End of Life Planning So our Federal Treasurer thinks we should work until we die, because life ends at retirement. No, Mr. Hockey, you bullying creep, life does not end at 65 or 70 or at whatever age we retire. Work does not define life. The economy is not society. We are not your serfs. Who voted for these jackasses?

Visiting Sauron On Thursday, we flew over to Auckland and drove down with friends to Tongariro National Park, one of the world's oldest national parks, to tramp the crossing. ("Tramping" being the word used in NZ to refer to long hikes, usually involving an overnight stay, and sometimes referred to as a bushwalk in Australia.) This is the first time I've ever gone "camping" on this scale in a very long time. We had packs and boots and all the Icebreaker gear you'd ever want, sleeping bags, etc. No food or cooking equipment, though, as we'd hired a guide, and the service included meals. New Zealand's Great Walks, of which there are eight (you can look them up if you're interested) allow camping proper or you can book into huts along the way, which we did for our two overnight stays. These huts are communal, sleep about two dozen, all lined up in bunks, and include gas and wood stoves and water, so it all sounded very unarduous. The description of the tramp we booked was a three-day hike; 6-7 hours on the first day, 3-4 on day two, and finishing with a 6-7 hour walk. We shared carrying the additional material necessary, food and so forth, on top of the 10 kilos of our own stuff, so that wasn't hard. The rain, on the first day, was relentless and cold. I can't say as I was terribly happy by the time we reached the hut, but we made the best of it, and after a bit of rest felt better. The prospect of day two's limited tramping seemed promising of an easier time. On day two I discovered that taking pictures in the rain was bad for my camera. It's working again, but some of the very best scenery was not documented. I also discovered that a 3-4 hour walk in showers and a driving wind was not any more enjoyable that just downpours on day one. And some of those "easy" hills our guide promised were pretty tough. Even with all the walking and running and trying to keep up a level of fitness that we'd done in the weeks since booking this trip in January wasn't enough for me, so I was pretty sore. And more glad to reach the hut than I was on day one. While most of the others went out to view the local terrain, two of us stayed back and watched the rain and wind increase and judged ourselves to have made a better decision. Day three was the true test. We left the cabin and proceeded across the plains of Mordor - not kidding; some of the Lord of the Rings scenery was shot here. This has led me to a newfound respect for hobbits, as we had to climb for an hour up a lava flow ridge, barely wider than me, with gale force gusts and freezing rain. My visibility was reduced to nearly zero, so watching my feet and staying low was my only option. And to think that some people do this for fun. We didn't climb all the way up this cone, and we abandoned the idea of doing the crossing, opting to get out as quickly as possible, via the alternative route, which took us past the area where there'd last been an eruption, two years ago, still smoking away. On the morning of our last day, the weather cleared, and we could see what we'd been battling with. We could also see that one more day might have given us more to contend with, based on the snow that had fallen on the higher peak overnight. Let's go bushwalking, says B. Sure, says I. Bushwalking indeed. A walk in the park, turned into mountaineering. Next time, I pick the holiday. Update: Here's a map, with the tramp highlighted.

Whistle Stop Yesterday we headed out early for a bushwalk, from Taronga Zoo to Balmoral, along the harbour foreshore. We had only just started, really, when, upon reaching Bradley's Head, where the HMAS Sydney memorial is, we ran across a small group of metalworkers, promoting a worldwide event, that started long ago in Germany: Spengler mit Pfiff. The story goes that there was a tinsmith who wanted to promote his business, so he made up hundreds of whistles, bending strips of tin and wrapping them around one another, embossed his business name on them, then went around town handing them out to children. Seems to have worked, as 5 April is now Spengler mit Pfiff day, effectively, and in 80 cities around the world yesterday, metal workers associated with the original business in one way or another, and seeking to promote their trade as something for young people to pursue, set out to make 20,000 whistles. They made over 50,000. The group we met, on our return trip, about an hour later, had made over 500. B. & I each made one, a simple process, where you wrap one end around a metal rod, bend back the rest of the strip, clip the ends, wrap another strip around it, and holding the rounded ends shut, blow, for a high, piercing note. Keeping the gap between the rounded end and the flat strip narrower or wider will alter the tone. Excelsior, Spengler mit Pfiff! I'm keeping my eye out for next year.