The Oodnadatta Part Three

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Nighttime on a salt lake is eerie. The void of landscape was amplified in darkness. The silence, extraordinary. Full sensory deprivation. The only point of reference to the shore was the far-off speck of orange from the van’s internal lighting. I slung my bag over my shoulder and began the long walk home; the sound of the salt breaking under foot was the only thing I could hear. I returned to the quiet of the van, next to a quiet lake, in a quiet part of the continent.

I spent the morning watching the sunrise from the roof deck. A slow lightening, a bulbous protrusion of colour. Then, a spark, an ignition, I felt my body shift and awaken in resonance with the sun. The globe rose before my eyes and lit the dappled clouds in a heavenly golden glow. The clouds diffused the light and transformed the entire sky to this warm vibrant colour, while soft beams from sun edge pushed their way through to my vision.

The outback is vast. Just to get back to the main road it would take over an hour, so after breakfast I got going. Back along the edge of the salt lake, over the winding undulating black hills, through the vast sandy nothingness, to finally, the main road, the Oodnadatta Track.

After an hour of driving, the road got rough, and I started to struggle. The van could go no faster than twenty and there was no way I could escape the corrugations. Like innumerable sandy waves jolting the van and jarring my body. I found no peace and no place to rest. Yet, I had to keep going before a suitable camp would reveal itself.

On the map was a single road veering from the main. Old Peake Telegraph Station. I stopped at the turn and measured the distance to the ruins (and hopefully a camp). Ten kilometres. Easy.

Not so easy. By the time I was halfway down the track it had turned treacherous. Dry creek crossings, partial road erosions, and huge rocks made me slow to less-than walking pace. This road was more suited to a four-wheel drive, but the van was managing it, barely. I didn’t want to turn back and find somewhere else. I was tired and stressed. I pushed onwards with the van rocking and creaking like an outback dunny in a cyclone.

Almost to the end and I had to stop. There was a creek washout that I was sure the van wouldn’t handle. I stopped and pulled off to one side. This will do.

The this-will-do had grand views and backed against a range of rocky hills, so I considered myself fortunate to get this far.

I climbed the gusty mountain range and sat with my back to the afternoon sun as the flies around me tried to match pace with the strong wind.

The night was cold, around five degrees, and I relished the comfort of a thick quilt and blankets as I awoke. I feel like it has been one very long hot summer, and now I am more than ready to be in cold environments.

The stillness of the morning captivated me, there was no wind, no sun yet from behind the mountain, and no sound. My mind, in turn, stilled also, and I performed each action of breakfast and morning routine with a slow presence. One – thing – at – a – time.

My walk took me through an area littered with springs. From barren desert rock burst large rushes and trees. Upon investigation, one spring was found at the base of a rocky hill, sitting silently in a circle of volcanic rock. Green contrasted the reds, yellows, and whites, and brought a smile to my heart.

By the time the sun bore its gaze upon the land, the flies had awakened, in number and passion. I wore my wide brimmed kangaroo skin hat with a neck scarf tied above my nose. I found that if I brought my curly hair to the front of my face, pinned under the hat, it acted as a deterrent the way a traditional Australian cork hat might. Despite all this, my head crawled and buzzed with scores of tiny scavengers.

I walked for hours, no human mark, just wild rocky country. Flat lands bordered by painted rocky hills. Strong wind. The sound of crunching shale underfoot, turning into sand, turning into clay. I climbed a rocky hill to see what lay ahead of me. Upon scrambling over the peak, I mouthed an O to match my eyes at what lay before me.

Water! A lake the size of several football fields, surrounded by tall reeds and full of bird life. Dozens of black swans floated peaceably with the wind; flocks of ducks flew back and forth. I paced down the hill to the shoreline.

Although quite large, the water was not so deep. I could see or judge the bottom from the shore. I thought of getting in for a swim, got naked, and took the first step. My leg sunk into thick mud above my knee. I tried another, even deeper. I backpedaled and sought refuge on the harder clay bank. Desiring for a swim, but not willing to be completely covered in clay, I settled for sitting on the bank and washed the mud from my feet in the few inches of surface water.

That afternoon, I continued my journey onward, re-entering the Oodnadatta Track, to the next adventure.