And then I remembered I'd forgotten the pegs. All the way back at Pandani Saddle, some two hours scrub-bash away. It started to rain just as I made the decision to go back to get them, leaving my backpack by the track. The pegs were there at Pandani Saddle, under the tree, exactly where I'd left them. Back up on the ridge a strong south-westerly wind was starting to blow, it was pouring, and I had pegs but no backpack. Back down the ridge. Where's the bloody backpack? I would survive a night out, but it wouldn't be fun shivering in a space blanket. Still no backpack. I searched frantically for what felt like hours. The rain continued as it became darker. Then I saw it, almost at the foot of Mt Wylly. I cried. Relief mostly, I think. But I didn't linger in the rain. It was on with the pack and up Mt Wylly, and on to camp at Wylly Plateau. I was soaked to the bone and filthy. Even my jocks were soaked. I stripped and lay there naked in the tent, then washed my poor battered and bruised body with a dish cloth¦
