SLEEPING UNDER THE STARS

Last night I was watching my favorite TV show, Northern Exposure. Hal and Maurice were outside camping and Maurice said something about how great it is to sleep under the stars. It made me think about sleeping outdoors and when was the last time I slept under the stars. After a little thought, I realized I've only slept under the stars three times in my entire life, and they were all in Australia.

The first time was in the Whitsunday Islands on a sailing trip. I slept on the deck of the boat under a million stars. The deck was rock hard and it was freezing during the night, so certainly not as romantic as one would imagine. But the experience was worth the discomfort especially since I was the only one on board brave/daft enough to do it. No other people, buildings, lights or anything else man made in sight.

The second time was a pear farm in Victoria. Me and an English friend thought it'd be awesome getting back to nature dragging our sleeping bags into the orchard. This bottle-of-vodka-inspired idea didn't seem so great when the farmer saw us the next morning and turned on the sprinklers. To the amusement of his family and our coworkers we were wriggling around like a couple of worms trying to get away from the water, but still too drunk to unzip our sleeping bags.

The third and last time was in the bush with three European friends. Miles from the nearest town and, again drunk, it seemed like a great idea to fall asleep by the campfire with my almost empty bottle of whisky. The others, a bit more savvy to the dangers of the Australian outback, went to the car and tents to sleep.

I grabbed the ground mat and sleeping bag out of my tent and settled down to sleep under the most star-filled sky ever. It was unbelievable. The stars completely surrounded me, all around, not just above. They came all the way down to the horizon and I could even see them between the trees. A truly amazing way to fall asleep.

However, the best way to fall asleep was soon followed by the worst way to wake up. About three hours later my heart was pounding, my senses sharp and I was very alert despite the early hour and whisky. I didn't know why I had woken up, but I knew something was very wrong. The sleeping bag was over my head and I kept my body perfectly still, even refusing to open my eyes. Listening. Listening. Listening...

And then I heard what my subconscious had sensed; footsteps. Small, but very near, and probably very dangerous, footsteps. One part of my brain said it's just a wallaby (small kangaroo-like animal). But another, smarter part of my brain said there's no way it's a wallaby because they don't take steps, they hop, and I already knew exactly what they sound like as I'd seen tons when I worked in Tasmania.

Then, as if to confirm my worst fears, I heard the thing sniff; "sniff, sniff". Oh crap, I thought, it's a dingo! [In case you don't know, dingos are Australia's version of coyotes or wolves.]

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, but I was totally alert to everything and thinking very clearly. I knew the fire was out. I also knew I'd burnt every stick around me and thus had nothing for protection. I was lying on my back with my arms by my side so I knew I was very vulnerable, especially if the dingo went for my throat which they are known to do. I knew getting out of my sleeping bag would neither be quick nor easy, as I had learned back in the pear orchards. I knew exactly where the car and my tent where, but running barefoot mightn't be a great idea in this land of scorpions, snakes and killer spiders. I also knew my tent was zipped up and that would slow me down if the dingo chased me.

I could see no easy escape and my thinking time was cut short as I heard the dingo take three steps toward me and sniff again. Oh crap! And then two more steps. I guess it was less than six feet from me.

But just then something miraculous happened. Calvin, my big Bavarian travel partner who was sleep in the car coughed. He's been sick for week and when he coughed, he really coughed. I heard the dingo take a couple of steps back and realized this may be my only chance for a getaway. I got ready, praying for Calvin to cough again. Please cough. Please cough. The dingo took another FOUR steps toward me. Crap!!!

Then 'cough'. I joined the coughing noise with my own bizarre girlish yelp which was supposed to be a roar. Then as I heard the dingo back up I scrambled. Up and out of my sleeping back. Sliding out quite easily with the help of the cold sweat covering my body. Six of seven strides and I was at my tent, quick glance over the shoulder, zip down and dived in head first.

In that quick glance back, I saw him. Standing right by my sleeping bag and ground mat. Unphased, evil, ugly eyes glowing in the moonlight, looking right at me. Inside my tent, I shouted over to Deedee, my Austrian buddy in the tent by me. Trying to wake him up, but scared to even open my tent. No luck though so I just lay in my uncomfortable tent with nothing to lie on or keep me warm, hoping to fall asleep soon. After what seemed like forever I started to get sleepy. And just as I was about to drift off, all around me, as if they'd formed a perimeter around our camp, a pack of dingos started howling. The hairs on my whole body stood up, but I soon fell asleep with my Swiss army knife in hand.

Despite all this, I'm dying to get out under the stars again for a night or two. But maybe not in Australia this time.