I woke up this morning, having formulated a plan overnight. I quietly set about unhitching the van from ‘The Beast’, then leaving Bec and the dogs behind to mind the caravan, I set off on a journey of discovery. I had decided to drive the 80Km out to Donganally Station, on the off chance that there would be someone left there that I could speak to. I was working on the assumption that surely not all of the employees could just up and leave for a week at a time.

Secondly, if I didn’t take the trek out, I would be always left wondering what if? If I didn’t go out, I would never know and I hadn’t travelled all this way, only to move on past without even trying to go and have a look. Even if it did turn out to be from behind a locked gate, surely I would be able to glance something.

Driving through the scrubby outback, it was almost amazing that anything could survive out here, but there was plenty of evidence of wildlife, mostly in the form of road kill. It was easy to see where they were, as each one was surrounded by a flock of birds, pecking away at the carcasses. A black cloud of eagles, kites, hawks and other birds of prey would rapidly ascend in unison, in just enough time for ‘The Beast’ to thunder past, before descending back to the road and continuing their feast. A flock of emus were witnessed also, parading along the roadside, before scurrying away at the sight of me. Sadly, wild cats were also numerous. A major pest in the area I would imagine, many of them didn’t even bother to look up from whatever roadside feed they were devouring, staying resolutely put as I drove by, often within inches of them.

Emus scatter at the sight of ‘The Beast’.

A good way out of town, I eventually came to the Donganally Station entrance gate, and the 10km long dirt road drive way that led to the homestead and workers compound. I drove along here, still not knowing what to expect at the end, whether anyone would be around, and if they were, how would they take to a city slicker invading their home and workplace uninvited.

The start of an almost 10km driveway.

As it turned out, as I drove over the final cattle grid, I noticed someone working by a building in the distance. That was a good sign, and at least I would get the chance to explain to somebody what I was doing there.

He turned out to be a contractor, but I was excited to hear that the wife of the manager was still at home, and could be found in the main house. I went over to where I had been pointed, to find her. I introduced myself, and tried as best I could to explain to her what I was doing there. I still half expected to be told to get off of the property, but nothing could have been further from the truth.

She may have thought me weird, driving all the way from Melbourne to look at a dustbowl of a cattle station, but she welcomed me onto the property, and gave me free run to go about and look around the compound. She also introduced me to the cook, who in turn introduced me to a couple of the ringers. Before I knew it, and quickly learning by example, I had left my boots and hat outside, and found myself sitting at the mess hall table, having a cuppa and a yarn with the staff.

It’s a whole different world out here, where the work is hard, but I would think the partying might be even harder. The ringers have their own little room each, not that much more would be needed. There is the kitchen and mess hall for meals, and a recreation room with pool table, bar and big screen tele.

Wandering about later on, the contractor I found when I first arrived came over to say g’day and gave me a bit of a tour, pointing out the different quarters, the school house, and assorted cottages on the property. He admitted that it had been a dry season this year, after 3 or 4 good ones, but that the station had been de-stocked to allow it to recover a bit. Made me feel a little callous for whinging about the few drops of rain we had the other night when out here, it is desperately needed to sustain not only the stock, but also the livelihoods of the people that work the land.

An oasis of green in a landscape of brown.

I was so glad that I had opted to make the drive out and left feeling somewhat euphoric at the experience. It had meant so much to me, just to look around the place, I would have been sorely disappointed had I not at least tried. My efforts, I felt had been well rewarded.

It was not quite 2:00PM when I finally made to back to the van, which despite the comical assurances of the cook out at Donganally to get some of her townie friends to hook it up and move it on me, was still exactly where I had left it, as were Bec and the dogs. Now it was time to make our next decision. Our plan had been to move the van to the caravan park here in Julia Creek and stay a few nights, but given that I had managed to do today what I had planned, and that we weren’t going to be able to enjoy a tour out to the Red Claw Farm, we were considering staying a second night in the free camp ground. Our other option was to hitch up and drive a few hours this afternoon, towards Mt Isa.

We quickly decided on the later, as we weren’t overjoyed with the onerous rules at the Julia Creek Camp Ground. Whilst the lack of facilities weren’t seriously problematic, the prohibiting of draining waste water seriously compromised our ability to wash dishes or shower.

It took us barely a half an hour, and we were back on the road, westward for parts unknown. Well actually, our first stop was in the Julia Creek township, where we tried to purchase some of the tasty red claw morsels. Seems that the farmer has been away on holiday for so long, the entire town is out of stock and awaiting his return. It just wasn’t to be then. A quick stop at the roadhouse for a tub of fries each to tide us over until dinner then, and we were back upon the black top for real.

The road smoothed out this afternoon, compared to yesterday, although everyone I have spoken too agrees that the Hughenden to Julia Creek road is a disgrace and probably the worst stretch of tar in the state. Today still wasn’t perfect, but certainly a great improvement.

With no real aim of where we were likely to end up, I had selected a couple of roadside camps which ought to sustain us for the evening, both a little ways through Cloncurry, on the road to Mt Isa. As such, and given the time, we flew straight on through Cloncurry, and kept motoring along. Shazza had our estimated time of arrival at our preferred camping area as being about 5:00PM. Given that most grey nomads are on the road by early morning, and searching for a spot to set up camp by about 2:00PM, it was a matter of keeping our fingers crossed that we would fit in.

Passing the first camp spot, there was room enough left, but again, it provided no facilities, so we decided to chance our luck, and kept going the extra 15 minutes to Fortune Springs Rest Area. Situated perfectly half way between Cloncurry and Mt Isa, it will leave us only a 60Km hop into town in the morning. And thankfully, we snagged what seemed to be the last remaining bit of land large enough to park up for the night. It was a tight fit though, and a couple across the way were quite inquisitive about our maneuvering. They also thought the radios were a good way to communicate to avoid arguments. I told them that it didn’t necessarily avoid conflict, but did make it easier for others to enjoy, if they’d just tune their own UHF to channel 26, sit back, and wait for the fireworks. Although, we did really well tonight, so the entertainment would have been somewhat unsatisfactory this evening. The camp ground again is nothing of note, with hard rammed earth ground under foot, nothing particularly pretty to look at, apart from a dozen or more assorted other caravans and the persistent roaring of road trains barreling down the highway, so near, that you can feel the ground vibrating. There are at least some public conveniences here and no draconian rules about sullage, so we are able to at least have a wash tonight, before donning our flannelette pajamas to ward off the nightly chill. There is an expected low of 9^oC tonight, so an extra blanket may even be required to ward off the cold.

It was a tight fit, but we managed.

Until next time, stay safe, have fun and don’t forget to write.