Last Thoughts on Launceston...

Obviously that's not true. But, if you've never read/heard Dylan read "Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie," you should. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVbr0y8zp68&feature=related)

Anyway, wrapping up things in Launceston, Tasmania, Australia. It hasn't been easy-- I feel more like I'm trying to flee the Nazi take-over of Paris than simply move. Partly because they scheduled me to work 7 overnights, two days off, then work the two days prior to my flight early the next morning. Hope all my 9-to-5 stuff is taken care of! Nothing like a good-bye scheduling kick in the teeth to make you feel appreciated... :) In any event, below are a few thoughts and a few shots about the job bits of this past year. It was said almost to the point of cliche, but certainly working with the staff at the hospital was the best thing about working there, and if we get to work together again in the future I hope we'll have kept our sense of humor!

Another day in the pit--Rob and Jeff obviously working hard. And below, a picture of much of the group and many of the groupies that make up the face of the DEM!

Why people first start working in Emergency (and likely any) Medicine is often very different from the reasons people continue to work in it. What was the US survey that just came out saying that medicine (& nursing-- the distinctions between them are increasingly nominal, effectively turf-posturing and financially motivated) was becoming an increasingly dangerous job? Why bother putting up with the abuse? Well, to wit:

"...Eliminate the patients for whom the 'aha!' moment of connection will someday arrive. Eliminate the patients for whom we have the capacity to transfer to others, who have the resources to go elsewhere for care and who would be happier and better off if they left. That leaves the patients whom all physicians would equally find difficult (if not downright detestable), and who for whatever reason-- lack of insurance or of other resources-- have no place else to go. If medicine were an ideal profession, we would divide among ourselves the care of these difficult patients as evenly as possible. We are far from an ideal profession, so many of us are able by virtue of specialty choice or location of practice to avoid having to encounter such patients for the most part. Others, who work in emergency departments or community clinics in low-income neighborhoods, get far more than their fair share. These latter physicians deserve our thanks and our respect. They often receive neither. Whether we have a lot of or a few of such patients to care for, that care demands professionalism in the strictest sense of the term. One opposite to professional is amateur, which in turn is derived from the word "love." The point of calling ourselves professionals is that we are supposed to deliver high-quality care for people for whom we feel no love or friendship. Military physicians, for instance, are charged by the code of military justice with treating wounded enemy combatants-- who perhaps a few minutes before were trying to blow up the army hospital-- with the same standard of care they would deliver to our own soldiers. These are demands of professionalism. The outrage we justifiably feel when these standards are breached indicates that we believe that these standards of professionalism are both appropriate and attainable. Abraham Lincoln once said, 'My father taught me how to work; he never taught me to like it.' Medicine is our work. Most of the time, for most patients, it is worth doing our best to like it; we take better care of more patients that way. When we cannot find ways to like it, it remains our work. We should do it as well as we can manage." -- Howard Brody, "Ethics Forum," American Medical News, July , 2006.

There are certainly a few of the locums folks who make their way back specifically to the LGH from time to time, and that in itself is proof that the staff working there are something special! Beer all around for the LGH Christmas BBQ...

As for myself, I'm still trying to rent a house in the US for my next gig/incarnation. The Louisiana Medical Board and the Australian Medicare Levy Exemption folks are my latest and greatest frustrations. I guess being an ER Doc w/ the attitude of "Well let's just get it done now" doesn't train you to be super-patient when dealing w/ other things. But what I certainly can say, is that if I'm ever in a nursing home, I want my drug chart to look something like this:

Yup, mostly just standard nursing home whatever, but at the very end there, hand-written, is the order for "one beer at night, prn [latin for 'as needed']." I seriously want whoever did this to be my doctor. Of course, the more savvy of you order-writers out there will notice, the "prn" indication is not specified, as in "paracetamol prn discomfort/fever." "prn ennui" would be my choice in this situation...

So, that's that. I just wanted to put a few pictures down here of some of the goodbyes and good folks that made up my last few days in Lonnie!

Trouble wears many faces. Most often suspiciously cute, innocent faces...

As above, but I would also like to mention the look Jake is sporting-- sort of an "astronaut with pashmina" feel to it...


Folks saying goodbye to Mel and possibly myself at the Jailhouse grill....

Here we see newly minted Australian citizen Young w/ her certificate, and here is Baby Possum giving me lessons in time-management....

"Time management," giving the impression of needing to be "looked after"-- I think these are the prices I pay to do what I think needs to be done at work. They're especially chafing to someone who values independence and self-sufficiency as much as I do... :(

"Presumptuousness and self-importance are the wounds this life imposes upon those privy to the wounds of others. The busy, capable doctor, well aware of all the burdens he must carry, and not in the least inclined to shirk his duties, may stumble badly in those small moral moments that constantly press upon him or her-- the nature of a hello or goodbye, the tone of voice as a question is asked or answered, the private thoughts one has, and the effect they have on our face, our hands as they do their work, our posture, our gait." -- Robert Coles, The Doctor Stories, by William Carlos Williams, introduction

So, anyway, there you have it. Transitioning back to the US, visiting some friends, trying to figure out what to do with myself. Jake admitted to me he wanted to take a picture of my goal sheet for my year in Tasmania (yes, the one that included "9-minute mile for 1/2 marathon" and "sort out life") from the fridge and ask me how I did. Must say, not all that well ('pot belly' does not equal 'core strength'). But such is life. I'll leave this stage of things, and perhaps sign-off w/ the following. See you down the road a piece...

"Serving is different from helping. Helping is based on inequality; it is not a relationship between equals.... When I help, I am very aware of my own strength. But we don't serve with our strength, we serve with ourselves. We draw from all of our experiences. Our limitations serve, our wounds serve, even our darkness can serve... Helping incurs debt... But serving, like healing, is mutual... I am as served as the person I am serving. 'Fixing' is a form of judgment...In fixing there is an inequality of expertise that can easily become moral distance. We cannot serve at a distance. We can only serve that to which we are profoundly connected-- that which we are willing to touch. This is Mother Teresa's basic message. We serve life not because it is broken but because it is holy.... If helping is an experience of strength, fixing is an experience of mastery and expertise. Service, on the other hand, is an experience of mystery, surrender, and awe." -- Rachel Naomi Remen, "In the Service of Life," 1998, reprinted from Noetic Sciences Review, Spring 1996

"And so the moral of the story /

I guess it's easier said than done /

Is to look at what you've been through /

and to see what you've become .... "Private Conversations," Lyle Lovett

Beer-Pong in Burbank? (& the "Wrong Trousers")

It's been a while since I've gotten around to posting. I will just mention that I've made very little progress w/ the guitar playing, but am more on track w/ studying for the Boards. Though not hugely on track.

I did manage to make it out for an interview in the US for the next phase of things. Which is now rapidly approaching! (as I transcribe some of these "blog notes" onto the web, I've only got two week left in Launceston). In any event, I was in the airport at New Orleans and took the shuttle into the city center. Because of the time of night and so on, my "shuttle" actually ended up being one a three "Party Bus" mini-van-type things that operate in the city. The owner occasionally does late night shuttle duty for extra cash when there are no proms, so on. So yup-- lights, mini-bar, plush leather interiors, mirrored ceiling, insane sound-system.
Shared the ride w/ another guy coming from the airport. He was a great character who made practical props for movies (said he'd been involved with the last 2 Transformers movies and was working on the third(!?!) Definitely seemed like an ex-hippie who'd become mistrustful of the world through experience.

The upshot of the whole trip was that I've taken the job in New Orleans and imagine that will be the next big thing. Of course while staying in NOLA the big thing that struck me was that every third commercial on TV was for a personal injury lawyer (the oil spill, metoclopramide, asbestos and un-differentiated poor medical outcomes seemed to be the favorites at the time). Yikes-- welcome back to the USA.

Funny story. In the am when getting ready for an interview, I put on my suit in the early hours when it was still dark. Mind you, this was the first time I'd put on a suit since having brought the two of them to Australia (also brought some white coats I've never put on, but enough about that). In any event, I'm in the cafeteria making tea (What? Who am I? Have I been living in Australia?) and I look down and notice that in the dim light I've managed to put on the brown-grey mildly checkered pattern slacks and not the slightly blue-grey striped pants that went with the jacket I was wearing. The one time during the year I need to wear a suit. Sigh. Well, anyway during my apartment search, found out that Brad Pitt keeps a house in the French Quarter, so clearly I'll be in good company...

On my way back to the States, of course my plane from NOLA was late, so I ended up spenidng an extra day in LA w/ my good friend who's doing a Rheum fellowship there. She was on-call the day we wandered around Hollywood & Beverly Hills, doing the tourist thing. She got one (1) call during the day and it was about whether or not you could have white cells from a joint aspirate in OA. Yup, that was it. Tough life, I tell ya'... ;) In any event, we ended up in "the Valley" at a friend of hers house, and I was involved in the most epic beer-pong game ever played. It was ridiculous. I can't go into it right now, but extra-innings, penalty shoot-out-- the works. It reminded me of myself, Tim Shutt and Erich Kurschat chucking fallen acorns at a "no parking" sign across from the cottage at Kenyon in an attempt to illustrate the concept of arete in action. We came close, but the beer-pong was epic.

I think it's true that if you want to know something about someone, if you really want to get to know them, you should go traveling with them. Yourself included. There's a lot of good information there. First off, it tells you how and how well you plan. Often you don't have to be traveling, so there aren't many artificial deadlines or guidelines about how and when you get things nailed down. What criteria do you use to book your flights? Price? Date? How much is it worth to you to have a 3 hour shorter lay-over? $50? $100? Did you leave your hotel booking to the last minute? Do you want to have a car arranged? Did you look up the bus schedule in Ireland? Are you going to be sure to hit the tourist highlights from Lonely Planet or will you just see what happens once you arrive in Morocco? Do you happen to know that you will need a visa for Australia (not Austria) if you are planning a visit to Melbourne? These things matter, turns out. Not only for the current trip but in terms of what they say about you and how you like to plan for things.

Secondly, it tells you about your ability to be flexible with your plans. If one thing or another doesn't look like it's going to work out, how much does that bother you? And are you willing to accommodate other people's goals for the trip? Are they compromising to meet yours? I recall, fondly, when we headed out to the first Lilith Fair near Pittsburgh and our Danish exchange student began to complain about wanting to go home because of the rain. He was also complaining about why we were at this concert and not watching Brian Adams, but I'll let that discussion go for a bit. Meanwhile our friend who'd waited all day to see the Indigo Girls was dead set on staying put. At one point I was concerned that we'd end up w/ a dead Dane, but the tyranny of the majority won out.

Relatedly, travel is important because it reveals a fair bit about you when your plans don't go the way they're supposed to go. Travel that turns into a nightmare (or "challenge"-- perhaps I've revealed a bit about myself there...) tests resilience, resourcefulness, improvisation, communication, and importantly, patience. "God, grant me the strength to change the things I can, the serenity to accept the things I can't, and the wisdom to know the difference." I much prefer the Kipling line from "If," "if you can wait, and not be tired by waiting.."

On the Lonnie front, just two weeks left to go. Of course, one of those weeks is the overnight shift for 7 days in a row, so that's a fun kick in the teeth to send me off. But apart from that, Australia medicine is still keeping it real. The following is an actual quote from the first part of an Orthopod's letter back to the Pt's referring GP:
"Thank you for asking me to see this big man who has had 5 coronary bypasses, suffers from sleep apnea, obesity, diabetes and hypertension and lord knows what else."

Yup, that's in the medical record. Love it. Every now and again I'll write something like "his pattern of presentation to the ED for 'lost prescriptions' is becoming concerning and we may be unable to accommodate him in the future" or "her pattern of complaints did not seem to be consistent with any organic pathology with which I'm familiar." I tend to let people read my "and lord knows what else" 's in between the lines, I guess.

What's also great are the following options on our pathology reports screen:

In case you're getting concerned, the option of "dog" in response to the query "sex" is because our Path service would also do some of the veterinary work for the region.

I also loved this name for a day-care (creche) center here: "Dumped." What a name for a place where you drop off your kids!

And some things are just unfortunate in any culture. While "Urn-ie" might be accurate in terms of describing this machine as a small hot water heater, the evocation of "urine" is unfortunate. Though not entirely inaccurate-- my experience with this machine led to the worst cup of tea ever produced by human hands.

I'll get a good-bye Lonnie post up before I go!

Cheers,

--andrew s.

Bloody good time in Australia...

Even, perhaps especially, the ER is a place that can make you laugh. And at some pretty interesting things. The other day a woman was brought in bleeding from a stab wound in the neck. Funny thing about blood-- it tends to draw attention to anything it's coating. I think perhaps the fashion world should take note of this. It is eye catching. And while someone standing in front of you spouting poetry or political slogans might at least generate passing interest or a fleeting emotional response, someone in front of you spouting blood is likely to command your rapt attention until the situation changes appreciably. Just one of those things, I suppose. What's also interesting about blood is that when it's splashed or splashing all over the floor, there always seems to be a "whole lot" of it in a way that separates it from other liquid spills. While there may be "a lot" of spilled lemonade on the floor, when asking someone to quantify how much of the same amount of spilled blood there is on the floor you are more likely to get a response along the lines of "Way, WAY more than there should be."

In any event, bleeding patient, everyone upset, etc. When we finally got things sorted and her up to the OR to get the wound attended to, she asked me (my fingers on her carotid), "Am I going to die?" ER doctors hate it when asked this because let's face it, if you've thought to ask me the question I'm probably asking myself the same thing (about you, not me) and more often than I'm comfortable with those patients unfortunately have about their condition what the psychiatrists call "insight." But this patient wasn't dying, and likely wasn't going to, all things considered. So, my response? "Frankly, at this point I'm more worried about all those heart attacks you caused down in the ER when you came in leaking red stuff all over the place." Yup, I'm a caring nurturer. Can't be helped.

Life in Launceston has been pretty good. The best thing about the place, and again the best thing about most places you go, actually, has been the people. It's a really good place to work from a staff point of view and most people that you meet are very friendly (just like in the brochures! :) Here are a few pictures from on of the other Locums' going away party. Frivolity ensued.


I'm relatively certain that the second picture should have the following in a thought-bubble as it's caption: "Quickly! To the Keebab House!" One thing I will say, curry and Thai food aren't all that bad on this side of the world (now Mexican food... :(

The Parents made a point of coming by and taking a few days off their busy schedule of non-stop cruises (Hawaii, New Zealand) to hit the Tasmania highlights. Now think about what you might schedule for your parents if they were to come visit you where you live... Not easy, huh? Well, they did great and Mom even managed to conquer the Dove Lake circuit walk (w/ Cradle Mountain in the background).

In spite of having only the one good leg! The knee replacement, courtesy of the current working US labor force via Medicare, is coming. Side note, only rule of parental trip-- no politics. Probably for the best. Of course, it goes without saying that the walk was rated as "easy" by the Parks Service, and on only one of the 13-scrillion pieces of literature/trip planning I came across did they mention the "apart from one moderate hill" bit. And that was only on the posted map when you got there! So we busted out the ski poles and Mom Robo-Copped it down the last bit. I feel that my providing Transformers-like sound effects for her knee brace really serves as a relaxing yet motivating accompaniment to her getting around.

We also put on rain coats and got on board a boat tour of the Tasman Peninsula/Island when we went down to Port Arthur to check out some well preserved reminders of the convict history of "Van Diemen's Land." Because of some pretty high seas it ended up more like a roller coaster than a leisurely jaunt around the bay, but I loved that. Here, Youngie plays the part of the Red Water-tight Ninja. And the scenery was of course amazing. Closest next bit of land? Yup, Antarctica.

We did a little sight-seeing and so on and then said adieu to the parents. I'm still inwardly amused by a fair amount of the signage I see here. For example, This particular art gallery is relatively difficult to find, partially attributable to their advanced "Cloaking Facilities" located at Visitor Reception.
"Impossible! No ship that small has a cloaking device...!"

And I still enjoy the Public Service announcements, which apparently are a cultural thing-- a friend says that in addition to a warning label the cigs in the UK have actual pictures of diseased lungs, etc. on the packages.

So, I'll leave off this posting with another poem, as well as some pics of what I recently found in my shoe one morning. I mean, where the heck am I? The Sahara?

For those of you who bought the special blog glasses, here it is in 3-D:

(aka out of focus)

The Calf-Path

by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)

One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail, as all calves do.

Since then three hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.

The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bellwether sheep
Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep,
And drew the flock behind him, too,
As good bellwethers always do.

And from that day, o’er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made,
And many men wound in and out,
And dodged and turned and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because ’twas such a crooked path;
But still they followed — do not laugh —
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding wood-way stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane,
That bent, and turned, and turned again.
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet.
The road became a village street,
And this, before men were aware,
A city’s crowded thoroughfare,
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed that zigzag calf about,
And o’er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They follow still his crooked way,
And lose one hundred years a day,
For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf-paths of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.

They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,
And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.

They keep the path a sacred groove,
Along which all their lives they move;
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf!
Ah, many things this tale might teach —
But I am not ordained to preach.

the great overland track

People often ask me why I chose to come to Tasmania. Not least of all, Tasmanians. While the immediate reasons are relatively straight-forward (not sure where I wanted to be; was busy arranging time in Liberia when my Residency classmates were looking for jobs; thought "why not go overseas?" and not all that confident in my Spanish; signed up w/ an agency and was given a few choices), there is more to it than "why not?" In fact, I think that quite a few Tasmanians suffer from the "Statue of Liberty" phenomenon, in that if you are from a place you rarely end up doing the things that tourists do when they come to that place. For Tasmania, the "touristy things" are amazing opportunities for "bushwalking" (camping/hiking) and exploring the wilderness that is relatively untouched.

Much like my home state of West Virginia, the preservation of the wild is the positive that often (though not always and usually not without someone to fight for it!) comes with relative under-development. In fact, I find myself telling people here that I felt comfortable coming to this town in northern Tasmania specifically because it was similar to the town I grew up in back home in West Virginia. Go Big Reds.

With that as an introduction, I have on my refrigerator a list of goals for Tasmania. In addition to "improve posture," "drink two glasses of water a day," "run 9.30 min mile for 1/2 marathon," "normalize TSH level" and "Sort out life direction," on that slip of paper there is also the aspiration-- "Walk the Overland." Well, the TSH may be coming along, but the only one I've been able to cross off so far has been that last. And thank goodness for that.

The Overland Track is one of Australia's and certainly Tasmania's most famous walks. Similar to the Appalachian Trail in the States but perhaps more isolated, the track starts in the Cradle

Mountain National Park and makes its way south through the World Heritage area for 65 kilometers to end at Lake St. Clair. A lot of my pictures from the trip are also up on my Facebook page, but I thought I'd try to put some up here along w/ a little bit of context.

First off, the Players. Myself and my girlfriend YoungJoo started off in the morning, leaving my flat in West Launceston, loaded up and ready for adventure. Naturally she felt the need to bring along a tiny toy stuffed possum...

As with all great adventres, we first made our way to that most exotic of locales, the bus stop:

While game and having been on a few hikes w/ me previously, Youngie hadn't really done any extended camping or bushwalking at all before. This prompted the following photo in which I point out what is on my mind and the lack thereof once we actually get on the trail...

During the popular season in Dec-Jan-Feb-March (aka summer), the trail can only be hiked North to South. So we had to convoy down to the end at Lake St. Claire the night before, leave one of our cars, and carpool back. Because of the length of the drive, we ended up driving back in the evening, leading to the maiming of several species of Australian wildlife and the front end of my 98 Toyota Camry (anyone in Tassie in the market?)

The Track itself was fantastic and we got off to a pretty good start, crossing Cradle Valley and heading up to Marion's lookout, the face track to Cradle Mountain, and getting in to Waterfall Valley Hut on the first day.

This is a view of Crater Lake from the Overland Track on the way to Marion's Lookout, day 1.

Climbing up to Marion's Lookout, and then standing on it w/ Cradle in the background:

The last is Cradle Mountain as seen from the Cradle Plateau, "just" after Marion's Lookout.

To be honest things began to blur together a bit as to which day was when or where. And every time I stopped to use the camera I kept thinking of that line from Desert Solitaire where he exorts the tourists to see what is in front of them as opposed to trying to compose a picture about it. But here are a few shots, regardless. I recall one of the Parks and Wildlife workers mentioning that 60% of the species found in the world heritage area are found nowhere else (which explains the planked boardwalk!). Quite a few of the areas on the Cradle Plateau reminded me of the algific talus slope we saw in West Virginia as part of the Mountain Institute. A giant outcrop collapsed and buried a glacier underneath it, trapping and insulating the ice and leading to tundra-type flora in the middle of the Appalachians! :)

There were fair amounts of myrtle and deciduous forest as well, especially on our day 2 marathon!

Buttongrass alongside the track, day 1 or 2. I'd thought it had gotten it's name from the clumps in which it grows, but apparently the button-like appearance of the flowers is responsible. I didn't see any flowers-- I like my reason.


Here is the trail to Mt. Ossa at Pelion Gap, day 3. We left our large packs at the trailhead and spent aobut 4 hours climbing up to the top of Ossa, which is Tasmania's highest point and often snow covered even in early summer. The climb was a bit challenging in parts but not technical. There were certainly a few traverses where you thought to yourself, "I'm doing this on purpose?" Managed to get sunburned in spite of the sunscreen on this one. This is why bald guys like the big hats! :(

A side trip on day 4 took us to Fergusson Falls, just 2km North of DuCane Gap. A very nice Frenchman took our photo. I was of course envious in that he had two trekking poles and I only the one I'd borrowed from a friend of Youngie's. I am happy to say that one birthday later I now have a set of my own poles.

It was interesting in that at the trailhead to Mt. Ossa, it was this guy's pack that the crows had un-zipped and gotten into. By watching hikers from afar over time, the crows learned that food was in the packs and had worked out how to unzip them with their beaks!

It finally rained on us day 3 and 4. It's only fair-- the area we were hiking through at the time was temperate rainforest-- similar to the Pacific Northwest or cloud producing forests like Monteverde in Costa Rica, perhaps.

Here, in the distance you can just make out Young on the track, surrounded by enormous gum trees. This was day 4 or so.

Day 5 we hit the suspension bridge over the Narcissus River on our way to Lake St. Clair. A fair number of features in the area have names derived from ancient Greece. I think it started with an area termed "the Labyrinth" and people just kept it up from there. I particularly enjoy the warning sign...

We ended up having a spot in each of the huts we came across, so never had to use the tent we brought. But at least one couple in the group we started out with did get caught between huts and ended up using theirs, so it's definitely worth it to have one available. This is Narcissus hut, which is the last one we came across. It's certainly not the nicest, as some of them were amazing, especially considering there's nothing else around.

So this is me scratching my head at Narcissus after summoning the ferry to take us out. You can either walk or catch a ferry for the last bit, but you have to plan ahead for this. Because we didn't, we had to use the radio in the hut to talk to the ferry base. Hysterical, but also eeriely like that one scene in the Xbox game "Left 4 Dead" when you have to radio the boat to pick up your group of survivors from the zombies out in the woods. Yeah, creepy.

The beautiful, and non-zombie infested Lake St. Clair.

It is here I saw my first (and likely only) platypus in the wild! By the time I got my camera out, it looked like a ripple in the water-- sorry!

This is me next to a gum tree, also near Narcissus at Lake St. Clair, waiting for the ferry.

I don't know why gaiters are so popular with bushwalkers here. I myself never wore them when doing hiking in the States. I suppose they do help keeping socks/feet/boot tops dry. But I wonder if they're also more popular here as just another layer of snake protection. In the US, snake bites are unpleasant and will put a damper on your trip, but in Aussie some of the snakes are so poisonous that when you get bitten your pet goldfish dies, too.
And speaking of which, this is the only sign we saw regarding snake activity. It was posted at the visitor center at St. Clair. Yup, at the end of the hike. Thanks for that, fellas.

So, not to sound too much like Uncle Travelling Matt, there you have it, my nephew Gobo. I hope to get to do more of this stuff, and I hope Young enjoyed it as much as she said she did (btw, helpful tip-- winter rated sleeping bags are the way to go, but that's another story...) and would go again. After years in Baltimore and NYC, it was nice to get out of "the Big Smoke" and into the woods, where the wild things are. ;)

May the Road Rise to Meet You / May the Wind Be Always at Your Back /

May the Sun Shine Warm upon Your Face / the Rain Fall Soft upon Your Fields /

And until We Meet Again / May God Hold You in the Hollow of His Hand.

--aws