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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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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MacDonnell Gorges

This morning, we raced along the road parallel to the MacDonnell Ranges, dipping into the gorges, Dad verbally ticking the boxes of gorges visited, speeding in and out of each one, snapping photos just to prove our having been there, done that.

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PANICKED

C1 and C2 picked out miscellaneous items they’d forgotten to pack. C1 placed his purchases on the weathered bench and reached for his back pocket. He patted it, and his eyes widened. He jammed his fingers into his pocket, patted his side pockets, and pushed his hands into them and pulled out the lining. He glanced around his feet. ‘Oh, oh! I think I left my wallet behind in the creek,’ he said.

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