Thursday, May 24, 2018

23 April - 23 May blog





  
                          When something good happens, Travel to celebrate.
                           If something sad, happens Travel to heal.
                           If something bad happens, Travel to forget .
                           If nothing happens, 
                           Travel to make something happen.     

23rd  April  

After all the delays we have experienced this month we finally began our next adventure. More significantly, our rig pulled out of its special little site on the Sunset Ridge property as my younger sister Leecy, was being farewelled in a beautiful memorial service in The King’s School Chapel, Parramatta. King's School - her home and workplace for over twenty-five years with its picturesque little chapel, she first painted setting her off on a trajectory rise as an artist.  The next hours were full of pathos – leaky eyes and fond memories of our childhood through to the gentle echoes of ‘cappuccino pleez’ emanating from the back of SKV or her ‘boudoir’ as she called it, when she had joined us on memorable legs around Australia.    



Our fifth circumnavigation “around Australia” lay before us. George had a few reservations… our rig was in good shape but the driver and his navigator were more vulnerable than before. Would we be the weak link?  Vision, hearing, teeth, wonky knees, sore hips, weak backs not to mention aches and pains that materialize at unexpected times …  Normal inner fears to overcome.  

Our first challenge was to climb over the Darling Range and reach Goomaling caravan park for our first night – the “place of possums” that we had so enjoyed staying at in October last year. Situated in the central wheat belt, the name of the town is derived from the Koomal possum which once inhabited the area in abundance. A town that came into existence in 1903 when the railway line from Northam was finally completed.


 With large noisy flocks of white corellas flying in to roost overhead we took a walk along the main street in the late afternoon admiring   the iron sculptures and works of art the town folk have created. The number of closed and empty shops and derelict houses were obvious, a town clearly struggling to survive. Although only 130km out of Perth, there was no TV reception (much to Lea’s dismay for her last viewing of her favourite ABC Monday night programmes). It certainly didn’t take long to be in the “back of beyond”.

 Awoke to find the morning surprisingly cold (13C) but without a cloud in the sky. We were away by 9.00 working our way towards the Great Northern Highway (via Wongan Hills) and took our first break after a couple of hours driving in Dalwallinu. Thereafter, it was on to Perenjori where we pulled into the caravan park – very informal, help yourself to a site type of place with fees popped into an envelope and dropped into a box – just the sort of place we like.  This town derives its name from the Aboriginal word “Perangery” meaning water hole. Approximately 40km east of the town was the historic site ‘Camel Soak’, a watering point for the men and their camel teams working on this section of the Rabbit Proof Fence in 1903 -1906.

The camel soak sounded interesting enough for us to unhitch and take a ride out to see it – much of the access road being on tar. Finding a couple of grey nomads camped there we immediately knew it would have made a perfect camp site for us, had we known about it. The soak comprised little more than a couple of shallow depressions on a low rock outcrop, one having been artificially deepened.


 In its depth was a small, bright green puddle filled with tadpoles desperately surfacing to obtain air. Some had also metamorphosed into frogs.

While topping up with diesel at the only roadhouse/shop in town, George was warned by a Truckie that SKV appeared overloaded and WA police were cracking down on such vehicles. Somewhat alarmed, we realised that having done 180,000 km with SKV looking loaded  and short of altering the suspension, we could only continue our planned route. Taking the roads less travelled  where  we were most unlikely to encounter police.         
  
North of Perenjori was Morawa where George had hoped to obtain guidance on the whereabouts of the Koolanooka Springs. It was Anzac Day; the local Shire office was closed. A local resident noticed George taking a photo of a district map in the window of the visitors centre and kindly gave us the directions needed. Not long after we found the place – a picnic spot serviced with barbeques and flush toilets lying in a valley between two rocky hills within the Kadji Kadji range; not a drop of water in sight. In our book, a perfect spot to hole up for the day and before long, in the heat of the midday sun, George was scrambling up the side of the ridge to the east of us to see what could be seen from the top – his head surrounded by swarms of bush flies determined to drive him mad. Needless to say it wasn’t long before one flew down his gullet (considering his garrulous wife, it is he, who feasts and retches on many flies).  Evidence of feral goats was strong (hoof tracks, resting spots among the rocks, fresh droppings and urine). No sightings led George to the conclusion - these goats are hunted, therefore very wary. They’d spot him and be nimbly off out of sight, long beforehand.



Back in camp, George busied himself making a door jamb for our two doored grocery cupboard. Over years of corrugations, damage has weakened the catches to easily spring open with a mere bump leaving our stores to spread out across the floor. The short bumpy journey here had triggered a spill. ‘MacGyver’ needed to solve the problem. The Koolanooka door jamb materialised working well 95% of the time giving take human error.  Late afternoon, George explored the rocky ridge that lay to the west of us . Scrambling the loose rocks considered too risky for Lea to tag along. On the downward trek George found an echidna trying to hide. No hiding from George with his hawk eyes in the bush and as he says - he has ‘stumbled’ across dozens since coming to Australia. 

In the cool of the evening we strolled the access road before the sun went down and found water bubbling up from a lonely windmill with black piping half buried across the bone dry gully on the valley floor. Interestingly this area was gazetted as a Recreation Reserve in 1932. It had been a popular site for District parties with tennis courts in use. No trace of those in our search. Now it is a favourite spot for camping and picnicking in the wildflower season. Braaied lamb chops ended an enjoyable, lazy day, free camping.      

We awoke to the sound of the creaks and snaps of expanding metal – a sure sign we were in for a cloudless (blue dome) hot day, good for our solar panels. Leaving Koolanooka Springs we picked up the sealed 120km short cut, leading to Yalgoo. Not the most interesting of drives until reaching the Yalgoo Shire boundary where a large notice declared “The Outback starts here” and so it did. A dramatic change from parched barren expanses of land cleared for wheat farming to Acacia dominated rangelands stretching as far as the eye could see and hardly another vehicle on the road. Brochures assure their readers that “if you want to see native Australian wildlife, Yalgoo is the ideal place to visit” and true to form a solitary emu put in a brief appearance, but the lack of wildlife was otherwise quite remarkable. At one point we noticed a distant half dozen large pipes poking out of the ground jetting what appeared to be steam into the air. The plumes, on much closer inspection, turned out to be smoke on a mine site… more interesting was the old Bunnawarra homestead ruins  around which were growing large clumps of sisal.


Apart from its massive horse racing track, Yalgoo is one of those places that scarcely deserves comment. Just beyond it (10km down the road leading to Paynes Find) was what interested us. The Joker Tunnel – a 100m long tunnel on the Gnow’s Nest Range carved by hand (pick and shovel) through solid rock by early gold prospectors. It was named after the Joker mining syndicate. Gold found in rich pockets – 15 kg of the initial strike returned 3 kg of gold. Consequently, a small settlement also known as Joker quickly established itself in the area but nothing like that initial strike followed, despite the many shafts dug elsewhere and many hundreds of rock processed. Today the tunnel serves as a roosting site for numerous small bats (broad-nosed bats?) which cluster together and, unsurprisingly, attract snakes – It was a fascinating place to walk through, albeit in a stooped manner, with bats flying around and whisking past one’s face. While George explored the tunnel Lea kept an eye on his progress at the entrance following the shadow of a man and all the bats, back-lit by the light at the far end  and fossicked among piles of loose rocks. 


With planned visit to the Joker Tunnel completed we turned eastwards and began making for Mt Magnet (120 km away); a road frequented by large trucks and road trains. Mining country and with it, road-kill – mainly kangaroos. Ravens feeding on the carcasses were a common sight as well as the occasional goanna. At one point George had to swerve quite violently to avoid hitting a goanna that decided to cross the road. Not the best thing to do at 80 kph with 3 ton of caravan behind!! We also came across a couple of goat families – when one gets excited by the sight of goats, one is grasping at straws! The Mt Magnet caravan park looked dreadful but having traveled almost 300 km we decided to stop for the night and enjoy the luxury of a hot shower.      

Sandstone – 155 km east, travelling through rather unremarkable terrain until, 30-40 km from Sandstone, encountered  the large tracts of spinifex and the first of the rusty coloured breakaways that characterise the area. It turned George’s mind back to the job he had done for Wolf Martinique around 1999 examining the proposed changes to the alignment of the main roads in the Wiluna – Sandstone region.  Apart from the fact we had never traveled to Sandstone before as grey nomads, we had come to see ‘London Bridge’ which lay 5 km south of the town along a short self-guided heritage trail that included various other local landmarks – the site of the old Sandstone brewery created in 1907 by an Irishman inside one of the breakaways; the remains of the State Battery that crushed rock brought in by local prospectors for over 70 years (1908-1982) and the 100 m deep Contradiction Well that had served as the town’s first water supply.


The London Bridge did not disappoint either - an impressive 6 high archway created by erosion through a basalt ridge said to be 350 million years old. Once able to be crossed by horse and buggy it has now narrowed to the point of near collapse – and considered unsafe.

By midday we were on the dusty, unsealed 200km long developmental road (part of Miner’s Pathway) to Meekathara. The road in very good condition and almost devoid of traffic; the red sandstone countryside equally empty until reaching the Meekathara shire boundary whereupon signs of cattle became apparent. 120km from Sandstone, we pulled into the one and only rest area on the route,  Barlangi Rock.  This large 30-40m high outcrop completely anomalous in such flatness,  was all that remained of the melted rocks after a meteorite had hit the surface of the Earth c.1000 million years ago, creating a 10km wide crater in the process.  Continuous erosion had since removed all trace of the crater and lowered the surface of the surrounding landscape to that which we could see around us today. Before settling in for the night we (Lea, with aid of walking stick) climbed Barlangi Rock.             
     
George was up at sunrise to catch the early morning light on Barlangi Rock before we were on our way with 80 more km to reach Meekatharra (or Meeka for short) for refuelling. Ahead, lay a 344km run through to the Mt Augustus NP along much of which is known as the 750 km Kingsford Smith Mail Run. George happened to be reading the life story of Charles Kingsford Smith – the Aussie aviator – however, his slow progress had Lea get into the book. It was enough at this stage to know that in 1924, fresh from the first World War, he and his mate bought a truck and set up a transport business, the Gascoyne Transport Company, and one of his first contracts was to take mail between Carnarvon and the goldfields near Mt Augustus. We thought to follow in his wheel ruts however, the Kingsford Smith Mail Run has since been transformed into a remarkably good well-constructed road, almost as wide as an airstrip, a good proportion of it sealed, some of it even freshly graded for our benefit – all part of the Federal Government’s “roads to recovery” programme . We were not to see another vehicle for the rest of the day! 

A tourist unfriendly route? The domain of vast cattle stations there was no provision made for a single rest area – the sense of isolation quite extraordinary as we rattled our way past mile after mile of widely dispersed low scrub, the “soil” cover often constituting little more than a glistening sheet of stones; the aridity and heat further emphasised by the occasional dead cow lying beside the road; small groups of mournful looking cattle standing dejectedly beside a windmill fed water tank; a goanna (locally known as bungarras) or wedge-tail eagle feeding on road kill and at each turnoff disappearing into the scrub, ominous signs read “Private road, no entry”.

Nearing Mt Gould we stopped for lunch (not far from an old police lock-up) and after George’s customary post-prandial cat nap we continued on for an hour or so (70km) before pulling up alongside the main channel of the near bone dry Gascoyne River, lined by beautiful white barked river gums, for the night. We checked back on the last time we camped on the Gascoyne, further westward, in its middle reaches – almost 8 years ago (10/12/2010)!



Having become choked with dust, dried out and difficult to open or close George lubricated the back doors of the truck then took a walk along the banks of the river looking at the trees and came across the webs of Orb spiders or spinners that briefly “danced” (maybe oscillated or vibrated would be a better term) in agitation whenever their webs were disturbed or jolted. An unusual behaviour that we were to test out often to make sure it was normal!  A very warm evening with a brilliant near full moon overhead. 

With a 100km left to drive reaching Mt Augustus we made an early start. Almost immediately spotted an information board on the opposite side of the Gascoyne where we learned a little more about the mail run days. When the river was in flood and impassable to any form of transport,  a pulley system,  “drum on a cable” (or flying fox) was used by the locals to haul the mail, ‘secure’ inside the drum, across the raging river. 

Wash-outs caused by the cyclonic rains experienced in recent months led to a few deviations and rough patches but with the sight of Mt Augustus (700m high) – known to the local Wajarri people as Burringurrah - looming ahead of us - we stopped several times to take photographs and, much to our surprise, even encountered a few oncoming vehicles. A rare sight!  Covered in red dust, we pulled into the Mt Augustus Outback Tourist Camp, with its precious lawn of green grass in the centre with sites encircling - laager style. From the manager, we learnt that the route we had intended taking from Mt Augustus through to the Karijini NP (via Ashburton Downs) was closed due to wash-away. The best way out for us was to go eastwards for 300km, towards the Great Northern Highway, and then to Newman and Marble Bar! The cost of fuel at Mt Augustus – 175c / litre and the bore water at the park undrinkable. We stayed two days as there was not time enough for George to climb the mountain that day.

Late afternoon we drove the 49km base loop road to a number of feature sights. We’d decided to do nothing too strenuous (short class 3 type trails) and began our circuit tour of the so-called ‘island mountain’ at 3.00pm when, theoretically, the heat of the day was starting to decline. Starting with the Shady Gum Trail George introduced his wife to the oscillating spiders in abundance. After than trail we came to the conclusion they were grasshopper specialists due to the number of carcasses, neatly wrapped, in their webs. We also witnessed grasshoppers disturbed by our footfalls leap into the well placed webs. Ooramboo Trail which led to Edney Spring was a beautiful cluster of white barked river gums on the floor of a rocky gully.




With the sun close to setting we made a dash for Emu Hill  to catch the evening light on the mountain.  Here, the butler and cook had a wee altercation on who should take responsibility for sundowners! Water to slake thirsts was not good enough. 

Final stop in the fading light was Goolinee (aka Cattle Pool) on the Lyons River – a huge tranquil stretch of water confined between steep sided banks lined by white barked gums. It was once extensively used as a watering point for cattle moving on the stock route through the region. We had timed our visit perfectly as catching reflections of the gums on the river were glorious. As we drove back to camp we were treated to the sight of the sun dipping below the horizon behind us as simultaneously the full moon rose in front of us.   

                    


Shortly before dawn, armed with 4 bottles of water, banana and nuts in a back pack George set off in the truck to be a the base 6km trail to begin his solo climb to the summit of Burringurrah at dawn. Climbing the western slopes at that time of the day put the first hour or so into shadow; there was also a nice breeze and no flies. Climbers are advised to allow 5-8 hours to complete the trail (return). The first 1.5km was fairly easy but the next 1.5km, taking one to a height of 450m above the car park was, as warned, “hard going”. The next 3km to the summit was fairly easy along a route which, in spite of the markers, was still quite difficult to detect at times. He reached the summit at 9.15, 2.5hr after starting to climb and sat there for a while taking in the view, sitting at a table built by Keith Moon, a  senior ranger who’d carried up all the materials required to build the table as well  as cement and water required the large cairn he’d constructed on the top. Hats off to his memory.  The elevation at summit – 1 150m a.s.l.  Nearby he found a small wooden cross, the inscription unreadable but seemed to have been placed there in memory of a young 13 year old child. 



Calculating that it would take him another 2.5hrs to return, he began to descend at 9.30 – having to watch each step taken very carefully. It was slow going and tiring and, by this time, his legs were taking strain (feeling wobbly) causing him to stumble and trip unnecessarily. He also had a pain develop in his groin resulting in fears of another hernia! Strangest of all, the fingers on his right hand grew puffy and numb. Consequently, George took several breaks on the way down and yet, with the end in sight, literally within a few hundred metres of where SKV was parked he took a tumble and gashed open the shin of his left leg!  Blood running down into his sock he wasted no time in driving home knowing his wife would anxiously be watching every minute on the clock. 

Such a relief to see him safely home - mission accomplished. Shower before trying to patch him up followed by lunch and a good lie down! Aging sure creates odd moments of apprehension. Perhaps it is as well.  However, less than 5 hours up and down is a challenge to most let alone a septuagenarian.  

Next trick was to plan our journey out, not helped when no one knew of or had travelled the Three Rivers Rd through to the Great Northern Highway. One of our caravan tyres possibly had a slow leak.  George’s mind gnawed away overnight.

MAY 2018

At first light, George was up to check the tyre he’d pumped up before bed last night and was relieved to find it looked fine. He purchased an extra 50 litres of diesel and hitched up. We were ready to take on the 300km long Three Rivers Road! The condition of the first 50km was most encouraging but thereafter it became rough and covered in loose stones and after 100km and several checks on the state of the tyre(s).  At one time, we seriously began to wonder whether we were accidentally on a farm road as it suddenly narrowed to a track with grassy centre and verges. Termite mounds everywhere, not to mention all the cow plops.  Anxiety steadily rose before the road widened again becoming quite sandy. Relief was to recognise cattle station names and know we must be on course and  correct. After 3.5hrs of concentrated driving we stopped for a break and noticed the Anderson plug and indicator plug cables had either vibrated out of their sockets or been wrenched out and torn to ribbons dragging along the road.  Even the fail proof Koolanooka door jamb had dropped out with cans and packets strewn across the floor, all covered in dust. We couldn’t understand why we were collecting a lot of dust inside the van and with another 80km still to go on a well corrugated road, we were both looking forward to reaching our destination. Quite unexpectedly and without any warning or signage, there it was - the Great Northern Highway! As we drew to a halt we were engulfed in a cloud of our own dust billowing up from behind us. 

We had arranged to phone Cathy at the Mt Augustus Park to tell her we’d made it – on reaching the roadhouse heading north. However, a busy mobile alerted us to signal at this junction and George made the call enabling us to turn south knowing no more than a kilometre away lay a rest area on the middle reaches of the Gascoyne River. There, we pulled for the night, well off the main road. A perfect place to unwind and brush dust out from every nook and cranny on the rig before making a braai to the screeches of galahs preparing to roost up for the night.   




Shock horror arose later when inky black water filled a glass being drawn by our water pump. We drew to the conclusion the shake-up given the van had agitated a sediment that may have accumulated over the past 8 months using the rain / bore water at Saxon and Paul’s place. Totally undrinkable, we decided to drain the tanks before refilling in Newman. An unused 15 litres tub of spring water purchased by son-in-law Dan in December 2015 when they went up to Geraldton, saved the day!  “Hurt but by no means out” - we will go through to Newman and find an auto-electrician! Lea spent a sleepless night worrying about how and where the water tanks could be flushed and cleansed along with travelling on a busy mining road with no brake and indicator lights. Next morning George was met with the sight of a flat tyre! The same tyre that he’d pumped up at Mt Augustus. Out came the jack and the spare.



That done he opened the stop cocks on the water tanks and purposely drove over the most uneven ground he could find. The idea being to get the water sloshing around, lifting the sludge from the bottom of the tanks and spilling as we drove towards Newman – 190 km away. Meanwhile, safety conscious Lea had cut up a shocking pink dish cloth and tied, as a semblance of red flags, onto the back of the van. We were on the Great Northern Highway; road train country, a route better described as a Road Train Raceway, not the type of drive we enjoy. 

It passed uneventfully and we stopped for a break at an enormous, very busy roadhouse on the Tropic of Capricorn to inquire about an auto-electrician and a tyre company. Nothing! Newman was our place. We found both, in close proximity to each other, and very fortunately found people ready to attend to our needs. The tyre was found to have a tiny puncture and repaired in no time. At the Toyota Workshop a South African foreman (ex-Pretoria) and his apprentice were able to repair/replace the indicator and Anderson plugs, a task that took all of two hours. All the  men warned against using the Newman to Marble Bar Road. We listened, as we pay dearly using poor roads! We refilled with diesel and headed to The Oasis, 8km south of the town centre. The caravan park in town we’d previously stayed at,  has been taken over by Mining and undergoing refurbishment. Oasis was obviously very new, covered in red earth and little else with cramped  transportable ablution blocks. At least we could rid our bodies of dust with a shower, refill our water tanks and relax with TV. Until Lea discovered a free laundry. Although it was the last thing she wanted to do at 9.00 o’clock at night we had little prospect of getting a similar service ahead of us.

Before leaving the Oasis caravan park George rigged up a new invention he’d thought of during the night-  a “cable suspender” – specifically designed to raise the height of the newly fitted cables sagging at the back of the truck by suspending them on a strap secured to the roof rack!!   Then, taking heed of the Auto Electricians advice to avoid the developmental road to Marble Bar we continued along the Road Train Raceway to Port Hedland 440km ahead. This was an attractive drive through well wooded broken country, the Ophthalmia Ranges in the Pilbara region with its russet coloured hills, crossing rivers with intriguing names like Weeli Wolli creek and Pebble Mouse creek. By midday we were back at one of our favourite free camps overlooking the East Munjina Gorge (the Albert Tognolini rest area) in the Hammersley Range. We last camped there on our way south in Dec 2010. 



During our lunch break we were dismayed to find the water pump sucking up inky black water once again – the contamination of the tanks had not been solved. In the meantime, we had enough potable water on board in separate containers to survive.   We learnt something new about our inky black water problem – When the tap is drawing water from the hot water position, it runs clear, the cold water position runs black. Meaning? Not knowing quite what to do next we decided to treat the water in one tank by adding bicarbonate of soda and, into the other, we used Lea’s precious bottle of apple cider vinegar! 

We re-joined the convoy of road trains heading north, each of them regularly rumbling past us on their multiple rows of wheels (five trailers each with 12 tyres per trailer (3 pairs of 4), i.e. 60 tyres per vehicle! And in the opposite direction came the same onslaught of road trains, along with huge trucks carrying abnormal loads. In short, an incredible but unnerving mass of heavy machinery with us toddling along at a steady 80kph, among them all.  The surrounding countryside dominated by spinifex grassland now flat and uninteresting, much of it scorched by fires, some still burning. 

After an hour or so we stopped to spill all the water from our tanks, then continued until 60km south of Port Hedland we pulled off onto a cattle ranch – the 160 000ha  Indee Station - for a night. It proved to be a rewarding, very different type of experience. Run by Colin and Betty Brierley (Colin aged 80, has lived on his station for 56 years) had established a rough caravan park (no on site power or water available) to capture some of the grey nomads that steadily stream past on the Great North Road. All around the homestead (with a sign on the gate reading Old Farts Haven) were rusty bits of farm machinery, old caravans, wrecked cars and piles of disused tyres.  Visitors are also permitted to explore parts of the station where among other things was a large rock (Red Rock – very similar to Barlangi Rock) bearing Aboriginal etchings; a memorial to 26 people killed when a Viscount crashed on the station on 31 Dec 1968, and even pebble mouse mounds to be seen. Delighted, we didn’t take long to unhitch and, with Colin’s mud map to hand, began exploring.
  

At 5.30 the Brierley’s had happy hour in their purpose built anti cyclone house. They provided a wide variety of nibbles and we were soon joined by the farm hands and farm dogs. Conversations flew and at one time Colin took George to see his walls of history - fascinating was a framed copy of an article from a magazine written about Colin.  It covered tales of the cyclones he’d managed to weather; the Viscount crash that he attended; the problems they had with mining companies and railway lines being run through the property; the impact of the cattle export ban implemented by ex PM Julia Gillard much to his vexation; the war he’d fought against dingoes (using dog shit as bait on jaw traps covered with a rag soaked in strychnine – killing as many as 102 in eight weeks) while dotted around the room were numerous rocks of geological interest (including a stromatolite estimated to be 4.5 billion years old!). 

Given a weekend approached and the unlikelihood of finding anyone in Port Hedland late Saturday to sort our inky water, we decided another night on Indee Station was our best bet with a move to Port Hedland on the Sunday. During the course of the day, we came to realise the water pump was constantly drawing power (load) unless switched off! Did this suggest another problem?

Colin had kindly offered to take me to see a pebble mouse mound that lay a kilometre or so from the homestead – Early next morning, George had the pleasure of being taken for a short ride in one of the most beaten up, decayed Hilux truck he'd ever been in. The windscreen so dirty and crazed with cracks you couldn’t see a thing, the rattling noise deafening, the floorboard below the sagging non-existent seat, littered with rocks, bits of machinery and plastic bottles.  The pebble mouse mound concealed by spinifex built up of pebbles all of a very similar size and much larger in spatial extent than he'd expected. It lead to George to wondering whether he’d get a picture of the mouse by setting up his camera trap that evening.



Just before sunset the camera trap was set next to the pebble mouse mound and we returned to a busier camp site with happy hour down at the homestead.


There was to be no sign of the pebble mouse … so after bidding farewell to Colin we drove straight to Port Hedland (South) - 60km away - and booked into the Blackrock caravan park. There we set about having a major spring clean, tidying up cupboard contents - that have jumped and vibrated around - causing mayhem when we need to find something. After lunch we went to the shopping centre and restocked with groceries from a large Coles supermarket, buying a litre of white vinegar. Caravan water tanks were duly filled with some water before adding 500ml of white vinegar as a disinfectant.   A fairly dull, but busy day, spent “housekeeping”.  News of the world eagerly sought on television come evening.  In the midst of that, our electric kettle (Saxon’s old kettle) suddenly gave one last electrical gasp / flash, and died!
  
Having been advised at Indee Station the only company to help us in Port Hedland would be ‘Pilbara Boats and Bikes’ who also sell caravans and would have the necessary expertise to look into our water / water pump problems. George was waiting for them at opening time and half an hour later he was on the way back to our van with a young fellow, Nick and his tools.  He was quick to establish the water filter was blocked with calcium like deposits and advised us to buy an online filter to fit to the hose we use for filling the tanks and connecting to the mains water supply, especially in the Pilbara region.  He also established the pressure switch on the water pump was sticking (also due to calcium build up) and recommended fitting a new pump. I must have ferried Nick between our caravan and his work at least half a dozen times but by mid-morning (and $500 later) we were over the hump and back in action.  Temperatures rapid climb into the high 30’s in the Pilbara and by midday we were glad to have the air con in the caravan to cool down. 

Over lunch, Lea shot up thinking someone had reversed into us as the caravan rocked and subsided. The butler sat knowingly… he had not lowered the stabiliser legs (a bad habit of his) and the caravan had slid down the jockey wheel! Punishment was having to unpack the high lift jack and raise the caravan draw-bar manually before being able to drop the front legs -  in the hot sun! 
  
Heading for Marble Bar through attractive rolling country where a sign claimed to be the “largest shire in the world” (i.e. the East Pilbara). By midday, upon reaching the Coongan River, we had to search for the narrow, rather rough track that led to Dooleena Gorge. There, we picked the most level spot we could find and “struck camp” for the night. 


Although stinking hot (36C) the afternoon passed peacefully with George bird-watching on a grassy patch under a shady tree with a view across the bed of the river (still containing a shallow sheet of algal rich water) to the high brilliantly coloured red bluff that formed the eastern face of Dooleena Gorge, completely dominating the scene.  Painted finch were present, a bird he had never seen before and most surprisingly there weren’t any flies to turn one’s life into a misery.

Late afternoon we took a short walk down the sandy river bed, taking photos of the Dooleena bluff before the sun went down and it lost its colour.  Had our peanuts and shandy before nightfall, followed by a quiet game of scrabble, simply enjoying the isolation and peaceful surrounds. 
  
Attending to a call of nature George was up at dawn, pleased to take a photo of the rig in the soft, early morning light, and by 8.00 we were on our way, heading for the Carawine Gorge, which lay 160km east of Marble Bar. The road a delight as it threaded its way through the Coongan Range, the twists and turns a welcome change from the long straights we usually incur. Travelling on the Ripon Hills / Woodie Woodie road signs warned “No fuel beyond this point”; another read “No water ahead, ensure you have an adequate supply”. It was a long drive going forever further and further into an endlessly rolling landscape which, as far as we were concerned, was not the sort of place where one would expect gorges. Eventually the signpost to Carawine Gorge popped up, 13km away on a wide, recently graded road that twisted and turned through the Warrawagine cattle station.  As we neared the gorge and caught sight of the tree lined camping area (two caravans there) the road very suddenly dropped onto a loose, pebble strewn floodplain of the Oakover River. Changing into low range 4WD we anxiously clawed our way through the stones, following the deep wheel ruts that other vehicles had already created and churned up, hoping to reach the river bank where the ground appeared a bit firmer. The noise was horrific and Lea had her heart in her mouth. 

On reaching the river bed George did a recce on foot searching for a suitable campsite (something flat, with shade and reasonable access). We were lucky – he found one that met all our requirements with a perfect view of the gorge overlooking a large pool of water that lay confined therein and, it wasn’t too far to go nor would we have to return through the deep stony floodplain.



A couple of steaks on an open fire, washed down with a cold shandy whilst watching the sunset behind the gorge was imperative, drawing to a close the end to a special day and a place well worth coming so far to see.  Carawine Gorge was not the sort of place to travel to for a night … it was far too beautiful and before the sun rose next morning George was hovering around, anxious to capture a panoramic shot of the gorge in the early morning light.


The scene was enough to make him want to paint, and he attempted to do so after breakfast. 

Walking the stony floodplains was considered foolhardy for Lea, however, George would disappear in different directions to see what he could see and come back and report. For a remote spot there was quite a bit of coming and going alerted by the grind of tyres loudly munching on stone. Healthy, large Drought Master bulls rested and grazed nearby. A sign warned this was a working cattle station and during the months of July/August this area came alive with the noise of helicopters, trail bikes and mustering crew.  After supper, as a special treat; one George has patiently longed to watch over many months since Lenny gave him a farewell gift of the book and DVD  – A Bridge too Far – A dated film. Spoilt by the realistically good war film of more recent years - it was so bad. Cigar smoking Yanks dashing around in jeeps and pompous Brits eventually proved too much for George and he forced a stop before the film ended! A great disappointment after reading the excellent book about the whole, badly miscalculated affair. 
 
During the night the battery power indicator in the caravan had dropped into the amber zone (due to using the TV), and the temperature of the deepfreeze in the back of the truck had dropped to -1.0C (instead of -14C) George promptly started the generator to charge up the caravan batteries and switch over to 220v on the truck.  Shade had become  our enemy – too much shade over the past few days, with the truck idle, has the battery supply for the deep freeze  below 12v (11.7v to be precise). Solar panels need constant sun especially when we are static for more than two days! Our next plan was to shift into an area with direct exposure to sunlight. The day became one of monitoring battery levels and moving as shade patterns dictated. Finally, around 4.00 pm shade was everywhere. We were forced to move to a spot further downstream that was fully exposed to the sun for the next two hours.  Furthermore, the heat of the day had kept the freezer running non-stop and the voltage stored in the supply battery still remained below what was required, inn spite of running the truck’s engine (alternator) for a short while. Next, George ran the generator for two hours hoping it would see us through the night. Bedtime check still showed an inadequate voltage in the supply battery. The freezer wasn't running and unsurprisingly, the temperature began to drop. It was down –  we decided the only answer was to drive for an hour or so. Get back to the Woodie-Woodie road and camp overnight in the first lay-by we found. The thought of moving at night is a harrowing affair with roos and cattle as potential hazards. And, we felt like criminals ‘doing a runner’ in the night! 

The action taken seemed to solve the problem.  George would bolt upright from sleep for periodic checks. Worse was the distant grinding noise of road trains coming from afar – building to a crescendo of loud noise and bright lights as they came alongside before rumbling on towards the distant mines of Telfar and Woodi Woodi - seemingly every 10 minutes for the first two hours before silence unexpectedly fell; before the next cycle of reverberations bore into sleep again. All made for a highly disrupted night in the lay-by. 

By first light – wakened yet again by a road train, we rose bleary eyed, to start driving towards Marble Bar with dawn breaking over the land. We stopped midway for our breakfast and found our power problems were basically all under control. Thereafter, we sat back and enjoyed the drive to Marble Bar (120km away) with the sun behind us and a fresh easterly tail wind helping push us along. In the early morning light the spinifex dominated surrounds, the flat topped mesas and rust coloured breakaways on the hills - all a sight for sore eyes and a real treat to behold.

The net result of the departure from our otherwise normal routine was that we were in Marble Bar by 9.00am – Welcome to the hottest town in Australia said the sign at its entrance. In actual fact it is the town with the longest heat record not the highest temperatures. We encountered our coolest temperature in days, a pleasant 23C that we were felt a little chilled!  The towns’ informally laid out Caravan Park, with shady grassed sites and no-one in the “office” to take the fees until it suited them was a delightful oasis. Turned out to be our most expensive stop so far. Even laundry was a hefty $6 a load.  In the late afternoon we walked into “town” following the heritage trail.  Marble Bar is famous for the outcrops of jasper in its surrounds. Slabs originally mistaken for marble in the early days. The giant slabs of jasper in the war memorial, sliced through and polished were an amazing sight; as was a plaque filled wall dedicated to Pilbara pioneers. Marble Bar resident, Len Lever had researched all the lonely graves across the shire along with numerous locals that had died and marked their name and passing on the wall. Fascinating to discover the reasons for death; people killed by gunshots or spear wounds; others that had drowned (a drover in Carawine gorge); a prospector found dead in his camp; dying of apoplexy common!  

Jasper in Marble Bar

Marble Bar’s “Ironclad Hotel” was another spot we’d been advised to visit by Pete Colvin’s partner, Murielle. It wasn’t opening for another two hours and we were to regret not returning later. A few days after we’d left Marble Bar, in the book we were reading on Sir Charles Kingsford-Smith, Australia’s famous aviator (aka “Smithy”, the extrovert) was married there!  Darn it!

By early morning the temperature was a chilly 14C! Everyone was wearing a fleece or jumper in the hottest town in Australia. While Lea stayed in the warmth of bed, George was sunning himself outside like a rock rabbit watching a surprising number of campers present- packing up their assortment of camping trailers and tents; one particular lot, travelling in a convoy of 3 vehicles, donning long leggings (for protection amongst spinifex?) and pouring over a large scale map before setting off - where to I would love to have found out. In due course, we too joined the mass exodus from the park, filled up with diesel (at 160c / l) and began heading west, back towards the Great Northern Highway (150k distant) directly into the face of a strong headwind. Slow progress to the large well-known 24 hr rest area on the edge of the De Grey River. Receiving waters of the Oakover and Coongan rivers (and several others) – both of which we now have a better knowledge. We were pleasantly surprised to find very few grey nomads there as normally the place is packed full of them. The lack, suggests we are ahead of the “grey nomad migration”. 

On our first circumnavigation with our new rig in 2006 we stopped here with Paula Baxter and we were squished up along the track side. This time we had a wide choice and deliberately chose the sunniest site. Only to have some difficulty getting into place due to the proximity of an overhanging tree severely threatening to take out the corner of our rolled up awning and caravan roof for a nightmarish moment, in what appeared to be a simple turn! Happiness soon reigned as a covey of 18 tiny brown quails came marching past (resembling a troop of ‘Easter eggs’). In the surrounding trees, flashes of blue – winged kookaburras told us we were nearing the Kimberley. Both species good avifaunal indicators of an impending change in zoogeographic region!  

   

Having landed up in such a peaceful spot among the groves of paperbark trees that line the de Grey River  with a young blue–winged kookaburra giving incessant squawks for food or anxiety; happy family birds (grey –crowned babblers) frolicking around; mud-larks outside the front step and a large Brahman bull lying in the sun studying us whilst chewing its cud, not 50m away – we decided to spend another night. Such is the life of a rubber tramp and the ‘difficult’ spur of the moment decisions one needs to become accustomed to making! A nice breeze kept us cool and sun kept solar power going for our fridges.  Come evening time, after hamburgers done over a camp fire, George delightedly trounced his Scrabble opponent by four points! 
 
Time for the coast – one of our favourite camp spots, Cape Keraudren, lying 80k away. Travelling once again into a strong headwind. Again, a vast choice of sites without the cheek by jowl we first came upon in winter, 2006.



We were soon camped on the edge of Boat Ramp Bay in the Cape Keraudren Coastal Nature Reserve. The tide was in and we overlooked the bowl shaped bay filled with its azure blue sheet of water that always fascinates us. The strong wind kept pesky flies at bay and providing relief from the steadily growing heat of the day, albeit only rising to 30C.  Amazingly, at the Cape Keraudren Look-out, a Wi-fi hotspot along with a new toilet had been established. Lea was in her element sending messages and playing her Word. We  looked forward to the tide going out leaving the flat, rock bottom of the bay exposed so we could take a walk across it. Always somewhat magical but by sunset, the tides had still not disappeared back to the ocean. Instead, we took a walk out to the point of Cape Keraudren. 

Later, our interest was captured by the unusual behaviour of many dragonflies hawking insects outside the caravan at dusk. George came up with the idea that our caravan light shining through the window was attracting moths and midges and this, had attracted the dragonflies. An unproven theory – but possible nonetheless?  Living with an entomologist is endlessly interesting!  

By next morning the strong easterly wind was blowing hard again. However, in need for a bit of exercise before we settled to computers and books we took a walk around the tip of Cape Keraudren and along the crest to the point where WA’s famous “Eighty Mile beach” commences. Far from pleasant and the wind blew through the holes of Lea’s walking stick causing it to whistle like a flute.

 At the tip of Cape Keraudren

By midday, the atmosphere right out to the horizon had assumed a hazy brown colour thanks to the sand storm the wind had generated. Fine sand found its way into the caravan through every gap available forming a layer of grit everywhere. The one thing we couldn’t complain about here was shade. There simply is NO shade at Cape Keraudren so our solar panels loved it!

The day ended badly! Firstly, new arrivals chose to camp a little too close for our liking considering the vast space. The Australian vacuum packed Flat Iron steak we had been so delighted to find in Perth and frozen for a treat on the road (a comforting memory of Brown’s Butchery in Scatho and Rob Taylor who originally educated us about this cut of meat over in the UK) turned out to be a horrible, tough piece of fatty meat with the muscle sheath still embedded. What a disappointment! What a Woolworth’s con. 

By morning the neighbours had moved on, the wind was howling outside once more and to George’s dismay the solar panels were not charging and the deep freeze losing temperature. To save the situation he ran the freezer off the generator for a while before deciding it was time to head on north using the alternator. Upon leaving, George was taken aback to feel the rig reluctant to move off. On checking around the caravan, he discovered yesterday’s wind had scoured holes around each tyre and they had slipped into the pits created! Nor did the wind help as we made our way towards Eighty Mile Beach – 100km away- playing havoc with our fuel consumption and speed of travel (normally 80kph, now down to 60). Driving was no easier with the constant buffeting the caravan received.

[* Previous blog accounts to Cape Keraudren can be found under July 2006; December 2010 and July 2014]

After our last visit in Dec 2010 we were interested to see how the shady, nicely grassed Eighty Mile Beach caravan park (full of crested pigeons) had recovered since Cyclone Laurence had nearly demolished the place the previous year, Dec 2009. We have returned from our years in England to feel the shock of price increases. In 2010 we paid $34pn for a powered site now it was $45 p.n.  Tucked immediately behind the primary sand dune it was nice to be out of the wind, to have a proper shower and even better, have TV reception to catch up on the world. The upcoming Royal Wedding between Prince Harry and Meghan on 19th May dominated.  If there was reception out here; there would surely be reception at Barn Hill?

  
Towards late afternoon while the tide was out, we had a lovely walk on the hard, shell strewn 80 mile beach – its seemingly endless expanse a really spectacular sight. Returning to find the caravan park literally buzzing with large dragonflies before sunset. A population explosion – George’s theory developed a few days ago, shattered, but another born! Given that the life cycle of dragonflies involves a number of fresh water dependent stages … where, in such dry surrounds, were the wetlands required to generate a population explosion?  They had to exist somewhere. 

[* Previous blog accounts to Eighty Mile Beach can be found July 2006 and December 2010] 
     
Not prepared to stay and blow our budget further we returned to the Great Northern Highway still struggling against the strong easterly wind. On reaching the Sandfire Roadhouse, for safety’s sake, we decided to top up with a bit of diesel (at the price of 179.5c / l) as our fuel consumption had increased and we were seldom out of 4th gear, even on the flats. Shortly after leaving Sandfire, we came across the low-lying Anna Plains (a wetland) which, judging from the now drying filamentous algal growth on top of the grasses, had obviously been inundated recently. In places, open water remained with flocks of terns flying over and in the distance saw, what we decided was a flock of Jabiru (black necked storks) in the air. Plenty of cattle to be seen but sadly, with the highway having been raised across the wetlands, there was nowhere suitable to stop and take photos, BUT herein, lay the answer to the mystery of the dragonfly population explosion! The recent inundation of Anna Plains held the key!




The lone cyclist we encountered, heading north, straining against the very wind we too were struggling with was quick to gain our admiration. After 3 hours of driving a hard pull, we finally turned into the large, well provisioned 24 hr Stanley rest area for a free night.  Chose our spot carefully for a sense of privacy and peace. Within little time, other caravanners and campers were pulling in and making use of the covered picnic areas to socialise. All good until we decided to take a walk only to discover the freezer had gone off once again!  George restarted it using the generator and began trying to figure out the problem – now clearly electrical. Checking wires; plugs and fuses and he finally realised it was a dirty socket.  A clean with emery paper had all seem well again. By late evening the Rest Stop was abuzz with 16 rigs, many trailer campers and campervans. One large Oka seemed to want our view! 


Sunset at Stanley Road Stop

The drone of a Road Dept. mobile generator pumping water, not too far off, was magnified in the silence of the night. Disturbing Lea enough to find herself tossing and turning and overtaken by those unexpected waves of grief certain sunset so easily brings in their wake along with the sea.  A teary day. Hover, by mid morning we were 90k north, contentedly parked in one of the front row, cliff side bush camps overlooking the brilliantly blue ocean at Barn Hill – another of our favourite sites along this stretch of the NW coast of WA.  Happily, the park, especially the unpowered section, was nowhere as busy as it can get during the winter season. The only blight - no TV – avid Royalist Lea missed the wedding! Two incredibly caring, considerate people sent photos as the ceremony beamed across the world on television, from Tetney, UK and Howden, Tasmania; while the two of us toasted from afar over our ‘royal’ meal.


 It is the geology on the Barn Hill beach that makes it so very different to a great many other beaches. The complex striated nature of the cliffs, the strange intrusions and layers of multi-coloured rocks all reflecting a hidden story about life and climates over eons of time, now long gone by. Wherever we walked, we wished we had a better understanding of their origins. 

 

It’s a steep and far from easy path getting down the beach. There is, however, a well-hidden gully that once you have entered, transports you into a Yankee cowboy movie set and it is very believable to think you are in Deadman’s Gulch!  



Three nights later, somewhat reluctantly we pulled out of our fine site for the last leg to Broome.

[* Previous blog accounts to Barn Hill can be found in November 2010 and July 2014]


On arrival in Broome, our day was immediately spent replenishing food stocks and a wash down of the rig – We hoped to solve the intermittent problem arising on our truck deep freeze over these last few weeks before the big Top End crossing of Australia - eastwards. That could only be checked the next day. We shot back the distance to Gateway Park that we'd previously enjoyed only to be pulled up short by no power points. We had forgotten that! We needed power and returned to Broome Caravan Park. A wild goose chase followed next day with a full day dedicated to the deep freeze. Throwing our planned relaxed second day seeing a film and walking Cable Beach. All went by the board, running hither and thither on deep freeze and car battery related matters. A late lunch at Matso’s Broome Brewery intervened and became our treat for a difficult day. As for all the monitoring that took place; essentially, the freezer problem came back to the single lead and now obsolete plug connection that came with the original purchase of our WAECO, five years ago.
  
 Now for the Savannah Way...  





No comments: