The sounding of the alarm this morning heralded another day, sitting high up in ‘The Beast’, motoring along on the road. Moving on again, we hurriedly packed up in the early morning cold, before making our way down the dirt track from the caravan park to the highway. Turning right onto the highway, Shazza announced courteously that we need drive 398KM, then turn right at our destination. Not one for early mornings either, she then promptly went back to sleep, not to bother us for the rest of the day.

Drive for 398KM was pretty much what we did, taking in the changing landscape passing by all around us. There were wide-open plains, the red dirt punctuated with low tufts of greyish green foliage, scrubby wood obscured areas where the vegetation threatened to impinge on the thin ribbon of tar traversing the land and stretches where the horizon was brought closer by low, flat topped tors. The entire illusion was obfuscated in the soft light of the cloud-sheathed sun however. It was not until the brilliant orb reached its zenith, when it broke free from the clutches of the obstinate cover of billowy clouds, that the magic happened. The scenery ignited like it was being lit up with a spot light, even the aforementioned grey tufts of repugnant grass shone vividly, shimmering an extraordinary golden hue, while the red dust took on a lifelike quality such was the deepness of its tint. As the compass needle bounced between west and north with every bend in the road, each undulating rise we crested did nothing to dampen our spirits as the panorama unfolded anew. Peering through the expansive windshield of ‘The Beast’ as we cruised along in spellbound enchantment was like watching a nature documentary in full high definition.

By about 1:30PM, Shazza awoke lazily to announce the imminent arrival at our destination, the border crossing between South Australia and the Northern Territory. We pulled off of the highway, slowly rolling into the small, asphalted rest area that straddles the border. In order to find a place to stop, we drove around, crossing into the Northern Territory, before returning to South Australia and finally back into the Territory, only to find all of the caravan parking bays already hosting a lengthy rig or, in some cases, two rigs. I knew it was advisable to arrive early to get a spot here, but I had envisioned that 1:30PM would be premature if anything else. I was not overly concerned however as we didn’t actually plan on staying overnight in this sterile pad of concrete, but rather across the road where I had read there was an unofficial bush camping area.

Crossing The Border (Although This Pic Was Taken Tomorrow Morning).

So I double-parked for just long enough to jump out and identify where the access road to this secondary camp was. Sure enough, directly across the road two jagged wheel ruts were evident, meandering off through the scrub. I ran back to ‘The Beast’, idled it up to speed and navigated our way across the road and through the suddenly very small looking gap in the trees. Only a dozen or so yards off of the highway, the tightly packed bush opened out into a sparsely timbered band of soft sandy earth. With only one other group of campers apparent, we maneuvered our rig towards the opposite end of the camp ground, finessing our way between a couple of trees taking advantage of their shade offering qualities. With a little to and fro, we finally managed to locate a sod of earth that was of suitable levelness to accommodate us and called it quits for the day, somewhat regrettably, still on the South Australian flank of the border.

We threw open the windows and doors of the tin can, before letting the dogs out for a wander at which time we found our perfect little camp site to be not so perfect. As it turns out, the ground is strewn with nasty little nettles that need no encouragement to lodge themselves painfully in the feet of the dogs. Within moments, Bethany was limping along, here paws crammed with the invasive barbs. We were able to pluck them out, but she was somewhat more ginger about where she placed her feet after that and both her and Alvin needed careful checking over after each time they came outside.

As we walked with the dogs, we also collected some spindly bits of timber for a planned evening campfire. There is wood aplenty scattered about, but nothing of substance. I was thankful that we had brought a couple of decent hunks of lumber with us from Lake Hart. With what appeared to be a generous wood heap primed, we sat back to admire our hard work. Then decided that rather than wait for dark to ignite our blaze, we may as well get it underway. The kindling was so dry, it took immediately, burning hot and fast. So fast that Bec was soon displaying her pyromaniacal tendencies once more, nearly stripping one nearby tree bare of its lower boughs, joyfully feeding them into the now raging conflagration.

Looks Promising.

Feeding The Fire.

Surveying Her Work.

With the wood burning at such an alarming rate, I feared that the fire might not last too long, so raced to the van, returning with a bag of giant marshmallows to roast over the licking tongues of flame emanating from the pit of coal. We quickly discovered that bigger is not necessarily better when it comes to marshmallows, the sickly sweet goo erupting stickily from the only part baked, golf ball sized chunks of sweetness. With viscid liquid sugar running down our chins and coating our fingers, we decided that regular bite sized morsels are a much simpler proposition.

Toasting Marshmallows.

Dinner Is Served.

In keeping with our theme, and since the fire was burning for longer than we had expected, thanks to Bec rummaging up a constant supply of tree with which to feed it, we decided to wrap a few spuds in foil and toss them in to the red glowing coals, as an accompaniment to our dinner. An hour later, as I sizzled some ham steaks on the barbeque, Bec unwrapped the foiled balls of carbohydrates, the delicious aroma wafting enticingly across the campsite. They were cooked to perfection, a crispy skin shell embracing a billowy soft centre that had me relating them to the appearance of this mornings clouds. We ate by the fire, only the crackling sound of wood turning to ash disturbing the silence, as the sun set on another great day.

Hot Dog.

While the fire continued to burn, we each sat one of the dogs on our lap, all four of us staring in rapt fascination at the myriad of patterns created by the gradually diminishing orange, red and blue flames as the final sprigs burned out in a signal that it was time to retreat to the van and repose sufficiently for another day of adventure tomorrow.

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