Pork Barrelling

Broome (Rubibi)

This town is plonked smack bang in the middle of the most stunning coastline ever. The local people, the art, the strong indigenous culture, and the beautiful landscapes around here are so amazing.

But I gotta say, at this time of the year there’s a part of Broome that I’m happy to sweep off my next itinerary - and that’s the generic resorty Port Douglas Nusa Dua sorta vibe that you find a lot around here. I mean, it’s the same in many places heavily touristed by FIFO cityfolk. No offence, those places totally suit some people, but I’m just not one of those some people.

I mean, I can’t talk, I’m a DIDO anyway, some of the infrastructure here supports people like me. But I’m not staying in town, I’m sleepin out in the bush, as usual.

Nevertheless, of course I still had a bloody great time in Broome, there’s a cool cinema, a couple of great bars and places to eat, and of course the coast all around here is stunningly beautiful.

The town itself, in Yawuru country, is surrounded by vast plains of saltbush and scrubland, and because it’s actually on the ocean, it’s finally happened! Yes! At last I’ve dipped my toes in the Indian Ocean!

Unkempt Indianised mulattoes

The amazing thing was, I thought it was just me who was excited about finally making it here, but it turns out that word had got out, and there was a massive crowd on Cable Beach, waiting to greet me.

I met up with Jean, we went for a walk, it was pretty busy on the beach, we reminisced about the shonky cameleers we’d both met independently at the pyramids of Giza. I’m not sure how we got onto that topic.

Then we went to a bar and got so involved in our drink-fuelled conversation that we couldn’t be arsed getting back to the beach to watch the sunset over the Indian Ocean that I’d driven right across the continent to witness. Typical. But I, ever the adventurer, did manage to scrape up the energy to take a coupla pics from my seat (I did have to turn around though, that was hard).

Later on, the gay couple next to us had a loud domestic about how each of them believed the other one didn’t love them anymore. It went on for awhile, and got more and more heated the more they drank. Eventually one of them verbally spat out at the other “well you’re too fat to fuck anyway!” That is actually true. Yikes! People find such innovative ways of expressing their love sometimes, even in public. Dinner guests sitting in nearby tables were visibly unimpressed, and Jean wanted to have them kicked out. But we ended up leaving anyway, before they did. It’s not fun to watch people have it out in such a cruel way, it was all just a fat shame really.

Eighty Mile Beach

The beach here is indescribably beautiful. Brilliant turquoise strips stretch right across the ocean horizon, blue sky reflects in the shallow waters, soft rippled grey sand swallows my feet as I walk to the water’s edge. This is paradise.

This long long beach, which stretches as far as the eye can see in both directions, and the beautiful ocean that caresses it, both feel as clean and pure as nature can possibly produce. Pristine. It’s so far away from any major population centre, so far from any industry, it seems that there’s nothing to spoil it. Nothing you can see, that is.

The whole area is a marine park, and an important flatback turtle nesting site in summer. The water is like clear liquid crystal, the sand sparkles with tiny shell and sand fragments, and jellyfish and small shellfish populate the shallow waters. This beautiful vast place is nature at its very best.

And you’ll be happy to know that Jean and I didn’t miss the sunset from the beach this time.

Karijini National Park

I arrived at this beautiful park late and hadn’t booked a campsite. A sign at the entrance said it was fully booked. So of course I drove in anyway, another 10km, to the visitor’s centre, which was closed, but a young indigenous ranger was sitting in her 4WD just outside. Lucky.

I got out to chat with her, I admit I was looking particularly bush-piggish at that moment, barefoot, wearing dusty brown cotton pants, and my top end looked like someone had grabbed me by the ankles, dipped me in water upside down, poured a bucket of fine rust powder over my head, and then put me in the sun and hot wind to dry without sunscreen.

The ranger was a hoot. She told me that yes, the campsite was full, and there were no places in the park to camp. We chatted for a bit, and after she’d sussed me for a while she kindly gave me directions to a little bush spot just out of the park, where she said I could make a camp for the night. I knew she would.

I was happy, and gratefully thanked her. Then as I was leaving she said, “anyway, what ya doin’ comin’ to Karijini all barefoot like that. You look like a bloody nomad!” I laughed loudly and said, “Yes! I am a nomad! In fact I’m a vagabond!” She laughed and said, “yeah, well ya sure as hell bloody look like one!” I laughed even more loudly. And I was beaming inside.

Bush camp moonrise

What the ranger hadn’t told me was that the bush spot where she told me to camp, in the middle of bloody nowhere, happened to be quite close to one of the railway lines that’s used to transport iron ore from one of the many mega-mines here, to Port Hedland, for shipping to China, India and who knows where else.

So every 45 minutes or so, in the perfectly quiet bush, there’d be this deep rumble that would start in the distance, which got louder and louder, until it sounded like this unstoppable charging bull juggernaut was gonna run right over you as you sat cooking dinner, or slice you in half as you lay in your tent.

And the trains are so long (over 2km) that it took 6 whole minutes for each of them to pass. No joke. I actually timed one of them. (I know it’s sad that I did that, but, you know, sometimes there’s not a lot to do out there). So they came past every 45 minutes, all night.

Well, that could be a lie, I don’t actually know that for sure. I eventually fell asleep, so either the trains stopped or my nervous system adapted, to allow me to sleep. It’s amazing how easily humans can convince themselves that something’s not happening when it actually is, in order to preserve their mental health (eg. people starving to death around the world, the climate crisis, etc).

You get the idea

It was also absolutely freeeeezing at night, and the next morning as well. I was shocked and unprepared. The temperature dropped at least 15 degrees from what it had been further north, it’s the first time I’ve felt cold for ages, I had to ferret out my scarf and beanie and other cold repellers.

You may be surprised to hear that I actually do travel with a ferret. It’s called my arm. Ferreting out warm clothes involves my right ferret diving deep into a complete mess of random stuff in the back of my car boot, feeling around for something that feels like it could be warm, grabbing a bit of it and starting to pull, and then my left ferret pushing up sideways against all the other stuff to stop it all spilling out onto the dust, as the potentially warm thing is tugged out against its will.

I keep saying to myself I should tidy up my things, it’s not like I don’t have time. But I do have important things to do. Like sitting doing absolutely vacant-eyes-nothing, for example, or timing trains.

It’s one of the (many) advantages of travelling alone. You can be a pig.

Of course there are disadvantages of travelling alone too. You can be a pig.

It seems that pig is my fallback position though. Without thinking too much I seem to naturally do it piggy-style.*

* The publisher takes no responsibility for any mental health damage incurred as the result of any visual imagery contained in this text.

Dales Gorge

The colours around here have been chosen by nature’s very best artists. The rock and sand is bright red, a deep rusty red, the sky the purest of pure blues, and spinifex and scrubland of all shades of greens and yellows provide the sublime finishing touches to this timeless, magnificent masterpiece.

At dawn and dusk it’s especially stunning. I climbed down into the gorge early. The layered gorge walls are like huge tall stacks of brown-red paper and books, piled precariously on top of one another in impossibly random straight-lined towers, reaching high into that infinite blue sky. Small waterfalls cascade into deep pools of a brilliant emerald green. It’s unspeakably beautiful.

It’s no wonder this is a special place to the traditional owners, the Banyjima, Innawongka and Eastern Guruma people. Jubara (Fern Pool) is of particular significance, it’s quiet, it’s powerful. A large, deep pool of surprisingly warm water lies completely still, mirroring the magnificent walls behind it. Ancient trees stretch high up the gorge walls, birds chirp quietly. It’s truly an incredible, peaceful place.

This huge national park, the second largest in WA, encompasses part of the Hammersley Ranges (Karijini). I walked pretty much all the trails here that are open. The rock is brittle and fragile, and one track was closed due to a recent rock fall, which had exposed blue asbestos, a dangerous fibrous mineral that, with prolonged exposure, can cause a lung disease, mesothelioma.

The town Wittenoom is not far from here, where a huge asbestos mine existed until 1966. But due to the health danger the whole area is now closed, and is regarded as the largest contamination site in the Southern Hemisphere. It still, however, remains on the “danger tourism” international itinerary, along with places like Chernobyl and Baghdad’s Green Zone, and hundreds visit it each year. Anything for kicks.

The area wasn’t closed when I hitched there on that trip many years ago. I remember strolling through piles of asbestos tailings and all sorts of mining rubbish, oblivious to any danger, before eventually making my way into the gorge, where I slept for a couple of nights. At the time I remember feeling like I’d never ever been to such an amazing place. That’s what this place still feels like.

Hancock and Weano Gorges are also stunningly beautiful, you can climb down to the innumerable swimming holes and chill out zones in the shade. The days are stinking hot and still, so swimming holes and shade are heavenly during the day. The nights, however, are bitterly cold.

Due to the high narrow gorges, and the cyclonic weather conditions at certain times of the year, the whole area is also prone to flash flooding, and many people have lost their lives in here, including Jimmy, who went in to rescue some trapped hikers a few years back, and got washed away himself, all the way to the next realm. Rip.

Besides the two large national parks here, Karijini and Jirndawirrinha, wherever else you go in this vast vast area seems to show evidence of mining. There’s mine sites everywhere, there’s hundreds and hundreds of massive 50m long road trains barrelling down the highways 24 hours a day, there’s those long trains and railway lines, white 4WD utes with their ubiquitous hi-viz yellow and black numeric markings painted on them, massive mining vehicles and dongas being transported left-right-and-centre, bridges, towers, huge tall power lines, the whole massive mining support industry, and, of course, there’s the workers themselves and the vast residential, retail and human services industries that support them. I’ve been genuinely shocked at the scale of the mining industry up here. It’s unrecognisable from how I remember it.

Yep, there’s a lot of people up here hell bent on digging up the land and selling it. The mines provide revenues to the WA government through royalties, but the WA government also subsidises the mining industry to the tune of about $3b per year. The Federal government adds another $7b.

An ATO report in 2019 revealed that one third of Australian resource companies with revenues of over $100m per year paid no tax at all. Zilch. Makes you wonder doesn’t it.

Jirndawirrinha (Millstream-Chichester) National Park

I spent the full moon weekend at this amazing national park, my tent fronting on to beautiful vast spinifex plains.

My camping neighbours were Pete and Barb, retired teachers from Hamilton in Victoria, who’d worked in many different places around the country, including in an indigenous community in the Hartz Range in the NT. I’d been playing guitar by my tent, then went for a walk, as I passed them and said hello Pete said he’d loved the music, and that he and Barb were “old hippies.” Barb asked me if she could sing some songs with me later on, I said nah, sorry, I only work with professionals.

As if.

So I watched that amazing moonrise, we all chatted for ages, they kept giving me wine so I softened up a bit and Barb and I ended up jamming to Dylan, the Beatles, and Neil Young. I got a bit lost when she asked me if I knew any of The Mamas and The Papas songs.

Pete graciously invited me over for a veg curry the following night, which was delicious, especially when served with papadams, and the chilled white and red wine that they seemed to have an endless supply of. And not just any old wine either, I can tell you. They were beautiful people, old lefties, Pete used to work for a Labor MP. They also seriously both got quite sloshed both nights.

During the days I walked across the hot spinifex plains (without a hangover), to delicious swimming holes hidden in the deep gorges, through forests of cabbage palms and paperbarks, admiring big river red gums and stunning flowering shrubs, and stunning vistas.

I also checked out the old Millstream Homestead, where they established a huge merino farm back in the early 1900s. It was a tough gig, the dingoes eventually proved too much for them, so they switched to beef, which, decades later, also became uneconomic.

Ningaloo Reef

A fresh sea breeze is blowing from behind me, cooling me, and quickly drying my sweat-drenched shirt and hair. This beautiful copse of chunky casuarinas is providing me with more than enough shade, they’re comfortably beating off the powerful hot afternoon sun with ease. It’s delicious in here. Some frogs are tentatively croaking nearby, down in Yardie Creek. A lone bird just threw out a single call from the reeds.

I’ve just been walking up the gorge, which is the reliable custodian of the only permanent water supply here on this whole arid peninsula, and within Cape Range. The white/orange gorge walls are adorned by green and yellow spinifex and low shrubs, and then framed by a blue sky freckled with clouds. It’s been raining around these parts recently. You can tell. So good to see some real green on the land. I’ve been in dry season country for many weeks now.

But of course the pièce de résistance of this whole area is the World Heritage listed Ningaloo Reef, one of the largest biological structures on the planet. The reef is home to whale sharks, manta rays, dugongs, and the three largest whales in the world, the blue, fin and sei whales. And that’s just the beginning. There’s 500 species of fish, 600 molluscs, and over 200 coral species found here.

The beaches here are the most perfectly idyllic beaches you will ever find anywhere in the world. Bugger Bora Bora. Just come here. It totally redefines what perfection is.

Crystal clear waves flop onto blindingly white and yellow sandy beaches, the water then morphs out into the most incredible vast firmament of glistening turquoise treasure that stretches all the way out to the horizon, which is not that normal straight line between sea and sky, but a thin white line of breakers crashing onto the offshore reef. It’s sublime time. Again.

Of course the water is the perfect temperature for swimming and snorkelling too - cool, but not too cold. You just walk in off the beach, open your eyes, and boom, there they all are. I’ve seen loads of beautiful fish over the past few days, within Cape Range National Park and particularly at Coral Bay.

The current’s strong out there today though, and seems to be getting stronger. Choppy seas have now started to churn up the water and dropped visibility levels. Change is afoot.

As you drive in to this area there’s loads of signs saying that free camping is not allowed anywhere, and that rangers can and will impound your vehicles and tents, and fine you $150 each on top of all that, just for good measure, if you’re caught. Makes you feel so welcome. During this busy booked-out season the end result of such draconian measures is that there’s basically nowhere to sleep around here at the moment. And anyway, why did Draco even come here?

I arrived in town late, as I wasn’t gonna risk bush camping on the way in (which I’d planned to do), and met Antonia and Laurin at the town oval, where I’d heard there was some sort of overflow camping site, and so had they. They were in the same predicament.

They’re friendly adventurous young Germans from Stuttgart, they’d just arrived in Australia a few days previously, and Antonia was crying, as they had nowhere to sleep, and the office was closed. Well, I think that’s why she was crying, but I don’t know for sure.

Awww, it’s ok luv, come on, chin up, yer in Australia now, she’ll be right mate.

Well she was right. Not Antonia, but the other one, the she who’ll be right mate. I went off to find the caretaker, and we ended up getting one of the last available sites there, so we just shared the site, and ended up having a wow of a time, chatting and jamming together, and the next night hanging out with their two new friends, Paulin from Mainz and Maike from Dresden, who now lives in Lisbon. They’re all super nice people.

Paulin and I had a great chat. She’s a biomed student on her summer break, she told me that Mainz is the most beautiful city in the whole of Germany, all historic and on the Rhine and all that. Not that she’s biased or anything. But it does sound amazing, and I’ll def visit there, it’s a bit of a trek on my treadly, but it sounds worth it. Paulin came to Byron on a trip to Oz five years ago, and loves it. Me too. Not that I’m biased or anything.

Tragedy struck for Paulin and Maike this morning though, because their “swimming with the blue whales” tour was cancelled at the very last minute, due to this shit weather that’s just rolling in. They were gutted, they’d been looking forward to it for ages, and were both so excited about it last night. Bummer for them.

But probably not a bummer for the blue whales.

Leaving the Topics

It’s sad but true. I’m now heading south, and will soon cross the invisible edge of the Tropic of Capricorn, and head into temperate climes again, back to mingle with the arse end of the southern winter. I’ll also pass very close to the most westerly point on the Australian mainland, which is not that significant to anyone else much, but it is to me, because I live very close to the country’s most easterly point. I’m very excited to be going to an actual city again soon too, Perth. Yay!! Music! Vegan options! Will this pleasurefest ever end?❤️