rave-ishing
As usual, quite a pause between posts. On Sunday, the rumoured rain stayed just like that, and the night skies were cloudless and star-filled above our little trance glen up the north coast. I came prepared wearing two pairs of tights, leggings and legwarmers and an abundance of non-matching cardigans and zip jackets, a veritable pyjama party of comfy clothes. Our gang set up beneath a haggle of leafless trees like campers without the tents. We had everything else though: air mattresses, rugs, blankies, camouflage webbing. Miss M had baked a sumptuous batch of profiteroles, and there was PepsiMax, Freddo Frogs and Jellysnakes to spare for our night of sugar-rush and pillage.*
The dance area was formidable: it was covered in sand. In fact, sand was a prized feature of the location. Sand blanketed the surrounding hillsides in smooth gold perfection. Further exploration up-hill revealed a vast expanse of sand-dunes all around our campsite, with a chink of sea visible further off, dotted with the lights of ships. The hill itself provided perfect sand-tobogganing opportunities for old, young and canine. In fact, the sand made it the cleanest, and physically-challenging party, that I've attended yet. I've spent the past week feeling as if I've done 12 rounds of Body Attack (on a pogo stick).
The following morning started with a strong coffee and chai, more jelly snakes, a soggy profiterole and numerous walks. There was the walk to the port-a-loo (20 mins, one-way), the walk to the car (30 mins, one-way), the walk to the beach (45 mins, one-way, with 30 mins faffing-time for shell collection, oooh-ing and aaaah-ing at the dangerous surf, and a bit of twitching at the local birdlife). It was an unspoilt wilderness of sand and unusual vegetation (some plants were adorned with alluring heart-shaped leaves, others with killer thorns). Unspoilt that is until the entrance of blundering 4WD wildebeests, farting quadbikes and their hooning trackbike counterparts. In fact, having a doof in these surrounds is a very dangerous thing: there were several near fatalities when many a port-a-loo dash was complicated by an armoured procession of North Shore tanks and a motorcade of Schumachers snarling past tripsy ravers on one ditch-ridden, sandy track.
But despite these occassional interruptions, such misadventures are great ways to spend time in the bush (or dunes). One can marvel at the surrounds - the luminous fungi, the endless stretch of stars, the softness of sand and the shadow-puppetry of tree-branches - all while dancing away on a small, private beach or snuggling for warmth with friends and a melted Freddo frog. This can be a rather amazing way to experience bush, sea and sand. Thankfully, I don't think bush parties will be marketed by Tourism NSW any time soon.
* a newly invented Kath & Kim-ism for a night on the chemicals.
The dance area was formidable: it was covered in sand. In fact, sand was a prized feature of the location. Sand blanketed the surrounding hillsides in smooth gold perfection. Further exploration up-hill revealed a vast expanse of sand-dunes all around our campsite, with a chink of sea visible further off, dotted with the lights of ships. The hill itself provided perfect sand-tobogganing opportunities for old, young and canine. In fact, the sand made it the cleanest, and physically-challenging party, that I've attended yet. I've spent the past week feeling as if I've done 12 rounds of Body Attack (on a pogo stick).
The following morning started with a strong coffee and chai, more jelly snakes, a soggy profiterole and numerous walks. There was the walk to the port-a-loo (20 mins, one-way), the walk to the car (30 mins, one-way), the walk to the beach (45 mins, one-way, with 30 mins faffing-time for shell collection, oooh-ing and aaaah-ing at the dangerous surf, and a bit of twitching at the local birdlife). It was an unspoilt wilderness of sand and unusual vegetation (some plants were adorned with alluring heart-shaped leaves, others with killer thorns). Unspoilt that is until the entrance of blundering 4WD wildebeests, farting quadbikes and their hooning trackbike counterparts. In fact, having a doof in these surrounds is a very dangerous thing: there were several near fatalities when many a port-a-loo dash was complicated by an armoured procession of North Shore tanks and a motorcade of Schumachers snarling past tripsy ravers on one ditch-ridden, sandy track.
But despite these occassional interruptions, such misadventures are great ways to spend time in the bush (or dunes). One can marvel at the surrounds - the luminous fungi, the endless stretch of stars, the softness of sand and the shadow-puppetry of tree-branches - all while dancing away on a small, private beach or snuggling for warmth with friends and a melted Freddo frog. This can be a rather amazing way to experience bush, sea and sand. Thankfully, I don't think bush parties will be marketed by Tourism NSW any time soon.
* a newly invented Kath & Kim-ism for a night on the chemicals.
posted by Miss Ember at 1:05 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home