Much like our recent Victorian rock climbing trip was prompted by a teaching commitment, I’m now ‘home alone’ after some time in Tasmania.
Sarah and Bryn are still there – with (maybe) a tale to tell of their own. In the few days we had as a three-some he was having a word explosion, so there may be a myriad more when I see them again in too long a time.
For now, some random but connected photos to give a flavour:
So, your parents camp at the end of winding 4WD track in amongst the she-oaks, not to far from the top of a precipitous cliff; and all you’re interested in is the rather intriguing trailer hitch of their camp-neighbours….
He did manage to ingratiate himself with another not-quite-so-young camper. To the extent that he later presented her with a pile of storybooks to read to him. Automatic assumption of good intent is winning tactic it appears
One of Bryn’s more practical Christmas presents is ostensibly aimed at enabling him to follow us up rock faces. In reality, stopping him taking a running dive into the whitewater is a handy secondary function
Very cool :-)
Getting them to stay on isn’t as easy as it’s felt it should be.
Temperatures passing 30 celcius one afternoon sent us scurrying swimming-wards. Heading back to camp is a fair bit faster when the over-inquisitive are carried.
Whitewater Wall – seacliff granite. In this mood, not the most child-friendly
Though exploring the car is a suitable distraction
Ian, Kate and Hamish’s farm is many of the things we’ve thought much about
Including the rather fine guest accommodation
The main house’s half buried in kitchen garden
Looking beyond the orchard to pastures steep and very well appointed with views.
Meanwhile, I’m back here bearing the afternoon headwinds while Sarah and Bryn adventure-on, and the kite-surfers seem to be having much fun