Day 48 - Wolfe Creek Crater

Friday, 16 July 2021

Three hundred thousand years ago a fifty-thousand tonne meteor travelling roughly 15 kilometres a second slammed into earth somewhere in the middle of what is now Australia. The crater it created was discovered by accident when some Aussies flew over it in 1947, though Aboriginals had known about it for thousands of years. They called it Kandimalal, home of a mysterious serpent. It’s now called Wolfe Creek Crater and this was our destination when we turned onto the Tanami Highway yesterday.

We camped at a road gravel pit 20 kms from the crater, took off early this morning to get there before the crowds arrive. The pictures we’ve seen of the crater are interesting, but not impressive so I’m a bit dubious whether it’s been worth making the 200 kms detour to see the phenomenon. Road trains approach like giant smoke-breathing dragons threatening to swallow us whole in their dust clouds. The only thing we can do is stop on the side of the road and wait for the storm to pass, the dust to settle, until we can see again.

At the top of the trail that leads to the rim of the crater, the view is stunning, much more picturesque than photographs we saw at the Visitor Centre. Aided by the soft morning sun, the interior of the crater is a flat plane, a ring of green trees encircling a field of purple flowers and white sand (salt encrusted). The wider circle outside the trees is a pale green ring of spinifex which rises abruptly into the rusty red donut ring of the rim, approximately 60 metres above the flat desert plane that surrounds it. Very impressive indeed.

Johan prefers a descent and follows a thin trail to the bottom of the crater while I circle the top of the rim. Again, our early hiking hour means we have the trail to ourselves. We meet up halfway around the rim as Johan crosses the base and climbs the opposite rise. We sit for a while, watch a curious lizard watching us, move at a slow pace back to the car, mesmerised by this desert wonder.

It was definitely worth the 200+ kilometre roundtrip down the dusty road.

Back on the bitumen, we travel a 200-kilometre stretch of uninteresting landscape before rediscovering a 24-hour rest stop we’d found on our 2015 Kimberley trip. It sits above the highway and looks across a lovely outlook of escarpments and green hills. In 2015 we and one other overnighter were the only ones parked for the night. Tonight, peak of the season, we are one of a couple of dozen campers, mostly large caravans.

We’re lucky to find a spot on the edge of the rise with great views. We walk along the ridge of the escarpment then down into the valley and scramble back up the rocks to our camp. 

As we enjoy the last rays of the setting sun and a Friday glass of red, our nearest neighbour turns up with a sheepish smile and stab at humour to ask if we mind if he turns on his generator. His wife needs to use the microwave and there’s a footy game he just can’t miss tonight. What to say? We’re impressed by his concern for the impact the noise might have on his nearby neighbours. But can we be honest and say, No thanks. Actually generators are pretty irritating for campers who like to enjoy the outdoors, especially at sundown. And by the way, have you considered solar panels? Work great for us. Instead we smile sheepishly in return and try to be friendly. His isn’t the only noise to contend with anyway. A family of boisterous kids are enjoying the fun of dinnertime around a too-bright camp light. A quartet of seniors are enjoying their own sundowner with a jocularity that rings throughout the camp.

Meanwhile, the western sky turns from sapphire to navy to black while Venus trumpets her own bright chorus of light and good cheer, waving bye to Mars as he sinks further and further beneath her each night. By 8pm, all is quiet, the campers and their generators gone to bed.