For some time I had been hoping to have a ‘men and boys’ weekend out bush as an opportunity to role model for teenage boys in particular. This turned into a ‘men and kids’ (boys and girls) then ‘adults and kids’ with my friends Andrew and Jen and their two kids John and Chiara, while I took David (11) and Dillon (14) (originally from Lombok). David is addicted to his phone while Dillon has an anxiety issue – both good kids and perfect for my taking out bush ambition. Neither had spent time in the Australian bush but were keen to come with me.
I’ve spent many nights out on the Bibbulmun track (a walking track from Perth to Albany), mostly solo or
with a friend or two. This one was different in many ways – firstly there were
seven of us and it didn’t involve much walking as we parked off the Brookton
Hwy and walked less than 3km to the Brookton campsite, a new rammed earth hut
built after the fire three years earlier. Dillon asked on the way if there were
snakes, to which I said that I hadn’t seen any on the track up this way which I
thought would alleviate his fears. Of course I was proven wrong as within the
first hour Dillon almost stepped on a snake! I had been trailing at the back of
the group and only caught a glimpse and while he thought it was a tiger snake I
thought it more likely a dugite. Luckily he escaped unharmed and didn’t seem
too affected.
We arrived at the hut to find an older fella, Sean by
himself and my first instinct was poor fella as our noisy group set up house
around him. He looked pale and gaunt and quite reclusive and I gave him space
and focussed on setting up and getting dinner and the fire ready. An hour after
our intrusion another guy turned up out of the blue and said his mates were
just behind him – how many mates were there? Another five! To my
disappointment, he had driven to the hut, though he had a bad leg so I tried to
overlook my judgemental moral high ground position. They did break open the
beers a bit later and celebrated their gourmet meal of quails and other very
non-Bibb track fare. Meanwhile Sean kept to himself in the corner and was in
his sleeping bag even before darkness set in. We were an odd assembly in the
Brookton Hut that night.
Of course the kids loved the fire and playing spotlight and roasting
marshmallows. I was happy they were fully engaged in the experience and getting
along with each other. The boys hadn’t even known what a banksia was and I had
to remind myself of such a new and raw experience they were having. At my level
I had inspected the rammed earth hut and marvelled at the variations in
regrowth after the fire. Many trees and grass trees hadn’t survived - a
testament to the ferocity of the fire.
Despite the noisy conversations going on after midnight
outside, we slept quite well. By sunrise I was awake and enjoyed a 6am stroll
to greet the morning. Then it was the busyness of breakfast preparations while
the kids reignited the fire. Dillon slept in until I rustled him up before 8am
conscious that we had to be on our way before 9am to meet other appointments
for the day. The flies responded quickly as the heat of the day (max 36C) set
in. The other group were up and out early.
Meanwhile Sean was still camped in the corner. I wondered if
he was waiting until we vacated to become a bit more active. Over the years
I’ve met so many hardened old fellas on the track and had put him into that
tough generation category with not much to say. He had walked into the hut
after all and had well worn leather boots. When I asked how he was feeling he
said fine, though his pale appearance indicated otherwise and he was a bit more
vague with his responses than the previous day. We offered toast and he
accepted and I wondered if he had much food at all. I ensured his cup and water
bottle were filled. Otherwise I was focussed on packing up camp, encouraging
the boys to get ready, and trying to squeeze four sleeping mats and three
sleeping bags into my backpack for the trip back.
After dousing the fire, saying farewell and leaving the camp
clean, we set off. As I walked away I felt discomfort to leave this sickly
looking older man by himself. What was his story? Was he suffering from a
terminal illness? Had he come out to die? Though he had said he’d only been
there a few days, was this really true and was he really going to leave the
next day? I started sharing with Jen. The kids were also wondering about him and
Dillon had discovered his wife had passed away. I had the horrible thought of
him dying out here and a group with kids coming across him perhaps a few days
later. After a few minutes of ongoing discomfort I felt called to act. I ditched
my pack announcing that I was going back. I ran with growing conviction though
not really knowing the best approach to the situation.
He was still lying in his sleeping bag and it didn’t take long for my questions to
confirm my suspicions that he was very unwell. He was disorientated, quite
unresponsive to my questions even though I was being as cheery and non-invasive
as I could be in an otherwise awkward conversation setting. He’d said that he
had no food. The flies had established themselves all over his face and he wasn’t
bothering to chase them off even when they went over his eyes. He had a car but
he didn’t have keys, they were in the unlocked car apparently. I eventually got
him to agree that if I got his car back to the hut that I could take him home,
wherever that was. I returned to the group and we established a plan, Jen would
take the kids to Kwinana while Andrew and I would drive my corolla back to the
hut if we couldn’t get his car. The kids
were appreciative, Dillon even commented ‘you are a good man Uncle Joe’.
He didn’t have his car there so the Corolla ventured up the
authorised zone only track. I slowly and carefully guided my city car back to
the hut. Andrew and I went over options including the scenario of him refusing
to come with us and resisted attempts. As it turned out he didn’t have that
much energy. Fortunately Andrew was with me as he wasn’t even able to walk. It
took us a solid 5 minutes to manoeuvre him to the car. At times he convulsed
and locked his legs and I wondered if he was in fact close to death. He had no
ID, and his pack was light though he’d had a few crackers and some cheese left.
Upon reflection, my experience of living with Anne’s dad
Vince served me well as I’d had experience of dressing and manoeuvring an older
man, plus a way of conversing in a non-threatening manner. Andrew shared his
training in pastoral care so I think we made a good pair.
We took him to emergency at Armadale Hospital. The young
doctor firstly asked why we hadn’t called for an ambulance which surprised me –
an ambulance would not have even found him and it would have taken hours. Not
having any ID was an issue but I had found his box of codeine which had came
with a prescription. They were able to find him on their system, complete with
a home address and next-of-kin details and he had even been there just four
weeks before. We were able to leave him to be admitted in a wheelchair, satisfied
to know he would be looked after. We returned to Kwinana to further debrief.
Several days later I phoned Armadale hospital. At first they
couldn’t find a record of him and while they said they weren’t allowed to
divulge information, I was able to glean sufficient details to track him to
Charles Gairdner hospital. They let me know he was in intensive care but
stable. No, he would not have survived out there and quite possibly he would
have been found by an unfortunate walker in a bad state. His future may not be
that secure but at least he has a chance and his family can at least be with
him.
Our one night on the track was quite eventful! I hadn’t expected it to turn out that way but
I certainly achieved my aim of role modelling to young teenage boys. My inner
voice of discomfort was a good teacher and I’m glad I acted on my conviction
when others would probably have walked away.
Wow!
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