Every autumn, Dad and Mum picked berries while my brother and I, with our sieves, fished for yabbies and tadpoles. Once caught, we placed them in our glass jars to take home as pets. I liked to watch my tadpoles slowly turn into frogs, if they didn’t die or get eaten by our cats first.Read more "Exploring Adelaide Hills"
I think the water reflecting the sky, all silver, the people on the wet sand, a mirror, swaying and twisting for cockles captured my attention. I’d been there, on the glassy surface, watching for bubbles, grinding my heel into the bog, feeling for the sharp edges of shell and plucking out the cockles that snapped shut when exposed to air.Read more "Fantastic Fleurieu–Goolwa"
Koalas, if there were any, remained hidden. Mating season over, cold day, and these marsupials preferred to hide in lofty gum trees, getting high on eucalyptus leaves and sleeping. The Swiss visitors then set their hopes on seeing koalas in the wild at Morialta. Perhaps Morialta koalas are more sociable.Read more "The Fantastic Fleurieu"
I caught up to the fellers who lingered at the base of these three adjoining cliffs near a small rock-hole. We marvelled at the chasm, and the steady stream of tourists like ants trailing along the edge of the cliffs above.Read more "Trekking With the T-Team: Kings Canyon"
By mid-morning, the novelty of a good night’s sleep (after none the previous night: deflated mattress, Mr. K snoring, the pitter-patter of rain and rustling of animals near the tent), had worn off and the war against the invasion of little black flies had taken over.Read more "Trekking With the T-Ks (2)"
After parking, Mr K leapt from the car. ‘Oh, looks like rain.’ He ripped out the “raincoats” and waved them in the air. ‘Come on boys, you need to be waterproof.’
Son 1 recoiled. ‘I’m not wearing that.’
‘No!’ Son 2 screamed and hid behind me.
‘Oh, yes, you will!’ Mr K said. ‘You’ll get wet and a chill and then catch a death of cold, if you don’t.’
‘No!’ both boys squealed and then scampered up the path.
A battle ensued; Mr K with garbage bag-ponchos verses sons refusing to wear the garbage bags.
I knew this wind meant business, dangerous business. I rushed to Dad and told him the whole story—the wind, the sparks, the wild fire, and my little blue bowl.
‘What campfire?’ Dad smacked his lips, yawned and turned over.