Heather's Exquisite Map of Tassie

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Penetrating deep into her bush.
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Dear reader,

I've written this story for the inaugural 'In a Sunburned Country Event', for both my enjoyment and yours. I self-edited, and although I've proof-read several times, the time came when I needed to stop playing with it and put it out there. Anyhow, I've found the best way to discover an error is to publish, so apologies for any mistakes.

The events and characters in this story are figments of my imagination, however, the locations described within are real. Known for thousands of years as lutruwita by the indigenous palawa pakana (native Tasmanian people; palawa kani words all in lowercase), and named Van Diemen's Land by Europeans from 1642 until the end of 1855, Tasmania is an island state of Australia.

A mountainous land of wild rugged beauty, Tasmania has a cool temperate climate, often said to have 'four seasons in one day'. Consequently, if you are unfamiliar with Tasmania, my descriptions may not quite fit your preconceptions of stereotypical Australian 'sunburnt' landscapes. The Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area covers approximately 20% of the state, and in the north of this wilderness is a popular multiday hike, the Overland Track.

On another note, having an Australian setting this story obviously contains many Australianisms, and I suspect the term 'Map of Tassie' is likely to be unfamiliar outside Australia. To clarify this idiom, I found the perfect explanation from Urban Dictionary: "Map of Tassie -- Australian colloquialism for a woman's pubic hair. Originated from the similarity in shape of a woman's pubic hair to the shape of Australian Island State of Tasmania."

I'll also draw your attention to the word 'cobber' which crops up a few times, and is another word for friend, analogous to 'mate'. Once common across Australia but now rare, except in Tasmania where it's still part of the local vernacular. I've also heard it used on rare occasions in Queensland, where incidentally, the story begins.

And so, cobber, enjoy this adventure deep into the Tasmanian bush!

Thefireflies

EARLY-DECEMBER

A melodic tune from a guitar accompanied by a sweet voice drifted from one of the bedrooms through the old Queenslander house, mixing with the pervasive humidity and smell of cannabis wafting in through the flyscreen door from the back veranda. A fairly standard welcome home for Tim after a heavy day in the hospital emergency department. He tossed his backpack into his room and grabbed a stubbie of XXXX Gold mid-strength beer from the kitchen fridge, before pushing open the flyscreen. "Mate, that shit'll give ya drug-induced schizophrenia," he said to Ryan before taking a pull on his beer.

Ryan placed the bong down on the card table, carefully avoiding the sheets of paper sprawled out in front of him, and exhaled a cloud of pot-smoke before turning directly away from Tim, speaking to the empty chair on his left. "Hey, do you think he's talking to us?"

"Ha har. You're mentally deranged already, so what's it matter." He swept his hand in the direction of the mess on the card table. "Anyway, what is all this shit?"

"What do ya reckon they are, mate? You've never seen a map of Tassie before?"

Tim bent over the table, picking up the nearest sheet, treating it like maps were completely foreign to him. "Ah, so this is what a map of Tassie looks like. I thought they'd be...softer. More, um, bushy."

"Just mind me bong there cos if you knock it over on me maps..."

Tim spoke before Ryan finished his sentence. "Then your maps of Tassie will get all wet. Anyway, obviously I know they're maps. I was wondering what you're planning?" Tim took another pull of his beer.

"Bushwalk, mate. Overland Track. Doin' it with me big sister. She moved back to Hobart a while back and we've said for years we'd do it, but neither of us have gotten around to it till now."

"You Tasmanians like to keep it in the family, don't ya," Tim laughed. "Doin' it with your sister and all that. Makes sense now. I've seen photos on Facebook of you two together. She. Is. Hot!" He emphasised the last three words.

Ryan fixed Tim with a serious stare. "Mate, you're talking about my flesh and blood here. Though, I s'pose you're right, Heather's the hottest sister I've got. She's also the only sister I've got too, funnily enough."

"Whatever floats ya boat, mate. So what's this about the Overland Track? I dunno much about it. Never been to the apple isle."

"You haven't lived till you've been to Tassie, cob. God's country."

"You're mistaken cos God's country's clearly Queensland."

"Queensland? Whatever, mate," Ryan dismissed Tim's comment with contempt. "I swear this state's tryin' to kill me, either with heat, humidity or lightning. Plus, it's full of red-necks like yourself."

Tim snorted. "Me a red-neck? And to think I took pity on you and let ya live in our house, even though you're a two-headed bastard? Anyway, you've moved here all the same."

"Mate, you know they removed my second head at the border. But I'd go back to Tassie in a heartbeat if I didn't need me job. Anyway, Heather's posted me these maps and said to get inspired."

"Ya sister sent you her maps of Tassie? Sharing is caring I s'pose."

"Yep. She rolled them into long cylinder and inserted them up the postage tube, then licked the stamp till it was moist, and thrust it through the hole in the post box."

"Mate, that's a bit over the top. You're talking about your hot sister here." Inbreeding jokes about Tasmanians are fairly standard in Australia and because they'd become close mates since Ryan moved in eighteen months previously, Tim felt it his matey duty to give his friend shit. After all, Ryan gave as good as he got, occasionally playing up to the incestuous Tasmanian stereotype for shits and giggles.

"So, tell me, you've been to New Zealand, but not even your own south island. Typical mainlander. Shame on you."

The smile left Tim's face at mention of New Zealand. "Mate, low blow. You know I went there for Abi."

"Too soon?" Ryan chuckled, gesturing to the empty chair. "Have a seat, cobber." He moved the bong way from the table, lest one of them knock it over and spill its dank water over his precious maps.

Tim sat in the empty seat, placing his stubbie carefully on the table and examined the maps as Ryan rearranged them. "So you and your sister are planning a long bushwalk?"

"Yep. We've talked about it for years, but Heather's been away with the army and then I finally left Tas soon after she returned. We've hardly ever been back there at the same time since Heather left in her late teens, and the walk takes about a week so we've never been able to do it."

"Walking for a week? I s'pose ya Sis must be fit if she was in the army."

"You have no idea, mate," Ryan said with a laugh. "When we were kids she'd run up the mountain with Dad. For fun. She's won triathlons before and could have been an Olympian if she'd cared enough to focus on one particular sport. She still runs ten to fifteen kilometres every other day."

"So what's the plan then?"

"Well," Ryan said, pointing to Launceston at the top of Tasmania on one of the map-sheets, "In March I'm going to fly into Lonnie up here and meet with Heather. Our Uncle Pat's hopefully gonna drive us out to Cradle Mountain, over here," he moved his finger west, "Then we'll spend a week or so walking down the track and probably catch a bus back to Hobart. After that I'll catch up with Dad and some old mates, and probably head up the coast to see Mum. I'll drink lots of real beer that doesn't taste like cat's piss, then fly back to Brissie."

"Nothing wrong with cat's piss," Tim said, lifting his beer to his lips.

"I guess you wouldn't know any better since you Queenslanders can't even spell beer."

Tim chuckled at the old chestnut, peering at his stubby intently and scratched his head in mock fatuity. "Duh, I always thought beer was spelt with four-Xs."

Ryan frowned and snorted, as if disgusted by Tim. In the house the guitar and sweet singing stopped, and out in the mango tree a possum began growling into the warm night, advertising his availability to all the local lady possums. Soon after, Georgina walked onto the veranda. Tim swallowed more beer while Ryan looked up, as if caught in the act of planning something shady.

"What are you boys planning?" she asked with a curious smile.

"Armed hold up," Ryan said dryly. "This is the escape route, going overland."

"Ryan's sister sent him a care package with her maps of Tassie, just in case he was homesick." Tim earnt himself death stare from Ryan.

Georgina bent over the table, examining the maps while Ryan tried hard not ogle too much at her long tanned legs, or slim figure, or perky breasts. With long, straight jet-black hair dropping over her shoulders, falling forward as she leant over, Georgina was also the owner of the sweet singing voice and talented guitar play. She spoke with a smile, sounding so sexy to Ryan, making even the most banal sentence sound like a come on to him, and she knew it. "Ahhh, maps of Tassie. I love it. Are you boys going down there?"

"Only me," Ryan said, uncharacteristically lost for more words.

Tim laughed. "He's going down to his sister's bush. It's gonna be hard going. It might get a bit wet, but he's got protection. His rain jacket of course. You know how these Tasmanians are. He's flying to Inceston to meet her."

"You're such a knob," Ryan spat the words with venom at Tim.

Georgina laughed. "You two, always flirting. Anyway, gents, enjoy your, ah, maps of Tassie." She turned and walked back into the house, Tim and Ryan watching her behind as she went. A loose floor board gave a slight creak as she entered the kitchen, informing them Georgina would be out of earshot if they spoke quietly enough.

Ryan gave Tim an incredulous expression. "This has always confused me about you two. You went through three or four years of uni with her, forming this tight friendship like you're literally best mates, hanging out all the fucken time, and you've even lived together in the same house for the past five years, and you two never even considered fucking one another? Not even once? It's like, if you look up friend-zone in the dictionary there'd be a photo of you and Georgina, sitting happily side-by-side and not holding hands, literally enjoying each other's company. It's so pathetic it makes me sick."

"You're just jealous, mate, because at least I would be sittin' there with Georgie. She's one of me best mates and I don't feel the need to have sex with her. We get on fine without it."

Ryan almost choked. "Like I said, pathetic. Wouldn't stop me havin' a crack."

"I've never seen you havin' a crack, mate." Tim took a swig from his beer. "Anyway, whatever. So you won't be around for a week or two in March?"

"Yep. Only three-and-a-half months away."

"I reckon you'll need to do some training." Tim gave the fat at Ryan's side a little squeeze. "Get rid of these love handles here. You're positively fat as shit!"

Ryan laughed. "Yeah, fair cop, ya cunt." He thought for a moment, then spoke in a serious voice, "Heather will kick my butt on the track, so I've been thinkin' about doing some cardio. Do you want to be me training partner? I've thought perhaps running after work a few days a week would be good, but it might help to have someone who's already semi-fit to come along. I need to do some pack marching too. Maybe walk up and down Mount Coot-tha with me loaded pack on the weekends. Even if it's only an anthill compared to real mountains. I was up there recently and spoke to a bloke with a twenty kilo pack who reckoned he was training for Kokoda. Maybe we could even head down to the border and do a two day walk in one of the National Parks?"

Tim considered Ryan's offer for a moment, wondering if perhaps training with his friend would help motivate him to get over his recent post football season slackness with his own fitness. "Yeah, count me in. You should probably give up smoking pot too I reckon."

Ryan turned away from Tim, speaking once again to thin air and jerking his thumb in Tim's direction. "Get this cunt, he reckons we should give up our favourite herb!" They both laughed, and then Ryan lowered his voice again, facing Tim this time. "Do ya reckon Georgie might join us training?"

"Mate, you've got Buckley's chance."

MID-FEBRUARY

The human body's a remarkable thing. Its natural state is laziness, looking for the path of least resistance. But given a push, perhaps inspired with a goal, it responds and regular exercise can produce stunning results, if one sticks to their regime. Ryan was very happy the fat he'd accumulated over six years in the IT industry was beginning to strip off after two-and-a-half months of regular training, and Tim even caught Ryan flexing in front of the mirror every now and then, checking out his rediscovered muscle tone. Tim had to admit his friend was beginning to look fit, but of course Tim mocked Ryan mercilessly for it.

The human body can also be fragile, and sometimes it breaks like a twig. Like when Ryan slipped off a log spanning a small gully during one of his training walks, his left leg falling the short drop of maybe fifty centimetres and his ankle twisting to the side. All with twenty-five kilos of rucksack on his back. The result was a fractured fibula immediately above the ankle joint, his tibia surviving unscathed. But he couldn't walk and Tim splinted Ryan's leg, then hoisted the heavy rucksack onto his back, supporting Ryan on his shoulder as they hobbled the remaining kilometre back to Ryan's car.

"Fucken fucken bloody fuck!" Ryan raged, looking down at his orthopaedic moon-boot. "I've fucken bought me plane tickets and me fucken walking pass and Heather's ready to go too. And now me fucken leg's fucken broken! Fuck you Murphy you fucken cunt. Fuck you."

"Murphy sure is a cunt," Tim said. "I feel bad for you, mate."

Even Georgina looked genuinely sorry for Ryan. "Tough break, man. If you need help with anything let me know."

Tim looked at Georgina. "Don't tempt him, Georgie. You may regret it."

But even Ryan was too deep in despair to think of taking advantage of Georgina's good will. Later he Skyped with his sister. "I broke me fucken leg, Sis. It's absolutely cactus. Completely fucked."

"Are you serious, Ry? Jesus, how'd it happen? Are you okay?"

"Slipped off a log and fell in a ditch. Lucky Tim was with me."

"Tim? Your house mate?"

"Yeah, he's been helpin' me with me training. Anyway, the doc's fixed it but I got a big fat moon-boot and crutches and not supposed to walk on it for at least six weeks. I'm real sorry, Heather, we'll have to do the Overland together another time."

"That sucks balls, man. Really fucken sucks. I hope you're okay?" Heather's voice was full of concern for her brother.

"Yeah, Sis, I'm as okay as I can be, given the circumstances. But it gives me the shits. I was just startin' to get fit again too."

"And you've booked your flights and stuff?"

"Yep, sure have." Ryan sounded dejected.

"Well, I still want to go," Heather replied. "It's too close for me to pull out now. I have holidays approved for the first time since I joined the cops, and you know how the weather's pretty nice that time of year. Sorry. You and I can do it together another time. I promise. You understand, don't ya?"

"Yeah, Sis, if our situations were swapped I'd do the same."

"I knew you'd understand. So your mate Tim, he's been trainin' with you?"

"Yep. He's been on most of me trainin' walks, and sometimes runs with me too. Bloke plays lots of rugby league and cricket on the weekends and rides his bike to and from work each day so he's reasonably fit. He's a real staunch cunt too. Carried both me and me pack a click or so back to the car."

There was a pause before Heather continued. "Just a thought, but would he like to take your tickets?"

"Dude," Tim whispered from across the dining table, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head enthusiastically.

Ryan hesitated for a moment, then said in a serious tone, "Yeah, Sis, he might. But do you really want him walking with you in a remote area? He's got a rapey look about him."

Tim frowned at Ryan and considered kicking his broken leg. Ryan gave him a wink in return.

Heather replied. "Oh, well you better inform him about all those years we did Wing Chun when we were kids, plus my nine years in the military as a trained killer. Anyway, put him on if you don't mind."

"Yeah, I'll tell him you can patch him up if he cuts himself shaving and then show him some killer yoga poses too." Ryan turned his laptop around on the table to face Tim. Heather's oval face, framed by a mane of shoulder-length wavy blond hair, dominated the screen. "Hi, Tim. I guess you heard everything."

"G'day, Heather, yeah."

"So you'd be keen to use Ryan's tickets and join me for a week long walk?"

"Yeah, bloody oath. I'll pay him of course. It won't be difficult to get a couple of weeks off in March. I'm due some leave and was considering taking a week or two then anyway."

"Okay, great, I'll see ya in a couple of weeks then."

After the Skype call Tim turned to Ryan. "You sure you're okay with me taking your tickets? This is something you and your sister planned together for some time."

"Nah, it's all good, cobber. Me leg's rooted and it would be a waste not to use those tickets. Go and have fun. Take me bloody camera too and take some pics for me. I'll fucken live vicariously through you. But don't bother tryin' to hit on me sister."

"Why? Cos you'll get all jealous if she goes for me?"

"Nah, because she won't go for you. She prefers the ladies."

MID-MARCH

WEDNESDAY

Tim picked his heavy rucksack off the baggage carousel, heaved it onto his back and walked out of the airport into the grey overcast day. When he'd left Brisbane at six in the morning it was twenty-one degrees Celsius and humid, with the mercury rising to a supposed maximum of thirty-four by two in the afternoon. He'd required a connecting flight via Melbourne, and so he'd arrived in Launceston slightly before two in the afternoon, accounting for an hour's flight delay and the hour lost with daylight savings once he'd flown across the Queensland border. Even so, the local air temperature in Launceston was only now reaching twenty-one degrees Celsius.

He walked to the drop off/pick up zone and waited, breathing in the jet fuel vapour saturating the air. An early-2000s model Holden Commodore station wagon with blue paint peeling in patches and dark tinted windows pulled up, and Tim recognised Heather as she opened the passenger door.

"Hi, Tim, I'm Heather, obviously," she smiled and offered her hand.

"Hi, Heather obviously, I'm obviously Tim." He shook her hand, noting how firm her grip was, and wondering if he'd made things awkward straight up with his daggy introduction. But she actually laughed, which he found quite cute. He noted she was tall, maybe ten or so centimetres shy of his own one-hundred-and-eighty-eight centimetre frame, and even more attractive in the flesh than she looked on Skype. He also took note of her cute heart-shaped smile and big green eyes dominating her oval face, and how she sported a pair of sun glasses on top of her sandy blond hair, which was tied back in a short ponytail.

"Chuck ya stuff in the back. Uncle Pat's gonna drive us out to Cradle. It's still about two hours away."

Stowing his rucksack in the boot and closing the tailgate door, he couldn't miss noting the giant brown and yellow 'HAWKS' sticker across the top of the rear windscreen, and a smaller brown and yellow sticker at the bottom, proclaiming 'Hawthorn Football Club Three-Peat 2013-2014-2015 Premiers' reminding him he was deep in Australian Rules Football territory now. He climbed in the back seat behind Heather and introduced himself to Pat. "How ya goin', I'm Tim."