16th April - The tune, “ON THE ROAD AGAIN”,
reverberated
loudly through our heads! Heartache departing
from family assuaged by the adventures that lie ahead of us. We turned off the busy Great Eastern Highway
onto the quieter York road. Recalling the route as the first we’d ever made out
of Perth as new immigrants not even a month old. George had wanted to look at
the nature of the Swan/Avon River catchment as it formed part of his first job
contract. Overcast skies made travelling eastwards a pleasant drive as we
passed through wheat-belt towns. We couldn’t resist stopping in Shackleton as
it boasted the smallest bank and George is a sucker for collecting pics of “Superlatives”! We kept an eye out for
the third largest monolith in Australia, Kokerbin Rock. However, when it didn’t
rise out of the flat lands as something worth visiting George felt it was
probably large in extent and not height so we continued on to a lunch break at
Bruce Rock- a bit of a misnomer perhaps as we never saw a rock called Bruce! This
pretty little town with very wide streets, lovely old buildings had a general
air of being well kept and welcoming of visitors. (Later in
Kalgoorlie, we picked up A Holiday guide to Australia’s Golden Outback and
discovered there had been a Bruce’s Rock close to where we’d parked- we just
didn’t spot it!)
Bruce Rock was obviously much loved as lining the rest
area that ran the length of the main street were mosaic plaques commemorating local
families, businesses and organisations.
With Easter recently passed, it seemed
fitting to equate our next journey as the last section of a cross to Australia
as a hot cross bun! We are taking the
wide open and less travelled route across central Australia, by first taking
the GOLDEN ROUTE which tends to follow the historic water pipeline between
Mundaring and Kalgoorlie. In the 1890s prospectors made a dash for gold in
Coolgardie seeking fame and fortune.
However, in the dusty, dry and searing heat another commodity proved
even more elusive- WATER! In 1895, the major problem was - How to get water to
a booming population in the arid goldfields? Western Australia’s Engineer in Chief
decided to build a storage reservoir in the hills (close to Maida Vale where we
have been parked up with our daughter these many weeks). Some considered it
‘madness’ but time has “proved it a unique technological triumph”. Mundaring
Weir supplies water to the Goldfields and Agricultural areas. This important
pipeline as a source of fresh water has become a tourist destination surrounded
by educational, historical and natural attractions. The first time we came
through Kalgoorlie from Norseman we chose to visit the incredible Super Pit gold mine before making our
way to Perth. The “Golden Water Pipeline” was enough to entice us back here and
we intercepted it at Merredin and followed it as far as Boorabbin National Park
that first day. There seems to have been a change of name since we were first
here in April 2006 - Goldfields Woodland National Park to Boorabbin National
Park! Fortunately Boondi Rock within
the Park hadn’t changed. It was just as beautiful as we remembered as we
settled down for the night hoping against hope that Lynne and Ken Tinley may arrive
here after their Art Outing to Lake Ballard. How frustrating it had been to
discover we were ships passing in the night by a day having unknowingly had the
same destination in mind! We might add
at this point that we were very aware of overfriendly bush flies and they were
to be everywhere we went and always hitching a ride on our backs.
.JPG)
We sat overlooking the amazing masonry work on the
perimeter of Boondi Rock. Filled with admiration for ingenuity! At the time of construction this granite
water catchment was heralded as an engineering marvel. Thankfully, when steam engines no longer rolled
through for water, Boondi Rock became a site of historical interest.
During the night it rained on and off
and this made us a little anxious for the dirt roads ahead that we were up
early and back on the road, heading for the elegant main street of Coolgardie
that we remembered well. Of course we kept an eye peeled for the quirky little
house and pocket garden - artistically over-cluttered with any and everything
imaginable. We gave a quiet cheer that the junk collector extraordinaire still
lived at the entrance to town. By the time we reached Kalgoorlie it was
drizzling. We stopped by the Visitors Centre for local information on the road
ahead and fortuitously George’s eyes lit on The
Outback Way: Atlas and Guide, Perth
to Cairns. His long search had ended and with book in hand he wasn’t keen
to hang about. There is a wonderful Golden Quest Discovery Trail that takes in
965 kilometres of self drive adventure within this apparently world famous gold
producing region but we were on another mission and simply enjoyed what we saw
en route to Australia’s longest shortcut to Cairns.
The drizzle followed us northwards to
Menzies, once a thriving 1890’s gold rush town that holds up very favourably on
the ups and downs of fortune. We unhitched in Menzies caravan park opposite the
imposing Town Hall and Clock tower and promptly took off for Lake Ballard – a
large salt lake some 50kms west of the town on red dirt. We were intent on
seeing the sculptures by world renowned artist Antony Gormley. This is one of
Western Australia's most unusual and remote cultural attractions - Inside Australia: Antony Gormley’s artistic
masterpiece was entered into the Perth International Arts Festival in 2003, and
even today continues to draw international attention and acclaim. A collection of 51 steel sculptures somehow
derived from laser scans of the residents of Menzies that stand over ten square kilometres apart,
on the white salt plain of Lake Ballard. The sculptures travelled 780 kms from
the foundry in Perth to the site on Lake Ballard, and it took a team of 18
volunteers 4 days to install all 51 sculptures. Temperatures on the site during
the installation process reached 46 degrees Celsius – fortunately we didn’t
have to endure the Outback’s high temperatures that day with our overcast skies.
In fact we were not prepared to free camp out there due to the rare occurrence of
wet weather albeit very gentle! With
dark clouds tumbling about in the sky we went to Snake Hill Lookout for an overview
of Lake Ballard first. Lea closely scrutinised the lake and yet was
unable to spot any thin lines of the iconic dark sculptures against the
glistening salty background.
.JPG)
No Wonder! They were far smaller than expected out in the
immense space. A chilly wind blew out there and slippery mud steadily built up
on our sandals making it fairly impossible to walk briskly between the
sculptures. Bouts of relief came when salt crackled underfoot.
By the time we had reached our
eleventh sculpture in sticky situations we began to wonder why the male or
female sculpture were all the same considering they had supposedly been based
on Menzies residents! No change in posture and far afield that Lea thought they
had been arranged in a distant linear pattern. George disagreed. We decided to
go no further afield and chose to take the more circular route around a
prominent conical hillock where more sculptures stood. There, we came across
the only different sculpture - a juvenile! Thereafter the sculptures received a
passing glance as our eyes followed the spoor of dingoes and roos. On our return to the warmth of SKV and our
thermos of hot milo – we blessed Paula Baxter as we christened her thermos gift
and stared out across the lake as rain set in. Remarkable is the fact that
lying dormant out in that lake floor are billions and billions of tiny brine
shrimp eggs (incidentally the very crustacean our friend, Dimity Boggs, did her
PhD on) And, in the rare years that Lake Ballard is inundated by cyclonic rains
(a record 20 times during the two hundred years of European settlement) only
then are conditions created, ideal for
Banded Stilt breeding! These birds have
been called the flamingos of Australia and their breeding habits were until
fairly recently, a riddle. Although a coastline wading bird they only breed in
the arid interior and Lake Ballard is one of its most important breeding
sites. We returned to Menzies, where despite
the rain, Lea was keen for a quick visit to its cemetery on the outskirts of
town to see distinctive galvanized iron monuments, skilfully shaped and
scrolled by early tinsmiths in this area, making use of available materials for
the graves of women and children who died in the harsh conditions of those
early days – often from typhoid or diphtheria.
Works of art in themselves, the tinsmith headstones have
been sadly neglected.
Wet through, we were thankful for hot
showers on our return to the caravan park and as the rain continued to fall we hummed
and hawed about the detour to Niagara Dam, which came highly recommended by
Eggy Boggs. Rain had stopped by morning
and as we were away early, George agreed to the detour and we were glad we did!
Varied opinions abound – Is this “the
eighth wonder of the world or a whopping white elephant”? “Is it a man-made
marvel in an unlikely location”? We were certainly very impressed by this 1898
dam built to provide water for the steam locomotives operating the line between
Kalgoorlie and the goldfields out north with expanding populations. Set within
a natural basin between the narrow confines of two breakaways this is a most
unusual looking dam. Every bit of cement and the materials required were
brought in by camels and on completion of the dam an ironical twist of fate
occurred. Abundant underground water was found a little further up the line at
Kookynie. BANG went Niagara dam’s main purpose and the large settlement became
a ghost town. This extraordinary piece of early engineering has spent the last
hundred years and more, as a picnic spot with free camping. As for the name
Niagara - In typical wry Australian humour, a generally dry waterfall nearby
was called after its famously large namesake. We happily walked the two trails available.
One around the man-made dam and another through the natural attractions of the
dam’s surrounding breakaways. Although one for the record was George – refusing
to talk any more after he’d swallowed his third fly! Lea? Zilch!
The long metal ‘comb’ seen in the foreground of Niagara
dam is a debris trap- ahead of its time, such a structure is rarely installed
even by today’s standards.
Despite having parked to stay the
night just below the wall, George changed his mind preferring to get to Leonora,
the regional centre for the northern Goldfields in readiness for the big drive
east, right on schedule according to our permit. Just as well as out in Western
Australia’s Great Victoria Desert, some 233 km north of Kalgoolie, we came
across Gwalia, just 3km from Leonora. With time to spare we turned in to take a
look at a gold rush ghost town. This mine had formally closed closed in 1963.
Aside, from its history as a gold mine we’d been intrigued to read that the
home of a former American president was to be found in Gwalia -.anything to
pique one’s interest! Turns out the young American geologist sent to this
remote area in May 1897, specifically to develop the ‘find’ into a mine; landed by ship in Albany, caught the train to
Coolgardie and finally arrived in Gwalia on a camel was none other than Herbert
Hoover, who later became American president. The house Hoover designed and had built but only lived
in for little over a year still exists. It is a lovely old home with a front
garden overlooking the mine operations and fine views from the back verandah
across bush landscapes. Hoover House
operates as a B & B giving a wonderful step
back in time experience within the museum area.. We spent hours inspecting
the old mining artefacts, seeing over the old home with its history and reading
stories of the past to the droning sounds of open cut mining operations taking
place within the massive pit (obviously not quite as big as super-pit) we
looked down upon from our hill top. Gold prices and mining techniques have
brought the Sons of Gwalia Mine back
to life in more recent years. Hard to believe it had once been a shaft mine.
The home
of former America President Herbert Hoover. It cost six hundred pounds to build
in its day in stark contrast to the tin shacks down the hill, averaging one
hundred pounds for the miners.
One of many miner’s shacks of corrugated iron and hessian cloth, we
looked over in the shanty town of Gwalia. Gawd! What an existence...
Even back then there was a need to cut labour costs
and Hoover’s suggestion was the hiring of Italian labourers. As a result the
Gwalia population was mostly Italians with some Europeans who came seeking
their fortunes. Around 1969 nickel was discovered in the area which brought
miners back but they all live in Leonora. The town of Gwalia continued to
deteriorate until an historical preservation began in 1971. Thank goodness, as
it makes a good story. Another snippet of interest that amazingly came to memory,
harked back to 2000 when Gwalia made national news after a chartered plane
carrying seven Sons of Gwalia workers (plus the pilot) crashed. We had no idea
where on earth Gwalia was. It was simply the awful story of a twin-engine plane having apparently lost cabin
pressure shortly after takeoff from Perth. The pilot and passengers were left
without oxygen, and the plane continued in a straight line on autopilot until it
ran out of fuel and crashed in Queensland, 2,840
kilometres from Perth. This weird incident, coincidently mirrored the tragedy
in the United States that claimed golfer Payne Stewart,
just months earlier.
Leonora may be a regional centre yet,
with its numerous old buildings and sense of space we promptly felt as if we’d
chanced upon emptiness just prior to a gunfight as in an old cowboy movie! There
was not a great deal of movement around town while we over-nighted there in
readiness for our journey into the remote, on the Great Central Road which is a
mostly unsealed highway of 1126km from Laverton in Western Australia to Yulara (near
Uluru or Ayers Rock and the Kata Tjuta (the Olgas) in the Northern Territory.
George, having read and re-read
accounts of this journey and listened to many a conversation; had double
checked all our gear to ensure we were ready to face any problem that may arise
on our trip through desert areas where other traffic was minimal. We had taken
plenty of food and water on board and finally, we even had reliable comms! YES, we had taken advantage of a Government
subsidized SAT-phone offer to people who met remote Outback criterion thanks to
information spelt out to us at the Perth Camping and Caravan Show in late
March. Our lifestyle fell into a category.
Before the offer ended we were able to submit paperwork and be successful. What
a strange mixture of emotions churned within us – we’d spent years out there on
our own often with no form of communication. Were we about to jinx our good
fortune? All literature emphasised the need, when planning a trip in remote
areas, to avoid travelling SOLO. Not only was an accompanying vehicle good for
morale it was advantageous in recovery situations. We decided to tick that
‘box’ with our SAT-phone. There! That gave peace of mind.
After all his preparation, George was
itching to get out and face the Great Central Road. Anticipation was at peak as
we set off towards Laverton ready for the ride and the experience ahead. It
soared when we spotted seven wedge tailed eagle close to the road. By chance, a tourist guide escorting an English
visitor out at Lake Ballard had advised us to visit ‘The Great Beyond’ - Explorers’ Hall of Fame and not by-pass
Laverton. We followed instructions
despite our eagerness to get on ‘out there’ and found it truly most worthwhile.
It vividly enriched the way along the
road for us and we even kept an eye out for tektites (extra terrestrial debris
from meteorites)! Laverton (named for a fine humanitarian, Doctor Charles Laver
– a character regularly found on his bicycle, out prospecting far and wide) had
the look of typical outback towns. Mostly Aborigines were out and about. Women
sitting on the pavement were interested in where we’d come from and where we
were going.
Crammed with information we backtracked 6km out of
Laverton and found ourselves staring down the start of the Great Beyond - an
enormously wide slash of red dirt with signs warning of dust, corrugations,
loose gravel and the need for safety.
George had planned our first night at
The Pines, a bush stop with no signage so we had to be alert for a shady grove
of ‘Black Oaks’ (actually Casuarina, not pines) some 55km from Laverton. With his
eyes on a road that wasn’t half bad he kept his foot at a steady 60 kays an
hour and sailed past the first feature in our book - Deba Gnamma Hole. One of
many water holes that provided life sustaining water to Aborigines, Explorers
and wild life alike, along the route. He still didn’t slow as we passed the
Claypan Well (a windmill, tank and trough). Yet another landmark registered at
61km from Laverton. This ignited a ‘domestic’ with ease and it didn’t help to realise
we were also well past 55km. George had erroneously pegged an orange 3 for a
shire lay-by not the purple 3 signifying The Pines which were actually 120 kms
away! Daunting were the number of wrecks
and by the end of the day we’d counted 70. Other than a couple of oncoming cars
from the Aboriginal Community of Cosmo Newberry we saw nothing more after
passing the settlement. George’s inner tension began to lighten and on spotting
Murrays Bore at 101 km, we pulled in there for a late lunch. Eyes came out on
stalks as we stepped in the doorway. Tinned food rolled around the floor as a
result of a cupboard door having broken its hinges. Curtains were down; neon
light above the sink swung free; wall lights had lost screws. Some sticky black
fluid mixed with dust stretched across the floor space – we thought it could be
coke but couldn’t trace it! McGyver
George set-to fixing while Lea cleaned and straightened up Getaway before making
sarmies! So much for the windmill and tank providing “an example of the natural food chains in action here with life and
death” as raptors, reptiles and many varieties of birds common to the area,
drink here- not only are we Africa spoilt, we were too distracted to care.
Great Victoria Desert landscape characterised by arid
sand ridges of deep sand, hummocky grassland and scattered or clumps of
Eucalypt species.
The Pines proved very elusive and once
we’d passed the Yamana Station Road that led to Anne Beadell Highway we knew we
had to rethink an overnight stop.
A shire rest area that read as an ‘oasis’ some 195km
became our next beacon of hope and it was good to pull in and know immediately
it fitted the bill for Night 1.
Taking a big GULP, we opened up Getaway’s
door. This time the veg rack door was open and lopsided! The store cupboard
hinges had completely sheered and the door lay across the floor while a frame
on another door had come adrift. Once again ‘Handyman’ began repairs – he even
noticed that only one of the two new and very strong bolts he’d attached to the
spring under the caravan remained. Finally peace came out in that wide, wide
open Australian starry night and appropriately, we listened to the DVD, the
Ryan’s had given us for the road – Len Beadell’s The Shepparton Talk. George
had read Beadell’s book Too Long in the
Bush during the early years of our arrival in Australia. He’d found
Len’s fund of stories and mechanical skills both amusing and riveting.
Listening to Len Beadell tell the story of his life association with the area
we were travelling through, was no less so. He surpassed himself.
Despite eyes out and looking hard – we
found very few of the sites marked as historically interesting along the route
and thus it wasn’t long before we came upon a SEALED road that led us into
Tjukyirla Roadhouse. George had been in contact via e-mail with a very obliging
Al Lancaster managing the roadhouse who’d provided us with road reports over
the past months. The roadhouse sported sections of very neat gravel to keep the
dust down and when Lea remarked on the attention given to maintain the neatness
Al laughed and said it was just days old as the Road Maintenance had given him the
residual gravel after finishing the
sealed upgrade which forms part of the Flying Doctor runway, a week ago. We
pulled into the empty but very pleasant outback caravan/camping area behind the
roadhouse well before mid-day and promptly caught up on laundry and spent a
quiet, laid back day after all the motion of the past week. Our new Waco fridge
freezer in the back of the truck – a Caravan and Camping Show special we’d
bought for our trip to Cape York was working a treat despite the dust build up
at the back of the truck which became common to each day and required a daily
sweep.
Refreshed, we left Tjukayirla
Roadhouse using the other half of newly sealed road before getting back on the
widespread red! Some 50 kays along the road we were flagged down by a lone,
elderly Aboriginal man. A staunch believer of ‘what goes around comes around’,
Lea insisted on stopping. His clapped
out Toyota further down the road required “jump leads”. He hitched a lift on
the running board to his vehicle parked well down the cambered slope which made
George, understandably cautious with a heavy caravan on tow. Waiting in the
shade of a bush was a woman, a toddler and a chatty boy of ten who told us they
had spent all night out there and had no water. They were keen to have water
and any fruit or biscuits. Meantime, George had attached jump leads and was
fruitlessly charging their battery. We filled their bottles with water from our
jerry can and no sooner had George rechained than more was required for the
thirsty family. Out of the bush on the south side came another three adults who
also wanted water. The better dressed one introduced himself as Waylan Jennings
– he wasn’t the country singer! And explained he was born in a time when it fashionable
to be named after country singers! More bottles were filled and although the
battle seemed lost getting the vehicle started – George was surprised to see
the old man use a wheel spanner to open up the fuel pump in the engine. A tiny puppy materialised – so stiff it looked
like a toy. However, when the boy held it up to Lea for a stroke – it was alive
but very spaced out which shook her badly. Asking about our pets; the boy was
somewhat surprised we didn’t have a dog? a cat? a bird? anything? And then he almost
tossed the little creature into the foot well of the Toyota. Lea asked the
mother to give the puppy some water aghast at the situation. Waylan requested
we give him and his partner with a bandage across her forehead a lift to
Warburton and Lea’s compassion promptly agreed. Forty minutes later, there was
obviously a lot more wrong than a flat battery as the Toyota certainly wasn’t
about to start. The jump leads were disconnected; George unlocked the caravan
for a packet of biscuits and our last two apples for the children and an
unrecognisable odour pervaded our ‘van! Anxious to get going we ignored the
tainted caravan and locked up. The ‘Waylan’ pair climbed onto the truck bed and
as we pulled off without even a glance from the incapacitated family left
behind, Lea was shaken to see Waylan eating one of the apples and a handful of
biscuits inside the cab, giving no thought to those kids in the middle of
nowhere. As for the pup that continues to haunt Lea and she can only hope that
it died quickly from hunger and dehydration before the day was out.
With company asleep on board we felt disinclined
to stop along the way to Warburton, a good 190km on. Up until then, we hadn’t
found many of the registered landmarks on the road until paradoxically, that third
day we did! We saw the many access tracks to Desert Surf Central, a spectacular
looking jump-up with mulga woodland around the base – ideal for a stretch and
walk around as it boasted surf like caves and cliffs. It wasn’t to be, we were
doing a good deed. Instead, we noticed a good many camel tracks crossing or
marking stretches of the road. In some places we identified the distinctive
marking of a camel bed on the sand. Still counting the many metal ‘sculptures’
scattered within the bush we hoped to actually see descendants from the age of
camels 1890-1910. A big thrill when Lea
spotted three camels (one quite dark in comparison to the other two) well away
from the road, standing out above hakea and mulga bushes not long after we’d
passed the Hart Oil Road linking the Great Central to Len Beadell’s most famous
road, the iconic Gunbarrel Highway to the north. The landscape was subtly changing
and we entered the Gibson Desert with Waylan beginning to stir, he pointed out
Warburton Mountain in the distance although it was difficult to decipher much
of what he said over the noisy rattling vehicle sounds. Then he advised the new
road would be coming up. We spotted the link track through to the south’s
Connie Sue Highway - such fun picking out these little things, knowing Len had
named the road for his daughter after she had come cross country to the Gunbarrel
road in 1962, as a baby!
Another section of such freshly sealed
road came and went with the fine gravel spraying up and blasting at the
metalwork of our rig. We nervously recalled that horror occasion on North
Queensland’s Savannah Way when larger grades of gravel on a newly laid tarred
road caused such havoc and damage to our rig and we could only hope our ‘rock
tamer’ was doing its job . Lea sighted another five camels – again, amongst
shrub acacias well back from the road as we trundled on down the rough
corrugated road ahead, looking forward to reaching Warburton Roadhouse as it
was well past our usual lunch hour. Reaching the Elder Creek crossing – the
first creek we’ve crossed on our journey in this arid land gave us three
kilometres more to go. As we approached Warburton, big signs warned ‘to secure or put out of sight any petrol’.
Waylan asked to be dropped in the town itself which required a right turn.
Another sign loomed - threatening huge fines for entering this restricted area
but Waylan waved us on. At the entrance to the settlement he pointed out a huge
low complex – the Police Station. Virtually opposite was a familiar Territory
sight of a large and very scruffy ‘long-grassers’ camp. We eventually wheeled
around the little town and dropped our two passengers off, wondering if they
would ever give a thought to family left out there and get help for them? Fortunately
we recognised the Police Station and returned in the direction we’d come and
took the left turn – pleased to be free again.
Warburton Roadhouse for night three –
turned out to be a no-no in Lea’s mind! She wanted to leave as soon as we drew
in. It had a strangely intimidating feel to her. No photographs were allowed
anywhere in the town and the sign warning of guard dogs and walls with barbed
wire encircling the camping area instilled her disquiet. George was not
prepared to move on until we’d checked inside Getaway and seen what ‘toys’ had
been tossed around this time round. The same cupboard door had wrenched itself
out again and tins lay scattered and worse, the nightmarish “smell” was
discovered. A wretched tin of kippers had ruptured and leaked towards the back
of the cupboard. Its dreadful fishy odour has seeped well and truly into the
very fabric of the cupboard to haunt us for ever... we think! We tried to clean
up as best we could while a very ‘cool’ orange car demonstrating a powerful
engine, revved through often enough during the time we were parked in the
forecourt, to create more unease. George perused the map and decided Yarla
Kutjarra Campsite, 94 kms East of Warburton – was our next best bet. It was one
of four campsites provided by the Southern Central Aboriginal Corporation on
their land.
We were still counting dead cars (mercifully
only one dead caravan) and at that point in time, we came across a section
mentioning these wrecks in our new guide book, suggesting folk either count
them along the way or determine type and age even consider stories on how these
cars came to litter the route. We were already up to 121 metal sculptures at
this stage of the journey. Lea had also noticed 14 silencers on waysides. We
passed a lonely memorial to a Tim Ballinger with no further information ,
Mummine Well stood out with its windmill, tank and pond but no sign of animals although
there were camel tracks on the road to show they had been. “Camels, a feral
pest thrive in this country”. We were keen to see more.
The track into the lovely Yarla Kutjarra Campsite set on
the southwest side of a characteristic breakaway with a sinking sun
illuminating its red rocky outcrops.
We were more than astonished to enter
the clearing a good way down the track and find a caravan set up on the
opposite side to us. A camper-trailer unfurled further back and close to the
central shelter a tent set up alongside a 4X4.
George walked towards the range where our book said there were a couple
more concealed camps only to find another caravan settled in there. This place
was downright crowded considering we hadn’t passed a soul other than close to
human habitation! We decided to stay
just where we had drawn to a halt on the side of the incoming track. More cleaning up required and George decided
to make a new type of hinge pin to cope with the incessant vibration on the cupboard
door. They are working! Lea got chatting
to the man in the tent with his dog Diesel crossing west to take his daughter
her 4X4. George joined us and Wayne suggested we speak to the caravan folk as
they had just come over the Plenty Highway. A delightful gathering of like
minded folk took place outside Ned’s caravan. Kerry and her husband (wearing a
head net for the very pesky flies seemed incognito in his chair) had come over
from their caravan parked close to the range. First up, Ned couldn’t wait to
give George a demo of his ingenious ‘tie down’ for awnings and then the
PLENTY could be spoken about. We hadn’t seen the end of the Great Central yet
and already the Plenty was giving us second thoughts! Listening to their
‘surprise’ stories arising from incessant vibration made us feel better and
really it was a small price to pay for being way out here in the big beyond.
Rolling stones gather no moss but the brief interlude in Yarla Kutjarra was
special and the effort the Aboriginal Community put into this campsite added
another dimension.
They went West; we went East making
for Warakurna Roadhouse. Today, Lea was determined to see a gnamma hole particularly one with a Patjarr spider (tripod cover designed to
prevent animals from falling into the holes). We had three possibilities along
the road ahead and believe it or not, despite creeping along within the
relevant mileage stretches we were unable to find one!
While searching for two tall thin trees with mistletoe
about 100m off the road we came across the traces of this wonderful camel camp
on the road in the vicinity of Tjulun Rockhole.
We knew we had lost our chances when
we came upon the lonely Desert Oak – the first when heading East but the last
when heading west! The Rawlinson Range edged the north horizon and once again
the landscape was changing. Puddles appeared on the road ahead a good few times
but in true desert style they proved to be mirages. We were horrified to find
three dead camels – two on the north side of the road, the other on the
opposite side. What a horrific incident to hit a camel but three was beyond
belief. It must have been a road train as surely an accident in a vehicle would
merit media headlines. We hadn’t passed any road-trains but we’d heard three
over as many days travelling at night and since it appeared camels like sleeping
on the road – what chance did they have. Awful, awful! Drawing up at the Warakurna Roadhouse was a
far nicer experience than Warburton. The manager had only been there a month;
he was helpful and chatty as he unlocked the heavy duty security cage around the
fuel pump and what we could see of the open camping area behind the roadhouse,
looked pleasant. However, other than a ‘top up’ of diesel we required
directions to ‘one of the ‘most remote
and interesting weather stations on the planet’.
It was very close by. A sign at the
entrance advised the normal station staff of 4 were not running at full
complement and unable to give guided tours. We’d missed the release of the
morning weather balloon as we had forgotten about time zone changes. The small
museum was open so in, we drove.
Giles Weather Station- was transferred
from the Defence Department to the Bureau of Meteorology in 1972. It was
originally surveyed and laid out by Len Beadell in 1956 on behalf of the
Weapons Research Establishment before it became known as Defence Science and
Technology, a division of the Australian Department of Defence. Len chose the
site as the station’s purpose was to provide weather data for the UK atomic
weapons testing further south at Emu Plains and Maralinga while supporting the
rocket testing program occurring at Woomera. Beadell, as surveyor for all those
sites was aware of the need for the station to be on the trajectory of the
testing range or centre line of fire for tracking purposes. From this, arose the need
for his famous road infrastructure. There were no settlements in the
surrounding area at the time although nomadic Aborigines moved through. The
station was named in honour of Ernest Giles, one of the first European
explorers to cross the interior from east to west and then return using those
‘devil some beasts’ camels, in the 1870s.
Remains of the first Blue Streak Rocket launched from
Woomera June 5 1964 and discovered 50 km SE of Giles in 1980.
In close proximity to the ‘rocket’ was
“Lennie’s Cat Cage” an Australian
Army bicentennial project that had not only restored the Caterpillar Bulldozer that had been left standing at Giles
steadily deteriorating in that harsh climate, since 1963 when Beadell and his team had completed the
mammoth road network. The Army were not prepared to let this historic machine
go to wrack and ruin so besides restoration they built the bulldozer a strong
shelter in commemorate Beadell’s 6000 km of road across Australia’s harshest
land, opening up 2.5 million square miles of Gibson, Great Sandy and Great
Victoria Desert. Many landmarks in the area are named for his wife Anne and
three children Connie Sue, Garry and Jacquie Over twenty years out here led to
Len Beadell returning to city life in Adelaide suffering ill health which was
put down to being ‘too long in the bush’. He continued working for the Defence
Science and Technology Centre while writing six books about life out here. Len
retired in 1988. Afterwards he came out here to help his mate, an Outback tour
guide, through the areas he’d opened up as Len never lost his love for this
bush. He also returned to the Giles Centre to take part in “Exercise Lennie’s Cat Cage”. Len
Beadell, a remarkable character died in 12 May 1995,aged 72. Look for his
books!
We continued on through the Central
Ranges with Schwerin Mural Crescent to the north. Named for a Russian Princess
by the Bristol born Ernest Giles no less, who gave eccentric and colourful
names to features he saw along his route! While in the south east stretched the
prominent Petermann Range. Our road was no longer wide red sand, more narrow
with a pinky tinge to gravel laterite while immediately around us, patches of
scrubby green ground cover hinted of recent rain even small termite mounds. We
were bound for a highly visible ghost gum tree that was almost on the roadway
for our lunch.
Embedded in the tree was a Len Beadell commemoration plaque
listing all 7 crew members plus Lassie the dog involved in the construction of
central desert roads, April 1960.
Not much further on we came to the
Tjukurla turnoff – the Sandy Blight Junction road which Len named after the
bush name for the eye infection he was suffering with at the time. We recalled
hearing of Sandy Blight eye infection thanks to wind and dust in Newman, WA.
Thereafter, amidst a frenzy of large signs we crossed an imaginary border line
between Western Australia and the Northern Territory. NO WA Quarantine Post-
that amazed us!
Wayne with Diesel the dog at our last
night spot, had told us that Kaltukatjara Campground at Docker River had been a
peaceful place and it came highly
recommended in our guide book. The camp
was managed by the Aboriginal Nguraatjaku Council was well presented with
defined campsites, flushing toilets, showers and fire rings and a viewing
platform for a fee of $5 per person per night. Not a soul as we drew
into the campground set in a lovely forest of desert oaks. Just as we set up
camp on the west side thunder echoed around us and it began to spit and then
drizzle as an ominous black cloud appeared to be following us from the west. Just what we didn’t need now that we were
back on deep red sandy soils.As for the flush toilets- they were a ghastly
sight – an empty 40 gallon drum supposedly provided the water for you to fill
the cistern to flush! As a message at the entrance shelter intimated some ‘low
life’ had stolen the solar panel for the showers and better to go dig a hole in
the desert than leave some official to clean up the toilets. No one came to
collect money and as dusk was falling a motor-home drew in. Soon after George noticed a most scrawny dog
or was it a dingo pass by- he thought it may belong to the motor-home. Lea
jumped up to inspect – definitely a starved and worm ridden cur cross dingo
skulking across the perimeter of the campground.
As Lea was cooking dinner we were drawn outside to watch
a glorious sunset. The meal was very nearly burned as the Brisbane couple in
the motor-home came over to speak to us. Fortunately, a gust of wind blew out
the gas – saving the meal for us!
Just before dawn George arose to a
call of nature and totally stunned to see all three lights flashing red on the
Solar Charge Controller indicating our three deep cycle batteries were flat. At
this stage everything automatically disconnects – no water pump, no lights, no
fridge Never had we experienced a total failure like this. One amber warning
after time without power from electrical or solar source is plenty time to take
action with our generator or get to a Caravan Park. George dashed out to SKV
and started the motor to get the alternator to kick in and start charging the
caravan batteries. Then we speedily dressed and hit the road towards Yulara
with our hearts in our mouths. Blinded by the rising sun we could only will it
to rise higher so we could check whether our solar panels on Getaway’s roof
were contributing to the batteries. No mileage given for Lasseter’s Cave. We ‘d
read that it was adjacent to the Hull River so we drove until we saw
the river gums and slowly began looking for a cave site as we moved through the
broad floodplain. On the east side a sign led us into parking area and a shelter –
RELIEF! The solar was working well and the batteries had responded well. How on
earth we could lose power like that was an enigma. With peace of mind we
grabbed some rusks and went to inspect the cave set just above the dry Hull
River.
This is the sad tail -end to the story of Lewis Harold
Bell Lasseter.
During 1929 and again the following
year, Lewis Harold Bell Lasseter made many claims that he’d found a fabulously
rich reef of gold in a remote and desolate corner of Central Australia sometime
either 1897 or 1911.(suspiciously he was unsure when!) His story went that
immediately after he’d come across this seam of gold he suffered extremely bad
health and owed his life to a passing Afghan camel driver who took him to a
camp. He was nursed back to health there. The surveyor in camp, Joseph Harding,
helped him return and fix the location but their watches were out. It took
Lasseter three decades to try and raise funds for an expedition. No one was
interested in a wild goose chase into the uncharted interior at a time when
fortunes were being made in the Western Australia gold rush. In the grip of the
1930 Depression he finally succeeded in putting together a small group of
experienced men and they set off for the Olgas (Kata Tjuta). In time the men became totally disenchanted
with their leader and finally, beyond exasperation they parted ways. Lasseter
continued the trek with his dingo–shooter and his camels. His behaviour
continued to raise doubts leading to a fight between the two men. Lasseter was
left on his own his camels – they too, were to run off. In March 1931 his
personal effects and diary were found in the Hull River Cave. His body found at
Winters Glen. In his weakened state, Lasseter attempted to walk back to the
Olgas and died around 28 January 1931. We will never know if the Lost Reef was
a figment of a fevered imagination and never existed. Or, is an elusive reef
still waiting to be rediscovered? This has become a legendary tale.
Down the red track we rumbled, passing a large camel coral and yard no longer in use with shrubs slowly strangling it and further along, a woebegone microwave and a camping kettle sat comically on the edge of the road. This vast arid area of the Great Sandy Desert was also not as dry as we’d expected. Green signs of decent rain having fallen – perhaps the result of the cyclone season just ended. George spotted a camel resting on the road ahead. We slowed down immediately but the rattling of our rig had been heard and it was onto its feet immediately. Surprisingly it didn’t take off into the bush and seemed uncertain as to what had disturbed. We barely moved watching ... AND, when it began walking up the road towards us we were delighted. Lea giggled, warning “Its winter, perhaps it is MAD” as it drew ever closer. Her comment arose from a bit we’d read and copied down about camels, written back in 1909.
“The WA bred
camel is the best adapted for this colony. A fine deep-chested, nuggetty animal
with well sprung ribs and forearms wide apart... Bull camels during the winter
months are at times almost unmanageable; they become mad and dangerous...
several explores and prospectors have perished owing to bull camels having
wandered away beyond all hope of recovery... Cow (female0 camels, although
usually as quiet as pet sheep, are a constant source of trouble, ever
wandering. No matter how good they feed, they cause much loss of time in the
morning. They cannot carry nearly the
weight one can pack on the male animals; moreover, like all females, cow camels
consume a large quantity of water”.
Although ‘Camels came with their own
trials, they were still the preferred option for this arduous route’.
At last we had a photo! This camel was certainly the
closest and most obliging.
As we began catching the first
sighting of the glorious Kata Tjuta domes above the horizon, we came across
another three camels on the southern side of the road before we noticing the
fourth on the northern side feeding imperturbably. They too moved southwards in
a casual manner and we enjoyed good minutes of observation.
Thereafter, George constantly stopped, jumping in and out
of the truck to take advantageous photos of Kata Tjuta since we were
approaching from the west and the profile was quite different to predominant
photographs taken from the Uluru side.
We never once looked for Uluru, as
Kata Tjuta was just such a feast for the eyes. Our journey on the Great Central
was coming to a close...
204 wrecks lay as
metal sculptures in the bush and included two caravans which tells you
something about the nature and history of the road. The problem is not so much
the condition of the road but the type of vehicle you choose to use and the
manner in which they are driven.
At the Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park boundary
we knew this wonderful experience was over and ‘pay-back’ beginning. As George
commented “for anyone considering towing a caravan across the GCR I would say
that while it can be done, it comes at a cost simply because the fittings
inside most caravans I know of, “off-road” vans included, have simply not been
built robustly enough. Typically, light fittings, drawer catches and door
hinges for example cannot handle the incessant vibrations without falling
apart. An additional cost comes with the inadvertent damage done to one’s
belongings stowed aboard”.
Reaching the tarred junction between
Uluru and Kata Tjuta, signs warned of NO STOPPING for next 15km. George needed
to check the caravan and since Kata Tjuta car park was only 3kms away and very
suitable we headed in that direction; missed the turning to the sunset parking
and facilities and went slightly further to Malpa Gorge. Another deep breath! This
time, the floor was a sticky mess of dust mixed with red and black and smelling
very beery! (The new hinges had held up well) Inside the fridge, berry sauce
George had been given for his birthday had turned turtle and spread outwards
before leaking downwards and out leaving a bloody looking trail. In the floor
cupboard below the fridge, the flap door lay open markedly grubby, inside the
cardboard box containing our supply of beer, ginger-beer and coke was a very
soggy mess to behold and required closer inspection. George barely got the box
out in one piece. Inside, four or five cans were devoid of their contents, a
couple split and mashed beyond recognition. All the colourful labelling had
been worn off completely and that accounted for the black metallic colouring
incorporated within the sticky floor mess, and weirdly rising up cupboard doors
towards the sink. It was if, in celebration of the end of Great Central Road,
the cans had taken a victory roll like a winning racing driver and simply
sprayed it around once the flap door jolted open. We now drink well shaken cans
with a broken circle faintly tinged with red, yellow or creamy brown before the
all gray, well worn metallic colour of no name brand took over. After cleaning
as best we could – we donned our hats in the mid-day sun, firmly clamped our
lips against the flies and took the 40 minute walk up the Gorge realising we
hadn’t been there before.
Contemplating the magnificent soaring rock faces of Malpa
Gorge and reflecting on the roaring trade Yulara does in face nets!
A coach load of visitors were
disembarking when we arrived back at our rig and the first question asked of us
“How are the flies in the Gorge?” Lea
answered flippantly that they were likely to become endangered as people were
eating them. On arrival at Yulara- the commercial hub for Uluru-Kata Tjuta
National Park the first thing George bought - two head nets, he could no longer
tolerate flies! After buying fresh
vegetables and milk, we were horrified to find our fridge didn’t appear to be
working and we went in search of an auto- electrician. Out on the Lassiter
Highway we found a huge workshop – and despite the busy goings on, Tony guided
us into a bay and immediately asked George if he was from Bulawayo. George
barely caught his pronunciation but Lea did, from inside the cab. Not only had
this Aussie been to Africa his late friend had come from Bulawayo and George
sounded like him! He began to check electrics and discovered the wires to the
electric brakes on the caravan had been ripped out. Time was spent working on
that and as closing time approached he was no wiser to our internal power
problems and could only conclude we had a “dead short” which required a time
consuming and expensive search for the break concealed within the caravan. One
of the deep cycle batteries had also shaken loose. At the Highway junction we
tossed up whether to return to Yulara for the night or begin the route to Alice
Springs. Curtin Springs it was, 80 kms towards Alice and we reached our resting
place there shortly before dusk. This Roadhouse is part of the an active cattle
station with a very popular free camping area, a few powered sites for $25 a
night and a quirky ablution block with
showers for $3.00 – relying on honesty and payment up at the roadhouse. We
decided to park at the back of the campground and monitor our power system.
Well before dawn George checked the Solar Controller and was confused to see
everything appeared to be in order but knowing something was wrong we were up
and away in the dark for Alice Springs. Once again we had to endure the blinding
brightness of a rising sun – just awful. We gave a sigh of relief reaching the
Stuart Highway and turned north on a stretch we hadn’t covered before bypassing
many areas we had intended to spend time exploring. We consoled ourselves with
the thought we’d be back this way, all being well, around April next year. It
was a surprisingly interesting section thanks to the diversity of the landscape
compared to the rest of the Stuart Highway extending from Port Augusta to
Darwin.
On arrival in Alice Spring we checked
in at the Visitors Information Centre and thus began a frustrating afternoon trying
to track down an Auto Electrician in the last hours before the start of a very
long ANZAC weekend. That’s Murphy’s Law for you! Anzac Day passed with a litany
of problems gathering. Over in the backpacker kitchen we used plenty of elbow
grease to clean our plastic ware of its dirty abrasive black markings and get
rid of the red dust that had penetrated Getaway through any nook or cranny. Two
days were wasted awaiting the mobile tradesman who’d promised to come and
didn’t. Cooking by torchlight and sitting in gloom, the norm. The fridge was
back working well but now the door has dropped and become rather dicky, not
closing as smoothly. A puddle of water near the door attracted attention and
tracked back to the kitchen tap. The washers and seals had compressed from constant
vibration and seepage had remained undetected in the cupboard until the high
pressure of the Park water supply brought it to our notice. Lea’s recipe books
were sodden. By Friday lunch, with no sign of the wretched electrician, George
went off with the rig to search for help. A mini - saga evolved before his luck
changed... George decided to go check the deep cycle batteries. The man at
Outback Batteries solved Problem 2 - Our deep cycle batteries had
lost their capacity to hold their charge and three brand new ones were
immediately fitted. Gary redirected George to his auto electrician and there Problem
1 was solved. Essentially, a fuse box wire had come loose. Once connected all
lights in Getaway were up and running. Saturday morning we went to a hardware
shop to find a new tap. George had recently helped Peter Ryan replace the
kitchen tap in their house and it had been a very awkward job and he was even
more reluctant to sort out ours. Another stroke of luck – The Bathroom &
Kitchen Shop had what we needed and more the lady behind the counter directed
George to a Caravan man further along the road
saying he was away for the long weekend. George just wanted to check the
whereabouts. Up the hill we could see the huge workshop door wide open. Those
that are passionate about their work don’t take breaks! Joe was working away in
there on a Supreme! He buys caravans, strips the internal fittings and rebuilds
and sells. He was in trouble with his wife as 3 days into the weekend they were
yet to get away. He was happy to talk about our plumbing job and how easily
this problem arose in caravans and how lucky we’d been to go seven years until
this washer compression. Mention of the speciality tools to use increased
George’s unease and ended with Joe agreeing to do the job first up Monday
morning. We returned to the shop and bought the new tap and fittings in
readiness. Finally, a light at the end of our tunnel! SKV went for a well
earned wash and this enabled us to see how to approach and wash down Getaway, after the tap has been
replaced. The blog writing has been
fitted into the weekend and since month end virtually ties in with the end of
this leg we are posting it. NO! We will not continue across central Australia
into Queensland on the Plenty Highway after reports of its poor condition
especially pot holes full of bulldust and, numerous cattle trucks to contend
with. We will head further north on the Stuart Highway and cross into
Queensland using the Barkley Highway as soon as Monday jobs have been done.
George’s final summary on The Great Central Road
After having taken part of Australia’s “longest shortcut” from
Perth to Cairns – what do I think of the Great Central Road? It is actually a
very good road and by the looks of things being steadily improved; a few rough
patches in places but otherwise well maintained. It can be driven in 2WD at 60
kph quite comfortably. Fuel and basic services available every 300km, even a
phone booth. Given the varying nature of the landscapes one is passes through
it is also an interesting drive.
So, was taking the GCR worth it? Definitely so – if for no other
reason than the experience and the lessons learnt! In short, my advice to
anyone intent on driving the road would be:
· First – the GCR does not carry
a lot of traffic, so don’t expect any help materialising in the event of a
break down. It is rather lonely out there.
· Second – it is best suited to
4WD vehicles towing a camping trailer.
· Third- if one is towing a
caravan then the GCR indeed, “should not to be taken lightly”, so prepare
oneself well.
And as for the so-called “deserts” one crosses in the process? They are all very interesting but, given the
verdant condition of the vegetation cover throughout the areas we traversed,
albeit sparse in places, I would not call them deserts. Arid zones, yes. Although partly a reflection of the lack of traffic I was also
surprised at the lack of road kill, especially in the form of kangaroos.
Rightly or wrongly, this and the lack of any actual sightings, suggested to us
there cannot be many roos around in a habitat that outwardly should have been
ideal. The same thing goes for the reptiles we expected to see. There was
little evidence of their occurrence. Apart from that of camels and dingoes, the
limited amount of spoor on the road all indicated the same thing.
And as for the
Atlas and Guide to the Outback Way (2008) – as a self-drive tour guide I think
the producers would do themselves a favour by taking a look at the approach
adopted along the Granite and Woodlands
Discovery Trail which runs for 200km from Norseman to Hyden in WA. We found
the points of interest along the GCR, well described and illustrated in the
guide but they were not well marked on the ground. For those of us without a
GPS more attention to signage would go a long way, particularly with parts of
the road having been realigned and many of the points concerned lying quite far
off the road.
.jpg)
