Trekking With the T-Team: Beyond Talipata

Dad hopped around the campsite, his hands on his buttocks. ‘I need Richard to perform a delicate operation.’
Richard shook his head and sniggered. ‘He sat in spinifex.’
Watching Richard pull needles out of Dad’s bare behind was not high on my to-do list.
I turned to hike up to the spring. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ And left in haste climbing up the hill

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Light assaulted my eyes.
I blinked and rubbed what seemed to be sawdust from my dry eyes and stared at my son.
‘The air smells like smoke.’

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The T-Team With Mr. B (30)

In the front, Mr. B spread a detailed map over his knees and dashboard.
‘I say, ol’ chap,’ Mr. B cleared his throat, ‘where, exactly are you taking us?’
‘Mount Liebig bore,’ Dad replied.
‘Are you sure we can get there without our trusty guides?’
‘Eventually, we have the map.’
‘But, where’s the road?’

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The T-Team with Mr B (24)

We continued to bump over the rocks and sand where two-wheel drive vehicles fear to tread. Dad recalled his days travelling by donkey along this same track when he explored Palm Valley with his Arunda students.
‘O-oh!’ Dad uttered as the Rover’s underside scraped over some boulders.

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The T-Team With Mr B (5)

The car neared, and we lifted our right hands up and down. The Indigenous owners of the sedan did the same. Dad tracked the car as it passed us. Then he looked back.
‘Felix! (not his real name),’ Dad said. ‘It’s Felix, I would recognize him anywhere.’ He stopped the Rover in the middle of the road.

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