Time to relax
Back on track and hard bitumen their next stop would be Derby, and find somewhere to set up camp for the night. It would take at least six hours to get there. Mitchie reminded LP about contacting the police, and he said, “OK, I’ll ring, when I finish my pie”
On a straight stretch of road across the top end of Australia, seemingly to have no end beyond the horizon, LP glanced down and picked up his phone, to find the phone number for the local police, and phoned. A woman answered, who he guessed was a cop and proceeded to tell her about the backpackers out on the Tanami Track.
Her question was, “Do they have water?”
LP’s reply was somewhat sarcastic, “How would I know.”
“Backpackers, huh,” she answered back, and then there was silence from the other end of the phone.
LP thought that was a bit rude. Possibly the signal dropped out, or maybe they get a lot call outs to tourists who just don’t grasp how big this country is, and get themselves into trouble. You can travel on some byway’s long distances without seeing anyone, for hours or days can be unnerving. Even the local aboriginals sometimes get themselves into trouble out on these arid desert tracks throughout Australia, and need rescuing, let alone tourists who have no local knowledge at all.
Six hours later after a couple of driver changes, LP had taken over driving at the turnoff for Derby at around 8:00pm. It wasn’t long before they entered the township after a short drive. Mitchie gave directions to pull into the local caravan park. LP followed his navigator’s instruction, and parked outside reception to book in. LP opened the driver’s door stepping down onto a concrete pathway leading to a blue door. He knocked briskly, and was greeted by chap in P-Js answering the knock. “It’s too late too book in. Find somewhere in the park and set up camp. Fix me up in the morning.”
LP thought, ‘He’s a trusting soul.’
LP and Mitchie were pretty tired after taking turns driving over fourteen hours from the Tanami Track to Halls Creek and onto Derby. Knocking down beers along the way didn’t help. They both had a headache.
They pulled out some of their gear and made room to sleep in the back of the vehicle.
The finish line was getting close, after their challenging road trip with just another six hundred and fifteen K’s south left to go, once they get to Broome. They survived the Tanami Desert, and Mitchie’s Holden Rodeo never missed a beat, travelling over five thousand K’s in six days, without punctures or overheating.
Next morning, they will be in no rush to get out of town as reception didn’t open until 7:30am. Mitchie was up first and made a fresh brew of coffee, and opened a tin of spaghetti to share for a change. LP climbed out of his not so comfortable bedding still covered in red dust. Everything needed to be washed, but that would wait until settling in at Port Hedland.
After something to eat Mitchie started up his vehicle, and they went for a drive along the main street of town. Then headed for the town jetty to check out if they could fish. No locals were fishing, as it was low tide, and the jetty looked like it was not good for fishing off at that time. They headed back to pay at reception and make tracks for Broome, just two hours away.
Arriving at Broome on the West Coast of Australia, Mitchie was excited at seeing the ocean again after so much dry land, and the first thing he thought of, ‘I want to fish.’ Town Beach was not near the town, but was also the meeting place for the local aboriginals who were congregated under a large tree as the temperature hit unbearable. What Michie thought was unusual, or more to the point - a West Australian Police four-wheel drive vehicle drove off the bitumen, and literally parted a group of about thirty locals in the shade of a large fig tree. One of the coppers spoke to some of them through the driver’s side window. Out of earshot, Mitchie, while standing on the sandy beach, thought what he might be saying, ‘Drink here or cause any trouble to tourists, and we’ll arrest the lot of you.’ LP and Mitchie turned away from what was unfolding under the tree. It reminded LP of the Balboa tree they stopped at on the outskirts of Derby.
‘It’s about power and control. Nothing much has changed. You just don’t see the chains.’
Before British colonisation it was a ceremonial site for the indigenous local population. There, a tourist sign now told the story of what was an infamous part Australian history called ‘Black Birding’ - the forced removal of aboriginal men, from their traditional hunting ground, then sold into slavery. Old black and white photos depicted them chained together around the neck, with the Balboa tree in the background, an aboriginal sacred site. LP’s thoughts turned to his mate Brownie, thinking, ‘If he saw this, he’d want to hunt down those responsible and enact Aboriginal payback. But of course, he’s two hundred years too late.’
Mitchie looked at LP and said, “What do you think. Are you keen on fishing? I want to try my new rod. “
“Fish,”
“Sorry, I was thinking of something else.” LP replied.
“Come on take your mind off everything. We made it. Let’s just relax and unwind after six days of grueling driving,”Mitchie said while pulling out his rod and tackle box from the tray back.
“Well, let’s not relax too much.” LP said, as he pointed to a yellow sign on the sand reading - Recent croc sightings in the area BEWARE.
“Ah, no wonder no one’s in the water for a dip. I thought it was a bit strange, with those aboriginal kids only playing on the rock groin.” Mitchie replied.
LP glanced back over to the shady tree, and watched a cop drive his vehicle slowly back over the gutter, leaving the local aboriginals standing on a patch of green grass. No one was arrested, but you could guess; they were warned, drinking alcohol in a public place will get them arrested, even if was their sacred site. The cops drove out of the car park without giving all the backpacker vans a second glance parked near the foreshore, as they headed back the way they came in.
LP grabbed his rod too, and both cast out using lures for bait, and waited for a bite. It wasn’t long before movement from the water got their attention, as a dog jumped in, and of course, dog paddled, further out near their lines. Then another splash, as some guy dives in and follows the dog out into deeper water. There was hardly any swell, more like at a still lake stretching to the horizon - until now.
LP couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and said, “Must be a backpacker who can’t read signs.”
“Backpackers huh.” He’ll need rescuing soon just like those Germans out on the track.” Mitchie replied.
They reeled their lines. It looked like the only thing they were going to pull in today was a backpacker, a dog or a croc.After packing away their fishing gear, they headed back into town to buy more beer, and find somewhere to knockdown a schooner of the local brew. At the bottle shop LP paid for two cartons of Coronas and a bag of ice. He asked the attendant, “Hey, mate, where’s the best place for a beer around here with a view over the ocean?”
He answered, while a security guard watched on, “Just go round the corner, and back up the main street. You’ll see Castaway Resort. Out the back is a beer garden. Check it out. It’s good for a coldie and the ocean’s right in front of ya’, mate.”
After taking on local advice LP walked out past security, and placing six beers in the cooler with a bag of ice on top. He placed the remaining cartons next to the cooler, then followed the directions given. Parking opposite reception, they walked in past the front desk at Castaways. Mitchie waved to the young girl there, and said as he walked past, ‘old man’ “I’ll have a Corona with lime, your shout.”
LP walked around to the bar area as Mitchie went over to the edge of the beer garden overlooking the Indian Ocean. No problem finding a table, no one else was there, other then bar staff back where LP was ordering what his son wanted, and pouring LP a drop of the local brew. ‘Swan Lager,’ the barmaid suggested. “It’s what us ‘westies’ reckon is the best beer in the world.”
LP had some bad news to report after talking to another barmaid while holding two beers. Placing the beers on the table he said, “You wouldn't believe this. The roads closed to Port Hedland.”
“What the hell happened? Mitchie asked.
“You saw me chatting to the barmaids.”
“Yeah, it looked like you were trying to crack onto em’.”
“Funny ha ha. No, there’s fires burning on both sides of the highway south. One of my so-called girlfriends said, her boyfriend works on a road gang, and he can’t make it back tonight. I’m off to check out what’s the standby rack rate is if we stay here. We’ll get an early start in the morning.”
LP booked in for $140 overnight twin share. He figured it was good value for a luxury resort. They removed what they needed for overnight into their new luxury accommodation. Somewhat upmarket to what they were use too - Sleeping rough across Australia. LP was going to take full advantage of this delay in reaching Port Hedland. After finishing their beers LP went back to their vehicle and drove into the resort, parking out front of their new home. He grabbed two stubbies from the back of the four-wheel drive, and shouted over to Mitchie, “I’m having a coldie in the pool. Come over. I’m cooling off,”
Mitchie joined him in the pool, and chilled out with a cold ale in hand. Minutes later, Mitchie shouted out to a barmaid in ear shot, “Schooner of Swan and a Corona, thanks. Put it on room 120,” he said.
LP had something to say about that, since he was paying. “Next shout. Go back to the cooler, and don’t clock up anything more on my tab.”
It wasn’t long before their space was invaded by a couple young blokes that were staying in the resort. Mitchie struck up a conversation with them, and learnt a thing or two about them. They were backpackers with a taste for luxury, and had plans for tonight. What would transpire later was the young ones would head down to the backpacker hostel for a wet T-shirt contest? LP was invited, but he passed on that.
LP was more interested in snapping a sunset and sunrise before leaving Broome. First, he shared a meal of noodles & beef stir-fry with his son. Mitchie’s cooking skills were improving to the point that he might actually be able to fend for himself.
It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the door, and Mitchie was off with his new-found mates to check out Broome’s night life, then later head over to the local backpacker haunt for some fun, and maybe get to know the winner of the wet T-shirt contest.
Sunset wasn’t until after 7:00pm so after the boys left, LP walked around the headland from where Castaway Resort was located. Finding the best vantage point, he positioned his tripod with his camera ready to snap the setting sun. Smoke from fires burning down south acted like a lens filter, to produce an image, like looking at a planet through a telescope.
Next morning, LP will be up before sunrise and anxious to get on the go, but first he would have some sunrise photos taken from the resort. After he finished his photo shoot and walked back up from the flat sandy foreshore, he called out to Mitchie,
“Get up lazy bones, let’s get on the move to Port Hedland.
“Let me sleep in. He moaned”
That didn’t cut it with ‘old man.’
“Come on, we can’t waste time, and you can fill me in on what happened last night. You got in pretty late.”
Mitchie didn’t have much to say about out on the town, except, “You should have been there. Those foreign backpackers got big tits, especially the winner. I got to dry her off.”
LP responded, “Sounds like I should have gone with you and your mates last night, but I would have missed sunset. Let’s now try focus on getting to Port Hedland without any more distractions or delays. I’m driving, and I’ll book out. I’ll meet you at the front desk. Hurry up.”
I’ve just gotta brush my teeth. Don’t rush me,” said Mitchie.
LP thought, ‘Son you would test the patience of a saint.’
He walked out the door. Started the vehicle and pulled up outside reception. Looking confident and refreshed LP walked up to the young receptionist, and commented, “This place is like heaven compared to we’ve been staying over the last couple of days.
“She smiled and said, “Have a safe journey. I’m in heaven everyday. Where you’re travelling along next, will look like hell, from what one of the bar staff told me.”
LP pushed their room key forward, picked up the receipt as Mitchie joined him from their overnight stay in paradise. Although, it looked like a clear run to Port Hedland, with blue sky above - was deceiving. A north-easterly wind pushed smoke from the burning fires down south. Within a half-hour of travelling they were confronted with still smoldering scrub.
The receptionist was spot on. It looked like hell on Earth. Tree stumps glowed with red amber’s looking like guide posts along a highway to nowhere, while smoke washed across parts of the roadway. Undeterred they pushed on along a straight stretch of road for hours, without a bend in sight. Another hazard to overcome, boredom and fatigue before reaching their destination.
They could tell they were close to Port Hedland when they entered an intersection you’d normally see driving into any capital, not a seaside township, but from this small township, developed the largest port in the world, exporting gas and iron ore around the globe.
LP pointed at the road sign above the highway and said quickly, “ Turn left.”
They arrived. They made it, and so too Mitchie’s vehicle in one piece.
That afternoon Mitchie settled into his new accommodation. A small bedroom that needed painting, in a share house with four bed rooms. A filthy toilet, that LP scrubbed out before using. It was so bad it should have been condemned. The squalid kitchen was not much better and in need of a ‘reno’. One good thing was a full length covered patio at the back of the low-set house. Seven other workers would share the facilities, while they dream of earning the big money offered in Port Hedland.
Twenty-four hours later Mitchie dropped LP at the town airport for boarding a Qantas flight to Perth, then he’d connect with the red-eye flight, so called because it takes off at 11:30pm and arrives at Brisbane at 5:30am the next day.
LP said his good-bye and gave Mitchie a big hug, reminding him he was only a phone call away.
LP didn’t leave Perth Airport. No time for sightseeing, he just checked in and waited for his flight. At 11:00pm, the boarding call for his flight brought him to attention and quickly followed other passengers onto his flight. He plonked himself down in the left aisle seat 53-D, after placing his carry-on luggage above.
Just before take off one of the young, pretty cabin crews greeted LP and said, “After we level off there’s more room to stretch out up front. Business class is not full.”
He figured she thought he was a bit cramped, after seeing him angle his left knee into the aisle and looking somewhat uncomfortable. Being helpful, she suggested moving up front, when the seat belt light turned off after takeoff.