Forest Secrets (6 page)

Leaning towards the window, the three of us cocked our ears towards the noise and then we realised. It was a song – playing far too loudly. Sam burst out laughing and said, ‘I don't believe it; he's playing
The Teddy Bears' Picnic
. I haven't heard that song in years.' Standing on tip-toes, he tried to see into the van's cabin. ‘I wonder who the driver is?' he said, more to himself than us and then, answering his own question, he said, ‘Whoever it is, he must be some kind of eccentric!'

‘Or nut!' Snook suggested.

We were about to find out. A man alighted from the camper. He strode over to the shop. Sam's door flew open with a loud swishing sound. The man entered confidently. He was chubby, and wore a floppy bushman's hat and khaki shirt. His tacked boots rang against the timber floor, as he marched to the counter. In a voice that seemed to grow louder with every word, he boomed, ‘Good morning. I am Reginald Blowhard. I wish to book a camp site for myself and
Rex
.'

‘Rex? You have a dog?' Sam asked.

‘Goodness gracious no, I'm talking about my pride and joy, my
Tyrannosaurus Rex
, my camper.' And then, for good measure, he added, ‘You should have known that. I saw you looking out the window.'

I couldn't help feeling sorry for Sam. Obviously taken aback by this Reginald Blowhard's gruff manner, he scrambled about under the counter looking for the camping ground booking sheet, which, as usual, was already on the counter in front of him. Eventually spotting it, he picked it up, brought it up to his nose and scanned it for a vacancy. The booking sheet was shaking quite noticeably. To make matters worse, Mr Blowhard leaned over the counter, and like a sergeant major, barked, ‘And be quick about it, my man! We haven't got all day!' I couldn't help noticing the tiny globules of spit that seemed to explode from his mouth.

Mumbling to himself and looking like he might choke, Sam wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and, as if coming to terms with his newest customer, slapped his hand on the booking sheet and said, ‘We haven't got any vacancies.' Mr Blowhard's face immediately developed a sour look as if he'd smelled rotten gas. Obviously expecting the worst from him, Sam sighed and glanced across at Snook and me. Probably looking for some sort of support I guessed.

I did feel sorry for Sam but I honestly didn't know how to help him. The customer's rudeness certainly left me wondering. I'm pretty sure Snook was a bit flummoxed too. Snook was looking like one of those artists who stand in main streets and make out they're frozen. I was probably much the same.

‘What? What did you say?' Mr Blowhard asked Sam, more spit preceding his words. ‘What were you mumbling about? Speak up, man!'

Pointing at the booking sheet, Sam repeated his earlier words, ‘I-I'm afraid the town caravan park is f-full. We have no vacancies.'

‘Full? For me?' Reginald Blowhard leaned even further forward so that his face was almost touching Sam's, and then, emphasising each word by poking Sam in the chest with his finger, he said, ‘Do … you … know … who … I … am?'

Shaking his head from side to side, Sam took a step back.

‘I am Reginald Blowhard, bushman extraordinaire, and as the stickers on my van will tell you, I have swum with crocodiles, wrestled wild buffalos and tangled with poisonous snakes.
Rex
and I have been on countless adventures together. We are known throughout Australia, and you have the impertinence to stand there and tell me that you cannot accommodate us.'

‘Y-you could try the Ghost Mountain gorge area,' Sam said wiping tiny globules of sweat from his brow. ‘There's a camping area there that has a couple of sites; it's not far from here. Why don't you drive out there and have a look? There's a fireplace on each site and the wood's supplied. You can get fresh water from a nearby creek, but there are no other facilities.' Pointing in the general direction of the area, Sam added, ‘There are signs along the road that'll tell you where to go.'

Snook tugged on my sleeve and whispered, ‘That's where
we
want to go. If that guy goes there too, he'll frighten all the animals. That voice of 'is would be enough to do that.'

Smiling at Snook's down-to-earth nature, I said, ‘Don't worry. Don't forget about the evil spirit monster.'

‘Howdya mean?'

‘Maybe the spirit monster will take a dislike to him. If he does go out there, maybe Mamu will chase him away.'

‘Yeah, here's hoping, but what I really care about is winning that photo competition.' He jerked a thumb in Blowhard's direction. ‘I couldn't care less about him. Not really. I'll be happy as long as he keeps out of our way and doesn't go scaring the animals like I said.'

‘Very well,' Blowhard was saying to Sam, ‘
Rex
and I shall inspect the site straight away.' He turned to leave, and then, as if suddenly forgetting something, he stopped in his tracks and glanced back at Snook. ‘What was that you just said, young man, something about a photo competition?'

Snook pointed to the notice board on the far wall. ‘It tells you about it up there.'

Without a word of thanks, Blowhard crossed over to the notices and read about the competition. Seemingly satisfied, he returned and said to Sam, ‘Please explain. I may be interested.'

Sam, who was still wiping his face with his handkerchief – it was all getting a bit much – took down a form from the shelf behind him. He gave it to Blowhard. ‘You'll need to fill that in and return it to me with the entry fee.'

‘My word!' Blowhard exclaimed after he'd read the form. ‘I'll enter at once. With my bush skills and my digital, SLR, super-duper camera, it'll be a simple task to win.' Taking a ten-dollar note from his wallet, he waved it in Sam's face. ‘Sign me up,' he demanded, ‘and book me into that camping place.
Rex
and I will make our way out there at once.'

‘Very well,' Sam said, as he walked over to ring the money up in the till.

‘If I were you, my man,' Blowhard said to Sam's back, ‘I'd do something about those nerves of yours; they're positively shot to pieces.' With that he strode to the door, shoved it open and crossed over to his van. After climbing on board and starting it up, he began to pull into the centre of the road.

‘Would you look at that?' Sam said, walking from the till to the window. ‘After all my directions, the famous bushman is heading out of town – going the wrong way!'

We all laughed as we watched Mr Blowhard turn right instead of left. Well, I thought to myself, it wouldn't hurt for him to be put out … just a little. Still smiling, Snook and I turned to leave when Sam told us to hang on for a minute. He walked over and then reached below the counter. He pulled out a box which he handed to me. ‘It's an instamatic camera,' he said. ‘It's not much but it doesn't take a bad photo. Snook told me you didn't have one, so I thought you could borrow that. That way you can go in the competition too. Here's a form. You can drop it in later.'

My tongue suddenly felt bigger than normal, incapable of forming words. It's not often that people give me surprise things. I smiled and nodded my thanks and then hurried after Snook, who had just left the shop.

I
t was 11 o'clock Saturday morning. We'd just arrived at the camping area. Not far from the town, the camp lies about two and a bit kilometres from Cray Bay fishing village, a good run for Shadow who was puffing just a little. Situated at the foot of Ghost Mountain next to the meandering Snaky Creek and Mucky Lagoon, the camping area was a popular spot in the summer months for overnight camping, picnics and sight-seeing. But right now in autumn, I saw that it was deserted, except for one solitary camper, Mr Reginald Blowhard. He'd parked on the other side of a small bridge that spanned the creek. ‘He's beaten us to it,' Snook said, as he parked his bicycle under a tree. ‘He didn't waste much time gettin' here.'

‘I can't see any sign of him,' I commented. ‘He must be inside his camper, doing whatever.'

I looked over the bridge and down to the van and suddenly realised what I was looking at. Shaking my head, I said, ‘Look where he's gone and set up camp. His van's practically in the river. He couldn't have read the warning signs about using the proper sites, about the dam upstream opening its floodgates from time to time. He should've camped on the proper site, the one with the ready-made fireplace. What an idiot. We'll have to warn him in case the river suddenly rises and he gets flooded.'

Nodding absently, as though he were only half listening, Snook said, ‘Ghost Mountain does look a bit scary, don't it, stickin' out of the clouds like that? It looks like it's watchin'

you.'

I looked towards the mountain. A wispy, Scotch mist was still hanging low around its base, and jutting abruptly from the ground, the mountain did seem to be peeking out of the clouds … just like Snook said.

Turning my attention to Shadow, who'd been wandering about the site exploring but who'd now decided to join us again, I said, ‘What do you say, boy? Should we go see Mr Blowhard … if he's there?' I pointed to Blowhard's camp with my chin and then turned to Snook. ‘If Blowhard's not in his van, he might be out somewhere taking photos. Wherever he is, we'd better find him and tell him about the flooding.'

I suspected that Snook wasn't too thrilled at the prospect of meeting Mr Blowhard again. Head down, hands in pockets, he wasn't exactly jumping for joy. My suspicions weren't far from the mark, I thought, when I heard him say, ‘Do we have ter go? I'm not that fussy about seein' 'im again. Just listening to 'im brag and carry on like a two-bob watch in Sam's shop was enough for me.'

‘I'm not too thrilled about seeing him again either,' I replied, ‘but we'd better. I don't want images of his van floating down the river haunting me in my dreams. So let's go and find out whether he's there or not. If he's gone somewhere, he'll have left footprints. They'll tell us where he's headed. In the meantime, we might as well leave our backpacks here. Our lunch will be okay for a while. It'll be in the shade.'

I smiled to myself. Aunt Irene had insisted that we take some food with us. She'd then proceeded to pack a lunch, which consisted of chops, sausages, buttered bread, cake and several pieces of fruit. She'd then put everything into a silver cooler bag with instructions to barbeque the meat when we got there. There was no doubt about it; Snook's mother was the best. We weren't going to go hungry, that was for sure.

Cameras dangling from our necks and with Shadow trotting along happily at our heels, we made our way over the bridge and down to Blowhard's van. I could see straight away that he wasn't there. Everything looked locked up, including his annex, which was practically overflowing into the river. There was no sound either, but, as I had hoped, there were footprints. I followed them for a short distance and came to a conclusion. They were heading towards the mountain and the gorge.

‘See anything?' Snook yelled from near the van.

‘Yep, I have,' I called back. ‘I see plenty o' things.' I pointed to the ground. ‘I see a white fella with pockets full up with goodies that went this way a short time ago. He's a big fella who needs to go on a big fella diet. I'd say it was Mr Blowhard and I'd say he was carrying a camera in one hand and a Polly Waffle in the other.'

‘What're ya goin' on about? You're a Polly Waffle.'

I bent and picked up the Polly Waffle wrapper that had obviously been thrown to the side by Blowhard. Holding it in the air for Snook to see, I said, ‘He likes sweet things by the look of it, and you were right; all the signs I'm reading say he's heading for the gorge.'

‘Well,' Snook said to me when I got back to him, ‘I hope he knows what he's doing. Like Dad told us, the gorge can be a really scary place, especially when it suddenly goes dark in the middle of the afternoon.'

I thought about that for a moment and then asked, ‘Did your dad say why it goes dark?'

‘I asked him just before we left. He said somethin' about the gorge bein' real narrow and how when the sun disappears behind the mountain about three o'clock, its rays can't get through to the bottom of the gorge. Somethin' like that.' Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, he said in a half-joking way, ‘At any rate, he shouldn't have any problems; he did say he was a terrific bushman.'

‘He will have problems … if Mamu comes after him.'

‘Let's go and have some lunch,' Snook suggested, ‘and when Blowhard comes back, we can just tell him about the danger of flooding and leave him to it. Then he can go and do his own thing.'

‘Okay,' I agreed, ‘lunch it is and we'll let Mr Blowhard go his own way.'

‘Too right. I don't want 'im hangin' around 'ere pushin' 'is weight around. And I don't wanna listen to 'is braggin' any more than I have to. I just wanna have lunch; then go somewhere to take some photos.'

‘Don't worry, Snook, we'll get your photos – one way or the other.'

‘I hope so, but let's get back to our camp. I'm gettin' hungry.'

A
s soon as we got back to camp I took our lunch out of the cooler bag. Wow, I thought to myself when I saw exactly what Snook's mother had packed for us. I knew that she'd given us plenty, but seeing it all laid out, I could see that it was more than enough.

Smiling to myself at my aunt's motherly nature, I found myself watching Shadow. He'd made himself comfortable in the shade of the eucalypt tree where we'd left our bicycles. He obviously reckoned he deserved the rest. I was also watching Snook as he went about lighting a fire in the camp's fireplace. It was a good setup; the fire came with a hotplate and plenty of wood.