Day 39 - Goorrandalng Campground, Day 4

Wednesday, 7 July 2021

Reveille is sung by a single shrike thrush. Without fail, regular as a rooster, his melodic song breaks the early still dawn and invites us to awaken. When he’s finished, there’s an ever-so-slight pause, as though the other birds are clearing their throats ready for their turn, and then a menagerie of bird chorus starts up, encouraging the fragile light to spread across the sky.

We always get up before sunrise. It’s not such a big deal. In winter and on Northern Territory time, the sun pops up over the horizon just past 7am. I’m meditating by then, seated on a small fold-out camp chair somewhere in the bush; Johan’s off wandering, photographing or otherwise playing with his camera. By the time I finish a qigong session, make coffee, eat muesli for breakfast, tap a few words into the laptop and take care of minimal morning ablutions – we rarely get going much before 10am. 

So by the time we start the Jarnem Loop Walk – the longest in the park at 6.5 kms – a number of our camp neighbours, who left camp while we were breakfasting, are just finishing the trail, heading back to their air conditioned cars. For two nature-loving introverts, it’s nice to have a trail to yourself, sit atop the lookout with its stunning 360-degree view of mountains, escarpments and sandstone formations. But towards the end of the walk, we’re feeling less gallant about our virility as we trudge through heat-baked trails sizzling in 32C afternoon sun.

Despite the sign offering a courteous suggestion to use water wisely at the rainwater tank back at the Jarnam Campground, I pour several bottles full of cool water over my steaming head, arms, legs. A drenched bandana goes around my neck and we climb in the car, air-con on full blast. As ever, Johan deals with these extremes far better than me. He smiles kindly and apologizes for the hard time I’ve had.

The empty spot in the Jarnem Campground looked tempting. Our own campground, a quiet ring of sedentary grey nomads for the first two nights of our stay, came alive with the addition of three families, all with two, three or four kids, fired up for their school holidays camping trip. The kids found each other within minutes, formed fast friendships and spent the rest of the evening and into the night, racing about, singing, playing and talking at the top of their voices. Their parents held camp, lit with bright lights and big fires and contributed to the jocularity with their own frequent shrills of laughter, especially when the game of charades started up around the campfire.

Jarnem Campground is at the top of the park, 16 kms past ours and 30 kms from the park entrance, doesn’t allow generators, and is further than most of the big caravans that are currently parked at our grounds want to drive down a gravelly dusty road. Hence, it’s great migration point for quiet-seekers.

But we’re dead tired from our walk. And we still don’t know what’s happening with the borders (a fellow walker suggested “an announcement” could be made today by the premier) and driving to get internet access is that much further if we relocate. We decide to stay put for at least another night. Hopefully we’ll get some news tomorrow.

By 6pm our campground, quiet when we returned, is again populated with rambunctious, loud kids clamouring on the rocks and playing chanting games that resonate throughout the grounds. The new family across the road from us has their radio blasting and the dad is using some sort of mechanical tool to do adjustments on their extra-long trailer that just squeezed into the last vacant spot.

There’s something to be said for the over-50s scene. Not that you won’t get grey-haired neighbours that might annoy you, but for the most part, life is quiet amongst the oldies. Quieter at least than families and schoolyards.

But how far do we go to protect ourselves from all that bothers us? All the aversions that arise predictably in any daily life? “We could just pretend they’re our grandkids,” I suggest as we sip our glasses of wine serenaded by the squeals of laughing children. “You never get annoyed with your grandkids.”

From Grandma point-of-view, I’m glad my kids have grown up and been successful enough to afford camping equipment, that they value the outdoors, and make the choice to take their kids, my grandkids, out into nature during their school holidays and not to some hotel or place where they’d be glued to their screens all day. I’m glad my grandkids are running out in the fresh air, exploring nature’s wonders, like the big red rock in the middle of the campground they’re scrambling around on now. 

I’m glad that my Grandma-position has enabled me to sit back in my comfortable camp chair, a distance away from all the hubbub, and watch the world go by.