The Lake That Wasn't

After our restorative lunch, we turned southward, following the Grampians' eastern flank as these ancient sandstone sentinels stood guard on our right. The landscape told stories of recent trauma and resilient recovery—vast swaths of bushland bearing the unmistakable signature of fire. Black trunks rose like charcoal sentries from earth already busy with regeneration, brilliant green shoots emerging from both understory and the epicormic buds of eucalyptus trunks. This vivid contrast—death and life intertwined—created a landscape both heartbreaking and hopeful, nature demonstrating its eternal cycle of destruction and renewal.

The mountains gradually retreated as we continued south, their jagged profile softening with distance until we reached the Grampians' southern terminus. Here, a modest free camp beckoned beside a small lake—though 'lake' seemed generous description for what drought had reduced to little more than ambitious puddle. The water's recession had left rings like age marks on the surrounding earth, each band recording another season of scarcity.

This would be merely an overnight pause—a practical waypoint breaking our journey back to Melbourne rather than destination worthy of exploration. Yet even these transitional spaces held their quiet appeal. Torrin quickly identified suitable anchor points for his hammock, his accommodation preference now firmly established after multiple nights of successful suspended slumber.

"Found the perfect trees," he announced with satisfaction, stringing his aerial bed between two sturdy eucalypts that seemed positioned precisely for such purpose.

As darkness fell, the wind arrived as uninvited guest, setting Torrin's hammock swaying in pendulum rhythm. From our stable bus, we could hear the trees creaking their protest against the gusts, wondering if our son's adventurous sleeping arrangement might prompt midnight retreat to more conventional shelter. Yet morning revealed him emerging from his cocoon with the particular satisfaction of challenge met—wind-rocked but well-rested.

Our departure routine had evolved to near-perfection through repetition—mere minutes required to transform from stationary home to road-ready vehicle. As we pulled away from the depleted lake, Melbourne beckoned with its promise of clinical trials and potential funding, but between us and urban obligation lay one more night of freedom, one more camp before structure temporarily reclaimed our days.Read more