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

Was that a dream or did Jarrod wake us up at 5am to tell us to go back to sleep as he was driving into Mt Dare to fix the trailer connection. *groan*

Even when I awoke just before 7am, the sun was only just rising and everything was cast-over with the eerie glow of morning - and besides everyone else, apparently, had made a night of it. Tee hee - the wisdom of being old. Either that or not being able to hack it any more. Clad in my thongs, I shuffled off down to the springs. And they did not disappoint.

I gingerly descended the steps and tentatively dipped in a toe - still over 40C. Whoosh in goes the old bod. From the western end of the springs came a caterwauling that resembled children playing ghosts, and did they go on! I learnt later that this was how dingos greet the dawn. As I slooshed around in the quiet on my pat-malone, I was in the midst of swallows dive-bombing the water. Whether for tiny fish or for a drink I could not determine but there were over 50 of them. They would descend en-masse onto the stark branches of a dead tree on one side of the springs and then at an signal inaudible to me, in they would fly. It was a joy to watch. Then along came the boy-geologist from the previous night and that was the end of that. But all was not lost - by this time the rising sun was glinting off the water at the eastern end of the springs causing tiny whisps of steam to rise into the air and then drift away on the slightest of zephyrs. Between the diving swallows and the smoking water it was a magical morning.

Jarrod eventually returned from his little gallivant to Mt Dare with the trailer problems all fixed and we were on our way again. It was always going to be a hard slog Day 6 as we had before us about an 11 hour drive from the Dalhousie Hot Springs to Yallara. We were starting late with a driver who had already driven the round trip to Mt Dare. But like the trouper he was, our Jarrod did us proud. Mt Dare was pretty much a pub and a mechanics workshop - what else is required out the back of woop-woop? The pub was a bit of an eye-opener though looking as though it had been fitted out by someone with taste and thoughtfulness. Around the walls were works of art from a group called "Charlotte Dreaming". I had picked out two pieces that I though I would buy but the person who could close the deal took too long and I had to leave before I could get satisfaction. I am going to try to track Mel down via the internet and go from there.

After Mt Dare it was not long before we crossed from South Australia to the Northern Territory - so now I have done 'em all: all six states and both territories of the grand little Commonwealth of ours. And maybe 150kms into NT, Jarrod veered suddenly to the right and those of us in the back thought he had finally flipped. He drove like a man possessed along this track which was sliced out of the shifting sands and twisted between stunted trees and bushes, the redness of the "soil" increasing with each wild turn of the wheel. The knowing looks in the back of the truck froze a bit as we continued to continue until suddenly we screeched to a halt in a clearing and our guide declared "Here we are people in the very centre of Australia" which took me so much by surprise that I felt the tears well up and my chest constrict. I clambered down from the truck alternately shaking my head and holding it in my hands. Here I am. I am in the centre. The absolute centre of this country. Bugger me.

Geez, I got a buzz out of that. Thank you, J-man!

From then on, I knew it was a mad rush to get to Yalara as soon as possible - and most definitely after sunset at this rate. But I had just started Helen Garner's latest book, "The Spare Room" and I was okay, Jack! We rejoined the Stuart Highway at Kulgera - what is that black stuff on the road? Had a deliciously yummy chocolate paddle pop at Erldunda and then we ploughed on another 250 kms to set camp at Yalara - 20 kms from Uluru. And, for this trip, the only time we spend two nights in the same camp.

Yee-hah ... tomorrow we arrive at the pointy end of this entire journey. As Jarrod points out - frequently meaning often - this trip just keeps getting better and better.

Okay - now I have a confession to make. When I was about 10 - 1958 - my two brothers and I - I was the middle one - used to explore down creeks. There was a particular creek that ran through our farm and if you started right up near Bell's place, the first curve you came to was infested with swallows' nests which are labouriously put together using wet mud adhered to the underneath of the overhangs of eroded land. We three would come along with our sharpened sticks smashing the bejesus out of these mud flasks and nick the eggs, blow them and stash them in our bedrooms. I truly regret doing that.

Comments

[Julie]

I love that picture - it encapsulates the trip for me. I have not forgiven me so am not able to accept that largesse from the swallows. They are such a working-classly elegant bird ... little ... and there is nothing wrong with little!!

[Claudia]

You look so proud and happy on that picture. The trip was truly worth it.

P.S. The swallows have forgiven you...