The Heysen Trail 17. Finding the Light



Every trail ends differently – the Kokoda track ended with an unforgettable glorious PNG national anthem being sung by the porters on top of that last grassy knoll - when I walked the last stretch of my solo Bibbulmun (don’t forget it is 960km) I was treated with a picnic by my beloved, 6km from the end, the Rocky theme was sang to me through the phone and a hospital visit followed to clean out an infected toe (all with a smile on my face) - the Great Ocean trail  ended in a magnificent stroll to the 71 Apostles (does anyone really know how many are left?) - the Annapurna ended in a jump off a row-boat in Phewa Lake disturbing the mirror image of the Fishtail Mountain –  the first and sectional attempt of the Bibbulmun track ended with the overwhelming urge to go to the toilet.

It basically all ended up in a state of euphoria!

To finish my trek on the Heysen Trail, there was only one place to be – ‘The Cedars’ Heysen's residence and pride.



The winter sun shining through the Himalayan Cedars
planted in Heysen's garden

I strapped the steadily growing pack of pain and supplies to my back again and walked, hunched over towards the bus stop. Quasimodo would have been proud of me. With a heavy heart I stood there waiting for the bus to Adelaide. ‘Its for the best’ I reassured myself.  I had booked a rental car from the airport and two bus trips later I was heading for the Adelaide Hills in a little sedan.

Seeing  a couple of the Heysen trail signs flash by around Hahndorf, I instantly missed the slow-motion visions of the natural wander. In my humble opinion and after many years of hiking, I know cars don’t care much for the soul.  They make me lazy, blasé about distances and disconnect me from my surrounds. I easily churned up over 100km in a couple of hours, more than the total I had walked in five days.

I entered the front door of the museum after getting a sneaky look at the garden and the magnificent cedar trees that are spread through the large, hilly property. A tour was set to start only five minutes later. Hans had bought the property in 1912 and lived right there until his death 46 years later.
 

A water feature next to the back door

The Heysen’s residence was a classy affair. Our guide explained how they were great entertainers. Many famous people visited and sat at the same dinner table still placed in the heart of the building - unfortunately, no photos were allowed of the inside of the cottage. There wasn't a piece of blank wall left. Magnificent still-life artworks, as well as studies and landscapes, took up every inch of the stylish but cosy property.

The Heysen's house warmly hugged by the Cedars

Hans Heysen did well for himself and his family (eight children). They lived a comfortable life at 'The Cedars'. His car, an absolute classic Ford, is still parked in the old garage next to what has to be one of the earliest caravans ever built in this country. These vehicles obviously used to travel all along the Flinders Ranges, the Fluerieu Peninsular and the rest of South Australia.

The classic Ford in sepia setting

One of his paintings was auctioned and sold while I was, coincidently, walking the trail named in his honour and fetched $110,000. Not a bad payday for whoever owned it.

The studio - where many a masterpiece was painted

In the tall, beautifully lit studio the click of connection with the talented man finally came to me. The guide flipped out several printed versions of paintings out of a large file and there it was – the stretch of coast just outside of Encounter Bay - already forever imprinted in my mind -  out in wonderful water colours - infusing the exact feeling I felt when, I swear, I stood there for real looking at it in awe. I would buy that painting if I had the money - tell my grandkids and anyone who will listen about my crazy and difficult experiences on this trail that were so rewarding and about the love I share for this country with that man Heysen.
 

Photo courtesy of nga.gov.au/exhibition/HEYSEN



No need to look any further. I found the light!

The End

Grey Bits


Here is the website once more if you plan to walk the Heysen Trail - heysentrail.asn.au



Hans at his easel in his studio

For more information about the museum visit www.hansheysen.com.au

Find out more about the record breaking, recent sale of the Heysen painting ($110,000) by clicking on this link www.adelaidenow.com.au

The Heysen Trail 15. Anchored

 

I admit it!!! It was me!!! Blame me for the water shortage in the state of South Australia. I defied the ‘three minute' sign on the shower wall. Little did the water authorities know I had to get rid of five days worth of Kermit’s spawn. Every crevasse needed a good soaking, besides some of my extremities were in need of a good defrost. It was crispy-bitter that first night. The old building breathing frosted air through its large echoing hallways and the air-conditioning wasn’t yet discovered as being of the reverse kind. This made me curl up under the single thin blanket with all my clothes on wanting to forget about the world.




The stained-glass window in the stair-well

I slowly crab-walked downstairs on my first morning over the squeaky, carpeted wooden steps. Warm smokey air wafted towards me in the hallway. The huge café out the back wrapped around one of the biggest roaring potbelly stoves in the southern hemisphere. A herd of anti-hitchhiking grey nomads almost melted to its blackened features. Stiff joints and runny noses all soothed by the flames. Nobody in the place was in need of a jumper.

Very secretly, I fancy myself as a hotel reviewer with odd tendencies of a restaurant reporter (don’t tell anyone) and ordered a flat white. My goodness - the taste exploded in my head like a misfired rocket from North Korea. The eggs florentine to follow equally as vivid in its experience. “This is the best restaurant I have ever eaten in. "A ten and a half out of ten,” I thought but then remembering the cardboard-flavoured food that I ate on the Heysen trail and toned the mark down somewhat.

All sorts of materials used in this establishment

I started to have a look around the café/restaurant and noticed that the structure and contents appeared to be made out of recycled materials that gave it that smashed advo, industrial feel.  Large pillars holding up massive black steel beams connected by an engineered cable crossover that once upon a time could have towed a ‘Geograph’ or a ‘Reliance’.  The modern lighting atmospherically blending it all together pleasantly and looks like it would have cost a fair florin or two.



Avant-garde light switches

There was much to like about the café. The fact that it had chairs, pleased me no end as I had been scrounging around for somewhere comfortable to sit while I was on the trail. The whole cappuccino conveyor belt was enclosed by a low granite wall with massive glass panels drawing your view to the ocean visible through the Norfolk Pines in the distance.



A cuppa to remember

The massive bright yellow La Maezocco reincarnation machine stood firmly on a custom made concrete slab that was paneled with weathered floorboards or were they salvaged from an old ship? Another feature that stuck out was at the back wall of the café. It consisted of two huge barn doors. 'Handy' I thought, 'In case a road trains wants to come in and grab a long black on its way to Darwin'.

Ignoring all the visual goodies so far perused in this trendy but friendly caf you still can't help but spot the essence of the place positioned elegantly on the polished concrete. The old whaling boat converted to a bar now serving a variety of beer and other alcoholic beverages. Its wooden shellacked features taking you back to a time of tough sailing and of piercing the unsuspected. A reminder of a rugged past in which we didn’t know any better, but also an ode to the craftsmanship of the boat building industry and very clever marketing.

Barn doors, concrete floors and a whaling boat

The idea was to spend two nights at Victor Harbor, buy some more supplies, rest the leg and continue on to Adelaide on my much loved Heysen Trail. I decided to stay for one extra night, and then another and finally because the knee was still not right, another........

 Grey Bits

Look, this isn't an advertisement but the Anchorage Seafront Hotel is worth a visit. It is very close to the old railway station and the horse-drawn tram. Check it out. anchoragehotel.com.au

As a tourist, there is plenty to do in Victor Harbor. I always kept an eye out for a whale, back slamming the waters of the bay. Unfortunately the whales that were frolicking about were out too far for me to walk or swim to. The Whale Centre keeps a log of sightings and will send you an email as soon as a sighting is confirmed. This is their website www.sawhalecentre.com.au
 

Photo courtesy of victorharboraccommodation.net

Contact the info centre, which is run by volunteers, for more information on this tourist hot spot. encountervictorharbor.com.au.

Take note you history buffs - Encounter Bay is the place where Nicholas Baudin's Geograph met Matthew Flinders in the Reliance on the 8 April 1802. It was said (by Wikipedia) that the encounter was a peaceful one even though France and England were at war. My guess is that the meeting was an exchange of information and possibly goods needed for survival, beating any conflict on the other side of the world. 

I can imagine Nicholas and Matthew having a couple of frothies together?

The Heysen Trail 14. Limp Epiphanies

 

Wolf Creek has forever changed the landscape as far as hitchhiking is concerned in this country. It is rare to see someone with their thumb up on the side of the road these days.

I had not accounted for a pavement pounding seven kilometre on top of the 17 km I had already  grafted out on the cliff faces on this trail. In a town full of retirees, I was awfully mistaken thinking someone would give me a lift to Victor Harbor. I guess that if I was one of the three fresh young ladies I met at the Deep Creek waterfall, I would have gotten a lift instantly. A wet, tired looking, shivering,  limping hiker with an obvious bowel problem, judging by those stained shorts, is much too Harry Taylor like to offer a ride. ‘Betsy, you never know with the youth of today’ and ‘Darling he is going to mess up the car.’ I imagined conversations that would be had in those warm four-wheel drives that drove past me.

 

The cold weather of Victor Harbor. Notice how my lens was smudged by
 remnants of the Heysen Trail bush

So on I walked!

Believe me, walking an extra seven km through this cold and windy place was fruitful in regards to a spot of epiphany hunting.

“Overall Mars” I told myself, “you still love this stuff”. Even walking with the bad combination of freezing hands and busting to go to the toilet (hands-free effort required), I maintained I was in the right place and at the right time. For me, hiking beats any TV program, anything you will ever find on the net (my blog included) or any other self-challenging activity I can possibly think of. Some may prefer to hang off cliffs with ropes, jump out of planes, be chucked down a ravine attached to a 'lacky' band or swim in altitude sickness on Mt Everest, but I loved the mixed-nut-bag of experiences on the Heysen trail. It has given me so much to live through that it has lit me up like a Territory Day cracker night. 'Who would ever think I would write fourteen blogs about a five day trek?'

 

Aproaching Victor Harbor and Granite Island

Hiking has proved to be more difficult this time around. This is something that is hard to come to terms with for my inner competitive self. The recently operated knee had michellinned out of proportions during the last hobble to the Harbor without the guarantee that it would ever improve. 'Totally reckless, to put yourself in this situation', some would argue but I just can’t see the point of staying at home and watch Bear Grills get his thrills. I may have to reduce the distances I walk per day or travel lighter – whatever that looks like. Maybe a bit of ‘enjoy it while you can’ could be a point to make here?

An observant reader of the first couple of my Heysen trail blogs would have noticed that there were many complaints about the weight of the backpack I was carrying. I have called it every name under the sun and thought about turning it into an unloved orphan many times. I think it even tried to throw me down a cliff just to get even. Well!!!  This bag of repulsion appeared miraculously light five days in. First of all, the balanced amount of stodgy hiking feed had all but vanished out of the pack. Much of the 'almost' edible kilos destroyed by outrageous, much needed, gobble sessions lightening the load.  Man, did I eat on that track!!

 

The whaling past of Victor Harbor commemorated in the town square by this water feature

 

Secondly, I realized that the bruising of the straps around my shoulders had hardened up to calluses with skin peeling everywhere. Every muscle from the neck to and including the Netherlands had gone 'toight'. The pack of sorrow, galvanizing all previous back issues, some stress-related I am sure, into surprising solid Dutch Oak. Am I saying that this trudging business can make you stronger, healthier?
 

Stumbling into a strange place

While I was walking, philosophizing and epiphanizing I had switched on the phone, googled a hotel and pressed the directions button. I followed the blue dotted line on the screen that appears when you press the rarely used, little lady that likes to walk and talk with you. She appears to know where you are at all times! I rounded the point where the horse-drawn carriage takes off to Granite Island and in the end I stood there in the lobby of this old creeker of a hotel tantalizingly named “the anchorage”.  Feeling totally hollowed out, destroyed and swaying on my legs, I bravely negotiated a good price for an ocean view while apologizing for my dishevelled appearance. 

I think I needed a break.

'Please? - No more - Drop the anchor!!!'


Grey Bits
 

The view from my room that night

 

The Heysen Trail 13. Catching a Rainbow

 

You want a walk to remember? Walk the stretch from Waitpinga to Victor Harbor. It is simply stunning. 

 

From the campsite there is an easy, sandy trail through pretty, tall bush that suddenly cracks open to reveal the wild ocean. The high vantage point on top of the cliff brought the clouds so close I could almost touch the rainbows plunging down into the deep. I stretched my arm out across the massive drop to try the impossible – touch the multi-coloured light. Self preservation prevailed as any effort to lean further over the edge would have seen the untimely demise of this semi-grey nomad.

 

Wonderful wild flowers of the area

 

Where there is a rainbow (see opening photograph) there is light and water. Clouds, haze, heat, cold, wind, rain and beautiful sunshine were revolving around me like I was a lone sock in a washing machine. Still wearing my brown/green stained shorts, I was forced to wear my rain jacket. The combo not exactly a high-flying fashion statement, but it just had to make do. I caught glimpses of an even taller cliff and the heart started beating faster as it came near.

Again, a sudden opening in the bush revealed a small flat area – a viewing platform with the best location of a picnic bench I have ever seen. There was no way I could ignore its urgent call.

The arched face of the ancient continent boasted a serrated front much like a chippies saw blade which raised out of the ocean like a broad skyscraper. The pack came off in a hurry and an extensive morning tea was held simply to soak in this enormous view. A beautiful feeling washed over me. It seemed a little bizarre to feel such a large strand of freedom standing on top of a tall ridge all sweaty, smelly and with a crappy knee, but it was a rare moment of perfection.

I tried to slow down - make it last - cling on -  be inspired by the moment - capture it - gather it up - save it for the pen.



Taken from the picnic bench

But life has a knack to want to go on. The feeling faded and the stove and gas bottle always ends up inside the almighty cup - all packed up and ready to go.

A couple with down-syndrome and what I presumed was a carer, walked up the trail as I took on the long decent to the beach. Great memories of long bushwalks as a carer in a past life came flooding back. Thoughts of many wonderful people I hiked with entertained me for a long time. What a great gift to give each other - A picnic in the sky.

 

Looking back - thinking about the past

 

The rain started lashing down as a large dark cloud raced past overhead. The trail became slippy, more like a waterfall in places. A young woman stood fully kitted out in rain garb talking on her mobile somewhere down the track.

 

Calling from a muddy trail

 

Civilisation was drawing near and I could see a car park next to a beach. I stood and chatted to a couple of beach walkers who had just spotted a seal in the ocean. I was no longer walking on the Heysen trail. It took a left turn at Kings Beach and curved around Victor Harbor to continue north to Adelaide.



Heysen capturing Kings Head and the large cliffs from around Rosetta Head
Photo courtesy of Pintrest

I cut across Kings Head where a rocky West Island lays only a short distance off the coast and continued through the rain along rugged rocks and seaweed covered beaches with my head down. Rosetta Head, a rock that needs exploring some other time, is the point where a bitumised trail plunged to Encounter Bay - zero altitude. A flat, tarred bike path is a strange sensation to walk on after days of uneven tracks. 'You mean I can let my mind wonder while I am walking - relax?'

 

West Island



The sound of cars and chatty retirees walking their dogs greeted me as I made my way, excitedly, to the first available café I could find along the glorious foreshore. I was forced to sit inside due to another storm passing overhead. All the tables were full, but an elderly, West Australian couple from Mandurah invited me to sit at their table. A large coffee and Haloumi burger with chips later I felt, in a weird kind of way, like I had arrived at home..... and a bit bloated.



A White-Faced Herron posing in front of the ocean



Grey Bits

The reeds that are growing here along the ocean and rivers were once used by the Raminjeri people to make spears, rafts, baskets, ornaments and even clothing.



Multi-purpose grass

The Heysen trail 12. The Hub of the Hut

 

The afternoon silence was broken at the Waitpinga hiking shelter by an excitable little boy chatting to his dad about camping - exploring every little detail in the world that is so interesting to a four year old. He ran around the building and burst into the shelter where I was sitting. His little round face instantly lit up with shock when he saw me there. Poor fellah! I said “hello” and “don’t be scared”, even apologised for frightening him unwittingly, but his little legs became blurred as he sprinted away from me with his Dad in pursuit.

The wind started whistling around the shelter and a lady (see opening photo) wearing a t-shirt and shorts walked in trying to get out of the rain that came down in horizontal streaks. She looked pretty cold and I offered her my raincoat but she said she was all right. I was making afternoon tea and offered her a cuppa as I found it hard to see her standing there, shivering.  She introduced herself as Debra and we chatted for a couple of hours while waiting for the weather to clear. I find it amazing how people can be so very open – talk about themselves – give up their life story -  even if you are a stranger. To me it seems this is very much happening on hiking trails – a trade of all tracks.  

 

The male splendid fairy wren looking for left over crumbs



Debra was totally bowled over by the size of the cup in which the earl-grey tea with powdered milk was sloshing around. Every time she took a sip her head would totally disappear  She asked me to take her photo posing with the large piece of crockery on her phone and didn’t mind posing for my camera either. I explained the ginormous cup of eating equipment doubled as a dinner plate/bowl and that even my gas bottle would fit in there. Handy! - all round.

Two rangers turned up and gabbed-on with us for some time. I heard more life stories about ranger placements in faraway places especially after I told them I lived in the Northern Territory. In true “good ranger, bad ranger” fashion, the female ranger insisted I move my tent. It took up only a small corner of the undercover seating area. “The shelter was for day use only” she said.  Besides, the weather, according to her, was clearing up and the worst of it was behind us. The good ranger was looking at her rather bemused as if to say “really??!!! - put this lone dingo out in this weather?” He continued to roll his eyes in the back of his head with a tut-tut here and some other sounds of disapproval there. I, obviously, as a law abiding resident of this beautiful country, told her I would move my tent out from under the roofed area asap. Some time later both rangers and Debra left this miserable, cold place to go to their warm homes.

 

Wild weather around the Waitpinga Campsite

Fifteen minutes later the biggest 'mother' of all storms broke out. Here I was, standing with a dislodged tent-peg in hand contemplating an interesting dilemma. Do I do as the bad ranger told me to and cop an absolute soaking trying to move my tent out in this deluge or do I do what Bear Grills would have done - survive at all costs - urinate in a snake skin if I have to - pay a fine if that’s what it takes. I can tell you that the offending tent was removed ……. eventually.



The tree next to the shelter

A station wagon full of Italian backpackers came into the  campground and, unbelievably, managed to set their massive tent up out in the storm. Their Italian/English sounds reverberated through the shelter as if they were singing when they asked me where the water tap was. A simple question like that was made to sound like an opera.

As the sun was setting, a couple from London dripped into my refuge and spent three hours with me drinking and chatting. They were hell-bent on getting plastered and abandon the stresses of their employment in the big smoke, and succeeded. Their cockney chatter and sense of humor was a delight to listen to.

In the middle of the night three 'evil knievil' dirt bikes raced through the campsite and parked under cover. They proceeded to talk loudly even though they had spotted my tent. I could hear cans of something being cracked open and the thought crossed my mind that I may be in a vulnerable position, left to the devices of three petrol heads. I stayed in my tent, silently, until they, after what seemed a disturbingly long time to tank themselves up, started their loud engines and proceeded to cut the night apart elsewhere.
After they left, I lay awake while trying to settle myself down. I came to the conclusion that the Waitpinga Beach is a busy place and that, except for the last motorised experience, I enjoyed the diversity of the human race as much as smashing it out over slippery, lonely hills.

 Grey Bits




Photo courtesy of the advertiser

Tragically, a rare Beaked Whale beached itself on Waitpinga Beach 1 Feb 2017. This is a link to this story if you want to read more www.adelaidenow.com.au

The Heysen Trail 11. Dream of the Shepherd

The man appeared at the end of the small street. He lifted his hand up and pointed the pistol straight at me and pulled the trigger. I jumped sideways and got the hell out of the alley. I ran for my life, gasping for breath -  sweating. The man started to chase me through an old city that presented itself as a mixture between Venice, Jerusalem and Zutphen (a town I used to live in - in Holland). I ran and dodged bullets for what seemed a lifetime. Every time the bullets came closer, whistling past my ears, until they finally hit me. In a crazy time-bending loop my mind presses the reverse button and slides back to the point where I was about to get shot. I quickly ducked into a different street and kept running, managing to avoid the bullets that had done me in seconds prior. This crazy process repeats itself until it can't go on any longer. The man comes closer and closer. This time it will be the end of me. Nothing is going to save me now…..

This is usually the moment I wake up.

That morning I awoke saturated as if I had ran for miles. I remembered having taken a mixture of Panadol and Ibuprofen the night before. ‘No wonder I had to face that man again’ I thought. My reoccurring dream struck again.

I crawled out of my death trap, that looked very much like a tent  and found myself staring at my knee a little puzzled. The swelling had almost disappeared and I could move around freely. The drugs must have worked their magic almost to a point I was wondering if I was making it all up. I abandoned the quitting plan that appeared an absolute certainty the night before and started to pack up. Some rain refreshed the air around me and soon, I was walking, optimistically, but tentatively, the easy 12km that was promised to me by the map.
 

Sheep on a broad herding track

I was outnumbered at least 1000 sheep to one human that morning. Some of them ran ahead of me for quite some time as even my friendliest sheep language couldn't settle them. Yes, I was talking to sheep! I must have inadvertently driven this smallish group of pre-jumper cuteness for a couple of kilometres. A fine shepherd I make!




Walking back towards the ocean still on Balquhidder station land

I paused to take a photo of some gumtrees and tried several effects to make it look like a 'Mr Heysen' painting but never really even touched the real thing.




My attempt at a 'Heysen' painting 

With the knee almost forgotten, I strutted up and over several large hills towards the ocean. Like my feet had been cast in concrete blocks, I crossed a creek bed, wobbling from rock to rock.

Some amazing looking beaches appeared in the distance - large rolling waves crashing on black rocks and petering out on the sand.
 

Slippery rocks - no kidding!

The wind picked up and started tugging at the doomed, weighty sail that I lugged around with me. Normally, not a problem except that being blown about on the edge of a cliff is quite a thrill.




High above ocean and beach

A group of surfers were hanging out beyond the breakers at Parsons Beach. I paused for a leisurely, lazy, long morning tea to see what their skills were made of. After 20 minutes of watching these guys just bobbing up and down, one of them finally caught a ripper, one could say. A long time waiting for a wave and a long time waiting for a shot.
 

Ripper, maaate!!

 

There was a lot to see and a lot to take in that day. In fact, photography was a dream. After a series of small beaches I walked on to the relatively easy to negotiate Waitpinga Beach, where it was quite busy. Lots of fishermen, a dead, but seriously photogenic, octopus and more of the surfing kind enjoying this glorious stretch with me.



Kind of morbid, kind of beautiful!

The turn-off came at the end of the beach at the camping/car-park that was almost full. A short climb over a large dune brought me to the Waitpinga Campground used by hikers and people with tents .

How good was life? Done for the day before lunchtime, all clean after my one bottle shower in the bush - one day out from Victor Harbor - leg up - four days into the Heysen trail - cuppa in hand and savouring the flavour of some dark chocolate.

 Grey Bits

Waitpinga Beach is easily accessible by car. If you are looking for a great place to camp or just want to spend the day fishing go to www.findacamp.com for more information.




A statue of unknown significance found en route



The Heysen Trail 10. "Too many sheep"

 

 

I was feeling a weary, bit of joy when the hill finally showed signs of levelling out. I glanced back and saw the fence disappear from view - testimony to its gradient. On top I disturbed a murder of crows feasting on a carcass. Was this the last resting place of the headless deer? To find out, I would have had to crawl over the four-foot fence. The blood I could see from 50 metres away wasn't exactly an invite. The way things were going on this trail, I could have laid down next to it and turned into crow fodder myself.




Dare I say it? Oh deer!!

 

I continued along the fence and still, probably due to exhaustion, got lost. ‘It said follow the fence, not  jump it, Mars!!!!’ Having lost any sign of the trail I had a gut-full and sat down to indulge in a cup of soup and some of my last blobs of extra deserved chunks of goats cheese. It was difficult to get to a sitting position with a knee that was stiff and full of fluid, but even more difficult to find where I went wrong on the map.

I was sitting at the end of a broad strip of sheep-dung-covered grass, pondering my next move with fences running on either side – paddocks as far as the eye could see, when I heard the sound of an engine coming near from the direction I came. A guy appeared at full speed, without a helmet, on an off-road motorbike and started working the two gates in front of me. At first he just wanted to ignore me, but I told him I had lost the track and could he please, please, please tell me where I went wrong. He pointed at a small rise in the landscape about 3km away, and said that the Heysen trail was to be found on that hill. I thanked him and told him that he had the best job ever in this amazing country side. With a cynical smile he replied, “there are just too many bloody sheep.”

Polite sheep

Having packed up, I soon understood what he meant as several hundred of the woollen bundles were herded towards me by a ute, some more guys on bikes and two working dogs. Being a city slicker, this were to be my first such experience of being swamped by sheep. It has to be said that the sheep were very polite, or were they just being cautious, and moved around me in a wide arc. I stood there like an agricultural tourist taking photographs of it all. After passing through the gate, the followers were expertly scattered in the paddock by a new dude on a bike running figure eights at full speed.

 

"You can go your own way!!!"

One of the sheep – there is always one – couldn’t keep up with the family. In my mind I was encouraging her to go faster. C'mon, you can do it!! Chop Chop!! Later on,  I spotted the grand ol' lady on the back of the ute, motionless, and laying down flat. By now she has possibly disappeared in the station's freezer. Life on a station in its full glory.
 

The sheep bee-lining me and if you look carefully the grand ol' lady struggling in front of the ute

“What a day it has been” I thought as I limped along an uninspiring dirt road. I had an accident, almost, and may still, quit this hike, nearly killed myself on a steep slope, watched a playful pod of dolphins in the surf, got stuck in the soft sand of Tunkalilla beach, saw many birds and other animals - even dead ones, clutched on to a fence and hoiked myself up into the sky, escaped the evil clutches of deer-hunting decapitators, got lost on a sheep station but life couldn’t be slapping me in any more in the face if I wanted it to.

 

This dog just stood and watched the sheep rather than chased them

 

The sun had started to set when I arrived at the Balquhidder/Waitpinga campsite. It was built on the side of a hill – ‘where is the flat ground for a tent?’ -  with a tiny shelter that my tent had great difficulty fitting under or was it supposed to go on the platform? I set up quickly when a large flock of white-tailed, black cockatoos flew over screeching their melancholic sounds under a pink sky. The sound evoking a queasy feeling of depression. ‘I concur’ I thought'.
 

The platform or the shelter?

Tomorrow I walk across the road and ask for a lift to the nearest town.

 

Grey Bits

The sheep station I was lost on for one hour was the Balquhidder station. I have to thank them for letting Heysen trail hikers traipse through their property, for showing me the way back to the trail and allowing me to take these photographs without asking for permission.