Heading towards Palm Valley
Cycad Gorge
TBBITW himself!!
Was this the Incas?
Albert Namitjera's Twin Ghost Gums in reality.PALM VALLEY
As instructed, we waited in the frosty early morning, our breath billowing before us, hands thrust deep in pockets searching for that elusive warmth.
Alice Springs in early June can be mighty chilly in the dawn. Relationships too can get a little chilly when two people are compelled to spend all day every day in the all too close quarters of a caravan (even when those close quarters are from choice!). Well, chilly, heated, chilly, heated, etc, etc. I am sure you get the general picture. Thus, that morning as we waited for the coach to pick us up, we spoke in short sentences while stomping around in a futile attempt to warm up both ourselves and the conversation.
In good time the coach did come and collect us and we were treated to a better view of Alice than we had previously achieved ourselves, not having to concentrate on directions or trying to avoid yet more caustic conversation relating to streets and dodgy directions. The very quiet guide picked up 4 other groups for the day’s excursion and we headed off for Palm Valley.
The coach was a small one and our guide was a nice young fella by the name of Duncan – he was new at the job and had previously been teaching local aboriginal children and adults for around 10 years. As a self-confessed new-chum he claimed to have minimal knowledge of flora, fauna and geological data, but instead was somewhat of an expert on current aboriginal issues. The other touries were made up of three major groups most of whom were just finishing off camping tours. The general age was around the 60 mark and I sensed some brewing ill feeling between a couple of the female members of one of the groups. The sky was clear as a bell and despite the cold start it promised to be a glorious winter day. My only real problem was that the step into the off-road coach seemed to be impossibly high – why when they deal largely with silver nomads would they not have a step-stool? Anyway with the help of my staunch companion, I managed albeit not too gracefully, to board the bus.
As we headed out to Palm Valley, as usual I completely lost sense of East and West, so will just refer to left and right – I hope that is not too technical for you!
I have always loved the morning and the country here is certainly at its glorious best in the early hours. We travelled through sparse bush, crisp where the sun’s rays were just settling in for the day’s events. To my right, away in the distance crouched the West MacDonnell Ranges. They appeared as huge somnolent beasts, huddled into the earth, clothed in deep purple haze. Tentative fingers of sunlight prodded the soft pink under-belly of the beasts. Spread before them the plains lay open and silver in the morning’s early light, dotted here and there by mulga and Spinifex. In the far distance we could see another range, draped in deep blue and sharply outlined against the icy blue morning sky. We learnt that the fantastic green mantle covering much of the red centre at the moment is ‘Buffle Grass’ – this is an imported pest which is decimating the central Australian bush. It was introduced by pastoralists as cattle feed and had pretty much taken over. One of the biggest problems it causes is, unlike the native flora, it grows aggressively right up to the trunks of the native trees. This makes them much more susceptible to being burned when bush fires occur.
Our first stop for the day was to be historical Hermannsburg where early Lutheran missionaries settled and attempted to educate the local indigenous population in Christianity, health and basic reading and writing. These early settlers appear to have been a little more humane and realistic than other historically reported missionaries. They seem to have really taken the aboriginals’ needs to heart and really did try to make life better (at least in their eyes) for the locals. As with many of these erstwhile endeavours, there were it seems more failures than successes. On the way to Hermannsburg we were told the very sad story of poor Albert Namitjera – there was quite a bit that I hadn’t heard before and from a modern perspective, it is a shocking story indeed.
The countryside from Alice to Hermannsburg was of course, stunning, on the right was the somnolent and distant West MacDonnell Ranges, closer and on the left was ‘Caterpillar Dreaming’. This is a section of the ranges that resembles a caterpillar hunching its way along. In the early morning sunlight the red rocky spine of the caterpillar was shocking as it flaunted its riotous costume. We were told that Aboriginal legend thinks of this section of the ranges as a huge caterpillar crawling across the landscape. It is an easy notion to absorb and it was lovely to think of the giant as ‘Caterpillar Dreaming’! Perhaps this too, explains the multitudes of brightly coloured butterflies we were to see later in the day.
A young colt with glossy coat grazing alongside his dam loitered amongst lush grasses, several other members of the herd grazed a little further along the way. A dead tree came to life, decorated by brilliantly hued budgerigars, native and imported grasses shivered deliciously in the early morning sunlight.
We made a brief comfort stop at Hermannsburg before continuing on our way to Palm Valley. As part of the Federal Intervention introduced by the Howard government, some of the aboriginal homes there have been recently painted bright and cheerful colours. The painting was done by locals and the next project we were told, is to beautify the interior of these homes. The local aboriginal people are encouraged to become involved in improving the community. Duncan (our guide) had been involved with these projects before taking on the job as tour guide. He told us that one of the biggest problems seems to be the inconsistency of policy. No sooner do they get started on one project with promised rewards, than the ‘department’ involved moves the goal posts and the promised rewards vanish – this is of course is a total disincentive to getting the job done. We are told that one of the local sayings is that “White men Lie” – this is the result of all the changes in government and policies. We were also told that when our guide was discussing general issues with an aboriginal friend, he was told “Don’t worry about us, we were here for thousands of years before the white man, and we will be for thousands of years after the white man has gone.” An interesting perspective!
We really only had brief impressions of Hermannsburg at that time, one of those was the high numbers of dogs wandering aimlessly around. Under the intervention, the locals were told they must have no more than 2 dogs, this meant that many dogs were ‘put down’. Looking at the large numbers of un-sterilised hounds, I suspect that the 2 dogs rule might prove very difficult to enforce. It seems they have a great deal of trouble convincing the old women that it is not healthy to sleep with a pile of dogs. Personally, I’m not so sure – after all, it is possibly better than some of the alternatives. At least they will be warm! The other impression I guess, was one of disappointment at the plethora of relatively recent model car wrecks on the roads and in the surrounding bush. I guess change takes a long time sometimes. We were told too, how much the older folk despair of the young ones. For the first time I heard the theory that the western diet is responsible for much of the problem. The youngsters do not do well on high sugar, high salt, high chemical additives – this is probably right, after all city kids suffer to a lesser degree with similar problems.
We were warned that once we left Hermannsburg the road would become very tough indeed. I have to say, young Duncan was a master of understatement! The bitumen disappeared pretty much immediately and we found ourselves bumping along a very sandy and rocky track. There had been substantial rains here recently and the River Finke had been in flood. As with most central Australian rivers, Finke River is generally ‘upside down’, i.e., the water is underground. When in flood however, the river flows like the more traditional rivers we are used to. The road had only been open for 1 week following the flooding, and the resultant damage to roads and tracks was considerable.
The Finke River is estimated to be the oldest river on the planet and of course Australia is the oldest continent that makes this region geographically ancient. Much of the flora subsequently is amazing and often unique. As we fought our way along the rough track, the surrounding countryside began to change. We were literally driving along and often through the river and into the Gorge. The sides around us became increasingly steep. By now the sun was high in the sky. Great crimson sand-stone cliff faces and sheer rock faces reared above us on both sides. The lower reaches were covered by blue and green patchwork, which on closer inspection proved to be emu bush and Spinifex stitched together with golden and silver grasses. The now largely dry river bed was covered with soft silky sand which was coloured soft beige, grey and pink. On close inspection the sand seemed to have been seeded with glitter, it twinkled and gleamed in the winter sun. Along the river bed we saw large trees uprooted by the recent turbulent waters. It was obvious that huge water forces had been at play during the recent downpours. Many pools still remained and much of the water was crystal clear. Tiny fish happily cavorted in the pools along with large pods of tadpoles, all clearly visible to the naked eye. How these creatures manage to survive through decades of drought, when no water pools are available, is incredible.
The bumps and grinds of the coach caused a great deal of consternation among several of the female occupants of the coach – I just found it uncomfortable and a little hard on the spine. I felt that the stunning beauty of our surrounds more than compensated for a little discomfort however.
Crossing over the river at least six times was quite a thrill. Looking down from the coach window I could see streamers of vivid green moss-like material and the quite deep holes in the river.
I cannot really do justice to the scenery. Apart from the ever steepening gorge walls, along the course of the river rose great scarlet and rocky mounds looking like baby volcanoes erupting from the river bed. The sand-stone rocks looked to have been man made in parts and you could easily believe the rocky walls had been constructed by some long gone super race.
The next port of call was for a brief but reasonably tough climb to the top of a small rocky mound for the purpose of taking photos. I must say, I was determined not to be the one who could not complete this climb and am proud to say that with the help of my trusty stick and of course a strong arm from TBBITW I made it to the top. The views from there were exceptional and it was well worth the effort. We stopped and had morning tea at this spot before climbing back into the coach and continuing along an ever deteriorating track to Cycad Gorge. Here we finally left the coach. I have to say there is no way we would subject our beloved Cruiser to this arduous trek. It really was a tough and treacherous drive.
Now we had a relatively long walk along the gorge floor to our destination. Our stopping place was adjacent to an almost sheer rock wall that facing northwards rarely saw direct sunlight. Growing along the rock face were Cycads, one of the oldest plant forms on the earth. The effect of the cycads on the deep red cliff face looking down on to the cool rock pools dotted with a bamboo-like grass was just astounding. The whole effect was tropical and cooling. We are told that Australia was once a very tropical continent and the cycads and palms in this region have survived since prehistoric times due to the permanent water source in this place.
The tops of the cliffs were decorated by white Cyprus and some late flowering plants also grew along the banks and sides of the cliffs. We continued our walk along the gorge floor, mainly thru’ soft red sand, which glittered when caught by the sun. As we walked we were accompanied by the frequent cool rock pools which abounded along the river bed. Sheer red rocks surrounded us, dotted here and there with caves and rock holes. We were told about a huge prehistoric rat that used to frequent the area – I felt sure I could see some droppings of the rat up on some of the higher rock ledges – a suggestion which was met by quite some derision – I’m not convinced that he is not still lurking there. As we rounded the final bend we were confronted by the amazing sight of an abundance of red cabbage palms. Remember we are in the heart of the Red Centre here and the last thing you expect to see are palm trees. The gorge now was fully tropical in appearance – cool green rock pools, tall and elegant palm trees, ancient dark green cycads and Cyprus fringed cliff tops. Bright green bamboo and reeds decorated the pools and the air was cool and refreshing. A whip-bird called in the background and the whole effect was scintillatingly beautiful and not a little surreal. We dallied awhile at the water hole by the palm trees and then sadly had to wend our way back to the coach. On the way back we spotted a large lizard who neatly posted himself into a rock hole on the cliff face as we passed.
Once back at the coach, we retraced our steps back to Hermannsburg where we were to have lunch. The trip back was no less beautiful than the trip in, except by now most of the occupants of the coach had stopped squealing every time we hit a large bump or hole in the road – I think most of us were too pooped to pop!! A couple of small red kangaroos stopped to laugh at us as we bumped past. I was truly sorry to leave that place of exceptional beauty behind us, and have written this so that I can remind myself from time to time of this beautiful day.
Back at Hermannsburg, we were shown a short film about the life of Albert Namitjera – much the same as the information we had been given during the coach tour. We were sat amongst copies of his beautiful water paintings. As the movie was shown in one of the original buildings there, the down-side was that we all froze. Those old buildings are incredibly cool, they must be a boon in the hot summer, but I have to tell you that in the winter they are less than wonderful. Lunch was served and I was pleasantly surprised by a delicious piece of quiche and a crisp salad. Not included in the price, but a definite must was either a home -made scone with jam and cream or a piece of their famous apple strudel. I opted for the scone and cream and was both horrified and amazed when for the paltry sum of $6 I was served not one but two huge hot scones. I do say I, not WE as WE had been horrified at my ordering the scones and had successfully fed my own sense of guilt with some pretty withering looks and gesticulations. Needless to say WE shared the scones and I do believe WE enjoyed them. I was made to believe that I was the only person to indulge – nothing was said by WE when we discovered that pretty much everyone has partaken of one or the other of the treats. We then had 30 mins or so to have a wander around the ruins of Hermannsburg and then it was back on the coach for the trip home.
Coming back was a little bitter-sweet, as the day had been splendid. I was looking forward however, to seeing how my friends the West MacDonnell Ranges would look in a different light. The countryside here changes dramatically in appearance depending on the time of the day. Now the ranges were on our left and the sun was setting pretty much behind them. Now they were cloaked in deep blues and purples, the smaller hills in the forefront almost black in their shadow. In the distance, the steeper deep blue giants bared ribs of silver and pink as they rose skyward.
On our left, crawled the fascinating caterpillars. Still they flaunted themselves in the bright late afternoon sun, their skeletal red bones clawing skyward above skirts of mossy green fringed with deep dark greens and silvers. Here and there graceful ghost gums rose up against the red ochres starkly contrasting their white bones and soft green leaves against the blood red back-ground. We wound ever homeward, finally spearing our way through the ranges and back to the front gate of our caravan park.
All in all, it was a wonderful day, the whole experience complimented by a brilliant and clear blue desert sky. Even the bloke had enjoyed himself and as always the ‘chilly atmosphere’ had evaporated just as it should as the beauty of the surrounding ranges had healed our petty differences.
As instructed, we waited in the frosty early morning, our breath billowing before us, hands thrust deep in pockets searching for that elusive warmth.
Alice Springs in early June can be mighty chilly in the dawn. Relationships too can get a little chilly when two people are compelled to spend all day every day in the all too close quarters of a caravan (even when those close quarters are from choice!). Well, chilly, heated, chilly, heated, etc, etc. I am sure you get the general picture. Thus, that morning as we waited for the coach to pick us up, we spoke in short sentences while stomping around in a futile attempt to warm up both ourselves and the conversation.
In good time the coach did come and collect us and we were treated to a better view of Alice than we had previously achieved ourselves, not having to concentrate on directions or trying to avoid yet more caustic conversation relating to streets and dodgy directions. The very quiet guide picked up 4 other groups for the day’s excursion and we headed off for Palm Valley.
The coach was a small one and our guide was a nice young fella by the name of Duncan – he was new at the job and had previously been teaching local aboriginal children and adults for around 10 years. As a self-confessed new-chum he claimed to have minimal knowledge of flora, fauna and geological data, but instead was somewhat of an expert on current aboriginal issues. The other touries were made up of three major groups most of whom were just finishing off camping tours. The general age was around the 60 mark and I sensed some brewing ill feeling between a couple of the female members of one of the groups. The sky was clear as a bell and despite the cold start it promised to be a glorious winter day. My only real problem was that the step into the off-road coach seemed to be impossibly high – why when they deal largely with silver nomads would they not have a step-stool? Anyway with the help of my staunch companion, I managed albeit not too gracefully, to board the bus.
As we headed out to Palm Valley, as usual I completely lost sense of East and West, so will just refer to left and right – I hope that is not too technical for you!
I have always loved the morning and the country here is certainly at its glorious best in the early hours. We travelled through sparse bush, crisp where the sun’s rays were just settling in for the day’s events. To my right, away in the distance crouched the West MacDonnell Ranges. They appeared as huge somnolent beasts, huddled into the earth, clothed in deep purple haze. Tentative fingers of sunlight prodded the soft pink under-belly of the beasts. Spread before them the plains lay open and silver in the morning’s early light, dotted here and there by mulga and Spinifex. In the far distance we could see another range, draped in deep blue and sharply outlined against the icy blue morning sky. We learnt that the fantastic green mantle covering much of the red centre at the moment is ‘Buffle Grass’ – this is an imported pest which is decimating the central Australian bush. It was introduced by pastoralists as cattle feed and had pretty much taken over. One of the biggest problems it causes is, unlike the native flora, it grows aggressively right up to the trunks of the native trees. This makes them much more susceptible to being burned when bush fires occur.
Our first stop for the day was to be historical Hermannsburg where early Lutheran missionaries settled and attempted to educate the local indigenous population in Christianity, health and basic reading and writing. These early settlers appear to have been a little more humane and realistic than other historically reported missionaries. They seem to have really taken the aboriginals’ needs to heart and really did try to make life better (at least in their eyes) for the locals. As with many of these erstwhile endeavours, there were it seems more failures than successes. On the way to Hermannsburg we were told the very sad story of poor Albert Namitjera – there was quite a bit that I hadn’t heard before and from a modern perspective, it is a shocking story indeed.
The countryside from Alice to Hermannsburg was of course, stunning, on the right was the somnolent and distant West MacDonnell Ranges, closer and on the left was ‘Caterpillar Dreaming’. This is a section of the ranges that resembles a caterpillar hunching its way along. In the early morning sunlight the red rocky spine of the caterpillar was shocking as it flaunted its riotous costume. We were told that Aboriginal legend thinks of this section of the ranges as a huge caterpillar crawling across the landscape. It is an easy notion to absorb and it was lovely to think of the giant as ‘Caterpillar Dreaming’! Perhaps this too, explains the multitudes of brightly coloured butterflies we were to see later in the day.
A young colt with glossy coat grazing alongside his dam loitered amongst lush grasses, several other members of the herd grazed a little further along the way. A dead tree came to life, decorated by brilliantly hued budgerigars, native and imported grasses shivered deliciously in the early morning sunlight.
We made a brief comfort stop at Hermannsburg before continuing on our way to Palm Valley. As part of the Federal Intervention introduced by the Howard government, some of the aboriginal homes there have been recently painted bright and cheerful colours. The painting was done by locals and the next project we were told, is to beautify the interior of these homes. The local aboriginal people are encouraged to become involved in improving the community. Duncan (our guide) had been involved with these projects before taking on the job as tour guide. He told us that one of the biggest problems seems to be the inconsistency of policy. No sooner do they get started on one project with promised rewards, than the ‘department’ involved moves the goal posts and the promised rewards vanish – this is of course is a total disincentive to getting the job done. We are told that one of the local sayings is that “White men Lie” – this is the result of all the changes in government and policies. We were also told that when our guide was discussing general issues with an aboriginal friend, he was told “Don’t worry about us, we were here for thousands of years before the white man, and we will be for thousands of years after the white man has gone.” An interesting perspective!
We really only had brief impressions of Hermannsburg at that time, one of those was the high numbers of dogs wandering aimlessly around. Under the intervention, the locals were told they must have no more than 2 dogs, this meant that many dogs were ‘put down’. Looking at the large numbers of un-sterilised hounds, I suspect that the 2 dogs rule might prove very difficult to enforce. It seems they have a great deal of trouble convincing the old women that it is not healthy to sleep with a pile of dogs. Personally, I’m not so sure – after all, it is possibly better than some of the alternatives. At least they will be warm! The other impression I guess, was one of disappointment at the plethora of relatively recent model car wrecks on the roads and in the surrounding bush. I guess change takes a long time sometimes. We were told too, how much the older folk despair of the young ones. For the first time I heard the theory that the western diet is responsible for much of the problem. The youngsters do not do well on high sugar, high salt, high chemical additives – this is probably right, after all city kids suffer to a lesser degree with similar problems.
We were warned that once we left Hermannsburg the road would become very tough indeed. I have to say, young Duncan was a master of understatement! The bitumen disappeared pretty much immediately and we found ourselves bumping along a very sandy and rocky track. There had been substantial rains here recently and the River Finke had been in flood. As with most central Australian rivers, Finke River is generally ‘upside down’, i.e., the water is underground. When in flood however, the river flows like the more traditional rivers we are used to. The road had only been open for 1 week following the flooding, and the resultant damage to roads and tracks was considerable.
The Finke River is estimated to be the oldest river on the planet and of course Australia is the oldest continent that makes this region geographically ancient. Much of the flora subsequently is amazing and often unique. As we fought our way along the rough track, the surrounding countryside began to change. We were literally driving along and often through the river and into the Gorge. The sides around us became increasingly steep. By now the sun was high in the sky. Great crimson sand-stone cliff faces and sheer rock faces reared above us on both sides. The lower reaches were covered by blue and green patchwork, which on closer inspection proved to be emu bush and Spinifex stitched together with golden and silver grasses. The now largely dry river bed was covered with soft silky sand which was coloured soft beige, grey and pink. On close inspection the sand seemed to have been seeded with glitter, it twinkled and gleamed in the winter sun. Along the river bed we saw large trees uprooted by the recent turbulent waters. It was obvious that huge water forces had been at play during the recent downpours. Many pools still remained and much of the water was crystal clear. Tiny fish happily cavorted in the pools along with large pods of tadpoles, all clearly visible to the naked eye. How these creatures manage to survive through decades of drought, when no water pools are available, is incredible.
The bumps and grinds of the coach caused a great deal of consternation among several of the female occupants of the coach – I just found it uncomfortable and a little hard on the spine. I felt that the stunning beauty of our surrounds more than compensated for a little discomfort however.
Crossing over the river at least six times was quite a thrill. Looking down from the coach window I could see streamers of vivid green moss-like material and the quite deep holes in the river.
I cannot really do justice to the scenery. Apart from the ever steepening gorge walls, along the course of the river rose great scarlet and rocky mounds looking like baby volcanoes erupting from the river bed. The sand-stone rocks looked to have been man made in parts and you could easily believe the rocky walls had been constructed by some long gone super race.
The next port of call was for a brief but reasonably tough climb to the top of a small rocky mound for the purpose of taking photos. I must say, I was determined not to be the one who could not complete this climb and am proud to say that with the help of my trusty stick and of course a strong arm from TBBITW I made it to the top. The views from there were exceptional and it was well worth the effort. We stopped and had morning tea at this spot before climbing back into the coach and continuing along an ever deteriorating track to Cycad Gorge. Here we finally left the coach. I have to say there is no way we would subject our beloved Cruiser to this arduous trek. It really was a tough and treacherous drive.
Now we had a relatively long walk along the gorge floor to our destination. Our stopping place was adjacent to an almost sheer rock wall that facing northwards rarely saw direct sunlight. Growing along the rock face were Cycads, one of the oldest plant forms on the earth. The effect of the cycads on the deep red cliff face looking down on to the cool rock pools dotted with a bamboo-like grass was just astounding. The whole effect was tropical and cooling. We are told that Australia was once a very tropical continent and the cycads and palms in this region have survived since prehistoric times due to the permanent water source in this place.
The tops of the cliffs were decorated by white Cyprus and some late flowering plants also grew along the banks and sides of the cliffs. We continued our walk along the gorge floor, mainly thru’ soft red sand, which glittered when caught by the sun. As we walked we were accompanied by the frequent cool rock pools which abounded along the river bed. Sheer red rocks surrounded us, dotted here and there with caves and rock holes. We were told about a huge prehistoric rat that used to frequent the area – I felt sure I could see some droppings of the rat up on some of the higher rock ledges – a suggestion which was met by quite some derision – I’m not convinced that he is not still lurking there. As we rounded the final bend we were confronted by the amazing sight of an abundance of red cabbage palms. Remember we are in the heart of the Red Centre here and the last thing you expect to see are palm trees. The gorge now was fully tropical in appearance – cool green rock pools, tall and elegant palm trees, ancient dark green cycads and Cyprus fringed cliff tops. Bright green bamboo and reeds decorated the pools and the air was cool and refreshing. A whip-bird called in the background and the whole effect was scintillatingly beautiful and not a little surreal. We dallied awhile at the water hole by the palm trees and then sadly had to wend our way back to the coach. On the way back we spotted a large lizard who neatly posted himself into a rock hole on the cliff face as we passed.
Once back at the coach, we retraced our steps back to Hermannsburg where we were to have lunch. The trip back was no less beautiful than the trip in, except by now most of the occupants of the coach had stopped squealing every time we hit a large bump or hole in the road – I think most of us were too pooped to pop!! A couple of small red kangaroos stopped to laugh at us as we bumped past. I was truly sorry to leave that place of exceptional beauty behind us, and have written this so that I can remind myself from time to time of this beautiful day.
Back at Hermannsburg, we were shown a short film about the life of Albert Namitjera – much the same as the information we had been given during the coach tour. We were sat amongst copies of his beautiful water paintings. As the movie was shown in one of the original buildings there, the down-side was that we all froze. Those old buildings are incredibly cool, they must be a boon in the hot summer, but I have to tell you that in the winter they are less than wonderful. Lunch was served and I was pleasantly surprised by a delicious piece of quiche and a crisp salad. Not included in the price, but a definite must was either a home -made scone with jam and cream or a piece of their famous apple strudel. I opted for the scone and cream and was both horrified and amazed when for the paltry sum of $6 I was served not one but two huge hot scones. I do say I, not WE as WE had been horrified at my ordering the scones and had successfully fed my own sense of guilt with some pretty withering looks and gesticulations. Needless to say WE shared the scones and I do believe WE enjoyed them. I was made to believe that I was the only person to indulge – nothing was said by WE when we discovered that pretty much everyone has partaken of one or the other of the treats. We then had 30 mins or so to have a wander around the ruins of Hermannsburg and then it was back on the coach for the trip home.
Coming back was a little bitter-sweet, as the day had been splendid. I was looking forward however, to seeing how my friends the West MacDonnell Ranges would look in a different light. The countryside here changes dramatically in appearance depending on the time of the day. Now the ranges were on our left and the sun was setting pretty much behind them. Now they were cloaked in deep blues and purples, the smaller hills in the forefront almost black in their shadow. In the distance, the steeper deep blue giants bared ribs of silver and pink as they rose skyward.
On our left, crawled the fascinating caterpillars. Still they flaunted themselves in the bright late afternoon sun, their skeletal red bones clawing skyward above skirts of mossy green fringed with deep dark greens and silvers. Here and there graceful ghost gums rose up against the red ochres starkly contrasting their white bones and soft green leaves against the blood red back-ground. We wound ever homeward, finally spearing our way through the ranges and back to the front gate of our caravan park.
All in all, it was a wonderful day, the whole experience complimented by a brilliant and clear blue desert sky. Even the bloke had enjoyed himself and as always the ‘chilly atmosphere’ had evaporated just as it should as the beauty of the surrounding ranges had healed our petty differences.
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