Outback Wanderers: Day 17: MacDonnell Range

December 1, 2010

First day of summer in

Australia

. The weather has remained temperate: highs around 28˚; lows around 15˚. Alice can hover around 40˚, occasionally up to 45˚, for most of the summer we’re told, so we feel very lucky.

After some discussion about our travel predicament, we make the decision to abandon our Outback Way venture for the time being and head south. There’s a possibility we can pick it up again after the interview in Sydney, but we’ll have to decide that once we’re there. Much of it depends on the weather; but Queensland hasn’t been dry for many months. It doesn’t look promising.

We’ll go as far as Coober Pedy in South Australia, then take back roads, via Lake Eyre east to Sydney. It may be a bonus passing by Lake Eyre – a huge dry salt lake in central South Australia that only fills a few times every century, when the rains in Queensland are above average. When it fills, the lake springs to life with both flora and fauna that otherwise lie dormant for many years. It’s a spectacular site. The lake was full a couple of months ago; if we’re lucky, it still is.

We make a booking at a caravan park in Sydney via the internet for three nights: 12-14 December. That gives us twelve days to travel approximately 2700kms. Possible, but only just, given the slow pace we’re prone to travel.

My disappointment about leaving the Outback Way unfinished is tempered by an unexpected (though minor) sense of relief. As much as we love camping and the outdoors, we’re both discovering, at 51 and 61, our stamina for the physical work it takes, the lack of creature comforts and the frustrations of things getting dirty, broken or lost, has decreased with age. I don’t want to give in to it – but from what I hear, denial is the first sign of aging.

Before we head south we decide to have a look at the MacDonnell Range, west of Alice Springs. The first 100kms of the 250km loop is paved and heavily trafficked with tourists in the peak season. We turn into the first site, Simpson’s Gap, at the same time as a tourist bus, but we consider ourselves lucky as there are parking bays for ten buses and it’s the only one. The canyon is lovely with tall red rock walls. A man carrying his son on his shoulders, sings a loud ditty and we all smile when his voice bounces to and fro off the walls.

The next two sites require entry fees. That, along with the distraction of other people, makes them unappealing so we opt for enjoying the photos in the guide book instead. We pull off an unmarked dirt track that leads to three waterholes and campsites tucked deep into the ranges. The track follows a river and only a half kilometer in, it’s clear we can’t traverse it without a 4WD. We pitch camp on the dry sandy river bed, next to a pool left over from the recent rains. It’s mid-afternoon so I throw on my day pack and head up the track. In 8kms there’s meant to be the first waterhole and campsite, but I go past the 8km mark and can’t find it. It’s quarter to five and if I’m going to make the 8kms back to camp before sundown I need to turn around. Never mind; the open plain I’m hiking through, with wide vistas of rocky hills and cliffs and an abundance of wild flowers, is splendidly appealing, especially in the late afternoon sun.

Johan has a roast chicken dinner and a beer ready for me upon my weary return just before sundown. We leave the chicken carcass out a ways from the tent – there are wild dog tracks in the area – and it’s gone by morning.