We decide to hike one of the trails at Eungella National Park. The air is humid, and the track well shaded from towering rainforest foliage. Smothered in damp leaf litter, it is somewhat of a challenge to stay on the path and not accidentally create a new one.
Both of us are in shorts and runners. I know it’s not ideal hiking gear, but we are only going a couple of kilometres to a small waterfall and back. It shouldn’t be a big deal.
We are two thirds of the way there when it strikes me. “Show me your feet.” She looks at me quizzically but obliges nonetheless.
“Are they what I think they are?” I nod. Her expression sours. “Bleh! Let’s turn back.” Before we move, I flick the squirming creatures from her shoes and socks.
Our pace is swift despite stopping occasionally to check for more hitchhikers. “Not happy,” she calls back as we walk. I hang back a little, trying to figure out how I’m going to get out of trouble. I’m not coming up with any good ideas.
As we reach the clearing, she stops suddenly. Bending down, she hunches over something. From the hunch of her shoulders, I know her mood is changing. “Look,” she excitedly whispers. “It’s so pretty against the leaves.”
It patiently waits for us to remove the camera from its satchel and capture its portrait. I have this little, green amphibian to thank for making her forget that I had exposed her to leeches.
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