Crushed

So. 

When you feel a strong connection to place and every aspect of that place is crushed, smashed, rearranged and broken, it can leave a bit of a hole in the psyche, in the heart and even in the logic center of the brain.

Last year I made a prayerful attempt to express my love of the native bushland close to Darwin Airport. Land that, although right in the middle of our town, consisted of quite healthy examples of open woodland as well as riparian vegetation. 

It contained abundant diversity of plants and wildlife. 

I wrote notes and attached them to trees and shrubs throughout the area to be affected by development and clearing. I identified species and wrote love notes to the trees and messages to humans hoping that they would take some time to consider the life that existed in this special place.

I attempted to prevent the destruction of one particular tree, by covering it in notes explaining just how precious this tree was. (It was buldozed to make way for excess earth after an excavation. 

I took photos of some areas when flowering plants were in full bloom and pinned them to a fence near by after the area had been cleared to show people what had once existed on that site.

As far as I can tell nobody took much notice, the tags were regularly removed and the clearing went on regardless. 

I am glad I did it. Maybe I should have been more pro-active, maybe I should have staged a more physical protest, challenging the destruction... Maybe there's not much one person can do.

As I was cleaning out my office for Christmas I found a folder with some of the pieces still in it. 

One day the whole place will be forgotten. Just thought I'd post something here to jolt my own memory.

Peace.

Put on a Happy Face

If you travel the cycle paths and back streets of Darwin you may occasionally see some rather unique street art.

Of course the roadside rubbish sculptures of Trevor (Rubbish Warrior) Jenkins have been a reoccurring fixture of Darwin street life for many years (more than 10), but there are other obscure serial effigists floating around who have also left their mark on our town.

I don't know the person who does these but they appear on several tree trunks around the place, some in high use areas and amazingly on the whole they have been left in tact and un-vandalised. 

Here are just a few of the smiley faces of Darwin.
I reckon they're all made out of beer cans, not sure if there's a deeper message involved but the appear a benign addition to street life around our town.

I had heard that the artist may have been the same person who was, at one stage, using discarded wine bladders to create artistic sculptures around the place. I think there may be a connection between these sculptures and the prevalence of alcoholic beverages  consumed and containers/people discarded in the process.

The Kitsch Imports of Vulgarity

“Plastics for the Lawn.” An American Kitsch icon.

From old Florida post cards, Miami Vice to The Bird Cage, the nauseating colour, gaudy hot pink instantly recognisable impressions of a creature we have no actual association with.

Icon of unsophisticated pretences of glamour and style...

Beginning in the 50s USA and I reckon a major resurgence in the 80s with all that hot pink & baby blue.

The existence of Lawn Flamingos and all subsidiary iconic association with.... Blagh, has stirred my curiosity.

A cursory search of the internet revealed that contemporary culture as expressed through our attachments to pulp icons like the lawn flamingo shows that the peculiar phenomenon tells a story of us that lurks beneath politics, fashion and personal identity. 

One book I'd like to read 'Flight Maps' by Jenifer Price, makes a point of using the Lawn Flamingo to highlight the disconnect between a suburban working class Baby Boomer generation and the natural world from which they were in every practical way, removed. “...very urbanised and suburbanised needs, discontents, and desires for meaningful, yet artificially constructed connections to nature.”

The phenomenon is expressed perceptively in the song by Radiohead, 'Fake Plastic Trees'.

I don't know where I am going with this idea except to make an attempt to explore the idea, and depending on where my questions take me, to wage war on the cult of the Flamingo or to embrace the whole bombastic abomination. 

LOL... to my own consternation I have taken to noting the presence of flamingos in public spaces, media, art and lawns. Flamingos however they are represented or on display with the question... Why? 

A good article to get the ball rolling is 'From Kitsch to Park Avenue: the cultural history of the plastic pink flamingo 

(by Anne Dell'Aria for The Conversation)  

Stay

Whatever

"Whatever lifts the corners of your mouth Trust That!"
(Rumi)

From a book Grug (Lost ref)

JAPPA II

I thought I could do it...
Give up my bicyclist lifestyle and exalt in the thrill of petrol powered hedonism. 

 

THE XJ900 Diversion (JAPPA II)

 

I thought I wanted it. But I do not.

It used to be that the motorcycle represented freedom and mobility for me. When I got my licence I turned to my motorbike as a means of escape and the key to another world, a time machine that burned the troubles of my life into the past, I would look at the road disappearing in my rear view mirrors and knew that a brighter, more exhilarating less restrained future lay ahead.

That was nearly thirty years ago, I haven't owned a motorcycle more than 15 years, I've missed having a bike but life goes on and I have delayed that particular gratification successfully in my more responsible married with children life.

Somewhere along the way I have become caught in a combination of dread of the present state of my existence and nostalgia for the life I once knew...

Escape by twist of a throttle seemed like the perfect solution for an emasculated wage slave as I had become. But in those years I have grown and come to know myself better.

The motorcycles is not the fix all it used to be.

I've changed and the magic of the motorcycle has changed too. Once I could blast off down the road thinking that I'd left my problems behind me... Now I know too well that wherever I go, I bring myself with me and there layeth the problem! What is my bigest problem? Well of course whatever it is, dwells within me.

I also realise that after decades of living a reasonably austere lifestyle, enjoying the quieter more present speed of a bicycle.

My conversion has not been so much an ideological opposition to smelly gas guzzling machines; it just feels wrong now.

I've melded with a different reality, through the metal frame and downward force of my legs against the pedals of a bicycle. The dream of a fast getaway is a false promise... My rejection of the powerful 4 cylinder machine is a gut thing, like the body rejecting an organ transplant. It just doesn't feel right .

I ride my bicycle. I get there late and wet and sweaty, I miss appointments because I don't have the time to get from home, to Darwin, to an appointment somewhere miles away in the time needed. I thought I'd fix that but now I realise I don't frigging care.

Taken Easy

Well I can say "I too have been standing on a corner in Winslow Arizona". But there was no girl... My Lord.
No flat bed Ford...
There was a desperate drunk with bruised knuckles
He tried selling me Hopi silver from a used deal bag.
Someone kicked a dog, it let out a yelp
The glass rattled in the rickety wooden frame of the servo door
No service since 1978...
No smiles, plenty dust
Feathers of an eagle crushed under the tyre of a cheap hire car scuffed against the gutter.
Hey KEEP your plundered silver and
TAKE it Easy.

The sound of my own wheels driving me,
not crazy but outa there. 
With eyes open, it's America.

Outling

I came to Alice for work.

Not sure where I should be really.

Thought I'd leave my air conditioned room and go sit on a hill.

Flying Turtles

This past weekend my daughter and I went kayaking (in our canoe) with the Darwin Bushwalking club.

Child friendly event

A small section of the flotilla

As the tide was rising and with about 16 other kayakers we paddled out through the mangroves into Ludmilla Bay.

Time for a lesson

Darwin's mangroves are so full of life but we rarely get to explore them. I tend to avoid paddling around them on my own for fear of an encounter with crocodiles. With a group I felt much more confident that we'd be safe.

Kayak in the treetops

With Dr Kristin Metcalfe as our guide we paddled from the nearest point at Nightcliff along the coast to Ludmilla Creek.
 

Dr Metcalfe leading from a canoe

Although I had studied mangroves during my Land Management course about 15 years ago there is a mountain of stuff I don't know, so having Dr Metcalfe with us really made the trip a lot more interesting.

Sea and Sky

The most fascinating piece of information she shared with us was the idea that Sea Turtles may actually nibble on the young leaves of mangrove trees... Let that sink in. 
A turtle that glides across the tops of trees chewing on leaves! 

I am now imagining turtles in the treetops. What a fantastical image! 

Jatbula Trail

Travel Log

Wednesday 5^th – Sunday 9^th September

Last week, with members of the Darwin Bushwalking Club, I finally walked the Jatbula Trail in Nitmiluk National Park.

This hike was something I've wanted to do for years but I've not really had the time or the head space to attempt it.

Back in May I attempted a solo hike on the Great Ocean Walk which ended abruptly when I left the walk after just three days. A combination of ill fitting shoes, excessive pack weight, wet tent and flooded camp sites caused me to make a judgement call on whether to continue the hike or not. Pulling out was a disappointment but I know it was the right decision.

A little hard to get perspective, there is a camp site down there somewhere

Although the weather was out of my control I realise that my lack of hiking experience had me poorly prepared for this relatively easy hike. I decided I'd be better off if I spent some time with others more experienced. In July I decided to join the Darwin Bushwalking Club.

After attending a couple of club events I saw that there was a Jatbula hike scheduled for September.

I contacted the hike leader and was able to get my name added to the list of 12 people who would walk the Jatbula Trail with the club at the beginning of September.

This bush looked similar to Turkey bush but with much more fragrant flowers (full of nectar)

I've not been with them long but so far my experience of the local bushwalking club has been first rate! Experienced members offer to lead walks then do all the research and calculations of times, distances, and cost allowing the average punter (even inexperienced plebs like me) to simply follow a few instructions, prepare as recommended and turn up on the day. Rides are shared and the cost of fuel and wear and tear on the vehicle is calculated according to distance and divided by number of passengers. (Very reasonable indeed!)

Prior to the hike we were sent emails reminding us of what to bring and sharing information about the hike. I found the emails helpful and practical until I received the one related to pack load weights which I must say left me feeling quite intimidated. The hike leader announced that she would be carrying a pack weight of 10kg (before water) "WTF!" (Thunk I) I don't know how I can get 5 days worth of stuff down to 10kg! (Actually I think her ploy worked because I quickly got busy dumping unneeded stuff, I was still overweight but was a lot closer than I would have been.

Another email contained links to useful information, Park Notes a must if you plan to do the walk. Please see link HERE if you're interested. 

On day one I was picked up at my door by our hike leader just before 6:00am. By 9:00am we were at Leliyn (Edith Falls). We parked the cars and got our packs out just in time to meet the coach that had been booked to transport us south to Nitmiluk Gorge where the hike would begin. We would return to the cars on foot in 5 days.

After checking in at the ranger station we caught the ferry across the river adjusted our packs and commenced the walk by about 11:00 am.

The sun was already high it was a hot but dry day, just fine for walking. As we set off single file up hill from the river bank a cloud of grey dust rose above our shins. Yes! It's really happening. I was feeling particularly buoyant, I actually didn't think I'd be making this trip until next year. Yet. Here I was with a pack on my back and my boots grinding the loose gravel of a 60km track!

Boots...

After about an hour and a half of walking I noticed my right boot seemed to be slipping, I looked down and found the sole had become unstuck all the way from the toe to about a third of the way to the heel! I couldn't fricking believe it! First day of a 5 day hike and I felt sure I'd have to pull out due to a the pathetic state of shoe manufacturing in the 21^st century! 

Another member of our group was really struggling to keep up, hills just completely knocked her and we were all wondering if it was safe for her to go on. As my shoes were probably not going to make it I reluctantly offered to walk back with her to the river and to leave the hike. I couldn't believe, I'd actually be dropping out of another trip! 

Having progressed to a position quite far ahead of the slower walkers I took my boot off, pulled out some cable ties and begun a haphazard attempt at repairing my boot. After borrowing some electrical tape and a spare shoelace from another hiker I could only hope that the sole would remain attached. Another hiker, with far more experience, inspected my handiwork and made a few suggestions then reassured me that it happens every trip and if I could prevent the sole from pealing back it might be possible to complete the walk.

Trail Marker. There were many of these

As for going back... the other hiker was quite determined to proceed, so we moved on and all arrived at camp in tact.

Crystal falls camp was beautiful, I arrived with a cracking headache (Caffeine withdrawal) but after a couple of panadol a cup of coffee, a swim in the most inviting waterhole I soon felt quite relaxed.

At about 2am on our first night at camp I heard a deep and heavy breathing followed by heavy grinding sound, at first it was faint but grew heavier and louder as whatever it was got closer to my tent. I lay silently in my bed and listed intently, I had heard that sound before, it was the deep slow bovine chomping of a large grass eating mammal... A BUFFALO! I shone my torch and could just see the eye shine of an animal about 20 meters from my flimsy mosquito dome. I had no idea what I should do so I just lay there. After five minutes it had passed.

Over the next four days and three nights we passed through high stony country and low sandy soils, we wandered through a variety of habitats with quite differing vegetation types, some land had been burned while other parts still had a lovely covering of delicate tinder dry grass that folded over onto the track like a narrow carpet of straw. We camped by water holes of flowing water crystal clear and sweet to drink.

Sandy Camp - Tent, pack and Hammock. (I really like my hammock!)

Once again my pack was overweight but at not so much that I struggled to walk. I ate porridge for breakfast, a couple of musely bars for lunch and noodles at night. With just two coffees per day my withdrawal symptoms were gone and I didn't crave coffee at all. I could feel my fitness return with each day and all worry of work or life in the city evaporated. In the evenings a few of us would find a flat rock in the open so we could lay back and stare into the moonless night sky, full of stars planets and constellations. Venus was so bright we could see it's reflection clearly in the sandstone rock holes of clear spring water and hit the sack when it had sunk below the horizon.

At various stages along the walk I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude, a kind of bliss at the joy of just being. My life felt quite alright and I didn't need anything! Those are the moments I will try to remember. Nothing spectacular just purely content.

Along the way I had to make ongoing repairs to both my boots. Toward the end of the last day the complex network of cable ties, tent guy ropes, shoelace and tape failed to hold my right boot together, the sole peeled completely off. The boots had lasted far longer than I had expected with only 4 km to go I had nothing to worry about. A member of our group lent me his sandal and I continued to the end feeling as though I had been blessed.

We arrived back at the Leliyn carpark just before 2pm on Sunday afternoon. After a cool drink, a shower and a change of clothes we all headed back to Darwin satisfied and relaxed.

Thank you Darwin Bushwalking Club for providing this wonderful opportunity and great company. We all made it back safe, no evacuations, no major injuries.

Can't wait for the next one!

Extra thanks to the Jawoyn People (traditional owners), NT Parks and the Darwin Bushwalking club.

Turkeys in the scrub

Grace in the face of the great Pealing

Aspidistra

As we drift blindly into a rabid consumerism that seems to be completely bolstered by submission to the fascist tactics of rampant capitalist ideology, I am not comforted to learn it's all quite accurately predicted in literature.

I have been reading the book Keep the Aspidistra Flying by George Orwell and have been reflecting on his observations of poverty that cause a shiver down my spine.

As we see our Government remove the safety net for unemployed, people with disabilities and even the elderly, while they vilify refugees, take away their support and give handouts to big business, a very grim picture of life in Australia is emerging. 

Though Orwell deliberately turns his back on the pursuit of Money as an Ends he illustrates quite clearly how the absence of money in a capitalistic society can rob from people all sense of basic human dignity. 

There is a concept of the failure of the individual in an environment that (possibly mostly in the author’s eyes) puts far too much importance on money as the measure of success. Capitalist ideology is dependent on a system that promotes ‘failure’ in order to motivate people to ‘success’. It is a producer of failure, and success is the illusion of those who manage not to be perceived to fail. The toll this attitude takes on individuals and society is devastating. The temptation of the successful to kick the ladder out from the feet of those aspiring to ‘do well’ seems a completely natural response to living in this kind of society. It is by nature cannibalistic and will create an underclass who have very few prospects and have very little cause for hope. Demoralization of the ‘underclasses’, the proletariat, or just plain ordinary folk seems to be the ultimate goal of this kind of social system.

In Australia I thought we aspired to a kind of democratic socialism that understood the need to protect the whole of society against the ravages of destitution, financial bankruptcy and the subsequent moral and social squalor that accompany it, because we could see that it produces a net loss to the country as a whole. 

That was the old way. We are now living in a very different country. For the financial elite it probably doesn’t seem any worse, they will amass more wealth and so will invest more into security, prison’s, military and punitive legislation to keep the rabble from messing with their comfort… 

I think Keep the Aspidistra Flying is a book that is worth reading as the conditions in Australia today are becoming very relevant to the themes in this book.

Aces High

I've been thinking lately about old friends and the life we lived together somewhere between childhood and the great drifting into the world of seriousness and responsibility.

God knows how any of us survived our youth. Growing up as children in the 70s allowed us a sense that we were born to be wild, that the paths we blaze would be flaming with the burned debris of our parents ambition for us to succeed. We stomped into the 80s as long haired bogan louts with heavy metal T-Shirts and a surprising appreciation for Culture Club, Madona and Duran Duran. The 80s was a time of peculiar changes, a naive ignorance of the environmental realities and a capitalistic view of unlimited potential for the future. It never sat well with me and I rejected it out of hand... Which did set me apart from my mates as I always have been.

In our time together leading into late teens, we were really just kids. Before the proliferation of video games, internet, mobile phones, social media, etc... etc... we amused ourselves by hanging out with our mates, cruising around on bikes, trolling the streets, wagging school and getting into a little too much trouble. 

Some didn't make it to adulthood. Some were too wild, some had grown up in abusive homes and turned their anger in on themselves and society. 

We were intolerant of boredom and did anything possible to relieve the symptoms, usually at our own peril and in contempt for the broader community... Harm was done to neighbors, friends and family paid particularly dearly as our adolescence reigned! 

Some just had a wild curiosity and a furious lust for more of everything all the time and of those the least likely survived into adulthood. Shane was one of these but amplified by 10. His fearlessness and confidence were anomalous to me, I have no idea how he managed to survive as long as he did, but it didn't come without a price.

Image taken @ AC/DC Lane Melbourne

Farewell to a Brother -
Shane although I haven’t seen you in more than twenty years, your spirit is carved into the sinew of my youth.

In all the adventures and the scrapes, and broken teeth and laughs we shared.
So hard you lived and always fought, nothing could keep you down! You were tougher and kinder than I could ever have been. Sometimes I stood back and wondered how you dare be so sure when I was full of doubt.
You never flinched! 

Shane no one and nothing could contain you! So many times I watched as you took the hardest of blows, you always got up with a wicked grin! While I think about you now I can feel a power riff in heavy metal coursing through my veins and the memory of you rises! 

You were a loyal and loving friend. Even after all these years and the distance that has grown between us when I think of true friendship I think of you. You were at times reckless. Yes! Loyal and loving undoubtedly! But Fearless! Always! In the maelstrom of youth and for as long as I have known you… Fearless! Go NOW 

I’ll light a candle as they set your body to ashes! If I could be there to walk you to the door I would as you would hold that place for me! 

Go Grinning! Go Well!

I will sit now, put on my headphones and think of you.

Tunes:

Aces High - Iron Maiden

Hells Bells - AC/DC

Rolling on

Head space in a time of none.

A brief re-cap.

Came to Victoria to hike, visit family and friends and to defrag from work.

Hiked two full days of the GOW before needing to resign from the trail. Bad weather etc...

Did a few trips around Melbourne suburbs, via a combination of bike foot and public transport.

Caught up with a couple of old mates and a friend from Darwin, hung out with my brother a little bit and generally had a really nice time staying with mum and dad.

Pictures:

Mum's Vegie garden, Pineaple sage in the foreground silver beat in the raised beds

Mushroom on the trail

Legendary Chai tent at the St Andrews Market

Remembering the old days: British bikes have always been a common feature at St Andrews pub

Magpie at Quarry Hill South Morang - Now surrounded by housing development

Graffiti and paste ups in Melbourne lanes

Somehow seemed fitting

The view across Queen Victoria Market from just near the Drunken Poet

Mum with the awesome hand painted copy of Desiderata by Darwin artist Nathalie Qunitos Uhing

Difficult to walk up but beautiful to look at on the GOW

Self Self Selfie as usual... I put my 30kg pack down to take this photo of me

Attempting the Great Ocean Walk (pt 5)

SNAFU

There's no pretending this trip was a success. Not sure where my head is at to post 5 entries on a 2 and a bit day's walk but I was feeling typey... 

After resting on the lawn outside the Otway Light Station I needed to make a decision. Would I continue along the walk or quit now while I had the possibility of getting a lift back to town?

Up until now there had been a school group a couple of hours behind me for each section I had walked, they were camped close by each night. Close enough for me to know they were around and it was reassuring that if I had an accident they would likely find me. 

If I chose to continue I would be travelling through more remote parts of the park and from my discussion with the ranger, it was clear that there was absolutely no one else on the trail, either in front or behind me. You can only hike The Great Ocean Walk in one direction, East to West. I did not like the prospects of travelling alone in such bad weather.

Even at the Light Station there was no public phone, no mobile reception and no means of communicating with the ranger.  I was feeling less than positive about my prospects of completing the walk. 

One of the school leaders offered me a ride back to Apolo Bay in his ute but I was determined to keep going so I thanked him for the offer then proceeded 600 meters along the track to the Hikers camp ground. I found it difficult to get to the camp as there were a few busted tea tree limbs hanging across the path... not a good omen. When I got to the camp it was wet, my gear was wet too. 

I took off my leach bite shoe and sock, they squelched with the sound of thickly congealed blood sticking to leather and wool. I could smell the blood. The wound was small but my socks were disgusting! I looked down at my feet and could see bruises forming under the nails... 

I considered the potential for my feet giving out or the sleeping bag becoming ruined by water and decided there was too great a chance of me being stuck on that trail and not being able to get out until the ranger realized I hadn't reported finished in five more days.

It was then that I decided to quit the trail! 

I legged it back to the car park, had a quick word with one of the adult leaders of the school group, sured up a lift back to Apollo Bay and sat back on the grass and lolled in that terribly no man's land between relief and regret!

My trip home was quite fluky. We got to Apollo Bay Information Centre exactly 45 minutes before the bus to Geelong was due. I booked my tickets through to Melbourne and then sat at the bus shelter and watched rain clouds rolling over the hills and blasting Apollo bay with an icy cold spray of mountain rain while I waited for the bus.

The brisk refreshing delight of Otway coastal rain

Apollo Bay Bus shelter

Arrived at Geelong station with 10 minutes grace, enough time to hobble to the Melbourne bound platform and before I knew it I was on the train... At Southern Cross I switched tracks to the Hurstbridge line and my train arrived within 10 minutes. I can't remember exactly what time I got back to mum and dad's place but it was a dream run... From the time I arrived at the Light Station until the time I was was soaking in a hot bath was something like 7 hours. 

Geelong Station

The weather remained bad for hiking for the remainder of the week. I don't mind hiking in the rain, even if it's cold but I was not equipped to for wet nights. My down sleeping bag would have failed miserably and I would have been freezing. I am sure I made the right decision but can't help working through various scenarios that would have allowed me to complete the walk.

Today 7 days later did we have a beautiful cool and sunny day.

One major failing of this track is the fact that you must book your camp sites in advance and there aren't any options for altering your schedule while on the track. If I could have deferred for a couple of days I would have found a way to complete the track in sections or at least taken a day's rest while I replace my sleeping bag.

I will return to The Great Ocean walk and I WILL complete it!

(Fin)