When Lost, Strike a Pose

Being really athletic and outdoorsy people, who wear gratuitous lycra and look awesome in it, my friend Karin and I arranged an early-morning bushwalk on the weekend.

Nothing too taxing – just a quick 5km walk from Wahroonga to Bobbin Head.  I’d been told it was really easy – all downhill and you just have to stick to the fire trail, following the creek.

How hard could it be?

You know what’s coming, don’t you?  I don’t know why I’m even bothering to finish this post, it’s so obvious we got lost that you can stop reading right now.  You could make yourself a cup of tea, learn Spanish or roll your socks into pairs instead.

Alright, you’re still here and I’m committed so I’ll keep going. “Lost” is a strong word though, so I’ll just say “our exact whereabouts were in question.”

Anyway, we started the walk and was all going so well.  The track was obvious.  Suddenly, the track disappeared.  It was a bit like magic except nothing at all like magic.

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We scrambled over slippery rocks and inched our way along the creekbed.   We knew we’d somehow lost the track but we didn’t fancy back-tracking.  Besides, we had a bag full of chocolate (it was a huge 5km walk, after all) and for the first time in a long time, I was walking with Karin and not getting a leach somewhere on my person.  It was a great day.

Sure, we lamented not having a map and compass.  But then, neither of us can use a map or compass with any degree of confidence.  So you could argue that we were better off carrying chocolate – which we were – clever!

And what do you do when you’re lost in the bush?  You have a photo shoot.

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Here is Karin, doing a great job looking lost and frightened.

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Another shitty Winter’s day in Sydney.

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My bump! With a star burst! Clearly this is indicative of a truly enigmatic child.

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I took this as proof that the track really did disappear. Here is Karin, looking for it.

Sliding along the creek rocks on our arses wasn’t working for us at all.  We found a track that went straight up a hill, so we decided to climb.  Did I mention Karin has the legs of a gazelle?  So while she raced up the hill with the agility of a mountain goat, I lagged behind like a rock-climbing hamster.  My legs are still sore.

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Catching my breath, while pretending I don’t need to.

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We made it!!

Karin’s sense of direction is better than mine, which isn’t saying much, and before long we found ourselves walking home.  Seriously late.  And sore.  And tired.

But laughing.  And feeling pretty lucky to have access to such a beautiful, yet unreliable, trail right on our doorstep.

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