Right in the Centre now

July 11 (more than 4000km from home)

Leaving Marree we drove about 70km on the Oodnadatta Track, then turned south to Roxby Downs and Woomera. It was a dirt road, but hard-packed after rain some days before, and very pleasant. A highlight was a set of sculptures close to the Roxby Downs turn-off, including some planes, with tail-ends in the ground, figures made of bits welded together, and one of the traditional railway water tanks (for the old steam engine Ghan, beside whose old track the road travelled) transformed into a dog.

From Roxby Downs we deviated to the opal-mining town of Andamooka, with much more mechanised mining than I had expected. It was not as extensive as at Coober Pedy, a day later, where for kilometres either side of the town, the landscape is a series of ‘molehills’ from excavators having extracted dirt, sieved it to find possible opal-bearing stone, and piled the leftovers.

Anyway, on to Woomera, which has special significance as my late sister and her family lived there for about 10 years to 1976. It is still quite a big town, though many of the houses are no longer occupied and some have been demolished. The rocket range is still used and there is talk of making it an official RAAF base, which

A reminder of Woomera's heyday as a rocket range.

will bring in more families. We met the principal of the school where my sister was a secondary teacher and he told me it’s still an Area School but has only 10 pupils, from one in kindergarten to one in Year 12 . . . and as everything in Woomera is still controlled by the Commonwealth Govt, it’s unlikely to close just yet, and certainly not if more families come in.

Then we joined the Stuart Highway, and drove north on one of our longest days (abt 600km) to a place called Marla, having a quick look at Coober Pedy on the way. We left Marla on a cold and windy morning, drove through torrential rain at times which at least washed off most of the Flinders Ranges mud, and arrived at Alice Springs on quite a hot day, so we quickly stripped off jeans and heavy jackets for shorts and t-shirts.

Would you believe that right next to us in a caravan park is a couple from Lismore, and I knew him years ago when he lived in Jiggi. (For members of my family, it’s Dr Keith Bolton).

A highlight of our day was the National Transport Museum and Hall of Fame, especially the Jack Hurley pavilion, honouring the late Kenworth distributor in Kyogle; and then the arrival at Alice Springs of the Ghan train from Adelaide, with 34 carriages! It was so long it could not all fit into the station in one stop.

A tribute to the Afghans and their camels

at the railway station.

We’ve acquired the last permit we needed to travel on Aboriginal land after we reach WA from NT; filled up with fuel; bought extra beer and water; and re-filled a gas bottle. We also took on enough supplies for about 10 days as tomorrow we leave for the West McDonnell Ranges, Uluru and then the Great Central Road.

We want to share some of the little things that have kept us amused on the road.

* We often hear truckies chatting to each other on the radio, and the other day one commented that caravanners were like potholes, ‘always in the road’.

* Then there was a Victorian caravanner (they’re everywhere!) who must have been watching old films about Smokey and the Bandit, as he prefaced several inquiries about passing a wide load with ‘Breaker, breaker’. Now that’s not something we hear much in Australia these days.

* When we reach caravan parks or camping areas and watch people backing caravans or camper trailers into their designated spots, often with a wife madly giving hand signals or even on a walkie-talkie, we recall an old bloke we met at Bedourie 2 years ago who used to say to his dog, “Come on, Dog, let’s watch Caravannus australis and their rituals” when a group of caravans would arrive.

* Yesterday afternoon, some chap wandered by our camp spot in the caravan park for a chat, a bit unsteady after his own personal happy hour, and when he heard we were heading for WA, insisted we must go to the Dampier Bowling Club, where camping parking is available behind the club . . . as long as you are prepared to do some stints behind the bar, not in front of it.

* Not everyone is aware of, or follows, the Outback protocol of greeting other drivers. Those who do have three versions: A full-blooded wave of the right hand and forearm; a raising of the right arm and hand in a kind of salute; or the more laconic one or two-fingered salute with the right hand still firmly gripping the steering wheel.

July 13

Another instalment: there was no internet coverage in Alice Springs. The caravan park wi-fi didn’t work (they blamed the NBN workmen nearby) and even our Telstra hotspots would not hold (so we blamed the NBN chaps also).

We headed west to the West MacDonnell Ranges, which are just glorious. All those Central Australian colours were present and jostling for attention. There was the deep red of the rocky hills and mountains, the bright green of fresh grass and spinifex, white of the sand in the creekbeds, and occasionally, the bright blue of the sky. It was cloudy and getting colder and windier each day as we traversed the ranges, visiting gorges and waterholes, chasms in the rocky hills, and finally spending the first night in the National Park campground at Ormiston Gorge.

From there we went south and east again to Hermannsburg, and then south down a strictly 4WD track to Palm Valley. It certainly was 4WD only and it took us an hour to travel the 18km to the campground. We decided to drive on the 4km to see the actual valley of palms, and that’s when the journey really got hairy. The track . . . which could not be dignified by calling it a road . . . climbed up and over boulders and through many creek crossings. We actually parked the truck on a rock slab and walked the last 1km or so as the boulders were becoming larger and sharper-edged. Smaller 4WDs were negotiating the track with some difficulty and we were so much bigger and heavier that we thought it best to be prudent.

In the end, we could see some kind of information shed, obviously all to do with Palm Valley, but our way was blocked by the Finke River and we had no intention of trying to wade through it on a rather cold day.

I might add that the road from Hermannsburg actually ran along part of the wide bed of the Finke River for several kilometres so the road shuts when the river is in full flow. After that adventure, probably the roughest road we’ve ever taken the truck along, and that includes Cape York and the Kimberley, we returned to the campground and set up for the night.