Richard (my brother) hobbled past, toilet paper in hand. Then stillness. A parrot squawked. A gust of wind rustled leaves in the gum trees and sent ripples lapping against the pebbles on the shore. I absorbed the peace and coolness.Read more "T-Team 1981: The Other Side of Ormiston"
I used my willpower to put one foot in front of the other. The track back to that camp seemed to take an eternity.Read more "Overworked in Kings Canyon"
Ten minutes later, Dad dragged himself over the last ridge and limped to the summit. There, he sat on a rock and rubbed his knee. ‘O-o-oh!’ He inspected the damage, red and swollen. ‘I tripped and fell on my knee. I hope I can get down alright.’
‘You better,’ C1 laughed. ‘You can’t exactly camp up here.’
‘Hey, Rick, look!’ I pointed. ‘The Gosse Range, it’s just like the painting Grandma’s got in her lounge room.’
From the front of the Rover Mr B asked, ‘Did you say, David that you met the famous Albert Namatjira when you lived up in Hermannsburg?’
‘Oh, of course. My father-in-law was a great supporter of Albert’s art.’
‘How did the Gosse Range come about?’ I asked my audience from the back of the Rover.
We heard a blood-curdling scream.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘Rick, I hope he’s alright.’
We scrambled down the last of the gully and ran along the ridge in the direction of Rick’s cries.
Dad’s dream to climb this mountain was to be fulfilled. Ever since he had lived and taught in Hermannsburg in the 1950’s, he had wanted to venture way out west, to conquer this mountRead more "The T-Team with Mr. B (32)"
I strode up to Dad. ‘We need to swim, now!’
‘All good things come to those who wait,’ Dad replied. ‘I reckon it’s just around the next corner.’