The road to Lockhart River….day 5

A well packed truck is something that appeals to my sensibilities. Needless to say, when there is not a cubic centimetre of space left and the last square has just slotted into the unthinkably perfect, size-for-size square shaped hole, then, by definition, there has been only one way to pack said truck….that being my way. Whilst I can hear groans emanating from those that love chaos and inefficiency cloaked as creativity, I can also see the understanding nods and tips of the hats from those that flirt with Aspergers too. So in the morning, with a combination of nods and groans, all 5 of us slotted into our allotted square holes that were left in the Troopy and wound our way over the hill surrounding Cairns.

I proudly demonstrated the anti-vibration mounting of the power inverter and powerboard that was ticked off my list yesterday. Detailed instructions were given then summarised back to me as…“so we flick this switch up for on, and flick it down for off”….”ah, yes, that’s pretty much it. Right, how about I demonstrate the music…”. We then proceeded to sing our way up the hills and were soon putting the km’s behind us.

After a few hours we stopped for lunch. The dusty service centre was crowded with muddied up 4WD’s of all shapes and sizes. Most of them with tinnies (small aluminium boats) strapped to their roofs. The gruffness of the various men filling up with petrol was authentic. I would have completely believed any of them if they’d told me that hunting crocodiles with their bare hands wasn’t for sport, but out of necessity in a kill-or-be-killed, do-or-die fight for survival. We found a small patch of grass and made some cheese and bickies.

We hit the dirt soon thereafter and wouldn’t leave it until we reached the community of Lockhart River. The old Troopy gallantly tried to pretend that there was nothing different from the trip up to Cairns, but ultimately we were now rammed with people and gear and plenty of weight strapped to the roof too. Steering was like a ship in a storm with no connection between the wheel and rudder. After navigating our way around 8 very wide, pre-fabricated homes on road-trains being delivered up north, we drove over the straw that broke the Troopys’ back. Alright, so perhaps I’m being a touch melodramatic, but within a few km’s the drivers’ side window wouldn’t wind up. To those city-folk, this wouldn’t seem like too much of an inconvenience, however, up here, oncoming traffic has a nasty habit of leaving plumes of fine red dust in its wake that just loves an open window. It was serious enough for us to pull over and start pulling the innards out of the door to get to the winder mechanism. No sooner had we got up to speed again, then we got a flat. I even managed to hear it leaking over the racket that is associated with driving the Troopy. We pulled over to change it to the only spare we had and managed a quick turnaround as the prospect of navigating the house-on-truck’s again was less than appealing.

Driving on these roads without a spare was a new feeling for me. Not vulnerable as such, because there were plenty of people coming and going, but more a lack of preparedness staring starkly into my eyes. There was literally nothing to do in that moment other than let it go and drive to the next town and see if we had any options. We rolled into Coen and stopped next to what appeared to be a mechanics shed. In bold letters on a fresh laminated A4 sheet “We are closed INDEFINITELY”. Right. Pretty clear. Roll a little further down the street. “….’scuze me mate, got a flat that needs repairing, you know the nearest place?”….”yeah I’ll give it a go. I’ve got a puncture kit out the back”. So, perhaps I was being a little enthusiastic with the plural options. After four failed attempts at repairing the tyre we had no choice but to run the gauntlet and head for Archer River where, apparently, there was “a guy who might be able to help us”. Awesome.

And make it to Archer River we did. There was a bit of a fenced off camping spot and a shed and kitchen which proved to be a surprisingly busy little haven where burgers and large meals were being pumped out at quite a rate. We managed to get the tyre stripped off the wheel which revealed the reason why no amount of puncture repair would have worked. The carcass had been ruptured and the tyre was damaged irreparably. The “guy who might be able to help us” happened to have a very second hand tyre that served to make us feel slightly less uncomfortable about not having a spare for the rest of the journey.

It was getting dark. Ate some dinner. Saw 3 minutes of the politicians’ election debate on the outdoor telly, which was quite a jagged moment of being wrenched into the sphere of the uninspiring, then decided to push on for a few more hours up to Lockhart River. Spokes would proceed to steer the ship with a deft touch through some pretty sloppy muddied tracks and across a few small river crossings. It wasn’t until we reached the Pascoe River crossing that he hesitated for the briefest of moments. We’d slid our way down the approach road to the bank of the river. The road exiting the river on the other side could only just be made out in the darkness. What was clear was that between over there and right here was about 60m of flowing, tidal, croc-infested river of untold depth. Did I mention that ‘ole Troopy doesn’t have a snorkel? Into low range, front hubs locked, mental run through and a deep breath. We traversed what turned out to be less than a meter deep water at a steady pace without making too much of a bulge wave to suck into the engine. And exited the river. And breathed again. Shot Spokes.

We carried on the last section into a sleepy Lockhart River and just managed to catch the man whose house we would be staying at before he went to bed. We all crashed pretty much exhausted after our 10 hour drive was pushed out to a solid 15 hours.

Chelli

Troopy is packed

Chelli's behind the wheel

Liz and Spokes

Dusty redness

House on truck on truck

yeah i'll fix your tyre no worries

ummm....it's still leaking

Day 4….Cairns preparations

Whilst sipping a few quiet beers with Spokes and a friend of ours last night we were offered the use of his house for the next day and night. It was a great opportunity for us to do a mock setup of our, as yet untested Apple Macbook wireless network. So after a restful night’s sleep for me, and an enlightening one for the rest of the Sharing Stories crew as they discovered my idiosyncratic snoring, we woke to a very busy preparation day.

With so many things that required attention, we split the joblist out. Spokes would get the Macs talking to each other and Ninna and I would head out and about to shop for various supplies. This saw me wandering into Rusty’s Bazaar and pretty much bowling over the first fruit and veg shopkeeper as Ninna and I just kept on filling up boxes and boxes with healthy goodness. Our delightful shopkeeper couldn’t help but smile more and more as some of the competition looked on with jealous gazes. We had no time to spread the glory around today…there was a list to be ticked off and time was ticking fast.

Finally got back to base and Spokes was furiously tapping away at one of the many laptops that were setup around the dining room table. He finally worked his way through the minor teething problems and the wry smile curled from the corner of his mouth once again (note:. the Macbooks’ wireless network has been quite impressive and particularly robust thus far). The hospitality extended to us in Cairns was fantastic and made me realise how people really want to help in whatever way they can when witnessing a worthwhile project being manifested.

Days end was capped off with me dozing to the final stages of the Tour de France. Gotta be up bright and early tomorrow morning for the drive up to the Iron Ranges National Park and into Lockhart River should take about 10 hours. Again, with hindsight, my re-acquaintance with the concept of rubber-time would begin tomorrow as the Dance of the Troopy moved directly into Act 2.

Chelli

Into Cairns….day 3.

Cockatoos a-plenty. Super close. Super loud. Flicked the hood of the swag off to reveal the sunrise light. Ahh…shades of purple with orange highlights. Spokes was up’n’at’em so we threw the swags in the back of the Troopy and jumped in. Jumped out, got under the hood and did the same wire trick from last night. It gave the journey from here on in to Cairns a bit of an oldy-worldy feel with the two man start of the vehicle. All I needed was a crank handle, top hat and a pipe to complete the picture.

We continued due north skirting alongside the Blackbraes National Park. The countryside was evolving faster than before and becoming more and more picturesque. Undulations and winding roads channelled us up past the last recognisable station called Lyndhurst. A quick stop at the Lynd services also revealed the first of the German backpackers that are trekking further and further into the countryside to satisfy their working visa regulations. We wound our way through the literally named Misty Mountains and through to Atherton for a bite of late lunch. Then headed down into Cairns for the last of the epic journey north with just two-up in the Troopy. In a couple of days, we’ll be five-up and lots, lots more gear. Mental note, make a list of vehicle basics to purchase before we load the beast to the hilt.

We were greeted at the hotel by Mark. He’d arrived from Byron Bay on a flight a few hours earlier and was to be our resident Hip Hop artist who would make one fifth of our crew. Liz flew in a little while later and then Ninna soon thereafter. Sharing Stories is Liz’s baby. She formulated the concept over many years of working in indigenous communities around the world as a journalist, photographer and media producer. It was a one person effort during the launch year, then Spokes got onboard last year and now here in year 3, all five of us were ready and raring to go. I made a low key entry into my role as chef by sprucing up a jar of tomato, stir-through pasta sauce. Best go shopping tomorrow….

Chelli
ps. photos are coming….really they are….patience people.

Heading north….Day 2

Woke early-ish with a welcome reminisce about lasts nights’ rack of lamb over roast veges. Smacked my head on the underside of the top bunk. Washed my face in the faucet and kick-started Spokes into life. He’d managed a late night skype with his girlfriend and was somewhat reluctant to arise; nevertheless, there was a date with destiny! We had one and half days to get to Cairns to rendezvous with the three other members of the SharingStories 2010 tour team before our work began in earnest. How about I do the first stint behind the wheel, eh?

Morning Troopy, how are we going to get on today? Glow the diesel for just a moment then, blink the eyes, cross the toes, turn the key….and she fires (writing with the benefit of hindsight, I recall each time she starts unassisted, with whimsical fondness). Some pretty rancid toasted sandwiches as an on-the-go breakfast were washed down with chocolate milk. Oh yes, I’m deep in Australia now! And we drive….how far?….let’s target Hughenden. Tarmac all the way to Barcaldine meant for some pretty straight forward km’s. Station after station (huge farm after huge farm) signposted by an arrow occasionally dotted along the road. When we stared out in the direction indicated there appeared to be vast areas of arid, seemingly untouched outback and the occasional farm like animal. A few cows here; a couple of sheep there. Not what I imagined when I thought of the food production powerhouse of Australia.

To Barcaldine – the birthplace of the Australian Labour Party – where famously in 1891 the shearers’ strike was based under the Tree of Knowledge next to the railway station; and infamously in 2006, person’s unknown, poisoned said tree and it now withers and dies. Yes folks, I just told you that someone poisoned the Tree of Knowledge. It is now shrouded in an enormous brown, wooden cube. Awesome.

We hit dirt after this. It was a few hundred more km’s of some pretty hectic corrugated road. The Troopy was describing each rut with touch, sound and consequent blurred sight. But barrel on we did. Conversation flowed and the breadth of topics mirrored the endless possibility of the 360 degree horizon. We found ourselves ready for a whistle stop in a town called Muttaburra where the 4 locals sat on the verandah of the pub (the most important of the three buildings in the town) and advised us 6 different routes to take to Cairns. All of them vehemently opposed to each other’s advice but ending in cusses and chuckles at the realisation that it didn’t much matter to them, as we were the ones moving on and they were the ones staying to drink more XXXX beer.

The sun set on the next stretch and if “orange in the night” is the “shepherds delight” then it would be perfect weather the following day. Potential road-kill started tormenting us. A few close shaves and I even managed to thread the needle between a couple of roos. Then, with both the light and my concentration wavering, Spokes took over the driving. Seemingly immediately, a roo sideswiped us, thankfully glancing off the passenger door. A few km’s later the next one was more square on. We stopped and wished her luck and her grieved for her dead joey too.

As dinner time approached, so did Hughenden and the only place open was the pub….well ok….if we have to. The SharingStories tour once underway in earnest (after Cairns) is alcohol free, so Spokes and myself, being, well, not allergic to booze, were increasingly conscious of this fact as Friday approached. And it’s Pool Competition night at the Hughenden Tavern. The locals were out in force and Spokes adorned in blue, shearers singlet shirt took them on in their own game. After making short work of all the locals he fleeced them for the $50 dollar top prize and we thought it best to beat a hasty retreat. We were parked immediately outside the pub, so into the Troopy and key in and….nothing….not a light, not a flat battery tick, nothing! Righto, up with the hood and with some latent light from inside the pub we looked at the maze of improvised wiring….there, let’s try holding those two broken wires against the battery terminal. Ignition and fires into life. Hood down. Let’s leave, shall we? We threw the swags down outside the entrance to the local golf club, for want of a better place. Spokes went off to sleep with thoughts of how wonderful he is at pool; and I, staring up at the starry sky, felt the thoughts drain from my mind and you couldn’t have chiselled the grin off my face. Next day?….to Cairns.

Chelli

Setting forth….

I, Chelli,  headed off on a long overdue exploration of Australia on 19^th July 2010.  The journey planned would see me head initially deep into the west of NSW, quite literally out the back’o’Burke to Wilcannia.  After a pretty hectic pack up of my house, trip to the snow with my son Isaac and general preparations for the trip, I got onto my flight to Sydney with nothing major left off the list.  A delightful catchup that evening with friends preceded an early train to Dubbo.  Whilst checking some luggage in, a chirpy ‘lil Aussie girl noticed my destination from the luggage tag and with a barely muffled guffaw, stammered out words to the effect of “what the hell would you be going there for?”.  A valid question I caught myself thinking….I guess the 2^nd class sleepers backpacking around Asia are indeed all those 10 years ago.  You see, Wilcannia is only the beginning.  For the next couple of months I will find myself driving across the top of Australia.  From Wilcannia, up through the guts of NSW and Qld to Cairns; then basically the northern perimeter of this vast continent and finishing south of Broome a little over 2 months later.  The purpose of the journey is to help facilitate a project run by a not-for-profit called Sharing Stories in a number of remote indigenous communities.

I’ve traveled quite a lot around the world, seen plenty of parts of many countries but have never explored a huge part of my own country.  And now it’s never seemed more pertinent.  What expectations or hopes or desires do I have?  Not sure really.  I would like to find some peace in my heart.  I would like to undo the desire for a rewind button that would transport me to my reality before the death of my brother, Tim, in April.  I hope to find a way to fold my grief into my visions of the future and reflections on the past.  I would like to find my present again and perhaps tame the tempest of my tenacious mind.  I hope this plays out through the illusion of altruism.  Let’s see.

The journey through the Blue Mountains was wonderful; an ever changing landscape unfolded as I passed through the countryside.  A rich blend of passengers shared the journey to Dubbo, some of whom I followed when they transferred to a coach for the second half of the day on the run out towards Broken Hill.  7 hours later I alighted in Wilcannia along with the woman who had been so kind as to fill the entire journey with a blend of cackling laughter and guttural cursing the like of which even I hadn’t imagined.  I only had a few minutes on the side of the road, enough time to look at my phone and see the non-existent Optus signal before Spokes, my roadtrippin’ partner for the next couple of months, picked me up in the old Toyota Landcruiser rig that would be our vehicle for the duration.  We kipped down at the house he’d been staying at whilst running the SharingStories project at the local youth centre before taking off on the drive up to Cairns.

Road trip Day 1

Started the day with a cursory look over the Troopy.  Under my chief mechanics hat which sat covering my bald head (during the trip I’ll be mechanic, chef, IT geek and a classroom course facilitator) I feel the beads of sweat form.  I counted the obvious issues we’ll face with the aging beast before me on one hand and counted the tools, spares and contingency measures on the other.  Quickly ran out of fingers on one hand without using any on the other…..hmmmm….is that literally thousands of kilometres of corrugated dirt road, tens of croc infested river crossings, 5 persons onboard with 15 computers, 30 stills cameras, 2 HD documentary film cameras plus swags plus luggage…..hmmm….I’m dubious, at best.  With a rolled up smoke out of the corner of his wry smile, Spokes pulled himself behind the wheel, fired up the Troopy and mumble deeply something along the lines of “she’ll be right…..that’s why we’ve got you on board”.

Our first 300km’s were spent dirt tracking the northern bank of the Darling River up to Bourke.  Countless wedge-tail eagles circled overhead.  Roos of all shapes and sizes.  Many alive. Many dead. Expanse of horizon beyond shimmering expanse.  Whistle stop lunch, then headed north up the very welcome tarmac road.  The landscape continued to evolve slowly but steadily around us.  We made it as far up the Mitchell Hwy as Cunamulla before counter meal, beers and bed called.  Tomorrow?….drive as far as possible towards Cairns….gotta be there by Friday afternoon.

Chelli

http://maps.google.com.au/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&msa=0&msid=101264161376066625027.00048c4689eb1de2c6244&ll=-25.284438,147.260742&spn=34.898357,67.631836&z=5

SharingStories?….

SharingStories is a digital online project in which young people in remote indigenous communities are being taught how to produce and upload their own online content.

This process enables children to find a creative voice with which they can explore, tell and share their own stories as well as participate in the creation of cultural recordings with their own elders.

Please explore at…

http://www.sharingstories.com.au/