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…from Western Australia to New South Wales
We set off from Halls Creek heading east with great enthusiasm. We didn’t have particularly high expectations of the route in this direction, as it involved many flat kilometres through the Australian outback and farmland. But the decision was now final! For me (Tom), not ‘driving’ the Gibb River Road was a bit of a disappointment, as I would have liked to have explored the Kimberley a bit more. But what isn’t now may well be another time. Instead, we were looking forward to the Blue Mountains in the far east of Australia.
The first part of our route was a case of ‘déjà vu’. We didn’t stop until we reached Top Springs. We filled the tank completely at an exorbitant price and asked at the roadhouse whether the road south-east towards the Stuart Highway was open and passable, as we’d received conflicting information about our chosen route. The young woman behind the counter knew nothing about any restrictions, and at one point an elderly Aboriginal woman said the gravel track was passable, before downing her can of beer in one go. The Buchanan Highway – a dreadful gravel track – was passable, but the damage from the recent rainfall was visible everywhere. After another day, we reached the Stuart Highway, which is considered the lifeline of the Northern Territory.
Our plan was to head as far east as possible and then take a cross-connection south onto the Burkly Highway. But our dream of the Tablelands Highway was over as soon as we reached the junction – the road was closed. So we were left with only the Stuart Highway, where all north-south traffic flows and the huge road trains, 60 metres long, always caused a fair bit of tension on this narrow road. These monsters, with up to four semi-trailers or trailers, thunder along the highway at 100 km/h; encounters or overtaking manoeuvres are always a particular challenge. And, if you’re only driving at 80 or 90 km/h, they’ll overtake you at 100 km/h, no matter what’s coming the other way; crazy Aussies!
The many hundreds of kilometres on the Stuart Highway through the Australian outback, which at some point start to feel completely monotonous, were simply a must for us. After a short detour to Tennant Creek, where we filled the tank to the brim again, we drove a short distance back and continued eastwards along the Barkly Highway towards Queensland. Once again, endless distances from one roadhouse to the next. All the roads joining from the north were closed; flooded!
Along the Barkly Highway lie vast farming areas once more – or, as they’re known in Australian parlance, ‘stations’ – most of which are as big as individual cantons in Switzerland. In this region, life revolves entirely around cattle fattening. Huge livestock trucks were everywhere, loading up the cattle and thundering off somewhere. The appetite for meat in Australia is enormous. According to statistics, every Australian consumes over 100 kg per year, and only the Argentinians beat this record; big country – big appetite. Shortly before the state border between the Northern Territory and Queensland, the landscape changed to more bushland and in the distance we could make out the first hills. Outside, i.e. without the car’s air conditioning, it was still hot and humid. Even in the evening and at night, it didn’t cool down much. During the day, the pesky bush flies were still active, replaced in the evening by mosquitoes, forcing us to retreat to the roof tent early.
In Mount Isa, a mining town in the middle of the outback, we deliberately made a longer stop. Doing the laundry and running some major errands were on our agenda. We managed to do the washing, but the shopping didn’t go to plan. Unexpectedly, we’d overlooked a public holiday (‘Labour Day’) and all the shops, which are usually always open, were closed. Somewhat at a loss, we stood in front of the supermarket’s locked doors and couldn’t agree on whether we should wait another day or buy the bare essentials somewhere along the way. The heat prompted a quick decision, so we set off with an empty cool box. To our relief, we kept finding a shop in the smaller towns where we could buy something to eat.
Even in the endless expanses of south-western Queensland, where the landscape is ultra-flat, everything revolves around cattle fattening, and the scale of the farming areas repeatedly defies our imagination of what constitutes a farm. We drove into the district of Boulia, which is said to be home to just 500 people across its 63,000 km²; incredible! Solitude was guaranteed even for us, and on the roads or tracks we encountered perhaps a handful of vehicles each day. Surprisingly, there are various national parks in this flat landscape, and we kept wondering what exactly is or should be protected in these areas. Information was very scarce, and the respective ranger stations were usually not on our route. On the other hand, our overnight stops were unique; absolute tranquillity and a starry sky of the highest order.
Between Queensland and New South Wales lies a shared national park, and the very name ‘Colga Floodplain’ caught our attention. The rains had passed a few days earlier, and the park was open on the Queensland side, but not on the New South Wales side. Despite the park being open, the track was often muddy, and deep ruts behind us bore witness to our passage.
Soon we were greeted by the New South Wales welcome sign and reached the final state on our long journey criss-crossing Australia. The weather, or rather the temperatures, had by now dropped to a level that was bearable during the day but cold at night. An extra warm blanket became a must.
In the middle of this wilderness, a sign tempted us to take a detour to a mining village where black opal is mined. We didn’t quite understand the prospecting principle, but the whole area looked rather chaotic. Presumably, you can acquire a licence for a piece of land and then start digging. Alongside the haphazard work sites, where individuals try their luck, there are many abandoned buildings in the half-cleared bushland, where the materials once needed are left to the elements. Perhaps the search for black opal isn’t as successful as many fortune-seekers hope?
Shortly before reaching the Blue Mountains, we crossed the vast expanse of Timmallallie National Park. A huge forested area where we could gaze into the distance from the former fire lookouts we kept coming across and catch a glimpse of the Blue Mountains in the background. After the vast forest came more heavily farmed land, where the fields were already being tilled with oversized machinery in preparation for the next sowing.
Late in the evening, we drove our Toyota up the Liverpool Range with our headlights blazing. In the valley plains, it was almost impossible to find a suitable place to sleep, so we chose a campsite in the nearest national park; high up in the mountains, or rather hills, where herds of goats, wild boars and dingoes say goodnight to one another.
For us, this night – high up in the Liverpool Range – was a good way to acclimatise to the even colder temperatures in the Blue Mountains. So we also secretly hoped that, alongside the chilly nights, the forecast bad weather front would be delayed a little; cold and rain – no thanks!
But, it happened as it had to… Rain and freezing temperatures!
Chantal and Tom/May 2026
>Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator