Month: July 2021

Up and about early, we were on the road by about 7.30am. As we turned left out of the stunning Cape Keraudren onto the Great Northern Highway, the reality of 460 km of white line fever ahead hit us hard.

It was difficult to get motivated. The road remained straight, save the occasional change in elevation by a foot or two, and the even less occasional bend to match the lay of the land.

After a couple of hours we dropped in to the Sandfly Road House (actually it’s the Sandfire Roadhouse but Sandfly sounds better) to find a line of at least 9 vehicles wanting for fuel. Deciding that our need was entirely a want, we kept going, hoping Puma would continue her diesel frugality.

We passed the road on the right that almost exactly 20 years ago we had taken from Alice Springs across to the WA coast. It was then an un-maintained 4×4 track that was in places a real challenge to conquer. Today it is a mining road that is kept smoother than the bitumen highway.

Further north we noticed the distinct absence of mining trucks. We had obviously passed above the iron ore belt into the caravan belt. Almost every vehicle on the road was towing some sort of accommodation. Camper trailers of all shapes and sizes, vans of ridiculous proportions, and of course a few loose cannons driving big American utes towing their egos.

As the kilometres passed, Puma hummed along. With the day seeming to never end, Peter loosened the reigns and the old beast moved from piss off speed (the speed all caravaners sit on to deliberately piss off everyone else) to cruising on the speed limit. To hell with fuel economy on this run!

In due course we arrived in good time at the Roebuck Roadhouse. This place is a business case study if ever there was one. Situated at the top end of the Great Northern Highway where it intersects with the other highway, it is a must stop for almost every vehicle in the north west. Employing 7531 back packers, in the bar alone, it serves great food at good prices and sets it fuel price at just a bit higher than Broome such that you can’t be bothered travelling the extra 39 km into to town to fill up. With all of this, it is simply a side business to the real money maker, being Roebuck Plains Station.

To top of the Roebuck experience at it’s entrance is one of the best road safety signs we have ever seen. It was the only pic we took today, but it is a cracker. The behavioural scientists would get all hot and sweaty over it, for it offers incentive to act, clear direct language and a genuine road safety message in a form that is cost effective. Marvellous!!

We had booked into a van park 20 minutes out of Broome as a last-ditch attempt to get accommodation. We had been ringing for over a week and could not get call backs from anywhere. Realising how far out of town it was, we headed into the Broome Caravan Park on speck to see if they had a spot. In a turn of good luck they had one spot left in the over flow section just for us. As its turns out, the overflow was on beautiful green grass whereas the supposedly good spots were on gravel, crammed amongst the common folk!! We were sitting pretty.

We now look forward to two days of rest. Peter will try to keep G out of the pearl shops so he has enough money to buy fuel on the way home.

There was no compulsion to move quickly this morning. We had nowhere to go or be, so we attacked daylight with the dexterity of a sea slug. We did however move across the dirt track to the top of the sand dune as our neighbours had vacated early in the morning. We henceforth enjoyed a magnificent uninterrupted view of the Indian Ocean.

At about comfortable o’clock, G and Peter went for a walk that turned into a walk further and further and further. Peter swore he saw Broome from where they eventually turned around. To say the coast line was beautiful is an understatement. It was beautiful.

On the way we came across two very good friends of Peter’s sister from Roma Qld. They are travelling around Australia for 12 months, having just completed six. After a chat we walked on, and on.

The afternoon was spent on another walk out to Indonesia at low tide. We may not have gone quite that far but the tide does go out a long way on the west coast! We used out stealthiest mode to try to see the promised octopus in rock holes, to no avail. We settled for little black things that sat and did nothing.

Peter spent a few hours trying to finish his last uni assignment for this subject so he can enjoy the last two-weeks of holiday. It remains an unfinished mission at this stage.

Our morning was spent washing, grocery shopping, fuelling up and doing all the other ancillary things you need to do to stay on the road. We finally left Port Hedland behind at about 11am pointed north on the Great Northern Highway. Before making our way completely out of civilisation we happened upon an iron ore train. We thought we had seen big trains in Central Qld hauling coal. We soon realised we had seen but pups. These things are so incredibly long and are led, pushed and pulled by old diesel locos unlike the electric cousins in the sunshine state. G tried to fit one into a pic on her phone but had no hope.

The headwind pounded us relentlessly. Puma dug deep however was having to fight for the full ten rounds to get a win. We noted the countryside was about as bland as it could get. Predominantly flat, with the odd hill trying to be a mountain. Just uninspiring.

The journey was broken by a quick stop at a river with no name we can recall, that was at odds with its surrounds. It was wide, blue and just lovely. It had no place sitting amongst the environment it found itself in. It’s toilets were testament to all that is wrong in the world, being stink bombs of the highest order. If the smell did not get you, upon entry the blow flies tried their hardest. We crossed our legs.

Early afternoon we turned left towards Cape Keraudren to a camp that had been recommended. The area was a national park or something similar. A quick call to the ranger assured us that it was a bit busy but there were heaps of room. Perspective is everything!

We paid our dues at the pay station as is the ritual in WA, then crept slowly in. Well ‘holy caravan city Batman’. The place was covered in vans atop every sand dune, in every crevice and most other places. We hunted for well over half an hour before finding a spot with a glimpse of the sea almost back in Port Hedland.

Our afternoon was relaxing, talking to fellow travellers, take a few pics and generally doing not much to a very high standard. We reminisced about the Landcruiser driver who tried to jump the entry cue to the park but was outwitted by Sue on a mission not to beaten by such dastardly acts of un-Australianism. Warm feelings swelled as the defeat was that of a Toyota driver; the very worst kind in the caravanning world.

We always thought today would be boring to the highest level of boring on the boring level scale. Ironically, it was anything but.

We hit the Great Northern Highway towards Port Hedland, soon coming across some mighty ranges near the Albert Toglinini lookout. There are no words to describe the stunning beauty of this gorge. The road climbs a long climb with only a ‘Trucks Use Low Gear’ sign to provide a hint of what is to follow. Within in metres of the top the road plunges down into the gorge seemingly enveloped by towering red cliffs. But there is nowhere to pull over to take a picture! We consoled ourselves with the fact that sometimes you just have to look and be satisfied. We won’t forget Albert’s acre of amazing in the middle of nowhere for a long time to come.

Trevor and Sue entertained themselves by figuring out to the nearest second or so, the time interval between quad trailer road trains coming toward them to any number of mines to fill with iron ore and return west. The average for the whole 294 km trip was one ever two minutes! That’s a whole lot of red dirt in anyone’s language. No wonder the WA Premier wants to create his own country with that amount of profit in his back pocket.

Finding a caravan park in Port Hedland it next to impossible. All the official parks were full to bursting. The two semi-official overflow parks, being at the Golf Course and at the Race Course, were threatening to apply for Regional City status as the number of vans occupying them was ridiculous. We added to the number in the Race Course, jagging a spot beside Trevor and Sue in the middle of the lot. It was not a time to be shy as the whole world was looking at as. Peter figured they were in fact looking at Puma in admiration wondering just how much they would have to pay for such mechanical genius.

In the late afternoon we headed off to the port to watch the sun set over the iron ore loading dock. Whilst this was spectacular, we were also gifted watching a massive ship leave port under tug as darkness fell.

Port Hedland may have begun as a ‘never coming back here’ destination, however it ended up being a ‘well if we were passing through, we might have another look’ one.

We said our good-byes to Avon and Mel before hitting the road for the stint into Newman. First stop was the information centre to find out a bit more about our destination for the day.

Karajini National Park is only about an hour and a half drive from Newman. Today it might as well have been 23,000 km away. The lady in the information centre clearly got out of bed the wrong side and repeated the effort till she was in the foulest mood she could muster before deciding work would be a good option.

In between her grunts, dismissive smirks as if G and Sue were vermin from the east coast, and lack of anything remotely connected with a willingness to serve, she was a lovely down to earth employee who promoted Newman brilliantly. We left, not much wiser as to what there was to do at Karajini.

We fuelled up after waiting over 10 minutes for the sister of the information centre lady to not move her car from the petrol bouser whilst she toddled around aimlessly inside the service station enhancing a visitor’s Newman experience. Finally we hit the road.

The scenery west if Newman is in stark contrast to that of the east. It is hilly. Spinifex covers the landscape, with the red cliffs dominating the skyline. It is beautiful but threatening at the same time. Early afternoon we rolled into to the gravel pit recommended by Wikicamps. We were not the only ones. The area was about half full and filling fast with a variety of vans, campers and back packers in worn out Nissan wagons, all finding their spot for the night.

In the late afternoon Peter headed up into the hills behind the pit to grab some images of the setting sun upon the Hamersley Ranges. He climbed about half way up to a spot above the tree line and sat patiently for the right light.

As he sat quietly blending in with the ghost gums and spinifex, he noticed a backpacker Nissan pull up not far below his position. He is not sure whether it was an eastern European mating dance or the young female passenger was hot or indeed what it was. But, as she alighted the vehicle she raised her dress far above its natural resting place revealing the tinniest black G-string and not much else, before dancing a jig around the car for a few minutes.

Peter’s landscape photos were unfortunately out of focus this afternoon. He may have to try again tomorrow.

We relaxed into the evening with no phone or internet to impose upon our thoughts.

Being the amazing spot it was, Peace Gorge did not lend itself to hunting us out of bed early. We generally pottered around until the urge to get going crept in.

Travelling the short distance into town saw us fuel up, water up (again) and visit the toilet dump. All highlights in the day of a caravaner.

G visited the supermarket, stocked up on essentials, including a big bag of snakes and grabbed a coffee at the swish coffee van. We learned that Meeka (because we were now locals and can call it that) had two very different characters. One side was vibrant and well kept. Indeed there is a sign outside the public toilets proclaiming they were the voted the best facilities of their kind in 2017. Not sure how big the pool of applicants was or what the criteria was, but they were hovering at about the 51% approval rating as far as we could see.

We headed north with about 410 k’s to Newman. The map showed the road was straight with occasional curve about every 50 ks or so. It was right. The day was broken up by three trailer road trains mowing us down like we were standing still and escorted wide loads coming the other way. Lunch was by a lovely creek about half way before we found a camp spot in a gravel pit.

Gravel pits don’t sound like a villa overlooking the Greek Isles, but let it be well known, they are generally a damned sight better! Off the road behind ragged red hills under a cloudless, star lit sky, who could even dream about Greece and all that oil ridden food and good wine.

After setting up, another van came into the area and propped for the traditional walk around to find a spot without getting stuck. As the couple walked back without that look of ‘we just found the best spot ever’, Peter pointed out a spot just up from us. Avon and Mel parked, set up, then joined us for a chat and a drink.

Peter and G had not taken many photos to this point as the day was, let’s face it, pretty boring. Mel solved that in a buzz. She is a drone pilot producing some cracker pics for us. Being a trooper she even let us use them for the website. Love you Mel!!

Peter spent a bit of time fixing a little issue on Puma that would return her to her powerful best, such that she could fully stretch G-Sting.

The night was balmy, dinner great and sleep even better.