Isolation splendid for the captains of Cook

By CHRIS BARCLAY

COOK, South Australia - When Ivor Holberton looks you straight in the eye and insists yep, for him, every day is different, you can't help but wonder if he's been out in the sun too long.

For the outsider passing through Cook for a brief interlude on the Indian Pacific train odyssey from Sydney to Perth it seems incongruous that life in the self-proclaimed ghost town of the Nullarbor Plain could be anything other than drearily mundane.

Ivor and wife Jan are the custodians of Cook, a settlement with its glory days firmly in the past.

Today they are the only inhabitants, not that Cook was ever a thriving metropolis on of the world's most arid, featureless and sunbaked landscapes -- a place where the temperature fluctuates from freezing to 50degC and flies are omnipresent.

In a good year 220mm of rain falls.

When the Holbertons first arrived in Cook in 1975 the settlement was in its prime. Population 120. Enough to warrant a hospital, school, post office, golf and cricket clubs and a swimming pool.

They left after five years for Port Augusta but when Ivor, the stationmaster, was made redundant, they decided to give Cook a second shot three years ago.

"There wasn't a lot of competition for the job," Jan admits.

"It takes someone who likes isolation. The hardest time is when family come out and then they go home. The difference is today there's no one to talk to."

The golf course is no longer a distinctive feature on the landscape, the cricket nets are in disrepair and the swimming pool was filled in long ago.

Despite a desperate campaign urging "If You're Crook Come To Cook", the hospital closed in 1998.

Now they just have train crews for company, although intrigued passersby occasionally divert 107km inland from the highway to see what's left of the desert township.

The guided tour takes minutes and revolves around the old school house where Jan sells souvenirs, invites travellers to scrawl their names on the blackboard and explains why on earth is she living there.

Passengers on the Indian Pacific also stretch their legs when it passes through four times a week on the 4352km trek across the continent.

Cook is the halfway point on the Trans Australian Line -- a dot on the longest straight (478km) of railroad in the world -- and the only place on the Nullarbor where you can get off.

Privatisation of the rail network in 1997 prompted the exodus of Cook as the track gangs were relocated back to Port Augusta, a nine-hour drive southeast.

However, the Australian Railroad Group decided to retain a presence in Cook. Jan looks after the train crew resthouse -- an unusual task as the 18-room building has two times zones: South Australian and West Australian (currently 2-1/2 hours behind).

"They usually keep to themselves. When one lot is having breakfast the other is having lunch," Jan said.

Ivor oversees the replenishing of the train's water supply from storage tanks.

The water is railed in from Port Augusta, four tanks of 54,000 litres a fortnight -- most of it goes to the trains.

He also removes rubbish from the carriages for burning, one of many weekly chores.

"Every day is different," he says, revelling in his splendid isolation.

"It's good. You can go to bed and you don't have to lock the house up. You have no fear of being robbed, you can leave the car out the front with the keys in it.

"The freedom is here -- that's not available to you poor people in the city.

While the Holberton are happy with their lot, Ivor remembers the shocked expressions of new arrivals when Cook was in its heyday.

"They'd have one look at the desolation and they'd break down and go back to Port Augusta on the train that night.

"They couldn't hack the very thought of being out here."

In 1982 there was a brave attempt to challenge the Nullarbor (from the Latin meaning: without trees) by planting saplings at Cook.

The "greening of Cook" saw 600 saplings planted by railway workers but the oasis never quiet happened.

Only a handful survived but at least they have attracted a smattering of bird life.

Despite the lack of aesthetics and human company, Ivor, 60, says they are in for the long haul.

"If our health stays all right they'll have to cart us out of here.

"We don't look upon it as being isolated. You can't walk around thinking 'shit. I'm in the middle of nowhere' -- you'd go mad. There's always something to do."

They rarely get away from Cook, though in September they were relieved for two days as Ivor needed a new drivers' licence.

They drove six hours east to Ceduna, hardly the big city but still something of a culture shock.

"You notice the noise -- it really gets to you. It takes a while to get used to the rip tear bust of everything," Jan says.

"Going shopping .... sometimes you just want to walk straight out and go somewhere quiet."

- NZPA