He once saw one at the top of Mt Mangana and we stop there in the hope that it may reappear. We have done that half a dozen times on excursions, even trudged several kilometres through dense bush, but alas, no pinks.
I had taken to jokingly referring to them as the “mythical pinks” until one day recently, while sitting near a pond for nearly an hour half way up the mountain, Rod whispered the magic word: pinks.
He had seen, but unconvincingly snapped, what he thought was a pink robin that had disappeared into the thick bush. So we sat for another half an hour until we both decided enough was enough.
Making our way down Rod was out front and I turned to the left and there, about 2m from me, was a mythical pink. I slowly raised my camera while quietly calling to Rod.
The pink just sat looking at me as I snapped away. Rod, Rod I called and he turned, cursed the pink was too close to focus with his monster lens, and then it was gone.
“I guess you got some nice shots then,” said Rod through clenched teeth.
Life can be a bastard some times…and beautiful at others.