Liz Byron - The Only Way Home: One Woman, Two Donkeys and an Extraordinary Outback Journey of Healing and Renewal

Woodslane Press Pty Ltd

10 Apollo Street

W arriewood, NSW 2102

E mail: info@woodslane.com.au

2 8445 2300 www.woodslane.com.au

First published in Australia in 2020 by Woodslane Press

2020 Woodslane Press, text 2020 Liz Byron, illustrations Lisa Hearl

R eprinted 2020

T his work is copyright. All rights reserved. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of study, research or review, as permitted under Australian copyright law, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any other form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address above.

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I n order to maintain their anonymity and privacy, in some instances the names of individuals and places have been changed, as well as some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations and places of residence.

P rinted in Australia by McPhersons

C over image: Lisa Hearl and Robyn Murphy

I llustrations: Lisa Hearl

Book design by: Jenny Cowan

Contents

DONKEYS Bungendore

SETTING OUT Bungendore to Cooktown

SETTLING IN Cooktown to Wujal Wujal

POWERING ON Wujal Wujal to Jula tt en

NO MORE FAIRY TALES Julatten to Mount Molloy

NEW HORIZONS Mount Molloy to Mutchilba

THE WAY THROUGH Mutchilba to Innot Hot Springs

ARE WE THERE YET? Innot Hot Springs to Uramo Station

DETOUR Road to Uramo Station

EXPOSED Uramo to Yammanie Station

UNRAVELLING Yammanie Station to Mingela

GRACE Mingela to New Hidden Valley Station

MOVING ON New Hidden Valley to Tierawoomba Station

RECONNECTING Tierawoomba Station

THE WANDERER Tierawoomba Station to Gracemere

STRAYS AND ANGELS At Gracemere

HERE I AM Gracemere to Wallaby Station

TIME TO GO HOME Wallaby Station to Mount Perry and Beyond

Devote six years to your work,

but in the seventh

go into solitude or among strangers.

So that your friends, by remembering what you were,

do not prevent you from being what you have become.

Leo Szilard (1898-1964)

THANK YOU

I wish to express my deepest gratitude to everyone who has helped me on this journey, both along the trek and in the writing of this book.

Liz Byron

Chapter 1: DONKEYS

Bungendore

I ve had enough! I yelled, Cant you understand? We have to move faster if were going to get to water tonight! Cmon, for Gods sake!

Ten or 15 metres at a brisk pace and they slowed down, yet again .

Thats it! You walk at your pace and Ill walk at mine!

My hasty footsteps crunched on the dry eucalypt leaves as I stormed ahead, perspiring from anxiety and the blazing sun. After about 30 metres I looked back, expecting the dominant donkey Grace to have taken Charley off to find anything remotely edible. But there they were, standing side-by-side, exactly where I left them. The connecting rope hung loose between them and Charleys lead rope rested over her neck where Id tossed it. I burst out laughing at my two patient animals looking at me as if to say, Have you finished yet? Do you feel better now?

I walked back to them. The tender gaze in their eyes touched my heart. Tears rolled down my cheeks: tears of compassion, for my donkeys, myself, my newly estranged husband and my children, now adults. I could see my tantrum for what it was, the residual pain of a frightened, lonely child.

The love and acceptance in those two pairs of donkey-eyes saturated my whole being with forgiveness. The terrible things I had done suddenly became mistakes, pardonable human errors. On reaching the donkeys, I waited until my breathing slowed before lifting the lead rope off Charleys neck, and remembered why I was doing this trek. It was to discover what it means to be me and learn to respect whatever me emerges. My two beautiful donkeys showed me the key, forgiveness, a strangely fleeting experience because, once forgiven, theres no-one to be angry with anymore, not even myself. What remains is care and respect.

For three months we had been trekking on bush tracks and quiet dirt roads. Now I could see cars speeding along both sides of the white line. I felt on edge as I approached the wide bitumen road. We were starting afresh after a seven-day break at Mingelas tiny, ancient hotel, where the proprietor served tasty dishes with fresh fruit and vegetables, relished by my trek-hardened body surviving on dried food . My long-eared companions had hardly seen a blade of anything green for six weeks. They gorged their way through a big roll of meadow hay. None of us wanted to leave and we were slow getting away. It was late morning and hot. To follow a highway for 40 kilometres to the next town of Ravenswood was daunting enough, but then another 60 kilometres of pavement to Burdekin Dam. After that, it would be 120 kilometres on gravel roads through drought-stricken country apparently not fit for man or beast.

That wasnt all. Stupidly, I had agreed to meet my husband in Ravenswood. I imagined the raised eyebrows of close professional colleagues, with whom I had been engrossed for three years in an exciting project, reforming family law. They knew as well as I did that this trek was to mark my transition from 40 years of marriage to being single. I could have found a place on my own to continue working in Canberra and spend my free time bushwalking in the mountains of southern New South Wales: remote, pristine, native forests or alpine meadows. Instead, here I was, 50 kilometres from Charters Towers in North Queensland, west of the Great Divide, trudging alongside the busy Bruce Highway in desolate, drought afflicted country.