"Alfa Yankee Papa, ready for
take-off" was when the reality hit. Along with my seven
travelling companions, were at the brink of an adventure that would
open our eyes to a country where all the well-versed phrases
couldn't begin to describe the sheer magnitude of what we were about
to experience.
The weather was lousy in Melbourne,
rain showers, 25 knots blowing from the south, top temperature of
about 14 degrees C. Typical for Melbourne in August. Nice and warm
on board, good view of the tops of the clouds glinting in the bright
sunshine. North of the ranges the cloud started to break, offering
us a glimpse of neatly fenced farming land looking a lovely fuzzy
green from 5,000 feet.
"We will be commencing our
decent into Broken Hill in 20 minutes" lulled us from between
the pages of our lightweight novels so carefully chosen weeks ago
when deciding how to compress two weeks of life's necessities into 8
kgs of luggage. The airport terminal was very smart, could have been
anywhere inland except for the distinct Pro Hart paintings consuming
potentially lifeless spaces.
"Alfa Yankee Papa. Ready for
take-off." Again. Starting to take notice this time of what was
rolling past the edge of the runway. Dirt, with a distinctive red
tinge making the fuzzy green fields seem like part of yesterday.
Next landing strip was only 1hr 40 min flying time away but a bigger
contrast you couldn't find anywhere. The only indication where we
were to land was well, our Pilot told us we were to land. Not "We
will be commencing our decent etc..." but "We'll just buzz
this piece of dirt so we can clear it of any livestock before we
land." A short walk took us down to the Dig Tree on the banks
of the Coopers Creek, a location that was the scene of a tragic part
of our history.
Good to be back on board for the 1hr
flight to Birdsville. The further North we flew the less formal
became the disembarkation procedure. "See that building over
next to the fence. That's the pub. When we land just duck under the
barbed wire fence and go in for a cold beer. I'll leave your bags
outside your room and see you in 5 minutes." Was it really only
this morning that we left behind our respected city rituals for such
freedom, so much blue sky, so few people, so much red dust, and,
thirteen days to go.
Not so easy to concentrate on the
lightweight novel next morning. Sitting comfortably at 3,000 feet
with my face close to my window just in awe of how big this country
is. Flying over the great Diamantina River which when in flood is
over 100 miles wide. Now the only way you can tell water is down
deep in the dust is by the outline of huge old gum trees outlining
the now dry courses. Sit back and let my eyes walk the track between
my seat and the horizon. Red sand dunes constantly moving throughout
millions of years have been sculpted by the prevailing wind into
patterns that may have been made by waves moving over sand at the
beach. Continuous pattern, just goes on and on and on. Must have
dozed off, a gentle change in engine tone announces our decent. No
more sand dunes, flat country now, dry but productive with beef
cattle resting under the sparse trees.
Land at Longreach. Nice airport,
lovely sealed airstrip. We walk to the Stockman's Hall of Fame. A
tribute to our heritage where many facets of life in the outback
during our pioneering past are explained. A short walk back to our
plane and the comfort of cruising at whatever altitude it takes to
keep us bump free seems to act as a large dose of sedative. We can
still see the dry river course we flew over the previous day. Big
river when in flood. Today the tributaries look like Aboriginal dot
drawings of great lizards with many legs.
Mt Isa tonight. Big underground
mining town surrounded by hills. Looks pretty from the air. Good
contrast to our remote stay last night. The town is dominated by the
mine, which ever direction you look you can see stacks belching
purified gasses, or, mounds of displaced dirt. Our bus tour the next
day gives us an informed insight into life in this remote mining
community.
Up we fly into the wild blue yonder
to Escott Station, a cattle property located near the Gulf of
Carpentaria. It's so warm. A dusty four-wheel drive tour of a very
small part of the property showed us where salt water crocodiles
hide in the evaporating billabongs dotted along the river bed. We
ate outside that evening. Casual, very relaxed atmosphere. Very
friendly. No marauding wildlife interrupted our pre-dinner cocktails.
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