Vanity Fair, My Rant - Or, a Vindication of the Rights of People to Read Classics (apol. to Wollstonecraft)

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single person in possession of a good holiday, must be in want of a book.


This was written while staying at Oodnadatta, which was a camping spot rather heavily occupied by mosquitoes, necessitating me to remove myself to the auspices of the caravan to finish my book. The strange language? I finished Vanity Fair - and that got me thinking...

I have just finished, for the third time, Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray, published in 1848. It is a rollicking good read. It's subtitle is 'a novel without a hero', because it has a heroine, she is a selfish little "seductress". There is also the wonderful, brave but ungainly Colonel / Major who is steadfastly in love with another character, who does not love him. Does he get his girl?...

(Are you with me so far?)

I admit it is rather long, 945 pages, and I was reading an old edition with gilt edges and fake leather binding (Lifeline booksale $2), Darren called it my Bible, and it indeed does look like one....

My point is - ...and I will get to it.... my point is this:

These old novels are highly under appreciated these days. I urge you to read one - just give it a go. They aren't all insipid love stories (though some of the best are, - love stories that is, not insipid). They don't all have heroines who simper on sofas and wait for men in breaches with glowering good looks to call on them ( Mills and Boon does that). How about Trying "Moll Flanders", about a female thief, and written by Defoe who wrote Gulliver's Travels; or "Vanity Fair" with Becky Sharpe at the helm, wreaking havoc amongst the gentry of Europe and England. Ladies, if you think your credit card is maxed out, you should read how Becky manages to live on less than nothing. It is a lesson in ingeniousness and spectacular lack of moral compass - great!

So please, please; for outrageous behaviour head to Vanity Fair, for romance you can't get past Pride and Prejudice, Emma or North and South; for a bit of spooky mystery read the Mysteries of Udolpho.. Pick up a classic and be transported to a world of visiting cards, balls and a coach and four - all good stuff don't ya know?

End of Rant, Thank you.

Oodnadatta

Felt bleak. We had followed our pink mud map of the Oodnadatta Track (all 406 km, 252 miles), from Marree to Oodnadatta, with its very useful and friendly info (we found that on the back of the map), and when we arrived I think we were a bit disappointed. The mud map was written by the people at the Pink Roadhouse, and we had read from other sources how Adam and Lynnie Plate had revitalised the popularity of the track by putting up information signs all along it, and the surrounding area, to encourage tourists like us to use the track and (ultimately I guess) stay with them at the Pink Roadhouse at Oodnadatta. The roadhouse itself is huge, and really is pink! Unfortunately it was being manned (womaned?) by 2 backpacker girls when we arrived, so we didn’t quite get the Plate welcome we were expecting. It was also a little too pricey for us to camp (yes, $16 a night seems a lot to us!), so we used our Wonder Camping Book, and camped just out of town by the bend of the local waterhole – so beautiful, but MOSSIES!

For the whole journey on this track we had had much difficulty pronouncing Oodnadatta, and had been calling it OoNANdatta…
It wasn’t until we arrived at the place, I worked out how to remind myself how to say it – OOOOOOOOOOOO - NAD - ATTA. With a real OOOOOOOO build up.
– I wonder Darren doesn’t throw from the car at speed….
Oh, he can’t the car doesn’t go at speed.

Lucky Me.

Algebuckina Bridge, The Old Ghan Railway, Oodnadatta Track

Built back in 1889 for the Old Ghan Railway ,this is the longest railway bridge in South Australia, having an overall length of 578 meters, with a height of 12metres from the river bed at it’s deepest point. It crosses Neales River and it was like stopping to be on a set of a World War film, where the only safe way out is via the railway. We clambered up the steep bank to the bridge itself. There was an information sign attached to the railway which some intrepid locals had shot through – you could still read most of it though - nice. In fact, many places we have been to see, when they are off the beaten track any the information boards have been peppered with bullet holes – we ARE in the Wild West peeps!

The track ran high over the river, with sleepers missing in parts. Fortunately, to stop people like Darren going out onto the track above the water, a gate had been put across the track. Unfortunately, someone had taken out the middle 4 poles of the gate for easy access to the track. I felt sick and dizzy when taking this picture of Darren, who of course had to go through the bars, but was not allowed far.

Detour off the O.T. to The Peake Ruins Oct 8, Day 27

15Km off the Oodnadatta track we had seen there were some ruins of a tiny village that had an overland telegraph repeater station at it from 1871 - 1879. It suggested it was a very 4 wheel drive track, so we decided to uncouple the caravan, and leave it near the track, and go to see this old place.

It took us about 40 minutes to travel the 15 Km, it was so bumpy and windy, but we were rewarded with a few stone houses, some in quite good repair, in the middle of nothing. I can only imagine what it would be like to have been living out there in the 1870’s, what a place to try to carve out a living for yourself. It puts our moans about going to work everyday in cosy offices, or with good shoes on our feet and hot food in our stomachs, to shame.

The buildings include the large telegraph repeater station, the kitchen building, a house/dwelling originally built for the Peake [cattle] Station in 1860s, a forge, a shop, and a few other buildings. There was also a copper mine and an artesian spring – from which I guess they all survived. The forge had loads of old machinery and bits of ancient broken bottles piled in it, and other building even had the old cast iron beds propped up in them – it reminded me of ours back home. These houses were a bit tidier than ours though – as you can see from the pictures!

Sitting on the rubble in one of the houses was a hawk that did not move an inch when Darren found it. This was only a baby. And was a much bigger baby than the tiny things we saw in the nest a few days before. In my opinion it was not to be messed with. If that was the baby – how big were the parents? And, WHERE were they?
I backed off (a long way off), Darren took pictures as close as he could, while it solemly surveyed him. I was a bit worried that it was not flying away because it was underfed, had lost it’s parents, and was exhausted (I was pretty hungry and tired myself). Darren said it’s parents would not be far away – hence my retreat – and sure enough, much to my relief, later as we were leaving in the car we saw one of them coming in overhead.

The things you see...

During our travels we have seen our fair share of animal remains and bones – this is the desert after all. However, when we left Beresford Siding to continue on our travels up the Oodnadatta Track, someone had put together beside the road, perhaps as a marker, this wonderful specimen sitting up watching the cars coming towards him!
Imagine suddenly seeing that if you were driving in the dark!

Dingo Spotted! – Day 26, Beresford Siding on the Oodnadatta Track

After an afternoon driving beside some of the old Ghan track at Beresford Siding, collecting wood from it and massive old nails, inspecting the old building and generally having a fossick, that evening I was lying in bed reading, and Darren, from outside the caravan somewhere, suddenly called to me to look out of the back window. There was a Dingo only a few meters away from our camp, a beautiful red/brown colour. She scarpered as soon as she realised she had been spotted, but it was my first close up view of one. We saw her a night later in the dark and Darren managed to get the grainy photo here.
Contrary to popular belief (Mother!), generally dingos don’t attack out of hand, and are more timid than we think – especially outback. The problem comes in places like Fraser Island where tourists feed them – that’s where the trouble starts!

Tues 6 Oct – Day 25 travelled 362Km (225 miles), Major Day of Events.

In Which We visit the ‘Go Away From Maree, We Don’t Want To Give You Information Centre’, We lose 2 Petrol Caps, We get on to the Oodnadatta Track, A Window is Broken, Darren Finds a Full Bird’s Nest and Has Two Baths (phew!)

Darren wanted to leave early from Mungerrannie, and since I wanted to wash my hair in a real shower (who knows when the next chance would be?), I had to get up at dawn with the sceaching birds. Fortunately I was rewarded with the most beautiful sunrise, causing me to take 10 minutes to walk to the shower block, because I kept taking pictures. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until I was in the shower I realised I had left the soap somewhere on the ground between the caravan and the showers, when I had put it down to take pictures. Shampoo had to do.
The photos included one of the old mail truck, which the first mailman, Tom Kruse (!), drove over the dunes and stony dessert to deliver mail through up to Birdsville. At the more difficult parts of the dunes, he left corrugated sheets of iron in the dunes, and then would drag them out so he could drive over them to stop him getting bogged. I am sure there were no complaints at the postal service in those days, they would have been just glad to have one!

So we left Mungerannie and it’s oasis of loud birds and bush pools, refreshed and ready for the next adventure. It was a pretty easy 215Km drive down to Marree, which is the other end of the Birdsville Track. It lies just South East of Lake Eyre, and from here we are at last going to gradually head North, around the west of Lake Eyre and up to Oodnadatta and then eventually on up to Alice Springs.

We stopped at Marree for supplies and fuel.
When Darren unlocked the petrol cap doors we discovered both caps had been stolen! Darren was furious, and showed everyone around him what those dirty rotten %**”$!!* (people) had done to us. He had spoken on the first night at Mungerranie to a couple in a Toyota Troopcarrier like ours. He assumed they must have snuck over to our camp and unlocked the cap doors and stolen them. What is the most dirty thing about it, is that there are only unsealed road out of there, so we had driven over 200 ks with all the dust flying in through the loose doors into our petrol(diesel) tanks.
I made the mistake of questioning whether he might have left them at the last petrol station in Birdsville. At this point an elderly lady who was listening gave me a look that said that I was very game to suggest such a thing to this bear with a sore head. Darren treated my question with the scorn it apparently deserved and went in to the petrol station (also the local store and coffee shop) to tell the proprieter. After the story had been told once again to a new group of people, the owner, amazingly, said he had 2 caps that fitted , that other people HAD left behind by mistake. Lucky, lucky, Lucky! While Darren put them on, he told any newcomers what had happened. He was, ‘a bit cross’.

We decided to push on; the excitement of at last heading North was too good. We were looking for any info. on the Oodnadatta track, on which we were about to venture, so we stopped at the Marree Information Centre. Or should I call it the ‘Go Away From Maree, We Don’t Want To Give You Information Centre’?
The lady in there did not seem happy with her job.
She was on the phone when we went in, and she frowned at us as we entered the coolness of the room. We meekly stood quietly by the desk, as that seemed to be required by her. She continued to ignore us, but she was on a business call, so that seemed OK. Ironically we noticed it was also called the ‘communications centre’ (I think you could use their internet). On her desk was a holder full of pink A4 paper with a mud map on it (hand drawn). This covered the Oodnadatta track, with places of interest along the way, but as it appeared to be just a map, and I wanted a bit more info, I hoped they might have something more. When she got off the phone she just looked at us… So, Mr and Mrs Chipper smilingly, and with cheery ‘hellos’, asked what info she might have on the Oodnadatta track. She unsmilingly pointed towards the pink A4 sheets. I chirpily asked if she had anything else?
“No, and that’s $2”
“Right, (all smiles) $2 it is!”
We took one of the pink sheets, handed over a precious $2 coin - goodess knows what would have happened if we had needed change! – and headed for the door. Darren stopped, “Didn’t you want to use the internet?”, he said to me. I glared at him “ No, no” said Mrs Chipper, “it can wait!”, and with a dazzling smile and cheery “goodbye!”, we got the h*ll of the there.
Even Darren agreed she was pretty rude, and not the sort of person for an information centre - shouldn’t they be cheery ladies that work there part time and make jam and knit sweaters for their grandchildren?
As we walked to the car, I saw that the photocoped paper was called ‘A free map of the Oodnadatta Track’. I was too scared to go back…

There was quite a crowd at Marree – of police. All on a policeman’s holiday, I think they came from Bourke and surrounds. As we left Marree at the start of the Oodnadatta track we were in convoy with about 4 other cars. In the end, we decided to let them pass so we could see the road in front of us, rather than dust. A couple of cars had cardboard taped to the back window. We had been told the night before by our ‘Zim’ friends that this was to prevent stones flying up and rebounding from the caravan onto the back window and breaking it.
Note to self: get cardboard.

While we had stopped we put together lunch. We had stopped near the Old Ghan railway track. The Oodnadatta track follows this old railway line pretty much all the way to Oodnadatta, making for some excellent heritage stops where there have been railway sidings and stops. We went to look at the track, and part of the low bridge it went over. Darren, being Darren, (just call me Mrs. Attenborough), found a tiny birds nest just tucked down by the old track on the bridge, and called for me to take a look. When I briefly peered at it, I saw it was full of very young fledglings. I immediately told Darren to come away, as the poor mother bird would be terrified to find us there. D took a few pictures while I looked anxiously at the sky. He saw the mother calling in a tree nearby – poor thing. I then got very anxious, and ran for it, convinced she would swoop down on us – I would have. He said she wouldn’t as he started to come away from the nest area – and then she did give a couple of dives at us – I was secretly pleased. We waited quite some distance away, until we saw the parents return to the nest. I know Darren hadn’t touched the nest, but I was afraid they might now abandon it after Harry the Heffalump had been looking at it.

Remember what I wrote about putting cardboard on the back window?....You guessed it! As we were driving along I looked back and the larger of the 2 back windows had completely shattered. The tinting film was the only thing holding it in place. Arghghghgh! And this road was one of the best unsealed roads we had been on.
Note to self: get cardboard.

The artesian springs that are dotted around this area really caught Darren’s imagination, and after the very warm dip at Mungerrannie, he was keen for more. There were a couple I had earmarked to go to along the way, Coward Springs and Mound Springs, I just wanted to see Lake Eyre. As there was a lookout to it and Darren was still happy driving, we carried on intending to reach the springs after the lookout. Lake Eyre was a bit disappointing. I really wanted to get up close, and the road lookout I think was a bit too far away. We had decided on the return trip back past Lake Eyre, on our way down to the Flinders Ranges, we would go on the 4 wheel drive road out to it and perhaps camp a night. So next stop Mound Springs.
Mound Springs is a 2Km detour off the Oodnadatta track. It has 2 main springs in the Conservation park. WE stopped at the first one, called The Cup, and it was like walking up to the edge of a big tea cup to see rather slimy water in it. A bit disappointed we got back in the car and drove to the next one. There was noone in sight, and Darren bounded up the walkway ahead of me. The next thing I asw was him way ahead was stripping off and disappearing. Raising my eyebrows a fraction, I stopped to read the information sign. It told of tiny crustaceans and snails living on the water’s edge, and how swimming was not permitted…
Oops.
I walked up the rest of the hill to see the walkway stop over a small pool of water. No Darren; just his clothes. I went to the edge of the walkway and looked down into a pool that was only about 3 meters diameter (10ft ish), containing Darren who is about 1.85m (diameter?!). Talk about a large fish in a small pond! He looked so delighted I felt pretty mean telling him he wasn’t allowed to be in there. Beneath him it was very shallow, and he could push himself along with his hands on the bottom. It was sandy on the bottom and was bubbling up sand and water beneath him. He didn’t like going to near these areas of moving sand, and got particularly freaked out when he thought something had grabbed him from under the water! This really made him get out quicker, though he later realised as he left the water, the ‘thing’ was actually the root of a plant; we were almost disappointed.
I could see the road from where I was, and the 2 cars coming our way. Darren dressed at lightening speed and scurrying to our car, but feeling a bit guilty, we made our getaway.
So – complete success at those Springs. Still feeling buoyant from that excitement, we drove the 10 Ks or so to Coward Springs. This is another natural spring and old homestead that had been renovated by the new owner. My (old) guidebook said you could have a dip in the springs for a nominal fee, or camp there. When we arrived we were disappointed to find that we had to pay to get in to the area at all, and money being tight (even $5 a head is a lot to us), we drove away again.

Darren had driven nearly 350Km (215 miles), and we knew it was time to stop. We have a book camp sites in Australia, called CAMPS 5, this lists all the free sites, and ones under $20 a night. Our copy has pictures of most of the sites. The next nearest sites both looked grim, no shade and right by the road. We headed for the first and I said that hopefully it will be better than the picture. Rather upbeat of me, don’t you think?
Beresford Siding was decided upon, all we knew was that the old Ghan train used to stop there. We arrived, and it was clear that whoever had taken the photo for the book, had taken it from the road and kept on driving. There was a track running into some trees, past the open area of the photograph. To our disbelief the track ran past a big dam of water and opened out into a dusty area next to the dam with trees around it. Hoorah! Nirvana! The track then dipped down over a ridge out of sight. After we had uncoupled the caravan and set up, we went for a further explore.
We followed the track down and up the dip and came to an old railway building- Beresford Siding. There was a sign in it, explaining that the property belongs to Anna Creek Station, a mere 70 Km (43 miles) away, and believed to be the world’s largest cattle property. Behind it was an unfenced field and the track went past the building. All the sleepers of the railway were missing nearest to the house where hundreds of campers before us had used the building, and the sleepers for firewood. This is not vandalism, it is an accepted use of the wood all the way to Alice Springs. Near the house there was a big pipe coming out of the ground, which we followed to find it was a constantly flowing artesian bore directed into a cattle trough.
Darren got excited again, and really, I had to agree this was too good a photo opportunity to miss. Off came the clothes (again!), and in true Wild Western style he leapt into the trough. It felt freezing! Meanwhile I tried to get into a good spot to take a photo, and started being bitten by mosquitoes, which completely deranged me. Poor Darren had to sit in the trough, waiting for me to take a photo, while I hopped about, slapping my back, and squealing that I had been bitten. I completely spoilt his moment. Still, I took the photo, Darren hopped out pretty smartish, got dressed and we continued on our exploration.

There was also a massive water softener drum which prepared the bore water for the steam engines of the trains which of course Darren immediately climbed up. He said from that height you could see the railway track for miles – but I still wasn’t tempted to climb.
All that in one day! Because we had clean flowing water – a real treat - we decided to stay for at least a couple of days.

Mungerannie Roadhouse, Birdsville Track - nearest stops 315 Km to Birdsville, 205Km to Maree A Desert Oasis

Literally, a desert oasis. Mungerannie Roadhouse must be one of the most remote roadhouses in Australia. It is just off the Birdsville Track, nearly half way down to Marree. Amongst the trees are the most amazing wetlands, with hundreds and hundreds of birds living there, or like us, just migrating through and stopping for refreshment.

We walked into the bar area to check our caravan in for a couple of nights, and to my delight a classic, rather unkempt old chap with an abundance of crazy white hair under his hat greeted us. We checked in, 2 nights ($32 total).

There were closely growing trees and bamboo, with large paths for caravans and cars to drive in to, in which to camp. Further into the trees there were openings that lead out into the wetlands area, beyond that were sand dunes leading back out to the desert. Darren dozed and I actually felt compelled to go for a walk. Armed with my camera and home-made fly hat I set off to walk around the wetland area to get to the dunes….
perhaps now is the time to tell you about my fly hat?
In an effort to save $12 each for 2 fly nets that go over a hat, before we left I had gone to Spotlight and bought 3 meters of netting and some elastic. I had sewed them so the elastic fitted around the brim of my white hat and the netting came down around me. Everyone else’s netting stopped around their neck, mine stopped at my waist, so I looked like some strange bride with white shirt and trousers on, a large brimmed white hat, and a black veil over my face and half my body….(Bride of Dracula?) However no Bride of Dracula would have lasted 2 seconds in the sun that was burning down as I went started my walk, she would have been ash within 2 steps! (Tel-tale Buffy watching reference). It was hot, but beautiful. The sky was bright blue, there were morehen – looking birds paddling in the water, and cockatoos, galahs and kingfishers in the trees. When I walked near some trees to get around the wet, the cockatoos set up such a squark to warn, who? Other cockies, I suppose. It was almost embarrassing while other people were just sitting on the edge of the wetlands enjoying the peace, and I was walking with all these birds screeching at me. As I hurriedly left the trees where they were, they stopped and I had a quieter walk around to the other side of the small ponds.
There were so MANY birds! Right here in the middle of the desert. To the East from us (but with no direct road), was Innaminka, which is where I supposed many birds had come from, or were going to. But even Innaminka is about 200 Km as the cockatoo flies. I guess they too must make use of the water bores along the Birdsville track to get so deep into the desert. And boy, these cute feathered friends were to be SO extremely noisy in the late evening, and at dawn. What a screeching and squarking and carry on there was to be in the mornings! (Marcus, you would have hated it!). At the moment though, I was blissfully ignorant of the alarm clock that was going to pierce our ear drums while we tried to slumber in the mornings. At the moment they were creatures of wonder in the desert.

By the water there were white barked, leafless trees with many birds perched on them, and I spent a long time taking happy snaps of them. A small kingfisher taunted me with his colours, by being just out of range to take a picture, so I spent most of the time with the zoom on the max, and trying to keep a steady hand. I was rewarded at last by one goodish picture of the kingfisher, but not before many blurry takes, and many flies in the frame. ‘Cos there were flies all right. It looked like I was walking alone, but really it was me and a buzzing mass of flies that went for that walk. In the end, I got their hint, and walked back in quest of a shower.

When I got back to the caravan I heard Darren call very quietly but distinctly to me, and eventually found him near our caravan in the middle of a bush. Completely unsurprised (for it would have been more extraordinary if I had found him in the caravan like any one else), I asked him what he was doing there. While I had been chasing birds, Darren had found a goanna which he was stalking with his camera. The goanna was staying very still and not doing a thing, and Darren had to patiently wait till he could get an ‘action shot’. In the end, he left his camera on the ground, videoing, in the path of it. Much to his delight when he played it back, the reptile had the last word. (See video).

After we had had our David Attenborough moments we settled down for a drink with our new neighbours, two sisters and their husbands. Darren had seen one husband at the Petrol station in Birdsville just before we left. Since he had seemed to have been having some trouble with the fan belt Darren had of course struck up conversation at Mungerranie, and they were soon both peering into his bonnet, in the classic ‘how many blokes does it take to work out what is wrong with a car’ way men have about them. They had all been living in Zimbabwe (or ‘Zim’, as they called it), but had left and lived in Brisbane, and were of the age also to call it Rhodesia. Great people , they fed Darren delicious dip (always a crowd pleaser), and we had a chat about life out there for them. That is the lovely thing about caravan sites over 200 Km from anywhere, you are always going to meet good people, and makes me a bit sadder that we don’t stay at the official parks more often – but $16 a night is a stretch for us!

Dotted around the desert are artesian hot springs which bubble up from the centre of the earth. Some at boiling point, others at a more bearable temperature. We are headed for the largest of these, Dalhousie Springs, 794Km away. Here however they also had a spring, and had created a ‘bush pool’, made from railway sleepers, and filled with very warm spring water. It had been a warm day, but the temptation of what was, ostensibly, a hot bath, was too much for either of us. The owners had even provided plastic chairs to sit on in the water. As the sun set behind the sand dunes, Darren and I eased ourselves into the water and enjoyed a good soak. All that was needed was a wine and a beer to make things perfect!

Day 23, Oct 4 At Last – The Birdsville Track

Early morning we packed up and were ready to hit the road at 7.30. By 7.45 we hit the Birdsville Track. This is the 517 Km route (316 miles) the drovers used to take when taking cattle down from QLD down to Marree and thence to Adelaide. Birdsville is a few kilometres North of the South Australian border and this was where the customs were collected. Bores have been sunk intermittently about every 50km along the track to enable the cattle to make the long trip. Now big trucks carry the cattle down it.
This was to be our first major off road driving experience. We were excited and wary. We drove out of Birdsville, past the race track, then off the bitumen onto ‘The Track’. We hit the chalky road with trepidation, and…..well, nothing. It was flatter and better road than any other unsealed road we had coped with so far! A bit of a disappointment really. The guide books had said an ordinary car could possibly do the trip, but that hadn’t really registered. The first vehicle we passed was a lone biker wrapped up against the wind and dust – that should have told us it was not going to be too bad. We had 315km to go before the first camp stop at Mungerannie Roadhouse, there was however some amazing scenery along the way, passing the Sturt Stony Desert on our left (yes, more fields of rocks and pebbles) and the red sand Simpson Desert on our right. For a while we listened to African music on the ipod, which made me want to look out for lions and tigers (“…and bears, oh my!”*). After a couple of hundred kilometres we suddenly came across a large dam/pool of water just by the road, with 2 large jabaroos (birds) taking a drink and appearing to be in the middle of their courtship. These fled as soon as Darren approached to take video (what wouldn’t!), but first gave a sort of dance with their long necks going up and down, reminding me of emus, to perhaps warn him away? Seeing water in the vast expanse of nothing was surprising to say the least, and we supposed it to be one of the old bore holes for cattle.

*Wizard of Oz

Birdsville – The Book ( a quick plug for my friends at Pearson)

Just recently published by Penguin (Blagh – Pearson! Sorry Shils and J), is a book by Evan McHugh called, you guessed it – “Birdsville” (my year in the back of beyond). Shileen had been reading it just before we left Sydney, and it was in most of the shops in the town. Unfortunately, food money comes before book money and we couldn’t buy one, but we met a few of the characters in the book – the SA nurse who now works in the bakery there, had a great chat with us while we ate her camel pies (true), and also Ron the QLD National parks Ranger, and his wife Lynne, who works at the library. Ron knows my friend Shileen’s brother, and good to our word to Shils, we sought him out and had a cuppa with him on the Friday. That is the great thing about these really small towns, people are happy to stop and ‘have a yarn’ with you, and don’t mind if you come and knock on their door saying that your best friend’s brother worked with them, and how about some tea?
The book looks great (not just the cover), and I recommend everyone to read it to get an understanding of what sort of life it is over there in such a remote town of 250 people.
[ISBN-13 9780670072712 Viking imprint - info for my book buddies]

Wednesday 30 September - hot, HOT, HOT

So far in our travels we had not really encountered any very warm days, even Tibooburra, reputedly the hottest town in NSW, had found me in a sweatshirt in the strong winds. However, after we arrived at Birdsville we got a real sense that we were near the desert.
Quite a bit of Tuesday aftternoon had been spent in the Birdsville pub (sightseeing only, of course). Wednesday, we knew, was tipped to be about 40 degrees (105F). We organised ourselves so that Darren went to the Birdsville Working Museum, while I went to the library to write blog and get away from the heat. The museum was amazing. The chap that owned it had collected hundreds of old bits and pieces, from cars to mixers to bits of steam engines to……, Darren was there for about 2 hours. When he came to collect me from the library there as nothing we could do but face the heat and go back to the caravan. It felt over 40, and had that burning sensation when we walked in the sun. It was like moving in a hairdryer and breathing in it’s air.
A swim was called for immediately we got back to the caravan, and we were most grateful at how cold the water was. I swam in a t-shirt and bikini, and then sat in the wet t-shirt in the caravan, glad of the shirt’s coolness, while I continued to type. This blog has become a monster, and needs constant attention or it gets very out of hand – rather like a child I would imagine! The typing kept my mind off the heat, and I continued after supper. Darren in the mean time had been for about 3 swims and had a snooze. When I stopped typing at 10 to 10, the car said it was still 38 degrees! ,We considered soaking our sheets in the creek and then sleeping in them, but decided that might be taking things a bit far. There was a cool change that was going to come through in the night, and from stillness there did indeed come a rustle then a strong wind and the temperature dropped with its usual suddenness, by morning I was back under a duvet.
The hot day hat concentrated our minds, however, on the heat ahead of us. We were going to go around the Simpson desert, and then make our way up to Alice, then go to King’s Canyon and Uluru. We were very aware that we are right at the end of the season to go to the Red centre, and did not want to get to Uluru when it was too hot to do any walking. So, despite the fact we had the best camping spot, with wonderful views and a swimming hole on our door step, we decided we should leave in the next day or so, as we still had a long way to go….

STOP PRESS....STOP PRESS.....: What is STOP PRESS?

Right people, Stop press is when I have a chance to write online something that we are doing at - that - moment.
Eg: Today is really 24 October, and I am not in Birdsville (as per last blog) but have travelled a few hilarious miles on, and am stranded in Coober Peedy. Those of you in England find Alice Springs on the map (in the middle), and then go down 600 km. Right, that is where we are .
Last night we tried to put up the caravan, which requires winding a lever and it magically 'pops up'. Or did. Now 3 corners magically pop up, while the other corner magically doesn't. Even mister fixit man is stumped as it will require pulling apart in a major way to get to the pulleys.
Oh, and did I tell you yesterday was 40 degrees (105 F), and that today is the same?
We could do nothing but get a motel for the night, (bathroom, tv, mattress...VERY nice!) This morning, we have managed to get out of the caravan the mattress and bedding ( everything is folded in on its self you see), and tonight we are sleeping in a cave.
True.
We are sleeping at a caravan park which is underground. We have put a mattress in our space with the bedding and will sleep like that. The 2 girls 2 caves down have actually put up their tent underground (I think they are French...).
Here at Coober Peedy most peole live underground. They really are cavemen.

Right now it is 39.27 in the car (still around 105F) so I am sitting outside at the public noodling area of Coober Peedy. I can hear Darren noodling in the stone heaps nearby...
Ofcourse, if it was a public CA-noodling area I would be with him, but I guess only noodles want to noodle at 10 to 6 in the evening in 40 degrees.
So what is noodling I hear you ask? (...or I wish I did cos then you would be here and we could go for a beer while Darren does his nooodle -thing)
Noodling is when you go through someone elses cast off rocks and dust which they have already mined, in the hope you find an opal. Yes, we are in Opal Mining country, people! Darren even asked for luck when he went off (axe in hand - I ask you!), he wants to find me an opal.
SO, HEAR I SIT. Surrounded in dust piles, practically on the set of Mad Max 3, drinking very warm lemonade, utilising the mobile while I can. Because that is the first thing you think - "Hey, I'm sitting on a dustpile, in the middle of nowhere, at 40 degrees; I wonder if the computer will work?"

Tonight another 18" pizza (Darren has most of it), with Nick at his restaurant, a good friend of Darren's sister, Fiona. Then tomorrow up early, and complete change of plan - not East to the Fliders ranges, but South to Port Augusta where we hope on Monday to get our caravan fixed. We wil be using the tent in the mean time, luckily the weather is going to cool down in the next day or so.
So THAT is a STOP PRESS.... now back to Birdsville!....
STOP PRESS..........STOP PRESS............STOP PRESS...........STOP PRESS...........STOP PRESS......STOP PRESS.....

Day 20 - 23 Birdsville QLD

Birdsville was a revelation. It is the most remote place in Queensland, and therefore – my Lonely Planet guide tells me – one of the most remote in Australia. I had expected a lot of Simpson Desert and a pub, but it is an oasis. It was originally called Birtsville (true) after the 1st person to open a shop there for the drovers on the track down to Adelaide (this became the Birdsville track). However Birt did not want the community named after him, so they changed it to Birdsville.

And birds there are.

We camped outside the town boundary at a free camp spot right on the Diamantina river. We hadn't even expected any water to be there. we were perched high above the river with a steep sandy slop D naturally wanted to go for a swim so we silthered down the slope to the river bed. It was deep from the edge of the water, which was clay - and very slippery. Darren first went in. He said it was pretty cold, and that it was a slippery bank under the water to the deeper water. I put one foot in the water, it was freezing! There was no slow way to get in, and I was hot, so i gingerly put another foot under the water - which immediately slid away from me, and there was no wat to stop myself from sliding all the way in - HAH COLD! (see video)...

I had to climb on Darren's back to try and get away from the cold, nearly knocking him over - and you know how much I love to be cold.



It was wonderful to have this pool right by the caravan, albeit a chilly one, and we settled down to a few days of R and R. Spent one day typing up the blog as there was a computer at the library i could use to talk to all. We had thought Birdsville might have Telstra mobile range. This has been one if the most important things to me on the trip – not being able to phone home. So far I have had to make several calls from phone boxes along the way, but unlike UK phones, parents cannot call me back, so $10 gives me enough time to establish all OK here and there, and maybe one amusing anecdote from either end of the phone , then all over. There was mobile coverage, but only from Optus. Optus! – For UK people that is like having a village that has no BT or Vodafone coverage, but has coverage from Virgin! Well blow me down with a feather! I had much debate whether to buy a $30 Optus card for my phone to use just there, but I figured (rightly) I probably would not use it enough in the few days we were to be there to warrant it, so it was back to the pay phone for me. Apparently Telstra only come to town for the Birdsville races when 6500 people converge on the place and they feel it is worth their while, otherwise Optus look after the area – which is mad really, considering the number of people that come out of the desert at Birdsville from NT, and could probably do with using their phone. Bad business dicision, maybe I should write a letter?

Last 100 Kms to Birdsville and the 'Devil's Temptation' - or, 'You can think too much on a long trip!'

And so on to Birdsville.
They are making a bitumin road to Birdsville, and for many Kilometers we were driving on the original dirt track, and - amazingly - alongside the new sealed road. There were no signs to indicate we could go on the new road. There was NO ONE around, working on it. It was surely the Devil's Temptation.
We bumped along beside the smooooooth blackness. We might as well have been children with our noses pressed against the candy store window. MMMMMmmmmmmm Bitumin.

We could see where the temptation had become too much for other drivers and where they had crossed over onto the sealed road. Their dusty tracks continued for a while on the blackness, then evaporated and could be seen no more. It made you wonder if that too had happened to the cars and their inhabitants. Had they sold themselves to the devil for the sake of a smoooth road? Were they now, in fact, on an endless hellish bitumin highway, with no turns from the road, and no pies or cooling drinks for which to stop?...
Or perhaps had they just reached the Birdsville pub a lot quicker?
Was this the ultimate temptation?

It was just too much, and I felt like Christian leaving the marked path in the Pilgrim's Progress, as i gave the nod to follow suit and cross over to 'the dark side'.
But it was no 'Valley of Despond' like Christian's detour, but smooooooth and black, and a relief from the bumping,
...and a bit sticky,
...and with quite a lot of crackling sounds as the free bitumin chips flew up against the caravan
...and we just got to thinking what the hot probably still sticky tar was doing to our trusty wheels...
and we were back on the unsealed road in a hurry.

No devil, no temptations put in our path to test us, just the QLD roads authority being sensible.
Made us need to get to that Birdsville pub even quicker; our minds were clearly fuddled, and we had beeen on the road too long!

Innamincka to Birdsville - via Cordillo Downs Road (301Km of Hell's Road)

We were warned not to take the short road to Birdsville, due to deep sand in places on the road. As we are trying to be sensible, we took the next shortest route, via Cordillo Downs, a homestead which has the largest sheep shearing shed in Australia. This part of the journey would be 301Km (187 miles). A long long road.
As we travelled, it was as though the farmers had "ploughed the fields and scattered" thousands of stones across their fields. What did they want to grow? Boulders? Miles and miles of bumpy , rocky road, surrounded by fields of stones - literally. Occasionally there were dry creek beds to cross, and the road would suddenly curve around for no apparant reason, then go down into the creek bed, and then up the other side to another - field of stones. Amazing.
As we went across these fields of stones it looked as though the road should continue straight, but it would suddenly turn in a great arc, seemingly to avoid some massive obstacle, not visible to the naked eye; and then resume it's trajectory. After avoiding 40 or so of these invisible boulders, and crossed as many winding creek beds, we were O-V-E-R IT.

We had a minor break from this tedium when we stopped to look at the largest shearing shed in Australia. There were quite a few old pieces of equipment in it, which darren and I had fun playing with.
We also stopped to look at Caldega homestead ruin. This had an old car out the back of it, so there were some good photo opportunities. It is extraordinary how the people survived in this harsh landscape. I am amazed they survive today - especially after all those stone fields.

At last, after 275 Km and 26 Km before the road met the highway (no bitumen) to Birdsville, we crossed over from SA to QLD. The road improved dramatically, and with lighter hearts and a deal more chat (rather than the stony silence - groan), we arrived at our turning.
Just before we met the 'highway', we were travelling on a road higher than it, and could look down on the highay. We saw a massive pile of dust moving along it. We could just make out the road train which was chewing up the road and belching out behind it what looked like massive bushfire smoke. For those not in the know, Road trains are huge trucks which transport freight across the interior of Australia. Often they have 2 or 3 trailers behind them. If you are driving towards one on an unsealed road it is best to ideally stop and get off the road while it passes, because it creates such a dust storm in its wake you can't see a thing till it has settled. then continue on your way. ( See attached video - very exciting!) the truck we were looking at made for a good photo opportunity. I really felt we were out there amongst it.

The Ladies Guide to Showering in 'The Bush'

1. Be prepared. After many hours of research buy a 'bush shower'. This consists of a clear plastic bag with black backing, from which is attached a tube with a (very) small shower nozzle, which can be opened and closed (are you still following?...)
2. Fill bag with natural source of water - NOT drinking water, people, this shower water will be mud red in colour.
3. Leave to heat on car in sun.
4. Hang on tree. Don't let your husband try and hang it up, because he won't realise there is a pole with which to hang it up, and will consequently rip the handle off trying to hang it up without the pole.
5. Make sure someone else tries the shower first, (there is cold water in the tube that needs to be used first - this is much colder - hear'em squeal).
6. Give lots of advice to other person on how to have the shower - they will really appreciate this, and monitor how much water they use.
7. Having assessed safety of shower, ie., that it is warm, and will stay hanging from the tree and not land on you, then disrobe.
8. DON'T believe husband that no one is around and that getting naked is OK, other campers / friends WILL turn up while you are mid wash.
9. When showering - be quick, it will not be as warm as you have been told it is.
10. While washing, try not to dwell on the irony of the mud brown water mixing with the $28 hair conditioner, or the 80 flies buzzing around trying to help you. Remember this is not a Mosman salon, ladies.
11. Don't mind that when you dry there will be a new, cleaner pink dust over you from the water.

Bernie's Tale of Innaminka and Coongie Lakes

So Darren had new friends, Matt, who kindly asked us to join them for a beer when we met them; Dan, Matt's mate, whom Darren went with on the great boar hunt, and Bernie, Dan's father who has be coming up to Innaminka for years.
Bernie had with him an account of one of these visits from several years ago, which one of his mates had written. they went up to Coongie Lakes one year and it had flash flooded, so much so that they had difficulty getting to Innaminka, which was also flooded. The floods can be pretty hostile when they happen.
When they managed to get to Innaminka, someone at the pub (owner??) said that all the roads were inpasable and that they would have to stay there.
He had with him a doctor, amongst others, and they eventiually managed to convince a local man to show them out of the area. The doctor agreed to look at the man's sick daughter, and he agreed to show them out. the landowner? publican? was quite adamant about the impassable roads, but this was csting everyone a lot of money for supplies so they really wanted to get out (not to mention needing to get back for work etc). His group arranged to steal away with the local man's help. They had to sneak away in small groups surreptitiously, and managed to get away over the 'fields'.
Real cloak and dagger stuff!

Final comments on Innaminka...

On our last evening there I went with Darren for a walk up the creek. It was so beautiful. He wanted to try and catch some fish (groan), but unfortunately didn't catch anything. It was really peaceful as the sun went down, very little wind for a change, and with noone around as we followed a narrow path over sand and then loads of big boulders, then winding through trees along the shoreline...even I enjoyed it, really really peaceful - this is what it is all about!

In Which we introduce you to Dilly the Desert Mouse, the dearest thing on four legs

On the day after our arrival at Innaminka, Darren and I were sitting in Camp when I spotted something speed across the ground and into our wood pile. Darren hadn’t seen it, and we were soon cautiously investigating the pile of wood. There was another flash of movement as something went around the back of it.
Then we saw what looked to be the tiniest mouse known to man. Her body was only about an inch and a half long, and she had long quivering whiskers, a long slim tail and big eyes. We saw that it in fact she didn’t run, but hopped about.

It was tiny and perfect and inquisitive

We dived for our cameras, and she proceeded to entertain us with her exploration of Darren’s thong (…not his underwear – his flip flop – talk about Lost in Translation). After taking a nibble at it, and not being too impressed, she ran over to our cooking plate which she gave a thorough vacuuming, despite there being little on it. After another inquisitive look around, she headed for the chair over which Darren’s jacket was hanging. She ran straight up into the jacket. She then kept appearing and disappearing down the holes of the sleeves and pockets, much to our amusement and wonder.

She was the smallest, dearest, most perfect little thing. Mrs Tittlemouse could not have been sweeter…

Eventually after a good exploration of Darren’s coat, many beady glances at us, and a 100 photo and video opportunities, she scurried down from the chair and off across the camp back to the undergrowth. She had probably decided she had delighted her public enough for the moment.

I called her ‘Dilly the Desert Mouse’, and had felt great friendship towards the tiny thing, as she bravely went about her business. It quite made my day.

In which we introduce Dilly to our new friends, and Something Goes Badly Wrong

In the afternoon Matt, Dan and Bernie came to join our camp for the night, before they headed off in the morning. Once again, Dilly appeared.
She had a good rustle in the wood pile then went back over to the chair. The boys all went over to look at her. They all thought she was lovely.
She was moving slowly around the open ground as they looked down at her. Out of nowhere, suddenly – WHOOSH! – a bird swooped down between the men’s legs, grabbed her – and she was gone.
There was a startled silence, then we all groaned at once – “ NOooo!” Then, I am ashamed to admit, we bust into laughter at the shock and surprise of it.
“Did you see that?” cried Matt.
Unfortunately we had. I had been getting my camera ready to film her again, and just missed filming Dilly’s demise.
I was horrified, even Darren thought it was a cruel blow for poor Dilly, though they were laughing about it. Bernie, Dan’s father seemed very effected, and quietly went to sit down to contemplate what had happened.

Poor Dilly! One moment out for a walk and entertaining us all, and the next, BAM! – Lunch.

Dilly the desert mouse RIP
(now Dilly the Dessert Mousse)

Sunday 27 September Day 16 To Innaminka, SA new friends and a 'dead bore'

After a really good sleep, woke to thankfully find it a lot less windy. Had quite a debate whether to go up to Innaminka, or to skip it and head down to Marree via the Strzelecki Track and head straight for Alice Springs. Shileen and Jason had st
ayed at Innaminka only a few months before, and nearby Coongie Lakes is her father’s favourite camp spot. It just had to be done.

Went up the Old Strzelecki track which is a shorter route and less frequented with trucks. This traverses oil and gas country, and once again I felt transported to the good ole U.S. of A. Had lunch looking at the working oil bores, however it was stil pretty windy so the sandwiches I made on the track really were sand wiches, with a strange crunch to them. Still, ate heartily, as this passenger business is heavy work.
We decided not to stay in town (it is actually almost less than a village), but went to explore Cullyamara Waterhole, about 12Km (7 ½ miles) or so from Innaminka.
Apparantly it is one of the most significant waterholes in central Australia, being an important stop for migrating birds, and feeding the wildlife around it. It is beautiful and pretty much deserted. A track runs along near the shore with smaller tracks off it to the water’s edge and the camping spots. The water is a few meters below the camp spots as the river has eroded the shore line. After we had set up, we decided to go for a drive to see how far the road and camping area went – miles! After about a 10 minute bumpy drive we eventually came to the end of the camping area. And ther we saw – life! 2 guys and an older man were standing in the clearing by their car, so we stopped to say g’day (as one does).
They had just been to watch the grand final of Aussie Rules at the pub. AAAArgh D had forgotten about it! So much for Roger’s idea that he would be there watching the footie in some local pub with the locals with some dead animal he had just killed slumped over the bar, with a bloody arrow in it…( thank you for your prophesy on that one Rog!). Darren was pretty annoyed he had forgotton, so needed to hear all about the game, so we got out to join them for a drink at their camp spot. The great thing about travelling with your fridge in the car, is that you have a coldie and meat ready for a barbie invite wherever you are. Perfect.
We walked over to their camp which was a little beyond the camp boundary in the reserve. They told us about a boar that had come to have a look at them in the camp the evening before. Later, while we were trying to hit a piece of wood in the water with a slingshot (I cricked my neck trying), we heard the boar snorting in the undergrowth a little way off. Darren and Dan, one of the guys, immediately were off after it….10 minutes later they came back victorious, having... er...'got' it. It was no more. I have to remind myself that these animals are vermin, and the ranger had been telling us that they have to have hunting days to keep the numbers of the boar and dingo down. ( Still I still feel for the sucker).
So this was very exciting and Darren has new friends now. He went at 6 am the next day for a long walk with Dan again, and that evening they all joined us at our camp for a ‘yarn around the fire’ and more food sharing. That was when I introduced them to ‘Dilly’ ….

Cameron Corner, where you can be in 3 States at once (and pay $2 a litre for petrol)

The buildings consist of a pub, motel-like accommodation and a few out buildings. The pub has a small public frontage and a side dining room. Outside across a dusty paddock is a lone white plinth (favourite word) of about a metre high. This marks the geographical point where the corners of Queensland and New South Wales meet South Australia. At the moment we could hardly see it, because of the dust swirling around it. Decided to go and do the photo thing tomorrow.

We hoped to get a room for the night rather than put up the caravan in the howling wind, but the landlord – a strangely quiet man of few words – said a bus tour had booked them all, but it was possible that they wouldn’t make it, and if not then we could have a room. Darren and I retired to a corner of the pub to wait.

Darren promptly fell asleep with his mouth open, so I wrote for a while, then amused myself by taking pictures of him sleeping – which I thought hilarious. We were the only people mad enough to be there, so the publican came and sat nearby and put his audio book on the sound system and we companionably listened to it together. As I watched the dust and tumbleweed blow past the window I heard a Wild West Adventure which seemed completely appropriate.

Eventually other intrepid travellers blew through the door, some also looking for rooms. Every time the phone rang I hoped it woud be to say the bus would not be coming, but we didn’t hear anything from the landlord. Eventually other travellers looking for a room were given keys for aome, and I realised the bus party had been cancelled. How weird that the publican never came to tell us we could get a room, especially as Darren was ½ asleep in the pub corner. The publican the ntold us there was no Eftpos because of the wind, so we couldn’t pay by card. We had $55 and the room was $60. Tense moment while Darren scrabbled amongst the seats in the car for the other $5, the publican did not look like he was going to let that $5 go. We managed it, but had nothing to spare for a pub dinner. We had some mushroom risotto left from yesterday so happily ate that cold in our rooms.

The rooms are in a series of portacabins "out the back". This really was the outback! There were also camp spots beyond them in a dust bowl. In my view the wind would have taken our caravan away, so we kept it firmly clamped to our very slow car (hope Darren doesn’t read this…). The shower and toilets are in another block of porta cabins, with separate washrooms for those staying in the ‘hotel’ accommodation. So excited to have a wonderful hot shower in a room! –with a real toilet, and a mirror!. This is the Hilton of the Sands. Wonderful.

And so…to bed, with the wind rattling the walls and windows, I half expected to see the Wicked Witch of the West to go cackling past.
"Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more".

Toowoomba Pensioners Day Out

This was a spin out...
Just before Cameron Corner is the Vermin Proof Fence to stop dingos and rabbits etc travelling into cattle land. As I am opening the gate in high wind, from the direction of Cameron Corner a huge coach appears. It was extremely unexpected. The driver looked pretty happy there was someone ready at the gate, and all the grey haired inhabitants gave me hearty waves as they drove past. The bus hailed from Toowomba, over hundreds of Kms away; this was some intrepid pensioners’ outing.

Unable to fathom what a coach drive would be like along the road from which we had just come, I hopped back in the car, and we had left NSW and were in South Australia. We drove a minute up to Queensland and the buildings that are at Cameron’s Corner.

Three States in two minutes, and we weren’t even lost.

Saturday To Cameron Corner – the VERY WINDY city

One word for you. Wind, Wind, WIND.
(Or does that count as three words?)

Every road out of Tibooburra was closed except the one we were going to go on. After a bit of debate we decided to plough on. All the other roads went a great deal further than ours and were therefore closed, so we decided to go for it.
Took off, about 20 minutes into our journey on a blasted landscape, we passed Mokely Creek, which actually had water in it (most don’t). We were so surprised that there could be any water out there, we had to turn around for a second look. It was freaky, then to top it off, a bunch of cows. All this in nothing but stony land as far as the eye can see, in ALL directions. The land is also very flat so the horizon is a very long way off. We were so surprised at the cows we stopped to take pictures (I do like cows). Two old biddies in a Nissan X Trail passed us and also stopped to take pictures. We moved on. About ½ hour of more nothing the biddies appeared again and overtook. Pedal to the metal, she looked like she knew what she was doing, all respect to her. At just that moment another family of cows appeared out of nowhere. Wierd.

These are the exciting things that entertain us on a 4 hour journey. Sad.

The journey continued, sometimes we were in a dust storms and can only see 10 metres ahead, and then suddenly it cleared and you could see for miles. Unfortunately head wind all the way, much to Darren’s chagrin. His pedal to the metal…and we go a hammering 60 Km and hour (37 miles/hour). Interminable. Should have got a lift with the X Trail.

Friday, Day 14 – No wind, no rain, no dust – just peace (at first)...

Travel Wanaaring - Tibooburra

At last, off to Tibooburra - hottest town in the state. Felt very smug as we left Wanaaring, as so many people had left yesterday, and the wind had been fierce after late morning. This morning, however, sparkled with clean air and stillness, perfect for the 230 Km/140 Mile journey…
…4 hours later…
…we arrived at Tibooburra straining against a head wind, completely dishevelled and feeling very bumped about. Hah!
Amazing place, surrounded by piles of enormous boulders that just seem to have landed there.
We got sucked into a powered site at the caravan park, which also had about 30 scouts camping there. 18 dollars – what a shocker! Decided to just stay one night and plough onto Cameron corner, where SA meets the NSW and QLD corners.

Thursday, Day 13 – the Big Clean Up and POOR Sydney

Strong winds were again forecast, so we completely emptied the caravan, first thing. The outside of it was a wonderful pale red, no longer white, so I brushed down the outside, then we started at the top inside, brushed it all out, waited for the dust to settle (!), then D wiped it all out with a damp towel. I think it was cleaner than when we started out.
Had got to know Sheree and Moc at the pub quite well the night before, so dropped in during the afternoon, to say g’day (as one does). It had taken them pretty much all day to clear up the dust in the pub. I was looking for my stubby cooler from the night before, but it must have been snaffled by someone. It was PINK for goodness sake, which one of those hardened cattleman had swiped that, I wonder?
We had a laugh with the locals when the news was on, as Sydney had been inundated with the dust as well. All the Sydneysiders were complaining about it, worried about their health and ferries stopping and general chaos. The big news was the big clean up, and how much it was going to cost the City. The country folk were very scournful of them, and harangued at the television as though they were in the pit of Shakespeares playhouse. I was expecting old cabbages to go flying any moment.
Later, Moc, the landlord, showed us a poem he had published in the paper. He writes wonderful bush poetry, really great writing. The people out here are really quite extraordinary.

Operation Desert Storm

Weds 23 September, Day 12.

In the morning no more rain, but windy, Windy. Wisely we decided to let the road dry out a full day before carrying on.
We went back to the waterhole for Darren to have a swim. I chickened out – too cold. He just stripped off, completely, to my horror, and dived in. Is he 12? I do wonder. Still, happy to hold his towel and hope no one else arrives.
As we drove back along the dirt road, strange waves of red dust were intermittently snaking their way across the road. They looked like creeping metaphysical Harbingers of Doom. It reminded me of the ‘smoke’ that comes out of the Lost Ark when the Germans open it,
"Shut your eyes Marion, don’t look at it. Whatever happens don’t look at it…".
Harbingers of doom indeed: by the time we reached the camping site there was a curtain of dust on the horizon, and the wind was up. I started to write outside, and could feel rain coming down on me. It wasn’t until I looked down at my white top and saw spatters of red all over it I realised it was raining mud. It looked like I had murdered someone. ( Hmm, I wonder who?)
Darren remembered the dust storm in Melbourne in the 80’s and warned me it was going to be messy. Sensibly we shut up the caravan after we had moved it from under the tree – safety, people, safety - then, surrounded by dust, we headed for the pub.

1 hour later… outside was orange
Another hour later… outside was red.

We couldn’t see the other side of the street. A car coming through the red fog was eery, it’s headlights illuminating the dust and creating a strange glow. It reminded me of that stupid Stephen King book, ‘The Fog’ (Don’t see the film, what a waste of time that was).
When the locals start talking about the weather you know you are experiencing something. The pub got busier and busier. The two bikies, JUah and Rod, whom we had seen travelling the day before away from Wanaaring, were there. They had to turn back yesterday in the wet as they kept spilling off their tour bikes. These guys were hardened bike riders, but clearly no Ewan McGregor.
Rather a festive atmosphere developed in the pub, as clearly none of us were going anywhere. We and the locals alike wandered in and out of the pub to look at the weird ‘end of the world’ scenery, feeling grit in our mouths, only to be quenched periodically by a big slurp of beer (or wine), or practised writing our names in the dust on the bar itself.
We had to partake of a counter meal there which was a real treat (Mmmmm, Schnitzel…) and SO delicious. Sharee behind the bar could not believe how much I put away, leaving only the orange piece with which she had decorated the meal.
Afterwards R…. brushed down the pool table of dust – which took a while because it was right by the door and window. Then Darren, I, Dan from Salt Lake Station, and R , the publican’s son, played pool. Amazingly, Dan and I beat the others soundly, mainly due to the fact Dan was a master at pool, and I managed to flourishingly sink a couple of balls in true flukey fashion.
One glass of wine and suddenly I’m The Hustler.

Got back to the caravan about 10.30, even the night is blood red. Found more red dust in the caravan than out.

'And the Rains Came.' Or, 'Where is Moses when you need him?' Planned Trip: Louth - Tibooburra, via Wanaaring(374KM/232 Miles)

V-Tuesday 22 September
When we got up we could see rains were on their way. After a fabulous shower in the local toilet block of the playground, we checked with the landlord of the pub /shop if we could go OK. He said go now and we should make it. Left Louth in light rain, which got harder and harder as we approached Tibooburra.
Made a mental note to buy new wipers for the windscreen.
Saw on the way loads of emus, cows, sheep and goats, just wandering around the road. We realised we were going to have to stop at Wanaaring, because it was going to be difficult to drive.
As we approached Wanaaring saw 2 bikies going the other way, which I thought was pretty brave.
The rain was too bad to go any further than Wanaaring, so we asked at the shop and parked in the caravan park next to the shop. This looked like a dusty car park and had a lonely tree in the middle, which we parked under.
Skid Row (still Tuesday)
In the afternoon when it had stopped raining, Darren wanted to go and see the King Charlie Water Hole nearby. Personally I thought there was plenty of water to look at in the nearby puddles, but a wife has to be dutiful (occasionally). We soon found out why roads close when wet. Even though we were on a road that was not closed (on the open road then, I guess), it was quite slithery, even without the caravan. Darren was going very slowly when we hit some mud, and rather calmly and dare I say it, elegantly, we slid across the road to face the fields, making both our hearts go pitti-pat.
We carried on to the waterhole, but it was freezing out there – ridiculous, as we were only about 250 km/155 miles from the hottest town in NSW.
Note to Mother: Don’t worry it was not a bad slide, and Darren was driving very cautiously as always, and there was no traffic at all on the road, so do not be alarmed!

Two and the Mystery of the Glowing Cross

Two and the Mystery of the Glowing Cross
To Louth.
By visiting the pub/shop we find a great free camping spot on the Darling River in Louth. Only one other set of campers and they are metres away - perfect. In the pub, while D chatted to anyone and everyone, I was drawn to a newspaper article on the wall. I read about the founder of Louth and the monument he built for (to?) his wife when she died. Apparently just as the sun goes down, the cross on the plinth of the monument sends out a glow/shaft of light. On the anniversary of her death (18 August 1868), this light lands on the house where she lived. It hits a different part of the town every day. This info was too good not to investigate further.
The next evening we decided to go in search of ‘the light’. At the cemetery we see the monument consists of a tall column with a cross on top. The epitaph describes name as "… a virtuous wife and indulgent mother". Interesting word, indulgent. In 1848 it was OK to call a mother indulgent, however nowadays is it not frowned on to be too indulgent? On the other hand indulgence then and now, I am sure, are two very different things…
She was 42 when she died. My age. Her husband founded Louth on the Darling River, and named it after County Louth, Ireland. It became a major port for the cotton going down river to the Murray. What a life she would have experienced.
Anyway, back to the hunt for ‘The Glow’. We waited as the sun started to reach the horizon – but no glow or beam of light appeared. I felt like Indiana Jones waiting for the beam of light to land on the map room, to show the Ark’s hiding place. Needless to say, unlike the film, nothing happened. Starting to feel a little foolish we tried to estimate how the angle of the cross and the direction of the sun would reflect light. After 10 minutes or so, we decided to drive up and down a dirt track in front of the cemetery, to see if we could catch the light. Clearly geometry was not our best subject, because, to our consternation, the sun was getting alarmingly low in the sky, with no hint of a glow, spark of light – just granite.
The sun set…
I felt like a bit of a banana standing with Darren in the middle of a dusty paddock, with the mossies at sunset, willing a piece of granite to glow, while curtains twitched in the couple of houses nearby.
"Pub?" I asked. "Pub" confirmed Darren.

Days 3 -7 Condobolin, murder, television and toddlers....

V - Arrived that evening at the oasis of Lauriston, near Condobolin, where Glynn and Trynnie live. Real beds, television, hot food – very 5 star! Though we had only camped for 2 days I knew I had to make the most of these comforts while I had the chance. The cherry on top for me was cable television with ALL the channels! Joy! For Darren it was the prospect of hunting and fossicking with another like minded provider.
Within 24 hours of arriving, Darren had killed a duck, a rabbit, 2 goats and caught 12 yabbies with Glynn. Good grief!
I had managed to catch up on tv and eat fabulous food while being entertained by the sunniest nearly-two-year-old I have ever met - Nell.
Happy, happy campers!

Went to a ram sale, which made me feel I was having the 'bush' experience. Bloody 'ell they go for a price, one sold for $5000! (and i thought handbags were expensive!). Darren blended in like a lizard in the dust. The only thing that gave him away was his work boots, which had enormous gaping holes in them, which were looked down upon by the gentleman farmers of Condo (rightly). Then a few drins in the local pub toasting Glynn's new pair of rams, with the publican. Nell played behind the bar - you gotta get them started early, after all.

Darren helped out Glynn for a couple of days with some fencing work, so we stayed rather longer than the couple of days, 5 nights in the end. Glynn was so grateful he presented Darren with a new pair of boots when we left - THANK YOU, GLYNN! AND filled us up with Diesel - too bloody generous. Trynnie didn't let me help in the kitchen at all, AND presented us with one of her banana and chocolate cakes when we left. This is the way to travel.

Day three, Parkes and 'The Disk'

On the way to Condobolin I insisted we stop at the CSIRO Dish near Parkes. Darren not particularly enthusiastic at the prospect, in fact we nearly turned back. As we approached it he revealed he had never seen, nor even heard of the film, 'The Dish'. I was amazed and scandalised. An Aussie classic, everyone should see it, you know, Sam Neil...the part the Australians played...Mans first landing on the moon...? (Hmmm, perhaps a little over patriotic sentiment, methinks?)

The dish itself is enormous, and can be seen for miles. It sticks out of the farming landscape as a monument to man’s progress. I think it extraordinary. The intracacies of its architecture and diagonals in the structure remind me, strangely, of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Now, I was not expecting that.
We arrived 15 minutes before the visitor’s centre closed, and spent ½ the time gazing at its enormity and craftsmanship, and ½ rootling around in the extensive gift shop. Could not decide between ‘The Dish’ pencil sharpener, and ‘The Dish’ tea towel. At last chose the last and only postcard they had of ‘The Dish’.
Don’t think D was blown away by the experience; he insisted on calling it ‘The Disk’ for the rest of the day.
Grrr.

Day 1 and 2

Day ONE
Left Manly Vale feeling slightly strange and surreal. So many people had asked us if we were excited to be going, but because the house had been such an enormous task to get ready for renting, there had been no time to be excited, and then suddenly we were AWAY. Very odd.

Made it to Bathurst, where unfortunately the gun shop had just closed, where D had hoped to buy his arrows for hunting. We decided to camp not far from Bathurst, so that we could pick them up on Monday (and secretly thought that Robin Hood probably didn’t have this sort of trouble).
To our camp spot near near Mundora, down a 5 Km dirt track, by a large bubbling stream – beautiful, and free! Total fire ban at all times on the reserve, but luckily we had the stove in the caravan. Err, no gas. Remembering how Shils and I had laughed with such merriment that morning at the idea that Darren would not check the bottle, the joke was on me. Mr ‘We can never be too prepared’, hmmmm?
Cold beans, with a bit of cheese for dinner.
Exhausted…slept 12 hours under 2 duvets and a blanket – freezing!

Day TWO 13 09 09 Nature Reserve

Sleep….ZZzzzzzzzzz
Only interrupted when I heard Darren calling me urgently by the river, to come immediately with my camera. Got up convinced I would find him fallen in the river. I found him watching a beautiful ….., which blended in amazingly with the rushes and dry grasses of the area. Our 1st bit of wild life – very exciting!
More cold beans for dinner….

First Morning of the Trip 12/09/09 – Shileen and Jason’s house

The 1st morning of THE TRIP started at 6 am., with Darren leaping out of bed to go to get the last of the rubbish from outside our house, which was to be rented that day, and to put it in bins around Manly. It had been previously arranged that Shileen would drive Darren in her car to do it, but Darren was up NOW, it was 6, and there were doings to be done…
Darren decided he could easily collect the rubbish, and distribute it around the public bins of Manly in our car WITH the caravan towing behind it – it would be SIMPLE. He also needed to take some money, which Shileen had, to Ralph’s house.
This made him pause. Shileen was in bed, like any normal human on a Saturday morning.
Both she and I could hear him pacing like a caged lion, outside our bedrooms, wondering what to do. Eventually he decided to disturb Shileen, get the money and make his escape.
I heard the car starting, and then urgent movement in the house as Shils ran out to stop Darren going in ‘the rig’. Dressing gown half on, hair askew –
“Darren… Darren…DARREN!”
(‘Welcome to my world’ I thought, and closed my eyes tighter under the duvet.)

Later…
Darren and Shileen returned from surreptitiously putting the rubbish in bins in her surreptitious new Holden V8 – much better than towing the caravan.

A small gathering came to see us off. Johnno and Sophie arrived first, then Neil, without Lynsey, whom we had destroyed the night before with red wine after her detox, Then Dickie and Becky with Fletch. We had champagne, the first sip at 8 am was rather painful, but we soldiered through it. Shileen and I watched Darren go over the caravan with Neil. Shileen hoped that he had checked the gas bottle. We laughed, how we laughed!
Then it was time to be going, 9 a.m., hugs and kisses and we were off!