Warburton to Carnegie via the Gunbarrel Highway

Warburton to Carnegie via the Gunbarrel Highway

I had said coming off the Connie Sue that if the Gunbarrel Highway was that bad this here city slicker was not going to Carnegie Station. We were told at the Shire Office that all the roads were “pretty good” around Warburton, and they certainly were - for about two hours. We had spent nearly two days in Warburton – time to move on. We headed out to the west on the Great Central Road (wide, well graded), my options still open, even hit a stretch of bitumen; veered off to the right on the Heather Highway (wide, well graded – I was feeling pretty good here), until we drove past the turn-off to the Tjirrkarli aboriginal community. Within a kilometre we were back where we started (goat track) and by the time we realised that it weren’t going to get any better, it was too late to turn around, and besides conditions may improve once we got off the Heather Highway (you just never know – but I think, dear reader, that you know exactly where this is going!).

After a good day's harvest

Len Beadell's Gunbarrel Plate

Turning left onto the Gunbarrel Highway (the first road that Led Beadell had built in the area) we jinked our way along another 20 kilometres before finding a good campsite and calling it quits for the day. It wasn’t getting any better and there wasn’t any turning around. I didn’t know what we would be calling on the X-Trail to do in order to make the remaining 270 kilometres to Carnegie but I kept Andy’s number close to my heart (if there was a tattooist in Warburton I would have had his number tattooed on my wrist). We built a nice fire and listened to the dingo chorus (with a few wild dogs on bass and percussion) and watched the Milky Way unfold after the setting sun in a way that you will never see in the city. Out here you can make out The Emu, which is an area of relatively few stars embedded in the galaxy starting near the Southern Cross and resembling that bird. No need to join the dots like the ancient Greeks did – you visualise the shape. And it was cold.

Another night, another campfire

The fresh bread just kept coming

Noise travels over distance out there and we heard engines revving the next morning. Six dirt bikes and a supply vehicle were doing a charity ride from Airlie Beach (east coast) to Fremantle (west coast), right through the middle of Australia. Actually there were originally seven bikes but one rider was tucked up in the supply vehicle nursing a broken rib – another victory to the Gunbarrel. We ventured on even worse roads with some truly serious washaways and even taller grass to harvest underneath the car and to make things just that little more miserable, Maureen misplaced her camera at one of our stops. By the time we discovered it missing there was no point in turning around to look for it and I was resigned to losing all those images of our trip forever.

On the Highway

As we hobbled our way along the road not knowing what chasm or obstacle the Gunbarrel had in store for us next, camera gone, and thinking about all the great holidays we had had before this, I was feeling pretty forlorn and ventured to say that this may turn out to be the worst holiday we have ever had. Maureen would have none of it and frankly told me to stop being so negative and over-thinking things, pull my socks up and don’t be such a pain in the backside. I took these suggestions on board – the Gunbarrel didn’t listen at all and ease up on us, but then again it ain’t married to the Maursinator. We made camp that afternoon and as we were setting up we heard a vehicle coming our way from the east. Maurs was filling her water bottle at the time and headed for the road to meet the vehicle (we were camped far enough off the road that we couldn’t be easily seen). So this couple (who coincidentally we had met at Warburton some days before – small world) were confronted with the sight of this woman walking out of the bush with only a water bottle as if she had been marooned by her irate husband (well there’s a thought). More surprisingly Maureen asked what I thought was a stupid question, “Have you seen a camera?” “What colour was it?” asked the woman. “Blue” said Maurs. “Here it is” said the woman. Unbelievable. That was the moment that I resolved to place my fate in the Universe because magic does happen and maybe, just maybe we had a chance of making Carnegie against all the odds.

Mount Beadell

We proclaimed the next day a rest day. That’s just a rest from driving. We spent the day checking the vehicles (the epoxy seal for my rear diff was holding up under all the bashing that the underbody was receiving), making bread (this was Maurs doing it the hard way, on a campfire), collecting firewood to feed our campfire, and I even previewed to the group a song that fell out of me called (strangely enough) the “Connie Sue Highway Blues” (more shaken out than anything else). Not surprisingly it started out, “Connie Sue, what’d you do to me…” and it went downhill from there but tells the story of how the Connie Sue kicked my butt all the way along it.

The sad tale of the Connie Sue Highway Blues

Heading out the next morning we drove about 150 metres down the track and had to stop to check out the wreck of a Cub Camper similar to ours that obviously didn’t make it to Carnegie Station – just one more vehicle in the series of wrecks strewn along these roads (obviously by people too cheap to give Andy a ring after the event).

Dead camper

The road remained diabolical but we made it to the junction of the Gary Highway where we signed a book and took a photo. Shortly past there is the picturesque Mt Everard, probably the most photogenic feature of the Gunbarrel stretch if not the only feature, and onward for a lunch stop at the Geraldton Bore. We pumped some water out, consigning it to our “washing water” jerry cans, until we had a taste of it – it was really good quality water. It is surprising how good the underground water is out here – desert on top and all that goodness untapped below. With water comes life and there were masses of Zebra Finches in the trees and a lazy and unusual snake worm slithering across the track.

Signing the book at the Gary Highway

A little cloud candy

Is there no end to this road?!!

Sweet water pumped up from below

Is it a snake? Is it a worm? It's a snake worm!

Zebra finches at Geraldton Bore

 

The road is choked with spinifex grass with long stretches of soft sand interspersed with outcrops of sharp rocks. We’re bumping along in the mid–afternoon and noticed a road sign coming up – Welcome to the Shire of Wiluna – we didn’t pay it much attention until we noticed something fairly alien – the bouncing around had stopped! The Shire owned a grader and knew how to use it! Oh joy! We eased our way up to 30 to 50 km/h! We knew the Mungili Claypan was coming up and we searched around there for a possible campsite. It was very exposed country and there had been recent rain so the chances of slipping down into boggy clay were pretty high.

This Shire owns a Grader!!!

We continued on to the junction of the Eagle Highway and decided to set up camp there. It wasn’t ideal but it was after three in the afternoon, it was clouding up and what’s more we had actually travelled 120 kilometres in a single day!

Another great sunset

It rained a little overnight but the clearing cloud deck in the morning made for a spectacular sunrise. As we were enjoying that, as if on cue a herd of about 30 camels streamed past. I expected David Attenborough to come out of the bush to describe it all to us in hushed tones. We departed around 9 am on an excellent dirt road with only a few slow-down points. We were averaging 70 km/h for most of the way in to Carnegie Station where we duly arrived at around 11.30 am. Blessed relief! We cruised in with quite a high sense of achievement and were impressed with the greenery around the property buildings and the grove of citrus trees laden with oranges and mandarins (with the usual “keep away or die” signs to deter tourists from helping themselves without permission). The homestead area looked very basic and the campground was basic but it was a welcome relief to our last five days on the Gunbarrel.



The camels are all pretty healthy

 

Yes but is it art?

 

Kev and Shirley triumphant over the Gunbarrel

 

NOW they put up a warning sign!!

Now if you were to Google Carnegie Station as we did in our planning stage to check on its status and facilities (you know, is there a café, do they take mastercard, is there a bar – none of which there was of course, this is just city-slicker thinking) you would have been bitterly disappointed (as we were) to find the primary heading “Carnegie Station Closed”. Should you read further it turns out that this referred to the Carnegie Railway Station in leafy suburban Melbourne that was getting a facelift at the time of our interest whereas neither drought nor flood nor act of insurrection let alone a little urban train touch-up would ever close down this tough little piece of Central Australia.

Mind you it’s hard to find a “local” out there. Staffing the station was a skeleton crew from the UK, Victoria and Germany who were preparing all the equipment for the forthcoming cattle muster. Having a backyard thousands of square kilometres in extent, the mustering is done by helicopter with a few people (again it’s mostly Europeans, Kiwis and other out of towners) on the ground to open and shut the gates and truck the cattle off to market. And what are all the bronzed Aussies doing, you may ask? I don’t know but my guess is that they’re in Banff running the ski lifts!

You don’t think of this at the time but I’m sure we must have provided a lively topic of conversation around a few campfires as our fellow outback travellers recalled the sight of a Nissan X-Trail pulling a small camper along these stretches of track. “Who in the hell would do that?” There would have been laughter and disbelief and shaking of heads but we did do it and in retrospect I have the utmost respect for that vehicle, particularly after passing the string of burnt-out car bodies standing as monuments for those who did not quite “do that”.

But this was a time to bask in the winter desert sun, cook meals in the camp kitchen, visit the sights (such as the original Carnegie homestead), recharge our own batteries as opposed to the solar variety, and generally relax. We had conquered two of Len Beadell’s iconic roads (“conquered” is a bit strong, call it a draw or perhaps a Mexican stand-off) and now we needed to make plans about where to go from here.

Still got some big numbers to drive