Author: downunderdefender

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.

Peter and G were up early and off to Karajini National Park. Arriving at about 8am they had the place to themselves.

First stop was Fortescue Falls. Towering above a deep gorge we could see the adventure had promise. We did not expect how much. We ventured down a steep staircase for what seemed like 921 stairs to the waterfall below. Spilling into a deep emerald-green pool, the place was stunning. It was tranquil, peaceful and beautiful. The track led west for about 100 metres to another pool fed by another waterfall of different design and wonder. Both places were worth the stairs. We headed back, intent on climbing the stair case. Peter then noticed a marker leading across the gorge and into a natural tunnel of undergrowth. We had to investigate.

The next hour was spent walking along the gorge floor, admiring rock formations, multiple little waterfalls and reflections in perfectly still emerald pools. Finally we addressed the sign that said Circular Pool closed. Looking to our left we eyed the escape route back to the top of the gorge. It was a near vertical rock hopping experience that took our breath away. Fit or not, this was a challenging climb for the next 10 minutes or so.

The amble back to the car along the top of the cliff presented yet another perspective on this amazing place. By the time we arrived, the car park was full, people going about their business everywhere with most of them having brought their loveable children. Time to go.

The lady at the Karajini information centre was genuinely helpful. She obviously loved her job and loved helping people. She recommended we go to **^&%@^ Gorge (we couldn’t spell it or say it) on a dirt road. Off we went. We lasted all of about a kilometre before turning back. Now, we are no sooks when it comes to dirt roads, but this beauty was in a league of its own. Puma entered the first corrugation and we swear we did not see daylight for at least half an hour. Deep and wide would be the non specific description. Bloody atrocious, would give it some accuracy. We made the decision to turn back for continuing on this road was asking for vehicle damage a very long way from help.

We returned to the camp, took custody of Henry the travelling dog for the afternoon whilst Trevor and Sue had a turn at the 921 stairs. Tomorrow we should be in Port Headland.

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.

No one wanted to get out of bed this morning. The cold was just the perfect, snuggle up under 7 doonas, cold. Even the sun rose slowly having second thoughts about the day. Peter decided it would be a cracking idea to scratch a tiny shaving cut he had from a few days before. Well of all the dumbass things you could do in the middle of a lovely gravel pit miles from anywhere. He bled like a stuck pig requiring all the tricks of the trade to stop the flow that seemed intent on dropping onto the computer and threatening to add flavour to his coffee.

We headed off towards Sandstone about 130km away on what turned out to be a sensational bitumen road. Hardly any traffic, save the odd road train, the wind behind us and the temperature just on perfect, made the morning one to savour.

In no time we arrived on the outskirts of Sandstone to first visit the old brewery and London Bridge. The Brewery was in fact a big hole in the side of a big hill. Apparently, the home brew stayed at the correct temperature if it was stored underground. Under impressed with brewing, we were the opposite with the bridge.

London Bridge is a natural formation that spans a huge hole in a rock framing a view of the country on the other side. We might have missed the sign saying not to walk across the bridge until it was too late. Must have been a small sign anyway! This place was outstanding. We stayed for a while admiring what nature had served up for us.

Once in town we were immediately alerted to the way the town was kept. Every street, every building, every yard was in good order. The entire town was full of pride. This was confirmed by our conversations to the information centre lady and the owner of Black Ranges Teas Rooms.

Our time in Sandstone was most enjoyable. Topping it off however was the home-made apple sponge cake and coffee at the tea rooms. Hate saying it but OMG, this was next level morning tea. If nothing else on your next trip to WA make this a must stop. It is that good.

We headed for Meekatharra on all dirt roads. The trip was straight forward with the roads being so good we could easily motor along at 90 km/h with G-String tow. Upon arrival we did notice the G-String had been soiled somewhat. That dust gets in the most inconvenient places.

We filled with water at Meekatharra, before finding an ideal camp spot at Peace Gorge just out of town. It was amongst huge red boulders that took on a brilliance of their own on sunset. The team contributed to a great camp fire that lasted with us well into the night before 8pm told us it was past our time for sleep.

With thoughts of magnificent images flowing through the camera lens, Peter was up at 5.45am trudging out across Lake Ballard’s mushy surface to climb the hill in its middle. By torch light he clambered up the tiny trail, not realising the extent of the vertical drop offs till the later morning light revealed them to be far more lethal than he gave credit for.

The images he imagined were just not there. As sometime happens others emerged. The patterns of footprints leading from iron statue to iron statue (read yesterdays blog) created stunning leading lines and contrast to the lake’s flat surface. It was worth the effort and the cold.

A quick trip into Menzies where we didn’t find a café was next on the agenda. We again spent a fair bit of time on the phone and internet trying to manage our COVID travel situation. Finally, we bit the bullet and decided we were having a holiday in WA and elected to definitely head north towards Broome.

A bit before lunch we travelled north to Leonora for a world-famous sausage roll that lived up to their name. We fuelled, met some of the people who were on the Kalgoorlie brothel tour with us, but not before visiting the Gwalia super pit just outside of town. This place has history. US President Hoover was instrumental in kicking it off and treating miners like rubbish whilst he presided over things from his mansion still standing above the pit. The onsite museum was brilliant. Only surpassed by the Gwalia abandoned old township dominated by its massive hotel long since closed to patrons.

We continued north before electing to turn westish at Leinster towards Sandstone. A few ks later, might have been 20 or 50, who knows, we lucked upon a hidden gravel pit well off the road to camp. Being the best camp of the trip so far, it was flat, dry, protected and pretty well perfect.

Peter made his famous burnt bottom pizzas for dinner. Actually the famous ones aren’t burnt but he added a special touch given it was such a special camp spot. We sat and chatted till the cold night air told us it was bed time.

With the COVID situation changing by the minute today would be a difficult one. Serious decisions had to be made as to where we went today, how to get home in the long run and what our priorities were.

In the end we made fair few phone calls, headed north out of Kalgoorlie towards Menzies then off into the bush to Ora Banda. This is an abandoned hamlet that has a real history. It was the site of the murder of the head of a bikie gang back in the day. Legend has it, it was a senior police officer who hid in wait before shooting the bikie. Sometime later the police officer’s car blew up killing him. Coincidence?

We figured our brains were fired, so some time in nature was the best tonic. Lake Ballard is about 50 odd ks northwest of Menzies. It’s not a lake full of water, however, is not totally dry either. It’s surface is salt ridden and just soft enough to plaster your shoes with mud that gets an inch thicker each step you take.

The lake does have it claim to fame. A few years ago some on paid someone to make a whole heap of arguably cute or ridiculous human sculptures out of steel and stick them in the lakebed. We are not sure of the significance, but they do provide a point of interest. The better point is the view from the top of the little hill perched in the middle of the lake. From here the footprints between the sculptures create stunning patterns in the mud.

At the end of a rotten day, this was a fantastic place to camp.

Jumping out of bed this morning, our first business was to check that we still had all our possessions in hand. The copious signs around the van park telling us to lock up did nothing for our confidence the night before, nor did the late-night text message from the park owners to all residents warning us of impending theft. A quick check revealed that Kalgoorlie thieves had targeted someone else.

We headed off meeting Trevor and Sue on the outskirts of town. From here we convoyed into the centre of town to take on the museum. The free mining museum at the eastern end of town if ridiculously good. It explores the history of the town, the mines and the people. Some of the figures related to how much gold has been located nearby are mind blowing. The lengths people go to in order to get gold are equally beyond belief. This was a quality stop leading to lunch.

We lunched at a café called ‘Dome’ being the sister of one we dined in at Esperance. The food was equally good, the service fantastic so long as you did not want all of what you ordered, and the company right up there with the best.

As we headed over to Woolies for a bit of shopping we experienced another of Kalgoorlie’s treasures. The public toilets here are super technical with push button entrances, audible warnings that warn you have only 10 minutes to do your business and leave; all in a stainless-steel box in the middle of the footpath. As we approached one of these structures a sizable male exited just in front of us. One wonders with all ones wondering power what internal conflict was going on in that poor man. Being down wind with no escape, we were caught by a 40 knot gust. We staggered at the weapon a single human had unleashed. As our knees buckled we lurched eastward in every effort to gain an upwind advantage, not reaching safety for far too long. Kalgoorlie had again amazed us.

Following Woolies, we realised we were just in time for our appointment at the longest running working brothel in Australia. The Questa Casa runs tours for curious visitors. We had heard about the tour from our friend Lynne, who recommended it highly.

Lynne was on the money. For about 2 hours, we were educated, entertained and bewildered by the owner and Madam of the establishment. Her knowledge of the industry history and local history, combined with her candour about the industry, was refreshing. The tour crowd was almost all our age, save three 30ish people and a miniature Dashhound.

To say we had a great time is an understatement. We are not sure we will change professions any time soon but when G asked, “Is it lucrative,” the answer came in a simple, but forthright ‘yes’. Known for its 11 pink doors at the front where to this day the professionals display their goods, the iconic picture of the ‘starting tables’ is an imperative. G obliged.

After brothelling, we made our way back to the vans to research the latest on COVID, learning that the news was considerably different from the official health directions for each state. Who would have ever thought the media would exaggerate!

Peter submitted his ‘changing human behaviour’ assignment and breathed a long sigh of relief.

With no real reason to leap out of bed this morning, we elected to slowly let the blood start to flow, and the morning warm up before sticking our heads out.

After breakfast G and Peter headed off to a caravan park for a day so they could do the washing, fill water tanks etc. Google did its usual trick and took us for a reverse lap around Kalgoorlie before dropping us off exactly where we would have been half an hour earlier had we just read a paper map.

The van park was standard fare save the multiple signs telling us to lock everything up due to the prevalence of stealing offences in the area! Welcome.

After chores we met Trevor and Sue in Kalgoorlie town centre for lunch. Trevor had earlier spoken to us about a phenomenon called ‘Skimpies’ that we just had to experience in Kalgoorlie. Peter looked forward to a tasting plate of Skimpies. They sounded like they were some form of juicy crustacean. Whilst waiting to catch up, G and Peter stuck their heads in the door of the Exchange Hotel and got a face full of a life size Skimpy. Standing behind the bar, it had flawless dark skin, was scantily clad in a lacy pink top with matching see-through knickers covering a skimpy G-String. After recovering from the sudden education, Peter was certainly glad he did not have a whole plate of these to eat for lunch! We later noticed billboards outside a number of hotels advertising the same menu.

In due course we had lunch at the York Hotel. Sitting on the upstairs balcony of this historic building we looked out over the city and ate incredible food. The sun was warm, the skies clear and life was indeed good. Inside the hotel, secrets of its past remained. Rooms adorned with carved wood, archways, massive leather lounges and ornate lighting were the order of the day. We agreed the days of the Kalgoorlie gold rush must have been heady times in Australia’s history.

The afternoon was spent visiting the Super Pit, being the Kalgoorlie mine site. We went without expectation. A big hole in the ground is a big hole in the ground. How wrong we were. This was not just an average backyard hole. It’s proportions are impossible to grasp. Massive 200-ton dump trucks look like matchbox cars. This is massive on any scale. We learned that they take about 500,000 ounces of gold out of the mine every year. Quickly calculating that amount at about $1800 per ounce, we realised it was…….a lot!

Lastly we headed to old Boulder town main street. Sadly the street is dilapidated with most shops closed and not much sight of redevelopment or a future. The old buildings however were amazing. The history literally dripped out of them. It was impossible not to be enchanted by the area.

Back at the van we did not much, still processing the massive lunch we had enjoyed. Dinner was a ridiculous thought we tried to avoid.