24 October 2011 Wonoraha Bore, Barkly Highway, Northern Territory

We woke basking in the aftermath of the great and glorious rugby players who had managed to bring victory and save all their fellow compatriots from at least six months of depression and the economy from plunging further, simply by squeezing a one point win over France who had actually deserved to win. But then such is life; it is not always fair and it was New Zealand’s turn to celebrate something positive. Surely even the French could not begrudge us that!

Our own enjoyment of this great event had been somewhat marred by a huge electrical storm which caused only intermittent reception, however as itinerants, we are now appreciative of any reception and it was enough. Just. And now it was time to face the future.

After breaking camp, we headed away from this good Big Four camp, good but not as amazing as one would expect from a member of this prestigious group. We would however be happy to recommend the Argylla because we personally don’t give a dam for the fancy extras some of these camps offer. The wheels turned west and so it was that we soon found our way across the gentle hills, past the George Fisher and Lady Annie Mines, both operated by Xstrata Mt Isa Mine, travelling the 189 kilometres to Camooweal, the most western settlement in Queensland where we stopped for fuel, paying an exorbitant 30 cents per litre more than in Mt Isa. We had thought to stop longer and walk up and down the street to explore this place; however I popped out while Chris filled the fuel tanks and did the exploring of what little there was.

Camooweal has a population of 310, is 236 metres above sea level, was established in 1884 and has a drover’s museum which I would have liked to have seen. Alas it closes at midday and it was past that already. Apparently cattle used to be driven south through this route and when you consider the climate and the long distances, and consider the obstacles that Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman (or at least their characters in the film, Australia) had, I suspect this museum may have been fascinating.

Instead we pushed on a further thirteen kilometres west, crossed the border, and were advised that we could now travel at 130 kilometres an hour so long as we watched out for the road trains of up to fifty four metres long. Road trains were already old hat to us, but the speed limit did prove to be a challenge. Try as we might, we could not get within forty or fifty kilometres an hour of it. This actually is our preferred chugging speed whilst towing. Fortunately the road continued to be excellent all the way and so we were no hindrance to those who took advantage of the allowable speed.

The countryside from Camooweal west for about one hundred kilometres was wide cleared pastoral land for as far as one could see. It just stretched on and on and the convex horizon would have surely confused the flat earth believers. And then the burning started, hundreds of kilometres of road through scorched earth. Traffic was scarce; just the odd road train or fellow traveller about every twenty minutes.

When we pulled into our road side camp here, beside this dilapidated windmill and bore hole, containing nothing but an assortment of rubbish, we lamented the lack of healthy growth and birds. Instead the fires had laid bare the cast offs of previous campers, bottles and cans which would have otherwise been hidden in the scrub. And the bugs were out in force, finding their way in under the window frames to avoid the screens. The zapper could not cope with the numbers, and nor could we, who gave up, turned the lights out and went to bed. The wind came up and blew for some time, and we spent the night closed up as if in an oven.