By popular request – the Julia Creek Dunnart
There’s water under here
Judging by these last few blogs, I seem to be developing an obsession with water. We tend to think of inland Australia as a huge desert, and by and large this is true. However as we cross into Northern Queensland we remember the Great Artesian Basin (GAB), sits beneath us. It is one of the largest underground water sources in the world, and Australia’s largest groundwater basin, holding 8,700 million millilitres. I’m not sure what that looks like, but I am sure it exceeds Department of Health daily guidelines. Much of the water in the GAB entered when the climate was much wetter and “they” estimate the water in the south-west of the basin is two million years old. Imagine – water off a dinosaur’s back, available for your tap.
The 1,000+ km drive from the NT/QLD border through to Townsville on the east coast sees us retracing parts of our 2019 trip across Northern Queensland. Revisiting Camooweal, 14kms over the border, we find little has changed except the price of diesel – this from my July 2019 blog Not surprisingly, you pay more for things the further you are from civilisation, or competition. The least we’ve paid for diesel is $1.45 a litre (there’s no road user tax) and at Camooweal we pay the most at $1.82. Oh how we laugh to read that. We do not recall paying less than $2 a litre anywhere this year and Camooweal is charging $2.67. I also note it was 35°C (Sept 2019) and this year, in July, it’s a more manageable 26°C.
We don’t go back to the caves, but do take the time to visit the excellent Drovers’ Museum on the outskirts of town. There are fantastic displays including maps of the old stock routes, but best of all we have an old codger telling us about everything we ever wanted to know (and more) about droving.
The head drover hires on the other staff, gets the supplies in – which he is unable to pay for until he is paid on delivery of the stock – and to manage the whole drove from start to finish, including finding grazing and water. The horse tailor, a great job title and nothing to do with fashioning outfits for the men or the stock, has to look after about 6 horses per stockman plus 20 or so pack horses, depending on herd size, balancing the loads, knowing what’s in every pack, which horse is for which stockman, and so on. The cook manages supplies, though with basics of salted beef, damper and tea there’s unlikely to be any Instagram worthy pics. Men might be two years on a drove, travelling to the station from a distance, and then about 8 miles a day driving the stock to the railhead or port. Wearing the same set of clothes. Those were the days.
The landscape we drive through does change. There are vast sunburnt plains of desiccated grass where massive acreages of cattle stations eke out their existence. Sometimes there are fences lining the road, often not, and the evidence of wandering cattle is a beast four legs to the sky being ripped apart by raptors. Wedge tailed eagles, kites, and screaming crows circle the skies looking for an easy meal of roadkill and seldom experience disappointment.
The road surfaces vary but there are a lot of long straights. The colours change from rich robust reds to softer pastels of mauve and dusky pinks and greys. The night skies are spectacular. With no ambient light for hundreds of kilometres the constellations are easy to find – well they would be if you knew them – and the stars shimmer. One of the challenges when taking photos in the outback is scale (and only using an iPhone). To get any sort of panoramic shot trying to show the vastness of the scene, you find everything fades into the distance. If you zoom in, you lose the magnificence you want to capture.
Mount Isa is not a place to linger in our experience, unless it is for the rodeo, which we gave a good nudge in 2019, so we bypass and carry on towards Julia Creek. We are meeting Emily, an old friend who is in her camper van travelling down from the North. In the meantime we rendezvous at a free camp at Corella Dam with new friend Erica and her mate Trev. We met Erica last year when she was managing the station stay at Peedamulla in WA. This is another joy of life on the road – the opportunity to meet some cool people, and then arrange to find them again on your next trip! We circle the vans as if we are a wagon train. If you were born before the Bag of Pigs invasion and your family owned a TV set you will know about circling the wagons and remember the TV show Wagon Train – or Gunsmoke. Or The Virginian. Or Rawhide. Spuds roasted on the edge of the fire, marshmallows in the embers later and plenty of wine. Time with friends is seldom wasted.
So we do it again. This time with Emily and exploring the wonders of Julia Creek, where we learn about the aforementioned GAB, and the tiny marsupial, the Julia Creek Dunnart. if you’ve never heard of a dunnart I am not surprised – this country has a never ending supply of largely anonymous marsupials. This one is as small as a mouse and a lot cuter. It is also endangered so they are fencing off a little sanctuary to increase numbers. Clever little thing that it is, having stuffed itself silly in the good times it stores fat in its tail – no body shaming from me – and then in the dry season when there’s little food, it shelters within the cracking clay soils, living off its stored fat.
There are quite famous artesian baths at Julia Creek – can’t stop that hot water bubbling up -but the air temperature (34) is hot enough we opt for the swimming pool. It literally takes our breath away – the water is about 16 degrees – funnily enough, we are the only ones in the pool.
Drifting across the Northern Territory
It may surprise you to know that the Northern Territory has many National Parks with beautiful river gorges, waterfalls, hot springs and many natural features aside from desert, killer crocs, vicious box jellyfish (can kill you in 2-3 minutes), deadly snakes and racists. In 2018 we visit Darwin and the 20,000 square km UNESCO listed Kakadu National Park – by the time we exit the park I’ve definitely had enough of crocodiles, we don’t encounter box jellyfish, see no snakes, and the last one, well, unavoidable. Early explorers, lacking both imagination and zoological expertise, named the three big rivers in these parts West Alligator, South Alligator, and East Alligator. They’re crocs mate.
Our river trip on the South Alligator takes us to Cahill’s Crossing, a remote river ford that crosses into Arnhem Land. The tides at the Top End reach highs of 11.8 metres, so there’s LOTS of water rushing up stream as the tide comes in, and just as much rushing out when the tide goes out. This creates the perfect conditions for idiocy and bravado as vehicles cross in unsuitable circumstances and frequently get washed into the croc infested waters. You’ll find a good summary of the crossing at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ojzUCDR6lg but to see Darwinism at work, google Cahill’s Crossing on youtube – but beware of going down a rabbit hole.
That was the 2018 trip, so this year we are really just passing through on our way to the East Coast. Yet there’s plenty to attract us closer to Katherine, even if the town itself is a crossroads you pass through. We choose a farm campground about 20 kms out of town and near the Katherine River. From here we can day trip up to Edith Falls, which aren’t spectacular, but the lake at the base is large, lovely and perfect for swimming.
Although I am aware of the expression ‘the never never land’ until now I don’t know what it’s about. The area about 100 kms south of Katherine was made famous by Jeannie Gunn’s (largely autobiographical) 1908 novel We of the Never Never, written about her life on nearby Elsey Station. The expression comes from the saying that they who have lived in it and loved it, Never-Never want to leave it.
It is a beautiful area, enhanced by the towering palms leading to the sandy bottom thermal springs. However it’s a smaller pool than the nearby Bitter Springs which we prefer. More palms and woodlands, with crystal clear waters and a slow river current than allows you to drift for about 15 mins then climb out at the end, then walk back along the path to do it all over again. It is particularly lovely first thing in the morning – I know, it is almost becoming a habit – when there are few people, lots of birdlife, and steam coming off the water. With masks and snorkels we see a little underwater life, tiny fish and a few little turtles. The spring is associated with a massive limestone formation reaching from north of Katherine to the Queensland border. Most of the limestone is below ground and in the wet season the water is absorbed by the porous limestone and heated by the earth, emerging as perfectly clear 34 degree C springs.
We decide to go to see a whip cracking show a few kilometres away one evening, even though it necessitates a night drive – something we usually don’t do in the countryside to avoid hitting kangaroos that spring out of nowhere and hop across the road at night. I am driving when suddenly Scott shrieks STOP! I don’t see a kangaroo, but there’s the biggest blackest feral pig you will ever see, broadside on to us, gorging on roadkill kangaroo.
Nathan “Whippy” Griggs puts on a good show. What he lacks in subtlety -“youse all here to see me crack” – he makes up for in talent. He has bunch of Guinness world records in whip cracking (who knew) such as longest whip crack at a staggering 100metres, and most whip cracks in a minute. He is pretty good at cracking to music, and I suggest you check out his youtube, particularly if you like AC/DC.
By now you may realise these blogs lag behind real life. I need the right combo of time, inclination, motivation and material to make these happen and they don’t always coincide with location. We are now in northern Queensland, but more on that next time.
The East Kimberley – wet and wonderful
For one thousand kilometres we drive across an arid and seemingly lifeless landscape, and then suddenly – a lush and verdant plain rises like the oasis it is. What a difference water makes. Kununurra (pop 7,000, tripling in the tourist season and harvest times) exists because of the Ord River Irrigation Scheme. Everything you want to know about the development of the dam, the irrigation scheme and agriculture it makes possible you can read here. Every litre that irrigates the agriculture between Kununurra and the coast is gravity fed and metered – there’s a 14 degree slope to the coast. Damming the Ord river creates Lake Argyle which when full, and it usually is, has a volume of water equivalent to 21 Sydney Harbours.
Now, none of us knows how much that is, but we can visualise one Sydney Harbour. So this is 21 of those with a resident population of approximately 25,000 crocodiles. There is so much consistent water in this part of the country that, from time to time, they (Perth politicans) bend their minds to how they can pipe water south. It fries their minds, as the cost to develop a 3,000 kilometre pipeline to Perth, with pumping stations and other infrastructure, is more than the current desalination system.
Confusingly, the Ord River below the dam on Lake Argyle, is also known as Lake Kununurra. We board a boat to travel the 55kms up river/lake to the dam. What a trip – it the closest to a jet boat trip without being on a jet boat as we go up the rapids. We see crocs, rock wallabies, sea eagles, egrets, snake birds, and scores of catfish to name a few. The river side is at times sheer rock and home to the sprightly rock wallabies, sandy shores for crocodiles to lay their eggs, or festooned with rushes and other vegetation.
We fly over this area, including the Argyle diamond mine, now closed, in 2018 – that story and photos of this and the stunning Bungle Bungles in my blog
While we are up this way there’s some outback driving to do. We are staying about 20 kms out of Wyndham, and I see there’s a road out west across the dry salt flats (see map below) that could conceivably link via the Karunjie stock track and then south to the Gibb River road at the Pentecost River. We can’t find anyone who has been out there to tell us the state of the road, but of course that doesn’t stop us. We guess it’s rough but then we have the mighty Landcruiser. Oh how we laugh.
We venture forth leaving our good sense at the gate and travel on. We get to the gate onto El Questro property and the track is not getting any better. We continue, but not for long – less than four kms in 15 minutes. This is a seriously rough cattle track and we have no idea what the actual distance is. Somewhere we find some sanity and turn back, probably saving search and rescue a day’s outing.
On the way back we stop alongside the river: it looks like you could walk on it, it is so thick and murky. Scott throws a lure, while I keep a keen eye out, visualising the moment a large salt water crocodile powers out of the depths and drags him under. I hasten to add this is a worry, not a hope. I imagine myself driving alone for the rest of the trip and returning home with no body to bury.
One morning we are up early – yes, again – to take the tag-a-long tour with local guide Alfie out to the Marlgu billabong, an internationally recognised wetland of 36,000 hectares with more than 20,000 birds across 180 species. You can imagine a lush garden of Eden in the wet season, and even now there are hundreds of lovely birds from rainbow bee eaters to Jabiru to the black and white Magpie Geese to he statuesque brolga, ibis and herons.
This part of the trip also affords us a day out at the Kununurra Agricultural Show. What a day. It’s difficult to drag Scott away from the hall hosting the baking competition; we tour the vegetable competition, marvel at the endless varieties of melons, gasp at the size of the biggest pumpkins; check out the dodgems, where the locals perfect their driving technique; the side shows, where there are more stuffed animals than in the British Conservative Party; see food in the form of candy (fairy) floss, fries and fizz. Remember this is a small country town, so the events are more of the novelty variety like haystacking, and our favourite, the Cowboy Challenge: a timed event where the cowboy, or in this case several cowgirls, have to get out of their swag, wash their face, put on boots and hat, eat breakfast (a dry weet-bix (vita brits) and glass of tomato juice), carry a poddy calf (that’s bobby calf to you NZ farmers, but for the purpose of the event it is a weighted bean bag calf) to the ute, roll a big bale several metres, ram in a couple of warratahs – that’s fence posts not the NSW rugby team – then crack a bullwhip three times, and to finish off, what else, drinking a can of beer. It’s fair to say many a bloke won his heat coming from behind and taking the win at the last hurdle.
So that concludes this Kimberley adventure – next stop, Northern Territory.
Welcome to the Kimberley
Barmaid: Are you staying in the motel?
Me: No, we’re in the caravan park.
Barmaid: Ok, I need to breathalyse you.
Me: What?
Barmaid: I need to breathalyse you?
Me: Why? I have just arrived.
Barmaid: It’s to make sure you don’t arrive already drunk. It’s the rules. If you are both drinking I need to breathalyse you both.
Me: What?
Barmaid: Welcome to the Kimberley.
We are in Fitzroy Crossing, about 400kms east of Broome. Stopping for fuel we find a sad state of affairs – a puncture in one of the caravan tyres. Luckily there is a repair business (there’s not much else in Fitzroy Crossing and generally travellers prefer to keep driving), but we end up staying the night. The “safest” place is the River Lodge and Campground, though there have been robberies and assaults.
I take a photo of the sign that instructs one drink per person. To get another drink bring back your glass/can/stubby. I’ve never seen a sign like this before, I say. The local woman next to me smiles and says: Welcome to the Kimberley.
The liquor licensing law in the Kimberley is the most stark example of shutting the door after the horse has won the Melbourne Cup, the Grand National and the Kentucky Derby. The unwritten social laws suggest we may be in the U.S. South in the 50s, or South Africa during apartheid: everyone out on the verandah is local Aboriginal, everyone in the bar and eating in the restaurant is white.
In my blog on September 2018 I write about the area we are travelling, so I won’t repeat myself – follow that link for some of the interesting places we visit there.
Travelling east from Fitzroy Crossing is Halls Creek, or as people say Hell’s Crack. In 2018 I write: Halls Creek is fascinating in its nothingness – and that it’s the only town for 600kms. As with all these small settlements in the middle of nowhere it’s a sad place. There are few shops, any there have shutters or wire gates protecting them from break-ins after hours, there’s usually two or three big petrol stations, a caravan park/camp ground or two, and a reasonably large supermarket to service travellers and anyone living within several hundred kilometres. And nothing has changed.
We know New Zealand is far from perfect in race relations but travelling through this area really makes you think about the decimation of a race and culture through colonisation: land grabbing, rape, murder, taking children from their families, lack of social and political recognition, and basic everyday prejudice. Intergenerational problems will take many generations to address.
Especially when, once again, I’m driven from the camp fire when some ignorant pig asks if its ok to tell Aborigine jokes. There’s nothing funny about what this country has done and continues to do to Aboriginal people – mate.
I promise the East Kimberley write up will be more uplifting. Thanks for reading.
It’s all about the pearls
Broome is a interesting town with an ironic history: a booming pearling industry in the late 1880s sees more Japanese than European settlers living there, and a strafing attacks by Japanese Zeros on the 3rd March, 1942. Since our last visit in 2018, when there was no visible story of this major event, most Australians not knowing Broome was attacked, an evocative installation is now at Roebuck Bay. Japanese fighters strafed not only the Broome airfield, but also 15 flying boats at anchor. These were transferring Dutch evacuees to safety from Java which had been invaded by Japan. The nine figures of the installation stand looking out to the site of one of the fifteen wrecks, a Catalina FV-N. There are silhouettes of nine Zeros arranged in three flying formations depicted coming from the southwest, the flight path they took that day. The stories and quotes written on the figures are arranged into 9 themes: The Chaos of War, The Movement of People, The Attack, The Rescue, The Survivors, The Impact, Kudo, The Wrecks, Reflection and Reconciliation. The stories are both heartbreaking and inspirational.
If is fair to say Broome is the equivalent of a seasonal retirement village. Those living in Perth and south flock north for Winter, many staying at the same caravan park, probably in the same site, with the same friends they have at home. Same, same, but warmer.
On advice from friends we head up the more remote Dampier Peninsula towards Cape Leveque, leaving the caravan in Broome. We remember flying over this wild part of the world back in 2018, and a magic trip to the Horizontal Falls (which I wrote about on my former blogsite). David Attenborough calls the falls the Eighth Wonder of the World. Here the tide runs full tilt between narrow cliffs and appears to flow, well, horizontally. It is thrilling and mind bending, taking the powerful boats up through the narrow gap where water defies the laws of nature.
The main road up to Cape Leveque is recently sealed, long and straight. We continue past our turnoff and go into the tiny Beagle Bay Community to see Sacred Heart Church – not because I suddenly need to go to confession, but to see the beautiful pearl shell altar and side altars. It is quite spectacular.
The Stations of the Cross (ask a Catholic if you can find one) feature pearl shell frames and are painted in German Impressionist style. They date from 1949 and include themes and symbols meaningful to the local Aboriginal community. Yes, someone really thought this. At the risk of (further) inflaming any Catholic readers, I suggest what happens to Aboriginal people as a result of European arrival is on a par with crucifixion. I appreciate the beauty of the church from a purely aesthetic viewpoint.
From Beagle Bay to our accommodation the 26km road is a 4WD track, and several times I think we may not be going the right way. Sandy in places, rugged in others with borders of long grass so you can’t really see much other than what is in front of you. Other sections give out wide views across the seedy grass.
And then……. swaying palms, blue ocean, white sand.
No longer an active pearling factory, the pearl divers quarters are now basic but airy queen rooms: five opening out on to the water and five facing inland. We are in the waterfront and thank goodness for the cyclone shutters, which sit at about 60 degrees down, shade the room from the easterly sun, but windows that allow in the breeze. Anyone who doesn’t believe I am ever up early enough for a sunrise would generally be right. But in this case I have no choice as the dawn shines right in my eyes – until I realise I can drop the shutter the night before.
The days are spent walking, fishing (for Scott), crabbing, talking, eating (crab and fish), drinking, reading, learning about the history of the pearl industry, and pearls in general. Steve, who started the farm in the 1970s, and his partner Erin (a lovely Kiwi) are great hosts and generous with their time and resources.
And a lasting memory of Broome: we go to the Sun theatre, the world’s oldest operating picture garden to see Top Gun, Maverick. Broome airport is less than half a kilometre from the main street theatre, and about half an hour into the movie there’s a deafening roar as a jet flies overhead at no more than 500 metres – it takes a moment to realise it isn’t the movie sound effects, but then we realise – everyone laughs and cheers – go Qantas! That’s service.
The Kimberley region is one of the most remote in Australia, and one of the world’s last wilderness frontiers. The region is three times larger than England with a population of less than 40,000. think about that for a minute. It’s a empty space bigger than Boris Johnson’s ego. Extending over Australia’s entire north-western corner, the Kimberley is spectacular: rugged ranges, deep gorges, semi-arid savanna and a largely isolated coastline. Broome is the eastern anchor, and we set off to Kununurra, 1,100 kilometres away. come with us.
And then you meet people like this
Emma and James are those young people who help you believe good people exist in the world. We meet them at a roadside rest area where we stop to stretch and change drivers, which we do every 100 or so kms. Two people are sitting in the grass eating a snack. There are what look like bike trailers on the dirt in front of them. When I go over to chat, I see the trailers are heavily laden carts, with two wheels and a handle.
Emma and James are walking across Australia. You read that correctly. James started his trek pre Covid lockdowns and then couldn’t get into WA with border closures. With Covid dictating his passage, he suspended travel in Alice Springs.
Now he and Emma are finishing the trip. They have just come off 700 odd kms of the Tanami Road which runs from Alice Springs to the Great North Highway just south of Halls Creek. Now, understand the Tanami Road is a sandy, rocky, rough 4WD road, not smooth bitumen, and they are pushing these carts. I try one out for a few metres and yes, they are well balanced, but I can not imagine a full day pushing this in front of me. With heat, flies, dirt, boredom and pain for company, then no hope of a hot shower at the end of the day. Emma tells me they average 43 kms a day.
Why? You have to ask. Why? They are raising money for Purple House, a charity that provides medical care for the remote indigenous communities they pass through on their journey. There’s a gofundme page and you can read more there.
We offer water, food, a toilet, but they cheerfully decline. They are totally self sufficient. They are amazing.
A Short Rant – I’ll post this while I’m still angry
What drives me away from the lovely open fire tonight is Barb’s declaration: “I like Trump”. I don’t even wait for more information. Seriously, this is the man who stacked the Supreme (ha ha) Court with lackeys who have no respect for women, for children, or self determination.
After an enjoyable round of where have you been, and where are you going, and how long have you been travelling, (the usual camp chat) I can no longer rely on myself to be cool, calm and intellectually inquisitive about these opinions.
We’ve had 15 minutes of Barb expounding the efficacy of six days a week at the gym to prevent Covid, while her fat ass husband says the only people who die from Covid are obese.
Adam, who seemed like a normal person when we invited him over for a drink, tells us he lost his job as a social worker because he wouldn’t get vaccinated. We wasted two gins on him. He says got Covid, but it wasn’t bad, although he couldn’t move for a few days. But he didn’t need to take the Ivermectin he’d bought before it became illegal – fecking Ivermectin! Not approved, actually for animals as an anti-parasitic for crying out loud.
Some of you, gentle readers, want to know more about the people we meet. Well, they are some of them. I’m sorry I have to meet them on your behalf.
Who wants to swim with Whale Sharks?
Last year we vow, in Arnie’s immortal words, “we’ll be back” – and nine months and one bout of Covid (me) later, we are. Our favourite WA destination has to be Coral Bay on the Ningaloo Reef. You can read about last year’s adventures of swimming with Manta Rays and being entertained by Humpback whales and graceful Manta Rays in my blog Good times with the mega fauna, so I won’t repeat myself. NB – it is worth reading, or re-reading.
The Ningaloo Reef is both not as readily accessible as the Great Barrier Reef and also more accessible. Ningaloo is remote: Perth, the most remote city on Earth, more or less, is 1,200kms (745 miles) south, so it’s not a day trip. Conversely, as a fringing reef it grows within a few metres of the shore – you can literally snorkel from the shore, where Great Barrier needs a boat trip. Ningaloo is one of the longest near-shore reefs in the world with over 300 species of coral, but if you expect lurid colours you will be disappointed – mostly it is grey/brown, but the size of the formations is impressive. Fish, 500 species on fact, are everywhere and all the rainbow of usual suspects abound: Parrotfish, Butterflyfish, Angelfish, Nemo lookalikes, and bigger species including reef sharks and turtles are at ease in the marine sanctuary. (underwater photos all by @elle_gillett)
Now, like many my age, I carry the trauma of the movie Jaws deep in my psyche. I can’t hear da dum………da dum……..da dum da dum da dum music without my sphincter tightening ever so slightly, so it’s big thing for me to go to the deep water. To swim with the Humpback and Whale Sharks however, you need to take a trip outside the reef to much deeper water. I’m not a natural snorkeler but I remember last year’s magic time with the Humpback whales and Manta rays. Yet, Whale sharks are less whale and more shark as they do not need to come up for air, but engage in constant motion as a shark. Like Lady MacBeth, but without the knife, I screw my courage to the sticking place and off we go.
This experience is nothing short of spectacular. We snorkel inside the reef then move out through the gap in the coral to open water. A couple of Humpbacks come along to amuse us, but we are here for bigger things. The skipper motors about 20 nautical miles (37kms) up the coast before the spotter plane calls and guides us to the appropriate area. As with the swims last year our guides divide us into two groups – no more than 10 to a group and we are a boat of 18.
The first 10 swimmers get the call to go in while the rest of us sit ready, heart pounding in my case, on the marlin board (platform at the stern of the boat). The skipper positions the boat ahead and off to the side of the Whale shark: Slide in and swim right! the call comes and off we go. Next thing, coming straight at us is the most awe inspiring and beautiful sight, a 7-8 metre spotty beast, lazily moving through the water.
I quickly turn in the same direction the Whale Shark is moving and try to stay abreast of the pectoral fin. It is swimming slowly enough to keep up without too much effort. Eventually the guide calls for us to stop and re-group and the boat comes back to pick us up. We repeat the process and see three different Whale Sharks in all – it’s hard to stop smiling.
And harder to haul yourself out of the water for the 4th time in half and hour – note to self, work on upper body strength. I bet Lady MacBeth wouldn’t have any problems.
Everyone is buzzing after a close encounter with one of the giants of the ocean, and the day gets even better as we motor back to base. Dolphins come and perform and ride along and then, back inside the reef, two more Humpback whales arrive alongside. The skipper and crew tell us it is extremely rare to find them inside the reef, and we are in only 10 metres of water. They hang around for ages and come up close to the boat several times. All we need now is Aquaman and a few mermaids and on a day like this, anything’s possible.
And then, because nothing is ever perfect, three days later Scott tests positive for Covid. We find out two of the crew are also now in isolation. Just proves it – you catch Covid from Whale Sharks.
So you want to go camping
It is an ongoing source of fascination to see the wide range of caravan/camper-van/camping set-ups that abound in this country. To be fair, we do not camp or use campgrounds in New Zealand, but the press inches devoted to freedom campers and camper-vans suggests they are more of a problem rather than a desirable tourism asset. Unlike New Zealand, Australia is a country of people who head off regularly as well as many overseas visitors travelling in car, campers, vans and caravans. Consequently, there are as many types of camping areas as there are ways to camp.
The most basic level is just a swag at ground level, more or less a one person mini tent. this is for Nigel no-mates, or of you have mates then you can each have your own “bedroom”.
Next up is the roof top camper which is very popular, especially with young people who tend to be lithe enough to climb up and bend themselves in the required shapes to be comfortable. And people who don’t have to go to the toilet during the night. Often the vehicle is set up with a drawers and pull outs to make a camp kitchen, or sometimes a small camper trailer is along for the ride.
Now, camper trailers come in all shapes and sizes and put you in mind of kids’ transformer toys. They fold out and up and change personality. One of my favourites is the little white one in the photo below. It opens its bum and doubles its size immediately – and not all of us can say that.
Camper-vans are the same in that you have a multitude of options, some from the factory, some homebuilt or conversions. In New Zealand, we are more than familiar with the camper-van and the multitude of companies hiring them out – at least, before Covid we were. Some of the same names appear here, Britz and Maui for example, but there are so many more.
Caravans come in three main types: on-road standard, semi off-road like ours, which means it has more clearance but is not necessarily more rugged, and off-road which means tough. Length and breadth are also variable. Breadth can increase considerably with the use of slide-outs which give more internal space. I could not guess at the number of manufacturers, and we hear there is still a 12 -18 month waiting list to get one. When people had to cancel overseas trips they looked homewards and traded Bali for Birdsville and Amsterdam for Alice Springs.
Then for some people there is no limit to the amount of space or stuff they need. In this case you graduate to a bigger caravan or a bus. We see everything from converted public transport buses, the kind that takes the kids to school, through to custom built luxury liners.
Now just when we think we’ve seen it all, we see a convertible towing a camper trailer. We are so intrigued we watch them set up. None of it looks comfortable for long journeys or comfortable sleeping. They are not young. I ask how long they’ve been travelling – 61 days she says. How much longer? another 61 days, and the look on her face tells me she has it counted down to hours, if not minutes. This is not really her happy place, and if I had to crawl into that space to sleep I think I’d been signing the divorce papers sooner rather than later.
So there you have it – you pay your money and make your choice. I haven’t touched on the people you meet (as varied as there are ways to camp) or the types of places to camp, so if you want to hear more on the topic, let me know,