ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Member for New England Barnaby Joyce completed a solo hike through some of the toughest terrain in New South Wales over the weekend, which saw him summit Mount Exmouth at sunrise in the hope that he’d have some sort of spiritual awakening.
At over 1200m above sea level, climbing Mount Exmouth is no joke, especially in July.
“Snow was falling in the hours before dawn,” explained Joyce this afternoon during his bi-monthly media strategy call with The Advocate’s Daroo Street newsroom.
“I forgot my head torch, so I was using my phone light. I didn’t have any gloves, either. It was colder than a penguin’s cock on the side of that mountain. You know, our friends from Nepal would barely consider it a hill, but let me tell you, it gets bloody steep towards the summit. Turning back wasn’t an option.”
“When I got to the top, I saw a wedge-tail eagle perched on the summit. The slow was falling softly. Gently. My breath hung in the frost. The sun leaked through the trees on the eastern ridge and over the valley floor. Silence but for the birds. I locked eyes with the wedgey and in that moment, we acknowledged each other and exchanged something cosmic. As we both sat in the dawn light, the wind slowly picked up and the wedgey effortlessly opened his wings and rolled off the rock, gliding down over the treetops and off into the mist. The wind began to whisper in my ears. It moments, it began to howl. In that moment, I felt the icy gale power-washing my soul.”
When asked by The Advocate why he decided to go for a trek over the weekend, Mr Joyce said he was just looking for something to do.
“I can’t play another round of golf for a while. I’m a bit golfed out. Too much to think about. Swing path, body rotation, when to release the club. Chipping. Fuck, chipping is a cunt of a thing, isn’t it? I just get my 8 iron out now and run it along the ground. Bunkers, it’s just luck if I get it out. It’s a mug’s game. But I’ll be back next week,” he continued.
“No, I was hoping that, you know, I’d have my own Osher moment. I’d go up that mountain Barnaby and come down with a new way of looking at things. Maybe, if that happened, you’d be calling me Barry? Barry Joyce? Fuck. That doesn’t sound that good, does it? Barry Gibb wasn’t a bad bloke, I’ve got a few stories about Barry. Fuck me, couldn’t he sing?”
“Yeah, but ah, nah, well. I, uh, went up there just for a look really. Cold up there. Nearly took my nose and finger tips, that wind. Then what? You’d be calling me Michael Jackson, wouldn’t you? He-he! Here comes old no-nose Joyce!”
As for what our former acting Prime Minister is up to next week, he’s playing in the Armidale Golf Club C Grade Pennants competition against Glen Innes at Glen Innes.
More to come.
