We’re all pretty experienced campers, in our late 20’s / early 30’s, and our motorcycling mate a very experienced worldwide traveler, and not much worried us while we were out and about. In fact, if we parked up anywhere for the night with other campers around it was them who retreated to their tents or closed up their caravan doors. I guess most folk would stereotype us, a few young blokes showing up, dirty trucks, bearded, tattooed etc., but we’re really just like anyone else who enjoys the outdoors and camping, and are probably more respectful of the land and others than some may think. We were often taking more rubbish with us when we left most campsites, and were generally quiet and asleep by nightfall cos we were so buggered!
So this one day, we’d been travelling north for the good part of the day, and like the last 6 weeks, mid-afternoon rolled around and it was time to pull out a map and spot some bush where we could camp. To the left of us was the coastline, and the highway curved its way closer to the shore the more we drove. We began to spot tracks headed off to our right into the scrub and decided they were worth investigating. We headed in and explored some tracks for a few K’s that really just headed off into the wilderness, very few side tracks and no real way to get off the main trail. Being right on the coast, there was no real cover or trees and the one clear area looked like an old tip that had been reclaimed. Not ideal camping.
We sent our scout out on the bike to look for somewhere as he could cover ground more easily than us. Although his bike was a ‘road’ bike, I reckon it’s seen more off-road action than most weekend warriors and their trail bikes. 20 minutes later he returns with news that back down the highway on the coast side, there is a big clearing, heaps of little tracks and even some old tin shacks! So, excitedly we head back and spot what we completely missed only an hour earlier. The sign on the side of the road read something along the lines of “squatter’s shacks built in this area earlier than 1992 may remain...” [Can’t remember exact wording, thought I had a photo but can’t find it, but found these links which seems to give some history to the rough area we were in: http://www.abc.net.au/news/2012-10-2...island/4329924, http://www.abc.net.au/news/2011-08-3...rieve/2864032]
We were intrigued by this, and drove on in. Just off the highway was this old community of tin shacks (people from Perth or the west coast may know of this place?). There wasn’t anyone around so we did a lap, and then followed the tracks that headed further up towards to the beach. As we drove up the sandy track we get right up close to the water where it’s nice and calm. Talk on the two-way was to chuck a line in before sun-down. What a great idea. Our biking mate parks up on an old slab and heads over to join us. As we round a dune, we notice a newish Nissan Patrol parked on the beach. Oh, so there is someone here...same idea though, an older fellow and his wife wetting a line. Champion idea! We wave and park further up the beach, unpack the rods and go chuck in. As the evening set in and the sun went down, we cast up and down the calm shoreline. We didn't have any bait and were using a variety of soft plastics but weren’t getting many bites.
As we stood on the beach though, we noticed the amount of items scattered across the landscape and discuss what may have once been in this place. There were old buoys, rope, bits of driftwood and metal roofing, all sorts of things and we talked of how great it would have been to see the place when it was populated. Our mate had been travelling all over Europe, living in squat houses and had some great stories to tell. We imagined this place would have been a great self-sufficient community, living off the land and the sea.
Over the horizon we could see some serious cloud forming and it was making its way towards us. We weren't fond of rain, we’d spent a week in southern NSW and northern Victoria in March camped during the floods. Standing there looking out to sea, the air was still, the ocean flat. It was the calm before the storm, and before we knew it, the skies opened up. We trudge back to the trucks and spend a half hour under the tailgate of the 60 series. It was beginning to get dark, the wind was picking up and we were getting hungry. As the wind began to howl we progressed from tailgate sitting, to sitting in our trucks as the rain came it at such an angle. Over the radio we discuss our options: set up the tarps where we were? Try and cook a feed? That wasn't going to work; the wind battered the broadside of the cruiser for another 20 minutes as we hoped it would pass. It wasn't going to let up though, and a decision was made to make use of the abandoned tin shack back up the trail. We light up the trucks and turn around to head back. The fellow in the Patrol had packed up and taken off by this stage, but we hadn't seen where he had gone.
Our mate had rolled his bike around the back of the first obviously abandoned shack where it wouldn't get as wet (it’s electrics had already played up in the rain). We reverse up to the patio of the shack and jump out for a look around. By the looks of the place, it hadn't been used in years. It was all boarded and locked up, and peering in the dusty windows the place was near empty. We figure the place is abandoned, and considering our situation the patio is going to give us as much shelter as anywhere, and will be beaut to roll the swags out on, high and dry. Our mate inspects the place a little further and walks out the back, curiosity gets the better of him and a shake of the back sliding door sees it open. He wandered around in there for a bit, he loves that stuff, having spent much time in such accommodation in the strangest places of other countries. When he heads back to the patio he explains the light up on the hill. “Must be that fellow in the Patrol.” We look in the direction and can see the light glow of a caravan, but its way off in the distance on the other side of the house. “He probably doesn't even know we’re here”, our 12V fluoro would have been blocked by the house. “Either way, he wouldn’t mind us crashing here on the patio, its pissing down!” Our mate explains the inside of the shack to us. Empty, dusty, abandoned, unused for years. I refused to go in and look for myself. I’ve got this thing about being self-reliant, and felt weird even just standing on the patio of this place, whereas my mate is an opportunist. He will take full advantage of any situation especially if it involved accommodation like this! Anyway, we knock up a basic meal and have a few beers on the patio of the shack. A few hours pass and the rain and wind settle down. We swap stories about remote travel, living off the land and the possibilities of having such a life like this. “Wouldn't it be great to just pack up shop, leave your life behind and live like this...” we went on for hours.
It must have been about midnight when we decided to call it a night. It had stopped raining by this stage but figured we’re already setup here, might as well stay. Everything gets packed away as we normally would, basically everything but the swags so we’re ready to go at the drop a hat. For some reason, I paid extra attention to locking up the truck that night, double checking the cab doors and canopy were shut and locked. And while I was down on ground level packing the rear of the truck (where I hadn’t really before in my rush to get out of the rain) I notice the amount of what appeared to be chicken bones or at least small animal bones on the ground around and underneath the patio. Biker mate and world traveler had already hit the hay in his open swag, so I call my other mate around to check it out. “Weird isn’t it, must be some sort wild dogs or cats, and maybe strays from the old days?” I had this thought in my head, probably from all the tall tales I've heard in the past. I’m thinking, ‘what if I’m woken in the middle of the night by some feral hound sniffing about...don’t care if he’s down there on the ground, but for sure he’d trek up these stairs and see what we’re all about. Just means he’s interrupting my sleep!’ So clever thought, I’d grab some of that old Telstra rope I had in the back of the truck, string up a bit of a barrier across the patio stairs and the fecker won’t be able to get up. Brilliant! I love a good rig-up, good knots and the like, and take care of my ropes, sealing ends at all times, storing them neatly etc. So there I go, get the rope out, and spend about 5 minutes carefully tying a dozen or more laps (read zig zags) across the posts at the top of the stairs. I’m done, and second to hit the swag, while my other mate farts about doing something in the back of his cruiser.
The night was cooler than previous nights, because of the rain, and I do up not only the mesh, but the canvas on my swag. I've always had a bit of issue with my swag. I love it, it’s comfy and warm, but I don’t reckon I’d be able to get out of it in a rush. Two zippers, plus a sleeping bag sometimes, so 3, meaning at least 10-15 seconds to escape the thing, and it wouldn't be quiet. Now with that canvas over the top, it’s dark, and obviously can’t see out. And I don’t like that idea either. I’d rather know what’s going on outside, so I often leave the head canvas undone, and just zip up the mesh allowing a sneak peek outside, and I often face the head of the swag in the direction I may need visibility in during the night – in this case the dirt road into the place as it isn't far off the highway.
As I settle into the swag, my mate goes to head up onto the porch and notices the rope set-up. He asks what it was for and I simply explained the proposition of being woken up in the night by wandering wildlife. Fair enough he reckoned so he steps on over, and over me as I’m closet the steps. I hear him rustle about as he makes his way into the canvas. It’s dead quiet, and just as he’s zipping up his swag, a real thud. Not like the sound of a car or truck on the highway, or roo bouncing past on the hard ground. The sound was something I’d heard before. [Bang your closed fist on the desk next to you. Yep that’s the sound.] Its then when he quietly asks, “Scotty, you still awake?” “Of course mate, you were just speaking to me...” At this point everyone’s into their swags, all lights are out and all noises have ceased. Our other mate is already asleep. “There’s someone inside!” His voice turned into a panicking whisper “They just banged on the window as I was hopping into my swag. He was staring straight at me.” My heart stopped, and straight away my breaths became short as I was trying not to make a sound. I couldn’t hear anything. Trying to remain quiet, we spoke. “Bullsh#t mate, stop taking the piss”. Now I’m trying to act calm, I know he can be a joker, but he sounded serious. “I know what I saw mate, he stared me straight in the eyes”. We lay in silence for a few minutes... “Well, we've been here for long enough now you’d think if they had a problem they’d come out and tell us to leave.” “Yeah? If you were them would you come and tell us to leave?” “Guess not.”
We convinced ourselves that maybe someone was there but too afraid to head outside. We wake our mate, now almost shouting to wake him. “Oi, you walked inside, was there anyone there?”.... “What?” he says. “You’re kidding, the place is empty, no-one’s been here for years”... After some thought we reply “yeah, you’re right, if anyone’s hiding out in there they’ll come out” Talking loud enough now that if anyone were inside they’d hear us and get the hint. We wait for what seemed like ages for more noise, footsteps, anything. I eventually drift off to sleep.
I’d gotten used to sleeping out in the swag after sleeping in it night after night for near two months now, and was sleeping fairly easy until I was woken later that night. You know when you wake from a sleep with for no apparent reason, like the 6th sense people talk about? Well this was exactly like that. My eyes flicked open, I didn’t move. From a deep sleep to wide awake in an instant. Breathing slowly, moving slowly, I turned over to face out the head of my swag to check outside. To my surprise, my mate was already awake. His senses must have been better than mine. He’s an experienced hunter as well, and sometimes scares me with the things he can see and hear that I can’t. Either way, he’s awake, out of his swag and lying belly down on the porch, hanging his head over the edge peering underneath. It would take a lot to have him concerned with anything; but the guy still sleeps with a pig sticker under his pillow. I didn’t see the knife out, but I’m sure it wasn’t far from arms reach. I didn’t let him know I was awake. I lay there in silence trusting his actions, and waiting for the call to wake us other two up. He lay there for a long time, watching. Long enough for me to fall back asleep even. I guess knowing he was on the watch made me feel a little more easy. Sometime later I woke again, this time to the sound of zippers. I rolled again, quickly, looking out. Phew, he was now getting back into his swag. Obviously if he’s getting back in its all ok, whatever had him up in the first place? We all continued to sleep.
Morning comes around and I wake to the light as it makes its way in the end of my swag. I breath out heavily, glad the rest of the night turned out uneventful. I’m thinking to myself, ‘let’s get out of here, get away from this creepy shack and get back into the bush.’ I can’t hear anyone else up. ‘Probably still snoozing.’ The foot of my swag was strung up to the post of the stairs on the porch; the head of my swag faced the road in. One roll over, and nothing much on outside, the boys still sleeping. Better get up and get moving. Rolling back over, I face up, unzip the mesh of my swag, and sit up pushing open the canvas cover in the same movement. Then there I was, facing down the patio stairs, at my Telstra rope barrier across the top step, between the posts...which was now no longer there.
It was replaced by a perfectly tied, 13 wrap hangman’s noose neatly cut off after the knot was complete.
Fark.
I moved quickly out of the swag and down the stairs. I head out on to the dirt road, look up, look down. Look from afar under the house, clear through to the other side. Nothing. I could see the caravan in the daylight further up the hill. Still there, no movement, they were old folk anyway.
First thoughts in my head now are that my mate was playing tricks and tied up the knot before going to bed. But I heard him step over it, then into bed, then the thud incident. My other mate slept the whole night through just about. So...what made my mate get up in the middle of the night? What was he looking for? Had someone come and untied this barrier in the night while I slept. Right at my feet? I knew it took a good few minutes to tie up, and would have taken the same to take it down. It had been cut after the knot, cleanly too. They had a knife perhaps?
Fark.
I stood on the dirt road as I pondered all of the above. Then hear steps coming up the road from the direction of the shore. Now I knew no-one else was around. It was us and the older folk up on the hill in the caravan. Who was this? Then over the crest comes a young boy, neatly dressed, walking a small dog on a lead. I look right at him, almost in disbelief, confusion. Where’d he come from? I shook my head a bit, almost just to tell myself I was awake and I was seeing this. He looked at the ground as he walked; I just stood and watched him. As he got directly beside me on the full width road, where he had plenty of room to go around me, he looked right up and me. “Hello” and continued walking on. He walked right on past the house, turned right and straight around of the back of the house we stayed on the porch of. I squat to see under the house as it was on piers, and could see though to the other side. The young bloke just trod on out the back, then up the bank where I could no longer see him. How strange.
By this stage, the others began to stir, sat up and saw me standing way out on the road. “Who was just talking?” “Ah some young kid that just walked up the road with a pet dog...?!” I responded, still a little confused. The boys got out of their swags and made their way down the stairs. They go “a kid you say?” “Yep.” “Must be with the oldies up the hill there. “Must be.” We all agree.
At this stage, still unsure of the rope incident, I didn’t mention it. I planned to hold off talking about it and let my mate slip up and catch him for playing the prank. I left the rope where I saw it. Just making of note of whether or not the lads picked up on it.
Nothing.
We roll our swags up and chuck ‘em in the trucks, boil the billy on the stove and make coffee just before we head off. We’re all packed up now and have the hood of the 60 up, inspecting a bit of a repair on a radiator hose from a few days ago. Then the whir of a modern diesel engine. A new Patrol rolls down the road. They pull up. It’s the older fellow from yesterday, and a young boy in the passenger seat.
“Crash out down here overnight did you boys?” He asks in a stern, unusual tone. “yeah, trying to escape that rain...” we all nod and reply. “Don’t blame you.” He says, “but I’d get a move on if I were you lot. The bloke that owns that shack there’s coming round today, wouldn't want to see you blokes hanging round I don’t reckon.” “Yep we’re just about to move on. Cheers”...The Patrol drives off. We look at each other with a bit of a strange look on all our faces. Was he for real?
Well, the boy is obviously with them, but surely no-one’s coming here, the place is a wreck, and appears unused for a very long time. “Bit suss.” “Either way, best to keep moving.” We all agree.
We spark up the trucks, our mate rolls his bike around from out the back, and we hit the highway, leaving behind nothing but tyre tracks in the sand.
I’d chucked that rope in the back of the Hilux. Left the knot tied and everything. Just waiting for the boys to slip up on the prank they’d played, waiting for them to drop a hint and get sprung. I left it days and days waiting. During those days I’d been going over and over the events from that night in my head. Was there really a thud? Did he really see someone? What was my mate awake for in the middle of the night? Who really took down my rope barrier, tied a proper hangman’s noose and left it there, perhaps to scare us off? Was it the old man? Was it the young boy? In my head, it couldn’t have been my mate who tied the knot. I heard him right up until he got into bed. It couldn’t have been the young boy that morning on his walk down to the beach with his dog. Surely a young chap all of about 8 years old wouldn’t approach 3 unknown blokes of unknown character sleeping on the porch of an abandoned shack. Was someone really in the house? Could they have been out somewhere while we arrived and simply hid out not knowing who these strangers were on the porch?
At least 3 to 4 days later we camped at a roadside rest area headed inland from Geraldton or Kalbarri, I can’t quite remember. But it began to rain as we pulled in. So we pulled out the big tarp to lay over the two trucks for some shelter. It was a windy evening, and we needed some ropes to hold the tarp down. I tell my mate to head into the back of my truck and grab the bit of Telstra rope. He reaches in, pulls out the rope, knot still intact. “What’s going on here, didn’t know you knew this knot mate?” I pause and reply “I don’t.” waiting for him to break out laughing realising I’d had him caught on his prank. He looks at me, “Then where’d it come from...?” I look at him, then my other mate, then back again. They’re confused, clearly not knowing what’s going on. “No bother, let’s get this tarp up.” They shrug, and we continue to assemble our camp for the night.
Over a few beers later, I tell them the story. What I’d woken up to, the fact I’d seen my mate wake up and search under the house. Trying to piece it together. “Well...” one confesses. “I thumped the floor...there was no-one in the house, thought I’d scare ya’s.......BUT, I did hear something odd in the middle of the night. Woke up with knife in hand, flashed it about as I looked under the house. Didn’t see anything but.” “And that old bloke, how suss was he.....?”
We had a bit of a laugh, and they laughed at how lucky they were, that I didn’t mention anything in the morning about the knot, or they’d all have been on edge.
It's now years later. No confessions of the knot tying have been made. We’re still not sure of who, what or why it happened.
In any case, if that was a real attempt at scaring us off, they were pretty keen.
Like many of the tales you'll hear, it’s typically not wildlife we’re scared of, but people. Who knows who is out there? We all think we’re pretty capable of defending ourselves, and I still believe in that (whoever did try scare us didn’t know we all slept with large blades in our swags, and firearms in the vehicle that we know very well how to use “responsibly”)!
Still reckon they were pretty keen...next time, I won't go back to sleep so easily.
