North Queensland

After a few days in the Atherton Tablelands, we headed for the coast and began our long journey south to Melbourne for the ferry across Bass Strait, and home. First port-of-call was Rollingstone, 40 kms north of Townsville, voted Queensland’s favourite caravan park. It’s certainly one of ours, as we spent a good deal of time there last year, and it made such an impression on us that we stayed again a year later. This time, however, we noticed an alarming difference that was again due to the influence of climate. The beautiful Rollingstone beachfront had been eroded by an encroaching shoreline. The park was smaller by about a metre along its eastern boundary. Strategically placed sand bags were slowing the process, but seemed so futile. It was quite alarming.

The eroded beachfront of Rollingstone Caravan Park.

The day we left Rollingstone, we received warnings of an out-of-control bushfire to the north. Fortunately we were heading south, so we were in no danger, but we later met a couple who had a tense few hours as they travelled from the north through dense smoke towards Rollingstone. After we pulled into the coastal town of Bowen for a few days, there was some disturbing news on the radio – there had been three fatalities after a car and caravan collided with a petrol tanker just outside Bowen. We had passed that very spot only an hour before. Photographs of the scene were sobering, to say the least.

Bowen is an obvious favourite destination for retired travellers. We met several of them, many from Tasmania, who spend up to three months in Bowen each winter. It has several lovely beaches, with Horseshoe Bay being the best because it has small coral outcrops just off-shore, and the lack of any crocodile warning sign means that you can swim and snorkel there - a rarity in northern Queensland. Sadly however, the large amount of dead coral was evidence of storm damage and coral bleaching. On top of Flagstaff Hill on the outskirts of town was an interpretation centre that had been closed for over a year, after being badly damaged by Cyclone Debbie. It seems that climate change is haunting us throughout this trip. Drought, bushfires, coral bleaching, hurricanes, super high tides – all making their mark as we travelled through the outback to the sea.

Horseshoe Bay, Bowen. Somewhere out in the bay is a whale.

Continuing south, we left the coast at Rockhampton and headed for the Newell Highway, which would be the quickest route through NSW to Canberra. This meant that we had to drive through the lovely little town of Mt Morgan, just outside Rockhampton, and we couldn’t do so without stopping at another favourite little caravan park from last year. The owners of Silver Wattle had changed from Mark and Sarah to Dave and Deb, but the hospitality and friendliness had not. It was a charming few days, but with only three weeks until our boat sails from Melbourne, we had to concentrate on heading home.

Mt Morgan.

Farewell to the Outback

The Savannah Way is the road across the top of Australia. It runs east-west from Cairns to Broome and gets its name from the countryside around the Gulf of Carpentaria, termed Gulf Savannah. Everything is brown or dusty coloured - rocky, sandy, flat land with trees no more than two metres high. We joined the Savannah Way at Mt Isa and followed it east, although at Normanton it takes a detour north to Karumba (as we also did). After our week in Karumba, we continued east through the savannah towns of Croydon, Georgetown and Mt Surprise. As well as caravan parks and free-camps (where our solar panels provided all the power we needed – there’s no end of sunshine up here), we stayed on a farm called Pinnarendi near the Undara National Park, about 200 kms west of Cairns. The farm owners have set up a little side-business offering camp sites to caravans, and it was a delightful place to spend a few days, surrounded by nothing but bush.

Undara was only recently designated a National Park because of its unique past, which involved some substantial volcanic activity. About 190,000 years ago, a series of eruptions sent lava flowing down creeks leading from the volcano. These rivers of molten rock solidified on the surface while continuing to flow beneath. Today those streams of lava have turned into gigantic tubes in the rock that criss-cross the Undara plains that are dotted with extinct volcano craters. Some of these lava tubes have revealed themselves by collapsing inwards, allowing them to be explored by thousands of tourists, and would-be geologists, like us. It was a fascinating day’s exploration.

Heading still further east, we entered the Atherton Tablelands and the countryside quickly changed. The height of trees increased from two to ten metres, the grass went from lifeless brown to vibrant green, the flat horizon disappeared into rolling hills, and the road was anything but straight. More importantly, the land is taken up with crops of all shapes, sizes and colours. Green should never be taken for granted. The total absence of it over the past month has made us miss Tasmania.

Leaving behind the outback, it has left several lasting impressions on us - a total lack of water, clouds, green grass and tall trees, but an abundance of sunshine, roadkill, caravans, straight roads, and immense road trains over 50 metres long. And as if kangaroo, wallaby and emu weren’t enough, cattle roamed across the road from unfenced farmland. Carnivorous hawks and kites feed on roadkill, and their soaring presence is visible from many kilometres away. Caravans and motorhomes dominate the oncoming traffic. Grey nomads must be a huge portion of the travelling public.

Water, or lack of it, is the key. The hot topic in the national news at the moment is drought relief for farmers in western New South Wales and Queensland. The Federal Government has given several million dollars, and even Tasmanian farmers have donated stock feed that the Spirit of Tasmania will transport across Bass Strait at no cost. Seeing this drought first-hand, we can understand the dire consequence of it not raining. It is depressing to see.

Karumba, north Queensland

Karumba is indeed true to its slogan - “the outback by the sea”. Through Normanton and on the approach to the town there are vast expanses of salt and flood plains with low scrub and small trees. Quite simply dry and dusty. Arriving in Karumba, the sea greets you with a relieving cool breeze and relaxing panorama of the Gulf. Monsoonal rains brings floods every year, which is difficult to imagine in this dry and dusty place, but the tourist season goes into recess between November and March as the rains come tumbling down.

Anne, Murray and Estelle, looking out over the Gulf.

Karumba sits on the mouth of the Norman River as it enters the Gulf of Carpentaria. Mangroves dominate the river’s edge upstream for hundreds of kilometres, which in turn provides a home for crocodiles. We did a boat tour one evening and saw crocs lying at the water’s edge, one of them was massive in size. It looked large enough to swallow a human in one go. We also saw jabiru, long-legged waterbirds, actually Australian storks, and the females have  mysterious yellow eyes. Various birds of prey, eagles, sea eagles and kites, soared above our boat with magnificent wingspans. The boat then took us out into the Gulf to watch the sun sink into the sea in front of us. A memorable evening. One of many.

A female jabiru, on the Norman River.

A monster crocodile, scary even from a distance.

Karumba is one of very few places that access the Gulf of Carpentaria, although you cannot swim in the bright blue waters due to the threat of being taken by a crocodile. This area is also famous for fishing, indeed we felt out of place for not having a tinny dinghy on the roof of the car, as most other visitors did. Fishing has been so popular that a few years ago it was recognised that the local delicacy, barramundi was threatened by overfishing, so a hatchery program was developed. We toured a local hatchery where barramundi are reared in tanks from eggs and released into local waterways to ensure the future of the species.

Barramundi, after hatching in captivity, they await release into the wild. 

The sun setting in the west seemed to put on a show for us every night in the outback. The bar at the Sunset Hotel on Karumba Point is strategically placed to provide a dramatic view of nightly sunsets. The sun appears to dip into the sea, releasing an eerie red glow across the horizon. The darkness then reveals an uncanny row of flashing red and green lights atop channel markers that guide boats out into the Gulf. It is certainly a famous place to have a beer and experience the outback by the sea.

The Gulf sunset, from the bar of the Sunset Hotel, Karumba Point. 

Karumba, north Queensland

Mission accomplished. When we left Melbourne six weeks ago, the aim was to make Karumba on the Gulf of Carpentaria, and we have arrived. It’s so nice to see a large body of water stretching out before us, as the past few weeks have been nothing but dry, dusty, barren, rocky and tree-less landscapes. We are camped on the edge of the wide Norman River which empties into the great Gulf, and the expanse of water is beautiful. The national news is reporting of financial assistance from the Federal Government to drought-stricken farmers up this way, and we have seen why they’d need it. Major towns rely on water storage dams, large enough to be called lakes, but farmers are struggling to feed their stock on the pitiful amount of grass that tries to grow. The problem hits home when you see it first-hand.

On the way here, we explored Mt Isa, one of those rare single-employer towns. It has achieved “city” status with a population of 20,000 and the vast majority of people work for the mine operators Glencore. With a mixture of underground and open-cut, it is the world’s largest single producer of copper, silver, lead and zinc, and the mine’s footprint takes up half of the city. At night the mine has more lights than the rest of the town. All of the facilities you need are here – swimming pool, schools, library, pubs, sports grounds, parks, Bunnings – and we met locals who proudly said that they were born and bred in the Isa.

Underground hospital from WW2, Mt Isa.

Smaller towns along the way were no less interesting – Winton had the Waltzing Matilda museum, Mckinlay had the Walkabout Creek Hotel from the Crocodile Dundee movies, Cloncurry had the museum dedicated to Dr John Flynn and the Royal Flying Doctor Service. The roads in between each of them were startlingly the same - flat and straight. You’re easily fooled by the mirage of water in the shimmering sun as the road disappears at the vanishing point on the horizon. Paddocks by the roadside are almost alien - sandy, rocky plains covered in weird spikey ant mounds and the tallest “tree” is only two metres high, sitting solitary in the middle of an enormous open countryside. A phone tower becomes visible from thirty kilometres away. There is not a cloud in the sky, living up to the Queensland moniker as “The Sunshine State”.

The road from Cloncurry to Mt Isa provided a welcome change, as red rocky outcrops and large eucalypts interrupted the bleak terrain. At one point we pulled into a rest area, and a familiar sound greeted us as I turned off the car engine. From the trees overhead emanated bird song, distinctly budgerigars. Having an aviary full of them back home, we were very aware of that sound, and it was music to our ears. The flock of several dozen budgies flew over us and it was lovely to see them in the wild and enjoying their freedom.

Budgies, in the wild.

Karumba itself is a small village of a few shops, two pubs, four caravan parks and two boat ramps. Our caravan park is adjacent to one of those pubs, so the 30-degree days are being nicely hydrated. People come here to fish, so we are the odd ones out. We are camped next to Murray and Estelle so we have lovely company while we explore, but as with our entire journey, we’re surrounded by vehicles registered in every state of Australia. We will stay a few days and then head east to the coast, and the sea, and then head south for home.