The Boot Tree
Posted on 2008-Feb-6 at 03:07
There he was. Striding out of Customs in boots, heavy jeans and a 20 ply red and black jumper hand-knitted by his Gran. Slightly beardy and flight-worn, his eyes locked mine and I pushed past the makeshift airport barrier and joined him for a long overdue smooch. Fundy was here at last.
Meanwhile, my bladder was stabbing at my nether regions with great urgency. “Hey!” It was screaming “I know you guys haven’t seen each other for months and months, but what about meee-heeeeeee *stab* *stab*”. It was New Years Day here in Perth and at 3.30pm it was 40 degrees Celsius outside. I’d put away a lot of bottled water on the toasty public transport from Fremantle to International Arrivals and now it was a-callin’, dammit. What shocking timing.
What the Fundinator’s first thoughts on Australia were I wouldn’t dare to presume. In fact, perhaps I’ll get him to write a guest blog. All I know is that, returning from the Ladies, I found him outside the main doors, sans air-conditioning and about three quarters of the way through stripping off every extraneous item of clothing on his body without actually becoming physically naked.
I know this is a month overdue, but WELCOME TO AUSTRALIA, BABE! :D
Unfortunately we had less than ten days together before I was whisked away on a work field trip to Port Hedland. It was a trip that should have happened before Christmas; but for one logistical reason after another it was canned at the last minute. This time, however, it was all systems go.
Thus the poor Fundinator was left on his own in the Poo Brown Flat with barely a weeks induction to his new hemisphere. All the poor man had was directions to the supermarket, beach and bottlo and a telly with the cricket. Looking out from the Poo Brown Balcony, the ‘70’s-style communal pool winked a welcome should that become too taxing. I hoped he’d be OK.
Meanwhile, I was picking up a hire car in the arid tropics and wondering what had hit me. Stepping from the plane onto the sizzling tarmac, it was my turn to discard all extraneous clothing in a strange dance towards climatic relief.
Nevertheless, in the name of Occupational Health and Safety, I soon had to put it all back on again. Soon I was looking sexy in steel-capped boots, heavy high-waisted KingGee’s ("any tougher, they'd rust") and a lairy yellow and blue ‘be seen’ long sleeved work shirt with special reflective strip. Don’t get me wrong, given the conditions this was A Good Thing. And along with it came a camel-back backpack, sexy Tanami hat and all the sunscreen I could eat (it having run stingingly into my eyes, down my face and into my mouth combined with my own voluminous sweat).
Fuck it was hot.
I think I can honestly say that I have never been so hot in my entire life as I was on that field trip. It was just bearable on the boat, but on the island the temperature hit 49 degrees (and it was 50 on the mainland!). I was out in it with my colleague, Peter, trying to find short range endemic species on scorching island rocks and dunes. My steel capped toes were on fire – yet I was hesitant to go to the shore to cool them because of reports of crocodiles. Eek!
It was so hot that little birds started falling out of the sky. I’m not joking! Back on the boat exhausted martins kept crash-landing on the deck, attracted by our shade. Unfortunately, despite trying to give them water, most of them died. I wonder how many of them crash-landed directly into the ocean?
Wow! – but there is some amazing country up there. I have never been to north Western Australia before and was astounded by the land and wildlife and the colours! Because of all the iron in the ground the soil is red red RED. And everything else is coated in a fine film of red dust. Among this there is the sparkly blue of the ocean, the bright white of the saltpans and the dusty dark green of the mangroves. When the sun sets, the pale trunks of the coolibah trees seem to glow against the ruddy background. I don’t know how people live there (though I am sure the money from the mines helps) but the visit was fascinating.
Driving down a red sandy track to one of our mainland field sites, we came upon an exemplar vista. There, just a short walk from the roadside, was a Boot Tree. Or at least that is what it looked like. A twisted and bleached stump rose from the flat scrubby ground and appeared to have sprouted three pairs of manly work boots. Apart from the track itself, for miles around there was no other indication of human life. I just loved it!
For the rest of the trip I racked my brain as to how the boots came to be there. Did three nerds have their boots stolen by outback bullies and thrown into the tree? Were they the frightning trophies of an uncaught serial killer? Did they smell of old feet and a pilot throw them disgustedly from a small plane? I couldn’t fathom.
It wasn’t until I got home and told Fundy that the reason became clear - for Fundy, you see, is Knower of All Things. Apparently, when a long job or contract is over, many workers throw their boots away or over a wire. Usually the boots are worn out and not longer wearable and it’s a type of tradition to dispose of them, especially after the end of long heavy outdoor work. So it seems The Boot Tree was ‘planted’ by some past contractors who were leaving the area.
Soon, it seems, the Fundinator and I will have occasion to throw around our own boots. Yep, we are on the move again. Not immediately, but within a month or two my company is moving me to Darwin to start up a new state branch. DARWIN, people! I have never been there before but have heard great reports about the place and so have decided to take up the challenge. We may even be driving up there from Perth so stay tuned. Top End Aussie adventures are afoot… :D
Meanwhile, my bladder was stabbing at my nether regions with great urgency. “Hey!” It was screaming “I know you guys haven’t seen each other for months and months, but what about meee-heeeeeee *stab* *stab*”. It was New Years Day here in Perth and at 3.30pm it was 40 degrees Celsius outside. I’d put away a lot of bottled water on the toasty public transport from Fremantle to International Arrivals and now it was a-callin’, dammit. What shocking timing.
What the Fundinator’s first thoughts on Australia were I wouldn’t dare to presume. In fact, perhaps I’ll get him to write a guest blog. All I know is that, returning from the Ladies, I found him outside the main doors, sans air-conditioning and about three quarters of the way through stripping off every extraneous item of clothing on his body without actually becoming physically naked.
I know this is a month overdue, but WELCOME TO AUSTRALIA, BABE! :D
Unfortunately we had less than ten days together before I was whisked away on a work field trip to Port Hedland. It was a trip that should have happened before Christmas; but for one logistical reason after another it was canned at the last minute. This time, however, it was all systems go.
Thus the poor Fundinator was left on his own in the Poo Brown Flat with barely a weeks induction to his new hemisphere. All the poor man had was directions to the supermarket, beach and bottlo and a telly with the cricket. Looking out from the Poo Brown Balcony, the ‘70’s-style communal pool winked a welcome should that become too taxing. I hoped he’d be OK.
Meanwhile, I was picking up a hire car in the arid tropics and wondering what had hit me. Stepping from the plane onto the sizzling tarmac, it was my turn to discard all extraneous clothing in a strange dance towards climatic relief.
Nevertheless, in the name of Occupational Health and Safety, I soon had to put it all back on again. Soon I was looking sexy in steel-capped boots, heavy high-waisted KingGee’s ("any tougher, they'd rust") and a lairy yellow and blue ‘be seen’ long sleeved work shirt with special reflective strip. Don’t get me wrong, given the conditions this was A Good Thing. And along with it came a camel-back backpack, sexy Tanami hat and all the sunscreen I could eat (it having run stingingly into my eyes, down my face and into my mouth combined with my own voluminous sweat).
Fuck it was hot.
I think I can honestly say that I have never been so hot in my entire life as I was on that field trip. It was just bearable on the boat, but on the island the temperature hit 49 degrees (and it was 50 on the mainland!). I was out in it with my colleague, Peter, trying to find short range endemic species on scorching island rocks and dunes. My steel capped toes were on fire – yet I was hesitant to go to the shore to cool them because of reports of crocodiles. Eek!
It was so hot that little birds started falling out of the sky. I’m not joking! Back on the boat exhausted martins kept crash-landing on the deck, attracted by our shade. Unfortunately, despite trying to give them water, most of them died. I wonder how many of them crash-landed directly into the ocean?
Hot birdie
Shady characters, Weerdee Island (off Port Hedland)
Wow! – but there is some amazing country up there. I have never been to north Western Australia before and was astounded by the land and wildlife and the colours! Because of all the iron in the ground the soil is red red RED. And everything else is coated in a fine film of red dust. Among this there is the sparkly blue of the ocean, the bright white of the saltpans and the dusty dark green of the mangroves. When the sun sets, the pale trunks of the coolibah trees seem to glow against the ruddy background. I don’t know how people live there (though I am sure the money from the mines helps) but the visit was fascinating.
Driving down a red sandy track to one of our mainland field sites, we came upon an exemplar vista. There, just a short walk from the roadside, was a Boot Tree. Or at least that is what it looked like. A twisted and bleached stump rose from the flat scrubby ground and appeared to have sprouted three pairs of manly work boots. Apart from the track itself, for miles around there was no other indication of human life. I just loved it!
For the rest of the trip I racked my brain as to how the boots came to be there. Did three nerds have their boots stolen by outback bullies and thrown into the tree? Were they the frightning trophies of an uncaught serial killer? Did they smell of old feet and a pilot throw them disgustedly from a small plane? I couldn’t fathom.
It wasn’t until I got home and told Fundy that the reason became clear - for Fundy, you see, is Knower of All Things. Apparently, when a long job or contract is over, many workers throw their boots away or over a wire. Usually the boots are worn out and not longer wearable and it’s a type of tradition to dispose of them, especially after the end of long heavy outdoor work. So it seems The Boot Tree was ‘planted’ by some past contractors who were leaving the area.
Soon, it seems, the Fundinator and I will have occasion to throw around our own boots. Yep, we are on the move again. Not immediately, but within a month or two my company is moving me to Darwin to start up a new state branch. DARWIN, people! I have never been there before but have heard great reports about the place and so have decided to take up the challenge. We may even be driving up there from Perth so stay tuned. Top End Aussie adventures are afoot… :D
The Boot Tree
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