Tnorala (Gosse Bluff) Revisited

March 29, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

[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 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 bleating, 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 will 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 1981]*

Morning

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

‘No,’ he grumbled. ‘You snored!’

Breakfast

After a shower, and 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 need 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. 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 1940’s, 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 daytrip to the Gosse Range which is a meteorite crater formed some millennia ago. 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, leaving us behind in a cloud of bull dust. 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. Tnorala in background. © 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 she who 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 hurumphed over the rocks and ruts until we decided to spare the Ford any further risk and indignity to its under-carriage 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

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),

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (UK)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (Germany]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [France]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (India)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Canada]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Mexico]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Italy]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Brazil]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Spain]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Japan]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Netherlands]

T-Team Next Gen–Return to Hermannsburg (2)

March 22, 2021March 22, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

Hermannsburg Here We Come

[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 (my husband and I) return to Hermannsburg and catch up with friends there.]

As we powered along the sealed Larapinta Highway, I mused, what a difference some 60-70 years makes. When Mum T lived in Hermannsburg, back in the 1940’s and 50’s, the trip to Alice Springs was a long arduous half-a-day journey on a dirt track in a truck where one spent several days in Alice Springs stocking up on supplies.

*[Photo 1: Travelling in Central Australia in 1950’s required a stop for lunch…]*

*[Photo 1b: Or for the car to recover… In outback Australia, there were few sealed roads back then © M. E. Trudinger 1956]*

As we passed the turn off to Jay creek, I said Anthony, ‘Mum told us the story of her mum (Grandma Gross) who, when the Finke flooded, had to wade through the waters to reach the other side to continue the journey to Alice Springs. She was 8-months pregnant at the time.’

*[Photo 2: Community enjoying the Finke in flood © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]*

‘Hard to imagine the creek flooding,’ Anthony glanced at the dip, a dry riverbed, that signalled the up-coming fork in the road leading the Hermannsburg. ‘But I know from camping in the Flinders Ranges, at the first drops of rain, you don’t hang around, you get out.’

‘Your mum and friend didn’t when they camped at Parachilna,’ I said. ‘They were stuck there on an island with the river all around them for days.’

‘I know, my mum’s friend liked to take risks.’

*[Photo 3: K-Team in Parachilna Gorge when not in flood, but very windy © L.M. Kling 2000]*

A sign with an image of a cow, and below written, “Beware of wandering stock”, flashed by. Brumbies galloped on the side, as if racing with us. Hawks soared in the cobalt blue sky above. A lone wedge-tail eagle, having gorged on a carcass of roadkill, waddled off the road just in time, avoiding the same fate as its feed.

*[Photo 4: Brumbies rounded up in times past, Hermannsburg stock yards © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]*

This time, when we arrived in Hermannsburg, we made a beeline for the FRM (finke River Mission) store where we located our friend, P. He welcomed us and gave us a tour of the store. So much bigger than in 1981; more like the size of our local IGA store in size and shelves fully stocked. It even stocked fridges and washing machines. P proudly showed us the bakery where fresh bread is made each day and he introduced us to the Indigenous workers at the store.

*[Photo 5: In front of the store © L.M. Kling 2013]*

After settling into our P and K’s home, we spent the afternoon drinking coffee and storytelling with P and K. Storytelling continued over dinner. Much had changed since the T-team visited in 1981. The population of Hermannsburg has now grown to 600, the Finke River Mission still exists there, and the Christian community is growing. However, there remain challenges for the Indigenous community as there are in communities all over Australia, and the world. ‘It just is,’ as P stated, ‘we’re at the coal-face, being a small, isolated outback community; you see everything…’

*[Photo 6: Memories of times past celebrating* *Kuprilya Day* *© C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]*

‘Whereas,’ I concluded, ‘in the city it’s hidden by numbers, a larger population and behind the walls of our castles.’ Then I changed the subject. ‘Oh, by the way, this is the house I stayed in when the T-Team visited Hermannsburg in 1981.’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021

*Feature Photo: Hermannsburg way back when, enjoying a game of friendly footy © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955*

***

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,

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (UK)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (Germany]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [France]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (India)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Canada]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Mexico]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Italy]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Brazil]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Spain]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Japan]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Netherlands]

T-Team Next Gen–Alice Springs (2)

March 7, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

All In a Sunday (5)

Must Register

[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-Team leave camping in the desert behind and tackle the complexities of civilisation—Alice Springs…all on a Sunday.]

By the time our family and Mum drove the streets of Alice Springs in search of a hotel to eat, night had fallen, and a blanket of darkness surrounded us. As a convoy of Mum’s rental and the Ford, we wended through the few short streets to the nearby hotel which had been recommended by the caravan park.

*Photo 1:* *Memories of Alice Springs way back when—View From Anzac Hill Memorial © courtesy M.E. Trudinger circa 1955*

‘Hope we can get a table,’ Anthony grumbled as we walked from the neon-lit car park to the entrance of the hotel. ‘We haven’t booked, you know.’

‘If we can’t, I guess you’ll be cooking tea for us all,’ I joked.

‘It’ll be alright,’ Mum sang her mantra.

*[Photo 2: Mr. BBQ extraordinaire © L.M. Kling 2020 (Black and White film)]*

Our family of five filtered through the front entrance and into an expanse of dark green carpet and pastel green walls and fronted up to the black topped counter.

‘Do you have a table for five?’ Mum T asked.

‘You need to register,’ the man at the counter said.

Anthony and I glanced at each other. ‘Register?’

‘We need to see your identification; a drivers’ licence will be okay.’

‘That’s normal for me,’ Son 1 said, ‘They always ask for my ID. They don’t believe I’m over 18.’

Son 2 snorted, ‘And here I was getting into hotels when I was under 18, no problem.’

‘Just your luck,’ Son 1 muttered.

‘And I don’t drink,’ Son 2 sniffed.

‘Typical.’

*[Photo 3: Neither does my brother, but you wouldn’t think so by the looks of this shot © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1986]*

While the boys quibbled and joked, the T-K Team, good citizens that we were, unquestioningly showed our respective licences and registered to enter the hotel.

As we sat at our designated table, we observed the predominance of people of Anglo-Saxon extraction and the lack of First Nation people. There was one Indigenous family way down the other end of the dining hall, but… They seemed happy enough.

*[Photo 4: Another hotel, another time, another place (Adelaide actually), same T-Team Next Gen. © L.M. Kling 2020]*

Over dinner, roast meat, and smorgasbord, (your average fare for an Aussie hotel at that time), I mused, ‘What’s the deal with registering?’

Anthony waved a hand around the room. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Didn’t you read the sign at the entrance?’

‘What sign?’

Anthony rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Then again, I understood, without further explanation, what my husband meant.

*[Painting 1: Memories of Ormiston Gorge © L.M. Kling 2018]*

Back at the campsite, I used the communal kitchen to prepare a hot chocolate for Anthony and me. While the kettle took its time boiling, I watched a pair of German tourists and their Australian friends Skyping on a laptop to Germany.

*[Photo 5: Dreams of travelling the Romantic Road; something to look forward to. Rothenburg ob der Tauber © A.N. Kling 2014]*

Then, soporific from the effects of warm chocolaty milk, hubby and I snuggled into our sleeping bags and it was lights out for us…only, it wasn’t that much light out—we still had the toilet block light beaming into our tent…all night. And on our minds wondering who were the T-Team imposters?

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021

Feature Photo: Hermannsburg Sunset © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955

***

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,

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (UK)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (Germany]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [France]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (India)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Canada]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Mexico]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Italy]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Brazil]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Spain]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Japan]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Netherlands]

T-Team Next Generation–Alice Springs (1)

March 1, 2021 / lmkling / Leave a comment

All on a Sunday (4)

[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-Team leave camping in the desert behind and tackle the complexities of civilisation—Alice Springs…all on a Sunday.]

Impostors

Less than one hour later after leaving Hermannsburg, we checked into the Stuart Caravan Park on the edge of Alice Springs. The reception, cast in long shadows, signalled the fast-approaching night and uncertainty that comes with not booking a site. Would there be one for us?

*[Photo 1: Namatjira Country the road back to Alice Springs © L.M. Kling 2013]*

We trod into the kiosk, glancing at each other and hopeful expressions on our faces.

‘Do you have a tent site available?’ Anthony asked the manageress.

‘Let me see…’ the lady opened an A3 sized compendium. ‘Hmm, yes, site 81 is free.’

After paying the deposit, we collected the keys to the boys’ cabin which had already been booked for Sunday night.

*[Photo 2: The boys’ cabin with our trusty Ford © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Mum had followed us in, and I noticed her embroiled in some discussion with a young chap behind the counter. Mum did not look happy.

I stepped over to check out the situation.

‘They’ve stuffed up my booking,’ Mum T muttered to me.

‘What? How?’

Mum explained that someone called “Mrs T” had checked in and acquired her cabin as well as a campsite.

Immediately, I dialled Mrs T on my mobile and asked her, ‘Did you book a cabin?’

‘Nuh!’ Mrs T replied, ‘Why would I do that when we can stay for free at me friend’s house.’

*[Photo 3: Backyard view from Mrs. T’s friend’s house © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Fair point. Why book a cabin and campsite if you can stay with friends and save money?

‘Looks like someone impersonated our mum and snaffled up her cabin,’ I said.

‘Mmm! That’s a bit rough,’ Mrs T said, ‘Hope she can get her money back. She can stay with us, if she likes.’

I looked to Mum T. ‘You can stay with the T-Team at their friend’s.’

Mum T smiled. ‘It’s okay, the manager has given me another cabin free of charge.’

Glad that we had decided to return to Alice Springs and had been there to support Mum. Still, rather ironic that, Mum, who had been the first to book her cabin way back in March or April to ensure she had a booking and not miss out, was the one who almost did.

*[Photo 4: After all, Mum T had had her fair share of camping in the Finke River © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]*

In the golden tones of late afternoon, Anthony and I set up our tent and then took a leisurely stroll around the caravan park and onto mum’s cabin. Fortunately, her cabin was near our sons’. On the way we ‘happened” to pass the cabin containing the fake T-Team. There they sat, out on the front porch, an elderly couple and a younger couple. Didn’t appear to be your average criminal type or distant relatives even.

*[Photo 5: Settling into cabin © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Visited the boys’ cabin. Son 1 and 2 had settled in for the night, happy with the comfort that the rooms afforded. Son 1 particularly pleased that he wouldn’t have to hear our snoring.

Son 2 however asked, ‘What are we doing for tea?’

‘Maybe we can go to a hotel to eat,’ I said.

My husband frowned. ‘What? Are we made of money?’

‘You want to cook?’ I questioned. ‘Anyway, it’s Mum’s and the boys’ last night up here, they leave for Adelaide tomorrow.’

Anthony sighed, ‘Oh, alright!’

Sprinted over to mum’s cabin and knocked on the door. Mum, holding the phone, ushered me in. Then I stood in the small lounge area while Mum sat at the tiny wooden table, phone glued to her ear.

I waited.

Mum, with phone at her ear and silent, waited.

‘What…?’ I began.

Mum batted her free hand at me to be quiet.

So, I waited.

And waited.

Might as well do something while waiting for goodness knows what. Must be something to do with the imposters, I thought.

*[Photo 6: Mum hanging on the phone © L.M. Kling 2013]*

‘Yes…’ finally, mum gets a response, ‘yes, right…nine o’clock tomorrow…be there half an hour before…no, we don’t have any luggage; only hand luggage…Right, thank you.’

‘Not news about the T-Team imposters, then?’ I laughed.

‘No, just had to do the check in with Qantas for the boys’ return trip tomorrow,’ Mum replied.

Only then, was I able to discuss with mum about going out for tea. Of course, the suggestion was fine by her.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021

Feature Photo: Memories of Alice Springs way back when—the Opening of the Flynn Memorial Church 1956 © S.O. Gross 1956

***

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,

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (UK)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (Germany]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [France]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (India)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Canada]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Mexico]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Italy]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Brazil]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Spain]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Japan]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Netherlands]

Trekking With the T-Team–Kings Canyon

February 22, 2021 / lmkling / Leave a comment

Central Australia has land formations that go way beyond one’s imagination. One of these wonders, the highlight of our adventures in the Centre, is Watarra (better known as Kings Canyon), which is approximately 320 km from Uluru.

[Excerpt from my travel memoir:

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

Available on Amazon and Kindle.]

Forget About the Men

Friday August 7, 1981

I had to find the men, but the chasm’s majesty awed me. Forget about the men. The cliffs each side of the gorge glowed golden and striped with black. The cliffs’ texture was Violet Crumble, smooth and pockmarked with crisp inverted bubbles of caves. One side had sheets of rock sloped over the valley, the angle tipped, threatening to collapse on top of us. The other side possessed shorter more stunted sheets placed in layers, like pastry. A barrier of a third cliff plugged the end the gorge acting like a wall in a room joining with the other two cliffs. Behind a collection of boulders piled on the top of this rear wall the map promised a waterhole. I imagined it to be a slimy mud puddle as the creek in this current section of gorge offered nothing in the way of clean running water. Still I was curious.

2.
*[Photos 1 & 2: Walls of Kings Canyon © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

I caught up to the fellers who lingered at the base of these three adjoining cliffs near a small rock-hole. We marvelled at the chasm, and the steady stream of tourists like ants trailing along the edge of the cliffs above.

*[Photo 3: Conga-line of tourists © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

‘Where’re they going?’ I asked Dad.

Dad shrugged.

C2 (my younger cousin) gazed up at the walls, his camera almost glued to his eye, fired another round of shots to capture the scenic wonder.

‘How many rolls is that, bro?’ C1 (older cousin) asked.

‘I don’t know, at least a couple.’ C2 snapped away with his trigger-happy finger. ‘This is magnificent!’

*[Photos 4: Magnificent view of Kings Canyon © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

*[Photo 5: The ripple effect © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

Keen to explore, Dad scrambled up the side of the gully and rock-climbed up a ledge. There he splayed himself like a huntsman spider flattened to the vertical surface, his bald head switching every which way for the next hand or foot hold. ‘If we could just get over this cliff,’ he yelled.

TR (family friend) basked in the sun on a boulder and yawned. ‘This’s far enough, I’m happy.’ He smacked his pink lips and closed his eyes.

*[Photo 6: Dreams fulfilled to do as TR on the other side near a bigger waterhole © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

‘Ah, well, where there’s a will there’s a way.’ Dad inched down the jagged rise, rock-hopping to the tiny rock-hole. ‘Mmm! I wonder what the water’s like.’ He cupped the liquid in his hand, after staring at it for a moment, sipped it. ‘It’s fresh.’ Wiping his whiskers, he rose and then unscrewed the lid of his water bottle. ‘Come on everyone, fill up.’

We emptied our canteens and dipped them into this fresh water.

‘I remember now.’ My brother, Rick pointed at the army of tourists filing along the cliff above us. ‘I think there’s a track that leads to the back of the gorge.’

*[Photo 7: Dreams of Swimming in the big waterhole back of the gorge © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Dad screwed up his nose and peered at the people. ‘Could be just going to a look out.’

‘No, I remember, the track goes behind. There’s a bigger waterhole there.’

‘No harm in trying.’ C1 slung his canteen over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’ TR reclined up against his backpack, his Bible on his chest.

So, leaving our family friend behind to read his Bible, the rest of us scrambled down the valley. The lads leapt like mountain goats from rock to rock. Dad hunted for the route that would lead us up and over the gorge. I followed the men up the south side of the valley, walking along the ridge until a mountain of rocks blocked our way.

*[Photo 8: Dead-end—The lone ghost gum © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

*[Photo 9: The boys fight for supremacy © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1981]*

Rick stood at the base of these impassable boulders and shook his head. ‘Nah, it’s not this way, must be the other side.’

‘Oh, but, oh, but—’ Dad traced his hand over the wall of stones.

‘There must be a reason why everyone’s going on the other side.’ I gazed at the people trooping along the far ridge. I really didn’t want to follow the trend of tourists, but in this situation, I conceded that they may be on the right track.

‘Oh, alright, then,’ Dad said.

‘No harm in trying, Uncle,’ C2 said.

Down we climbed. I struggled, slipping on loose stones. Stranded, I froze to the spot, afraid of riding out of control and falling over the cliff. Rick returned to where I stood and guided me to the safety of the gully.

We stopped at the Rover to watch the sheer volume of tourists trailing up the hillside to the left of us.

‘Guess you’re right, son,’ Dad said. ‘I think I’ll join them. Should give us a good view from the top anyway.’ He strode along the thin path towards the people. My brother and C2 darted after Dad.

*[Photo 10: Welcome Lost City © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

*[Photo 11: Lost city discovery © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

C1 shrugged. ‘Might as well see where it leads.’

I followed C1.

*[Photo 12: Venture into Lost City © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

We stuck to the worn trail. People returning along the same track nodded at us and remarked the hike was well worth the effort. Young ladies in high heels negotiated the rough spots in the gravel path, and a guide helped weaker women over the bridge.

I pitied them.

At that same narrow bridge, did I ask for anyone’s help? No, I did not. What’s the big deal? It’s just a bridge. I stepped over the bridge in seconds.

*[Photo 13: We’ve been to Kings Canyon, Rick and C1 on lookout © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1981]*

The path led through a gap to a waterhole behind the gorge, a paradise. Beehive mounds of rock surrounded the pool, and a dry waterfall rose into a maze of grooves through a sandstone canyon lush with trees, shrubs and cycads. From this natural room, we spied an adjoining valley. Behind us the tourists crowded through the rocky corridor. They also gathered in droves on a lookout above us.

*[Photo 14: Sunset View from Lookout © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

While the rest of the T-Team waited for the stream of tourists to clear, I discovered a narrow passage in the northern section of the valley and slipped through the crack to explore where it led.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; Updated 2018

***Feature Photo: Kings Canyon Crumble © C.D. Trudinger 1981***

***

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All On a Sunday (3) — Hermannsburg

February 14, 2021February 14, 2021 / lmkling / 5 Comments

[Seven 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 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-Team visit Mum T’s old stamping ground, Hermannsburg where she shares with the T-Team Next Gen memories of her childhood home.]

Mystery in Historic Hermannsburg

We checked out the old school room. Mum reminisced the terrors of teaching the fellow missionary kids who were barely younger than her. They just refused to listen or obey her. Some were constantly daydreaming and never did their lessons. Mum vowed never to teach again. She escaped this teaching fate by getting married…to Dad.

*[Photo 1: Mum T and T-Team Next Gen gaze out the school room © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Then the church.

‘The only time we wore shoes was for church,’ Mum said. ‘Sundays were for Sunday best.’

*[Photo 2: The historic church back in the olden days © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]*

T-Tummies began to grumble and so, the T-Team Next Gen decided to head for the Precinct Café in what was once the Manse of the Hermannsburg Missionary Supervisor.

As we investigated the old rooms that had been converted into a souvenir shop and tea rooms, Mum said, ‘This is the room Dad and I stayed after we got married.’ I took a photo of Mum in that room which was now filled with souvenir clothes and hats.

*[Photo 3: Mum T in her old room © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Finally, Mum and I approached the counter and asked the young Arunda lady serving, if we could have a table for our party of ten.

She guided us to some tables on the porch where we could sit. Along the way, Mum mentioned to her that she used to live in the house. From that moment on, this lady could not do enough for us, making sure we had the best slices of apple strudel and helping us with the self-serve tea and coffee.

*[Photo 4: The Manse and what was then, what would be, the front porch where we sat © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]*

When she had left us to serve someone else, Mum whispered to me, ‘I think she is GW’s (an elder) granddaughter.’

Later, as we were leaving to explore more of the village, she who served us ran up to us to continue the conversation with us about the Hermannsburg of old and answer any of our questions about Hermannsburg today.

*[Photo 5: Hermannsburg of old—evening play in the compound © circa S.O. Gross circa 1950]*

*[Photo 6: Hermannsburg in 2013—building in the compound © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Then, she had a question for us. ‘Have you seen or sensed any ghosts?’

We shook our collective heads. ‘No, we haven’t.’

‘Apparently, some people have seen a girl in period clothing, circa 1900. And some have seen an old man in this café. The young girl plays with my children,’ the lady who served us said.

*[Photo 7: Funeral for a Mission Worker © courtesy S.O. Gross circa 1941]*

I tried to think back to my previous visits to Hermannsburg. Can’t recall any ghosts then…just dreams of the olden days, way back when…And the pioneer missionaries and Afghans trekking across the desert on horses and camels.

*[Photo 8: Caravan of camels starting out desert trek © S.O. Gross circa 1942]*

More exploration of the Historic Precinct where Mum walked us through her childhood. First, her old home and the porch converted into a bedroom in which she slept. Now, the home is “renovated” into an art gallery. Her room fetches up to something like one thousand dollars a night for an authentic experience of yesteryear’s accommodation. To think, I did that for virtually free in the 1970’s…not her room, but…

*[Photo 9: T-Team Next Genner inside Mum’s old childhood home (at last!) © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Then, the “native” (as they were called back in the early 20th Century) girls’ quarters and the “native” boys’ quarters. Once upon a time, one hundred years ago, they were locked in at night, so they wouldn’t escape and get up to mischief.

[Photo 10: Meanwhile locked out and waiting to go; a re-enactment by the T-Team. Mum said that my grandpa spent “hours” in there, while his daughter, a young Mum T, hopped around the outside waiting her turn © L.M. Kling 2013]

Then the huge shed; a museum of machinery and long-forgotten technology, for butchering cattle, and tanning of kangaroo skins. Outside, my niece sat on an old tractor.

*[Photo 11: On the old tractor © L.M. Kling 2013]*

‘I wonder what happened to the green Mission truck?’ Mum said.

*[Photo 12: Memories of the Green Mission truck. Dad T seen sitting inside © S.O. Gross circa 1955]*

While the T-Team Next Gen rested at a picnic table by the morgue, and Anthony filled the water canteens, Mum shared how, as a child, she and her sisters played funerals. ‘We’d dance around the table pinching our noses.’ Apparently, back then, funerals were a regular occurrence. Mum added, ‘The most eerie experience was the wailing by the Arunda when someone died. Sent shivers down my spine.’

*[Photo 13: Pastors on a mission © courtesy of S.O. Gross circa 1953]*

Meanwhile Anthony battled with the nearby water pump which was situated just behind the Historic church building.

Mum glanced over and remarked, ‘Last time we visited in 2010, we were told about this competition Hermannsburg and another mission were in for who had the holiest water. Someone had drunk the water from this other mission where the water had bubbled up to the surface through the sand and was healed. So, then, Hermannsburg had to out-do this other mission and also make water with healing qualities.’

*[Photo 14: Hermannsburg Historic Church © L.M. Kling 2013]*

The T-Team laughed.

‘Hey, Anthony, you’re pumping holy water,’ Richard’s wife, Mrs. T called out. ‘Are you allowed to do that?’

‘It’ll be alright,’ Mum said. ‘No one’s looking.’

Anthony took a sip and frowned. ‘It tastes awful!’

‘Too salty?’ I asked.

‘Well, that’s convinced me!’ Anthony put his hands on his hips. ‘We’re going back to Alice Springs for the night.’

So, with our water containers empty, Anthony and I joined the T-Team on the return trek to Alice Springs.

‘I hope we can get a campsite at the Stuart Camping Ground,’ Anthony said.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021

Feature Photo: Hermannsburg Historic church © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955

***

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,

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (UK)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (Germany]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [France]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (India)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Canada]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Mexico]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Italy]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Brazil]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Spain]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Japan]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Netherlands]

T-Team Next Gen–All in a Sunday (2)

February 8, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

Hermannsburg

[Seven 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 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-Team visit Hermannsburg, Mum T’s old stamping ground.]

Midday, and Mt. Hermannsburg rose up above the desert scrub; just red sand dotted with tee tree bushes, spinifex and the invasive buffel grass. At regular intervals, horse poo appeared in high piles on the roadside.

*[Photo 1: Distant view of Hermannsburg from the distant past © S.O. Gross circa 1940]*

‘I wonder why the horses do that?’ I remarked while driving Mum’s hire car.

No one in the car could explain.

‘The locals say that the buffel grass is a curse,’ Mum muttered.

‘Do you reckon it’s changed the weather here in Central Australia?’ I asked.

‘Would’ve made the bushfire worse a couple of years back,’ Son 2 said. ‘Now we can’t have a campfire anywhere.’

‘Why did they introduce the buffel grass, Mum?’ I asked.

‘Camels, I think.’

*[Photo 2: Horses corralled to be broken in © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955*

]

I read later that buffel grass was introduced to stablise the desert soil and reduce the risk of bushfire. The problem with this grass is that it is pervasive, compromising the growth of native plant species. PIRSA (Primary Industries and Regions, South Australia) has declared “Buffel Grass under the Landscape South Australia Act 2019”.

A massive animal carcass on the side of the road flitted past.

‘What’s that?’ I pointed, then placed my hand back on the steering wheel. ‘It’s too big to be a roo and too woolly to be a brumby.’

Son 2 piped up. ‘Camel?’

‘Hmmm, hate to think what happened to the vehicle that struck that camel,’ I said.

*[Photo 3: Wild Camels © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

Not long after the camel carcass, we passed the memorial to Hermannsburg Mission and then a sign welcoming us to Ntaria—Hermannsburg. To our left, a supermarket, a pale brick structure languishing on the edge of a paddock near the road.

‘That’s where our friend, P, from church works,’ I announced. Our friends, P and wife, K had invited us to stay with them in Hermannsburg.

The convoy came to stop on the gravel road edge by the store.

*[Photo 4: Mount Hermannsburg (feature photo) © L.M. Kling 2013]*

I hopped out of the car and entered the store. Searching for P, I wandered up and down the aisles, filled with the owners of the Land, the Arunda people, but shelves empty of anything to buy. Except for the pie warmer, choc-full of pies, chips and other fast foods.

I approached the check out where an Indigenous lady served a long line of customers, who each held pies, chips, hot dogs, and burgers. I stood in line and waited my turn to purchase an answer to my question.

Finally, my turn. ‘Could you tell me where I can find P?’

The checkout lady stared past me.

‘P? I thought he worked in the supermarket,’ I said.

She nodded. ‘Ah, P?’

‘Yep, P.’ Expecting an instant reply.

‘Just wait while I serve.’

*[Photo 5: Way back when regular, whole-roast kangaroo was on the menu © S.O. Gross circa 1940]*

I waited about 10 minutes while she served a stream of customers purchasing their pies and other junk food.

So, I left.

‘Perhaps we’ll find an answer or P at the Historic Precinct,’ Mum said.

The T-Team convoy led by Mum’s hire car, then continued through Hermannsburg to the Historic Precinct. We passed a gated community. Yes, you heard right, a gated community. Houses painted in bright pastel green, yellow and pink, could be viewed through the cyclone fence, and their occupants sitting in backyards of red sand.

*[Photo 6: Early houses built by the Mission © S.O. Gross circa 1940]*

Further on, we rolled past another store. This one painted in pastel blue and decorated with a mural of native bush, mountains, and a kangaroo. Near a broken window, a faded sign, stating its identity as the “Finke River Mission” Store.

Mum waved a hand in the store’s direction. ‘I reckon P works here.’

*[Photo 7: Later, me in front of the FRM Store. Artwork by Wendy Schubert (another of my friends from church) © A.N. Kling 2013]*

The door appeared locked by a security gate of thick metal bars. Without stopping, or alighting from the car, I said, ‘I think it is closed on Sunday.’

A few metres on, we parked just outside the Historic Precinct. The wooden gate leading to the old buildings swung in the breeze, open. To one side, though, a formidable sign discouraged us with the words in black letters, “Closed”. Despite this sign and its statement, people wandered across the compound and in and out the buildings.

*[Photo 8: As it was; aerial view of the Historic Precinct back in my Grandpa’s day © S.O. Gross circa 1940]*

After climbing out of our vehicles, the T-Team lingered by the fence.

‘Are you sure it’s open?’ Anthony asked.

‘Well, there’s people there and the buildings are open,’ Mum replied.

‘They’ve just forgotten to take down the sign,’ I said and then led the way through the open gate and into the compound.

[To be continued…]

***

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,

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (UK)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (Germany]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [France]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (India)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Canada]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Mexico]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Italy]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Brazil]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Spain]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Japan]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Netherlands]

T-Team Next Generation–All In A Sunday (1)

February 1, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

Sunday Morning: Farewell Glen Helen

[Seven 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 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-Team farewell Glen Helen, then struggle with the concept of driving in convoy.]

*[Photo 1: Dawn breaking , Sunday morning 14-7-13 © L.M. Kling 2013]*

The sound of boots scuffling in the boys’ section of the tent woke me. I wormed my way out of the sleeping bag, careful not to wake my husband, Anthony. He still puffed out the sweet dreams while softly snoring as I crept next door to investigate.

Son 1, his face clouded in a frown greeted me. ‘Couldn’t sleep, so went for a walk,’ he snapped.

‘Best time of morning to enjoy the views.’

‘Sure you don’t have sleep apnoea? You kept me awake with your snoring all night.’

‘It’s just the cold desert air,’ I replied, then left for my own walk with views.

*[Photo 2: Mt Sonder at sunrise © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Captured more of Mt. Sonder at sunrise; this time in blue and mauve hues rising above helicopter landing pad. In 2010, Mum and her sister had splashed out and taken this helicopter ride over the MacDonnell Ranges. In some ways an easier way to have a birds-eye view of the ranges without all the huffing and puffing and effort climbing a mountain.

*[Photo 3: Birds-eye/helicopter view of Glen Helen and MacDonnell Ranges © M.E. Trudinger 2010]*

Mum had been there and done that in her youth when she climbed Mt. Sonder with my dad and other Hermannsburg friends. Mum shared just recently, that one of the friends was a rather luscious looking fellow. She puzzled why there seemed to be no photos of this chap in Dad’s slide collection of the occasion.

*[Photo 4: Victorious and a much younger Mum T on the summit of Mt. Sonder © C.D. Trudinger 1957]*

On my return from this venture down memory lane, I collected some firewood from an old campfire.

Anthony narrowed his eyes and growled, ‘We’re not making a fire.’

‘Okay.’

I approached my nephew who squatted by a campfire which he had lit. ‘We’re not making a fire,’ I said and then dumped my wood collection into the fire. ‘We’re not having a fire?’

My nephew laughed. ‘I was just playing with my stick and it broke and went in the fire.’

‘And my pieces of wood just fell into the fire,’ I added.

We watched the flames grow, both chuckling at our insurrection to his Kling-ship’s fire-ban.

After a toilet break, I filled a billy can with water and it made its way onto the coals. The family gathered, enjoying its warmth and relative scarcity of flies and other insects. But for some, like my younger niece, the fire failed to ward off all the flies; especially those tiny little sticky flies that crawl in one’s eyes, nose and mouth. For her, the only solution was to put a re-usable cloth shopping bag over her head.

*[Photo 5: One way of keeping the flies at bay © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Following breakfast by the fire that my husband said we weren’t going to have, I washed and packed up my bedding and stuff in the tent. Having done as much as I could to pack the Ford, I walked up to the restaurant with Son 2. He wanted an iced coffee. There, while Son 2 drank his iced coffee, I bought a book about Uluru, and then had a coffee with Mum. We talked with the owner and Mum shared that she had visited Ayers Rock (Uluru) in 1953.

‘We were the only ones there,’ Mum said.

‘Was Dad there that time?’ I asked.

‘Yes, but I was much younger, and we weren’t going out then.’ Mum laughed. ‘One of the ladies lost the sole of her shoe when we were climbing, and Dad gallantly lent his shoes to her and walked down the rock barefoot.’

‘Just like Richard did in 1981 with his cousin. Only they did it as a dare.’

‘Must be in the genes,’ Son 2, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, snorted.

*[Photo 6: Historic climb of Ayers Rock 1953 © M.E. Trudinger 1953]*

By 10.30am, the T-Team convoy had left Glen Helen, its red cliffs, its flies and the doused and covered fire, in a distant mirage and we headed for Ormiston Gorge, again. My sister-in-law wanted to buy a souvenir magnet at the Ormiston Gorge information centre.

We parked at the turn-off, where Mum, Son 2 and I waited in Mum’s hire car for the Ford containing Anthony and Son 1 to arrive, and the T-Team in their white van to appear.

‘What’s taking them so long?’ Son 2 asked.

‘Maybe the Ford won’t start.’ A definite possibility, I thought.

‘Don’t say that,’ Mum said.

‘What about the T’s? They’re late too.’ Son 2 grumbled. ‘We’ve been waiting twenty minutes!’

I sighed. ‘Perhaps the old Ford has broken down and Richard is under the bonnet trying to fix it up.’

‘Should we go back then?’ Mum asked.

‘Yes, I think we should,’ I sighed again while starting up the engine. I rolled the car forward, performed a U-turn and then headed back to Glen Helen.

Just as we reached the road to Glen Helen, the Ford appeared, and sailed past us on its way to Ormiston Gorge.

Down the valley we travelled until we could safely do another U-Turn, at what we had coined the “U-Turn Crossing”. This was the place where a couple of nights ago, Son 1 had collected firewood while I collected photos of Glen Helen’s iron-red cliffs bathed in the golden rays of the setting sun.

*[Painting: Wood for fire under red cliffs of Glen Helen (acrylic on canvas) © L.M. Kling 2018]*

Then, stepping on the accelerator, we chased the Ford. Upon catching up to the Ford, we beeped the horn and flashed the lights of our rental car.

‘What the…?’ Son 2 pointed at a white van on the opposite side of the road, heading back towards Glen Helen.

‘No,’ Mum said, ‘we’ve missed the turn off to Ormiston.’

More sighs. A brief park by the side of the road, our car with the Ford, and then exchange of information with Anthony and Son 1. Then with my brother who had earlier missed the turn off to Ormiston and had to retrace his tracks back to the Ormiston road. Then, we turned around (in our cars) and following each other, bumped our way down the rough track to the Ormiston where we waited for Mrs T to buy her fridge magnets.

Transactions done, we began our journey to Hermannsburg. This time, the T-Team in their white van, waited for us to catch up before launching into the T-Team’s convoy to Mum T’s childhood home.