Ghost Gums and Moon Landings

The urban edges of Canberra fell away as Anth navigated deeper into Namadgi National Park, the road narrowing as civilisation loosened its grip. His first destination carried a name that belied its significance: Honeysuckle Campground, nestled in bushland that had once housed one of humanity's most remarkable listening posts.

The Honeysuckle Creek Tracking Station had stood here during the Apollo program, its massive dish antenna pointed toward the heavens during those breathless days of the space race. This was the station that had transmitted the first footage of Neil Armstrong stepping onto the lunar surface, beaming those grainy, world-changing images to a planet holding its collective breath. Now only concrete foundations remained, rectangular ghosts scattered among the regrowth, marking where buildings had hummed with the voices of distant astronauts.

Anth walked among the remnants with the particular reverence that abandoned places demand. Here, a slab where technicians had monitored signals travelling a quarter million miles. There, anchor points where the dish had rotated to track the moon's path across the southern sky. The bush had begun its slow reclamation, grasses pushing through cracks, saplings establishing themselves in what had once been pristine scientific facility. Yet the foundations persisted, concrete memories refusing to surrender entirely to time.

The campground itself sat among Ghost Gums, their pale trunks luminous in the afternoon light. These trees seemed appropriate guardians for such a place, their smooth white bark almost spectral against the darker bush. Anth set up camp with the efficiency of routine, positioning the bus to catch both the last warmth of the day and the first light of morning.

As dusk descended, the bush came alive with movement. Kangaroos emerged from the tree line, materialising like shadows given form. They grazed with unhurried purpose, their presence a reminder that this land had stories far older than space stations and moon landings. The Ghost Gums caught the fading light, glowing briefly gold before surrendering to darkness, and the kangaroos continued their evening ritual as if no human watched at all.

The night passed in profound quiet, the kind of silence that settles into bones and slows breathing to match the bush's patient rhythm. Two other campers shared the grounds, their vehicles forming a loose constellation of human presence in the wilderness.

Morning brought the particular clarity that comes from sleeping surrounded by history and eucalyptus. The other campers packed up and departed, leaving Anth in sole possession of this remarkable clearing. He lingered through the morning hours, reluctant to break the spell, but the remaining campgrounds called. Three sites currently open in this section of Namadgi, and exploration demanded he visit them all.

Just before noon, the bus rumbled back to life. Anth pulled away from Honeysuckle Creek with a backward glance at the Ghost Gums standing sentinel over their concrete charges, those foundations that had once connected Earth to the moon. Some places hold their history close, offering fragments to those who take time to look. This had been one of them.Read more