Day 29 – Dingle Burn to Dingle Burn

Exhausted and rain-shy, I stayed in bed late. I counted sandflies on the netting above my head to pass the time.

Today was much like yesterday, with nonstop river crossings. In the afternoon I was thrilled to reach a meadow on the riverside – I had been hemmed in by bush for so long it was a treat to see more than ten meters. A couple more stands of trees abutted the river, but soon the river valley was completely open on both sides, and I was in the upper valley.

I nearly missed Ben Avon Hut, till I turned around to admire a view. Behind a tree I thought I saw a suspiciously straight line, so I went to check it out.  This historic musterer’s hut was used before this former station land was turned over to DoC as conservation land about a decade ago. It’s been designated as day-use for unspecified health and safety issues, which may be related to the possum droppings everywhere but are more likely structural.  Camping is welcomed though, so I set about to hang my hammock.

As I walked through a stand of trees, I nearly walked right into a sheep leg, dangling by the foot from a twist of wire in the tree. The flesh was gone and the bones greenish with moss, but the knee joint still hung together with some unseen scrap of cartilage, and a couple strips of old skin still dangled.

My rational mind said this must be some perfectly normal remnant of the musterers’ activities ten years ago, probably making dinner from one of their flock. But the experience of almost walking into this bone had given me the unshakable heebie jeebies, so I picked up my pack and walked another half kilometer before camping.

The sandflies were tormenting me again tonight, but I’ve worked out a routine. Sandflies are both dumber and slower than mosquitoes, and are easy to escape at a walking pace. I set up a couple stations, generally one for my tent and one for cooking dinner. As I go about my evening routine, when the cloud of sandflies reaches a certain size, I simply walk away and attend to a different task until they’ve found me again. Repeat until bedtime, when my hammock provides a blessed refuge.