fried his tank while simultaneously surviving the backblast (maybe they opened a window) with only a pin result. With two tanks down my guns could start to turn their attention to Dave's infantry and the slaughter started. A 150mm is not something you want to take a hit from. Dave's mortar team having dragged their unwieldy weapon towards the front lines found they could rout much faster without it. I also started pounding his troops in the centre, extracting a measure of vengeance for my defenders there. To heap Pelion upon Ossa Dave's last tank chose that moment to malf its MA.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5AhBX4E9N_uWK8alZ4wxr4aVwQ-uWrt_ipor5J1uWZacg8msRKEeoNgY7lQHeuiHKh8Gy0KuC-fZcj-AMk8jNbxlMzolk9bIR6XT5WmUbtnHQgxRXioJqxYKHucI8pUfGlVSkGSXcvmbh-eWFhwVpHwxxZer26VPOoT_FajHCR5g5xdvB32Jopcli2Rs/s767/LastFire8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="767" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5AhBX4E9N_uWK8alZ4wxr4aVwQ-uWrt_ipor5J1uWZacg8msRKEeoNgY7lQHeuiHKh8Gy0KuC-fZcj-AMk8jNbxlMzolk9bIR6XT5WmUbtnHQgxRXioJqxYKHucI8pUfGlVSkGSXcvmbh-eWFhwVpHwxxZer26VPOoT_FajHCR5g5xdvB32Jopcli2Rs/s320/LastFire8.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh dare I hope???<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">With the last turn upon him and his surviving infantry having failed to inflict harm on my gun crews Dave took his last roll of the dice. No seriously it was the last roll of the dice. He roared his remaining tank through gullies and wheatfields (seriously I'll be speaking to FIFA about the state of this ground) and rolled into the nearest gun location and tried his last with the tank machine guns, and failed. Having failed to take out any of my guns the CVP score was irrelevant and I had a rare and not entirely undeserved win.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUaAkgZYthKgwKOvm0Jo5oiZKajiLEt9nkQ3MjoKDEEugIWGcoZahn5rCnKuIqVY0a5_7ettxnY0eqouE4jWQGWgehbL5gCjRhmSghr6Cnbg_Ktc-TvpxET07cctrc3K2GHQQOmS5vyXozwENphrr-IceqZpnILY-bHHJNfrKgfxTAAbiyKgXZYiiwscg/s769/LastFire9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="429" data-original-width="769" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUaAkgZYthKgwKOvm0Jo5oiZKajiLEt9nkQ3MjoKDEEugIWGcoZahn5rCnKuIqVY0a5_7ettxnY0eqouE4jWQGWgehbL5gCjRhmSghr6Cnbg_Ktc-TvpxET07cctrc3K2GHQQOmS5vyXozwENphrr-IceqZpnILY-bHHJNfrKgfxTAAbiyKgXZYiiwscg/s320/LastFire9.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End game. His tank is sitting on a gun position but gun and crew are still intact.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p style="text-align: left;">Not entirely undeserved but damn lucky all the same. While a check of the stats post game showed that Dave's dice were pretty good on average it is fair to say that he rolled poorly at the critical moments. My dice were equivalent and I had some dreadful rolls but, as it turned out, never when it really counted. I didn't even get a low ammo counter on any of my guns until the final turn. Many thanks to Dave for the game which was short, sharp and fun.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Goal," shouted von der Rotnasige-Rentier, "well done Blitzen." He looked around at the football field now littered with wrecked tanks and Soviet soldiers dragging themselves away clutching their leaky bits. "Well done everybody else as well."</p><p style="text-align: left;">A grimy, smoke stained gunner saluted wearily.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Did we win sir?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"It's Berlin 1945, for Germans winning is a relative term."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"What does that mean?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"It means 'no'. Now take your position, they're about to kick off. And tell the referee that if that whistle goes anywhere near his mouth I have a 150mm and I'm not afraid to use it."<br /></p></div><br />Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-7938809876719577212023-12-09T16:58:00.000-08:002023-12-09T17:05:08.408-08:00Travelling Incrementally - Great Reward for Little Effort Edition<p> I normally lead a quiet solitary life without too much in the way of human interaction except for that imposed on me by my employment which has already proved disinclined to take my personal preferences into account. I was relaxing at home (almost certainly not during working hours) when to my surprise I received a video call from my Blue Mountains correspondent.</p><p>I mustered up my best "I'm pleased to see you smile."</p><p>"Hello my dear, how are you?"</p><p>"Oh for gods sake put some clothes on," she replied.</p><p>A few minutes later we resumed our conversation. After the usual pleasantries and threats of legal action she got down to the purpose of her call.</p><p>"I've been reading your blog," I didn't bother to hide my astonishment, "and you seem to make a big deal out of walking through the bush and boasting about how many kilometres you achieve."</p><p>"Is there something wrong with that?"</p><p>"Have you ever considered visiting? Up here you can see amazing scenery for little more effort than simply walking down to the end of the road."</p><p>I pointed out that doing that would involve making my way up to the Blue Mountains, interacting with other humans and generally going to more effort than I would consider worth while. She pressed her point, extolling the beauty of her home, the presence of handy antique shops and insisting that I would enjoy such a trip. Finally she tossed in the fact that her son would be cooking roast pork for dinner. I started to get a little suspicious, almost nobody is that eager to see me. </p><p>"What's going on?" I demanded.</p><p>She looked a little uncomfortable.</p><p>"All right, I'm getting a bit worried about you. You never seem to go anywhere and every time I see you there seem to be more plush toys crowded around the computer. I'm a little concerned that you're becoming isolated."</p><p>"Don't listen to her," whispered the psychedelic coloured shark that had turned up from somewhere.</p><p>"We're all you need," hissed the platypus.</p><p>"She's the enemy," rasped the puffin who was busy cooking up a spoon full of drain cleaner.</p><p>Despite these words of concern from my nearest and dearest I did promise to drop in on my correspondent the first chance I got. Knowing me rather well she nailed me down to an actual date and somewhat to my surprise I found myself heading for Wentworth Falls one rainy Saturday. It rained and when it wasn't raining it was raining. Sometimes the rain stopped so that it could catch its breath and rain harder. One of my correspondent's more proactive neighbours was guiding two of every animal he could find into an ark.</p><p>With rain hammering down outside I caught up with my correspondent and her husband and the three of us compared notes to see who was ahead in our traditional game of "what life threatening medical condition is that?" My correspondent's husband is currently leading and while I had a strong year last year I have since lapsed into something almost akin to healthiness.</p><p>Of course it couldn't all be rain and diseases. At one point my correspondent just had to flaunt her latest grandchild at me. I was informed that he was named after a rare earth mineral and was invited to admire exactly how perfect he was in every possible respect. This I did with great enthusiasm (it was evening, pissing down with rain and I had no way of getting home) which led to said infant being presented to me to hold. I held the baby the same way I hold anything precious and breakable that doesn't belong to me. That is far too tightly and with a look of agonised paranoia on my face. I've probably scarred the poor child for years. Fortunately it was removed from my fevered grasp before long term physical damage was inflicted.</p><p>After a nights sleep interrupted only by the discovery that I had somehow managed to lock a cat into the bedroom with me I emerged bleary eyed and disheveled (which is exactly how I went to bed so don't tell me sleep is good for you) to discover that my correspondent actually intended to make good on the fat juicy promises that had brought me up here in the first place. The weather had obviously joined her conspiracy and presented blue skies and a scorching sun to compensate for the near biblical deluge of the previous day.</p><p>The promise had been for views without much in the way of physical effort. Given the combined level of health and fitness of the three of us "physical effort" was a relative term. The physical effort of getting out of bed is enough for me to need a little lie down to recover. Since she was hellbent on redeeming her promise and since I have a weak and biddable personality we piled into their car and drove to a carpark, not a good start but said car park clung to the side of the national park and a path snaked into the bush. </p><p>We paused to allow young people in inappropriate clothes to take a video recording of their excursion into the untamed wilderness and then set off down the path. Our journey was slow due to the fact that one of our number was almost crippled (oddly, not me) but we limped, hobbled and shambled through the sunlit bush enjoying the scenery and listening to the shrill calls of other tourists doing the same thing. It has to be admitted that this was hardly a plunge into the unknown. In fact it was a plunge into the very well known. My companions pointed out other paths we could take if we wanted to engage in any actual effort but by mutual agreement effort was relegated to some unspecified point in the future.</p><p>Eventually we arrived at our destination, Queen Victoria lookout. In fairness she had a lot to look out on. Photos were taken as evidenced below.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHc6wLcH_pVj_F4ImF16IdZwzN9b1_baKAfa_cW1RVMKvbqmT_gyBBywHD2t72MjzeKe6wAInRz_dMG5I0mXAXyEcOeDCL6LEJXBsI11oTTJ44IsFHztoWpnfGiFuToldM93zZEpUNulcIgncdD707X4BlEyYdN3ktzga1_wHsBc5NHtR3YByOU9IEi6g/s5712/IMG_0010.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4284" data-original-width="5712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHc6wLcH_pVj_F4ImF16IdZwzN9b1_baKAfa_cW1RVMKvbqmT_gyBBywHD2t72MjzeKe6wAInRz_dMG5I0mXAXyEcOeDCL6LEJXBsI11oTTJ44IsFHztoWpnfGiFuToldM93zZEpUNulcIgncdD707X4BlEyYdN3ktzga1_wHsBc5NHtR3YByOU9IEi6g/s320/IMG_0010.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Since you've ploughed through this entire blog entry you deserve a few photos<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7aKLSRMD0zfdHyMoQYm0QVzzAfDQTm3LlSQBziuCGzyzr_3ukD8NE7XfabZ9Hi2ZNEcQcUYq63z7H4J_LjSKZy2zJ4e2MPpd97Qoa8g3kB9PrxjOUsOlleKxkfNRNnW5DEMJqhrOlhyphenhyphenevdcd-vJKUyg_vdXFALbpk1FoDsXHYrBQIPnHyHQ7khIjsm8k/s5712/IMG_0011.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7aKLSRMD0zfdHyMoQYm0QVzzAfDQTm3LlSQBziuCGzyzr_3ukD8NE7XfabZ9Hi2ZNEcQcUYq63z7H4J_LjSKZy2zJ4e2MPpd97Qoa8g3kB9PrxjOUsOlleKxkfNRNnW5DEMJqhrOlhyphenhyphenevdcd-vJKUyg_vdXFALbpk1FoDsXHYrBQIPnHyHQ7khIjsm8k/s320/IMG_0011.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpXENHaUgHY8QVnru4dkGxy77RF0e1b1aXl-BdtMHRgaplO2pTzDOUYQtIcDIPSi3X8Te3A610-1kpWo0lQLkhfY2cnzXVN79bNS9ScQQZBazs96O4nHB8bVDrsmKL9Qbpjksnum9SP5ttFets2VFP1YqqhRmT4t7X8UWiKsSFDdMkcRGGwZHwX5OM41I/s5712/IMG_0012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpXENHaUgHY8QVnru4dkGxy77RF0e1b1aXl-BdtMHRgaplO2pTzDOUYQtIcDIPSi3X8Te3A610-1kpWo0lQLkhfY2cnzXVN79bNS9ScQQZBazs96O4nHB8bVDrsmKL9Qbpjksnum9SP5ttFets2VFP1YqqhRmT4t7X8UWiKsSFDdMkcRGGwZHwX5OM41I/s320/IMG_0012.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEHW5swZAmbK14KuonHfe9MkodLaH1LgCHHo-WH7AEdj62iTLyFe6nGFxv7BkYiScw8vCyXt3OW25mdhWgGnwyIs7ccYF7X41AgsrO1grSWb036yd7Su9CKmVOT0cvfupyOrAsCsV4wopvuXKBZS1Bn83savwJF6jnPXNzrvt_gNctJg3rpYcwJ0aTZHI/s5712/IMG_0015.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="4284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEHW5swZAmbK14KuonHfe9MkodLaH1LgCHHo-WH7AEdj62iTLyFe6nGFxv7BkYiScw8vCyXt3OW25mdhWgGnwyIs7ccYF7X41AgsrO1grSWb036yd7Su9CKmVOT0cvfupyOrAsCsV4wopvuXKBZS1Bn83savwJF6jnPXNzrvt_gNctJg3rpYcwJ0aTZHI/s320/IMG_0015.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p>With Queen Victoria lookout photographed from every angle that didn't involve dangling over the edge we turned around and made our way back. Since our journey was now uphill our progress made our approach look quite speedy by comparison. Still the slow pace enabled me to encounter the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus preening itself for the cameras. I pandered to its exhibitionist tendencies while my companions hobbled slowly onwards.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5L6QJERYPlCQgIdjKMTZmCrOtX4AFyypP3L6yIW2JL7F_d0aBCL8nSCYrmm79tdiMnVdzoT86GG1DcsnYYdXk3rP-uP4lqdJqbn_qL46MzcUa1jcUXWpL7aQAy6jqfBK5bgu1Wq3cpMK2B-Jg_gn8fge_2UurFz2IJes-drto_WViAfYT8gj8oMdMqU/s4032/IMG_0019.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5L6QJERYPlCQgIdjKMTZmCrOtX4AFyypP3L6yIW2JL7F_d0aBCL8nSCYrmm79tdiMnVdzoT86GG1DcsnYYdXk3rP-uP4lqdJqbn_qL46MzcUa1jcUXWpL7aQAy6jqfBK5bgu1Wq3cpMK2B-Jg_gn8fge_2UurFz2IJes-drto_WViAfYT8gj8oMdMqU/s320/IMG_0019.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Clare McIntyre memorial fungus<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Some time later we arrived gasping at the car park have walked a grand total of about one and a half kilometres although that did include the diversion into the obligatory cafe for a cup of coffee. It was a pleasant trip but I had to get home, god knows what my plush toys had got up to in my absence. The last time I left for more than twenty four hours the puffin had swapped my television for a four pack of spray and wipe.<br /></p><p><br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-49718465676652655012023-12-07T01:59:00.000-08:002023-12-07T01:59:26.781-08:00Silly After Action Report - Konitsa Crackdown<p> Maggiore Colonnadi Portico shouted down the field telephone trying not to let the panic show in his voice.</p><p>"The damned Greeks are almost on top of us. Where the hell is my armoured support?"</p><p>Indecipherable crackling came from the receiver followed by,</p><p>"You have reached Commando Supremo, your call is important to us. This call may be recorded for self exculpatory purposes. If you wish to surrender press 1, if you desire our surrender press 2..."</p><p>Portico lowered the phone in disgust.</p><p>"Are our guns ready at least?" he asked Capitano Pirelli.<br /></p><p>"Those that aren't frozen solid," affirmed the capitano.</p><p>"What about the gunners?"</p><p>"Much the same."</p><p>Portico lifted the phone to his ear.</p><p>"If you would like a signed photograph of il Duce, press five. If you want advice on Commando Supremo approved hair styles press six..."</p><p>"For god's sake," muttered Portico. Down the slope of the hill he could see masses of infantry moving towards his position.</p><p>Well I finally managed to select a reasonably well balanced scenario. This is Scenario HG2 - Konitsa Crackdown. Here I shall command a not very enthusiastic but spectacularly gunned up pack of Italians defending possibly the only hill in Greece that hasn't been recaptured yet. My force is nestled on the top of two snow covered hills staring down at fields that would be covered in snow if they weren't already covered in Greeks. To win Dave Wilson, my doughty opponent, has to accumulate 30VP. Victory points are gained from building control, control of level three hexes on board K and level 4 hexes on board H. To prevent the Greeks simply hurling their force at one particular hill the rules state that they must earn 10VP on each board. </p><p>There are two hills, one covered in forest and one more resembling the surface of the moon. In the valley between are a collection of buildings that can't be ignored if only for the fact that they're the only VPs on offer that don't require you to climb anything.</p><p>I have quite the arsenal to do the defending. Forget the 15 first line squads, five conscript squads and four leaders of varying levels of adequacy. Check out that support; two hmgs, four mmgs, four lmgs and six (count them) six 45mm mortars. Then we wheel out the big guns; two 65mm artillery pieces, one 75mm and two 81mm mortars. Even with the prevailing quality of Italian ammunition the amount of metal flying through the air is going to be impressive.</p><p>It will have to be because there are a fuck ton of Greeks heading hillward. Twelve elite squads, eighteen first line squads, two half squads (to die drawing fire), seven leaders including an impressive 9-2, four medium machine guns of his own plus six light machine guns and his own artillery support in the form of one 65mm gun, one 75mm gun and two 81mm mortars. Seriously the air is going to be solid.</p><p>Terrain dictated my deployment. Board K is thickly endowed with trees, buildings, olive groves and general hindrances to swift movement. There is almost nowhere you have a line of sight that extends for more than two hexes. Board H on the other hand is scantily provided with cover at best and the hilltops look particularly bare. Infantry would defend board K and the guns would defend board H. A solitary 65mm gun set up forward to cover the Greek approach. Foxholes filled with a mix of concealment counters and expendable conscripts occupied the forward slope. I didn't commit any more because I figured, correctly, that Dave would blanket the area with smoke. Both big mortars and the 75mm would set up to the rear where they could take Dave's forces under fire as they crested the hill. A leader led squad with an mmg also occupied the area.</p><p>I horribly misplaced my best leader and hmg setting them up in a foxhole overlooking the valley that was never threatened during the game. I think I had visions of pouring fire down on hapless attackers plodding along the valley floor. I forgot that Dave isn't a complete moron.</p><p>Over on board K I did allocate a single 65mm gun to set up in a building to provide some stiffening for the defence which otherwise rested on infantry more or less alone. Conscripts took the lead in defending the woods with (allegedly) better troops behind. A mix of dummies and infantry held the village for at least as long as it took the Greeks to arrive.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQy1ypY924YUWqVDSIkcXwdCMLBW2y6uoksX4q8EHb2AZ9IrKFHcMwUeAjvNRcTQ3qd-b7yiKt0rVRTRvzdXKSiIBdV-cFBzhdNzx_l3bTvzVeiANBQlPsZQT_tiQzptLbwgt4FHxr-KKGjmUiLvjrRPJOYL5Aq3VGqVhEGvRro71pycCyIfullnpmWxk/s1213/Konitsa.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="862" data-original-width="1213" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQy1ypY924YUWqVDSIkcXwdCMLBW2y6uoksX4q8EHb2AZ9IrKFHcMwUeAjvNRcTQ3qd-b7yiKt0rVRTRvzdXKSiIBdV-cFBzhdNzx_l3bTvzVeiANBQlPsZQT_tiQzptLbwgt4FHxr-KKGjmUiLvjrRPJOYL5Aq3VGqVhEGvRro71pycCyIfullnpmWxk/s320/Konitsa.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Set up<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Dave set up the bulk of his force facing board K while a select group (his best officers, mmgs and crews) set up on board H ready to sweep over the bald hilltop to victory. Both his mortars ran out of smoke but not before blanketing my forward foxholes (the foxholes were a mistake, I just gave him defensive terrain) My 65mm fired on some Greek troops but achieved nothing more than a pin which was matched when his 75mm took it under fire. Then his machine gun crews charged somewhat slowly forward (the snow was achieving a better defensive result than my troops) and seized the smoky foxholes. </p><p style="text-align: left;">On the other flank a Greek halfsquad died under a hail of conscript fire, the remainder pushed forward but didn't get very far what with snow, woods and slopes. In the centre my dummies were swiftly revealed and Dave pushed (again slowly) for the village.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRSCH1AcqMGwmuBikq05A1p2DYRqQt6SRO_8kz1JYJE2kfdCdTPUpDZU5YwRd53yp4Ltz3jlpqPhyphenhyphensIAAjmjVrvQSgedp8qlu2SgAUW9k5GIdW73uCw2YNcwkn5cFrG7okH7mvjhDA6wFwGs4o39hJJW4hfTyzh1mxD2GnBHBxeON0rHAtA2o0qnDlII/s1826/Konitsa1.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1826" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRSCH1AcqMGwmuBikq05A1p2DYRqQt6SRO_8kz1JYJE2kfdCdTPUpDZU5YwRd53yp4Ltz3jlpqPhyphenhyphensIAAjmjVrvQSgedp8qlu2SgAUW9k5GIdW73uCw2YNcwkn5cFrG7okH7mvjhDA6wFwGs4o39hJJW4hfTyzh1mxD2GnBHBxeON0rHAtA2o0qnDlII/s320/Konitsa1.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of Greek turn 1<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">In my second turn the shape of the battle became obvious. On board K he slowly ground away at my defenders who attempted to trade space for time and present concealed opponents to the Greeks who would promptly break them due to the generous amount of firepower his squads possessed. I dared not stack against him as a break would blow my front wide open so I bled slowly but inexorably as his troops ground forward.</p><p style="text-align: left;">On board H however his machine gun teams met the full fury of my mortars. I love 81mm mortars when they're on my side. Now that the Greeks were up on the hill his own artillery was largely impotent and I created carnage amongst his brave machine gun teams. I kept my 75mm hidden waiting for the moment Dave had thought he'd won and could relax a little (another mistake, I should have thrown everything I had at them from the moment they appeared.) Because of my reluctance to engage my 75mm early while Dave's initial assault was smashed over the next couple of turns I couldn't quite wipe his force out and sufficient rallied to cause me anguish later. Oh and his 75mm and my 65 kept plinking away at each other wasting their respective nation's ammunition reserves to no good purpose.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NOPREBbmfAOUJAh2q1S1b60aEc3gKs7sY4TAofSzloxo0XqsbqGkriyjZZ96DM3b4w2oC13wApkpiPHreLp-ONLICtYn3WtrSHqwwi14FN9msyR4dL6fx6nrLMzgmHIb9x0keV5i6aeaW9vqqzRuz4THileQ242bjmW-YaLGukG18oYoKVY1HtO7SPA/s1224/Konitsa2.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="875" data-original-width="1224" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NOPREBbmfAOUJAh2q1S1b60aEc3gKs7sY4TAofSzloxo0XqsbqGkriyjZZ96DM3b4w2oC13wApkpiPHreLp-ONLICtYn3WtrSHqwwi14FN9msyR4dL6fx6nrLMzgmHIb9x0keV5i6aeaW9vqqzRuz4THileQ242bjmW-YaLGukG18oYoKVY1HtO7SPA/s320/Konitsa2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On board K I am unsuccessfully trying to put some distance between my troops and the avenging Greek horde<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Realising his mortars could do no more Dave dismantled them and started the laborious process of hauling them up the snow covered hillside. He would abandon that effort a couple of turns later in favour of using the crews to replaced their deceased comrades manning the machine guns.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The next couple of turns were a combination of elation and despair. My mortars reduced his force on board H to a couple of broken crews while his surviving officer scrambled to try and rally something while over on board K my troops engaged in what I call a "fall back defence" which is the say the Greeks would approach, blow the crap out of my defenders the survivors of which would fall back or rout as it is sometimes called. I was funneling troops forward from my rear positions to maintain a front and at least slow his forces down although I doubt if I was putting much more of a brake on him than the terrain would have imposed anyway. The 65mm gun I had hidden in a building had one brief moment of glory when it evaporated an elite Greek squad but then succumbed to the mass of fire Dave could deploy.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Things started to go sour midway through the game. Over on board K my troops were crumbling as rapidly as I could thrust them towards the front, a task made easier by the fact that the front was getting slowly closer. On board H the heroics of my mortar crews couldn't last. Firstly his 75mm finally broke the crew of my 65 and in doing so ended its own participation in the battle. Then one of his surviving mmg teams broke the crew of a mortar while the other malfed without any involvement from the enemy.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfR5n2gfGPyDJ9rdJ8goaS4OxHUn_rUuxs75GwiHxnM3zRw6P8W4MbOsA8ISWzwrTp60hyVI1P7IayVfOchiyrEFV0H2tYKvP2gXRPqixFjb4Mw4m_c9UflQGCI24u4NaXnLlrMii-GQLrs9uUuI8s4zjsdbUuBz0zY87T_0Ugx8Z1Z8LFRVopwAArqo/s1217/Konitsa6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="878" data-original-width="1217" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfR5n2gfGPyDJ9rdJ8goaS4OxHUn_rUuxs75GwiHxnM3zRw6P8W4MbOsA8ISWzwrTp60hyVI1P7IayVfOchiyrEFV0H2tYKvP2gXRPqixFjb4Mw4m_c9UflQGCI24u4NaXnLlrMii-GQLrs9uUuI8s4zjsdbUuBz0zY87T_0Ugx8Z1Z8LFRVopwAArqo/s320/Konitsa6.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh crap<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Suddenly board H was bereft of heavy hitters apart from the still hidden 75mm. A 45mm mortar team did their best to make up the difference and over the course of a couple of turns managed to kill a Greek squad clambering slowly up the hill from the valley. Nevertheless things looked bad. My mmg team had already been traumatised out of any capacity for resistance and I was learning exactly how stupid my positioning of the hmg and my best leader was. In desperation I abandoned the malfed mortar and moved the crew to the its comrade which was still intact but bereft of crew. This got one mortar back in action but my firepower was significantly reduced and while it was reduced Dave rallied what he could and moved back up crews to grab mmgs whose previous owners had passed beyond the need of earthly things.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Meanwhile over on board K the slow but inexorable crumbling of my position continued although a halfsquad with a mortar sneaked behind the Greeks to recapture a building while their opponents were looking the other way.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt03AzhAcXrtF2SpJOVfuSmf7PFvb6GeaCV-x0napEXT8bhx3IduuncLI5XDz9eyeCcRa8MxuAo-rSU15NFgPaaf5GEak43noVzW-XxQNxbfRxarG5rH3Iua2hHvbA66G00Zm9dZnA86e_yB_R2nhsiVU4bu_3gfmLWzgxuhhV2uCkL03YvvclONKMSQI/s1216/Konitsa10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="862" data-original-width="1216" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt03AzhAcXrtF2SpJOVfuSmf7PFvb6GeaCV-x0napEXT8bhx3IduuncLI5XDz9eyeCcRa8MxuAo-rSU15NFgPaaf5GEak43noVzW-XxQNxbfRxarG5rH3Iua2hHvbA66G00Zm9dZnA86e_yB_R2nhsiVU4bu_3gfmLWzgxuhhV2uCkL03YvvclONKMSQI/s320/Konitsa10.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Things are not looking all that great<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The end, when it came, was abrupt. My remaining 81mm mortar and the 75 were banging away manfully but not getting quite enough in the way of results to deliver victory. Then his 9-2 guiding a single crew and mmg stepped forward. A morale check on my mortar crew led to failure, rate then delivered another morale check on the crew of the 75 which similarly failed. That was the end. Every single artillery piece was out of action and there was literally nothing to stop Dave sweeping across board H for the locations he required. Over on board K defeat was only a matter of time as well. With a heavy sigh I conceded the game to Dave with two turns to go.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I have only myself to blame for my defeat. The foxholes, keeping the 75 hidden too long and the boneheaded positioning of my best leader and hmg (who didn't fire a shot all game) all contributed to my demise. Nevertheless it was close for a considerable period of time. It was really a tale of two battles as my troops on board K slowly crumbled without any input from the Italian artillery while on board H for quite a while it did look like I would hold my position and deny Dave the victory. Many thanks to Dave who had to put up with self congratulatory ranting and hysterical tears depending on how things were going for me at any given time.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Greek soldiers pushed cautiously through the wreckage of an Italian gun position. A squawking tinny voice caused alarm until it was tracked to the receiver of a field phone dangling where it had been dropped. Curious a soldier placed the receiver to his ear.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"If your position is under attack and you need urgent armoured support, press 724."<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-35893382482392496852023-12-02T17:44:00.000-08:002023-12-02T17:50:55.281-08:00Travelling Pathetically - Mangrove Fetish Edition<p> Gazing at the map of Sydney on my computer I looked for a patch of green that had not yet been graced with the tread of my boot. Unerringly my gaze zeroed in on Homebush Bay which had been the site of Sydney's Olympic Games a magnificent event I traveled to a different continent to avoid. In an attempt to make the athlete's surroundings a little less revolting the authorities had remediated and generally defilthed a certain amount of poisonous wasteland and restored it to something approximating its condition before we started discharging factory waste into the area. Of course they couldn't help themselves and there are also carefully sculpted parks to give people the impression of nature without forcing them to actually encounter any. It would be to this green spot that I would travel one Sunday a couple of weeks ago. </p><p>I caught the train to Homebush because it seemed that from there I could follow a creek all the way to the Parramatta River and take in the wetlands, mangroves and occasional remnant forest along the way. Bizarrely this turned out to be exactly right. Powells Creek starts its life as a rather miserable looking storm water drain near Homebush station and heads north towards the river in a bed of concrete gathering water and enthusiasm along the way.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZAi7MsTnzl6W1xvEKU2m1jKOhsOZAr_1FCOo_qpNB_pcywMJqTSeXwLUmnJ0I5UA_RtWxHQTHDI9SxjrpcOHDSscxfNHBSgYi1SAEWM4I-cgfGnLVGdasDEiwucrwtITbAZQeMPvtXdKl6_nXTPTOH_0I6xS6_urBP9JoNHXTQUXk8qqqRg0ZR4i9qk/s4608/IMG_5584.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZAi7MsTnzl6W1xvEKU2m1jKOhsOZAr_1FCOo_qpNB_pcywMJqTSeXwLUmnJ0I5UA_RtWxHQTHDI9SxjrpcOHDSscxfNHBSgYi1SAEWM4I-cgfGnLVGdasDEiwucrwtITbAZQeMPvtXdKl6_nXTPTOH_0I6xS6_urBP9JoNHXTQUXk8qqqRg0ZR4i9qk/s320/IMG_5584.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The less than inspiring beginning of my journey<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Once I had found Powells Creek I turned left to follow its path only to find Parramatta Road in my way. Having skipped through the traffic I followed the concrete bound creek underneath the M4 overpass and somewhat improbably discovered an entire park beneath the sheltering concrete. The day was already hot and suddenly the M4 went from a concrete monstrosity to a shady area of recreation. Local citizens were indeed recreating in the shade with ping pong tables and childrens play equipment doing a roaring trade. Definitely motorways are better from the underneath.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I gazed at this idyllic scene in sheer disbelief for a moment but continued my journey before any of the parents saw fit to report me to the police. I Followed the "creek" along its concrete path. This was made easier by the fact that a park had been established alongside it for much of its length. I was walking on concrete but there was grass visible and even the occasional tree. Water, I'm not entirely sure where from bulked out the wretched trickle that had been all that Powells Creek could present at first and before too long I encountered an excited sign which informed the world in breathless tones that from this point the creek had been stripped of concrete and returned to something vaguely approximating its natural form. I took a picture of this auspicious location and carried on.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDYvBYWXfZG6MpFTbivYYKhPzhNi58smmJGeiHMs3mqOY47GPrShN8VTvFTVOuvE8ap5fDUxLSy9Mu7iCSiep1U29dVfMHc6sQ5i5tIQ3YxhX3xkXNOJT_MyVLsD3Bx3eSJYZNDR5QFfGlBfKcJ1LveLEDISkZzKjzATE5g0JBeAN4qP_jKUDteydbrE/s4608/IMG_5585.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDYvBYWXfZG6MpFTbivYYKhPzhNi58smmJGeiHMs3mqOY47GPrShN8VTvFTVOuvE8ap5fDUxLSy9Mu7iCSiep1U29dVfMHc6sQ5i5tIQ3YxhX3xkXNOJT_MyVLsD3Bx3eSJYZNDR5QFfGlBfKcJ1LveLEDISkZzKjzATE5g0JBeAN4qP_jKUDteydbrE/s320/IMG_5585.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There, doesn't that look better<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">In keeping with this new dedication to all things nature the park I was walking through petered out and after a false start walking past some factory carpark I found myself bound by something approximating nature of both sides. To my right was the creek and to my left the Mason Park Wetlands although given the recent weather they were more drylands or damplands at best.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkS3BNJ07WvXoGmkW-CH9Ms5s7DNL40bVkILP9Z2srKX1LUjewpIppfLuzMwQ4yzTbZ4Mc_xC64KNIqt7kl1EvYG5eT7vyQI9Paj0yRFZRjam0CeQMhpFd40Ka74Exsd6Oxje5_7TiBLVRPBTChxs12L6_WCdvGptUmY_X3a-ZANH5HrMZEfqudxmhT_Y/s4608/IMG_5587.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkS3BNJ07WvXoGmkW-CH9Ms5s7DNL40bVkILP9Z2srKX1LUjewpIppfLuzMwQ4yzTbZ4Mc_xC64KNIqt7kl1EvYG5eT7vyQI9Paj0yRFZRjam0CeQMhpFd40Ka74Exsd6Oxje5_7TiBLVRPBTChxs12L6_WCdvGptUmY_X3a-ZANH5HrMZEfqudxmhT_Y/s320/IMG_5587.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There is some wet in there if you look closely<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Wetlands mean birds and in case you didn't see any there were signs informing you of what you had missed. Of particularly interest is the curlew sandpiper, a migratory bird that is extinct in the area due to our unfortunate habit of ruining its home, the sign is hopeful that with this wetland now available to them the sandpipers might return assuming there are any left and gives a helpful description just in case you happen to see one. If, while lurking in the environs of Mason Park Wetlands you do happen to see one of these storied birds of legend please inform the parks authority as I suspect it will enable a number of their staff to die happy.</p><p style="text-align: left;">On I went, past the dampland heading towards my goal. I passed under yet another motorway (Homebush Bay Drive I think) but there was no recreation area at this one, just the traditional rubbish and odour of stale urine. Powells Creek on the other hand was really starting to hit its straps. Liberated from its concrete shackles and inspired by the dampland on its right it went full nature with trees and shady bits and a rather pleasing coastal swamp look.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGY_p5BPwTl5puYoXFRvM5c_TXUjegv-n019XZjhhrUz3cB94JoZwiHdlZWdTsog9pLxNFm8R3gVriJNvaFe3USdXXXoCRHmAq83U3URyJALa4wO43rZalKTCIvAjfGsEpYYdIdycVcVvkCMs-0uA3JsvgG-ByvM_VSjuzFJcTdP0UpIo3u-FIBQnsEPA/s4608/IMG_5589.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGY_p5BPwTl5puYoXFRvM5c_TXUjegv-n019XZjhhrUz3cB94JoZwiHdlZWdTsog9pLxNFm8R3gVriJNvaFe3USdXXXoCRHmAq83U3URyJALa4wO43rZalKTCIvAjfGsEpYYdIdycVcVvkCMs-0uA3JsvgG-ByvM_VSjuzFJcTdP0UpIo3u-FIBQnsEPA/s320/IMG_5589.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, this is the same Powells Creek from a kilometre or two ago<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Just as I was getting used to this new "back to nature" look I left the creek for a while. I had reached the official parklands and veered off onto a new track which would take me in the direction of the mangroves which were the principal objective of all this faffing about with wetlands and concrete creeks. The track took me away from the at least semi natural environment and into Bicentennial Park which is adorned with the sort of stuff that people think a flashy park should be adorned with.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEick3NNtYBU7JNrDk3jcIStxlu0loLVqRcN12-oIbzdjoVfZPp-zg31ehUuiJgzzuAK-9gOqT57rqbIfuLfizgGOLYTwaBDwNPBW2cGryZNBTCaLQgAF63rQ7MGe5Euqt0EXRX-Bob1EK8k9j3oYMQvWSd6JlhyOfi5Fw3wnV-DKj4-dpMQ14aZNI4lCKE/s4608/IMG_5592.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEick3NNtYBU7JNrDk3jcIStxlu0loLVqRcN12-oIbzdjoVfZPp-zg31ehUuiJgzzuAK-9gOqT57rqbIfuLfizgGOLYTwaBDwNPBW2cGryZNBTCaLQgAF63rQ7MGe5Euqt0EXRX-Bob1EK8k9j3oYMQvWSd6JlhyOfi5Fw3wnV-DKj4-dpMQ14aZNI4lCKE/s320/IMG_5592.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well its pretty I suppose, if you like that sort of thing</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">One of the things the park is adorned with is a treillage tower. "Treillage" is a French word meaning "pointless construction". The tower stands on a rise (because building a tower in a gully rather defeats the purpose) and allows a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. I climbed the tower because, well you do don't you. A tower in a scenic spot always promises even more scenicky stuff if you expend the effort to climb to the top of it. I climbed to the top of the tower with my arthritic knee complaining at every step. When I got there I had a great view of everything I had already seen quite adequately from ground level. I took a photo because by that time I felt committed.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC25OHzJO1Cq2n9pClVCkrJe-ePi3UM5CN2iKw0Z8_IApqDq7sHuQ2OGPvNoeV8tXn1euKguxciFLRbkm2fMP0vSJMywaAy8OoWnkk2tpfweUjR7ymnR2HiUbS1BH3IKXq2tlaIt9bhcPce6CPmV0dkiQSgGZTS_Du-BOph4JF6aijFKui45oLxVTBe9E/s4608/IMG_5591.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC25OHzJO1Cq2n9pClVCkrJe-ePi3UM5CN2iKw0Z8_IApqDq7sHuQ2OGPvNoeV8tXn1euKguxciFLRbkm2fMP0vSJMywaAy8OoWnkk2tpfweUjR7ymnR2HiUbS1BH3IKXq2tlaIt9bhcPce6CPmV0dkiQSgGZTS_Du-BOph4JF6aijFKui45oLxVTBe9E/s320/IMG_5591.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The treillage tower. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4v0Q7YpClPgw8o7T4hBzS-QAs48S8R4eGU1g_7zL2gaggRBIOs6g9l39vUC76xrx6QWF2-7zm7S7gjlZv0pIqBDc18GCYPPpA__j-eBZEjVLUZ7-05zQxH9pSVu5B4oCLfuPGpT4VlrVUMX0lMfe613qs6Wmx0G0VyM_2U67UTnV5X4KdVDQIr-uNfec/s4608/IMG_5593.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4v0Q7YpClPgw8o7T4hBzS-QAs48S8R4eGU1g_7zL2gaggRBIOs6g9l39vUC76xrx6QWF2-7zm7S7gjlZv0pIqBDc18GCYPPpA__j-eBZEjVLUZ7-05zQxH9pSVu5B4oCLfuPGpT4VlrVUMX0lMfe613qs6Wmx0G0VyM_2U67UTnV5X4KdVDQIr-uNfec/s320/IMG_5593.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And this is the view. This is basically the direction I will be walking in<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">With the treillage tower thankfully in my rear I down for the last and most interesting part of the journey. Behind me lay the smoothly mowed park and ahead of me a tangle of estuarine vegetation. It wasn't just mangroves, oh dear me no. Indeed helpful signs announced the presence of at least five different vegetation types depending on how many millimetres the land in question was above the level of the river and therefore how likely it was to be periodically underwater. Mangroves are just one of the soggier options. I forget the others but none of them were smoothly mown grass.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Mangroves are of course terribly fragile so rather than defile them with our tread walkways had been built so that we could make our way through the mangroves without going to all the effort of blundering through them. This is convenient as from a walking perspective mangroves are basically tree roots and sucking mud. Mangroves also abound with life according to the signs. Life presented itself in the form of far more birds than I saw at the supposedly bird intensive wetland (incidentally wetland is not mangrove there are vital millimetres of difference in height above the river level). <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVtDsFm1AchecdM9cmvOneJCxe3k5tUsvwtJxbT5t2xokVVQL_0cjU7MiV7omDPO1RTnD0EXDKE8wji6IoBiaH-zXyyF92lnQgOd9cfAT1eAMGn2o-JArUESw_jVGNhO0FThElh5nqIk0mmZICsrMwrNJDo6riYlByi_5dIh4LoRzaf3O286LbMG74CE/s4608/IMG_5595.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVtDsFm1AchecdM9cmvOneJCxe3k5tUsvwtJxbT5t2xokVVQL_0cjU7MiV7omDPO1RTnD0EXDKE8wji6IoBiaH-zXyyF92lnQgOd9cfAT1eAMGn2o-JArUESw_jVGNhO0FThElh5nqIk0mmZICsrMwrNJDo6riYlByi_5dIh4LoRzaf3O286LbMG74CE/s320/IMG_5595.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mangroves</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXRGGFIo8L2hMwLMvJQioTlrj9wp9qJiKtZ-PHMXCR8OzPcclYralMZpmMXrptD0vH7rE__jUtz6DmkCTaj6E4pXFuGLRPi-WVPMCPKjnLJMeF-OkqT6aalD9eGJca6vfox1_yJMmG7qL42mnAOB3uaEyNYh-Ak7sAQCJXFSqNJ0puUUZ2b5j2HsPE4G0/s4608/IMG_5597.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXRGGFIo8L2hMwLMvJQioTlrj9wp9qJiKtZ-PHMXCR8OzPcclYralMZpmMXrptD0vH7rE__jUtz6DmkCTaj6E4pXFuGLRPi-WVPMCPKjnLJMeF-OkqT6aalD9eGJca6vfox1_yJMmG7qL42mnAOB3uaEyNYh-Ak7sAQCJXFSqNJ0puUUZ2b5j2HsPE4G0/s320/IMG_5597.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wildlife</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIMgV0fg1llhJCqSN5p2ZdwMtFoxCm5BdK-joA6GuRa3LALeAkGQEHdeGCzK690IcX8xD28Ap72jD6hWaM8WzsGojUh0vBzCmrZnatvK8wkWq_b6rJNniVMGUudVSrCwCtwmTuYBY2t18LG1EQq1FJL_YD5VbKFXKDu3qLaeslFrJzNnCGuBQuXnRoHrc/s4608/IMG_3769.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIMgV0fg1llhJCqSN5p2ZdwMtFoxCm5BdK-joA6GuRa3LALeAkGQEHdeGCzK690IcX8xD28Ap72jD6hWaM8WzsGojUh0vBzCmrZnatvK8wkWq_b6rJNniVMGUudVSrCwCtwmTuYBY2t18LG1EQq1FJL_YD5VbKFXKDu3qLaeslFrJzNnCGuBQuXnRoHrc/s320/IMG_3769.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More wildlife<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvhmz6BlQ73ZDE5n4gWwObJ0uGU8dWxk8yCR2WRZdSL2V4dNIbBynaz62XmE4RjjMohNJ5npfelnwt1K3eX9MubFKwoENtXZs4FuGPUUcEyWSeBtt-Y-bJWmDBterBMJr-1abtAUkFQRy0ZdQL9oEbdmWjwEXPwFO4By0yr9IURPNmm94jgzXRnGPDag/s4608/IMG_5603.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvhmz6BlQ73ZDE5n4gWwObJ0uGU8dWxk8yCR2WRZdSL2V4dNIbBynaz62XmE4RjjMohNJ5npfelnwt1K3eX9MubFKwoENtXZs4FuGPUUcEyWSeBtt-Y-bJWmDBterBMJr-1abtAUkFQRy0ZdQL9oEbdmWjwEXPwFO4By0yr9IURPNmm94jgzXRnGPDag/s320/IMG_5603.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even more wildlife<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9KSSYqsqzfgszfXDXe-pYw6IvIMSee8RJeeFJqsDNhOvDjXHqdX7BL3Fv9XIKVh9GnilxeZc19vpYyEVx639cHcuioiVj_hQYqTPZathz9n_FNR6UNEDesA5HJTIBWKiVan9ped1ewAswkxda7HFgeDvXXO-ahPIgpvq3cI2p-2GhBP2JaU31yuwMrY/s4608/IMG_5600.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9KSSYqsqzfgszfXDXe-pYw6IvIMSee8RJeeFJqsDNhOvDjXHqdX7BL3Fv9XIKVh9GnilxeZc19vpYyEVx639cHcuioiVj_hQYqTPZathz9n_FNR6UNEDesA5HJTIBWKiVan9ped1ewAswkxda7HFgeDvXXO-ahPIgpvq3cI2p-2GhBP2JaU31yuwMrY/s320/IMG_5600.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OK we're probably getting sick of wildlife by now<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Wildlife as you can tell mostly consisted of birds. Or at least birds were the only ones who didn't sneak out of the way as I blundered past. I did see fish when I stared very closely at the water. Possibly because most of the water I look at is at least somewhat polluted I always seem to see the same type of fish. They're small and nuggety and look rather like a fist with fins. They give the impression they could survive in any water that isn't actually solid. Any other life was buried under the mud waiting for the camera to leave.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgxITJfpolHKEAecWdkRB0z6oApRjMdbpSjya6gGcz_tFRNNIkW6lXtC8Y4WtM_UX6t37UGIqTstBSGw0Aa_pVVDWblMybsTRlcxmYhGk-RuTSUkTGQvzVnRa9hPjeVp78QJon003rmwBPIb1bxK7GepAJOOFc7uov3AyBGmRIJPVC_6Lwss2vjI1M4M/s4608/IMG_5606.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgxITJfpolHKEAecWdkRB0z6oApRjMdbpSjya6gGcz_tFRNNIkW6lXtC8Y4WtM_UX6t37UGIqTstBSGw0Aa_pVVDWblMybsTRlcxmYhGk-RuTSUkTGQvzVnRa9hPjeVp78QJon003rmwBPIb1bxK7GepAJOOFc7uov3AyBGmRIJPVC_6Lwss2vjI1M4M/s320/IMG_5606.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More mangroves<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">When my mangrove journey came to an end I had a decision to make, namely what was I going to do now. Somewhat belatedly I came up with a destination for my journey. I would make my way to Wentworth Point, a gleaming new suburb on the banks of the river surrounded by parks, mangroves and, of course, water. From there a ferry would take me back to civilisation. For those of you who aren't sick to death of bird photos, hang around.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Actually the bird photo opportunities turned up a little earlier than expected. I was at the end of the mangrove walk deciding on my next steps when a noise made me look down. A brush turkey had quietly come to within two feet of me and was eyeing me speculatively. I got the impression that it would have mugged me and taken my shoes if I hadn't seen it at that particular moment.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Evading the boldest brush turkey I've ever encountered I walked up a path/cycle track/access road that headed towards the river. Powells Creek now spilling into Homebush Bay was on my right but once again on my left was wetland. And what a wetland, this one made Mason Park Wetland look like a badly managed puddle. It is of course wholly artificial, nature very rarely provides perfectly rectangular wetlands. There were wetlands here once upon a time. That time being before the advent of dredging, industry and general environmental devastation. The one good thing about such devastation is that it provides a clean slate to build on if you ever want to bring some of it back. They have really gone all out here. Pumps provide the tidal water that would have come naturally before all of the dredging etc and artificial islands have been created to replace the ones that wound up as landfill elsewhere. Waterbirds of both the migratory and stay at home varieties have voted with their wings and the place is packed with birdlife.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_SM3xgtc7s8KHQjX1huKM0puXl9HBbi-AOYkfcnE26n7ZEvTAR7hOwx5ret0mXcjdyxNZr1q4d2Sdimi61tP7-S5_7IsD0q-3X_NoW_TX3ThLVM3aDfSOPmORHFWRqqM28VQsO7Vg17Yc10Py_oX8LjktmrIoG7EWvVKPwe-CGzbq1kVmRlah6fg-rPg/s4608/IMG_5607.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_SM3xgtc7s8KHQjX1huKM0puXl9HBbi-AOYkfcnE26n7ZEvTAR7hOwx5ret0mXcjdyxNZr1q4d2Sdimi61tP7-S5_7IsD0q-3X_NoW_TX3ThLVM3aDfSOPmORHFWRqqM28VQsO7Vg17Yc10Py_oX8LjktmrIoG7EWvVKPwe-CGzbq1kVmRlah6fg-rPg/s320/IMG_5607.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A black winged stilt<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3nDH8_Sm6v145WWVeHvg9fM4BTR_5zP9seAIIFQV54PBQwACHPl3nawUElQf8xvcqJcNCqFIhyphenhyphen7hjSOhUcCnfmHeZ5La2I1EDWPrfk3Qh1ER17f-wVfKfaggI3MkS7Z-wHtfiAvnZVp1g6RI_f2SFl8TP_BJlPf9NYqqO_azNaET1kaZhfZLbr7w-zA/s4608/IMG_5611.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3nDH8_Sm6v145WWVeHvg9fM4BTR_5zP9seAIIFQV54PBQwACHPl3nawUElQf8xvcqJcNCqFIhyphenhyphen7hjSOhUcCnfmHeZ5La2I1EDWPrfk3Qh1ER17f-wVfKfaggI3MkS7Z-wHtfiAvnZVp1g6RI_f2SFl8TP_BJlPf9NYqqO_azNaET1kaZhfZLbr7w-zA/s320/IMG_5611.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A pelican because you just can't keep them away<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxpmcPr4XyuHqAc8K9F6DMw9NZAVAFNhfi28jj8AL9zaMd4A8dkyne4pJe5TMr_UEcvYh7NEEgdgQU_SBuXbfF_ilDhcPCJRrOi1Vwppee1iMj_YvcTbXAOHUcnnGcm7jCqcwFC7V1SZvAf_jQrpnns7Lcx2VsvLqMY9v-iPdDmKjnef7ItTiHbaDgpA/s4608/IMG_5613.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxpmcPr4XyuHqAc8K9F6DMw9NZAVAFNhfi28jj8AL9zaMd4A8dkyne4pJe5TMr_UEcvYh7NEEgdgQU_SBuXbfF_ilDhcPCJRrOi1Vwppee1iMj_YvcTbXAOHUcnnGcm7jCqcwFC7V1SZvAf_jQrpnns7Lcx2VsvLqMY9v-iPdDmKjnef7ItTiHbaDgpA/s320/IMG_5613.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rather disappointing photo of a great egret but the best I could get<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-Q0fh5dRIi2pB7HMtbF3C0Gyd3RvMhKDa9m7KXkkuiGECjSc6i59BxXrfa39OGR5R1zSH4edS0tlaXQHzYjIQ9qdb6oSaxrD9-4bzRnPTc0E8EdhOf58lh9Ium6h5NYLyQaFj_BkQSPRalMtM6WoHJnQ4xjp62AF-wQ6_KnYy-jaGjZzdDfyO9qfTHE/s4608/IMG_5608.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-Q0fh5dRIi2pB7HMtbF3C0Gyd3RvMhKDa9m7KXkkuiGECjSc6i59BxXrfa39OGR5R1zSH4edS0tlaXQHzYjIQ9qdb6oSaxrD9-4bzRnPTc0E8EdhOf58lh9Ium6h5NYLyQaFj_BkQSPRalMtM6WoHJnQ4xjp62AF-wQ6_KnYy-jaGjZzdDfyO9qfTHE/s320/IMG_5608.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wetlands and birds; generic<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">By this time I was quite giddy with birdlife or possibly heat exhaustion so I moved on. On the other side of the wetland Haslams Creek which has an even longer and more wretched concrete encased journey than Powells Creek spills into the Parramatta River revelling in its last few kilometres of concrete free existence. Once across that I took a hard right at the archery centre (a hangover from the Olympic Games) and headed through Wentworth Point towards the ferry stop and my journey home.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-47726768559590778282023-11-11T22:19:00.000-08:002023-11-11T22:19:57.440-08:00Travelling Pathetically - Just One Bay After Another<p>After I emerged from the Lane Cover River valley covered in glory (and not leeches as some predicted) I decided for a more modest achievement for my next walk. I gazed at the map of Sydney and realised I had given scant attention to the southern shore of the harbour. There were good reasons for this. Much of the southern shore of the harbour is occupied by the dwellings of those with the money to afford a dwelling on the southern shore of the harbour. Such dwellings had not left much space for bushland however if I zoomed in on the map and squinted closely it did seem that there might be a shred of greenery not completely built over between Rose Bay and Watsons Bay. Indeed there seemed to be a walking track of sorts.</p><p>"That's it!" I announced to a collection of disinterested plush toys. "I shall walk from Rose Bay to Watsons Bay."</p><p>"You do know there's a perfectly good ferry?" asked the platypus.</p><p>I did indeed know there was a perfectly good ferry. I caught the perfectly good ferry to Rose Bay to commence my walk. The journey across Sydney Harbour was enlivened by my discovery that Sydney ferries now have the sort of welcoming speech one normally encounters on aircraft. Welcoming you aboard, wishing you a pleasant journey and informing you of what to do in the unlikely event that the ferry's journey becomes more downward than onward. When it got to the part detailing the emergency exits I stopped listening. It's a ferry for gods sake. The emergency exits are the entire sides of the vessel. I doubt if the crew are going to order me back on board if I hurl myself into the sea from the wrong spot.</p><p>With a specific part of the ferry's side committed to memory should the worst happen I sat back to enjoy the trip. I had picked a good day, ie hot and cloudless which meant that the harbour was at its best. Whether this would be ideal for walking was another matter. Rose Bay emerged blinking from the harbour and attempted to look its best as I approached. Rose Bay is famous for two things; a golf course which occupies about half of the suburb and its status as Australia's oldest international airport. </p><p>Back in the early days of international air travel the cost of laying down concrete runways of sufficient length for international aircraft was considered prohibitive. It was much cheaper to land the aircraft on water which didn't need much in the way of construction work. In the 1930s flying boats from BEA (proud ancestor of its wretched offspring British Airways) and PanAm's famous clippers would carry passengers and mail from the world to Sydney and back again. And they landed at Rose Bay. The whole thing came to an end after the
Second World War. During that time so many long concrete runways had
been built to facilitate bomber fleets that the world came out of the
conflict with an almost embarrassing oversupply of land based
international quality airports.<br /></p><p>Still Rose Bay airport still exists as the home for a seaplane tour company. Another good thing about a water airport is the lack of maintenance needed on the runways.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcUw7sv0TttvGF_lKuysDKfd3e1RoxzEwiEhbOYdF8k7wQAGY13PpsKgg-bmJ9g_m4UuN2TWZ0-z-0v1AwtfqLZniZawCCdhU676cKjtqKSnvAXcslUstuaLz4U5nDisfaiFZofsOdUlNDBsssElqBaCZZjfeoHxUZJBcl3vD6B7okDWW9CKBrLWfI04/s4032/IMG_0883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcUw7sv0TttvGF_lKuysDKfd3e1RoxzEwiEhbOYdF8k7wQAGY13PpsKgg-bmJ9g_m4UuN2TWZ0-z-0v1AwtfqLZniZawCCdhU676cKjtqKSnvAXcslUstuaLz4U5nDisfaiFZofsOdUlNDBsssElqBaCZZjfeoHxUZJBcl3vD6B7okDWW9CKBrLWfI04/s320/IMG_0883.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seaplane parking at Rose Bay<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />Having alighted at Rose Bay and turned my back with barely concealed contempt on the golf course I peered at the map on my phone and set out on my journey. I was sensibly dressed for walking in sturdy shoes and long pants. However the first thing I walked across was Rose Bay beach for which I was completely unsuited both sartorially and psychologically. When I reached the end of the beach I discovered that I wasn't going any further. Some extra frantic peering at the map told me I would actually have to leave the sea and walk through Rose Bay shops and reunite with the foreshore a little further on. I didn't actually get lost but I did go down a couple of wrong streets before I found the right one. To show willing I did take a photo of the harbour from Rose Bay before plunging into the suburb itself.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpPh43G8Sqtsa29JCC8OHu979PGRJnDd48rlPZjzUYZpQlCb86BrWuRuLffdmORTDyogTkdYj0WVvGGyX3YgNMEN4hKpGSbp0WPSwoEiSGxLr2ysWcLxDIe7OOUHYwi5cDkw6Nap2hGM07J-6GKen-NYPKAyVfrDJ4LuXS3iq_txvZo9ugtiSFKByMeA/s4608/IMG_5558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpPh43G8Sqtsa29JCC8OHu979PGRJnDd48rlPZjzUYZpQlCb86BrWuRuLffdmORTDyogTkdYj0WVvGGyX3YgNMEN4hKpGSbp0WPSwoEiSGxLr2ysWcLxDIe7OOUHYwi5cDkw6Nap2hGM07J-6GKen-NYPKAyVfrDJ4LuXS3iq_txvZo9ugtiSFKByMeA/s320/IMG_5558.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like I said, it was a nice day<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Having struggled through the traffic choked main street of Rose Bay I emerged out the other side and pointed myself back towards the foreshore with a very impressive church staring down at me. Specifically what was impressive about the church was the church's ability to snaffle the best real estate wherever they turn up. This one managed to give an almost medieval look to what is a very modern suburb.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8vXGZekAvjts_WkXWq7nGQnQkJDGd6PHRknEDPhB5w9QK9Qb2r2EIfXWKUEBGSQBqBnD66Gg5olx-7qlCocmMF-Npz9inUNyWLMlUp43L_GaKOnXBEo7XTm56YGTlH6jgowuTl7jGax-SIoTusNDmRM3Bb-G9cukXQhAtR8_bHrHNkSFFQtlaGb4TcU/s4608/IMG_5561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8vXGZekAvjts_WkXWq7nGQnQkJDGd6PHRknEDPhB5w9QK9Qb2r2EIfXWKUEBGSQBqBnD66Gg5olx-7qlCocmMF-Npz9inUNyWLMlUp43L_GaKOnXBEo7XTm56YGTlH6jgowuTl7jGax-SIoTusNDmRM3Bb-G9cukXQhAtR8_bHrHNkSFFQtlaGb4TcU/s320/IMG_5561.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The worshipers of some grim, dark god look down upon the villagers with disdain<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">And Rose Bay is a modern suburb and getting more modern by the second. The reason for this is because it is quite old (by Sydney standards) that means that most of the ground was built on yea these many years ago. What that means in turn is that if you want to build anything you pretty much have to knock something else down. Virtually the entire suburb seems to be in a permanent state of renovation. Fortunately I left the scafffolding and discreet notices indicating that somebody had paid off the local council and finally made my way to a modest piece of bush.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Here's the thing, there isn't very much bush here. As noted before people have been living here since some of the colonists decided that a water view was worth being the first to be looted if the French invaded. However clinging to the very edge of the water a small shred of bushland survives (an oversight I suspect). This glorified nature strip revels in the name of Sydney Harbour National Park (to be fair there's more in other spots) and much of it has walking platforms so that you don't sully the earth with your tread. Essentially we are walking along the cliffs which fringe the harbour and which turned out to be slightly more trouble to put houses on that it was worth. I was rarely more than a hundred metres from somebody's house and frequently much less. But the day was warm and the little patch of bush was doing its very best to be properly bush like and if you turned your head away from the houses you could see the harbour through the trees and you realised that this tiny strip was worth preserving after all.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTY13Hb22Kql0KoIJghATw2DR2uqSyrjHSPbOblDhlDV-KPL1vbXYCb45c779uO5J1gRTUPFMiZG2IG-Bg1EUVm1WOkjuyr76zwEoSU33ElVZae4Qqno63WMZFKJpUrXwA_jIk0vE2Oe4AAM4AOm9L2wtMf9j6axS3-rtqawbqPNeUd3AyBckhXdr3ko/s4608/IMG_5564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTY13Hb22Kql0KoIJghATw2DR2uqSyrjHSPbOblDhlDV-KPL1vbXYCb45c779uO5J1gRTUPFMiZG2IG-Bg1EUVm1WOkjuyr76zwEoSU33ElVZae4Qqno63WMZFKJpUrXwA_jIk0vE2Oe4AAM4AOm9L2wtMf9j6axS3-rtqawbqPNeUd3AyBckhXdr3ko/s320/IMG_5564.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Houses to the right of me but this was to my left<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu3xJ0aSNfSyrqXYjHJGJuSdHyeItkL46-DHzDRDRzbgwiE0_PZnfIrfpjSyFcTUzwMwPFh-qVCqRAyIN-D35TaCkvXAJrgfsc4ImUvOKtXVw9r2HQV8wwvGsdm2rfec8JV6079SrrLQnhCISkqbumzNBkuj6Z-srJK8T4PAc5Sk0gT6ldMpbZU9QDGNA/s4608/IMG_5565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu3xJ0aSNfSyrqXYjHJGJuSdHyeItkL46-DHzDRDRzbgwiE0_PZnfIrfpjSyFcTUzwMwPFh-qVCqRAyIN-D35TaCkvXAJrgfsc4ImUvOKtXVw9r2HQV8wwvGsdm2rfec8JV6079SrrLQnhCISkqbumzNBkuj6Z-srJK8T4PAc5Sk0gT6ldMpbZU9QDGNA/s320/IMG_5565.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">I thought that this wouldn't be a particularly strenuous bushwalk and I was right but it was a little more difficult than I anticipated as there was a fair bit of climbing up and down the cliff. From time to time branch lines of the walking path struck off to take you down to some secluded beach and on a couple of occasions the path itself wandered down there before climbing up the other side. There were plenty of people on the path but they weren't bushwalkers for the most part, they were people who had parked their cars and were now wandering down to this beach or that. The difference was noticeable. For the most part people I have encountered on my bushwalks have offered a greeting varying between formally polite and overtly cheerful. The people I passed today gave the impression they would stab me if I spoke to them. So I didn't and this seemed to please both of us.</p><p style="text-align: left;">In welcoming nature lovers or at least people not inherently opposed to nature per se the sign had waxed lyrical about the flora and fauna that frolicked unmolested in this tiny patch of pseudo wilderness. I have my doubts about the fauna side of that. There were some birds it is true but there didn't seem to be much of anything else, even lizards were in short supply. Perhaps most telling of all was the complete absence of signs indicating that fox baits had been laid. This tells me that even a fox has difficulty finding good eating here. My attempts to find the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus went almost unrewarded and I'm not sure if the one I did see was a fungus or some sort of tree disease.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFwR-Gmzciyoe82tJ06cf19R7mD0mjuCXM55kG_IzjfbpBYO9zinkHk1H2CdcPEZJx288jPAf9lDUUarN4cSEAMOCJeG6U1Xnu7kc0vSe0QYQutINrsXb2RMGcn2j2wGQCxsiFvs1qkasrtWl-Zyhi-AKggmzwrVG4tow49FdpZBtZIL-fYICQZby5M9Y/s4608/IMG_5566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFwR-Gmzciyoe82tJ06cf19R7mD0mjuCXM55kG_IzjfbpBYO9zinkHk1H2CdcPEZJx288jPAf9lDUUarN4cSEAMOCJeG6U1Xnu7kc0vSe0QYQutINrsXb2RMGcn2j2wGQCxsiFvs1qkasrtWl-Zyhi-AKggmzwrVG4tow49FdpZBtZIL-fYICQZby5M9Y/s320/IMG_5566.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Clare McIntyre memorial fungus, possibly<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Fortunately for my scalp there were sufficient trees to more or less protect me from the sun which was useful as I had foolishly forgotten my hat. As if to deny my previous comments about the inadequacy of the National Park a sign proudly proclaimed that a brand new species of tree had been discovered here only a few years ago. It was discovered and promptly labelled as endangered which isn't surprising as there isn't space for more than about three of them. I wish them luck.</p><p style="text-align: left;">At one point I passed by a cemetery or rather what I suspect used to be a cemetery back in the day. A sturdy fence had been erected to prevent the dead from hurling themselves into the sea. If you want a viking funeral you really have to put in your will. Once you're in a box floating you out on a longship becomes a little problematic.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZhTRFL2SgUZ3GugqV3o4Fk-rdJM1aXp8IExcvusICxvNLSIIyuYqUTqCBQEERW-WPRoN3Imt_oOjLWc6XAT5x8PX9gbtVtq3K3rH-PXOYyy3H7IxyYuLe7ywCAEhB3U2UofthLUzTxn4NSlazdLeS0AdtXykbEOZ-2eRs6qF-uRk_M9t3mPOtV_Gl38/s4608/IMG_5567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZhTRFL2SgUZ3GugqV3o4Fk-rdJM1aXp8IExcvusICxvNLSIIyuYqUTqCBQEERW-WPRoN3Imt_oOjLWc6XAT5x8PX9gbtVtq3K3rH-PXOYyy3H7IxyYuLe7ywCAEhB3U2UofthLUzTxn4NSlazdLeS0AdtXykbEOZ-2eRs6qF-uRk_M9t3mPOtV_Gl38/s320/IMG_5567.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No need to fear the walking dead, they've been fenced off<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After the cemetery the path decided I had enjoyed enough altitude for a while and swooped down to sea level to intersect with a beach whose name I don't know and have no intention of looking up. It was quite compact as beaches go and would have looked very nice if it wasn't covered in people. If they were whales this would have been a mass beaching event. I had to restrain the impulse to drag them out to sea. Those parts of the geography not covered by humans were quite picturesque however.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsaVoScwZ4YQcJKV4sfd2RespzVBp8h5qsg69oibD_Ey7p1X7TnLIdRtUcszdJBogChLN4yae-_rdfLBAb8OetmNbBKhXT1_GnRrFUvM7WVNF838RzMdzEtuO6sQY6nB3VjR6xxd0fW0zsl5nPpRbBf6Mmh-4y2uWnNeL9ve8oZfHil3jTB4Ewjr7kVak/s4608/IMG_5568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsaVoScwZ4YQcJKV4sfd2RespzVBp8h5qsg69oibD_Ey7p1X7TnLIdRtUcszdJBogChLN4yae-_rdfLBAb8OetmNbBKhXT1_GnRrFUvM7WVNF838RzMdzEtuO6sQY6nB3VjR6xxd0fW0zsl5nPpRbBf6Mmh-4y2uWnNeL9ve8oZfHil3jTB4Ewjr7kVak/s320/IMG_5568.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Definitely picturesque<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Once I had picked my way carefully through the beach denizens and started climbing up the other side I encountered a truly enormous tree. No wonder those other trees are endangered, this one was taking up enough space for a forest.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpYZ51cd1-iDZt8cKJ-Pu4p2dZn8k_sK7160nYHA7OwAUIbdHIFoGWsJ9QxyffgA8J32LQIQBe-SQ0UuivAi5mvdYoyHzyKa7rC88DNixRQVFiVfA2_-0byYSWmNnIoWUecTMYXeDGYbiDV2KFcWc9ByrExPYsH5uaXaIujUzixPlYUFZhyq7GMP5mquA/s4608/IMG_5569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpYZ51cd1-iDZt8cKJ-Pu4p2dZn8k_sK7160nYHA7OwAUIbdHIFoGWsJ9QxyffgA8J32LQIQBe-SQ0UuivAi5mvdYoyHzyKa7rC88DNixRQVFiVfA2_-0byYSWmNnIoWUecTMYXeDGYbiDV2KFcWc9ByrExPYsH5uaXaIujUzixPlYUFZhyq7GMP5mquA/s320/IMG_5569.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is one tree<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Giving the tree as wide a berth as possible I continued heading up. Having flirted with the waterline the path was now apparently intent on seducing the cliff top. In return for separating me from the water the path repaid me with spectacular views out over the water I could no longer touch.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTmty7s-1tSe1yio-OEVsLVElFfQjaWVi1-G3wc9_AeO3kcQz_ql-acou9EyTlYWJhU3t4iz2PNqqVd_p7vhQOTEOS7mLABUqvgVGaeMNkRnqn7FfoOhKevACopqDKgLIX9TH99D6U_urdHPtlcY8WjZQUuhfQ0zHgP7ZMjGCcB9_n7H-JMObEdpClrU/s4608/IMG_5574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTmty7s-1tSe1yio-OEVsLVElFfQjaWVi1-G3wc9_AeO3kcQz_ql-acou9EyTlYWJhU3t4iz2PNqqVd_p7vhQOTEOS7mLABUqvgVGaeMNkRnqn7FfoOhKevACopqDKgLIX9TH99D6U_urdHPtlcY8WjZQUuhfQ0zHgP7ZMjGCcB9_n7H-JMObEdpClrU/s320/IMG_5574.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's the area I walked through and you have to admit it does look authentically bushlike<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Despite the idyllic nature of the surroundings terrors lurked around every corner. I wouldn't have realised this if signs didn't go out of their way to tell me. I encountered the sign below at the top of a cliff. They seem to be keen to include every warning on the one sign I'm surprised they didn't include something about meteor strikes.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVGzAL6uXATsdQCGZKQf64eGbcz4XtBf1AxJIthFwOEbZBNv4A3rqiCo6Wktjwb8NGh4T5V4NWYxWPUFLfbR-HshLVouOT0ReSsaaioXUIdtbTB1iC_FVdKS1oTtmwnvAEHCK0IQd9_OvNuJj6G7p_xJo4fsAEwkN5HOE8c5NWVr9n35ccyvbDWCq-Ao/s4032/IMG_0882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVGzAL6uXATsdQCGZKQf64eGbcz4XtBf1AxJIthFwOEbZBNv4A3rqiCo6Wktjwb8NGh4T5V4NWYxWPUFLfbR-HshLVouOT0ReSsaaioXUIdtbTB1iC_FVdKS1oTtmwnvAEHCK0IQd9_OvNuJj6G7p_xJo4fsAEwkN5HOE8c5NWVr9n35ccyvbDWCq-Ao/s320/IMG_0882.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">For the record I was standing on the top of the cliff with the apparently unstable edges. The shallow water didn't bother me because it was at the bottom of the cliff but the threatened appearance of "slippery areas" held out the threat that I could travel from the top of the crumbling cliff to the disturbingly shallow water in an unpleasantly short period of time. Somehow I survived the journey and lit a candle for those before me who hadn't made it (I presume they number in the thousands) may the God of Futile Endeavours look kindly up their sacrifice.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I was now coming to the end of the bushwalk part of my bushwalk having arrived at Nielsen Park which is apparently a "heritage listed historic site and park". Why? No idea but there was a decent amount of it. I followed it until I ran out of bush. Along the way I came across Shark Beach which was closed for renovations. Who in the name of a sweet and merciful god names a recreation area Shark Beach? It might be accurate but come on, a little discretion please. You don't see chemical works calling themselves the "Mutated Children Chemical Plant" do you?</p><p style="text-align: left;">Before I left Nielsen Park I did manage a semi satisfactory bird photograph. Cindy Parker, if you're reading this I would appreciate an identification. I'm really hoping its a shag on a rock because I have the maturity of a thirteen year old.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuu2qqyNMysSb-mVEg99oO0j1DBLptj_nr3v2OYzmJqvSz9kuhXJkAAt6TUi0OufcxsSLcZaThaJjFO9B03448KBYLUkaVat9CFTOOEcUDqLXr5z1pI_1hApdZG8O9UAm7ggflP-akk1zZDlgnFTFGDbncNp7zLhwYYXQ4l1bc-MUQgyNoQsRxpFibeKk/s4608/IMG_5578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuu2qqyNMysSb-mVEg99oO0j1DBLptj_nr3v2OYzmJqvSz9kuhXJkAAt6TUi0OufcxsSLcZaThaJjFO9B03448KBYLUkaVat9CFTOOEcUDqLXr5z1pI_1hApdZG8O9UAm7ggflP-akk1zZDlgnFTFGDbncNp7zLhwYYXQ4l1bc-MUQgyNoQsRxpFibeKk/s320/IMG_5578.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An unidentified bird<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">From the park I could see my destination laid out before me. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeH538G68SakHHjQX4iFXIVNh6riRZNdq-uCyF6z0dDi6CZDvbUloQOg4IP9gBvmGO8D1rCUuISILlkdHSPtsAUjYHu8O25WGOdyiZKyA-hfzZy7x9HwvlBWnLQVOb2AjXE7Y38ZKmWNwpRQsQ2ijQPrPYosIlCLefWktqt9hF1Gn2E7fEYkgwQqZJsTU/s4608/IMG_5579.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeH538G68SakHHjQX4iFXIVNh6riRZNdq-uCyF6z0dDi6CZDvbUloQOg4IP9gBvmGO8D1rCUuISILlkdHSPtsAUjYHu8O25WGOdyiZKyA-hfzZy7x9HwvlBWnLQVOb2AjXE7Y38ZKmWNwpRQsQ2ijQPrPYosIlCLefWktqt9hF1Gn2E7fEYkgwQqZJsTU/s320/IMG_5579.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My destination, somewhat obscured by an inconveniently placed rock<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p style="text-align: left;">Unfortunately to get there would involve walking through Vaucluse. From now on my journey would be down suburban streets albeit somewhat high rent ones and therefore isn't particularly interesting. I did walk through the grounds of Vaucluse House, not for any specific reason, they were just in my way. Eventually I wound up in Watsons Bay where a ferry was very kindly waiting to cart me back to Circular Quay and my journey home.<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-27624850894230447192023-11-10T01:51:00.001-08:002023-11-10T01:51:28.494-08:00Invaded!<p>I fixed the serried ranks of stuffed plush toys with a gazed filled with cold fury. </p><p>"I am disgusted with the lot of you! Our home has been invaded! The sanctity of our domicile has been violated! And what did you lot do? Nothing! Just sat there like a bunch of stuffed..." my voice petered away in embarrassment.</p><p>"Oh keep going," invited the puffin. "Exactly what did we sit there like?"</p><p>"Look, I didn't mean,"</p><p>"Besides," interrupted the spider, "what did you want us to do? Copy your example and leap onto the table squealing like a girl?"</p><p>"I was startled."</p><p>"So was everyone else within a five kilometre radius. Do you know how penetrating your screams are?"</p><p>"Alright, look there are faults on both sides. Let's just agree to keep a closer eye on the perimeter in future."</p><p>"Perimeter? Do you mean the door?"</p><p>"Also the windows."</p><p>Yes there have been intruders in my little home. Not once, not twice but thrice in the last couple of weeks a pair of Indian mynahs have found their way into my flat and they are showing disturbing signs of settling down. On the occasions I have disturbed these feathery interlopers all of the cunning they displayed in entering my flat in the first place vanished and I had to watch them battering themselves to death on my windows until I got sick of the noise and opened a door. The final straw came this morning when I was woken up by something walking on me. Said something turned out to be the aforementioned mynah (or one that looked just like it) which managed to escape my shrieks of vengeance (or terror according to my stuffed animals) and flee the scene.</p><p>I'm normally pretty relaxed about animals wandering in and out of my house. My two rules are "no shedding" and "don't shit on the carpets or, by extension, the furniture, benchtops, bookshelves and television". The mynahs have broken these rules from the first day and so far show no signs of remorse.</p><p>Mynahs are listed among the world's 100 top invasive species (I'm assuming humans are pretty high up on that list as well) and seem to adapt to pretty much everywhere. They even live in Canberra for gods sake which isn't something I would do if you paid me. The latest place they are invading is my apartment.</p><p>Although they're called an "invasive" species it would be more accurate to state that they're an immigrant species. They didn't turn up by chance. As with most environmental accidents this one was largely self inflicted. Mynahs were introduced into Australia in an attempt to control insects and other pests. Seriously we've got to stop doing this, I'm not sure what we're going to have to introduce to control the mynahs but I'm suspecting that anything less than dragons would be a complete waste of time. Meanwhile the mynahs revel in the nickname "flying cane toads" after another ill advised attempt at biological pest control.</p><p>While I wait for the dragons to turn up I seem to have little alternative to hermetically sealing my apartment and bidding goodbye to fresh air for the duration. Multiple visits in a few weeks is obviously not a coincidence. At this point the mynahs probably think, not without reason, that I will die before they do thus leaving them free reign to occupy my apartment as they see fit. Meanwhile I'm organising my plush toys into an impromptu neighbourhood watch in the hopes that future incursions are driven off. Given their poor showing to date I'm not particularly hopeful.<br /></p><p><br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-14693413285654353492023-10-28T19:09:00.001-07:002023-10-28T19:15:36.719-07:00Silly After Action Report - The Narrow Front<p> Major Jubilation T Cornpone looked around as grim faced GIs moved purposely forward. Here and there teams struggled with flamethrowers and satchels of demolition charges. Ahead the semi ruined town, littered with suspicious looking question marks waited for them with an almost malevolent silence. Cornpone shouted encouraging words as he almost imperceptibly moved himself towards the rear. His subtle but inexorable progress was halted abruptly when he ran into the colonel. Cornpone raised his hands in surrender but swiftly changed one of them to a smart salute as recognition dawned.</p><p>"Not leaving us are you Cornpone?" asked the colonel, the good humour of the words belied by the acidic tone.</p><p>"No sir," lied Cornpone. "Just making sure everything is ready for the attack."</p><p>"Good to hear, what's your plan."<br /></p><p>Cornpone looked around in desperation. His troops appeared to be a little bunched up on the right and inspiration dawned.</p><p>"Attack down the right flank and circle round behind them."</p><p>"That could work," replied the colonel in some surprise. "Better get up there. They'll need their best officers at the front. And you might as well be there too."</p><p>"Yes sir," muttered Cornpone. </p><p>"By the way, have you got somebody reliable on the horn to the artillery?"</p><p>"Yes sir, he's my cousin."</p><p>"This must be some new definition of "reliable" I haven't encountered before. This is your last chance Cornpone, don't screw it up."</p><p>Cornpone saluted and very slowly made his way back towards the front.</p><p>"Today Cornpone!"</p><p>Cornpone increased his pace very slightly. The colonel's aide approached his superior.</p><p>"Is it really fair to sacrifice a good regiment just to try and get him killed sir?"</p><p>"I would happily sacrifice a division for the pleasure of seeing that idiot eat a German bullet."</p><p>And there you have my military career in a nutshell. Dave Wilson and I played ITR 19 - The Narrow Front which pitted elements of Roosevelt's SS - the 30th Infantry Division against the greyhounds of 116th Panzer. The 30th suffered from the distinct disadvantage of being commanded by me. The 116th in Dave's sure hands had no such handicap. My Americans are attempting to seize the city of Aachen the capital (insofar as it had one) of the Holy Roman Empire (insofar as there was one). Before Charlemagne's palace could be taken this little speed bump along the way had to be captured first. This is a straight out city fight as I have to go through or around a bunch of heavily armed Germans to capture three buildings somewhat in the rear. Standing in my way are buildings, rubble, debris, a dug in tank and quite a lot of heavily armed Germans.</p><p>To capture the three buildings I have a spectacularly impressive force. Twenty five firepower heavy American squads stand ready to do my bidding. Five second line, fifteen first line and five elite. Commanding them are a mighty 10-2 and five other officers. In addition to their small arms my force has two flamethrowers, three DCs, two .50cal machine guns, four medium machine guns and four bazookas. I also have a radio that connects me (at least in theory) with a battery of 100mm artillery. Lest this seem inadequate the colonel has dialled in armoured support in the form of three Stuart light tanks and two Shermans. This force is led by a 10-2 armour leader. Said armour leader can also hop out of his tank with a radio and guide the artillery should my other radio man prove to be out of place.</p><p>That it has to be said is an incredible amount of firepower. How could I fail to be successful? People familiar with my other AARs might not feel the need to read any further. Burrowed into the stone and rubble of this forlorn signpost on the road to Aachen are Dave's panzertruppen. He has seventeen squads; six elite, seven first line and four second line. They are commanded by five officers led by a not inconsequential 9-1. They have a heavy machine gun, two mediums, five lights and a panzerschreck. Dug into the rubble is a Panther tank, immobile but very heavily armoured. Arriving on turn three are a pair of very mobile PzIV tanks. Dave also has artillery in the form of an 80mm battery and a 75mm antitank gun. He also has twenty three concealment counters.<br /></p><p>Incidentally I feel morally obliged to give a shout out to Al Capp since I shamelessly appropriated the name of Dogpatch's very own military hero for my lead character.</p><p>Inspired by the name of the scenario I found the narrowest front I could identify and threw the bulk of my force at it.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwXgdXQDKTNmJ-FVJMgyq7gpwoshq75tVWcRYkj105NGezAnHZbcjg-3yM00seKZyupl0hhF6kNt3qvf78GlG0YIIoTH8B4dlPW-8qd7mCpAaY52v9dcC_vy3UAwxNh1aS-p6zUqep_xgvjWRkeUxdBbnm-R4OdulZ29wpGb2fa1RcV5HVSqxp31sjn8/s753/NarrowFront.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="753" data-original-width="590" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwXgdXQDKTNmJ-FVJMgyq7gpwoshq75tVWcRYkj105NGezAnHZbcjg-3yM00seKZyupl0hhF6kNt3qvf78GlG0YIIoTH8B4dlPW-8qd7mCpAaY52v9dcC_vy3UAwxNh1aS-p6zUqep_xgvjWRkeUxdBbnm-R4OdulZ29wpGb2fa1RcV5HVSqxp31sjn8/s320/NarrowFront.png" width="251" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At start set up<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">As you can see I set up the bulk of my force on the left to infiltrate their way down the left side of the board and circle into Dave's rear. Three of my tanks were also directed on this route. For the rest a 7-0 with the radio was on the first floor of a building in the centre and I had a line of squads staring across the road at their concealed opposite numbers. I would allocate them a Sherman in the hopes that it could throw some smoke to aid their advance (nope) and generally keep the troops opposite them occupied while I cleaned up his flank. To start with I hoped massed firepower would smash enough of his front line troops to help in my initial jump forward. I had deployed as many of my second line squads as I could to lead the charge and generally act as bullet magnets.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYmUEcRLDtBkr4FtkFUMBXFRedzXBNxzYuKRwOTvvqHDu1P_6ewEZkPjgHPEN3iMoH_YyYjtgTXyeyu7esMOKQm50Wt_P0zmw0bd9U7gZoy72vRi8DqjtHk1umlhKEtjL6YrtRPPnjoz7HDLIScKvl3Jvw-vA247JCj_PjTLAnFCDd0ugHB9RmTa1XMw/s959/NarrowFront1.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="959" data-original-width="889" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYmUEcRLDtBkr4FtkFUMBXFRedzXBNxzYuKRwOTvvqHDu1P_6ewEZkPjgHPEN3iMoH_YyYjtgTXyeyu7esMOKQm50Wt_P0zmw0bd9U7gZoy72vRi8DqjtHk1umlhKEtjL6YrtRPPnjoz7HDLIScKvl3Jvw-vA247JCj_PjTLAnFCDd0ugHB9RmTa1XMw/s320/NarrowFront1.png" width="297" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End American turn 1<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Thing didn't go too badly in the first turn despite malfing one of my flamethrowers on its first shot. Massed machine gun and rifle fire swept away a goodly part of the German front and my force pressed forwards. For just a brief moment it looked like the Cornpone Manoeuvre might work. Over on the right the position took the look it would retain for much of the remainder of the game with concealed German squads skulking back in their turn and advancing forward to present an unbroken wall of question marks. Casualties had been taken but this was war goddammit and bizarrely my 10-2 had not yet been killed by a sniper. Incidentally there isn't any palm debris, we just couldn't find regular debris counters.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I pushed along down his flank and also through the rubble hoping to gain some space to move. My narrow front strategy was causing serious traffic jams. I grabbed a couple of rubble hexes whereupon Dave revealed his dug in Panther directly in the path of my troops. A 9-1 officer and a pair of squads with mmgs fled after being subjected to 75mm fire, cowards. We both attempted to call in our artillery but the spotting rounds were spectacular in their inaccuracy and the god of war would spend most of his time drinking in the green room waiting for the call. </p><p style="text-align: left;">On the theory that it was better to get in close rather than sit under a rain of HE shells I plunged into CC with the Panther and its escorting squad. This battle would rage for a couple of turns and I would need to reinforce the melee to replace the troops shot to death by their opponents but eventually the cat went down and the mice danced in the streets, very briefly before fleeing a hail of bullets.</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFq8uWGQggK26Otk4zVMQRJ3-rcohbTyYV9djAn_oB-XqYuwpVOQ7nPjCwuMtKWLB2NE4ba_IaMeJZ-PvKqOhJj9j8JVxNl3lVwpGA0jHy63TMoTf-nc1I4EU1fNBGi2DB6kawkdU3RsttyODI_PtKaleFkryW8hQM9tJoJ8Egi6mCWz0T_iUoX8Bjs0/s868/NarrowFront3.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="868" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFq8uWGQggK26Otk4zVMQRJ3-rcohbTyYV9djAn_oB-XqYuwpVOQ7nPjCwuMtKWLB2NE4ba_IaMeJZ-PvKqOhJj9j8JVxNl3lVwpGA0jHy63TMoTf-nc1I4EU1fNBGi2DB6kawkdU3RsttyODI_PtKaleFkryW8hQM9tJoJ8Egi6mCWz0T_iUoX8Bjs0/s320/NarrowFront3.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of American turn 2. Look Mummy, I found a Panther<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p style="text-align: left;">With the Panther occupied brutalising the troops that had the temerity to advance into its hex I tried to move past it with my remaining force. Over on the right my Sherman stubbornly refused to find rounds for its smoke mortar. Move past I did and swung around to capture the first of the victory buildings. It sounds impressive but actually Dave was trading space for time, pulling back his troops in the building to thicken up his remaining defences. I had a moment of blind panic when Dave's sniper accurately targeted the hex containing my 10-2 but fortunately an 8-0 carrying a flamethrower was also in the hex and he bravely threw his body in front of his more valued colleague. Of course that did leave me with a virtually immobile flamethrower. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzFrQ36fvKIuzzZGyGC6CXWuWrThyPQHVOumH3lNQcOxjq2WcT08AfjQ81x-GRTmWWYoNUI8naOXLxdTi5hR7_-J_QM1glpCK8Msw2lMFwU2tJj2SIxBqwIVph2I98VTZsl22QzknbE0lVXFvggUzzcNW_cJQmqgmA5oewDUN2wEC1rYFSPyOAyXVnidk/s997/NarrowFront5.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="997" data-original-width="873" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzFrQ36fvKIuzzZGyGC6CXWuWrThyPQHVOumH3lNQcOxjq2WcT08AfjQ81x-GRTmWWYoNUI8naOXLxdTi5hR7_-J_QM1glpCK8Msw2lMFwU2tJj2SIxBqwIVph2I98VTZsl22QzknbE0lVXFvggUzzcNW_cJQmqgmA5oewDUN2wEC1rYFSPyOAyXVnidk/s320/NarrowFront5.png" width="280" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of American turn 3. I have captured the first victory building which is a mark of good tactics but not necessarily by me<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;"> My tanks broke the shackles and plunged southwards in preparation for the arrival of his PzIVs next turn. As has been obvious throughout my playing career I am hopeless with armour. I fully expected to lose every vehicle to his two PzIVs but hoped that by positioning my tanks in wait their destruction would at least delay the German armour hitting the flank of my attack. Up on the north east flank my solitary Sherman continued its parade of impotence by failing to find any WP rounds and settled into sullen quiescence. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Things didn't look too bad if you were of an optimistic persuasion. One of three victory buildings was mine. My flanking troops were queueing up to push forward and even the broken troops (whose numbers were growing) were starting to rally and come back into the fight. My 10-2 (surely not Major Cornpone) having acquired a concealment counter from somewhere was bringing his kill stack slowly forward encumbered as they were by the weight of their .50cals. I parked my Stuart with the 10-2 armour leader where it could menace Dave's new front line and Dave responded by promptly moving slightly to the rear.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The artillery took a coffee break as Dave managed to break both his radio and my radio operator. The god of war got out a deck of cards and started playing solitaire. With the artillery thus unsatisfactorily taken care of I moved forward. I parked a Sherman and a Stuart in anticipation of his armoured reinforcements and brought the other two Stuarts up to menace his building defenders after first dismounting the armour leader to take over radio operation duties. I needn't have bothered. That left the Sherman far to the north, tired of trying and failing to get smoke I decided to use it to trail my coat. I swung it around the corner keeping a couple of hexes away from his defenders and hoped to entice him into dropping concealment for a panzerfaust shot. I guess you could say I was successful. One German squad did indeed drop concealment, found a faust and promptly fried the Sherman despite firing at a moving vehicle at two hex range from inside a building. Finally my Sherman was producing smoke. In the next few turns it would produce fire as well. A halfsquad with a DC made it across the street but would get no further.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Down where the action was my wounded 8-0 dropped the flamethrower and hobbled forward to shout encouragement from the rear while more impressive leaders guided impressive looking stacks of question marks to the front.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLfEH7KlrLmGwewFiVccrREtHlLd_KCP3xJZfw6SS9n7xgF6XeILPytIW_obGNEYy0iok_99ItG0KbQnuPcUCo8Y08LkIl4Z5soi5nBABmpt2bk9CxozyWj57_A6h72LXz_S7uUk-JIeXM0myzzodkxcRWAv1ns-Ki6RHBN3Qqnhe4bKdDiQaiMUvEpJ0/s1029/NarrowFront7.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1029" data-original-width="854" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLfEH7KlrLmGwewFiVccrREtHlLd_KCP3xJZfw6SS9n7xgF6XeILPytIW_obGNEYy0iok_99ItG0KbQnuPcUCo8Y08LkIl4Z5soi5nBABmpt2bk9CxozyWj57_A6h72LXz_S7uUk-JIeXM0myzzodkxcRWAv1ns-Ki6RHBN3Qqnhe4bKdDiQaiMUvEpJ0/s320/NarrowFront7.png" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ring is slowly constricting<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I frequently bemoan my utter incompetence at using armour (while not actually doing anything to try and improve) but just on this one occasion the armour gods gazed benevolently upon my hapless flailings. Dave brought on his PzIVs circling one around behind my parked Stuart and sending the other to challenge it front on. The Stuart spun its turret round and killed the PzIV approaching from the rear while a combination of fire from it and the Sherman immobilised the other and sent the crew fleeing for the spurious safety of the outside where they were promptly broken. In one turn I had effectively destroyed Dave's armoured support. Which was good as things hadn't necessarily developed entirely in my favour elsewhere. Up in the North an ill advised attempt to rush across the street had resulted in ghastly casualties with the result that Dave actually managed to advance a unit forward in an attempt to destroy my position completely. This worked partially and the only reason why it didn't work completely is with most of the action happening in the South we kept on forgetting that the damn thing was there. My first attempt to test his victory building defences was thrown back in bloody rout but on the plus side I did learn where his 75mm gun (which I had completely forgotten about) was located.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWsmBSjnFPbzquZ6mcUJbn032Q2XvDMQNNq2HVPgHT_UOUHw8izBXHYFZfwPapfzR_S8CcMjP6IWdnvYzR_RcLDte7q-j1ZlpBC5sqZO7JhIvbN1o0qHPSl-8Qou38Ex0Schq0cy3zbA8JrXMXKGDP13oi_35Hp-E4nEaLYERCYL93WgYYIQHj61DZKU/s1153/NarrowFront8.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="866" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWsmBSjnFPbzquZ6mcUJbn032Q2XvDMQNNq2HVPgHT_UOUHw8izBXHYFZfwPapfzR_S8CcMjP6IWdnvYzR_RcLDte7q-j1ZlpBC5sqZO7JhIvbN1o0qHPSl-8Qou38Ex0Schq0cy3zbA8JrXMXKGDP13oi_35Hp-E4nEaLYERCYL93WgYYIQHj61DZKU/s320/NarrowFront8.png" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My brief moment of glory against Dave's armour (Don't look at the North)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I followed up my armoured triumph with an act of far more typical stupidity. Dave had advance a 9-1/mmg stack out into the street preparatory to pulling it back into the final victory building. I decided to risk a Stuart by rolling around and seeing if I could kill them in the street. It was foolish because I parked a hex or so away and tried shooting at them and Dave promptly fried them with a faust in defensive fire. Since I was committed to taking the risk I should have tried for an overrun but instead I lost a Stuart for no good purpose. In better news I had managed to break his hmg position which to be fair had threatened more than it produced and I seemed well placed for a final push against the second building. What could possibly go wrong? Oh yes, artillery.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovpoGLb7IQQ3FrhkkZj866zfniFe1JaUosz-l7dpEIyN7UWIBefUc0ll5HzTFwkjoFzceTW2j3zoGc7PGyvFOIKV538jb3d-gAbMDzc_PlQ6UtJ9emZ4ftlKx-3jsbihWhKLz1HMkwateDIQi-dqzv3SbpSyE5xICYIKvB-CyhjADjy4S5FC-tpLJSQs/s1117/NarrowFront9.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1117" data-original-width="878" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovpoGLb7IQQ3FrhkkZj866zfniFe1JaUosz-l7dpEIyN7UWIBefUc0ll5HzTFwkjoFzceTW2j3zoGc7PGyvFOIKV538jb3d-gAbMDzc_PlQ6UtJ9emZ4ftlKx-3jsbihWhKLz1HMkwateDIQi-dqzv3SbpSyE5xICYIKvB-CyhjADjy4S5FC-tpLJSQs/s320/NarrowFront9.png" width="252" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Despite having foolishly lost another tank things don't look too bad</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I had finally got my 10-2 led kill stack to where it could do some good and that plus my new flamethrower team in an adjoining hex obliterated his defences in the second victory building. In return Dave finally connected to his artillery and dropped 80mm HE down onto my troops and his surviving broken units alike. My troops in the building itself protected as they were by stout stone walls didn't suffer too much but the support troops moving up through the debris were shattered and fled the metal rain screaming. Oh wait a minute I was the one screaming, my troops fled in proud silence.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi70gUUIVO0LNC2Nhxc_i9oFkMyac2naKjQr-Ye18MnTQa5PZrFz_0fm85lNZXEKMOrllGfrcL56ygPIgMKG7NLugOm1s4HIANtm_xhqcbMGBdWaFryhwlQuUTpqv_e8YwoGDDWEuXcPRgEpyotlWjUK78nHZy4XOdO5TZNh6DGE6ix2pASer7U2gnOHYo/s573/NarrowFront11.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="444" data-original-width="573" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi70gUUIVO0LNC2Nhxc_i9oFkMyac2naKjQr-Ye18MnTQa5PZrFz_0fm85lNZXEKMOrllGfrcL56ygPIgMKG7NLugOm1s4HIANtm_xhqcbMGBdWaFryhwlQuUTpqv_e8YwoGDDWEuXcPRgEpyotlWjUK78nHZy4XOdO5TZNh6DGE6ix2pASer7U2gnOHYo/s320/NarrowFront11.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somebody woke up the artillery<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">This left me with a bit of a dilemma. I had a couple of decent kill stacks in the second victory building which was essentially mine (although it would take another turn or so to make it official) but I was now desperately short of troops to charge headfirst into fire to capture the third. Time was also on the point of running out. Dave had finally pulled his troops in the North back to reinforce the third and final victory building and the tattered remnants of my force up there followed at a respectful distance and tried to make it look like they were pursuing a beaten enemy.</p><p style="text-align: left;">So it all ended in the usual mad scramble as I attempted to make up for the time I had inadvertantly wasted. I actually thought out my attack carefully (something I should have done seven turns ago but still). I still had a lot of valuable assets and I used them all (except the artillery, I was now so close there wasn't any point. I had managed to chase off his radio operator and I had no desire to advance into my own 100mm fire).</p><p style="text-align: left;">My remaining Sherman covered itself in glory by figuring out how to work its smoke mortar blinding some of his defenders. My 10-2 stack (now with a green halfsquad in possession of a German hmg just for laughs) made it across the road and settled into the rubble. A Stuart defied the panzerfausts to sleaze some more defenders and then my flamethrower team and whatever remnants I could scrape up plunged into the cauldron. It all went disturbingly well. My flamethrower team broke their opponents and his troops in the smoke hex declined to wait for close combat. Dave was now clinging on to three hexes of the building and I had one turn to turf him out.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCfcKuyHNq72Glv5XGkYP3_1pvecf2FSq7-XmTbVDx-XHMkxvp_KQssGWIQqef6V8x1rQfjpEO7Wi1HvzMoOoj-H30TeFFF_8LRF_nPgNmfnql8_wKZKL6NhzyFaFKqoWWmAvL-zXGumABjBgU8YlID98ci1pAj5NnOrg0FjHUeKWCvwnbjXoyf0FFoU/s577/NarrowFront13.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="577" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCfcKuyHNq72Glv5XGkYP3_1pvecf2FSq7-XmTbVDx-XHMkxvp_KQssGWIQqef6V8x1rQfjpEO7Wi1HvzMoOoj-H30TeFFF_8LRF_nPgNmfnql8_wKZKL6NhzyFaFKqoWWmAvL-zXGumABjBgU8YlID98ci1pAj5NnOrg0FjHUeKWCvwnbjXoyf0FFoU/s320/NarrowFront13.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The final push begins<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr><tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption"><p><br /></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">In his turn Dave frantically filtered troops around the rear towards the victory building. I would like to say I stopped him or at least inconvenience him. It would be more accurate to say I watched him but I cared not for numbers. I had taken a bite out of the victory building and in my final turn I intended to swallow it whole. Well I almost did. My 10-2 led kill stack wiped out one group of defenders despite hindrances, concealment counters and stone rubble. Dave dropped an artillery mission on to his own head and broke the 10-2 but by that time the damage was done. I rammed a Stuart forward into the debris to cover any attempts by Dave to reinforce. Then I drove the other Stuart into another building hex to lock down his troops and pushed forward. Despite this it all ended slightly tamely. I cleared out a couple of hexes and wound up in melee in the third but the deciding moment came in the hex with the tank in it. His boys ambushed me and promptly withdrew thus assuring themselves of a building location that I had no further time to capture.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLiveslzrjR3p-DUp1s5Xq8VBDr9DfJ7X6mpNtSlTbZ32sa_9LkZtdBb_m9lVd_ehW6Vhxwjz6a0zmjR_0NQlH1OWCbm8aOpL0WSbHfDtkY-9n0zNkbQeaImVc0P1QiK3fifoXThnrjdetmDYqvkngmvGjtOjKWg3_WC3ldyJHH8zRE0SLAlIc7bKxSsE/s592/NarrowFront15.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="592" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLiveslzrjR3p-DUp1s5Xq8VBDr9DfJ7X6mpNtSlTbZ32sa_9LkZtdBb_m9lVd_ehW6Vhxwjz6a0zmjR_0NQlH1OWCbm8aOpL0WSbHfDtkY-9n0zNkbQeaImVc0P1QiK3fifoXThnrjdetmDYqvkngmvGjtOjKWg3_WC3ldyJHH8zRE0SLAlIc7bKxSsE/s320/NarrowFront15.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Endgame, not quite good enough<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">So I stumbled at the final hurdle. Those who know me will be astonished that I reached the final hurdle, I was a little surprised myself to be honest. Dave played a canny game delaying me just enough but always withdrawing before I could bring my firepower to bear until he didn't have a choice. As for me, well it certainly wasn't the worst game I've ever played. Grotesque mistakes were few (ordinary mistakes were far more prevalent) and I don't think my initial plan was a bad one. Many thanks to Dave for the game and can I just say how much we are enjoying playing the ITR scenarios. They always seem to produce a great game regardless of outcome.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"It is with deep sorrow that I must report the death of Major Cornpone who fell at the head of his troops. His loss will be felt by the entire regiment and his noble sacrifice will inspire others to final victory. I can only hope that when the entire division hears of this loss they will be as motivated as I am this day." The colonel finished reading and looked up, "What do you think?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"It's very nice," said Major Cornpone, "but I'm still alive."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Yes," replied the colonel with a smile best described as carnivorous, "about that."<br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049582830664898354.post-82957481715299283622023-10-20T22:34:00.001-07:002023-10-20T22:34:14.918-07:00I Never Learn<p> Consciousness crawled slowly and somewhat reluctantly back into my body, made a few disparaging remarks about the furniture and finally settled down. I opened an eye, I was lying face down on the carpet. My carpet didn't look any better at close range than it did from a distance. I became vaguely aware of voices in the background.</p><p>"Is he dead?" asked the platypus with what seemed like genuine concern.</p><p>"If he is I want his shoes," said the puffin.</p><p>"He's not dead," replied the plague doctor. "If he was I would have removed his eyeballs."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Don't you have a hobby?"</p><p>"Should we help him?" asked the spider.</p><p>I suddenly became aware of some suspicious mechanical noises.</p><p>"Already on it," replied the plague doctor. "Behold, my mechanical leech inserter."</p><p>I heaved myself up off the floor. Actually I heaved myself about eighteen inches above the floor before flopping back with a whimper of pain but it was enough to give them pause. The puffin even stopped tugging on my boot.</p><p>"Keep that thing away from me," I rasped. My throat was dry and every muscle in my body ached. The plague doctor looked a little disappointed.</p><p>"Are you sure? I've been wanting to test this for ages."</p><p>"I have never been more certain of anything in my life."</p><p>"You look like shit," said the puffin, not offensively just making a statement.</p><p>Slowly I dragged myself up into a sitting position.</p><p>"I've been playing soccer," I explained.</p><p>Understanding nods came from the plush toys.</p><p>Yes, I've been playing soccer. People who have read this blog for a while will know that I used to play corporate soccer in my lunch break with a team of people from work. Those readers will also know that I was quite spectacularly bad at it. Then covid hit and suddenly gathering people together in a relatively small area was frowned upon. Once we all got over worrying about that I got cancer and what with one thing and another it has been several years since I dragged a team t-shirt over my flabby body and stumbled down to the Domain to shame the traditions of football with my presence.</p><p> Now however eager young colleagues have presented themselves as hungry for football and because my commonsense was apparently removed along with my prostate I decided to go with them. I hadn't got any fitter in the intervening time and indeed an argument could be made for saying that I was in worse shape than ever. The roster of available players was long and I thought I could just trot on and stumble around for a couple of minutes before waving to a substitute to drag my exhausted body off the field. Naturally when the time came for the game we had barely enough players to make a team and there were no substitutes available for anybody.</p><p>Onto the Domains battered and somewhat lumpy grass I trotted and we faced down a team replete with replacements. My colleagues played well, indeed they greatly impressed. At least they greatly impressed me. For my part I gasped and staggered and did my best not to throw up on the ball. The only thing I impressed was the grass when I lay down on it and prayed for death. Sadly the gods I worship have already proven they can get a lot more malicious amusement out of keeping me alive. I waved my foot at the ball and occasionally hit it which I consider a personal triumph.</p><p>Now a couple of days later my body is extracting revenge for my inflicting the horrors of exercise upon it. Stiffness has beset all of the parts of my body except one (work it out) and pain and general misery is my lot. Still I drag myself around if only because experience has taught me that it is better not to spend too long immobile in the company of my plush toy room mates. The puffin has a distinctly predatory gleam in its eyes when it looks at me lately and even the platypus seems to be calculating the odds as to whether its better to keep me alive or just let me go.</p><p>There's another match next Tuesday and I hope to be fit for it, by "fit" I mean "alive", but after that I'm going to have to book some massage to ease the aches in my body. I suppose if that doesn't work there's always the mechanical leech inserter.<br /></p><p> <br /></p>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03028992868803145056noreply@blogger.com0