Lost Girls (33 page)

I promised him
one on my next trip. I will be leaving really early and it will be
hard to get out of bed. The reward is being on the high mountains
of the northern Flinders Ranges for a dawn which promises to be
every bit the equal of what we saw this morning, with the
difference that it will only be the two of us looking out from the
top of the world.

However it is
OK if you want a sleep in. I am happy to go on my own and come back
here to meet you again in the afternoon.”

Cathy said,
“Well if you are prepared to put up with me I am game, I sometimes
went out with my father hunting pheasants when I was little, though
he never let me shoot. I doubt I will be of any value as a hunter
but I would like to walk along with you and see this place at dawn
if I am not in your way. Please tell me if I am and I will stay
here.”

Mark looked at
her appraisingly, “Well, you are a good walker, you proved that
today, and you don’t complain. So if you promise not to talk while
we are stalking goats I would enjoy your company.”

Cathy nodded,
“Deal, I have been silent most of my life. I only talked when I was
little. I seemed to forget how to talk after my sister died. So,
despite my chatter today, it is my normal state to be silent.”

Mark put his
hand on hers; an affectionate rather than intimate gesture. “I
liked your talk. I am often silent and alone with my thoughts, so
the change is welcome. Please keep talking, it is sweet music. It
is only during the hunt part you need to stop. “

Cathy turned
her hand over and curled her fingers around his. “Thank you, I like
talking to you. I think we have both lived most of our lives inside
ourselves. It is good to have a friend to talk to.”

A huge yawn
came over her. She said, “I must go off to bed now or I won’t be
able to get up when you call me in the morning.”

It seemed even
darker than yesterday when Mark knocked on her door, saying, “It is
time for the hunters to be out on the hills.”

She looked at
the bedside clock, it was only 4:30 in the morning. Blearily she
pulled on the clothes for the day, her RM Williams jeans to protect
against the wiry grass and prickly bushes, a long sleeved country
shirt in a bright check that Mark had chosen for her, a waterproof
safari jacket that she had chosen for herself, thinking it fitted
the bush image, and the sturdy walking boots that she had broken in
yesterday, with thick socks inside, to protect her feet from any
rubbing. Last of all was her Aussie style Akubra hat which Mark
told her was an essential part of the get up of any self respecting
Aussie outback girl.

She smiled as
she looked in the mirror, hardly glamorous but it was definitely a
new appearance from what she had known.

Mark was
waiting outside the door, fully dressed and also looking sleepy. He
looked her over and nodded appreciatively. “That is what I like,
someone who does not let fashion get in front of practicality. I
see you have dressed the part.”

Without further
ado he led her to the car and they drove away.

It was almost
an hour until the first glimmers of light came into the eastern
sky. Now the landscape was a surround of high and higher ridges as
they followed a narrow dirt road climbing up a valley. As they
turned onto it from the main road Mark told Cathy it was about a
half hour drive to where they left their vehicle and the road was
steep and a bit scary in places so she should just keep calm and
enjoy the view. He had come up here several times before and the
road was not a bad as it looked. He promised her that at the end of
the climb it would be worthwhile.

The light was
much brighter by the time they came to the top, a small clearing in
a basin in the hills, with just enough space for three or four cars
to park and turn round. The last five minutes had been really steep
and, despite Mark’s assurance, she felt anxiety as the vehicle
slowly ground its way up a loose rocky track, wheels slipping and
sliding as they gained and lost purchase. Sometimes lean to the
side was so steep that it pushed her hard against the door or into
Mark’s solid arms which gripped the wheel.

She was pleased
when the climb stopped. She stepped out into crisp autumn air and
surveyed an almost perfect ring of further rising hills, olive
scrub and pale white grass adorning pink orange hillsides which
glowed in the pre-dawn light.

Mark unpacked
gear from the back tray of his vehicle and handed Cathy a backpack
which held a water bottle, snacks, a first aid kit and survival
gear. It was relatively light. He put a bigger and heavier pack on
his own back, then picked up a rifle with a shining scope and asked
her if she wanted to try using it.

She took it to
feel. It felt solid but less heavy than she imagined. She said,
“Yes I will try, if you show me what to do.” She asked what type of
gun it was.

He told her it
was a Browning 223 and one of his favourite guns for hunting
mid-sized game, like goats and pigs. It had a webbing strap to
carry on her back. He showed her how to open and shut the breach,
how to check it was not loaded, and how to carry it over her
shoulders leaving her hands free for walking and climbing. He
picked up another gun, bigger and heavier looking, though not huge.
He said it was a 243, similar but with more stopping power for the
big old billy goats.

They headed off
following a literal goat track. It skirted their clearing and wound
its way up the shoulder of a hill, heading directly towards the
lightening sky. Mark pointing out signs of recent goat activity,
hoof marks in patches of soft dirt and fresh dung, still steaming
in the cool air.

They climbed
steadily and Cathy could see her breath steaming in the air as she
breathed ever more deeply to power her climb. Her legs were aching
now, legacy of yesterday’s unaccustomed use followed by this
morning’s fresh challenge.

Mark looked
back at her, eyebrows raised in inquiry as to how she was coping.
She gave him her best grin and a “thumbs up”, signalling she was
managing. They kept on, climbing ever upward, stepping up over
boulders, grabbing and pushing the brush aside, dodging the prickly
bushes. At last the effort eased and they came to where the steep
hill shoulder eased into a gentle slope climbing to a ridge above.
The path widened and the walked side by side. Mark put a finger to
his lips and Cathy nodded.

Fifty yards
back from the crest he took off his pack and rifle and quietly
placed them on the ground, indicating to her to do the same. From
his pack he took a set of binoculars. Now he led her in a low
crouch to the ridge crest, going the last few yards on hands and
knees and stopping just as their view cleared the ridge. They were
lying, face down now, stretched out side by side, looking out for
miles.

Before them lay
a huge bowl shaped from grassy hillsides. Dotted across it were
about a hundred white, brown and black dots, some multicoloured.
Most were several hundred metres away and, as she watched, they
gradually resolved themselves into discrete goats, mothers with
their kids alongside, big billy goats with horns standing sentinel,
mid-sized animals with spiky little horns. Interspersed between
them were other animals which she now recognised as kangaroos,
perhaps wallabies, all sharing this grassland in the early morning
light.

It was like an
African panorama from a wildlife documentary.

A small creek
came down from a gap between two hills and pools of water along its
course glistened below in the soft light.

She looked up.
The whole eastern sky was alight; not so many colours in the clouds
as yesterday but faint high streamers of high cloud glowing a
brilliant red and below soft pinks, oranges and gold of hills and
sky joining and sliding into one another. It was a place where all
the colours seemed to merge into layer upon layer, making it hard
to separate earth and sky. They lay side by side watching
spellbound until finally the sun crested the horizon bathing their
whole world in golden light. It was breathtakingly beautiful, as if
they were two lesser gods watching the sun god recreate the world
anew.

Cathy felt
immense gratitude to this man for bringing her to show her this.
Her whole trip across the world was worth it for this moment alone,
a place where earth and sky met in a perfect fusion of light and
colour.

She reached
over and put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up inquiring.

She whispered,
“Thank you for bringing me here, this is a sight that will live
forever in my mind. No photo or words could ever do it justice. I
am glad I shared it with you. It is a memory to hold forever.”

He nodded,
silent but seeming to be moved by her words.

As the gold
light faded into day reality returned. He brought her back from the
ridge and explained their tactics. He would take her around the
side of the hill on which they were now, to the place where the
creek cut through. They would follow the creek bed down into the
middle of the fields. There they would find an ambush point, from
one of the rocky knolls that marked its passage.

He gave her a
quick lesson on using her rifle, showing her how to use her pack to
support it lying prone, how to sight it and hold it steady, how to
ease the trigger back while breathing steadily.

She was not
sure she could shoot when the moment came, but she would bring the
rifle and see how she went.

They headed off
and worked their way around the hill shoulder, staying below the
crest. Mark said they did not need to be quiet for this part, as
the hill would block the sound and sight of their passage and their
downwind location would block their scent. But once they came to
the creek they would have to be totally quiet and be really
careful. These goats were hunted at the weekends by hunters from
Adelaide and were very wary.

So they walked
and talked, saying nothing significant but making little notes of
the life around; the distinctive call of an eagle, bright colours
of feeding parrots flashing past, the smell of damp earth and an
occasional place infused with the semi-sweet fragrance of a
flowering shrub.

The walking was
easy, a gentle downhill passage with only occasional boulders to
navigate. They came to where the creek ran in little cascades down
a steep rocky hillside before spreading into pools below. It was
steep down over the rocks and boulders. Now they went slowly,
carefully, placing each foot on a solid place before advancing,
gently pushing aside branches to allow passage.

Cathy’s mind
was in the moment, all else ignored as she gave full attention to
making silent steps. They reached the bottom and kept following the
creek bed. The ground had looked flat from above but now the creek
ran below head high banks, with dense foliage hiding the foreground
and it seemed like a lost place. They came to a rocky knoll where
water trickled down. The view opened and Mark led Cathy forward on
hands and knees. The goats were much closer; the nearest group was
about 200 yards away.

Mark pointed to
another rocky knoll further down, two thirds of the way to the
nearest goats. “Our target is to get there unseen,” he said.

After this
second knoll it was only open ground with the creek breaking into
bigger pools. Several kangaroos were drinking at the closest pool.
It looked like a group of goats were heading there to supplant the
kangaroos.

Mark led the
way now, climbing up to the outside of the creek bed but staying
within the shelter of the fringing trees. Once past the open rocks
he led them back into the creek’s full shelter. Now glimpses of
goats were visible grazing below. There was a light wind in their
faces.

Mark watched
the goats intensely as he placed each step, several times pausing
in mid stride as a sentry goat raised its head, sniffed the air and
looked around intently.

It seemed to
take forever, in a state of suspended animation, to cover this
part. Cathy could feel her heart beating strongly in her chest and
ringing in her ears, it sounded so loud she thought the rest of the
world must hear it too.

At last they
were in position and the goats continued to graze undisturbed. She
settled herself with her pack on the ground in front. Mark took her
gun and loaded five bullets into the magazine, then inserted one
more into the breach, closed it and slid the safety catch on. The
only noises from his actions were faint, almost inaudible
clicks.

He signed
indicating that, when she was ready to shoot, she should slide the
safety catch off. Now it was up to her.

He loaded his
own rifle, positioning himself two metres to her side on a higher
ridge. He indicated a group of six goats walking towards the water.
He pointed to the leader, a big billy goat with well-formed horns.
“Mine,” he mouthed and signed.

Cathy nodded.
After billy goat gruff came three females with young at foot then
at the back two almost grown goats, spiky little horns on their
heads. Mark indicated she should select between these for her
target.

She
acknowledged and calmed herself. The goats kept coming until the
billy had his forelegs in the water, having a last look around
before he lowered his head to drink. All the other goats reached
the water’s edge and starting to walk in to drink except the female
with the largest kid. This goat seemed to be standing sentry,
nervously looking around and raising its nose to scent the air,
while the others drank,

Mark indicated
Cathy should shoot when she was ready. He slid off the safety catch
of his rifle. She did the same and brought her rifle into line,
with her vision through the scope. She selected the rear most of
her two goat targets and placed the cross hairs on its mid chest
behind the point of shoulder.