Day 12 - Central Ranges

Thursday, 10 June 2021

Oh! Johan pipes up. We’re just finishing morning coffee and starting in on breakfast. Guess what? He says it in such a way that suggests a major insight or decision has been found. My mind runs over possibilities. You’ve decided I’m right about the celestial southern pole? I’m kidding but he nods his head. During sleepless hours in the night his mind has worked it out. He sees the big picture of how it works. The spinning top metaphor makes sense. I feel not so much victorious as relieved. We’ve just saved hundreds of dollars on astronomy marriage counselling.

The wind continues its wicked whip across the desert. The promise of warmth and comfort lures us towards the option to pack up and sit the whole day in a moving car, windows up. But we haven’t had a day off for a while, and this is a spectacular spot to take one.

We bundle up – or rather, we leave on our morning bundles – and take off through the bush, each with a backpack for food, water, and the inevitable receptacle for all our clothes when the day warms up. The rough idea is to climb one of the hills nearby, but determining a way up isn’t easy from down here. We traverse a dry riverbed then meet a dirt track heading northwest, the general direction we’re aiming for.

Half hour down the track it is clear it’s leading us to a gorge, a rocky split in one of the hills. River gums and tweeting birds suggest there’s water nearby. Sure enough, three levels of ponds, barely trickling, greet us at the end of the track. Could be an Aboriginal meet-up spot. Bones of animals, a huge skull of a camel. The word “WE” etched into a rock. 

The top pond is deep and black, clear enough for a swim. I wouldn’t say we heated up, but we’re warmer than when we started. A toe in the water produces a squeal. But four days – or is it five? – without a shower compels us to strip down and do the cold plunge. The goosy expression on my face pretty much sums up the experience.

But cold baths are nothing if not energizing and we spend a couple of hours primed with pleasure, looking about, laying flat on the red, black, and yellow striated rocks, eating lunch, watching masses of exotic zebra finches flitting in and out of the lower pond. A couple of diamond doves join the fun along with a small family of bright green mulga parrots. A black-faced wood swallow hovers overhead, lights in a tree, watches the festivities but keeps his distance.

We attempt a climb up the hillside, but when we turn around and scan the view, it’s clear we haven’t clue where we are in relation to our camp. Binocular searches turn up a desert landscape void of cars or camper trailers. We decide it’s wiser to head home the way we came, following the bush track and our shoe tracks through the bush. By the time we arrive back at camp, the wind has died down. Our bodies are warm, worn, and happy.