by Janet Gover
‘Well, you’ve come to the right place. A lot of photographers go to the Diamantina Park just north of here. There are some beautiful spots there.’
Quinn imagined there were, but doubted that her idea of beautiful was quite the same as Trish’s. There were plenty of photographers around who could and did photograph the outback. They went to the national parks and the well-known beauty spots. Quinn wasn’t interested in that. Anyone could take a beautiful photo of a beautiful place. Nor was she interested in fashion photography. She’s done it for a time. She’d even done a little modelling herself. But there was no skill in making beautiful women look good. The skill lay in finding something ordinary and making it extra-ordinary. Of finding beauty in places that were plain or even ugly. That was her talent. And she made a good living at it. She wasn’t rich, but the income from the images she sold, and from her books made it possible for her to live the life she wanted, looking for the places no one else had ever photographed.
Looking for that one moment of space and light and time that spoke to her alone.
Looking for beauty where no one else could see it and preserving that beauty so it would never be lost.
Capturing a perfect moment in an imperfect world.
Making time stand still.
‘… the ruins. A lot of people say that’s an interesting place, although I’ve never been there.’
Quinn snapped her attention back to Trish, who had been chatting happily without seeming to expect an answer.
‘I like to find places that are a bit out of the way,’ she said to stem the vocal tide. ‘Places only the locals know about. Places other photographers haven’t been.’
‘Instead of the Diamantina Park, you could try Tyangi,’ offered a male voice.
A man appeared behind the bar. His hair was as grey as Trish’s, and when he stepped to her side, Quinn felt as if she was seeing two halves of a coin re-joined.
‘Hi. I’m Syd Warren.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Quinn said.
‘I heard you telling my wife you’re looking for out of the way places. You should definitely try the Tyangi Crossing National Park, north of here. It’s a lot smaller than Diamantina, and not as well-known. It doesn’t get as many visitors, but I think it’s more beautiful.’
‘Tyangi.’ The unfamiliar word immediately captured Quinn’s imagination. ‘Unusual name.’
‘It’s an aboriginal word,’ Syd said. ‘There’s a legend associated with it. If you go to the park, Dan Mitchell can tell you all about it. He’s the park ranger. He can probably also tell you where to find the brumbies, if that interests you.’
‘Brumbies …’ Quinn had never photographed wild horses before. The idea was rather appealing. She had set out on this trip with no specific purpose in mind. Just a desire to get away from civilisation for a while. She’d chosen Coorah Creek because it was almost the end of the west-bound road. Places didn’t come much more remote than this. She was keen to get back to the wild places – where she didn’t feel hemmed in and there were no people to make demands on her. Wild horses would suit her mood very well.
‘Yeah. Ask Dan about them. They’re feral, of course. Not supposed to be there. If they don’t interest you, there are some pretty amazing rock formations in the park too.’
‘Thanks for the suggestion. I might head out there tomorrow.’ Quinn drained the last of her beer.
‘Why don’t you get your bags,’ Trish said with a smile. ‘I’ll show you your room. My guess is you’ll want a shower after the long journey.’
The room was on the top floor. It was larger than Quinn had anticipated, with a door opening onto the veranda. The double bed was also large. The bathroom wasn’t, but it was clean and that was all that really mattered to Quinn. More importantly, there was a small desk and, Trish had boasted proudly that the hotel had just installed Wi-Fi. Quinn tossed the rucksack of clothing onto the bed, and plugged her laptop in to charge.
She thought about a shower. She could certainly use one. Summer was still a couple of months away, but the temperatures were already high enough to raise a sweat. She thought about checking her e-mail. Then rejected both ideas. She felt the familiar restlessness return and glanced at her watch. In mid-October the sun didn’t set until about seven o’clock. There was plenty of daylight left and sunset was always a good time for photography. She could drive to the park and check it out. She might try to find this park ranger – Dan Mitchell – and ask about brumbies.
She slipped her camera bag back over her shoulder.
Chapter Three
The park wasn’t hard to find. Following Syd’s directions, Quinn headed north from Coorah Creek. Almost an hour later, she saw the turn-off with the sign pointing to the park. That road quickly disintegrated into a gravel track. No wonder the park didn’t get many visitors. A lot of people would have been deterred by the potholes and dust. Not Quinn. Tracks like this often led to extraordinary places. Her Hummer handled the road with ease, and Quinn felt a familiar sense of excitement. This was what she loved more than anything else in the world. Finding new places. Exploring the beauty of nature. Driving her big Hummer through the wilderness, she felt alive and free. There was no one to expect anything of her. No one to be disappointed when she failed.
The further she went into the park, the more she thought the publican was right. The park was interesting. She was crossing a flat, dry plain dotted with gum trees and Melaleuca scrub. There was nothing uncommon about that. Over to her left was a single sandstone monolith, rising from the plain in a quite spectacular fashion. Like Uluru, only smaller and more angular. But something extraordinary was waiting for her just a few miles ahead. A great sandstone plateau, rising maybe three hundred meters above the surrounding plain, dominated the view through her windscreen. It wasn’t a single rock like the one that drew tourists to Alice Springs. This vast plateau would be a maze of gullies and gorges. And it stretched for kilometres. Quinn had never seen anything like it before. As the sun rose, those red cliffs would blaze with colour. As it set, the deepening shadows would create fantastic shapes where gullies split the rock. And if she was lucky enough for it to rain …
Quinn’s fingers were eager for the feel of her camera.
But that could wait. Those cliffs had been there for a millennium and they weren’t going anywhere in the next few hours. First she had to find the park ranger.
The ranger station was a small cluster of buildings surrounded by a patch of bare earth that Quinn recognised as a firebreak. Bushfires were a very real danger in arid country and the firebreak was well-tended, as were the buildings. That would be a lot of maintenance for just one man. The park ranger was obviously a hard worker.
She pulled up outside what was plainly an office. The long low wooden structure had a wide veranda along the front and big sliding glass doors. When she stepped up to the doors, Quinn wasn’t surprised to find them locked. She had already noticed that the covered carport beside the office was empty. A path led away from the office towards a small house, built of timber and raised on stumps in the traditional outback fashion. It too had a wide veranda with a wooden squatters chair and table. Quinn could imagine sitting there watching the sun rise or set and listening to the birds. It would be so very peaceful.
She turned back to the office building, and the sign fixed to the door. It listed emergency numbers to call, but noted that mobile phone coverage in the park was patchy and unreliable. On the wall, a huge noticeboard featured the regulations governing use of the park. There was a fire danger notice – set to high. And beside that a map of the park.
The park was roughly square in shape, with the huge plateau covering the northern section. The map confirmed her suspicions, showing a maze of gullies. A person could easily get lost there. A set of caves was marked – annotated with a warning that the cave system was dangerous and anyone wishing to enter must first report to the ranger. Caves sometimes offered good photo opportunities, but Quinn was really interested in the brumbies. Horses
needed water. And grazing. Quinn studied the map, looking for creeks or rivers. There weren’t many, and at this time of the year, the smaller ones would be dry.
Quinn raised a hand and placed her finger on a point west of the ranger station. The map showed a billabong at the far end of a long deep gorge. That was the most likely place for permanent water, which also made it the most likely place for the wild horses. She glanced up at the sun. There was enough daylight left. Wild animals tended to gather at waterholes at dusk and dawn. If she could get to the waterhole before the sun sank, maybe she’d see the wild horses when they came down for an evening drink. She pulled her phone from her pocket. The sign was right. There was a very faint signal and she had a feeling that once she moved away from the ranger station, even that would vanish. Despite that, the phone still had its uses. She took a photo of the map and turned back to her vehicle.
According to the map, a four-wheel-drive only track ran on the far side of a high ridge almost opposite the billabong. The Hummer would make short work of that. She found the track and a few kilometres down it, noticed a flat area scoured with tyre tracks. Guessing this must be close to the billabong, she left the car there. Settling her camera bag comfortably on her back, Quinn clipped a water bottle to her belt and set out to climb the ridge. Her heavy hiking boots made short work of the rough terrain, but it was hot, and she was sweating by the time she reached the top of the ridge. She sat on a rock and took a swig of the warm water.
The view below her was much as she had expected. Between the high red stone cliffs, the large billabong looked cool and inviting. Trees threw shade over the water, and she caught a sudden flash of brilliant colour as a kingfisher darted between the trees. She was too far away to see details, but bare patches of worn and disturbed earth at the water’s edge suggested she had found the brumbies’ watering place. If the wild horses didn’t come here to drink, some large animals certainly did. She would be interested to see them too. She found a good vantage place and ignoring the discomfort of sitting on hard rock, she opened her camera bag. Selecting an appropriate lens, she clicked it into place and did what she had done so many times before – she waited.
The air was hot and still. She could feel the sweat trickling down between her breasts. And still she waited, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
They came slowly and nervously.
A single dark shape appeared on the very edge of Quinn’s sightline. Slowly the mare moved forward, her head tossing as she scented the air. Another appeared. And then another. This one had a colt at foot, following close behind. Quinn raised her camera and zoomed in on the faces of the leading horses. With the aid of her powerful lens she could see the mares rolling their eyes, their nostrils flaring.
They were nervous. Frightened.
That didn’t seem right to Quinn. The horses were on their home territory. Wild animals were always alert for dangers, but in this place, when they came to drink, they should feel relatively safe. She had photographed enough wild animals to know that something had spooked the herd. And recently.
She lowered the camera, just as the stallion appeared. He trotted past the mares and propped to a halt, head flung high staring down the gorge at the billabong. Every sense alert, he pranced from one side of the narrow pathway to the other, searching for danger. He was obviously thirsty and keen to get at the water, but fear was holding him back. At last, finding no visible threat, he began to move forward. The rest of the herd followed, but every single animal was tense and ready to flee at the slightest sign of danger. As they approached, Quinn could hear the nervous snorts and heavy breathing. They were very scared. Only the need for water was drawing them closer.
Quinn wondered what could have spooked the horses. There wasn’t much that should frighten the wild herd in a place like this. There were no large predators to threaten them. No other large grazing herds to challenge them. The only threat they faced was from man.
Slowly Quinn turned her head to search the surrounding rocks. At first she saw nothing. Then out of the corner of her eye, she caught just a hint of movement. She lifted the camera again, twisted her powerful zoom lens and turned it towards a dark shape high in the rocks almost directly opposite her. For a few seconds she searched in vain, and then she saw him, almost hidden in a shadowy cleft in the rocks. Her fingers sought out the focus ring on her lens, turning slowly until the distant figure leaped into sharp outline.
The man was down on one knee. A broad-brimmed Akubra hat shaded his face. Even with the powerful lens, she couldn’t see his eyes or even the colour of his hair. She couldn’t guess his age, but something about the way he held himself told her he was young and fit. As she watched, he lifted something from the ground. Quinn could see all too clearly what he held in his hands. A rife. A large, powerful rifle with a hunting scope.
Quinn frowned. This was a national park. Hunting wasn’t allowed in a national park. And what would he be hunting?
Even as Quinn watched, the man put the rifle to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel. Quinn lowered her camera as the terrible truth struck home.
The brumbies! The bastard was going to shoot the wild horses.
No!
Quinn didn’t hesitate for even half a second. Taking a firm grip on her camera, she leaped to her feet.
‘Ha!’ she yelled at the top of her voice. Not at the man. At the horses. ‘Ha! Get out of here. Go!’ She darted forward down the slope slipping and sliding on the loose surface. Small pebbles and rocks clattered down the slope adding to the racket she was making. She waved her arms wildly, but there was no need. The wary horses had already seen her.
The bottom of the gorge erupted into a flurry of movement. The brumbies shied away from the noise and spun around, leaping into a wild gallop. The stallion screamed – a harsh, angry and almost human sound as he drove his herd away from the danger.
There was no need for Quinn to keep running, but she did anyway, yelling with every stride.
By the time she reached the bottom of the gorge, the horses were gone. A cloud of dust was the only evidence of their passing. The world was silent, except for the sound of Quinn gasping for breath as she stumbled to a halt. She bent forward, resting her hands on her thighs as she took a few moments to collect herself. It wasn’t so much the physical exertion that had taken her breath – as the realisation of what had almost happened.
At last, she wiped the sweat away from her face and looked up.
A man was walking quickly down the steep slope on the other side of the gorge. He moved towards her with precision and speed, as one used to rough going. Everything about the taut carriage of his body told her he was angry. Very, very angry. And that anger was no doubt directed at her. She still couldn’t see his face, only the rifle that he held in his hands.
Chapter Four
Dan was angry. His cowardice had cost him a week that he didn’t have. The shot he’d sent over the stallion’s head had spooked the horses so badly, they hadn’t returned to the billabong for two days. When thirst finally drove them back, they had come under cover of darkness. Dan didn’t have a night scope on the rifle. He wouldn’t take the shot unless he was sure he would hit his target. A clean hit. If he had to do this terrible thing, he would do it right. He would not have the animals suffer.
Today the horses had finally come back in daylight. Today he could have taken the shot. He’d had almost a minute of clear view of the stallion. He was a trained sniper. A minute was about fifty-eight seconds more than he needed.
He could have taken the shot. Should have taken it. But he hadn’t. His palms had begun to sweat, and his hands to shake. He just couldn’t do it.
Which only went to prove the sarge had been right. He was a coward.
He was ashamed of his cowardice. And he was angry with himself for not taking the shot. Once the stallion was gone, the others should be easier targets. He knew what he had to do. He just had not done it. And when the horses spooked an
d bolted, he’d felt an immediate surge of relief. They were beyond his reach for a few more days. He was spared this awful task once more. That relief had simply fuelled his anger and shame.
When he looked down into the gorge he saw a target for his anger. The person who’d caused his latest failure. Some idiot who took delight in frightening wild horses.
The idiot was waiting for him now, standing in the shade of a tree near the edge of the billabong. Dan marched steadily towards him, wondering what he was going to say. As the park ranger he was supposed to remove anyone who disturbed the animals. But by disturbing them, this idiot had actually given both the horses and Dan a reprieve. A part of him wanted to say thank you for that.
‘What the hell were you doing?’
The shouted question shocked Dan into stillness. The idiot was a woman?
‘This is a national park. You can’t shoot here. I’m going to get the ranger.’
The woman stepped forward out of the shadow into the bright glare of the sun. Dan blinked in surprise. Whatever he had expected, it was not a tall and slender blonde, with a face that was strong yet intensely feminine with arched brows and a mouth that would no doubt be sweetly curved, when not clenched in anger. A touch of sunburn highlighted the woman’s cheeks – or was the flush just another part of the fury that he saw sparking in her tawny eyes? He instantly recognised the jacket she was wearing. The press photographers embedded with his unit in Iraq had all worn the same sort of thing. He knew the many small pockets would be filled with batteries and lens covers and other paraphernalia he didn’t understand. But she would. Everything about the way she stood and glared at him said this woman knew exactly what she was about.
Except for one small thing …
He knew the exact second when she realised that he was wearing a uniform. He saw her eyes flick to the insignia on his shirt. The small embroidered possum stared right back at her.
‘You’re the park ranger?’ Her disbelief was very apparent in her voice.
