Another snippet from my soon to be published book. This, just a one page tale of night-time in the Australian bush: Closing the Gate Law of the Bush; “If the gate’s closed ……CLOSE It If it’s open ……… leave it open” It had been overcast all day, one of those days when it feels as though the parched earth may be blessed with some rain, but it rarely comes in the ‘Rain Shadow’ of the area around Cobar and Wilcannia, it just teases leaving the land as dry as before. So there is no light, not even starlight on this inky black night, as we travel back to camp in the Ford truck. The three of us stand on the tray of the truck, leaning on the timber rails behind the rear cabin window our hands on the roof of the cab. Our eyes follow the track ahead bathed in the glow of the truck lights. Like a game of eye spy with nothing better to do. “There’s one, there!” Jimmy shouts, a small rabbit darts at the edge of the headlight border and disappears into the blackness beyond the lights. Further ahead at the range of the lights we all see the glowing eyes of a female kangaroo and her joey staring back at us for an instant before they clear away with just a few effortless hops. Our eyes strain to find more movement, watering with the rush of the wind in our faces, our hats scrunched down hard on our heads. The truck slows as we round a bend and come upon a one piece steel and wire gate supported by sturdy strainer posts at either side. As the truck stops and the following dust trail catches up with us I jump from the tray and walk around to the front of the truck to open the gate. I head to the gate latch and stand to one side to let the trucks’ lights illuminate the simple chain and hook mechanism. The galvanised catch has to be tilted to allow it to slip off the mushroom shaped hook embedded in the hardwood strainer. I throw off the chain and facing back towards the truck, I swing the gate open, my eyes squinting into the round glowing eyes of the Ford. I stand with the gate in hand as Bill moves the truck through the opening. As the truck passes me and stops on the other side of the fence I am blinded by the blackness. I follow the arc of the gate until it bumps into the base of the post. I grope for the length of chain and its attachment. The truck has pulled up some distance away and the one dull red tail light affords me no light, only a marker of where the truck is, as it sits quietly idling. As I am fiddling with the latch, trying to mate it with the hook I hear the first of the thumps. The thumps are definite, rhythmic; I feel them now strong through the ground. Unmistakably it is a kangaroo, a large buck I figure by the strength of the vibrations through the soil. The pace is even, and getting louder, it is coming down the fence line towards the gate where I am fumbling with the latch mechanism. As my haste quickens and I scrabble to get the eye over the hook I wonder which side of the fence he is on. Mine? I find the hook and slip the chain eye in place. I pause, the kangaroo is now very close to where I am faltering, I get an image in my mind of me being knocked over by a giant old man kangaroo who can’t see me. I make the dash back to the red tail light of the truck and feel a whoosh of air between me and the gate. I smell him, that strong musky odour I know so well, my heart is beating loudly as I leap up onto the truck tray. “Bloody hell! a bloody kangaroo coming down the fence line, did you see him?” I call to the other two. “Nah, what ya talking about, what took ya so long?” Les mutters as he bangs the roof of the truck cabin to let Bill know we are ready to go. I gasp, “I couldn’t see, it was too dark, but I heard him coming down the fence, he nearly got me,” I am still breathing heavily, leaning on the top railing. “In yer dreams, we didn’t hear nuffin.” Jimmy says.
Posted on: Wed, 14 Aug 2013 06:19:10 +0000
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