Our Aussie Adventures

After a freezing night camped at a non-descript roadside rest area, somewhere between Erldunda and Yulara, we had a leisurely lie in this morning, awaking to find that we and a sole whizz banger were the only occupants left. By the time we did get up, the sun was zooming into the cloudy atmosphere, causing a pleasant warmth outside that had yet to invade the van. Such was the cold, we dressed quickly and decided to hit the road relatively swiftly for the final schlep to Yulara. By my estimation, even with a couple of stops to allow for more photographs to be recorded, it oughtn’t take us much longer than an hour and a half. Much better than yesterdays tiring episode.

Shortly after rejoining the road, the commonly mistaken for Uluru, Mount Conner made its presence known, rising up stolidly from the surrounding plains. Even at the distance we were, with no other reference for scale, this singular mount looks to be massive. As planned, we stopped very briefly at a wayside stop, from which clear views across to Mount Conner allowed for unimpeded photographic memories to be created, before we continued onward.

Mount Conner.

As we drew ever closer to ‘The Rock’, which as it sits amid an expansive desert, you would be forgiven for thinking that you would be able to chart its growth from small pimple upon the horizon, to pebble, to stone, to rock, to the gigantic monolith it is as you approach it from the distance. However, as the highway wends its way across undulating cuttings through the surrounding, towering sand dunes, by the time you catch your first glimpse of the rock now known simply as Uluru, it already spans a good part of the horizon.

That First Sighting.

We have been here before, even taken photos from the precise same point at which we stopped this morning, pulling into another wayside rest area, before clambering through the soft talcum powder like orange sand to the crest of a dune, from which we could bear witness of one of Australias most recognisable natural features. I don’t care what anyone says, but the first time you see it is a magical, mystical experience. Despite having been here before, I still fell quickly under its spell once more. I was aghast, reverently captivated by the deep purplish hue that dappled the rocks most familiar silhouette as it soared from the gold tinged plains, high into the cloud rippled blue sky.

Selfie With ‘The Rock’ In The Distance.

A short time later, we were pulling into the nearby town of Yulara. Basically a ‘company’ town that has sprung up to support tourism, and pretty much run by a large hotel conglomerate, it is the only place you can now stay within reasonable distance to the Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, however it is that you choose to travel. For us, we have a site booked at the campgrounds, so it was there that we made our way.

While I stayed in ‘The Beast’, Bec ran in, quickly completing the paperwork to check us in. We then followed the highlighted yellow line drawn on our map, to our allotted campsite. Site 24. It was a little smaller than what we had expected. Almost too small we thought, but it’s what we’d been allocated, so in we went. With no small amount of finagling, backing in, driving out, backing in, driving out and finally backing in once more. The tin can fitted, just. There was, now that the rig had been separated into its component parts, just one other trifling concern. There was nowhere to park ‘The Beast’, without blocking to some extent, the access road. As we put power to the van, and generally worked on getting it all set up, we kept looking at it, both trying to make the most of it, but we really weren’t happy. Along with the diminutive size of the plot, there was also an access path to the lookout, running alongside our site, a path I am sure will get much use by noisy little people, which is an undesirable feature when we are planning to leave the dogs alone in the van.

In the end, with maybe just a little bit of yelling, cursing and throwing of things (mostly by me) and already wasting in excess of an hour, at Becs insistence, we took a quick walk around, identifying a potentially perfect (and presently vacant) site. Because of the size of the campground, which has in excess of 180 powered sites, returning to reception required us to drive back. The lady behind the counter, who had checked Bec in earlier, couldn’t have been nicer, even if it was to compassionately tell us that the park was fully booked out and maybe, if we wanted to take an unpowered site for two nights before moving back onto a powered site, there was little else that could be done.

At this point, Bec mentioned the site we had noticed on our wander, site 53. That would be perfect we told her, allowing us to park our 14 metres of steel and aluminum with ease. We could see her thinking about it, as she wielded her fingers deftly over a computer keyboard. To our relief, there was something she could do, and in no time flat, we were reallocated a spot, this time on site number 55. It wasn’t the site we had hoped for, but judging from the map, would be better than our original offering.

Back to the van we went, me starting the infuriating task of hooking everything back up again, while Bec went to survey our new digs. She came flying back at a rapid pelt, complaining loudly that it was already occupied by another van. My head was beginning to hurt by this stage, and not wanting to drive once more back to the reception area, Bec chose to ring them instead. It was much to our relief to find that we had actually been given our requested site, but somehow the message had been muddled in the transmission.

With the van hooked up to ‘The Beast’ yet again, I impelled the whole show around the park, jostling the tin can into position on what I hope will be our final resting place here. What was planned to be a simply day had just turned into an epic saga, the likes of which I could have done without. Happy was a word temporarily deleted from my vocabulary, replaced instead with a string of adjectives that wouldn’t bear printing, as I set about to rig our van for residence.

By the time I set up the awning, hammering ½ a dozen tent pegs into what felt like solid bedrock, as well as giving my hand a nasty love tap with the mallet, and running all the lines for power and plumbing, I had calmed down a little, just glad that we now have a prime position, with more than enough room to move.

The unfortunate misuse of time however rendered our desire to take in the sunset views of Uluru unfeasible, so instead we drove around the circuit road from the campground to the town centre, where there is a miniature shopping centre from which all of your basic supplies can be obtained. There is a slew, well three, souvenir shops, one of which doubles as a newsagency as well as a bank, post office, café, information centre and a surprisingly well stocked and considerately priced supermarket. In fact, had I have realised the possibility of reasonably priced groceries out here, I may not have gone so overboard yesterday in Alice Springs. That said, we still managed to find a few items which had not been obtained yesterday, before heading back to the van where Bec cooked a delicious roast dinner, all in a single electric frying pan such is the wizard she is, while I struggled to post a series of updates to the blog pages and a heap of photos to Flickr. To the best of my knowledge, they are both now up to date, so, enjoy.

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

Argh, whose idea was it to get up at 7:00Am in the bloody morning? Oh, that’s right, it was mine. I was having serious second thoughts as my eyes slowly creaked open at the first sounding of the hideous notes of the alarm. I peered outside, only to find that the serene light of dawn was still illuminating the eastern sky. Far from being a morning person, there was little choice this morning, as we have a strict timetable to which we are working and today it calls for a repositioning drive of some endeavour.

With that I mind, I rugged up against an early morning cold that threatened to hang about all day, maybe just as a reminder that we would be passing back over the Tropic of Capricorn today, going the wrong way and returning to the temperate parts of our fabulous continent. But I digress, as we still had to complete the packing up job, which I had begun yesterday afternoon, before reminding ‘The Beast’, what it is like to be a packhorse. With the cold biting through even my wooliest jumper, I felt like every move I made was in slow motion, my limbs swinging through an invisible surround of molasses.

Pack up we did though, the clock pointing out that it wasn’t quite 8:30AM as we fired up the throbbing power plant of ‘The Beast’ and negotiated the dirt track out to the Plenty Highway. That tiny strap of erroneously christened bitumen is anything but a highway, but with little opposing traffic at this early hour, the 70 kays west to the Stuart Highway was a much simpler affair than what we experienced on the way in to the park.

Before we knew it, we were soon indicating left, while left wishing we were turning right, as we pointed our noses southbound, heading back in the direction of Alice Springs. An hour later we crossed the invisible line in the sand that is the Tropic of Capricorn, hardly noticing a change in climate at all. If anything, by the time we rolled into the outskirts of Alice Springs another ½ an hour down the track, it was feeling warmer than it had all morning.

Our plan was to stopped in Alice Springs for an hour or so, to resupply our food stocks and replenish the tanks of ‘The Beast’, before making a dash for the border, so to speak. It was all going to plan to, as we first stopped at a recommended butcher, managing to park our 14 metre long rig across a dozen car spaces. The butcher was a little out of town, so with a load of fresh protein safely stowed in the fridge, we navigated through the centre of town to the designated caravan parking area. I find it extremely frustrating when there are but 10 spots to enable the parking of a caravan, only to find half of them playing host to an unencumbered car. Thankfully, we managed to snag one of the final positions, although we still only just squeezed in between the lines.

Our first stop as we walked into town was at a little art gallery you might remember us having visited a week or so ago. We had finally made our minds up, or so we thought, that if the painting we both so liked was still hanging on the wall, then we would make it ours. Even before we walked through the door, I could see. The painting, it was still hanging alluringly where we had left it. We looked at it again. Then looked around the remainder of the gallery again. Then looked at THE painting again. Then looked at each other. Then walked around the gallery again. Then looked at THE painting again. We really weren’t so sure after all, but it’s being delivered and we should have it by the time we get home. Gee, I hope we’re sure about it by then!

Since that event took a little longer than imagined, we then struck out on foot for the supermarket, where we quickly loaded up a trolley full of groceries that we ‘might’ need for the next stage of our journey. Another week away from civilisation, we even remembered to account for lunches this time around. It was just then a matter of struggling back to the van, our arms laden with bags full of shopping, leading me to consider that by the time we got back, either my arms were going to be longer, my back was going to be shorter, or maybe, if I was lucky, a combination of both.

Back at the van, we struggled to fit all of our new purchases within the compact compartments, especially the chilled goods, which had to be fitted into the fridge using a technique I refer to as ‘The Tetris Method’. It was all going well, until I realised that the remnants of a bottle of Becs wine was never to fit back in. I saw a problem, while Bec saw an excuse to have an early afternoon tipple. So making like a local, being that we were parked on the banks of the dry Todd River, a gathering place for many a local, she suckled the wine, sans brown paper bag, but straight from the bottle, before depositing the empty in the bin above which a ‘no alcohol’ sign was ostentatiously displayed.

There was then just the last remaining errand of fueling up ‘The Beast’ and taking the best advantage of the cheaper prices in town, the couple of empty fuel cans we’re carrying in the back. What should have been a quick and easy task of course took longer than expected when I loosened off the breather valve on the jerry can I was filling, only for a geyser of diesel to spurt quite spectacularly from the opened valve at a rate similar to the rate at which I was pumping diesel in. Leaving a decent volume of oily fuel on the forecourt by the pump, I tried in vain to clean up the tank as best I could before wedging it back into the tray of ‘The Beast’ and finally, somewhat later that we had hoped, we were ready to make tracks again. Well, that was the plan.

As we mounted back up in ‘The Beast’ Bec made a sound of annoyance. I looked over at her, to see her sunglasses sitting somewhat askew upon her face, while she unceremoniously held an unfortunately amputated sunglasses arm aloft in her hand. A quick look through the console of ‘The Beast’ confirmed that a spare pair of glasses had not been packed and while Bec emphasised that she could still wear them, she finally saw the light (so to speak) and it was decided that a new pair should be sourced prior to leaving the Alice.

As Desert Dwellers, the camping shop whose catchy jingle on TV proudly proclaims that “our camping guru says: If we don’t have it, you don’t need it”, was fortuitously just around the corner. While I double parked out the front, Bec ducked in only to find that either the camping guru is wrong, or that she really doesn’t need sunglasses. Personally, I would have asked to speak to this so called ‘camping guru’, but time is short, so back into town it was, where I double parked again to let Bec out, while she ran into K-mart. More luck was to be had here and not only did she get a new pair of sunnies, but she also got a spare pair just in case. That’s my girl.

Finally, at an hour at which I would generally prefer to be pulling off of the road for the day, we were leaving Alice Springs still with a 3 hour drive ahead of us. We continued south as far as Erldunda at which point we turned right to head west. In what might be our final diversion further away from home, we are planning to camp out tonight, arriving at ‘The Rock’ tomorrow.

Our Camp For The Night.

Yet Another…

…Day Done.

With A Shutter Time Of 2 Hours And Taken In Pitch Darkness, Those Lines Are Actually The Trails Of Stars As They Move Through The Night Sky.

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

We woke up to a luxurious warmth this morning, owing solely to the fact that the generator had run all night and thus the power had also remained on for the entire evening. This was due to an issue with the water supply, when a couple of unrelated incidents had seen the supply tank run dry. To replenish the supply, the pump for the bore needs to run. It was win, win for us, as with power available, we could run the heater all night.

Although, as we found out just before we went to bed last night, it was either the heater or the microwave, but not both at once. Drawing too much power, I managed to black out half a dozen sites. I poked my head out of the door to find at least one confused little Asian bloke from the hired campervan next door, running about with a lamp shining brightly from where it was strapped to the middle of his forehead, trying to figure out why his headlamp was the only source of light he had that was still working. I shrugged my shoulders and put a look of what I hoped would convey perplexity on my face, as if to say “how would I know?”, before running back down to the reception area in the hope of finding a staff member up late, who was able to solve our dilemma. I was in luck, and now know exactly what to do should I happen to test the limits of the power yet again.

Anyway, back to today, when we did wake up, as late as it was we didn’t feel particularly well rested. Bec was beginning to feel the effects that yesterdays digging efforts were having on her lesser used muscles, while I was just feeling the effects of having stayed up until 2:00AM. Being that today was destined to be a day of rest and relaxation, we therefore chose to take our breakfast in bed, while watching a spot of TV.

When we did finally manage to extricate ourselves from the bedroom, it was to find that it was actually rather chilly outdoors. In an effort to warm up to some extent, we strolled down the meandering dirt path to reception, where we were able to collect a descriptive booklet that was to lead us on a 3½Km nature walk about the outskirts of the caravan park. I honestly don’t know what made us think that going for a Sunday afternoon hike would be a good idea, what, with our muscles already complaining of overuse and threatening to go on strike, but walk we did. And I can tell you, that walk, or at least the version we managed to take was longer than 3½Km. A wrong turn or two here and there quickly added to the distance we were sauntering.

A VIEW OF OUR BUSHWALK.

That said, it was a rather interesting experience, with a menagerie of trees numbered, with correlating descriptions presented in the guide we had borrowed. Not only were descriptions provided, but also an idea as to how each of the plants may have been used in the past by the local Aboriginal tribes.

Returning from our bushwalk, it was back to the van where todays chores still awaited us. Today it was my turn to get stuck into some work, while Bec sat back and watched. A nice change for her that was. As a result, I soon found myself sitting outside, a chill breeze wafting the scent of a nearby campfire alluringly past my nose as I strove to rid the dogs of their loose hair. Having dragged the brush through both of their coats, I managed to remove a decent bag full of stray tresses that otherwise would have found themselves floating about the caravan instead.

It was then time to begin the despondent job of packing up the awning. We are due to leave Gemtree in the morning, a proposition that means I need to pack up as much of our camp as I can today. In a bustle I flapped and folded and rolled, packing up our awning and groundsheet, stowing all the associated bits and pieces. It is always a sad task, but more so today, as it means that we will be again moving closer to home tomorrow.

I had just enough time to kick back with everything done, before it was time for dinner. To give us break from the cooking and cleaning duties, we had decided to head on over to the outdoor camp kitchen again tonight, where fish and chips are on the menu. We have been promised that only the best, frozen and battered fish will be served up. None of that fancy shmancy stuff here. But if it saves us from the tedium of cooking and cleaning, I couldn’t care less.

The Sun Goes Down On Another Day.

Freezing cold as it was again by now, and the outdoor dining room, regardless of how many fires it was lit by, better suited to a warmer, dare I say tropical, climate, we stayed only as long as it took to eat, taking our leave just as the manageress got the party started with a reasonably awful karaoke number.

Back at the van once more, with the parks water tank still not reaching the mark of being full, we again had the unexpected luxury of overnight power. Sure, we could easily have made do without it, but as they say, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. So, careful not to cause another meltdown, I alternated between warming a generous mug of milk for a hot cocoa in the microwave, and running the heater flat out to remind us of the tropical warmth we had been hoping to experience more of here in the tropics.

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

Following a ghastly night of little sleep, as Bethany kept us fretfully awake for much of the night, with her besieged efforts to settle her harried breathing, the tolling of the alarm sounded the death knell to our scant few hours of rest. At 7:00AM, even had we managed a decent nights rest, I think our brains would have still been questioning our sanity, as we arose into the frigid cold of the early morn.

Thankfully, by this point in time, Bethany had managed to get her puffing under control, and appeared to be back to her usual self, even if she looked as tired as what we were feeling. It was with much relief then, that we set about to scoff down a quick breakfast, before walking the dogs, albeit via a much shorter path than yesterday, then scooting off for our day of gem hunting.

One of the main draw cards for Gemtree is the nearby gem and zirconia fields, of which they offer fossicking tours. We were lucky enough to have pre-booked a gem tour before leaving home, as upon our arrival, we found them completely booked out. Today is the day, so with five minutes to spare, we gathered at the little caged shed from which the gear we would be required to cart was to be issued. Strangely, for a tour that was supposedly booked out, we were the only couple in attendance, although we did arrive in enough time to watch a convoy of vehicles heading out on what we guessed was the zirconia tour. While I sat in ‘The Beast’ mumbling something about the could and how it felt like even my bones were on the verge of freezing, Bec made her way to the reception desk to report our arrival.

As it turned out, the convoy of four-wheel drives we had watched making a trail of dust up the access road was in fact OUR tour. With a scurrying about of staff, it was found that the number of participants had somehow been miscounted, thus they had set off without us, a full 20 minutes before the whole shebang was even meant to depart! Far from being another enduring mystery, this error was wholly to blame on someone other than ourselves.

We were quickly kitted out with the required gear for creating holes in the ground while searching for the elusive garnets for which we would be searching, all the while awaiting for the tour guide to return to show us the way out to the fossicking area. In no time, the lead truck returned, the driver beckoning us to follow him as we set off up the track. In short order, we came across the rank of other vehicles, all sitting in a line off to the side of the road. We commented on how close the gem field was, when we were tasked to fall in behind, before the trip continued. As it turned out, we were far from reaching our final destination, the others having been sidelined while the tour leader returned just for us. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, despite not being at fault, we did as asked as the convoy wheeled back out onto the main road, tracking along the deeply rutted and corrugated dirt road that led to the potted area in which the object of our desires were hopefully to be located.

Parking up in a small clearing deftly concealed by straggly bushes, the guide pointed us in the direction of a sprawling area of dirt that looked like a scene straight out of a war movie. Cratered with cavernous pits, mounds of red dust piled alongside, it was easy to see that this was going to be one hell of a dirty exercise. The actual process seemed simple enough, as our equipment was explained to us. Each group had been issued with a pick, a shovel, four sieves, a large tub and a 20 litre drum of water. The idea was to shovel dirt into one of the two ‘dry’ sieves and shake it all about. Transfer the remaining rubble to one of the two ‘wet’ sieves, washing the contents in the now water filled tub. Simple. Well you would think so, but in our excitement we soon had four wet sieves! That minor step of transferring the rubble from one sieve to another eluded us, time and time again. Didn’t really matter, it just made things a little muddy, rather than dusty, but at the end of the day, dirt is dirt and we were covered in it. I even took a close up photo of Bec, laughing as I told her how filthy her face was, caked as it was in mud and dust.

Sweety Dear, You’ve Got A Bit Of A Dirty Face.

Pick,

Shovel,

Sift,

Sort.

The Fruits Of Our Labour.

As we scraped away at the earth, sure enough we were soon finding what looked like little shards of pearlescent ruby red glass buried in the orange sand. With no pointers given as to where best it was to dig, luck played a huge part in our success or otherwise and Bec soon gave up looking for the ‘it’s time to retire mother lode sized stone’, preferring to scratch around in the top soil, where a multitude of small stones could be easily unearthed with little effort. Such was the thrill of the chase for her, that as her back began to spasm from the constant bending over, I found her casually laying in the dirt, still burying her ragged fingernails in the coarse grit, avidly searching for ‘just a little more colour’, each tiny slither of red finding its way into our ‘keeper’ tin.

Laying Down On The Job.

By 1:00PM, we had both had about enough, the heat and constant swarm of buzzing flies becoming too much, so we headed back to ‘The Beast’ where we compared our seemingly meager efforts with those of another family. In contrast, we had strived for quantity over quality, the other family exhibiting to us a couple of whopper looking stones. I cared not, as I was satisfied that we would have a neat collection of colour to put in a small bottle once home, to display alongside the bottles full of opal shards we have from our previous fossicking efforts at Coober Pedy and Lightning Ridge.

Just In Case You Forgot!

Back in ‘The Beast’ for the drive back to Gemtree, Bec happened to peer in the vanity mirror, crying out aghast. She was shocked at the film of dust that covered her face and somehow it was my fault for not having told her, letting her speak to strangers whilst in such a state. Now dear reader, if you wouldn’t mind backing up just a couple of paragraphs, there was indeed a point at which I did dutifully inform her of just that. I even have the photo to prove it. My fault however, it remained!

Back at the park, we returned our fossicking gear, heading into the little gem shop, where the results of our labour were sorted and assessed. We were quickly given the bulk of it back in a ziplock bag with the comment of: “Here’s your show and tell”. Worthless I would imagine, but alluring all the same. Two smaller packets were of rather more interest, six rocks having been culled from the pack. We are now the proud owners of six pieces of garnet that are of a size suitable for cutting and polishing, a service offered, for an extra fee of course, should we so desire.

And desire we did, Bec deciding to have three of them rendered into perfect little stones and set in a stylish ring, declaring that a ring displaying rocks we had unearthed for our very selves would mean more to her than any old opal ring from Coober Pedy. Well, there’s one stop we now won’t need to be making on our trip home.

It Should Look Like This When It’s Done.

Following a luxurious shower to wash the stubborn dirt and grime from our bodies (and faces!), we were surprised that our hands retained a muted orange hue of the dirt through which we had been burrowing, giving us the appearance of being hand models for an episode of The Simpsons. Surely it will wear off eventually.

It was just before 6:00PM that we next ventured out, making our way over, early I might add so as not to be left behind, to partake in a camp-oven dinner. Seated beneath a canopy of sparkling clear stars, even with a fire blazing and a couple of gas heaters stationed nearby, it was freezing cold. The great tucker, friendly conversation we struck up with a couple from Queensland and some odd outback entertainment (a long story in its own right) seemed to dispel the cold to some extent however and a fun night was had by all.

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