Sandstorm

Day: 34

Sunrise:
07:05

Sunset:
17:16

As the crow flies:
22,1

Daily kilometers:
25

Jingymia Camp – 14.06.2000

We manage to load our animals in no time at all. To see if Hardie prefers to run behind Sebastian rather than Goola, he is allowed to be second in the caravan today. Maybe he doesn’t want to overtake Sebastian on the left, which would make the whole caravan quieter. We set off at 9.30 a.m., which is another new best time. The weather shows a previously unknown side on this day. Dark clouds pass over us and the wind hits us from the side with considerable force. Some of the gusts are so strong that they soon sweep us off our feet. Huge clouds of dust race across the land and cover everything in a dirty gray. In the afternoon, the threatening-looking rain clouds turn an almost dark brown, just like the surrounding fields. I watch this phenomenon in amazement. Never before in my travel life have I seen such a colorful sky. We walk on in hurried steps. The implementation of Hardie has not changed the situation. It still seems as if Sebastian wants to climb onto a golden podium at the Sydney Olympics. In the afternoon we have to cross the road and go through one of the fence gates that prevent the flocks of sheep from getting onto the road. We are now on one of the huge farms. There is no fence to be seen for miles around. It is pleasant to no longer be confined by a man-made border. Groups of sheep can be seen everywhere on the bare ground. We follow a path on which the droppings of these animals are scattered like gravel. Eyes glued to the ground, I protect myself from the gusts of dust that cover us and the caravan with a veil every few seconds. Hopefully the wind won’t get any stronger, because then we’ll need a safe shelter. Tanja and Jo follow the fast-moving camel train, leaning forward. Sebastian lets out a short roar from time to time. Is he in pain somewhere? I look up and take a quick look at his big head. Somehow the camel train seems strange, almost ghostly, in this landscape. Although the sandstorm scares me a little, I enjoy the strange moment and literally soak up the images of what is happening.

At 4 p.m. we find a place to spend the night again. As soon as I set the camels down it starts to rain. Like startled bees, we sprint back and forth, unload the animals, drag the kitchen box to the fireplace I have chosen and pull the raincoats over our heads. The sky opens its floodgates and the weather, which had just been interesting, becomes really disgusting. With the last dry branches we light a fire to boil water for our dinner. After the camels are tethered in a relatively sheltered spot, we sit around the warming fire. We drink a cup of hot tea and eat mashed potatoes with vegetables. The meal is cold after just a few spoonfuls. The persistent strong wind and the pouring rain soak everything in a short time. Despite the fire, we also feel the damp creeping into our limbs and seek shelter in our tents by 6 pm. I take this opportunity to read the update I wrote to Tanja. Whenever we find the time, this moment is something special for us. Tanja listens attentively to the story and often we can’t believe what has happened again. We often have to laugh heartily together, sometimes we are sad and when I read Tanja the story of our Shiron, tears run down her cheeks. When Tanja turns on her side to sleep at 9.30 p.m., I still have a few important things to do.

THE HARDEST INTERVIEW IN MY LIFE SO FAR

Just today in this awful weather I have an interview with the local RTL TV station in Nuremberg, our home town. Mike, our friend and manager, arranged the time with the broadcaster. For German standards, 6.12 p.m. is no problem, but for us here in Australia that means midnight.

I dread the thought of having to go outside in the nasty, cold rainy weather, but I can’t get in touch with the satellite phone in the tent today. In my haste, I accidentally placed it in front of a group of trees. Trees, bushes and, above all, mountains and hills significantly impair the connection to the satellites. Sometimes, as in my current situation, nothing works. Cursing quietly, I slip the wet poncho over my beautifully dry pyjamas and step out into the hostile night. Shivering from the cold, I slip into my wet slippers and shuffle listlessly through the equally wet grass. I almost slip as I walk along the slippery clay path next to the railroad tracks. My God, why am I doing all this? On the other side of the path, the view to the northeast is open. I put down the waterproof Pelican case, open it and take out the satellite phone’s antenna. After switching it on, I slowly turn the antenna from north to east and suddenly receive a signal. Satisfied, I switch off the phone and close the suitcase. I leave everything as it is and the light from my headlamp finds its way back to the tent. Shivering and wet, I slip into my sleeping bag and try to sleep for the next hour and a half, but I can’t close one eye. Too many thoughts cross my mind.

I get a little tired at 11 pm, but I’m afraid I’ll miss the beeping of my watch. Wide awake, I stare into the black of the night until the unpleasant sound of the alarm clock wakes me up. I slip into the wet poncho again and leave the tent. It’s just before midnight when I spread the poncho like a mother hen over the satellite phone to protect it from the rain. I sit on my heels in an extremely uncomfortable position and wait for the call. If they’ve forgotten me, I’ll never give another interview at this breakneck hour, I swear to myself, fighting a cramp in my thigh. I rest my forehead on my hands and watch the phone display. Suddenly my eyes fall on the battery indicator. Oh God, the level has dropped from 80 to 20 percent. As my spare battery is also empty, I frantically consider whether there is enough time to go back to camp to get our large basic battery. I look nervously at my watch. Four minutes to go until the agreed appointment. My God, I hope all that effort wasn’t in vain. I decide to take the risk and hurry across the slippery, loamy ground and wet grass to the camp site. I quickly grab the 20 kilo car battery and race back to the phone as quickly as circumstances allow. I immediately connect the large battery and am satisfied when the display switches to charging. Phew, 1 minute to go until the appointment. As soon as I breathe a sigh of relief, the doorbell rings. “Hello Denis! How are you doing in Australia?” asks Elke, the producer of the show. “Well, according to the circumstances. I’m freezing terribly!” I shout into the receiver so that I can be heard clearly. But before I am able to say more, Elke interrupts me. “We’ll call you again in 10 minutes. Then we’ll go straight on air. That was just a test call to check the line!” “Can’t we do it sooner?” I ask, fighting the cramp in my thigh. “No!” I hear her voice and bite my lips to fight the pain. Suddenly I hear the busy signal and the connection is interrupted. “I can’t stand this any longer!” I grumble loudly and desperately look for a way to sit down. Then I pull the battery, which is also wet, under the poncho and lie down on it, relieved. The phone rings again at midnight. I find it difficult to sound confident and keep my quivering voice under control. When the presenter asks me about the weather and the time, I even think I sound quite authentic. When we say goodbye to each other, I am a happy person. I quickly hurry to our tent and crawl into the warm sleeping bag. However, I am so shaken up that I lie awake for a few more hours. I think a lot about whether we are fit enough to travel on without Jo. She approached us and asked if she could leave us alone from Cleary onwards. In her opinion, the training to become a camel man or woman is complete. Of course we think we can manage without her now, but it won’t be easy for us to know that she is no longer with us. After all the thoughts, the exciting interview and what the future will bring, I don’t fall into a light sleep until 3am.