Sepia Me' - Memoir of a Trip Through the Desert - Entry no# 5

It’s true what they say, ‘you can smell the storm coming’. An unmistakable semblance - the ambrosial perfume of cloud water, the emulsified balm of sweet air; even such a light breeze should tell you - the heavens rile, a storm approaches. Although mystical, nature itself is unerring, methodical and almost calculating - more accurately, everything simply falls in to place.

Some distance from the beginnings of the Tanami desert I could see the wet season approaching. Dark and foreboding storm clouds block out the sun completely, like entering a deep ocean trench, silent and serene; the only place in the world where the ground lies beneath and the ocean sits warningly in the sky, all hell is going to come pouring down. Millions of years ago this land was home to sea creatures, basin of the South Seas; once a year the ocean returns to remind us –one day it will claim this basin back. During this time the Tanami track is impassable, teeming floods present an awesome danger which demands respect. Cumulonimbus - the storm cloud, the butcher; carries all the power of a god insane.

My traveller friend has woken. For the moments leading up to the storm there’s a bitter silence between us, as the ocean in the sky begins to thunder. I can feel it in my body and it’s terrifying. Last sun light is finally engulfed by the great monstrosity flourishing through the heavens above us, it has only just begun. Not driving on for much longer I divert off track and set the car on an area of tough grass. The ground should be solid here, roots keep it in tact. I set the ropes up, hammering in the spikes, tying down the car as best I can. Around me are the termite mounds, they go on for as far as I can see….’poor buggers’. Water has right of way.

In the evening, the scene is that of utter decimation, a cataclysm of epic proportions.  The mirror image of a clear sky presents across the endless flood plains, the ocean has reclaimed the land. Water has almost engulfed the tires on my car and so I wade out into the cool water, almost waste deep, looking for the ends of the rope.  What a sight…the big termite mounds are left, their tops standing out over the still glaze and shadow like a sundial. The orange sun and sky reflects the coming twilight cross the water, as if it were fire. Few trees float by.

 Looking at the sundial shadows of the termite mounds, it’s five o’clock. 


David G. P. Martin - Aus, Jan 21 20010

Sepia Me' - Memoir of a Trip Through the Desert - Entry no# 4

After last night’s storm the car's become bogged in the sand. I’d left one window open again and half expected the car to look like the inside of a washing machine, but the eternal desert sun has done its job and dried up everything, even the giant rock, Uluru. The inexorable truth of the matter is change. Great clouds are moving off the coast and into the middle of the desert. Summers are hotter, winters are colder and the animals are not sleeping when they should. One day, the unwritten bond between our animals and the Australian people will snap, Dingo’s will move from the desert and wage war on small towns, crocodiles will swim up river and walk over the land where humans sit and crows will be here to pick up our remains. Nature’s way of eliminating the threat, ‘we are’ the threat.  The term ‘nature’ implies a state of relative equilibrium between the elements, one extreme begins another and this will be felt in time. As I’m digging in the sand around my tires, the far off cries of the Dingo can be heard. Looking out in the distance, before the blur of the horizon, I can see him standing, the Dingo, watching my every move. I stop what I’m doing; I know he’s looking at me. He’s thinking about it already…

The Tanami Desert has wetlands, that’s where I’m headed now, North West along the Tanami Track, one thousand kilometres from Alice Springs and I should come to Halls Creek. About an hour coming out from Uluru I drove by a man walking along the side of the road, carrying this enormous load of baggage – like those foreign backpackers you see walking out the front doors of an airport, with enough gadgets to build a satellite and more disposable cameras than we sell in most stores. In the desert, the less you have the better. It’s no use bringing twelve litres of water if you’re going to carry it you’re self. I stop by the side of the road and wave my hand.

“Are you lost”? The question just came out; it didn’t make any sense – there are no other roads to be lost on for at least another  day.

'Jump in'. 

There’s only one way through here and this is it. Ether you’re lost because you don’t know whether to leave for the coast or stay here in the desert. Back and forwards, I’ve been doing this for eight months.

I’m talking with this man for the next thirteen hours or so, he says he’s here from Switzerland, studying Geology, the formation of rocks and layers, but right now not heading anywhere in particular. So, we’ve set up camp for the night, off road about a kilometre. I’ve said I’ll take him where he needs to go, but he’s not sure yet. Neither of us are sure. Two wandering travellers, drifting through the days and months with no point in particular but to be void of obligation…what are the odds we should meet. We may spend our entire life’s waiting to be void of all accountability, some of us are too afraid and then we end up here. It never takes long for people to realize; that out here you’ve ultimately gained more responsibility than you could’ve ever imagined.

The sun goes down, the stars come out… in the distance the Dingo heralds another sleepless night. 


David G. P. Martin - Aus, Jan 21 20010

'Sepia Me' - Memoir of a Trip Through the Desert - Entry no# 3

While I look back for a moment, my eyes adjusting to the blur of a red sun set, the pain is too much and I must go on. This fanatical heat radiates from the desert sand and distorts the horizon, I can no longer see the end of this solitary abyss, the mountains have faded in the distance and my memories of the life I had are fading with it.  I'm climbing up the side of this great rock which sits in the center of the Australian desert, Uluru as its known by the natives, or 'Ayers Rock'. By some epic miracle it's started raining, in the desert, when it rains it rains an ocean like nothing you've ever seen before. The luminescent colors of the sun set, red, orange, purple, pink, refracting through the heavy rain and clouds, create  a bizarre and fantastical air of nature and the desert becomes an inhuman realm. Still, I cannot look behind me, should I be overwhelmed by my own deep sorrow at the sight of this romantic event and be tempted to let go of these rocks. A romantic death.


The rain is doing what it does, pouring in a thunderous rage, the water flooding down the side of Uluru becomes stained with the redness of the Earth. Thunder echoes through the sky and I can feel it in my heart. The read water flows heavily over my face and body, as if I were covered in blood, I am struggling to hold on to the rocks. Breath...breath when the water finds a path to go around, but it does not. Minutes later as I find a place to sit, my legs dangling off the side of Uluru, I finally take a moment to see the sun. Because of the location of Australia and its oblique angle to the sun, our sun sets last a long time and twilight seems forever. Twice a day, in the morning and afternoon twilights we can see the light of the sun and stars sit together, but not tonight. Tonight belongs to thunder. Terrifying and great, this is life....climbing up the side of your mountain, or giant rock.


Rain washes away all tears, one tear amongst all this, an insignificant speckle of dust amongst an ocean of sand. I feel better now. Hours later after the thunder and rain has moved on, I finish my climb to the top. This is really just a large rock in the middle of an even larger desert, who puts this here I wonder? Was it a design flaw or just a grace note, either way, there doesn't have to be an answer, for something built by Earth so long ago and there probably isn't. One day when the ocean rises and floods the cities of man, I will stand here on this rock and be the last. I'll play my Didgeridoo for you and sound the bell, one day, we will share the same sad song. With every romantic ending must come another romantic beginning. Death is romantic, change is romantic, the most romantic adventure of man.


Here come the tourists, their guide is an old Aboriginal man who turns to me and laughs. I am covered in red.


David G. P. Martin - Aus, Jan 19 20010

'Sepia Me' - Memoir of a Trip Through the Desert - Entry no# 2

Breathing in the bland desert air, hot, dry, tasteless...like bad Irish coffee. The perpetual stinging of unholy temperatures, both boiling under the southern blaze followed by the eerie cold at night; numb your senses in to a dull sense of self awareness. Soon you'll find yourself a drifter, a ghostly mirage upon this terrene Elysium. I am not my body anymore.

I forget where I came form, why I came here. In this hypnotic state I'm on a different time scale. The sun never seems to set, the night never ends and the howling of the age old wind tunnels in red stone caves, play symphonies of time gone by. I'm taking shelter in the caves now, theres a frightened Perentie in my car, a two meter long monitor lizard, the fourth largest lizard on Earth, has crawled in through my window during the night. I was startled to wake up to the sound of breathing, I startled him and ran out naked on to the sand. I look in to his eyes...hes come back from his great journey...its his car now. Who am I to say he cannot rest, this great traveler of the sand, be rested. I am meek and humble.

I cant sleep tonight...even though, its not very cold and the ground is soft with tough grass and red clay. It's this place, the walls of this cave which are patterned with thousand year old hand paintings. So, I sit there all night by the light of a clear moon, wandering my eyes across these naive figures of life and the old ones. I wonder who sat here, thousands of years ago before me and painted these pictures. Perhaps, a traveler like me? Where was he going, where was there to go a thousand years ago, when there were no roads? Theres a white hand print next to a drawing of a lizard, maybe the same one in my car. I place my hand over this print, he's smaller than me. I am his son.

In the morning I see no trace of my friend the lizard, I call him 'Burnu', an Aboriginal word, means warrior. Good by Burnu, maybe I'll see you next time.

- David G. P. Martin, Australia Jan.012

'Sepia Me' - Memoir of a Trip Through the Desert - Entry no# 1

Days in this hot country out on the long road make it hard to think and drive. The endless passing desert becomes a uniformly abstract shade of sepia and blur. At some point, looking off into the distance, the blazing horizon becomes an oil painting, distorting the light...I am my own Photoshop.

It seems I've been passing that same mountain for the last hour, where else in the world will you find mountains without shade? The minerals in that mountain are making my compass dance, explorers call it the 'Dance of Death'. Death has been stalking me for the last hour... I am my own mortality.

I pass an old wooden shack standing lonely on the side of a hill, an old time log cabin, remnant of the first settlers. The wood has been scorched and the tin roof, rusted through. 'Who lived there', I wonder. Was he old and frail when he died? Do his bones lie under the sand..or did he simply move to a better shade... Either way, the desert claims it, scorching everything it touches into a sepia colored sand, bleaching bone. I am my own designer.

Coming to the last stretch, the sun sets on days of travel and the oil painting fades. Night time in the desert is the most humbling experience, if I listen hard enough I can hear, I am not alone. Looking up at the southern constellations I can see the way home and how far I've come. The mountains still cast no shadows and death has moved on.. I better rug up now, night time becomes colder than ice...I am my own adventure.

- David G. P. Martin, Australia Jan.010