The Camel Man

A long time ago we met a man who had a dream to walk across Australia at her widest points. On March 20, 1998 D and his partner and 3 camels arrived at the feedlot. Next day, the humans drove away (D had to go to his embarkation point to begin the trek) and his 3 camels waited patiently while he walked from Cape Byron back to them and us. He stayed for a couple of weeks and worked with the camels.

It was an absolute delight for me to be up close with these animals and catch little moments while D worked with them. I tried not to interfere or be too annoying but I had wanted a camel since I was 12 years old and I was very much in awe of his expedition plans and just a little envious of his enthusiasm, his commitment and his freedom to be able to undertake such a journey. Two weeks later I watched as he walked off down the road; I stayed watching until he was out of sight, wondering what the next 8 or 9 months had in store for him and his three companions, still feeling slightly envious. I followed the journey via the trip website and letters received and was pleased to eventually hear that D, the three camels and a little extra one had arrived safely at Steep Point, WA in mid-November.

Before he left he gave me one of the expedition sweatshirts. I wore it and wore it for years and years then put it away in a cupboard when it was past wearing. It was only when we moved to the farm in March last year that, in my "must cull everything" frenzy, I finally pensioned it off. I had kept it for 15 years and thought it was time to let it go. It was no longer white; it was stained and out of shape and it smelt.

Over the years I occasionally wondered what D did after he finished the trek and what he was doing now. What does someone with such an interesting background - lawyer, Legionnaire, first person to walk from the eastern most point to the western most point of Australia - do to keep interested and motivated in life?

Imagine my complete surprise and absolute delight when I read a comment left on sliprail on Boxing Day (on my Christmas Day post) - from none other than The Camel Man himself. Somehow,  in amongst the millions of them out there, D had found my blog (I can't imagine how, considering it's obscurity and small readership). Gibbo and Meg and Drew were all surprised too; we all remember when The Camel Man came to stay; and now he's written a book about the expedition, due out in a few months. I very much look forward to reading it and sharing it here on sliprail.

The Camel Man photos, papers, letters and cards have lived in this plastic bag for many years. There's more photos of the arrival and departure somewhere in amongst the thousands I've taken since then. I'll find them one day.

In the yards at Aronui, the day the camels arrived.

Walking the camels down the laneways, through the feedlot, to one of the back grass paddocks. Meg was 9 and wearing one of Gibbo's t-shirts (why Meg?). Even then she always knew where the camera was. Drew was 4 and wearing his pyjama top, tracksuit pants and thongs. He must have been hot. No hats (great parents). Gibbo was a bit thinner then too.

 Many years later (May 2006) I finally had camels of my own. We bought Omar and Jasmine at a camel auction in town. They had just trucked in from The Simpson Desert. Jasmine walked up to me as I crouched on the saleyards walkway and I was completely lost in her soulful eyes as she batted her eyelashes at me. Omar is on the right. As time went on he became my favourite.

After two years of owning them it became clear they would have to move on. We took them to a nearby zoo where there was another camel and more room to roam. It was a very sad day for me.

I think he knew. It still brings tears to my eyes and makes me gulp when I see this photo.

It was a sad day for Sally too. When the camels arrived, she moved in with them. She spent all her time with them, watching them, following them and sleeping under their hay feeder. If we were ever looking for Sally, we knew where to find her.

Two days later, things got worse. Two of our dogs, Tilly and Clarabelle, got into a vicious disagreement with a very fat, very poisonous, very angry and very deadly brown snake that had been hibernating in a big pile of sticks. It was the middle of winter and the snake was full of venom. They lost the fight but not before tearing the snake into three pieces. I still find it very hard to talk or even think about the chain of events that day without feeling sad and teary. One thing I learnt though is to never ignore a barking dog, even when you think they're just playing.

These two were great mates.

So we lost two camels and two dogs in the space of two days. 

Twelve months later, within two days of the date of losing the other two, we were burying Sally (she suffered a particularly bad dose of pancreatitis from which she didn't recover after one too many trips to the death pit for a late night snack); and replenishing the dirt on Tilly and Clarabelle's grave. In time we'd also bury St. John, the miracle burnt and singed wonder cat, rescued from a fierce hay fire, but that's another (painful) story.

So didn't this turn into a morbid post? Well not really. I loved the camels and we all loved the dogs and cat. It's almost nice to go back and re-visit them in pictures and memories. And smiles and tears. And I finally wrote The Camel Man post.