Deep relationship between humans and animals

Day: 255-260 Stage three / total expedition days 646-651

Sunrise:
05:32-05:36

Sunset:
18:48-18:46

Total kilometers:
6897 km

Temperature - Day (maximum):
36°/39° degrees, sun approx. 52°/59°

Temperature - Night:
24°/25°

Latitude:
23°22'32.9"

Longitude:
150°24'01.3"

Paradise Lagoons-Camp – 26.01.2003 – 31.01.2003

It’s strange how quickly moods change in life. A few days ago we were exhausted but happy to have reached Paradise Lagoons after 6897 kilometers of running. It was one of those rare feelings of triumph that left us floating on a cloud. But only briefly, because Sebastian was seriously ill the very next morning. His condition improves a little on some days and makes us feel confident. But a few hours later he is lying on the floor moaning again. His suffering depresses us so much that we hardly feel a spark of joy in us. It’s hard to explain why this is so upsetting. Many people would say it’s just a camel. Or, you shouldn’t anthropomorphize a camel and let its illness take you away. But as animal lovers, we can hardly bear to see any animal suffer. What’s more, a deep relationship has developed between our camels and us over the last four years. We’ve been through thick and thin together. We have survived bushfires, floods, cyclones and much more. Without the help of our camels, such an expedition would not be possible. Our lives out there in the wilderness depend on each other. If one of our boys gets sick, we can’t go on and if one dies, our lives are also in danger.

Over the years and our shared experiences, we have become an inseparable team and family. If only one of the family members is ill or feels unwell, everyone else is automatically affected. As our current family consists of six camels, a dog and two humans, the chance of an injury or an ailment to be cured is naturally high. That’s bad enough, but this time it’s worse. Without a doubt, Sebastian is fighting for his life. If he dies, a part of us dies too. The irony of fate is often hard for me to comprehend. For almost 7000 kilometers we did everything in our power to prevent one of our boys from catching poisonous plants. Now, three days off the coast, our lead camel has been badly poisoned with something. I have to control myself not to burst out in a fit of rage against myself and the rest of the world. But what’s the point? What good does it do Sebastian or my dear Tanja if I sit in the corner depressed? Life goes on, even if Sebastian’s life should end here. Every evening I pray for his salvation, for his speedy recovery and ask Mother Earth why such a burden is placed on us now, at such a happy hour? On the other hand, we can of course be glad that we ourselves are still alive. That Hardie, Jafar, Istan, Edgar and Jasper are probably up and have not also eaten the poisonous plants.

In Australia’s history of discovery, many camels have died from eating poisonous plants. Some expeditions have lost up to 20 or more camels. Many an adventurer and explorer had to pay for their thirst for adventure with their own lives. So far we have been proud to have brought all our mates across the country in one piece. The fact that Goola died of pneumonia two years ago and that Max was driven into a fence by wild camels about eight months ago are terrible memories in addition to this pride. Out there, unforeseen events can quickly lead to death. Although we were part of the elements in the outback, merged with nature and developed a sense for emerging dangers, fate sometimes strikes. Giving and taking, life and death, joy and sorrow, everything is so close together. You can’t turn it away and separate it. Sometimes I believe that everything that happens is not by chance. That everything that happens has a purpose, even if I don’t understand it at the moment. In retrospect, however, even unpleasant and painful experiences result in positive learning successes.

I rack my brains to make sense of Sebastian’s illness. “Be patient. You have learned many lessons in the deserts. Patience was one of your great learning tasks. Have you still not put your experiences into practice? Have you still not understood?” I hear the familiar voice inside me. I am surprised by this voice, because I haven’t heard it for weeks. With the arrival of human civilization, it seemed to me that the voices of the desert and Mother Earth were becoming quieter and quieter, but now all of a sudden they can be heard clearly. “Does Sebastian’s illness have a purpose?” I ask. “But of course. Even if you don’t understand it at the moment. Everything that happens makes sense, even if it seems senseless to people. All events are a small part of a big process that is not always clear to you humans. Everything is connected, interconnected. Even if it is difficult to understand. But at this point, I don’t want to go any deeper into this topic. It would be too early for you. You still have a lot to learn and experience. Later you will understand these processes better,” “I would prefer to understand them now, at this moment. But I know you’re about to tell me to be patient.” “Yes, I would have advised you to do that now.” “Hm, I’m working on it. But I have one more question…?” “I’m happy to answer any questions.” “Sebastian’s illness makes us feel quite unhappy. On the other hand, I think it’s a shame to be so unhappy just before the finish line, just before a high point in our lives.” “Sebastian’s illness should not make you unhappy. On the contrary, it can be a sign. It won’t help him if you’re both sad and depressed. On the contrary, it would be better to react confidently and positively. You can even laugh and be cheerful. Of course, it is important to do your best for him. If you do your best, you can never blame yourself. Even if he should die, you can always look at yourself in the mirror and walk into the rest of your life with an upright gait, because you have done what you could do. It is not your personal fault if fate strikes. So take this state as another learning task. Above all, don’t take things you can’t help personally. This only builds up feelings of guilt that have no place here. If you give your all, the best for him, others and of course for yourself, there will be no guilt. Whatever happens. Live your life. It is great. Learn from your experiences and accept what happens that you can’t change…”

I stand at the barbed wire fence for a long time, looking out over the lagoon and thinking about the silent conversation. In the last few months I have had many such conversations with the desert or Mother Earth. They are now part of my life. Even though such inner dialogs are exhausting, I’m always happy because so far the advice has been one hundred percent positive. There is no doubt that pleasant feelings flow through me after such conversations and there is no doubt that they help me to untangle the confusion in my brain, understand connections better and see a situation more clearly. Nevertheless, it is not easy for me to put such advice into practice straight away.

As Sebastian hasn’t been drinking or eating for eight days now, we discuss with the vet whether we should put him on a drip. “I’ve never had to artificially feed a camel before. I’ll have to call the zoo in Sydney. Hopefully they can help me,” says Peter.

Tanja gets on the phone that evening to look for vets all over Australia who are familiar with camels. She is successful and finds doctors in Tasmania, Perth, Alice Springs and Brisbane. Unfortunately, one of them is on vacation and the other is on a business trip, but the vet in Brisbane is immediately ready to get in touch with our doctor.

The next day Peter tells us to give Sebastian tablets for stomach ulcers and to inject 10 liters of water into his mouth with a small hand pump. With great effort, we actually manage to stuff the tablets wrapped in white bread into Sebastian’s mouth. He wants to spit it out again immediately, which is why I cover his lips until he swallows it.

In the evening he actually seems to be sipping a few shrubs, but the next morning his condition is worse than ever. “Are the tablets to blame?” Tanja asks. I don’t know. It’s either the tablets or the water,’ I reply. We call Peter. “Leave out the water and definitely give him the tablets at least twice a day,” he recommends.