The first cloudy morning in 3 weeks was a bit of a rude shock. The heater went on for an hour, reminding us of where we’re heading…it is after all, still winter! The 100 kms into Port Augusta saw the landscape change with short trees and then the Gawler Ranges came into view and the back of the Flinders.

We hadn’t had radio in almost 4 weeks, so listening to RN Saturday programs had our brains buzzing. There was a story about an Aussie paleontologist joining a team and finding a homo-species in Africa, a couple of food stories and then a tale about the kangaroo king (Andy Comenici?) in St George in the 80s who went missing, presumed murdered…

Port Augusta in sunshine actually presents nicely enough: a marina, some early SA architecture…but the main commercial precinct was sparse. We’d decided to have a very late breakfast there, but café choices were woeful…just a tiny drab one in the main street and a club which had stopped serving breakfast 45 mins before we arrived.

D thought a car wash might be in order, to remove the layers of red sand and of course we were past gravel roads. By early afternoon we were heading down the Yorke Peninsula, admiring the lush wheat fields and gentle vistas and took a brief pause at Port Broughton to do the mounting laundry. We’ve felt so cramped in commercial campgrounds that even the quiet village of Port B seemed too closed-in. We figured we’d find our own camping acreage further south.

So tonight we are in bushland beside Spencer Gulf, having driven down 11kms of grave road!!! and D has just shown me a story in today’s Oz about a young woman, resident in the community of Olary (SA) who’s gone missing…only 3 weeks ago…and her husband (initial suspect of course) shot himself while being questioned by police. Well! It’s exactly 3 weeks since we camped right outside the weird pub in Olary, on the Barrier highway. We posted about D seeking a beer and being abruptly dealt with by the publican. The newspaper story has a pic of this publican outside his pub. The young woman had worked there as a backpacker…The radio story from this morning and now this mystery…the day was looking pretty mundane at midday. We’ll double lock the doors tonight.

Noisy neighbours rather than our Butcherbird awoke us this morning – too early.

D was blissfully unaware of instructions on the sheet handed out at check-in that we were not to fill water tanks – we could do that elsewhere at 20 cents per 30 litres. He loaded in 35 litres to top us up – and was then told by T of this restriction. Felt bad for a nano-second, rationalizing that the 40 cents the shower machine gobbled up last night when T pre-loaded more than made up for this transgression. So our $30 got us a handkerchief sized piece of dirt, no water (in theory, anyway) and 20 cents for a short shower. Hmmm – we won’t be going back to the Oasis Caravan Park!

A walk through a couple of streets in Coober Pedy brought back memories of our visit ten years ago with Gloria, when she was having trouble stopping – the only way to turn the motor off was to put it in gear and stall it! The mechanic at that time was bamboozled, so we headed off with the issue unresolved.

Coober Pedy is a strange place; all pink, dotted with mounds of earth, lots of underground residences, air vent chimneys, and shop after shop claiming to have the best deal in opal. The area produces mostly white opal which is not hugely interesting but real estate is cheap: a 2 bedroom dugout costs around $75k and the demographic is very multicultural.

This morning we stopped in for coffee and remarked to one of the staff that we thought nothing much had changed in 10 years – he was affronted, saying he’d been here for six years and had seen lots of change. He added that he’d come for a holiday, had fallen in love with the lifestyle, and had no plans to leave. He and his partner in the café were almost a Laurel and Hardy duo. The other guy was a Scot from Leith, still with his broad accent. When D remarked that he thought it was an unusual Belgian accent (the café specialized in Belgian waffles) he was quickly warned not to say that in front of the Scot!

The road south – it is long and straight and boring, although there were stretches of trees and shrubs occasionally interrupting the flat salt bush landscape – but not many. Stopped for fuel at the Shell Roadhouse Glendambo pop. 30, (there’s also a BP – both pretty big enterprises), which turned out to be a delight. The three staff were friendly and engaging. T noticed a sign advertising home made sausage rolls and indicated this to D, but he couldn’t hear over the noise of the fuel pump. But when he was paying (and T was using the facilities) he noticed them in the warmer and bought the last one. He offered T a bite, which she reluctantly accepted, complaining to the staff that D had taken the last one. ‘I can heat one up for you, love’, he said, and did. And to top it off, they had the cleanest ’public’ toilets ever experienced in Australia. Well done Shell Glendambo!

The landscape changed: salt lakes appeared, then a slight row of hills, then there were sheep and finally the railway line but the red sand is still with us. Interestingly, still not much in the way of wild life or road kill. The knitting project is rather like triple baked goodies (knit some, pull it out, knit some more). At day’s end it was into forward motion. About 100 km north of Port Augusta, a bush site off the highway beckoned, so we turned off and set up for the night, complete with campfire and Porterhouse steak and coal- baked potatoes. Just the right amount of personal space!

Serenaded awake by our favourite, the Butcherbird. We think this bird may be following us from Canberra. 

T had a chat this morning with Tim, the traveller we met and shared a (his) fire with last night. He had travelled through Tibouburra and Camerons Corner and was refueling at Kulgera (just north of the SA/NT border) yesterday when he got chatting to a ‘well put together Kiwi woman, with grey hair and a twinkle in her eye’. She informed him that she was on the way to join 400 Solo women travellers (a subset of the CMCA – Caravan and Motorhome Club of Australia, of which we are members – but not of that sect) at the Ross River Resort (this totally explained the group of solo women travellers who had twittered at Trephina Gorge a day ago). She also added that she had a bottle of Bourbon and that he might like to join her and ‘talk shit all night’ He declined, but was tickled to be propositioned. T said to him that she now understood why he kept a chainsaw in his tent: he had admitted the previous evening that this was his protection against feral dogs! Apparently feral cats as well.

T later wanted to know whether D would like to travel alone with the opportunity to meet interesting people and ‘talk shit’ all night over a bottle of Bourbon. He reckoned that all he was missing at the moment was the Bourbon.

So, a long, flat, fairly monotonous day ensued – well over 500 kms, which is well over our desired time on the road. A plus was the excellent knitting time on the smooth bitumen.

Stopped off at The Breakaways, about 20 km out of Coober Pedy, later realizing that they are actually the southern end of the Painted Desert. Our ignorance did not diminish our enjoyment of this beautiful landscape.

Overnight in Coober Pedy, crammed into a tiny space in the Oasis Caravan Park. It took several minutes of reversing, forwarding, reversing….to actually get the van in. There was applause from the watchers, and D’s masculinity acknowledged. Compare this to our last night’s stay – which was free! And after paying $30 to occupy this handkerchief sized piece of dirt we then had to pay 20 cents for a 3 minute shower – the first 30 seconds of which was cold, and the next 2.5 minutes went in less time than expected. Grrr!

Departed Trephina Gorge well after the early walkers had disturbed our slumber. First stop was the Ghost Gum – another opportunity to marvel at nature’s gifts in Australia.

Next stop was Corroboree Rock, standing tall by itself in the landscape. The notice board said that this was a sacred place for the indigenous people, akin to a church, and there was, again, that sense of something spiritual.

So to Alice to restock. Coffee (excellent) at Page 27 café where the French hiking family were doing likewise. They reported on how marvellous their overnight hike/camp had been in splendid isolation. After the groceries had been sorted, D went off to replenish the cellar (had to wait until 2 PM) while T caught up on FB. Noticed that a friend, Tracey, had arrived in Alice on Monday so on the off chance, made contact via Messenger. Sure enough, she was still there, so we met up for coffee. D & Tracey’s husband Ian had been on staff together at CDSS (Australian Defence College). Ian had the distinction of being in Army transport, and of being from the First Transport Squadron, as was D, so he has cred in spades. It was great to catch up after many years.

And passed a wonderful display of engineering, including a couple of custom lash ups – the oil filler and petrol cap in particular had D green with envy. T wondered if there was a flatpack kit vehicle in that eBay package in the tray.

On the long and straight road south. Planned to keep going until just before dusk – or Erldunda. Slightly delayed by a helicopter mustering cattle across the Stuart. In the event, pulled into a rest area (a Stuart Hwy roadside stop!!!!!!!) about 20 km north of there, to join many other happy campers and Tim from Wagga had a campfire to share. It’s all a bit like the Sunday morning Macca radio program. Were delighted to see a young French couple in the sort of rig we were in in 1973 and they are having their ‘grand tour’ year.

A peaceful night, a slow start and a lovely environment were enough to convince us fairly quickly to have a rest day at Trephina Gorge.

Having made that unanimous decision, T then suggested that we do one of the walks, and have a late breakfast and coffee. The Gorge walk was about a 2 km loop, theoretically about an hour. We disproved that theory, but intentionally taking time to pause for a rest, whether we needed it or not, to have a chat with fellow walkers (or to let them through!) or to just take in the view. A consistent theme with most fellow walkers was bodies that had ‘cracked up’: tells you something or everything about the demographic.

We did say hello to a European mum and her two children, heavily backpacked, and singing happily. We received only polite hellos in return, perhaps because of D’s comment about the Von Trapp family. A bit later dad came along, and we had a long chat with him before he decided he’d better catch up with the family – they were doing the 9 km one way Ridge Top walk. Not sure which country they were from: ‘European’ was his term, but they were spending a very well thought out two months here. They started in Perth, travelled to Albany, flew to Darwin, then Alice Springs and will spend the last three months in the eastern states. Not a bad way to get an overview, rather than just seeing that eastern seaboard ‘boomerang’.

A slow day followed: D watching birds, T knitting and/or watching birds. A later afternoon stroll to the next campground and then back along the riverbed which yielded some interesting stones, but not the abundant bird life we’d hoped for, although the Pied Butcherbird put in an appearance without serenading us.

That was slightly redeemed on return, when the White Plumed Honeyeaters arrived looking for the water T had placed out for them earlier – after she’d washed her feet and then socks – but had not thrown out. Perhaps they thought it was toe-mater soup? So the bowl was replenished with fresh water and, somewhat cautiously, they came to drink with us as we had our Pinot (T) and Sav Blanc (D).

A group of solo women, we think members of CMCA, has arrived, and their chattering is a perfect complement to the other bird life, albeit louder. There seems to be an issue with someone from a recent gathering: we eavesdrop without intending to and get more of this scandal, but details are few.

Today we saw: Port Lincoln Parrot (just one), Hooded Robin (M & F), White Plumed Honeyeaters galore, Grey Headed Honeyeaters, Torresian Crows, Yellow Fronted Miners, Magpie Larks, Willie Wagtails and the Pied Butcherbird.

Maps have been discussed and tomorrow we’ll start the southern drive along the Stuart to Adelaide. How many days? The road offers a number of formal rest areas and we know that we can basically pull off wherever the terrain offers some screening. Look out wedgies, here we come.

The night had been hot and a howling wind had blown till dawn. T got up early to stretch and catch the morning light in the gorge.

Really, she was looking for petroglyphs but ended up with just footprints of ‘moonboot and crutch’ (Judy, not Trish). A plus were the ‘tide markings’ within the gorge.

The usual slow pack-up and a chat with neighbours who are from Townsville, then with lowered tyres, we were on the track again. The aim was to check out the 1880s’ mining site at Arltunga (another 50 kms of corrugation). A few sand drifts and a water crossing later we were on a dreadfully corrungated road heading northwards.

Arltunga had been a bit of late 19^th century colonial madness, trying to get gold in an environment with no water. The SA Govt, at that stage controlling this area, was desparate to have some development in Central Australia that matched the gold rushes in WA and Victoria. Such schemes doomed to failure might well be a parallel with the present? However, the preserved ruins and accompanying video are a testament to the endurance and grit of early pioneers. Arltunga is recognized as the first European settlement in Central Australia and a venture that opened the region to pastoral and other pursuits. The small cemetery further reflected the incongruity: 5 unmarked bush graves and one much grander.

There was no escaping more rough driving…so decision taken to keep it as short as possible: yes, backtrack the 50kms and make camp in Trephina Gorge.

An evening walk in the Gorge to enjoy the sunset – a pattern is emerging! Again, the light on the red cliffs, the stark and beautiful ghost gums, and the pool of water reflecting the gorge all added to the magic – again.

Wallace Rockhole was even quieter than we’d remembered. The campground had only one other outfit: a pair of sisters in a small Wicked rented car with a canvas platform on top. It reminded us of our car camper atop our Mazda 808, 45 years ago. The girls departed fairly early and we took our time.

Being Sunday, Wallace store was not open, cultural tour to rock art not on…in fact there was no one about and nowhere to offload a shower facility fee. The occasional sound of a woman yelling at kids, a pair of boys chasing with sticks in the backyard (just like Kambah) and the lazy song of the butcherbird were the Sunday morning entertainment before the 17 kms back to Larapinta Drive and a pause to re-inflate tyres. At the intersection of the Wallace road and Larapinta Drive, a serious 4WD/off road van combo stopped and the driver asked about road conditions and sights at Wallace. We duly reported, and then her travelling companion (with pet de jour) joined the conversation. We’ve seen travellers with dogs, yesterday our caravan neighbours had a cat, today one of the travellers sported a budgerigar on her left shoulder and it seemed marginally interested in the discussions. Might well have been the brightest one involved. This meeting later led us to reflect on the number of two women travelling combos we’d come across: two just today.

With 150 kms of pristine bitumen back to Alice, T got on with re-knitting (she had unfortunately pulled out a biggish section, believing she had made an error, only to find that there had been none! and she needs bitumen as the knitting surface). The bitumen is intriguing; pristine, no roadkill, in fact the only wildlife we’ve seen since getting into NT has been birds and the occasional wandering stock or horse…no kangaroos, emus, lizards, snakes etc. Overseas tourists must wonder what OZ is about.

Back in Alice, we found a side alley café for catching up on wifi and caffeine and T spotted the folk who’d rescued us yesterday and had a chat. ‘ I guess it’s revision time for your off-road adventures’, they said. Yep.

The late afternoon saw us on the Ross Hwy, heading into East MacDonnells. Scenery marvellous again, but quieter, as the road became a single track for quite a while. There was a sense on this side of the ranges of driving along and in the range, rather than paralleling it and turning into gorges etc.

Tonight we are at N’Dhala Gorge, having ventured down a track with just a few shallow sand patches (gulp) and a water crossing, the latter being the most concerning because we couldn’t see the bottom. D thought that T had said last night that we weren’t going to do this any more, but must have misheard. The tyre pressure will definitely be down and the blood pressure up for the return leg.

Arrived at a tiny camping spot to be greeted by Judy wearing a moon boot on her broken ankle…(she does weights daily in her huge 7 tonne van/truck ‘campervan’). Just before dusk we walked to the gorge and pondered the petroglyphs along the way. A warm evening tonight – during a mid-campground get together another fellow traveller remarked how the evenings seem to be alternating each day between warm and cold. All agreed on the scarcity of wildlife in this part of the NT.

A quick walk up the Gorge as the sun set to enjoy the view, scenery and petroglyphs.

Day 22. Saturday 19 August.

Today was Henley on Todd regatta day in Alice, the 56^th year that this iconic NT water(less) event has been held. The three Rotary clubs of/around Alice combine in a FUNdraising day in the dry sand of the Todd River. A parade through the Todd Mall kicks off the craziness and we got a taste of the vibe as we downed a coffee.

These guys were raising money in support of two cyclists, who were riding across the Simpson Desert to raise funds for Beyond Blue.

The town turned on perfect conditions, mild with a breeze. After all the preliminaries, the anthem and “I Still Call Australia Home’, the thank yous to the thousands who had travelled from afar, the first race got under way. The ‘boats’ run a course through the sand to a positioned 44 gal drum, turn and head back to the finish line – distance about 30 metres each way. Depending on undisclosed criteria the MC may decide to handicap a race, any amount of sledging is encouraged, runners are interviewed, cheered, and winners awarded medals by the Commodore. The crowd is suitably worked by the MC and a highlight ‘battle event’ happens around 1630, with flour-bombing and hosing. It is a day of total frivolity and significant funds are raised. This was a ‘taster’ session for D&T – we didn’t stay for the whole day.

These boys from Yirrara College won the Grand Final – and were excited!

And the Maxis.

In the early afternoon we departed Alice and the HOT event, heading for Hermannsburg, the home of the Finke Lutheran Mission of historical importance. We’d arrived at around 3.30 thinking that would give us adequate time to look over the little late19^th century settlement. Half a day at least would have been more realistic. We spoke to Rod who was on duty that afternoon, and he was delighted to discuss the history of the place, as well as other issues such as the 2007 Intervention, the Basics card, the Stolen Generation and so on. The tone was non-judgemental – just a balance of pros and cons. He’d been at Hermannsburg since at least 2007, when he arrived as the Assistant Store Manager: we assume he liked the place and consequently had stayed on, but we didn’t quite get to interrogate him about his personal life.

The Mission is now a Heritage site and tells the story of Lutheran missionaries who came to spread God’s word and reach out to the aborigines, who initially thought they were devils because of their pale skin, long necks and small ears. Amongst the many horror stories of the times (1860s onwards) this seems to be one of the better ones. There were no Stolen Generation from Hermannsburg, as the missionaries protected, and even hid, the children. They also protected them from the pastoralist settlers, who apparently in one ten year period murdered about 700 natives. They also took action to have a SA policemen charged with murder due to his complicity but the case was dismissed because the witnesses didn’t speak English and the interpreters couldn’t tell the story. But apparently the Police Commissioner was aware enough to remove that policeman from that area. Rod mentioned that there is a street in Alice named after him and periodically there are moves to have it renamed.

Hermannsburg is of course the home of Albert Namatjira and the gallery space displays a collection of watercolours by several artist-families who formed the Hermannsburg Artists, including Namatjira’s 5 sons. Interestingly, it seemed that watercolour painting was only done by males. Women’s artistic skills were displayed in pottery and, from earlier times, in needlework.

The day was running away from us, so it was time to head for our camp destination at Palm Valley, on the Finke River. Little did we know that our own sand event was in store. All was going well on the gravel, corrugated track to the gorge. The first of the major sand patches caused a bit of a heart flutter as the car & van swung, grounded and slipped but got through. Then came the clincher…in lowest range we ventured in…squeal, spin, stop…we were stuck. Tyre pressure was too high and clearance under the Pajero not high enough. The afternoon was fading, the location remote and the travellers somewhat stressed. However, the temperature was not at 40 degrees, we had water, food, a shovel, traction mats, warning triangles and, if the worst happened, we could wait till a Samaritan came along…..which did happen and he did the digging while D lowered and lowered and lowered the tyre pressure. So we reversed out, decided to give the Palm Valley idea a miss on the advice of another traveller who stopped to check we were alright (the track apparently got worse, and the Pajero does not have sufficiently high clearance for this track), did a U-turn and decided to head for Wallace Rockhole (34 km of bitumen and 20 km of gravel back towards Alice). We discussed how many sandtraps there were on the return route. At a certain point, D felt confident that we had managed them all (just), T kept thinking there was one more but we were out of danger after renegotiating that first one again and agreed it was time we re-inflated the tyres. Our very own HoT event…thank goodness there was no crowd of onlookers!

And here we are, safe and sound at Wallace Rockhole, a tiny community which we visited in 2007. We arrived in the dark to join just one other campsite. D reckons that it is exactly as he remembers it, but given it is now dark that will

Day 21. Friday 18 August.

There were some wins today and the day was thankfully milder, as T has been melting in the 30+temps.

The first was gas. D had called in at several service stations to swap an empty 4 kg gas cylinder, to be told they didn’t deal with those, only the 9 kg ones. The ladies at the reception desk at the caravan park initially directed him to Bunnings – yes, there apparently is one – but then realized that he didn’t want a new cylinder but just a recharge, so said ‘we can do that here’. Problem over.

D then dropped T off in town; she wanted to look at a fabric shop (and a tattoo parlour was right next door) and went chasing spare drawer catches: three have been broken, two repaired but one is not repairable so we’re down to one spare. The caravan dealer highly recommended by the park was actually more of a detailer and builder and didn’t hold a big range of items: when asked, his wife looked at the catch suspiciously and gave an emphatic ‘No’. The builder, however, said to wait a minute, went behind a bench, rummaged around and produced a box with half a dozen catches. My kind of guy! He had ‘wrecked’ a Kimberley Karavan that had overturned (as they all do, said his wife!), so passed on two almost- new catches for free.

And thirdly, to the Beaurepaires Tyre Centre on Stott Street – recommended if you ever need tyre assistance in Alice Springs. The slow leak was due to a large crack in the tyre – shudder to think what might have happened if we’d kept driving on it! Tyre (and its partner) replaced, so all good to go. 

T had wins at the fabric shop and Salvos (and bypassed the tatts).

But it wasn’t all good news. Back to the park to drop off the van – and noticed that the bumpy road conditions had caused the roof rack to move backwards, and out of alignment. So……off with the jerry can, the tyre traction mats and the spare, spare tyre to reposition and tighten the rack, and then put everything back.

Time for lunch.

Having sorted all the vehicle issues, T suggested a little drive!!!!!! n this ‘rest’day to take in once again the outstanding vista through the West Macs…words cannot describe the landscape.

Along the way we passed the mademoiselles pulled up about 40 kms out of Alice. They were re-filling from jerry cans. D didn’t stop to offer advice.

Last visit was to Ellery Creek Waterhole. Spoke to two young lasses who were enjoying the quiet (until we came by) who remarked that they’d started to swim to the other side but abandoned that and stopped at the sandbank about 10 metres away because it was so cold!

That’s T on the sandbar – they swam from just to the right of the bushes on the shoreline.

We also spoke later to Chris, who had just finished Day 12 of his Larapinta walk: he spoke of the beauty of the country, something we could readily agree with. Easy to understand ‘connection with country’ when you stop to let it take you in.

First task is always to write the blog for the day, a job T has more and more taken on, nudging D to an advisory technology role.

Last night there was a beautiful sunset light on the hill behind us. Then again, every evening has a glorious sunset. Someone had kindly left a stack of firewood on the creek bed, so we were able to enjoy a very pleasant camp fire with dinner – after the ferocious flies had departed after dusk.

Into Alice, to come to terms with: what next? Decided to stay two nights and try to catch the Henley on Todd on Saturday and then head west again. After checking in, went in search of the Mitsubishi dealer to book a service: nothing available until 29 August! We’ll defer that to Adelaide (that’s the current thinking). Then it was looking for a tyre dealer to repair the slow leak in a van tyre: either they couldn’t do it, needed us to bring tyre to them, or no availability until Tuesday! Finally found a laid back dealer happy for us to bring the van to him in the morning.

Alice is a bit like Anchorage, Alaska that we passed through last year (it’s an earlier post on this blog). This is clearly a town full of those passing through on adventure tours, a very visible indigenous presence and shop after shop of canvases calling to the tourists. Visited a few galleries, and amongst the bulk found some really lovely art pieces that ‘spoke’ to us. T remarked on the prolific output of indigenous art, given the relatively low proportion of the population who are indigenous. But we later reflected that this aboriginal art form is actually fairly recent – the early 1970s (as opposed to traditional aboriginal art in rock paintings and so forth that goes back ten of thousands of years).

Ended the afternoon with a beer in the mall, then a short walk through the Thursday night markets which, perhaps because we were there early, were fairly low key. The Swiss Indian food stall had us intrigued.