By the time we arrived it was late at night. Something like nine or ten. But there were still people up in the campground, so I walked around and asked if anyone would be willing to drive up to help. One person agreed, but, after hearing it was nearly 100 kilometers away, changed his mind. It was just too late.

Walking back to the roadhouse I ran into Barbara, who was searching for me.

“These guys over here, they’re going that way,” she said. We walked over to a white Land Cruiser filled with Aborigines. I explained my situation. “Would you mind if I rode back with you and we could pull them out.”

“No room in here.” The car was, as I looked in, overflowing with people and beer. Since beer was not sold in Lockheart River, the Aboriginal community they were from, they had to drive over 100 kilometers to buy it. And they were just now returning, most of the occupants (including the driver) in a happy state of inebriation, to enjoy the rest of their alcoholic purchase.

“When you pass by the Pascoe,” I said, “can you at least tell my friends I made it here and that I’ll send someone to help tomorrow.”

“Yeah, we’ll tell them. But what will you give us?”

I bought them a six-pack of beer, then, as a kind of peace-offering, another for Glen, Sue and Fiona.

“Can you give them this beer, then?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

And then they drove off. I, with my new friends, retreated to the roadhouse for a burger and fries, and a few drinks. I felt bad about spending the evening in the lap of luxury while Glen and the girls were out there, braving the elements. But after a few drinks I felt better.

After an hour or so, exhausted and very sleepy, I retreated back to Sergio and Barbara’s car, which was also conveniently a camper, where a bed was prepared for me. “Thanks so much for this,” I said. “For everything.”

We woke early the next morning, and I once again ran around the campground to find someone going north who would be willing to pull us out. Nobody was. Sergio and Barbara, very kindly I though, and despite reassuring them I would be fine, would not abandon me at the roadhouse. “We want to make sure your friends make it out,” Sergio said. So the three of us waited. I asked every vehicle – the 2 vehicles – that pulled in for fuel if they were going north, but, alas, they were all coming from the tip. I’d then ask if they had passed by the Pascoe, but nobody used the more remote route we were stuck on. The day passed. We worried. I remembered there were salties in the Pascoe. Sergio suggested to drive back, to make sure they were okay, but it was almost a 2 hour trip over corrugated roads, and there was nothing we could really do once we got there anyway.

The next morning, after a small breaky and not hearing any word of their whereabouts, we decided to go find them. About half the distance back to the vehicular drowning we saw a truck approaching, and managed to flag them down. There were a couple of young guys in the front, and we asked them if they’d seen the Landy.