FLINDERS RANGES

About 150km North East of Port Augusta lies the Flinders Ranges, very dry conditions contribute to the colour scheme of the dusty land. Dry clumps of spiky grasses are scattered about the rolling hills where the many dark grey kangaroos obviously have worked out a way to survive. There are ants everywhere, big ones and small, the big ones wander around by themselves looking a bit lost at times, while the small ones travel together in quick moving processions. Long highways of the things, racing along six abreast into the oncoming traffic, no obstacle too big, I wonder what they are up to? The columns stretch for a long way, interspaced by small holes which they climb in and out of. They only work in the daylight hours. All of this watched by the many big black crows, huge birds they are, sitting up a tree doing their Graham Kennedy impersonations. The dryness here in South Australia is similar to where we have passed through north of here, but the colours on the hills and the desert areas are altogether different. The dry greenery giving way to brighter greens, the red earthy tones replaced by browns and yellows. Along the way we stopped for a cuppa beside a salt lake, it so looks like it is full of water until we got up close. Quite a bizarre experience standing on a blindingly white expanse in the middle of a dry desert. Leaving Wilpena we swept through some beautiful rolling countryside, dodging the early morning kangaroos who were deciding whether or not to jump out in front of our 12 tonne vehicle. Stopped for brekky at the quaint town of Orroroo, which sounds like a title of a movie about Skippy going mad with a chainsaw. 35kms from Cockburn (pronounced Co-burn……luckily….ouch) Bessie ground to a halt. After some deliberation I realised we had run out of diesel, either my calculations were badly wrong, or she used way too much juice on the last leg, or more probably I didn’t fill her up properly in Port Augusta. Got out the car and drove to get our jerry can filled and back again. After some time bleeding the fuel lines we were back on the road to Broken Hill. And what a great town The Hill is. There is art everywhere, murals covering much of the wall space around the place, sculptures scattered here and there. Huge mountains of mining leftovers dominate the backdrop to town. Fantastic old buildings dotted about the main street, old terraced houses populate the hilly back streets, some of which are named Oxide St, Bromide St, Chloride St, Argent St. We visited Pro Hart’s gallery today and we were suitably impressed by his range of styles. I am going to speak to the director of the Regional Gallery tomorrow to see if they are interested in hosting an exhibition of my work next year. There was a Christmas procession through the main street last night, all the local businesses and clubs dressed up their trucks, cars, motorbikes, camels and anything else they could find and paraded along the street, it was quite tacky, but fun for the kids.