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Published: August 14th 2021
I spend the small hours tossing and turning wondering how I’m going to fulfil my promise to Issy that I’ll work out how far it is to the horizon when you’re standing on a perfectly flat plain. I have nightmarish visions of diagrams of the earth with a small person standing on its surface, and of my fingers not being able to find the right buttons on the Google machine. There's only one way out; I get up and try to work it out. I think the answer is 4.85 kms if you're my height and standing on the equator, but only 4.84 kms if you're standing at one of the poles. If you're Issy's height the corresponding answers are 4.59 and 4.58 kms. I hope she's not too disappointed that she can't see the extra 260 metres that I can, although I guess she could always stand on the roof of the car if it really bothered her. I think this might all be a bit academic; both of us have really bad eyesight, so anything beyond a few hundred metres is a blur, no matter what the calculations might say. At least now I can go back to sleep.
We go to reception to book some tours and tonight's dinner. The receptionist tells us that she’s only been working here for a few days after there was a mass staff walk out. She just happened to be camping nearby, heard what had happened and wandered in to ask if they needed help. At least this explains the email we got a few days ago warning us that they wouldn’t be able to clean our room while we were here, lunch would be off the agenda for the time being, and the shop would be working on reduced hours. We hope no one else leaves, or if they do they at least leave us some recipe books and the keys to the kitchen.
We set off for the start of a hike up to Arkaroo Rock. We stop along the way at a roadside lookout where we get stunning views of Rawnsley Bluff and its many rock layers around the outer face of Wilpena Pound. Apparently the whole of the Flinders Ranges, and the Pound in particular, is a mecca for geologists. The geology does looks a bit interesting even to the uninitiated such as us. Diagrams on
signboards at the lookout show layers that were under the sea a few odd billion years ago being progressively pushed up to form the Ranges as the earth's crust moved. It all looks so simple on the diagrams, but it’s a bit more difficult to imagine in reality.
We start the three kilometre loop hike up to the Rock. The main feature of interest is a collection of indigenous paintings in charcoal and ochre. They sit under an overhang in the Rock which seems to have done a masterful job of protecting them from the weather. They're also protected by a metal mesh screen that looks like it might have otherwise been used to reinforce the concrete in someone's driveway. This detracts from the natural feel of the experience just a tad, so we're pleased to note that it's apparently only temporary. We read that the paintings are thought to be more than 5,000 years old, which seems staggering. They're incredibly well preserved, and look relatively fresh.
We've only see a handful of other hikers here, so it's very quiet and we feel like we're in a very remote spot. We thought that somewhere like this would be
crawling with native wildlife, but we still haven't seen a single specimen since we left home nearly two weeks ago - that's assuming we don't count the single dead kangaroo we saw on the side of the road yesterday. We can hear some goats in the distance, but they're not native, so they don't count either. I think goats have a reputation for being able to eat almost anything; I hope that doesn’t now include kangaroos.
We’ve signed up for a sunset tour with local indigenous guide Mick, and his young offsider Broderick. Our group watches on intently as the two of them struggle to open the passenger door on the bus. In desperation Mick gets Broderick to crawl through into the cabin from the driver's seat to try to kick it open from the inside, but it still won't budge. Several minutes and many ever progressively heftier kicks later it finally springs free. Mick then opens and closes it a few more times to make sure it still works. It seems OK, but if looks are anything to go by I'm fairly sure we're all thinking the same thing - what are we going to do if it
jams shut again while we’re all inside.
We arrive at the Stokes Hill Lookout. Mick and Broderick break out the cheese, bikkies and champagne, and we toast the sun as it sets spectacularly over the Pound. Mick says we're currently at a higher altitude than Mount Lofty, the highest peak in the Adelaide Hills, and it feels like it. It's icy. Issy says her hands are about to drop off. I suggest she keeps them in her pockets, so at least then she'll be able to find them easily afterwards. The look on her face suggests she's way too cold to appreciate my pathetic attempt at humour.
Mick tells us that Broderick's family is from the northern end of the Flinders Ranges. He says that Broderick's ancestors were responsible for rescuing John King, the sole survivor of the ill-fated 1861 Burke and Wills expedition to the Gulf of Carpentaria. According to Mick, members of the expedition were initially reluctant to accept any help from the local indigenous population, borne largely out of a sense of arrogance. This eventually gave way to necessity, and King ended up living with a local tribe for more than two months before being
"rescued". I'm fairly sure they didn't teach us that bit at school.
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Home and Away
Bob Carlsen
Counting sheep...
Do the calculated distances to be able to see Issy reflect your ability to see her whole body or just the tip of her head? Did you use a calculator or do all the math in your head? This is heady stuff!