Scots Dreaming

20th April : By the moonlight Bonny Hill'd make any true Scot long for the sound of the pipes. These wet nights have made it hard to sleep my swag dry. Crossed paths with a mate Cassie.

Letter : walking amongst the morning Pacific highway traffic, suddenly I had a sense to look for a dry resting place. Minutes later the skies opened up catching me exposed. The days have been fine with nights of showers. According t locals this is common seasonal climate behaviour.

As I walk along a gravel road through a town called 'Coralville' I notice it's common for people to own a number of watchdogs. Standard procedure is to chain them to a stake on the property frontage next to a sign which claims 'dogs bite' and 'survivors are shot'. Most swaggies report loss of breath and a feeling of relief immediately after making it to the outskirts of this town.

When you're past Coralville you're in National Park. On these back roads you don't expect to pass other walkers, but I did. You don't expect for someone to ffer you lunch, cake and other sweeties...but it happened! My friend Cassie, on a women's international peace walk, just materialised on the side of the road, as if she'd been waiting there to provide me with lunch, it was akin to an oasis. with the good company and good food my moods were bolstered immediately. They were amused by something in my explanation of my diet of vegemite and salt sandwiches. They sent me away with some sort of white powder called 'supplement'. I tried to explain how the swaggies of the day just lived on damper, probably vegemiteless too!

The moodiness I've been feeling is probably a result of making my diet almost as limited as a traditional swaggie's , no doubt with the same results in emotional outlook. With such a limited variety of food I have been able to distinguish the effects of certain foods that I only taste infrequently. It's helpful to know how food affects me.

Swaggie

21st April : Cassie is walking with a group to the capital. They fed me some exotic things like cheese and cake. The ocean crashes nearby. Thanks to all the well wishing messages.

Letter : As I sit in the Macquarie Hotel I recall a day of characters. I was walking along lighthouse beach when I saw up ahead something that made me rub my eyes and think that maybe I'd been hammered a little too hard by the surf earlier. Maybe it could be horses but not... it was! Camels! Four of them lead by a handler, a hat wearing old bushy with a grey, wild, beard. After a yarn the incident left me thinking about my travelling options in a new light.

Later as I walked by some National Park bushland I took a quick break to check out a lookout. On the edge of this cliff was a fella waiting for the wind to pick up. On the ground lay his paraglider, ready for launch. We had a chat that ended up about climate change. No-one can prove the effects of the climate change as much as a drunk will blame any ailment on the booze. But regardless of the proof, we can all do more to err on the side of caution to cover all our bases.

He suited up and jumped off the cliff into the trusty updraft as I began chatting to an old fella who had just arrived at the Lookout. In the army, before motorised transport, he said, a soldier was expected to march 40 miles a day. (70km in the new currency). Soon I was walking towards Port Macquarie and calculating the numbers. It became apparent that this 40 mile a day was probably subject to exaggeration. Furthermore, it was probably exaggerated to him in the first place.

Wednesday night has turned into a somewhat boisterous occasion in this hotel. It's looking to be time to find where I'm sleeping tonight. Hopefully somewhere dry, about 70-80 miles from where I was last night. Maybe in a place where I can't see the 'No Camping' sign until morning light. ( Like I did this morning)

Swaggie

22nd April : I'm in Port Macquarie writing letters dear followers, and I'm having a beer into the bargain : ) I've been chatting with a camel man on the beach today. When I walked into Port Macquarie I took a small detour to Harry's Lookout, admired the timber benches and talked with a paraglider who was waiting for enough wind to lift him up.