Mike goes Wild

Theres one good thing about a dead and rotting dolphin.

It makes you realise that baby poo doesnt stink. (Well, in a relative sense.)

The week just gone was spent taking young Master M on his first official camping trip, down to "the Prom".

And he loved it.
Dirt to crawl in. Wet morning dew to soak up with his pants. And all the seaweed he could eat.

And his favourite?

His friend Snappy the seagull, who very quickly learned that Mike in his high chair equals food scraps littered for a solid half metre radius. He was harder to get rid of than your shadow/religion.

Though he was somewhat preferable to the seriously fat arsed wombat who lumbered into dinner one night, sniffed about literally under Mike's toes (much to Mike's delight, though we'd rather he didn't wave said toes about so much like some sort of jangly wombat lure/jig) until mum went into serious DFWMK* mode. And tried to kick it.

"Are you serious - look at those claws!"

They were scissor hands.
Mr/Ms Wombat didnt seem to mind and lumbered off.
Mike just giggled.
Mr/Ms Wombat got revenge by returning at 3 in the morning and trying to root our esky.

Camping with a huge family tent and all the creature comforts a hire trailer and the Griswald family wagon could stuff in was certainly worth all the effort. Daytimes were mostly spent walking, with Mike slung up on back in the Wilderness Equipment "Wild Child" - which we can heartily endorse, if not afford (it was a hire jobby).

Little Oberon Bay was a highlight, with massive granite boulders, spectacular views from atop the clifftop walking track, water seven shades of blue and the aforementioned dead dolphin (see bottom left of above pic) on the beach for added "flavour".

"Err... i wouldnt stand infront of that bloating belly if i was you..." was the suggestion.

"Right you are" we replied, noting that if it smelt that bad from 10foot, it probably wouldnt smell any better if it exploded, napalm like, and covered you with dolphin guts. (Though in our defence, we did have an emergency pack of Huggies scent free baby wipes for just such a situation.)

Other walks included Squeaky Beach and back (and yes, it does indeed squeak when you walk on it - something to do with the size of the sand grains), though again Mike seemed more intent on eating the seaweed; and a trip to Millers Landing, up in the northern end of the park.

This had a little added adventure when dad decided it would be a good idea to wade out across the submerged mud flats to a nearby island/bird rookery.
With Mike in pack.
It was doable - just.

However after a brief deserted island stop for a snickers, it was realised that the tide was still coming in, not out, and hence a quick skidaddle was in order. Though not quite quick enough; the crossing back was done by mum in her Reg Grundies. (Pic removed to save the pantless.)

Mike, all the while, just watched the world from on high, amusing himself by pulling the hat off the head of his human carrier at random intervals or going to sleep. Which, while in the pack, he did a lot of. In fact mum and dad realised that in the the whole camping trip he didnt have one daytime sleep in his cot - the poor bugger. All were in pram, car seat or, most often, baby pack.

Still he got his revenge too. The lugging parent would be repeatedly tapped on the head/neck by the swaying brim of a sleeping boys hat, which in principle sounds all kinda cute and nice, but in reality the tap tap was more like a bushwalking version of a chinese water torture.

All up, a big, if at times a little tiring, success.
Big thanks to Mike's Nana and grandpa for the Taj Mahal tent and mountain of gear, and to his grandma for helping to prepare food for the trip.

Mmm... Pre-cooked spag bog...

Certainly beat "fresh" Dolphin steaks.

*(Dont Fugg With My Kid)
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