Author: downunderdefender

You can’t go to Charleville without doing at least one or two of the official ‘eight things to do in Charleville’. We chose the Cosmos Experience at the Cosmos Centre.

Arriving early, we walked around the interesting displays of all things planetary. We learned that if we could put a mirror far enough away in space, we could see reflected images of what we were doing 100 years ago on earth. Seemed a lot of effort when we could just read a book about it.

Dinner was a better than average quiche and salad in house, surrounded by space junk. Actually, it was souvenirs on display, but the made in China stickers on the bottom suggested what we originally thought.

At precisely 6.30pm we were beckoned out of the building into what looked like a tin shed. Soon, with pounding music to build drama, the roof slid open to reveal the sky. We couldn’t help but think we had seen it before somewhere, despite having paid good money to see it this time.

Two young blokes ran us through 30 minutes of star gazing, appropriately COVID distanced. Each of the audience had a crack at identifying theJewel Box, Pluto and Jupiter, through a telescope. When questioned, we learned from the knowledge base at our end of the shed, that Mars did not pop its head up until the 9.30pm show, and that the bright light screeching across the sky was the International Space Station.

Bursting with star knowledge we headed back to camp for what was a pretty cold night.

Morning came, as did tea and coffee before we packed and said our good-byes to Charleville for a while. We headed north something to Augathella before turning off the tarmac onto Mt Talbot Road. The plan was to take the back roads over to Injune, then slip up to Carnarvon Gorge for a few days.

Our confidence in the Carnarvon adventure was low as we had phoned, e-mailed and texted each of the available accommodation providers in the area for over a week with no return contact at all. Still we plugged on ever eastward via Wetlands, Redford and Womblebank, with Puma lapping up the bush environment.

This trip was more than planned. The road varied between brilliant hard pack atop ridges overlooking stunning grass lands, to horrid corrugations for kilometre after kilometre. Wildlife was acutely absent save a few clean skin cattle. Most of those were so tame however, you could take one home, pat it and call it a dog.

After a fair few hours, Injune came into focus. We immediately dropped in to check out the amenities as it was indeed a fair few hours in the saddle. Heading then to the information centre, we were assured that Carnarvon accommodation providers were terrible at getting back to people and the web sites were really hard to negotiate! We were assured however that if we dropped up to the gate, we might get a spot. If not, however we could camp in the nearby gravel pit, but that would be illegal. We did consider dropping the 150 kilometres up to the gate but then opted to head the 90 odd kilometres south to Roma and a fresh batch of mums scones with cream and jam.

A couple of days in Roma went quickly as did the 530 kilometres home.

Our trip had been at different times, full of excitement, expectation, dismay and disbelief. Mostly however it had been full of friends and adventure. We had missed Innamincka and the Strzelecki Track, but apparently, they aren’t going anywhere in the next few years so we should get to say gidday.

Time to plan the next one.

The music was rubbish. The screaming like dying hyenas was hideous. The Landcruiser driving into a dead tree was bloody funny. It was 11 pm and the ringers were in town.

It wasn’t till Sunday morning when talking to Sharon and Stefan that we learned the ringers are not allowed drink in the town limits so head over the other side of the water hole for festivities. In Stefan’s words, “it always ends in tears”.  Tonight, was no different with one of the young guns ending up with his bicep protruding from his arm. At least he got a flight ,without all the COVID checks, as the flying doctor came to pick him up.

After a chat, we grabbed a fantastic bacon and egg roll washed down with French plunger coffee and some tea from the tin shed beside the service station. Local girl Gemma, has set up a burgeoning little business and is going great guns.

We turned Puma east for the 630 kilometres hike to Quilpie. Since last passing we noticed that the countryside was considerably greener, looking most unlike western Queensland. Road trains were the order of the day with at least six heading towards us and four heading our way. They were only outdone by a group of hopefuls driving a Jucy Van towards Birdsville. Natural selection has many facets. They should be found in the next month or so, we suspect.

Finding ourselves behind one such beast towing three double decks of cattle, we sat patiently. Then with a flash of his indicator it was on. We knew there was an opportunity to overtake. Puma wound up ,headed off the narrow bitumen onto the gravel roads edge. Noticing a fast approaching guidepost wanting to share our territory, Puma headed further out. She rounded the post on the bush side and began to move back to the bitumen just as an unseen erosion hump loomed. Puma jagged left, clipped the hump, got a bit of air then settled back down to normality. Puma Airways – guaranteed to get you there one way or another.

A call on the CB to the truckie suggested we had not seen the hump. He replied with a raucous laugh that he had not either and noted that Puma was pretty good at off-roading.

The day worn on. Somewhere along the way we came across the hole in the hill again. It became apparent that the local councils had not yet had a chance to fix the hole, so it remained, as the sign said, a point of interest.

Not much more happened as the miles accumulated. Puma hummed along. Peter and G feasted on a four-course meal for lunch; Chicos, Minties, Raspberries and Cashews. Four of the five food groups in one meal. We were on fire.

Quilpie arrived in good time. We set up camp in town, ate at the Bowls Club, coffeed at the Empire Café and headed off to sleep.

Our trip to from Quilpie to Charleville started with a brilliant bacon and egg sandwich at the equally brilliant Empire Café in town. Some good coffee and tea. We were set.

Any other travellers would head down the lovely bitumen to the big city; not us. We headed the Black Road to Adavale. Adavale is not for everyone. Built on a flood plain, it has few buildings these days, but the cemetery was recommended to us as a must see.

We headed a kilometre or so out of town past the new sign saying ‘Patisserie’, finding the paddock strewn with graves in mostly disrepair. Reading the engraved headstones gave some insight into Adavale bygone. Most who had died had not made it past about 50. A disproportionate number had died as children. Hard not to feel saddened by the tough life they must have endured.

A quick yarn to the local police officer and we were off on the 180-kilometre trip into Charleville. Nothing stood out on this section other than road works with no signage or direction. We picked our own path, not raising any swear words from the workers so it must have been the intended road.

By the time we reached Charleville we were famished. We entered one café and said, ‘no way’. We entered the next, ordered food and wished with all our wishing power that we had eaten at the one G and Pete rejected. The burger stayed hardened in our stomachs for the remainder of the afternoon. There are no words to describe how bad this swill was.

As we pulled up at the bush somethingorother camp, G mentioned something was squeaking. Given, when the Atomic tests were conducted at Maralinga, G turned slowly and said “did you hear something”, Peter knew something was not surely right with his beloved Puma. A quick look revealed both rear brake backing plates had cracked and shattered with the thousands of kilometres of corrugations. A better than good time removal of the plates brought Puma back to fully operability and ready to take on the next stage of our adventure.

Exhausted we went to sleep; and it rained! That bloody ancestor!

Birdsville or bust. The rain overnight had dampened the campground just enough to worry us as to what the roads may be like for the remaining 311 kilometres to Birdsville.

As we headed north, we began to encounter bog holes, medium sized bog holes and some really big bog holes. We managed to negotiate all without issue ,indeed admiring the efforts of lady driving a Commodore towards us, having obviously negotiated similar obstacles in two wheel drive on road tyres. She obviously knew the country and her car. Hats off.

Happening upon a water truck and grader ahead, we took little heed. Little heed until the road became like a skating rink. As we got closer, we saw the grader was in fact ripping up the road surface and the truck was drenching the soft clay. A few interesting moments came our way as we picked our passing opportunities very carefully and continued on.

The environment changed constantly. Often barren, with even gibbers not able to eke out a decent existence. Often lush with desert foliage flourishing and usually dry lakes full of water. The roads changed also. One moment bone jarring corrugations, the next ,slippery mud and clay. Tuning out at the wheel was not an option.

As we approached a fairly low-key mud hole, we noticed a jet-black Holden Commodore SS pulled up on the other side. The driver was out of the car examining the muddy mess. He told us he was considering whether he should put some rocks in the hole before driving through it. Bernie convinced him it would be OK and that we would stay to make sure he got through. With warnings given of the bog holes to come, he and his young family set sail ever south, hoping to make Mungeranie by days end.

The mention of a few slippery bits ahead of us from out mud hole mate, proved to be true. We came upon a ten plus kilometre section of light -coloured, dry looking, wet slop. The moment the tyres broke the surface it was game on, with constant steering inputs needed to keep Puma and the Toyota headed towards Birdsville instead exiting into the bush.

Early afternoon we crossed the SA / Qld border. Annette and G breathed a huge sigh of relief to be back in the good state. We all felt a bit more at home despite being 1600 kilometres from our houses.

Through COVID checks at the Windorah turn-off and we were in Birdsville. We were greeted warmly by Trevor, Sue and Maxi. We spent hours telling stories, drinking wine, having dinner and catching up.

A phone call from the local police during dinner inquired whether or not we had seen a jet-black SS Commodore on the Birdsville Track. Our hearts sank as we could all picture the lad and his family having to spend a cold night alone on the side of the road; hungry and very much on edge. As Peter prepared to drive down the track with Stefan, a second call told us the stricken family had made it safely to Mungeranie.

With Bernie and Annette heading home Saturday and Trevor, Sue and Maxi heading to the Diamantina Lakes National Park, we headed off to bed at a reasonable hour. None of us heard it, but Annette asked the next morning if we had heard her scream overnight.  Apparently at about 10 pm Annette heard a scratching noise on top of the swag. She awoke fully to spy a rat trying to gain access. Annette’s scream woke Bernie who dispatched the rat with one well timed backhander. Annette did not sleep a wink for fear of another rat attack. Bernie returned to a sound sleep despite having only half an inch of mattress for Annette was not returning to the side of the swag from whence the would-be intruder came.

Saturday morning, we said our good-byes, wished each other well and watched as the Toyota and 130 Defender headed their separate ways. Peter and G spent the day cleaning, washing and doing stuff you just have to do when travelling in preparation for moving on Sunday.