Friday, Oct 09, 2015 at 22:36
Hi Stephen!
Thanks for that info and the photos.
I know that marker, ya know. Like you said, it's about 200 metres north from the shore at the very southern most point. The track is close to the fence. There's a watercourse washed out under the fence so I got under there.
Pleased to know it's just a marker. I thought it must be a prospecting
bore, but of course, there's no pile of dirt. The marker was as far as I ventured.
I've forgotten the name of that station. In truth I hadn't planned on going that far so didn't have permission to be there.
Not far back to the east along the track, on the southern side of the track, is a small
salt lake and as you said, much different in character. I photographed what was left of a sheep half buried in the salt.
I accessed that part of the
lake from Kootaberra and was truly enjoying the growing view of the Flinders.
I reckon I was following the 1851 route of
John McDouall Stuart within a hundred metres, for quite a way.
The true story "Rabbit Proof Fence" occured in WA but the movie was filmed in SA, not too far from the area in question, up the Flinders somewhere, from memory. But I reckon one of the scenes was filmed on that track. The scene of a fella in an
old car driving along.
Well, that's my story!
I don't recognise the station names you mention. I suppose you access the east side of the
lake where I visit the west side.
I once camped on
Andamooka station, by
Lake Torrens, not far north of the boundary with Bosworth, and
Andamooka Island.
Walking out onto the
lake bed, the stinking, black mud was getting deeper with my progress and building up on my boots, as you'd expect, so I headed back. Eventually I came to an area with stepping stones and did much better.
Six months previous I'd had an accident at work. Besides other injuries, due to some nerve damage where my leg was crushed a bit, I couldn't hold the weight of my foot with my ankle. I'd clipidy-clop down the street sounding like an old horse.
Well, on one of my stepping stones, a
flat rock, I placed my heal on
the rock with my foot hanging over. I couldn't lift my foot using the reduced strength of the ankle, but when I took up the weight and raised the foot I could hold it there level with my full weight on that leg. What a joyous day that was!
So those memories of that sticky mud are mingled with thoughts of such a great experience of the beginning of the rehabilitation of my ankle. Mud, beautiful mud!
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