Pooncarie to Wilcannia
In the still midday air, the roar and grunt of the Desert Dash followed me for several kilometres before getting lost in the swales and gullies. The exciting news was that the Pooncarie to Menindee Road had been all but tarred, so the duel with the dust was postponed for a few days and no tyre air -down required. It was a beautiful road, wide, banked and in mint condition. I grabbed some lunch at the halfway mark and some firewood that was collateral from the roadworks. Having been to Menindee once before, I knew exactly where I wanted to land, Lake Pamamaroo which was very full of water, unlike the stagnant claypan this doobie found himself at last time.
A footy weekend meant at least a three night sit. I had no idea what internet would be like when I hit the dirt. The weather was perfect and I set up in a little cul-de-sac campground for one, just off the main road. The breeze off the lake kept the van nice and cool and I set to editing a whole bunch of pics and started to type up recent events.
Now, you’d expect some wildlife here, but the next morning, a strange sound got me up and about. It seems like a flock of Dorper sheep had dibs on the grazing rights. They quickly headed down to the lakeside and moseyed out of site. There was a morning and late afternoon ‘rush hour’ as fishermen headed to and from the weir, but otherwise, it was quiet and peaceful.
The ‘real’ wildlife was again, the feathered variety. Must be used to visitors as they didn’t take flight as readily as some. After three nights it was time for the next leg. Two roads run both sides of the Darling and the western route seemed to be the popular choice. However when I reached the turnoff to start, a blazing neon sign made it plain that it was not happening today. Closed due to damage by recent rains, I was forced to backtrack to Menindee with fingers crossed, to see if the eastern route had also been closed. THAT would have been a real pain in the arse. My luck was in. Proceed With Caution was a light green enough for me. This is where the ‘No Guts No Glory’ part of the run started – 470klms of dirt road, quality unknown. When the bitumen ended about five minutes, I pulled over to let the tyres down, took a deep breath and launched.
Fortune favours the brave, the road less travelled, yarda yarda, but his time it turned out to be true. I’ve never enjoyed 148klms of dirt road as much as that day. A magic carpet ride along the smooth and now dry black soil across the grazing lands and passed the occasional sheep station. Bear in mind that the term ‘road’ is pretty broad out here. A lot of the time its just a single lane track and sometimes its more what you’d hope for.
This Darling River Run is heavily promoted, but finding a place to actually pull over is a little tricky. As you can see, I had to improvise. No rest stops on this road. Cruised along at a respectable 70klm and safe enough to take in the scenery. Three hours in and sadly it ended, as I was found myself back on the black top heading into Wilcannia. The breeze had picked up and even though the roads were sealed in town, the red dust was blowing in from somewhere ‘out there’. Just in time for lunch and a quick look around. I was to discover that a lot of these historic towns that you see on the weather maps are remnants of past glories, now struggling to keep the doors open, relying on the tourist trade and especially the nomads to inject the cash.
Once again, I was reacquainted with the Darling River. Surprisingly, the water level was very low and for a while, I entertained the disappointment that this mighty river run might not be all that it was cracked up to be. However, somewhere between Wilcannia and Tilpa, I must have passed the rising flood waters from Queensland heading south. And so as I headed further north, so too began the rise and rise of The Darling River.
