Heading North - Home Sweet Home

home sweet home: this is my "Bibler" Gortex tent called the Bombshelter. It is a 3 @ a squeeze 4 person tent. I love it all to my self but at times I am prepared to share with close friends & family. It's always fun and even in blizzard cards are fun: it feels safe, cosy and a little bit yellow (photo speak for warm). ... Cost, about $1200.00, about the cost to build a house with Habitat in Nepal. As I do my 18 month horse ride north from the mouth of the Murray to Cape York I will enjoy my home. I invite my friends to follow. Preparations for the trip have started. Brumbys arrive soon. Keep posted at my website which I will post soon. All the best, Andrew.

Rejoice in the diversity of this planet in all its variety

Rejoice in the diversity of this planet in all its variety

This photo is of a Nepalese woman and her child. I came across them early one morning whilst I was walking a dusty path through the pine covered hills of Narkanda in the Indian state of Himarchal Pradesh. We were all surprised to see each other; it was early, it was off the main route, it was nearly winter, it was quiet, still, it was just plain unusual to see anyone, but there we were, strangers, meeting on a dusty path high in the hills. I was taken back to her home: a simple collection of sticks, stones, mud and tin, where inside, her husband tended the fire. I drank chai with them. The early morning sun shone through the trees; an orange light filling the hut with a warming glow. It was the best chai ever and it sustained me for months. Outside the day grew lighter, butterflies wandered through the trees catching the sunlight, birds scooted from limb to limb chasing insects, an assemblage of wildflowers bloomed in the shade. I followed the dusty path, winding down through the forest, past open field and apple orchard tended by man bearing compost; sheep grazing beneath trees loaded with red delicious bounty. I followed the dusty path winding down the hillside moving amongst a procession of bell tolling sheep and a family of shepards, past handbuilt houses of stone and mud, past cows, goats and children playing, past streams with verdant growth and sparkling water. Fodder was being rolled by hand and foot and being stored away inside. Potatoes were dug and brought to the house. Corn had been dried and the husks removed. Beans and peels from fruits and vegetables lay on terraces drying. Chickens scattered.

I followed the dusty path back up through the forest past the Nepalese families abode, now empty, on the edge of the forest. I continued on my way to the high altitude montane plateau of the Indian ChangThang and on to Tso Moriri Lake passing field and river, pass and mountain, yaks, herdsmen and small isolated hamlets and saw endangered Kiang, wild ass running free.

Rejoice in the diversity of this planet in all its variety

Priviledged: A short trip to Aboriginal lands, top end South Australia, July, 2009.

Left Ernabella midmorning after finalising a few things at clothing store. The boys came by and got some clothes and sporting goods. A lady came by and grabbed a few items. It seems they don't have much money or any money, really. Sad and strange. Saw Prudence and her man this morning. He is a really strong, fit guy. Tall and very straight. I talk with Jack Crombie, a bronco rider from the 40's/50's. Done everything. Travelled the world, competed in the Calgary stampede. A good man, now 75, born in a humpy out the back of Kenwall Park. Walked naked, caught their food. Brought cattle down from Queensland, Northern Territory, down the Birdsville Track. Had a packhorse, bedroll. Worked night and day. Tinned food.

But the man I want to speak to we have still not seen.

We leave Ernabella and head out to Peters place, north and west of Ernabella. Peter Nyaningu's place. 57km of red dirt road through a desert landscape of the Mugrave Ranges. Red rock ranges. Out of the red landscape we meet Peter driving down the road in his old landcruiser. We stop, chat, tell him we are heading out to his place. He seems genuinely pleased. He grips my hand softly and looks into my eyes. He holds my hand for a good while, while he takes in Alans conversation. We go our separate ways along the red earth road, crest a rise and look out across a vast basin in the landscape ringed by ranges, a "cauldren", flat, expansive, the heat of summer I imagine. There would be no crossing this land in summer.

Our destination, Peter's place is beyond the ranges on the distant horizon, across the cauldron. We head across, an easy crossing in the Toyota Landcruiser and stop midway. Peter a full-blood aboriginal elder is the traditional owner of this land.

Rugged up for winter; coat, shirt, shirt, shirt and beanie. Long white beard. Eyes are small in his face but seemingly well seeing. Nearly 80, some teeth missing. Done a bit of travelling. His father came from over the border in Western Australia. Peter born, exact date a question mark, 1930 ?. Used to walk to Ernabella in a day, 57km. What did he carry with him?
At age of 6 he went with his father to Uluru. Walking. 300km or more return.
"What did you carry"?
"spear and womera. no clothes. Have to be fit, strong, - young man".
"Where did you camp"?
"many people from your clan/tribe. no blanket, no clothes, just sleep by the fire".
"What did you eat"?
"night comes quickly - no lights, the fire-side, sometimes dinner or none."
"How did you know where you were going?"
"fires from others indicated their presence, their occupation of the land, we see and go"
"Why Uluru?"

We sit under the verandha of the visitors digs talking to Peter, ancient history and modern day dilemmas. The sun sets under and warms us as we chat. We chat until the sun dips below the horizon. We talk some more. It is a beautiful, quiet, spare landscape. Sacred. We breath it in. I feel priviledged.

todays view from the monaro - 7am from the edge of the Meringo Nature Reserve

Grey, overcast, cooler; a light wind, a current has come in from the SW-SE, filling the air with cooler, moist air. A hanging dew fills the sky and the folds of the land. Everything is softened. Shadows are filled. The sharpness and harshness of yesterday, gone. The cracks, earth and trees are moisturized after the drying, hot, unrelenting nor-westerly of yesterday. The air smells fresh, wetted. Earth and air, plant and animal hang in the ether on the slow moving currents. A hint of smoke, dampened, lingers. So quiet I can hear the air breathing, gently, slowly. I can hear the pad of kangaroos, unseen, the bleat of sheep, distant, frogs from creek down below. I can hear the trees growing, a snake moving amongst grass and leaves, the call of galah, magpie and crow. I dare not move in fear of breaking the silence. I squat and wait, too much to see. Only with my eyes closed can I know what's there. Todays view from the Monaro fills the air. Today, I smell - unwashed, unshaven, the Meringo Nature Reserve and it smells very nice.