Trip 4: August 17, Part 2

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.)

Trip 4: August 17, Part 1

Relatively leisurely morning. Though it was early, there were already occasional drivers passing by on the road. Whenever anyone passed, they would slow down, toot their horn, and wave. This was to be friendly, of course, but also to make sure we were okay, and not stopped because of an injury or car problem. Richard checked everything again, and then we were packed and on the road by just after nine. Our camp was about 100 kilometers from Birdsville, so our destination was getting closer. A return to gibbers makes us all appreciate having located that brief stretch of sand where we camped last night.

We are now headed into Queensland’s Channel Country. This sprawling region (roughly 60,000 square miles) takes its name from the channels cut by the many rivers that appear on those occasions when there is rain. Much of the time, the surface is dry, but there is enough moisture to grow the rough grass that supports cattle ranching here.

Rugged, red, rocky, and dotted with jump ups/mesas, this is dramatic country. The burst of greenness amidst desolation that signals the presence of water (even if the water is not visible) is always astonishing, but here it seems more remarkable, because the numerous channels mean more frequent greenery, but the intervening land seems to compensate by being rockier and more desolate. More grass means more kangaroos. More channels and then dunes—high ones this time (sign says we’ll have dunes for the next 11 kilometers).

It’s really beautiful here, in an unapologetic, unforgiving kind of way. Harsh but splendid. I am enjoying this landscape immensely. Alternating dunes and jump ups, mulga and acacia, bursts of noisy galahs.

Broad claypans appeared, one even with water. (A claypan is an area where there is a dense clay layer that doesn’t allow plant growth and poorly absorbs water, hence the standing water we could see. Not lovely, but fascinating.)

We crested a dune, and below us we could see the Birdsville race course. This currently deserted venue is the site of a famous horse race that occurs in September every year—three weeks from now, in fact. Every year, for a few days, the population swells from the usual 110 people to thousands. Begun in 1882, this event offers two days of racing, but also offers live music and other entertainment, plus numerous events for those who make the trek to this remote spot.

We crossed the Diamantina River and headed into Birdsville! A quick drive through town gave me a glimpse of this iconic locale, but Richard was focused on getting us to the caravan park/camp ground, so we could get a good place to set up camp before we started exploring.

I’ve read that Birdsville takes its name from the abundant birdlife attracted to the Diamantina River. Our camp being near the river’s edge, it was easy to confirm this explanation, as crows, swallows, magpies, larks, and kites were very much in evidence. The ablution block is a fair hike from the spot we got for setting up our tents, but the walk was well worth it, as we could have showers and do a bit of hand laundry. Also, it’s nice to have toilets again.

Sitting in camp, eating lunch, I could see two trees filled with corellas by the side of the river. A willy willy (aka, dust devil) blew through camp, stirring things up a bit. This mini-whirlwind was far more interesting as it left us than it was when it passed over us. When it was gone, we washed the dishes and headed into town to explore.

Trip 4: August 16, Part 2

The terrain keeps changing. Bursts of spinifex, splashes of black soil, golden rocks, black rocks, red rocks, red sand. Suddenly, kangaroos are abundant again. However, while the terrain changes, the sky remains the same: incredibly blue, a blue that is deep and clear. There is no pollution out here. And, of course, since it’s winter, no clouds. Just splendid, open, blue sky.

While it is all interesting, for me, visually, the red sand/dirt is my favorite, especially when highlighted by bursts of silvery blue/green scrub. It gladdens my heart to see it.

Crossed out of Innaminka Reserve (the reserve covers more than 5,000 square miles, so it takes a while to reach the far side) and into Cordillo Downs, a historic outback station. We were again surrounded by rolling, red sand dunes, traveling between them rather than over them. And then back to gibber plains again. (Still on the Cordillo Downs station—when all you have is rocks and sand, you need a lot of land.)

Cordillo Downs was and is the site of a famous woolshed (building where sheep are shorn), a massive building (the world’s largest shearing shed) erected in 1883, made out of local stone (what else?). Though not all stone: the roof was iron. The building is now used for storage, but is kept primarily for its historic importance. The sheep are long gone (since the early 1940s), because so many were killed by dingoes. The switch was made to cattle, and that is what keeps the station going now.

While Cordillo Downs is private property, the owners do not object to visitors visiting the woolshed, and travelers are also allowed to stop (and even camp) along the road or nearby creeks. (There are no services or accommodations for visitors anywhere along this rough road.) So Richard found us a nice creek bed, where we pulled over and stopped for lunch.

On the road again, crossing Sturt’s Stony Desert. No kidding about the “stony.” (Worth noting, there are better roads, but not if you want to see some of the historic sites. Plus, though rugged, this is a shortcut if you’re traveling from Innaminka to Birdsville.)

Passed Providence Creek. This creek has so many channels that, overall, it measures two kilometers wide. Here we saw red mulga growing. This short tree has curly, reddish bark and needle-thin leaves. Richard says it’s not commonly seen.

Then on to Cadelga Outstation (now part of Cordillo Downs). Here, there are only haunting ruins of the one-time homestead, also built of stone. Nearby, a tree-lined waterhole was noisily inhabited by a great number of birds. We took some photos of the ruins and trees, and then we needed to keep on going. We’ll be bush camping tonight, and Richards wants to find a good campsite by 4:00-4:30, well before sunset, so back to the road.

Crossed the border into Queensland. Diamantina Shire. Before long, Richard found the place he had in mind, and we pulled off the road. It was a good site for camping. Flat, even, with a golden dune that is about 15 feet high blocking the wind. Plus we’re fairly near the road, so no chance of getting lost—and no one is going to be driving on this rough, unlighted road at night. Plus. we’re only about half an hour outside of Birdsville. Actually, quite a remarkable spot.

While Nikki and I set up camp, Richard changed the tire again. The patched spot was beginning to bulge. He said that everyone in Innaminka was talking about tire trouble and the “shocking roads”—so he assured us that this is not unlucky, just the way things are. (But why you don’t want to do this without knowing what you’re getting into—and without someone like Richard on hand, to fix things.)

Beautiful sunset, and now the stars are out. With no trees around us to hem in the sky, the sky seems so immense it is almost overwhelming. The whole universe is stars. What a glorious night.

Mmm—Richard just opened an old bottle of port. This is camping at its best.

Birdsville

Birdsville is a tiny town on the edge of the Simpson Desert, hundreds of miles from pretty much everywhere else. Its remoteness is, in fact, one of the things that makes it almost legendary. The Birdsville Pub features in books and songs that celebrate just how isolated one can be in the Outback. Associated with the town is the Birdsville Track, a still-rugged stretch of unpaved road that connects the town with the the next nearest town a few hundred kilometers south.

As remote and unassuming as Birdsville is, there are a few activities of note. Of course, there are the Birdsville Races, which draw thousands of people to the area for a few days each year. But there are delights for those of us who like areas such as this precisely because we prefer to avoid crowds. There is a considerable amount of bird life in the area. The dune fields of the Simpson Desert are nearby. And there is a wonderful little museum—the Birdsville Working Museum—which was created by John Menzies. Menzies has gathered a fascinating collection of everything related to life in the region—and Menzies himself demonstrates much of the work, from blacksmithing to drawing water to harnessing work animals. There are sections for toys, hospital equipment, jewelry, wagons, art, and more. It is really a remarkable place.

But that was a bonus. I really went to Birdsville for two things: the pub and the track. I wanted to have a meal in the old Birdsville Pub, as there are few things I could do in life that would be more tied to legend. And I wanted to travel the Birdsville Track. This track initially became famous as a postal run—someone actually had to drive the track every few days. The postman on the track was almost as famous as the drivers on the stagecoach lines of an earlier era. Fortunately, my friends Nikki and Richard were willing to accommodate my desire. And fortunately, too, they had the equipment and experience to take on the challenge. (Poor Richard had to change flat tires four times and had to replace two tires. And then there was the shattered rear windshield. It really is a rough road—though in all fairness to the track, not all that damage was sustained there. We were driving around the Outback for a couple of weeks.)

Some of the most famous shots of the Birdsville Pub show it in outline against a sunset—and being a great one for tradition, I had to try for such a shot myself. A sunset seems fitting at this point, as I’m about to leave Queensland for the Northern Territory. So farewell to the Sunshine State.