Friday, 4 June 2021
The day breaks stark and cold. Cloudless empty sky but for a quarter moon, bright Jupiter and faint Saturn leading the trio down to the horizon. A low hum, like a cosmic om, nestles in the silence.
It’s a quiet day. We’ve reached a stalemate on the question of whether or not to continue down the Anne Beadell, which meets up with the Connie Sue (named after Len and Anne’s daughter), and north back to Warburton on the Great Central Rd, a total of about 500 kms of remote outback driving. We both love the isolation and beauty. We vary on our views of how much risk we’re willing to take. We’re quiet people, so tensions usually propel us into the safety of silence. Rather than carry on, we opt for a walk.
We find the road to the lake, smaller still than the one we drove in on yesterday. It meanders through meadows and dry ponds before breaking out into a vast empty lake system as far as the eyes can see. Typical white salt bed, shining and breathtaking in the midday sun.
It’s hard not to love camels, with their syrupy lips and bizarre gangly cuteness. Out here there are no cows, but there are camels, grown wild since the breed was abandoned by early Afghani pioneers. Triple the size of cows’, their hoof-prints are everywhere. Their poop decidedly more pleasant to walk over. Like the cows, sightings are rare though our eyes frequently scan the horizon for a view. Apparently there are thousands of them running free in Australia’s outback and ecologists are no happier with them than the domesticated station stock. Things get trammelled, chewed and choked to near-extinction. Government gets on the bandwagon and sends helicopter snipers out once or twice a year to gun down whole herds. Never mind the devastation on the remaining camels’ unique and complex social systems. They’re non-native and therefore a pest. Renders morality redundant, or at least inconsequential.
A lazy afternoon of reading, resting, writing, enjoying the returned sun.
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