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September 2, 2001
Overland Australia - Update 35
The Path Less Traveled
From April:
As the sun broke over the horizon, the bike team trudged through the deep sand in the dry river bed. We'd left behind the support vehicle which could go no further and would retrace its tracks to get out. We, on the other hand, would move forward past the Chabbana water holes on a trail partially reconnoitered the afternoon before by Todd, Mike, and Crister. "It's not real clear," Crister had commented. "We rode a distance of about 20 kilometers, but only about 6 ks are in the actual direction we need to go. The rest were trails or paths that could've gone on forever, but not in the right direction."
I should mention that after we left the Palmer River/Maytown area, our roads have been rather well defined. Today's route would challenge our navigational skills as it dealt with the unknown. Even local knowledge of the trail hadn't provided us with any 'for sures' as to its travel worthiness.
So, armed with topography maps, a GPS, and a keen sense of adventure, we struck out for the Ross River Homestead 45 kilometers away.
The terrain was quite rugged; deep sand and boulders filled the riverbed as we labored through it. In contrast, steep canyon walls guided our progress, their ancient red vertical slab faces silently observed our passing.
We broke out into a clearing. There before us, shimmering in the early morning light, stretched a body of water. The trail we'd been following, now choked with brush, skirted the water's edge and seemed to disappear into the bush. Obviously, the water had to be crossed.
Loaded with packs, then bikes slung over our heads, we began the traverse of the
waist deep water. Its coldness as I settled into it caused me to sharply suck in my breath. "Ah, in true expedition spirit," I thought.
With my bike balanced precariously over my head, I made my way to the opposite
bank. As we progressed along our route, I had begun to notice large piles of dry horse manure. Hmmm, this must be an incredibly large horse or more likely, a small herd running throughout the bush. But, we hadn't seen any livestock, domestic or otherwise.
A day or two earlier, I'd been thinking of a horse story I'd read as a ten year old, "Escape of the Silver Brumby". Set in Australia, it was the romanticised version of a wild horse or brumby, and the countless attempts to capture him. For a ten year old, horse crazy girl, the story fired the imagination. Letting that imagination run wild, I'd recreated the story several times in likely places on this trip. But, to date, the only wild horses I'd seen were in my mind.
Mike's quieted voice broke my train of thought, "April, quick!" he called in a hushed whisper. Standing before us in a break in the trees, three horses were quietly cropping grass. Unaware of our presence, they continued to eat until the crunching of a bike tire brought them to attention. Heads up, manes and tail flying, they made for the brush and were quickly out of sight. My heart was racing with excitement!
We continued on our way, my heart rejoicing at this brief glimpse of another part of Australia's wildness that had impacted me, even as a child. As we topped a rise, I nearly fell off my bike!
A large herd of about 25 brumbies, bays, sorrels, grullos, blacks, spooked up and stampeded before us. On they came, galloping past, circling us before and aft. Three kangaroos, startled by our approach and the galloping horses, joined the flight. We sat there in stunned silence, watching the herd race away as it disappeared over the hill and into the trees.
In this isolated region of the continent, we had been privileged to watch something few people have the chance to experience, perhaps only in a children's book. At that moment in time, capturing the wild horses with their kangaroo mates in flight, there was no place on earth I would rather have been. The rest of the ride into Ross River was quite tame by comparison.
April
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From Jason:
Moon miles…riding at night
Earlier this year when the bike team started corresponding via email on the planning details of the trip mention was made of riding at night to avoid the heat of the day. However, since leaving the Starcke River 42 days ago we've settled into a routine of riding during the day, partly because it's been cooler than we expected - especially now we're in the middle of the country, far from any maritime influence - and also because we've been hard pushed to keep up with all the things needed to get done in an average day. To suddenly change the routine for this size of group would be a major logistical headache. But yes- terday, with a short 25km hop to Trephina Gorge National Park (where we are now) and with a layover day intended for the following day, a rare opportunity was presented to us. And, more to the point, it was FULL MOON!
A few of the team members had earlier voiced some concerns about biking on off-road surfaces that might be difficult to negotiate safely. I know for myself having skated a few road sections by night in the US, a worry would be riding over existing road-kill. More than a few times during my Trans-American roller- blade marathon I'd gone flying after piling into the rotting carcass of an armadillo hidden in the shadows. But on the plus side the route we would be taking was for the most part bitumen, and the light of the moon was so bright and cloud cover so minimal we would be able to see any untoward obstacles a long way in ad- vance. So, at around 8 p.m., with the occasional whoop of expectation punc- tuating the night and a generous slice of John's most excellent quiche warming the inside of our bellies, we stole out from Ross River Homestead under the cover of darkness to lay down the first moon-miles of the trip.
The experience of biking through an environment totally changes without light being the primary stimulus. Instead of relying on the sense perception of sight I found myself tuning into the lesser known sensations of touch, sound and smell: cutting through parcels of warm and cold air, the scent of roadside Acacia and Flowering Bloodwood] blending into the sound of crunching gravel under our wheels accompanied by the backdrop chorus of crickets. The whole group was mute by the time we reached the turn off to our campsite. Normally we're like mob of chattering monkeys, reacting and remarking at almost every new thing coming across our path. But not tonight. Everyone just stood out on the road, basking in the milky blue light, rolling the experience around in their mouths like a fine wine before succumbing to the familiar bustle and confusion of expedition camp life.
This morning we awoke blinking up at blood red canyon walls that reared up for 500 metres or more either side of our campsite beside the Trephina Creek (dry at present). This, our layover day would be spent doing all those legitimate things we never seem to have time for normally: like lying in until 7a.m. taking time to eat breakfast thoroughly before wandering off to explore the area or sitting in camp catching on journal writing or a host of other chores that seem to other- wise be semi-permanently on the back-burner. You can find out more about our day by going to the following sections in EDUCATION:
From Bel:
Last night's meeting decided we would not be leaving Ross River early
this morning. Instead we would break camp at dusk this, to ride
to Trephina Gorge Nature Park by moonlight. Beside the usual
organisation of the truck and of our personal business, which delays us
wherever we have access to a laundry and telephone, we were going on a
camel trail ride.
The camel's keeper and our guide, Henry, took us riding on a chain of
bullock camels with names like Sahara, Pishta, and Jose, and was very
informative about the history and biology of his animals. He kept a
running commentary as we rambled leisurely along a low ridge, and gave
us much of the information you'll find in today's educational updates.
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Science
History
Education for Sustainable Development (ESD)
Posted on September 2, 2001 12:50 PM