An Intents Night

Something I didn't mention in the last post are the sleeping conditions I was privileged to experience at the Jenolan caravan park in Oberon. Don't get me wrong, the place was beautifully set up, but certain facts of tent life didn't really occur to me when I booked in that afternoon.

You see, Oberon is about 1100m above sea level, just shy of the height our beloved Mt Wellington back in Hobart. The daily weather rules are very different from those on the coast.  Inland, deprived of the moderating blanket of moist sea air, it gets breathtakingly cold the minute the sun wanders off to irradiate India and the Middle East. Cooking dinner and writing in the open-air camp kitchen, my hands gradually slowed until I was creaking with every stiff-fingered keystroke. By about eight, after calling my workmate Tim in Newcastle, I had lost all sensation in my nose, ears and genitals, so I thawed myself with a shower and crawled into the tent.

Kept awake by the noise of the quarry nearby (thanks, council zoning laws!), I lay there uncomfortably as the mercury dropped like a stone. By midnight, I was wearing two pairs of long johns, jeans, a singlet, t-shirt, long sleeved shirt, two woolen jumpers, two pairs of woolen socks and a fleece beanie. The only thing sticking out of my sleeping bag cocoon was my nose.  Eventually I slept, but somehow stayed aware of the cold even in my dreams.

Note to self for the next inland journey: get down to the Salvos to buy a blanket and a teaspoon of cement. I need to harden up before I tackle my next freezing night in Chateau Canvas.