Katherine and the Gorges

It was just a short run up the Returd Highway to Katherine from Mataranka, only 100 or so kilometres. On the way we stopped to visit the Cutta Cutta Cave – limestone formation just south of Katherine. The day was hot so I was looking forward to going underground for a brief respite from the heat. There was an audible groan as we entered the cave and our guide informed us that “this cave is different from other caves in that the temperature and humidity actually increase as we go further in”. And it did. It had some impressive limestone formations. We were all sweating so much at the end that we were forming our own stalactites with the drips off our chins.

                                                        A few bits of the Cutta Cutta Cave

We spent three days in Katherine. It had all the conveniences of life for travellers, although I couldn’t help noticing the travails that the modern pioneering man has these days with getting adequate TV reception! Modern pioneering man will spend hours adjusting that pesky disk receiver until the elusive signal is found. Usually it seems, reception is “grainy”, which does little for Kochy’s features on Sunrise, however much one invests in satellite technology.

                            'Dad blasted infernal satellite dish!! Just can't get a decent picture!!'

It’s pretty well obligatory to tour the gorges at Katherine. We are about two to four weeks ahead of the tourist season at the moment – the water levels are only just dropping down, there is still turbidity, there are still possibly crocodiles of the man-eating variety in the gorges, and the volume of tourists isn’t there. Consequently, you can’t swim, you can’t canoe, and you only have limited boat tour options to take up. Nevertheless, a boat tour we did, and enjoyed it too. Actually while we aren’t anywhere near the peak tourist season, this is probably a good time to see the country as there is still good run-off into the waterways and the area is green – another month or two, you’re down to trickles and brown, dried-out grasses.

                                      Katherine Gorge but not all of it - it's too big to capture!

                                                           Indigenous rock art - Katherine Gorge

Edith Falls is still part of the Nitmiluk National Park that contains the Katherine Gorges but about 60 kilometres north of the town. Edith Falls itself is pleasant but again, you can’t use the water area at the park because of crocodiles. However one kilometre up a fairly steep walking track takes you to the Upper Pool where the crocs haven’t figured out how to get to yet and it is just a glorious rocky swimming hole. Unfortunately it was filled with Swedish and German backpackers in their early twenties in bikinis basking in the sun and frolicking in the pools, and that spoiled it a bit for me. We were the oldest couple there by far. Gee, it was worth the walk! (sorry guys, couldn’t get a snapshot for you).

                                                           Upper Pool, Edith Falls

                                                     Maurs cooling off at the Upper Pool

Cooling Off in Thermal Pools

Not far up the highway from Tennant Creek is Threeways Roadhouse where folk coming from the south either peel off right towards Queensland or continue straight ahead into the Territory. Here was the parting of the ways for Thomas and Margaret and me and Maurs. We had a great time together but all good things do come to an end and after a long drawn out cup of coffee we said our goodbyes and moved on. Threeways was nothing like I had imagined it. I thought it was a tough frontier joint with cow skulls adorning hitching posts and dust and cactus everywhere, but it was just like any other roadhouse. People called in to buy petrol and then left!

                                                                 See ya in the surf!!

We travelled on to the Daly Waters Pub which is about 300 km north and 3 km off the Stuart Highway but touted as a place to stay. It is  a pub designed by larrikins in the great Australian Wanka style perhaps overdone in the way that writers try to avoid mixed metaphors but just can’t. The front bar has a collection of bras and panties dangling above it (presumably donated spontaneously by nubile young women carried away by their special time in Daly Waters – yeah, right!). At the back of the bar is a wall full of foreign banknotes with autographed messages from the happy donors (a hundred thousand Vietnamese Dong note – wow! Worth a fortune!)  Leading out to the beer garden is a collection of antiques in the form of old toasters, spoons, rusty irons – anything from 1988 back that has been lying around but hadn’t found its way to the dump (it’s called local history). In the beer garden was a collection of donated hats – the shitier looking the better, hanging from the roof. And the piece de resistance, a collection of car number plates, not only from Australian vehicles but from the US, Canada and Europe. Have I missed anything? Well neither did they.

 Did I forget anything now? Boat? Check. Spare car? Check. Sat TV? Check. Air Con? Checkerooney!

                                       Cats and dogs....living together in vans!! What next?

In its favour the beer was cold, the meals were terrific (house speciality is half beef/half barramundi with a big salad bar) and the entertainment was good too (a young lad from Wagga Wagga no less living his dream of playing and singing around the country). Places like this attract their share of idiots. I heard one guy at the bar say that he had read a travel book on Darwin to Alice Springs (presumably big print) that talked of the Daly Waters Pub and so he had to visit it – gee sunshine, there ain’t much else between those two towns – could have been the shortest book in history if the author had left it out! Anyway check out the rig that nestled in for the night; talk about big boys’ toys. Pretentious?

It was just a short drive the next day to Mataranka (100 or so kilometres). We had decided to stop and recharge the batteries there for three days, staying at a place called Bitter Springs. By heading north, we had outrun our comfortable weather zone and found ourselves in 37C heat plus humidity plus no breezes. Mataranka’s claim to fame is its thermal springs and the creek at Bitter Springs is the pick of the locations, however it is difficult to cool off in thermal springs at any time, pleasant as it was. I found myself gulping down cold water by the litre trying to keep hydrated. This worried Maurs as I am not known for my water-drinking skills.

                                        Maurs enjoying the thermal waters at Bitter Springs

                                                         Early morning is the best time....

On the last night we tried out the local restaurant and found that we had gate-crashed a conference being held at the resort. Suddenly we were shaking hands and introducing ourselves to conference delegates, shooting the breeze about various issues, but stopping short of grabbing free drinks at the bar (I just didn’t think it was right you know). I reckon we have enough experience to crash any conference and seem....sincere. We had the barramundi that night also – we could easily clean the Territory of that blasted fish if we keep going.

North to Tennant Creek

We were given the “good oil” from a lady at the Alice Springs Information Centre to visit Aileron on our way north, and it was worth a visit. It’s just a roadhouse/pub and an indigenous art gallery but it is dominated by a couple of massive and impressive statues of aboriginal people. The art is honest, local and very good. The pub is a gathering place for the local identities and speaks in plain language (see below). One old bloke rolled in and told the barman he was “off to Alice for a funeral – not my own!”

                                           The way to the "Restrooms" in plain English...

          How to tell the difference between male and female goannas - it was really easy!!!

We made a fatal error when we were at Standley Chasm. The kiosk there had a delicious Mango Ice-cream that was made locally at a place called Ti Tree Farm (just north of Aileron). The convoy came screeching to a halt at Ti Tree Farm and two women piled out and into the little shop like a well-planned police raid. Ice-cream was procured (I might have had one myself) and on we moved with sticky fingers but happy hearts.

                                              Elvis and Aliens - there has always been a connection

We stopped for the night at Wycliffe Well, a roadhouse with enough fresh water to support luxurious green lawns (and enough beer to support life). The owner of Wycliffe Well has a desire to make this place a tourist attraction in its own right, exploiting a number of UFO sightings in the area as its claim to fame. He may have gone a little over the top as the caravan park and roadhouse are festooned with little green men, a Mighty Hulk statue, a green Elvis Presley (and here’s the freaky part), walls full of UFO press clippings from all around the world, all with their dates of publication mysteriously removed (presumably by the aliens), so that no one can tell just how long ago a UFO has been sighted at Wycliffe Well or anywhere else. Some of the clippings are looking a little aged, let’s say. I offered to pull the first watch for UFOs from 7 til 9pm, suggesting Maurs took 9 til midnight, Thomas midnight to 3am and Marg 3 to 6am. I thought it only fair – they thought otherwise. No watch was posted and therefore no UFOs spotted. I was disappointed. Maybe you have to pay extra to be beamed up to the mother ship and probed.

                                                Even the site numbers had little green men
Wycliffe Well is just a stone’s throw from the Devils Marbles so we ambled along to see this extraordinary structure – rocks weathered into spheres as far as the eye can see. There’s a free camp out the back of the marbles and there were quite a few people taking advantage of the campground, but facilities are pretty sparse.

                                    Travel shot of Devil's Marbles (Karlu Karlu in local talk)

We made our way to the town of Tennant Creek – our last day with Thomas and Margaret. The next day they would turn right and head for the relative safety of the Queensland border while we would continue north into the Territory.

Now Tennant Creek just strikes me as being different. My sense is that the town’s general ebb and flow has developed like no other that I have seen. In most other towns, people move about doing their business in a way that is so “normal” that you don’t even notice. In TC, it occurred to me that something was different. It’s not a good thing or a bad thing, it’s just... different. The local people tend to move about in groups or just sit about randomly around the town, waiting for something to happen maybe. Why did I even mention it? Because it looked different! (Maybe I was probed by aliens at Wycliffe Well and I am now slavishly reporting earthling behaviour to them via the Internet.)

A Town Exactly Like Alice

For a town that boasts that the local Todd River rarely flows and is just a band of sand meandering through the middle of the city, there sure is a lot of drainage infrastructure hanging off it – culverts, drains, signage, flood markers...but in our time there – nuthin’ but the sand and the steady stream of locals using it as a shortcut into town. Still, there were lots to see in Alice Springs. It’s a very interesting place overall and we would rank the old Overland Telegraph Station as one of the highlights; Alice Springs’ original raison d’etre and restored exceedingly well, right down to the old Stevenson screen and anemometer mast where the weather readings were taken and transmitted to “Weather Central” – via Morse of course. We were very lucky in the fact that a bunch of old Morse Codians had gathered there that week to demonstrate one of the world’s fastest dying arts to tourists who get jittery when they have no signal on their mobile phones. It’s very impressive to watch these old guys operate and the gents are wonderfully skilled but who’s going to take up where these guys are leaving off? They just shake their heads when asked, but with an “I’m not dead yet” look in their eyes.

Taking the readings at the Overland Telegraph Office...dot dot dash dash....

                                  Maurs kissing a Blue Tongue Lizard (he won't phone ya...)

 

My sister-in-law Margaret is terrified of snakes and lizards so naturally she had an urge to visit the Reptile Park (seriously). She really wanted to look at the reptiles, I guess at close range but sealed up, and they had some fine specimens there from small desert Geckoes to Terry the Crocodile (around 3 metres long and growing). The owner also gave a talk about handling reptiles in the wild (in summary, “Don’t!”) and then provided a few tame specimens for visitors to handle, to get a feel for them. He even offered a blue tongue lizard that would give you a kiss on the nose (however there is no guarantee that he will call you back for a second date). Maurs and I had a go at snake handling – it was a cool experience. Margaret deferred this opportunity to get close, but she is one step closer to it – at least she didn’t bolt out the room with loose reptiles around. She did go close though when the handler opened up the glass cage of a deadly mulga snake to remove some snake poo. He turned his back on the snake to explain to us the fascinating aspects of their excreta when the snake suddenly came alive and started moving about. Marg was like she was at a Punch and Judy Show, yelling out “The snake! The snake! It’s moving!” while Mr Punch (the handler) ignored her completely. This theatre played out until Mr Punch finally closed the glass window with the snake rearing up the side of his cage defiantly (the ham).

Gus and the python (she gave me a serious squeeze around the neck when the handler wasn't watching)

"Mr Punch! Mr Punch! The snaaaake!!"

We took some time to explore the West Macdonnell Ranges. This was about a 300 km round trip and included wonderful little places like Simpson’s Gap, Standley Chasm and Glen Helen Canyon but the pick for us was Ormiston Gorge. All had enough water in them to be interesting but Ormiston was very picturesque and serene. We just sat down and watched it, well, do nothing really. There was a camping ground there too that looked good with sufficient shade to beat the other options available. Temperatures are typically 32C right now so it’s warm enough and the skies are blue. Very comfortable really.

                                         Glen Helen Gorge - Maurs at mid-field, exploring

                      Ormiston Gorge - there's something about seeing water in a dry land

Back when we were in Uluru, at breakfast of home-made crunchy Granola, one piece of Granola proved too crunchy for one of Maur’s molars. Consequently she spat out a piece of tooth (in a most dainty way of course). She made a dental appointment when we got to Alice to get it fixed. After she came out of the surgery I thought that I heard the receptionist stumble over his words to the effect “And that will be Seven...Eighty Two Dollars Mrs Foley”. I thought what the heck $72 or $82. Silly moi, it was $782! They can get Oxygen out to the reception area real fast these days. It’s one of the main hazards in dentistry. And actually the pain hasn’t settled down yet (for her jaw or my wallet!)

Another highlight of Alice was an evening at Alice’s (Vietnamese) Restaurant. It’s some miles out of town, on their market garden property, it's small and you need to book ahead but the dishes were sensational – full of their home-grown herbs and vegetables. Tom and Marg, who hadn’t had a lot to do with Vietnamese cuisine up til then were very impressed with it all. It’s fun to find a little gem like that in the middle of nowhere.

Miss Olive Pink’s Botanical Garden is like no other botanical garden that I have visited. Usually they are green and shady with exotic plants in abundance. Miss Pink’s dream was to highlight the flora of the local area so what you get as you walk around in the dry bush is the dry bush...with labels. No frills here, but they serve a good lunch. Five days in Alice – I hope we did it justice.

In the Red Centre

We drove from Coober Pedy to the highway turn-off point for Uluru – a place called Erldunda, about 400 km up the Stuart Highway. We were astounded to find grass on our campsites instead of the dirt and gravel of the past week – there is obviously a lot of artesian water around there for them to nurture patches of grass for tourists to park upon. We also found a profusion of flies (the sticky, persistent kind), to the extent that in order that there not be a death in the family while we set up the campsite, we resorted to wearing fly-nets to keep the annoying little pests at bay. It worked – no death occurred while erecting the campsite.

Flynets - the salvation of the Red Centre

                                         A Parrot Tree - honest, they grow on trees out here!!

 

The scenery just became more and more pleasant as we headed west towards Uluru. The desert oak trees seem to spring out of the red soil, interspersed with Spinifex grass; it just looked friendlier country from what we had been driving through before. The resort at Yulara where we camped for four nights was also a pleasant surprise. They have really got it together. The resort caters for all types, tastes and pockets, and when you consider just how harsh the environment really is out here, making any operation run so smoothly must take some mighty good organisation. There are buses and tours, bars and bistros, hotels rooms and campgrounds, well-stocked supermarket, good water, power - and it’s all done right!

                                          Desert Oaks with Kata Tjuta in the background

                                    A boot tree - lot of bored people on the Returd Highway

Mostly we got about independently and walked through Kata Tjuta (The Olgas in old money terms) but we paid for a tour that took us to Uluru for the sunrise, on to the Cultural Centre for breakfast, a talk and demonstration by an Anunga indigenous person, followed by a walk at the base of the rock where she told us (through an interpreter, for it seems she couldn’t speak English) tales of long ago and pointed out smaller rocks that had significance to her people, handing down oral history in the traditional way. She demonstrated how the Anunga people made Kiti which is an early form of Super-Glue made from some component of the Acacia bush that you separate out by beating the heck out of it with a big stick and then fuse the remains in the fire. The women in the tour group then practiced walking around with a lump of wood balanced on their heads and the guys got to throw a few spears, with and without the woomera, which increases the mechanical advantage of throwing, but does nothing for accuracy at all. Out against the Rock she told us a story. It must be a compact language because she said maybe three or four syllables, at which point the interpreter sprouted out paragraphs of legend. This was an ancient story about a Blue-tongued Lizard Man called Woody Woodpecker (or something like that) who had a run-in with a Bell Bird Man called Woody Harrelson (I could be slightly wrong on the pronunciation of that one also). Anyway they had a stoush over food and Woody Woodpecker fell out of a cave way up on the Rock with some uneaten emu legs and died. There was a moral there somewhere but I might have missed that also. That’s oral history for you.

                                                        Uluru by the morning light

                                                 Fractured ribs??? Not even a flesh wound!!

Next stop after Yalara was Kings Canyon – another 300 km along the track. We walked the walk around the rim and we found it probably the most interesting and varied of the walks so far (Kata Tjuta and Uluru). I must say a word about the heroic effort of Margaret who walked the 6 km over quite rocky conditions while nursing two fractured ribs that she sustained several months ago. It just displays the pluck inherent in Queensland women – they’re a tough lot in the Sunshine State. Judging by the number plates of campers I just wonder if there is anybody left in Queensland at the moment. They all seem to be on the road. Perhaps Campbell Newman’s policies are causing an exodus from the promised land. Still, I think there are more French and Germans out here than Australians at the moment. They hire these self-contained Britz motor-homes and roar around, taking in the sights and enjoying the 30C heat compared with the current temperatures in Europe.

                                              A snippet of Kings Canyon - a good walk

Right, it’s off to Alice!

Easter and then the road north

We spent four days in the Burra area and we found it quite an interesting experience. Burra is fascinating – the site of a very rich copper mine that ran out of copper and closed in 1877 – it attracted Cornish miners and Welsh smelters. They built solid stone houses of quality and style and they have been preserved very well. Those that had no house carved out dugouts in the creek bank and a few of these are also on display. The locals have developed a self-guided tour of the sights and the museums, which we embarked upon. The first museum was at the old mine itself and the guide, a middle-aged guy in a striped shirt and earring in one ear gave us the spiel. It was a long tour – we stopped for lunch in the middle of it and then resumed at another museum in the town itself. The guide, a middle-aged guy in a striped shirt and earring in one ear gave us the spiel? Was there a little too much in-breeding happening in Burra? No, same guy apparently, but it was a little bit of a shock when he stamped our tickets.

                                      Old mine wreck at Burra (but beautifully built)

                                        It were only dugout in creek bank but it were 'ome to'us

Burra is close to the Clare Valley wine area so naturally we just had to take a peek. It was a rainy old day so we stopped in at Clare for a coffee, picking a cafe at random. We walked in and stood at the counter for quite a while. There was a big fat guy at the coffee machine making movements that resembled a barrista under sedation. He turned his head towards us, smiled nicely and said “Won’t be long”. Minutes passed – nothing. I thought “It will be long”, but then an efficient looking lady strode up to us and took our orders. As I walked away I happened to notice that the lady placed our order at the end of a metre long queue, next to the barrista. “It will be long”, I thought. We took advantage of this by venturing out into the town and buying provisions, including a range of sausages from yet another championship sausage-maker – every bluddy town has one! (These sausages were very good though, might I say). We came back to the cafe – no coffee – so Tom and Marg went and bought their provisions while we waited in vain hope that the barrista had finished his shift and someone competent had stepped in. That didn’t eventuate but we did eventually get our coffee (what? You want me to tell you it was good coffee? It wasn’t).

                                                   Two bruvvers framed by a tree

By the way, and it may surprise our South Australian friends, one of the provisions that we bought was a little knob of cold meat sausage called Fritz, which is peculiarly SA. Now this may surprise our non-South Australian friends, but I quite liked it! I’m a Fritz fan and may become a Fritz fiend if I’m not careful.

Our next destination was Woomera – about 400 km north. The country changes starkly once you leave Port Augusta and as you go further north you can imagine why no one had the slightest remorse about bombing, strafing, rocketing and nuking the joint. It is just so flat and desolate. There were some decent displays of old rockets we used to know (who can forget the Blue Streak Project that practically crippled Great Britain financially for no result) and great Aussie developments with great Aussie names like Ikara, Malkara and Jindivik (although that does sound a little Norwegian when one thinks about it).  My brother Thomas had his own missile attack of sorts when he came down with a sudden stomach upset that laid him low for a day. This delayed our travels while he recovered but we then pressed on to the opal town of Coober Pedy – 370 km further north again.

                                        For Zoolander fans - Blue Steel at the Blue Steel display

Now I would doubt if Coober Pedy has ever made the semi-finals in the Tidy Towns Competition. It’s kind of a mass of holes and mounds and every bit of machinery that has ever broken down is still in someone’s front yard.  Obviously it works for some though and there are about 2000 people living under and above ground, searching for the elusive opal. People must become addicted to finding this rock as they stay forever and the payoffs seem low when you ask. Everybody’s broke but everybody’s buying expensive mining machinery to add to the stuff that’s in their front yards.

                                   Living underground in Coober Pedy - 24C all year round

The land is so flat around here that we’re going to have to move on to see the really big rock – Uluru.

                                            The Big Nuthin'...Down on Desolation Row