Crossing a rare parcel of treeless but razor rock-studded ground, Faceplant Dave, fast and furious, hit the deck. He became, in fact, the deck. Petrified into rock itself. Wincing at the impact, cringing at its anticipated outcomes, time and I held our breath.
It was Day Five of five in our Bimberi Wilderness walk, and we’d thus far negotiated a sclerotic jail of tangled shrubbery, scrub wriggled off-track at an exquisite level of intensity, and withstood the vegetal hurricane nature had thrown at us. But of all things in this comprehensively non-human-impressed bush, it was a thin, rusted stretch of wire that had taken Faceplant down.
Eons later, after composing himself back into human form, Resurrected Dave lumbered punch-drunk to his feet. An act of mercy; he was undamaged. Well, not additionally damaged. He’s been around a few blocks, has Dave. Tolls have been taken.
This wasn’t the final time Faceplant was to headline the day’s excitement. Late in the drizzly afternoon gloom—with home base, dry clothes and cold beer beckoning—the horror reappeared. We were criss-crossing Clarke Gorge’s Caves Creek, which was running the fastest and fullest I’d seen it in 15 years. Moss-greased stones were plotting for victims.
And, lo, that mythical beast—yea, Faceplant!—returned. Reaching the penultimate shore, I turned to witness Dave taking his second dive of the day; only his backpack remained above water. The judges raised their cards. All tens. Dave, however, once satisfied with his examination of the creek’s aquatic life, raised a face that was utter thunder. Prudence took precedence over piss-taking.
I kept my counsel.
RIVER AND RIDGE
Spreading across the NSW/ACT border, the 60,000-odd hectares of the Bimberi Wilderness take in the 11,000ha Bimberi Nature Reserve, a swathe of Kosciuszko National Park’s northeastern section, and 27% of Namadgi National Park. I’d been playing on the edges of this wilderness
