#borroloola

Interesting rather stunning trees and flowers along the road on our way out to the port of Bing Bong.

This the Portia tree they say is probably native only to the Old World tropics. It was introduced to the Pacific islands from southeast Asian islands by prehistoric Austronesian voyagers. What else came this route I wonder? The new flowers are like crushed pink tissue paper and when mature are like delicate yellow tulle looking a wee bit frayed at the edges.

Glorious Grevilleas. The red specimen a Rock Grevillea. The golden one, a Fern-leaved Grevillea, smelt like caramel. I got a little too close, actually in amongst the leaves of the truth be known! and developed nasty itchy welts - they have a toxin like poison ivy it seems.

These golden berries looked like miniature pumpkins. Botanical name Petalostigma sometimes called the quinine tree.

We both like Borroloola. It’s situated on the McArthur River 50 km upstream from the Gulf of Carpentaria. It’s quiet yet well supplied, rather an interesting, albeit not entirely pretty, place with a surprising history. We hunkered down for a few days. The majority of the residents are aboriginals who now quite rightly have custody of Borroloola and the Pellew Islands. The Rangers and the community work to protect their land, the waterways, the turtles, dugong and the vast seagrass beds; the li-Anthawirriyatra Sea Rangers are so interesting to talk to.  The region’s history is bloody with so many of the local aboriginal people having been massacred in the late C19 in the interests of setting up cattle stations and other ventures. The early colonists have a lot to answer for; it is shameful what they did.

The caravan park the only one in town, is a delight - frangipani trees over a cool pool, chooks wandering around, and friendly lovely staff.

We were planning to stay only a few days but we got a flat battery and couldn’t get it looked at until after the weekend, couldn’t even get into the car! Come Monday and some tricky ‘break and enter’ manoeuvres the totally dead battery was replaced.

Once we could get into the car, we drove down every water access road we could find, mostly those led to the McArthur or Batten river/creek. One road led us to King Ash Bay which is a fisherman’s paradise - I imagine. It was cheek by jowl caravans for km all along the river front. Horrendous! These are huge rivers and one can only wonder at the volume of water they carry during the Wet.

We drove up to the port at Bing Bong and to a small creek, Mule Creek - 100m wide! Hello!? we are definitely in big water country here.

We even managed to drive on the tidal flats of the Gulf - obviously very low tide.

After fascinating travels along outback roads driving on the Stuart Hwy was very boring and not a little challenging for Lindsay with a constant stream of caravans and other traffic going north - staggering! Thank goodness we were not heading that way. By midday-early afternoon caravans are already filling the few overnight freebie parking areas. These people leave the parking areas at dawn and drive till midday or soon after to get a spot in a freebie zone! Strikes me as a strange way to travel but .....

Mataranka along the Stuart is an interesting Hwy stop with massive parking areas for trucks, road-trains, military vehicles and of course caravans; it was absolutely packed. We ate a hasty cut lunch and headed for Little Roper Stock camp (where had spent a delightful few days back in 2017) only to find it full so sadly that was that. We turned around and headed back to the Stuart Hwy and headed for Hi-Way Inn at the intersection of the Stuart and Carpentaria Hwys.

Just north of that is Daly Waters famous for its pub and other things. We’d been there before and didn’t fancy battling the crowds which we reckoned would be there. We were right! From all reports there were lines of caravans queuing from midday on. In spite of its touristy feel Daly Waters has an interesting history. John McDouall Stuart stopped there on his 3rd attempted cross the continent. He named the place because of the small creek there - when we were there 4 years ago we visited an historic tree with S (Stuart) carved into it. But more recently this was Australia’s 1st International Aerodrome as a refueling stop; the airfield is still there.

We were glad to be heading east and away from the traffic flow. They seem ominous as packs along the road and at every pull over., parked outside caravan places with spots available. Shudder! I’m a little ashamed to say that ‘grey nomads’ have a bad reputation for being mean and argumentative. Many shy away from paying caravan park fees and are always asking for discounts or complaining about the cost if things. I mean really? You want services and enjoyment you have to pay and support the communities. Enough said.

Michelle, who is based in Katherine, is an enterprising young woman taking her business to where it’s needed. She is ambitious and delightful. I wish her well.

Then we were truly heading east along the Carpentaria Hwy, sealed but extremely narrow with a fair amount of traffic going west.

It had its moment with views over the plains and fringes of pretty pink Turkey bush and splashes of brilliant yellow kapok flowers.

I’m sitting on the veranda at the Heartbreak Hotel in Cape Crawford, in the middle of the Gulf Rivers country of the Northern Territory. She’s a heartbreaker they claim. I’m here for the weekend, so we’ll see how I’m feeling when I head back south to my beloved Barkly on Monday morning.

Other than driving along the Stuart Highway up through Katherine, this is the first occasion I’ve spent any time in the Gulf Country. The largest town is that of Borroloola near the mouth of the McArthur River. Home to around 900 people, mostly Indigenous, although the population swells considerably over the winter as people come to fish. If there’s one thing the Gulf Rivers has in plenty, it’s fish, especially the Territory staple of barramundi. There’s a large mine site about half way between Cape Crawford and Borroloola but, as with much of the mining industry in this country, is populated by fly-in, fly-out (or FIFO) workers and not by locals. High lead counts in fish have recently been attributed to the mine, so it certainly has its work cut out to boost its public and environmental image. Borroloola’s about seven hours from Katherine and the same again from Tennant Creek and during a big wet can get cut off regardless. At Cape Crawford, I’m an hour closer to those Outback metropolises. Lest I mislead you, Cape Crawford and the Heartbreak Hotel are effectively synonymous. The population of the former is made up of workers at the latter, which would total somewhere south of a dozen. By hotel, I also mean campground and cabins. You can get fuel here, counter meals and there’s a pub in a shed with a capacity of 40 which seems about 30 too many, as well as woefully optimistic this time of year. I have a swag thrown down under a tree away from the plethora of sprinklers trying to keep a bit of green to the otherwise parched earths. It’s a long way from anywhere and a diversion at that, so you’ve kind of got to want to be in this region. I’m here for work (drive in, drive out!) but I actually do want to be here. I’ve covered so much of the Territory for work and a little less for pleasure but since the NT’s about four times the size of Germany, it’s going to take a long time to see it all. As such, I’ll grab any opportunity to expand my horizons.

Having camped overnight on my way from Tennant Creek, I left the Barkly Homestead with a full tank of gas mindful of the warning signs that inform you there is no fuel for 376kms. For the first 230kms, I was in familiar surroundings. The entire journey is along the Tablelands Highway, the single track bitumen road that drives up the middle of the Barkly Tablelands joining the two-laned Barkly Highway with its parallel cousin, the Carpentaria Highway. Consequently, I’ve used this southern majority of the Tablelands Highway to reach a few of the large, corporate pastoral properties I’ve worked on these past few years many times. It’s flat, it’s open, the Mitchell grasslands that dominate the views extend into the distance punctuated by the odd small tree, a handful of cattle or, more often than not, by nothing at all. The creeks that do exist are in name only this time of year, just dry ditches. This long since the last rains, the Mitchell grasses are a hay yellow, in stark contrast to the azure blue sky.

However, once past Wallhallow station, at the top of the Barkly, it all changes. Suddenly, the highway is tree lined. Not by scraggy savannah shrubs but by trees that reach high above the ground, trees that have a true canopy. Twists and turns start to appear. I have to take the ute off cruise control since I can no longer see kilometres ahead. If a road train appears around the next corner, I need to make sure I can get out of the way pretty quickly. There’s more road kill now too. Roos bound out from the roadside cover, cattle lurk around every second bend. The change is as dramatic as it is beautiful. In all directions, I’m surrounded by escarpments and rises. The flat plains of the Tablelands have well and truly been left behind. Instead, I’m on a rollercoaster of a highway, all sweeping turns, gentle climbs with plunging descents as well as the natural undulations of the sun warped bitumen getting maximum value for money out of the Hilux’s suspension. Finally, after the final blind corner, the Heartbreak Hotel appears on the apex where the two highways meet. The journey had taken less than four hours so I was here in plenty of time for my noon meeting.

The second I open the door, the change in humidity is obvious. Daytime temperatures will peak at around what they do elsewhere in the NT, hovering around the 40 degree Celsius mark but up here, it feels a lot warmer. It never takes too long to acclimatise to our surroundings and after nine months of living in the arid centre with our very low humidity, there’s an immediate feeling of discomfort. Following this, I notice the sheer abundance of birdlife. Several blue-faced honeyeaters are loitering out the front, a species I haven’t seen since leaving the rainforested hinterland of the Sunshine Coast, my last abode before becoming a Territorian. There’s apostle birds, budgerigars and galahs. The air is full with whistles, squawks and trills. It’s a world away from the Territory I’ve gotten used to. But with nothing else here for quite some time my first duty, after the meeting and a Saturday morning exploring a natural spring at a nearby cattle station for work, is to catch up on some rest. The afternoon is spent poolside or taking advantage of the aircon to read a book in the cafeteria.

My second day however presents itself with a full day of exploring to do. I decide on Caranbirini National Park, Borroloola, King Ash Bay and a visit up to Bing Bong because, why would you not want to see what could possibly be at Bing Bong? I’ll be honest and admit that my primary goal was to find a saltwater crocodile. Having never seen one in the wild, I thought this might present my best opportunity to date. In that endeavour, I failed. This part of the world is not particularly developed and so the closest I got to the coast was one of two boat ramps, the first at King Ash Bay still 35kms from the coast and the second so much closer that I could see the sea but not reach it since this was around the corner from Bing Bong which turns out to be the mine’s port. Although salties are quite happy in the estuaries, they’re most likely sunning themselves away from the area where Landcruisers are backing tinnies into the water. There’s plenty of food around elsewhere, so chomping through a steel or aluminium hull is more trouble than it’s worth. With temperatures again hovering around 40, this was not a day for lounging around in the sun, so with each stop there was really only time for a few photos, with the exception of Caranbirini in which I finished a 2km stroll through the spectacular sandstone rock gorge by starting shortly after 7am. The only location I spent any meaningful time outside of the vehicle was in Borroloola.