Bashing into the Outback
When a work trip popped up in Broken Hill, what better excuse to tack on a camping adventure? But this wasn’t destined to be one of those remote, silent outback escapes where your only neighbour is a lone dingo. Instead, we decided to join 15,000 other campers at the Mundi Mundi Bash – Australia’s biggest desert music festival, held from 21–23 August on Belmont Station, out on the endless Mundi Mundi Plains.
First challenge: getting there. For the uninitiated, “just a quick trip” to far-west New South Wales means clocking up about 1,200 kilometres, which we (foolishly) attempted almost in one day, collapsing overnight in Wilcannia. That seemed like the hardest part – until the kangaroos joined in.
Leaving Wilcannia at dawn was like driving through a marsupial demolition derby. About a hundred kamikaze kangaroos seemed determined to see whether my windscreen was stronger than their skulls. Thanks to a recently installed bull bar, the car survived, though with a new dent. Sad for the roo, but better than explaining to roadside assistance why our radiator now contained fur.
Known as the “Silver City,” Broken Hill is equal parts industrial grit and cultural surprise. Its wide streets and heritage pubs tell the story of one of Australia’s richest mining booms, while its vibrant art scene (thanks in no small part to the late Pro Hart and Priscilla: Queen of the Desert ) has earned it a reputation as an outback arts capital.
After a quick pit stop in Broken Hill, we swung right towards Silverton – a one-horse town where, yes, the horse really does wander into the pub. From there, it’s another nine kilometres until the horizon fills with the strangest sight: a wagon-wheel formation of modern nomads. Forget covered wagons – these were gleaming Winnebagos and caravans so large they could house small villages, all arranged in a dusty semicircle.
Now in its fourth year, the Mundi Mundi Bash has grown into a major outback music event. But don’t expect a rodeo of cowboys in Akubras and blue jeans. This was more like Australia’s biggest retirement village on tour. The average age was firmly in the “sunset years” – perhaps matching the lineup. Hoodoo Gurus, The Angels, Leo Sayer, Dragon, Mi-Sex, Rose Tattoo – bands that were selling records when a “tape” wasn’t something for your knees but the thing you swapped with friends.
To be fair, there were slightly younger acts too. Missy Higgins, The Cat Empire and Kasey Chambers made sure the festival didn’t turn completely into a ‘70s reunion.
Like thousands of other grey nomads, we shuffled down with our camp chairs and settled in for long days of music. Occasionally, we ventured into the “mosh pit”, though the wildest thing I spotted in there was a Zimmer frame waving in time to the beat.
Of course, the Bash is more than just music. It doubles as a fundraising powerhouse, raising thousands for the Royal Flying Doctor Service. It also offers a world record or two. This year, we joined 6,779 people in smashing the record for the world’s largest Nutbush dance, raising over $100,000 in the process. Watching that many people heel-toe their way across the desert was strangely beautiful – like line dancing on steroids.
And then there was the Mundi Undie Run. I made the wise choice of leaving my underwear at home, but Kathy joined the parade of g-strings, lace, and superheroes sprinting through the dust. Some sights cannot be unseen.
If that wasn’t enough spectacle, the Mad Max II and Furiosa filming locations added a post-apocalyptic vibe. Bashers donned leather, spikes, and goggles, creating a surreal blend of rock festival and doomsday dress-up.
So, while the journey involved kamikaze kangaroos, dented bull bars, and aging singers, the destination proved worth it. The Mundi Mundi Bash isn’t just a festival – it’s a dusty, eccentric, utterly unforgettable slice of outback Australia.
