I now know why Australians are referred to as Diggers

Well, and at risk of gross understatement, it’s been an interesting few days!

Before leaving the Daly Waters Pub, we went to look for the golf course (see previous posting) and, with considerable difficulty plus a lot of imagination, managed to spot what appears to have been fairways. A glimpse at the photo of what I believe to be the second should be enough to convince golf aficionados such as Gordon Chisholm and Douglas Fettes that it might be a better bet to stick to Newbattle!

I have referred to the term “Grey Nomad” earlier in this blog and have suddenly realised that it is no longer something I aspire to. Aging couples fleeing the cold of a Victoria winter towing massive caravans from caravan park to caravan park as they head inexorably north to warmer climes appeals no more. They are like a herd of geriatric gypsies displaying signs on their vehicles boasting “Adventure before Dementia” as they sit in their padded camper chairs at rest stops to brew up a cup of tea. This is not for the likes of us and yet there we were, part of this migrating herd, meeting up at campsites along the Stuart Highway and being greeted like long lost chums. Oh no! So, at a place called Mataranka we made a bid for freedom, left the herd and headed east along the Roper Highway planning to visit the “rarely visited, remote Limmen National Park”.

After about 100k the Roper Highway changed from being a single track tarred road to a single track dirt road which was a bit muddy in places (further understatement!) Reaching Roper Bar (which disappointingly turned out not to be a bar but a shop) we turned onto yet another dirt road with the grandiose title The Savannah Highway and shortly came to the park boundary to be informed that there was still nearly 100k to the campsite where we planned to stay the night. An hour later, with darkness falling, our way was blocked by a “Road Closed” sign. With no way forward and far too far to go back there was nothing for it but to bush camp, although suitable sites were scarce. Nearby however was another road, obviously long disused with little sign of any traffic, and about 5k along this very rough track we found a place to camp and celebrated with steaks and two bottles of wine. After dinner under an amazingly starry sky we went to bed contented, although if we had only known what the next day would bring our contentment would have been severely dented.

The road we were on was the old Port Roper road. Port Roper used to be a fishing port but has been long disused and the 44k service road has fallen into great disrepair and was now only used by hardy barramundi fishermen and for bringing in illegal immigrants from Vietnam (allegedly) So we thought we would go and have a look. The road was appalling with water crossings, washouts, ruts, fallen trees, mud and deep sand although I must admit the conditions added a touch of excitement to the journey and the knowledge that, if anything went wrong there was no passing traffic to provide help, certainly got the adrenalin pumping. I attach a couple of photos showing road conditions, the one showing what looks like a nice stretch of river or lake, is in fact the road.

Inevitably things went wrong. What looked like a perfectly normal spot of mud attacked us with a vengeance and we squelched to a glutinous stop despite the best efforts of the 4WD to drag us out. Emerging from the vehicle to survey the damage we saw the front and, particularly the rear, nearside wheels were firmly bogged. What was worse we had “bottomed out” i.e. the weight of the vehicle was no longer on the wheels as the chassis was resting on the ground. The mud itself was particularly unappealing having the colour and consistency of sloppy cement combined with the smell of raw sewage. There was nothing for it – I had to get digging. Luckily I had a spade and attacked the mud whilst Sandra scoured the area for wood which could be put under the wheels to support an escape attempt.

And there lay the next problem – crocodiles! We were next to lots of water and this was serious crocodile country. As Sandra foraged along the edge of the water for wood, apparently oblivious to the potential threat, I had to keep interrupting my digging to check she hadn’t been “death rolled” by a croc whilst all the time wondering of my spade would be an adequate weapon to fend off a hungry reptile. It was at moments like this that I began to reconsider whether being a geriatric gypsy sipping my roadside tea at my caravan might not hold some attraction after all!

It took two hours, several attempts and an unhealthy covering of grey mud but eventually we managed to extricate ourselves which was a relief as, if we hadn’t, it might have been a week or more before another vehicle turned up. The sensible thing to have done then of course was to turn around and get off that damn road as quickly as possible but, after all that effort, it seemed a pity not plough(?) on to our destination. It really wasn’t worth it and whilst having lunch in that bleak, desolate place we were accosted by a particularly rude man who demanded to know what we were doing there and didn’t we know the ****ing road was closed. We had met the owner - who then told us that the last three lots of ****ing tourists who had tried to use the road had to be helicoptered out – so I suppose, when we eventually got out, we were quite lucky.

We are currently holed up near Roper Bar on the shore of the Roper River with a whole lot of Barramundi fishermen – as I said at the start it’s been an interesting few days!

PS This is probably the last post I will manage before Sandra's birthday on Friday 4 June - so please all wish her a Happy Birthday by posting a comment on the blog. Check out my bolg in February which tells you how to post comments