I only learnt to whistle when I was 61.5 years old.

It’s not the first time I have been a fairly slow learner.

And it was all thanks to the Princess.

Who happened to have her face eye deep in some other dog’s poo.

Yelling didn’t seem to cut it, so I managed to blow out of my mouth in disgust.

And out came a whistle!

Who knew whistling wasn’t an air intake.

I tell this story because as we started off on our last day, up that bloody 690 metre hill, I certainly wasn’t whistling.

I may have been actually muttering obscenities under my breath.

Once again reminded (yes Annabel), I do NOT like hills.

Of any kind.

The start of the walk was quite peaceful and calming with a few lambs to baa at and a nice track to wander.

But we knew what was coming.

We had read the map.

As it was, my expectations, being firmly in the gutter regarding this last piece of the track, were of great benefit to me.

It was actually a lot easier than I thought.

Don’t get me wrong, there were lots of gnarly bits, times when it was a hold onto the nearest branch to a) get up the slope and b) not slide down the slope whilst trying to get up.

I felt fairly bad for those in our group who had bad knees and significant blisters on their feet.

As it turned out they all did it with grace, style and almost ease.

But given the notes on the day it had been a big farewell to the group and a ‘see you at the bottom, good luck’.

At the top of that 690m hill – without a view due to the fog – was a nice little morning tea hut where we came across the three ‘leaders’ of our group, Sue, Tanya and Kay. I say leaders because they were essentially the Eveready Bunnies, beating everyone hands down on everything (except the games, Brent was clearly the stand out winner there).

Apparently, as it turns out, I am competitive.

We left to head down the hills before the girls and every so often I would look behind to make sure they were a safe distance away.

The walk was quite pretty and after what seemed like a very short time, about 2 hours, the end was in sight. Well at least Mt. Vernon Lodge was, which is where MoD had left our car.

I looked up the hill only to spy the competition.

MoD would have liked to meander just a little to maybe even read this…..

No MoD, none of that touristy crap, we have to finish.

First.

You can read it now.

Doesn’t matter this was our first first for the weekend.

Of course, even if they had of finished early, given we know a little about Mt. Vernon – ok Brent may have mentioned a shortcut – we climbed a little gate and got to our car quickly, took off and found the girls had walked past Mt. Vernon. To be fair the entrance road was slightly hidden. We redirected them of course 😜

Time – 2 hours 37 minutes, elevation – 652m (down to Mt. Vernon of course), kilometres – 8.89. According to Ms. Strava.

Who is always right.

Even though MoD and my strava always read different, even when we are together.

Akaroa was a welcome sight.

In particular the cafe where I had, you guessed it, a single shot soy latte.

My first for three days.

And I wasn’t even hard to deal with.

Surely 🤪

Tick Banks Peninsula off the bucket list.

Loved every moment of it.

Made very special by all the work Cath and Brent put into organising.

Made very very special by an amazing group of people.

Next stop, Amsterdam. Stay tuned folks.