Anyone who has visited us in the past few years have probably heard us gush over our river boundary. The problem with the river though is that has been a secretive sort. We can hear it when it rains a lot but it has been well hidden.
I think my Cousin Matthew was the first man to try and find the river in earnest. Being an Accountant. He outsourced and he sent his two young girls. They could not find it.
At one of our yearly parties. A very good friend told me drunken machete work was the only way to clear a path. Sadly after the drunkenness evaporated the machetes never appeared.
So I have whittled away at the gorse and tobacco weed. Unearthed many a native. This year though. The year of turning 40 I was determined that we would get there somehow, some way.
I had some heavy machinery ready. I had an aerial survey done.
Thanks Aerial Vision
But a wise Sangster said we should take a look on foot before committing our Trump card. To be completely honest I just wanted to groom the hillside with a digger but what the hell. We put our best Gum boots on and headed east.
Using our Survey we bashed our way through gorse and other unsavoury weeds until we hit a dead end. Our hopes almost dashed we then took the enligheted view of following a small tributary we had spotted on our way.
We are in the middle of a horrendous drought at the moment. This turned out to be quite timely. As with all things. Timing is everything.
The first sniff that we were on the golden path was this puddle of water.