Distance: 21.78km
Elevation: +396m -464m
Time: 6:17
Total Distance: 128.3km
Looks like the storm is passing to both sides and we should be in the clear.
– Robyn
Another beautiful morning, though the previous night’s rain and the total lack of wind made for a lot of condensation, even in the hammock, which usually resists it owing to the large amount of airflow.
Today is resupply day, and our packs are as light this morning as they’re ever going to get. With each passing day, talk of food becomes more and more frequent. It’s eight kilometres to Kiandra. Daniel asks if there’s a coffee shop there.
There is not.
We collect our buckets from where I stashed them a week ago and set about moving food into tucker bags, swapping out dirty clothes for clean (some of us didn’t bother with this, myself included. I washed my shirt in the creek yesterday and that’s as fancy as i like to get) and demolishing snacks left for the occasion.
Our lazy enjoyment was cut short by the appearance of a dark thundercloud heading our way. We quickly finished up, re-stashed our buckets, and legged it for the schoolhouse verandah. Making it there just as the rain started to fall.
Kiandra is an historic gold rush ghost town. During the first year of the rush, 1860, the population swelled to over ten thousand, and nearly two tons of gold was recovered (probably much more, unofficially). As the second winter approached, a shivering exodus dropped that number to a scant three hundred or so, after which mining continued for many years by a smaller, more dedicated contingent. The countryside bears the scars, especially New Chum Hill, which is fairly well hollowed out. The grassy valley was also once forested, but all the trees were taken to feed the smelters and crushers.
Moving up to the courthouse during a break in the rain, we could get reception and a better view over the windward valley. A look at the BOM radar showed the storm passing to both sides of us, and there was clear skies on the horizon. There was also news reports of flash flooding at the Snowy Monaro, so we were glad the brunt of the storm had missed us.
We decided it was safe to proceed, and made our way down to there Eucumbene, which was lower than I’ve ever seen it. I was able to cross without taking my boots off.
As we crested the hill and looked back over Kiandra, our mistake could be seen creeping up the valley towards us in sheets. As we donned wet weather gear, Scott declared that he’d left his Crocs back at the river. He’d run back and get them and catch up.
The rest of the day was spent walking in rain. I made the mistake of taking my rain gear off when the rain stopped and some clear sky appeared, but when it redoubled its efforts I got fairly soaked and water trickled down into my boots. I hate having wet feet. Eventually Scott caught up with us.
We saw horses for the first time (while crossing Wild Horse Plain) on the walk; a ringing commendation of the success of the cull, but more clearly still needs to be done.
Even the driving, icy rain couldn’t dampen Inga’s indomitable spirits, as she kept proclaiming how lovely everything is. The sky had the menacing grey beauty of a gun-bristling warship, and we crossed open plains and rolling hills, and walked through some eucalyptus forest with trees old enough not to have burned in thirty years or more.
Witzes hut is lovely, with its hundred year old vertical slab walls. We got a good fire going and soon the place was filled with the smell of wet socks hung by the fire and roasting marshmallows. Robyn put on Christmas carols, hoping to engender scorn, but was disappointed when it turned into a sing along.
Tomorrow we cross the Murrumbidgee, or try to, and I’m a little nervous with all the rain we’ve had.
