Will the summer rain come too soon?

Temperature relapse camp – 29.09.2002

Huuuiii! Huuuiiiiiiiiiiii! Huuuiiiiiiii, it howls terribly loudly and barely lets us sleep a wink. Huuuiii! Huuuiiiiiiiiiiii! Huuuiiiiii, the wind sings and groans around the corner of the house, catches itself in the torn mosquito net on the terrace and hisses into the stormy night sky with even louder moans on the other side. I lie in the small room with my eyes open and look up at the starless ceiling. Sleep is out of the question under these conditions. Tired as a dog, I turn from left to right and then throw myself onto my back, agitated. If I don’t fall asleep soon, tomorrow will be even more exhausting than usual, I think. Huuuiii! Huuuiiiiiiiiiiii! Huuuiiiiii, the moaning of the storm torments me. How are we supposed to lead our caravan through such weather? I turn my head to the side to look out of the window. The moonless night is pitch black. Dark clouds barely stand out against a gloomy sky. Will the storms start now? That would be a disaster, to say the least, because heavy rain would turn this land out there into bog-like mud and clay. The town of Longreach is just under 500 kilometers away. To get there, we have to cross the huge river systems of the Georgina River, Hamilton River, Diamantina River, Vergemont River and Thomson River. According to my map study, the riverbed of the Diamantina extends over an average width of about 10 kilometers. It is a challenge in itself to cross this wildly branching riverbed with its soon countless branches and tributaries during the dry season. But when it rains, it becomes an insurmountable obstacle for everyone and everything. From what we have heard, the few residents of the Channel Country take their vehicles to the surrounding towns before the summer rains. “When it starts to rain here, we are sometimes isolated from the rest of the world for up to three months. It’s good to have your car safe in one of the surrounding towns. At some stations, the airstrips are above flood level and if we’re lucky, the station manager will fly us out. So at least we have the opportunity to visit our family during the flooding,” a wrestler told us recently.

Huuuiii! Huuuiiiiiiiiiiii! Huuuiiiiii, it whistles shrilly past the window. Krchchchch, krchchchch, Rufus’ dog chain rattles back and forth across the wooden floor of the terrace. He’s probably like me and the poor guy can’t sleep either.

It hasn’t rained here for 18 months and large parts of the land are completely arid. As we have discovered in recent years, the weather here in Australia is no longer reliable. We had already made the terrible acquaintance of a super-class cyclone on the west coast at the beginning of December and only escaped its 50-kilometer destructive eye by a hair’s breadth. In the Great Sandy and Gibson Desert we were soon drowning in the worst rainfall for 200 years and amongst many other records since weather records have been kept, we experienced the coldest months on record in Northern Terrytory, with nights down to minus 10 degrees. The weather seems to have turned upside down. Without wanting to paint the devil on the wall, it is therefore quite possible to experience an early summer downpour here in Queensland. However, it is also conceivable that he will be absent for another season and the rest of the country will slide into one of the biggest droughts in over 100 years. Of course, we don’t want either of them, and yet a prolonged drought would be less dangerous for us than heavy rain.

Huuuiii! Huuuiiiiiiiiiiii! Huuuiiiiiiii it hits me in the limbs and I think of the beginning of the dust storm that threw its gray blanket over Marion Downs a few hours ago. Dark towers of clouds closed around the farmhouse like an iron clamp. Blazing lightning flashed through the menacing cloud formations and suddenly, downright squalls crashed into the parched ground. Suddenly everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. About 10 kilometers away from us, lightning struck the earth. The country was immediately on fire. We stood spellbound in front of the farmhouse and watched the ever-growing fire. Fed by the strong gusts, it developed quickly and it wasn’t long before the bright glow of the flames was reflected in the cloudy sky. “I’ll fly out there tomorrow and see what damage it does,” said Robert.

The air smelled of rain, but apart from a few drops, the clouds didn’t want to give up any of their precious moisture. Another gust of wind shot over our heads. The Homestead’s power lines skidded back and forth until they touched for brief moments. A shower of sparks struck the trees on the farm and for a few moments I was afraid of a fire here at Marion Downs. Thank goodness the wind has calmed down again, but right now it seems to be picking up strength again. I listen to his singsong until I fall asleep for a short while.

Beep, beep, beep, the wristwatches wake us up a little later. It’s four o’clock in the morning. “I don’t believe it. I don’t feel like going out there, Tanja says quietly. I am unable to answer her for some time. The fear of the storm spreading, the coming rain and the fact that I now have to walk every day again in the increasingly hot temperatures put me in a state of speechlessness. “I don’t feel like going out there either,” I reply in a croaky voice.

It takes all the strength we can muster to get out of bed and get ready for another day’s expedition after the long rest. An hour later I drive the rest of the equipment in a small Suzuki Jeep to the enclosure where our boys spent their stay. A strong, cold wind is still blowing across the flat land. The weather has changed drastically. A few days ago it was uncomfortably warm even at night and now we have to freeze again. It’s not until 06:30 that all our belongings are neatly distributed next to the saddles. Tanja takes Sebastian out of the enclosure and hustles him down. I brush the straw he has rolled around in out of his fur. He benevolently lets it happen. Our boys were able to eat their fill of the best hay here for three weeks and look very well fed. None of them whine when we put the saddles on their backs. They don’t seem to mind moving again. However, Istan’s infection has not yet improved. Pus drips from his wound onto his thigh. Robert said that running would do him good. “Walking will get his circulation going and help fight the inflammation,” he said yesterday. I hope he’s right.

FEAR, A SUPERFLUOUS LIFE PARTNER!

An hour later, Leanne, Robert, Clara, Angus and his teacher Miss Sindy come to watch us store. The children and women shiver in the cold wind. It is a strange feeling to have to leave this hospitable place now. We felt safe and secure here and now we are heading out into the unknown expanse of the eternal land. After 5100 kilometers we are slowly getting tired of having to fight our way through the endless eternity for another few months. We have been on the road with our boys since 12.05.00 to cross this continent from south to north (Perth to Broome) and from west to east (Indian Ocean to Coral Sea). We never expected this expedition to take three years, or even four years with the preparations. We would never have expected Australia to become a part of our lives. An important part that has completely changed our way of thinking and being and continues to do so. Years that have not only led us many kilometers through the toughest regions of the world, but also just as many kilometers into our own ego, our own psyche. So far, I’m still not sure whether it isn’t mainly a journey to our own roots. A journey which, through much sweat, fear, courage, overcoming, effort, struggle, hopelessness and hope, tremendous willpower and confidence, has opened doors for us that we did not even dare to dream of at the beginning of this risky undertaking. But what am I philosophizing about? This journey is not yet complete. Our destination, the east coast, has not yet been reached. There is still a long way to go. According to my calculations, at least another 1200 kilometers. We hope to hold out until the end, because it’s going to be hot again, very hot. Who knows what experiences and challenges still await us? A vague feeling surges through me. It’s not negative, but I realize that I always have to be on my guard. I don’t want to call it fear either, because we have realized that fear doesn’t bring us anything. I try to deal with it, overcome it every day and banish it from my and our lives. Fear gets us nowhere. It hinders us. Keeps us from experiencing new things. Fear is a superfluous partner in life. A partner who is capable of scourging life and degrading us humans to slaves. Many people live in constant fear. Fear of getting old. Fear of becoming ill. Fear of work or losing your job. Fear of the boss, of the new task, of the future, of tomorrow, of the unknown. Ultimately, many of us suffer from a tremendous amount of anxiety. The range of different fears is unlimited. The media, insurance companies, banks and our governments even encourage these fears and so we humans will do anything to lead a supposedly safe life. What a nightmare! During our travel life, we first realized how unfree we humans are. How trapped we are in our system. Many people know it, but hardly anyone does anything about it. Hardly anyone dares to step into the unknown. We are afraid of change. Fear of the new. The best thing we can do is plan every step, know what will happen tomorrow, the day after tomorrow and next year. This, we believe, gives us security and that is exactly what makes us our own slaves.

Who says that growing old can’t be beautiful? Who guarantees that we will get sick? Why should we be afraid of work if we are able to change jobs? Even if it is not easy to find another job, if we really want it we will find it. Everything we humans really want will be fulfilled. We just have to really want it. We need not be afraid of new tasks. Any change is definitely positive. Above all, we don’t need to be afraid of tomorrow. On the contrary, as a rule, everyone can look forward to tomorrow. Tomorrow means the future. The future brings change and change, if we embrace it, is always to our advantage. Exploring the unknown is also a wonderful task that brings a lot of joy. For Tanja and me, the unknown is even like a gift. It always has to do with learning and being allowed to learn is one of the greatest gifts we humans are given every day.

“Camis walk up!” I call the command to set off at 09:00. Leanne, Robert, Angus, Clara and Miss Sindy walk to the farmhouse. I carefully lead our caravan behind. We pass the large equipment sheds, the wrestlers’ accommodation, the headstockman’s house where we lived for three weeks, the old steam engines that were used to pump water out of the ground many decades ago, the manager’s house and the gardens. Sebastian, who is normally terrified of all buildings, follows me without a murmur. He has become accustomed to this environment during his stay and finds nothing frightening about it. “A safe journey! Take care of yourselves! Nice that you were with us for so long! We look forward to seeing you again!” our hosts call after us and wave. “Many, many thanks for your hospitality. It was a wonderful and important time with you!” we reply, also waving.

Only a little later, we cross the dry riverbed of the Georgina River, leaving behind the first major water barrier. We are very pleased with our successful departure. The camels did not take their long rest as an opportunity to jump around wildly. Right from the start, they follow each other like pearls on a string. It gets a little warmer as the hours go by. The wind blows against us with strong gusts, so that we have to bend our upper bodies forwards. Nevertheless, we are making good progress. Although our bodies have had enough time to rest, I feel tired and exhausted. The sleepless night makes itself felt. I could easily fall asleep while walking. But it’s not just tiredness that makes the early day of walking an effort, but an inner listlessness that I still can’t categorize.

“There’s a vehicle following us,” Tanja interrupts my thoughts. In fact, a jeep overtakes the caravan very carefully. “It’s Robert and Angus!” I shout as I recognize them and stop our boys. “Nice to see you again so soon,” I greet them both with a laugh. “Dean from Huckitta Station called shortly after your departure. He doesn’t have any new information yet as to whether the Desert Poison Bush grows on your planned route. You should call him from Lorna Downs Station if you have a chance to make a phone call there,” Robert tells us. We would like to thank him for passing on this important information and say goodbye again.

Three hours later, we find ourselves in a huge open space. There is no elevation to be seen 360° around us. Not even a bump interrupts the plain. The path forks in three directions. No one leads us where we want to go. In the end, I opt for the middle track. The strong wind makes the walk very strenuous. The thigh muscles begin to tense up. Tanja’s calves are burning and she has been suffering from knee pain recently. Huuuuuiiiiiiiiieeeee, it roars around our ears. Any kind of entertainment is almost impossible. You would have to roar to trump the roar of the natural element.

Suddenly a jeep roars past on our left and stops a hundred meters in front of us. The driver’s door opens and to our surprise Norman, Marion Downs’ cook, jumps out. “Can’t let you go without saying goodbye to you. I overslept this morning on my only day off of the week and missed your departure,” he explains with a laugh. “It’s really nice that you came so far after us just to say goodbye,” I say, pleased to see him. “I really enjoyed talking to you. Who knows, maybe our lives will cross paths again. I wish you good luck,” he says goodbye and hands us two pears. “Oh thank you Norman,” we say, beaming, because fresh fruit is a real delicacy out here. We look after Norman as his four-wheel drive vehicle is literally eaten away by a gigantic cloud of dust and continue our march.

CONVERSATIONS ABOUT POOR NUTRITION

My thoughts revolve around the many conversations I had with Norman in the kitchen almost every morning and every evening. Most of them were about our diet. Especially about the crap we stuff ourselves with every day. Norman denounces the whole range of fast food. Especially the companies behind it, which are responsible for slowly poisoning us humans. We talked about the chemical additives in our food chain and the fact that there is hardly a can or packaging that doesn’t have at least one number on it. The number is a code for a chemical additive such as colorants, thickeners, flavor enhancers, preservatives and other time bombs that will give us humans countless diseases in the long run. Cancer, allergies of all kinds, asthma, hyperactivity, skin diseases, circulatory disorders, high blood pressure, heart disease and much more are the inevitable consequences of an increasingly artificial diet. “Most people are unaware of the waste they are feeding their bodies,” he explained. “They cook with vegetable oil, which is so heated during production that it is nothing but pure poison. In some scientific articles, these vegetable oils obtained under high heat are described as ‘non-food’. The body cannot absorb the oil because it has nothing to do with nature. It is ultimately comparable to plastic. Almost all types of margarine are also made from these heated vegetable oils and have been proven to be responsible for many heart diseases. We have been preached to that these vegetable fats contain no cholesterol and are good for us. But we were not told that margarine is heated to over 260° degrees during production, making it downright unpalatable for humans. We now know that margarine and heated vegetable oils do not contain cholesterol, but nevertheless drastically promote heart disease. Of course, this huge industrial machine will not be stopped and will continue to produce this poison until hundreds of thousands of people fall ill.

Consumers should use cold-pressed oils such as olive oil. So it’s not just the numbers in our cans and packaging, but also vegetable oils and genetically modified vegetables and fruit that don’t make it easy for any of us to eat properly,” the former naval chef said with a serious face and before I could digest his lecture he continued.

“We wonder about fatigue, lack of energy, obesity and all the other illnesses. Then we go to the doctor and get a prescription to combat the symptoms. How is the medicine supposed to help if the patient continues to fill their body with poison? Although there are some doctors today who are concerned with the consequences of an unhealthy diet, most of them continue to prescribe medication without asking the patient what they eat every day. Well, this way the doctor has a customer who remains loyal to him. If the patient is not informed, he will stuff himself with two poisons after the visit to the doctor. First the bad food and then the many pills on top. This undoubtedly guarantees that there will be no recovery in the long term and that the patient’s health will continue to be sawn away until the body fights back and develops cancer or another disease. What madness! It’s really bad,” he soon explained to Tanja and me every day.

Not exactly in the best of moods because of these thoughts, I let my eyes glide over the area to find us a place to camp. Nothing but sand, stones and a few dried blades of grass can be seen. “Camis udu!” I stop the caravan to check the map to see how far it is to the next creek. “Another 15 kilometers. We’re not going to make it today,’ I gasp a little desperately. “Don’t you think the few trees up ahead are enough to tie up our boys?” Tanja asks. “Which trees?” “Well, those there,” she says, pointing to a few silhouette-like lines that are just emerging from a distant cloud of dust. “Hm, maybe you’re right,” I reply grumpily and pull Sebastian further into the wind.

At 15:36 we reach the few trees that Tanja spotted on the horizon an hour ago. They grow on dry ground around a natural waterhole that has also dried up. Deep cracks run through the tortured earth of the waterhole. Concrete-hard cattle patties cover the surface. Exhausted and weak, I let our equally tired camel partners scurry down after 28 kilometers of running. We unload our animals and let them feed on the gidyea trees. Istan’s wound actually looks a little better. To follow Robert’s advice, I rub the open area next to his penis and the surrounding skin with an antibiotic cream. We hope that the cream will protect against re-infection. The wound is in such an unfavorable position that he keeps rubbing the earth into it while sitting. Apart from that, the cream should protect against crusting and keep the skin supple.

Tanja then ties our faithful companions to the trees, while I light a fire with the few branches I find to boil hot water. Shortly before sunset, the dense cloud cover in the west breaks up. Golden rays illuminate the wrinkled cracks of the waterhole, the old weather-beaten gidyea trees, our eagerly feeding camels, the equipment scattered in the dust and the immensity of the plain. The warm, intense light from space enchants the entire scene in one fell swoop. Suddenly we think we are in the middle of a fairytale landscape. An unreality that only seems to exist in dreams. I interrupt my work for a few moments and, despite the day’s exertions, enjoy the transformed desert, which had just looked desolate. As if a silk scarf interwoven with golden threads has been draped over us, the threatening oppressiveness has dissipated. Even the strong wind pauses for breath and presents us with a land of fabulous beauty. The almost black-grey clouds move eastwards and reveal more and more of the turquoise-blue evening sky. In an inferno in a class of its own, the glowing ball of sunlight plunges into the earth’s surface on the horizon and is literally sucked up by it. The round disk now sends its delicate light out of the recess, breathing its last glow into the dying day until the darkness of the night, which grows stronger and stronger, takes over and displaces all brightness.

The wind takes the opportunity to blow into our limbs a little later. It’s cold, far too cold. After a quick meal, we retire to the camp beds. The sleeping bags keep our bodies warm. Exhausted, I lie there and look up at the night sky. A sore throat won’t let me sleep. Suddenly I feel hot, only to freeze again seconds later. Chills plague my body and accompany me into another bout of insomnia.