Team Port Smith

Team Port smith has four important members. Helen is the team Coach. She is a sprightly 63 years old and keeps the team going at top performance. Her first big hurdle is to get the Team up by 5.30 am and out at the meeting place at 6, when the sky is light enough to start the walk. Team Motivator is Merryl. Every morning she extols the beauty of the sun rising and sometimes the full moon is setting. “This time of the morning is so exquisite. The colours and the crispness give us the best time of the day” She reminds them as they think longingly of their snug beds. All of the other people in the park, who are not imbued with her enthusiasm, lay happily in their beds enjoying the warm blankets except old Brian who grumbles, “Not everyone wants to be up at 6 in the morning.” The Team cuts the chatter for 10 seconds and proceeds out to the track. Team coach, Helen decides on the route. ‘We could go to the pools. That would give us a 6.5km walk. This team is capable of more than that at this stage. The water pumps [supplying the underground water to the camp] would give us a 7km walk and the warm sun on our backs for the return trip.’ No, it will be towards The Cliffs today, pushing the team to a greater distance of 10km to Red Bluff. All the way to The Cliffs would give a walk of 18km.The team, led by Helen, sets out at a cracking pace.

Win, the team social secretary, can easily keep the chit chat going for the whole time of the walk. She has all the news of the camp. Mary in the big bus had fallen on the rocks while fishing and had to be taken to Broome [150km away] to have 9 stitches in her knee. The menu for the Thursday night’s free feed and gathering was chicken soup and sausage sizzle. Diane is having trouble with her daughter who has taken up with a truck driver from Paraburdoo. John and Des are catching plenty of Mangrove Jacks down at the ponds. She has stories of excentric campers of the past. By the time we got to Red bluff, Win has noticed big footprints heading off further into the distance. She can tell that it is a man’s shoe and that he had set even earlier that morning than the four brave hearts. By 7am they are all thinking of their stomachs and whether they would eat porridge, eggs or both for breakfast.

That day, Win scouts the camp and finds the identity of big foot by the imprint of his shoe. The next morning they had all their questions answered.

The last person in The Team is, Erin. You could call her the Team Sponge. She absorbs the magnificence of the morning, the pleasure of the physical exercise, completing the task and the interaction of positive people.

Unfortunately this team is transitory, which also is why it has a great vitality. They all know that before long each will go their separate way so they take with them some of this and apply it to other parts of their lives. Helen stays at Port Smith and recruits a new team. Helen has an ulcer on her leg and must go for treatment. Win must go and care for her old mother. Erin travels on to a new destination.

Next year they could be out on the sunrise trail at Port Smith again give or take a few other members.

Suburbia in Broome

Suburbia comes to Broome

The red sand meets the blue sea. They call the red earth pindan. The sea is a soft turquoise colour. On Roebuck Bay you camp right on the edge of the beach. There is a million dollar view of the sun rising over the mud flats and in the evening the pink and orange sunsets reflect across the bay. If you are there in the wet season, the sky is an ink black and the streak lightening lights up the whole bay. “Don’t swim at town beach.” a local girl told me, but she would not tell me why. Meanwhile three people had been stung with stingers on the fabled Cable Beach.

Bill and Fran take a week to set up there caravan and annex on the precise site that they have done for the last 10 years. They erect shade cloth over the windows and lay flooring in their annex and pagoda. Bill mows the grass on their allocated area and takes out his weeder and digs out unwanted vegetation from his plot. The ground staff has placed the water sprinklers in position but Bill moves them to his patch and uses the hose for the difficult corners. At last he can stand back with hands on hips and admire his handiwork. We waited for a fence to go up but instead a truck arrived with potted plants to mark the border of his territory.

Over the next few days Bill sits and watches the grass grow at the same time keeping a watchful eye on his neighbours. At 10 am he walks over to the people across the way who are packing up. He reminds them of the time and that they should be gone, as his friends are waiting to take that site. In the meantime, Fran and her friend have emerged as the laundry police. They check that only one washing machine is used by each person and are disgusted that there is only one item in one machine.

It is time to leave Broome and move south; still on the pindan, but to a place that does not have a feeling of suburban small mindedness closing in on a beautiful remote area.

Where are we going to run to?

What are a couple of old Mexicans supposed to do in the cyclone season? We didn’t really plan being in the north in the wet season. But that is half the fun of being able to travel and go slow if it suits. We thought we would stay in Cairns for a couple of weeks and that turned into a couple of months. The residents of Cairns assured us, “Oh we don’t worry about cyclones here. They get them over in the west.” We just kept travelling on until it became silly to travel all the way back to Victoria only to have to travel back when the cold weather kicked in down there. Now, I would kill for some crisp mornings and dry heat after four months of tropical heat.

What if we do get caught in a cyclone? Where do we go for safety? The people of Darwin head 150 km inland to Adelaide River and have a big party. That didn’t sound too difficult and besides they said, “We don’t get cyclones here, its much worst on the East Coast.” What if we get caught in a flood? They answered, “You wait till the flood subsides. You might get stuck with a truck carrying beer and wine.” It’s tough if you have to save your own life by forcing down the only available fluids. It did flood at Victoria River -10 meters of water over the bridge. Waiting in Katherine was not so hard. When we travelled through we could see the debris high in the trees. Vivid green vegetation had sprung to life and contrasted starkly with the red, rugged Kimberley skyline. As we passed through Fitzroy Crossing on route to Broome, we noticed all the flood markers on the side of the road. “Where are we going to run to?” If a cyclone approaches Broome we certainly won’t be heading back toward Fitzroy Crossing. How exquisite to see the red sand and blue sea of Broome. “Do you realize we are on cyclone warning?” said the caravan park attendant. That warning was cancelled by the end of the day. The big window at the back of our fifth wheeler gave us a million dollar view of Roebuck Bay but the last place you would want to be in the event of a cyclone. We asked the locals, “What do you do if a cyclone is imminent?” “Oh we’re lucky here, we are not in cyclone path. Cyclones miss us and hit further down the coast,” they said. It seemed like we had heard that before a few times. Further investigation revealed that there was a huge cyclone proof, empty grain shed that caters for vehicles in emergencies. We could park our truck and trailer in the shed and join others in the safety of the Aquatic Centre to sit out the storm.

With our contingency plan in place, we could relax and enjoy the wet season in Broome without the crowds of people that arrive in the dry. “Oh no! Cyclone Glenda is coming across the East Kimberley coast heading west.” The cyclone was bringing feet of rain to parts that we have just travelled through. “Yellow Alert!” That means we must batten down. A household would have to clear their property of objects that could become missiles in a big wind. Our preparation was pretty simple in comparison. A force 5 cyclone hit Innisfail, on the East Coast with winds of 300 kilometres per hour and tore the place apart. [So much for “we don’t get them here”] Cyclone Glenda has now intensified to force five. Luckily she is hundreds of kilometres out to sea and heading south west. We wonder could she suddenly change direction and sweep in to the town while we are sleeping blissfully. We don’t sleep so well, listening for weather reports on the radio through the night.

Fortunately for us Glenda did pass us by but people further south copped more flood than wind damage. An extremely high tide and heavy rain resulted and people who had suffered flooding from a previous cyclone this season had to cope with another round of damage to property.

We must fly to Melbourne for a few weeks. We don’t get cyclones here- does not give us comfort. We will store “Stilacastle” in the shed while we are away.

Darwin Photos

Doctor Troppo

The vivid green of the landscape was set against the ink black stormy sky, streaked with rain in the distance. A dramatic introduction set the scene for things to come. Darwin should be a good place to get treatment for a persistent cough. Bill read in the local paper that 20,000 of the population of Darwin vacated the outpost to escape the wet season. “Why are we heading in and the locals heading out? Something is wrong here.” He said to his wife.

He found another person who had also ventured into the city and that was the throat specialist from Perth. “I am getting out of here as soon as I possibly can.” He greeted Bill. “Plenty of rednecks here,” He added.

[What a positive person!! Bill thought.]

“The dust from a grinder that I worked with on the farm, has given me a cough that I can’t shake” Bill explained.

“I have done all these things on my farm and that would not be it. Why do people like you come here and waste my valuable time?” Bill was gob smacked and steam started to come out of his ears. Doctor Troppo continued his tirade. “Oh, you come from Wodonga. What a terrible place. They fleeced me on a cattle deal down there.

[I would love to see you negotiating the intrigue of trade at the Wodonga Sale Yards! Bill thought!]

“You are the sort of person who stops working and starts to find all these things wrong with you.”

[You are one person who could do with a holiday!]

“Look at how old you look compared me. I am about the same age as you and look at me.” Bill could only see an arrogant tyrannical excuse for a man that he wanted to punch out, but he reasoned, the man was pathetic and hopefully the doctor in him was a better standard than his manners.

“Why do you come up here to be treated when you have the best treatment in nearby Melbourne?”

“I hoped my cough would heal with warm weather.” Defended Bill. “I thought Darwin would be a big centre with treatment available. Would you have me vegetate in Melbourne on account of a little cough or should I get on with my life?”

Eventually Doctor Troppo organized a prescription and x-ray to make sure there was nothing seriously wrong. “That’s it.” He said.

“No. Give me your Perth number because I am going to pursue you if this cough does not clear.” Said Bill.

Doctor Troppo laughed and handed over his gold embossed card.

More Photos

Photo: Karumba Sunset

Flashbacks in Karumba

The fish are still biting, but the park is almost empty. It is October, and the lead up to the wet season has begun. Humidity is 98 percent and it is 35 degrees. The sun rises and sets like a great red ball in the sky and clouds are beginning to appear in the sky. In the morning the dew around is almost like rain. Most days there is a cool breeze from the sea. This heat has got me thinking about summer and up popped a story. This story is fiction.

DUCKS ON THE WALL

Jeanette gazed at the three porcelain ducks rising upward and onward with strength and purpose. They took pride of place on the cream wall above what was once a fireplace but now contained the two bar electric heater with the artificial log fire flickering by means of a whirring fan below. Today there was no need for the heater. The day was hot and the dry breeze whipped up the peat dust from the rows of potatoes that had just been dug on the farm paddock near the house. Her two sisters were over at the shed with the hose turned on full bore. Lorna sang dah dah dum to the tune of “The Waltz of the Flowers” and held the nozzle directly at Shirley, the dancer, who glided, leapt, pirouetted and enjoyed the onslaught of a cool blast of water. Jeanette had held the hose, sang the song, not quite holding the pitch, while she intermittently implored, “My go now, my go now.” At last they conceded it was her turn to do the dance. She kept a smile even when the water hit her in the chubby face, but when she moved - “Rubber-neck, awkward Annie!” They heckled. “Point your toe! Stretch your arm! Keep in time!” She tried but never could meet their approval. In tears of hurt and frustration she raced for home, her body dry by the time she reached the house. Jeanette flopped down in a chair, fixed her eyes on those ducks, calming herself. She could win at getting the father to take them for a swim. When they asked, he said maybe. When they pleaded, he said maybe. Jeanette could apply herself all day in reaching that objective or any objective that she set herself. She never let reason get in the way of something important. She persisted and persisted until he said yes and they would all bundle themselves onto the back of the old farm truck, their only means of transport. Along the way they picked up cousins and neighbours for the ten mile trip to a drain which was dredged and deep enough to swim.

Lorna and Shirley were petite and slim. Their dark bobbed hair naturally waved around the fine features of their faces. The farm had become more prosperous in these post war times so the girls were taken to the Saturday night dances in the nearby town in the Humber Super Snipe. As they parked the car, they could hear the saxophone filling the air against a backdrop of piano and drums. They were playing, “I wonder whose kissing her now.” “That’s a slow foxtrot,” said Lorna. “Hope I have the slow foxtrot with Robbie, when the lights are dimmed. He has such a good smoush, not sloppy like Frank or John.” The saxophonist created the atmosphere as she gradually increased the excitement of the night culminating in the “Golden Wedding”. Lorna and Shirley had practiced dancing at home together with the radio blaring and disregarded their mother calling that it was her time for Richard Talbot. They entered the hall confidently and soon they had ten dances booked in advance. Shirley was wearing her off the shoulder dress with a dropped waistline. The skirt swirled and showed her shapely legs when she jived daringly in the corner of the hall. Jeanette tagged along into the hall. She had more of her father’s build- big boned, strong body with broad facial features. Her hair was not any particular colour, just mousy. The wall flowers were seated in a line along the bench seats that skirted the hall, waiting and watchful so as to catch the eye of a likely dance partner. Jeanette circulated amongst the groups that congregated in the corners and beside the dance band. From here she got dances from the shy boys, congregating with their mates who could not gather up the courage to walk the floor. No-one wanted a knock back. Laurie asked her to come outside and look at his new car. She was not going to fall for that one and besides the whole town would soon be informed by the gossips elaboration and the family name would be dragged in the mud.

“A bumper crop this year.” Jeanette heard her father say. “I can see ballerinas around the wall. The ball is coming up soon. I need a new dress.” Jeanette declared. “You have a good one in the cupboard.” replied her mother. It took Jeanette three days to achieve the objective with whinges, whines and persistent nagging. “Oh, have the dress then.” her mother said wearily in a weak moment. The dress was a delicate egg-shell blue colour with a Peter Pan collar and pearl buttons down the bodice. The tulle skirt was arranged in tiers with a narrow satin ribbon dividing each tier. At the ball she organised an older relative to partner her in the special dance. He was dressed in a suit and bow tie. He would create a dignified appearance and most importantly keep the dance steps simple. It all went as planned. The blue sash for Belle of the Ball was placed over her shoulder. Jeanette was the only one in the family ever to win this title. She had orchestrated quite a coup while her sisters were away. She got out of the car and floated in her beautiful egg-shell blue dress along the track to her house. She looked up at the clear starry night sky. “What next? Upward and onward.” she thought as she flounced through the narrow gate. The sound of a gigantic rip brought her down to earth as she saw the bottom tier of her beautiful egg-shell blue dress hooked on a piece of wire on the fence.

The Highly Challenged Fisherman

With a beer in hand Mel mingles with other campers in the Park, working his way systematically through the ones with boats. It is nearing the end of the tourist season at Karumba. Most of the tourists have gone south leaving a few doggedly determined remainders with one thing on their minds – FISH and that elusive barramundi. The time to catch them is from late September until late April when the water has warmed but they can still be caught year round. Besides, it is illegal to catch them in the breeding season which begins late in September. The race is on for Mel to get one in the boat before the cut off time.

Mel has a long-suffering mate, Catfish, who provides him with money for boat fuel, bait, ice packs; and freezes any excess fish for both their use when there is a drought. Catfish also has a role in consoling Mel in his frustrations. Four days and not a fish. Mel is beside himself with anxiety. “The bloke in the Nison caught two blue salmon off the sand island.” They try but fish spit out the hook. Ray and Ronnie catch grunter by using berley they have made with fish oil and cat food. Mel rushes off to get the fish oil but to no avail. John caught a king salmon up the Norman River on the run out tide. Catfish contains himself with difficulty when Mel rushes about from the river to open waters, back to the mudflats, into the grunter holes, trolling up to the bend marker and on to the wreck. When, where and how he asks as he tours the camp with his daily mug of coffee. “For Christ’s sake, Mel, follow me out,” says an exasperated fisherman. “Hurry Catfish, he’s going at 6:30.” Catfish is not renowned for being on time for anything. “You’re the boss,” he concedes. It’s the last day of the season. “Working lures around the snags and gutters are the go. If we don’t fish heavy the big one will bury us.” Mel has gleamed this information from a man wearied by him at the far end of the park. “I’ve got one, got one, got one!” Mel cannons off. The line becomes slack. “Hey! That fellow over in that boat has something.” Mel wheels the boat around and yells, “What have you got, you got, you got?” Catfish shrinks as the poor man hasn’t even got his line in yet. Catfish has something on. “Only a 70 cm. Catfish. Story of my life.” “They’re good for bait. You skin it for us,” Says Mel. “What’s new?” says Catfish, sarcastically.

THERE IS ALWAYS ANOTHER DAY.

Paper Boat

It's convenient, light, folds down, easily stored and manoeuvred. One problem - it feels like you are sailing in a paper boat. The hull is made from a flexible material so that it bends a little as you climb aboard and hit some waves - a bit disconcerting when you are travelling in crocodile country. It's no good waiting for the calm in Cooktown. Every day you get what the locals call the Cooktown breeze which is more like a strong wind. Even Captain Cook, whose diary can be found at the local museum, noted the continual SE breeze.

"Let's go for it and launch our new little toy." The launch of the new boat at Cooktown had its joys and woes. The paper boat will give us the freedom to get about without travelling the rough roads and maybe even catch the odd fish. It's not big enough to head out to sea but good enough get about on river, lake and estuary. I can find my way with a map in front of me but out on the water its land marks so I place my confidence in the navigation of the captain.

The captain assembled the boat at the park and transported it to the water on the back of the truck. "A truck to transport that toy boat is overkill," say the men working on the road. We board with safety gear, fishing gear and a new little motor. Pull star, pull start, and pull start. No go. "Must be flooded!" "Bought a lemon!" "Stranded before we have begun." "What's that red cord hanging from the motor?" says a concerned bystander. "Oh, now I remember, the safety wire must be engaged before the motor will start and conversely cut the motor quickly in an emergency." "She doesn't like the wind much," says the captain.

Up river it is calmer - no crocs and no fish. A successful maiden voyage. "Easy, peasy - we just need to pop the paper boat back on the truck." Oh dear, a sudden gust of wind is enough to blow the paper boat away, taking me with her, both landing upside down in the water. The captain said we should have tipped her upside down on the shoreline. "Some consolation!! I'm wet and my dignity is destroyed," I retort.