Bermagui follows a coastal road off the Princes Highway into another cute holiday village called Tathra.

 On an otherwise deserted road, a man in a fluro orange jacket was pushing an oversize buggy down the side of the road. Curious, we pulled over and met Andrew, a bold bloke from Sydney who’s walking around Australia to raise money for the Cancer Council. He’d set off on the 27th of December from Sydney and had already made it about 450 km down the coast, and raised about $1600. Being amateur documentary makers, we quickly interviewed Andrew as he walked us through his buggy and kit. There were some deadly interesting stories about batteries and inverters which I’ll spoil you with another time.

 PS. Andrew’s website is - we’ll be donating to him and hopefully catching up with him a bit on the way round (he’s already beaten us to a few towns.)

We rocked up for a quick pilgrimage in Bega at the Cheese Factory, which was about as exciting as plastic cheese itself, but the rolling hills of the Bega Valley Shire were lush and full of munching, damp cows, seemingly oblivious of the ominous looking clouds flooding above them.

We bought a cargo net and some more organisers in an attempt to condense some more stuff inside the car into smaller bundles. Although we were already having serious discussions about how to get rid of more stuff.

We pulled into a very family campsite at Hobart Beach in Bournda National Park and started to dry out some stuff. It was one of those awesome ‘home away from home’ campsites with showers and toilets and a playstation* (*not true).

We were both pretty depressed about the weather, although with so much flooding and craziness going on in the rest of the country we knew it was completely self indulgent to be whinging and so we just sucked it up and set up camp. The fire trails at Bournda were great for burning about on the Crane Hinges, and their maiden voyage together was great – although for some reason mine operates a bit slower than Joe’s and is a bit of a scaredy cat. On these tracks they look like taller, awkward BMX’s (sort of), but not quite as cool.

 Somewhat exhausted that night after a few bottles of wine (thank you Lynne & Phil) we crashed out in the dry tent. One of us in particular was so tired that they forgot to close the car door, and in the dead of night we heard the tell tale sounds of thievery banging around outside. Neither of us knew the back door was open, so neither of us stirred.

 Most people know that the 1st rule of camping is thou shalt not leave food or rubbish out at night so I could hardly blame Garry (the possum) for throwing a bread party in the back of the Troopy. After all, it’s hardly break and enter when the front door is open.

We cruised into Merimbula the next day, relieved to be leaving our tent where it was. Everything seemed to be taking for ever, from getting up to getting coffee to getting breakfast to getting away from the campsite, we hadn’t busted a move prior to 11am so far and we were both getting agitated with the speed of things. Joe went for a surf and I went for a run at Merimbula beach and that was about all we did all day, apart from have serious words with Garry when he tried tapdancing on the BBQ in an attempt to distract us and steal our sausages. Clearly struggling with finding purpose, and not use to this whole unemployment thing, the next day we planned a serious day mission to Kosciuoszko National Park.