a chip off the old block ...

Heading inland from the Bruce we decided to make an overnight stop at the former gold mining settlement of Mount Morgan, just South of Rockport.

Climbing switchback roads to reach the pine-clad plateau at the summit, we found a town of traditional wooden buildings and eerily deserted streets. After driving around for some time, we finally found an equally empty looking caravan site so we parked up in for the night and I went to check in at reception.

"Oh yeaah!" said the busy-bearded woodsman type on reception as I enquired whether they had a BBQ. After I'd payed our camp fees, he looked at me doubtfully and asked "Have you got an axe?", confused I replied "Um, no ..." but he told me not to worry, I could borrow his.

I stared blankly for few seconds before the penny finally dropped; I would be on wood chopping detail if we wanted to eat that night.



Chopping firewood is most definitely about technique rather than brute strength, as I found when my first few swings of the axe missed the wood entirely and buried the axe-head deep in the chopping block. You get the hang of it after a while though.

We had a great (if ever so slightly sinister) evening in Mount Morgan, but I'll never forget what he said when he brough the axe over "Make sure you bring it back to the office when you're done - we don't want anyone getting hold of it and going crazy" with a wild gleam in his eye.

My thoughts entirely.