Tramping tales for June 2013

“Travelling and Freedom are perfect partners and offer an opportunity to grow in new directions”  (Donna Goldfein)

Getaway was hitched to SKV in readiness for the storage spot at the back of Mount Carbine’s caravan park at first light. But in the early dawn, for the first time ever, SKV refused to start! We fought away the anxiety attacks trying to enter our heads as a neighbouring camper came with his truck and jump leads. Definitely not the new batteries! All so heart stopping as thoughts of literally MISSING THE BOAT! Twice we have tried to do Cape York beginning with MV Trinity Bay. Third time lucky by booking ten months in advance, we’d managed to gain the last cabin available for the first sailing opportunity 31 May 2013.  Matty! We’d seen this permanent resident in the Park fix tourist cars and George hurried to his site. We tried to keep calm in the waiting. Lo and behold, almost immediately Matty miraculously got SKV going and warned us “NOT TO STOP – as the solenoids needed replacing on the starter motor”.

We had a reprieve but who and where to go in this eleventh hour was now the question. The earlier we found a mechanic the better our chances of having the job done, before the day was done. Hastily we dropped off Getaway and hit the road – deciding to try Mt Malloy then Mareeba. Each negative response filled us with dread. Eventually it was sorted and we shot down the Great Divide to Cairns for a last minute ‘shop’ of a small gas cylinder before we were able to relax and recover over an early dinner with Muriel (Lappin) in her home. It still rained in Cairns but we were snug and dry inside SKV parked at the Cascade Caravan Park for the night – mighty relieved all had come right!  

Well before 8.30, morning of Friday 31 May, we had dropped SKV at the Sea Swift Freight Depot to be craned aboard the merchant ship carrying general cargo, MV Trinity Bay.  As we wouldn’t have access to our truck throughout the voyage, we were able to leave our travel bag inside the depot, rather than carting it round the city until passenger boarding time of 1.30pm.

We walked the length of the waterfront and gained a whole new positive impression of Cairns CBD, enjoying a delicious and leisurely brunch in the Salt House (Yacht Club)

As we strolled back through the CBD the name Ben Quilty caught our eye on a large banner and our brains did a speedy 360 tick-over on why the name rang a bell. It helped to notice we were outside the Cairns Art Gallery. Very recently we’d seen Ben Quilty, the official War Artist in Afghanistan on ABC’s Australian Story. What an unbelievable opportunity to view a touring exhibition “After Afghanistan”. We hastened in for our last hour and received the best five dollars worth of soul food in a long time. The artist’s thick layers of oil depicted ‘diggers’ in a loose style that unusually captured the inner tensions of the soldier and not a detailed external appearance. Besides Quilty’s very moving work we discovered Linde Ivimey. This remarkable sculptor’s work totally blew us away. Her exhibition “If Pain Persists” consisted of images frequently adorned with bones. Words can do her no justice. Her incredible and inspirational imagination using such simple materials created images with striking impact.  With a long standing interest in skeletons, George was deeply intrigued to see the route she had taken with bones. Time had sped by and we had to drag ourselves away.

In an unlikely waiting room - a green shipping container on Wharf five, we mustered with 24 other passengers in readiness to board MV Trinity Bay, taking us up the Marine Highway to Cape York. This voyage was seeded in our minds aboard Discovery One in far north Western Australia, August 2006 by fellow caravanning folk we’d bonded with after an  exhilarating ride in a high-powered inflatable up the Horizontal Falls.

Bear with George’s sheer pride in the loading of his beloved truck into prime position in front of the wheelhouse.  Inevitably the most photographed vehicle aboard, SKV’s welfare throughout the sailing was shown due concern by other passengers too!

We may have boarded early but once we had been shown our cabins and given the low down on the rules of a freighter in comparison to a luxury cruise by a very competent Purser- Jude, we were free to kick back and enjoy life on deck especially the loading of cargo until dinner at six. Meals were buffet style, after the crew had taken their fill. Everyone was starving having missed lunch but no worries - there was plenty to go around. We found it delicious fare. So much so, we didn’t arise for breakfast as two meals a day were more than enough.

Late evening, the huge crane was finally folded away and MV Trinity Bay steamed out of Cairns into the Great Barrier Reef Park or Coral Sea. Since all passengers were of senior status, most retired early. Down in the cabins the engine roar took some getting used to – no wonder ear plugs were available. Most men slept like babies and many wives were glad not to hear snoring for a change as the stable vessel chugged northwards throughout the night and all next day. That first full day at sea was very relaxed as we made acquaintances, watched the coastline or simply read books until the Purser split the passengers into two groups for a visit to the wheelhouse. Here, the Skipper, an ex South African and commercial fisherman from Port Elizabeth gave us a most informative chat on the internal workings and navigational techniques used on the vessel. That night MV Trinity Bay rendezvoused well off shore from Lockhart River to unload one lot of cargo going north and the second load on their return south.  A group of us stayed up to watch the crane lift a large container, sweep it across the deck and skilfully deposit it into the bobbing barge alongside on a dark night. Some swear it narrowly missed SKV!

Sunday morning we were advised that we would be entering the Albany Passage shortly before rounding the northern Tip of Australia and passengers began congregating outside the Bridge early to get the best views of the beautiful surrounds to a gap of water running between the mainland and Albany Island. Somerset, an old township site overgrown by the rainforest lay hidden on the mainland – remnants of the Jardine family’s big dream of a settlement that in time would rival Singapore as a shipping port between Asia and Queensland. The ‘dream’ failed as a result of this treacherously narrow channel. (More about Somerset and the Jardine’s later). It was difficult to work out quite what was the most northern tip of Australia as we rounded the land mass and spotted a few stone cairns then a beacon and further away a lighthouse! The iconic TIP was a tad confusing to say the least. 

Passed Quetta Rock, the site of Queensland’s worst peacetime maritime disaster dating back to 1890 before entering In the Torres Straits surrounded by a myriad of islands. Finally we reached the biggest, Horn Island, where most of the cargo was to be unloaded in the little port. Many Sea Swift vessels would be coming to meet Trinity Bay and collect their weekly cargo for distribution throughout the Torres Strait Islands. While this was accomplished by the crew we’d elected to do two tours. The first -  ‘In Their Steps’ – a virtually unknown Australian Heritage story of Horn Island and the part it played as a large Australian and American air force base during WW Two as a key defence against the threat of invasion from the Japanese, and it too was bombed several times. We were lucky to have Vanessa Seekee as our guide; she came to Horn as a twenty year old. Her first posting as a teacher, in a remote area for two years and never left.  Marrying into a well known Islander family they brought the wealth of historical content to the notice of historians and through ongoing research put together the Torres Strait Heritage Museum. As curator, Vanessa and her husband Liberty have put together a tour of the Island and its history for those with an interest in the war and early days of settlement during the tourist season. In the Wet she happily reverts to relief teaching. We enjoyed the opportunity to stretch our legs back on land while seeing and listening to anecdotal history before time to see over the museum and our two and a half hour tour was over. We were returned to the harbour for a short ferry trip over the bay to Thursday Island for the second tour. 

Somewhat dismayed when we were simply taken up to the main street and dropped at the hotel for a ‘coldie’ never mind we could hear live islander music and Irish country songs floating out. We chose instead to ‘look around’ and spotted two old churches down the street; the one being the Quetta Memorial Church built in 1894 in memory of lives lost on the British Indian Company’s ship R.M.S. Quetta. It sank within minutes after tearing her bow and bottom open on an uncharted rock outside Albany Passage. Lea popped in and saw how the ship’s bell and compass bowl had been incorporated into the building.  Some of the pews were deck seats from the ship even a porthole, lifebuoy and flag were poignantly on display. Fortunately there was more for our money and that was definitely worthwhile. Frank by name and frank by nature was our delightful Torres Strait Islander guide who took us round.

Thursday Island was chosen as the next strategic location after the failure of Somerset as a Government settlement because of its relatively deep harbour and shelter from the SE trade winds and NW monsoons; its proximity to the Prince of Wales Channel, the only deep water navigable channel through the Torres Strait from the Coral Sea to the Arafura Sea. This historic sea lane was used by all the famous explorers and seafaring traders dating far back.   

The view from Thursday Island’s Green Hill Fort looking across to Horn Island. 

From the top of Green Hill – the highest point on the island, a fort was built in 1880 in response to the perceived threat of a Russian invasion. We have encountered this inherent ‘fear’ before; not only in Australia but Africa too during our lifetimes that it was strange to see this ‘anxiety’ dating back even further!

Most intriguing was the cemetery.

For a community of Torres Strait Islanders eking out a frugal existence in a remote area with a high cost of living we were amazed to observe the high priority given to the deceased. No expense spared in demonstrating devotion and respect. Large and elaborate tomb stones (some priced around $35 000) are ordered from Italy to make their way across the sea for unveiling a year after a passing.  Clan totems are placed upon graves. A complicated ritual follows death and this requires money in the feeding and caring of the bereaved. Frank explained how his mother had wished for a bush to be planted upon her grave and cared for by her family as a symbol of her continuing involvement with her family.  On the opposite side we were shown a Japanese cemetery which contained the graves of 699 Pearl Divers from a time when Thursday Island’s economy was based solely on the hazardous pearl shell industry. The government of Japan pay the Torres Strait Islanders to maintain this cemetery much like the War Graves are cared for – not that we saw them in the same pristine state as we have seen war grave sites kept. Lea’s observations dating back to Darwin and during this brief visit - Torres Strait Islanders take pride in themselves and their culture with an open, welcoming nature.   

Our final destination, Seisia was not far off - 2.5 hours and yet we had another night on board as docking was influenced by the tides. During the midnight hours engine noise ceased and the odd knock or bang alerted us in sleep, we’d arrived and the vessel was being unloaded. Five communities in this northern end of the peninsula awaited their weekly cargo and diesel supplies.  We were up early to bid farewell to new friends, Christine and Peter Belcher, from Nelson Bay, NSW. They were amongst a small group taking an early morning tour out to ‘The Tip’ before MV Trinity Bay’s homeward return to Cairns.  The rest of us disembarked at ten in the morning.  The majority were a large party from Bathurst, NSW taking OZTOURS back down the peninsula. We could see SKV standing at the back of the dock, having been swung off the boat during the night. Bill and Elizabeth Murphy were able to watch their vehicle and trailer come out of the hold along with Marian’s vehicle. This plucky lady, an academic from Melbourne Uni, was travelling alone down the Cape and around the Gulf of Carpentaria into Arnhem Land with her swag. Her vehicle equipped with mighty “fat tackies” George would barely lift let alone change a wheel. These three had sent their fresh and frozen foods with the ship only to find that foodstuffs would only be unloaded after 2 p.m.

There are many early accounts of people that have explored the York Peninsula. Some tales captured our imagination before we got here and will be recounted as our own explorations take place. Robert Waterhouse of Mt Carbine mentioned the first car to make the journey to The Tip.  Since we were more than interested, he produced a photocopied article from ‘Automobiles create new Demands’; sadly no date or author’s name. Lea couldn’t resist making notes so that 86 years later we could compare the landmarks mentioned, albeit we were doing the journey in the opposite direction!  Our synopsis of this mighty adventure follows in order to maintain a thread of continuity... 

Back in 1928 two adventurous New Zealanders decided to drive from Sydney to Cape York to explore the Tropical North wilderness. After considerable effort they persuaded a car agent (no car hire in those days) to take a substantial deposit on an Austin 7 and in return they would keep a log and take photos of the journey. IF they reached Cape York, the car became theirs and they would ship it to Thursday Island and sell it. Dick Matthews, the driver and his mate Hector MacQuarrie the scribe. Their journey was first published in the newspaper before being printed in book form as ‘We and the Baby’ 

Confidently setting out in mid year, they took the inland route as far as Rockhampton only to choose the coast thereafter as more interesting, more people and more things to see, they made it to Townsville. [We did this coastal trip, in fact it was the first road trip we ever did during a visit to Australia with Daniel and Justine (over from England) in their ‘rent a wreck’ days after their engagement in Jan 1995; That coastal road was a rough and narrow tarred road with sharp and broken edges and we rarely saw the ocean. As we passed each town along the way we blessed ‘Got-us-here’, as it did just that with no mishaps other than two bad punctures that required new tyres.]  Matthews and MacQuarrie had no money for spares and other than the usual spare wheel and a few second hand wheel spokes they borrowed a spare magneto and a tarpaulin.

Against the advice of the A.A. they continued up the coast to Cairns, as the inland route added hundreds of miles to their time and budget.  Few if any cars had travelled the full Townsville/ Cairns stretch in those days. Near Tully they encountered the first deep creek and in crossing the fan sprayed water over the engine and they spent hours trying to dry it out. Mention is made of this because they learned a valuable lesson in the waiting; another car came up to the creek, ignored their warnings, hung a sack in front of the radiator and crossed with no trouble!  There was NO road between Cairns and Cooktown as the gold rush tracks had all but disappeared under mountain slides and weathering. [We took this Bloomfield Track in 2006 and described it as “76 km of excessively steep ascents and descents, hair-pin bends, un-bridged creek and river crossings” which Lea found hair-raising and Bill Bryson more aptly described as “dangerously and unnervingly tippy even in good weather” in his book ‘Down Under’]  In Cairns, a policeman who’d worked on the Peninsula regaled them with tales of the terrible Archer River, devil-devil and melon-hole country, as he helped them plan their route and arrange for fuel supplies to await them ahead. [Reading this was enough to make us gulp in these modern ages and be somewhat relieved that Queensland has not received its usual seasonal rainfall!] Matthews and MacQuarrie planned on a 3 week trip but the Copper assured them they needed 9 months.

They took the Cairns /Tableland road and mention passing through “the poor dead old town of Carbine”! [Judging from the fine but derelict infrastructure with a foundation stone dated 1978, Carbine has certainly waxed and waned over the years]   Although Cooktown was not on the direct route north, they decided they may as well claim the honour of being the first car to enter town overland from the south.  Cooktown, “about dead”  as a result of abandoned goldmines, years of bad seasons for cattle due to drought and ticks and no tourists! Elections were coming up and while ‘Baby’ was being serviced and brakes repaired, two Pollies arrived in town. MacQuarrie spoke on behalf of local residents for the desperate need of a road connection. Over 20 years elapsed before that happened!  To save a bit of time, the men and ‘Baby’ took the train from Cooktown to Laura. It possessed the train station, one store and one old hotel shaded by mango trees. From Laura, they took the roughest of tracks with grass over a metre high as they followed a line of tree blazes. A few cars had been along here and included a missionary who’d driven his Ford from Laura to Weipa.  The Kennedy River was crossed with much difficulty to reach Lakeland cattle station where two punctures were fixed. ‘Baby’ was the 4^th to ever do the Lakeland to Stewart River stretch in those days.

This was devil-devil country and MacQuarrie’s description reads “Devil-devil occurs on great infertile flats subject to yearly flooding; if wet, it would not be difficult to sink from sight in it.  The roots and stems and other low stunted growth apparently hold up the rubbish which is being slowly swept across the flat by floodwater.  Sand and mud join the compote and the end of the flood sees a close succession of hard little mounts rising from a few inches to as high as two feet.  Each little mount, a kind of porcupine mole-hill, is hard, and a car is tortured as she plugs along with each wheel at a different level.” 

Block and tackle was required to get their little car up the McIlwraith Range to Coen. They concluded “Coen is slowly dying” as residents had just been advised the school was to close! Taking the Telegraph line from Coen they averaged 6 punctures a day. At Deep Creek they entered the creek bed ok but it took 4 hours to get out the other side using block and tackle.  It was here the missionary’s large car had stripped gears and remained for many months until an expedition from Weipa with spares and mules were able to extricate it. MacQuarrie credited their success in crossing, to having a British manufactured car and its lightness!

Arriving at the Archer River with rugged cliffs, jumble of boulders up to 10m in diameter and an estimated width of 500m Matthews and MacQuarrie followed cattle pads.... and over many hours were able to locate and clear a track through the boulders. On the way to Mein Telegraph Station they encountered ‘melon holes’. These were caverns the size of melons just under the ground surface-.horsemen dread them as they are fatal to their horses/animals as they so easily break a leg. However there were also long stretches of hard country and  recorded their best speed of 16 kph. [No misprint – we double checked!]  After a day’s rest in Mein they left the telegraph track for Merluna and Weipa as fuel awaited them in both places and advised a good wagon road would get them through to Weipa. The deep ruts cut by wagons were extra hard on “Baby” though.

Fully stocked in Weipa they recrossed the York Downs to rejoin the telegraph line at Morton Station. There was no track and no car had ever been that way.  After four bad crossings at Cox’s, Moonlight, Necktie and Lydia Creeks, patches of melon hole and devil-devil  they arrived at Batavia River [now Wenlock] and with the aid of a bag over the radiator made it safely to Moreton. Finally they took the telegraph line to the Tip. A road that is a challenge to 4X4 vehicles today! The numerous creek crossing were worse then, so the difficulties they faced were tremendous. It had also started to RAIN.

The Jardine River was a serious challenge and eventually they had to build a raft attached to the stern of a little boat and drive “Baby’ onto the raft.  With the help of four Aborigines it took them another 2 hour to push this unwieldy ‘barge’ to the other side. Nine more punctures from Bush Turkey to the Telegraph Station at the Tip. They had done it! A couple of days later they transported Baby to Thursday Island on the cabin top of a small launch.  Baby was sold to a daughter of Frank Jardine who, with his brother Alexander had undertaken the long cattle drive to Somerset in the 1870’s.

In our minds, characters from the past already begin to link up and connect in a sense of place in far north Cape York and we could hardly wait to start exploring. Leaving Seisia, we made the short distance out to Loyalty Beach and set up our rudimentary camp with table and chairs in a shady spot beside SKV. On opening the suitcase, stored on the roof rack, everything was soaking wet. Never mind George had assured it would remain dry even covered it with a tarp for further protection. It could only have been Cairns rain, days back! In such humid conditions we needed to get it out on lines as soon as possible. While George tied lines to trees, Lea trotted off to the laundry line with an armful of soggy towels only to see and hear a bunch of brumbies, in obvious alarm thundering towards her. Not the bravest when it comes to horses she shot into the bush in fright.

     

The brumbies pulled up close to our Loyalty Beach camp site and spent the afternoon grazing around us, much to George’s pleasure.

George had his best view of the endemic Palm Cockatoo, a large slate black bird with punk styled crest and red cheeks when excited. It had disappeared by the time Lea was around and never seen again. In the cool of evening we walked the length of the beach and spotted Marian setting up her camp one end and then found Elizabeth and Bill’s comfortable camping trailer set up the other end with no sign of them. We returned to Marian and found her dealing with broken eggs before returning to our site to make our meagre supper before the light went. After meals on Trinity Bay anything was a letdown! 

Still no sign of the Murphy’s as we pulled out of Loyalty Beach early next morning keen to reach Pajinka before the mobs began to queue for the iconic photo on the pointy tip of the York Peninsula. We were joining the pilgrimage or rite of passage that draws so many to the most northern tip of Australia. A journey that took us through Bamaga, the main centre for the far north with supermarket, tavern, bakery and small shops before taking us 35km out into the rainforest. Warned the road wasn’t good and we conjured up the worst and of course it wasn’t bad at all although we did dent our rock tamer in an unexpectedly deep rut. 

 

The Lockerbie rainforest was picturesque indeed and we didn’t meet another vehicle. A brief sighting of Palm Cockatoo with some Sulphur crested white Cockatoo had us stop but they were gone in a flash.

Emerging into the car park we found one ute and an Oztour high clearance, robust touring bus. Alongside Frangipani Beach one camper in the only campsite.  We took the rough path, many have trodden up and over the rocky headland to Pajinka (the Aboriginal name for The Tip). Barely over the first rise we met up with the large Bathurst Group from our boat trip, returning from their ‘pilgrimage’. 

Wild and windy with views in all directions across the Torres Strait – WE DID IT!

Close to the spiritual spot, a man and his wife were trying to regain their breath after the effort of reaching The Tip. Luckily, George was able to take their photo enabling the old chap to ‘finally cross it off his bucket list’ and he returned the favour for us. A plaque nearby marked the life of another old fellow whose “lifelong dream was to make it to The Tip”. It wasn’t to happen and his family brought his ashes.

In the overcast conditions it had certainly been an easier trek than the more usual heat and high humidity and as we returned across the rocky outcrop, we encountered an ever increasing flow of people. Whew, we’d done it at an optimal time as Jude had warned of backed up queues that develop for photographic evidence!

We moved on to the Eastern coastline to see Somerset and hopefully camp overnight beside the beach overlooking Albany Passage. We were somewhat stunned to find it a busy place with the Bathurst Oztour mob enjoying a midmorning ‘smoko’ and the camp site looking particularly crowded. George did a recce and found a quiet spot close to the Somerset grave yard overlooking the beach. We stayed.

Can’t resist slipping in the photo of SKV coming through Albany Passage here to give a wider vision!  

With the advent of steam powered ships frequenting the Torres Strait between Europe and the Far East an official presence was required in the Cape York area to control the gateway to Australian colonies. In 1863 a ship arrived carrying the first official white settlers under John Jardine, a Police Magistrate from Rockhampton to form the settlement of Somerset. Jardine and party created quite an infrastructure before Somerset was found to be most unsuitable.  In 1865 Jardine’s sons, Frank and Alexander carved a name in history for being the first white men to successfully make their way up the Cape York Peninsular herding 250 cattle and 15 horses. This was an epic journey of 1100 km from Rockhampton to Somerset, travelling the western side of the Cape. Little known, is the fact that up to 72 Aborigine people were killed along the way and Frank’s notoriety was to steadily grow. He became Police Magistrate for a short time and lived out his life at Somerset running his cattle station and terrorised the local Aboriginal people. That he established a cattle station in this rain forest covered area defies logic as we saw no suitable grazing and with a nickname “Devil Man” we could understand the great spiritual significance Somerset Beach has for the Aboriginal people as a symbol of their cultural survival.   

There was to be little let up from the SE winds that hammer the eastern coastline at this time of year and George had to seek out a bit of corrugated iron to protect our gas flame at our camp.

That afternoon we recognised the familiar forms of Bill and Elizabeth Murphy down on the beach and we hailed them. We all took a walk, the length of the beach. We always look for croc tracks out on the sand as Lea longs to spot a saltwater croc out sunning. We found nothing but feral pig spoor around the mangroves and returned to our site for sundowners with Bill and Elizabeth. On walking back to the car park with them we noticed an ‘I WOZ HERE WALL’, an ingenious rubbish sculpture drawing attention to the amount of litter left behind in an area that requested you leave nothing but footprints!  During the night the clammy atmosphere awoke George and he suggested a walk on the beach. The tide was high and the overcast sky made it a dark night. All the croc-tale warnings flickered through Lea’s head making it rather nerve racking to be so close to the water edge. However, when George cast torchlight along the wave line to reassure her, a multitude of ghost crabs danced and scurried into the surf. A beautiful spot but the sinister lurk out there!  On arising next morning we found the large group of families camping together had quietly gone. We went up to see the ruins of the old Jardine homestead and saw the white brick-lined double grave of Frank and his wife, strangely no headstone and un-named, not far off among the many old mango trees before moving back to the western side of The Tip.

We arrived at Punsand Beach to spend the rest of the day and a night and promptly smashed our very utilitarian plastic bucket, stored up on the roof rack as we passed under a low branch. We settled into a choice spot with shade, overlooking the beach. Not that we were to need shade as bouts of drizzly weather regularly moved through. Having come through many creeks we found muddy water had seeped through the back door so there was a good deal of cleaning and washing down to be done, without a bucket!  Mindful of the red dust that had been sucked in during our Great Central Road crossing we decided sleeping in such dusty conditions was not on... We sacrificed one of the ‘ryan towels’! It was cut in two, and each folded to create a wadded excluder for either side of the door. It worked a treat and George thinks it’s worth patenting! Well after midday we heard a familiar voice through the bushes shielding us from the next site and there were Bill and Elizabeth manoeuvring their camper trailer into position.  We left them to it. Next, Marian turned up to look over camping options at Punsand Beach, it all seemed very social. Later the Murphy’s invited us to tea and delicious chocolate cake under their camp canvas, out of the drizzle. Conversation turned to Africa as Elizabeth had visited Botswana. They appeared to be riveted by our African life experiences - particularly Bill, who professed an inner anxiety leaving his familiar comfort zones. Unusually, Elizabeth was the adventurer and off to Antarctic at the end of this year.   Later that night, we were tucked up for the night when through the dark came Bill’s voice “are you still awake?” He hadn’t been able to get over our stories and needed to suggest we offer our services as guest speakers on cruise ships! We were sorry to leave them next day swopping contact details and promising to look them up in September when we attend Leecy and Chris’s wedding, as they live close to Killcare on central N.S.W.

We stopped in Bamaga in hope of a much needed bucket and were lucky to find one on special. Thereon we made for the Jackey Jackey airfield named in honour of the courageous young Aboriginal guide who had served Edmund Kennedy’s first overland expedition to Cape York in 1848 up the very difficult East Coast of the Peninsula. At Weymouth Bay, eight men were left behind and at Shelburne Bay another 4 men remained. Striving onwards with Jackey Jackey, Kennedy had almost reached his goal when he was fatally speared by Aborigines at Escape River. Jackey Jackey buried Kennedy, hid his personal belongings and journal before setting off to meet the boat at the scheduled location. Only Jackey Jackey and two others from this expedition of 12 were to survive. We came across a couple of memorial markers on Kennedy’s route and noticed geographical features on the map named after Kennedy and Jackey Jackey. (A native grass Galmara carries Jackey Jackey’s real name). There were a couple of WWII plane wrecks and a DC 3 crash sites surrounding the airfield. We chose to visit the DC3 as it was nearest to the track less travelled that led southwards to the Peninsula Developmental Road. The drizzly weather persisted making travelling pleasant as it suppressed the dust and temperatures. We were headed for the Jardine River National Park – our first opportunity to check out camps in the North Jardine Camping area. The mighty west flowing Jardine River was our first big wild river system.    

      

[An aside - Soon after our arrival in Qld we noticed warnings to pre-book campsites in national parks and reserves on the Peninsula. Campers had to purchase an e-permit before arriving at a camping area. There were three three ways to obtain this. Easiest probably online but a department office or authorised booking agent and a Park phone number were other options. Sounded simple until other factors came into play! Some first time visitors have a tight time frame and obviously make dates accordingly. The likes of us have no idea when we will arrive and whether we even want to stay in a place until we have looked around and seen what is available. Theoretically, Parks made it all seem so easy but it was a time consuming nightmare. George began with the internet to obtain a customer reference number. Finding something was wrong with the Parks webpage he held off until Cairns to find the Park Office and book directly. However, even using their own computer they too could not secure a booking. Eventually George used the expensive method – the phone and in time.... we’d finally secured two nights in Kutini- Payamu (Iron Range) National Park for 10/11 June. Public opinion was ‘forget camping in parks- too complicated’. Unless you know the area and know the site- Forget it!  The site unseen aspect along with our ‘park date’ placed us under pressure, psychologically. The Iron Range seemed a long way down the map.] 

Developmental Road - large blue signs read Camp site must be pre-booked in National Parks! When the track to the Jardine North Camping came up we followed it down – more signs around the ‘entrance’.  Within – unkempt even for a bush camp. Horrid little sites with no views in the few camps we saw and no indication anyone had been there. So overgrown we couldn’t see the river let alone the position of the original vehicle crossing on the Old Telegraph Track. Dreadful!  We returned to the main road and headed to the Jardine Ferry Crossing. This river is well known for its deep clear, fast running water, crocodiles and barramundi fishing! It is recommended travellers cross with the ferry. We were on board and over so fast but wondered what it must be like in peak season. In spite of the season having started much earlier this year we were seeing little traffic. We weren’t charged for the ferry but later learnt coming from the north, you pay $129 Return. Southern bound are assumed to have paid!

We pressed on, with an eye out for an easterly access around Mistake Creek to ride some of the famous Old Telegraph Track. The OTT is the remnants of an original track that ran due north up the centre of Cape York to construct and maintain a telegraph line from Cairns to Thursday Island. It opened up communications in the Peninsula during the 1880’s. Two wires, one up and one down; sent Morse code via repeater stations along the way.  This line was upgraded to six wires and radio signals for the Second World War, when threat of invasion highlighted a need for better communications. Constant maintenance required linesmen spending months at a time in the bush, so camps were set up along the track. In 1987 the Repeater Stations were closed down giving way to more modern telecommunications. Today, a modern microwave radio system and optic fibre exists. The Cape York Adventure was and still is steeped in the adrenalin rush and challenge of driving the ‘Telegraph Track’. The Developmental Road has over-ridden most of the Track’s history and only the section between Jardine River and Bramwell Junction remains, thanks to the bypass. A sign to Fruit Bat Falls indicated that we’d missed earlier, if any access roads to the Telegraph Track.

A sandy track wound its way between trees towards Fruit Bat Falls – Day Use only with good facilities and a board walk to the river. Nothing had prepared us for this lovely Eliot River spot made up of a broad expanse of crystal clear water flowing shallowly across a wide rock shelf before a short horseshoe drop down into an emerald green, sandy bottomed pool. From there it throttled down through a rock lined passage. We paddled in the upper reaches above the falls, looking at a large pothole, carved basin-like, into the rock platform before we took cover from the periodic drizzle and went back to SKV for lunch. During which time we were more than amazed to see a convoy consisting of two vintage caravans (Evernew and Coromal) and a motorhome arrive in the car park. Parking was difficult as not much length available. No one expects caravans here!  The rain clouds moved on and a bit of blue with sun had us dig out our bathers and dash back to the falls and join a good crowd enjoying this beautiful place. It rivals any of the waterholes in the Territory and that is high praise from us!  Lea’s neck and back received an excellent massage beneath the cascading water. When our skins looked like prunes we withdrew and decided we would go see more of this Eliot River further north.

       

Just off the boardwalk George noticed a stein shaped capsule of a Pitcher-plant! Wow, there lots more in the looking... This carnivorous plant has tendrils at the end of each leaf that curl around adjacent vegetation to give the ‘pitcher’ a bit more stability. The insect is trapped inside by the lid!  

Here we were, faster than thoughts, bumping around on the famous Telegraph Track studded with ruts and rocks before splashing down into a muddy creek with water swirling up Lea’s doorway and a glimpse of number plates nailed to a fallen tree like a head count of lost vehicles.        

A cluster of waterfalls were to be found 5kms north from Fruit Bat Falls on the Eliot River. All situated in the Heathlands Resource Reserve, a section of Jardine national Park. Nearby, is a fully service campground split into two sections with at least 30 sites all up. We drove round both and were glad to see a quarter occupied and subconsciously ticked number 11 as one that appealed to us. We continued further along to the ‘Day Area’ with another nice board walk through to the river. Eliot/ Twin/ Indian Head Falls- all rather confusing and we needed an information board to get our head round the twists and turns in the river and the different waterfalls.  Canal Creek is a tributary entering Eliot River just downstream from Eliot Falls.  Each, very different and full of interesting features; we saw so few people too, we could only think the overcast skies kept them away.    

  

   

Waterfall Day in Cape York- a divine congestion of them!

After exploring this idyllic area and taking a few more dips we couldn’t bear cutting it all short and moving on to who knows where in the last light of day. We decided to recheck the campsites at nightfall and take up an empty one. Self-registration is no longer possible – probably as a result of abuse but “E- permits helping to sustain the growing demand for camping at Parks and Reserves on the Peninsula” is laughable.  It’s lost revenue, full stop! A high popularity area at peak times, justify an E-permit system. By dark, Twin Falls Campground hadn’t even reached half its capacity. The odd vehicle that drove around seemed to have the intention of just taking a site for the night as an E- permit would have taken them directly to their booked site.  Number 11 gave us a night’s rest although Lea’s imagination played restlessly though her head and she wanted to be gone as soon as day broke!  Returning down the Telegraph Track to the unnamed creek had also loomed bigger in her head. The grey weather didn’t make it conducive to returning to the river for breakfast and we decided to return to the Developmental By-Pass Road and swing back onto the Telegraph Track near Sailor Creek. As for the ‘scary’ unnamed creek crossing – it was crystal clear and mild as a baby! We refer to as Number plate Creek now. 

The Telegraph Track had a Roads Dept. camp above Sailor Creek and the track was a well maintained road virtually through to Cockatoo Creek. Hard to believe it was the Telegraph Track! It had obviously been upgraded as a detour during the laying of a section of bitumen on the PDR (Peninsula Development Road). We arrived at Cockatoo Creek in time for breakfast!  Campers were pulling out of beautiful campsites under huge tree canopies overlooking the strongly flowing Cockatoo Creek. There was also a first class toilet block. A large new shelter provided us with a fine place to have breakfast. Well, it was, until a million or more flies intervened. After breakfast we walked down to the crossing. On our map this creek has a caution: Beware of large potholes in creek-bed! The southern side looked shocking, steep and deeply incised as an exit. Our side was soft and muddy.

Telegraph Track’s Cockatoo Creek.  Good timing! Breakfast entertainment about to begin...

It requires testosterone loading and back up! However, these two lads carefully waded across checking where the potholes were. One marked the worst by standing in it and his mate returned, to drive across. Just watching, was adrenalin pumping, as he practically nose dived down the far side into the water and began weaving his way across in a Z before pulling up the north side’s slippery bank. Lea clapped in relief, from her vantage point high on the bank and speaking to them afterwards – the driver admitted to being “- - - - scared” and then offered to guide us across. We weren’t GAME to take the risk; it was enough having watched them. We returned the 15kms to the PDR and reached the first of what were to become many regular sealed bitumen sections specifically for safe passing in thick dusty conditions.  We had encountered surprisingly little dust due to all the moisture in the air and our ‘ryan excluder’ was still pretty pink. Nor had we met with much traffic as we travelled.  

We were looking out for the ‘Lost Camp LXXXIV’ Memorial to the Kennedy Expedition. Opposite this, was the turnoff to Heathlands Ranger Station and Gunshot by-pass. Gunshot Creek is the ultimate challenge on the Telegraph Track as it is extremely steep and hazardous. You have only ‘done’ Cape York if you have crossed ‘Gunshot’ – it’s a testosterone aspiration!  Painted across the back of a large road sign ‘R B is Gay’. Labels irritate the hell out of Lea and a topical conversation on cruelty and bullying followed until we reached the windy top of the Richardson Range with rain clouds sweeping across from the east. We stretched our legs at the Kennedy Memorial before trundling on down the road towards Gunshot. Until we had second thoughts! Was it worth a 64km return trip just to observe? We turned and continued back down the PDR to Bramwell Junction. We had toyed with a night at Bramwell Cattle Station as we’d heard there were lots of ‘mombies’ mooing which appealed to us. However, another foray into the most southern end of the Telegraph Track beckoned. Lunch hour gave us plenty of time to check out Palm Creek, mentioned as good camping. The crossing: cautioned on our map as ‘very steep and slippery entry and exit banks’. The Roadhouse at Bramwell Junction was busy as we pulled off down “The Track” at the back of its forecourt with only 4 kms to travel. Wasn’t long before we reached a creek crossing with surrounds that didn’t make for good camping in any stretch of imagination! We eyed the creek suspiciously and George padded across. Fine, over we went.  At the correct mileage we found Palm Creek crossing and it definitely fitted the description. In fact, it appeared the northern side had proved to have such a sharp lip drop over with deep gullies that folk had cleared another steep entrance a little further east to access the water in a controlled slide! 

A monkey rope proved irresistible for a swing over the creek. George certain a muddy landing in the ‘drink’ would occur!

We retired to the truck parked to good advantage high above the crossing and began making our lunch. It wasn’t long before trucks arrived. Two Nissan Patrols were intent on crossing. While the gang inspected – a father, obviously on the adventure with the young men crossed over the creek with his ‘billy’ to make a cuppa and watch from the opposite bank commenting to us “big boys playing with their toys”.  The first Patrol slithered down and revved up the other bank to predictably grind to a halt in a deep gully.  Reversed back into the stream bed and now tried to ascend the drier but far steeper alternative; nearly flipping in the process before running back to the water’s edge and perching there. His mates gathered at the driver’s window for a ‘pow-wow’. By now a ‘Tag-Along’ contingent had arrived on the scene. The ‘paid’ leader of this big touring group took a look at the Palm Creek situation and commented that the charity raising ‘Variety Club’ had been through, hence the state of the crossing!  We overheard him tell his unlikely bunch of adventurers “If clutch burns out, $3,000 for a Tow-Truck’! It all added to a sense of drama. The second Patrol let it’s tyres down and it tackled the crossing with cameras clicking in all directions. This driver made it to the lip but could get no further. His mates attached his winch to a tree out of sight and the driver was able to winch himself up and over the lip.  With one Patrol safely over, the second with his exhaust bubbling under water managed to reverse back for as much of a run up the original exit before lodging again in the deepest gully. Thereon, a snatch strap was used to extricate him. They were A for away, up the Track.

Churning water, noise and action provided stimulating entertainment for our lunch hour.

Camping at Palm Creek didn’t appeal and with an afternoon stretching before us we decided to return. At the little creek we saw a couple leaping around to train their camera on SKV. They had made the same mistake as us and told them so. We continued on to the historic Morton Telegraph Station, where it took 20 minutes to register. The poor owners were in the midst of making an E-permit booking on behalf of a foreign tourist!  We made camp under an ancient mango tree close to the riverine fringe of tall forest along the Wenlock River. The owners had directed us towards this area as we were very keen to find a Cuscus. A strange and beautiful nocturnal possum (originally, its bare face and bug-eyes gave rise to tales of ‘monkeys’ in Cape York). This is also a popular place for bird watching - over afternoon tea we pleasurably contended with a cheeky Brush Turkey before taking a stroll down to the Wenlock River- a declared Wild River Region. Down at the bridge we thought of the NZ adventurers using the trick of a bag over the radiator to make the rough crossing safely over to Moreton. Well after dark, with George’s treasured LED Lenser torch, we went spotlighting for a Cuscus. All we got was a good sighting of a tawny frogmouth.   

Next morning, we made for Weipa, on the shores of the Gulf of Carpentaria. We hoped to take the Batavia track – which our map warned could be closed for mustering!  All went well, it was open. ‘Baby’ had come across here en route for Morton Station after restocking in Weipa and there had been no track let alone a car ever having come this far. For us, a rough and ready track was no longer...

The Batavia road to Weipa was an absolute treat to travel; beautifully constructed and cambered it allowed enjoyment of long views and open savannah.

This was a big wide open space, distinctly Australian especially when a roo bounded across the red gash of a road. We fear roo sightings are becoming almost a rarity. We barely saw another vehicle either. Close to York Down Station we crossed Moonlight and Cox Creeks with ease and never saw the other two creeks the NZ chaps had bracketed together as ‘four bad crossings’’ and definitely no patches of melons or devil devils. At York Downs we turned back onto the PDR with a change in conditions; ‘care for country’ fell apart with litter and far more traffic than we’d seen in a long time. Dry conditions had a fair bit of bulldust, like talc, kicking up behind us and we saw our first snake and unbelievably a ‘meat pie’ sized terrapin scrabbling across the road. We were going faster than ‘Baby’s’ 16mph and George refused to turn back saying terrapin would be in the bush and safe by the time we’d about turned.

Weipa Caravan Park gave George a lovely camp site with an outlook over the Mission River estuary – so wide it looked like a bay and they offered him free tickets for a sunset cruise with Western Cape Eco Tours! Lea’s disbelief and certainty he must have misheard despite the evidence of tickets even began to have George question why this good fortune had befallen us. A load of laundry went on while George found our kettle handle had come adrift. In a “flash of brilliance” that was fixed. Housework done we walked up to the Weipa shopping complex and found it a hive of activity. Woolworth had little in meat and only a couple of loaves of frozen white bread. The local Bakery had no bread! So much for fresh food!  We realised it was a Saturday and learnt a big Fishing Competition taking place had cleaned out the place. All we managed in replenishment was a bit of mince in a butcher shop.

We spent the afternoon exploring Weipa and in a search for fuel at Evan’s landing we spotted Toots Holzheimer Road. Lea had read “Toots” the pioneering truckie lady just before leaving Mt Carbine. Evans Landing is where she dropped off her cargo and after thirty years of servicing the Cape York community in her M.A.N. diesel truck, she called her ‘Old Girl’. The freak accident occurred here, doing the job she loved. A crane had loaded pylons onto her truck and she chained them safely down ready for the loading of a last one. Toots took her usual safe cover under Old Girl. Tragically this time round, steel plate protruding from the side of the pylon was small enough to fit between the ‘duals’ where she was hiding and it crushed her. This mother of ten and grandmother had brought up her younger kids from babies on her Cairns/ Weipa Runs. Even a grandchild, a new baby, had endured the heat and dust travelling across some of Australia’s most inhospitable terrain, inside ‘Old Girl’.  This was a granny not to be toyed with; she hefted 44 gallon drums loaded with diesel on and off her truck by hand and refused to allow others to touch her freight loads. Toots serviced and repaired her own semi trailer and slept rough under it as she plied her trade up and down Cape York. Slim Dusty, amongst others wrote songs about her.    .  

   

Our Sunset Cruise in overcast and blustery conditions.

Once on board we soon gleaned this was virtually an inaugural outing of Western Cape Eco Tours. We came to the conclusion the Weipa Fishing Competition had clashed with the original formal opening and it had been cancelled. Thereafter, a party of ten had booked for the Sunset Tour – and with no further takers as Saturday rolled by; simply to bolster numbers George was offered complimentary tickets. Out on the water, a wind had come up making for choppy conditions. This wasn’t helped by a bulk storage super tanker being brought into the Embley River Estuary mouth by tug boats. It had come in to load bauxite at the Rio Tinto Alcan wharf. Host, Dave, informally gave commentary on the surrounds. Once we’d crossed the estuary into Roberts Creek we were able to enjoy calmer waters with complimentary champagne, beers or soft drinks and an array of nibbles. Having never seen Frigate Birds, to watch them effortlessly wheeling in the sky with their forked tails and narrow wings, was the highlight for us. The wind had dropped by the time we returned and took a short journey out into Albatross Bay – only to see another large tanker bearing down on us. It too, kicked up a wake as we followed it in. Overcast skies brought darkness quickly. Well aware of the Gulf’s reputation when it came to crocs; it was easy to feel a little anxious given the close proximity of two big estuary mouths separated by the little Weipa peninsula. Perfect croc habitat! Waves smashing at the bows liberally sprayed many of us that it was a relief to reach Evan’s Landing. The group reminded Dave, they hadn’t paid. $60 per person was collected back on the shore. He merely glanced at our complimentary tickets – perhaps he knew there were two freeloaders aboard. We couldn’t help feeling equal measures of embarrassment and pleasure that we hadn’t had to pay! We didn’t fancy trying to prepare our supper under torchlight and drove to the Weipa Bowls Club as we’d seen its adverts up for reasonable meals. Their dining room was crowded and we felt wet and windblown. Thankfully, take away pizza was available and we jumped at that option.

Leaving Weipa back along the PDR Lea recalled that in Toot’s day, those first transport trucks would take 24 hours from the Weipa turn-off to traverse the 100km road into Weipa! We would have taken 2 hours, only we loitered many times along the way. Stopping to see a dark dingo cross loping across the York Downs; a white bellied Sea Eagle feeding on road kill with black kites and for a good length of time we observed Harriers gliding slowly along the grassy verge with us, following behind. We were never able to make out what they were feeding on. And, we didn’t go as far as the turn-off as we stopped at Merluna Station. We’d chosen to stop here overnight to cut down on the time consuming mileage to the Iron Range National Park. Tall grass lined the track on both sides into the station. At the homestead gate, what we thought was a line of white rocks rose into the air as we approached. A sign- Keep the gate shut and the cattle out! We liked the place immediately! The spacious campground edged with clumps of large spreading trees. Large flocks of yellow crested cockys, marked patches of white across the yellowed native grass, kept short throughout the grounds. Shrill squeals of galahs, rose as one for whatever reason their bird brains dictated, only to swirl around and land again. Thirteen ibis strode between the two varieties of noisy flutterers. Most of the day, rain squalls blew through and the birds were a never ending distraction and fascination, as we read our books from inside SKV.

Another ancient mango to camp under at Merluna Station. The regular sudden cloud of colour, whoosh of wings and startled bird cries remain a lasting memory.

Our next destination was Chili Beach on the east coast taking us through the Great Dividing Range on the Lockhart River Road. Alcohol Restrictions abound up in the Cape Peninsula and a big sign warned Alcohol Prohibited in Lockhart River. Almost immediately cardboard boxes with the distinguishing colours of XXXX Gold and Carlton Mid-strength began to turn up as litter in the bush with the inevitable trail of gold and red cans cast aside the track all the way through to our turn off, into the National Park. Lea began counting but they were so numerous she gave up.

We’d been warned the road was ‘bad’ by people we spoke to but we didn’t find it so. Slow, yes with ever changing conditions and rough patches.

We forded the Wenlock and Pascoe Rivers and on up into the rainforests of the Iron Range National Park. The thought of cassowary in the rainforests had our eyes peeled with no luck. Entering Chili Beach with our E-permit number we wondered what kind of site had been randomly allocated.  Most were empty and we were relieved to find our number 16, at the southern end of the campground, protected from the beach by a narrow fringe of coconut palms and large inwardly leaning trees. We were delighted.

Rain cloud rarely cleared and the wind was incessant just as everyone warned. Nevertheless, we found the state of the vegetation on the high water mark fascinating.

Everywhere we looked was evidence of cyclone induced storm surges undermining bases of coconut trees, toppling enormous forest trees and leaving their roots to look like mystical ‘faraway trees’. Amongst all the tree trunks, upturned roots and branches lay coarse fragments of coral deposited by the tides. Intermingled in all this was a horrifying mass of plastic litter. Many strange shaped bottles never seen before almost like medical containers. We were appalled to think that in spite of strict regulations to protect the Great Barrier Reef, a World Heritage site, on the very doorstep - all this rubbish lies on one beach. Two coconut trees at the entrance to our site had been adorned with thongs washed ashore. Names carved into the rubber before attaching them to a trunk formed a totem pole artwork.

We did a concerted ‘womble’ over a stretch of beach and placed it outside our site; too much to load in our truck and cart away. Later, we read most of the litter is from other countries, carried here by ocean currents. It is a reminder how small actions elsewhere have a global impact.  

After supper, Monday night, we took a night walk on the beach and spotted a navigation light flashing on Restoration Island close to the northern end of the beach (Captain Bligh first landed here after the mutiny on the Bounty). South, in the direction of Lockhart River we noticed a lot of lights flashing and winking well off shore. We quickly put two and two together and became pretty excited knowing it was MV Trinity Bay delivering the second cargo load on their return to Cairns. The rain became heavier for our last night and during a break George went out spotlighting with instructions to return for Lea only if he found Cuscus or a Condra python. He saw cane toads along the campground road and up an overgrown walking track he came across a gathering of wood frogs ‘quacking’ away. This had been our last opportunity of seeing Palm Cockatoos or Cuscus. Two nights up and we’d had enough of this rain and left early to check out Portland Roads, just north of Chili Beach. Strange name for a place! 

It turned out to be a tiny community living in an idyllic setting tucked safely behind Cape Weymouth overlooking a protected cove. It was picturesque indeed and full of history. During the 1800’s it had provided safe anchorage for Pearling fleets and Sandalwood cutters. By the 1930’s it became the port for the busy Iron Range goldfields. American and Australian military arrived here immediately after the Battle of the Coral Sea in WW2 to urgently construct the Iron Range Air Force Base and install fortifications on the Cape Weymouth headland overlooking the harbour. The ‘beach front’ offered accommodation in Portland House, Portland Roads Beach Shack while a well named and most inviting looking “Out of the Blue Cafe” offered breakfast on their verandah. We were so, so tempted as a good hearty breakfast would have gone down well in such an atmospheric place. We looked at each other in our unwashed, unshaven and bedraggled state – definitely not presentable. A rusk and some water had to suffice from inside SKV as the drizzle returned.  

We returned along the Portland Roads Road (such a mouthful!). Near the Claudie River noticed a Cuscus crossing- we so wished we’d seen one. Back at the Lockhart River Road we turned east and went down to the coast, looking forward to seeing the jetty where Sea Swift cargo was brought into. We found an Aborigine Community set upon the bluff; mostly Toyota vehicles in different stages of disrepair, littered properties and dogs! Dogs! DOGS!  They took ownership of the roads disregarding our vehicle. Some remained sleeping unperturbed as SKV detoured round them. The locals went about their business with total indifference to a lone Toyota touring the streets looking for a route down to the water’s edge. It was if we simply didn’t exist - so different to Thursday Island or even Africa. So off-putting we didn’t even go into the unusual Aboriginal art fronted supermarket said to be well stocked just promptly left the town.

We crossed the Piccaninny Plains, a critical corridor linking the east and west coasts of the Cape York Peninsular and also the floodplains for the Wenlock and Archer Rivers which meander across these plains.  This is the area where the ground surface looked deceptively dry and solid to those early travellers but underneath the black soil – it was like quicksand that has no bottom.  Trucks would sink into the quagmire and the more they tried to get out of the bog the more the truck sank in. We had none of that on some perfect gravel and some bitumen looking across thick, long tawny colour grass. Lea recalled that near the Merluna by-pass road Toots had found a bogged truck. She’d offered to help the young men and they promptly told ‘Granny’ where to go in no uncertain terms. More fool to them! On her return from Weipa they were still there; she waved and no doubt quietly smiled as she passed on. The infamous dust had certainly started accumulating on the back of our truck. We even noticed the east side of the road had green trees and bushes and the west side were all a grubby red, indicating wind direction. We were through to Archer River by lunch time and as George registered for a night in the Road House campground, the first big oversize trucks carrying dongas (prefab house – not a deeply eroded gully as in Africa!), semi-trailers and bowsers rolled into the forecourt from the south. Amazing to think we have travelled this far without encountering one on the road!

A memorial stone to Toots found fittingly, in the midst of Archer River Roadhouse parking area. Toots had been a regular here and brought in the building materials for the original roadhouse.  

We set ourselves up in a pretty spot on the well-lawned campground overlooking the Archer River floodplains with horses and cattle grazing and thick riverine forest just beyond, an easy stroll down to the river itself. An Oztour guide slowly walked her large group of seniors down to the river after their picnic. Watching the slow and doddery, it promptly brought to mind Tim Winton’s book “Dirt Music” in which he uses the acronym SAD for old people travelling and explains it as See Australia and Die!  We say ‘good for them’ at least they are not vegetating in an old people’s home, waiting to die. The Archer River features in all tales and the ablution block marked two flood levels for 1992 and 2006 (both associated with cyclones). We had come across on a very benign looking low level bridge and found it hard to believe the NZ lads had a difficult time, eventually resorting to following cattle pads to get through a jumble of boulders!  Even Toots had commented that “getting through the Archer River with its many boulders and swirling waters, was a major drama”. However, during the course of the afternoon we noticed folk returning wet from the river. Late afternoon, more Senior’s ‘tumbled’ out of Oztour tough buses and almost immediately took to the Archer for a dip. Interesting! What about Crocs? The Archer is another of the Yorks Wild Rivers...We left our books and set off to explore the river further. There were huge boulders further afield from the bridge The sandy floor and sand spits with fingers of clear shallow waters running through reminded us of the Lugenda River as it passes by Nculi Camp in Niassa, Mozambique. The Archer too, grows to be almost 2km wide during the rains.   

Lovely Archer River especially capturing a Semi Trailer coming over!

The next day we travelled through the McIlwraith Range to Coen. Toots considered Coen to be roughly halfway to the Tip of the Peninsula. It seemed an interesting little place and it hadn’t died because its school was closing in 1928 as the NZ chaps had suggested back then. We drove through it as George was more interested in Port Stewart on the east coast, once a source of supplies to early settlers.  We looked for the Three Sisters (blind hills) leaving Coen that Toots always dreaded. She and her husband Ron reckoned they had trouble every trip here particularly on the third hill. The PDR must have altered the road to avoid them and as an historic landmark they weren’t marked on our map. A couple of signs warned of ‘dust holes’ but they were hardly the devil-devil’s we’d imagined.

The steep decline down the Great Divide was too cloudy for long views. Oh my goodness... the very nice road had led us to ‘nowhere’!  George probably thought he’d come across another special place like Portland Roads for the night.  Instead Port Stewart is merely a fisherman’s launching site into Princess Charlotte Bay. There were a few rundown shacks with mangrove covered mudflats adjoining the Stewart River estuary.  We came across a tented camp close to the boat ramp and knew this camping area was a rough tough spot for men and their rods. Not for us, and returned the 63kms of surprising good gravel road with a good section of bitumen up the steep pass.

Nearing the PDR and about to ford the Stewart River, George noticed SKV’s odometer turning 250 000. Above the crossing, Lea took a celebratory photo of a well travelled Toyota and its driver.

Back on the PDR we continued to Musgrave Roadhouse travelling over the Lukin and Coleman Rivers which along with the King,  provide abundant water to the region making for pristine countryside with gum, coolabah, box and ironwood trees as we rose over the and up and over the Bamboo Range. Toots saw many truckies come to grief on this range. We could be forgiven for wondering if we were back in South Africa seeing a Spion Kop and then a Boral Pad!  Back in the early days, this notorious Range (and it included the three sisters closer to Coen) was the very reason why freight was shipped to Weipa.  Even then, freight had to be offloaded on Thursday Island and then reloaded onto a lugger to finish the journey to Weipa. The PDR wasn’t always a deep red colour as we travelled it. There were stretches where road colour alternated through tones of red, yellow, ochre, mustard, white or pink according to the adjacent soil types and in some instances the type of material brought in for road construction.

Arriving at Musgrave Roadhouse, we were the first to enter the campground and fortunately went towards the far corner away from Saltwater Creek. We gained a bit of the shade, from two huge trees with deeply spreading branches on the historic homestead border. This had been the Telegraph Repeater Station. Fortified inside to protect the family! We were amazed how many kites flew in and out of the mighty boughs until we realized a large chook pen between the two big trees, lured them in for the chicken grain. No sooner were we well settled in our site, with kettle on; than the mobs began coming in – No S.A.D’s!  School holidays must have started. As these were mostly families who literally reversed back against the campground fence in laden trucks, cheek by jowl. Then set up tents and swags – obviously in some kind order which we didn’t comprehend. Cape York Peak Season was beginning. Even caravan convoys rolled in and set up miniature ‘laagers’. While the campground changed from parkland into a busy camp community, we observed the road juggernauts. We’d hear them coming towards the far side of the creek with a clattering noise as they changed through their gears. A little splashing over the engine noise, and sound changed to a grinding as they slowly rose out of the creek with their heavy loads.  A couple of hundred yards on, they pulled in for a break at the Roadhouse. We took a walk to the junction. East went to Lakefield National Park and PDR continued south to Laura. At the junction stood and ancient mango tree with the graves of Billy the packhorse mailman and Thompson a Telegraph linesman. 

    

The following day we took the eastern road to Rinyirru or Lakefield National Park, said to give Kakadu a run for its money. Smatterings of gingery grevillea beginning their flowering as George slowed to inspect spoor in the road dust. Cattle!  We were reminded of QLD government’s proposed initiative to counteract the drought conditions in the northwest by allowing cattle to find grazing in national parks, some many weeks ago. The Federal government came out against the idea. We feel it is a dangerous precedent as it is not just a matter of grazing it’s the adverse impact cattle have on water resources.

We were very taken by Nifold Plain; flat and treeless grassland dotted with termite mounds.

Travelling through this vast Nifold expanse, George was reminded of the Savuti with termite ‘animals’ grazing until some moved... We counted around 20+ heads of cattle way out there. A few more were seen further along, attracted by the water pooled along the length of the road. When we came across two of the unique corypha palms, Gorongoza came to mind. We crossed the Morehead River, one of the three large rivers that overflow to flood Lakefield before draining into Princess Charlotte Bay.  The Hann River crossing area further on appeared to be an attractive place to camp. Mighty old mango trees surrounded the old Breeza Homestead, so characteristic of those long ago times with their value as shade and food. A lagoon of white water lilies there disorientated us briefly. We soon came to the correct White Lily Lagoon and there, spotted a flock of magpie geese roosting in the paperbark woodland fringing the water.  Nearby was Red Lily Lagoon, a wetland full of lotus plants so dense we could see no water. We walked out to the viewing platform to see these tall green leaves rising out of the lagoon. What a spectacular display must be had when the lotus lilies are in flower. We could only see an odd dab of red.  We had our first introduction to the Normanby River at Kalpowar Crossing camping area. Normanby and Kennedy Rivers are the other two big Lakefield Rivers. We’d like to have camped but were not prepared to bother with the rigmarole of registering so we continued on our way to the Kennedy River and had lunch one of the Kennedy Bend roadside camp sites. The route through Lakefield had been the dustiest we’d encountered- plenty of bull dust and George’s cap and right side of his face changed colour as the fine talc settled on him through the open window. Even the hairs in his ears became ginger! We recalled Etosha, Namibia when as a family we were all ‘aged’ by fine white dust throughout our visit there. Our personal view, Lakefield lacked Kakadu’s grandeur and at the junction to Cooktown and Laura we went west.

We found Laura a one street town off the PDR. Hard to believe it had once been an important supply centre for the Palmer River gold rush and the terminus for the Cooktown- Laura railway. A rail line the Qld government had agreed to fund from Cooktown to Maytown but only got as far as Laura.  It had provided a lifeline for Peninsula folk and, it was easier to endure the 3.5 hour train journey than walk or ride for three weeks! [The Austin 7 “Baby” came by rail from Cooktown to here as the NZ blokes were running behind time]. The wet season regularly wiping out the hazardous track from Cooktown to Laura and it would have to be remade. After setting ourselves up in a campsite behind the old Laura Hotel we set off to explore. Opposite the hotel little remained of Laura station other than four steps to nowhere and a small ware house.  The railway was closed in 1961 after the PDR was built to connect Cairns to Weipa and the following year the rail line was dismantled. A quaint old jail had been relocated here for historic sake and said to house 18 prisoners.  Must have looked like a tin of upright sardines!  Walking the two kms out of town we followed a little track down to the Laura River to see the remnants of a rail bridge to nowhere...One of the “great white elephants in Australian railway history”. Concrete pylons that once supported an impressive railway bridge built in 1891 leading to the Goldfields. Unfortunately the gold rush was over before the rest of the track laid.  On our return, we passed the General Store and Post office next door to the Hotel. Here, we were first distracted by the ancient petrol pump outside the old store and then by dogs. A ute had just driven in with the typical strong cage on the flatbed divided into two compartments for two dogs.  On board, hunting dogs! The biggest one – a kind of wolfhound wearing a reinforced vest (we think!) as in the past, we have seen the larger dog with a breastplate. The second dog is usually of pit-bull breed. Throughout the Cape, in particular at roadhouses we have seen very bold signs warning that DOGS must remain in vehicles. We don’t think they are referring to little household doggies but Queensland’s Pig Dog hunting fraternity. We have seen a few and even as we passed the vehicle parked outside the hotel – that quiet warning snarl from the smaller canine was a little alarming. 

   

George decided to top up with diesel next morning and as he paid, he enquired about an Austin 7, reported to be kept in Laura. GOOD GRIEF! It turned out to be under our very noses. Neither of us really knew what an Austin 7 looked like – our minds simply pictured a vintage car from the past and yet we’d still missed it!  

The Austin 7 outside the Laura General Store and Post Office.

Standing before this tiny sardine can of a car; barely bigger in length than our arm spans; totally brought home what a feat had been achieved in 1928. Not for a minute would either of us consider crossing any of the Peninsula Rivers in that. It would have been like a floating bucket. Mercy! To think, we’d turned from crossing Cockatoo Creek in our big toughie with snorkel and, that Lea had the twitches thinking of number-plate creek after crossing it...  After we’d left, we wished we’d ascertained who actually owned this Austin 7 in Laura. In the photo-copy we’d read by the un-named author; it had been most interesting to note the author himself had owned a fully restored 1928 Austin 7. No doubt, as a passionate owner he’d written his piece, fascinated by the whole adventure. At the end he had particularly mentioned the Austin 7 having as much power as a large drive-on lawn mower; only 3 gears; no synchromesh; a clutch that could not be ridden; a crankshaft approximately 20mm in diameter and, highly ineffective brakes by today’s standards. All these facts swirled in our heads as we returned to the Lakefield National Park road which would take us through the far southern end to Battlefield Camp Road and Cooktown. The following extract is taken from George’s personal diary... 

With our CYP adventure fast drawing to a close whether we liked it or not, the time had come to head for Cooktown. It lay 130km away, along what is known as Battle Camp road. En route we called in to see Lake Emma on the eastern edge of the Lakefield NP then, at a high point from which we obtained our first view of the Battle Camp Range, I stopped to take a photo. The only problem was there was no camera where it should have been! Panic set in!

Had I left it at the General Store in Laura while buying a postcard of the Austin 7? Had it dropped out of the truck at the entrance to Lake Emma where we’d got out of SKV to read the information board? Had it been stolen off the dashboard where I often leave it? I tried phoning the store on our satellite phone but the number we had, no longer in use. The thought of having lost the entire record of our trip to the CYP made us both feel utterly sick. For peace of mind the decision was made to return to Laura. While thinking of my precious camera having been stolen and of irreplaceable photographs LOST. I began to hyper-ventilate as we drove … In my thoughts, I began retracing every action taken in Laura.  This brought me to my backpack in which I normally leave my wallet and made me wonder whether I had put my camera inside it, instead of my wallet. I crossed the Little Laura river and promptly hit the brakes. And there it was, safe and sound in my backpack! The relief was quite immeasurable! An old fellow like me should have learnt by now not to panic and jump to conclusions.  And we laughingly turned around once again, feeling a lot happier and resumed driving back towards Cooktown. 

Lea’s only embellishment to the story “Stupid, stupid OLD john”!

Third time along part of the road, we were back at THE View, that set off highly charged emotions and quiet bedlam internally. And, George took his ‘shot’ of Battle Camp Range!   

After the ‘Camera drama’, Battle Camp Road proved wonderfully scenic with a little buzz of adrenalin crossing the Normanby River as we slithered and slipped on exit.  We journeyed through to Endeavour Falls Tourist Park at the top of Mt Unbelievable, some 30kms from Cooktown. Rich farming land and our eyes captured twin calves gambolling alongside their mother, no more than a young heifer herself.  Inside the resort, we found a thickly grassed campground with many tall palms demarcating sites. Rainforest edged the upper reaches of the Endeavour River at the back of the campground with a short amble down to Endeavour Waterfalls. We got rid of most of the Cape York trademark of red mud and dust. George washed down SKV and Lea did all the laundry. Last load done first thing next morning and taken through to Cooktown in a wet state so we needed to find a caravan park on arrival to make sure our bed linen dried out well. The Peninsula Caravan Park on the edge of town suited our needs. The informality of the unpowered clearing amidst large paperbark trees protected us beautifully from the SE trade winds we have come to know well on the east coast.  We had spent a day in Cooktown after travelling the Bloomfield Track in Nov. 2006. Then, we’d visited Australia’s oldest Botanic Gardens and spent hours in Nature’s Powerhouse. We’d also seen a little of Bicentennial Park and the site of Cook’s landing. This time we were keen to see more...

The Endeavour Estuary from the top of Grassy Hill and lighthouse. James Cook repaired his ship in the estuary and climbed the hill several times for its panoramic views in all directions which helped him to navigate safe passage out through the surrounding reefs.

Grassy Hill underwent major re-development in 2010 and we thoroughly enjoyed this historic Lookout with an access path painted in the shape of a serpent winding up from the car park and edged in tiles personalised in quirky ways. A fella and his dog, Family names, child handprints and dates of birth at the hospital, local businesses just to name a few giving snippets of personal history through these little ‘windows’ of public artwork. It was pretty windy up there and we returned to the Webber Esplanade and found many fisher-folk busy on the Old Wharf, with rods. Aside from the usual ‘Achtung” signs warning of crocodiles there was an A-frame warning of a very recent sighting in this area.  We long to see one of these nefarious creatures cruising!  Hunger was grabbing us and we went in search of a supermarket – and bought a cooked chicken. First bit of fresh food in a long time and we hurtled back to camp to enjoy it and get out of the wind.  Once there, we became entrenched and didn’t have the will to visit the cemetery or risk finding the Museum closed; being a Sunday. Decided we’d go first up, in the morning.

We were outside a fine old building, housing the James Cook Museum, bright and early. Only to have a gardener tell us it wouldn’t be open for another hour. On such a beautiful sunny morning we were happy to walk the length of town to kill time. Parked by the old Fisherman’s and strode up into town.  We saw the Jackey Jackey Store built in 1886. A general store for a hundred years, it had kept up a flourishing trade with New Guinea. Now it served coffees.  In the Lion’s Park we found the Old Town Well that supplied water to the town and shipping. It is now a water-feature but George read when they cleaned it out, 3 cannon balls and a skull had been found! Cooktown water comes from the Annan River.  Below the Cook Monument and Cannon (requested 1885, fearing Russian Invasion!) we were delighted by a Musical Ship - “Rhythm is the vessel, Melody is the Cargo.”

Amid ship are chimes, in the stern a Thongaphone, the Gunnel had Tok-Toks, Cargo was a Drum and on the Prow Marimba Seat, George made music.

The hull of this ship was made of more than 500 metres of recycled black polyethylene irrigation pipe welded together.  The entire ship was 9.5 metres long and 7.5metres high, weighing two tonnes. It took a team of four artists five months to complete. Very impressive!

We shot up back to the Museum, originally a convent school built in 1889. The girls had the steepest, narrow, spiral metal staircase up to their dormitories. They weren’t allowed to use the formal stairway! There was lots to read and look at especially the anchor and cannon from HM Endeavour, Captain Cook’s ship, jettisoned after striking the reef and seeking refuge in the Cooktown estuary.  Time had marched on and we left Cooktown on the Mulligan Highway for the mysterious Black Mountain National Park. Robert Waterhouse had given us a mud-map directing us to Trevethan Falls in the back of the Black Mountain Range. We bounced and lurched our way up the track and parked in a clearing when we could go no further. From there we made our way on foot virtually following the sound of water. 

Trevethan Falls was in Traditional Owners’ country and of major cultural significance. This had a 30 metre fall of water, with spray creating damp and slippery conditions on the rocks, surrounding the pool.

The name ‘Lion’s Den’ attracted us from our Zimbabwe days and we recalled passing it at a very early hour of morning, towards the end of the Bloomfield track in 2006. Not being in a hurry to end our Cape York adventure, we decided to take the Helensvale road out to the historic Lion’s Den Hotel and camp there.

Full of atmosphere and mining history – The name Lion’s Den, coined after a miner Daniel was found standing in the mouth of the mine, across the road. Miner’s signature and pay packets with a tab of how much they have each spent adorn the walls. It is now a very popular drinking hole and resting place on the Bloomfield Track.

      

It was a relatively quiet campground with plenty of space for campers and a single row of powered sites for caravans when we entered rapidly changed by evening.  We were steadily hemmed in by groups travelling together and wanting a suitable spot to camp. Their engines spoiling the silence of the bush as they tried to turn in the confined road behind us and eventually stayed put, engulfing a couple that had come in on bikes and set up tent not far from us. When we thought it couldn’t get any worse, two trucks squeezed their way through and with nowhere else to go pulled up beside us and prepared their roof tents for the night. Two mature men and a younger fellow on their big adventure to The Tip.

An orderly and seemingly well co-ordinated mass evacuation out of Lion’s Den took place next morning.  We rejoined the Mulligan Highway travelling south and crossed the split eastern then western sources of the Normandy River, a last time before arriving in Lakeland. It is here the PDR strikes north to Laura and for the rest of our journey to Mount Carbine we were back on tar (PDR starts from Mareeba and is tarred to Laura). Passing a big banana plantation we were intrigued to see large bunches covered in plastic jackets being carried along an automated conveyor line into the distribution shed.  We’d thought to spend the night here but decided to push on to a camp site beside the MacLeod River that Matty & Pam, back at Mt Carbine had told us about (local knowledge!) We had been steadily climbing over the Great Divide and thought we were over until we reached the Byerstown Range and looked at the map to see the broken country of Australia’s Great Dividing Range actually  stretched in inland a fair bit. This range gave us a superb drive of views and we certainly didn’t suffer “wash out, crabbing across loose rock and bouncing around precariously close to edges that plunged down the mountain side”  that Toots dealt  with as she sang seventies song, “Coming in on a Wing and a Prayer”.  We stopped at the crest with its Look-out and information board. Shelter was there but NO information. Just two different notices attached to the poles. The first seeking information on the ‘removal of large information boards giving history on PDR’ and the second decrying the vandalism for what account. They had apparently been cut down, taken away and discarded in the bush – burnt! This is a crying shame as they are expensive productions and provide much interest to the travelling public. We have always been impressed that during our travels – information is to be found in these far off corners of the country in good order bar the small percentage of self indulgent graffiti artists. We sailed past the Palmer River Roadhouse and at Maitland Downs stared out west towards Maytown and surrounding Palmer River Goldfields, once Australia’s richest alluvial field.  17,000 Chinese miners were there in its peak. We’d like to have gone to the area but Maytown is a ruin with an extremely difficult trek to get there. Coming down the Desailly Range, we looked out for Bob’s Lookout and Mt Elephant landmarks to guide us into a Station track westward and a crossing over the MacLeod River.  We found it! A heavily bearded bloke was having ‘smoko’ outside his ancient motor-home, with a ‘caretaker’ sign across the front. He happily allowed us to cross the river and take a look at the camping situations, before making a decision to stay. Some pretty spots down river but with no facilities and $10 per person a night we felt it was pretty steep. ‘Getaway’ was a mere 30kms on.  Mount Carbine became a far more inviting option. We were safely ‘home’ in no time. 

  

SKV ready for oil change service, the earliest available in Mareeba, 26 June, over a week away. We happily stayed ‘put’ in very busy Mount Carbine Caravan Park for nine days. We’d stored Getaway in a line of two others- now there were at least 20 in storage at any one time with all the comings and goings. This kept us entertained when we didn’t have our noses in computers!  Our new site was private with a corrugated shelter overhead and in the thick of the birdlife – but no signal, not even the weak ABC channel, we’d managed on arrival.

Writing up our trip, we reflected on the surprisingly few creatures seen...   

         

Long time since we have seen a large goanna or monitor lizard. That was at Lion’s Den. The cheeky Brush Turkey attacking our biscuit barrel on our table was up at Morton Telegraph Station. Other than the roo bounding across the Batavia Road and another marsupial that left us pondering, on the road out of Laura – a small sized wallaby, squatted beside a dead one of equal size (road kill) and only shot back into the bush when we were almost upon it. Generally the wilderness area lacked larger macropods. The Agile Wallaby in our photo was taken in Cooktown. We found a few grazing outside SKV when we woke up in the morning.  Two had joeys.  The large and unidentified snake was on the York Downs section of road to Weipa. We saw more snakes, a lot more than we usually do! All, as we travelled along and they were too fast to capture on camera. Two long slender snakes on the rainforest road alone en route to Chili Beach (now you know why Lea was refused to go cuscus hunting by torchlight!). Another disturbed by road works, it ‘whipped up’ fast as we narrowly avoided running over it. The final one was a bright green slender one in an area of forest. We think they were tree snakes  but there are so many colour variations amongst the species  Robert Waterhouse lent us his book “Diary of a Snake Whisperer” by Adrian Walker, to help us with identification. George drove Lea crazy reading it, as he literally cried with laughter on many occasions. Curiosity getting to her as she tried to do her computer work.

With no fresh food we have eked out the remains of our camping trip and frugally made “do” with what was available in Getaway’s cupboards until we go into Mareeba. Long life milk came to an end and we walked down to the roadhouse to see if they had any milk.  Traffic on the PDR busy as we approached the narrow bridge. Unexpectedly, George leapt into the air and Lea naturally thought he’d seen a snake ... Fortunately only a ‘bindi’ (nasty 3 pronged prickle) lodged between his sandal and heel. We’d no sooner paid for the milk that a chap coming into the roadhouse told the owner-“two black snakes were fighting outside”!  We all dashed to a window and at first couldn’t see anything on the driveway. George mentioned it wouldn’t be a fight but courtship!  Then movement, on the side of the grassy bank we’d walked across, caught our eye. Two slender slate coloured snakes ‘danced’ together, each approx 60cm in length.  We couldn’t believe our luck and dashed out the door with ‘warnings’ thrown after us.  Closer, we were able to discern their distinctive yellow throats and pale blue bellies added to the spectacle of twirling and entwining like ribbons. They seem oblivious to what was going on around them. A couple of overseas tourists came to see what we were looking at and he promptly pulled out his mobile and George encouraged him to go even closer.  The girl asked if the snakes were fighting and Lea explained it was a mating ritual. After a good ten minutes of observation we left the snakes to it – thrilled to bits to have witnessed a rare occurrence while cursing we’d had no camera on hand for a video clip.

A day or two later, Robert told us a snake of matching description had been seen on the grass near the water tanks and another, inside plastic piping surrounding a tap beside our  path to the ablution block. Torch used now - never mind the super moon! 

Finally we filled in the Cape York Peninsular on our wall map that has, until now, remained elusively empty during our many travels, circumnavigating Australia.

Footnote: Lea’s apprehension over mosquitoes and sandflies (usually especially bad immediately after the WET season) were totally unfounded.  The big white mosquito net, George had bought in Perth to still her dread - never even came out of its packaging.