Creatures from prehistoric times hanging on the door frame

Day: 185-186 Stage three / total expedition days 576-577

Sunrise:
05:29

Sunset:
18:44-18:45

Total kilometers:
5771

Temperature - Day (maximum):
40° degrees, sun approx. 60°

Temperature - Night:
21° degrees

Latitude:
23°18'28.1"

Longitude:
144°22'24.5"

Bimbah-Camp – 17.11.2002 – 18.11.2002

The last days on Bimbah have begun. The thought of continuing the march is not exactly inspiring because of the heat and the distance ahead of us. Nevertheless, we try to regain our old vigor and give ourselves courage and strength. I’m sitting in a side section of the living room writing this story when I’m suddenly startled by the sound of dogs barking. Jenny, Tanja and I shoot out of our chairs to look outside. “They’re chasing a lizard!” Jenny shouts, pulling open the patio door. As if stung by a tarantula, we rush outside. The five farm dogs and, of course, Rufus chase a huge lizard across the green lawn of the garden. “Get lost! Get lost! Leave them in peace!” we yell to the angry pack of dogs. The lizard, about 1 ½ meters long, shoots towards the house. One of the dogs bites her, causing her to fling her dangerous tail through the air, missing it by a hair’s breadth. The lashing blow of her tail can easily break any dog’s legs. “Leave them alone! My God, leave her alone!” we shout in confusion. The chaos is perfect. The monitor lizard hisses dangerously loud, making our blood run cold. Jack, the working dog, tries to sink his teeth into the reptile again. I rush over and box the angry and nagging Jack with a powerful punch. “Watch his tail!” shouts Rowley, who has stormed out of his office in the meantime to come to our aid. Finally the dog has had enough and reluctantly trolls off. Rufus sits under a bench, his whole body trembling, and observes the strange scene. The little house dog Woopy is still barking angrily. All of a sudden, the large lizard races towards the patio door and climbs up the metal frame of the glass door. “She thinks the door is a tree. You really have to be careful that these monitor lizards don’t run up a person in their panic. That’s happened to a few people and it’s very painful. Especially when they reach your head in a fraction of a second and dig their razor-sharp claws into your face and eyes. Look at its sharp claws. If they dig into your flesh, good night,” says Rowley seriously.

As this creature from a bygone era now hangs on the door like a petrification, we take the rare opportunity to inspect it closely. “Sharp claws indeed. My God, when I think that she could have chosen me as an escape tree, I feel quite different,” I say respectfully. “What if she thinks about fleeing into the house?” I ask. “Wouldn’t be good. I’ll get a broom quickly. Maybe I can chase them away with it?” Rowley replies and disappears into the kitchen while I race into our room to grab the cameras. It’s not long before we’re back at the scene of the action and Rowley tries to chase the lizard away with the end of his broom. Chchchchch! Chchchchch, she hisses loudly and doesn’t want to let go of the door frame, but suddenly she moves. “Ohhhh, ooohhh,” whimpers our host anxiously, because once the crocodile-like creature is in the living room it will be a big challenge to get it out of the house again. “Maybe we should close the sliding door?” I suggest. Without saying much, Rowley pushes the door on which the fugitive is hanging against the frame. The lizard continues to hold on with an iron grip until the closing glass door barely leaves enough room for its claws. In a flash, she pulls back one foot after the other, enabling Rowley to push the door shut completely. “Pooh, we’ve done it,” he breathes out in relief and disappears back into his office. Tanja and I now sit in front of the closed glass door and take a close look at the Waranus Giganteus, which is its Latin name. It clings to the mosquito screen stretched on the outside of the glass door. His claws have torn the strong net. “Look at his belly. It looks like a snake’s,’ I say. “Hm, and his drawing is like a beautiful painting,” Tanja replies. So we sit in front of the random terrarium for another half hour until the monitor lizard lets itself slide off the glass and slowly makes its way across the lush lawn.

OUT OF A FAIRY TALE BOOK

In the evening we are invited to dinner by the neighboring station Fairfield. Although we are very busy with preparations due to our imminent departure, we accept the invitation from this extremely nice family. Rowley drives us there and takes the opportunity to show us the route ahead. “From here on, there’s nothing to eat for the next five kilometers. Everything is grazed and dry. You should camp over there on the side arm of the Thomson River. There are still enough briquette bushes growing on its banks for your camels to eat,” he explains, pointing to the dead land with a broad gesture.

After I have marked the day’s route and the camp in my GPS, Rowley drives us to the Macintosh. We are welcomed with open arms and hearty laughter. As soon as we enter the garden, a small calf crosses our path. “Do you want to feed it?” asks Margot, our hostess. “Gladly,” Tanja replies with a beaming laugh. Emily, the twelve-year-old daughter, immediately brings a bottle of milk. “Here,” she says with a gentle smile, in a pleasant voice, and hands it to Tanja. The calf immediately sucks hungrily on the artificial teat.

Like every day, the sun bids farewell with its warm light. The hen named Amy crosses the yard with her chick. “Friends gave her to us because the other chickens were always picking on her. She had a terrible life there. She’s been better since she came to live with us. Unfortunately, she has remained a loner. Even our chickens don’t want to keep her company.” Margot explains. “Why does she only have one chick?” I want to know. “Oh, that’s another sad thing. As soon as she lays an egg, it’s destroyed by the other chickens. But at least she’s now the proud mother of a child.”

We are chatting about our trip in a pleasant atmosphere when a kangaroo joins us. “Let me introduce you. This is Qantas,” says Robert. Qantas is a young kangaroo bull who unabashedly grabs my hand and starts to play with me. After a while, when I think I’ve played with him enough, I turn my attention back to the action at the table. Qantas does not agree and now wants to try out his boxing skills. As we have our own kangaroo, I know how to react to Qantas and hold both his arms down. That way he can’t jump up to box me with his hind feet. Qantas is squirming, though, and I’m struggling not to take any of his blows. “Leave it Qantas,” scolds Margot, gets up and simply carries the heavy, not yet fully grown boy away.

When a little later a lamb bleats as it walks past, I feel like I’m in an animal paradise. “He has been rejected by his mother. When it gets too dry or the survival conditions for sheep become too harsh, they sometimes leave their children behind. They usually die after just a few hours. I found the little one when I was dragging a path with my scraper. He was happy to ride in the air-conditioned passenger compartment and now he is part of our family,” explains Robert.

Then we are delighted to make the acquaintance of two dogs and a kangaroo mother who has just returned from a bush trip. She stands nervously at the fence and looks out over the vast land. “What’s wrong with her?” I ask Margot. “She misses her cub. Today she came back without her cub for the first time. I think I’ll let her out again. Hopefully she’ll find her baby,’ she says and opens the gate. The mother kangaroo immediately jumps onto the wide field, stops abruptly, stretches her head upwards and tries to catch the scent of her child. It doesn’t take long for it to hop away and disappear into the last light of day.

After dark, we go into the house. The two daughters Emily and Mary play board games. The bright eleven-year-old boy called Hugh, on the other hand, tags his cattle. “This is my own herd of cattle. I have 40 cows, 10 calves and 5 bulls,” he explains to me as he writes on each of the pebbles exactly whether it is a calf, a cow, a bull or a bull. With the expert eye of a future head stockman (head of the Jakeroos and Jilleroos), he places his cattle in a plastic box. “This is their enclosure,” says the likeable boy with his refreshing childish laugh.

Tanja and I have rarely met a family like this in our travels. Although we hardly know the people, they all seem to come from a storybook. The beautiful, idiosyncratic and peaceful smiles that all faces soon reflect incessantly make me believe that I have met people who only seem to exist in a dream. We have hardly ever met such well-behaved, attentive, lovable and modest children. We spend an extremely entertaining and pleasant evening. With wide eyes and astonished faces, the children and parents listen to the stories about contact with a cannibal tribe in West New Guinea, the attempted assassination in Guyana, eating blood soup in Mongolia, the termite hunt of the Yanomami Indians in Venezuela and many other stories.

After dinner, we say goodbye like old friends and think we’ve known these people forever. Everyone jumps into the jeep to take us back to Bimbah. When we arrive at Bimbah, we hug each other again and wave after them. Hugh is allowed to get behind the wheel and drive the heavy off-road vehicle home. Even the daughters can drive, which is not uncommon on the stations.