MUD AND SAND.

Four vehicles, the beginnings of our convoy, assembled at Maccas Goodna. There was the Forester of John, Julie and Justin Shera, the Forester of Marion and Robin Laban, the Nissan Patrol of Peter Rice with sister-in-law Leslie and the brand new Prado of Rob and Jan Sammons. At Toowoomba, we were to meet Bev Noe and her sister Ros in Bev’s Forester. At Birdsville, we planned to meet the Cox’s, Andrew, Wendy and two small daughters. They were members of the Victorian Suba club. Finally we were to meet Peter Gates and Elaine at Dalhousie Springs.

Our first day took us to Charleville, a long and rather boring run. Camp was made on the Ward River. At least we didn’t have to scrounge for wood as we found a freshly fallen tree waiting to be cut up. Temperatures seemed unseasonably warm, 6 degrees compared to minus four last year. On day two things started to happen. We were cruising on bitumen about an hour west of Windorah when Bev and Ros had a nasty fright as a rear tyre of their Forester let go with a loud bang. On inspecting the shredded, brand new Cooper, we discovered it had been punctured by a kangaroo tooth, probably from running over remains of road kill. That afternoon the tarmac turned to dirt at the Birdsville turnoff so we stopped to lower our tyre pressures. Fifty km down the road we stopped at our second campsite, the White Gum camp. This is located half a km off the road on a dry creek bed next to a beautiful white gum. Within walking distance is a windmill powered bore which attracts heaps of wildlife. It was another warm night with a build up of cloud. .

We woke next morning to a light drizzle, not a wonderful prospect considering we still had 200 km of dirt road before we got to Birdsville .We made good progress westwards despite the light rain and soon left Betoota (now pop. 0) behind. Forty minutes later we came across a curious sight. A convoy of very muddy 4x4s towing trailers approached us at what seemed to us a slow crawl. They weren’t barrelling along at 80 Kph as we were, it was as if they were shell shocked and travelling in slow motion. Undaunted we forged westwards. We were at the front of the convoy with Justin driving when we came upon a section of road that looked a bit shiny. Suddenly the Forester swerved from one side of the road to the other. I considered grabbing the steering wheel but he seemed to have it under control. By the time I grabbed the mike to send a warning, Peter in the Patrol had shot off the road on one side and Bev departed the road on the other side .We immediately knocked 20 kph off of our speed.

By now, the road was starting to become saturated and in places very slippery. As we got closer to Birdsville, the rain increased and at every little dip in the road torrents of water flowed across in places half a metre deep. At one stage, we were a km ahead of the convoy when we ascended a low hill and despite AWD and BFG Muddies, the car was all over the road. We decided to stop on top of the hill and watch the fun, and we were not disappointed! As the convoy hit the hill, vehicles started to go in all directions. We were beside ourselves laughing when Jan spun the Prado around and headed back towards Brisbane! We were still 80 km from Birdsville and the rain was getting heavier. In between water crossings was thick mud and we were worried we might not make it.

Slowly the distance narrowed and we wondered if Andrew Cox and family would make the rendezvous. With relief we finally rolled into Birdsville on Monday afternoon and almost immediately I saw a well set up L series which I parked behind. It was Andrew, and after introductions, we found the only spot in the caravan park that was not muddy. It rained most of that night but next day it showed signs of clearing. By now, all roads in and out of Birdsville were closed indefinitely so we decided to make the most of things and see the sights of Birdsville. The Working Museum was excellent and the Blue Poles café and art gallery were first class. We also visited one of the most famous watering holes in the world, the Birdsville pub. We checked out the visitor centre, the ranger station and the cemetery, the Burke and Wills slash tree and the free car wash. We listened to all sorts of horrendous tales from other groups trapped with us. After two days, the weather was fine again and the talk was all about when the roads would open. The caravan park lady said they would be closed for another week but the ranger was hopeful he could open the Park as early as tomorrow. So on Thursday morning when we saw the policeman and ranger return from their inspection of the track to Big Red we all held our breath. At last we could leave Birdsville! We packed as fast as possible and soon we were driving west.

We didn’t have far to drive before we got our first shock. Ten km out of Birdsville the road disappeared under a lake stretching a kilometre. The rough outline of where the road went could be guessed by large rocks along the edge, which just poked out above the water. As the convoy forged through the water the vehicles started to take up their now familiar sideways positions. Soon we were at Big Red but something was wrong, it looked more like Little Red. It couldn’t have shrunk that much in the year since we were last here! Eventually someone saw a road to the right, which we followed, and a few minutes later, there was Big Red, the previous road was the bypass track. We shot up Big Red easily as the sand was damp and packed down.

As we assembled on top and looked down towards our route westwards, we were alarmed to see a salt lake with patches of water. How would we go driving across the wet salt lake? After driving to the edge, I walked across trying to stick to the dryer looking patches. Then we followed the same path in the cars. This worked quite well and we hardly sunk in at all. The next hour was a succession of dunes and salt lakes. Some lakes we skirted, other lakes we drove straight through. As the day wore on, we were becoming braver about driving through the water-covered tracks across the lakes. We saw no other convoys that first day but there appeared to be another vehicle ahead of us judging by the tracks. Eventually after crossing a few hundred sand hills, we made camp just short of the NT border. Already the desert was starting to go green after the rain and we found a typical desert campsite in the swale between the dunes. As we pulled up to camp Andrew mentioned he was having problems disengaging the clutch in the L series. Mildly alarmed, Robin, Andrew and I peered under the bonnet. Fortunately, it only turned out to be the clutch release lever fouling on a previously disconnected hill holder mechanism. This was our first true desert campsite and everyone loved it. With plenty of wood for Julie’s camp oven, a warm almost smokeless fire, a red, grey and green landscape and dark, dark skies made it a memorable start to the desert.

Next day the convoy closed on Poeppel corner, however we skirted Lake Poeppel as it still looked a bit boggy. This put us on the French line, that 170 km of sand dunes that just keep coming and coming hour after hour. The first part is very slow, undulating, and impossible to average more than 15 kph. As we progressed, we noticed we were following fresh camel tracks. Camels seem to use the roads as their personal trails often following them for tens of kilometres. After five km, we crested a dune and there he was, a large bull camel trotting along at about 12 kph. We followed and followed him but he refused to move off the road. After about twenty minutes following him, we decided to stop for a while to avoid stressing him out as by now he was frothing at the mouth. After we got back on the road again, we had only travelled another fifteen minutes and we caught him again. This time I directed Justin to drive up close behind him and beep the horn .The camel veered off the road enough for the convoy to slip through.

A couple of convoys approached us from the west this day and we got some news of road conditions ahead. We kept hearing stories of a horrendous stretch of deep water that was stopping even the large 4x4s. It was on the Spring Creek Delta about a days drive away. We overheard a comment over the UHF ‘The Subaru’s will be swimming!’ More convoys were coming through, some quite large. These convoys invariably were made up of large 4x4s with only two exceptions, the first was a Freelander in with a big group of large vehicles, (which was towed through the water) and the second was a Brumby in a large group. We had all pulled off the road and were out of our vehicles when this group passed. As the Brumby passed we all gave him a loud clap and a cheer. The driver had a grin from ear to ear .His passenger told us the ride in the Brumby was better than in the big 4x4s. Camp was made not far from the Coulson Track junction and this put us within striking distance of the edge of the desert. It was on this last stretch of desert that the back of the sump guard let go on Robin and Marion’s Forester. Robin removed it and stacked it on the back next to the jerry cans. At Purnie Bore we talked to a 4x4 tour operator about the latest on the big water hazard in the Delta. He informed us that it was actually getting deeper as water was flowing into it. Then we were inundated with advice on how to tackle the hazard. Everyone practised putting on their radiator blinds then headed towards the Spring Creek Delta.

The Spring Creek Delta is a large flat area of a few hundred km with vegetation varying from grass to low scrub. Being low lying the whole area is prone to flooding. We traversed long straight sections of road where we could hum along at 100Kph interspersed with boggy sections and sheets of water covered road. Any attempt to leave the road was at the driver’s peril, as it was only the wheel tracks that had dried out. After forty minutes, we were stopped by a large lake, over a kilometre across. This was the dreaded deep-water crossing. Through binoculars, I could see an approaching convoy and I watched fascinated, as the lead vehicle plunged into the water. The water was deep all right, and by the number of expletives coming from his UHF, we could tell he was exceeding the recommended wading depth of his lifted Land Cruiser. Eventually he stopped on a small island half way across to await the second vehicle. This one was not so lucky and stopped in deep water. As the recovery was taking ages and our party were getting nervous at the prospect of taking the plunge I decided to try something. I had noticed a set of wheel tracks 500 metres before heading south. It was risky leaving the road as it was quite boggy in places but we decided if we kept an eye on the wheel tracks, we could judge the condition of the road ahead. The others waited while we followed the tracks, which wound back and forth, at first over some very bumpy drying mud, then through low scrub. We were getting further and further away from the road but eventually the tracks slowly turned in the right direction. We couldn’t see the road through the scrub as we wound round and over bushes. Then much to our relief we broke through to the road a kilometre west of the hazard. When I radioed our party that we had found a way around I could hear the cheers of relief in the background.

The next thirty km was rough with long sections of wheel ruts and high mud crowns. We were only 10 km out from our destination of Dalhousie Springs when we came across a Holden Rodeo stopped in the middle of a creek crossing. He had a flat battery after coming all the way from Big Red with a broken alternator .The crossing was surrounded by mud so we sent Peter in the Patrol around the crossing through the mud to jump-start the Rodeo. As it turned out we had been shadowing the Rodeo all the way from Birdsville and it was his tracks we followed to bypass the deep water. When we arrived at Dalhousie Springs and set up camp people came over and asked us the condition of the track. Only then did we realize that we were the first convoy to cross the desert since the rain.

One of the first things we noticed as we settled into the campsite was a brand new Land Cruiser being unloaded off the back of a tilt tray truck. It turned out to be a Hertz rental vehicle to replace one, which had been rolled two days before with a mere 450 kilometres on the clock. As soon as we settled in we walked the 200 metres to the springs for a dip. Climbing down the ladder in the chilly late afternoon and lowering oneself into the water is definitely a highlight of the trip. Your body is expecting cool water but it is like a warm bath. In that moment as you settle in to wash off the desert dust you feel it was worth driving all that way just to float in this pool. Despite the campsite being relatively crowded, usually there are not too many people in the pool, and often you have it to yourself. Peter Gates and Elaine were nowhere to be seen but they were located next day waiting for us at Mt Dare station. They were now on the homeward leg of a massive trans Australia trip involving Perth, the Kimberleys, Alice Springs and now the Simpson.

On the way back from the refuelling stop at Mt Dare Rob had a worrying time when an engine management light came on in the new Prado. They were also losing their odometer and Speedo at times. They returned to Mt Dare but could find nothing wrong. These problems dogged them throughout the rest of the trip and were eventually put down to electrical problems due to water. Back at Dalhousie we decided to weld a bracket so we could refit Robin’s sump guard. We had two batteries joined together and I was about to start welding with a piece of welders glass taped to a XXXX box when Peter Gates came over and said ‘John, there is an eye surgeon over there if you need him.’ And he was not joking as over at the next camp was the recipient of the replacement Land Cruiser, none other than the tall figure of Mark Loane, surgeon and ex rugby international. As two batteries joined did not give enough penetration, we hooked up a third. This worked well and in all we did about 600 mm of weld with good penetration and without flattening the batteries. Then Andrew Cox drilled some holes with his excellent new Panasonic cordless, the guard was refitted, and at the time of writing, it is still there. (Andrew’s wife Wendy said ‘He loves doing this as it justifies the cost of all the tools he brought for the trip’). That night our complete team of seven vehicles celebrated around a fire. The turning point of the trip as of tomorrow would take us eastbound towards the Rig Road.

Next day we were away by 9am intending to retrace our steps across the Delta, past Purnie Bore then turn off down the Rig road. After only 30 km, we struck trouble. I was in the lead when Robin reported smoke pouring out of one of my wheel arches. It turned out to be some claggy mud jammed between the wheel and the spring seat. This was the culmination of a problem which had been bugging me the whole trip. I started the trip with 7mm of clearance between the tyre and the bottom of the spring seat of the new KYB struts. But now, probably because of the heavy load and vibration the clearance had shrunk to 2mm. I cleared the mud with a knife, fortunately, for the rest of the trip the clearance stabilised at a mere 2mm, and there was no reoccurrence of the problem. Peter Gates was also having clearance problems with the 13 inch wheeled L series on the very high crowned tracks.

As the convoy travelled down the Rig Road Peter’s luck started to run out. He and Elaine had just completed a rugged 12,000 km outback circuit of Australia. Apart from some tyre problems in the Kimberley the faithful L series had not missed a beat. Then his antenna broke off, followed by the roof mounted tent pole holder coming adrift. A half hour later Peter discovered a torn CV boot. Robin crawled underneath and made a serviceable repair out of rubber mat and duct tape. To cap off a bad day his swing away spare wheel holder broke off. Despite these delays, we still made good enough time to camp not far from our target of the Lone Gum. By now eight days after the rain, we were starting to see the desert at it’s most spectacular. At present, it looked anything but a desert. As far as the eye could see was vegetation of various shades of green with a hint of the red sand between. Scattered throughout the grasses were thousands of colourful wildflowers. This was one of our typical desert camps with a handy dune to walk up to watch the sunset and plenty of wood for Julie’s camp oven.

Next day we started out and it was not long before we came upon a southbound convoy who gave us a good report of the road ahead to Poeppel corner. We reached the Lone Gum after about ten minutes and Bev commented on a strange noise from her auto Forester. After a test drive we concluded it was a transmission noise and we would get it checked in Birdsville. By lunchtime, the convoy reached a T-junction. We had reached the K1 line. Peter Gates and Elaine were turning right here to follow the track to Warburton Creek and the Birdsville Track. Therefore, after goodbyes the rest of the convoy turned north along the K1 line. The K1 line was an interesting change as we were travelling parallel to the dunes. This virtually doubled our average speed; our camp that night was about forty km from Poeppel and it was situated a hundred metres off the road in a grove of trees surrounded by grasses and wildflowers. Next morning we sped up the K1 line and we made Poeppel corner by 11 am. We ran into a few convoys here, as it is a crossroads with tracks approaching from four directions. By lunchtime we were heading east again having a UHF conversation with members of a convoy just in front. They were both towing trailers and after following them for an hour it looked like a hard way to go. That night’s camp near Eyre Creek was our last desert camp as we hoped to be in Birdsville by lunch next day. Andrew’s HF radio came in useful here, as Lesley had heard her mother was very sick when she was at Dalhousie and had been worried ever since. After a rad phone call she was informed her mother was much better.

At 10am the next day we were all staring at Big Red from the west. This is the harder crossing of the dune and the sand had time to dry out. As we dropped our tyre pressures Peter Rice announced he was attempting to take his Patrol over without dropping tyre pressure, after all he had come this far with only a minimal drop in pressure. (He was on 26 psi) So we watched him wend his way around the mud puddles and start the climb. He almost made it. As he neared the top and did the left turn the Patrol seemed to bog down. Next I could see smoke coming from the tyres, an unusual occurrence on sand. Finally, he admitted defeat and backed down. Next, he tried in a lower gear but didn’t get as far as the first time. As he backed down, he said he would let his tyres down and give someone else a go. Justin was behind the wheel of the Forester with 14 psi in the tyres and was watching with excitement and nervous anticipation. So when I said to go for it he shot off up the hill. At first gear, low range and 5000 rpm the Forester easily crested the dune and he triumphantly circled round to park on the edge. Next came Andrew and family in the L series. He red lined it up and made it over easily and came over to join the Forester. Bev’s sister Ros was driving her Forester and she took Julie’s instructions literally to ‘Lock it in first gear and don’t take your foot off the floor till you are over.’ She was airborne over the first bump and we could hear Bev cheering her on from inside the car as she came over the top. Then Peter finally made it over after reducing his tyre pressures. Marion came over next in her auto Forester completing unfinished business, as she could not coax it over last year. Jan was last to attempt in the new Prado. The Prado needed about four attempts to get up mainly due to its lack of clearance. We briefly chatted to a Swiss couple that were watching from the top then made our way to Birdsville 30 km away.

The mechanic at Birdsville checked Bev’s Forester but could not locate the source of the noise from the transmission. By now Robin’s auto Forester was making a similar noise. We said goodbye to Andrew, Wendy and family here as they were off to Boulia. After a shower and lunch, we all headed east. Peter and Lesley were keen to get home so they were taking the direct route via Charleville, while the rest of us would visit Innamincka.

As soon as we turned south towards Arrabury, we realized it would be a trying drive. The roads were still chopped up from the rains and hadn’t seen a grader so it was slow rough going. The country is very bare in this region so we considered ourselves lucky to find a reasonable campsite on a small creek not far from the Haddon corner turnoff. The road improved next day as we continued south and it was here that Robin suffered a puncture, his first in 70,000 km with the Coopers. Innamincka is a small very busy crossroad town. Most of the activity centres around the ‘town square’ consisting of the pub, store and shower block. The parking area was crowded with 4x4s of all makes and sizes. Petrol was $1.20, dearer than Birdsville and as we waited clouds of dust would envelop us. It was an interesting frontier style town but after Robin’s tyre was repaired we couldn’t wait to leave town and check out the Cullyamurra waterhole. Situated 10 km out of town, the waterhole is a large camping area fronting a large reach of the Coopers Creek. After lunch, we proceeded east towards our campsite within sight of the Bellara gas field processing facility. The thousands of lights from this plant made a weird backdrop to our camp that night. Next day we were off at 9.30 am after we changed a tyre that had gone flat in the middle of the night. We hoped to make it somewhere around St George that day.

Bev and Ros were keen to make St George that day so they left, along with Rob and Jan, 20 minutes ahead of the remaining party. As we drove through the day along the long boring tarmac past Thargomindah, Eulo, Cunnamulla and Bollon the lead party seemed to stay right at the edge of our UHF reception. It was 3 pm and we were driving on a long straight 20 km east of Bollon when we could see something in the middle of the road. As we got closer, we realized it was an accident. Then Justin said ‘it’s Bev!’ And there was Bev’s Forester lying on its side blocking the road, a total write off. Rob’s Prado was parked beside the road and Bev and Ros were walking around looking stunned. Bev came over and said ‘Everyone is OK’. While we waited for the tow truck we transferred Bev and Ros along with some of their gear to Rob’s Prado. He took them to St George for the night. As it was dark now we decided to camp at the crash site and load the rest of the gear from their car on to the two remaining Foresters next day. Fortunately, we found an ideal camp just 50 metres off the road in the forest. We sat around the fire that night with mixed feelings trying to take in what had just happened. It seemed Ros was driving when it wandered on to the verge and the resulting corrections initiated a series of fishtails ending in a rollover. Then while we were huddled round the fire there was a flash of light and a loud rumble of thunder. Soon the rain came down and we took shelter in the tents. As it eased off, we donned raincoats and stood around the remaining embers of the fire for what seemed like hours. We were too hyped up to sleep as we reflected on the bizarre end to our trip.

We managed to squeeze the extra gear on to the two Foresters and were on the road by 9.30am .It was a thankfully uneventful day as the kms rolled beneath the cars. St George, Goondiwindi, Warwick all came and went until finally at 4pm the Foresters pulled into our driveway at Jimboomba.

The trip lasted a total of 16 days, three days more than planned. 4500 km was the distance travelled. The convoy had three punctures in total and a few mechanical problems. The transmission noise which was evident in Robin’s (and Bev’s) auto Foresters turned out to be a very expensive front diff noise. While traversing the vast sheets of mud and water, the auto Foresters managed to inhale water through their front diff breathers. Everyone totally enjoyed the trip, especially the newcomers. Bev has since bought a replacement 2002 Forester. Andrew and Wendy Cox continued to tour arriving home in Victoria over a month later. Everyone wants to know ‘When are we doing the next trip?’