Our Aussie Adventures

What a difference a great nights rest makes. Well, I’m sure it would have done had we been able to have a decent nights sleep. The stifling heat refused to exit the van and by 11:00PM we were straddled across the bed, all four of us, fighting for a breath of fresh air as the little fan we have on board stirred the hot stagnant air about the inside of our sunburnt little tin can. Bethany was suffering the worst, and an almost continual drizzle of water from a spray bottle was required to try and cool her down, as her rate of breathing increased to a frightening rapidity.

As a result, she was eventually permitted to sleep on the bed with us, taking prime position in front of the spinning blades of the fan. Alvin meanwhile took himself off to bed, sleeping in his usual position on the couch. Feeling the heat also, he found it hard to settle, and every time he fossicked about for a more comfortable position, he would knock the power cable for the fan out of the socket, meaning I would have to get up and plug it back in again. Bec drifted off into an uneasy slumber, concerned about Bethany, while my mind wandered off to wonder if our caravan battery would have sufficient power to keep the fan running overnight.

I have no idea what time it was when the temperature inside the van equalized with that outside the van, but I felt it, as I struggled to slip beneath the duvet, now trying to get warm again, the fan still whirring unerringly in the corner. As it turned out, it did run quite successfully all night. It was utter madness though, to think that we would be comfortable free camping on a day when the temperature reached a high of nearly 40^oC.

At least we were in no rush to get moving this morning, so the setting of an alarm wasn’t needed. Of course, the sunlight, early morning warmth and unholy din created by others getting ready to make tracks saw that we were up at an hour much earlier than I had hoped for. Despite my opening comments, I had in fact had a reasonable nights kip, most probably ameliorated substantially by the considerably sized goblet of red wine I had consumed with dinner last night.

Even taking our time to prepare ourselves for the quick 180KM jaunt down the road to Derby, we were left with nothing to do by 9:30AM, so off we went. A whole half an hour earlier than planned. You do of course know what that means? We will be seeing you a half an hour earlier on the 11^th of October. As it stands, we are now due home at 6:55PM. That also means that after 3 months on the road, we are running only a paltry 55 minutes behind schedule!!!

Our nearly 200KM of driving today was un-noteworthy. Gone were the soaring cliffs and the expansive postcard perfect vistas, as the surrounding scrub encroached on the road, making visibility past the first layer of bush impossible. The scenery today was more suited to the mood of yesterday, as we powered down the road and into Derby.

The most photogenic thing we saw all day.

While Shazza didn’t agree with the local signage on how best to approach the caravan park, we did finally find the entrance. It was only 11:30AM by this stage, and for a change I was concerned about our early arrival. We had rang ahead and booked a site, and I was worried that should our site not yet be vacant that we would be turned away, surly told to return at a more reasonable time. This was thankfully not the case, as I was checked in by a chirpy fellow who must go down as one of the best caravan park staff members I have yet encountered. Not only had he located us on a generous sized site, but he helpfully explained the best way from which to approach the site to make reversing the van onto it a simple task that even Bec and I ought to be able to manage. Although, he hadn’t bore witness to our amateur hour antics last night now had he?

We hit our groove this morning though, sliding the van onto the gravel pitch like the seasoned professionals we are. The caravanning Gods are either on holiday, or are feeling a little sorry for putting us through such tribulations of our ‘hump’ day yesterday.

It still took us a while to set up, the sun beaming down with a renewed vigor. The heat was not a concern today however, as I toiled outside to set up the awning and other accouterments that go with preparing for an extended stay. Mainly because I could toil away, safe in the knowledge that should I start to wilt, Bec had the air conditioner maxed out and sending cool waves of air throughout the van. Well, it at least felt cold after being outdoors, even though the unit struggled to effectively decrease the temperature. The inside thermostat was still reading 28^oC, and yet it felt like stepping into a walk in cool room. It was bliss after the afternoon we had endured yesterday. I hate to harp on about it, but have I mentioned that yesterday wasn’t our best day?

With everything set up outside, it was time to make sure that we have a television signal, in preparedness for the rugby league state of origin decider on Wednesday night. Naturally, not everything could go right, as I swung the antenna about in an effort to tune something in. Every sign I was getting indicated that we should be seeing crystal clear pictures dancing across the screen, but this was not the case. Over an hour later, dripping with sweat and having changed every cable I could, retuned the TV several times, and even ventured into the concealed wiring behind the wall plate, I looked up at the antenna outside only to find it was aimed directly at the middle of a thick trunked, fully foliaged tree. Of course we weren’t going to get a great picture with a 50 year old lump of hardwood in our way, so I made do with what I could manage, and will cross my fingers that the caravanning gods stay away until after the game on Wednesday night.

A trip in to town was next on the agenda, for the requisite visit to the information centre, where little information was gained, and a grocery shopping expedition. It’s been a while since we’ve had access to a decent supermarket, so it was time to stock up on food stuffs to refill the fridge, freezer and pantry. $150.00 later we were heading back to the van with our fresh supplies.

A quiet night was ahead of us, during which we partook in a meal more redolent of a half way point banquet, as the last dregs of red wine amply lubricated my throat and loosened my mind.

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

It was meant to be an auspicious day today, for today marked the half way point of our odyssey. Ninety days have past and ninety days remain. It was indeed an auspicious day, just for all the wrong reasons however.

Firstly, I woke up with the alarm at 8:30AM, feeling like I hadn’t slept at all, which was never to be a good start to the day. A fact that Bec soon bore the brunt of as we packed the van up. I was like a bear with a sore head and it took very little to get me all fired up. I was not by any stretch of the imagination, in a good mood at all.

Then we were all set to win a hard fought 15 minutes towards or Melbourne arrival time back, when a bloke sidled up to ask about ‘The Beast’. He is driving a big Chevrolet Silverado, and was in for a chat about the relative merits of both vehicles. I tried to tell him that the Ram would win hands down, but he didn’t want to listen. In the end, figuring that he wasn’t to be converted, I gave up wasting my time, said my farewells and we hit the road, right on 10:00AM. So much for getting some time back.

The journey today was at least a pretty drive, through an ever changing landscape. It began by driving through wide plains on greyish spinifex, dotted with hundreds of small red termite mounds, each reaching skyward through the grasses like red marker bouys in a channel of silvery grey water. The spinifex plains morphed into rolling hills that saw us rolling along an undulating road of twists and turns as it edged its way around the higher hills. This scenery quickly became more angular, as the rolling hills became sharp cliff faces and craggy escarpments of orange rock.

No time (or anywhere) to stop. As shot from the car.

It was as we were passing through this area, a sign advised us that we were leaving the East Kimbeleys region and entering the West Kimberleys. I was on the verge of making mention that there seemed to be no difference, when the vistas surrounding us changed yet again, with wide open tracts of low green shrubbery and vivid green grass now encompassing us.

Regardless of the sights about us, we were putting the miles behind us in relative comfort. The gauge for exterior temperature was showing a steady 35^oC, while inside the beast, even with the sun streaming strongly through the expansive glass of the windscreen, the air conditioning was keeping us cool. Aided by the fan cooled seats, it was indeed luxury.

I only mention this, because we had made what might be declared to be a very poor decision to free camp again tonight. With the choice of only one suitable camp ground along our route between Halls Creek and Derby, we rolled into the spacious area at a little before 2:00PM. Already at this early hour, the number of vans parked up for the day was surprising. Not only that, but all the best sites were already taken, not that there were any that were any better a site than the next. For what was meant to be a well maintained rest area, it was atrocious. The only trees taller than head height, were bare spindly twigs, so there was no shade to be had anywhere. On top of that, the entire area was so un-level, just finding a place on which to park was a nightmare.

My temper flared once more, as we moved around the grounds in an embarrassing dance of ineptitude, finally settling on the third location we begrudgingly maneuvered into. Even when we did eventually decide on a spot, it failed to provide us with a level pitch on which to park, it provided us with no opportunity to wind out the awning to provide us with a little bit of shade, and there was no easy spot on which the set up the camp chairs that would enable us to take advantage of any shade thrown by the van. It was as if the deities of caravanning were sending us a reminder that just because we have prevailed through the first three months, we are far from home and there will be plenty more hurdles which we will have to endure over the coming three months.

Of course, it didn’t help that the temperature was still extremely hot. So hot in fact that the tar of the road surface was melting, a gooey black conglomerate of stones sticking to the soles of our sandals with every step we took. This type of temperature doesn’t agree so well with Bec or the dogs. I don’t particularly mind it, but my ability to function is still detrimentally impaired as the mercury rises, and sitting about in the van, even with the fan swishing about the warm air, it was akin to sitting in a sauna. If I had been moody earlier, now it was Becs turn to shine, although her ire and despondency could at least be blamed on the heat stroke from which I am sure she was suffering.

With Bec quickly wilting in the heat like a week old bunch of flowers, and the dogs following suit, something had to be done. The decision was quickly made, that since we had no other option but to remain parked here overnight, we would nestle the camp furniture between the van and ‘The Beast’ in the only tiny little bit of shadow from the sun that was available. With the barest of a breeze flowing past us, it was at least semi-bearable and certainly a much better alternative to sitting in the van.

Making the most of what shade was available.

Incredibly, as we sat and languished in the heat, a tour bus pulled in to disgorge its passengers for an obviously much needed pit stop. One of the elderly blokes who disembarked called a cherry “hello” to us and before we knew it, we had struck up a conversation with him, only to find that he lives barely half an hour from us back in Melbourne. What are the chances of sitting here, smack bang in the middle of nowhere and coming across someone who is almost a neighbor?

To celebrate successfully reaching the half way point of our trip, I fashioned us a dinner of ‘bangers and mash’, amply assisted by a pack of sausages and a premixed sachet gravy we had salvaged from the supplies given to us by our visitors way back in Darwin. This I was able to cook outdoors on the barbeque, as the sun slipped down below the horizon, at long last providing us with a slither of relief from the heat.

A hearty meal of bangers and mash.

Selfie at sunset.

The sunset (pre-wine).

As we dined al fresco, I somberly cracked open a bottle of very good red wine that had kindly been donated to our cause before we left home. My good friend, and regular reader, David, had passed the bottle on, with the instruction that it was to be enjoyed at the half way point. Well, here we are, now half inebriated as a result of the highly quaffable nectar, hoping that we have a better day tomorrow, as this was not in any way or form, how we had envisioned day 90 playing out. Well, the wine was, thanks again David, but nothing else was planned this way.

Carefully pour…

… sit back and enjoy.

Blurry sunset (post wine).

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

We had planned to be on the road again today, bound for new horizons, exploring new lands and all that rigmarole. After a few days on the road though, and yesterdays 300Km round trip which required a hefty dose of concentration while the leather of the steering wheel slid all to easily to and fro through my sweat slick palms as I wrangled ‘The Beast’ across the corrugated iron like dirt of the Tanami Road, we decided a bit of a rest would be in order instead. So, rather than making tracks and putting Halls Creek in the rear view mirror, we headed for the office and handed over the cash to secure our site for an extra night. We are after all, on holiday.

Thus, our day was a mixture of relaxing and the necessary evils of housework, the likes of which we have been relegating to the back burner for some time. To start the day, while Bec continued to sleep, I brought our photos up to date on Flickr, so it’s worthwhile having a look at them if you want to put some pictures to my words.

That done, and Bec slowly emerging from bed, we delighted in our weekend staple of bacon and eggs for brunch. Now, I can’t say I’m sure if there is a health benefit of eating white mould over green, but given that the little shop here at the caravan park doesn’t seem to stock bread, frozen or otherwise, we talked ourselves into the illusion that the white furry bits on our toast had something to do with the fluffiness of the dough. A task that would have been all the more difficult had of the bread been contaminated with mould of the green variety.

Even the dogs were happy for a quiet day.

The remainder of the day was spent either prostrate in bed watching the tele, putting some time in planning our next few destination or playing the good washer woman, as load after load of laundry was feed through the washing machine. It’s been a while since I’ve regaled you with tales of Becs washing prowess, so I feel safe in mentioning that the machine was running on an almost continuous cycle today, to work through the many loads that needed to be washed. The heat was such outdoors that no sooner had a load finished, the previous load was dry and ready to be brought back inside. That sure made things a little easier.

As the afternoon wore on, we buckled the dogs up for a quick walk around the park. We were surprised to see that the park is pretty much full, with vans parked at odd angles all about the place. It was a distinct contrast to what it looked like when we first drove through the gates the other morning to be confronted with an almost empty paddock of dust. Imagining that the majority of the vans propped here will also at some point in the very near future, be heading west as we are, I was glad that we had made some phone calls earlier and booked in at the next two parks we are wanting to stay at. That means that we are at least set for accommodation for almost the next two weeks.

With the dogs exercised and worn out to some extent, it was time for Bec and I to head out for a night on the town. Bec had overheard something the other day, about the restaurant at the hotel across the road from our caravan park being quite agreeable, and since we hadn’t anything to cook in the van, we decided that it might be nice to have a night out.

Imagine my utmost dismay as we entered the rather fancy establishment, only to see that the dining room was bustling to the point of being full. An enquiry of the waitress provided the crushing blow, as she gently replied that the dining room was actually closed for a private function. My thoughts of a hearty cooked dinner it seemed were dashed, until the waitress advised us that the sports bar had been set up to accept diners this evening instead, as she led us down the corridor.

This was entirely a fortunate turn of events, as we able to sit outdoors, under the verandah where it was so much cooler than the stuffy dining room had been. Sitting here, where a dozen TV screens over the long timber bar, were showing a game of football, it was so far removed from what we had come to expect of Halls Creek, that it was difficult to imagine that we were still in the same town. By goodness, there was even alcohol of varying strengths available.

My only criticism, if I could be so churlish as to level a complaint, was that our meals were delivered to the table separately, and then they got my order wrong anyway. By the time my meal had been re-delivered, Bec had finished hers, leaving me to eat alone also. But, for a town where fresh produce is tough to come by, a better feed I couldn’t have conceived. It may well be due to us having spent so long away from the spoils of civilisation to which we are accustomed, that my standards are slipping, but in any case it was an entirely satisfactory feast.

Our short walk back to the caravan, about the only exercise we have had today, would have been totally inadequate to work off the delicious cob loaf starter, let alone the ample plates of chicken parmigiana served with a healthy dose of chips and salad we squandered away for mains. Such was the size of the serves, we didn’t even revisit the dessert menu, which we had perused so lovingly while in an obvious state of ravenousness before our meals were brought to the table. A decision I now consider may have been a frivolous oversight, as I write this several hours later, my stomach feeling worryingly hollow yet again.

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

If it hadn’t have been for Bethany leaping onto the bed and jumping about all over the top of us this morning, we may well still be asleep. I had forgotten to set the alarm, not that it mattered, as Bethany was up well and truly before we were due to be. There’s another sleep in gone begging.

Considering our early wake up call, we meandered about sluggishly, before getting on our way. We’re in for a big day of driving, to visit a hole in the ground, before having to drive all the way back to Halls Creek. It’s about 150KM drive, just to reach the Wolfe Creek Meteroite Crater, which was the setting for the 2005 movie, ‘Wolf Creek’. I remember the first and only time for that matter, that Bec and I watched the movie. By the end of it, Bec was adamant that she would never, ever come out here, while all I could think about was making my way out for a gander. For anyone who hasn’t yet seen the film, I would recommend a viewing, even if for no other reason than to make our own excursion out to the crater seem a whole lot more courageous than it really was.

On the Tanami.

Of course, we first had to get there though. Twenty kilometres out of Halls Creek, we turned off of the highway onto the wide red dirt Tanami Road. Once an epic four wheel drive track, named as such the Tanami Track, it has since undergone an upgrade of sorts as well as the name change. It is now a relatively good stretch of dirt road, the width of which is of freeway like proportions. The first 10 or 15 kilometres heading south were freshly graded and the smoothness was such that it was better than some of the tarred roads upon which we have bounced along. It gets progressively worse though, as you churn through the miles, although not for the most part bad enough to prevent us from travelling at between 100Km/h and 110Km/h. This speed seemed about right to see ‘The Beast’ skipping across the corrugations, causing little more than a steady vibration through the seats.

There were sections that needed a more sensitive control of the throttle though, especially the final 20KM, where there were some lengthy sections of corrugations that could have been on the verge of being classed as undulations. There was no good speed at which to cross these, as ‘The Beast’ bucked violently across each soul and suspension destroying crest.

Regardless of the road conditions, we made good time, covering the 150KM and arriving at the small parking area near the base of the crater in spot on 2 hours. There was already another small four wheel drive in the car park when we arrived, an older couple who looked decidedly non-threatening sitting beneath the shade of an information shelter. Very unlike the movie I decided. Emerging from ‘The Beast’ with a back relieving stretch, we peered across the spinifex covered plain to where the slopes of the crater rose up rather insignificantly.

Yee haw, we’re here.

Ho hum. If I must.

It was not until scaling the loose rocky trail that led to the crater rim could we really appreciate the grandness of the crater. A continuous almost perfectly circular ring of rock, over ¾ of a kilometre across, Wolfe Creek Meteroite Crater is the second largest such crater in the world. The floor of the crater is about 60 metres below the level of the crater rim, and is clearly split into two distinct areas. The innermost ring has a salt crust like surface due to climatic evaporation, while the outer ring of land spreads out to the inner walls and has a surface of fine, soft red dust.

Looking into the crater.

Since none of the photographs that we took can do the crater the justice it deserves, here’s an aerial shot of the crater I found on the Internet.

Leaving Bec sitting comfortably atop the crater rim, I scrambled down the steep wall to the inner sanctum of the crater. In the midday sun, with no shade to speak of, it was approaching 33^oC. On the crater floor, the heat felt like it was magnified ten fold, the air was stagnant and unmoving, while an eerie sense of quietness descended on me like I was in a vacuum. Looking back towards where Bec was perched, from the dead centre of the crater, I got a feel for the gigantic scale of the depression, and can only imagine the power with which the meteorite that created the basin hit the earth.

From the inside looking out. It was more impressive than it appears.

Having spent an hour exploring the area, it was time to saddle up in ‘The Beast’ for the rough ride back to civilisation. Given the corrugations, I half expected to be following a Hansel and Gretel like trail, made up of components fallen from ‘The Beast’, but I was happy to find that it held together rather well. A couple of missing screws from the fairing on the nudge bar and an as yet unidentified plastic cog which dropped from the vicinity of the glove box was the sum total of the injuries to ‘The Beast’.

I don’t know whether it made it better or worse, knowing what to expect, but we were soon back on the black top and heading back into town to refuel. Interestingly, we had fueled up before setting off, which made it all too easy for Bec to work out that it had cost us a grand total of $100.00 for the trip out and back. All in aid of looking at a hole in the ground that she wasn’t overly enthused about. I see it as having put nearly 300KM of dirt beneath the rubber ringed hooves of ‘The Beast’ to see a quirk of nature the likes of which we are not likely to see again any time soon.

Thus, we returned to the van, much like we finished watching the Wolf Creek movie all them years ago. Bec wondering why she had ever bothered, while I was jubilant at being able to cross the Wolfe Creek Meteroite Crater off of my must see list.

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

Ahhhh, what a relief it was this morning. No fireworks waking us in the middle of the night, no unruly knocking on our door first thing in the morning to wake us up, just the screeching noise of a thousand Cockatoos screaming over head. We are obviously not destined to get a sleep in, try as we might. At least as the cockies completed their spiraling circuit of the camp area, we were able to roll back over, pull our pillows over our heads to avert the bright sunlight from our optic organs, then try for a much needed few extra minutes of sleep.

It seemed to work, because one instant, it was 7:00AM, and then the next it was 8:30AM, and I was again waking up, this time to an alarm I had at least set for myself. By this time, the sun was already streaming harshly against the side of the van, light sneaking brightly past the curtains, and through the open roof vents. It was time to get going, before the heat of the day hit with full force.

It was right on 9:00AM that we snuck out of the campground and rolled onto the open road again. Halls Creek, here we come. It was only about five minutes later that we were pulling to a stop on the roadside verge. I had forgotten to turn the gas off, and not wanting to be towing a caravan sized blow torch, thought it prudent to make the effort to set things right. Let’s try that again then, Halls Creek, here we come. Off we went again, pulling back out onto the road and getting back up to speed, only to have to pull in yet again, a few more minutes down the road, after I noticed in my rear view mirror that one of the caravan windows was flapping ominously in the breeze. Thankfully, no harm done, but we had obviously rushed through our checklist this morning. Okay, once more now, Halls Creek, here we come.

Halls Creek, here we come.

As we motored along the highway, the colours of the surrounding landscape appeared muted today, washed out pastel watercolour tones, rather than the vivid oil emulsion hues we’ve been experiencing. The red dirt returned though as we thundered into Halls Creek, scooting through town to the caravan park. Mercifully, our day on the road was over almost before it began, churning through the final 100KM to the outback town of Halls Creek.

Hardly a metropolis. The main street of Halls Creek.

There is but one lonely caravan park in Halls Creek, which doesn’t accept bookings. Hence our determined early arrival, with fingers crossed that a site will be sitting vacantly for us. The signs weren’t good as we neared the entrance, to see half a dozen vans lining up along the side of the road. I pulled in behind the last rig, and decided to take a wander down the road to the park office to enquire as to our chances. If a site wasn’t to be had, I would rather just get back on the road and continue on our way rather than sit on the side of the road in the full sun, going no where.

As it turned out, sites were plentiful, while even the staff were bemused at the lengthy line of vans on the street. As the helpful girl behind the counter checked us in, she mentioned that there was a refundable bond required due to the dogs. As the words spilled from her mouth, it was one of those moments in life when the imaginary light bulb flashes above your head. In my moment of conjectured halogen lamp lit clarity, I remembered that the van park in Kununurra had also asked of us to provide them with a dog bond. The crisp $20.00 note that we had handed over on that occasion was now, at this very minute, still sitting securely in their till, nearly 400KM away, and no doubt soon to be transferred to the old dented and buckled coffee tin, with the faded handwritten label declaring: ‘staff Christmas party fund’. Doh.

As we drove through the gates into the Halls Creek Caravan Park, we were confronted with a mostly vacant dust bowl. Water is scarce in these parts, so a lush green lawn I knew was out of the question, but there was hardly a blade of grass to be seen, while shade was an also non-existent luxury, brought about by a distinct lack of trees in the immediate vicinity of any of the remaining available sites. If this all sounds like I’m grumbling about the grounds, I’m not. I’m just stating the facts, for we actually attested that it is a more than suitable place to lay up the van for a few days. On the positive side of the ledger for instance, van parking is on level concrete strips, with a dust minimising concrete annex pad to each site, there’s an inviting looking, but extremely cold pool, while the ablution facilities are clean. What more could we ask for?

Having unhitched the van, we took ‘The Beast’ and headed for a look around town. As it turns out, we had seen the majority on our way through earlier. Halls Creek originally made its name as a result of a minor gold rush, but is now not much more than a remote little outpost town, surviving predominantly on the passing tourist and trucking trade.

We got out on foot for a look through the promising looking, but eventually disappointing supermarket. For the most part, bread and meat share the same shelf in the freezer, although you can at least get your kangaroo tail with the skin on or with the skin off. Either way, it too is frozen though.

The butchers at least stocked fresh meat, but nothing that took our fancy, although I didn’t enquire as to the availability of fresh roo tails. Apart from soup, I don’t even want to imagine how else you could prepare these things anyway.

Also in the strip of shops lining the main street is a bottle shop, which due to alcohol restrictions can sell nothing that contains more than 2.7% alcohol. That means that take away liquor is limited to light beer. If you want anything heavier, it must essentially accompany a meal at the hotel.

Around the corner, just off of the main street is a tin shed that proclaims to be a variety store. We didn’t look in, but given the signage out the front that proudly declares that guns, ammo and toys are all available within its hallowed walls, an eclectic mixture of goods would I imagine be on offer.

Bit of everything available here.

Towards the end of the main street, was the demure little information centre, at which we hoped to get some information relevant to tomorrows activities. Printed literature was in short supply, while the friendly chap behind the desk tried his best to answer our queries. Another traveller, who overheard our questions, ended up providing us with the answers we sought however.

With our tour of town over as soon as it had started, we drove a few kays out of town to take in what is known as ‘The China Wall’. According to the tourism brochure, this is “a sub-vertical quartz vein protruding up to 6 metres from the surrounding surface”. In simple speak, it’s a line of white rock that does indeed rise up from the surrounding area, in the vision of a man made rock wall that is found at the end of a rough and rocky 4X4 track. Wow.

China Wall.

Returning to the van, we spent the remainder of the afternoon luxuriating in the air conditioned comfort. I even got time to upload a few more pics to our family album on Flickr. Don’t forget to check them out.

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