Nature is calling, where are the tent pegs?
GETTING back to nature conjures different meanings for all of us. For one of my uncles, it means roaming his backyard in the nudder.
He lives on an acreage. Thankfully.
I tend to prefer a clothed option, namely camping. The main reason I love camping is the unpredictability.
I know each time I pack the car, there is an adventure in the making. Most often meaning I have forgotten something.
Last time, it was the pillows. Not such a big deal, unlike the occasion I forgot the tent poles.
Or ice for the esky. Or the time I forgot the pegs for the tent.
On a calm and peaceful day, tent pegs are an unnecessary luxury.
But in the north-west corner of Western Australia in a pocket of the outback named the Pilbara, it's not a good idea to forget pegs with an incoming low pressure system.
A category 2 cyclone is not the place to be while camping minus pegs.
But nevertheless, I remain a die-hard camper because of everything that can and does go wrong.
As I begin packing the car this weekend for a getaway to Five Rocks, I'm wondering how nature will make a fool of me.
There's nothing quite as comforting as knowing that you are at the liberty of the outdoors.
I will never be able to erase the memory of four, fully-grown males squealing at the sight of a millipede.
Millipedes are not known to be human friendly, granted.
But the dance of the male petrified of a critter no bigger than his thumb was truly something special.
Anyone who has ever been camping can share a similar tale. And next week, I'm hoping to share my latest mishap with you all.