Our last trip to the South Coast unburied certain memories from my childhood past. Ann was keen to see the Figure 8 Pools in the Royal National Park so, despite what looked like very poor weather, we made our way to the Garrawarra Farm Carpark. This somewhat remote spot is at the head of the track to the Coast Track which runs the length of the National Park. For us this meant taking a right at Burning Palms in order to access the nearby Pools. Burning Palms! That name had been joggling about in the back of my mind since I had started plotting our walk a week earlier. Burning Palms....

And then it came back to me. Second Killarney Heights Scouts, circa 1971. Our troop had gone camping at Burning Palms, lugging backpacks from who knows where, pitching V-Frame tents and doubtless participating in lengthy and fruitless marches through bushland at the behest of the troop leader. The funny thing is, I have no recollection of that experience at all. I only remember the name, Burning Palms, and that we went there. Odd.

My modern experience of said place was wholly pleasant, for the rain ceased and the track proved easily negotiable. The south headland point was a little tricky (a southerly was producing a huge swell) and the Pools, which we had reached exactly at low tide, were awash in foam and spray from the breakers. One could only just make out where they were and it was impossible to get closer than 50 metres or so. Still, it was an enervating experience.

I am glad that Ann likes tramping in the natural world. I think she is made of stronger stuff than me.