Llew Wanders the World

Well… It’s been ages since I last wrote, and much has happened, most notably my having moved from the east coast to the west.

The journey to Western Australia started with the overnight train trip from Melbourne to Adelaide. I’d planned on spending a few days in South Australia on the way out west, and especially given its status as a transportation hub, Adelaide made a natural base.

I only spent two days in the city itself. The first of these started out early with a 08:00 arrival on the train from Melbourne. While the interstate train station isn’t right in the centre of town, it’s not too long a walk, so in no time I’d found a hostel to stay at and had checked in.

By the time I’d got checked in and settled and had lunch, it was already early afternoon. My first stop in Adelaide was the renowned botanical gardens. They weren’t at their most spectacular, since not many plants were in bloom, but the gardens were still pleasant and interesting. Of particular note were the exhibition about rice in the “economic botany” pavillion, and the rose gardens. Perhaps the most memorable thing about the gardens wasn’t the plants at all, but the profusion of brightly coloured parrots and other bird life that aboubnded in some sections.

By the time my stroll through the gardens was complete it was almost time to head back to the hostel for dinner. I spent a pleasant evening there hanging around with my Irish roomates, even playing a game of Monopoly towards the end of the night (I got my butt kicked, but it was entertaining anyway, since I hadn’t played in literally years.)

I was determined that the next day would be a more productive one, and so it was. I headed out int he morning to make inquiries about the next leg of my journey. My plan was to head up the road to Port Augusta and thence another 160km further north to Wilpena, perhaps the most spectacular, and certainly the best known part of Flinders National Park. The only trick would be how to arrange it.

Unfortunately the last-ever bus from Adelaide to Wilpena had gone the day before, so that wouldn’t do. I could rent a car in Adelaide and drive up, but that would mean I’d need to return it to Adelaide as well, which would be a waste of time and effort since I could just board the train out to Perth (my next destination) at Port Augusta. Eventually I decided I’d take a bus up to Port Augusta, rent a car there, drive up to Wilpena and then return to Port Augusta to catch the train. It took a while to get this all sorted out, but I was happy once I had it done.

Since I’d just bought a new phone card and had been on the phone a good chunk of the morning with various car rental agencies, I also took the time to phone everyone back home. Once again, half of the day had disappeared before I got ready to see some of the sights of Adelaide.

My first stop was a trip through many of the opal shops in the centre of town. Australia in general, and South Australia in particular is the world capital of these beautiful multi-coloured gems. Pretty much my only memory of Adelaide from my last trip to Australia was spending great swaths of time admiring the stones for sale at many different outlets in town. I gave in ot my obsession and spent a good couple of hours floating from one shop to the next, telling the salespeople that I sadly couldn’t afford to buy anything, but I just loved looking.

I eventually tore myself away from the opals (although I had begun entertaining serious thoughts of buying a small loose stone) and headed to the Adelaide Central Market. It’s not as big as the Queen Vic in Melbourne, and most of the stalls were closed that day, but I did still manage to do some provisioning for my upcoming trip into the Flinders.

Shopping complete, I headed to the surprisingly large Museum of South Australia, first exploring the Australian Aboriginal galleries (some of the best in the world.) It was very relaxing and interesting just to sit and browse through the online histories of the native people of Australia (and to rest my feet at the same time.) An hour or so later, I headed upstairs to the Australian wildlife exhibits.

Before I new it, the museum was closing, and back to the hostel I went once more. On the way back I caved in and bought a tiny teardrop shaped crystal opal for $30 from one of the shops. I figured that I would be unlikely to find many more souveniers that would be so amll and light and besides I am (as I mentioned earlier) somewhat obsessed by opals.

While the kitchen facitilites at the hostel I was resident in were so-so, they made up for it by providing nightly meals for $5.00. This evening I stuffed myself with lasagna, salad, apple pie and ice cream (as well as filtered water, which, although I almost never drink it elsewhere, was a treat since Adelaide’s tap water tastes so unpleasant.)

A kind English lady had loaned me her alarm clock so that I’d be sure to wake up in time for my 08:30 bus to Port Augusta, but it was still a near thing. Having dawdled around the hostel having a leisurely breakfast, I arrived JUST in time to get aboard.

The drive up was pleasant enough, if not spectacularly scenic. The rise of the Flinders Ranges (more a series of semi-arid hills than real mountains) and the occaisional dry, salty lakebed were highlights of the trip up to Port Augusta.

Port Augusta has been much maligned by other Australians, soimetimes being called “Porta Gutter,” due to the perception of it as a dirty industrial town rife with petty crime. My (brief) experience of the place upon arriving was rather more pleasant. The central park was lovely, and the staff at the outback information office very helpful and friendly.

Also very pleasant was the woman at the car rental agency (oddly located inside a fish and chips shop.) After only an hour or so in town, having eaten lunch, done some last minute shopping and picked up my car, I hit the road and was on my way into the Outback.

The day was a particularly hot one, even for this region and time of year, getting above 40 celsius at its peak. Just stepping out of the air conditioned comfort of the car was an experience. The blast of heat, the silence of the desert, the hills of the Flinders Ranges rising around me and the immediate swarm of flies was probably perfectly representative of the outback experience, if not 100% comfortable.

The flies were practically the only living things I saw on the drive up, except for the crows feeding on road-killed kangaroos. One of these became roadkill itself, when it was to fixated on its meal to get out of the way of my car as I sped on up the highway.

Upon arriving at Wilpena I paid my park entrance fees, and after much debate about whether I could make it to the campsite before sundown, headed into Wilpena Pound itself. The pound appears to be a giant crater of some kind, but actually is just a natural enclosure formed by the twisting, folding and erosion of a section of the Flinders Ranges.

Since I had the car, I took great pleasure in leaving a fair chunk of my hear there, thus lightening my pack considerably. This was counterbalenced by the 7 litres of water I carried with me, since Wilpena Pound is a semi-arid environment and water probably wouldn’t be available anywhere on the trail.

The inside of the pound was considerably more lively, probably due to the shade of the trees that grow there, and the fact that evening was drawing near. Just shortly after departing from the visitors centre I came upon the first notable resident, a fearsome looking, but harmless bearded dragon.

As I walked I also met a large… herd? flock? I’m not sure what the right word is for a group of emus, as well as several kangaroos, gallahs and corellas (these last two are both small cockatoos.) Also accompanying me as I headed further into the pound on the fine walking trail were the ever-present flies.

Since I had planned to walk out by a different route, I took a quick side trip to the Hill homestead, the centre of a wheat farm that operated in the pound in the late 1800’s, as well as up to a lookout over the pound floor. I was a bit nervous about spending time doing this, as the sun was falling ever lower, but I didn’t think I’d get another chance.

As it turned out I needn’t have worried. I arrived at the bush camp site in good time. While the sun had dropped behind the hills that form the pound walls, there was still plenty of daylight left, and the sun continued to light the tops of the hills on the far side of the pound.

I shared the campsite with two fellows from Vermont. One slept in a tent, but the other remained outside on the ground. Not a big deal in terms of the weather (cool and bone dry overnight) but I can’t imagine how he could stand the constant buzz of the flies around his face, which only ended after dusk when they were replaced with smaller, biting insects of some sort. I was once again, happy with my purchase of a tent in Tassie.

The next day I woke up just in time to have breakfast with an emu that hung about the campsite, and to say goodbye to the Americans as they headed back out of the pound. After this, I got a nice early start on my day hikes, using the campsite as a base. I hoped I could complete the first one in the morning, then spend the hottest part of the day at resting camp before heading out on a second hike in the afternoon.

My first trip took me to the summit of St. Mary’s Peak, the highest point in the Flinders at 1170m. The plant life changed as I followed the trail up out of the shelter of the pound floor. Before long the trees had disappeared entirely and smaller, scrubbier plants had taken over. As the vegetation changed, so did the geology. Or rather, it became more exposed, with the ancient, heavily worn stone of the Flinders showing some of its finest colours as I approached the saddle where the trail up to the peak splits off from the loop back to the town of Wilpena.

The walk up to the summit wasn’t easy, but after what I’d already experienced in Tasmania and New Zealand it seemed like a breeze. And even if it had been much more difficult would still have been more than worth it. The cool breeze at the summit was a welcome reward, topped only by the vistas of the Flinders Ranges and Wilpena Pound from above. So perfect was the scene that it almost seemed as though I was looking out over a huge oil painting. I sat at the top for a good long time, sharing the view with two American graduate students who had arrived just before me.

As it turned out I’d spent a bit too long at the summit, because I arrived back at camp just after noon, having spent a good portion of the return trip with the sun glaring and the tempurature steadily rising well up into the 30s. And camp provided little respite. The only reliable source of shelter, my tent, had grown unbearably hot inside, halfway cooking much of the food I’d left there when I departed. I spent a less than entirely comfortable afternoon swatting at flies, sitting under a scraggly gum tree and reading about (of all things) an expedition up the southwest face of Mt. Everest.

Eventually it did cool, and by around 3:30 it seemed reasonable to head out on my second expedition, this time to the Edowie Gorge. This trail was obviously much less used than the St. Mary’s Peak one and in places was almost entirely overgrown. I did manage to pick my way through, but lived in constant dread of stumbling into a patch of the wickedly sharp spinifex (I’m told it makes quick work of poor quality hiking boots, and I was wearing sandels!) Passing by my first proper billabong (the Aussie name for a pond in an otherwise dry streambed) I did eventually arrive at the gorge. It had looked incredible from the Peak earlier in the day and it didn’t disappoint. It was pretty enough where the marked trail ended, and from that point on just got better and better. A bit of scrambling took me down the face of a (dry) waterfall and across the pond at its base. Although there was no trail past here, I wasn’t terribly worried. The vegetation was relatively sparse due to the shade of the gorge and the torrents of water that occaisionally rush down it, and as long as I stayed at the bottom of the gorge it would be more or less impossible to get lost. Perhaps even prettier than the main gorge were the small side gorges slipping off from the main one.

I followed the bottom of the gorge for perhaps 2km, occaisionally needing to scramble down another small waterfall or past a pond or log. As I walked, the gorge kept getting prettier and prettier, with the lowering sun providing perfect lighting for its stunning red and orange rock. The beauty of the gorge was apparent from its floor, but for a truly great view I knew I’d need to get higher up. This led me up the side wall, rising to about half of its height, to above the treetops. Resting on a ledge, I had the full majesty of the water carved chasm laid out in front of me. Just as I was preparing to head back down I caught sight of a wedge tailed eagle (Australia’s largest bird of prey) soaring off in the distance.

The walk back to the campsite was cooler, and much more pleasant for it. The breeze had even picked up and served not only to refresh me, but even to keep the flies away (at least a bit.)

The blustery wind carried on through the night, leading to a restless sleep, but still one that had me comfortable and refreshed when I woke at dawn the next morning.

By 07:00 I’d packed up camp and was on the trail. I’d planned on finishing the loop around the pound, but had been warned by others that the portion I hadn’t yet walked would be a very steep downhill. Since my knee (which had taken a bit of abuse in Tassie) had begun acting up again on the descent from St. Mary’s Peak, I decided to head back the way I’d come.

Not only was the walk back cool because it was so early, but for most of the trip back, the sky looked like it held rain (though this quickly disappeared as my walk continued leaving the usual, clear, hot sky above.) This had me arriving back in Wilpena before 09:00, which gave me plenty of time to phone and inform the railway that I’d be boarding in Port Augusta instead of Adelaide, and to “steal” a shower and hand-wash of my clothing from the campsite near the visitor’s centre.

Just before departing, I met with a flerd of emu that were a bit less camera shy than the ones I’d met earlier.

On the way back to Port Augusta, I stopped at Arkaroo Rock, for a walk out to an aboriginal rock art site. It’s kind of disappointing that they have to protect the overhanging boulder with a fence, but another nearby site that has been vandalized almost out of existence made it clear that this was necessary. At Arkaroo I also caught a fine view of the outside of Wilpena Pound, and met a relaxed Goanna (a large predatory lizard) that was resting right beside the trail.

The remainder of the drive back to Port Augusta was uneventful, as was my afternoon there. I returned the car, then headed over to the free government run internet terminals. After this I headed up the street, intent on buying some food for the train journey when I was hailed from across the street by Bev, the woman from the car rental agency. I hadn’t noticed that my incident with the crow a couple of days earlier had been more serious than I’d thought. It had actually knocked the Toyota logo off the front of the (brand new, curses) car and had cracked the (plastic) front grille. it was clear that the crow was responsible, as some of its feathers and blood were still stuck on the grille right over the area where it was cracked. So it was that the largest single expenditure of my Australian trip ended up being a new grille and logo for a Toyota Corolla station wagon. I could probably have simply walked away without paying, since I’d already returned the car and they hadn’t made note of it at the time, but I was quite certain that it was my responsibility, and they WERE very nice people. Sigh. The burdens of a conscience.

After (finally) completing my food shopping, I headed down to the rail station and was somewhat dismayed at what I found: nothing. Not a single soul was there to allow me to exchange my train ticket, as I’d been told I’d have to do. And the Great Southern Railway call centre was closed for the day. Lovely. There was nothing to do but wait, and given that it was now 18:30 and the train was due at 22:50, it was going to be a long one. Thankfully I had lots to read, a bottle of Coopers Stout, and a beautiful sunset to watch.

About 21:30 one person did show up. Although she simply worked at an office in the station, and not for the actual railway she still managed to relieve me by explaining that I’d be issued with a new ticket once I boarded. One less worry.

One more worry came in the form of the pair that arrived around 22:00: two aboriginal guys, one young and one old. Thw younger one was pleasant enough, and it didn’t particularly distress me that he was smoking marijuana on the non-smoking train platform. The older guy was another matter. He was clearly very drunk and smelled absolutely horrible. He would occaisionally start yelling, cursing the train (“When is this stupid f**king poxy train going to come?”) He’d sit next to me and sing horrible off key country songs. He’d explain at great length where he was going (to Perth to his brother’s funeral) and every small detail of how he was getting there. He’d get up and urinate in the corner. When I moved my pack and walking stick he became very threatened and said “If that hits me, it’ll come right back there!” while making punching motions and then pointing at me, his finger no more than a couple of centimetres from my eyes. Shortly after this he apologized profusely and even began crying, saying that he just wanted to get home and to his brother’s funeral. He even began yelling at the railway worker who showed up to heal with any baggage that needed to be checked.

I was very torn. I dreaded having a two day train trip with this fellow aboard, and sort of hoped that he wouldn’t be allowed on. But then again, was it really fair to deny him a space on the train because he was a poor aboriginal alcoholic? He had no other way to get to his brother’s funeral and would miss it if he didn’t get on this train. Perhaps he would be denied a seat because he smelled so dreadful, or because he was drunk, but then again, given his being a poor aboriginal alcoholic trying to get to his brother’s funeral by the cheapest means possible, it was a bit difficult to blame him for these things…

In the end he was allowed aboard and completely surprised me by sitting quietly and pleasantly in his seat for the entire journey. Just goes to show. First impressions aren’t everything.

I boarded at the same time as these two men and one woman who’d showed as well: the legendary Indian Pacific (this picture was obviously taken the next day.) Thankfully the train was fairly empty and I had two seats all to myself. Especially given the early start I’d had and the lack of scenery during the night, sleep came easily.

The next morning, I enjoyed an absolutely wonderful shower (on the train!) and settled down in the lounge car to watch the passing of the famous Nullarbor Plain (Nullabor being a roughly Latin word meaning “no trees”) plain. The Nullarbor takes some 12 hours to cross by train, with any plants bigger than a large shrub being very rare indeed. Bushes along the sides of the track were separated by perhaps 1000m, and while there was a genuine tree now and again, they were usually separated by 20km or more. Add to this the fact that much of the Nullarbor is crossed on a 478km long stretch of perfectly straight track and you might get the impression that it was rather boring.

Which it wasn’t. The crossing wasn’t entirely monotonous, with the nature of the (little) vegetation constantly changing, from red sand and scroubby plants, to vast expanses of brown grass, to equally vast expanses of yellowy grass with olive shrubs. And while this may not have made it enthralling, the sheer vastness of the region did. I’d been told that only by travelling through the Nullarbor on land could one appreciate and be awed by it, and I definitely agree.

In addition to the wonder of its emptiness, the tiny, infrequent railway towns were also intriguing. The only one the train stopped at was the tiny settlement of Cook. In better times, Cook had a swimming pool, a golf course, a hotel, a hospital and a “school of the air” (a radio-based long distance education service) but now only the remains of these… remain. The “living” portion of the town is limited to a few buildings for the servicing of trains and a small souvenier shop. I can scarcely imagine being one of the (six perhaps?) inhabitants of the town today.

Eventually the Nullarbor did end, just as the sun was setting, and shortly after we pulled into Kalgoorlie, a 150 year old but still very active and prosperous gold mining town. Famous for its “federation” style architecture, its rough pubs and its brothels, Kalgoorlie is supposeldy the quintisential outback town.

Given that we arrived at night and I passed on the bus tour of the town I really just got to see the town centre, with some of its famous architecture and pubs. It was at one of these where I met Grant and Bec, a couple from Victoria who were moving to Port Hedland in the far north of Western Australia (as well as Amy, a tiny Englishwoman who was also on holiday.)

I sat down with them and we began chatting about our travel plans, trying to drown out the horrible live music going on in the background (it consisted of two southeast Asian women asically singing kareoke. As I said at the time, what else would you expect to find in an Irish pub in Kalgoorlie, Australia but two Southeast Asian women singing Bob Marley?) Everyone else ate dinner (I’d already had mine on the train) and we continued to talk over a few beers.

During our chat, Grant and Bec said that they planned on driving up the coast, and had extra room in their car. I asked if this constituted an invitation, because if it did, I’d be delighted to go with them. So it was that, before re-boarding the train for the last leg of the journey overnight to Perth, I found myself completely revising my plans for WA.

We all woke bright and early the next morning, and before long the train pulled into Perth station right on time. After a quick quarantine inspection (the various Australian states protect their local agriculture by careful regulation of transport of goods between them) I hopped off the train along with me newfound friends.

After a few minutes wait on the platform, Grant and Bec’s car was unloaded off the back of the train and we were set to start our long, long journey up the west coast of Australia!

Tags: Australia

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