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Published: February 26th 2008
Not a breath of wind
Somewhere near Peterborough, SAAdelaide will always be special to me, as that's where we met Bruce, our first camperoo. And so you all heard it here first folks, five months of mostly only talking to one another and we've finally cracked and begun to anthropomorphise our vehicles.
But to Bruce, a mere five years old and already travelled over 275,000 kilometres carrying tourists of all shapes and sizes the length and breadth of Australia. Bruce is a 'cheapa campa', in other words the poor man's campervan, but don't think that he's cheap, no, his mosquito nets may be broken and his paintwork slightly worn, but he was a trouper and when we discussed our itinerary with him - 2,600 kms in a week - his engine purred and he obliged.
First off we navigated the city traffic, which to be fair was like Dublin city centre on Christmas morning - I don't mean it was mostly young children on bicycles being pushed by their exhausted parents - but I was a bit nervous until we hit the city's outskirts. Once we hit them we were the only vehicle on the road for literally a hundred kilometres.
It was incredibly pleasing going
from warehouse nation into huge fields of golden wheat (or oats, or barley - it was golden and grass like, I'm not sure). The fields were endlessly big in comparison to those we're familiar with in Ireland, and we had to stop to have a look around. Silence, still silence, broken only by the occasional bird call or insect buzzing and whizzing or the odd car that you heard a minute before it passed. The heat, stifling, saw us retreat to the air-conditioned cabin. And then on again, driving for hours. Until at some point we decide to stop, just because we liked a town or were tired. It's a great life.
Our first stop was Burra, only less than 200 kms outside of Adelaide. We had set off late, and to be honest I was still thinking Irish distances and getting used to driving a bigger vehicle. Burra doesn't really make sense, stuck miles away from anything, until you learn its history. It started as a mining town, copper, in the mid 1800s, and the architecture reflects its glory days. Quaint buildings, restored beautifully, line the streets and square. The caravan park was quiet and off the main
Bush textures
Wilpena Pound, SA road with a pedestrian bridge connecting us to the town. We strolled up the main street and stuck our noses to the windows of antique shops, passing a friendly hello to the locals and exciting the few dogs guarding their owners homes. We noticed that despite the valiant efforts to create a tourist vibe many of the commercial and residential properties seemed to be for sale. It is a lovely spot and we were sad to see this. Alan cooked a storm, steak and onions, and we toasted to the good life, sitting outside watching the stars come out.
We've noticed that caravaners tend to go to bed early, and while this was strange at first, we've found we tend to fall asleep and wake up early, something my father won't actually believe from his many attempts to rouse me during my teenage years, and even into my twenties when he would drop by for some lunch only to be met with a bowl of cornflakes and a yawn. Well rested we moseyed on through the countryside and occasional town until we hit the outback proper, where the soil was a red and the fields weren't fields so much
A wee kangaroo
Sittin' on a log in Wilpena as some low level scrub bushes. And still no kangaroos. Having driven a few hundred kms we decided to stop and cranked up the gas on the side of the road for a cup of cha. Alan even drank his cup of tea in the middle of the road, so little traffic was there. Ever onward, we peeled ourselves from the blistering heat and turned Bruce on again, basking in the air-conditioned cool.
Another hundred kms and still no sign of much, we noticed the orange soil would swirl into dust devils from time to time. It's funny how you react to this type of thing, I kept checking the fuel gauge and thinking of episodes of Home and Away when some idiot would venture into the Outback and run out of fuel and then in an effort to seek help fall into a ravine and twist their ankle. Alan on the other hand was humming Nick Cave tunes and dreaming of becoming a boundary-rider (not a bounty-seeker, no, these guys apparently just ride up and down the vast fences and check for breaks - you think you know somebody...).
We stopped again and this time the stillness
Sunburnt Country
Somewhere near Hawker, SA was immense, the insects were so loud and it was powerful hot. We saw the bones of a kangaroo, so we knew we were getting somewhere. Making our way back to the van a convoy of three vans passed and slowed to check we were ok. The 'thumbs up' worked a treat, and it made me feel some relief to know that Home and Away over-dramatises somewhat (no surprise there then).
Around that time we came across some roadworks with cheerful men nodding at us as we passed and then a reasonably sized town, Hawker. After that the excitement began, Alan shrieking and me nearly losing control of Bruce - an EMU! We ground to a halt, probably terrifying the poor bird. Further on we saw our first Kangaroo and spent AGES looking at him, thinking that this was amazing. A mile on we had spotted seven, and ten miles on we were only slowing down for exceptionally cute ones. We saw more emus and looked at three of them gracefully walking together through the trees.
As we arrived in the Flinders Ranges National Park the sun was beginning to cast its early evening glow and the majestic
Desert blooms
South Australia mountains, so unusual after a long drive through flat plains, shone orange and red. We were delighted to be able to stop in Wilpena Pound for a few nights, such a lovely campsite, with kangaroos waking us every morning and huge insects everywhere. Amazing birds, bright green, with beautiful song flew from tree to tree.
It was there that we first encountered the flies, who seemed terribly excited to meet us, trying to buzz into our noses and ears. After a short walk that evening we resolved to go for a decent walk the next day and stocked up on water, thinking that three litres would be enough to get us as far as we wanted. That night we slept with the windows open, finding the heat hard to take. The next morning after hanging with the kangaroos for a while, we packed up and headed off with our supplies, sandwiches and everything.
We walked a few kms to the creek below the lookout, and then clambered up the stone, stopping for a drink every few hundred metres. When we got there, it was breath-taking. Afterwards we rested for a few minutes and set off on a trek
Wilpena Pound
View from the lookout. The Pound is an ancient valley eroded away to form a natural basin. to the waterfall.
After four more kms through the searing heat we were almost half way through our water and needing to stop. The taste of water was amazing, so refreshing, delicious. Of course under the shade of the trees we were watched by the kangaroos. Dry, absolutely bone dry is the only way to describe the soil. It seems amazing that trees are able to grow there at all, nevermind the 100,000 sheep that were set grazing on the pound back when the Empire prescribed such things. Needless to say the sheep don't graze there any longer.
As we stumbled along, I felt like the younger sister in Rabbit-Proof Fence, following behind Alan. I found myself thinking of the kangaroos, who apparently bounce as a result of that being the most efficient method of travelling long distances to find food. I considered bouncing, but the effort seemed too much. We stopped at a tree for our sandwiches, and as we tucked in the ants began to chomp our toes, creating a sort of food chain in motion, not very pleasant though.
A bit further on and a couple passed us going the other way - dressed
like Indiana Jones, with wide-brimmed explorer hats, full-mosquito nets over their faces, walking sticks, army fatigues. I felt a bit under-dressed in a t-shirt, shorts and a pair of flip-flops. They nodded and strode purposefully into the heat haze, Alan's words 'is there anything to see up there?' fading on the still air. Were they a mirage? Who knows. We had travelled seven and a half kilometres further, not far, too far for us though, we had less than half our water left and the sun was getting stronger. We weighed up the options and decided to head back, driving ourselves on with talk of a cup of refreshing tea back at the van. By the time we reached the creek, we were exhausted. Sitting down on the wooden seats we took our breath and wasted a little of our water on washing and cooling down our tired and dusty feet.
By the time we arrived back to Bruce we were exhausted and sat down fulfilled outside drinking cup after cup of tea, whistling to Matilda and only wishing we had a billycan and or a tucker-box to complete the picture!
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Ali
Ali Watters
Great!
Loving the blog guys - Aoife - keep on bouncing :)