Arrived 24 August 2019
The Northern Territory
The arrow straight road disappears into the distance in a watery mirage; on either side beyond the 15 yard cleared verges the parched red earth supports scattered small trees and withered shrubs as far as the eye can see. You cruise at 75 mph on the 2 lane road and travel 5 miles or more without seeing another vehicle. But you stay alert: road trains, articulated lorries with 3 or even 4 full length trailers use this road; you see more than one burned out car wreck beside the road and every few miles careering black skid marks swerve across the carriageway; on occasion cattle graze on the verge or amble across the road; carcases beside the road are not uncommon. This is the Stuart Highway, the 1771 mile road from Darwin in the Northern Territory ‘Top End’ to Port Augusta on the Southern Ocean. It travels through tropical bushland that gradually thins out as the centre of the continent becomes progressively dryer until there is just bare earth and scruffy shrubs. From Katherine to Tennant Creek you travel the distance of London to Edinburgh without seeing a town worthy of the name, just the occasional hotel and filling station. Daytime temperatures up to 35 C in the north gradually fall to 25 C at Alice Springs, and night time temperatures drop from 20 C to 3 C. Yes, it can get cold at this time of year, even in the heart of Australia.
I had started my outback journey in Darwin after flying in from Bali. After choc-a-bloc China, hectic Hong Kong, jostling Japan, frenetic Philippines and bustling Bali, it came as something of a relief to be in drowsy Darwin. No motor bikes careering in packs along the roads and pavements, no-one trying to sell me anything, no poverty stricken hovels, no having to hunt for recognisable food, no deciphering foreign languages; this felt so relaxed. It helped to have a car and drive along nearly empty 3 lane roads through the city without fear of potholes or obstructive piles of building materials, not to mention having drivers who respect familiar rules of the road. Mind you, there are still crowds if you look for them. I had trouble finding a parking space at the Casuarina shopping centre and it was packed and noisy inside. But that is the exception; mostly it is very laid back here, and people are cheerful and friendly, the waitresses saying “No worries” in answer to every question. No pushing and shoving here; people are very polite: “After you’” “No, after you.” What a refreshing change.
My plane touched down at 5.40am and by 5.50am I was off the plane, through immigration and ordering food at the airport cafe. Amazing. I picked up my rental car without issues and headed for a camping store, having a short snooze in the car park until it opened. I carefully selected the most appropriate camping equipment (i.e. the cheapest – it has to last just 32 days before I give it away) and headed out of town to the nearest camp site, at Lee Point. It’s fairly basic, but has hot and cold running water in the washrooms (I didn’t get much of that in the Philippines and Bali) and a pool. And it costs AU$30 a night, a lot less than the rooms in the resort next door at AU$126 or the cheapest rooms in town at AU$90. Apart from the adventure of camping in the wilds (well, ok, not very wild where I’ll be, but it is Australia), I am looking to reduce costs. The camping gear should pay for itself in a few days. So far the only real problem has been finding wifi (usually absent at camp sites).
A few hundred yards walk through a bush nature reserve from the campsite is the beach. Apparently the reserve gets a million visitors a year; I don’t know where they were; I didn’t see more than twenty or thirty spread around the picnic area, trails and beach.
The ‘winter’ weather here is wonderful; the forecast is sunny with a maximum of 31 C and minimum of 21 C every day, and, crucially, humidity is low, unlike the northern hemisphere tropics at this time of year, so it is much more comfortable.
A visit here would not be complete without meeting some crocodiles so I took myself to Crocosaurus Cove in the heart of the city, where huge crocodiles swim menacingly past hopefully very strong windows. The whole thing was very well presented, with lots of information as well as lots of crocs, and a fair number of goanas, lizards and snakes as well. A python was the lucky recipient of a rat at the reptile feeding session, where we were informed that despite Australia having 13 of the 15 most venomous snakes in the world, only an average of 2 people a year die from snake bites. In India, by way of contrast, 32,000 die every year. We also heard that introduced poisonous cane toads and feral cats are major problems, the cats killing 20 native mammals a night just for fun.
Leaving my reptilian friends behind, I sauntered along the esplanade, admiring the huge natural harbour, before stopping for a ginger beer at a cafe overlooking the city beach.
I finished my day at the Darwin festival, catching its closing evening by sitting outside listening to jazz, eating pizza and chatting with a local family. Very pleasant.
The next morning I packed away my tent and set off on my 5000 mile tour of the continent. I started gently with a look at the Darwin suburbs, all very quiet roads of detached houses feeling comfortably off, before heading south east for Berry Springs. Here I had my first of four swims of the day in a natural pool, the water refreshingly cool in the 32 C heat.
Moving on towards Litchfield Park I had 12 miles of unsurfaced road whose corrugated ruts at times threatened to rattle the car to pieces. Surviving this I took a walk to the Cascades and had a swim in a pleasant if unexceptional little pool.
I was wondering if this was the best that Litchfield had to offer when I found Wangi falls and was far more impressed.
The afternoon was wearing on so I made for a campsite close at Florence falls, another 15 miles through the park. This place operates on an honesty system and only costs AU$6.60 a night, but turned out to be quite expensive in more ways than one. The first problem arose as soon as I arrived when I selected a camping spot and reversed carefully in to avoid the large rocks, but did not see the cast iron fire pit, putting a little hole in the rear bumper. That is going to cost when the rental people spot it. Fortunately I have excess insurance.
After erecting the tent and testing my culinary prowess on the little gas stove (pour boiing water over a dehydrated meal and you get something more or less edible) I headed for the impressive plunge pool beneath the waterfall and had my fourth swim of the day just as it was getting dark.
All these swimming areas had warnings about crocodiles. Many of them were home to the smaller freshwater crocodile, but they leave people alone unless molested. However, in the wet season large saltwater crocs make their way up the river systems, 50 or even 100 miles from the sea, and the swim holes are closed for anyone who doesn’t want to be a croc’s dinner.
First thing next morning I took a walk to Buley Rocks through the woodland, enjoying the cool air and the water cascading gently over little falls into a series of pools. It actually reminded me of Dartmoor. After packing up the tent I took my breakfast things and my wash kit to the wash house and was ready to go.
First stop was just a few miles up the road to view the magnetic termite mounds. These little critters are only 5mm long but build towers up to 5m high aligned north-south to ensure one side is always in the shade. They are completely blind and use an awareness of the Earth’s magnetic field to find direction. Scientists tested this by setting up magnets to alter the field and the poor little suckers built their tower in the wrong direction. I subsequently saw tens of thousands of smaller mounds alongside the highway; kind souls had thoughtfully put shirts on some of them; one was even dressed as Father Christmas.
At the town of Batchelor a few miles outside Litchfield Park I visited the museum and discovered that the town had been a military base during WW2 and then a centre of uranium mining from the 50’s to the 70‘s. Darwin had been badly damaged in the first Japanese bombing attack, but many towns in northern Australia were also hit over the next couple of years until the Japanese were pushed out of Indonesia. At the next town, Adelaide River, I visited a cemetery dedicated to those who lost their lives in the war and was moved by the inscriptions on the headstones taking comfort from biblical promises of eternal life. Incidentally, if I thought my travels were lengthy, I was put right by the middle aged couple volunteering for a few days at the museum. When he was diagnosed with cancer they sold everything, bought a caravan and began touring Australia; that was 6 years ago and they are still going.
Heading further south I felt the need for a snack and stopped the car to get some chocolate from the boot. I noticed my camping set was missing the bowl, mug and spoon; they weren’t in the car, and neither were my lightweight travel towel or my wash bag. I realised I had left them in the washroom at Florence Falls, 130 km back up the road. I did a quick calculation and reckoned that the value of these items was more than the cost of petrol plus the excess mileage on the rental car that I will probably clock up. Going back for them would take about a 3 hours round trip, but if I didn’t get them I didn’t know where I would be able to replace them; heading into the big unknown I had no idea where the next specialist outdoors shop would be. I turned the car and headed back. Luckily, everything was where I had left it. Phew! I would have been more than a little cheesed off if I had made the drive and they weren’t there. I put my foot down and drove south again, reaching the town of Katherine, finding a campsite and erecting the tent just as it got dark.
Driving through the bone dry countryside with withered grass and drooping leaves, it is hard to imagine that in a few months time the wet season will be here, but every few miles there is a floodway on the road, usually with a depth marker, sometimes up to 2 metres. They get a lot of rain here in the north. The Katherine River regularly floods; the worst one was in 1998 when the river rose 20 metres and vast areas were under water, including the town.
When not flooded, Katherine has hot springs that gave me a good bath the next morning before I visited the Katherine museum, which had an eclectic collection of vehicles, memorabilia and historical information.
Clearly needing another bath, I took a dip in Bitter Springs at Mataranka, just 50 miles south. Pulling out of the car park I came face to face with a small kangaroo – or possibly a wallaby, he didn’t say.
The day was getting on and I had a lot of ground to cover so I cruised on, stopping only at the marvellously quirky Daly Waters pub on my way to camp at Banca Banca.
Around the camp fire that night the talk turned to snakes. A farmer from Victoria told how one end of his property was full of tiger snakes and the other end full of browns; a small brown had bitten him in the milking parlour, and, believe me, that is not a pleasant place to be bitten. Another guy from Darwin related how, when he was first establishing his house in 20 acres of bush, death adders would regularly get into the house. He also told the sad tale of a friend who set up his swag (a sort of bed roll come tent) too soon; when he got in he had company – a brown; he survived but now has epileptic fits. They advised me to always zip up my tent completely, leaving no room for anything to slither in. I assured them that I always did exactly that; I was no fool.
Imagine how I felt when I returned to my tent and found that for the first time I had forgotten to zip it up. I had a very careful inspection before I got in, and every time the wind moved the tent wall in the night I was paranoid that it was an unwelcome guest. Fortunately it wasn’t, but I have been extra careful since then.
It was at Banca Banca that the nights started to get cooler and I realised that the -2 C rating on my newly acquired sleeping bag must only apply to someone wearing a down-filled Michelin Man outfit. Sadly, I wasn’t. I was cold. As the night wore on I put on more and more layers and the next day I started to look for a warm fleece blanket. Unfortunately it took me another three days to find one, by which time the weather had turned a little warmer. C’est la vie.
I covered a lot of miles again the next day, but stopped to inspect the Devil’s Marbles. Here I met another couple who put my adventures in the shade. Tim and Linda are cycling across Australia; not only that, they cycled all the way from England barring those watery bits, including Georgia, China and Indonesia and everywhere in between. They have been on the road for 16 months so far. What a lightweight I am. Have a look at their blog: https://pedallingtheplanet.wordpress.com/
My route took me through the legendary town of Alice Springs. I stopped to have a wander around the relaxed centre, have a cup of tea (in a proper china cup, no less – civilisation has reached even here) and get on wifi for a brief catch up before moving on again to camp at Erldunda on the corner of the Stuart and Lasseter highways.
As everyone knows who has glanced at a world atlas, Ayers Rock is right by Alice Springs, right? Wrong. The rock, more usually referred to these days by its aboriginal name, Uluru, is 250 miles away.
The Uluru – Kata Tjuta national park is jointly managed by the local Ananga Aborigines and state representatives. The Ananga now have title deeds to the land, but it is leased for 99 years to the park authority. Uluru is sacred and visitors are asked not to climb it; after October 26th this year they will not be allowed to. I was impressed by the cultural centre, which explained some of the Aboriginal beliefs and laws. They have a detailed set of creation myths explaining how Uluru was made, a deep knowledge of how to find food and water in this apparently barren land, and a complex system of laws governing their relationships with one another and the environment. Some aspects are only revealed to initiates.
Most of this culture, other than seeking help to survive, was ignored by the incoming colonists. Today efforts are being made to recognise the traditional role played by the Aborigines and to integrate the cultures; signs around Darwin always referred respectfully to the ‘original owners’ or ‘original custodians’ of the land; at the Ayers Rock resort outside the park a cafe is run by trainees on an indigenous skills development programme. Despite these initiatives, and no doubt some success stories, many Aborigines seem to be in a no-man’s land between cultures; they walk apparently aimlessly around towns and alcohol abuse is such a big problem that there are strict limitations on its sale and consumption. In Darwin I had to show my driver’s licence to buy a bottle of wine; it was scanned and checked in real time against a police database to ensure I didn’t have a record.
So was Uluru as impressive as its reputation? And what is Kata Tjuta? Unless you are better informed than I was you will never have heard of this Uluru rival 20 miles further on and well worth a visit in its own right. I drove there first and had a walk to the Karu lookout before heading back to drive around Uluru and wait for sunset. And, yes, Uluru is definitely a world class sight; it is hard to take your eyes away from the striking red rock of the monolith jutting up from the plain as the rays of the setting sun slowly darken the colours. In fact, I liked sunset so much I got up early the next morning to watch the sunrise light up the rock. Equally impressive. Just backwards.
After my early start, and a few long driving days and cold nights, I needed to take it easy, so I drove the hour to Curtin Springs and had the tent up by 2.00 pm for a change. It would have been earlier, but 15 minutes out of Ayers Rock resort I realised that my large (and expensive) camp site and map book was not on the seat beside me; I had left it at the resort, probably when I put it down by the washbasin in the loo just before I left the town square. I drove back but the book was not in the loo. I tried the cafe where I had had a coffee and the post office where I had posted a postcard; no joy. I tried the information centre and a couple of other cafes but no one had handed it in. It occurred to me that I had not checked the car boot; it was my last hope of finding it, but it was in vain; I had lost it. Resignedly, I opened the rear passenger door and there it was, on the seat. Why I had put it there I don’t know. I only know that when I visited the Devil’s Marbles I must have left mine there too.
On the way back to the Stuart Highway I took a small 200 mile round trip diversion to see Kings Canyon, a spectacular gorge cut through sandstone rocks that have weathered into layered domes. The rim walk ranks with the best walks I have done; although there were plenty of people, I was frequently on my own on the path winding up and down through the quiet red rocks, soaking up the atmosphere. Definitely a highlight of the trip, and I was glad it was only 32 C; it reaches 40 or even 50 in summer.
Onwards to Sydney
Heading south from my overnight stop at Erldunda it wasn’t long before I crossed the state boundary into South Australia and then it was ‘just’ another couple of hours to the first services. You have to plan journeys here and ensure you have plenty of fuel to get to the next filling station.
The already sparse vegetation thinned out until there were no trees, hardly any bushes and just scattered clumps of white grass. Amazingly, there are cattle stations all through this land. How they survive is beyond me. I was told that so far this year there has been 15 mm of rain and last year there was 40 mm. At Curtin Springs, where I stopped on my way to Kings Canyon, there was 1 inch of rain in a downpour when the family arrived in the fifties and then no more rain for 9 years!
I stopped for lunch at Coober Pedy, a town that exists only as a centre of opal mining; for 20 miles either side of the town the land is littered with excavated mounds of soil and rocks. I visited an opal shop and chatted with the owner; his wife, who normally runs the shop, was away or he would have been busy mining. All the very attractive opals in the shop were dug up and cut by him before being mounted by a jeweller. He has been doing this for 52 years!
I pressed on again and camped at the less than luxurious Glendambo. When camping, sounds can play strange tricks; it can seem that someone is moving right next to you when they are actually 20 yards away, so when I heard noises outside in the night I persuaded myself they were from another tent, and when the tent moved it was obviously just the wind. However, in the morning light I could see plenty of fresh kangaroo scat around the bushes near the tent; perhaps I did have visitors after all!
There was more evidence of kangaroos on the first leg of my journey on to Pimba: every few hundred yards there was a dead animal on the verge. Strangely, this was one of the most barren parts of the road; no sudden jumping out from behind trees here; there weren’t any. I believe that many such accidents happen at night; I am trying to drive only in daylight whenever possible.
I passed dried up lake beds, some white with salt, and then suddenly the vegetation grew thicker with shrubs and trees returning. Eventually I arrived at Port Augusta at the end of my Stuart Highway marathon on the Southern Ocean. I sat outside at a cafe and celebrated with eggs, bacon and tomato on toast while police arrived to move on a bunch of very noisy Aborigines.
Heading towards Adelaide I saw arable crops for the first time in Australia; fields of green wheat, lined with large and healthy looking trees, all very welcome after the arid outback. Arriving in the city I was surprised at the volume of traffic and the time it took to get to my campsite. I also was not prepared for how quickly it cooled down in the evening; by 8.00 pm there was a heavy dew on the tent; I passed a cold night and woke up to rain.
It was not a good day to do my laundry, but not having done any since I arrived in Australia It had to be done, even if I spent a small fortune on the dryer. I took it easy the rest of the day, finally got my blog posted and planned the journey towards Sydney, booking a couple of motels; I am a warm, dry weather camper, so will probably stick to motels/hotels until I get north of Sydney, where the weather should be better.
Next morning arrived clear and bright and I headed into the town centre, where traffic was surprisingly light, perhaps because parking is so expensive. Budget conscious as I am, I hunted around and found a 4 hour free parking spot just outside the centre.
Adelaide is an attractive city; I didn’t see any amazing sights, but the central market was quite up-market as markets go, Rundle Mall was prosperous and pleasant (just one empty shop, being redeveloped) and the botanic gardens were beautiful; I found a sheltered, sunny spot and fell asleep on a bench before getting the tram (free in the centre) back to my car mid-afternoon.
I drove out of town on a good dual carriageway through beautiful, hilly countryside with green fields; think a slightly upgraded A303 with gum trees. A little over 2 hours later I arrived at my overnight stop, Lameroo, a little but sprawling country town where a functional but cheerless woman checked me into my functional but cheerless motel room. Still, it had a heater and was dry, unlike my tent, which I had spread out on the back seat of the car to dry.
All the next day and the first 2 hours of the following day I drove the Murray Valley Highway across dead flat farmland whose vast fields were planted with wheat and barley and green grass feeding large flocks of sheep and herds of cattle. My overnight stop was at Echuca, where a functional and cheerful woman checked me into my functional but cheerless motel room and I had a great meal at an Irish pub (yes, even here).
After Wodonga the scenery livened up as I drove the Snowy Valleys Way through the foothills of the Snowy Mountains; it was a little like the Yorkshire Dales – with added gum trees, naturally. The weather was wet and the temperature dropped to 3 C as I climbed through the hills. Higher in the mountains snow chains were required, so, rather than head ill-equipped into the snow, I settled for more scenic foothills and spent the night at a very comfortable motel in Tumut, hoping for better weather in the morning.
I was not disappointed. The rain had stopped and I drove up the Snowy Mountains Highway to the wonderfully named Yarrangobilly. Here a 6 km dirt road wound steeply down through the forest to a visitor centre and an outdoor thermal pool. The water temperature purported to be 27 C but the air temperature was only 3 C. Still, it had to be done: I changed into my swim shorts and took the plunge. It wasn’t hot in the water but it was ok; getting out, however, was another matter – it was a trifle chilly to say the least, especially with bare feet on the concrete. I dried and dressed in record time and set off to walk along the river to South Glory Cave, one of numerous caves in the area, and the only one to allow self-guided tours. I had the enormous cave to myself, with the path and limestone formations picked out by lighting that automatically turned on and off as I walked. All very effective and clever, apart from one unilluminated low rock that almost knocked me out.
Surviving the cave, with only mild concussion, I returned to my car and drove further up the highway where a snow covered plateau was home to brumbies (wild horses). The road itself was clear, but I was conscious that I was supposed to be carrying chains and had to return the same way, so when a flurry of snow came down I turned back and enjoyed another comfortable night in my Tumut motel.
Before leaving town the next morning I visited its labyrinth, built in 2017 in memory of all the local people who had contributed to the community in both peace and war over the years. As instructed, I walked the route to the centre (not difficult – there was only one way to go) in quiet contemplation and found it strangely relaxing.
The first part of my journey up to Gundagai was through beautiful countryside, and the rest of the journey to Sydney, on a good dual carriageway, was not unpleasant either. Although the fields gradually became less green as the land got dryer, it was raining as I entered the city; it seems I had not timed my visit well, weather wise; this was the first wet spell for some time, and it was not hot either.
I had booked into a studio apartment a few miles north of the harbour; it was a lot cheaper than the centre and I did not have to pay AU$30+ a day to park my car. The place I had chosen was near a station from which I could easily travel by train into the centre. Unfortunately there had been a double booking and for the first two nights I ended up staying a couple of miles away, not handy for the station.
The highlight of my first day in Sydney was a trip on the ferry from Pyrmont Wharf on Darling harbour to Circular Quay, the central transport hub. The sun had come out and the views of the city and suburbs were enchanting, especially when viewed underneath the massive iron arches of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. The famous opera house appeared smaller than I expected when viewed from the ferry but was impressively large close up. It certainly is one of the wackier buildings I have seen; given its outlandishly impressive shapes I am not surprised it was difficult to construct and cost 14 times the initial budget.
Next door are the botanic gardens, providing a calm oasis of green relaxation – and a nice cup of tea in the cafe.
I thought of going to Bondi beach on the second day but my hosts told me it was a bit rubbish and could not understand why everyone went there. They suggested Manly beach instead, so I headed there and was not disappointed, except with the $8 an hour, maximum 2 hours, parking. A good number of surfers were in the water, but not many sunbathers; although it was sunny, the temperature was only 17 C and there was a cool breeze. I enjoyed a walk along the prom and then the scenic walk through the bush on the headland before my time was up and I moved the car on to explore northwards, taking a look at Curl Curl, Dee Why and Narrabeen beaches, all beautiful golden sands with rolling breakers.
Day three involved a lot of walking. From the train station at Milsons Point I walked across the harbour bridge, enjoying great views towards the opera house. It is possible to climb the towering iron arches of the bridge and I would have liked to, but at $300+ it was an experience I decided to miss. I had a wander around The Rocks, the area at the southern end of the bridge that was originally home to the convicts who were so conveniently despatched to our new colony. Given that UK prisons are pretty full at the moment I was going to ask whether the Ossies would like to take any more, but thought better of it.
In the afternoon I joined a walking tour that took us through the CBD (central business district) and I learned what CBB means – I would explain but I CBB. I finished the day with a meal and a beer at a waterfront pub called by a name that will be very familiar to those from Taunton – the Brewhouse.
Adelside, with its 1.3 million people, had been a contrast to the Northern Territory, which has just 250,000 inhabitants in an area larger than France, Germany, Belgium, The Netherlands and Italy combined; over 50% of them live in Darwin; the permanent residents of the Ayers Rock resort, now numbering 1,000, have propelled this tourist park into the position of 4th largest ‘city’ in the NT. Sydney, with 5 million people, is an even bigger change. No driving on 3 lane highways with 2 other vehicles here, no cruising for miles on end without seeing another vehicle; expect nose-to-bumper traffic and jams here. And yet I like Sydney. Yes it is a big, busy city but it still has much of that laid back Australian feel about it, with wide streets, lots of open spaces and a beautiful coastline with great beaches.
Rob's Roads 