4000km
of Bugger All — 32 Seconds of Glory
Introduction
I had hoped after my trip to Greenough for the annular
eclipse back in '99 that my first total eclipse
would be Africa in 2001. I knew that the European
eclipse in August of '99 was out of the question
due to fiscal reasons, but I had real hopes a
winter solstice eclipse safari would be a viable
proposition. Alas, it was not to be — damned
fiscal issues again! The sunny side of these
woes was that my first total solar eclipse was
to be in my home country — somewhat more
poignant and an eminently more achievable objective.
 Once
again my adventure was to be hosted by Perth
Observatory, but this time it was a gruelling
2000km coach trip across Australia's inhospitable
southern coastline to reach the path of totality.
The plan was simple — dash across the country
to arrive a few hours in advance of the eclipse,
set up and watch the action, then depart almost
immediately on the return trip.
Workmates and friends thought I was nuts (to which
I must concede there is a certain element of truth),
but my resolve was simple — if there was
an eclipse in my country, I was behove to attend.
It would be bad luck if I missed the eclipse because
of clouds, but I couldn't complain if I missed
the eclipse through not being there!
Prior to departure, early weather reports were
forecasting scattered cloud along the entire Bight
on the day — a nuisance, but apparently typical
for the time of year. Still, scattered cloud is
better than broken or overcast, so I felt positive
about the prospects.
Tuesday Dec 3 - 0200UT
Having packed my kit, I left home for the 27km
drive to Perth Observatory, where I joined the
coach prior to its official departure from the
city. About 10 staff and volunteers were boarding
at the Observatory, ensuring that all the equipment
we needed was packed prior to taking on our passengers.
The coach arrived a little late, so we hastily
stowed all the gear and departed down the hill
for the main rail terminal in East Perth where
we were to meet a second coach and another 36 eclipse
chasers.
Tuesday Dec 3 - 0500UT
We were finally on our way! Departure had been
scheduled for local noon (0400UT), so we were already
down by an hour in a timetable that left little
room for error. Although our party numbered only
46 in total, we were using two coaches so that
each person had two seats to themselves (or nearly
so) to enable them to stretch out a little on the
arduous journey ahead.
We climbed up the Darling Scarp as we headed eastward
along the Great Eastern Highway towards our goal.
Along the way we passed through the small hamlet
of Bakers Hill (75km from Perth), home of the famous
Bakers Hill Pie Shop and location of the inaugural Swan
Star Party that is to be held next May.
Tuesday Dec 3 - 0700UT
 Our
first "comfort stop" was the small wheatbelt
town of Meckering, made famous in WA when it put
us on the earthquake map back in October '68. Meckering
was mostly destroyed from the 6.9 magnitude quake,
but fortunately there were no injuries or loss
of life. The remains of the fault line that cut
both the main rail line and the highway heading
east are still visible on the approach to the town.
We continued along the Great Eastern Highway through
wheatbelt country familiar to me from numerous
commutes to and from the gold region of Kalgoorlie-Boulder
(where I resided for a period of several years
in the late '80s). The parched landscape bore the
scars from the severe drought and encroaching salt
that are currently plaguing many farmers. Even
the indigenous trees and vegetation were showing
the stress from lack of rain and grazing sheep
raised plumes of dust as they trailed across the
dry paddocks.
Tuesday Dec 3 - 1000UT
We passed through the town of Southern Cross,
which marks the eastern limit of the agricultural
area, shortly before a brief stop at Yellowdine
to enable the lead coach to refuel. Yellowdine
consists merely of a small truck stop and a couple
of ruins. From there on we were to travel through
the arid semi-desert of the Goldfields.
It was from Southern Cross that prospectors headed
further east in the 1890s to discover the rich
goldfields at Coolgardie and Kalgoorlie. On an
astronomical note, the town of Southern Cross was
named after the constellation that guided prospectors
who first found gold in the region. The town's
streets are named after stars and constellations
such as Antares Street, Polaris Street, Altair
Street and Orion Street to name but a few.
Shortly after leaving Yellowdine we passed through
the "rabbit-proof" fence, the world's
longest fence, and continued eastwards towards
the Eastern Goldfields town of Coolgardie some
150km distant. With the gathering dusk now hiding
the mostly featureless, semi-arid landscape that
stretches through much of the Goldfields region
from view, a video (The HitchHikers Guide to the
Galaxy Vol I) was shown to while away the time.
The rabbit-proof fence stretches for 2400 kilometres
along the eastern boundary of WA's agricultural
area and is also the title of a recent
movie (based on a true story) about the injustices
faced by three young Aboriginal girls taken from
their families in the early '30s.
There were no towns to pass through save Bullabulling,
which consists of a single tavern, and we rolled
through Coolgardie without stopping, turning south
instead of continuing on to the rich goldmining
centre of Kalgoorlie-Boulder lying just over the
horizon to the north-east. We passed the quaintly
named Widgiemooltha in the dark almost an hour
after leaving the main highway. At last count I
think "Widgie" comprised of a tavern
and three houses.
A feature of Coolgardie's main streets (as with
those of many other Goldfields towns, including
Kalgoorlie and Boulder) is that they are very
broad - the reason for this is that an early
form of transport during the Goldrush days was
bullock trains, which needed the immensely wide
streets so they could turn around. Kalgoorlie
is home to the world's richest square mile of
dirt - the aptly named "Golden Mile" -
which has now become what is arguably the world's
largest open-cut goldmine, a yawning chasm probably
5km long, 1.5km wide and 1000 feet deep.
Tuesday Dec 3 - 1345UT
We arrived in Norseman, the western end of the
Eyre Highway, for a decent meal stop and to refuel
the coaches. I also used the opportunity to call
my wife to say "Goodnight". Ahead of
us lay the arid underbelly of Australia, the Nullarbor
Plain, which for me was uncharted territory.
Norseman was named after a prospector's horse,
which turned up a gold nugget while pawing the
ground. Not surprisingly, a statue of the horse
pawing furiously at the ground is in the main street.
We left Norseman probably a little more than two
hours behind our original schedule and amid concern
that we were running short on time to reach Ceduna
before the eclipse. Consequently a planned one-hour
stop by the side of the highway to view the stars
was cancelled, though we did pause for five minutes
to drink the spectacularly vaulted, inky-black
desert skies studded furiously with glowing stars.
Tuesday Dec 3 1845UT
 The
journey proceeded under the stunning canopy above,
but coach was darkened and most of my travelling
companions were at least attempting to sleep. I'm
a poor sleeper while travelling, so I spent most
of my time gazing at the landscape slipping past
like a spectre in the dark. I could also see ominous
dark patches obscuring the sky to the south. Clouds!
Dirty, filthy, coast hugging clouds! I tensed up
a little, but it was still many hours and more
than a thousand kilometres before Ceduna.
It was also a tense time for the drivers as they
needed to be constantly on the lookout for the
kangaroos that live in plague proportions along
the plain. They swerved or slowed for numerous
and through their skill managed to hit only two.
At some time, when peering down the aisle and
through the windscreen, I saw the sign "Ninety
Mile Straight - Australia's Longest Section of
Straight Road" — and so began an hour
and a half of dead straight driving. I was glad
it was them.
Eventually I could see a bend in the glow from
the headlamps, but we slowed down and turned off — it
was Caiguna. We roused from our seats and stumbled
into the roadhouse while the coaches drank their
fill. In the east we could see Venus climbing high
in the sky, indicating that the Sun was not far
off, almost an hour earlier than it would rise
in Perth.
Tuesday Dec 3 2245UT
 Eucla
loomed on the horizon. Since just after leaving
Caiguna we could see the southeast horizon gradually
lightening and revealing a bleak landscape around
us. There was momentary surprise when we crested
Madura Pass and were greeted with a panoramic view
over the escarpment onto the coastal plain.
We descended onto the plain and had on our left
side the ancient sea cliffs of the escarpment.
Mile after mile (kilometre after kilometre) rolled
by until eventually the engine note changed and
we climbed back over the scarp at Eucla Pass and
into the small township of Eucla.
With an entire third of the continent behind us
we had finally reached Western Australia's gateway
on the Nullarbor — and breakfast. Just twelve
kilometres further on, at 129 degrees East Longitude,
was the WA/SA border.
Shortly after we arrived at Eucla, I spied a white
4WD in the car park. I was attracted by the colourful
signage on the side "Astro
Tours of the Kimberley" — it was
Greg Quicke from Broome. I had not met him before,
but I was well aware of his astronomical tourism
business operating in WA's far north and he is
well known to Perth Observatory staff. He must
have already travelled 4000km since leaving home
on his little road trip! Sheeeshhh!
In its heyday Eucla was a crucial link in the
Overland Telegraph Line — the information
superhighway of a century ago. Now the abandoned
station is almost swallowed in the rolling
coastal dunes. The town is home to fifty humans
and forty-three
dogs.
Wednesday Dec 4 0200UT
We rolled the twelve remaining kilometres to the
state border and into South Australia. Just 500km
to go!! The clocks were wound forward 2 1/2 hours
to South Australian Pretend Time, more commonly
referred to as Australian Central Daylight Time.
WA has consistently refused to adopt the practice
of so-called daylight saving or summer time (a
decision I applaud), while the southern states
of New South Wales, Victoria, South Australia and
Tasmania have observed the practice for many years.
Due to its more southerly location, Tasmania actually
begins summer time earlier and ends it later than
its mainland neighbours.
Little realized however, is the fact that areas
along the Eyre Highway neighbouring the state border
of WA and SA observe their own personal time zone
(Border Bizarre Time or something) that simply
splits the difference between the two official
time zones. Hence there is a part of Western Australia
that does observe the ritual of summer time, but
only half an hour. This local observance is therefore
UT + 9 1/4 during the warmer months and UT + 8
3/4 for the remainder of the year.
 Shortly
after crossing the border, we turned from the highway
onto an off road parking area to stand bravely
on the doorstep of Australia, the precipitous cliffs
that line much of the Great Australian Bight. During
the months of May through October, these cliffs
(and others along the coast) offer the perfect
vantage point to observe the breeding rituals of
the Southern Right Whale in the crystal clear waters
below.
We soon resumed our journey along the Eyre Highway
towards the eastern end of the Nullarbor Plain,
eventually stopping at the tiny settlement of Nullarbor.
Here the roadhouse proprietor keeps a light aircraft
parked in the forecourt so that passers-by might
be able to have an aerial view of the stunning
coastline and frolicking whales (in season).
Wednesday Dec 4 0430UT
The bleak inhospitality of the passing landscape
became even more sapping as we rolled on for kilometre
after kilometre. In stark contrast, however, to
the modern, sealed highway that enables air-conditioned,
cushion-sprung coaches to cruise non-stop for hundreds
of kilometres, the original unsealed track that
crossed the continent paralleled our path as we
fled eastwards. Occasionally the rusted wreck of
a vehicle could be seen in its final resting place,
casualties
of the hostile conditions that the unwary traveller
faced in those days.
The Eyre Highway as we know it today was only
sealed in its entirety in 1970. Prior to this travellers
had to endure a dusty gravelled road that required
constant grading to keep it in passable condition
for all vehicles. For those who were sufficiently
foolhardy or adventurous in spirit to tackle a
cross-country journey, it
was customary to stock the family vehicle with
beer to pay as a "toll" to the grader
crews whose job it was to work the road. Valuable
information about road conditions could be gained
by stopping to yarn with the grader drivers over
a "cold one" and bring cheer to an otherwise
lonesome, uncomfortable and thankless task.
Gradually the scenery changed, giving way to scattered
trees, then a gentle, undulating landscape filled
with dry woodland. We passed Yalata at the head
of the Bight and eventually began to see the first
of the outflung farms as we approached South Australia's
arable regions.
 Nundroo
slipped past our windows and eventually we pulled
into Penong for a late lunch. We were just 75km
short of our target. One of Australia's best quality
surfing beaches, Cactus Beach, is on the coast
just to the south of Penong.
Wednesday Dec 4 0630UT
Finally we approached Ceduna. The clouds that
we had been monitoring all day were thickening
in the sky and with it our spirits sank. Reports
obtained earlier indicated that the sky had been
cloudy in Ceduna all day, but that the persistent
wind was expected to disperse them by days' end — this
seemed no longer to be the case. Perhaps a little
despondently, we turned off the highway and navigated
to the small settlement of Denial Bay, located
across the water from the Ceduna townsite.
Denial Bay — even the name seemed appropriate
somehow. We continued onto our prearranged destination
at an oyster farm near Matt's Landing and disembarked
from our coaches. A radio bulletin informed us
that many people in Ceduna were packing their kit
and frantically heading north in a bid to outrun
the cloud.
Wednesday Dec 4 0700UT
Our gear was half unpacked when a decision was
made that we should move our operation a little
further across the headland towards Rocky Point
as it was felt that an intervening low hillock
would interfere with any potential view of the
eclipse. The coaches were repacked and we headed
gingerly along a track and up the side of a freshly
harvested barley field. The first, slightly smaller
coach was able to safely negotiate the treacherous
ground, but ours became stuck fast halfway up the
slope. Exasperated, we dragged our kit from the
coach and were preparing to set up where we were,
but were persuaded to schlep that gear the last
few hundred metres to the crest where the rest
of the party was ensconced.
Wednesday Dec 4 0730UT
 The
view was glorious!! We could see straight across
Tourville Bay to Point Peter and straight down
the path of totality. Looking back down the slope
we could see the Ceduna townsite and the silos
at Thevenard. We were barely 500 or perhaps 750
metres from the centreline. Our position was exposed
and somewhat breezy, but it must have been the
best site in the entire Ceduna region!
With the appraisal out of the way, we hurriedly
positioned ourselves along the fence line and busied
ourselves with cameras, telescopes, filters (only banned ones,
of course) and the like.
Wednesday Dec 4 0800UT
We waited and watched the sky. The threatening
clouds had, in the previous thirty minutes or so,
begun breaking up and scattering and large clear
patches had become evident. I checked my video
camera, switched it on and zoomed in on the Sun.
Okay - the focus seemed a little touchy, but it
settled in and I began my commentary, stating the
date of the eclipse and describing my location.
At 0810 the cry "First contact" was
raised. "Gentlemen (and ladies), we have an
eclipse” I said for the camera. Periodically
a cloud drifted over the Sun and cleared it again,
which I duly noted in my commentary. I noticed
the focus was acting strangely, confused by the
filter perhaps, and twiddled in an attempt to fix
it. Steadily the Moon's silhouette encroached further
and further on the Sun's disk.
I left the camera temporarily, poured myself a
glass of Brown Brothers Reserve Port and wandered
down to the Observatory's new toy - a Coronado
H-alpha refractor mounted on their custom projector
scope (this is a surplus 60mm refractor mounted
on a pair of old Meade SCT forks and piggybacking
a largish finder equipped with a video camera).
 Glinting
in the eerie half-light, the Coronado looked purposeful
and very, very geeky. I love it! I waited patiently
in line, peered into the eyepiece at the sullen
red image and then quickly moved away to give place
for the next person. I didn't see much detail,
but that could wait for another time, as I would
have plenty of opportunity. There was an eclipse
happening that wasn't waiting, so I hurried back
to my camera.
Wednesday Dec 4 0900UT
The Sun was now just a glowing fingernail. I checked
the camera and resumed my commentary. The fingernail
became the tiniest of slivers and began to disappear. "Cloud" was
the cry, but no, it was going to slip by beneath
the Sun. The sliver disappeared...
I quickly whipped the filter off the camera, then
stared in stunned amazement at where the Sun had
been. All I could see was a black hole in the sky
surrounded by an unearthly glow. "God!" I
yelled, as I struggled to find my voice, "It's
incredible.... It's incredible!!!" I paused,
drinking in the awesome vista. The Moon seemed
as if on fire and I wondered how the ancients,
the Incas, all those civilizations gone could have
seen this sight without losing their minds. Time
stood still, then suddenly... "Diamond ring!!!!" I
screamed to the camera as I hastily slammed on
the filter. The Sun burst out from behind the Moon
and I scrabbled for my (still banned) shades. The
Moon gradually began to recede and I turned to
watch my fellow observers break from their reverie.
 We
cheered, we shouted, we hugged for joy. I looked
down the slope towards the fleeing shadow and could
see a myriad of pinpricks of silver scattered across
the landscape on the other side of the bay as the
emerging Sun glinted off thousands of solar filters.
It seemed they had almost the same line of sight,
so they should also have witnessed the full spectacle
we had just seen.
Looking back to the sky I could see the clouds
racing in. As I watched a curtain was drawn over
the Sun and only crepuscular rays showed where
the Sun had been scant moments before. The departing
eclipse was snatched from our eyes and we realized
that we have been blessed.
A fine '94 Cabernet Sauvignon materialized and
we toasted the incredible success of our journey.
Two thousand tortuous kilometres across some of
the world's most bleak and inhospitable landscapes
melted into insignificance by thirty two seconds
of what is arguably nature's finest spectacle.
Wednesday Dec 4 0930UT
 While
packing my gear I noticed that the camera was no
longer running. It seemed that the tape had run
out just before totality and I remembered my wife's
words before leaving home. "There's not much
time left on that tape, but there's a blank one
in the bag." In my haste to set up I had forgotten
to load the fresh tape, but even this failure was
unable to suppress my euphoria. Long before, I
had resolved that with only 32 seconds of totality
available I would not allow the complications introduced
by any recording equipment to dissuade me from
enjoying the eclipse for myself. I chalked my failed
video attempt up to experience for the next eclipse.
We and our equipment were ferried back to the
oyster farm in 4WDs where we packed our gear on
the coaches, then adjourned to the main building.
Tea, coffee, wine and freshly shucked oysters helped
us to unwind before embarking on our return journey.
Wednesday Dec 4 1030UT
The coaches rolled through the now darkened settlement
of Denial Bay and we turned westwards onto the
Eyre Highway for the long trip home. A hubbub of
excited conversation filled the coach and the 45-minute
drive to Penong, meal and showers quickly passed.
The Penong pub resounded to the convivial atmosphere
as we reminisced our experiences of the day.
Upon the resumption of our journey the coach fell
silent as two dozen exhausted eclipse chasers slumbered
deeply and it seemed barely minutes later that
the coach captain awoke us to announce that we
had reached the WA/SA Border Village. In fact more
than four hours had passed. The coaches needed
to refuel and we were required to go through the
formalities at the quarantine station (I call it "Checkpoint
Charlie") before re-entering WA.
Australia and its various states jealously guard
their borders against agricultural and other pests,
so the coaches must be inspected for fruit, seeds,
honey, soils and other items that might spread
disease and pests between agricultural areas. Even
though any fruit, etc. we had may have been purchased
in WA, it had to be consumed or be confiscated.
The rules are strict as the loss of billions of
dollars in produce are potentially at stake.
Wednesday Dec 4 1700UT
 We
crossed back over the border into our home state
- a scant 1500 kilometres now lay between us and
Perth. Between the border and breakfast at Caiguna
I alternately watched the landscape slip by or
tried to sleep a little. We passed Mundrabilla,
Madura and Cocklebiddy in the dark before we finally
eased to a halt in the gathering light of dawn.
During the night we only hit one 'roo, but it
was a big one. A big thump, followed by a big bump
as the coach’s wheels climbed over it. It
jolted awake those who were sleeping. If at all
possible drivers avoid hitting kangaroos as it
is not only generally terminal for the roo, but
the coach risks serious damage to panels, lights
and mechanical components. At various times I had
also seen the majestic wedge-tailed eagle either
roosting in a dead tree or gliding silently overhead
as it hunted early morning prey.
Mundrabilla is the centre of possibly the world's
richest meteorite field and the subject of attention
by leading meteorite experts. The landscape is
so flat and uniform, and the dark colour of the
extraterrestrial rock such a dead giveaway against
the indigenous sandstone that it is like taking
candy from a child. Tom Smith, an astronomer at
Perth Observatory, and Alex Bevan from the Western
Australian Museum are regular visitors to
the area. Both of these institutions maintain
holdings
of material from the "Mundrabilla Mass",
with the collection at the Museum being one of
the most extensive in the world. Visitors to
Perth Observatory are able to handle a 120kg
piece that
rests on open display.
Cocklebiddy is renowned for its famous caves,
a vast labyrinth hundreds of metres underground
that stretch for many kilometres through limestone
rock. The enormous flooded subterranean caverns
are a mecca for cave divers the world over.
Wednesday Dec 4 2200UT
We departed Caiguna on the final section of our
Nullarbor trek. Immediately we were on the Ninety
Mile Straight, but this time it was daylight. There
is one only word for this section of the trip -
BORING. The boredom was alleviated momentarily
when we saw two cyclists (one at Caiguna, the other
a few kilometres down the road) pedalling their
laden bicycles steadily eastwards. To think people
have the hide to call us eclipse chasers crazy!
Perhaps serendipitously, our return journey was
such that we able to see in daylight what we travelled
by nighttime on the way over. Nonetheless there
is only so much inspiration one can draw from kilometre
after kilometre (after kilometre (after kilometre
(get the gist...??))) of superb desolation and
I tried to sleep a little more.
 After
a while, one of our fellow travellers and Perth
Observatory Volunteer, Mike Freeman (who is a geologist
by profession), began a series of short lectures
on the geology of the terrain we were travelling
over. He began explaining the concept of the geological
year and then talks about the morphology of areas
we have already travelled, the Eucla Plain, Mundrabilla
and Cocklebiddy. Subsequent talks covered the Frazer
Range and the greenstone belt that stretches from
south of Norseman through Kalgoorlie and to the
Northern Goldfields of Leonora and Laverton — the
source of the region's immense mineral wealth.
The terrain changed slowly into saltpans and gently
rolling dry woodland and we finally arrived back
in Norseman for lunch and to refuel the coaches.
We had crossed the Nullarbor twice in the space
of two days.
Thursday Dec 5 0300UT
Norseman was now behind us as we drove northward
up the Coolgardie-Esperance Highway. The road followed
a causeway across Lake Cowan as Mike began another
instalment of his series of geology talks - this
time about the many salt lakes in the area and
the causes of the salinity problems faced by farmers
nearer to the coast. In those areas, with the land
denuded of natural vegetation to enable cereal
cropping, the fine balance between water usage
and replenishment has been destroyed, causing the
water table to rise to the surface and bringing
the salts with it.
 "HitchHikers
Guide Vol II" was played on the video to help
pass the time. We passed through the former ghost
town of Coolgardie, the streets lined with signs
about the buildings which once stood there, and
embarked once more on the long, lonely stretch
to Southern Cross. The surrounding countryside
changed periodically, sometimes the familiar dry
woodland, but there were also large patches of
ugly, scrappy bushes that formed a blot on the
landscape. The clouds, which had ebbed and flowed
throughout the day, had became ominous and threatening.
Thirty-eight kilometres short of Southern Cross
we stopped again at Yellowdine for fuel and to
take photos of the tour group.
Thursday Dec 5 0700UT
Once more we entered Western Australia's parched
wheatbelt region and experienced the sweeping vistas
across dry farmland. The sky glared at us sullenly
and a roiling dust storm could be seen approaching
from the west. "The Dish", a charming
Australian movie about the role of the Parkes Radio
Telescope in the successful Apollo 11 mission to
the Moon was put on the video to watch and competed
for our attention with unfolding drama outside.
Near the tiny hamlet of Bodallin (cheapest petrol
between Perth and Kalgoorlie) we saw lightning
crackle into the dry fields alongside the road,
and then suddenly the dust storm is upon us. The
world turned an eerie, angry yellow and visibility
was snatched away. Steady rain started to fall
- was this a mud storm??? We pressed on through
the storm, dividing our time between "The
Dish" and the rain and lightning outside.
The movie was at that section when they're trying
to reacquire the Apollo 11 command module — the
Moon's phase is completely wrong. I know from memory
and have confirmed with SkyMap Pro and Virtual
Moon Atlas that the Moon was only five days old,
but in the movie it is closer to thirteen. Still — it's
a damn fine movie.
 The
rain had mostly abated and there were low, breaking
clouds in the sky. With the lowering Sun the conditions
were perfect for some spectacular crepuscular rays,
which soon broke through the clouds in a stunning
display. Various folk, including the off-duty driver,
took turns at the front of the coach snapping photographs
of the glorious spectacle. Gradually the display
faded, but the lightning intensified in a new treat
for our eyes. We watch enthralled, counting the
cadence of the storm as jagged lightning leapt
between earth and sky on either side of the coach,
the display continuing as we paused for our final
stop at Meckering.
In the roadhouse forecourt, as we gathered for
a few announcements and expressions of thanks to
all those who contributed to make the journey so
memorable, the slimmest of crescent moons drifted
into a clearing in the clouds.
Thursday Dec 5 1100UT
We were rolling again — Mike Freeman gave
a final talk about the Meckering earthquake and
the escarpment we call the Darling Range that overlooks
our home of Perth, the world's most isolated capital
city. As we coasted past Northam, the starting
point of American adventurer Steve Fossett's recent
record breaking around-the-world balloon flight,
and descended through the hills our thoughts turn
to home and loved ones. Phones began to ring as
we were gradually drawn back into our less extraordinary
daily lives. The road ahead turned to dual carriageway
as the highway entered the hills suburbs outside
Perth, then we breasted the edge of the escarpment
at Greenmount. The lights of Perth lay spread twinkling
before us as we descended onto the coastal plain.
Thursday Dec 5 1400UT
Finally we arrived back at the interstate rail
terminal at East Perth. Business cards, e-mail
addresses and promises to share photos were swapped,
farewells were made, and our extraordinarily privileged
group disbanded into taxis or to waiting family.
For a few of us however, there was an extra final
leg to our adventure. We needed to return to the
Observatory to deliver some equipment and collect
our cars.
The atmosphere was jovial but weary as we wended
our way through the city and suburbs for the 40km
trip, climbed the escarpment once more, and then
wound down in the darkness through the enchanting
Bickley Valley to where the Observatory is located
at the valley's head. Upon arrival we hastily unpacked
the coach, said our farewells and dispersed to
our cars for the drive home.
Thursday Dec 5 1545UT
What more can I say? In a little more than sixty
hours I travelled two thousand kilometres across
spectacular and mind numbing desolation — across
my wide brown land. I stood on the edge of the
Great Australian Bight peering hundreds of feet
down into the raging Southern Ocean. I witnessed — against
all odds — the absolutely incredible beauty,
awe and splendour of a total solar eclipse, felt
humbled by an event that would have struck abject
terror into the hearts and minds of my ancestors.
Then I repeated one of the world's great road journeys
to get home and witnessed the savage beauty of
a dust storm and thunderstorm rolled into one.
I returned home safely.
But am I satisfied? No — I WANT MORE! Who
is for Antarctica next year? The Sahara or Turkey
in 2006, Russia in 2008, India or China in 2009,
Easter Island in 2010, the Great Barrier Reef in
2012?????
May you see a hole in your sky soon.
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