Towards the Nullabor

---

During my last night in Port Lincoln, a fierce wind blows the waves up high and my tent to its bending limits. It´s 00.30 and my tent is cracking. I can hear the fly tear. I have two choices: I either stay here until my tent gets blown to bits (and it will!), or I pack up now and head for safety. I do the latter. In complete darkness and hard blowing winds, I put all heavy items outside the tent, take out the pegs and drag everything to the campsites laundry room. I haven’t even settled in yet, and rain pours down from the sky in endless quantities. I spend the rest of the night in between four washing machines. I hear the waves crash on the beach, the rain beating on the sand and after some time, I see the first light come. I slept perhaps an hour or so. While I’m packing up my gear, James sticks his head around the corner. He bursts into laughter. ‘Ohw No!’ he gasps at the sight of my pale face and items scattered across the laundry room floor. ‘Let’s get packed. I’ll buy you breakfast’, he laughs while he slaps me on the shoulder. We pack up all my stuff, get in his car and head for McDonalds.

I met James on the shark cage dive tour. James is a rollerblade instructor / science teacher off to travel his continent for a whole year. He taught snowboarding at Blackcomb in Canada, relatively close to where I lived, is a fan of outdoor sports and has one of those Australian not-a-care-in-the-world-smiles. During our cage-dive trip, I heard him talk about how he was planning to cross the Nullabor plain by car and, completely excited, mentioned I wanted to do the same. His face just lit up. We both wanted to cross the Nullabor, but we both didn’t want to do it on our own. So, we instantly decided to do it together. The Nullabor plain runs from Ceduna in South-Australia to Norseman in West-Australia (1200 km). It’s the largest stretch of flat found anywhere on Earth. It’s vast, it’s empty, it’s dry. It’s no man’s land. Very few live out on the Nullabor, and those that do are described as ‘God’s special creatures’. The Nullabor is famous for its UFO sightings and as the world’s longest golf course. But the plain is also infamous for its robberies, its crimes and its pitch black nights far from life and time. It seems as though James and I were supposed to meet on that shark tour, to travel the Nullabor together and see for ourselves whether ET is really out there.

At McDonalds, James and I check our emails. The rain is still gushing outside, so we decide to spend the day driving as far as we can, heading toward the start of the Nullabor. We get in James’ burgundy red Tarago and hit the gas. We drive past Coffin Bay, where an abalone diver was killed only yesterday by two great white sharks, close to the Neptune Islands where we dived with these giants. Could the sharks that attacked the diver be the same sharks that swam past our cage? The captain of the abalone boat watched in horror as his diver was dragged into the depth. The diver was never found again. It sparks a discussion between James and me about the effects of cage diving. Are shark becoming food-conditioned due to the feeding that happens during the cage-dive experiences? Should cage-diving stop or is it an important boost for the conservation of the white shark? We can’t decide and head on, past Ellington to Venus Bay and Port Kenny until we reach Streaky Bay. The road along the way stretches flat and far. It’s framed by gum trees, white dunes and low shrubs. I see my first kangaroo, grazing the bushes. Old houses are found here and there, dispersed randomly over the land. Sometimes there’s tens of kilometres between them. This is farmers’ country and farmers often own hundreds of acres of land. It’s the dry season right now, so no one is out besides the sheep. When we reach Streaky Bay, James camps out in his car – hotel Tarago - and I allow myself the luxury of a budget motel to catch up on some much needed sleep.

The next morning, I wake up a new person. It’s 6.30 and I’m bursting with energy, so I decide to go for another run. It’s drizzling outside but soon enough a sun breaks through and a gorgeous rainbow forms across the bay, touching both shores. That must be dad. I can just feel he’s with me this morning. James and I get some breakfast and head toward a local colony of endangered Australian sea lions. As soon as we drive off, we pass a cemetery. I immediately think of dad, but James doesn’t allow me much time to dwell on it. ‘Ah, cemeteries’, he sighs. ‘Everyone is just dying to get in.’ We both laugh. James manages to get the car stuck along the way, thinking he could park on a beach after the heavy rains. We’re in the middle of nowhere with a tide coming in. Now what? We frantically start digging out the tires, trying to push the car out. But it’s stuck solid. After a couple of minutes though, to our luck, two retired tourists in a 4WD come by. ‘That was a bad idea’, the man says as he rolls down his window. James politely laughs and we ask the two oldies to drag us out. Equipped with a 4wd, a tow cable and a lot of patience, they get the job done. Thank God. We drive on, stopping to take photos at the sea lion colony, exploring some dunes and visit the wicked rock formations of Murphy’s Haystacks. Our final destination is Ceduna, the last stop before the Nullabor. Gum trees make way for eucalyptus trees and bushes makes way for heat. The white of the sand dunes gradually turn red. The Nullabor is calling.

Ceduna is probably one of the weirdest places I have ever been. It’s a place of polarisation. You have the white people in their fancy homes with white, little fences and flowers growing in the front yard (and a couple of churches just a block away) on one end. On the other, there’s an aboriginal community, living off the streets, clothes torn and worn out, faces dirty, feeding their addiction. I thought I’d set up my tent in one of the cheap camping areas here in Ceduna, but when we get there, it turns the campsite is overflowing with aboriginals. These are probably the only homes they can afford. The indigenous sit in front of their tent or cheap cabin, staring into the void, seemingly wondering what to do next. I feel for these people, I really do. James puts the car in reverse and drives on. I’m not sleeping here. Instead, I put up my tent in a more expensive campground. A gated area filled with whites. At least I’ll blend in. But this whole situation shocks me. How can two communities, living right next to each other, be on such tense foot with each other? Some pubs actually have signs put up that aboriginals from such and such tribe are not allowed to buy full-strength beers there. Perhaps it’s due to past incidents, perhaps they refuse to feed the aboriginals’ alcohol addiction, but whatever the reason, it’s racism in its purest form. Later on, James finds a skate park with ramps right here in town. He decides to put on his skates and give a little demo. I’m happy to shoot some photos. We have dinner and at the end of the day, I head back to my all-white-campsite. Tomorrow, we’ll face the Nullabor.

---