THE PROPER WAY OUT BUSH

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the outback, not a soul around to hear it.

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Cracks of light seep through the tent signalling another daybreak. I walk past the fire, still weakly crackling from last night. The newly risen sun illuminates the fire red ground to reveal a land of what others would call, hostility and harshness, but to me, its beauty, what others would call ‘Australia’s hostile red desert’ I call home, it always has been. Grabbing my aged fishing rod and heading for the nearby billabong, the sand feels welcoming under my feet. Boiling from constant exposure to the sun, but I don’t mind, I’ve gotten used to it. Walking the route I’ve taken hundreds of times, occasionally smoke appears on the horizon, made by others living like me. Sometimes I even see them at the billabong fishing with me, somehow I always walk away with the biggest catch, guess it’s just my rod of legend. It’s always given me the best catch, even back in my hometown. I hear they’ve got all these fancy computers now, which can do math calculations in a second, or generate thousands of answers to any question you could think of, ‘good on em,’ I think to myself as the bait gracefully submerges into the partially murky water, ‘This is the life to live… the proper way out bush.’

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Serenity, grace, relaxation, all of these feelings are common when fishermen like me are waiting for their bite. I love coming here. Every morning I observe the surrounding eucalyptus, their ghost white bark sticking out in a place of fire. This billabong is, mostly unknown, and no one ever comes looking for it, who would expect to find such a beautiful body of water in a place like this, the green and blue contrasting with the red. Its perfect. Water lilies litter one side of the water, providing a perfect hiding spot for crocs’ waiting for that one unfortunate roo to come for water. On the other side, nothing but open water, perfect for fishing. In an instant my float drops into the water, instantly my hands pull back toward me in a flash. The following resistance is signal to my success, reeling it in I realise that the fish isn’t as large as I had first thought, but it will do. The incoming trail of bubbles towards my line indicates that something else is looking for food, and it wants mine. I reel faster and before long the Archer fish is pulled out of the water, I back away and pull my rod toward me to secure my meal. Not a moment to soon as the prehistoric predator leaps out of the water seconds later. Unholstering my Colt Carbine revolver I fire a shot into the air, which causes the 3-meter-long croc to retreat back into the lilies, “Nice try mate, maybe next time.” Unhooking the fish, I start the track back home, ‘will this be enough… maybe not, might need a roo as well,’ I speculate. Walking the sands back home I find myself thinking, ‘this is the life, the proper way, out bush’ 

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Placing the fish into the tuckerbox by the fire I turn and track into the open desert once again. Australia’s signature Uluru standing as a guardian to the land, as the locals tell me. The shrubbery attempting to cut at my legs, stopped by the Highlander trousers. I continue my track turning from one side to another repetitively, nothing. The occasional Thorny Dragon scampers past my feet, I don’t bother chasing it the little buggers are impossible to catch anyway. Nothing on the horizon, wait. What was that. Movement. Jumping. This is it, I approach the now resting roo, as quietly as possible until I feel I’m close enough. Unholstering my weapon once again, reaching out my arm I close an eye, ‘bit too high, no, too low, that’s it,’ my finger pulls back and the sound of a gunshot echoes through the outback not a soul around to hear it. the roo doesn’t move, I’ve hit my target. Tracking back to my camp one last time for the day the sand is getting darker beneath me, I turn just to see the sun lowering below the towering behemoth of Uluru. I admire the scene for a minute then continue my way back. I grab a metal tray from my tent, cut up the roo, as best I can, and place the pieces along with the archer fish onto the tray, place a couple of logs onto the burnt-out wood then start the blaze with a twig and my lighter. The camp ignites with red and orange in place of what used to be darkness. I Place the coffee beans I bought yesterday into my heated water, stir it thoroughly then sit on my foldable chair, and I realise how illuminated my usually white skin looks in the presence of fire. My catch and kill now cooked and ready to eat, I stare up into the open night sky, filled with stars, planets and the unknown. A view that anyone in the city would kill for. And I think to myself, before eating, before finally sleeping once again, ‘I love my life, living the proper way out bush.’