The family picture with the dog we inherited for ten minutes. I'm on the far left, looking dashingly the most attractive of all. I sort of feel sorry for how homely the rest of them are.
A row of sheep. One of these will feel Libby's wrath. Or at least her unsteady shearing hand.
Libby, shearing a sheep with an archaic hand-shear. I can't imagine that these are still being used. If they are, someone from Gillette, or whoever the sheep equivalent is, needs to send some reps down their way.
The Piss Up. Jamie and John and some people from America that I spoke with for a time about gas prices and such--I can't remember their names, which isn't surprising since I can't remember anyone's names. I believe Jamie and John may be sober, they sure look it.
JF had his glasses off by this point, so we knew he meant business. This was the only time I saw him without his glasses when we weren't going to bed or waking up. Pete, who doesn't drink, obviously didn't find us as amusing as we found ourselves.
Karen. I wasn't in the room when this was taken, but I can hear what she's saying in my head still: "That damn Cybill Shepherd was such a bitch." That, actually, might have been the PG rated version of what she was actually saying. Ask her about Cybill Shepherd the next time you see her. She's really quite fond of the lady.
I THINK this was at Bluff, but it might have been out somewhere in the Catlins two days later. Considering how cold and miserable we looked, I sort of thought this was in Bluff.
One of those signs, like in M.A.S.H. that has a bunch of towns and distances. This is that "not-quite-the-southernmost" point in New Zealand I mentioned. Everyone in New Zealand is required by law to have their picture taken under this sign at least once in their lives.
Lots of rocks . . .hey, what's up with this underline? I can't make it go away no matter what I do. How very odd. Rocks and a long drop--this was alongside the trail in Bluff. The trail wasn't close enough for my hands to sweat, but I had plenty of opportunity to catch up when we went to the Catlins a few days later.
Libby in front of the ocean. Weird, the underline is gone now and I didn't do anything. Perspective in these pictures doesn't really do justice to just how dead someone would be if they stumbled back just two or three steps from where she's standing. The answer is very.
Sara and rocks and ocean and potential death.
This was the second take of a picture of John, Sara, Jamie and Ami. The first one they were just standing there, sort of vaguely smiling. Then they said, "Wait, we weren't posing, take another." Then I shot this one. Hams.
Libby making the international sign for Grizzly Bear, which is odd since there are no bears of any sort in New Zealand. This was on the path that led up over a quite large hill through some impressively dank and thick forested area. Probably considered a "moderate" hike, but my out of shape ass was doing some huffing and puffing.
And, finally, us eating again in the cafe adjacent to the M.A.S.H. sign. We were having tea. I had a scone with jam and some tea with milk. I felt just like a colonist. Or a loyalist. Or whoever still eats tea with scones . . .non-me's with accents. That's the term.
No comments:
Post a Comment