Chapter 1

During my second year in Brisbane, I was “invited” (= ordered) to participate in a survey of the wildlife in the Great Victoria Desert, a sparsely populated ecoregion in Western Australia and South Australia. Actually, the region spans an incredible area, but we were to “sample” an area somewhat north of the dog fence and just west of the SA-WA line.

I was told to put together my “field kit” and get to Black Mountain, where the CSIRO headquarters are. I’d gotten a packet of information, but the short form was that I’d be part of a survey team going to the desert for a week or two. I hadn’t seen Melissa for several months, and hadn’t any other attachments, so I read the materials, packed some clothes into my swag, a few reference books, and my collecting gear, and collected my air ticket to Canberra with an open return. I took a beat up copy of Upfield’s “Man of Two Tribes” to re-read, as it took place in the Nullarbor. I had nearly finished it by the time I had flown from Brisbane to Canberra, where I was to get to the University House Hotel.

I’d been to Canberra when I was a student, but this was only my second trip to Black Mountain, so I took a taxi and found that the ‘hotel’ was on the ANU campus, which was “full of sheilas.” I said I would be going to a meeting at CSIRO and was told it’d take “twenny minnits” to walk there.

I registered, dumped my kit (daybag with collecting kit and books and rolled up swag with clothes and billie) in my room, and went for a snack at the coffee house. I was just settling in when a (female) voice said: “Dr. Hollister?”

“Yes?” I saw it was a woman of forty – more or less – not very tall with shortish dark hair. “But I prefer Gordy.”

“Well, then I’m Aggie. I’m en route the desert, too. I flew in from the Alice a bit earlier. I’m grasses and arid shrubs.”

“Ah. I guess I’m ants and other arthropoda. Can I buy you a coffee?”

“Sure. But I’m waiting for a friend who works here.”

“Here?”

“At the Mountain. She’s an ornithologist.”

“Will your friend be part of the desert group?”

“Oh, yes. But tell me about Gordy.”

“I’m from Queensland. Went to Brisbane, then UNSW. Worked at the Museum. Got a job at Long Pocket. Here I am!”

“Not very forthcoming. Married?”

“Not near.”

“Shopping?”

“Not very hard. You?”

“Oh, I’m married; my husband’s near Darwin. He’s involved in salt marsh stuff.” Gordy felt a hand on his thigh.

“What would he say about that?” The hand moved a bit and I felt somewhat aroused.

“We’ve an open marriage. We’ve two teenagers in Haileybury, so when we’re together we’re exclusive. But when we’re 1500 kilometers apart, we’re free ... but careful.”

“Two teenagers?”

“I’m older than I look. I’m over forty.” Her hand found what she was seeking and patted it gently. “We might have an interesting trip.”

“Aha! Here you are! And who’s the fresh meat?” came a female voice.

“Day, Lois! This is Gordy Hollister, he does creepy crawlies. Gordy, Lois. She’s the ornithologist who’ll be with us.”

“Glad to meet you.” I stood up. Lois was tall and slim, small-busted and wasp-waisted with bright red (dyed) hair. “Coffee?”

“I’ll get them,” Aggie left us.

“This your first trip?” Lois asked.

“First in a year.”

“Where’ve you been?”

“Queensland and New South. Spent some time near Birdsville.”

“Right-o. I’m into predators: owls, hawks, eagles.”

“Ought to be owls in the desert. I’m not certain about the other raptors.”

“Should be ravens and some songbirds, too,” Lois said. “But there hasn’t been a survey of the Great Victorian Desert’s avifauna since Ford in 1971. So there may be something interesting.”

“I know little about birds, and even less about plants.”

“I’m certain we can teach you something,” Aggie said, with a smile on her face as she placed three containers on the table. We sipped coffee and chatted. It turned out that Aggie came from the northwest of Victoria, one set of her grandparents were vintners. I mentioned that my brother was at a winery in Queensland. Lois then said that she’d studied biology at ANU and then done a diploma in ornithology at Charles Sturt.

“I was real lucky,” she said. “The aviary at Taronga was hiring and I worked there for a few years.” I felt Aggie’s hand on my thigh again. “But some bloke from Black Mountain was visiting and so I’ve been here for nearly a decade.”

“No family? You’re a good-looking sheila,” I said.

“Not my thing,” Lois said. Aggie snorted.

“There’s a story,” I said.

“Not here,” Aggie responded. “Come up to my room and we can talk.” We policed our cups and followed her.