Big Sky Country

The Big Red Truck lost all power and rolled to a standstill on the track, stubbornly refusing to budge. It was another remorselessly hot day in the outback and Kris and I were both feeling frustrated and tired at this sudden breakdown. I looked at the harsh barren desert surrounding us and was reminded of a sign I’d seen earlier that day. It read something like this:

Looking at the sunburnt barren plains around me I thought, ‘Yeah, this IS pretty remote isn’t it’, but somehow the stark beauty of the desert was lost on me that day. I guess I was a bit preoccupied with Kris’ words from moments before. They went something like this:

‘Something bad has happened this time Sar. This is bad’.

Trust me when I say that when you are broken down on a track in the middle of no where with no sign of help for many miles, and your number one mechanic says something bad has happened, the words WARNING and REMOTE take on a whole new meaning.

While Kris got busy saving us from becoming tomorrow’s news headline (‘Tourists buzzed to death by flies in desert – world first!’), it gave me some time to reflect on our travels of the past few weeks.

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As sweat dripped down my arms and legs, it was hard to imagine that only two weeks before we had been standing amid snow capped mountains wondering if we’d ever be warm again. Now here we were in 40-degree heat, melting away faster than the Liberal party at a Kevin ’07 election and trying to imagine a day when we’d ever be cool, clean and fly-free again.

Since we last left you the BRT has continued on its epic journey, winding along ocean roads, crossing drought-scorched plains and conquering some classic outback tracks.

We started out along an iconic piece of Australian real estate, the Great Ocean Road, eventually arriving at the Twelve Apostles (or is that the eight and a half Apostles?) crumbling majestically into the ocean. We settled in for a perfect sunset with 2000 of our travelling companions; Kris firing off a quick 300 photos while I sipped away merrily on a glass of cheap cask red (only the very best for us) and watched the sun sink into the ocean.

Over the next three days, Kris woke at 4am and made his way back to the Apostles like a moth to the flame, standing sentinel with his camera and tripod trying to capture an elusive full moon setting over the stacks. As Kris will testify, I’m not exactly renowned for my early morning starts so we were both as equally surprised when I, too, found myself standing there beside him at 4am a few mornings later. Even through bleary eyes it was an eerily beautiful sight, made all the more magical as we watched the fairy penguins come to life on the beach far below us and make their way back into the wild Southern Ocean for another day.

(I have to admit there might actually be something good about these early morning rises but don’t tell Kris I said that; I’d like to sleep in for just a little while longer thanks.)

Saying goodbye to the ocean, we crossed into South Australia and slowly make our way north. As the days wore on the vegetation became more sparse, the roads became longer and straighter and human habitation was reduced to lonely signposts on the side of the road indicating an unseen cattle station miles away along a rough dirt track. It’s out here that you start to really appreciate just what an enormous country we live in.

This is big sky country. It’s a land of incredibly massive skies making you feel like you’re about to be swallowed up by blue; where in every direction you look there’s a vast barren plain stretching all the way to the horizon; a place where you could sit on your veranda and watch your dog run away for 3 days without fear of losing sight of it.

In describing outback South Australia you regularly find yourself using the terms classic, biggest, longest, oldest and best. We’ve seen so much and covered so much ground that rather than torture you with long tedious stories, we’ve put together a little list of highlights (don’t worry, there’ll be no escaping the long tedious stories when we get home). Our more memorable moments have included:

* Driving through the longest man-made structure on earth, the dingo fence. We discovered it keeps out more than just dingos when we found an entire kangaroo paw still tangled up in the wire after what was obviously a fierce struggle, the skeletal remains of the rest of the animal scattered around far and wide. It's a harsh, unforgiving environment out here.

* Passing the largest cattle station in the world - Anna Creek Station.

* Discovering the best invention in the world - the fly net (out here if the heat doesn’t kill you, the flies definitely will).

* Driving one of the most famous outback tracks in Australia - the Oodnadatta track.

* Passing over the world’s largest and deepest underwater reservoir, the Great Artesian Basin and swimming in 2 million year old water bubbling up out of the earth at Coward Springs.

* Driving around the ghostly expanse of Lake Eyre, filling with water for the first time in almost 10 years.

* Walking out on the salt-encrusted surface of Lake Frome, so white and devoid of life that NASA actually use the lake to set the white-balance on their cameras from space!

* Finding a piece of adventurer Steve Fossett’s ill-fated balloon on the wall of a pub in Lyndhurst, a two horse town on the edge of the Strezleki track and probably one of the last places you’d ever expect to see such memorabilia.

* Sarah waking up with the biggest hangover she’s had in 3 years after a lively night drinking cheap wine with the publicans at Marree hotel (not recommended when you plan to drive 300km on a corrugated dirt road in 40 degrees with no air conditioning the following day).

* Sustaining our first tyre puncture at Arkaroola when a hefty chunk of rock pierced a hole in one of our BFGoodrich mud terrains.

* Driving through part of the Simpson Desert, some of the most arid, desolate and remote country in the world.

Which reminds me, in all my reminiscing I’ve forgotten all about the Big Red Truck broken down on the side of one of these remote, desolate tracks and our impending death by fly buzzing.

With the help of a trusty manual and some brilliant detective work, Kris managed to find and fix the problem (all the corrugations had vibrated a wire off a solenoid which had the rather inconvenient effect of shutting the engine down). To our great joy and to the dismay of the flies that were obviously licking their lips ready for dinner, the BRT was off and running again and we would live to fight another day...

In the next edition of Where’s the big red truck – Red Centre Dreaming

Something a bit different

Over the last 2 months it's been a delight to be able to share with you the images and words that have made up our journey across this fair land. From the hills of the high country to our travels through Tassie, we've enjoyed bringing our stories of adventure to you.

While we busily put the final touches on our next blog, we thought we'd provide you with a never-before-seen glimpse into our journey. Images are provided by our wonderful friend Tim (you have way too much time on your hands Tim!)...

If you have any problems reading the words, click on the image to enlarge it.
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At times our lack of correspondence may have alarmed some people...


Maybe that's because we've had a few BRT 'mishaps' along the way...


Or it might have something to do with our method of communicating with the rest of the world from remote locations...



And we have been in some remote locations...


There's been a lot of discussion as to why we go to such remote locations. Is it for work?...



Or maybe there's another reason?...


Whatever the reason, you can always be sure there's a prize photo involved...



There's been a lot of speculation as to will we or won't we?...


There's been plenty of opportunities...


But marriage brings its own set of problems...from taking out the rubbish...


to sleeping arrangements....



But whether we do or don't one thing is for sure, we can always sort out our problems...


Unless it's when Sarah beats Kris at chess...Was it the 3 hour game that took its toll on Kris?...


Or was there another reason for the victory?...

Needless to say, wherever we go on this trip the locals love us....

These boots are made for walkin'

I’ve never really understood the lure of mountaineering. Oh, I know it’s lovely to immerse yourself in nature and to breathe in fresh mountain air. Yes, of course I understand all that.

What I’ve never understood is why you would voluntarily strap 15kg to your back and haul yourself up a steep, slippery, rocky slope to sleep on the top of a windy mountain. Nor have I ever understood the attraction of wrapping a sweaty, sticky, smelly body in a synthetic sleeping bag for days on end. No, I’ve never really understood the attraction of that.

What is it about mountains that tempt, inspire and challenge the human soul? What makes a person decide to put a little house on their back and haul themselves up the side of one? What primeval force makes you want to sleep out in the wind and rain on the top of one?

These very questions were at the forefront of my mind as we set out on another great hike, this time into the wilds of the Freycinet Peninsula. You might know Freycinet from its most famous feature, Wineglass Bay, that long sweeping arc of sand edging the picture perfect turquoise waters of a secluded bay. It’s been voted as one of the top 10 beaches in the world. It inspires romance and longing and the desire to quit your job so you can laze about on its soft white sands. Yes, you know the one I’m talking about.

Well my friends let me tell you about Wineglass Bay, the not-for-advertising version, the Kris and Sarah version; the version that starts with large-scale fatalities and finishes with a helicopter evacuation…(you honestly didn't think we'd do it the easy way did you?)

I knew I was in for a long 4 days as soon as I lifted the pack onto my back and felt my spinal column compress a few centimetres. Clothing, tent, sleeping bag, Thermorest, food, water, it was all there like an old friend ready to accompany my every step (well, the kind of friend you’ve ‘forgotten’ to invite over for dinner for the past 10 years anyway). Kris was also loaded up like Simpson’s donkey but the lure of a mountain and a Kodak-moment view had ignited a fire in him that couldn’t be extinguished by the overcast skies and a 3-tonne bag.

So off we set, fighting our way past a gaggle of instamatic-wielding grey nomads, and eventually we stumbled out onto Wineglass Bay beach. And what a sight to behold…white sands, turquoise waters…and a few hundred large dead fish, some still in the process of beaching themselves. It was mass carnage on a devastating scale and you’d have forgiven us for thinking we’d stepped onto the set of a Mad Max film.

Donning our best Steve Irwin impressions, we tried in vain to rescue the few that were still alive but crikey, every time we hurled one back into the ocean it would determinedly beach itself again. Apparently gasping for breath on the sands of a top 10 beach was more appealing than living.

Maybe it had something to do with their anatomy and a peculiar anomaly that saw their main swimming fin stuck on their back rather than using their tail fin like most regular fish. OK for your everyday swimming down to the shops or to the local fish hangout maybe, but not particularly useful if you ever find yourself in 2 inches of water and your main swimming apparatus is caught flapping about in the breeze.

We can only assume it was an oversight on the part of their creator; maybe the blue print went missing and he couldn’t work out where to put the fins? Whatever the case, we can safely say that a beach strewn with dead marine life certainly wasn’t doing Conde Nast’s credibility any favours.

After a night in the ‘Wineglass Bay of Death’, we set off for the summit of Mt Graham and then Mt Freycinet (as Kris would say, "Why climb one mountain when you can climb two"). Instantly the track rose sharply and wound its way through steep, rocky bush. The incline was relentless and I trudged along with all the grace of a sumo wrestler while Kris strolled along in front listening to the 12th Man on his iPod, laughing out loud at seemingly random moments like a crazed lunatic. [Note to self: take iPod on next hike]

After 6 hours and a particularly punishing summit climb we gratefully arrived at our final destination, the top of Mt Freycinet. As I’m coming to realise with all our little hiking escapades, the best rewards come when you've worked the hardest for them. Our reward that day came in the form of breath-taking views of Wineglass Bay from the summit. As we watched the sun slip down over the horizon that night, we cooked up a 2-minute noodle feast perched right on the edge of the summit and another life-long memory was created.

The next day we awoke to rain and fog and started making our way back over the mountains on the long walk home. Four hours from base camp we passed a group of hikers who were also slowly making their way out, cautious of the rocky track that the rain had made into a slip-and-slide bonanza. Moments later, we heard a scream and turned to wait while a member of the group went back to investigate. When he returned, we were vehemently assured that the hiker was OK (“she has a dodgy knee, she’s fine”) so we proceeded on our way.

About an hour later, that same person caught up to us on the track and casually mentioned that rather than the dodgy knee we’d been led to believe, the hiker actually had a badly broken ankle and was stuck on the mountain with no way out. A call to the emergency services was made from my phone and a helicopter rescue was proposed as the only way out. Only problem was the inclement weather and fog surrounding the mountain that would possibly put a halt to any air evacuation. We handed over all our remaining rations to the hiker and he returned to the group while we continued on out to the ranger’s station.

By the time we reached Wineglass Bay we looked up to see a helicopter circling over the mountain and we settled down on the sand to watch a full-scale helicopter rescue in progress, pleased with the outcome and glad that we could play a small part in the rescue.

I’m still not convinced that lugging 15kg up a mountain on your back to sleep in a sticky smelly sleeping bag is my idea of a cracking good time, but what I do know is this:

* When you walk a wet rocky path be careful where you put your feet.
* Don’t swim in shallow water if you don’t have the anatomy to get you out again.
* The very best rewards are saved for those that work the hardest to achieve them.

So sadly that’s about it for our Tassie adventure. Our last great hiking hurrah planned for Cradle Mountain was unfortunately hijacked by rain and fog and snow. But we did manage a walk through spectacular ancient Pencil Pine forests and we did manage an adventure of sorts, getting momentarily lost and thinking we were going to be the subjects of our very own full-scale search and rescue.

Tasmania has far exceeded our expectations and it was with great regret that we boarded the ferry back to Australia(!) just in time to literally feel the earth move under our feet as an earthquake struck Melbourne. Ah, the travellin' life for us...

Where the bloody hell are we?!

Wombats that look like koalas; possums behaving like cats; pademelons that think they are children; devils that look like giant rats; trees on steroids; Jurassic Park rainforest; turbulent oceans; sublime turquoise bays; death defying cliffs; sugary white sandy beaches…

WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE WE?

Dust off the passports everyone; you’re coming on an overseas adventure!

We left Australia and sailed across the dark waters of Bass Strait to Tasmania, escaping the long humid tentacles of Melbourne as it descended into a stifling heatwave.

To be honest, I’m at a bit of a loss to write about our adventures of the past 3 weeks. How can you in words, describe a land that is so ancient, so uniquely diverse and so historically significant to Australia’s history; a place that is all at once wild and rugged, pristine and picture-perfect, quaint and cosy?

Oh Tasmania my heart belongs to thee!

All our expectations were tossed out the window on our very first day in the Apple Isle as we encountered heat wave conditions, dramatic coastal scenery, secluded coves hiding stunning beaches, rolling fields of opium poppies and people with only one head instead of two. (Sorry Tom, couldn’t resist).

Contentedly we meandered our way west, all thoughts of recent mechanical dramas set aside as the big red truck hummed smoothly along the coast. When we hit the Roaring 40’s a few days later, Kris momentarily considered putting on shoes for the first time in 3 years, a sure sign that our heat wave was gone and we promptly returned to the cold drizzly weather Tassie is so famous for.

One chilly evening we found ourselves camped alongside a remote and isolated west coast beach. We’d only passed two cars the whole day and there was not a soul in sight as we settled in for the night. Suddenly, headlights appeared on the horizon and four kids on quad bikes emerged from the thick black night. In a greeting apparently unique to this part of the world, one of the foursome turned to Kris and said, “Do ya wanna flounder?”

Not understanding this strange greeting, Kris and I turned to each other a little startled. Was this some strange Tasmanian dialect? Perhaps there was a phrasebook out there that could help us translate this weird Tasmanian language into English?

“Excuse me?” Kris replied.

“Do ya wanna flounder? Do ya like flounder?” the boy said again.

This time understanding the question, Kris replied, “Yeah, is it filleted?"

After discussing this for a moment, the four kids came to a consensus that this mysterious flounder would in fact be filleted and with that, they disappeared into the darkness. Expecting not to see them again we relaxed back and had a laugh at the strange encounter we just had.

But not 20 minutes later the kids re-emerged from the darkness with three filleted but not quite dead flounder, freshly speared straight from the ocean and ready for us to cook up! And after presenting their payload to us they promptly vanished into the night, the smell of diesel and three almost-dead fish the only evidence of our encounter with them.

These Tasmanian folk were odd…we loved them!

I’d like to say that we left our mechanical troubles behind on the mainland but alas, no. It would seem the BRT’s repair shop interludes are directly proportional to the number of crazy roads it tackles. This time the rear diff was at the centre of the action when a tooth was ground off and spat out through the metal casing. Luckily for us, we coincidentally happened to break down directly next door to the west coast’s only 4WD mechanic so we were quickly on our way again, a new rear diff heavier, a few wads of cash lighter. At this rate, by the time we get home in July we’ll have replaced every part of the car and have a brand new 4WD.

(Just for the record, we've discovered that you actually can drive a 60’s series Landcruiser up on 2 wheels. Need I say more…)

Since then we’ve passed through ethereal countryside, climbed our way through stunning world heritage national parks, hiked along the top of death-defying ocean cliffs, and visited magnificent waterfalls, alpine plateaus and historic convict ruins.

We’ve camped on remote back roads, on the edge of heart-achingly gorgeous beaches and on rugged mountain summits. To say we are completely taken with Tasmania would be a gross understatement. Every one of you should come here and experience the magic of this place.

OK, enough of the tourism commercial. (Did I mention that we love Tasmania?!)

In four weeks we’ve managed to circumnavigate the island and are now regretfully coming to the end of our time here. Of course, no trip to Tassie would be complete without a hiking adventure and a mountain top helicopter rescue...but more about that in the next blog...