You don’t upset me!

At the gas pipeline camp – 02.10.2002

My cold is shifting and affects a different area of my head every day. This night, the important sleep is often interrupted by coughing fits. I have a few nightmares and am surprised in the early morning that the night was so short.

1 ½ hours after sunrise, our little expedition moves along a fence again. According to the map, it takes us to a track that leads us in the desired direction. But as has happened more and more frequently in recent days, there is no sign of the path. It is quite possible that the path shown on the map no longer exists.

After 20 minutes we are forced to make a decision. “Either we go further in the wrong direction or we take down this fence here,” I say, pondering. Then I examine the fence posts. Every third one of them is a solid wooden stake dug deep into the ground. I follow the barbed wire mesh for a few minutes to possibly find a rotten wooden post. To ensure a safe passage for our camels, I have to dig out at least three of the posts. My search remains unsuccessful. Soon angry at the increasingly frequent fence obstacles, I try to dig one of the support posts out of the ground. I shake it, slip off with my right hand and tear a triangle in my favorite Fjällräven shirt. “Bloody hell!” I curse indignantly, hurling all education into the dust. After another five minutes, I give up my work in a sweat. “If I have to move this stupid fence, I’ll need at least ¾ of an hour. Let’s walk back to camp. There’s an old gate nearby,” I curse loudly, wanting to jump up and down like Rumpelstiltskin. “Öööööööhhhhhäääää,” whines Sebastian, shocked to see his master so upset. “It’s all right, my boy. Don’t be scared. I’m quite calm again,’ I say to him reassuringly.

Less than an hour later, we are back at the same place we left this morning. Since we thought the path along the fence would be easier, we didn’t use the old gate, which opens the way into the fence not far from our camp. Now I pull the camels through the dilapidated gate and, as usual, we follow the compass needle over the ground forgotten by the rain.

After 10 kilometers, another of our unwanted and annoying wire obstacles appears in front of us. Patiently, relaxed and with a sly smile on my lips, I tackle him with my Leatherman. “You won’t upset me this time. And you won’t tear my shirt to shreds like your fence mate from this morning. I’ll play you cool and calm like an annoying fly,’ I say to myself while Tanja looks after our boys.
I detach the individual barbed wires from the metal posts. Then I wrap them together with a piece of wire and attach the bundled strands to the lower part of one of the pillars. Tanja now stands on the other side of the peg, about 10 meters away, directly on the wire bundle. “Ready?” I call out. “Yes.” “Are you standing well and securely?” “Yes, all right,” she replies, to which I now carefully guide our boys over the bundle of wire pressed to the floor. They carefully lift their feet and overcome the obstacle without incident. Before we move on, I restore the fence to its original state.

In the afternoon we reach the Springvale No 6 Bore. Although our boys only had plenty to drink yesterday, we take the opportunity to fill them up again here. Then we move on and find a nice, shady campsite on a small branch of Mooraka Creek.