When something good happens, Travel to celebrate.
If something sad, happens Travel to heal.
If something bad
happens, Travel to forget .
If nothing happens,
Travel to make
something happen.
23rd April
After all the delays we have
experienced this month we finally began our next adventure. More significantly,
our rig pulled out of its special little site on the Sunset Ridge property as my younger sister Leecy, was being
farewelled in a beautiful memorial service in The King’s School Chapel,
Parramatta. King's School - her home and workplace for over twenty-five years with
its picturesque little chapel, she first painted setting her off on a trajectory
rise as an artist. The next hours were
full of pathos – leaky eyes and fond memories of our childhood through to the
gentle echoes of ‘cappuccino pleez’ emanating from the back of SKV or her ‘boudoir’
as she called it, when she had joined us on memorable legs around
Australia.
Our fifth circumnavigation “around
Australia” lay before us. George had a few reservations… our rig was in good
shape but the driver and his navigator were more vulnerable than before. Would
we be the weak link? Vision, hearing, teeth,
wonky knees, sore hips, weak backs not to mention aches and pains that materialize
at unexpected times … Normal inner fears
to overcome.
Our first challenge was to climb over the
Darling Range and reach Goomaling caravan park for our first night – the “place
of possums” that we had so enjoyed staying at in October last year. Situated in
the central wheat belt, the name of the town is derived from the Koomal possum
which once inhabited the area in abundance. A town that came into existence in
1903 when the railway line from Northam was finally completed.
Awoke
to find the morning surprisingly cold (13C) but without a cloud in the sky. We
were away by 9.00 working our way towards the Great Northern Highway (via
Wongan Hills) and took our first break after a couple of hours driving in
Dalwallinu. Thereafter, it was on to Perenjori where we pulled into the caravan
park – very informal, help yourself to a site type of place with fees popped
into an envelope and dropped into a box – just the sort of place we like. This town derives its name from the
Aboriginal word “Perangery” meaning water hole. Approximately 40km east of the
town was the historic site ‘Camel Soak’, a watering point for the men and their
camel teams working on this section of the Rabbit Proof Fence in 1903 -1906.
The camel soak sounded interesting
enough for us to unhitch and take a ride out to see it – much of the access
road being on tar. Finding a couple of grey nomads camped there we immediately knew it would have made a perfect camp site for us, had we known about it. The soak
comprised little more than a couple of shallow depressions on a low rock
outcrop, one having been artificially deepened.
While topping up with diesel at
the only roadhouse/shop in town, George was warned by a Truckie that SKV appeared
overloaded and WA police were cracking down on such vehicles. Somewhat alarmed,
we realised that having done 180,000 km with SKV looking loaded and short of altering the suspension, we
could only continue our planned route. Taking the roads less travelled where we were most unlikely
to encounter police.
North of Perenjori was Morawa
where George had hoped to obtain guidance on the whereabouts of the Koolanooka
Springs. It was Anzac Day; the local
Shire office was closed. A local resident noticed George taking a photo of a
district map in the window of the visitors centre and kindly gave us the
directions needed. Not long after we found the place – a picnic spot serviced
with barbeques and flush toilets lying in a valley between two rocky hills within
the Kadji Kadji range; not a drop of water in sight. In our book, a perfect
spot to hole up for the day and before long, in the heat of the midday sun,
George was scrambling up the side of the ridge to the east of us to see what
could be seen from the top – his head surrounded by swarms of bush flies
determined to drive him mad. Needless to say it wasn’t long before one flew down
his gullet (considering his garrulous wife, it is he, who feasts and retches on
many flies). Evidence of feral goats was
strong (hoof tracks, resting spots among the rocks, fresh droppings and urine).
No sightings led George to the conclusion - these goats are hunted, therefore
very wary. They’d spot him and be nimbly off out of sight, long beforehand.
Back in camp, George busied himself
making a door jamb for our two doored grocery cupboard. Over years of corrugations,
damage has weakened the catches to easily spring open with a mere bump leaving
our stores to spread out across the floor. The short bumpy journey here had
triggered a spill. ‘MacGyver’ needed to solve the problem. The Koolanooka door
jamb materialised working well 95% of the time giving take human error. Late afternoon, George explored the rocky
ridge that lay to the west of us . Scrambling the loose rocks considered too
risky for Lea to tag along. On the downward trek George found an echidna trying
to hide. No hiding from George with his hawk eyes in the bush and as he says -
he has ‘stumbled’ across dozens since coming to Australia.
In the cool of the
evening we strolled the access road before the sun went down and found water
bubbling up from a lonely windmill with black piping half buried across the
bone dry gully on the valley floor. Interestingly this area was gazetted as a
Recreation Reserve in 1932. It had been a popular site for District parties with
tennis courts in use. No trace of those in our search. Now it is a favourite
spot for camping and picnicking in the wildflower season. Braaied lamb chops
ended an enjoyable, lazy day, free camping.
We awoke to the
sound of the creaks and snaps of expanding metal – a sure sign we were in for a
cloudless (blue dome) hot day, good for our solar panels. Leaving Koolanooka
Springs we picked up the sealed 120km short cut, leading to Yalgoo. Not the
most interesting of drives until reaching the Yalgoo Shire boundary where a
large notice declared “The Outback starts here” and so it did. A dramatic
change from parched barren expanses of land cleared for wheat farming to Acacia
dominated rangelands stretching as far as the eye could see and hardly another
vehicle on the road. Brochures assure their readers that “if you want to see
native Australian wildlife, Yalgoo is the ideal place to visit” and true to
form a solitary emu put in a brief appearance, but the lack of wildlife
was otherwise quite remarkable. At one point we noticed a distant half dozen
large pipes poking out of the ground jetting what appeared to be steam into the
air. The plumes, on much closer inspection, turned out to be smoke on a mine
site… more interesting was the old Bunnawarra homestead ruins around which were growing large clumps of
sisal.
Apart from its
massive horse racing track, Yalgoo is one of those places that scarcely
deserves comment. Just beyond it (10km down the road leading to Paynes Find) was
what interested us. The Joker Tunnel – a 100m long tunnel on the Gnow’s Nest
Range carved by hand (pick and shovel) through solid rock by early gold
prospectors. It was named after the Joker mining syndicate. Gold found in rich
pockets – 15 kg of the initial strike returned 3 kg of gold. Consequently, a
small settlement also known as Joker quickly established itself in the area but
nothing like that initial strike followed, despite the many shafts dug elsewhere
and many hundreds of rock processed. Today the tunnel serves as a roosting site
for numerous small bats (broad-nosed bats?) which cluster together and,
unsurprisingly, attract snakes – It was a fascinating place to walk through,
albeit in a stooped manner, with bats flying around and whisking past one’s
face. While George explored the tunnel Lea kept an eye on his progress at the
entrance following the shadow of a man and all the bats, back-lit by the light at the far
end and fossicked among piles of loose rocks.
With planned
visit to the Joker Tunnel completed we turned eastwards and began making for Mt
Magnet (120 km away); a road frequented by large trucks and road trains. Mining
country and with it, road-kill – mainly kangaroos. Ravens feeding on the
carcasses were a common sight as well as the occasional goanna. At one point George
had to swerve quite violently to avoid hitting a goanna that decided to cross
the road. Not the best thing to do at 80 kph with 3 ton of caravan behind!! We
also came across a couple of goat families – when one gets excited by the sight
of goats, one is grasping at straws! The Mt Magnet caravan park looked dreadful
but having traveled almost 300 km we decided to stop for the night and enjoy
the luxury of a hot shower.
Sandstone – 155 km east, travelling
through rather unremarkable terrain until, 30-40 km from Sandstone, encountered the large tracts of spinifex and the first of the rusty coloured breakaways that
characterise the area. It turned George’s mind back to the job he had done for
Wolf Martinique around 1999 examining the proposed changes to the alignment of
the main roads in the Wiluna – Sandstone region. Apart from the fact we had never traveled to
Sandstone
before as grey nomads, we had come to see ‘London Bridge’ which lay 5 km south
of the town along a short self-guided heritage trail that included various
other local landmarks – the site of the old Sandstone brewery created in 1907
by an Irishman inside one of the breakaways; the remains of the State Battery
that crushed rock brought in by local prospectors for over 70 years (1908-1982)
and the 100 m deep Contradiction Well that had served as the town’s first water
supply.
The London Bridge did not
disappoint either - an impressive 6 high archway created by erosion through a
basalt ridge said to be 350 million years old. Once able to be crossed by horse
and buggy it has now narrowed to the point of near collapse – and considered
unsafe.
By midday we were on the dusty,
unsealed 200km long developmental road (part of Miner’s Pathway) to Meekathara.
The road in very good condition and almost devoid of traffic; the red sandstone
countryside equally empty until reaching the Meekathara shire boundary whereupon
signs of cattle became apparent. 120km from Sandstone, we pulled into the one
and only rest area on the route, Barlangi
Rock. This large 30-40m high outcrop
completely anomalous in such flatness,
was all that remained of the melted rocks after a meteorite had hit the
surface of the Earth c.1000 million years ago, creating a 10km wide crater in
the process. Continuous erosion had
since removed all trace of the crater and lowered the surface of the surrounding
landscape to that which we could see around us today. Before settling in for
the night we (Lea, with aid of walking stick) climbed Barlangi Rock.
George was up at sunrise to catch
the early morning light on Barlangi Rock before we were on our way with 80 more
km to reach Meekatharra (or Meeka for short) for refuelling. Ahead, lay a 344km
run through to the Mt Augustus NP along much of which is known as the 750 km
Kingsford Smith Mail Run. George happened to be reading the life story of
Charles Kingsford Smith – the Aussie aviator – however, his slow progress had Lea
get into the book. It was enough at this stage to know that in 1924, fresh from
the first World War, he and his mate bought a truck and set up a transport
business, the Gascoyne Transport Company, and one of his first contracts was to
take mail between Carnarvon and the goldfields near Mt Augustus. We thought to follow
in his wheel ruts however, the Kingsford Smith Mail Run has since been
transformed into a remarkably good well-constructed road, almost as wide as an
airstrip, a good proportion of it sealed, some of it even freshly graded for
our benefit – all part of the Federal Government’s “roads to recovery”
programme . We were not to see another vehicle for the rest of the day!
A
tourist unfriendly route? The domain of vast cattle stations there was no
provision made for a single rest area – the sense of isolation quite
extraordinary as we rattled our way past mile after mile of widely dispersed
low scrub, the “soil” cover often constituting little more than a glistening
sheet of stones; the aridity and heat further emphasised by the occasional dead
cow lying beside the road; small groups of mournful looking cattle standing
dejectedly beside a windmill fed water tank; a goanna (locally known as
bungarras) or wedge-tail eagle feeding on road kill and at each turnoff
disappearing into the scrub, ominous signs read “Private road, no entry”.
Nearing Mt Gould we stopped for
lunch (not far from an old police lock-up) and after George’s customary post-prandial cat nap we continued on for an hour or so
(70km) before pulling up alongside the main channel of the near bone dry Gascoyne
River, lined by beautiful white barked river gums, for the night. We checked back on the last time we camped on the
Gascoyne, further westward, in its middle reaches – almost 8 years ago
(10/12/2010)!
Having become choked with dust,
dried out and difficult to open or close George lubricated the back doors of
the truck then took a walk along the banks of the river looking at the trees
and came across the webs of Orb spiders or spinners that briefly “danced”
(maybe oscillated or vibrated would be a better term) in agitation whenever
their webs were disturbed or jolted. An unusual behaviour that we were to test
out often to make sure it was normal! A
very warm evening with a brilliant near full moon overhead.
With a 100km left to drive
reaching Mt Augustus we made an early start. Almost immediately spotted an information
board on the opposite side of the Gascoyne where we learned a little more about the
mail run days. When the river was in flood and impassable to any form of
transport, a pulley system, “drum on a cable” (or flying fox) was used by
the locals to haul the mail, ‘secure’ inside the drum, across the raging
river.
Wash-outs caused by the cyclonic
rains experienced in recent months led to a few deviations and rough patches
but with the sight of Mt Augustus (700m high) – known to the local Wajarri
people as Burringurrah - looming ahead of us - we stopped several times to take
photographs and, much to our surprise, even encountered a few oncoming
vehicles. A rare sight! Covered in red
dust, we pulled into the Mt Augustus Outback Tourist Camp, with its precious
lawn of green grass in the centre with sites encircling - laager style. From the
manager, we learnt that the route we had intended taking from Mt Augustus
through to the Karijini NP (via Ashburton Downs) was closed due to wash-away.
The best way out for us was to go eastwards for 300km, towards the Great
Northern Highway, and then to Newman and Marble Bar! The cost of fuel at Mt
Augustus – 175c / litre and the bore water at the park undrinkable. We stayed
two days as there was not time enough for George to climb the mountain that day.
Late afternoon we drove the 49km
base loop road to a number of feature sights. We’d decided to do nothing too
strenuous (short class 3 type trails) and began our circuit tour of the
so-called ‘island mountain’ at 3.00pm when, theoretically, the heat of the day
was starting to decline. Starting with the Shady Gum Trail George introduced his
wife to the oscillating spiders in abundance. After than trail we came to the conclusion
they were grasshopper specialists due to the number of carcasses, neatly
wrapped, in their webs. We also witnessed grasshoppers disturbed by our
footfalls leap into the well placed webs. Ooramboo Trail which led to Edney
Spring was a beautiful cluster of white barked river gums on the floor of a
rocky gully.
With the sun close to setting we made a dash
for Emu Hill to catch the evening light
on the mountain. Here, the butler and cook had a wee altercation on who should
take responsibility for sundowners! Water to slake thirsts was not good
enough.
Final stop in the fading light
was Goolinee (aka Cattle Pool) on the Lyons River – a huge tranquil stretch of
water confined between steep sided banks lined by white barked gums. It was once
extensively used as a watering point for cattle moving on the stock route
through the region. We had timed our visit perfectly as catching reflections of
the gums on the river were glorious. As we drove back to camp we were treated
to the sight of the sun dipping below the horizon behind us as simultaneously the
full moon rose in front of us.
Shortly before dawn, armed with 4
bottles of water, banana and nuts in a back pack George set off in the truck to
be a the base 6km trail to begin his solo climb to the summit of Burringurrah
at dawn. Climbing the western slopes at
that time of the day put the first hour or so into shadow; there was also a
nice breeze and no flies. Climbers are advised to allow 5-8 hours to complete
the trail (return). The first 1.5km was fairly easy but the next 1.5km, taking
one to a height of 450m above the car park was, as warned, “hard going”. The
next 3km to the summit was fairly easy along a route which, in spite of the
markers, was still quite difficult to detect at times. He reached the summit at
9.15, 2.5hr after starting to climb and sat there for a while taking in the
view, sitting at a table built by Keith Moon, a senior ranger who’d carried up all the
materials required to build the table as well
as cement and water required the large cairn he’d constructed on the
top. Hats off to his memory. The
elevation at summit – 1 150m a.s.l. Nearby he found a small wooden cross, the inscription unreadable but seemed to have
been placed there in memory of a young 13 year old child.
Calculating that it would take him another 2.5hrs to return, he began to descend at 9.30 – having to watch each
step taken very carefully. It was slow going and tiring and, by this time, his
legs were taking strain (feeling wobbly) causing him to stumble and trip
unnecessarily. He also had a pain develop in his groin resulting in fears of
another hernia! Strangest of all, the fingers on his right hand grew puffy and
numb. Consequently, George took several breaks on the way down and yet, with
the end in sight, literally within a few hundred metres of where SKV was parked
he took a tumble and gashed open the shin of his left leg! Blood running down into his sock he wasted no
time in driving home knowing his wife would anxiously be watching every minute
on the clock.
Such a relief to see him safely home - mission accomplished.
Shower before trying to patch him up followed by lunch and a good lie down!
Aging sure creates odd moments of apprehension. Perhaps it is as well. However, less than 5 hours up and down is a challenge to most let alone a septuagenarian.
Next trick was to plan our journey out, not helped when no one knew of or had travelled the Three Rivers
Rd through to the Great Northern Highway. One of our caravan tyres possibly had
a slow leak. George’s mind gnawed away overnight.
MAY 2018
At first
light, George was up to check the tyre he’d pumped up before bed last night and was relieved
to find it looked fine. He purchased an extra 50 litres of diesel and hitched
up. We were ready to take on the 300km long Three Rivers Road! The condition of
the first 50km was most encouraging but thereafter it became rough and covered
in loose stones and after 100km and several checks on the state of the tyre(s). At one time, we seriously began to wonder whether we were accidentally on a farm road as it suddenly narrowed to
a track with grassy centre and verges. Termite mounds everywhere, not to
mention all the cow plops. Anxiety steadily rose before the road widened again becoming quite sandy. Relief was to recognise cattle station names and know we must be on course and correct. After 3.5hrs of concentrated
driving we stopped for a break and noticed the Anderson plug and indicator plug
cables had either vibrated out of their sockets or been wrenched out and torn
to ribbons dragging along the road. Even
the fail proof Koolanooka door jamb had dropped out with cans and packets
strewn across the floor, all covered in dust. We couldn’t understand why we were
collecting a lot of dust inside the van and with another 80km still to go on a
well corrugated road, we were both looking forward to reaching our destination.
Quite unexpectedly and without any warning or signage, there it was - the Great
Northern Highway! As we drew to a halt we were engulfed in a cloud of our own dust
billowing up from behind us.
We had arranged
to phone Cathy at the Mt Augustus Park to tell her we’d made it – on reaching the roadhouse heading north. However, a busy mobile alerted us to
signal at this junction and George made the call enabling us to turn south knowing
no more than a kilometre away lay a rest area on the middle reaches of the Gascoyne
River. There, we pulled for the night, well off the main road. A perfect place to unwind and brush dust out from every nook and cranny on the rig before making a braai to
the screeches of galahs preparing to roost up for the night.
Shock horror
arose later when inky black water filled a glass being drawn by our water pump. We drew
to the conclusion the shake-up given the van had agitated a sediment that may
have accumulated over the past 8 months using the rain / bore water at Saxon
and Paul’s place. Totally undrinkable, we decided to drain the tanks before
refilling in Newman. An unused 15 litres tub of spring water purchased by son-in-law Dan
in December 2015 when they went up to Geraldton, saved the
day! “Hurt but by no
means out” - we will go through to Newman and find an auto-electrician! Lea
spent a sleepless night worrying about how and where the water tanks could be
flushed and cleansed along with travelling on a busy mining road with no brake
and indicator lights. Next morning George was met with the sight of a flat
tyre! The same tyre that he’d pumped up at Mt Augustus. Out came the jack and
the spare.
That done he opened the stop cocks on the water tanks and purposely drove over the most
uneven ground he could find. The idea being to get the water sloshing around,
lifting the sludge from the bottom of the tanks and spilling as we drove
towards Newman – 190 km away. Meanwhile, safety conscious Lea had cut up a
shocking pink dish cloth and tied, as a semblance of red flags, onto the back
of the van. We were on the Great Northern Highway; road train country, a route
better described as a Road Train Raceway, not the type of drive we enjoy.
It
passed uneventfully and we stopped for a break at an enormous, very busy roadhouse
on the Tropic of Capricorn to inquire about an auto-electrician and a tyre
company. Nothing! Newman was our place. We found both, in close proximity to
each other, and very fortunately found people ready to attend to our needs. The
tyre was found to have a tiny puncture and repaired in no time. At the Toyota Workshop
a South African foreman (ex-Pretoria) and his apprentice were able to repair/replace
the indicator and Anderson plugs, a task that took all of two hours. All the men
warned against using the Newman to Marble Bar Road. We listened, as we pay
dearly using poor roads! We refilled with diesel and headed to The Oasis, 8km
south of the town centre. The caravan park in town we’d previously stayed at, has been
taken over by Mining and undergoing refurbishment. Oasis was obviously very
new, covered in red earth and little else with cramped transportable ablution blocks. At least
we could rid our bodies of dust with a shower, refill our water tanks and relax
with TV. Until Lea discovered a free laundry. Although it was the last thing she
wanted to do at 9.00 o’clock at night we had little prospect of getting a
similar service ahead of us.
Before leaving
the Oasis caravan park George rigged up a new invention he’d thought of during
the night- a “cable suspender” –
specifically designed to raise the height of the newly fitted cables sagging at
the back of the truck by suspending them on a strap secured to the roof rack!! Then, taking heed of the Auto Electricians
advice to avoid the developmental road to Marble Bar we continued along the
Road Train Raceway to Port Hedland 440km ahead. This was an attractive drive
through well wooded broken country, the Ophthalmia Ranges in the Pilbara region
with its russet coloured hills, crossing rivers with intriguing names like
Weeli Wolli creek and Pebble Mouse creek. By midday we were back at one of our
favourite free camps overlooking the East Munjina Gorge (the Albert Tognolini rest
area) in the Hammersley Range. We last camped there on our way south in Dec
2010.
During our lunch
break we were dismayed to find the water pump sucking up inky black water once
again – the contamination of the tanks had not been solved. In the meantime, we
had enough potable water on board in separate containers to survive. We learnt something new about our inky black
water problem – When the tap is drawing water from the hot water position, it
runs clear, the cold water position runs black. Meaning? Not knowing quite what
to do next we decided to treat the water in one tank by adding bicarbonate of
soda and, into the other, we used Lea’s precious bottle of apple cider vinegar!
We re-joined the
convoy of road trains heading north, each of them regularly rumbling past us on
their multiple rows of wheels (five trailers each with 12 tyres per trailer (3
pairs of 4), i.e. 60 tyres per vehicle! And in the opposite direction came the
same onslaught of road trains, along with huge trucks carrying abnormal loads.
In short, an incredible but unnerving mass of heavy machinery with us toddling
along at a steady 80kph, among them all.
The surrounding countryside dominated by spinifex grassland now flat and
uninteresting, much of it scorched by fires, some still burning.
After an hour or
so we stopped to spill all the water from our tanks, then continued until 60km
south of Port Hedland we pulled off onto a cattle ranch – the 160 000ha Indee Station - for a night. It proved to
be a rewarding, very different type of experience. Run by Colin and Betty
Brierley (Colin aged 80, has lived on his station for 56 years) had
established a rough caravan park (no on site power or water available) to
capture some of the grey nomads that steadily stream past on the Great North
Road. All around the homestead (with a sign on the gate reading Old Farts
Haven) were rusty bits of farm machinery, old caravans, wrecked cars and piles
of disused tyres. Visitors are also
permitted to explore parts of the station where among other things was a large
rock (Red Rock – very similar to Barlangi Rock) bearing Aboriginal etchings; a
memorial to 26 people killed when a Viscount crashed on the station on 31
Dec 1968, and even pebble mouse mounds to be seen. Delighted, we didn’t take
long to unhitch and, with Colin’s mud map to hand, began exploring.
At 5.30 the
Brierley’s had happy hour in their purpose built anti cyclone house. They
provided a wide variety of nibbles and we were soon joined by the farm hands
and farm dogs. Conversations flew and at one time Colin took George to see his
walls of history - fascinating was a framed copy of an article from a magazine
written about Colin. It covered tales of
the cyclones he’d managed to weather; the Viscount crash that he attended; the
problems they had with mining companies and railway lines being run through the
property; the impact of the cattle export ban implemented by ex PM Julia
Gillard much to his vexation; the war he’d fought against dingoes (using dog
shit as bait on jaw traps covered with a rag soaked in strychnine – killing as
many as 102 in eight weeks) while dotted around the room were numerous rocks of
geological interest (including a stromatolite estimated to be 4.5 billion years
old!).
Given a weekend approached and the unlikelihood of finding anyone in
Port Hedland late Saturday to sort our inky water, we decided another
night on Indee Station was our best bet with a move to Port Hedland on the Sunday. During the course
of the day, we came to realise the water pump was constantly drawing power (load)
unless switched off! Did this suggest another problem?
Colin had kindly
offered to take me to see a pebble mouse mound that lay a kilometre or so from
the homestead – Early next morning, George had the pleasure of being taken for a
short ride in one of the most beaten up, decayed Hilux truck he'd ever been
in. The windscreen so dirty and crazed with cracks you couldn’t see a thing,
the rattling noise deafening, the floorboard below the sagging non-existent
seat, littered with rocks, bits of machinery and plastic bottles. The pebble mouse mound concealed by spinifex
built up of pebbles all of a very similar size and much larger in spatial
extent than he'd expected. It lead to George to wondering whether he’d get a
picture of the mouse by setting up his camera trap that evening.
Just before
sunset the camera trap was set next to the pebble mouse mound and we returned
to a busier camp site with happy hour down at the homestead.
There was to be no sign of the pebble mouse … so after bidding farewell to Colin we drove straight
to Port Hedland (South) - 60km away - and booked into the Blackrock caravan
park. There we set about having a major spring clean, tidying up cupboard contents - that have jumped and vibrated around - causing mayhem when we need to find something. After lunch we
went to the shopping centre and restocked with groceries from a large Coles
supermarket, buying a litre of white vinegar. Caravan water tanks were duly
filled with some water before adding 500ml of white vinegar as a disinfectant. A fairly dull, but busy day, spent
“housekeeping”. News of the world
eagerly sought on television come evening. In the midst of that, our
electric kettle (Saxon’s old kettle) suddenly gave one last electrical gasp /
flash, and died!
Having been
advised at Indee Station the only company to help us in Port Hedland would be ‘Pilbara
Boats and Bikes’ who also sell caravans and would have the necessary expertise
to look into our water / water pump problems. George was waiting for them at
opening time and half an hour later he was on the way back to our van with a
young fellow, Nick and his tools. He was
quick to establish the water filter was blocked with calcium like deposits and
advised us to buy an online filter to fit to the hose we use for filling the
tanks and connecting to the mains water supply, especially in the Pilbara
region. He also established the pressure
switch on the water pump was sticking (also due to calcium build up) and
recommended fitting a new pump. I must have ferried Nick between our caravan
and his work at least half a dozen times but by mid-morning (and $500 later) we
were over the hump and back in action. Temperatures
rapid climb into the high 30’s in the Pilbara and by midday we were glad to
have the air con in the caravan to cool down.
Over lunch, Lea shot up thinking someone
had reversed into us as the caravan rocked and subsided. The butler sat
knowingly… he had not lowered the stabiliser legs (a bad habit of his) and the
caravan had slid down the jockey wheel! Punishment was having to unpack the high
lift jack and raise the caravan draw-bar manually before being able to drop the
front legs - in the hot sun!
Heading for
Marble Bar through attractive rolling country where a sign claimed to be the
“largest shire in the world” (i.e. the East Pilbara). By midday, upon reaching
the Coongan River, we had to search for the narrow, rather rough track that led
to Dooleena Gorge. There, we picked the most level spot we could find and
“struck camp” for the night.
Although
stinking hot (36⁰C) the afternoon
passed peacefully with George bird-watching on a grassy patch under a shady
tree with a view across the bed of the river (still containing a shallow sheet
of algal rich water) to the high brilliantly coloured red bluff that formed the
eastern face of Dooleena Gorge, completely dominating the scene. Painted finch were present, a bird he had
never seen before and most surprisingly there weren’t any flies to turn one’s
life into a misery.
Late afternoon
we took a short walk down the sandy river bed, taking photos of the Dooleena
bluff before the sun went down and it lost its colour. Had our peanuts and shandy before nightfall,
followed by a quiet game of scrabble, simply enjoying the isolation and peaceful
surrounds.
Attending to a
call of nature George was up at dawn, pleased to take a photo of the rig in the
soft, early morning light, and by 8.00 we were on our way, heading for the
Carawine Gorge, which lay 160km east of Marble Bar. The road a delight as it
threaded its way through the Coongan Range, the twists and turns a welcome
change from the long straights we usually incur. Travelling on the Ripon Hills
/ Woodie Woodie road signs warned “No fuel beyond this point”; another read “No
water ahead, ensure you have an adequate supply”. It was a long drive going
forever further and further into an endlessly rolling landscape which, as far
as we were concerned, was not the sort of place where one would expect gorges. Eventually
the signpost to Carawine Gorge popped up, 13km away on a wide, recently graded
road that twisted and turned through the Warrawagine cattle station. As we neared the gorge and caught sight of
the tree lined camping area (two caravans there) the road very suddenly dropped
onto a loose, pebble strewn floodplain of the Oakover River. Changing into low
range 4WD we anxiously clawed our way through the stones, following the deep
wheel ruts that other vehicles had already created and churned up, hoping to
reach the river bank where the ground appeared a bit firmer. The noise was
horrific and Lea had her heart in her mouth.
On reaching the river bed George
did a recce on foot searching for a suitable campsite (something flat, with
shade and reasonable access). We were lucky – he found one that met all our
requirements with a perfect view of the gorge overlooking a large pool of water
that lay confined therein and, it wasn’t too far to go nor would we have to
return through the deep stony floodplain.
A couple of
steaks on an open fire, washed down with a cold shandy whilst watching the
sunset behind the gorge was imperative, drawing to a close the end to a special
day and a place well worth coming so far to see. Carawine Gorge was not the
sort of place to travel to for a night … it was far too beautiful and before the
sun rose next morning George was hovering around, anxious to capture a
panoramic shot of the gorge in the early morning light.
The scene was
enough to make him want to paint, and he attempted to do so after breakfast.
Walking the
stony floodplains was considered foolhardy for Lea, however, George would
disappear in different directions to see what he could see and come back and
report. For a remote spot there was quite a bit of coming and going alerted by
the grind of tyres loudly munching on stone. Healthy, large Drought Master bulls
rested and grazed nearby. A sign warned this was a working cattle station and
during the months of July/August this area came alive with the noise of
helicopters, trail bikes and mustering crew. After supper, as a special treat; one George
has patiently longed to watch over many months since Lenny gave him a farewell
gift of the book and DVD – A Bridge too Far – A dated film. Spoilt
by the realistically good war film of more recent years - it was so bad. Cigar smoking Yanks dashing around in jeeps and pompous Brits eventually proved too much for George and he forced a stop before the film ended! A great disappointment after reading
the excellent book about the whole, badly miscalculated affair.
During the night
the battery power indicator in the caravan had dropped into the amber zone (due
to using the TV), and the temperature of the deepfreeze in the back of the
truck had dropped to -1.0⁰C (instead of
-14⁰C) George promptly started the generator to
charge up the caravan batteries and switch over to 220v on the truck. Shade had become our enemy – too much shade over the past few
days, with the truck idle, has the battery supply for the deep freeze below 12v (11.7v to be precise). Solar panels
need constant sun especially when we are static for more than two days! Our
next plan was to shift into an area with direct exposure to sunlight. The day
became one of monitoring battery levels and moving as shade patterns dictated.
Finally, around 4.00 pm shade was everywhere. We were forced to move to a
spot further downstream that was fully exposed to the sun for the next two
hours. Furthermore, the heat of the day
had kept the freezer running non-stop and the voltage stored in the supply
battery still remained below what was required, inn spite of running the
truck’s engine (alternator) for a short while. Next, George ran the generator for two hours hoping it would see us through the night. Bedtime check still
showed an inadequate voltage in the supply battery. The freezer wasn't running and unsurprisingly, the temperature began to drop. It was down – we decided the only answer was to drive for an hour or so. Get back to the Woodie-Woodie road and camp overnight in the first lay-by
we found. The thought of moving at night is a harrowing affair with roos
and cattle as potential hazards. And, we felt like criminals ‘doing a runner’
in the night!
The action taken seemed to solve the problem. George would bolt upright from sleep for periodic checks. Worse was the distant grinding noise of road trains coming
from afar – building to a crescendo of loud noise and bright lights as they
came alongside before rumbling on towards the distant mines of Telfar and Woodi
Woodi - seemingly every 10 minutes for the first two hours before silence
unexpectedly fell; before the next cycle of reverberations bore into sleep again. All made for a highly disrupted night in the lay-by.
By first light –
wakened yet again by a road train, we rose bleary eyed, to start driving
towards Marble Bar with dawn breaking over the land. We stopped midway for our
breakfast and found our power problems were basically all under control.
Thereafter, we sat back and enjoyed the drive to Marble Bar (120km away) with
the sun behind us and a fresh easterly tail wind helping push us along. In the
early morning light the spinifex dominated surrounds, the flat topped mesas and
rust coloured breakaways on the hills - all a sight for sore eyes and a real
treat to behold.
The net result
of the departure from our otherwise normal routine was that we were in Marble
Bar by 9.00am – Welcome to the hottest
town in Australia said the sign at its entrance. In actual fact it is the
town with the longest heat record not
the highest temperatures. We encountered our coolest temperature in days, a
pleasant 23⁰C that we were felt a
little chilled! The towns’ informally
laid out Caravan Park, with shady grassed sites and no-one in the “office” to
take the fees until it suited them was a delightful oasis. Turned out to be our
most expensive stop so far. Even laundry was a hefty $6 a load. In the late afternoon we walked into “town” following
the heritage trail. Marble Bar is famous
for the outcrops of jasper in its surrounds. Slabs originally mistaken for
marble in the early days. The giant slabs of jasper in the war memorial, sliced
through and polished were an amazing sight; as was a plaque filled wall
dedicated to Pilbara pioneers. Marble Bar resident, Len Lever had researched
all the lonely graves across the shire along with numerous locals that had died
and marked their name and passing on the wall. Fascinating to discover the
reasons for death; people killed by gunshots or spear wounds; others that had
drowned (a drover in Carawine gorge); a prospector found dead in his camp; dying
of apoplexy common!
Jasper in Marble
Bar
Marble Bar’s
“Ironclad Hotel” was another spot we’d been advised to visit by Pete Colvin’s
partner, Murielle. It wasn’t opening for another two hours and we were to
regret not returning later. A few days after we’d left Marble Bar, in the book
we were reading on Sir Charles Kingsford-Smith, Australia’s famous aviator (aka
“Smithy”, the extrovert) was married there!
Darn it!
By early morning
the temperature was a chilly 14⁰C! Everyone
was wearing a fleece or jumper in the hottest town in Australia. While Lea
stayed in the warmth of bed, George was sunning himself outside like a rock
rabbit watching a surprising number of campers present- packing up their
assortment of camping trailers and tents; one particular lot, travelling in a
convoy of 3 vehicles, donning long leggings (for protection amongst spinifex?)
and pouring over a large scale map before setting off - where to I would love to
have found out. In due course, we too joined the mass exodus from the park,
filled up with diesel (at 160c / l) and began heading west, back towards the
Great Northern Highway (150k distant) directly into the face of a strong
headwind. Slow progress to the large well-known 24 hr rest area on the edge of
the De Grey River. Receiving waters of the Oakover and Coongan rivers (and
several others) – both of which we now have a better knowledge. We were
pleasantly surprised to find very few grey nomads there as normally the place
is packed full of them. The lack, suggests we are ahead of the “grey nomad
migration”.
On our first circumnavigation with our new rig in 2006 we stopped
here with Paula Baxter and we were squished up along the track side. This time
we had a wide choice and deliberately chose the sunniest site. Only to have some
difficulty getting into place due to the proximity of an overhanging tree
severely threatening to take out the corner of our rolled up awning and caravan
roof for a nightmarish moment, in what appeared to be a simple turn! Happiness
soon reigned as a covey of 18 tiny brown quails came marching past (resembling
a troop of ‘Easter eggs’). In the surrounding trees, flashes of blue – winged
kookaburras told us we were nearing the Kimberley. Both species good avifaunal
indicators of an impending change in zoogeographic region!
Having landed up
in such a peaceful spot among the groves of paperbark trees that line the de
Grey River with a young blue–winged kookaburra giving
incessant squawks for food or anxiety; happy family birds (grey –crowned
babblers) frolicking around; mud-larks outside the front step and a large
Brahman bull lying in the sun studying us whilst chewing its cud, not 50m away
– we decided to spend another night. Such is the life of a rubber tramp and the
‘difficult’ spur of the moment decisions one needs to become accustomed to
making! A nice breeze kept us cool and sun kept solar power going for our
fridges. Come evening time, after
hamburgers done over a camp fire, George delightedly trounced his Scrabble opponent
by four points!
Time for the coast
– one of our favourite camp spots, Cape Keraudren, lying 80k away. Travelling
once again into a strong headwind. Again, a vast choice of sites without the
cheek by jowl we first came upon in winter, 2006.
We were soon camped
on the edge of Boat Ramp Bay in the Cape Keraudren Coastal Nature Reserve. The
tide was in and we overlooked the bowl shaped bay filled with its azure blue
sheet of water that always fascinates us. The strong wind kept pesky flies at
bay and providing relief from the steadily growing heat of the day, albeit only
rising to 30⁰C. Amazingly, at the Cape Keraudren Look-out, a Wi-fi
hotspot along with a new toilet had been established. Lea was in her element
sending messages and playing her Word. We looked forward to the tide
going out leaving the flat, rock bottom of the bay exposed so we could take a
walk across it. Always somewhat magical but by sunset, the tides had still not disappeared
back to the ocean. Instead, we took a walk out to the point of Cape Keraudren.
Later, our interest was captured by the unusual behaviour of many dragonflies
hawking insects outside the caravan at dusk. George came up with the idea that our
caravan light shining through the window was attracting moths and midges and
this, had attracted the dragonflies. An unproven theory – but possible
nonetheless? Living with an entomologist
is endlessly interesting!
By next morning the
strong easterly wind was blowing hard again. However, in need for a bit of
exercise before we settled to computers and books we took a walk around the tip
of Cape Keraudren and along the crest to the point where WA’s famous “Eighty
Mile beach” commences. Far from pleasant and the wind blew through the holes of
Lea’s walking stick causing it to whistle like a flute.
At the tip of Cape Keraudren
By midday, the atmosphere
right out to the horizon had assumed a hazy brown colour thanks to the sand
storm the wind had generated. Fine sand found its way into the caravan through
every gap available forming a layer of grit everywhere. The one thing we
couldn’t complain about here was shade. There simply is NO shade at Cape
Keraudren so our solar panels loved it!
The day ended
badly! Firstly, new arrivals chose to camp a little too close for our liking
considering the vast space. The Australian vacuum packed Flat Iron steak we had
been so delighted to find in Perth and frozen for a treat on the road (a
comforting memory of Brown’s Butchery in Scatho and Rob Taylor who originally
educated us about this cut of meat over in the UK) turned out to be a horrible,
tough piece of fatty meat with the muscle sheath still embedded. What a
disappointment! What a Woolworth’s con.
By morning the
neighbours had moved on, the wind was howling outside once more and to George’s
dismay the solar panels were not charging and the deep freeze losing
temperature. To save the situation he ran the freezer off the generator for a
while before deciding it was time to head on north using the alternator. Upon
leaving, George was taken aback to feel the rig reluctant to move off. On
checking around the caravan, he discovered yesterday’s wind had scoured holes
around each tyre and they had slipped into the pits created! Nor did the wind
help as we made our way towards Eighty Mile Beach – 100km away- playing havoc
with our fuel consumption and speed of travel (normally 80kph, now down to 60).
Driving was no easier with the constant buffeting the caravan received.
[* Previous blog accounts to Cape Keraudren can be found under July 2006; December 2010
and July 2014]
After our last
visit in Dec 2010 we were interested to see how the shady, nicely grassed Eighty
Mile Beach caravan park (full of crested pigeons) had recovered since Cyclone
Laurence had nearly demolished the place the previous year, Dec 2009. We have
returned from our years in England to feel the shock of price increases. In 2010
we paid $34pn for a powered site now it was $45 p.n. Tucked immediately behind the primary sand
dune it was nice to be out of the wind, to have a proper shower and even
better, have TV reception to catch up on the world. The upcoming Royal Wedding
between Prince Harry and Meghan on 19th May dominated. If there was reception out here; there would
surely be reception at Barn Hill?
Towards late
afternoon while the tide was out, we had a lovely walk on the hard, shell
strewn 80 mile beach – its seemingly endless expanse a really spectacular
sight. Returning to find the caravan park literally buzzing with large
dragonflies before sunset. A population explosion – George’s theory developed a
few days ago, shattered, but another born! Given that the life cycle of
dragonflies involves a number of fresh water dependent stages … where, in such
dry surrounds, were the wetlands required to generate a population explosion? They had to exist somewhere.
[* Previous
blog accounts to Eighty Mile Beach can be found July 2006 and December 2010]
Not prepared to
stay and blow our budget further we returned to the Great Northern Highway still
struggling against the strong easterly wind. On reaching the Sandfire
Roadhouse, for safety’s sake, we decided to top up with a bit of diesel (at the
price of 179.5c / l) as our fuel consumption had increased and we were seldom
out of 4th gear, even on the flats. Shortly after leaving Sandfire, we
came across the low-lying Anna Plains (a wetland) which, judging from the now
drying filamentous algal growth on top of the grasses, had obviously been
inundated recently. In places, open water remained with flocks of terns flying
over and in the distance saw, what we decided was a flock of Jabiru (black
necked storks) in the air. Plenty of cattle to be seen but sadly, with the
highway having been raised across the wetlands, there was nowhere suitable to
stop and take photos, BUT herein, lay the answer to the mystery of the dragonfly
population explosion! The recent inundation of Anna Plains held the key!
The lone cyclist
we encountered, heading north, straining against the very wind we too were
struggling with was quick to gain our admiration. After 3 hours of driving a
hard pull, we finally turned into the large, well provisioned 24 hr Stanley
rest area for a free night. Chose our
spot carefully for a sense of privacy and peace. Within little time, other
caravanners and campers were pulling in and making use of the covered picnic
areas to socialise. All good until we decided to take a walk only to discover
the freezer had gone off once again! George
restarted it using the generator and began trying to figure out the problem –
now clearly electrical. Checking wires; plugs and fuses and he finally realised
it was a dirty socket. A clean with
emery paper had all seem well again. By late evening the Rest Stop was abuzz
with 16 rigs, many trailer campers and campervans. One large Oka seemed
to want our view!
Sunset
at Stanley Road Stop
The drone of a
Road Dept. mobile generator pumping water, not too far off, was magnified in
the silence of the night. Disturbing Lea enough to find herself tossing and
turning and overtaken by those unexpected waves of grief certain sunset so
easily brings in their wake along with the sea.
A teary day. Hover, by mid morning we were 90k north, contentedly parked
in one of the front row, cliff side bush camps overlooking the brilliantly blue
ocean at Barn Hill – another of our favourite sites along this stretch of the
NW coast of WA. Happily, the park,
especially the unpowered section, was nowhere as busy as it can get during the
winter season. The only blight - no TV – avid Royalist Lea missed the wedding!
Two incredibly caring, considerate people sent photos as the ceremony beamed
across the world on television, from Tetney, UK and Howden, Tasmania; while the
two of us toasted from afar over our ‘royal’ meal.
It’s a steep and
far from easy path getting down the beach. There is, however, a well-hidden
gully that once you have entered, transports you into a Yankee cowboy movie set
and it is very believable to think you are in Deadman’s Gulch!
Three nights
later, somewhat reluctantly we pulled out of our fine site for the last leg to
Broome.
[* Previous blog accounts to Barn
Hill can be found in November 2010 and July 2014]
On arrival in
Broome, our day was immediately spent replenishing food stocks and a wash down of the rig –
We hoped to solve the intermittent problem arising on our truck deep freeze over
these last few weeks before the big Top End crossing of Australia - eastwards.
That could only be checked the next day. We shot back the distance to Gateway
Park that we'd previously enjoyed only to be pulled up short by no power points. We had
forgotten that! We needed power and returned to Broome Caravan Park. A wild
goose chase followed next day with a full day dedicated to the deep freeze. Throwing our planned relaxed second day seeing a film and walking Cable Beach. All went
by the board, running hither and thither on deep freeze and car battery related
matters. A late lunch at Matso’s Broome Brewery intervened and became our treat
for a difficult day. As for all the monitoring that took place; essentially,
the freezer problem came back to the single lead and now obsolete plug
connection that came with the original purchase of our WAECO, five years ago.
Now for the Savannah Way...
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