Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Uluru, The Olgas, and the long road home
After another longish drive we arrived at Uluru, or Ayers Rock, in time to book into the campsite, and then head off to watch the sunset. We’ve seen hundreds of photos of Ayers Rock, but still nothing had prepared me for this enormous red monolith rising out of the otherwise barren landscape. There is a designated viewing carpark for cars, and we were happy that the one for the hordes of buses was further back across the road. A friendly gathering of people, and although the sunset wasn’t particularly spectacular because of the dust Nick wandered around and found someone who’d just travelled down the Great Central Road (or Great Central Dirt-track as I’ve renamed it) and said it was in good condition as the grader had just been through. This cheered us as we’d been told that the pot-holes were a foot deep, and weren’t looking forward to 1,000 km of that.
Next day we had a leisurely breakfast in an almost deserted campsite as, judging by the unzipping of tents and revving of engines at 5am, everyone else had gone to watch the sun rise on Uluru (you’ll notice I call it by both names, like the National Park and road-map people, I can’t decided on just one). We arrived a bit later and did one or two short trails to look at rock-art, caves etc. Sections of it round the base are closed off to the public, again because of its religious significance to the Aboriginal people. But strangely enough the extremely steep walk to the top (hand-rails up a near-vertical bare rock-face) isn’t closed, although there are notices all over the place asking the public to show respect and not climb it. In the visitors centre there are tales of how many people have perished doing the climb (38 – mostly from heart attacks), and we couldn’t understand why they still keep the walk open, seeing as vast tracts of land in the Territory belonging to Aboriginal communities are no entry zones to the general public. Strange.
However, they do encourage you to try the 7 km Valley of the Winds walk at the Olga range, 40 km away. So we headed off there, and found a range of domes of stunning beauty. Despite its billing as ‘hard’ the walk wasn’t nearly as difficult as some we’d done - perhaps its been hyped up a bit to make those not walking Uluru feel better. Although the day was pretty hot again we spent two or three hours enjoying the wonderful colours and clear views, knowing it would be our last walk of the trip. We returned to Uluru again in the evening, and were rewarded with one of the famous sunsets this time.
Next morning it was finally time to start the long drive home. We had about 2,000 km to cover, and weren’t sure if we’d have just one more, or two nights on the road. We set the alarm for 5 am and were able to see the sun rise behind Ayers Rock and watch its rays spreading across the desert to light up The Olgas. Our farewell to this part of Australia that has given us so many stunning sights. We made breakfast in the carpark (glad of hot coffee, it was about 7C this early in the morning) and were on the road by 7.15.
The first 1,000 km would be on the Great Central Road, which we felt was our final ‘must see’ or perhaps ‘must do’. It turned out to be a lot less corrugated than we’d feared, and we were able to drive at between 80 and 100 kph most of the way, although the driving itself is extremely tiring because of the constant juddering over the ruts, and also because of the concentration needed: in the blink of an eye you find yourself swerving in soft sand, or in a pot-hole hidden by bull-dust.
We stopped briefly at a cave when an unfortunate explorer and prospector Lewis Lasseter, whose camels had bolted, sheltered from the fierce January heat in 1931. He was taken care of by an Aboriginal family group, walked many miles with them but eventually became too weak and died soon after reaching town. Nick wondered if some of the camels we saw round there were Lassiter’s camels’ progeny. Apart from the camels, there really was very little to see and so we kept ourselves going by counting cars: tally for the two days’ driving was 32 cars (all but one and a road-train coming in the opposite direction) and 173 dead cars + 1 caravan – wrecks long abandoned at the side of the road. We did meet a couple of mining convoys in our ‘live car’ count, trailers with outrider vehicles to clear the road, carrying gigantic bits of mining kit. We literally had to get right off the road to let them pass as they took up the whole space, and then wait for the clouds of dust to disperse.
We covered a good distance the first day, and were so whacked we were glad to find a cabin (called The Hilton) at a friendly roadhouse, which had two pet emus running round. We had a comfy bed, kitchen and TV, though we had to use the shower block on the site, and I was a bit worried that I might bump into an emu if I had to get up to the loo in the middle of the night. In the event I didn’t and the emus were locked up so I needn’t have worried. We made another early getaway by 6.30, and by 10 were very pleased to hit the bitumen for the remainder of the journey. We turned off the aircon and opened the air vent, and were covered in dust that blew straight into our faces (just a small part of the dust that’s got into every crevice in the car).
A day of long straight almost empty roads. There are so few cars here, and I realise now why they give the traffic report for the whole of Australia each morning on the radio. My big worry had been how I was going to overtake road-trains, some of which are four container trucks long, joined together like a train. In fact when you have over 18 km of straight road without a bend and few cars in the opposite direction, it’s not so terrifying. They don’t tend to slow down to let you pass, though, as they would then have to climb back up their 17 or so gears.
By stopping only briefly for a cup of tea, and later some excellent fish and chips at a roadhouse jumping with boozed-up footie fans (we’d been listening to the Aussie Rules Grand Final on the radio, a sacred day in September) we finally drove through the gates of our block at 10pm, having driven 1,200 km that day, 59 days after we set out. The flat seemed vast and oh so tidy and dust-free, and as for our bed, well, it was hard to get out of it next morning. Only sad thing is no Smudge the cat, who is now happily living with Kate in Adelaide.
Well, what a trip. We feel so lucky to have had the chance to explore just a small corner of this vast and wonderful country. I feel quite proud to have learnt new skills, mainly from Nick, who is so practical when it comes to living on and off the land – you may not be surprised to know that I was rather a novice camper when we started. Camping has taught us both freedom and discipline as we’ve gone along. I’ve loved it that when we’ve started off in the morning we often haven’t known exactly where we’ll be at the end of the day. The discipline is in the minutiae of camping itself – the inside of our car might have looked like junk heap, but when it came to making camp (and making supper) we had to know exactly where we’d put everything in order to find it again. It made us laugh that nearly every other camper's site was also surrounded by a storage system of large plastic boxes and brightly coloured Coles shopping bags.
We’ll miss the endless stretching roads and landscape of different colours, the pools and gorges. And the many, many people we’ve met and talked to along the way. We found that the campsites that had mainly Aussies staying were where we struck up most conversations; Johnny Foreigner, be he German, American or Brit, tended to keep himself to himself. Since I’ve been home I’ve rather missed the conversation on campsites and road conditions while we performed personal tasks like washing up or cleaning teeth: some of our best side-trips were made on the strength of this shared information. The travelling life is a whole parallel universe, and we feel lucky to have been part of it. And what’s more, we had the greatest fun!
(So much so that we will be heading out again next week, taking Kate and friend Matt across the Nullabor and back to Adelaide, and then on for a week or two to explore South Australia. That is, if I can leave my comfy bed again…)The next couple of blogs will be mainly photographic, with a bit from Nick on the roads we travelled.
Next day we had a leisurely breakfast in an almost deserted campsite as, judging by the unzipping of tents and revving of engines at 5am, everyone else had gone to watch the sun rise on Uluru (you’ll notice I call it by both names, like the National Park and road-map people, I can’t decided on just one). We arrived a bit later and did one or two short trails to look at rock-art, caves etc. Sections of it round the base are closed off to the public, again because of its religious significance to the Aboriginal people. But strangely enough the extremely steep walk to the top (hand-rails up a near-vertical bare rock-face) isn’t closed, although there are notices all over the place asking the public to show respect and not climb it. In the visitors centre there are tales of how many people have perished doing the climb (38 – mostly from heart attacks), and we couldn’t understand why they still keep the walk open, seeing as vast tracts of land in the Territory belonging to Aboriginal communities are no entry zones to the general public. Strange.
However, they do encourage you to try the 7 km Valley of the Winds walk at the Olga range, 40 km away. So we headed off there, and found a range of domes of stunning beauty. Despite its billing as ‘hard’ the walk wasn’t nearly as difficult as some we’d done - perhaps its been hyped up a bit to make those not walking Uluru feel better. Although the day was pretty hot again we spent two or three hours enjoying the wonderful colours and clear views, knowing it would be our last walk of the trip. We returned to Uluru again in the evening, and were rewarded with one of the famous sunsets this time.
Next morning it was finally time to start the long drive home. We had about 2,000 km to cover, and weren’t sure if we’d have just one more, or two nights on the road. We set the alarm for 5 am and were able to see the sun rise behind Ayers Rock and watch its rays spreading across the desert to light up The Olgas. Our farewell to this part of Australia that has given us so many stunning sights. We made breakfast in the carpark (glad of hot coffee, it was about 7C this early in the morning) and were on the road by 7.15.
The first 1,000 km would be on the Great Central Road, which we felt was our final ‘must see’ or perhaps ‘must do’. It turned out to be a lot less corrugated than we’d feared, and we were able to drive at between 80 and 100 kph most of the way, although the driving itself is extremely tiring because of the constant juddering over the ruts, and also because of the concentration needed: in the blink of an eye you find yourself swerving in soft sand, or in a pot-hole hidden by bull-dust.
We stopped briefly at a cave when an unfortunate explorer and prospector Lewis Lasseter, whose camels had bolted, sheltered from the fierce January heat in 1931. He was taken care of by an Aboriginal family group, walked many miles with them but eventually became too weak and died soon after reaching town. Nick wondered if some of the camels we saw round there were Lassiter’s camels’ progeny. Apart from the camels, there really was very little to see and so we kept ourselves going by counting cars: tally for the two days’ driving was 32 cars (all but one and a road-train coming in the opposite direction) and 173 dead cars + 1 caravan – wrecks long abandoned at the side of the road. We did meet a couple of mining convoys in our ‘live car’ count, trailers with outrider vehicles to clear the road, carrying gigantic bits of mining kit. We literally had to get right off the road to let them pass as they took up the whole space, and then wait for the clouds of dust to disperse.
We covered a good distance the first day, and were so whacked we were glad to find a cabin (called The Hilton) at a friendly roadhouse, which had two pet emus running round. We had a comfy bed, kitchen and TV, though we had to use the shower block on the site, and I was a bit worried that I might bump into an emu if I had to get up to the loo in the middle of the night. In the event I didn’t and the emus were locked up so I needn’t have worried. We made another early getaway by 6.30, and by 10 were very pleased to hit the bitumen for the remainder of the journey. We turned off the aircon and opened the air vent, and were covered in dust that blew straight into our faces (just a small part of the dust that’s got into every crevice in the car).
A day of long straight almost empty roads. There are so few cars here, and I realise now why they give the traffic report for the whole of Australia each morning on the radio. My big worry had been how I was going to overtake road-trains, some of which are four container trucks long, joined together like a train. In fact when you have over 18 km of straight road without a bend and few cars in the opposite direction, it’s not so terrifying. They don’t tend to slow down to let you pass, though, as they would then have to climb back up their 17 or so gears.
By stopping only briefly for a cup of tea, and later some excellent fish and chips at a roadhouse jumping with boozed-up footie fans (we’d been listening to the Aussie Rules Grand Final on the radio, a sacred day in September) we finally drove through the gates of our block at 10pm, having driven 1,200 km that day, 59 days after we set out. The flat seemed vast and oh so tidy and dust-free, and as for our bed, well, it was hard to get out of it next morning. Only sad thing is no Smudge the cat, who is now happily living with Kate in Adelaide.
Well, what a trip. We feel so lucky to have had the chance to explore just a small corner of this vast and wonderful country. I feel quite proud to have learnt new skills, mainly from Nick, who is so practical when it comes to living on and off the land – you may not be surprised to know that I was rather a novice camper when we started. Camping has taught us both freedom and discipline as we’ve gone along. I’ve loved it that when we’ve started off in the morning we often haven’t known exactly where we’ll be at the end of the day. The discipline is in the minutiae of camping itself – the inside of our car might have looked like junk heap, but when it came to making camp (and making supper) we had to know exactly where we’d put everything in order to find it again. It made us laugh that nearly every other camper's site was also surrounded by a storage system of large plastic boxes and brightly coloured Coles shopping bags.
We’ll miss the endless stretching roads and landscape of different colours, the pools and gorges. And the many, many people we’ve met and talked to along the way. We found that the campsites that had mainly Aussies staying were where we struck up most conversations; Johnny Foreigner, be he German, American or Brit, tended to keep himself to himself. Since I’ve been home I’ve rather missed the conversation on campsites and road conditions while we performed personal tasks like washing up or cleaning teeth: some of our best side-trips were made on the strength of this shared information. The travelling life is a whole parallel universe, and we feel lucky to have been part of it. And what’s more, we had the greatest fun!
(So much so that we will be heading out again next week, taking Kate and friend Matt across the Nullabor and back to Adelaide, and then on for a week or two to explore South Australia. That is, if I can leave my comfy bed again…)The next couple of blogs will be mainly photographic, with a bit from Nick on the roads we travelled.
Pics: Ayers Rock
Valley of the Winds, The Olgas
Domes, Valley of the Winds
Breakfast (literally) on the road
Wreck #85
Sunday, September 28, 2008
A Storm Like Alice
And so to Alice Springs, which to me has always epitomized an Outback town. Nick and friend Martin were last here 35 years ago, working on the railways for a week while hitching round Oz. When we arrived we found the fortnightly Sunday market in full swing in the mall, and Nick was keen to find the shop were they’d both ordered (and paid for) T-shirts all those years ago as they’d never received them (slogan: ‘Alice Springs Surf Life-saving Team’…).
Ironically it was in this town in the middle of the desert that we had our first rain of the trip, and so decided to bail out of camping and checked into a campsite motel room. Between showers we headed off to the railway yard to revisit Nick’s old haunt, and were lucky enough to catch the Ghan train, just about to make one of its twice-weekly departures for Adelaide. Very tempting to hop on board, where uniformed flunkies served Pimms and hot towels to the passengers who were rejoining the train after a couple of hours in Alice. A few days previously a 76 year-old woman driving through town had decided to play chicken with the train as it crossed the street (no crossing gates, just warning bells and lights as trains cross the main road). Luckily only her car was a write-off, and the headlines read “Gran meets Ghan”.
Next morning in bracing winds we left Alice and headed out to the stunning Standley Chasm. As we left there were flashes of lightning, and a short while later we were in the teeth of a short but severe storm, the temperature dropped from 31C to 17C in the space of 10 minutes. This was followed by the sky turning a weird green and yellow with poor visibility, as an extensive dust storm hit us. Turning on the radio we found that Alice had been hit by the rainstorm at lunchtime, which was severe enough to tear off roofs and bring down power lines, and as powerful as a no 1 cyclone.
That night we found our final bush camp of the trip, sheltered in woodland and while the winds sighed around us we watched the amazing greenish dusty sky meet the sunset.
Next morning we woke to 10C, and Nick made a small fire to keep us warm while we had breakfast. Hard to believe that just 2 nights previously we found it hard to sleep because of the heat. On the way south to Kings Canyon we stopped off at a meteorite crater, Gosse Bluff, formed 140,000,000 years ago. As it is an Aboriginal site of great religious significance we could only walk on prescribed paths round it, but it was hard to take in the age of this particular piece of the outback.
From the mind-boggling to the bizarre: I was driving us along the deserted dirt-track road when we spotted a police car coming in the opposite direction. He indicated for us to stop, and we thought he wanted to see the permit we’d had to obtain to drive this part of the route. However, with the words “This is really going to annoy you” he whipped out a machine and little white tube, and I found myself being breathalysed for the first time in my life – in the middle of the desert at midday on a Tuesday. The irony was that for perhaps the first time on the trip, we hadn’t had a drink the night before as the cellar was down to its last beer, and the sommelier had forgotten to put it in the fridge.
Things got even more surreal as I said to Nick that I would really like to see a camel in the wild. Within a minute we came across two separate herds of camels – just weird to see them ambling through the bush, turning to look at us with arrogant eyes and nostrils as we stopped to take photos.
We camped that night at a park near Kings Canyon – good facilities but we were rather cheek by guy-rope with the next tents, all vying for a little piece of the grass. But a good pizza and a couple of glasses of red at the bistro, and I wasn’t even aware of the school groups whooping it up a few yards away. Kings Canyon provided us with one of our favourite walks, beginning with some very steep natural steps in the rock, a challenge in the wind that still hadn’t let up. At the top was a 7 km walk round the rim of the crater, stunning colours in stripes that reminded us of The Bungles. The walk had been marked out brilliantly, with wooden steps and rails to assist on the very steep bits, and a boardwalk that took us down into a small chasm called The Garden of Eden, lush with ferns and palms, with a beautiful pool at the end of it (no swimming here, the water was much too cold). And then it was on to our final ‘must see’ destination, Uluru, or Ayers Rock.
Ironically it was in this town in the middle of the desert that we had our first rain of the trip, and so decided to bail out of camping and checked into a campsite motel room. Between showers we headed off to the railway yard to revisit Nick’s old haunt, and were lucky enough to catch the Ghan train, just about to make one of its twice-weekly departures for Adelaide. Very tempting to hop on board, where uniformed flunkies served Pimms and hot towels to the passengers who were rejoining the train after a couple of hours in Alice. A few days previously a 76 year-old woman driving through town had decided to play chicken with the train as it crossed the street (no crossing gates, just warning bells and lights as trains cross the main road). Luckily only her car was a write-off, and the headlines read “Gran meets Ghan”.
Next morning in bracing winds we left Alice and headed out to the stunning Standley Chasm. As we left there were flashes of lightning, and a short while later we were in the teeth of a short but severe storm, the temperature dropped from 31C to 17C in the space of 10 minutes. This was followed by the sky turning a weird green and yellow with poor visibility, as an extensive dust storm hit us. Turning on the radio we found that Alice had been hit by the rainstorm at lunchtime, which was severe enough to tear off roofs and bring down power lines, and as powerful as a no 1 cyclone.
That night we found our final bush camp of the trip, sheltered in woodland and while the winds sighed around us we watched the amazing greenish dusty sky meet the sunset.
Next morning we woke to 10C, and Nick made a small fire to keep us warm while we had breakfast. Hard to believe that just 2 nights previously we found it hard to sleep because of the heat. On the way south to Kings Canyon we stopped off at a meteorite crater, Gosse Bluff, formed 140,000,000 years ago. As it is an Aboriginal site of great religious significance we could only walk on prescribed paths round it, but it was hard to take in the age of this particular piece of the outback.
From the mind-boggling to the bizarre: I was driving us along the deserted dirt-track road when we spotted a police car coming in the opposite direction. He indicated for us to stop, and we thought he wanted to see the permit we’d had to obtain to drive this part of the route. However, with the words “This is really going to annoy you” he whipped out a machine and little white tube, and I found myself being breathalysed for the first time in my life – in the middle of the desert at midday on a Tuesday. The irony was that for perhaps the first time on the trip, we hadn’t had a drink the night before as the cellar was down to its last beer, and the sommelier had forgotten to put it in the fridge.
Things got even more surreal as I said to Nick that I would really like to see a camel in the wild. Within a minute we came across two separate herds of camels – just weird to see them ambling through the bush, turning to look at us with arrogant eyes and nostrils as we stopped to take photos.
We camped that night at a park near Kings Canyon – good facilities but we were rather cheek by guy-rope with the next tents, all vying for a little piece of the grass. But a good pizza and a couple of glasses of red at the bistro, and I wasn’t even aware of the school groups whooping it up a few yards away. Kings Canyon provided us with one of our favourite walks, beginning with some very steep natural steps in the rock, a challenge in the wind that still hadn’t let up. At the top was a 7 km walk round the rim of the crater, stunning colours in stripes that reminded us of The Bungles. The walk had been marked out brilliantly, with wooden steps and rails to assist on the very steep bits, and a boardwalk that took us down into a small chasm called The Garden of Eden, lush with ferns and palms, with a beautiful pool at the end of it (no swimming here, the water was much too cold). And then it was on to our final ‘must see’ destination, Uluru, or Ayers Rock.
Pics: Ghan away
Self-explanatory sign
Self-explanatory camel
Kings Canyon
Garden of Eden, Kings Canyon
We reached The Top and we had to stop
On to Darwin, which is the northern most part of our safari. Because the temperatures were still in the upper 30s we continued with the motel theme, and found a whole apartment in a motel that even had a swimming pool on the ground floor, for the price of a Travelodge room in the UK. We once more emptied the car and washed and dusted it, and were astonished at how much we pack into one car – we seemed to fill most of the apartment. We’d booked the car in for its 90,000 km service, and were a bit nervous that they’d find something dire that would need spare parts that would take 3 weeks to arrive by road-train. So we felt very relieved when we were told that the Prado was ‘in prime condition’. In fact we felt absurdly proud of the car after all we’ve put it through, rather like parents given a good report of their child at a parents’ evening at school. To celebrate Nick took me out to dinner at Chars restaurant (recommended by a colleague) where we had a wonderful meal outside under trees hung with lights, the balmy humid air reminding us of Bangkok (only about 10 degrees cooler). Putting together something to wear that was suitable for a smartish restaurant wasn’t easy, as we are somewhat sartorially challenged at this stage. Top half no problem, bottom half Nick wore camping trousers with the zip-on attachable legs, and I wore slightly dusty black jeans and trainers, being the only shoes that complied with the ‘no thongs’ policy (couldn’t bring myself to clump up in my mud-coloured Crocs).
We were really taken with Darwin, which was completely rebuilt after Cyclone Tracey tore through it on Christmas Day 1974, and has a lively tropical feel about it. We were both keen to see the Cyclone Tracey exhibit at the Museum and Art Gallery, but in fact were a little disappointed with it - as Nick said there weren’t enough personal stories to flesh out the photos. However, I enjoyed the modern Aboriginal art in the Gallery section, a lot more innovative and unusual than the ‘tourist’ art in so many shops in Australia. Having seen quite a lot of rock art at various sites by this time, it was also interesting to see a replica of the oldest known rock painting, which depicts an animal that has been extinct for 46,000 years – astounding thought.
After Darwin we did a small detour to Litchfield Park, which some people prefer to the Kakadu. We spent the day driving between waterfalls and pools and had a nice couple of swims in rock pools en route. That night we were back to bush camping, and drove for an hour or two down a delightful little track to Surprise Falls. I think the surprise was the number of flies, which had us fleeing the campsite before 8 the next morning. But although the falls were just trickles, in the evening we climbed up to them and had a wonderful pool to ourselves, where we toasted the sunset with a couple of cold beers. Another scary Scrabble game when a spider again legged it across the board (what is it with these literary Territorian arachnids?). Nick’s shout of “Watch Out!” scared me almost more than the spider, but at least this time I managed not to tip the board over.
The next day it was on to Katherine Gorge, where we took another boat trip (Katherine was 40C, so again it was essential to be on the water) which took us down three parts of this stunning gorge. During The Wet all parts form one big body of water, but by now we had to get out and walk to boats on each part of the gorge.And then it truly was time to begin the journey south, and home. Our drive to Alice Springs took us a day and a half (we managed to drive nearly 800 km on the first day). We camped at Wycliffe Wells, which has the distinction of totting up the most UFO sightings of anywhere in the world. They certainly capitalize on this theme, with spaceships and little green men all over the park (I saw one tearful little girl having to be reassured by her father at bedtime that spacemen really weren’t going to come and get her in the night). The owner told us that they see UFOs every few nights – he described in thrilling detail a few sightings he and his wife have had recently and although I think it would be arrogant to believe we’re the only ones out there, it did seem a little odd that this tiny corner of the world should clock up so many spaceships. However, good on that bloke, it’s very good for business and he tells it well. As you can imagine, I was beside myself with excitement at the thought of my first UFO sighting, and woke up regularly in the night to peer out of the tent, but alas, no extra-terrestrial visitors that night. Next week 28 people arrive from California to make a documentary – wonder if they’ll be luckier? I wanted to stay on another night, but Nick dragged me reluctantly away next morning as it really was time to head for home.
We were really taken with Darwin, which was completely rebuilt after Cyclone Tracey tore through it on Christmas Day 1974, and has a lively tropical feel about it. We were both keen to see the Cyclone Tracey exhibit at the Museum and Art Gallery, but in fact were a little disappointed with it - as Nick said there weren’t enough personal stories to flesh out the photos. However, I enjoyed the modern Aboriginal art in the Gallery section, a lot more innovative and unusual than the ‘tourist’ art in so many shops in Australia. Having seen quite a lot of rock art at various sites by this time, it was also interesting to see a replica of the oldest known rock painting, which depicts an animal that has been extinct for 46,000 years – astounding thought.
After Darwin we did a small detour to Litchfield Park, which some people prefer to the Kakadu. We spent the day driving between waterfalls and pools and had a nice couple of swims in rock pools en route. That night we were back to bush camping, and drove for an hour or two down a delightful little track to Surprise Falls. I think the surprise was the number of flies, which had us fleeing the campsite before 8 the next morning. But although the falls were just trickles, in the evening we climbed up to them and had a wonderful pool to ourselves, where we toasted the sunset with a couple of cold beers. Another scary Scrabble game when a spider again legged it across the board (what is it with these literary Territorian arachnids?). Nick’s shout of “Watch Out!” scared me almost more than the spider, but at least this time I managed not to tip the board over.
The next day it was on to Katherine Gorge, where we took another boat trip (Katherine was 40C, so again it was essential to be on the water) which took us down three parts of this stunning gorge. During The Wet all parts form one big body of water, but by now we had to get out and walk to boats on each part of the gorge.And then it truly was time to begin the journey south, and home. Our drive to Alice Springs took us a day and a half (we managed to drive nearly 800 km on the first day). We camped at Wycliffe Wells, which has the distinction of totting up the most UFO sightings of anywhere in the world. They certainly capitalize on this theme, with spaceships and little green men all over the park (I saw one tearful little girl having to be reassured by her father at bedtime that spacemen really weren’t going to come and get her in the night). The owner told us that they see UFOs every few nights – he described in thrilling detail a few sightings he and his wife have had recently and although I think it would be arrogant to believe we’re the only ones out there, it did seem a little odd that this tiny corner of the world should clock up so many spaceships. However, good on that bloke, it’s very good for business and he tells it well. As you can imagine, I was beside myself with excitement at the thought of my first UFO sighting, and woke up regularly in the night to peer out of the tent, but alas, no extra-terrestrial visitors that night. Next week 28 people arrive from California to make a documentary – wonder if they’ll be luckier? I wanted to stay on another night, but Nick dragged me reluctantly away next morning as it really was time to head for home.
Pics: The simple life: One pan, two spoons
Little green men at Wycliffe campsite
The Devil's Marbles, near Wycliffe
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Kakadu - Crocodon't
Forty-two days in WA, 8,383 km (about half of these on dirt roads) and we feel we still have so much more to see. WA covers about 40% of Australia’s land mass, the majority of it unpopulated and empty. But after Lake Argyle it was finally time to cross the border into the Northern Territory. They are very definite about things at The Top End, and so we found ourselves entering The Territory in The Build-Up to The Wet.
A long day’s drive, much of it through a depressingly burnt-out landscape with trees only a few feet tall, and stubby often blackened grassland. We’ve even driven along roads with fires licking alongside us. Burning-off and bush fires are a huge problem at the Top End, and many of the people living here that we met had definite and differing views on it. Sometimes the fires are started on cattle-grazing land to burn off the old tough spinifex grass, so that the cattle have tender new shoots to eat. The Aboriginal population have been burning off the land for thousands of years and continue to do so, however there’s a big difference between the area covered in the old days on foot, to now in a 4WD car. And, according to one tour guide, many of the fires we saw were just plain vandalism.
We got to the Kakadu, and Gumlong campsite, just an hour before sunset. We made camp in record time – no hanging around for a cuppa – and under Nick’s instruction hurtled up a steep rock-strewn hill to the Gumlong Falls, just in time for sunset (with the hour and a half’s time change between States at a more reasonable time of 6.30-ish). Nick climbed a little further and sat with others taking pics of the sunset over the vast Kakadu National Park spread before him. Et moi? After our 5.30 am get-up, 690 km drive and final hill-climb, I was more than content to have the pools to myself, swimming with tiny frogs the size of a baby’s fingernail.
Gumlong was another lovely campsite, except for the flies which had even Nick swathed in a fly-net round his head. So next day it was onto the north of the Kakadu, and the large resort and campsite at Cooinda. Very well equipped, with the bonus of bar and bistro, and also a lot of European tourists, mainly German. As Nick remarked, this had one good effect as the bar and bistro stayed open until 10 pm to cater to Europeans, as opposed to last orders of 7 pm in WA (!). We were lucky to be able to get on the evening cruise on Yellow Water, and saw our first salt-water crocs, or Salties. The Salties are much bigger and more aggressive than the freshwater crocs, and a couple of times demonstrated their power and speed when they leaped feet out of the water in pursuit of fish, or when having a spat with each other. With at least one every few hundred yards, it was a strange and unsettling thought that if you were somehow unlucky enough to evade the wire netting on the side of the boat and fall in, you would be croco-din-dins in an instant.
Later that evening we were playing our usual game of Scrabble (we’re both getting rather competitive now) when a large spider suddenly appeared galloping towards me across the triple word squares. After we’d picked up all the scattered letters and the board from the groundsheet Nick declared the game a draw: Spider Stopped Play.
Next day we tried to head off early and took the very 4WD track to Twin Falls and Jim Jim – fun driving through soft sand, bumps, and water crossings, though the terrifying croc warning signs had me hoping and praying we wouldn’t break down halfway across. There wasn’t a lot of water at either Falls, but stunning gorges and at Twin Falls we were taken by tinny boat for 5 minutes up river, then a short walk (including metal boardwalk with showers you could pump the crystal clear water up to cool you down en route) brought us to the falls themselves. Strictly no swimming here, even though it was fairly obvious that there were no crocs.
Jim Jim Falls tempted us as it was far enough above the boulders for no crocs to manage, and so we knew a cooling swim was at the end of the trek. However, it was by now the hottest part of the day and I found the scramble over huge boulders almost more than I could manage, let alone the crocs. The pool itself was cool and vast, although the walk back to the car almost did me in. Never was an ice-cream so welcome, or the cold beers later in the evening.
Next morning, after a broiling night in the tent and a rude awakening for Nick at 5 who was screeched awake when I thought I was lying on large beetles (turned out to be two $2 coins that must have been in my shorts pockets) we both felt we’d hit a temporary wall with the camping. Just too hot, it doesn’t cool down below about 30C until about 2 am. And so we’ve decided to bail out for the next few nights and find some air-con again. We’ve had a varied range of accommodation, as phoning on the day we arrive we take what we can find. On Sunday night in Jabiru we were in rather a different arrangement – a cabin in a caravan site which consisted of 6 separate rooms opening on to a very large and well-equipped kitchen/dining area. We had to share bathrooms, and there was the usual BBQ in a grassy area at the back. In Australia BBQs, plus free bottle gas (or firewood at the more remote campsites) are provided wherever you go, be it in a city park, beach or the middle of nowhere – great idea, and saves washing pans etc. However, being Sunday we hadn’t managed to catch a supermarket to find something to barbie. So while the Aussies staying in the cabins BBQ’d away out back with steak and beers, we felt frightfully British sitting down to our Sunday night type supper of boiled eggs and toast, gingerbread and a glass of Pinot Grigio.
A long day’s drive, much of it through a depressingly burnt-out landscape with trees only a few feet tall, and stubby often blackened grassland. We’ve even driven along roads with fires licking alongside us. Burning-off and bush fires are a huge problem at the Top End, and many of the people living here that we met had definite and differing views on it. Sometimes the fires are started on cattle-grazing land to burn off the old tough spinifex grass, so that the cattle have tender new shoots to eat. The Aboriginal population have been burning off the land for thousands of years and continue to do so, however there’s a big difference between the area covered in the old days on foot, to now in a 4WD car. And, according to one tour guide, many of the fires we saw were just plain vandalism.
We got to the Kakadu, and Gumlong campsite, just an hour before sunset. We made camp in record time – no hanging around for a cuppa – and under Nick’s instruction hurtled up a steep rock-strewn hill to the Gumlong Falls, just in time for sunset (with the hour and a half’s time change between States at a more reasonable time of 6.30-ish). Nick climbed a little further and sat with others taking pics of the sunset over the vast Kakadu National Park spread before him. Et moi? After our 5.30 am get-up, 690 km drive and final hill-climb, I was more than content to have the pools to myself, swimming with tiny frogs the size of a baby’s fingernail.
Gumlong was another lovely campsite, except for the flies which had even Nick swathed in a fly-net round his head. So next day it was onto the north of the Kakadu, and the large resort and campsite at Cooinda. Very well equipped, with the bonus of bar and bistro, and also a lot of European tourists, mainly German. As Nick remarked, this had one good effect as the bar and bistro stayed open until 10 pm to cater to Europeans, as opposed to last orders of 7 pm in WA (!). We were lucky to be able to get on the evening cruise on Yellow Water, and saw our first salt-water crocs, or Salties. The Salties are much bigger and more aggressive than the freshwater crocs, and a couple of times demonstrated their power and speed when they leaped feet out of the water in pursuit of fish, or when having a spat with each other. With at least one every few hundred yards, it was a strange and unsettling thought that if you were somehow unlucky enough to evade the wire netting on the side of the boat and fall in, you would be croco-din-dins in an instant.
Later that evening we were playing our usual game of Scrabble (we’re both getting rather competitive now) when a large spider suddenly appeared galloping towards me across the triple word squares. After we’d picked up all the scattered letters and the board from the groundsheet Nick declared the game a draw: Spider Stopped Play.
Next day we tried to head off early and took the very 4WD track to Twin Falls and Jim Jim – fun driving through soft sand, bumps, and water crossings, though the terrifying croc warning signs had me hoping and praying we wouldn’t break down halfway across. There wasn’t a lot of water at either Falls, but stunning gorges and at Twin Falls we were taken by tinny boat for 5 minutes up river, then a short walk (including metal boardwalk with showers you could pump the crystal clear water up to cool you down en route) brought us to the falls themselves. Strictly no swimming here, even though it was fairly obvious that there were no crocs.
Jim Jim Falls tempted us as it was far enough above the boulders for no crocs to manage, and so we knew a cooling swim was at the end of the trek. However, it was by now the hottest part of the day and I found the scramble over huge boulders almost more than I could manage, let alone the crocs. The pool itself was cool and vast, although the walk back to the car almost did me in. Never was an ice-cream so welcome, or the cold beers later in the evening.
Next morning, after a broiling night in the tent and a rude awakening for Nick at 5 who was screeched awake when I thought I was lying on large beetles (turned out to be two $2 coins that must have been in my shorts pockets) we both felt we’d hit a temporary wall with the camping. Just too hot, it doesn’t cool down below about 30C until about 2 am. And so we’ve decided to bail out for the next few nights and find some air-con again. We’ve had a varied range of accommodation, as phoning on the day we arrive we take what we can find. On Sunday night in Jabiru we were in rather a different arrangement – a cabin in a caravan site which consisted of 6 separate rooms opening on to a very large and well-equipped kitchen/dining area. We had to share bathrooms, and there was the usual BBQ in a grassy area at the back. In Australia BBQs, plus free bottle gas (or firewood at the more remote campsites) are provided wherever you go, be it in a city park, beach or the middle of nowhere – great idea, and saves washing pans etc. However, being Sunday we hadn’t managed to catch a supermarket to find something to barbie. So while the Aussies staying in the cabins BBQ’d away out back with steak and beers, we felt frightfully British sitting down to our Sunday night type supper of boiled eggs and toast, gingerbread and a glass of Pinot Grigio.
Pics: Sunset swim, Gunlom Falls, Kakadu
Scary sign!
The real thing, Yellow Water
Cooling off, Twin Falls
Lake Argyle and Farewell to WA
We’ve found that we don’t realise quite how hard the camping life is, until we stop. Despite having become more adroit at putting up the tent (Nick) and putting together the tables and making tea (me) it’s still all a bit of a slog, particularly preparing and washing up supper. Especially in the heat. So after our motel night in Kununurra we decided to continue with the air-con theme and spent the next couple of nights in a cabin that was part of the Kimberleyland campground. Everything we wanted in one small space, including a kitchen, and right on the shores of Lake Kununurra. Nick did a stirling job of cleaning the car inside and out, while I did my best to remove the dust from all the cooking pots, fridge etc, as from here for a while we’ll be mainly on the bitumen once again – big relief. And there was still time to lie on a mat on the grass just inches away from beautiful Crimson Finches taking a bath in a puddle – so close I could feel the water splashing my face.
It was also good to prepare normal food like steak and salad for a change, without crouching over the primus in the dark fending off the flying insects. Despite having invested in a large and rattling Camp Oven (a big cast-iron casserole thingummy) I haven’t actually used it yet. It will, I’m told in the instruction book, cook up scones and casseroles a treat, but quite frankly by the time we’ve raised the tent the sun has set and we’re in the dark, and it’s hard enough groping around with head torch for what we need to make supper. The last thing I feel like doing is faffing around like a camping Domestic Goddess tempting Nick with tea-time treats. Our camping diet tends to revolve round veggies in some form with pasta or rice; rather than fill the small fridge with cryo packs of meat we use it for essentials such as cold beer and drinks, real milk and of course chocolate. But we usually manage to find somewhere to eat out once or twice a week, so life ain’t too hard.
From Kununurra we took an excellent boat tour up the Ord River to the Lake Argyle Dam, and down again, 110km in all. In the 39C heat being on the river, and zooming along for spurts at 40 knots, was as good a way as any to keep cool, and they do these trips really well – good commentary on the bird and animal life on the shores, lots of cold drinks, fresh melon and even Afternoon Tea with scones at a riverside camp. Kununurra is very much the fruit bowl of Western Australia and further afield, with abundant water from the Ord River irrigation scheme. Their main crop in about 3 years’ time will be sandalwood for the Asian market, which takes 15 years to grow before it can be harvested. Sandalwood is parasitic and needs a host tree, so three different trees are planted alongside it to see it through its 15 year growth. At the moment they harvest melon (rock and water) and mangoes – we bought a Tupperware box of frozen mango (last year’s crop) and for a whole day were in mango heaven.
From Kununurra we drove up the road to Lake Argyle, and it was back to camping. Travelling counter-Nomad has its advantages as the camp sites are emptying, but we now understand why everyone’s going the other way – to escape the heat. We’re really feeling it now, upper 30s by day and not very much cooler until about 3 am, so camping is more of a challenge. To say it’s a doddle getting out of bed at 5.30 am isn’t quite true, but the heat certainly makes it easier. We try to do energetic things like walks first thing, and before sunset (still 5.30ish in WA) and find a shady place to be during the day.So once again it seemed like a good idea to take to the water, this time on an afternoon and sunset cruise the other side of the dam on Lake Argyle itself. Lake Argyle was formed behind the dam created in 1974, flooding an area of approx. 1000 square kilometers (about the size of Hong Kong including the New Territories) and has the same volume of water as 21 Sydney Harbours. And no water traffic when we were there except for our big boat with its 12 passengers, on a vast body of water like glass. We explored just a small part of it, with wonderful bird-watching up one of the creeks, the late afternoon sun reflecting the greens and ochres and deep reds into the water. We stopped for a swim, our guide floated glasses of champagne and nibbles out to us on a polystyrene tray and we toasted the sun disappearing into the water. These Aussies really do know how to do things!
It was also good to prepare normal food like steak and salad for a change, without crouching over the primus in the dark fending off the flying insects. Despite having invested in a large and rattling Camp Oven (a big cast-iron casserole thingummy) I haven’t actually used it yet. It will, I’m told in the instruction book, cook up scones and casseroles a treat, but quite frankly by the time we’ve raised the tent the sun has set and we’re in the dark, and it’s hard enough groping around with head torch for what we need to make supper. The last thing I feel like doing is faffing around like a camping Domestic Goddess tempting Nick with tea-time treats. Our camping diet tends to revolve round veggies in some form with pasta or rice; rather than fill the small fridge with cryo packs of meat we use it for essentials such as cold beer and drinks, real milk and of course chocolate. But we usually manage to find somewhere to eat out once or twice a week, so life ain’t too hard.
From Kununurra we took an excellent boat tour up the Ord River to the Lake Argyle Dam, and down again, 110km in all. In the 39C heat being on the river, and zooming along for spurts at 40 knots, was as good a way as any to keep cool, and they do these trips really well – good commentary on the bird and animal life on the shores, lots of cold drinks, fresh melon and even Afternoon Tea with scones at a riverside camp. Kununurra is very much the fruit bowl of Western Australia and further afield, with abundant water from the Ord River irrigation scheme. Their main crop in about 3 years’ time will be sandalwood for the Asian market, which takes 15 years to grow before it can be harvested. Sandalwood is parasitic and needs a host tree, so three different trees are planted alongside it to see it through its 15 year growth. At the moment they harvest melon (rock and water) and mangoes – we bought a Tupperware box of frozen mango (last year’s crop) and for a whole day were in mango heaven.
From Kununurra we drove up the road to Lake Argyle, and it was back to camping. Travelling counter-Nomad has its advantages as the camp sites are emptying, but we now understand why everyone’s going the other way – to escape the heat. We’re really feeling it now, upper 30s by day and not very much cooler until about 3 am, so camping is more of a challenge. To say it’s a doddle getting out of bed at 5.30 am isn’t quite true, but the heat certainly makes it easier. We try to do energetic things like walks first thing, and before sunset (still 5.30ish in WA) and find a shady place to be during the day.So once again it seemed like a good idea to take to the water, this time on an afternoon and sunset cruise the other side of the dam on Lake Argyle itself. Lake Argyle was formed behind the dam created in 1974, flooding an area of approx. 1000 square kilometers (about the size of Hong Kong including the New Territories) and has the same volume of water as 21 Sydney Harbours. And no water traffic when we were there except for our big boat with its 12 passengers, on a vast body of water like glass. We explored just a small part of it, with wonderful bird-watching up one of the creeks, the late afternoon sun reflecting the greens and ochres and deep reds into the water. We stopped for a swim, our guide floated glasses of champagne and nibbles out to us on a polystyrene tray and we toasted the sun disappearing into the water. These Aussies really do know how to do things!
Pics: Domestic Goddess? I don't think so
Forest Kingfisher
Taking it easy, Lake Kununurra
Sunset in style, Lake Argyle
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Bungles Bungled
Driving down to the famous Bungle Bungles (or Purnululu to give them their Aboriginal name) we noticed a spattering of rain on the windscreen – the first for a calendar month – and a few small puddles at the side of the road. But we were unprepared after 3 hours’ driving to find the road into the Bungle Bungles closed because of an inch of rain the night before. Nothing for it but to head back the way we came, as we were told it could be a couple of days before the road reopened.
So we headed back along the Great Northern Highway, which despite being the main north-south artery in Western Australia, is only single track in places – you make sure you put two wheels in the dirt when you meet a 4-truck road-train belting towards you, as he certainly won’t. Parry Creek was our destination, and it turned out to be a really good decision. Tucked away 13 k from the highway, it was birdwatcher’s oasis. We had a lovely campsite right on the river bank (no swimming because of Freshie crocs) but lots of bird life, especially finches and Nick’s first ever sighting of a Frogmouth, an owl-like bird that scared the bejeebus out of all the other birds. We had a wonderful morning at a hide built out over a lagoon, where Nick birdwatched (purple swamp hens, pied herons and brolgas - majestic as a stork in colour-coordinated grey with bright red flash on its head) while I watched birds. My favourite was the Jacana, or lotus hopper, a tiny wader with spindly legs and long thin toes like Strewel Peter’s fingernails, delicately negotiating its cumbersome feet from lotus leaf to lotus leaf.
The Bungle Bungles road was in fact only closed for the one day, so we left Parry Creek early in the morning for the drive back down there. The road into the national park is only about 50 k long, but takes 2 hours to drive, and we got to practice our river crossing skills once again. Bush camping once more, which, believe it or not, I’ve really come to enjoy, and we had the prettiest site yet (complete with a budgie whirring round us, which I still find strange to see in the wild). Bush camping is the opposite of site camping, no showers provided, and usually only river water or a tap of bore water. But there are nearly always camp fire sites, sometimes we collect wood as we drive in, Nick loading it onto the roof-rack. We then pick where to camp – sites are all tucked away from each other so when it gets dark at 6 you really feel as if you’re in the wilderness, with complete darkness surrounding your little oasis of light and buzzing insects. Nick even organized a our solar shower – filling the large bag with water to heat up in the sun by day, and then rigging it up over a tree so that we got quite a good tepid trickly shower in the evening. Now this may not sound like my idea of a good shower, but after a day’s dust-tramping it goes a long way towards camping luxury.
How to describe the beauty of the Bungles? I just can’t do it justice, suffice it to say that of all the wondrous sights so far, this place is the one I am so glad not to have missed. Our photos describe it much better than words. We were just blown away by the colours – domed hills striped in orange sandstone and purple grey conglomorate – and the timelessness. Even with the sandstone erosion you just know that this landscape will be here for a few hundred more millennia. We did all three main trails in the same day as they weren’t too arduous, and each one was different. Echidna Chasm was 200 m deep and barely a metre wide in places. We walked it as the midday sun struck a path deep into the dark, and we looked up to green palms outlined against the deep blue sky. Also mighty boulders lodged between the chasm walls, with notices telling you not to linger under them in case they fell – we didn’t linger there. We were lucky enough to avoid the tour groups each time, and at the end of the long day had Cathedral Gorge to ourselves, stepping into an amphitheatre of white sand and spooky pool surrounded by towering sandstone walls.
We’ve been lucky so far with encounters with nasty beasties. A couple of snakes in the last few days: a rather pretty small bronze tree snake almost ran over my feet at the Parry Creek showers, and driving in the Bungles Nick spotted a large (6ft) Olive Python sunning itself on the road. We walked to within a few feet of it, but apart from flickering its tongue it didn’t seem too bothered by us, so we left hoping no one would run it over.
Two days of bush camping, however fun, is enough for this gal and tonight we’re at a motel in Kununarra, where we’ve washed ourselves and our clothes squeaky clean, and are girding up to explore the Kakadu. But first we’re going cruising – a couple of trips planned on the waterways around here.
So we headed back along the Great Northern Highway, which despite being the main north-south artery in Western Australia, is only single track in places – you make sure you put two wheels in the dirt when you meet a 4-truck road-train belting towards you, as he certainly won’t. Parry Creek was our destination, and it turned out to be a really good decision. Tucked away 13 k from the highway, it was birdwatcher’s oasis. We had a lovely campsite right on the river bank (no swimming because of Freshie crocs) but lots of bird life, especially finches and Nick’s first ever sighting of a Frogmouth, an owl-like bird that scared the bejeebus out of all the other birds. We had a wonderful morning at a hide built out over a lagoon, where Nick birdwatched (purple swamp hens, pied herons and brolgas - majestic as a stork in colour-coordinated grey with bright red flash on its head) while I watched birds. My favourite was the Jacana, or lotus hopper, a tiny wader with spindly legs and long thin toes like Strewel Peter’s fingernails, delicately negotiating its cumbersome feet from lotus leaf to lotus leaf.
The Bungle Bungles road was in fact only closed for the one day, so we left Parry Creek early in the morning for the drive back down there. The road into the national park is only about 50 k long, but takes 2 hours to drive, and we got to practice our river crossing skills once again. Bush camping once more, which, believe it or not, I’ve really come to enjoy, and we had the prettiest site yet (complete with a budgie whirring round us, which I still find strange to see in the wild). Bush camping is the opposite of site camping, no showers provided, and usually only river water or a tap of bore water. But there are nearly always camp fire sites, sometimes we collect wood as we drive in, Nick loading it onto the roof-rack. We then pick where to camp – sites are all tucked away from each other so when it gets dark at 6 you really feel as if you’re in the wilderness, with complete darkness surrounding your little oasis of light and buzzing insects. Nick even organized a our solar shower – filling the large bag with water to heat up in the sun by day, and then rigging it up over a tree so that we got quite a good tepid trickly shower in the evening. Now this may not sound like my idea of a good shower, but after a day’s dust-tramping it goes a long way towards camping luxury.
How to describe the beauty of the Bungles? I just can’t do it justice, suffice it to say that of all the wondrous sights so far, this place is the one I am so glad not to have missed. Our photos describe it much better than words. We were just blown away by the colours – domed hills striped in orange sandstone and purple grey conglomorate – and the timelessness. Even with the sandstone erosion you just know that this landscape will be here for a few hundred more millennia. We did all three main trails in the same day as they weren’t too arduous, and each one was different. Echidna Chasm was 200 m deep and barely a metre wide in places. We walked it as the midday sun struck a path deep into the dark, and we looked up to green palms outlined against the deep blue sky. Also mighty boulders lodged between the chasm walls, with notices telling you not to linger under them in case they fell – we didn’t linger there. We were lucky enough to avoid the tour groups each time, and at the end of the long day had Cathedral Gorge to ourselves, stepping into an amphitheatre of white sand and spooky pool surrounded by towering sandstone walls.
We’ve been lucky so far with encounters with nasty beasties. A couple of snakes in the last few days: a rather pretty small bronze tree snake almost ran over my feet at the Parry Creek showers, and driving in the Bungles Nick spotted a large (6ft) Olive Python sunning itself on the road. We walked to within a few feet of it, but apart from flickering its tongue it didn’t seem too bothered by us, so we left hoping no one would run it over.
Two days of bush camping, however fun, is enough for this gal and tonight we’re at a motel in Kununarra, where we’ve washed ourselves and our clothes squeaky clean, and are girding up to explore the Kakadu. But first we’re going cruising – a couple of trips planned on the waterways around here.
Pics: Bungling along Bungles Road
Stripes of Bungle Bungles
In awe, Echidna Chasm
Cathedral Gorge
El Questro
It seems astonishing that it’s only a week since the last blog, as we’ve done so much. Talking to fellow campers at Home Valley it seemed that El Questro, a million wilderness hectares developed by an English lord, was a must. So we made a detour for a couple of days and headed 50 or so kilometers down the road from Home Valley. As the temperature was 36C, once there the coolest option was to hire a ‘tinny’, a metal boat powered by a silent electric motor, and explore one of the gorges (I first checked out that the boat was a fairly substantial size, as there were a couple of crocs resident in that part of the water). All went well until we got to the end of the gorge, when the engine died. So the return journey rather defeated the object of a cool pursuit on a hot day, and took us over an hour, me rowing with one oar (and no rowlocks) and Nick standing up and paddling/steering with the other. Blisters only just healing, but we got our money back.
The campsite was fine, one of those where we were camped fairly near other people. When we arrive at a campsite we feel very much the newby, as others stop what they’re doing to watch us set up camp. But we soon get chatting about places to see, road conditions, etc, and by the next evening we’re the old hands, watching other newbies take the place of our old mates of the day before. We’ve been amazed how many children there are travelling with parents, even though it’s term-time here. Some are going to be out of school for weeks at a time. Another thing that surprises us is how early people seem to go to bed – 8pm and there often isn’t a light to be seen, just the sound of tents being zippered. I’m tempted to call out “Night Ma, night Pa”, and hope that someone will reply “’Night, John Boy”. Nick and I try to stay up past 9 pm, which we consider is the watershed for ‘grown-up bedtime’ (N has got very good at Scrabble, and I must try to up my game). Of course there is the other side of the coin to the early to bed syndrome. I’ve been up at 5.30 am (it’s true, it’s pretty hot now) but there are always others about, including one who has packed up and is driving off at this unbelievably early hour.
Next day at El Questro was spent exploring the gorges. El Questro Gorge itself involved some pretty hearty scrambling over boulders, before we came across our first water hazard. To get to the next section involved a wade/swim, then advanced rock-climbing techniques (ie Nick showing me what to do, and I think I managed pretty well until the final bit when he resorted to heaving me up the rockface). Every Memsahib travels with her bearer, so while this one perched on top of a boulder waiting to continue the trek, Nick waded back and forth ferrying the rucksacks on his head (viz. photos). We also explored the place by car, and the 4WD driving in the aptly named Explosion Gorge really put the Prado through its paces – Nick, who’d got out of the car to guide me in the approved manner taught on our course, said one of the front wheels was completely off the ground (not the approved manner taught in the course).
On the way out next day we stopped off at the famed hot springs – Zebedee Hot Springs (someone was obviously a Magic Roundabout fan). We got there before 8am and had the place to ourselves, like a mossy warm bath with a cascade running through it, just heaven. As we left hordes were arriving, and I was so glad not to have to share such a small and intimate space with Mr Hoi and Mrs Poloi. Then it was off to the famous Bungle Bungles, which turned out to be a whole new story.
The campsite was fine, one of those where we were camped fairly near other people. When we arrive at a campsite we feel very much the newby, as others stop what they’re doing to watch us set up camp. But we soon get chatting about places to see, road conditions, etc, and by the next evening we’re the old hands, watching other newbies take the place of our old mates of the day before. We’ve been amazed how many children there are travelling with parents, even though it’s term-time here. Some are going to be out of school for weeks at a time. Another thing that surprises us is how early people seem to go to bed – 8pm and there often isn’t a light to be seen, just the sound of tents being zippered. I’m tempted to call out “Night Ma, night Pa”, and hope that someone will reply “’Night, John Boy”. Nick and I try to stay up past 9 pm, which we consider is the watershed for ‘grown-up bedtime’ (N has got very good at Scrabble, and I must try to up my game). Of course there is the other side of the coin to the early to bed syndrome. I’ve been up at 5.30 am (it’s true, it’s pretty hot now) but there are always others about, including one who has packed up and is driving off at this unbelievably early hour.
Next day at El Questro was spent exploring the gorges. El Questro Gorge itself involved some pretty hearty scrambling over boulders, before we came across our first water hazard. To get to the next section involved a wade/swim, then advanced rock-climbing techniques (ie Nick showing me what to do, and I think I managed pretty well until the final bit when he resorted to heaving me up the rockface). Every Memsahib travels with her bearer, so while this one perched on top of a boulder waiting to continue the trek, Nick waded back and forth ferrying the rucksacks on his head (viz. photos). We also explored the place by car, and the 4WD driving in the aptly named Explosion Gorge really put the Prado through its paces – Nick, who’d got out of the car to guide me in the approved manner taught on our course, said one of the front wheels was completely off the ground (not the approved manner taught in the course).
On the way out next day we stopped off at the famed hot springs – Zebedee Hot Springs (someone was obviously a Magic Roundabout fan). We got there before 8am and had the place to ourselves, like a mossy warm bath with a cascade running through it, just heaven. As we left hordes were arriving, and I was so glad not to have to share such a small and intimate space with Mr Hoi and Mrs Poloi. Then it was off to the famous Bungle Bungles, which turned out to be a whole new story.
Pics: Branco's Lookout to El Questro Homestead, Chamberlain River
From Our Own Correspondent: Blogging from safari tent, Home Valley
Rock Climb, El Questro Gorge
Bearer with luggage
Zebedee Springs
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Home Valley Heaven
Leaving Drysdale at 7.30 am the temperature began to rise, and for the first time we were wearing shorts in the evening rather than 3 layers. As I type this we’re in our ‘tented camp’ with fan going full-blast, and it’s in the upper 30s outside and too hot to do anything much – except the blog. We next tackled the infamous Kalumburu Road to Mitchell Falls, and after the previous day’s tyre disaster we were a little nervous. There were indeed many sections that were ‘pretty average’ but it was more to do with deep and bone-shaking corrugations than rocks and stones. Being a passenger is almost as tiring as driving, as you can’t help keeping an eye on the road for hazards such as sharp rocks, disguised pot-holes and wandering cows. We got to the Mitchell Falls site by lunchtime, which like our next night’s camp was a ‘bush camp’ – ie the only amenities were non-flush loos and hot and cold running spiders.
Highlight of the camp was the little Boobook owl, who flew from tree to tree around us as we played Scrabble by the campfire. Next thing he was on the ground, just a couple of yards from Nick’s chair, watching us. He was small and tubby with a bossy expression, and if you’d been told to draw a cartoon of a ‘cute’ owl, he would be it. For the rest of the evening he teased us, suddenly appearing on the ground near our fire, then flying off up into the trees before we could reach for the camera.
Because the temperature had really climbed, we decided to set off for Mitchell Falls at 7 am next morning. It wasn’t too difficult a walk, and only took about an hour but the peace was shattered by the helicopters that started up at 7.30, flying people in or out, or sometimes both ways. The falls were on Nick’s ‘must see’ list, and really were worth the day’s driving. We found another wonderful swimming place, with larger pools and warmer water than at Bell Gorge, and had it completely to ourselves (bar the air traffic overhead). The walk back was much harder because of the heat, and packing up camp in the noon-day sun nearly did for Nick, who was fighting a bit of a throat bug.
The next stop was just a couple of hours down the road, at King Edward River. Again bush camping with very few other tents. We found a site right by the river and so had our own private piece of river bank. Unfortunately there were also the worst loos of the trip so far, but this was outweighed by the peace and beauty of the place (even the wandering bull was friendly). As P G Wodehouse’s character Anatole would say, you have to take the roughs with the smooths, and I’ve found this is particularly true of the camping life.And then it was time to move on to Home Valley, which marks the half-way point of our trip. We found a camping ground that was green, with soft newly sprinklered grass that saw us kicking off our dusty shoes and wiggling our toes about in pure pleasure. We camped here in our own tent the first 2 nights, and then last night moved to one of the spacious ‘safari tents’ with a bed, electric light and a fan! Two nights of luxury that Nick had booked for my birthday, and it is indeed a treat and a chance to relax, as well as unload the car, dis-inter things from the layers of dust, and just enjoy the lush spaciousness of the campsite. The first night at dinner at the homestead we both remarked on how completely surreal it seemed after a month on the road. The previous night at the King Edward site I’d jumped fully dressed into the river, as this seemed the quickest and simplest way of getting the dust off me and my clothes. Now here we were, freshly showered and wearing the pale-coloured clothes we’d mistakenly packed for the trip, eating salad from a buffet someone else had prepared and listening to a man playing the guitar. I’d even uncovered what Nick has been known to refer to as the ’30-lb make-up bag’ (what an exaggeration, it is in fact just a lipstick, eye pencil and mascara). This hadn’t yet seen the light of day as I’m afraid to say nowadays my toilette is complete if I can find a tap to run my feet under, and manage to get a comb through my hair – the best campsites have hot showers and no mirrors in my opinion. I do however always slick on the lip salve in these dryer than dry conditions – an unfortunate side-effect is the dust that sticks to the lips after this. However, who needs lipstick when you can have lips that are Road-train Rouge or Kimberley Crimson for free?
Highlight of the camp was the little Boobook owl, who flew from tree to tree around us as we played Scrabble by the campfire. Next thing he was on the ground, just a couple of yards from Nick’s chair, watching us. He was small and tubby with a bossy expression, and if you’d been told to draw a cartoon of a ‘cute’ owl, he would be it. For the rest of the evening he teased us, suddenly appearing on the ground near our fire, then flying off up into the trees before we could reach for the camera.
Because the temperature had really climbed, we decided to set off for Mitchell Falls at 7 am next morning. It wasn’t too difficult a walk, and only took about an hour but the peace was shattered by the helicopters that started up at 7.30, flying people in or out, or sometimes both ways. The falls were on Nick’s ‘must see’ list, and really were worth the day’s driving. We found another wonderful swimming place, with larger pools and warmer water than at Bell Gorge, and had it completely to ourselves (bar the air traffic overhead). The walk back was much harder because of the heat, and packing up camp in the noon-day sun nearly did for Nick, who was fighting a bit of a throat bug.
The next stop was just a couple of hours down the road, at King Edward River. Again bush camping with very few other tents. We found a site right by the river and so had our own private piece of river bank. Unfortunately there were also the worst loos of the trip so far, but this was outweighed by the peace and beauty of the place (even the wandering bull was friendly). As P G Wodehouse’s character Anatole would say, you have to take the roughs with the smooths, and I’ve found this is particularly true of the camping life.And then it was time to move on to Home Valley, which marks the half-way point of our trip. We found a camping ground that was green, with soft newly sprinklered grass that saw us kicking off our dusty shoes and wiggling our toes about in pure pleasure. We camped here in our own tent the first 2 nights, and then last night moved to one of the spacious ‘safari tents’ with a bed, electric light and a fan! Two nights of luxury that Nick had booked for my birthday, and it is indeed a treat and a chance to relax, as well as unload the car, dis-inter things from the layers of dust, and just enjoy the lush spaciousness of the campsite. The first night at dinner at the homestead we both remarked on how completely surreal it seemed after a month on the road. The previous night at the King Edward site I’d jumped fully dressed into the river, as this seemed the quickest and simplest way of getting the dust off me and my clothes. Now here we were, freshly showered and wearing the pale-coloured clothes we’d mistakenly packed for the trip, eating salad from a buffet someone else had prepared and listening to a man playing the guitar. I’d even uncovered what Nick has been known to refer to as the ’30-lb make-up bag’ (what an exaggeration, it is in fact just a lipstick, eye pencil and mascara). This hadn’t yet seen the light of day as I’m afraid to say nowadays my toilette is complete if I can find a tap to run my feet under, and manage to get a comb through my hair – the best campsites have hot showers and no mirrors in my opinion. I do however always slick on the lip salve in these dryer than dry conditions – an unfortunate side-effect is the dust that sticks to the lips after this. However, who needs lipstick when you can have lips that are Road-train Rouge or Kimberley Crimson for free?
Pics: Mitchell Falls
Pentecost River crossing
Birthday breakfast, safari tent Home Valley
Kimberley Capers
A long time – almost a fortnight – since our last blog but here in the outback there has been no mobile coverage, so no Net. Finally arriving at Home Valley we were able to drive up a nearby hill to receive Telstra, so made phone calls, read e-mails and did a bit of banking perched on a huge flat boulder. Several people turned up to do likewise – a good business op. for an Internet café if ever I saw one. It was great to get our e-mails (many thanks, afraid there wasn’t enough battery to reply to them) but strangely up until then we hadn’t missed the Net, living in the parallel universe of camping, so totally removed from our everyday world.
After the spectacular Cape Levique we finally hit the Gibb River Road, and much of it hit us as in places the road can only be described as ‘pretty average’ (local speak for rough as a goat track). The dust was well and truly with us once more, finer and slightly less staining than the Karijini dust, but as pervasive as ever. The inside of the car has a continual coating, as does everything in it including us. As Nick said if ever one of the punters renting our house complains of dust we’ll say “Dust? DUST?? You don’t know what dust is until you’ve camped in the Karijini or crossed paths with a road train on the Gibb River Road.”
This was the start of our meandering through the Kimberley, taking in more truly amazing gorges. Windjana Gorge was our first stop – not a particularly interesting one but we did see our first crocs – Freshwater, the shyer less dangerous cousin of the Salty. Freshies are also much smaller (clutch-bag rather than Mulberry tote) and in one place alone Nick counted over a hundred, sunning themselves on the far bank.
Next day we moved on to Bell Gorge, which has been our favourite so far. A steep clamber up and then down over huge boulders took us to beautiful deep pools with small cascades (and no crocs). The water was icy to get into, but wonderfully refreshing after the first gasp and we spent several hours there swimming and watching the birds and wildlife, including a 2-ft long monitor lizard sunning on a rock. Several people made the steep walk down, only to turn round and walk back up as they hadn’t got bathers with them, so for most of the time we had the place to ourselves. On the way back I managed to fall in while crossing the river and I’m sad to report that all Nick did was laugh till he cried and take pics of me flailing around trying to get back out. This was to the complete bewilderment of a Scandinavian couple who stood looking embarrassed at the lack of English chivalry.
Then it was on to Mornington, where they’d thoughtfully provided a radio at the turn-off so you could check ahead to see if there was room at the campsite, before embarking on the 80+ km drive in. Mornington is 312,000 hectares of wilderness owned by the Australian Wildlife Conservancy, so a haven for animals and birds, including some on the endangered list. We had a wonderful campsite amongst tall trees, and even more wonderful hot showers. We spent 3 days here exploring gorges, canoeing on the mighty Fitzgerald River and had the feeling that we had the place almost to ourselves with so much space and so few people in it. Walking down to the gorges we stepped down over huge slabs of rock, that changed colour with each layer. As we descended Nick wondered how many millions of years we were walking through with each step.
In the afternoons we’d pootle slowly back to camp along the backtracks, me driving and Nick yelling ‘Stop!’ every few minutes. This wasn’t a comment on my driving but because we were looking for the multicoloured endangered Gouldian finches. No luck there, but plenty of other birds to see – one of my favourite was the tiny Spinifex dove, tiny pigeons with important chests strutting along the road, crests like Centurions’ helmets.
In the Kimberley we are also in Boab tree territory, with their enormous bulbous trunks tapering into spindly branches which are bare at the moment, save for a few large yellow flowers and fruit like small green mangoes. We feel they’re definitely the Ents out of Lord of the Rings. Leaving Mornington was not such a good day for me. I began by spilling both our coffees, and my premonition that this was to be the day of our first puncture while I was driving proved to be correct on both counts. I was pretty fed up that it happened on my watch as the road was comparatively smooth and rock free (certainly compared to the rocky stream bed I’d driven through in full 4WD mode the previous afternoon). However, in mitigation m’lud the grader had just been through, which always turns over sharp bits of stone. Apart from being extremely hot and dusty work, partic. of course for poor Nick, there was no problem changing the tyre for one of our two spares, although the damaged trye was split down the side and had to be replaced at Drysdale Station, our evening stop. The replacement wasn’t as exorbitant as we’d feared, given that petrol is $2.50 a litre out here, and with the hot showers at Drysdale the day ended much better than it had begun.
After the spectacular Cape Levique we finally hit the Gibb River Road, and much of it hit us as in places the road can only be described as ‘pretty average’ (local speak for rough as a goat track). The dust was well and truly with us once more, finer and slightly less staining than the Karijini dust, but as pervasive as ever. The inside of the car has a continual coating, as does everything in it including us. As Nick said if ever one of the punters renting our house complains of dust we’ll say “Dust? DUST?? You don’t know what dust is until you’ve camped in the Karijini or crossed paths with a road train on the Gibb River Road.”
This was the start of our meandering through the Kimberley, taking in more truly amazing gorges. Windjana Gorge was our first stop – not a particularly interesting one but we did see our first crocs – Freshwater, the shyer less dangerous cousin of the Salty. Freshies are also much smaller (clutch-bag rather than Mulberry tote) and in one place alone Nick counted over a hundred, sunning themselves on the far bank.
Next day we moved on to Bell Gorge, which has been our favourite so far. A steep clamber up and then down over huge boulders took us to beautiful deep pools with small cascades (and no crocs). The water was icy to get into, but wonderfully refreshing after the first gasp and we spent several hours there swimming and watching the birds and wildlife, including a 2-ft long monitor lizard sunning on a rock. Several people made the steep walk down, only to turn round and walk back up as they hadn’t got bathers with them, so for most of the time we had the place to ourselves. On the way back I managed to fall in while crossing the river and I’m sad to report that all Nick did was laugh till he cried and take pics of me flailing around trying to get back out. This was to the complete bewilderment of a Scandinavian couple who stood looking embarrassed at the lack of English chivalry.
Then it was on to Mornington, where they’d thoughtfully provided a radio at the turn-off so you could check ahead to see if there was room at the campsite, before embarking on the 80+ km drive in. Mornington is 312,000 hectares of wilderness owned by the Australian Wildlife Conservancy, so a haven for animals and birds, including some on the endangered list. We had a wonderful campsite amongst tall trees, and even more wonderful hot showers. We spent 3 days here exploring gorges, canoeing on the mighty Fitzgerald River and had the feeling that we had the place almost to ourselves with so much space and so few people in it. Walking down to the gorges we stepped down over huge slabs of rock, that changed colour with each layer. As we descended Nick wondered how many millions of years we were walking through with each step.
In the afternoons we’d pootle slowly back to camp along the backtracks, me driving and Nick yelling ‘Stop!’ every few minutes. This wasn’t a comment on my driving but because we were looking for the multicoloured endangered Gouldian finches. No luck there, but plenty of other birds to see – one of my favourite was the tiny Spinifex dove, tiny pigeons with important chests strutting along the road, crests like Centurions’ helmets.
In the Kimberley we are also in Boab tree territory, with their enormous bulbous trunks tapering into spindly branches which are bare at the moment, save for a few large yellow flowers and fruit like small green mangoes. We feel they’re definitely the Ents out of Lord of the Rings. Leaving Mornington was not such a good day for me. I began by spilling both our coffees, and my premonition that this was to be the day of our first puncture while I was driving proved to be correct on both counts. I was pretty fed up that it happened on my watch as the road was comparatively smooth and rock free (certainly compared to the rocky stream bed I’d driven through in full 4WD mode the previous afternoon). However, in mitigation m’lud the grader had just been through, which always turns over sharp bits of stone. Apart from being extremely hot and dusty work, partic. of course for poor Nick, there was no problem changing the tyre for one of our two spares, although the damaged trye was split down the side and had to be replaced at Drysdale Station, our evening stop. The replacement wasn’t as exorbitant as we’d feared, given that petrol is $2.50 a litre out here, and with the hot showers at Drysdale the day ended much better than it had begun.
Pics: Pool, Bell Gorge
Airport lounge at Mornington airstrip
Internet cafe
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Cape Levique
We're now at the top of a peninsula but are amazed to find that we're still in mobile, and thus internet, contact. Cape Levique had been recommended by several people as one of the most beautiful spots in Australia, and it truly has lived up to its star billing. On the way up from Broome - only half of the 200 km was on dirt roads and so a much easier journey than we'd anticipated - we stopped off at the famed shell church in Beagle Bay. It was a Friday morning and we parked in front of the primary school where lessons were in progress at a table outside the Principal's office. As we and a group of others stepped into the church we realised a service for some of the schoolkids was in progress. Three tiny kids in school uniform but bare feet were given rewards of red footballs for clearing up litter (without being asked to). Then a young visiting African priest in immaculate white robes sang two hymns and the whole congregation was held spellbound as his voice filled the little church. Plastic rosary beads were handed out to everyone, including us, and the service was over. The church is famous for its altar made almost entirely of shells and mother of pearl, but it was a nice to find it is also part of the community and not just a tourist attraction.
On to Cape Levique, and we were lucky enough to find we had a western facing campsite, and were able to watch the sunset turn the rocks a deep deep red. As the sun set the moon, which is full tomorrow, rose and shone straight into our tent. However, there has been a down side to Cape Levique and that has been the 30+ knot winds which got up at about 3 am on the first night (and so did we, to check the tent) and have hardly died down since. I found it quite alarming being rocked by the gale which made the car sway from side to side,and had to get reassurance from Nick that the car and tent wouldn't tip over. We do wonder if in a sudden gust the whole apparatus will snap shut and we'll be a tent sandwhich though. But at least we were too high for the tent to fill with sand/dust, which happened to our neighbours. Apparantly the wind will die when Perth gets a good bit of low pressure (sorry to be sending you bad weather wishes down south).
It's a friendly campsite, and each night we've built a fire in the BBQ (a big pile of wood nearby with a Beware of Snakes sign) and have chatted into the small hours (ie 9 pm bedtime). A very useful way of getting to know the best things to see and places to stay, and also the condition of the roads. I'm amazed by the whole Grey Nomad thing, and not a little impressed. I'd thought that grey nomads just took off in smart caravans and ventured from one powered site to another. But there are also those who have been travelling for months, following the warm weather in an anti-clockwise direction to us. They are the true nomads, staying sometimes for weeks in a spot they like, particularly if the fishing is good, and know a thing or too about surviving both the dirt roads, and camp life (have picked up some good recipes for camp-oven scones and the best batter to fry your freshly caught fish in - a recipe I fear we won't manage to use...).
Yesterday we tagged along on a tag-along tour - six 4WD vehicles, with Eric guiding us - an Aboriginal whose great grandfather hailed from Manchester. Because Cape Levique is Aboriginal owned he was able to take us to places that we wouldn't normally have access to, and a lot of soft-sand driving was involved. Great fun, but quite skiddy and slidey and we had to lower the pressure in our tires. The scenery was truly breathtaking, he took us to pristine beaches where we snorkelled and tried our hand at fishing - Nick got the hang of casting into the sea eventually, whirling the line round like a lasso, but I just hooked my own hat. No fish though. We finished with a meal of billy tea, damper (Eric claimed his wife had made it, but it was suspiciously uniform and round, and came in plastic bags) and BBQd turtle. I tried some and it was delicious, a bit like chicken, but wasn't at all sure if ethically I liked eating it. Today we've tried unsucessfully to dodge the wind, and will be heading out and north tomorrow. Several fellow campers are also leaving, as there seems to be no sign of the wind abating yet.
We'll travel along the Gibb River Road for two weeks, into the Kimberely, the idea for this part of the journey was the seed that germinated into our own grey nomadic experience.
On to Cape Levique, and we were lucky enough to find we had a western facing campsite, and were able to watch the sunset turn the rocks a deep deep red. As the sun set the moon, which is full tomorrow, rose and shone straight into our tent. However, there has been a down side to Cape Levique and that has been the 30+ knot winds which got up at about 3 am on the first night (and so did we, to check the tent) and have hardly died down since. I found it quite alarming being rocked by the gale which made the car sway from side to side,and had to get reassurance from Nick that the car and tent wouldn't tip over. We do wonder if in a sudden gust the whole apparatus will snap shut and we'll be a tent sandwhich though. But at least we were too high for the tent to fill with sand/dust, which happened to our neighbours. Apparantly the wind will die when Perth gets a good bit of low pressure (sorry to be sending you bad weather wishes down south).
It's a friendly campsite, and each night we've built a fire in the BBQ (a big pile of wood nearby with a Beware of Snakes sign) and have chatted into the small hours (ie 9 pm bedtime). A very useful way of getting to know the best things to see and places to stay, and also the condition of the roads. I'm amazed by the whole Grey Nomad thing, and not a little impressed. I'd thought that grey nomads just took off in smart caravans and ventured from one powered site to another. But there are also those who have been travelling for months, following the warm weather in an anti-clockwise direction to us. They are the true nomads, staying sometimes for weeks in a spot they like, particularly if the fishing is good, and know a thing or too about surviving both the dirt roads, and camp life (have picked up some good recipes for camp-oven scones and the best batter to fry your freshly caught fish in - a recipe I fear we won't manage to use...).
Yesterday we tagged along on a tag-along tour - six 4WD vehicles, with Eric guiding us - an Aboriginal whose great grandfather hailed from Manchester. Because Cape Levique is Aboriginal owned he was able to take us to places that we wouldn't normally have access to, and a lot of soft-sand driving was involved. Great fun, but quite skiddy and slidey and we had to lower the pressure in our tires. The scenery was truly breathtaking, he took us to pristine beaches where we snorkelled and tried our hand at fishing - Nick got the hang of casting into the sea eventually, whirling the line round like a lasso, but I just hooked my own hat. No fish though. We finished with a meal of billy tea, damper (Eric claimed his wife had made it, but it was suspiciously uniform and round, and came in plastic bags) and BBQd turtle. I tried some and it was delicious, a bit like chicken, but wasn't at all sure if ethically I liked eating it. Today we've tried unsucessfully to dodge the wind, and will be heading out and north tomorrow. Several fellow campers are also leaving, as there seems to be no sign of the wind abating yet.
We'll travel along the Gibb River Road for two weeks, into the Kimberely, the idea for this part of the journey was the seed that germinated into our own grey nomadic experience.
Pics: Church, Beagle Bay
Sunset, Cape Levique
Thursday, August 14, 2008
To Broome and back
Not sure when we will be online again - maybe in 4 days' time, maybe not until the end of the month. So thought I'd continue with a little bit more about life under canvas and atop Prado. Following our stay in Broome Motel, where I think we washed enough red iron ore out of our clothes and ourselves to supply a small steel mill in China, we took another red road to the Broome Bird Observatory, just out of town. A very charming, albeit fairly basic bush camp amongst the stubby trees, and sand underfoot. We're getting quite adept at setting up camp (striking it is much more of a pain) so it was down to the lookout at the beach - the most amazing greeny turquoise sea and pale orange sand. I got out the paints for the first time and Nick did what he came here for, ie watched birds. Back at camp we had tea in the communal camp kitchen where we watched wallabies drinking from the stone bird baths just a few yards away, while a sparrowhawk looked imperiously on and frightened all other birds away. We were able to cook supper in the kitchen, a friendly place which reminded me of the 6th form common room at school (but without the illicit smoking). Lots of birding talk, but also got good reports on Cape Levique, which is where we head out to tomorrow. There was one place left on the mangrove swamp tour for this morning, so Nick signed up. After explaining to him that he'd need footware suitable for wading up to his thighs in mud, plus plenty of mozzie repellant, they then very kindly said that they could squeeze me onto the tour as well. I felt I just had to turn down this generous offer, tempting though it was. Nick enjoyed his swamp, and got duly covered in mud (he abandoned his shoes - or they abandoned him - and squelched barefoot). Meanwhile I set up the computer with the phone connection at our camp table under the trees, and felt like a foreign correspondent typing in a report from the African jungle. All was hunky dory until I discovered that Google seem to have hijacked the site, and spent all the computer battery life trying to log on to my own blog.
Big treat later, our neighbours from our block in Perth, who winter up in Broome, invited us over to lunch - really great to see them, and wonderful not to dig about in our fridge in the car for lunch. They told us of the webcam set up on Cable Beach, so at sunset we hurtled over there, phoned Simon and Kate and told them to log onto the site. Amazing being able to wave to S in Greece and K in Adelaide, and they could describe what we were wearing/doing.
In case you're wondering about the photos, the third is how the car looked for the first 10 days, until we managed to hose it down at our last station stay (it now looks marginally cleaner). The last one is me (with essential miner's headlamp) rootling around in one of the plastic bins we keep our clothes, books, and everything else in. At least the bad language was muffled as I toppled headfirst into its depths. Also essential have been the Crocs, and having been pretty rude about these strange looking shoes in the past I now admit to owning 2 pairs, both in traditonal clog and jazzier thong style. They are in fact the d's b's when it comes to camping and are the footwear of choice for the discerning camper. Oh, and Simon and Kate, you might be pleased to know that the Hong Kong Taplight has really come into its own.
Pics: Sunset, Cable Beach, Broome
(very) Agile Wallaby
Spot the car
Bin there
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