The Chamber of Pillars.

Just 160 kilometres of shake, rattle and dust on a corrugated track separates us from one of the red centres most obscure government run campsites, the Chambers Pillar. We finally ventured out on a weekend when Alice Springs was dancing around a pole in May, in an almost pagan/hippy roman tradition.

Just when you think it is safe enough to crank the car up to a hundred km per hour, a rough dip will play basketball with your off-roader or a bend will slide you through a corner as if Brocky was still alive. After about a hundred kilometres, we stopped to look at the Indigenous art expo at the village of Titjikala, but found that in an act of sheer defiance to the rules of capitalism the exhibition was closed on a public holiday weekend.

Around ten kilometres before arrival, a short but steep drive takes you up a high ridge where the views are 360 degrees and worth stopping for, especially that first glimpse of the Chambers Pillar. Down the hill two gates are to be negotiated by the co-driver. At one of the gates there is a sign advising you to mount your pole with a red flag to the front of your car ‘now’, to warn oncoming traffic that you are rounding the crest.  Yeah!!! Darn!!! Forgot to bring my flagpole. I was tempted to sit on top of the car waving my red undies around, but thought it too dusty up there. Two or three of those apexes were quite hair-raising. For seconds, all you can see is the bonnet creating that out of control feeling. One day someone is going to land their front wheels on someone else's bonnet.

The main event

There is a lot going on at the chamber of pillars.

For sure the highlights are the columns that have stood here as long as anyone can remember. Even though the name Chamber is of a wealthy businessman who sponsored first time explorer John MacDouell Stuart out here; the name itself evokes the feeling of a space with the pillar and surrounding rock features holding up the roof of the world. The colour changes of these rocks at dawn and dusk are truly spectacular, almost emotionally so.

 

This rock formation visible from our campsite - notice nature's window

The Indigenous locals believe that a knob-tailed gecko warrior named Itirkawara rebelled against tribal law by sleeping around with woman forbidden to him. He came to these sand dunes, took a breather, and tragically transformed into a stone pillar. The woman he travelled with turned her head away and became what is now known as Castle Rock. The message is loud and clear for future generations. If you hadn't learned it by now here it is again; don’t mess with the wrong woman.

The knob tailed gecko courtesy of Milan Zygmunt



Castle Rock from this angle looks a lot like a submarine

Some of the oldest graffiti created by the earliest settlers of the red centre is found in relatively sophisticated carvings on the rocks and surrounding the pillar. Willshire and W Bennett (mounted police), Frank Wallis (store keeper of Alice Springs) and William and Mary Hayes who’s family still owns land around here; just to name a few dating back as far as 1884.  Little did our forefathers know that this form of historical acknowledgement of hard sweat and toil, set the precedence for an all-in eyesore of epic proportions. Who would have thought that 'John 1996' thought it necessary to etch his name into history, along with countless others. Never mind that by carving your name into the soft rock, one accelerates the erosion process of this amazing ancient column . The pillar is as the newspaper clipping in the gazebo said  ‘being loved to death’ even at the risk of a $2000 fine.

The John Ross party came through in 1870 whilst scouting the area for the overland telegraph line

There are some great short walks around the rock formations and the climb up the pillar is a must. There is a sunset and sunrise viewing area and wildlife is abundant according to the information on the boards. We spotted a large variety of birds including and a couple of bats. The southern boobook owl, mulga snake and spinifex hopping mouse were a little shy.

The camping is sublime at La Chambre as French friends of ours elegantly called it. Even a long weekend attracted a low number of visitors. The bush campsites were spaced out with fire pits working overtime during the fresh evenings. This is the Northern Territory in full flight - you can pick your favourite star out of a galaxy as clear as picking sultanas out of a cinnamon scroll.




No stars this night but just a spectacular sky

The rocks at the foot of the pillar

Reluctantly, we started our journey home - leaving a beautiful place like this is always hard. We passed through a large barren area where ahead of us a cow tried to outrun our superior human invention. In true bovine fashion it stuck to the road exhausting itself, until she became tired and came to a grinding halt. We parked right next to it and admired the brahman black and white features of the meat production line of Australia, when it unabashedly lifted its tail and just let go of this intense tinkle whilst staring us out.

           

Two minutes down the road Julie spotted a skinny, lone dingo. The Dingo ran away from us but at a distance ran parallel to the slow driving car as Julie hung out, taking photos of the cantering native.  But wouldn’t you know it?  We found the answer to the Australian version of the question concerning bears, woods and stating the obvious. Does a dingo crap in the desert?




 Picture courtesy of Julie from a moving vehicle
 

 Apparently!

Grey Bits

Check out this fabulous photographer at http://www.milanzygmunt.com/reptiles/nephrurus-levis-knob-tailed-gecko-gekon-knoflikovy/

Larapinta 3. How to Freeze a Family

 

 

As I was writing about the howling, lone dingo last night my pen ran out of ink. A slight inconvenience in the life of a small-time writer. The Latvian lady came to the rescue and she gave me hers. She was leaving the track in a couple of hours anyway and I was just about to set off. I thanked her and told her that giving was good Karma. She told me how grateful she felt when a stranger made her a coffee at Ormiston Gorge. Some people are just really nice.

 



One of the many creeks I crossed

 

Tuesday 12 July 2016

 

Section 11: Finke River to Redbank Gorge

 

Section 11 is a 26km section of the trail. You will need to camp overnight to finish the section. The first part of the trail goes across spinifex-covered hills with the spectacular backdrop of Mt Sonder, then crosses the Davenport River and climbs to a hilltop lookout.

 

It descends to shady and peaceful Rocky Bar Gap at the base of Mt Sonder. It passes through this gap and travels along the southern side of Mt Sonder to Redbank Creek.  

 

Information from the NT Government website

 

 

 

I never took my jacket off that day. Mount Sonder looked gloomy and, wait for it, sombre, under an overcast sky. The track, mainly flat and gravelly ,alternating with flat, red dusty area. This land is surprisingly dry with only the toughest scrubs and trees surviving here even in the midst of winter. I crossed many waterless creek beds and spinifex was growing plentiful along the track in places similar to arranged manicured gardens.

 

 

The spinifex garden

 

Despite the arid atmosphere, I could not believe the multitude of flowers growing in the bush. I stopped many times to take photos. This task has become way more arduous with a heavy backpack.

 

Pack off - get camera - take a breath - shoot - put away camera - lift pack on (swear!).

 

 

Gloomy skies overhead

 

 

I had a huge lunch/morning tea at the Rocky Bar Gap Campsite.  Any thought I entertained to stay overnight was blown away by the intrusive 24 hour surveillance camera mounted on a pole overlooking the water tanks. Why have a camera in this desolate place? Who would have been out here to abuse this pristine spot? Isn’t it funny,  I have been recorded millions of times by CCTV cameras in many places of our fast moving world - yet this one made me feel uncomfortable.  I battled the urge to drop my dacks and moon whoever is watching the screen on the other side.

 

 

A Desert Rose

 

I filled every spare bottle I possessed with water and cussed under my breath when I hoiked the beast over my shoulders. After walking carefully through the dry creek bed aptly named Rocky Gap and traversed over a relatively flat area I came to a hill - a big hill - with the most obvious yet uninspiring name, Big Hill.

 

 

Flowers growing at the foot of Big Hill

 

It took me a while to get to the top as it was BIG. Underway I heard somebody yell out a cooooie!!! from the top which I answered. I also found some flowers that were picked on the ground. There must be kids here somewhere I thought.

 

At the top I decided to stay and tried to find a place to camp with a little shelter from the piercing wind. A glorious brief snooze was in order after which I ventured out of my tent wearing all my clothes, including thermal underwear and a beanie. Six post meridiem and it was bitter. 

 

I met the only other adventurers that were crazy enough to stay up here. Unbelievably, a family of six were braving the icy conditions. Mum and Dad (John and Lara) were passionate hikers and have always taken their kids hiking from an early age. The family including the kids Hannah, Sancha, Finn and little Eddie were spread out in three tents across the top of Big Hill.




Rugged up for dinner

The enthusiastic and definitely driving force behind it all, John, told me he carried his six year old daughter most of the way up only to have to return to his massive pack to haul it to where he had left the six year old Edie - pronounced Ee dee. He said he got to know Edie very well as she chatted to him the whoooooole day long.



Edie not scared of a chat

A cheeky Edie appeared to take a bit of a shine to me and accidently slapped my arm on many occasions as she happened to walk past. I was included in sharing some of the families chocolate and John loaned me his phone to call Julie to arrange our meeting in two days time. I was on the good side of Karma up there.

 

 

Sisters in front of Mount Sonder

 

The view from Big Hill was great, but the cloud cover was smothering the sunset. Just before the sun was about to disappear behind the horizon it peaked through an ever so slight opening lighting up the veil hanging over sombre Sonder. We gathered at the edge of Big Hill and stood there for quite some time. “Will you look at that” said John several times.

 

“This has made it all worth it”.
 



'It was'



 

 

Grey Bits

 
Do you want to become a guest blogger, write your own story and publish on my blog? I would love to hear from you. Email me at storiesfrommars@gmail.com

Expect cold weather when hiking the Larapinta in winter. Day time temperatures on the day I walked to Big Hill barely went over ten degrees, but average out to around 20 degrees for the months of May to August. Night time temperatures during these months average around 5 degrees but I was told they can wildly fluctuate. Read more about the current conditions on the Larapinta at https://nt.gov.au/leisure/recreation/bushwalking-hiking/larapinta-trail/larapinta-trail-current-conditions

There is barely any phone reception on the whole of the Larapinta trail. In certain high spots and closer to Alice Springs people who are with Telstra are able to get some bars.

I say lose the phone!!!

Ron and Ziggy

Ziggy and Ron.

For Geoff

The offending piece of equipment

The first we heard from Ron was his generator. We arrived at Canebrake Pool, non-generator campsite, as camp hosts with the hummm of this noisy apparatus as welcoming serenade in this otherwise tranquil bush camp. We decided to ava’ yarn. During our advance to camp Ron we heard Ziggy's feisty yap for the first time. Ziggy the dog is a Shiatsu, Maltese cross and a red hot little guard dog. Nothing gets near Ron’s trailer without being profusely barked at by the little star man. Over the next couple of weeks we heard the word “Ziggy” yelled out in all sorts of different ways. There was a gruff “Ziggy” if someone walked by or a despairing “Ziggy” when his hunting instinct took over and started chasing a bungarra. “He will tear up a goanna if it gets close” Ron pronounced. “That’s why Ziggy is always on the lead”.

Ziggy sniffing out a possible intruder

Ron soon turned out to be always up for a chat and being of true semi grey nomad ilk, we are allowing ourselves more time for other humans of any kind. Over the next three weeks we got to know Ron quite well. Ron is the person who talks the most of anyone I know that has claimed “I don’t talk much”. Ron can chew the leg off a chair but his stories were always fascinating and loved listening to them.

 

 

Ron in the middle of a story

 

 

 

We found out how his home built trailer was set up with the generator, how he stayed at free camp-sites where they allowed dogs, how he had travelled like this for the last 12 years and and how he was living without fixed abode. Ron has three kids he spoke of with some feeling, but was divorced when, in his words,“she found another fellah”. Ziggy had walked into Rons campsite three years ago and they have taken good care of each other ever since. Julie spent hours talking to Ron about grooming, worming, defleaing, what to feed Ziggy and you could see the pair go for “walkies” at least twice a day.



Ziggy just walked into Rons camp

Three weeks after saying goodbye to the pair at Cranebrake we pulled over to investigate a free camping spot called Bromus Dam close to Norseman. “Hey look Jules - it looks like another Ron” I said, pointing at a campsite in the distance. Promptly, from afar the unmistaking yap of Ziggy followed by a gruff “Ziggy". Ziggy excitedly ran to us like we were long lost friends and jumped all over us. We were all very surprised to find each other in this spot. Ron left Canebrake the same day as us and was on his way to a secret locatation around Kalgoorlie to go prospecting. He said with a cheeky grin that a 36 million dollar nugget, like the one someone found recently, would be a great supplement to his pension. In the same breath he said he would not change his lifestyle one bit but maybe emphasise “style” just a little.

Over a few coldies during what's known as the grey nomad's happy hour, Ron passionately talked about the Vietnam war. As a Corporal in the army, he was teaching his fellow soldiers specialising in the art of dropping in behind enemy lines. The troops were just about to be sent in, including young Corporal Ron, when Whitlam pulled the Aussies out of Vietnam. Ron said he felt very frustrated that he and his men could not go to Vietnam and use the skills they had trained so hard for and to do his bit for this country. An interesting discussion developed whether  Ron, in this case, was plain unlucky or if he had dodged a bullet.



We mentioned to Ron our plans to drive the excuisite Norseman to Hyden road and the rugged Holland track on the way back and asked if Ron and Ziggy would mind guarding our van. In my mind, leaving our van with Ron and Ziggy was always a safe option even though we only knew him for less than a month. Ziggy would raise mary hell if anyone came near our caravan. Ron said they were not going anywhere soon and accepted the job and the carton that would come his way.  When we checked in over the phone from Kalgoorlie he mischievously said the van was ok but he had a couple of offers on it.





Ziggy guarding our property

 

When we returned from our Holland track adventure, we sat down for a cuppa with Ron and Ziggy. In the shade of his tarpaulin Ron said, with a glint in his eye, he was chasing “real freedom”. No one bugging him, out in the wilderness and living out his life.



Ron's camp at Bromus Dam

Crucial to living free out bush, he said you needed to have a fresh water source, good enough to wash clothes and do the dishes as he pointed at a 20 litre white container with greenish water and a tadpole swimming around in it.

Ron always had his fly squat handy as the marsh flies were prolific biters. When one such horrid horse fly creature bit Ron on the leg, Ziggy was immediately at hand to lick the bite gently. We were witnessing a close and loving relationship between dog and man.

Ziggy showing affection

If you find a good place to camp next to a billabong and see Ron’s camp and his fiery grey ball of energy go over and say G’day. We wish Ron and Ziggy the best  of luck on the road and we will call his phone number every once in a while to see if they are both ok or just in case he does find that massive nugget.

 

Grey Bits

 
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Some of the carton we paid Ron with for services rendered

 

 

The first day flash back

 

 

Finally…. all is done. House sold, garage saled, friends goodbuyed …  again, family hugged and tears flowed? Marcel and Julie, in the end, after a lot of planning became semi grey nomads.




Finally... the road is ours

You bet we were excited leaving Perth to find adventures and new places for us to explore. We had a vague plan to catch the rear end of the wild flower season in the wheat belt, North of Perth. All was going great. I got over my nerves towing such a big monster van out of a busy place like Perth, music  was playing loud and a last minute balancing bar straightened the caravan beautifully for a smooth ride.

We stopped at the town of Bindoon, which proudly displays the large sausage that we thought looked more like a giant colon or a “turd on a truck” Never the less 15 metres down the road, our first coffee of the life style change, was still tasting great.

Driving towards New Norcia we came across our first set of hills and we noticed our wonderful  newly purchased used Ford Ranger was struggling to get up the hills carting a large load. In fact, she was slowing down to a disappointing 60kms on the upward slopes. In a zone, clearly meant for driving one hundred, we were blocking a string of 10 tail-gating cars. It seemed like they were trying to commit hara-kiri on the back end of our van or wiping themselves and everyone else out with perilous overtaking moves. This contributed to the uncomfortable paranoid, self-conscious state slow-going caravanners feel. I will never, ever complain again (or worse) when sitting behind a wobbly van on the road.

Our wobbly van

 

Chuffing up one of these hills, all of a sudden the engine kicked out of whatever it was I was telling it to do. Several lights started flashing on the dashboard like a glow-worm party on a dark night. One second we are surging forward, the next we dropped lamely to wet rag status. Our car had developed a severe case of turrets syndrome.



Our car close to the edge

This is when the need arises to have that discussion about staying calm and enjoying every moment of the trip. Even if our car has turned into ‘Kevin Bloody Wilson’.

We check the manual and adding all glow-worms together we come to the conclusion that we have to stop. At a convulsing 30 kilometres per hour we cuss into New Norcia and pull up at the roadhouse. We realised we have to stay overnight and find ourselves lucky that the roadhouse provides camp spots on the other side of the highway only three hundred metres away. Timidly, and as not to offend our car any further, we gently encourage her to stumble onto the oval and temporarily laid her to rest.

 

The New Norcia monastery



The roadside assistance came only two hours later and the jovial mechanic fixed the apparently common problem for this make of car within 15 minutes, by chucking a bit of tape around some melted wires underneath the driver’s seat. “Good to go around Australia mate” he pronounced, to our disbelieving ears.

We stayed four more days in New Norcia which turned out to be a great place to visit. We shared a fire with two sets of hilarious grey nomads that owned the same vehicle as us. Sometime later we spotted them laying underneath their own cars checking for melted wires.
 



The view from the old bakery

The bakery sold us with some beautiful fruit bread and more discussion took place on how not to blow the budget next time. New Norcia was also the place when this stingy Dutchman asked the lady behind the tourist counter for a semi grey nomad discount. Bewildered, but surprisingly she gave us $5 off the price of entree for the town tour. The monasteries and church were interesting places to visit. Breaking down in New Norcia must have been divine intervention.



The church at New Norcia

Grey Bits

It may pay to check if the hand break of the caravan you are towing is in the off position. I will deny profusely that  I may have possibly caused those cables to melt over the exhaust by leaving the break lever locked in.

Learn to drive your car properly before your journey. We found out five months into our trip that we had something called a “sports” mode. This appears to be the automatic setting for when you are towing. Our brilliant car also has something called a “six speed” shift. This great, little, important feature allows you to gear down before a hill manually but without a clutch. A nifty invention that prevents your car from overheating when towing a caravan that may or may not have the breaks on.

 I was told by a reliable source that ladies like to drive clutch-less not clueless or crotch less.

Get yourselves a membership with some cool roadside assistance, especially when travelling beyond the black stump. We were lucky that New Norcia is near civilization.

 

A Camino shell. Maybe we should have walked

Be prepared to spend a long time waiting for assistance. We could have become grey nomads by the time help arrived.

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Flap, flap bloody flap

Flap, flap bloody flap

Everyone has an opinion about what kind of homely gadget to take around Australia. Some people have more opinion than others. If I had a dollar for every shoulda got this or coulda got that I would have no need to play lotto. So let me have a look at putting my own spiel  on finding the ultimate travel set up semi-grey nomad style.

In the beginning….. there was the mattress, blanket and the stars. It just is the most romantic way of camping. It proves real joy does not have to cost an arm and a leg. I have had the pleasure of driving a poo brown, clapped out Kingswood wagon into the red dust and pull up in that non-light polluted spot and lay on my back with a beautiful girl next to me watching many a fallen star. It's awesome. Baked beans for dinner never tasted this good. I can't remember if we ever had a shower. Travelling without money allowed us to have the time of our lives. Who could have thought that less actually equals more.

Simplicity without complications

But…. There are always one or two of those. One morning you are woken by that stunning sun-rise and find a scorpion under that mattress or you get woken in the middle of the night with some hairy-arsed Wombat chewing on your toes.  The weather is obviously a concern when you are that exposed to anything falling from the sky or that sopping dew in the morning. And so…..

The tent was born. I have had the pleasure to have attempted to sleep in a wide variety of tents. On many a hiking trip one or two man hiking tents are very common to use just in case the hut is overflowing with a corporate challenge mob and there is no room at the Inn. Those tents that are touted light weight, try and carry them all day, can be put up in dune pans, little plucks of bush, forest and on rocky cliffs overlooking the most stunning landscapes. Often no pegs are required but it does feel so much safer to have it nailed down with some guide ropes. In torrential rain I noticed that if the inner tent touches the fly you can get yourself Into a serious wet spot. Look! Hiking tents are insanely flexible and only restricted by trespassing laws and lack of imagination.

Next....

The medium size tent was sent to challenge us. If you like a puzzle get yourself a decent size tent. If you turn up at the camp site late at night and you have just walked out of the store with it you are in for the shock of your life. As you cannot yet find your head torch, you will be dependant on your blinding car headlights to guide you. Eventually you will have managed to erect it unharmoniously with your dearly beloved and not a grain of help from the kids that keep on running over the canvas. Several days later you would have found the instructions you kept in a handy place. You know the one place where you would be sure to have found it.  Exhausted, you will lay down on your bouncy sea sickness evoking mattress.  Many a man has flipped his misses up in the air by rolling around on the blow up mattress. From the tent in any commercial or government campsite you can follow the neighbours arguments until the small hours of the morning or worse you can pick up handy skills off two drunk boners mumbling how to take flesh off a bone two meters from were you lay, scared, with eyes wide open. You discover that tents are not snore proof as you lay awake all night working out exercise programs and diet changes for the offending neighbour.

And than… a metamorphosis of biblical proportions.The dome tent. I am to this day scratching my head as to why the traditional tent shape was overrun by its rounded cousin. If you were to camp at the North pole and required to enjoy a blizzard or two? Maybe. Try organising all your square gear in a round tent and remember to feed the right pole through the right sleeve.

With tents it appears that all the gear you thought you needed for this trip is stashed mainly outside. Shipping containers full of stuff on and under tables spreading like a virus through the campsite. Your car will look like a dog's breakfast.  Out of desperation gear will end up hanging in trees . Your campsite will look like post cyclone Armageddon. In and among all stray looking husbands will be asking their wives again and again where the thingymegic is that fits in the dovywhatsit. Aahhh!!  Camping is such great fun.

The Taj Mah tent. A tent for six persons at Boranup 2011.

No don’t get me wrong I love camping in tents.  Bring the kids into nature and yourself back into it too after a long absence . Reconnect to people that  try the get away from the daily grind as hard as you are. Sitting around a camp fire staring into the flame. Roast some marsh-mellows to charcoal. Set up a treasure hunt. Get the kids to build some huts. Have some clean family fun without those damn gadgets.

Just recently we camped at Shelter bay in the Steep Point National Park in Shark Bay. We have this brand new rooftop tent installed  one week before we left which inspired me to write this. This part of Western Australia is famous for being one of the most windiest areas in the world. Julie described the night we spend there as if a Goliath like creature trying to get in all night. Flap, flap bloody flap. Lucky I found some earplugs. We cut that trip short.

So the evolution of camping modes has brought us to Le Moment Surprime. The sexed up version of the long forgotten tent.  Hot canvas on wheels. The holy campertrailer. Slide in, slide out fridges. Kitchen draws, sinks and water taps. Oolalaaa!! Some can be erected by simply winding it up or down others just open up like a clam on heat. I have seen flatscreen TV's that disappear gently into the manifold by the click of a button. All of a sudden we are talking solar blankets, 12 volt bliss and massive water tanks for long hot steamy showers. This will all come at a price.

 

Our old Camper trailer in full flight at Boranup 2011

We had another memorable night in Exmouth 2009, Western Australia where our annex tried to fly to the Eastern states with clothes line and clothes still pegged to it.

What options are left? Foolishly I have always counted out any mode of transport I cannot unhook from my car and leave behind set up. That just about kills off that Winnabago or converted bus idea. Most of those palaces on wheels are way, way, way beyond my price range. But one day I may be persuaded otherwise.

In the end a caravan appeared to be the answer to it all. No flapping canvas if that's your choice. Most caravans will have good square storage spaces and just the right amount of affordable luxury. Have your caravan fully enclosed so you don't have to listen to drunk grey nomads arguing how to park their van. This is just my opinion. No need to get in a flap about it. 

Tips for the camping semi-grey nomad

For camping:

• Make sure there is no reception, electricity and don’t bring a TV for anyone.
• Organise and prepare activities. Eg: cards, treasure hunt prizes, sparklers, glow in the dark sticks, marsh-mellows, extra torches for animal spotting, fins and snorkels etc.
• Remember the fun and games you had when you were young. Pac-Man excluded. What games did you play that your kids could have some fun with?
• Different terrain requires different gear. When we go four wheel driving we leave our caravan behind and sleep in our roofy.  

The rooftop tent in full flight