Day 51: Reaching a Century
"To pass a night in the desert spinifex country, is to feel as much cut off from the ordinary life of the world as one could feel if transplanted to another sphere". Ernest Favenc 1905
3 years ago I mentioned to Kathy that I would like to get a camper trailer.
Kathy, it will save us heaps of money. Just imagine how much we can save in hotel bills.
Kathy, they have a great kitchen and you will have much more room than the tent.
Kathy, imagine all the exciting places we can go.
Kathy, if I try to use it atleast every month it will pay for itself.
Despite all of this she agreed, so here I am tonight celebrating a century. This is the hundredth night we have used it. It has taken us to some great places including Fraser Island, Grampians, Flinders Ranges, numerous national parks in NSW, and none better than this trip.
Last night we decided not to pitch the tents (not the done thing if you are a cowboy) so we pulled out the awning and rolled out our mats in the open air.
Throughout the night the sounds of Lee Kerneghan echoed through paddock, punctuated by the sounds of stumbling revellers returning to their swag. As the first light began to stir the horses and the bulls nervously shifted in the dust, the sounds of Johnny Cash came over the loud speaker waking those from their sleepy haze. To one side of me two silhouettes pass in the dust filled light, arms around each other in either loving embrace, or to maintain balance, or more likely both. As I roll over there is a large timber bed sitting amongst the brown dirt and grass and a half empty can of beer precariously balancing on the bed end. Protruding from one end the wisps of blond hair hiding the likely throbbing head below the bed covers.
Finally rising ourselves we walked past a graveyard of thousands of crushed XXXX cans and squashed plastic cups with their traces of bourbon and rum dripping on the edges. Luckily the smell was overshadowed by the hangover saving bacon, eggs and sausages sizzling on the large BBQ's the Quamby Sports Association had kindly prepared.
Reluctantly leaving camp it was not long before we rounded a crest on the road and came across the "boys in blue".
Evening sir, you have been stopped for a random road side breath test"
Now I am not a mathematician (or a good speller), but the word 'random' is obviously used loosely as they stopped everyone heading out from the rodeo. A I am sure based on some of the sore heads this morning they would have had a good catch.
Back on the Diamantina Development Road we made the most of the narrow strip of tar quickly travelling through Dajarra, Boulia and Bedourie, three small dots on the map. Lee Kernaghan calls these 'hat towns' and there is no doubts based on the old cowboy hats hanging in the Djarra hotel, the name is appropriate.
Boulia Shire Council has an area of over 60,000 sq km with a total population of a mere 500 people. For a second I pondered the idea of coming to work in a council like this but quickly realised that this was as stupid as the possibility of seeing min-min lights - oops just realised Boulia promptes it self as the min-min capital even with a 45 minute show if you were silly enough to pay $18.
As we moved through the Channel Country the landscape slowly changed. The trees and green shrubs slowly made way for endless flat tussock grass and dry stones punctuated with the occasional ribbons of red dune. The road, winding its way through the red rocky outcrops made way for straight stretches disappearing in to the mirage of water appearing to lie on the road. Even the sky appeared to change from a rich blue to a pastel bleached white as though the colour had been stripped from the landscape along with the water. We were finally returning to desert country.
There are stories of travelling to Africa and the need to see the Big 5 game animals. While no where as near as romantic, I was hoping to see some of the classic outback animals on this trip. Luckily we ticked of our list the croc, Jabiru, Wild horses, wild donkeys (not really bit we saw them anyway) and a buffalo (it was dead on the side of the road but I will take it). There was one more on the list. Wild Cammels.
As we travelled along the path that Burke and Wills took over 150 years ago (Hux informs me it was 154 to be precise) we came across over 20 camels. It is only because of these ships of the desert that they managed to achieve there successful (although fateful) journey.
But the sun was slowly dipping over the distant horizon, and it was time to find camp. While we had seen very few other cars on the road, the desire for complete isolation saw us pulling of the dirt road and following two wheel ruts across the flat bare earth finally reaching a disused windmill. As the sky changed from dark orange to ink black, the light from the roaring fire and a thousand stars above lit up the trailer.
There could be no more fitting stop to achieve the century than here in the remote centre cut off from the rest of the world.
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