Salt, decomposing meat and uprooted seaweed – that distinctive odor of the ocean - flooded my nostrils as I climb out of the truck. After 3.5 weeks at Nundroo Roadhouse, my boyfriend and I finally left the few square kilometers we were calling home. It wasn't the job we were temporarily fleeing, but a small scene that has become all-too-familiar.
Ceaser’s vehicle had carried us only 32 kms, from our staff room to the coast. This was the closest I had ever lived to the ocean, and there it was: the rhythmic lapping of the tide, the overwhelming scent. No beach had ever smelled so inviting as Fowlers did that night.