I Hope He's Really a Pilot

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Issy and small planes have often not been a good mix, so I head down to the airstrip alone for a scenic flight over the area. Our pilot Mark takes my temperature as part of COVID-safe procedures. It comes back as 33.5. I think that probably means I’m dead, but Mark says that doesn’t matter; as long as it’s less than 37.5 he’s allowed to take me.

I ask Mark if he needs to watch out for kangaroos on the runway. He says that the tall fence around it does a fairly good job of keeping them out as long as no one leaves the gate open. He tells me that one of the refuellers did just that a few weeks ago and one got in. He says that he chased it around and eventually caught it by the tail and carted it away. I’m not quite sure whether or not to believe this, and if this is a tall story I wonder if I should believe anything else he’s telling us. I hope he’s really a pilot. He’s entrusted me with the co-pilot’s seat next to him. As we head off down the runway there seem to be a lot of pedals and levers moving around dangerously close to my hands and feet. I hope I don’t accidentally knock one and send us into a sudden nosedive.

The views are beyond stunning, and I’m now getting a much better feel for where we went with Mick yesterday. I had no idea at the time. We do a near full circle of the Pound itself, and get good views of Hills Homestead. Mark points out the furrow lines which are still clearly visible from the Hill family’s attempts at growing crops there more than a century ago.

Mark says the Ranges are a mecca for geologists, and confesses that he himself is a bit of a “rock nerd”. He says that the Pound definitely isn’t a crater. It was formed by a process that started with most of Oz splitting into two parts. The sea then came in and deposited multiple layers of sediment, and these were then forced up to form the Pound and the rest of the Ranges when the two parts were pushed back together again. According to the Dreamtime story the Pound was formed by two giant serpents. The local indigenous people aren’t overly keen on anyone climbing St Mary’s Peak, the highest point around the rim, as they fear this may reawaken one of them.

We head north from the Pound, and get great views of Brachina Gorge where we were yesterday. Mark points out the ABC Range, which was named by one of the early explorers on the basis that he thought it had 26 peaks. It seems that maths may not have been his strong suit; there are actually 115.

Mark points out Wilpena Homestead not far from the airstrip. He tells us that sheep were run there until as recently as 1985. It was apparently massively overstocked in the early days of European settlement, and the land couldn’t cope. He reiterates what Mick told us yesterday about goats still being a massive problem here. He says that this is despite culling significantly reducing their numbers - around 300 were killed in a single night recently. In keeping with their reputation of eating just about anything, they apparently have a habit of trying to feast on the local native pine trees. They then inevitably find that the timber is a bit too hard for their teeth so usually only succeed in ringbarking them. As a result there was virtually no native pine regeneration at all here for about 70 years, and they’ve only recently started to come back as the goat numbers have reduced.

Back on the ground again I collect Issy and we stroll around Wilpena Station, which is now the National Park office. It’s been left virtually as it was when farming operations ceased back in 1985, and includes an excellent collection of old farm buildings and rusting agricultural paraphernalia. The blacksmith’s shop looks like it could have been churning out metal work yesterday; well rusty metal work at least.

We head off to the small settlement of Blinman, about 50 kms north of the Pound. The entire town comprises all of about half a dozen cute old buildings. There is of course the obligatory pub where we grab a bite of lunch. The bar’s not very long, but there are signs scattered along its full length warning patrons against leaning on it. A bar that you’re not allowed to lean on? That’s got overtones of “The Pub With No Beer”.

We have a quick look at a photographic exhibition in the Town Hall. As is usually the case with these types of shows, it leaves me feeling totally inadequate. How is it that professional photographers can snap the most ordinary everyday objects and make them look like works of art, and why does it never occur to me to do anything similar. I was feeling quite good about the world until I walked in here.

We head back towards the Pound. As I’m admiring a rock formation known as the Walls of China whilst simultaneously negotiating a bend at high speed, Issy suggests that now might be a good time to slam on the brakes. There’s an emu standing stock still right in the middle of the road. At least one of us was paying attention, and if looks are anything to go by I think Issy is of the opinion that it might have been better if the one had been me. Old Man Emu looks like he’s got no intention of moving – he’s giving us an arrogant look that suggests he’s the one who owns the road and we’re the interlopers. Maybe he’s got a point. We drive slowly around him.

We pause for a stretch at Hucks Lookout where we get some sensational views back towards the Pound.

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Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

Arial views
Stunning views.

[DaveandIssy]

Stunning views
Thx. They certainly were!