As we ate our cheese and pickle sandwiches, the tour group lobbed into the hut occupying the room next to ours. Talk about free-tour-guide information. We sat, hiding behind the stone wall and unlit fireplace (told my beloved we should’ve bought matches), and feasted our ears on tasty morsels of Tasmanian history.
Mr. B was not in a good mood as we headed for Kingoonya. He moaned, ‘Hurry! No more stops.’ Then he groaned, ‘Oooh, I’m feeling a bit seedy, you know.’
Dad frowned and glanced in his side mirror. ‘O-oh.’
Then. Thump! Thump! Thump!
I bolted upright.
Dad scrambled out of his cocoon like a scalded cat. ‘What’s that?’
He waved a torch in every direction.
‘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.
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)"
We continued our trek to Talipata Gorge where we planned to camp for a couple of days. On the way our two guides sat on the bonnet of the Land Rover and picked out the ancient track amongst the desert bushes and erosion.
One of our guides, H rapped his hand on the bonnet.
‘O-oh,’ Dad murmured, then eased the Rover to a stop.
‘You need time to appreciate these places,’ Dad explained.
‘Bit rough if we only have two weeks for school holidays.’ Mr. B’s voice sounded like the robot from Lost in Space.