Wednesday  25th April 2007

   Taking a peak outside, I could see there had been light rain overnight and it was still drizzling. It was now 7 o'clock in the morning. The sky was heavily overcast and, although it was 17deg by the trusty key chain thermometer, there was no wind and I did not feel cold. I got up and had a good walk around, it was too wet to start packing up and I decided to wait for an hour or so to see how it looked. I was only out of the tent for a few minutes and in shorts and "T" shirt. I was glad to be heading back "inside". My tent has kept everything inside totally dry and I snuggled back into the sleeping bag for a lie in.

   I could hear the rain falling on the tent and it dropped right off every few minutes and then started up again. But around 9 o'clock I had not heard it for 15 minutes so I crawled out for another look around. The sky had not changed but there was no rain and I decided to pack up.

   By 10 o'clock I was on the road. I thought it would be wet underfoot but there were no puddles or signs of runoff on the sides. The ground must have been so thirsty that it soaked it all up. I had been hearing a steady stream of vehicles while slacking off this morning and they continued to come past about one every half an hour.

   The Northern Cyprus trees were still everywhere around me and virtually no other trees or even shrubs except where a substantial creek crossed the road. Here the inevitable, beautifully coloured River Red Gums would take over. They were outstanding in their size and markings and it was hard to find a small one. They are long lived tress, 500 to 1000 years, so it figures there would not be a lot of "young'ns" around.

   The towering, rugged Wilpena Pound was leaving me. Each time I looked over my shoulder, it was further back and the landscape now turned to low, undulating hills. The road, which had been relatively flat and easy going for a walker, now didn't seem to mind going up and over these hills instead of following the more level, but longer way alongside a creek. Although it couldn't be called a "hard slog" by any means, the climbs were long and I could find myself waiting to get around the next bend to see when the road would finally "top out" and start a slow decent.

   It was while I was just beginning one of these long, slow uphill sections, surrounded by a close up and down horizon that I heard a very unfamiliar, but unmistakable call. I have traveled the aussie bush and lived for months at a time when there were no sounds made by humans or their noisy creations, so I easily settle into the quiet of  the outback, with only the sound of an occasional vehicle to break the tranquility.

   "COOOOOOEE!!"

   It stopped me dead in my tracks. I looked around in all directions as the call filled the whole of my hearing senses. I could see nothing out of the ordinary. Gently rolling hills, valleys, the road slowly climbing and curving anti-clockwise up to the summit of a slightly higher hill than the others. But no vehicles or the sound of any. No people in sight. No animals even. But this was a distinctly human sound.

   "COOOOEE!!" Again. But I was more alert when it came this time. I was drawn towards the top of the hill to my left. Right at the top, probably 2 kilometers away was a lone figure, dressed in a long, flowing outfit. More like a tall male in an Arab "dishdashah" than a woman in a dress, standing out against the overcast but bright sky behind, with his (her?) right hand raised and slowly waving. I cupped my hands to my mouth and,

   "COOOOEE!!"

    I have heard of using this call to attract attention over long distances in the Australian bush, but I had never heard it used other than in play. And I had certainly never uttered it so loudly. But I felt that I wanted them to know that I had heard them and seen them. I stood there waving back, got a last wave from the distant figure, then it disappeared over the back of the hill crest. I could see no vehicle and had no idea what was going on. The hill was pretty well directly off my left hand side and it did not seem that the road I was on led there, but it was curving around the hill in that direction as it climbed.

   The answer was pretty straight forward, as you would expect. When I was at the top of the climb, I could see that a small side road went off for 200 metres to the left and a sign said that there was a good view from the peak of the hill and I could see three cars parked there. I took off my pack and sat for a minute. The cars started up and turned to come back down. I stood up and moved over to the side of the road as I expected someone to at least put their head out of the window and comment on the unusual communication, and my unusual circumstances. But they just nodded 'G-day' and drove off as if they see lone backpackers along the track everyday.

   The countryside was slowly flattening out but still with a few significant hills. One, this time off to my right, stood out well above the surrounding flatness. It is Stokes Hill and 750 metres at its peak. Although it is 3 kms from the road I was on, I could clearly see a 4WD vehicle that had climbed the very straight, steep road to the top. It was too far for me to side track too, but you would have been able to see for miles across the fairly barren, relatively flat expanse.

   Around 2 o'clock  I came alongside a substantial airstrip parallel to the road and only a hundred metres off it. It is called Oraparinna and there is nothing else around. It is a very well kept gravel strip with lots of white cone markers along the edges and two bright yellow, wind socks. There is even a large shed, or maybe it is a small hanger, with a light aircraft parked outside. It took me more than 20 minutes to walk all the way past it, and in that time I saw no activity around the plane or hanger. I assumed that the plane was visiting Oraparinna station or the The Vulkathunha Gammon Ranges National Park headquarters, both of which are 10 kilometers further up the road. Just a few kilometers past the airstrip was a turnoff to Arkaroola which was one of my stops. But I would be taking the road straight ahead as I wanted to go through Blinman. From there I would head West to Wirrealpa and Northwest to Arkaroola. It's a very good thing that I did. Tomorrow will be an eventful day!

   I passed from the Flinders Ranges National Park into the Gammon Ranges National Park late yesterday afternoon. Although the land is part of the Flinders Ranges, the Gammon Ranges is a separate park. It includes rugged scenery, a wealth of Adnyamathanha Aboriginal culture and remnants of early European settlements that failed in the harsh environment.

   The ranger station is comprised of half a dozen buildings, and when I arrived I propped outside the office in the shade of the wide verandah next to the rain water tank. I took off the pack and after a short stretch and a look around I went to the door and found it locked. I could see through the window that it had tourist brochures on display and there was a Telstra phone booth outside. I walked around to the other buildings and although I saw several ranger's 4WD  vehicles here and there, I could not rouse anyone, even calling out. They must be out and around doing whatever it is that rangers do when not looking after the tourists. I filled up with water from their tank and, after a 30 minute break, pressed on.

   A few kilometers past the ranger headquarters, I came across the Dingley Dell Campground. Beside taking an immediate liking to the name, it is one of the nicest that I have seen. It had several roofed over tables with bench seating, four plastic bag lined, large rubbish bins and many displays describing the history of the area and its significant flora and fauna. Its a shame that I had left the ranger station only a short time ago. This would have been a delightful place to take a break and have a look around.

   At 4.30 I stood looking at a road leading off to the left. It is the second road heading to Brachina Gorge. I did consider a detour that would take me several days to visit Brachina Gorge as I have been told by just about every tourist (and local) how spectacular it is. With some regret, I walked another few hundred metres down into the dry bed of Enorama Creek that had everything I needed for a camp site after yet another exciting day. I have covered 25 kilometers, I feel great and I didn't get away till nearly 10 o'clock this morning. I must be getting fitter.

    It is 28kms to Blinman. Probably too far to cover in one day, so my plan is for an early stop tomorrow and a light, easy stroll into Blinman on Friday morning.

   I must be getting fitter.
       
   Tomorrow, more rain and a long walk