It Ends Where it Begins
This was the longest day and only half over. I had my eyes set on Tilpa as my next overnighter, another 130 klms along the West Tilpa Road. My armchair ride earlier in the day had lulled me into totally unreasonable expectations for this next stage. The first 30klms could not have been a better designed test track for SUV’s. Every few hundred meters the road conditions changed. Bedrock then black soil then sand then gravel and repeat. Not saying it was terrible, but it certainly commanded your respect and attention. Ironically, the further away from civilization, the better the road got. As I said last time, this leg is about the drive, not so much the scenery. If you’ve seen one grassy plain, an hour later, it’s still the same one.
So, when a mob of sheep in a holding yard is the highlight…..you get the picture (lol). Well at least everything was green. I had been on the road for seven hours by the time I pulled into Tilpa. The car inside and out was covered in a layer of dust. It’s fine when your barreling along and the dust is blowing behind you, but as soon as you slow down for a cattle grid, the dust cloud, still moving at your previous velocity, encircles the cabin and swirls through the open windows. I was so ‘dusty’, I passed up my usual 4pm coffee and headed straight for the pub.
Ah, the Tilpa Hotel. I fully expected Mick Dundee to be at the bar when I strolled in. The iconic Aussie bush pub had a bit of everything- bar, dining room and even a beer garden. I ordered a schooner of dust shifter and was soon engrossed in conversation with amazing couple who were doing the same run from north to south – ON BICYLES!! We’re not talking backpackers here. This is a retired couple who, last year, travelled down the Darling-IN KAYAKS!! I had a severe attack of imposter syndrome and skulked back to the van with my shame in hot pursuit.
Thankfully they had already left by the time I poked my head out the door, which most days, wouldn’t have been hard to do. Anyway, it was only a short run to Louth, the first of a series of bunny hops to Brewarrina over the next few days. As with Tilpa, free camping beside the river and a hot shower opposite the hotel was on offer, and I was in for the day by lunchtime. In retrospect, the river was on the rise, but with no point of reference, who could tell but the locals? but clearly, if this houseboat was ever going to be fit for purpose, the river had a ways to go.
Brewarrina, my final destination was just shy of 200klms away, which in RV parlance, is about 4 hours with a stop at Bourke. This was to be the last stretch of dirt road, but the barmaid assured me there was some tar scattered along the way. Just after 8am, the last leg got underway. There were indeed long stretches of tar and you could almost hear the suspension sigh in relief.
And, just like that, the dirt road was T-boned by the Kidman Way. I pulled into a truck stop to ‘air-up’. It was Anzac Day and I wondered if I was still in time to catch a small town ceremony. Being Anzac Day, of course the shops were closed. It was disconcerting to see just about every shop shuttered with steel roll-a-doors. Bourke is a pretty town, right on the Barwon River, an unhappy juxtaposition with the siege mentality of the CBD. But all these alleged hotspots of trouble along this route were without exception, trouble free. It’s such a shame that the reputation precedes them.
I’d missed the march, but caught up with the crowd at the local memorial park just as the ceremony was kicking off. The crowd was large and respectful. I thought the Welcome to Country was so cute, I just had to show you how, even in redneck territory, they’re taking the message on board.
Back in the day, there was a lot of river commerce going on and Bourke was a major deposit and collect port on the Darling River. The old wharf is now a tourist attraction as a reminder of those halcyon days. Now, this is not your usual garden variety structure. There are FIVE loading levels to accommodate the variable river heights, and we’re talking maybe 10 metres from lowest to highest. Best spot to take a pic was the other side of the river (of course), but no idea how to get there.
The end was now in sight. Just one more hop to Brewarrina, ninety minutes away. So, about that time later, I pulled into town and headed for my final rendezvous with the Darling River. The source of this river is not a trickling stream, but a major weir that holds back the Barwon River and overflows into the Darling. Yep, a weir and a name change and that was that. It was done. Or so I thought.
