DARK TRAVELS

by ANITA MARIE MOSCOSO

                                         

Last Summer Mata Dark and her family took a vacation.

Mata was almost 20 at the time and during her entire twenty years of life none of the Dark Family had set foot off of the Olympic Mountain Range in Washington State. They had never traveled further then 40 miles away from their hometown of Leaning Birches.

It’s because Mata’s Father was a workaholic and he had this thing about being replaced. He was terrified of losing his job.

” Lord Derby, do you really believe there’s a line of people waiting for to do your job? ” Mata’s mom Rue screamed at the top of her lungs while waving around a bunch of travel pamphlets in her hand. Mom had wanted a vacation in the worst way and she felt like if she didn’t get this trip she wouldn’t have the energy to fight for another.

Derby’s eyes crossed a little like they always do when he thinks to hard and finally he said, ” I’m sure there’s a few people who would love to do my job. And do you know what Rue? They’re probably a lot younger and smarter and quicker then me. Don’t ask me to take a chance on losing the only thing I’ve ever been good at in my life.”

Rue who’s eyes never crossed when she thought to hard lowered her voice and said ” Derby you are the hardest working man in town and you’ve earned a vacation. Promise me you’ll think about it.”

Derby who adored his wife and family as much as he adored his job gave in about a week after that argument. He came home one night from work and out of nowhere asked Rue would she mind if they took a road trip? He had a route and a destination picked out. He even had a leather folder that read “ USA TOURS” full of flyers, confirmation forms and event tickets.

The travel agent he had worked with in town had even got them t-shirts to wear.

Mata’s Mom looked through the folder and then she unfolded one of the T-Shirts and held it up. ” You’ve got to be kidding. ” was all she could think to say.

The shirt read:

                                   ” UFO PALOOZA 2006 “

                                

 

Derby smiled and shook his head. ” Pack up, we leave at Dawn “

                                   

Mata’s brother 15-year-old brother Wilton not only wore the t-shirt the morning they left he went out to Joker’s Galore the night before and bought a set of ” Deeply Boppers” to wear on his head too.

The ” Deely Boppers ” were silver antenna with gold balls at the top that were the size of marbles. When you turned your head something in them shifted and made a crackling sound.

Mata took one long hard look at her brother, walked out the front door and then jumped on her motorcycle and rode at break neck speed into town and bought herself a set too.

Mata and her brother Wilton had agreed with each other sometime during that very long drive that if Mom said the words, ‘ UFO’s? Are you kidding me Derby UFO’s? Our one and only vacation as a family is to celebrate something that doesn’t exist?” one more time they were both going to jump out of the car and take their chances on the New Mexico Desert, the New Mexico Sun and until they decided it sounded like fun the mutants that were suppose to have been created by the first Atomic Test back in 1945.

” Hey Mom ” Wilton asked, ” do you think there really  are Radioactive Mutants out here? “

” Well I haven’t seen any but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist…am I right Derby? “

Derby reached over and patted her shoulder and said, ” That’s the Spirit Querida “

The little town was almost full of people dressed up like aliens, there were also a lot of people not dressed like aliens and they all seemed to know a lot about space travel and where you could get ” Saucer Burgers “, ” Milkyway Meals ” and everyone wanted to know if you were able to get reservations to stay at the ” Station 51 Hotel “

Most of the Dark Family were secretly pleased they were staying at the ” Place to Be ” for the Festival but they kept it to themselves because of the look on Rue’s face.

Rue’s face was this mask; she looked like someone had attached strings to her eyebrows and yanked them straight up.

She had speechless since they arrived in town, which was actually a relief.

Finally she opened her mouth, breathed and said ” God in Heaven ” and then she went back to the hotel and ordered a blood red steak and drank Strawberry Margaritas until she couldn’t focus her eyes.

After that she went back out and joined her family.

Derby talked Rue into joining a UFO Watcher’s Group and by the time they got back from spending an evening learning to plot their own star charts and joined in on a few debates about the Roswell Incident and watched a video of a genuine Alien Autopsy it was obvious Rue was having a good time.

At least her eyebrows had gone back to their normal spot on her forehead and she had quit saying ” God in Heaven ” everytime someone walked by.

So it really turned out to be a good trip and on their last night Rue and Derby went out with some new friends to make arrangements to get together for next year’s festival and Mata and Wilton went shopping.

Mata and Wilton decided to go and pick up some souvenirs for their friends back home and they spent a lot of time talking to Mr. Fanshaw who ran the little Museum just around the street from the hotel. 

They talked about their Mom and their Dad and their home back in Washington. Small town stuff but Mr Fanshaw was a good audience and he asked lots of good questions.

Mr Fanshaw, Mata and Wilton were pleased to discover knew all about Aliens and he also knew at least an hours worth of  top drawer ghost stories and as he packed up Mata and Wilton’s purchases he asked, ” so tell me about your Mom, in the end she had a good time? Is she a believer now do you think? “

” Doubt it, ” Wilton said “she doesn’t have much going in the way of imagination.”

” Sorry to hear that…its a curse of the Modern Age ” Mr Fanshaw said sadly. Then he asked, “and what does she do for a living? “

” Homemaker, ” Mata told him ” she use to be a Phlebotomist. That’s how she met our Dad. See the offices she worked at used to get busted into and vandalized all of the time. One night she got attacked and our Dad actually saved her from being killed. They’ve been together ever since”

” And what does your Dad do? ” Mr Fanshaw asked.

” He’s a Vampire Hunter ” Wilton said from behind a stack of packages and then he and Mata thanked Mr Fanshaw for all of his time and as the two young people left the Museum Mr. Fanshaw heard Mata say ” hey Wilton we should talk to Dad about The Triangle for our next trip…”

The Never Never

Never Never Land is a real place. My great grandfather, George Chale Watson, spent seven years surveying the Never Never.

The name was first recorded, in the late 19th century, describing the uninhabited regions of Australia - then called just ‘The Never-Never’. The more remote outback regions of the Northern Territory and Queensland are still known by that name. This is as much a state of mind and a folk-memory that recalls the pre-settlement outback life with fondness as it is a precise geographical location.

 

By hut, homestead and shearing shed, By railroad, coach and track- By lonely graves where rest the dead, Up-Country and Out-Back: To where beneath the clustered stars The dreamy plains expand- My home lies wide a thousand miles In Never-Never Land.It lies beyond the farming belt, Wide wastes of scrub and plain, A blazing desert in the drought, A lake-land after rain; To the skyline sweeps the waving grass, Or whirls the scorching sand- A phantom land, a mystic realm! The Never-Never Land.Where lone Mount Desolation lies Mounts Dreadful and Despair- ‘Tis lost beneath the rainless skies In hopeless deserts there; It spreads nor-west by No-Man’s Land Where clouds are seldom seen To where the cattle stations lie Three hundred miles between.

The drovers of the Great Stock Routes The strange Gulf country Know Where, travelling from the southern droughts, The big lean bullocks go; And camped by night where plains lie wide, Like some old ocean’s bed, The watchmen in the starlight ride Round fifteen hundred head.Lest in the city I forget True mateship after all, My water-bag and billy yet Are hanging on the wall; And I, to save my soul again, Would tramp to sunsets grand With sad-eyed mates across the plain In Never-Never Land.by Henry Lawson

“Soon after the weather moderated we took our departure from Bucknall’s Station and crossed over to Middle Creek, the country held by a stalwart pioneer, Mr A.E. Bullmore, whose head station, Oakwood, was on the Ward River. Mr Bullmore accompanied me during my survey of Middle Creek whereon he had an out cattle station, a sign of civilisation that was welcome, for since leaving Bucknall’s we had only seen the out sheep stations near the head of Middle Creek. In those days fifty, sixty, and seventy miles intervened between the outposts of civilisation - if such it could be called - where a solitary shepherd or stockman endure their periods of isolation in a round of existence that can hardly be called life.

In the approach of the rainy seasons in those parts the experiences of the traveller and residents are very unwelcome as regards flies, sandflies, and mosquitoes that the only successful remedy found being that of smoke of cowdung. The flies will eat the eyes out of a horse’s head and when a dish of mutton chops are placed on the table the chops become invisible through the swarms of flies thereon: so that the unwary bushman, who fails to protect his eyes with a veil finds himself suffering from bung blight which often times develops into sandy blight and severe ophthalmic diseases. Sand bites will run horses fifty miles off a station and scatter them all over the country.

On one night our camp was overwhelmingly beset with mosquitoes, which bit through blankets and every other coverage except our boots. The country not being stocked there was no cow dung mosquito fuel available, and the atmosphere being calm the mosquitoes were the masters of the situation. At breakfast next morning I reminded my assistants that if John Wesley were present he would suggest that before eating those who had indulged in profanity at the mosquitoes should wash their mouths, in which one of them unhesitatingly replied, “I would like to have seen John Wesley encamped here last night without cow dung.”

Settlement in the Western districts in the year I commenced my surveys being so far apart the country was very wild: immense camps of blackfellows roamed at large; they had committed and were still committing some foul murders of unprotected settlers and travellers so that as a precaution our survey party was necessarily well armed. I expended about fifteen pounds in revolvers, guns and ammunitions, which, happily we never had the occasion to use. The sight of our weapons displayed on our saddles had the deterrent effect desired. Nevertheless the blackfellows had his rights; as we had taken their country without any commensurate recompense and our lawless whites had wreaked violence and outrage upon them, in some cases with wholesale iniquity. Not infrequently, when mobs of blacks were driven in by the dry weather to fall back upon their tribal waterholes for sustenance in fishing the pastoral occupants of the country would tell the police that the blacks were assembling for violence. The native police, who delighted in taking life would disperse them with unmitigated violence.”

Near the Cabin

 

 

 

Just left of yesterday

and ‘round tomorrow’s bend,

there is a place where I can be alone –

where all the theoried strings

cross or are snarled hopelessness

such that I can be ‘all one’ again.

 

but not today …

 

I choose to never be lonely

which is something else again,

for I am of knowing rather than believing.

So you cannot go there with me

for you are already of its creation,

and I but the singer of the EverSong …

and by simple faith alone

I will be there when you find

the special wonder of just being you.

 

Trigor

Mr Bucknall’s Station

 

It is not quite Bucknall’s Station, which is no doubt long gone, but Monty and I have found a cabin on that same ridge on the Langro River. From our window we can see the old Bucknall Station through the eyes of G. C. Watson, surveyor.

 

Taking departure from Charleville in the first week of 1874 I commenced my survey by traversing the Langlo River from its junction with the Ward River, already surveyed by Mr. F.T. Gregory, who had also surveyed the Warrego River. It was accordingly, from his marked trees on the last mentioned river that I had to take my starting point to continue the surveys westward.

 

 

Upon reaching the Langro I was surprised at its apparently barren conditions, grass was so scarce that our horse could only graze around the waterholes. I nevertheless pushed on with the surveys, making progress at the rate of ten miles a day, for which I was to receive one pound per mile. All however is not gold that glitters as travelling and map drawing occupied a serious expediture of time, during which, while my men were not earning money, their wages were accumulating.

 

My survey of the Langlo proved a revelation to me. When I commenced the country was well nigh bare of grass in some places like a road. The plains whiech bordered the river were comparatively devoid of vegetation, with patches of herbage and dry grass. Water, however, was abundant, the river bein a succession of waterholes, some of them miles in length and very deep. From the main channel billabongs extended, in some places spreading out over the dead level country, which characterises the Western districts. The river ran only in times of rain, whereby the waterholes were maintained.

 

I had completed the survey of he river and reached Mr Bucknall’s station, which after a succession of ominous clouds which had threatened for a week, with the attendant scorching heat, the weather broke in a terrific thunderstorm just as we were enjoying our slumbers and the rain came down in torrents. The local rain gauges registered 14in which fell between 10 p.m and daylight on the following morning, raising a flood which spread over the plains like a sea. As an accompaniment of heavy rain the country got so soft that for some days horses could not travel. The wet weather continued for a week, culminating in successive heavy rains until the floods rose to an unprecedented height. We had reached the comfortable shelter of Mr Bucknell’s station, situated on the banks of the Langro, with a billabong in the rear. Here the waters rose so rapidly that we were compelled to make our exit and encamp on a low ridge across the billabong, whence we witnessed the homestead deluged through the rise of the river, reaching four feet above the floor.

 

Footnote:

As we returned from the survey of the Langlo, we were positively amazed at the luxuriant growth of grass during our three weeks absence. We found the plains transformed into a  verdent stretch resembling a wheat field. The country had been previously occupied and abandoned so that I only found two settlers - namely Messrs Pettiford and Bucknall.

R.M Williams Outback Stations

 

 

 

 

I am a Tentmaker

When friends come I offer them tea with mint- the traditional drink of hospitality which one of my sons runs and gets for me, I ask the visitors to sit on my bench where I sit to work and we talk, and we look at the work and maybe I sell a piece. It can take days even weeks to make one piece , each piece is cut by hand and then sewn by hand, the more intricate the design the more the sewing. See more of my work at Travels Between Caravanserai