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…from Alice Springs to South Australia
Our car was once again packed full of food, and our water supplies and petrol tanks were completely full. We were well equipped for our adventure in the Tjoritja/West MacDonnell Range (National Park). Immediately after leaving Alice Springs via the western exit, the landscape changed to a mountainous area. The road took us through long plains between the mountain ranges. There was not a soul to be seen except on the road. We enjoyed this lonely area once again and happily roamed westwards.
We repeatedly left the main road and searched for designated sights on various side roads. For the first evening, we booked a campsite near a water pool where swimming is allowed. On that day, the refreshment in the water was just right and a pleasure at the same time. We were so taken with the cooling effect that the next day we were already splashing around in the next pool, cooling down our body temperature. These water sources were vital for the survival of the indigenous people in this desert and, as we understood it, a bone of contention between them and the national park administration, or rather the Northern Territory.
We spent three nights in the long mountain range of Tjoritja before continuing on towards Watarrka National Park (N.P.), better known as Kings Canyon N.P. But no sooner were we back on the road than a sign pointed us to Gosse Bluff, where a meteorite struck a long time ago, leaving behind a large crater. The Aboriginal people tell a wonderful story about this crater and its formation: a long time ago, one of the dancing women along the Milky Way placed one of her children in a wooden basket so she could continue dancing. The basket with the child fell to the ground and created this crater in the middle of the desert. Since then, the morning and evening stars, the parents, have been searching for their lost child. The constellation Corona Australis is reminiscent of the wooden basket. A beautiful story, isn’t it?
To continue our journey to Watarrka National Park, we had to take a detour to buy the necessary road permit. For a ridiculous amount of $6.50, we covered an additional 100 kilometres and used up 15 litres of petrol. However, the trip to the meteorite crater was also included in this permit, and our visit was subsequently legalised. After driving over Morris Pass, i.e. the road requiring a permit, we briefly discussed whether it would have been possible to do so without a permit; we didn’t encounter any checks or anything else. Even on the route, we didn’t meet a single person or vehicle.
We were almost too late for Kings Canyon National Park. During my hike (Tom), I had to settle for the south cliff. The park administration closes the hiking trails when the temperature reaches a certain level, and I was definitely too late to complete the entire circuit of the canyon. But even the climb to the south cliff and the viewpoint of the water pools deep down in the gorge was a challenge in the rising temperatures. When I returned to the car park, all the hiking trails were closed; too hot! Even the Aboriginal-run Karrke Experience was closed; here it was ‘end of the season’.
We roamed vast areas on our way to the major tourist hotspot in the centre of Australia, followed by a hilly landscape, salt lakes and breathtaking views. We were not alone on the road; in addition to many cars, there were numerous buses with visitors from all over the world, which dropped off their guests at all the sights and caused a lot of congestion. As the campsite in Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park was closed and visitors had to spend the night in an expensive resort outside the park, we looked for a wild campsite in the northern area around Uluru. We don’t know whether we were in Aboriginal territory or whether it was forbidden, but we spent a very peaceful night under a wonderful starry sky.
At the entrance to Uluru Park, formerly known as Ayers Rock, we grudgingly paid for a 3-day pass. There is no such thing as a one-day park entrance ticket! So we moved at a snail’s pace around this mythical mountain, which is supposed to be sacred, yet almost anything can be done for dollars. The lease agreement between the National Park Authority and the Anangu (Aboriginal group) runs until 2084. It could be that after that, non-Aboriginals will no longer be able to visit Uluru. After circling the mountain and visiting the information centre, we drove to the Kata Tjuta mountains to the west. We also debated which mountain was more beautiful. Kata Tjuta offers varied hikes through gorges, but that was also out of the question for that day; it was too hot and all the hiking trails were closed.
The next highlight was the view of Uluru at sunset. This also had a mystical aura about it. The cars were already queuing up at the car park and the cameras were pointed in the right direction, as if tonight were the last chance to see Uluru. Behind our parking space, coaches were queuing up with hordes of guests and tables with delicious food were being set up everywhere. It may be that it took a little longer for many people that evening, as the rising full moon certainly offered a special view over Uluru.
We decided to forego this spectacle of the moon and set off on the longer drive back to our campsite at dusk. Night driving should be avoided in Australia if possible; collisions with animals are almost inevitable in such cases. In return, we were able to enjoy Kata Tjuta in the distance as the sun set, and dromedaries stumbled across our path on the long drive. We then enjoyed the moon during our dinner in the great outdoors and chatted long into the night before turning in.
We asked a park ranger about a road that turns south east of Uluru and leads to the border with South Australia (state), from where it continues along the border to the Stuart Highway. The ranger confirmed several times that Mulga Park Road was closed to normal tourists and that we would have to take the tarmac road to Stuart Highway. There were no other options! At the roadhouse, where we filled up our tank at European prices, we asked the operator again if it was possible to drive along Mulga Park Road. Here, too, the answer was rather negative and, as is often the case in Australia, she didn’t know.
Somewhat disappointed, we continued our journey and decided to reassess the situation at the junction to see whether it was really prohibited or not. Surprisingly, the junction was signposted as normal and signs pointed to the Stuart Highway; there were no prohibitions or other restrictions. We quickly lowered the air pressure in the tyres and continued southwards in a large cloud of dust. After 242 km, we reached the tarmac road that runs across Australia from north to south, where long road trains – extra-long lorries with 3-4 trailers – dominated the traffic.
We decided to spend the night at a roadhouse before continuing eastwards. Normally, you can get much more than just fuel at these kind of stops, but at this roadhouse, apart from petrol for the car, there was only beer and hamburgers from the deep fryer. So we opted for our own kitchen at the campsite next door. The site was very cheap, but much of it was in urgent need of renovation before it finally collapsed.
So that we didn’t have to leave the back road, we drove our car further east along many kilometres of gravel road, some of which was very bumpy. Of course, we couldn’t miss out on a detour to the Australian and geographical centre. This side road was one of the worst bumpy tracks we had encountered so far. Presumably, not many people drive to this point and the road maintenance in the vast Aboriginal land is hardly justifiable.
In Finke, which the local population calls Aputula, we booked an overnight stay in the nearest national park, which is already in South Australia. As the website was a little confusing for us and we couldn’t figure out whether we had to pay the daily fee for the car in addition to the camping fee, we booked the desired campsite at the hot springs and hoped that we would be able to get more information somewhere else. Charlotte Waters was the last range station in the Northern Territory with the indefinable warning signs about biosecurity and contact numbers.
A simple sign by the roadside welcomed us to South Australia, followed by the park entrance to Witjira N.P. and the starting point of Binn’s Track. A few kilometres later, we found ourselves in front of Mount Dare Lodge, which must be the meeting place for all overlanders in the middle of nowhere. If we hadn’t already booked our campsite in advance, we would have stayed among our peers and improved our Australian English skills over a beer. The operator was very helpful in advising us about the park conditions and the payment system, which she described as absolutely disastrous; no one understands it properly! After buying various food and drinks, she showed us her baby, a kangaroo that she has been raising with a milk bottle since the death of its mother.
She recommended that we deflate our tyres considerably for the rest of the journey, as the road to Dalhouise Springs was terrible. So we bumped along for a long time through Witjira National Park, which lies west of Simpson Desert National Park. If we had been several vehicles, the French Line across this endless desert area would certainly have been an option, but on our own, it was best to give it a miss! A bush fire in the distance was already causing us further concern, and the smoke was spreading across the entire area. At the next camp in the middle of the bush landscape and hot water pool, the smoke pollution was acceptable and, if the wind didn’t change, it would be fine for the coming night. However, the bush flies tormented us until sunset. No, it wasn’t over then; the mosquitoes took over the evening nuisance.
So we lay down in the roof tent in absolute silence, interrupted only by the faint sound of mosquitoes, and admired the starry sky through the fly screen. Hoping that the next day might be better, we drifted off into our dreams.
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