Before taking off to our new home state, here a quick recap of a really busy November:
After officially resigning and starting our job seeker project we are already flown to Perth to meet up with a potential future employer. If everything pans out we will be managing a café in the remote mining town of Newman, some 1,200 kilometres north of the state capital and smack bang in the Outback. How cool is that?
Interview and skills assessment in one of the largest cafés of the group go down really well - on both sides. So many nice, interesting, helpful people, and a really great network. Perth itself is amazing and welcoming too! Our B&B, right on the Swan River, is just stunning. OMG, I can so get used to this!!! Feels damn right! So excited, started drawing love hearts onto Pauls leg. Note: He does not like that!
Finally it is the 2nd of December, time to take off. Everything is packed including Mr. Oliver T Crossley. Car, trailer and roof rack are complaining about the weight of all our belongings. A quick strap check at the towns exit and off we go. Two kilometres done, only 4,000 or so to go.
Camp I: May have missed topping up fuel at Charleville. Half way to Cunnamulla we fashioned a funnel from an empty Breaka bottle to top up the diesel from the jerry can. Next stop and we notice that the trailer is badly sagging; its body is nearly touching the tyre. Turns out that the bushes on both sides urgently need replacing. That could have turned into a massive drama if the local mechanic wasn’t that helpful! Besides, Cunnamulla is not the worst place to stay overnight, so we rent a cabin and pick up the trailer the next morning. Enough time to sample one of the town’s legendary camel burgers. They are actually quite nice: Humpy Doo!!!
We sail through Burke. The local info centre girl misses an opportunity to sell the town and its sights. Pretty sad as the visitor centre itself is quite stunning.
So we’re off to Louth or Camp II. WikiCamps recommends a stay right on the Darling River opposite the pub. What a treat that is! The river is deep enough to kayak, Olli on the front of the boat like Captain Ahab and me on the ores. Finishing off the day with a tasty meal at Shindy’s Inn and off to bed.
Day three sees us pressing on to Broken Hill. We are passing the confluence of the Darling and the Paroo Rivers. The Paroo is an old acquaintance from our last trip. It’s like catching up with an old friend! This section is super dry. Hard to believe that anyone would still farm here. None of the local growth seems suitable for stock feed: Dry, spiky, toxic. Curiously houses and shops at nearby Wilcannia use similar deterrents - not against animals though! The colonial architecture is quite stunning but access is limited using barricades, heavy duty gates, steel shutters, barbed wire, barred windows. The town looks like a battle field with only a few zombies shuffling about. Scary! The fuel stop feels far too long. Can’t wait to get out!!!
Camp III is at Broken Hill Show Grounds. We are having cheese and wine at the grand stand while watching trotters training below. Try to envision the noise and the excitement on a race day - must be spectacular!
After a slump in mining when last visiting (2001 that was), the city surely bounced back. There is an upbeat vibe, everything is neat and tidy and very inviting. The amount of shopping opportunities, art spaces and cafés is staggering and well utilised as proven by long line-ups. Got to come back for an extended and more in-depth stay. Perhaps to the annual Broken Heel festival honouring “Priscilla - Queen of the desert”. The Palace Hotel - one of the sets for the movie - is still paying tribute. What a hoot!
Just crossing the border into South Australia. The different time zones are really messing with our heads. When crossing into NSW we had to add an hour due to daylight saving. Enter SA and you turn the clock back by 30 minutes and then take off another 90 minutes driving into WA. Bloody hell! Crossing the border we had to part with our juicy mangoes. Curiously the onions are ok to stay. Terrible trade off! Worse - I can see the gate keepers having a fruit feast with yummy juices dribbling down their chins while we are choking on crackers and onion.
We intend to drive three to four hundred k’s which would take us into the Peterborough Range. But we missed all the good camp spots and before we know it, Port Augusta on the Gulf of Spencer is waving at us. The town is not worth a stop. We halt for an iced coffee anyway but misjudged the time. Everything is shut or boarded up. This desert town is best known for producing electricity. The old coal plants wound down a couple of years ago but the first renewables are sprouting. An impressive solar plant produces the energy climatizing local tomato growers green houses and supplying them with desalinated water. Another 150 MW plant is planned for 2020 and so are wind farms on the nearby hills. Green shoots are developing.G Give it another five years and the iced coffees shall be palatable.
Camp IV is just behind Iron Knob on the Eyre Highway besides the now dry Pine Creek. Love, love, love it. The pics show how busy this transcontinental highway is!
The Eyre Peninsula is surprisingly lush with kilometres and kilometres of wheat and barley and massive grain silos embedded in the gentle rolling hills. We take the road through Kimba with its giant cockatoos, have morning tea at Kyecutta and a longer lunch stop at Ceduna. C is rather picturesque, right on the stunning Southern Ocean. I am impressed with their cyber toilets. They only flush once you washed your hands. And only after that you are allowed to leave. Pleasant music and a gently voice remind you that you have got 10 minutes to conduct your “business”. What if that’s not enough? Will I get catapulted out with the pants still around my ankles …
The road towards the Nullarbor is beautifully forested with trees, and hundred of shades of green, I really like that country. The Nullarbor itself is a stark contrast. You know that you have arrived when the crows don’t sit in the trees but on top. On the ancient limestone bedrock nothings grows taller than about hip high. It is world’s largest single exposure of karst, flat and 1.100 kilometres from east to west, up to 80 metres deep. Holds null water: Arid country, special and beautiful. I expected a sandy desert, instead we find an amazing amount of shrubs, salt- and bluebush and millions of flowers. The views of the Great Bight with its sheer cliffs dropping into the brooding ocean are quite something too. Really, really loving it.
We set up Camp V 30 k’s west of the Nullarbor Road house in a gazetted rest area. I am hesitant to do so as there are often large numbers of co-campers. Having said that we are pleasantly surprised as the area has hundreds of little nooks and not another soul. The alternative might be one of the roadhouses but you really don’t want to stay there. The Border Village Roadhouse and nearby Eucla are the only halfway decent settlements. They are ok but could do with some upgrades. Everything past Eucla is just plain scary - and utterly expensive! Far cry from the modern roadhouses come traveller parks on East Coast Freeways.
Camp VI is another 600 k’s further west. It’s a strange day moving from a mere 14 to more that 48 degrees in the afternoon! The car went into panic mode and refused to cool us passengers. The air-con is too demanding for the system. No point opening the windows unless you want to be dry roasted. We pull over at Cocklebiddy Roadhouse in the middle of nowhere. Rest for the car. Chips and ice cream for us. Judging by the jetsam of truckies, motorbikies and travellers, we are not to the only ones waiting for a cool breeze. Several minutes and calories later, the mercury swings the other way. Let’s move.
Cautiously we are pressing on, finding a nice nook for Camp VII somewhere west of Baxer’s and towards the end of Australia’s longest stretch of straight road, some 1,466k’s. Still stinking hot. The evening clouds are spectacular. Taking some great photos of the bush. The march flies are a novelty. They don’t like my heat rub and descend on Paul - in masses! The clouds should be ample warning. The wind picks up and blasts us with red dust fine as baby powder. Finally a few rain drops but no relief. The night is a tosser and turner: Noisy, sticky, dusty. We are up at 3 am and at 5 am back on the road, utterly spent. There is a reason why no one in their right mind crosses the Nullarbor in summer!
Breakky at the Belladonia Roadhouse. Came to fame in 1979 when a sizeable piece of SpaceLab smashed into the nearby desert. It’s now a curious part of the display at the guest room together with some local tourist intel. Nice setup.
At Norseman we have to make a choice wether to drive straight to Perth or have a bit of time off on WA’s south coast. I’m glad the latter idea wins! The lady at the local info centre gives us some great options and the keys to heaven: The hot shower across the road! It’s the little things in life that really make a difference, don’t they? I feel polished, clean and brushed - like a newborn.
Norseman is named after a horse that fell lame in WA’s early days. A gold nugget had itself embedded in the hoof (started WA’s gold rush). Places in Australia are often named after famous people such as lords and admirals. On occasions there is a nod towards indigenous names such as Gnowangerup “Place of the Mallee Fowl” or Fixherup “Place of tradies”. It does however get kooky when places are named after the boss of an expedition leader or worse his wife (eg. Port Augusta). How is that for brown nosing - or perhaps a serious case of covering up adultery? Just imagine living at a place for generations then someone comes along and decides to name it after his courtesan or his pet cat!
We are arriving to Esperance early in the afternoon checking in to the caravan park for Camp VIII & IX right on the ocean. We are looking forward to a day without driving, what a treat! The town was named after a French ship that sailed past in 1792. Whalers, sealers and pastoralists did not arrive until the early 1800’s with a town finally being established at about 1890. It then became the gateway to the newly discovered goldfields (as above). Today the city and the surrounding region are drop dead gorgeous: Dramatic granite tops, white beaches, picturesque salt lakes, golden grain fields swaying in the breeze. We found some mind blowing National Parks, a replica of Stone Henge, quirky cafe’s and galleries and even waved at a cruise ship, the Queen Elisabeth. Wow!
After yesterday’s heatwave we are grabbing flannels and wind breakers : Just 24 degrees and even less in the wind! Must be harsh in winter when antarctic storms rampage the coast.
Camp X & XII - Albany, a bit further down the coast, is our next stop and are we in for a treat! We approach from the north via the spectacular Stirling Ranges and Gnowungerup, place of the Mallee Fowl research centre. The fowl creates big mounds to incubate its eggs. After hatching it takes only 24 hours for the chicks to be able to fly and look after themselves. Abundant before European invasion, the fowl are now an endangered species due to loss of habitat and introduced predators. Amazing what you pick up in the middle of nowhere.
Albany’s Limeburner’s Distillery is fab, their range of whisky and gin is just spectacular. Our grins get bigger and sillier with every sip. Not cheap but worth every drop! And that’s just the start. The area is superb for fresh local produce. Anything from wine and ciders to herbs, fresh produce, artisan breads, flowers, cheese, chocolate and even mead. The mix is as varied as it is tasty. Far too limited time to sample everything. And the coast line matches it’s spectacular tastes. With only one day up our sleeves, we opt to visit the Valley of the Giants at Walpole. The drive itself is already great but gets dwarfed, literally, by the skywalk and the massive tingle trees. The walk is suspended 40 meters above ground with the eucalypts towering another 35 meters above. A couple of hunky service staff are abseiling from the walkways for some maintenance. Great build!
Checked out the ANZAC museum at Albany on the way back. It was created on the same hill that previously housed a fort protecting the deep water port. The gardens and the views are stunning. The museum is based on fact that the port harboured two naval convoys heading to Gallipoli / Turkey in 1915 (for the Non-Aussies). I cannot step away from the feeling that Australians are great in turning individuals into heroes for a cause they did neither understand nor had a say in. Where is the balanced view on war and its atrocities? What about the other side? There are never justified causes, never winners, but horrific losses on all sides. My heroes are the health workers who look after Covid patients knowingly exposing themselves to the disease and its consequences. My heroes are the paramedics who get out of their way to save lives in the most horrific circumstances, the police who contain or disperse conflict, the psychologists who help keeping inner monsters at bay; not some idiots who shoot on other idiots because their masters are not able to solve their differences through negotiations; full stop!!!
The final leg: Camp XIII - if you want to call it that - Perth. Heavy heartedly we are taking the Albany Highway north through the wheat belt. It’s a nice drive and probably worth lots of stops along the way. Hmm, next time!!!
There is always a next time….
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