You're going to do what?! Meeting crazy people in outback Australia.

There are some people you meet and the more you talk to them the more your respect for them deepens. Others are quite the opposite and you wonder when they'll become entries for the Darwin Awards - short-lived and notable for doing something stupid, and entirely preventable.

Mary was one of the former. 

We were enjoying the 8km hike along part of the Heysen Trail out of Koolaman Campground in the Brachina Gorge, Flinders Ranges, SA. 

We'd just walked up the Yuluna Creek stopping frequently to gaze awestruck at the ancient seabed .... 

.... and wonder at the incredible force that it must take to push huge trees into a woven mass in a riverbed.
...
It was a warmish day and we paused to ponder whether to go on to the Bendowta Hut ruins or not, when a lone woman strode up with a "cooeee" and began chatting with us. 


She was visiting family from NZ and each time she visits, she does a couple of sections of the Heysen Trail (at 1200Km doing it in sections is sensible!).

As usual, first glances assess a person far quicker than words ever can: with Mary it went along the lines of: Not a threat. Alone. Small pack. Doesn't seem to have much water. Snakes are quite active. Hope she's got a good first aid kit. Is there room in her pack for a personal location beacon? Satellite phone? Does she have food in case she gets stuck out here?

And the more we chatted, the more we realised that not only was she a hugely experienced hiker, she was strong, capable, knew her limits and would do her utmost not to be a danger to herself or others.

We discussed 'worst case scenarios' and plans we have in place in case of emergency. She was a delight to spend time with, that rare combination of someone who is interested to hear what we'd been up to, and happy to share her own entertaining stories.

In contrast, a few days later at Coward Springs, we met an older cyclist from the USA.  

Coward Springs on the Oodnadatta track is a delightful spot to spend a night or two.


There's a bore which has been converted to a spa, shady trees to pitch the tent under, long-drop toilets and a donkey boiler shower. Luxury!

I'd noticed a lone cyclist, leathery skin, elderly, tent pitched to get maximum breeze and shade, little pot and stove ready for dinner and him sitting on a log contemplating who knows what.


Being a relatively friendly soul, who generally likes to be supportive of people travelling alone, and being genuinely interested in where he'd come from and where he was headed to, I said "Hi, good ride?" as I walked past, anticipating a generic "Good. Thanks" in reply and a proper follow up afterwards.

Why? Because there's an unspoken convention when camping, that when someone is headed off to the toilet with bog roll in hand, it's fine to say "Hi, how ya going?" and the reply is along the same lines. Brief! Then civilities done with, it's time to depart.

I hadn't accounted for a loquacious, self absorbed Yank, completely oblivious to toilet roll, direction of travel and purposeful gait.

This is NOT the time to begin a monologue about challenging track conditions, government ineptitude, previous outback tracks conquered and asking if it's possible to buy supplies at William Creek. Sheesh. So much talk. So much grumbling. So much self.

For what it's worth, imo, you don't conquer a track. You might conquer your own fears, but a track? You research and prepare for expected and unexpected conditions, know your limits and the limits of your equipment and overcome obstacles as they arise. But overall, you prepare as best as humanly possible, including for worst case scenarios: 

What will I do if my bike breaks down in the middle of nowhere and no vehicles come past for a day? Two days? Do I have enough food and water to survive? How about shelter? Do people know where I am and when I'm expected at the next town? How will I contact people if I'm injured? 

Then he then began moaning about the general lack of phone reception. Outback. On the Oodnadatta Track. More or less in the middle of nowhere. With very few people. Who would have guessed that there wouldn't be a whole lot of mobile phone towers?!

He'd apparently rocked up expecting city quality mobile phone reception so he could research the next town from the previous one. Not smart. And because there was no reception to access the internet, he was unable to check the possibility of restocking his extremely depleted food supplies (which are kind of vital!) at William Creek. That's something I'd have expected a solo, long distance, remote area cyclist to have researched thoroughly before leaving home.

Prior to speaking with listening to him I'd been impressed with his apparent dedication and willingness to ride on the long, dusty, corrugated road, miles from anywhere. 
I now reassessed. He'll be lucky to survive. He hasn't done his homework. He doesn't have enough food to complete the next stages of the track up to Marla (likely to be another 3 or so days of riding) and is botting* food from other campers. It's hot (43+C or nearly 110F) and he openly states he's struggling. Really, really struggling. This is not good.

Next morning, we expected him to be gone at first light, but he had a good old sleep-in and started the 70km ride to William Creek well after the cool of dawn. The sun was already blazing, and it was in the mid 30s in the shade when he wobbled slowly out of the camp site. 

We'd had a lazy start and expected to see him hitching a lift along the track, however when we came across him he was making a slow meandering path on the right hand side of the track, bare chested, wearing ski goggles (to prevent flies exploring his eyes) and with a bit of fabric acting as a hat. I gave him points for cycling on the right. It meant he could easily see if there were oncoming vehicles and he wasn't in the dust of the cars coming from behind.

The scenery is striking, with mound springs dotted along the length of the Oodnadatta Track. It was this source of water which enabled the Aboriginals to make their way through this region for many, many thousands of years.

We stopped and sweltered our way around the well signposted Strangeways Siding ruins, drove out to ABC and Halligan Bay on Lake Eyre and came across the cyclist again at the William Creek Hotel late that afternoon. 

He had a group of people gathered around him at the bar, and was repeating the complaining soliloquy I'd heard. It sounded like he'd said it so often he was word perfect.  When he saw us he broke off to state "It beat me, the Oodnadatta beat me. I'm over it. I can't buy supplies and they're going to arrange a lift to Coober Pedy."

People die out here.  Cycling at the beginning of summer, through the wind and searing heat, where there's no shade, no water and few vehicles, takes a special sort of person. A well prepared one who's researched and thought through the implications of problems. Someone with a back up plan, who knows which places have food, potable water, and transport if needed. At Coward Springs there weren't many campers, and those of us who were concerned for the cyclist's welfare were in no position to assist with transporting him, his bike and gear. Whilst he was clearly extremely fit and physically strong, he wasn't in a good mental space and had apparently done little research on the reality of cycling the Oodnadatta Track or having any plan for being unable to complete the ride mid way through, other than relying on the good will of locals or passers by. 

Things can go pearshaped when you've prepared well, but wilful ignorance and putting yourself or others at risk rarely goes down well.

Near William Creek.
A great spot to reflect on life.

*Aussie slang meaning a scrounger. 




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"50 lashes" at Blinman

"I'll have 50 lashes please!"

Old graves at the Blinman cemetery

It's not my typical order I'll admit, but in the town of Blinman it was perfectly appropriate and my request was delivered with speed and charm from a smiling, friendly barmaid.

50 lashes was a very welcome James Squire beer after a hot and dusty walk around the town. What a great way to remove the dust (temporarily) from the vocal chords.

The old 'pug and pine'* hospital built in the 1860s. 

I don't remember the dust affecting my voice any other time I've been in arid and desert country, but this time it was playing havoc with not only my skin, now dry and flaking, but my voice had a distinct husky quality. Not in a good way either - it hurt.

The barmaid (I hope her employer realises what a gem she is) easily persuaded us to stay in town for a couple of days rather than scampering through with the hit and run, 'been there done that', rushed visit. She enquired with apparent interest about where we were camping and heartily approved of our choice bush camping at the lovely Alpana Station.

Looking towards the Flinders Ranges from a hill
on the 6000acre Alpana Station

She then enthused about the famous Friday Pizza Night at the Blinman Hotel.

Whoohoo, a night off cooking! No washing up! Cold beers on tap! Perfect.

The pub is very popular with locals and tourists alike - no surprises there! The pizzas weren't humdrum, bland, commercial mass produced gunk, but were generously mounded with the fresh toppings and  extremely tasty. It was way too easy to overindulge, but with a long walk planned for the next day, a bit of overindulgence seemed to be in order.

The excellent trail notes provided in the brochure (readily available from the tourist centre and the Pub) tell me that the photo above is of acacia tetragonophylla aka Dead Finish. What a great name for a stunted scraggly bush with distinctly sharp, spiky, unwelcoming leaves.

The track to the war memorial on the top of the hill overlooking town was dusty, and in parts seemed to have been bordered with long lines of tilting rocks. But these are natural and give some of the surrounding hills the appearance of the back of a stegosaurus.

This part of the Flinders Ranges is somewhere in the vicinity of 800 million years old. It's easy to say those numbers quickly, but that's an extraordinary amount of time considering that aboriginals are only known to have come here in small groups from about 60,000 years ago.

Millions of years ago, this land was covered in a shallow sea, and there are areas where fossilised sea creatures embedded in ancient rock have been pushed to the surface by the immense force of uplift over many millennia.

The war memorial on top of the hill overlooking the town was built to honour the ANZACs (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) who fought in WW1. "It was built in 1918 by the children of the Blinman School and stone for the monument was carried up the hill in the side car of the teacher's motorcycle".

When I look at the rough rocky track and steepness of the hill, I can't imagine how anyone got an old motor bike, let alone a sidecar filled with large rocks up this hill. They must have been a small, but dedicated group and were no doubt encouraged by the local community, many of whom lost too many family members in that war.

The monument can be seen from the town, and it's sobering to visit other tiny towns dotted throughout the country and see family groups remembered. Those left back home would have suffered extreme hardship attempting to continue farming in this harsh, unforgiving environment without much needed manpower.

The dramatic, geologically rich landscape now inspires artists of all types, and we were able to travel down the Flinders Ranges to see some beautiful art for sale at different locations. Before we left, we attended the opening of the "Flinders Ranges - a brush with art" exhibition at the Blinman Memorial Hall. I thoroughly enjoyed wandering round dreaming of spending oodles of money on the outstanding art, while enjoying good SA wines and delectable nibbles!

.........

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Dragon Hills

I'm feeling a bit gushy about geology at the moment. I'll hasten to add that this isn't normal for me, but was brought on by reading a post on G+, 10 Reasons Geologists are Weird. What I haven't mentioned is that my first job after leaving school was with the exploration division of a mining company. I have the sneaking suspicion that working with geologists so closely and interpreting their maps and making them presentable for "the powers that be" did something to my head. Not in a bad way I hasten to add, but just ... something ....

A passing comment on G+ after reading about Weird Geologists led to a conversation about rocks and me posting a photo of a strange (to me) beachside rock formation near my hometown. There were grooves in the rock, and I'd decided that meant it HAD to be glacial! That led to the most intriguing post by Dana Hunter at En Tequila Es Verdad (here) and enabled me to see my home area through a different filter. Wow! What an exciting eye opener.

Now for the Dragon Hills (not their proper title)
I'd planned to post the following pictures some time ago and got sidetracked, but maybe now is a good time. These hills are in Mutawintji in outback New South Wales in the south west of the state. It's semi-arid land, red, and totally entrancing. It was near here that I first saw the International Space Station tumbling and catching the light of the sun in the deep night sky. I waved and called out a silent "hello" to the astronaut scientists working up there.

It's quiet out there. At the campground a few people enjoy the silence and watch the crazy Apostle birds, kangaroos, emus and when we were there packs of ferral goats and their kids. There are no towns for hundreds of kilometres, no distractions, nothing much at all ... except the most stunning, magnificent, awe inspiring scenery imaginable.

In parts it looks for all the world like the scales of dragons. As if they've fallen asleep in strange postures, curled and contorted over millennia. Trickles of water dribble down fissures and support some life: a few scraggly trees, lizards, roos, various birds and unfortunately the ferral goats.

The hills stretch on and on. It's protected Aboriginal land further out, and you need to join a registered tour group to enter - pre-booking would have been advisable as they were booked out a week in advance.

Below, the rocks look like they're dribbling down the slope, creating dangerous looking overhangs. Trees have taken root and cling tenaciously in damp cracks and gullies creating anorexic strands of welcome shade. I'm standing in the top right of the photo gazing in awe, wondering why I'd never heard hint of such a spectacular place. Friends' comment "yeah, it's pretty good" simply doesn't do it justice!

The NSW National Parks department describes the area thus: "The land and waterways, and the plants and animals that live in them, feature in all facets of Aboriginal culture - including recreational, ceremonial, spiritual and as a main source of food and medicine. They are associated with dreaming stories and cultural learning that is still passed on today."

What the Parks Department fails to mention is how breathtaking the area is and that it's worth spending more than a couple of nights out there soaking up the atmosphere.
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Seals, surf and sex - possibly

Even on a glorious autumn day, it's not hard to imagine the horror of being on a ship bound from Melbourne to Sydney in driving, gale force winds. Watching the tiny light from the Green Cape lightstation getting closer and closer and eventually realising that a treacherous reef would inevitably be struck and that survival would be a matter of fickle luck. Terrifying.

A miserable, dark night, with mountainous seas, splintering timber and bitterly cold water. Of the 86 people the Ly-ee-Moon was carrying,  71 men, women and children perished, their graveyard not far down a peaceful bushy track.  Amongst the passengers was the mother of Australia's only saint, Mary MacKillop. With the assistance of the lightkeeper and staff, amazingly, 15 men survived.

Last week, however, small fishing boats were experiencing a gentle massage from the lazy, undulating swell. They bobbed and swayed; the fishermen oblivious to the perplexed discussion happening atop the cliffs.

"Gee, the kelp is high out of the water over there."

"Nah, that's not kelp, it's seals."

"Can't be. Seals move, that's not moving at all. Didn't realise the rocks went so far out though."

We watched the apparent kelp sway back and forth for a few minutes. Nothing much seemed to be happening, but even so it was unusual.

Out comes the camera to take a pic and enlarge it on the itty-bitty camera screen.

"Yeah, maybe you're right, it does seem to be kelp, definitely not moving. But it's odd allthesame."

Fast forward to yesterday and a closer inspection of the photos enlarged on the computer:

Definitely seals. Now, we've swum with seals a few times, we know they're curious and they're fast, and I've been spooked a few times when one has shot up from the murky depths like a rocket (or shark) and spun around to peer into my mask. Our experience is that they're cheeky and not known for loitering about. These weren't feeding, the apparent lack of movement puts paid to that idea, but could they have been mating? They were pretty static in the water which is why we thought it was kelp (we were quite a distance away) and the closeness of their flippers would suggest that.

Can anyone shed light on this behaviour for me?

Thanks to Felicitas Avendano from G+ for providing the following link that could shed light on the behaviour: They might have been "rafting" or "jughandling" - basically not doing much at all!

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playing with words

Perplexed pre-schoolers wail piteously
a paucity of playground posts peep from the putrid waters
parents pray the council will not prevaricate any longer
"put the playground on higher ground!"
Persistent precipitation portrays the wisdom of parents.

Pugnacious rocks pummelled the previously pretty plain
uprooted plants, eroded placid platypus haunts.
Pummeling precipitation eroded the once playful riverbed

POW

Playground now in the past
more like a pool.

Limbering up for the A-Z April blogging Challenge

Last year for the A-Z Blogging challenge hosted by Arlee Bird (here) I really wanted to do something about climate change. But it was too hard, too complex, and to be honest, too darn depressing. But the idea has been playing on my mind all year, niggling and asking for my attention.

I don't particularly want to spend time reading weighty books and research papers about environmental degradation, pollution, waste, greed, the melting of polar ice and all the things mentioned in the cartoon below. But if I'm going to live according to my core values it's something I need, and choose, to do.

• one of my vital core values is to connect with and spend time in the natural environment. I'd like future generations to have the opportunity to enjoy it as I do. 
• another is to be part of a community, to connect with, and be part of something bigger than my own little space in the world. It'd be great to connect with others doing their bit to make a difference.
• a third core value is to do with education and personal development. I like to extend myself. I enjoy being educated, informing, sharing and trying to explain concepts clearly. 

If I'm going to live comfortably with myself, I need to embrace my values and move in a direction where I act on them, even though it may be difficult. I'll try to ignore the demons of "Nothing's going to change", "I'm setting myself up for disappointment because no-one's interested anyway" and  "Who do you think you are? Getting too big for your boots if you think you can have an effect".

To help me through, I'll apply the principles of ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy) and mindfulness meditation and make space for the feelings of anxiety and self-doubt, possibly make friends with my demons and breathe deeply into any discomfort.  (Information on ACT here.)

Rather than leaving the preparation to the last minute like last year, I've been thinking ahead, mulling over how to present the whole depressing schemozzle so it’s not a major turn off.

Pilfered from Burrowers, Books and Balderdash here.

But, first, I needed to drag myself out of the chasm of despair and fear that envelops me when I think about climate change and the destruction of our eco-systems. So I took some time off to relax, be inspired, blow away the cobwebs and re-energise. And it was fun!

 This path is high above the surrounding plain. 
The white rocks that litter the path were once at the bottom of an ancient sea.
Mutawintji NSW

 I wonder if this River Red gum had been graftedby a local aboriginal group years ago to create a specific shape? If you look closely at the top of the photo you can see where it has created another loop and the light is glowing through. Hattah Lakes, Vic.

 Trees have grown along fault lines where water has trickled.
To get a sense of scale, I'm the little splodge on the right looking over the amazing landscape. Mutawintji NSW.

Click here to join the A-Z blogging challenge in 2012 with Arlee Bird and his great band of helpers. 

Thinking about climate change and environmental damage, in the privacy of our own heads, can make us feel insignificant and scared.  It was only when I made veiled comments to others, including my doctor, that conversations opened up and I realised I'm not alone in with the continual sense of fear and doom.

My doctor commented that he is treating more people for depression than ever before, and suspected that isolation and fear about the future may be part of the cause.

You want us to join you?

It'd be great if you join me over at traverselife where I'll be blogging from A-Z in April.  Click on the  ENGAHC button at the top right for more information about my theme.  Perhaps you could 'follow' if the topic is something you can contribute to, or want to learn more about. I'd like you to share your insights, stories and comments.

R. Reliable x 2

The reliable *rancher rearranged the rotation of the crops to reduce stress and strain on the soil used for raising seedlings.

Market Garden, near Springvale Vic. Due to be subdivided for housing.

Ruby wanted to radically reduce the residue from poisoned run-off, which was going into the rancid rivers.

Rainfall had been increasingly random which was leading to unreliable reserves. It was realised that reservoirs needed to be re-engineered and that the focus needed to be on realigning responsibilities to reflect the change.

Soil needed to be rehabilitated and reserves of groundwater stabilised. There needs to be responsible re-organisation of resources, to reduce risking the revulsion and wrath of future generations.

Erosion as a result of poor land management.

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*the words Market Gardener simply didn't work.

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And now a Drabble for a fellow blogger who gives huge amounts of time and shares his expertise very generously on the Blogger forum as well as in his blog the Report. Introducing Roberto.....
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Roberto’s Report – It’s reliable!

Have you ever had the experience of ranting and railing after wracking your brain, and everything is still wrong. You feel like a wraith from your recurrent dreams of wrong-doings. You repeated the directions, but nothing’s going right. It’s ridiculous! You’re in a rage ‘cos your blog simply isn’t rocking.

Repeated requests to your usually ritzy sources are greeted with ribald laughter and rollicking derision.

Contact reliable Roberto!

His “Report” is a ripper! He’s respectful, rational, and reasonable; you’ll soon be able to relax, recline and rejoice after having your problems solved, no matter how random.
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A Drabble is a story told in 100 words No more, no less.

Here tomorrow: Shilly-shally

Over at traverselife, I'm spending the month looking at different aspects of bullying.

G. Geographers.

Geographers aren’t generally known to be gaudy or garrulous but by gosh they’re great!

They gather grit and gassy substances in glass gauges and greet it with gargantuan gasps of “Golly gosh! This is gripping!” And they’re not worried about germs either.

One said to me once “Gee whiz you old geezer, get a gander at this!”...  I didn’t react very graciously.

Sometimes they gambol around goldfields wearing galoshes. Some are known for their genius in sharing their general knowledge about Global Information Systems to gather support and garner protection for our glorious geology. They’re generous like that!

Go geographers!

A drabble is a story told in 100 words. No more, no less.

Here tomorrow: Horrible feelings & Hearing


How to make a hyperlink signature here


Over at traverselife, I'm spending the month looking at different aspects of bullying.
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