Our Trip to Arapiles:
Weather forecast for the Wimmera Region: Snow on the higher peaks.
Our Trip to Moonarie:
After deciding that perhaps climbing at Arapiles was not going to be such an enjoyable weekend, Tom Megan and I (Adam) decided that Moonarie in the Flinders Ranges was a more appealing prospect. Although we were aware that it can be bitterly cold at night we reasoned that there was less chance of either rain or snow.
After driving for around 5 hours we arrived at bottom camp at about 10pm on Friday (16 July) night and set about putting up the camper-trailer tent that Tom had borrowed from his parents (Thanks Mr. and Mrs. Cree!). In Dr Nick’s absence we did our best to try and wake up the other climbers by putting in tent pegs but alas! It seems as though we just don’t have the expertise, the other climbers reported that the first they knew of our presence was when they saw our camp next morning.
So with the tent set up we had a celebratory drink of beer, or two in the near zero night air and discussed how much fun it would be to poo out in the open. Tom and I educated Megan in the fine art of flinging (poo onto a shovel, throw it as far as you can) and she thought about how to be more of a real Aussie girl like those trucker women who eat meat, fart loudly, blow snot out their noses and listen to Cold Chisel. Soon enough it was time to go to sleep, with plans of climbing everything in sight, and prayers for clear weather.
Have you ever noticed how when you are on holiday your dreams tend to reflect the nature of your trip? That night I dreamt that we were all living in Japan, taking rides on floating logs down a train line to a movie theatre where we found out that Saddam Hussein was really the Devil and it was our job as Jedi Knights to fly off in our Lamborghinis to fight him…..hmmmm maybe it takes a while to get into the swing of things. I woke to the sound of Tom remarking how great it looked outside, not a cloud in the sky, and opening my eyes saw what looked like errrr well, let’s say it seemed as though Gump and JennyBob had forgotten I was there and that they were really getting into the Mountain Man/Mountain Woman thing. Realising that things were not quite as they first seemed the next thing I noticed was that it was BLOODY FREEZING! There was no way I was going to expose my skinny little body to the cold morning air and risk frostbite on any of my extremities so taking all my clothes into my nice warm sleeping bag I emerged like a beautiful butterfly minutes later fully dressed and nice and warm.
JennyBob on the other and had taken the whole getting feral thing pretty seriously and now kept singing the Cold Chisel song “Shipping Steel” to herself, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, told us about it so the damned song became stuck in our heads too.
Day 1 Thor 98m (15).
Hiking to Top Camp Tom and I pointed out all of the interesting landmarks from our last trip to Moonarie, such as the site of the now infamous MOAF (Mother Of All Farts) where we noted that wildlife had still not returned to the area. Tom tried to think of worse songs than Shipping Steel to get it out of his head and came up with Agadoo. Soon enough we were at the spectacular Top Camp where we decided that climbing Thor (15) would be a good way to start the day – Tom was keen to lead the first (send up the Gimp) pitch - so off we went. As Tom headed up the first pitch a couple of other climbers who had been on a nearby route came past stating that it had been too cold to continue climbing where they were as they could not feel their fingers and that it was going to be more fun drinking coffee back at camp. How on earth could drinking coffee be more fun than climbing? Arriving at the crux of the first pitch, moving out from the chimney, past the roof and onto the face (see picture of Stewy) Tom placed a .4 cam and faced the world then swung across onto the face and headed up. If at this point Meg thought about that coffee back at camp she didn’t say anything, which surprised me because it is an intimidating move….. Meanwhile, as I belayed Tom I was thinking about coffee. Soon enough the call on the walkie talkie came through from Tom: “Safe, off belay.”
I tied Megan in to the rope, and as this section was only one grade below Megan’s best climbing grade in the gym and quite intimidating as well as under difficult circumstances, I set up a Jumar system so that if she couldn’t get through the roof JennyBob could climb the rope. Tom took in the rope, “That’s me!” Meg called
Tom responded: “On belay, climb when ready.”
With a second, trailing rope attached so that I could follow, Meg set off up the looming chimney toward the roof of Thor.
“I wonder how high she will get before she can’t go on… will she freak out, or just be unable to do the moves?” I thought as I found a small sunny ledge from which to watch Megan and snap off a few “bum shots.”
With a few matter of fact comments here and there about how she couldn’t feel her fingers or toes Meg soon reached the roof. “So what do I do here?” She casually enquired.
“You have to turn around and face outwards, step across to the scoop on the left, then swing on over to the wall on the right, then head up the face.” I said, expecting to have to repeat myself a few times as I coached her up.
“Okay.” And with that, up she went.
”Well, stuff me, she did it!” I thought. It was pretty inspiring to watch, which I know sounds a little weird - I was after all watching someone who has only been climbing for six months second a grade 15 route, not some world renowned superstar pulling on the crux moves of their latest test piece. But you see that was the impressive thing. Here I was, watching a virtual beginner calmly make her way through a daunting series of moves at the limit of her climbing threshold in an intimidating big outdoor environment under difficult environmental conditions, and yet there was no hesitation or fumbling, it just happened with a minimum of fuss and an almost businesslike approach.
Now it was my turn to climb, and although I had led the pitch onsight last time we visited, I still felt anxious; I always approach each climb with the same mindset, whether I am leading or seconding, I hate falling not out of fear, but from a desire to climb clean, but more on that later. Having watched Tom and Meg get through clean did nothing to make me feel any easier about the route, in fact watching them move so smoothly through made me feel just that little bit more pressure.
Pulling onto the first couple of moves I was immediately struck by how amazingly cold the rock was. Within a minute of climbing I could not feel my fingers and my toes were not much more sensitive. At the roof I faced out and swung out onto the face on completely numb fingers and toes and shivered my way up to the belay. Thankfully it had been agreed that I was to climb the next pitch (10), and after a brief pause while we exchanged gear and set up my rope for leading I was climbing.
Being able to keep moving I found myself warming up, and although I was unable to tell whether I was holding onto the rock with hands and feet firmly at least the rest of me was now warm. Climbing quickly to get the others moving as soon as possible, I only placed one piece of gear to prevent a factor 2 fall and then cruised up to the next belay ledge. Once my hands were not in contact with the rock they warmed up and I pulled the socks I had brought for the descent over my shoes to try to warm my feet. The wind did not seem to be as strong as I belayed Meg and Tom up, and soon we were all at the second belay. As we set Tom up to finish the route via the direct pitch (15) the wind began to pick up again.
Unfortunately, the wait had made both Tom and Megan cold (Megan’s foot had slipped off an early foothold because she couldn’t feel her feet on the rock), and the rest at the first belay followed by a short climb then another wait at the second ledge had taken its toll on Megan. As Tom started to climb Megan had started to shiver uncontrollably at an intermittent rate that suggested the early signs of hypothermia. Meg had not worn her shell, thinking it would only get in the way (I have to admit I only put mine on as an afterthought), and now the wind which was now gusting in fierce and chilling blasts was slicing through the layers of clothing she was wearing draining the warmth from her. What were we to do? Sure the chivalrous thing to do would have been to give her my shell, but that would not have solved anything; Meg was already cold and a shell was going to do little to warm her, and if I exposed myself to the elements we would have two hypothermic people on a ledge leaving no one to safely belay Tom.
The best option was to try to warm up Megan while I belayed Tom, the problem was this was not going to be easy. Megan was sitting on a small outcrop of rock, so I sat on her knees (facing Megan and with my back to the wind) painfully taking most of my weight on my left shin which was resting on a rock, opened my jacket and wrapped it around her to enclose both of us as much as possible and rubbed her arms and back to restore some warmth. The logistical problem that this presented was that the belay device was now in between us, and if Tom fell it would whip up and catch us in the face. The only thing I could do was to pay out some slack and watch Tom in the hope that if he fell I would have time to shove Megan out of the way before the rope took up. For the next few minutes we went through the procedure of hunkering down while the wind blasted, heads bowed down into the jacket breathing into it to give extra warmth, then hurriedly organising everything each time the wind died down momentarily so that Megan could climb as soon as Tom was ready to belay. At one stage I looked up to see that Tom had stopped below what appeared to be a technical section just below the summit. He was blowing into his cupped hands and was clearly having trouble feeling the rock.
“This is going to be hard.” I thought. Not only was this another grade 15 pitch, but Megan was now very very cold. Our efforts to warm her up had been reasonably successful, but as soon as she was exposed to the wind again it would not take long to become cold, and the rock was sure to suck the heat straight from her hands. Absently, I wondered if those guys were enjoying their coffee back at camp… After what seemed an eternity Tom was at the summit and ready for Meg to climb. “Climb fast, don’t stop to clip the rope into gear for me, just get up as quick as you can.” I told her. Secretly I was wondering just how far she was going to get before I had to climb up to assist her (Over the radio Tom had told us that there were three cruxes all at about grade 15).
Once again, Megan looked at me, took in what I had said, and without further delay, set off up the rock. Once again I was amazed at the manner in which Megan climbed. It was assertive and flowing and when she reached the first crux which required laybacking moves which she had not done before, Megan took the advice offered by Tom and just did it, although she did tell him to shut up as he sang Agadoo into the radio. I lost sight of Megan a few times as she climbed and at one stage I noticed that she had not moved for a few minutes. Tom informed me over the radio that she had stopped to try to warm her hands, and before long the rope connected to me began to snake up wards once more. Unbelievably, Megan made it to the summit unaided, and as soon as I was given the all clear to climb I was off and climbing as quickly as I could. Again the rock immediately sapped the heat from my hands and feet and when I arrived at the first crux I was struck by how difficult the moves were. I tried to imagine how difficult it must have been for Tom to lead with numb fingertips and toes, and couldn’t help but be impressed at his “they told me to climb it, so I did” (Gump) attitude. It was not an easy climb in these conditions. When I got to the top we sent Megan over to a flat section of rock where the sun was shining to try to warm her up, and it was plain to see that the effort of completing the climb had taken its toll, but what an effort!
As we hiked to the descent route we all began to thaw out from being on Thor, and appreciate the experience. It did not take too long for the humour to return to our conversation and while we made our way down to Top Camp and the cave below Thor to stow our gear for the night we discussed the potential climbing for the next day; Thor had taken up so much of the day that we had no time to attempt another route, and would only be making it back to Bottom Camp by dusk. Megan once again put Shipping Steel back in our heads…. Thanks for that.
That night at camp we ate Stew around the camp fire. It wasn’t quite as much fun as last time, but hey the real thing is in England now, so we had to make do with a Stew made from sausages and veggies, but it was still saucy! While eating dinner and drinking beer and red wine, (Megan drank whisky from a mug – she was really becoming more feral by the moment) we talked and laughed about the day’s activities and dodged shards of red hot glowing rocks as they exploded from the boulders around the fire.
And Miriam saw a shooting star. Awwwww just like a Disney movie. Then Tom farted and we all went to bed.
As I lay in my sleeping bag I thought about the climbing I had watched that day and could not help but be inspired by the courage that I had witnessed from Megan. I thought about my own hesitancy to attempt multi-pitch routes that I thought may be near to my climbing limit and wondered what had been holding me back. I had lead climbed many intimidating and run-out single-pitch routes that others baulked at, but had not climbed any multi-pitch routes over grade 15 (I have soloed a couple of grade16 single-pitch routes!). And yet today I had watched as a relative beginner committed to climbing a multi-pitch route at her limit in extremely adverse conditions! The more I thought about it the more I became motivated to push my boundaries and commit to actually climbing the way I had seen it done today. I know climbing is not about the numbers, you hear people say it al the time, but it is about what you are capable of doing and what you do within those capabilities that really matters. Today I had watched someone climb at their absolute limit in tough conditions, and now I was inspired! With thoughts of conquering the world I drifted off to sleep.
Note to self: Never eat onions before sleeping in a sleeping bag again! I woke myself up at least 5 times!
My dreams were still taking a little while to take on the flavour of our trip. That night I dreamt that I was back at school and we all went ice skating, where I was by far the best because I could make my white water raft go faster than everyone else. Next I found out that The Charmed Ones (from TV show Charmed) were all after my body. Hmmm something they put in the Stew maybe?
Day 2: Let’s climb some of the routes that are in the sun today.
The Making of a Feral Part 2
Waking up from my dream about sexy women wanting me I opened my eyes to see a bare bottom. YAY! Moments later I realised it was hairy and belonged to Tom. Yuck!
Then I noticed that my sleeping bag was damp...
Honest guys! I was aroused BEFORE I woke up, and the sleeping bag was damp from condensation!
As we ate breakfast we discussed the order of the day’s activities. Initially we had planned to pack up camp then climb, however as it had proven to be so cold in the afternoon we decided that if we climbed on the Southern Wall in the morning/early afternoon and headed back to camp at around 3.30pm we could make the most of the sun and then pack up on our return. Good plan. Okay, so we are going to climb on the Southern Wall and do some short routes so we don’t get cold then return at about 3.30 pack up and leave for home at about 5.00pm right? Right.
We were all agreed. The hike up to Top Camp was not so strenuous without our climbing gear but we still managed to become fairly warm on the way up. As we approached Top Camp Tom remarked how impressive Flying Buttress looked and how there was still a bit of sun shining on it. It looked so warm in the morning sun.
“Should we climb Flying Buttress?” Tom asked.
The stories I had heard about Flying Buttress and the implied suggestion that it was harder than the grade 15 it was given in the guide book made this a defining moment for me. With memories of Megan’s climbing the day before and my late night revelations I answered Tom without hesitating: “Sure.” There it was done, if I said anything now, I would look like a Nancy Boy. No Backing out now Adam.
Megan raised an eyebrow at us and said: “Errr can we revisit the whole ‘let’s climb in the sun today’ conversation?”
“It’s got some sun shining on it now, and it’s not as windy as yesterday.” Tom returned in his usual laconic manner.
“You’ll be fine today Meg, if you wear your shell to keep the wind out you shouldn’t get as cold as you did yesterday.” I said.
“Okay, fine let’s do it.” Megan was still not showing signs of being intimidated. If Thor had presented Megan with moves she hadn’t done, they were nothing compared to what Flying Buttress promised; a roof on pitch two followed by jug hauling without foot placements on pitch three!
As we prepared to climb the first pitch at about 10.00am the sun disappeared over the summit and we immediately felt the cold return to greet us as if it had been waiting for us to commit to a route. I rubbed my shoes in an attempt to bring some warmth to them before placing them on my feet and got some route direction from Tom about the position of the first belay. With the final checks done I took hold of the freezing cold rock and started up the easy first pitch (grade 10). Finding the chimney to the base of the roof was a little harder than I expected as it was not visible from the traverse, but soon enough I spotted it and headed up. The rope drag from the traverse was immense and I soon found myslef thinking that it was pointless going any further. Setting up a belay halfway up the chimney I radioed that I was safe and that Meg was on belay. Tom asked me if I thought we would be able to abseil off from where I was if Megan was unable to go any further as she was feeling a little sick. We should be able to I replied, and wondered just how bad she was feeling.
Megan began climbing and was soon at the bas of the chimney where she immediately began to feel the immense drag of the trailing rope, but with a few big hauls to provide some slack she was on the ledge with me in good time.
Tom quickly followed and upon arriving at my belay said the he and Stewy had actually set up immediately below the roof last time. As our ropes were 50m long and the second pitch was 35m it was decided that putting in another short pitch to get to the top of the chimney would be wise. Not wanting to hold things up too much I waited until I was on belay and climbed the chimney in my descent shoes (I had put them on to warm my feet while belaying) which made things a little more tricky, but not too bad. As Megan ascended Tom (15 metres below me) gave an apology for farting. Moments later, Megan who was about two metres above him was hit by the shock wave and threw numerous curses down at him that even the roughest of ferals would have been proud of. Despite the blustery wind that had picked up I did not really think it was too unusual for Tom’s gaseous attack to reach Megan, but it was lucky I was anchored because nothing could have prepared me for the stench that assaulted my nostrils! UNBELIEVABLE!! 15 metres up with a strong breeze and the MOAF had not been diffused! To have kept it’s integrity over such a distance in windy conditions it must have been on the border of being solid! Fortunately none of the gear was corroded enough to cause any safety concerns and when we regained consciousness Megan was able to continue climbing.
Once we were all at the belay under the imposing roof we quickly set about preparing Tom for the intimidating pitch. Time had gotten away from us and it was now early afternoon. The wind had picked up a little and the rock continued to sap the heat from our bodies. As I watched him move up to the roof I was impressed by the way Tom climbed confidently despite the cold and kept us tight on the anchors to remove as much chance of gear failing as possible in the event of Tom falling; protection failure during a fall from the roof would have resulted in a messy drop down through the chimney and either onto the ledge some distance below or down into the gully below the base of the Buttress. Having placed a BD no. 2 cam at the start of the roof then a number 3 at the halfway point, Tom paused to put in a 9 hexcentric prior to committing to the pull up and onto the face above the roof. As he moved to gain the wall it seemed as though the cold had taken it’s toll on Tom’s fingers and he was unable to maintain his grip on the left hand hold… “Take!” Came the call.
“Yep, gotcha.” I called as Tom fell into space and was caught by the hex.
“Ahh! I just couldn’t keep my hand on that triangle block!” Tom cursed. “Well, the hex worked.” He casually remarked as he smiled down at us.
The fall brought home to Megan and I the difficulty of the move. Tom is about 6 foot 4 inches tall with a much longer reach than either of us and if he was struggling to reach the holds how would we go? Both of us immediately began to shiver as our bodies responded to the surprise of watching Tom fall and as he pulled back onto the climb and moved through the crux I worried about the possibility of hypothermia again. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Tom was on the next belay ledge and ready for Megan to follow.
Convinced that the roof was going to prove too difficult for Megan I again set up a Jumar system so she would be able to climb the rope if the going was too hard. Megan had never even attempted a roof in the gym let alone on a multi-pitch route! Once again Meg displayed the same business-like attitude and headed up the wall below the roof. Within minutes she was at the roof and beginning to commit to getting herself horizontal. As I watched she simply copied the moves that Tom had done and was at the crux within no time at all, unclipping her rope then re-clipping mine. Following beta from Tom, Megan moved out to the lip of the roof, but at this point found that the moves that had worked for Tom were of no use due to the difference in height; the kneebar that he was able to use was simply too long a reach and so from that point on, she was on her own. After a slight pause Megan pulled up around the lip reached up for the holds that she hoped she would be able to reach. Unfortunately the combination of the pure strength required to pull through after having to work out the required sequence and savage cold of the rock was too great and despite getting hold of the crimpy right hand scoop and left hand block and Megan fell. With a short exclamation of disappointment that would have made a Northern Suburbs speech therapist blush Megan pulled back onto the roof and completed the moves on her second attempt!
Feeling a little warmer from having worn my descent shoes I got ready to climb by removing my hydro pack from my back so it wouldn’t get stuck as I moved through the gap at the end of the roof and…. “shit, that wasn’t my hydro pack!” I thought as my chalk-bag dropped down through the chimney to the ledge below. I relayed my good fortune to Tom who countered that at least it wasn’t hot, and if I sweated in this weather I was a freak anyway! I waited for the call to climb then pulled apart my belay and began to climb removing the gear as I went. Going through the roof I removed the cams and came to the no.9 hex that Tom had fallen on and found it to be firmly jammed. Wedging myself in to get a better attack with the nut tool I spent a few minutes bashing at the hex to no avail, it was going to require a long bar and hammer to remove it so I donated it to the rock and moved out to the lip. As Megan before me discovered I found that the kneebar that Tom found so handy was not an option for shorter folk so I had to reach up to the finger pocket on the right promised by Tom and… (my thoughts) no, that’s not it, just a small scoop with a crimp, hmm maybe it’s a little higher… no, maybe lower… aww crap! It’s the crimp isn’t it? “This isn’t a bloody pocket Tom!”
“Well it’s sort of a pocket, it’s round.”
“Thanks for that.” Ecstatic with this discovery I looked up to the left and spotted the big triangular block Tom had mentioned and pulled up to grab it when I found myself unable to go any higher; my descent shoes had become jammed behind me and were stopping me from moving up – I had removed my hydro-pack and was trailing it, but forgot about my shoes!. “Oh you F*!@ &%$!*!!!” My language became a little colourful at this point as I could see my clean ascent of the pitch going south really quickly as I struggled to maintain my freezing fingers on the right hand crimper hold while trying to find an alternative hold. Eventually I had to make do with a left hand smear on the last rock below the block and just muscle up forcing the shoes to eventually give way enabling me to move up. Thankfully once on the face the moves were easy and I was able to recover through the last few metres. I posed for a nice picture as I approached the belay and then pulled over the top and prepared to lead the next pitch.
Guide Book: “Up the crack to a niche, move to the front of the overhang, swing out on a jug or two then up.”
“Cool, jug hauling.” I thought. Tom backed up the guidebook saying that they were really good jugs and even though you had no feet it was a lot of fun.
Apparently the person who wrote the description for this route was a similar height to Tom. Leaning out as far as I could I found my left hand a good twenty to thirty centimetres away from the jugs. Improvising by using a fist jam to gain some extra reach I was just able to get my longest fingers over the edge of the “jug” and had to cut loose on what was effectively a crimp and a smear. From this position I then had to heel-hook up. Jug-hauling my ass! The rest of the pitch was relatively easy except for a little face climbing through a bulge just below the next belay that required some really technical hand and foot work to get through.
Setting up a belay in seconds thanks to a lovely horizontal crack that just loved cams I quickly pulled my socks over my shoes and called Megan to climb.
Despite having seen her get through the roof with a minimum of fuss, I knew this pitch would present more of a problem as it was just as committed and exposed, but was a little more technical (for climbers less than 6 feet tall) and required quite a bit of upper body strength, and the combination of trying to keep warm and pulling through the roof had used a lot of Meg’s energy. Soon I could see Megan as she got to the crux and watched as she committed to the moves. As I had discovered, Megan also found the holds to be a little out of reach, but this time she just didn’t have the energy left to pull through in one go. To her credit she kept working the move and finally, after dropping enough swear words to make my earlier shoe tirade look like a Sunday School lesson, Megan managed to get through the crux and cruised the rest of the pitch, including the tricky bulge.
Next up was Mr Albatross Wingspan and within seconds he was JUGHAULING his way up through the crux with comments like “You guys must have gone the wrong way, the holds are easy to get.”
I just sat there and tried to resist the urge to throw stones down at him.
When he got to the bulge with the technical moves, Tom merely reached up and grabbed the hold that took Megan and I three moves to get to and pulled up with comments like “Oh, that was easy.”
Megan caught my hand before I could let go of the stone.
Once we were all on the ledge Tom decided that he was going to lead the direct finish that scared him last time when seconding it. (Sometimes I wonder about that boy)
Even though the pitch was very short (15m) it was pretty tricky – up through a slightly overhanging scoop on limited gear. After a couple of investigative moves to find the holds in the scoop Tom committed and made his way up the serious looking pitch.
By the time He was at the top it had begun to get quite dark so we decided that it would be quicker for me (Gimp) to climb up and remove the gear, then go up the alternative final pitch graded 12, which I did. Unfortunately a piece that I left in to protect a traverse jammed as Tom tried to take in slack for Megan and so we lost the rest of our daylight while I abseiled down to remove the piece.
As it was now quite dark Tom suggested that I take my rope and solo the exit route so that when Megan was up and they had packed up the gear all they had to do was tie into my trailed rope and climb up. “It’s okay, Stewy and I soloed it last time we were here…”
“Yeah, but not in the dark and not in freezing conditions.” I thought – I knew what I was in for, Quang and I climbed the face last time, me on lead, Quang seconding.
It was however the best plan given the conditions, so taking my rope I tried to contain my sense of overwhelming joy at the prospect and made my way over to the exposed 25m cliff face.
Soloing the wall was not too bad, I couldn’t see the huge drop below me, but then, I also couldn’t see the holds in front of me; thinking we would be finished by 3.30pm we had foolishly left our head torches behind.
At the top I set up a belay using the nearest tree and waited for Meg and Tom to come up as the icy wind funnelled up the left side of Flying Buttress blasting me with the coldest wind I had felt all weekend. Thankfully Tom and Meg simulclimbed (Tom attached to Meg’s harness) and in a short time we were all up. With no time to take summit pictures I sent Gump and JennyBob off to head down the descent gully while I coiled my rope.
The descent gully was pitch black and required a lot of concentration but I soon caught up to Meg and called out to Tom to go on ahead and organise our packs and some light.
Carefully picking our way down we were pleased to see the bright beam of light as Tom found his super bright bike headlight, at least we wouldn’t have to hike all the way back to camp in the dark.
After having to explain to Tom that a bright light shining at us did not help us in the final few metres of our descent Megan and I made it back to the packs where we all gratefully ate some chocolate and then started the descent to camp.
Megan admitted to us that she was a real feral now as she had taken the last step in moving over to the Dark Side during the hike up: Blowing snot out of her nose. Nice one Meg, your Mum will be so proud! Youse are a real grouse chick! Tops!
On the way down we listened to our new feral mate as she talked about how f*cken grayt the cloyming was, and how Styoowee was such a rool f*cken poofta ***hole fer not cloyming routes harder than her.
We arrived back at camp, packed up and got in the car for home. Little Megsy was so tired from having such a big day that after an hour of singing along to Cold Chisel with a bottle of scotch and sticking her head out the window to scream “YEEEEHAAAAGH” and then peeing on the side of the road, she fell asleep. And what a peaceful sight it was; little feral had a big day.