Bush pinstripes

Eight four-wheel drive vehicles met up at the Licola General store, the passengers grabbing for jumpers with the unexpected morning chill in the air as they got out and greeted their fellow adventurers. Saturday morning dawned overcast and provided a nice reprieve from the recent scorching temperatures. Drivers keen for a bit of road grunt, river crossings and dozer cuts, animatedly spoke of treks past and plans for the day ahead. Passengers feeling the green, from the windy roads leading into the meeting point, were pleased to stretch their legs and settle their revolving tummies. 

A Triton, Landcruiser, Hilux, Prado and four Nissan’s lined up in their designated places in the convoy, rules were explained to the maiden drivers and radios all checked into channel 21. With assorted supplies purchased from the local store, including fuel at $1.80 per litre (ouch), lollies, sausage rolls and questionable coffee, we were off. 

Daryl and I led the way. This day out was Daryl’s idea, an opportunity for our friend’s Carol and Zac to christen their newly acquired 4WD. Having never been off-road before, they were placed second last in the convoy immediately on front of Daryl’s brother, Steve. A seasoned off-roader Steve would ensure everyone was safe and could lend a hand if necessary to our newbies. Thankfully his services were not needed. Behind us travelled Daryl’s workmate Les, also relatively new to 4WDing. After initial issues with his radio, he soon blended into the group and was welcome by all who travelled together. Behind him were longtime friends Owen and Kate. All credit to Kate who joined under duress, going off road is not exactly her idea of a good time. Given the rest of her family were also attending she put on her big girl pants, gritted her teeth and clenched her fists as they traversed the mountainside. Daryl had assured Kate that the trek was rated easy to moderate, I’m not sure Kate believes him or forgives him, just yet. Owen, with the patience of a saint supported Kate in his humorous and generous manner ensuring she was as comfortable as possible. Entertaining us all, through their animated chatter via the radio, Owen and Kate’s offspring along with their respective partners and friends, filled the remaining three vehicles. Aged between 15 and 23 they were the ‘kids’ of the trip and reminded us all what it is like to be young and full of

vigour. Collectively they are a representation of all that is to be admired – considerate, polite, easy going, willing to chip in and lend a hand, family focused and fundamentally positive. They will be welcome on any future trips. 

Once the convoy arrived at the Macalister and Caledonia Junction with a final river crossing, we found a reasonable spot right next to the water and set ourselves up. In a matter of minutes, the fire was lit in preparation for a barbeque, chairs were set up and the fumes of fly repellent filled the immediate area. The little black, sticky winged devils remained friendly throughout the day. The only respite from them was in the river! Albeit lower than usual, due to this infernal drought, the river flowed easily, creating small rapids downstream and a tiny mini pool up stream, but it was a challenge to find swimming areas deep enough to cover your shoulders.

Those of us keen enough to brave the chill waded and enjoyed the freedom that river swimming generally allows. The rocky river bed and occasional tree trunk also posed a few challenges to our balance but in reality, inhibitions were thrown alongside our towels on the stony river edge and the sounds of friendly banter and cajoling could be heard by all around. Entertainment was also well provided by other off roaders and a group of campers, who challenged every dress code imaginable. Sporting an array of sun tan markings, it was clear that the use of shirts was limited. 

Despite the big dry, plenty of campers were scattered through the national park and outlying areas, some setting up camp on the roadside in rather precarious positions. If they didn’t get collected by wayward vehicles the dust and fumes would soon choke them up. The Australia Day long weekend certainly proved popular with campers, as well as ourselves, keen to enjoy as much of the outdoors as possible. As with all good things they must come to an end, and with little effort the fire was doused and we left nothing to indicate we had ever been to this location other than a very generous pile of wood, brought from the farm. 

The trip home was uneventful. This time Steve led the way and we took last place, eating everyone’s dust. With only a few bush pinstripes Carol and Zac’s Hilux returned to Licola unscathed. It’s maiden trip successfully completed. 

Learning to be at ease with nature, ourselves and each other.

Bliss in the bushland

Months in the planning, we finally made it to Wingan Inlet. A last minute reprieve found us some suitable farm-sitters, and we were both relieved to be packing our bags, heading for the hills. Joined by a small group of friends and relatives there ended up being eleven of us across five campsites. We were, without any doubt, the loudest group. Set in beautiful surrounds we were protected by green shrubbery and majestically tall, native trees. The wind swirled fiercely around us and the tree tops bowed in submission, however we were saved from the brunt of it. Gathering around a traditional camp fire, we kept it burning hard, especially once the lads returned with copious amounts of firewood.Anyone

Learning to relax

Perfect paddle

who knows anything about dry timber would have had wood envy. Providing warmth and cooking facilities, the billy boiled most of the day and into the night. The camp chef's were in their element and the aroma of fried bacon and lamb roast, amongst the many menu items, permeated the air. We did not go hungry, sugar highs were aplenty and the treats flowed fast. Sometime each afternoon the adults moved onto relaxation methods and the cracking of cans could be heard in unison. Red wine and 70 proof Kahlua where my choice of poison and I was pleased not to suffer the consequences of indulgence the next day. We were joined by the local wildlife during the day and night, kookaburras pinched bacon, goannas roamed for opportunity, possums raided our stores when they thought the coast was clear and birds foraged. A baby brown snake coiled in the sun and we were relieved to not find its mother.

Goanna on the hunt

As large groups tend to do, we created a celebratory atmosphere which is magnetic to others. We made new friends, from far and wide and we shared our fire and stories together. The circle of friendship formed by an array of camping chairs, expanded as required, to ensure everyone was included. At times, if an outsider looked on, they would never know some of us were strangers.
While the adults waffled, prattled, poked fires, crocheted, created stories, sketched pictures or read about far off fantasies, the kids rode bikes and explored. As the weather cleared we trekked the tracks to the beach and gave our shoulders a work out with the kayaks in the sea breeze.The kids joined in with us, they played, listened and watched what the grown ups were doing. We hope they will learn the art of relaxing in the wilderness. They are learning to be free, without time constraints. They too are learning a new way of being. We had no technology, no white backlit screens. It was blissful.

Shared experiences

We are a group that is well known to each other, familiarity that develops over years of experiences. We morph and evolve as time goes on and our lives intertwine like jasmine on the vine. Despite our unspoken rules we push each other, cajole, joke, taunt and tease - political correctness has no place amongst us. We are not afraid to delve into taboo topics - politics, religion, sex, nothing is off limits. We respect our differences, acknowledge our boundaries and give space when needed; encouragement and acknowledgement of jobs well done flow freely. But beware, because if you screw up,

Cheers

the cheer squad will roar. We know, even subconsciously, that the small people are watching, listening to our every word - language is censored, at least most of the time, and crudity when it arises, is saved for darkness when the young minds are tucked up in bed, worn out after their day's adventuring.  We too enjoy the deep sleep of the exhausted and relaxed. Minutes and hours pass mesmerised by the dancing flames. We are learning to be at ease with nature, ourselves and each other.

Father and son

We look forward to returning again, next time let's hope our tranquility is not broken by the strands of the Tiger's Football Club theme song - we're from Tigerland, the fighting fury, were from Tigerland ...over and over again.

Til next time,
N

Patch of paradise

Low cloud in the mountains

It's hard to resist the opportunity to get back to the wilderness.

So when the message came through that my father-in-law, Max, wanted to celebrate his birthday by heading up bush, we initially jumped at the chance. That was until the weather gods turned their wrath on us and decided to send showers of rain to most parts of our region and beyond. In the lead up to the birthday bush trip some words were exchanged between family members about cancelling the trip, rescheduling to a day with a more optimistic weather outlook or changing the location, preferably to indoors, with a fire. However, my 88-year-old father-in-law is not like most men his age and he was set to go regardless of the "100% percent chance of rain for Licola" according to the weather app. I have no doubt Max would have set off on his own if the family had abandoned him. 

So this morning, after seeing to the animals, and sending a message to our neighbour letting him know we would be out of phone service, in the unlikely event something happened, Daryl and I headed off for Licola, while the rain poured around us. A quick call to our brother-in-law, Tony, and he said the weather was fine at Toongabbie and that he and Geoff (another in-law) were on their way to light a fire and set up shelters in the Alpine National Park, Licola. We doubted Tony's weather report. 

Daryl and his father-in-law

En-route we picked up my father Guy, from his nursing home in Heyfield - it was still raining - quite heavily. My father has dementia and suffers further cognitive impairment following a stroke, 18 months ago. He talked alot about the weather. As I get nasty travel sickness I took over the driving from here and we ventured up and over the mountains, wipers swiping all the way. The rain kept us company and I wondered if the fire would cope with the continual soaking. We arrived at Red Box Camp ground on the Wellington River and drove into an oasis of dry skies, an established camp fire and familiar faces of family. The rain gods were clearly on Max's side! I'm not well versed in weather gods but my bit of research revealed some interesting results. 

A little slippery

There are four options when it comes to the divine power responsible for our fine weather:
The first could be Tlaloc, "He Who Makes Things Sprout" is the god of rain, lightning and thunder. He is a fertility god, but also a wrathful deity. He is responsible for both floods and droughts. Clearly today however, he was in fine mood and only sprinkled occasionally.
Or it could be Zeus, Ruler of Mount Olympus, known by many names, including Lord of the Sky,
Rain-God, Cloud-Gatherer, and Zeus of the Thunderbolt. 

Red Bluff

If Zeus and Tlaloc don't tickle your fancy, then how about CHAC the Mayan rain god, he is the god of agriculture, fertility, rain and lightning.
And finally, if none of these gods answered the call, then maybe the Christian deity did a good deed and blessed us with a small patch of paradise in the high country.

Regardless, those that made the effort to drive up enjoyed a perfect bush barbecue. A few of them even went fishing! Bush walks were enjoyed and the billy was boiling.

Always a fire

Birthday in the bush

Max's official birthday is Thursday, he will be 89 years young. He is such a gentleman, father of five, grandfather of  seven and great grandfather of four, step-grandfather of  six, step-great grandfather of one and a half. He still cooks a smashing roast for the family (up to 15 at any one time), drives independently, and is always keen to get up to our farm and lend a hand. Max exudes calmness and wisdom,- he has suffered great loss and experienced great love - he is a true role model. He loves the bush and has spent more than 50 years exploring and fishing the rivers of the high country. He raised his children to love the bush environment and now Max is returning to places filled with happy memories and  the sweet sounds of  natural bushland. We pray there are many more birthdays by the camp fire with Max.

No fish, still fabulous

Remember that text message we sent to our neighbour, the one just in case something happened while we were away?  Well something did go wrong! Nine of our calves went for a walk down Fisks Lane and thankfully Corey saved the day (again) and returned them to their rightful home. Little schmucks then played chasey with the 4WD as we tried to get them back into the right paddock. The Kelpie, Mia, escaped the house yard and before we found the calves she had bolted up the paddock to 'help' us. All this in darkness, I'm amazed I didn't go arse over in the slippery paddocks.  Maybe Tlolac or Chac were watching over us.

Always nice to be home :)

Until next time

N xx

Exploring childhood memories (Daryl)