Rough days. Headaches. In the sinus.
It’s the smoke. The wine.
The beauty was all but lost on me. The glass like sea when I crossed to the island. The empty beaches all to myself. Wonderful seascapes. I felt like shit. And when you feel like shit, you see the shit in everything.
It seemed a dry, cold and windy place. Overfarmed and overloaded with grey nomads poking their silly saggy necks into every nook. They stunk of split pea soup and stale piss. Filling every rest area and campground with their retirement plans. Bulky Winebagos and sandflies, man.
I tell you I don’t know what I am on about.
Smile and the world will give you a shit-eating grins stacked high as Mauna Kea.
The sun cracked through and the wind stayed fast.
This is the lower end of the mid-north New South Wales coastline.
Seal Rocks. There’s Seals at the base of the headland.
South of Seal rocks you have Lighthouse Beach, which has a Lighthouse.
And south of Lighthouse Beach you have Treachery Beach. Where some shit must have went down.
I set up camp in a dusty corner. I cant tie a knot. My father knew a slew of knots. He’s have scaffolding, planks of wood for boxing up driveways, ladders and all sorts bound to the tray of his ute with truckers hitch’s holding it all down. Those one’s used leverage for tension. Like a system of pulleys.
I know how to roll and truss a pork belly. Butchers knots. I know a couple. Sometimes they slip.
No good for camping, Butchers knots.
These things you learn.