Queen of the Bungle - Western Australia

Western Australia’s Bungle Bungles were so far off the beaten track they hadn’t been ‘discovered’ until 1983. ALEXANDRA WINTERBURN went off-road to find them – making a bungle of her own along the way.

Billowing smoke and glowing embers coughed from our campfire.

The logs were stacked high in a futile attempt to create a small pocket of heat, preferably around me.

A true-blue Aussie bloke scantily clad in stubbies and thongs, stood nearby. Under strict instructions from his wife, he pressed closely up against her, his efforts having little effect on warming her words. He was copping an ear full: “I told you we’d need warm clothes. Why didn’t you pack a jacket?” Why didn’t you pack me a jacket? Stand closer, my back is freezing”.

We named her ‘Hyacinth’ after the TV character from the BBC classic Keeping Up Appearances.

What Hyacinth and her unfortunate husband had not anticipated were the icy fingers of the Australian desert. Huddled together under a zillion stars, surrounded by one of Australia’s true wonders, the Bungle Bungle Range, we listened enthusiastically as travellers gushed and gurgled about their day of sightseeing.

Bumpy Bum

The road in had been quite an adventure. Vehicle access to Purnululu National Park and the Bungle Bungle Range is via the unsealed Spring Creek Track, which leaves the Great Northern Highway about 250 kilometres south of Kununurra and 110 kilometres north-east of Halls Creek.

We had been told this 53 kilometres of dirt could take us anywhere from two to six hours, depending on road condition, height of creeks etc.

We didn’t believe everything we heard. We should have.

On entry, the sign instructed all drivers to engage four wheel drive immediately and advised that caravans and trailers were not permitted. From here we were on our own. And it was bumpy. Really bloody bumpy.

Climbing over an endless line-up of rocks, corrugations, creek crossings and bends, the Spring Creek Track offered some of the best fun and games I’ve had in a long while, even though my rear end sustained a continuous beating, for three hours.

We found the 50km per hour speed limit signs rather amusing as it was impossible to hit more than 30 and upon reaching this speed you were sure to come down with a thud.

But it gave everyone more time to enjoy the landscape that has been tucked away here for millions of years, only being ‘discovered’ (by Australia’s white settlers, at least) in 1983.

Around the campfire, antidotes for a perfect day’s sightseeing tomorrow were still being tossed around.

Hyacinth had rotated like a voluptuous pig on a spit, trying to keep her back warm but gave up and retired to what I should imagine was an even colder tent and by this time a very frosty husband. Our bodies warmed by red wine, we too made a run for the blankets.

Honey Time

After a freezing night, cockatoos and kookaburras sounded the alarm that the warmth of daybreak would soon take hold on the surrounding dusty red earth and spinifex.

An early start is advisable to explore the National Park – after the cold of the night it is easy to underestimate the soaring daytime temperatures.

Walks range from short easy stints of one kilometre, to 30 kilometre returns such as Piccaninny Gorge where overnight camping is required.

Not to be missed is the Echidna Chasm, an easy two kilometre return where towering iron-stained cliffs boldly greet you, decorated with honeycomb-like weathering and the tall majestic Livistona palms sprouting from the creek bed below.

The trail takes you on an eerie journey through a chasm no more than a few metres wide and walls that climb vertically to 180 metres either side of you.

Another ‘must’ is the Cathedral Gorge, a three kilometre walk following a creek bed, that winds over rocky ledges and the occasional deposits of water.

This is home of the ‘beehive’ domes –
the richly striped sandstone pattern that we all associate with the Bungle Bungles.

More like a 3D painting, gold and black bands of colour lick around each curve creating a tiger-like effect, perfect results after at least 350 million years in the making.

We were totally unprepared for the huge amphitheatre. A crystal clear pool lay sprawled out on the floor, reflecting the soaring sandstone beehives guarding the entrance.

As the powder white sand from the shoreline drizzled through our toes, it was tempting just to lie back and admire the sloping blocks of sandstone forming the ceiling and the total serenity of the setting.

A scenic flight over the area will put into perspective the sheer size and uniqueness of the Bungle Bungle massif, an area of 320,000 hectares. I chose a helicopter trip with just three lucky passengers in a machine with no doors to hinder your photography or experience.

The flight was spectacular and the tall, straight, Livistona Palms clinging to gorge walls were incredible.

As we flew over the beehive area of the Bungles my camera shutter went berserk.

The heat started to drain from the scorching sun and the rich changing colours on the cliffs fell to a golden hue.

Under Attack

It would soon be time to run for the campfire, but we were educated tonight, supreme experts we thought, on Bungle Bungle travel and how to live through
a desert night.

Hyacinth and husband had been replaced with a fun-loving couple. We decided to share our secret of extra blankets with them, obtained from an unoccupied tent after lights out.

In the stealth of the night I was roused in terror, blankets being hurled from my bed. The attackers’ guilty giggles turned to high pitched squeals as they realised their navigational error.

Falling backwards out the door and stumbling over tent pegs, they went hurtling for cover like a pair of desert lizards.

In the morning their embarrassed faces inquired “Were you warm last night?” With three jumpers, jeans, topped with a pair of tracksuit pants, two pairs of socks, and several blankets held onto ferociously, I had to answer “No”.

It was my nose you see. It was freezing. It appears I too had made a bungle.

The damage: Entry to Purnululu National Park costs $10/vehicle; camping from $6.50/person; scenic flights with Slingair Heliwork cost $265 for two-hours.

The details: Purnululu NP is open from 1 April to 31 December (weather permitting); for info on Slingair Heliwork, Freephone: 1800 095 500 or visit http://www.slingair.com.auWhile trying to drive across the Simpson Desert, LIZZIE JOYCE and her partner were forced to hitch a ride with some dodgy truckers.

Early one January morning my boyfriend Dan and I set off on our trip across three states, covering 3,000 miles on what would turn out to be the best trip I have ever done, not to mention the most dangerous. We were attempting to cross the Simpson Desert on our way to Alice Springs from Sydney. We were fully prepared and set off in our 4WD loaded with equipment, including 60 litres of water, a double swag, a laser beam,
and an Epirb signal.

After 10 hours of driving, watching the landscape turn from highways and tall buildings to red earth and eternal horizons we glided past an old mining town called Cobar, stopped for a wee and drove on through, thankful that this ‘Hicksville’ town was not our destination. But while driving at an average speed of 120km per hour, the trusty car (which I was assured had “just had a full service and was made for driving across such terrain”) was disintegrating and the entire wheel was about to fall off.

Ugly mothertruckers

Suddenly, the brakes started to fail and smoke started pouring out the front passenger tyre. We were 120km from the last town and with at least 100km to the next, Dan decided we should drive on (without brakes) and see if we could make it to our destination. Luckily it didn’t last long anyway as the car stopped in defiance and we were forced to pull off the road in the middle of nowhere. Within minutes two semi-trailers driving in convoy by brothers, pulled up to offer us help and I’ve never been so glad to see two spectacularly ugly truckers before in my life. Freaky Brother One then began to undress me, with his eyes, almost frothing at the mouth at coming in such close proximity to someone of the opposite sex, while Freaky Brother Two was pretending to be a mechanic and baffling Dan with his bullshit. It was turning into Wolf Creek.

Nothing could be done with the car, and we had no choice but to accept a lift from Freaky Brother One to the nearest roadhouse 13km up the road. But then he said there wouldn’t be enough room in the cab so Dan should travel with his brother and I should hop into his cab by myself. By this point I was close to hysteria and there was no way I would be getting in that lorry by myself.

So we both hopped in with Brother Number Two. Dan settled in the middle of the very spacious cab which had enough room to house a small Albanian family! Relieved to be on our way to a phone box and in relative safety, (even if we were in being driven by an axe wielding maniac I had enough faith that Dan could knock him out if it came to it) I thought it would be plain sailing from here. After a couple of minutes on the road Brother Number One starts becoming agitated – he thinks he has lost his keys as he can’t use the radio to contact his brother. He pulls into the side of the road and asks me to hop out to see if he had left them in the door lock. This forced me into ungraceful acrobatic maneuvers in order to hang myself out the door and reach round to grab the keys, with freaky brother one more than enjoying the view of my ass in the air. The keys were there, so off we set again in stilted silence.

Roadhouse blues

Finally we caught sight of the roadhouse and saw our escape was only minutes away and we made a sharp exit from the freaky brothers. Good riddance!

The roadhouse turned out to be a petrol pump and a shop that was about to close. They had a phone though and we arranged for a tow truck to pick us up and take us back to the nearest town… Cobar (the Hicksville town we drove through scorning) where we would have to wait for the next three days for the car to be repaired. How ironic that the town we were laughing at turned out to be our refuge.

So we skipped the Simpson Desert and took another route to Alice Springs where we arrived two weeks later with the biggest smiles and the best memories!

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