Kara Kara's Not-So-Quiet Medicine

We had recalibrated our compass toward Kara Kara National Park, a destination that had shifted from brief waypoint to extended sanctuary in the wake of Anth's ankle rebellion. His pre-fall planning had pencilled in merely an overnight pause here—a quick breath between Grampians hiking and onward adventures. But the swollen joint wrapped in compression bandages had rewritten our itinerary with the authority of physical limitation. What was meant to be fleeting would now become a week of enforced stillness, allowing damaged ligaments their necessary time to knit themselves back toward functionality.

The approach to Kara Kara revealed dispersed camping at its most generous—no designated sites, no crowded loops, just vast spaces where we could position ourselves according to need rather than regulation. The absence of other campers felt like nature's prescription for healing, solitude serving as balm for both injured ankle and travel-weary spirits. We had the entire park as private estate, free to choose our coordinates without negotiating the complex social geometry of shared camping areas.

Sal navigated our golden home with the careful precision of someone protecting precious cargo, eventually selecting a position that balanced multiple necessities. Proximity to the toilet block—normally something we'd avoid in favour of greater privacy—had become essential given Anth's hobbled mobility. Each crutch-assisted journey to the facilities would be struggle enough without adding unnecessary distance. Yet even this practical positioning couldn't diminish the spot's inherent appeal, surrounded by native bushland that whispered promises of wildlife encounters and peaceful days.

"This'll do perfectly," Sal announced with satisfaction, surveying their chosen territory. "Close enough for you to manage, far enough to still feel properly bush."

Camp setup became collaborative ballet between Sal and Torrin, their movements coordinated through weeks of practice now adapted to accommodate Anth's temporary incapacitation. What normally took all three of us working in familiar rhythm now required redistribution of labour, each task reassigned according to mobility rather than habit. Torrin hauled water while Sal positioned the new solar panels—those recent acquisitions that promised extended off-grid capability now drinking deeply of perfect winter sunshine that blessed our arrival.

The setup that normally took minutes stretched slightly longer, but there was no urgency in our movements. Time had become elastic here, measured not in minutes but in the gradual reduction of ankle swelling, the slow return of weight-bearing capability, the patient progression from crutches to tentative steps. Kara Kara would hold us as long as necessary, its quietude asking nothing more than our presence.

As we settled into these changed circumstances, the park began revealing its particular magic with generous abundance. Birdlife arrived as if summoned by some unseen announcement of our residency. Sulphur-crested cockatoos became our alarm clocks and evening entertainment, their harsh cries greeting each afternoon with raucous reliability. These weren't the occasional visitors we'd grown accustomed to but permanent residents who treated our camp as extension of their territory, investigating our activities with bold curiosity.

Grey Shrike-thrushes adopted us with particular enthusiasm, their melodious songs providing sophisticated counterpoint to the cockatoos' rough music. These elegant birds would perch mere metres away, heads cocked in assessment of our intentions, apparently deciding we posed no threat to their foraging routines. Brown Treecreepers completed our regular avian ensemble, their distinctive spiralling ascents up nearby trunks becoming familiar sight during our stationary days.

"Better than any nature documentary," Torrin observed as another feathered delegation arrived for inspection. "They're treating us like part of the landscape."

The complete absence of human company transformed our camping experience into something more akin to residence than visitation. With no one to observe or consider, we expanded into the space with unusual freedom. The Pomoly stove emerged from storage to become our primary cooking method, its wood-fired warmth and smoky flavours adding ritual satisfaction to meal preparation. Each evening, Torrin would gather fallen timber while Sal orchestrated dinner preparations, their partnership smoothly compensating for Anth's enforced rest.

The ankle that had initially appeared catastrophically damaged began its remarkable rehabilitation with surprising speed. What had seemed destined to require weeks of immobilisation showed improvement daily, swelling receding like tide retreating from shore. The crutches, initially essential for any movement beyond the bus, were abandoned after just two days as Anth began testing weight on the injured joint with increasing confidence.

"Don't push it," Sal warned repeatedly, watching with nurse's eye as Anth attempted longer walks each day. "Better to heal properly than re-injure through impatience."

But whether due to his body's natural healing capacity or Kara Kara's restorative atmosphere, the recovery progressed far ahead of our conservative expectations. By day three, he was moving with only slight limp. By day five, casual observation would hardly detect injury at all. The week we'd allocated for complete rest had become instead gradual return to capability, each day bringing increased mobility and corresponding elevation in collective mood.

The peaceful essence of this place seemed to accelerate healing beyond mere physical repair. The morning bird chorus, the afternoon sun warming recovering tissue, the evening conversations around the Pomoly's glowing firebox—all combined to create therapeutic environment that no medical facility could replicate. We had accidentally discovered the perfect rehabilitation centre, where time moved according to body's needs rather than calendar's demands.

While browsing the internet during one of our quiet afternoons, Anth discovered an intriguing opportunity that he immediately presented to Sal. The position with an online fitness company seemed tailored precisely to their evolving life—combining Sal's years of fitness knowledge and practical experience with her current studies of Master in Counselling and Psychotherapy. The remote nature of the role meant our nomadic lifestyle could continue uninterrupted, income flowing regardless of our physical location. Within days, Sal had filmed her application video from beside the bus, the Australian bush providing authentic backdrop to the presentation. The interview followed swiftly via laptop and Starlink connection, technology bridging the gap between Kara Kara's isolation and professional opportunity. When confirmation of the successful application arrived, excitement rippled through our camp—not just for the financial security it promised, but for the validation of Sal's expertise and the perfect alignment with our unconventional lifestyle.

"I can't believe it worked out so perfectly," Sal said, her excitement palpable as she shared the news. "A job I'm genuinely excited about that doesn't require us to stop travelling."

Yet even paradise accepts temporary residents only, and eventually our week at Kara Kara reached its natural conclusion. The housesit awaiting us near Lancefield provided convenient next chapter, offering different comforts—proper walls, unlimited hot water, domestic duties in exchange for suburban sanctuary. The transition from bush healing to house dwelling felt appropriately timed, Anth's ankle now sturdy enough for new adventures even if not quite ready for mountain conquests.

Sal claimed the driver's seat with casual confidence that would have seemed impossible months earlier. Her evolution from nervous passenger to capable pilot of our substantial home had been gradual but complete, each kilometre adding to her commanding presence behind the wheel. Anth settled into the navigator's position—a role reversal that felt natural rather than forced, his injury having created opportunity for Sal to fully claim her driving competence.

"Ready when you are, captain," Anth said with genuine pride as Sal started the engine with practiced ease.

Torrin assumed his traditional position in the back, our family unit reorganised but intact. As we pulled away from Kara Kara's embracing quietude, each of us carried something from this unexpected week of stillness. For Anth, physical healing that had exceeded all expectations. For Sal, confirmation of her ability to lead when circumstances demanded. For Torrin, deeper appreciation for the natural world's generous companionship. And for all of us, the knowledge that sometimes the universe's disruptions deliver exactly what we need rather than what we'd planned.

The cockatoos launched themselves from nearby trees as we departed, their harsh farewells following us down the track like avian benediction. We would remember Kara Kara not as the place where plans went wrong but where recovery went right, where forced pause became voluntary peace, where an ankle's angry rebellion had led us to exactly where we needed to be. The housesit ahead promised its own adventures, but this week of bird-accompanied healing would resonate long after the last evidence of injury had faded from Anth's ankle.Read more