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Caprine Chronicle 1:

 

Lunchtime on Saturday 28th May saw the full team loudly enjoying their wine and food at the Blue Pyrenees Winery to celebrate the first ever training walk with a complete cast in attendance.

We enlisted the services of the waiter (an aged hippie called 'The Kid') to help us reminisce over the days events and formulate a charter for the club.

Enthusiasm overcame lack of process and, as quickly as we drove the other patrons out of the restaurant, we cobbled together the foundations of our Constitution… viz:

1)     The team needs a more succinct name than the "Do-it-while-you-can-club".

2)    Every member of the team needs a name or 'handle'.

3)    The team needs a uniform. T-shirts and caps were considered a little passé. Some idiot suggested capes and this met with boozy acclaim.

4)    No spitting.

All four sections were voted through without dissention although Mark did abstain on item 4.

Quickly we addressed the task on hand with us shouting across the table a flurry of, oft-times witty, sometimes abusive, names for each other.

Belinda had started the day looking decidedly pasty following a libatious and late circuit of the town with some girl friends the previous night. This prompted names like VOMIT, CHUNDER and BARKER. We felt that these didn't really fit with the desired erudition of the club. We settled for CHUCK.

Earlier, Christina had us perplexed when she announced that the most important item she wished to carry up Mt Kinabalu was a pair of thongs. Why? "In case I need to go to the toilet!"??? What's she going to do? Wipe her bum with the things? It turns out that she can slip them on if she needs to go to the squat style facilities in the middle of the night. Ahhh! Her handle was obvious… THONG.

When 'the Kid' brought out drinks and politely inquired which pair of "sucky-lala's" had ordered the hot chocolate, it prompted us to name John SUCKY and Marilyn LALA. Mark's inability to keep his saliva to himself prompted the name SPIT and someone kept insisting on giving Nick the handle RAMPANTSTALLION. All of these handles were ultimately rejected and, indeed, prompted a refinement of the constitution specifically addressing the form of personal names in that they must…

1)     Not be obviously derogatory.

2)    Be decorous.

3)    Be accurate.

While 'the Kid' was serving out drinks he let out a shriek of alarm. Just next to Nicks left leg was a half meter length of fresh blood smeared across the floor. Every one gathered round to investigate. At the end of the streak was a soggy scab. But, hang on… the scab is… is… MOVING!! Aw cripes!! It's a LEECH!!! The fact that the blood appeared to be coming from Nick's leg had Mark immediately clamoring that we should name him LEECH despite the fact that this would only conform to item (3) in the above naming rules.

Nick lifted his trouser legs and vainly searched for evidence of leech attack. As it slowly became clear that the parasite had not come from Nick, Chuck started to again adopt the pasty complexion that had just recently left her. She had been sitting next to Nick. If the leech wasn't his then…

She lifted her trouser leg. There it was… blood oozing from the, still fresh, incursion. Chuck was about to faint! Everyone sprang into action... Neil and Christina grabbed her arms in case she fell, Mark pushed a chair up for her to flop into and Marilyn held her shoulders to guide her, Cherry checked her pulse and felt her brow while Nick dived for the video camera. Although not impressed at the time, it is certain that Chuck will ultimately thank Nick for his presence of mind in recording her reaction in intimate detail.

The leeches were out because the day had been so wet. Oh, and cold… bloody COLD!

As usual, we'd gotten lost a couple of times on the drive out to the walk what with Richard leading the way and all.

In a dank, cold and miserable ambiance we set off Indian file with Mark leading the way and Richard brining up the rear. As we rounded a ravine Mark gathered us to observe a tree he'd found. It looked like a 10 meter high man with branches in the right proportions to be arms and a broken branch sticking out at right angles which looked remarkably like an enormous Hampton. We named him WOODY. As Richard came trudging up we set off again in our quest for the summit.

We'd been traveling little over a quarter of an hour when a pathetic voice from the back of the tribe begged us to stop for refreshment. "Can't we have some lollies?" it implored. We stopped to let Richard have his lollie fix then onward and upward with John taking the lead and Richard bringing up the rear.

Another 10 minutes and a plaintive supplication from astern solicited another lollie-stop. This was going to take all day. We came up with a solution… we gave the lollies to Richard to carry.

We set off again with Neil at the front and Richard trailing the rear.

Nick had brought his GPS. Very handy tool that. After about half an hour phaffing about it reluctantly fired up and gave us the information we wanted from it. Like we were 4000 meters up and falling, our average walking speed was 122 kph and the round trip was 75 cm.

It certainly felt like we were 4000 meters up. We intended to climb all the way to the peak but, traversing the exposed south face of the mountain, the weather turned cold, wet and windy. We stopped to discuss pushing on to the summit. There was much debate but Cherry was adamant we turn back so that made the decision easy. That could suggest a handle for Cherry… PIKE.

We set off back down the hill and met Richard coming up. He was studiously riffling through a bag of jubes plucking out the black current ones. We appraised him of the situation and he took his place at the back of the group.

An uneventful journey back to the cars. Thong had us all greatly impressed as she deftly executed a complete change of clothing and, while we resembled a herd of rain sodden sheep, she looked dressed ready for a night at the opera.

As we all clambered aboard the two 4WDs, Richard emerged from the trail and dumped a fist full of empty lollie bags in the bin provided. "How far to the winery?" asked Chuck. "About 10 minutes." replied Richard.

A little over three quarters of an hour later we swung into the car park at the Blue Pyrenees. The rest is history.