Day Five: Red Jacket to Fiddler’s Green – “Lucky Stars”

The day starts when it is still night.  I rise at 2am to check out the stars, and it’s definitely more than five-star accommodation tonight.  I begin counting the lucky stars and I lose count at about one thousand and three.  Nice number for a mailbox, I think, but no need for that out here.  I see the Southern Cross and I use my long-lost bush skills to confirm that it is 1am.  The daylight saving clock doesn’t really work at night, I think.  In any case the stars are timeless, I think.   I reflect that it is rather ironic to use something timeless to measure time.  I try to get a few more hours rest, but the clear sky encrusted with stars is just too mysterious to allow it.  Sometimes life’s to mysterious to take too serious……ly.

Track marker after fire.

I have a quick breakfast and get underway up the hill.  The vegetation has suffered the effects of fire, and some of the track markers have also suffered attrition.  Most of them got lucky, though.

Half-way up the hill I come across half a horseshoe.  Half my luck I think.  It’s a clear sign that luck is all around.  Not sure what the horse thought at the time, though.

Half a horseshoe, half my luck.

I am stumped when I see a tree stump completely burnt-out.  I hope not to feel completely burnt-out at the end of today after a steep climb up the Victor Spur.  I am feeling lucky that I won’t.

I see a tree that has managed to maintain a laugh, despite being ravaged by the bushfires.  The look is encouraging.  It spurs me on further up the Victor Spur.  It is hot, but I am feeling victorious as I near the top.

The last few kilometres to Fiddler’s Green are easy walking along a vehicle track.  There is a monument to the survey crew who ventured this way many years prior.  The track also leads back to an old-fashioned shack.  The road is corrugated, and so is the tin shack.  Nature is full of strange co-incidences, too.

My subconscious is still at work, seeking out objects which look like snakes.  It finds a cast-iron S-hook.  Non-venomous, I think.   Later on the subconscious actually finds a big black snake on the track, so the Humour Stick has work to do again, and it humours the snake away into the leaf litter.  Lucky, I think that one was venomous.

I reach the top of a hill.  It doesn’t appear too green, as a result of someone fiddling about with the topography and creating a helipad.   But I’m willing to hang my hat on this being Fiddler’s Green.  I factor in that it is jest a hat, but I hang my jester hat on the post, and I post this fact with a message to the rendezvous team.  I realise don’t speak French, and this ends another instalment of the AH-HA walk.

Author: Andrew Watkins, The Adventure Capitalist

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