A walk or make our first meal? We decide to walk first. But it's cold-ish this morning, about 40F (though it would near 60 by day's end), so we decide to wait for it to warm up. Then the camp host tells us it's supposed to rain, so we agree: let's just go for a little walk.
We met this horse along the way. He sauntered over and snuffled hot air into my hand. I apologized for not bringing a carrot or apple, but he was friendly nonetheless.
Ready for my portrait
Picton Dawn Chorus, an ideal name for a group that clearly relishes birdsong and sets out these traps to nail the possums, stoats, and rats that eat bird eggs.
This walk is presented on the map (and on Art's app) in several parts, and I guess we just kept going. Along the way, the misty fog was low enough to mostly obscure the sounds.
Finally, toward the end (which isn't truly the end--40 minutes more to get to the tip of the snout, as if) we can see the shape of our walk. It all felt decidedly uphill.
Here's a story about eating worms, which right now sounds tempting. I haven't brought a snack because we were just going for a little walk. (Have you ever noticed how people stranded in the wilds for days always say the same thing: I didn't bring my water bottle because I was just...).
Heard before seen: the Interislander Ferry we took two days ago, heading for Picton Harbor.
On the return, Art catches his breath (and I mine) as the sun emerges.
It's noon after a six-mile trek and, now back at the caravan, I slather this lamb roast with dijon, rosemary, and garlic and put it into a hot-hot oven. No time for the grill--some people are we know are famished.
Later, we did a massive food shop and visited this used bookstore, run by a person who clearly has surrounded himself with what he loves.