Trip 4: August 17, Part 2

We’re far enough north now that it’s HOT. Yes, it’s winter here, but the Equator is close enough that moving farther north warms things up. This actually makes most things easier, as we need not worry about getting chilly at night.

Walked around town. Taking photos of the famous Birdsville Hotel and Pub, the defunct Royal Hotel, and a clinic that “took me back” to a previous adventure. A couple of trips ago, Richard and Nikki again as travel companions, we had stopped at a town called Hawker, near the Flinders Ranges. There we visited a museum at Hawker Motors, with both the business and the museum having been created by Fred Teague. But before he’d settled in Hawker, Teague had, among numerous other jobs, spent 18 months driving the Marree-to-Birdsville mail route. It was Teague who hauled all the material for building the clinic. (And it was during that visit to Hawker that Richard had promised that someday, if I made another trip to Australia, we could travel the Birdsville Track.)

Another willy willy blew past us, as we continued making our way through town. We then stopped at a splendid museum—the Working Museum—which I won’t describe in detail because the enthusiastic but aging owner, John Menzies, said that, if he couldn’t sell it, he’d be closing it down—and that is what happened in 2011. Pity. (But if you’re curious, there are a number of videos on YouTube of this remarkable one-man effort.)

Next stop was the odd, old cemetery, a historic site that is the final resting place of many of the areas early pioneers, as well as some more recent residents of the town. Then we headed back to camp. With a couple of hours until our dinner reservation (at the Birdsville Hotel!), we each headed off to amuse ourselves. Nikki went to the library. Richard went to buy more supplies. I spent my time looking for birds. In addition to all the birds we’ve seen everywhere, there were white-headed stilts, also known as pied stilts (Himantopus leucocephalus —always good to travel with someone who has bird books), and exquisite little, bright-yellow that I didn’t find in the book but Nikki later told me were finches. But as sunset approached, I hiked into town to get a photo of the Birdsville Hotel in the diminishing light —an iconic image.

When Nikki and Richard returned, we all headed into the Pub/Hotel for an iconic evening—my treat, as they had put so much effort into making this a great trip. We started with drinks in the bar (and I was happy to have a cold Strongbow cider), then into the dining room, where I enjoyed a delightful and generous rack of lamb with “Saxon sauce”—a brown gravy with mint. Nice veggies. Nikki had kangaroo and Richard had steak—all good portions. Dessert was lovely, too. I had blueberry pudding. Of course, all was more wonderful because of the location. The sturdy, white walls, stone floor, and wood-beamed roof of the old hotel created a good setting for a celebratory meal. Chef came out to chat with customers once everyone was served. Classic white chef’s jacket, but with a baseball cap. Bearded and with a limp. I imagined for him the multi-faceted career that seems so common out here, possibly involving horses at some point, and injury—so a suitably quirky character for an outback pub.)

I was amused to see that there was an impressive computer setup near the bar. Plus Nikki told me she’d been able to get on the Internet at the library. So Birdsville is still mighty remote, but no longer quite so isolated.

As we exited the pub/hotel, we struck up a conversation with a group from Adelaide, and we chatted for nearly an hour about travel in Australia—standing in the middle of the street (not a lot of traffic here).

Then it was back to camp and to our waiting sleeping bags. (Though not without a few moments of enjoying the night sky.)

Trip 4: August 17, Part 1

Relatively leisurely morning. Though it was early, there were already occasional drivers passing by on the road. Whenever anyone passed, they would slow down, toot their horn, and wave. This was to be friendly, of course, but also to make sure we were okay, and not stopped because of an injury or car problem. Richard checked everything again, and then we were packed and on the road by just after nine. Our camp was about 100 kilometers from Birdsville, so our destination was getting closer. A return to gibbers makes us all appreciate having located that brief stretch of sand where we camped last night.

We are now headed into Queensland’s Channel Country. This sprawling region (roughly 60,000 square miles) takes its name from the channels cut by the many rivers that appear on those occasions when there is rain. Much of the time, the surface is dry, but there is enough moisture to grow the rough grass that supports cattle ranching here.

Rugged, red, rocky, and dotted with jump ups/mesas, this is dramatic country. The burst of greenness amidst desolation that signals the presence of water (even if the water is not visible) is always astonishing, but here it seems more remarkable, because the numerous channels mean more frequent greenery, but the intervening land seems to compensate by being rockier and more desolate. More grass means more kangaroos. More channels and then dunes—high ones this time (sign says we’ll have dunes for the next 11 kilometers).

It’s really beautiful here, in an unapologetic, unforgiving kind of way. Harsh but splendid. I am enjoying this landscape immensely. Alternating dunes and jump ups, mulga and acacia, bursts of noisy galahs.

Broad claypans appeared, one even with water. (A claypan is an area where there is a dense clay layer that doesn’t allow plant growth and poorly absorbs water, hence the standing water we could see. Not lovely, but fascinating.)

We crested a dune, and below us we could see the Birdsville race course. This currently deserted venue is the site of a famous horse race that occurs in September every year—three weeks from now, in fact. Every year, for a few days, the population swells from the usual 110 people to thousands. Begun in 1882, this event offers two days of racing, but also offers live music and other entertainment, plus numerous events for those who make the trek to this remote spot.

We crossed the Diamantina River and headed into Birdsville! A quick drive through town gave me a glimpse of this iconic locale, but Richard was focused on getting us to the caravan park/camp ground, so we could get a good place to set up camp before we started exploring.

I’ve read that Birdsville takes its name from the abundant birdlife attracted to the Diamantina River. Our camp being near the river’s edge, it was easy to confirm this explanation, as crows, swallows, magpies, larks, and kites were very much in evidence. The ablution block is a fair hike from the spot we got for setting up our tents, but the walk was well worth it, as we could have showers and do a bit of hand laundry. Also, it’s nice to have toilets again.

Sitting in camp, eating lunch, I could see two trees filled with corellas by the side of the river. A willy willy (aka, dust devil) blew through camp, stirring things up a bit. This mini-whirlwind was far more interesting as it left us than it was when it passed over us. When it was gone, we washed the dishes and headed into town to explore.

Trip 4: August 16, Part 2

The terrain keeps changing. Bursts of spinifex, splashes of black soil, golden rocks, black rocks, red rocks, red sand. Suddenly, kangaroos are abundant again. However, while the terrain changes, the sky remains the same: incredibly blue, a blue that is deep and clear. There is no pollution out here. And, of course, since it’s winter, no clouds. Just splendid, open, blue sky.

While it is all interesting, for me, visually, the red sand/dirt is my favorite, especially when highlighted by bursts of silvery blue/green scrub. It gladdens my heart to see it.

Crossed out of Innaminka Reserve (the reserve covers more than 5,000 square miles, so it takes a while to reach the far side) and into Cordillo Downs, a historic outback station. We were again surrounded by rolling, red sand dunes, traveling between them rather than over them. And then back to gibber plains again. (Still on the Cordillo Downs station—when all you have is rocks and sand, you need a lot of land.)

Cordillo Downs was and is the site of a famous woolshed (building where sheep are shorn), a massive building (the world’s largest shearing shed) erected in 1883, made out of local stone (what else?). Though not all stone: the roof was iron. The building is now used for storage, but is kept primarily for its historic importance. The sheep are long gone (since the early 1940s), because so many were killed by dingoes. The switch was made to cattle, and that is what keeps the station going now.

While Cordillo Downs is private property, the owners do not object to visitors visiting the woolshed, and travelers are also allowed to stop (and even camp) along the road or nearby creeks. (There are no services or accommodations for visitors anywhere along this rough road.) So Richard found us a nice creek bed, where we pulled over and stopped for lunch.

On the road again, crossing Sturt’s Stony Desert. No kidding about the “stony.” (Worth noting, there are better roads, but not if you want to see some of the historic sites. Plus, though rugged, this is a shortcut if you’re traveling from Innaminka to Birdsville.)

Passed Providence Creek. This creek has so many channels that, overall, it measures two kilometers wide. Here we saw red mulga growing. This short tree has curly, reddish bark and needle-thin leaves. Richard says it’s not commonly seen.

Then on to Cadelga Outstation (now part of Cordillo Downs). Here, there are only haunting ruins of the one-time homestead, also built of stone. Nearby, a tree-lined waterhole was noisily inhabited by a great number of birds. We took some photos of the ruins and trees, and then we needed to keep on going. We’ll be bush camping tonight, and Richards wants to find a good campsite by 4:00-4:30, well before sunset, so back to the road.

Crossed the border into Queensland. Diamantina Shire. Before long, Richard found the place he had in mind, and we pulled off the road. It was a good site for camping. Flat, even, with a golden dune that is about 15 feet high blocking the wind. Plus we’re fairly near the road, so no chance of getting lost—and no one is going to be driving on this rough, unlighted road at night. Plus. we’re only about half an hour outside of Birdsville. Actually, quite a remarkable spot.

While Nikki and I set up camp, Richard changed the tire again. The patched spot was beginning to bulge. He said that everyone in Innaminka was talking about tire trouble and the “shocking roads”—so he assured us that this is not unlucky, just the way things are. (But why you don’t want to do this without knowing what you’re getting into—and without someone like Richard on hand, to fix things.)

Beautiful sunset, and now the stars are out. With no trees around us to hem in the sky, the sky seems so immense it is almost overwhelming. The whole universe is stars. What a glorious night.

Mmm—Richard just opened an old bottle of port. This is camping at its best.

Trip 4: August 15, Part 2

As we headed the 20 or so miles to the Dig Tree, the red dunes of sand country came back into view. Across the border into Queensland’s Bulloo Shire. The Dig Tree is on private property, the Nappa Merrie Station, but because it is such an important historic site, it is kept open to the public. There is an entry booth where someone from the station (a hand or, today, the nanny—everyone takes turns, we were told) offers information and collects the $10 per car fee that pays for keeping the road open and the area around the tree cared for. (And for a slightly higher fee, one can camp nearby.)

The Dig Tree is part of the tragic story of the end of the Burke and Wills expedition. The explorers made it all the way across the continent, the first to ever cross going south to north, but when they got back to the camp on Cooper Creek, the backup team, which had waited for four months, had left—only nine hours earlier. The Dig Tree refers to a tree on which the back-up team leader, William Brahe, had carved a message about where to dig to find extra supplies that had been left for the explorers, in case they ever did return.

Seeing the Dig Tree was moving—but the stop was made more delightful by the presence of great numbers of correllas, plus egrets and herons. Then we stopped at another tree into which a portrait of Burke had been carved in 1898.

Then it was back to the wild road. Some compelling landscape and some merely astonishing. Clouds of galahs rose at our approach at one spot. We passed a few other cars, and out here, everyone waves when they pass.

Stopped in Innaminka to take photos of the surrounding area, and then headed to the general store again, for a few supplies. Topping my shopping list was a bottle of RID, a local product highly recommended by Nikki that both repels mosquitoes and, very necessary at this point, soothes the itching of the bites I’d already accumulated. (Down side of camping near water.)

Back at camp, I started the fire for cooking dinner. Now the sun is down, Nikki (who has a lovely voice) is singing softly, and Richard is grilling sausages and eggs. The birds are indulging in their usual evening symphony, with galahs and corellas making the biggest contribution to the background noise.

Nice dinner. We even had a steamed pudding, which was a grand treat. Companionable evening, as usual. Nikki and Richard went to bed at the usual 8:30, but I was feeling restless, so I’ve stayed up and am now writing by firelight—but also enjoying my surroundings. The Southern Cross is riding down the sky, but is still gloriously bright. I will probably only see it while I’m out here camping. Two other treats: I saw a shooting star and (quite remarkably) saw the grand sweep of stars overhead reflected in the creek (only possible to see because it is so dark out here). Glorious. And finally, to bed at the outrageous hour of 9:45.

Trip 4: August 14, Part 1

Up early, packed up camp, and were on the road by about 8:15. First to Tibooburra, to visit the Country Store. I love this remarkable little shop. Friendly people, lots of homemade goodies, a surprisingly wide range of foodstuffs (including Indian curries and imported European chocolates). Plus camping supplies and auto parts. We were there for fill-ups on petrol and butane. (The butane is essential because most parks do not permit wood fires. These created two problems in the past: wood carried in brought insects and disease that caused diebacks in several forests, and, of course, the occasional fire got out of control.)

Off on the Jump Up Road. A jump up is an eroded hill, like a low mesa or butte, and the books Richard had brought along on the trip said that they are characteristic of the eastern part of Sturt National Park.

Kangaroos, rocks, low scrub, isolated short trees, bursts of greenery along creek beds, jump ups visible on the near horizon. At one creek crossing, Richard mentioned that river red gums (which adorn most creeks out here) are the most widely distributed eucalypts in Australia.

Acacias are all in bloom, as are many other wild flowers. Mobs of kangaroos (and “mob” is the correct term for a group of kangaroos). The road is rough, but our surroundings are splendid. Before long, the Dingo Fence came into view. It follows the border between Queensland and New South Wales at the point where we saw it. The fence was started in 1880 to try to stop the spread of rabbits, which became a real and devastating plague. Then, in 1914, the fence was repaired to keep dingoes out of sheep-raising area.

For a short distance, we left behind the astonishing gibber plain and entered an area of red sand. The dunes were dotted with small bushes with yellow flowers and seed pods. They are members of the grevillea family and are known as desert rattle pods.

Then suddenly we were back to gibbers. Some of creek beds we passed or crossed were filled with pale sand, and others were an incredible jumble of rocks.

Another stretch of red dirt. This is my favorite terrain: red dirt and silvery to olive green scrub. It reminds me of the Red Centre. But Richard assured me there would be plenty more gibbers ahead.

Near Fort Grey, a depot created and used by Charles Sturt as a base for exploring the area, we turned off the 4WD track onto the main road, which was simply a broader, smoother dirt road, and headed for Cameron Corner, the spot where South Australia, Queensland, and New South Wales meet. (Cameron Corner was named for surveyor James Cameron, who established the borders of the three states in 1880.)

Into sand hill country—really rolling countryside. Through the dog fence at the South Australia border. Quick stop at the “Cameron Corner Store” for beverages (iced coffee for me). As remote as it is, this utilitarian store makes it obvious that this area sees a bit of tourism, as they have a gift shop and a cappuccino machine, as well as offering meals, fuel, minor auto repairs, and camp sites. Beverages purchased, we headed over to the actual corner, where the “Three States Pole” marks the point at which the borders meet. The pole is topped with a brass plate that shows exactly where the lines were drawn, and which state you’re in, depending on where you stand in relation to the pole. (For some reason, these sorts of lines are always interesting.)

Back to the red dirt rollercoaster. Dune after rolling red dune. We were crossing the Strzelecki Desert. Richard found us a level, sandy spot near a windmill to enjoy our lunch. Broad and open. Perfect.

Thursday, August 29

It was still dark when I got up this morning. I finished packing, dropped my key in the drop slot at the front desk, and headed for the front door, where a taxi was waiting for me.

We drove through the city and out along the river. Away from downtown, Brisbane is largely unchanged. The dawn was glorious. The just-past-full moon still hung in the deep blue sky. Mist was rising from the river. Opposite the moon, a silver and pastel sky brightened until the huge, orange, fireball sun topped the horizon. It was splendid.

Brisbane airport is hugely spacious and filled with plants. At this early hour, I breezed through and out to my gate. We took off on time for Sydney, heading out over the ocean and nearby islands before swinging south.

Clouds among the mountains

We followed the Great Dividing Range, and below me, the mist-haunted mountains looked beautiful and green: dark green of forests, brighter green of paddocks, fields, and clearings.

Out over the red land

In Sydney, it was an easy stroll to the gate for my flight to Alice Springs—and then out over the broad, red land. My seatmate on the flight was a delightful woman from the office of Aboriginal Affairs. By the time we landed, we were well enough acquainted to happily share a taxi into town.

My heart sang as we crossed the rust-colored miles to town and nearly burst as we passed through Pitchi Ritchi, the pass through the MacDonnell Ranges that admits passengers from the south into Alice Springs. It’s unbelievably good to be back.

We reached my destination first, Toddy’s Backpacker Cabins, and I was dropped off. Toddy’s offers a level of accommodation equal to some of the places I stayed toward the end of my previous trip: clean, safe, cheap, laid-back, friendly, and very basic. I was shown to my room across a broad yard and then given a tour of the facilities, including the shower block, barbecue area, small shop for necessities, and laundry. The furniture in my room is a bed, a chair, and a large, strange wooden contraption that appears to have been designed to hold a couple of backpacks. The floor is linoleum, which makes sense given the pervasiveness of dust. There is a hand basin (cold water only, but still, nice to have water in the room). But it is enough.

The yard is littered with 4WDs, and a dog was sleeping in the dust as I passed. The clientele is pretty young, and the staff appears to be a mix of young locals, young Europeans, and older Aborigines. This place is perfect for Alice Springs. A bonus I quickly discovered is that these folks are really into the whole outback experience. They offer cheap tours, bike loans, and if you can get six people together, George, a member of the staff here, will drive you anywhere you want to go. Plus tonight, they’re having a barbecue (with kangaroo on the menu). Could hardly ask for more.

August 28, part 3

We descended the side of the mountain opposite the one we’d ascended on the way up to Binna Burra. As we wound through the forest, our driver, Brock, described what we were passing, then spend a good bit of time telling me things I should see on my next visit to Queensland. (He recommended Moreton Island, which he reckons is as nice as Frazer Island, and is one of his favorite holiday spots. Of course, since I haven’t seen Frazer Island, his suggestion actually adds two destinations to my “next time” list.)

After about an hour of driving, the Gold Coast appeared on the horizon, the line of high rises in the distance looking like broken teeth at the mouth of the green valley, with the ocean beyond, shimmering invitingly. A while later, we dropped some people in Nerang (the fastest-growing town in the Gold Coast, we were told), and then continued on to Brisbane.

The sun was just setting as we pulled into the Brisbane Transit Centre. I shouldered my pack, tripod, and camera bag, and, in the blazing orange sunset light, I headed through the Roma Street Gardens, then turned up Albert Street for the climb back to my hotel.

It was dark when I reached the hotel. I stopped at the desk to pick up my big bag, used the free taxi phone to order a taxi for the morning, then said farewell to the hotel manager and his wife, since I’ll be gone well before the front desk opens tomorrow morning.

I’d brought some fresh fruit back with me, and I had a banana and a “custard apple” for dinner. I’d been told I should try the custard apple, and while it was not yet quite completely ripe, it was still lovely and very much like custard. The gnarled, black exterior hides a creamy, white interior dotted with large, shiny, black seeds. The soft flesh has both a flavor and texture that make it easy to see where this fruit got its common name.

Then it was time to pack and prepare for tomorrow’s departure. I’m sorry to be leaving Queensland, but I’m very excited about getting back to the Red Centre. I set my alarm for 4:50 am, and by 9:00 pm, I was pretty well ready for bed–and for my departure tomorrow.

August 28, part 2

After about an hour and a half of hiking, we stopped in a grove of moss-covered trees that were identified as Antarctic beeches—Latin name, Nothofagus moorei (also known as Australian beech in some other sources). Apparently, this species of tree dates back to the supercontinent Gondwana and is the type of tree that covered Antarctica, back when Antarctica was still warm. (A bit of later research turned up the fact that trees in the Nothofagus family are actually “false beeches,” with members of the Fagaceae family being the true beeches—in case you wondered.) Interestingly, the small grove of beeches was clearly different than the surrounding rainforest. James explained that these trees need cooler weather to survive, which is why they only grow on the highest mountains this far north. The somewhat taller close relative of these trees, Tasmanian myrtle (Nothofagus cunninghamii, also sometimes called Antarctic beech or Australian myrtle, or maybe even red myrtle, just to keep things interesting) sticks to the cooler, more southerly climate of Tasmania. (Probably more than you ever wanted to know about the trees—but once I started looking and found out how confused the nomenclature was, I couldn’t resist.)

At this lovely spot, James lowered his backpack and produced scones and fruit. Mike and Greg (two regular visitors to Binna Burra who were on the long hike yesterday) also had packs, and they unloaded billy cans, water bottles, and portable fuel jars (no open fires up here when it’s this dry), and we boiled the billy for morning tea. Above us, bees hummed among the flowers in the tree tops, and all around us, rosellas flitted through the branches. While the billies warmed, we climbed a large mound of huge, lichen-stained boulders for a view back through the forest. James mentioned that the reason the beech trees were so close together is that, when a tree dies, new trees start up almost immediately from the base of the old trees.

With tea finished and gear repacked, we continued on. We left the beeches behind and were again enveloped by the rainforest. By 12:30, we were back at Binna Burra. I dropped my hat and sweater with my gear in the lodge, as the day was warming up. Then I set off across the broad clearing again, to take the Bellbird Track down to the Bellbird Clearing, where a barbecue lunch was being prepared. It was supposed to be a 15 minute walk, but it took me 25 minutes, because I stopped to photograph everything. The steaks were already cooked when I reached the barbeque area, and I served myself a steak and some “vegetable marrow” (zucchini), salad, and a large serving of fresh fruit. I think joined Mike on a log in the shade. We ate and chatted, and every now and then, I’d hand him my plate, say “Please hold this a minute,” and dash off to photograph something. I was especially glad to get a nice shot of a kookaburra that perched on a branch near the edge of the clearing.

Kookaburra

After lunch, there was time for one last short walk, and a final wander around the lodge. Then, at 4 o’clock, it was into a minibus that carried us away from Binna Burra. Sigh.

Wednesday, August 28

Another glorious sunrise, accompanied by the symphony of birds. My back, shoulders, and neck still ached from carrying a pack and camera equipment yesterday, but a few minutes of vigorous exercise loosened the muscles back up.

Again, at breakfast, the birds came to check for handouts. Most abundant were the rainbow lorikeets, followed by currawongs, plus a few crimson rosellas, and a satin bowerbird dashing in out of the brush, hoping the other birds would drop something.

James, the lodge manager (a handsome, young man with immense enthusiasm for the beauty of this place) came around to see who would be coming on the Tullawalal Circuit hike with him this morning. This is one of the “short walks” at Binna Burra, and I signed on. Then I dashed back to my cabin to finish packing and moved my gear to the lodge, since checkout was at 10 am, and I’d be on the hike then.

As we had done yesterday, we gathered at 9 am on the flower-bordered lawn behind the dining room (always behind, because the front projects over the cliff edge). It was to be only a 2-1/2 hour hike, so we didn’t need packs. It was amazing how much lighter my camera equipment seemed when it wasn’t in company with a backpack.

Everywhere, great views.

We headed across the clearing and past the original house built by the family that settled Binna Burra, up around the campground, and past the lovely pittosporum tree, the fragrance of which delights me beyond words. We stopped at a sign that outlined today’s hike, and then we headed into the forest.

Since this was a shorter walk, and not one of those gotta-keep-going-or-we’ll-never-get-back-by-dark marathons, James set a pace that was brisk but interrupted far more frequently. He pointed out buttress roots and strangler figs, stinging trees, forest apples, and rosellas crunching gum nuts overhead. We stopped to see the trapdoor spiders, and James pointed out a rock surrounded by cracked snail shells. This, he explained, was the work of the noisy pitta, a bird that smashes shells on rocks to open (and eat) the snails. We saw a hoop pine, one of the many popular timbers that became an early industry for the area (and which might have caused an early end to the rainforest, had not several people had the insight to protect this region). James also pointed out the Lignum Vitae, the tree with the hardest wood in the rainforest. Also known as ironwood, it’s so dense it sinks in water. It can be used for bearings and was a common material for parts of ships that would wear out if lesser woods were used. It has an oil that makes it insect resistant, and when it falls, it takes eons to decay. Cool.

In the distance, we could hear a catbird calling. Its call was sort of a cross between a cat’s meowing and a baby’s cry. Then we walked on.

As we walked, James told us a lot about the rainforest. Trees with buttress roots don’t have taproots. Everything in the understory has adapted to take maximum advantage of the limited sunlight: new growth is reddish, which processes sunlight more efficiently, and on some vines, the stems are as flat as the leaves, and are green as well, so more of the plant’s surface is exposed to the light.

August 27, part 4

There was a lot of up and down now, with the vegetation changing every hour or so. About an hour after lunch, we came upon a large carpet python sunning itself on a rock. We stopped to watch it slide away, then continued our up and down hike.

By 4 o’clock, we were back in the rainforest. Here, I got a lift from the amazingly fragrant native gardenia that was growing in abundance at one place along the path. The perfume surrounded us. It was, of the dozen or so lovely fragrances I’d breathed on this hike, the loveliest.

Back in the rainforest

It was beginning to get darker, and I was beginning to feel pretty weary. But you don’t have any option but to slog on. My next big boost came when we reached a turnoff to another trail, and there was a sign pointing ahead that said, “Binna Burra–4.7 kilometers.” That at least seemed manageable.

I continued to be amazed by the lushness, the beauty, the variety around me. It’s like the flora is playing a game of “let’s see how many totally different leaf shapes we can come up with.” It’s astonishing.

At one muddy bank, Jenny pointed out the little hidey-holes of the trap door spiders. Glen used the tip of a knife to carefully demonstrate how the silk-hinted trap doors work. Amazing.

We finally walked back into Binna Burra just as the sun disappeared from the sky–about 5:45. I was shattered, but also triumphant. No time to whimper, however, about sore muscles. Time to clean up and head to the lounge for music and munchies before dinner. (Too late to watch the sunset.)

I had a Strongbow cider (which I’d discovered during my first trip to Australia) with my dinner, and amiable conversations with a substantial number of people. People who travel tend to strike up friendships easily, and I ended up with a lot of recommendations and some invitations–for next time.

I didn’t really feel up to the 1-1/2 hour, flashlight stroll to see nighttime creatures (I figured I didn’t need much more than the adorable brushtail possums that climbed up on the porch to enjoy the fruit put out there for them.) It’s an early start again tomorrow, so I hobbled off to my cabin for a good, long stretch and then to bed.