Prologue- The day before
I said this trip I would not keep a daily diary but here I am.
I have spent the last 2 years planning for this trip to the Kimberleys. A trip that may never happened as COVID-19 took over and borders around Australia slammed shut. While a date was set, every day we watched the news to see the WA Premier McGowan proudly say he was going to maintain their bubble. All we could do was watch and wait, praying someone from NSW would sneak in and spread the virus.
As the days got closer, the bad news for Western Australians, but good for us - there was a breach. COVID was loose. Reluctantly the Premier unlocked the padlock - game on!
All the planning and organising had come down to this last day. A day to do the last minute packing and spend time with the kids and Kathy. Well it seems the travel gods had a different idea.
For the last week there was a strange smell in the car and it was getting worse. At the same time my fuel consumption was going up and I was worried something sinister was brewing. After several days of poking around I could hear a fizzing and bubbling from the spare battery not minutes before it - and the car - went up in flames.
So the smell was explained, but not the consumption, so into the mechanic with 1 day before driving away. After several hours a call back saying nothing could be found and a friendly - “she’ll be right mate” as I leave.
So here I am 12 hours before I am driving into the most remote part of Australia head under the bonnet playing pretend mechanic with a hunch it was either the fuel filter or the MAF sensor. Toss of the coin and, having never done it before, I gingerly pulled apart the sensor to clean. As night settled in the next challenge was replacing the battery which of course was a different size. As midnight approached the pretend mechanic finally finished with fingers crossed that nothing else will go wrong…. “she’ll be right mate” - I hope so!
Day 1 - Was this the end already?
What was meant to be a 7 am departure turned in to 8 but it was finally great to be on the road. And the nerves were getting better as the fuel consumption was better - ….Until 2 hours in to a 10 week trip the fuel warning light comes on!
No need to panic - it’s a Sunday and I am 50km from the nearest town with a potential risk that the engine will seize without notice. So was this where the trip was going to end? 2 hours in, and on the side of the road?
Knowing it was not flashing ( a sure sign to abandon ship and call the tow truck) I limped the 50km knowing I should have listened to my hunch and changed the fuel filter.
As each distance marker passed, time slowed down, and it seamed I would never get to Goulburn. But over the hill the big Marino came into sight at last. Not knowing what to do I asked the sheep what was the chances of finding a mechanic open on a Sunday? He just said, “baaaaahhhhh!”
Next option NRMA. Now I know you all think they are road side assist but in reality they carry just enough to jump start your battery or change a tyre. Definitely not enough tools to change a fuel filter.
Luckily the friendly NRMA driver who was eighty in the shade had a plan. Knowing he could not do the job with his tools he replied, “no problem - give me 5 min”. Not sure if he was just heading to the pub or going to find someone 5 min turned into 30 minutes. But true to the NRMA advertisments he returned with the news - if I was willing to do a cash job a mate would open up his garage for me.
Which is why I am now camped on the side of a river somewhere north of Wagga Wagga very relieved and ready for our adventure. Let’s hope this is the last of any issues……
Day 2 - The km role by
It was a still balmy night and all that stirred was a mouse.
Wait a minute - let me start this again.
It was a ferocious dark night and the gale force winds would make an old seadog quiver in their boots.
Lying in the tent at 11pm, the storm could be heard coming closer like an out of control freight train reaching the end of the tracks. When it hit, all I could do was pray that I not only hammered in those tent pegs well, but there were no window makers above the tent. After an hour of relentless rain and wind, I was too scared to venture out to see what had been blown away.
Morning I woke, and to my surprise there was little sign of last nights storm, apart from the swimming pool sized puddle miraculously between our tents and 20lt of rainwater precariously sitting above me in the awning.
Breaking camp 2 hours after getting up, I am definitely going to have to improve my pack-up timing if we are ever to make it to Kununurra to meet up with Kathy and Karen.
Hitting the road I settle in to the hum of the tyres on the pavement as we make our way across the Hay Plains. Next stop as far as the light will allow us. As the intermittent showers rolled by, the mix of rainbows and sun-showers cast a golden light across the endless plains.
Drive. Stop. Drive. Stop. The rhythm of the day was slowly coming to an end as we opened WikiCamps on the lookout for another free camp by a river. This time Merbein Commons on the banks of the Murray River was calling.
So here I am again, by the fire looking over water, Guinness in hand, having just finished a flame cooked steak. And the good news is it looks like we have seen the last of the rain for a while.
Day 3 - Border Crossing
You know when you watch an episode of border security and the airport quarantine person asks “did you pack your own bag sir?” How many of you question what stupid person lets someone else pack when they know they are going to cross a border.
So here we are, 2 km out of the South Australian border and Hux realises he is carrying enough fruit to prevent scurvy for the rest of his life. It seems ‘someone’ let ‘someone else’ pack for them. There are only so many bananas you can eat before going around the bend yourself.
Having deposited half a grocery store in the bin we entered South Australia and finally turned the steering wheel north for the first time.
Needing a break, and stretch of the legs we pulled in to Port Germein which is famous for its 1500 metre pier (and not much else). 1490 metres later it would have been nice for them to tell us the last bit was fenced off, but a nice walk non-the-less.
As the sun began to drop below the horizon it was time to find another free camp. This time there was no river, but a remote little tree lined valley we had all to ourselves.
While I would love to say the night ended there by the fire, it seems I am not having the best luck - this time not the car but the new battery in the camper. After transitioning from pretend mechanic to pretend electrician, I think (hope) I found the issue and with a bit of luck, will be recharging when I get on the road tomorrow. But that is another day.
Day 4: From somewhere to a big hole in the ground
Imagine yourself asleep in a tent just big enough to sit up in. Imagine it being pitch black with not even the moon to cast some light. Imagine having drifted off to sleep with thoughts of what adventures will happen tomorrow.
Now imagine being woken with an uncomfortable feeling something was moving in your tent.
As I lay here I am not sure if it was a dream, until I feel something scurry across my chest - argh! Scrambling out of my sleeping bag and throwing myself into the corner I rummage around looking for my torch just as I feel something brush by my back. Catapulting myself to the other side I hit the torch button to see the eyes of a mouse looking back at me in disgust.
It is at this point I realise I am in a space not big enough to swing a dead cat - although I wish I had a cat at this point. Uncertain how to catch him (yes I am assuming it was a him due to the beady eyes) I opt for the - throw a shirt on him and hope.
Now this is no ordinary mouse. I swear it must of trained in the circus as it launched itself into a half somersault, somehow jumping off both sides of the tent then to the ceiling and back under my bag.
I spend the next 5 minutes playing cat and mouse, with the cat finally winning as I fling my new sleeping companion out the door. As we both sit there exhausted all I can hear in my head is rule 29 of camping - never leave your tent unzipped, even a small amount.
So began day 4 as we made our way from the free camp in the middle of nowhere to Coober Pedy. Along the way we stop into Woomera which at various times has been used as the location for experimenting with rockets. Here they would shoot all manner of toys into the 122,000sq/km desert (roughly the size of North Korea who also seem to like playing with rockets).
As we head further north the first signs of red dunes appears, a sure sign we are finally in the outback (apart from the big sign we just passed that said - “You are entering the Outback”).
Just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon we roll into Coober Pedy and our camp for the next 2 nights. This is no ordinary camp. Like everyone who lives out here, the homes are underground to escape the heat (and cold) so we do likewise, pitching out tent in a deep cellar like hole cut into the mountain side.
I think the mouse is having his last laugh as I drift off to sleep in a hole in the ground, hoping a giant mouse does not come and join me.
Day 5: From Mesas to Mines
“I only had enough money to purchase my water ration, a case of dry spaghetti and potatoes for food and gelignite and a fuse to hollow out the hill”. This is how many miners started their life in Coober Pedy in search for the elusive opal.
While some came to make it rich, and others to escape the law (or their wives), the reality is most of them never leave any richer. But the thrill of the chase is what keeps them returning to the mine each day, disappearing down a narrow shaft, only to resurface once the last light has gone.
Many say Coober Pedy is like a desolate moonscape with thousands of small mounds across the horizon having been discarded from the earth shafts below. I more liken them to termite mounds in the knowledge that under them are miners with opal in their eyes and hope in their heart.
The closest we would get to this was on a mine tour, but it was enough for me to realise that gambling (another name for opal mining) is definitely not in my blood.
The reason this part of the world produces 90% of Australia’s opals is not really known, but one factor, is it’s ancient seas. What was once covered by water is now a flat desert floor. The only thing that interrupts the horizon is the mesas which rise up out of the plains having survived millions of years of erosion. Here the colours of the sand vary from porcelain white to ochre red giving them the name the Painted Desert.
Sitting watching the sun set over these ancient rocks got me thinking - I wonder if there is opal in “there dem hills”.
Day 6: sunrise sunset
The sun is penetrating my drivers window provided some extra warmth despite the chilly air temperature outside the car. There is something about a driving day where you begin to notice the little things. Like the slow arc the sun takes from the early morning golden glow on your right cheek, to the midday glare in front of you, and finishing its journey outside the passenger window.
You also realise that a road is rarely perfectly straight with a constant drift left then right then left, despite there being no discernible reason for the change in direction. I sometimes wonder what the road builder were drinking the night before.
There is the annoying squeak somewhere in the back of the car that no matter what you do you will never be able to find its source. But the one constant is the hum of the wheels, every now and again changing tone as the road surface changes.
This was the pattern of today as we traveled from Coober Pedy to Henbury Meteorites Conservation Reserve, located not far from Alice Springs. Pulling into camp, the sun was telling us the day was almost over so we began setting up - then packing up - then setting up camp again (let’s just say someone did not think it was going to be necessary to book a site).
Walking out to the craters edge I am glad I was not standing here 14,700 years ago when several chunks of rock not much bigger than a fridge slammed into the earth at 40,000km/h.
As the golden orb dropped below the horizon it gave us one last parting gift as the sky and clouds burst in to a kaleidoscope of reds, mauve and yellow. A fitting end to our journey today.
Day 7: Preparing for our own Race.
“There is a lot of shit you can’t even break at home but it manages to break out here”
At any normal time of the year the Alice Springs Caravan Park would be full with a mix of gray nomads and their large home on wheels and overseas German tourists in their hired Winnebagos. But today was no normal day. Instead we are surrounded by hundreds of motorbikes, off-road cars with wheels taller than me and a procession of American 4WDs towing all manner of machines that could be found in a Mad Max movie.
Once a year 480 off-road motor bikes and 350 buggies descend on Alice Springs to compete in one of the most gruelling desert races in the world. Here, machines (and the human body) are pushed to their limits along 226km of the most extreme tracks in the country from the small Aputula (Finke) Community to Alice Springs. If this was not bad enough they then do the trip back the next day.
While today we arrived in Alice Springs to prepare for our own remote adventure, let’s hope it is less challenging than the Finke Race. After doing the last minute shopping and one beer (I promise) from the Alice Brewery, we sit and listen to the wisdom from some of the competitors that may come in handy over the next couple of days. While I think I have already experienced the quote at the beginning of today’s post, the one that I will try to remember as we hit the Tanami tomorrow is -
“Pick a side and stick to it - if you go down the middle you will DIE!”
Day 8: The Tanami and it’s 10 million corrugations
The fire is creating a golden light on the surrounding spinifex but it can’t compete with nature’s own torch as the full moon lights up the surrounding Tanami desert. We are currently camped approximate 400km from Alice Springs with a further 600 km to go to Halls Creek. It definitely feels like a million miles from civilisation.
The Tanami Track is one of those “must do” adventures due to its isolation with more than 1000km between Alice and the small outpost of Halls Creek in Western Australia. While it could be considered a short cut, the size of the corrugations ensures that time (and the car) slows down. I can only imagine some poor overseas backpacker following Google Maps in their Wiked Camper only to find themselves stranded in the desert.
As the car shakes enough to dislodge any loose fillings, there is a point I begin to question if this was a sensible plan. Based on the number of dead shredded tyres discarded on the side of the road I’m beginning to think two spare tyres is not enough. More discerning is the skeletons of cars in all manner of dismemberment left to rust and nature to consume it.
In the heat haze in the distance I see a car heading towards me. - although the closer I get I realise it is not moving, but parked directly in the middle of the road. As I slow and pull up beside it there is no one to be seen. It is as though an alien has swooped down during the night and abducted the driver. It is only the sign of a fully destroyed tyre that gives this away. You know you are a long way from nowhere when you just have to abandon your car where it is. I am left in awe at Micheal Terry who was the first to cross the Tanami in a Morris Truck, no doubt with none of the technology of my Toyota.
Pushing on into the unknown, the dust billows from the tyres obscuring everything behind me, and the haze on the horizon begins to play tricks on my mind. At some point I think I can see two humans walking along the track. It is not until I get closer that these figures turn out to be 2 Australian’s who have decided to walk from Alice to Broome. It is at this point I stop complaining about the luxury of sitting in a 4wd.
As the last embers of the fire dance in the night, I begin to imaging how long it will take them to walk to Broome with the knowledge we will likely be back at work before they get there. May be they are not that mad after all.
Day 9: Life in the Desert
Three pelicans slowly glide over the water, a small ripple being left in their wake breaking the mirror reflections of the surrounding river gums. Above them, the constant squark of the corellas echo across Stretch Lagoon. It is hard to believe that in the middle of a desert is this oasis. This is our camp for the night having spent 9 hours crossing this remote part of Australia.
The concept of a desert brings up various images including barren sand dunes or flat lifeless plains. But the Tanami, while being a desert, still has an abundance of diversity from the low scrubby acacia woodlands to the open spinifex grasslands. Every now and then small cities rise out of the red earth with thousands of termite mounds, some as tall as a house, stretching into the horizon. Then there are the rare granite mountains. Now I use the term mountains loosely as these are mere hills, but are equally fascinating being made up of multiple rock marbles stacked on top of each other. Like a game of Ker-Plunk, pulling out one feels like the whole hill will collapse.
The Tanami track is one long scar that cuts through these ecotones with barely a bend to keep you awake. If you can imagine travelling from Sydney to Brisbane but having no petrol stops, let along anything in between. Now imaging passing only a couple of cars in that entire journey.
At 129 degrees longitude east we decide to pull over for a break and pull out the bocce. While this may appear to be in the middle of nothing and nowhere, this is not your random stop but the exact border of Northern Territory and Western Australia. What better place for the inaugural World Tanami Bocce championship. I am disappointed to say I was not the winner, but even more disappointed, that I am not planning on driving all the way back here next year to take the title. I guess ‘someone’ will be able to bask in the glory for a long time yet.
As you drive along the track you come across numerous flood markers. You can only imagine once every 10 years the floods wash through this land and the plains come alive in a flush of green for that fleeting moment, and then return to their dormancy until the next rain. But there is one unique spot, along the even more infamous Kanning Stock Route, where the water does not dry up. So here I am watching the Pelicans and the sun go down over the moisture loving paperbarks, amazed in nature’s resilience and beauty in an otherwise arid landscape.
Day 10: When things go wrong
Now let me begin by saying I am only writing this now because Karen and Kathy will be on a plane and won’t be able to read it. I have obviously posted this so it does mean we have not perished in the desert. But I digress. Let me go back a bit.
The sounds of the corelllas wake me from my sleep. Unzipping the tent fly the early morning rays of the sun are just caressing the lagoon water. We do a leisurely pack of the car and then an easy drive to our next stop……..Stop.
Let’s replay this.
The sounds of the corelllas wake me from my sleep. Unzipping the tent fly the early morning rays of the sun are just caressing the lagoon water. Rising early I decide to check nothing has rattled loose from the car. It does not take long to discover that the front bash plate protecting the engine from certain death from a wayward rock is hanging on by one fingernail. Somehow 4 of the 6 bolts have decided to throw themselves to certain oblivion somewhere along the track.
Luckily, I carry some spare bolts so a quick fix and we are on our way…………..Stop.
Let’s replay this last bit.
Luckily, I carry some spare bolts so a quick fix. We decide to check Hux’s car as it surly could not have suffered the same fate.
So now there is some good news and some bad. We discover a similar thing with only one of four bolts holding his in place. But that was the good news. Looking more closely we notice some much larger bolts missing that appear to have disconnected from a much larger piece of the steering.
Clambering underneath with little idea of what I am really looking at, it becomes uncertain if this is terminal and the end of the road literally. Realising that, not only are we not on the Tanami, but on the more remote Canning Stock Route, one thing for certain is NRMA is definitely not coming here - even if we did say we are somewhere up ship creek.
So there was only one option but to become bush mechanics again and go to work to see what we could repair, remove, gaffer tape or zip tie to at least get the car going again.
For some reason out of dumb luck or fools confidence we removed what I assume was the sway bar and not the steering column and did a temporary hold to the connectors using multiple zip ties. Fingers crossed and a gently drive, surprisingly he did not go careering off the road and into the Lagoon.
So next step is to nurse the car 200km along unknown deadly corrugations to the nearest civilisation of Halls Creek. Now any sensible person would decide now is the time to get help as soon as possible. But what about Wolfe Creek Crater? It’s only a 40km diversion. We have managed to survive so far. What could possible go wrong at Wolfe Creek?
Throwing caution to the wind we head to the Crater and hope we don’t break down again and have to accept a lift from a person called Mick.
Luckily the day ended very benign compared to the start of the day. Despite travelling on the worst road so far it was worth it standing on the ridge formed from a meteorite deciding to obliterate it self into the earth 300,000 years ago creating the second largest crater in the world.
Pushing on until darkeners began to catch us, we have set up camp approximately 50km from Halls Creek. While the corellas may wake us again in the morning let’s hope we find no more missing bolts!
Day 11: The Long and Winding Road
John Lennon sang a famous song about a long and winding road but I am not convinced this is a good enough description of today’s drive. Using the similey of a winding road being like a snake seems so parse but there are not many better descriptors of our journey into Pernululu - or what some may know as the Bungle Bungles.
But now imaging the same snake with skin covered by thousands of large lumps and his body constantly rising and dipping like a roller coaster as you travel on his back. While Purnululu is from the local Kina Aboriginal language and means sandstone, I am sure they would have also called this road after a snake.
The drive into the Park is in stark contrast to the previous week of monotonous straight lines. There is a good reason why this road is restricted to 4WD’s and only single axle trailers, with its single lane track weaving left and right through the range, down through rocky river crossings and up the other side.
The only reason we made it here is due to the brilliant mechanics that got the car working (us). In a finale to yesterday’s adventure we managed to nurse the car into Halls Creek and found a mechanic to look at the car. Surprisingly, he was impressed with our work commenting that is exactly what he would have done.
Unfortunately being a ‘Ford’ he did not have spare parts. Quoting the mechanic - “If only you were driving a Toyota I would have had it in stock”. But the good news he said we could continue on with no problem as long as we don’t do any thing ‘crazy’. His advise was to even leave our bush mechanic temporary zip ties in place. A few phone calls to Kunnanurra all ended with the same response - a minimum 4 weeks wait! So it look like the rest of the trip involves me carting a 100kg sway bar on the camper roof and us checking zip ties every day!
Day 12: Bees and Snakes
Walking up the dry river bed of Piccaninny Creek, white sand gives way to thousands of smooth fist size rocks. Like a sock tumbling in a dryer, each rock has eroded over eons by the in-frequent rush of water.
As pebbles and sand crunch under our feet we eventually reach the end of Cathedral Gorge to a crescendo with a cavernous amphitheatre and vertical red walls reaching to the heavens. It’s hard to describe the visual wonder but the sound is even more mystical. With only the two of us sitting in silence, the smallest noise reverberates off the canyon walls giving it its cathedral like qualities. This is clearly nature’s own church.
This morning we wake before 6am for a 14km hike in the southern section of the park. For those that don’t know me, I am not a morning person but luckily I am still on Sydney time (and we are going to bed at 9pm) so it’s not long before we are on our first hike to Cathedral Gorge.
From here we retrace our foot steps in the sand and continue further up Piccaninny Creek walking between mountainous red and black striped sandstone walls, like the front of an Essendon football jersey. Often referred to as bee hives, they must have been some gigantic bees to create these domes of wonder. The reality is, the covering is caused by bands of algae and iron oxide eroded over the melennia.
Taking a side stream, it slowly gets narrower and narrower, with the walls appearing to grow higher and higher. At the same time the stream winds its way back and forth between the domes like honey oozing between them. It is easy to see why this is called Whip Snake Gorge, and reminds me of yesterday’s drive into the park. Again we are greeted at the end with a termination of shear cliffs.
Many people know that Uluru and the Great Barrier Reef are World heritage items, but it is clear to see from today’s hike why this is given the same rare status. One that every Australian should see in their lifetime.
Day 13: A Sore Neck
My feet are slightly aching from the hiking but it is nothing compared to the soreness in my neck. I have just spent the entire day and night looking skyward.
This morning we rise early again, this time to venture out to the northern section of the Park. Now this section does not grace all the tourist brochures and there are no beehives here. But what it lacks in bees, is more than made up for in an altogether different experience.
Many people like fast food and fly in to taste the southern park and its domes, snap their Insta-photo, then move on. But I think the northern section of the Park is its best kept secret, and I am sure the locals want it kept that way.
Here the escarpment is made of conglomerate and could easily be a twin sister of Kata Tjuta ( the Olga's) in the Northern Territory. They rise out of the plans in near vertical walls with their tops carved into the shape of bowler hats. In between these blobs of stone fused over 300 million years are hidden valleys and gorges.
Our first hike is Homestead Valley which cuts deep into the range. What was one pastoral land, management was returned to its traditional owners in 1976. Walking further into the bowels of the mountain we pass livistona palms that grow like jack and the bean stalk, reaching for the light.
If my neck was not getting sore yet, the next gorge was going to fix that. If anyone has seen images of Antelope Canyon in the United States, they are narrow slot canyons where the shardes of sunlight illuminate the walls in the middle of the day. Well we have our own, if not better and more appropriately named Echidna Chasm.
After walking up another palm lined creek, the walls begin to close in on you. The further on up the stream the narrower they get and the taller the walls until you can barely fit sideways between them (well Hux anyway). Vertically above you the narrow slit of blue sky now becomes your only natural light source.
But the light show really comes alive as the arc of the sun slowly moves over the slot. Light rays bounce around like a ping pong ball creating multiple shades of orange and red on the shear walls.
Reluctantly leaving, we make our way up another creek line, this time to Mini Palms Gorge. Now there is nothing mini about this with the track requiring you to negotiate over fridge sized boulders. And the end is also far from mini, with a natural amphitheatre big enough to hold the crowd at the opera house. With very few people doing these hikes we were fortunate to have them largely to ourselves.
If we had not had enough of craning our neck skyward, what better way to finish our experience of Purnululu than spend the evening watching the sun light up the range followed by star gazing. As the last visitor packed their car and disappeared into the dust of their vehicle, we set up our chairs to take a front row seat to the best theatre show around.
As the sun sets behind our backs the rocky monoliths light up in a blaze of reds and orange. But it does not end there as it goes through several metamorphosis as the light changes.
With no one else for miles around, the birds enter a flurry of song before settling into bed for the night. As darkness sets, the reds of the rock become ink black and even darker than the night sky. Above these shadowy cliffs a million stars turn on their own lights.
Despite the dulness of pain moving down my spine I could easily spend the rest of the night gazing skyward into the depths of space watching the shooting stars trail from one horizon to the other, and giving names to every one of the stars above.
Day 14: a short post
With all that has occurred so far, I will give you a rest for today. This was a travelling day as we left Purnululu and made the drive to Kununurra.
Technically this is actually the beginning of our trip with the last fortnight just a prelude to the main event. Karen and Kathy arrive tomorrow having taken the easy option to fly in to join us.
We are currently camped on the banks of Lily Creek Lagoon but have all the luxury of a caravan park. I suppose that means I need to actually have a shower tonight!
