Margins Magazine Issue 1 - Page 19

ANTIPODEAN EXPEDITION After a withering journey from Sydney, I wait alone for the next bus. Sun pokes at my eyes and a wily wind grabs for my neck. The mission to rescue Mary has failed; we boxed and locked up our thoughts of marriage four months ago. My London flight now looms large, the last days running down, so this visit to see her will be a final goodbye. I’m praying it will go OK. Mary has been away about six weeks, a new job in the mountains. We drove here before on a summer trip with friends, five days walking in the Kosciuszko National Park. I will miss our adventures. Some special memories driving the ‘ute’. Those sand tracks through the dunes after swimming at Seal Rocks, troubled by dorsal fins. Mary took over when four-wheel drive was needed. Even then it was a struggle for traction. There are two days’ skiing before Mary is free. On the white-plastered slopes I’m full of pigeon pride and don’t need lessons: I’m just going out. It’s not a complete mess, but ice sections take my edges and I skid and slide on arms and legs, poles and skis all times of the clock. Later I share a pull-lift with a cool kid with the right gear. I smile and say a few words. In my borrowed purple onesie, ladies’ glasses and knitted hat, I feel embarrassed. )%ӊé