Secret in the Clouds

by Christopher Cummings

Peter checked the time. “Two O’clock. Time to move,” he said. The fact that he said anything impressed itself on Stephen. ‘Pete must be nervous,’ he decided. Peter started the car and drove back across the bridge, then turned left on the highway. Tom was curious to know where they were and where they were going so Graham gave a running commentary. To the three friends it was all too familiar to warrant any navigation. Stephen had lost count of the times he had been up the Gillies Highway.

  “We came this way the other day,” Tom commented. “That was when we were going to the Atherton Tablelands.”

  “That is where we are going now,” Graham replied.

  “But I thought that ‘Hayden Park’ is north of Cairns,” Tom replied.

  “More west than north,” Graham explained. “We are going this way as a deception plan.”

  Stephen sat and stared out the window as the car passed the hotel at Little Mulgrave and began to climb the winding mountain road. With every passing minute he seemed to become more depressed and anxious. Sharp flashbacks to the rotting skeletons in the plane crash came to oppress him and to add to his mounting fear. Just as worrying was the problem of how going to ‘Hayden Park’ might help solve the puzzle.

  ‘As Judy said, they aren’t likely to just leave incriminating evidence lying around!’ he mused. It was all very stressful.

  So upset did he become that he began to feel ill. He knew it wasn’t just car sickness induced by the sixteen kilometres of continuous bends. The Gillies wound its way up the side of the escarpment and seemed to be endless. Battling nausea Stephen tried to focus his thoughts on Judy and on what the future might hold.

  It was 0230 by the time they reached the top of the range. By then it had become quite chilly and Graham asked Peter to turn on the heater.

  “But it’s mid-summer,” Peter joked, but he did turn the heater on.

  “It is cold though isn’t it?” Tom commented.

  “We are six or seven hundred metres above sea level now,” Stephen replied.

  The highway now wound through dense tropical jungle for the next few kilometres. In the darkness the rainforest looked very forbidding and Stephen marvelled that he and Graham had been able to climb Black Mountain through it in the dark. Next they began to encounter patches of mist and that led to an argument about whether low cloud was fog or not.

  As they came out onto the open, rolling farm country at Mt Nomico there was no doubt: it was thick fog. This was such a novelty that Stephen actually enjoyed driving through it. Luckily there was almost no other traffic and Peter drove sensibly and safely so he was able to relax a bit.

  Every few minutes Stephen checked the time and ticked off the places as they passed: Lake Barrine, Lake Eacham, Yungaburra, Curtain Fig Tree turn-off. Memories of other adventures leapt into his mind in sharp focus: the Kosarian business the previous year, searching for Willy Williams and his home-made airship, the Bird Poachers. Remembering these both heightened his anxiety and gave him confidence. Both Peter and Graham had shared them and shown themselves to be the sort of friends that he could trust with his life.

  ‘Maybe we have a chance,’ he decided. ‘We have a lot of skills and experience at this sort of thing at least.’ That was something he could thank Army Cadets for.

  Graham now had a map out and used a pocket torch to study it. As part of their deception plan they were not going to go through Atherton but instead began to zig-zag across the Tablelands along the country back roads. After ten minutes of this Stephen began to think they were wasting their time. There were no other cars so they weren’t being followed, and the fog was so thick it slowed them down. ‘And if they have a radio tracking device it is all pointless anyway!’

  They turned left at Kairi and sped along the long straights towards Tolga, passing through the outskirts of that small town at 0255. From there they turned north and went along the highway towards Mareeba. However they only stayed on this till they crossed the irrigation channel ten kilometres on. Here they turned left onto the narrow bitumen road that ran beside the concrete irrigation channel which ran westwards past Walsh Bluff.

  As they drove along Graham began reminiscing about the exercise they had done against the air cadets two years before. For them this had started on this road and ended on a cattle property in the valley of the Mitchell River. That cattle station was east of the Hann Range and ‘Hayden Park’ was in a valley west of there. Having done an infiltration exercise in similar terrain gave Stephen a few crumbs of comfort. ‘The country should be pretty much the same,’ he thought.

  At 0335 they reached the road junction at Arriga below Walsh Bluff. Here they turned north again and sped along the long, straight road. As they did Graham pointed out the glow of lights on their right. “That is ‘Lotus Glen’ Prison Tom. My Dad keeps warning me to behave or I will end up there!”

  He said it as a joke but the thought caused Stephen to shiver with apprehension. Then he gave a wry grin. ‘If I end up in jail it means I am still alive!’

  They came out of the fog and sped on along farm roads through flat, open country until they came to the main Mareeba-Dimbulah Road. Turning right they went north along this for a few kilometres, then turned left off it and went North West. There were more patches of fog in the low flats but after ten minutes they reached the end of the bitumen and the road began climbing through low hills covered with dry savannah woodland.

  This was the only road leading to ‘Hayden Park’ from the south and as they drew closer with every minute Stephen became more and more tense till he was trembling with anticipation and anxiety. The road went down onto more flat country but this was covered with dry bush and there were no farms or buildings. Now it was just dark bush and a sense of isolation added to Stephen’s worries.

  Peter suddenly slowed down and brought the car to a stop at a closed white gate. For a few moments their own dust caught them up and enveloped them but then Stephen was able to read the sign on the gate. It read:

  HAYDEN PARK STATION

  PRIVATE PROPERTY--- KEEP OUT!

  TRESPASSERS PROSECUTED

  NO CAMPING - NO SHOOTING - NO FISHING

  CHAPTER 29

  OVER THE BOUNDARY

  As Stephen read the sign he swallowed and felt the fear churn in his stomach. That gate marked a very real boundary, both psychological and actual. ‘Once we are past there the enemy will know for sure we are onto them,’ he thought. Then it would be war to the death!

  Graham gestured to the sign. “Not very friendly these people,” he said jokingly.

  “I suppose if you are an important politician you would want to protect your privacy,” Tom suggested.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Graham agreed. “Well, what do we do now? Do we keep on driving?”

  Peter shook his head. “I think it is time we started walking,” he replied.

  “How far is it?” Tom asked.

  Graham looked at his map then waved towards the dark line of hills just visible through the windscreen. “It is about twelve kilometres in a straight line from here to the ‘Hayden Park’ homestead.”

  “Then we walk,” Peter said firmly. Mentally Stephen agreed. To them 12 km was no distance at all.

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

  “Hide it,” Peter answered. He looked out the side window, then started the car moving slowly, turning it sharply to the right as he did. Stephen saw that a vehicle track of sorts ran along beside the fence, which was in a clearing.

  As they drove slowly along the two wheel tracks through waist high grass Tom spoke up, “But mightn’t they see our tyre marks?”

  “Yes. We will brush them out,” Peter replied. They continued on in silence after that. Peter drove very slowly in case there were rocks or holes hidden in the grass. They did bump over a few small dead branches and scraped a few anthills but it was flat, easy going. After about fifty metres he stopped.

  “That isn’t far enough,” Graham said. “The car will still be visible from the road.�
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  “I know,” Peter replied. “You and Steve get out and brush out the tracks and just follow along till you find us.”

  Stephen opened the door and climbed out. Outside it was quite cool and he shivered. Overhead there were only millions of stars but off to the east the flicker of distant lightning lit up rain clouds. Apart from the rumble of far-off thunder, the purr of the motor, and the gentle sighing of the breeze in the leaves there wasn’t a sound. His watch told him it was just on 0400. ‘About half an hour to First Light,’ he thought. ‘We’d better hurry.’

  Peter drove slowly on, the headlights of the car lighting up the trees and fence line. Stephen and Graham both scouted around and found small saplings which they cut off and then carried back to the turn-off. By then the sound of the car had died away and even the glow from its headlights was difficult to see.

  It took the two boys a couple of minutes to walk back to the main gravel road. Here Stephen held his torch while Graham did the brushing. Satisfied that no casual observer would notice anything they then began working their way backwards, one on each wheel rut. Most of the time they worked only by starlight but both did checks with their torches to ensure the more obvious tracks were obliterated. The wheel tracks were on sandy soil so it was a simple task.

  It took twenty minutes to work their way in along the track to where Peter and Tom were waiting. In the starlight Stephen could see a line of darker vegetation but no sign of the car. “Where’s the car?” he asked.

  Peter pointed. “In under the trees on the bank of that creek. We’ve put a few braches and some dead grass on it so it shouldn’t be too easy to see.”

  “What about from the air?” Graham queried.

  “I thought of that,” Peter answered. “We did the best we could.”

  Stephen noted that he was now able to see his friend’s faces as pale shapes with features. “It will be daylight soon. We had better get moving.”

  Their gear was beside the car and it took only a minute to pull it on. Graham took out his compass and set it, then set off northwards. Stephen adjusted his webbing to fit more comfortably and followed. Peter and Tom came behind. Two minutes walk brought them to the boundary fence.

  As they reached the fence Stephen looked both ways along the clearing and noted the light was already greying towards dawn. As he lay down to crawl under fence ‘infantry’ style (on his back) he gripped the bottom strand of barbed wire to hold it clear. The metal was cold to the touch and he shivered again. But it was not really the cold. He knew it was from fear.

  ‘Now we are in enemy territory,’ he thought as he rolled over and stood up. They were over the boundary and he knew it would be very hard to come up with an innocent explanation of why they were trespassing.

  Tom had tried to crawl under the fence on his front and had snagged the back of his shirt. Graham and Peter helped free him and he stood up and dusted his hands. Graham did not wait but led off into the bush at once.

  It was easy walking through flat savannah woodland. The grass varied from knee to waist high and the trees were almost all eucalypts and spaced about five metres apart. A few logs, rocks and termite mounds caused them to stumble but otherwise it was a physical environment completely familiar to Stephen, and he knew, to Graham and Peter. Only Tom’s experience was an unknown factor and Stephen could only hope he had enough common sense to make up for the lack.

  As they walked the light slowly increased until full daylight almost imperceptibly replaced the darkness. Ahead of them the details of a range of steep hills became visible through the trees. Stephen noted that the hills were typical North Queensland dry country: mostly grass covered with a scattered gum trees. Outcrops of rock and clumps of darker vegetation in the re-entrants gave some variety. They looked the same as a dozen other such ranges he had crossed in the last five years.

  Their planned route took them to the right of a prominent rock-studded bluff, aiming for a high saddle. To the left of that was an obvious pass which Stephen knew was the gap through which the main gravel road passed. ‘Brauns Gap,’ he thought, ‘Another German.’

  Graham now led them down into the bed of the creek and along it. On the map this was named Leylands Creek and it began as a set of small gullies and re-entrants in the hills ahead. The creek bed was almost dry, just a few small pools surviving from the last rain shower. Like all nearly such creeks in that area it was only a few metres wide with a bed of rocks, sand and pebbles. The trees lining the banks and bed proved the best available cover although they made for difficult walking in places.

  As the group began to climb up into the foothills the sun lit up the higher parts of the range in a lovely pinkish glow. The creek bed became more and more difficult to follow as exposed bedrock and boulders littered it in jumbled profusion and the tangle of trees and flood debris choked it. As they were now in amongst the lower ridges Graham led the way up onto the grassy slope beside the creek. Even so he continually stopped and looked around to check that they were not visible from the gravel road, now over a kilometre away on their left rear. The road was now hidden by the tree canopy except in the far distance where it came over a hill.

  Satisfied they were as safe from casual observation as they could be Graham continued on up the ever steepening slope. Stephen found he was puffing with exertion much sooner than he had expected and perspiration began to trouble him. As the sun came up it shone full into the re-entrant and heated the air with tropical intensity. As there was no breeze at all they had no option but to sweat heavily.

  Tom was the least fit and soon began to lag behind. Stephen at first mentally sneered but then had to grudgingly admit that Tom was trying his hardest and he could see he was hurting. Graham noted this as well and began to stop every fifty metres to allow Tom to catch up.

  “Bloody hot!” Tom gasped, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve.

  “It is the tropics,” Graham replied dryly.

  “Keep drinking,” Peter added. “We don’t want anyone getting heat exhaustion.”

  “What if we run out of water?” Tom asked. “I’ve drunk a whole waterbottle already and only have one more.”

  “We drink from the creeks,” Peter replied.

  Tom looked doubtful. “Won’t that make us sick?” he asked.

  Peter shrugged. “It might. Won’t be anything serious though. The Aborigines drank it for thousands of years and the early explorers and pioneers did the same.”

  They plodded on upwards. The top looked a long way up but Stephen knew from experience that this was an illusion. In this country hills often looked much bigger than they were. This one was no exception. After twenty minutes of hot, sweaty puffing they reached the saddle. Off to their left and right the slope went on up but they were at the lowest point and ahead of them opened up a vista which made them pause.

  Stretching ahead of them was a long valley which Stephen knew was the valley of Leichhardt Creek. ‘Another bloody German!’ he thought grumpily. The whole valley was dotted with the scattered trees of savannah woodland but Stephen could make out the darker line of vegetation that marked the course of the creek. On both sides of the valley were long, low ridges. On the right were a smaller valley and a series of small re-entrants which came in from a high, rugged range to the east. This was the Hann Tableland and looked relatively bare and rugged.

  To the west of the Leichhardt Creek valley was another valley along which Gap Creek ran north from Brauns Gap to join Leichhardt Creek near the homestead. As Stephen looked that way he noted the glint of sunlight on a steel roof. A thrill of fear ran through him. ‘That is their HQ,’ he thought. He pointed it out to the others but they had already noted it.

  To the west of Gap Creek was another rugged range which stretched off into the distance. This was the Hodgekinson Range and the slope facing the valley was a line of rugged bluffs, cut at intervals by steep-sided rocky re-entrants. Graham pointed to it. “Those cliffs must make an effective barrier to cattle.”

  “Y
es, it would save on fencing,” Peter agreed.

  “Probably why the early pioneers chose it,” Stephen agreed. Now that he thought about it he could see that two rugged ranges acted as barriers to the east and west and steep hills all but closed off the northern and southern ends.

  “Like Wilpena Pound in South Australia,” Tom added.

  Stephen had seen photos of it so he knew what Tom was talking about. He grunted a reply, then said, “Do we eat breakfast?”

  “Yes, over there,” Graham replied. He pointed along to the right where a small natural bench snuggled in below steep rocks on the high ground and a clump of dry rainforest growing on the slope. They found a sheltered spot where even an aircraft would have trouble seeing them and settled to eat. Stephen took the opportunity to go to the toilet, scraping a hole with the heel of his boot. When he rejoined the others he noted Graham shaving and ran his hand over his own stubbly chin. ‘Nah! I won’t bother,’ he thought. Peter also shaved but Tom just washed his face. ‘Not man enough to shave,’ Stephen thought unkindly. He was feeling tired and grumpy and annoyed because he knew he was scared.

  At 0700 they resumed their march. As they did a shower of rain passed, wetting them but not cooling them. The water felt quite warm. It did at least rinse off some of the sweat. Going down was hard work as the slope was steep and the grass hid the hundreds of rocks. There were frequent stumbles and a lot of muttered curses. ‘I hope no-one trips and breaks a leg,’ Stephen thought gloomily. Getting them to medical help would take a gut-busting effort.

  That led him to ponder what might result if one of them was bitten by a snake. ‘We couldn’t just go to the station,’ he thought. Even explaining why they were there would be difficult if they called in an Emergency Services helicopter. ‘Even assuming we could contact it in time,’ he thought gloomily.

  Thankful that Graham and Peter were in front and should therefore frighten away any snakes Stephen devoted a lot of time and nervous energy to scanning the long grass; an almost hopeless task under the circumstances. Down on the flat ground there was much less grass. There had clearly been a fire during the dry season and the grass had not had time to re-grow. Stephen was thankful for that. The walking was now easy: gentle slopes and sandy soil with enough trees to provide some shade and cover.