Before them lay a huge bowl shaped from grassy hillsides. Dotted across it were at least a hundred white, brown and black dots, some multicoloured. Most were several hundred metres away and, as she watched, they gradually resolved themselves into discrete goats, mothers with their kids alongside, big billy goats with horns standing sentinel, mid-sized animals with spiky little horns. Interspersed between them were other animals which she now recognised as kangaroos, perhaps wallabies, all sharing this grassland in the early morning light.

  It was like an African panorama from a wildlife documentary.

  A small creek came down from a gap between two hills and pools of water along its course glistened below in the soft light.

  She looked up. The whole eastern sky was alight; not so many colours in the clouds as yesterday but faint high streamers of high cloud glowing a brilliant red and below soft pinks, oranges and gold of hills and sky joining and sliding into one another. It was a place where all the colours seemed to merge into layer after layer, making it hard to separate earth and sky. They lay side by side watching spellbound until finally the sun crested the horizon bathing their whole world in golden light. It was breathtakingly and awe inspiring, as if they were two lesser gods watching the sun god recreate the world anew, the word ‘beautiful’ seemed inadequate, closer to puny, as a way of describing this sight.

  Cathy felt immense gratitude to this man for bringing her to show her this. Her whole trip across the world was worth it for this moment alone, a place where earth and sky met in a perfect fusion of light and colour.

  She reached over and put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up and met her eyes, inquiring.

  She whispered, “Thank you for bringing me here, this is a sight that will live forever in my mind. No photo or words could ever do it justice. I am glad I shared it with you. It is a memory to hold forever.”

  He nodded, silent but seeming to be moved by her words.

  As the gold light faded into day reality returned. He brought her back from the ridge and explained their tactics. He would take her around the side of the hill which they were now on, to the place where the creek cut through. They would follow the creek bed down into the middle of the fields. There they would find an ambush point, using one of the rocky knolls that marked its passage.

  He gave her a quick lesson on using her rifle, showing her how to use her pack to support it lying prone, how to sight it and hold it steady, how to ease the trigger back while breathing steadily.

  She was not sure she could shoot when the moment came, but she would bring the rifle along and see how she went.

  They headed off and worked their way around the hill shoulder, staying below the crest. Mark said they did not need to be quiet for this part, as the hill would block the sound and sight of their passage and their downwind location would block their scent. But once they came to the creek they would have to be totally quiet and be really careful. These goats were hunted at the weekends by hunters from Adelaide and were very wary.

  So they walked and talked, saying nothing significant but making little notes on the life around; the distinctive call of an eagle, bright colours of feeding parrots flashing past, the smell of damp earth and an occasional place infused with the semi-sweet fragrance of a flowering shrub.

  The walking was easy, a gentle downhill passage with only occasional boulders to navigate. They came to where the creek ran in little cascades down a steep rocky hillside before spreading into pools below. It was steep down over the rocks and boulders. Now they went slowly, carefully, placing each foot on a solid place before advancing, gently pushing aside branches to allow passage.

  Cathy’s mind was in the moment, all else ignored as she gave full attention to making silent steps. They reached the bottom and kept following the creek bed. The ground had looked flat from above but down here the creek ran below head high banks, with dense foliage hiding the foreground and it seemed like a lost place. They came to a rocky knoll where water trickled down. The view opened and Mark led Cathy forward on hands and knees. The goats were much closer; the nearest group was about 200 yards away.

  Mark pointed to another rocky knoll further down, two thirds of the way to the nearest goats. “Our target is to get there unseen,” he said.

  After this second knoll it was only open ground with the creek breaking into bigger pools. Several kangaroos were drinking at the closest pool. It looked like a group of goats were heading there to supplant the kangaroos at the water.

  Mark led the way now, climbing up to the outside of the creek bed but staying within the shelter of the fringing trees. Once past the open rocks he led them back into the creek’s full shelter. Now glimpses of goats were visible grazing below. There was a light wind in their faces.

  Mark watched the goats intensely as he placed each step, several times pausing in mid stride as a sentry goat raised its head, sniffed the air and looked around intently.

  It seemed to take forever, in a state of suspended animation, to cover this part. Cathy could feel her heart beating strongly in her chest and ringing in her ears, it sounded so loud she thought the rest of the world must hear it too.

  At last they were in position and the goats continued to graze undisturbed. She settled herself with her pack on the ground in front. Mark took her gun and loaded five bullets into the magazine, then inserted one more into the breach, closed it and slid the safety catch on. The only noises from his actions were faint, almost inaudible clicks.

  He signed indicating that, when she was ready to shoot, she should slide the safety catch off. Now it was up to her.

  He loaded his own rifle, positioning himself two metres to her side on a higher ridge. He indicated a group of six goats walking towards the water. He pointed to the leader, a big billy goat with well-formed horns. “Mine,” he mouthed and signed.

  Cathy nodded. After billy goat gruff came three females with young at foot then at the back two almost grown goats, spiky little horns on their heads. Mark indicated she should select between these for her target.

  She acknowledged and calmed herself. The goats kept coming until the billy had his forelegs in the water, having a last look around before he lowered his head to drink. All the other goats reached the water’s edge and starting to walk in to drink except the female with the largest kid. This goat seemed to be standing sentry, nervously looking around and raising its nose to scent the air, while the others drank,

  Mark indicated Cathy should shoot when she was ready. He slid off the safety catch of his rifle. She did the same and brought her rifle into line, with her vision through the scope. She selected the rear most of her two goat targets and placed the cross hairs on its mid chest behind the point of shoulder.

  Now or never, she thought, giving all her concentration to holding steady while she squeezed the trigger. The huge blast reverberated from in front of her. A split second later the second blast came from her side.

  When her senses returned she looked to where the goats were. The front billy was resting on its chest, nose in the water, having fallen where it stood. Her target had not moved; perhaps its head had come up.

  The other goats had jumped in alarm, as if to flee, looking around for the source of the sound. As they searched for danger a second crack sounded from her side. The second juvenile goat slumped to the ground.

  Cathy kept watching as a slow second passed. Now her own target crumpled at the knees to an ungainly sitting position, on its chest with its head resting on the ground. The remaining goats rushed away towards the distant hillside.

  Mark came across, removed the bullets from her rifle and handed it to her, breach open. His own was already similarly disarmed. He led the way across the open ground to the pool below.

  Cathy looked in amazement at her goat as she approached. It seemed quite beautiful, brown skin with mottled white patches. It looked startled in death, eyes wide, as if caught by surprise as it sat there.

  Mark pointed to the entry hold where her bullet had struck, two inches higher and three inches behind where she had aimed.

  “That was a good shot. It has taken out the major blood vessels at the back of the heart with death in seconds from massive blood loss,” he said.

  He paused and continued “I don’t think it felt anything,” seeming to sense her concern that it had not suffered. “The bullet goes so fast it would have been through it before it knew. With that damage there would be no blood to its brain and no awareness from then on.”

  She felt relief that it had been done without suffering, but most she felt great exultation, the successful hunter had made her first kill; this satisfaction of a primal instinct washed over her.

  She watched as Mark quickly eviscerated the bodies and removed heads and feet, then found two poles, each about two metres long. He asked Cathy if she felt she could help him carry them back. He explained they would need to do it I stages, first to the top of the hill, where they would have a big rest before carrying them down the other side to the car. This first bit to the top of the hill would be hardest, lifting the weight. They would try to do it in one go but he could always come back a second time if needed.

  Mark estimated the dressed weight of the three goats combined was 80 to 90 kilos. He said he thought they could manage if he arranged the weight so that he took about two thirds and she took about a third. He would go at the back as they went up the hill, using his strength to push them both forward as they climbed.

  Cathy was unsure if she was strong enough but would do her best.

  So the goats were tied to the two poles, the smaller two to one side and the big one on the other side to give balance. The weight was towards the back. Mark got Cathy to stand at the front. He lifted the poles on her shoulders, picked up his heavy ends and rested them on his shoulders.

  “OK, off we go, nice and steady, watching where you step. Don’t be scared to drop them if you lose your balance or they get too heavy.”

  It was hard work but manageable. As the angle of the hill increased she could feel the weight easing as more load transferred to the back, but now she had to lift herself both herself and the poles. She could feel Mark’s steady steps continually pushing her forward. She kept stepping ahead, a foot at a time, her legs straining to lift with every step.

  After five minutes Mark called a halt saying they were past half way to the top. They sat side by side on a rock until they got their breath back. Considering he had been lifting most of the weight Mark seemed in good shape, breathing hard but otherwise showing little sign of strain. After his breathing returned to normal he did a couple stretches before they pushed on. The next stage was much harder and soon her legs were screaming, and now she could hear Mark grunting with the effort of each step as he walked behind her. They did just over half before Mark called another rest. The crest of the hill was in sight but the steepest part lay in front. He separated the poles and they came up the last leg carrying one pole at a time. Finally all three goats were at the top.

  They both sprawled out on the ground sucking in air until their heart pounding and breathing slowed and their legs regained strength.

  After a few more minutes Mark stood up and began searching the ground, soon finding a particular rock and picking it up.

  Cathy asked what it was.

  He showed her that this rock had a fossil in its centre, a perfectly formed snail outline. He told her it had been made hundreds of millions of years ago when this land lay at the bottom of a shallow sea, since then it had been thrust up far into the sky.

  It was a time so distant that it lay beyond her comprehension. She held the rock herself and traced the outline with her finger, feeling as if this was a time machine drawing her back into an incredibly ancient past before even dinosaurs walked. She hunted around amongst the other rocks, now looking at each fractured face carefully. Sure enough, within a minute, she found another, similar but different, another ancient creature of the sea, this one an oval shape, with stripes running across the middle, this one Mark called a trilobite. Almost reverently she put it down again. Now she looked at the land below her feet with an understanding of its antiquity and history and, in a small way, began to share the passion for it that so obviously permeated Mark.

  Mark hunted around some more and found fragments of aboriginal flint chippings, showing these to her as he told her they were made by the aboriginals in the process of making a stone tool like a knife or spear head, which they would have used for hunting.

  Now she had a second picture in her minds. She imagined these dark people of millennia past sitting here on this hilltop surveying the view as they prepared their tools and planned their hunts. She wondered if they had also used the creek as an ambush point. She asked Mark.

  “Almost certainly,” he said, “they are such skilful hunters, I have seen a black man from this country stalk a kangaroos so close that he reached out and caught its tail without the need for a spear or stone.

  “So they would have used the creek and the water pools as we did today, but they could also catch animals by stalking across ground so open that to us there seems nowhere to hide.”

  Now they took a drink and a snack bar from their packs before heading down the other side. The view was still marvellous but the magic of early morning light was gone, along with the animals, now seen only as distant dots of far hillsides.

  The walk back to the car seemed easy after the climb. They had a trail to follow and Mark was at the front taking most of the weight while she walked easily behind supporting her end and enjoying the view. The drive back was uneventful and they had a restful afternoon at the camp. Cathy went for a walk by herself along the creek, while Mark stayed in his room.

  They ate an early dinner in the bar and retired early, both tired. Over dinner Mark had said he wanted to be away early again the next morning, to drive on to Coober Pedy, where they had a dinner date. He told her of a phone call he had made there this afternoon to tell of his hunting success, telling he would bring a promised goat. He said the man asked if he could be there by early afternoon, they were planning a big family celebration the next night and the big billy goat would make a perfect centrepiece for a traditional Greek feast. So, despite his previous plans for another day of sightseeing, now they needed to go early and directly to this place. He promised the dinner would make it worthwhile.

  They rose and left at five. This morning the sunset was behind them unseen. They drove southwest for two hours stopping for quick breakfast at Port Augusta. After that it was many long and featureless hours of bitumen driving, heading north on the main road to Alice Springs, the Stuart Highway. They arrived, as planned, in the early afternoon.

  Coober Pedy was a strange and dusty town, a hot-potch of buildings taking all shapes and styles. Its central feature was an endless sprawl of shops selling opals.

  They pulled up outside a big gaudy house, obviously owned by a prosperous inhabitant. It rose high above its neighbours and boasted one of the few flower gardens in sight out the front. Mark tooted the horn. A burly man, thick set with dark hair turning to grey, came out.

  Mark called out “Nikko, I have your goat as promised, in good time for the feast tonight.

  “Marco,” the man exclaimed, “You have come most fast. I told my Athena you would come soon; she said not till later, too far to drive so quick from the goat mountains; mountains like in our Greece.”

  They were shown inside and given large tumblers of a sweet green iced drink which tasted faintly of limes, lemons and green herbs. It was refreshing after the heat of the day. They were only part finished when there followed retsina, ouzo and a selection of bread and dips.

  Athena served them; she was a small woman with a mass of jet black hair. She looked several years younger than her husband, with a ready smile, saying, “Marco, who is your friend, you must introduce us, most impolite not to. I have fixed your regular room for tonight, the big room with the balcony you like at the top of the house. I will show Catherine around while you men talk.”

  As Cathy followed her up the stairs Athena explained that tonight was an engagement party for their daughter Cassandra, Cassie as most people called her. She and her fiancée, Stefan, went to Adelaide shopping for a ring, yesterday. They were due back in town late this afternoon in time for the celebration.

  It turned out that Nikko was a prosperous opal and gem trader who owned a busy shop in the middle of town, buying from miners and selling both wholesale to other jewellers and to the town’s many visitors.

  Over the years they had prospered in this place. Now her daughter was marrying into another local Greek family, also in the opal business.

  Athena’s stories rattled out. “You would think that with so many stones in Nikko’s business there would be one to suit my daughter, one that could be made into a ring. But no, she wants a diamond, a big, big diamond, paid for in hard dollars by her husband, not some cut price

  stone from Nikko or Stefan’s business.

  “So they went to Adelaide, to visit the most expensive jewellery shops. Last night they rang to say they have bought the perfect ring and are bringing it back to show us all and celebrate.”

  So, on the strength of this and a phone call from Marco yesterday, telling he had a huge goat to roast, Athena explained they had decided to have an impromptu engagement feast tonight. There would of course be a more formal engagement party on the due date but she and all her friends had all got to work today making many foods, sweet pastries, lamb dishes, salad’s, roasted lemon chickens, “much food and most delicious.”

  It was to be a surprise for the returning guests. But the most special part was the whole roast goat. It would be cooked on the spit for many hours, according to Nikko’s secret recipe, ready for a night of feasting.

  As she talked Athena walked Cathy from room to room, showing her the main features. Despite what appeared to Cathy as a gaudy exterior the interior of the house was a classic piece of the Mediterranean brought to this faraway place, done with exquisite taste.