On a mountain somewhere

The call of the outback is strong for me sometimes. It gets to the stage where I simply need to find some fine orange grit and plant my feet in it. The big sky, the quiet, the colours...

Such a time arrived a month or two back and I have been itching to find a way ever since to scratch it. Last weekend it happened. My requirements were simple - drive out of Melbourne, get to the desert, find a hilltop somewhere and set up the tent for the night. It proved to be a little more complex than I thought, but in the end I was satisfied.

Dolo Hills cross the Barrier Hwy (or maybe its the other way around) about 130 kms east of Broken Hill. They are not significant mountains. The most prominent point is probably less than 200 metres above the surrounding plain, but considering the nature of the surrounding plain, that's quite a bit. This is a really flat part of the country - after you break out of the Barrier Range (another unimpressive range in height, but actually quite significant in length), you head over 100 km across almost completely featureless landscape. For the last half of this, you become aware of the Dolo Hills - at first well to the right of the road, but gradually reaching out to cross the horizon. The peaks are no more steep than they are high. Formed out of loose rock, any attempts at greatness has long since crumbled. The highway barely misses a beat to get through them. A climb over the western ridge, a little dog leg left and right as it negotiates down to a pretty tree lined (but quite dry) creek bed, then up and over the main ridge with a couple more twists and bends. In a car you can do it in top gear at the speed limit, but some of the immense interstate transports that use the route struggle a little more.

Naturally the road does not cross at the highest points, but slips between two peaks in a little pass. I pulled up here and found I could set up camp on a little side road that got me far enough off the highway not to be noticed once it became dark. I set up the tent and the stove, and cooked some tea. Although I had carried all the makings for a camp fire, I decided against building one - it was not cold and it would only attract unwanted attention. I had good enough torches to enable me to do any moving about I needed between sunset and sunrise - it would be fine.

Sunset was nice but not as good as I might have wished. The contact point for sunset, just to the north of due west considering the time of year, was behind a low hill on which my tent sat. Still the sky did some good colourful things, and then it quickly became dark. It was a long time since I had simply sat and watched the stars come out to play. In the complete dark, this is really something. The brightest ones we know from the suburbs are quickly surrounded and then almost overwhelmed by clouds of others painting the sky with their light. If you look for a while you start to marvel at how bright they are - like you could read to the light of these stars! But of course, you quickly change your mind when you look at the inky surroundings on the ground! Not just spectacular, there is movement and interest! Shooting stars! I counted 8 in about 30 minutes. And countless pieces of space junk trundling across the sky... you lose count because some are so fleeting and others are... imaginary really... your eyes start to play tricks on what is moving and what is not. I watched one in particlar for about 5 minutes, marvelling at how it crawled across the sky and remained lit. Then it blinked at me... aha! It was a jet, flying overhead, so high you could hear nothing, full of people going somewhere and who genuinely believed they were flying over nothing... idiots!

In theory, the desert comes alive with wildlife at night time. In practice, I have rarely encountered anything much in an environment like this. You sometimes hear something moving a way off. I quickly realised by listening to the occasional truck on the highway below me that you can hear them coming for 15 minutes in the stillness of the night, so these animals could readily be quite some distance away. Early on, I would suddenly switch on my torch and shine it in the direction of a noise, hoping to catch a glimpse of a kangaroo or other native - or even a goat would be interesting! After several failures, and realising it takes about 5 minutes for your eyes to readjust to the darkness after such futility, I gave up and let whatever was out there have its way.

I eventually crawled into the tent and fell asleep easily. I awoke with the faintest whisper of light from the east, and quickly realised I was going to be in for a really special sunrise. Wanting to make the most of it, as soon as there was enough light to see the way, I grabbed my camera and climbed up the nearest high point to get a better view of the horizon. No sooner had a arrived than I realised this was not actually the nearest highest peak - the next hill was quite a bit higher. Another scramble down and across and up again - probably a couple of kilometres from my camp now, but at last with almost a complete 360 degree view of the horizon. Like the arrival of the king - there is much prelude and pomp to the sunrise. Layer upon layer of cloud ranges through the spectrum, seeking to outdo each other in their brilliance in shape and hue. Distant peaks catch a glimpse of what is to come and seem to suddenly explode in light, one by one, then in a line. And finally, the leading edge of the burning disc cuts the horizon and hits you with light. For a short while it is almost a disappointment as its luminence drowns out the subtlety you have been enjoying for the last few minutes. But then it simply introduces entire new aspects - the delicate play of light across the high and low points, the angular beams cutting through valleys and casting huge shadows on the surrounding plain, which then shrink as fast as you can watch. Cloudscapes 180 degrees away take on delicate hues as the light finds them at last.

Reluctantly, I draw myself away and decide to head back to the camp. It is partially habit - too often the arrival of the sun in the desert has meant an onslaught of temperature and therefore you need to get any physical exertion over quickly. Not this time, in actual fact - the warming of the sun just makes it pleasant. But it does also signify the onslaught of the flies - who seem to have just discovered me and decided this might be their best opportunity for the day. Indeed, I would not expect there to be any other person passing by today. Or most days actually. While a place like this is not remote enough to make you think you are a pioneer, you can readily believe that a person walking out here is only an occasional event. Why - there isn't even any litter!

For a curious moment, I fell to wondering which of the little hills around me was the one hiding my tent. It would not be all that funny to get lost out here, and my only accessories were a small water bottle and a camera. How long would you survive like that... no no. Don't start that line of thought. Trust your instincts - its just over here. And of course it was. My instincts on such things are pretty reasonable.

I packed up and set about driving off. By 8:30, the Dolo Hills were falling into my rear vision mirror as I set out across the even broader plain to the east - where somewhere out here the utterly lazy Darling River passed by. It was a long way home, and even further to my destination seeing I was hoping to be in Lakes Entrance for Monday morning for work. For a long time, I sat in the car, cruise control on, highway effortlessly gliding beneath the wheels, and simply smiled.