Outback Hotel Industry Audit
14-28th April 2006

Check out all the great pics from this trip in the photo gallery Click Here ! !

5000 km to See a Tree - by Chris Gilpin

At the campsite in Hillston I was wondering if I might not be making the trip. Surprise-surprise, my usually trusty Rangie had become shy in the presence of all those younger Landies and refused point blank to turn over. Thus began a series of Rangie starting methods probably familiar to most people likely to be reading this.

Day 1- The jump start, This proved effective and soon we were on our way, a lunch time stop proved that the alternator was pushing out 13.5 volts and yet it seemed hard to start despite 200 km or so under the belt. Suspicions now began to turn towards the battery.

Day 2- Second attempt at the jump start, this time less effective. Time for a pull (thanks Glen). Of course this time the V8 burbled as it should and we were on our way to the woolshed, shortly followed by a trip to the battery store.

Day 3- Now turning over nicely, but still no joy. Once again a pull was in order (thanks Hervé). And so the trip went on from day to day. I was the only trip member carefully camping in a spot with a forward exit for the morning. Various refinements were made to the distributor cap and theories abounded regarding 6v coils and poor contacts. Nothing helped that first start in the morning.

Oh well, now it was time for the real challenge of the trip, the Simpson Desert, as we left Dalhousie Springs (thanks for the pull Hervé). It wasn’t long before we heard the words “Oh Dear” from the front. A sign declaring “Road Closed” was in front of us. Luckily a smaller sign declaring Detour pointed us to the bypass track for the large claypan.

As the road conditions had been generally dry for our trip, it seemed odd that the road was closed. However the road ahead to the desert soon became patchy with much evidence of the previous bad days of fellow travellers in the deeply rutted sections.

Then came the crunch: finally an obstacle significant enough to have everyone reaching for cameras and diff lock buttons. A bog hole long enough to cause consternation and with no visible bypass, standing water was in evidence on both sides of the road. Having only one diff lock selector ( the one Land Rover put there), I set off with what seemed in my judgement to be enough speed to get me to the other side (as fast as possible in low third) This was indeed enough but only just with the soft crust and slurry underneath being a power sapping combination. Those who didn’t make it shall remain nameless.

Next stop Purni Bore where we used the last facilities for 4 days and let down tyres over morning tea. The bore is one of the man made attractions of the desert, a disused water bore once left to run free but now capped to reduce the strain on the artesian water table leaving just enough supply for the local wildlife. From this point we started out into the desert proper.

The reports we read before leaving home said that the conditions were unusual in that prevailing winds had left the soft sands that make up the dune peaks steeper on the western side contrary to the norm. It seemed though that the truth of the situation would not be immediately obvious given that the first few kilometres of our route were once roads made to make the desert accessible to drilling rigs.

After 29km we turned south onto the Rig road, as this meant the temporary cessation of dune crossings we made good time to the Mokari airstrip for lunch. As with many of the desert landmarks this could easily have been missed looking at first glance only like a vague section of track.

The rest of the day saw more and more potholes and blow outs around the deteriorating clay track with many sections now more likely to catch out the unwary than the true dunes we encountered later. We were glad to turn onto the Colson track for a northward section and an encounter with a Nissan sporting the tallest flag mast we would see on the trip thanks to a fishing rod strapped to the front end.

Then with a left turn onto the French line we became aware of the presence of the Land Cruiser Club behind us (channel 10 is shared by all desert travellers to help prevent head-on collisions on the dune crests). The evening concluded with our first camp in the desert and a quick hello from the Cruiser Club before we settled in to enjoy the sunset and then the stars.

The second desert day (third since a fuel stop) saw the dunes get bigger and every now and then a particularly tall one would show a view which would remain largely unchanged for the next two days: Dunes with a dead straight line cutting the horizon in two which was the track we had to follow. The bizarre thing about the desert though is that it does change, despite the endless horizon.

Every now and then a variation of flora and fauna appears in the next valley. The most notable of all is the lone gum tree, several hundred kilometres away from its nearest sibling. Obviously this justified a 70 km detour so we did one down another interdunal valley used by the Erabena track, good place for lunch.

After lunch it was back to the WAA line junction for a quick blast across 30 km of one of the least used tracks. All was going to plan until John had a problem with a dickey ball joint. This caused an early choice of campsite, but not a bad one. By this point in the proceedings we had passed two lone travellers, one was an elderly couple in a brand new land cruiser 100 series who looked very clean despite a couple of days in the desert (I suspect they were reasonably aware of what they were up against).

The other seemed less prepared. Sporting a London accent, a Cruiser75 Series, one burst tyre and no idea of how much trouble the desert can bring to the lonely traveller, he was unable to ascend one dune largely down to lack of correct gear choice and a bad choice of line. Eventually he got himself in a sticky position near the top and Dean pulled him over. Refusing our offer of a safe escort he disappeared into the desert. We later discovered he had already had to pay over 2000 dollars for a wheel wrench to be delivered from Birdsville earlier in his crossing.

Ball joint repaired we had to make up time. Luckily by this point the Rangie had returned to form and was starting happily (I suspect I was the victim of a rusted choke cable not delivering full travel).We pressed on and after a flying visit to the Knolls we rejoined the French line, this was probably the best part of the trip for 4wd fun. The unusual winds had left steep faces on the dune crests, on one dune the wheel tracks all stopped about halfway up, Hervé called for “Land Rover Assist” and after I pulled him out I showed him the way over the dune, appearing in his mirror much to his consternation as he rounded the bypass track. Top honours also went to Max, and Deano (although I don’t think any one saw him do it!) for making it unassisted. Another quick stop saw Flash supervising Max digging out Flash’s Cruiser and throwing a couple of shovels Deano’s way.

Ever larger salt lakes and dunes finally brought us to the end of the French Line at Poeppels corner. A quick spin around two states and a territory and we continued to the final campsite.
The next morning we had several things on our minds. For some it was a cold one at Birdsville Pub, Max had a plane to meet, and we all had to get over Big Red.

As I drove across the claypan before it, Hervé made it look easy, simply turn the dial to “Big Red” setting in the Discovery3 and the rest is history. No worries here I thought the Rangie has already shown the D3 the door on this trip. Hervé, stand aside I’m coming through. Oh dear my front axle is at the top but the rest of the Rangie is not! Several more attempts in different gears got me no further.

Time for a rethink. As the others all tried and failed, I dropped the pressures down to about 6-8 psi. This did the trick and I went straight up. Max and Deano followed whilst others took an only slightly easier track 100m further south.

Once down the other side we took the final step of pumping tyres back up to road pressures for the trip into town with the V8 gasping for fuel.

Camp Fire Discussions – by Dean Hagan

If you thought a crew of 10, driving 6 Pommy Landies, 1 Toyota, being led into the Australian Outback by a Frenchman would create some sort of chatter around the camp fire come pub, then you would be spot on. What was observed was it didn’t matter what vehicle you drove or where you were born everyone had a comment on something – EVERYONE!!!

Of ‘cos not every night was spent inspecting the local brewery houses but almost every night was spent around a camp fire.

Many topics were covered: Politics, Global Warming, Religion, International Travel, International Airports, Best Country to Live in, Land Rovers, Toyotas, Nissans, Merits on Electronic and Mechanical Devices on Modern Vehicles, Td5 Chips and Intercoolers, Tyre Pressures, Suspensions, Bush Mechanics, Media Influences on the Unsuspecting Public and General Chatter.

• Chris and Flash were the most passionate about Politics and Global Warming so much so that a ban was placed on both subjects for 48 hours.
• Hervé and Chris enlightened us on their vast experiences travelling the world and the good and bad experiences of International airports.
• And when John’s car broke down on the Simpson Desert he would take part in the general discussion of bush mechanics.
• Carol who only hours before hand had returned from China to meet Max in Birdsville told of her China experience.
• Max and Flash were at odds about the benefits of Chip and Intercooler upgrades. In fact no matter what subject was covered Flash wanted a scientific reasoning before he would concede to anything, (in the middle of the Simpson Desert, I don’t think so) therefore nothing was ever won or lost although Flash did say he would carry out some research on topics covered when he returned home, (poor Mrs Flash lowered her head and sighed, “not more research Flash”). In fact Mrs Flash was heard saying she’d heard all the arguments before and would pack up and head for bed, Katrina and Yvonne were never too far behind, they didn’t have a hope of getting a word in on some occasions.

At the end of the day it was all tongue and cheek. We all came away knowing each other a little better and making new friends. Thanks to Hervé for leading us through some very remote and beautiful parts of Australia. His passion and knowledge of Australia never ceases to amaze.

Things to see and do in Birdsville by Max Pegler

Tusker decided to do what all Rovers do. All British cars I think. It leaked oil everywhere. The alloy housing of the vacuum pump developed a crack about 2” long, and oil was being pushed out under pressure. We weren’t going any further. We called it quits in Birdsville, & had to say goodbye to the rest of the group as they headed down for Walker’s crossing.

LandRover Assist were very good in arranging flights, sending a flatbed up to retrieve it, after which Trivetts repaired it as soon as they got it. Tusker was back on the road in a matter of days. But Carol & I were effectively stranded. It took 5 days to fly home from Birdsville. It was one of those sagas we’ll never forget.

Birdsville isn’t such a bad place to spend a few days. It’s a town of about 100 permanents. In fact the whole shire, the second largest in Queensland, is only 350 people. Not only does everybody knows everybody – but also what there’re up to. They seem to know one another’s daily routine.

Not too many seemed to know what day of the week it was though. Maybe it doesn’t matter?

In fact Birdsville is expanding. There’s no new private housing per se in the original precint, but new houses have been built to the west – nicknamed “Melrose Place” surprise surprise. And there’s another subdivision being laid alongside that. There’s a bakery that wasn’t there last time we visited. A community centre, the primary school & medical clinic were all built in the last ten years. The pub is also building more accomodation, so things are upbeat.

It’s the little things you don’t expect. Like two workmen erecting a lightpole, and arguing in Afrikaans. Little the police station notice board advising to ring 000 in an emergency in the Simpson – a bit hard given there’s no mobile phone tower. Like the local copper shooting cattle straying on to airfield. Like the signs requesting to keep power and water use to a minimum having regard to the costs of their local geo-something supply station – that was a bit rich considering the waterhole is artificially fed for the tourist season from the same artesian supply. Like a café that served Thai & Indian meals. Now that was a nice change after all those pub hamburgers.

Like the shipping costs – there’s only one supply truck a fortnight. Arrange cartage yourself, and avoid the local’s 100% markup..

Like the lack of any shops per se. A few groceries are available at the Autoport, but that’s it.

The Caravan Park is quite a few acres. Couldn’t work out why there were so many black patches, until we noticed someone’s campfire wasn’t put out properly, and it smouldered for about 36 hours in the grass. The proprietors Ruth & Ian were also helpful in our predicament. Ruth frequents the ExploreOz forum as well.

Birdsville is a town of contrasts. It’s old and new. Lively one day, dead the next. Anzac Day was something to remember, the pub was jumping. Carol won $45 at two-up. Yet next day, we had the front bar to ourselves. Nothing was moving. Where was everybody? At home in front of their satellite TV?

As it transpires, it was a special Anzac Day for Birdsville, a new monument was being commemorated. The Army had flown in about a dozen soldiers for the proceedings. They could be heard all over town the day before, rehearsing.

I didn’t know army drill was so stressful – they certainly let their hair down in the pub afterwards. The day after, the Toyota Club took them out to Big Red for a play, I gather they were impressed. The copper went too, he very nearly bogged it, apparently he hasn’t been stuck yet.

The Anzac Day commemorations were part of the reason we couldn’t fly out – the next Brisbane flight was already booked out with ex-locals going home. Plus some cyclists.

The cyclists were on a Gulf to Gulf trip – Pt Augusta to Normanton. Some had planned to quit at Birdsville, and a few had problems. One poor sod, after a collision with a motorbike, was later chased by a bull!

We walked every morning before it got too hot. Out to Pelican Point, the local swimming hole, & out to the old Diamantina crossing. It was underwater courtesy of Cyclone Larry. It was an instant reminder of the isolation these communities used to face. And still do.

We walked to the cemetry. Past Melrose Place, around the airstrip. Maybe it’s my quirky mind, I found it intriguing that the signs for the rubbish tip & the cemetry were always together.

The cemetry is still in use. What remains is another fascination reminder of how harsh life used to be. How short life was out there. We take good health, and medical help, for granted sometimes.

The side of a hill in sandy soil is not the best location for a cemetry, even if it is the lee side. Some graves were a bit precarious, other propped up by rusting petrol tins. Some were simply laid out with water pipe. Who knows how many the desert has reclaimed. The marble headstones were in magnificent nick – being sandblasted periodically I guess. The aboriginal graves were also intriguing – e.g. born Simpson Desert, died Birdsville 195x.

We spent a bit of time at the Blue Poles Café. Coffee by day, those Asian meals by night. Now this place is eclectic eccentricity. Seating on boards which in turn are on milk crates. No OH&S inspectors out there. The owners spend six months working during winter, & travel for six months. They make more money with this lifestyle that their previous seven day a week café in Neutral Bay.

And mention has to be made of the Shell Autoport, the haven for broken down tourists. It keeps three guys employed. Some of their rescue stories were interesting. Like the solo idiot who found out the hard way he didn’t have a wheelbrace. That was a $2000 tow out of the desert. They maintain the best tyres out there at the moment are Bridgestones. They aren’t complimentary of an American brand that’s advertised a lot.

And before you know it, the days pass & it’s time to fly to Mt Isa. .. we never did get time to see what changes there were at the museum.