26 April 2013 - Auski Roadhouse, Great Northern Highway, Western Australia

Nothing did come up in the night to change our plans so we were away promptly this morning, stopping briefly for fresh bread, fruit and vegetables at the local Woolworths as well as securing a copy of today’s Australian newspaper. How is that for supply in such a remote corner of the world? Obviously the pull of money in the region has something to do with this efficiency.

The regular tourist would carry on around Route 1, which becomes the North West Coastal Highway after the turnoff to Newman, but we were keen to explore the inland Pilbara, or at least that part open to the public. Just over thirty kilometres south west of Port Hedland, we turned south, still driving on an excellent bitumen road and still very busy, but with road trains rather than caravans.

In truth we did pass a few caravans. Camper trailers and motorhomes, however it would seem that the majority come north on the coast road that takes them through Karratha and Roebourne.

After the first fifty kilometres we entered picturesque countryside, the Mungaroona Range to our right, and great natural piles and hillocks of red boulders. The sky had been overcast when we left Port Hedland but soon opened up to the east and south. The colours all about were lovely. We saw few birds or wildlife of any kind but at least one hundred road killed cattle in varying states of decay, some fresh and bloody, some so dry their hides stood stiff and erect like sheets of corrugated iron.

We stopped for lunch in a truck parking bay, on the red dust and surrounded by large biting ants. A lovely breeze blew in from the south, the same that was against us most of the route, sucking up the diesel.

Sharing a rest stop with a road train

We resumed our trip; the road trains kept coming as did an amazing number of oversize loads; re-locatable buildings for the mines and machinery parts of all shapes and sizes.

On the northern edge of the Chichester range we suddenly came upon a mine rail crossing and could see that this was all brand new. It is quite astounding to see the infrastructure going into this area but then there is supposed to be about 400 years’ worth of iron ore still in the ground hereabouts if the Greenies and the indigenous folk will allow its extraction. We were impressed with the road building going on in and around Port Hedland, however did lament the fact that there is obviously a shortage of housing. If a few thousand houses could be built and sold for around the $300,000 to $400,000 mark, the outrageous prices being asked for the existing ones might drop to being affordable, and the rents would, in turn, fall to a more realistic rate.

We climbed quite steeply, or at least steeply compared to anything we have in the past couple of months discounting the lookout hill behind Wyndham, and came out on to a moonscape plateau. It was quite beautiful. I had expected that we would simply tip over the top and head down to the Fortescue River, however when we did come on back down, the decline was gradual and much lower. We crossed the flood plains, now the Hamersley Range within view and lightening slicing vertically through the dark skies which had been gathering in the west for the past hour.

And then we were here, at the Roadhouse almost without warning and still not across the river; expansive red dirt yards and brown buildings. The young Taiwanese backpacker was charming at the counter, but could not offer any better price than that asked; a hefty $35 for this rustic layby. We did not even check the prices on the menu or on any of the wares for sale. The rain had started and we were keen to park up, plug into power and wait for the storm to pass. Again this will do.

I will add here that we recently heard on one of our travel videos the term “battened down” in relation to a town that is always prepared for cyclone events. I would add that many of these towns and settlements that we have passed through, from Darwin right through to here, all have that “battened down” look; low and unobtrusive, camouflaged in either the tropical vegetation or in the iron red dust. They seem to say, “Pretend I am not really here.”

 It is about two hundred and fifty kilometres from Port Hedland to where we are this afternoon, still only part way to our destination of Tom Price but I thought it better we travel the last fifty kilometres in the morning when we are refreshed. One’s appreciation of the route flags after the first few hundred kilometres in a day. And now my husband has dropped off to sleep, I can see that was a good call.