Beth and Mark's Gap Year 2014: Mud, Sand, Rocks and Reminiscing 1st April to 11th April

It isn’t really such a long time since my last update, but we have done so much since then that it seems like an eternity, so I thought should get something down before I forget what we have done.

After a week or so of being in the back of beyond, it was nice to spend a night at Leigh Creek, which although isolated, is a nice little town, with a nice little caravan park, fresh water, a supermarket, reasonable coffee, telephone reception, and most importantly very few flies. So we were able to catch up with people, read the Melbourne news, post blogs and the like. Sadly, one piece of news we received was that Beth’s Grandmother had passed away whilst we were out bush. Whilst 98 is certainly a grand age to live to, and her passing was probably to be expected, it still came as a shock and our thoughts were very much with all those affected by the loss of our Gran from Croydon. Although we did not see a lot of Gran over the years, we admired her, respected her, loved her and will miss her.

Our original intention was not to visit Leigh Creek (which involved a bit of a detour), but to head directly to Marree, but the allure of a clean, tidy, and well provisioned town was too much for us. Leigh Creek is an interesting place. Its entire purpose in life is to support the coal mine (which provides about 30% of South Australia’s power plant needs) located near the town. The entire town was relocated in the 1980’s when it was decided that the coal reserves beneath the town were too valuable to leave alone. As a result the new town was all built (clearly to a consistent design) in one hit, and is very neat and ordered and well serviced. It is like a tiny little Canberra in the middle of nowhere, which we found very pleasant (we are public servants remember). We even managed a very nice walk at the Aroona Dam which provides the town (and mine) with water.

Although our vehicles have coped admirably with what we have subjected them to thus far, a couple of rivets securing a hinge to the trailer’s boot had rattled themselves loose and required attention. Because we knew there was much more rattling and shaking to come, we thought we should get this seen to rather than risk losing the boot lid. We called into the Leigh Creek garage, but they did not have anybody available and suggested that we call into the Copley garage about 30km along our proposed route, which we duly did. It was here that we encountered the grumpiest old man I have ever met (and I can assure you I have met some very grumpy ones). We walked into the garage reception area and were met with a surly “What do you want?” glare from the chap lounging in his chair. The mug at his desk with “Grumpy old man” emblazoned on it should have given us a hint as to his nature. I summoned up the courage to ask him whether he would have the time to replace our rivets. He looked derisively at the failed rivets, and said he could take my money and replace them, but it would be a waste of time and would never work, and whoever decided to use them in the first place was a moron. Unfortunately, he did not offer any sort of solution which in his opinion would work. Given that our trailer has a very solid reputation developed over many years for its robustness, and there are about 2000 of them on the road, presumably with their rivets intact, I thought this chap’s assessment of the designer’s engineering capabilities was perhaps a little harsh. I diplomatically did not offer this opinion to him directly, instead I sympathised with his opinion, but suggested that even though simple replacement of the rivets may not be an ideal long term solution, that was the one we would prefer to go with in the short term. All right, waste my time if you like, but everybody is at lunch now, so we can’t do anything for an hour. So away we went and came back in an hour, only to be confronted with more ill humour and grumpiness. I was torn between my need to have these repairs effected and my desire to return fire. I would have loved to let this chap know that his manner was thoroughly objectionable and that the only reason he survived in business was that he was “servicing” a captive market in the back of beyond, but I decided instead to allow him to continue grumbling and sniping as he got the work done, and to view it as entertainment. I couldn’t help but engage in a little bit of verbal sport with the poor chap however, in the interest of entertainment of course.

We got the rivets replaced (they actually did quite a good job) and enjoyed the “entertainment”, but because of the time it took, there was no way that we were going to make our planned destination for that evening (Coward Springs on the Oodnadatta Track), so we resolved to aim for Marree instead and to call into the ruins of the Farina township along the way.

Farina is an interesting town. Farina is Latin for wheat, and the intention when this settlement was established in the late 1800’s was that a grain growing industry would develop around it. Why anybody would think that it was possible to grow grain in an environment as harsh as this is beyond me, perhaps the founding fathers happened upon this country in a very good year and were fooled by the fleetingly verdant landscape. Anyway, they soon realised that wheat was not going to grow here, so they shifted their attention to sheep grazing, which was also incredibly marginal. Somehow amidst all of this a town grew and survived for a time, but inevitably failed, was deserted and fell into ruin. In recent years a band of volunteers has spent time stabilising ruins and renovating buildings and they have plans to reopen a couple of establishments as tourist destinations. An interesting place and well worth getting off the road to have a look at. Unfortunately this day was 38 degrees, so we opted for the air conditioned comfort of the car rather than extensive walks through the ruins. Another place on our list to return to and explore more fully.

Marree is pretty much as we remember it from when we last visited on our way to Birdsville 18 months ago. Maree has quite a rich history and as the place where the railway gauge changed from narrow to standard, was a crucial stopping and changeover point for the Ghan, but apart from its history it has not much else to recommend it. Heat, re-entry to the fly zone, an “interesting” caravan park (think of the shabbiest bathroom you have ever used – then make it shabbier – that’s Marree), and a generally dilapidated outlook did somewhat diminish our pleasure, but we did enjoy our short stay nonetheless, and even managed a long walk along the old Ghan line. Many of the timber sleepers from the old line have been pulled up for firewood, but the line is strewn with discarded railway paraphernalia. Beth must have seen my eyes light up and warned me strongly that collection of artefacts would carry severe consequences. Despite these dire warnings I took a walk on the wild side and managed to secretly acquire 2 of what we as children called “dogs”, which are the steel pegs hammered into sleepers to hold the rail in place (I don’t quite know why we called them dogs). I am sure that they will be of some use to me sometime for something. Don’t tell Beth though, because I fear the use to which they will be put will be to deliver the consequence she threatened.

Regardless of usefulness, there is sentimental value in collecting these things. For those of you who do not know, 6 years of my early childhood was spent in Oodnadatta whilst my father worked as a linesman along the Ghan railway. So these dogs, and indeed many aspects of the abandoned rail line bring back childhood memories.

We are trying hard to limit the number of kilometres that we are travelling in one hit, mostly to avoid fatigue, but also to give us the opportunity to explore little intermediate places rather than just move on to the next major destination. For us the next major destination after Marree is Oodnadatta (I can hear you thinking --- If Oodnadatta is major, what must an intermediate stop look like?), which is further than our preferred maximum 250km. So we have a decision to make, William Creek, or Coward Springs (which is an abandoned railway siding which has been turned into a camp area). After a small amount of discussion Beth reminded me of our last visit to Oodnadatta about 17 years ago, which involved a fuel stop and refreshment break at William Creek. When we entered the bar to pay for our fuel, the place was full of the meanest, toughest, scariest and downright ugliest looking characters you could imagine. As we approached the bar, their heads turned as one towards us and you could almost hear them snarling. We paid for the fuel and decided that we didn’t really need refreshments. Jogging my memory made the decision easy and Coward Springs is where we were heading. A most appropriate place name given the reason for our choice.

Coward Springs is a real little oasis. It was, as I mentioned previously, a railway siding and small settlement which was strategically situated close to a natural spring where water from the Great Artesian Basin bubbled to the surface without the aid of bores. This of course was very useful in the days of steam for refilling boilers on locomotives, but it seems that the springs also attracted some holiday makers back in the day. The importance of Coward Springs diminished of course with the advent of diesel locomotives, and like so many other things we have seen lately was abandoned and fell into ruins. In recent years though, effort has been made (privately – I think by the owner of the cattle station the land falls within) to repurpose the site of the settlement as a camping area and to renovate the two buildings which remained and were not beyond repair. And what a superb job they have done. Great railway themed facilities (architecture based largely on sleepers), including a rustic spa using water pumped directly from the spring, hot showers (it is the campers responsibility to fire up and stoke the boiler) and a beautiful desert garden setting which utilises the gardens planted around what was once the hotel. Our intention was to just spend the night here and move on the next day, but it was such a delight that we decided to stay another day (rain also influenced this decision – yes, we are continuing our rainmaker crusade and have brought rain to the parched centre). This extended stay meant another journey back in time for me as we took another rail trail walk. The artefact temptation was again placed in front of me, and Beth must have felt my anguish, because she allowed me one artefact of my own choosing, and if I could find any intact ceramic insulators from the fallen power poles I could keep those as well (she had seen these used to very good effect as clothes hangers in the showers at Coward Springs). To Beth’s horror the artefact I chose was a small section of railway line (which now works wonderfully well as a weight to hold down our flighty sullage bucket), and to her disappointment, the insulators seem to have been well picked over by the Coward Springs renovators.

On the way to Oodnadatta we determined to face our demons and pay a visit to William Creek. Externally it looked much the same as 17 years ago, but we took a deep breath (being careful of course not to swallow any airborne creatures) and crossed the road very unsurely to the pub entrance. We opened the door and peered in and it was just as we remembered it, including the bar being lined with people. Again their heads turned in unison, but this time there were smiles and the drink of choice was latte. Phew!! We bravely took a seat and ordered cappuccinos (which were actually very nice). We wondered whether this was the same mob we ran into 17 years ago and they had just moved on.

Oodnadatta may have been a place I lived for six of my formative years, but I have never really considered it home. Nonetheless there is something special about revisiting a place which has helped to define you, and where much of my family legend was formed, so I was a little excited about coming back. Sadly, although not much has changed since we last visited, childhood memories failed to come flooding back and Oodnadatta did not produce the magic for me as it did 17 years ago. Although it probably means that I have grown out of experiencing magic (I hope not), I think this visit has cured me of the need to reaffirm my family’s stories through revisiting the place of their Genesis.

Whilst in Oodnadatta we took the opportunity to take a 7km walk out of town to a place which holds special memories for me and which we did not visit 17 years ago. This place was Hookey’s Hole on the Neales River where I first learnt to keep my head above water when thrown in the deep end (literally). Relying on and trusting my instincts when placed in difficult situations is a trait which has served me well throughout my life, and Hookey’s Hole 1960 something certainly played a part in instilling that trait. Whilst the waterhole was dry and did not look as it did in my mind’s eye, it did feel a little bit special to be there and I made the 7km return journey back with a little more spring in my step. This was partly out of joy and partly out of concern that the sun was getting a bit higher in the sky and we didn’t want to be walking in the full heat of the day.

After fuelling up ($2.25 per litre – our most expensive so far) and a final look around town (which basically involved standing in the middle of the main street and twirling 360 degrees) we hopped in the car and set a course for Dalhousie Springs (about 200km north east of Oodnadatta) via the Pedirka railway siding (more Ghan history). We took the precaution of asking at the Pink Roadhouse in Oodnadatta about road conditions, and were told that there were a lot of sandhills, but that is good fun and we should be OK. How long do you think it will take us? It depends on how fast you drive. Thank you very much. We also asked about the weather, with more “she’ll be right” answer (but more on that later). Turns out there was no real sand to speak of, but the last 80km or so was very rough and rocky and speeds beyond 40-50kmh were just not safely possible (Beth had the fun job of traversing this bit of road). Lucky we asked!!

Along the way we called into the Pedirka railway siding which contained abandoned fettlers cottages which were in surprisingly good repair, and to the ruins of the Dalhousie Homestead. This was once a reasonably productive cattle station, but it eventually succumbed to tough times and tougher conditions. This whole area is now National Park.

Dalhousie Springs (like Coward Springs) is one of a series of mound springs where water from the artesian basin naturally makes its way to the surface to form small, heated mineral water lakes. Although swimming is facilitated and encouraged at Coward Springs we chose not to partake. We figured taking a hot bath on a 37 degree day was probably a bit strange. You will be surprised to learn that the flies were also a little off-putting. The camp ground at Dalhousie Springs was quite extensive and looked like it could accommodate about 100 vehicles. It also had hot shower (piped directly from the spring) and flushing toilets (luxury). The fact that we were the only campers there probably suggested that we are still running a little ahead of the tourist season.

No need for alarm clocks at Dalhousie Springs, at first light the dingoes howl sufficient to wake the dead, and in keeping with our early morning walk regime we heed the dingoes call and set off. Despite plenty of evidence of dingo presence along the trail, they did not cause us any fear, what did cause a cold sweat to break out though was the grey clouds looming in the distance and the smell of approaching rain. We had many miles of dirt road travelling ahead if we were to make our intended destination of Finke today, and water on these roads is not normally a good thing.

We made haste to pack up the trailer and hit the road, and it looked very much as though the storm had skirted us so we breathed a sigh of relief and made our way (once again over very rough and rocky road) to the remote Mt Dare Roadhouse, where we stopped for coffee (instant this time) and cake (very nice and home-made). We asked the proprietor about the chances of the storm hitting, to which replied that judging distances can be very deceptive in the outback, and that storm was probably 200km away. We breathed another sigh of relief and sat down to chat with a retired Tasmanian couple who had recently come up to help out during the tourist season. Needless to say, time got away from us a bit and by the time we got to leave the air smelt quite a bit damper, but there was no real sign of rain, so off we headed to cover the 100km remaining to Finke. What we didn’t realise was the storm that had skirted us earlier had actually dumped a whole heap of water on the road ahead of us, and about 20km out of Mt Dare we were waved down by an oncoming motorist who told us that the roads were very wet and slippery, and he did not think that we would make it through. His rationale was that his vehicle was very well equipped, but he struggled, and we had a trailer, which would make things difficult.

Beth and I mulled over whether to forge on or turn back and thought about the consequences of each. If we forged on and became stranded, we may have to spend the night on the road. If we turned back we may become stranded at My Dare for several days if the roads are closed. Remember how I talked about trusting your intuition? We had a vehicle designed to cope with this sort of stuff (even though the badge says Jeep and not Toyota), and a trailer likewise designed to follow in all manner of yucky conditions, and we would basically be the first vehicle through, so the roads should not be cut up too much, and finally, we only had 80km or so to travel. So the decision taken was to grit our teeth and push on.

Five and a half hours later we rolled into Kulgera, 150km beyond Finke on the (sealed) Stewart Highway. These were the most testing driving conditions I have ever encountered. For much of the journey it rained heavily and we were sliding through mud, sinking into sand and driving through water. Brakes were useless, and the front wheels acted more like a pair of rudders than a pair of wheels (until you hit solid ground of course when behaviour changed drastically and suddenly). But through all of this we kept our nerve (despite some interesting times), the vehicles performed admirably and we navigated the good ship Jeep to within sight of Finke, whereupon we were faced with another decision. The road had improved markedly at this stage and the rain had pretty much stopped. There was also something that did not seem quite right about Finke as a destination, and staying there potentially carried the same consequences as staying at Mt. Dare. So off we went again and enjoyed smooth sailing for about 10 km when the rain started up again, and if anything conditions became worse than what we had previously, but this time we had about 140km to travel rather than 80. A stressful few hours, but we made it to Kulgera intact and before dark, and after a quick scrape down of our vehicles (which were encrusted in red mud) we were able to set up the trailer. We later found that Finke is an Aboriginal community and camping is not permitted, so as it turns out the option of staying did not really exist. We slept well that night and enjoyed a nice long walk (over some rocks and along a camel track into the desert) in the morning to loosen up some muscles which had been tensed for some hours the previous day.

Being back on bitumen is a funny feeling, but nice after two weeks of dust, mud, rocks and constant shaking. From Kulgera we head to Yulara for 2 nights in the caravan park and then 3 nights of luxury at the Sails in the Desert resort to celebrate Beth’s birthday and our 30^th anniversary.

En route we decided to call into Curtin Springs (a cattle station about 80km before Yulara which has established a road house and tourist facility beside the road) for lunch, but when we walked in we noticed that there were two busloads of high school kids noisily consuming their lunch, and we were wondering about simply moving on when we noticed that one of the students was wearing a t-shirt with Upwey Fire Brigade Volunteer printed on it. Our son attended Upwey High School, which has an annual year 10 school trip to Alice Springs, and sure enough when we enquired, it was the 2014 Upwey year 10 school trip that we had stumbled upon. Although we knew none of the students, the teachers in charge remembered our son well (for good reasons I think) and we ended up having a really good chinwag for half and hour. Isn’t it a small world?

No sooner had we set up our trailer at the Yulara Caravan Park than the rain started to tumble down, and basically didn’t stop for 2 days, which strangely enough was a wonderful thing because it gave us the opportunity to see Uluru (Ayers Rock) as it is rarely seen (with water pouring off it) and freshened up the desert vegetation beautifully. We still managed to do the walk around the base of the rock without getting too wet and to potter about the resort. When time came to pack up the trailer for our move down the road to our luxurious hotel accommodation the sun came out very obligingly and dried everything up, and we have had beautiful weather for our stay at the resort.

Uluru and Kata Tjuta (The Olgas) are absolutely amazing, and I cannot believe that I have been on this earth for 56 years and never visited this very special place until now. If you have never been here before you must go, and if you have been, I am sure you know what I am talking about.

We celebrated Beth’s birthday yesterday with a relaxing day around the resort, and I am sure Beth’s highlight was spending 2 hours watching our washing spin around in the free washers at the hotel. I tried to tell her she did not need to do this on her birthday, but it is strange what gives you pleasure when you have been on the road for a while. Getting washing done is one of those things, especially when there is no cost involved. After the excitement of the laundry we went out to a glorious dinner and made absolute pigs of ourselves. The dessert bar had so many good things and we had to try all of them. Combine that with our daily buffet breakfasts and I suspect any waistline improvement I have achieved over the last few months have been rapidly eroded. Oh well, back to camping food next week and a renewed assault on our daughter’s leftover vegan fare. How many different ways do you think we can prepare mung beans?

Frome here we travel to Kings Canyon, Palm Valley (if we can get there) and Alice springs and then start moving up towards the top end. The last couple of weeks have been action packed and I don’t really see the action abating as we move forward (this is a good thing), but hopefully I will find the time to update this blog somewhere between here and there. Talk to you all soon.