Leaf insect

I was sitting opposite Elf the other evening talking to her, when a strange movement caught my eye. Walking across the wide expanse of timber floor behind her, on his way somewhere, was a leaf insect. I'm sure they can fly if they want to - it's their wings that give them the leafy look isn't it? They probably walk up and down a branch or stem, safe in the knowledge that although they are moving, they still fit in well enough to get by. However this guy was strolling, as brazen as you like, his bright green-ness standing out from the brown floor like a neon sign. When I got closer I could actually hear him whistling.

Character development

I used to be a killer. Not a wanton psychopath, but if any creature pictured on a pesticide can crossed my path I was willing to wipe it out. I was an enthusiastic sprayer, but I was also prepared to get the rolled-up newspaper and fight hand to hand, or actually hand to thorax. In my chaotic bachelor flat I had a map of the world stuck up high on the wall. Once an irritatingly noisy fat fly settled on Scotland, almost but not quite out of reach. I got the newspaper and delivered a terrific Wimbledon-winning overhead smash. The fly passed away suddenly after a very short illness, leaving a splodge around the Aberdeen region. Another time I missed the fly but whacked my hand on the sharp rim of a saucepan. I still carry the scar.

At some point I have softened, and now I almost never kill anything. I try to usher flies out a window. Some of them are just too stupid and I collect them not-very-carefully in a tissue and throw them out. They are flies after all. Everything else I am prepared to catch in hand or tea-towel and carry out to safety. I have a broom technique for spiders. All this is not due to any conversion to buddhism or anything. The spray and whack just doesn't seem necessary now, somehow.

At present it seems to be millipede season. They are a simple nice clean pick up/throw out. Most mornings, we have about a dozen chugging around the bathroom like little trains. They seem to be coming up the drains, so I have started a campaign of tactical plugging and blocking, which seems to be working. The bathplug stays in, there is a small heavy bucket over the shower drain, and the one in the middle of the bathroom floor is covered by a cottage-craft doorstopper named Mrs Mouse. The floor is black and white checked, and I suspect the millipedes have the sense to scoot onto a black square when they hear me coming. Which makes any sensible person ask the question - given sufficient practice at this could a millipede learn to play checkers?

1250 metres up

The other day I took the boys up to the top of Mt Wellington. We've been for a few walks on the mountain lately, but not right to the pinnacle. It was a hot day and I was feeling sick of sweating every time I moved.

It was beautiful up top. Not much wind, didn't need jumpers. The boys just wanted to set off west across the alpine tundra. I struggled to keep them on a track, or at least on a bit of already-trodden ground.

Some days when I am up there I just want to look over the city and down the river and out to sea. Other days I am more attracted to the view west, over the Wild Heritage Area. I am not a bushwalker's bootlace, so it gives me a thrill to look out over this vast tract of land that would be the end of me, if I was to head off into it alone.

As you near the top of Pinnacle Road, the vegetation gets sparser and lower and tougher. Its a very harsh environment for plants, and my understanding is that small plants with very small leaves or needles, and lichen are the only things that will thrive up there. It's wonderful to get up there on a calm, warm day in summer. There are flowers and insects and animals on show that you would never suspect were possible, on a normal day (normal being sub-zero with a gale blowing straight through you).

We saw a few different kinds of crickets, including these. The one below is in the top left of picture, camouflaged to match the lichen. We saw skinks twice the size of the ones that dart about our garden at home. We saw a strange diamond-shaped fluttering thing, that turned out to be two insects mating on the wing. Impressive.


We climbed a few piles of rocks, culminating in the actual Pinnacle with a trig point on top of it. Michael thought this was beyond excellent. He is very fond of the word "pinnacle" but it comes out differently every time.

On the way down we stopped at the spot where a spring gushes down a rock wall just by the road. I have seen people many times filling bottles here, and I'm sure I have done it myself. I seem to remember it being quite easy. This time I was wet through by the time I had two small bottles of spring water, much to the amusement of my children. Judging by the temperature, the spring was fed by snowmelt. Very refreshing.