Lost

That morning, Tess woke to another long hot summer day, where the endless blue sky would stretch in every direction. Living on her family’s cattle station near Cunnamulla in southwest Queensland, Tess rose early to avoid the hottest part of the day. Pulling on her shorts and t-shirt, Tess checked the clock; it was 5.40 am. It would reach 48 degrees Celsius in the shade by midday, so the early hours were the best for taking photographs. The 120,000-acre cattle station, Bundoona, was her home and had been home to many generations before her. This morning she was headed to the boundary paddock to catch the 6.00 am sunrise. It would take 10 minutes to ride there on her dirt bike, so Tess hurried to put on her boots.

The air whistled as she rode, watching carefully for animals out searching for food. On the back of the bike were her water bottle, walkie talkie and her camera bag. She knew every track on the property like the back of her hand; she could probably make her way anywhere out here with her eyes closed. As the bush grew sparser leading closer to the vantage point, suddenly the bike started to splutter and after only a few seconds it stalled and rolled to a stop.

Tess cursed immediately, she hadn’t checked the fuel gauge before taking off. She knew she was only a few hundred metres from the vantage point, so grabbing the bag, she made off to catch the sunrise before it was too late. As she climbed the hill, only merely 200 metres above sea level, she could see the flicker of the sun appearing over the sunrise. It was still very dark as she scrambled up the well-worn path, but once she made it to the top she laid on her belly, turning the camera on and planting her elbows in the red dirt. Taking shots in the dark required a long exposure to capture the light. The sun rose quickly and Tess took hundreds of photos, each one capturing more beauty than the last. The mist among the shrub and trees held still and as the sun rose, it illuminated more of the detail in front of the horizon.

After an hour of photos, Tess made her way back down the rocky outcrop. She took her walkie talkie out of the bag and radioed the house for someone to bring fuel. But as she started to talk, she realised the battery was flat. Ever since she could walk, her father had warned her of how dangerous it could be out on the station. It was her younger brother Daniel’s responsibility to charge the walkie talkies.

“Dammit,” she yelled.

He knew better. Like any of the chores they were tasked with, her parents had drilled the responsibility into them from a young age. Living on a cattle station wasn’t like living in the city. Her cousins who lived in Melbourne had no concept of the realities of living out here. Not unloading the dishwasher might frustrate a parent, but not charging the walkie talkies could be life-threatening.

She knew the walk back to the house was about five and a half kilometres. The heat was intensifying as the sun rose higher in the sky. She imagined what she would say to her brother when she made it back. Some of the bigger trees would provide some shade while she rested. She at least had a full water bottle.

As she reached the first big tree and stumbled into the shade, her watch showed 7.15 am. It was probably already at least 30 degrees Celsius. She knew her mother would be baking bread in the kitchen, wondering where she was. She heard an engine, and feeling relieved, stood up. She guessed someone had come to check on her. Her family knew she took photos at this very spot. Sometimes her mother would join her and meditate while Tess took photos.

But when she stood, she slipped and fell, hitting her head on a dead branch. It was a few minutes before she regained consciousness. She blinked and looked around, taking in her surroundings which seemed familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she was or what she was doing.

She noticed her camera bag and realised she had been taking photographs. Not realising how badly concussed she was, she started to walk in the direction of the homestead. As she walked, time passed slowly. It was not clear to Tess that she was walking in the wrong direction, making roundabouts and turns, away from the homestead.

With her water bottle completely empty, her physical state started to deteriorate. She sat down, feeling confused. Glancing at her watch, now 9 am, she felt dazed and exhausted. She slowly began to realise that something wasn’t right; “maybe I am lost,” she thought to herself.

Tess felt an intense thirst and knew she was becoming more disorientated. She sat on a fallen tree trunk and tried to recognise her surroundings. She felt dizzy and couldn’t think clearly. The wind in the trees sounded like a whisper but nothing moved, there was a stillness in the air. The whisper started to sound like a voice, and it grew stronger.

“the well… the well… the well…” the voice seemed to repeat over and over.

She stood up suddenly and started walking through the bush, not following the road. She felt a presence guiding her, and while she couldn’t tell how much time was passing, she could barely feel her feet touching the ground as she took each step.

She moved into a clearing and fell forward, landing on her hands. She looked up and noticed the timber structure with a stone wall around its base. She realised it was the well; she hadn’t been out here since she was a young child, knowing that it was empty. Thoughts clouded as she wondered how she had come to this location. She knew her ancestors had lived near the well in a small hut, which had succumbed to nature. Her father had given up trying to save it. She stumbled to the well and looked down into the deep hole. She was surprised to see a glimmer of water, but perhaps it was just a mirage.

She heard another whisper, and stood up, feeling woozy, but looking around.

“drink… drink… drink” the voice repeated.

She felt confused as the thirst overwhelmed her, so she began to lower the hanging pail. As it touched the bottom, she heard a splash and felt pure joy and relief wash over her. She couldn’t believe it, she knew this well had been dry forever.

The voice returned and urged her. It whispered, “the hut, the hut” and so she turned towards the abandoned structure with its stone chimney and partial timber walls. Again, she felt as if she were floating, a sort of weightlessness she imagined that you only feel in space.

She stumbled into the shade and fell to the dirt floor, a feeling of sheer exhaustion overwhelming her. She closed her eyes, thinking a short rest may aid her to walk home.

When she opened her eyes, dusk was settling over the trees outside. Tess panicked, thinking she would need to spend the night alone in the hut. She knew she had another hour or so before the darkness truly enveloped the bush.

Quickly, Tess collected her bag and hat and walked out into the dwindling light outside the hut. Using the setting sun, she knew the homestead was south of her location, so she drew up another pail of water, and began walking. It was unclear to her how far she was from the homestead, but she inwardly thanked her father for teaching her to navigate without any other tools.

She walked for an hour and came to the track which led to the vantage point. Her bike would be in one direction, and the homestead in the other. She checked her position as the sun sank into the horizon. She knew the homestead was now west of her position. The sunlight was fading fast, with the sun invisible behind the canopies of the denser scrub along the track. She thought the homestead must be another two or three kilometres. Now the sunlight had faded, the temperature was cooling rapidly, and before long, she would be freezing.

Another 20 minutes passed before she heard an engine and a spotlight. She saw her brother's four-wheel motorbike and tried to yell out, but her voice was drowned out by the engine. He was heading off the track into the scrub. She tried to run towards him, but despite the water from the well, she felt drained and too tired to move at more than a shuffle.

Daniel's bike and the spotlight were now further away, and Tess groaned but continued to walk slowly along the track. Then an engine roared behind her and she heard her father call out.

'Tess, oh, Tess. Where have you been? We were all so worried."

He stopped the bike in front of her, kicking the stand out so the two-wheeler wouldn't fall over. She collapsed into her father's arms as he called out over the radio to bring everyone home.

She climbed onto the back of the bike, and he rode slowly home, concerned that Tess might slip off if he didn't hold her with one arm.

At the house, her mother was waiting at the brick steps on the edge of the verandah. As the bike came slowly to a stop, she rushed over and Tess collapsed onto the dusty ground, beside the yellow roses planted by her great-grandmother.

She stared at the roses and suddenly knew that the voice had been her great-grandmother, Hazel. Hazel had lived in the hut before the main house was built in 1901. She shook her head, trying to understand how it was possible. But she knew, there was no other explanation.

She smiled at the roses and quietly thanked her great-grandmother Hazel for showing her the way home.