Yidaki: Busk to Birthplace – Applying My Own Adventure Framework
In my last post, I shared the set of questions I use to test whether an adventure idea deserves to become real or remain a pleasant daydream. This time, I’m putting that framework to work on one of my own.
Step 1: Give Your Adventure a Name
Yidaki: Busk to Birthplace – A didgeridoo journey
The idea is simple enough: busk and hitchhike my way around Australia, starting in Tasmania and finishing in Arnhem Land, the birthplace of the yidaki (didgeridoo). Live hand‑to‑mouth on whatever I earn, learn the instrument from scratch, and absorb what I can about Indigenous culture along the way.
Step 2: Ask the Big One – WHY?
Why this trip?
• To follow in the footsteps of Laurie Lee’s As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning—travelling across a country earning only what I make busking.
• To finally learn an instrument.
• To engage with Indigenous culture respectfully and meaningfully.
• To share those learnings with a wider audience.
• Because it sounds epic.
• Because it would make a cracking premise for a book.
• Because it might offer closure on my Sydney‑to‑Broome ride.
Digging deeper:
The Laurie Lee thread runs deep. Alistair Humphreys recreated Lee’s journey in 2016 and later turned it into a book. His writing nudged me, back when I was a confused uni student, toward the life I’m living now. Attempting something in that lineage feels like a way of honouring both of them—not by copying their routes, but by adopting their mindset. Slow, self‑reliant travel across a vast landscape. Everything you own on your back. A long road unspooling in front of you.
I’ve always wanted to play an instrument. I’ve picked up and abandoned both guitar and harmonica. But working on school programs in Western Australia, I’ve had the privilege of hearing two exceptional didgeridoo players—one by a campfire, one deep inside Ngilgi Cave. Their playing felt meditative, grounding, almost medicinal. The pull toward the yidaki has been growing for the last few years.
Cultural learning sits at the heart of this idea. As a non‑Indigenous person approaching a sacred instrument tied to ceremony and men’s business, I know permission and respect aren’t optional—they’re the foundation.
And yes, there’s unfinished business from the Sydney‑to‑Broome ride. Emotional and geographical.
After sitting with it, the WHY sharpened. This isn’t just “busk across Australia.” It’s “travel slowly, learn the yidaki from the ground up, do so with cultural humility, and see whether the road offers the same kind of clarity it did last time.”
Step 3: Assess the Practical Stuff
Fitness
Not ultra‑marathon fitness, but stamina for long waits, long walks, and carrying a pack and yidaki.
Weather & Seasonality
The wet season (Nov–Apr) in the Top End is a deal‑breaker for busking and hitchhiking. I’m sketching a figure‑8 route: Tassie → Geelong → Adelaide → Perth → Broome → Katherine → Alice Springs → Melbourne → up the east coast to Cairns → west to Arnhem Land. Hitting the north twice means timing is everything.
Plan: leave Tasmania in March 2027, reach Broome by May, move through the centre and east during the dry, and arrive in Arnhem Land by October. Six months from Broome to Arnhem feels doable.
A year from now to departure gives me time to learn the basics.
Time
I guide casually, mostly in summer. No fixed job, no dependents, and I live in a van. Time is the one resource I’m rich in.
Cost
The premise is to live on busking earnings. But there would be a few fixed costs: Spirit of Tasmania ferry, lessons (~$1,000), padded case (~$150). Emergency fund: $2,000 for genuine crises. I will likely reach out and try to get sponsorship for a few bits of equipment I may need. Insurance: probably unnecessary for domestic travel.
Ethics & Morals
The yidaki isn’t a souvenir. It’s tied to ceremony, law, and men’s business. As a non‑Indigenous person, I need to tread carefully.
Plan: reach out to Yolngu contacts first. Ask permission for the journey as a whole. In each place I play, ask again. If anyone says no, I don’t play.
Experience
I’ve hitchhiked Tasmania and parts of Indonesia, and travelled most of the route by bike or car. I’ve worked alongside Indigenous people in guiding contexts, so I have some initial contacts.
I’ve never busked. I’ve never played an instrument. That’s part of the appeal.
What I hope to gain: a new skill, deeper cultural understanding, stories worth telling, and maybe the same clarity I found on the road to Broome.
Danger & Risk
Hitchhiking carries real risk: unsafe drivers, intoxicated drivers, robbery, abduction. Worst case: serious injury or death. Data suggests hitchhiking‑related crime in Australia has been rare since the 1990s, especially for adult men. Still, it’s illegal in Victoria and Queensland. Mitigation: trust my gut, take buses through riskier sections, carry pepper spray where legal, consider self‑defence training, keep an InReach.
Step 4: Decide & Act
The questions didn’t kill the idea—they clarified it.
The WHY gave it heart. The practical filters revealed timing challenges, costs, and the ethical non‑negotiables. The risks are real but manageable.
Current status: departure pencilled for March 2027. Lessons starting soon. Didge practice underway. Contacts being reached out to. The idea has moved from fantasy to something with traction
This process turned a wild, floating idea into something with dates, structure, and a moral compass. Not every dream survives the questions—and that’s the point. The ones that do feel earned.
Your turn: pick an idea, give it a name, run it through the questions. See what survives.
Safe trails (and safe busking),
Edward