Coasts of Cape York (32 page)

From up on the flight deck Willy had a much better view and saw that the massive cloud they were turning to avoid was only one of a whole line of similar storms. These extended in a rough north-south line as far as he could see in either direction.  He noted that they had formed over a change of terrain. Below the clouds, half hidden in rain, were the beginnings of hill country.

Another vicious bump sent Willy's stomach into his mouth and he gave Mr Beck an anxious grin. Mr Beck looked tired but managed a smile back. Then Willy studied the massive storm cloud. It was, he knew from Geography lessons, a cumulonimbus, a thunderstorm cloud. This one even had the classic ‘anvil head' shape at the top. Willy could see the top of the cloud billowing up and then spreading out as it met a layer of different air. Wispy streaks of cloud were starting to stream away from the very top.

He estimated that the top was at least 30,000 feet high. It towered up so high he had to bend his neck right back to look at it. The bottom was so low it looked to be dragging along the jumble of small, rugged hills in the savannah. He knew this was an illusion, that the usual height of the cloud base was between 1,000 and 2,000 feet. The base looked flat and he knew strong winds were being sucked into it. The ferocious updraught was clearly visible, the middle of the cloud a seething, tumbling mass of billows.

From the direction they were approaching, with the sun shining directly on the cloud, it was a brilliant white, reflecting so much glare Willy wished he had his sun glasses on. There were only hints of grey and purple at the sides and base. Higher up there were touches of yellow and orange which made the monster amazingly pretty. Right up in the wisps streaming from the anvil head Willy noted a tinge of green.

‘Ice or snow,' he thought. Snow never reached the ground in tropical North Queensland. Instead it melted on the way down. Sometimes, at this time of year at the end of the dry season, the rain from high up did not reach the ground either but evaporated on the way down. Lightning flickered inside the cloud and even as Willy looked he saw a bolt stab down from the base. He knew that aircraft flying into storms like that could experience such violent turbulence that they could suffer structural failure. Light aircraft even have wings torn off. So he was relieved that they were turning to avoid the threat.

The whole storm was only about 10 kilometres wide but it was overlapping more storms behind it. No clear path to the east was visible. That got Willy staring anxiously out, seeking for a safe gap. Both the pilots were doing the same. Mr Johnson saw Willy's anxious face and said, “Don't worry son, we aren't going to fly into that. If we can't find an easy way through the gaps we will turn back and land.”

Hec wrestled to restore the plane to an even keel as it shuddered and swooped. Then he laughed and said, “You remember young fella, when you are a pilot; in the tropics never fly into something you can't see through.”

“I'll remember,” Willy replied. He smiled, knowing he was scared but also enjoying the thrill of it.

As they flew around the side of the storm Willy saw that there was a gap several kilometres wide between it and the one echeloned behind it. The ‘Catalina' kept on slowly turning, circling around behind the storm. As they did Willy was enthralled by the spectacular changes of colour. Seen from the back the thunderstorm became a mix of grey, purple and black, shot through with streaks of lighting.  Up near the top and on the sides there were patches of brilliant white, orange and yellow and right at the top the whole anvil was shredding away, torn off by strong winds in long streamers of dark grey.

To starboard the next storm cloud was half in shadow from its giant neighbour but the right half was white and grey. To Willy it was awe inspiring. The sheer scale to the storms made him uncomfortably aware that aircraft and modern technology still had definite limits.

Once clear of the second cloud a course to the east was resumed. Willy noted that there were a few scattered clouds in the distance but otherwise the sky was clear. The air became smoother and flying became a pleasant sensation once more. He also noted how the shadows of the huge thunderstorms stretched for many kilometres to the east. Between the shadows were long strips of country that were brightly lit by the afternoon sun, giving a wonderful light and shade effect on the ranges of hills.

The country they were now flying over was a particularly rugged area. From the air it gave the impression of being chopped up into rugged squares like a giant block of chocolate, except that the hills were a bright yellowish green dotted with the darker green specs of trees. It made him wish he had his map with him. Out of curiosity he asked Mr Johnson what range it was.

“Those hills are called the Featherbed Range,” Mr Johnson replied. “I suppose it was just the old pioneer's idea of a joke. They are the roughest lot of hills I know. You wouldn't want to have to try a forced landing down in there.”

Willy could only agree. It was truly awful country. Out to his right he could see the course of the Walsh River winding through this rocky jumble. The valley of the Mitchell was in gloomy shade to the left. Ahead a peculiar, flat-topped mountain came into view. It was not very high but stretched right across their front and was fringed with steep cliffs which glowed like molten gold in the afternoon sun.

“What mountain is that sir?” he asked.

“Mt Mulligan,” Mr Johnson replied.

Willy had heard of Mt Mulligan but never been there. “It was an old mining area wasn't it?” he queried.

Mr Beck answered that. “Yes, coal. First there was gold mining nearby in the valley of the Hodgkinson. There was a town connected by a railway to the Cairns Railway at Dimbulah. It is the site of the worst coal mine disaster in Queensland's history. Back in 1921 that was. The mine exploded- coal gas- and killed everyone in the mine- about ninety men I think.”

Willy stared down at the spectacular mountain with renewed interest. As they flew over the eastern escarpment of the plateau he glimpsed a couple of buildings and a scatter of ruins, roads and tracks down in the valley beyond. ‘I must explore that one day,' he resolved, thinking that from a light aircraft, lower and slower, would be ideal to start with.

They flew over the dry bed of the Hodgkinson, which, when it had water in it, flowed North West to join the Mitchell. Mr Beck pointed out the scatter of buildings and ruins that marked the old gold mining towns of Thornborough and Kingsborough. As Willy tried to see these clearly Mr Jemmerling re-appeared beside him. “Thank you young Willy, but I'd like my seat back now.”

Willy at once unbuckled his seat belt and stood up, moving to one side. Mr Jemmerling squeezed past and into the seat. Willy lingered for another minute or so, looking out and taking in everything that was occurring on the flight deck and on the instrument panel. In the distance, beyond another very rugged range of mountains he saw a long line of clouds right on the curve of the earth. Some were huge white piles and others in layers. The impression they made caused Willy to think of pictures he had seen of the icebergs in the Arctic.

‘I hope we don't have to fly through that lot,' he thought, knowing that there were more big mountains ahead.

They didn't have to. By the time Willy had resumed his seat in the cabin they were over the next range of mountains and the town of Mareeba was visible in the middle distance. He now saw that the cloud masses were piled on the mountains beyond. A few minutes later they began their landing approach, wheels being lowered and flaps extended.

The rugged conical shape of Mt Abbott slid by to port and then they were low over open bush which abruptly gave way to ploughed fields and flat country. The airport boundary fence slid below and then they were down. It was a smooth and uneventful landing and they rolled to a stop outside the hangar where the journey had begun the previous day.

Feeling stiff, hungry and a bit deafened Willy climbed thankfully out of the ‘Catalina'. It had been a great experience and he was glad he had been given the opportunity, but he had also had enough for the time being. When all were out and their gear unloaded Mr Jemmerling thanked them for coming.

“I hope you enjoyed it,” he said.

“It was great. Thank you sir,” Willy said.

The others said thanks as well and Willy noted that there was a wary tenseness when Mr Beck and Norman said their thanks. ‘The competition begins again,' Willy thought.

“Good luck with your prospecting,” Mr Jemmerling called as they walked towards their vehicles.

“Thank you, same to you,” Mr Beck replied.

As they reached their parked car Willy said, “I didn't like the sound of that. He sounds very sure of himself.”

“I wonder what he knows that we don't know that he knows,” Stick added.

“Not much I hope,” Mr Beck said. He then turned to Mrs Beck, who was waiting with their car. “Hello mother. All well?”

“Yes. Now, do you all want to come home for some afternoon tea before you start driving back to Cairns?”

Willy's mother and father looked at each other, obviously reluctant but Mr Beck said, “I would appreciate it. There are a couple of details about next weekend's trip that we need to pin down.”

“Alright, but not for long,” Willy's mother replied. “We want to drop in on Aunty Isabel for a few minutes as well.”

They stowed their bags in the boots of the two vehicles and then climbed into them. Willy went in the back between Marjorie and Andrew. As they drove away from the airport he cast one last affectionate look at the ‘Catalina'. ‘Good plane
Pterodactyl
!' he thought. He noted that Mr Jemmerling and his crew had gone inside the nearby building so he did not wave.

It was only a short drive- 5km- all along a good straight bitumen road. The Becks led the way. After only a few minutes drive they reached the turn-off, easy to identify because of the signs and the yellow painted ‘Matilda' tank. As they slowed and turned in past the tank Willy noted a man sitting astride a motorcycle which was parked behind the tank. The man had his helmet on so his face was not visible. He appeared to be studying the tank.

The two cars drove into the car park, the Becks parking near the front gate of their new house, which is to the right of the museum. Willy's father parked on the left of the Beck's car. They all climbed out, chattering happily. Mr Beck stretched and groaned, “Oh, it's good to be home! I'm getting a bit too old for jaunts like that. I…Hey! Who is that?”

Willy looked up and his eyes followed Mr Beck's pointing hand. He saw a man walking across the side yard of the Beck's, having obviously just come out of the back door. The man was dressed in grey overalls and looked to be about thirty, with brown hair. In his hand he carried a grey carry bag with a shoulder strap.

Mr Beck started forward, yelling, “Hey! You! Who are you? What are you doing in my yard?”

The man immediately broke into a run. “Burglar!” Norman cried. He opened the front gate and started running after him.

Mrs Beck cried out in horror, then called, “Oh Norman, be careful!”

Willy saw instantly that the man would be over the side fence before Norman could reach him. ‘That crook is heading for the highway,' he noted. Without further thought he started running diagonally across the car park, ignoring his mother's cry to stop.

Andrew and Stick set off after him, all shouting at the man to stop. Willy saw the man jump over the fence and sprint off into the belt of open savannah that grew between the house and the highway. As the man ran he slung the carry bag over his shoulder, casting frequent glances back at his pursuers. Norman reached the fence and scrambled over it, jumping down twenty metres to Willy's left.

Willy raced into the bush in hot pursuit. The savannah was mostly ironbarks with almost no undergrowth and only knee high grass. It was no obstacle to running and Willy pushed thoughts of snakes aside. ‘I can catch this guy,' he decided as he began to close on the man.

The man was only fifty paces ahead and obviously made the same deduction. Up till then he had been running directly towards the highway, with Willy angling in on his right rear. Now the man turned and ran off at an angle, directly ahead of Willy. Norman, Andrew and Stick, all came dashing along behind.

Willy began nerving himself to try to tackle the man, aware that it could lead to a violent struggle. As he ran he was dimly conscious of others yelling and of vehicles whizzing past at high speed out on the highway. An engine burst into life and roared. Sweat began to trickle into Willy's eyes and he blinked. Now he had run a hundred metres and was starting to gasp for breath. He was no athlete and knew it but he kept pushing himself as hard as he could.

As they ran they drew closer and closer to the highway. ‘He might try to stop a car,' Willy thought. But now he was only about 25 metres behind and was sure the man would not have time to do that.

The man broke out of the bush and began running away along the mowed verge of the highway. Willy reached the cleared lane and turned to follow. As he did a motorcycle came racing up from behind him.

Whack!

Willy felt the blow without understanding it. The next thing he knew he was rolling on the dry grass and rough gravel beside the bitumen. Half stunned and wondering what was happening he looked up. He saw that the motorcycle had screeched to a stop just ahead of the running man. The man immediately leapt onto the pillion seat. As soon as he was on the motorcycle's engine roared and it sped off, spraying dust and gravel into the faces of Willy's friends. To Willy's chagrin the motorcycle accelerated and sped away towards Atherton.

Stick helped Willy to his feet. “You OK Willy?” he asked.

“Yeah, what happened?” Willy asked angrily.

“The guy on the bike hit you under the ear as he went past,” Stick replied.

Willy watched with frustrated anger as the motorcycle vanished from view, racing away at full speed. “Bugger! We need a car. Quick, back to the cars!” he cried.