Cooktown to The Tip - Part 1

We're off!  The caravan has been left in Cooktown, and we have packed bare minimum supplies, including our trusty $20 two-man tent.  No fridge, no jackets, no wine glasses....

Here's our story.....

Day 1:

Bull dust was abundant of course, fine and russet-toned, and blew into every nook and cranny.  Signs beside the road warned us of “DUST HOLES” and “rough surface” and “GRAVEL ROAD” – all of which were blatantly obvious.

Before lunch we approached a lovely spot, serene and quiet.  Horseshoe Lagoon is a splendid and tranquil oasis, a haven for waterbirds, and brimming with waterlilies. 

We dined at Old Laura for lunch; by cooking our tinned soup over the butane stove in the back of the car, and pouring the soup back into its can to eat, to save dishes.   

Onwards towards Hann River Roadhouse for a quick beer and peruse of the map.  The Roadhouse is home to a mohawked emu, several black bantams and a few peacocks, who roam the grounds in search of crumbs.

The road was quite rutted in this section and we were occasionally forced to traverse next to road in the gutter, as the gutter had far less ruts and pot holes.  It made for an interesting overall journey – slipping off the road into the gutter, and back again when a sign would obstruct our path.

We slept really well this night, although it was quite cold, and we rose early in the morning to set off on our way north. 



Horseshoe Lagoon





Lunch at Old Laura



Our kitchen in the back of the car



A quick drink at Hann River Roadhouse



Dude!

Day 2

Such rustic landscape: rocky outcrops over small hilltops, granite and iron amongst stunted eucalypt.    The road became a one-laned sand track, flanked closely by spindly trees and shrubs.  It is a rally-car delight and Jase enjoyed speeding through this section of the track.  Over the clatter of the road, we discovered the best way to communicate with each other was to employ a very broad Aussie accent – and the nasal choice was definitely the best! “hey lovvve, whaddaya think of this?”  “Yeeeah, I reckon that looks good!”

Cohen is a small Aboriginal town with very basic facilities, and we stopped here for fuel and fly spray.  In the general store, I noticed some frozen meat and convinced Jase that sausages in bread would be a nice change from tinned food.    

I decided it would be fun to venture off the Pensinsula Developmental Road and onto a small sandy road leading into Mungkan Kandju National Park.  We drove for 60km along this narrow sandy track until eventually finding Mango Lagoon: a sullen waterhole and dusty campsite.  We decided it might be more fun to venture onwards and test out other lagoons. 

We hit the jackpot.  Chong Lagoon is a beautiful, tranquil waterhole, brimming with white water lilies, and teeming with water birds.   We quickly found the perfect place to camp (ie in view of the water and its inhabitants), poured a cup of red wine (into plastic cups of course), and sat back to enjoy the view.  This included a wild boar who enjoyed rummaging through the undergrowthd.

After a meal of sausages and bread, and several more cups of wine, I encouraged Jase to bring out the guitar, and we ran through his repertoire together, Jase strumming loudly and proudly, and me croaking as best I could. 

It was very cold this night and so we slept fully clothed, and had a marvellous long sleep, despite the barrage of plump yellow mosquitoes hovering and buzzing the other side of the tent.



The view from our camp - beautiful Chong Lagoon





Wild boar live in the area



Day 3

Savannah-like landscape passed us on our route this morning: desert earth, spindly trees, and countless magnetic termite mounds.  These mounds rise like gothic cathedrals, pointed and majestic, and in an extraordinary manner, all facing north-to-south.

The food at Archer Roadhouse did not appear appetising - the hamburgers looked like someone cooked them, put them on a plate, then sat on them, before serving them to their clients.  Instead, we opted for spaghetti right out of the tin, served on slices of white bread.

Archer Roadhouse

North of Archer the better section of the Old Telegraph Track is the most direct route to the Tip.  The road is extremely bumpy and the corrugations deep and hard.  You can rattle the fillings right out of your teeth! 

Bramwell Junction Roadhouse

The man at Bramwell Junction asked where we were heading.  When we explained, he laughed.  “Why don’t you take the northern section of the Old Telegraph Track?”  I pointed to laminated photos displayed on the table tops, and said, “because of that!” 

He shook his head.  “Let me be tour-guide.  The worst spot is here,” he says, pointing to the Palm River section and photos of vehicles upside down, and continued, “But this won’t happen.” 

“What about this??” I asked with urgency, pointing to a photo of Gunshot Pass, which looks like a few muddy logs thrown across a large gully.

“Nah, you can bypass that.  But everything is easy.  You got a winch?” 

“Yep.” 

“Are you a muppet?” 

“Nup.” 

“Then you should go.”

I knew what Jase is thinking, and I definitely knew what he was about to say.  “Let’s do it.” 

We continued onwards to the Palm Creek crossing.  The first thing I noticed was wet clay.  Slippery wet clay.  The next thing my brain registered was the gradient of the crossing.  There was a short, very lumpy, descent straight down.  This is where most cars would come undone, I think to myself.  I scanned the area for winch-points and there were old tall trees everywhere.  The second part of the descent was steeper, close to vertical, and finished in water, depth unknown.  The track leading out was quite straight, but very steep, and the tyre tracks were extremely deep; so deep, in fact, that a car without high suspension would easily bog their axle or diff into the road, rendering them completely stuck.  Stalling your car is not an option. 

I positioned myself along the banks, camera-in-hand, and Jase proceeded slowly but deliberately down the track, across the water, and up the other side.  Precision, bravery, and sensible thinking helped him to get the Patrol across the river without a problem! 

Here are some photos of the treacherous Palm Creek crossing..... 

Jase is rapt!!!



YIKES


I was elated!  My fingertips were buzzing!  My hands were shaking! 

A little further on, we enjoyed several other river crossings, including Bertie Creek, which was also being crossed by five motorbikes at the time that we were there.

We continued on to Dulhunty River, a lovely bushy camping area, which turned out to be quite popular.  Big jungle sounds could be heard: large birds whose call echoes across the treetops, and small metallic sounds from within the scrub of smaller birds.  Hot and sweaty, we threw on our bathers and leapt into the Dulhunty to bathe and relax. 

We had an early night after just a couple of beers and a meal of tinned Harvest with Deb potato.   As I begin to doze, I was lulled by the nearby Dulhunty River and its small waterfalls rushing over rocks.

 

Motorbikes love the Old Telegraph Track!



Bertie Creek



Our camp at Dulhunty River

  

Which way should we go?



Dulhunty

Early morning flies

Crazy