You'd better get down the mountain, dear.

Bright was bustling with people. The warm autumn weather encouraged holidaymakers to extend their vacations for a few more days, to capture the last of the sun before the rapid change to winter. They were there, I suppose, to see the famous autumn foliage, fish the river for trout or hike the high country trails. I was there, however, to drive the newly all-weather sealed Bogong High Plains Road from Bright to the hamlet of Omeo to visit a cuckoo clock shop. Only a short hop on a map, but the winding and steep road meant I was planning to be out for the day. As the road rose and wound into the mountains, I stopped again and again and photographed the valleys falling away below me, now filled with gentle mists and washed out colours. Through deserted ski resorts (is there anything sadder that a ski resort in the off season?), stands of dead fingers of trees and off-roads leading to still-standing pioneer huts, I drove and drove, stopping now and then to marvel at the bleak hugeness of the high mountain plains, then shuddering slightly in the creeping, damp cold and hurrying back to the car. I arrived in Omeo in the mid-afternoon. Finding the cuckoo shop on the last hill in town, I parked and walked to the store. I could hear the clocks ticking as I put my hand to the door and pushed. A tiny old woman greeted me from behind the counter - "Hello, dear". “Looks like the fog is coming, dear”, she said as I put my modest clock purchase on the counter. I turned. She was right, the light outside was dimming quickly as the air cooled and condensed around the town, wisping from the mountains. “You’d better get down the mountain, dear, it’s not good to drive the mountain in the fog”, she wheezed. That was all the stimulation my over active imagination needed. The fog had taken on a malevolent air. As her arthritic fingers fumbled with the battery on the back of the clock she muttered “We locals don’t go out in the fog dear, best get down the mountain dear, before the fog comes, dear”. Assuring her that I could put the battery in myself, I snatched the clock box from the counter and started for the car. Sped through twisting, turning mountain then valley roads. By the time I made the Bright township sign, I was almost breathing normally again. My passenger said the views on the way down were spectacular, I don’t remember much except wanting to get down the mountain. I haven't been back, perhaps I should. I'll go in high summer next time, though. No fog.