Day 59: Nullarbor - a place without trees
“Searing bits of debris rained down on the stations like fireworks”. This was the report from the Perth Daily News in July 1979. In its 34,981st and last orbit of the earth the final minutes of the Skylab satellite brought a lot of excitement to the small town of Balladonia, population 14, on the Eyre Highway. As the Skylab entered the atmosphere much of it lit up the sky but some of it made its way crashing to the earth. The Americans were embarrassed as their plans went astray, along with the Skylab. President Carter even rang the motel manageress to apologise.
Balladonia had its one moment in the limelight before disappearing into obscurity, unless you are one of the few travellers who make the long trek on the Eyre Highway. Named after The explorer John Eyre, the Highway travels from where we were this morning in Norseman, to Port Augusta in South Australia, 1,671km away.
While many say the Nullarbor is a boring drive there is something soothing about it. It has been 100km since I have had to shift the steering wheel and there is another 46.6km to go. I am currently on Australia’s longest straight road known as the ‘90 Mile Straight’. The rhythmic sounds of the tyres on the bitumen is enough to lull you to sleep if you are not careful. Looking ahead the road disappears into the distance almost falling off the end of the world. The only motion is the small mulga bushes rushing past the window and the hypnotic white lines of the centre road running towards you. After a while my mind wonders, to the point of reflecting on life and the purpose of being. I am just glad I am not on the worlds longest straight road in Saudi Arabia at 240km long or this could get very deep.
Having made the decision to run from the rain, it seems our plan has paid off with clear sky’s a very welcome sight as we look for camp for the night. Before the highway manages to lull us to sleep we pull off on a remote stretch, making our way into the scrub far enough to not be disturbed by the trucks that continue to travel through the night. With the campfire alight I look up to the stars and for one moment I think I see a satellite and hope that it does not decide to crash on us tonight.
Day 60: Cockle where?
Pulling up to the petrol bowser I look out to see what the price of diesel is. Unfortunately, the bowser is a mere skeleton, the price on the dial having not moved for 60 years. Having turned down an unmarked dirt track off the Eyre Highway and driven inland we have pulled into Koonalda homestead. This remote sheep station operated from 1938 until 1988 eventually succumbing to its isolation. The remains of the building, shearing shed and workshop still stand despite rain, heat and time doing its best to dismantle it.
Koonalda was also a service point for passing traffic on the old Eyre Highway. The petrol bowser is not the only sign of this, with relics of the many cars that didn’t make the journey, this their final resting point to rust away amongst the saltbush.
Click on images below to enlarge
Click on images below to enlarge
In 1841 John Eyre spent 4 months travelling from South Australia to Western Australia. At the time he described it as the “sort of place one gets into in bad dreams” By the 1890s the promise of gold encouraged hopeful souls to venture west, their bullocks and camels creating a more formalised track that runs just inland from the current road. From the first crossing by car in 1912, it would have been a treacherous journey of corrugations, shredded tyres and boiling radiators in the summer heat.
Sitting in the air conditioned car, cruising at 100km an hour, we have come a long way since those times. Despite this, the distance still feels immense and the landscape is largely unchanged from then. Reading the map there are no major towns or crossroads, apart from small dirt tracks used by the early pastoralists, now just dotted lines on paper. The exception are names such as Cocklebiddy, Caiguna, Madura and Mundrabilla which are little more than a petrol bowser and truck stop with the most basic of hotel rooms for the weary traveller. One sign says it all:
Welcome to Cocklebiddy
Population 8
Budgies 25
Quails 6
Dogs 1
Kangaroos 1,234,567 dead
If you look hard enough however there are some landmarks worth stopping for. One of these is the ruin of the Telegraph Station at Eucla on the windswept coast. The station built in 1898 now appears to be shrinking, it’s crumbling sandstone walls being consumed by the shifting sands. As the dunes took over, the building material was dismantled and used in Koonalda Station.
Eventually, the Highway turns towards the coast where we end up for the night. Precariously perched on the edge of Australia, it’s cliffs slowly being eaten by the waves below, it is clear to see why they call this the Great Australian Bight.
Looking into the Southern Ocean the next stop is Antartica and with the cold wind blowing I can almost feel the arctic chill. Looking out from camp there is a sense of flat endlessness, with the ocean in one direction, the treeless plains in the other, and the dark sky’s and stars above. Not a bad way to end today’s adventure.
Day 61: A Whale of a Day
Looking out into the windswept ocean the blue water is shimmering like an emerald, disguising the treacherous conditions any sailor faces if they were silly enough to be out. As the sets roll in they build momentum like an out of control steam train heading for certain destruction. But nothing can stop the forces of nature as a final crescendo of wave vs cliff face sees a spray of water shoot 100 feet into the air.
From our reasonable safe position perched on the cliff top, it is not the power of the waves that has our attention. Not more than 30 metres below, a Great Southern Right Whale calf is rolling and flipping as its mother appears to ignore a misbehaving child. Then, just to the left another calf half breaches showing off to the other juveniles how clever he is. As I bring up the camera to capture the moment 2 other whales on the right surface, their sprays of water being taken away in the gale force winds.
We are standing at a lookout in the Great Australian Bight Marine Park not far from the Eyre Highway along the Nullarbor. This area protects a globally important calving and gathering area for the endangered southern right whales. It appears something must be working as we watch at least 50 whales and their calves pass by.
Earlier this morning we woke to a beautiful, sunny (!) sunrise having avoided the rain again. However, while there was no rain we spent the night on one of the most exposed cliffs in all of Australia at the same time as gale force winds lashed the coast. Luckily we were not picked up in the wind and blown to Antarctica but we both woke (a loose term as neither of us slept much) to a covering of sand that sandblasted it’s way inside the tent.
Leaving camp, having survived the night we set about to explore some of the hidden gems of the Nullarbor, one of which is the mysterious Murrawijinie Caves that are know to exist here. The caves are not signposted so asking the Nullarbor Roadhouse, he provides simple instructions along the lines of “go back down the Highway and look for the second saltbush where there is a small dirt track, follow this past a windmill and turn right at the deep potholes”.
While you already get a sense of isolation travelling across the Nullarbor, the constant procession of trucks means you are never alone. But it is when you turn off and head into the depth of the treeless plain, you get a sense of being a mere blip in the landscape.
With no obvious landmarks to indicate a cave, it is not until you are literally upon it that you notice the earth open up. Clambering down the hole, the light from the head torch provides a faint shaft of light barely penetrating the blackness. This cave is just one of many that hide beneath the flat Nullarbor Plains. While the land above is featureless apart from the low salt bush, there are random caves and limestone tunnels hidden beneath.
While some of them are filled with water and only accessible to the highly experienced, Murrawijinie Caves are a much simpler scramble for us to access. These ancient caves formed over 50 million years ago from ancient sea creatures leaving behind limestone deposits which subsequently have eroded.
With whales and caves taking up a large part of the day our plan to get to Streaky Bay was no longer on the cards. Having spent three days free camping, and not wanting to push our luck with the rain, we opt for a night at the Penong Hotel, another classic outback Pub built in 1910. The good news is, we are unlikely to get blown away tonight.
Day 62: Dennis and his Rocks
Dennis is leaning against the open shed, his weathered face a sign of having farmed in this area all his life. You can tell he enjoys a yarn as he is happily having a long chat with us about why he opened his farm to travellers and why he loves sharing this place.
He is talking about these strange rock formations that sit on top of a hill amongst the rolling green barley crops just outside Streaky Bay. The pinkish pillars and boulders, in clusters of 5 or 6, each one taller than a house, are like large scoops of melting icecream dropped on the ground.
While we were unable to see Wave Rock due to our change in plans, this is a similar ancient granite rock over 1.6 billion years old. Over the eons the surrounding land has eroded away leaving the harder granite behind then nature has taken to them like a potter forming them into strange shapes.
Their name, Murphy’s Haystacks, is thought to have come from a Scotsman who spotted them from a mail coach and commented on how much hay the local farmer had saved. Yes, the farmer was obviously called Murphy.
Dennis Cash is the grandson of Murphy and despite initial hesitation, you can see he is proud of the place saying “this is one of the greatest things the family has done opening it up to the public”. “I came to help on the farm for a couple of days and I am still here” he quips. Although I think more importantly, he enjoys meeting and talking to lots of new people as he shares the story of meeting three Canadian girls and taking them home to stay.
Before leaving Penong this morning we dropped into its major attraction. What I like about many small towns is they all try to identify or create one thing to get tourists to stop. And even better if this one thing is BIG. so Penong decided they wanted to have the biggest windmill. Hence the town now has a small paddock with more than 20 different types of windmills, whirling, spinning and clunking, including the star of the show - ‘The Comet’.
Outside the Penong General Store, there is a sign that reads: “Last stop for 1,000km. WARNING REMOTE ZONE AHEAD”. Having finished crossing the Nullarbor, Hux was on the hunt for a sticker saying he had survived the crossing (as he unfortunately didn’t survive the Gibb).
From here we made our way to the Eye Peninsular, passing through small wind swept coastal towns including Fowlers Bay and Cactus Beach, a surfing Mecca when gale force 40 winds are not blowing. While the huge winds and stormy seas are enough to put off any die hard surfer, it didn’t phase any of the Australian sea lions at Point Labatt.
Standing on the viewing platform we looked down onto the calves and mother seals oblivious to the weather around them. Me on the other hand is leaning forward at a 45 degree angle into the wind, one hand firmly planted on the had rail for fear of being blown like a tumbleweed, eyes watering like I’m on a speeding motorbike, as constant rain showers throw freezing needles into my body. Shouting over the wind to Hux, “You know you are living!” the rush is better than any drug.
As we watched the sea lions, the cliffs above shook as they got pounded by massive waves the size of mountains with white snow on them, the water below appearing to be boiling. As a sign it is time to leave, a giant rainbow appeared circling the cliffs and ocean.
Back standing with Dennis, we pay our camping fee. What is unique, is that it has not succumbed to the pressure of tourism, by either closing it off, or putting in place fences and expensive entrance fees. Instead it operates on an honesty box at the front gate. Setting up camp for the night we watch the rain showers come and go over the ancient rocks, none of which would be possible without the generosity of Dennis and his family.
Day 63: More Rocks
As a passionate photographer I know the best light is the golden hour, just before sunrise or just after sunset. Unfortunately I am also passionate about sleeping in. The alarm has woken me from a deep sleep, likely due to sleep deprivation having spent the previous night in a hotel room the size of a closet with Hux in the bed next to me.
The brain slowly computes that I am not at home in my warm bed but a tent as the pitter-patter sound of rain on the tent fly seems to be amplified. It is at this point I would happily roll over and go back to sleep. Despite this i unzip the tent 2 inches to see how bad it is. To my surprise there is colour in the sky and dramatic rain clouds rolling over the adjacent hills.
At this point the photographer in me get up, exiting my cocoon into the cold morning air I am greeted with clouds, sunshine and wind all rolled into one. Grabbing the camera and heading up to the Haystacks the light and shadows dance over the rock surface. But the final lighting show is a rainbow arcing across the boulders with the pot of gold ending at their base.
It is for moments like this that I love to camp.
With one last wave of thanks to Dennis for allowing people to experience this place we push on with a plan to head to Gawler Ranges National Park. While the rain showers provide amazing atmosphere, they also convert what is normally a dry dirt road into a slushy, slippery mud pit. It is not long before the car is converted from a white Prado into a brown slop covered bucket, as I carry a half a tonne of mud attached to the trailer behind.
Just outside the National Park we take take a detour to Pildappa Rock, following a tip from a local. Our trip seems tovbs turning into a tour of rocks. But again this is no ordinary rock. While Murphy’s Haystacks are lots of individual boulders, Pildappa is one monolith. And where Murphy’s Hatstack was like large scoops of melting icecream dropped on the ground, Pildappa Rock is a gigantic elephant half buried in the ground.
While you can no longer climb Uluru, there does not appear to be any cultural sensitivities with this rock. Climbing up the granite elephants back I reach the top with panoramic views of the surrounding countryside. In one direction yellow canola contrast with the green barley fields disappearing into the distance. On the other, the Gawler Ranges rising from the plains, with rolling rain storms covering its peaks.
With the geological climb over it was time to push on, in the hope that the rain showers have moved on when we get to the National Park. After several more kilometres of slipping and sliding, we pull into camp for the night. It appears the rain, cold, mud caking road, and remoteness of the location meant we were the only ones here. But as a good photographer knows, anyone can get a photo on a sunny day and it is times like this that drag me out of bed early.
Day 64: a hexagon or pentagon?
For those one or two people that actually read my ramblings you will know that I try to paint a picture of the days events, often using similes to visualise what is around me. Often I grapple with words to adequately describe a place but today I had the work done for me. Standing looking out at the ‘Organ Pipes’, thousands of shear hexagonal columns project skyward around the cliff face. Like the pipes of an organ, they are all different heights. Towards the edge several of them have toppled over, or are moments away from falling, as though the rocks behind them are pushing them over the edge.
These unique rocks were formed over 1500 million years ago when the Gawler Ranges was a seething molten volcanic landscape. As the lava flows cooled they created fractures in the rocks creating hexagonal columns.
It seems our tour of rocks from yesterday continued as we spent the day exploring the Gawler Ranges National Park. The morning began with a walk along 5 Falls Trail. While the name indicates flowing water, most of the streams and falls are intermittent, only flowing after rain. While we had on and off rain yesterday it was only enough to leave temporary pools for the tadpoles to continue to fatten and hopefully metamorphose into frogs before they dry up.
The last of the 5 falls is called the Yellow-Footed Rock Wallaby Falls. These shy and secretive creatures are endangered and were only rediscovered in the Gawler Ranges in the 1990’s, which led to the creation of the National Park. Walking up the creek bed there were plenty of signs of their presence with droppings and footprints. While I didn’t manage to see any Hux assures me he saw a glimpse of yellow feet and a tail. But we all know if someone else didn’t witness it, it didn’t exist.
After a few other short walks it was time to venture back to camp to get the fire going before the temperature plummets to freezing. A far cry from the boiling magna that would have helped take off the winter chill if we were here a billion years ago.
Day 65: in Eyre’s footsteps
Reaching the summit of Mount Allalone, the name is a great descriptor of the vista before me. From one horizon to the next there is nothing to indicate another sole in sight. Below me, the remnants of what was once an entire plain of mallee trees, the rest cleared almost 200 years ago to make way for sheep.
I have just followed in the footsteps of Edward John Eyre who climbed Mount Allalone in the Gawler Ranges in 1839 while exploring the peninsular. Eyre wrote a scathing account of the lack of suitable water or pasture in the area but despite this, early pastoralists decided to try to make a living here.
Earlier in the day we walked around the Old Panney Homestead built by William Crawford in the 1870s, and it’s near by wool shed. It is hard to comprehend the difficult times they had trying to run sheep in this remote, barren area. Eventually, drought, low prices, rabbits and dingos all conspired against the early pastoralists sending them either broke or mad. What started out as 450,000 head of sheep slowly dwindled with only the foolish or diehard holding on.
A hunter and trapper from Mount Allalone wrote the following:
There is poison in the water, there is ruin in the breeze,
And everything is choking with the red-hot dust;
Hell’s furnace, doors are open and they’ve lost the flaming keys…
Not exactly the best sales pitch for prospective sheep graziers.
Leaving the National Park we weaved our way through the bush, occasionally startling an emu which then decides to run like a lunatic down the road, darting left and right head bobbing in all directions. With the decision that at least one of us needs a shower we make our way to the small country town of Kimba booking into the Kimba Gateway Hotel. Built in 1924, it is a definite step up to camping having been refurbished, yet retaining its country charm.
Having spent the last week driving across the Eyre Highway, visiting coastal towns along the Eyre Peninsular, and the Gawler Ranges, it is fitting we spend tonight at Kimba being home to a sculpture that represents Edward John Eyre and all the indigenous people who’s bush skills he relied upon.
But Kimba is also famous for two other things. As I have mentioned in the past a town needs something big as part of its tourist brochure. So Kimba has chosen the big galah as its claim to fame. Why - your guess is as good as mine. More fitting however is that Kimba is half way across Australia and half way to home for us. This is where we leave John Eyres footprints and make our own way. The only decision now - which way do we go?…
