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Mountains and Mamils

There is something special about getting up early.

The air is crisp.

Birds are streching and making pre-dawn conversation.

Apart from street lights, the neighbourhood is dark.

Stars are spattered across sky and becoming less visible as the sun begins to stain the horizon orange.

I know this, because before the sun was up I was on the road.

My feet hit the trail, a drippy, mountainous track in the national park, before 7am, and along with a couple of buddies, we had the place to ourselves.

The hilly trail is named after the water course it scrambles around, and with a name like "Piles Creek", I began to wonder if early explorers dubbed the stream after a memorable dose of hemorrhoids caused by a strenuous walk.

The stairs led us down into the valley, and the large sandstone cliffs enveloped us in delicious cushion of silence. 

Below the look-out and obscured underneath a blanket of low-lying cloud, we could hear the roar of a waterfall. 
 
 
We strode on, our necks aching from craning at the spectacular cliffs, and we marveled at the seemingly random outcrops of lonely balustrade.

I felt the vigour in my legs as we scrambled up the steep slippery slope, and said a silent thanks for nimbleness.

After 2 hours, the trail looped us back to our starting point, and our good morning walk concluded.
 

 
In my car, I asked the GPS for directions to "good coffee near me", and 20 minutes later, a tasty brew sat steaming on the table in front of me.

We sat and shared small talk, smiling as Mamil packs stretched out in extended convoys to dominate the Sunday morning traffic.

It felt nice to be out, already well into the day, as some were just emerging. I think I'm going to do this more often.

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