Tuesday 23rd February
Staying our (most of) the night in swags
Rain!
Distance:
Total Distance:
We began today with a quick canoe down the river before breakfast. It seemed like a great chance to actually get some exercise before we got on our transport for the day. 6 hours on a train. In Britain this would be a terrible prospect. Here it's great! Like a plane but with bigger seat. And leg room. And I may have brought a sweet white wine goon as a friend.
After many hours of reading and a nap we were still an hours bus ride from the night's stop. We were going to a cattle station for the night. Here the plan was to eat beef stew, tell stories by the camp fire, have a relaxing night in Australian swags, and the following morning go down to the hobby farm. We managed the first two, then things fell apart.
The cattle station is out in the Australian wilds, surrounded by bush and pasture. Our campsite had a small dorm shed and a large barn. Within the barn were our bathrooms and cooking facility- a charcoal fire. Beef stew had been prepared here for us, along with damper- a beer based bread that tastes like British dumplings. We ate by the campfire, roasted marshmallows, chatted, then began to prepare for bed.
In one of the Scandanavian countries (I forget which) someone has had a "revolutionary" idea. Why carry a tent, sleeping mat, and a sleeping bag? Why not roll them all into one? And so that's what they've done. They will be on sale shortly, made of the most modern, high tech, light weight materials.
But it's not "revolutionary". The Aussies did it first. The swag was invented a long time ago as stockmen travelled across the land on farms the size of countries (and not small countries). A simple and straight forward design. A canvas sleeping bag, foam padding in the bottom, one pole to hold open the end, 2 guide ropes to hold the pole up, and a fly net to keep out the locals. Nifty, eh?
The Scandanavian design does win out on two fronts compared to our swags though. Our old school swags were big and heavy. There's better available now, but these old ones were carried on trucks and horses. I wasn't going to lug it across any landscape with a rucksack on as well. Also ours were "water resistant", not "waterproof". Doesn't rain much here. Why would you be out in the wet season? As I say, modern improvements have been made. But we didn't have them.
At 11pm we lay in the dark looking up at the stars. The sky was clear, the breeze cool, and most of us had taken the top of the swag. We lay there on the foam and slept.
It was around 3am that I was worked by a spattering of water on my face. Rain! Around me others woke as well. Poles were hastily re-erected and we hid under our canvas. Safe from the wee bit of rain. Until drips began to make their way through my canvas. The rain stopped. A little wat wasn't an issue. We went back to sleep.
Boom! Whoosh! 5am arrived in a torrential downpour. I didn't feel it this time. I was simply awoken by the sound. Yeh, being brave would have been fine. Stay there, get a little wet, manage the full night. Yet breakfast was at 6am. I watched as just about everyone ran, dragging their swag, into the barn. Sod this, I jumped out and pulled my bed with me.
From inside we could watch as the rain fell in a manner rarely seen here. All of us but our new Katie. An Irish lass she slept through the whole thing. I guess that sort of rain is the daily minimum for the Emerald Isle.
Breakfast was bacon, eggs, and baked beans. As we ate our host announced that we weren't able to go the the farm. With all of the rain over night and tracks being mud roads there was no way to get us in and out. It had become a quagmire. No one seemed particularly distraught. Instead we would be having a more relaxed trip out to our next stop. A yacht! On the Whitsundays!
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