Day 7 - Somewhere near White Cross

Saturday, 5 June 2021

Feel the table, Johan says, on his way for his morning pee. I finish putting on my layers and wipe my hand across the table. It feels dry but cold. I run a fingernail across it and tiny shards of ice wedge up.

We’ve reached a decision, a compromise: back to the Great Central Rd, fuel up at the next roadhouse, enquire about the condition of the Connie Sue. There’s a track just past the roadhouse we can head east on to meet up with the Connie Sue, if we get the green light. It’ll be roughly 200 kms of off-road travel.

The pillowcase of dirty clothes gets dumped in the white container with some laundry detergent and just enough water to cover them. The drive back to the Yeo homestead is enough to agitate the dirt. We use the well water at the homestead to rinse them, twice. 

 

I’m taking a shower, I say. Turns out the bucket-in-the-water-tank has a dozen holes in the bottom. So when you fill it with water you don’t tip it on your head – the water trickles out overhead, just like a rain-shower-head. It’s been 3-days since our last bush bath and a week since I washed my hair.

Our water is still too cold to touch but the well-water feels warm by comparison. I carry a bucket to the shower, strip down, and grab a bar of soap. The sun’s up enough now to warm the day so the initial zing of cool water on the skin isn’t too bad. It feels wonderful to bathe this way! Johan takes a turn after me, smiling big. He helps me wash my hair after the showers by slowly pouring water over my tipped head. We’re squeaky clean and ready to carry on.

 

In my mind, the Central Road is a thoroughfare compared to the delicate track of the Anne Beadell. But when we get there it’s just a big wide empty red road. We stop at a roadside attraction with a big white cross, aptly called White Cross for some Aboriginal Christians who wanted to spread the Gospel to passersby. A small road goes around the back of the breakaway and we find a place to park for the night on a slight incline with brilliant views across the valley towards the setting sun, our backdrop a ridge of craggy caves and tumbled rocks. A glass of wine while the sun dips below the horizon and turns the sky from pink to cherry red.

 

Oh…and we finally met up with some camels, though regrettably both were dead. One was chalky white, reduced to brittle bone, long gone. The other looked like it had just tumbled over and given up the ghost less than a week ago. A huge male, its hide was reasonably intact, though something had eaten its eyes and disembowelled its guts. The wedgetail eagles were likely waiting for their feast. A tough end in an inhospitable land.