Tues. Oct 20. (first day in the outback)
We drive on and stop at a rocky lookout, all of 550 metres high, in the hills of the Great Dividing Range. The now more barren plains stretch away from us in all directions, domed by an enormous sky with a blazing sun. The outback — three million square kilometres. Forever is a geographical term here. The immensity of this boundless red earth baffles us, silences us. We’re nothing more than two tiny specks in this vast emptiness. I comprehend why they dub it Never-Never. Some say the term was coined because those who inhabit it Never-Never want to leave its stark, bewitching beauty. Jim laughed and said others say the opposite. Those who have lived in the outback and have moved away, swear they’ll Never-Never return to it!
Never-Never. Weighted words. It’s as if I see them stretched across the horizon, quivering above this sun-scorched land, and a shiver of fear runs up my spine….
Mon. Oct 26
There is no hurry this morning as Terry said to come to the community at 11 o’clock when we can join him in the hour of singing he leads at the school. We relax and leave around 10 a.m. Terry said it’s easy to find the Aboriginal community; there will be a little sign after the bitumen turns red.
We drive through Alice, over the dry Todd River, chatting happily and proceed along the lonely red country road. Mulga shrubs, with contorted thirsty limbs, look like comical dancers. A white gum tree gleams in the sun. The ever-present cloven mountain range echoes the bright blush of the soil. We’re wrapped in colour—no wonder they refer to this part of the country as the “Red Centre.”
“So where are we?” Peter asks.
“I haven’t got a clue… haven’t seen any signs yet.”
“Well, has the bitumin turned red?”
“I’ve no idea.”
We now more seriously look for the community’s name sign. It doesn’t appear.
“We’ve gone too far, I think,” I finally say.
“Well, we don’t know how many kilometers it is, so let’s just drive on.”
The mountain still runs parallel alongside but closes in.
Finally, the road gives way to a sandy trail.
“This looks like the end of the road,” I say.
Peter doesn’t comment but proceeds, slowly, on the soft sand.
The mountain is like a red giant whose bare flanks loom closer and closer. Still, Peter drives on — determined. The giant wins. We come to its sunburned body sprawled out in front of us like a mammoth animal firmly plunked on top of the sand. It completely blocks our way. That’s it folks, this far and no farther.
“This definitely is the end of the road,” I softly say.
“Yeah, I guess,” Peter answers sheepishly.
We slide out of the car. The doors click shut.
Dead silence. Not even a bird.
A little overwhelmed, we let our eyes glide over what surrounds us. The massive mountain stretches out in front and to our left; eroded chunks of it strewn to the right. It’s all around. It towers over us, dwarfs us, threatens us. We feel small and vulnerable as if we’re in the presence of something great and awesome. It seems to breathe the heavy ghost-like silence. No wonder the Aborigines consider the landscape sacred, formed by creatures long ago. Each hallowed place has a tale.
We walk on the fine paprika sand up close to the rock. Its convoluted surface is grainy like sandpaper. Wind and sand have carved out a perfect hollow at out feet. It looks like the arch of a colossal foot. We could snuggle in this shallow dome. It baffles me that I’m afraid the rock might crush us.
Peter sighs.
Hushed, we walk back to the car. He starts the engine — follows the ruts left by other travelers; they lead us in a loop around a house-sized burnt sienna boulder back onto the trail.
We slowly retrace our steps. The happy bantering has stopped….