Category: Adventures

Today began with some humour. As we took off from our spectacular camp, G announced that the station track we were on was a good road. Indeed it was, if it had been a station track and not the main highway. It appears her internal GPS had malfunctioned and she had little idea of where she was. It was the Duncan Road.

It’s a great pity G was not right with her road description. Almost from the get-go we hit corrugations like we had not seen in a very long time. This time they were to last for 170km. There was no escape. They covered the road, rarely letting up. Peter pointed out an entire family camping in the bottom of one; or so it seemed.

We swore words we didn’t even know we had inside us. We repeated them. We repeated them softly, loudly, often and with gusto. Puma hated every minute of it. She rattled from head to toe, making a racquet neither of us had ever heard. Our ears hurt. The concentration required to drive the road meant there was little chit chat for the duration. On we went sometimes choosing to ride the steep bank on the left as it was less painful than the designated surface.

Only necessary stops were undertaken as the desire to get off this nightmare road was incredibly intense. As we crossed out of WA into the NT we took the mandatory pic opportunity on the grid that separates the two states. COVID border checks in this location were not on the cards. We hoped with all hope that the new state would bring a new road surface and free us. We drove onto the Buntine Highway and it got worse!! We were belted from pillar to post. No speed was satisfactory. No prayer worked.

We finally came upon Wave Hill, being the first town in NT across this way. As we entered we noted the electronic COVID signs that said, ‘Please report to the Wave Hill Police Station’. We didn’t, as an earlier phone call to the police let us know that the signs we just left up from last time the world had a COVID panic. They were not checking anyone, but if we felt like visiting we could drop in.

Our intended stop at Wave Hill was longer then anticipated. Puma and G-String had a few loose things that needed tightening. Trevor and Sue’s rig required the same attention. The road had taken its toll.

In a move of ultimate stupidity, Peter ventured over to the indigenous art gallery to have a look. Even more stupidly he let G know just how nice some of the art was. Within half an hour she had walked out with a genuine piece, having spoken to the artist and all. Bugger! Apparently it would go well with the Jabiru we picked up in Broome. Peter wondered if he need to put Puma into neutral on the down hills to save fuel, as he doubted at this rate if he would have enough money to get home.

Leaving Wave Hill we were greeted with a couple of hundred ks of bitumen. We got excited, then we got a reality check. For the most part the road was so old the road trains had dug two furrows into the surface making the trip a fight at the wheel like no other. It was almost ‘bring back the corrugations’.

We rolled into Top Springs late afternoon for a fuel splash and dash. At 2 dollars per litre we filled the least we needed before continuing on 30 odd ks to a lovely fly filled camp spot near a dry creek.

All in all as days go, today was high on the crap scale. After a relax and dinner under the stars we realised the crap scale had no bearing out here. We were blessed to be here with many others praying for the opportunity to swear at corrugations. We were now on the Buchanan Highway.

With the first part of our long journey today being bitumen, we made pretty good time. The headwind robbed any chance of an economy run, but Puma cruised along regardless. We morning teaed at a brilliant little spot by a river. The road in was wide and sealed  ending in a city of van travellers having the same idea as us.

The area was tree lined, calm and welcoming. A dozen or so young Brahman cattle called this place their own, wandering without a care in the world amongst the van and people. One young one saw Henry the travelling dog and decided he must be a calf, only bigger. Henry decided it must be a dog only much, much bigger. They had a good old game for a few minutes to the amusement of G and Sue.

On a bit further we encountered a sign for the Mimbi Caves. We looked right and jotted it down in the memory for our next trip when we have time to drop in for a day or two. As we entered Halls Creek we learned via radio from Trevor and Sue that the bakery was closed. Our hearts sank to terrible depths. Halls Creek was not the flashest town in the west. With no bakery, it had little going for it.

We fuelled up at reasonable prices, ate some Minties and headed off across Duncan Road past Old Halls Creek, China Wall and Palm Springs. An earlier call to the Halls Creek Police asking about road conditions let us know the first 50 km or so out of town would be rough as the road wound through the hills. Accurate, but understated. It was as rough as guts. Puma worked hard to get momentum and keep it. It seemed every kilometre or so we dropped into an impossibly rotten dip full of corrugations metres wide before climbing out again onto hard rock slabs equally damaging. Still Puma charged on. G-String bounced along happily behind.

As we entered one creek crossing of above average beauty, G decided to take a photo as we were moving slowly. At the very moment one of two blokes in the water moved his chair into her shot in the middle of the river. Well he may have thought she was waving, given he waved back, however Peter can well assure you the hand signal was not a wave and the greeting was not ‘have a lovely day’. G was on fire.

We stopped for a proper lunch at a waterhole of no name in the middle of nowhere. The water was clear and green. Fresh and inviting; except for the Crocwise signs we had seen earlier. It was a look, don’t ouch scenario this time.

As the hills finally gave way to savannah grass lands, the road relented just a bit. We now hammered along at about 85ks scooting across the top of corrugations as opposed to visiting each one individually.

The miles accumulated as did the dust till finally we called it a day at an ideal camp spot about 30ks short of the NT border. Not far off the road, we still had privacy, the most amazing sunset and night skies with millions of stars. Only the call of a Jabiru kept us company.

Tomorrow we enter the NT, COVID passes in hand. Fingers crossed Hall Creek does not have and overnight outbreak!

We left Broome with a head of steam, headed east. First stop was the Roebuck Roadhouse about 39km out, for a top of fuel, before venturing towards Fitzroy Crossing. We fuelled Puma and left, but not before the lady behind the counter at the service station mentioned to Genevieve that she had been admiring the Defender. Smart girl.

The highway was busier than we remember it. Being school holidays that was explainable, however the caravan traffic was unrelenting. Mostly it was headed west, being a good thing for us, allowing Puma to hum along unhindered at her happy pace.

We had our moments of ‘I can’t believe you are so bloody stupid’, with Jayco Jockies taking on four trailer road trains on single lane bridges. Other than that the journey did not rock the news charts.

As we closed in on Fitzroy Crossing we encountered a very special lunch spot at Hiddenofftheroad Lake. Being a billabong full of stunning clear water lined by gum trees, it was indeed out of place, yet beautiful at the same time. We scoffed our left-over pizza and continued on.

Not long after lunch we had taken all the moving pics of ant hills and marvelled at the trees with red flowers. As we entered the town of Fitzroy Crossing we reminded ourselves why we had not taken advantage of the property boom and purchased some waterfront acreage here. It was as we recalled. Enough said. The town was incredibly busy for Sunday was the rodeo. All of the station people were in town for the four B’s. Beers, Bulls, Bums and Boobs.

The afternoon was spent having a yarn to others at the caravan park. The girls headed up to the bar of the restaurant come everything else, before downing a good number of gin and other things. They commented it was not often you get breath tested before you go into the bar! Indicative of some social problems in the area maybe.

The local tow truck driver had chat to Trevor and Peter, letting them know that there was a concert at Gieke Gorge later on and it should be a good night. Apparently the band was ‘The John Butler Trio’ out of Freemantle; supposedly good. Transport to the concert was by bus only. Not for us on this occasion.

We ate heartily, knocking back more than many lamb cutlets, followed by chocolate for dessert. The day was complete. Tomorrow we hit the dirt.

We settled in to the van park and prepared for a couple of days in Broome. This place is interesting. You either love it or find it difficult to rationalise. G loves it; Peter………….

Thursday is apparently the day everyone in WA is in Broome rushing around doing not much but get in each other’s way. We were among the crowd doing just that. Our morning was spent from shop to shop looking at all the ‘only available in Broome’ goods on display. We did come across a nice pendant G was interested in, however decided not too this time.

We dropped in to Paspaley Pearls. Naturally they greeted us by first name and asked us where we had been lately. Well it seemed that level of familiarity anyway! We looked around, decided that pearls are so yesterday and left.

Our afternoon was spent doing house work type stuff before we ventured to the Town Beach night markets for some street food. G devoured some Bau Buns whilst Peter tucked into some beautiful honey chicken from the genuine Thai honey chicken shop.

Friday was our day to really relax. We headed off reasonably early to the world-famous Cable Beach. This is the beach where all the world’s rich and famous go to be seen. It’s famous for its stunning white sand and all that goes with that image.

Now for reality. Cable Beach is a big wide beach and is attractive in that sense. The white sand is actually a mix of sand and grey mud so the beach is a sickly grey, not white. The rich and famous may turn up once in a blue moon, but not today.

Our picture of Cable Beach as we trudged miles and miles up and down was of aging men doing there once a year day of exercise with their shirts off. This mostly consisted of touching their knees to their stomachs, all whilst standing still not moving. Beach rule number one; dick togs and big guts are not attractive to anyone. No one!! Use it before you are 50 then hide it!

To quote Dolly Parton, “you cannot imagine how much money it cost to look this cheap”. Welcome to Cable Beach’s latest move to the cheap and nasty side. You heard it here first. At least 50 chairs with umbrellas set up on the beach for hire European style. Truly un-Australian. Truly an eyesore.

All was not lost though when Peter noticed a more than considerable number of young ladies wearing what he has tagged ‘ hide and seek bikinis’. Those are the ones where you close your eyes, count to ten, but still have trouble finding them. Broome is not all bad.

After our walk, obligatory coffee and pancakes, we headed back to the van for a bit of a rest. The afternoon was spent walking again. This time in the area of Town Beach and the art galleries. We entered the Black Stump gallery, were instantly impressed by the amazing arts and weird other things. We left many hundreds of dollars lighter. We bought a stalk type bird thing that looked quite nice.

Pizza was dinner. Tomorrow we head for the world-famous Fitzroy Crossing with its stunning white sand river bed to hopefully see some of the rich and famous.

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.