Nereus trip, on a shockingly hot clutch of days, late Jan 2018.
My mother taught me that if I don’t have anything nice to say, then I shouldn’t say anything at all. There are necessarily a lot of very “not nice” (mild understatement) things one could say about the whole Nereus area since the last fire wrought havoc on the forest and left us with thick, prickly, disgustingly uncomfortable scrub which occurs in tiring and lengthy bands. My legs stung from the scoparia injections, and I tore my boots, my gaiters, my gloves and my famous cow pants. (I also got the second flat tyre in seven days on the way home). Leading the gang through the bosky barricades was energy depleting.
We were not helped by the fact that the days were stinking hot and water was all but non-existent. Even the nice big tarns on Walled Mountain were dangerously – ominously – empty and murky. The yabby holes further on were mostly dried out. Whoops. I’m disobeying mum’s rule.
A tarn with cool, deep water, found after a long, hot day on the way back. This was possibly the most physically pleasing moment of the trip.
I love the way that memory gradually erases the bad bits, turning them into theoretical facts of little emotive weight. I am left with my photographic highlights ….. It is now a bit over a week since I was there, and already these photos have helped to mollify my negative reaction to the trip. I have realised that it was a very beautiful one, with some glorious moments.
I find it interesting that social factors, however, are the ones that determine the extent to which I look back on a trip with delight or mere tolerance. When you have a good team on board, even scoparia and can be fun.