Around and Around We Go

Having reached the sanctuary of the Mt Dare Hotel after almost four days in the desert, we were pretty keen on a shower, so it was a quick "hello" to Jeff and Karen Brown (our friends and the hosts at Mt Dare) and then we were off to our cabin to get cleaned up. How good did that shower feel after all of those "pommy showers" of the previous days?!

Smelling nice again, we ambled over to the bar for a couple of bevvies. It was pretty quiet in there as we ordered a couple and handed the hired satellite phone back. Desert crossers, both intending and having just done, came and went as we relaxed and caught up on times gone by. Hours slipped by and before we knew it we were all at the staff dining table enjoying a lovely meal prepared by Karen. Jovial banter continued into the evening and little did we know it at the time, but in the not too distant future we would be back at Mt Dare, working.

Jeff was telling me about a bad run that he'd had with the tyres on his private vehicles. All of these tyres fell victim to "dog spikes" that lay all over the Old Ghan railway easement, which is the shortest and quickest route to Alice Springs from Mt Dare. I wish he hadn't told me as this was the route that I had planned to take to Alice the next morning. We only had one spare and 19" tyres are not easy to get. I wasn't overly confident about being able to pick one up at the Alice.

As a result, we spent quite a bit of time pouring over maps, trying to work out whether it would be better to go to the Alice via Kulgera or stick to the plan and go up the Ghan Line. Basically it came down to seven hours with about 300Km of gravel versus four hours, all gravel and the risk of destroying tyre/s. I still hadn't made my mind up by the time I hit the sack that night.

Sleep came easy that night, despite the worry about the intended route. The bed would be classed as "average" in any other establishment, but after sleeping on the floor of the car for three nights, it was pure luxury. We awoke the next morning feeling very refreshed. A couple of coffees the hit the spot while we loaded the car and before long we were back at the Hotel enjoying bacon and egg sandwiches for brekkie.

I refuelled the vehicle at Mt Dare, even though we probably had enough fuel to get us through to Alice Springs. I did this, even though the fuel there would be a lot more expensive than it would be at the Alice, because I was curious about how much we had used for the desert crossing and also to contribute to the running costs at Mt Dare. Let's face it, if everyone avoided buying fuel there then, soon enough, the Owners would probably decide to do away with the fuel service (it is not easy getting fuel deliveries made to a place like Mt Dare.) Then where would we be?

Anyway, we used 92 litres for 607 Km of the crossing, averaging 15.16 L/100 Km. You've go to be happy with that! And yes, we would have gotten through to Alice Springs on what fuel was left. With fuel in both the car and our bodies, we bid adieu to Jeff and Karen and headed north toward the SA - NT border. Mt Dare is just 10 Km inside South Australia and works on SA time, even though the bulk of their dealings are with merchants at Alice Springs.

Watches, clocks etc. were altered as we crossed into the Territory. In less than an hour I would have to make up my mind about which route to take to Alice Springs. From Mt Dare to the Finke - New Crown Rd the track was reasonably good, with few corrugations and some minor rutting where people had driven over it while it was still wet. Turning west onto the "main road" confronts you immediately with a fairly badly corrugated road. The entire width of the road was corrugated and it was evident that some vehicles had even driven up onto the shoulders in an attempt to avoid the blighters.

There was virtually no respite from the corrugations all the way to the township of Finke and with the prospect of more of the same all the way to the main highway, the corrugations and dog spikes on the Old Ghan road were starting to look like a better option. So it was that upon reaching Finke we turned north, to take the shorter route.

Finke, for those whom have not been there, is a town that is almost entirely populated by indigenous folk. The housing, sadly, reflects a general lack of maintenance or care and the litter around the place hits you squarely in the eyes as you drive through. From a tourist perspective, it is my opinion that the town has nothing to offer. We drove straight through.

The Old Ghan railway line was closed when the route was relocated in order to avoid problematic sections of track that were constantly succumbing to the elements - be they floods or shifting desert sands. What remained of the easement between Alice Springs and Finke, has been made into a road (to use the term loosely) and public access is allowed. Where the track was lifted, the aforementioned "dog spikes" were used to secure the rail to the sleepers. These spikes were simply left on the ground and have become a major issue for travellers.



A partially buried dog spike, waiting for a tyre to destroy.

The spikes can be lying on the track like the one shown above, or they can be buried vertically with just the blunt or pointy end sticking up above the surface. Spikes like the one above can be a real problem because they flick out of the ground as your front wheel goes over them, then they tumble and can be upright as your rear wheel goes over. Instant death for a tyre when this happens....

Cutting a long story short, we saw countless spikes and managed a halfway decent slalom as we avoided them, but it was the spikes that we didn't see that represented the biggest threat. Somehow we got through with tyres intact. The corrugations were another matter. The road was pretty cut up and had not seen a grader in a very long while - not that you'd actually want to travel over it after it has been graded - grading simply uncovers yet another lot of buried spikes and seems to turn them face-up ready to lacerate tyres.

Along the way you pass the old siding at Rodinga. The walls of the old railway buildings are still largely intact, but the roofs have long-since gone. It is at this juncture that you could deviate and go via Maryvale Station to Chambers Pillar - though we did not, having been to the Pillar in the past.

Rodinga Siding. Most of the Old Ghan sidings were of the same design.

When travelling this road you are also constantly reminded that the route of the famous Finke Desert Race runs along much of it. There are marshalling structures, distance markers and the actual racetrack itself among countless things that remind you of its alternate use. When the race is being run, competitors in buggies, 4WD vehicles, quad bikes and two-wheeled bikes race from Alice Springs to Finke on the first day and then back again on the second day, with the fastest aggregate time in each category being announced as the winners. Spectators line the route, usually making a big weekend of it by camping out. We have been fortunate to be a part of this spectacle in a former life and enjoyed it immensely.



No, this isn't the road we were on. This is the racetrack next to the road. Taken in 2008.

From Rodinga the road was excellent. In the intervening years since we were there last, the road has been built up, compacted and , it would seem, graded regularly. We were able to hoot along there at 80 - 90 KPH (remembering that our tyres still weren't fully inflated to on-road pressures.) The last 100 or so Kilometres went by in no time and soon the familiar shape of the MacDonnell Ranges came into view. It was a strange feeling to be back in traffic again, but this wasn't to last and before long we had checked into our very plush room at the Chifley Hotel Resort. We would spend three nights there as we caught up with friends and generally chilled out.

Rather than regale you with stories of our social life while at the Alice, and rather than write a tourist critique of the Alice, I'll move on to the remainder of the trip back to Birdsville. There is plenty of information available about Alice Springs, for those wishing to check the place out - what I will say is this....everywhere we have been in recent times, people have made comment about the "problems" at Alice Springs. Now, we all know that they are referring to our indigenous friends, and I have to say that this has not been an issue so far as we are concerned. At no time have we felt threatened or unsafe in any way in all of the times that we have been to Alice Springs, including having lived there for a total of twelve months. If you are thinking of travelling to Alice Springs, just do it and ignore the rumours that you may hear.

We left Alice Springs with full fuel tanks and a full cargo area, having taken the opportunity to buy some warm clothes as a preparation for our upcoming job at Arkaroola. Our route would take us north on the Stuart Highway to the junction of the Plenty Highway, where we would head east via Gemtree, Harts Range and Jervois to Tobermorey Station, on the NT - Qld border. Most of this is gravel, with only 98 Km of the 496 Km to the border being bituminised. From there the road changes its name to the Donohue Highway for the remaining 249 Km to Boulia, again, almost all of it gravel. We would stay overnight at Boulia before heading south through Bedourie and finally back into Birdsville. All up it would take us two days  to get back, having taken five days to get to the Alice via the desert.

The plenty Highway can have its moments. We were lucky enough to traverse a fair deal of smooth, recently graded road. It was really only the last 60 Kilometres or so that were corrugated, requiring us to slow to about 60 KPH to be comfortable. The scenery varies from reasonably wooded coverage at the Stuart Highway end, to sparse, grass covered plains, to sand dunes as you go east. There are a couple of ranges of hills to make the drive a little interesting, but generally speaking, the country is not all that inspiring. If you plan to come this way, fuel is available at Gemtree, Harts Range and Jervois. Tobermorey can be problematic. It was open when we came through this time, but was not when we came through on our previous occasion.

The last time we were through this way, the Donohue highway had just been upgraded with new road-base and a lot of grading and compacting. It was first-class. You wouldn't recognise it as the same road this time around - it was not corrugated as much as pot-holed. There were sections of pot-holed road that ran for many kilometres. Most of the pot-holes were easy enough to spot from a distance, although some remained hidden, ready to claim a tyre or wheel. This reduced the speed at which we could travel. Scenery along the Donohue is principally plains of low grasses.

It was a long day, with lunch eaten on the fly, and it was late afternoon before we cruised into Boulia and the waiting motel room. Sue got settled in while I went off in search of some tucker and to fuel the vehicle. The roadhouse could be described as.....no, really, you can't really describe it - so I won't. I put just $50.00 of fuel in the car, wary of the quality the fuel may have been and the food was....nothing short of dreadful. All they had was some of those chicken wing-ding things. I took some back to the room, but Sue wisely elected to give them a miss and eat some crackers and cheese that we had.

Interestingly, Sue had no recollection of having been to Boulia previously, even though we had stayed the night there at the caravan park. It was memorable to me because the waterhole at the caravan park had countless dead pelicans in it. Apparently the birds had been at Lake Eyre and were on their way back to the coast. They ate every fish in the river and the birds that were unlucky enough to miss out did not have enough energy reserves to fly out. They simply perished of starvation. Sue may have been victim of the fact that we came into Boulia from a different direction on this occasion.

So, what's at Boulia? Not much. You would only come to Boulia on your way to or from somewhere else. Having said that, if you need to stay over and Boulia is where you are at, the one and only motel there was clean and comfortable. The caravan park is very basic and didn't even have an office when we were there last. It may do now. When we were there you had to find the Caretaker's van and pay him. You are possibly wondering why there have been no photographs in the blog since the one showing the Finke Desert Race? It's because we did not see a single thing worth photographing after having left Alice Springs!

The only thing of note that did happen was that my silly mate, Nigel, rang from WA - having forgotten about the time difference. I'm not sure that the other guests were all that impressed with my 2 AM telephone conversation. Nice one Nige.

We had breakfast (we had it with us, thankfully) and headed off for Bedourie. The road from Boulia to Bedourie is paved for much of its length and we made good time along this stretch. There are quite a few creek and river crossings, some of which had remnant waterholes in them. These help to break up the otherwise featureless scenery. At the southern end of this section of road there are also a few minor dunes on the right-hand side, the last vestiges of the mighty Simpson Desert's eastern edge.

Approaching Bedourie meant that we were now officially on the home stretch. Bedourie is as small as Boulia, and both are larger than Birdsville in terms of population, although Birdsville would almost certainly be more significant in terms of economic importance. The offices of the regional council are at Bedourie, much to the chagrin of the locals at Birdsville. There are a couple of historic buildings still standing in Bedourie, including the old police station and the hotel. Other than that the town consists of mostly residential buildings, the council buildings, school and roadhouse. Like Boulia, Bedourie is, to me, a place to pass through on the way to somewhere else.

The old Police Station at Bedourie

The Hotel at Bedourie

With the bit between our teeth, there was nothing stopping us now as we wheeled on out of Bedourie and made for Birdsville. Along this section you are reminded even more of the immensity of the Simpson Desert as you pass by and even through sections of it. We stopped at a couple of places for photo opportunities, but really, these are few and far between. This section of road is almost all gravel, with just a few sections of paved road that are, thankfully, being extended.

Open-plan house



Cacoory Ruins

Shoe store, desert style.

Within two hours we could see the water tanks aloft their towers, indicating that Birdsville was just minutes away. We had completed the loop of around 2500 Km, 90% of which was on dirt, gravel or stony roads and had managed to avoid doing any tyre damage. It had taken a total of 10 days, seven of which we were driving. Would we do it again? Nah. We can tick the Simpson Desert box and there is no need to do it again.

Next blog: Arkaroola

The Simpson Desert and Other Stuff

Once we had given our notice at Birdsville, it made no sense to hang around while we waited for our job at Arkaroola to commence, so we decided that we would cross the Simpson Desert. We knew that we had a vehicle capable of doing it and we also knew that there was no way that we would skull-drag the caravan over it - in fact, the National Parks folks don't even like trailers or camper-trailers being dragged over it.

This required us to come up with some sleeping arrangements. We have no portable mattresses, no air mattresses and no tent. The obvious solution was to lay the seats down in the car and sleep inside it. The problem was, what to do with the other stuff that we would need to carry? We reasoned that we would need a tub with non-perishables in it, a tub with cooking utensils, a pot, coffee pot and other nicknacks in it, a small stove, water, the fridge, laptop, satellite phone, chairs, clothes and bedding (including pillows.) We could carry firewood, and a shovel on the roof, but that was about all because of the spare tyre being up there.

The only way we could make it work was to use the doona from the caravan bed, along with one sleeping bag as a mattress, place everything on it as we travelled during the day, then put everything other than the bedding on the ground outside the car each night and use the remaining sleeping bag as a cover. We had enough fuel capacity (184 litres) to cover the distance, even via our proposed route along the rig road, which was the longest way to cross. I was a little concerned that we would be able to deflate the low-profile tyres sufficiently to get good traction (bearing in mind that I am allergic to shovels), and also concerned at the fact that we only have one spare tyre. The last issue was that the tyres were the standard, factory-issue, road tyres - not off-road tyres.

I ruled out deflation of the tyres after realising that we were able to traverse Big Red with the tyres still inflated much harder than I was prepared to run them for this crossing (we had 26 pounds per square inch of pressure for Big Red and I was thinking of dropping them to 20 for the crossing). I was still worried about the single spare but eventually discounted that as well, reasoning that sand would not cause us any issues (forgetting all about the rest of the journey after the crossing.)

The plan, therefore, would be to cross the desert, call in to Dalhousie Springs for a look, drive up to Mt Dare, which is just inside the South Australia - 10 Km from the SA - NT border, stay the night at Mt Dare and then continue on to Alice Springs via the Old Ghan railway line and stay three nights at the Alice before heading across the Plenty and Donoghue Highways to Boulia in Queensland. From there we would head south through Bedourie and south again to Birdsville, where we would pick up the van and head for Arkaroola, once again via the Birdsville Track.

The last things that needed to be done before we set off  was to buy a Desert Parks Pass and hire a satellite phone, both of which could be done at the Information Centre at Birdsville. The satellite phones are all provided by the Mt Dare Hotel. You hire one at Birdsville and hand it back when you get to Mt Dare. We would not be making social calls on it, it would purely be used as an emergency tool. It was $140.00 that we couldn't risk not spending.

It was late morning when we finally got away from Birdsville and we were at Little Red around noon. The "serious" desert crossers all go over Big Red to start their journey, but we had already been there, done that - and so it was that we dropped the tyre pressures to 22psi, loped over Little Red and were on our way. We hadn't even reached the second dune of the more than 1100 dunes that we were to cross, when we came across our first Dingo. It wasn't overly concerned at our presence and trotted off quite slowly.

Soon enough we were at the base of the second dune, which was somewhat more challenging than Little Red but we were over it reasonably easy. About six dunes in I had to take a few runs at the slope before working out whether I needed to be in high or low range, how much run-up to take, what amount of throttle would be needed and so on. From there on the learning process slowly became an automatic response and we had little difficulty cresting the dunes.

To give you some idea of what the desert is like, the dunes are spaced at different distances as you drive along. Sometimes the flat part between the dunes, known as the swale, could be a couple of kilometres, while the gap between others is almost non-existent. The dunes are generally covered in sparse small shrubs, grasses and spinifex. The wheel tracks up and over the dunes are devoid of growth but the strip between the wheel tracks will often be spinifex that has been pruned by vehicles going over the top of it. There are no real trees as such, except at Eyre Creek and a place that is called "Lone Gum".

The approaches to the dunes become quite lumpy due to vehicles having insufficient traction and digging ruts with their spinning wheels. This can be caused by people not letting their tyres down sufficiently or applying too much power to maintain traction or even forgetting to put their vehicle into four-wheel drive. Dragging trailers and the effort that is required to do so is another major cause of the phenomenon.

The ruts that are created are not directly opposite each other on the tracks up the hill. What often happens is that the ruts will be, for example, causing the left front wheel to drop as the right front wheel is climbing out of another all the while the left rear wheel might also be climbing out of a rut as the right rear wheel drops into one. The result can be a horrible diagonally opposing lurching of the vehicle that has the ability to throw everything inside it all over the place. The key is to get the speed just right to minimise the effect of these ruts and still be able to get up the slope. Going down the other side of the dune is much more controllable.

Things can get somewhat rearranged by the "whoopty-doos"

General opinion is that the dunes are easier to cross from west to east due to the shape that they form under the erosive effects of the prevailing winds. What can happen, and did happen to us, was that so many vehicles attempt the crossing from west to east that the approaches on that side get terribly cut-up, while the eastern slope remains reasonably OK because vehicles are coasting down them. This meant the eastern approaches, the ones that we had to climb, weren't as bad as the western slopes, the ones that we were coasting down. We got lucky.

We didn't even get as far as Eyre Creek on the first day, due to our late start. In fact we covered only about 60 kilometres. The good thing about camping in the desert is that sooner or later there will be a significant clearing in the swale between the dunes, where you can make camp on level ground. The dunes themselves provide some shelter from the cold desert winds and there will sometimes be larger than usual shrubs to also provide shelter. Lighting a fire is permitted but you must carry your own firewood in.

It was a cool evening with perfectly clear skies as we set up for the night. The stars came out one by one and soon the skies were filled with them in the clearest display that you can imagine. We had our campsite all to ourselves and we could almost hear our own heartbeats, such was the tranquillity of the place. In the light of the fire we could make out the eyes of Dingoes as they circled us at a safe distance. They soon scarpered when I banged a couple of sticks together loudly. From previous experience with Dingoes, I knew that I would have to leave our rubbish on the roof of the car to stop the four-legged beasties from getting into it during the night.

 

The first night - note the stuff that ends up on the ground.

Our first night of sleeping wasn't so good. Only having a doona and a sleeping bag as a mattress made our bed pretty firm and it was hard-going on the hip bones. At least we were warm enough and it had only taken a few minutes to put all of the tubs and the fridge outside on the ground to give us room for the bed. I awoke feeling reasonably OK, but I wouldn't say that I was chirpy and neither was Sue. A couple of freshly brewed coffees helped a lot.

Our friend, Jeff, from the Mt Dare pub had told us about a campsite 14 Km east of the Knolls' Track. We were hoping to make that at least, and even then we wouldn't be halfway across the desert after two days. The dunes weren't really any tougher but it soon became apparent that we wouldn't even get that far by the end of day two. We crossed the dry bed of Eyre Creek, a waterway that has thwarted the crossing attempts of many a traveller when it has been in flood. It was all we could do to not stop and pick up some of the bountiful firewood around the creek

On this, our second day, we came across a lot more oncoming traffic - often convoys of vehicles - and it was usual for the parties travelling in each direction to co-ordinate the necessary passing manoeuvres. Because the track across the desert is just a couple of wheel ruts, when cars have to pass, someone has to get off and go bush. As we were travelling alone, it usually made more sense for just one vehicle (us) to get off than for three or four vehicles to do so (each one crushing the delicate desert flora.) So it was that we found ourselves waiting at the side of the track for several minutes at a time, waiting for the procession to pass. This all added to the uncertainty of getting to our desired camping place before nightfall.

While the desert certainly has a beauty of its own, I confess that before we reached Poeppel Corner I was starting to find the going a little bit tedious. About 20 Km before turning south toward Peoppel, the dunes take on a more haphazard nature. No longer do you have discernible swales between the dunes. These are instead replaced by a mass of interlinked smaller dunes that look somewhat like the tormented waves that you see in films showing ocean storms. There are some high dunes, some low dunes and dunes where the track twists and turns to forge a path around impassable peaks. A higher level of concentration was required and that meant less time to take in the views.

A wave of relief swept over me as we finally reached the point where we turned south and ran along the edge of a massive salt lake. This was flat, level track and out on the lake we could reach speeds of up to 60 KPH, remembering that the tyres were deflated and any faster would not have been wise. We were now travelling parallel to the Queensland - NT border, a few kilometres inside Queensland. All too soon we had to turn west again and the last section to Poeppel Corner likely to take just a few minutes. Well it should have, but the make-up of the dunes was different again. These, too, were jumbled dunes but were much higher than the previous section.

Finally we reached the sign indicating the northward turn to Poeppel Corner, the corner where the NT, SA and Qld borders all meet. The corner was named after Augustus Poeppel, the surveyor who first physically plotted the east-west line that separates SA and the NT. He did so using chains to measure distance and he placed carved wooden markers at intervals along the way. His corner marker ended up in a salt lake but when he returned from successfully charting the border he measured his chains and found that they had worn, and therefore lengthened slightly, meaning that the marker that he placed at the corner was actually in the wrong place. A subsequent survey undertaken by Lawrence Wells relocated Poeppel's marker post to where it is today.

A replica of Poeppel's (relocated) marker in the distance and the new,
apparently accurate, concrete marker in the foreground.

We drove the short hop into the corner and took the opportunity to take photographs. Let's face it, we wouldn't be coming back! We didn't linger at Poeppel's. We were still well short of the halfway point of the crossing and only had two days left to finish the trip - all of our subsequent accommodation bookings were contingent on finishing on time. Back on the lay-line the going was pretty slow. The dunes were messy, to use the only term that I can think of to describe them. Finding places to pull off for passing traffic was more difficult and we had to wait while one traveller extricated himself from a minor "bog".

At around 4 PM we called it quits for the day, still 14 Km short of the place that Jeff had recommended. We would not cover the 14 Km before nightfall at the speed we were doing. The campsite for night two was much the same as the first night. It was in a small swale between dunes and had some light shrubbery as a bit of a wind-break. Again, the stars shone brightly, putting on a dazzling display, but this time the tranquillity wasn't the same. Every now and then I swore that I could hear music. Sue couldn't and I guessed that I must have been hearing things. We saw no Dingoes that night.

Night two: Note the stuff still in the car that has to be removed so that we can sleep.

The bones that had begun to ache from the previous night's hard "mattress" were complaining even more the next morning. Still, coffee and breakfast soon took our minds off of them and we continued on our way. We only crossed three dunes before coming across a party of four vehicles camped in a swale. The source of  the music! The next objective was the Knolls' Track. This track departs from the "French Line" that we were currently on and heads south, passing the WAA Line and meeting the "Rig Road". The Rig Road was constructed to allow trucks, drill rigs and equipment to traverse the desert in the days when they were exploring for oil. The caps of the dunes had been covered in a clay road base to make the dunes firm enough for those vehicles to cross. Much of that capping still remains due to the minimal effect of rainfall on them. It is a desert after all.

We chose to follow this route, which is significantly longer than going directly across the French line, for no other reason that it was a way of escaping the masses of vehicles taking the short route. As we headed south the flatter route in the swale between the parallel dunes allowed us to pick up speed in places and it wasn't long before we had reached the "knolls". These knolls are smallish, flat-topped, mesa-like mounds that are formed out of what appears to be a limestone or gypsum substance. They are whitish in colour as opposed to the red colour that the dunes had been to this point in time. They stood perhaps 20 metres higher than the surrounding ground. They are of great significance to the aboriginal people of the area.

The Knolls. Didn't do much for us, but significant to the indigenous people.

It took less than an hour to travel the Knolls' Track and soon enough we turned onto the Rig Road. The first section, around a salt lake, had its clay capping wholly intact and we made good time along it. We stopped for lunch at the southern tip of the salt lake, before heading back into the dunes. Where the clay capping was intact on the dunes, the going was great. Where the clay had eroded was actually many times worse that the dune would have been without the capping. Side-tracks have been made by previous vehicles and the trick was to take the correct side-track and leap off it onto the proper track at the right time. Failing to do so could have meant falling into a huge rut and getting hopelessly bogged, or worse, rolling the vehicle over. Thankfully we got it right every time.

Along the way we took a short deviation to look at what was once a lone gum tree in the desert. Conservation-minded 4WD enthusiasts, realising that vehicles parking under the tree in search of shade would compact the soil and prevent moisture from reaching the roots of the tree, built a wire fence around to stop access. Naturally, with such protection given it, the tree responded by flowering, fruiting and subsequently producing many offspring around it, thus dethroning itself as the "Lone Gum".

Back on the rig road we got somewhat confused when a vehicle that we had seen heading away from the lone gum as we were approaching it, came at us from the opposite direction a half an hour after we left the tree? Maps came out and we tried to figure out whether he'd taken a wrong turn, whether we'd taken a wrong turn, or whether one of us was simply going in the wrong direction. It didn't help that it was overcast and we couldn't use the Sun as a guide. Our GPS told us that we were going the right way, the map was confusing and my brain was inclined to disbelieve the GPS.

In the end we soldiered on the way we had been going and the next junction confirmed that we were going the right way. Who knows what the other bloke was up to? The next section of dunes were well spaced, but the swales were badly corrugated, so no speed increase was possible. By now all the dunes seemed to be the same and the whole thing was beginning to get a little ho-hum. Another turn gave us a good run along the swales and then it was a last section of pretty big dunes before we came across the grave of one of the oil rig workers who asked to be buried in the desert after he died. At this point the track turned north and I knew that we had a long, easy, run between the dunes for at least an hour. We chose to make camp in this section.

I was very happy with our progress. The long run in the swale the next day would see us advancing quickly and after that there was a short section of the WAA line to cover before we intersected the French Line again, for another short section before the dune part of the desert was done and dusted. We were back on schedule. We did have another problem though. It had been overcast all afternoon and it looked like it would rain. Where would we put the stuff so that we could sleep in the car?

Day three: With rain threatening, we very intelligently parked in a claypan.

As we finished dinner and were preparing to sleep it did start to rain. We stashed as much stuff as we could on the front seats, the plastic tubs were ok out in the rain and we used a plastic-lined travel rug to cover the car fridge. The gear would be OK but if it rained too much we weren't going anywhere in that clay in the morning! It was warm and steamy in the car. We couldn't have the windows down or the rain would get in and worrying about getting bogged made for a fitful night's sleep. Thankfully the pitter-patter of rain on the roof lasted for no more than an hour and I was able to lower a window to get some air moving in the car. Bloody modern vehicles and their efficient seals!

Our last night sleeping on the hard surface had the usual cumulative effect on our bones and I could see that Sue was completely over it. Thank goodness we would be sleeping in a comfortable bed - any bed - at Mt Dare that night. We ate breakfast, necked down a couple off coffees and took off, cruising the swale at speeds of up to 70 KPH. It was a pretty morning with some lingering cloud being lit up by the early morning Sun. The desert air had a freshness about it, no doubt invoked by the dash of rain the previous night. We were making good time and all was well with the World.

We turned onto the WAA line and conditions worsened appreciably, but were no worse than anything that we had done before. We fell into the groove of building up speed as we approached a dune, washing off the speed as we went over the whoopty-doos (as we started calling them), thrusting the nose of the vehicle over the crest and completely throttling off and allowing the remaining momentum to carry us over the top. We would then just roll down the other side, often under brakes to prevent too much build up of speed, before relaxing for a short time on the next swale. We had long since lost count of how many dunes we had crossed and had no idea how many were left.

Surprisingly, the intersection with the French Line seemed to greet us quite soon and we turned to make the last run westward toward Purni Bore - the end of the dune section of the desert crossing. This section of dunes were smaller and relatively easy to cross, aside from the quite choppy sections. Like the first part of the crossing four days ago, this section must be traversed by all vehicles - regardless of the direction in which they are travelling. All vehicles means maximum wear and tear on the track. We also had quite a few oncoming vehicles to deal with, but progress was good and we were at Purni Bore by mid morning.

Purni Bore is a wetland that was created when a dud oil well penetrated the artesian basin and allowed the water to come to the surface. From what I remember it was capped but the cap eventually gave way and the water escaped at full flow. The pool that formed eventually formed a wetland just as the one at Mungerannie did, but there was a problem.... The unrestricted flow of water was taking pressure away from other wells in the artesian system. Eventually it was decided that something had to be done, but capping the bore was no longer an option. The wetland had become its own closed ecosystem and the animals and flora there were completely dependant on the availability of the water. To cut the supply of water would kill everything there.

Algae and mineralisation at Purni Bore wetland

Thus, the flow was reduced to a level where the pressure in the artesian basin could be maintained at a suitable level and the flow at the bore was sufficient to sustain the life there. There is also a nice campground at Purni bore with lovely hot showers (the bore is naturally hot) and washing facilities.
We had a photo opportunity at Purni Bore and then continued on our way to the mound springs at Dalhousie.

After the dunes had ended I pumped the tyres up a bit. I shouldn't have. The road to Dalhousie was dreadfully corrugated and it was more comfortable to drive off of the road wherever possible. It was slow going and I was grateful to arrive at the springs. There are several mound springs in the area around Dalhousie Spring. The springs are where the water on the westernmost fringes of the artesian basin are able to make their way through natural fissures in the Earth's crust and leak out at the surface. The dissolved minerals in the water eventually solidify around the opening and a mound forms. Some of the mounds in the area today are quite large.

Before we got to the camping area we came a cross a sign to a rubbish pit. With four days worth of rubbish in a bag on the roof of the car, we were happy to pull in and get rid of the trash. It's the little things eh? We went on to Dalhousie Spring. The spring is large and warm (about 38 degrees C where you swim) and has wooden ramps allowing swimmers easy access to the water. There was even a selection of inflated floating "toys" for people to lounge on while in the water. We were there in the middle of the day and were quite safe but we are told that at dusk the mosquitoes come out in thousands and the unwary can get bitten horribly.



Dalhousie Springs

We didn't go for a swim as we needed to get to Mt Dare before dark and we still had a fair distance to travel. We took the opportunity to look at the campground which was disappointingly dusty. With all of that water you would think that they'd grow a bit of grass? There were toilets etc. there and these are cleaned by the Mt Dare staff occasionally. The Rangers clean them at other times.

We set off for Mt Dare, electing to go via the shortest route after being told that all roads out of Dalhousie are "crap". I still wonder if we made the right choice. The road we took had a long section that was made of nothing other than rocks. Rough rocks! Some as big as soccer balls. There was not one skerrick of road-base or soil between those rocks. It was an absolute shocker of a road and how we got through there on low-profile tyres and not sustain any damage, I'll never know. Naturally our speed was dead slow and it seemed like we would never cover the remaining few kilometres to our destination.

Finally we came across a tee junction and the road to Mt Dare was as smooth as silk. Someone had been over it with a grader very recently. Hallelujah! We wheeled into Mt dare around three in the afternoon and received a friendly welcome from our friends, Jeff and Karen. The crossing was officially over....

Mt Dare at last!

Next: Mt Dare, the Ghan Line, Alice Springs and back to Birdsville.

All Roads Lead to Birdsville

In the last blog I mentioned that we had had the car serviced and that we had an ominous warning from the engine management system, indicating that the engine had been overfilled with oil. This is not something that sat comfortably with me as we set off to travel the Birdsville Track. We would be going along way from help if something went wrong.

Our place of departure was Springton, in the Barossa region of South Australia. The intended route would take us north through the Clare Valley, then across the RM Williams Way to Hawker. From there we would skirt the western side of the northern Flingers Ranges until they disappeared from view around the coal mining town of Leigh Creek. Still heading north we would take on some fuel at Marree and then hit the Birdsville Track for then next 515Km to Birdsville, skirting the Simpson, Stony and Strzelecki Deserts .

Our journey progressed nicely, with no sign of problems with the engine as small towns came and went. We had pretty much already travelled on all of the roads until we got just north of Hawker, so we didn't stop often to look at different points of view. By evening we had made it to a campground about 15 Km to the west of Hawker. As is often the case in these more remote areas, we were the only folks at the site. Being March, the weather was still quite warm and we parked in the shade of a couple of large River Red Gums.

The campsite just west of Hawker

We enjoyed a pleasant evening, once the Sun had set and the flies finally disappeared, and were asleep by about 9:30. The following morning the flies were up before we were and breakfast was enjoyed inside the van so that we didn't have to share. A quick check of the map, distances calculated, fuel reserves estimated and we were on our way northward to Leigh Creek. I reasoned that if we got fuel at Leigh Creek, we would need less at the more expensive stop at Marree. What we didn't know then, but have found out subsequently, is that fuel is actually significantly cheaper at the small town of Lyndhurst, which is between the two aforementioned towns.

Anyway, we refuelled at Leigh Creek. What can I say about Leigh Creek? Well, there isn't much to say really. It is a small mining town with a supermarket, pub, Post Office and servo and not a lot else. It is neat and tidy and has a medical practice, which was to become our local Practice later in the year. The fuel wasn't cheap, but there isn't much point worrying about these things.

We refuelled and headed north yet again, unwittingly driving past the cheaper fuel at Lyndhurst. Lyndhurst is the start of the southern end of the Strzelecki Track, another of the iconic tracks for the off-roaders among us. Lyndhurst is just one of the locations for railway sidings on the original Ghan railway line, which has long-since been relocated further west. Other towns (still populated) that were a part of the old railway include Parachilna, Copley, Farina and Marree. After Marree the railway line veered to the left (northwest) through Oodnadatta. We were heading to the right and would part company with the old line there.

We arrived at Marree to find the main road into town barricaded. A young fella in a beat up old Toyota work ute strolled over and told us that the road was blocked while some action scenes were being shot for a movie. Apparently Guy Pearce was somewhere inside those barricades. A detour had been set up and we took the rather corrugated bypass to the only servo in town. As it happens, the fuel was only a couple of cents dearer at Marree than it was at Leigh Creek, so the previous stop was probably unnecessary. We didn't get to see any of the film shooting, nor did we have a brush with fame. By the time we had fuelled up and got on our way again it was just after midday.

The Birdsville Track has its southern end at Marree and finished 515 Km later at Birdsville. There is no bitumen along the way and the only fuel stop is at Mungerannie, which is less than hallway from the southern end. The track itself was dry and relatively smooth to start with, although there was evidence of recent rain and some small ponds of water to the sides of the road. About 50 Km short of Mungerannie things changed for the worse. It was clear that a large truck had been through before the track had dried sufficiently and had created some very deep, water-filled ruts in the surface. The ruts weren't in nice straight lines either. Clearly the road was slippery when the truck traversed it and the vehicle had wandered (or slid) over much of its width.

The Birdsville Track

Our job was to basically straddle these ruts and steer along their crooked path, hoping to avoid falling in to them. It was a difficult job and it slowed us down considerably. The plan was always to take two days to drive the length of the Birdsville Track, but the slowness of the pace meant that we stopped a long way short of where we hoped to be by nightfall. Mungerannie was as far as we got.

Mungarannie is a servo, pub and campground. It is owned and run by Phil (last name unknown). Phil is a very interesting character, to say the least. We pulled in and Sue got out to pay the $10 campground fee. She got into the pub and Phil cheerfully told her to "put your money away and come over for a beer later on." We did just that. After setting the van up we wandered over to the pub. It was quite hot outside and marginally cooler inside. Apparently Phil doesn't crank the air conditioner up unless he's got several patrons.

Mungerannie Phil

I put our money on the bar and ordered our drinks. We had a pleasant conversation with Phil, during which we mentioned that we were going to Birdsville to work at the pub. That changed things completely. we were "pub people" just like Phil. He became very animated and when it was time for the next round of drinks, he shouted us. We had a third round, and then a fourth. Sue went and got ice from our van to have with her scotch, because Phil hadn't turned his ice freezer on yet (not enough tourists this early in the season.) All this time, Phil had not taken any of our money. Evening closed in on us and we ordered fish and chips for dinner (I think that it was all that Phil felt like cooking.) The meals were actually very good - and Phil still didn't take any money from us.

We had another round of drinks and were making moves to leave. Phil shouted us another round (obviously to keep us there) and that was followed by yet another round. After that we had to go. We had the rest of the Birdsville Track to finish the next day, as well as set the van up when we arrived at Birdsville. Phil tried to keep us there but we had to go. In the end I pointed to our money and asked Phil "How much do you want for all of that?" He scratched his chin and picked up a $50.00 note. "That should cover it" he said. I was floored. A meal and six drinks each for a total of $50.00! I did a  quick mental calculation and concluded that he'd charged us less than half of what we'd expect to pay anywhere else. It was certainly a different way to do business.

Besides the pub, there is a considerable wetland at Mungerannie. It came about as the result of a free-flowing artesian bore that was sunk in the first decade of the 1900's. The wetland evolved slowly until it reached the stage that it has now, a showcase of nature in the desert that is important both ecologically and as a social attraction for locals and tourists alike. It is well worth a look, but wear the insect repellent. Which brings me to the next point. If you leave your van to go to the pub at night, don't leave any lights on. We got back to a van full of bities, due to not securing the screens in the bathroom of the van.

The next morning we got away bright and early, before Phil could collar us. One of his staff told us that Phil had been known to keep people captive at Mungerannie for days. The track to the north of Mungerannie became progressively less chopped up and by about Cooper Creek it was dry and smooth again. We were making good time until we reached the south western side of the Stony Desert. They don't call it the Stony Desert for nothing - even the road base that they used on the track was made up just of stones. It was very rough and I was very worried about tyre damage.

After about 50 Km of this we saw two graders coming toward us. "Bewdy" I thought, but was dismayed to see that all that the graders had managed to achieve was to turn the rocks over so that their sharpest sides were facing upward. We had to slow down even more! It was another 50 Km before we finally cleared those rocks. I breathed a sigh of relief. We hadn't damaged any tyres....or so I thought. The final section of track into Birdsville was amazing. It was 4 lanes wide, smooth as a billiard ball and made of a compacted clay. We even got up to about 80 KPH.

We knew that we were close to Birdsville when the phone came alive and text messages started pouring into it. Soon enough we had crossed the Qld - SA border and could see the water tanks of the town. We took the huge curve around the famous racetrack and finally put wheels on bitumen again at the crossing over the Diamantina River. From there it was just a few minutes and we'd reached our destination.

I honestly don't know what I was expecting, but the first impressions of Birdsville were of a neat little town with wide streets and few buildings. There were few plants and even less grass, with the exception of the town sportsground, which was a vivid green after the recent rains.We found the caravan park easily and before long had been shown to our site. Our home for the Winter tourist season.

The caravan park was a large, dirt covered, sprawled affair. It had a man-made lake, or billabong, at its southern end. The power for our van was so far away that we had to join two power leads together (a real no-no) and the water was equally as far, requiring two hoses to be connected together. We had to rake the rocks from where we chose to locate our annexe. (I knew I had been carrying that rake all of these years for a reason.) By mid-afternoon we were set up enough to think about going over and introducing ourselves at the Pub, our next place of employment.

The walk to the Birdsville Hotel took just a couple of minutes, confirming to us that we wouldn't need the vehicle to get to and from work. We walked into the public bar which was all but deserted, with just one customer in there. After a few moments a young lady came to serve us. We introduced ourselves and she gave us a complementary round of drinks (which was the tradition for all new-starters, we later found out.)

Birdsville Hotel

At this point in time the alarm bells should have started to ring in our ears....having served us, Miranda simply walked away and started talking to another chap who was behind the bar. Call me silly, but I would have thought that she might have made an effort to find out a little bit about us? Eventually she introduced us to the other staff member, Steve, who was the second-in-charge of the Bar area. He said g'day and proceeded to wander off and talk to Miranda, leaving Sue and I to ourselves at the bar. Sue and I looked at each other, somewhat amazed at the apparent dismissiveness of our two future colleagues.

We felt obliged to buy a round of drinks with our own money, which we consumed a tad too quickly in an effort to get the hell out of there. We felt quite uncomfortable. I guess that this encounter set the tone somewhat for the rest of our time at Birdsville. Don't get me wrong, the majority of people there were lovely, but we never felt really at home. However, I jump ahead of myself....

We had a couple of days before we were to start work so we had a look around the town and spent some more time making ourselves comfortable at the caravan park. This is when I made the shock discovery that two of the original van tyres (that had been the unused spare tyres for nearly five years), had split where the sidewall joined the tread. The steel belts were exposed and it was only good luck that had seen us get to Birdsville before they exploded. The combination of old tyres and the stones on the worst part of the Birdsville Track had taken their toll. I had some new tyres fitted by Barry at the Post Office come General Store come Tyre Service and the price was surprisingly competitive. The remaining two tyres that I had fitted at Geraldton a couple of months earlier, were fine.

I guess everyone who visits Birdsville will take a trip out to the famous sand dune called "Big Red". We were no different. We went for a drive to the dune the morning after we arrived. What we didn't know, and there are no signs to let you know, is that there are two crossing places on the same sand dune - one is "Big Red" and, logically, the other is "Little Red". We went to Little Red and were quite disappointed in it, thinking that it was Big Red. We found out about the two crossings when we were discussing the dunes with others later.

We commenced work the following day and soon settled into life at Birdsville. Sue was working in Housekeeping, Bar and Kitchen and I was doing mainly Bar with a bit of Kitchen. Sue was mainly working days and I was doing the closing shift which sometimes saw me getting home as late as four in the morning.

During the first few weeks we were able to get a couple of days off each week, but as the season got busier it soon dropped back to one day per week. On our days off we had a bit of a look around, but in all honesty, there isn't much to see around Birdsville. We did, however, finally get out to the real "Big Red" and did the mandatory drive up and over it in both directions. The west side was the more difficult and it took two attempts to get up the dune. Shovels were not required. When there has been significant rainfall at Birdsville (as there had been for the previous two years) a lake forms on the east side of Big Red. Lake Nappanerica is not insignificant and prior to us arriving had caused visitors to take a 20 Km detour in order to get to or from Big Red. There was still plenty of water in it when we were there.

Sue and I atop "Big Red"

The three approaches to Big Red on the west side

Lake Nappanerica from Big Red

Having gotten Big Red out of our system we visited places like the "Dingo Caves" which were completely underwhelming, a stand of ancient Acacia Peuce trees, similar to the stand we saw on Old Andado a few years earlier, Bedourie (unfortunately, also forgettable) and Haddons Corner. Haddons Corner is the top right hand corner of South Australia, where it pokes into Queensland. The drive to it was scenic in places, especially at a place called Dion's Lookout. This lookout was the favourite place of Dion Brook, the Son of David Brook, a wealthy pastoralist in the area. Deon was a helicopter pilot and when he was mustering in the area and had a chance to take a break, he would land on top of the ridge and take in the 360 degree views it afforded. Unfortunately, Dion was killed when his chopper crashed about 20 kilometres from the hill. After that, the lookout was named after him. The drive to Haddons Corner also affords one the opportunity to look at the ruins of the historic hotel at Betoota.

As the weeks and months went by we met many, many travellers who had crossed the Simpson Desert. Some had incident-free crossings and others got themselves into a bit of trouble. There were a couple of rescues during our time there. We oscillated between wanting to do the crossing and not wanting to do it after each story that we heard. By about two months into our stay we were pretty much over the idea. We did, during the same period, catch up with many fellow members of the Kedron Owner's Group. These folks were going through Birdsville on their way to or from Queensland and South Australia and took the time out to call in and say hi. It was great to meet them all and I have to say that I could not believe how many of them were named Peter!

On my days off, especially in the earlier weeks I tried, pretty unsuccessfully, to catch Yellowbelly in the river. As most of you know, I am a bit of a Tragic when it comes to fishing and I wouldn't have committed to going to Birdsville if I wasn't going to be able to fish. I was starting to get the irrits about not catching fish, especially after following the advice the locals were passing on to me (advice about everything except where the fish were), so I grabbed a couple of beers, a couple of prawns and some fishing gear and went down to a nearby waterhole to sulk. Guess what? Prawns were the go. All of the nonsense the locals were going on about was just that - nonsense! I caught nine Yellowbelly in the time it took me to drink two beers. Six went back into the water and I kept one for myself and one for each of our neighbours. As an eating fish it was just average.

Diamantina Yellowbelly are not the same rich gold colour of their Murray River cousins

These fish were caught in a waterhole in the Diamantina River, just two Km from the caravan park. As it happens, these creatures were not the only things to be hiding in the Diamantina at Birdsville. One day a bloke came into the pub and was carrying on about seeing a crocodile in the river. The guy was, shall we say, "under the weather", having been on a bender for a couple of days. He had photos but they were pretty inconclusive and so his claims were dismissed - let's face it, crocodile country was still at least 750 Km north of Birdsville.

Three weeks later, a local, sober, girl came in to report that she had seen a croc in the river. This girl was a reliable source and her photos were very conclusive. This started a stampede to the waterhole and sure enough, there was a pretty sizeable freshwater croc there! All sorts of theories were developed around how it got to be there but the most widely accepted was that someone living on a property considerably further north had probably caught a young croc and kept it in a dam on their place. When the huge floods of the previous year happened, the dam would have, for a short while, been a part of the river floodplain and the croc would have made good his/her escape. A year later and here it was, at Birdsville.

What the Hell is this doing here?

 

Once the croc's presence became common knowledge, the Rednecks started coming out of the woodwork. There were those arguing that the croc will attack children as they swam in the river. Who were they kidding? The river was so cold that I hadn't seen anyone swimming in it since we arrived at Birdsville. Other locals were sooking that the croc would eat all of the Yellowbelly. Two things about that: 1) Yellowbelly are hardly worth eating (from a human-consumption point-of-view) and 2) During these cold months the croc's metabolism would be so slow that it was unlikely to be feeding at all. Let's face it, it was nearly a 1000 Km south of its comfort zone.

 

The local Ranger erected signs warning of the presence of the animal and eventually it was captured and relocated, for its own safety (read: Before it was shot by one of the local hillbillies), to a crocodile farm on the coast. No-one saw the potential for the croc to be a tourist attraction at Birdsville, which was odd when you consider how many tourists were lining the waterhole, trying to get a look at it.

 

At around about the same time, I was starting to feel the effects of many late nights at work combined with the inability to get much sleep at the noisy caravan park. Because the caravan park was a staging point for travellers setting out to cross the Simpson Desert, or those just arrived from the crossing, it was a hive of activity - mostly mechanical activity, which is inevitably noisy. From inflating or deflating tyres to banging frames and panels back into shape, to grinding or cutting or even welding, it was all going on while I was trying to get some sleep. It was killing me. I mentioned it to the Boss and she organised me a week where I had at least a couple of day shifts, but after that it was back to the same old, same old.

 

I spoke to Sue about it and we decided that we would be better off moving on - for the sake of my health. We got on the Internet and found work at Arkaroola and then gave our notice at the Birdsville Pub. We didn't have to start at Arkaroola for a few weeks, so we decided to do that Simpson Desert crossing after all. And that folks, is the subject of the next blog....