In Search of Reedy Creek Ranch - Night 4

Our team leader John arrived around 7 o’clock this morning to begin packing up the troupee(basically a modified Jeep with seating for eight in the rear) and the trailer for our long haul to Expedition National Park. Involved with myself in this week long adventure were Daniel, Jana, Aaron, Mandy,Glen, our leader John and an illegal sidekick Brian. Glen turned out to be a local guy whose conservation studies mandated 80 hours of volunteer work. Twenty something, with a Mohawk and army fatigue pants, Glen cast himself as a bit of a harrowing character at first glance, however, after meeting him, his smile gave away his true nature; that of a quiet, hard-working fellow. Team Leader John, was an ex-oil geologist turned outdoorsman, who could have been old man Jackl’s twin, in both looks and demeanor. Brian, our stowaway, on the other hand, was quite the opposite, a Jeckl to John’s Hyde. Numerous tattoos, including BEER – one letter on each of the four fingers of his left hand – and a few scars spoke of a misspent youth that carried over a bit too far into adulthood. He was rather small and gaunt, about 5’5”, 150 pounds soaking wet, and had a manner of speech and movement incredibly similar to John Diemel. After hearing the first dozen stories out of his mouth, I decided that was exactly what he was: an Australian version of my hometown neighbor, Mr. Diemel. Oh yeah, the reason I say Brian was an illegal sidekick is that though he is a usual team leader about six months ago he was weed-eating when he took off his glasses to wipe some sweat and the end of the weed-eater hit the ground and kick a piece of metal directly into his eye. It went through the front and lodged itself in the retina. Four surgeries later, he is still wearing a patch, is on limited duty and isn’t supposed to be working, but boredom has got the best of him so he decided to ride along for free.

The Troupee in Taroom

Introductions and packing finished, we hid the road for what was to be an estimated six hour drive. The first hour and half was spent climbing the range up to the city of Toowoomba. On our climb up the steep grade we passed an old, bright pink car carrying two young girls struggling up the hill. Glancing over we spotted a large plastic dildo glued to the dashboard. The girls looked up, smiled and waved. We nearly drove in the ditch from laughter. Home of Queenstown University (or something like that), Toowoomba is a nice little college town perched on the edge of a plateau. We stopped for a quick stretch. The seats in the back of the troupee will numb even the fattest of asses in the first thirty minutes. After Toowoomba, the terrain levels out quickly. This is cattle country. Were we not driving on the left side of the road, one could fall asleep, awake and think you were smack dab in the center of Nebraska. A small town dots the map every 50 to 70 miles, all of them identical to the one before it. Around noon, we pulled off in the town of Chinchilla for lunch and our first taste of the coming annoyance known as harvest flies. A notch smaller than the common American housefly, what they lack in size they more than make up for in tenacity. A strange casual observation: each of these small farm towns has a skate park, and not one of them was in use.

At Miles, we turned north towards Taroom. The table-flat farmland began to give way to rolling hills, some pasture, most in their native scrub grass and savanna-like foliage. A few kilometers past Taroom we hung a left onto Robinson Creek Road, a red dirt road. This would be the last time we would see pavement (or bitumen as the Aussies call it) for days. For about a 100 KMs we bounced along in the back of the troupee dodging potholes, branches and the occasional kangaroo or wallaby. We came upon a fork in the road, and as Yogi Berra suggested, we took it. Actually, we hung a left, following (rather errantly as we would soon discover) the sign pointing toward Expedition National Park. Fifty kilometers later the end of the road appeared, with the Starkvite Campground to the right. Not where we were scheduled to say. Upon thieving a map from the campground, it was discovered that the directions we had been given were wrong and we had taken a left when we should have went

Reedy Creek Ranch

right. A bout two hours, three more turnarounds, one blue refrigerator and one bleached out road sign later, we arrived at the Reedy Creek Ranch, our intended destination. The trip took nine hours, eight of them on the road...much too long in the back of the troupee. As it was already dusk, John cooked a quick meal of jammers and mashies (hot dogs and mashed potatoes). The place is off the grid and the generator goes off at nine, so we unpacked our sleeping bags and headed to sleep on the veranda. Due to the Adrian’s (the owner) pervish tendencies the girls were allowed to sleep inside, us men were stuck under the stars.

What I Learned Today: Those of us who live in cities are missing out on one of the world’s great wonders: the night sky. Here at Reedy Creek Ranch, miles from any light pollution, the full breadth of the stars are on display. Though it is not the northern sky that I am so familiar with, its magnificence is not in the least bit diminished. I fear that there are many among us who have never truly seen the night sky in all its splendor, and what a shame that is.

written by

exumenius on October 14, 2007 from Taroom, Australia

from the travel blog: Kiwis and Kangaroos

Send a Compliment

Andy,

It is great to hear about your crusades throughout the world! Not having talked to you in many moons, I didn't realize your ability to paint such great mental pictures through your writing. I guess I'm not as surprised about the philisophical aspects of your blogs though! And it was great to see a reference to my dad (old man Jackl)! Thanks for that and keep up the great work. By the way, what exactly are you volunteering for?

Tuned In,
Josh

written by Josh Jackl on October 20, 2007

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