Read Online Into Thick Air by Jim Malusa - Free Book Online

Scott works for the Ayers Rock Resort, where, among other things, he’s the official reptile remover. “People freak out when a goanna gets in their house,” he says while serving up some Weetabix and a cup of Moccona instant coffee. “That’s a physical animal, mate. They scratch and bite and shit on you. It stinks.”
    I’m grateful for his hospitality and his fully plumbed staff home, and don’t mention my aversion to scaled creatures. The truth is that I’d rather spend time with most any bird—say, a gray-crowned babbler or a gibber chat—than with a death adder.
    Thanks to my training as a professional biologist, I knew that life lasts longer when you don’t die, and that birds are unlikely to kill me. The silent reptiles I’ve left alone—until, after breakfast, Scott brings me out to the desert to release a yellow-faced whip snake he captured yesterday. Scott wears his “hard yakka” shorts, government-issue King Gee brand, whereas I would feel safer in Kevlar waders. No need to worry, he soothes. “The whip snake is dangerous, very painful, but it’s not nearly as bad as a king brown snake. That’s a snake with enough venom to put away about 300,000 rats. I caught a five-footer in someone’s backyard. It’s a very muscular animal—all muscle, and it wants out of the bag.”

    How does the whip snake rate in rat power?
    â€œI’m not sure—maybe three thousand rats.”
    Yesterday, the whip snake cruised past someone working under his car. Scott caught it with the snake tongs, bagged it, then left it outside last night so the cold would slow it down. Now, as I stand by with my camera and notebook, he unties the noose around the black bag. He seems relaxed enough, and I ask him how long he’s been a snake expert.
    â€œI’m not. It’s an adrenaline rush, and they pay me $10 a day for being on call and $30 per call.”
    I take two steps back.
    â€œAlso, it’s interesting and a challenge. I’m learning as I go along.”
    The whip snake drops out of the bag and onto the sand, as lively as a noodle and not much fatter than my thumb. “Now is your chance for a photo, because when the sun hits him he’ ll be moving.” I’m ready to jump like a roo, but don’t have to. The whip snake is dazed by the circumstances. Like most wild things, it shows no urge to tangle with people. It warms in the light and elegantly slides off in the direction of Uluru. It moves towards freedom as well as tour buses, and for the first time I am faintly glad it is poisonous and will be left alone.
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    THE OODNADATTA TRACK looks like a good place to be left alone. Nobody else is turning off the highway onto the 280 miles of unpaved road to Lake Eyre. It’s nicely graded, for the quarter mile I can see; beyond that, who knows? The prudent explorer, I carefully examine the Landsmap Tourist Guide before setting off. A bit of text in four-point font had earlier escaped my eye, but now I see the “Tips for Tactful Travellers.”
    1. Take your time— you are on holiday
    2. Plan ahead—Don’t forget drinking water, hat, sunscreen
    It appears I’m set. Onward, and downward. Nobody passes all morning, leaving me free to weave from side to side in search of smoother riding. The road changes color as it dips and climbs through different strata, from eye-squinting white clays to crumbling green shales to sands the thick red of spaghetti sauce. There are no roadkills, but instead the clawed tracks
of sand goannas dragging their tails. The trees manage a living only along the dry creek beds, and the plains are free and open. I see my first emus, big birds with little wings that are as useful for flight as the tail fins of a 1958 Cadillac. They tear off in a cloud of dust, jinking and dodging like soccer players.
    The emu’s relative, the ostrich, lives in Australia, too, but Africa