Sunday, March 31, 2019

My Aussie Trip of...


Meh. This Down Under journey was one for the books. Although it wouldn’t be a best seller.

My time here plodded along in a sameness of coffee, veggie omelettes, PB&J sandwiches, hikes when I could find them and get there and fish and chips pub meals. Eventually, all this was washed down with a solo Happy Hour. The trip felt forced. There was little natural flow. I was traveling by habit. I felt isolated and alone.




So I asked myself, “Self! Why did this happen?” 

Here’s the best answer I can come up with. Somehow since my last trip here I changed from being a free spirit on a push-bike to an invisible Grey Nomad driving the World’s smallest rental car. Socially it was a let-me-down visit. I reconnected with less than a hand-full of old acquaintances and made nil new ones. A first for me. I’m not proud of this.

Since the hikes were mostly short, my days were long. I’m a terrible tourist. I can’t make a day of walking around a town window shopping or sitting in a groovy cafe drinking cappuccinos and eating delicate sandwiches. I’m good for about an hour of this.  




On a positive note, with all this Down Under Down Time I consumed fourteen US/World history books since I arrived. Ask me and I’ll recommend a few.

My trip here has reconfirmed what I already knew. I’ve hit the wall on solo traveling. I’m tired of my own company. For a majority of my life constant motion was my prescription to ward off the feeling of loneliness. That pill isn’t affective anymore. I need a new prescription. 





With all this being said, you’d think I would be looking forward to returning to the United States of the New Dark Ages.

 I’m not. 




America isn’t the joy-joy happy place it once was for me. We’ve become a Nation where civility has been replaced by rounds of fist pumping and posturing. I see evil on the horizon. I’m scared of what we are becoming and where we are going. I wish this wasn’t so. I hate feeling like a stranger in a strange land. 

I’ll now unveil my game plan to get me through to November 3, 2020. Here’s my next read.




If that doesn’t work I’ll switch to Double IPAs. If that doesn’t work I’ll move to Nimbin, NSW. (The Stoner Capital of Australia.) How do you think I’d look in dreadlocks? 





BTW. Today (in Australia) will be the start of my seventh year anniversary of being Homeless by Choice. This will be the year USS Wandering Wondering Jew will furl the sails and cut the engines. 2019 will be the year I find a base camp. 


Be well,
Cheers
Jeff

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

“You’re not from around here..


are you?” 

was the innocent question the tall, young Aussie asked me in a crowded Cann River, Victoria pub in 1994. Warwick was on a solo motorcycle tour. I was doing the same on a push bike. At the time, Warwick’s future was to stand up in a church and stammer, “I do!”

This wasn’t the same as my future.

We made beer/small talk about destinations and life in general. Warwick figured out my route would take me close to his “Redbank” family farm in Greenethorpe, NSW.

“Would you care to drop by and meet the family and Kristie my fiancĂ©? I’ll show you around the farm too.”

When I realized Warwick was being sincere, (he always is) I answered, “Sure! I’ve never been on a Australian working farm before.” 

A few weeks later, I had the pleasure of meeting his sweetheart Kristie, Warwick’s parents and the original Red Dog. I received a tour of the 3,000 acre dry land Redbank farm too. (Dry land farming means no irrigation.) 



Since then, I’ve visited their spread four other times. Redbank seems timeless. Outbuildings and farm implements lay scattered about since the days of Warwick’s grandfather. In the front yard of their home, an out of place palm tree ekes out a living. Warwick’s father planted it in 1940. Warwick himself has discovered ancient aboriginal stone tools in paddocks. There’s heaps of history here.




What isn’t timeless are the human inhabitants. I’ve seen Warwick and Kristie’s three children grow from being polite, healthy and smart tykes to polite, healthy and smart young adults. The kids have now flown the coop to university,. Their career paths will more than likely steer them away from Redbank. 



In place of human children,  there’s now six dogs, four peacocks, a gaggle of geese, two horses, one donkey, two alpacas, two nocturnal cats and numerous hens and cock-a-doodle-doo roosters. Warwick also feeds possums while he feeds himself dinner. All in all, their real children were better behaved.



There’s been other changes as well. 

When I first started showing up, Warwick was growing vegetable matter. Namely wheat and canola. Now he’s growing animal matter, sheep and cattle. On my last visit in 2014, Warwick ran about 750 sheep. Five years later, he’s managing over 2,500 four-legged vegetarians. His only helpers are the six dogs in various stages of training. It’s body aching work. (Warwick required a back surgery years ago.) In Aussie lingo, “It’s hard yakka.” 



It’s an Olympic endurance event without a finish line. There’s no time clock to punch or days off. One chore seems to begat two-three others. It’s a long day spent opening and closing gates, moving mobs of sheep from one paddock to another, feeding them grain when necessary, fixing fences, spraying invasive weeds, repairing water lines, being a Veterinarian to injured or sick livestock, shearing the wool and countless other tasks.  

Yet, through it all Warwick and Kristie maintain a stoic Zen-like attitude.

The village of Greenethorpe has undergone changes as well. When Warwick was attending school, he had 49 classmates. Now there are 15 students total. Fellow farmers are cashing in their properties and moving to greener pastures. They are selling out to corporations who are driving up the price of a hectare. The real coup de gras has been the shuttering of Greenethorpe‘s one and only pub. 

Even an Ex- city bred New Yorker noticed the difference. So I asked, “What happened?” 

“Jeff, our summers have gotten hotter and drier. This year we already had over 30 days of above 40 degree Celsius (104 F) temperatures. Our last measurable rain was in the second week of January. It’s been going on like this since before you were here last. Our harvests were becoming too unreliable. We adapted to sheep because they handle the extremes better than the grains. Unfortunately, tending sheep is a lot more labor intensive than sowing, weeding, fertilizing and harvesting grains. Somehow we’ll manage.”




See? Zen-like. 

Then I broached the 800 kilogram kangaroo in the corner. “Warwick? Do you think climate change is happening?”

Warwick rationalized it this way, “Yes! All that carbon that was locked up in ancient dinosaurs and vegetation is now being burned. It has to have an affect on the planet. I’m seeing it at ground level.” 

Side note: Warwick is probably one of the wisest human beings I’ve ever had the pleasure to have met.

After a few days, I grew restless. (Story of my life.) it was time to say “until we meet again” to Redbank’s inspirational couple. 

From the brackish river town of Moruya, I noticed a large low pressure system descending upon the region. There was a high probability of rain associated with it. That wet stuff was supposed to even hit Greenethorpe.

I emailed Kristie in the morning and told them I was doing a rain dance for them. When showers began in Moruya, I emailed again and asked, “did the you get rainstorms?”

Kristie replied back later, “No. Dust storms.”

“Damn!” Was all I could think.

Last photo to all my faithful readers including those wannabe hackers from Russia, Ukraine and the Unknown Region, there will never be another like ewes.












Wednesday, February 27, 2019

It’s all about the...

BIGLY views.

It always has been with me. That is why I dawdled a bit more in the Australian Alps. There, I made it a point to hike to the tall stuff. 

I didn’t need much of an excuse to hang there. I never tire of seeing areas Zip Codes away. I like breathing thinner air. I smile more at altitude. Mountains are my Happy Places. 

Mount Kosciuszko was calling my name. “Jeffy! Get your kosher butt up here. I don’t care if you have a dodgy knee. It’s going to be a beautiful day.” 



When the highest point in Australia gives a “shout out”, you listen. But Jeffy! Why does this 7,310’ Australian prominence have a Non-Anglo name? 

Because Polish explorer Pawel Strezelecki scored naming rights by being the first recorded White dude up it in 1840. That’s why.

It’s cool. Mr Kosciuszko was a Polish-Lithuanian freedom fighter. He fought the good fight under many flags including the wannabe United States. Yes, he and George Washington probably exchanged High Fives.




Back to current events: With an assist from the World’s smallest rental car, I arrived at Charlotte Pass. A nice National Park employee had told me about the Main Range trail. She said, “You’ll be above tree line the whole way. From there it’s a short detour to Kosciusko.” She was right. 



So what if the hike was about fifteen miles long and the no-ozone  layer Aussie sun burnt my flesh to the color of beet root. Look at these photos!

I know a few of you might be snickering at the idea of a 7,310’ peak being the tallest point on a continent. (Why Colorado’s foothills are taller than Kosciusko!). Remember Australia is the oldest, flattest and driest continent on Mother Earth. 



All mountains deserve respect.

To prove my point the following photos display a morbid sight. Here’s a National Park Service crew removing the bodies of a mob of selfie stick wielding hikers who were caught unprepared in a sudden summer white out.





OK OK. That’s Fake News. Although people have died on these mountains. Mostly in the season of White Death. I implore hiking neophytes to refrain from saying, “I conquered the mountain.” I prefer to look at it as the mountain granted the hiker safe passage.

Last photo: This will be the site of my final resting place. I’ll get to look at the above tree-line views from Colorado’s Handies Peak for eternity. It might be cold and lonely in the winter though. 

Cheers! From Tumut, NSW
Jeff