It’s the last day of February, being a leap year, summer has lasted a day longer. Today the sun is already out and it is warm. My washing is done and on the line. I needed this. Yesterday at this hour the sky was filled with resounding thunder and lightening flashed vertical in blinding stripes. The Australian summer used to be days at the beach, Sunday afternoons at the pub, watching 60 Minutes at night. But now we seem to be keeping an eye on the weather reports more often these days. The days have been wildly different and with some feeling like the wrath of winter.
February also meant I returned to work in all the regions I visit frequently. This may be my last year I travel to some sites and I feel a sense of sadness about it. But new openings are on offer, so I’m excited for 2021 and open to all that brings into my life.
Frequent travel comes at a cost, mostly relationships suffer and inevitably come to an end. It is a lingering sadness. It has been difficult for me to give up this lifestyle for anybody. I love what I do and I love doing it. I was born to do outreach work and it is a good fit for me. The joy of knowing one has made a difference is addictive and not easy to explain to others. This is my pathway in life and I embrace it, alone or perhaps one day, with someone with a similar understanding of it.
Between Williams and Narrogin, Wheatbelt region, Western Australia
I’ve been to Narrogin twice this year but bypassed my favourite reserve Foxes Lair either due to heat or high winds. With tall gum trees and one way road, I didn’t want to be trapped there, so I spent my time looking at the paddocks that will filled with sheep and wide horizons.
Geographe Bay, Busselton, Western Australia
I started my year in the South West. This is one of my favourite places for an early walk or sunset spot. I’m visiting again next month and looking forward to my time there.
River gums, Carnarvon, Western Australia
This year I discovered an enchanted forest of river gums along the Gascoyne River in Carnarvon and standing alongside it, felt like an embrace.
Gascoyne River at Rocky Pool, Western Australia
Then there was my trip to a cattle station outside Carnarvon. Such a fabulous trip on previously untravelled roads. These colours of the Midwest outback quicken my pulse. If one painted it, the art would look garish, but Nature does it so well.
Sand dunes, Pelican Point, Carnarvon, Western Australia
I always love photographing the sand dunes at Pelican Point where the wind writes lines like every author aspires to.
A wake up call! Sand dunes, Carnarvon, Western Australia
I usually stay in the car at Pelican Point. It is usually very windy and the sand is blinding. This time I walked around and thought I saw driftwood. I was wrong!
Australian avocet, Woody Lake, Esperance, Western Australia
In Esperance I saw my first Australian avocet, it was the only avocet among dozens of other birds and different species. I was fascinated by the curved, delicate beak that it swept from side to side in shallow water to feed.
The end!
My diary for March is full. No doubt, there will be a lot of opportunities for more time outdoors as well. That’s how I’ve come to accept the gruelling schedule, work equates photography. And, I’m happy with that!
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
In response to The Changing Seasons
The talk of the day among locals was how high the river had risen every time they checked their phone either in the office or cafe. A colleague suggested driving out to Nine Mile Bridge where there was a small lookout over the River, so I went with someone familiar with the area at the end of the day. Their excitement was contagious, but we looked on in awe for different reasons. 
My excitement was embedded in the fact this water was the rains that came from a cyclone further north. Muddy red, it carried the heart of the Pilbara mining region, a link that generated a visceral response. With the Gascoyne River being the longest river in Western Australia (nearly 900 kms or 500 plus miles) from Ranges to the sea, it is a spectacular sight to see in motion, the power of it made me step back and away from it.
The night before we drove out to a cattle station I could not sleep with excitement, and like an unsettled infant, woke every two hours. The instructions we were given were literally the proverbial ‘mud map’. There was no phone coverage either for the last part of our journey. My colleague brought her esky and we filled it with sandwiches, fruit and lots of water. We wore casual clothing and sturdy shoes. We grinned at the road ahead and left town early morning all set for an adventure on roads neither of us had travelled before. Just as well we took food, the station was expecting floods and everything was placed on higher ground. 
The road we turned off from the major highway was signposted. The ink ran dry from there on. We saw some petrol tins on wooden stakes, no doubt, meaningful to someone but for us it left more questions than answers. Every few kms we hoped we were on the right track, and track it was, unsealed and deeply corrugated as rain had come through the area but not yet reached Carnarvon. The last 20 kms was an especially bone-crunching drive as we bounced in the cabin, our voices becoming high pitched or subdued, every time a jolt took us by surprise. 
The family was expecting us and told us if we did not show up at the homestead within the designated time frame they would come out to look for us. I wasn’t sure if I felt reassured by this! We were, in Australian vernacular, beyond the black stump. We did see some cattle along the way. It is mustering season so we were somewhat reassured, although we could not see anyone or hear any mustering choppers, there were people around some where in this vast landscape. No landmarks to guide us but the straight track, we reasoned, it had to lead to the cattle station and it did. Eventually.
The homestead was a lovely period building, brick, fibro and tin but being a private home, I did not take photographs. The high ceilings kept the temperature cool indoors and the rooms were dark. We could not see what we were doing so we sat on the verandah under a tin roof for several hours. It was hot and beads of perspiration slid down the length of my spine. I could not help noticing there were several shovels scattered around the verandah. With no garden in sight, the owner confirmed, they were kept handy and within reach, for killing snakes! If nothing else convinced us, this did. We were in the outback.
It is difficult to put into words what the outback feels like. It is harsh and unforgiving country. Yet it is brimming with life of what one can see and it feels like one can experience the unseen. There is a spiritual ambience to it. It floats among twisted trees, swirling waters and skims sandy banks, with a softness that is tangible. This is ancient country. It envelopes one if you let it. It is not a landscape one sees. It is a landscape, a country, one experiences. It is now part of me as I am of it.
Later that evening, back in Carnarvon, we walked to the local pub so we could have a drink or two with our meal to celebrate our adventure. Sunset looked promising.
We walked back to the hotel along the Fascine after dark, where the sunset a couple of hours earlier had been beautiful. I slept fitfully from exhaustion and excitement.
Hibiscus, Carnarvon, Western Australia
Focused on the ebb and flow
A Shared Space 
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