Behind Mt. Baldy (2 page)

By the time the boys crossed the
narrow bridge over the concrete irrigation channel all were perspiring freely
and they had had to step off the narrow road to allow five cars to pass safely.
The boys had to wait at the bridge across the Barron for two more cars. They
then walked across as quickly as they could.

As they crossed the bridge Graham
looked down into the clear water gurgling over rocks. 
“Looks
nice.
 
Makes me feel like a swim.”

Stephen shook his head. “Be
bloody cold,” he replied.

“Suppose so.”

A swarm of kids appeared along a
track on their right and began clambering into a tour bus. The younger children
gaped at the heavily laden cadets in their camouflage uniforms.

“Bloody busy,” Stephen said.

Peter laughed. “It is the school
holidays,” he reminded.

The road now wound steeply uphill
through bush. The effort of walking up it told within minutes.  Their
speed slowed, faces reddened, breath came in deep gasps,
sweat
beaded their faces.  Despite his best efforts Roger began to fall behind.

Stephen looked back. “Come on
Roger, keep up,” he called, unable to keep the irritation out of his
voice.  When the expedition had been proposed he had not wanted Roger to
come.  “He’ll slow us down. He’ll break down. He’s just a fat little
slob,” he had said angrily to Peter and Graham.

Hearing that had really hurt
Roger’s feelings but it had also made him determined to try. He had appealed to
be allowed to join the hike and Graham had supported him.

While Peter had also voiced some
doubts he had supported Roger.  “He’s a lot fitter than he used to be,”
he’d said. “And he managed to get through the Senior Exercise without breaking
down.”

Now, on the first big hill, Roger
began to wonder if Stephen might have been right. Looking up he saw with dismay
that the road wound on steeply for hundreds of metres. Already his pack felt as
though it was filled with lead. With five days food and cold weather clothes
and a sleeping bag in it the pack was bulky and heavy. The weight dragged at
his shoulder muscles and he worried that he had miscalculated again.

But Roger wasn’t ready to give up
yet. Gritting his teeth and forcing his muscles to greater effort he tried to
catch up. He saw Peter glancing back and wondered if he was regretting having
agreed to let him come. ‘I’ll show Steve!’ Roger thought, pushing himself even
harder.

But the effort was too much.
Roger felt his heart rate going up and he began to gulp in deep breaths. Then
his stomach heaved and a wave of nausea welled up. Unable to keep walking he
stopped and leaned on a tree, gasping for breath.

Peter stopped and was about to
speak when Roger suddenly vomited. The sound made Graham and Stephen stop and
look back. Roger’s stomach heaved again. He leaned forward to avoid soiling his
clothes. A stream of yellow liquid gushed out onto the leaves and grass.

Stephen shook his head and
disgust showed on his face.
“Bloody hell!
We haven’t
even got up the first hill,” he snorted.

The scornful look just added to
Roger’s misery. But he was so queasy he was unable to make a reply. Then he
spewed again. He felt awful. His eyes went out of focus. He clung to the rough
trunk of an ironbark to steady himself. His body trembled and he wasn’t sure if
he was shivering or sweating. Several cars went past. A person yelled
something.  Roger didn’t hear what it was but the tone was derisory.
Embarrassed he clung to the tree and spat into the long grass.

Roger was hotly aware of
Stephen’s ‘I told you so’ face and felt sorry he had let Graham down. He was
aware Graham was now beside him. Then his stomach heaved again. Nothing much
came out, mostly mucous. He wiped his mouth and felt miserable.

Stephen jeered. “Not many carrots
in that Roger,” he called.

Roger looked at the mess on the
leaves and his stomach churned again. This time nothing came up.

Peter gave a wry smile “That was
that
bottle
of passionfruit softdrink you gutsed back
at the kiosk,” he observed.

“A few greasy chips too,” Stephen
laughed.

Roger dry-retched again and
glared at Stephen.

“Shut up you blokes,” Graham
ordered. “Here Roger, give me your pack.”  He unclipped the heavy pack and
swung it clear. “Let’s get to the top and have a blow.”

Graham took Roger’s elbow and
started him walking up the road, holding the pack in his right hand.

A hundred paces further on they
came to a flat area at the north end of the dam wall.  Half a dozen cars
were parked there and there seemed to be lots of tourists.

Graham looked around then said,
“You right for a bit more Roger?”

Roger nodded. He felt more upset
than sick. “Yeah, I’ll be OK. Give me back my pack.”

“In a minute.
Let’s just get away from all
these tourists.”

The bitumen ended. A dusty gravel
road led off northwards between a
mountainside
covered
with dry savannah woodland and the lake. The boys trudged on along it.

“
This do
?”
Peter asked, indicating some large rocks beside the lake.

Graham shook his head. “No. We
will go a bit further. Where we can get down to the water easily,” he replied.
He grasped Roger’s pack against his chest and plodded on. The road was only a
few metres above the level of the lake and not ten metres from it so the boys
could see out across the water through a thin screen of trees. At Graham’s
insistence the group walked on for a couple of hundred paces.

“Here’s a good spot,” Peter said,
pointing down to the right. Roger saw that a rough foot track led down to a
small sandy beach.  Graham agreed. The boys turned off and walked down
onto the edge of the beach. Here they dropped their packs and unbuckled their
webbing.

“Wash your face and rinse your
mouth out Roger,” Graham said. He dropped his webbing and stretched.
“Aaah!
That’s a relief,” he said. “This stuff weighs a ton.”

Peter agreed. Stretching to ease
his muscles he took out his map and studied it. “It’s a bit of a worry. We’ve
only been walking for thirty minutes. We have only walked a kilometre and a
half, if that,” he said.

“And we have to cover about
twenty kilometres a day,” Stephen reminded.

It was a sobering thought. They
sat down while Roger splashed his face. They were all experienced hikers and
were carrying the bare essentials.

“It’s the five days food,” Peter
pointed out.

Roger sat beside them wiping his
face.

“Feeling better?” Graham asked.

Roger nodded. “Yes thanks. I’ll
be OK. I just ate too much junk food at the kiosk,” he replied.

“You always eat too much,”
Stephen commented pointedly.

Roger did not reply. He knew it;
and he wished he didn’t. Regretting his weakness he looked out over the lake.
“This is really pretty,” he observed.

It was. The four sat enjoying the
view. A gentle, cool breeze made tiny waves ripple on the lake, transforming
the deep blue with tiny sparkles. Small waves lapped on the sand. ‘It feels
nice in the sun,’ Roger thought.

Graham looked at his watch. “We’d
better get on,” he said. “It’s getting on towards eleven.”

“We could have lunch here,” Peter
suggested.

Graham shook his head. “No. We
just had morning tea. Let’s go on for another hour. That will give Roger’s
stomach time to settle.  Have a big drink Roger,” he answered, standing up
and swinging on his webbing.

“What a bloody slave driver you
are Graham. I’ll bet your ancestors used to whip black people in the sugar cane
fields,” Stephen grumbled. “Every hike’s the same - packs on! March! Keep
moving!”

The others laughed as they stood
up because it was true. Graham was the driving force, which probably explained
why he outranked his friends - all of whom got better marks in class.

Roger rinsed his mouth again and
took a big drink from one of his four water bottles. Already he felt a lot
better. He looked out over the lake and went to take another drink.  Then
he paused, the bottle near his open mouth.  His eyes narrowed.

“What’s that in the water?” he
asked.

Graham was about to swing on his
pack. “What?
Where?”

Roger pointed to a long dark object
about twenty metres out.

“Crocodile?”
Stephen laughingly suggested as
he adjusted his webbing to sit more comfortably on his hips.

Graham sniffed. “Don’t be silly
Stephen. There are no crocs on the Tablelands,” he said, shielding his eyes to
look.

“It looks like...,” Peter began.

“A body,” Roger finished, very
softly.

“Oh it is not! Now who’s being
silly?” Stephen snorted.

“It does Steve. It’s not a log
anyway,” Peter agreed quietly.

Roger stared at the thing and
felt a cold hand grip his chest and then his stomach. ‘It does look like a dead
body,’ he thought. It was hard to tell as the thing was so far out but he
thought he was looking at a man’s back and head.

The others were silent now, staring,
each hoping it was not true. They all, at different times, had seen a dead
person. None of them wanted to see another.

“I’ll get up a bit higher,” Roger
decided. He unbuckled his webbing and scrambled up onto a mass of black granite
which armoured the small headland beside the beach. Graham came scrambling up
to join him.

Roger felt his heart sink into
his stomach. There was no doubt. He could see what could only be arms.

“It’s a dead body alright,” he
said quietly.

Graham gulped and steadied himself
on the sloping rock to stare. “I can see his hands,” he muttered.

“What can you see?” Peter called
from down on the beach.

“It’s a dead body alright,” Roger
replied, unwilling even then to acknowledge the reality.

Stephen stood beside Peter,
looking very pale and silent.

“We’ve got to get him out,” Roger
said.

“Why? He’s dead,” Graham replied.

“He might not be,” Roger
answered.

“The wind will push
it ..
er
him, ashore somewhere
here,” Peter called.

“That will take half an hour or
more,” Roger replied. “He might not be dead.  We’ve got to get him out.”

“He’s dead Roger,” Graham
replied, climbing slowly back down the rocks.

Roger followed. “Drowned people
can be saved. We get taught that in Lifesaving. Mouth to mouth and CPR,” he
insisted. Back down on the beach again he stepped forward into the water.

“What are you doing Roger?”
Graham yelled, running over to him.

“I’m going to get him,” Roger
replied.

“Let the current wash him
ashore,” Stephen cried angrily, his pale blue eyes blazing.

“No.”

Graham flapped his arms
helplessly. “Then, then ... then at least don’t drown yourself by trying to
swim in boots and clothes.”

“You’re right,”
 
Roger
agreed. He sat down and began unlacing his boots.

Stephen looked aghast. “You’re
not going to swim out to
that ..
that
thing?” he asked in a strangled whisper.

Roger nodded and went on
undressing. Peter joined them. The others stood in silence while Roger pulled
off his boots and socks. Then he stood and began to unbutton his shirt. Roger
knew he was only an average swimmer, whereas Graham was very good.  In his
heart he knew he should not be the one to swim out, but he felt compelled to do
it. He turned to look at Graham, hoping he would offer to go.

Graham looked awful. Then he
said, “I’ll swim out.”

Relief flooded through Roger, to
be replaced instantly by stubborness. “No. I’ll go. You
be
ready to rescue me though, because it will be cold in there and I might get a
cramp,” he replied.

Graham weakly agreed and sat to
take his boots off. Normally Roger was very self-conscious of his body. His
skin was very white and as he peeled his trousers off he knew with bitter
self-loathing that he did look pudgy. To save weight they had not brought
bathers so Roger stripped off his underpants and stood stark naked in the
water. That he was willing to do this brought home to him how intense his own
determination was. Embarrassed self-consciousness mingled with sickening dread
and he nerved himself to act.

Graham hauled off his second
boot. “Off you go
Roger,
I’ll be ready by the time you
reach him.”

Roger said nothing. Breathing
deeply he waded slowly in, flinching at the coldness of the water. The water on
the surface was quite warm to the touch but half a metre down it felt like it
was straight from Antarctica. He shivered,
then
launched
himself forward.