The Gulf Country

River bed between Georgetown and Croydon.

  

The Gilbert River, off peak.

The Little River, only a few kms past the Gilbert River

At Croydon, a rig pulled up for fuel which made every couple with a Toyota Landcruiser with a tinny tied on top momentarily regret they had not put more into their super.

Note the hydraulic lift to lower the boat to the lower deck level. But was he happy? Actually, he did look pretty pleased with himself. Ah well, he has at least 16 tyres to check and replace, I only have 2. But I doubt that point of distinction is causing him any loss of sleep.

I spotted a brolga in scrub beside a river bed. For some reason I did not expect this bird to be able to fly. If you knew that brolgas flew, I don’t care, and further you would not have had the wonderful surprise I had when this bird took to the air. We don’t get brolga in Thornbury, and they are not part of the Wurrundjeri dreaming.

It was like watching a prototype aircraft get airborne. Surrounded by scrub, it did a standing near vertical confined space takeoff with its long slender wings plying the air in slow motion, followed by a series of low speed turns around obstacles, while at the same time retracting its undercarriage in a somewhat disorganised manner. The takeoff was a thrill to watch. You see, ignorance can do that for you. Those burdened with the knowledge that brolga can fly would probably have just yawned.

Once above the scrub line, it went from near hover mode to forward flight and flew a few circles and gathered speed, and quickly assumed a most beautiful fully streamlined aerodynamic profile. From head to toe it was a gentle curve like the upper surface of an aerofoil in cross section. Its pencil-thin legs were now trailing motionless and tidily behind in its slipstream, and its head and neck were sliding effortlessly through the air. Its wings are large and obviously powerful. It accelerated with ease and set heading at low level and was quickly out of sight.

I have seen many brolga in the days since this first sighting.  They often fly in formation. They are mostly in groups on the ground. A feature of the species is that they can takeoff and disappear faster than a motorcyclist can stop, get his Nikon out and press the shutter. The above is not a good photo, but as brolga photos go it is better than photos of points from which brolga have very recently left.

The pelican has long been my favourite bird – the true master of low and slow precision  flight, yet they can also thermal effortlessly to miles above the surface of the earth and fly huge distances. But I have not seen a more beautiful bird than the brolga.

This is a swamp with water lilies just out of Normanton, which had all sorts of birdlife including large flocks of brolga, which all disappeared as I appeared.

Where the brolga were.

Accommodation in Normanton

The yellow addition to my luggage is a 12 litre bladder for extra fuel.

The heavily corrugated road between Normanton and Burketown was a good test for the new luggage setup. It passed with flying colours. The 12 litres will give me around an extra 200kms. The tank on the GS holds 20 litres, which is not enough in this part of the world. I also have an 8 litre version of the same thing. Together with the 12 litre bag that will let me double my fuel endurance.

My Kathmandu one man tent has a zip and fly system which is said to keep out bugs and other unwanted intruders. That feature will be well tested should I encounter any relative of this monster, which meets all my criteria for 'unwanted intruder' designation.

This is a replica, built to scale, of an estuarine crocodile caught just downstream from Normanton in the Normanton River in 1957. It was 8.63 metres long, and estimated to weigh around 2 tonnes. What does it eat? Anything it wants etc etc

I will certainly be zipping up the tent if camped near water. Actually, the advice everywhere is not to camp near water, and to camp a ‘safe distance’. But what is a ‘safe distance’? I am thinking at least two states might be adequate. You see, salties don’t play fair. At least the great white pointer understands the basic rule that if you make it to the shore, you win. They respect this rule. But salties don’t. If you are standing on the shore they will come and eat you. There are no rules with salt water crocodiles.

Asking for croc safety advice is unfortunately a cue for most people around here to try their hand at the comedy thing. One person told me that big crocs have a bad turning lock, and so if you run around in tight circles they will stay close, doing their wider circles around you, but won’t actually be able to eat you. You might have to do this for a couple of days and nights of course. Personally, I might just go for the straight line and a 100 metre PB.

Just look at this water for a moment.

Where the crocs are.

This is the water you can’t stand near. This is water with crocs in it. This is water near which you can get plucked from your enjoyable life and eaten. Unlike the above photo of where the brolga were, this is where the crocs are. I won’t go on, but I found it interesting.

Burke and Wills camp site number 119 of 1860/61. A recently published book about Burke and Wills called “The Dig Tree” by Sarah Murgatroyd will capture your interest. It was worth the diversion down a very rough track to stand in the harsh quietness of this lonely part of the Gulf Country and to contemplate what it must have been like to be there 150 years ago, in the plight in which Burke and Wills found themselves.

There were some epic feats of droving in the early years of white settlement in this country. In 1881 Bluey Buchanan left south east Queensland with 20,000 cattle and 70 men under his command. He took them across the state to the Daly River area. Apparently, like me, he spent the first few nights dropping in on old friends who had offered him a bed anytime. But the welcomes were luke warm at best, so they camped after that.

Typical river crossing between Normanton and Burketown.

I saw a caravan and 4WD on the side of the road, and pulled over as is the custom on these lonely roads to ensure they were OK. They were, and the cup of tea and biscuit they provided to me were most welcome.  Just as complete strangers feel at liberty to chat to each other in emergencies, so it is on these remote roads. The incipient emergency ambience of the place eludes none, except perhaps for the Doomadgee footy team who were heading home victorious from Normanton in their own version of the Dakar. It may very well be more comfortable on these roads in vehicles which only touch the road occasionally.

There was a lot of this between Normanton and Burketown.

 
 

 
I had a few ‘moments’ on the gravel on sections of corrugations from hell, and on deeper than usual gravel build-ups. I spent about one-third of my time on the dirt road between Normanton and Burketown standing on the footpegs, as a matter of necessity, not style. It truly is more comfortable, and there is no doubt the bike is more stable and controllable. It is surprisingly comfortable so long as your legs are not bent or not bent too much. I had both tyres at 30psi not 25psi today as a concession to the load I am carrying. I will try 25psi tomorrow.

Ants just love it out here.

Slavishly following GPS commands today would certainly have seen me carving my own dig tree by the end of the week. That pommy woman from Garmin had a lot of strange suggestions today. Frankly, I don’t think she’s ever been out here.


The map is the number one navigation aid.

The magnificent Albert River just south of Burketown

I am sure this fellow in Burketown is a consummate tradesman with pride in his work, and that she’ll be up and running by the end of the week. It’s just that I have never seen a scene like this in any garage in Victoria, or anywhere.

Not so shiny now.

Frank at the Burketown Information Centre was very knowledgeable about the roads in the Gulf Country and what he didn’t know, he found out by making phone calls.


Frank confirmed what others have been telling me, that the Calvert River is too high for the GS to cross on my originally planned route to Borroloola via Doomadgee. So I am heading south-west tomorrow morning to Lawn Hill National Park, via Gregory Downs. I will spend tomorrow night at Adels Grove. The best information available is that the roads will all be passable. They involve a few river crossings, but the river crossings quickly get shallow as you go further inland from the coast of the Gulf.

From Lawn Hill I will go south to the Barkly Highway just east of Camooweal, then to Barkly Homestead Roadhouse, then up the Tablelands Highway to Cape Crawford. There I will get further information about river heights, and decide whether I can go to Mataranka via Roper Bar (the more interesting route by far I am told), or will have to go west on the bitumen to Daly Waters on the Stuart Highway. I will need all my additional fuel capacity over the next few days for some long legs between fuel stops.



By the way, if you left click on any of the photos on this blog, you should get a bigger high resolution version of the picture.

(This was typed on Sunday, and posted on Monday)