We came out of the gorge onto a straight section of river and had to scramble through bottle brush scrub on the bank and periodically hop across granite and slate sections as well as the usual river crossings. Graeme’s good old staff came in handy many times as we helped each other across particularly fast rapids. As we lunged from rock to rock the thought crossed our minds of what could happen if one of us was to break an ankle or even suffer a bad strain. You had to be perfectly fit to get over this country. No man with a crook leg could carry a pack and Graeme’s fossil through this country. An injury would mean a long and lonely wait while others went for help. But if I ever break a leg, that’s where I want to do it; in the middle of the Genoa Gorge on a sandy beach beside a green pond quietly fishing for bass and with plenty of sun­shine, tucker and tea.