But truly, your name doesn’t matter out there. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve spoken to someone on a track for multiple days without asking their name. Often by the time I realize it’s far too late.
It’s not just names that seem insignificant out there. Your job, your age, gender, area, history - wild landscapes fosters equality in a way that concrete never can.
I can clearly remember two pieces.
The first one is a throne, much larger than normal human size. It sits at the base of a hill, amongst a huge old-growth tree-fern forest. It is made of rough timber and bronzed metal. I had to clamber up into it to sit. I feel it implies that we are insignificant in comparison to this forest and that we need it.
A snake mosaic stretches part of the track to Cape Pillar; its head and its tail is separated by colorful mosaic tiles for at least a kilometer. I love how this piece is incorporated into the track; adding instead of subtracting.
Three weeks after returning to Queensland, I navigated to a suburb on the North side of Brisbane for the first time and got a tattoo of a ghost gum with a little Larapinta Trail marker.
I absolutely love it.
The ghost gum is the hardiest little tree, growing exposed on top of barren cliffs, battered day in and night by wind.
After touching it with your bare hands, the bark will scar. Damo taught me that.
The whole week was a simple time, and that was the beauty of it.
Each day was spent meandering along wide sandy paths, bellies full of too much food, until mid-afternoon. We'd lazily set up our camp, and then relax all afternoon in the golden light by a crystal clear lake. Just as the morning would start with a brilliant sunset over clear waters, we'd watch the sky light on fire above yet another blue expanse further north at the end of the day.
