Secret in the Clouds

by Christopher Cummings

  “What now?” his mother asked as they reached the bitumen again.

  “Go to Mt Molloy for lunch and then back through Mareeba I suppose,” Stephen replied. It was all he could think of.

  So they drove the ten kilometres to the small town of Mt Molloy and parked in the main street. After a visit to the shop for pies and sausage rolls the group seated itself on the benches in the small park beside the Memorial Hall.

  “Sorry we didn’t get to drive along the road,” Stephen’s mother said to Mrs Hopkins.

  “Never mind. I got to see Black Mountain,” Mrs Hopkins replied.

  “I still don’t see why we couldn’t walk in and climb the thing,” Stephen persisted.

  “Well you can’t. The road is closed,” his father replied.

  As soon as the adults were out of earshot Stephen signalled the other boys over. “I think something very odd is going on,” he said.

  “Why do you say that?” Peter asked.

  “The way the Black Mountain Road is suddenly closed. The way we couldn’t get a permit but strangers from Victoria could. They way that bloke was sitting there like a guard to keep people out.”

  Roger nodded. “He did give that impression didn’t he?”

  “He certainly did,” Stephen stated. “And what really puzzles me is why he is here on a Saturday. The road works can’t be so important that they would work on a weekend to complete them.”

  “You might be right,” Peter agreed, “But what does that mean?”

  “It means something bloody peculiar is going on along the Black Mountain Road,” Stephen replied, “and I’m going to find out what.”

  CHAPTER 16

  DETERMINATION

  “How are you going to do that?” Graham asked.

  Stephen pointed to the map he had laid out on the table. “See this other road here, this one that runs in from Julatten up the valley of Rifle Creek? It runs across to join the Black Mountain Road. We could try to drive in along it.”

  Peter looked at the road indicated and made a face. “It goes in through some farms from the look of it.”

  “So? We can try,” Stephen persisted.

  Roger frowned. “How? Your Mum and Dad aren’t likely to want to go driving along bush tracks,” he said.

  Stephen shrugged and looked at Peter. “I thought maybe we could come back tomorrow in your Mum’s car Pete,” he suggested.

  Peter looked doubtful. “Aw, I dunno. I’d have to ask her.”

  “Please!” Stephen pleaded.

  Peter looked at him in surprise. “This is really important to you isn’t it?”

  “Yes it is,” Stephen admitted.

  “And to me,” Tom added.

  “Then I’ll ask,” Peter replied.

  “I will have to ask my Mum,” Graham said.

  Roger nodded and looked unhappy. “Me too, and I doubt if I will be allowed two days in a row.”

  They had to leave it like that because Sally and Nancy came skipping over to join them. Soon afterwards they climbed back into the cars and set off south towards Mareeba. This route took them through dry savannah country west of the coastal ranges and across the headwaters of the Mitchell River.

  As they drove south they passed a vast lake on their right hand side. Stephen had seen it before but never given it another thought. Now he nudged Graham and said, “Do you reckon a float plane could land on that lake?”

  “Easily,” Graham replied. “They need a kilometre or so of clear run and that lake is several kilometres wide.”

  “Might it have been headed for here do you think?” Stephen suggested.

  Graham shook his head and held up the map he was using. “No. This lake has only been here a few years. It isn’t even on the map.”

  That dashed Stephen’s hopes and he sat and stared gloomily at the huge sheet of water. Nancy asked Graham why the lake was built. Graham replied that a property developer named Mr Quaid had built a dam across the Mitchell River to make the lake. “He also built a bitumen road down to the coast to bring tourists here. That is it going off on the left now,” he added.

  Stephen glanced at the sealed road going off to the east and noted the locked gate across it. “Didn’t he build it because he planned to construct a new international airport or something up here on this flat country. That way the tourists could get to either Port Douglas or Cairns easily.”

  Graham nodded. “That’s one story. But I hear the road is now washed out and unusable.”

  “Why, don’t people use it?” Nancy asked.

  “Politics,” Stephen replied. For the next ten minutes they discussed the Quaid Road while the car sped on south through the dry bush. As they drove through Mareeba another thought came to Stephen and he began to mull it over till it nagged at him. ‘I need to study the old maps more,’ he decided.

  Impatience now gripped him and made him irritable during the drive to Kuranda. This entailed a detour to see the Barron Falls and Gorge. Having been there many times Stephen was just irritated, wanting to get home to check his new theory.

  On the way out of Kuranda, as they crossed the big bridge over the Barron River, Stephen made a point of looking at the junction of the southern end of the Black Mountain Road, which was a hundred metres further on. A large yellow warning sign announced that the Black Mountain Road was closed to all traffic and that road works were in progress.

  The other problem was arranging to get away the next day. In fact this turned out easier than expected as Stephen’s mother suggested that she and Mr Bell take the Downeys and Mrs Hopkins on a tour of the Atherton Tablelands the next day. Visits to ‘Markets’ and Orchid Farms figured high on this agenda.

  Having been dragged around on such tours before Stephen cried off. “I’ll stay home if you don’t mind, or I will go over to Peter’s or Graham’s.”

  “Oh all right,” Stephen’s mother replied. “What about you Tom?”

  “I’ll stay with Stephen if that is alright,” Tom replied.

  Stephen didn’t want Tom to be with them but accepted it as the easiest way to get permission.

  So that night he phoned Peter and was pleased to learn that Peter was allowed to take the car for the day. Stephen then phoned Graham and learned that he could come. Next he made himself ring Roger and was secretly relieved when Roger sadly replied that his mother would not let him go on another trip. “I’m rostered as a server at church tomorrow,” Roger explained. Stephen sneered at that, deriding all religion as ‘bunkum’. He then went to his room to study the old maps that Capt Conkey had loaned them.

  Sunday dawned bright and clear but very muggy. Once again the household was up early and busy preparing. Stephen pretended lack of interest and had to spend time fending off questions from Nancy and Sally, both of whom wanted him to come with them. The girls were quite huffy about it, and were even more miffed when told they could not stay home with the boys. They were bundled into the cars and they and the adults set off soon after.

  It was nearly eight by then and Stephen was in a fever of impatience. As soon as the two cars vanished down the street he rushed to the phone and called Peter. He and Graham were waiting at Peter’s and by the time Stephen and Tom were dressed in hiking clothes the car had arrived.

  “Come on Tom, hurry up!” Stephen snapped as Tom struggled to lace up his gym boots in a hurry. The boys loaded packs and webbing into Peter’s car and climbed in the back. Stephen had never been in a car driven by Peter but he was so consumed by the desire to get to Black Mountain that it wasn’t until they were well out of town that he thought about it. He noted that Peter appeared to be a careful and competent driver so he relaxed and went back to studying the maps.

  They drove up the Kuranda Range. As they approached the junction of the southern end of the Black Mountain Road Stephen said, “Slow down Pete. I want to check if that sign is still there.”

  It was but Stephen then said, “Turn right along the Black Mountain Road.”

  “Why? If it is closed we
are just wasting time,” Graham said.

  “Maybe, but I want to test the theory. I doubt if the first few kilometres will be closed because there are a few farms and an Aboriginal community along it,” Stephen replied.

  Peter shrugged and turned the car off the main highway. Graham studied his maps and muttered about there being another road from Oak Forest through to the Horse Pocket area. “That connects with the Black Mountain Road,” he pointed out. “Those people could use that instead.”

  “So could we,” Stephen replied.

  They drove north and off the end of the bitumen. There were still houses set back in the jungle on either side for another kilometre until they came to a bridge. From then on it was a good gravel road. Just beyond the bridge at a bend was the sign marking the boundary of the State Forest. Just near it was another ROAD CLOSED sign.

  Peter brought the car to a stop near the sign. “Well, do we drive on? We don’t have a permit.”

  “I don’t think you need one for this bit. It is a public road as far as Horse Pocket,” Stephen replied.

  Graham agreed. “Yes, I think that’s right. We walked it once and no-one pulled us up remember.”

  Peter nodded and set the car moving again. They drove past the sign and accelerated on along the road. For the next half hour they drove at a steady forty or fifty kilometres per hour and did not see another person or vehicle. The old ranger station set in a clearing in the jungle appeared to be deserted. At the Horse Pocket junction they stopped again to check their map reading then went on north. All the while the mild thrill of trespassing held Stephen.

  They drove on, the road going up and down over undulating country covered in rainforest or huge pine plantations. This became quite boring to Stephen but he carefully tracked their progress on the map. Suddenly he pointed through the front.

  “Black Mountain!”

  There it was, filling half the sky in the gap between the trees. Seeing it like that gave him a real pulse of excitement. ‘Not far now,’ he thought happily.

  The road they were following had deteriorated but was still easy to drive along. Abruptly it came out into a clearing and they found themselves at a crossroads. Running across their route was a bitumen double lane highway. It was so incongruous that Peter stopped the car and they gaped at it, looking in both directions.

  “The Quaid Road,” Graham said. “It’s not marked on my map.”

  “Not much traffic,” Peter observed.

  Stephen looked along the deserted bitumen, noting clumps of grass sprouting through it. “There’s a gate across it along there,” he said.

  “One the other way too,” Tom added.

  Stephen looked and saw he was right. The bitumen road was closed off in both directions. Worse still there was a State Forest sign on the extension of the Black Mountain Road on the other side of the clearing saying that a permit was required for any vehicle past that point.

  “What do we do?” Graham asked.

  “Drive on,” Stephen said.

  “Easy for you to say,” Peter replied, “But it is my Mum’s car and I’m driving.”

  “Sorry,” Stephen replied.

  “It’s OK. I’ll take the risk and claim I am a lost tourist,” Peter replied. He put the car in gear and drove across the highway and on along the Black Mountain Road.

  Almost at once they came to a barricade across the road. Parked near it was a white Four Wheel drive. As Peter stopped the car a man’s head appeared in the back of the 4WD. As Peter put the car into reverse and began backing the man climbed out of the other vehicle and held up his hand. He was a young man in his twenties and wore jeans and a grey work shirt. In his haste to reverse Peter went too far to one side and put his wheels off the edge of the road into soft mud. They came to a stop.

  The man walked over to them as they climbed out. “Where are you people going?” he asked.

  “Just driving around,” Peter replied. He was very embarrassed for having misjudged his reversing.

  “The road’s closed so go back,” the man ordered.

  “We will,” Peter agreed.

  It took ten minutes of pushing and wheel spinning to get the car out of the mud and turned around. The man made no attempt to help them but just stood and watched. “Thanks a lot!” Stephen called sarcastically as he climbed back into the car.

  “Shut up Steve!” Peter hissed. “We don’t want him to get annoyed and report us.”

  “What for? We haven’t done anything wrong,” Tom said.

  “Maybe not, but he is writing down our number,” Graham said.

  Stephen turned to look and saw the man was indeed writing in a notebook. That annoyed him and a spurt of stubbornness made itself felt. “Just go back around the bend and find a place to park off the road Pete,” he said.

  Peter did as he was asked. Then he asked, “So what is it you want Steve?”

  “I’m going to walk in to Black Mountain,” Stephen replied. “I will go through the jungle around that road block.”

  “But why? It can’t be that important that you will risk getting into trouble surely?” Peter commented.

  “It is, to me anyway,” Stephen replied. “Something odd is going on along this road and I want to know what.”

  “Might be nothing to do with your plane. It might be a police operation against drug growers,” Graham suggested.

  “Maybe,” Stephen replied. “So, who comes with me?”

  Peter sighed and asked, “How far is it?”

  They bent over the maps. Stephen found that his estimate of their position was very close to Graham’s. “Can’t be more than about four or five kilometres to the bottom of the mountain,” Stephen said.

  “Yes, but it is at least eight or nine to the place where we climbed up it,” Graham objected.

  “So? We can do that in a couple of hours,” Stephen argued. He was now set on climbing the mountain.

  Peter checked his watch. “It is a quarter past nine now. It will take us an hour or so to get around this fellow up ahead, then an hour and a half to get to the bottom. Then we have to get up and down the bloody thing. That will take a few hours each way. It will be bloody midnight before we get back to here.”

  “I reckon we can do it before dark,” Stephen replied.

  “Oh great! What story do I tell my Mum?” Peter answered.

  “We can at least try,” Stephen said. “We can turn back at a cut-off time.”

  Tom now spoke. “I’d like to try,” he said. “It might be the only chance I get. I have to leave to go home on Monday.”

  “What do we do with the car?” Peter asked.

  At that Stephen’s hopes soared as he knew Peter had given in. “Hide it back along here in one of these fire trails in the pine plantations,” he suggested.

  Reluctantly Peter agreed. So they drove south for half a kilometre and found a side track on the left they could get the car in along. When they were sure it was out of sight of the road Peter parked it and they got out. All had a big drink from water containers in the car, then swung on webbing or backpacks. Stephen opted for a backpack only and made sure his waterbottles were in it. Graham and Peter wore their basic webbing. After a final check the friends set off.

  “If we hear a car coming we take to the scrub and hide,” Stephen added as they turned right along the Black Mountain Road.

  “We won’t get far,” Peter grumbled, obviously unhappy about giving in. “We need to be back here by about five at the latest.”

  “So it’s nine thirty now. We have seven and a half hours. We walk for three and a half, then turn back,” Stephen agreed.

  “That’s thirteen hundred,” Peter said.

  “Sure,” Stephen agreed.

  With that time limit set they stepped it out. Tom gamely strode along, keeping pace with them. In five minutes they were back at the Quaid Road and here their first problem arose: was the man watching the clearing? Stephen turned right and led the way along the Quaid Road, keeping well over against the
edge.

  “Why this way?” Graham asked.

  “Shortest way through the jungle past that bloke at his road block,” Stephen replied.

  He marched quickly along, counting five hundred paces. Then he halted, took out compass and secateurs and turned left to face the jungle. For a moment he hesitated, knowing well the pain that was to follow, before determination pushed him into action. Gritting his teeth he led the way into the rainforest.

  Graham and Peter both followed, secateurs in hand. It was no novelty to them. Tom came last, looking distinctly apprehensive. For the next half hour the group snipped and struggled through the jungle. It turned out to be easier than expected as they came out on an old timber track leading up a gentle ridge and they followed this up to find themselves back at the Black Mountain Road by 10:30.

  After a cautious check to ensure they were well out of sight of the roadblock the boys stepped out onto the road and began marching. The road was wide and well-formed and they strode quickly along, sweat streaming out of them in the blazing sunlight.

  Five minutes walking brought them to a junction. The road going right was overgrown but gave them their position. They went left and downhill, then along an undulating, jungle-covered ridge. To Stephen’s relief the road went back into a tunnel of vegetation so that they were in the shade and walking was much cooler. Condensation had become a problem for his glasses.

  The road went west for two kilometres, then came to another junction. This was not marked on the map but they knew the way and went right, down a long, steep slope to a concrete bridge across Rifle Creek. It was 11:00 by then and they stopped to wash the sweat off their faces and to drink.

  As they climbed back up to the road Stephen said, “Well, we are at the southern end of the mountain. Do we climb up it from here, or go on around?”

  That was a hard one. They stood in a group and studied the maps.

  “Always the bloody way!” Graham grumbled, “Right on the join of two maps.”

  “Could be worse,” Peter laughed. “It could be raining.”