Beyond Coober Pedy

We used to joke that this land is the world’s best rock farm. Baked under a torturous sun, vegetation is a luxury. And here, that which does thrive, rises twisted and defiant. Only the most stalwart of cattle graziers dare attempt to manage the thousands of hectares that border and traverse the Simpson desert.

For hundreds of kilometres, you can drive without seeing life. The shallow undulations of eroded hills are testament of this geography’s age. Negotiating these unsealed, naked roads is difficult. Teeth loosen as 4wds rattle across their corrugations. Unsettled bulldust masks potholes that bend axles. Tumbleweeds shred wheels with their gnarled thorns.

There is little doubt that anything not made of mineral will be erased if it stands still too long. It reminds me of a poem written by a man who never had the opportunity to experience this hostile region in person. Percy Bysshe Shelley’s 1818 ode to mortality is most appropriate:

“I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".

Weathered

An eyesore in the neighbourhood, his home is defined by its simple lines and modest shape. More than a generation has passed since last it was painted but its owner is proud of the character its blistered paint provides.

Neighbours pass and quietly shake their heads, stirred with pity by this dilapidation. Never invited, they have no idea what lies behind the scarred wood and mottled brick. He is immune to their unstated displeasure because he knows what treasures he selfishly guards.

Photos of travels and trinkets of misadventure fill his home. Decades of exploration captured in artefacts of immense value are on open display. Every item has its own story to tell. It is a veritable museum of infinite value.

He couldn’t be more pleased that because of assumption, his door never needs bolting.

Rain

This summer, rainfall in Queensland has been extraordinary. Even if it were possible to isolate emotion from the devastation caused by it, the numbers are compelling.

The Bureau of Meteorology reported December as the “Wettest December on Record”. Average precipitation across the state was five inches higher than average. On Xmas day alone, more than a foot of rain fell in one location. In another part of the Sunshine State, 32 inches fell for the month (27 inches more than the long term average.) January was equally oppressive. Four inches higher than normal across the state, some locations received more than 20 inches above their long term averages.

And then there was Category 5, Cyclone Yasi. Perhaps the largest cyclone ever to be seen in Australia, it crossed the eastern seaboard in the first few days of February. Blanketing more than 621 miles (north-south), it brought another foot of rain to Queensland.

It is little wonder that a grey sky makes most residents pause to consider how much water it contains.