When we were away on holidays at my Nan’s place in Laurieton – 5 hours north of Sydney, my father had his sights set on trekking down North Brother Mountain (image inset). He’d planned it for what seemed weeks.
‘It’s gonna be a real adventure.’
‘When did we last have one of those?’
‘Kids, huh what do you say?’
His unbridled enthusiasm matched those of Clark Griswald. He may has well have heralded ‘Wally world, here we come!’
So we set out on our ‘family of four’ adventure and tore and pushed our way through the recalcitrant rain forest scrub on our way down the steep, uneven terrain. For sixty clenched minutes we were pushing through what seemed a living wall of flies, gullies, undergrowth and ferns which kept smacking us in the chops. Fine scratches covered the back of our hands. Then came the rustling and tickling feel of…
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