
Saltbush plains give way to rolling farmland gradually increasing in texture and depth. Verdant green fields shot with new seed contrast against the heavily clouded blue and grey sky.
Breathe
The rolling farmland builds in stature to low hills with a promise of what is to come, but they pale in comparison to the expanding range that consumes the horizon.
Breathe
Abandoned and ruined stone buildings stand silent testament to the toil and memories of the generations of farmers before them. And the increasingly distanced country towns lay decaying or flourishing, seemingly dependent on the strength and ingenuity of their local communities.
Breathe
So quickly it appears to be instant, you’re in the ranges. Driving through an expansive landscape of valleys bounded by ever-increasing dramatic ridgelines, many carved or capped in stone.
Breathe
Sunlight breaks through gaps in the clouds, throwing random spotlights of yellow light across the ranges. Showcasing and highlighting a ridge here, whilst its neighbouring ridge languishes in shadow. Rain showers drift across the skyline, hanging like grey curtains in the sky.
Breathe
Turning away from the comfort of the bitumen road, we head toward the ridge line and slow to navigate, and appreciate the ranges, as they continue to morph and expand in grandeur, complexity, colour, and form.
Breathe
Suddenly we’re thrust onto a track established by millennia of floods as we follow the creek bed of the Brachina Gorge into the heart of the ranges. Navigating river-worn rocks, creek crossings and pools bounded by near vertical mountainous slopes to either side.
Breathe
The terrain is severe now. Sheer-sided cliffs of torn and tormented rock cast hundreds of millions of years ago, but which are now ever and slowly decaying through the combined elements of wind, rain, sun, and frost.
Breathe
Parrots, galahs, and smaller birds flit through the canopy of the solid and stately river gums. Rarely still for more than a few seconds and hard to see, but making their presence known through the constant and ofttimes raucous chatter and calls.
Breathe
On a bend, a small roadside sign proclaims that this is a locality where you can sometimes spot the rare and endangered Yellow-Footed Rock Wallaby. And you notice one, then two and you realise that they’re all around you, hidden in their natural camouflaged colours, perfectly matched to their environ. And they no longer feel as rare as they did just minutes before.
Breathe
We continue following the track, still a creek bed as it now turns and tracks alongside a range, the ABC Range so named as it has twenty-six named peaks. God bolts of sun rays burst again through the clouds to illuminate random peaks or crags in the increasingly yellowing afternoon sunlight.
Breathe
The air feels heavier here, richer, more nourishing. In the warmth of the day, the air wisps around, teasing leaves on the tips of branches or occasionally escalating into small tornados of dust devils as opposing breezes clash in gullies. By night, the air coalesces and presses down like a heavy blanket across the valleys.
Breathe deeply
The track turns and runs out, terminating alongside another creek bed, this one dry, and nestled aside a smaller ridge. This is our campsite and home for the next few days.
Breathe
Heart rates increase and breathing quickens as we fall into our routine of establishing camp. But this is fleeting and soon we’re aside a small campfire, drink in hand as we warm, gaze out and appreciate the circus of riotous colours, shapes and silhouettes caused by the setting sun and clouds.
Breathe
With sated bellies, we rest once again by the campfire as our environment is ever so slowly relit by the light of a million stars.
Breathe
The air is so still, and the bush is so quiet that the silence is deafening and falls like a weight against our sense of hearing. Every sound is exaggerated tenfold. The snap and crackle of a sparking log in the campfire, or the swish and swirl of wine in our glasses as we unconsciously twirl them in our hands.
Breathe
Time runs away and the campfire burns lower and lower, no longer sharing of its warmth as it once did. We retire to the relative comfort of the caravan, now warmed by the mechanical efforts of our heater. And whilst we’re no longer cold, we already miss the mesmerizing dance of orange flame across glowing coals.
Breathe
The day is slowing now. Bed and rest are nigh, but a sudden spurt of inspiration and gratitude for the day that was bursts forth from a pen. This pen.
Breathe
Welcome to the Flinders Ranges friend. All are welcome if you respect and learn from what you experience. Sleep now, a new adventure awaits tomorrow.
Breathing slows














































Mike, our tour guide advised that Robert bought a ten-pound mining license, having to rope in two of his mates as 10 pounds back then was worth a year’s wages for a shepherd. They then sat on the mining rights for a couple of years, never lifting a shovel, until they sold the mining rights to an English company just two years later for 70,000 pounds. Instant millionaires in today’s money terms!!















Haven’t been to Flinders in years beautiful scenery
Thanks Diana