“Things go past so quickly that we can’t take it in. Sometimes it would be nice to have some time with nothing to do, just to make sense of it all.” So says Kariina about her epic journey with husband Margus. They’re the first Estonians to try circumnavigating the world by motorbike. They’re about half way around. We camped next to them and their trusty battle-scarred BMW in Broome and got talking with them about the concept of spending a month on a cargo ship – something they considered doing to get between continents. Unsurprisingly they changed their minds when they found out it cost US$100 per person per day.
The idea of everything passing in a blur is something we can identify with, even though we’ve been travelling for a fraction of the time they’ve been on the road, and with the luxury of seats and a couple of extra wheels. Writing this blog makes us stop and helps us filter through our thoughts. Hopefully the Estonian Tsiklonauts find their blog just as helpful. Check it out at http://yhelteljel.ee/ and don’t be put off if your Estonian is rusty, there’s a link to their English translation site on the main page.
Estonian 'tsiklonauts'
On the way to Broome we skirted the Kimberley region by taking the Great Northern Highway from Kununurra. It’s a 600 mile drive – the distance from Aberdeen to Exeter, or Los Angeles to San Francisco. But there are only a couple of small towns along the way and it’s two relatively easy days of driving. There’s no decisions to make, no turnings to take. On a map the road is a sickle-shaped red line that cuts through a lot of white space.
The alternative would have been the iconic Gibb River four wheel drive Road. It would have shown us the Kimberley, but much as we want to go there, we decided that it was too hot, too dry and in danger of getting too wet, too soon. It can wait until next time. Fortunately a friend – John Halbrook – recently visited, so I urge you to read about what we missed on his excellent wordpress site, Down Under.
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So we opted for white spaces, white hot with bleached grass, dry creek beds peppered with the hoof marks of disappointed cows, sparse trees and scattered blood orange ant hills that stick up in the landscape like armies of sunburnt meer cats.
These white spaces feature long stretches that seem like they’ll never end, punctuated by cries of “look, it’s a road sign up ahead!” They’ve also given birth to a unique style of driving we’re calling the Outback Slouchback. Basically, it seems the drivers get so hot and bored plugging away down the straights that their backbones melt. In a desperate attempt to keep their heads high enough to see the road they slump forward and hug on to the steering wheel. And stay this way until either the weather cools or someone peels them from the car.
One of the great things about the white spaces is that when they’re broken it’s by something truly spectacular, as if whatever made the landscape had a sudden flash of inspiration. Breathing new life into our trip was Geikie Gorge, part of the Fitzroy River – the fifth largest river by volume (at peak flood) in the world.
Shaun, the Ranger at Geikie Gorge (20 kms from Fitzroy Crossing), took us on a brilliant one hour boat tour of the river. The Fitzroy’s rolling gently downstream when we visit, but the facts flow from Shaun’s mouth like the summer floods that come cascading out of the Kimberleys. All this water – enough to fill Sydney Harbour in six hours when it’s on form – is provided by a catchment one and a half times the size of Tasmania. The Gorge is home to a staggering diversity of birds and fishes and also the freshwater crocodile. The cliffs along the gorge are fossilised coral reefs, 350 million years old and at points disappearing two kilometres into the earth. They’re a welcome change to flat featureless scenery.
“I came in 1994 and was so taken by it I’ve never left” says Shaun. But the fine ecological balance of this haven is under threat, from the wild passionfruit (an invasive weed) that out-competes the native flora and coats the river banks, and the reptilian evil on green legs that is the cane toad. “The toads are expected to reach here in the next two or three years and they’ll lead to a 77% decline in freshwater crocodiles”.
Geikie Gorge - fossilised Coral Reef
The red sickle-shaped road finally meets the blue part of the map at Broome – famous for pearling and the multicultural population that flocked to try its hand at getting rich.
Getting into Broome wasn’t as easy as it should be. Some plonker had been trying his hand at arson and setting fire to the bush. It’s a seriously dangerous thing to do, and sadly the cause of many bushfires and deaths. So we spent an hour or so queuing 10 kms outside the town while the road was closed for our safety.
Bushfires on the edge of Broome
We got a bit carried away with Oktoberfest at Matsos, the local Broome microwbrewery, (you should be able to read my review of Matsos in the Autumn edition of Beer & Brewer magazine* – it hits Aussie and NZ shelves in February). However, we still made time to visit Cable Beach, named as the place where the telegraph link to Indonesia reached Australia. We had a wander, took some photos, saw the Camel rides (I think they’re just Donkeys that got the hump really), but never did find the cable.
Ella on Cable Beach
Posh Donkey rides
While it’s handy to stock up on provisions we get a bit unsure what to do in towns, with all their fancy ways, reticulated water, traffic lights and the like. So, whilst mulling over ten different types of beer (including the surprisingly good and oh so suitable Man-Go-Beer), we formulated a plan of action to meander down the coast in search of Spring.
no fixed abode 