THE GOLD OF THE TANAMI - Rings of Gold
Posted: Thu May 05, 2011 7:41 pm
Here we go again – another night time flight.
Seven days on and five days off. Catch up time with family and friends on the coast. Leaving the Granites and the red Tanami desert sands, burning heat and min min lights in exchange for the silver sands, stifling humidity and bright lights. Civilization as we know it - wears a bit thin though after a few days - start to miss this place, the openness, the far horizons.
Our airport here once had open access. No baggage checks, no gateway metal detectors, no sniffer dogs – just a tin shed, a wind sock and a red dirt strip – and roos. Lots of roos, and old Bandit – the airstrips resident four legged blue roo shooer. Bit different at the other end, people everywhere, all rushing about like swarming ants, like there is no tomorrow. Made the bull ants here look positively lazy they did.
But these days the old Cessna has been replaced with Metro Liners – turbo prop jobbies that carry up to twenty people at a time. The airport is a bit more upmarket as well – Pearl Aviation logos everywhere you turn these days. Paspalley Pearls are running the show now. Smart staff in uniforms, check in procedures and vending machines. Coffee is not too shabby either. Even has air-conditioning - how good is that?
But look up. Isn’t that heavenly? Eyes in the cities never see this. The Southern Cross in all her glory against a midnight sky. A thin sliver of moon – delicate as a baby’s fingernail. Tiny pin prick of light - a satellite, traversing the sky, moving slowly east to west, and shooting stars – hold your gaze you will spot them. See, told you – never see that in the cities do you? To many bright lights there - and you know city folks never seem to look at the night skies - to busy watching TV or using the Internet. Stars mean nothing to them. The only stars city kids know are the ones on the screens in front of them - but not the Aboriginal kids, they know the stars, the spirits of their ancestors, and the legends of their Dreamtime. Who is the richer person - eh? Bloody good hunters our Aboriginal brothers even in darkness, the only things our kids can hunt are McDonalds - they'd starve to death out here with food all around them.
Oh well time to go – the planes here. Just another day in the fly in fly out lifestyle. ‘ G'day Fred - good trip? Yeah Mate heading home to my other life. Bright lights and the city. You know how it goes – Mine the gold, earn the gold, spend the gold, then do it all again. A mans gotta be mad Mate. One day I'll give it away - gotta make a quid while the going is good though - plan for the retirement - not getting any younger are we?’
All my life’s a circle – the years keep rolling by.
Maureen Clifford © 02/11
Seven days on and five days off. Catch up time with family and friends on the coast. Leaving the Granites and the red Tanami desert sands, burning heat and min min lights in exchange for the silver sands, stifling humidity and bright lights. Civilization as we know it - wears a bit thin though after a few days - start to miss this place, the openness, the far horizons.
Our airport here once had open access. No baggage checks, no gateway metal detectors, no sniffer dogs – just a tin shed, a wind sock and a red dirt strip – and roos. Lots of roos, and old Bandit – the airstrips resident four legged blue roo shooer. Bit different at the other end, people everywhere, all rushing about like swarming ants, like there is no tomorrow. Made the bull ants here look positively lazy they did.
But these days the old Cessna has been replaced with Metro Liners – turbo prop jobbies that carry up to twenty people at a time. The airport is a bit more upmarket as well – Pearl Aviation logos everywhere you turn these days. Paspalley Pearls are running the show now. Smart staff in uniforms, check in procedures and vending machines. Coffee is not too shabby either. Even has air-conditioning - how good is that?
But look up. Isn’t that heavenly? Eyes in the cities never see this. The Southern Cross in all her glory against a midnight sky. A thin sliver of moon – delicate as a baby’s fingernail. Tiny pin prick of light - a satellite, traversing the sky, moving slowly east to west, and shooting stars – hold your gaze you will spot them. See, told you – never see that in the cities do you? To many bright lights there - and you know city folks never seem to look at the night skies - to busy watching TV or using the Internet. Stars mean nothing to them. The only stars city kids know are the ones on the screens in front of them - but not the Aboriginal kids, they know the stars, the spirits of their ancestors, and the legends of their Dreamtime. Who is the richer person - eh? Bloody good hunters our Aboriginal brothers even in darkness, the only things our kids can hunt are McDonalds - they'd starve to death out here with food all around them.
Oh well time to go – the planes here. Just another day in the fly in fly out lifestyle. ‘ G'day Fred - good trip? Yeah Mate heading home to my other life. Bright lights and the city. You know how it goes – Mine the gold, earn the gold, spend the gold, then do it all again. A mans gotta be mad Mate. One day I'll give it away - gotta make a quid while the going is good though - plan for the retirement - not getting any younger are we?’
All my life’s a circle – the years keep rolling by.
Maureen Clifford © 02/11