In the farrrr south

So what else would you expect, when ordering the lamb's fry for dinner at the Last Light Lodge cafe in sleepy little Tuatapere, but the French girl at the bar asking, "You know zat ees liveer?" (Kind of ironic, since the first time I ever ordered it in a restaurant was in New Caledonia, when I didn't actually realise what 'foie de veau poelle Provencale' was. Where was the helpful French waiter then, eh? Just as well it turned out to be delicious.)

Here I am in the Deep South, then, fuelling up on the iron for tomorrow's 1000 metre climb on the first day of the Hump Ridge Track. Which, according to the track guy, who's laid-back and cheerful (as they always are) is "do-able". That's heaps better than "tough" which is the most common description I've come across so far.

The other 8 punters are probably pre-Baby Boomer, so of course that makes me the youngest - but that means nothing, I've been caught out by these wiry old birds before. Thankfully there's a National Geographic snapper along, from Boston, who'll be tooling along behind fussing with lenses and tripods, so I'm guaranteed not to be last. Not that you'll know either way, since I'm going to be Out Of Contact for the next three days. See ya!