Ruby Gorge, central australia, August 1987
I will be picked up again after a few weeks. My equipment and provisions will suffice until then. Surrounded bytall rockwalls, I find colored stones in the dried-out bed of a stream - among others, granite and ochre. Clear nights, illuminated by the full moon, which turns the rocks into breathtakingly theatrical scenery. Mimosa bushes and eucalyptus treas lend some shadow during the day. A marvelous echo promts me to sing, especially at night, which drives out the fear I initially had over the howling of the dingos.
The stone is obstinate, it takes a terribly long time to pulverize muscovite, granite and quartzite. The green colors, the irridescent, gleaming stone, fascinates me. Yet I am scarcely aware of what it means, that these are rock strats 900 million years old.
At 30 degrees celsius, the heat is dry. The contrast to the cold nights in the tent is immense.
Being alone, the absolute calm, observing the proceedings of nature, the daily course of the sun - all this makes me increasingly calm, less fearful. I feel good.