Weekend at Craggy Peaks

It is 1.15am. I lie in bed, watching the gum trees as they sway menacingly back and forth. The wind roars, gusting up to 48 kms per hour, and now and then the cabin shudders, as if it will rise from its foundations. An hour ago an aluminium chair on the veranda took flight and I wonder if and where we might find it in daylight. Naturally I can’t sleep.

We are at Craggy Peaks, a little over 100 kilometres from home, between the Midlands and the East Coast. The view from our cabin is spectacular; the craggy peaks of Stacks Bluff majestic against a backdrop of bright blue sky.

Our party of thirty is here for the weekend to celebrate 30 years of our HASH group. Some of us have only been a part of this group for less than a decade but we enjoy the camaraderie and the walks. On this special occasion we partake in a delicious three course meal with wine amid the company of old friends and new, an open fire and Haydn’s melodious guitar music.

But prior to this, the day presents us with sunshine and nary a breeze. From our balcony I wave to Steve as he wanders through the bush, camera in hand. Then, from the corner of my eye, I spy a Kelpie racing through the undergrowth and realise, with horror, she is in pursuit of a wallaby. I yell out to Steve who immediately goes to the wallaby's rescue.

After breakfast we begin with a few holes of golf on the course below us. We navigate around the wallaby and wombat poo covered fairways, showing our expertise or otherwise in this fun but frustrating game. Morning tea is served on the veranda of the cabin in which Terry, Steve, Mark and Dick are staying. We bring chairs and mugs and enjoy coffee and fruit buns in the sun.

Then 'Burkie' announces a short (with optional long), flat walk through the bush, after lunch. Of course, the walk isn't short - eight kilometres – and neither is it flat. But it is wonderful to be outdoors on such a beautiful day in this picturesque setting.

First, we hike up and up a narrow rocky track, through thick brush, at times hauling ourselves over fallen trees, until we reach a disused road. Relieved to be at the halfway point, we start out on this alternate way back, only to find that recent rains have flooded the road in sections, forcing us to bypass into the thick and mushy brush at the sides.

Then we reach the creek, previously a dry creek bed - but not today. Some of us attempt to cross downstream via fallen logs, others walk through the water with shoes on, whilst others still remove their shoes and socks, pull their jeans up to their knees, and wade knee-deep over slippery stones through freezing water to the other side.

Drying off as best we can, we venture on, downhill this time. Eventually we see the golf course, and rejoice. But our relief is short-lived as we discover the bridge that crosses this creek is now but a skeleton, with only three planks remaining. Fortunately, Terry, who is little more agile than some, offers his hand and one by one he guides us across.

At last we see our cabins through the tall gums, and exhausted, make a final effort to reach the comfort of a chair and a well-deserved drink.

It is now 2.15am. The wind still howls and the trees still sway and I am disinclined to return to bed. I think I’ll have another cuppa.