We arrived at the campsite on dusk and had to work fast to get our beds set up and dinner cooking in the last of the light. We had a play with the GPS but couldn’t work out how to use it. For some reason it wasn’t matching up with what our map was telling us so we decided to leave it behind and stick with our compasses and map.
It was on that first night, in the relative comfort of the carpark campground, that I realised I had made an error in judgement with my bedding. The girls had brought inflatable mattresses with them, and I, in a quest to keep the weight of my pack down, was making do with a pathetic piece of roll up foam. It weighed hardly anything but, like the proverbial princess and the pea, I could feel every rock and stick and clump of grass under me. It was a rough night to say the least, with my neck and shoulder complaining no matter how I lay. But do you think I spoke up about how I was feeling in the morning?
Mind you, I don’t recall anyone asking, says my sulky three-year old self. Nor was there any discussion about establishing this site as the day camp to travel out from and return back to each day. It was as though the cajoling promises made by both of them that morning had never existed. The excitement of the adventure whisked as all up, and as usual, I just went along with what was happening. The ‘nice’ part of me wanted to please them and not ruin their adventure. And the gritty part of me was determined to stick with the original plan in spite of my injury. Continue reading