A whisper I didn't hear
I have changed all the names in this story as I have forgotten a few. A group of university bushwalkers walked for about five days in the Carnarvon Ranges long before civilisation made them accessible to everyone. See the header on my Facebook page. That's me on the right. “Franny,” I called. “Be careful when you reach this part. The ground’s all broken up. Bit scary.” I clung to a scrap of wind-tattered foliage in loose, gravelly soil near the top of the mountain. Franny was puffing. “Okay,” she called. “I hope we’re near the top.” Just a fleeting thought flickered in my mind: all around me, except for the dirt a few inches from my face, was air. High altitude air. What if . . . I’d already had to silence my fear of heights. It would be easy to slip. Beside me a stone rolled and clattered down, pinging on and off the mountain side. Then silence. The great valley and Carnarvon Gorge yawned beneath me. We reached the top and walked around a ri