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Stormy WeatherMiranda is relieved that I have got myself across the suspension bridges and the mood is contagious.
The strong gust of wind that caught Miranda on the Heaphy Bridge was the forerunner of some really serious weather. The bright sunshine we arrived in has disappeared, the rain is steady and heavy, and as we watch the Lewis is rising. By morning it will be some 300mm higher, and fording anything will be out of the question.
The girls settle in for an evening of crosswords against a background of wet clothes on the rack over the fire. These racks look impressive but when they're needed they're just not big enough. Take your own small length of nylon cord for a makeshift clothesline. Evenings like this, when wet gear is everywhere, you do need to look before you sit as the gentleman in the centre of the photo has just discovered.
I retire to my bunk. The emotional effort surrounding the bridge crossing has left me feeling like an early night. There is a foul stench in the sleeping area, however, and eventually, somewhat sheepishly, I track the smell to my tramping boots at the end of my bunk. I am reaping the reward of wet boots on day two. I don't want to leave them outside in case possums or wekas take a shine to them, and I eventually solve the problem by stuffing tomorrow's socks into the mouth of each boot. We nearly always have clear room around us in the bunkroom, and Miranda reckons that's because I look like someone who SNORES. Ridiculous.
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