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.