Writing the
past few posts has been hard work as everything has been brilliant. This means I spend most of my time trying to think of small things that rankled me,
and finding different synonyms for beautiful. However, this is not going to be an issue with this post, because we had an engine fire. Yep, we had a fire in our
FUCKING ENGINE BAY‼ And this happened while we were at Mitchell River NP, over 500km from Kununurra and 190km from the nearest homestead, but we’ll get to
that later.
We left
Kununurra stocked with fuel and supplies and headed for the start of the
infamous Gibb River road. It is thought of as a real 4wd adventure, through
some proper wilderness and we had prepared for this accordingly. Things have
changed somewhat, as we had read that over the past ten years tourism has
flourished in the Kimberleys, and the now large number of tourists and tour
buses mean it can feel like a highway during peak season. It is also mostly
private land, meaning that many homesteads have started charging entry fees to
visit the gorges and waterfalls on their land along the way, including the money
making machine of El Questro. This was already a bit of a disappointment for
both of us. Our socialist ideals mean we feel that nature should be for the
people, not private business, even if the fees are inexpensive (most homesteads
charge around $20 for a pass). We don’t mind paying to camp on private ground,
if facilities are provided, but places of natural beauty should be for everyone,
not just the capitalist pig landowners, who stole the land in the first place
anyway. Mark my words; those muthafuckers will be first against the wall when
the revolution comes. Now, I just need to take a quick break, as my chardonnay
is getting warm.
As we
started along the Gibb we were pleasantly surprised to find it was in good
shape. We giggled at how lucky we were to have such an easy drive. The first
hundred km was great, an easy drive with some outstanding backdrops.
This is how the kids are wearing their pants, right? |
We found a
nice creek crossing to stop for lunch, and Becky made her famous cheese and
tomato sandwiches that I washed down with a gold… fine dining for a bushman!
Gordon Ramsey can get fucked. |
As we were
parked, a family pulled into the same small spot we had found. The Dad got out
and asked us if the track we were on went any further, we replied it didn’t, so
he parked up 10 metres from us and set up for lunch. The mother apologised for
ruining our tranquil spot with two young kids… what’s the point apologising for
something you had total control over? We finished up quickly and left the
fuckers to enjoy the spot they had stolen from us. I wasn’t too bitter, as
there was evidence that people had camped there that night, and taken a dump
near the creek (they hadn’t buried their toilet paper, another bugbear of mine,
BUT I DON’T HAVE TIME TO DISCUSS THIS, I HAVE TO GET TO THE ENGINE FIRE), so we
left them, letting their kids catch E.coli from the creek.
Our first
main target was Mitchel River NP, but on these roads you don’t want to be
driving much over 70km, even when the roads are in good shape, as tyre punctures
are a common thing when combined with driving at normal highway speed. Becky had
read about a small homestead called Ellenbrae that had advertised freshly baked
scones, and that was reason enough for us to take a break. It was a nice place,
and the scones were great. The best part was the small flock of double-barred
finches that were feeding around us.
This was
enough to convince us that this was a great place to spend the night. Their
campground only had two other campers set up, so we found a small spot the
perfect distance from the rustic (and quite cool) facilities. We went for a
swim at a swimming spot, enjoying the red-tailed cockatoos and blue-winged
kookaburras also frequenting the creek.
What no waterfall? |
We even had
some crimson finches pose for us as we sat by the creek bank.
Thanks for staying |
By the time
we got back to the campsite quite a few more people had come. The site was
quite big, regardless they’d all set up near us, which at the time we found
frustrating, but now seems petty as at least OUR ENGINE DIDN’T HAVE A FIRE IN
IT. It was a quiet spot, and apart from the cows that walked through the site, a
pretty uneventful evening.
The next
morning we packed up quickly, pausing only to watch the rainbow bee-eaters
flying around the campsite. One stopped to do something in the dust, and I took
some photos. What wonderful, innocent times they were.
A bee-eater dusting its butt |
We’d been
told that the road thus far had recently been graded, and once we past the
grader things would start to get worse. With this in mind we enjoyed a smooth
ride all the way to Drysdale River Station, passing the grader shortly before reaching
the homestead. After a short break to fuel up, we set out for the last stretch of the day to King Edward River campground, 110km away. The smooth ride was over and this section of road was in a terrible state. (I
went for a lower pitched voice this time, as this was no laughing matter).
The corrugations were deeper and wider than
normal and the drive was horrendous. We were very pleased to reach the campground, where we found a great camp spot close to the river. There
was even a ladder into the river, so old people with bad hips could ease themselves
in…old people like me.
Gracefully in, and gracefully out |
That night
we cooked chicken satay on a fire that I meant to start and we wanted, and all
was well with the world.
We awoke to
a cold morning air. The temperature had dropped over the past few
days, making the days more bearable, but the nights noticeably colder. By the
time we’d packed up, it’d warmed up enough to take the hoodies off, and we set
off on the last 80km to Mitchell Falls. I think this is possibly the worst road I
have ever driven on, or been driven on and I include Kenya, India and the UK on
that list. Only 100m after leaving the King Edward camp we came across a
trailer for a tour company, that carries their clients camp gear and food, sitting on the road with the back axel totally detached and two blokes standing
staring at it.
This was a smaller road than the day before and the corrugations were worse, with the added bonus of occasional large rocks and stones imbedded in the road keeping us on our toes. We felt every. fucking. bump. As insanity
started to engulf us, I noticed that the oil pressure gauge had dropped to
zero. I quickly stopped the car and turned the engine off. If you think this is
the fire bit…. WRONG. I checked the oil level and everything seemed fine. After
ten minutes of me staring at the motor, pretending I knew what anything did,
another car approached. We flagged them down, and low and behold, it was the two mechanics we’d
passed working on the trailer. What jolly good luck! They quickly found
that the wire to the oil pressure sensor had come out, did a bush fix and went
on their jolly way. They even gave us a roll of electrical tape, in case their
fix came loose. And with that we started back on the road from hell, thinking our
day had been saved by these kind souls... little did we know this was only the
beginning.
Several bumpy, stressful hours later we reached Mitchell Falls. As we approached the self-registration point for the campsite everything in the car started to cut out, then start up again straight away. I told Becky that we’d register, and once at
the site I have a look and to see if anything else had come loose, but we never got the chance. Just past the registration station the car completely died and smoke began pouring from the engine... dirty black smoke. WE HAD A FUCKING FIRE UNDER THE
BONNET.
If you’d
have asked me how'd I'd have thought I’d respond in a situation like this I’d have
probably said “shit myself and scream”. But oddly, I didn’t. I popped the
bonnet, grabbed the best $20 I'd ever spent (a fire extinguisher I’d installed
next to the drivers seat) and leapt into action. Lifting up the bonnet we could
see actual, real fire flames around the main battery, the lovely new battery we
bought in Darwin. After what felt like 10mins trying to get the pin out of the extinguisher, but
in reality was more like 5secs, I aimed the extinguisher,
and PWSCHOOSH. I can now add bush-fireman to my repertoire. However, the danger wasn't over yet as the battery bracket that’d wobbled loose on the drive and started the fire, was still
shorting the battery. Again, my instinctive catastrophe management response was better than I'd have expected, as I grabbed a cloth from the front of the car and used it to yank the bracket out. Fire risk dealt with!
As we both
stood there shocked, staring at the smouldering battery, we had our second bit of tur i oturen (luck in the unlucky) and our next
saviour stepped out of the shadows. While all this was going on, a retired
couple had witnessed the whole thing and had come over to help. While the lady,
Nan, calmed Becky, the bloke, Kris, helped me inspect the damage. Despite the melted plastic, none of the wiring had been that badly damaged. The
worst part was the huge hole that had melted through the top of the battery. In fact,
despite how bad it all looked, we managed to get the car started. Kris suggested I crawl
into camp to clean and tape up the exposed wires, then come find him and he’d
help me fix up the now broken bracket and cover the exposed battery.
After I’d
taped up the exposed wires, using the electrical tape the other mechanics had
given us, we started to fix what remained of
the bracket and battery. We (I’m using the pronoun “we”, but it really should
be Kris. I just held things he asked me to hold and got in the way) bush-fixed the battery bracket, and covered the exposed battery with tape and some waterproofing
sealant, that we hoped would limit the battery acid leakage on the way out. For
the second time that day, we’d been saved by the kindness of strangers. They
were a lovely couple and we chatted with them for a while before heading back
to the camp to try and mentally process what had happened.
As we sat
in our chairs, unable to muster the energy to put the tent up, Becky leapt out
of her chair and shouted, “SNAKE” (sorry, no video this time). I looked over as
a ~1.5m brown snake (I think it was a king brown, dark brown on top and cream
underneath) slithered towards us. I looked the snake in the eye, and it turned
and went back into the bush. I grabbed my
camera, and moved cautiously to look for it, but saw nothing. It was then I
realised how many ant nests covered the campground. The little red fuckers
would bite the shit out of you if you stood anywhere near their nests, and
they fucking hurt too.
Yikes yikes yikes!!!
ReplyDeleteGuardian angels watching out for you. Hugs!
Liking the maps a lot. Thanks Tom.
OMG OMG what a story. Didn't think I'd be seeing pictures of your bottom though!!! LL M xx
ReplyDelete