Bumbling along the Bibbulum Track

Time to step it up a notch. Kids were getting soft. I felt like I had no more challenges left having finally got the generator running so that our neighbours in Parry Beach didn't think we were a pure Land Rover Discovery / new caravan / glamping stereotype. As the gentle drone of the Honda 2.0 merged with that of the mosquitos, Sara and I devised a devious plan to exhaust our children once and for all. We decided to do an overnight hike on the Bibbulum Track. 12k in, 12 k out. Kids carrying their sleeping bags, mats, clothes and water. That should shut them up a bit.

We told anyone we met we were going away on an overnight hike. We left them with the names and numbers of who to contact in the event we didn't return and were lost in the Tingle forest somewhere. Our wills were brought up to date, and we loaded up the packs with enough food to feed a Plowman for a month. Figured it might just last our mob a day and a half.

Ned and Ivy on the trail

Ivy looking at something very  tall

At 10:15 we were loaded up, and left the treetop walk carpark ready to hike the 12 kilometres to Frankland Hut. The kids flew over the rough ground, ignoring the sword grass as it sliced at their ankles. Ned must have been able to get 400 metres along the path before his shorts fell down. A stop was mandated, and after 25 minutes we slumped to the ground to a frenzy of moans about aching shoulders and hips. Not much changed over the next six hours. At one point we suggested Ned hike in the nude. Ivy stopped every three metres to pick up a rainbow leaf, or to spike bark with her pointy walking stick. El Dithero cruised lethargically at the front, then the middle, then the back of the pack, spouting reams of information about stuff he'd made up, and reciting the lyrics to “White and Nerdy". Sara handed out snake lollies from her never-ending supply bag. I helped raise morale by singing original songs about Tingle trees, which is surely the best name ever given to a knarled, 400 year old, stringy barked eucalypt with a massive butt(ress).

Waterhole at Frankland Hut

When Frankland Hut came into view all bets were off. Like Cyril Rioli on the wing in the 2008 Grand Final, the kids surged to the line. Nathalie was waiting for us. She'd got to the hut three hours earlier. She'd set up her tent and listened to the frogs amidst silence of the forest. She moved her tent further away from the hut within 10 minutes of our arrival. Nathalie is from Belgium and speaks with a disconcerting Euro-American accent. Three years ago she left Belgium to travel for a year. She returned after that time, sold everything, and has been travelling ever since much to the consternation of her friends and family. We learnt a lot about Nathalie. She didn't learn much about us, but did discuss farting with the kids which made her an instant hit.

All the boys had a swim in the river before we ate. The girls stayed on the bank, marveling in their warm clothes at our icy, chiseled physiques. There was no wind, and the tannin stained water reflected the surrounding Tingle and Karri trees. Oli again managed not to get his hair wet. I hate to think what is living inside that blonde mess. Dinner meant I could offload the precooked pasta salad. It disappeared within 7 minutes tops. We'd expected the kids to crash, but they put on one of the best displays of mania I have ever witnessed. The rest of the night was uneventful. We weren't woken by rats or the resident possum, but Ned's snoring snuffles, and the rumbles as he rolled from one end of the hut to the other made for a restless evening.

Lunch stop in Tingle trees

We woke to rain, misting at first, then torrential. Captain Sensible's last minute plan to pack raincoats proved wise. There were more grumbles today also. Ned admitted to feeling miserable, however when Sara finally sorted his clothing malfunction issue out, his and our day changed for the better. We got back to the car in 4 and a ½ hours. Collar bones worn down by straps, and with her hips creaking like Jocy's, Sara almost bought a coffee from a machine. I was able to reverse this foolish notion, and instead we headed to an ordinary bakery in nearby Walpole and made ourselves sick on $60.40c of pies, doughnuts, flavoured milk, and coffee.

All in all, it was a massive success. The kids were champions, and hardly complained unless they had significant justification eg Ned's shorts. They were happy to finish, as were Sara and I, but it won't be difficult to convince them to do it again. A return to our impoverished neighbours at Parry's Beach ($10 per night, $50 per week, 3 week max stay) saw that the Linton's had caught up to us! The generator fired up, the campfire was lit, and as our walking sticks burned we caught up on the minutiae that is life on the road.

H

In formation

Finished