Today is one of the most memorable days of the trip so far. We set off early into the bush. We'll need a four wheel drive because we're going off road. Jos, Rob and I meet Marilyn at hers and are joined by Dave at 9.15 prompt. Except Dave is late. Well he is chef du tour, so he can do what he likes. He's taken lots of school trips into the bush. He's a teacher and takes then on Duke of Edinburgh things. And he's got a big car. Jos has packed her lipstick. Marilyn is persuaded to leave her high heels behind. There are loads of sandwiches and lashings of ginger beer.
After about three hours Dave goes down an old track. There we are, this is Aussie bush. Lots of thin trees and thick undergrowth. I explain to my fellow travellers that bush means something different in Manchester.
The track takes us past a row of mail boxes, different shapes and sizes. One is an old fridge and another is a tumble dryer. They've been adapted for the purpose.
Then onto an area of open land. There are a couple of kangaroos nibbling the grass. We stop under a tree for it's shade, but also to light a fire for a cup of tea. We get out. The flies are instantlty oppressive. They buzz around my eyes and hair. Strangely there seems to be a lot of cow dung around, although we haven't seen any cows. They must graze here. Dave has some fly repellant roll-on which smells horible.
'Wanna drive mate?'asks Dave. Yeah. This is fun. Top draw.
So I drive to Devils Rock. It is in Yango National Park. This is an Aboriginal sacred site so we are careful. We stop the car and have lunch. Then it's a two hundred meter walk up pretty inaccessible terrain to a flat piece of rock which overlooks the valley. On it are Aboriginal carvings. There's what looks to be a fertility sort of caving. One of the figures has a large protuberance. There are also circles. These circles are where the young men would have to stand as part of their initiation rites. The elders would sharpen stones and heat then up, then run them down the young mans body, scarring them. If he so much as flinched he would be castrated and banished from the tribe. A bit harsh. There is a hole which is a foot deep and wide and used to be filled with water. Next to it are the marks in the stone where their instruments were sharpened. Fascinating.
Further into the park we stop again. This time we get out where the path ends. Dave, our guide and Marilyn's husband, has been here many times before, well a couple of times, and fairly recently. 'It's somewhere over there' he says confidently. The sort of confidence a school master has. The sort of confidence years later you realise was misplaced. The sort of confidence you naively put your trust in. 'Now then, you can back out at this point and it's OK' he says curiously, as if any of us would back out at tis stage. 'We need to bash our way through this lot', he points to thick spiky undergrowth, 'for a couple of hundred yards and we should hit a track'. It's at this point I'm starting to doubt the wisdom of wearing shorts. Sure enough none of the others is. I was going to wear sandals but Dave said I should really trainers, and I had.
We reached the track and it took us deeper into the bush. We're not to call it forest or gungle. It's very different. It's australian. Every now and then there was a rustling sound either ahead or at the side. Nothing to see. 'Come on, lets keep moving', says our leader encouragingly 'we don't want leeches to attack us'.
What? Leeches? Yes apparently they lie in wait for people to go by and then attached themselves to your legs and suck you dry, sort of. 'Leeches' I asked calmly, 'so what do you do if they do attach themselves?' 'You need to get a match to them' Dave replies as if he's done this lots. ' A match' I titter nervously, 'you mean one that looks exactly the same?'. I had to explain.
Somewhere here there's a turn of to the right. Luckily some previous traveller had left a pile of rocks where we're to turn. Otherwise, to be honest, even Dave might have missed it. It wasn't really a track, more of a feeling, a sense. The trees and saplings are getting closer together. 'Keep up. We don't want to loose anyone'. They say he's a good teacher. 'Just down here somewhere', he leads authoritatively.
Then sure enough there are two low caves. The stone is sandstone and against the walls are the genuine 14th century cave painting we've been looking far. Amazing and wonderful. I'm wary of taking photos for fear of offending the spirits, and then remember that I don't believe in spirits. So just a couple to show respect.
These a tin box nearby with a book to sign, and instruction not to deface the site, as if we would. You can feel the presence of their spirits and imagine, only just, their existence. There's a creek a little further down the valley for water. Fresh berries, nuts and the odd Kangaroo was their diet. Nature was in balance and they survived for many centuries.
We bashed our way back to the car. 'Not many snakes today', says Dave, 'at least I didn't see any. Just as well, they can be a bit nasty' Oh yes? 'and when you get home check your legs for ticks'.
It's quite late by now so we stopped off at St Albans. Everyone looked either like tourists, or the same as each other. The pub was nice though and had good food. Back to Drummoyne, then to bed. I'm off to Daydream Island tomorrow. I think today's been a bit of a daydream too.
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