river delta, looking for the combination of geographical features that Jed has pieced together from the photographs. Excitement explodes when they find a spot that matches; then deflates like a burst balloon at a child’s party when they see it is cut off from the sea and the channel is but a trickle struggling through the mud flats, strangled by mangroves. Jed senses the first inklings of failure as they cross the coast at the base of the Joseph Bonaparte Gulf toward Kununurra.
“It’s that not easy, is it,” Alex concludes. “There is so much country down there you could hide anything in it.”
They are exhausted after the intensity of the flight and the concentration it has demanded. Even though it isn’t summer, they are dehydrated. Even regular sips from their water bottles have not been enough to compensate.
“No Alex, it’s not easy. We’re not even trying to find a plane, just the likely country it could be in. The end result today is three possibilities; one a close match, but too far in from the sea and two with access to the sea, but not as close geographically. Feel like a walk for a close up look?”
She doesn’t respond, just looks at him through narrowed eyes that plainly say,
Try suggesting it!
Kununurra is inland and Jed spends the flying time fighting depression as he mulls over where he could have gone wrong in planning the search. He eventually drags himself out of his self-criticism and calls up Kununurra to advise incoming traffic they will overfly at two thousand five hundred feet. There is no response from an empty sky. Alex looks down at the town. “It’s a lot bigger than I thought. I can see hotels, motels and what look like resorts. Why can’t we stay here?” she asks in a tone verging on demand.
“Getting cold feet about the tent?” Jed lets the question hang for as long as he dares before reaching into his flight bag and handing her a brochure. “That’s where we’re going! My aircraft,” he announces and takes over the controls for the last part of the flight.
Alex flicks through the brochure and stabs a finger at a picture. “That’s a tent! I’d call that a chalet! And the homestead is fantastic! El Questro? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a Kimberley cattle station bought by an English lord and turned into a tourist experience. It still operates as a cattle station. Extra flight time but I thought it would appeal to you, Alex.” He enjoys the opportunity to use the familiar contraction of her name. He throttles back and sets up a cruise descent to join the circuit for the El Questro airstrip appearing ahead as a gravel graze across the landscape. As they descend for the approach, Alex can pick out the green oasis of the homestead nestling beside the long lagoon of the Chamberlain River. To the northwest, it joins the Pentecost River with its winding slash of fresh water through the red landscape dappled with various shades of green.
Jed gives an all stations call to an unresponsive blue and cloudless sky before joining the circuit to fly a perfect final approach, landing with a gentle kiss onto the Kimberley dirt with a burst of red dust as the wheels touch the ground. Before they have parked, tied the aircraft down and unloaded their gear, a Landcruiser 75 arrives. It is driven by a young Swedish backpacker who welcomes them to El Questro. Malena, young, blonde, shapely and tanned, wearing shorts and sandals, is on a working holiday and ended up in the Kimberley. She is in no hurry to leave.
“I actually did book a tent site but ditched it for a stay at the homestead. You’ll get your shower Alex!”
“And a bottle or two of champagne I hope!” Alex responds with enthusiasm. “This beats anything I was expecting!” She sits in the front seat of the Landcruiser with the window down and elbow on the door, head swivelling with excitement to take in the view. Jed is in the back with the bags. He watches the breeze play with her hair, randomly
“It’s that not easy, is it,” Alex concludes. “There is so much country down there you could hide anything in it.”
They are exhausted after the intensity of the flight and the concentration it has demanded. Even though it isn’t summer, they are dehydrated. Even regular sips from their water bottles have not been enough to compensate.
“No Alex, it’s not easy. We’re not even trying to find a plane, just the likely country it could be in. The end result today is three possibilities; one a close match, but too far in from the sea and two with access to the sea, but not as close geographically. Feel like a walk for a close up look?”
She doesn’t respond, just looks at him through narrowed eyes that plainly say,
Try suggesting it!
Kununurra is inland and Jed spends the flying time fighting depression as he mulls over where he could have gone wrong in planning the search. He eventually drags himself out of his self-criticism and calls up Kununurra to advise incoming traffic they will overfly at two thousand five hundred feet. There is no response from an empty sky. Alex looks down at the town. “It’s a lot bigger than I thought. I can see hotels, motels and what look like resorts. Why can’t we stay here?” she asks in a tone verging on demand.
“Getting cold feet about the tent?” Jed lets the question hang for as long as he dares before reaching into his flight bag and handing her a brochure. “That’s where we’re going! My aircraft,” he announces and takes over the controls for the last part of the flight.
Alex flicks through the brochure and stabs a finger at a picture. “That’s a tent! I’d call that a chalet! And the homestead is fantastic! El Questro? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a Kimberley cattle station bought by an English lord and turned into a tourist experience. It still operates as a cattle station. Extra flight time but I thought it would appeal to you, Alex.” He enjoys the opportunity to use the familiar contraction of her name. He throttles back and sets up a cruise descent to join the circuit for the El Questro airstrip appearing ahead as a gravel graze across the landscape. As they descend for the approach, Alex can pick out the green oasis of the homestead nestling beside the long lagoon of the Chamberlain River. To the northwest, it joins the Pentecost River with its winding slash of fresh water through the red landscape dappled with various shades of green.
Jed gives an all stations call to an unresponsive blue and cloudless sky before joining the circuit to fly a perfect final approach, landing with a gentle kiss onto the Kimberley dirt with a burst of red dust as the wheels touch the ground. Before they have parked, tied the aircraft down and unloaded their gear, a Landcruiser 75 arrives. It is driven by a young Swedish backpacker who welcomes them to El Questro. Malena, young, blonde, shapely and tanned, wearing shorts and sandals, is on a working holiday and ended up in the Kimberley. She is in no hurry to leave.
“I actually did book a tent site but ditched it for a stay at the homestead. You’ll get your shower Alex!”
“And a bottle or two of champagne I hope!” Alex responds with enthusiasm. “This beats anything I was expecting!” She sits in the front seat of the Landcruiser with the window down and elbow on the door, head swivelling with excitement to take in the view. Jed is in the back with the bags. He watches the breeze play with her hair, randomly
Similar Books
