14 March 2013 - Dunmarra Wayside Inn, Dunmarra, Stuart Highway, Northern Territory

While dining last night we watched in wonder as a large lean feral tabby cat made his way around the fenced off bore. Chris wondered momentarily if he were a thylacine, a marsupial now considered extinct, but this was more feline than wolf-like so we dismissed this rather romantic thought. He lingered for some time but was too distant to photograph from inside the caravan and would surely have fled had I come out through the door.

The insects turned up in their droves although not quite in the numbers as our last trip through. I suggested that we obtain a frog and a couple of geckos or three, and bring them out at night to feast upon the bugs. Chris thought the negatives in doing so would far outweigh the positives. I am not so sure, however one probably needs a permit to carry such creatures from one state to the next?

We managed one quick game of scrabble and then turned all the lights off and lay on our backs watching the mass of stars through the uncurtained windows. Out here far away from anything or anyone else, the skies are so bright with their trillions of little lights. Finally we succumbed to sleep and surprised ourselves by sleeping quite well despite the unrelenting heat.

This morning we were up early, breakfasted and back on the road at about 8 am. The day promised to be a copy of the previous, high temperatures and perfectly blue skies. Soon we were barrelling along the road at our regular 85 to 90 kph despite the fact that the speed limit here on the Northern Territory roads is 130 kph. We met only two caravan rigs en route but scores of road trains and bustling utes. At one point we came upon a house being transported along the road, taking the whole width which required us to shift entirely off the road onto the red dust berm. We edged past each other then exchanged pleasantries about the price of fuel up the road on the two way radios.

Eavesdropping one side of a conversation as we continued on our way, we heard a chap telling another that his Toyota ute could do “one dollar sixty on the open road”. It just goes to show that if you up the limit there will always be fools that will take it even higher.

Fiddling about with the roof cargo

We pulled into the Frewena Rest Area 132 kilometres east of Threeways and took the full fuel cannisters down off the Landcruiser roof, then filled the main tank with their contents. I had been dreading this however the whole process was relatively simple and the most time consuming bit was strapping them and the silver tarp back up on the roof after the event.

We could not help but notice the burnt-out motorhome lying next to the shelter. It had been a truck type, possibly like our own motorhome in storage back in New Zealand. The gas bottles had not exploded but everything else was a wreck. We can only hope that the driver and any passengers escaped unharmed. This was the first of the three recreational “vehicles” we found in a dilapidated state on the road today; the next two were abandoned and wrecked caravans.

The remains of someone's dreams

We stopped at Threeways after having travelled 331 kilometres during the morning and had some lunch. We checked out the fuel price and confirmed that the $1.89 a litre was close enough to that advised by the pilot drivers and decided it might be cheaper further north.

Here we joined the Stuart Highway, which we have travelled south from here but never north, and so we are now on new roads seeing parts of the country I have never seen before and Chris has only seen in a previous life.

In fact as we headed up the highway, still with the excellent surface we had enjoyed since crossing the border, he reminisced about a bus trip he did with some mates from Darwin to Alice Springs and back to attend a Folk Festival about forty years ago. The road was sealed then but just a single lane, however he says he slept for most of the road trip so that he was en forme for the days of music and mayhem. Ah, those were the days!

We had not tagged any particular place as being the day’s destination however had examined Camps 6 to ascertain what was on offer as far as free or low cost camps as we proceeded up the road. We finally decided that we would head for the Newcastle Waters  Rest Area, but then before we reached Renner Springs, Chris started making noises about power and oscillating fans and all those little luxuries that one does not have parked up beside the road. This camp also advertised a swimming pool which sounded very tempting. I had visions of myself cooling off in my togs that have not been out of the bag for a year or more, and then showering, a long cold shower, and then changing into such and such…..

He checked out the cost of fuel and the camping fee at Renner Springs but then decided that it was a bit too early to stop, so we decided we would check out the Midland Caravan Park at Elliot. We drove through the avenue of trees into this very small town of 355 people, now a place for the delousing of animals as they pass from one part of the territory to another, noting the empty houses and the partly built abandonned ones, then the crowd of aborigines in the forecourt of the service station where the camp was supposedly situated. Numerous children, slim and very black, were all enjoying cold iceblocks or soft drinks and one grandmother was cuddling her new grand-baby before insisting it too try an iceblock. An assorted group of all ages sat beneath the roadside trees in the shade, relaxed and chatting, all looking quite comfortable while I sat in the landcruiser sweating like a pig waiting for Chris to come out of the service station. It turned out that the camp was closed but we could try so-and-so up the road. We did and he had one power point but no water and…. we decided to press on.

The landscape was more undulating as we came up onto yet another extensive plateau. We saw the ground either side of the road was littered with stones which must have been hideous for Stuart and his trusty horse picked their way north searching for an easy path to the Timor Sea.

We checked out the Newcastle Waters Rest Area but Chris was fussing about how he could park the caravan, so the sun would not shine on the fridge either evening or morning and we would still be faced out for a quick getaway if necessary. I could see that this was not going to work so we pressed on yet again, until we finally came to Dunmarra and so here we are.

The Wayside Inn is a roadhouse selling fuel and meals and camp site accommodation for just $17. The proprietor was apologetic about the state of the grass lying all about and left us to discover the rest of the neglect. It is a lovely park but could do with a whole lot of tender loving care.

Initially we settled on a site close to the entrance, but caught the strident voice of a fishwife, blaspheming and raving the way only an unhappy woman stressed with extreme heat and a tiresome  husband can.  Instead we moved up into the park but were quickly informed by another camper that only a couple of the power points were working. We took down the horse fencing and parked in beside the couple towing a boat, and hitched up to water so I have had a very very long cold shower; absolute heaven. There are camp facilities but we always prefer to use our own. There is a large aviary with about four beautiful parrots, all of whom I would gladly set free and the swimming pool looks wonderful but there is a sign on the pool gate: Out of Order.

We learned from the tourist brochures that Dunmarra was named after a man called Dan O’Mara whose body was never found. The aboriginal people involved in the search couldn't pronounce  his name and referred to him as Dunmarra.

But as we wandered about the camp and roadhouse area before our simple dinner of beans on toast with fried eggs, we found several other history gems all about Dunmarra. There is an old 1927 Leyland Terrier truck body that was once the pride and joy of Noel Healey who with his wife operated the roadhouse for thirty five years. But the story I found the most bewitching was far more recent.

Back in 1993, Clinton Liebelt, an eight year old boy,  went missing. Twelve hundred people from all about and even further came to assist with the search until the camp at Dunmarra was bigger than most towns in the Territory. During the period of the search 260 folk were treated for injuries sustained during the search or for the 50 degree plus heat. Finally after nine days, Clinton’s body was found twenty three kilometres away,  west of the roadhouse. It had been one of the nation’s biggest manhunts and forged a great community bond.

While the flies seem to have been less tiresome since we joined the Stuart Highway, we have persisted in wearing our green mesh hoods whenever we have ventured out of the car. Be assured, this is not a pretty sight, but is better than the sight of lunatics with arms waving and obscenities flying. Tonight we have the bug zapper hanging above the sink and it is click clacking its death knell every few seconds. Dunmarra will be less populated by the end of the evening and we will have had a more comfortable evening.

But of course the big news is that we have travelled 648 kilometres today. I am impressed especially with my husband who seems as fresh as he was in the morning. Tomorrow we will surely cover less.

The road kill has been principally black tyre rubber; the wild life has been singularly lacking, either dead or alive. We did pass one road killed dingo and one small wallaby darted and bounced across in front of us late this afternoon.

Renner Springs is supposed to mark the end of the Red Centre and the beginning of the Tropical North. We found little difference until we had passed Elliot when the landscape did indeed change. We drove through lush green lands, the late sunlight catching the green of rice-like grass and the anthills which appeared like sculptures of people in a variety of embraces. We saw the most amazing mirage far to the west, a lake with far shores and ends and surely real, except our map proved this could not be so. It has indeed been another amazing day.