Tough living in barra country

Burketown was a delightful little town, despite the fact we could no longer visit what had been the oldest building in the Gulf. When Burketown was established in the 1860s it had a Customs House built. This in later years was the town pub, but it burnt down earlier this year, and not even a temporary bar has been established.

The groundsman at the shady, delightful caravan park (a Victorian who has worked there with his wife for the past 2 years from May to September) told us he gets cartons of beer sent by post from Mount Isa, only costing $5 for postage on top of the cost of the beer. The poor old mailman’s trucks must be groaning at times!

It’s the home of barramundi fishing, and we saw lots of boats setting out each day to try the Albert River or even the Gulf waters. We had barra and chips the first night (quite nice) and the second, a barra burger which was splendid. That barra was thick and juicy and succulent . . . and we hadn’t had to get sunburnt catching it.



Anyway, it’s a very historic town, and we were blown away by some of the info at the town museum (formerly the post office, and built in the late 1800s). There was a map showing the British Empire trading routes, featuring Burketown . . . no Darwin, no Cairns, but Burketown. It was so useful as a port that the ships from England used to come up the Albert River from the Gulf of Carpentaria, delivering mail which was then taken by coach to Bourke in NSW. That was faster than waiting for the ships to get to Sydney and send it west, also by coach.

Before we left we browsed around the town cemetery. The Gulf was pretty tough on health with lots of people dying when a ship brought tertiary malaria from Indonesia. It was also hard to keep babies and toddlers alive, judging from the burial records.



The surreal colours and salts mound at the bore.

We also checked out the current launching ramp, as the river cut through some country well away from Burketown, leaving it isolated by water some time ago. The current ramp is festooned with warnings about crocodiles and how taking alcohol to any islands in Mornington Shire is forbidden.



On our way out of town we visited the Burketown Bore. This was sunk to a depth of 2000 feet in 1896, as a way of providing constant water for the cattle it was thought would be shipped from there. But the artesian water was too high in lots of salts and only suitable for adult cattle so is virtually useless. It has been flowing ever since, running at 67deg C, eventually forming a lagoon which birds love, but the salts have made a multi-coloured mound around the original bore hole.



So on we went, south and east towards Normanton, intending to bush camp somewhere, possibly the Leichhardt River falls.

And that’s what we did. If we thought Cooper’s Creek was divine, and O’Shannessy River superb, then the Leichhardt River crossing beats them all. Imagine a wide river, with a bed of some sand, but mostly quite flat rock. A concrete causeway has been built across it and we found it easy to drive off it onto the flat rock area close to where a huge fault in the river bed cause the river to plunge in falls. A month ago it would have been spectacular, but now there are falls in three areas, and some big pools are starting to dry up. We were told there were some crocs (freshies, we presume) upriver and someone camping in the river bed had caught quite a big barra the day before.

The falls in dawn light, with caravanners on the rocky
river bed above.

What was really interesting was that on our second day, several Aboriginal families turned up for a picnic and some fishing. One of them brought a big bird for cooking. I call it a plains turkey but their proper name is Australian bustard. We’d seen a trio of them just before we reached Burketown. They’re not as tall as brolgas but very stately and quite a heavy body.

They hung it in a tree, plucked it, got a fire going, and it cooked while they fished and yarned and the kids played around in the water and in the riverbed. Eventually they all packed up in the late afternoon, with their turkey wrapped in foil to be enjoyed even more at home.



We felt a bit effete and very Western, as we watched all this, as we were cooking lamb shanks (frozen and pre-cooked from Aldi) in the microwave, as well as roast vegies in the turbo oven for a big Saturday lunch.

We’ve been rising before the sun to photograph the falls and the river in the various lights. It has been a delightful place to stay with campers and caravanners coming and going.

Later:



We’re now in Karumba after a very dusty trip from the falls. We stopped at the site of Burke and Wills’ last camp before they gave up trying to reach the Gulf and turned south. It’s a wonder they didn’t just slit their wrists there and then as it’s heartbreaking country . . . flat, flat, flat, with thick scrub to push through, but some grand rivers such as the Flinders, which we crossed by a ford, with pelicans fishing on its waters.

The Flinders River near Normanton not far from Burke
and Wills' last camp.

On our way to Karumba from Normanton we came through endless salt flats, all of which poor old Burke and Wills would have faced if they’d kept on trudging towards the sea.

Now we’re happily in a packed caravan park, with lots of Victorians who have obviously arrived for the season, and the park not only offers craft afternoons (for the wives who’re bored witless while the blokes go fishing) and bingo, but also a good line in seafood, so we’ve bought some barra and prawns for dinner tonight.

We’re delighted by the things people put on the back of their vans. At Adel’s Grove we spotted ‘Ken, Fae and Lindy’ on the back of one van. There was only an elderly couple and their little yappy dog, so we took a punt that Lindy was said yapper. But maybe it was Fae?

Nearly time for afternoon drinks in the shade, while wearing our shorts and T-shirts. Life’s still tough, you’ll agree.