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--- 195506 [2016/01/30 17:12] – tyreless
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 Of course we didn't all line up in a great herd and start off like the Grand National; that was never intended. The little food groups chattered around, then one by one, as they sorted themselves out, they bustled off into the star spangled night. And what a night! I think it must have been the air - not quite warm and not quite cool, but that subtle mixture of both at once, which you only notice on special nights; so we had to keep taking great, deep breaths of it because it smelled so good; and the moon beamed benignly on everything we did.
-Devil's Hole was a bit of a bottleneck so everyone caught up there except the three private transports who had passed us on the road out (we knew that the Admiral was one of these because as they drove past the scornful cry of "Peasants!" rang out in those unmistakable tones), also Jim and Kev who had slipped away at Katoomba to apply some linament (internally), and, of course, the four on the late train. The track down below was quite slushy and for the next two or three miles we had to be careful of big puddles looking like patches of moonlight and, of course, big patches of moonlight looking like puddles. These always care together so that you found yourself jumping over the puddle that was really quite dry and landing in a patch of moonlight that wet you up to the ankle. So the moonlit miles sped by and from the rate we talked you'd think the party was running on hot air. Of course as we climbed the road grew dryer - up the hill of boiler plates - clank, clank - and then at last a rest just above Black Jerry's. By this time we had caught up with the three private transports and discovered them to be Neil (the owner), the Admiral and Ken Angel. We found them guiltily resting about half way up the boiler plate hill. After a few minutes all the party had come up except Jim and Kevin, so considering them to be old hands at this sort of country we moved off. The facts were of course that Jim hadn't been there for ten years and that Black Jerry's was the one ridge
+Devil's Hole was a bit of a bottleneck so everyone caught up there except the three private transports who had passed us on the road out (we knew that the Admiral was one of these because as they drove past the scornful cry of "Peasants!" rang out in those unmistakable tones), also Jim and Kev who had slipped away at Katoomba to apply some linament (internally), and, of course, the four on the late train. The track down below was quite slushy and for the next two or three miles we had to be careful of big puddles looking like patches of moonlight and, of course, big patches of moonlight looking like puddles. These always care together so that you found yourself jumping over the puddle that was really quite dry and landing in a patch of moonlight that wet you up to the ankle. So the moonlit miles sped by and from the rate we talked you'd think the party was running on hot air. Of course as we climbed the road grew dryer - up the hill of boiler plates - clank, clank - and then at last a rest just above Black Jerry's. By this time we had caught up with the three private transports and discovered them to be Neil (the owner), the Admiral and Ken Angel. We found them guiltily resting about half way up the boiler plate hill. After a few minutes all the party had come up except Jim and Kevin, so considering them to be old hands at this sort of country we moved off. The facts were of course that Jim hadn't been there for ten years and that Black Jerry's was the one ridge that Kevin had never been on; so when they arrived after moonset, things not being too clear, they camped the night on top.
-that Kevin had never been on; so when they arrived after moonset, things not being too clear, they camped the night on top.
 After we moved off into the shadowed side of the ridge we stumbled and grumbled on the steep stony track until about half way down we came out into moonlight again and we stood looking down and across the Cox Valley with the now pale moon throwing long shadows all around us, while the very faintest breath of cool, grass scented breeze came stealing up out of the river and touched our faces. Where the ridge steepened at the foot it was every man for himself as we groped or cascaded into the inky shadow according to our physical inclinations.