Running the bush

It’s almost nine in the evening and this is the first moment I have to breathe in, relax and chill out a bit.

It’s been long two days, I can tell you that. But as tiring and exhausting they’ve been, they’ve also been very fulfilling, productive and life changing. The two days spent out in the bush were part of a survey – the first one I was in charge of. It was a survey indeed, both of the bush and myself.

All the responsibility lying in it made me a bit tense. And there’s a good reason for it. The proprietor, the liaison officer and my co-worker for starters, and the mining blokes, the whole community and my work to end with. Not an easy task for me, especially with over a dozen people divided into five Land Cruisers roaming the Australian outback.

Gather everyone, drive to the location, stop the whole caravan, call out the location on the radio, determine the distance, the easting and westing, wait for the confirmation, mark it on the GPS, take a note, punch in the next set of destination coordinates, release the hand brake, first gear, go – and do that about a hundred and fifty times.

Spending a day like that made me cherish the rare moments of wonder I get to experience as well. Like listening to the old folk’s stories, visiting special places (that not even all Aborigines are allowed to visit), eating honey from tree branches, sitting in the red Australian soil, learning foreign words, seeing boys tease girls with grasshoppers pinched between their fingers, feeling the smell of the low bushes being driven over, chasing the clouds through the spinnifex-infected, seemingly endless plains…

After buying a hand-made boomerang off a local girl, finishing a spicy and tasty dinner and writing a bit of this, I can finally call it a day. A good day.

A special hill I'm not allowed to name