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 an expansive green 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 tried to get creative by photographing 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? Talk about dark tourism.
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 – no it wasn’t an episode of the Golden Girls it was a telling story about the hardships and heroes of an exploited mining town. We both reflected on our previous visits there. He reflected on an incident involving a pub, a drag queen and his mate, while I recalled a hungover attempt at creating my own Pro-Hart street art using food scraps I’d foraged. Needless to say, harbouring those lovely memories we didn’t feel the need to stay long. 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. With the afternoon disappearing quickly, we squeezed in a walk along the Mutawintji gorge, my first introduction to this place of outstanding natural beauty. We walked right along the red sandy river bed, hopping over rocks to reach 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 falling on the rocks. It was surreal having a place like this all to ourselves. We got back to the car in the dark. Arriving back at camp, we noticed a few more Jayco’s had taken up realestate near our patch. 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 Alex would say.
Mutawinji is on Wimpatja Country. For the Wimpatja this place was an important ceremonial ground and gathering place. It is a place of significant cultural value yet white fellas – pastoralists, explorers and tourists have all trounced through here without a care, forcing the Wimpatja people to fight for nearly two centuries to get some respect and regain their land. 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 people. Unfortunately, much damage has been done to their cultural sites with some completely destroyed. I couldn’t help but feel their pain as I walked through this place, thinking about their loss. We passed a rock art site which was completely accessible, hardly signposted and seemed very degraded. The Wimpatja offer guided tours on certain days of the week –not on the days we were there so we missed out which is a bummer but I’d love to return and hear their stories.
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 and the biodiversity is significant. 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, Alex’s Birthday, we started with a deliciously made camp breakfast cooked by the camp chef (me( and then 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 Alex to lead the way. The walk took us up the range and along the ridge line. The views from the top were stunning. The landscape here is some of the best I’ve seen in Australia. Along the top, we pass pine trees and then 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 fairly easy. We passed rock pools, some flat bits, some challenging sections, a fun rock climbing section with inbuilt rope to assist and the walk concludes with a walk along the homestead gorge dry creek bed that is dotted with beautifully contoured rocks, small rock pools and interesting vegetation jutting out of the rocks.
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, quite spectacular. The wind came howling tonight, keeping us, well me, 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 Alex ignored it and was serenely snoring in no time. I do 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. As our tent rattled and rolled to these strong winds, they commanded my attention, I acknowledged their presence and their power and then I drifted off with a feeling of contentment.
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 collect 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. It was a fitting end to our time in Mutawintji - a place I’ll never forget.