Chapter 6

“That was an older man taking two boys on walkabout, so they can become men. They’re Tjuntjuntjara, from one of the bands that were moved from east of here to north and west of here in the 1950s, so the Brits could test their A-bombs at Maralinga. The tribes were all promised they had the right to return. And then the world learned about long-lasting radioactivity. So the young learn about the poisoned lands and about how trustworthy whitefellas are.”

“Sad,” said Lois.

“Yes. I told him we were teachers. I gave him water. In the desert, that makes us friends – water-sharers.”

“There was more. I could tell,” Reg added. “Perhaps you can tell us more, later.”

“Perhaps. The meeting was actually good. It’s what we’ve done that’s so awful.”

“Can we sit in the shade?” Aggie asked.

“Sure. Just look before you set your arse in an ant’s nest,” said Al, laughing.

I walked around the shrubbery. It took several minutes. Then I ‘reported’: “The Tjuntjuntjara ate some witchetty grubs, you can see where they dug. There are at least two sorts of diurnal ants, but nothing out of the ordinary. I think there are some birds nesting, I heard them. Something over head height. I thought I saw some blue. Is that possible, Lois?”

“Certainly. Most likely a group of fairy wrens.”

“And, Aggie, a few steps off there’s a shrub I don’t know. You might look.” She got up and ran around the shrub. She was back in two minutes.

“It’s an Acacia megacephala. It’s out of range both south and east.”

“Maybe it ran away,” Al suggested.

“It is native to an area in the Mid West of this state. And they’re inland from Geraldton. It’s commonly situated on sandplains growing in sandy soil.”

“Well, that’s here.”

Reg lunged and came up with a wriggling handful. “Is that a snake?” I asked.

“No. It’s a delma. A footless lizard. They’re more like skinks than snakes. There are near two dozen species. I’ll take it back and type it.” He pulled a small muslin bag from his musette and inserted the delma, then pulled the drawstrings. “It’ll be OK for several hours.”

We all sat and sipped water, I ate about half an energy bar.

“Is that enough?” Lois asked.

“I’ll snack on a few ants and hunt for grubs. This is a relatively lush area. Splendid Fairy-wrens eat insects and forage on both the ground and in shrubs; the footless lizard eats a variety of insects including caterpillars, crickets, grasshoppers and cockroaches. I’ve read they’ll also eat wolf spiders.”

“Good,” commented Lois. “The wrens live in groups which forage together, so there may be as many as a dozen. When you’re fossicking look for a nest near the ground.”

“Not quite the right geology for fossicking,” Al tossed in.

“Wise guy.”

“Reg,” I called.

“Yes?”

“There are some Iridomyrmex there.”

“Oh?”

“Favourites of horny devils. You might nab one.”

“I’ll look.”

“There were Ochetellus on the other side. The Iridomyrmex are a lot larger. I’ll take a few of each.” I scooped several workers into a vial and sat down, taking another swig.

“Gordy?”

“Yes, Aggie?”

“Could you cut a stem with one or more phyllodes for me? I’ll try to do a genotype in Darwin.”

“No prob. Want a piece of the other shrub, too?”

“Yes. It might be of interest that they’re together.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Al, “There may be a burrow or even fumets.” I laughed.

“I don’t get it.”

“Lois, fumets are the dung of deer or other game. The only cervids in Australia are feral pests brought here over a century ago. There certainly aren’t any in these deserts. Al meant tracks or traces like prints or shed bits of fur. Actually, while rabbits shed, I don’t know whether bilbies or dunnarts do.”

“Pretty good, Reg,” Al added.”

“Gotta know quadrupeds when you do reptiles.”

“True.”

“Anyway, while we’re sitting during the noon heat, maybe Gordy’ll tell us more about his encounter.”

“Sure. As I said, it was an older man taking two teenagers on walkabout. I shared water with him and he asked about our group. I said we were studying the wildlife. He asked if we were teachers. I said we were. I said that I studied ants and he said he knew me, that I had met a colleague of his near Lake Bowman and from others in Queensland. He said they would be going west to avoid the ‘poisoned lands.’ He asked my name and I told him ‘Hollister.’ He said there was a ‘Holli-man’ and I told him that Holli-man was my father. He said that I did him honor. We shared water again and they left.”

“That’s incredible!” Lois remarked.

“How could he have heard of you?”

“Bush telegraph. Mulga wire. I’ve never really understood it. I used to think it was smoke signals. A friend of mine considers it mental telepathy. Do you know Rossini’s ‘Barber of Seville’?”