Out on the Gibb

We first heard about the Savannah Way back in early 2013 and decided we wanted to adventure there. However, it wasn’t until 2016 when we were both finished work that we could make this epic journey.

Over many years of camping my partner Michael and I had set ourselves up with a variety of options, but we realised it probably wasn’t a good idea to subject our beautiful two-year-old Elddis caravan and 2009 Pajero to corrugations, river crossings and red dust. The places we wanted to go, beyond the Black Stump, required something a whole lot more robust. After considerable searching, we found our perfect vehicle, a 1989 pop-top Troop carrier with 482,750km. It came fitted with basic gear and combined with what we had already collected over 15 years, we were ready. 

HAPPENSTANCE STORIES

We’ve all got unique stories to tell and it’s those ones that are remembered best. The ones that are about being stuck in traffic for hours after an accident or when a guy gets a blow-out and has no idea what to do when he finds his spare is also flat. The best stories aren’t about when things go right, they’re about when things go left because that’s when you learn something.

There are some stand out happenstances that will forever stay burned in our minds.

Town River with a croc lurking nearby

TRUE FEAR

The Bloomfield track, about 80km long, runs from Cape Tribulation north to Wujal Wujal. We’d spent a restful night before hitting the track at Noah’s Beach Campground, part of the Daintree National Park. There are about 5 creek crossings and the tracks are in pretty good condition but not for the faint hearted. The entry and exit points can be boggy and slippery after it rains, and some of the hills are steep and narrow, making it tricky when someone is going south (most go north).

We needed to get photos and videos of the Troopy making its virgin creek crossing of course, and I was the sacrificial photographer. We’re in crocodile country now, we’d seen the signs, so yes, it did cross my mind while I waded through knee deep water to the other side. It was the next day as we were on the ferry crossing the Daintree that I understood just what real crocodile fear looked like, though. A man on the boat ramp on the opposite side lost his footing and slid directly into the river. The dark, crocodile infested        water swallowed him like pudding. The ferry driver screamed for him to get the hell out of there. I swear he levitated from the water and landed on the shore, his face the colour of talcum powder.

The night we parked up at Town River on our way to Roper Bar, NT, however confirmed I had a serious fear of the crocodile. He was there, 3-4 meters long, just resting on a sand bar in the river facing us. We sat next to the Troopy over 100 metres away high on the embankment. But as the sun went down, the sound of something large entering the water was heard and we both developed an instant desire to be off the ground, inside with the door closed behind us.

Set-up at Town River camp

ONLY IN THE OUTBACK

A fellow traveller we’d met at the Rocky Creek War Memorial Rest Stop on the Kennedy Highway, Qld, told us about the Gregory Downs free camp. It was a must he said, and he wasn’t wrong. This large open area, with some more secluded spots too, beside the Gregory river didn’t disappoint. This is a self-contained free camp, although there are toilets about a five-minute walk away on the Wills Development Road.

Following a much-appreciated float down the river, we headed for the Gregory Downs Hotel, a crooked wooden one-story building, in search of something tall, cold and refillable. As we sat outside, three big, hat wearing, authentic outback cowboys rode up from the rodeo grounds down the road, one on bareback and the other two in the saddle — it was like my birthday and Christmas all at once!

It’s just a freshie, nothin’ to worry about

Michael sat uneasily next to the hotel door and the look on  his face as the two saddled riders went for the entry door without dismounting was priceless. The bareback cowboy remained outside as his horse was just a three-year-old, too young to go into a bar! The cowboys each ordered a beer, the horses seemed at home and then one of them stepped from the saddle to the bar, sat himself down and began telling outrageous stories for the locals who lived right next to each other 200km apart.

PEOPLE MAKE THE PLACE

There are some places that will forever remain as the most remarkable memories, not for their natural beauty, geographical or historical significance but because of the people, the characters. This happened to us when we decided to stop at the Einasleigh Pub for a night.

The population blew out to a mind staggering 27 when we pulled into town. We parked in the tall grass behind the pub and entered to what seemed like a story-rhyme session. A guy on a bar stool in a sweat stained, ripped wide brimmed hat was spinning a yarn to the other 9 people at the bar. We got enough of it to know it was about a priest and a couple of cockatoos.

A couple of locals at the Gregory Downs Hotel

The barman, Ian, welcomed us. No need to ring Starty the owner, he told us, instead leaning out the door to call across the paddock to where Starty was working at the local fire shed. Starty came over, shook our hands and said, “Park anywhere you like.”

Two of the tiniest residents came to check us out, five-year-old Jack and his three-year-old sister Montana. Their father was the manager of Red Rock Cattle Station. These were farm kids, shoe-less, friendly, dirty and full of questions. What were our names? Where did we live? How old were our kids? They were very eager to tell us all the things they could do, including jumping off the top of the Troopy, which we insisted wasn’t a good idea. Even stepping on bindies and thorns didn’t initiate tears from these two. They just plucked them out.

After we set up, the pub beckoned. Aside from one other traveller, a young woman from Wollongong and Izzie the cook, it was all men. The  beer and wine were cold and cheap, and the offer of a home cooked crumbed steak, chips and salad at a reasonable price settled us in for a fantastic night. We pumped a few dollars into the authentic juke box machine. Nights like this just don’t happen very often.

Cooking in the Troopy

In a camp kitchen in Katherine, we met Joe from Manchester UK, who had already ridden his push bike through south east Asia and was planning to ride from Darwin to Melbourne via Townsville. Katherine was his first stop.

When we met Joe, he was still fresh as a daisy and taking photos of his food, which was piled neatly on the table, to send to his mother to reassure her that he wasn’t starving. Which would have never happened to Joe because every woman in the camp was feeding him. He was quite an inspiration, such a young man with an old adventurer soul. We never found  out if he completed his tour, but I’m betting he did.

ONWARDS

Windjana Gorge National Park is in the Kimberley region of WA, 1855km north-east of Perth and 355km east of Broome. The walking there was some of the best we encountered, except for the bats. I’ve been known to drop to the ground in my Sunday best to avoid an unlikely collision with a bat. The area is also inhabited by freshwater crocs. They were all on display in the small pools left behind as the river receded, but I didn’t see the 3m monster enjoying a small pool because I was looking up for bats and nearly stepped on him. My feet pretty much left the ground.

The next stop was Barn Hill, situated within Thangoo Station, one of the few beef cattle stations in the Kimberley that is still family owned and operated. The caravan park is located on more than 50km of glorious untouched rugged blue Indian Ocean coastline. Our days were spent walking the beach, combing for unique shells, attempting to catch the big one, watching amazing sunsets and kicking back and relaxing. We spent eight days there instead of the planned two, because it was a slice of heaven. Each day we were treated to pods of passing whales, sometimes five or six together breaching right in front of our site!

Biking around Uluru

The Great Central Road, on the way to Uluru, made the Gibb River Road look like a freshly paved highway and does wear you down. It’s a lot of the same scenery and bumpy roads until closer to the NT border, where it becomes beautiful mountains and winding roads. But while the scenery on the WA side is monotonous, on the NT side, the road is diabolical, covered in water with huge ruts and holes — we crept along at a snail’s pace.

We camped the first night at Uluru campground, which is massive and a small community all its own. There’s no camping at Uluru itself anymore — thank goodness people figured out how precious this place is and put a stop to it.

The Black Stump

It was a privilege to be able to see and experience this place. We hired bikes to peddle around. It’s about 15km all up. The pathway is ideal and the places to stop are plenty. We were also fortunate to be there during the spring flower ‘explosion’ of 2016, which, as it turned out, was the best flower show in decades. It was breath-taking.

Something weird also happened here though. As we reviewed the photos we noticed it — each and every photo taken at the base of the rock had a blur in the centre. The camera was fine and shots taken from a distance of the Olgas or Uluru or of the sunset didn’t have the washed-out blur. We had no explanations, and it has never happened again anywhere.

The Great Central Road sign

ON THE ROAD

How did we cope being on the road for about four months? Pretty good I’d say! Whether it was the leave nothing to chance planning, the right vehicle, the stars were aligned or we’re just a great travelling team, the adventure worked for both of us. It took about two weeks to fall into a rhythm, an organised dance of set up and take down. At the end of the day, exhausted and satisfied, we would sleep the sleep of the righteous. We worked to solve various problems, came up with new and sometimes unconventional ways of doing things and each recognised when to be silent and when to pipe up!

Michael did all the driving, bless him. Aside from the Troopy being a tank, the roads were mostly unpredictable, and I didn’t have the  confidence or offroad experience required to be a safe driver in outback conditions.

Our great lap, with some modifications mostly due to weather, ended up looking like this: Brisbane north to Cooktown, west to Broome via the Savannah Way and Gibb River Road, south to Port Hedland with a week-long stop at Barn Hill Station, then east to Uluru along the Great Central Road, south to Coober Pedy, the Clare, then home via Wagga Wagga, Grafton and the central NSW coast. It was 17,000km and we have memories to last us several lifetimes.

We were chased home a few weeks before originally planned but that’s life on the road. South Australia has to wait until next year when we head for Ningaloo, WA, to swim with the whale sharks. Changed plans doesn’t mean we missed something beyond the Black Stump, it just means we have to go back.

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Written: Fri 01 May 2020
Printed: May, 2020
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