The Royal Flying Doctor Service and The School of the Air

After our drive through the Red Desert, we arrive in Alice Springs.  It's not a large city, but after miles of barren land, it feels like a metropolis.   So we have just driven hundreds of miles through what is basically a desert.  

Here's something that falls under the category of 'things I never considered'.  What do you do for medical care if the nearest humans are 80 miles away? I’m a city person.  My doctor is a half-mile away.  I just never think about it.

Australians do.  In 1928, they established the Royal Flying Doctor Service (RFDS) for 24-hour emergency help in remote areas.  I first heard about the Doctor Service in Cervantes, (on the way to the Pinnacles, mentioned in one of my earlier posts) where the town of 600 people couldn’t sustain a full-time doctor. 

The RFDS today depends on medical chests in each Outback home, two-way radios, cell phones, and small planes. Last time I checked, they did not depend on computers.*  Twenty-one bases and sixty-one planes provide medical care to over 270,000 patients spread out over 75% of the country. The RFDS provides advice via radio,  arranges patient transfers, and conducts health clinics (dental, mental, and physical) for the sparsely populated areas of the country.  I think about my doctor a half mile away and I have to admit, the RFDS is a very impressive operation.  Check their web site: http://www.flyingdoctor.org.au

Soooo I’m thinking the School of the Air is pilot training for the RFDS?

Nope.

In a unique program to standardize education in the far-flung outposts of the country, Australia started using the RFDS two-way radios (already in every remote home) for lessons.  Eventually the school moved to its own radio base, covering about 1.4 million square miles. At the time of my visit, mail and radio lessons were the main methods of communication.   Once a year teachers visited their students and pupils made a trip to the remote school.

A 1998 Alice Springs postcard of the School of the Air showing a teacher at a remote base, an annual school visit, and a radio lesson underway.

I listen to a recorded lesson. The speaker can’t hear while transmitting, so one person speaks at a time. Children sat at their radios for roll call and the teacher asked one sleepy-sounding child,  ‘Did you just wake up, Johnny?” He answered, “I hab a code.”  All the children murmur sympathetic comments.  I notice he wasn't excused from the lesson. 

Technology has changed the School of the Air since my first trip to Australia.   The RFDS still relies on the two-way radio and/or cell phone; but a satellite network has replaced the School of the Air with The School of Distance Education.  It has a Sydney hub, five main teaching studios, and hundreds of sites throughout the remote territories.  Video cameras, electronic whiteboards, and email enable near-real-time interaction and rapid feedback.  Online learning never seemed so valuable.

For more information visit: The School of the Air Story  or one of the regional sites like A Day in the Life of an 8-year old School of the Air Student .

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* As I have mentioned, I write my blog based on my travel journals and notes, so while writing, I do additional research to make sure my info is up to date.  My first trip to AU was a while ago.  There have been changes.  That's a good thing.  But I notice there emphasis for provision of care still does not fall on computers. 

Aborigine Food (You want me to taste ... what?)

Kangaroos:    Western definition:  cute marsupials with babies in pouches.

Kangaroos:    Aborigine definition:  dinner.

Cattle ranches are a European innovation in Australia.  Before Europeans arrived, Outback Aborigine didn’t have cows.   They hunted kangaroos.  Yet kangaroos make only 30% of the Aboriginal diet; the rest is goanna, vegetation and insects. (insects???)  Honey ants are a favorite treat ; their honey sacs provide  nourishment for the rest of the nest, or a sweet treat for a hungry Aborigine. (ok, sounds like bee honey, I guess….?)  Grubs aren’t a treat as much as they are basic fare.  (Grubs??).  Especially witchetty grubs.  (grubs!!??) The witchetty grub is a large, white, moth larva.  Our guide has one handy. (oh goody!)

 My guide and his witchetty grub.

 He gives it to me to hold.  You remember how I feel about bugs? 

See Dawny.   See Dawny hold a witchetty grub.  See a grub the size of her hand.

The smile on my face is not joy.  It is hysteria.  Seriously.

Then my guide offers to roast the witchetty grub. 

So I can taste it. 

Me taste a witchetty grub.  Me???

I stay to the edge of the gathering group, avoiding the fire (and the grub).   I watch a few people  taste the grub and I hear them say things like ‘tastes like peanut butter’. (At least they didn’t say ‘chicken’.)

I finally cave and take a tiny bit that is barely visible on the tip of my finger.  I’m still hearing  ‘peanut butter’ from people as I put it on my tongue.

Pffffft ppffffft.  I begin to spit, and even after the morsel is long gone I keep spitting, spitting and mumbling, “ Bug!  Bug!  It tastes like BUG!!!!”

For a short video from Australian Screen showing some Walpiri women in search of honey ants (and expressing some of their concerns about modernization), go to http://tinyurl.com/honeyants

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Next:  The Ancient Ways

Australia's 'Cattle Stations' and Invisible Rivers

We leave Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park for Alice Springs ('Alice'), the biggest community in the Red Desert with about 27,000 people.  For comparison, Arlington, Mass. has about 43,000 people.  The drive to Alice is about 300 miles, so we take a 'tea break' at a cattle station.  

I'm getting used to the language:  'tea break' is a meal--lunch in this case; could be dinner.  Station is Australian for "ranch".  Ranches are not unique, but Australian cattle stations are uniquely large. 

The station where I'm having lunch is almost the size of my home state of Massachusetts.  This ranch is  6,200 square miles (Massachusetts is about 8,262 square miles).   And this isn't the largest ranch around.   Anna Creek Station is the largest in the world with over 10,000 square miles; that's roughly the size of Belgium.  In the dry Outback, vegetation is so sparse, a cow needs about three-quarters of a square mile to get enough food, whereas US ranches generally can sustain cattle in about 1/10th that space.  When your ranch is this big, your nearest neighbors could be 80 miles away.   If you say "Honey, I’m going to check the back 40,” you could be leaving by horse, motorbike, or helicopter and be gone for days. 

On the road again, we occasionally pass a few scraggly trees: gum (eucalyptus) trees, the occasional Mulga tree (more of a bush, really), which provides the wood for authentic boomerangs.  But mostly it’s flat, red, and with steadily decreasing greenery as we get further from Uluru.

  I wasn’t kidding.  Flat.  Red.  Desert.

As we drive through the Outback past cattle stations (ranches) the size of small European countries, my guide often points out ‘invisible’ rivers.  He says we’re passing a river.  I do not see a river.  He keeps pointing them out, and I keep not seeing them.  

I begin to suspect he’s playing a trick on me.

Finally, I quietly ask, “Where are these rivers of which you speak?” 

“Oh, they’re all dry now,” he says. 

'Seriously?'  I think.   Definitely suspect a trick.

“But you know where they are,” he goes on, “because the remaining underground water nourishes little clumps of trees.  In the rainy season, there’ll be flowing water where you see that growth.”

Ahahhhh… I begin to notice shallow, dry river beds where there are small clusters of trees.  Perhaps it’s not a trick.

The emptiness of the Outback creates some interesting challenges.  How do you provide medical care to people whose nearest neighbors are eighty miles away?  Solving this problem led to two unique Australian entities—the Royal Flying Doctor Service and The School of the Air.

At last, we arrive at Alice Springs.

Next: the Royal Flying Doctor Service and the School of the Air

 Anna Creek had 16000 cattle until the 2008 drought. King Ranch of Texas, about 1300 square miles, can sustain 3000 head of cattle.

Aborigine Legend: Dreamtime

The Aborigine legend of creation is called the Dreamtime. This is one of the ancient stories about a rare pool of water near Uluru.

I return the day after the rescue to walk the base of Uluru.  It’s about six miles, a walk filled with legend and lore.  Every feature of this giant rock has a story, a myth, a name.  Looking at this immense rock looming above me, it’s easy to see what led natives to weave stories of mystery and wonder about creation.  They have passed their stories of creation, called Dreamtime or the Dreaming, through generations. 

My guide shares the following Dreamtime legend about a section of Uluru near a rare pool called Motitjutlu Gorge. 

In the time of creation, the snake Kuniya moved her eggs from the top of the rock to the bottom so they would be safe.  Now they look like loose boulders.  

Kuniya learned that her enemy Liru (a venomous snake) killed her nephew and she became distraught. In anger and sorrow, she flung dirt at the rock, creating the black marks that seem to be watermarks.

When Liru saw Kuniya’s grief, he laughed. Kuniya slid across the rock toward her enemy, leaving wavy lines that are still visible. When she reached Liru, she hit him on the head with a stick, but it didn’t kill him—he just laughed harder.  She struck him again and the second blow killed him.  The blows of her stick left cracks in the rock, and his blood left dark marks behind so all would know this story

Then Kuniya fetched her nephew’s remains and carried him to the foot of the rock where the two became one spirit, Wanumpi, who guards the water. The pool that Wanumpi guards is sacred to the Aborigine who almost never use it as a source of water.  

The Anangu learned to locate water where none was apparent.  They identified underground sources by finding plants, and survived on the moisture in and near the vegetation.  By declaring Motitjulu off-limits, they guarantee that there might always be this supply, should all other sources run dry.  

Legend has it that if Wanumpi is unhappy, there will be no rain.  Wanumpi is happy today… the rains continue.

Dreamtime stories have minor variations but there is consistency to them.  For more information on Aborigine legends, check http://www.crystalinks.com/dreamtime.html  or search for Dreamtime.

Since I began posting the AU blog entries here, I've learned about the stunning work of Australian photographer, Julie Fletcher.  Visit  http://www.juliefletcherphotography.com.au to see some exquisite photos of Australia.  

Next :  cattle stations

Uluru -- The Rescue

When I was planning my trip, I told Kate (of the spider-rescue story) I might like to hike Uluru.  Kate’s comment was,  “You climb the rock.  You say,  ‘That didn’t kill me.  Now what’ ?” 

Now that I’m here, I see what she means.  First, the Aborigine don’t want people climbing the rock, which they consider sacred. 

Second, the rock is uninvitingly smooth;  few (if any) hand- or foot-holds for climbers, and a slippery surface that defies the best hiking shoes.  At this time there is only one permissible route and even that one is so hazardously slick, there’s a chain to help the adventurous.  When it rains, chain or not, hiking is prohibited.   Period.    Nooooo hiking Uluru in the rain.  

 I get to understand why

The rain has started.  All of us who come at the same time are asked to wait at a short distance to stay out of the way.  A hiker has fallen on the slick rock.  A helicopter hovers above, unable to land near the victim.  Someone is about one-quarter mile up on Uluru, immobilized by injury, waiting in the rain.

Watching through my zoom lens, I can see the rescuers, looking tiny as they head toward the victim.  Once they load him onto a stretcher, they begin moving it— by sliding it along the rock rather than carrying it.  Their footing is so unsure they don’t want to lift the stretcher.

They inch toward a less steep area at a maddeningly slow pace. 

The Rescue on Uluru

Finally, with dark rapidly approaching, they reach a spot where they can get the stretcher into the helicopter with less risk.  In the rainy dusk, I can barely see the shadowy figures. One disappears into the helicopter; the stretcher is lifted in, the rest of the team follows. As the helicopter lifts the victim and rescue team to safety, those of us who are watching cheer.

Guess I don’t really want to climb Uluru after all.

Because of the rain, my pictures of Uluru barely do it justice.  For more information and better views, please visit http://www.environment.gov.au/parks/uluru/

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Next: Aborigine Legend

Kata Juta and Uluru

I leave for Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park* before I can start worrying about suitcase-carrying bugs.

While the oldest Australian human remains date back 40,000 years, archaeologists have identified charcoal cave drawings that may be twice as old.  Aborigine people, who call themselves  Anangu (especially in Central AU), may have come from Southeast Asia or New Guinea, perhaps at a time when the seas covered less of the land mass than they do now.  Whatever their origins, their social laws and tribal culture are ancient, and imbue the stories of all I see.  

The Anangu believe they are guardians of the land; the Pitjantjatjara  and Yankunytjatjara tribes (go ahead, try to say it, you know you want to) are the custodians of the land that encompasses Kata Tjuta and Uluru. Every feature of these rocks is part of Anangu myth.  The native population believes ancestral beings created the landscape as they moved across the country, and some of their spirit lingers at each place they passed. 

above- Kata Tjuta

Kata Tjuta’s domes of feldspar and granite ‘cemented’ together in sandstone, rise up from the flat red land to reach almost 1,800 feet. Over a period of 300 million years, mountains eroded and the remaining layers compressed to create the ‘second generation’ rocks of Kata Juta, and Uluru.

Clouds are moving in.  I don’t think those are ancestral beings, I think we’re going to get some early rain.  The rainy season officially doesn’t begin for a few months, but there’s already some lacy greenery scattered across the desert floor.  This is a concern here, because if vegetation comes in too early, it will have too long in the dry season and the danger of bush fires increases.  In the hope of getting to Uluru before the rain, I leave Kata Juta behind.

Uluru (Ayers Rock)

Uluru is one of the most photographed sites in Australia, and one of the largest monoliths* in the world.  Like Kata Juta, it seems to burst from the red desert, a remarkable contrast to the land around it. Geologists estimate the rock under ground is between three-to-ten times the size of the rock above ground.  Uluru is 1,100 feet of slick rock—that could mean as much as 2 miles of Uluru is underground.

For better images than the rains allowed, please visit http://www.terragalleria.com/pacific/australia/ayers-rock/.

* What’s in a name?  

I use the Aborigine names in my blog and those are the names that my guide used, but for years the European names were more prominent: Uluru was known as Ayers Rock;  Kata Juta was 'The Olgas'.   I also learned on my return home that the correct name for the remains of a rock like Uluru is inselberg.

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Next: The Rescue

Organizing your own trip--a quick note.

If you've followed my blog either here or on wicked local.com, you know I almost always prefer organized guided tours to planning my own trip.  Some of it is laziness, I admit.  Planning, reviewing, and booking take a lot of work.  So does carrying a suitcase.  Some of it is a reluctance to drive in unfamiliar territory.  

You also probably know that I write from the comfort of my home, using journals, notes, and pictures I've taken while traveling.  Since some of my trips are not very recent, I do additional research before posting to make sure my information is current.

Having given you that background, I have to say that my first trip to Australia was not a guided tour.  It was a trip I planned with considerable help from my friend Kate, who lives in the Melbourne area.  And every place I called for reservations helped me plan how I could get to see the sights in the area. Since I generally stayed in hotels, there were usually people on staff who would work with a local agency to make sure I got on a tour to Uluru, a snorkeling trip to the Great Barrier Reef,  a day trip to the Blue Mountains.... you get the idea.  So ultimately, I did end up on tours, but it was up to me to choose where and when those excursions would occur.

It was a lot of work, but it was a great trip to a wonderful and varied country.  

If you follow my blog on any of the wicked local.com newspaper sites that regularly host current posts, you might know that the blog has just ended a trip to Ireland and is now focused on posts about group travel (i.e. organized tours).  There will also be some guest blog posts on planning your own trip coming shortly (vs taking an organized tour, as I usually do).  

Visit  http://lexington.wickedlocal.com/section/blogs01?taxid=1963  for current posts.

and now

back to Australia.  

Land of the giant spider

I leave Perth behind and fly to central Australia, starting in Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park.  First stop is the hotel, one of several lodgings catering to every visitor level from luxury to camping.  I do not choose camping. 

That does not protect me from insects and spiders.  I am not a fan of insects and spiders.  How ironic that I am in a place where the hotel puts a cute little card in each room saying, ”Our accommodations are so lovely, even the insects insist on trying them.”  Oh, yay.

On a later trip to AU, I stay with my friend Kate just outside of Melbourne.  She leaves to take her children to school, and I drag myself to a wake-up shower.  I slide the glass shower door shut, sleepily turn on the water  …  and then I see it.  A spider  the  size  of  my  hand, climbing the outside of the shower stall.  

I was trapped!   

Dripping wet,  in a shower stall,  held hostage by a huge spider.   

This is the stuff of my nightmares.

I banged on the door to try to move him up...then I decide I don’t want him over my head.  

I try move him down.  Then I decide I don’t want him on the floor, either.  

I didn’t know where I wanted him. And he didn’t care.   He made his way to the ceiling. 

I break out of the stall, grab the bath towel and begin swinging it wildly, cursing, dripping, borderline hysterical (ok, maybe not borderline....maybe just hysterical).   All I can do is try to herd him out of the bathroom.  I was on the verge of running naked and wet down the stairs and into the street. 

Spidey doesn’t like me any more than I like him.  He flees to the children’s bathroom as I dash to my room, grab clothes, and pull them on as I run down the stairs.  I reach the bottom just as Kate returns.  I begin babbling.

“Giant spider, shower,  giant spider,  shower,  kill it,  kill it,  kill it!!!”

We both go upstairs; I’m cowering behind her.  She spots the spider in the corner, and, with her there to protect me, I risk staying in the room long enough to take a picture.  

Kate says  “Oh it’s just a medium sized Huntsman...   …. ”

I don’t hear the rest.  All I can think is  ‘That’s a *medium* Huntsman spider?’

I do not ever,  ever,  ever  want to see a large one.