12-13/12/25 Bright.

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I left Roger and Fluffy to each other's tender care, collected BD, and thec two of us headed to the hills for the weekend. That wasn't as exciting as it sounded, mind you,  involving a couple of hours following Google through endless traffic to escape Melbourne's suburban clutches and then high speed concentration on the motorway, dodging potholes (shame on you, Vic Roads) while dessicated paddocks marched past the windows.

Tasked with finding dinner in Bright, BD was overwhelmed with options. Bright dressed itself in lights at night, and tourists congealed at the bakery,  the American Diner, the pub, and don't forget the ice cream shop in seductive lollipop pink.

Saturday saw us on the road again, winding our way up the hill to Mount Hotham and Dinner Plain. The mountain was quiet, taking a breath in the hiatus between the end of the ski season and the beginning of the summer holidays. A few hikers were out and about and the Bycra Boys had completed their early morning KOM and hurtled downhill at death wish speeds as we went up.

Blow Hard Hut. I'll leave you to guess how it got that name.

Roadside views.

A single crow patrolled the picnic ground at Dinner Plain, keeping a close eye on our lunch along with a silver brumby forever frozen mid-gallop. 

Flashback to the "Silver Brumby" books of my childhood.


The mountains stretched as far as I could see, whiskered with stark white deadwood from bushfires past.

Mt Hotham was busy building grand new buildings.

Just a reminder that it's not always sunshine and unicorns in the mountains.

What goes up must come down, of course. We barely had a moment for a cup of tea before we were out for takeaway dinner with family who had just moved to Bright. We ate takeaway Thai in their back yard, sharing photos of cats and stories of renovations before heading back to our cabin for the night.

Bright Accommodation Village: home forctwo nights.

And finally, some small things from the mountain.



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