Today is a day of walking. That's what Clive has decided, and that's the way it's going to be. He's made enquiries and it seems there's a walk that covers a reasonable distance without the need for hiking boots or bivouacs (Clive proposed one with both, but it was vetoed by the other party) is to a place called Dolphin's Nose. We're given a seventh generation copy of a map with the print barely discernible, upon which a member of the hotel staff scribbles notes in pen, upside down, thus obliterating what little information there was. From what we can make out, we walk along a road for a period which could be anything from one hour to one week, turn left onto a track which could be a paved highway or a mud path, descend a hill which could be a gentle slope or require an abseil, then we're at Dolphin's Nose which could be a small pebble or a rival to K2.

Fortunately, Clive compensates for the lack of map clarity with an uncanny sense of direction and eye for the lie of the land, a skill which he learned, apparently, during special forces training in the army and about which he rabbits on ad nauseam. The first part of the journey is shown on the map as Coaker's Walk. Clive carefully orientates the map in line with known hilltop features and bisects the angle between the hour-hand of his watch and the sun to find North, and before you know it we've reached our first objective at the end of Coaker's Walk. Sarah, meanwhile, has noticed the very large archway saying Welcome to Coaker's Walk, the man taking the Rs2 payment to take the walk, and the paved walkway lined for much of its length with vendors, sightseeing points, and signs saying Coaker's Walk. This part of the walk takes all of ten minutes. Clive re-adjusts his compass and off we go again.

After about an hour and a half of part-road and part-track walking we get to a point where the track descends quite steeply between eucalyptus trees, at the bottom of which are a number of small tea stalls. There's a sign saying Mountain View (the "moun" and the "tain" being separate words) but there's no view because the cloud has rolled in, so we have tea and biscuit instead.

Dolphin's Point turns out to be a piece of rock jutting horizontally out above a gulley. There's quite a drop immediately below it. Clive climbs onto it for a photograph before we set off back the way we came. On the return journey we encounter the American party which we met at dinner last night. The going is steep and we're at some altitude, so there's a fair bit of huffing and puffing by all concerned. Worryingly, the locals, mainly old men and very slightly-built women, carrying reasonably-sized loads balanced on their heads, and some barefoot, nip up and down the hill whilst holding conversations with each other as though they're doing nothing more strenuous than sipping tea. Back at the hotel, some three hours after setting off, we congratulate each other on the completion of such an epic expedition, and order the hotel to procure two bottles of Kingfisher for a celebration at tonight's meal.

When we arrive for dinner in the evening the fire hasn't been lit and the small dining room is empty and cold. Fortunately our American friends arrive shortly and, by combining the might of American power with a good old Kiwi ingenuity, we get the boy to light the fire and the room comes alive with warmth and tales of daring exploits out on the trail. The more Kingfisher consumed, the harder was the walk and the hardier were the walkers. One other point of conversation was the hardness of the beds and the coldness of the rooms, as a result of which Clive relents and we succumb to the luxurious pleasure of a fan heater (hired for Rs150) and an extra mattress as a means of ensuring a reasonable night's sleep. Clive dreams of bivouacs.