Originally posted on leeannemarieblog:
More Adventures in the Lost City, Kings Canyon [Extract from Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981] Rick’s Rockhole Sunday August 9, 1981 My bladder ached with cold. Unable to bear the urge any longer, I peeled off the layers of sleeping bag, pulled on my boots and braved the…
‘Stop!’ Barney groaned. ‘I’m going to be sick.’
‘Oh, no!’ Doris and I cried.
‘Stop the—’ Barney gurgled, and he leaned forward, his hand cupped over his mouth.
My brother slammed on the brakes …
A waiter collected my plate. What appeared to be a bill lay in the space before me. Günter caught my eye as I picked up the paper.
‘Meet me by the shed in ten minutes’, were the words written on the note; words written in English. Why English?
We walked the path from the beach. The Convent emerged over the dune before us, reminding me of Le Mont St. Michel in Brittany; beautiful, yet imposing.
Already the incoming tide consumed the sand on the shore.
‘Do you think Trigger will be alright?’
Günter gazed over to the Convent and for some time remained silent.
Günter stared down at the plain and sea below, his mouth agape.
‘Could you navigate?’ I had been waiting to ask that question for weeks. ‘I’ll let you do the return trip, promise.’
“Matt, ma boy, do be careful. Don’t go too far from camp. A bull might get you.” Mr. B squinted in the direction of distant thumping, then rolled over and resumed snoring.
A monstrous brown hulk loomed through a cloud of dust.
‘Oh, this is wonderful!’ I gasped for the tenth time, then burst into song: ‘The hills are alive with the sound of music…’
‘Would you be quiet!’ Günter stormed off and raced ahead.
