Our Aussie Adventures

We managed to sleep long enough this morning to miss the frost thankfully, although the thermometer was still showing the current temperature as being in the single digits. Cold enough we thought, to see us donning thick wooly jumpers for our morning promenade with the dogs. It actually turned out to feel somewhat warmer than indicated, the sun streaming down, giving the morning a delicious balminess.

It was not long after our awakening that we were firing up ‘The Beast’ for the short drive into the centre of Alice Springs, where the allure of the Sunday Todd Mall Market beckoned. Avid market goers, we lapped up the atmosphere of the bustling thoroughfare, crowded with jostling shoppers all trying to get a look at the wares on offer, each side of the mall was resplendent with trestle tables, gaudy gazebos and diminutive caravans, selling all manner of craftily fashioned goods. If it was a beady trinket, a hand knitted beanie, a sparkly piece of costume jewelry you were after, it was all here. Then there was the food. From all corners of the globe, every cuisine you could imagine was being prepared in the miniscule kitchens in the tiny little caravans, right before your very eyes. The smells wafting through the mall were enough to set our tummies growling, our mouths watering.

Off To…

…Market.

We spent about an hour, wandering slowly up and down the street, taking it all in. We did try to purchase a heavy loaf of home made bread, but were out of luck, as the last loaf was sold almost right from under our noses.

On the way back to the caravan, as well as stopping at the shopping centre where an alternate loaf of leavened dough was sourced, we called in at the Araluen Cultural Centre, where there is a co-operative craft store that Bec has seen advertised on the television. Despite their promise of being open on a Sunday, we were once again stymied in our desires, as today they were most positively closed. Until later this afternoon at least that is. We will make the trip back tomorrow instead.

I then dropped Bec off at the caravan park. She had given me the afternoon to do whatever it was that I wanted. I was sure that there was an ulterior motive behind this, but who was I to complain. So, with a pocket full of cash and a leave pass from the missus, I did what any good red-blooded male would do when in Alice Springs. I went looking for a truck. And I got more than I bargained for. At the Alice Springs Transport Hall of Fame, a museum dedicated to all things trucking, where as the advert says, “Come for the day, leave with a lifetime of memories”. Well I can tell you, I left with a lifetime of memories for sure, spread across four different cameras just so there was no chance of missing a thing.

I wandered around for a couple of hours, marveling at the Kenworth Dealers Hall of Fame, where there was hulking big Kenworths from the very first Australian built rig to carry the ‘KW’ logo, the one of only 50 special edition models released just last year. As I looked on agog, an old timer wearing the patch of a museum volunteer gruffly coughed “You wanna see a nice truck son? Come with me.” I followed him towards the end of the hall, where the very first Aussie Kenworth proudly held court, me thinking ‘Yep, I know all about that one’. But no, we bypassed it, moving past, towards a small access door plastered with warning signs to ‘keep out’. The old timer slid a key into the lock and threw the door open for me. A giant warehouse opened up beyond the portal, spotlessly clean, the fresh paint still smelled wet. Lit by banks of bright overhead lights a sterile feel fell over the wide open space. It was another 50 yard walk to reach the sole denizen, a new acquisition by the museum, this truck had not even officially gone on display yet. A grimy old red and white Kenworth cab over cattle truck. With dual steers, it was the epitome of lavishness in its day, capable of hauling 41 head of cattle on the rigid tray, as well as dragging three trailers of similar bulk. While not my favourite display, I couldn’t get over the reverence with which the old-timer spoke of the rig, his pride of his position evident.

The Road Transport Hall Of Fame.

After being led back out into the main display, I continued fawning over the rigs, big and small, old and new, restored and unrestored, spread out over what felt like acres. A lifetime of memories indeed, sat right here in these yards and buildings in various states of disrepair, I was thankful for a change that Bec had decided against accompanying me. She would have been bored before we got past the entrance hall.

I finally bid farewell to the depository of trucking memorabilia, hurtling back to the caravan in ‘The Beast’, pretending like a small child that I was at the wheel of a colossal Kenworth, the four lengthy trailers of a road train trailing along behind me.

Upon my return to the caravan, I found that Bec did indeed had an ulteria motive in sending me off on my lonesome, as she had given the inside of the van a clean, from top to bottom. All of the hard surfaces had been scrubbed. The soft had been brushed (including the now sleek looking dogs). Wet laundry was strung up outside in the sun to dry, while all the dishes had been scoured and put back in their rightful places. So busy had she been that she was only just sitting down to lunch as I returned. As for me, I had to make my own sandwiches for lunch!

We whiled away the balance of the beautiful afternoon relaxing tranquilly in the annexe, the canvas shades rolled up to allow a fresh breeze to flow through the screened windows. We stayed thus until the dinner bell pealed.

It was off to the casino complex for a meal tonight, where an all you could eat buffet summoned us. With an eclectic mixture of dishes to choose from, we didn’t think too much of the offerings. That said, three plates of mains, two of desserts and 57 minutes later, movement of any sort was quickly becoming a luxury. Beads of sweat were starting to sting in my eyes as my stomach felt like it was performing cartwheels in my abdomen. Even swallowing the last mouthful of my beer was an effort I feared was going to put me over the edge and see me making a beeline for the first porcelain basin that came to my notice. I slowly shook off the sentiment, as we made our way to the gaming room.

Hardly a flamboyant gambler, I steered away from the tables and decided to plonk languorously upon a stool in front of a computerize money thief, otherwise known a pokie machine. Between us, we feed $31.00 into the slot, and started pressing buttons, calling out for a big win, an indulgent wish at the lowly stakes we were playing. Nevertheless, we sat for ½ an hour or so, finally taking back all but $1.00 of our initial ante. I’ll call that a win, because I reckon the power to run the machine for that period would have cost the casino in excess of a buck, so they didn’t come out ahead on our wagering either.

Until next time, have fun, stay safe and don’t forget to write.

It was a very rude awakening this morning when the crying of the alarm awoke us at a touch before 8:00AM. Apparently it had gotten down to almost -2^oC overnight and when I checked, it had yet to rise into the positive end of the scale, which made for a truly icy cold to resonate, even in the confines of the van. I ramped up the radiator to its max, but even that struggled to take the biting chill out of the air, as we dressed warmly before releasing the hounds for their morning walk. I can only imagine what our two poor pampered pooches were thinking as they dragged their feet through the frost encrusted blades of grass.

There was naturally a method behind our madness, because never would we wantonly arise at such an uncouth hour otherwise. Having toured the East MacDonnell Ranges the other day, we were heading out west today, with an appointment to make. As per the east, there is a series of natural wonders to view in the West MacDonnell Ranges, but we have selected just two to visit today, the first being Simpsons Gap, which we hope to arrive at in time for the guided walk with a local ranger. The informal session commences at 10:00AM though and I don’t want to be late.

Into The Gap.

Thus, we departed at 9:00AM, giving us plenty of time to take the leisurely ½ an hour drive out to the gap. As it evolved, I need not have fretted. The drive was briefer than anticipated, and Mark, the ranger was in no great hurry to begin his tutelage anyhow. When he did, he spoke to the small amassed crowd very knowledgably about the local flora, fauna and ecosystem. He clambered up and down, pointing out different species of trees and other plants, explaining their habitat and significance with the local indigenous tribes who used many of the examples for either food or medicinal purposes.

The highlight of the walk was as we neared the permanent waterhole at the narrow of the gap, between two towering rusty rock edifices, where for the sharp eyed, there was the chance to spot a rare black-footed rock-wallaby or two. It unquestionably required a bit of effort to spot one of the critters, and as soon as they did make themselves visible, they would adroitly take flight and hop off out of sight anyway. We managed to spot a number of the cute little creatures, often hiding laconically between the rocks of the boulder strewn hillside that is their habitat, only a small head poking out above the rocky ridge, eyeing off the humans standing agog at the nether regions of the tor.

The Rare Inhabitant Of The Gap.

It was only a short walk back to ‘The Beast’ where the slowly rising sun beamed down, thawing us out to some degree. As cold as it was, within the confines of the gap, where direct sunlight rarely reaches, the temperature was a couple of notches colder again. Accordingly, the warmth of the sun was a welcome respite.

Chilly Morning.

Standley Chasm

Our next stop was a further ½ an hours drive west, at the indigenously managed Standley Chasm. As this is not a national park, it has been set up as a commercial venture, with gift shop, café, accommodation and entry fee just to walk through the bush. We payed our fee, although suspected that many didn’t, before starting out along the hard packed, well worn red dirt path leading to the chasm itself. The dirt path soon gave way to a track of well worn loose, scrabbly rocks underfoot. It seemed we were traipsing through the bed of a dry creek as we worked our way towards the object of our fascination. And all of a sudden, as the final bend in the path was turned, the Standley Chasm opened up in a great fissure through the rock, creating a narrow gap between the edificial russet rock walls that loomed loftily above us.

Lunch? Check.

Back in the car park, we were thankful that we had remembered to pack our lunch today, sitting casually on the tailgate of ‘The Beast’ to enjoy a couple of freshly constructed rolls topped with ham, tomato and cheese, accompanied by a refreshingly cold drink. That would see us through until dinnertime at least.

We hit the road shortly thereafter, navigating our way back towards Alice Springs, stopping just briefly for a photo opportunity at John Flynns grave. If you don’t know who John Flynn is, take a lobster out of your wallet (IE: Have a look at an Aussie $20.00 note), as he features on there. Known as the man that opened up the outback and helped significantly in getting the Royal Flying Doctor Service up and running, it was his pedal powered radios that allowed for long distance outback communications. There is a back story that goes with the precariously balanced boulder that marks his final resting place that I won’t go into here, but it’s worth reading up on if you get the opportunity.

Flynns Grave.

From there, it was barely a 10 minute drive back to the caravan park, where we spent the remainder of the afternoon. Still not quite warm enough to call into play my earlier assertion that I would go for a swim, I reclined in the shade of the annex, tapping away at the computer, while Bec took respite from the warmth in the van, having an afternoon nap. Neither option lasted too long, as we were soon preparing an early dinner before heading out for a night of entertainment.

We were off to Alice Springs own didgeridoo show. When I think of didgeridoos, my mind wanders to visions of a cross legged aboriginal fella, a long hollow tube of wood attached to his jowls, making sounds reminiscent of a snorting pig. Far from that image is what we witnessed at this show though, a range of contemporary free didging arrangements, accompanied by a backing track of haunting harmonies, played against a backdrop of scenic photos flashing across the stage was the order for the night. At the conclusion, we could have stayed on for a lesson in playing the didgeridoo, but we both declined on the basis that we might have severely embarrassed ourselves.

Didge.

Until next time, have fun, stay safe and don’t forget to write.

Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ve heard it all before, but it was another beautiful day in paradise today, although I have still not had to hold up my end of the bargain of going for a plunge in the pool if the temperature tops 20^o.

Ahead of us today, we had a fun filled schedule in mind, taking in the sights, smells, sounds and touch of the carnival. The annual Alice Springs Show has come to town and we are off to enjoy the heady atmosphere. Us, and it seems like everyone else, had the same idea, as the show grounds were crammed to bursting point with sugar hyped excited kids, harried show bag laden parents, dust ridden station hands on a rare trip to town and the likes of us, bugged eyed tourists drinking in the wild ambiance of a true country show and all the curiosity it garnered. Along with the flamboyant, over amplified spruiking of the sideshow alley attendants, all egging you on to burst a balloon with a dart, catch a rubber duckling from a doughnut shaped pond, choke a clown with a pingpong ball, or knock off a tin silhouette of a duck with an air rifle in the hope of procuring an unneeded giant stuffed panda, there was the loud distinctive fairground music being pumped out on a incessant loop from the garishly whirling and whizzing rides, accompanied by the never ending screams of mixed terror and delight from those intent on bringing back up their showground lunch of fairy floss, hot dogs, toffee apples and assorted lollies and chocolates, all washed down with a substantial stream of fizzy soft drink.

Only slightly quieter, but no less packed with thrilled patrons, the long tin sheds that served as pavilions were full of the handiwork of locals and other displays. From the youthful scribbles of kids to print worthy photographs of semi-professionals, from single flowers to huge floral arrangements, from eggs and produce to delectable looking cakes and biscuits, it was all arranged for display and judging, ribbons, medals and awards being handed out in all manner of categories. Another old shed was set up like a market, lined with stalls selling everything from stained glass knick-knacks, to clothes, to as seen on TV gadgets that seem like a bargain when you get three for the price of one, until you get home and realize that even one was too many. The third pavilion housed stands operated by local businesses and services, all replete with tables of free goodies. We managed to collect an undeterminable number of pens, notepads, stickers, balloons and even CDs, as we swept through grasping at whatever we were able, the mantra “If it’s for free, it’s for me” running a never ending track through my mind.

Out in the streaming, warm sunshine, we were treated to more typical rural sights and activities. The Flying Pig Show springs to mind, which featured astronomically quick pig races as well as the highlight of the demonstration, the high diving pigs leaping in a single bound from springboard to pool.

Racin’ Bacon.

Flyin’ Bacon.

Several country outfitters had set up their mobile stores on the edges of the grassy arena, which piqued my interest, especially when I found yet another pair of boots to add to my burgeoning collection. Bec couldn’t even say no, considering her purchase of a pair of boots already this trip.

Now, That’s My Sort Of Truck.

That brought us to the livestock displays, where snooty canine owners were waltzing their over coiffed pooches around the ring, while chickens, roosters and turkeys competed in a cacophony of cock-a-doodle-dos and muscular bovine beasts snorted in their steel fenced pens.

Weary from our day of roaming from end to end of the show grounds, we sat down for a short period to watch the grand parade. As well as an escort of emergency vehicles from all of the services, riders atop fantastic equine specimens and a cavalcade of cattle, there was an odd assortment of private vehicles, obviously invited to take part as they belonged to sponsors. There was even a motorised disability scooter taking part.

The Grand Parade Comes To Life.

Our day at the show came to a conclusion with a brief joyride in a helicopter. Six minutes of airtime saw us soar high overhead of our caravan park, Mount Gillen and back to land softly and all too soon at the oval from whence we started. It was exhilarating, seemingly floating in the clear sky, just a gentle thump of the rotors cutting through the air above us audible through the sound deadening headsets.

Along The Ridge Line.

Bec Enjoys The View.

Coming Back To Earth.

We left the show, our faces plastered with smiles as big as those on the clowns in the sideshow alley, although we quickly went from feeling like mega rich luminaries, being chauffeured around in a private chopper, to having to suffer the deflating indignity of dumping the contents of our dunny can only minutes later as we left the show grounds. As I poured the contents down the drain at the public dump spot, the helicopter flew overhead, almost as if to humiliate me.

By the time we returned to the van, we had been out for about 5 hours, the longest we have left the dogs to their own devices this trip. It was with somewhat anxious concern that I thrust the door open, to be greeted by them hurtling from the bed excitedly towards me. For the remainder of the afternoon as well as showing the dogs some affection, so they know that we still love them, we spent some time performing the necessary evils of housework before going out to dinner.

Thanks to the incessant adverts we have seen on TV, we headed for the local ‘Gillen Club’ where Friday nights is wings and ribs night at the Bistro. What sounded like a good time as we ordered it, a full rack of beef ribs each, served with chips and an all you could eat salad bar turned out to be our undoing. Bec slavered through half of her rack, leaving me to complete the challenge. A rack and a half later, my head was starting to swim as the meat sweats threatened to engulf me, in front of me sat only a plate of sucked clean rib bones. YUM!

Until next time, have fun, stay safe and don’t forget to write.

Like a broken record, I must report that for yet another day we awoke to the sun streaming through the narrow gaps in the drapery, as the alarm sounded its relentless commotion at 10:00AM. Despite the moderately late uprising, we had a jam packed day ahead of us.

So with little delay, we set about our morning errands, feeding ourselves, running the dogs ragged around the park, hanging out another of the relentless loads of laundry and generally ensuring that we had all that we would need for a day of reconnoitering.

With everything set, we bid farewell to the bubs in a routine that they have grown as accustomed to as us, bounding onto the bed waiting eagerly as Bec reached into the special cupboard in which their treats are stored. They now seem to realize that this means that we will be out for some time.

Setting off, we pointed the nose of ‘The Beast’ eastward, the engine loping along with measured ease without the extra bulk of the tin can chugging along behind.

Alice Springs is nestled against the lower reaches of The MacDonnell Ranges, which tower over the township while spreading out to the east and west. There are marvels to be seen in each direction, but today we had decided to spend a day amongst the natural wonders of the East MacDonnell Ranges.

As we headed out of the confines of suburbia, the road constricted from a decent strap of tar, to a worn out goat track that wove its way meanderingly through the countryside, barely able to accommodate the breadth of ‘The Beast’, let alone another passing vehicle. Then there were the lengthy zones of road works, where the reduced speed limit seemed to be a guide rather than a delineated maximum, as tour vehicles came hurtling towards us trailed by billowing clouds of ochre dust. And there was no way I was moving too far onto the soft shoulder, as we had already passed one of the road building machines idly sitting at a precarious angle, almost to the point of being on its side, after the edge had given way beneath it.

Nearly an hour after leaving the van, we turned off of what passed as the main road in these parts, to traverse the 10Km dirt track down to the Traphina Gorge car park. As we drove towards the main car park, there were several families scattered about, sitting on blankets or at the provided tables lunching on a range of delectable looking goodies. It was at about this time that our own memory was jogged, remembering the fare we had set aside last night to bring for our own lunch today, only to forget to pack it this morning. With only a box of dry crackers in ‘The Beast’ our lunch was to be a rather modest affair.

Putting lunch out of our mind for the time being, we poured over the information contained on the board at the car park, checking out the numerous walks of varying degrees of difficulty, length and duration on offer. As Bec metaphorically donned her work out clobber, we decided on the walk that would take us up and around the rim of the gorge, before returning to our starting point via the gorge floor. The saunter was destined to take us either 45 minutes or an hour, depending on which sign you believed.

Heading Up.

Not far from the car park, we located the first bright orange triangular route marker, pointing off to the left, through what almost looked like virgin bush. We were soon ascending however, no so much up a path, but scrambling over well worn tessellated blocks of ruddy rocks and shale, bounding tentatively as we traversed from one marker to the next. In parts, evidence of a track was negligible and it was solely the effervescent orange triangles that indicated we were still bearing in the right direction. As we reached the climax of our uphill scrabble, Becs asthma saw her gasping for breath, but she fought on, and we were soon looking down over the precipice at the white sandy gorge base far below us. Not only down were the scenic vistas realised, but all around us also presented amazing 360^o outlooks that stretched out enticingly as far as the eye could see.

At The Top…

…Of The Gorge.

Taking A Breather.

Heading Down.

Looking Up.

Looking Down.

Returning to the interior base of the gorge was nearly as breathtaking as the ascent, as we negotiated the steep natural conduit, clambering ever vigilantly down the boulder strewn route. Once down, we moseyed through the core of the gorge, struggling through the deep powdery sand that sucked at our shoes with each step. From here, we could peer upwards towards the craggy ledges from whence we had just descended. From ground level, the bright red, jagged cliffs appeared almost menacing, soaring contrastingly from the stark white sand into the cloudless vivid azure sky. We strode back to the car park, weary, but euphoric, 50 minutes after we had set out. I conjectured that the signs therefore average out.

On the way out of the Traphina Gorge Nature Park, we stopped fleetingly to marvel at a giant Ghost Gum. Not just any giant Ghost Gum, but ‘the’ giant Ghost Gim which is believed to be the oldest such tree in Australia. It towered above us, its canopy extending broadly in all directions from its bold white trunk.

The Old Spectre.

Setting off again, we travelled back towards Alice Springs, a few more cessations to our passage yet planned. Encountering little traffic on our return jaunt, I could better take in the surrounding scenery, enjoying the panoramic views of rocky rises, jutting from the savannahs as I piloted ‘The Beast’ along the narrow ribbon of potted pitch.

The Scenery.

Our first scheduled stop on our journey back to town was at Corroboree Rock, where another short walk greeted us, circumnavigating Corroboree Rock, a blade shaped rocky outcrop rising tall above us. It is a sacred site, being part of the Eastern Arrernte Perentie Dreaming. That much I garnered from a sign at the car park, but little other information was available to explain the sites significance in indigenous history.

Corroboree Rock

Our final two breaks were only minutes away from each other and Alice Springs, at Jessie and Emily Gap. At both of these locations, a short wander down the dry creek bed brings you to a display of ancient Aboriginal rock art, viewable on the rocky walls. The story goes that the artworks depict three different types of caterpillar, but honestly, all I could see were some vague red and white lines that almost blended in with the colour of the surrounding rock.

Aboriginal…

…Artwork.

Back at the van, worn out from a big day of sightseeing, we pranced the very excited that we were home, dogs around the caravan park, before setting out for a quick shopping expedition into town. There were a few supplies we had managed to neglect yesterday, which we were going to need for tonights dinner.

Until next time, have fun, stay safe and don’t forget to write.

I am going to keep it short and sweet today, not only because our day was generally bereft of noteworthy accomplishments, but it is also getting late enough here that rest is stalwartly beckoning me with scratchy red eyes and droopy eyelids.

Our day commenced in the usual way, rising to the alarm, which appreciatively didn’t arouse us until the rational hour of 10:00AM, although Bec did complain that early rising, departing campers had awoken here somewhat earlier. When we did surface, it was to find that a beautiful day was awaiting, the gentle warmth contentedly permeating the van. So much so that we even put the air conditioner on for a period. Mainly for the dogs comfort than our own though, as we sat out in the annex, enjoying a late breakfast as we discussed what our options were for the day.

We had decided on a lazy day, familiarising ourselves with the town of Alice Springs, but I was intent on formulating a strategy. In the end, we figured that we may as well just head into town, making our way first to the information centre where we would be able to arm ourselves with all of the latest gossip as to what there was to do.

Before we could leave for town though, we had to ensure that the dogs were set for a day alone in the van. We took them on an extended walk around the caravan park, including a run in the fortunately otherwise unoccupied off leash area. A small fenced off spread of thin grass, they both had a great time, bounding around unencumbered by their leashes, relishing in the opportunity to take in the scents of the many dogs who had preceded them.

It was after midday that we made our way towards town, driving straight past the city centre at the insistence of Shazza, as she merrily led us up the garden path, taking us to a small information board at the start the Larapinta Walking Trail that was assuredly not the office of the main information bureau. Without any further superfluous contribution from Shazza, we navigated our own route back to town, finding the desired agency right smack bang in the middle of town. Well, who would have thought it?

Not that they were overly helpful, giving us a ‘Shazzaesque’ bum steer as to which of the natural attractions spread throughout the tourist drives east and west of Alice Springs, into the MacDonnell Ranges, to which we could take the dogs. It was only luck that I later decided to confirm the proffered information for myself. Notwithstanding we collected an armful of brochures about all of the other local attractions that we might try to visit during our stay here. I am reasonably certain that we have collected more material than we could ever hope to need in the brief interval that we have here. Some serious culling may need to occur in respect to what we hope to accomplish.

We then ambled slowly up and down the Todd Mall, the main shopping thoroughfare in town, as well as taking a swift look at the two nearby shopping malls. Big city shopping it’s assuredly not, but there is ample opportunity to drop a dollar or two, even if we did hold off on making any purchases for today.

Bec At The Todd Mall, Alice Springs Own Shopping Mecca!

Mind you, if it was fireworks that you were after, then it was an entirely dissimilar proposition. Today is Territory Day, the nearest approximation of which I can think of would be the fourth of July in America. It is a day that celebrates the Northern Territories anniversary of self governance, but which quickly degenerates into a crazed never ending salvo of skyrockets being poured into the atmosphere. To cater to this Territorian birthright, pyrotechnics are available for purchase from nearly every business. There were signs for magnificent collections of crackers in the windows of all sorts of businesses from car hire places to fast food joints. It seemed that everyone wanted in on the action. In the arcade, there were shops specifically set up to trade in these garishly coloured artifacts, the shelves crammed tight with boxes of gun powder laden capsules. The first of July is the only day in the Northern Territory that fireworks can legally be sold, purchased or let off by you average Joe Blow, so they go all out, hundreds, if not thousands of dollars changing hands on monster packages like ‘The Magazine’ 30 kilograms of mayhem, or the 50 piece ‘Terminator Selection Box’.

Not interested in the Guy Fawkes supplies, we for the most part traipsed from gallery to gallery, looking at the myriad of indigenous artworks that are available. It seemed that every second storefront proudly proclaimed to stock a raft of work by local artists. We both love the original artworks, but both have in mind different styles as to exactly what we like. We are yet to see a piece that we have both fallen in love with. The search continues for that perfect piece however and if I was to spend thousands of dollars, it would be on something timeless and eternal as an artwork as opposed to a whopping big carton of skyrockets.

Almost worn out, I noted that I had eschewed my pledged plunge in the pool by less than a ½ of a degree, as our shopping escapade concluded with a visit to the supermarket for groceries and alcohol, our stockpile of both running a little ragged back at the van.

Thankfully, we arrived back at the van, to two tremendously excited and well behaved dogs, just as the first of the fireworks were being set off. The park manager has advised everyone that there is to be no fireworks set off in the park (although as always, there were at least a couple that defied the ban), but that doesn’t prevent any local hooligans from setting off their goodies in close proximity. Therefore another prolonged walk and run about the off leash common was proposed for the babies, in the desire that it would tire them both sufficiently that they won’t be unreasonably bothered by tonights expected cavalcade of sky borne light and noise antics.

Starting To Fret.

Further from the truth we couldn’t have been as they both, even the almost deaf Bethany, clamored to be as close to us as humanely possible, while the bangs, pops, whizzes and explosions of miniature missiles besieged the frigid night sky. Thankfully, it petered out by about 11:00PM, allowing us all to get a bit of rest.

Until next time, have fun, stay safe and don’t forget to write.