THURSDAY

We sleep as the rain clears, early in the morning before dawn the rain sprinkles the ground again and then is gone. Mal wakes and calls them on the two way. "Rise and shine campers!"

Bruce answers, "Can't you see us?"

Mal looks down the road, he follows the snaking tracks that tell the tale of drunkenness and bad driving. At the end is the VW van stopped - bang smack in the middle of the track. The road was way too slippery so they just gave up.

We had probably 2mm of rain and the top of the road was well greased. The sun came out the road dried out and the VW crept back to it's camp spot with it's metaphorical tail between it's back wheels.

The day was glorious, Sue photographed birds, mal sketched, Alison and Bruce went for a big walk back to the old homestead, and we finished the day, with campfire roasted potatoes and snags.

FRIDAY

Clear skies and a cool morning. The bird orchestra plays on without a conductor and still it works just fine.

We broke camp in a leisurely way , and stopped to wander the ruins of Carrawinya Station. Slabs of concrete, a couple of old chimneys which the termites had made home and a few pieces of old rusting machinery. Two steel frame buildings remained skeletons who told no tales.

We drove down to the corner near the Ranger's station and stopped for morning tea. The sky was a bowl of blue cornflower's over our heads.

We went down to the campground at the lagoon and doubled back to the shearing shed. Here we filled the camper with water and Alison did some washing while we investigated the shearing shed. A large shed in good condition, steel frame with corrugated iron. The original large diesel motor remained in place, a sure runner with fresh fuel and an oil change.

We drove out to the Granites, on the way passing a dark echidna and a family of banded lapwings, with two small chicks looking cute but certainly not graceful. The parents did a great job of expressing their concern and the chicks understood and went to ground somewhere out of sight.

The rain has spread a carpet of green beneath the mulga trees and right up to the feet of the protruding granite outcrops. The granite is a warm orange and the green carpet with the blue sky was a treat. We stayed to watch the sun throw a last warming glow onto the rocks before we drove back to the junction in the falling gloom.

We camped by a waterhole where the dead trees danced a static dance as if frozen in time. It seems as if this waterhole may have been made or extended through human intervention at some time in the past.

We sat by a campfire and chatted under a clear sky as the cool damp air wrapped around us and finally succeeded in sending us off to bed.

SATURDAY 13 August 2016

A cloudless sunrise reflected patches of brilliant orange in the still water.

We drive out to the lakes. The view to the (I think South) is terrific, the salt lake lies off to the North. We walk down to the lake, the early afternoon is already quite warm. Small birds flit and arid flowers sparkle from the undergrowth. The lake on the side we approach from has a white sandy beach, which would be splendid when the lake is totally full. Now the level is down, so mud is exposed and the black swans that dot the surface number in the hundreds.

It would make a great location for a scene for an art film. A film about dark thoughts in an arid life. The emptiness is haunting but not scary. We traipse back up to the cars, the sun is warmer and the white sand of the path reflects the sun back with a vengeance.

We drive the 6k back to the freshwater lake and have lunch in a picnic shed decorated with the mud that has fallen from the home building swallows, trowel like beaks.

After lunch, which is late, we all walk down to the freshwater lake. The water is uninviting, the shoreline dotted with the empty shells of a hundred turtles. Dead fish skeletons add to a picture of destruction. Later we find two dead goats and two dead cows. Something is ill (what word did Shakespeare use) in the state of Denmark.

There are no answers, only questions. We retrace our steps to the main road and drive through to Hungerford. The small self serve caravan park is a treat. We camp with several others. Alison and Bruce head off to the local pub for tea and we have a home cooked meal in Vicki. After tea we walk over to the pub for a drink and enjoy the convivial conversation and we walk home as a group through the empty Saturday night streets of Hungerford, population 26.

SUNDAY

We line up at the gate. Yes the dog fence is alive and well and the gate across the road is not one to crash into on a dark and stormy night. The road south to Wanaaring is all red dirt and corrugations at various locations. We stop by a small waterhole for morning tea, a kingfisher keeps a jaundiced eye on our proceedings.

Wanaaring is a small town maybe about the size of Hungerford. A pub and small shop and several houses, a police station and an ambulance. Its over 200ks West to Tiboburra. The road is varied with everything from wildflowers to salt lakes, hairy goats to horned cattle.

We lob into Mount Wood campground around 4pm, you can camp on the red gravel or the brown gravel and maybe choose between the coarse and the fine gravel.

A small billabong hides beyond some sort of levee bank. It is full of hungry mosquitoes, that latch on to Sue with a thirst that knows no limits.