Unconditional mercilessness of the drought

Day: 148 Stage three / total expedition days 539

Sunrise:
06:04

Sunset:
18:36

As the crow flies:
24

Daily kilometers:
33

Temperature - Day (maximum):
36° degrees, in the sun approx. 56°

Temperature - Night:
9.2° degrees

Latitude:
23°39'35.5''

Longitude:
141°38'50.5''

Mayne River-Camp – 11.10.2002

Today is Friday and Friday is usually our interview and rest day. But as the gidyea trees here in this camp don’t provide us with enough shade and our boys hardly have anything to eat, we have to move on. We hope to find large, spreading trees and enough food for our comrades at a side arm of the Mayne River or at the latest at the Mayne River itself.

For several days now, we have been walking over deep black rock in places. The red earth we are so familiar with is completely displaced here. It is apparently the infamous land of black earth that we were warned about years ago. Although the ground is hard during the prolonged dry spell, I can well imagine how it turns into a treacherous quagmire when it rains and you can never get out of it. In some places, deep cracks and folds run through the earth covered with small, flat stones. The sun bites into our necks with its merciless rays in the morning. Their bright light is reflected by the black stones. They shine as if they have been sprayed with a touch of the finest oil. Fascinated by their shimmer and iridescence, I let my eyes glide over the surface. The camel’s feet crunch with every step. To the south, small hills and mountains stretch their thin heads into the deep blue of the early summer sky. With their tapered heads, they look like mini volcanoes. Dead trees stretch like skeletons along the dry creeks. They, too, stretch their dead trunks and branches into the blue sky and seem to be crying out for rain. However, all help comes too late for them. The way they look, they must have died a long time ago.

None of the creeks have enough trees to provide us with a resting place. Around midday, I scurry down the camels in the sun. I get the satellite phone from Sebastian’s saddle and set it up. While we wait for a call from ABC Alice Springs, we huddle in the semi-shade of a bush and eat our snack. Poor Rufus is panting as if he were suffering from asthma. He can lie between Tanja and me and is protected from the sun by our bodies. The phone rings a little late. It’s still a strange feeling to hear this thing ringing here in the solitude. Although these interviews are important to be able to describe this natural paradise to people out there in the cities, I’m glad I only have to use it once a week.

Still looking for a place to rest, we move on 45 minutes later. We reach a border fence on a flat plain. At one point it is half dilapidated. Again I scurry down our porters, this time to give an interview to Perth. Sitting in the blazing sun, it’s not easy for me to be positive, but my feelings are also part of describing the world to people here.

It doesn’t take long to knock down the decrepit fence posts and then lead our caravan over the rusty wire mesh. Finally we reach a green row of trees. “I think we should go as far as the main river. There are bound to be even stronger bushes and trees down there,” I think aloud. We come across a small herd of cattle at a dam. “I can’t understand how they survive here,” I say, shaking my head. When we water our boys with the brown water, Tanja discovers four dead cattle. They all have a wire wrapped around their necks and most likely died from it. “Look, those are wild boars feeding on the carcasses,” I say. “Indeed,” Tanja replies. For the first time on this year-long expedition through the outback, we see wild pigs. A few of them were also released at some point. To this day, they have been able to multiply to such an extent that, like many other animals introduced by the white man, they are considered a plague and are shot whenever they are encountered. “Their meat is often contaminated with worms. We don’t eat them. They eat decomposed kangaroos, cattle and other carrion. But I’ve heard that Australian wild boar is a delicacy in Europe. Well, if they want to eat meat like that on the other side, they should,” a wrestler told us.

After our camels have filled their bellies with another 230 liters, we continue on our way. We cross a hill and arrive on the banks of the sweeping Mayne River. Our strength has been sapped by the strenuous march. I carefully pull our animals down the embankment. The washouts of the river are even deeper than those of the Diamantina. Large roots are exposed from the former floods and hang down from the steep bank walls. With their bizarre shapes and nakedness, they almost cry out for water. Some of the large trees throw their withered leaves into the hot wind. Some are visibly struggling to survive and some appear to have already died. Scattered groups of cattle lie in the shade of the mighty eucalyptus trees. The entire floor has been grazed. Nothing living covers the martyred ground. Thousands and thousands of hooves pounded the land to dust. Dried up, hard tufts of grass have long since ceased to exist. Even here in the center of the dried-up Mayne Riverbed, the drought shows its unconditional mercilessness.

We’ve been on the road for 7 ½ hours now and still haven’t found a place to rest. “I think I’ll give up looking for a suitable camp. It is what it is. If push comes to shove, we’ll have to keep walking tomorrow,” I huff. Normally it would be no problem to march tomorrow, the day after tomorrow and the following days. But our animals urgently need a rest. We were soon covering over 30 kilometers a day. In our experience, this distance is too much for a heavily laden camel in the long run. Sure, it can go well, but saddle pressure points will develop. They can also hardly feed on the sparse vegetation. Their bodies will soon show us traces of their exertions. They will inevitably lose weight and when that happens we will have to readjust their saddles. It is an ever-closing cycle. If our animals are unwell, we are unwell too and vice versa. We are dependent on each other. Regardless of this, every additional day of running means more time at the computer. Under the weather conditions here in the wilderness, it’s a big challenge for my nerves and my ability to sit. Control, composure, perseverance, patience and overcoming are the order of the day.

“We should follow the side arm to the east. Maybe it looks better in there,” Tanja suggests. “I just had the same feeling. Okay, let’s go and have a look,’ I reply, leading Sebastian off the track. Behind a slight hill, we come across the trees that have been familiar to us for so long. A whole avenue of gidyeas winds along a narrow creek. “We’ll stay here,” I decide and set the animals down. It’s already 3:35 pm and so we’ve been on the road for over eight hours today. According to my map study, the time and the GPS, we covered 33 kilometers. Good mileage at these temperatures.