“This is silly. We passed that clump of trees on our way to the car. Remember the way that branch, yep, that one on the big old gum over there, on the right, sorta looks like a body, arms outstretched? We commented upon it.” Nancy nodded, and a slight shiver moved down to her hand, onto my arm. I quietly took comfort from recognising that tree, not wanting to countenance any suggestion that we might be off the track.
We had been to the car to get our camping chairs, now slung off our shoulders; not heavy, just slightly uncomfortable. “We’ll be at the campsite shortly,” I volunteered, as we both heard voices in the distance, some children’s playful squealing. We soldiered on, along the narrow, dusty path.
Fifteen minutes later Nancy expressed surprise that we hadn’t arrived at the glade where we, with the kids and grandkids, had pitched our tents a few hours earlier. “It’s just around the next bend”, I proffered. Another ten minutes, the afternoon was closing and we both felt that sudden, subtle drop in temperature, as the evening nudged the day aside.
I saw that same old gum tree, but it was on the left. How could that be? I didn’t mention it, but Nan tentatively queried its squat presence. I privately wondered how it had changed position, surely it’s a different tree? I took us both carefully off the centre of the track and came up to the tree.
“Whose tracks are those, heading back that way, hang on and that way, and there, again,” I posed and we looked down into the dust, seeing a jumble of tracks, hither and thither. I lifted her left leg and checked the imprint on her sandal. Mine too, as we acknowledged our previous, several passings, writ large on the track. There was still plenty of light, we just needed a moment to reorientate ourselves.
“Are we lost?” “Of course not. No, no, we have just taken the wrong track back there. I suggest we retrace our steps back to that last intersection, and she’ll be tickety-boo.”
I was starting to feel the chairs, just a bit heavier. We’d been carrying them for maybe an hour, and I could feel a bit of a rub on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind a drink, have we got that water bottle?” “No, it’s back at the camp. We’ll be back there shortly.” I gave a half-hearted ‘coo-ee’, feeling a bit of a dork, as I delivered it. The air was still, quiet, save a distant kookaburra responding to my call. I could hear cicada’s too, pitched against the hitherto unheard silence. The bush too seemed to be settling for the night, quiet, exuding that particular Australian, eucalyptus sort of smell, clean, fresh, bushy.
“Nance, I reckon we have taken a bit of a detour. The kids will be wondering where we have got to, I betcha they’re posing lewd suggestions!” Nancy giggled, a little too nervously, but gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. “What are we going to do?” “Well the 101 Getting lost in the Bush manual says stop walking. Wait for somebody to find us. I have a lighter. We’ll light a smoky fire – it’ll ward off the chill, keep any mossies at bay, and provide some beacon for the kids!”
We scratched around, gathering the necessaries and had it lit in a couple of minutes.
There was a surprising comfort provided by that fire, a sense of normality, boundaries restated. It cheered us both. I let a few more coo-ees go up into the ether. We chatted, wondering what the children would be saying about their missing Nannie and Grandpa. Would they be worried?
Of course. But surely the four of them wouldn’t come looking. They’d split up. Jeanie would stay back at the camp with the children, Rob would be out here: somewhere! I thought I heard a noise and I let a full-throated call issue forth. We both held our breath, listening intently. A minute, another. Nothing. Had we heard something? There, that was a crack, a stick breaking. We moved closer to each other, another crack, a thump, as two wallabies broke cover and bounded off across our clearing.
I looked at Nan “Well at least the wildlife are at home!” We collected a bit more firewood and sat. We were both cooeeing at regular intervals, with the evening chill circling, ever want to waft around to the backs of our chairs. The mopokes, several families I think, tossed their ever mournful, syncopated night-time chorus between themselves. We stared into the fire, both of us drawn to our own reveries.
“What if they don’t find us?” “They will. Maybe it won’t be tonight, but we heard the children not long before sunset, so we aren’t that far away from them.” “Well, why can’t they hear us – our calls?” “Mmmm. I don’t know.”
I was wondering the same thing. Surely we had just drifted off the track. Thank God we had jeans on, and jumpers. It might be a long night! Nan mentioned her thirst again, and noted that we would not be taking our tablets tonight! We hunkered down, grateful for the fire.
At some stage, I drifted off. I dreamed of a night, long ago. I was working in Arnhem Land; our vehicle had broken down on the Bulman to Maningrida track. I was with Michael Brown and we were walking the fifty-odd kilometres back to town. Despite the tropics, it was a chilly, dry season night.
Michael showed me a trick to generate a little warmth, and sleep. Three small, smoky fires were lit, with space for us to lie down between them, a fire at each side of us, sharing the one in the middle. We positioned a quantity of wood at our heads, to feed the smouldering fires as they died down during the night. I remembered a fitful night, stones digging into my shoulder, hips and knees, but snatches of sleep achieved.
I heard, maybe felt Nan crying. “Hey, it’s OK. We might be spending the night out under the stars, together. People pay a fortune for this experience.” “Yes, but they have a bottle of sparkling wine, cheese, strawberries and a comfortable bed” she hiccupped. We both laughed.
Nan positioned another log onto the coals and our attention again drifted towards the coals. We both must have dozed off, slouched into the chairs, hands intertwined.
I awoke to Nan’s screech, torchlight in my face, Rob hugging her. “Am I glad to see you two. I have been out here for ages.” He unshouldered his day pack, handing Nan a water bottle. We both drank deeply and we disregarded the doctor’s orders, and each wolfed down a chocolate bar.
“You led me on a merry dance. I have been following your tracks – around two long circuits. I am not sure how, but you’ve ended up in the next valley from where we are camped. Not far from here, really. I reckon less than a kilometre but there is a range of hills in between. I eventually saw your campfire.”
We still go bushwalking, but not camping. We each carry a small daypack, water bottles, muesli bars, a light jumper and each pack is equipped with a lighter and a torch.