No one at home

Springvale-Camp – 03.10.2002

At 39° C in the shade and around 59° C in the sun, the temperatures are once again summery hot. As we have been used to for so many months, the sky has been deep blue again for the last four days. Flies enjoy the heat. It seems to be as important to them as water is to us. Despite the high temperatures, we are in an area of high pressure. The weather isn’t as bad and not as humid as we had to endure for over a month.

For the first kilometer we follow an underground gas pipeline that winds through the solitude like a giant snake. Signs stretch their warning every 100 meters into the air, warning people not to carry out bulldozer work here under any circumstances. We leave the pipeline on a path and make very good progress today. No fence blocks our path. In places where the track winds too much, we follow the compass and leave it for a few kilometers.

The heat becomes unbearable around midday. As always, we are exposed to the merciless rays of the sun which, according to the thermometer, are now thundering down on our hats at almost 60 degrees.

We cross the wide riverbed of Spring Creek and reach our destination for the week, Springvale Station, after 34 kilometers. A wide, unpaved road leads directly to the homestead. “Is anyone home?” Tanja asks. “I hope so. It would be really nice if we could bring our camels back into an enclosure. Maybe I’ll even get a place where I can write down our experiences. The thought of the flies eating me while I’m writing is just awful. I also find it hard to concentrate in these temperatures,’ I chat. “Hm, it would be fantastic if I could rest and not have to look after our boys every morning and evening. Well, we’ll see,” Tanja replies.

“Camis udu!” I order our boys to stop in front of the farmhouse fence. “I’ll go and see if anyone’s there,” I say and after 145 kilometers of running, I’m off like a shot across the large dusty area. I’m just turning the corner of the first house when my heart suddenly drops into my pocket in shock. Wow! Wow! Wow! The dog barks and races under the house, obviously wanting to bite me. A surge of adrenaline that comes out of nowhere makes my tired body jump to the side surprisingly quickly. The dog is pulled back by a chain only a short distance away from me. “Phew,” I groan with relief and run a long way. “Hello, is anyone home!” I call out, but nothing moves. “Haaalloo is someone there!” I repeat, but apart from the aggressive barking of the dog, no one answers. The generator rattles in a shed. Because of my aching heels, I hobble to the next house but there doesn’t seem to be anyone in there either. Disappointed, I walk back to the caravan in the monkey heat. As I pass the house under which the dog lives, I discover a rainwater tank. Thirsty, I open my mouth and drink the precious liquid from the tap. I kneel down for at least five minutes and drink and drink until my body has enough water in it to set all the sweat pores into action. The dog, who can’t reach me here, growls hostilely at me. Then I shuffle back to Tanja and tell her about the abandoned homestead. “What should we do?” she asks. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll wait another half hour and if no one comes by then we’ll have to find somewhere to camp. Our dream of hay and a fly-free place to write seems to have vanished into thin air,’ I reply.

While we sit in the dust in the middle of the scorching sun, I set off again to fill our day-drinking water bags with rainwater. Then we sit around willy-nilly and hope that the inhabitants of the farm will come soon. After another 15 minutes, I pull myself together to look for a shady spot for us at Spring Creek next to the farmhouse. Some cattle jump away through the dry grass. Everything is full of old, rusty cans, buckets and other civilization garbage. I am completely depressed when I return to Tanja and have to report that I have not found a place in the shade.

“And now?” she asks powerlessly. “I don’t know either,” I reply and would love to lie down in the dust somewhere to stretch out all fours. “You can’t just sit here doing nothing. Pull yourself together and take the initiative. It always goes on. You’re just tired. Things will look better again tomorrow. Come and find a place to camp,” the inner voice that has become familiar to me urges me. Giving myself a jolt, I stand up and let my gaze wander over the landscape. I am surprised to discover another branch of Spring Creek on the other side of the farmhouse where lush shade trees grow. “It doesn’t look too bad over there. Let’s investigate the area there,’ I say a little more confidently.

We actually find an avenue of gidyea trees that provide us with enough shade to set up a writing camp here. There is also plenty of food for our always hungry expedition partners. An hour later, we are sitting in our camp chairs and feeling better again. We drink water and watch our camels snacking on the bushes as a jeep drives onto the farm grounds just before dusk. “I’ll go and say hello,” I say, slowly getting out of my chair.

“Hello, my name is Denis. We’re traveling with camels and camping down there by the creek,” I introduce myself. The young man looks at me in surprise and shakes my hand. “My name is Rob,” he replies. I am relieved to recognize an open, friendly person in him. I quickly tell him our story. I learn that Rob is only here temporarily to look after the station because the manager moved to another farm a few weeks ago. “I’m staying until the company finds another couple who want to live out here and manage the station,” he explains.

Rob offers to make us feel at home. I’m allowed to sit down in the managers’ empty house to do my writing. Unfortunately there is no hay, so Tanja can’t avoid herding. Nevertheless, the situation now looks much better than it did this afternoon.