Date:
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19-20/04/2017
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Location:
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Devil’s Marbles & Daly
Waters (Northern Territory)
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Distance Travelled:
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920 km
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Temperature:
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Min:
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6.0
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Max:
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34.0
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Occupants in the car:
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3
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Bright and early Wednesday morning (19th
April), it was finally time for Nat to pack her bags and head back to Melbourne
for a few days to give her grandmother, Frankie, the send-off she deserved.
Perhaps Nat might even write about her adventures in her own blog entry one day
– but, as the Anangu people of this
region say, that’s her story and it’s not for me to tell.
So, with Nat turfed out of the car, we three likely lads were
suddenly left to our own devices on a jolly-boys cross country tour. Although we
were sad to be away from Nat for a few days, I must admit there was some glee
in the boys’ eyes at being able to stretch out in the car, and the bed
situation suddenly became a dream come true (three people snoring is bad
enough, but add in a fourth and our caravan starts to take an almighty sonic
kicking!). We soon found that there was also no longer a need to wait for the
next rest stop to relieve whatever gas build up may have occurred whilst
bumping down the road. Oh, you boys…
But, amongst these new-found freedoms, we were also
plunged into a world without our chief advisor. The holder of the great itinerary,
not to mention the only person who had actually bothered to do any research on
what to do when we arrived at our destination, had disappeared from our lives –
albeit temporarily. “Righty ho boys” I said, “So, what do we do now?”
The creeping realisation that dad was now actually in charge seemed to dawn quickly
upon the boys and I could see the look of sheer panic spread across their face.
“We’ll be ok dad,” ventured one little lad; probably more in an attempt to
reassure himself than offering me any sense of comfort. “Can I sit in the
front?” chimed in the other. “Sure,” I said, “here’s the map – point me in the
right direction and tell me when we’re there!”.
And so, solemnly, we drove back to the campsite – to pack
up and set off on our own. I’ve gotta admit, to took a damn site longer to pack
up without Nat’s help – especially as the boys took off at the speed on light
as soon as we pulled up at our caravan. “Hey boys,” I said “Any chance of
hand….”. Needless to say, I didn’t see them again until (dripping with
sweat) I managed to heave the awnings into place and get the trailer hitched to
the car (with a spot of luck) ready to go. Don’t worry, they were both severely
growled at upon their return.
Tyres pumped, fuel filled, snacks packed… Alright, I
think we’re ready. One hand grasping the steering wheel, and the other holding
tightly to Nat’s exercise book (aka ‘the bible’ – complete with lower case ‘b’),
which contained all the details of how we were to navigate the next 1000km’s
before she re-joined us again. And then we were off!
Scanning the itinerary, the next two days were to be
filled with long drives and two quirky night time stopover destinations. Our first
port of call was some 420kms up the road, to the forebodingly named “Devil’s
Marbles”. From there it was a mere 500kms to our second destination “Daly
Waters” – which was mainly a pub with a caravan site attached (well, a field
and a few toilets to be more accurate). I’ve gotta say, these two destinations
were magic! I know Nat would be sorry to have missed this part of the
adventure.
With the boys nicely quarantined from each other in the
car (Ben in the front and Daniel spread out in the back), the journey up the
Stuart Highway passed like a dream. It’s remarkable how hard it is for kids to
fight when there is a physical barrier (such as a front seat) between them.
Since we had many hours to pass, I also chose this opportunity to introduce Ben
to one of my favourite authors, Terry
Pratchett. I tried to include Daniel too, but he shoved his ear phones tightly
into his ears and pretended he couldn’t hear me (and he probably couldn’t with
a mix of Michael Jackson and Weird Al Yankovic
blaring in his ears). Before I left Melbourne, I’d downloaded the audio version
of the Colour
of Magic and we played this for hour upon hour as the scenery whizzed by – changing
suddenly every few hours into spectacular new terrain. I think we may have a
new Terry Pratchett fan amongst us!
Our first stop, on this part of our journey, occurred shortly
outside of Alice Springs. For the most part, the rest area was quite plain and
could easily have been missed; but, for me, it was somewhat momentous – if not
a little bemusing for the boys. You see, shortly after 11:04 am, we crossed the
Tropic of Capricorn. Now, as I understand it, each of the tropics (Capricorn
and Cancer) move by about 15 meters each year
– so, I have little doubt that the marker point was by now a little way off.
But, it was good enough for this little adventurer!
I remember, as a little lad, my folks had a big cardboard
box of photos sitting under their bed. It wasn’t an auspicious or ornate box,
but rather held together by old bits of packing tape and it contained a world
of mystery and magic. Amongst the pictures of long dead relatives, photos of my
own dad in knee high socks as a kid, mum with flowing maxi dresses and incredibly
long ‘hippy’ hair (actually… the hair might have been dad too… I wonder where I
get it from?), and bare breasted African women (mum and dad spent a year or two
in Africa before I came along)… There was a photo that always intrigued me
(even more than the aforementioned African women). It was a photo of my dad
standing, with his long hair waving in the hot African breeze, beside a sign
proclaiming that he was at the ‘Tropic of Cancer’. As a kid, I had no idea what
that meant. In the photo, it was certainly dry, barren of life, and desolate.
All of which added to its mystique no end! And now, I was exactly half a world south
of where my father (and mother, who presumably was taking the photograph) was
standing all that time ago. I have no idea exactly when that photo was taken
(at least 40 years, as I’m pushing that age myself). Nor do I know how
accurately I remember that image. Probably, I’ve distorted it in my mind over
the years. But, what I do know, is that I was there at the Tropic of Capricorn.
Like a family version of ‘collect the tropics’ we now had a full set. Perhaps
in years to come, my boys will make the journey to the far north and continue
the tradition of taking cheesy photos at the tropics. I’d like to think they
might. I say, the first to the north and south pole wins!
The tropic of Capricorn. A destination I didn’t know I
needed to reach, until I went there!
Late afternoon, we arrived at the Devil’s marbles – about
an hour or two before sun set. Perfect timing! We had enough daylight to set up
the trailer, stash the firewood we’d collected from a few stops along the way,
and head up into the ‘marbles’ to explore. Now, for those of you who haven’t
heard of the Devil’s Marbles before, let me give you a little description:
Driving down the Stuart highway towards our destination, along
increasingly windy roads that meander through hills and dense scrub; suddenly,
the road diverges and a track leads away from the steady hum and drone of the highway
asphalt. There in the distance is a magnificent sight. Against a backdrop of
yellow desert and pale blue skies, are stacks of round orange-grey boulders
stacked in heaps on top of one another. And I’m not talking little Sisyphus
type boulders here! No, I’m talking gargantuan rocks the size of houses –
teetering upon one another, in stacks… Much like, one might say, mounds of
marbles clumped together by some abhorrent immortal being.
The Devils Marbles – Northern Territory
To my surprise, and the boys delight, we even discovered
that in some places these rocks were hollow. As such, the boys spent the
remainder of the day finding places to hammer out a few beats and perform the
odd song or two in the dying light.
The singing rocks of the Devil's Marbles
Then, as the sun went down over these marvellous marbles,
we made our way back to camp – just in time for the boys to spot some kids they
had met earlier in the trip – and away they went once again.
All set up for a spot of free camping
They came back in time for dinner and hung around with
the promise of marshmallows being roasted on an open fire. The day’s collection
of wood was stacked on the fire and a lovely time was had roasting
marshmallows, playing the ukulele and chatting until late into the night. As
the night grew darker and the fire dwindled into embers, the boys gawped at the
enormity of the stars. There were so many stars that the boys soon lost track of
the familiar southern cross and Orion’s belt, amidst the multitudes of lights
shining in the inky darkness. We had a great time talking about the Magellanic
clouds, binary stars, the possibility of life on other planets. Until the magic
was broken by our neighbour for the night coming into our circle of firelight
and warning us that they’d found a bunch of snakes in the toilets… With the
majesty of the moment suddenly shattered, it is needless to say we henceforth chose
to exercise our right to drop trousers on the back wheel of the car after that!
Roaring fire, under the stars.
Rising early, we were awoken by the dawn chorus of vans
being started and trailers being packed down. It seems most visitors to the
Devil’s Marbles don’t hang around when the sun peeks over the horizon. With two
boys in tow, we took a little longer and sat down for breakfast before heading
merrily on our way. The decision to wait half an hour was a good one, as flocks
of eagles careened by the campsite – treating us to an early morning aerial
display.
Majestic, but a bugger to get a good photo of.
Hitting the road again, we listened to the second half
the Colour of Magic and stared once more out of the window watching the scenery
whizz by. Today, our first stop wasn’t as poignant as the day previous; but an
important stop nonetheless. 91kms up the road was Tennant Creek, and a petrol
station with honest to goodness real toilets (minus snakes and spiders). The
boys, it seems had taken the warning of our neighbour from the night before and
had decided there was no way they were going near those loos provided. And so,
it was with great relief that Tennant Creek welcomed us with open arms for both
refilling and depositing.
Much relieved, we left Tennant Creek and set off towards
Daly Waters. At this point, I have no doubt anyone who bothers to read this blog
will be sick to death of reading descriptions of the gorgeous scenery. And so,
I will spare you another tirade of superlatives and simply say the view from
the window was mesmerising along the 500km trek northwards. One thing I did
note, however, was that the scenery changed once again and started becoming
more lush and thick the further we ventured away from the dry red centre.
Ben, Daniel and I pulled into Daly Water’s a little after
3:30pm. I know I used the word ‘quirky’ earlier to describe this place, but
really that’s an understatement. Pulling off the Stuart Highway, we followed
signs down a road that hadn’t seen much love in recent years. Navigating the
pot holes and trundling along patches of gravelly road, we came upon a swarms
of caravans and trailers lining the side of the road. The focal point of this
gaggle of vans was the Daly Waters pub. A mix of poignant and lounge in cheek
signs were dotted around the entrance to this watering hole. “Angle parking
only” read one sign, “but we don’t care what angle”, it concluded. Strewn
around the entrance were bits and bobs from travelling folks, such as number
plates, odd thongs and pairs of underpants, amid a host of potted plants placed
on every available space. Walking through the jungle of foliage, the bar itself
was no less crowded with odd accoutrements and bric-a-brac. Coins of every
denomination from the far corners of the earth lined the bar. Stamps, beer
bottles, statuettes, postcards, flags, more thongs and underwear – all mixed
together in a menagerie of memorabilia. The bar tender was just as quirky, and
ever so welcoming to his house of oddities; complete with beer and a pool.
It's a nick nack, Paddy Black, give the pub a phone
Just Kidding! (I wouldn't share my beer with those young hooligans...)
The bar also served a decent meal and after everyone had washed
away the dust from the day in the pool, we dried off and headed into the dining
area for a slap up meal.
Yummy nosh!
A live band was playing and the kids got into the
swing of it – Ben even ventured forward to request a song. Unfortunately they
didn’t know it, so they played ‘April Sun in Cuba’ for him instead. With
everyone watered and fed, we wandered back to the trailer were the boys played
and chatted a while before bed. I was able to spend a couple of peaceful hours sitting under the
stars, typing away at my blog (I think I was writing Kings Canyon at the time),
before turning in for the night.
Thoroughly satisfied, I drifted off to sleep, thinking of
the last leg of our solo journey to Katherine in the morning...
...but, of course, you're going to have to wait patiently for that - while I digest this enormous meal!
Bye ‘d bye,
Gregg
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