This is Zen-master Chris McMahon producing orange mind bullets (with which he can kill a yak and 50 paces) up on Mount Strzelecki. The Master has learned to suppress his beard by the sheer force of mental will, and subsists entirely on wild tasmanian pepper, brought to him by galahs and cockatoos. ;-)
You can tell what effect the gallumph up the steep trail in the brief mesh of sunlight and cloud (instead of rain - which we'd had most of the morning with three energetic youngsers in the house)
They ran up the trail past the rainfull stream
Which was frothing - first heavy rains and lots of new material from the wet wild woods - the organic matter and splashing stream made bubble-baths fit for Bridgette Bardot to reach a langourous arm out of (or frozen arm out of). Actually as the water was the colour of pale ale I kept wondering if a beer truck had had an accident on the looming granite heights of the mountain (there is no road, so the driver must have been 'inspired'.
Mt Strezelecki is a deeply spiritual place though. A good place to find peace. And the rain which we came pelting down from it in.
We did our first Island evening Barbie over at John's place, getting to meet a few more people, with the usual "You're the South Africans at John's place, Right. Heard about you." It was - as these things go, where you're the only strangers - a very easy and friendly evening. I cooked snags and mutton chops and mutton-birds. The chat with Mick - who only has another 24 years to go with being an islander about the diving and food, tasting the wine made next door (which really is good), the chirp about Marcus spreading all the super (fertiliser) by hand because he was too tough for machines... it was good. A long, long way from SA where talk always settles on politics.
But they barbeque on gas. Humph. That's for the kind of berks who live in Sandton and not for real people who live out here (we burned the black stump...). (mind you with the wind here and we hadn't at that stage had much rain).