The Adventurerer: Day 5 Bright to Rutherglen

The evening found me cooking a thick cut rump steak on an electric bbq fueled by twenty-cent pieces surrounded by ducks.
But then again I saw a one armed man play a guitar in Santiago, and an Irish girl tried to sell me her car instantly in Cairns, and I will be photographed by the gay press in two weeks time when I go back to the kitchen to retreive the bit of paper on which I'd written "There's a difference between bravery and stupidy. Luckily I was stupid the whole time - Marcello [with regard to travelling around the world, and being knifed and bombed]."
The point is, paradox aside, we should be prepared for the unexpected.
And, in my more positive moments, I would suggest the whole point of life is to face them with a grin and wholeheartedly embrace such moments.
And if not moments, then certainly the gorgeous twenty-one and twenty-two year olds who pull you up short. And much as I would like to be destined for 'the special hell', there is...

Ducks.
There were ducks, ok. And they have a... oh, who cares.
There were two white muskovies who were disliked intensely by a third white muskovy; a pied muskovie who was chill; a pair of french white beauties with elegant tail curls; a pacific black duck and her part grown duckling. And even though I was quite drunk at the time, I don't think there is any Great Truth hidden in this.

We'd gone through a number of towns with field pieces standing in memorium to those thousands of country boys from these parts who went off and never came back. The butcher in Rutherglen (25year old or so) was that same salt-of-the-earth genuine country stock that blew the hell out whomever they were ordered against and had the hell blown out of them in turn.
It had been an afternoon of wine tasting. It was very succesful - I was happily pickled and they'd got a few hundred dollars out of me. Needless to say I was hilarious.

Bright caravan park

Outside Bright

The transition from alpine hills to flat drier Riverina is impressive.

In daylight we see just what a beautiful part of the world Bright and its surrounds represent. It's movie set perfection. All the farms are small holdings of berries, orchards, timber and pasture. You wouldn't think the area was subject to water restrictions - everything is so green and every second tree is an ornamental exotic. The bare granite Mt Buffalo stands in dramatic backdrop. It's just ripe for developers to absolutely tear the heart out of.

Myrtleford and Beechworth are pretty and unspoilt.

Mt Buffalo

We continued north and the land flattened and dried. The exotics gave way to eucalypts.

After yesterday's herculean efforts I gladly handed over the wheel once we got set up in Rutherglen. I was here for durif, and I found a very good example at the first place we went.

All Saints Estate is a castle hidden from the sunstruck fields by lush avenues of maple. The first hint that you are close is a hedge beside the road standing out like square-cut green dogs balls. The hedge is an overture to a brick gateway and ostentatious avenue. On emerging one beholds an edifice that politely informs that the staff are about to charge your credit card as they would French skirmishers. After the fountain, yellow roses brocade the double doors and one realises one has been referring to yourself as 'one'.

It's that sort of place.

But they did have some interesting wines.

The Rutherglen Estate woman was a very informative ex-bottlo owner from Gladesville who'd moved out because she got sick of the shop being broken into and held up.

Rose from Pfieffer was cute and enthusiastic. She didn't respond at all to my flirtatious overtures. Evidently she'd never seen a real man before and was confused by the thrumming inevitably stirred up deep within her taut, lithe body.

Bullens was lolly water masquerading as wine. A trap for ignorant young players with no idea, who are very obviously their target market.