The view from the top

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It was one of those days when you feel guilty for doing nothing only after you had spent the whole day doing nothing.

The cure: a climb to the top of Mount Maunganui.

We wanted to chase the fleeing sun so we darted up the rocky crags with the poise and grace of mountain goats. Wearing blindfolds.

All sorts were out that evening, crawling from whatever damp hole, or hostel, they humbly lived.

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Hikers mincing down the trail, Joggers mincing up it and Ramblers generally mincing.

They either said 'good evening' or looked at you with the looming trepidation that their wallet was in danger.

Fine, let them look.

My thai fisherman pants kept coming undone under the extertion of the climb.

At a crossroads there were two choices: route one "moderate." Route two "extremley difficult." You might as well slapped a white glove across my face and challenged me to a duel. The trail had been set.

The path was steeper than my latest credit card statement.

Why is it when faced with hard obstacles we run at them and don't stop untill we are clear?

When I got to the top I was the living embodiment of persperation. You could have used me to lubricate a Charlie sized pipeline.

Ah the view...

The sun had gone behind cloud. It was getting dark. I could see my hostel from here.

Me and George jumped off a big wooden flag instead.