Famished

We charged along the unsealed highway with no break for lunch or snacks. Dad’s need to reach our destination of Kings Canyon before nightfall compelled him ever forward, resisting the temptation to rest.

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Not So Relieved…

Later, I decided the boxes of bazooka ammunition should go too. As the hatch flew open, I tossed them. They landed with a decisive thud, then a series of cracks and bangs like fireworks as they hit the flinty stone. Not such a clever idea.

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Faith

My brother pumped the crank, winding it non-stop. Phut! No sound. Not even a click. He kicked the Rover’s tyre.

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Disappointment at Docker River

We journeyed, with frequent photo stops, through more mulga woodland, the Peterman Ranges making a charming mauve background to the valley of inky limbs holding up the blue-green canopy of leaves. The mountains behind the mulga groves tempted us, the soft breeze whispering through the gullies calling, “Come to us, explore us, see what we have to offer.”

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