Swimming with the Fishes

It’s Sunday 20^th July and I’m writing this sitting outside the camper, looking at the escarpment over Palm Valley.  We’ve been out of reception since leaving Coober Pedy five days ago, so this might be a bit of a “catch-up”.  We get into Alice Springs tomorrow, so I’ll get it posted then.

After having a quick look round Coober Pedy (it’s a bit of a strange place), we were excited to be heading off the bitumen proper for the first time this trip.  We had grabbed a few last supplies at the supermarket, and had a surprisingly good frothy coffee, and then pointed the car in the direction of Oodnadatta.  I should have said before now, but the morning we left Melbourne, we put the music on, and started the song list at “A”.   Now I don’t have mountains of music on my iPhone, but I’ve got a bit, and who knew there were so many songs beginning with “C”???  When we left Coober Pedy, we had started in the “E”s.

The road heading out of Coober Pedy

 

We had arranged to meet friends, Kerryn and Lindsay, at the Painted Desert.  They were on their way down after a four week trip away up north, and it was great to be able to meet up with them for a night.  We had originally planned to meet at the Arckaringa Homestead, which offers camping, and stay there and drive out to the Painted Desert, but on arriving, the wind was blowing off the barren landscape, and the campground left a little to be desired for the $20 a night they were charging (read – Doug – “This is a bit shit!!!”. 

When Kerryn and Lindsay arrived, the girls took a bit of a drive out from the homestead and got to the foothills of the Painted Desert and decided that if you squinted, you could be forgiven for not seeing the No Camping sign.  It was a really magic spot, the colours and shapes of the landscape were like something out of a wild-west movie.  We found a sheltered spot down in a dry creek bed and set up for the night.  We spent a lovely night watching a fabulous moon-rise, followed by a sunrise walk up to the top of the range.  Magic!

Our campsite at the Painted Desert

 

 

It was here that we noticed that as we’d driven from Coober Pedy, the Anderson plug that connects the car and trailer had been knocked out and had dragged itself into oblivion on the unsealed road.  Doug affected a swift repair while we were camped at Painted Desert, and we thought all was good.

We left Kerryn and Lindsay the next morning, and as they headed south, we continued the journey north, seeking some warmer weather.  Pleasant days at the moment, but pretty chilly nights.  We headed up through Oodnadatta, having coffee at the Pink Roadhouse, and took the road to Dalhousie Springs.  Dalhousie is one of the gateways for the Simpson Desert crossings and the campground was busy with folk either arriving or preparing to leave to cross the desert. 

Pink Roadhouse - Oodnadatta

 

On the edge of the Simpson at Dalhousie Springs

 



We set up camp and headed down to the springs for a swim.  Who would have thought that on the edge of the desert you could find a waterhole, filled by a hot spring?  The water was 37 degrees and we enjoyed our desert bath for an hour or more.  Other residents of the water enjoyed us being there too.  The waterhole is filled with tiny fish (if you’ve been to Bali or Thailand and seen the “fish-feet” tanks on offer, it was exactly the same thing).  Tiny little fish nibbling on all the dead skin cells – a weird feeling at first, but you got used to it.   Just to prove that it’s a small world we live in, we had been chatting to the Rangers at the campground and it turns out that her brother is one of our next-door neighbours!  You come all this way……………… and Happy Birthday Ranger Dot!!!

Swimming with the fishes in the hot spring



 



From Dalhousie, we headed further north, up through the desert to Mt Dare and on up Binns Track to Old Andado.  This was a property, owned and run by a woman called Molly Clark, until well into her eighties.  When Molly got too old, she moved into an aged care home in Alice Springs, but her homestead has been left exactly as if she’s just gone into town for the day.  It’s an amazing snap shot of what life must have been like struggling in such a harsh environment.  Molly passed away a couple of years ago, and it’s a real privilege to be able to share some of her story.

 

 



Molly Clark's Old Andado homestead

 

 

We turned west from Old Andado and headed towards the highway, making camp in another dry creek bed off the road outside Finke.  Go back a few paragraphs to the mention of the Anderson plug and how we thought all was well.  It turned out that the cables dragging on the ground before we noticed them, must have shorted out the fuse near the second battery, and it hadn’t been charging while we had been driving, as we thought it had.  We found this out whilst camped in said dry creek bed, when I tried to switch on the lights to make dinner.  No lights!  Now I don’t know if you’ve been out in the middle of the outback at night, but it’s dark.  Really dark.  So, it was a case of adapt and overcome that night, we cooked and ate by torchlight, and sat round the fire till bed time.  The situation was fixable, with a bit of bodgy wiring on Doug’s part, and we can get it sorted when we get to Alice.  The plus side though, was the stars that night went from horizon to horizon – just magnificent – and in our dark campsite, there was nothing to detract from them.

We hit the highway the next day, taking a quick side-trip to visit Lambert’s Centre.  Here, in the middle of the bush, is a marker placed at the geographical centre of Australia.  A bit of a let down really, but I don’t really know what I expected.  Anyway, onwards and northwards.

Lambert Centre

 

We stopped to refuel at Kulgera.  That took a bit of getting over - $2.09 per litre for diesel.  Then after a hundred or so kilometres on the highway, we headed off the bitumen again, making for the Finke Gorge National Park.  The track we were driving would take us up through this magnificent country, driving in and out of the riverbed of the mighty Finke River.  It’s said to be the oldest river in the world and when in full flood it would be awesome to see.  Mostly dry at the moment, we snaked in and around sandy beds, rocks, washouts and trees, averaging about 20km/h, until we found a campsite on the edge of the river around 6ish.  It had been a big day and we were both tired, but we still had to marvel at how lucky we were to be able to get to places like this.  It was certainly remote country.  We had only passed about three other vehicles since leaving the highway. 

Doesn't really look that rough, does it?

Morning camp in the dry Finke River

 

And so our first week on the road has come and gone already.  We’ve travelled a fair way, and packed a bit in.  The wind-swept lookout and doof-doof music seem a long time ago now.  More about Finke Gorge next time.  In the meantime, there’s a walk needing to be explored this afternoon (and we’re up to “M” in the song list).