Swimming holes

We've enjoyed swimming holes on a number of our travels - Australia, Fiji, among others - something basic, pristine, raw about them.  During our stay in Storms River (near the beginning of the Garden Routh, we got to plunge twice.  The second one was at the end of 6km hike along a very rugged coastline.

Our AirBnB host, Robert, told us it was quite rocky ("the park rangers hate this hike because of all the injuries") and gave us some stout hiking sticks to take along.  The first half hour or so seemed rather tame - your normal Pacific Nortwest trail of roots and scattered rocks, but nothing too awful. Both Kate and I thought about ditching the poles.

Then things got interesting...

Most of the rest of the hike was like this; constant calculations about which rock to step on, which to avoid, which series of rocks led in the right direction, where to place that pole to provide decent assurance against a broken ankle.  All the while, of course, twenty-something's passed us, hopping

 along like effing gazelles!

We were exhausted and weak-kneed when we arrived at the waterfall, our destination.  Gorgeous! 

And jumping into the cool waters was SO refreshing.  At least momentarily, anyway, as we still had to retrace our painstaking steps. Note the copper color of the water - from the roots and decaying leaves.  The water itself is very clean and drinkable.

That was the second swimming hole Robert sent us to; the first was this one on a small river, also quite enjoyable.  

Our AirBnB, hosted by Robert, Carmen, and little George (Robert and Carmen met in Florida where they were both working cruise ships), was a very nice oasis.  We work up each morning to Storm Mountain and the songs of all sorts of birds, which - along with some good coffee - was a great antidote to the ills of the world.