Stories of the Air: The Rock Without Name

The air freighter cleared Temple Bar within seconds and prepared for landing. The pilots were looking through the window into the black, moonless night. Suddenly, a huge, dark shape burst into view. Frantically, the pilot grabbed the controls and yanked them back as hard as he could, trying to lift the plane in a last ditch effort, but it was too late……

On a crisp desert morning my companion and I decided to challenge ourselves with a hike to the crash site of the Westwind 1124 VH-AJS.  I drive by this site almost every day and look up at the inhospitable cliff face in wonder, tinged with a feeling of morbidity and a kicked-bucket, full of awe.

 

The kangaroos on the edge of the escarpment

There isn’t a track to be found except the ones Kangaroos have ground out. The first 300 metres was steep, with slippery rubble and several loose rocks that tumbled down the slope disturbed by my large, clumsy feet.  Lexi, who was following me at the time, jumped sideways to avoid the avalanche and  decided to run around me and lead me out. Smart dog!

In an exhale of relief and with a fine layer of sweat to offer the cold wind, we reached the flat area up the top.  From below, it doesn’t look like there is any room, but there is a spinifex covered strip of level ground along the range about 200 metres wide in most places. It seems that birds, reptiles and kangaroos have lived here without any disturbance for many a year.

 

Dodging spinifex all the way

 

 

And then the unthinkable happened during a dark night on 27 April 1995.

Rod Cramer heard the explosion of 14,000 litres of A1 jet fuel at the Temple Bar Caravan Park from about 4 km's away and put his SES (State Emergency Service) uniform on and made his way up to this yet to be named rock.

“Initial impact occurred when the right wingtip tank struck a rock on the north-western edge of the escarpment. The first major impact occurred 60 metres further on when the landing gear and the lower fuselage struck large rocks. The fire trail began at this point. The aircraft then progressively broke up as it continued across the top of the escarpment before cart wheeling into a ravine on the southern side. The wings and empennage, along with both engines, were at the base of the ravine. Most components had been severely affected by fire.”

Information taken from the report of the Bureau of Air Safety Investigation

First sighting

My heart sunk and a lump forced itself into my throat when I came across the first piece of debris, a small metal rectangle with two screws neatly punched through the metal.

Feeling uncomfortable about something, I continue on in a diagonal line across the top of the range. I found torn metal, smashed boxes with wires and unrecognisable bits and pieces that once formed a sleek machine that sliced through the sky with ease.

The broken wings flung some way down a narrow ravine - this is a sad place to be.

 

Grass starting to take over

The two pilots and a passenger, the report stated,....died instantly.

 

Rod spent 24 hours on top of the range and found himself in charge of recovering the three bodies. ”It is one of the hardest physical things I have ever done” he said as the loaded stretcher had to be hauled up the steep, rocky slope and carried to the helicopter on top.

He knew a couple of people that worked on the recovery that were affected by what they saw. Rod used the words ‘privilege’ and ‘respect’ to describe his feelings of that night - he appeared to be at ease talking about the whole ordeal.

Photo of an identical Westwind 1124 VH-AJS

 

Cargo was spread around everywhere according to Rod. People's tax returns were found and bizarre specimen jars of human tissue.  A huge amount of US Dollars had scattered itself across the top like a lucrative snowfield.

Rod - third from top left in training at Kings Canyon with his SES mates

 

How can such a thing happen?  What in earth's name causes a well-equipped, modern plane to crash on a mountain?







A piece of hose

 

The crash report of the Westwind is an involved, detailed document. The plane's engines were humming in the background on the cockpit recorder. This means  the crash wasn't caused by any mechanical failure. The investigator concluded in his report that the minima was set too low by the pilots being a recipe for disaster. It was set for 2300 feet rather than the prescribed 2700. A pinch of forgetfulness with a few grams of shortcutting and some inadequate checking of the flight path finding it's way on the menu. It becomes clear in the report that the two pilots didn’t get along, had argued on a previous flight and that any discrepancy in altitude could have been ignored due to their, this time fatal, level of ill-feeling towards each other.




Part of a water bottle

This is a beautiful spot, high above the life and sounds of Ilparpa Road. The views from here are spectacular – The Gap – Airport – Temple Bar – nothing but sky. A white cross is now standing near the broken wings of the Westwing overlooking the world.

 

Lexi looking down at Ilparpa road from the initial point of impact

On the way back, Lexi started chasing kangaroos and I could hear her yapping delightfully in the distance, even though she would never be fast enough to catch any of them. My mind went to the guys that lost their lives up there, wondering what it would be like. Staring imminent death in the face, much alike looking into the barrel of a gun that is about to go off. Never mind who was at fault, who was squabbling with who or who forgot what. The truth is that any man who faces such a final shock like these highly skilled pilots and their passenger did, makes them, in my opinion, heroes in their own right.

Lets not forget that they belong to families that never saw them return. Their spirits forever lingering at the rock without name.

 

The cross on the edge of the ravine

 

 Grey Bits

Let your mind rome to the amazing job the SES are doing. Well done for making our world a better place to live!

If you want to check out the SES and maybe even join this valuable organisation as a volunteer, check out this website www.ses.sa.gov.au

If you like to have a read of the full report of the Westwind crash you can find it on my website
https://www.facebook.com/storiesfrommars

If the range ever were to be named, I suggest we call it the Westwind Range.

 




This willy wagtail appeared surprised with our company

The Temple Bar Termites

 


The red centre is a harsh, unforgiving place to be. Ask Sturt, Lasseter and Flynn. They will tell you it takes a special person to survive this barren land. You will need a place to shelter, water, a good sense of direction and people's companionship for sanity as the bare minimum to get by.

After you have made the wise decision to drive to Temple Bar (sorry not an actual drinking hole) you will be gob-smacked by the range that towers up on your left and in the far distance on your right. Smacking your gob even harder is the temple shaped red rock that seems to loom over head the closer you get (see photo above). I have driven on this road many times and the visual spectacle of these olden giants never fail to amaze me. The light changes continuously and the colours are different every time your gaze is drawn towards them. From dark orange in the morning, to golden edged brown at night and anything in-between.

At the foot of The Temple Bar lays a caravan park with that oasis feeling we savoured when we first drove through the dried up creek. It is a shady, leafy place with green lawn covering drive-through sites and quirky, but functional ablutions. A variety of caravan-attached dwellings are huddled together waiting for a big boulder from the temple above to ten-pin them over. People wave at you here in this place and crank out a 'G'DAY'!!!

There are massive gum trees, ghost gums and jacaranda trees lining the small streets. In and around them, birds are frolicking like pigs in a pen. It is 6am when the galahs start screeching as if possessed and the babbler family of eleven strong, come around and entertain us as if you are watching a warped episode of Benny Hill. At night, the lone call of the red-tailed cockatoo can be heard echoing off the Temple Bar wall.

 

This babbler is feeding a cricket to her young.

 

A galah is flat out drinking

The weather around these parts appears to be on steroids. Winter night temperatures have been known to drop to minus seven while in the summertime the temp will barely squeeze below 24 in the small hours of the morning. High 30s and scorching 40s are common place during the day without let off. This summer has been extremely humid with record rainfall.



Heavy summer rain clouds at dusk

To make this place taste even more like the outback there is a colony of black-footed wallabies that live half way up the rock. At dusk and dawn you can see joeys racing like mad around a large shaped boulder, that hasn’t quite made it far enough down the hill to kill anyone yet.  We are regularly visited by large muscly euros (kangaroos) that come to drink water left out by the tenants or just come out to graze and a good old eyeball.

 



These wallabies are having a play fight at Wallaby Rock



What yah looking at?

To say that we are surrounded by a tight knit community of outback characters is an understatement. There is an unknown recluse that is building the great wall of China around his hording shelter, an avid Collingwood supporter who’ s ear-splitting swearing  can be heard every time they play and an openly pronounced lesbian lady who proudly lives in a place called Normanby. There lives John Strehlow the author and playwright; Alan the cartoonist; and Chris, Russ and their dog Lexi. I am proud to count myself among them. These Northern Territorians finest gather anytime at impromptu drinking sessions - coffee as well as the hard stuff.  It proves that we are all mates in this place of dust and isolation.

Alan; the best cartoonist I've ever met

Take that time when the creek flooded. A month of intermittent heavy Darwinesque, tropical downpours pushed its sticky, humidity upon us Temple Bar Termites. Over here, with the rainfall in the wrong catchment areas, anything can happen.

With some warning from the Bureau of Meteorology we all parked our cars on the other side of the creek. You could see the water trickle down over the white, sandy creek bed towards us. It takes a while to saturate this dry country, but in the end Roe Creek was flowing freely. In order to get to work, all of us had to wade across the strong flowing stream, whether you were wearing your high- vis, stubbies and thongs or a long hoiked up flowing dress with painted nails.

 

Alison on the grader that blocked the access road

 

Michelle's feet enjoying the soothing feel of the water

Julie coming back from work and being helped across the water
by a gallant Rob

What a great excuse not to turn up for work. “Sorry boss. Can’t make it through the creek. Send me a helicopter!”  




Garth in the outback deck chair

Excitedly, we watched  the arrival of the water - we sat on our camping chairs in the stream – coldie in hand - Stevo was there with his fishing rod – Rob and Brett were paddling around pretending to drown - water level going up and up - beer and wise cracks flowing as hard as the river.




Dealing with the water. Rod the owner always working hard to improve the park

Brett cooling off in the river



Stevo the (de)grader

"You know you're a local when you see the creek flooded three times" said Stevo.

What a place to call home.

 

 Grey Bits

 

Steve has just been told there are no fish to be caught in these rivers. He has put away his special lures and is now using his fishing rod as a flag post.

 

Julie recommends keeping socks on when crossing a creek.
Pink ones preferably

 

This is the Temple Bar Facebook page.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Temple-Bar-Caravan-Park-Ilparpa-Rd-Alice-Springs/355496267829816

 

Come and say g'day some time.