outback adventure

Travelling on Friday–Hermannsburg

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

Over the next few months, 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.]

Hermannsburg

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…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021; updated 2025

*Feature Photo: Mt Hermannsburg © L.M. Kling 2013

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

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

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

Art on a Friday–Story Behind the Painting: Mt. Giles

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For the last few years promoting my artwork has taken a back seat to my novels. About time I moved the art to the front seat again. So, for a start, here’s a story combining both memoir and art in the story behind the painting of Mt. Giles in the MacDonnell Ranges, Northern Territory and the T-Team’s intrepid adventures climbing it.

Story Behind the Art–Mt. Giles

Feature Painting: Mt. Giles Through Ormiston (c) L.M. Kling 2016

Travelling on Friday–Farewell Glen Helen

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T-Team Next Generation
All In a Sunday

Sunday Morning: Farewell Glen Helen

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

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 Hubby. He still puffed out the sweet dreams while softly snoring while I crept next door to investigate.

[Photo 1: Dawn Breaking © L.M. Kling 2013]


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: Mount Sonder at sunrise 2 © 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 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.
Hubby 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 Lord-ship’s ban on fire.

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 my brother 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 Hubby 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 Ford has broken down and brother 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 a 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 all 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 Hubby and Son 1. Then with my brother who had also missed the turn off to Ormiston and had to retrace his tracks back. We turned around (in our cars) and in convoy, 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. Again, this time in convoy, to Mum T’s childhood home.

[to be continued…]


© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021
Feature Photo: Red Cliffs of Glen Helen © L.M. Kling 2013

***
VIRTUAL TRAVEL OPPORTUNITY

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

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

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

***

One Day Left!

If you’re in Adelaide, don’t miss out!

Come and See!

Marion Art Group’s Exhibition at Bayside Village, Glenelg

One day left.

Excellent Quality paintings for sale.

Just in time for Mother’s Day.

Exhibition ends tomorrow, Saturday May 10 at 3pm.

Travelling on Friday–Ormiston Gorge

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T-Team Next Generation: Ormiston Gorge

[In 2013, two members of the original T-Team, actually, my brother and I with our families embarked on a convoy to Central Australia in memory of our Dad…and so began the story in the making of the T-Team Next Generation that follows my memoir: Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981 available on Amazon.]

A Place to Remember

‘What? A camel race? There’ll be a fight on their hands if they insist.’ Words actually spoken by Mum when confronted with even the suggestion of a change of plans. ‘We didn’t fly all the way up to Central Australia for the weekend to watch a camel race.’

Most of the T-Team, minus the one who’d made the suggestion (they were absent), nodded.
‘We are going to Ormiston Gorge, and that’s final.’

‘To honour Dad,’ I said.

‘To scatter his ashes,’ my husband (Hubby) added.

*[1. Video: Hungry Camel, eating, not racing, Gorge Wildlife Park, near Loebethal in Adelaide Hills © L.M. Kling 2024]

The camel race idea slid into obscurity. We spent Saturday morning lazing around at Glen Helen, fighting off flies. One T-Kid resorted to wearing a cloth shopping bag over their head while other T-members bought flynets from the store. The T-Team explored the waterhole at Glen Helen, before having lunch with the congregation of flies. Then we travelled to Ormiston Gorge.

*[Photo 2: One way to avoid the flies © L.M. Kling 2013]

The road to the gorge, though unsealed was in better condition than I remembered it in 1981. More tourists, I guess. No. 2 Son and I travelled with Mum (I drove), while Hubby drove the Ford with No. 1 Son, and my brother’s family piled into their van for the trip. So, we wound our way in convoy to Ormiston Gorge. 3pm and we were spoilt for choice of parks.

‘Most of the tourists have probably moved on or gone back to Alice for the camel race,’ I remarked to Mum.

I swung into a park and then we jumped out of the car.

Mum fumbled with some sealed containers. ‘Now, how shall we do this?’

‘Just divide the ashes evenly in the containers,’ I said.

She divided up the containers and began filling them with ashes.

‘They should be here soon,’ I gazed through the tee-tree bushes. ‘They were right behind us.’

‘Better not’ve gone to Alice for the camel races,’ Mum muttered.

‘I don’t think they would. The kids wanted to swim in the water-hole.’

*[Photo 3: Dad’s Ormiston Gorge © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

No. 2 Son bolted. Now that we were at Ormiston, he wanted to see what it was about the place that Grandpa found so attractive.

Mum continued to doll out the ashes. Takes time to doll out ashes into containers.

No.2 Son returned. ‘They’re here, just around the corner.’

Mum and I followed him.

‘What happened to you?’ my brother’s wife, Mrs. T yelled. ‘We’ve been waiting here for ages. Could’ve gone to the store, bought souvenirs and come back.’

‘Can we swim now?’ one T-Kid asked.

‘Not yet,’ my brother replied.

Mum offered her boxes of precious cargo to them. Our T-Children weren’t sure about taking them, but Mum persuaded them. They’d be honouring Grandpa’s memory.

As the T-Team Revisited, we trooped into the gorge. In late afternoon, the cliffs rose somber and dusky-pink casting a shadow over the waterhole. The T-Kids gazed at the expanse of water and kept on walking.
Just past the waterhole we climbed up a ridge. When we reached the top, Mum stumbled. Mrs T caught her and steadied her. Mum sat down with the announcement:

‘That’s it. I’m not going any further. But the rest of you can.’

*[4. Painting 1 and feature: Ormiston Memories (Acrylic) © L.M. Kling 2017]

The sun caught the cliff-wall opposite, causing it to glimmer a golden orange. A ghost gum sprouting from a tumble of rocks attracted my attention. ‘I remember that tree,’ I said. ‘Dad’s favourite tree in Ormiston.’ After taking a photo, I scrambled down to the tree and scattered Dad’s ashes there.

Up and down the immediate locale of the gorge, the rest of the T-Team Revisited, wandered, silently reflecting on Dad and scattering him where he had many times trekked.

Some hikers tramped past and glanced sideways at us. The T-Team ignored them. Mum watched us from her vantage point. I climbed back up to her to check how she was.

One of the T-kids joined us. ‘The hikers asked us what we were doing, and I said we were scattering Grandpa’s ashes. They said, ‘Oh,’ and walked away all quiet. Which was awkward!’

I counted the members of the T-Team who crawled over the rocks and the other side of the rock-hole.
‘Where’s No.2 Son?’

‘I think I saw him go further down the gorge with his Dad,’ Mum said.

Down the ridge, and around the golden wall I hiked. I found No.2 Son marching towards me. ‘I want to see what’s around the bend.’

I glanced at my watch. 4pm. ‘Why not?’

We strode down the gorge and around a corner or two. Cliffs in hues of blue and purple with just the tips splashed with orange. Perfect reflections in pools.

*[Photo 5: What’s Around the Bend? © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘What’s around the next corner?’ No.2 Son was had found his hiking mojo and was keen to explore more of Ormiston Gorge.

‘Let’s see.’

We stormed around the next corner. Ormiston with its majestic cliffs, even in shade of the late afternoon, spurred us onward to explore.

‘Let’s go on. I want to see more.’

‘Let’s.’ I’d never seen such enthusiasm from No.2 Son to explore nature.

On we tramped, the sand firm under our boots. The gorge cast in hues of mauve enticed us further. More reflections in still pools caught the sun-capped heights of the eastern cliffs.

‘Just one more bend,’ he urged as he raced ahead.

*[Photo 6: And the Next? © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Hoy! Hoy!’ a voice way behind us yelled.

We turned.

Hubby ran towards us. ‘Time to head back.’

My son stopped. ‘Oh, but…’

‘Come on! It’ll be dark soon.’

‘But I want to see what’s ‘round the corner.’

‘Too bad! I don’t want to be cooking in the dark—come on!’

*[Photo 7: Ormiston Reflections © L.M. Kling 2013]

As we dragged our feet back to Ormiston’s entrance, No. 2 Son grumbled. ‘Just as I’m getting into this exploring, Dad, you have to spoil it. You want me to get outdoors and then you call me back.’

‘It gives you a taste for another time when we’ll have more time to hike through the gorge to the Pound, okay?’ I said thinking, And perhaps climb Mt Giles one more time…

*[Painting 2: Mt Giles through Ormiston (Acrylic) © L.M. Kling 2016]

We passed the T-kids drying off from their swim in the waterhole.

MB waved from the damp depths. ‘Come on, have a dip!’

‘Too late,’ Hubby called back. ‘We have to get back to camp. I don’t want to be cooking in the dark.’

I was glad Hubby moved us on. Wasn’t in the mood for swimming. Like No. 2 Son, I yearned to explore the dreams and secrets, the twists and turns of Ormiston Gorge.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2017; revised 2018; updated 2020; 2025

Does adventure in Australia’s Centre spring to mind? Take your mind and imagination on a historic journey with the T-Team…

Find my travel memoir on Amazon and in Kindle.

Click on the links below:

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Travelling on Friday–Glen Helen

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T-Team Next Generation—Glen Helen

Wood for the Fire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

VIRTUAL TRAVEL OPPORTUNITY

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

CLICK ON THE LINKS 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 1981

Ready for the Weekend Friday–Blowouts and Bulldust

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T-Team Next Gen
Wednesday July 10, 2013

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

Rest Stop at Curtain Springs

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

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


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

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

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

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

No answer.

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

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

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

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


Rock’s Revenge


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I took some pictures of the tyre carnage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VIRTUAL TRAVEL OPPORTUNITY

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

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari

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

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T-Team Next Generation

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

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

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

Yet Another Excuse not to Climb the Rock

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Oh, but…’

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

‘I guess so.’

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2024

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

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

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

Ready for the Weekend Friday–T-Team

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The T-Team Next Generation

Tuesday July 9, 2013

Another Excuse Not to Climb the Rock

Part 2

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

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

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

Marla Track

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

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

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

I shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

Sunset on Uluru (July 8, 2013)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We turned.

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

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

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

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

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

The Phone Tree

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; update 2024

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

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

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

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

Fifth Friday with Art–Bunyip Chasm

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Story Behind the Painting: Bunyip Chasm

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

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

So, with a palette-knife, I did with…

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

THE BIRTH OF “BUNYIP CHASM”—THE PAINTING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I don’t see any chasm,’ I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I pulled off my jeans and t-shirt.

‘What are you doing?’ my boyfriend asked.

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

Boyfriend put his hands-on hips and sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Stop! Wait!’ I called to the men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

Click here on the links:

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

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

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Travelling Friday–T-Team Next Generation (3)

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[Over ten 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 relive and rekindle memories of our travel adventures. This time again to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.]

Yulara

Sunday 7 July 2013

Creature Comforts

Anthony tore off the tarpaulin and then, armed with the foldable shovel, stomped off in the direction of the bushes.

In the harsh light of morning, the scene into which we were brought under the shroud of darkness last night, was revealed. Road trains thundered past on the nearby Sturt Highway. On the opposite side of the road, a couple of these road-monsters basked in the golden rays of the rising sun. Camper vans and caravans crowded the free camping area.

*[Photo 1 and Feature: Early morning road train onslaught © L.M. Kling 2013]

I pottered around the wire fence that protected us from the Adelaide to Darwin rail line. I did not fancy an oncoming Ghan crushing me. Toilet paper littered the stony ground, shreds of it caught in the barbed wire of the fence, and nests of it rested under the salt bush. I gingerly picked up an armful of wood scraps. Hope it wasn’t contaminated.

Anthony returned from his morning adventure; a frown fixed on his face.

*[Photo 2: Our free “camping” accommodation © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘How did you sleep, dear?’ I asked.

‘Not good, I didn’t sleep a wink.’ He pointed his shovel at the quiet mound resembling my brother and wife. ‘I had a chorus of snorers keeping me awake all night.’ He then glared at my pitiful gathering of sticks. ‘What’s that?’

‘Sticks for a cooking fire.’

My husband rolled his eyes. ‘And where are you going to put that?’

‘Where there’s a clear space.’

‘Good luck.’ He sniffed. ‘There was nowhere even to do my business. I had to walk miles.’ Anthony loves to exaggerate. ‘I can’t believe people don’t cover their mess.’

My nephew came jogging up to us. ‘I want a fire. Where’s the campfire? It’s freezing.’

I glanced around. Spying a clear patch of ground, I announced, ‘Here, I’m getting it started now.’

‘Watch out for any poo. This place is full of it,’ Anthony said.

My nephew chuckled. ‘We’ll use it as fuel, Uncle Anthony.’

Anthony shuddered. ‘Won’t be eating anything from that fire, then.’

I bent down, then cleared stones away to create a shallow basin to make the fire. Soon a small but functional campfire crackled away. Perched on top of the coals, a billy bubbled with boiling water.

Anthony sat some distance from the fire munching on his cereal. There was no way he’d get close to the fire. After all, who know what lies beneath or nearby, on the ground in this part of the world, unregulated by OC Health and Safety.

*[Photo 3: Fire master Anthony © L.M. Kling 2013]

My nephew fried eggs on a frypan on that small but adequate fire.

The free camping site slowly emptied itself of vehicles. First, the trucks disappeared. Then, the Grey nomads, and their luxury on wheels vanished. I imagined they had left once the sun had peeped over the horizon. The caravans had gone too. Just us, the not so grey T-Team stumbled around the parking bay, slowly packing up bedding, wandering beyond in search of a bush in lieu of a toilet, and then gulping down breakfast.

I picked up a stray piece of wood for the fire. A poopy looked up at me. I recoiled. ‘Ee-yew!’

To avoid the inevitable “told you so” from Anthony, my nephew and I announced the fire a success, doused it and covered the remains with dirt.

‘Time to go!’ Mrs. T yelled. ‘Next stop Marla.’

‘What?’ Richard, my brother asked. ‘That’s only about twenty kilometres away.’

‘There’s no way I’m squatting anywhere ‘round here. It’s a tip!’ his wife replied.

*[Photo 4: Making progress; SA-NT Border gathering of T-Team, Next Gen © L.M. Kling 2013]
*[Photo 5: T-Team Climbing the Wall, SA-NT border © L.M. Kling 2013]

So, after a day of driving with the quick toilet stop at Marla, an obligatory exploration and photo stop at the South Australian—Northern Territory border, and then a petrol pause at Erldunda, we turned down the Lassiter Highway to Uluru.

We travelled in convoy on this perfect sunny day. Anthony’s mood seemed to thaw, and he was happy to take the wheel while I filmed parts of the drive with my Dad’s digital movie camera. The bold purple mesa, Mt Conner emerged above the rusty-coloured sand dunes.

We parked at the viewing station to take a photo of this spectacular landform. Some of the T-Party took advantage of the facilities. I had in mind to follow them. But as I approached the wooden huts, the stench and surrounds thick with flies buzzing, made me turn back to the car. I decided to hold on until we reached the Yulara camping ground.

*[Photo 6: Mt. Conner in the afternoon light © L.M. Kling 2013]

The stretch to Yulara wowed us with tantalising glimpses of the rock, in shades of mauve peeping through the waves of low sand dunes and desert oaks.

*[Photo 7: Glimpses of Uluru © L.M. Kling 2013]

We reached the Yulara Camping Ground which lies just outside the Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park. Then, we had to wait in line to register and pay for our camping allotment.

Anthony drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and muttered, ‘Unbelievable! Hope we’re not too late.’

‘No wonder the grey nomads left early,’ I joked. ‘Anyway, I thought we’d booked.’

‘You know what thought did.’

Yep, after no sleep and all the driving, Anthony was not happy. Fortunately, though, our sites were still there and after tolerating the queues, we paid our fees and were directed to our adjoining grassy patches near the edge of Yulara. Not too distant were the toilet/shower blocks. As soon as we had parked, I made a beeline for these creature comforts.

Anthony set up our barely used 4-man tent with only the bare minimum help from me. Must remember that the thick pole has to go at the front and the thin pole next in line. While Anthony hammered in the tent pegs to secure the tent, I stood holding the pole and watching my brother’s family battle in the construction of their new tent. Five of them, twisting and turning, standing and sitting, lifting walls and dropping them, labouring at snail’s pace to build their tent.

*[Photo 8: Our tent and campsite in the Flinders Ranges 2007 © L.M. Kling 2007]

‘Amazing,’ I remarked, ‘Their tent needs five people to build it and you’ve put ours up by yourself, Anthony.’

Anthony looked over at the T-Team and grunted, ‘Well, since I put up the tent, you can cook tea.’

This I did, using our portable camp stove. Signs all about the camping ground warned that there would be consequences, a fine for making one’s own personal campfire. The BBQ facilities opposite our campsite were monopolised by other campers.

As I stirred the spaghetti sauce, Anthony walked up to me and narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you using that for? Can’t you see?’ He pointed at the now vacant BBQ stands.

‘They weren’t available when I started,’ I replied. ‘Too late now, tea is almost ready.’

Later, I tried boiling water on the stoves that Anthony preferred. I stood, hovering over the billy of water, watching and waiting for something to happen for twenty, then thirty minutes.

*[Photo 9: Billies boiling on fire—Ah, those were the days when campers could have their own fires © L.M. Kling 1989]

Anthony marched over to me. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Waiting for the water to boil.’

We waited another twenty minutes in the icy cold darkness. ‘Seems that it’s too cold for the water to boil,’ I concluded.

Anthony and I sauntered over to the T-Team’s camp. Richard invited us to play cards and enjoy a hot drink. My brother had hooked up lights and electric cooking facilities courtesy of an inverter/generator which he had brought along for the trip. My brother connected the inverter to a spare car battery which was charged as the car travelled, and voila, the T-team had light, and their own personal electric cooking facilities.

Beyond, on route to the shower block was a communal fire pit. But on our first night in Yulara, no one was taking advantage of that.

*[Photo 10: Stories around the Campfire © L.M. Kling 2017]

I pondered that with a bit of distance between us and the snoring T-Team, perhaps Anthony will sleep more soundly this night.

[to be continued…next chapter, The Awe of Uluru]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; Updated 2024

Feature Photo: Mt. Conner © L.M. Kling 2013

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

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

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977 [United States)

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

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