Coasts of Cape York (40 page)

“We could,” Andrew agreed.

So they did. First they went to the left, but that brought them to a much larger pool, a hundred metres long and fifty wide, and obviously deep water. So they retraced their steps and went to the west. Mr Beck now became anxious, worried that they might get lost. Carmen and Willy both reassured him. “All we have to do is walk north and we must come to the sea,” Carmen said.

In the end they waded a shallow, 25 metre wide part of the swamp. On the other side they saw another snake. This was a dark, olive brown and more than a metre long. Seeing the reptile got Willy even more concerned. ‘That might be a Taipan. We might survive the bite of a black snake, but not the bite of a Taipan,' he thought. He had read that death from a Taipan bite could occur in minutes. To his relief the snake slid off into some bushes.

Fear now got him looking very carefully at where he placed his feet. The country they were now moving through was across another low sand dune that was aligned parallel to the others. It was covered in waist high dry grass- blady grass and some sort of prickly grass. Trees and bushes made it fairly close country and also blocked both the view and the wind. Only an occasional glimpse of the distant Melville Range gave some assurance of heading in the right direction.

Norman stopped to have a drink. “Bloody hell Dad, how did you ever find a plane wreck in this stuff?” he asked.

“From the air,” Mr Beck answered. “It is on the edge of a big salt marsh and I was a lot younger and a lot fitter then.”

Willy also drank, emptying his first water bottle. That worried him because he had only one more and they still had not covered the distance.

After another few hundred metres they came out on the edge of a salt marsh. Much of this was covered with clumps of spiky salt water grass but there were flat open patches of dry mud and salt pan. As the group walked out of the relative shade of the trees the heat seemed to engulf them. The sun felt as though it was scorching through cloth.

Suddenly Norman gave a low warning hiss and stopped. “Pig!” he whispered. He stepped clear of them and raised the rifle, working the bolt to load a round into the breech as he did. Willy looked and then sucked in his breath. About a hundred metres away, on the far side of the salt pan, he saw the wild pig. It was big, black- and terrifyingly fast. To his enormous relief it was running away from them, not charging.

Andrew also gasped and said, “Boar.”

“Yes, and just as well,” Norman said. “If we run into a sow with piglets we might be in real trouble.”

Willy thought of stories he had heard about wild pigs and shuddered. The adult pigs weighed several hundred kilograms and were very strong. He knew that he had no chance of survival in a hand-to-hand struggle with one of the creatures. They had very sharp teeth and wickedly vicious curved tusks that could slice and rip.  The only escape was up a big tree. A hasty look around showed the nearest suitable one to be a good hundred paces away and he doubted if he could cover that distance before a wild pig caught him.

The stinging bite of a March fly took his mind temporarily off pigs. He slapped at it and crushed the insect with a feeling of irritated satisfaction. The group resumed walking, going straight across the salt pan on the compass course. It took three minutes of walking in the sweltering heat before they entered the belt of timber beyond.

The soil changed back to sand and the trees changed to some sort of stunted and twisted tree which grew in dense thickets. A few paperbarks grew amongst them. There were more green ants and then they encountered yet another irritating nuisance: hairy caterpillars. Andrew struck a nest of them and cried out in pain and dismay. Within seconds his skin came up in angry red welts. Luckily this was on his left wrist and hand.

“Will you be alright Andrew?” Carmen asked anxiously.

Andrew nodded. “I think so. It stings but I've been stung by the little buggers before and don't think I am allergic to them,” he replied.

They had another drink and Mr Beck studied an aerial photo he had. “This belt of scrub is only a couple of hundred metres wide,” he explained. “The salt pan where the ‘Kittyhawk' landed is the one on the other side.”

“Landed?” Willy queried. “I thought it crashed.”

Mr Beck nodded. “The pilot obviously thought it looked the best place to land in this area and he was lucky- to begin with. He got his wheels down on a patch of dry mud and had almost rolled to a standstill near the trees before his wheels broke through the crust. The plane then pitched up on its nose and slid forward in soft mud till it hit the dry sand and stopped. That pilot was a very lucky man,” he explained.

“Did he survive?” Andrew asked.

Mr Beck nodded. “Yes. He made his way to the beach and was picked up by a small coaster and taken to Cooktown,” he said.

“Didn't the air force try to salvage the wreck?”  Carmen asked.

“Yes they did,” Mr Beck replied. “They hauled it off the mud and took out the guns and radios. But the wreck was obviously too far from the beach to haul out so they left it and the sand and leaves blew over it and trees grew up to hide it.” He described again how he had been lucky enough to find the wreck many years before.

The group pushed on through the scrub, sweating and muttering. It became so thick that Willy began to compare it to the jungle- except that the trees were only four or five metres high and it was all very dry. Suddenly Andrew, who was leading, stopped and cried out. “Come and look at this!”

They hurried forward, stepping out onto a bulldozed vehicle track. Willy stared at it in concern. It was obviously new. The crushed vegetation piled along the sides still had green leaves on it. Deep wheel ruts in the sand showed that vehicles had been along it recently. “The mineral exploration people?” he suggested.

“Has to be,” Norman agreed.

“It is going almost the way we want,” Carmen added, lining her compass up with the track.

Willy looked both ways and saw that the clearing ran diagonally from his right rear to his left front. A sharp sense of unease suddenly gripped him. ‘It is heading for the plane,' he thought. He said, “Those mining people might find the wreck.”

With that he pushed past Andrew and set off along the track as fast as he could stride it out in the soft sand. In the cleared lane the air was stifling and the sun reflected up off the white sand with a cruel glare. A heat haze shimmered along it. Willy ignored all this and pushed himself to go as fast as he could, ignoring the dripping sweat and hot, rasping breath. The others followed at their best speed, the group quickly stringing out.

After 200 metres of walking Willy came to the edge of the large salt pan. It was at least a kilometre long and half that wide. Here the heat haze shimmered with a regular mirage effect. The vehicle track curved left along the edge of the sand. Willy paused, chest heaving, to take stock.

For a few seconds his eyes misted and went blurry and he saw black dots. Then he shook his head and wiped sweat from his eyes. ‘Heat exhaustion,' he thought. Then he gasped in shock as he realized what he was looking at. About a hundred metres away was a cluster of vehicles and men. A big, yellow bulldozer and two trucks were clearly visible. One of the trucks had a side mounted, folding crane and at that very moment it was using it to hoist aboard the wrecked fuselage of a ‘Kittyhawk'!

As the full realization of what he was seeing burst into Willy's consciousness he experienced a wave of intense anger. ‘That's our plane!' he thought. With his emotions boiling he ran towards the truck. But he didn't run very far. He was too winded and hot and his speed dropped to stumbling trot.

While he ran towards the trucks Willy saw that the fuselage was being settled into a timber cradle on the back of the truck. The men were so intent on what they were doing that they did not notice him until he was only about ten paces from them. Then one man glanced around and jumped in surprise. He was big man, wearing grey overalls and a white plastic ‘hard hat'.

“What the..? Who the bloody hell are you?” the man cried.

“That's our plane,” Willy croaked, his breath now coming in hot gasps.

The man laughed. Willy came to a tumbling standstill and was aware that at least four other men were watching. He gulped and tried to recover his breath. Then another person moved from behind the truck, a man dressed all in white, and Willy gasped again.

“Mr Jemmerling!”

Mr Jemmerling frowned and then said, “Hello young Willy. You look a bit hot.”

Boiling anger seethed in Willy. He panted and then shouted, “That's our plane!”

“I think not,” Mr Jemmerling replied coolly, his gaze shifting to the others who were now hurrying to join Willy. “Finders-keepers covers it I think.”

“But we came all this way to get it!” Willy cried in furious dismay.

“So did I,” Mr Jemmerling replied. He then said, “Hello Mr Beck. Hello young Norman. And hello to you two also.”

Mr Jemmerling's cool manner further infuriated Willy. “You can't take the plane without a permit.”

Mr Jemmerling shook his head and flicked open a plastic folder he was carrying. “I have a permit. I think it is a case of ‘The early bird catches the worm'.”

“You are the worm!” cried Willy. “You have cheated us.”

Mr Jemmerling pursed his lips. “There is no need to descend to personal abuse,” he said. “I haven't cheated anyone. It was a fair race and I won.”

“You deceived us and tricked us, taking us on that flight,” Willy retorted. He was so upset he felt tears prickle in his eyes and he blinked to avoid the humiliation.

“Be careful what you say young Willy,” Mr Jemmerling replied calmly. “You knew I was after the information and you joined us with your eyes open. And you are being a bit ungrateful.”

Willy knew he was and that spurred his emotions into a seething mixture. “You spied on us and you robbed us to get the maps,” he accused.

Mr Jemmerling's eyes narrowed and he said, “I don't like being accused of being a cheat or a thief. I have done none of those things. The only information I was ever lucky enough to get from you people was when your friend put his finger on the map one night at your Air Cadet depot.”

‘Bloody Stick and Noddy!' Willy thought angrily. He was aware that the other members of the group were now standing next to him. The men in Mr Jemmerling's work team were all standing on the truck or beside him. They looked ready to support their employer. Willy said, “You had that man break into Mr Beck's and steal his notes and charts.”

A flush of anger showed on Mr Jemmerling's face and he snapped. “I haven't paid anyone to burgle anyone. Be careful young man. If you continue to make unfounded allegations I will take you to court for slander.”

Andrew gripped Willy's arm and muttered, “Steady on Willy. We have no proof.”

Willy was still very upset so he said, “We saw the same man in Cooktown. He was spying on us and then he got in a boat and headed out into the river towards your flying boat.”

Mr Jemmerling frowned. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Now stop making accusations or back them up in court.” He then turned to Mr Beck. “Sorry Mr Beck but we were here first. This is my plane now.”

But Willy wasn't ready to give up. “So how could you possibly find this plane without using Mr Beck's notes and map?” he challenged.

“By doing some research in the historical records, by doing a lot of flying at low altitude and taking hundreds of aerial photographs, and by using all the expertise and equipment of my mineral exploration team,” Mr Jemmerling replied, for the first time showing a glint of real anger.

“Mineral exploration!” spat Willy. “You must have lied to Capt Kirk to hire his ship to transport you.”

One of the men took a step forward, fists clenched but Mr Jemmerling restrained him. “I will handle this thanks Mr Jenkins. Now listen here Williams, I don't like being called a liar, particularly by an ignorant and ungrateful boy. You underestimate me. This is a real mineral exploration team. Mine. I own the firm and I employ these men. When this little task is done they will survey our whole lease here. So I haven't lied to anyone.”

The retort really stung Willy, particularly the accusation of being ungrateful. Looking at the tough looking men of the work crew doubt entered his mind and he flushed with embarrassment at possibly having made a real fool of himself.

“Oh but!” Willy cried, frustration, suspicion and doubt swirling in his mind. He glanced at Mr Beck and was appalled at what he saw. Mr Beck looked very red in the face and his disappointment was plain on his face. Norman had a bitter twist to his lips and both Andrew and Carmen looked both puzzled and angry.

Norman said, “That's enough Willy. We have no proof.”

“No, you can't have any,” Mr Jemmerling said, “Because I haven't done any of those things. Now please move off our work site and let us get on with our work.”

Reluctantly Willy allowed himself to be led a few paces to one side. Intense feelings of bitter disappointment and defeat surged through him. He looked around and noted that both wings of the wreck were lying under the trees. They were badly corroded and buckled but were still real wings. Timber packing frames lay nearby. Realizing how thirsty and how close to heat exhaustion he was he took out his water bottle and drank.

Andrew also drank, then held his water bottle upside down to indicate he was out of water. Mr Jemmerling, glancing around, saw this and said, “Would you like some water?”

“Not from you!” Willy cried. He knew he was being bad-mannered and churlish and that only fuelled his unreasonable anger. Knowing that he was reacting that way did not help much, just made him more angry at himself. Mr Jemmerling glanced at him and turned his back, making Willy feel even worse.

Norman now took charge. He took a couple of photographs and then said, “There is nothing more we can do here. We had better go back to the beach to tell the others. Come on.”