Day 22: Another Restless, Sleepless Night

December 6, 2010

Lightning is dancing in the distance horizon – long veins sizzling across the sky with only occasional thunder. We’re camped in a dry river bed with a view of a rusted rail bridge overhead. The frequent flashes are unsettling and makes sleep elusive. Towards midnight the thunder play gets closer and big drops of rain ricochet off the tent. I touch Johan to see if he’s awake. “Yeah, a bit of a worry, eh?” he responds.

We get out of bed and lift the tent flap to check out the situation. A storm is looming and we have three problems: the possibility of heavy rains could make the river run; even if it doesn’t, the soft rocky sand could bog the wheels if it gets too wet; the rough track in the from the main road included a dry mud patch which, if wet, could be impassable on the way out. What do we do?

We go outside, look around, watch the land around us flash into sight, sit on our camp chairs and discuss the pros and cons of packing up and getting out of the river bed before the rain hits. That’s fine, but there’s things crawling over my legs, biting. Don’t ants ever sleep? I walk about, crouch, try to get a feel for what we should do. But hunches aren’t happening, especially with ants crawling up my legs everywhere I stand.

We go back inside to get free of the crawling river pests. We sit in silence for ten maybe fifteen minutes watching the storm on the horizon. Finally I say, “You know, we’re not going to sleep anyway; we might as well pack up.” So we start the whole process, usually a post-breakfast job, packing, dis-assembling, tucking away. Everything’s packed except the tent when finally a hunch comes. “You know, I think we just ought to go to bed. It’ll be fine.” It’s a combination of fatigue and intellect: it’ll be another hour before we’re in bed once we pack up and re-assemble the tent; and the storm seems to be abating. At least the lightning is less. Johan doesn’t always go along with my hunches, but this time he does. He must be weary too.

In bed, Johan flips on the light and reads. I toss and turn. The first rain comes, pelting on the tent for fifteen, twenty minutes. “See it was only short,” I mumble when it stops. Finally I drift off to sleep, Johan still clinging to his book. The next rain comes a bit later and this time doesn’t stop, seems to continue most of the night. At some stage, I don’t know when, Johan flips the light off and we manage to sleep until daylight.

Camping in the riverbed

A vague sense of relief greets me when wakefulness returns. We haven’t been swept away; that’s the first good news. But Johan’s flitting about, anxious to get past our other two problems. We eat a hurried breakfast, our feet propped up on a camp stool; the ants seem to have increased tenfold with the rain. Exiting the river goes smoothly. Johan lowers the tyre pressure and, though the engine labours, the wheels don’t spin. Back up on terra firma, the river’s edge, we stop to fill the tyres. The portable electric pump gets smothered in ants and everywhere we stand, within seconds a team of ants cover our feet and attempt the climb up our ankles and calves. While Johan patiently fills and checks each of the six tyres, I stomp around, half-crazed by the thought of being eaten by ants.

We pass the third test, the muddy embankment, with ease and let go a nervous, tired chuckle when we hit the main road again. It’s another fifty kilometers to the next town and the bitumen road starts soon after that. When we finally feel its smooth contours underneath, we relax. Johan, who finally stopped reading at 3am, lets out a formidable sigh, his eyes at half mast. It’s time for me to drive.

The first view of the Flinders Ranges is thirst-quenching after so much dry, flat, monotonous landscape. The road that heads east into the range from the highway doesn’t jive with our map. We take it anyway, but the heavily rutted road and a big ‘no camping’ sign makes us turn around after a few kilometers. We drive further south and find a pleasant bush camp on a station with views of ancient river gums and a backdrop of the range.

The Flinders Ranges coming into view

Merna Mora station campground with views to the east of the Flinders Ranges