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…to the northernmost point of Australia
In Cairns, we prepared for the next highlight of our trip. From here on, there aren’t many opportunities to stock up on vehicles and equipment. We stocked up on everything we thought we might need in the jungle. The old Telegraph Track was on our wish list.
Immediately after Cairns, we left the Cook Highway and enjoyed a side road in the Macalister Range. Another big surprise: in addition to the dense jungle, huge areas along this mountain range are being commercially deforested, leaving a correspondingly frightening impression. Without the stubborn resistance of environmentalists, chainsaws would have had their way in the next large forest area; today, the Daintree and Ngalba Bulal National Park (N.P.) stretches from the sea far into the hinterland and is a tourist hotspot.
The road to Cape Tribulation was well developed, with plenty of tourist infrastructure and corresponding traffic. Despite the winding road, most Australians were still towing caravans on this Sunday, sometimes causing hair-raising situations. From Cape Tribulation onwards, it was more relaxed, as most people avoid the gravel road with its water crossings. We were almost alone on the road until Cooktown.
In Cooktown, I discovered Wakooka Road, which leads almost to Cape Melville and promised us plenty of adventure away from the main route. At first, the road, or as Chantal keeps saying, the ‘track’, was pleasant to drive on. But the further we got from civilisation, the more isolated it became. The road suddenly changed dramatically and in places we bumped through the forest at walking pace. We didn’t see any people during the two days of this crossing, only a few cattle looked at us somewhat confused. In addition to the interesting bird life, a few kangaroos hopped through the open forest in the evening. There was really nothing but silence!
After joining the road, or rather the track, coming from Lakefield N.P., it was easier to drive again and we were finally able to drive faster than walking pace until we reached Peninsula Developmental Road. From Coen onwards, the road is called Telegraph Road. The original track has been replaced by a new road and, in a few sections, follows new sections of road that are likely to dry out more quickly during the rainy season than the original route along the former telephone line. Although the road is very wide, the fast traffic puts extreme strain on the unpaved road and, over long distances, the corrugated surface is more than just annoying. Either you bump along at 25 km/h from hill to hill or you race over the dips at 100 km/h and hope that the car can withstand this ordeal and that all the screws are still tight in the evening.
At Bramwell Roadhouse, we ventured onto the old Telegraph Track, and I (Tom) was really looking forward to this route. After all, our car should be able to handle it. But after 5 kilometres, it was game over. Crossing Palm Creek was the first obstacle, where the many off-roaders had turned the descent into a field and left very deep ruts. We would certainly have managed the drive down to the creek, but somehow it goes back up again on the other side and we couldn’t find this section anywhere, so we – or I (Tom) – gritted our teeth and started the return journey. Further north, there was supposed to be an intermediate entry point and several camping options along the river courses.
So we scurried many kilometres back along the main road to the aforementioned intermediate entry point. But on this access road to Telegraph Track, we turned back halfway; the corrugated road surface was both awful and gruelling. After another night on a windy hill, where the refreshing wind ensured pleasant temperatures, we reached the campsite we had booked in Jardine River N.P. The access road led 12 km along the heavily eroded Telegraph Track. But when you see Australians visiting this campsite with their caravans, it’s hardly surprising that their super-powerful towing vehicles completely plough up the road.
We booked this camp for two nights and wanted to cool off in the pools at Eliot and Twins waterfalls. But the omnipresent warning signs that crocodiles might be in the water kept us from enjoying a swim. To our surprise, the Australians ignore these signs and enjoy the refreshing water. Oops! They also stroll through the jungle in flip-flops and shorts, even though there are warnings everywhere about the crawling reptiles. The nearest medical facility is several hours’ drive away!
Due to the almost unbearable heat, we shortened our stay to one night. The campsite was not particularly inviting either. Everything was somehow dirty and the toilets were the worst we had seen so far in Australia. The following day brought light rain, so we were glad to continue our journey. This time, we followed the Telegraph Track northwards, but we weren’t the only ones taking this track.
The route was only really challenging at the river crossings, which were steep downhill and correspondingly steep uphill on the other side. Here, too, there was significant erosion and deep ruts from heavy-duty off-road vehicles. However, there were usually detours and we were able to master the climbs somehow with our saloon car. It was somehow normal for the vehicle to touch down somewhere on the underside. Even the higher vehicles rattled, and the respective drivers responded with appropriate grins. We wondered again how the Australians inspect the sections of the route in advance; in flip-flops and shorts, in the middle of the hot and humid jungle.
The rain became heavier and heavier, and a side exit to the main track allowed us to get out of the adventure, which was a good thing. After the ferry crossing over the Jardine River, where an astronomically high fee is charged for the 25-metre stretch, we looked for the northern exit of the Telegraph Track. It was a good thing we used the side exit, as the ford across the Jardine River was closed; the water level was too high and there were unpredictable depressions in the water, which could have been disastrous for some vehicles. During this sightseeing tour, we also sank our Prado in a mud hole on the approach road, so that we could only continue with the help of a winch.
The weather cleared up again and the moment was right to drive straight out to Cape York via Pajinka Road. Many, indeed very many, drove out there to the turning point, but very few undertook the hike to the cape itself. Probably too warm, too windy or simply too dangerous, as the hiking trail cannot be tackled in flip-flops. I (Tom) laced up my shoes and climbed over the rocky ridge to Cape York, the northernmost point of the Australian continent.
We looked for a place to spend the night at Narau Beach and got stuck in deep sand again. Instead of a winch or sand plates, we lowered the tyre pressure to 1.2 bar and lo and behold, this miracle cure worked as if we were driving on a normal road. At the next spot, we were relatively close to the sea and the increasing spray as the tide came in left a fine layer of salt on our car. Due to the increasing strong wind, we moved to Somerset Beach late in the evening, where the surrounding trees and the location provided some wind protection.
On the way back to Bamaga, we really noticed the tourist hustle and bustle for the first time. Perhaps it was also because the approaching weekend meant more traffic. In the centre of Bamaga, we had to replenish our supplies and fill up the tank. The price of petrol out here in the far corner is almost on a par with European prices, and there was no diesel available; perhaps not until next week!
After crossing the Jardine River, we drove briskly south again. The unpaved road was in relatively good condition on this section, which meant less strain on the car. We, or rather I (Tom), wanted to try the southern section of the old Telegraph Track again. Travellers with a similar vehicle confirmed that the track was passable, and I (Tom) was very keen to drive at least the southern section of this track. A long discussion ensued; Chantal was rather or almost completely against it and refused to participate in any rescue work, etc., which left me with almost no other choice. We turned around again and headed back to the well-maintained main track. I already had another project in mind where I could drive another track with a group, and I told Chantal about this wishful plan during the evening camp.
Further south of Coen, we turned southwest and followed a lonely path through open woodlands, where a few cattle farmers were herding their animals across the vast landscape. Although the first heavy rains were falling in the east, the track was still open; on a stretch of around 100 kilometres, certain fords often become impassable for several days during rainfall. We were often able to read the respective heights from the signs posted with the altitude information, and the highest number we discovered was 12 metres. At this height, our snorkel would probably no longer be sufficient!
At Mitchell River, there was large construction equipment and our route was blocked; A large dam is being built, forcing us to take a long detour, i.e. an additional 250 kilometres, with a half-empty tank. The next petrol station was 300 kilometres away as the crow flies, not including the detour. Well, in Australia, you should fill up whenever you can, and we ignored the last petrol station; we didn’t stop for 25 litres.
By the time we reached Karumba, there wasn’t much fuel left in the tank, and another detour would probably have ended the journey with an empty tank. In Karumba, we found the coveted fuel and spent the night at a campsite where you were supposed to be able to hear the surf. We didn’t hear the sound of the sea, but we did hear the loud trucks thundering through the small town with their engines roaring.
As our car needed servicing – in Australia, the engine oil is changed every 10,000 kilometres – we headed to Normanton, where there was a possible service centre. However, they were already fully booked for the day and we didn’t want to stay in this place for long; it was already hot in the morning and there was no wind blowing across the wide plain. In Mount Isa, there would surely be more options for getting the car serviced, and the 600 kilometres would hardly harm the car.
Looking back, Burke Street was very monotonous and more of a chore than a pleasure. For a long time, it was flat, lined with endless pastures where thousands upon thousands of cattle grazed on the dry grass. Shortly before reaching our destination, we followed an unpaved road to Kajabbi. There we spent the night for free in the garden of a pub and, as dutiful travellers, we did not cook for ourselves that evening, but enjoyed the simple cuisine of this restaurant. Instead of wine, I (Tom) enjoyed a beer that was supposed to be the best from the Cape. Well, tastes sometimes vary greatly!
We took Lake Julius Road, a track that led through a wonderful hilly landscape, to Mount Isa and reached our destination at the end of the morning. We immediately headed for the brand workshop and were amazed to get an appointment for a vehicle service the following day. This would ensure that our car was well equipped for the next 10,000 kilometres through the outback and into the centre of Australia.
Alice Springs would be our next big destination, but the road there is still long and the roads dusty.
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