Way out back in the Outback

** Warning - really long post **
[Kyle]Our Sunday morning started with a search for an open grocery store so we could provision for the next 2 weeks – we were eventually successful. We finally left Perth on the Great Northern Highway and within a few miles the road was down to two lanes (one each way) and the road quickly became disserted except for the occasional road train. There was a bit of construction going on, and several spots with the road down to one lane; coming out of one such spot we found ourselves behind a heavy road train for several kilometres (we are in metric in Oz); he was finding the uphill especially tough going. We kept hoping for a place to pass, but road trains are long and the road was windy and hilly (and in a car with a small engine). It seemed every time we came over a crest or around a bend there was just not quite enough room to attempt the long overtake safely. On a couple of the welcome longer stretches, there always seemed to be another road train heading the other way – not a position you want to be in while overtaking! At one point on a curve our road train was passing another in the opposite direction, both at full speed, the last trailer in the oncoming road train had left the pavement and was still being dragged along behind the rest of the truck, leaving a giant cloud of red dust for us to drive through; this is not a good road to be a cyclist. The turbulence from the meeting still impacted on us as we passed by that same point a moment later. Eventually we found a perfect combination of a long straight up hill with miles of clear road ahead and we were able to get him behind us.

The road started out in green rolling farmland which very gradually flattened out and became more and more sparse. By early afternoon we were driving down deserted roads with nothing but scrub on either side. A closer look revealed the floor was covered in spring flowers displaying a kaleidoscope of colours (reds, yellows, purples, whites) between drier patches of red gravel/sand.

Further on still, we noticed what looked like more construction up ahead, but the flashing lights kept moving forward. Being impressed with the size of the road trains, we were amazed to find them dwarfed later as we finally found the source of those flashing lights – a convoy of 2 giant trucks and 3 support vehicles transporting oversize equipment to one of the mines up north. Each truck was carrying a giant dump truck bed, each about 3 times as wide as the trailers. Each took up the entire width of the road – both lanes and some of the shoulder too. As we approached we were waved passed by the trailing support vehicle; the big trucks nudged to one side of the road, and we ended up passing with two wheels (sometimes four) on the dirt shoulder – dodging reflector posts. Once ahead of the convoy we found they had 2 lead vehicles once close ahead of the trucks, and the other miles ahead to clear the oncoming traffic off the road allowing the convoy to pass safely; quite impressive logistics. Most of the road trains going the other direction were already pulled over and appeared to have also received advance warning over the radio (CB?). I guess the cars were more of a challenge for the lead vehicle to stop, because it was so far ahead that it was not possible for the cars to see what was coming. We were not sure what our reaction would be if we saw somebody driving down the wrong side of the highway waving us on to the dirt – of course now we know and we would be getting well out of the way!


Just as it says - Oversize!
Afterwards Maryanne started having “fun” with me by insisting that I pull over and stop to look at this thing or that, knowing full well of course that there was no way I was pulling over with that convoy barrelling down on us.

We stopped to refuel at Payne’s Find which is marked on the map as if a town, but is actually just a one building road house (a catch all truck stop). Imagine red soil scrub for 100’s of km either side of this place – most people passing stop for petrol and a snack of some sort, if not a full meal. The prices adjusted (up) for the captive market. The convoy actually stopped too for a bathroom break while we were refuelling so luckily it didn’t get ahead of us again. It was pretty cool to see these things up close.

As we continued north we came to the deserted town of Mount Magnet – again right out of the old west. We only spotted one man and he had the countenance of a mangy dog; he looked fully like he belonged here as he made his way up the street in no particular hurry.


The Granites
Further North still we came across an aboriginal site called The Granites - more amazing rock formations standing proud of the surrounding flat land. The site had several small caves and overhangs, some of which contained paintings, engravings, and other marks left by aborigines may years prior. Some of the markings were still clear, but many of the paintings are faded although we were able to make out a few hand print outlines (straw sprayed ochre using the hand as a stencil). Although not great art, it was amazing to feel the sense of history and heritage at such a site, and to ponder the possible meanings of the markings and the lives of those who made them. As we were climbing around the rocks to the caves, we heard a large noise, and looked out to notice that giant convoy passing. Eventually we rejoined the road and resumed our northward journey. After half an hour or so we caught up with the convoy again, but by this point the road had narrowed and the hard shoulder was virtually non-existent – there were 3 road trains also behind the convoy, we were stuck for the duration. Kindly at the next opportunity the whole convoy pulled over to let us all pass.

Despite the familiarity of the road itself, which allows us to feel connected to modern society, the rest of the vista is dry scrub; if we lost the road out here it is unlikely we’d find it again and this led that sense of isolation and remoteness from that same modern day society (if not fear). Along the road we’d seen feral goats from time to time. The road kill seemed to increase in number and gruesomeness as we headed north, and while at first we found feeding on the road kill crow like birds that would scatter as we approached in the car, now we were finding huge eagles that would stare at us as we drove by, or begrudgingly move off at the last minute if the road kill was in the road; It all adds to a sense of eeriness. The road and the occasional fence post are the only human constructions for the most part; little else gives a sense of being (no power lines, no intersections, no buildings); just the road and every half hour or so a road train travelling in the opposite direction.

The southern cold which we have been experiencing has given way to dry desert heat. The sky is enormous with little to break the horizon, and very blue.

The frequency of the road kill served as a constant reminder that we did NOT want to be on the road at night. As sunset approached we pulled into Nallan, and discovered this town on the map is simply a cattle station. There was over 100km to the next settlement and Nallan was marked as having camping facilities on the road map so it made for a sensible stop over. We’d imagined the camping would be a classic commercial site, and we’d be assigned a spot number and our 20 square feet, but this working cattle station it had a vast area set aside for campers to chose their own spot; there were plenty of trees to ensure that you could find a position without any view of other campers. There were about 8 campers there that evening (including us, a handful of hunters and a couple with a caravan who had been there for 9-10 months). The “camping area” was centred around a barn, a couple of sheep shearing sheds which had been converted into accommodation, and a toilet and shower block.

Nallan was just wonderful. Not because it was nice in any way, but because it had such a palpable down home Australian dereliction; decades of being out in the middle of nowhere had forced the owners to accumulate spare parts and junk of all types and almost everything (apart from the homestead itself) was exposed to the elements (even the accommodation had holes in it big enough to put an arm through). Rusted farm machinery of every description scattered haphazardly everywhere (some as art). A flock of galahs screeched to each other as they bedded down for the night. We spread out our dinner on a table and one of the camping neighbours introduced himself in an accent so thick and riddled with colloquialisms it took a huge conscious effort to understand. The sun sunk below the horizon and the sky turned to blood red; the full moon rose in the opposite direction passing behind the water tower and its windmill pump. I sat at the table in a plastic chair with a warm Carlton Draft beer (brewed in Western Australia) in one hand and a tuna sandwich in the other, and marvelled at how it was possible to be so happy in the absence of any luxury whatsoever. The place really was just perfect; authentic unkempt outback Australia. Red dust and exposure to the elements had turned everything varying shades of pink. Since the sheep shearing house and the bunk house were empty, we poked our noses in to look at the accommodation. The bunk house beds (about 16 with just a bed width between each one), The Sheep shearer house was a kitchen and several very dusty rooms each with 2 single beds (one room in each sheep stall?), there even appeared to be a lingering sheep smell. While it would certainly make for a night you would not forget our tent seemed much more plush and clean and seemed vastly preferable. We could not imagine anyone deliberately wanting to stay in such a room.

After dinner we retired, contended, to our little tent; pitched under a tree, away from everything else it was dry enough we left the doors to the rain fly open, allowing the light of the full moon to come streaming in. We fell asleep listening to the sounds of old time Australian country music in the distance. Forget Sydney and its bridge, forget a bus tour of Ayer’s Rock, it did not get more Authentic Australian outback than this, I loved it! Thank goodness we were only staying one night.

[Maryanne]Kyle and I spent the day together in the same car, but it seems that different things struck us both. His main aim for the day was to make miles, so we passed some places I’d have loved to have spent time (to be fair there are too many such places and you just can’t do everything). Most small towns we pass are one road towns, each with a wooden built hotel/pub, a grocery/provisioning store and possibly a stone built municipal building from the late 1800’s. Each wooden building has a veranda/porch for shade and these are so like the towns from the old American cowboy movies, I’m sure they could film here. New Norcia was a shock to the system, large and grand stone buildings, in a Spanish style, filled the town (apparently an old monastery town). They now do daily tours covering various aspects of the architecture, and even a “meet a monk” tour. It was at this town we lost most of the accompanying car traffic on our route north.

At the road house where we stopped for petrol, I used the rest room and was more than a little shocked.... cracked concrete floors, rotting doors, and a general sense of decades long abandonment (of maintenance end cleaning) there was no way I was going to partake of any food prepared on the same premises, and I can’t believe it has ever seen any health and safety inspector. The people at the same place were really friendly, but I could not imagine the kind of life they must lead so remote from any distractions.

When we finally pulled in to our camp site at Nallan, I was disappointed at the facilities (I had insisted we find a camp site and not just pull of the road and camp, now I was not so certain I’d made the right choice and worried that Kyle would be begrudging the money spent). Despite this I was able to appreciate the station. The homestead itself had a huge old kitchen, and a comfortably cluttered veranda. There were vehicles (many looking quite new) scattered all over, but not a sign of anyone when we arrived. The entrance was well marked with metal sculptures and art work, examples of which were scattered throughout the site (in trees, on walls, all over). Corrugated rusty outbuildings had only 3 walls and a roof, so the contents clearly visible. The homestead itself unlocked and unprotected. Just like rural America 100 years ago. We drove about and found the camping area (aided by a fellow camper) and we were fully set up before sunset thankfully. By this time Kyle had become enthralled by the place, it was more rewarding for me to watch his enjoyment and wonder at the place than to explore the place myself, so I followed along with Kyle and listened to his ramblings on each new discovery, and his oft repeated “it’s so..... Authentic” phrase.

Nallan, well.. Kyle loved it
I was not so enthralled by our camp site, and noted I was able to enjoy the view of some rather large Y-fronts (classic male underwear) hanging on a line while supping my wine with dinner.

Overnight my bed mat had deflated, and despite my attempts at re-inflation refused to hold its air, so I had a particularly uncomfortable night.

[Kyle]Lilting birdsong woke us early in the morning, just prior to moonset and sunrise. We broke camp, had a quick breakfast while soaking up a last tour of the station. The hunters had returned in the night and had 5 goat carcasses strung from their truck. We found the meticulously decorated nest of a bower bird.


Nallan, Bower bird nest, and the kitchen we were not allowed to use
Soon we were back on the road, and at the first available town (Meekatharra) topped up with petrol and managed to find Maryanne a blow up air bed to replace her failed mattress.

As we proceeded northbound the land became more desolate and arid, every now and then we would pass open pit gold and iron mines, with their enormous machinery and signs giving the days blasting times. Then it was back into the open desert. Further north still, there were places where the land was so hard and dry it would have been possible to accidentally leave the road without knowing from the sound of travel. The road seemed to be less a surface improvement here than a navigational aid. Disregarding the spindly shrub poking skywards out of the gravel, the land looked like the Viking Lander pictures of the surface of Mars.

At the Kumerina roadhouse, we arrived just as the giant dump truck convoy of the day before was leaving. Doh! Kumerina did have an adorable umbrella cockatoo that, as I passed by, said, “Have a scratch?” “Well of course you can have a scratch.” His name was Sam. He was very sweet. That one phrase got him all the attention a cockatoo could want.

After about half an hour, we came once again upon the convoy and once again passed them on the shoulder trailing a plume of red dust. Once again, we could not stop afterwards. Several miles later we spotted another convoy ahead. We wondered, could anybody need four of those things at once? It turned out they didn’t. The other two trucks were carrying the rest of the two giant dump trucks. These pulled into a rest stop just after we came upon them, saving us the drama of passing.

A little further on we passed through Newman, home to the world’s largest open cut mine. This one is for iron ore. Fully half the vehicles in the town were mining company trucks. We figured this must have been the destination of the big dump trucks. The visitor’s center actually had a retired one on display in their lot so I took the chance to get a look at one up close. We topped up with another tank of gas and headed for Karijini National Park.


About twenty kilometres later, we came up on our convoy again, and again repeated the now familiar passing process. I guess they weren’t going to the Newman mine after all.

After Newman, the road turned sharply west and the flat terrain became hilly. Actually, the first hill turned out to be the tailing pile for the Newman mine. We climbed into the hills. The scrub gradually became greener and thicker with the increase in elevation although it still remained hot and dry.

We pulled into the park and went to check in. The place was surrounded with signs warning us of the many snakes in the area including a picture of a five meter python pulling a kangaroo out of one of the pools in the river. The advice was basically not to walk where you can’t see your feet. There were the usual warnings about mosquitos carrying a deadly form of encephalitis and, the big one: There are a lot of dingoes in the area. Do not feed them and keep them away from your children. Yeah, it actually said that. The signs have a picture of a dingo and a baby with a big red slash over it.

We were assigned a camping spot normally used for RVs. We pitched our tent on a layer of dark red powder that quickly got all over everything we had and everything we touched. We blew up Maryanne’s single air mattress and found that it was 2/3rds of the width of the tent. The height difference is a bit too much for me to creep onto her side so now I feel like I’m sharing a bed with a cat. Our site had nothing in the way of amenities, not even a place to sit, just dust and generator noise. Closer examination of our park map revealed that they didn’t have much of anything. There were no trash cans, no tables (they did, strangely, have gas barbecues) and no water. We really wanted to rinse off the dust so we drove 11 kilometers to the one place where water was listed as available in this side of the park. The water source was a big tank on stilts with a hose at the bottom. When we pulled up to it, we found the hose swarming with bees looking for a drink. Damn! We drove another 4 kilometers to the visitor’s center and found their outdoor bathrooms padlocked. I was beginning to not like this park. We really hoped the scenery on the hikes made it all worth it.