Tramping tales for April 2013

16^th 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.    

 

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.

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.