After traversing a hellish number of fields of rocks and after passing the Pedirka railway siding, (a four walled ruin with one wall division on a stony plain; the siding was appropriately described on our map to ‘have been one of the loneliest places on the railway line’), then driving over what looked like a moonscape, we eventually arrived at the Dalhousie ruins first leased in 1872. We were pretty ruined ourselves. Still, after miles of nothing ruins are pretty exciting stuff, so we dutifully fell out of the car, happy not to be jolting around for a while. We had only travelled 60 Km since we turned off from the Hamilton Station, and we had been travelling about 4 hours, including a break to get bogged, and one for lunch. This travelling lark can be exhausting.
It had really seemed as though we had been driving for ages on the moon; though here we were, looking at ruins of a settlement from a previous century, surrounded by enormous palm trees. Bizarre. There are 2 theories how the palms got here, one is that the Afghan camel drivers used the area as a campsite while they were taking supplies to settlers, and planted them; the other, that the contractor for the South section of the Overland Telegraph line, Ned Baggott, had them planted when he bought the lease.
What Darren wanted to find was the natural springs that had fed the telegraph station. He headed for a group of palms that also had loads of rushes growing around them, making them almost impenetrable. I, predictably, started to read a sign about the ruins, then looked up and Darren had, predictably, disappeared. We call this ‘the cattle dog effect’. Just like a dog off his leash Darren will, at any moment, disappear – into a crowd, at a market, the airport, a shop, a pub – and it seems, the middle of nowhere.
Silence. Just me, palms, some ruins and a LOT of sky.
After a moment I heard scrabbling sounds and Darren calling to me that he had found a spring. No sign of him, just a bunch of talking bulrushes. They were taller than me and densely growing, however when I approached them I saw there was the narrowest gap, and feeling a little like Indiana Jones, I pushed my way through. I came out into a small clearing at the base of some palm trunks. There was Darren grinning from ear to ear by a muddy bit of water – the spring. Feeling less than overwhelmed at the discovery and more concerned with mosquito population count, I hovered for a short time admiring the muddy pool. He then remembered there were meant to be 2 or 3 springs and crashed off through the bulrushes again. I headed for the sunshine.
He had soon found the second spring, and this was more interesting. Here a small stone trough had been fashioned by the spring for the homestead occupants. It was in a larger clearing than the previous spring, but still surrounded by palms, making it a rather magical and secret oasis. It did feel that the ghosts of previous generations were walking her collecting water. The spell was broken by the high whining of hungry mosquitoes and Darren eyeing the larvae in the water. We retreated to the sunlight and back to the car, for the remaining 12Kms to Dalhousie Springs camp site.
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