Around the World

Friday Crime–The Culvert (28)

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Dee Digs

May 3, 2022
3pm
Adelaide Police HQ

Dee

After the phone call to Fifi, Dee leaned back in her chair. ‘Gotcha, Mr. Renard. Gotcha!’
She couldn’t believe her good fortune in Fifi. Didn’t take that “Rannga” much to turn against her former friend.

However, youth group rumours were not enough to “hang” Lillie, she needed hard facts—evidence. She started with the local council office at Glen Huon. After all, most apple picking happened in the Huon Valley, Tasmania. So, a good place to commence digging dirt on her nemesis.

[Photo 1: Crab apples in autumn © L.M. Kling 2024]


Thankful that she woke up the sleepy young man in the office before the council chambers closed, she trawled through the files he sent her. She was glad that such information about payrolls and workers in the area in 1981, had been digitised. Lillie von Erikson was listed as working for apple orchard owners, Greg and Janine Thomas. However, no mention of a baby or her being pregnant. Dee puzzled over the fact that Lillie, according to Fifi, seemed to have been in Tasmania long after the apple-picking season was over.

What was she doing there after apple picking? Dee wondered.

She moved onto Trove, an online digital archive, that has recorded historic newspaper articles and publications. Searched Lillie’s name in the local and state newspapers from the day.

Nothing.

She calculated when the baby would arrive if conceived in November. Then scrutinized state and also national papers for a birth in the personal pages. August—September 1981, in particular. Nothing. Still, all is not lost. Perhaps she didn’t put the birth in the paper if she adopted the child out.

But a quick check of newspaper dates available revealed that Trove only published papers up to 1950. What a disappointment!

A visit to the South Australian State Library was the next step in the search. There she trawled through the microfiche files for the Tasmanian newspapers, concentrating on births around August and September.

After an unsatisfactory August, she scanned the first week in September.

‘Ah! That looks more like it,’ Dee murmured.

She zoomed in on the notice of a daughter, Zoe, born to Lillie’s apple picking bosses, Greg and Janine Thomas. Detective Dee Berry smiled while resting her clasped hands on her belly. September 1, right in the timeframe too.

‘Interesting,’ she murmured. ‘Did the moll stay to help Mrs Thomas? Or did she give the baby to Mrs. Thomas?’

A check of the births, deaths, and marriages register, and confirmed. Mrs. Janine Thomas was over 40 when she had her first child, Zoe.

‘Not impossible, but suspicious,’ Dee muttered. ‘I think a little trip to Tasmania is what I must do.’
After saving the information onto a file labelled “Moll”, she put in an application for a visit to Tasmania courtesy of the government. After all, it was an enquiry into a murder investigation.

Who knows, Dee smirked, my enemy may be a suspect that needs to be eliminated; one way or another I’ll get her.

[Painting 1 and Feature: Sleeping Beauty over Huon River © L.M. Kling 2018]


Up the Apple Isle
Part 1

Thursday May 5, 2022
Huon Valley, Tasmania

Dee

Dee gripped the leather-bound steering wheel of Toyota Corolla hire car as it rumbled up the unsealed road. Won’t tell the hire company about that little detour, she thought. From the Council records, the Thomas farm was hidden way out west, close to the “Great Western wilderness”. The further west she drove, the thinner and rougher the road became.

She passed a tiny town with houses painted in gaudy orange and pastel greens. A purple house stood sentinel at a fork in the road. Dee took the left track hoping to reach her destination soon. She’d given up on the Sat Nav. The designated voice, named Jilly was vague and hadn’t a clue where to go.

Dee was proud that she could still read maps and follow the directions of an old local manning the service station at Glen Huon. He said he’d remembered someone like Lillie 40-odd years back. Strangers were a rarity in a small town of fifty-odd people from where he had come. He said Lillie had walked into the church, and all twenty heads turned to size up the blonde from the mainland.

‘It wasn’t long before rumours were flying,’ the station owner said, ‘pregnant, just like the lady who lived in that purple house you’ll see when you get to the town up there. Rumour has it, she’s got a child from ten different men. Anyways, that’s a lifetime ago now. Back then, if someone sneezed across the valley there, everyone in town would know about it and the person who sneezed would have died from pneumonia. Not much better now.’

[Photo 2: Tahune Tree Walk © L.M. Kling 2016]

Dee must have given him a strange look, because the station owner added, ‘Oh, er, don’t believe the rumours. Them folk up there are all related, married cousins and what not, but they don’t have two heads.’

‘Didn’t think they had,’ Dee replied, ‘I just want to know how to get to the Thomas farm.’

‘Don’t know why you want to go there; the family left years ago.’

‘Do you know where they went?’

The man shrugged. ‘The missus died, so I heard. Daughter’s become some big shot lawyer in Melbourne. Something not right there, she never fitted, you know what I mean. She wasn’t one of us.’

‘Did she look like Lillie, the blonde?’ Dee showed the man a photo she had scanned to her phone of 17-year-old Lillie.

The man paused, squinted and then nodded. ‘Yeah, there were rumours. But we could never prove it. Janine, Mr. Thomas’s missus, always insisted the baby was hers.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2025

Sometimes characters spring from real life,
Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.
Sometimes real life is just real life.
Check out my travel memoirs,
And escape in time and space
To Central Australia.

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The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977


Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

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The Lost World of the Wends

Travelling on Friday–Glen Helen

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T-Team Next Generation—Glen Helen

Wood for the Fire

[In 2013, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.
Over the next few months, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.
This time, the T-Team gather and multiply as we greet our adult sons and our mother (Mum T also known as Mrs T senior) for the day, and the expanded T-Team of us set off to camp at Glen Helen.]

The T-children wanted a campfire. My brother had promised them a campfire. But bushfires in the past year had made campfires, even in the middle of winter in the middle of Australia, almost extinct. On our trip up north this time, each camping ground up until Glen Helen, had restricted fires, and denied the children the pleasure of a campfire. That’s not to say the T-Team Next Generation missed out entirely of some sort of fire to cook our food. We did spend one night in one of those free parking “camps” 30 kilometres south of Marla where we attempted to make a campfire. However, the area was so well picked over for firewood, the few sticks we did scrounge together barely made enough flames to boil a billy. So, no satisfaction regarding campfires. That is, until Glen Helen.

[Photo 1: Red Cliffs of Glen Helen © L.M. Kling 2013]

Even far out in the bush, the Glen Helen camping grounds had strict conditions and regulations controlling the operation of campfires. In the Glen Helen camping grounds, there was a designated place for the fire, and we had to provide our own wood. Again, dead wood around the immediate camping site was scarce.

[Photo 2: Glen Helen station 60 years ago—more picked over, then © S.O. Gross 1946]

So as the sun sank towards the Western horizon, golden rays blessing the cliffs in hues of pink and scarlet, and the humps of spinifex glowing like lumps of gold, my son and I set out in Mum’s Ford station wagon, down the road in search of a creek offering dead branches for firewood.

[Photo 3 and feature: Glen Helen, Finke River promising wood for the fire © L.M. Kling 2013]

As the setting sun deepened the walls of the gorge into hues of crimson, I hobbled down the dry creek filled with smooth rounded river stones. Hard to imagine the creek gushing with water in flood, rushing over those stones, smoothing them to the size and consistency of bocci balls threatening to twist my ankles.

[Photo 4: Finke in Flood © C.D. Trudinger 1956]

With my camera, a constant companion and permanent fixture hanging from my neck, my focus was not only on dry sticks and logs, but on the scenery. While my son snapped off armfuls of tinder from uprooted river gums that had become casualties of former flooding, I collected snapshots in time of the setting sun, blood-red cliffs, ancient eucalypts towering above the banks and the dry river-bed of stones.
Night stole the thin grey-blue light of dusk. With the station wagon stacked full of wood for the fire, and my camera’s memory card full of brilliant photos for my art, we returned to camp.

[Photo 5: Red Cliffs of Glen Helen © C.D. Trudinger 1977]

What joy the T-Team Next Generation family had. Well, apart from their schnitzels that had gone off. Thankfully, we were able to share the extra and expensive lamb chops we had bought the day before at the supermarket. We gathered around the fire. The fire that cooked our dinner, then warmed us and the conversation late into the cloud-free night frozen with a sky packed full of stars.

[Photo 6: Fire gathering © L.M. Kling 2013]

In the past, a fire would burn slowly all night, keeping animals away from camp. The rules of the camping ground forbade that strategy. Conscious that the local fauna may come foraging, my husband packed away all the foodstuffs and loose items back in Mum T’s station wagon.

Some of the T-Lings were not so concerned about the threat of such animals. During the night, though, a half-full cereal packet would prove fair game for a roving dingo.

[Photo 7: Spot the Dingo © S.O. Gross circa 1945]

So, stories told, marshmallows burnt and eaten, most of the T-Team Next Gen retreated to their tents and snuggled into their sleeping bags. Mum T had gone to her cabin way before the rest of us. She hoped to rise early, with my help, to catch the sunrise on Mt. Sonder.

[Photo 8: Anticipated sunrise on Mt. Sonder © L.M. Kling 2013]


My brother and his son stayed chatting around the campfire. A dingo howled. Freaky. An eerie haunting cry. My nephew was sure he’d come face-to-face with the dingo when he’d taken a trip to the toilets.
I left my brother and his son to their conversation around the fire and with the responsibility of waking mum before dawn, I headed to the tent to join my husband and sleep.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2020; 2025

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Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Travelling on Friday–Standley Chasm

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[Twelve years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.
One Friday every month, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.
This time, the T-Team part ways for the day, and two of us set off to explore Standley Chasm.]

Bonus! An all-you-can-eat breakfast greeted us at the Chifley the morning after. The same can’t be said about the T-Team. Richard had slept in and not much was happening in my brother’s “camp”. Meanwhile, we had made the most of the morning, walking to the town centre.

[Photo 1: Chifley Resort © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Gotta get tyres for the trailer, ‘n nothing’s open yet,’ Richard mumbled on the other end of my mobile phone.

‘Having a quiet day, then,’ I replied gazing around the near-empty local Big-W department store. Anthony held up a pair of cargo pants and indicated that he’d try those on. Then he began rifling through the bargain rack for more pairs to try.

‘Not exactly,’ Richard sniffed, ‘gotta get tyres.’

‘Oh, well, we’re thinking of going to Standley Chasm. Maybe we can all go together in the afternoon if your tyres get sorted.’

‘Hmm, will let you know.’

‘Okay, will hear from you then.’ I clicked off the phone and said to Anthony, ‘He doesn’t sound optimistic on the tyre-issue. Might be busy all morning.’

[Photo 2: Remember the tyre carnage? © L.M. Kling 2013]

By noon, the T-Team still weren’t ready; Richard still had to take the car to get the new tyres.
‘At least I’ve found a place that can do our tyres,’ my brother mumbled to me on the phone before he left on his tyre-mission.

[Photo 3: Ranges surrounding Alice Springs, Olive Pink Botanic Garden © M.E. Trudinger 2010]

So, Anthony and I travelled alone on our quest to explore Standley Chasm. Actually, we’d barely left the outskirts of Alice Springs travelling west on Larapinta Drive to the MacDonnell Ranges before Anthony piped up, ‘How far is it to Standley Chasm?’

‘Not far,’ I replied, then retrieving the map from the glove box, I hunted for the chasm’s location and then calculated the distance from Alice Springs. ‘It’s 50km, so about half an hour’s drive.’

‘Oh, you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Cos, if it’s further, we’ll miss the red cliffs, or getting in, or we’ll be home after dark.’

[Photo 4: Spectacular view of Stanley Chasm we wish to see © S.O Gross circa 1950]

‘Already have,’ I sighed. ‘But I’m sure the chasm will still be spectacular. And the hike there will be good exercise.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’

‘Anyway, it’s not far. Besides, there’s plenty of other gorges to explore.’

Before Anthony could voice any further misgivings or regrets that we should’ve left earlier and not waited for the T-Team, the sign for Standley Chasm appeared to our right. We parked in the carpark shaded by a gathering of majestic eucalypt trees and then followed the path to the kiosk.

While waiting in line to pay the entry fee, we read the sign which assured us that we had plenty of time before the park closed at 5pm.

I nodded at the notice board and remarked, ‘All that worry for nothing.’

‘Depends how long the walk takes,’ Anthony said while nibbling a nail.

‘Doesn’t take long,’ I said. ‘I’ve been here before. Takes less than an hour.’

‘I hope so.’

I shook my head. ‘Look, we’ll walk for an hour and then turn back, okay?’

Just to be sure, when we paid for our entry tickets, I asked pleasant Irish man who ran the kiosk, how long the walk should take. He explained that it was mostly easy and would take the average hiker about half an hour.

[Photo 5: Along the way © L.M. Kling 2013]

So, rather than waste precious Anthony-time having lunch first, we set out on the adventure to the chasm. Anthony raced ahead. I wandered along the meandering path taking note of various scenes I would snap on our return. Who knows, we may make it in time for the spectacular red cliffs on both sides. Although the lack of tourists hiking either way, made me suspect that, that time had passed.

[Photo 6: Billabong © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 7: Just beyond, tempting us © L.M. Kling 2013]

Twenty minutes later, Anthony and I beheld the awesome cliffs of the chasm; one side glowed golden orange, while the other side was a dark sienna. We sensed the peace and serenity of the place.

[Photo 8: The Chasm at last © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 9: Perfection of Light © L.M. Kling 2013]


I scrambled over the tumble of boulders in the chasm and made my way to the pool. Beyond the rockpool, a sign prohibited us from venturing further. The deep water caught a perfect reflection of the boulders and cliffs.

[Photo 10: Pool’s reflection © L.M. Kling 2013]

In memory of my Dad, I photographed Anthony by the same tree where I had captured Dad in all his grumpiness some 36-years prior.

[Photo 11: Anthony by tree near Chasm © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 12: Grumpy Dad by tree © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1977]

Upon our return to the entrance, we munched on our sandwiches and observed a group of aspiring hikers pitch their tents and then pull them down again. What’s that about? we wondered.

Then, a group of tour guides sat to eat their lunch on a picnic bench below us on the other side of the creek. Anthony had to comment, ‘There’s seven of them and only one of them is Indigenous.’

[Photo 13: Standley Chasm admired by tourist group © L.M. Kling 2013]

On our return to Alice Springs, we stopped by the caravan park where I booked our sons in. We had already booked ourselves into a cabin at the caravan park and had originally thought they could stay with us. And Mum, all concerned about missing out, had her cabin organised months ago. Even so, we had no problem arranging a separate cabin for our grown-up sons who we felt would be happy with more space.

[Photo 14: Vision of near Future at the Alice Springs Tourist Park © L.M. Kling 2013]

With late afternoon casting the long shadows of the approaching night, we made our way to where the T-Team were staying. We had been in touch with Mrs. T and had arranged to meet there. When we arrived at the appointed time, no T-Team. Calling Mrs. T on her mobile phone yielded no joy, nor answer.

‘’Not again!’ Anthony groaned.

‘Let’s go to the shops and buy some meat for a BBQ. Then we can find a picnic area and cook up our meat.’

My suggestion sounded reasonable to Anthony, so, off we drove to the local IGA supermarket. Just around the corner. Won’t be long. Maybe the T-Team will be back by the time we return.

‘That’s funny,’ I pointed at some bushes on the traffic island, ‘there’s a cop car hiding.’

‘I didn’t see anything,’ said he who was concentrating on driving.

I ducked into the shops to by some lamb chops and bread. Not much choice; I wanted to snag some sausages but couldn’t see any around. So, armed with the purchased, at some expense, meat and bread, I hopped back in the car.

[Photo 15: Ye good ol’ Aussie Barbeque © L.M. Kling 2020]

Anthony laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.

‘While you were in the shops, a bikie guy was arrested right next door in front of the bottle shop.’ Anthony fired up the engine with the characteristic roar of the Ford. ‘I wonder what he was up to?’

Just then, Mrs. T rang back. ‘Sorry we weren’t there when you came. We was down the street and bought tea for all of us.’

So, with the chops saved in the ice box for camping at Glen Helen, we joined the T-Team for dinner, followed by a raucous game of “Chook Chook”, an educational card game trading poultry.

[Photo 16: Chook Chook © L.M. Kling 2017]

Afterwards, Mrs. T joined her friends on the back deck for a drink or two, the T-Lings continued with another round of card-playing with their father, while Anthony and I returned to another night of luxury at the Chifley Hotel.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020

*Feature Painting: Standley Chasm Men © L.M. Kling 2018

VIRTUAL TRAVEL OPPORTUNITY

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THE T-TEAM WITH MR. B: CENTRAL AUSTRALIAN SAFARI 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Travelling on Friday–Road to Alice

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T-Team Next Generation—Road to Alice

Comfort and Luxury

[Eleven years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

Over the next few months, once a month, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation. This time, the T-Team arrive, and again for us, rather precariously, in Alice Springs.]

The remaining 160km to Alice Springs progressed through sundown and twilight uneventfully…

Except for the car towing a camel trailer who decided to overtake us. An oncoming truck caused it to swerve back into our lane; the camels’ heads struggling to catch up with their necks at the force of the turn.

‘Missed the truck by that much,’ I remarked holding my fingers in pincer mode.

‘What the —! How do you get the thing to record?’ Hubby fiddled with the video camera. ‘Too late. Missed it.’

We watched the camel trailer disappear around a bend. ‘Bet that’s another event the T-Lings missed being too absorbed on their phones.’

Hubby pouted. ‘I should’ve been driving, then you could’ve caught it on video.’

*[Video: Hungry Camel © L.M. Kling 2024]

6:30pm and a thick blanket of darkness had set in by the time we reached Alice Springs. By some miracle we’d managed to stay in convoy with the T-Team and had followed them through Heavitree Gap and into streets of the town. The blackness of night seemed to suck the glow out of the streetlights.

It was not long before, the T-Team too, were absorbed into the darkness after we missed the first set of traffic lights.

‘We’re stuffed now,’ Hubby grizzled. ‘Where’s the map?’ He turned and groped around the baggage on the back seat. A fruitless search.

‘There’s Richard.’ I flashed the car’s lights and he remained parked as I overtook the van.

‘Why didn’t you stop?’ Hubby started to panic. ‘You can’t stop now. You’re embarrassing everyone.’ This all said on the quiet and empty streets of Alice Springs. ‘Hey! Where are you going?’

‘There’s nowhere to park,’ I finally managed a word in edgewise as my hubby took a breath in between his hysteria and panic. I then stopped near the entrance to the Chifley Hotel. I glanced at the enticing amber lights leading to luxury and comfort. ‘You did mention staying at a hotel.’

[Photo 1: Entrance to Chifley Hotel © L.M. Kling 2013]


‘Oh, you’ve lost them!’ Hubby snapped. ‘I’ll take over. You have no idea!’

I allowed Hubby to take control of the car. We wandered around the hotel resort carpark, and then out onto the road. We meandered around some more streets until we ended up on a dead-end road near a backpacker’s hotel.

I rang my brother, Richard and he instructed us to drive to a road with a name and stay put. We were to tell Richard the name of the road, and with the help of his Sat-Nav, he’d find us.

More driving round, and round…until we chanced upon a road with an actual name attached to it. Stott Street. There we parked. And waited. And waited…and waited.

‘You better get out that road map for a list of motels,’ Hubby said. ‘Can’t wait around here all night.’

I hunted in the dark for my bag, then finding that little treasure, I fumbled around its clutter for the road map. Under the dim glow of the streetlight, I scanned the pages. You would think that such a brochure would have a handy list of hotels and motels…but no. ‘There’s no list of accommodation I can see.’

‘Oh, that’s just great!’ Hubby sniffed.

‘I’m sorry, I made a mistake. I should’ve stopped near Richard, even if it had been an illegal park,’ I said. ‘Would you forgive me?’

‘Oh, all right,’ he sighed. ‘Sorry for snapping.’

Just at that moment, the T-Team van appeared, and we followed them, very slowly and carefully to their friend’s home.

[Photo 2: T-Ling relaxing with cat after intrepid drive to Alice © L.M. Kling 2013]


Although their house was huge, by this time Hubby and I were not sure about setting our tent up in the dark, in their back yard. We had been warned of visiting or possibly resident wildlife, namely dingoes.

While drinking a most welcome cup of tea, we discussed and scanned the phone book for hotel accommodation. Our hostess was fine about us staying in a hotel as she wasn’t sure about the wildlife in her backyard either, or whether we’d be able to secure our tent as the ground was quite hard. She suggested a couple of hotels, but they had already closed their bookings for the night.

[Photo 3 and Feature: Backyard where we would’ve pitched our tent © L.M. Kling 2013]


By this time, it was about 7.30pm, and our stomachs were rumbling. The T-Lings insisted on Hungry Jacks as our nephew had accrued some vouchers. So, Richard drove us all in the van to this venue for burgers.

The line-up was long, and the service was, to say the least, slow; partly because a certain T-Ling was very particular about getting value for his voucher. By the time my nephew had finished his order, I had eaten my chips. I think the African girl who was serving looked relieved after such voucher discussions with my nephew. Making the discussions and our orders understood were not helped by the fact that both girls serving struggled to comprehend what we said, as English was not their first language.

Then, as we waited for our nieces to receive their orders, a group of Indigenous people piled out of a bus and walked in. I noticed that they wore T-shirts with Areyonga written on them. I smiled at them and silently remembered the special time we, as the T-Team, had there in 1981; the oasis, the beautiful singing of the Indigenous who lived there and the hospitality shown to us.

When we left the burger shop and had piled into our van, my older niece said, ‘Now I know what it feels like to be a minority.’

[Photo 4: Garden in peace without us camping there © L.M. Kling 2013]

Hubby and I managed to book a room at the Chifley Hotel. The receptionist apologised to Hubby that they only had a standard room available. But for us, the standard room was most acceptable; it even had a print of Mt. Hermannsburg on the wall.

We flopped down on the bed and relished in our comfort and luxury.

*[Photo 5: Our room at the Chifley Hotel © L.M. Kling 2013]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2025
Feature Photo: Chifley Hotel Grounds © L.M. Kling 2013

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THE T-TEAM WITH MR. B: CENTRAL AUSTRALIAN SAFARI 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari

K-Team Travel with a tiny bit of Family History

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[Have you ever been to a place and had an immediate affinity with it? Well, that’s how it was for me when the T-K Team on their Swiss adventures visited Murten. Loved the place. I’m sure, now, that it wasn’t just the perfect weather, the picture postcard views of the lake and the charming medieval architecture so perfectly preserved. There was something more, which I was to discover recently.


Of course, my younger son would insist on putting a dampener on my dreams—’How can you be related? You’ve got no Western German in your ethnicity,’ he harps on and on about that point. Anyway, we will put that matter aside and I’ll take it up with My Heritage.


All I can say, is that there must be something in the connection I felt with the place. While doing my family history, I came across some ancestors, the De Bons, who lived in Murten, my five times great-grandfather was a protestant pastor in Murten. There were Huguenot connections in the family. And note the museum, where I mention that the Celts lived in Murten. According to my DNA results from My Heritage, my ethnicity is 25% Celt.]

Murten/Morat


Thursday, August 21, 2014, even earlier up as we planned to drive across the country to Bern and beyond, near the French part of Switzerland. Granny excused herself as the last two days had exhausted her and besides, she really needed to catch up with her uncle and auntie.


I might add here that Granny and her family, being Swiss German, were not fans of the French part of Switzerland. The feeling, I’ve heard, is mutual. (Thanks to Nepoleon, the French part of Switzerland only became thus in the early 1800’s. So, when my ancestors were living there in the 1700’s, they would’ve identified as French.)


In Murten, the people speak French. So, when P1 spoke Swiss German to the Museum attendant, she was not amused. We almost didn’t get a Museum pass.


Back to the timeline, and some photos.


Despite Tomina’s (Tom Tom) and my under par navigational performance (early morning—yawn), we arrived at 11.30am in Morat/Murten and relished a day of summer, eating lunch by the lake, exploring the Old town and its buildings garnished with flowers, the museum of Stone Age, Celtic, Roman and Medieval relics spanning 10,000 years of human settlement around Murten. Followed by a visit to the Roman ruins in Avenches, the ancient capital of the Roman province of Helvitica.


On our return, we suffered the frustration stuck in peak hour traffic, and Granny suffered stress worrying about our late arrival “home”.

Photo 1: Perfect summer’s day on Murten Lake © L.M. Kling 2024
[Photo 2: Gnomes © L.M. Kling 2014
[Photo 3: Archway © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 4: Water for all © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 5: Museum © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 6: Charming Castle with Roman ruins (foreground) © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 7: Where are all the people? © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 8: Roman tunnel © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 9: Lone spectator at old Roman amphitheater, Avenches © L.M. Kling 2014]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014; updated 2024
Feature photo: Murten/Morat © L.M. Kling 2014

***

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EXPERIENCE HISTORIC AUSTRALIAN OUTBACK ADVENTURE WITH MR. B
IN

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OR COME ON A TREK WITH THE T-TEAM IN

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981.

Ready for the Weekend Friday–Blowouts and Bulldust

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T-Team Next Gen
Wednesday July 10, 2013

[Eleven years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.
In “Ready for the Weekend Friday”, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.
This time, the T-Team make their way, rather precariously, to Alice Springs.]

Rest Stop at Curtain Springs

We paused for lunch at the rest stop just outside Curtain Springs. There we sat and ate our sandwiches and watched the passing parade of tourists, trundling through in their RVs, and caravans. They’d park, snap a few photos of Mt Conner, walk stiff-legged to long-drop toilet, then stagger out waving the flies away before climbing back into the comfort of luxury on wheels and trundling away down the road to Uluru.

[Photo 1: View of Mt. Conner © L.M. Kling 2013]


A big bus roared into the rest stop and a young Indigenous family alighted. The wife and children joined the queue for the toilets. Meanwhile, the husband gazed at the view of Mt Conner. As he walked back to his bus, he gave a nod and greeted us. He was the only one of the passing multitudes who did.

After our lunch, Anthony and I climbed up the sand hill opposite the rest stop. At the top, we viewed a salt lake in the distance. Maybe, I assumed, it was the tail-end of Lake Amadeus.

*[Photo 2: Salt Lake © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Wow!’ I said, ‘and all those tourists just go past and never bother to climb this hill and see the lake.’

No answer.

I turned. Where was Anthony? I scrambled around the scrub in search of my husband. ‘Anthony? Where are you?’

No Anthony in sight, I assumed he had returned to the car. Upon my return to the car, I discovered he was not there either. After checking the toilets and discovering only flies and the stink, I traipsed up the hill again. Where was he?

Just as I was about to give up on him and call in a search party, I almost stumbled over Anthony. He was squatting on the sand, sifting the grains through his fingers. ‘I can’t believe how red the sand is,’ he said.

[Photo 4: Amazing! Beautiful! Anthony “Harry Butler” K © L.M. Kling 2013]


Rock’s Revenge


At Erldunda we filled up the car with gas and I took over driving. As we headed for Alice Springs, I remarked, ‘The T-Team must almost be in Alice Springs.’
‘Mrs. T will like that,’ Anthony replied, ‘she was in a hurry to get there.’
‘Do we know how to get to her friend’s place where we are staying?’
My husband shrugged.
‘Guess we’ll have to call my brother and get directions. Haven’t got their friend’s address,’ I said.
‘Or we could stay in a motel.’
‘That’s an option, if we can’t contact them.’
Anthony sighed, ‘Yeah, but, how easy will it be to find accommodation if we haven’t booked?’

*[Photo 4: Possible Pit-Stop by side of the road © L.M. Kling 2013]

We hadn’t travelled more than 40 km when we spotted a family on the side of the road and in distress. Maybe we should stop and help them, I thought.

As I slowed down, I noted that a lady stood at the edge of the road waving her arms.
‘What the heck?!’ Anthony exclaimed.
‘I think they’re in trouble,’ I said, and as we drew closer, ‘It’s Mrs. T waving her arms about.’
I braked.
‘Hey! Not so hard!’ Anthony screamed.
Took my foot off the brake and then eased the car to a stop by the side of the road. All the while the T-Team grew smaller and smaller in our rear vision mirror.

‘What! Stop! What are you doing? Stop! Brake hard!’
I slammed my foot on the brake and jolted to a stop on the dirt.
‘Why did you stop so far away? Reverse back to them,’ Anthony snapped.
‘No!’ I retorted. ‘We can walk. Who knows what junk is lying in the dirt ready to puncture our tyres.’

*[Photo 5: Operating on the trailer © L.M. Kling 2013]

In a huff, my husband raced ahead of me to where Richard was operating on the trailer. As I approached the T-Team, I noticed that my brother was pulling off one tyre carcass and proceeding to mount the spare.

‘The tyre got staked,’ Mrs. T held up what looked like an antenna, ‘by this metal thing.’

*[Photo 6: Tyre Carnage © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘And we’d just changed a tyre at Erldunda; one that got shredded,’ Richard pointed at some rubber remnants on the verge, and then shook his head. ‘The mechanic didn’t do anything about wheel-balancing. The tyres got so worn they came to pieces. The other tyre was nearly worn through, so I changed them around.’

I took some pictures of the tyre carnage.

*[Photo 7: More Tyre Carnage © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Why do we have such bad luck?’ Mrs. T cried.
‘It’s the curse of the Rock,’ my older niece said.
‘Who stole a rock from the Rock?’ my nephew asked.
The T-Lings had been sitting in the van playing their phone games, but they emerged to join in the family conversation.

‘What d’ya mean?’ Mrs. T said. ‘I bought this rock as a souvenir!’
‘Yeah, but, my brother did run down the Rock barefoot some twenty years ago,’ I laughed. ‘Perhaps the Rock remembers.’
‘Well, one thing for sure,’ Richard rubbed his hands, ‘first thing tomorrow, I’m ringing the mechanics who did our wheel balance…’
‘It’s just not safe,’ I said.
‘I know,’ my older niece held up her hands as if holding a steering wheel at an angle, ‘I told them something was not right and that I had to hold it like this all the time. But they wouldn’t believe me.’

*[Photo 8: One last bolt to tighten © L.M. Kling 2013]

With tyres fixed and resolution to acquire replacements in Alice Springs, plus promises to catch up in the same town, the T-Team disappeared down Stuart Highway in the late afternoon haze.

But our ordeals reaching our next place of accommodation were not over yet.
[To be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020
*Feature Photo: More Tyre Carnage © L.M. Kling 2013

VIRTUAL TRAVEL OPPORTUNITY

FOR THE PRICE OF A CUP OF COFFEE (TAKEAWAY, THESE DAYS),

CLICK ON THE LINK AND DOWNLOAD YOUR KINDLE COPY OF MY TRAVEL MEMOIRS,

THE T-TEAM WITH MR. B: CENTRAL AUSTRALIAN SAFARI 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari

Ready for the Weekend Friday–T-Team next Generation (Uluru 3)

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T-Team Next Generation

[Eleven years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

Once every month, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.

This time, for the first time in this, my third visit to Uluru, we walked part of the way around the Rock.]

Yet Another Excuse not to Climb the Rock

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Packing—Anthony was very particular how the car and bags should be packed. He considers himself the master of packing; no one can do packing as good as he can. So, in an effort to get out of some extra work, I decided that since he considers packing his personal gift and calling, I’d allow him to pack while I prepared breakfast. Alas, my plan was not executed as well as expected.

‘Lee-Anne!’ the packing-expert called, ‘Can you come and pack your bags, please.’

It seems I’m the expert when it comes to packing my own bags. So, putting breakfast on hold, I trudged back into the tent to deal with my personal belongings.

[Photo 1: Packing up the tent routine, Mambray Creek © L.M. Kling 2018]

‘Careful not to over-fill the bag,’ came the expert’s warning, ‘you might break the zip.’

He then lifted one of my bags ready to be piled in the car. ‘My goodness! What have you got in here? It weighs a tonne.’

While Anthony grumbled while playing Tetris with our luggage in the Ford station wagon, I resumed preparing breakfast while listening and watching the T-Team pack up camp in a haze of drizzle. Mrs. T barked orders organising her family into an efficient machine of packing and cleaning. Then, executing her sweeping expertise, she swept out the tent, trailer and car.

[Photo 2: Eating breakfast the morning after—Muesli, it’s good for you. Arkaroola Village on our honeymoon © L.M. Kling 1987]

After eating, I trudged to the shared kitchen facilities where I washed the dishes. After three days at Yulara campsite, I had discovered that these facilities offered a communal kettle to boil water. Still, the T-Team had for that time, a more convenient one, courtesy of my brother’s inverter and battery-power.

The thing was, I had to boil the kettle to obtain hot water to wash the dishes. While I waited for the kettle to boil, I chatted to a mum from Sydney whose family were just finishing their holiday.

Back at camp, I helped Anthony pack up the tent.

[Photo 3: Another Prohibition; they’re everywhere! This one found at Kata Tjuta © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Dad,’ my nephew said in a sing-song voice, ‘can we climb the rock today?’

‘I don’t think so,’ came the mumbled reply, ‘probably won’t; clouds too low, or wet, or something.’

‘Oh, but…’

‘We’re going to walk around the base of the Rock,’ I offered. ‘You could join us, and if it clears up, you might be able to climb the rock.’

‘We’ve had rain, wind, cultural reasons…’ Anthony chipped in, ‘how many more excuses do they have?’

‘Nah, the Rock’s had its chance,’ Mrs T snapped. ‘I reckon we just get going to Alice Springs.’

‘Hmmm, we’ll meet you there, then,’ Anthony said. ‘We’re going to walk around the Rock the other way this morning.’

[Photo 4: Rock approach, but still no climbers © L.M. Kling 2013]

***

However, upon meeting up with the T-Team at the Service Station for fuel, it seems certain T-Lings had changed their parents’ minds. They would be trying one last time to climb Uluru. We agreed to meet them at the entrance to where one starts to climb the Rock.

Upon arrival, Anthony and I trekked up to the gate. The sign read, “Closed due to cloud”.

While we waited for the T-Team, a ranger with a metal panel tucked under his arm, sauntered up to the sign. He unscrewed the “cloud” sign and replaced it with a “high winds” sign.

‘Well, now we know how it’s done,’ I remarked.

Anthony sighed. ‘I guess the T-Team saw that excuse and are on their way to Alice Springs.’

‘I guess so.’

[Photo 5: Sign of disappointment © L.M. Kling 2013]

***

We walked around the “ladies’” part of the Rock. The previous day we had explored the “men’s” section. The cloud cover lifted and the sun emerged, bathing the landscape in a lemony light. Although now dry and sunny, we encountered only the occasional hiker; for most of the trek we were on our own.

We marvelled at the grandeur of the Rock, and the sense of an ancient spiritual presence.

Photo 6: Start of the “Ladies walk” around Uluru base © L.M. Kling 2014

[Photo 7: Natural Dam © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 8: Is that Darth Vader? © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 9: View of Kata Tjuta from walk © L.M. Kling 2013]

After an hour’s walk, we returned to the Rock’s entry point. A small crowd had gathered by the gate. They watched the ranger again fiddling with the notice board.

Anthony shook his head. ‘What excuse this time?’

The ranger placed an “Open” sign on the board and unlocked the gate.

We watched dismayed as the crowd surged through and scampered up the steep incline.

[Photo 10: Open at last! © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Poor T-Team,’ I said, ‘just as they had given up, the Rock is open for business.’ Using my mobile phone, I snapped a shot of the tourists like ants inching their way up the rocky sides of Uluru. Later, I attempted to share the photo with my niece. But, it seemed my endeavour failed. Anthony had also taken photos with his phone which he then tried to share with the T-Lings. Still no success.

After another failed attempt to send a photo, this time during a stop at Curtain Springs, Anthony muttered, ‘What do you expect from a cheap mobile plan?’ He then extolled the virtues of his Telstra plan.

[to be continued…next, Adventures on way to Alice Springs]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2024

Feature Photo: Like ants they climb up the Rock © L.M. Kling 2013

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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Click on the link and download your kindle copy of my travel memoirs,

The T-Team with mr. b: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari. (Australia)

Ready for the Weekend Friday–T-Team

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The T-Team Next Generation

Tuesday July 9, 2013

Another Excuse Not to Climb the Rock

Part 2

[Eleven years ago, the T-Team, Next Generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

Now just a teeny-weeny bit on the Family History front. I delved into some research concerning family traits. You see, the T-team pride themselves on their T-Traits (Dad stresses that the word “trait” is pronounced “tray”.) So, I decided to have a peek at what characteristics, us who are the T-Team, have that make us distinct from other families. I’ll elaborate in a future blog. But briefly, what comes to mind that aligns with the posts I read on Google, are hairline (straight but peaked up at each side of the temple), high forehead (Dad’s cousin always remarked this trait as a sign of intelligence), high cheek bones, good teeth, a penchant for puns and a certain amount of daring for adventure; hence the T-Team and their treks into the outback.

So, again, the virtual journey continues, to the Centre, Uluru and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.]

Marla Track

Mrs. T slept in the T-Van, while the rest of the T-Team walked the Marla Track to Kantju Gorge. There, we were awed by the caves hollowed out as if by waves crashing into them. We marvelled at the vivid red ochre paintings in rock caves carved out by the sea of time. Tourists filled these caves, spilling out the sides and edges, listening intently to the guides explaining the stories behind the artwork.

[Photo 1: Rick awed by the cave art © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 2: Listening to the tour guide © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 3: Cave in Uluru © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Where’s the Indigenous guides?’ Anthony asked.

I shrugged.

We returned to the carpark near the entrance to climbing the Rock. “Closed for Cultural Reasons” the sign read this time.

Shoulders hunched; the T-Team trooped to their respective cars.

‘When will we be able to climb the Rock?’ my nephew asked his dad.

‘We’ll try again tomorrow,’ my brother replied.

[Photo 4: Still no climbers © L.M. Kling 2013]

Sunset on Uluru (July 8, 2013)

As the cloud and damp set in during the day of July 9, the T-Team congratulated themselves on completing the mission to view the sunset on the Rock the previous night. Anthony reported, ‘Alice Springs had one of its lowest temperatures ever; 8 degrees Celsius maximum.’

‘Wow! Just as well we saw the rock in all its glory last night,’ I added. ‘Dad always said that the Rock is at its best at sunset when there are clouds to the West.’

[Photo 5: Sun begins to set, its golden rays on Uluru © L.M. Kling 2013]

Someone thought that was not the case, but I argued that last night’s Uluru sunset was the best I had ever seen.

[Photo 6: Setting sun turning the Rock orange © L.M. Kling 2013]

The ever-changing colours of the massif amazed me; golden, then orange, then tangerine…until a rich deep red with the golden grasses glowing in the foreground.

[Photo 7: And tangerine © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 8: Then glowing © L.M. Kling 2013]

And, with the photoshop features on my digital camera, I was able to make my image of Uluru, almost “chocolate box” quality. Not cheating, just capturing how I actually saw the famous Rock.

[Photo 9 and Feature: Chocolate Box Rock © L.M. Kling 2013]

And on that night, as I stood transfixed, taking photo after photo of the Rock, Mrs. T called out, ‘Hey! Look the other way!’

We turned.

‘Wow!’ I exclaimed. ‘What a show!’ The expanse of sky painted in every hue from yellow to crimson; the sun’s parting gift as it sank from this evening’s horizon.

[Photo 10: Desert sunset on that night © L.M. Kling 2013]

More frantic photographing ensued while most tourists ignored the glorious display behind them in preference to The Rock.

Then, as Uluru faded into monochrome shades, I overheard one fellow comment to his partner, ‘Is that all?’

[Photo 11: Colour drains from the Rock into night © L.M. Kling 2013]

The Phone Tree

Evening, and I used our portable camp stove to cook rice for tea. Anthony no longer complained about the use of the stove instead of the cooking facilities. Having skipped lunch, he was hungry, and he knew better than to expect the public BBQ to perform; especially considering a biting wind had sprung up.

The T-Lings, as they had done every night, planted their mobile phones at the base of the power pole which was not far from the BBQ. With cables attached, they left them there to charge up. ‘Would you look after our phones?’ they each asked, expecting me, as I was cooking, to keep an eye on their treasures.

[Photo 12: Dreams of campfire from the past © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

Night fell and as the wind turned bitterly cold, I made a toilet visit where I donned my thermals. On the way back from the toilet, I observed a group gathered around the communal firepit. They asked if I wanted to join, but I declined. The T-Team were playing games.

In some ways I regretted not accepting the invitation. We played card games but as the T-Crowd was too large for the small tent, I ended up playing cards outside in the cold and dark. There, half-frozen despite the best efforts of the thermal underwear, I taught my younger niece to play Patience.

Then, how pleasant it was to snuggle into our minus seven sleeping bags for sleep.

‘Oh, no!’ a T-Ling cried, then rustling. ‘Our phones!’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; update 2024

Feature Photo: Chocolate Box Rock © L.M. Kling 2013

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

For the price of a cup of coffee (takeaway, these days),

Click on the link and download your kindle copy of my travel memoir,

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari. (Australia)

Fifth Friday with Art–Bunyip Chasm

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Story Behind the Painting: Bunyip Chasm

[In memory of my father clement David Trudinger (13-1-1928—25-8-2012)]

You need to loosen up with your painting,’ my art teacher said.

So, with a palette-knife, I did with…

Feature Painting: In Search of Bunyip Chasm, Gammon Ranges, South Australia—acrylic on canvas with palette knife. © L.M. Kling 1990

THE BIRTH OF “BUNYIP CHASM”—THE PAINTING

Over the Easter break in 1986, Dad took my boyfriend (future husband) and me to the Gammon Ranges. Dad had gone there the previously with his photographer friend and he was keen to show us some of the scenic secrets these ranges held.

We bumped and rolled in Dad’s four-wheel drive Daihatsu down the track into the Gammon Ranges. We camped near Grindell’s Hut, backpackers’ accommodation. A murder-mystery from the early Twentieth Century involving the hut’s owner, spiced our discussion around the campfire that night. Then we set up a tent, for boyfriend, on the ground above the bank of the creek. I placed my bedding also above the creek under the stars. Dad opted for his “trillion-star” site underneath a river gum. No tent for him, either.

[Photo 1: The Daihatsu © L.M. Kling 1986]

The next day Dad guided us along the Balcanoona creek bed shaded by native pines to Bunyip Chasm. After an hour or two of hobbling over rounded river stones, we arrived at a dead-end of high cliffs.

[Photo 2: Balcanoona Creek, beginning our hike © L.M. Kling 1986]
[Photo 3: Trekking of the T-K Team in search of Bunyip chasm © L.M. Kling 1986]
[Photo 4: Waiting for me to catch up © L.M. Kling 1984]

‘Is this it?’ my boyfriend asked. ‘Is this Bunyip Chasm?’

‘I think so,’ Dad said as he squinted at the waterfall splashing over the cliffs. ‘It looks familiar.’

‘I don’t see any chasm,’ I said.

‘Just wait a minute,’ Dad said and then disappeared through some scraggly-looking bushes.

I waited and took photos of the water spattering over dark cliffs set against a cobalt blue sky.

[Photo 5: Is this it? The end of the gully with cliffs dotted with native pines © L.M. Kling 1984]

[Photo 6: Water cascading over cliffs © L.M. Kling 1984]

Dad tramped back to us. ‘It’s over here. The water’s deeper than last year, so I don’t think we can go through.’

We trekked after Dad, pushing the bushes and then reeds aside. There, the split in the hillside, and a deep pool of water lurking in the shadows.

[Photo 7: Beginnings of Bunyip Chasm © L.M. Kling 1984]

‘Do you think we can swim through?’ I asked. I had worn my bathers in the hope of swimming in a waterhole.

‘Nah, it’s too deep and cold,’ Dad said. ‘I wouldn’t risk it.’ Dad then scanned the surrounding cliffs and shook his head.

I took more photos of the cliffs, hillside and of course the chasm.

[Photo 8: Waterfall near Bunyip Chasm © L.M. Kling 1984]

‘Come on, we better get back,’ Dad said and then started to hike back the way we came.

We trailed after Dad. Although native pine trees shaded our path, the hiking made me thirst for a waterhole in which to swim. I gazed up at the lacework of deep blue green against the sky and then, my boot caught on a rock. I stumbled. My ankle rolled and twisted. I cried out. ‘Wait!’

[Photo 9: Afternoon return to camp © L.M. Kling 1984]

‘What?’ the men said at the same time.

‘I hurt my ankle; I need to soak it in cold water.’

Dad stamped his foot. ‘Well, hurry up. We have to get back to camp before dark.’

I pulled off my jeans and t-shirt.

‘What are you doing?’ my boyfriend asked.

‘I’m soaking my ankle; I twisted it, and I learnt in first aid that you need to apply a cold compress to it.’

Boyfriend put his hands-on hips and sighed.

I gave him my camera. ‘Here, take a photo of me in the pool.’

Boyfriend swayed his head. But as I soaked my foot and the rest of me—any excuse for a swim—boyfriend took my photo.

[Photo 10: My Foot-soaking pool © A.N. Kling 1984]

[Photo 11: Waiting for me to foot-soak © L.M. Kling 1984]

After about ten minutes, with my ankle still swollen and sore, I hobbled after the men. We climbed down a short waterfall and at the base, I looked back. The weathered trunk of an old gum tree leaned over the stream, three saplings basked in the late-afternoon sunlight against the sienna-coloured rocks, and clear water rushed and frothed over the cascading boulders and into pond mirroring the trees and rocks above.

‘Stop! Wait!’ I called to the men.

‘We have to keep on going,’ Dad said and disappeared into the distance.

Boyfriend waited while I aimed my camera at the perfect scene and snapped several shots.

[Photo 12: The scene that inspired the painting © L.M. Kling 1984]

Then holding hands, we hiked along the creek leading to our campsite and Dad.

‘I’m going to paint that little waterfall,’ I said.

We walked in silence, enjoying the scenery painted just for us—the waves of pale river stones, the dappled sunlight through the pines, and a soft breeze kissing our skin.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2020; 2024

Feature painting: In Search of Bunyip Chasm © L.M. Kling 1990

***

Want more but impossible to travel down under? Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981…

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Travelling Friday…with some Family History

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T-Team, Next Generation: Uluru (1)

Central Australian Convoy 2013

[Eleven years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

[Photo 1: Ron Trudinger(snr), second from the left © scanned from slide courtesy of L.M. Kling circa 1913)]

I add here, that today, is my paternal grandfather’s birthday. In 1886, he was the first of his family to be born in Australia, a true-blue Aussie. His 12 siblings had been born in England, and his parents in Germany. Like the rest of his family, he was full of adventure and yen to travel. Seven of his siblings were missionaries. Some in China, while he and his brother were missionaries in the Sudan. Although his brother then went on to be a missionary in Korea, my grandpa continued his mission work in Sudan for decades until he retired in 1954. But, even after his retirement, the spirit of adventure spurred my grandpa on to travel to Central Australia to visit my uncle in Ernabella at the top end of South Australian, and my dad in Hermannsburg, Northern Territory.

On that note, over the next few weeks, I will continue to take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.]

Uluru—The Sign Not to Climb

Monday, July 8, 2013

Last night, over a game of cards, the T-Team decided to stay an extra night in the Yulara Campsite.

So, that morning, after a well-deserved sleep in, we pottered around the campsite, cooking, sorting, and relaxing. My husband, Anthony was doing a great deal of hunting…things, where were they?

Around midday, the T-Team, loaded up with hampers for a picnic lunch, set off for the Rock. We dutifully lined up at the National Park check point, for our passes.

[Photo 2: First glimpses of Uluru © L.M. Kling 2013]

Once through, Anthony gazed at the Rock. ‘Wow! It’s huge!’

‘It’s even more spectacular third time round,’ I remarked.

‘How long does it take to climb the rock?’ he asked.

‘Oh, a couple of hours, although, we are older; more like my Dad’s age when he climbed with us kids in 1981. He took longer to climb than us.’ I wasn’t keen on climbing and was going to give my excuses (such as inadequate footwear) when we arrived at the climbing site.

[Photo 3: Memories of the T-Team climbing the Rock © L.M. Kling 1981]

We parked the Ford in the first free space we could find. Before us, stood rows upon rows of busses. The area was already swarming with tourists.

‘This’ll be fun,’ I muttered, ‘the Rock’ll be covered with climbers.’

‘Where do we go?’

‘Follow the crowds.’ I sauntered behind a couple with packs on their backs and decked out in state-of-the-art hiking gear. ‘This way.’

We reached the climbing site and gazed up at the empty expanse of rock.

[Photo 4: An empty expanse of Rock © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘What’s happening?’ Anthony asked.

‘Read the notice,’ I answered.

Anthony peered at a sign and read, ‘No entry.’

‘The one behind it,’ I sighed.

Anthony frowned. ‘Hmm, due to high winds the Rock is off-limits.’

The rest of the T-Team arrived. They milled around the gate as if willing the sign to change.

[Photo 5: The Forbidding Sign © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Well, that’s a bummer!’ Mrs. T said. ‘I wanted to climb the Rock.’

‘We can explore the Olgas instead.’ Rick pointed at the pale blue (distant) stumps of Kata Tjuta. ‘We can have lunch there.’

With long faces, the T-Team trekked back to their vehicles, and we sped west down the Lassiter Highway to Kata Tjuta.

[Photo 6: And leaving Uluru behind…for now © L.M. Kling 2013]

Over lunch, my brother and wife discussed with us their reservations about staying another night, as they had not budgeted for it. A reluctant Anthony agreed we would cover the cost of the extra night. After all, having seen the magnificence of the Rock and the Olga’s, Anthony wanted to spend more time exploring these wonders—and hopefully, climb the Rock…another day.

Kata Tjuta

[Photo 7: Then: Walpa Gorge in 1981 © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

As the afternoon light bathed the conglomerate boulders of Kata Tjuta in bronze, the T-Team explored Walpa Gorge. Except Mrs. T who had retreated to the van. She had a headache.

The site had been seriously sanitised since the T-Team’s last visit in 1981. All for the tourists and preserving the environment. Parts of the track were paved, with plastic bridges over ditches. The edges were roped off and signs warning of fines for those who chose to stray from the path.

[Photo 8: Walpa Gorge in 2013 © L.M. Kling 2013]

The wind howled through the steep valley between the massive lumps of rock. A hoard of tourists followed us as we marched up Walpa Gorge.

[Photo 9: Tourist Group a-marching © L.M. Kling 2013]

Richard and the T-Lings met us on their return.

‘Boring!’ Richard said. ‘You have to stick to the path.’

‘But I want to still see what’s up there,’ Anthony said.

‘You can get a $135 fine if you go off the path,’ a random lady warned as she passed us.

My younger niece nodded. ‘I know, my brother just went a little off the path and this Indigenous guy appeared from nowhere and told us we’d be fined.’

‘So, I jumped right back on the path again,’ my nephew added. ‘I didn’t want a fine.’

As the T-Team Next Generation, we then hiked up Walpa Gorge as far as we could go. Not far, actually. Not like the old days when we climbed to the top of the gorge and could see the “plum pudding” rock formation on the other side.

[Photo 10: The Billabong was as far as we could go © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 11: Top of Walpa Gorge back in the old days © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1977]

Valley of Winds

From Walpa Gorge, the T-Team drove along the road to the Valley of Winds. After a short hike to the vantage point, we admired the view of boulders that had taken on the formation of rounded steppingstones. A school group passed by. They chatted amongst each other entertaining us onlookers with snatches of assorted topics ranging from food, to adventures in the cold.

[Photo 11: The Valley of Winds © L.M. Kling 2013]

The Mystery of the Missing Boots

Evening and Anthony insisted on cooking sausages using the camping BBQ facilities provided. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the snags were ready. Even shared a few with the teenaged T-Lings who have hollow legs when it came to food.

Then, as the campsite descended into darkness, Anthony’s voice rose in frustration. ‘Lee-Anne, where are your boots?’

‘Boots? Why do you need my boots?’

‘You need proper hiking boots for hiking,’ he snapped. ‘How are you going to climb the Rock in your sandshoes?’

‘Not going to climb,’ I muttered.

‘Where are they? I’m sure we packed them.’

‘Maybe we didn’t,’ I bit back, then wandered off to the BBQ facilities. There I heated up milk for hot chocolate.

Later, after drinking hot chocolate, I rang Son 1 back in Adelaide. During the conversation, I said, ‘By the way, I am missing my hiking boots. Would you be able to find them and bring them up when you and your brother and Grandma come up to Alice Springs next Saturday?’

Son 1 assured me that he would.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2024

Feature Photo: The Empty Flanks of Uluru © L.M. Kling 2013

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The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari. (Australia)