Nothing quite beats the exhilarating freedom of the open road on a camping trip in the ‘old girl’. With my man behind the wheel, we were soon off, chugging with the grunt of the old girl’s 30-year-old engine.
It’s not long before we were storming into the Bridgewater bakery all guns ablazing, two sausage rolls and snot blocks were under arrest and needed to be escorted from the building.
Resuming my passenger duties —sit still, look pretty and find us some good tunes —I kept a close eye on the driver. I noticed the way he’d take his eyes of the road, dangerously steering with his knees as something in the landscape captured his interest. Sometimes I had to give him a little nudge to get his eyes, and the vehicle, back on the road. I’d get a kick out of asking ‘what do you see?’ as his answers are often like I’m back in the high school classroom learning from the hot science teacher. It is clear we view the world differently. I take more of an aesthetic and philosophical perspective, reflecting on life as I gaze at moving shapes in the clouds; feel the profound solitude of a single Yellowbox tree standing tall in a degraded dusty paddock, or notice the resilience of a crumbling old farmhouse that holds the story of hard yakka and despair. Whereas he can read the landscape like a pro, observing the geography and topography of places with a critical and educated eye.
En-route to our first campsite in Mildura we had a brief stop at Lake Tyrell. He got excited by the tourism infrastructure while I photographed the magnificent clumps of white salt washed up on the shoreline. We reached Mildura by early afternoon with enough time for me to drag him through the local art gallery before reaching the campground.
We were greeted with a sign the size of a billboard warning us that the River Red Gums could drop their limbs at any time. Holy crap. Were they trying to welcome visitors or scare the bejesus out of them?
For me, a tree hugger from way back, I’ve always had a love affair with the River Reds. Their wise and resolute presence despite their depleting environmental conditions, demands both our respect and our attention. They certainly had my fullest attention for the entire time we stayed there! Anywhere along the Murray these trees can be celebrated in all their forms. From the healthy jaw dropping tall and magnificent ones, to the struggling ones that find enterprising ways of hanging on to crumbling river banks, their roots contorting at odd angles on exposed soil. Even the dead River Reds have immense presence and purpose – providing much needed habitat for all number of species. If a River Red was to be my demise, I was okay with that. Perhaps the giant disclaimer upon entry was really a sly plight for us all to look up and notice these beauties and think about how lucky we are to have them, and hopefully get more inspired to look after the eco-systems and the water flows that will keep them and their dependants, flourishing more many years to come.
From Mildura, we had planned to visit Mungo National Park but due to forecasted rain, the park was closed and we needed a back up plan. Hungry for a dose of outback, we decided to visit Mutawintji National Park instead. First, we had to pass through Broken Hill. Its wide streets had names like Bagot, Bromide, Beryl and Bonanza – an ode to the hardships and heroes of an exploited mining town. We both reflected on our previous visits there. He reflected on an funny incident involving a pub, a drag queen and his mate, while I recalled a hungover attempt at creating my own Pro-Hart masterpiece on the pavement using food scraps, inspired by the great carpet ad of the 90s . We pushed on along the Silver Hwy, passing wild emus and eagles to arrive at the Mutawintji campground by late afternoon.
The campsite was pumping with noisy school groups and the afternoon sun was disappearing quickly, so we took off for a walk along the Mutawintji gorge. Straight away the spirit of this place grabbed me like a childhood memory of being held. Hovering through the red sandy river bed, past sentient trees with girths too wide to wrap my arms around, scrambling over rocks, we reached a permanent waterhole tucked into the end point of the gorge. He wanted to swim and before I knew it, he had stripped down to his jocks and jumped in. He let out an almighty scream when he realised how freezing the water was. I laughed as I sensed it would be a little chilly. Our walk continued with me capturing the golden light bathing the landscape. It was surreal having a place like this all to ourselves. We got back to the car in the dark, the stars and moon now overhead. This place gave me a feeling of utter contentment and peace.
Arriving back at camp, we noticed a few more Jayco’s had taken up realestate near our patch which made us sigh. We have a modest little set up with a 2 man tent and our 4WD. We whipped up dinner at the BBQ area in pitch black as the lighting was not working. I got stung by something nasty but couldn’t see what. We shovelled down our food and nestled into bed by about 8pm. Heaven on a stick as my man would say.
Mutawintji is home to the Pantjikali, Wanyuparlku, Wilyakali and Malyangapa People and as such holds deep cultural significance for these communities. Like so many places in Australia, the enormous cultural value has been completely overlooked as white fellas – pastoralists, explorers and tourists have all trounced through here without a care, forcing the Traditional Owners to fight for nearly two centuries to get some respect and control of their land and cultural sites. In 1927 it was recognised for its cultural value but that meant nothing for the protection of this site. In 1967 it came under management of the NSW National Parks and Wildlife Service but it wasn’t until 1998 after extensive lobbying that the management and land title of the park was handed back to the Wimpatja (a term used to describe all the First Peoples of the Darling River region). Unfortunately, much damage has been done to their cultural sites with some completely destroyed. It angered me to see a rock art site which was completely accessible and seemed very degraded. There’s clearly not enough investment in the protection of these sites. The Wimpatja offer guided tours on certain days of the week and also offer a cultural festival each year in August.
Mutawindji is an oasis in the centre of a sand plain which means animals flock there for water. Over 150 species of birds, 49 different reptiles and many frog and reptile species have been spotted, providing significant biodiversity. We saw a shingleback on our drive in and a Major Mitchell Cockatoo on our drive out which was quite special.
On our second day, I whipped up a delicious brekky wrap and we headed for the Bynguango Range Walking Track – 7.5km loop which starts off along the Homestead Gorge Track. Signposting was non existent. I would have got completely lost if it wasn’t for my partner leading the way. The walk took us up the range and along the ridge line. The views from the top were absolutely stunning, with some of the best landscape I’ve seen in Australia. Along the top, we passed native cypress pines and a small nondescript sign that read ‘aboriginal-sensitive area’. This sign annoyed me. I think they shouldn’t be highlighting it if it’s culturally sensitive and instead should divert the walking route around it. The walk was a steady amble along rock pools, some flat sections, some challenging sections and a fun rock climbing section with inbuilt rope to assist. It concluded along the homestead gorge dry creek bed, dotted with beautifully contoured rocks, colourful rock pools and awkward vegetation clinging to the cliffs.
Dinner tonight was delicious. I whipped up some salmon pasta with veggies –a humble meal tastes so much when it’s cooked from the camp kitchen. After dinner we went spotlighting in search of wildlife. We didn’t see any but we illuminated some feathertops with the torch, their fairy floss structure emiting a bright white light. The wind came howling tonight, keeping me super alert in our tent. The sound was eerie, like all the ghosts of Mutawindji were wanting to be heard. I struggled to get to sleep while my partner was out like a light, snoring in no time. I do normally love the sounds that I’m exposed to when sleeping in a thin layer of canvas in the middle of the bush. I also love the feel of the night – that crisp clean air that filters through the tent. It’s like an air of excitement, an exhilaration of being alive and at one with the living system around us. But as our tent rattled and rolled to these strong winds, my anxiety really took hold. I had to tell myself to let go, acknowledge the presence of this almighty natural power that was engulfing us and trust that I’d be okay. Once I’d let go, I eased into the I also slept like a log.
On our final morning, we took our time to soak in the bird sounds as we sipped our camp coffee. We watched with interest as two white winged choughs bravely walked to within a metre of us to snatch the wet dirt that was collecting under the 4WD tap. They picked up little clumps and then flew it over to their nearby nest. We watched these birds for what felt like an eternity as they went back and forth to the nest. Such is the spirit of this place, it takes you out of your head and into the present moment to connect with the aliveness of the living landscape, and yourself.