We walked past a pair of gum trees bent in homage to the sacred place. A bell hung between them. I imagined Mum as a young girl racing across the red-hot sand of the compound, bare foot. “You were a wussy if you wore shoes,” she once told me.Read more "The T-Team with Mr. B — Glen Helen"
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"
We met many people descending who smiled and said, ‘Ow ya goin’?’ some said, ‘It’s worth it.’ One lady mused at my tee shirt that had the words, ‘Mum went to London and all I got was this lousy tee shirt’.Read more "Trekking With the T-Team–Uluru"
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.’
A rock slid from under me and I scudded down the slope. Grabbing a gnarly stump, I dug my heels into the dirt. Then looked down. Beneath my feet, nothing.Read more "Trekking With the T-Team: MacGorgeous!!!"
Clang! Clang! Clang! ‘Wake up! Wake up!’ Dad yelled.
I dragged myself out of the tangle of grey army blankets and shuffled to the door. The thin worn lino stung cold on my bare feet.
Dad marched past hammering a saucepan with a wooden spoon. ‘Get up! We have to get an early start!’
Mr. B stumbled to the bathroom and grumbled, ‘It’s too early, surely we could’ve had an hour’s more sleep.’
‘No, we must get going! We have a lot of ground to cover.’
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.