Rain, Recovery, and the Road Back

The final campground in Namadgi lay forty minutes deeper into the park, the longest drive of this three-camp exploration. Mount Clear marked the last stop before the ACT surrendered to New South Wales, a fitting endpoint for this solo circuit through Namadgi's wilderness offerings.

The sealed road gave way to dirt, and immediately the bus began trailing its familiar plume. Dust billowed up behind the wheels and lingered in the still air, a brown cloud marking progress through the landscape. Anth smiled as he activated the "Dusty Road Mode" on the smart bus system, that particular modification he'd spent hours perfecting. The system pressurised the interior, creating positive airflow that kept the fine particles outside where they belonged. Small victories of engineering made bush travel considerably more pleasant.

The turnoff appeared eventually, and Mount Clear campground revealed itself through the trees. Empty again. Three campgrounds, three arrivals in solitude. This pattern of finding places deserted felt like a gift, though Anth knew the weekend would change things.

This site operated as tent camping only, the large grassed area strictly off-limits to vehicles. The bus found its place on the dirt parking zone, positioned with careful consideration for later arrivals. Views remained unobstructed, access unrestricted. Even in temporary solitude, courtesy for those who'd follow felt important.

As predicted, the afternoon brought company. Vehicles rolled in steadily, just as they had at Orroral, tents sprouting across the grass like colourful fungi. The downside of exploring on weekends made itself apparent in the gradual filling of available space. Yet even busy, Mount Clear maintained breathing room between camps.

Sunset drew Anth out for a recovery jog, muscles still holding memory of yesterday's run among the kangaroo mobs. The tracks here ran wide and inviting, perfect surfaces that sparked anticipation for future adventures. His new mountain bike waited in Queensland, and these trails whispered of possibilities: return visits with wheels beneath him, exploring further than feet alone could carry.

Night brought something the mainland had been withholding since their return from Tasmania. Rain. Large drops began striking the bus roof with that particular percussion that transforms a vehicle into a drum. The sound came in waves, downpours followed by quiet followed by renewed intensity. Anth lay listening to the rhythm, appreciating how rarely this soundtrack had featured in recent weeks.

Morning arrived grey and damp, the rain having passed but leaving its signature across every surface. The weekend visitors departed in ones and twos through the day, engines starting and tyres crunching on wet gravel, until Mount Clear returned to the emptiness that had greeted Anth's arrival. The cycle complete.

A call to Torrin connected continents, father and son separated by the Tasman Sea. Torrin was making his way south along the TA track in New Zealand, that epic trail threading the length of both islands. Progress was slow but steady, adventure unfolding step by step on the other side of the water. These conversations anchored our scattered family, digital threads maintaining connection across whatever distances our various journeys created.

With the campground deserted and departure imminent, the moment felt right for testing. The shower system, upgraded during those productive days in Jan's driveway, had been waiting for proper trial. Anth set up the equipment in the sunshine, the new high-flow pump and generous rain shower head gleaming with promise. The water came hot and plentiful, cascading in a way their old system had never managed. An absolute treat, this simple luxury of proper showering in the bush, privacy guaranteed by empty surroundings.

Clean and satisfied, Anth packed up for the return to Canberra. One more reunion with Sal awaited before their paths would finally diverge until Christmas. The girlfriend getaway had concluded and now a brief convergence before the longer separation that clinical trials and Queensland journeys demanded.

Namadgi had offered three distinct camps across three memorable days: Honeysuckle Creek with its space-age history and Ghost Gums, Orroral Valley with its rusty windmill and kangaroo mobs, Mount Clear with its rain and recovery runs. Solo exploration had its own rhythm, different from but not lesser than shared adventure. Sometimes the road called one of us while the other found different nourishment in friendship and stillness.

The bus rolled back toward Canberra, dust rising once more behind wheels pointed toward reunion.Read more