Teeny content warning about me being gross and describing horrible accidents (no pics :-))
As you may know, I love hiking and have done it for years. I don’t normally hike with my sons however (even though they both enjoy it), for many reasons, including that I prefer hiking alone and also, as my son said “too much childhood trauma” – on HIS part, from accompanying me on hikes when he was a child. This is a huge exaggeration. I know that I always used to get take short cuts and get lost, I always lied about the time a hike would take (because then they would whinge so much), I don’t like stopping when I hike, so we would get to the top of a mountain and I would give them 5 minutes and an apple to eat, and when they would often stop mid hike and refuse to continue, I would carry on walking and say that “<insert dangerous animal> would eat them”. OK, maybe they have a small point…
Anyway, he rang me last weekend and said he wanted to go for a hike (maybe 3 decades or so has deadened his memory a bit, but unlike their mother, who spent most of her late teens partying – sex and booze and rock and roll – my offspring neither drink nor smoke and are very conservative.) I suggested a favourite hike at O’Reilly’s Rainforest Reserve in the Lamington National Park, called West Canungra Creek. This hike has the best waterfalls and swimming holes at Lamington (IMO) but tends to be wet and full of leeches (see Where Do You Hide Your Bodies). Anyway, I promised to bring snacks and lots of Rid. I forgot the snacks (well, on the way out, I grabbed a 3/4 eaten packet of corn chips, two oranges and a half eaten packed of apricot flavoured Weetbix Bites – which only Woolworths sells, and is definitely an infringement on my “human rights” by the other supermarkets, and dry Weetbix which, apparently, is not a preferred snack for many).
After a rather lengthy drive up the horrendous road, where I helpfully pointed out interesting stuff, like the buckled sign that I reversed into while trying to quickly get off the road so that a passenger could vomit, the Latin names of tree species, the latest article I had read on long COVID in the Lancet and amusing anecdotes which he told me he had heard many times before, and I said, well I can’t help it that mostly only talk to the pets, you and the 3rd ex, because I don’t like socialising and also, am prone to giving waaaaaay too much information (perhaps I shouldn’t have spent an hour at coffee with my running buddies yesterday reminiscing about my very misspent youth and that I was once a centrefold (posing in a chamois bikini holding a musket, with the slogan ‘Wild Heather’) in a South African girlie magazine called Stag – which everyone, rather justifiably, referred to as ‘Slag’. Hey, at least I got it all over and done with by the time I was 23, hence now don’t drink, smoke, am mostly vegan and am happily single and ace (even the best looking and nastiest lead guitarist could no longer tempt me…besides musos only venture out at night, and I like going to sleep at 9.)
I digress. We headed off on the hike, and so far, there were no leeches. As my wont, I mocked the warning sign saying that the descent was – ooooh, shock horror – equivalent to 10 stories. I used to work on the 16th floor of Miserable House in Brisbane (not it’s real name) and I always walked up the stairs as I hate elevators (I once read about someone who got caught in an elevator and it suddenly descended and they got cut in half and their torso was in the elevator with other people – true story). Anyway, I always walk up stairs, even when I am injured.
We passed some slow people who had stopped about half way down. They didn’t look very fit or experienced. We chatted along, without too many interjections by my son that he had heard the story before, until I stepped in a mud hole (did I mention it had been raining, for about 2 months?) There was a rock under the mud, and I fell on my hip, and my hiking pole went back and hit him on the nose. Suffice it to say, he wasn’t happy, even after copious apologies, especially as it was bleeding and he doesn’t like blood. I told him it was probably mud, but he said that mud wasn’t generally red. This put a bit of a dampener on the walk (and a literal one, as I was now soaking wet and covered in mud). Somehow he wasn’t entirely happy when I said, “well, I could have got you in the eye, and it might have been hanging out on a little eye stalk”, which probably isn’t very reassuring and also indicates a lack of knowledge of eye anatomy. I offered him the use of my first aid kit, but he refused the space blanket, snake bandage or large bandaid.
By the time we got to the bottom and awesome pool, he seemed a bit ameliorated, albeit still complaining about his “head injury” and being the “victim of domestic abuse”. He then decided to make bird noises, which didn’t sound like any bird known to mankind, which were rather annoying, so I decided to tell him random anecdotes about when I had hurt myself in various places on this exact hike. It also turned out that two months of rain had raised the creek rather high and that instead of walking across using the large boulders (where, once I had slipped and fallen in, taking a large amount of skin off my shin and breaking a finger), we had to wade across a strong running river. As neither of us are the sort of people who would ever consider turning back (we are actually extremely similar, unlike my youngest very NT son, who is calm and much more, um, normal), we waded across each creek crossing.
After slipping and falling the first time, I gave my phone to him, so it wouldn’t get wet. This meant that every time I wanted a picture of myself fording a raging torrent, I had to ask him to take a photo (which he whinged about, so gave me back my phone). I helpfully pointed out other places where I had hurt myself on the hike, or where particularly large nest of leeches (weirdly, there were none this time) had ‘attacked’ me; and he decided to intersperse his bird noises with whistling. I retaliated with singing Monty Python songs like “I hate traffic lights” and “I’m a lumberjack” the only songs I know all the words to, except Christmas carols (boarding school). We settled into a relatively peaceful silence, although I helpfully told him many ‘interesting facts’ about the rainforest, including the different species of Dendrocnide (gympie gympie), the types of strangler fig (Ficus) and the biogeography of Antarctic Beech and Gondwanaland. He wasn’t interested, and starting talking about one of his special interests, being stationary supplies.
At a particularly strong running crossing, with a giant boulder, I slipped and had a magnificent fall, right into the water, and gave my now wet phone back to him. Then I wanted a picture of me by the boulder, and a video of each time I crossed a creek in case (when) I fell in, because I thought it would look amusing on my Insta page. He refused to take the phone any more, also, mysteriously, the offer of a Weetbix bite, saying that only weird people eat dry Weetbix. I did acknowledge that it makes you fart a lot, even worse than chickpeas, but 30 something offspring don’t really like their mothers talking about digestive issues.
We walked up a bit, and suddenly spotted a Lamington Spiny Cray, a beautiful blue crustacean endemic only to this area. In a hurry to photograph the rather irritated creature, I slipped and fell in, giving both it and myself a horrible fright. It was then that my son said the immortal line, “I have no idea how you’ve managed to survive to old age”. I countered with, “I’m not old, but late middle aged”. Hilarity ensued.
Eventually we managed to get to my favourite waterfall, Tullerigumai (Box Log) Falls, whereupon I told him the amusing anecdote of how I was making up a poem (Where do you hide your bodies) and speaking a particularly lurid line aloud (something about suppurating corpses or something… actually about buried emotions, when I had come across a rather startled looking couple). The waterfall was really loud, so he didn’t complain that he had heard it before and that all my anecdotes were really really boring. I wandered into the little canyon, and asked him to take a photo. As I walked in, of course, I fell in. Another couple, who were there, asked him if I was ok. He said, “oh she does that all the time, just ignore her”.
At the next waterfall, Elebana Falls, I told him of the time that I had been skinny dipping in the top pool, without realising that it was in full view of the track and Picnic Rock. This was the final straw, and he said that he would whistle AND make bird noises if I didn’t shut up!
After the hike, we drove down the mountain and had lunch, and he got in his car and we went to our respective homes. I got a text later that night “migraine. head injury”. I texted back a picture of my bruise.
When we met up for lunch a couple of days ago, getting free COVID (we both had to something which required going to a very large shopping mall – did I mention that I detest shopping malls – but I had broken my phone screen – um, falling over and dropping it on a rock) he was still complaining (not that I could see the slightest evidence of any injury) and told me that for the sake of his continued existence, and not wanting to rekindle any more PTSD, he would never go hiking with me again (just before I told him that he was really annoying and I didn’t want to go hiking with HIM again). I’ll always be a SOLO hiker chick 😉
Eccentricity Me 