And the adventures continue…
Given Moreton is one big sand island, it wouldn’t be cricket to not have a go at sand tobogganing at the ingeniously named Little Sandhills and Big Sandhills. The sand tobogganing was however mostly unsuccessful due to overnight rain resulting in wet sand. We still ended up with uninvited sand in places sand should not be and watched on eagerly as Rodders proceeded to toboggan into a tree kamikaze style but luckily without the kamikaze results.
The really hot weather and an overnight visit from Rodders and Kiles’ friends Dan, Sharon and their toddler, Finn, resulted in the group deciding the only thing to do was to drive to the calm side (ie western side) 
of the island, set up a sun shade and sit in the water whilst having a few quiet ones. The having a few quiet ones was only interrupted by snorkelling around the wrecks, a spot of kayaking and digging around in the esky to find another “quiet one”. It really is a hard life but someone’s got to do it and we were happy to oblige.
New year’s afternoon saw us down on the beach, tunes playing, having nibblies and a few more quiet ones as we watched the sunset. We made it to midnight…just. What say we blame it on the energy sapping sun and surf rather than old age (that’s our excuse and we’re sticking to it!). I woke up on new year’s day to find that perhaps the few quiet ones had turned into a couple more than a few and little louder than expected (the pounding in my head was especially raucous). Happy fucking new year.
Also high on the list of things to do was fishing. There was only one problem, pippies, or rather, clam type bait thingys (yes, this is the technical description for them) were on strike and thus a little scarce which is unusual for Moreton. On our second last day, the pippy union must have been appeased because they started to reappear. Rodders loves fishing, thus, he loves pippies. In my opinion, his level of fondness for pippies is rather unnatural and is such that he really should see someone about it. Anyway, I digress.
As the pippies began to reappear so did other potential fishermen and we found ourselves in The Great Pippy Digging Derby. Rodders was on a mission – “You can take my freedom but you can’t take my pippies!!!” We had an evil and intricate plan. Our strategy; drive past all the pippy digging teams and go further up the beach to get to the pippies further up the beach first! Yep, evil AND intricate, I know. Our plan was met with one fairly enthusiastic pippy digging team yelling, “Git out of it, go on git! Them there pippies are ours!” as Rodders blasted by like a man possessed! What is it with the attraction to pippies? Perhaps 
Calvin Klein should think about making Eau de Pippy for women looking to attract a male. It would make millions. Anyway, the end result was in fact, plenty of pippies for everyone but alas the tides were against us so there were a distinct lack of fish (ie zero) caught with the said pippies.
The final adventure which is actually the start of a huge adventure for Rodders and Kiles involves an empty fruit cup (duly supplied by yours truly), a positive pregnancy test and a lot of jumping around squealing. It’s not every day you go camping and find out you’re going to be an aunty! In honour of the trip, the poor little bugger has already been nicknamed Mort. Hope it’s a girl. I’m concerned that name will stick.
Apart from packing up all our gear in the pouring rain (such is camping), the trip was a memorable one and a great reminder for Chris and I why we came home. Oh, and Bluey loved it too!
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