Adventure Australia

Travel Friday–Emily Gap

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[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 weeks, 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-K Team visits Emily Gap.]

Lunch With the Ants

Our plans changed. Hubby decided we could take a risk with our fuel situation, so since we were in the vicinity of the Eastern MacDonnell Ranges, we visited Emily Gap and had lunch before refuelling the Ford.

[Photo 1: Emily Gap entrance © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘After all,’ I said to Hubby, ‘it is almost two o’clock, and I’m hungry.’

He just had to reply, ‘Hungry? Unlike you, I can wait till teatime.’

‘Hmm, yet another similarity you have to my father. Only he could fast from breakfast as well as lunch.’

As we rolled into the shady climes of the Emily Gap car park, I remarked, ‘But such a lovely place to sit and have a picnic, don’t you think?’ I had already sourced some nuts and chocolate from my bag in case he disagreed with my suggestion.

‘We’ll go for a walk first to see the rock paintings and then have some lunch,’ Hubby grumbled. ‘I don’t want to walk on a full stomach.’

Photo 2: Emily Gap Rock Formations © L.M. Kling 2013]

While Hubby marched ahead to find the rock paintings before they disappeared, I trailed behind and nibbled my nuts and chocolate. Needed reinforcements to do the walk.

Hubby vanished around a corner. A few minutes later, he appeared, jogging towards me. ‘They’re here! Come, look!’

‘Oh, yeah,’ I replied, remembering 1981 when TR baited us with some significant discovery of Indigenous art. That art turned out to be less ancient and more modern.

I followed Hubby. Around the bend, he pointed. ‘Look! There they are.’

Gazing at the entrance to a shallow cave, I said, ‘Oh, yeah! So, there are. They look like giant caterpillars.’

[Photo 3: Rock paintings © L.M. Kling 2013]

We spent some time examining the array of caterpillar paintings and carvings; the totem of the Easter Aranda people, we assumed.

‘I think my dad took us to Jesse Gap,’ I said as we walked back to the picnic area. ‘I’ve never seen those paintings before. When he took us out to the Eastern MacDonnell’s, all we saw was artwork of the Western kind, graffiti. When we suggested visiting Emily Gap, it was already nearly dark, and Dad thought there would only be graffiti there too. After all, we had just been to the Devil’s Marbles, after sunset, so it was getting too dark to see anything at that time.’

[Photo 4: Shade Creep, Emily Gap, later afternoon © L.M. Kling 2013]

In the shade of the gum trees in the picnic area, we “shared” our lunch of canned tuna and buttered bread with some inch ants. Had to put our food on a rock and then move the picnic rug, but the inch ants followed us.

[Photo 5: Inch ants © L.M. Kling 2019]

After lunch, we found the BP petrol station that my brother had told us about. And finally, the Ford had its fill of LP Gas. Then, on our way back to the Caravan park where we were staying for the night, we swung by the local IGA. There I bought mince, button mushrooms, two onions, shampoo and conditioner. Would you believe that the shampoo and conditioner I had brought from home had not lasted the distance of our two-week Central Australian journey?

In the golden light of late afternoon, while I helped Anthony put up the tent, I watched another family pitch theirs. The father sat in his director’s chair and directed the rest of the family, the women and children, on how to put up their tent.

But, ah, what bliss to cook tea in the light of the common kitchen. Spag Bog, and plum pudding. Dessert, hot chocolate.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021; updated 2026

Feature Photo: Emily Gap © L.M. Kling 2013

***

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Travelling Friday–Road Trip to Sydney (4)

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Road Trip to Sydney in the Charger (part 4)

Waiting for the Alternator

Mitch’s hopes turned to practicalities as the morning dragged on while we waited for another elusive item, the alternator. I figured the alternator must be hiding in the same place the roadhouse in Dubbo must be.

By the time my watch read 8am, us four who were not mechanics, once more headed down the main road to the town centre in search of a “deli” as we in South Australia call corner shops, or a supermarket of some description.

We found a supermarket come snack bar, and treated ourselves to a meat pie, chips and Famers Union iced coffee. Just the sort of food one has for breakfast after a gruelling sleepless night. Mitch, appreciative of my mechanic brother’s efforts, brought him back the same fare as we had eaten.

Rick was leaning against the side of his precious Charger, still waiting for the elusive alternator.

*[Photo 1: Morning in outback © L.M. Kling 2013]

A heated discussion ensued amongst the fellows. Mitch put forward that we could be using daylight to drive to Sydney.

Rick refuted that suggestion with, ‘Do you want to sleep in the car again?’

Jack began to raise his hand, but Mitch cut in. ‘No, you’re right, Rick.’

Rick went onto explain that the problem with faulty alternators is that they affect the battery. He described how in the short but slow drive to Dubbo, he drove the car in a lower gear to get the most out of the failing battery.

And so, we waited, sitting in what little shade the garage’s carpark afforded, waiting for the alternator to arrive.

Early afternoon, the sun’s heat beating down on us, Jack, Mitch, Cordelia and I again walked down to the main street for some lunch. Upon our return with stale ham sandwiches to share, Rick was hunched over under the Charger’s open bonnet.

*[Photo 2 and Feature: Backyard of experience © M.E. Trudinger circa 1989]

I put my hands together in a half-hearted clap. ‘Hooray! The cavalry has arrived!’

‘No,’ Mitch had to be correct, ‘it’s the alternator.’

‘I had an idea how to repair the existing one,’ Rick said.

‘Hooray! Rick has worked out how to fix the alternator,’ I laughed.

‘You have a strange sense of humour,’ Cordelia said. ‘No wonder you find it hard to make friends, Lee-Anne.’

‘Praise the Lord!’ I raised my hands. ‘My brother can fix…’

‘Don’t make it worse,’ Cordelia said.

Perhaps she’s right, I thought, then took my sandwich pack, split from the “social police” before drifting over to Rick, to watch him as he operated on the car. Strange thing was, Mitch made a speedy dash away from Cordelia and followed me.

‘Hey, Rick,’ Mitch asked while hovering over his shoulder, ‘how long till you’re finished?’

Rick grunted in reply and swore.

I stepped back, knowing all too well not to crowd my brother when he was concentrating. Obviously, Mitch was not as aware. He leaned over Rick, blocking the sunlight from the engine. Rick poked out his tongue as he tackled a stubborn bolt.

Mitch stuck by Rick’s elbow. ‘Is that all you have to do?’

Where’s the social police now? Oh, there she is, staring at her sandwich and grimacing. She looked like a chipmunk.

[Photo 3: For a koala its always time for food, (Melbourne Zoo) © L.M. Kling 1986]

I smiled observing Rick as he gritted his teeth and muttered expletives. Mitch seemed totally unaware that his attention wasn’t helping.

‘Bu#@%er!’ Rick cried.

A ping and a clunk, and the spanner dropped into the engine of no return.

‘What happened?’ Mitch asked all innocent.

Rick narrowed his eyes at his friend. ‘What do you think?’

‘Did you drop the spanner?’

‘Yes. And now I’m going to have fun getting it out.’

Mitch rubbed his hands together. ‘Can I help?’ Mitch loved to help.

A grin slowly formed on Rick’s face. ‘I think you can, Mitch.’

Mitch was dancing on the spot in anticipation. ‘How?’

‘See the engine?’

Mitch nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘I want you to find the spanner and pick it out for me.’ Rick wiped his sweaty brow. ‘This is hot and thirsty work and I need a drink and some lunch.’

‘Okay,’ Mitch said while studying the engine, ‘I can do that.’

In the shade of a scraggly bush by a low stone wall, I handed Rick a quarter of sandwich and bottle of Fanta. My brother and I sat on the wall and watched Mitch hunt for the spanner. Rick munched on his ham and relish sandwich, unperturbed by the dryness of bread and ham tasting too salty. He washed down some of the fizzy drink and then said, ‘Well, I better go and rescue Mitch.’

The sun travelled westwards, and shadows lengthened as the “quick” job took several hours to complete.

Just before the sun set, Rick rubbed his grease-covered hands on an old cloth and declared the vehicle ready for action. He hoped the battery would give us no trouble.

*[Photo 4: Sunset on parrots © L.M. Kling 2022]

Once again, we piled in the car and Rick turned the ignition.

A squeak.

A sputter.

Then a roar.

The Charger puttered and shook as the engine turned over and the beast began to move out of the garage carpark.

We entered the main street, passing the store which had provided our breakfast and lunch. Closed for the night. Jack gazed at the store and sighed.

As if reading his mind and everyone else’s, Rick said, ‘We’ll need to drive for an hour or so before we stop.’

Mitch put on a brave face. ‘We’ll find a roadhouse sometime later tonight to have tea.’

We watched Dubbo’s Shell service station come roadhouse flit past as we left the town.

Sitting in the front passenger seat next to my brother who was driving, I pulled out the RAA strip map and flicked through the pages. Locating the one with Dubbo, I scanned the last few pages and calculated the distance and time to reach our destination.

‘According to the strip map, it will take us about six hours to reach Sydney,’ I said.

‘So,’ Mitch from the back replied, ‘we shall make it in time for the conference.’

‘Where, exactly is the conference?’ Jack asked.

‘Randwick Racecourse, if I remember correctly,’ Mitch said.

‘Where’s that?’ I asked.

‘Beats me,’ Rick said.

‘Do we have a map of Sydney?’ Mitch said with an edge to his voice.

Rick shrugged and planted his foot on the accelerator. The Charger roared to the highway’s maximum speed of 110 km/ph.

*[Video: Long stretch of outback highway © L.M. Kling 2021]

‘I guess we’ll have to…’ Mitch began.

Cordelia who seemed to be quieter than her usual demur self (I guess she had no social mores to report on), clutched her stomach and whispered, ‘I don’t feel very well, I need to find a hospital.’

Slowing the car, Rick sighed and shook his head. ‘I guess we better go back to Dubbo.’

Tyres crunched on the gravel before he swung the car in an arc performing a seamless U-turn and headed back towards the twinkling lights of Dubbo.

 © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

***

Want more, but now, probably due to current world events (Again! Sigh!) too impossible to travel down under? Why not escape all the world drama, and take a virtual journey back in time and space, with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

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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…

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Arty Friday–Cradle Mountain, Tasmania

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Friday already? It’s been a busy time planning another travel adventure, this time a family wedding later in the year. So, memories of our Tasmanian journey way back in 2009, and a hike around Dove Lake on a perfect summer’s day.

Story Behind the Art–Cradle Mountain

***

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

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

Travel Friday–Return to Alice Eternal

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T-Team Next Gen—Alice Springs and Things Eternal

[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.

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-K Team once again returns to Alice Springs as they begin their journey back home.]

In Search of Gas

While Hubby packed the Ford, I prepared a “thank you” card for our friends. I found a photo of a rock formation near Mt. Liebig, then I painted a frame around the picture, and finally, sketched Mt. Sonder from memory in the middle of the card.

[Painting 1: Descent down Mt. Liebig © L.M. Kling 2014]

After placing the card with gift money enclosed on the kitchen bench, I joined Hubby to pack the last few items of mine in the Ford.

[Painting 2: Waves of Mt. Sonder © L.M. Kling 2016]

Hubby checked his expert handiwork at packing, and then said, ‘Ready to go?’

‘Yep, let’s go over to the FRM store and say goodbye to our friends.’

We bid our Hermannsburg friends farewell, promising to catch up with them when they returned to Adelaide. After more storytelling by P and some souvenir shopping by us, we were ready to farewell Hermannsburg.

[Photo 1: Just a reminder that Hermannsburg once had a cattle station to employ the locals © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

Following a few more stories from P, then a phone call to my brother, who said they were about to leave Alice Springs, we were set for this town.

Except…

‘I just want to check out the graveyard,’ I said.

‘Do we have to?’ Hubby sighed. ‘There’s nothing there.’

‘I just want to see who’s buried there.’

‘If we have to.’

My husband trekked after me as I trudged over to the graveyard that looked more like a neglected paddock of red sand than a cemetery. We gazed at the iron crosses of the early missionaries, such as Kempe, and a sad tombstone of a 10-week-old Latz baby.

‘Vogelsang, who’s he?’ I asked.

Hubby shrugged. ‘Probably a missionary here, since he’s buried here.’

[Photo 2: Standing where my mum stood.  Funeral of Hermann Vogelsang storeman/gardener at Hermannsburg mission from 1938-1940 © courtesy M.E. Trudinger 1940]

With plans to fill the Ford with fuel, both petrol and gas, and then lunch at Emily Gap, we commenced our drive back to Alice Springs.

‘What about we take a slight detour and have a look at Serpentine Gorge,’ I said, with hope in my voice.

Hubby seemed not to hear my suggestion, but pointed, ‘Look! Another cabin car. Must be lots of workmen going out to do roadworks.’

‘So, we’ll leave Serpentine Gorge for another time when there’s not the threat of roadworks.’

[Photo 3: Serpentine Gorge, for another time © C.D. Trudinger 1958]

1 pm, we rolled into Alice Springs, making a beeline for the petrol station.

‘We must fill up with gas before we start on the journey back to Adelaide,’ Hubby said.

‘Might be a bit difficult,’ I pointed at the LP Gas bowser, ‘it says “Out of Order”.’

Hubby topped up the Ford’s petrol tank, and we steeled ourselves for the hunt for LP Gas. We reckoned that in a country town such as Alice, most fuel stations lined the main roads leading into and out of the town. So, down the Stuart Highway we travelled, in search of a service station which offered gas. Prophetic of a future without LP Gas, our search proved elusive.

[Photo 4: Nexus of past, present, and future: Farewell to the Governor General from Hermannsburg © S.O. Gross 1954]

Hubby gripped the steering wheel. ‘How are we going to get back to Adelaide?’

‘I’m sure there’s a station that sells gas somewhere in Alice.’

‘How far do you want me to go? Adelaide?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘Turn around and let’s go back into the town.’

Hubby grunted in protest at where he could safely do a U-turn, then did a U-turn. Approaching the radio station, I spotted a white van with a trailer.

‘Guess who I’ve found,’ I pointed at the van with the T-Team spilling out of it.

‘Do you want me to turn around?’ Hubby asked.

‘Yep, my brother may know where a service station is that sells LP Gas.’

[Photo 5 and Feature: Proof. Duke of Edinburgh, Prince Philip, at the opening of the Flynn Memorial Church, Alice Springs © S.O. Gross 1954]

We spent some twenty minutes touching base with the T-Team. My brother gave directions for an LP Gas-friendly service station, and we were on our way to this fuel stop of promise, and then Emily Gap. Meanwhile, the T-Team visited their friend who worked at the radio station.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021; updated 2026

***

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

Travelling Friday–Road Trip to Sydney (3)

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Crammed in the Charger of No Sleep

We parked in the car park of a closed service station, which also served as a garage for car repairs. By this time, Cordelia’s request for a doctor had been forgotten. She remained silent and didn’t remind us. I wasn’t going to mention her need. She looked well enough to me when we extracted ourselves from the car and stretched our legs. She was upright and not running off to the nearest public toilet.

After a brief stamp of our legs and rubbing of our arms, Rick said, ‘We’ll need to get some sleep.’

‘How are we going to do that?’ asked Jack.

‘In the car, I guess,’ Rick replied.

Mitch herded us back into the car. ‘Come on, in we go.’

Again, we piled in. Again, Mitch crammed in the middle of us girls, while Rick and Jack reclined in semi-luxury in the front seats.

I observed that Cordelia had no complaints, and her need for a doctor remained a non-urgent issue. For now. She snuggled up to Mitch, who also made no drama of the arrangement. No sleep for me, though. I squashed myself up against the side, putting as much space between my cousin and me as humanly possible. All through the hours of darkness, I sat upright trying to sleep while Mitch twitched, and my brother snored.

[Photo 1: Full moon © L.M. Kling 2009]

In the grey light of pre-dawn, I spied Mitch pacing the gravelly clearing of the car park. How did he get out? The Charger is only a two-door car. On the other side of the back seat, Cordelia slept soundly. Rick snorted and shifted his weight in the driver’s seat while Jack lay stock still. Looked like a corpse. Then he moved.

In an effort not to disturb the three sleepers, I slowly, gingerly, silently, crawled over Rick. My brother snorted as I landed on his knees.

‘Sorry,’ I whispered. ‘Have to answer the call of nature.’

‘Why didn’t you say so,’ Rick said, smacking his lips and continuing to snore.

I pushed open the car door and crept out.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked my cousin.

‘Stretching my legs,’ he said.

‘Weren’t you comfortable?’

‘No,’ Mitch said, ‘sleeping upright and squashed up next to … next to,’ he jerked his head in the direction of the car, ‘I found it very—very … uncomfortable.’

I glanced at Cordelia sleeping like a kitten but decided not to comment on the arrangement. ‘Well, it wasn’t a Sunday School picnic for me, either. I didn’t sleep a wink.’

‘Oh, yes, you did,’ Mitch said. ‘You were snoring.’

‘No, I wasn’t, that was Rick. He always snores. Anyway, I was awake all night.’

But Mitch was adamant that I snored. Just like Rick.

‘What do we do for breakfast?’ I asked.

Mitch shrugged.

‘Perhaps there’s a roadhouse around here somewhere,’ I said. ‘I’m starving.’

Mitch, though, advised that we must wait until the others had risen before we venture into town to find a place to eat.

I gazed in the direction of the main street with the shabby buildings all monochrome, the sun’s rays yet to burst over the horizon. I hoped that there was a place to eat in this sleepy town.

‘Is this Dubbo?’ I asked.

Mitch again shrugged.

‘Looks awfully small for Dubbo.’ I remembered when our family had visited Dubbo on the way back from Canberra three years earlier. We had toured the zoo there at that time. Didn’t take much time to tour the zoo. Rather small, actually, and I went away disappointed. Still, my memory of Dubbo was that it was much bigger than this tiny collection of real estate.

‘I think so,’ Mitch replied. ‘We’re on the outskirts.’

‘Lucky, I found this garage,’ Rick said while strolling up to us.

Mitch smiled. ‘Well, that’s an answer to prayer. We won’t have to go looking for one.’

‘No, just a place to eat. I’m hungry,’ I said.

[Photo 2: Country town NSW © S.O. Gross circa 1960]

By the time the sun had peeped over the horizon, Jack and Cordelia had woken and piled out of the Charger.

While Rick commenced preparatory work on the Charger, the rest of us four ventured down the main street in search of a roadhouse. We figured that at this early hour of the day, nothing much else would be open. However, the roadhouse remained elusive, and we returned to the Charger at the garage hungry.

Upon our return, we noticed Rick and a man standing under the raised bonnet of the car. They were deep in discussion.

As we approached, the man waved at Rick and walked away towards the garage, now open.

[Photo 3 and Feature: On the bonnet of the Charger © courtesy R.M. Trudinger 1983]

‘What’s happening?’ I asked.

‘That’s the owner of the garage,’ Rick replied. ‘He saw our car here and came over to find out what we were doing parked here.’

‘Oh, yeah, and?’

‘He thinks he might have an alternator for us, so I’ll be able to fix the car, and then we can be on our way.’

‘That’s good,’ Mitch said. ‘How long will that take?’

‘Oh, not long, just half an hour once I get the part.’

‘So, we can swing by the roadhouse on the other side of the town on our way out once the car is fixed, then,’ Mitch said, all hopeful.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023; updated 2026

***

Want more? Dreaming of travelling down under? Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on:

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

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

And escape in time and space to Central Australia …

Travelling Friday–Tnorala (Gosse Bluff) Revisited

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

This time, the T-K Team continues their venture out West of Hermannsburg to explore Tnorala (Gosse Bluff).]

T-Team Next Generation—

Tnorala (Gosse Bluff) Conservation Reserve

—Revisited

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

This time, the T-K Team continues their venture out West of Hermannsburg to explore Tnorala (Gosse Bluff).]

Big Day Out West (2)

Afternoon

After eating a snack, we walked the designated paths, taking care not to stray from the designated paths. Off track, the land was reserved for revegetation, and it certainly had revegetated since 1977. Then, the crater had been a barren wasteland. In 2013, green and full of native bushes and trees.

[Photo 1: Inside Tnorala © L.M. Kling 2013]

[Photo 2: Back in 1977, T-Team with Mr. B © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1977]

Upon completing the various walking tracks in the crater, we trekked back to the Ford and then trundled out and off the unsealed part of the Mereenie Loop Road, continuing north along it towards the road to Glen Helen.

[Photo 3: Aspects of the Walk in Tnorala © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 4: Revegetation © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 5: Views on way out © L.M. Kling 2013]

But not for long. Roadworks rendered the road unsealed, so more crawling. Until we reached the Gosse Range lookout. Hence, in the mellowing sunlight of mid-afternoon, we supped on our cheese and gherkin sandwiches, which we had bought from the store while feasting our eyes on the panoramic view of the Gosse Ranges and the MacDonnell Ranges.

[Photo 6: View of Tnorala from the scenic lookout © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Well, time to get going,’ Hubby said. ‘We don’t want to be driving in the dark.’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘Although, just one more photo.’

‘Well, hurry up.’

[Photo 7: View of MacDonnell Ranges from lookout © L.M. Kling 2013]

I snapped a few more photos and climbed into the Ford. Hubby was drumming the steering wheel. After I’d fastened the seatbelt, Hubby turned the ignition.

Nothing.

‘O-oh!’ Hubby muttered and tried the ignition again.

The Ford started, then shook and shuddered.

‘Oh, shoot!’ Hubby snapped.

He turned off the protesting Ford. Extracted himself from the car. And looked under the bonnet. While I sat like the queen in the car, he spent some time “working” and exclaiming at intervals, “We’re stuffed!”

I jumped out and joined him in the under-the-bonnet examinations. By this time, Hubby was in the process of reattaching the air filter hose to the air filter. ‘We’ll see if that works,’ he said.

[Photo 8: On another memorable occasion of car-fail way out West © S.O. Gross 1941]

We resumed our positions in the Ford, sent up an arrow-prayer, and Hubby turned the ignition. The engine ticked over smoothly, and we breathed out our sighs of thanks to God. Hubby then climbed out of the car again to close the bonnet.

Just at this particular time, a pair of tourists in a utility truck drove into the viewing area. They noticed the bonnet up on our car and called out, ‘You need some help?’

Hubby, with a tone of pride in his voice, replied, ‘Nah, we are fine. All good.’

They waved, then drove past us to find a park and take in the view of the Gosses.

Late Afternoon

On our return, we passed a group of stranded owners of the land, kids waving. But Hubby kept driving. I guess he wasn’t going to push his luck with mechanical prowess too far. In that way, he was different from Dad, who would’ve stopped and bantered in Aranda with them. And back then, in 1981, we had Richard, our mechanic.

By the time we reached Glen Helen, the fuel needle sank to less than a quarter of a tank, the gas-guzzler that the Ford is. We filled the tank there and then, now that we were on bitumen road, glided along, enjoying the golden and purple hues of the MacDonnell Ranges in late afternoon. These I captured on my camera, with frequent stops, some with Hubby’s prompting.

[Photo 9: Namatjira Country © L.M. Kling 2013]

Sundown

Ellery Creek languished in the shade when we arrived there. In the cooling shadows, we walked down the path leading to the water’s edge. Just as I remembered, Ellery Creek offered a big pool of water in which to swim. In fact, it’s the go-to place for swimming for the locals. And, as we walked the track to the pool, we passed a German tourist clad in bathers and hair wet from a dip.

[Photo 10: Ellery Creek—Go-to place for swimming © L.M. Kling 2013]

[Photo 11: Tree Reflections at Ellery Creek © L.M. Kling 2013]

Later, as we drove westward to Hermannsburg, Hubby squinted at the setting sun glaring through the windscreen and whined, ‘I can’t see a thing!’

‘Do you want me to drive?’ I asked.

‘No, no, I’ll be right.’

Just then, a kangaroo darted across the road. Hubby slowed, and we watched the kangaroo and its joey tagging behind her, skitter over the verge, and disappear into the bush.

‘That was close,’ Hubby sighed.

[Photo 12: Approaching dusk, Ellery Creek © L.M. Kling 2013]

We arrived back in Hermannsburg at around 7 pm. I rang mum while waiting for tea. After a tasty meal of Chow Mein, we relaxed watching a video and enjoying fellowship with our friends.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021; updated 2026

Feature Photo: Gosse Bluff at sunset © S.O. Gross 1946

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

Click on the link and download your kindle copies of my travel memoirs:

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

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

Travelling Friday–Road Trip to Sydney (2)

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Road Trip Adventure in the Charger (2)

No Headlights

The highway, so straight, never curving to the right nor the left, was hypnotic. Again, in the late afternoon, the burning sun on the back of my neck, now sinking in the West, and the rushing of air from the open window, lulled me into a state of semi-sleep.

By increments, as sunset turned to dusk, the air cooled. I trusted Rick to keep us safe on the highway to Sydney. I noted Cordelia resting her head on Mitch’s shoulder, and then I sank into a deep, satisfying sleep.

[Photo 1: Sunset near Sale, Victoria © L.M. Kling 1989]

‘Oh, no!’ Rick said.

‘What?’ Mitch cried.

‘We have no headlights.’

‘What do you mean, no headlights?’ I asked.

The car slowed to a stop by the side of the road, again. Groggy from sleep and the hypnotic effect of the endless highway, we piled out of the Charger and milled around the non-functioning headlights.

Mitch peered at the offending lights. ‘Are you able to fix them, Rick?’

Rick pulled up the hood and, in the dim light, examined the engine. He poked around in the dark nether regions of the Charger’s insides.

Mitch hovered over Rick’s back while he prodded and poked at the parts in the dimness. ‘Do you need a torch?’

‘Do you have one, Mitch?’

Mitch shrugged. ‘I don’t…didn’t think…would you have one in the glove box?’

‘Might have, but the battery’s gone flat,’ all mumbled to the engine.

Mitch had already left to torch-hunt in the Charger’s glove box. At this time, I watched Jack busy himself sorting through luggage at the rear of the vehicle.

Cordelia sat all hunched over on her duffel bag. ‘I still don’t feel well,’ she said.

‘Are you carsick?’ I asked.

‘No, it’s worse than that,’ she answered. ‘I think I need to see a doctor.’

I gazed around the silent, darkened landscape. ‘Maybe at the next town, we can try to find one.’

Jack called, ‘Hey, I’ve found another torch.’

The feeble light of Rick’s torch wandered over the car engine. 

‘It’s the alternator, it’s cactus. Needs replacing,’ Rick said. ‘We’ll need to park here for the night, and in the morning, I’ll fix it at the next town.’

Cordelia, clutching her stomach, walked up to the lads. ‘I need to see a doctor; I’m not feeling at all well.’

Mitch glanced at the girl, his eyes wide and brow furrowed. ‘Perhaps we’d better push on and find a doctor—hospital—something.’

‘How can we?’ Jack said. ‘We have no headlights. It’d be dangerous.’

‘I’m not driving without headlights,’ Rick said.

‘How far to the nearest town?’ Mitch raised his voice. ‘The girl needs help.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘How far is it to Dubbo?’

Mitch grabbed the RAA strip map, Jack handed him the torch, and with the stronger light, Mitch flipped the pages and then studied the relevant page.

Cordelia sat down on her bag and was silent.

[Photo 2: Sunset at Brachina © L.M. Kling 1999]

‘Says here,’ Mitch began, and then continued, ‘we are twenty miles from Dubbo.’

‘I’m still not sure…’ Jack said.

‘Oh, come on,’ Mitch huffed, ‘only twenty miles. If we use the torches for our light, we can get there safely.’

‘What, waving the torches out the side of the windows?’ Rick said, ‘Are you mad?’

‘If we go slowly, we can make it,’ Mitch said. ‘Come on, give it a try. For Cordelia’s sake, we have to try.’

[Photo 3: Rick will save the day…eventually © courtesy R.M. Trudinger 1983]

At Mitch’s insistence to save this damsel in distress, we piled back in the car and crawled down the highway, torches flashing back and forth from the rear windows.

After a few minutes, Rick shook his head, his curls flopping about his damp forehead. ‘It’s not working.’

‘What about,’ Mitch sighed, ‘what about, if I sit in the front and you and I shine the torches from the front.’

‘If you think it’ll make a difference,’ Rick muttered.

Mitch changed places with Rick, who was driving, and Rick moved into the front passenger seat where Jack had been sitting. Jack then bumped Cordelia into the middle and sat behind Mitch.

The car crawled a few metres with Rick and Mitch waving torches from their front positions.

I looked behind me at the expanse of the dark landscape, and the sky was filled with the Milky Way.

‘I hope the cops don’t catch us,’ I murmured.

‘What cops?’ Jack said.

The Charger slowed and then stopped.

‘It’s not working,’ Rick said.

‘But we’ve hardly moved,’ Mitch said.

‘I think it’ll be better if we don’t use the torches and I drive by the starlight.’ Rick sniffed. ‘I think my eyes will adjust. And we’ll take it slowly.’

‘I can do that,’ Mitch said.

‘No, I’ll drive.’ Rick pushed open his door and marched over to the driver’s side. ‘It’s my car. I know how to handle it.’

Mitch breathed in and out with an emphasised sigh. ‘If you insist.’

Rick forged ahead on the highway to Dubbo at a leisurely twenty miles an hour. I know it was twenty miles (not kilometres) an hour as it took us an hour to reach the outskirts of Dubbo. Mitch couldn’t resist the urge to hang his arm out with Jack’s torch, offering slim beams of light to guide Rick as he drove. Fortunately, we met no police on patrol.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: The Tough and Rugged Front of one of Rick’s re-creations, a Chrysler Valiant Charger after “roughing it” in the Flinders Ranges. Friend Dancing at Port Germein © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) circa 1984

***

Summer in Australia is approaching, and so is the season for holidays and intrepid road trips …

Or for reading adventure …

Want more? Dreaming of travelling down under? Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on:

 Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

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

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Travelling Friday–Tnorala (Gosses Bluff) Conservation Reserve

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[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.

Once every month on a 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-K Team ventured out West of Hermannsburg to explore Tnorala (Gosse Bluff).]

Big Day Out West

Night

An alarm wailed.

I sat up and nudged Anthony. ‘What’s that about?’

Anthony snorted, smacked his lips and mumbled. ‘I don’t know. An alarm, I think.’

‘Shouldn’t we tell P? It might be their shop.’

Anthony snorted, turned over and recommenced snoring.

For some time, I lay in bed. Sleepless. The alarm was bleating with lights flashing through our window. I assumed that, like car alarms in the city, a cat or dog had set the thing off and the owners would sort out the problem … eventually.

Eventually, the alarm stopped and somehow, I fell into a good, deep sleep.

[Photo 1: Sunrise in the Centre © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

Morning

I stretched and then yawned. ‘Good morning, Anthony, did you have a good sleep?’

‘No,’ he grumbled. ‘You snored!’

Breakfast

After a shower, getting dressed while Anthony caught up on the sleep he apparently missed out on while I snored (nothing about the alarm, I might add), I chatted with K over breakfast.

‘The store was broken into last night,’ she said.

‘So, that’s what the alarm last night was all about,’ I remarked.

‘Yep, happens on a regular basis. One of the windows needs replacing, again.’

P joined us. Leaning on the kitchen table, he added, ‘If you want anything at the shop, you’ll have to wait until it opens. The store was broken into.’ He chuckled. ‘One lady has tried to impress the cops with her tracking skills.’

‘Who tried to break in? Do the police have any idea?’

P shrugged. ‘Kids probably.’

[Photo 2: Back in the 1940s, some roads in the centre of Australia were virtually non-existent and had to be built © S.O. Gross circa 1941]

Late Morning

After a slow morning, mooching, chatting with P (K had gone to work), Bible study and then preparing some lunch, Anthony and I commenced our day trip to the Gosse Range. After some twenty kilometres of bitumen, we took the turn onto the Mereenie Loop and the road deteriorated.  The Ford suffered the juddering of corrugations and slipping and sliding on silty red sand. Anthony slowed the car and crawled at a tense 20 km per hour.

I clutched the handhold of the door. ‘Is the car going to survive? I feel like the car’s going to fall apart.’

‘Why do you think I’m driving so slow?’ Anthony snapped.

[Photo 3: My Grandpa’s truck did break down and they had to use donkeys to pull the truck back to “civilisation” © S.O. Gross 1941]

In the distance, a truck approached us, powering up the road at speed, bull dust billowing behind it.

‘Close your windows,’ Anthony said.

‘They are,’ I replied. ‘I know what bulldust is and does.’ Didn’t fancy my nose, mouth and eyes filled with the stuff as they were in 1981.

[Photo 4: Rough road—Mereenie Loop. Gosse Ranges in background © L.M. Kling 2013]

Midday

The truck powered past us, leaving us behind in a cloud of bulldust. Thankfully, the Ford, with its windows wound up, shielded us from the red menace, and we continued to judder along the corrugations for what seemed an eternity.

[Photo 5: Vehicle comes closer © L.M. Kling 2013]

Then we rounded a bend in the road and, there, the Gosse Range spread out before us.

We stopped and captured the range, dressed in a soft mauve in the midday sun. As we prepared to jump in the car, another vehicle came roaring up the road towards us. This time, I caught the car with my camera as it sped up the road as if it were a racing track.

[Photo 6: Gosse Range Approach © L.M. Kling 2013]

With the car disappearing in a cloud of dust behind our Ford with us safely in it, we prepared to complete our journey to the Gosse Range.

Anthony glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘Oh, cattle.’

‘Must get photos,’ I retrieved my camera from its bag, ‘evidence for your mum; she does not believe that cattle exist in Central Australia.’

Anthony switched off the engine, and we piled out to take these important photos.

[Photo 7: Proof of cattle © L.M. Kling 2013]

After the cattle were caught on camera, we crawled our way to the Gosse Range turn-off. By this time, the jiggling and juggling along the route must have rattled Anthony’s senses and he had become quite cavalier. ‘What the heck, the road doesn’t look too bad.’

I stared at the two-tyre rutted track. I knew, having been there some 36 years before, that the track would not be much of a track further on. ‘Better to park the car just off the side of the road and hike to the Gosse Range, actually.’

‘Looks alright to me.’

‘Okay, if you must. We’ll drive as far as we can and then walk the rest of the way.’

This we did. Our trusty old Ford lumped and “harrumphed” over the rocks and ruts until we decided to spare the Ford any further risk and indignity to its undercarriage and suspension. Then we hiked the final kilometre through the gap and into the pound.

[Photo 8: Trek into Gosse Range © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘I’m so glad we were able to walk through the gap,’ I said while marvelling at the cliffs and boulders on each side. ‘If we’d been able to drive through, as we did in the Rover in 1977, I would’ve missed the beauty of these formations.’

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021; updated 2025

Feature Photo: Racing along the Mereenie Loop © 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)

More Memoir Friday–Road Trip to Sydney

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[Keeping with the car-theme this week. Bought a new secondhand car. Sold our car. I say, if I’m a bit muddle-headed, it’s because of all the dealing with vehicles, banking, and paperwork that goes with it. The new-for-us car is beautiful, though and everybody involved is smiling.]

Road Trip to Sydney, the summer of 1979 – Episode 1

[Based on real events. Some names have been changed. And some details of events may differ. After all, it was over 40 years ago.]

Lost Control

A conference on the gifts of the Holy Spirit. I wonder what gifts God has for me? I pondered while dozing in the back seat of my brother Rick’s Chrysler Charger. And Dad…why was it that Dad had to go all on his own by car to the conference? Oh, well…much more fun travelling with my peers.

Crunch!

I sat up. Rubbed my eyes. ‘What happened?’

The car fishtailed. Rocking the carload of us back and forth.

‘Hey, mate!’ Rick, my brother, yelled at the driver, ‘Jack! You trying to kill us?’

Without reply, Jack bit his thin upper lip and swung the Charger to the right, and into oncoming traffic.

I gasped.

A truck bore down on us.

Jack, who reminded me of Abraham Lincoln, clenched his strong jaw and corrected back to the left. Keep left, that’s what you do when driving in Australia. Jack’s usually blonde curls appeared dark from perspiration.

The semitrailer gushed past us, sucking the air out of our open windows.

Rick held up his thumb and forefinger in pincer mode. ‘You missed them by that much.’

[Photo 1: Rick’s Charger in strife © L.M. Kling circa 1984]

Rick’s navy-blue tank top was soaked with sweat around the neckline under his mouse-brown curls, and under his strong arms. Mid-January and the full car with only open windows for air-con, steamed with heat. And body odour.

To my right in the back seat, Mitch, taller and thinner than my brother but sporting chestnut brown curly hair, wiped his damp mauve polo shirt and then sighed, ‘That was close.’

Cordelia, in the briefest of shorts and a tight-fitting t-shirt, showing off her classic beauty and assets, sat on the other side of Mitch. She clutched her stomach. ‘I feel sick.’

Mitch leaned forward and tapped Rick on the arm. ‘How long till we reach the next town?’

‘I think I’m going to throw up,’ Cordelia said.

Rick nudged Jack. ‘I think you’d better stop.’

Jack rubbed one hand on his blue jeans, straightened his long white shirt, placed his hand again on the steering wheel, and kept driving.

Cordelia cupped her hand under her chin and groaned.

I smoothed my white wrap-around skirt and then brushed my light cream-coloured blouse patterned with blue roses. No way did I want Cordelia to mess up my most flattering-to-my-slim-figure- figure clothes.

[Photo 2: In my slimming white wrap-around feeding a penguin at Cleland National Park © M.E. Trudinger 1979]

‘Stop!’ Rick shouted.

‘I can’t!’ Jack said and continued to speed down the highway. The golden expanse of the Hay Plains, dried out by the fierce summer heat, spanned the horizon. White posts flitted past. The red-brown line of bitumen of the highway stretched to its vanishing point on that horizon. A faded white sign flashed past. Dubbo, 265 miles. How long had Australia been metric? A few years at least; not that one would know, travelling in outback Australia in early 1979. Still…

Another groan from Cordelia.

Rick screamed at Jack. ‘Stop!’

Jack slowed the car and rumbled onto the gravel beside the road.

Cordelia leapt out and hunched over a shrivelled wheat stalk. I looked away and covered my ears from the inevitable sound of chunder.

‘That was close,’ Mitch said.

‘Remember that drunk guy, your brother brought back to Grandma’s?’ Rick said. ‘Took me a week to get the smell out of her Toyota.’

‘Hmm,’ Mitch replied. ‘That was unfortunate.’

‘You mean, the guy who kept singing “Black Betty”?’ I asked. I remembered that fellow. He had messy blonde hair and a moustache. He lounged on the back seat of Grandma’s car while I sat all prim and proper in the front, waiting for Mitch’s brother to drive us to Lighthouse Coffee Lounge. ‘He kept saying I was so innocent.’

‘Well,’ Mitch said, ‘you are.’

I guess I was 15, but hated to admit it.

Cordelia stumbled back into the car. ‘That’s better.’

[Photo 3 and feature: Proud owner of his Chrysler Charger © courtesy of R.M. Trudinger 1983]

Rick and Jack arranged to swap places. So, after a brief stretch of legs and a nearby scraggly-looking bush receiving five visitors, we set off on our quest for Sydney. After all, we still had ages to go before arriving there for the Revival Conference. We hoped to arrive with enough spare time to see the sights Sydney had to offer.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023; Updated 2025

***

Summer in Australia is approaching, and so is the season for holidays and intrepid road trips …

Or for reading adventure …

Want more, but yet able to travel down under?

Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on:

 Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

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

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

100-Word Challenge–My Dad’s Car Tales

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[Another fond memory from my childhood…and Dad’s catchcry, “for the time being” took a breather when, after being promoted to Deputy Principal, he bought the Holden Premier. Also, a timely piece as our recent Remembrance Day, November 11, marked the 50th anniversary of the sacking of our then prime Minister Gough Whitlam by the Governor General Sir John Kerr. I still remember where I was when that happened. At home watching the news and old Gough saying: ‘Well may we say, “God save the Queen”, because nothing will save the Governor-General.’

Anyway, a car tale from our journey to Canberra where my education in Australian politics began.]

Feature Photo: Another Holden, my brother’s rebuilt Holden Monaro © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) circa 1978

The Dream Car—Holden Premier EH, Serena (100-word challenge)

Serena, our dream family car ferried the T-Team to Canberra. In 1975, hardly a maiden for this voyage, she drove us to our destination; a comfortable, safe ride over the Hay Plains. No breakdowns. No stranded waiting for road service on the hot dusty side of the road. A smooth ride that rocked me to sleep; the vinyl with scent fresh from the caryard to us.

She mounted the snow shovelled roads to Thredbo. From her window, my first sight of snow on a brilliant sunny day, snow shining on twisted eucalypt branches.

Memories.

When Dad sold her, mum cried.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019; updated 2022; 2025

***

Explore the rugged beauty of the Australian outback from the comfort of your own lounge room.

Take a journey into Central Australia with the T-Team …

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or

Catch up on the exploits of Boris the over-grown alien cockroach, and the mischief and mayhem he generates. Click on the links below…

Diamonds in the Cave (new release)

How could a pleasant bunch of Wends turn so which-hunting nasty?

The Lost World of the Wends

The Hitch-hiker

Mission of the Unwilling