I drive up to Baroon Pocket Dam, on the Blackall Range, with the modest hope of a bushwalk and a few photo opportunities. I park in the picnic area, and before I even get out of the car, I’m grumpy. It’s all blue metal, fences and signs, and a dodgy-looking white van has followed me out. There’s a short walk behind the weed-ridden spillway, from where I can hear the comforting sounds of wrens and fantails, but I’m uneasy. The van-man is there, eating his lunch, staring straight ahead. I walk past the fences and signs to look out over the dam. Wind-waves lap at the shore. It’s bleak: no sound, no signs of life. I’m cold, and it starts to drizzle. This was a terrible idea.
Then I see it. A rainbow, arching over the dam like a bridge. A massive perfect rainbow. It’s close. I walk out beyond the railing to photograph it. Through the lens, the spectrum of colours is brighter and clearer. It’s coming closer. I’m shooting all angles, and for a time I can see where the rainbow ends – right in the middle of the dam. I could swim to the pot of gold waiting for me. Still it’s coming closer, wind-borne. I turn off the camera, and just sit on the railing, watching, as the rainbow passes over and through me.