Advance . . . .


The sun rained down, desiccating the parched earth even further. Woollagong was hot this time of year. Even the camels were listless, browsing on the barren twigs of the yarrowbee bushes as they trudged along. It was some kind of nourishment.

Dangaroa whistled for his dog Grip to turn the lead camel. The day was edging away and it was time to make camp for the night. A trifle early perhaps, but in this scrub land, it was far better to prepare early than get caught out with no time to gather kindling. Jililie had already stopped at the end of the line and was gathering what sticks she could find close by to start the fire going
Once the fire was alight with enough burnable material to keep it going a few minutes, she ranged further afield, bringing back her horde to keep it blazing with a steady flame which would heat their precious water for a cup of strong tea. The fire, once going strong, would be hot enough to cook the damper.
Dangaroa, settled the herd, then ranged farther out and gathered as much as he could to keep a blaze going right through until dawn. Night temperatures dropped suddenly in the bare desert and freezing air could not be ruled out; a fire would also keep away dingoes, maybe browns too. There were a lot of brown snakes in the scrub living in cracks in the dry earth and sand. They were deadly. There were other snakes around that would like to slither up to a nice warm fire. Jililie would have scoured the patch around their camp befire she lit the fire.
As the camels were herded into a semi-circular pattern, Dangaroa commanded one of the pack animals to sit. From its load he took a portable rope compound - light-weight, but strong enough to become a barrier for the beasts. A secure area to keep them from roaming. This saved the tedious task of hobbling individuals every night; easier for Grip's attention to be focused on keeping a watchful eye for dingos rather than looking out for strays that left the security of the herd. It also served as a central area for feeding the beasts the packages of nourishing fodder in pellet form they had brought with them to supplement naturally gathered edibles.
By the time they had a good fire burning and the camels had been fed, the damper was on to cook, the sun had slid towards the horizon. A brilliant sunset, as always in this region but neither Dangaroa nor Jililie had time to look at the sky, their attention was focused on the nights' meal and bedding the camels down.
Jililie mixed up the flour and water blend and placed it in the damper pot which she then swung over the flames. The fire was putting out plenty of heat although it was small and the damper would not take more than half an hour to cook. The billie had been placed over the flames first. Jililie noted that the water was just about at boiling. She emptied a pouch of tea into the pot for it to brew. They liked it strong. A cultivated taste for the drovers.
When all the camels had been fed their ration and Dangaroa had all the sticks he felt would last, he called in Grip for his ration of dried meat and a drink before sending him off to do guard duty. He doubted any dingoes were close, but you never knew and the prospect of fresh camel meat might prove too tempting for a pack of the blighters.
Whilst collecting wood, Dangaroa had kept an eye open for browns that liked this region. Grip was a good work animal but he had to look after the camels. Couldn't expect him to keep watch for snakes as well. A sweep of the area was a justified precaution. The fire would only draw them close.
The cold night made snakes lethargic and a nice warm fire could bring up their body temperatures enough to make hunting for food an easier task. A warm campfire was always a good option for snakes.
Dangaroa and Jililie would both take turns in sleeping and keeping watch. Jililie would watch first, then Dangaroa would take over when she woke him around two a.m.
The sky was black velvet, like a woman's shawl that was covered with glittering diamonds. Dangaroa never ceased to marvel at the sight as he settled himself, blanket around his shoulders, to wait for dawn to lighten the sky.
Some night insects, attracted to the flames, buzzed around. At the perimeter, Dangaroa continually brushed at the annoyance. He wished he had one of those fancy fans the women used in the summer but that would also waft the icy air over his face and that was something he could do without. He heard the sound of dingo calls once or twice as he watched over the herd, but they were some distance away, far enough, he thought, for them not to be a menace.
Jililie slept soundly, her light snoring an accompaniment to the crackle of the flames, the odd grunting of sleeping camels, their grumbling stomachs and loud farts, plus his own in-drawn breaths. Finally a dark purple smudged the far horizon. Dawn was approaching.
Dangaroa had taken over watch at four a.m. For some reason he could not sleep. He moved back towards the fire and added fuel, topping up the water in the billie and shaking Jililie awake. She yawned and unwrapped herself from the blanket. With a slight shiver, she began to prepare their meagre breakfast, adding sugar to the can of black tea. The night had passed without danger and as soon as breakfast and ablutions were done, they would pack up the compound and be on their way, another day over and nearer their goal.
Jillie glamced up to the far distant mound that was central in the land. They had moved closer but now she saw the sun lighting up the bright red earth of Ayres Rock. It was like a signpost, a beacon in a flat land.
This edifice was unique. Once they passed it and drove on to the other side there would be a stopping point where she could meet up with her family. They had changed, become what others wanted them to be but….the land had not changed, not here in the scrub desert, a wild, dry uninhabitable place fit only for snakes, lizards and dingoes.
Droving had not changed, not yet. When Dangaroa could buy a truck, they could load the camels on and they could reach their destination faster, but it wouldn’t be the same. No, it wouldn’t be the same.

© Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. March, 2003.
(Edited and revised June, 2012)

Words 1156

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.06.2012

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