Horror Travel Stories Vol 9 2010

LOST

by Roland Nanini

As the Cessna takes off, it tilts to the right and heads north and I watch through the window as Broome disappears in the distance. Broome, a tourist paradise, inlaid between desert and water, established by those who migrated to this land in search of the wealth created by a simple mollusc and a grain of sand.

Already en-route, one of my travel companions produces from somewhere a thermos filled with coffee. Although instant brew, it’s hot and welcomed, a great help to dissipate my bad humour caused by delays, rushing around and an upset stomach. After fifty, there are many things that upset me, and one of them is food.

The flight is turbulent but without mishap as we head north to Cockatoo Island. From there we will join up with our charter boat and steam on a seven day journey through the Bonaparte Archipelago, a group of about eight hundred small islands surrounded by pristine blue waters.

Pressing work commitments meant that I couldn’t stay for the return leg back to Broome. As Vansittart Bay was the mostly northerly point that we would travel, it came to light that the nearest airstrip was at Truscott, situated on a remote peninsula in the extreme north-west of the Kimberley. There is a barge landing and road to the airstrip in West Bay on the eastern, Kalumburu side of the peninsula, but that would involve a lengthy out of the way steam for the boat. I was told there is a rough track from the western end of the airstrip to Vansittart Bay and would only involve a couple of kay walk. Too easy I thought. At least that would solve the long, out of the way steam and not put the other boys on the boat out.

Over the next six days we enjoyed an action packed trip in stunning and pristine surroundings. It had been a most interesting trip. On the last morning we headed across the bay to the beach so that I could be dropped off. I was given a rough direction to take and full of confidence I bode my mates goodbye, wishing them well on their return trip to Cockatoo Island and then strode up the beach. I had chartered a Cessna aircraft and it should be waiting for me on the runway.

I was told to walk a short distance where I would come across a track that would lead me directly to the airstrip. What hadn’t been factored in was the wet season. Spear grass - 2 metres high - confronted my every move. As I worked my way through the lush and towering growth I thought it would only take a minute or two and I would come across the track.

Read the rest in the latest Fishing Wild magazine.