Tom Patterson - Missing: He was brilliant and troubled and for thirty-five years he lived alone in the wild . . . then there was silence

All images other than those credited to Mark May and David May are from Mark Mays photo albums. The publisher would welcome receiving any information concerning the other photos in this book.

First published in 2022

Copyright Tom Patterson 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

83 Alexander Street

Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone:(61 2) 8425 0100

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Web:www.allenandunwin.com

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia

ISBN 978 1 76106 676 4

eISBN 978 1 76106 371 8

Set by Midland Typesetters, Australia

Cover design: Nada Backovic

Cover photograph: Dave May

For Amy

2017

6 July 2017

No-one has heard from Mark for months. His brother Pete doesnt know where he livesits somewhere in the Oxley Wild Rivers National Parkso he heads to Marks top camp, located near the village of Hillgrove, half an hour from Armidale. Pete parks on the side of the dirt road and walks the last couple of hundred metres to where bins and tarpaulins are discreetly beside a log. The setup is basic and not used often. Theres a letter hidden in the hollow of a tree.

Bernie, Im OK, but starving. Will be here next Sunday 12 pm Evening. Walking to town the next day. Bring food + tea sugar milk sausages bread.

Mark. Thursday 27th May.

Although he looks like a farmermuscular forearms, thick fingers, a tanned V on his chestPete is an emergency doctor. Today hes on call and his phone rings. Its the Westpac helicopter team. They need advice. A patient is unresponsive. The doctor sounds panicked. Pete gets the important things out of the way first.

Ive been in this situation before, in a remote part of Canada. Its hard, I really feel for you. Well get through this together.

The doctor on the other end of the phone calms. Pete goes through the procedure: what to administer, who else to call, timing, safety. His voice is even and his advice is clear and all he can think is:

My brother is dead. My brother is dead.

Driving the ninety minutes back to his home in Tamworth, Pete calls another older brother, Steve, also a country doctor. They decide that if Mark was starving six weeks ago and wasnt able to get food, then he hasnt survived. If he was able to get help, then either he is still in the gorges, where he has lived rough for thirty-five years, or he is somewhere safe. Either way, the urgency has passed. There is no point sending in the police. Its a job they need to do themselves.

15 July 2017

Pete and Steve leave Tamworth at dawn. Steve is in the passenger seat. Even though his beard is beginning to grey, he is fit and tall, with a quiet assurance won from using his judgement in small, sterile rooms, on messy problems that matter.

Theyre early at Armidale airport but dont risk a coffee at the Runway Caf. The building fills with kids in pyjamas and women with country tattoos on their necks obscured by turned-up collars. When the plane circles, everyone stops to watch. It comes down lightly, a puff of wheel smoke the only clue that it has made contact. Petes son, Dave, walks across the tarmac. His hair is well cut and his clothes are good, but you can see the country boy under the sheen of the city. He stops to chat with another passenger, listens carefully and smiles before the end of her sentence.

They drive for twenty minutes under merino-grey clouds. Near the Hillgrove intersection is a university students car. One of Petes daughters, Liz, stands beside it, two careless blond plaits under a marled beanie. She sees them, smiles, and there are dimples in her cheeks. As she pulls onto the road behind them, Pete feels a surge of comfort from having his children with him.

At the edge of the gorge, Pete kills the engine. Ahead of them, grazing country gives way to gullies and cliffs, the blackbutt and peppermint gums rising with clean lines out of broken ground. When the fog parts below them, everything is laid out like a mapthe bush a block of green, the river throttled into pools as it flows east to the ocean.

Jason Faint, a local grazier who has looked out for Mark, waits at the precipice and gives them directions.

Take this spur south-east until you get about two-thirds of the way down. Mark has bins hidden in the trees to catch water; if you find those, youre going the right way. At the third saddle, make a hard right towards the river and stick to the track.

Dave pulls out his phone and locates their destination. The four of them look uneasy and Jason reassures them.

If you get lost, light a fire and put plenty of green leaves on it. Ive got mustering for the next couple of days, otherwise Id come with you. If I see smoke Ill bring a horse down and fish you out.

In less than ten minutes they find a campfire that has been used recently. It makes them feel good, this early sign of Mark. The ridge takes them south and mist closes in around them.

At a point where the trail leads them over a small cliff, they stop and Pete strikes out on his own, climbing down into the fog. He hugs the mountain until he is below the others and then directs them around the boulders and small drops to where he stands. Steve steps on a rock made greasy by wet leaves. He feels his pack lurch alarmingly to the side, away from safety, into the void. He shifts his weight, and his boots bite into the slippery mess at his feet.

Following a trail, they walk beside a large pool and arrive where the river and mountains define an outdoor room of classical proportions. On one side is a kitchen and dining area. Three flat rocks form a hearth. There are cooking pots, arranged by size, and bins placed within easy reach as a pantry. On the other side is a living area. Two timber uprights six metres apart, joined by a ridgepole, form the frame for a tent that, when assembled, would overlook the fire and the river. The soil is soft and fertile, with native grasses cropped into a lawn shaded by casuarinas.

They search lightly, feeling intrusive, and see enough familiar things to know that this place belongs to Mark. There is nothing to suggest that he needs help. Its as though he has decided to go on holiday and made sure that his house is tidy so that it will be a pleasure when he returns.

16 July 2017

Pete and Steve wake at dawn with the river mumbling beside them. Being here and seeing Marks home for the first time, Pete and Steve wonder if the local farmers havent moved him on out of respect for the work he has put into making this place. They think of their own lives and the constant responsibility of being doctors, and imagine Mark, catching fish, reading and sleeping in the afternoon sun. After breakfast they replace firewood, wash cooking pots and prepare to leave. Pete finds a small backpack of Marks hanging open on a branch. It worries them, so they decide to have one final look.