Washpool Hut is the dankest, darkest hut in the range. Sleeps 6 on mattresses which each feature the outline where the previous occupants have worn the layer of mould off the surface with the friction of their bodies. In fact, everything is covered in mould. Get used to it or leave. There’s no tank at the hut, but a small side creek 100m along the terrace upriver avoids the need to drop to the main creek. I never found the washpool.
There’s also a fire: the previous occupants left me 10 pieces of sodden wood, the ash in a plastic bag on the floor, the floor unswept. Knowing I’d be bored they left me their dishes to do: so thoughtful – more mould, and they’d found such a convenient place to put them too: the water bucket. The chances of finding anything dry enough to burn in the surrounding bush were nil.
Do you get the impression I didn’t like the place?