Thursday 12th April 2007.

   Another hot morning today, it is already 22deg and I get away at 7:15 after a glass of banana Kwik in powerdered milk. Although there are mountain ranges (hills) to both the East and the West, the road remains level and from Quorn to Hawker, just ahead about 14km, it is bitumen all the way. I haven't checked maps or local knowledge to see when the gravel road starts. It doesn't matter too much for walking, although I expect some soft sand which aint much fun.

   After 90 minutes, I called into a sole dwelling off the road about half a kilometer to the left enticed by the "Antiques and Collectibles. Turn left 500mtrs" sign. I walked the short stretch of a little used pair ofwheel tracks and had a dim memory of Bill mentioning this place some time in the distant past. Bill's eldest daughter, Christine, with her husband Geoff and their 2 boys, lived at Leigh Creek (170km North of here) for several years while Geoff was a mine manager there. Over the years Bill and Lyn visited Christine plenty of times so I got a few instructions about what to look out for. I had also visited Chris at Leigh Creek a couple of times myself whenever I was "going past". I was living in Broome and Perth for a total of 25 years and made many trips across the Nullabor by car. So I would deviate and take the 350km round trip North to say hello seeing I was "so close". I took off the pack and sat down on a bench seat near the "Office" which was a closed shed away a bit to the rear of the house. The yard was strewn with "Antiques" and I once again marveled at the products that the early settlers and the factories in the "home country" could turn out. I called out, but could not raise anyone but the watchdog, something a bit bigger than a chihuahua, that yelped and carried on a treat but kept its distance.

   I hung around for about 30 minutes enjoying the break and then kitted up again and backtracked onto the bitumen. Still quite a few kilometers out of Hawker, I stopped and had a yak to some workers who were cleaning up the shoulders and doing some general upkeep on the highway. The road "gang" were operating graders, tip trucks and a water truck to keep the dust down. There were men spread over a kilometer or so of road and I had to stop and tell my story to each one. And this included the drivers who would either hang out of the cabin window or actually climb down to shake my hand and wish me luck. Inevitably they would ask "Have you got enough water". The water truck driver was able to offer nearly 20,000 litres! I replied "No thanks," that I had plenty and in any case I would be "in town" in the next hour or so.

   A few tall radio masts appear in the distance as the road makes a fairly hard left turn then I can see straight through town. There is still nearly a kilometer to go but already the heavy and light industrial areas bring on the change from bare ground to civilisation. There is a sign showing that the hospital is off to the right and I am surprised to see that one of the industrial lots is a very well set up engineering workshop. There are even large transformers freshly painted outside on pallets that look like they have been refurbished. I was not expecting much in Hawker. I had been here before by car, but never stopped and I knew it was smaller than Quorn. I was more than usually interested in the engineering facilities available as I would be making a balun for the "new look" antenna for the amateur radio transmitter.

   I turn right into Wilpena Road. And realise that this will be the road out of town when I leave. It is also the main street of Hawker with the Post Office and police station on the first corner I come, to barely 50 meters along this road. And just another 50 meters further on I can see the signage of a "general store".

   There is a bit of "activity" around and I get a few stares. It would take a long time before I walk into a town and don't feel self conscious in my "kit". I suppose I'd have a good squiz too under the circumstances. Being on the other end of the visual attention just because I am "different" makes me think what it must be like for a foreigner or coloured person walking around in Australia. And they have to put up with it all the time. And I have the advantage of looking different but in an interesting way.

   I cross the road diagonally, to the front of the shop noticing that the cross road has unusually deep culverts to traverse. It turns out that the area the town is built on is relatively flat and although it does not rain very often, when it does, it really does.

                                       

   I take off the solar panel and belly bag (these are attached to each other with the battery under charge having the solar panel cable connected). Then I undo the waist and chest straps of the back pack (with a sigh of relief) and ease the pack off and lean it, back first, against the wall. I have chosen to pull up at one of the outside tables so I can sit and hoe into whatever I find inside to eat. Not that I am hungry, but it'll be good to have some real food for a change. The floppy hat also gets the flick along with the face net and I dig out my wallet from the pocket in the "flip top" section of the pack.

   The first thing I saw inside the well-set-out store was the fridge with coffee milk, my favourite these days. I grabbed one and could see a bit of a queue at the single checkout so I dug in the freezer for an ice block.   When I got back outside, I sat and started on the ice block. A bloke sat down beside me and asked "Is that a solar panel?" I checked him out a bit closer as his accent gave him away as a recently moved in pom or a tourist that missed a turnoff in Adelaide. "Yup. I love it. Light and flexible and it looks after all my batteries." He asked enough questions that I had to tell all the story so far about the solar panel and of course about the walk. He asked if I would be here, at this table, for a while. I said I would after I got some more tucker from inside and he wandered off.

   Looking around in the fridge inside I found a knob of  polish sausage (250gms), 3 tomatoes and a kilo of grapes. While I was paying for it, the guy behind the cash register said "You got a writeup in 'The Advertiser' a few days ago. Did you see it?" I'd forgotten about the picture session and telephone interview that I did with the Adelaide newspaper while I was at the Blind Dog office. "No, I replied. Do you have it around?" He said he would have a look when he got a break and I headed back to the outside table to get stuck into the fresh, cold food.

   The pommie came back with two mates. Don't know how I didn't pick him first up. Now there were three of them it really stuck out. They were white men in a land of not nearly so white men. And they were dressed for a fox hunt or something. Probably their idea of proper gear for traveling the outback. He, the original, showed off his new found knowledge by giving a fair rendition of this aussie bloke walking in the desert with his solar panel. By the time I had finished my luxurious snack and the poms went on their way happy to have met me, I had been in Hawker for over two hours.

   I had called Bill as I walked into town and he told me that Janne had phoned the caravan park, the one "out of town", and that I was booked in and the camping charges waived for a few nights stay. I inquired in the store and was told that it was the right decision as the "other" caravan park was not a scratch on the one out on Carpenter Road. "Its just down the road", he said, and I wondered if that was "just down the road" by car or on foot, "and I found the paper with your picture", he says. "You can have it if you like, we have all read it by now." I read it outside. It was a good picture and the article was pretty good covering the distance of the walk and the fact that I was raising awareness and funds for the DeafBlind Association.

   After hitching the pack on and settling the solar panel into place hanging on my chest, I headed NW along Craddock Road, parallel to the main road in the general direction of the "out of town" caravan park. At the end of the street, as I turned the corner of the pub (Hawker Hotel) I stopped to read the sign above the door and decided to go in. I haven't had a drink of beer or any other alcoholic beverage and hardly been inside a pub since I signed the pledge in Broome over 25 years ago, but I thought that I'd better "show the face" as much as possible.

   I walked in, wriggling the pack, with empty water bottles swinging on the sides and the ground mat rolled up and over 2ft long strapped across the bottom, leaning hard on the heavy single door. I straightened up looking around in the typically small(ish) country pub bar to hear a soft but booming (is that possible?) voice "Been waitin' for you." Finishing my visual tour of the bar, I finally got to the voice with a quizzical look on my face. He was huge. And I had no doubt that he was the publican. He sat on a bar stool, with a small beer at hand, next to the opening in the bar with the "lift up" section directly behind him. The only other person in the bar was a "city" looking feller, much younger (mid thirties) and looking pretty fit. I figured him for the brewery salesman or similar and the big bloke was the owner, "entertaining" him after doing their business.

                                  

   "Whatayamean?" I asked, as I walked over to him. He could see that I was wondering about his opening comment, so he delayed enough to have a bit of fun at my expense. I immediately liked him. That's the sort of thing that I would do to put a stranger off side.

   "I saw you walking along the road a few days back." he said with half a smile but still not giving the answer I wanted. Why was he "waitin'" for me? But I played the game and I could see that he was onto me being onto him. "Better get that pack off and have a beer. Put it over there." Not that it mattered where I put it as it was a completely empty bar and it did not look like they were preparing for crowds to arrive, "then I'll fill you in."

   I filled him in on me being an ex Broome-ite and on the wagon but that I'd appreciate a lemon squash.Used to be, a lemon squash was "mixed" like any other drink over the bar, but now it is a can of Solo poured over ice in a glass. But it is cold and wet and fizzy and that's what I could do with right now.

   "Anytime I see someone walking or ridin' a bike headin' up this way," the big guy finally lets on," I know they will always end up in here."   Except the ones that don't, I thought silently to myself. But I liked the guy, so I didn't want to start a "go nowhere" argument concerning his reasoning (according to mine).

     "John Starling, your host, and this is Jarrad, my bean counter. He's up from the big smoke. We've been sorting out some accounting stuff."

   Well, I stayed for an hour. We told story for story and each telling would remind one of us of a joke so we'd digress. They had a few more beers and I got stuck into the Solo. Around 4:30 I announced my impending departure as I had to book into the "out of town" caravan park before it got dark. I saddled up and took directions and promised to return after I had settled into what I now knew was the Flinders Ranges Caravan Park (it had a real name) and  join them for dinner. "On me." the big bloke called out as I was squeezing through the door. That clinched it. I'd be back. And John said that I was not to be shy about "shakin' a tin" round the bar for my charity, he was expecting a small crowd tonight.

   I backtracked to the Post Office and posted the ablution block key back to Gary at Quorn. I noticed one of the customers in the Post Office was a school teacher (she had a badge on her blouse). I introduced myself and asked if the school would be interested in me giving a talk to the kids tomorrow. "Yes please!" she said "About 9:30 ok?" "Yeah, sure." And I got her name and made a mental note to find out where the school was and be there early.

   I ended  up "stuck" in Hawker for 7 nights and this has been a long day. The walk to the caravan park is a mini adventure and, as I ended up doing it many times, I'll explain it in detail on another day.

   I got to the caravan park and booked in with John and Corrie Sitters who were expecting me after the phone call from Janne. I showered and set up the tent near the camp kitchen and spoke to Bill and also to Roger and changed the arrangements slightly for the next few days radio scheds as I would be able to put up a pretty good semi-permanent antenna and do some experimenting.  I then gathered up everything except the tent and put on my full gear and walked back over to the pub in semi-darkness. I wanted to be in "full battle dress" while rattling the tin. I must say that it would have been nice to just put on the shorts, shirt and thongs and have the "night off" but this is all part of "plan A".

   The big bloke bought me drinks all night and dinner and the tin rattling was very successful. I did not count it till the next day. The expression, "tin rattlng", is used her to say that I was collecting donations. In fact, there was no tin. I was using my upturned floppy hat and the coins and notes were coming up to the bar where I sat with mine host, big John. Its a good thing that I was on Solo though because the way John was dishing  out the rounds, I would have had to be carried back to the caravan park. As it was, I wound my way back (with my wind up torch) and slept like a log (except for the toilet trips to de-Solo the system several times during the night). I sure appreciated the soft grass as the base for the tent floor.

   What a journey this has turned out to be. I thought that after the excitement and utter pleasure of thinking and planning and "doing" the preparations, once I took that "first step" the rest would just be "a hard slog" for many months to get to the other end.

   That couldn't be further from the reality of it. Every day it just keeps getting better.