SOUTH AUSSIE SPACE ODYSSEY
In the reception of the ol’ Gladstone Gaol, there’s a black and white photograph of the Booyoolee Hotel in flood, dated September 1910. Water ripples and licks at the brick facade. A group of men, mostly in hats, stand next to or sit on a low wall to the left. To the right, two gentlemen in drenched clothes struggle to pull each other up from the slop. A row of spectators lean over the upper floor’s balcony balustrade on their elbows. Almost everyone is smiling.
Packing the 4WD for this nine-day trip to the Flinders Ranges in the pouring rain two days before, I hadn't been smiling. I guess in a dry place like this, you've got to celebrate the rain when it comes.
There’s blue skies today — barely a cloud in sight — but, despite it being February, rain has fallen in the Flinders Ranges recently. We’ve come too late to see brown streams tearing through the gorges, but evidence lingers. Green grass, puddles swirling with tadpoles, high animal activity, a surprise water crossing and challenging track wash-outs await us.
ETCHED IN TIME
Of course, a spot of rain can’t overhaul the prevailing dryness of this Grand Daddy of Aussie destinations. Add up all the dates on every toilet-wall calendar you’ve ever owned, multiply them by 1,000, and the Flinders are still older than that. The further north you go, the older the land becomes. The more beautiful, too. Scrap any misconceptions about the beauty being contained within the national park — it blossoms outwards in both directions.
The bloke I’m
