We’re far enough north now that it’s HOT. Yes, it’s winter here, but the Equator is close enough that moving farther north warms things up. This actually makes most things easier, as we need not worry about getting chilly at night.
Walked around town. Taking photos of the famous Birdsville Hotel and Pub, the defunct Royal Hotel, and a clinic that “took me back” to a previous adventure. A couple of trips ago, Richard and Nikki again as travel companions, we had stopped at a town called Hawker, near the Flinders Ranges. There we visited a museum at Hawker Motors, with both the business and the museum having been created by Fred Teague. But before he’d settled in Hawker, Teague had, among numerous other jobs, spent 18 months driving the Marree-to-Birdsville mail route. It was Teague who hauled all the material for building the clinic. (And it was during that visit to Hawker that Richard had promised that someday, if I made another trip to Australia, we could travel the Birdsville Track.)
Another willy willy blew past us, as we continued making our way through town. We then stopped at a splendid museum—the Working Museum—which I won’t describe in detail because the enthusiastic but aging owner, John Menzies, said that, if he couldn’t sell it, he’d be closing it down—and that is what happened in 2011. Pity. (But if you’re curious, there are a number of videos on YouTube of this remarkable one-man effort.)
Next stop was the odd, old cemetery, a historic site that is the final resting place of many of the areas early pioneers, as well as some more recent residents of the town. Then we headed back to camp. With a couple of hours until our dinner reservation (at the Birdsville Hotel!), we each headed off to amuse ourselves. Nikki went to the library. Richard went to buy more supplies. I spent my time looking for birds. In addition to all the birds we’ve seen everywhere, there were white-headed stilts, also known as pied stilts (Himantopus leucocephalus —always good to travel with someone who has bird books), and exquisite little, bright-yellow that I didn’t find in the book but Nikki later told me were finches. But as sunset approached, I hiked into town to get a photo of the Birdsville Hotel in the diminishing light —an iconic image.
When Nikki and Richard returned, we all headed into the Pub/Hotel for an iconic evening—my treat, as they had put so much effort into making this a great trip. We started with drinks in the bar (and I was happy to have a cold Strongbow cider), then into the dining room, where I enjoyed a delightful and generous rack of lamb with “Saxon sauce”—a brown gravy with mint. Nice veggies. Nikki had kangaroo and Richard had steak—all good portions. Dessert was lovely, too. I had blueberry pudding. Of course, all was more wonderful because of the location. The sturdy, white walls, stone floor, and wood-beamed roof of the old hotel created a good setting for a celebratory meal. Chef came out to chat with customers once everyone was served. Classic white chef’s jacket, but with a baseball cap. Bearded and with a limp. I imagined for him the multi-faceted career that seems so common out here, possibly involving horses at some point, and injury—so a suitably quirky character for an outback pub.)
I was amused to see that there was an impressive computer setup near the bar. Plus Nikki told me she’d been able to get on the Internet at the library. So Birdsville is still mighty remote, but no longer quite so isolated.
As we exited the pub/hotel, we struck up a conversation with a group from Adelaide, and we chatted for nearly an hour about travel in Australia—standing in the middle of the street (not a lot of traffic here).
Then it was back to camp and to our waiting sleeping bags. (Though not without a few moments of enjoying the night sky.)
Waltzing Australia 