Five of us prepared for the trip. Three of us played soccer the prev­ious day against Merimbula and got absolutely whipped. We were a sor­ry bunch as we fronted up for the walk. If we had been horses we would have been shot, scratched or swabbed. I would have said sent to the knackers, but Stan was 60 years old and I didn’t want to hurt his feel­ings.

The walking wounded arrived at Nungatta South Community farm just in time for a cup of tea from the Nungatta people’s big brown tea pot. We left Nungatta and headed through the bush to the Yambulla Creek. It was beautiful country and our packs were settling nicely, al­though a few of the legs were suffering from the mis-kicks of Merim- bula’s 6’6” thug centreman. It was all up and down over the tributaries of the Yambulla Creek, but at last we came out onto the Genoa River on a great sandy beach backed by a huge vertical rock face. The water was a deep green and we boiled our first billy and got stuck into the scroggin.