The sea of stones resembles a dead desert

Stone Desert Camp – 03.09.2002

I lie on my camp bed wearing just a pair of shorts and a thin T-shirt. Strong gusts of wind blow intermittently over our sleeping mound and fine sand trickles down on us. I rub it out of my eyes and try to sleep, but the wind teases me incessantly. He blows into my hair and lets the odd strand of hair tickle my face. It soon becomes desperate. I can’t possibly wear a hat in this heat. Retreating into my sleeping bag would mean accepting the risk of heatstroke. And taming the hair in a plait only works to a limited extent, as a few of the cheeky things always slip out. So I lie there and brush the strands of hair out of my face with my hand every few minutes. “I need to cut myself a bomber,” I think aloud as the wind blows fine hair across my face again and again. Although I am aware that I am letting a ridiculous situation annoy me at this moment, it soon drives me mad. The flies tickle us incessantly during the day, the moths in the evening and now my hair. My God, it’s time for a few quiet minutes in our lives.

The night ends for us at 4:00 am. We have our usual breakfast and pack up our belongings. As we are changing our clocks to Queensland time from today, we gain half an hour. I am able to load almost all the camels before sunrise.

At 7:40 I give the command to set off. Clouds cover the sun for the first time in months. The temperatures are still pleasant at 23° degrees. We take long strides across the dried-up lake and are aware of the joy of having all our camels behind us. Although we only spent five days in the camp at Kalabarkaloo, it feels like we’ve been there forever. After the experiences of the last few days, walking feels like a liberation. Our boys also seem to enjoy being out and about again. After an hour we meet a track that leads us north. The barren landscape is impressive. The path winds its way through an endless sea of stones. We leave the track at an old fence and turn east again. We follow a cattle track that gets lost in the scree. The sun regains its dominance and has pushed back all the clouds. It is hot and humid. Mount Whelan rises to the north. In the meantime, we stumble over a stone surface that stretches as far as the horizon. We have to be very careful not to twist our ankles. The camels also look for each step carefully. The sea of stones that we are now crossing resembles a dead desert, a landscape that does not forgive mistakes.

Around midday we arrive at the border fence at Marion Down Station. It only takes just under half an hour to loosen the wires, pull the caravan over them and reattach the wires to the posts.

After 30 kilometers and 6 ½ hours of walking, we find a rest area at Kangaroo Creek in the afternoon. Apart from a few dry trees on the banks of the dried-up riverbed, there is no vegetation. Rarely in our travel life have we seen such a withered country. It hasn’t rained here for 18 months. Howard spoke of the worst drought in 100 years. No doubt it looks bad here, much, much drier than in the Simpson Desert.