An Aboriginal man spilt his beer as he tripped on the curb close to me, and I thought I was the one supposed to do that. “Ow are you goin?” he said. “Terrific”, I said. And why is you triffic?” “Cause I’ve just walked around your whole town tonight, and I like to walk and see new things. “That’s great old fella”, he said, looking me straight in the eyes.

It was nearly dark and I had been doing some sunset walking and discovering a tiny bit about a modest country town. Earlier we had bought things for dinner at IGA where the staff were mostly Aboriginal, and I noticed how efficient they were and helpful when I enquired about a certain product. And…. we found half a chicken, that made both of us feel terrific.

“And ow was yer day old fella?” he easily asked. I thought this was a queue to call him “black fella” (i.e. only in my post tonight), but I thought that was ‘a name too far’ as google often told me, so I settled on the ‘A’ word. I said I had a great day. “And why was that old fella?” he said, clearly interested, or without his drink, would he have even talked to me, so I was glad of the alcohol in this case. 

“I walked through Warren Gorge”. “Ah did you?” maybe wondering whether the “old fella’ name was appropriate after all. “Yeah”, I said. And it was. We walked the lower slopes on brown undulating paths, surrounded by Australian Native Pine, yet another version of the SA landscape. There were kangaroos and for the first time I saw wild goats. This took me back to the Information officer who said one park was closed, because ‘the shooters will be there this week shooting the goats and the foxes.

Once again we were surrounded by low bushes with tiny white flowers, with grass trees scattered like many sentinels protecting all that was native. then as we skirted the mountain, we were overwhelmed with those very old rocks. We surprised a goat family who headed for the hills, and finished our walk in the dry stony creek from which we had started. Yes, it was a terrific day.

“And then I walked up to Devil’s Peak,” I said, (or rather walked and ran because I was on my own, and Corrie balked because she had already climbed her summit earlier today). “Whooohh”, he said, “you’re good’. “And you”, I said, ‘have you done these walks”? He looked sad – “when I was a little fella”. “And why didn’t you continue”? I said. “This” (he pointed in resignation to his beer).

Well, I thought, I’m lucky to be doing this as an ‘old fella’. It has added another level to my life. I wondered if this relatively young fella enjoyed finding his way over the boulders, and around the corners of the huge brightly covered rocks; taking pictures of them while admiring the huge range of grass trees that decorated the surrounds. I wonder if he challenged himself by crawling through small openings between the rocks and then rounding another corner to see the final few metres to an opening that allowed me to poke my head out to see the summit – ‘The Devils Peak’.

And then did he dance down jumping from rock to rock while running along the straight stretches finally at the base of this extraordinary piece of nature’s perfect architecture? We drove home thinking that our day was finished. “Good talking with you”, I said to the young fella. “And to you too old fella”, as he stumbled towards the door that keeps him away from mountains he might have otherwise climbed.