KEY POINTS:
At first it was Darby and Joan, just the two of us. Judi and I love travel with a difference. Why not hire a campervan, we thought, and drive leisurely back from our nephew's wedding in Perth across the Nullarbor to Melbourne, then fly home?
Great. New country; peaceful open spaces. We booked a two-berth van.
Dunedin-based daughter Kim, husband Chris and baby Tasman were going to the wedding, too. Chris had to fly back in a hurry for work, but mother and baby had no commitments. We girls could drive with you, suggested Kim.
Wow. Family bonding. We upgraded to a four-berth.
Chris, put out, hummed and haa-ed, worked on his boss. Now he could get another week off. Could he, plus surf board, come too?
Gulp. Real togetherness. We re-booked again, moving up to a truck-sized, six-berth camper.
So, two days after the wedding, we were farewelling Australian-based family and friends and setting off on an eight-day, 4002km odyssey across Australia, from the Indian Ocean to the Tasman Sea, facing the empty wastes of the infamous no-trees Nullarbor Plain, the dreaded heat and flies of the vast and arid Outback, the relentless, mind-numbing monotony of straight and endless highway . . . four of us crammed into a noisy tin box, with a six-month-old baby to boot.
Mad? A little, perhaps. But while the distance was immense and the need to keep pushing on was constantly on our minds, the passing wastes were anything but empty. The Nullarbor was never boring; the heat and flies were but a minor distraction; the highway was first-class and fascinating; the driving was a pleasure; the van was a delight; and Miss Tassie turned up trumps.
The first grandchild of a biased grandfather, Tasman was a dream traveller. Her daily perch was a New Zealand Plunket Society-provided baby's car seat strapped securely between the two front seats of the 6.2m long, 2.4m wide and 3.4m high behemoth hired from New Zealand company, Britz. From here, the little beauty could chuckle with and be entertained by her two driving compartment companions when not lulled to sleep by the purr of the Isuzu 4.3 litre diesel motor and the gentle rocking of our journey. As her comfortable padded seat faced backwards, she also had the attention of the two passengers sitting or lying in the commodious rear cabin.
Our days began early. Tassie saw to that. She would nudge her mother about 5am, demanding a cuddle and a feed. That prompted Chris to put the kettle on and provide a cuppa to his lie-abed in-laws sharing the comfortable double bed above the van's cab with surf board and sundry possessions.
There was more room than we thought, if little privacy, for four adults to dress and move around in the living area. The triple bed shared by Chris, Kim and Tasman doubled as daytime table and seats, and our bed, when not in use, housed Tasman's push chair.
Breakfasts came quickly. Fruit, muesli and toast from the efficient four-ring plus griller gas cooker for us, mother's milk then porridge-gruel from a jar for Tassie.
We'd be on the road by 7 most mornings from our free-camping sites; a little later if in a campground, as we would make full use of laundry and bathroom amenities. The otherwise well-equipped van came with microwave, shower and toilet but we found it comforting every second or third night to hook up to 240 volt power and associated amenities at the excellent and ubiquitous camping grounds.
Free camping was more fun. The size, the isolation, the nature of the Australian Outback and often its varied bird life is never better experienced than at dusk or dawn from a clearing in what seems to be the middle of nowhere; and you never saw such stars at night. Distant rumbles from an electrical storm woke Tassie one night. Lightning bolts shot across the sky for hours, interspersed with flashes of red, white and yellow lights.
Our days' driving were through near-cloudless blue skies on a near-empty road.
Our only mechanical problem was when, for no apparent reason, a belt for the air-con drive unit broke. That could have been a major concern but for Britz's efficient help service. A telephone call to Perth led to instructions on finding a repair shop in Kalgoorlie, just a few hundred kilometres ahead, and the belt was quickly replaced.
Neither that nor the weather worried fair-skinned Tassie, nor did the Aussie flies. She liked the rare occasions we left the van to explore on foot, she in her fly-screen adorned pushchair, and she enjoyed the attention from travellers at the welcoming roadhouses dotted along the highway.
We would fill up with diesel at every opportunity for the first five days, so far apart (up to 200km) were roadhouses or towns. Fuel prices varied considerably the further we were from major cities. There is no separate diesel road tax in Australia as there is in New Zealand; diesel is slightly dearer than petrol.
The van was thirsty; we spent about A$140 a day on fuel and averaged 500-600km.
Other costs were low, however. With a good fridge, small freezer unit and ample cupboard space for storage, we were able to make our major supermarket shop on the outskirts of Perth last through to Melbourne, and keep the beer cold all the way.
The road surfaces and conditions were great. The Nullarbor is tarsealed, well signposted and traffic, until we reached well across South Australia, light indeed. Long straights were the order of the day, of course, "90 mile Straight" (146km) in the east of Western Australia was the longest.
The big rigs — road trains — were common sights. They would thunder along at 100-120km/h and, in general, we were content to stay well behind those going our way.
We learned to brace ourselves as a road train approached. With a closing speed of, say 200km/h, and the height of both vehicles, a considerable draught was created, sometimes giving the unpleasant feeling of the two vehicles being sucked together. Behind the road train would be several hundred metres of turbulent air.
Early starts were accompanied by early finishes. It was dark by 6pm, so we would look for a campsite soon after 5. While staying overnight in commercial camping grounds is recommended, there are ample free camping sites, many equipped with gas barbecues (gas included) and toilet facilities.
Tassie didn't mind where we stopped, as she would sleep almost from dusk to nigh-on dawn, requiring only one middle-of-the-night feed. She enjoyed the night we had a bonfire beside the van, and musical Chris entertained us on the didgeridoo bought in Perth. Stars shone brightly; the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the eerie droning of the didgeridoo.
Only large trucks or road trains travel the Nullarbor at night because of the danger of hitting wild kangaroos, emus and camels. We saw ample evidence of "road kill", but it was not until our second last day that we saw live kangaroos.
If kangaroos were disappointing by their absence, little else of Outback Australia was.
Its barrenness, the feeling it engenders of endless sand and red earth and thin scrub and then eucalypts going on and on, the absence of people and their presence ... all that may be boring to some; to us they were the reasons for being there and experiencing it.
Once we came within cooee of Adelaide and its wonderful wine-producing Clare and Barossa Valleys and McLarenvale, we were in rolling grasslands.
The eucalypts were a joy to behold. The country has more than 670 of the 700 varieties of eucalypts in the world. To see hundreds of noisy cockatoos swooping and diving before settling in for the night on a pair of towering bluegums, as we did in rural South Australia, was a highlight of the trip.
We detoured off the now-busy main highways through quaint and quiet villages, down rural roads that allowed a different view of heartland Australia, until linking into the Great Ocean Rd for the last 250km or so into Geelong before the final across-Australia leg to Melbourne.
Kim and Chris had enjoyed long-distance travel before but never with a baby in tow. They declared it a wonderful experience, the first of many planned for their family. As for Judi and me, we wouldn't have swapped our across-Australia family jaunt for the world. We learned much that was new about our daughter and son-in-law; and we took a leap forward into our exciting new role as grandparents.
And Tassie? Before she was even seven months old, she had crossed the great Australian Outback, seen her first kangaroo, the brothels of Kalgoorlie, the Twelve Apostles and too many bluegum trees to count. She had giggled with galahs, drunk (mother's milk) in a pub with Aborigines and dusty drovers, shared a table with tattooed bikers and grubby truckies. She had bathed in a tiny sink, splashed in the Indian and Southern Oceans, and vomited in the Great Australian Bight. Tassie had become a traveller.
Catch a wave at cactus beach
Cactus? In the Australian Outback? And on the coast?
Yes, and no. Cactus doesn't grow out here. Very little does, bar ugly mallee scrub, lots of large, biting flies and too many deadly king brown snakes.
But Cactus Beach exists. And, among surfers, it's rated as having some of the best left and right-hand breaks in Australia.
At 20km south of the tiny town of Penong on the Nullarbor Plain, at the eastern end of the Great Australian Bight, some 400km east of the SA/WA border, Cactus Beach is about as remote a beach as you can get.
When our surfing son-in-law Chris joined our campervan odyssey from Perth to Melbourne, it was natural he would bring his board and we would stop at Cactus Beach.
The surf was exceptional, according to Chris. The rest of us found the rudimentary camping and beach facilities more than adequate, and certainly restful.
A private camping area is overseen by a Crocodile Dundee-type. Our stand-alone site cost A$25 a night, firewood included. Other facilities are sparse — no shop, no electricity, no fuel supplies — so visitors need to be self-sufficient. The bore water is fine for showers and washing, but death to vehicle radiators and stomachs. And, apparently in mid-summer, temperatures climb close to 50deg C, march flies take hunks out of exposed human flesh, the great white pointer sharks congregate off the point and the king brown snakes get angry.
"Best surf in all Oz, though, ain't it, mate!" says the Croc-Dundee man.
And the name? It's actually called Point Sinclair, but the first guys who drove here looking for surf saw it on a poor day. "This place is cactus," they said, meaning no good. In typically Ocker fashion, it stuck.
TRAVEL NOTES: CROSSING THE NULLARBOR
GETTING THERE
Qantas flies daily to Perth via Melbourne or Sydney. There are daily flights from Melbourne for the return trip.
MORE INFORMATION
The 4002km journey took eight days. Diesel costs: Perth A$1.29 a litre; across Nullarbor A$1.80 (average); Adelaide A$1.23; Melbourne A$1.29 (at late October 2006).
SAFETY
Leave your itinerary with someone. Take plenty of water, food, petrol or diesel, first aid kit and a spare tyre.
BOOKING
Contact your nearest Aussie Specialist Premier Agent on 0800 151 085 or talk to your local travel agent.
USEFUL WEBSITES
www.britz.com ,
www.western-australia.com ,
www.south-australia.com,
www.visit-melbourne.com ,
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