3 Peaks. 1 Mumma Dingo. Zero Grace.

Warning: Explicit language, not suitable for your cubs to read.

Righto, strap in, because this day was a bloody circus.

Peak 1: Mt Walsh

Started strong. Views? Absolutely chef’s kiss – like Mother Nature went full Pinterest board up there. The climb, however, was 100% designed by giants. Us shorties? We’re just out here playing “extreme Twister on rocks.” At one point I think I invented a new yoga pose called The Desperate Wombat. Going down wasn’t any better – picture a sweaty crab in hiking boots, shuffling for dear life. Graceful? Not even remotely. Worth it? Hell yeah.

Peaks 2 & 3: Woo & Goo

Don’t be fooled by the cutesy names – these bastards are anything but fun. Whoever christened them must’ve been drunk, high, or had a wicked sense of humour. Because what you actually get is a live-action Ninja Warrior course built entirely out of spiderwebs, stabby plants, stingy leaves, and branches with the sole purpose of scratching the shit out of you. Oh, and let’s not forget the mystery bugs who treated me like a bloody Uber Eats stopover, landing on me every two seconds.

Wildlife encounters?

✔️ Echidna minding his own business.

✔️ A mob of wallabies who gave zero fucks about me crashing through their backyard. ✔️ One lace monitor who stared at me like I’d just walked into his bar uninvited. And spiders. So. Many. Fucking. Spiders.

By the time I reached the summits, my phone had died, which honestly was a blessing in disguise. Saved me from wasting storage space on what were, let’s be real… two absolute shithouse peaks. Zero wow-factor. Just pain, sweat, and enough swearing to make a sailor blush.

But hey, that’s 3 more ticks off the list. One spectacular, two duds, and a whole lot of questionable bush gymnastics.

Mumma Dingo – still alive, still swearing, still climbing.