In a thorough juxtaposition to yesterdays relaxing arousal from slumber, today we were roused from our repose entirely too early to be chirpy, by the regimental sounding of the alarm. It didn’t help our moods that this early morning wake up call was dictated by our itinerary, which had us hitting the road again. To put a further nail in the coffin within which our good moods were interred, when we did drive out of the tranquil serenity of the caravan park, it was to turn the wrong way onto the highway. And by saying that, I don’t mean that I made a rare and momentous error in navigation, but that by having reached Wauchope (which I have now learned is pronounced something similar to War-cope) we had reached the zenith of our sojourn, and today, were pointing ‘The Beast’ in a southerly direction once more. From here on in, apart from a couple of minor deviations, each day we spend upon the trail of tar through the desert will actually be bringing us nearer to home rather than the much more exciting prospect of becoming further removed from thereabouts.

Saying Goodbye To Wauchope.

So with nothing else for it, we bid a fond farewell to Wauchope, put the sun on the wrong side of the truck and got underway as the narrow ribbon of road stretched endlessly ahead of us. In parts, the highway literally seemed to meld with the sun bleached blue of the sky, the road swimming in a shimmering heat haze that reflected a mirror of the azure. An optical illusion commiserate with that of a rainbow, it seemed you would drive right on into the sky, but we never did manage to make it close enough.

On The Road.

An hour or so after beginning our days trek, we decided to make a pit stop at the diminutive Barrow Creek. Like most other far flung outposts, there is little more here than a tattered old building proclaiming to be the local petrol station, hotel and everything else all rolled into one. There is also the chance to walk about the grounds of the still standing telegraph station. One of only four such stations left erect, along the telegraph line the once ran from Adelaide in the south, to Darwin in the north, in days long gone, before the advent of mobile telephones or even the old stalwart of the fixed line phone.

As The Sign Says.

At The Telegraph Station.

The hardiness of the building is evident, in that it is still standing to this day, having been almost continually occupied from its inception right through until the 1980’s, with little more than a new roof furnished in 1941 after the old one blew away in a raging desert storm. The now 74 year old roof looks as good as new.

I also took this opportunity to perform a little weight redistribution, pouring the contents of a jerry can down the throat of ‘The Beast’. That would provide us with the range to make it to the next diminutive little town along the trail, where I was hoping that fuel would cost less than the $2.00 a litre we had been offered at Wauchope.

It was a further hour on down the line that we pulled into Ti Tree, a rather substantial town compared to the road houses to which we have become accustomed to, with a range of services available and even enough streets that they needed naming. It also had cheap fuel much to our relief. Only $1.92 per litre for diesel! Topping off the tanks of ‘The Beast’ saw my hip pocket bleed to the tune of over $200.00, but that and the sole remaining tin of spare fuel in the back should now see us back to civilisation.

Moving off once more, we soon converged on the intersection of the Stuart Highway and the Plenty Highway, where we turned left and pointed the nose of the rig east. We ignored a couple of hitch hikers sitting in the shade of the sign that indicated that while it was about 500km to the Queensland border, our final destination for the day at Gemtree, was substantially closer, with only a further 70km to pass beneath the wheels before our arrival.

I did the mental calculations and figured we’d be there in only ¾ of an hour, but only a couple of hundred metres further along, the Plenty Highway turned into the not so Plenty Highway, as the road narrowed to a one lane strip of well worn bitumen, abutted on either side by rough and rocky shoulders of tyre compacted red dirt. With each and every oncoming vehicle, I needed to rapidly impede our forward progress to a pace which allowed for me to steer safely onto the rutted dirt. With a wave of the hand, our rig would pass the opposing vehicle, before the whole maneuver had to be reversed to get us back onto the blacktop and up to speed once more. For what appeared to be a minor road, it was certainly carrying a lot of traffic. Coupled with twists and turns, blind crests and wandering cattle, it was a harrowing drive that saw our average speed drop to well below that which I had envisioned. It was over an hour later that we turned off of the highway for a final time, navigating the final kilometre dirt track into the caravan park. I was exhausted by this stage, but we had made it.

Shutting ‘The Beast’ down, both Bec and I wandered into the reception, where the staff were most receptive of us once we informed them that we had made a booking. Being the high season in these parts, a powered site, or any for that matter is hard to come by without a booking. So imagine our utter dismay and disbelief when our booking could not be located. Our names were there in black and white for extra activities we have requested for Saturday, but our actual site booking was missing. Then a note was found, having us arriving tomorrow, rather than today. Thankfully, with a little arranging of things at their end, a site was located for us, although in an enduring mystery we never did quite discover whose muck up it really was. With our lodging arrangements sorted, our added undertakings confirmed and the park rules explained, including the explanation of all on-site power being provided by a generator which only runs between the hours of 6:30AM and 10:30PM, we were soon being guided towards our bush block like camping site by a bloke on a quad bike.

He pointed out our site, where we could connect to power and water, as well as the nearby ablutions block. A quick survey of our site found that it would be most suitable for our short stay here, and we rapidly arranged the tin can to take best advantage of the shade thrown by the surrounding foliage. With our campsite set up, we sat beneath the shade of the awning, a warm wind tickling our arms and legs, sipping on icy cold beverages, the serenity spoilt only by the constant grumbling drone of the nearby generator.

The rest of the afternoon and evening were spent relaxing, until just before 10:30PM when we began to debate the merits of switching the TV over to battery power in readiness for the nightly disruption to power. After a big day, it was quickly decided that it would be easier to just switch the idiot box off at the wall and have an early night. It was about 10:45PM that the hum of the generator ceased, and the silence was deafening. With no noise of which to speak of and a complete absence of lights, the blackness was complete and sleep came easily.

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