... between bourke 'n' elizabeth ...

Day 6 ... Dalhousie to Yalara via Mt Dare & Lambert Centre

Day 5 - Painted Desert to Dalhousie Springs via Oodnadatta

Come 5am and there was that familiar "Wakey, wakey people" - Jarrod doing his impersonation of a rooster! Just break-camp this morning - no coffee, no fire. That all must wait until we are atop a hill in the Alcheringas observing the washing of the landscape with the colours of the sunrise.

It was a significant morning in Australia - Friday 25th April. The day we remember those who gave their lives in battles down through the years. Never have liked that expression "gave their lives" - sounds so insignificant somehow. I stood watching the spot on the horizon where the sun would burst up - very much like an egg out of an ovary to my fevered imagination. But I thought too of those people all around this wierd country who were standing heads bowed before cenotaphs. I thought too of those lads on the first ANZAC Day in 1915 - clambering out of their long-boats with no chance in hell of making the beach that alone the relative safety of the low rocky outcrops over there on a remote beach in Turkey that is now only significant to Australians and New Zealanders.

Should I say something to the tour group - or just hold my own internalised remembrance. They were not Australian. They were not of my age group. I decided to hold my tongue. Maybe I should have spoken - they were a caring and thoughtful group.  As the sun rose above the distant line of hills through my mind passed that familiar refrain: "They shall not grow old, as we who are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, We will remember them."

The sun burst through and the countryside was enflamed with colour. The warmth of the sun thawed our shivering bodies as we heated water for coffee on Christian and Manu's campfire. Jarrod drove us maybe 2kms and we climbed one of the rises to purchase a better vantage point to take all this in. "The lone and level sands" were at it again - stretching further than my mind could contemplate . When I stand on the cliffs at South Bondi when the weather is at its worst, I get a massive feeling of the paltryness of man. Of his insignificance. Standing atop the ridges in the Painted Desert, I got a massive feeling of the magnificance of nature; of its ancient and enduring value. Why don't more Australians take this trip? As the tour progressed, I became convinced that THIS is the only way come to terms with my country - on the ground and slowly. Jarrod had this lovely expression: "It's not bush" - meaning that there is a way that things are done in the bush - in OUR bush - there is a genuine way; an authentic way; a way that adds value.

I suspect the word "dump" is appropriate for Oodnadatta - but I love the sound of the word nearly as much as I love the Pink Road House. Roadhouse is a very American term. We tend to prefer "general store" or even "shop". But Pink Roadhouse has a ring to it. And ... they did stock thongs. Jarrod quipped that it was a relief to be able to use the word "thong" and at least know that one person in the truck would know what he was talking about. I don't wear thongs - of either variety. But I thought I might need a pair for Dalhousie Springs if the bottom was squelchy and even littered with smashed beer-bottles. Hey, I'm from Sydney - one must take precautions.

We were about to embark upon Jarrod's least favourite stretch of road of the entire trip - I use the term "road" tentatively. It really was just tracks in the sand where numerous vehicles have gone before. Sure as eggs, we came to grief! A flick to the left, down the dip flicking to the right, a flick to the left coming out of the dip - and a bloody loud crack and lots of frantic European waving of the hands hoping that they would not end up with the trailer in their lap!  Shit and derision - now what to do. We had a spare bar but could not get the smashed bar off the rear of the truck. A family - from Sydney - stopped and offered a hand. After much cursing and sweating and male orneriness the nut gave way and we had a stop-gap measure in place. Our knights-in-shining-armour were a family of four who were one week into their 3 month tour around Australia. My chest filled with admiration as their children were maybe 12 and 14. I wish I'd had the inner courage to make a decision like that. There are times when experience takes precedence over education. I must mention that to my kids - should, please God, I ever be blessed with grandkids. Not that I'm hinting, God.

We limped into Dalhousie Springs. Talk about an oasis in the desert. Oops - don't suppose it is an oasis if there really is water there. This is a hot spring which bubbles up from the Great Artesian Basin and is probably a bit over 40C. It takes a bit to get into but is glorious once your body acclimatises. You do come out a bit pickled though. And though the bottom of the springs were a bit squelchy - I only used the thongs to get across the ground. Thongs - the ones that other people refer to as flip-flops - are not nice. They create havoc between my toes and make the muscles in the back of my legs have to work too hard. And besides, the thongs from Oodnadatta cost $7 whereas I think I could get a pair in Bondi Junction from the $2 shop.

Each evening, once I feel I have done sufficient chores, I turn in for the night.I just disappear when I have had enough. The days are long. I enjoy them and I enjoy the company  but there is a place in my life for solitude which I value. Besides, one drink each evening is sufficient for this little black duck and I need to give the "youngsters" space to do their own thing.

I want to be up nice and early on the morrow to see the steam rising from the hot springs.

Day 4 ... William Creek to the Painted Desert via Coober Pedy

It's a bit tough to finally realise that to bear witness to the spectacular effects of the sun rising in this part of the outback - one has to be fully functioning by sunrise. Duh! But I have solved the problem of the lack of sleep at night, by sleeping during the tedious bits of the driving. As Manu can attest with his pesky cameos of Jools nodding off!

William Creek as a camp had nothing to recommend it - no creek beds; no River Gums; no warm morning showers. Just a bloody generator going all night. After a nice hot coffee and the promise of a shower at Coober Pedy, the day began.

We went like a bat out of hell nearly due West from William Creek toward Coober Pedy, the opal centre of Australia - or somesuch. About half-way along this flat boring stretch our way was dissected by a fence which seems to be known by various names: Dog Fence, Dingo Fence, Rabbit Proof Fence. Suffice to say, it is a fence with posts and strainers and wire-netting which is dug below the ground - although quite how that stops rabbits befuddles me! It is not a particularly high fence, maybe a smidgin higher than yer usual. This Dog Fence stretches from the coast of Queensland to the coast along the Great Australian Bite - a helluva long way. And there are guys whose job it is to constantly patrol the fence repairing holes.

You know when you are on the outskirts of Coober Pedy as the horizon begins to be dotted with mullock heaps - like an outbreak of gophers has hit the locale. One of life's coincidences that I realised today is that we drove into Coober Pedy on Wed 23 April which is about when that father from Perth on an access visit tossed his 3yo son down an unused mine. The boy was found yesterday. Bastard! Would it be any fun living in a hole in the ground? I know it gets hot on the surface and I know it is pretty inventive to be able to run your tele and your microwave down there but I would go bonkers. I am not even particularly comfortable driving through the Sydney Harbour Tunnel. I would be a screaming loon living below the ground. And what about that illness that affects people from the Northern Hemisphere who dont get to see the sun all winter? Ugh!

But ... they did have some nice opals. Some nice expensive opals. However, may of the irridescent blue opals to me seem a bit in-yer-face. So I succumbed to a ring and a bracelet that are a bit cloudy with flashes of red and green opal. I chose a solid stone rather than a triplet or doublet which to me seem to be a method of marketing to the masses. I will try to take a photo to show you my taste - or lack thereof.

Coober Pedy was one of our first days with mobile reception. I tried to complain to my daughter back in Sydney about the pain from sleeping on the ground. She told me to deal with it. Geez, who brought her up? Gggrrrrr ....

After a lovely spinach and ricotta pizza at Johnny's Joint, back we hopped into our trusty jalopy. This time we headed for the Painted Desert which is part of The Breakaways. The landscape became more and more beautiful as we closed in on our camp for the night. Just a quick diversion to the right and up a rise to watch the sunset at about 7pm. How Jarrod finds these camping spots each time he takes a group out astounds me. All told we travelled 3,200 kms. He even seems like he knows where he is going. This is his 6th trip as a solo guide. Start Monday, end Thursday. Two days off. Two days to drive flat-chat back to Adelaide. Have a break for about a week until another Monday comes around. He is on duty 24/7 though and grimaced when we chatted about hourly rates.

Our team-work was more in evidence this evening. Some people have jobs they like more than others. Some people are more aware than others that there are jobs that actually need doing. The emotions were running quite high this evening and there was a lot of listening going on. Bonding in this sort of close proximity is very intense.

Day 3 ... Iga Warta to William Creek via Lake Eyre South

I worked out that I needed to unzip my sleeping bag and use it as a blanket within the swag, rather than as a cocoon. This was when I started wrapping all my dirty clothes in my rolled towel to use as a pillow. Getting the hang of this. Now if only someone would slit the throat of that bloody rooster!

After a leisurely breakfast, Johnny Coulthard drove us out to the Ochre Pits to show us where his mob got all their colours for their body decoration and for their works of art. He was a nice easy-going lad, but once again, low on the cultural significance. We were each daubed with a dot of each colour. He told us that dots and l ines and squiggles had their own significance. But there was noone else there from his mob to be ceremonially painted. He was generous with his time and personable.

Then a quick 100 kms over to Lyndhurst to gawp at Talc Alf and listen to his rantings on how all the academics have the significance of language wrong. If they only listened to Alf they would realise that all language was taking us closer to the sun ... or something. He was a Dutch man who came to live in this part of SA over 50 years ago - probably heat-stroke from being too close to the sun.

Another hour in our trusty vehicle, a quick left at Maree and we were on our way to Lake Eyre South. This name looms large in my adolescent imagings because of Donald Campbell and his ill-fated attempts to get his beloved Bluebird to smash the World Land Speed Record in the 1960s. As Shelley said "boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away". Jarrod's spiel was starting to hang together as a coherent theory: Gondwanna Land, inland sea, Alice Springs Orogeny, Peterman Orogeny. We could see it in the folds of the Flinders and the layers of Brachina Gorge.The geological history of my country was coming alive before my eyes.

We crunched our way out onto the salt pan - a bath full of moisturiser would not have helped our poor skins. The land stretched out towards the mirage on the horizon. The dishevelled remains of the Old Ghan rail sleepers bore testament to the supremacy of nature over man. Yet dig through the crust and the "soil" beneath was moist (well, more moist) even though thick, black and gluggy. David Attenborough could bring this parched, encrusted landscape to life with that which is invisible to this neophyte. I shake my head in wonderment and disbelief; I am actually out here. That is the sound of my boots crunching upon Lake Eyre. I am walking above the Great Artesian Basin, I am about to travel the Oodnadatta Track. I have seen the folds in the Flinders where the Peterman Orogeny caused the upward displacement of the earth's crust. I have run my fingers along ancient folds and faults where the earth tried to turn itself inside-out.

Forward, Ho! William Creek is our camp for the night - in the pen out the back of the pub. Can't wait!

Day 2 ... through Flinders Ranges to Iga Warta

I started the morning with more determination and a better idea for pacing myself. Jarrod had already chatted with me about the climbing challenges ahead and I thought I could do Wilpena Pound but pretty much knew that the Kings Canyon Rim Walk was beyond me.

Breakfast and breaking camp was pretty much a schemozzle - not working as a team yet. My back and each hip ached. I had to find a solution to being strangled by the sleeping bag each time I rolled to ease the aches. The morning walk seemed to sooth the old body.

Wilpena Pound and the story of the early settlers was sobering. There were many times during this entire trip where we came across abandoned settlements - and I imagined the shattered lives that this implied. Even to the extent of pathetic graveyards. Only in the last 50 years has white man learned to live in tune with nature instead of trying to mould it.

Having a number of "geologists" in our midst, Brachina Gorge was always going to be a ball. The Brachina Gorge Geological Tour is a 20 kilometre self-guided trail that passes through 130 million years of earth history, giving an insight into past climates, the formation of the ranges and the evolution of early life forms.The information panels at the start of the gorge were really useful (as were many of this sort of bushipaedia). Kerstin chose for us to stop at Site 1 (Trezona Formation - 630 million years old) and Site 9 (Rawnsley Quartzite - 550 million year old). Jarrod was always interested in the Yellow-footed Rock Wallaby.This species, which is listed as vulnerable, inhabits rocky outcrops in semi-arid country, ranging from sandstones, limestones and conglomerates in the Flinders Ranges to granites in the Gawler Ranges and Olary Hills.

Our camp for the evening was at the Aboriginal community of Iga Warta. I discussed this community with Jarrod later. It really did not showcase Aboriginal culture in a way that was uplifting. They only have a 32 year lease on their landholding which indicates that maybe the government is giving them a chance but without much confidence that they will succeed. The songs and dances that we participated in around the campfire that evening as Terry Coulthard strummed his guitar became the running joke for the rest of the tour - an empty stomach forever indicated with "Oh, my walla". Not good.

Terry claimed that his Adnyamathanha mob did not have the didgeridoo as part of their tradition but from what I have read since, it was endemic in that part of central Australia. I know we have to be culturally sensitive - but there was nothing but a strumming guitar and stories that would not have passed muster for "Play School". To say the least - I was embarrassed.   

Day 1 ... Adelaide to the Flinders Ranges

Jarrod (Australian, 32, degree in Cultural Tourism) picked me up from my hotel at 6:30am and by 1pm we were lunching in Port Augusta.

The jeep encouraged familiarity with bench seats for 4 a-piece facing each other. I rapidly realised that the very rear seats were over the speakers and to be avoided like the plague.  The first day of anything is tenuous and this was no different. The average age was 30 - with me at 60 and Daphne from Canada at 21. They were a great bunch of people though and I felt very included and yet protected at the same time.

My first rude awakening was mid-afternoon when we walked the 20 minutes up to the Yourambulla Aboriginal cave painting site. I could not make it to the top. I think I could have - just not at the pace that they set. I waited just as the rise commenced.

Dusk was well upon us when we struck our first camp beside a dry creek bed festooned with Red River Gums not far south of Wilpena Pound. Here was my second rude awakening of the day - swags every night unless raining in which case we had swags in tents. The stars in the milky way were mind-blowing. No use trying to identify specific constellations - there were hundreds of thousands of the blighters swooshed across the heavens.

The camp fire was warm, the food was nutritious and tasty and I was the only one drinking red wine! My sleeping bag was warm as toast and I slept until 7am!

... seeing red ...

Where to begin to explain the impact that my Red Centre trip had on me. It was emotional in ways I would never had thought. It was physical in ways that I had dreaded. There were two especially emotional moments: arriving at the very centre of my country; and, seeing Uluru for the first time. My chest was constricted and I had to keep reminding myself that this was real - it was not on television; it was there in front of me. There were two difficult physical times: when I realised that I would be sleeping in a swag on the ground every night; and, the pain in my chest as I trudged around Kata Juta.

As I predicted, I was by far the oldest person on the trip. It was a full house; 10 paying passengers plus the driver. There were 6 females and 4 males. There were 3 French nationals, one Swiss, one Nederlander, 2 German nationals, one Canadian and one American living in London, England. The only Australians were me and the driver. Not many Australians make this trip. Which is very sad.  I am nearly 60, then followed 37, 32, 3X28, 25, 2x24, 23 and 21. Every person on the trip was a university graduate including the driver. Two people had Masters and two had doctorates. One of the German girls had a doctorate in Geology which was immensely useful.

I have over 700 images to sift through. There are 10 days of experiences that I wish to record - mainly for my own benefit.The trip itself cost about $1700 including entry fees. Getting to and from cost another $600. And I guess I spent another $1200 on "stuff". So, all up about $3,500 for just over 10 days. Not cheap. But worth every penny.

... heading bush ...

This afternoon I fly to Adelaide and early tomorrow morning I join a jeep party (long-wheel-based) to tour up to Alice Springs - 10 days all told. Sometimes we sleep in tents (which we put up ourselves) other times we sleep under the stars. The temperature will vary from 8C at night to 28C during the day.

Bit apprehensive as I figure I will be the oldest in the group - fully expecting the other folks to be backpackers.

I have always wanted to see the Red Centre and this seems like the most authentic method of doing it. I have travelled extensively around the coast of Australia but this is my first venture into the outback. If this goes okay, I will then think about a trip from Darwin to Perth.

One day at a time, Julie - one day at a time.

The website for Heading Bush.

... living on campus ...

The 17 acres on which St Pauls (Anglican) was built was granted to the University in 1854.

The 18 acres on which St Johns (Roman Catholic) was built was granted in 1857.

The 10 acres on which St Andrews (Presbyterian) stands was a sub-grant of Crown Land in 1873. St Andrews received Royal Assent as a college in 1867 and students were enrolled in 1876. It is governed by its own Council.

The Womens College was opened to students in 1892 in temporary premises in "Strathmore" in Glebe and moved onto campus in 1894 with 26 students.

In addition to these colleges, there is also Wesley College, Sancta Sophia College, International House and Mandelbaum House.

These Colleges appear to have their own act of incorporation by the Parliament of New South Wales.

... growing up country ...

An afinity with the natural world accompanies growing up in country Australia - it did for me. Gardening, animals, weather and landscape are second nature to me - they guide and shape every day of my life. My adult enthusiasms resonate with the years that I spent on a farm and in a small country town in NSW in the late 50s and early 60s.

Arriving in a strange place, say London, I need to know where East is and where the weather comes from. In my own city, I survey the lay of the land - literally: where are the old water-courses; what is the quality of the soil here in comparison with there; where did all the sandstone come from for the public buildings; where were the dead buried and how.

I was directed to a 1930 article on early Sydney by the State Library of NSW (aka The Mitchell Library) and by the Fisher Library at The University of Sydney. I feel like a contestant from the old Mastermind: my name is Julie and my topic is the land use of the USYD site from 1792 to 1850.

This fascinating map is dated 1844 which is 5 or 6 years before the State government considered "giving" the land to the Senate of the newly established University. Across the top of this map, running West from right to left, is Parramatta Road. Running diagonally from top right to bottom left is City Road, travelling from Broadway to Newtown. Nestled in their crook is the site of the not-yet-thought-of University of Sydney. I have labelled three interesting - to moi fascinating - physical landmarks.

A in the map is labelled "Petersham Hill" and is the current site of the Main Quadrangle which affords a wonderful view of the current city.

B in the map are two creeks running from Petersham Hll down toward (eventually) the harbour. Today this area is occupied by the ovals (Number 1 Oval, Number 2 Oval and St Johns' Oval). It is no wonder that Lieutenant Governor Francis Grose chose this part of the Crown Reserve for his own farm - always go for a water source.

C in the map is now Lake Northam in Victoria Park - a section of the original reserve that was granted back to the City of Sydney in 1924 in exchange for land further along City Road which is now Eastern Avenue which affords a grand pedestrian walk-way into the campus.