the Donnelly River

Bridgetown to Nyamup, day 5, Saturday 19 October 1996. I went down to breakfast in the Freemasons’ dining room shortly after six. There was no-one else there, but a man came in puffing a cigarette, said something I didn’t quite catch and went out again. I turned on the urn and got stuck into the cereals, of which there were several varieties and no shortage. Milk, butter and jam were in the fridge and there was plenty of bread. I pigged out, bearing in mind what I had ahead of me. There was a jar of chamomile tea-bags, and I took a couple of these, thinking that they would help me sleep at Nyamup. I would need a good night’s sleep before attempting Rocky Gully.  … Read more