I pulled up to take a call coming into port Augusta. "Bring wipu," they said in a celebratory tone. So I've taken a box of roo tails on board and topped up with fuel. And now I'll drop off the grid for a couple of hours or more.

Approaching Coober Pedy I found myself pushing into the end of the day, only to find the road turn and have the dying sun beating in along the white dotted center line; swit... Swit... Swit...

Even as I fought it, there was nothing to do but to slow right down, a caution against rushing to or at the end of a long day thought watching.
I pulled up to refuel with diesel, burger and chips and a few cheerful words with strangers. Then resumed the last leg of the trip.
The mood was altogether different. I chased the sun speeding away leaving the last bloom of its tail delineating the horizon. Then darkness descends, and it really does descend like a towering forest of black cut briefly by the swathe of headlights immediately swallowed as it passes.

I reminisce of being a small boy fearful indoors of the dark imagining a bead being drawn on me through an open window. And if I were to hear a Crack, that would be it from a source unseen, unknown, such was my little conflicted Lutheran shame of being.

But out under the night sky was different. Being small didn't matter. The sense of being part of everything so huge was awesome. Especially on those nights running from the cow shed barefoot over sandy paths imagining bindies and snakes lying in wait, when the breeze was a degree or two on the cool side of comfortable causing a rush of goosebumps as if in sympathy with the stars. Come to think of it, was it the breeze or the stars.

Getting out of the car and that towering forest of blackness, I see once again it is not so under the speckled dome above.
Thanks for traveling with me today even if it has just been checking in here and there. It's a delight to see that there's something in these words that touched you enough to make you click.

I feel as if I need to restrain the Landcruiser as we get underway. The long drive yesterday cleared out the cobwebs better than a good tuneup. We’re all happy including the car.

My thoughts turn to the task ahead. In a couple of hours I’ll be in Fregon and no matter how much planning and preparation this is the time that you have to let it all go and simply go with what you find to be so as opposed to what you think will be.

I am reminded of a quote from Campbell where he refers to struggle and suffering, he says, “to voluntarily embrace your struggle is transformative.“ It occurs to me that this is really about the word 'voluntarily'. Commitment, steadfastness, perseverance, these are the things that keep you aligned to your purpose and creative action in the world. To truly embrace every aspect of your life. This is my life! This is me! Let’s do it.
As I come to the hills around Mimili, those absolutely magical hills, I experience a little bit of synaesthesia and I see them but also hear them as a resonating base note as I travel along the Songline and every so often there will be a collection of boulders or slabs that are like a happy treble note skipping along this bumpy dirt road.

At my first destination I see a dishevelled figure coming out of the house. “I slept in.“ and so begins a round and phone calls finding out where everyone is. Turns out our only female T0 has gone to Docker River for women’s business should be back on Friday, I’ll be gone.

Meeting up with Witjiti is with such tenderness I tear up and so much said with a gentle handshake. Mr Norris is her joyous, exuberant self and beckons to a toddler and says to me, ‘uncle’ pointing to the child. This the grandson of the beautiful woman now passed, who travelled with us to Laura Far North Queensland Aboriginal dance festival for shooting “Two Brothers Walking”. We laughed together about the helicopter ride she and I went on. The film cuts to this footage as we travel singing 'Hallelujah' in Pitjantjatjara, one of the high emotional points of the film.

We are still trying to contact the artists to see if they might come in to Fregon or Pukatja, but we can’t reach them. By this time Witjiti is excited about “having a good holiday”, going to Atatjara. I say I don’t really need to go there because this is a planning trip for paper work for funding but he already has the bit between his teeth. What’s that saying about wild horses... but I’m still skeptical. It’s late morning and we haven’t left Fregon yet. We can’t get them on the phone. Why don’t we go and find them? We can be there in two and a half hours. I’m grateful for my troopy, no doubt it is the vehicle for these roads.

We set off driving in a pattern I knew very well. "That’s Tjukurpa there," one said, "Caterpillar Story."

I reply, "Ankula, ankula, ankula, wiya ankula." A line from the song, “they travelled, and travelled and travelled and eventually stopped (and made camp.) Thus begins a continual commentary, a description of country, water flow patterns and place names in one ear and stories of the antics of dreaming ancestors in the other. Meanwhile my attention is on the good but somewhat unpredictable gravel road which we are negotiating at speed.

Every so often someone would cry out, “Stop, stop, the car!" And we stop to savour a particular nuance of story encapsulated in a geographical feature. Seems, I am on a crash course, only without the crash.
If Keith is in Nyapari it won’t a take long to find him. Ginger has gone on to Kanpi. It’s not far.
This plan to film the stories, songs along the Atatjara Songlines to Piltarti is sort of news to them in that we have set a firm date. After Christmas might never come. Murray and I have been talking about it all year. The idea that I would come up for a planning trip seems odd, why not just do it while I'm here. We've talked about their desire to film stories many times over the years and could make a full time job of it had we the funding. They want to do it straight away. I explain about funding and suggest it would be enough to get the paperwork in order as applications close in a couple of weeks. Witjiti shows the opposite part of his character reminding me I said I wanted to go to Atatjara and now I was changing my mind. I let go, knowing I was committing myself to many hours of night driving. Embrace it voluntarily, I thought. I know the Tjilpi’s heart is set on going, and break his heart I am not prepared to do.

If I am not mistaken, and there is no guarantee of that, neither Murray nor Witjiti have been to Atatjara. I find that perplexing as it has come up in conversation so often. But this is Wanampi tjukurpa and they know the stories and songs very well and therefore have the all map they need.

In the end we didn’t find the actual rock hole but we’d got close enough to satisfy.

On the way home I am given a description in anticipation of each feature of the road. I’m not sure that it is useful navigationally, but it adds interest as does the call at the race track or footy match, so yes it is helpful in other ways, and watch out for camels on the road.

Back at Witjiti's family has gathered around. I do a quick tally and calculation of my store of wipu. I’ve given a couple back at Nyapari. This is an opportunity to be generous being careful not to leave oneself short or leave anyone out. It can be a fine line.

I found my little toe had gone to sleep from the way I’d positioned my boot while driving. It must have absorbed all my tiredness because there was no rousing it.
I made a cup of tea and unrolled my swag. And that was that. Tomorrow I promised myself a rest day.