We drove up to the northern headland of Hawks Nest Beach to find a place to settle in for the evening.

The sun was setting, and the spot Mark was hoping for had already been taken. Luckily, we saw a few other well sheltered camp spots half way up the beach, and turned back to build our nest between the dunes.

We chose a spot that was surrounded by tall sand dunes, to protect us from the wind, and the campfire from blowing out. Even though we were lucky enough to have perfect weather – with no clouds, and no wind to interrupt our evening.

The stars were clearer than ever in the sky, but the moon didn’t rise until later in the evening, so we were stumbling around the campsite like two blind mice.

When the moon finally rose over the horizon, it lit up the camp site so much that we put away the torch. And I could finally find the fork that I’d mis-placed.

After dinner, we dug a hole and buried our barbecued chicken carcass deep beneath the sand.

“Hope we don’t attract any dingoes.” I joked – reminding Mark to tell me that there were hardly any dingoes left here, and that if a dingo was to take our chicken, that’d be a rare site to see.

The next morning as I climbed out of the swag, I saw these little foot prints leading up to the well-dug chicken hole.

Did the dingo steal my chicken?