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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K is for Knobbly - images of America

Fantastic knobbly rock formations at Pyramid Lake 

The colour of Pyramid Lake was extraordinary. It was a rich turquoise, surrounded by a barren landscape with stubbly dead looking grasses and a flat shoreline. Everything seemed coloured with the same drab hue - bland, unexciting, dusty, repetitive and yet mesmerising. The rock formations were surreal and improbable. Some looked like a child's "blob and drip" sandcastle - the kind you can only make with some beach sands which have to be of the perfect consistency to drip and flow without merging into the surrounding sand. In parts they'd eroded and exposed the inner layers which were brain like in appearance, others more like the spine of a long dead animal. Amazing!

As with many lakes and waterways, overuse for irrigation, and general mismanagement since white settlement has seen fish stocks depleted and salinity increase.

We really don't have a good track record of looking after our food or water supplies sustainably.

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pyramid_Lake_(Nevada)).

D is for Death Valley - images of America

What image does the word desert conjure up in your mind?

An endless flat expanse of sand and scraggly plants?

 yellow rolling dunes?

a boring grey landscape devoid of life?

barren, rocky planes? or something else entirely?

I had no idea what to expect when we decided to visit Death Valley. I knew it was hot and dry, but what I hadn't expected was the huge range of rich colours, the wide variety of landscapes, the stark beauty and deep, deep silence of canyons, the wavelike ripples atop large hills as if the land had been scrunched up like a piece of stiff paper and discarded to catch the sun and create glorious shadows!

In short, it was magnificent. The kind of place you say, "Yes, I could go back there". But next time, I'd camp and gaze at the stars and wake to the rising sun hitting the peaks and making its way over the majestic landscape, changing it minute by vibrant minute.

I'd allow time to don a backpack and carry enough water for a decent walk. And coming from a land where skin cancer kills, I'll be aware that I'll stick out like a sore thumb, with my wide brimmed hat, long pants and sleeves, because I only have a one in three chance of not being diagnosed with skin cancer in the next few years, and covering up is cheap insurance!

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on guest posting

I'd doing a happy dance as I've got a guest post appearing today over at The Blogging from A-Z April Challenge .

It's the first time I've presented a guest post. My initial reaction when the  invitation came from Arlee Bird was 'that's nice, but it's not for me', but as happened with The A-Z Challenge, the more I thought about it the more it seemed like a good idea!

Arlee Bird initiated the *A-Z Challenge back in 2010 when he thought it would be fun to invite bloggers to blog thematically, A through to Z for every day in April except Sundays. In 2010 around 100 bloggers joined in, by the following year there were well over 1000, and by 2012 it had become so big that a team of 9 is now dedicated to ensuring everything runs smoothly.

The A-Z Blogging Challenge now has its own blog and has grown from being an event held in April, to being a year long festival including video blogging, guest posts and hints and tips about blogging in general as well as how to enjoy a blog-fest. As the song by Paul Kelly says, From Little Things, Big Things Grow.

However, back to my guest post. My concerns were: What would people be interested in? How long should a guest post be? Which of my assorted interests should I focus on?

It took a while to sift through and discard ideas but I eventually settled on something of middling length, explaining a part of Australia, in words and photos, which isn't on the standard tourist route, with a bit of current history included. It got to the stage where I wanted to include more and more, particularly about Aboriginal Dreamtime stories related to the vast arid spaces and infrequent waterholes, but it simply wasn't possible. Although that's something else I could consider for next year's Challenge!

When I was writing as a guest, I realised that I find it easy to go into "shorthand mode" and forget that not everyone understands the significance of place names and locations. I think I might sometimes leave readers 'hanging' wondering what on earth I'm on about though I've tried to make an effort for than not to happen over at Blogging from A-Z.

Guest posting was a good experience and I'd encourage you to try if you have the opportunity. It nudged me out of my comfort zone and made me look at my blogging in a new way.

Waterholes in the distance!

*There's a bit more history about the A-Z blogging challenge here

For the Blogging from A-Z April Challenge in 2012, I blogged about climate and the environment
in An A-Z of Climate Matters.

For the Blogging from A-Z April Challenge in 2011, I blogged about Workplace Bullying in An A-Z of Workplace Bullying over at traverselife, and also had fun here with alliterative drabbles related to learning difficulties, and the environment.

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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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Misunderstandings about frogs at Farina

Industrial sized tap on the outer wall of the sturdy sleeper toilets at
Coward Springs.

"There's a frog in the nearest toilet."

"So? There's a frog and a lizard in the far one."

"Er, so how did you go?"

Wrinkling of brow and extremely perplexed look. "What do you mean?"

Seems like we're talking at cross purposes here and my questions are considered a bit too personal.

"I had no problem"

"But ... what did they ... how did you ... didn't they ... aaargh ...
Where did they go when you went?"

"What!?"

The light goes on.

"Oh..."

"There's a frog in the toilet bowl and it's staring at me.  I don't want to put my hand in and get it out. Is the other one ok to use then?"

"Yeah, I think they scuttled off when I opened the door, you should be fine."

Toilet in the historic women's jail at Burra. SA.

There's now the obvious temptation to make ribald jokes about sitting atop said frog, it seeing its means of escape being removed with the darkening of the exit by the lowering of the buttocks, and somehow incorporating the phrases "kick arse" and "kiss my butt" - but I'll resist the temptation.

Disused long drop. Burra. SA.

The toilets (surprising to see flushing ones at this not entirely urban camp ground) were the only place we saw much wildlife at Farina. Lots of birds evident, and their glorious, amazingly loud and varied morning chorus, but very few animals other than emus.

Farina is a historic town in outback South Australia which has been preserved by a group of committed volunteers. There are helpful, well presented information boards, giving details of the old, often crumbling buildings, how they were used as well as some insight into the people who lived in the thriving town in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

It's dry out there, the land is harsh and unforgiving and whilst the pioneers wished for rain, choking dust storms were far more frequent. The cemetery shows that even in death there are some dividing lines that aren't crossed and the graves of each ethnic and religious group are neatly and respectfully separated.


Reminder to self: in these days of not needing to get film processed ... TAKE MORE PHOTOS!
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Flowers on The Dutchmans Stern

The wallaby hunched a few metres from the track in scraggly shade, barely stopped his grooming to watch my irregular, stumbling progress towards the car and a mug of tea.

This walk has been tougher than I expected. It's not that 10ks is completely beyond me yet, so perhaps it was the heat and rocky gradient that had me puffing and looking for excuses to stop every few metres.

I'd been longing for years to see the famed beauty of outback wildflowers and the walk struggle up to The Dutchmans Stern was everything I'd dreamed of. Whilst this area wouldn't be considered "Real Outback" by a lot of people, and they'd be quite dismissive of the walk, the further into the centre you go, the drier it becomes and the less variety of flowers there are to be drooled over.

And so, the exhausting expedition at the southern end of the Flinders Ranges became an excuse to stop, bend and click, walk a bit, then stop, bend and click.

But ... there's always a but isn't there?

I stuffed up far too many of the photos. Whether it was my dark glasses with their out of date prescription, or the sweat dripping into my eyes, or just plain stupidity, and not checking after each shot, too many of the photos are out of focus to be considered worth sharing to even the most generous and forgiving reader.

Damn.

However, a few were worth sharing and many flowers were asking to be described in all their rich, vibrant glory:

Minute hair like stems with a lone brilliant yellow flower 4ml in diameter (about 1/8inch) emerged from the harsh rocky soil, not a dense carpet, but singly, apparently alone, but actually in sparse clusters. They stretch the length of my thumb to the sky, fragile, delicate, exquisite in their perfection.

Other, vine-like, straggle up a sparse bush, drooping vine like clusters of 'egg and bacon' -  golden/rust pea-like flowers, almost hidden by the scratchy leaves and insignificant yellow flowers of the host bush.

Puffballs of gold, wattles of assorted varieties. Generous, vivid yellows contrast dramatically with the red soil. Some have harsh spiky leaves,

others more forgiving for a bare armed passer-by.

Small yellow flowers (so much yellow!) like buttercups, improbably located out here, but appear to follow the sun. I couldn't bear to pick any as they'd struggled so valiantly to bloom in these harsh conditions.


Tiny mauve and white flowers, mostly single stemmed, but sometimes growing in clusters, then, what appeared to be a miniature iris next to some "daisy chain daisies". Is that possible?

Crisp everlasting daisies, with balls of yellow petals, joyous, long-lasting as their name suggests. Starbursts of yellow and white, just like a child's painting of a flower, complete with foraging bee.

At one place there were sweeping drifts of daisy bushes, the profusion of pure white flowers improbably clean in this dusty land.

Puffy mauve delicate things, ranging all the way through to rich regal purples, some minutely fringed like a royal ruff.

White and yellow, infinitesimal things; kneeling on unfriendly, rocky ground to try to capture the delicate beauty and fragile nature of these tiny beauties. You can just see some of the yellow ones in the photo above, the fringed mauve flower is about 1cm (less than 1/2 inch) in diameter - the yellow flowers are tiny!

And ants, everywhere ants. An abundance, a profusion of ants. Do you know that song "Itsy bitsy fuzzy wuzzy worm" and one line is "big fat juicy ones, long thin tiny ones" well, this was the ant version of that song!

Ants aren't my favourite creature on earth. I acknowledge their importance in removing debris and changing it from one form into another. But I don't like them on me, crawling in a focused, meaningful way up an unprotected limb. Ants aren't friendly.

Busy ants, scurrying ants, some neat and orderly, playing follow the leader with deep intent, others bustling, some appear frantic and undisciplined, seem to spiral out of control. So many varieties - small, medium, large, fat, thin, dark, or pale and translucent, all moving as if the other types simply didn't exist. Billions upon billions of ants.

And the flies. The constant background drone of flies eternally buzzing, crawling, tickling, crawling up under your glasses to drink at the moisture around your eyes. And for goodness sake, don't breathe deeply through your mouth. You'll likely breathe one in and spend the next long minutes coughing pathetically to evict the horrible little bugger from the depths of your throat where it will have got caught and is making an unhappy nuisance of itself.

After that unpleasant interlude, you might enjoy the heady fragrance of the sage and curry-bushes, releasing their aromatic oils in the warm air. Listen to the clash and clatter of shale dislodged by ferral goats, the demanding bleat of a lost kid and compare it to the gentle footfall of a wallaby, perfectly suited to its environment.

... and start thinking about recipes for ferral goats and how much better for the environment it'd be if those culled were somehow able to be sold for food.

The gold of the Flinders Ranges wattle on the right, looking over The Dutchmans Stern more or less toward the plane where Quorn is located and Southern Flinders Ranges.
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Slip-sliding away

Some camp sites simply aren't designed for comfort. Rocky, unforgiving and with a distinct slope. The fact that ours was the only tent within cooee should have been a warning of something not quite right here. But I was tired and cranky, anything was acceptable.

Foolish, foolish decision.

The ground fights the intrusion of pegs being hammered into the red shaley 'earth'. Prickles, at first invisible, make their way into socks and between tenderly sweating toes.

Water, in containers filled at the last bore a couple of days ago has a distinct mineral flavour, perfectly acceptable when all was well, but tastes intrusive and annoying when I'm already irritable. Sigh. This camping lark can be a bit of a trial sometimes.

My nostrils twitch unhappily with the acrid smell of the refuse previous campers have discarded into a still smouldering fire. Double sigh. Off to get the spade and see what can be done to clear up after them. Feet drag listlessly. Bring on a cup of tea!

Later, during the night, after settling and being soothed by the glorious clear, deep sky and fabulous vastness of dark and stars, I find myself cocooned unnaturally tightly in my sleeping bag, unable to move my legs, feet or toes. My knees are wedged at an odd angle to my feet, my toes are bent back unnaturally, sort of in a zig-zag shape. Attempt to wriggle. Nope, not possible. An exploratory stretch of my right leg - resistance. Left? No, equally unforgiving. I'm crumpled like a piece of thoughtlessly scrunched and discarded copy paper at the bottom of a waste paper basket. Mega sigh.

Darn gravity, bloody sloping ground, horrible rocks.

Wriggle, wriggle, wriggle. Shuffle, shuffle. Puff, puff. Pause to catch breath. Slide back. Repeat. I finally claw my way back to the top of the bag by alternately caterpillaring, then clutching at the mattress and clawing my way up the unbelievably steep slope to my beloved pillow.

And repeat at annoyingly frequent intervals during the excruciatingly long night. Why oh why did we choose this site?

Sigh.




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River beds

According to Wikipedia, a river is a natural watercourse, usually freshwater, flowing towards an ocean, a lake, a sea, or another river.

Good old Wikipedia!

Except that sometimes things aren't what they seem, and it's a good reminder why you should always check your information against local knowledge.

The temptation when seeing the word River on a map - which you see with remarkable regularity when looking at maps of inland Australia, is to assume there will be water in them. After all isn't that why the word river is used in the name of this particular feature?

You've possibly even thought about a spot of fishing and surreptitiously tucked into your gear a compact, secret rod, reel and lures.

Ha!

Your visions of a delightful dip in a welcoming, fresh, cool and incredibly inviting river will be sadly shattered. Thoughts of gurgling pleasantness, a place to sluice off the inevitable outback sweat, dust and prickles, somewhere to soothe your flaking, dry, chapped skin are pointless.

That word river is a trap for the unwary - and heaven help you if there is a deluge somewhere upstream and you've taken it into your naive head to pitch your tent or park your car or van in the river bed. Foolish, foolish people.

Before you camp, look up. Often high above your head will be solid evidence of the power of a previous deluge, limbs waiting to tumble. Tangles of fences, bushes and bones. Whole large tree trunks, complete with intricate root systems have been swept many metres before they get caught and stuck fast. Photos of cars and  caravans in similar positions of repose adorn the walls of various tourist destinations in the outback as a warning of what NOT to do. As they say, a picture tells a thousand words.

What you don't see in my photo is the sheer size of the horizontal tree. A 6'+ tall person could easily stroll under the resting trunk, and would have to leap energetically to touch the underside of the hefty trunk...

No doubt dislodging irritated ants and shedding bark onto an upturned face...

The sensible leaper would have checked for snoozing snakes and grumpy goannas before leaping of course!

Flood damage can be significant, with roads, causeways, crops and livestock being washed away. Sometimes the considerable expense in replacing them is considered too much and some infrastructure is simply not replaced. The flat white things in the photo below are massive slabs of concrete (?) and were part of the road and causeway near Silverton NSW washed away in the 2011 floods.

As a means of navigation, mentioned as another feature of rivers in Wikipedia - that's perfectly feasible - just follow the depressions and trees growing in the watercourses. The green of the leaves on whatever trees are growing tends to be quite obvious amongst the surrounding dust and rocks.

Below are almost vertical rocks, laid horizontal eons ago at the bottom of a forgotten seabed, then over the intervening hundreds of thousands of years forced by pressure deep in the earth to their current dry position to become a shaley river bed.

... and then of course, are the occasional treasures, beautiful pools, unbelievably cold, restful, welcome. The source of life for animals (unfortunately including ferral goats) for kilometres around.

Most photos taken in the Northern Flinders Ranges.

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