To black stump

After three days of travelling I found myself at black stump.
In the Australian vernacular, “the black stump” is an abstract place, known to everyone and nobody at all. It’s like saying “the back of beyond”, or “the middle of nowhere”, except this place, black stump, it seemed to be describing something worth looking for. A marker, something you could find, something you could hold on to in this arid wilderness.
Derek, a bloke in the pub near Wilders Creek, told me I could find black stump. Said it was a place I needed to find. Derek reckoned I was lost already; searching for black stump would be nothing in comparison.
From most men, the suggestion to go off and find an imaginary blackened stump in the ground, somewhere within a wilderness area covering hundreds of square miles, would have quickly rung up a polite “screw you, mate” followed by a wry smirk as you finish your beer.
But because of the fierce but genuine intensity with which Derek’s eyes burnt, I listened to what the man had to say.
And maybe it also had something to do with the mood I was in that night. I’d lost pretty big at poker in the pub. Couldn’t get another drink until Derek offered to buy me one. I was frustrated by everything and I thought the beer would calm me down.
But Derek doesn’t do calm, and he somehow instilled in me a desire to find a place that no-one in the town could even be sure existed. Well, he knew it, so he said.
He told me amazing things about black stump and how I could find it. I sat there on a bar stool, listened and drank.
After a couple more beers were drained, we left the pub and I slept on Derek’s floor.
Derek lived in a little cabin on the edge of the settlement. Well kept, but small - enough for one, I suppose. The front door opened onto the main street of the town. The back door, onto a small allotment and then nothing. Nothing, just the great Australian Outback - the bush.
At 3am I heard movement in the kitchen but there was no light on. Then a cupboard door opened. Rattling, pulling, something fell down. Then nothing. I waited for the next sound. I heard no doors open, no footsteps’ tread, but I knew Derek was sitting on the couch beside me.
“It’s time to go,” he whispered.
“Strewth, it’s still dark. What’s with all the noise, Derek,” I asked. “Is there a bloody snake in the house or something?”
“Yes, there’s a snake, in the house. So you’ve got to go now,” he said. “I’ve put supplies in your pack. You’ll be fine to black stump.”
“You can leave by the back door,” he said and opened it. So I stepped out into the cold, pitch morning and the door closed behind me. I looked back at the door for fully twenty minutes waiting for him to open it again. I thought it must be a test.
Eventually, I realised my test really had already begun.
I looked to the moon, and the dingo’s howl. I looked to the horizon and set off for black stump.

...to be continued...