Surging despair & The roaring lion’s mouth

Day: 157 Stage three / total expedition days 548

Sunrise:
05:51

Sunset:
18:35

As the crow flies:
26,5

Daily kilometers:
44

Temperature - Day (maximum):
44° degrees, in the sun approx. 65°

Temperature - day (minimum):
26° degrees

Latitude:
24°02'32.9"

Longitude:
142°49'50.6"

Westerton Camp – 10/20/2002

Because of the early heat, I load the camels bare-chested. Nevertheless, I’m sweating like a stallion. Just like yesterday, we set off at sunrise. I lead the caravan out of the gidyea forest until we meet the Winton Jundah Road again. Since we have been following her, we have only seen one vehicle. The station people have probably buried themselves in their homesteads in the heat. We cannot explain the abandonment for any other reason.

As in the previous days, the Quäksilbersäule climbs rapidly to 44° degrees in the shade. The smell of decaying flesh has long since stopped us looking up. The road winds its way through bushes that have been washed out by the sun. We haven’t seen live cattle for some time now. A dead dingo, which the hunter has decapitated and hung upside down in a tree, dangles accusingly back and forth in a scorching hot draught. “I don’t know who and why someone would do something like that? Does he want to show what a good hunter he is?” I ask. “Apparently the hunter here gets a bounty,” says Tanja, pointing to the gaping neck. “Didn’t they tell us that in some communities they pay up to 70 dollars per dingo head?” “Yes.” “Well, maybe this region is one of them.”

SMALL PATHS CAN LEAD US TO RUIN!

Around midday, after about 25 kilometers, we reach a mountain range that influences the entire landscape. “Does it belong to Westerton Station?” Tanja asks. “Could be,” I reply. I have not been able to follow our route on the map for a few hours now. Westerton is outside our map area. Never in my life have I ever walked without a map during an expedition, but because of the unforeseen long detour to the south, we have no other choice. Although we are walking on a dusty track, I have a strange feeling. Thank goodness my GPS shows Westerton. However, it could be that Winton Jundah Road forces us to take another detour. From here, it curves and bends eastwards to reach a crossroads in about 7 kilometers. From there, the route heads south at a right angle. “How far is it to the farmhouse?” Tanja asks, exhausted. “According to the GPS, there are still six kilometers to go, but if a track doesn’t turn off to the right soon, we’ll have to follow the road. That means at least another 15 kilometers,’ I reply, also exhausted. The prospect of having to march for at least another three hours in this crazy heat takes away all my motivation. My throat is dry and my body is simply at the end of its tether. I would love to fall over on the spot, but giving in to that thought would not be a good idea.

“Will there be any hay for our boys at the homestead?” I hear Tanja’s voice knocking on my door as if from far away. I find it difficult to answer. “I hope so. If there’s no hay, we can’t stay. We can’t afford to leave our camels without food for just one evening.” “I know. Poor Istan will soon have lost his hump completely. It would be good if they could rest after this monster march.” “I’m telling you. It would be good for us too. I’m dreaming of a shower, a room without sand flies, air conditioning and a mountain of sleep.” “Me too,” I hear Tanja’s softly spoken words. In silence, we take one step in front of the other until we actually come across a narrow track at the foot of the mountain range, which disappears into a gidyea forest to the south. “That must be a way to the Westerton Homestead,” I say, walking on. “So, why don’t we turn off?” “I don’t know if it’s really the right way? The risk of following a track that suddenly winds in a completely different direction and possibly ends at a borehole is great. We are both absolutely exhausted. We have no strength left to take an even bigger detour. Apart from that, we only have 20 liters of water left.” “You mean if we get lost now, we’ll run out?” “That could cost us our lives. Yes…, that’s what I mean,” I reply, continuing along the main path.

JUST DON’T MAKE A MISTAKE!

Half an hour later, we see a few rooftops flashing in the sun at the foot of the south-facing mountain range. “That’s Westerton!” I shout. “So close and yet so far away,” Tanja replies. Knowing that we still have 15 kilometers to go, we mobilize our last reserves and head east. Just 20 minutes later, we discover a couple of old barns on our right. “Where there are barns, there must be a path. Let’s walk cross-country from here to the buildings,” I decide. We no longer find it easy to climb over the rock. The camels and we stumble again and again. Shortly before the barns, a deep creek blocks our progress. I feel like my senses are fading and I’m barely able to make a decision. My body is undoubtedly in a state of alarm. I quickly stop the camels to suck the last sip from the water bag. Chchch, chchch, it sounds as I only get air in my mouth instead of water. “There’s a way to lead the caravan across the creek!” shouts Tanja, who has run ahead. ‘Okay, we’ll try,’ I reply wanly. I slowly pull the animals down the embankment. Sweat pours into my burning eyes so that I can hardly see anything. “Don’t make any mistakes now. Stay focused. Stay focused. For fuck’s sake, don’t let yourself sag now. I’m sure there’s a way on the other side,” I tell myself as I stumble over a root from weakness. Suddenly we are standing in front of a fence that runs along the barns in both directions. “We are turning back. We can’t go any further here. Let’s go back to the main road,” I shout to Tanja, crushed, and pull Sebastian back into the deep side arm of the river.

I stop our boys under a gidyea tree. I put the loudly moaning Sebastian down. Ööööööhhhäää! Öööööhhhäää, he complains, making my eardrums shake. With trembling limbs, I hastily open his saddlebag, pull out the penultimate 10-liter bag, open it and drink the hot but delicious liquid, half thirsty. It immediately flows out of all the pores in large rivulets. My senses clear again and I can feel the pulse hammering energy into my body. No sooner have I saved my system from collapse than Tanja is drinking. Then we give it to Rufus, who still manages to chase back and forth excitedly. The caravan is now winding like a snake. Each of our boys tries to bite into the gidyea tree despite the nose leashes. Oöööhhhäää! Sebastian yells as Jafar pushes Hardie forward and he slams into his backside. “We have to get out of here quickly, otherwise they’ll all tear off their nose leashes,” I say with the last glimmer of energy. “Camis walk up!” I shout my command and continue through a billowing wall of pure heat.

Shortly before we reach the main path, we cross the track we suspected. “That will be it. It leads exactly in the direction of Homestead,” I say. As we are not sure this time either and can make out a signpost on the road in the distance, Tanja goes ahead to read it. She uses hand signals to tell me to lead the animals to her. Just two hundred meters further on, we reach a cattle grid that stretches across Winton Jundah Road like a roaring lion’s mouth. A surge of despair sweeps through my mind as I realize that there is no gate to get around the cattle grid. “I don’t have an ounce of energy left to knock down this fence. Let’s go back to the track. I’m sure it leads to the homestead,” I hear myself say. We stumble back again. It’s still 44 degrees in the shade and we’ve covered almost 40 kilometers in the last eight hours. This means that we have covered almost 160 kilometers in the past six days. In this heat, it’s a huge distance that is taking its toll at this moment. IS MY BRAIN ABOUT TO HAVE A HEATSTROKE? we are now walking south along the narrow path. Vehicle tracks tell us that the path is often used. Of course, we don’t know whether it really is the track to the Westerton Homestead. Suddenly he forks. Following the last spark of my instinct, I take the left fork. It only takes minutes as the path splits again and once more we agree to follow the left-hand path. We now pass through the gate into the grounds of the old barns. In the hot breath of the kite, a large wind turbine turns just 200 meters away from us. “Should we fill up a few water bags there?” I ask Tanja. “How far is it to the Homestead?” “According to the GPS Another four kilometers. That is, of course, if this isn’t a dead end.” “I don’t know if it makes sense to go to the wind turbine. That’s for you to decide,” she says. My head starts spinning. Everything is swirling around. It’s absolutely impossible to have a clear thought. Is my brain on the verge of heatstroke? How long can the human circulatory system cope with such stress? When does the moment come when the mind goes haywire and decisions are made that are totally unreal? Is it already that far?

If it’s the wrong dirt track, we run the risk of dying of thirst shortly before our destination. We would then have to go back. We need the strength for this. Do we still have strength? Can the camels keep up for so long? But maybe we’re right at the farmhouse and all our thoughts were in vain? What needs to be done? Not filling up with water because of a 200 meter detour is unforgivable carelessness! Recklessness! Recklessness, it hammers in my brain as I give in to my weakness and move the animals on. This is exactly how people die of thirst shortly before reaching their destination. So people die of thirst just a few kilometers away from a watering hole and then you wonder how something like this could happen? “You have to turn back and get the water! Turn back! Turn back!” it knocks against the top of my head. “Nonsense. Take it easy. You’ll be there soon. Keep running,” another voice whose direction I can’t interpret reassures me. “You can also set up camp. Yes, pull over and set up camp,” I get a recommendation that I totally dislike.

“Camis udu!” I shout hotter, quickly taking a few sips of water. My head is so hot, my body so sweaty and my muscles so full of pain that I want to scream. “What have we done? We’ve gone too far. How can you think you can walk for nine hours in these conditions? You idiot. You moron. Now you’ve got the shit. You’re about to fall over and then? Who’s going to get us out of this?” I grumbled. “Denis, a car! Here comes a car!” Tanja shouts as I try to suck more water out of the thin hose than it will give.

GEORG COMES JUST JUST IN TIME

A jeep actually stops next to us. I go to the driver who smiles at me from behind his wide sunglasses. “I’ve already seen your tracks and followed them. Didn’t think I’d find you here today. Have a drink first,” says the voice behind the large glasses. A hand hands me a bottle of cold water. Without comment, I reach for it, open the cap and put it to my dry lips. It flows and flows into me. I am absolutely certain that I will suffer from the terrible thirst disease from now on. I drink without being able to quench my thirst. “Tanja!” a loud thought flashes through my brain. I put the bottle down, feel the water pressing against the back of my stomach, turn around and hand her the bottle. She also drinks like a woman dying of thirst until the bottle is almost empty.

“Is this the way to the homestead?” I find my speech again. “That’s him.” “Oh good, didn’t know if we were wrong again. Do you have hay at the homestead?” I blurt out directly with my next question. “Hm…, there’s still some old hay,” Georg replies after thinking for a long time. “But there’s more in a barn a little way from here.” “And is there an enclosure where we can keep our animals?” “No, we don’t have an enclosure there. Hm…, hold on a minute. There’s a barn. But there are sacks of feed lying around. It’s a kind of special feed for cattle. If your camels eat too much of it, they die.” “Are there at least a few trees we can tie our boys to overnight?” “Hm…, not many.” Tanja and I look at each other and consider whether it makes sense to go to the Homestead under these circumstances or whether it would be better to stay here? “Let’s have a look at the store,” Tanja says confidently, whereupon I tell Georg to follow him to the farmhouse.

At 3:30 pm, after nine hours and twenty minutes, we arrive at the Westerton homestead more or less on our last legs. As if in a trance, I give the command to take a shower after 44 kilometers. “There’s an old fence over there. We’d just have to close it with the rusty railroad ties lying around and your camels would have a home,” Georg relieves us. “Very good. We’ll do that,’ I reply. “And where is the old hay?” “Under the corrugated iron roof.” “Can I see it?” I ask to check the quality, because camels won’t eat it if there’s too much straw. “Sure,” Georg replies and accompanies me under the barn roof. Tired, I let my knees sink onto the hay scattered on the ground. In this position, I look at the round hay bale in front of me. I’m just about to move it when Georg takes an iron pipe to poke around in the hay. “You never know if there are snakes in there,” he says dryly. “Sure,” I reply with a freezing smile and jump to my feet in world record time despite my tiredness. “Looks good. I think they’ll like it,’ I say.

I can’t understand how I manage it, but with several breaks I actually manage to carry the hay with Georg to the half-ruined enclosure.

SNAKE WARNING

Then Tanja and I unload our boys, who look longingly and hungrily at the hay. It takes another hour until the enclosure is set up, our boys are safely tucked away inside and eat their well-deserved, fat meal. As the sun sets, we have loaded all the equipment onto the ute (jeep) and drive it to the farmhouse. “If you want, you can sleep in the empty living room. There’s also air conditioning there,” Georg offers us. While I set up our camp beds in the dark room, Tanja prepares something for us to eat. My hunger, like my thirst, has developed into a dangerously unsatisfying monster. I gobble down the Rapunzel noodles and wash everything down with at least another two liters of water. “Ah, that was good!” I moan, satisfied and dog-tired. Before we retire to our camp beds, I call Dean to let him know we’ve arrived. “That’s good Denis. You can stay as long as you like. Get some rest. And one more thing Denis. There’s more hay in another barn. Perhaps Georg has already told you about it. You can take as much as you need for your boys. I’ll tell Georg again, too.” “Thank you so much Dean. That’s great.” “You’re welcome. Oh, Denis?” “Yes?” “Watch out for snakes. When we lived there, we had to kill over 20 snakes in a single year, just at the house.” “We’ll be careful,” I swallow. “We told you the story of how a friend of ours was bitten when he was looking for something in the storeroom. He only survived because Jan immediately sedated him and applied a tourniquet.” “Thanks for the warning Dean,” I say and end the call.

It doesn’t take long before we say goodbye to Georg for the day and go to our room. It’s a strange feeling to sleep under a ceiling again and hear the hum of an air conditioner. I let my gaze glide around. In the dim light that falls into the room through a broken pane of glass, I can see two armchairs and a couch covered with a protective film. Behind us is an open fireplace and next to it some bookshelves in which a whole lot of books are still stacked. Jan and Dean only moved out here a year ago to set up Huckitta Station. It’s amazing how quickly a house like this deteriorates, especially when it’s unoccupied. Georg has only been here for three months and has the task of looking after the rest of the cattle and the house. It is his first job for many years. He normally travels Australia on his motorcycle, always sleeps in a small tent and needs very little money to live. As a modest man, he only lives in a small room in this large house.

My thoughts circle around for a while, flying here and there, until a faint-like sleep overcomes me.