Chapter Two
Across Oz
Friday on his mind came around fast enough for LP, going over everything they’d need for their road trip to the red centre, and across the top end. LP’s son insisted that they check out Uluru previously known as Aryes Rock, four hours south of Alice Springs in the heart of Australia. This wouldn't be the quickest route to take to get to Port Hedland in six days.
“OK ‘old man’, are you sure you got everything packed back there. You know I would have helped, but I’ve been working all week.” Mitchie said, as he walked behind his vehicle, checking everything was secure before closing the canopy windows of his Holden 4x4 Rodeo tray back.
“Take care of our son and get him there safely or don’t bother coming back,” said Ingrid.
You could tell in her voice, she was still pissed off with LP’s attitude earlier in the week, because he still hadn’t explained what he was on about regarding Archaea, or talk much about the trip across to the West Coast.
“See you in a week love, and I’ll phone to let you know how we’re travelling when we’ve got reception.” LP replied.
Ingrid walked to the driver’s side door and gave her son a big kiss on his cheek, and said. “Stay safe, and ring me before you listen to your father’s advice.”
LP laughed off that last comment, as Mitchie pushed the gear stick into first gear as LP started to rattle off a checklist - two food bins, two five litre containers of water, fishing rods, carton of beer, bedding, tarp, poles, ropes, table, gas stove, camping chairs, phones, wallets, jack, fuel drum, tools box, and the cooler with cold food from the fridge, with a few chilled beers on top.
“Did you fill up the Jerrycan?” Mitchie asked.
“No, it’s half full. We’ll fill it when we fill up next, and if we’ve forgotten anything, there’s no turning back,” replied LP.
Mitchie drove out of the driveway and gave a wave to his mother, and LP stretched out his hand and gave a thumbs up as they left home. Heading west they would travel past the Glass House Mountains, LP’s second home when it comes spiritual enlightenment.
Two and half hours into their journey they drove across a railway line, stopping directly opposite the rail crossing at a pub on the outskirts of Dalby. There they would down a cold beer, before, changing drivers. ‘The Bun,’ the nickname for this pub had the longest town name in Queensland. By the time they try to pronounce it, the publican would have two beers poured.
Kaimkillenbun pub was your typical hotel design from when Cobb & Co. Coaches, and men on horseback would stop for accommodation, a cold beer and food. The two story building had surrounding balconies, with overnight rooms upstairs for travellers, and the public bar downstairs.
LP and his son walked into the public bar and asked for two schooners of cold beer on tap. They sat at the bar and chatted about where to stop overnight. It wouldn't be upstairs. They were travelling on the cheap, and tonight would be under the stars further west, and there was still enough light for another couple of hours of driving before sunset. They took their time knocking down their cold ales, but Mitchie wanted more beer, a carton of Corona to be to his liking. But not there, grog would be cheaper in Dalby. They finished their beers and said thanks to the publican and walked out the way they came in. Through the front door and two steps down to their vehicle parked out front.
Mitchie was up for more driving. He wasn’t tired and drove off to find a bottle shop in Dalby. After angle parking in front of Liquorland, he then went in to buy a carton of Coronas. Mitchie got back behind the wheel, still keen on driving, and let ‘old man’ be a tourist for now.
They headed west with a fair amount of traffic coming their way from workers ending their shift, most likely from the hundreds of coal seam gas wells that had been drilled throughout the district. It was now dark on the outskirts of St. George as they looked for a spot to pull off the highway and set up camp. LP pointed to a cutting in the bush, and Mitchie left the bitumen driving twenty metres into an open clearing of scrub. It was eight o’clock and they weren't going to bother setting up the tarp over the rear of the vehicle. Just remove the table, gas stove, camping chairs, and cooler making enough room for two to sleep in the back, on a form mattress under the fiberglass canopy. But a problem presented itself. They had to find a hunk of wood to prop up the tailgate because the tray back was short for the mattress. They needed to prop it to allow for the mattress to fit. If not, their feet would be overhanging by a foot. Mitchie spotted a solid tree branch not far from the vehicle, walked over and cleaned it up with LP’s axe, and positioned it under the tailgate as support.
Mitchie dropped the axe next to the cooler then pulled out a cold Corona and asked, “What are you having.”
“I’ll have one too. Grab a couple of stubby coolers from the consul while you’re at it.” LP said.
They didn’t bother with cooking a meal because they got KFC on the way through town.
Sitting and relaxing beneath a cloudless night sky, stars shone bright. Bush abounded with red dirt under foot, as they melted into their surroundings. This was just a taste of what’s to come. This is the real Australia. Not the city lights and hustle and bustle, but highways with little traffic that stretch in a straight line for hundreds of kilometres.
After a quiet drink under the stars, surrounded by silence, LP folded up his chair and pushed it under the not so white vehicle covered in red dust, and climbed up under the canopy and settled down for a good night’s sleep. Mitchie decided to knock down another beer and listen to some music before crawling into bed.
During the night, the barometer dropped to almost freezing. Daybreak couldn’t come sooner for them, as LP started to stir. He stretched out his hands and started worming his way out of his not so comfortable makeshift bed, and planting his feet back onto red dirt. Looking around he spotted his shovel learning up against the corner of the bullbar. He picked it up and continued walking into the bush to make a bush toilet. A hole in the ground and then cover it with dirt. One thing LP was very wary of was snakes, especially after the snake attacked Mason, his old mate, on their road trip in the early seventies. LP was wiser from that - pay attention to your surroundings, or if you’re unlucky, you might get bitten on the arse while doing your morning constitutional. LP placed the shovel next to his axe so not to forget it when packing up. He then started preparing to make bacon, and eggs on toast.
By the time Mitchie crawled out of bed, breakfast was ready as he handed him a plate, saying, “Get this in ya’, and we’re on our way as soon as we pack up.”
Well, the old saying, ‘we’ll hit the road,’ was an understatement. Wallabies and kangaroos littered the road as road kill. Eagles soared above looking for a feed, on the stretch of road to Cunnamulla Mitchie had to zigzag along.
They reached their next destination without too much drama since there was little traffic on the road, and fewer animals feeding on the side of the road in daylight. Most of the animals killed at night were from road train bullbars striking them dead.
Stopping at the Roadhouse on the outskirts of Cunnamulla, Mitchie filled up for the first time, and just in time as the fuel light flashed ‘fill tank.’ Seventy three dollars later, and checking the trip meter for how far they could go on a full tank of diesel showed - 840 km. Before leaving Cunnamulla, they took a quick drive around town. It was known as the centre of the largest body of underground water in the world. Cunnamulla is an aboriginal word meaning - long stretch of water, and the Warrego - river of sand, is the river, along with the Artesian water supply that made the mulga country viable for European settlement. The town became the home of the largest sheering shed in the world, sheering half a million sheep in a year. And in recent times for the statue of a bushie, looking thoughtful as you drive into town - named - The Cumnnamulla Fella.
Next destination Broken Hill. Arriving at 7:00pm at a Big Ten caravan park in Broken Hill, they proceeded to book in and find a campsite for the night. At least hear they could shower and freshen up and use the cooking facilities at hand, which they did. The next morning they were back on the road again heading towards the South Australian border. They wouldn’t be going to Adelaide but would take the fork north to Port Augusta. Arriving there, it was time to stock up on supplies, mainly alcohol from the local bottle shop - Coronas were on the hit list, and a hot chook for lunch from Woolies across the road.
Mitchie asked LP to open up his map, after loading their supplies in the back of the vehicle. He reached over and pointed to Coober Pedy on the map, and said, “We can make it before sunset, you do some driving. I’m having a Corona.”
Seven hours of driving lay ahead with Mitchie’s music blaring. Stopping every couple of hours to change drivers, the navigator would look for something to drink as they crossed paths, reaching in the rear window, and digging deep, he’d find the coldest beer in the cooler.
They arrived at 8:15pm, later than Mitchie calculated, and booked in at the tourist caravan park on the outskirts of town. It also had a restaurant with pizza on the menu. That solved where to sleep and eat, in one go.
The next morning they packed up early, after LP heated up a can of cream of chicken soup to share for breakfast. Mitchie wasn’t in the mood for sharing. He wanted something stronger - black coffee to get his brain into gear. Before driving out LP walked over to reception and handed over the amenity keys. The owner of the park may well have been the local tourist guide, pointing at a map on the wall, places of interest to see before leaving town. He told LP to walk in the front entrance of the resort in the main street, you couldn’t miss it. Then turn left and you’ll see stairs leading down to underground workings of an old opal mine. It’s well worth looking at, and it’s free to enter. And check out the underground church across the road.
They took on board local advice, and did a quick tour of a maze of tunnels under the resort. Memorabilia of yesteryear was displayed over the walls, and rusty digging equipment was roped off for safety.
Next, LP strode across the road, leaving Mitchie walking around checking tyre pressure, and lifting the bonnet to check fluid levels. Mitchie wanted to make sure everything was right for their next leg of their journey.
Mitchie shouted out to LP as he crossed the road, “By the time I check over the vehicle, be out of there. Make it quick or I’ll leave you behind.”
Under a pile of red dirt that was a roof on a church, LP pushed open a solid door, opening to a small entrance leading to another door. He turned the door knob, and gently pushed, and started to walk down the aisle until he was standing in front of the church alter. It reminded him of a grotto from many a movie watched. It was starting to give him goose bumps. It was like been transported back in time. Here was one man, a priest performing a ritual started two thousand years ago. As LP cast his eyes around, he realised there was no one else there, just him and a priest at the alter head down reading.
He thought to himself, since they were alone, he could ask the question to the meaning of life, in this sanctified place of worship. So what does LP blurt out when the priest stopped what he’s reading. He asked, “Do you pull a better crowd than this on Sunday.”
“Yes, fifty yesterday, and if you have any more questions sit down there, and I speak to you later,” while pointing to a pew.
LP missed his opportunity to know more. He didn’t know why he asked such a silly question, and didn’t have time to wait to know what else could be revealed there. Mitchie was waiting outside, anxious to get on the go, and if LP didn’t hurry up, his son might be true to his word, and leave him behind. LP turned, walking out, cap in hand, sunglasses on, thongs flapping and a T-shirt blazoned with a New Zealand map and a Kiwi bird on it. At that moment, he thought what he must have looked like to the priest - a Kiwi tourist, not a potential convert.
LP stepped back into the passenger seat, and before he could click his seat belt on, they were heading north out of town, onto the main highway. Destination Uluru, but first they needed to fill up at the BP Roadhouse on the outskirts of town.
After paying, they were back on the road with clear blue sky ahead of them, and to the west, thunder heads were brewing. Looking left and right as they left Coober Pedy behind; what they witnessed resembled a crater-like scared landscape as far the eye could see, with mounds of dirt looking like miniature pyramids.
After hours of driving their destination looked within reach on the horizon, but they mistook a table-top looking mountain for the rock - Uluru.
LP looked at his map and said, “That’s not Uluru its Mt. Conner and over to the west is Walpa Gorge. Uluru’s not much further.”
“Well, the old map has come in handy, since we can’t get any GPS signal out here!” said Mitchie.
Mitchie kept a sharp eye on the road as a wonder of nature seemed to swallow them as they entered the national park, and now the monolith over shadowed their vehicle at the base of Uluru. Mitchie was keen on climbing it, but after reading about the rock and the aboriginal trustees, it was clear they wouldn't be climbing Uluru today. It was closed for climbing indefinitely.
Mitchie was disappointed. They took the long way around to get to Port Hedland. If it wasn't for sight-seeing, they could have cut a thousand kilometres of their trip by firstly heading north to Mt.Isa, across the Barkly Highway and onto Katherine to cross the top end along the Great Northern Highway.
Mitchie may have missed the opportunity to climb the red rock, but LP wasn’t going to miss snapping some photos at sunset. They’d spotted a car park when entering Kata Tjuta National Park encompassing Uluru renamed in 1958, which would be perfect for photos. They headed back the way they came, not before exploring around the base of Uluru, that still, some tourist company’s call - Ayers Rock, named after the South Australian of the time, Premier Sir Henry Ayers, and discovered by Ernest Giles an explorer, in 1872. If Giles had been able to speak the local language, the indigenous people, the traditional owners, would have told have told him - ‘the rock has been here as long as they have, going back to Dreamtime. It didn’t need discoverin’.
LP and Mitchie entered a cave entrance, what looked like a wave rock overhang protecting aboriginal drawings, going back possibly tens of thousands of years. Not touching anything, LP got up close and snapped a couple of photos he hoped he could reproduce as prints on canvas when back home.
They stopped at the car park where dozens of vehicles were parked. Light drizzle popped up the brollies from tourists standing against the fence line, trying to get a clear shot of the changing colours of the rock on sunset. As LP grabbed his camera and umbrella, he overheard one couple saying, “Pity about the rain.”
LP saw it differently. It’s not often in this part of Australia you get much rain, let alone a rainbow striking the rock. That’s exactly what LP captured. A rare moment that connected him to aboriginal folklore of the ‘Rainbow Serpent’. LP left the car park with Mitchie driving to the caravan park on the outskirts of the National Park, fifteen clicks back down the road from Uluru.
On arriving LP’s plan was to freshen up, eat and hit the sack early, then get a head start on all the tourists next morning. Mitchie plan was to stay up and knock down a couple of Coronas, and see if he could attract some female talent walking by their somewhat messy campsite.
Still dark when LP woke, to be exact, 4:30am. He tried to wake his son to no avail. What he’d find out later, Mitchie hooked up with a fellow female tourist and had a late night.
Leaving his son sleeping in the back, LP jumped in the driver’s seat and headed out of the car park, with Mitchie somewhat cramped in after LP put all their gear back next to him.
Arriving back at Uluru, but a different car park for sunrise, with walking trails lit up by low posts with solar lighting revealed paths to follow in the dark. One thing LP was unsure about - Dingos, the native Australian dog roamed this place, and have attacked tourists in the past.
LP didn’t want to waste time thinking about what may be lurking in the dark. He walked the dimly lit trails looking for a perfect vantage point for a sunrise shot. What one of the trails led to, was a large elevated viewing platform. LP decided that was the best spot to set up, so he headed back to the vehicle and grabbed his camera gear. He tried to wake his son, but no go.
He then returned to the deck, and walked up six steps, turned left, and positioned his camera on his tripod up against the front handrail, ready for what Uluru is famous for - the changing colours of the rock..
Tour buses were starting to arrive as LP looked back to see if Mitchie had stirred, but no sight of him yet. Tourists poured out of those buses, as well, hundreds more tourists arrived by car, and you don’t have to guess where they were heading. Well, within minutes the platform creaked with eager photographers as they filled the platform. LP had laid claim to his corner, as tourists jostled shoulder to shoulder to snap a memorable photo of sunrise at the rock. LP readied himself, for the moment, to capture the sun striking the rock from the east as he pointed his camera west. It was still overcast and it would be later than sunrise, before the sun broke through low storm clouds.
Mitchie by this time still hadn’t risen, and LP couldn’t go back for him, or he’d lose his position, and he didn’t want to leave his camera and tripod unattended, even if he could push through the crowd.
The moment arrived as cameras clicked and the crowd was not disappointed. LP had captured a wonder of nature, as the colours of the red rock changed before his eyes. Whitish grey cloud streaked across the rock framed against a background of blue sky.
LP hoped Mitchie would wake up, and at least, look out the tray back window, because it was his idea to go the long way around, just to see Uluru. And this moment was spectacular, and he missed it.
Pushing his way through the crowd LP headed back to Mitchie’s vehicle and found him still asleep.
“Mitchie wake up. Last chance to see the rock.”
With no response, LP placed his camera gear on the back seat, and drove out of the car park heading for Alice Springs, leaving Mitchie to sleep in. He’d check on him in a couple of hours.
After travelling east along the Lasseter Highway, then turning north onto route 87-Stuart Highway, he veered off onto an expanse of red dirt, after seeing only - desert, bitumen, and the odd backpacker van go by. He steeped out of Mitchie’s vehicle, and thumped on the side window to wake his son up. It was his turn to drive.
Mitchie shouted, as he looked out the canopy window, “Stop the banging.”Where are we?”
“Not Uluru, you missed sunrise. We’re on the way to Alice. You drive.” LP shouted back.
Mitchie wriggled his way out of a warm bed. Taking stock of where he was, and said, “OK, let’s keep on the move. We wouldn’t want to break down here. It’ll cost a fortune to get us out of trouble.”
Mitchie took control behind the wheel, accelerating, blasting a red dust cloud in the distance as tyres spun onto bitumen.
Alice Springs looked like a two stubby trip for Mitchie if he had his way, but ‘old man’ would not be happy seeing him knock down a Corona while driving, so that was not going to happen. With cloud cover still overhead, kept the temperature down to bearable for locals. Air conditioning now on for them was a cool change from the ‘outback’ heat. Entering Alice Springs, they were confronted with the local prison on the left, with a billboard - Welcome to Alice - in front of barbed wire fencing, and on the right, the airport.
LP commented, “Local cops take seriously any minor breaches of the law. I know you can’t drink alcohol in public places, or you’ll get arrested. So don’t rip the top off a Corona until we’re out of town, when I’m driving, or you could end up behind barbwire or on a plane back to where you come from.”
“Got ya’, let’s fill up, Mitchie said.
LP pointed to a Shell servo’, two intersections down the road. Green lights showed the way. Mitchie turned right and pulled up next to the diesel bowser. They both stepped out. Mitchie to fill the vehicle. LP to find a toilet. He was busting for a leak. Next he walked inside the front entrance to pay for the fuel. As LP walked outside he heard Mitchie ‘revving’ the engine, prompting him to jog over to an impatient driver ready to plant his foot down on the pedal, and get on the move for the next leg of their journey.
Mitchie said, “Take a look at the map, ‘old man’ we’re taking a shortcut across the Tanami Desert, and we’ll save a thousand kilometres and make up a days travelling time.”
LP’s first thoughts were, ‘It’s a dirt track except for a couple hundred kilometers of bitumen.’
LP figured he would be wasting his breath trying to persuade Mitchie from taking the Tanami Track. What was agreed upon when they started their road trip was, to leave Alice Springs, head north to Tennant Creek and then on to Katherine, before tracking west, across the top end of Australia.
What was unfolding was the unknown? No phone reception, no recovery gear, and not enough fuel to make it to Halls Creek, and back onto bitumen after a thousand and forty kilometres across the Tanami Desert track. The best fuel consumption they had got so far, was eight hundred and forty clicks from a full tank. It was not going to be enough, but Mitchie pointed out he had a long-range fuel tank, and good for another one hundred twenty kilometres. Plus they had the Jerrycan.
By the time LP shuffled opened his old map and checked if Mitchie was right, he just realised something important, when Mitchie mentioned the Jerrycan - they’d forgotten to fill it up. It was only half full and only good for another eighty kilometres. By the time they finished arguing over the map and change of plan, Mitchie was already on the outskirts of town.
Mitchie”s four-wheel drive would have to be extremely fuel efficient. On LP’s calculations they wouldn’t have a drop to spare before making it to Halls Creek.
LP reminded Mitchie, “You can’t run a diesel vehicle bone dry, or you’ll have to bleed the fuel line, let’s turn back and get more fuel. We won’t make it.”
“You worry too much ‘old man.’ We’ll be able to get more fuel on the Tanami Track before it turns to dirt. The map shows a roadhouse at Tilmouth.”
LP was still concerned with the change of plan, but as Mitchie approached the turn off for the Tanami Desert, LP said, “Let’s do it.”
One hundred and sixty six kilometres later, they entered the roadhouse at Tilmouth, but it was closed. No one was there. It wasn’t a township, just an old abandoned fuel stop surrounded by desert.
LP said, “I guess the old map was older than I thought. We’ll stop here tonight and go back to Alice and fill up again, and this time fill the Jerrycan.”
“Nope, we’ll keep going. The map shows an aboriginal settlement about another hundred clicks down the track. We’ll get fuel there.”
“The maps that old, the aboriginals will have gone on walkabout by now. It’ll be deserted.” LP said, with a concerned look on his face.
LP was not happy anymore, and could not persuade his son to wait until morning. Before leaving the old roadhouse LP went to the back of the vehicle, and pulled out a couple of cold beers. One for now, and one for later while Mitchie drove.
It was a two stubby trip, when, in the distance, they spotted a sign, you couldn’t miss.
Last fuel for 740 km. The sign was the size of a roadside billboard with a large arrow pointing right to a smaller dusty track.
Mitchie said, “I told you. Nothing to worry about.”
“Really, look at the gauge. It’s dropped under three- quarters. There better be fuel there. Not abandoned like the last place.” LP said.
Just a few kilometers down the road they entered the local indigenous township. Nothing flash but not abandoned. Homes could do with a lick of paint, but what stood out was their own Centrelink building for collecting government benefits. It was the best kept building they had seen in the township so far. Who ever worked in that green corrugated building, certainly would need air-conditioning on a hot summer’s day.
LP made the comment, “That tin shed’s spotless. I reckon when Centrelink people come out on pension day, they bring cleaners. I doubt if anyone else here would do it.”
“Forget about that building. Look for a bowser.” Mitchie said.
It was still twilight, but time got away on them. It was six thirty when LP spotted an aboriginal man standing next to a small general store. Mitchie pulled up next to him, and looked out from his window that was down, and asked, “Where do we get fuel around here?”
The answer was not what they wanted to here, “Hey bro, no fuel here now. Come back tomorrow.”
“OK ….tomorrow,” Mitchie answered.
As he engaged the clutch and pushed the gear stick into first gear, he drove away slowly, not to stir up a dust storm.
Mitchie turned, glancing at ‘old man’ saying, “I’ll back track our way out of possible trouble. We’re the only two white fellers here, from what I can see. We can’t stay here tonight. It’s an aboriginal settlement for locals only. I didn’t see any signs about camping or accommodation, did you?”
One word summed up their situation, “Nope.” LP replied.
Mitchie drove back the way he came, and turned right at the sign that warned them of the danger ahead. LP looked on the map, did the sums again and said, “We need to find a rest stop and set up camp, and go back early tomorrow for fuel.
“I’m not turning back. We can make it.” Mitchie was starting to sound like LP’s old mate Bear - always over confident.
Minutes pasted and LP could see another sign coming up. “Turn now,” LP yelled.
Mitchie swerved off the track and stopped in front of a small sign that read, Truck rest area. For your safety, no camping. He thought that was odd, with an arrow pointing north, and below it, 33km.
LP needed to convince Mitchie they had to stop somewhere, but definitely go back for fuel. People die in situations similar to what they’re about to get themselves into. They were ill prepared for what lay ahead, and what was fast approaching, tracking their way was a thunder storm. Lightning, in the distance, lit up the night sky. It was the worst time to travel with wallabies and kangaroos feeding on the side of the track eating sparse dry spinifex as tumbleweed blew across red dirt.
This storm had been building up since Coober Pedy, tracking slowly north to Uluru, and now it seemed it was going to bucket down on them. If that happened, the track would turn to mud. Stuck they would be, until rescued, and that could be a very long time, since they didn’t tell anyone, they had changed their route, and now heading further into t
