Coming To The Pilbara

On our last morning at the Kennedy Ranges, we woke to yet another brilliant blue Gascoyne sky. The best realisation was that Michael's vertigo seemed to have finally left him.

As a result, he was champing at the bit to get back on the road. I tidied Digger, washed yet more dishes and wiped all the surfaces. Later, I would discover this to be a complete waste of time.

With Andy's able assistance, Michael manoeuvred our twelve metres of vehicle and caravan out of the campsite. We waved Debbie and Andy goodbye and then we were on our way.

The gravel roads of the Wool Wagon Pathway could change from quite acceptable to bloody awful in the blink of an eye. En route to Emu Creek Station, our Anderson plug (feeding our caravan batteries from Lily's) sheared off somewhere. Worse was to come. The caravan's skylight hatch flung open, delivering a tsunami of red dust throughout Digger's interior. Upon discovery of both these mishaps, we roared with laughter and continued the journey. Nothing could be done until we reached our destination.

Over two hundred kilometres, the outback scrub kept changing from lushly covered creek beds to a barren earthen patchwork to brightly coloured bushes and trees of all shapes and sizes. Water meant life. Shade meant protection for vulnerable plants. The animal residents - placid and disinterested cattle and flighty kangaroos appeared or disappeared in a flash. And the low olive green globe-shaped grasses - the spinifex - alerted us that we had indeed entered the Pilbara.

We arrived at Emu Creek Station at four-thirty. "Checked in" by the amiable Bruce, who regaled us with snippets of his life, we drove the last hundred metres or so to our Yannarie River campsite. Surrounded by the magnificent and shady white trunked river gums, we were delighted to find flushing toilets close enough even for those of us with dodgy pelvic floors.

Next door was Lee and Mark Anderson and their three Westies - Maggie Mae, Oshie and Lachie. They had been on the road on and off for two years, owing to the rapid sale of their previous property. All their worldly goods had been stashed in a sea container and they currently spent their time gravitating between travel and house sitting. Not bad at all.

After communal pre-dinner drinks, I produced an excellent omelette with onion and cheese kindly donated by Lee, along with bacon, garlic and tomatoes. We went to bed, thrilled with our evening stopover yet again.

The following morning, we set off with Lee, Mark and the Canine Kids to explore. The Wool Shed, although dating from the early twentieth century, was a tad hoo hum due to its use as general storage. However, whilst in the Wool Shed, we learnt that the station had begun life as "Wogoola" in the 1890s, then as "Nyang" and now as "Emu Creek".

The rubbish tip was a totally different kettle of fish. We spent a very happy few hours poking and prodding, picking and pontificating amongst the treasure trove of rusty metal. We explored two local graves of members of the pioneering families, including that of a toddler who had died aged eighteen months in August 1930. He could have died from any number of reasons, a potent reminder of the unforgiving nature of this country.

We decided that we had to make an emergency dash ( of seventy kilometres) to Nanutarra Roadhouse. Michael had run out of red wine. This proved difficult to procure. Apparently, one could purchase vino, drink it on the premises and then drive half-cut elsewhere. We didn't want to do that. After much negotiation, we were allowed to open his bottle and have a drink and then leave with the rest, as long as nobody saw the evidence. This was easy to achieve as we had also purchased snacks (in an opaque bag) and fuel. We spent a small fortune as the roadhouse was quite isolated and prices were astronomical.

We returned to our camp, after passing the packed free camping area nearby and shuddering. Basically, a carpark with a few trees, caravans and motorhomes were crowded together with no privacy. Not our scene at all.

Back at Emu Creek, we shared drinks and stories of our afternoon with Lee and Mark. We then lit a roaring fire after dinner and enjoyed some companionable reverie, just us, before we adjourned to bed.

Goodbye Gascoyne, Hello Pilbara!