At last we arrived at Dalhousie Springs. It had taken a whole day to drive there, and only 180 kms / 112 miles travelled.
We were now on the western edge of the Simpson Desert. Those travellers who left Birdsville to go across the Simpson Desert usually pop out of it here, so there were people here who looked more sand worn and frazzled than us – a miracle.
There were not too many travellers at the camp site – after a journey like ours, I am not surprised! There are really only 3 ways there, the way we had come from Oodnadatta; or across the Simpson Desert; or the way we were going to leave: to Mt. Dare hotel, then to the highway or north to Alice.
Famous for its Artesian spring that bubbles up at a heavenly 37C, it was not long before we were both in the water. Having seen some of the other springs, we were ill prepared for the size of it. It was like a small lake, and I imagine on the cold days in the winter months the hot water would be very welcome. Today was pretty hot, and we probably didn’t really need to get hotter, but again warm baths are few and far between in this game so we plunged in.
It was like swimming in an enormous deep bath, and pretty blissful. There are masses of minerals in the water and when we got out I could feel them on me, and we had to wipe ourselves down with packeted washcloths we had bought for when no water was available, just to feel clean of the minerals.
Darren went for a shower afterwards, but came back telling me there were swarms of mosquitoes in them. Hmm, be dirty, or bitten? No contest. Went to bed very ‘washcloth’d’ instead.
The next day we spent recovering from what had probably been one of the hardest roads we had been on – the bogging not withstanding. We had another afternoon dip after Darren had spent about an hour peering out of the caravan watching a group of people put up their tents. He had been amazed it took them so long! I told him not everyone was mister speedy-man, and hauled him off to the water.
While we swam around once more, the group who had been putting up the tents came for a dip, and we were soon all chatting away – one of the ladies was a teacher, from Brisbane – and knew Wiley! Odd to be talking about publishing while swimming in a hot bath on the edge of the Simpson – I took the trouble to give ‘em a quick plug – you never know where business will come from!
I started to get hotter and hotter in the water, there were rubber rings you could use, and keeping my feet out of the water certainly helped. I can’t understand why no one else over heated too? In the end, after the men had been chatting with each other, and us girls had been talking about life coaching (as you do on the edge of the Simpson, in a hot pool), I decided that my head was probably going to explode so I made the move to get out, and all followed. As we went back to the caravan I got redder and redder in the head, even Darren looked quite alarmed at me, admonishing me for not drinking enough water in the day ( blah blah blah, heard it all before) and told me to put a cold cloth on my head. We had to get the tea towel (which was of dubious cleanliness), wet it in cold water, and I wrapped it around my head like a turban.
When Darren saw me, he asked what on EARTH I was doing, he had meant me to put the towel over my face, (how was I to know, am I psychic?), and he stood me in the shade and fanned me with something (I couldn’t see I was under the towel), until my face seemed to resume its more usual hue. I had to retire for a lie down – all because of a hot bath, how pathetic am I?
We were now on the western edge of the Simpson Desert. Those travellers who left Birdsville to go across the Simpson Desert usually pop out of it here, so there were people here who looked more sand worn and frazzled than us – a miracle.
There were not too many travellers at the camp site – after a journey like ours, I am not surprised! There are really only 3 ways there, the way we had come from Oodnadatta; or across the Simpson Desert; or the way we were going to leave: to Mt. Dare hotel, then to the highway or north to Alice.
Famous for its Artesian spring that bubbles up at a heavenly 37C, it was not long before we were both in the water. Having seen some of the other springs, we were ill prepared for the size of it. It was like a small lake, and I imagine on the cold days in the winter months the hot water would be very welcome. Today was pretty hot, and we probably didn’t really need to get hotter, but again warm baths are few and far between in this game so we plunged in.
It was like swimming in an enormous deep bath, and pretty blissful. There are masses of minerals in the water and when we got out I could feel them on me, and we had to wipe ourselves down with packeted washcloths we had bought for when no water was available, just to feel clean of the minerals.
Darren went for a shower afterwards, but came back telling me there were swarms of mosquitoes in them. Hmm, be dirty, or bitten? No contest. Went to bed very ‘washcloth’d’ instead.
The next day we spent recovering from what had probably been one of the hardest roads we had been on – the bogging not withstanding. We had another afternoon dip after Darren had spent about an hour peering out of the caravan watching a group of people put up their tents. He had been amazed it took them so long! I told him not everyone was mister speedy-man, and hauled him off to the water.
While we swam around once more, the group who had been putting up the tents came for a dip, and we were soon all chatting away – one of the ladies was a teacher, from Brisbane – and knew Wiley! Odd to be talking about publishing while swimming in a hot bath on the edge of the Simpson – I took the trouble to give ‘em a quick plug – you never know where business will come from!
I started to get hotter and hotter in the water, there were rubber rings you could use, and keeping my feet out of the water certainly helped. I can’t understand why no one else over heated too? In the end, after the men had been chatting with each other, and us girls had been talking about life coaching (as you do on the edge of the Simpson, in a hot pool), I decided that my head was probably going to explode so I made the move to get out, and all followed. As we went back to the caravan I got redder and redder in the head, even Darren looked quite alarmed at me, admonishing me for not drinking enough water in the day ( blah blah blah, heard it all before) and told me to put a cold cloth on my head. We had to get the tea towel (which was of dubious cleanliness), wet it in cold water, and I wrapped it around my head like a turban.
When Darren saw me, he asked what on EARTH I was doing, he had meant me to put the towel over my face, (how was I to know, am I psychic?), and he stood me in the shade and fanned me with something (I couldn’t see I was under the towel), until my face seemed to resume its more usual hue. I had to retire for a lie down – all because of a hot bath, how pathetic am I?
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