The splendour of the rolling green mountains of the Hamersley Ranges is like that of an ancient animal. They have the look of some big brontosauruses having gone to sleep, with green grass growing on their backs. They are so beautiful that one wonders why no enterprising Western Australian has started a mine, leaving a humongous hole in the ground. They look like perfect potential victims for an environmental disaster. The attentive reader has already guessed that such sarcasm indicates that the Hamersley Ranges are scattered with mining towns. In the recently constructed Newman, there is a monstrous hole in the ground called the Whaleback.

At a miners' truck-repair-store in Newman I managed to pick up the missing parts of the demolished snorkel. Apparently, the miners smash them up in numbers, since they had a whole shelf of them. 'Which one do you want?' the shopkeeper deadpanned with typical dry Australian humour. All I needed now was a new front guard, a paint job and a new window.

I drove up towards the Auski Roadhouse with my goal set for Wittenoom. Wittenoom used to be an asbestos mining town. The mine is closed down for health reasons and so is the town supposed to be. Thirty inhabitants still linger on with that outback stubbornness only Australians are capable of. What was once a concern about the inhabitants health has developed into a face-saving siege by the Western Australian authorities. The authorities claim that the good burghers of Wittenoom should leave for their own benefit; but when their tongues slip, they admit that they just don't want to be sued by deceased Wittenoomers' children. The authorities do almost anything to get rid of the inhabitants. I was surprised to find that they still had electricity, but some court had decided that the bureaucrats could not shut that down.

The best-informed source of stories about this battle between Wittenoom and the State is Irene in the Gem Shop. Irene gives away little self-guided tour maps of the Karijini Gorges and sells horribly tacky souvenirs. This woman in her sixties is a great teller of anecdotes, tourist information and stories about the bureaucrats. All her stories are related in a monotone voice in a constant stream. She delivered a heartbreaking tale about a little joey who had been hit by a truck and then saved by hand-feeding with a milk bottle. Then followed stories about mischief committed by the bureaucrats in Perth. Lung cancer and asbestos was, in Irene's mind, an invention by some young socialist doctors in the South, who did not have much sense anyway. Irene did not much like the new-town planning layout of Newman and South Hedland, where streets meander. Straight, old towns with square blocks like Port Hedland were much better.

Irene's best story is about the time when the bureaucrats discovered that the Wittenoomers had a St Johns ambulance in a garage that belonged to the State. In their struggle to keep up the basic infrastructure with telephony, electricity and so on, the inhabitants sponsor the ambulance. The resilient people of Wittenoom took down the garage that housed the ambulance and rebuilt it in Irene's garden. When the snotty little bureaucrat turned up later that day, he immediately asked who was responsible for stealing this public property. All twenty-five inhabitants present stepped forward, raised their hands unanimously, and told him that they personally did it.

Then they advised him to call the police station in Tom Price (another mining town) and recommended he ask for a bus, so that they all could be transported away. While the bus from Tom Price was on its way, they would call the television networks and tell them about the incident, which they thought would make great headline news. "Town arrested for moving an ambulance garage".
The bureaucrat left, fuming.

But it's no surprise that the battle is fought with no remorse on either side. This is Australia. The small, anti-authoritarian people of the outback against the big city people. Australia's past as a penal colony has made deep tracks in the mentality of the population. Authorities are by definition evil and should not be obeyed, if one is not caught in the act going on with one's private business. I shall do as I please, unless I am threatened with the cat o' nine tails. It was hard not to laugh at Irene's stories, even as I wondered how healthy it really is to live next to an abandoned asbestos mine. Nigel had assured me that the incubation time for asbestos-related lung cancer is forty years. A couple of nights in Wittenoom would hardly be a worry.

Bob and his wife at the camping ground greeted me as a long lost son. The night on my stretcher was peaceful except for the kangaroos jumping in the street outside waking me up all night. What is it like in Australia? Well, kangaroos actually do jump in the streets. At least they do in Wittenoom.

Bob sent me out through Yampire Gorge the next day. Signs warned you about asbestos flying around in there. I decided to take my chances anyway, in the good rebellious spirit of the burghers of Wittenoom. The road is officially closed, but it is no match for a Toyota Landcruiser. I made it over stones and rocks and through the creeks in high ratio 4WD. The road was a piece of cake after the Gunbarrel. I even stumbled across some Sturt's desert oeas near an abandoned mining shaft, a rare flower most people never get to see in the wild.

Karijini is now an official WA national park. This means that everything is about to take on a well groomed and paved look. Signs encourage you to wear a hat and drink enough water. There are prepared camping sites and rangers to guide you. There are handrails and stairs so that you won't slip. Elevators for wheel chairs are missing, but just wait and see. Even Australian males with knee problems will be able to get in and out of the magnificent gorges. There is a sealed access road into the park for people who don't want to sneak in through the back door, as I did. This development will do more for the death of Wittenoom than any action by the bureaucrats. The people in Wittenoom will miss the campers and tourists that had once used Wittenoom as their base for exploring the Hamersley Ranges.

A day in the Karijini Gorges is wonderful, in spite of the well meant pampering from the park management. There are lots of walks and good swims. I had a most refreshing swim and a shower in a waterfall in the Kalamini Gorge.

Climbing down to the Handrail Pool in Weano Gorge offers a bit of adventure, but admiring the scenery over the Oxer Lookout will provide you with a memory for life. The generous supply of water stands out as a contrast to the hot, dry bush. The difference between the hot surroundings and the cool gorges is so huge that the gorges almost take on the feeling of spirituality, a place for religious worship. This is a feeling that overwhelmed me several times in the bush. I could easily have spent a few more days here. But I was still on a schedule and thought I had to rush on to the Millstream National Park, which unfortunately would turn out to be a bit of a non-event.

The F'n H Tour

A couple of days later I left the neighbouring Millstream National Park. That drive from Millstream out toward the coast is the definition of scenic drive. The road through the Chichester Ranges wriggles up and down hills with amazing shapes, covered with lush, green grass. It was like entering an adventure book from my childhood. It looked like another planet.

I stopped at a lookout where one white and one blue Landcruiser were standing. This was my first meeting with the F'n H Tour. Ron and Kath travelled in the blue vehicle. Dwayne and Jan travelled in the white one. Both were in their fifties or early sixties. Ron was blonde and balding, with the look of a factory foreman. Dwayne had a trimmed dark and grey beard. They wore singlets with " F'n H Tour" printed on them. They were from Wollongong, an industrial town in New South Wales. The stirring was extraordinary. Ron asked me about the damage on Fidelity. I told them. The F'n H Tour thought that it was an hilarious story. But then, they thought that most things in life were hilarious.

I admired all the equipment Ron had on his truck, especially the winch. Ron asked me if I had seen the movie The Gods Must Be Crazy. I replied 'No', omitting the fact that it was considered politically incorrect in my country to watch this movie as it portrays blacks as somewhat naïve.

'Anyway', Ron began, and the rest of the F'n H Tour immediately began to laugh, 'there's a scene in it when a guy winches up his car in a tree....'
They had been stuck in a deep hole in a river up on Cape York. They had started to winch themselves out of the bog with the help of a big tree. When another vehicle came by, they started to talk to them. Suddenly Ron's car was hanging from a branch just like in the movie. 'Focking hell, mate.' Dwayne, Jan and Kath were close to a cardiac arrest at this point.

Somehow, the conversation switched over to New Zealand, an eternal target of ridicule for Aussies. I told the F'n H Tour how the lads at the office where I worked years ago used to go "Bah, bah", imitating sheep, every time a female colleague from New Zealand came to work in the morning. Ron got upset.
'See, this is forbidden nowadays', he told me. 'They call it sexual harassment.'
He shook his head in disbelief. O tempora o mores. Now, was not good old stirring a way of showing other people that you liked them? How were the lads now to show terms of endearment to this unknown woman from New Zealand if they could not stir her? Compliment her clothes or perfume, maybe? Ron was very upset.

'This country is going down the gurgler, mark my words', he told me. 'We of been harassed on this trip,' complained Jan in a whining voice. 'Ah, shut yer mouth', Dwayne told her. 'You haven't fucking been harassed, we or the ones that or harassed by all your bitching.' Everybody laughed.

We accompanied each other to the Python Pool. This used to be a resting and watering spot for Afghan camel drivers in the pioneering days. Pythons once lived here. They seemed to be gone now. On a blistering hot day your whole body can just ask for sinking itself in water. The heat of the Hamersley Ranges is so dry that the sweat evaporates from your body. It's as if the land sucks your body dry.

I had dressed up in all the bush gear with boots, hat and the backpack with water and safety equipment. I felt slightly stupid when I discovered that the walk to the pool was about two hundred and fifty meters. Jan and Kath had entered the water and stripping off to nothing except their purple panties. It was not a pretty sight. They chatted with a young, Israeli boy who sat like a naked Adonis on the shore. They had the perv of their life.

Ron and Dwayne were swimming. The Python Pool is a small pond beneath a huge red cliff. The water was a cool dark green colour. The sounds echoed around the cliffs. The sky was such a bright blue that it was almost painful, not a cloud in sight. To someone who had lived his life in the Frozen North in darkness, rain, fog and snow, with endless low pressure troughs sweeping in from the North Sea, this was the antithesis.

'Go skinny dipping son', Jan and Kath croaked to me while they laughed hysterically.

I normally swim without clothes if it is possible. Since Aussies are uptight about nudity, I always hesitate to swim nude in places where other people might turn up. Encouraged by Jan and Kath's croaking, though, I took off my clothes and jumped into the cool water. The feeling was unbeatable. Swimming beneath the cliff in the sunshine was something else. This was the best swim I had ever had in my life. The gorges in the Hamersley Ranges and this pool in the Chichester Ranges stands out so much, compared to the dry bush surrounding it, that they manifest themselves like an incarnation of paradise when you stumble upon them. You do not expect water in these surroundings. Maybe that is why it felt more pleasant than usual to have a swim.

I climbed up onto a shelf on the cliff and lay sun baking. In moments like this, I have a feeling that somewhere deep into our genes remains a piece of some primeval being who lived half of its life in water half on the shores, millions of years ago. To the amusement of Jan and Kath, some people were walking toward the pool. I dove into the water, swam back and managed to get "decent" just before a company of unsuspecting tourists arrived. Jan and Kath had already got out of the water and had T-shirts back on. This was just as amusing to them as everything else. Life was nothing but an endless entertainment to the F'n H Tour. We continued to Roebourne.

Driving into Roebourne is like coming to some Southern town in the States that God forgot about. Droves of Aborigines hung around the hotels. The Aboriginal hostels were conveniently situated next to the pubs. A youth centre tried to make propaganda for the advantage of sobriety on big signs. The asphalt was almost melting away in the heat. I found a panel beater and asked him if he had a rear window for a Landcruiser HJ60. He disappeared into his backyard and returned with a used one. This is the advantage of driving a Landcruiser, there are always parts stuck somewhere in someone's backyard.

'Will eighty dollars be OK?' he asked. 'A new one from Toyota is about one hundred and sixty and then I'll of to send for one from Perth and that will take days and you or probably on your way to the north.'

I agreed. The dark side of driving a Toyota is that official spares and repairs cost astronomical amounts, due to the popularity of the Landcruisers. Fortunately the used and after-market evens out the market a bit.

I walked up to the BP station and joined the queue with the Aborigines for some junk food for lunch. A huge black woman was sitting outside.

'Yeez, it's hot today, mate', she complained.

'You should be used to it by now, after forty thousand years on this continent', I thought to myself. I returned to the panel beater.

'What bastard sold you this car?' he asked in an upset voice. 'Look at this! This window hung on just by the insulation!'

He showed me how the frame should have been attached with some clips that were missing. According to the panel beater, any major bump or disturbance could have caused the window to fall out. I thought of the blue silicon that had been holding the nipple to the breather hose at the front diff. How many more of these unpleasant surprises would I encounter? It turned out that there would be a lot more coming.

Fidelity was an old lady. Many men had had her in her day, and not all of them had been tender and caring.

Chapter 12