a friend in need

July 19ish 2007

The day after we had walked around the base of Uluru we set off for Kata Djuta (the Olgas) 50km away along a sealed road inside the National Park. We did the Valley of the Winds walk which was about 7 km through valleys of the red domes and across microcosms of the sheltered and exposed landscapes within. It was a beautiful walk - more diverse than the walk around Uluru and just as spectacular. It was a pretty warm day – certainly for us who were still relatively used to Melbourne winter temperatures and not yet acclimatised to our camping lifestyle of warm days and freezing nights. On the return trip home I asked Graeme to turn down the signposted unsealed road that veered off to the right just before the Kata Djuta car parks. This road takes locals and travellers due west to the WA border, Docker River community and the Canning Stock route. I wanted to get a sense of how far it was west to the next significant markers on our map.

We u-turned and out onto the main road back to Uluru. In front of us we noticed a worn blue Camry, pulled over on the side of the road, its occupants: a man, two women and about 6 devoted puppies setting up temporary camp in the bush beside the road. They waved to us as we went passed and we pulled in. For a minute I thought that perhaps they were just being friendly – Graeme and I laughed about how we had to remember to wave (one finger or whole hand depending on our mood) to other vehicles – I wound down the window and yelled back;

‘Are you ok?’

‘No we need help. Do you have any water?’

Graeme and I got out of the car and walked back. One of the women had sat down on a laid out sheet, with an air of resignation. She was ready for the long wait. The younger woman was still sorting belongings: airing clothes on the low bushes and settling animals that were milling around her feet. A hulk of a man with shoulder length dreadlocks stood beside the car. The back wheel was jacked up exposing a mangled rim and not a shred of rubber. There was no spare – perhaps what I was looking at was the spare.

Somewhere out on the Docker River Road, the tyre had blown. The car had been nursed back onto the sealed road where help could be flagged down. The man assured us that he had a spare tyre back at his house at Mutidjulu. Could we give him and his passengers a lift? We had room for one, I had imagined that perhaps one of the women would come with us, and alert concerned family and friends back home who would return with the tyre. After much discussion amongst the three it was determined that the man would travel with us. I hopped in the back with the kids who had gone uncharacteristically quiet. Apart from the older men and women who sat outside the Coober Pedy supermarket and half heartedly asked for money, the kids had had little in the way of encounters with Indigenous Australians of Central Australia.

Introductions were made between the men. For a big Pitjanjarajara man: 6 ft 4ins and 120 kg Alwyn was shy and quietly spoken. Graeme worked hard to make conversation. There had been a footy competition in Docker River and Alwyn played for his community team. They didn’t win. The women back at the car were his wife and a sister. Alwyn occasionally worked as a tour guide for a local company around the rock. Other conversations faltered on possibly inappropriate questions, poor English or mumbled responses. I remembered from my time in Arnhem Land that direct questions were not the most appropriate ways to sustain a polite conversation and was nervous that Graeme might ‘put his foot in it’ but then I reasoned that we were helping Alwyn out – perhaps there had been other travellers go past who hadn’t even stopped to help – I should just get over my cross-cultural sensitivities and let them get on with it. Alwyn had the window open the whole way, I was getting kind of windswept in the back... the kids were half asleep, Graeme drove on in a companionable silence, Alwyn made some conversation, I couldn’t understand and I’m not sure Graeme did either.

Water! When we first stopped to help they had asked about water. Oh no. We left the women there without water. With the drama of the mangled rim I had forgotten completely about the need for water and so too had everybody else. I took off my seatbelt and scrambled over the back to find what I could for Alwyn in the bags in the back. There wasn’t much left as our family are renowned healthy eaters!! There was a small Sprite bottle filled with water, a sandwich and an apple. I passed these to Alwyn with an apology that I had forgotten about the water. He took them without comment and had a swig.

We got back to Uluru and took the road around the rock Graeme told Alwyn he’d been the ‘pool boy and yard hand’ at the Inland Motel 26 years ago. Alwyn could point out where that was and seemed amused that this whitefella was once the hired help. At last a slim connection between their worlds.

We turned down one of the side roads that warned ‘No Entry without a permit’. We were on Samaritan business. The kids sat up in their seats, this was going to be something new and a bit off the tourist track. Once again I was nervous about the impressions to be gained. We drove along a side road, through the bush I could see the purpose built (and empty) police station that had appeared on the front page of ‘The Age’ only a couple of weeks before. The houses of the community were in varying states of (dis)repair. Some looked quite well maintained for desert living, others less so. Alwyn directed us to his house. It had seen better days. It looked completely barricaded with a high but ineffective wire fence all the way around. A very large refrigerated air conditioning unit was mounted on the roof but I wondered whether the power was connected. By this time the kids were wide eyed, sitting up in their seats, taking in everything, saying nothing.

Alwyn wheeled a tyre out of the shed and Graeme made space for it in the boot. There weren’t many people around, hardly any in fact. But about 200 metres away a young man was walking between houses and Alwyn whistled to him to get his attention. Alwyn had been in Docker River for a few days. The guy across the way wasn’t the only one who heard the whistle. About 10 fully grown dogs trotted eagerly out of the house at Alwyn’s call. These dogs probably hadn’t had anything much to eat since Alwyn’s departure and were very pleased to see him.

The dogs were an amazing blend of breeds. The predominant genes seemed to represent dogs reminiscent of Staffordshire bull terrier and corgi. Some of the dogs looked exactly the same in the face and body but had completely different sized legs. They were a cartoon collection of beasts, worthy of a photo, but that wasn’t going to happen. Alwyn hopped in the car, the dogs surrounded the car curious to see where their main man was and whether there was anything to eat. Of course the dogs jumped up on the car, the big dog went to the front and a range of dogs around the sides. Alwyn’s mate strolled over ignoring the motley crew and donated a cigarette for the return trip. While Alwyn had a conversation, the rest of us watched the gaggle of dogs clawing our car. Alwyn indicated it was time to go but departure was stalled by him spotting his ‘boss’ a young Anglo guy with dreadlocks longer than his. He asked Alwyn where he’d been (he didn’t know?) and whether or not the team had won. He also gave cigarettes for the return journey. The dogs still surrounded the car. We were laughing in the back but it was a hollow laugh more of nerves than amusement; what were these dogs doing to our duco? What if we hit one? Will we have to pay?

Alwyn was ready to go, whether he had a sense of our concern we’ll never know, but he got out of the car, picked up a few rocks and threw them hard at the dogs barring our way. He hopped back in the car and told Graeme to floor it.

‘Go. Go fast.’

Graeme was desperate to comply; his acceleration and direction was guided by the sharp intakes of breath Alwyn made when one of the corgi throwbacks was unsighted somewhere round the front. We scrambled across country towards the road. Distance would save us... but ‘Oh’ as we turned out onto the road, (still moving at a pretty quick rate) we looked ahead to see an old 4WD lumbering towards us. Graeme was confident we had space and drove on. Noah swears that the driver of the 4WD was shaking his fist at us for our dangerous driving. I was looking for dogs.....

Back on sealed road we all settled back into quiet travel. Only 50km more to drop him off and then 50 km back to Yulara and camp. I was windswept, tired and trying not to think about the duco. The women cheered when we arrived. Alwyn was out of the car and working on the car in an instant. Gratitude was women’s work and they both waved and called their thanks. The wife went to the car and offered Graeme a further gesture of gratitude. She showed Graeme a photo of Alwyn, her and other tour guides. Another connection.

We were all exhausted when we got back to camp, and we hadn’t driven our a tyre rim down the Docker River Rd. We have carried the scratches with us on our travels. We don’t look at them in the early morning light when they are at their worst. Actually we don’t even look at them at all.

We still talk of Alwyn. We will never forget him.

Robyn