The Heysen Trail 4. The Forty Kilometre Man

 

It is said that you can judge a man by his actions. Well, I became a little concerned about my own sanity when I arrived at Cape Jervis. All the passengers on the bus hopped onto the ferry to Kangaroo Island except me. There was I, alone, a small entity next to a big, open ocean. It was only I who took the turn past the trailhead and disappeared over a hill. ‘Is this really such an extraordinary, unusual, mad thing to do?’

I woke up my three stooges (read the blog ‘Heysen trail two’ if you want to know what it's all about) that morning at 4am to check the time - surely, it had to be time to get going. Way too early, I walked the convenient 300 metres to the central bus station where friendly Sealink staff looked after my huge towering bag - a nickname of my backpack will spring to mind soon. The markets around the corner were open for fruit and veg and I bought some cheap apples and carrots that would hopefully stay fresh in the top of my tower of agony.

It was a beautiful bus ride towards Cape Jervis. At first we hit the terraces in Adelaide with its broad strips of parkland looking pretty in the morning rays. Then suburbia, Lego style, floated by for some time. The hills rolled on and were soon covered with splashes of autumn coloured vines, evidence of our salubrious society - the McLaren Vale wineries begging for further investigation.

I could have sworn that we had arrived in the English country-side when our trip turned into a surreal episode of 'Escape to the Country'. Large, green, grass-covered hills stretched on as far as I could squint into the early sun. An English gentleman with a Wallace of the and Grommet series spoke  inside my head  "These rabbits do 'ave a funny way of hopping about, Grommet”.  
 

The unusual shaped light-house at Cape Jervis

In Cape Jervis I ordered my last barista made, liquid hug at the café, for what would have to be the last one for some time and sat down next to a young man who told me he just walked in from Bridgewater - near Adelaide. He asked me not to sit too close because he hadn't had a shower for a while – always a sign of a fair dinkum hiker. We talked for a while and he told me it had taken him four days to the Cape at a pace of around 40km per day. I was stunned!!! What a pace this young super-human had set! I told him I would be very happy to make it to Victor Harbor in five days, less than half the distance of his walk but in more than double the time. He told me his pack was very light with the downside that he would go hungry at times. "The more you carry the slower you get" he said while ogling my column of torture standing forlorn in the corner of the café. I followed his gaze and thought with happiness as well as trepidation ‘Looks like this snail will have enough to eat’.

"Look out for the slimy, green stuff” was one of his parting pearls of wisdom. I thought it was only polite to nod and grunt in agreement even though I hadn't a clue what 'the green stuff' was. I was about to tell him that I didn't smoke marihuana and was sure that I could fight off whatever spawn Kermit like monsters would throw at me, but thought the better of it.

The 20 something year old marathon-a-day-man was kind enough to take some photos of my fresh features before I finally set foot on the trail.




Raring to go, stick at the ready but unfortunately facing the wrong way

I would like to acknowledge the Ngarrindjeri or traditional owners of the lower Murray river, the care takers of this land I am about to travel through. 

With the last shot of caffeine buzzing in my brain I took on a flat trail along side my old friend the ocean. It only took five minutes to start whooohoooing and I bawled out a courageous "Yeah!" and a "Yeah man!!" 

Waves were lapping gently at the black rocks. The air, carried in from the ocean, left a salty flavour on my lips - or was that sweat already. All that sea, sun, salt and wind culminated in a strong sensation, one sorely missed by a desert dweller like yours truly.

The green hills soon required a bit more effort when a series of calf-burners stopped my random howls of ecstasy.

A seven strong pod of dolphins swam by while I stood high above them on a cliff. These dolphins were magnificent, powerful and much bigger than I remembered. There has always been something liberating about watching dolphins or whales glide past. 'Not bad for my first morning on the trail' I thought.



This is as close as I could get with my camera

In a meadow of sheep and kangaroos I sat down to have my first meal on the track overlooking Kangaroo Island from afar. When you still have fresh provisions, lunch can be a real pleasure. Try minestrone soup with a fresh bread roll and several blobs of melted goats cheese to carve out of the bottom of the bowl. A 'MasterChef' winner any day.
 

Identical double twin Kangaroos in front of the ocean

I was surprised to find that my phone was still barred-up and I had a long conversation with Julie while enjoying the 20 degree winter sun. Only 10km out from where I started, I enjoyed the longest break in the middle of the day lazing about in the green, green grass .
 
‘No 40km for you laddie, not today, not ever!’ said Wallace.

 Grey Bits

Sealink run regular bus services from Adelaide to Cape Jervis every day. Here is their link www.sealink.com.au




The Southern Ocean and, if you look carefully, Kangaroo Island in the distance

The Heysen Trail 3. Last Centuries Beauties

You can’t get past smashed avocado and poached eggs to revive, no matter how frugal any politician tells you to be. I had been walking for four hours through Adelaide and by 9am hit a trendy café in the centre of town.  After Googling 'What’s on in Adelaide' I found myself only metres away from the starting point of my next adventure.

The 20^th century architecture tour happened to be on the Tuesday I was in town and a one off chance to get to know Adelaide better. The further into the 21^st century we venture the more our buildings of the previous century need our care and attention. Putting it in human, slightly depressing terminology: 'Things grow old before you know it'. It appears Adelaide has a ground- breaking heritage listing of sublime architectural gems and a free tour to admire them. Count me in!!

 

When I first arrived at the former Reserve Bank building, it appeared that a booking should have been made. For around twenty minutes, I was hanging in suspense to see whether there was enough room for me on the bus. Twenty minutes was long enough to discover that I had landed in a flock of the most lovely ladies. I was the only male, besides the driver and the guide, and pretty close to being the youngest of the group. ”Where have all the husbands gone?” I asked, but was met with lots of shrugging of shoulders and mumbles about work commitments. Due to cancellations, I was relieved to be able hop on the bus. What followed was a very funny and interesting tour.

 

The city of Adelaide's Colonel Light Centre clad in wall garden

At one memorable stop at the Greek church of Archangels Michael and Gabriel we were not able to go inside due to the sharp glue smells coming from behind the heavy, bronzed front doors. Carpet was being laid over the floorboards and glued down by several workmen. Together with two other ladies we defied the Occupational Health and Safety warnings and like naughty children snuck up the stairs just inside the front door. It was a trip worth making. The inside view of the paintings and the dome of this magnificent symbol of migration to South Australia were mind-blowing - the smells also very uplifting.

The dome of the Greek church

 

The banter was flowing freely after the glue-sniffing incident.

At the Deep Acres Apartments a member of the public was adamant that he was going to catch our bus. The gentleman obviously wanted to join the gals on the tour, but was told gently that it would have taken him many hours to reach any kind of destination.

  



Evelyn in front of the Deep Acres Apartments

I have found a pattern throughout my life where I seemed to get along famously with the more mature faction of the opposite sex. I don't know whether this should be worrying me or not. The fact remains girls appear to 'wanna have fun' and not in the way where I am taking off my shirt, wave it above my head whilst jiggling my hips.

We stopped at the atypical Adelaide High School building. This award winning structure has a sweeping, rounded façade - the fantastic condition of the school sets itself as a class apart. We were encouraged not to take photographs inside the building because of the proximity of the school kids. We left these capable children to take footage of each other on their mobiles.



The Adelaide High School

The sun bus that was refuelling itself by the rays of the sun, drove us along in a large circle through Adelaide. We viewed McConnell House, drove over Adelaide Bridge and our final stop was the fire station completed in 1983. The rounded features of the building were striking; even the blackened practice tower adjacent to the $16 million building had that “curve appeal”.



The rounded walls of the fire station



The training tower that tries and fries our firies



Unfortunately, this tour had come to an end and after the group shots we all went our separate ways. A great morning had, cruising around with Adelaide's finest offerings of the last century.



A happy bunch. Group shot taken in Diorama in front of the sun bus

 Grey Bits

Yes, and all that was for free. Thank you Kevin and Megan for your sublime commentary and organisational skills. If you would like to go on this tour, you can find contact details on this website http://www.cityofadelaide.com.au/whats-on 

  

The crows on the tower in front of the Greek church

Later that day, I visited the third largest collection in the world of the ground breaking Auguste Rodin at the Art Gallery. The exhibition is called Versus Rodin, bodies across space and time. Find out more at  www.artgallery.sa.gov.au/agsa/home. Except for a sleepy guard or two, I found myself all alone with these amazing sculptures of powerful distorted body parts and melancholic citizens. Check out some of the photographs below.

A study off the Burghers of Calais



Casts of these sculptures are rare. One of the completed sculpture stands at Westminster Abbey

 

The Heysen Trail 2 - Just Call Me Dumpling.

Crickey!!!!

For someone that eats a lot of vegetables the sudden impact of a huge plate of dumplings is not to be underestimated. Feeling so full I started to think that I had become a dumpling. With something JFK could have said ringing through my head – “Ich bin ein dumfling” – I rolled back from Adelaide’s Chinatown to the cheapest accommodation I could find; the youth hostel's four bed dorm where an interesting night lay ahead of me.

 

China Town, home of the dumplings

My dormitory soon turned into a three stooges show where the first stooge, who I dubbed Mr. Snoremore, was busy running his chainsaw through a variety of logs. The snoring pitch varied from an alarming high-frenzied, wood-grinding to a low, deep, shattering rattle, shaking the room as though Vesuvius had just erupted. The exhale produced a high-pitched siren that  would have had our boys in Kokoda ducking for cover, yelling “incoming”. This man was definitely single room material only; in fact he could be a single all of his life without knowing why, deserted Island kind of bloke. At first, I used my pillow to block out Mr. Snoremores duel with the sound barrier but soon I wanted to use it for more sinister purposes. I was only stopped at the prospect of having to spend the next 25 years in another more sinister dorm.

The second stooge, Sir Stinkalot, came in at eleven and chose the bunk below mine.  As soon as the man laid down the pungent, sour fumes of cigarette smoke ,with a stale bouquet of pub trough drifted upwards. Holding my breath wasn’t going to help as I slowly turned blue under my pillow.

Stooge number three, Mystery Stooge, I suspect was on the red eye flight. His hour of arrival was unknown but it was deep, deep in the night. Attempts to be as quiet as possible failed epically with the heavy door slamming with gusto, waking up even the best sleepers seven dorm doors down. 
 

These wonderful experiences in dormitories take me back to Spain and the Camino de Santiago where we, a group of ten hikers, were forcibly honoured to observe a Spanish couple having it on, on the top bunk. How would it be to have the sexual juices flowing so badly that you would ignore twenty eyes and ears? I can assure you that she was having the time of her life with the added bonus that we all learned some very rudimental Spanish.
 

The seedy side of Adelaide

Finally, there was me. Old Fart Stooge with an upset gut full of dumpflings. Believe me, I desperately tried to keep the incessant waft from underneath my blanket to a minimum, so much so I could have snapped one of the logs that were being cut below. Every time I rolled around in bloated discomfort the bed squealed in protest. I could hear and smell Sir Stinkalot's smoky sigh of annoyance coming from below.
 

Adelaide Awakes!

Among the cacophony of sounds and smells in our tiny room I was ready to fly away into another world. I grabbed my camera out of my locker, accidently slammed the door on my way out, and found Adelaide shrouded in mist at 4.30 in the morning. I walked  about 12km's through cotton wool filled streets  - I just couldn’t stop - past Anzac memorials and universities – dodged street sweepers and garbo trucks – photographed the seedy pokie clubs and massage parlours – experienced the magical, dark River Torrens -  wondered about my own safety - took snaps of the misty coloured lights – strolled past several homeless guys sleeping in window arches – admired the sculptures in parks and streets – saw a group of joggers disappear into the mist.
 

Joggers in the mist

I escaped into the urban beauty of Adelaide.

 

Grey Bits

Due to me trying to keep things as cheap as possible during this trip, I bravely went back for one more night with my fellow Stooges.

How bad was his night?

If you are flying to the start of a hiking trail remember that you cannot take any gas bottles with you on the plane, hence, the extra day I needed in Adelaide. More to follow about my day in Adelaide in the next blog.

Here are some more photos I took that morning, plus more on my website https://www.facebook.com/storiesfrommars/?ref=bookmarks



Independence Day or Adelaide Oval



Purple Rain



The newly installed lights under the Adelaide Bridge



The memorial walk - Kintore Avenue

 



Elder Park



The Heysen Trail 1 - Chasing the Light

 

After nearly six months of hard physio, that ultimate new challenge has slipped it's calling card under my door.  I spent hours in the pool, stepping up and down the ledge in my backyard so many times I have nearly worn a patch in the breeze blocks. Yes, I have started jogging again and what about those millions of squats I put in the legs – enough already?! What a relief to find my knee in good enough shape after my anterior cruciate ligament and other bits and pieces were fixed up. It allowed me to get the backpack out of the shed again.

Why the opening photo courtesy of Pintrest of a water colour painting you may ask? This absolute classic is by a migrant called Hans Heysen born 8 Oct 1877 in Hamburg. This particular piece is called The Three Gums and one of his most famous.

Heysen loved nothing better than tramping with a stool and a box full of paint. He was especially drawn to the Adelaide Hills and spent most of his life exploring  the Aussie light around Hahndorf and the rest of South Australia. He was knighted in 1959 as his prize winning paintings and commitment to art turned him into a household name in Australia. They even named a hiking trail after him…….

The artist in action

 

 

"I cannot help feeling that my heart lies with these men who see intense and almost religious beauty in simple nature that surrounds us in the beauty of the skies and the mystery of the earth."

Hans Heysen to Lionel Lindsay (1922) 

Sir Hans

 

The Heysen Trail is 'only' 1200 kilometres long, running from Cape Jervis, north past Adelaide and well into the Flinders Ranges.  Where there is a will there is a trail. I have given myself three weeks to walk around two hundred kms to the hills east of Adelaide, thinking that I may like to have a break in Victor Harbor and explore this new frontier in my travel experiences. Heysen's house named “the Cedars” is in Hahndorf and wouldn’t it be fitting to end my crusade of physical devastation at his place which now serves as a museum?




From Cape Jervis to Hahndorf is just the beginning.
Map courtesy of the Friends of the Heysen Trail

 

Again, this journey will be a solo mission given that Julie has full time, permanent employment and I am working in a casual position where saying 'no' to work is quite acceptable. I am a lucky ducky! 

 

I found all my hiking gear in boxes under piles of other stuff and managed to gather up five days of dried, powdery food, a small tent, sleeping bag and mattress, lots of warm cloths and my beloved camera. It was a real tight squeeze into a backpack that at 18 kilos nearly gave me scoliosis when I lifted it for the first time. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Fortunately, this question often gets drowned out by anticipation of living wild - through and through.

“When I get back I am going to save every Indian orphan in the world” I thought to myself as I was sobbing uncontrollably on the flight over from Alice Springs to Adelaide. One shouldn’t watch emotionally disturbing movies like Lion in thin air, high above the ground. My advice - don't make any life changing, rash decisions on aeroplanes. The plight of abandoned babies soon disappeared from my mind when the plane landed in Adelaide.
 

A cloudy Adelaide

Here I was - a man from dead centre Alice, in a strange, for me noisy, hectic town trying to navigate through the checkered maze of broad streets, CO2 pumping machines and confusing landmarks.” Immediately I thought about those beautiful paintings I was inspired by.

'Let it be soon I thought - let me chase Heysen’s light.'

 

 

To be continued….. .... .. .


Grey Bits

The best place to find information on line about Hans Heysen is here http://www.hansheysen.com.au/  The quote used above was taken from this site along with the two photographs of Hans Heysen.

The Friends of the Heysen Trail can be found at Suite 212, Epworth Building, 33 Pirie St, Adelaide SA 5000. It is upstairs so try not to be out of breath when you get there. They jokingly inquired how much training I had put in for this hike. A friendly and very helpful bunch of volunteers. Their website: http://heysentrail.asn.au/

Thanks to Julie my lovely partner for supporting my crazy wonder lust.

Stories of the Air: The Rock Without Name

The air freighter cleared Temple Bar within seconds and prepared for landing. The pilots were looking through the window into the black, moonless night. Suddenly, a huge, dark shape burst into view. Frantically, the pilot grabbed the controls and yanked them back as hard as he could, trying to lift the plane in a last ditch effort, but it was too late……

On a crisp desert morning my companion and I decided to challenge ourselves with a hike to the crash site of the Westwind 1124 VH-AJS.  I drive by this site almost every day and look up at the inhospitable cliff face in wonder, tinged with a feeling of morbidity and a kicked-bucket, full of awe.

 

The kangaroos on the edge of the escarpment

There isn’t a track to be found except the ones Kangaroos have ground out. The first 300 metres was steep, with slippery rubble and several loose rocks that tumbled down the slope disturbed by my large, clumsy feet.  Lexi, who was following me at the time, jumped sideways to avoid the avalanche and  decided to run around me and lead me out. Smart dog!

In an exhale of relief and with a fine layer of sweat to offer the cold wind, we reached the flat area up the top.  From below, it doesn’t look like there is any room, but there is a spinifex covered strip of level ground along the range about 200 metres wide in most places. It seems that birds, reptiles and kangaroos have lived here without any disturbance for many a year.

 

Dodging spinifex all the way

 

 

And then the unthinkable happened during a dark night on 27 April 1995.

Rod Cramer heard the explosion of 14,000 litres of A1 jet fuel at the Temple Bar Caravan Park from about 4 km's away and put his SES (State Emergency Service) uniform on and made his way up to this yet to be named rock.

“Initial impact occurred when the right wingtip tank struck a rock on the north-western edge of the escarpment. The first major impact occurred 60 metres further on when the landing gear and the lower fuselage struck large rocks. The fire trail began at this point. The aircraft then progressively broke up as it continued across the top of the escarpment before cart wheeling into a ravine on the southern side. The wings and empennage, along with both engines, were at the base of the ravine. Most components had been severely affected by fire.”

Information taken from the report of the Bureau of Air Safety Investigation

First sighting

My heart sunk and a lump forced itself into my throat when I came across the first piece of debris, a small metal rectangle with two screws neatly punched through the metal.

Feeling uncomfortable about something, I continue on in a diagonal line across the top of the range. I found torn metal, smashed boxes with wires and unrecognisable bits and pieces that once formed a sleek machine that sliced through the sky with ease.

The broken wings flung some way down a narrow ravine - this is a sad place to be.

 

Grass starting to take over

The two pilots and a passenger, the report stated,....died instantly.

 

Rod spent 24 hours on top of the range and found himself in charge of recovering the three bodies. ”It is one of the hardest physical things I have ever done” he said as the loaded stretcher had to be hauled up the steep, rocky slope and carried to the helicopter on top.

He knew a couple of people that worked on the recovery that were affected by what they saw. Rod used the words ‘privilege’ and ‘respect’ to describe his feelings of that night - he appeared to be at ease talking about the whole ordeal.

Photo of an identical Westwind 1124 VH-AJS

 

Cargo was spread around everywhere according to Rod. People's tax returns were found and bizarre specimen jars of human tissue.  A huge amount of US Dollars had scattered itself across the top like a lucrative snowfield.

Rod - third from top left in training at Kings Canyon with his SES mates

 

How can such a thing happen?  What in earth's name causes a well-equipped, modern plane to crash on a mountain?







A piece of hose

 

The crash report of the Westwind is an involved, detailed document. The plane's engines were humming in the background on the cockpit recorder. This means  the crash wasn't caused by any mechanical failure. The investigator concluded in his report that the minima was set too low by the pilots being a recipe for disaster. It was set for 2300 feet rather than the prescribed 2700. A pinch of forgetfulness with a few grams of shortcutting and some inadequate checking of the flight path finding it's way on the menu. It becomes clear in the report that the two pilots didn’t get along, had argued on a previous flight and that any discrepancy in altitude could have been ignored due to their, this time fatal, level of ill-feeling towards each other.




Part of a water bottle

This is a beautiful spot, high above the life and sounds of Ilparpa Road. The views from here are spectacular – The Gap – Airport – Temple Bar – nothing but sky. A white cross is now standing near the broken wings of the Westwing overlooking the world.

 

Lexi looking down at Ilparpa road from the initial point of impact

On the way back, Lexi started chasing kangaroos and I could hear her yapping delightfully in the distance, even though she would never be fast enough to catch any of them. My mind went to the guys that lost their lives up there, wondering what it would be like. Staring imminent death in the face, much alike looking into the barrel of a gun that is about to go off. Never mind who was at fault, who was squabbling with who or who forgot what. The truth is that any man who faces such a final shock like these highly skilled pilots and their passenger did, makes them, in my opinion, heroes in their own right.

Lets not forget that they belong to families that never saw them return. Their spirits forever lingering at the rock without name.

 

The cross on the edge of the ravine

 

 Grey Bits

Let your mind rome to the amazing job the SES are doing. Well done for making our world a better place to live!

If you want to check out the SES and maybe even join this valuable organisation as a volunteer, check out this website www.ses.sa.gov.au

If you like to have a read of the full report of the Westwind crash you can find it on my website
https://www.facebook.com/storiesfrommars

If the range ever were to be named, I suggest we call it the Westwind Range.

 




This willy wagtail appeared surprised with our company

The Chamber of Pillars.

Just 160 kilometres of shake, rattle and dust on a corrugated track separates us from one of the red centres most obscure government run campsites, the Chambers Pillar. We finally ventured out on a weekend when Alice Springs was dancing around a pole in May, in an almost pagan/hippy roman tradition.

Just when you think it is safe enough to crank the car up to a hundred km per hour, a rough dip will play basketball with your off-roader or a bend will slide you through a corner as if Brocky was still alive. After about a hundred kilometres, we stopped to look at the Indigenous art expo at the village of Titjikala, but found that in an act of sheer defiance to the rules of capitalism the exhibition was closed on a public holiday weekend.

Around ten kilometres before arrival, a short but steep drive takes you up a high ridge where the views are 360 degrees and worth stopping for, especially that first glimpse of the Chambers Pillar. Down the hill two gates are to be negotiated by the co-driver. At one of the gates there is a sign advising you to mount your pole with a red flag to the front of your car ‘now’, to warn oncoming traffic that you are rounding the crest.  Yeah!!! Darn!!! Forgot to bring my flagpole. I was tempted to sit on top of the car waving my red undies around, but thought it too dusty up there. Two or three of those apexes were quite hair-raising. For seconds, all you can see is the bonnet creating that out of control feeling. One day someone is going to land their front wheels on someone else's bonnet.

The main event

There is a lot going on at the chamber of pillars.

For sure the highlights are the columns that have stood here as long as anyone can remember. Even though the name Chamber is of a wealthy businessman who sponsored first time explorer John MacDouell Stuart out here; the name itself evokes the feeling of a space with the pillar and surrounding rock features holding up the roof of the world. The colour changes of these rocks at dawn and dusk are truly spectacular, almost emotionally so.

 

This rock formation visible from our campsite - notice nature's window

The Indigenous locals believe that a knob-tailed gecko warrior named Itirkawara rebelled against tribal law by sleeping around with woman forbidden to him. He came to these sand dunes, took a breather, and tragically transformed into a stone pillar. The woman he travelled with turned her head away and became what is now known as Castle Rock. The message is loud and clear for future generations. If you hadn't learned it by now here it is again; don’t mess with the wrong woman.

The knob tailed gecko courtesy of Milan Zygmunt



Castle Rock from this angle looks a lot like a submarine

Some of the oldest graffiti created by the earliest settlers of the red centre is found in relatively sophisticated carvings on the rocks and surrounding the pillar. Willshire and W Bennett (mounted police), Frank Wallis (store keeper of Alice Springs) and William and Mary Hayes who’s family still owns land around here; just to name a few dating back as far as 1884.  Little did our forefathers know that this form of historical acknowledgement of hard sweat and toil, set the precedence for an all-in eyesore of epic proportions. Who would have thought that 'John 1996' thought it necessary to etch his name into history, along with countless others. Never mind that by carving your name into the soft rock, one accelerates the erosion process of this amazing ancient column . The pillar is as the newspaper clipping in the gazebo said  ‘being loved to death’ even at the risk of a $2000 fine.

The John Ross party came through in 1870 whilst scouting the area for the overland telegraph line

There are some great short walks around the rock formations and the climb up the pillar is a must. There is a sunset and sunrise viewing area and wildlife is abundant according to the information on the boards. We spotted a large variety of birds including and a couple of bats. The southern boobook owl, mulga snake and spinifex hopping mouse were a little shy.

The camping is sublime at La Chambre as French friends of ours elegantly called it. Even a long weekend attracted a low number of visitors. The bush campsites were spaced out with fire pits working overtime during the fresh evenings. This is the Northern Territory in full flight - you can pick your favourite star out of a galaxy as clear as picking sultanas out of a cinnamon scroll.




No stars this night but just a spectacular sky

The rocks at the foot of the pillar

Reluctantly, we started our journey home - leaving a beautiful place like this is always hard. We passed through a large barren area where ahead of us a cow tried to outrun our superior human invention. In true bovine fashion it stuck to the road exhausting itself, until she became tired and came to a grinding halt. We parked right next to it and admired the brahman black and white features of the meat production line of Australia, when it unabashedly lifted its tail and just let go of this intense tinkle whilst staring us out.

           

Two minutes down the road Julie spotted a skinny, lone dingo. The Dingo ran away from us but at a distance ran parallel to the slow driving car as Julie hung out, taking photos of the cantering native.  But wouldn’t you know it?  We found the answer to the Australian version of the question concerning bears, woods and stating the obvious. Does a dingo crap in the desert?




 Picture courtesy of Julie from a moving vehicle
 

 Apparently!

Grey Bits

Check out this fabulous photographer at http://www.milanzygmunt.com/reptiles/nephrurus-levis-knob-tailed-gecko-gekon-knoflikovy/