The Rainforest Journal: Outing #19 – Day 2

(Saturday 24-January-2015)



Though I didn’t much feel like it, today I had to walk the ~6km round trip to get my water bottles filled. Coming down yesterday I only had one empty juice bottle and that’s only good till the next morning.

No Wallabies, no lizards, no Echidna, no animals at all were spotted on the way down this time and it’s probably a lot to do with the fucksticks in tractors excavating the entire fire trail.

At the creek I quickly get my water bottles filled. I like to get that done while nobody’s around so I know it’s, well, done, and I can just relax in the knowledge that all I have to do is grab the pack and go when I’m ready. While filling the last two bottles – crouched-down at the water – I hear people talking as they walk down the fire trail towards the creek, and before you know it they’ve stopped on the road just above the creek and looked down at me, greeting me with a, “Hello”. A husband and wife combo.

“Yo”, I reply, “Mornin’.”

I give them a quick glance-over while capping my second last bottle. They’re old farts – easily in their 60s – and the husband is dripping sweat. They’re Australian tourists: decked from head-to-toe in Gore-Tex, stupid, matching cutesy daypacks, and those ridiculous walking sticks – one in each hand, the both of them.

So this is what a wealthy retirement looks like.

“Bit warm today.”, I say while looking down at my last empty bottle underwater – carefully directing the container’s opening to below the stream of water falling through the air.

“Yeah it’s quite hot today. Surprising. Quite hot. “, the old guy responds.


He continues – in the chipperest tone he can manage while gasping for breath, “We just came down from Leura, it’s a great walk. Great walk.”

I cap the last bottle then take the few steps up to my bag and put the two – freshly filled along with the other three – into my pack, “Yeah, I’m more into the nature than the fitness, myself. If there’s no reason to walk why waste the energy?”

They both laugh awkwardly. A forced, fake laugh.

“Where’d you come from? Down Wentworth Falls Way?”, the old man asks.

“Nah,.. Katoomba I came from.”

“Oh I didn’t know there was a way down from there? Where abouts are you headed back up or. ..?”


“Nah back down I’m going; once I’ve finished sweating. “

“ooh you just off for a daywalk then?”

A ‘daywalk’ pfft gimme a fuckin break. Stupid Pensioner.

“No. No I’m, camping down here.”

Then, like they all do, he goes and asks me the one question that really gets my hackles up.

“Oh yeah where abouts’re you camping?”

Now, don’t get me wrong this old couple were perfectly harmless. I would wager a stiff breeze could blow them over but why do people always want to know where you camp? Or why, more importantly, do they think anyone would be cool with telling them?

“Yeah, pft”, I open my hands and ask them both, “..I don’t even tell my own Mother where I camp, what’ya think the odds are I’ll tell you? “

They look at me for a moment, like I’m some kinda fucking fugitive criminal, then raise their eyebrows for just a moment then mumble something like, “Fair enough. I guess.”, then, “We’d better get going then.”

And that was that, they turn and start walking away down the trail, as I yell out, “Have a good one though!”

Fucking stupid tourists.

I wash my face and drink as much fresh creek water as I can, then give them about another half hour to drag their saggy, Gore-Tex adorned arses down the trail before grabbing my pack, strapping it on and heading that way myself.

Soon after arriving back at camp I hear thunder and – seeing thick, dark clouds to the west – decide to hang outside a minute and watch it approach. It was still a good distance off, but the thunder was regular and the clouds where like a massive wall of dark grey.

I’m standing there watching this storm-front move in when I feel something hit my left shoulder. Felt like a huge drop of water, so I look up and there’s nothin above me but blue sky and trees. ‘Bird shit’, I think to myself, but upon checking my shoulder I find my t-shirt is clean.

Moments later I large huntsman hanging from a strand of silk abseils from my elbow to the ground, scurries a few feet and then stops.

His my shoulder with a *PAT*, scurries across my back, down my other arm then down my other am before bungy-jumping to the ground from my elbow; and this didn't bother me at all.

Hits my shoulder with a *PAT*, scurries across my back, down my other arm before bungy-jumping to the ground from my elbow; and this *did not* bother me at all! How weird is that?

Strangest thing really was that it didn’t bother me at all; I walked over to the tent, reached in to grab my camera then went and took some snaps of it.

What once would’ve made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, now just seems like another amusing happening in the bush. I guess the paranoia of Funnel-Webs has made every other spider seem just not that scary anymore *shrug*.

The Possums came out tonight, but I didn’t take any photos since none ventured inside the tent so I didn’t see any point. I don’t think I took any photos – anywhere – today, for that matter. Oh well. Whatevz.

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