The Tanami

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Author: Richard McSephney

The Tanami has a reputation.

It’s very rough, not very interesting, it’s only a shortcut.

Well, I have to say I thought it was great. Maybe finding a couple of ripper bush camps helped?

I have to admit to being a real truck fan so for me watching out for the enormous road trains was an added bonus. These beasts are truly gargantuan. Think of a normal semi, or as others may call them articulated trucks. These beasts have four of those trailers joined on the back so your looking at about 60 meters long being towed along by a 600 horsepower Kenworth.
These trucks are made in Victoria from an American design modified for the harsh Australian conditions. Around 50,000 of them have been manufactured since their introduction in the 70s but out here they are truly the king of the road so imagine my surprise as I see one in the distance, let’s say 2 km away. My eyes must be deceiving me. It’s on my side of the road.
Now what is the etiquette in these circumstances?
It’s very easy. Move over and let him go any where he wants! I did and that’s why I’m still able to write this piece.
To be fair it was an extremely rough piece of track and he was trying not to turn to a cocktail the 100,000s litres of fuel he carried. He was plying his trade from Alice across the Tanamai to points north and west. This is the north west’s life blood. We certainly found that out when we arrived in Halls Creek and found closed signs on the diesel pumps.
What do we do now asked a visitor?
Wait until the Roadtrain arrives! When will that be? When he arrives!

I really enjoy the drive, we keep a distance between the vehicles. The dust hangs in the air making forward vision almost impossible. I mean for at least 60 m of zip if a Road train passes.

We approach Wolf Creek!
Now I’m not a horror fan but for those who like to entertain themselves with fear, this location is the site of an horror film par excellance. I’m just not into that entertainment. In fact I’ve been known to cause great entertainment to others who find my easily alarmed nature amusing.
Take the other night.
We walk in darkness to a local hotel in Halls Creek. Two Aboriginal ladies join us and give us direction to the hotel entrance. I lead and as we walk up the path there’s some rustling in the undergrowth. My alarm level rises and unlike other circumstances where the rustling recedes, It doesn’t this time and continues toward me. Well I start hopping about squealing and carrying on like a pork chop ( for non Australians that means acting like a fool). Then a large cane toad appears. My dance pace increases with steps that at audition for Michael Flately’s troupe would have me touring with them in a flash.
I reach the hotel entrance and safety only to hear the chucking of our Aboriginal guides, muttering to each other about this dopey white fella. They of course are probably crocodile wrestlers and can’t understand what the ridiculous fuss is about. Still probably gave them a story to tell their pals who I could envisage all shaking their heads in disbelief.
I learnt my dance steps from earlier experience s with frogs. Whenever I saw a frog in the garden when the kids were young I would hop about like a complete idiot explaining to them that I just didn’t want to step on the poor chap. I think they never swallowed that either!
So Wolf Creek horror film would never be for me.
I think briefly that I should suggest we camp here for the night out of sheer bravado and so I could say to anyone who won’t “chicken eh?” but can’t think of a sound excuse for withdrawing my suggestion if anyone actually agrees. So I dare not raise it.
If you’ve seen the film you’ll realise that the acting from those who should be awarded an Oscar doesn’t actually come from their skills learnt at acting school but the realistic terror is real. They had no idea what was going to happen and were really terrified. I can’t help but laugh….from a great distance with the lights on!
The crater is astonishing, written about elsewhere in the blog.
I fly the drone to about 100m altitude and take some photos. There’s a blip and the vision signal is lost. I see the drone so ignore the auto return to home and manually fly it back, re boot the system and set off again. A second warning ⚠️ sounds and again the return to home is triggered. I grab a couple of quick shots and land wondering if maybe my drone has caught my sense of spookiness.
I pack it away and we’re on our way.

As we approach Halls Creek I reflect on the previous couple of days in the desert.
I don’t care what’s said about the Tanami I loved it.

 

Sent from my iPad

Wolfe Creek Crater

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We turn off the Tanami Road to visit the Wolfe Creek crater.   A meteorite hit the earth here millions of years ago, shattering our planet’s crust like a stone hitting the surface of a pool of water.  The impact site is apparently the second largest in the world.  It’s not famous for that now of course, but for a horror movie located here.

The road to the crater is lined with yellow flowering acacias as if it were an avenue of trees leading to a grand European house.   The colours are delicious, the red road strewn with the fallen yellow flowers.

The walls of the crater tower above the car park.  They too could come from a Grand Designs TV programme.   Perfectly round clumps of silvery green spinifex grow up the crater, interspersed with yellow acacia bushes and lilac wild flowers.  The vegetation glows against the smooth red and pink rocks.  I decide to get my garden landscaped just like Wolfe creek…

We climb to the top while Richard readies his drone for aerial photography.  The scent of the acacias is like a dusty sandalwood.   The crater’s walls form a complete circle.  Down below we see rings of different greens, as the native plants choose to grow on their preferred mineral earth.  The ripples sent out so many years ago are frozen in time, circle within circle into the centre of impact.   The garden below is lush.  Water flows down the walls in the wet season forming rivers that meet and pool at the centre of impact.   Even now we see an oasis of trees there and hear the distant call of birds.

We are brought back to the 21st century as Richard’s drone buzzes into life and flies at eagles’ height, far above us, capturing aerial photos of the site.   The site is on too large a scale to be photographed any other way.  Beryl has a brave attempt and masters the art of the panorama with her camera, helped by a kind traveller we name Neville the nomad.   The brave man is travelling on to the Canning Stock Route alone.  This is a rugged four wheel drive trail that is usually attempted in packs.   Good luck Nev, we hope you make it.

Flying north

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I fly in to Alice.  A short drive from the airport and we’re on the Tanami Road,  heading into the remote desert north of Alice Springs.  Suddenly I’m in another world.  Am I ready?  My mind is still in Pennyroyal with our farm, the cows, dogs, chooks, geese.  Even the wellbeing of the bees in our hives gets a fleeting thought.

We camp the night at Tilmouth Well.  It’s winter in the red centre and oh, so cold.   Mint and rosemary lamb chops sizzle on the campfire grill.  The hot meal and layer upon layer of clothing are our attempt to ward off the cold.   

It’s Territory Day.  The only day of the year it’s legal to set off fireworks without a permit.  What a shame we don’t have any.  After dinner we leave the warmth of the fire to explore a dry sandy creek bed running alongside the campsite.   A secretive Howard runs ahead, on a mission.  What is he up to?   The dark night explodes with a spinning sputtering wheel of light and we cheer!  Fireworks!  Vive le Territory!

Our cosy camper feels more like an icebox when we retire to bed.  I’m under the doona fully clothed, wearing the hood up on my fleecy hoodie against the chill.  But sleep comes quickly and soon the icy cold night breaks into a clear bright day.  Lying in bed I pull out Songlines by Bruce Chatwin, my choice of reading for this trip.  In the first chapter I read how aboriginal myths describe the creation of the world.  They believe their dreamtime ancestors walked through the country singing the land and all that lived in it into being.  I love this idea.   Life from song.

Humming Nessun Dorma I quietly sing this day into life.  I climb out of the camper and line up my wash bag contents on the rickety little camp table.   The sun shines through the gum trees.   Its weak rays carry the promise of warmer weather.  I splash icy water onto my face and shock my system awake to start the day.  Time to head north.

Cattle station dreaming

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Guest author Richard McSephney

We’re heading for the Northern Territory boarder. This part of the journey becomes a little tedious. We’re slow to start but full of wild plans to buy a cattle station after our wonderful experience. We plan, without their knowledge to involve all our friends despite not even considering their views.  Everyone must have a role though. Each role is carefully discussed and the relative merits of each character matched to a key role. There’s a great debate for some and an easy choice for others. I’m sure the entire population on the Stuart Highway are listening and voting regardless of their knowledge of the individuals so powerful are the arguments put forward for each candidate. By the time we reach Coober Pedy we’ve settled on a few things. Our new cattle station must be within about 100 km of a supply town, I want it to named something Downs and we know there will be many further discussions as we’ve roped in all our friends to take roles and most importantly provide the $6 m funding we require and the $200,000 working capital we will need to finance the venture. When we return home we will be talking with everyone about their roles!

The time passes quickly and we arrive at CP, fuel is expensive but don’t let that put you off because we’ve found an award winning bakery. 

Its chunky meat pie has been awarded best in world and the apple turnover is declared in the top 3 in Australia. Well that’s Howard’s view. I wonder if James Halliday utilises this scoring style?

There is little doubt that CP isn’t for everyone with its biting wind in winter to its 50C temps in the summer. It looks like a harsh life mining for opals but as we found in Lightening ridge a few years ago the miners are truly passionate about the ventures.
We press on and are surprised about how light the traffic is.

We see eagles devouring the roadkill but these are nowhere near the size of our Wedgetails at home. They are truly giants.

It’s surprising, we take for granted the road we travel has been in place for ever but we are reminded that’s not the case when we realise our night stop is situated between the road that was historically used and the one we’ve just left. For miles the two run side by side less than 150 m apart. Presumably moved because the location was less prone to flood.

To our benefit we find a lovely camp spot. Surprisingly the Stuart Highway is extremely quiet through the night but I’m sure the road train drivers would be able to see the glow of our magnificent fire.

The Mulga tree branches we use have clearly been dead for some time but the timber is dense with a dark heart and burns beautifully. So complete is the burn that when we extinguish it for the night there is only powder ash.

The night Is so cold icicles form on the camper roof but soon end up melting as the morning sun hits the canvas.

A beautiful clear South Australia Day…..40 km further we cross the Northern Territory border and not surprisingly it’s still beautiful and clear. 

Today is the eve of Territory day, pageants ,parties and fireworks are the order for Tomorrow but today we have the Truck Hall Of Fame at Alice Springs in sight.

I love trucks so for me this is excellent and we wander round marvelling at all the equipment old and new.

The Kenworth Pavillon has new kenworth and immaculately restored examples on display.

Why a new one? Well the reason is As Mr Hurley points out( patron of the pavilion) that in 20 years these will be the history of the day and at the present rate of restoration costs it’s cheaper than restoring an old one! Now that’s forward thinking.

The overnight temperature is forecast to be -2C so we, like all sensible adventures plan for a good fire, warming food and heavy blankets.
We totally ignore all that and head for a hotel…this is an holiday not purgatory.
Tomorrow we head for the Airport to collect Deb and continue our journey by turning left just outside AS and heading out over the Tanamai Desert. How exciting!

Outback, suburbia. Suburbia, outback.

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Guest author: Richard McSephney

What an incredible day.  Departing Port Augusta, at the top of the hill turn left to West Australia, turn right to Darwin. It doesn’t matter, 3000 km either way before you see an ocean again.

This is the point at which a line has been drawn in the sand.  The outback starts at the 110km speed advisory.  Literally, suburban town abruptly stops and the deep red sand and mint green saltbush contrasts with the bright blue sky. You could straddle it. Outback, suburbia. Suburbia, outback. It truly is that simple.

I find myself at peace. I’m a total novice but I feel strangely belonging. I love this feeling. I feel at home. It can’t be so but that’s how I feel. I truly wish I’d known this place earlier.
The day is spent thundering up the Stuart Highway. We aim for Coober Pedy some 600 km away.

Janette has invited us to visit her on Ingomar Station about 50 km from Coober Pedy. There has been rain so our route has to be carefully orchestrated to ensure we don’t damage the road or get stuck in the soft slippery soils of the outback. Following Howard’s ute looks like attending a neatly choreographed dance as the Landcruiser slithers sideways, is carefully caught and scrabbled for grip. It feels like ice.

Dave a maintenance man on the station relays a route to ensure we make it in.
“About 40 km from Coober you’ll see an overpass. Keep the mine haul road on your left and follow a bitumen mine road for about 20 km then turn left pass a dam..”…and so the instructions go on. The homestead is about 40 km off the highway. It never used to be but the state rerouted the road and now the driveway is essentially 40 km long. Now that might sound a lot but dimensions here are of gargantuan proportions.

The cattle station has 3 airstrips and its very own atomic shelter. This is located in the prohibited Woomera area and not all that far from Maralinga where from 1956 to 1963 Britain tested a few atomic bombs. It was safe though, no chance whatsoever of the cloud drifting anywhere near Westminster! Not so for our host’s property as the earth shelter testifies! Wonder how the animals were protected?

The adjoining station Anna Creek is the largest working cattle station on earth. Anna Creek and the associated outstation, The Peake, cover 23,677 sq km of pastoral land, which will double the size of Williams Cattle Company’s holdings to some 45,000 sq km. Together, they have a capacity for 35,000 cattle. It’s larger than some European countries.
So by contrast our host’s property is a modest 1,000,000 acres! That’s twice the size of the ACT (Australian Capital Territory) and twice the size of Luxembourg.

The station is home to 13,500 sheep and 3,500 cattle. The logistics of running a place like this are staggering. The cattle yards are just 50 km away, with a second set 150 km away. Last week it took two helicopters 5 days to bring the cattle in. That doesn’t include the 8 ringers on motorbikes assisting.

This is not an operation for the faint hearted.  Scott the new owner has great plans for improvements as the station is a bit run down and when I see the stocks of pipes, steel, trucks and machinery I can only marvel at the task ahead.

We gather wood for a fire and I’m reminded of the story of an adventurer who not that long ago met a King Brown snake whilst gathering wood.   His body was found 7 years later not far from here. I shudder at the memory and look out into the dark where I hear shuffling and crackling. I call out…”You ok Howard, no sign of snakes?”

Where was I, you ask?  Standing on the step of the Landcruiser holding a torch so he could find the way back, that’s where I was.  Oh come on, that’s also a dangerous task.  I wasn’t shirking my responsibilities, you could easily slip off and sprain your ankle.
It is a tough job and someone had to do it and to be fair it was Howard himself who planted the fear of snakes by telling me the story in the first place.

It was a very cold night and we wake early to the sound of the fleet of vehicles heading off to the far flung corners of the station to start the day’s work, for us a cruise day toward Alice.

A Paradise of Wine and Old Tractors

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Guest author: Richard McSephney

You can’t spoil a drive through the Clare Valley.

It’s grey and cold but the valley is spectacular. Every kilometre there is the name of an old friend, Annie’s Lane, Mitchell, Mintaro Wines, Knappstein and so it goes on.

A personal favourite name but not tasted is Mad Bastard Wines. Allegedly Mark Barry the winemaker is known as MB by both name and nature, his unconventional ways have earned him the title. That may well be the case, but equally I wouldn’t be surprised if it were a warning on the label that after just one sip it has a dramatic effect on the consumer’s personality! I may even know one who has partaken of that brew and he certainly could equally be named after the wine.

We visit Sevenhill Winery. A beautiful location dominated by St Aloysius Church and adjoining Jesuit retreat surrounded by an immaculate garden. I think this might be a little bit of heaven if you’re a Jesuit priest hanging out here for a break. Turn right out of your lodging and you have some fine rieslings or tokay or turn left and praise the Lord at St Aloysuis. It’s all so convenient that you wouldn’t even get your cassock wet if it was pouring down.

My favourite part though was an inscription hanging above the cellar cat’s bed, a half barrel filled with straw. He was very cosy and so as not to be disturbed a notice pronouncing that he was not receiving visitors today protected him from endless visitor fussing.

The inscription reads;
Blessed are you. Lord God of all creation. Through your goodness we have this wine to offer fruit of the vine and work of human hands. It will become our spiritual drink.
Hallelujah….this isn’t on the inscription but I’m adding it. It seems very appropriate.

Our plan is to head for Booleroo Centre where there is a rare steam and farm machinery museum like no other you’ve ever visited.

Ian, a retired farmer, personally shows us around.  His knowledge and anecdotes are timeless, but he insists he came late to the society.  He was standing in for someone otherwise overcommitted for a particular role and here he is now, 25 years later, raising his concerns over the future of the collection with diminishing membership and even worse diminishing population in the area. Who’s going to keep it open?

Every item was donated, an amazing feat unlikely to be achieved in today’s society. This whole collection was the vision of one man and has been kept going by the efforts of a few. Well done chaps keep it going.

Of special interest is a Benz 125 hp model engine and generator believed to be out of a WWI (1914-1918) German U-boat, or submarine.

Next year is the 50 th anniversary of the society. On the 25th March 2018 a rally will be held with many of the exhibits showing their capabilities.  So if you happen to have an old Lanz Bulldog or a steam traction engine lurking around at home get on up to Booleroo and blow some smoke into the air with the best of them.

Ironically it looks like modern day technology provides a stable income for the group. Two mobile cell towers, 21st century equipment contributing to a 19th century maintenance bill. I like that.

During the day I notice a number of road signs: ‘Dog Registrations Now Due’ with a strap line “desex your dog”.

I’m wondering if the dog population of South Australia is so sizeable the Government sees dog rego as a major line of income? If they do, why then add desex your dog? Isn’t that restricting future income potential?

How did this initiative come about? Did the SA Government Finance Committee see a hole in their budget? How was it proposed? The right Honourable member for Woop Woop moves to remind residents of the drain on our economy of the dog population…..

As I approach Port Augusta my mind slips into neutral, just like the Landcruiser. The end of a great day.  Wine and old tractors, who could ask for more?

Thanks to Tourism Australia for the photo of St Aloysius.

2017 Day 1: To South Australia

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Guest Author:  Richard McSephney

Four degrees centigrade, low hanging mist and a dampness that chills to the bone.
What better day to leave for the North where the weather is significantly better.

I find I have to guard against thinking that the adventure is the destination. So I concentrate on enjoying every kilometre, marvelling at the sun breaking through the mist, casting shadows and making the landscape look dramatic and unfamiliar. It’s going so well. Then I realise My new found approach to traveling isn’t that successful.  I’ve only made it to the bottom of our road. My mind wanders again. Not a great effort but I resolve to keep it up.

Today’s destination is Hahndorf, only 670 km from home but passing some memorable locations.

Take Casterton for example. Home of the Kelpie festival held over the Queen’s Birthday weekend.   Well actually it isn’t Her Majesty’s birthday at all.  It’s mine, so I propose it’s renamed Richard’s birthday weekend.
The festival is extremely popular with ever increasing numbers of visitors. Kelpie dogs of all shapes and sizes demonstrate their amazing capabilities and for their troubles the most successful get auctioned off at the end of the weekend.

Not much of a reward for the dog is it? He goes to a trial, works his heart out chasing sheep around all weekend then just as he expects to go home, the hammer falls and he’s faced with a complete stranger pulling his lead. Not much of an enticement to be a high achiever, is it?  It’s big business though, this year the top dog made over $ 15,000 and in the local shire office are the architect’s impressions of a fine new complex to be built in the town with government funding; The Kelpie Interpretive Centre! I wonder if on the front door there will be a sign, ‘ No Dogs Allowed’
For now, Casterton has another claim to fame, a fine bakery housing two rather splendid 1960’s Vespa scooters and a very nice skinny flat white.

We’re running behind schedule though, Howard is beginning to feel pressure about his proclamation of our arrival time and his suggestion that we cut lunch short is unceremoniously dismissed.

The Riddoch Highway is littered with famous winemakers establishments with kilometre after kilometre of vines stretching from the highway to the horizon, neat rows making a very appealing pattern.  It’s art, but to me this looks like a major mowing and pruning nightmare.

Talking of art, South Australia’s largest canvas is located on our route at Coonalpyn. Here internationally renowned artist Guido van Helten grabbed 200 spray cans, clambered up the walls of 30 high grain silos and painted portraits of some local children. They are astonishing.

Guido, if you happen to be reading this, take it from me old chap, your portraits are bonzer.

Not sure Jerry Saltz would have put it that way but he’s not on his way to the Gibb River Road is he?

And so to Hahndorf….it’s doing a mighty fine impression of being closed right now but tomorrow’s another day.

Thanks to the abc for the photo of the silos.  You can read more about them here