A Line In The Sand

The radio balanced on the bonnet of the Land Cruiser spluttered into life. ‘Romeo Foxtrot this is Charlie Juliet – can you hear me?’

Calamity Jane was on her way.

Richard of Oz, picked up the handset. ‘Gidday, Janie. I can hear you loud and clear. Can you see the strip yet?’

‘See it! I’m ten miles out and can see it clearly. I bet there are some guys in the Pentagon looking at satellite images this morning and wondering what the hell you guys are up to. What’s your wind?

‘Wind’s calm from the east.’

‘OK Romeo Fox. I’ll do a low, slow pass to have a good look before landing. See ya soon.’

Richard of Oz had just completed marking the landing strip with a single unbroken line of white ash. The ash came from many weekends of camp fires and was simply shovelled out of the back of a slowly moving truck along the landing centre line. In conformity with Calamity Jane’s specification the strip was close to the river.

‘I don’t like walking when I’m fishing,’ she had said. ‘Mark me a strip where I can park next to the river and fish off the wing of my plane.’

Those were difficult specifications to meet in the heavy bush along the river bank, but Richard and his companion had managed to find an area of sodic soils where no trees grew. At one point these soils came right up to the river bank – the ideal parking apron and fishing spot. The strip itself, at 450 yards, was barely long enough. Nobody had ever landed there before – meat and drink for Calamity Jane. She had christened the strip Richards’s Field – Romeo Foxtrot – sometimes shortened to Romeo Fox.

The drone of the Cessna approaching from the west grew louder and louder until it suddenly burst into view a few feet above the tree tops that marked the start of landing run. It dipped down and roared along the white marker line before climbing steeply out at the far end.

‘Looks good,’ spluttered the radio. ‘Have you walked it for stones and logs?’

‘Charlie Juliet,’ called Richard of Oz. ‘We’ve walked it for stones and rubbish, but don’t stray off the straight and narrow, there are gullies left and right. Abort immediately if you find yourself straying.’

‘OK, thanks. I can see buffalo down there on the edge of the river. I’ll do a low level run along the river to chase them back into the bush. Don’t need to tangle with big boys like that do we?’

They heard the plane passing up the river nearby and watched in astonishment as all sorts of animals galloped across their little airfield to disappear into the bordering Mopane scrub. There was a straggling herd of bull buffaloes, three stately kudu, a family of warthogs, some scampering baboons, a lone duiker and hundreds of impala. All went streaming past except the impala. The impala stopped dead at the white line, noses forward sniffing at it. Shoulder to shoulder they stood motionless along the line – none dared cross over.

‘Charlie Juliet,’ called Richard of Oz. ‘We seem to have a problem. The impala won’t cross the white line. You’re going to have to hang around while we chase them off with the Land Cruiser.’

‘OK, I’ll wait. Tell me when you’ve cleared them.’

They hastily jumped into the car and began herding the impala along the line towards the bush at the far end of the strip. It wasn’t a difficult job because the white line acted exactly like a fence. Calamity Jane’s melodious voice on the radio accompanied the impala round up. ‘Tie your kangaroos down sport, tie your kangaroos down,’ she sang over and over again.